Shockwave

by Norm Applegate

  He was dressed like them. SWAT police garb.

  One guy was in front of the other. Scanning, looking down the hallway. The other guy was moving side to side behind him. They were bent over, knees bent, nervous.

  Redell had thought about this. He could have locked himself into the room. Waited till the shooting started and walked out dressed like a cop. But he needed a cover. Needed things to be all messed up.

  There was no place to run.

  Both guys were getting closer. Redell waited.

  Redell slid down the wall. Crouched on his knees. The nose of his Glock 19 stuck in the crack. He had ten rounds in the pistol. He didn't need all of them; he was an accomplished shooter.

  The first guy was eight feet away. Close enough? Redell wouldn't miss.

  The first guy looked at the door and turned. He saw it slightly ajar. He looked down; saw a shadow on the floor under the door. He glanced along the crack of the door. His eye opened up. Wide as saucers. He saw a gun barrel pointed at him. He began to move to his left. Began to swivel his body to the right. Wanted to get his rifle pointed toward the door.

  Redell squeezed the trigger. Fired one shot. The man's head snapped back. A red dot appeared on the inside of his nose just below the forehead, in the corner of his right eye. The round exploded through his skull. Twirling its way into his brain. The bullet flattened out, became wider. Blew out the back of his head, killing him instantly. Red splatter hit the wall. Lots of stuff followed the bullet, sucked out in a fine mist. His body dropped to the floor. Straight down. Made a thud noise when it hit.

  The second guy squeezed one off. Didn't know what he was shooting at, just aimed at the door and fired. He was shook up, scared, panicked. But he shot too high.

  Redell was calm. He'd done this before. Knew what it felt like to be under fire.

  He moved the Glock slightly. Aimed at the second guy. Fired once. The round smashed the guy’s teeth. Blood. Deflected the bullet shattering the guys jaw. The guy froze. His mouth hung open. He was in shock. Redell fired again. The second bullet pierced the guy's throat. The guy dropped his gun. Fell to his knees. Slumped against the wall. His hands went to his neck. His legs were splayed out on the floor. His right leg was quivering, trembling. He had black leather gloves on, shooters gloves. Blood ran out between his fingers. He was gasping for air, coughing. Redell watched him for a moment, enjoying the kill. Then he fired again. Blew a piece of his face off. Looked like his cheek exploded. Tissue went flying into the air. Landed on the ground wet, white skin. The guy collapsed, went limp. Stopped moving. Stopped breathing. He was dead, both eyes staring upward. The back of his head was missing. Redell stood up. Opened the door. Quiet for a moment looking at the two dead cops.

  Gunfire erupted, quick bursts of bullets. His two guys in the front room were firing. Screaming, yelling at the cops. Redell walked along the hallway. He was behind them. They didn't see him at first. He counted the number of bullets he fired, four. He had six left in the gun. He raised the Glock to shoulder height. Started firing. Hit one of his men in the back. Lower back just above the belt line. Maybe an inch to the right of his spine. Paralyzing. His legs gave out. The guy's body dropped to the floor. He was waving his arms around, trying to get up but the legs weren't working. Redell didn't wait, fired again. Had two guys to kill, knew he had to move quickly. Caught the guy in the back of the head. He was dead. The bullet came out through his face. One eye was missing. Blood leaked out on the floor. A big puddle.

  The second guy turned around. Shocked to see it was Beau Redell shooting at them. He stood still, confused, wondered why.

  Redell looked at him, smiled and opened fire. Three quick rounds. All to the head. Close spacing, maybe a three-inch diameter. The guy's face disappeared. Mostly covered with blood. He fell forward hitting the floor. Redell walked over and pumped a bullet into the back of his head. There wasn't much to hit. It was kind of mushy, skull was missing. So

  His gun was empty. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Slapped in a ten-round single stack magazine and chambered a round.

