Fight or Flight

by Natalie J. Damschroder

  He swung his knife hand twice, cutting her both times but not doing any serious damage. Someone shouted, an angry “No!”, but she didn’t know who he was shouting at. She managed to get a foot on her attacker’s wrist and push it downward, then pulled herself up to put her weight on that foot and one knee on his chest. A heavy brass elephant sat on the nightstand next to her. Not a very lovely decoration, but it made a good weapon. She held it by the trunk and swung it into the man’s head, knocking him out.

  She had no time for relief. Already the others were on her. Four of them. They must have learned their lesson last time. Even with everything she’d done in preparation, the odds weren’t in her favor.

  She grabbed the knife off the floor and swung it in an arc as someone caught her from behind. She used him as a brace, lifting her feet and kicking out. Her bare feet wouldn’t do much damage, but she did manage to clip one guy on the jaw, giving her a little space.

  He cursed and glared. “Dammit, it wasn’t supposed to go like this. He said she’d be alone.”

  The guy behind her grunted as she wriggled. Despair welled in her chest, pain for Alan for being here when he normally wouldn’t be. Her fault.

  So don’t let it be a waste.

  She fought harder. Her guy had her by the arms instead of the neck, which gave her more flexibility. She twisted the knife, biting back a cry when it sliced across the top of her hip, and aimed it backwards. When one of the others swung a fist at her face, she pushed off the floor, then planted a foot on his chest, shoving hard and falling backward onto the man holding her. They landed on the bed, Regan on top. His yell escalated to a scream when he realized what the pain in his abdomen meant.

  Regan bounded back to her feet, but now without a weapon and still facing three large men. They were all on her side of the bed, blocking access to the window. But the doorway was clear. They’d hesitated when she gutted their colleague, and seemed to think she was trapped.

  She wasn’t.

  She turned and jumped onto the bed, leaped over Alan’s limp body and ran out the door. They pounded behind her, booted feet thundering down the hall.

  “Stop her!” bellowed one man. She thought of her goal, the gun in the kitchen, and wondered why no one was shooting at her. Why they’d brought knives and five men, instead of a pistol with a silencer.

  She shoved through the swinging door into the kitchen, immediately turned, and slammed the door back the other way, into the person nearest her. There was a crunch—hopefully his nose—a thud, and a bellow. Two down? Scrambling around the center island to the towel drawer, she yanked the drawer out too far and it fell, sending the gun clattering across the ceramic tile. She dove for it, the island giving her a little protection, a few seconds of cover, and hopefully an element of surprise. The gun shifted in her slick grip. The safety seemed to echo as she clicked it off, straining to hear where her pursuers were. Had they even come into the kitchen? She couldn’t wait for them, there wasn’t time. Kelsey. She had to warn Kelsey.

  Regan stood with a roar, aiming and firing at once, but it was a stupid move. Two of the men had entered, but neither stood where she was aiming. All she did was kill her Audubon bird clock. The guy on her left grabbed her left arm and reached for the gun. The guy on the right grabbed her right arm and did the same. Penned in from either side, she dropped straight down, but not before the guy on the left batted the gun from her hand. It clattered on the tile again as her weight pulled the right-hand attacker to the floor with her.

  She screamed at a sudden, sharp, burning pain in her left shoulder. The left-hand guy had held on to her arm and stayed upright, dislocating her shoulder. Her vision went black, her stomach churning. She retched. He let go, and she yelled again when her arm hit the floor, reigniting the pain. She tried to roll away from him, knowing instinctively he was going to kick her. But she had nowhere to go. The guy on the right blocked her way. He didn’t seem to be moving.

  She was trapped now, boxed in by her cabinets and her enemies. Let go, her mind whispered. Just give up. But Kelsey’s laughter echoed in her head. Kelsey, who’d met a new guy. Who’d thanked her for being brave.

