Chapter 19
Ashley stood, legs spread in a shooter’s stance, both hands secure on the gun, her forefinger on the trigger.
A shot rang out, followed by a kick to the damaged lock.
The door swung open. Two men, in ill-fitting uniforms with weapons raised, pushed through the doorway.
Ashley fired. She got off a few rounds and took down the younger man with the angry eyes.
He collapsed, clutching his stomach with a loud scream.
Terrified cries filled the room. The teachers tried to shield the children with their bodies.
The older, stocky man stormed into the room and took a shot at Ashley.
The bullet grazed her hand, which was holding the gun.
It rattled to the floor. With one swift move, he wrapped his thickset arm around her neck and put the gun barrel to her temple.
“Where’s my son, Jason Peterson?” he demanded.
Ashley cried out in pain and terror. Blood dripped from the flesh wound on her right hand as she tried to loosen herself from the stronghold and take a full breath. He only tugged tighter
“I… I… don’t know,” she managed to rasp.
He loosened his grip a little but kept the gun positioned at her head. “Tell me where he is—or I’ll take you out one by one.”
She fought not to lose consciousness as her oxygen supply dwindled and stars floated in front of her eyes. She felt herself falling and falling. I have to think… make a plan…
Her world turned gray. Please Lord. Help me. Help us.
Air filled her desperate lungs as she was forcefully pushed to the ground. He pulled a zip tie from his pocket and handcuffed her hands painfully behind her back. Blood trickled down her wrist where the bullet had torn her flesh. The anguished cries of the children rang out.
“Shut them up, or I’ll shut them up.” Hank left her on the floor and stomped over to where the children lay tightly huddled.
Rachel and her assistants moved to shield the children with their own bodies.
“Please!” Ashley cried out. “They’re just children… with special medical needs.” She scanned her thoughts and pleaded with God for what to say.
An idea surfaced. She blustered. “I’ll help you find him. I can take you to Jason. Just let them go. Take me?—”
Hank clomped back over to Ashley and glared down at her. He took a flashlight from his belt and shone it in her eyes. A delighted chuckle exited from his lips. “Hah!” he chortled, “You! You’re the firefighter’s wife.”
He rubbed his palms together in anticipation. “Oh, this is even better. This is perfect.”
He squatted down in front of her. “You got a deal, lady.”
He waved his hand toward the huddled bodies in the next room. “They get to leave in exchange for you.” He spat on the floor. “Besides, I’m tired of hearing their noise. Those brats give me a headache.”
Please God. Help me be brave. Her head still spun, and her ears rang from the shots.
She drew several deep breaths and exhaled slowly.
It helped a little. Hank yanked her up to her feet as she struggled to make purchase.
Her wrists burned from the zip ties. She slipped on a puddle of blood that had formed under her.
He marched her in front of him, gun still pointed at her temple. As he exited the classroom, he paused and growled at the teacher, who stared at him with wide-eyed terror.
“You wait fifteen minutes before you notify the cops,” he snarled.
“If you don’t,” he spat while firmly holding the gun to Ashley’s head, “she gets a double tap. Then I come back and take each of you out.” He stared at her with eyes as cold as a circling shark. “Are we clear?”
Rachel nodded her head at Hank, then looked at Ashley and mouthed, thank you. The children continued to wail, some of their sobs turning into sniffled gasps.
“I’ve had enough of this.” He shoved Ashley forward.
Carlo’s body blocked their path. Ashley could see that he was breathing but bleeding profusely from his abdomen. Hank kicked his body to the side without a glance back.
“Move.” He hauled her into the hallway.
They exited through the docking gate entrance. Hank’s arm around her as if he was escorting her out, supporting her.
Ten minutes later, Ashley was holed up in a shack-like structure with overgrown weeds covering most of the building.
Her hands were still tied behind her and were numb.
She had her first-aid fanny pack with her cell phone inside, strapped around her waist, but Hank had taken her gun and her backpack.
He cracked open a bottle of whiskey and fiddled with a cheap burner phone. The sounds of sirens had faded, and the afternoon sun began to sink. Hank tapped his mouth with a large forefinger and chewed at a hangnail. After a few moments, he gave Ashley a shrewd look.
“This is how it’s going to go down. You’re the bait that’s going to lure Jason.” He took another slug from the bottle and wiped his mouth. “Now, gimme your husband’s number so I can send this to him.”
He walked over and held the phone in front of her face so that she could read it. It said, I’ve been kidnapped. The ransom is Jason.
“What did your son ever do to you? He’s just a troubled boy.” Ashley glowered at him. “Now I can see why.”
“Shut up. I have my reasons.” Hank backhanded her across the face.
Ashley’s body reeled to the ground, and she fell on her side. Her face stung from the strike and immediately began to welt.
“You do exactly what I tell you to do, or your kids won’t have a mother to raise them.”
Cold dread formed in her heart. Hank was a psychopath. He acted purely on emotion and his own warped sense of reality. At that moment, there was no trying to get him to perceive things rationally. He wanted revenge—even if it was against his only son.
Ashley said a quick, silent prayer for strength and clarity before foraging forward with a hastily thought-out plan.
“Okay.” She whimpered and put on a timid demeanor, while inside she simmered with rage.
Hank eyed her suspiciously. “Give me his cell number,” he barked.
She told him the ten digits. His thick fingers fumbled with the tiny keypad. After several attempts, he swore and threw down the phone.
She took a ragged breath. By now, he was three-quarters of the way through the pint of whiskey. She hoped it would muddle his thoughts.
“Would you like me to try?” Ashley offered sweetly.
Hank tried once more and swore again.
“Okay. But I’m watching you… no funny business, or I’ll shoot your other hand, and one foot, then another…”
“Got it.” Her hands exploded with pain as he took a knife and sliced the cuffs.
The pins and needles sensation were so severe she almost cried out in agony. She suspected it would agitate him if she vocalized her discomfort. Clamping her lips against the pain, she rubbed her arm with her left fingertips.
The flesh wound on her right hand was clotted with dried blood and throbbed sharply. The bullet had fortunately only grazed her, but a chunk of flesh was missing from her lower palm. Her hand was already swollen twice its normal size and was at high risk of infection.
She picked up the phone from the floor and shut her eyes for a moment as her wound was jarred and began to bleed again. Her forefinger trembled as she punched in the digits. At Hank’s nod, she pressed send.