13 Days of Terror

by Dwayne Clayden

  Brad paused. This was the first time they had sanctioned the use of 911 for tips. They had contacted every dispatch center in Western Canada and even Montana and Idaho, in case a 911 call went to any of their dispatch centers.

  “They are driving a dark-green Ford LTD, possibly with the following license plate number.” Brad gave the number, and it appeared on the projection screen behind him. “If you see this vehicle, do not approach. Immediately call 911.” Brad folded his notes. “I will not be taking questions.”

  Uniformed officers formed an escape route for Brad. Reporters fired questions as he left.

  Back in the zoo, Brad flopped into his chair. “Now we wait.”

  “For them to be spotted or for another shooting?” Griffin asked.

  “Yes,” Brad said.

  Stinson knocked on the door. “We’re getting calls from the Drayton Valley area. People who know Pittman and Hirsch from jobs in the area. I’ve got members checking them as fast as they can. But one thing is coming in clear. Hirsch was a decent guy who had a whack of awful luck. I’ve got members heading to talk to his wife in Whitecourt. Pittman, on the other hand, was uniformly hated and was an ass.”

  “How did Hirsch get hooked up with Pittman?” Griffin asked.

  “Pittman targeted him,” Devlin suggested. “Pittman saw a guy down on his luck with everything getting worse. When Hirsch was served divorce papers, I bet that was the last straw. He would be putty in the hands of Pittman.” Devlin frowned and glanced around the room. “Pittman has a doesn’t-give-a-shit-about-anything attitude. He’s probably been a bully all his life. Someone will tell us he likes to hurt animals and people.”

  “Isn’t he the shooter?” Brad asked.

  “Not initially.” Devlin stood and pointed to the pictures of the first victims. “These four were near-perfect shots. I think Pittman wanted in on the action. But he couldn’t let Hirsch know he was a marksman. He got pleasure out of making Hirsch a killer. He took a calm, honest family man and made him one of our worst murderers.”

  “It’ll be a pleasure to get my hands on him,” Brad said.

  “I bet you won’t,” Devlin said.

  “Get pleasure?”

  “Not that. You won’t take him alive.”

  Chapter Seventy

  Constable Mullen raced into the zoo. “A trucker called about three minutes ago, at 10:30 p.m. and says he saw the car—the LTD, matching the license plate. It’s across the highway from the ski hill on the west city limits. The car is partially hidden by some camping trailers.”

  Brad jumped out of his chair. “Mullen, tell Gary Schantz to start the helicopter.” Brad buckled his gun belt, slipped on a ballistic vest, then followed Steele and Zerr out of headquarters into the dark, full-moon night. The icy wind hit their faces like hundreds of tiny needles as they sprinted to the parking lot.

  As they approached, the helicopter’s motor whined, and the blades turned. When they reached the helicopter, the engines were at full throttle. They ducked under the rotors and into the seats. Brad took a position next to Schantz, and Steele and Zerr jammed themselves into the back. Zerr set the case for his sniper rifle across his knees and slid out the gun.

  The engines whined, the helicopter shuddered, and gained air. Once Schantz had altitude, the nose dropped, and they sped down Sixth Avenue, gathering speed as they headed west.

  Brad slid the headphones in place and twisted toward Schantz. “Body armor suits you.”

  Schantz grinned. “Brings back memories for sure.”

  Brad gave him a thumbs up. “Patch me into police dispatch on the secure channel.”

  Schantz nodded and adjusted the radio dial.

  “Dispatch. Coulter, Steele, and Zerr are in the air heading west. We will use the call sign, Air One. Tell responding units to secure the area but hold back. Have Tactical Support Units meet us on Sixteenth Avenue, east of the ski hill. We’ll coordinate from there.”

  “Roger Air One,” dispatch said. “We have units coming from the north and Two District cars are coming down Sarcee.”

  “No one approaches.”

  “Message relayed,” dispatch said.

  “What’s the plan, boss?” Steele’s voice came over the headset.

  “We’ll go on foot. We’ll be about a mile out. It won’t take us long to jog in there.”