  Gasping for air, she forced herself to block out the pain in her arm and rolled back to the left, into the feet of the one who’d dislocated her shoulder. He was only standing on one foot, the other swinging forward to kick her. Instead of her kidney or ribs he hit her hip, and she was closer so the strike wasn’t as bad as he’d intended. She kept going and knocked him over. Unlike his buddy, he landed on her and knocked her breathless. Her left arm useless and still excruciating, she tried to drag herself out from under him with her right arm. Odd mewling, panting sounds echoed in her ears, seeming to come from someone else’s lungs. Hands grabbed at her hips, slipped away, then found better purchase on her lower legs. She kicked ferociously and contacted rough fabric over very soft tissue. Bull’s-eye.

  He let go of her for a moment, long enough for her to struggle to her feet. She had to call Kelsey. Her phone. The cell phone was plugged in, in the front hall. She had no time to get there. But the kitchen phone was cordless. She leaned against the counter, trying to catch her breath, knowing she had seconds before he’d be on her again. She staggered toward the door, grabbing the phone off the hook with her right hand, fumbling it. The inside door was still open, and the screen door had been ripped off its hook. She was through, and he still wasn’t behind her. She had a few more seconds. He’d started cursing.

  She pressed pound-oh-one and tried to run across the back yard. Wrong way. It was all enclosed. Stupid. Why hadn’t she realized? She turned left, toward the rail fence between her and Tyler’s yards. The screen banged behind her. Kelsey’s dorm phone rang once, followed by a decade of silence. Footsteps in the grass. Ragged breathing. She swung a leg over the fence and teetered with no free hands to balance herself. She half fell over the other side, listened to another ring. More silence. Why the hell wasn’t she in her room at this late hour? Wood cracking. Kelsey’s voice.

  “Hello?” Hopeful. Cheery. Alive.

  “Kelsey, it’s Mom. They’re here. It’s happened. Run. You have to run. Go to the police. Get safe. Go. Now!” The last word cut off as she was tackled from behind. The phone flew out of her hand, the tackle knocking the air out of her again. Her attacker crawled up her body, faster than she could crawl away. A fist hit her bad shoulder. She screamed. He flipped her over and hit her again, on the cheek. Light exploded in her vision, tinged with red. He growled words, things like “collection” and “don’t kill” and “blood” and “bitch.” The pain blazing up and down her entire left side made it impossible for her to put the words together and make sense of them.

  Still, she fought. Tried to kick, to gouge him with her right hand. She scratched his arm, his hand, as he grabbed her hair and lifted her face to his.

  “You goddamned bitch. This wasn’t supposed to be this hard. Fuck him. You’re not worth it.” He straddled her and knelt on her bad arm. She screamed again, but the sound was thin, airy, not enough for anyone nearby to hear. He pulled a small switchblade from his pocket and sliced her arm open, pressing something cold and hard under the cut.

  He panted harshly as he squeezed her arm. “I’m gonna let you die slow, so you can think about this.” He let go of her arm and something clinked and rasped, metal on glass. Regan swung her right arm up, trying to hit him, but he blocked it easily. He lowered his head until his mouth was next to her ear. “We’re goin’ after little Kelsey next.”

  “No.” It came out a whisper. She struggled to move, her shoulder shrieking, as his hand clamped over her throat. A hundred images flashed through her vision, and then the world faded to black.

  ***

  Kelsey stared at the phone on the wall, the receiver to her ear. “Mom? Mom!” She could hear muffled sounds. Then her mother screamed. “MOM!” A man’s murmuring voice, more rustling, another scream, and then…silence.

  They’re here. It’s happened. Run. You have to r
un. For a minute, Kelsey didn’t know what to do. Her mother was hurt, she knew it. And she thought Kelsey was in danger. It’s happened. Whatever her mom had been afraid of for so long had finally happened.

  “Kelsey?”

  It was Van, probably wondering why she was staring at the phone while the off-hook sound clanged in her ear. She slammed the receiver onto the cradle. She knew what to do, for God’s sake. She’d been training for it practically since she was born.

  “Van, can I borrow your cousin’s car?” Freshmen weren’t allowed to have cars on campus. Her mother had thought about having one for her parked off campus, but if she was caught she could be expelled, so they’d decided against it. Van’s cousin was a senior. He rode his motorcycle most of the time and let Van keep his car in her dorm lot.

