Gundown (36 page)

He dove onto her, and her breath smashed out. She crashed her forehead into his nose. She heard the crunch of breaking cartilage. Murphy howled, rolled off of her, and grabbed for his face.

Jewel twisted, rolled to her stopper, and snatched it. Taking deep breaths to get her wind back, she stood.

Murphy staggered to his feet and turned toward her.

She mashed a button. A stream of whack hit him in the eyes, his howl turned into a shriek, and his hands went to his face.

Jewel’s knees wanted to give way, but she steadied herself. As she backed away from Murphy, he wiped at his eyes. Squinting at her with one eye, he pulled a big black pistol from under his coat. It was no stopper.

She took careful aim and pressed the tangle button. The white, sticky stuff expanded and wrapped Murphy’s hands and the gun, locking them together. Blinking against the rain and the sting of whack, he lifted the gun and swung it in her direction. A shot blasted, and she felt the bullet whip past her face.

Jewel lunged at him, her arm straight out. When her stopper was inches away, she pressed the last button. A dose of nap broke on the dry skin under his chin. She dodged back as he lifted his gun, and then kicked his hands away. His knees sagged. He dropped to the grass, then rolled onto his side and was still.

Jewel went to him. She shoved his shoulder with a foot to roll him onto his back. She knew he couldn’t hear her, but she said, “I’ll be callin’ the cops.” With that lethal firearm trapped in his hands, she knew he was going to be in a world of hurt—and then the Keep. She drew back a foot and kicked him in the balls with everything she had. A grunt whooshed from him, followed by a low groan. Let the hurtin’ start now.

Lightning flashed and snapped her back to her mission. She grabbed up her stuff from the ground and jammed it and the empty stopper into her purse. Handcuffs dangling from one wrist, she ran for the entrance to Daggett Hall.

The Trigger Is Pulled

Marion mouthed the words as Noah said them. I promise to help, the best I can. They touched her with . . . was it hope?

Noah said, “If you make the promise, you’ll need the courage to change yourself.” He grinned. “Man, do I know how hard that is.”

The audience chuckled. Noah sobered. “In me, in you, in each of us are chains that bind us to old lessons and old reflexes. They can cripple our ability to move forward, to embrace the change we need. You can break them.”

Noah’s gaze came to Marion and he said, “I know you can break them.”

Deep within her, Noah Stone’s words resonated as true. There were times when chains—and rules—needed to be broken.

• • •

Mitch leaned close to Hank and said, “He’s what I want to see broken.” He scanned the crowd around them, and then glanced at the entrance on the far side.

When he turned back, there was a tiny smile in the corner of his mouth. Hank said, “What are you up to?”

On the stage, Noah said, “I have a little announcement for you tonight before we get to the punch and cookies.”

Students said “Awwwwww” and the audience laughed.

Mitch’s smile disappeared. “Just glad you’re free again.”

Hank knew a lie when he heard one.

• • •

Marion stepped forward to get a better look. She collided with a woman hurrying toward the aisle that led to the stage. Marion stepped back and said, “Excuse me. I’m sorry.”

The black-haired woman, a foot shorter than Marion, glanced up at her with a hard-eyed stare as though Marion were the smaller person. She moved on, and down the aisle. Those eyes . . .

Marion knew those eyes.

Noah said, “This new center is named after Raymond Daggett, the storied political science professor who raised eyebrows during his entire career at SOU because of the way he spoke out for the people. In his honor, then, I have a political announcement to make.

“As you know, we’re in the heat of a presidential campaign, and I’ve been asked over and over who I’m for. The Alliance board has met, and we have an endorsement.”

Those eyes— The militia woman. Colonel Hanson. Marion had seen her on Noah Stone’s computer monitor that morning. Along with a bullet that had his name on it.

The woman’s eyes looked just like those of the guy who’d killed Suzanne.

And she was pulling a pistol from her purse as she marched toward the stage.

Not this time! Marion ran down the aisle after Hanson.

• • •

Hank decided to get next to Noah, because the endorsement he was about to make would cause an uproar. He headed across the space in front of the stage.

He was halfway to Noah when a woman in the far aisle called out, “Noah Stone!” She raised a pistol above her head. “We want our rights back!”

It was Colonel Hanson—crazy Colonel Hanson. Hank yelled “CLEAR!” at people milling in front of him and sprinted toward her aisle. He pulled his stopper from his holster, but people jumping to their feet blocked his shot.

She fired into the air. He lowered his head and ran harder.

• • •

Mitch flinched at the gunshot and then laughed. That ought to do it. Noah Stone would run screaming from the stage. Mitch clapped his hands. He’d done it!

• • •

The sound of the shot struck Noah like a fist. He searched for the source—there, in the aisle, it was that militia woman! Fear ripped into him and he started to back away, and then the screams of the audience broke through. People could be hurt in a stampede.

He stepped forward, spread his arms out, palms down, and called out to the audience, “Be calm. Help is on the way.”

• • •

Marion cried, “No-o-o-o-o-o!”

Colonel Hanson glanced back at her, then faced Noah and lowered the gun toward the stage.

Marion ran as hard as she could, knowing that she was too late.

• • •

Hank closed on the aisle . . . two more strides . . . he leaped upward with all of his strength. As he turned in the air, rising in front of Noah, he looked up the aisle and down the barrel of Hanson’s pistol. She wouldn’t miss. Above the gun barrel her eyes glittered just like those of the guy in Chicago when he went for Noah. They glittered, they narrowed . . . She pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit his left shoulder and spun him.

