Damn!

The girl is going to be trouble.

I can already tell.

If she had any sense at all, she would be still and stop wriggling around. I’m almost afraid to loosen my grip on her long enough to steady my gun. She might be stupid enough to try to crawl back over to her cameraman, putting herself right in the line of fire again.

The shooter on the upper level is too far away to see his face clearly, though the shape of his assault rifle is hard to miss. He’s taking his time and leisurely picking out random targets in the food court below him.

Is he alone?

I can’t tell.

He casually reloads and fires another fast round toward the front counters of the cinnamon roll shop on the other side of the room. Glass sprays everywhere, along with chunks of dough and sweet icing. I’ll never feel the same about the smell of hot cinnamon rolls again. It’s a shame because I love those damn things.

The random way he’s shooting makes me think that his goal for the moment is to instill terror and fear rather than to rack up a quick body count. He is stalling, biding his time for some reason.

If so, this also means he has a plan.

I lift my head slightly again and scan the food court. Everyone is either lying on the ground or under tables. Whether they’re dead, injured, or playing possum, I don’t know. From where we’re hiding, I can’t see the whole room clearly.

When the shooter stops to reload again, gunshots ring out from another direction.

Fuck!

There’s another one.

I figured as much.

The attack didn’t feel like the work of one person. Shifting slightly, I turn to see if I get a better look. Where is that second shooter?

“Now you’re the one moving!” Maggie whispers in a panic. “What are you doing? I thought you said to be still.”

“Shhh….” I say and tuck her head back under my chest. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

I turn my head around and glance back over my shoulder to see if I can catch sight of Sam. He’s crouched behind the corner of the shattered pizza counter. As soon as we make eye contact, he holds up three fingers and points toward the glass doors at the exit.

Oh shit!

There are three of them?

I turn the other way. Two men in hats and heavy coats are blocking the exit at the double glass doors. I wonder how many guns are hidden under their coats. Or god knows what else.

What a fucking nightmare!

We’re all trapped here in the crowded food court waiting to be mowed down by bullets. I’ve never missed my rifle so much.

The words of the Marine’s creed is playing over and over in my head like an old album that’s skipping.

Without my rifle, I am useless.

I must fire my rifle true.

I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me.

I must shoot him before he shoots me.

I will.

Today my rifle isn’t with me. My handgun will have to suffice. Improvisation under pressure is my specialty.

I take a closer look at the two guys near the exit. With their knit caps and scruffy beards, they seem almost familiar to me. They could be one of my old high school classmates or even a Steel Infidel on a bad hair day.

The men are around thirty, maybe not even that old, and white. They’re not the typical stereotype of what I would expect a terrorist to be. They’re cool and calm. Methodical with their movements. Nobody is running around yelling “Allahu Akbar” or acting delusional.

Which scares me even more.

Homegrown terrorists, they’re called. Who knows what their agenda is or what they’re aiming to prove? It could be anything these days. When their explanation for the attack comes out in the news, it won’t make sense to anyone.

Another senseless shooting is what the news will say.

I wonder if they have bombs strapped to their chests. The heavy coats they’re wearing could be covering up suicide vests. The thought makes me uneasy. If I get a chance to take a shot, it has to be to the head. Otherwise, if I hit their chest and they’re wearing explosives, we’re all going up in flames.

One of the men standing by the exit doors motions to the other then starts moving slowly in our direction.

“Oh shit!” I mutter. “They’re heading this way.”

“Oh no,” Maggie whispers, her voice catching on a sob. “What if they’re after me? I’ve been working on a story about street gangs in Atlanta.”

I wonder if she’s completely lost it and gone over the edge. Can’t say I blame her. She’s in shock after seeing her cameraman shot right in front of her. I would be too if I hadn’t been through similar situations before.

There’s no way any news story this gal could dig up would bring out the firepower these guys are pumping. Not unless she’s about to expose the identity of a Russian mob or Columbian drug cartel operating in the area.

Being in the gun-running business myself, I know the identity of every organized gang in Georgia. Half of them are our customers. I can’t imagine any of them willing to stage a terrorist attack of this magnitude over a simple news story told by a pretty girl in high heels and a short skirt.

I don’t have time to persuade her otherwise, and maybe I shouldn’t. As long as Maggie believes she’s the target, then maybe she’ll try not to draw attention to herself. It could be a good thing unless she does something stupid.

