The Madison Jennings Series Box Set

by Kiara Ashanti

  Zavier eased himself backward. He closed his eyes and let a low sigh of resignation flow through him. Images and memories raced through his mind’s eye like a high-speed video reel: meeting Maddie for the first time; camping trips; teaching her to shoot a bow; the first time her mother let him babysit her; showing her how to aim a BB gun; her face covered in dirt and paint after an afternoon of Airsoft gunplay; grinning from ear to ear as she held the flag she had captured. These memories and more played out for Zavier before his mind finally settled on the image of Tina’s anguished face desperate to find her child.

  Zavier’s eyes snapped back open. He knew what had to be done, and he would do it. He had a promise to keep.

  He moved back beside Maddie. “Look at me,” he said. The remaining overhead lights lent an amber hue to eyes that looked him straight in the face. “There is an opening near the wall. It’s right in front of our exit here. I need you to stay behind me, and when I say run, you run into it and run until you are outside.”

  “Will you be behind me?”

  Zavier held up a finger. “That doesn’t matter.”

  Maddie’s response was to curl both hands at her sides into fists. Her mouth formed a stubborn line.

  “It matters to me.”

  Zavier leaned in, kissed her on the forehead, and then moved the tip of his nose to hers. He grazed his nose against hers like he had done so many times before. There was moisture in his eyes when he pulled back. “The only things that matter are that you know nothing that happened today is your fault, know that your parents love you and so do I, honeybunch, and that you don’t stop running until you are in your mother’s arms.”

  Maddie flung herself at him, hugging hard, her arms constricting around his neck. He could feel her shaking, and the moisture in his own eyes became a silent river down his face. He pulled her away and quickly turned his head. He did not want her to see his face. He grabbed her hand and crept forward.

  Just before they reached the edge of the wall, Zavier pointed to the bomb-created tunnel. “When I say run, run,” he whispered, “and don’t stop.”

  She paused for a moment, but nodded her assent.

  Zavier leaned forward. He could see a shooter to his right and hear voices to his left. He took a deep breath and then surged his body fully upright. The sudden movement drew the attention of the shooter he had just spotted.

  Zavier did not let the surprise go to waste. He took aim with his gun. Tapping the trigger, he sent his last bullet toward the shooter. A red burst exploded from the shooter’s chest. Without hesitation, Zavier grabbed Maddie’s hand and moved into the hallway. He faced right, toward where the other shooters were, placing himself between them and Maddie.

  The sound of his gun going off had alerted the shooters, but his sudden appearance froze the two close to him and Maddie. Zavier let go of Maddie’s hand and brought it up to take a two-handed grip on his gun. He was out of bullets, but they did not know that. The gambit worked. The two shooters each froze.

  “MADDIE, GO!”

  The moment of surprise and indecision ended as the shooters realized Zavier was out of bullets. Each shooter took aim. Zavier kept moving, tracking his movement to Maddie’s darting form and keeping his body between the shooters and her.

  He saw a flash of teeth from a shooter, and then heard the words, “ALLAH AKBAR!” hurled at him.

  The desperation in Uncle Z’s voice poured through Maddie’s eight-year-old frame. It sent her surging, like a rabbit dashing into its den, across the hall and into the opening of what appeared to be a tunnel.

  She ran with tears on her face and fear in her heart. She did not look back; her eyes were glued to the white light of escape at the end of the makeshift tunnel. She did not stop or flinch at the punishing sound of gunfire. She did not stop when debris on the floor nearly tripped her up. She did not hesitate when she saw a metal beam in front of her. She just jumped over it, ignoring the sharp cut of rebar scrapping her leg as she stumbled in her landing.

  Maddie did not register the sound of bullets ricocheting behind her as she burst from the tunnel. She never saw a shooter following behind her or noticed the police swarming toward her. She did not register the sound of gunfire as bullets flying above ripped into the shooters who had been chasing her. No, her eyes were simply fixed like stone on her one goal: her mother. And suddenly, she saw her. Tina was desperately elbowing a police officer and breaking loose of his grip as she ran toward Maddie.

