Gray Skies

by Justin Bell

  He signaled to Angel who nodded and returned the signal. Winnie signaled as well, pumping her hand in the air, fingers clenched around her pistol. Greer closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “So all of us, then?” he asked. “We’re just going to flush all of our lives down the toilet?”

  Max nodded. “Broncos won the Super Bowl a couple of years ago. I lived long enough to see the Avengers. I’ll never find out who Rey’s parents were, but they’re probably nobodies, anyway.”

  “You’re such a nerd,” Brad replied, chuckling.

  “Both of you are pretty light-hearted for kids who may be about to die.”

  Max’s face firmed up and he lifted his revolver, slipping another speed loader from his pocket and jacking it into the chambers. Brad checked his own magazine, while across the parking lot, Winnie and Angel repeated the motion.

  It was now or never. Do or die.

  “Let’s do this.”

  The roaring was loud and near deafening, and Angel’s proclamation was barely audible, but his movement was visible as he charged to his feet, M4A1 shouldered and firing. One gunman flew backwards under the sudden, unexpected barrage, but three others turned on him, lifting their weapons, and drawing down on the charging man, preparing to drop him where he stood.

  All three of them lowered their weapons. Their eyes widened as they stared up into the darkening night sky, the thunderous noise overwhelming now, a physical presence, looming over them. Winnie followed the track of their stares, looking up into the sky herself.

  What she saw felt like a miracle.

  The modified AugustaWestland AW139 transport helicopter swooped in low to the ground, its black belly blotting out the emerging moon. It was surprisingly large to the people on the ground, the width and length of a good-sized bus, five thick blades whacking in the night air. Winnie’s eyes widened, suddenly realizing that the noise they’d heard was approaching rotors, a sound she’d grown to know and understand during her life but had already become so alien even three weeks after the incident. A series of square windows sat along each side, and twin rocket pods were mounted to each side of its fuselage. Both pods burst with rapid-fire punches of smoke and flame, miniature projectiles spiraling through the night sky down towards the entrance to the Lakeview Mall.

  The first barrage of smoke trails punched into the black van then detonated, tearing it apart, shredding its metal hide and throwing chunks of vehicle in wide, rippling arcs. Small blasts of smoke chased chunks of parking lot as it exploded upwards, throwing black-clad gunmen into clumsy cartwheels and backwards somersaults. Three intertwining rockets slammed into the hood of the parked sedan, blasting the entire front end to nothingness, picking up the car, tipping it backwards, and crashing it down on its crumpled hood. Gunmen spun and fell, thrown in lazy arcs, while still others scattered, desperately trying to get away from the sudden violent assault.

  Dipping, then recovering, the large helicopter pulled its nose up and settled down onto the parking lot, the whirling propellers kicking up dirt, dust, and debris, blasting down upon Angel and Winnie. A side door slammed open and a man in dark blue tactical gear with the letters “FBI” stenciled on his armored vest leaped out, chased by a second operative in the same uniform, only with a spill of red hair emerging from beneath her thick, black helmet. As the propeller spun down to silence, a third commando emerged, dressed in similar gear, but with a backwards baseball cap and a full brown beard pulled tight over his round face.

  The lead operative sported an M4 carbine and squeezed off a swift barrage of shots, dropping one of the few remaining standing gunmen, while the one with red hair broke right and opened up, dropping two more. The rest of the group pulled back into the mall, running for cover with their tails between their legs.

  Slowly the lead soldier moved towards Winnie, easing a helmet off his head.

  “Evening,” he said in a southern accent, just hinted with a Hispanic twinge. “Name’s Ricky Orosco. Brandon Liu called for me.”

  ***

  “You know, we were keeping you around to use you as bait,” said Cavendish as he paced back and forth in front of Rhonda, Phil, and Brandon Liu. “And from the sounds of things outside, the bait’s officially worked. Maybe we don’t need you so much anymore. And maybe we’ll just have to kill you before you find out where your precious daughter is.”

  “You know where she is?” Rhonda demanded, her eyes widening. “You know?”

