Capital Falling Trilogy Box Set [Books 1-3]
whilst at the same time lowering her voice. Jim must have told her to make sure that Emily cannot hear the conversation.Emily seems completely engrossed in her game on the iPad, so while she is, and while Stacey is busy on the phone, I go back upstairs. Some decisions need to be made—and made quickly, with no distractions—as to what our options are to give me the best chance of keeping myself and the girls safe.
On the way upstairs, I check my phone to see if Josh has tried to get in touch. My phone hasn’t made any sound or vibrated but I can’t help but look and wonder if he’s safe, and what part he’s playing in this mess? However, there’s nothing new on my phone.
The television is still on in my bedroom, the same reporter giving his latest update. The situation is now more apparent to me than it is to him, so I mute the TV and immediately start running through in my head what our options are.
While formulating these available options, I start pulling at the wardrobe in the corner of the bedroom, moving it away from the walls. Behind the wardrobe and sunk into the wall, there’s a 12” by 8” safe. I stoop and dial in the required numbers. When installing the safe, I decided against an electronic one because electronics had a tendency to fuck up just when you needed them.
The final number is dialled in, and the steel handle pulls down with ease, so the door swings open. Inside, fitted snugly into the interior of the safe, is one black water-resistant holdall. Taking it out, I feel its weight and turn to put the bag onto the bed, then swing the safe door closed, pull the handle up and whizz the dial around before standing and pushing the wardrobe back into place.
The first possible option, which has already come to me, would be to evade the troops enforcing the quarantine and escape the city, but this is quickly discounted. Whilst getting out of the danger zone altogether would be by far our most favourable option, I conclude that the odds of our success would be pretty much zero. The odds of evading the troops would shorten substantially if it was just me; there would still be no guarantee, but with the two girls with me, it would be almost impossible.
Sitting on the bed and looking down at the holdall, which also has a dial-coded padlock on the zips to deter prying fingers, I consider the second possible option.
This would be to fortify our current position, barricade ourselves in and try and ride it out from here. Again, I’m forced to discount this, since the house has far too many weak points which couldn’t be easily fixed to withstand any sort of determined attack. There is no basement or any other position we could successfully defend.
There is, therefore, only one option available to us that I can think of.
Concentrating on the holdall, I dial the code in to open the lock; sure enough, the padlock pops open with ease. Reaching into the bag and taking the top object out—a thing all wrapped in cloth—memories return to me, and not many of them good ones. As I unwrap the cloth, these memories get stronger, especially when the unmistakable smell of gun oil hits my nostrils.
Then in the palm of my hand is my Sig Sauer P226; I have not held this firearm since it was locked away in the safe about five years ago. Other weapons I have held since leaving the army have all been issued to me by Orion, on the very rare occasion it has been required on company operations, but this one is mine, a firearm that by law I should no longer possess. But I couldn’t bring myself to lose it; this Sig has saved my life too many times for me to just discard it.
My hand closes around the grip and then instinct takes over. Within seconds, the gun is checked over, and I see that it is unloaded, the safety is checked, and that there’s no sign of any degradation. Its mechanism is working perfectly. Reaching back into the bag and taking out another bundle wrapped in oiled cloth, inside are four magazines for the Sig, each with fifteen rounds loaded, and I know there are another four fully-loaded magazines in the bag. Picking up one of the magazines, I check the spring mechanism then swiftly push it home into the handle of the Sig and pull back the action; the reassuring clicks mean we’re set to go.
I wipe the Sig over, getting rid of any excess oil and setting it down onto the bed. Then I empty the rest of the contents of the bag onto the bed beside it. Firstly, I pick up the well-worn black leather gun holster and secure it around my shoulders; it fits like an old glove. Slipping the Sig into the holster on my left, I reach for the black Gerber knife sitting on the bed and secure it into the same holster on my right.
"Dad!" Emily shouts from downstairs.
"Yes, darling, I'm coming," I shout back.
Moving back to the wardrobe and opening its door, I grab the black windbreaker jacket hanging there and put it straight on, zipping it up. The last thing I want is for my new accessories to alarm the girls; they will not notice them under the jacket.
I quickly pack the rest of the equipment on the bed into a small black backpack I’ve also just got from the wardrobe. Apart from that is, a spare Military ID card I just happen to have kept, which I place into my inside jacket pocket. Then after placing the backpack under the bed, I head back downstairs.
In the kitchen, Stacey is still seated at the kitchen bar staring at the television with her phone cradled in her two hands in front of her. Thankfully, the volume on