  The two raced toward each other, and suddenly Maddie felt her mother’s arms wrapping around her.

  Now, Maddie knew she was safe. Now, she let her body break down into an earthquake of tears, because she knew one other thing.

  Zavier would not be coming out.

  Guardian

  A Madison Jennings Story

  If you have to change,

  do it with the Power and Fury

  of Thunder and Lightening.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The girl barreled around the curve of the dirt path and stopped dead when she saw them.

  “Here they come, man,” said Ron to his partner, David. “Get ready.”

  David stared down the path and studied the girl seventy feet away. He snorted in derision. Even though she was covered in dirt and blue powder, he was certain she could not be more than eleven or twelve. David was a six-two, two-hundred-pound stud. His partner at the pugil station, Ron, was a five ten, lean hundred eighty pounds. The leanness belied his strength. Ron could easily bench-press thirty pounds more than David.

  Both had used their physical power to pummel every competitor in the race into a time penalty. They wielded the large pugil sticks first popularized in the Spartan obstacle races with joyful zeal. No one had gotten past them.

  “This will be too easy.”

  “Hold your horses, man,” said Ron as he spied a large white male rounding the corner. A glance from the girl confirmed that this guy was her partner in the competition. He was bigger than all the racers Ron and David had seen today—tall and blocky, not chiseled or lanky like the competitors they were used to knocking around.

  David snorted again. “Pleezzz. It’s basically two against one and a quarter people,” he assured Ron.

  The girl waited for her partner to pull even with her, then together they started a slow jog toward the two-man obstacle. At forty feet away, the girl nodded, her black ponytail swaying, and let the large male take the lead as she kept pace a few steps behind. The strategy was clear: Let him bulldoze a path through.

  Ron whispered to David, “Knock him into her. I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “You’re such a softy,” replied David. He spun the pugil stick in his hands and smiled.

  As the two racers progressed within twenty feet, all talk ceased and the two men tensed for the short battle to come. They were not ready for what happened next. The man sped up and screamed like a poor imitation of an extra from 300, but the girl shot past him like a cheetah racing for dinner. The sudden change in tactics startled Ron and David, each unsure what to do. Their hesitation cost them.

  David stepped forward to meet the young girl with his stick but found only air. As soon as she reached within two feet of him, she dove to the muddy ground and slid underneath him. Behind him, she plunged her hands into the mud until they hit solid ground. Then she pushed up and kicked David’s hip. The move, as intended, knocked him into Ron. The girl’s partner did the rest. He blasted into the unbalanced duo like a linebacker, knocking both to the mud-churned ground. A crowd of racers stuck in the time penalty box screamed in delight, but the large male competitor just kept going, grabbing the young girl’s hand and whipping her up off the ground.

  “Go, Maddie, go!”

  Maddie used the momentum of her father’s pull to clear the mud and sprint ahead. She could not stop grinning.

  “I told you it would work!” she screamed. She tucked her chin in and leaned into her sprint, eyes locked on the wooden dock ahead. No one else in the race
had bothered with the bonus station in the middle of the small lake. The time penalty for getting clocked and delayed by the muscleheads they had just outsmarted precluded an attempt. The race organizers had structured the time penalties so that a racer could only go for the bonus if they got past the pugil station fast. None had, except Maddie and her father. That meant Maddie could put the race in the bag if she could succeed at the tower.

  She reached the end of the dock and dove into the water with a perfect precision butterfly kick she had practiced for weeks in the local YMCA pool. Maddie propelled herself forward without going deep, stretching her fourteen-year-old arms long and smooth. In short order, she reached the base of the tower.

  Now she just had to climb it.

  Maddie nodded to the attendant stationed at its base.

  “The berry-colored Ruger .22 is mine.”

  The attendant wrinkled his face but reached for the rifle Maddie’s finger was pointing toward. “I thought that was purple or violet.”

