"Who's Miles?" Claire whispered. “Why do I know that name?"
John put up a finger to silence her. “What are you talking about?” he said to the man on the phone. “It’s just me. I’m here alone… You heard nothing.”
Suddenly, Claire felt a bullet whiz by her head and a glass bookcase behind her shattered. Shaken and bewildered, she screamed and covered her ears. John grabbed her and took her to the floor.
“He shot me!” Claire said hysterically. "He shot me! Dad, I don’t want to die.”
John dropped the phone and turned on his flashlight. Claire struggled, dreading the pain that would ensue. Her life flashed before her eyes. John frantically took her head in his hands and surveyed both sides.
“I don’t feel anything,” Claire cried. “How bad is it?”
She heard him breathe a sigh of relief and climb off her. “There’s no blood or puncture wound. It was just a warning shot. He just wants to send a message. You have to stay calm, okay?”
“Okay,” she nodded. “I’m good. Hold on. Where’s Bill?"
“Hello?” Claire heard Miles say playfully. “Cap? Yoo-hoo? Anyone there?"
John let her go and grabbed the phone. “More than likely, they took him as a hostage,” he whispered to Claire. "Stay here behind the couch. We’re out of their line of sight, at least for now."
“I’m losing my patience,” Miles said. He began counting down from five. John crawled toward the duffle bag he left at the front door.
“I’m here," he finally answered when Miles reached the count of one. “That was a low blow, Miles. You do realize you could’ve killed her.” He began unzipping the duffle bag and loading a weapon.
Miles replied something indiscriminately as Claire crawled to the desk and checked the house phone. No dial tone. She mouthed to her father that Miles had cut the phone line.
“Yeah well a precision sniper can still make mistakes,” John answered. “Trust me. He’ll die a slow painful death right after I kill you.”
Just then, three red lasers appeared above their heads.
“Down!” John shouted, just as the sounds of machine-gun fire pierced the silence. Claire screamed and covered her ears as bullets ripped through the house. John scampered over to her and covered her with his body. The television sparked and lit up the living room like daylight. Pictures fell and items flew through the air.
Claire’s mind flash-backed to her running through the streets of Houston Texas with her Aunt Viv and fighting to escape the massacre in Pittsburg raced through her mind. It all had happened so suddenly. Her mind was a blur, attempting to distinguish reality from her dream. She saw the explosions, and the men slaughtering people. She saw her mother being dragged from her home and calling her name.
She felt her dad covering her to shield her from the gunfire, and her body tumbled. She was having a panic. She wanted away from it all. She needed the noise to stop. She attempted to jump to her feet and run for the back door.
“No, Claire,” John yelled. He tackled her and pinned her to the floor.
“Oh God,” she cried when the succession of gunfire finally ceased. “Let me go! Let me go! They’re going to kill us."
“Are you crazy?” John shouted, struggling to keep her still. "Look at me."
“They’re going to kill us,” she whimpered. “They’re going to kill us.”
“Breathe, CW.”
“They’re going to kill us,” Claire kept repeating. She struggled to stop but felt as if she had lost control of her tongue.
“Look at me. Breathe.”
“They’re going to kill us, they’re going to kill us, they’re going to kill us."
John took her head in his hands and gazed into her eyes. He inhaled deeply and let out a slow breath. "Breathe with me.”
Claire mimicked his rhythmic breathing and felt a calm began to wash over her.
“Good,” John said. “Breathe deeply. It’s going to be ok. I’m going to get you out of here, but I need you to stay calm, and do as I say, Okay?"
Claire nodded.
John let her go and rested against the back of the couch.
“Who is he?” she said. "What does he want?”
“Something I’m not willing to give him.”
“Whatever it is, it’s not worth it. Just give him what he wants.”
“I can’t do that. It’s your inheritance.”
