by Akart, Bobby
“The patient was transported from I-95 after being taken into custody. He was involved in an armed assault of motorists when one of them fought back.”
“How long has he been unconscious?” asked Dr. Mason.
The EMT replied, “He was in and out when we loaded him into the wagon. After he was cuffed to the gurney, he became violent and began thrashing around. Per the RPD policy, because he was officially in custody, we sedated him.”
Following the Freddie Gray incident in Baltimore years ago in which a young man taken into custody flailed about in the back of a police paddy wagon, resulting in his death, the Richmond Police Department authorized emergency medical technicians to sedate injured patients taken into custody to avoid further complications from their injuries.
Angela carefully examined the unconscious man’s face. It had been horribly mangled, and a gauze patch was strapped to one of the man’s eyes.
“What did this?” she asked.
The EMT shrugged. “We really don’t know. It had to be a bobcat or something like that. His eyeball was hanging out of the socket by the optic nerve. After he was sedated and calmed down, we held open his eyelid and gently replaced it into the socket.”
Angela carefully removed the bandaging and pulled her flashlight from her jacket pocket. She pried the patient’s eyelids open and ran a beam of light over them. The patient was still unresponsive, but his pupils instinctively reacted to the bright light.
“Well, good work,” she began. “His pupils responded, so you most likely saved his eye. His face is another matter. We’re gonna need plastics paged on this one.”
A nurse acknowledged Angela’s request and picked up the phone near the door to page a plastic surgeon.
Dr. Mason examined the man’s hand and forearm. “There are tire marks embedded in his skin. Who ran over him?” She glanced over at the police officers.
“Have no idea. Probably the same person who clawed his face off. This guy was one of a dozen who attacked motorists from an overpass. Once we arrived on the scene, they’d beaten most everybody they could get their hands on.”
Dr. Mason continued to study the patient’s face. “Start him on fluids. Rankin, let’s clean up the wound and—wait. Forceps!”
A nurse scrambled to her side and slapped the scissorlike tool with pincers at the end into her gloved hand.
Angela leaned in to get a better look. “I see it.”
Dr. Mason carefully spread the gash in the man’s jaw open and expertly inserted the forceps into the wound. “Got it. It was embedded in the jawbone.”
Angela leaned back to provide Dr. Mason additional light. “That’s a deep gash.”
“It’s a cat claw. Look, it’s not broken off. It pulled out of the animal’s phalanges and even brought some of the elastic ligaments.”
Angela took a closer look. “That cat must have been enraged to do this. And look how big the claw is. I had a cat as a kid and it looked nothing like this.”
Dr. Mason shook her head in amazement. She instructed one of the nurses to preserve the claw in case it was needed for medical study or evidence. She stepped aside, allowing the nurses to clean the man’s wounds and watch over him until the plastic surgeon arrived.
Angela broke out in a nervous sweat, as she finally had Dr. Mason alone. They stood in the hallway watching the activity for a moment, and then she broached the subject of leaving. She’d barely gotten started into the conversation when Dr. Mason stopped her.
Another ambulance had arrived, and two stabbing victims were being unloaded into the ER. The conversation would have to wait, much to the chagrin of Angela.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Cortlands’ Cabin
The Haven
“Daddy, somebody’s here,” shouted Hannah from the front porch of the Cortlands’ cabin. She was enjoying the light snow that had fallen overnight. It was only the second time she’d seen measurable snowfall, the first being on her one and only visit to meet her grandfather in Connecticut.
Cort emerged from the cabin and immediately recognized Ryan as he emerged from his heated four-wheeler. Cort shook his head and laughed as he pointed toward the Ranger. “Nice ride,” he quipped as he shook Ryan’s hand.
“Good to see ya, Cort,” said Ryan before turning his attention to Hannah, who was standing as tall as she could to get noticed by the two men, who stood six feet three and six feet five, respectively. “You must be Hannah.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, extending her arm to shake hands.
Ryan laughed and gave her a hearty shake. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Hannah.” Ryan paused as he noticed Meredith emerge from the cabin as well. He smiled and waved. “Hi, I’m Ryan.”
“I’m Meredith, one of your new schoolteachers.”
“So I hear. I also understand you wanna get started right away?”
“If it’s okay.”
“Well, the doors to the Little Red Schoolhouse are always open, and we’ve just hung the sign to finish off the construction. Any time you want to have a look, by all means.”
Hannah waved to Ryan and then joined her mother on the porch.
Cort turned to the founder of the Haven. “We have a lot to discuss, not only about what’s happened, but what comes next.”
“I agree, Cort. I’m really glad you’re here. Now that the purpose for which Blair and I designed the Haven has come to pass, I need a right arm, somebody with good organizational skills and, more importantly, somebody I can trust with my inner thoughts. The security team is set as soon as one other person arrives. There’s somebody else supposedly due to arrive later who will help you and me as well.”
“I’m glad to do anything you need, Ryan.”
“Also, Cort, there will be times that I need to separate myself from disciplinary actions because I’m the developer of the Haven. You know, I can’t be heavy-handed sometimes.”
