Sky Zone: A Novel (The Crittendon Files) Page 11

  “I’ll help. Just let me find my wife and—”

  All the lights in the concourse flickered like a giant spaceship suddenly losing power. Jack could hear the electricity whirring to a halt.

  Everything slammed to black.

  A red exit sign at the end of the hall was the only light.

  Sid grabbed Jack’s jacket and cussed in panic.

  More screams of terror rose from below, from all around.

  Emergency floodlights banged on loudly at various points in the concourse, like a monster’s footsteps.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, as you can see, we have control of the building.” It was the same foreign-sounding voice over the PA. “Do not panic. Go into the arena and sit down. I repeat, sit down! Do not attempt to leave the building, or you and your families will be executed.”

  “This is Clarissa to all EventPros! Mr. Jenkins has ordered us to evacuate the building … I repeat—”

  Now we evacuate.

  Jack repeated the evacuation order to Sid, and the two men glared in the dark at the wet reflection in each other’s eyes, waiting for more. Jack unplugged his earpiece and held the radio up on low volume so Sid could hear.

  “Do not approach the main lobby.” Clarissa’s voice was strong but still reflected a tinge of uncertainty. “I repeat, stay away from the main lobby and find alternate exits. Get people outside. It is safe outside. The hostiles do not have anyone out there, as far as we know.”

  “Clarissa, I’ve got an EventPro leaving her post!” Tab called. “She’s hightailing it!”

  “There’s nothing we can do about that! Remain calm. Do all you can to get guests out of the building. The exits and stairwells should be lit … Use your flashlights to direct people.”

  Bursts of static.

  Up from the stairwell at the end of the hall came the roving beam of a flashlight. A tall guy was leading a pack of people. Their long shadows stretched toward Jack like spilled oil.

  “Keep quiet,” he whispered to Sid. “Stay still.”

  The flashlight shone past them, then settled on Jack and Sid.

  “Jack!” came the voice. “It’s Chico. Are we safe up here?”

  The screams from below sounded like a torture chamber.

  “Is Shakespeare with you?” Jack asked.

  Chico hurried toward them, coughing. “He left us at the fourth floor. I think he’s coming.”

  “I just found out my wife’s here, and my kids. I’ve got to find them. You guys need to all stay together.”

  “You’re not going to leave us?” snapped Jenny King as she stepped to the front of the group.

  Now she wanted him around.

  “Senator and everyone.” Jack knocked at the door to Everett’s suite. “You need to come in here and stay put. Chico and Sid will be here, and we will get you out as soon as possible.”

  Everett’s manager, Gray, peered out and opened the door.

  “Senator Sterling and his group are coming in.” Jack opened the door and ushered them inside, at the same time flicking on his phone again to call Pam.

  “It’s too many people,” Cole said.

  Everett squeezed his son’s shoulder, looked down at him, and shook his head. “Think about others, son,” he said softly.

  “We need to get the senator out of here.” A bald security guard gripped Jack’s elbow.

  “For now, I think this is safest,” Jack said. “Listen to the radio. Clarissa will know what to do.”

  “She said go for the exits,” said the guard. “We’ve got drivers outside waiting.”

  Pam’s phone was ringing.

  Answer, please answer.

  Jack was about to lose his mind. All he could think about was getting to Pam and the girls. Margaret was probably with them too. And Jeanie and her kids? That would slow them down …

  “Look,” he said to the guard. “We’re not sure where these hostiles are. Right now, you’re safe here. That’s all we know. I don’t advise moving out with this large a group—”

  “We don’t have to take everyone—just take the senator.”

  Suddenly a male voice answered Pam’s phone: “Jack?”

  Jack paused, his mind spinning. “Who is this?”

  “Shakespeare.” A choir of chaos rang out in the background.

  “Where’s Pam, Brian? Where is she?”

  “With me, bud. She’s with me.”