  Redell heard a noise behind him. Someone was coming through the back door. He turned. Pistol at shoulder height. Arm extended. Held his breath. He saw a shadow moving along the wall. Followed its movement with his gun. It stopped at the two dead cops. Started moving again. Coming toward him. He tensed, ready to shoot. His trigger finger was jumpy. The person got close.

  Major Ken Ore entered the room.

  Chapter 39

  Agent Miller was listening to the police negotiator when the agent called the farmhouse. He heard it ring, heard it pick up. He motioned to his men to start moving when Beau Redell hung up the phone.

  The first shotgun blast was muffled. Just a pop.

  Miller and his men knew what it was. It had started. They picked up the pace. Took them only a few seconds to get down the hill. The ground was hard, good for running on.

  Miller saw a group of men enter the barn. They were too far away to shoot.

  They kept running. They were on flat ground now. But out in the open. Miller motioned for his men to spread out. Less of a target then being packed tight. To his right he could see police cars. A line of them racing down the road and pulling into the farm. Overhead, a helicopter circled.

  The second shotgun blast was louder.

  Major Ken Ore broke away from the group.

  "I'm going to the farmhouse," he yelled.

  He was running fast, in good shape, military shape.

  Miller turned to him and nodded. He was focused on the men going into the barn and the gunshots. They had watched the bombs being planted in the field. But it was tricky. Things looked different from up on the hill. Miller could hear his men panting, out of breath. He was in front of them, adrenaline pumping.

  The third shotgun blast was from inside the barn. Miller was sure of that.

  He suddenly felt pressure on his back, came right through his chest. Something from behind, possibly beside him. He was falling. Falling through a cloud of dirt. Extending his arms out in front, he was bracing for the impact. The ground was racing toward him. His ears were humming. Couldn't hear. He hit hard. Skidded along the grass. He was on his stomach. Spread eagle. A fine layer of earth covering his face. He looked to his left. All of his men were down. One of them crawling on his hands and knees. Others like him, flat to the ground. They were stunned, confused. He counted. One was missing. Then another.

  A bomb went off. Men died. One of Miller's men had stepped on it. Two of them felt pain. The delay was a fraction of a second. Too quick to notice. Then it exploded. They didn't see it. Didn't hear it. There wasn't much left. Wet body parts on the ground. The earth moved. Vibrated with the shockwave.

  Miller could hear sounds. Moaning. Dirt falling from the sky hitting around him. He took a deep breath. Coughed out something gritty. Wiped his eyes clean. Looked at his men. Agent Hammon's mouth was moving. He was saying something. He looked different. A panicked look. But there was something else. Something red was running down his face. Blood. Miller's hearing came back. The sounds of his men were louder.

  "You all right? Miller, are you okay?" Hammons yelled.

  Miller sat up. He nodded. Pointed to his face.

  "You're bleeding," Miller said.

  Hammons felt his face. Felt the warm wetness against his fingers. He looked at them. Rubbed them together. Disbelief. He got up slowly. He was looking at the death scene.

  Miller stood up. Staggered to Hammons. Both men stood for a beat. Looking at what was left of the two men. Body parts. Miller was sure they were body parts. He'd never seen a human body turned inside out and dismembered into a billion pieces. He wasn't sure who he was looking at. One man or two. The larger clumps told him it was two. He had a hard time looking away. He could smell blood, almost taste it.

  Miller motioned to his men to keep moving. He wasn't sure it was the right thing to do. Two of them dead in the line of duty and they were marching on. Seemed like someo
ne should say something. Something religious, he thought. Maybe hold up for a minute and think about their wives. What they're leaving behind. Did they have children? Miller didn't know. He felt ashamed. His men walked past him. He stood staring at the carnage. Recalling what they had looked like. Trying to remember their faces. Trying to remember the last thing they said. Hammons tapped him on the arm.

  "Let's go," Hammons said.

  Miller stood still. Eyes fixed.

  "Hey," Hammons yelled.

  Miller lifted his face. Looked at Hammons. Nodded.

  Miller was thinking about his wife, Tracy. What would happen if he died? What would his two kids do? They'd miss him. He'd miss them. A boy and a girl.

