Defensive Action. Jenna Kernan

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СКАЧАТЬ to be only five feet tall.

      Haley pressed the starter button but heard only a click. The smell of gasoline aroused her dulled senses. She had to get out of the vehicle. She planted one foot on the floor mat and it rolled off something metallic. Glancing down she found her thermos. She gathered it up and then thought to collect her purse. Her mobile phone was no longer connected to the charger and her initial search yielded nothing. That was when she heard the first gunshot.

      She hunched and half fell, half crawled out of the compartment, landing on hands and knees. The wet loam of pine needles immediately soaked the denim of her jeans and the ground felt soft and prickly, all at once. She scented moist earth and pine. Her voluminous purse fell forward, sliding under her chest and dragging on the ground before her.

      What was happening?

      She saw him then, the detective, crouching at the front fender holding her golf umbrella in two fists like a batter waiting for a pitch. Into her view stepped a pair of legs draped in cuffed trousers. The person wore the sort of expensive lace-up leather shoes she associated with Wall Street types and politicians. The fine brown leather was never intended for this sort of terrain.

      She glimpsed the bottom of a dark wool overcoat and then Insbrook straightened and swung the umbrella. The blow hit the man’s arm as he fired a shot into the side of the Ford near Haley’s head. As the two locked together and grappled for the weapon, Haley scuttled on all fours in the opposite direction.

      From behind the tangle of pine and crumpled front fender came the men grunting, coupled with the thud of them falling against the mangled auto and then the ground. She pressed her hands to her ears and then realized she still had her index finger looped in the handle of the cup fixed to the top of the metal thermos. A quick glance back showed her that the detective held her knife in a hand clasped by his attacker, who held a pistol in a hand captured by the detective. What neither of them saw was the third man, who made his way forward from the sedan to stand behind the wrestling pair with a raised handgun. He was similarly dressed to Insbrook’s opponent, had light brown skin and seemed to be waiting until he could get a clean shot at the detective, currently on his back on the ground. He sidestepped the grappling pair until he stood just beyond the pine tree where she crouched.

      Haley’s heart seemed to have moved to her throat and each beat ached. She pressed herself to the tree trunk, using its solid support to help her rise. Then she weighed her options. If the second man turned now, he’d shoot her dead. She glanced to the forest. She could just run into the woods. Find a place to hide. He might hear her and come after her. That thought made her throat ache even worse. Could she hide in the darkness until the men were dead or gone?

      She closed her eyes as she fought against the urge to help Insbrook.

       Don’t be stupid. You’re not a cop. You’ve never even seen a gun.

      But they were going to kill him. She knew it in her heart. They would shoot him down and then they would find her. What if he had a family, children? What would happen to her mom if she lost her only surviving child?

      Haley drew in a deep breath and clamped her jaw tight. Her sister had fought for her life. Haley would do the same.

      She gripped the thermos in two sweating hands and crept along the opposite side of the rear bumper, inching toward the tall brown-skinned man still trying for a shot at the detective.

      The metal exterior of the thermos felt cold in her hand as she hoisted it high. She had a moment’s hesitation as she stared at the stubble of his shaved head and the large shiny patch at the crown where hair no longer grew. It was enough time for the man to sense her there. He turned his head. She was out of time. Haley rose up on her tiptoes and swung. Her right hand clutched the thermos and her left gripped her opposite wrist. The sound at contact and the reverberation hit her simultaneously. Blood spurted from the gash she created in his scalp with the bottom edge of the bludgeon.

      “Oh, gosh!” she said as the man completed his turn and sank to one knee. He used his free hand to reach up to the top of his head and pressed it over the wound. Then he drew it away and stared silently at the blood that smeared his palm. He never looked at her. The gun dropped from his hand and she snatched it up by the barrel.

      She glanced toward the detective to find he had his legs wrapped around his opponent’s neck and held one of his own ankles to increase the force of the choke hold. The man gasped and struggled, his purple face illuminated in terrifying color by the cab light.

      Haley staggered back two steps as the man went limp.

      “Get their keys,” said the detective.

      She shook her head and continued to look between the bleeding man, now on hands and knees, and the big one who lay motionless beside the car.

      “Is he...?”

      “Choked out. Now hurry.” The detective was already searching his opponent, coming up with a wallet but no keys.

      The amount of blood issuing from the head wound she had caused made her queasy. But she tucked the thermos under her arm, crept forward and used her free hand to reach into one of the large side pockets. She felt a wallet and reached past in search of the keys but found nothing. Withdrawing her hand, the wallet fell to the ground and flopped open. The badge and ID were unmistakable. DEA was printed in large blue letters and the gold shield looked very official. Not a wallet, she realized. It was the identification of a representative from the Drug Enforcement Agency of the United States. And she had just clobbered him over the head and taken his gun.

      She gaped up at the detective, if he were a detective.

      “Let’s go.” He grabbed her arm and hustled them toward the agents’ car.

      She pulled back and shook her head. What if they were trying to apprehend a criminal and she’d brained one of them?

      “There’s one more,” he said, pressing her down behind the front of the car. “Wait here.” He pointed at the ground and, as if she were his hound, she sank to her knees.

      He gripped his enemy’s gun and disappeared from her sight.

      Haley heard the sedan door chime and then gunfire. Four rapid discharges. Pop-pop-pop-pop, like a string of firecrackers. Then came a thud.

      She bit down on her fist and waited.

       Run, you idiot.

      But her legs would not lift her and her knees clanked together like the Tin Man’s in The Wizard of Oz.

      “Come up,” he called.

      Haley lowered her hand and rose. Then she ran in the opposite direction toward the woods. He had her around the waist before she reached the beckoning darkness of the tree line. He hauled her off her feet. One iron arm gripped her about the waist.

      He ignored her struggles as he carried her past the two still figures. A third lay beside the open passenger door that now held four bullet holes. The driver lay facedown, red head turned to the side. One eye stared vacantly out and his mouth gaped. There were four holes in the back of his jacket.

      The door chime had ceased and all she could hear was the blood pounding in her eardrums.

      “Is he...?”

      “Get in,” he ordered and set her on her feet.

      She СКАЧАТЬ