Foul Play: Wipeout Book 2: (A Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Series)

by ES Richards

  “Listen,” Captain Banes started speaking, glancing around the briefing room and keeping his voice low, not ready to speak to anyone else just yet. “I think we might have to start scaling back on the prevention tactic and switch to a more protection-based system. We can’t stop all the bad from taking place, but we can protect those in danger or those who are hurt.”

  “What do you mean, sir?” Walter questioned, believing he knew what his captain was leaning toward but eager to hear it from the man’s mouth himself.

  “We don’t have the manpower to be going after petty thieves and looters like we have been anymore,” Captain Banes put it simply. “You know I’m the last person who would tell you to stop doing your job, but I think now if we have to decide between chasing down a carjacker or helping an injured child, we have to choose the child. We have to be there for the vulnerable and just hope that the bad people in this city don’t start to overrun it.”

  Walter furrowed his brow. He wasn’t happy with the captain’s suggestion, but he knew it made sense. He had been thinking the same thing as he made his way back to the precinct that day, forced to turn the other cheek on a couple of occasions due to not carrying his gun with him anymore. Walter understood that he was just one man and as New York became more and more unruly, it did make sense to try and help those in trouble rather than seeking it out for themselves.

  “I think it’ll be a hard pill for some of the guys to swallow,” he replied to Captain Banes. “But it makes sense. We’ll be more use to those who need it this way and hopefully be able to do some more good.”

  “Exactly. I’m glad you’re on board, Lieutenant.”

  “Are you giving the order now, sir?” Walter asked as he downed the contents of his cup of coffee, hoping to quickly get to the weapons room first so he could find a new gun. He needed to report his as stolen as well, the precinct still trying to keep track of their paperwork while they had the means to, though he could hopefully keep that off the Captain’s desk in the meantime.

  Captain Banes looked up at the clock on the wall. “Ten minutes,” he replied, “spread the word if you can. Let’s get as many bodies in here as available and then get you all out onto the streets.”

  “Yes sir,” Walter replied. “I’ll report back in ten.”

  Making his way to the weapons vault, Walter thought through what the captain had told him again. It wasn’t like they were being asked to give up their posts, simply look after them in a different manner. The oath Walter had taken when he joined the police force was to serve and protect and if that was best done by focusing on the latter part then so be it. People in his city were in trouble and Walter Davies would always do whatever he could to help them. His only slight concern was whether he would have the willpower to walk away from a blatant crime if he came across one, but only time would tell in that case.

  “What can I do you for?”

  The officer on duty at the armory was a woman Walter didn’t recognize. He smiled at her and bowed his head slightly, addressing her in a calm and courteous manner. Her name badge identified her as Jenkins, definitely a name that Walter wasn’t familiar with.

  “I got jumped,” he explained, tapping his empty holster by his side. “I need a replacement.”

  Officer Jenkins huffed and rolled her eyes, aware to keep her mouth shut even in the middle of a crisis. “I bet these people wouldn’t have dared try something like that a couple of days ago. They’ve lost all their respect; I don’t care how desperate they are.”

  “It is getting out of hand,” Walter agreed. “But we’re doing everything we can.”

  “I know,” she replied, reaching underneath the desk and handing Walter a form to fill out. “I think we need firmer measures in place though. It’s been days since Trident collapsed and we’ve lost far too many men to count now. We need to do something to keep our guys safe, otherwise we’re not going to stand a chance.”

  “The captain’s giving a briefing in five minutes,” Walter replied, reluctant to encourage the woman’s frustrations when he knew the briefing wasn’t going to give her what she wanted. “I can take over your post here for a bit if you want, we need as many people as possible to hear it.”

  “Oh yeah? Thanks,” Officer Jenkins replied, a hopeful expression on her face. She stepped out from behind the cage and headed toward the briefing room.

  When Walter had finished filling out his forms he left them underneath the desk and made his way into the armory.

  He found a replacement Glock 19 and grabbed a spare one just in case and left the armory. There was so much more available to him, but Walter had always been a pretty simple man and he carried out his duty in the same way. He knew he could do his job with the reliable standard issue handgun and – if needed – his fists; adding anything else into that mix usually only complicated matters and Walter knew he needed to be staying as sharp as possible now.

  He couldn’t deny he did want to listen to the briefing Captain Banes was giving, but as Walter already knew what the message would be, he stayed put. It was just as important to have all the weapons protected in case anyone broke into the precinct or tried something stupid. Too many of New York’s civilians were already armed and dangerous, keeping that number down would be one of the top priorities from now on.

  So, Walter waited for the briefing to be over and for someone to come and relieve him and as he did, he thought about how the city had already changed and how it would continue to do so. When the news first came out that Trident had been hacked and all the money was gone, like many people Walter didn’t really believe it at first. Then he assumed that the bank could just be bailed out and things would go back to normal; he had never imagined that things would end up like this.

