Lit Fuse (A Tanner Novel Book 44)

by Remington Kane

  Turning back to the first man, Franny was shocked to see he was still on his feet. The lack of blood on his shirt told Franny that a vest had stopped her round. The vest may have saved his life, but he was still dealing with the pain that the bullet’s impact had inflicted on him and was bent over at the waist while groaning. The rifle remained in his hands; he sent a hurried three-round burst at Franny that missed her by passing through the space between her raised arm and her left side. Franny fired back at him but also missed, because the man had dived through the open door of the supply closet.

  “Let’s go!” Franny said. She backed up toward the room’s exit while keeping her eye on the closet. She was tempted to remove the other rifle from the man she had killed, but it was strapped onto his back. Freeing it from his body would take time she didn’t have and leave her vulnerable.

  Wendy, looking frantic, moved past her and into the reception area. Franny kept staring at the doorway to the closet while holding her gun in a two-handed grip. When the receptionist came even with her, the man in the red ski mask reappeared and sent more rounds at Franny. Instead of hitting her, they ripped into the body of the legal assistant and killed her. An exit wound sprayed blood across Franny’s face as she returned fire. She’d been hoping to score a head wound, but her aim was off due to blood getting in one eye. Two of her three rounds struck the man in the vest again. He fell back into the storage room as a grunt of pain escaped him.

  Franny wiped her face with her sleeve and looked down at the assistant. She released a moan as she took in the dead woman. That moan was followed by a scream from Wendy, and Franny left the law office to help her new friend.

  We’re going to drown, Joshua thought. After tumbling down the hill, he and Haley had fallen into the moving water of the stream. Although it was getting dark, there had been enough light left for Joshua to see that Haley was unconscious. He battled the rush of water and reached her, but the current and the weight of Haley’s limp body made it difficult for him to fight his way to the slanted bank of the stream. The best he’d been able to do was to hold on to the limb of a fallen tree that was sticking up out of the water beside the stream’s bank. His efforts to get Haley out of the stream had failed. The bank was still muddy from a previous rain and twice Haley had slid back into the water.

  He had removed his mask along with Haley’s, but the rest of their wet clothing clung to their bodies and made it more difficult to move.

  Joshua was certain he could claw his way out of the stream on his own, but if he released Haley she would be swept away, and likely drown. He wouldn’t do that, he couldn’t, and the thought had come to him that they might both wind up drowning.

  Joshua took in a deep breath, gripped the tree limb with his left hand, and with his right he attempted to heave Haley onto the bank of the stream again. It worked, but as before, Haley began sliding back into the water. Joshua released a sob of frustration, then gasped as Haley slid back up and onto the bank fully.

  “I’ve got her,” said a voice.

  Joshua looked up and saw a man dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt who was wearing a backpack. There was also a gun in a holster on his hip. When their eyes locked, Joshua gasped again. The man’s eyes were like beacons of intensity.

  Tanner had been passing by on his way to Townsend’s office when he’d heard Joshua’s grunt of effort. When he looked in that direction, he’d spied Haley’s form slipping back into the water. He was able to reach under her arms and pull her to solid ground before she reentered the stream. Then, he offered a hand to Joshua and helped him out of the water. Joshua thanked him as he rushed over to Haley and checked on her.

  “Is she breathing?” Tanner asked.

  Joshua turned to him with a smile. “Yes. And thank you again. I think you saved our lives.”

  Tanner used his phone like a flashlight and looked Haley over. He pointed to her side where her blouse had turned bloody. “She’s injured. Was she shot? I heard gunfire a few minutes ago.”

  “No. She wasn’t shot, but we both tumbled down the hill. Something must have cut her.”

  Joshua removed Haley’s leather vest and slid her top up to examine her. There was a gash on her right side, a few inches below her bra. The laceration was bleeding freely. An examination of her head revealed that a lump was forming beneath her hair on the left side. The blow to the head was why she was unconscious.

  Tanner removed first aid supplies from a pouch on his backpack and went to work on the cut. He was able to stop the bleeding.

  “Hey man, who are you?” Joshua asked.

  “I’m a guy in a hurry who’s passing through.”

  “You’re like our guardian angel is what you are. I’m Joshua, she’s Haley.”

  “What was that gunfire about?”

  “We were with a group trying to get past the guards up on the hill there. They fired at us. Shit, I hope nobody died.”

  “Are you one of the protestors?”

  “That’s right. Things need to change and the rich need to share the wealth.”

  Tanner said nothing in reply. He was as apolitical as they came and had no desire to debate anyone about social issues, politics, or money. He was in San Padre because of Franny, a woman who had become like one of the family to himself, Sara, and their children. His only concern was finding Franny and keeping her safe.

  “I wouldn’t count on help getting to you anytime soon. The cell phones aren’t working, and I doubt the cops have time to answer all the 9-1-1 calls they’ll be getting.” Tanner removed a pouch from his pack and handed it to Joshua. “That’s an emergency thermal blanket. Wrap Haley in that to keep her dry and warm.”