  “You sure you’re in good enough shape, boss,” Zerr said.

  “Be sure you keep up,” Brad replied.

  They watched the Bow River flash below them.

  “Zerr, get your rifle ready. If they get spooked, take out their tires.”

  “And if they shoot back?”

  I’d like them alive. “None of us die tonight.”

  “Roger that,” Zerr said.

  The helicopter swung away from the river and followed Sixteenth Avenue. Ahead, the red-and-blue lights of at least a dozen cruisers flashed in the night. The helicopter rotated and prepared to land.

  “They’re on the run,” an excited voice came over the radio.

  “Unit, identify,” dispatch said.

  “Uh, 322. We, uh, got too close. They saw us as we drove past. They veered down Bowfort Road.”

  “Don’t land,” Brad shouted. “Get us back in the air.”

  The engines whined, and the helicopter appeared to stall a few feet off the highway, then slowly Schantz gained altitude.

  “Follow Bowfort Road.” Brad pointed.

  Nose down, the helicopter raced between the hills into Bowness.

  “They turned left,” Brad yelled over the noise of the helicopter. “Dispatch, seal off all roads out of Bowness.”

  Schantz swung left. They were over the dark-colored LTD. The driver killed his headlights, which did little to hide them. At Forty-Eighth Avenue, the LTD turned left again.

  “We’re in your former hood,” Steele said.

  “Yup,” Brad said. “Can you get in front of them?”

  “No problem.” The helicopter gained speed and then rotated to face the speeding car. Zerr slid the side door open and leaned out, bringing the LTD into his scope. “I’ve got him, boss.”

  “Wait, see if he slows.”

  The LTD swung hard to the right and into Bowness Park.

  “We’ve got them,” Brad shouted. “Dispatch, Air One. Have units seal off the entrance to Bowness Park. I’ll need units to head to the river from Forty-Eighth Avenue and Eighty-Fifth Street and at the Woods Home.”

  “Roger, Air One.”

  “We’re in my backyard,” Brad said to Schantz. “There’s a field to your right. Put it down there.”

  The pilot circled the field once, then set the helicopter down.

  Zerr was out first and covered the area with his rifle. Brad and Steele grabbed rifles and joined him.

  “Okay,” Brad said. “They didn’t come this way, so they’ve headed west. Spread out.”

  Steele jogged to Brad’s left and Zerr to the right. They set off at a comfortable jog. They passed by the canoes, across the site of the deserted carnival and to the concession. No sign of the snipers. They cleared the cook shelters as they went. No sign of the LTD yet. Steele jogged farther left and followed the lagoon. Zerr followed a path over to the river.

  They were close to the west end of the park when wood splintered on a tree next to Brad. The shot echoed throughout the park.

  “Shit.” Brad dove to the ground. “Either of you see where that came from?”

  “Not positive, boss,” Steele said. “Seemed straight ahead.”

  “All right. Let’s move. Stay low.”

  They moved forward, crouched low. An engine started, and headlights flashed at Brad. They blinded him. “Shit, I can’t see,” he shouted.

  “I have him,” Zerr said.

  Two shots rang out from Brad’s right. He heard the hiss of one tire, then another. The car, fifty feet away, headed toward him.

  Two shots from the left. One headlight blew out. The second shot hit metal—steam hissed.

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sp; Bullets struck the ground around Brad and hit a few trees. The barrage was steady.

  Steele and Zerr returned fire.

  The shooting stopped. “Boss, you okay?” Steele asked.

  “I’m fine. Let’s get these assholes. I’ll shoot from here. You two come in from the sides.”

  Brad raised up on his stomach and fired at the grill of the car. In his periphery, Steele and Zerr flanked the vehicle. Steele threw a distraction device inside. There was a bright flash and bang. Brad was on his feet and sprinting for the car.

  When he got there, he saw the disappointed faces. “They’re not here, boss,” Steele said. “They have to be close.”

  “Spread out, stay low, and keep cover. There’s an open area left—then it’s into heavy woods to the Bearspaw Dam.” Brad took a few steps. “Wait.”

