(This is the second of a serial. The first part is here.)
Our emergency stash, what we had, was scattered through the house. We hadn’t had a real crisis in ages. I grabbed the first aid kit from the bathroom, the flashlights and batteries from the kitchen junk drawer and piled them all on top of the dining room table.
I had just started filling a pitcher with water when I heard the front door slam open. I didn’t turn, but called over my shoulder, “Mike, did you find out anything?”
I heard a click, but the sound didn’t really register in my mind at first. I twisted the tap off and turned to the sound. The man standing in my kitchen wasn’t my husband. It wasn’t someone I knew from the neighborhood. The heavily built man was grinning at me, behind the dark handle of a pistol.
“Hello,” I stuttered. “My husband…,” I gestured toward the door.
The long-haired blonde grinned wider. “He’s busy. Tall guy? Buzz-cut and glasses? Yeah, I saw him. He’ll be a minute.”
I swallowed hard. I couldn’t help it, I looked toward the front windows. I knew I couldn’t see the car from my position, but it was instinct. Terror washed over me. I slowly raised my hands.
“What do you want,” I asked.
“Just your money,” he replied. He waved his gun at me, moving me back to the living room.
I walked to the sofa table and picked up my purse. My wallet held a little over two hundred dollars. I handed it to the gun-wielding maniac who snatched it from my fingers. His eyes searched the room and landed on Mike’s wallet, on the bookshelf near our bedroom door.
I nodded and walked past him. I stripped the additional hundred dollars from the black leather wallet and held it out to the burglar. He snatched that as quickly as the first.
“Now, if you’d be so kind, go into your room and lock the door. Count to a thousand before you come out. Then, tell whoever you want. I don’t expect the cops will worry much about me with everything else going on,” he said.
I followed his instructions. Mostly. I went into my room and locked the door, then I waited until I heard the back door close. As soon as I was certain the man was gone, I charged into the living room.
Right into the chest of my husband.
“Whoa, hold up, love. What’s going on?”
I couldn’t help it. I burst into tears. I told him what had happened, the tears running down my face making me even angrier than the encounter had.
Mike checked the doors and windows, making sure they were all locked and secure. He helped me gather up the rest of the emergency supplies, then pulled me onto the couch.
“Alright, bad news,” he said.
“Oh, I forgot. I’m just…,” I trailed off. He knew what I meant.
“I know,” Mike said. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about, though. I got a few bits of chatter on the AM band, but it wasn’t English. Sounded Russian.”
“That’s not good,” I started.
Mike hushed me, then continued, “It gets worse. It also sounded military, like a drill sergeant in a movie.”
He wrapped his arms around me. “I think we’ve been invaded.”
To be continued…