by Mike Fosen
“Heads up,” Johnny warned. “Looks like more trouble up ahead.”
The officers came to a stop and exited their squad, noticing that the bangers did not scatter as they usually did.
“Hold up, Johnny. Something doesn’t look right,” Ryan said.
They stood cautiously just outside their open car doors. Taking a few seconds to more fully take in the whole scene, they saw people exiting from nearby homes and physically attacking the bangers. As more and more citizens joined the fray, it appeared that Ryan and Johnny were actually going to have to save the pathetic Vice Lords.
“Maybe we should let the locals get a few shots in before we save the tough guys,” Johnny said with a chuckle.
Ryan was about to reply when their radios blared out the terrified voice of Roy, Stephen’s partner, screaming for more units up in the projects.
Knowing that the cry for help from a fellow officer took precedence over a simple street fight, both Ryan and Johnny immediately turned to get back into the squad to respond.
Sudden gunshots exploded in front of them.
Johnny drew his service pistol and began to scan the crowd for the origins of the gunshots.
“Can you see who’s shooting?”
Ryan also had his pistol out and was calling out the shots fired location on his radio while scanning the chaos in front of him.
“There he is!” Ryan shouted, “Male Hispanic, red shirt, black hat!”
“Drop the gun!” Johnny yelled, and as the gangbanger cracked off more rounds into the crowd, both Johnny and Ryan engaged the gunman.
Several rounds hit the banger, who slumped to the ground motionless. Before they could congratulate themselves, another gang member turned and responded with a “spray and pray” salvo of return gunfire at the officers.
Several rounds peppered the squad car’s windshield. Ryan cried out in pain and cursed loudly.
“I’m hit, goddamn it!”
Johnny adjusted his aim, preparing to engage the new threat, when a young Hispanic woman fled out from among the huge mob and ran towards the officers screaming for help. Johnny was forced to hold his fire as the woman unwittingly ran into his line of sight. Cursing, Johnny took a moment to glance over at Ryan, who was crouching near the driver’s seat using the open car door as cover. The woman reached the squad car and now cowered behind Johnny for safety while Ryan returned fire. The second gunman screamed as he was hit by Ryan’s shots and then was literally rolled over by the still fighting mob. The skinny banger was now on the ground crying as he disappeared under a mound of flailing arms and the sound of…eating.
“What the fuck?” Johnny shrieked, staring unbelievingly at what he was witnessing. The mob appeared to be feeding on the fallen gangbangers like dogs at a food bowl.
Between the woman pleading for help behind him and Ryan shouting for him to get into the squad, Johnny was torn as to what to do.
Unfortunately for Johnny, the young woman made the decision for him.
In the confusion of what was happening, Johnny failed to notice the several bite marks along the woman’s arms. Nobody was more surprised than he when the lady who had begged for help savagely sank her teeth into his right arm. Shouting from the intense pain, Johnny reflexively shoved the woman down. Staring at the gaping wound where a chunk of his bicep was now missing, Johnny trained his pistol on the woman who was scrambling back to her feet, preparing to attack him again.
A roar from dozens of throats made him pause to look up at the large mob that was now descending towards the squad car with hatred in the eyes of all he could see. Knowing that it was a losing battle, Johnny jumped into the squad even as Ryan slammed the vehicle into gear. A very bloody Hispanic man in the front edge of the enraged group jumped onto the hood of the squad as Ryan stomped on the accelerator. Driving through a front yard to turn and head southbound, Ryan’s squad slammed through a fence and back down onto the street with the man still on the hood, hanging on by the windshield wipers.
Bleeding heavily from the bullet wound to his left shoulder, Ryan looked over at Johnny, who was now screaming in pain, more pain than a simple bite should have given him.
“Johnny, are you alright?”
When he didn’t answer, Ryan continued, “Hold on bro, I’ll get us to the hospital.”
Johnny had his head pushed back into the headrest with his eyes closed, teeth bared and clenched, with large veins snaking across his forehead.
