Gifted Ch. 01

Rays of sunlight cut through the clouds, breaking up the dreary rainy morning. The roads were still wet, but the traffic was moving along at a nice pace. From the driver's seat he could see little Ann-Marie in the rear view mirror. Her pretty little face was scrunched up in a cute scowl. Smiling, he thumbed stereo controls on the steering wheel, activating the CD player. From the speakers her favorite song erupted.

"The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round...." he could feel the smirk from his wife, Sarah as she looked up from IPad, clearly giving him the "really?" look. He grinned and began singing along, off key and loudly. In the mirror he could see Ann-Marie's face brighten and began singing along. He could hear the 10 year old Sammie in the next seat snort in fake disgust, but she too began singing. Soon even Sarah was singing along in her soft husky voice. Smiles adorned each face as they moved back and forth to the beat of the song. The loud singing and the music was replaced by wails from a small woman and sirens.

The coil of the nightmare wrapped around his chest constricted tighter as he gasped for his breath, launching him up into the seated position on his bed. He sucked in hard trying the regain his breath from the nightmare that never seemed to go away. Michael Sawyer untangled himself from the bedsheets as he eased his legs over the edge of the bed, trying to calm himself. Soft pink light was starting to peak through the open curtains.

Sawyer dragged himself from the bed, the haze of the previous night's binge offset his balance, and he staggered to the small bathroom where he relieved himself.

He leaned over the sink and stared at the man in the mirror. Short cropped sandy blonde hair, highlighted with a few grays rounded off an oval face that had attracted a few women in his younger days. Deep green bloodshot eyes gave away that he had seen much through his forty-five years. He was still an imposing figure at a little over six foot, but his unwillingness to do more than exist had packed on the pounds. He rubbed the three days worth of stubble on his face, but found he didn't care enough to shave.

"Fuck you," he said in disgust to the mirror, and staggered back to bed.

--

Sawyer sat at the traffic light waiting for the light to turn green. His dark sunglasses concealed the bloodshot eyes. He had failed to go back to sleep, the dreams would always come back no matter how much he drank to forget. A horn broke him from his self-pity reverie, and he eased the truck into the parking garage. He found a spot on the second level near the elevators, even though it was against company policy he eased the truck into the spot.

He sat there for a few minutes sipping his coffee from the paper cup. No matter what he did, his thoughts always strayed to better times. Popping the plastic lid off the cup he leaned over the passenger side, reaching under the seat for the bottle of whiskey. His fingers brushed it further under the seat causing him to swear. After what felt like an eternity, Sawyer managed to retrieve the amber colored liquid. He looked hard at the bottle, thinking to himself that Sarah and the girls wouldn't approve of the way he was treating himself. But, they were gone, and he no longer care. Bitterly he swallowed his tears and opened the bottle, pouring enough whiskey to take the edge off, but not be noticeable. He tossed the closed bottle onto the floorboard, it clinked against the growing collection of empty bottles.

Sawyer took a deep breath and exited the truck. As he made his way to the elevator, two teens arrived at the same time as he did. Both were looking at a smartphone one was holding. They were giggling and pointing to something on the lit screen. They were dressed in shorty shorts, and tight tank tops, trying to show off what the gifts their mommas gave them. One gave him a quick once over, but she didn't even try to hide the sneer. With a ding, the door opened expelling several elderly couples, the men were weighed down with bags and boxes.

When the car emptied, he waived the two girls in and followed them in. The bolder of the two asked for the first floor, which he selected then pushed the basement button. He could hear the girls talking in hushed tones, probably about him. He ignored them up to the point that the elevator stopped at the first floor. He did admire the shapely asses as they exited the elevator. I may not care about myself, but I am still a man. He thought to himself. After getting off in the basement, he made his way to the security office.

Zoe was sitting at the desk writing in the log as he entered the office ten minutes late. She looked up from the book when the door opened, but blew out a snort when she saw his condition. He mumbled an apology for being late as he moved past the desk into the locker room.

Working the combination lock with his free hand, he popped the lock and swung the door open. Zoe entered the locker room as he was easing the crisp white uniform over his broad shoulders.

"I thought we discussed this," she waved her hand up and down at Sawyer's appearance, "the last time you had a bad night, and that you would call me."

"It was 5AM, I knew Walt closed the bar last night, I wasn't going wake him with my problems." Zoe smiled and sat beside him, wrapping a slender arm around his shoulders in her other hand she was holding up an electric razor. Grinning, Sawyer took the razor and slipped into the pocket of his shirt. "Now hurry up the teenie boppers are gathering near the food court and we need to show our presence."

"Yes boss," he said as he finished dressing.

