13 Days of Terror

by Dwayne Clayden

  “Who are you?” the emergency physician asked.

  “I’m a paramedic. I dropped my son at school, and I was there when Shawn was shot.”

  The physician’s eyes widened. All heads in the trauma room glanced at Jill.

  “Is he your son?” the physician asked.

  Jill shook her head. “No. His mother was contacted—she should be on her way.”

  A nurse prepped the right side of Shawn’s chest, then an intern inserted the chest tube.

  Thompson pulled the stretcher away and out of the room. Jill and Dixon stood at the trauma room door. Nurses changed IV solutions for blood. The emergency physician put an endotracheal tube into Shawn’s mouth and down to his lungs. A lab tech drew blood samples and brushed past them as she sprinted to the lab.

  Jill turned to Dixon. “I have to call the school to make sure Joel is okay. Then get my ex to pick him up.”

  “You’ll never get through,” Dixon said. “Call dispatch and find out who we have on scene.”

  The emergency doors opened and a frantic woman entered, shouting, “Shawn? Where’s my baby?”

  Brad led them back toward the street. They waited at the front of the house for Sturgeon and the Crime Scene Unit to arrive.

  “Boss, there’s something you should know,” Zerr said.

  “What’s that?”

  “The boy’s teacher. The one who helped EMS. You know her.”

  Brad spun toward Zerr. “What?”

  “Sarah Park.”

  “Are you sure? She teaches high school.”

  “Then it was her twin,” Zerr said. “And they’re both named Sarah.”

  Brad’s jaw clenched. Three years ago, he and Sarah dated for a brief time—a very brief time. Brad and TSU were in the middle of a motorcycle gang war. Every day the violence escalated. Then the bikers made it personal. They firebombed Brad’s car, which exploded. The front of his house was damaged, and spears of glass and wood hit Sarah. After she recovered, the bikers went after her directly. Fortunately, she was rescued by the quick actions of a custodian. Sarah ended the brief relationship and moved to British Columbia. He hadn’t heard from her and didn’t know she’d moved back.

  “She’s here?”

  Steele shook his head. “No, she went with EMS as the boy’s guardian until his parents arrived.”

  “Sarah?” Brad started toward the hill. “You guys got this scene?”

  “Sure, boss,” Zerr said.

  Brad nodded. “I’m going to the hospital.”

  Steele grabbed his elbow. “That’s a terrible idea. I’ll go.”

  Brad pulled his arm away. “I’ll be okay. You two wait for Sturgeon.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Brad shoved open the doors to the emergency department. A flood of sounds and smells assaulted him. The urgency of voices. Medical staff racing from patient to patient. The chemical smell of cleaning fluid. Many body scents and the unmistakable odor of blood.

  When Maggie died, he’d been injured as well and rushed to surgery. It wasn’t until the next day he found out Maggie and their unborn child had died. The following weeks were a blur. The pain didn’t go away, and he learned how to cope, to move onward, even if it was a minor step. Then suddenly something brought it all back—a teen assaulted, a woman raped, a child shot, the smells of the hospital.

  He fought the gauntlet of activity toward the trauma room. Standing in the hall outside the trauma room were Dixon and a lady. She was familiar but she was out of place in a T-shirt and sweatpants. Not Sarah. The kid’s mother? His brow furrowed. Had Zerr been mistaken?

  “Dixon, where is he? How’s he doing?”

  “They’ve taken him to the operating room.” Dixon shook his head. “The bullet entered the upper right chest and came out his lower back.”

  “The X-rays show several broken ribs, so the bullet bounced around,” Jill said. “Probably lots of internal damage.”

  Brad cocked his head. “I know you, but—”

  “Jill Cook. I’m a paramedic. The jogging outfit probably threw you off.” She pulled a loose strand of hair back behind her ear.

  Brad nodded. It was interesting how you recognized people by their uniforms and a location. Change the clothes and the situation, and you didn’t have a clue. “I didn’t recognize you out of your uniform.”

  Dixon snickered.

  “Oops,” Brad said.