  22

  Eyes watering uncontrollably, Pamela clenched a clump of Shakespeare’s jacket in one fist and held Faye’s hand with the other. Flashlight in hand, Shakespeare led the way like a soldier racing through a smoky minefield, quickstepping, dodging dazed people, carrying Margaret in front of him like a load of firewood.

  Rebecca, the brave little trouper, had taken charge of Jeanie’s crying children because Jeanie was having difficulty breathing. Rebecca, too, held tight to the back of Shakespeare’s jacket as they made their way through the surreal darkness into a restroom.

  Faucets were running strong, and panicked voices filled the air. The glow of cell-phone lights showed people washing out their wailing children’s eyes in the sinks, elderly people lying on the floor with their heads buried in wet paper towels, families huddled together praying.

  Shakespeare moved efficiently, working his way to a sink, propping Margaret over it and splashing her face with water repeatedly, then patting it with a bandana he whipped from his back pocket. She was nodding, coughing, insisting she was okay. He sat her down against a wall, then strapped his gas mask onto Jeanie’s face and told her to sit next to Margaret. The children were next. He stuck their heads under the running water one at a time. Then he did the same for Pamela, who came up cold and trembling.

  “Will the tear gas hurt the baby?”

  Shakespeare dried her face with the front of his shirt. “I don’t think so.” He ducked his head under the running water, came up, and dried his face on his shirt. “You sure do pick weird times to go for a night out on the town. Aren’t you due like any day now?”

  She blurted a laugh amid tears and told him the due date wasn’t for another month … but she couldn’t help worry about the baby—and the recent contractions.

  He filled a canteen with water, then came over and made sure they were all together. Kneeling over his backpack, he shone his light inside and began pulling things out and setting them on the floor around him: rope, spare phone, duct tape. He handed Pamela a metal apparatus the size of a Coke can. “Pass this around and have everyone breathe it in, deeply; hold this button while you do. It’s mini oxygen. Just one big hit each.”

  “What are we going to do?” Jeanie said.

  “Get you out of here.” He strapped a black holster to his thigh, pulled a gun out from the back of his pants, and slipped it in. Then he wound a thick black utility belt around his waist, buckled it, and slipped another gun into its holster, adjacent to a compass, two grenades, and a large knife in a plastic sheath.

  “Is it safe to leave?” Margaret asked. “He said anyone who does will—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure.” He got out a heavy-duty metal contraption, unfolded it once, twice, then locked it into one piece. Some sort of fancy rifle. He slammed a magazine into it, then ducked his head through its strap, which was lined with magazines.

  “Mr. Brian, is my dad okay?” Rebecca asked.

  Shakespeare nodded and held up a finger. He covered an ear and listened for a long time.

  “This is Shakespeare.” He lifted a microphone to his mouth. “Sorry. I got sidetracked—helping an elderly lady. Over.” He winked at Margaret and listened.

  “I don’t know if I’m going to make it back up there—” He dropped his head, listened, then spoke. “What happened to the SWAT guys up front?”

  Pamela saw him shake his head.

  “Is it
clear outside?” he asked. Then, “What about Charlie and Steve?” He rubbed the sweat from his forehead and breathed out heavily. “What about the SWAT guys who went after them?” He listened again, then looked up and stared at the children. “How many people are in the bowl—ballpark?”

  Pamela didn’t think there was any safer place to be than with Shakespeare. There wasn’t a hint of hesitation in him. He was a rock, like the head of a command center. He’d told Jack on the phone where they were headed.

  So why wasn’t Jack there yet? She prayed nothing bad had happened to him.

  “How many hostiles are there?” Shakespeare continued to talk on the radio. “What are they wearing?”

  Pamela’s stomach suddenly hardened, and the Braxton-Hicks contraction took her breath away.

  “What is it?” Margaret sat up.

  Pamela had accidentally shot her hand out and grabbed her mom’s arm.

  “Nothing … nothing. Sorry, Mom.” She tried to catch her breath, released her hand, and rubbed her tummy. “I think the baby just shifted.” The last thing they needed was for Margaret to start freaking out about Pamela going into labor.

