Page 131 of Everything That Kills Me
Thomas laughed. “No night visitors allowed. Not even Santa.”
Zeph went to bed early again and Jack thought about asking if he was well. If he wasn’t, would he tell him? Jack watchedDie Hardwith Thomas, then they put the presents under the tree. Jack had carried down the ones Zeph had bought. Zeph was fast asleep, a little comma in the bed.
Thomas came back in after taking Django out and the dog ran straight up the stairs.
“One guess where he’s going,” Thomas said.
“You want him down here?”
“It’s fine. He senses something about Zeph. Leave him be. He’s being protective. Night, Jack.”
“Night.”
Jack woke when Zeph got out of bed.
“Go back to sleep,” Zeph whispered. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
Once Zeph was at his side, he slept again.
The next time he woke, it was different. Zeph lay beside him. Jack opened his eyes, willing them to adjust to the darkness as fast as possible. He could have been mistaken about why he’d woken, but he didn’t believe so. He slid out of bed, pulling on his jeans as he moved to the window. Through the side of the curtain, he caught a glance of a shadowy figure, and mentally cursed. Somehow, they’d silenced Thomas’s alarm system and they’d be finding a way inside.
When Thomas came into the bedroom, Jack nodded. He’d known it could only be Thomas. Whoever was coming was not yet in the house.
Thomas handed Jack a gun. “Get Zeph and Django into the attic.”
Jack stuffed the gun into the back of his jeans. When he put his hand on Zeph’s mouth, his eyes flashed open.
“Listen. Don’t speak. Take the dog to the top floor. No lights. Hide in one of the side cupboards. Don’t come out until I come. Go now.”
To Zeph’s credit, he did exactly as he was told. Django followed him. As the door by the mirror closed on Zeph, Jack heard footsteps downstairs.
Thomas held up four fingers. Jack nodded. The intruders were quiet. Professionals. There would likely be others outside. Thomas moved to one of the guest rooms. Jack bunched up the covers in his room to make it look as though he was still in bed and positioned himself behind the door, his foot ready to stop it being slammed into his face.
The men were no longer making much effort to be silent. Jack heard a door bang. The room Thomas slept in. Someone swore. Not Thomas. There was the muffled sound of men snapping instructions and Jack revised his first impressions. Not professionals. He waited for them to come to him.
The moment the guy rushed in, Jack was on him. He wrapped his arm around the man’s neck and pressed hard into the trachea. The consequent compression of the carotid arteries shut off the blood supply to the brain. Jack had his hand over the man’s mouth to prevent the others hearing him cry out. Ten seconds before he’d lose consciousness, less than that to break his neck, so that was what Jack did, then quietly lowered him to the floor. He could have shot him more easily, but when the number of assailants was unknown, better to disable as many as possible before the intruders realised they needed a different approach.
The next man into the room didn’t go down so easily. Even worse, there was another man behind him with his gun out. Jack spun round, elbowed the first guy in the solar plexus andkicked the other in the head.Thank you, Muay Thai boxing.As the latter reeled away, Jack brought his left fist down on the barrel of the gun the other was holding, knocking it down, though not out of the guy’s hand. He swept his leg out and the man staggered and fell. But only into Jack’s arms. He twisted the hand holding the gun, pressed the finger on the trigger and he shot the man’s teammate. No point in being quiet now. Two shots in the chest, one in the head for both of them.
Jack threw their weapons across the room and took out his own. As he edged out of the bedroom, Thomas emerged from his. Hand signals indicated Thomas had dispatched one, Jack three. They both stood and listened. Jack pointed down and Thomas nodded. Another guy was downstairs. Maybe with friends. Too dangerous to assume otherwise.
If they went down the stairs, they’d be easily picked off. Jack indicated what he planned and Thomas nodded. The bedroom window slid open silently and this time, Jack didn’t throw himself at the tree but scrambled down the wall of the house. Not the best hand and foot holds but he was fast and quiet. There were six sets of footprints in the snow all leading to the house. Two still trying to kill them.
Jack crept barefoot through the snow to the front and saw an armed guy by the door. He looked concerned. He should be. The moment he was facing in the opposite direction, Jack launched himself at him. He wanted one alive to tell them who was behind this. This guy didn’t go down easily. He blocked Jack’s kick to his thigh and then the two of them traded ferocious blows as Jack waited for that perfect moment.
There it was. He snapped the man’s head back with a blow to his face, breaking his nose and he fell to the ground. A bullet whizzed past Jack’s ear. He rolled, pulled out his gun and shot before the second bulletdidhit him. A man at the front door fell back. Jack turned to the guy with the broken nose who was stillon the ground, trying to get his gun to work, and kicked it out of his hand.
“You’re not very friendly carol singers,” Jack said.
“Okay?” Thomas asked at the door.
“Yes. I think.” He knelt by the man in the snow. “How many of you?”
“Fuck off.”
Jack patted him down, found a knife and pulled it out. “How many?”
When there was no answer, Jack pressed the knife into the guy’s crotch and felt it slide into flesh.
