Surviving The Storm. Heather Woodhaven
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spark lighter, the stream of spray transformed into a flamethrower.
The gunman’s left sleeve caught on fire, and he screamed. Aria flung the spray of flames at his other sleeve. He jumped backward, his arm hitting the opposite hallway wall. The gun dropped and slid down the hall. She hurled the spray can into the hallway as well, lest it explode.
“Stop, drop and roll,” she shouted at the man. His face contorted into a snarl of rage, but she wasn’t trying to be sarcastic. Why wasn’t he following her advice? He was on fire!
David rushed past her into the hall. The sound of a gunshot echoed through the hall as he jumped back into the room. He slammed the door closed and flicked the bolt. “I wanted to get the gun, but there’s another gunman out there.”
“Stop, drop and roll,” Aria cried again through the closed door, visions of a burning man searing into her conscience.
David raised an eyebrow. “He’ll be fine. It’s us I’m worried about. Set up the ladder. Hurry!”
Aria dropped the spark-lighter into her apron and complied but wondered why he couldn’t do it himself. She looked over her shoulder to find David on one knee. He placed one jug of ammonia on one end of the hallway door and bleach on the other end. The hallway door shook with pounding.
“There’s no way out,” the voice said through the door, the one she recognized as Robert. “Save yourself the pain and open up.” A moment later a bullet plunged through the bottom panel, mere inches from where David was crouched.
She stumbled backward. “What are you doing?”
“Setting a trap,” David answered. “Go on up. I’ll meet you in the attic.”
Aria surveyed the small square at the top of the ladder. Ever since she had witnessed her dad’s fall two years ago, her fear of heights was almost debilitating.
“What are you waiting for? Now!”
A bullet ricocheted off the side of the ladder. Fear of being shot won, and she began to climb. Her feet were heavier than she could remember, but her arms still responded as she pulled herself up each rung and focused on the metal in her hands. She couldn’t afford to look up, but she couldn’t look down either. Strong hands touched her waist. She jolted and reached for the next rung, glancing down.
“Faster, Aria,” he encouraged. “Before the fumes or the bullets get us.”
The ladder shook underneath both their weight and she would’ve stopped but David kept chanting, “Faster, faster.” She took solace in the fact that if she slipped, he would, at the very least, cushion her fall.
She shoved the wooden panel at the ceiling up and to the side and crawled onto the nearest two-by-four. A series of three gunshots broke through the wood. She flinched and almost lost her balance.
If she lost her footing, the drywall between the joists wasn’t designed to hold weight, and she’d likely fall through the ceiling. Aria let her hands slide along the rough wood as a guide and crawled as fast as she could, trying to make room for David to join her in the attic. The wood vibrated with David’s weight. He must’ve made it.
“Can you stand up?” he asked. “I might need your help.”
The hair on the right side of her face flipped up. Something had missed hitting her face by an inch. She felt her eyes widen. Was it a bullet? What if it was something else? Surely, the construction crew would’ve evicted bats during the remodel.
Aria put one foot in front and pressed up into a lunge until she was upright. She used to be a natural at walking the balance beams of construction, but that was before her dad’s death. It was another reminder that her heart, her dreams and her confidence had died with him. Not to mention her relationship with David.
She searched her pockets and found her phone before turning back. The light was enough to see David’s face, albeit covered in shadows. He was on his knees, pulling at the ladder rungs like a fisherman pulling in an anchor.
“Smart,” she commented.
David didn’t reply but grunted with the effort of pulling the heavy metal ladder into the attic. He held up the rest of the ladder’s weight with one shoulder, presumably so it wouldn’t rest on the drywall spaces.
Aria clicked her smartphone to the flashlight application, set it on the wood behind her and approached. She returned to her knees, leaned over and pulled on the side of the ladder, keeping an eye on David so she could match his pace. His brass-colored hair was cropped short, matching the stubble across his chin and face.
She’d met David while their parents were attending a conference here, a little over seven years ago. She had been eighteen and he was nineteen. They had kept in touch, seeing each other now and then— especially whenever their parents came to Sand Dollar Shores—but mostly they’d chatted and texted by phone. A couple of years into their friendship they had started to date casually—and long distance at that—he was in California working while she studied in Portland, Oregon.
Sure, they had kissed a few times, but it had never gotten serious over the three years they had dated. Even if it had been serious, that was two years ago—she was twenty-five now, making him twenty-six. She was sure he had moved on, especially given the way things had ended.
She dropped the attic square back in place but her phone’s flashlight illuminated the space. David leaned the ladder horizontally against the side of the attic and wiped away the sweat beaded on his forehead.
She took a deep breath, and her nose itched. “We need to find—” her voice cracked “—George. In case there’s even a hope he’s still alive.”
“That was the first gunshot? They shot George?” His hands curled to fists, resting on his hips, and he bowed his head. Aria wondered if his grief matched her own. “Why would anyone want to shoot that man?”
Aria remained silent for a moment, afraid she’d lose control if she spoke. She focused on the light beam and attempted to explain. “George was accusing them of bamboozling people and...and the men wanted him to the look the other way.”
“But he didn’t.” David cocked his head. “Listen. You don’t hear gunshots anymore, do you? I’m going to guess the fumes knocked them out. At the very least, they should’ve been hit with a severe headache or temporary blindness. I figure I bought us about ten minutes.”
Her fingers brushed against her phone. “Wait. Have you called the police?”
“Haven’t had a chance.”
“I’ll do it now.”
Aria dialed 9-1-1. “It’s after five o’clock. That’s when they transfer all emergency calls to Beachside. They have a bigger police department.”
David paced on the joist, his hands in his pockets. “That’s fifteen minutes away,” he objected.
She nodded in acknowledgment, but what else could she do? They only had one or two policemen on staff in their tiny town. The bigger towns supplied the majority of manpower. The dispatch answered, and Aria didn’t waste any time explaining. “Two gunmen shot a man, and now they’re trying to kill us.” Aria rattled off the conference center address.
“Where are you now? Are you injured?” the dispatcher asked.
“In the attic. We’re not injured...not yet, anyway, but not for their lack of trying.”
“Emergency vehicles are en route. There’s a pileup on Highway 101. It’ll take them a while to clear the road. I’m calling the Summerville sheriff’s office to assist. Please hold.”
Aria tried to picture Summerville’s location. She knew it was south and the last time she’d driven in that direction it’d taken her... “That’s got to be a good thirty minutes away,” Aria cried.
David shook his head. “Come on. They have our address. We don’t have time for this.” He flicked