The Madison Jennings Series Box Set

by Kiara Ashanti

  “Any word?”

  “No. No one’s got a clue what they are using. The video cameras at this place are for shit.”

  “It’s a security camera at a movie theater, you spaz, not a Hollywood production lot,” said Mako, his tone filled with needles.

  “So what? If you’re gonna spend the money, spend it on some quality shit, just in case, you know, you have to ID a bomb in a terrorist attack!” Dale’s voice broke at the end of the sentence like a teen reentering puberty. He punched the side of the desk. The pain hit him a few seconds later, forcing him to shake his hand in the air, but he said nothing.

  George could not blame his friend. He wanted to hit a few things himself. He wished he could be like the tech guru, Bug, in the Jonathan Maberry novels. Bug would conjure some cyber magic to find a way to help the hero save the day. The dude in the theater was the hero, but George couldn’t think of a single thing he could do to help. He was just a geek hacker that had stuck his nose into the wrong place on the wrong day. Not for the first time he wished he had not decided to broadcast the signal.

  “Hey, what are they doing?”

  George broke from his internal musing and turned his attention back to the monitor. The security camera in the lobby showed some terrorists gathering by a sitting area.

  “Looks like . . . yup, it’s a camera.”

  Mako looked around the room with puzzlement. “What do they need a camera for?”

  Basava clenched the back of Mako’s chair until it felt like his fingers would cut through its padding. “It’s obvious. They are gonna bore us with some bullshit Islamic jihadist message. Probably send it to the Internet . . .”

  Basava’s words trailed off as the implication began to dawn on him. Before he could say another thing, his radio squawked, the CTCEU agent’s phone started ringing, and Dale had jumped to his feet pointing at the screen.

  “They got a phone. They got a phone.”

  “Sooo what?” said George. Then it hit. “Shit!”

  He started hitting keys on the keyboard, but it was already too late.

  Zavier and Maddie had just made it to the door that led into the main concession area when he heard the rising voices. He looked out of the window into the lobby. A group of shooters were looking at a phone in the hand of one of their companions. The one Zavier had designated the leader snapped his head up. He was too far to see Zavier, but it felt like his eyes were right in front of him. Call it a gut feeling, a message from God, or paranoia, but Zavier knew, knew the shooters had their location.

  Confirmation of that grim fact came when the rest of the group swung their heads in Maddie and Zavier’s direction. They only had moments before they came running or began shooting. Inwardly he cursed. Murphy’s Law had stepped on his plan and twisted his foot on it for good measure. He would have to improvise.

  “Maddie, run to that closet in back. Don’t look back, just run and close the door!”

  He did not wait to see if she listened. She had so far. He trusted this would not change now as everything came down to the next couple of minutes.

  “When in doubt, move forward decisively” was something he had heard an old general say in a speech once. So he did exactly that. He burst through the door, gun raised, and fired.

  His targets scattered, their first instinct being self-preservation. It gave him enough time to reach the counter and get a better sight picture. He saw one shooter moving toward the video game area. There was a gap between a machine containing toys and a Pac-Man throwback that offered more cover.

  Zavier pivoted his waist to the left, lined up his sights, being sure to lead the shooter, and fired two rounds. The shooter reached the gap, and the bullet took him out. It was a great shot, incredible really, but did not register.

  Zavier’s mind was focused on the essentials: target acquisition and adequate cover. He dove to the ground as automatic rounds split the air above him. Glass, wood, and bits of candy M&M’s rained down on him as the shooter’s bullets tore through the display case.

  His instinct was to freeze and just cover his head and eyes. That would get him killed though. He needed cover, and he needed it now. He managed to drag himself on the floor behind an oven unit. He grabbed a long can lying on the floor. He did not know what it was, but he knew it was aerosolized. Staying behind the oven, he threw the can over the oven and high into the air.

  He had no intention of trying to repeat his trick from the restroom. He let the barrage of automatic fire from the shooters repeat the trick for him. A bullet hit the pressurized can, and it exploded. There was little danger from it, but it made a loud noise and provided a flaming burst in the air. Perfect for a distraction.

  Zavier stepped from behind the oven as soon as he heard the small explosion. One shooter had made it to the concession counter but turned his attention to the exploding can. Zavier put two in his chest and ran back into the adjoining concession area.

  Three steps into the room, he slid to the ground like he was playing on a slip and slide. Sure enough, two shooters, one after the other, burst in through the entrance on the back side of the concession area. Zavier slid by them on the floor, shooting up at them. He had no stability or anchor for his aim, but did not need any. They were only four feet from him. He would not have been able to miss if he wanted.

  Both went down in a heap. Zavier moved back to his feet, stepping quickly to the fallen men. There was no chance his shots had been kill shots. A single round in the head of each man ended that concern.

  One of them had a semi-auto holster on his side. Zavier grabbed the gun and then shot at movement near the other door. He shot two more times to make sure they knew he was in the kitchen, and then he dashed out the other exit. He heard gunfire behind him and smiled. By following him they had placed a wall between themselves and him. For the moment, he did not need to worry about those shooters. The glint of light off of a raised barrel, however, sent him diving to the floor again. A shotgun blast tore into the wall behind him. A sharp sting in his shoulder told him he got hit with something.

