Grace Under Fire

by Franklin Horton

  "I'm taking these pills and I'm going out the door. You stay in the bed. You move out of this bed and I'll give you some pain these pills won't even touch."

  Teresa did not react, did not know how to react. The man backed away from her, exiting her bedroom door and shutting it behind him. She could hear some rustling at the knob, a few thumps, and then it was silent.

  She immediately thought of Blake, wondering where he was and if the stranger had hurt him. Forgetting about her incision, she tried to quickly raise up and sharp pain wracked her body. The spasm was so intense it threw her backward on the bed. She felt a pulling deep inside her, a tearing pain that she could not fight her way through.

  She ended up flat on the bed sucking in air through gritted teeth. She could do this, but she would have to take it easier. She could not force it. She rolled to her side and carefully raised herself onto her elbow. From there she pushed herself to a sitting position and paused. She breathed deeply. Carefully, she rose to a standing position.

  You can do this, she told herself.

  Despite the pain, she made it. A cold sweat broke out all over her body. Once on her feet she leaned toward the nightstand and picked up a copy of Truman Capote's In Cold Blood from a stack of books on her nightstand and flipped it open. It was a hollow book and inside was a Glock 19.

  If the Hardwick family had an official handgun it was the Glock 19. If her husband was telling her the truth, they owned six of them. If he was like most gun lovers, he told her they owned six but they actually owned ten. She drew back the slide and confirmed there was one in the pipe. There were two spare mags in the hollow book and she went to stash them in her pocket, only then becoming aware that she was wearing the kind of frilly pajamas that women wore when they were sick or in the hospital. The only pockets were decorative. They would not hold the Glock or the magazines. Even the waistband was not substantial enough to tuck a pistol into.

  Holding the magazines in one hand and the pistol in the other she moved to the door and twisted the knob. It turned easily in her hand. She pulled to crack it open and peer into the hallway. It would not budge. She tugged harder and could feel that the door moved slightly but there was not enough movement to even create a gap that she could look out.

  She tugged even harder and immediately regretted it. The movement engaged the core muscles that had been sliced through during her surgical procedure. A gasp of pain escaped her and she released the knob to grip her abdomen. She took a step back from the door and tried to calm her breathing.

  The pain and frustration made tears rise within her. That she did not know what was happening with her son and could not escape this room was terrifying. It was the worst torture imaginable, combined with the fact that she was physically impaired and in no condition to fight.

  The only other way out of the room was the window. She had looked out this window thousands of times since they had lived in this home but she assessed the view differently this time. She was looking for an escape route but found none. The window was about sixteen feet off the ground. There was nothing she could climb down and nothing she could jump onto. She wasn’t in any condition to do any of those things anyway.

  Teresa took a moment to calm herself. She was trapped for now and panicking wouldn’t help anything. She needed to focus on the things that she could actually control. The first thing she was going to do was find some clothes, preferably something with functional pockets.

  She went to the closet and found a pair of oversized sweatpants. They were chosen for no other reason than that she hoped they would be loose around her incision. She put them on, then struggled with socks and tennis shoes. She applied more thick gauze over the incision, creating a padded barrier between the wound and her clothing. When that was done she slipped on a button-up shirt.

  While she was in the closet dressing she recalled that her husband kept a shotgun in there. She winced at the thought of the recoil. She didn't know if she could fire it without doing permanent damage to herself.

  Now fully clothed she put the spare magazines in the shirt pockets and returned to the door. She studied it, then she felt like an idiot. She wasn’t trapped at all. The door opened inward. While he had obviously restrained the handle so that she could not swing the door open the conventional way, there were other options. The hinges were on her side. If she simply removed the pins she could pry the door out of the opening.

  She went to her nightstand and pulled open the top drawer where she kept a small Phillips screwdriver she used for changing batteries in Blake’s toys. She raked her fingers through the drawer, through spare batteries, spare shoelaces, old pairs of glasses, and small flashlights. She finally found the screwdriver when it jabbed her in the hand.

