by Olah, Jeff
The next cross street brought the first vehicle he’d seen in over five minutes. A police cruiser had turned right and slowed to a stop ten feet from his door. Owen offered a nod and started to pull away when the officer held up his hand, motioned for him to open his window.
From the backseat, Noah looked to his sister and then to Owen. “Dad?”
“It’s fine buddy, go back to your game.”
“Are we getting pulled over?”
“Nope, the officer just wants to talk.”
The officer—over forty, salt-and-pepper crew cut, thin mustache, wide chin—looked the Audi over, front to back, and then eyed Owen from inside the black and white. “Where ya headed?”
Owen couldn’t see what the officer was looking for, no way to craft the perfect response. “Home, just coming from lunch with the wife and kids.”
The officer narrowed his eyes, looked from the backseat to the front, and made a point of noticing that there was something missing. “Your wife?”
Owen didn’t quite follow at first. He stared back at the officer, trying to form an answer, but was having a hard time pulling his focus away from his daughter. He desperately wanted to reach for his phone and read her message.
The officer tapped his fingers on the side of his door, obviously growing more impatient with each second that passed. He dropped his chin and breathed out hard. “Sir … your wife?”
From over his right shoulder Ava pulled out her left earbud and leaned forward. “Dad.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry.” Owen told himself to stay in the present, at least until he was able to give the officer what he needed. “My wife, she’s at work. Met us for lunch, but then had to go back. Important meeting with a potential client.”
The officer continued to stare into Owen’s eyes, not blinking and void of all expression. “So, where’s home? You live in the neighborhood? Somewhere close?”
Owen nodded, wanted to offer a smile, but then thought better of it. His pulse must have doubled in the last thirty seconds and the awkwardness of the moment wasn’t helping. Just answer the man’s questions and then move along. No need to drag this out. “No, just a few miles, up near Brookside.”
For the first time, the officer turned away. He looked back in the direction he’d come from and then again to Owen. “You may want to get moving, and maybe just for tonight stay away from the city.”
“What?” Owen said. “Why?”
“It’s a mess down there, people at the train station going crazy. The Mayor is thinking about instituting a curfew. There’s going to be a press conference in an hour, we’ll find out more then.”
Owen sat up in his seat, tried telling himself that there was nothing to worry about. Whatever this was couldn’t have taken over the entire city. There was at least two full miles between the train station and Natalie’s building. Law enforcement would certainly have it under control long before it reached the financial district.
“My wife’s office is at Wilshire and Flower. Is she …”
The officer anticipated his question and knew why he paused. Looking from Noah to Ava he forced a smile. “That end of the city is secure. But you might want to give her a call, have her take the rest of the day off. This should all be cleared up by—”
From inside the patrol car the radio squawked. There were voices followed by intermittent breaks, and then more voices. The officer shook his head, spoke quickly into the mic on his shoulder, and again scanned the street. “You should probably give your wife a call, have her start heading home. Traffic’s going to be worse than normal.”
Before Owen could respond the officer pulled away. He watched in his side mirror as the black and white sped down the long block, not bothering to slow as it blew through the next two cross streets.
Didn’t even step out of his vehicle or ask for my name, that can’t be good.
Owen looked from Ava to Noah, their expression nearly identical. It wasn’t fear. Possibly confusion. Maybe just irritation. Either way he knew from experience that it was better not to ask. One way or the other, it would come out eventually, and for now there were more pressing matters.
His phone.
He reached into his lap, pressed the home button, and swiped to his messages. Ava’s sat on top with only three words.
Here’s the video.
He’d asked her, but now didn’t care. She was here and she was safe. The details of his daughter’s morning would have to wait. For now, he needed to somehow get to his wife. Convince her that the opportunity of a lifetime could wait. At least for another day.
“Ava, text your Mom, have her call me. Tell her it’s an emergency.”
7
Into the garage and through the door, he breathed a sigh of relief. One small victory. The streets leading to his development and those behind the gates were just as vacant as the others. The scene was off-putting, but not completely unusual. There were many mornings, heading to the gym, where his was the only vehicle on the road. The only difference being that was typically four-thirty in the morning, not the middle of the afternoon.
Noah had followed his sister upstairs, each moving quickly to their respective bedrooms. Most days this would be the last he’d see of them until dinner. Between homework and social media, the pair rarely made an appearance on the first floor other than for the occasional snack. This was usually his time to dive into work.
Today he had other plans.
Owen moved through the kitchen, down the back hall, and into his makeshift office. The builder had labeled it as the perfect mother-in-law suite; however, Owen had laid claim to it long before the foundation was poured. Positioned behind the garage and with its own entrance, he couldn’t have asked for something more suited to his personality. Simple, clean, and minimally decorated, he was more at home here than any other spot in the thirty-six hundred square foot residence.
To his desk, he sat quickly and typed out another message.
Nat, I need you to at least let me know you’re okay. It’s been over an hour.
