I sat for a moment without moving. My breathing was heavy. I was sweating. I stared blankly at the bedroom door. I wanted to get up. I didn't know what to do. My legs felt as if they were made of concrete. My body didn't want to move. Blink. I pressed my open palms against the sides of my face. The tips of my fingers pushed my hair back. I rubbed consciousness back into my body. I lifted my legs and placed two feet on the floor. I pushed down on the edge of the bed with my hands and stood. I walked to the door and pulled it open. I heard the gun discharge again, as it echoed through the woods.
"Janie!"
The adrenaline kicked in. My body caught up with my mind. It was hear. No more waiting. This guy was here. He wanted to kill Janie. He wanted to kill me. This was it. We had to fight back, or die.
I sped down the stairs and hit Janie full force at the doorway to the kitchen. She screamed.
"Goddammit Jake!"
We both stumbled backwards. I tried to stay on my feet. I tried swung my arms frantically to regain my balance. But it was no use. I was going down. When I realized I couldn't right myself, I put my arms back to help break my fall. In hindsight, I should have thought that through. I shouldn't have processed the situation. I should have tried something else. Anything. But I shouldn't have put my arms back.
My already fragile arm collided with the wooden floor. I felt the pins and screws shift in my wrist as the weight and momentum of my body drove my arm into the floor.
"Ahhh! Shit!"
Janie was able to catch herself on the kitchen counter. She didn't hit the ground, but she watched idly as I landed at the foot of the stairs once again. She had no memory of the last time I found myself broken and lying on the floor here, but I did. It was an eery and surreal feeling. I rolled over onto my left side. I tried not to let the pain show. I tried to keep it together.
Janie knelt down next to me. Her head repeatedly tilted up and down as she kept careful watch on the front door and window. Whoever was firing the shotgun was looking for us. And we weren't sure who to expect. De Amantillo's control was far reaching.
"Are you OK? Your arm, it's broken isn't it?"
"My wrist, yeah."
I winced. I grasped my wrist with my left hand and tried to keep my hand still. I sat up and leaned against the door frame. She reached a hand out and placed it on my shoulder. She looked into my eyes.
"It's going to be alright. We're going to be fine. I promise you."
"Janie--"
"Just sit tight."
She crawled through the living room and turned between the coffee table and the sofa. She laid flat on her belly and lifted the sofa skirt with one hand. With the other, she reached and retrieved what I soon recognized as her shotgun. She crawled back to where I still sat in pain.
"OK. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to sit right here. You keep an eye on the back door and I've got the front. If you seen movement let me know and then get down. If I tell you to move, then move."
Her eyes were intense. Her voice didn't waver. If I had been on the outside, I would have been afraid of her. But I was here, with her, my sister, and I trusted her. I believed her. We were going to be fine.
I slid back into the doorway to my tiny office. I could still the door that led into the kitchen from the back porch, but I was more protected in the event some came blazing through the front door. I wasn't going to be able to move quickly. I needed to be able to take cover behind something. Janie didn't appear interested in staying out of sight. She sat comfortably against the door frame with the shotgun across her lap, her finger on the trigger. She looked anxious to eliminate whatever threat was out there, but she appeared calm at the same time. She looked surprisingly prepared for this type of situation. Her eyes shifted from the door to the window and back again. Over and over she changed her gaze. Every now and then she would look over at me. Once our eyes met. Blink. She reached her hand and pointed at the back door. Her demeanor changed. Her face was intense, almost fierce. This was serious, she wasn't playing any games. She wanted me to stay focused.
We sat there for what seemed like hours.
"I think there gone."
"They're not gone. They didn't get us yet. They're still out there."
"Maybe it was just a hunter close by--"
"No. If it was a hunter, the agents parked outside would have called or come in to reassure us. My guess? My guess is those shots took out the men that were supposed to be keeping us safe."
She paused for a moment and looked away before finishing her thought.
"...And we're next."
"But there were only three shots. There were four men."
Her hand never moved. Her finger rested, poised on the trigger. She continued her repetitive surveillance of the front door and window.
"Then our shooter is either very efficient, or he's one of those four men."
"But--"
"Sshhh. No more talking. We need to listen."
My mind just kept racing. The more my mind raced, the less my wrist hurt. I didn't want to clear my thoughts. Because I knew that once I did. The pain would return. The pain would get worse. But I had to listen. I had to watch. I didn't have a choice. I tightened my grip and tried to focus on the backdoor. I didn't hear anything. Just silence. There was no movement. Just stillness. Silence, stillness, and the throbbing of my right wrist.