  Hammons was a few feet ahead when Miller turned around. He could see his men spread out moving slowly toward the barn. He was on rubbery legs. Started walking. Getting angry. Seeing the bloody mess in his mind. Seeing his wife's face. His kids. He moved faster. Started to jog. Caught up to his men. Cursing under his breath. Gripped his rifle harder, his M4 carbine. White knuckles. Squeezing as hard as he could. He started running. He passed his men. He was going to lead them into battle. He wanted revenge. He wanted to kill.

  They were forty feet from the barn doors. Miller could hear sounds inside. Walking and crunching on broken wood. He placed his trigger finger gently to the metal trigger. Raised his other arm motioning to his men to spread out. He wasn't sure how many were inside. He glanced to his right. Looked at the farmhouse. Couldn't see Major Ore. One of his men had his back to the barn wall, a few feet from the door. He was listening. The guy looked at Miller then dropped to his knees. His rifle pointed at the door.

  Miller knew what this mean. They were trained for this. Someone was approaching.

  The door opened. A man stepped out. Big man, tall, over six foot. He was wearing a cowboy hat. Miller recognized him. It was the guy who planted the bombs. He looked up. Saw Miller. Lifted his gun. Miller knew what he was doing. Knew he was going to shoot. His man against the wall had his M4, pointed at the guy.

  "FBI," Miller yelled.

  The guy had both hands on his gun. Looked like a shotgun. He was raising it higher.

  "Drop your weapon," Miller yelled.

  The shotgun was almost at waist height. Ideal for shooting.

  The agent on his knees with the M4 was in position. Behind the guy to his right. Fifteen feet away. Crouching down.

  The guy's arm tensed. He was ready to unload the shotgun.

  Then he got hit. Bullet from the M4 penetrated his temple. Miller saw stuff exit the wound. He dropped his gun. His body followed. He was dead before he hit the ground. The round went clean through his head. A trail of red followed it.

  Miller saw the man’s face change shape as the bullet struck. It got wider. Stretched out of shape. His mouth dropped open, just slightly. The muscles were relaxing, giving up. The electrical firing from the brain to the muscles had stopped.

  Miller had his rifle pinned to his shoulder. Stepped forward, slowly. His eyes focus into the darkness of the barn. No one else was coming out.

  To his left, one of his men laid flat against the barn. Peeked around the corner into the hollow. Miller moved off to the side. Didn't want to be in direct line of fire. They could hear more men inside. He stood kind of behind and over his man. Both of them looking into the barn.

  Then it happened. Miller saw the flash of gunfire. And another. Multiple shooters were firing at them. They returned fire. It was loud. Didn't know who they were shooting at. Just kept firing.

  Miller heard firing from over his shoulder. He turned. It was coming from the farmhouse. Major Ore, he thought. He saw police cars flying in. The helicopter overhead was circling. Heard it thumping. Adding to the hysteria. He couldn't think. Couldn't hear. Everyone was firing.

  Miller saw one of his men get hit. He was raising his hands to his throat. He staggered to one side. His mouth was open. Blood was coming out. He stumbled to the ground.

  Hammons unclipped a grenade from his vest. Pulled the pin out. Started counting. Held his right arm low and stretched out. Then he unleashed it, pitched inside the barn. Miller saw it fly through the air. Took about five seconds. The explosion shook the place. A flash of light. Then sound, loud. They felt it, shockwave through the body. Dust came out.

  Then it went quiet, silent.

  Chapter 40

  Dwyer pulled out his knife. Dropped to one knee. Went to work on the material strapping the pipe bomb to Kelly Paul's stomach. She was watching. Looking down as he tugged and cut through the restraint. He was sawing it because it was tough.

  In less than a minute, Dwyer had cut the belt off her. He held the bomb in his hand. Looking at it, wondering how he could use it.

