“Bank robbery in progress, assailants are believed to be armed. ACPO authorisation granted to use reasonable force,” the voice replied.
“How many teams, over?” asked James.
“You and two other teams. Inspector Myers is overseeing the operation.”
“Car seventeen on our way. Over and out.” James put down the radio and turned to the driver. “Get us to Hough Lane, ASAP. Take Churchill Way and come in the east side, the local primary will be emptying now.” The driver slid the car into gear and set off at speed. James switched the sirens on and sat back in his seat.
Twenty minutes later and James was now positioned behind the bank on Hough Lane taking cover behind a dumpster. The rest of his team was with him. Their job was to watch the back of the bank in case the thieves inside tried to make a break out the back exit. ACPO had given them authorisation for 'use of reasonable force', so they had taken the MP5 sub-machine guns from the back locker of their armed response vehicle. His orders were to detain on sight, which meant only to use lethal force if there was immediate danger to life. He hated doing it, but several times in the past he'd had to shoot a criminal in the shoulder or leg to stop them from killing someone else. He was just waiting now, feeling quite gutted that he wouldn't get home on time.
* * *
Back at the front of the bank, inspector Myers was watching closely. He had been just about able to make out a scuffle inside in which it appeared that the criminals were fighting amongst themselves. He would never say it out loud, but he kind of hoped that they would just shoot each other and get this over with. At least that way there would be no innocent bystanders. But the scuffle had been resolved by the stocky looking man who he had been communicating with since he first spoke through the loud speaker. He turned to Ken. “The deadline passed one minute ago, what the hell is going on in there?”
“No idea, sir,” said Ken, “but you might want to try and find some way of ending this soon in case they carry out their threat.”
Myers looked around at the scene again. He picked up the bullhorn and addressed the robbers again. “The deadline you gave us has passed, what are your demands?” He waited for a response, but the stocky man didn't return the window. “Please respond,” he said through the horn, but he got nothing. He hadn't heard any gunfire. He picked up his radio. “Team two, this is Inspector Myers, please respond.”
“This is team two, James speaking, over,” replied a voice.
“James, has there been any movement at the rear of the bank, over?” he asked.
“No sir, no contact here, over,” said James.
“Okay, prepare for breach in five minutes. All teams prepare for breach in five minutes, over.” He put the radio down and turned to Ken. “Tell the paramedics to stand ready,” he ordered. Ken jogged over to the paramedics to pass on the message. Myers looked back at the bank and took a deep breath. “OK, this is it,” he said to himself.
At the west end of the street, Mike Heys was carrying out his given role to the best of his ability. The only side of the job he had never liked was that people didn't take PCSO's seriously. He had been telling the public for the past twenty minutes that there was an extremely dangerous situation and that they needed to move along, but still they all lingered. He kept looking back over his shoulder to see what the situation was, but due the sheer volume of people, he couldn't look long enough to see anything of interest.
A woman approached him. “Excuse me, what's happened?” she asked.
“Nothing to worry about, miss, there's just been a police incident, please move along,” he told her.
“What kind of incident?” she asked.
Mike was beyond caring at this point. He had been asked this so many times now he didn't care how he sounded. “Miss, just move along, there is nothing concerning you here,” he sternly said.
She pleaded with him, “Please, I'm supposed to be meeting my boyfriend, he works at the bank.”
“Shit,” Mike thought. He knew there would be hostages in the bank as the police hadn't entered the bank yet. Otherwise they would have attempted to storm it when they arrived. “What's his name?” he asked her.
“Simon McMahon. He's a teller at the bank.”
“OK, leave it with me.” He stepped away from her to use the radio. “Inspector Myers, this is Heys on the west side of the street, I have a woman here asking for news of her boyfriend. She says he works at the bank, has anyone heard from him, over?” He waited for a response but didn't get one. He thought it strange and looked up towards the scene of the incident.
When he looked up he immediately saw why he didn't get a response. Everyone on the street was now looking down to the east side at a huge wall of fog coming towards them. The fog was purple in hue, and reached as far up as anyone could see. As it came closer, the fog swallowed up any building it moved over, so thick that things just seemed to disappear into it. He heard a commotion behind him and looked back to see pedestrians stepping back, fear dominating their eyes. He looked back to the fog and saw it swallow up the roadblock at the east end of the street. Without realising it he was stepping back with the crowd now. It came closer, and it was when it swallowed up the armed response vehicles and inspector Myers vehicle, he turned and ran with the crowd. He didn't make it far before the first vapours came past him. Within seconds he couldn't see past the length of his arm. He tripped on something and tumbled to the ground. He felt dizzy. He was hearing things around him. Lots of people were screaming around him, and agonising screams too. In a daze he slowly covered his ears. He didn't realise at first but he was holding his breath, and it wasn't until something hit his abdomen that he let the breath out. He inhaled sharply, and in doing so he felt his lungs fill with the fume around him. He felt it burning slightly in his lungs. He coughed and spluttered and tried to look around him, but his vision was blurring. He felt his guts lurch upward as he vomited on the floor, then instantly blacked out.