Sawyer was amazed that this amazing woman had become his best friend. It started five years ago, after losing his family in an accident, he began drinking heavily. Rather than being kicked out, he retired from the United States Marine Corps after 21 years of service. Darnell Weatherspoon, a retired colonel who Sawyer had served with through several campaigns and conflicts learned of Sawyer's dilemma, and offered him a job working for his security company. A cushy mall security guard position with limited responsibilities. Sawyer accepted the job and found himself being trained by this beautiful quirky woman 15 years his junior. They had become fast friends discovering that they had many things in common, but had kept the relationship flirty, but platonic. Zoe trusted his judgment so much that she had asked him to stand at her side as her Man of Honor, she didn't have many girlfriends that understood her as much as him, when she married her high school sweetheart.

Four hours into the shift, Sawyer found himself leaning on the railing overlooking the rotunda with a fresh cup of coffee. So far they had broken up two fights, apprehended a shoplifter and ran off a group of per-pubescent boys from the lingerie shop for ogling the models in the mini fashion show it was hosting. Zoe was backed up to the railing resting on her elbows, with a foot cocked up, watching a group of teenaged girls going into a fashionable clothing store. He tried to ignore the way it made her already large breasts jut out even more.

Sawyer felt his chest tighten when he saw a younger woman holding the hand of a little girl who appeared to be no more than 5 years old. At first glance the girl looked and moved so much like Ann-Marie that he had to look a second time. The pressure eased as the little girl looked up at him and he saw that she was similar in looks, but she wasn't Ann-Marie. She smiled up at her mother as the woman talked to her.

Heaving a deep sigh, Sawyer drained the rest of his coffee. "What's for lunch?" He asked his partner. Her eyes darted back and forth, watching the crowd.

"Its your turn to decide, I chose yesterday." She reminded him with a smile.

After shooting down several of his suggestions, they agreed on the food court, where they both decided on over-priced greasy burgers and fresh cut french fries.

They were deep in conversation about her post graduate plans, when he felt the familiar buzz that made the hair on his neck stand up. Over the years, that little gift had saved his life as well as those of his friends and comrade's more than once, it wasn't something he could identify, just a feeling. He looked around, scanning the area, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Sawyer left the table, leaving his food and began searching the mall.

Nothing jumped out at Sawyer as he rounded the high class woman's boutique. Zoe followed behind, asking again what was going on. He ignored her as he moved deeper, his eyes constantly darting back and forth. As they rounded the corner to the entrance to Sears, Sawyer heard the distinct sound if a weapon's action being worked. Sawyer stopped abruptly, and grabbed Zoe's arm as she started around the corner. Sawyer pulled her back as he peeked around the corner.

There he saw an older teen taking the goth wardrobe to the extreme, he was tall, thin with ghostly pale skin. His badly dyed black hair was bowl cut. He wore black skin tight jeans tucked into oversized black combat boots, black T-shirt with some unknown band name that looked like it was written in blood, covered with a black trench coat. The boy was holding an AR-15 variant attached to a friction sling, and appeared to be having trouble working the action.

Sawyer recognized the kid from a few days ago, he had been taking pictures and sketching the mall claiming to be working on a school project. He turned to Zoe. "Call 911, we have a problem," he said as automatic gunfire erupted from another part of the mall followed by screams. Sawyer's heart dropped, but found himself moving on the teen. He was in the kid's face grabbing for the rifle when the teen looked up.

The kid tried to pull the rifle away from Sawyer, but he gave the rifle a hard shove towards the kid, smashing the rifle against his face snapping his head back and shattering his nose. Blood sprayed outward, but Sawyer was already moving, twisting the rifle and lifting the kid over his hip. The kid landed on the tiled floor his breath and blood exploding from his mouth. Sawyer quickly handcuffed him and pulled the rifle free.

With practiced hands, Sawyer dropped the magazine, tapped it on the his boot heel before seating it properly in the weapon's magazine well. He worked the action, clambering a round.

He knelt next to the bleeding teen, "always practice with your equipment before going into combat. Make sure the magazine is properly seated before working the action, and there will be no malfunctions." Sawyer searched the teen, under his clothing he found that the boy was wearing some sort of homemade body armor under his T-shirt. He found four spare magazines in the inner pockets of the trench coat and three home made pipe bombs. He took the magazines and slipped in his left hip pocket. "How many are there, and where are they at?" He asked the prone youth.

"Fuck you cop, I ain't saying shit!! Long live the Orphaned Son's of Ka'a!", the kid said through bloody teeth.