  Zavier shrugged it off, taking aim at the shotgunner as he rolled to his feet. He pulled the trigger three times. His bullets struck the corner of the wall the shooter was hiding behind, forcing him back. Zavier moved to the wall running parallel to the corner.

  He was kneeling when the shooter pivoted around the corner. Zavier pointed his gun up and fired, then he turned and sprinted toward the lobby. He shot wildly behind him with one hand, while shooting with the other hand into the lobby. He did not need to hit anyone; he needed to get across to the video machines.

  Burning pain erupted in his right shoulder as he reached the video game area. Blood was pouring from his shoulder, making his free hand sticky and slick at the same time. He glanced around, getting his bearings and searching for targets. The remaining shooters had moved to his left in hopes of getting a better angle on him without becoming targets themselves. The area to his right was clear.

  He holstered his own gun and then fired the other dry in the shooters’ direction. They scattered, though a grunt told him he had hit another. It did not matter. He just needed them taking cover.

  He threw the pistol to the ground and grabbed the barrel of an AR-15 lying on the floor. Surging to his feet, he threw the rifle toward the front windows of the lobby like an outfielder heaving a ball to home plate. As soon as the rifle had left his hand, he was sprinting in the other direction toward the far end of the concession counter. He could hear bullets striking the floor and walls around him.

  The concession counter loomed in front of him. He made like Superman, flying as he jumped over it.

  Only the repeated commands of Birdman though her radio kept Tavares from firing on the terrorists. A toxic mix of fear, uselessness, and anger flooded her system as she watched the gun battle play out. Her only satisfaction was from seeing shooters go down from Zavier’s shots.

  Her heart tumbled when he rushed through a door out of sight and watched shooters
follow him. Moments later, her heart shot back up to her throat as she watched Zavier dashing through where the lobby and concession area met, shooting wildly behind and to the side.

  A strangled cry poured from her when he reached an area with video games—a cry that she cut short as she saw him stand, throw something, and run. “What the hell—”

  The explosion was horrific. The fireball blossomed up and outward, sending glass, metal, concrete, and plaster into the air and parking lot. Police officials had secured a wide area back from the theater, but could not force the public to leave. As white, hot detritus billowed out into the crowd, it dawned on everyone why they should have left.

  The suddenness of the explosion, coupled with its shockwave, stunned the surrounding area into silence. Smoke, ash, and pulverized building materials floated through the air. Anyone looking at the front of the theater couldn’t see with the dust in their eyes. Everyone else was blinded by the haze of smoke and dust.

  Tavares looked through her scope, willing the smoke and dust to move away. All she could see was damage on either side of the entrances. The large curved staircase that dominated the Palace entrance was split into two. The right side was twisted and hanging against back columns that had managed to survive. The left side was hanging straight down like a giant “C”.

  A screeching noise rose above the shouts from the crowd below her. Metal beams on either side of the theater were collapsing. “Dear God, no,” whispered Tavares, her voice hollow.

  The beams were part of the supporting structures for the Palace’s jutting roof. What was left of it folded down and on itself, like a garage door swinging shut.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When George figured out the terrorists were about to see the video feed, it was too late. He managed to close down two feeds, but the events on the remaining one froze his finger above the Enter key.

  He watched in rapt attention and silence as the action played out in front of him and the whole world on his hijacked video stream. To George, it felt like he was watching the closing scene in a movie drama. He could not speak. Words failed him as what had to be the final act in the day’s drama played out.

  The black guy threw the rifle toward the front of the theater, and then there was static in the feed. Two of the other video feeds went to static as well.

  “What the hell happened? Did you cut the camera?” screamed Dale.

  “No. I don’t know.” George started to check the streams but stopped when his eye caught a moving cloud in one small window. He maximized the window. “Is, is that smoke?” he asked, his voice shaking.

  “More like dust,” said one of the cops.

  Dale looked up from his own laptop, his face pale. “They’re saying the bombs blew. Look at the report.”

  Dale turned his laptop so that everyone could see it. The volume was muted, but no one bothered to ask him to turn it up. The rapid talking and wild gestures of the reporter, along with the video of the Palace behind the reporter, told the story.

  “How is that even possible? We still have a video stream coming in?” said Dale.

  “The security office is probably in back. The system is also probably sectioned so they don’t lose all of them in case of a fire,” said Basava. He pointed to the remaining feeds. “Maximize this one and that one. Split screen. Can we see anyone?”

  George increased the two windows showing the remaining video feeds. One showed nothing but a dust cloud, like a sandstorm was raging in the theater hall. The other showed a hazy empty hall. Dim emergency lights provided meager illumination, providing enough of a view to show the hall was empty but no further detail. Slowly, the remaining shooters emerged from the theaters. Their faces were hard to make out, but they were walking slowly as if shell-shocked. One shook his head, steadied himself against the wall, and then started moving quickly to the junction that led to the main lobby.

