Chapter 18
Acherry red blossom comes to life on Alex’s jeans. I crouch over him on the pavement. Jordan shouts over other people’s screams, “Come on!” Then he drags Alex to the other side of the truck. I follow closely behind. I can’t think of what else to do.
“Oh my god, Alex, are you okay?” I have to scream to be heard.
“Well, I got shot,” he says, then he almost laughs in surprise. Alex props up onto his elbows and looks downward. “Huh. Would you look at that?”
“I can’t stop looking at it!” I shout. Then I put pressure on the wound.
He growls under his breath but doesn’t object.
I have to imagine the pressure hurts, but I’m not letting go of him.
I hope not, anyway. My hands feel numb. I can’t tell if I’m actually doing anything, so I take the mittens off and go at it again.
This time, he grunts in pain. I look to Jordan and shout, “What do we do?”
Jordan stays low, opens the cab, and retrieves a shotgun. He curses, “I just have one, dammit. My handgun is at your house.”
“Oh, hell,” I mumble. The blood spreads out under my hands even more and the lower leg of his jeans are soaked. “Why isn’t the bleeding slowing down?”
“You just started putting pressure on it,” Alex says. “Takes time.”
“It needs to stop now!”
“I’ll be alright, Stella. Is everyone else okay?”
Two more gunshots ring out.
Jordan answers, “I’m not sure. I wish—"
I’m staring at the blood spreading up Alex’s jeans under my hand, so I don’t see what has Jordan’s attention, not at first. But then I worry he’s been hit.
I look up and his eyes are glued to a firetruck.
It’s slowly crossing the street, so people can hide behind it.
A second one follows tightly behind, almost completely blocking the road from whoever is shooting at the parking lot.
Jordan says under his breath, “Thank you, Michael!” Then he uses the scope on his shotgun to look for the shooter.
Two firefighters run to us from the trucks, medical bags in hand. “We’ll take over from here, Miss.”
I stand up and stagger backward. My brother’s blood is on my hands and being so cold outside, my hands ache from it almost instantly.
My hands are the only thing I can feel. It’s like a distraction, until I look at them again and see they’re covered in blood.
Jordan yanks my wrist to pull me back down. He scolds, “What’re you doing?”
“I…I don’t know.”
He studies at my face. “You alright?”
I blink and shake my head. My hands are so red and painful. Alex’s jeans are cut and ripped, and the firefighters are working on him. People are still running and screaming, but now most of them are behind the fire trucks or back in the store. I want to throw up and I’m dizzy. “I’m not good.”
“Take your coat off, roll it up, and put it under Alex’s head.”
I nod, then do it. The cold hits me hard. “Now what?”
Jordan asks the firefighters, “He’s good?”
“Yeah, he’ll be alright. Jordan, you’re the Marine guy. What do we do?”
“I need to get her out of here, someplace safe. And I need the shooter to see me do it. They’re after her.”
“The office,” the firefighter says.
Jordan nods, then grabs my wrist again. “Come on,” he tugs at me, but I’m like a stone.
“I can’t leave Alex!”
“He’ll be fine, we have to get you out of here!”
I shake my head, “No! Someone should call the police!”
He drops the gun and takes my shoulders in his hands. “Stella, listen to me. If they see you’re gone, then they’ll stop shooting at everyone. Sheriff Brinks is on vacation. We have to handle this ourselves.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t keep staring at Alex’s leg, if my feet are gonna work. “Okay. Alex,” I open my eyes onto his face, “You have to live.”
He chuckles and insists, “I’ll be fine, I swear.”
I nod and tell Jordan, “Let’s go.”
He pulls me along, and we dash from behind his truck to behind the firetrucks.
When we’re in the gap, another shot is fired.
He saw me. Good. He knows we’re on the move and going away from Bailey’s.
We run behind the next firetruck and across the street to the firehouse.
At the gap between the trucks and the building, he fires again.
Once we’re inside, my feet stop without a thought. “We’re safe, right?”
He shakes his head, “Not at all. I’m putting you in the office.”
I go with him, but ask, “Why the office?”
We go up the stairs and I realize why. The office is a small room with one window that overlooks the firehouse and one that looks outside.
Limited access, easy to defend. Jordan says, “I’m going back out there to find that asshole, and I need to know you’re going to stay here.
I know you hate doing what other people tell you to do, but you have to stay put, okay? ”
I nod rapidly. “I won’t go anywhere until you come back for me.”
“You sure?”
“I want to live, Jordan.”
He says, “Lock the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone but me. I’ll be back as soon as I can be.”
I grab his collar and pull him to me, then kiss him. “Promise me you’ll come back.”
“I promise,” he kisses me again.
I release him. Just before he’s out the door, I blurt, “I love you, too!”
“Don’t do that now, Stella.”
“What?”
“You’re just saying it now because you think one or both of us might die. That’s not romantic. That’s sad.”
I shake my head and tell him, “I’m saying it now, because I do.”