Cort laughed. “Listen, I’m chief of staff to one of the most influential senators in Washington. I know how to play the bad guy.”
“Perfect. You guys get settled and maybe take your girls over to the school. Head over to the house when you get a chance.”
Cort slapped Ryan on the back and they said their goodbyes. He returned to the cabin, where Meredith and Hannah were getting a few things together.
“I wish we could’ve gone to Walmart like we’d planned,” Meredith said.
Cort hugged his wife and rubbed his daughter’s cold cheeks. “Ryan and Blair are detail-oriented people, and they’ve put equal emphasis on all aspects of the Haven. I’ll bet you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
“Good,” said Meredith. “Well, Hannah, are you ready to check it out?”
“Yeah! Can we pick up Skylar, too? The more the merrier, I always say.”
Her parents laughed at their daughter’s enthusiasm. Cort nodded in agreement and then he whispered to Meredith, “Ryan wants me to work directly with him, you know, on the administrative side. I guess I’ve gone from chief of staff to a senator to the chief of staff for, um, king of the Haven.”
“Good grief,” said Meredith with a chuckle. “Enjoy your first day as Hand of the King.”
Cort stood a little taller. “Hand. I like that. Like the Game of Thrones Hands.”
“No, Cort. Not like those Hands. They always get stabbed in the back or beheaded.”
“Good point. I don’t want my head on a pike.”
They kissed, and Meredith was on her way. “Let’s go, Hannah. Skylar Hightower is supposed to meet us at school. I think you’ll like her. We’ll see about setting up the classrooms together.”
The Cortland women arrived at the Little Red School House where Skylar greeted them at the door. She and Hannah immediately hit it off, and the two became inseparable as the day progressed. Meredith was impressed with the amount of supplies and school materials the Smarts had accumulated for the new school, which still smelled of fresh paint.
Each of the three classrooms were divided into ag
e groups—toddler through third grade, fourth through sixth, and seventh through ninth. A larger assembly room was designed for chairs to be brought in for large presentations. There were no classrooms for high schoolers. Those kids were expected to work around the Haven and continue their educations at home under the supervision of their parents.
“Skylar, your dad said you have an older brother,” began Meredith as she coordinated distribution of materials to individual cubbies in each classroom. She was unsure how many students there were at the Haven, so she simply spread out what was available to her.
“His name is Ethan and he’s fifteen,” replied Skylar. “He’s in high school and he doesn’t like it very much. My mom doesn’t know it, but he skips class most days.”
“He does?” asked Meredith.
“Yes, ma’am,” she replied politely. “Um, well, my parents got a divorce, and Daddy moved to Atlanta. My brother has been angry ever since.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Divorce can be hard on kids.”
“Yeah, I’m kinda okay with it except I don’t like how my dad lives so far away. I would never tell my mom this ’cause it would hurt her feelings, but I really like it here. You know, just being with my dad.”
Meredith walked next to the young girl and put her arm around her. She knelt down onto one knee and looked her in the eye. “It’s tough being away from a parent. I understand what that’s like. But listen, if you ever feel the need to have a girl talk, you can always come to me, okay?”
“Okay,” she replied sheepishly.
“And me too,” added Hannah. “We could be BFFs.”
“Yeah, besties.”
The three continued setting up the classrooms. As they did, Meredith overheard Skylar talking to Hannah in another room.
“My brother has run away before. Mom didn’t even go after him. She said if he didn’t want to live at home, that was okay by her.”
Hannah chimed in. “I can’t imagine running away. I wouldn’t have any place to go.”
“Neither did he,” said Skylar. “He has friends from high school, bad friends, my mom says. He never brings them to the house, so I don’t know what they’re like.”
“Is he mad about something?” asked Hannah.
There was a break in the conversation and Meredith strained to listen, thinking the kids had lowered their voice to avoid being heard. Finally, Skylar replied in a quiet, heart-breaking tone of voice. Her response spoke volumes about the mindset of Ethan Hightower.
“He’s mad about everything.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Rankin Residence
East Clay Street
Richmond, Virginia
“Home alone, Peanut!” J.C. yelled after Tyler pulled out of the driveway. “Let’s make mac and cheese. Maybe hot dogs too.”
Kaycee started laughing. “There’s no way Mom has that stuff in the house. I bet there’s plenty of quinoa and Dad’s oatmeal.”
“Hey, what kind of food do you think we’ll eat at the cabin?” asked J.C. It had been a year since the family went there together. They had stocked the place with some outdoor clothing and camping supplies, but not food.
“Last year, we went out to eat every night. Do you remember that Mexican restaurant? That was pretty good.”
The two kids stared into the refrigerator, waiting for Oscar Mayer beef franks to magically appear, but they eventually closed the door, disappointed. Kaycee reminded her younger brother they had chores to do or their mom would be upset, so they started on the laundry first before going to their respective rooms to pack.
“All my summer clothes are clean,” said J.C. to his sister, whose room was across the hallway.
“Same here. I’m gonna pack my swimsuit in case we’re there in the summer. Do you remember the river that was by our cabin?”
“It was muddy,” J.C. recalled.
