Ok, I need feedback on the editing of this part of the book. I have finally got someone to edit the darn thing and I want to see how people like it. When the editing is done if I get positive feedback, the book will be on eulu, smashwords etc, I am looking at maybe 2.99 or 3.99 for it. I hope you all will get it. Once this is done I will be working on some of the other stories I have on here.
Chapter 1
“A well-regulated militia, composed of the body of the people, trained in arms, is the best most natural defense of a free country.”
James Madison
Jerome Tanner, JT as he was called by friends, pulled into the parking spot, stepping down out of his lovingly restored 1978 Chevy Blazer. The Ruger Security Six rested in the leather holster, the gun's wooden grips digging into his middle-aged love handles as his feet touched the pavement. Every time the collision happened, he swore once again that he needed to lose some weight. He'd wanted to drop off his handgun at home, before going to the mall, but he was running out of time today. Concealed carry was illegal in the mall but if anyone noticed and complained, he would leave; besides, the windbreaker covered the gun and holster. Someone keenly observant might take notice, but he doubted it. Kentucky is generally considered a gun friendly state, some parts being less agreeable to guns than others. It was a simple trespass violation if he refused to leave. He had no intention of causing a scene. He wanted to get in and out quietly so he could get home. Of course, he forgot to get her the Godiva teddy bear a day earlier so his being here today was his own fault. Going home without the bear and some chocolates for his wife’s birthday was out of the question. He slowly walked towards the mall and took notice as a van pulled up and four men quickly exited. Three men came out of the sliding side door and another out the passenger door. The van quickly pulled away squealing tires as it made a sharp left turn heading towards the back of the mall. The scene seemed off beat but then his wife reminded him often he was very paranoid. She would simply sigh and look away as she said once again not everyone is a criminal. He laughed to himself; maybe he was a tad bit paranoid.
As he was moving towards the same entrance, he noticed the four men all were around six feet, maybe a little shorter and had full dark beards. They were each wearing long black duster style coats. He had not gotten a look at their faces but if they had been wearing straw hats, he would have placed them as the Amish that were seen often around town. Someone walked out one of the doors and as it closed, he saw a reflection in the window that turned his blood to ice. He could have sworn that he saw the reflection of a rifle under one of the long coats. He was caught in-between steps and had to concentrate to continue walking normally. He did not want to draw attention to himself and hoped he had not gasped aloud. He looked closer and just maybe he could make out the impression of a gun against another coat. His thoughts were in maelstrom. What should he do? What could he do? He had six rounds against who knows how many, what if he was wrong. He could try to call 911 but they would not get here in time. This must not be allowed to happen. How many times had he harped that if only one honest gun owner was somewhere at the right time they could stop a crime from happening. They were closer to the doors now and he had to make a choice; follow them in or peel off and call the authorities. He reached back for the feel of the target grip and felt the firm wood and the familiar steel. Defensive pistol matches and plinking with his son felt nothing like this. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Could he shoot someone, would he hit them if he did? If he drew down on these men and they all had AK-47s he would be at a serious disadvantage. He would have to make the shots count. He had a good size knife and six rounds of .357 golden saber. The rounds would take them down but he had to hit center mass or… should he try for a head shots? No! He shook his head, same as practice, center mass and one shot for each terrorist, then see who is left standing. He was starting to understand how Conan, felt, as he and his two comrades stood against an army. He knew that any numbers of 7.62x39 were far deadlier than his six rounds of .357 magnum. They entered the outer doors and then the inner doors; he had moved to one side so he would come in two doorways down from them to slip in unannounced if possible. He had stayed back and could see them standing just inside the doors; his hand trying not to squeeze the grip too tight. If this happens these shots need to count or this will be for nothing; he will be dead and they will go on a killing spree not seen before in the United States. He saw they were speaking to each other and then it seemed time was slowed. The first man closest to him allowed his coat to open and there was no denying they were armed. The men all seemed to produce guns at once and leveled them at the crowds in front of them going about their daily lives. The next sounds rang in his ears as he pushed through the inner door.