  Bruce looked over at Karl Green, who was smiling a wide, tooth-filled smile. One of the men saw his motion and lifted a pistol, aiming it for Liu’s temple.

  “I wanna kill this one first,” he sneered. Liu could take a good guess why. He tensed his muscles and closed his eyes, bracing for the swift sound that would end his life. Brandon hadn’t spent much time thinking about the way it might go, but honestly, he thought he’d be more afraid. More resistant. More…anything. Maybe nuclear holocaust puts your head in a different place.

  He heard it then, the low whumping outside, the increasing volume of beating wings, an orchestra of sound coming from above and behind them, and he knew it wasn’t his imagination. It wasn’t some strange afterlife hallucination, as the surrounding others were looking, too, glaring out the front entrance to the mall, faces screwed up in wonder.

  The impact was swift and sudden, a rolling wave of heat punching through the front windows followed by the wall of sound and fury. It shot through the lobby like a rippling wave, knocking them all from their feet, sending them sprawling as fire engulfed the front of the structure, swallowing the vehicles parked there.

  Liu scrambled to his feet as the man with the pistol did the same, then Liu charged forward, swinging his arm. The dangling handcuff lashed out like a weapon, smacking the man in the left temple, splitting skin and sending him back down to the ground, his weapon clattering. Brandon dove towards it, scooping the gun up, and rolled over on his back, narrowing in on one of the other gunmen. He fired twice, knocking the man backwards onto the floor, his head bouncing off of tile and his pistol flying from splayed fingers. Rhonda moved quickly, ducking and diving, scrabbling across the floor, and latched her fingers around the handle of the pistol. She swung it around, firing towards the remaining gunmen. Karl Green broke away, turning and running for cover in one of the small shops while Bruce ducked and moved towards the fountain. Three more gunmen scattered as Phil came up behind Rhonda and scooped her up, dragging her roughly to her feet and pulling her back toward the mall entrance. Liu fell in next to them, squeezing off a series of shots toward the scattering gunmen as they tried to work their way back towards the glass doors and windows separating the mall from the broken and smoldering wreckage of the vehicles outside.

  From far down the main aisle, they could see black uniformed commandos spilling out into the mall, each one armed with automatic rifles.

  “We gotta make ourselves scarce!” shouted Phil.

  Chattering gunfire exploded from the other end of the mall, smashing chunks of tile up into the air and around their legs as they back pedaled, then turned and dashed towards an empty pretzel stand to their left. There was a short waiting area, then a full width counter, and the three of them dove and scrambled over it as bullets rocketed the floor and walls, shattering glass. They came up into crouches on the other side of the wide counter.

  “Okay, so we got free,” Liu whispered. “Now what?”

  “This place got a back door?” Rhonda asked, looking up over Liu’s shoulder.

  “In a pretzel shop? They got a kitchen back there, but that’s about it.”

  “So you’re saying we’re trapped in here?” Phil asked peeking up over the counter, waiting for the gunmen to charge through.

  “I guess that all depends on how many bullets you got.”

  Rhonda popped the magazine out of the pistol, then looked up at Liu. “Not nearly enough.”

  Down the main aisle of the Lakeview Mall, the thundering approach of running feet echoed like the hooves of the
Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

  ***

  “So, tell us again just who the hell you are?” Greer asked the new arrivals as they crouched down behind the transport helicopter. The surrounding parking lot was cleared and quiet, the three operatives in FBI tactical gear huddled on the opposite side of the transport craft, circled by Greer, Angel, Brad, Max, and Winnie.

  “I’m FBI Agent Richard Orosco,” he said. “Based out of Houston, Texas. I’ve been working with Agent Liu on an investigation related to the nuclear explosions. Several hours ago I received a mysterious message from Liu that just said ‘Lakeview Mall, Peoria. 911.’ I rounded up a couple of people and came to check it out.”

  “We know Agent Liu,” Max said. “He’s helping us try to find my sister. He’s in the mall right now with our parents, but we don’t know if he’s even still alive.”

  “Then we best get in there and get him out,” said Agent Fields.

  Greer looked over at her.

