No Ordinary Day , Tate, Harley [ebook offline .TXT] 📗

John lowered the gun.

“Good girl, Jenny. You keep that pointed right at the bad man.” Her father swayed on his feet.

John was conflicted. He could take out the girl before she killed him, but it was the last thing he wanted to do. She was only following orders. Protecting her family.

He knew the feeling. It’s what he had done for years. Anything Dane told him, any job, any mission. But this job changed everything. From now on, he would be his own man. His own person.

He held up his hands. “Just let my friends go.”

“Ma was right. They weren’t alone.”

“They haven’t done anything to you.”

“They sure have. You shot Daddy and Ma’s hurt.” The girl refused to budge.

John tried again. “If you let them go, no one else has to get hurt.”

The man swayed, rifle casting a huge arc in the air.

“Daddy?”

The girl shifted and the barrel of the rifle cleared John’s head. It was the only opportunity he was going to get. He reached for the gun.

The girl swung back to him and lowered her head to take aim.

Breath caught in John’s throat. Time slowed.  A shot rang out.

The girl flinched as a bullet whizzed by her head.

What the— John looked past her. Emma stood behind a sedan, arms breached on the hood, revolver in her hand.

She’d saved him.

With no time to process, John ducked out of the way as the girl spun. He ran for the closest building, keeping low and behind the trees. A bullet pocked a trunk. Another flew past his shoulder. He reached the corner and gasped for breath.

Emma crouched behind the old Buick; gun held in both hands. Holly kneeled beside her, both women terrified and unsure what to do.

John scanned the compound. The woman with the rifle still crouched over her mother. The girl had hurried to her father who was now leaning against a tree, pale and gaunt.

Now or never. John motioned to Emma until he caught her eye. He pointed at the car, made a driving motion with his hands.

She hesitated. What was she waiting for? She pointed at the cabin. Mouthed a word.

He squinted. What?

She said it again. Tank.

John started. The dog was still alive? He nodded in understanding. He would rescue Tank, but she needed to leave. He pointed at the car again and waved her away.

Emma opened the door and shoved Holly inside. Please let these people be cocky enough to leave the keys in the ignition.

John wasted no time, rushing around the rear of the cabin and a hip-high window. He broke the glass with his elbow and a car engine revving to life muffled the noise. Shouts echoed from the clearing as John crawled through the shattered glass. He found himself in a small bedroom with a cot against one wall and a desk in the corner. No sign of Tank.

He eased the bedroom door open and a pile of fur and muscle almost knocked him to the ground. Tank jumped and pawed at John’s chest, whimpering and whining.

John bit his cheek to keep his anger in check. Fabric wrapped around Tank’s face in a makeshift muzzle, preventing the dog’s mouth from opening. John set to work removing it, loosening the knots and struggling with the fabric, until at last, Tank yanked his head free. The dog’s jaw immediately fell open and he began to pant in frantic rhythm.

Even John knew dogs had to be free to pant. It was their cooling mechanism. With his mouth shut up tight, Tank could have died. John hardened his heart against the people outside. They might not be his target, but they treated Emma, Holly, and Tank worse than criminals. He ran a hand through Tank’s fur.

“You’ll be okay now.” He glanced up at the door. “As long as we can get out of here in one piece.”

John eased toward the front door and cracked it open. While he’d been inside, the family had taken time to regroup. The open area sat empty and undisturbed, apart from chewed up tire tracks and a blood stain on the ground. The Buick was gone.

He eased the door closed. Could Tank make it through the broken window? John doubted it. It took some careful maneuvering for John to shimmy though, a dog as big as Tank had no chance. “If only you were a mini poodle or something.”

Tank cocked his head.

“We’ll have to do this the hard way. Ready?”

The dog nosed the front door and John nodded. “Anything happens to me, you run. Find Emma and Holly.”

He had no idea if the dog understood, but it was the best he could do. John eased the door open again and waited. Nothing. Keeping low to the ground, he took a halting step outside. Tank followed close on his heels. They made it to the end of the cabin before the hairs on John’s arms lifted.

 “Go, buddy! Go!” He ushered Tank forward and a gunshot cracked.

Pain sliced his side. John fired in the general direction without aiming as he ducked behind the side of the cabin and reached for his ribs. His hands came away soaked in blood. Not good. Tank waited ten yards ahead in the darkening forest, tail wagging.

John couldn’t disappoint him. Not now. He pushed off the wood wall, wincing as he took a step.

Another shot ran out. He fired behind him and tried to run. If I can just make the trees... He kept plowing forward, one foot after another. Another gunshot, another few steps.

He ducked behind a tree and leaned against the bark to catch his breath. His side burned and blood soaked through his sweater. No time to investigate. He needed to put distance between him and any more bullets.

With the sun dipping below the horizon, the forest was cast in severe shadow. John kept to the dark patches, weaving his way through the trees as Tank led the way, always a handful of steps ahead. He followed the dog, stumbling and staggering until darkness enveloped them