“Allāhu Akbar”…
He smoothly pulled the revolver from the holster with his right hand leveling the gun on the closest terrorist. The thunderous shot rang out in the enclosed building making it that much louder. The .357 traversed the distance and tore through the chest from side to side, in the process tearing through the aorta. The first terrorist was dead before he hit the ground; the other men were startled by the shot and they all turned to stare at him, the rifles pointing now his direction. The loud commotion in the mall of people running and screaming almost covered the second shot from the revolver. It hit a second man and he fell backwards. As the men began to return fire; he got one more shot off, another hit but this man remained standing. He ducked behind one of the pillars as rounds began to shred the fake stone and shatter the glass storefront behind him. He could see their reflections in what remained of the glass as one man turned to fire on the mobs of people. The other man dropped his magazine and reached into his jacket pocket for another. JT stood up, took aim, and pulled the trigger. It broke as it always did with two pounds of pressure and the bullet was away. The tall dark man with an unkempt beard was beginning to pull the trigger on the AK. His finger never received the rest of the command. The bullet struck just below the hairline above the ear, leaving a neat clean hole, and tore most of the left side of his head off.
What was one of the most important rules to remember in a gunfight?
Never stand still!
As he felt the searing pain, he looked down. The second man he had shot had produced a small revolver and was firing at him. The bullet JT fired must have glanced off the AK and torn through his right shoulder but the terrorist seemed capable with his left hand.
JT cursed as he slid back to the limited security of the pillar. Great job; stand like a deer caught in the headlights and now you are shot in the side. It looked like a clean through and through wound. It was somewhat a mute point: two terrorists, three bullets and now he was shot. He could see the man on the floor was able to get up and the other terrorist was still fiddling with the AK magazine. Something was said quickly between them in Arabic and the last standing terrorist moved to grab one of his downed comrades’ guns. A quick glace around the pole and more bullets ripped the pillar to smaller rubble. Then the terrorist’s attention turned towards the civilians: there were crowds behind benches and trashcans. They were there and he was going towards them. It was now a matter of how many he was going to kill. The blood drooled out of the wound in JT’s side as he stood tight against the pillar. He saw the last standing terrorist moving further into the mall to complete his mission. With three bullets, he made a decision and accepted this was likely going to be his last act. He came from behind the pillar, fired at the terrorist on the ground, and hit him again in the chest but as a second round was fired he was spun around and missed. His left shoulder hurt and he was feeling intense pain as he squeezed his last shot. It caught the man above the collar and tore through his neck. He was no longer a concern but now he was out of bullets. He walked to the man who he had shot in the head and rummaged through his pockets for a handgun. He found nothing. He walked over to the man who had just shot him for the second time and pried the small .38 from his tight grip. He turned and fired hitting the walking terrorist in the middle of the back, causing him to collapse. As more and more blood flowed from his shoulder and side, he made his way towards the last terrorist who was trying desperately to get the AK that had fallen just out of reach. With his remaining strength, he pushed the man over onto his back with his boot.
The pain from the back injury made the bearded man grimace. “We are but the first. The Great Satan shall fall,” he gasped out.
Jerome Tanner stood on unsteady legs over the prone terrorist and remembered a line from a movie he could not place right now, his mind growing fuzzy from shock and loss of blood. “Not in your lifetime.” The gun bucked as he fired the last shot into the middle of the terrorist’s forehead and then collapsed.
Chapter 2
The scene was one of chaos; after securing the area the police and paramedics attended to the fallen. There was little to do for the four men in long coats with beards and a Koran tucked the front pocket of their jackets. Jerome Tanner had done the job well and all of them were dead. JT was not ready to pass over that threshold. He was stat flighted to the regional medical center, University of Louisville Hospital. Room 7 was always ready for a trauma victim and with the blood loss and the two bullet wounds he was a prime candidate. He was going in and out of consciousness as the doctors started to work on him. A guard was stationed nearby and looked out of place in the sea of masks and scrubs but there was still many questions on just who everyone was at the mall.
