pair of heavy cargo pants and a tank top with a black T-shirt over it. Dashing into the bathroom she took a moment to put her hair up in a ponytail then ran into her closet.
In the back of the closet, behind boxes full of stylish high-heeled shoes, she found what she was looking for. A pair of desert tan combat boots that John had given her a couple of birthdays ago. She had been less than enthralled with the gift, but he’d made up for it by taking her dress shopping after dinner at her favorite restaurant.
She’d only worn the boots when she’d gone out into the desert with him, but they were sturdy, supportive and had steel caps protecting her toes. Pulling them on, she laced them up and paused a moment to remember the right way to tie them so they stayed tied. Dressed, she grabbed a small backpack and ran to the bedroom where she threw in some clean underwear and a change of clothes.
Shotgun in hand and pack over her shoulder, Katie quickly returned to the safe. She threaded a holster and a magazine carrier onto her belt and grabbed John’s favorite pistol. It was a large frame .45 caliber and five loaded magazines were neatly stacked next to it. Slapping one of those into the weapon, she racked the slide to chamber a round, set the safety on and holstered the heavy gun. Two more loaded mags went into the carrier on her belt, the last two tossed into her pack along with a box of fifty shotgun shells.
Placing the pack between the door to the garage and the front door, Katie racked the shotgun to load a round and leaned it up against the wall. Feeling marginally more secure, she made sure the keys for the big Ford were in her pocket before picking up the sat phone again. She had just turned on the screen, peering at it to see if the phone had locked onto a satellite signal when the doorbell rang.
Katie jumped and almost dropped the phone, barely suppressing a small scream. Taking a deep breath she forced herself to calm down. Training at the CIA’s Farm at Camp Peary in Virginia had been a long time ago. Work in the field where keeping her thoughts, feelings and emotions in check could mean the difference between life and death was something she had put behind her, but by the time the bell rang a second time she had calmed her breathing and heart rate.
John had been known to answer the door with a weapon in his hand if they weren’t expecting visitors. Even though they lived in an upscale community with large, iron gates restricting access, he constantly reminded her that the gates only kept out people with good intentions. Part of her felt a little foolish as she drew the pistol and clicked the safety off, her index finger resting along the outside of the trigger guard.
But the practical side that had served her so well for many years was coming out. Katie had seen firsthand how swiftly society could disintegrate in response to a disaster, whether natural or man-made in origin. She’d done a tour in Bosnia and a few other hotspots around the world during her time with the Agency, and knew that neighbor could and would turn on neighbor. Stepping to the door she looked through the spy hole, relieved when she recognized her friends from two doors down.
Holstering the pistol, Katie unbolted and opened the door. The older couple standing there smiled at her and she quickly ushered them in before closing and bolting the door behind them.
“We know John’s out of town and we wanted to check on you, dear.” Janice Wilson said, concern creasing her still beautiful face as she looked Katie up and down.
“I’m fine,” Katie said, leading the way deeper into the house where all of them paused to stare at the horrific images playing on the TV. After a few minutes the husband, Mike Wilson, broke the silence.
“You look better prepared than we are,” he said, pointedly glancing at the pistol on Katie’s hip and the shotgun resting by the front door.
“Well, you know John.” Katie said with a forced smile. She wasn’t one who liked to show her emotions to other people. John was different. He was her husband, but she had no interest in this disintegrating into a crying jag with Janice.