by Dan Fairview
A projectile whizzed by John and he ran for cover behind a stack of plastic barrels. Thankfully the barrels didn't contain anything flammable or the whole place would have gone up when one of Gibson's shots punctured one.
Taylor didn't have a weapon on him. Gibson was the only one shooting. John had a clear view of them through a space between the barrels. They were peeking around the crates. John took a couple of shots at them but missed, splintering the edge of the crates.
John had them pinned behind the crates, and before long, Gibson's weapon was spent.
Gibson tossed the weapon down and disappeared. John could hear him doing something over there but couldn't see. In a moment, Gibson appeared with a bottle in his hand. Taylor tugged on his muscular arm, but Gibson shrugged him off easily.
“Don't, you crazy bastard! You'll kill us all,” Taylor said and made a break for the stairs that led to his office.
Gibson lit the rag hanging from the mouth of the bottle. John saw the twisted grin on his face. It sent a chill up his spine.
13
Gibson lit the rag. It left John with the only action he could take. Quickly, before Gibson could throw, he took the shot.
The shot hit Gibson in the shoulder, causing him to drop the bottle. It shattered when it hit the floor, engulfing him and the crates around him in flames.
Gibson writhed in pain as the flames danced across his body. He turned circles with his arms, flailing for a moment, and then ran forward a few steps and dropped to the floor to roll around.
John froze in place, horrified by the scene. He couldn't pull his eyes away until a shot impacted the plastic barrel next to him.
He turned to find Taylor standing in his office door at the top of the stairs, firing a pistol at him.
John ducked behind the barrels to avoid being hit. He fired off a number of rounds and then reloaded. This would be his last reload, he realized. Pinned down and running out of ammo, he needed a plan.
In the corner of his vision, something familiar caught his vision: the black explosive container he saw while here before. Bricker had used the contents of that box to blow up his house. A plan formed in his mind.
John checked how many shots he had left and then fired a few of them at Taylor to give him cover while ran for the box. The box was locked, but a careful shot took care of that.
The sound of crates crashing to the floor caught his attention. The fire had spread, and if he didn't move fast, he would be trapped.
He grabbed a box of explosives. John didn't know the first thing about explosives except that they went boom, so he prayed it didn't go off before he could do what he had in mind.
It took all his shots but the last two to make it to the side door. He had dropped the box of explosives in the middle of the floor just before running out of the door.
He ran a good distance away from the building and then turned and took cover behind his vehicle. He used the vehicle to steady his shot.
He had no idea how big the explosion would be and wondered if he was back far enough, but any farther back and he might not make the shot.
John steadied himself and took a breath, then slowly exhaled as he pulled the trigger.
He missed.
He took two more breaths to steady himself before trying again. It seemed like an eternity to John, and then he released his third breath and squeezed the trigger ever so gently. The shot hit the explosives box.
A flash lit the night like mid-day as he fell behind the vehicle and covered his head with his arms. The pressure wave hit him and the vehicle, rocking it a violently, and then debris rained down from the night sky.
When it stopped, he checked himself to make sure he was okay. He had a few scratches and his ears rang, but he would be fine.
As he stood to survey his handiwork, four jumpers with searchlights swooped in and landed. John quickly put his weapon away. There wasn't much of the warehouse left standing. John knew that Taylor couldn’t have survived that.
Victoria's deputies were securing the area when she came over and stood next to John.
“Now that’s a lovely sight,” she said.
John couldn't pull his eyes away from the destruction. He just nodded his head in answer. The flames danced, casting long shadows.
“You do realize that I have to take you in, don't you?” she asked, never taking her eyes from the flames.
John nodded again.
She held her hand out, palm up. “Let me have your weapon.” John slowly reached and gave it to her. She tucked it into the folds of her uniform, out of sight.
John suddenly was very tired, and his leg flared in pain. He sat down onto the ground.
Victoria squatted down next to him. “Maybe now you will get some rest.”
14
John woke in a cell. He had been there the better part of a week since that night at the warehouse. Victoria had seen to it that his wounds had been taken care of and that his stay had been a comfortable one.