  “I know what you meant.” The strand of hair was loose again. Jill tried to tuck it into her ponytail.

  “How are you involved?”

  “I was dropping my son at school when I heard the gunshot.”

  “Your son?” Brad’s eyes were wide.

  “No. No. My son’s safe. I was stretching before my jog. I sprinted to the school and saw Shawn Fortin lying in the field.” She grabbed one of Brad’s scratched hands, examining it. “What happened?”

  “I climbed the hill to see where the shot originated. It was a lot more tangled than I thought.”

  “Why didn’t you use the path?” She glanced down, still holding his hand. She quickly let go.

  Brad nodded. “Yeah, excellent point.”

  “Let me clean those cuts.”

  Brad held up his hands. “No. Don’t bother.”

  Jill pulled some supplies off a cart beside them. “No bother.” She took one of Brad’s hands, poured some disinfectant on gauze then wiped his hand.

  Brad hissed.

  “Sorry.”

  “Just stung a little.”

  She took Brad’s other hand. “I didn’t have a lot to work with at the school. At least here I can clean this up properly.”

  “She’s selling herself short,” Dixon said. “She did what needed to be done.”

  Jill tossed the gauze in the garbage and washed her hands.

  Brad glanced at the backs of his hands. “There’re a lot of scratches. Thanks.”

  Jill shivered and crossed her arms, holding onto her shoulders. “Dixon was the one who recognized Shawn’s breathing problem. He’s the smart one.”

  “She makes an excellent point,” Dixon said. “I’m a master at hiding my brilliance.”

  “Are you cold?” Brad slipped off his jacket and handed it to her.

  She swung the jacket over her bare shoulders. “Thanks. I had to toss my hoodie.”

  “You were the lady taking care of Shawn?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  Brad cocked his head and pursed his lips. “Nothing important. I was told it was another lady.”

  Jill nodded and glanced down the hall. “Oh, you mean the teacher, Sarah. She helped me. I left her in the staff lounge.”

  Zerr was right. “Sarah.”

  “You okay, Coulter?” Dixon asked.

  “Um, yeah, I know her. Sarah Park?”

  Jill nodded. “That’s her name.”

  Dixon glanced at Brad. “Sarah? From the explosion?”

  Brad strode down the hall toward the emergency entrance, then stopped at an unmarked door—the staff lounge. He opened the door.

  Sarah was sitting in a chair to the right. Her elbows were in her lap, hands cradling a cup of coffee. She stared blankly at the cup.

  He stepped into the room, but she didn’t hear him. Her black hair was wild, and tears had smeared her makeup. Her light-colored dress had dark stains and drops of blood had dried on her forehead.

  “Sarah,” he whispered.

  She sighed and glanced up from her cup. Her eyes widened, and her hands shook, coffee slopping onto the floor.

  “Brad.”

  He sat in a chair across from her. “Circumstances suck, but it’s good to see you.”

  She shook her head. “I wish I could say the same. The three worst events of my life all involve you.”

  Brad stared at his feet. “Oh. I didn’t mean—”

  “What happened to your hands?”

  “Got some scratches from the trees.”

  She nodded, then had a faraway gaze. “I’ll bet they hurt.
But not like wood and glass is stuck in them.”

  There wasn’t anger in her voice, no emotion. But his gut tightened from the verbal shot. He fought against the memory of that night, but lost. It all came back in full color. Sarah and Brad on the couch in the living room. Neil Diamond playing. His car exploding. Sarah’s screams as wood and glass embedded in her back. The hate in her eyes. He tucked his hands under his legs, embarrassed at how minor the cuts were.

  “It was horrible, Brad.” She sniffled and grabbed some tissue. “Shawn was lying there so scared. He wanted his mommy. The paramedic was outstanding. She kept her cool. I don’t know how she did it. I was barely hanging on.” She blew her nose, grabbed more tissue, and wiped her eyes. “I thought he was dying.” She shook her head. “He was so tiny on that bed with doctors and nurses rushing around.” Her chest spasmed and she gasped for air.

  Brad stood and took a step toward her.

