Reckoning

by J. B. Turner

  Mahoney led them downstairs in the dark. He picked up a couple knives, some barbecue skewers, and a flashlight from the kitchen drawer. Then his wife showed him the stone cover on the kitchen floor that led to the basement. He pulled it open.

  “We used to hide down here as kids. It was like a play area,” she said.

  Mahoney shone the flashlight down so his family could see where they were going. Boxes, old chairs, and a chest of drawers lay scattered among the dust. His wife went down first as Mahoney handed her the kids. “Get in there and hide.”

  He turned. Outside he spotted the silhouette of a moving man.

  Mahoney was gripped by a terrible fear as he descended the stairs and got out of sight. He switched on the flashlight and it picked out his wife and kids huddled in the corner. He pulled back the four-inch-thick stone cover and turned it clockwise, locking it from the inside.

  He handed his wife a knife and armed himself with a barbecue skewer.

  The kids were crying as his wife held them tight.

  “Are we going to be OK?” his eldest daughter said. “Is the bad man coming to hurt us?”

  Mahoney hugged them all tight. “Daddy’s here. And I’m going to look after us all.”

  “Promise?” the youngest one said.

  “I promise.”

  “Swear and hope to die,” his eldest daughter said.

  “I swear I’ll look after you all. Let’s be brave. And let’s pray that someone is watching over us tonight.”

  “What if no one’s watching over us tonight?” his youngest daughter said.

  Mahoney hugged her tight. “I’ll be watching over you. I promise. And I want you to know that the Mahoneys don’t roll over and die. For anyone. We can fight too.”

  His wife blinked away the tears. “I’m scared.”

  The sound of a window smashing in the kitchen echoed above their heads.

  Fifty

  Nathan voice activated the overview map on his visor as he gave the details. Within seconds, the GPS voice in his ear was guiding him. “How long until destination?”

  “We estimate you will be at your destination in two and a half minutes.”

  Nathan cranked up the speed some more as he got closer to East Hampton. He felt his blood pressure skyrocketing as he gunned the bike to the max toward its destination, praying he wouldn’t be too late.

  He sped around more corners and tore down Main Street, hoping there were no cops hanging around.

  Closer. Closer.

  The bike was roaring and vibrating as he squeezed every bit of juice out of the engine, closing in on God only knew what.

  Fifty-One

  Mahoney pressed his ear against the wall. He detected the faintest vibration, as if someone was walking about above their heads in rubber-soled sneakers or shoes. He switched off the flashlight, plunging them into darkness.

  “Daddy, put the light on.”

  “Darling,” he whispered, “we can’t make any noise. No noise. And there can’t be any light.”

  The girls and his wife sobbed as they huddled tight.

  The sound of creaking timbers and joists continued as he heard footsteps above them on the kitchen floor. His kids were whimpering. He whispered, “Be very still and good.”

  His youngest was now shaking.

  The footsteps headed through the kitchen. It sounded like the guy was upstairs. Going from room to room. The fear was palpable in the cold, dusty basement.

  Mahoney held his trembling daughter tight.

  The heavy footsteps returned above them. The sound of pots and pans crashing, as if the man had walked into the overhead utensils gantry. The sound of a chair being dragged along the floor.

  Mahoney wondered if the man was using the chair to check for hiding places above the refrigerator and freezer. He wondered if he would notice the stone cover with a ceramic tile surface.

  Every second seemed like minutes. A chasm of despair was opening up as they huddled in the pitch-black basement. The pitiful moans of his youngest daughter echoed in his ears.

  Mahoney stroked her hair, praying she could contain her childlike fear of the dark, as the assassin was bearing down on them.

  Suddenly, the sound of tapping on the stone cover.

  Fuck.

  Soft moaning from his daughter.

  Mahoney held his breath as they huddled together.

  The sound of more tapping.

  Mahoney wondered if he was checking whether it was solid underneath. He knew at that moment the man would try to get in. He felt the terror seep into his very soul. He gripped his daughters tightly with one arm.