He slid his feet to the floor and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Sounds from the other cells were practically nonexistent today. It appeared to be mid-morning, judging from the angle of the sun slanting through the slit of a window.
John rose and splashed some water on his face from the sink in the corner. He could use a shower, but the arrival of his breakfast put that idea on hold. A deputy came in and set a tray of eggs, bacon, toast and a glass of juice onto a small table that folded down from the wall. The deputy wished him a good morning and left. The cell wasn't much larger than his room on his boat, which Victoria had moved to the dock back at Bill's. He had been very fortunate to be treated so well after what he had done.
When he had finished his meal, he showered and then lay back to finish one of Victoria's romance novels. He had asked for something different, but she didn't have anything else. He couldn't believe he was actually enjoying it. He had been skeptical at first, but after reading a bit, he found himself getting into it.
Victoria had let him call his daughter, Clarissa, and those had been his happiest moments here so far. Clarissa was so excited to hear from him, talking a million miles a minute, trying to tell him everything that she had done with her cousins. But the best moment of all came when she had finally calmed down enough to say, “Daddy, I want to come home. When are you coming to get me?”
His heart had shattered then and there, leaving him speechless for a moment, trying to control his emotions. Finally, he told her, “Daddy will come get you soon, baby. I miss you so much.”
That had been two days ago, and he still waited to hear the council's decision.
He finished the book. The ending made him smile and feel good. The guy and girl were together in the end and had the hope of the rest of their lives ahead of them.
If only the lives of those people Taylor had destroyed could have had the same chance, he thought. He pushed it away and thought of all the people that were safe now. Even if he had to spend the rest of his life in custody, it would be worth it to him.
Katrina appeared at the cell door.
She stood silent for a while and then she finally spoke. “I need to get something off my chest.”
He met her eyes and had a feeling he knew what she was about to say. He let her take as much time as she needed to gather her thoughts.
Finally, she continued. “I think we need to take a step back. After the explosion at your place and the attempt on your life—”
John put her out of her misery. “I understand. It’s my line of work.”
The tension in her shoulders released, and her features softened. That had effectively ended the conversation and their relationship. She didn’t stay long after that.
John had drifted to sleep when Victoria opened his cell door. “Wake up, prisoner. You can sleep at night. It’s time to earn your keep.”
John sat up, confused.
“Are you finished with that?” she asked, pointing at the data pad that held her book.
He r
ose and picked it up. “Just now.” John walked over and handed it to her. “It was good. Thanks for letting me read it. I wouldn't mind reading another.”
She took it from him and tucked it under her arm. “You won't have any time for that now. You have a job to do.”
John frowned. “What job?”
She had an impish grin on her face.
“You have to go and cheer up Coles. She has been down in the dumps because of the slow speed of her recovery, and I think you’re just the person for the job. She keeps asking about you.”
John perked up. “Who is going to take me?”
She couldn't contain herself any longer and started laughing. John stared at her in confusion.
“Don't look at me like I'm crazy. Word just came in. You're free to go.”
He was dumbfounded. “How?”
“Lack of evidence. The person who called it in had heard shots, so since no weapon was found in your possession, you were clearly in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
John started to say something, but she cut him off and winked. “Go on. Your roamer is outside in the lot. What are you waiting for?”
She held her hand out, and he took it. She pulled him close and whispered, “You have a surprise under your seat.”
John thanked her and stepped out into the sunlight for the first time in what seemed like forever. He stood there a moment with his eyes closed, soaking it in. A gentle breeze blew, and he let it wash over him.
He finally made his way to his roamer and slid into it. He looked around to make sure nobody was looking and then reached under his seat. He slowly pulled the object out. It was the weapon he had used at the warehouse, and it had been cleaned.
He smiled to himself, slid it back under the seat, and started the vehicle.
He sat there a moment, considering all that had happened, and almost went back in to thank Victoria again. But he didn't. After all, he had a job to do. And what wonderful work it would be.
THE END
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