Claire raised an eyebrow. “My inheritance? What are you-
“Miles!” John yelled into the phone. “Alright. Message received. I’ll behave. Just stop shooting. I have what you want…What do you mean it’s too late for that? I wasn’t going to kill that kid… She’s here with me… What?” he continued. "Why? No. "
Claire felt as if she would collapse when John glanced at her.
“Miles, this is between you and me... I said no... Ok, no, wait, wait. Don't shoot. Hold on.” He wiped his forehead and looked up at the ceiling as if dreading what he was about to do. “CW,” he said grimly. "He wants to talk to you."
“Why? What does he want with me?”
“I won’t let him hurt you. I’m right here.” John put the phone on speaker. "Alright, Miles. She can hear you. Go ahead."
“Claire Hemingway!” Miles’s voice boomed through the flip phone. “Serenade me with that beautiful voice of yours.”
Trembling, Claire locked eyes with John. He nodded and Claire swallowed hard. “I’m here,” she said, attempting to sound brave.
“Woo-wee,” Miles replied. “Girl, you sound sweeter than a songbird.”
“What do you want?”
Miles laughed aloud. “You’re not into small talk, I see; straight to business, just like your old man.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“We'll have time for pleasantries later. Before I get to the nature of my call, I found a stranger sitting outside your home in a pickup truck; a male, Caucasian, about 5’7, two-hundred-fifty pounds? Now naturally as a black man, when I see a stocky white dude lurking outside the home of a busty beautiful Nubian queen like yourself, I automatically assume the worse. But this water-buffalo claims that he knows you.”
“That’s my friend,” Claire said wanting to believe that Miles would let him go if she spoke for him. “Please don’t hurt him, Miles. Bill, are you okay?”
"Say something, fool,” Miles said to Bill.
“Get off me,” the old Texan huffed. “Screw you, you son-of-a-ach!”
“Stop it!” Claire cried. “Please don’t hurt him. I’m begging you.”
“What’s that, baby?” Miles said. His toned turned sinister. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of this fat pig squealing!"
Bill screeched in agony and Miles yelled something indiscriminately at him.
“Miles, No!” Claire cried.
“CW,” John said calmly. "Get a hold of yourself. This is what Miles does. He wants to throw you off emotionally to gain control.”
“I can’t do this,” Claire said. “He’s hurting him.”
“March thirtieth, 2021."
“What?” Claire whimpered.
"The day before you turned thirteen?”
“What are you talking about?”
"You were angry at me because I was shipping off to fight the GRA in California on your thirteenth birthday. You wouldn’t talk to me for days leading up to it." John’s eyes softened and he smiled warmly. "So early that morning, I dressed in my uniform, snuck into your room with a cake and thirteen candles. I played our favorite song on your iPhone. 'We Dance' by Steffany Frizzel Gretzinger? Remember? You stood on my feet and we must’ve danced to that song like four times before you finally got tired."
Claire didn’t know what to think. She had not seen this side of her father in a long time, yet he chose now to open up? Did he think they were about to die?
"I can’t believe you remember that," Claire said. “Why are you telling me this now?"
"Whenever you talk about that moment, your eyes light up," John continued. “You said dancing with me made you feel safe. Draw on that moment now. Just like I danced with you then, I’m with you now. I know things have gotten complicated between us, but I will always protect you. As long as I’m here you’re never alone. Take control, CW. You need to be strong for Bill’s sake.”
Miles cleared his throat loudly. “That was a... touching story, Cap; and as much as I hate to break up this tender moment, I don’t think Pops is going to last long enough for the happy ending."
“We’ll do what you want,” Claire said. “But you can’t hurt my friend anymore, alright?"
“Well alright then,” Miles replied. “Now we’re starting to make some progress.”
“No," Claire said, even surprising her father. “You don’t get it. You set the rules and conditions. But they only apply if you abide by your agreement not to hurt my friend. If you do, then we won’t play ball. Understand?” John nodded his head and gave her a thumbs up.