  “Damn,” said George.

  “You think they’re alive?” asked Mako.

  George shook his head. “No way to tell. I don’t see anyone in the other feed.”

  All words stopped as two figures stepped into camera view. The difference in height clearly showed it to be the man and little girl. But the other feed showed a fast-recovering shooter had reached the junction. He snapped his rifle to his shoulder.

  George sucked in a breath. He thought the final act had played out. He was wrong.

  Zavier awoke to a world of muted light, dust, and silence. He took a breath and nearly choked on the dust that entered his nose. A wracking cough poured from him, and it became worse as he tried to contain it, but he was alive. He prayed Maddie was alive too, but he knew the shooters could be alive as well.

  He had to get moving. Now, Z. Now!

  Glass shards and plaster covered his lower body, but he was able to move from beneath the debris. He had cuts all over, but no time to worry about them. Standing, he looked around, shock registering through him.

  He had taken, foolishly, based on what he was seeing, the leader of the attackers’ word that the explosives were not that strong. That had been incorrect. The lobby looked like a room designed in a post-apocalyptic movie set. There were hanging rafters, lights, and rubble strewn across the floor, and brick and mortar lay across the space creating the impression of a rocky, gray golf course lawn. Sunlight filtered through the air to both sides of the large lobby, but the middle was shut off by the high roof that now looked like a slanted wall.

  Looking around what was left of the lobby, Zavier could see the torn body parts of shooters caught in the blast. He spared them no thought and made his way toward the back of the concession area. Stepping around broken and destroyed ovens, popcorn makers, and soda machines, he made it back to the cleaning closet. A metal rack was wedged against the door.

  Relief flooded through him. The door was closed. Maddie might be unconscious, but she was most likely not seriously hurt. She would have lost her hearing for sure and could have a concussion, but she would be alive. Looking around to make sure he did not see any shooters, he shoved the rack away and reached for the door.

  A wave of dizziness hit him as his ears began to equalize and a tinny ringing sound started in them. He gave his head a quick double shake and got back to the task at hand. He would not feel safe until Maddie was in Tina’s arms.

  He pulled the door open. Maddie was curled up on the floor, but breathing. Her eyes were closed, and she immediately kicked her leg at him.

  “Maddie, it’s me,” he said, careful not to yell too loud.

  She kept kicking, signaling that she could not hear yet. Zavier clamped her feet to the ground, pinching her leg. The sharp pain forced her eyes open. When she saw him, she stopped kicking and quickly got to her feet. Before she could do anything, he stopped her, pointed to his face, and mimed blowing while holding his nose. Without further prompting, she mimicked his actions, blowing hard twice.

  That’s my girl, he thought, unable to hold back a smile. She was fast on the uptake. “Can you hear me?”

  “A little. You sound far away, like when we talked with the cans and string at camp.”

  Zavier smiled and mussed her hair. “Good, as long as you can hear me. Follow me. We’re not safe yet.”

  Zavier turned and considered which direction to go. Going to either side of the theater did not seem like a good idea. The blast had not damaged the theater’s wings, so there was likely to be shooters in either direction. He had lost his gun, and they were defenseless. The front could have shooters as well, and there was little to hide behind.

  Zavier decided to split the difference. Grabbing Maddie’s hand, he went left straight down the back wall of the concession area and circled around to the front on the sides. If there were shooters in the lobby, he would be able to see them.

  Walking slowly, he led Maddie, being careful to step over any glass that could break and give their position away. The task was nearly impossible. In their path there were too many items that crunched, snapped, and popped.
Each sound made him cringe, but there was nothing he could do except keep his eyes sharp.

  Finally, they made it near the edge of the partially destroyed wall that abutted the left side of the concession area and back wall of the left hallway. Zavier stopped three feet from it. He leaned in close to Maddie’s ear. “Stay right here. I’m going to see if there is anyone in front of us. I’m going just right there,” he whispered and pointed to a spot a few steps in front of them.

  Maddie bit her lip and nodded.

  Zavier crept ahead. A black object on the floor made him smile. It was his CZ-P09. He grabbed it and checked the magazine. It was empty.

  He cursed silently and checked the chamber. It held a round. It was not what he wanted or needed, but it was still better than nothing. He inched closer to the edge of the wall.

  In front of him he could see light from a small space behind a large column. A small tunnel had been created in the aftermath of the blast. Judging by the light, Zavier was confident it led outside. He just had to get Maddie across it.

  Leaning low to the ground, he used his toes to push himself along the glass-strewn floor so he could look into the lobby and hall. He could feel splinters of glass digging into his chest and arms. He ignored the pain and stayed focused. Looking first to his left, he did not see any shooters, but it was dark and hard to see. He turned to his right and froze.

  A shooter was bending over fifty yards from his location. He was checking the bodies of the other shooters, but moving in Zavier’s direction. A noise to Zavier’s left made him snap his head back around. He could see movement down the hall. By the sounds it was more than one person.

  Another silent curse shot through his mind. He considered options. Escape was ten feet in front of him, but there was no way he and Maddie would not be seen.