Vicious Cycle (29 page)

She looked around for an escape. Behind the backseat was a cargo area. If she got back there, maybe she would be safe.

Then her baby started to cry, its tinny, angry voice rising. Jordan followed the sound and found Grace strapped in a car seat on the seat in front of her.

Bullets shattered the glass beside Jordan, and she screamed. Grace would get caught in the crossfire. She started toward Grace just as a bullet whizzed past her head.

She hit the floor, keeping her head low. She could slide back under the seat to the cargo bin, but she couldn’t leave Grace here, vulnerable to the spray of bullets.

Jesus, I need You …

She crawled to the baby’s seat, aware that the foreign man was just two feet away. But he ignored her and kept firing through the shattered window. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the straps. Finally they came free and she grabbed her baby up.

The child kicked and squirmed and yelled, her little mouth open in a desperate O.

Holding the baby tight against her chest, Jordan got down on the floor and, lying sideways to shield Grace with her body, pushed herself along until she was in the cargo space. She slid to the back of it, shielding her baby as bullets flew through the fuselage.

K
ent regained consciousness, unsure whether he’d been out for seconds … or much longer. He made himself roll under the plane, out of the line of fire. His right shoulder was numb, and he couldn’t use his right arm. He grasped his gun with his left hand and tried to get to his feet.

“The fuel tank!” he heard someone say above him, inside the plane. “By the hangar! Hit the fuel tank!”

There was more gunfire, more yelling—and then the fuel tank a hundred yards away went up in a blast that knocked him back to the ground. Black smoke mushroomed over him … he heard the sound of a crash … felt himself rolling as metal smashed and tumbled around him.

Jordan felt the blast, and the plane bounced upward,
flipping over. Metal ground and broke as she felt the wing breaking, the plane rolling.

She clutched the baby to her chest, pulled her knees up, and rolled like a lottery ball in the cargo bin. When the plane settled on its side, she examined Grace.

The baby was still screaming, but Jordan could see no injuries.

Jordan managed to catch her breath, her heart thudding against her chest. “Shhh,” she said. “It’s all right. Mommy’s here.”

Smoke was filling the cabin. She had to get out of here. She put the baby under her shirt to protect her lungs from the smoke and found the small door to the cargo area. It was over her head now, and she tried to kick it open.

She heard two more gunshots, a grunt and a thud … then men’s voices. “Two dead inside! Is there anybody in here?”

She looked through the smoke and saw a man at the door to the plane. “Help me!” she cried. “Please help me!”

In minutes they had gotten her out and away from the flames and smoke, to fresh air. “Lance,” she cried. “He’s in the building. I think they killed him.”

She sat on the grass, comforting her child, as the police turned their attention to the hangar.

L
ance …

Kent stared at the flames engulfing a collapsed wall of the hangar, a hundred yards away. It looked like a war zone here—flames and smoke and broken pieces of cars … and the plane everywhere, its wing broken into three pieces.

He had to find Lance.

Dathan pounded toward him. “Kent, you all right?”

He got to his knees, accepting Dathan’s offered hand, and staggered to his feet. “The plane … the victims …”

“We pulled the pilot and his partner out dead and found the girl and the baby. They’re alive.”

He sucked in a breath. “Lance … where is he?”

“She said he’s in the hangar. She thinks he’s dead.”

His heart balled into a fist, squeezing blood from its chambers. He squinted toward the hangar. The fuel tank
blast had knocked down a wall, and flames had spread across the ceiling. Through the fire, he saw Zeke’s blue Dodge.

Lance must be in that building with Zeke, about to be burned. If Jordan was right, he was already dead.

He ran toward the hangar, his left hand still clutching his firearm. On the side of the building not yet engulfed, he kicked in a door and went in.

He stumbled over a body. In the smoky light, he saw that it was Zeke. He lay dead on the floor in a pool of blood, a gun in his hand … aimed at another body.

Lance!

Kent stumbled toward the boy lying on the ground, a bloody gunshot wound in his left side. He knelt and turned him over. He felt for a pulse, but couldn’t find one. Awkwardly throwing Lance over his left shoulder, he ran back the way he’d come in, through the flames and smoke.