  She returned to the door and slid the screwdriver into the bottom of the hinge and up against the tip of the hinge pin. Using her palm and trying to make as little noise as possible, she drove the screwdriver upward. It took several firm hits before the pin moved and began to slip upward. Each tap of her palm gained more ground and put her closer to escape. In just a few minutes she had the pin high enough that she was able to pull it free.

  Soon, she had all the pins removed. Friction still held the door in place. She could easily pry the door out of the frame with the screwdriver. But what then?

  Teresa knew that taking the door off the hinges was a step that could not be undone. Once the door was off its hinges and she was in the hallway she was committed to the fight. Unfortunately, the waistband of the sweatpants was too loose to hold the Glock. She started to bend over and set the gun at her feet while she worked on the door but the pain made it difficult. She chose to leave it on the nightstand for now. It would only be a few steps away.

  Returning to the door, she jammed the tiny Phillips bit into the gap at the hinge side of the door. She pushed sideways against the screwdriver and the door shifted in the frame. The hinges went out of alignment, showing that her effort was working. She pushed harder and the halves of the hinges separated. The door dropped to the floor with a slight thud and she hissed in frustration. She used her fingers and gripped the half of the hinge that was screwed to the door. She used that as a handle to swing the door inward. As the door moved, the bolt withdrew from the strike. In seconds the door was standing completely free and unattached to the frame.

  While this exhilarated her, it also presented her with a dilemma that she had not fully planned for. She could not lift the door because it required using all of the muscles compromised by her hysterectomy. Lifting with both arms required the core, and her core was damaged. She had no choice but to try to slide the door to the side and hope that it didn't make too much noise. She pushed on it, cringing at the wood-on-wood grating noise. When there was just enough opening for her to get through, she leaned the door against the wall and shuffled to the nightstand where she retrieved her Glock 19.

  She held the gun with both hands. It was in front of her but her elbows were bent, the weapon drawn back against her body. From this position she could shoot quickly, but it was not extended so far as someone would easily be able to yank it from her hands. At the doorframe, she peered around the corner. The hallway light was on and there was no one in the hall. She could hear noise coming from the kitchen, shuffling and banging. There was the hushed murmur of conversation. The door to Blake's room was closed.

  She ventured halfway around the corner and into the hallway, raising her gun ahead of her. She kept her trigger finger extended and outside of the trigger guard. She wanted that extra second to process what she was seeing in case one of the children or Leslie bolted out into the hallway. She shuffled forward, too scared to even breathe. Her heart was racing and her mind was not far behind it. Who was this man in her house and where was her child? Where was Leslie?

  When she reached her son’s door she paused and listened. She heard nothing. She leaned closer to the door and placed her ear against it. Inside she could hear the low murmur of voices. It sounded like children. She ho
ped that it was Dylan and Blake and that they were okay. She watched the end of the hallway, toward the kitchen. She placed her hand on the doorknob and twisted it slowly. It was not locked and she heard the mechanical sound of the lock’s mechanism, the bolt retracting.

  When she was certain the door would open freely, she switched her attention from the hallway to the door in front of her. She pushed and it began to swing open, creaking slightly, and the sound was immense in the quiet house. She looked back toward the kitchen again and saw nothing. She pulled her gun from that direction toward the room, holding it at the ready, and looked inside. Blake and Dylan sat terrified, paralyzed with fear. They’d seen the doorknob turning and did not know who was coming for them.

  Teresa pushed the door closed behind her, turning the knob and then releasing it slowly after the door was pushed into place. She went to her son and hugged him, smoothing his hair with her hand. He hugged her back and it hurt, but the pain was a small price to feel those arms wrapped around her.

  "Are you two okay?” Teresa asked.

  “I’m scared,” Blake said.

  Teresa looked at Dylan and he nodded, wide-eyed. She’d never seen such a terrified child.

  Dylan was staring at the gun in Teresa's hand. "Are you going to shoot my mommy?" he asked.