I’ll play along with her if need be. Whatever it takes to keep her safe. I might not be able to save everyone here today, but I can save her.

Or die trying.

“If they’re after you, then you’d better stay hidden,” I say, trying to calm her down.

The shooters have stopped walking now. One has his automatic weapon pointed at a group of men in business suits on the floor in front of him. The other is watching the man on the second floor. They’re waiting for him to give a signal.

It can’t be good, whatever is about to happen.

The signal won’t be to put down their guns and walk away.

If I’m going to make a bold move, now is the time. If I had to guess, I’d say the Steel Infidels are the only ones packing heat in the food court besides the shooters. With Maggie under me, I’ll be taking a huge chance. The second I fire, I’m going to draw their attention and bullets our way.

Is it worth the risk?

I can’t think about it because it’s not as if I have a fucking choice.

Hopefully I can keep her body covered with mine. I’m big with solid muscle. Any bullets would have to go through me to get to her.

I hope.

What if I’m wrong? Damn! I hate making life or death decisions. I thought all that was behind me.

I don’t have to see Sam to know that he’s watching my every movement closely and waiting. He’ll be ready to back me up whenever I make a move. For the millionth time, I wish I knew where Flint was. Since I don’t, I can’t depend on his gunpower.

Best case scenario, it will be two against three.

Me and Sam against the three shooters.

We can take them. We’ve been dealt worse odds plenty of times. And we have the element of surprise on our side now. The shooters believe they’re in charge. They won’t be expecting anyone in the crowd to try anything.

“Don’t move a muscle,” I say quietly to Maggie. “I have a gun.” I feel her go dead still under my body. She’s trying not to breathe.

Carefully, I ease my gun around with my right hand so it’s in front of me yet hidden behind my left arm.

This is a suck-ass position to be firing from. Even for a sharpshooter like me. I’m almost flat on the tile floor, looking between the legs of a plastic dining table. A soft drink has turned over and is steadily dripping off the sides onto the floor. Since we’re almost completely under the table, I’m hoping the guy on the second floor can’t see the glint of my gun.

I focus on the shooter who has his automatic weapon pointed toward the group of men. He’s farther away, and Sam would never be able to make the shot from his angle. I’m hoping the same thoughts are running through his head. We’ve been friends for so long that we usually know what the other is thinking. I hope he knows it this time. I wish there was a way to warn him about the chance the guys might be wearing suicide vests.

Too late to think about it.

Now or never.

I line up the shot and pull the trigger.

All hell breaks loose a split-second later. Sam immediately fires his handgun from behind the pizza counter, aiming for the other shooter.

My first shot hits its target right between the eyes.

A clean shot to the head.

The man falls to the ground, dropping his automatic weapon. A businessman on the floor awkwardly tries to be a hero and scramble for the gun. The shooter on the second floor sprays the area with bullets, and the businessman dives away in the other direction.

It takes me only a moment to realize all of Sam’s shots have missed. I’m stunned. Normally Sam is an excellent marksman. The other shooter is running straight toward us now.

What the fuck?

Maybe Maggie was telling the truth. Otherwise why would he keep coming our way?

Sam continues firing and hits the guy in the leg. I wonder how many shots he has left before needing to reload?

The shooter stumbles and gets a round of bullets off, hitting the chairs and tables all around us. I suddenly realize why he’s not going down. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest under his coat, not a suicide vest. It’s like shooting a knight in armor.

“Dammit, Sam!” I mutter. “Why do I always have to do everything?”

The man looks straight at me and makes eye contact. Time stops for a split-second. He’s younger than I thought. No more than twenty-five. For a moment he appears confused, almost shocked. The realization has hit him that he’s not going to live through the day. That their carefully laid plans contained a few loopholes. Holes that are going to get him killed. All for some stupid ideas that he probably doesn’t even understand.

I can’t think about his age or hesitate. He put himself into this situation. I’ll get us out.

Lifting my gun a few inches, I aim for the guy’s head.

Kill or be killed.

I never miss under pressure, and I don’t miss this time either.

Two men down and one to go.

I turn my head to get the current location of the shooter on the second floor. He’s moved almost out of sight. There’s no way I can take him. He’s too far away for my weapon, though not for his. Bullets rain down on the tabletops around us. He knows where the shots came from that took down his buddies, and he’s pissed.