  But the contractions were coming closer together. She’d been calling them Braxton-Hicks. But she was beginning to wonder if these could possibly be the real thing.

  Not now. Not now … please. This baby cannot come early.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, your attention,” said the voice over the PA. “You’ll notice new guards at the doors around the venue. If you attempt to leave, they will shoot to kill. You will live if you make your way into the arena and sit down—now. If we are forced to come and retrieve you like dogs, we will view you as insurgents and you will be shot.”

  Pamela closed her eyes and forced away the fear, the voices, the crying, the disorder.

  Be still, and know that I am God.

  She allowed it to register.

  Be still.

  Let it lock in.

  Know.

  Let it release her.

  I am God.

  “Pam,” Margaret whispered.

  Pamela turned to face her.

  “Don’t worry.” Her mom looked down, opened the right side of her coat, and revealed a small pink gun in some kind of shoulder-strap device. Then she closed her coat and winked. “You can get anything online these days.”

  23

  By the time Derrick hung up with Zenia, she was crying and pleading with him to get out of the arena, to run. But it wasn’t that easy anymore.

  Derrick and Daniel had followed a frantic Jack to the restroom near section 105, where they met up with Shakespeare, Pam, and the rest of the group.

  Shakespeare was on one knee with everyone surrounding him like players listening to a quarterback in a huddle. Jack and Pam were clinging to each other and the girls. Pam was clutching her stomach, wincing.

  “The hostiles are wearing civilian clothes, and they’re all shapes, sizes, and colors.” Shakespeare’s wrists were crossed and resting on a raised knee. His words were rapid and concise. “That’s how they got so close to the SWAT guys at the front doors. They let off tear gas and got to them before they could get their masks on. I suspect they used tasers, too. Now they’ve got a bunch of hostages.”

  “What about Charlie and Steve?” Jack said.

  “Still MIA. Same with the two SWAT guys who went up after them. I have a feeling the terrorists have set up some kind of base up top. In the Sky Zone.”

  “You’ve got guns.” Daniel eyed Shakespeare’s arsenal. “Can’t we make a run for an exit?”

  Shakespeare pursed his lips. “According to Tab, they’ve positioned one of their men at each bank of doors.”

  “How many are there?” Jack asked.

  “Fifteen or twenty,” Shakespeare said. “And now they’re all wearing black stocking masks and carrying assault weapons.”

  “Did I hear right that there’re two thousand people in the bowl?” Jack said.

  “That’s the estimate,” Shakespeare said.

  Pam had her head down and was making circular motions with both hands on her tummy. Rebecca and Faye had their little arms wrapped tight around Jack and Pam. Jeanie took a hit of the oxygen and passed it to Faye. Margaret had her arms around Jeanie’s boy and girl.

  Thank God Zenia isn’t here, Derrick thought. “What do you think they’re going to do?” he said.

  “This is about Sterling,” Shakespeare said.

  “They’re gonna kill him,” Margaret blurted. “They know if he gets elected, they’ll be rooted out and destroyed.”

  Static blasted from someone’s radio.

  Pop, pop … pop. The room broke out in screams and cries.

  Derrick’s chest almost collapsed.

  That was gunfire.

  “Quiet!” Shakespeare stood, hands in the air. “Quiet.” He unplugged his headset so they could all hear.

  “This is Clarissa.” Her high-strung voice came over the radio. “The insurgents have cleared most of the concourse. They are sweeping restrooms. I repeat, they are sweeping all restrooms.”

  Muffled squeals arose from others in the dark restroom.

  Derrick’s heart hammered. This is it. We could all die right here.

  Margaret was pressing hard on something in her lap. A gun! A pink and black gun, of all things.

  Good for her.

  She struggled a bit more, got it cocked, and clutched it with both hands, grinding her teeth as if she wasn’t about to go down without one heck of a fight.

