Logan slipped the shoulder holster onto a clean shirt, checked the magazine, and loaded the gun. It was clean as a whistle, unlikely to jam on him at a crucial moment. Satisfied, he slid it into the holster and put a jacket on over the top.
Paying little attention to Maggie’s loud sniffles in the next room, Logan snatched up the photo of his family. It had been taken on a warm summer day when they had gone south to catch some sun. They were sitting in the park on a picnic blanket, his wife holding up their only child when she was just a baby. In the picture, Logan was dodging an aggressive wasp that insisted on sharing the sweet treats from their lunch. The photo had always been his wife’s favorite, based solely on the comical timing of the shot.
“I’m sorry I let you down,” he whispered, touching the glass of the frame. “I told you I would keep you safe until my dying breath, but I was wrong. Sometimes I wish I could turn back the clock and go down with you, but maybe I’m getting my wish tonight. There’s a strong chance I’ll die trying to save someone else, but at least we’ll be a family again.”
No, Logan thought. This was too emotional. Too much like the movies. He felt stupid for talking to a photo, but these were things he couldn’t say to another living person. They were thoughts he had been clutching onto for years, and now, knowing he likely wouldn’t survive the night, it felt like the right time to confess those emotions to himself.
He kissed the frame and set it down, then headed into the living room. Maggie had her jacket on, standing by the door without a single word to say. She only nodded at him – she was ready to go – and Logan nodded back. Now was the time to take their only shot, putting their plan into action and hoping against hope that they would succeed in at least one area.
That Jenny would live to see another day.