Quadruple Duty

Neither man responded. They kept struggling and twisting, each working to gain an advantage over the other. I pulled back on the slide, cocking the chamber. Flipped the safety to the OFF position with a satisfying click.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

I fired three crisp shots into the air. Both men stopped immediately. Both of them turned to look at me, their expressions equally shocked as I swung my arm down.

“I said get the FUCK off him!” I growled, leveling my gun at the red-bearded bald man.

He hesitated for an instant… then put his hands up. His eyes were locked on mine. There must’ve been something there he didn’t like, something that told him I meant exactly what I said. In short, he believed me.

He was wise to believe me.

“Sammara!”

Kyle was standing beside me, totally out of breath. He was holding his hand out. Expecting me to give him the weapon.

Yeah, right.

“Go get the others,” I ordered. I had my weapon trained directly on his attacker, center mass. My finger was on the trigger, ready for even the slightest forward movement. “YOU,” I ordered him. “Get on your knees.”

I couldn’t see Kyle’s expression, but I could imagine it. It was probably priceless.

Suddenly there was another sound; boots rushing up the hard ground of the path. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as Dakota and Ryan sprinted into view. Their faces were red, their bodies heaving as if they’d just run all the way around the lake. Maybe they had.

“We heard the shots!” Dakota breathed. “Are you alright?”

He looked from Kyle to me, then back to Kyle again. Ryan laughed. “Maybe you should ask if he’s alright,” he said, pointing down.

Dakota wrenched the man’s arms behind his back and stood him up. Ryan helped him.

“Where’s Jason?” I demanded, looking around. Kyle stepped up and put his hands over mine, gingerly. It occurred to me I still hadn’t lowered the gun.

“Back at house,” said Dakota. He glanced over his shoulder at us, then jerked his head at his captive. “He should be the last one.”

Kyle was confused. “The last one of—”

“Come on.”

Together, they led us back toward the house, pushing our new guest in front of us. The grill was a total loss; black smoke and soot were virtually everywhere. Ryan reached out and shut it down as we passed it, somehow without burning his fingers off.

“Give me a number,” said Kyle. “How many of them?”

“Seven,” Dakota said coldly.

“Seven?” I stopped walking. “Seven!”

“Don’t worry,” Dakota said. He looked back at us and winked. “It’s not as bad as you think.”

Fifty-Nine

SAMMARA

Back inside, the kitchen was a mess again. There were footprints everywhere. Dirt. Debris. Glass…

“Briggs!” Dakota called loudly.

“Back here!”

Once more he shoved the prisoner forward, this time toward the salon. The man stumbled awkwardly, nearly falling forward onto his face. With his arms secured behind his back, I had terrible visions of him skittering his teeth across the newly-refinished parquet floor.