Chapter 3
Martin awoke slowly. As his senses slowly came back to him, he realised he was led in a heap the floor. What had happened? He had absolutely no idea how he got there. He tried to remember what had happened and slowly the chain of events came back to him. He had looked out the window of the bank to see a thick cloud of purple fog cover everything. His first assumption was that it had been a tear gas of sorts, but why would the police set it off in the street? He had stepped back to the back wall of the bank with the hostages and his team mates. The fog crept in like a mass of cockroaches and filled the space of the bank to the point he couldn't see. He had felt dizzy and fallen over. Then he heard a man and woman scream, but not through fear, through pure agony. Had he not been so light headed the noise would have shook him the core, but he had blacked out while the screams had been going on. Who had screamed?
It was at this point he lifted his head. The fog was still lingering in the bank. He looked out the window and could see that the fog was thick out there, pressed against the window like the sea would press against the port holes of a submarine. He could see the street light outside the bank and just about make out the one across the street. The fact they were on told him that it had either gone dark while he was on the floor or the fog was so thick that it blocked out the sun. The only other lights were the still flashing blue lights of the police vehicles in the street. He couldn't see any movement out there. For all he knew he was alone.
“Alone?” he thought. He sat up straight and looked around. He called out. “Gaz? Conner?” He got no immediate response but saw on his left someone lying there. He pulled his mask off and got to his feet. Based on the gun in the person's hand he could see it must have been Dave. He got on his knees next to him. “Dave?” he said with a nervous tone sounding in his voice, and he removed Dave's mask. Dave's eyes were closed, he wasn't moving. His face looked quite peaceful. His dark hair was stuck in a funny way but other than that he just looked as though he was sleeping. He checked for a pulse and found it straight away. “Thank God,” he
said aloud.
He slapped Dave's face lightly and he started to stir. His eyes slowly opened and he looked around. He looked at Martin. “What the hell happened?” he asked groggily.
“I have no idea, but something weird is going on,” said Martin, “do you remember what happened?”
“Yeah, some gas or something came in. The last thing I remember was someone screaming.” He looked around and saw the fog still hanging in the air of the bank. “What is this, tear gas?”
“Like I said, I've got no idea,” answered Martin. He stood up and offered a hand to Dave. “Come on, get up,” he said. Dave took his hand and Martin pulled him up. The two of them looked around.
Still slightly dazed, Dave saw another one of the team on the ground ahead of them. “There,” he said while pointing. The two of them walked over to the person on the ground. Dave noticed the M4 lying close by. “I think its Conner,” he said. Dave reached out to touch him, but squinting through the low light he noticed something very odd. The white of the Rorschach mask was off coloured, stained a pinkish colour that didn't look too dissimilar from a bandage that had been wrapped around an infected wound. He pulled his hand back.
“What's happened to him?” asked Martin. He looked at Dave and Dave looked back. They were both looking a bit scared at this point. Martin moved slowly. He didn't know what he was going find, all he knew was something bad had happened to Conner, and he needed to find out what. He gripped the edge of the stocking mask, and slowly pulled it off.
What the two men saw nearly made them vomit. It was Conner all right, but not as they remembered him. His brown hair had mostly come off when Martin had pulled the mask off. The rest of his face was a mess. It was shiny as though covered in sweat, but everywhere the skin was cracked and weeping puss from what looked like lots of freshly burst boils on his face. His eyes were open and had glazed over with a milky colour. Martin didn't need to check for a pulse, he knew he was dead. At first he felt grief. His friend of ten years was lying dead in front of him but this feeling passed quickly. “What the hell is going on?” he said out loud.
Dave looked around and then noticed what he knew was Gaz on the floor across the room. He ran over and pulled his mask off. Martin saw that Gaz looked just as Dave had. His blonde hair was still attached to his head and he looked like he was sleeping. Dave shook him and he stirred. He came too and looked up at Dave. “What happened?” he asked.
“We don't know mate,” said Dave. He paused a moment, “Conner's dead.”
Gaz sat up with a jolt. “What? Dead?” he asked.
“Yeah, he's all messed up. This gas has done something to him. It’s done something to all of us by the looks of it.” He looked around and saw the hostages. Yvonne was led there looking peaceful, her brown hair tied up in a bun as it had been. He looked over and saw the young couple lying there also, but like Conner, it was instantly obvious that they were dead. The both of them were on the floor in an embrace, but their faces looked as though they were falling apart and most of the hair on their heads had fallen out. Martin walked over to Yvonne and shook her awake. As she stirred she caught his eyes and their gazes locked.
“Slowly get up and come with me.” Not recognising the face, she at first thought that the police had come in, that the memory of the gas she saw must have been from the police, knocking everyone out so they could break in and save them. It was only when she noticed the boiler suits on the three men stood around her she realised it wasn't the police. She looked to her right and screamed in fright when she noticed the three dead bodies lying on the floor.
“What did you do?” she screamed as she quickly jumped up from the floor.
“Nothing,” said Dave.
“You call this nothing?” screamed Yvonne, walking over to them with tears in her eyes.
“We didn't do this!” shouted Gaz, “One of our men is dead, there!” He pointed at Conner's body. He looked around and looked out the window. He saw the fog and pulled her to the window. “Look at that! You think we could do that?”
