Gunshots echoed inside the cavernous store like cracks of thunder, muzzle flashes from the pistols briefly illuminating the area around the shooters. Reese couldn't tell who was shooting from where, based on the reverberating echoes, so he decided to keep his head down and keep moving toward the exterior walls.
In a gap between shots, Reese heard footsteps pounding down his aisle—they were almost on top of him. Scrambling to find a way out, Reese realized he’d reached the far wall. Around him stood stacks of coolers, bundles of Tiki torches, and Tiki torch oil. He had found his way to the outdoor living section.
Neat piles of firewood, individually shrink-wrapped in small, easily carried bundles, filled up half a bay of industrial shelving to his right. Reese slipped into the shelving and crawled up onto the pile, pulling himself deeper into the shadows. He shimmied back as much as he could on the uncomfortable wooden nest he’d discovered and held his breath.
The footsteps grew closer, and Reese’s heart rate increased with every footfall. He closed his eyes and prayed. He knew he was in no shape to fight—he hadn’t had any sleep in almost 24 hours. His shoulder was all cut up, and his good hand trembled holding the revolver he’d captured. Exhausted, hungry, and desperately thirsty, Reese knew he didn’t stand a chance.
He opened his eyes. Cami and Amber still waited for him. The intruders, whoever they were, threatened to delay him even more than the tsunami had. His breathing calmed. His heart rate slowed. Anger bubbled up inside Reese and he gripped the revolver tighter. Afraid or not, exhausted or not—injured or not—nothing was going to stop him from getting home. If he had to take down every man in the building, so be it.
“There’s nothin’ over here,” complained a voice, shockingly close to Reese.
He adjusted the grip on the revolver and kept it on his chest, a comforting weight in the darkness.
A shout came from the other side of the store. “Forget it—the cops are coming!”
“You heard the man, let’s move!”
“This ain’t over,” muttered the man hidden in shadows near Reese.
Reese aimed the heavy revolver blindly into the aisle and waited. He had a general idea where the attacker was, based on his footsteps, but he didn’t want to fire without a target. So, he lay there, counting his breathes, ears ringing, until he could stand it no longer. Reese slowly uncurled from his hiding position and put his feet on the floor. The pistol he kept pointed in front of him, and he made his way across the aisle and worked back toward the middle of the cavernous department store.
Off to his right, light flared by the front of the store, doors rattled open, and several voices rang loud, calling out positions and covering flanks. Chief Foster and his men had arrived.
Reese picked up his pace and made it back to the area he, Ben, and Jo had camped out in during the night. Officer Glivens arrived at the same time.
“Hands up!” he yelled, pointing a powerful flashlight at Reese. “Drop the weapon—oh, it’s you.”
Reese grimaced and kept his eyes screwed shut. “Man, that’s the brightest flashlight I’ve ever seen!”
“Sorry about that,” Glivens said, lowering the light. “I saw the gun and didn’t catch the sling on your arm there. What are you doing running around here with a gun?”
“Lost my knife,” Reese said as he turned the gun around and offered it to Glivens butt-first. The cop took it and examined the weapon.
“This is a .357 Magnum. Where’d you get it?”
Reese shrugged. “Well, when those guys broke in, one jumped me—he had it and I panicked and kind of…”
Glivens aimed his light at Reese and looked him over, head to toe. “That’s a lot of blood. You okay?”
“What’s going on here?” demanded Jo, pushing closer to examine Reese. She was breathing heavy after running to fetch the police. “Did you open your sutures?” She poked at his shoulder and grunted. “Nope, I reckon they’re still holding. You musta had a great doc.”
“I think I stabbed him,” Reese told the cop.
“The doc?” asked Glivens.
“No, I’m fine,” Jo replied. “You boys sure know how to ruin a good joke.”
“Glivens! We got a lot of blood over here!” another officer called from across the store.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Glivens said to Reese with a stern look. He kept the revolver and trotted off, his utility belt making an awful racket as he went.
“What happened?” asked Jo, when they were alone.
“Just like I said, this guy jumped me and pulled a gun, so I just…I dunno, swung the knife and hit him. I have no idea if I killed him or cut him or what happened…”
Jo whistled, much like Glivens had. “Not bad, Bowie, not bad.”
Reese frowned. “Do not call me that.”
“I’m just sayin’,” Jo laughed, “if the name fits…ain’t no one else around here not only stopped a knife attack but took down one of the bad guys with a knife. You realize they all had guns, right?”
“Well, I don’t know how bad you hurt the guy, but there’s an awful lot of blood down that aisle. We found this,” Glivens said, walking back to them. He held up Reese’s bloody knife. “Keeps coming back to you, huh?”
“I just want to go home,” Reese muttered, taking the knife. Jo immediately took it from him and began wiping