  "Your mommy?" Teresa said, confused.

  "His mommy is Mrs. Brown's daughter," Blake explained.

  Teresa acknowledged this with the sound that indicated it was all making sense now. "Is your mom's boyfriend here with her?"

  Dylan nodded. "Paul," he stated, as if the name explained everything.

  Teresa assumed that whoever was in her house stealing her medication was a scumbag but this confirmed it. She’d heard Leslie's stories about her daughter and Paul, her piece-of-shit boyfriend. None of the stories were good.

  "Boys, we have to get out of here and we may not have much time. I need you all to do exactly as I say, exactly when I say. I don't plan on shooting your mommy unless she tries to hurt me or one of you. Do you understand?"

  Blake nodded in acknowledgment, and Dylan reluctantly nodded as well.

  "There were noises," Blake said. “Like someone making a mess.”

  Teresa held a hand up to stop him. "None of that matters now. We need to go to the basement. We’re going to the Ready Room. Dylan, you just have to trust us for now. Do you understand?”

  The boys nodded again.

  “I'm going to open this door and step into the hall," Teresa said. "I’m going to watch and make sure no one comes after us. I need you two to go to the end of the hall and climb through the heat duct in the wall."

  Dylan raised his hand as if he had a question but Teresa waved him off. “We don't have time for questions now. Blake, do you remember how I showed you to go through the heat duct?"

  “Yes, Mommy.”

  "So we go down the hall and through the heat duct. I will follow behind you and close it. That will put us in the laundry room. From the laundry room we take the steps into the basement. Blake, if you're to the Ready Room first you open the door. You and Dylan go inside and shut it behind you. If I'm not behind you, go on in there and don’t come out. Everything you need is in there. You stay in until one of us comes to get you."

  "You're coming too, aren't you?" Blake asked nervously.

  "I plan on it. If the bad man slows me down, I may have to meet you in there later."

  Teresa clapped her hands. "Okay. We go now."

  She went to the door and eased it open, peering through the crack into the hallway. Seeing no one, she opened the door fully and stepped into the hall, waving behind her for Dylan and Blake to come along.

  Blake shot out the door and swung to the right with Dylan behind him. They ran to the end of the hall and Dylan stared at the heat duct, not quite understanding what to do. Blake took over. The cold air return in the lower half of the wall was actually a dummy. There was no ductwork hooked to it. Blake flipped two levers and the louvered white door flipped down. He yanked the filter out of the way and set it to the side. Behind that filter was another filter installed in a matching dummy cold air return in the laundry room. Blake shoved his hand into the second filter and it flew out of the way, dropping the hinged door on the other side.

  As they'd practiced before, he crawled through the door on his hands and knees. Once through, he gestured at Dylan to follow. Teresa alternated between watching the boys and the end of the hall. She was concerned that the white steel cover dropping in the laundry room had made more noise than she had anticipated. Once Dylan was through the opening Blake gestured for her to come along. She waved a hand at him urgently, prompting him to go ahead and go to the basement. She didn’t want him waiting on her.

  Keeping her eyes on the end of the hall, Teresa backed toward the opening. When she was there, she gingerly dropped to all fours and began backing through the door. It would have been easier to go through headfirst but she did not want to leave her back exposed. It was a good thing too. When she was halfway through the opening, Debbie came around the corner.

  Debbie was walking loose-limbed, as if she was intoxicated. Maybe she had been into Teresa's pain pills. It took her a moment to register the open door and then anger flashed across her face. She assumed the kids had not listened to her. Then she noticed Teresa at the end of the hall, half her body protruding from the opening in the wall. For a moment Debbie seemed unable to process what was going on in front of her. Then she yelled, "Hey!"

  Teresa raised the Glock 19 with one hand and fired two shots into the wall alongside Debbie. Drywall dust sprayed Debbie and she flinched, staggering back down the hall and jumping around the corner. Teresa backed through the opening, the effort wracking her body with pain.