Miles laughed allowed. “I like it, I like it, Claire. Set parameters and take control of a volatile situation. Daddy taught you well."
“Don’t listen to him,” Bill said. “It’s a trap."
“Shut up, fool,” Miles said. "Alright, listen up. This is how it’s going to go. You will come out here unarmed. You will come out nice and slow and with your hands above your head. My men will search you for weapons. Once I’m satisfied, I will have a conversation with John. If I get what I want, I’ll cut you loose. Those are the rules and conditions? You understand?”
“We got it,” said Claire.
“Good. Now I know your dad all too well. The White Terror's got something up his sleeve. He got lucky the last time we saw him. But you might want to remind him that the stakes are oh so much higher this time. If he even coughs the wrong way, I will make him watch as I kill you and Pops, slowly. Take a minute and talk it over with him."
John put the phone on mute and stuffed his Glock 17 in the back of his pants.
Claire said put a hand on his arm. “Dad? What are you doing? You heard him. He will kill us if we go out there with a weapon."
“If we do nothing, he’s going to ax me and the old man, and take you, prisoner.”
“What is it exactly that he wants? What’s all of this about my inheritance?" Claire said.
John reached in the inner breast pocket of his coat and handed Claire a piece of paper. He put up a hand when she started to ask what it was.
“If I don’t make it out of here alive, that paper will explain everything.”
"What do you mean if you don’t-
"Take this,” John said, handing Claire his Sig. “You remember what I taught you, right?”
Claire nodded, trembling, her eyes wet with tears. “Point, exhale, and shoot,” she whispered.
"Claire, no matter what Miles says, you don’t move from my side until you hear me say go. I’m going to shoot the lamp post, so you’ll be in the dark, but you know these streets.” He removed a second Kevlar vest from his bag and Claire put it on. "When I say go, you run as fast and as far away from here as you can, and you don’t stop for anything. Do you understand?”
“But what about Bill?”
“I’ll do what I can, but there are heavily armed men out there and I don't know how many there are.”
“No,” Claire said, clenching her father’s arm. “I’m not going anywhere without you and Bill. I can’t-
“Times up,” Miles interrupted. “As the police used to say back in the day; come out with your hands up.”
“Dad, I can’t leave you to die.”
“CW, I love you. I always have and always will. Even when I didn’t show it, I-
“I know,” Claire cried. "I’m sorry I pushed you away so much. I was just scared of being vulnerable. I love you so much.”
“What’s the holdup?” Miles said. “Come on, let’s go.”
“CW,” John said, his breathing becoming rapid. “Remember what I said. Stick to me until I say go. You get out of here and go find Marge. You got it?”
Claire felt as if she were having an out-of-body experience. She had hoped it was all a dream. It had to be. She had just lost her mother, and now she was about to lose her father and mentor in the same week?
“CW!” John said.
“Alright! I’ll do it. I’ll go find Marge."
“I’m losing my patience,” Miles said, raising his voice. “Y’all have ten seconds. We won’t miss a third time.” He started to count down.
John nodded and did his best to mask the grief etched on his face. Claire wanted to scream into the phone at Miles. She wanted to go out the door and open fire, killing them all. This man was about to turn her world upside down and she hated him for it. She embraced John with all her might and he kissed her cheek and rubbed her head as he did when she was a kid. He then stepped in front of her and they headed toward the door.
***
Margaret sat in her truck in the parking lot of her diner, her fingers drumming on her steering will. The fifty-five-year-old had been on her feet all day and was ready to take the short commute home. But she wasn’t just exhausted from the normal run-of-the-meal duties of her business.
Nearly six days ago, a woman who had been an integral part of her life for over twenty years had passed away. Sasha Hemingway was more than just a friend to her. They were family, and Marge was willing to do any and everything for her, even if it meant breaking the law. The war had taken Marge’s family of three from her and she saw Sasha as the daughter she never had. The two had become inseparable and often tag-teamed when berating John about his responsibilities as a family man.
