Seven Days To Brooklyn: A Sara Robinson Adventure by Christopher Westley Read Free Book Online Page B

Mac steps aside and lets her slip out the door and into the entrance. The darkness of the entrance engulfs Sara’s figure as she strains to listen to the thugs in the street.
    “What was that?” the taller man says to his partner.
    “I didn’t hear anything; probably just Jerry pulling that insolent bitch up the street,” says his fat buddy.  
    The taller man is not convinced and peers into the darkened doorway where Sara is standing.
    “No, I heard something coming from that building over there! There is someone or something over there.” Just then he starts to take a step toward Sara but stops in his tracks as she steps out of the shadows and into the moonlight on the street.  
    “Well, who do we have here?”  
    “Where is your mommy, little girl?”
    Sara steps forward a few steps at a time, slowly closing the distance to her target without saying a word. The tall man thinks she is scared and extremely timid, so he just stands there, waiting for her to approach. Seconds later she has maneuvered herself to within ten feet of the two guys and just off their right side. Out of her peripheral vision, she can see the third guy has stopped some forty to fifty yards away and has shoved his captive to the ground.  
    Surveying her opponents, she quickly inventories their array of crude but effective weapons. The tall man is outfitted with the latest in post-apocalyptic armor, crudely fashioned body armor protecting his chest, made out of a once fashionable but broken chest protector that moto-cross riders wore when racing. She looks at the crack in the middle while scanning up to his face and back down to his right side. Gripping a crude-looking machete in his right hand, his dirty, unkempt fingernails wrap around the piece in a fashion that states, I mean business. The other man, the fat one, as she sees it, is the lesser of two evils and does not pose an immediate threat. He has no weapons that are visual to her, and she knows his reaction time will be delayed.  
    “She’s dead, as you will be, too, in about thirty seconds.”  
    She prepares herself for the incoming attack.
    The tall man starts laughing as he turns to his friend.  
    “So, you will take us out, huh? Little girl, you should be polite to strangers. I think you will be coming with us.”  
    The tall man steps forward, walking to Sara, but before he can take another step, Sara reels back, baseball pitcher style, revealing the bowie knife she is carrying, and throws it straight at the tall guy. It meets his chest right in the center where the chest protector is cracked and sinks in up to the hilt with a big thump. He slumps to the ground, dropping the machete, and is kneeling, gasping for breath. It doesn’t take much longer for the fat man to spring into action, producing a chrome handgun that Sara sees flashing in the moonlight. She is lightning fast and runs over to the tall man, putting him between her and the fat man. The fat man pulls the trigger three times. The first shot narrowly misses her and ricochets of a light pole in the distance. His second shot would have made contact with her head, but is stopped by the tall guy’s shoulder, knocking him to the ground. The third shot is dead on, catching her in the chest and taking her off her feet and onto the ground.  
    “Ha ha. Take that, you little shit!”  
    Standing over her body, he hesitates as he prepares to finish her off.
    Sara reaches into her belt and pulls the .38 revolver out. With a crack, the revolver comes to life, sending the lead slug up and into her assailant’s head. He falls off to her right as she struggles to get up.  
    “Damn, that frigging hurt,” Sara blurts out as she comes up on one knee. Reaching inside her coat, she pulls the lead slug out of the bulletproof vest, tossing it to the ground just as Mac reaches her. He is horrified by the whole scene but really happy that she is alive.  
    “Are you okay?” Mac reaches over and grabs her by the arm,