  Just as she retreated fully through the opening, the man she'd seen in her bedroom earlier came around the corner, the revolver in his hand. This time Teresa did not fire to warn. She aimed center mass and popped off two rounds. Her firing position was awkward and both rounds missed but sent Paul careening to the side. Teresa rolled away from the opening, then threw a hand on the washing machine to pull herself onto her feet, screaming from the effort.

  She left the laundry room and headed toward the basement door. She gripped the handrail, concentrating on staying on her feet. She felt lightheaded from the pain, and sweat rolled from her body. Behind her she could hear yelling and loud footsteps as the intruders clambered through the house trying to find where she and the children had gone.

  In the basement she could see the door to the Ready Room. Just as she'd instructed, Blake had closed it behind him. The door was not far away from her now, fully half of the basement being consumed by the structure. She heard footsteps getting closer. They were at the top of the stairs now.

  She heard them starting down the basement steps. She spun, the effort again producing a cry of pain that forced its way from her. She fired by reflex, three shots hitting around the intruder’s feet and forcing them back up the steps. She reached the door and punched in the four-digit combination. There was a whir of tiny motors within the electronic lock. When the light on the lock turned green, she heaved it open and lunged inside. Blake and Dylan sat waiting on her, terrified looks on their faces. Certain now that they were inside with her, she slammed the door, and it locked automatically behind her. For extra protection, she threw the heavy draw bolt.

  They were sealed inside now. They were safe.

  With the door locked behind her, Teresa stepped away from it as if people may come bursting through after her. They couldn’t, but she was still in fight mode, prepared for anything. She hugged Dylan and Blake to her. They embraced her too tightly, causing her to grimace from the pain.

  "Let's get away from the door," she said, hoping it would encourage them to release their hold on her.

  The Ready Room was not some high tech, armored bunker. In fact, it was very low-tech. Robert had a background in construction and had built the room using common construction techniques to serve m
ultiple purposes for the family. It took up roughly half of the basement. As the house was being constructed, Robert had a dividing wall of twelve-inch cinderblock laid across the middle of the floor. The cinderblocks were anchored into the concrete slab. When the block wall was laid, vertical and horizontal reinforcement was added and the twelve-inch blocks were concreted solid.

  When the wall was just below the level of the first floor, light steel beams were added to support the ceiling. Corrugated steel decking was welded on top of the beams and a concrete slab was poured. The door into the Ready Room was a fairly standard commercial-grade exterior door. It was of solid steel construction but the front and back face of the door featured an additional layer of 3/8 inch steel plate. It was fairly common steel that was easy to get and the two layers sandwiched against the door would stop most bullets.

  The door hung on heavy duty ball bearing hinges. The door hardware was commercial grade vandal-resistant hardware. Because the lock could theoretically be compromised if it were damaged enough, the inside of the Ready Room featured a large half-inch diameter draw bolt that would further secure the door to the block wall. There were also hooks that would allow rectangular steel tubes to be used to barricade the door.

  The room could inevitably be breached if someone were persistent enough, but the room had another purpose that would help if the room was compromised. It also served as the family's primary gun safe. Robert also had a gun safe upstairs in the bedroom to keep a selection of weapons at hand, but he had always dreamed of having a gun room where you could display weapons under cool LED lighting. One entire wall of the bunker was set up in such a manner. A special commercial display system with weapon hooks displayed a small armory of weapons that Robert had collected over the years. A benchtop allowed him to clean and work on them. Cabinets underneath held ammunition, cleaning kits, and spare parts.

  The back wall of the Ready Room held bunks, each with a rolled up mattress, a sleeping bag, and a pillow. When no one was sleeping on them, the bunks were also used for shelving and contained a variety of stored foods. Along another wall, wire rack shelving held more food and camping gear. There was a laundry sink connected to the gravity-fed water system. In the event that the water supply failed, there were also two blue barrels storing 110 gallons of drinkable water.