Planning Sasha's funeral and burial was one of the hardest things Margaret ever had to do, save burying her husband and children. But just when she thought the day couldn’t get more difficult, she found herself in the middle of a standoff, and her customers’ lives in danger. And now here she was, worrying about the only family she had left.
Nearly two hours had passed and Claire had not returned her pages, which was totally unlike her. And John didn’t answer his home phone. This Khalif Miles maniac was gunning for their heads. Had he found them? Had he and his goons taken them, prisoner? Were they already on their way to California to collect on Sasha’s life insurance?
Margaret took out her cellphone and tried John’s home phone once more. Again, it went straight to voicemail. Only God knew how tired Margaret was, but she decided she couldn’t sleep until she knew they were safe. She had made a promise to Sasha that she would always look after them, the way Sasha looked after her. Margaret took a deep breath, painstakingly started her 2025 Cadillac CTS, a gift given to her by her late son, and headed down Nebo Rd toward John’s house.
***
John opened the front door of his home and stepped outside into the darkness. The sweat on his face made the brisk cold air seem even colder. He raised his hands and squinted. The glare flashlights played havoc with his pupils. AS his eyes began to adjust, he gazed out across his front lawn and located two of Mile’s guys. They stood on either side of a black SUV, shouting at him indiscriminately and pointing their automatic weapons at him.
John spotted another, who stood inside the passenger door of Bill’s pickup. Miles stood between the two trucks, holding a pistol to a kneeling Bill.
“That’s it,” John heard one of the masked gunmen say. “Come out slowly. Keep your hands where we can see them. Hold up. Where’s the woman?”
“She’s right behind me,” John said, squinting at the lights in his eyes.
"I don’t see her. Make her come out now or we’ll start shooting.”
“Easy,” John said putting out his hand toward the gunmen.
“Hands on your head!” John heard more than one of them shout.
"I will blow both your heads off,” the first gunman yelled. He shouted obscenities and commanded for Claire to come outside.
“Okay, okay,” John said. “Just don’t shoot. She’s right here. Okay, CW, come out.” John heard his daughter’s familiar breathing behind him as she stepped onto the porch. He looked down and saw three laser dots on his chest. A fourth and fifth darted around Claire's head and stomach area. She squinted and shielded her eyes from the flashlights.
"I count five gunmen," John whispered to her. “But I only see four of them.”
"Where’s the other?” Claire said, her voice quaking.
“In the woods to the north of us, most likely. It must be the sniper who shot at you, earlier."
“There’s Bill,” Claire said.
"Bill?” John called out. “You alright?”
“I’m just dandy,” he replied groggily. “Having the time of my life.”
“Shut up,” Miles said to him. He pointed his gun at Claire and beckoned her with it to come off the porch. “Alright; you first,” he said to her. "Step down and remove your vest. Lift your shirt and slowly turn around."
Claire hesitated and looked to her dad.
“Don’t move,” John muttered, keeping his eyes on Miles.
“I-I,” Claire stammered. “I can’t."
“Don’t move,” the veteran repeated this time more authoritatively.
“Yo, man!” Miles said, motioning with his pistol. “Let’s go. It’s like you want me to top this fat bastard.”
“Don’t listen to this nutcase, Claire!” said Bill. “Go on now. Get out of here."
“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Miles said, slapping Bill across the back of his head and jammed the nose of his pistol into the back of his neck.
Claire glanced at her dad apprehensively and then back at Miles. She appeared to be caught between her conscious and John’s instructions. She had her issues, but Claire was a lot like her mother. She had her issues with her family, but was fiercely protective. “Dad, this is suicide,” she pleaded with John.
“We talked about this,” John muttered. "I know what I’m doing."
“I can’t let you do this,” she said. John’s eyes widened as Claire stepped to the edge of the porch.
“CW, no!” John whispered furiously.