He then stared at the screen as if he could will her to respond. It hadn’t worked in the past, and even now as much he wished otherwise, he knew that getting her to check her phone would be almost impossible. She’d surely ignore him until her meeting was over, although it was strange that Ava’s text had also went unanswered.
Back to his messages, Owen scrolled to his daughter’s.
Ava, has mom responded?
He sat back, rested against the dark leather, and placed his phone against the edge of his computer monitor. Waiting for Ava, he powered on the CPU, making note of the time on the wall.
Three-fifteen.
Natalie would have taken the client to one of three oversized conference room and been knee-deep in her presentation. There was a distinct possibility that she’d also have left her phone in her office. That was the scenario that most fit, but also the one that brought with it the greatest challenge. He’d have to wait for her to return to her office or ring the receptionist, get patched through, and hope that she’d answer.
Owen didn’t like either option.
The CPU now finished with its startup processes, Owen glanced across the dual twenty-four-inch monitors and landed on the email icon. Twenty-six new messages, of which fifteen were from Joanne, eight from the buyer’s agent, and another three from yet unidentified sources. Not one from his wife.
Again to his phone and noticing his daughter had yet to respond, and figuring she may not, Owen stood and turned away from his desk. Scrolling back through the message, he landed on the video she’d sent, and started toward her room.
At the base of the stairs, he stopped and leaned into the wall. The video started with a man clutching his throat with one hand and swinging wildly at a pair of security officers with the other. Like the men from the parking lot and those from the news reports, the overly aggressive individual bled from the mouth and appeared overtly disoriented.
Owen continued to watch, but started
up the stairs. The two security officers backed away as three patrol cars rolled up to the front of the school. For a few seconds the confused man just looked around and appeared to be growling, although through the background voices and nervous laughter, Owen couldn’t be sure.
As the six police officers exited their vehicles, the disheveled man in the torn white Oxford turned and sprinted toward them. Before reaching the sidewalk, the man was shot four times. The first three entered through his chest and nearly took him from his feet. Although the fourth finished the job, blowing apart his leg, just below the knee.
The man dropped backward to the pavement amid a hailstorm of shouts and screams. He lay motionless in a pool of blood as the video shook and then quickly cut off.
Owen slipped his phone into his pocket—attempting to remain composed—and moved to Ava’s room. He stood at the door and just watched her for a moment. She sat on her bed, but had yet to turn and face him. With her earbuds still in place, she continued to peer down at the six-inch screen, either unaware of his presence or intentionally wanting to avoid conversation.
She was every bit her mother. Soft strawberry blonde ringlets, light blue eyes, and the kind of flawless skin that most others her age envied. Although hunched forward, she sat with a silent strength that eclipsed her fourteen years. He was proud of the young woman she was becoming, but knew that most times it was better left unsaid.
Into her room, he moved to the long chest of drawers opposite her bed, and sat at the edge. She looked up. He met her eyes and with an even smile, motioned for her to remove her earbuds. “Hey …”
Ava didn’t initially respond. She returned his gesture and quickly turned back to her phone. “Hold on.” She held up her index finger, tapped at the screen, and again looked up. “Check your phone.”
“Wait,” Owen said, “Your Mom, has she—”
“No … she hasn’t responded to my texts either. But she’s probably in her meeting, you know she’s not going to check her phone.”
“You’re probably right.”
Ava tossed her phone onto the bed, looked out into the hall and said, “Where’s Noah?”
Owen’s thoughts moved from his wife to the disturbing images in the parking lot, to the scene this morning, before he finally followed his daughter’s eyes into the hall. “He’s … uh … playing his game, I think. Why?”
Ava pulled her backpack into her lap and rubbed at the corner of her eye. “Check your phone.”
Owen punched the home button and noticed another text from her. Another video. This one less than ten seconds.
The dead man in frame lay in the same position as he had at the conclusion of the prior video. Although as Owen tapped the screen and the video began to the same unnerving screams from the prior clip, the man in the bloodied and tattered dress shirt pushed away from the pavement.
The man somehow sat forward—dragging his damaged left leg behind—and lunged at the officers. As the shouts and the screams intensified, a shot rang out from somewhere left of frame, and less than a fraction of a second later the man was launched back onto the sidewalk. He came to rest on his right side, his forehead now caved in and a pool of blood surged from the massive crater.
Before Owen had a chance to process what he’d seen, the clip abruptly ended. He stared at his phone for a moment longer and then looked up at Ava. “You weren’t there to see this?”
Ava shook her head. “No.”
“Did they say who this was?”
Again, she shook her head, now leaning to the side and rubbing her eyes. “No, they don’t know.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t really know what—”
Owen’s phone began to ring in his hand, but then quickly faded. In glancing down, he could see his wife’s name flash across the screen a second before it disappeared. He looked at his daughter and then back at his phone, tapping through to the missed call and finding her name. “It was her, your mom.”