  In one way, it was just like any other disaster. The main problem with New York City was its people, not the lack of money. Walter knew that would start to affect them soon and in serious ways, but for the time being the people reacting to the incident were the ones causing the trouble. Being a cop meant putting a lot of things on the line, but who you were as a person was top of that list. Dangerous situations normally revealed a person’s true colors and New York was discovering just how dark many of its people’s colors were. Walter could only hope that the new initiative they were about to implement didn’t highlight this further. He wanted to save his city and its people, but he knew that couldn’t be done if the bad overpowered what good was left.

  Chapter 15

  “Walter, we need you. We’ve got civilians trapped underground on the subway. Some people clearly didn’t get the memo not to use the stupid things during the blackouts.”

  Walter Davies sprang into action. Following the briefing given by Captain Banes he had been helping reassign officers across the city, focusing on the key areas where vulnerable people were amassing and in danger. This was not on the original bulletin though. They had been advising people not to use the subway for days now, they’d have shut it down if they could get a hold of any of the operators, the things running on an entirely automatic schedule nowadays.

  “What?” He questioned, pushing some papers to one side and standing up next to his fellow officer. “You can’t be serious. Where?”

  “Just a couple of blocks from here, near the 51st Avenue station.”

  “Right,” Walter checked his weapon was secure and started walking toward the doors of the precinct. “How many guys can we spare?”

  The man who had brought Walter the news was a detective about five years his junior called Matthew Naylor. He nodded in response as it dawned on him that meant he was going out on the case, folding up his sleeves and striding alongside the Lieutenant. “I’ll grab Dicky and Harris. Meet you at the front.”

  Walter nodded. Lewis ‘Dicky’ Dickinson and Harris Ledger were another two officers who he had never worked closely with prior to a couple of days ago. Like Matthew Naylor, they came from the 122nd on Staten Island, the only three who had made it across the bridge before the fifteen car
pile-up had closed that part of the city off from the rest. A huge tanker had rolled on its side and made the bridge impassable, those remaining on Staten Island were left to their own devices. Walter wasn’t sure what was happening over there now, they’d had no reports on how people were coping.

  The three officers were reliable men at least. They were dedicated to their jobs just like Walter was. By the time he reached the front door of the precinct, Naylor, Dicky and Harris were all ready and waiting.

  “Any idea how many people are down there?” Walter asked as they stepped onto the street, all aware that the quickest way to reach the 51st Avenue entrance was on foot now. “Or what they were doing getting on in the first place?”

  “People have still been using the tunnels to get around,” Naylor replied. “Gangs mainly, but civilians have witnessed them doing it and just assumed that it’s safe. No word yet on how many are down there right now though.”

  “How did we find out about this?”

  “Someone down there called it in,” Naylor explained. “Sounds like there was a sudden blackout and the train jumped tracks, colliding with another stationary carriage.”

  “Any injuries?”

  “At least three people trapped onboard, the rest got out through the emergency exits. The caller mentioned children though before the line cut out. We haven’t been able to get any further intelligence.”

  “Right,” Walter nodded as they all jogged toward the entrance, the four of them cut a rather imposing swath through the street as they moved. Everyone on the street stepped out of their way, melting quietly back into the shadows.

  “Evacuation procedures apply,” Walter gave the orders. “Get the children first, then the women and so forth. Try and keep off the tracks. We don’t know if the damn things are going to go live again. I don’t want any nasty shocks down there. We get in and we get out. Clear?”

  “Clear,” came the response echoed by all three men, the group now standing at the top of the steps down to the subway station.

  “How far in is the train?”

  “Don’t know,” Naylor shook his head. “We’re heading due east though.”

  “Alright. Lights on boys, let’s go.”

  Holding up his Glock with the attached flashlight switched on at the base of it, Walter began his descent into the subway station in search of the derailed train. The lights in the station were predominantly off, the rolling blackouts now leaving New York in darkness for the larger portion of the day. The further they walked toward the platform the less light from the surface reached them and before long the four men were relying entirely on their flashlights to guide them.

  Walter had been down in the subway like this just once before. A little over ten years ago he had been involved in a rescue team sent down into the tunnels when a train caught fire, a faulty electrical wire trapping a couple of hundred New Yorkers underground as it threatened to consume them all.

  He could still remember the thick cloud of smoke which greeted him as he arrived at the accident, being forced to suit up and head underground in full protective gear. Of the almost two-hundred civilians stuck underground, his team of policemen, firefighters and paramedics had managed to save one hundred and seventy-four lives. It was one of the greatest rescue missions the force had ever recorded, resulting in one of the many medals Walter had earned throughout his career being pinned to his lapel.

  Remembering that day as he entered the tunnels again, Walter kept his wits about him and swore he would do better. They might have saved one hundred and seventy-four lives, but they had also lost fourteen, including two children. To Walter, every life lost was a family that he had let down, that day inspiring him to fight even harder through the rest of his career, never leaving a man behind or a job half done.

  Cries of the people trapped on the train echoing through the darkness told Walter and the others that they were heading in the right direction. He wasn’t certain how many remained encased in the metal box, but for them not to have fled like everyone else told him they had to be trapped in some way. They continued to bang and shout, trying to find a way to escape, unaware that a team was on its way to them.