She ignored him and slowly removed her body armor vest. At the same time, she reached for the pistol in the back of her pants and tightly gripped the handle. The bulky vest obstructed the view of the gunmen and she made it appear that she was struggling to take it off.
John froze. Time seemed to slow down. Helplessness overtook him and he was unable to move or breathe. Never before had he hesitated in the heat of battle. But he was about to watch his daughter be ripped apart by bullets before he had a chance to draw his weapon. Even if he were able to fire off a few rounds and not miss, there would be no way to protect her from the machine-gun rapid fire. Just then one of the gunmen standing in the door of Bill’s truck shouted and pointed toward the dirt road.
“Hey boss!” he called out. “We got company; possible hostile on the dirt road to the east in a silver SUV.”
John looked up to see a 2025 Cadillac CTS, slowly rolling to a stop at the entrance of the dirt road which led to his long driveway. It was Margaret. With Miles’ attention diverted, John quickly reached for Claire and pulled her back up the steps.
“What are you doing?” Miles shouted, pointing his weapon at them. “You crazy, fool? Do you want to die? I will shoot you both in the face right now.”
“No,” Claire begged. She put up her hands and shook her head. “Please."
“Shut up,” he said. He pointed to Margaret’s vehicle. “Who’s in that truck?”
The gunmen shouted indiscriminately, taking position behind theirs and Bill's truck, preparing to fire.
“Hey!” Miles bellowed, making Claire jump. “Do I look like I’m playing? Who the hell is in that truck?”
“It’s just a friend of mine,” John said. "She must have heard that the GRA is looking for me. Look, she’s no threat? I’ll get rid of her.”
Miles scoffed. “A man like you can’t afford to have friends.” He stopped and stared at John as if realizing something. "Wait a minute. This friend wouldn’t happen to be that old sag hag from the diner would it? I mean she’s ugly as a donkey, but even she ain’t stupid enough to try anything, right? Then again, she did point a shotgun at me.” He turned to his men. “Hey, yo, on my signal, light her up."
Something caught John’s eye. Everyone’s attention seemed to be averted toward Margaret’s vehicle, including the gunman on the passenger side. No one seemed to notice Bill edging toward his truck.
“Miles,” John said, attempting to keep him busy. “It doesn’t matter that she’s here. This is between you and me. I know what you want, and I have it.”
Bill crawled and reached under his truck. Without warning, he sprang to his knees and fired two shots through the driver's side window, immediately dropping the gunman on the passenger side.
Miles swore and aimed his weapon at Bill. But in one motion, John pushed Claire off the left side of the porch and shot at Miles.
“Go, go, go!” he shouted to Claire as he back into the house and fired three more rounds at Miles.
But, as quick as a cat, the younger man dodged to the right side of the house and dove into the bushes. John ducked inside and waited for the rapid succession of gunfire to cease. Luckily, the area around the front door was armor-plated, something he acquired from the Black Market when he moved in last year. He returned fire, discharging five more slugs into the Black SUV. One of the gunmen grabbed his neck and fell to the ground.
But, amiss the rapid-fire, a single shot echoed in the distance, and what the Navy Vet suspected to be an armor-piercing round struck the right side of the door frame, just inches from his face. It was the sniper in the woods across from his front lawn. John ducked down and aimed his Glock at the street lamp, but the sniper fired again striking him in the chest. John nearly somersaulted, landing on the back of his neck.
He felt as if someone had shot him with a cannon. The pain was unbearable. He gasped and struggled to breathe. His vision blurred and his body began to shudder. The sniper let off another round, striking the floor between his legs. John was finally able to move and shimmied away from the door, dodging two more rounds. He happened to glance up and saw Bill shoot and kill the remaining gunman at the SUV.
Fearing the sniper would get him next, John aimed again at the lamp post and fired, shattering the light bulb. Darkness swallowed the cul-de-sac, save the flashlights on the ground where the gunmen had fallen. The echoing of the final rounds of gunfire ceased, ushering in a wave of silence.