Maggie hasn’t made a sound or moved at all. I’m terrified she’s been hit. I’m afraid to find out. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve tried to protect someone and failed. My sleep is haunted by the past.

In the distance is the faint sound of sirens coming closer. The police and ambulances are on their way. I hope there’s a lot of them and they get here quickly.

Sweat drops down into my eyes, blurring my vision. I blink to clear the sweat.

Dammit!

The motherfucker on the second floor is gone.

I slide off Maggie, who hasn’t made a sound. Her cheek is placed flat against the tile floor and her eyes are squeezed tightly shut.

“Hey! Are you okay?” I ask her.

When she doesn’t answer right away, I touch her shoulder and shake her lightly. She blinks open her eyes.

“I think so,” she answers hesitantly.

“You would know if you weren’t,” I say. “Come on. We need to move now while we have a chance.”

“Is it over?”

“I don’t know for sure, and I’m not staying here in case it’s not. Move your ass now!”

Grabbing her with my free hand, I drag her out from under the table on her hands and knees. A man suddenly slides down on the floor beside us.

Flint.

“Where the fuck have you been all this time?” I ask.

It seems like a lifetime since I’ve seen him when it can’t be more than a few minutes. Ten at the most.

“Pinned down under a table in the middle of the food court,” he says. “Where’s Sam? I lost sight of him as soon as the shooting started.”

“He’s safe,” I reply. “He dove behind the counter and was able to keep track of where the shooters were from there. Help cover me while I get this gal somewhere safe.”

“I’ve got you,” he says. “Go!”

“Move, Maggie!” I tell her, giving her ass a shove forward. “Get behind the pizza counter. Stay down low.”

She quickly scurries across the floor on her hands and knees. We move along with her until we’re all safely behind the counter. I prop her back up against the wall for support.

“What took you so long?” Sam asks when we crouch down beside him. “Where’s the third shooter? I lost sight of him.”

“He’s gone,” I say. “The bastard made a run for it.”

“We need to get out of here too,” Flint says. “I can hear sirens. The police are on their way. We can’t be involved in all this. We need to go now.”

I relax my hold on Maggie and move to stand up.

A few people are already making a mad dash for the exit doors or running in the other direction toward the inside of the mall.

Maggie grabs my jacket sleeve. “Wait!” she says in a panicked voice. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve got to go. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

She shakes her head slowly and gives me a dazed look. “No, I’m not hurt.”

“You’ll be okay then. I can’t stay here.”

“You’re leaving?” she says incredulously. “Where are you going? I don’t understand. You can’t just leave. The police will have questions. Don’t go.”

Her big green eyes fill with tears that threaten to spill over. “Don’t leave me,” she pleads. “Not yet. What if they come back?”

Damn! Those eyes are hard to resist. For a split second, I start to waver before common sense sets in. We’re bikers, we’re carrying guns that aren’t registered to us and tons of cash. Bullets from our guns took out two of the shooters. Hanging around to talk to the police would be a disaster. No way would we come out of it as heroes. The world doesn’t work that way. We would all be arrested and thrown in jail before midnight on a list of charges a mile long.

“I have to go,” I tell her reluctantly. “The police and the ambulances are on their way. The shooters are dead, so you’re safe now.”

“I’m not safe,” she says. “There’s one left. How can I ever feel safe now?”

“Come on,” Flint says. “Let’s move it. We don’t have time for chit-chat.”

Maggie lifts a trembling finger and points to her cameraman sprawled out on the floor a few feet from us. I can’t tell now if he’s breathing or not.

“What about Bill?” she chokes out. “Is he dead? You said he was breathing. I can’t see him breathing.”

I hate leaving her this way.

I shake my head.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I can’t stay. Help will be here soon. Don’t leave this spot even to check on him until the police arrive. Do you understand? Promise me you won’t move.”

She lets go of my jacket sleeve and pulls her knees up close to her chest.

“I promise,” she says dully.

“Fuck,” I say when I realize she’s given up on me. I’m such an asshole. “I’m sorry.”

Without another word, I jump up and follow Flint and Sam through the stunned crowd of people and out the doors. Five minutes later, we’re on the interstate and heading north toward home.