by Tom Abrahams
Nikki slid the magazine from the Glock’s grip and checked it. She pressed the top of the spring-loaded bullets, felt it was at capacity, and slapped it back into the gun.
“Satisfied?” he asked.
She pulled the slide back to chamber a round then tucked the Glock 17 into her waistband at the small of her back, tucking it under her backpack. “I will be when I check the nineteen,” she said, holding out her hand.
The guard clucked his tongue and reached into the safe. He withdrew the Glock 19, the second of their two weapons, and handed it over. Nikki took it and repeated the ammo check.
“We’re all good here,” she said. “I gotta sign anything?”
“No,” the guard said. “A thank you would be nice though.”
Nikki faked a wide smile. “Thanks,” she said with a sweetness that dripped with sarcasm. “I appreciate you keeping our guns for us in a box and then kindly returning them to us.”
He smirked and waved her out of the shack. “Much better. You know I’m just doing my job.”
Nikki backed out into the street and hiked the backpack up onto her shoulders. She handed the Glock to Jackie and looked at the guard over her shoulder as they walked toward the main road. “We all are,” she said.
Jackie pulled back the slide and tucked the gun into the front of her waistband. “What was that about?” she asked. “He give you any trouble?”
Nikki shook her head. “No. I didn’t like the idea of handing over our guns, like we’re criminals or something.”
The group started trekking toward Jackie’s house. They’d not been at JSC for twenty-four hours and already the world felt different. It was quiet. Even the birds were silent. There was no wind, and the humidity had returned. They’d walked about a half mile and the Space Center was no longer visible. The kids were ten yards ahead, their packs bouncing as they trudged forward.
“What time is it?” asked Jackie.
“I don’t know,” Nikki said. “Two thirty. Could be three o’clock. Why?”
Jackie spoke softly enough for only Nikki to hear her. “Something is off.”
Nikki’s eyes narrowed with concern. “What do you mean?”
Jackie shook her head, her eyes scanning their surroundings.
“What?” Nikki said, pressing the issue. “Is this intuition, or do you see something?”
“I don’t see anything,” Jackie said, “but it’s like we’re being watched.”
“Huh,” Nikki said. “I usually get the feels when something’s up. I have a pretty good sixth sense. No alarms are going off though.”
Jackie shrugged, focusing on their surroundings, trying to home in on whatever it was that made the hair on her neck stand on end. They were in the middle of the street, maneuvering amongst the abandoned cars and trucks. Most of them had shattered windows, their trunks popped open. Spare tires, random bits of clothing, and empty food containers littered the asphalt.
Occasionally she’d get a whiff of urine or something even more malodorous. Surveying the wasteland that was once one of the busiest thoroughfares in her Houston suburb, she unconsciously rested one hand on the protruding handgun grip.
How many days had it been? A week? No, less than a week.
Her surroundings looked so much worse than what she’d have expected only a week into the crisis. She stepped over the carcass of a dead, half-eaten cat and held her hand over her mouth. Passing another car, a bright blue Volkswagen sedan, there was a body wrapped in a blanket in its backseat. She couldn’t tell if the person was sleeping or dead until it shuffled and tugged the blanket farther over its head.
Nikki snapped her fingers in front of Jackie’s eyes. “You’ve slowed down. The kids are getting pretty far ahead of us. We should catch up.”
Jackie took an elongated stride to kick-start her acceleration. The kids were side by side, helping each other through and around the obstacle course. Jackie smiled at Chris holding his hand out to direct Marie around some broken glass. She tiptoed around the trash and followed her brother closer to the shoulder of the road.
Her eyes drifted from the kids back to a shuttered strip center on the opposite side of the road. The doors were off their hinges at several of the stores. There were opened cardboard boxes of various sizes littering the parking lot. Nikki caught her attention again, though this time it wasn’t to speed her up. She was screaming Marie’s name.