  Jack held his mic to his mouth. “This is Jack. Me and Shakespeare are—”

  Shakespeare chopped the air with his hand and mouthed No! He shook his head. “They’re monitoring this,” he whispered. “Don’t give our twenty.”

  “Shakespeare … ” Static. “This is Clarissa. Did you make it back to the senator? Over.”

  Shakespeare held up a hand and lifted his radio. “Clarissa, don’t say any more about locations. They’re monitoring this. Over.”

  A blurt of static. Shakespeare plugged his earpiece back in.

  “Okay, everyone, we gotta move,” he announced.

  “Where do you think Clarissa is?” Jack said.

  “Probably hunkered down in the command center, watching on monitors. They’ll be searching for her.”

  “Where will we go?” Derrick said.

  Shakespeare reached into his bag, pulled out a small gun, racked it, and handed it to Jack. “Listen, everyone.”

  The room fell silent, except for cries that had been reduced to whimpers.

  “Turn your lights out,” Shakespeare instructed. “Stay calm.”

  There was angry yelling down the concourse. Foreign voices. Getting closer.

  “Listen,” Shakespeare said. “They only have twenty people in this big house. They are stretched thin. Their leaders are probably in the bowl. I’m going to lead us out of here.”

  Choppy breathing, murmurs, and quiet crying sounded throughout the crowded room.

  “We’re going to make a left out the door and sprint for the food court—about forty yards,” Shakespeare said. “There’s a single door there that leads outside to a patio—the smoking area. Once outside, we’ll go over a metal railing and drop down into the parking deck. I’m hoping they haven’t seen that door and it’s not blocked.”

  “What if it is?” someone asked in the dark.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Shakespeare said.

  The foreign voices outside shouted back and forth.

  Possibly splitting up to check the different restrooms?

  Shakespeare ripped a gun from his belt, racked it, and handed it to Derrick. Its bulk surprised him. Although he’d never discharged a gun before, he would not hesitate now.

  Shakespeare yanked a lever on his rifle, metal locking aga
inst metal. He crossed to the door and turned around to the others. “When we get to the parking deck, sprint for the exit. Get as far away from this building as possible. Those of you with guns, hand them to me on your way out. I’ll be coming back inside—but you’ll be fine.”

  Derrick’s countenance fell when he realized Shakespeare wouldn’t be with them the entire journey. But he was a soldier. And that’s what soldiers did.

  Shakespeare’s shoulders arched back, and he took in a deep breath.

  “Here.” Daniel handed him the gas mask.

  “Thanks.” He slipped it over his head and let the mask dangle at the back of his neck.

  “Are we ready to take our freedom back?” he said.

  Whispers of yes rose like a tide, sending chills down Derrick’s back.

  “Okay … let’s roll.”

  24

  Just before stepping into the concourse, Jack tugged Shakespeare’s jacket. “How many shots do I have in here?” His heart thundered.

  Shakespeare didn’t even have to look at the gun. “Nine.”

  Jack bounced the heavy weapon in his hand, determined to do whatever he had to do to keep Pam and his family alive. He tried to picture the hostiles in his mind … to mentally prepare for them.

  “What about me?” Derrick held up his weapon.

  “Nine also,” Shakespeare said.

  Jack nodded at Derrick, whose face was resolute. Then he gathered Pam and the girls in his arms. “Father, put your angels around us. Get us out of here safely, we ask. In your name.”

  “Amen,” Shakespeare said.

  Pam looked up at Jack, holding back tears. Besides all the uproar, he could tell she was uncomfortable, possibly in even more pain than she was letting on.

  He touched her face. “It’s gonna be okay, baby.”

  He turned to Rebecca and Faye, trying to sound upbeat. “Are you ready to run, girls? As fast as you can?”

  “What about MawMaw?” Faye reached toward Margaret.

  “I’ll beat you there.” Margaret pinched Faye’s little nose. “I bet you a dollar.”

  “Okay …” Shakespeare held up one, two, three fingers. “Rolling!”