Aftermath (Book 0): Aftermath

by Donovan, J. S.

  Trinity nodded in affirmation.

  With a plan in place, Calvin left the car keys with Becca and exited. Naomi slipped out of the side. They reconvened at the front of the vehicle and crouched by the bumper. Calvin whispered. “Good luck with Becca.”

  “Thanks.”

  They parted ways. Naomi raced for the metro station while Calvin vanished across the street. Naomi pushed through the glass door to the abandoned station. She pulled out a candle and candle lighter. She lit the candle. She held it above her eye line to keep from getting torch-blind. The light cast long shadows across the large open room. She dashed upstairs. Slightly winded, she snuffed out the candle and pushed open the doors. She stepped out onto the platform. The roofing shielded her from sideways snow. She peered over the railing, getting eyes on their Rover. The metro track was too wide to see the opponents on the bridge.

  Naomi inched her way to the edge of the platform and scooted down to the rusty rails of the track. Two parallel tracks ran the length of the suspended bridge. Naomi moved to the right and left side. She leaned over the edge to spot either the jihadists or the Ryans. Her body shivered. Her mind raced as she thought about Trinity being alone in the vehicle. She exhaled. Her breath misted and her nose leaked. She passed through a disabled Metro car. Moving past rows of empty seats and handrails, she remembered the people she helped this morning and wondered what happened them. Many of the hospitals were prime targets of the terrorist attack. Guilt made her sick.

  She exited out the front of the train and returned to the railing. Looking down the intersection at 61st Street, Naomi spotted Conner taking cover behind a disabled mail truck. He fed slugs into the bottom of his shotgun. He signaled to someone across the street. Naomi followed the gesture. Cathleen, Dean, and Sean were visible through the window. Sean was lying in a booth, clenching the bullet wound in his lower torso. Cathleen held his hand. Leaving his pistol on the table, Dean tore napkins from the metal holder and pressed them against the leaking wound. Sean snapped back his head in pain.

  Naomi scanned the crashed cars and surrounding buildings for any signs of Becca or Fergus. As she searched, she heard hushed voices beneath the tracks. She leaned over the railing, spotting the six jihadists moving in a tactical spearhead formation down Market Street. They would be rounding the corner to the 61st within the minute.

  Conner signaled Dean through the window. Dean put Sean’s hand over the clump of napkins and grabbed his pistol. He crouched by the window.

  Conner cocked his weapon and readied himself for the attackers. The moment he fired a shot, it would compromise all their locations. Naomi glanced around the track and found a small chunk of concrete. Holding her breath, she tossed it. It arched through the air and hit the road a yard away from Conner. He tensed up and almost shot it. He looked to the left and right, unable to see its source.

  The terrorists were rounding the corner.

  Naomi only had one more chance to grab his attention before the firefight began.

  She twisted around, desperately looking for something to throw. She found a small rock. Without any other options, she tossed it. It clacked on the top of the SUV and bounced next to Conner.

  The terrorists rounded the corner, surveying the area with raised rifles.

  Conner directed his attention to the rock, then to Naomi, who stood and waved her arms and finally pointed to the incoming terrorists. Conner quickly raised his gun and aimed at the terrorists. Naomi shook her head rapidly. She put her finger over her lips and gestured for him to be quiet.

  Conner lowered the shotgun.

  Naomi could breathe knowing he got the message. She looked over to Dean. He aimed his pistol out the window. Conner gestured for him to abort. He didn’t see it.

  All six terrorists were now on 61st.

  Naomi crouched low. It was out of her hands as to what happened now.

  The terrorists were about a hundred feet from Conner. He picked up the small chunk of concrete and tossed it at the glass window. Dean quickly turned his head to Conner. Conner gestured for him to get low before sliding to his belly and worming his way under the SUV.

  Dean grabbed Sean’s arms while Cathleen grabbed his legs. They were going to try to move him when one of the terrorists looked their way. All of them dropped to the floor of the pizza joint. The six terrorists continued down the street. One stopped by at the window. Two of them passed by the SUV on either side, not having seen Conner yet.