Ryan currently had a lot on his plate. He was shot, his partner was injured, a crazy man was on the hood of his squad car, and he could not seem to be able to reach anybody over the radio, which was filled with frantic radio traffic. Still trying to drive, Ryan was shocked when he was attacked by Johnny, who suddenly reached over and grabbed him by the arm. Caught off guard by this new threat and with his squad still moving, Ryan crossed an intersection at a high rate of speed and struck a large oak tree on the south side of the street. The fight with Johnny inside of the vehicle pushed Ryan out of the path of the airbag enough to make him strike his head on the windshield support post of the car frame. With a sickening crunch, Ryan’s neck was broken, killing him instantly. The massive impact also jarred open Ryan’s car door, and his upper body slid lifelessly out of the car. The man who had been riding on the hood of the squad and was thrown off during the crash, jerkily got to his feet and stumbled back to the smoking squad car to feed. Still inside, Johnny growled in hunger as he leaned over and began to tear into his now dead partner’s warm, bloody leg.
* * * * * * * *
Stephen slammed the trunk lid shut and glanced down the length of the squad at the melee that looked even more violent than just a few moments before.
“Very strange, they usually scatter when somebody starts to crank off rounds,” Stephen mused while walking back up to the open driver’s door.
“Oh my goodness!” Roy squeaked. “I think people are eating each other down there!”
Just as Stephen was about to tell Roy to shut up again, he heard the several responding squads pass his location from the next block over. He could tell from revving engines and wailing sirens that the responding units were not staging on his location and planned on entering the projects as soon as they arrived. Stephen tried to warn off the arriving squads over the radio when he saw the first squad drive into the projects from around a blind corner. Before the car could even come to a halt, it was literally swarmed over by the enraged residents, which forced it to a jerky, awkward stop. The sounds of gunfire and breaking glass came from the densely packed mob which visibly flinched but did not break. People were now up on the squad as the emergency lights were kicked out. The officer did not even have time to get on his radio to request help.
“I think that was Wilson!” Stephen looked over at Roy, but he was no longer listening.
Almost on cue, several additional squads arrived around the same blind corner. Stephen was momentarily frozen in shock, watching in morbid fascination as what could only be described as a train wreck unfolded. The next squad crashed directly into the mob, pinning several brawlers between its push bumpers and a parked car. The squad tried to reverse and, in turn, backed into the third arriving squad, driven by Officer Langston. The last two squads veered off on both sides trying to avoid a similar fate. The first squad went left, smashing into a retaining wall at an angle and flipped over. The other veered right and crashed directly into a two-story housing unit, starting a fire.
Langston exited his squad, unsure whether to help the officer in the flipped squad or deal with the mob. He was forced to pull his service pistol, however, pointing it at a large shirtless man who he saw attacking a much smaller female, beating her savagely. Langston was shouting for the man to get on the ground from what Stephen could make out. Blood sprayed from the woman’s mouth, and at that moment Langston fired several shots, striking the man in his back and at the base of the neck, dropping him instantly. Langston must have had tunnel vision due to the shooting because he was staring
straight ahead when several attackers came from his right side uncontested.
Stephen finally broke the paralysis and began to run toward his fellow officer. “Langston! Get the hell out of there!”
Due to the roar of the mob and the fact that Langston was focused solely on his use of deadly force, he could not hear the warning. Stephen fired several shots wildly with his AR-15 at the attackers, knocking two of them down. Langston turned his head to the right just in time to be tackled by several male attackers. His pistol discharged three or four more times while he was overwhelmed.
“Langston!” Stephen grabbed his radio. “Zone one, officer down!”