A
s Kent cleared the flames, he ran to a score of sirens … fire trucks and ambulances racing toward the scene. He kept running until he was clear of the building, in case the fuel tanks of the cars inside the hangar went up next.

When he couldn’t run another step, he collapsed on the dirt and lay Lance down. Blood from Kent’s own wound had soaked Lance’s clothes, but Lance was still unconscious. Kent ripped Lance’s shirt open. The wound was low, through his lower ribs, and there was an exit wound. Blood still seeped from both front and back. He pressed his hand over the exit wound to stop the bleeding. If blood was still flowing, there must be a pulse. He put his ear to Lance’s chest. Yes—there was a faint heartbeat, a whistle of breath. “Lance!” he said. “Hang on, buddy!”

An ambulance crossed the field to them. Paramedics
jumped out and took over. Only then did Kent collapse beside Lance.

Don’t take him, Lord. Take me. Please let him be all right.

B
arbara sat in the surgical waiting room, Emily’s head on her shoulder, as they waited for word. They had taken Kent to Radiology to evaluate the shoulder that had been shattered by a bullet. She thanked God that he’d been wearing a bulletproof vest. But Lance …

They had brought him in an ambulance. She’d gotten a glimpse before they rolled him into surgery, and he was limp, his face drained of color. Pasty, like he was already dead.

The bullet had shattered ribs and punctured a lung, filling it with blood. The doctors weren’t sure if they could save him.

Suddenly, the doctor she’d spoken to earlier came into the waiting room, his mask around his neck. “Mrs. Covington?”

Emily lifted her head and got to her feet. Barbara
wanted to stand up, but she found she couldn’t move. She didn’t want to know if he’d died. To plan another funeral, buy another casket—she’d thought she’d never recover from burying her husband, but burying a son would be worse.

“Is he … alive?” Emily asked.

The doctor looked tired, but he managed a smile. “Yes. We removed the torn lobe of his lung, and his vital signs are good now. I think he’s going to be okay.”

Relief burst like fireworks through her heart. Had she heard him right, or had she merely wished it? Was Lance really going to live? Slowly, she got to her feet.

“Mom, it’s a miracle!” Emily threw her arms around her.

Yes, it was true. She was going to get her son back.

Lance woke hours later to bright, blinding lights. His vision was blurred, and his head felt like it had gotten between a sledgehammer and its stake. His side burned like he’d been blasted with a welding torch.

“Lance, can you hear me?”

A face hovered above him, blurred at the edges. “Mom?”

His mother burst into tears and whispered, “Oh, thank You, God.” Her face became clearer. “Lance, how do you feel?”

He tried to answer, but the words just rotated through his head like numbers on a slot machine. He couldn’t settle on any.

How had he gotten out of there?

“You were shot.” Emily’s face came into view. “You’re a hero. Half the school is in the waiting room. It’s all over the news.”

Shot? He tried to remember, but he could only think of the syringe shooting something into his veins.

“They gave you a very high dose of horse tranquilizer, honey. Then they tried to make it look like Zeke shot you.”

He shook his head. “No, he was dead before …”

“We know.”

He frowned and tried to lift himself, but pain stopped him. “My side hurts.”

“You were shot through your ribs and your lungs. Kent saved your life. You’ve had surgery, and the doctors say you’ll be okay.”

“Throat hurts,” he whispered. “Water.”

His mother held up his glass, and he sipped through the straw, the liquid cooling the burning in his throat. Horse tranquilizer? A gunshot? Who would believe that?

“Jordan?” he whispered.

“She’s fine too,” Emily said. “So is the baby.”

He dropped his head back down with relief. Then fear gripped him again. “Kent?”

Barbara stepped away from the bed, and he followed her with his eyes. Kent lay on a hospital bed beyond the open curtain next to him, his shoulder braced and bandaged.

“How ya doin’, buddy?” Kent asked.

Lance managed a smile. “Not so good,” he slurred.

“Tell him about it,” Emily said. “He was shot trying to save your hide.”

Lance peered at him. “You too?”

“The bullet cut through bone,” Barbara said. “Shattered his rotator cuff. He had surgery too.”