Yvonne calmed down slightly. She looked mesmerised. She just stood there looking out the window at the fog. She could see what everyone else could see. The street looked deserted, only the blue flashing lights remained to tell you that anything else untoward was happening that night. She walked to the door and tried to open it. It was still locked by the security alarm.
“How do we get out of here?” asked Dave.
“We can't,” replied Yvonne, “not while the alarm systems are still active.”
“Well can't we just shut them down?” said Gaz.
“No. The police have to reset the system, and I can't see any police out there.” Yvonne turned away from the door and walked back into the middle of the room. She stood over Conner's body and looked at it. “Who was this?” she asked.
“Conner,” Martin told her, “or 'Two', as it were.”
“So which of you is Dave?” She looked at the men. Dave held his hand up. “Well, I have a face for your name, so who are you two?”
Martin and Gaz introduced themselves to her by name. Martin pointed at the screens covering the counters. “Colin is on the other side of that screen with two of your colleagues.”
Yvonne looked at the screens. “Well let's hope they're all okay.”
On the other side of the screen, Colin and Craig had been awake for the past five minutes or so. Colin didn't remember much, only that Craig had panicked about gas and then he felt dizzy. The next thing he knew he was on the floor face to face with Simon's corpse. He had freaked out a little at first but when he realised Craig had also passed out, he figured that the police had stormed the building and it was just a matter of time before the screens came down and the police saw what he had done. Then he would be in jail for the rest of his life, and he felt like he deserved it.
Craig had also thought the police were coming in. He was getting impatient. “Come on, where are they?” he kept saying. He had lost all fear of Colin after seeing that he had fallen to pieces after he killed Simon. He started shouting at the screen. “Come on! Get me out of here!”
Colin decided it was time to say something. “Will you shut your mouth, they can't hear you or else they'd be in here.”
Craig put his hands behind his head in frustration and went to sit back against the wall. Suddenly everything went dark. The sudden blackness drove his frustration away like water drives rats. “What now?” he said in a panic.
Colin didn't respond. From what he could figure, the police must have cut the power. Now it would only take a few moments before the reserves for the security ran out and the system reset itself. Then the screens would come down and he'd be done.
* * *
Outside the rear of the bank, James had been awake for about ten minutes. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious for. One moment, he was attentively watching the back door of the bank and then next, he woke face to face with the facially disfigured corpses of his team. He had initially panicked, but then regained his composure and tried to raise someone on the radio. He had tried all channels but all he’d got back was static. The best thing he could do was sit tight. He sat against the wall of the bank clutching his gun. Looking around him he couldn't see much. The fog was so thick he could only make out details of things about two arms lengths away otherwise it was only silhouettes and the lights of the street lights being defused in the fog causing a halo effect.
He was feeling quite calm again until a couple of minutes previous when all the lights went out. Not even the moonlight was penetrating through the fog, so he had to switch on the torch fitted to the base of his gun. He could see things immediately around him, but beyond that it was just the purple hue of the fog. He wanted to move and look for his other colleagues, but there was no way he would find them in this. At least where he was, there was a door into the bank, but he didn't want to go in there because he knew what was in there. If the thieves were still alive, then they were still armed. He couldn't risk it alon
e.
While he pondered on the best course of action, he heard a noise. He perked up, straining to listen, but he then realised it was coming from him. His radio had sprung to life. Instead of static it was now beeping. Three short pips, three long pips and three short pips again. He immediately recognised the Morse code, 'SOS'. Someone else was alive, and needed help. He grabbed the radio. “Hello? Hello, come in.” He didn't get a response. “Hello, do you read me?” He waited, and then a voice came through the radio.
“Oh thank Christ!” it said, “Hello, who is this?”
“This is Thomas James. I am an officer in the armed response team. Who is this?”
“Mike Heys, I'm a community support officer. Come to my position, I'm at the west end of Hough Lane in the town centre.”
James didn't want to move. It was all well and good being told Mike was at the west end of the street, but if he couldn't see more than six feet in front of him, there was no way he was going to be able to tell which direction he was heading in. “Forget that, you come to me,” he said, “I'm situated behind the bank on Hough Lane.”
Mike's voice came again. “I can't see the bank, how am I supposed to find you?”
James thought a moment. “I'm armed. I'm going to fire a round off. You follow the noise, walk fifty paces and check in again with me. I'll fire another one and repeat until you find me. Okay?”
“Okay, go ahead. Just don't shoot me!” said Mike's voice. James pointed his gun straight into the air and fired a single round.
At the west end of the street, Mike heard the shot clear as a bell. He faced in the direction it came from and began slowly walking fifty paces in that direction. As he walked he counted, shining his flash light at the prime point on the ground so it was lighting up the point he could see furthest. Everywhere he shone it, it was the same. He saw dead bodies, and all of them with the same marks. The hair was missing on their heads and all the skin on their faces was cracked and oozing a pinkish coloured puss that wept out of what looked like freshly burst blisters. He was careful not to step on any of the bodies. He reached pace fifty and got on the radio. “Okay James, fire another one.”
The Purple Haze Page 3