  Cathleen put her hand over Sean’s mouth and hid his body with her own. Dean lay on his back, the pistol resting against his chest. Its barrel was aimed at the window. The terrorist slowly swept his rifle from side to side as he looked through it.

  Three of the four terrorists passed by the SUV. The fourth paused and eyed the surrounding buildings. He kept his rifle pointed as he panned the weapon. After a moment, he caught up with the others. The one by the window walked on. Finally, the very last one followed after them.

  The squad of six riflemen vanished down the street. After a moment, Conner climbed out and got to his feet. He turned back to the riflemen. Seeing they were gone, he gave Naomi a thumb’s up. She gestured in the direction of her car. He nodded, but she wasn’t sure if he got her meaning. Conner jogged to the pizza shop. Three hundred feet away was the next metro platform. Naomi headed that way.

  She reached the stairs and slowed down, not wanting to slip. She went down to street level and started back to where the pizza shop had been.

  “Becca?” she called out, just above normal speaking level. “Becca, are you here?”

  Naomi heard some clacking sound. She twisted over to see the wheelchair that had just dropped off the curb. Becca pushed old man Fergus. “Mrs. Baxter?”

  “I can explain later. Right now, I’m getting you out of here.” Naomi grabbed the handles on the wheelchair and started to jog it forward.

  Becca matched her speed.

  “Do you know where your parents are?” Naomi asked.

  Becca shook her head.

  “This way,” Naomi said.

  They reached the pizza shop. Naomi led and was met by Dean’s gun barrel inches from her face.

  “Dean,” Conner commanded.

  Dean lowered his gun and stepped aside, allowed Naomi, Becca, and Fergus to enter. Sean lay on the restaurant floor. All of the napkins against his belly were stained crimson. Conner knelt next to him and held the napkins over the wound. Cathleen held her husband’s hand and brushed her thumb against the top. Tears wetted her face. Naomi swallowed hard as she saw Cathleen’s blood-stained hands and coat.

  “Daddy?” Becca called and rushed to her father.

  She took his other hand. He turned to her. A glossy sheen of perspiration glistened on his pale white face. His lips had lost its color and he had trouble keeping his eyelids open. He smiled weakly. “Becca.”

  “Yes, Daddy?” Becca held his hand.

  “I love you,” he said and coughed. Blood trickled out of the corner of his lip.

  Becca’s shoulders slumped. Mascara tears streamed down her rosy cheeks. “I love you, too.”

  Naomi choked up and looked away. Be brave, Naomi. She turned back to them, not hiding from the gore. “I have the Rover waiting. We need to move if we want to get out of Philly tonight.”

  Cathleen glared at her. “My husband is in no condition to move.”

  Naomi frowned. She hated herself for the words she was about to say. “I’m just here to extend the invitation. I’m leaving no matter what.”

  The coldness of her words silenced the room. Dean hovered over Conner. The flame illuminated his long, leathery face. “We could carry him.”

  Conner rubbed his own leaking nose with his bloodied hand, smearing crimson on his stubble. “Where are you?”

  “63rd,” Naomi replied.

  Conner averted his eyes, his lips growing tight as he thought.

  “Conner…”

  Everyone looked to Sean. His eyes were only partly open. He had stopped squeezing
Cathleen’s and Becca’s hands. He spoke slowly, grimacing with every breath.

  “Yes, my brother,” Conner said softly.

  Another tear of blood trickled out of the corner of mouth. “Bro... protect my wife… daughter. Father.”

  Conner cradled Sean’s head. “I will, brother.”

  Cathleen sobbed. “Don’t you start with that.”

  “Trust Conner,” Sean said.

  Dean frowned out of jealousy.

  Sean looked to Becca. “You, too.”

  “Okay, Dad,” Becca said and kissed him.

  Fergus moaned. His body trembled as he wept.

  “Father,” Sean smiled weakly at the old man. “Look at this beautiful family. It’s all…”

  Sean’s voice drifted.

  His body became limp.

  He was gone.