There was a pause and then before the end of the first ring, Natalie answered. Her voice low and rushed, she appeared to be out of breath. “Owen, it’s really bad down here. They’re in the building.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know,” she said, the volume in her voice again dropping. “The streets, they came in off the streets. I can’t get to my car, it’s parked across from the six-hundred building.”
He didn’t want to ask and felt like he probably didn’t need to. She hadn’t specifically said who they were, but he had a pretty good idea. If what the officer had described from the train station—what had been dominating the news for the last several days—had made its way across the city, there weren’t many questions to ask.
“Okay,” Owen said, “where are you, in your office?”
“Yes, I was trying to get ahold of security.”
As Owen began to speak, there was a muffled scream that came through the speaker. “Nat, what was that, are you—”
“I think Tracy, maybe, I don’t know.”
“What’s going on, are you—”
“Owen, I think they’re on this floor. But I can’t see anything. Wait, let me check the hall.”
“NO!” Owen felt a twist in his stomach, shouted into his phone. “STAY IN YOUR OFFICE!”
Natalie didn’t respond. The line sounded like it dropped, but then just as quickly she was back. “Three of them, two men and an older woman, I think they got Stan. I can’t …” Her voice broke.
Owen looked to Ava. He motioned into the hall, placed his hand over the phone, and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Get Noah and go to my office. I’ll be right behind you.”
Ava’s eyes were wide. “Okay.” She nodded and then started off into the hall.
Following his daughter, Owen partially closed the door behind her and then turned back to his phone. “Natalie, please tell me you’re okay.”
Again, there was a pause. Seconds seemed like hours. Through the phone, the sounds of labored breathing, and then she was back, now also whispering. “It’s quiet now, I don’t know where they went. Think I might—”
Owen interrupted. “Nat!”
She was quiet.
“Is your door closed?”
“Yes, but—”
“Make sure it’s locked. Then get under your desk and say there—don’t move.” His mind was racing, running back through all the news reports and video footage from the last several days, trying to remember something—anything—that may help his wife. “Text security and tell them where you are, tell them your door is locked, and tell them about those people on your floor.”
“Okay.”
She was scared, that was obvious. But there was something else. She had been on him for the last forty-eight hours, saying that he was making too much of this whole thing. Telling him to focus on the things right in front of him, the things he could control, not the what ifs. But now something was different, and after eighteen years of marriage, he didn’t even need to ask.
“And Nat …”
Her voice shook. “I locked my door, but …”
He knew he wasn’t going to like what came next. “But what?”
“Owen, they’re outside my office, trying to get in. I don’t think …” Her voice fell away.
“Nat, listen to me.” He pulled the door open a few inches, looked across the hall at Noah’s room and then toward the stairs. His children appeared to have made it to his office. “They’re attracted to movement and sound, so don’t leave your office and stay as quiet as possible.”
“Owen, I screwed up, you were right. I should have told you before today.” Her voice just barely audible. Who she was—the tough-as-nails defense attorney, the woman who never backed down from a challenge—was now fading. “About everything, I’m sorry.”
“Nat, I need you to—”
“Owen,” she was crying now. “I love you, tell Ava and Noah I love them too.”
“Hey,” he said.
“Just stay quiet and stay put, you’re going to be fine.”
“They’re right outside now.”
“Natalie.” He only ever called her that when he was angry or when he wanted to get her attention. And she always knew. It usually brought a smile to her face and turned the direction of the conversation. She’d laugh and shake her head most times, would tell him that he looked funny when he was trying to be serious. But not today—today it seemed that she didn’t notice.
“I know you can hear me Nat, and I know that you’re scared, but it’s alright. You’re allowed to be human every once in a while.” Owen fought back tears of his own, swallowed them down. “I love you more than I know how to say. But right now, I’m going to need you to trust me.”
“Okay.”
“So just sit tight.” Owen held the phone out away from his face, stared at the background image of his wife. “I’m coming to get you.”
8
The city was a war zone. Abandoned vehicles lined the streets, a few spitting flames. People out of their SUVs, minivans, sedans, and convertibles. All walking, running, and looking, but no one speaking. They hurried from sidewalk cafes and first floor offices, wide eyed and expressionless. No rhyme nor reason, no order, no one helping, and no one looking for help, complete civil discord. It was full blown chaos, only Owen had yet to find the source. And now less than a half mile from Natalie’s building, he was beginning to think he’d made a mistake.
He regretted not insisting Natalie cancel her meeting and now hoped he wouldn’t regret leaving his children. He’d given Ava very detailed instructions, but wasn’t completely honest about why he was leaving. Stay out of sight and don’t answer the door—for anyone. He figured the less they knew about what was happening the better. He didn’t necessarily like it, but he really had no other choice.
The freeway would have been worse. That was what he continued to tell himself as he slipped the black backpack over his shoulders and stepped away from the Audi. Owen moved between the next pair of vehicles—a bright yellow Camaro and a massive blacked-out Toyota Tacoma–and stared down the block, attempting to get a view of downtown.