It seemed like a miracle. Someday Lance would share it all with his grandchildren, and he wouldn’t even have to embellish the story to get gasps. “Thanks, man,” he said. “I was hoping you’d come.”

Kent gave him a grin that belied the pain he must be feeling. “No problem, kiddo. Glad to do it.”

T
he next day, Emily pushed Lance in his wheelchair to Jordan’s room, so they could support Jordan when she gave Grace to Madeline and Ben. Jordan put Grace into Madeline’s arms, and Madeline melted into tears. Ben’s face was awestruck as he cupped her little head.

Jordan couldn’t stop weeping after they left. She rebuffed their efforts to comfort her, and covering her face, she walked out into the hall.

“Come on,” Emily said, turning his chair around. “Let’s go after her.”

“No, let me,” Lance said. “I’ve got this.”

Emily stayed in the room and Lance rolled himself after Jordan, following her to the window at the far end of the corridor, where she stood looking out into the night.

He rolled up beside her, facing his reflection in the window. “You okay?” he asked her finally.

She wiped her face with the sleeve of her gown. “Yeah, I’ll be all right. I just … wish my mom wasn’t in jail. That none of this happened.”

“She’s not there because of you.”

“If I hadn’t got pregnant, if I hadn’t had a baby …”

“Then your mother and Zeke wouldn’t have been able to use you that way. But they would have found other illegal ways to get money. Neither of them wanted to hold a job, but they both wanted to do a lot of drugs. How can you miss her?”

Jordan expelled a life-weary sigh. “It’s not that I miss her. I just miss the idea of having a mother who cares what happens to me. Like, maybe if she got sober and her head cleared … she might be more like your mom.”

Lance understood. “When they shot me up with that horse tranquilizer, I felt my life slipping away, like I would just fall asleep and wake up in heaven. I saw my mom standing beside my casket, grieving again. I was sick that I hadn’t saved you. I’m glad it was a dream.”

Jordan nodded. “God listened. He sent Kent and the police to save us.”

“He did,” Lance said. “Kind of makes me want to be a better person now, you know?”

“I know.” She wiped her face and drew in a deep breath. “Sorry about the tears in there. It was just so hard.”

“We knew it would be.”

“But watching Madeline and Ben with her, I couldn’t help thinking, some day I’m gonna be a parent like that.” She lifted her chin. “I’m not just a junkie.”

“Nope, you’re not. You risked your life to save your baby. You put her first. You’re not like your mother at all.”

“She’ll be happy, won’t she? She’ll have a good home with Madeline and Ben. She’ll get to be a happy little kid. I hope she never has to hear about those traffickers — people trying to sell girls into a life of horrible things …”

“By the time she’s old enough to understand, they’ll have rounded up everybody involved. They’ve got a real good start already. Kent told me they’ve had two girls come forward with information. They’ve made several arrests.”

She smiled. “That’s good.”

Lance looked at her reflection in the glass. “So have you decided what you’re gonna do next?”

“I’m going back to New Day,” she said. “You were right that day on the street, before Zeke got us. I can choose. And I choose to get better and have a better life.”

“See? You’ve already broken the cycle. You made the right choice … did the right thing.”

She breathed out a laugh. “Who woulda thought?”

She turned back and looked up the hall. A nurse was coming out of a room wearing scrubs, a stethoscope around her neck. “I was thinking maybe I’d be a good nurse. I don’t know if they’d take me with my background, since I’d be around drugs and stuff. Maybe I could be an X-ray tech or something. Do something important that helps people.” She breathed a laugh. “I like the idea of wearing scrubs to work.”

“If you put your mind to it and get clean, you can do anything you want to do.”

“That stuff New Day told me about the damage meth does to your brain. You think I have too many holes in mine to make anything of myself?”

“Nope,” he said. “I think if there wasn’t a God, maybe that would be true. But He has a way of filling in holes, healing hurts, setting things right.”

She smiled through fresh tears. “At New Day, I learned what Jesus said. ‘He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.’ I think that was written for me.”

Lance smiled. “At church they used to sing this hokey song about beauty coming from ashes, and I never understood what it meant. But now I do. You may never be a rocket scientist or a brain surgeon, and neither will I. But you can have a good life and be smart and raise healthy kids. You can have a husband someday who loves you.”