Read Online The Omega Device (The Ha-Shan Chronicles Book 1) by S.M. Nolan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: S.M. Nolan
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reached inside. The holstered pistol slid out. It's strap unbuttoned with a volume that grated her teeth. She double checked the door; nothing.
Stainless-steel gleamed with a fearfully cold memory of the man's death. Maggie's breaths quickened, threatened to suck her back in time. She forced herself to remain in the present, focused on the weapon.
She looked it over, hands trembling. A thumb slid a latch up beside the grip. The magazine plopped into her lap. Her heart jumped, head whipped to check the door. It remained closed, distant water still beating a metallic tempo.
Copper-headed ammunition gleamed upward with a radial reflection of the room. Her face stared back as a miniaturized caricature. The small mass chilled her thighs but sparked something warm deep within her. It kept the cold at bay.
She breathed steadier, pulled back the top-slide to examine the breech from the grip's end. Once released, it sprang back with a loud click. Her heart jumped again, but her body remained still.
She quelled panic easier, ran a finger along the slide. “Springfield Armory” sat ahead of the cascading letters “TRP” near the hammer. “Springfield, Geneseo, IL USA” and a model number engraved above the trigger gave it a polished, professional look.
Maggie took a deep breath, raised the unloaded weapon to examine its sights. She focused through the window, past the road. Her index-finger grated the carved numbers with a clear imprint to her skin.
This was clearly a tool whose sole purpose was taking life. Could she ever need such a tool?
The previous night's memory cast out all doubt. She might have no choice but to need it. At least with it, she was nearer to even-ground. She didn't know how to use it yet, but she could learn—and if she could learn, she could overcome her fears.
Once again, she plunged into the previous night. A different scenario played this time. Once more she was attacked, but now she hid beneath cabinets to peer out, end the fight quickly. The opposition to reality crept through her with a simple epiphany; she no longer wanted to be unprepared.
While by no means a killer, a conscious choice to live in fear or take action arose. The decision to act felt as instinctive as her reactions the night before. She vowed not to be caught by surprise, resolved to seek Russell's aid, no matter what lay ahead.
Her phone vibrated forward on the coffee table, nagging her. With an intuitive motion, she slid the weapon back into the holster and replaced it in her bag. She snatched up the phone, answered it.
“Maggie? It's Russell. We've I-D'd the men from last night. I'd like to meet with you and go over what I've learned, see if there isn't some connection you can make.”
“Uh, yeah. Sure,” she replied, oddly comforted by his voice. She shifted the phone in her hand, “How about the shop in an hour or so?”
“Sounds good. See you then.”
He hung up. Maggie exhaled weary exhaustion. The bathroom door opened and Ashley appeared in a towel, her hair glistening flat and pointed in random directions.
“Shower's free. Dunno how long the water will last though.”
Maggie grabbed her pack, headed for the bathroom. She stopped before entering, “Russell wants to meet us at the shop in an hour or so.”
Ashley nodded and disappeared into her room. Maggie showered quickly. Once the two were both dressed, Ashley locked up the house and followed Maggie to the backseat of a police-cruiser.
“You know where we're going?” Maggie asked politely.
“Yes, Ma'am,” one officer replied. “51 st Street, correct?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Ashley snickered, “He's not a cab driver, Maggie.”
The officer laughed with a look to his partner, “Yeah, we don't get paid that much.”
Maggie's face reddened. The car pulled forward. “Sorry, this is just a little strange to me.”
“You're tellin' us,” the second officer said. “Normally our passengers aren't so pleasant.”
The two men chuckled.
Stainless-steel gleamed with a fearfully cold memory of the man's death. Maggie's breaths quickened, threatened to suck her back in time. She forced herself to remain in the present, focused on the weapon.
She looked it over, hands trembling. A thumb slid a latch up beside the grip. The magazine plopped into her lap. Her heart jumped, head whipped to check the door. It remained closed, distant water still beating a metallic tempo.
Copper-headed ammunition gleamed upward with a radial reflection of the room. Her face stared back as a miniaturized caricature. The small mass chilled her thighs but sparked something warm deep within her. It kept the cold at bay.
She breathed steadier, pulled back the top-slide to examine the breech from the grip's end. Once released, it sprang back with a loud click. Her heart jumped again, but her body remained still.
She quelled panic easier, ran a finger along the slide. “Springfield Armory” sat ahead of the cascading letters “TRP” near the hammer. “Springfield, Geneseo, IL USA” and a model number engraved above the trigger gave it a polished, professional look.
Maggie took a deep breath, raised the unloaded weapon to examine its sights. She focused through the window, past the road. Her index-finger grated the carved numbers with a clear imprint to her skin.
This was clearly a tool whose sole purpose was taking life. Could she ever need such a tool?
The previous night's memory cast out all doubt. She might have no choice but to need it. At least with it, she was nearer to even-ground. She didn't know how to use it yet, but she could learn—and if she could learn, she could overcome her fears.
Once again, she plunged into the previous night. A different scenario played this time. Once more she was attacked, but now she hid beneath cabinets to peer out, end the fight quickly. The opposition to reality crept through her with a simple epiphany; she no longer wanted to be unprepared.
While by no means a killer, a conscious choice to live in fear or take action arose. The decision to act felt as instinctive as her reactions the night before. She vowed not to be caught by surprise, resolved to seek Russell's aid, no matter what lay ahead.
Her phone vibrated forward on the coffee table, nagging her. With an intuitive motion, she slid the weapon back into the holster and replaced it in her bag. She snatched up the phone, answered it.
“Maggie? It's Russell. We've I-D'd the men from last night. I'd like to meet with you and go over what I've learned, see if there isn't some connection you can make.”
“Uh, yeah. Sure,” she replied, oddly comforted by his voice. She shifted the phone in her hand, “How about the shop in an hour or so?”
“Sounds good. See you then.”
He hung up. Maggie exhaled weary exhaustion. The bathroom door opened and Ashley appeared in a towel, her hair glistening flat and pointed in random directions.
“Shower's free. Dunno how long the water will last though.”
Maggie grabbed her pack, headed for the bathroom. She stopped before entering, “Russell wants to meet us at the shop in an hour or so.”
Ashley nodded and disappeared into her room. Maggie showered quickly. Once the two were both dressed, Ashley locked up the house and followed Maggie to the backseat of a police-cruiser.
“You know where we're going?” Maggie asked politely.
“Yes, Ma'am,” one officer replied. “51 st Street, correct?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Ashley snickered, “He's not a cab driver, Maggie.”
The officer laughed with a look to his partner, “Yeah, we don't get paid that much.”
Maggie's face reddened. The car pulled forward. “Sorry, this is just a little strange to me.”
“You're tellin' us,” the second officer said. “Normally our passengers aren't so pleasant.”
The two men chuckled.
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