/ / /
Her car sat only yards from the FBI vehicle. The first shot had caught her off guard. She didn't know where it had come from and she didn't know who the target was. She regretted coming. She regretted putting herself and her baby in danger like this. But she couldn't bring herself to turn back now. She could have put the car in reverse and left. But she didn't. She just couldn't do it. Not with Jake inside the house. She needed to get to him. She needed to be here. She needed to help. She tried to compose herself. She sat still. She turned off the car. She reached down and pulled the handle to let her seat recline. She wanted to stay out of view. She carefully reached into the seat next to her and grabbed her purse. She dug into it and found her phone. She dialed 911. She waited.
The second shot resounded through the woods. She grew more nervous.
When the dispatcher answered, Rebekah quietly described the situation. The call center was well aware of the potential for incidents at the Samuels residence. She was patched directly to Donny Kahle.
"Officer Kahle?"
"Chief Kahle for the time being."
She spoke slowly and softly.
"My name is Rebekah Dekolowitz. I'm sitting on the lane to Jacob Samuels house. I just heard gunshots."
"Gunshots? From inside the house?"
"No. I don't think so."
"Did you see anything?"
"No. I'm hiding in my car. There's an FBI car not too far in front of me."
"Listen to me. You need to get out of there. Get out now."
"I don't know what to do. I can't start the car. They'll hear it. They'll see me driving."
"Alright. Do you know what direction the shots came from?"
"Yeah they were towards the house. But I don't think inside."
"I need you to very carefully, and very quietly crawl out of your car and into the woods. Stay low. Make as little noise as possible."
"To where?"
"Move away from the house as far as you can until you feel you can stay hidden and stay safe. Find a ditch or some underbrush. Lie in it or hide and cover yourself with leaves as best you can. But make as little noise as possible. Got it?"
"I think. I'll do my best."
"I'm on my way. And Rebekah--"
"Yeah?"
"Keep your phone with you. Turn the ringer off."
"OK. I will. Hurry."
She closed her phone and took a deep breath. She couldn't just sit here. There was no use wasting time.
She pulled her key from the ignition. She never remembered being as clear headed as she was at that moment. Maternal instincts were already taking effect. She was never this calm in stressful situations. She was going to protect her baby no matter what it took.
She reached for the handle and gently pushed the door open. She waited a moment before making a move. She didn't hear any movement, just the wind in the trees. She took one final deep breath before learning forward and turning to one side. She hunched her body over as best she could with her belly. She put both hands on the packed dirt and inched her body forward. She wanted to run. But she knew she had to be calm and quiet. She stayed low to the ground and stopped behind each tree for a rest before moving on. By the time she reached the fourth tree she heard the familiar sound. A third shot had been fired. She paused. The sound was much closer this time. She looked down at her body to ensure she hadn't been hit. Somewhat amazed that she was still unharmed, she leaned her back against the tree and slid down the trunk to a sitting position. She waited for a moment. The woods were silent again. She leaned forward and rested on her hands and knees. Her mind was still clear.
After a moment she decided she must keep moving. She needed to get farther away. Jake was inside, that's where the shooter would head. Tears welled up in the corner of her eye as her mind shifted to the idea that she may never see him again. She may never again have the chance to tell him she loved him. She may never be able to introduce him to their child. She may never be able to hug him or kiss him again. She tried to regain her composure. She needed to act now for that baby.
She crawled slowly away from the house, back toward the gravel road. The fallen pine needles softened her footing and quieted her movements. She found what she thought was a safe place. She lay on her back in the ditch under a younger pine and pulled some fallen branches to cover her hiding place. The only thing she could do now, was wait.
She didn't have time to rest or get comfortable. She could still see her car from where she hid. She could see the door still hanging open. She could see the FBI's car parked a short distance in front of her on the lane. She watched as a man who appeared to be one of the agent's crept next to Rebekah's car and hid behind the open door, using it as a shield as he pointed his weapon in the direction of the house, unsure of his target's location.
A fourth shot tore through the silence. She watched the man collapse against the car and then drop to the ground. She saw the red stain grow on his chest. This shot was much louder than the others. She knew the shooter was close. She froze. She didn't move. She didn't make a sound. She didn't even take a breath.
She waited for a sign. Some movement, the scuffling of feet to identify the direction of the shooter. What she saw was the shadowy form of someone walking between the trees 10 yards away. The body just appeared from behind a tree and walked, with a shotgun at its side, in the direction of the dirt driveway. Rebekah sat still and waited a moment longer to finally take a breath. She was safe right now. The shooter moved away from her. She watched as the shooter, clad in black from head to toe reached her car. The shooter looked down at body on the ground. The agent's hand moved slightly, resting on the the shooter's foot. It was kicked off in an agitated motion.
Rebekah breathed more easily but carefully watched the dark form that held the shotgun at its side. She saw the head tilt up and toward the house.
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