Fuzzy Navel

10:25 P.M.
JACK

THE FIRST THING I need to do is minimize my disadvantages.

And there are many.

They’re three people. I’m just one.

They have cover. I have people to protect.

They have unlimited bullets. I have three.

They have scopes, both normal and night vision. I have a head injury.

But I do have one advantage. Never underestimate a woman fighting for her life.

I stick my head into the hall and shout.

“Latham! We’re going to get you in the bathroom with Mom and Harry. It’s the safest place in the house.”

“Don’t risk it, Jack. Too many windows.”

“I’ve got an idea about that. Be ready to move when I get there.”

I crawl over to the flashlight in the corner of my room, then get into a crouch. The Tylenol has kicked in, taking my headache from excruciating down to merely agonizing.

Don’t think. Just act.

I point the flashlight out the window and run out the door, through the hall, into the laundry room. I tug open the fuse box door, hit the main breaker, and the house lights come back on. I assume the snipers still have their night-vision scopes on. Now they’ll be all lit up.

I hurry back into the hall, flipping off lights as I go.

“Hold this,” I tell Harry, passing up the bathroom. He takes the rifle.

“Santa come early this year?”

“Scissors,” I say.

Mom hands me the scissors.

I squeeze past the fridge, run into the living room, catch a quick glimpse at Latham still by the sofa, but head straight for the front door instead. I turn on the outside lights – front porch, garage light, driveway lights – and kill the lights inside the room. I also kill the flashlight. That leaves only one light on in the house. The kitchen.

I creep over to it, reach for the switch while keeping my eyes on Alex. She’s still on the floor, handcuffed to the pipe under the sink. She regards me.

“I’m a better shot than you,” she says. “Let me go and I’ll take care of those snipers.”

I flip the kitchen light off. Then I jog over to Latham, kneeling next to him, seeking out his face in the dark.

“How you doing?” I ask.

“Some guys say the excitement goes out of a relationship after the first year. I’m not one of those guys.”

I give him a quick peck, missing his mouth and hitting his cheek.

“This is going to hurt when the circulation comes back.”

I go to work on his duct tape, cutting, peeling, ripping, until his hands come free.

He groans, and my heart breaks. I do his legs next.

“Think you can move?”

“I’ll do my best.”

I help Latham up, try to get his wounded arm over my shoulder. He cries out, so I switch sides.

“Lean on me,” I tell him.

We make it three steps, then he collapses.

“Legs,” he says. “Having some problems.”

I check the front window, look out onto the lawn, and have a clear view. The combination of darkness inside and lights outside will make it hard for the snipers to see us using either regular or night-vision scopes.

“Keep going,” I grunt, trying to pull him to his feet.

Latham manages one step before falling.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

He’s breathing as heavy as I am.

“Legs not working?” I’m referring to the residual paralysis from his bout with botulism.

“Not working.”

This time I find his mouth, press my lips against it.

“It’s okay,” I say. “I have legs for the two of us.”

I prod Latham to his feet once more, then have him stand behind me and put his arms over my shoulders.

“Piggyback?” he says into my ear.

“Just hold on tight.”

His good arm locks around my chest. I lean forward, taking his weight, and manage four staggering steps.

“I kind of like this position,” Latham says.

I stop, lowering him down, catching my breath.

“Don’t like it too much,” I say between puffs. “I can only concentrate on one thing at a time.”

The BOOM of a gunshot, and the room gets a hair darker. I glance out the window.

The snipers are shooting the outside lights.

I focus ahead, down the hallway. Maybe fifteen feet to the bathroom. I pick Latham up and go five more steps before losing my footing. We fall, Latham on top of me. My head feels like it has exploded, and I can’t take a breath.

Another shot. Another outside light winks out.

There are only four lights left. Then Latham and I will be completely exposed.