Lisa Unger - Smoke

“Lydia,” he said. “I know how afraid and sad you are right now. But I need you to be tough. I need you to help me find the man that hurt your mom.”

He held out his hand to her then. There was something about the way he spoke to her that brought her back to herself, something about his eyes that made her trust him right away. He seemed like a superhero to her, ten feet tall and bulletproof. She took his hand without a word and allowed him to lead her back into the house.

Part of her, even now, nearly twenty years later, still thought of him as a superhero. If anyone could fix the wrong things, it was Jeffrey. For a long time, when she realized that she had fallen in love with him and he with her along the way, she kept him at a distance. To love him like that would be to acknowledge him as human, that his heart could stop beating, that the boundaries of his flesh were weak. It was an idea she could barely stand; her fear of losing him had almost caused her to never allow herself to love him at all.

“Are you with me, Lydia? Are you listening?” Dax had taken a large gun from the glove compartment and was handing it to her. “Pull it together, woman. We have to go get your husband out of there.”

He had pulled the Rover onto a side street and was leaning over her to get another gun from beneath her seat. It was his big Magnum Desert Eagle, the nasty Israeli gun he favored. It was as big and as loud as a cannon.

“He’ll come back to that door,” she said.

“But he won’t leave without you,” Dax said, opening the car door and easing himself onto the street. He looked stiff and as if he was in pain. He went around to the trunk and Lydia saw him take out a crowbar. He stuck the gun in his jacket, kept the crowbar in his hand.

“He’ll know I’m out,” she said as he came around to her side of the car. “Because we agreed to meet back there when we were done or if something went wrong.”

“What if he thinks you got caught?”

“I don’t know,” she said as they started moving quickly to the alleyway she had used before. She noticed how badly Dax was limping.

“Dax-” she started. He put up a hand.

“No arguments. Let’s go.”

“I thought you said there was no way in once the gates were down,” she said.

“No,” he said, giving her an uneasy glance. “I said there was no way to get in quietly .”

Jeffrey wondered if he’d hit the guy too hard, if maybe he’d killed him. He looked young, lying at Jeffrey’s feet, a river of blood flowing from his nose. Jeffrey leaned down and put a finger to his neck. He was relieved to feel the blood pumping through his artery. The kid would have a headache, likely a couple of shiners and a broken nose. That’s what happened when you took the butt of a Glock between the eyes. Jeffrey heard the Nextel beep, and a voice said, “Charley, are you clear? Are you clear?”

Jeffrey took the phone from the kid’s waistband. “I’m clear,” he said into the mike.

“Good. We need you down at the auditorium. It’s possible that there was a second intruder, still on the premises. We need to organize.”

“Okay,” said Jeffrey.

“How many times do I have to tell you, man?” said the voice snottily. “Ten-four, okay? Ten-four.”

“Ten-four,” said Jeffrey. What an asshole, he thought. What difference did it make really?

He looked down at Charley. Was he one of the “cleansed” members of The New Day? Was he here of his own free will? Or did he come here for help with his drinking or gambling or depression and get sucked in? He was clean shaven with silky blonde hair that hung in wispy bangs over his eyes. He was skinny to the point of being emaciated with a pouty mouth and long, girlish lashes. Jeffrey put him at nineteen, possibly twenty years old, about a hundred and fifty pounds. He bent down and took the kid by both of his hands and pulled him into a sitting position. With effort he hoisted him over his shoulder. The dead weight was almost too much for him, but something within him wouldn’t allow him to leave Charley behind. Not after what he’d seen on those security monitors.

The hallway outside was deserted and he ran as fast as he could with the kid on his back through the foyer. He saw that the front door was barred with security shutters now, likewise the glass walls of the breezeway. They weren’t just trying to keep people out, he understood now. They were trying to keep people in .

They were waiting for him on the other side, the two large men he’d seen escort Lydia from the building. He pulled the gun from the holster and stuck it into Charley’s side.

“I’ll kill him,” he said as the two men approached. “I’ve got Black Talon bullets in this gun, they’ll rip him apart inside like a circular saw blade.”

The men came to a stop. “The bullet goes in, spins around like a Tasmanian Devil, shredding whatever it comes in contact with until it bounces off a bone and exits like a cannonball. You never know where it’s going to come out.”

They didn’t know if he was telling the truth or not. He widened his eyes to make himself look a little unstable, and started shifting from foot to foot. People didn’t like when someone holding a big semiautomatic seemed jittery. They usually wanted him to go away. But these guys were different; they weren’t reacting to him. They stood stone-faced, vacant, like they were robots waiting for orders. They weren’t afraid for themselves or their friend; they weren’t angry. They stood apart to watch him pass, their arms at their sides. Jeffrey passed between them quickly and turned back to face them, backing away. They hadn’t moved.

“Leave the boy,” one of them said. “And you can leave here without interference.”

Jeffrey kept backing away; now he held the gun in their general direction. No reaction whatsoever. He heard footsteps behind him, big people moving quickly. When he turned he saw the man from the abandoned building and his ugly twin, the one Lydia must have seen at the convenience store. They were both bald, clad in leather. They didn’t look vacant; they looked disturbed, both of them with these weird half smiles and staring eyes.

“Stop right there, or the kid dies,” he said. But they kept coming. So Jeff turned and ran down an empty hallway behind him; all four of the men gave chase. He was heading toward the kitchen, praying that the door was as they had left it, open and waiting for a quick exit. He stopped and fired behind him, the sound exploding off the walls. He heard one round hit flesh and a man started to scream; one of the tunic-clad goons fell to his knees and clutched his arm. The other men took cover but they didn’t return fire. Jeffrey kept running, his heart and his lungs on fire. The kid seemed to get heavier and he still hadn’t stirred at all.

He saw the double doors of the kitchen ahead of him and heard the pounding feet of the men behind him. He heard an explosion of gunfire in front of him-the hallways reverberated with it. He could see a muzzle flash through the windows in the double doors. Only one gun in the world sounded like that, and he only knew one person who carried it.

The door opened slowly and Dax stepped out, the gun in his hand as big as his forearm. Jeffrey moved to the side as Dax aimed his weapon and started to fire. Boom. Boom. Boom . It was deafening and Jeffrey’s ears were ringing as he made his way through the maze of industrial-sized appliances. He saw Lydia ahead of him, holding open the door that looked as though they’d blasted through it. He put the kid on the floor and together they dragged him under the half-closed security shutter.

“Go, go, go,” yelled Dax, backing toward them quickly, still firing. They were firing back now but badly, like their hearts weren’t in it. They were missing Dax though he was a damn big target.