F. Paul Wilson - Ground Zero

“That’s all I really wanted to do anyway. I was just kidding about the other stuff.”

“Just testing me, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

Jack doubted that, but with Weezy, you could never be one hundred percent sure. That was what made her Weezy.

“All right, now,” she said, settling against him. “Quit your incessant chatter and let me get some sleep.”

Jack smiled and stared at the ceiling until her breathing settled into a rhythmic pattern, then he closed his eyes.

2

The sound of shattering glass tore him from sleep. Then another smash.

Downstairs.

Jack grabbed the Glock from under the pillow and leaped for the door. Dropping to his knees he kept his head low as he peeked into the hallway. Then more glass shattered followed by a pair of whoomps! as yellow light lit the stairwell at the end of the hall.

Firebombs.

“Jack?”

She was sitting up in bed staring at him. Flickering light through the doorway lit her terrified features as he found his boots and began pulling them on.

“Your greatest fear is coming true. They’re burning down your house and everything in it.”

Including us.

“Ohmygod! What do we do!”

“We get the hell out and call the FD.”

She darted from the bed, screaming, “My papers! My papers!”

“They’re goners. We can’t save them.”

Leaving his boots untied, he followed her into the hall where smoke was pouring up the stairwell. He saw her disappear into her bedroom.

“Weez, we’ve got to get out!”

“I’m not going out in just a shirt and panties!”

He entered the room to find her pulling on sweatpants. He stepped to the barred window that overlooked the front yard and saw two men standing by a white van across the street, watching the flames. The van looked just like the one he’d ditched earlier.

Could it be . . . ?

“Shit!”

“What?”

He turned and saw her slipping into a pair of Crocs.

“Guys out front—either to make sure you don’t get out, or grab you if you do.”

“Oh, God!” Her voice quavered. “What do we do?”

Jack stepped back into the hall. The stairway was a mass of climbing flame.

“A window—out back.”

The two bedrooms were lined up along the south side of the house, the stairway and bathroom along the north. None of those windows were barred. Jack led Weezy to the other end of the hallway and checked out the backyard. A guy stood near the bushes along the rear fence.

Both doors covered, but no matter. The doors were downstairs and downstairs was not an option.

He pulled Weezy into his bedroom. After stuffing his phone and his wallet into various pockets, he stripped the sheet from the bed. He tied knots at both corners along the long axis, then opened the window. He kicked out the screen and motioned Weezy onto the sill.

“What?” She held back. “I can’t.”

Grabbing her upper arm he shoved her toward the opening.

“We haven’t got time for ‘can’t.’ Sit on the sill—everything outside but your butt. Now!”

She complied—shakily—and he steadied her until she was positioned outside the window. He handed her one of the knotted ends of the sheet and looped some of the rest around his hips.

“Grab it above the knot with both hands and hold on for dear life. I’m going to lower you.”

“I can’t do this!”

“I disagree.”

He gave her a shove and she tumbled off the sill with a high-pitched yelp. But she held on, legs kicking the air, as he eased the sheet over the edge. Suddenly her weight released. He looked out the window and saw her sprawled on the ground—she’d let go a little sooner than she had to, but she waved up at him, indicating she was okay.

Jack climbed out and crouched, facing the window with his feet on the sill. He slammed the inside sash down onto the sheet, leaving the knot inside. He looked toward the front and then the back as he prepared to rappel down the wall. Spotted a man with a gun come around the rear corner. Must have heard Weezy’s yelp. When he saw her he raised his weapon. His attention was fully on Weezy and he seemed unaware of Jack. And the way he was taking his time, he must have been sure she was unarmed.

But Jack wasn’t. Freeing a hand he pulled his Glock and fired two quick shots. The second scored, dropping the guy to his knees as he grabbed his shoulder.

Jack slid the rest of the way down the wall in a controlled fall and hit the ground running, pulling Weezy toward the fallen man. He saw them coming and raised his pistol. Jack shot him in the face; his head snapped back as he slammed onto his back.

“Ohmygod!” Weezy cried and dug in her heels.

Keeping his pistol raised ahead of him, Jack virtually lifted her off her feet and yanked her around the corner into the backyard. A quick scan showed it empty, but for how long? The guys out front must have heard the shots.

He used a high-capacity magazine for his Glock 19—fifteen rounds. He’d expended four at the hospital and three more just now. Hadn’t brought a spare mag—a fire fight was the last thing he’d expected today—so that left eight in his main carry. Had eleven rounds in the little Kel-Tec P11 strapped to his ankle. Nineteen rounds should carry him through, but you never knew. Wished he’d thought to bring the Tokarev. He could go back and grab the fallen man’s pistol—probably another Tokarev—but didn’t want to risk it.

Crouching, he peeked back around the corner—no one coming their way along the south side . . . yet. But they could sneak along the north flank if they chose. Had to get Weezy out of the backyard.

The fire had reached the rear of the first floor; its light flickered through the windows. At the far end of the overgrown yard Jack made out the stockade fence. He’d seen it earlier in the day and remembered it looking old and weathered, gray wood tinged with green patches of moss. Must have been put up by Weezy’s neighbor because the posts and crosspieces faced this way.

Had to risk it.

“Follow me,” he whispered and charged the fence.

When he closed within a few feet he launched himself at it, aiming his shoulder at a centerpoint between two posts and the upper and lower crosspieces spanning them. The impact hurt like hell but the old wood gave way with a satisfying crack! Jack kicked some of the uprights free until he had a decent-size opening, then pushed Weezy through. His first instinct was to follow her but he didn’t want any pursuit.

“Find someplace to hide.”

“But what about you?”

“Be right back.”

He hurried back to the house, found a bush near the foundation, and huddled at its base. He knew the first-floor windows were ready to explode into the yard and he didn’t want to be here when they did, but he’d give the guys out front one minute. If they didn’t show by then, they probably wouldn’t show at all, and he’d join Weezy. If they did, he knew exactly what they’d do.

He rubbed his sore shoulder as he stared at the broken opening in the fence, clearly visible in the firelight from the windows. Yeah, that was where they’d go.

He began counting. He’d just passed forty-five seconds when they charged into the backyard, one to his left, one to his right, both in a running crouch. They did a quick look-see around the yard but the hole in the fence captured their attention. Both made a beeline for it.

Jack jumped up and followed, checking to see how they held their weapons. Both right-handed. That meant the one to his left would have to pivot almost ninety degrees before getting off a shot, while the one to his right could fire cross-body in a fraction of the time.

So he shot the one on the right first, then caught the one on the left in mid-turn. Both center-of-mass hits. He pumped another into each as they tumbled to the ground.