Jackson
Air rushes from my lungs when something slams into me, pinning me to the floor. The scent teasing my nose is familiar and pleasant. I must be dreaming. The dream becomes a nightmare when the sound of a gunshot rings in my ears. Memories of the night come rushing back: Chelsea’s car and the gun. I turned and ran before the first shot but stopped when I realized it wasn’t a bullet that hit me. I reached around and felt a gloopy mixture seeping through my shirt.
Convinced it was a bad joke, I was ready to put Chelsea over my knee for her prank. I turned back toward her car to do just that when that big bastard poured out of the driver’s seat.
I had no idea who he was or why I was still alive. All I knew was that I had no interest in hanging around to find out. I ran for the house, only making it to the porch before the dizziness hit.
Whatever was in that paintball shouldn’t be working that fast. My first attempt to get the door open was a failure. With my second, the door yielded, but so did I. The floor rushed up to meet me, but I never felt the contact.
I feel everything now. The tile beneath me, Chelsea above me, and death coming for both of us.
The smell of blood teases my nose and taints Chelsea’s delicate fragrance. The gunshot! Chelsea must have been hit. I can’t make my body or mouth work to check her for signs of life. Please don’t be dead. Unable to do anything else, I focus all my concentration on detecting breathing movement.
Her chest moves against mine, meaning she’s still alive. I’ve got to get us out of here, wherever here is. My eyes open to see we’re in my kitchen. Noting the breeze, I look to the window on my right and the gun barrel just beginning to peer over the sill from outside.
This is no air rifle. It’s the real thing.
“A valiant effort, Chelsea, but your time is up.”
The man’s voice is unfamiliar, but his threat isn’t. I test my fingers, finding that I can move my hand. The rest of my body refuses to obey my order to roll over to protect Chelsea, still too hampered by whatever drugs were in that paintball.
“I’m sorry, . I love you.”
Chelsea’s whisper triggers a surge of adrenaline. Like hell will I let her die. I focus all my energy on my right hand and that weapon. My arm lifts off the floor, and I snatch the gun right out of the asshole’s hands.
The gun and my hand fall to the floor, me having used up all my strength in that small maneuver. A face appears in the broken window, one I don’t recognize. The window is chest high for him, and his arms lift to rest on the sill. He can easily reach inside and retrieve his gun. I can do nothing to stop him.
“Nice try, Lieutenant.”
As much as I don’t want to see this coming, I won’t let this bastard see me afraid. I stare him down, watching him reach for the gun. A flash of movement from Chelsea catches my notice just before her hand shoots out and reaches the pistol first. She quickly aims and fires three rounds through the opening.
The man outside hits the ground a second later, and Chelsea drops the gun to the floor.
My ears ring from the percussive blast, but I don’t care. Neither does Chelsea. She sits up, and her hands go straight to my face. “, are you okay?”
I let my head fall back, and my eyes close. Chelsea was shot, and she’s asking if I’m ok. “I love you, Chelsea.”
“! I asked if you were alright.”
Eyes still closed, I say, “I can’t wait for my son to meet you.”
“Shit! Caleb!”
At her yell, my eyes fly open. Caleb? My son’s here? Chelsea jumps up and runs from the kitchen. Fear like I’ve never known obliterates rational thought. My son! I can’t get up to follow Chelsea, so I work to roll over, determined to crawl. That’s when I notice black fur, unmoving. “Captain!”
What the hell are they doing here?! I pull my body forward a few inches and give out. Her back legs are within reach, so I grab a paw and pull her toward me, gently laying my head on her chest. A faint beat resonates in my ear. She’s alive but unresponsive.
I try again to crawl from the kitchen and hear the faint wail of approaching sirens. “Caleb! Chelsea!”
A shout from the front door shuts me up. “VBPD! Nobody move!”
“The shooter is down. Outside. Northwest corner,” I yell back.
“Identify yourself!”
“Lieutenant Bennett. I’m down. In the kitchen. My girlfriend went to check on my son. I don’t know where.”
“Back here,” Chelsea yells. “Caleb’s alive but unconscious.”
An army of stomping boots spread out, with three S.W.A.T guys rushing into the kitchen.
“The shooter is down there,” I announce, gesturing through the window.
“Where are you hit?” one asks, pointing to the blood on the floor and my chest.
“Not mine. Chelsea was shot. I was drugged. I don’t know what’s wrong with my dog.”
One of the team steps out to call for paramedics. The other stands guard over the pistol. The lead guy gestures toward the weapon. “Whose gun is this?”
I point toward the corpse outside. “His. I relieved him of it when he stuck it through the window.”
“Ballsy,” the cop responds.
No. “Desperate.”
Another guy escorts Chelsea back to the kitchen. She sobs when she notices Captain on the floor and drops to her knees beside me. “How is he? How’s my son?”
Chelsea’s hands are shaking. “I think he was drugged. He’s like you were.”
“What about you? You were hit.”
“Just a graze,” she answers, slightly less rattled.
Chelsea turns her head to peer out the window. “Is he dead?”
“He’s dead,” someone outside answers.
More sirens approach, these sounding like they’re driving into the house. Another swarm of first responders flood the house, one pulling Chelsea away to treat her.
At seeing the last two faces that walk through the kitchen opening, I finally relax, knowing this shit show is over. Knot and O’Reilly.