  “Thanks man,” Joshua said, as he looked up at the sky. “It looks like it might pour soon.”

  “I’ll help you move her to a spot under those trees. That will keep most of the rain off you once it starts.”

  They moved Haley beneath a tall pine and Joshua covered her with the thermal blanket. When he looked up, Tanner was moving away at a run. Joshua called to him.

  “Hey, thanks again, man.”

  Tanner raised a hand in acknowledgement and increased his speed. He needed to get to Franny before something bad happened to her.

  7

  Taking Out The Trash

  Franny left the reception area in Townsend’s office and stepped into the tiled hallway on the third floor. Wendy was struggling to get free of a young man with a beefy build who was gripping her by her arms. The man’s bearded friend saw Franny and pointed at her.

  “Look, there’s another bitch. She ain’t bad-looking either.”

  “Let her go,” Franny said, and raised the weapon she was holding. The man who had pointed was walking toward her. He halted when he saw the gun, then held up his hands.

  “Don’t shoot. We’re going.”

  The beefy man holding Wendy released her and backed up toward the stairs. His friend joined him, and they headed through a door and into the stairwell.

  Wendy stood rooted in place with tears streaming down her cheeks. She was standing in front of the open door of the dental office and gazing in at a scene of violence and depravity.

  A body lay on the floor near the reception counter. It was the dentist. Someone had stabbed him numerous times, and blood was splattered throughout the room. Four men were raping the dental assistants. As two of them pinned the women to the floor, the other two rutted away between their victim’s legs like beasts in heat, while grunting with their efforts. The women were struggling to get free but were unable to cry out as they had done earlier because they each had a hand clamped over their mouths.

  Franny felt vile rise in her throat and rage erupt within her. She moved into a shooting stance, took aim, and began firing. A round entered the back of the head of the man raping the woman on the left. When the other rapist paused in his thrusting to jerk his head around at the sound of the shot, Franny placed a bullet between his eyes. One of the men holding down the women sprang up and charge
d at Franny with a knife in his hand. She pumped three bullets into his torso, and he kept coming, fueled by cocaine. Franny kept firing and his charge morphed into a collapse that had him falling to the floor at her feet, the knife still held in a tight grip.

  “I give up! I give up!” the last man said. Franny answered him with two rounds to the chest that emptied her gun. If she could have brought them all back to life and killed them again, she would have been more than willing to do so.

  The two rape victims leapt up from the floor and rushed by Franny and Wendy. As they were passing the body of their dead employer a mournful cry erupted from each of them.

  Wendy was looking at the bodies of the four men Franny had shot. “They’re dead. Oh my God, Franny. What are we going to do? The world has gone insane.”

  “We’re going to survive,” Franny said. She was looking down the hall as she spoke, knowing that the man in the red ski mask was still alive. Despite the bulletproof vest he wore, the last two shots she hit him with would have hurt him. Franny told Wendy to follow her, and they took the stairs and left the building.

  The man in the red ski mask was named Devon Sobol. Franny had been correct in her assessment of his condition. The first round that struck his vest had doubled him over in pain, round two had impacted the vest with the force of a sledgehammer, and the third round had hit the vest where his diaphragm was located. The pain weakened his legs and he collapsed to the floor of the supply closet. To Sobol, it felt as if his lungs had been shut off. He’d been unable to take a breath for more than a minute. When he was able to draw in air, the agony was so intense it made his eyes water.

  As he lay there recovering, he’d heard Franny’s slaying of the rapists and wondered if she would come back to finish him off. If so, he would have been unable to stop her. For the first eight minutes after he’d been shot, it was all he could do to breathe. When he had recovered enough to speak, he called out to his friend in the brown ski mask. Sobol knew his friend had been shot; he was unaware that the wound had been fatal.

  “Denny… are you there?”

  No answer. And that in itself was an answer. It told Sobol that Denny was either dead or unconscious.

  Finally, his diaphragm muscle recovered from the shock of the impact it suffered, and he was able to draw in a deep breath. His torso felt as if he’d been run over by a tank, but he made it to his feet and reclaimed his dropped rifle.

  Sobol spat out a curse when he saw Denny’s dead form. He had known Denny Martinez for seven years and fought beside him in both urban and jungle war zones. Now the man had been killed by some middle-aged woman who was old enough to be their mother.

  She wouldn’t get any older, Sobol vowed to himself, not once he caught up to her. There were purses on the floor near Denny’s body. Sobol found the wallets Denny had looted of cash and opened them up. Inside each of them was a driver’s license.

  The woman who’d shot him was Francine Facini. She was from some town in Texas named Stark. The other woman, the Asian one was named Wendy Kim. Sobol was glad to see that her address was listed as being in San Padre.

  Before leaving, Sobol hid Denny’s rifle behind a stack of copy paper in the supply closet. It would be too awkward to carry two rifles and he could claim the weapon later. As he was about to walk out of the office, Sobol turned and spoke to Denny’s corpse.

  “I’ll find the bitch that killed you and put her down, brother. I swear I will. And I’ll make her suffer too. Sobol left the room at a pace allowed by his injured diaphragm and went in search of vengeance.