Jackie snapped her attention to where she’d last seen her children. It took her a moment to process what she was seeing. There were two large figures, probably men, dressed in all black. One of them was holding Marie on the ground. The other had Chris by the back of the neck, keeping him from helping his sister. Instinctively she yelled for her children and took off running. Nikki was a good five yards ahead of her, but stopped short of the kids. Jackie couldn’t understand why until she slid to a stop next to her friend.
The man on the ground was holding a knife to Marie’s neck. He had her pinned with his weight. He was a large man, overweight but muscular. He was breathing heavily. Marie was lying awkwardly on the grass at the shoulder of the road, her backpack still attached to her shoulder by a single strap.
The man holding Chris didn’t appear to have a weapon, but had an arm wrapped around his neck, holding the boy close to his body. Chris was struggling but wasn’t strong enough to free himself or cause the man much concern.
“I don’t want to hurt the girl,” said the man, his voice shaky but earnest. Jackie believed him. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he would if pushed to it.
“Let her go,” Jackie urged. “Let them both go. We’ll give you whatever you want.”
The men exchanged glances. Their eyes were wild, unable to focus. The one holding Marie was shaking.
Jackie swallowed hard. “It’ll be okay, kids,” she said. “They’re not going to hurt you. You’re okay.”
Both children whimpered. Chris stopped struggling. Tears streaked down Marie’s face, dripping onto the backpack and the ground underneath her.
“Give us your stuff,” said the shaking man. “Now! We don’t want to hurt your kids, but you need to hand over your packs.”
Nikki held her hands out in front of her. She took a step in front of Jackie, nearly moving directly between Jackie and the man holding Marie at knifepoint. She spoke clearly, as if she was in control.
“You’re right,” Nikki said. “You don’t want to hurt her. That would be very bad for you. What is it you want specifically?”
“Are you deaf?” the man holding Chris blurted. “We need whatever you’ve got.”
“Everything,” echoed the man on the ground.
Nikki’s hands were still in front of her. Her arms were extended straight. “I can’t do that,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at Jackie. “We can’t do that. Be reasonable, fellas.”
The man on the ground chuckled, revealing a wide gap between what was left of his front teeth. As he spoke, it became evident he was injured. His lips were swollen, and the upper lip was split at the corner.
“Reasonable?” He cackled. “What’s reasonable? Nothing’s reasonable. Give us everything you have.”
Jackie shrugged off her pack, ready to hand it over.
Nikki shook her head and took a step forward. “All right,” she said. “We can bargain here, right? We can give you what you need and then you can give us the kids back.”
The shaking man withdrew the knife from Marie’s neck and pointed it at Jackie while he talked directly to Nikki. “You best follow her lead. Give us the packs.”
Nikki took another step. “Yeah, you best follow my lead.”
“Nikki,” Jackie said, “these are my children. I—”
“Hang on, Jackie,” she said, waving her hand. “These guys are reasonable. If I give them my pack, that’s all they need. They’re frightened because somebody took everything from them. They got taken and they’re desperate. Am I right?”
The men looked at each other and then at Jackie. The t
rembling man holding Marie nodded. “It doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “What happened doesn’t matter. I don’t have time for this psychobabble bullsh—”
“Take my pack,” Nikki said. “Let go of the girl and you get my pack. You’re reasonable. I can tell you’re a good man. You’re desperate, that’s all. You’ll take what we give you. I’m giving you my pack in exchange for Marie there. Her name is Marie.”
The man’s eyes danced from person to person as he considered the offer. His features softened for an instant before they curled into an angry squeeze and he tightened his grip on Marie. “You’re not telling us what’s going to happen,” he snarled. “I’m keeping the girl. You give the bag to Otto.”
Nikki glanced at the other man. “Otto?”
The man nodded.
“Then let go of my son,” said Jackie. “His name is Chris. Let go of Chris.”
Otto loosened his grip on Chris and Nikki removed her pack and offered it at arm’s length. Still holding Chris by his shoulder, Otto reached his hand out.
At the moment he opened his hand to take the bag, a percussive blast echoed in the still air and a red circle bloomed at his temple. Otto’s mouth dropped open and he collapsed to the ground, blood leaking from the bullet hole in the side of his head.