He observed the next moments in slow motion. At the distance he was now, maybe what Roy said was right. It did look like they were eating one another. The screams from Langston were drowned out; the size of the mob on top of him was so large that he was no longer visible. Stephen carefully began to fire his rifle into the large pile of bodies with little effect. The bolt on his rifle locked back on the newly emptied magazine. It was precisely at that moment that the huge mob started to grind to a halt. Screams of pain and anger echoed off into the distance. His ears, ringing from the carbine’s report, adjusted to the now eerie silence. Stephen lowered his carbine, staring at the mob. His police radio crackled to life with dispatchers trying desperately to find out the status of the officers. The next sound was an empty magazine hitting the ground as Stephen pulled and seated a fresh one without looking down, just how he had trained the last three days.
The blood-soaked ground was now littered with bodies, some still moving. There appeared to be people fighting over corpses on the ground. Were the bodies being robbed or eaten? The woman that Officer Langston had given his life to protect now had his severed right arm in her hands. Backing up slowly to give himself some additional distance, Stephen heard his partner Roy scream.
“Let’s get out of here!” Roy screeched from inside the car, unexpectedly drawing the attention of the frenzied, blood-covered mob.
Stephen watched nearly every single head from the disgusting mob turn and look at him hungrily. Only a few seemed too engrossed in their task to notice. Roy squeaked in fear several yards behind him, and the squad door slammed shut, followed by the sound of the doors locking. As if that was what broke the spell, hundreds of voices roared in unison at Stephen with an intense hatred and unswayable hunger. They rose and began moving his way.
6
August 26
Day 1
Inside the house I finally located the stairway that stretched up out of sight into the deepening darkness.
“It’s dark as hell up there even though the sun is still up,” I told a small cat that scurried past me down the steps.
Seeing the light switch, I turned it on and began making my way up the creaking wooden stairway. Nearing the top of the stairs, I heard a loud thumping sound coming from a room at the back of the hallway that had furniture piled in front of it.
“Javier, this is the Joliet Police. I need you to step away from the door. I am coming inside. I need to talk to you,” I said in a loud, commanding voice.
Inside the room the thumping sound stopped and now was replaced by a deep growl.
Nice, now this bastard thinks he has beer muscles or something. I frowned. Well I’m not some skinny teenager he can smack around.
I started to grab furniture, tossing aside the pieces, and soon reached the door.
“Okay fucker,” I growled when something hit heavily on the other side of the door. “If you want to play, let’s do this!”
I ripped open the door and nearly got my face bitten off when Javier lashed out at me with his gnashing teeth. I could see the dried blood crusted around his mouth as his teeth clacked shut inches from my face. The only thing that stopped that from happening was my left forearm that came up and caught Javier under his jaws in the throat. I blasted him between the eyes with my right fist, knocking him back into the room. Adrenaline dumped into my bloodstream as I now realized that when Javier was knocked back, he had a hold of my radio mic cord. Now I stared at him holding one piece while the rest sat useless on my gun belt.
“Fuck me!”
Javier dropped the cord and came at me again but seemed a tad slower this time. Maybe it was from booze or drugs, or maybe it was the punch to the head.
Suspecting that he needed another, I crushed him with a combo right in the mouth.
As I mentally patted myself on the back, my new sparring partner Javier caught me off guard by not being knocked out cold and lunged at me, almost getting me into a bear hug.
Apparently Javier could take a punch!
Thinking fast, I redirected his momentum and pushed his head clear through the nearby plaster wall.
Now that had to hurt!
I figured that I now would be stuck babysitting this drunk fucker all night at the hospital. That thought vanished when Javier began pulling his head from the hole in the wall.
“What the fuck?” Now I was getting pissed. How was he still moving?
I could see bits of plaster and slivers of wood packed into several cuts on his face as he pulled himself free and looked hungrily back at me. I tried to talk to Javier, but he wasn’t hearing me. He must have been on PCP or some other drug which was helping deaden the pain. I grabbed Javier, gave him a leg sweep and knocked him to the floor. I tried to pin him to the floor and proceeded to handcuff his left wrist. Javier’s right arm was trapped under his body, and every time I reached for it, he tried to bite me. That, of course, just earned him several punches to various parts of the body and head. They sadly did not gain me one bit of compliance on Javier’s part.