  She held out a hand. “No.” Her icy glare drove him back.

  “I’m sorry about Maggie. I didn’t know her, but … I’m sorry.”

  Brad nodded. “I’m sorry to disturb you.” This was a terrible idea. “I’m glad you’re back in Calgary.”

  “Wait. Sit.” After a moment, she said, “I didn’t want to come back. Heaven knows there was nothing but horrific memories.” She sniffled. “Teaching jobs were hard for me to get in British Columbia. But I finally got an offer here teaching grade five. I hope you catch the bastard who did this.” She sat straight and smiled weakly. “I know you’ll get him. We need people like you. You know, to keep the monsters away. It was … nice to see you. Let’s grab a coffee some time when this is over.”

  Brad forced a smile. “Sure, sometime.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Pittman and Hirsch sat in a corner booth in the pancake restaurant a couple of miles from the school where they shot the boy. Pittman surveyed the restaurant and scrutinized everyone who came in. Cops would like this place, but he figured they’d be busy for, well, weeks.

  Hirsch stared at his coffee sloshing in his shaking hands. His jaw trembled and his stomach churned. He glanced around for the restroom in case he needed it. He mumbled words that made little sense.

  Pittman reached across the table and grabbed Hirsch’s shoulder. His lips were tight over his teeth. “Man up. You’re the guiltiest bastard in the world. Either that or both your girlfriend and dog ran away.” Pittman snorted at his joke.

  Hirsch didn’t move.

  “Shithead. Buck up or we need to get out of here.”

  Hirsch glanced at Pittman. “It was a kid, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Just a target.”

  “You don’t know what it’s like to kill a kid.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  Pittman smirked, sipped his coffee, then said, “They had it coming. They mocked us. We warned them.”

  Hirsch felt his jaw tighten. He blew air out his nose. “How did you talk me into this?”

  Pittman chuckled. “It was easy. You’re the better shot. I couldn’t make that. It had to be you.”

  “Oh my god. I shot a kid.”

  Pittman leaned across the table and glared at Hirsch. “Keep your voice down.”

  The waitress filled Pittman’s coffee. “Breakfast, boys?”

  “Yeah.” Pittman smiled. “We’ll both have the rancher’s special. Eggs over easy. White toast and hash browns.”

  The waitress headed to the kitchen.

  “I’m not hungry.” Hirsch tried to sip his coffee but spilled it.

  “You gotta eat, boy. You agreed to strike back. This is war. In war, you make tough decisions. They know we’re serious.”

  Hirsch snorted and shook his head. “The first five shootings weren’t enough?”

  Pittman stared over his cup. “Apparently not. They didn’t take our calls and that shithead Sergeant Carew didn’t take us seriously. What did he think would happen when he said kids were safe? No one is safe.”

  They sat in silence, staring at each other and the people around them, the tension between them building until the food arrived.

  The waitress set the plates on the table.

  Pittman grabbed his fork in his fist and shoveled the food into this mouth. Hirsch moved food around his plate but didn’t take many bites.

  “You gonna eat that bread?” Pittman asked.

  Hirsch slid over the toast.

  Pittman pushed the toast around his plate and soaked up the egg yolk.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Brad radioed Griffin to pick him up at the Children’s Hospital. He waited outside. Seeing Sarah had gut-punched him.

  “Brad.”

  He glanced up.

  Jill held out his jacket and smiled. “Thanks for the loan of your coat.”

  A horn honked. Griffin waved to him. “Uh, yeah. No problem. Be careful.”

  “You too.” She jogged back into the hospital.

  Brad tossed the Subway wrapper at the still overflowing garbage can in their office. He leaned back in his chair and sipped his Coke.

  Griffin hung up the phone. “Sturgeon confirms the case was from a .223 and there’s a partial print. Not enough to compare, but if we get a suspect, that partial will come in handy. They got some decent molds of the footprints you guys found, and they’re following the trajectory trying to find the bullet.”