“A little stick.” The pretty blond nurse said through her mask. The pain of the IV being inserted seemed very far away as he lapsed back to unconsciousness. He wondered if his family would make it to him before he went to surgery or if he would come back from the darkness this time. A crackle from the radio on the officer brought him back up from the depths once again.
The doctor was not pleased with the noise… “Turn that thing off we are trying to save a mans life” he growled.
The officer was just reaching up for the microphone when…
“Be advised this is not a drill... We are on High Alert... Terrorist attacks have been reported across the United States. The Mall of America was attacked as well as several other malls. All personnel are to contact shift commanders immediately.” The pronouncement from the police radio was meet with an eery silence that left everyone in the emergency room casting worried glances around the group.
The darkness came and washed over him like a warm flood. The nurse had gotten the IV started, the anesthesiologist began a push of the milky drug, and he was out.
The surgery went on for several hours. The holes in his side were easy enough but the one in the shoulder had nicked a small artery that proved to be tricky to find and sew up. After that and four pints of blood he was wheeled into recovery and the doctors informed his wife and kids that the next few hours would tell. They cautioned he might lose the use of the left arm or it might show some stiffness. It was hard to tell at this time. Anne and his two children waited as the time passed. At some point, the police and FBI arrived. Since this looked like a part of a grand attack the Feds were involved. When they started asking Anne questions, she had few answers for them. She was unsure why he was there. Yes, he had a CCW but he rarely carried except on their farm outside of the city. Only half way through the conversation, she suddenly remembered that tomorrow was her birthday. He would have been getting her Godiva chocolates and maybe a bear? She sobbed as she told the officer that was likely the reason for the trip. He was not one to head to a mall without good reason. He did not like the crowds and frankly, well, he was not a people person. The two kids smiled. Ethan, 21, and Nora, 23, thought yeah, not really a people person. Anne felt she should explain that although he was not violent or mean he just preferred his time with family and a few close friends.
“I have to ask was he involved in some religious … well you know”
She smiled. “He was but did not attend church often. He was raised Baptist.”
The officer who was taking notes asked slowly “Could he have been involved with these… terrorists?”
Ethan took exception and stood up his 6' 2'' wiry frame next to his mother. “My father just did your ****ing job and you have the balls to ask if he was involved?”, the young man said, his voice elevated.
Nora grabbed her brother and pulled him away before more than harsh words were exchanged. Her brother was not on the road to ingratiating himself to the local police.
His mother took over … “No, he would not have been, he was not a fan of Radical Islam or the Political Correctness crap that allowed it to flourish unchecked in the United States.” she said with more than a touch of bitterness.
The officer said he was sorry if he offended and had to pursue all lines of questions before he stood up and walked away.
Anne called her mother and told her of the prognosis; she also told of the questions and asked if they could come out there to rotate from the hospital instead of home.
Her mom responded “Do not say another word to those jack offs, call a lawyer and tell them to talk to him.”
Anne did not feel the need for counsel but knew her mom was taking the same tactic her husband would. What was it he always chided “can be used against you, not for you, not to clear you, not to show you did nothing wrong, but can be used against you”. She smirked as she heard his voice in her head, his pitch always raising a bit when he would get on a role with talking about the government. He was not really against the government but then he was not really a fan of it either. The scariest phrase known to man. “We are from the government and we are here to help.” A soft giggle escaped her lips as she sobbed and waited.
The phone rang in the home of Louisville Assistant Commonwealth Attorney Arthur Kurn. He was an up and comer in the district attorney’s office. He bent down and picked up the phone.
“Brother” …a hushed voice whispered.
Kurn looked around to make sure his wife was not close by. “I told you not to call this number”.
“It has started brother, but a dog of a man stopped our brothers in your city. Only the driver escaped after he heard the commotion. This man has to be punished. There can be no one that stands in the way of the Jihad.”
“It will not be easy,” Kurn replied. “I have been under suspicions since I fostered and won the right to use sharia law during divorces. The County Attorney has made it clear I am not going to be retained. It was only with the help of our friends in the Mayor’s office I am still here. If I pursue this I could be risking my cover.”