He was going to be one sore motherfucker when his high wore off. I smashed him yet again with a forearm to the back of his head.
I noticed that Javier was burning up from an apparent fever and wondered if it was from the drugs or if he was really sick. Then he began to convulse so violently that I got off of him completely. Fear of lawsuits nowadays made cops very nervous when it came to claims of excessive force. There wasn’t a single lawyer who wouldn’t make the bullshit case that I was using excessive force in this instance. So I backed up into the hallway near the top of the stairs, and my spider senses kicked in, telling me to draw my service pistol. Seconds later from the dark room, Javier rushed me once again. I tripped over some of the furniture that was outside the door and fell backwards. Javier landed on top of me and immediately tried to bite me in the face and neck. His clawing hands grabbed me by the throat and began inching his head closer to me. Again I forced Javier’s head up, but he was a tad overweight, and my adrenaline dump was fading. His teeth edged closer to my neck. In desperation, I pressed my Glock into his ribcage and put two rounds into his side. He kept coming.
What the fuck! My ears were screaming from the loud reports. No effect? I should have stayed in bed this morning.
His snarling, drooling mouth was now mere inches from my jugular, I promptly went berserk. It was a bad habit I had during brawls that I blamed on my Norwegian Viking ancestors. A wall of red filled my vision, and all weariness fled as strength flooded my body. Roaring like a lion, I picked my opponent up off me and slammed him head first into the stairwell banister, which broke under his weight. Stalking up to Javier, who was trying to get up again, I grabbed the banister post and snapped it free. Using it like a war club, I proceeded to beat Javier’s skull to a bloody pulp. It seemed like hours when I finally regained my senses and noticed that he was no longer moving. Judging from the amount of blood and brain matter splattered everywhere, he damn well better not be.
Dropping the blood-splattered chunk of wood to the floor, I shook with fatigue and sank down into a nearby chair as the last traces of adrenaline left my system. After a few minutes passed, I looked over at the mangled person I was supposed to arrest.
“Shit,” I sighed. “I better call my supervisor because I think I just killed you.”
Getting up, I grabbed Javier’s wrist
and checked for a pulse. Yep, he was dead.
I retrieved my handgun from the floor and holstered it. They took our guns after a shooting, and I probably wouldn’t see it for a while. I then made my way back downstairs and out to my squad car to use my cell phone. As I stood there listening to recordings of “all circuits are currently busy”, I was thinking of the “Officer of the Year” award that I had in my grasp and had probably just forfeited due to the mess I made of Javier’s skull. I was sure photos would be all over the paper amid cries of police brutality.
Hanging up the phone in frustration, I opened my trunk to retrieve my crime scene tape, hoping to rope off the area for the evidence technicians and the ensuing crowd that was sure to show up.
“Man, my trunk is a mess,” I muttered as I shoved my gear around looking for the tape.
In the back of my mind, it registered that I no longer heard squad sirens, and without radio communications I had no idea what was or was not happening out there. I wanted to try the cell phone again, and when I turned to walk back to the driver’s side door of my squad, I jumped back when a car skidded to a stop next to me. I watched an attractive Hispanic woman get out of the gray Toyota Camry and start to run to the red brick grade school that was across the street.
The mostly Hispanic Columbus Elementary School had an after school program for the children of single or working parents, and I remembered that school just started up again last week. She stopped abruptly, screamed, and ran right back to me. A stumbling adult male wearing a blood-stained button up shirt and tie appeared from around the corner right behind her. The man had nasty wounds on both arms, and as he got closer, I could see he wasn’t approaching me for help. He had that same hungry, malicious look in his eyes that I was just forced to deal with a few moments ago. The woman took cover behind me, cowering in fear. I drew my pistol and told the man to stop and get on the ground. There was no response from him; in fact, he didn’t make any sound other than that damned ominous moaning sound that Javier had made.