  “Sure, hon. What’s goin’ on?”

  “I don’t know. Something. I just…forgot about an assignment. I have to go to the store.” She ran into her room and grabbed her backpack, stuffing whatever she could think of into it. Wallet, phone, charger, keys. She grabbed a pair of underwear off the clean laundry piled on her bed, and the pack of new pens next to it. God knew why. She didn’t have time to think. Or to deal with the bile rising in her throat. Hang on, Mom. A weapon, a weapon. She had no frigging weapons! How could her mother do that to her! Hell with it—she’d use her teeth if she had to.

  She dashed into the bathroom. Floss, eye cream, toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, uncapped mascara, cotton swabs, she swept it all into her bag. As an afterthought, she snatched a first aid kit off the shelf and dashed back out. Van stood there, arms folded, hair spikier than usual.

  “Yeah, sure, you’ve gotta go to the store. What’s going on? Can I help?”

  “No, thank you. It could—I gotta go on my own. Thank you.” She hugged her friend impulsively. Tears pricked her eyes, and she wasn’t sure how much was because of her mother being hurt, and how much the idea she might never see Van again. “Take care. Bye.” She snatched the key Van held out and left.

  In the hall, she hesitated. Panicked flight was stupid, could get her killed. She didn’t know if those after her were here yet, so she didn’t know which way was the safest to go. Shit. Should have gone out the window, like her mother told her the first day. A few students hung out in doorways or lounged on the floor talking on the phone, but she recognized everyone, and they all ignored her. She knocked on the door across the hall. Rachel, a senior, poked her head out.

  “Hey, can I look out your window a sec?” Kelsey asked her. “I need to see if my boyfriend’s here.”

  Rachel made an annoyed face, then shrugged. “Go to town.”

  “Thanks.”

  She switched off the light, ignoring Rachel’s squawk, and moved up to the side of the window. Two women were leaving the building, holding the door open for a guy she couldn’t see clearly. Dammit, they weren’t supposed to do that. They were supposed to be buzzed in. What if he was after her?

  She called out her thanks again, hitting the light switch on her way out. She paused, thinking hard through the daze of shock. He’d probably take the elevator, if he didn’t know her mother had warned her. Otherwise, he’d take the steps. But which ones? The ones to her left were closer to the rest of campus, and more people would be around there. The ones to the right were rarely used because there was nothing at that end of the building except the football field. Shit. Would he use the more vacant stairs, or the ones she’d be more likely to take?

  The ones to the right were closer to Van’s car. She headed that way, certain no matter what she did she’d make the wrong decision. The door hung open, warped hinges keeping it from closing all the way. She leaned in, listening. Silence. She pushed through and headed down, trying to keep her footsteps light and quiet so she could hear if anyone else entered the stairwell. A voice echoed from above, something about pizza, but she made it to the bottom without seeing anyone.

  Just as she reached the door, it opened and a man stepped in, almost bumping into her before he looked up. Her whole body jolted with a burst of adrenaline before she saw his face and those familiar blue eyes.

  “Tom!”

  He grinned happily. “You almost plowed me over again. I need to wear my helmet.” His smile disappeared. “Kels, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  “My mother. I gotta go. I’m sorry, Tom, I love you, but I gotta go, and I may never see you again.” Her voice caught and she angrily brushed away the tears that did more than threaten this time. “She was right,” she whispered. “My mother was right. It’s real.”

  “What?” Confusion turned to shock. “No way!” He grabbed her shoulders. “Talk to me, Kels. Tell me what’s happening.”

  “I can’t. I don’t know. All I know is someone’s after me and my mother’s hurt and I have to go to her!” She bent, trying to pull away from him.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll drive you. My car’s in the stadium lot, I’ll just—”

  “No, it’s too far. I’ve got Van’s keys. I can drive. Tom, I don’t want you hurt!”

  His face hardened and her breath caught. He looked like a man. Tall, strong, solid—someone she could count on. In the midst of her fear and uncertainty, it was as much of a turn-on as his kisses were.

  “Shut up, Kelsey, and let’s go. I’ll drive you. I’m not abandoning you, no matter what’s going on.”