Startled, the other man turned his body away from Marie, lifting up his torso and putting several inches between the knife blade and Marie’s neck. Nikki, unfazed by the gunshot, pulled the Glock from her back and fired a trio of quick shots at the man as she advanced toward him.
He dropped onto his back next to Marie, gasping for air and grasping at the wounds in his neck and chest. Marie rolled away from him, scrambled to her feet, and ran to her mother.
Nikki took a final step forward and put one foot on the man’s bleeding chest, putting a fourth bullet in his face.
“That’ll end your misery,” she muttered. Crouching down, she searched his jacket and pants for anything useful. The knife and a pack of matches was it. She looked back at Jackie and the kids. They were huddled together, crying and hugging, unaware of their surroundings.
Nikki looked past them back toward the path they’d traveled for the source of the gunshot that saved them. At first she couldn’t see anything; then she saw a large figure approaching rapidly, carrying a rifle with him.
“Get down,” Nikki said, brushing past the Shepards and toward the gunman. “Get behind that car. Now!”
Jackie guided the children behind a stalled Nissan and got low to the ground. Her arms were still wrapped around them, comforting them while they hid. She peered over Marie’s head and around the rear of the car, finding Nikki marching toward an armed man. Nikki’s arms were extended as she pressed forward with the gun leveled at the stranger.
“Wait here,” she said to her children’s protest. She tugged herself free of their persistent hands and drew the Glock from her waist. Still crouched low, she checked the weapon, making sure a round was in the chamber. Her children’s faces were pale, their puffy eyes reddened from their tears. She bit her lip.
“I’ll be right back,” she said. “Stay here.”
Before either child could argue, she was racing toward Nikki. Jackie held the weapon at the ground, gripping it with both hands. Seconds later she reached Nikki and the stranger. His hands were above his head. He’d put the rifle on the ground.
“—trying to help,” he said with a deep Southern drawl. “I heard you scream.”
“Back away from the rifle,” Nikki said to the stranger. “Three big steps.”
The man rolled his eyes and took three large steps, counting them. He was graying at the temples. His hair was disheveled and the shag growing on his face was wiry and unkempt. His eyes carried the same mix of shock, sadness, and exhaustion as most people. His face was long and thin, but beneath his long-sleeved Lyle Lovett concert T-shirt, he held onto the remnants of a spare tire. His faded jeans were ripped along one side and stained with dirt from the thighs to the shins. He wore canvas athletic shoes and dog tags around his neck.
“That good?” he asked. “Seriously, I’m on your side here.”
“What side is that?” asked Nikki.
He shrugged. “Decency?”
“Where did you come from?” Jackie asked, joining the conversation. “How did you see us?”
The man motioned over his shoulder to his right. “I was in that Volkswagen,” he said, his words drawn longer by his accent. “The blue one. I was sleeping when I heard a noise. It was you two talking. Or maybe it was the girl down there. I don’t know, but you woke me up.”
“I saw you,” Jackie said. “You were under a blanket.”
The man looked at the ground. His cheeks flushed. “I’ve been sleeping where I can,” he said, eyeing the women again. “Just moving along, that’s all.”
“What about the rifle?” asked Nikki.
“Protection,” he said incredulously. “You both have guns, right?”
Jackie looked down at the rifle and then over her shoulder at the dead men on the shoulder of the road. It had to be fifty yards. “Military?”
He took the tags in his hands. “No, I’m a hunter. Deer, coyote, hogs. My wife was the soldier. These were hers. She’d have killed me if I hadn’t helped you, so…”
Nikki looked back at Jackie. “Well, don’t I feel like an ass?”
Jackie grinned. “Thank you,” she said. “From both of us.”
“Thank you,” said Nikki.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Can I grab my rifle? I mean, if I was gonna use it against you, I already would have.”
Nikki eyed the weapon and then looked at Jackie. Jackie nodded her approval.