  “Zerr, go back to the helicopter. Fly over and use the spotlight.” Brad keyed his mic. “Dispatch, have units seal off the east end of the park, but stay well back of west end where the river fills the lagoon.” Brad nodded to Steele, and they set off. As they reached the end of the park where the lagoon ended and the path headed into the woods, they heard the helicopter overhead, and a spotlight lit up the area.

  Brad keyed his mic again. “What do you see?”

  “Nothing yet. But they’re not right in front of you, so keep going.”

  “Coulter. It’s Toscana and Briscoe. Where do you need us?”

  “Go to my farm, there is a path to the north. Follow it down to the river.”

  “We won’t find that in the dark,” Toscana said.

  “Shit. Lobo knows the way.”

  “Uh, that might work,” Toscana said. “You left Lobo behind when you left, so Briscoe coaxed him into the van.”

  “He went with you?”

  “Sweet talk and a ham sandwich, and he happily jumped in the van.”

  “Perfect. How long until you’re there?”

  “Not long, five minutes at the most, despite Grandpa Briscoe not seeing too well driving at night.”

  “Okay. Stop in my lane. Straight north is the path. Once Lobo finds it say, ‘river,’ and try to keep up.”

  “Roger, that.” Brad heard Briscoe complaining as Toscana replied.

  Brad led the way at a steady jog. The path was too narrow for them to run side by side.

  “How far to the dam?” Sam asked.

  “Fifteen minutes at this pace.”

  “We should catch them. From their pictures, they don’t seem like athletes.”

  The helicopter circled above their heads as they followed the path.

  “Hard to see anything,” Zerr said. “The trees are too thick. Now and then I see you guys, but even knowing which way you’re heading doesn’t help a lot.”

  They weaved through the hundred-year-old trees. The path, though well worn, was narrow. The full moon provided some light, but the light didn’t make it through the dense trees. The spotlight from the helicopter was useless.

  Ahead, they heard a twig snap, then another. Brad and Steele slowed to a walk.

  Bark sprayed their faces as the crack of a rifle shot echoed through the trees.

  Brad and Steele dove to the ground.

  “Shit, they set up an ambush,” Brad said.

  “Did you see where the shot came from?” Steele asked.

  “No.”

  Zerr came over the radio. “You guys okay? Looked like a gun flash from ahead of you.”

  Brad keyed his mic. “Caught us off guard. We’re fine. Where was the flash?”

  “I don’t know where you guys are.”

  Brad glanced at the sky. “You’re right over us.”

  “Then about one hundred yards ahead and to the south.”

  “Can you see them?”

  “Nope, but we’re gonna circle above them and give them some sunshine.”

  “We need the light, but it will make you a target.”

  “Yeah,” Zerr said. “We discussed that. We’ll light up the area for a few seconds, then shut it off and move.”

  The light blazed into the trees ahead.

  “I see them,” Zerr said.

  A half-dozen rifle shots sounded from ahead. Brad and Steele took cover behind a vast pine.

  Bullets hitting metal and ricochets echoed throughout the valley.

  “We’re okay,” Brad said. “Zerr?”

  “We’re not,” Zerr replied. “We’ve got some red lights here on the panel. We’ll head north for a minute and figure out what problems we have.”

  “Roger that,” Brad said. “We’re gonna split up and move ahead.”

  The radio clicked twice in acknowledgment.

  Brad tapped Steele on the shoulder and pointed to the right, toward the river. Steele nodded. Brad headed into the trees to the left. The underbrush was thick, and progress was slow. Each step had to be placed carefully. Branches whipped at his face. Ahead he saw a shadow—a rock outcropping. Perfect place to set up a sniper nest. He veered farther to the left until he was past the outcropping, then headed toward the rocks. In close, his rifle was not the best choice of weapon. He slung the gun toward his back and drew his pistol. He crouched low as he eased toward the rocks. He squinted as he stared into the darkness. No movement, no shapes. He shuffled forward, then stood. No one hid behind the rocks. He crouched low, took out his penlight, covered the light with his hand, and clicked it on. He moved the narrow beam across the ground. The light created several glints among the rocks. He reached down and grabbed a shiny object—a .223 case. They had shot from here.

