No Ordinary Day by Tate, Harley (best large ereader .txt) 📕

too far.” She leaned across her husband. “Thank you, John.”

He nodded and stepped back, thrown off by her sudden kindness. He turned and headed back to the Jeep. As he opened the door, Tank jumped over Holly in the front seat, diving for John. He nuzzled his chest and licked his face and John used his forearm to ease him back. “Whoa, easy boy. You’re all right.”

“It’s you he was worried about. Not him.” Holly reached out an arm to wrap around John, but he held her off.

“We should start moving. It’s not safe out here.”

Holly scrambled into the back seat and cajoled Tank to follow before John slipped inside.

She stared at him, but didn’t say a word.

John started the engine, flicked on the lights, and pulled out into the road.

Chapter Fourteen

John

Steam rose from the dewy grass as the sun warmed the horizon. John stood at the edge of a weedy parking lot, fifty yards across the Alabama border. A boarded-up fireworks warehouse hugged the road behind him, peeling red and yellow paint a garish contrast against the pale green field.

After changing Raymond’s blown tire, the group forged ahead, barreling through downtown Rome, Georgia, and on to the Alabama line. They stopped behind the warehouse, all exhausted and shaken except for John. Every punch, kick, and gunshot filled his veins with adrenaline and confidence. He felt a decade younger, like a boot Marine enjoying every minute of his first glimpse of action.

But this wasn’t the Corps, and he wasn’t fighting on orders any longer. This was the reality of life now and it would only get worse from here.

“You’re up early.” Emma’s voice carried across the humid morning air as she crossed the broken asphalt to stand beside him. Dark circles hugged her lower lashes and her cheeks sucked against her teeth. It had been a difficult week even for John, but for an ordinary person like Emma who never knew the dark side of combat, it must have been akin to a nightmare.

John smiled and tried to make it mean something. “Couldn’t sleep. Never can after a fight. Too much adrenaline.”

Emma rubbed her arms against the chill. “I never properly thanked you for what you did last night.”

“Don’t need it.”

“You deserve it all the same. When I heard the shots and you didn’t return right away…” She left the implication unsaid.

“Like I said last night, they couldn’t shoot their way out of a paper bag. That jail must house nonviolent offenders. Drugs will be my guess. Maybe some bad checks. Not the hardened criminals.”

Emma tugged her lower lip across her teeth. “What if it had been worse? What if you died out there?”

John didn’t respond, stretching out the uncomfortable silence.

Emma filled the void. “I don’t think we’ll be as lucky next time.” She turned to face him directly. “Do you,” she paused, searching for the words, “Do you think you could teach me how to defend myself?”

“I already did. It’s called a gun.”

“What if I don’t have one, or we run out of bullets, or you’re not here?” She frowned at the ground.

Then it’s not going to end well. John kept the thought to himself. “I suppose I can show you a few things that might get you out of a bind.”

She tilted her chin and a ray of morning sun lit her hair like a halo of flame. John fought the urge to run his fingers through it as he pointed across the parking lot. “Let’s go over there. No need to wake anyone up.”

Emma followed, John aware of every step. He cleared his throat as he stopped at the edge of the field. “Obviously, I’d hope in any encounter you have a weapon. But if that’s not possible, or you’re caught by surprise, then your first line of defense is to block.”

He brought his fists up into a defensive position. “Use your forearms, elbows, shoulders, whatever you can, to prevent an assailant from making contact with your torso.”

“Is that why boxers always dance around in the ring with their arms up?”

“Yes. A blow to the middle and you risk a broken rib, internal bleeding, or something worse. A blow to the head can knock you unconscious. But if someone strikes your arm, you’ll be okay.” He ran through a few softball punches, showing Emma how to block effectively. “Practice is the only way this becomes routine.”

They worked through them again, John increasing speed and variety as Emma’s confidence grew. When she began to tire, sucking air through her mouth like a sprinter after the hundred-yard dash, John stepped back.

“What if defending isn’t enough?” Emma rested her hands on her head as her breathing slowed. “What if the guy outweighs me by a hundred pounds, or he’s got a gun, or a knife, or—”

“If you can’t fend an attacker off, then you need to go on the offense.” John stuck his thumbs out before curling his fingers into fists. “This is disgusting, I know, but jamming your thumbs straight into an attacker’s eyeballs is an effective deterrent.”

Emma curled her lip in disgust.

“Pretend you’re scooping out an avocado pit.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Don’t think, just do it. No one’s going to come after you blind and in pain.”

She still looked skeptical.

“Do you have any keys?”

“The one to my apartment, I think.”

“If you can’t use your thumbs, you could use a key. It’s not as effective—chances are you’ll damage an eye but not render your attacker blind—but it’s an option.”

She nodded, seeming to come to terms with his advice. “What else?”

John thought it over. “There’s the tried-and-true knee to the groin.”

Emma laughed.

“I’m serious, but you’ve got to put all your weight behind it. Say a man is coming in at you here.” He reached out and grabbed her by the waist. “He’s about to pick you up, hoist you over his shoulder. You’re not going to fend him off with a little bump.” He mimicked a weak knee thrust. “You need to bring him down.