Broken worlds super boxs.., p.42
Broken Worlds Super Boxset, page 42
Their movements ceased. Terry withdrew the blade from Amy’s throat. He brought his hand to Amy’s forehead and gently stroked her hair away. Amy shuddered. Terry continued to caress the side of her face, and with each touch, Amy tried to turn away, until Terry finally pulled his hand back. He let out a sigh.
“Your husband was a lucky man. Stupid,” he said. “But lucky.”
Terry picked the rifle back up and rested the pronged legs on the windowsill. He had the scope’s crosshairs targeted at the hospital’s entrance when he heard a crash from downstairs.
He immediately spun around, aiming the rifle at the top of the staircase. He waited. Listened. But no further sound echoed from downstairs. Terry took one soft step across the floor, then another, and another, all the while keeping his ears open and finger on the trigger, until he made it to the railings of the staircase.
Amy and Gabby were both watching him from the corner of the room. Their eyes darted from Terry to the staircase. Terry peeked over the side, glancing down into the first floor.
Terry knew someone was down there. The police? No. More than likely, it was a drunk stumbling in from one of the bars, either looking for something to steal or a place to piss. Going down would give away whatever element of surprise he had. If whoever was down there saw him, he would be forced to kill them, and on jobs like these, the fewer dead bodies you had to deal with, the better. He already had his hands full. Terry moved his glance back over to Gabby and Amy. There couldn’t be any loose ends.
***
Brooke did a quick check around the abandoned building’s perimeter, looking for any signs that her sister might be inside, but it was too dark, and there were too many objects that obstructed her view. They could be in there, they might not. But she wasn’t leaving until she was absolutely sure.
There were only two points of entrance on the first floor that Brooke could see: the front door and the back door. She wrapped her hand around the knob and slowly twisted. She opened the door slowly, wedging her face into the sliver of space to peek inside.
What she couldn’t see was the gingerly stacked boxes that almost touched the ceiling just behind the door. She nudged the box of materials, and they crashed to the floor. She jumped from the noise and rushed into the building, aiming her gun at the mess she’d made, then quickly ducked for cover. If the bounty hunter was here, then she had just given away her position. She scooted across the dust-covered floor, scraping her knees and palms against the worn wooden floors.
Brooke kept the revolver in her hand, maneuvering around the boxes and pieces of furniture littered on the floor. Her breaths were short, slow, and quiet. She made sure to take extra care with the placement of her arms and legs. She became more aware of the motions of her body. She didn’t want to give herself away again.
Finally, in the center of the building, behind a counter, was a staircase. If the bounty hunter was here, then Brooke knew that the upstairs window would be the perfect position to scout who was coming and going into the hospital’s entrance. But with the noise she’d made and the narrowness of the staircase, she’d be a sitting duck trudging up that thing, and a bullet in her head wouldn’t do her family any good.
Brooke needed to draw him out, but how? The bounty hunter had the high ground, he had the hostages, and most likely he had some very precise weapons, along with the skill to use them very effectively.
The cruiser.
Brooke reached into her pocket and pulled out her keychain. From the bottom of the staircase she could see her cruiser through the building’s front windows. She aimed the key chain and hit the alarm button. The horn hocked, and the lights flashed, causing the people walking by on the sidewalk to jump. Brooke kept the pistol aimed at the top of the stair and she made her ascent.
Each step upwards was swift and quiet, and with the clamor the cruiser was making it was enough to give her some noise pollution to hurry up the steps. Toward the top she could see Amy and Gabby tied up in the corner. And as she looked to the right she could see the bounty hunter staring out the window looking down into the street.
Before he could turn around Brooke squeezed the trigger and the bullet entered the bounty hunter’s left shoulder. He instinctively spun around, clutching the rifle in his hands and recklessly fired a few rounds in Brooke’s direction. The force from the gun, and the weight of the man’s body sent him flying backwards through the thin single-paned glass. Two distinct thumps sounded from the bounty hunter hitting the overhang from the first floor, then the ground.
Brooke rushed over and peered through the broken glass to see him limping away toward the parking lot. She then turned her attention to her sister and niece. “Are you guys okay?” Both of them were crying, too hysterical to form any words. Brooke ripped the duct tape off the two of them and brought them to their feet. “C’mon. We need to get out of here.”
Amy held onto Gabby tight as Brooke descended the staircase first, still aiming the pistol downstairs just in case he decided to come back. She came down slowly, signaling Amy and Gabby to hold at the top until she saw that it was clear. When she looked out the front door the bounty hunter was no longer in the street.
“Okay, it’s safe,” Brooke said.
But once the girls were halfway down the steps two high-beam lights from an Audi A4 lit up the dark building as it came speeding toward them. “Run!” Brooke motioned for the girls to head back upstairs. The rev of the car’s engine roared louder as it barreled down upon them. Brooke tried following the girls up the staircase, but the car crashed through the front entrance before she had a chance to make it all the way to the top.