  He ducked behind the rocks and keyed his mic. “Steele. I found where they shot from, but no one here. I’m moving farther west.”

  “Roger, I’m at the river and following it west to the dam.”

  “Zerr, what’s happening?” Brad asked.

  “Pilot says we’re done here. We’re heading back to the airport. Stand by.”

  Brad gazed into the sky and picked out the running lights to the north. The lights headed east.

  “Sorry, boss,” Zerr said. “I tried to get him to put me on the ground, but he’s worried he wouldn’t have enough power to lift off. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Brad clicked the mic twice. Two on two. Those odds were okay. Even if the asshats had the advantage of being ahead of them, however, they were being hunted by predators. He’d bet on Steele and him any day.

  Brad crawled around the rocks and peered west. No movement and no sounds. He holstered his pistol, swung the rifle back into his hands and headed west. After about fifteen feet, he found the path and decided he’d follow it, keeping as close to the trees as he could.

  The path weaved through the thick forest. Ahead, the grim shadow of the dam loomed. Brad slowed just before the trees ended and the ground opened to shale and gravel—the area had been razed when the dam was constructed. He knelt behind a Douglass Fir and scrutinized from the dam to the trees and back again. No movement. No sound. A hundred yards in front of him, where the trees began again, there was nothing but darkness.

  To his right, he could make out the shape of the dam spillway and the churning water at the base. The only sound was the flowing, splashing water. Ahead, and to the left, were the sand caves he’d explored as a kid.

  Not caves—indents in the sand. If you went in one side, you’d come out another opening in about six steps. Still, it was above Brad’s position and would be another excellent location to lay in ambush.

  Brad stared toward the caves. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Still, he saw no movement. He calculated how fast he could cross the clearing. On a good day, ten to twelve seconds. More in the darkness. If he fell, he’d be an easy target.

  Flashes came from the cave, and gunshots echoed in the darkness.

  Brad rolled behind the tree. Branches snapped overhead. He rolled out from behind the tree, dodging the falling branches, aimed his rifle at the caves, and watched for the flashes.

  When the shots started again, he fired toward the ca
ve. He heard the ricochet of the bullets on rocks. Then, in his periphery, he saw a figure sprinting to the right.

  “Steele, suspect heading your way. East of the spillway heading into the open.”

  “Roger. I’m nearly there.”

  Bullets thudded into the trees around Brad. He crawled to a thick stand of trees. Then he worked his way through the thick overgrowth to the west. Maybe he could sneak past the shooter and come up from behind. It was slow fighting through the branches and trying to stay quiet. He glanced toward the river and saw the suspect was ten feet from the water. Steele would be on him any moment. The suspect planned to swim to safety. He was far enough from the spillway and out of the churning water that he might have a chance if he was an excellent swimmer. Well, to make it he’d have to be an Olympian.

  Steele yelled, “Stop.”

  Brad swung to the sound of Steele’s voice and saw the suspect turn toward Steele and fire.

  Brad’s gut flipped, his eyes widened, and icy chills swept through his body. “No.”

  As Steele crouched, a bullet slammed into a tree above his head.

  The suspect lowered the rifle and aimed.

  A dark shape raced toward Steele and drove him to the ground as a second bullet hit the mossy earth where Steele had been.

  Brad swung his rifle toward figure by the river and fired. The suspect stumbled backward into the river.

  A steady stream of gunfire from the cave hit near Brad. He ducked back behind the trees. With his back to the trees, he glanced at the river.

  He heard a splash and saw a dark shape bobbing in the river. Lobo swam to the suspect who was floating, face down, ten yards offshore.

  Brad leaned around the tree and fired at the cave. He needed to keep the shooter distracted to give Lobo time to drag the suspect to shore.

  Brad kept a slow, steady stream of bullets at the cave. When his thirty-round magazine was empty, he quickly switched out the empty mag.

  He glanced to his right and saw Lobo was at the shore, and Steele was wading out to them. Steele grabbed the suspect by the jacket collar and dragged him into the woods.

  “Who is it?” Brad asked.