Sawyer grabbed the broken nose and pinched, the kid screamed out. "Not a cop, but you will tell me." He twisted the injured nose pulling it away from the kid's face. The boy screamed out, spitting at Sawyer. Sawyer grabbed his left ear and pulled. "It takes eight pounds of pressure to rip it off your off your head," he said pulling harder until he was screaming more, begging to tell.

"There's three of us, Dylan's on the second level and Garret is at movie theater." Sawyer let go of the ear and ran towards the theater entrance, which was on the level they were now. He heard Zoe following behind him, on the phone with the dispatchers telling them of the information.

More gunfire and screams filled the mall, then there was an explosion. They ran against the tide of panicking parents dragging their children away from the danger. Sawyer slowed as they approached the theater wing. With his hand on the wall, he leaned over slightly. He could see Garret, similarly dressed in black goth chic, armed with two semi-automatic handguns. There were several bodies lying about, all appeared to be dead, shot by Garret. He was standing over a sobbing woman who was lying in a growing puddle of blood. Garret was yelling obscenities at the woman. Sawyer saw that he the pistol in his left hand was visibly empty, the slide was locked back.

Garret continued to yell at the poor woman and he dropped the magazine from the pistol, shoved the still loaded weapon under his arm and reached into his jacket pocket.

Sawyer raised the rifle aiming down the sights, as he moved around the corner. He yelled for the kid to drop the guns, but Garret dropped the empty pistol and reached for the still loaded weapon.

Sawyer fired three times in quick succession. Garret's head snapped back with a spray of blood as he crumpled to the ground. He moved closer towards Garret, his rifle still covering the gunman. He could hear retching from behind him, but he had to ignore Zoe for the minute. He could still hear gunfire further in the mall and the faint wail of sirens that were slowly getting louder. He kicked the pistols away from Garret's prone form, and gently touched his neck, feeling for a pulse, but he couldn't find one.

He moved to the woman on the floor. He could see a bullet wound to her thigh that was squirting blood. Sawyer pulled his belt free and strapped it above the wound, pulling it as tight as he could. Then using one of the discarded pistols began twisting the belt until the bleeding stopped.

"Fassler," he said looking to Zoe. He could see she was terrified and was pale like she was going to pass out. She wasn't looking at him, just staring at the carnage. "Zoe," he said a little softer. She slowly looked to him. He motioned her to him, as she knelt next to him, he took her shaking hands and gave them a gentle reassuring squeeze before he put them on the tourniquet. " You have to hold this tight." She was looking at him as if he was speaking another language. "Look at me, stay with me now," he said as calmly as he could. She began to focus on him, and within seconds she was in control of herself. Sawyer smiled as he gently touched her cheek, and then ran towards the gunfire.

As Sawyer made his way towards the gunfire he forced himself to ignore the carnage that littered the once happy mall. The images of the past flashed across his vision, the burned villagers in the jungles of South America, the tortured bodies recovered from the Iraqi regime, the ravaged children soldiers in Africa. The horrors he had witnessed, the horrors he had inflicted all tried to surface. On the floor, he saw the little girl and her mother from earlier. The mother was kneeling on the floor holding the small girl in her arms. He could see the bullet wounds on the girl, nothing appeared to be life threatening. Both were crying uncontrollably. He blinked back the tears, and buried his fear and welcomed the anger.

Sawyer stepped on the moving escalator, crouching as he rose to the second level. As he rode the moving stairs higher, he quickly changed out the magazine for a full one, then closed his eyes and took deep breaths, trying to steady the thunderous beating in his chest. He raised the rifle and aimed down the sights as he reached the highest point of the escalator. Sawyer moved cautiously, sweeping left to right watching for threats. The gunfire had stopped when he had gotten on the escalator. He moved to the left side of the mall, stepping over the body of a young boy.

"I am Dylan, the chosen slayer of the Orphaned Sons of Ka'a!" he heard coming from the toy store diagonally across from him. As Sawyer moved across the way, he could see Dylan. He was rail thin, and almost seven foot tall. The boy was dressed in all black as well , skin tight jeans tucked into tall riding boots, with a hunting knife sheathed in one boot. A rifle lay at his feet. He wore a plain black T-shirt and covered by a tactical vest, covered in home made pipe bombs. In his gloved hand he held a detonator. He was yelling at a corpse on the floor at his feet, ranting about his manifesto and how he was the Chosen One.

Sawyer tried to move closer to get a better shot, but he stepped on the corner of a discarded aluminum magazine sending it clattered against the tile. Dylan looked up as "fuck" escaped Sawyers lips. The teen snarled an obscenity, and depressed the button.

The last thing he saw was a swirl of blinding light and deafening sound that enveloped Sawyer as the explosion ripped through the mall.