  Brad sucked up the last of the Coke with a slurping sound. “Great. Now, all we need is a gun to match to the case and a boot to match the footprint. Hell, we’re ninety-nine percent there. We should have the sniper by four.” He shot the cup toward the garbage can.

  “Easy, buddy. Sometimes it’s baby steps.”

  “There’s no time for baby steps. He shot a kid because I told parents to use the back of the school. I put a target on that kid.”

  “You’re not that important.” Griffin snorted.

  Brad stood and leaned on his desk. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Griffin glared at Brad. “It means you’re delusional if you think this asshat is taking cues from you. He’s angry and we don’t know why. Carew was the one who taunted the shooter, not you. You tried to protect the kids. And by the way, you’d better hope Archer doesn’t figure that out. I don’t want to know what arrangement you and Ms. Andrus have. Sure, the clues we got today aren’t great. But solving these shootings is a puzzle, and we put it together one piece at a time. Every piece counts. You just don’t know how many pieces you need.”

  “It was a kid.” Brad dropped back into his chair. “A kid.”

  “Yeah, it was. And I might seem cold, but tonight get this out of your system however you need to. Go for a jog. Drink yourself into unconsciousness. Punch the speed bag until your hands bleed. Whatever. But get dialed in.”

  Chapter Forty

  Brad was calmer and relaxed after a workout. As he arrived at headquarters about five-thirty, a stranger approached. The guy said, “The person who aimed the rifle and shot the kid raised my ire. I had to do something. Somebody knows the sniper. Maybe sold him a gun or bullets or drank beer with him when he talked about doing the shooting or after the shootings. I can’t investigate this, that’s up to you. But I’m giving twenty-five thousand dollars toward the reward. That should help bring people forward with information.”

  More reward money would bring additional crank calls, too, but this guy cared enough to do what he could. He could entice someone who knew something to come forward. Brad admired the man.

  This shooting of Shawn was disgusting in the worst way. Jeter Wolfe had been evil beyond words. When Brad caught the sniper, and he would, Brad knew when he peered into the suspect’s eyes, he’d see the same deadness, the lack of a soul.

  He entered the zoo and halted. Paramedic Jill Cook was sitting at his desk talking with Griffin.

  Jill jumped up. “Sorry. I took your chair.”

  Brad waved her to sit. “That’s fine.” He stood in the middle of
the room, eyes glancing at one, then the other. “This can’t be good.”

  Jill stepped around the desk and held out her hands. “Shawn made it through surgery.”

  Brad’s breath caught. “He’s alive?”

  “Yes.” She rushed to Brad and hugged him.

  He was knocked back a step by the force of her embrace. Her arms locked around him and he gently held her, then eased back. “Um, that’s fantastic.”

  “Oh, god.” Jill’s hand covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I … I just got caught up in the excitement. I knew you’d want to know, and I didn’t want to phone you, so I thought I’d stop here and tell you in person, I—”

  Brad held up a hand. “No need to apologize. Anytime you need to get a hug out of your system, I’m here for you. That’s fantastic news about the kid.”

  “I didn’t think he had a chance,” Jill said. “He’s a tough kid. Making it through surgery was a miracle. He’s got a long recovery and it won’t be easy.” She sidestepped to the door, keeping her distance from Brad. “Um, good luck finding the sniper.” She slipped out the door.

  Griffin leaned back in the chair and hooked his fingers behind his head. “Whatever you did for the past couple of hours, let me in on the secret. What the hell was that?”

  “She saved the kid. She’s excited.”

  “Uh-huh.” Griffin nodded. “I’m not sure it was the kid she was excited about.”

  Brad flopped in his chair. “What’d I miss?”

  “Good idea.” Griffin smirked. “Change the subject. You didn’t miss squat. Door-to-door canvass didn’t turn up any witnesses on Hope Street. The roadblocks just created a mob scene with parents blasting through the barricades to get their kids from school. The rookies are still searching for the bullet. Oh, yeah. There was panic in every school in Calgary. It was rush hour traffic for hours in the middle of the day.” Griffin spread his arms wide. “Oh, and one last thing. I’ve been busting my ass for four days and I haven’t received a single hug.”