  8

  Escape Into Madness

  Franny found the streets of San Padre to be no reprieve from the insanity that had taken place inside the office building. Looting was going on everywhere, as was violence. Two groups of protestors were fighting over a huge flatscreen television, and several of them had knives. A man was stabbed in the chest as she and Wendy watched, then a speeding pickup truck ran over the box containing the TV, which had been abandoned in the street. When the looters complained to the driver, while calling him names, his passenger leaned out an open window in the truck and fired off a shotgun. The 00 buckshot killed one man and sent the others scattering.

  Stores that weren’t filled with looters were on fire and burning out of control. One such storefront had been a florist. Franny wondered if the shop had been looted first and then set ablaze. A bizarre vision came to her of dozens of people roaming the wild streets while holding bouquets of flowers.

  “Look, Franny,” Wendy said, and gestured to their right. Down the block, there were four men standing in front of a building as if they were guarding it. They wore different colored ski masks and held rifles. “They look like the two men who attacked us.”

  “You’re right,” Franny said, and at the same moment it struck her that the building where the men were standing was a bank. The men in the ski masks weren’t random looters looking to score a free TV or laptop. They were organized and going after money.

  The four men were members of the same security company as the guards Joshua and Haley had spoken to up on the hill. Devon Sobol and Denny Martinez were also members. The owner of the company was a man named Tibbetts. Tibbetts was wearing a black ski mask and had a plan to blast open the safe in the bank. He had yet to learn that Denny Martinez was dead or that Sobol had been injured. They had been given the job of finding money inside office buildings. Sobol had abandoned that task and was wandering the streets looking to kill Franny as payback.

  Tibbetts and his men were working for Morgan Miller. They had started the riot while pretending to be cops and protestors, now they were looking to profit from the madness they’d unleashed. It was rare for Tibbetts to be in the field during an operation since his company had grown much larger recently. That growth had been due to a contract he’d signed with Hexalcorp a year earlier. On paper, the forty-eight-year-old Tibbetts ran a legitimate security firm, but he offered less than legal services to certain clients such as Hexalcorp. With the riot ignited and his job done, Tibbetts saw no reason not to do some looting of his own. He wasn’t after large screen televisions; he wanted long green cash. He and his men had come prepared and had already sabotaged the city’s surveillance system. There were cameras mounted on every traffic light, but they weren’t getting any power; consequently, the traffic signals and half the streetlights had stopped working too.

  After breaking into the bank, Tibbetts had plans to invade the safe inside a nearby credit union. He smiled as he entered the bank. It felt good to be back on the streets and in the middle of the action.

  Franny and Wendy moved on but were unable to keep to the shortest route to the real estate office. There were mobs everywhere, either looting or destroying anything in their path. Although Franny had a weapon, it held no rounds. If a mob decided to attack them, the gun would only be good for bluffing their way out of trouble.

  They had to find shelter twice and wait out rampaging groups until they passed by. Afterwards, they took one detour, then another, as they stayed to the shadows to reach a place of safety.

  Tanner saw that he had been right about the destination of the National Guard troops. They were at the courthouse and struggling to push back the last of the protestors who were out for blood. Although Kyle Anderson had been found guilty and would spend time in prison, there were those that wanted to drag him from the courthouse and make him pay with his life.

  The demonstrators outnumbered the soldiers but weren’t armed with rifles. They were being shoved back to the original perimeter point that had been in place when the verdict was announced. The National Guard was showing great restraint by not firing their weapons. The threat of what they could do with them was enough to make the protestors back off.

  And while order was being reestablished at the courthouse, the same could not be said for the area around it. Looted stores and burning buildings were the norm. The flames gave light to see by, as many of the streetlights were out.

  Tanner read
the numbers on the buildings and located the one where Franny had been when he’d last spoken to her. The glass front doors at its entrance were shattered, along with several windows, and nearby a man on a motorcycle was being attacked.

  Three men and two women were punching and kicking the man, and one of the women was trying to yank his helmet off. A bare-chested man with a baseball bat smashed the motorcyclist’s right knee with a swing that could have launched a home run. The motorcyclist released a howl of pain and fell off the bike.

  Tanner called out to the group as he approached with his gun hanging loosely at his side. “Leave him alone.”

  The man with the baseball bat rushed toward Tanner. The fool had a wild glint in his eyes and bravery supplied by whatever drug he was on. Tanner shot him twice in the chest and the bat hit the ground the same time as the man who’d been holding it. His companions stared at the body in disbelief, then took off running in different directions as Tanner grew closer. He let them go and spoke to the man in the motorcycle helmet.

  “How’s the knee?”

  The man tried to stand and collapsed. He removed the helmet and looked up at Tanner. He was in his mid-twenties and had blond hair.

  “I think something is broken. I can’t put any weight on the knee, and I ache all over from all the kicking and punching. But never mind that. Listen, my girlfriend is in this building. Please go in there and tell her I’m here. Her name is Wendy and she’s at a lawyer’s office on the third floor.”