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ASHE

T his figures she thought. The crowd in the bank was larger than she would’ve assumed for a Monday. Calls were quiet and she’d convinced her partner to stop by the bank before lunch.

There were at least eight people around her when a concussion grenade went off. As she came too, a pregnant woman was on the ground near her. One look and Ashe moved toward her. It was clear her water had broken, likely a stress reaction.

Ashe felt the barrel of a gun smack her in the back of the head, as she knelt at the pregnant woman’s feet. Ashe lifted her hands, without turning she responded, “I’m trying to help. This woman is having a baby.” The barrel disappeared and Ashe started working. First, she had the woman slide up against a pillar nearby so that she was supported and luckily the woman was wearing a long dress so there was modesty given the scenario.

Ashe was sweating bullets. She had no equipment, no help, no transport; if this birth had any complications, it would be bad and on her hands. She would deliver this baby and get it placed in the mother’s arm with no hiccups. “Don’t move,” she warned the mother, “you haven’t delivered the placenta yet. Just wait here, I’ll be back.”

She followed the next cries for help. An elderly man was on the ground clutching his shoulder while his wife was calling out for help. As Ashe headed toward the elderly couple, about forty feet away, a second explosion went off. This one caused debris to fall around the old bank, likely Ashe thought something set off in attempt at a vault. She turned the old man onto his back, checking pulse and breathing. She took her hands off the man when she felt a barrel for the second time. “Same as before, only this one is likely a heart attack. He needs to get to a hospital.” The barrel of the gun disappeared, Ashe dropped her hands to go back to work, thinking they would step away again. Instead, palming the handgun, the thief slapped Ashe on the side of the head. The momentum from the thief knocked her off her knees and she smacked the floor near the old woman’s knees.

As she gathered her bearings she finally heard the man speak, “you talk too much. You’re a hostage like the rest, you dumb bitch.”

“These people need help,” Ashe answered back as she sat looking up at the man, blood starting to run down in front of her right ear. “Dead hostages aren’t any good.” Irritated because she was right, because this whole thing was not working out the way they had planned; he grabbed her by the shoulder of her shirt yanking her up. Immediately he realized she was wearing a protective vest of some kind under her uniform. He snarled and yanked her toward a couple of the other men he was with.

“What kind of vest do you have on, show me now!” She unbuttoned her blue EMS shirt, taking it off so they could see the second chance vest underneath. “Are you a plant? Why do you have this?”

“It’s part of the uniform.”

The man stepped into her, driving a 2.5” blade through her vest into the left side of her abdomen. “You talk too much,” he bit out as she looked up at him in shock. “Not so invincible now. Take off the vest.”

As she pulled the tabs removing the vest, she was mentally assessing her stab wound. Not particularly deep. No critical organs, blood supply. Jeezuz Christ it still hurts. Shouldn’t be lethal. I can’t believe he just fucking stabbed me about my uniform. She pulled the vest over her head, barely holding back a cry, holding it out to him with her right hand. He took the vest and his eyes wandered down her torso to where the knife had gone through the vest. Her white undershirt was cut and her blood was spreading.

Ashe met his eyes as he leaned toward her, “Maybe you learn to keep your mouth shut now, huh?” He dismissed her with a head jerk.