  Maddie gave the man a lopsided grin. “Nope. It’s berry, actually Maddie-berry, my own custom color.”

  The remark earned her a chuckle as she took hold of her rifle and swung it around her shoulders. To prevent it from getting wet, she had enclosed the magazine in a clear Ziploc bag earlier. Now, Maddie placed it in her mouth and inhaled deeply. Looking up, she flung her hands out to the side to rid them of excess water. She started to climb. The tower was basic, without any serious gaps or twists to make the ascent difficult. In less than fifteen seconds, she climbed thirty feet to the top. From her new perch, Maddie paused half a second to scan for her dad’s whereabouts. She was pleased to see him already rounding the outside corner of the lake to meet her on the other side. Now she had to handle business here. She nodded at the second attendant at the top of the tower. “Shooter ready.”

  “Good luck.” He handed her a hand towel, eye protection, and earplugs. He nodded.

  This was where the Sportsman race departed from all other obstacle-course races. BoneFrog and Spartan races had insane distances and an obstacle course. The Sportsman had obstacles, distance, and shooting stations. It was the ugly child of BoneFrog and three-gun shooting competitions. Maddie was now at the bonus long-range shooting station. She had four targets: a twenty, fifty, one hundred, and if she wanted a triple bonus, a target at two hundred fifty yards.

  Maddie bypassed the shooting bench and lay prone on the floor. She took deep breaths to slow her heart rate. She was not the least bit tired, but a fast-beating heart could throw off her aim. Each target was filled with Tannerite, which made it easy to know if the shooter scored a hit. As soon as the bullet struck the targets, the powder would explode into yellowish smoke. Each target was only six inches large. Maddie could not afford to be off by even an inch; only two shots per target were allowed.

  Steeling herself, she recalled a comment her Uncle Z had made about competitions: “Three-gun shooting is about speed and accuracy. Accuracy is more important. Shoot slow. Do everything else fast.”

  “Shoot slow,” she repeated aloud, then took another breath. Maddie settled behind her scope and took aim. The twenty-yard target would be a piece of cake. She hit it on the first shot, igniting the Tannerite powder in a small explosion of bright color. The fifty-yard target was next, and that too exploded after just one shot. Less than three seconds had ticked off on the first two targets. She took her time on the hundred, breathing deep and waiting for the pause between her heartbeats.

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Pause. Tap the trigger.

  Third shot, third hit. Now she had a decision to make. Three shots, three hits. She could leave or go for the two-hundred-fifty-yard target. If she missed, the trip to the tower would have been a waste. All the points and bonus time off would be erased. The distance was not easy for an AR-22. If she hit it, they would win the competition. Decision made. She shifted her gun and took aim through her scope.

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Pause. Tap the trigger.

  No explosion, a missed shot. She pulled away from the scope and twisted her head side to side. Taking an even deeper breath and holding it for a moment, she then settled back behind the scope. She closed her eyes, steadied herself, then opened them. Maddie shut out everything but the target in her scope and the sound of her heartbeat. On the pause between her sixth and seventh beat, she tapped the trigger.

  The target exploded in a shower of yellow and red sparks. Her father screaming in the distance sounded louder. She ejected the magazine and the round in the chamber and placed the rifle in safe mode before standing. She could not stop grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  “Mighty fine shooting,” said the attendant. “Climbing or sliding?”

  Maddie smirked. “Sliding.”

  “Yeah, I kind of thought that’s what you would say.” Moving quickly, he placed a harness on Maddie. Then she zip-lined down to the opposite side of the lake.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The trophy stood nearly as tall as all of Maddie’s five foot four inches. She was exhausted but held the trophy with ease. Her wide grin had remained in place the entire time it took to get through the trophy ceremony and the wait for her mother to pick them up. As their family SUV made its appearance, Maddie turned her sunbeam smile toward the brown-haired woman leaning her head out of the window. The woman barely glanced at the trophy, training her eyes instead on the mud and dirt covering her daughter and husband.