Kaycee said, “That’s because it was springtime and it had been raining a lot. It’s not always like that.”
The two moved around their rooms, loading up their suitcases first except for the clothes that were being washed. Kaycee retrieved the grocery totes, and they carefully selected toys and games to play with. The family loved board games and playing cards together, so those options were a priority.
After a break for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with milk, Kaycee rolled the last load of wash into the dryer. “Mom and Dad’s clothes will be dry by the time they get home, and now we can—”
The sound of glass breaking outside caused her to stop speaking.
“What was that?” asked J.C. as he rushed to the bay window in their living room. He crawled onto the cushioned bench seat and parted the sheers to look outside. Kaycee quickly joined him.
“Where did all of those people come from?” asked Kaycee as she pressed her face against the glass and looked to the west along Clay Street.
“Kaycee, they’re breaking things. Look at the car windows.”
Vehicles that were parked on the street in front of the residences were being beaten with metal pipes and baseball bats. On both sides of the road, the group would stop and indiscriminately pound on the hood, fenders, and windows of each car or truck until it was destroyed. Then they’d move on to the next one.
“Look!” shouted Kaycee as she pointed to their left. Drivers who’d entered their street were frantically trying to back off of East Clay Street to avoid the mobs making their way toward downtown.
A woman screamed, causing the kids to snap their heads back toward the west. The group had rushed onto the front porch of a home like theirs and were threatening a woman who was sitting in a rocking chair.
“What should we do?” asked J.C.
“We’ve gotta call Dad,” Kaycee replied as she scrambled for the phone. Just as she reached the kitchen, she remembered. “He doesn’t have a cell phone!”
“Should we call the police?” asked J.C.
Kaycee hesitated. “Um, I don’t know. They haven’t done anything to us.”
J.C. suddenly backed off the bench seat and allowed the sheer curtains to close. “Not yet, you mean. They’re coming to our house!”
“Why? We didn’t do anything!”
The two kids ran into the middle of the living room and began frantically searching for answers to their questions.
“Should we hide?” asked J.C.
Kaycee ran to the back door and looked into their yard. There was activity in the house behind them, and she saw a woman race off her porch onto the lawn. She gathered her wits and turned to her brother.
“Dad’s guns! Come on!”
“Do you know how to use them?” asked J.C.
“Yeah, he taught me last summer,” she replied as she raced down the hallway to her parents’ bedroom.
J.C. followed behind, quizzing her as she ran. “When? Why didn’t he teach me?”
“You’re too young.”
“No, I’m not. I am older than—” J.C. froze, the rest of his sentence floating in a state of suspended animation as the windowpanes flanking their front door were broken inward.
The two kids stared at each other, eyes wide in fright, as they could hear the voices of a man and a woman on their porch. When the sound of the dead-bolt lock snapping open hit their ears, they rushed into J.C.’s bedroom to hide.
Kaycee gently closed the door behind them.
“Lock it,” whispered J.C.
“No, they’ll know we’re here for sure,” she countered. “Do you remember that space in your closet where the old furnace used to be?”
J.C. nodded his head.
“Can we both fit in there?”
“No, just me.”
Kaycee furrowed her brow as she considered her options. “I have to get to Dad’s shotgun, but I need to make sure you’re safe. Hurry, get in the crawl space and stay there until I come for you. Can you do that?”
“Um-hum.”
J.C. opened the bifold doors to his closet and moved some toys and a few stored pillows
out of the way. The panel to the closet pushed inward and he made his way inside the dark, dank space. Kaycee quickly covered up the access point and closed the doors behind her.
She made her way back to the bedroom door and cracked it slightly to look down the hallway. The man and woman were milling about the living room, picking up the family’s home décor and tossing it aside, as it wasn’t of interest to them.
Kaycee knew they’d turn their attention to the bedrooms next, so she decided to make her move. She slowly opened the door to avoid detection, and as soon as the two intruders turned their backs to her, she dashed into the master bedroom. This time, however, she closed and locked the door behind her. Kaycee knew she’d be trapped in there whether the door was open or locked shut. If she forced the intruders to break in, she’d have the precious seconds she needed to respond.
Tyler had purchased a bed that contained a hidden compartment in the headboard for his weapons. A key lock was installed at the top of the headboard with a spring-tensioned access door. Kaycee knew her dad kept the key in the nightstand drawer. She scrambled across the bed and retrieved the key. She stood on the bed and pressed down on the access door, which popped open. She quickly inserted the key and turned it.
Nothing happened.
Then she walked backward and studied the headboard. Why isn’t it opening?
She grabbed the top of the headboard and gave it a slight shake, hoping the gun would suddenly reveal itself.
“Let’s check the rest of this place out,” said a woman’s voice from the hallway.
“I’m guessin’ they just left, ’cause there ain’t no car and the dryer’s runnin’,” her male partner added.
Kaycee began to shake as panic set in. She dropped to her knees and flung the pillows out of the way. She ran her hands along the decorative panel inserts along the headboard. Then she felt the upper part of the panel give way. She pushed it a little harder and her dad’s Mossberg 590 shotgun fell into her hands.