  Suddenly, gunshots were fired rapidly onto the stone cover above. Then more.

  His youngest daughter screamed. “Daddy!”

  Mahoney held her and switched on the flashlight. He looked at his wife, who was hugging their eldest daughter. He whispered, “We can survive this. Let’s be brave. And let’s have faith.”

  His wife’s eyes were closed, tears streaming down her face.

  Rapid handgun fire sounded from above. Everyone tensed up, his youngest daughter covering her ears. “Make it stop, Daddy!” she said.

  The gunfire made a hairline crack in the stone cover.

  Faint light from the moon outside spilled in from the kitchen.

  More gunfire hit the hairline crack in the cover, which was splintering.

  Mahoney switched off the flashlight again and they were in near-total darkness. A sliver of light came through the ragged crack in the stone. Then a rifle barrel appeared and a hail of bullets tore into the stone basement, ricocheting off the walls.

  A piercing scream from his wife. “My leg. I’m hit, Mark!”

  Mahoney felt a surge of anger rise to the surface. He scrambled to her side. He ripped off his shirt and tore it into two strips. He felt her warm blood on his fingers as he wrapped the material tight around the gunshot wound.

  “Fuck!” she snarled.

  Mahoney gripped the skewer tighter. He leaned in close and whispered, “We can do this. I’ll kill this fucker if I have to.”

  The bullets were being fired into an area two or three yards from them. The man couldn’t aim the rifle at their exact location.

  His wife was screaming in pain. “Mark!”

  Mahoney tightened the ripped shirt around her thigh. “I’m sorry, honey,” he said. “We need to slow the blood.”

  The gunfire abated as Mahoney’s family sobbed and moaned, interspersed with his wife’s screams of agony.

  The heavy footsteps moved away. A few seconds later, they returned.

  The man shouted, “Not long now, folks!”

  The kids began to scream and his wife was whimpering.

  “Don’t be afraid.” The guy was toying with them.

  Mahoney gripped the skewer hard. He anticipated what he would do when the man finally broke through. He would have to rush him. Adrenaline was coursing through his body. But with no outlet.

  His eyes were becoming slowly accustomed to the near-zero light. At the far end of the basement were old packing crates, perhaps left by his in-laws when they had moved in. He wondered how he could use them.

  Then came the sound of a power drill beginning to penetrate the stone.

  The children were nearly frantic as his wife screamed.

  Mahoney saw the glint of the steel drill pushing through the crack, breaking apart more of the plaster and stone. Then the man moved on to another area, perhaps the latch, which Mahoney had locked from the inside.

  He prayed that it would hold.

  Fifty-Two

  Nathan was speeding along the isolated back road in a heavily wooded area outside East Hampton when he leaned hard into an oncoming bend. Suddenly, he felt the bike slide away from him as he careened across the road. He skidded through a fence and a hedge and slammed hard into some trees. He felt himself being catapulted through the air. Then he landed with a sickening thump in a marshy thicket just off the highway.

  The smell
of gasoline and oil surrounded him.

  “Fuck!”

  He extricated himself from the tangled thicket. He tried to get up and felt a stabbing sensation in his lower back.

  “Motherfucker!” He gathered his thoughts. “How far to destination?” he asked via the Bluetooth helmet.

  “Point-seven miles,” came the answer.

  Nathan took off the helmet and threw it into the marsh undergrowth beside the smoking metal of the bike. He pulled himself up and felt a shooting pain in his hip. “Fuck.” He got up and limped back to the highway twenty or so yards away. He tried to run. But it was too painful.

  He ran anyway, pain erupting every step of the way. But he sucked it up, ignoring the passing cars, jogging the final few hundred yards as he headed to Mahoney’s location.

  Fifty-Three

  The drilling stopped for a few minutes as Mahoney and his family huddled tight, wondering what was going to come next. The hairline crack had developed into a quarter-inch fracture. The glint of metal appeared again. A chisel trying to gouge out the stone. But it snapped, clanking onto the stone cellar floor.