“Allah will protect us. We have begun the downfall of this decadent country and by Allah’s will we shall see it fall and a new caliphate will arise with sharia governing the land. He must be charged, brother, and convicted; we must use their own laws against them. Any who stand against us must be destroyed.” The voice whispered before the line went dead.
The wheels had already started to turn in his head. He could charge the trespass and then charge with four counts of murder. The men Jerome Tanner had murdered never actually shot anyone, he had heard through the grape vine that one of the men was even shot in the back. Yes, he thought nodding his head, he could charge and convict this dog. He opened his home office door, stepped in slowly, closed, and locked the door. He unrolled the rug handed down from his mother’s grandfather and placed the prayer cap on his head. Facing Mecca, he prayed for strength and for the day when he would let these swine know his true self.
“Mohammed Salem” he whispered, “Allah protect your humble servant.”
Chapter 3
As he came from the depths of the drugged sleep in the recovery room, JT was greeted by a pretty nurse with a soft voice asking him to wake up. He looked up with eyes still dulled from the medications. With green eyes like those, he would do his best for her, he thought to himself. He tried to focus and come out of the drug induced fog. His left arm ached and he could not move it, mostly because of the neural block they administered but also it was heavily bandaged. He spent several more confused minutes coming out of the stupor. At some point the nurse asked if he wanted some ice chips and he gladly accepted and enjoyed the cool feeling on his parched throat. As he slipped into consciousness, he noticed no other patients in the recovery room. What time of day was it, he wondered? The shooting had happened around 1 PM but he had no idea what time it was now. The nurse asked if he wanted an ice chip and he slowly nodded. His eyes adjusted and he looked around and asked if his family was nearby. His nurse motioned to one of the other nurses sitting at their station and as he watched her walk to the door, he caught a glimpse of a clock above the door. It was now 2300, 11 PM. What else had happened? His mind was clearing and he vaguely remembered the radio message before he went out?
The nurse gathered the Tanner family and took them back to see Jerome. He was more awake as his wife and kids came through the door. They hugged and wept and he held back tears knowing what could have been lost today. He asked his wife what had happened today and told her of the message he had over heard as he was going out. She looked over her shoulder as if expecting an officer to have followed her into the recovery room. His eyes meet hers as she came back to his face and touched his check with her finger. “They do not want us to go into detail but the same attack was carried out in twenty malls across the country at almost the same time. The death toll was upwards of a thousand and untold injured.”
Ethan spoke up and said “It is a bunch of PC crap. They are not even calling it a terrorist action and some like the MSNBC stooges are saying it could have been a domestic attack from rightwing militia. They even suggested you killed innocent Arabs going shopping.” His mother touched Ethan’s hand and he calmed some but the anger simmered below the surface.
JT had wondered how it would play out, but the time to worry about that was long past.
The nurse informed they were going to move him now and everyone left with kisses to his cheek and a squeeze of the hand from his wife as they unhooked the bags of fluids and began to move the bed out of recovery. They came and took him to room 315. It was at the end of a hallway, and he noticed a chair already in place and a security guard outside the door, as they wheeled him into the room. He wondered if the guard was posted to protect him or to make sure he did not go anywhere. He thought back to what his son had said that they were already claiming that he over reacted.
As soon as he settled in, he reached for the phone and began to dial…the phone was dead. He pushed the button for the nurse. A bubbly young aide walked thru the door. He asked why the phone was not working. She went on to explain the FBI thought he would need rest and had asked them to disconnect it. They had said they were sure JT would want some peace and quiet and confided in her that all sorts of people might try to call to get a story.
It made him feel so warm and fuzzy; those men looking out for his best interests and peace and quiet or more likely, they did not want him to call anyone before they were able question him. Maybe they thought he was Ron White, “I had the right to remain silent but not the ability”
No more redneck humor; he thought. He was in no mood to be bullied by the Feds but then again he thought it might be advantageous for them to come and interrogate a man a couple of hours out of surgery. If this went down badly he would need all the sympathy he could get. He dismissed the aide with a polite smiling thank you and laid back into the bed feeling the need to rest. The medications and trauma overtook his body and he drifted to sleep.