  Tears welled up in the wake of a relief so strong it told her just how afraid she’d actually been. She threw her arms around him, held tight, and dragged him out the door.

  But when they got to the car, Kelsey wanted to scream with frustration. Van stood there, pacing and staring back and forth from the street to the building.

  “There you are!” She ran toward them. “The phone rang, and it was a man asking for you. When I said you’d left, he asked where you were going. I didn’t want to tell him, but he started yelling at me.”

  Kelsey gasped. “You told him?”

  “No! I told him to screw himself, hung up, and ran to catch up with you. I grabbed this.” She picked up her field hockey stick from where it lay on the trunk of the car. “Don’t even think I’m not going with you.”

  ***

  When Regan woke up, she knew instantly where she was and remembered everything that had happened until she blacked out. She didn’t know or care how she’d gotten into the hospital or how long she’d been unconscious. She had to get out of there, get to Kelsey.

  She was alone in the hospital room but, as she discovered when she started to climb out of bed, she wore a stupid open-backed gown. With her left arm in a sling, she couldn’t tie it. It didn’t matter. She had to have been naked when they brought her in, anyway.

  An IV stuck out of the back of her right hand. She wanted to rip it out but she had to be smart. Her entire body ached, her shoulder and left cheek most of all—she also had trouble seeing out of her left eye, she realized—and she didn’t need any more damage. She closed the clamp on the IV tube and carefully peeled off the tape over the catheter, then slid it out. Blood trickled across her hand, faster than she’d expected. She yanked three tissues from the box on the nightstand and pressed them to the back of her hand, ignoring the ache in her left shoulder.

  They must have given her painkillers. The throbbing in her shoulder was dull, and the room swam every time she turned her head. She could feel the tug of bandages taped to her hip, left and right arms, and right leg, but the cuts didn’t hurt. She swayed when she stood, but couldn’t rest. She had to make sure Kelsey was safe.

  She was almost to the door when it opened.

  “Oh, no, missy, you get right back into bed. What did you do? My goodness!” The nurse took Regan’s elbow and marched her back to the bed, ignoring her protests. “I don’t care if the Vatican needs you, you’re not going anywhere. Now settle down. The police need to speak with you, and that nice neighbor who came in with you is frantic with worry. I made him go outside because he wouldn’t stop pacing in here.” She clucked at the IV catheter on the fl
oor and bent to pick it up. Regan stood again and tried to slip past her, but the nurse was quick.

  “You think I’m a newbie? I’ve had bigger patients than you try to get by me and fail, missy.”

  “Stop calling me missy!” Her voice was hoarse and her neck hurt when she talked, but she ignored it. She could breathe, and that was enough. “I need to get out of here. My daughter is in danger!”

  “Tell it to the cop. You sit, I’ll get him.” She pointed the Mom Finger at Regan, who had an unexpected surge of amusement. She hadn’t been on this end of the Finger in twenty-five years.

  “Okay, I’ll sit. But get him now.”

  The nurse was true to her word. A minute later the cop—John Boyse, according to his name tag—was ponderously asking her questions about her story.

  “Look, I’ll tell you everything, but first I want to know my daughter is safe! I called her. I told her to go to the police. Please, call campus security, call the town police, do something to assure me she’s okay. If you can’t, I’m out of here.”

  “Hey, what’s this shouting?” Tyler leaned around the door, surveyed the room, then came straight over to Regan and took her right hand. “What are you riling her up for? You saw her condition when she came in here! I swear—”

  Officer Boyse sighed. “Mr. Sloane, I assure you, it was not my intent to rile Ms. Miller. I just need to get the facts.”

  “I told you how to get the facts,” Regan said.

  The officer eyed her implacably, then turned. “I’ll be right back.”

  Regan stood.

  “Hey.” Tyler shoved her with his fingertips against her chest, and she plopped back down. “You’re not going anywhere, Regan. Tell me what’s going on while we’re waiting.”

  “She needs her IV back in. Mr. Sloane, if you’ll please move over.”

  He did, and the nurse moved in on Regan’s right. Regan ignored her.