  The sight of the subway car as the four of them arrived and lit up the scene with their torches was horrifying. The front end of it was mangled beyond belief, the metal bent out of shape and crushed inwards from the force of the impact. As the people left inside noticed the light and the officers, their shouting and whimpering grew louder, desperate to be saved from their metal tomb. Seeing the emergency door at the rear of the carriage wide open, Walter indicated to the rest of his team to wait behind as he boarded the car.

  “Help us, please!”

  “We’re stuck. We can’t move.”

  A chorus of pleas tormented his ears as Walter stepped into the carriage, those that remained on board desperate for help. “It’s okay, stay calm,” he spoke as he took in the scene, finding five people trapped by the bent metal which had resulted from the impact. “I’m Lieutenant Walter Davies with the NYPD, we’ve come to get you out of here. First thing – are any of you hurt? Is he breathing?”

  Walter was reluctant to move any closer to the group until he’d gathered more information about what happened. He didn’t want to put them in any more danger, the five of them – one man in particular who was motionless though based on the other’s response to his question, thankfully only unconscious – looking like they were in a great deal of pain. The subway was concaved on one side, the wall of the carriage crushing the victims against the other panel, leaving them with no room to maneuver out and escape like the rest of the passengers. Shaking his head, Walter was disappointed that no one had stayed behind to try and help them.

  “I can’t feel my legs anymore man,” one man replied in a panicked voice. “You need to get us out of here. I can’t move. You need to help.”

  “Calm down,” Walter repeated, indicating out of the open subway door with his hand that Naylor, Dicky and Harris could come on board. “We’re going to get you all out but we’ve got to be rational about it. That guy,” he indicated to the unconscious one, “what happened to him?”

  “He was knocked out in the crash,” a woman replied, speaking with a more level tone than the man before her. “He’s lost some blood from a cut in his head, but other than that I think he’s okay. Please,” she paused, taking a deep breath to try and steady herself. “I’m pregnant. I sent my son down the tracks with everyone else when they fled for help. Did you see him? He’s twelve; short dark hair. I didn’t want him to get stuck down here like us. Do you know if he’s okay?”

  Walter faltered, not remembering passing by a child of that description on their way into the tunnel. He turned to Dicky and gave him a nod, indicating that the officer re-trace their steps back through the tunnel and look for the little boy, along with anything else they could use to help free the victims.

  “We’ll find him ma’am,” he assured the woman. “And we’ll get you and your baby out safely, don’t you worry.”

  “You need to hurry pal,” the same man from earlier urged Walter on. “I think I’m losing the use of my legs.”

  Walter nodded; it was obvious the man was in a state of panic but it was nothing the Lieutenant wasn’t used to. He’d developed a way of tuning out the screams and cries of people over the years, allowing himself to focus on the task at hand without being distracted. Some may say it was callous, but it helped Walter to think and to find the most efficient way to help people.

  The five ahead of him were a diverse bunch. They were all lined up beside one another due to the way the crash had moved them: the panic-stricken man occupying the farthest position in the line. The woman was next to him, followed by a younger girl in her early twenties, the unconscious man and finally another woman whose eyes darted around the train carriage as she mumbled under her breath. Watching her lips move to help him focus on her voice better, Walter quickly determined that she was speaking in another language, a foreigner w
ho was likely not a native to New York.

  “What’s the plan, sir?” Naylor asked in a hushed voice, the three remaining officers – now Dicky had returned to the tunnel – still standing several feet away from the trapped victims. “Do you think we can get them out?”

  “We have to,” Walter replied firmly, “that’s what we’re here for. Give them some water,” he instructed Naylor, aware of the increasing temperature in the subway tunnel and feeling rather uncomfortable himself because of it. “Harris – I want you to get up onto the roof and see if you can open that access hatch above them. Hoisting them up might be the simplest option.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Do any of you have any wiggle room at all?” Walter asked as Naylor handed out bottled water and Harris slipped out into the tunnel. “You ma’am – could I get your name please? Actually, all of your names would help.”

  “Come on pal!” The panicked man burst out in frustration, slamming his balled fist into the side of the car and creating a loud bang. “Just get us out, who gives a rat’s ass what our names are.”

  “Sir, I’d rather you didn’t do that,” Walter replied. “We’re balancing on the edge of the tracks here and we don’t know how secure these tunnels are if at all. We’re doing everything we can to help you, but we need you to cooperate as well.”

  “Idiot,” the younger woman sneered, opening her mouth for the first time. “I’m Allie. Uninjured but getting pretty uncomfortable. My ankle is trapped between the seats I think.”

  “We’ll get you out of here, Allie,” Naylor smiled at her as he stood beside her, taking an instant liking to the young, blond woman. “You can count on me.”

  Walter struggled to stop himself from rolling his eyes as the other woman spoke up, introducing herself as Phoebe and the man reluctantly barking out the name John as she nudged him in the side.

  “I think her name is Maja,” Phoebe offered in reference to the foreign woman at the other end of the line. “She hardly speaks any English though.”