  “Sorry. You can call me Fields. I’m with the FBI and serve with Ricky.” She nodded to the guy next to her. “This is Agent Harrison, he’s the pilot.”

  Harrison nodded and flashed a mock salute, slapping the side of his cap with extended fingers.

  “So what kind of force are we looking at in there?” Orosco asked.

  “We’re not sure of exact numbers,” Greer replied, “but we believe there are several. Enough that they could risk sending fifteen of them out here to defend the entrance.”

  Orosco looked over towards the mall and the smoking, ruined heap of vehicles that now barricaded the entrance, burnt out husks with the motionless bodies of Green’s men scattered about, arms splayed and weapons discarded like useless toys.

  “If we want to get your parents, and Agent Liu, out of this alive, we need to move fast,” Orosco said. “They know something’s going on, and if they feel threatened, I expect them to start shooting.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Winnie said.

  “Well, there’s the whole not rushing in and getting killed thing,” Harrison piped in. “What’s the layout?”

  Winnie ran through the overall design and layout of the mall and relayed what limited information she’d gathered when she was in there. Angel dumped the duffel bag on the ground and weapons and ammunition were handed out to willing participants.

  Greer and Angel restocked their supply of magazines for the AK-12 and M4A1 while Max grabbed a handful of speed loaders for his revolver. Brad retrieved the .380 caliber ammo he needed for the Ruger, and Winnie stuffed nine-millimeter rounds in her pockets.

  “Dang, y’all have an arsenal in there,” Agent Fields said, smiling at the bag at their feet.

  “We’ve run into some nasty individuals,” Greer replied and Orosco looked over towards the mall.

  “Yeah, that much is clear.” He lifted his weapon and checked ammo levels, with Fields and Harrison repeating the motion, all three of them carrying M4 Carbines modified for full auto. “Where are your parents and Liu now?” he asked.

  “My parents were in a clothing store directly to the right as you enter the mall, but I slipped mom a knife and they may have worked their way free,” Winnie said. “Brandon was in a candy shop across the way, first left as you enter. He was in handcuffs, so he may still be shackled there.”

  Orosco nodded, then turned to Harrison and Fields. “You heard that. Careful aimed fire. I don’t want any civilian or CBP agent deaths on my conscience, you get me?”

  Both of his agents nodded.

  “Are you all ready?” he asked the rest of the team, and everyone acknowledged. “We don’t know what’s in there, who’s in there, or what they’ll be coming at us with, so everyone needs to be prepared for the worst. Are you with me?”

  Everyone nodded again.

  “All right,” Orosco said, “follow my lead. Clear each room and move on. Aimed fire. This is not a game, this is not a training exercise; we have lives on the line in there.” Everyone nodded their heads in understanding. “All right…let’s do this! GO GO GO GO GO!” he shouted, turned, and ran towards the entrance, Harrison and Fields on his flank, with Angel and Greer behind them. The three kids drifted to the rear. Orosco slammed his back up against the side of the burnt-out van, glancing over the crumpled hood and through the shattered glass into the mall.

  “I’ve got hostiles, lots of them!” he shouted back, his eyes darting from figure to figure as they progressed down the center aisle, checking individual stores.

  “I got eyes on targets,” reported Fields, pressed flat against the second car on the other side, weapon held close to her chest.

  “Movement by the front entrance!” they heard a voice shout from deep inside the structure, followed by sporadic bursts of weapons fire, light chatters of semi-automatic weapons peppering the floor and car with rapid metal thumps along the other side.

  “Head down, head down!” shouted Orosco, pulling his own back behind the van. “Harrison, you got anything?”

  The helicopter pilot, who was also well-trained at close quarter combat, huddled behind the rear of the sedan, and he swung up, shouldering his weapon, peering through the mounted scope. He took half a second to aim, then pulled the trigger with three quick yanks, the weapon bucking in his hand.

  “One down!” he shouted, then adjusted, spotted another, and fired again, sending another figure tumbling backwards. “Two down!”

  Return fire peppered the back of the car where he was, sparks dancing up along the metal surface and Orosco drew in a breath and pushed forward, weaving between the van and the smashed car that was halfway through the glass opening.