He stepped forward and bent down to pick up the rifle. “Thank you. Could I ask for a favor?”
“What?” asked Nikki.
“You have any food in those packs?” he asked. “I haven’t eaten since my car died. I was on a road trip south to hunt in Edinburg and—”
“Of course,” Jackie said and waved him to follow them back to the kids. “The kids will want to thank you too.”
He sighed with relief. “Thank you. I’d be in better shape if the power went out after I’d bagged some game.”
“Where are you from?” asked Nikki, trailing behind Jackie and the stranger.
“Oklahoma,” he said. “Stillwater. I worked maintenance at OSU.”
“Can’t get home?” Nikki asked.
“Trying,” he said. “Made it this far from Victoria, where the car died. About a hundred forty miles down, only five hundred fifty to go. You got far to go?”
“No,” said Jackie. “A mile or two. We live near here. We’re heading back home.”
Marie and Chris emerged from behind the Nissan and stepped toward their mom, their eyes glued to the man with the rifle. They stood close to each other, holding hands. Chris was rubbing Marie’s thumb with his.
“Kids,” Jackie said, “this is Mr…?”
“Salt.”
“This is Mr. Salt. He’s the one who helped us.”
“Thank you,” they said in unison.
Chris pointed at the body of the man who’d been holding Marie. “Nikki killed that one.”
Holding the rifle on his shoulder by its stock, Salt walked over to the body. He grunted and looked over at Nikki. “I saw you in the scope when I moved over to take him out. You did my work for me.”
“You’re welcome,” said Nikki.
Salt walked back to Nikki, his eyes narrowed and his head tilted to one side. “Have we ever met before? You look really familiar.”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I get that a lot.”
Salt wagged a finger. “I know you.”
“She’s Deep Six Nikki,” Chris said.
Nikki, crouching in front of her open backpack, shot Chris a look. Chris smirked.
Salt’s jaw dropped. “The MMA fighter?”
Nikki pulled a can from the pack. “You wanted food? How’s refried beans?”
<
br /> Salt took another step forward and then squatted next to Nikki. “If you don’t mind my saying, your fight against Laura Lingo was like watching a young Tyson against, well, anyone. I mean, you dominated her. You had that one move. What was it called? The shutdown something.”
Nikki set the can on the ground and withdrew a box of uncooked pasta. “Shutoff valve,” she said, shaking the pasta. “Noodles okay?”
Salt snapped his fingers and smiled. “The shutoff valve! That’s right. Darn near suffocated poor Lingo with that move.”
Nikki fished through the pack and found a six-ounce bottle of water. She set it on the ground next to the noodles and beans.
“I’ll take whatever you got,” he said. “I wasn’t taught to discriminate. Given my current situation, I’m not about to start. You were a heck of a fighter, by the way. Heck of a fighter.”
“I don’t fight anymore,” she said. “I gave it up.”
Salt nodded toward the dead man on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t agree with that. He probably wouldn’t either.”
Nikki found a package of tuna in her bag and added it to the haul. She looked at Salt and then at the dead man, his eyes fixed open with the same shock they’d revealed when she put the first bullet in his neck. She glanced at the kids. They were watching her dole out the food.
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “It’s not the same thing. You good with this? Some protein, some starches. They should give you energy.”
“I’ve got a couple cans of kids’ pasta too,” said Jackie. “You have a can opener?”
Salt shook his head. “Just a canteen back in the car, the blanket, my rifle, some extra ammo and a couple of hand warmers. That’s it.”
Nikki pulled the dead man’s knife from her bag and stuck it in the dirt at the shoulder of the road. “You can have this,” she said. “It’ll make do as a can opener.”
“Y’all have been mighty nice,” said Salt. He pushed himself to his feet and the women handed him the food. He cradled it against his chest, managing somehow despite still holding the rifle. “I appreciate you.”
“We appreciate you,” said Jackie. “Good luck.”
“You too,” said Salt.
He backed up a couple steps, turned around, and marched back to the Volkswagen.