Brooke’s body slammed against the wall next to the staircase as the Audi cut through the wooden pillars holding the second floor up. Wood, glass, and metal exploded as portions of the second floor collapsed, coating the first floor in a thick layer of dust and debris.
A steady, high-pitched din filled her ears. She groaned, absentmindedly touching her head with her fingers. She winced from the touch. She felt disoriented. The headlights from the car were still on, illuminating the damage to the entire store. Her hand was empty. She looked around for the gun, but couldn’t find it. She crawled around on her hands and knees, swaying a bit. The room felt like it was spinning. The sharp, throbbing pain in her face continued its assault on her senses.
The ringing in her ears was slowly replaced by the sound of a voice. It was a girl’s voice, and she was crying for help. Gabby. Brooke forced her left foot forward, then her right, and repeated the simple process in her mind with all the willpower she had. She followed Gabby’s growing cries up what was left of the staircase.
She traced the cries to a large piece of wood covering a corner of the second floor that had remained intact. She lifted the wood up and pushed it to the side. Gabby was covered in dust. Next to her was Amy, who was unconscious.
“You all right?” Brooke asked, holding the young girl’s tear-streaked face. Gabby nodded, and Brooke turned her attention to her sister. She pressed two fingers into Amy’s neck, checking her pulse. She felt the slight thumps lift her fingertips then made sure she was breathing. Amy had a few cuts on her face and arms, but other than the fact that she was unconscious, she seemed fine.
Brooke had stretched out her arms to pick Gabby up when the thunder of a gunshot exploded behind her and she felt a stinging, numbing pain strike the back of her left shoulder. The force of the bullet and the pain that followed sent her tumbling back down the stairs.
Her head, shoulders, back, legs, and arms all struck the edges of the stairs with wild force and uncoordinated rhythm. She rolled onto the floor at the bottom, leaving a trail of splattered blood behind her. Brooke flipped herself onto her back and cried out from the sharp, piercing pain from the gaping wound on her shoulder. The spot where the bullet had entered felt warm as the blood spilled from her body onto the floor.
“You. Fucking. Bitch!” Terry said.
Brooke tilted her head up to see Terry with his left arm slack, blood pouring from his forehead, gripping the revolver he’d stolen from Brooke at the house with his good arm. He was covered in dust and debris. A bloodstain sopped his shirt. He stepped forward, limping from a twisted ankle.
Brooke forced herself to crawl forward as Terry pursued her. The thump of his boots grew louder until she felt the toe of a boot ram into her rib cage. Her body buckled from the blow. He repeated the vicious blows over and over until he became winded. Through her gasps of breath she could see the pistol hidden under a piece of the second-floor debris.
Get the gun.
Brooke continued to claw across the ground as Terry towered over her, spitting his curses and continuing the brutal assault on her body. A streak of blood trailed her with every inch she dragged herself forward.
“You think you’re going to get out of this alive?” Terry asked then smashed the heel of his boot into Brooke’s right ankle. The loud crack of bone sent a jolt through her body, stopping her dead in her tracks.
She lay there, body shaking, bleeding, with every cell in her being screaming from pain. Her arm slowly slid forward with her fingers trembling. She clawed into the floor, scraping her nails against the wood in her tireless pursuit to the pistol.
“You sniveling, whining BITCH!” Terry yelled, stomping on Brooke’s ankle again.
Brooke screamed. Every blood-curdling octave that left her throat was a condemnation of every moment since the exile. All the pain, loss, and suffering culminated in one piercing howl. It was more than just a cry of pain; it was one of determination, anger, and finality.
Terry ground his heel into Brooke’s ankle. The crunching of bone against bone and tissue was unbearable, but the moment he let his foot up, Brooke made one last drive toward the pistol.
“You’re dead. Your family’s dead. Everything you love is dead!” Terry said.
Brooke snatched the pistol, turned, and before Terry could raise his own gun, she emptied the magazine into his chest. Terry’s grip on the gun loosened and it hit the floor with a thud. He stumbled backward then collapsed.
What energy remained in Brooke immediately vaporized. Her head and arm hit the ground, her hand releasing her own grip on the pistol. The warm sensation the gunshot wound had given off earlier was being replaced by cold. Her whole body felt cold. She felt her eyelids become heavier. And in the night air, she could hear the faint wail of sirens.
Chapter 15
Smith’s knee bounced nervously. He couldn’t stop fidgeting in his chair. The president’s secretary kept giving him a kind smile, which he returned. He checked his watch for the twelfth time.
“I’m sure he’ll see you any minute, Congressman.”
Smith smiled. “Yes, I know he’s been busy lately.”