He smiles, “Well, then I better hurry up and kick his ass, so you can say it to me again.” Then, he runs out the door.
I lock it up and watch the panic from above.
Jordan’s camo coat ironically stands out from the snow and the street.
Most of the other people have run into the grocery store.
The parking lot is cleared out, with the exception of the firefighters and Alex.
It looks like they’ve got his leg wrapped up.
God, there’s so much blood around him. But he’s talking to them and laughing. Must be a firefighter thing.
Then they drag him inside the store. No more gunshots. Thank God. There’s more movement in my periphery. Jordan worms his way between the trucks and across the street. Whoever is shooting either doesn’t think he’s a threat or hasn’t noticed him.
Or maybe they’re on their way here, since they saw us cross the street to the firehouse together. Oh damn.
And I can’t call anyone. My cell phone is in my coat. Which I left for Alex’s pillow. That he left behind in the parking lot.
I search the desk and tables for weapons and find all sorts of tools of their trade, including a three-inch rescue knife that has a seatbelt cutter on the back of it.
I wouldn’t have known what it was, except my grandfather gave me something similar, when he found out I’d have to go over the Silliman Evans bridge every day for work.
He was worried I’d get into an accident, go over the side, and end up in the water, trapped in my car.
Alex advised him on the knife. I guess Firefighters think alike. I pocket it and keep looking.
There’s multitools, flashlights, and PPE, but no guns. Damn. I’d feel better with a gun. Even though Jordan says I’m better with a knife, there’s something about a gun that makes me feel safer.
A two—way radio crackles nearby. Thank God. I pick it up and press the buttons. “Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me?” I release the button and wait.
A man with some sort of an accent asks, “This the redhaired girl? Over.”
“Yes, who are you?”
“I’m Michael, I’m with your brother Alex inside Bailey’s. Over.”
“Is he alright?”
“He’ll be fine,” then a garbled sound comes through.
“Hey, Stella, where are you?” Alex asks.
His voice floods my brain with relief. “Oh my God, it’s good to hear your voice.”
“Yeah, you too. Where’d you go?”
“I’m in the firehouse. Is everyone okay in the store?”
“Everyone but me, I think.”
Michael says in the background, “You’re not saying ‘over’.”
“She doesn’t know about ‘over’.”
I wait until they’re done, then tell them, “Guys, can you see Jordan? Over.”
“No. We thought he was with you. Over,” Alex says.
“He went after the shooter. Over.”
“Dammit,” Michael shouts.
I frantically ask, “What?”
“I don’t know, but he’s leaving me his radio,” Alex says. Then, I hear in the background, “Can’t take the Marine out of him, the dumbass. Anybody gotta gun? I gotta go help my boy.”
“Yeah!” someone shouts.
More relief. I hate the idea of Jordan out there alone. But I know they can’t hear me, if I can hear them. Two-ways aren’t like cell phones. You can’t both speak at the same time. Once there’s silence again, I ask, “Alex, you there? Over.”
“Yeah. Over.”
“I need you to call my handler, Wes Jennings.” I give him the number, then tell him, “Let him know everything that’s happening. He’ll bring help.”
“Will do. And Michael just ran out after Jordan. Does he know what he’s doing?”
A new voice says, “Eh, yeah. Michael goes hunting all the time. Over.”
I blurt, “Who the hell is this? Over.”
“David. I work with Michael and Jordan. Michael isn’t used to being hunted back, but yeah, he hunts a lot. He should be fine as far as the shooting goes, not so sure about being shot at, over.”
My foot bounces fast. “What can I do?”
“Sit tight. As long as you’re not getting shot at, I think you’re okay, right? Over,” David says.
My foot is even more frenetic. “Yeah, I guess. Any guns in the firehouse? I know how to use them. Over.”
“Not unless one of the guys has a piece in his locker. Over.”
“Damn. I guess I can’t help. Over.” Which is exactly how everything feels. Over.
My hand tightens on the two-way as every stupid mistake I have ever made replays in my mind.
I’m the reason why my brother was shot. I’m the reason why Jordan and Michael are out there, about to get themselves killed.
I’m why Wes might lose his job. Everything is all my fault.
Tears stream down my face as I announce to the office, “I ruin everything.”
Silence answers me back.
I can’t stay here and let everything fall apart. I keep letting everyone else clean up my messes and take care of me. Even when I had trouble finding those exotic extracts, I let Riker handle it.
He said, “I can do this for you, Love, don’t trouble yourself.
” I always hated when he called me ‘Love’, because we weren’t in love, but he’s English, so that’s what he used for my pet name.
And I said yes, because I always let men fix my problems for me.
I let him call me whatever he wanted, as long as he fixed things for me. I am weak.
No. I am not weak. Not anymore. This is bullshit. It’s time I do something on my own. With a head full of steam, I unlock the door and throw it open. My heart stops at the sight and I drop the two—way. It breaks on the floor.
“’ello, Love.”