  “I’m not letting either of you mudrats into my car.”

  Her mother’s less than enthusiastic response turned Maddie’s grin into a pout. She looked at her father, who in turn looked down at himself and then Maddie. Neither of them was caked with mud—just wet, dirty, and bloody in a few spots.

  “I thought you said there’d be a place for you to clean up,” said Maddie’s mother.

  “I said there would be a place for us to get hosed down,” replied Maddie’s dad.

  Her mother rolled her eyes. “I thought you were being ironic.”

  Maddie heard the click of the trunk opening and waddled back with their first-place trophy while her father carried their firearm gear. She stopped short when she got a look at the trunk.

  “What the he—” She couldn’t finish the curse. The trunk was filled with pretty, colorful bags. Maddie stared openmouthed until her father spoke.

  “Well, that looks like it cost me a ton.”

  Maddie turned toward the front of the car but shuffled back, startled at her mother’s sudden appearance. “Mom, what’s all of this?”

  “I went clothes shopping for school.” She reached past Maddie to grab a bag and pulled out two pairs of sweatpants. “Put this on before either of you get into this car.”

  As Maddie looked at her mother, the joy of winning evaporated. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t buy me any clothes on your own.”

  “And I thought we agreed that you would pick a girl-appropriate activity for school.”

  Maddie growled and turned away. She swiped at bags left and right to bulldoze a clear space for her trophy and gear. She managed three or four swings before she felt her mother’s firm hand on the scruff of her neck.

  Her mom leaned in close to whisper in Maddie’s ear. “Calm yourself, or I’ll give you pain worse than you got running around playing wild child today.”

  “Tina . . .,” said her father, his tone calm, but firm.

  Tina let go of Maddie, confident her message had been received. Without a word, she reached into another bag, pulled out a T-shirt, and threw it to her husband. She followed that with a sweatshirt for Maddie. Maddie grabbed it and, without thinking, began pulling off her damp shirt.

  “You’re almost ready for a training bra, sweetie, so I’d pull it back over.”

  “Argh,” screeched Maddie. She stomped toward the front of the car with her hands flailing by her ears as if she could erase the mortifying comment from her consciousness.

  “That was mean,” said Maddie’s father.

  Tina looked at
her husband, Derek, of twenty-two years and stuck her tongue at him. He shook his head with a resigned grin and pulled his shirt off. Tina bit her lip at the sight. Derek had always been a large man. He had wide, thick-set shoulders, and, at one time, a barrel chest with a layer of fat perfect for laying her head on—Tina’s own private teddy bear. But that was years ago, before rehab . . . before Orlando.

  Before “The Christmas Day Massacre.”

  The media had coined that phrase to describe the terrorist attack at the Palace Movie Theater. The moniker was offensive and over the top, but accurate. The attack had been well planned and executed. Two shooters in each of the smaller theaters, along with three to four in the larger ones, had opened fire on people in their seats. Outside the theaters, ten to twelve additional shooters had taken aim at moviegoers in the hallways and lobby.

  The Palace Movie Theater had been at capacity, with some of the theaters seating three hundred people. When the bullets started flying, innocent moviegoers were fish in a barrel. It was a bloodbath. Except in theater twenty.

  Derek had been one of the first victims hit by gunfire. Family friend Zavier Hunter, who had accompanied Derek and his family to a show, had managed to take out the shooters in their theater with his concealed-carry firearm. Then he got Derek and the other wounded out of the building. He had then gone back in to find Maddie, his self-proclaimed little buddy. Zavier had loved Maddie as deeply as her own parents did. To get her to safety, he fought through more than twenty terrorist gunmen, a battle on full display live online for the world to see thanks to some teenage hackers.

  On that day at the Palace, more than three thousand people lost their lives. But Zavier Hunter’s actions saved two hundred and thirty-one people. The thirty-first person was Maddie, at the expense of Zavier’s own life.