“And he’s not the only one,” she said, looking at him. “You’ve been in the headlines all week. You’re all anyone can talk about.”
“Yes, it’s all very flattering.”
The past week had gone by in a blur. All the meetings, news conferences, and interviews seemed to be one collective rush. But this meeting would be one he remembered.
“Congressman Smith?” the secretary asked. “The president will see you now.”
“Thank you.”
Smith buttoned the jacket of his suit, exhaled, and pushed through the door of the Oval Office. The president was alone, sitting behind his desk.
“Congressman Smith,” the president said. “So good to have you here.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“Please, have a seat.”
Even with everything that had happened, the corrupt democracy, treason charges, and the negative media assault, Smith still couldn’t help but feel awed by the history that filled the room. Countless ambassadors and presidents had sat on the very same couch he sat on now.
“I have to say that your persistence has been admirable, Congressman. It’s good to know that we have politicians out there that will hold firm to the bedrock of our democracy.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now, as you know, I’ll be signing your water bill into law this afternoon, but I wanted to speak with you privately before the media circus exploded. I’m sure you’re aware of the investigation of Congressman Jones?”
“Yes, although all that I know is from what I’ve seen on the news.”
“Ah, well, you know how the media is. Their business is just as much speculation as it is reporting the facts.”
The president gave a good-hearted laugh, which Smith didn’t return. Smith knew the president had a connection to Jones, and this was the president’s way of vetting him.
“Mr. President, I try not to speculate, so I’ll stick with the facts of what I know. Jones had deep financial ties with Strydent Chemical, which is now going to lose billions because of Dr. Carlson’s designs. I know that he had dirt and leverage on almost every official in government. And I know he was an avid supporter of your election two years ago,” Smith said.
The president dropped the pleasantries. “That sounds like speculation to me, Congressman.”
“Perhaps. But the good news is that the investigations across all branches of government will bring the facts to light soon enough.”
A pause lingered between the two of them before the president finally rose and extended his hand. “Thank you for stopping by, Congressman. I look forward to seeing you at the signing this evening. And I hope to see you at the National Mall for the Navy’s award ceremony after lunch.”
Smith shook his hand as the president quickly ushered him out of the Oval Office.
***
The National Mall hadn’t been this crowded in years. It’d been a while since the city had had anything to be proud of. Eager faces kept looking forward, trying to get a glimpse of the war heroes who had risked their lives to save the very country that had abandoned them.
A long line of Navy officers and seamen lined a makeshift stage, where the Secretary of the Navy was delivering a speech.
“In times of great danger, and despite the adversity and odds stacked against them, the men and women on this stage today represented the fighting spirit of the Navy. They proudly served their country with honor, courage, and commitment. And it is my honor to provide them with the Navy Cross.”
Captain Howard stood at attention toward the end of the line, and, standing next to him, his arm still in a sling and a shit-eating grin on his face, was Eric.
“I suppose flashing the Navy Cross is almost like a get-out-of-jail-free card to the brass,” Eric said.
“No, Lieutenant. That’s not what it’s for.”
“Well, I know that’s not its intended purpose. I’m just saying that it could be an alternative use.”
Howard shook his head, the lines on his face exuding the lack of excitement of being positioned next to the lieutenant.
“Does this come with any type of prize money?” Eric asked.
The Secretary of the Navy finally made it to Howard. He picked up the bronze piece of metal and pinned it to Captain Howard’s uniform.
“Herold, your fortitude and commitment to the Navy was exemplary. Congratulations,” the Secretary of the Navy said.
Howard saluted. “Thank you, sir.”
“And you, Lieutenant,” the Secretary of the Navy said, “your skill in combat saved the lives of thousands of Americans.”
“I guess that means I get a free pass on the jet I wrecked then, huh?” Eric said, saluting.
“I suppose it does,” the secretary answered.
Eric and Captain Howard stood side by side as the secretary continued his steady march down the line of soldiers who were receiving medals. Eric leaned into Captain Howard’s shoulder a bit.
“Your name is Herold Howard?”
“Shut up, Scratch.”
“Ouch. Low blow, Captain.”
***
A crowd of workers stood behind Dr. Carlson, who stood at the control panel of the factory. Buttons, switches, and gauges lined the platform. Dr. Carlson paused before entering the final sequence to start the machine.
“Here we go.”
The turbines and engines inside the factory roared to life, and the massive pumps digging into the Atlantic Ocean began extracting the saltwater for purification.
“Gauges holding steady,” Dr. Carlson said. “We’re live.”
Claps and whistles erupted from the workers. Dr. Carlson let out a slight sigh of relief and then made his way past the engineers heading to their posts to ensure the rest of the process ran smoothly. He’d done everything he could. Now all that was left was to wait for the final product: fresh water.
“Well, I think the bet was ten days. I did it in nine,” Dr. Carlson said.
