She grabbed a roll of duct tape out of the store. Maggie loved duct tape—it cured almost everything shy of an aneurysm. She’d even seen a maintenance guy slapping it along the leading edge of the wing of a 757 once! But, if she had the chance, she was going to tape up the hands and feet of two bad guys. She stuffed it in her pocket and went out the back door.
She had several concerns, all of which had her marching with a shotgun toward the closest cabin. Sully. She couldn’t let him try to handle this—it could kill him. A few months ago she would have turned it over to him but not now. She could wait for Cal but something told her he might try to reason with her—make her wait. And she knew what was coming—law enforcement complete with a negotiator. They would surround the cabin and... She was reminded of an emergency case years ago, her last year of residency, the victim... Oh God, what they could do to that girl in the time it took...
“What if they already have,” she said to herself.
Then they won’t again, her mind whispered back.
Oh, this was crazy. She stopped walking ten feet from the cabin to ask herself essential questions—could a frontal attack make this worse instead of better? They could shield themselves with the girl...but not both of them. She could shoot the other one if that happened. It could piss them off. Oh hell, they were already dangerous. My God, he bought snacks and liquor to enjoy while they did who knew what to that innocent girl! Maybe if the police, better equipped and experts in this sort of thing, had their chance, maybe no one would... But they weren’t expecting her. If the police and SWAT team surrounded that cabin, they’d have all the time in the world to plan how to defend themselves or hurt the girl.
Then she heard Chelsea’s scream fade into a sobbing cry and Maggie couldn’t stop herself. She marched to the front of the cabin and gave the door a mighty kick right at the latch. When it didn’t open she gave it another right away and the door flew open. She fired a shot into the ceiling and it made an earthshaking blast, a thundering explosion. She barely had time to make out what was going on inside. One of the men was standing on the left side of the bed, crouched in a fighting position with that big hunting knife in his hand while the other was moving off the bed toward something—the gun was leaning against the wall in the corner. His pants were open and even though she didn’t see Chelsea, she shot the man with the open pants, shot him below the chest, dropping him screaming to the ground. Then she swung her shotgun wide to aim at the second man, racking up the next round, a scary sound.
That’s when she saw Chelsea, crouched in the corner, her hands over her face. “Run to the store,” she said to the girl. Then to the man. “Put the knife on the floor or I’ll shoot you. Now.”
He backed away, palms toward her. She glanced at the first man, crying out in pain, crawling toward the rifle. So she fired at the wall behind him and he scrambled away, back against the wall.
“You shot me in the dick!” he screamed. “You shot me!”
Well, that was fortuitous, she thought. She’d been aiming for his head.
Chelsea whisked past her through the door and she heard lots of feet running. She imagined everyone within earshot was running toward her now.
“Lie on your stomach, flat, hands stretched out,” she ordered the men. The one who’d been holding the knife did so immediately but the other one, crying, curled up into a ball against the wall. She racked up her last round. And then Cal was behind her; she could smell him.
“Maggie,” he said. “Jesus!”
“Protect the girl,” she said. “Take care of my father.”
“Maggie, what did you do?” Sully asked from behind her.
“I’ll explain after these two are tied up. Cal, there’s a roll of tape in my pocket—Stan and all the police in Colorado are on the way. Can someone please secure these men up so I don’t have to shoot anyone? Again?”
*
For a while there was the sound of grunting, heavy breathing and whimpering in that little cabin. Outside there was a lot of murmuring as campers had gathered around to see what was going on, though Maggie was not compelled to explain other than to say the police were on their way.
Then after about five minutes of that the uninjured man began making excuses. “We weren’t gonna do anything. That girl come along of her own—you can even ask her! If you’d a just said something, we’d a been on our way. We got no cause to make trouble anywhere...”
Maggie, still holding her father’s shotgun, snorted. “They used her father’s credit card in the store.”
“She shot me! I’m dying,” the wounded man cried.
“He’s not bleeding enough to be dying. And he’s not bleeding in the right places to be dying,” Maggie said.
Cal rose from his job of binding the men. He was glistening with sweat and he was barely dressed; he must have just pulled on his jeans after his shower. Their weapons were tossed outside. One was bound facedown and the injured man was bound sitting up, leaning against the wall. He had splatters of blood on him but nothing serious. Maggie was not about to give him a checkup.
“I’ll be fine if you want to grab a shirt,” she told Cal.
“I’m not leaving you here. In fact, I’d rather you give me that gun now.”