John called out Claire’s name, his voice hoarse from the pain of the bullet that struck him in the chest. He wondered if it had penetrated through the body armor he wore. He called out her name again as well as Bill’s. About the fourth attempt, the naughty Texan answered back.
“We gotta get out of here,” he said. “Where’s Miles?"
“Screw Miles,” John replied. Where’s CW?”
“She ran and jumped in that car at the entrance. That was Margaret, right? I can’t see a cot-picking thing."
A sniper bullet ripped through John’s living room.
“Whoa,” Bill yelled. “Where’d that come from? I thought we smoked those bastards."
John prayed that the sniper didn’t have a night vision scope. But it soon became apparent by the pattern of rounds he fired, that he didn’t.
“He’s firin’ blind, John!” Bill hollered. “Come on. Our ride’s here.”
John looked out the door and saw headlights speeding toward the house. The truck stopped inches from the porch and a sniper bullet shot out the front headlight. John hollered for Margaret to turn her headlights out. Just then, as he stood to his feet, he felt someone's breath on the back of his neck. Before he could react, muscular arms violently wrapped around his throat.
“You forgot about me, Cap?” Miles huffed. “You didn’t think I would let you go that easy, did you?”
Instinctively, John attempted to elbow him in the side, but Miles smartly hooked him under his elbow. He then stretched his hand up and clamped down on the back of his neck while squeezing the front with his other forearm.
Miles chuckled and pulled him back over the couch. “Come on, bro. At least make it a challenge."
John scratched and clawed to get free, but Miles held him fast.
“Face it, Cap,” he growled, squeezing John with all his might. “You're getting old. What kind of man leaves his backdoor unlocked? Especially, a man with your talents. At least you were wearing body armor, though. I thought for sure you were a dead man when that sniper took you out.”
Just when John was beginning to fade, Bill charged in and fired off several rounds of Margaret’s shotgun. Miles jumped up and scampered into the kitchen and out the back door.
“How the heck does that rat bastard keep getting away?” Bill said, flabbergasted. “I had him dead to rights.”
John gasped for air and began coughing. Bill patted him on the back and pulled him to his feet.
“You're alright,” he said. “You’ll live. Let’s role before that sniper gets here.”
Bill put John's arm around him and helped him to the porch. Claire jumped out and guided him to the backseat and hopped in beside him.
“Looks like I'm saving your hide yet again, John,” came the unmistakable voice of Margaret.
The big man chuckled and let out a gasp from the pain. “You always do, Marge. You always do.”
Suddenly, Miles came tearing out the front door with John’s AR Fifteen. Letting out a primal scream, he opened fire. Claire covered her head and screamed. Margaret pressed the gas pedal to the floor and sped out of the driveway. She sharply turned onto the dirt road, and the SUV fishtailed, kicking up dust. When the vehicle finally steadied, she barreled down the street, just as a bullet whizzed past John’s head and into the lighting panel, knocking out the controls.
“Did we lose them?” Claire asked when they had made it to Henry Rd.
“I think so,” Margaret said, her voice shaking. “But I’m not stopping until we get far away from here. So where too?”
“Somewhere out of the city,” John said. “You can’t go home. Miles knows your identities which means he knows where you live.”
“I thought you said he didn’t want the GRA to know he was here,” said Margaret.
John repositioned himself, wincing with every move. “Yeah, I don’t think he counted on me putting up much of a fight. Money makes people do desperate things. He’s taking the gloves off.”
“But dad, we have no money,” Claire said.
John studied his daughter. She eyed him warily, waiting on him to respond. “Where’s that paper I gave you?” he said.
Claire pulled it out of her pocket and clicked on the flashlight. “This is an insurance policy with Mom’s name on it,” she said. Her jaw dropped when she read the amount.
ns 15.158.61.37da2