  Conner gave Becca a hug. Dean clenched his jaw in anger. Tears rolled down Cathleen’s cheeks as she continued to hold her late husband’s hand. But, there was nothing more sad than hearing old man Fergus cry. A brother had lost a brother. A wife lost a husband. A daughter lost a father. A father lost a son.

  Naomi felt she should cry. She knew it was proper thing to do. Instead, she stared silently, wondering where her humanity was going. She wondered if she’d respond this way if that were Cal’s body. It could be very soon if they didn’t get back to the bridge.

  “The Rover’s this way,” Naomi said softly as she opened the front door. Conner was first to follow her. Then Becca was pushing Fergus. Dean, boiling with anger, toted two large duffel bags and followed. Naomi let them leave first. Soon it was just her, Cathleen, and the body. Cathleen clenched her husband’s hand tighter.

  Naomi let go of the door and gingerly walked to Cathleen. She offered her hand. Cathleen slowly looked at her. Beyond the sorrow was a deep-seeded hate. “You’d let him rot in this place.”

  “We don’t have the luxury of time for a burial,” Naomi apologized and kept her hand extended.

  Cathleen crossed Sean’s hand over his chest and stood without Naomi’s assistance. She lost her balance and Naomi caught her. Cathleen quickly pulled away. “Keep your hands off me!”

  Naomi gave her some space and kept her mouth shut.

  Without a word, Cathleen exited. Naomi followed behind. She looked back at Sean’s body before letting the door fall shut.

  Naomi moved ahead of the Ryans despite her desire to linger in the back. They cut through an alley and arrived at the Rover. Naomi knocked on the back door. Trinity opened it a moment later. They lifted Fergus first and put him one of the bench seats. Without saying a word, they collapsed his wheelchair. Becca climbed in next. She gave Trinity a big hug. They were about to talk when Naomi shushed them.

  They weren’t far from the bridge and needed to remain unannounced until the time came. Dean slipped into the back as well, filling the place for their feet with two large duffel bags. Naomi didn’t know what was inside. She’d find out soon enough. After quietly closing the back door, Naomi eyed the bridge. Seeing no movement, she held open the back passenger door for Cathleen. She crawled inside. Conner climbed inside next. Naomi sat at the driver’s seat. Trinity passed her the car key. In grim silence, they waited inside of the vehicle.

  Connor leaned in. “What’s the hold-up?”

  “Waiting for Cal,” Naomi replied, and filled him in on the plan.

  Naomi rubbed her sweaty palms on the tops of her pants. She thought that Cal would’ve already caused a distraction by now.

  There was movement down Market Street. Shapes moved in the darkness. It was a much larger group than the six riflemen that followed them. They were moving tactically. These were professionals. Perhaps the jihadists got reinforcements. Naomi told everyone in the vehicle to stay low.

  Shapes moved on the bridge, too. Something about the appearance of those on Market Street stirred up the team on the bridge. They moved forward. The four that Naomi originally saw moved to the front, followed by another six or seven. A few of them dashed across and ducked into the metro station. Within moments, they were stationed on the metro platform.

  Meanwhile, those moving on Market Street neared the bridge.

  At the back of the Rover, the six riflemen walked out into 63rd Street and started to march forward.

  Connor clenched his shotgun tightly.

  Dean double-checked his pistol magazine. Trinity and Becca held each other.

  Cathleen lay down in the seat with her eyes wide, out of tears.

  Naomi slipped down as low as she could in the seat. One of the six riflemen about one hundred feet away lit a torch. It was a chair leg wrapped in an American flag. They kept walking toward the Rover while those at the bridge spread across the intersections, taking cover behind any car, post, or place they could find.

  Naomi’s pulse quickened as she was being unintentionally flanked from all sides.

  Down Market Street, the incoming group weaved between traffic, finding cover where they could, but not holding to one place for more than a few seconds.

  The jihadists from the bridge trained their weapons down Market Street. The six coming up the road followed behind the torchbearers and started to take cover behind the vehicles.

  They were only fifty feet from the Rover.

  Naomi prayed they’d pass by. The gunmen on the Metro gestured with closed fists. Suddenly, the six slowed down, hunched over, and advanced. The torchbearers moved by the Rover and squatted next to the front driver-side wheel.