  The full glass front entrance of the shopping mall, which divided the front parking lot from the entry of the mall interior, was smashed through by the sedan, one vehicle half inside and half outside the shopping area. The hood jutted in through broken glass and extended into the shallow area of the inside of the mall, jagged shards of entrance window scattered in a wide fan along the grungy tile floor of the promenade.

  As soon as Orosco cleared the second vehicle, coming in from the parking lot to the inside of the mall, he moved left, narrowly avoiding a barrage of return fire, and Fields followed him, rounding the other side of the smashed sedan. Orosco fired swiftly and carefully, knocking down one gunman, while Fields curled around the crumpled hood, sighted, and fired, dropping a fourth. Orosco belted another series of shots but missed his targets while veering left towards the candy shop.

  “Nobody in here!” he shouted as he glanced in, then moved a few steps deeper inside to avoid gunfire. Across the aisle, Fields worked her way into the clothing store.

  “This one’s empty, too!” she shouted.

  “They’re not there?” wondered Winnie aloud.

  Greer pushed forward himself, moving deeper into the mall, aiming with the AK-12 and opening up with full auto in an attempt to keep heads down.

  “Watch it!” Angel shouted, coming in on Greer’s right, spotting one of Green’s men coming out of a shop up ahead, approaching from his blindside. Angel fired twice, and the man slammed back against a wall, then toppled back into the store and out of sight.

  Bullets flew up and down the main corridor, cutting the mall in half lengthwise as the team moved deeper into the structure. There seemed to be no end to the approaching horde of enemy combatants, and for each one they knocked down, two more seemed to appear, but in practiced, calculated motions, Orosco, Fields, and Harrison grabbed cover, returned fire, and grabbed cover again, starting to whittle through the crowd of enemies.

  Max ducked and moved right towards the clothing store, his eyes lingering on the scattered bodies of the injured and dead, as if the impact of these deaths was finally settling down around him. He slowed as he moved, appreciating the seriousness of what they were doing and the gravity of the tiny pieces of lead he shoved into the chamber of his weapon.

  It wasn’t a game. All of those dead bodies had mothers and fathers. Many of them had brothers or sis
ters. Friends. The glass window at the front right of the clothing store exploded in a shower of translucent razors and he shifted left, angling for the entrance, just making it in before gunshots tore up the tile where he had been. Spinning around, he looked for Brad but couldn’t see him. Winnie was moving towards Orosco in the candy store, firing her Beretta, but not hitting much that he could see.

  “Move with me, kid,” Harrison said, coming up behind Max. “I’m making my move for the next store; ride in my shadow.”

  Max nodded as the pilot drifted from the clothing store and headed right, making a beeline for the next store with Max close behind, his pistol clutched in two hands. The gunman appeared with no warning, leaping out of the same store they headed for, weapon drawn and firing, and Harrison made a strange shouting choke before scrambling backwards and rolling across the floor, taking the brunt of the enemy’s attack. As soon as Harrison flew away, Max had his pistol up in his hand and fired three times into the chest and face of the man who had shot the FBI agent, and he spiraled backwards, tumbling to the ground, all while Max moved past him and into the store.

  “Harrison!” shouted Fields from several yards away. “Harrison’s down!”

  “Can you get to him?”

  “I’ll try!” Fields moved forward, staying low, her weapon raised, but as she moved halfway across the aisle, two gunmen charged from her left. She swiveled but knew in an instant she was going to be too late as they came upon her, and she was about to mouth a silent prayer.

  Gunfire rattled from one of the areas behind them and both gunmen sprawled forward, their weapons pointing upwards, bullets riddling the ornate, pointed skylight, showering everyone below with broken glass. Fields lungs released, and she breathed again as she realized she was still alive and saw three people clamoring out of the pretzel shop that had been behind the two approaching would-be assassins.

  She turned, weapon raised.

  “We’re friends!” shouted one of the people, a woman holding a pistol.

  “Mom!” shouted Winnie from behind Agent Fields, and the redhead turned around, seeing the young girl sprinting across the floor in a clumsy, limping gait.