Richard Doetsch - Half-Past Dawn

Donal’shead exploded in much the same manner as those people he had killed in the last five minutes. Sounding like a smashing melon, the rear of his head bloomed into a red mist that splattered onto Aaron’s face.

Instinctually, Jack and Aaron dove for cover in opposite directions away from the carnage. Jack’s eyes scanned the direction the shot had come from but saw nothing. Grateful for the help, he didn’t know how much of an ally the gunman really was or how long he would live as he came up against Aaron and Cristos. Not waiting on a savior, Jack looked back at Donal’s body and saw the gun he had been holding when the bullet pierced his right eye. It lay not two feet from his outstretched dead hand.

But then Aaron was there, quickly snatching it before Jack could react and disappearing back into the row across from him like a rat stealing food. Without further delay, Jack scrambled backward into row J and raced out the other end into an adjacent aisle.

• • •

Stratton worked his way up to row C just fifteen feet from the entrance door. He knew the momentary confusion would shield his movements and that the space where the gunshot originated would soon be searched.

He focused his hearing, careful to stay within the shadows, watching and listening to both his front and his back so as to avoid the same fate as Bracato. He could hear a man speaking with a distinctive, polished accent, its origin unclear. There was no question a second man was there, no doubt a captive, as the conversation was one-sided. He couldn’t make out what was being said but caught intermittent words: “death,” “box,” and “Keeler.”

He could see through the door into the small hallway that led to the main entrance and its offshoot into the office. Shards of blood-laden glass were scattered over the cream-colored carpet, looking like rubies in the sand. He could smell burnt air, the odor of residual C4 thick in his nostrils.

Stratton moved back through the aisles, eyes darting to and fro, making sure that he was not in anyone’s gun sight. He worked his way back to the far corner to check on Holly, finding her crouched in a corner, her head tucked into her knees, sitting motionless.

“Holly,” Stratton whispered as he approached. But she didn’t respond, frozen with fear.

Stratton turned his back to the corner, looking around as he stepped backward toward her. “Let’s go. I’m going to tuck you somewhere safe, up into the shelves. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

But there was no response.

Stratton bent down, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.

And she tumbled over. Blood coated the front of her white shirt. The slash across her throat had nearly bled out.

Stratton recoiled in shock, seeing the girl he had pined over for the last eight hours so brutally murdered. With the horror of death witnessed for the second time, his mind was distracted. He never saw the small charge of C4 in her lap. It never occurred to him that she would be booby-trapped. The charge tore him and Holly apart before he had any chance of escape

Charlie was sitting in the office chair, still struggling to get his bearings. The ringing in his ears had died down a bit, but he still had the sense of being underwater. The sounds of the world were muddled and distant. He felt as if he had just been hit by a train. His skin burned from the heat of the blast, but he was thankful that nothing appeared broken and that somehow he was still alive.

Aaron slipped into the room, his gun at the ready. “Someone else is in there. They took out Donal. Now Keeler’s slipped away.”

Cristos grabbed Charlie by the hair and pulled him out of the chair, slamming him against the wall. “You know why we’re here.” It was a statement, not a question.

Charlie smiled at Cristos. It was a knowing smile, a fuck-you smile.

Cristos slammed him against the wall again. “Where is the case brought in here by Jack Keeler?”

“I moved it,” Charlie said with a grin. “Jack doesn’t even know. Once I heard he was killed, I had a feeling something like this would happen. And you, my friend, will never find it.”

“Then I guess I have no need for Jack anymore,” Cristos said as he threw Charlie back into the chair. He shot a knowing look at Aaron.

The statement was like smelling salts, pulling Charlie to full alertness.

“If you value not only your life but theirs, you’ll tell me.”

Charlie stared up at the man, ignoring the pain of the burns, the stinging of the glass in his face. When Charlie woke up this morning, showered, dressed, and kissed his wife, Lisa, good-bye, he’d had no idea it would be the last time he would see her. He valued his life, something he knew the man before him did not, and he knew that it would quickly end once he got what he came for. Charlie resigned himself to death and in doing so would take the location of the box with him.

“Keeler’s loose in there,” Aaron said as he tightened the strap of the black bag on his shoulder.

“Relax. He’s got nowhere to go.” Cristos looked at his watch. “But we don’t have much time.”

Aaron looked at the computer on the side desk, its monitor cracked. “Not a chance we’re going to find it in there.”

Cristos stared off, his mind spinning, then, without a warning, he turned and shot Charlie in the foot, the sound of the report deafening in the small space.

Charlie grimaced as he instinctively tried to lift his now-mangled foot. But Cristos restrained his hands as he glared at him, letting the shock of the wound fade and all of the pain pour in.

“You’re going to tell me where the case is-” Cristos leaned in close, eye-to-eye with Charlie, staring at the tiny pieces of glass under his skin, at the pain in his eyes. Charlie’s eye lids began to flutter; he was near passing out. “Because every man has his breaking point.”

Cristos pulled an EpiPen from inside his jacket, removed the needle cover, and jabbed it into Charlie’s neck.

Charlie’s body went rigid, his eyes flashing open as his heart began to race.

“No passing out on me now,” Cristos said. “The epinephrine and adrenaline will keep your ass wide awake and your senses on fire, so you’ll feel everything I’m about to do to you.”

“I may be wide awake,” Charlie said as he gritted his teeth, “but I’ll bleed out before you find out what you need. The only person I would ever tell is the one the box belongs to, and we both know that is not you.”

Cristos centered Charlie’s large frame in the wheeled office chair and bound his torso to the seatback with an extension cord so Charlie wouldn’t fall as he lost his strength. He pushed him out into the evidence room, guiding him from behind like a nurse, except that the gun he kept pressed against Charlie’s head quickly vanquished that image.

“Aaron!” Cristos shouted as he continued pushing Charlie down the center aisle toward the middle of the room. “Keep an eye on that door.”

Aaron stood at the exit door, his pistol gripped tightly in his hand, his other wrapped around the black bag strap on his shoulder, as his eyes scanned the area for movement.

“So, Mr. Keeler!” Cristos called out. “Your friend Charlie seems to have moved your little box. And he’s only willing to tell you were he moved it to.”

Jack stayed low, in the shadows of aisle L. He could see Charlie and Cristos as plain as day, his friend precariously perched on the chair. Blood flowed from his shattered foot, leaving a red-dotted trail behind him. Cristos stopped at the midpoint of the main center aisle beneath a harsh bright light that seemed to wash what little life remained from Charlie’s shattered face.

Cristos stood over Charlie, his gun pressed down against his knee. “Mr. Keeler?”