  The children jumped and began crying again as his wife moaned, trying to suppress the gunshot pain.

  “I can’t stand this, Mark!” she hissed.

  Mahoney held her hand. “He’s not going to beat us, do you hear me?”

  The man began to laugh. “Hey, tough guy. He’s not going to beat us, do you hear me?” he mimicked.

  Mahoney felt an adrenaline surge and gripped the skewer tighter.

  “Back in a minute, guys,” the man said, laughing.

  Mahoney and his family were at their wits’ end. Clinging on to the final shreds of hope. But Mark feared that eventually the man would break through and kill them all.

  He crawled over to the far end of the basement and pulled an old table, storage boxes, and wooden chairs in front of them to protect them from bullets or ricochets.

  “Daddy, don’t leave us!” his youngest daughter cried.

  Mahoney huddled close to her again. “Daddy’s here. And so is Mommy. Let’s be brave and strong. Can you do that?”

  “I don’t know, Daddy. I’m scared.”

  “We have to overcome our fear. Can you try and do that for me, darling?”

  “I’ll try, Daddy.”

  A steel hammer, smashing at the stone hatch with a fearsome sound, spilled dust and fear into the basement. Mahoney and his family covered their ears.

  “Make it stop, Daddy!” his daughter shouted.

  Mahoney held her even closer.

  The hammering continued as the dust fell, covering their hair, ears, and eyes. Coughing and spluttering. On and on the relentless noise assaulted their senses.

  Mahoney thought his head was going to explode. He felt powerless, at the mercy of a man who was determined to smash his way in one way or another and kill them.

  Eventually, a few minutes later, the banging stopped and the dust began to subside.

  The tiny fissure in the stone was all the man had managed to open up. A strip of light came in, enough for Mahoney to see his family covered in dust, the dark blood congealing around his wife’s legs, and the fear in his children’s eyes.

  The man lay down on the kitchen floor above and pressed his eyes to the gap. “I’m still here, kiddies! Just getting warmed up, don’t you worry.” He blinked, and then he laughed.

  Mahoney pushed a chair upright.

  “Hey, what’s the plan now, Mr. Family Guy?” the man said.

  Mahoney jumped up on the chair, reached up, and stabbed the barbecue skewer through the crack in the stone, right into the flesh under the man’s eye. Blood dripped down onto Mahoney’s face as the man pulled himself away, screaming like a banshee for what seemed like minutes.

  “You motherfucker! You’re dead! You’re dead! You’re all dead! Motherfuckers!”

  Mahoney got down from the chair and went back to comfort his family, wiping the man’s blood off his face.

  “Daddy,” his youngest daughter said, “he’s going to kill us!”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  The man’s screaming had turned to violent animalistic groaning and snarling.

  “I’m bleeding, you motherfuckers! I can’t fucking see!”

  The family held each other tight.

  A few minutes later, the growling, cursing man was above them, separated by the stone cover.

  “Fucking dead! All of you. I’m gonna kill you all!”

  They heard the sound of material being ripped up and smelled gasoline.

  “Mark,” his wife said, “what’s that?”

  Mahoney was about to respond when he saw burning rags being pushed through the tiny crack. The flaming cloth ignited the gas, and the basement boxes caught fire.

  “Mark!” his wife shouted.

  Mahoney picked up a rag, wrapped it around his right hand, and beat the flames out. “Goddamn!” he shouted as his hands were singed through the burned rags.

  Another burning rag dropped through from above. Mark darted across the basement and stamped it out. Then lit matches fell down, igniting more gas pools, which set fire to his clothes.

  He dropped to the floor and rolled over as his eldest daughter beat out the flames with her sweater.

  The man above them was pacing the kitchen floor. Through the crack in the stone cover, Mahoney saw him pouring gas all over the kitchen.

  The man was trying to burn them to death.

  “Getting the picture, you fuckers?” he shouted. “Am I making myself clear?”

