Alex Kava - Black Friday

One, two, three…like a Band-Aid in one quick jerk.

But she'd need to stop the bleeding when she pulled out the glass. Her eyes flew open. She'd have to shove something into the hole the glass left in her arm. If not, she'd bleed to death. This was actually good. It made her think through the process. It made her focus.

She grabbed pieces of her coat that she had ripped away and began peeling out the lining. It'd be cleaner than the outside of the coat. And it was softer.

"I can help you with that."

Rebecca looked up to find a man standing behind her. He wore a cap that read PARAMEDIC but he was in jeans and hiking boots. No uniform. Although she couldn't really see underneath his winter coat. A duffel bag was slung over his shoulder.

She should have felt saved, rescued. She wouldn't have to do this herself. But there was something about the way he held the already loaded syringe that didn't seem quite right.

Omaha, Nebraska

Nick Morrelli was trying to check flights on his smartphone while Christine waited to drive them home. Outside the car her son Timmy and his friend Gibson helped the Lanoha Nursery worker load the Christmas tree on top of Christine's SUV. Nick had offered to help, too, but the boys insisted they could do it. He didn't argue. All he could think about was finding a way up to Minneapolis.

His new boss had chosen Nick to represent Mall of America's security company, their security company, United Allied Security. With his experience as a county sheriff he had dealt with homicide scenes and forensic evidence. And as an attorney he had the legal background to protect the company's rights. That's what his boss Al Banoff had told him. Nick guessed it was one of those golden opportunities that shouldn't be questioned. Even if the opportunity would be measured in fatalities.

"How many do they think are dead?" Christine asked him.

Nick gave her a warning look.

"What?"

"Stop being a reporter," he told her.

"I'm just asking," she said, then added, "Out of concern. Nothing more."

"Right."

He waited. He knew she wouldn't give up that easily.

"Seriously, it's bad, isn't it?"

But this time without even glancing at her Nick could tell she was concerned by the catch in her voice. He caught a glimpse of her hand before she hid it in her lap, nervous fingers combing through her blond hair. Explosions going off in a crowded mall the day after Thanksgiving—it was a nightmare that could happen anywhere. That's what grabbed you by the throat and choked your senses for a minute or two.

"Yeah, I think it's bad."

"Reminds me of the Hawkins shooting," she said in almost a whisper.

"It was around this time of year?"

"December 5th."

Nick had been living in Boston at the time but he knew the incident had rattled the state of Nebraska. A nineteen-year-old named Robert Hawkins walked into the Von Maur at Westroads Shopping Mall, took the elevator to the third floor and started shooting. By the time he was finished and turned the gun on himself, eight other people were dead. All of them random and innocent shoppers and store employees.

"That was so hard on the entire community," Christine said, now watching out the SUV windows, as if she wanted to make sure her son couldn't burst in and overhear. "I can't even imagine what this will be like for the families."

Nick operated by getting through life step by step, prioritizing and keeping focused on what needed to be done immediately. He couldn't think about the victims right now or their families. As heartless as that sounded, he needed to stay focused on his job. For his old job as a Boston prosecutor that meant finding the bad guys and putting them away. This job would be a little trickier. The premise remained the same—find out who did this. Find who cracked their firewall of security. No, not cracked. More like ravaged.

"I'll take you to the airport," Christine said, startling Nick back.

"Looks like there's room on a Delta flight in two hours from now."

"Can you pack and be ready that fast?"

"Sure, why not. If I forget something I'll be at the mall."

She rolled her eyes at him and he thought he saw the beginning of a smile. But just as quickly it disappeared. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel and Nick watched her face transform from sister to mom while Timmy and Gibson opened their doors and piled into the backseat.

"You're gonna miss the Nebraska Colorado game, Uncle Nick."

"You can TiVo it for me, okay?" he told the boys.

Nick caught Christine's eyes and just in that moment they seemed to exchange the same thought:

Oh but to be fifteen again and have the world revolve around only you.

Mall of America

Patrick saw Rebecca just as he heard the first shouts from down below, "Police, put up your hands." She looked crumpled against the railing that separated the open expanse of the atrium and what used to be the food court. Tables and chairs were tossed and broken, splintered into pieces like a tornado had blown through. She was conscious though hugging her left arm to her body. And there was a man standing over her. Someone trying to help.

But why had he chosen Rebecca?

He remembered trying to help the mother get her baby out of the stroller and wanted to kick himself for being paranoid. Of course, people helped each other.

As Patrick got closer he could see the white type on the man's baseball cap. Paramedic? Strange, he didn't think there was a rescue squad here yet. He looked down over the railing. Two uniformed police officers scrimmaged the mall entrance two floors down. They were the first responders that Patrick had heard or seen though he guessed it was certainly possible for more to be here without him noticing.

Blue jeans, hiking boots, a duffel bag.

Patrick still wasn't satisfied. And there was something in the guy's hand that looked like

damn, it looked like a needle and syringe

None of the volunteer rescue and fire units Patrick had ever worked with would approach an injured person with a syringe.

"Hey," Patrick shouted, but his voice was drowned out in the whirl of noises.

"Rebecca," he yelled and saw her body jerk up. But it wasn't in response to his call.

In one swift move she jumped to her feet, kicking at a table leg and sending it into the man's path before sprinting off in the other direction. The man stumbled but only for a second. He pocketed the syringe and bolted after Rebecca, shoving a pair of teenaged girls out of his way. In the chaos no one else noticed.

Patrick took off after both of them.

What the hell was going on?

Washington, D. C.

Andrews Air Force Base disappeared below and Maggie forced herself to not look for it, to stop watching out the airplane window. Killers, she could handle. Being at 38,000 feet and not in control still required conscious effort.

Conscious effort or a Scotch, neat.

It didn't even matter that it was a private jet with comfortable leather lounge chairs. To make matters worse, Assistant Director Ray Kunze sat across from her alongside Allan Foster, the silver-haired senior United States senator from Minnesota. To Maggie's left was the Assistant Deputy Director of Homeland Security, Charlie Wurth. The three men were fnally quiet after exchanging pleasantries, a few barbs and then the requisite comments of disbelief and anger. Maggie had simply sat back and tuned them out.

"They warned us," Senator Foster said for a second time.

"We'll know soon enough if this was the work of any organized group or simply one madman." A.D. Kunze looked to Maggie and nodded like it was some secret signal to back him up. "Our Special Agent O'Dell should be able to tell us exactly who to look for as soon as she sees those videotapes."