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Martha stood up from the edge of the bed and went to the phone to dial 911. Michael looked back at her approvingly, then took charge. “Everyone, stay away from the windows. Clay, close the blinds. Martha, tell the operator the location and room number and that you are here with Officer Michael Street.” Then he reached down to his ankle and pulled a small automatic handgun from its holster. He walked back to Clay and asked, “Do you know how to use this?”
Clay hesitated a moment. He had a revolver at home to protect against home invasion. Otherwise, he had little experience with firearms.
Jackie stood up, walked over, and held out her hand. Michael handed it to her. She looked it over briefly, then said, “Sig P365. I have one at home. I carry it in my purse most of the time. Evan was a recon marine. He made sure I knew how to protect myself.”
“God bless ‘em,” Michael said as he moved back to the door, risking a peek down the hallways.
“When was the last time you cleaned it and checked the firing pin?” Jackie requested.
He turned and gave her a hard look. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“No. I just want to be sure. I’ve had to replace my pin twice,” Jackie said as she aimed the weapon down and away, checked the safety, and pulled back the slide to check the chamber. It was empty so she chambered a round. The gun snapped audibly—a familiar routine that seemed to bring focus.
“I cleaned it this morning. Pin is good,” Michael stated as he regarded Jackie with newfound respect, glad to have an ass-kicker alongside him. This day has been full of surprises.
“Do you have an extra clip?” Jackie asked.
“No,” Michael said. He thought he heard Jackie curse under her breath.
“Martha, make sure to tell the operator there is a Caucasian female with us—blonde, also armed. Stay on the line. Don’t hang up the phone even if we leave the room.” He went back to the door.
“We are sitting ducks here,” Michael said. “We need to move.”
Jackie moved to the door alongside Michael. Clay stepped up beside her.
“Which way?” Jackie asked.
“The ER is on my right. We don’t want to go that way. We should go left and head away from the guys coming in,” Michael said.
“How are we going to get Elena safely out if I have the gun?” Jackie asked.
“I’ll carry her,” Clay said.
Jackie turned to him. Her expression softened for a moment. “Hey, look, I didn’t mean to...”
“Nuh-uh. That’s on me.” Clay lowered his chin and shook his head. “I just... haven’t been myself for a while.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
Then he moved quickly back to the bedside, knelt, and extended a hand to Elena, who had been crouching silently beside the bed. “Elena, can I help you again?”
She looked up with those huge eyes, then over to her mother questioningly. “Go ahead, honey, let Clay pick you up.”
While Clay collected Elena, Michael called Sean. “We are heading out the opposite end from the ER. Bring the truck around to meet us.”
Elena stepped into Clay’s arms. “Good girl.” He stood up smoothly, his adrenaline surging, doing its job. He looked over to Martha. “I think you should come with us.”
“Yes, it may be a good idea to get out of the room,” Martha said as she set the receiver down on the bed. The operator had agreed to remain on the line.
“Martha, would you mind grabbing my purse?” Jackie asked.
She looked down at the voluminous brown leather mom-purse. “Uh... of course.”
Michael exchanged a couple more instructions with Sean, then ended the call. They streamed out of the door heading to the left. They moved as a group with Jackie taking the lead, Clay carrying Elena behind her, then Martha, and Michael guarding their six. At the end of the hall was an exit sign over a door. Jackie pushed through and went down the stairs with Clay quickly following.
As Martha headed down, Michael paused for a second at the door as it closed on the automatic hinge. He heard the elevator ding back down the hallway and two men emerged—one in camo and one in black. The Alphabet King. He melted away from the window, hoping he had not been seen, and headed down the stairs. In a hushed voice, he relayed the news, “Two men just got off the elevator behind us. Move.”
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Charlie had been wrapping up a conversation with her friend when the silent alarm began to blink—a red light on their side of the counter. They knew it indicated an emergency and that they should take shelter in place. They often had some sort of dispute erupt in the ER in the evenings, and this had almost become routine for them. During the drills they’d been told to stay low behind the counter and wait for the police or word everything was okay.
Hiding behind the counter, they didn’t see Michael, Clay, Jackie, and Martha file out of their room further down the hall. They did hear the elevator ding, announcing its arrival. They pulled in tighter behind the counter as they heard the sound of heavy boots and the clacking of some kind of equipment. To Charlie, it sounded like policemen with tactical gear. She risked a glance over the counter, much to the dismay of her friend.
She saw two men, one in black and one in camo, heading their way. She dropped back to the floor with a look of fear on her face. Her friend understood and pulled herself further under the counter. The noise of the boots and gear stopped at the counter.
The man in black came around behind Charlie, handgun drawn, and grabbed her up off the floor by her uniform. “What room is Clay Thompson in?” She didn’t answer right away, so he shook her before repeating himself. “What room?!” he demanded.
“I-I don’t know,” Charlie answered.
“LIAR,” the man growled. He raised his weapon and hit her hard on the head with the buttstock. Charlie’s head snapped to the side and she fell to the floor, her neck bent at an ugly angle. Her eyes rolled back in her head, lids slowly closed.
The Alphabet King turned to the other woman and aimed his gun at her forehead. “What room,” he demanded.
Shaking with fear, she pointed over the counter and down the hall. “318.”
ABCs walked past her, waving his man ahead of him. When he got to the empty room, he cursed under his breath. “Fucking Hines. Unreliable gringo piece of shit couldn’t get the right room number and now this.” He scanned the room, taking notice of the unmade bed and remains of a takeout meal. Someone was just here. Then he spotted the bag of clothes on the floor next to dirty work boots and knew.