  Naomi covered her mouth and slid as low as she could into the seat. The amber flame cast a dim light inside the Rover. Another one of the riflemen crouched next to the back bumper. The other four found their cover behind various vehicles within twenty-five feet of the car.

  Naomi saw the torchlight dancing on the ceiling of the vehicle.

  Conner sat in the foot well of the back seat with his shotgun aimed up toward the window.

  Cathleen held both hands over her mouth.

  Trinity and Becca trembled.

  Dean stayed still, his pistol close to his chest. He clenched his jaw. Sweat peppered his forehead. Rage overtook his expression.

  Naomi dared not move.

  Her breathing sounded loud.

  Her heart throbbed.

  One word. One sound. They’d be dead.

  Head resting on seat, Fergus coughed. Trinity quickly covered his mouth. Fergus continued coughing into her hand.

  One of the riflemen rose up.

  Another whispered a harsh command at him to get back down.

  Through the passenger window, she could see a little bit of Market Street. She suddenly noticed that the incoming shapes weren’t terrorists.

  They were police.

  Naomi put two and two together and realized what was about to happen.

  The riflemen on the tracks aimed the rifle down on the incoming police.

  The forty-plus policemen advanced, getting closer to the bridge, and had yet to spot any terrorists. Naomi needed to warn them; otherwise, it would be a bloodbath. However, that would compromise everyone in the vehicle. She’d gone too far to protect her own, but if that many cops fell, Philly would plummet deeper into chaos. It’s not your responsibility, a voice told her. Another counteracted it. Will you let all these people die when you have the power to stop it? Naomi’s mind went back and forth. She was a mother before she was a hero, but something about this didn’t sit right. Perhaps if she could only gesture to the cops. This way they might have a fighting chance.

  Be smart, Naomi. This isn’t your fight. Naomi crawled over to the passenger seat.

  Stop this, Naomi. You’d only cause more trouble. Naomi lifted her hand on the window and made it into a fist, hoping the police would see it as a sign to stop. They kept advancing forward. It appeared they were heading to the light source.

  Of course, the torch was bait.

  They didn’t react to her hand sign.

  On the right side of the vehicle were the police.

  On
the left were terrorists.

  The people in her vehicle watched Naomi, warning her with their eyes not to get involved.

  Just a peek, Naomi compromised.

  She raised her head just as a massive fire erupted in the apartment across the street.

  The jihadists and cops turned their heads to the engulfing flames.

  One of the cops, a young blond man, kept an eye on the direction of the torch and saw Naomi signal toward a terrorist.

  The cop glanced up to the metro railway, seeing the rifleman.

  “Ambush!” he yelled.

  Naomi’s heart stopped as the terrorists and the cops saw each other.

  Gunfire erupted.

  Naomi crawled over the shifter as the jihadists advanced on the police, spraying bullets. A few of them dropped. The torchbearer tossed the torch toward the police and rested his rifle on the Rover’s hood to stabilize it. Each shot he fired thundered through the vehicle. Bullets zipped through the air like lightning-fast fireflies.

  Naomi shoved the keys into the ignition and gave them a twist.

  The terrorist on the hood gawked at her.

  Naomi stomped on the accelerator.

  The Rover vaulted forward, crushing the terrorist. Under the firefight, Naomi zipped through the intersection and parked a hard left. The tires stretched, over-correcting as the Rover lined up with the bridge. The terrorists and police were too preoccupied with shooting at each other to shoot at her. She raced ahead, flipping on the headlights. She raced through the dead traffic and against the snow.

  The gunfire and shouting grew distant. Naomi reached the other side of the bridge and swerved into the grass. She put the car in park and watched the building burning in the distance.

  “Come on,” she chanted.

  The Ryans looked out at the fire too.

  Thirty seconds inched by.

  Then a minute.

  Naomi’s heart sank. Cal was coming. He had to come. The thought felt disingenuous.

  Another minute rolled by.

  “Naomi,” Conner said soberly in his authentic Irish accent.

  “He’s on his way,” Naomi said stubbornly.

  “We can’t wait much longer,” Cathleen said.