Hank hit the floor on his belly, and his right hand smashed down. His stopper spun away, out of reach. Hanson didn’t even look his way. The tendons on the back of her hand stood out as she squeezed the trigger.

• • •

Noah stared at the gun centering on him. The crowd noise dimmed, and calm settled into him. He shifted his gaze to Colonel Hanson’s hard eyes. To her he said, “I promise to help, the best I can.”

Hanson screamed, a full-throated primal blast of fury, and pulled the trigger.

There was a bang, a hammer slammed him in the chest, and he fell backward.

• • •

Mitch gasped. That wasn’t supposed to happen! He shook his head as if he could deny what he’d just seen, but that didn’t stop horror from flooding his mind.

• • •

Hank surged to his feet, his shoulder a blaze of pain, but he could use the arm. He dove onto the stage and crawled to Noah.

Noah still breathed. Hank ripped Noah’s shirt open and stared at a bloody hole in his chest, way too close to his heart. Blood pumped out. Hank raised his head and roared, “I need a doctor!”

A man somewhere shouted, “Here!”

Hank leaned close. “A doctor’s coming. You’ll be okay.”

Noah’s gaze went to the blood on Hank’s shoulder and then to Hank. He smiled. “We have just
got
to stop meeting like this.”

There was no smile in Hank, but he tried. “I will if you will.”

Noah looked into Hank’s eyes, deep sadness in his own. He said, “There’s so much left to do. Help me.” He gasped and then stopped breathing.

Hank started CPR.

• • •

Jewel smashed through people at the top of the aisle. Hank knelt beside a man on the stage . . . He was doing CPR. Noah!

Ahead of her, Marion Smith-Taylor flew down the aisle toward the stage—toward a small woman who held a gun. Jewel raced after Marion.

• • •

Marion screamed. The woman turned toward her and shot.

The bullet slammed into Marion’s neck—

• • •

It seemed to Mitch that the woman running at Hanson fell in slow motion. This couldn’t be real.

He ran to the aisle.

• • •

After a check of pulse and a look into Noah’s eyes, the doctor looked up at Hank, his expression stricken. “He’s dead.”

A young woman screamed, “Noah’s dead!” More screams spread through the audience alongside bellows of anger. Men raised their fists but had no one to hit.

• • •

Jewel jumped over Marion’s body, dove for the shooter, and crashed into her.

They fell, Jewel on top, gripping the woman’s wrist to force the gun against the floor. It fell from her hand, and Jewel stared into wide, insane eyes.

Fury

Loss swept through Hank. It emptied him, and then rage filled his mind. He stood and looked up the aisle. People had backed into the rows of seats, leaving the aisle clear. Mitch Parsons ran down from the top toward a woman who lay on her back in the aisle. It was Marion Smith-Taylor.

The shooter sprawled on the floor, pinned by Jewel Washington, the pistol beside them.

Hank vaulted from the stage and bolted toward them as Jewel pulled Colonel Hanson to her feet. The violence Hanson had begun flared into a storm of fury. The crowd roared.

He tore Hanson from Jewel’s grasp and spun her to face him. Her wide eyes narrowed, and she stared at him with a flat, cold gaze. He closed his hands around her throat. She grabbed his wrists with her little hands. He was going to crush her larynx with his thumbs. He wanted her to suffer—he squeezed, but slowly.

Around him, faces were masks of loathing; fists clenched and unclenched, eager to crush something, anything. Mouths opened and shut. Hank heard only the pounding of his pulse in his ears.

Jewel yelled something that got through. “Kill her!”

He would do that. Hanson’s pistol lay on the floor. Yes. That would be justice. Gripping Hanson’s neck with one hand, he stretched down and picked it up.

Hank shoved the barrel deep into the soft flesh under her chin. Her eyes widened with what looked like the first hint of fear he’d seen from her. He tightened his finger on the trigger.

Noah’s dying words whispered inside his head. “Help me.”

A killer couldn’t do that.

The screaming faces around him were like those he’d seen in the Keep—bestial. But these were the people Noah had asked to make a promise to help. Hank’s rage ebbed. What would Noah do now?

He’d try to help them, wouldn’t he?

Suddenly, as though a switch had been turned on, the cries of the crowd crashed in on him. Jewel’s scream hit him full force. “Kill the bitch!”

Shouts came from all around. “Shoot!” “Shoot!” “Shoot!”

One hand still on Hanson’s throat, Hank lowered the pistol and stared at it. He’d loved guns and all the good things that came from them his entire life. But this thing in his hand was no more and no less than a metal tool made for killing.

He threw the gun as hard as he could, and it slid across the stage to dark recesses at the back. Hanson was safe. From him, at least.

Jewel screamed at him, “What are you waiting for?” She forced her body between Hank and Hanson and grabbed at Hanson’s throat.

Hank grabbed Jewel’s wrist, yanked her away, and twisted her to face him. “That’s not the way!”

She screamed into his face, “It’s my way!”

“It’s wrong!”

“Not by me!”

Hank released her and pointed at the stage. “It is by him!”

Jewel stared at Noah’s body, the doctor kneeling beside him. The rictus of hatred contorting her face collapsed into confusion.

• • •

No words came to Jewel. No words to deny what had happened. No words to call back her insane craving to kill Hanson. Had there been a gun in her hand, Hanson would be dead. Why hadn’t she picked up the pistol?

Jewel didn’t feel that killing her would have been wrong. But she knew what the man who lay dead on the stage would say. And he would be right.