  Glass shattered overhead as a makeshift bomb ignited, starting a fire, quickly engulfing the kitchen.

  “We’re going to have quite a party!” the man laughed. “Quite a fucking party! Who doesn’t like a party? Me? I love a party!”

  Black smoke was filling the kitchen and seeping into the basement through the crack in the stone cover.

  The children began to choke and his wife began to cry as Mahoney flung himself on top of them. Burning rags and thick smoke filled the dead air around them.

  Fifty-Four

  Nathan was sweating hard as he ran in agony the last few hundred yards to the isolated home. In the driveway, he saw a station wagon. He wondered if it belonged to the operative from the facility. He considered disabling the car. But he might need it himself in an emergency.

  He ran up the driveway, smelled the gasoline, and saw pools of it around another car, most likely the family’s.

  Fuck.

  Nathan headed down a path along the side of the house. He found a small frosted window, perhaps a downstairs bathroom. He pulled out a knife, pried open the window, and was immediately knocked back by the smell of smoke and gasoline.

  He pulled himself up and wrapped an arm around the partially open window, yanking back the handle to open it wide. Climbing in, he heard the sounds of screaming children and shouts for help.

  Thick, black smoke blasted his way.

  Nathan began to choke and hit the ground. He pushed open the bathroom door. Through the smoke he saw a man holding a gas can. He didn’t hesitate. He shot once at the can and then twice at the man’s chest. Then a double tap to the head.

  The man was engulfed in flames as he collapsed in a fireball, burning up in the choking room.

  Nathan moved through the dense, sickening smoke and shot the man three more times in the head. He was still surrounded by flames. But he was dead. Nathan turned on the cold water, grabbed a large jug to fill up, and put out most of the flames engulfing the other assassin. Then he reached into the man’s smoldering jacket and pulled out his cell phone. Nathan put it in his back pocket. He would check its contents later.

  He picked up a dish towel from the floor and soaked it in cold water, keeping the water running. Nathan tried to put out the fire that was engulfing the kitchen, but it was getting worse.

  He got another dish towel, soaked it, and wrapped it around his face as a mask.

  The sound of screaming came from
below.

  What the fuck?

  Nathan put his hands and hair under the tap, soaking his clothes and body. Then he crawled to the far side of the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the dusty debris around a crack in a stone hatch.

  Wailing and weeping continued from below his feet.

  “Who’s down there?” he shouted through the damp mask. “Who’s down there?”

  No answer returned as billowing black smoke continued to fill the space. He would’ve opened a window, but he knew the fresh air would only fan the flames.

  Nathan pulled off his soaking mask and began coughing. He managed to blurt out, “Are you down there, Mark? Is that you?”

  No answer.

  Nathan saw the hatch handle and tried to open it, but there was no give. He used the Glock and shot off the rest of his magazine into the lock. He tried again. But it wasn’t giving.

  He bent down to the crack in the floor.

  “Answer me! Is Mark Mahoney down here?”

  A girl’s voice answered, “Please don’t hurt us.”

  “The bad man is dead. I’m here to help.”

  “No, you’re not! Go away!”

  “Is your daddy down there?”

  The sound of coughing. “Daddy isn’t waking up!”

  “You need to wake him up!”

  The sound of more coughing. “Mommy! Wake up!”

  “What’s wrong with your mom?”

  “She’s not waking up.”

  Nathan began to cough, nearly blind from the smoke. “Wake up your father! Right now. Slap him on the face. And start screaming. Right in his ear. Do it! Now!”

  He heard the girl crying underneath him. Then a long silence. Followed by high-pitched screaming.

  “Daddy! Wake up! Mommy!”

  The sound of groaning and retching.

  “Daddy, there’s another man in the kitchen.”

  There was a sound of boxes and things being knocked over.

  “Open up!” Nathan shouted.

  A man’s voice below shouted, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Nathan!”

  “How do I know it’s you?”

  “It’s me! Open up, you stupid fuck!”

  “Prove you’re Nathan Stone!”