Karver's Phone

“Yeah, I don’t know about that. I mean we could go ice skating or sledding. We haven’t done either in a very long time.” Jenn was dreamily gazing at the hillside.

Karver’s phone rang, but he ignored it. “Aren’t you going to answer?” He shook his head no. “Which do you prefer, sledding or skating?”

“No preference. If we skate, we are upright, with a breeze in our face and we can dance on the ice and do partner skating. If we sled…”

I interrupted: “The wind is in our face, we are hugging each other, so we don’t fall off the sled, we are dressed in more layers than for skating and are closer to the ground. Which do you prefer?”

“No…”

I interrupted: “You analyze the hell out of everything and never come to conclusions.”

“Why do you think I’m with you? You're so good at deciding, and I don’t care. So, you decide.”

His phone rang again. Karver glanced at it and pushed it away. Frustrated, I answered the damned pesky thing. I slid the bar over and said, “Hello,” and tapped the speakerphone option.

“49er, this is Cob 26. We are approaching with guns engaged.” I jumped up and held it out to him. 

“Is this some sort of prank by your dumbass buddies? Is it Jonesy, drunk again? It didn’t sound like his voice.” I glared at him, fists clenched.

“49er, do you copy? We are almost there. We need to make the target. Copy?” A voice spoke slowly, like actors trying to cover their native accent. Curious.

“I don’t know what the fuck this is, Jenn, I’m serious.” Karver stared at his phone for a second, then put it close to his lips and said, “Cob 26, I have no idea who you are or why you are calling me. This is Karver Hughes in Belgrade, Montana.”

“Soldier, get me Captain Brightman right now. We need confirmation of the target. We are circling and see one outpost with a school. It looks like a hospital or care center because it has a blue cross on the roof.”

“I don’t know a Brightman or anyone in the military. I live a couple of hours outside Yellowstone National Park. Who the fuck are you?”

“I told you who I am.” Explosions could be heard.

“Are you firing on those buildings?”

“No, we are circling and they are firing on us. I need that confirmation. We won’t let them fire at us again without blowing them to hell. Sergeant, get the chain gun ready to fire. You, on the phone, give me confirmation.”

I dialed my granddad on my cell, but he didn’t pick up. He’s a retired Lt. Colonel with the 1st Cav, and I think he could tell us what this was about. Voicemail message: “Granddad, I need your help, Urgent, 911, call me back.” I sent a group text with “911” to Granddad and my cousin Sam, who’s a cop. 

Sam called me back immediately… but Granddad didn't. Damn, he must be at the spa again, sonofabitch! “Hello Sam. Yes, it’s an emergency. Someone called Karver's cell, saying they are going to attack a building and a school, and maybe a hospital. He has no idea who they are, but they want him to confirm the target! What do we do??”

“Identify yourselves to them.”

“He did and they said to get a Cpt. Brightman on the phone. We don’t know him.”

“Did you tell him this and where you are located?”

“Jesus, Sam, of course. We aren’t idiots. He is circling and ready to blow up the entire place…wherever it is. Someone on the ground shot at them and they claimed they would return fire. I'm waiting for Granddad to call me back.”

More gunfire noise came through Karver’s phone, and then static filled the speakerphone. He shouted, "Hello, hello," but there was only static. He ended the call.

“Why did you hang up? What if they don’t call back?” I yelled at him, shaking him by the arms. We stared at each other. I began to cry.

We hustled, wanting to get the hell out of there and find help.

Then, my phone rang.

“Hello, I’m calling to help you with financial problems..”

I disconnected and blocked the number – I hate spam callers.

Sam sped up the drive and braked his police cruiser a few feet from the front porch. He jumped out, weapon drawn, and pointed it at… US!

“How’s it going?” Karver asked. His phone rang, and he glanced at it but didn’t pick up.

My phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hang up the phone, Jenn.” Sam pointed his service revolver at me. Karver stepped in front of me. My thumb pressed End Call on my phone.

“What’s up with you, Sam? It’s a spam call; no need to point your gun, for crissakes!”

Sam’s phone rang, and he grinned, putting it on speakerphone. “It’s about time you picked up, you swine! We’re still waiting for confirmation on the target.” I stared at him and dropped my phone. Karver pushed me back a few steps, and I whispered, “What accent is that?”

“What’s your number, Sam?” Karver said.

Sam faced his phone to Karver and said, “My number is your number, dummy. You picked up my phone by mistake.”

“So, you’re 49er?”

“Wow, you’re a genius.”

“Who are you talking to, Sampson? Confirm your location and the target.”

“Never mind the target. Cancel the Op. My cover is blown. Go back to base. I’ll check in after I’m finished here.”

Sam approached the porch; his pistol still aimed toward us. “Both of you, get inside the house.”

He pressed the gun into Karver’s stomach. We moved inside slowly, so he shoved us. He pulled out a small vial and set it on the table. “In two minutes, you will be dead. A quick death. It’s okay, don’t worry. It will look natural.”

“Sam!” I stepped toward him, but he waved me off. My phone rang until it went to voicemail.

“Sit down!” We both sat, and he zip-tied our wrists tightly behind the chairs, so when we moved, it cut into the skin. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

“What kind of nicotine stick is that?” Karver asked. Sam laughed and put the Ziganov package on the table, with a photo of him in his office uniform. A Russian officer.

“I guess you picked up my phone last night when we were at the bar. It’s okay, don’t worry. I will take care of everything.” He pulled 2 shot glasses from the bar cabinet. “Do you like your drinks with ice or at room temperature?” He laughed uproariously at his little joke while tears ran down my cheeks.

“Sam, you’re my cousin. What is happening?”

“Don’t worry, little Jenny. It will be over quickly. My wife is waiting for me, and this is the only way.”

“You’re married?”

“A Russian beauty. She is in Sochi. I met her at the International Police Games. She is pregnant and due soon. You won’t suffer, cousin. Now, Karver here; I may make him suffer a bit longer. Who wants to be first?”

He held out a shot glass to each of us, eyebrows raised, waiting. “Open up, sweet cousin.” I clamped my lips shut and jerked my chair back.

I heard a loud bang just after the shot glass shattered. Next, blood sprayed all over me along with a gummy substance, immediately followed by another loud bang.

Footsteps pounded on the porch. The door was kicked in, and Granddad stood there, his sniper rifle in hand.

“I got your 911 text after my Thai massage. Comrade Cousin Sam was just outed by an FBI informant. Ya know, I have no idea how that turd got on the police force. He has been on the Watch List since he got out of the military. I never liked him or my Armenian sister-in-law.”

We stared at Granddad. He touched Sam with his boot. “Good riddance, ya little prick.”

            Copyright © 10/13/2026 by Andrea O. Corwin