  Kelly Paul was standing above him, staring. She looked at his face. His hair, brown, nice tone to his skin and thought, “Who is this guy? How did he get into my life?” God, she surmised, it had to be. He was the most exciting person she had ever met.

  "Jack," she said.

  He raised his face. His blue eyes the color of the sky, sparkled.

  "What."

  She smiled. Paused for a beat.

  He smiled. Paused for a beat.

  She spoke first.

  "Now what?"

  Before Dwyer could answer a helicopter came into view. They both looked up. Its thumping blades made a deep sound. Then they heard sirens. Lots of them. He placed the bomb on top of the haystack.

  Dwyer peeked around the bail of hay. Looked at the barn. Big Red was gone. Nobody was at the window. He saw police cars. Unmarked cop cars. Spotted an ambulance. Dust flying. Dwyer twisted around and touched Kelly on the arm.

  The helicopter was circling around the farm. Banking slightly making a big arc. Dwyer could see a sniper in the open bay of the copter. He was scanning the ground. Moving his rifle from person to person.

  He had her by the elbow. They took one step. There was an explosion. Big explosion. He smelled explosives in the air. Gunfire erupted from the farmhouse. They ducked back down. More gunfire. Dwyer could tell it was from in front of the barn, by the front doors. He heard the shots echo against the house. A small explosion, grenade he thought. It wasn't as deep as the big explosion. More of a muffled sound. Came from inside the barn. The gunfire stopped. It was quiet.

  They held still for a moment. Hunkered down behind the bale of hay. Kelly Paul was behind him. She laid her hand on his back. Solid, warm, muscular.

  They heard voices. Men yelling. They stood up. He saw men in uniform, police.

  "We're saved," Kelly Paul said.

  Dwyer nodded. He was surveying the farm.

  "Come on let’s go," she said. "It's the police."

  Dwyer stood still. Pulled her back when she tried to move. He was staring out past the barn.

  "What is it?' she said.

  Dwyer was quiet, didn't answer. He was making sure things were under control.

  They came out from behind hay at a cautious walk. They moved toward the barn. The corner nearest to them. Dwyer was holding her hand. Halfway there they started to jog. Dwyer was uncomfortable being out in the open. At the barn he felt safer. Protection. They stayed close to the barn wall. Making their way to the front. Dwyer was listening to voices, wondering who was in charge. They held up at the corner, waiting, wanting to know things were under control. He poked his head around the corner. He was looking at the front of the barn. He saw three men. On their knees. Hands behind their back, cuffed. Standing over them was a face he recognized, Agent Miller. Hammons was there too; he was wiping something from his face. Looked like blood. Kind of dark almost black.

  "Coming out," Dwyer yelled. "Don't shoot, we're coming out."

  Dwyer stepped out first, his arms in the air. Didn't want anyone to get nervous, make a mistake and shoot them. Kelly Paul followed. She didn't understand putting their hands in the air. She didn't understand friendly fire.

  Two cops standing guard over the prisoners raised the rifles. Aimed at Dwyer.
He saw the way they stood. They were ready to shoot.

  Dwyer stopped walking. Kelly Paul beside him. They looked straight ahead.

  Agent Miller turned to his men and waved them down. Gave them the signal it was all right.

  "Walk toward me," he said. "Slowly."

  "Are you Miss Paul?" Miller asked.

  She answered quietly. Tears in her eyes. Relief that it was over.

  Miller turned to one of his men. "Get her a blanket."

  "Are you with them?" Miller asked. Looking at Jack Dwyer.

  Kelly Paul looked at the prisoners Miller was pointing at.

  "No," she yelled. "He saved me."

  Miller stared at him. Waved them both over.

  "Not everyone thinks you’re clean," Miller said. "You know you're going downtown. Lots of questions on this one. Lots of shit we don't understand about you."

  Dwyer looked at him. Then at Hammons and the other officers. They were staring back at him, hard, serious looks on their faces. Looks from men that had come close to dying. Looks from men that had lost someone.

  "You okay?" Miller asked Kelly Paul.

  She nodded.

  He twisted around and pointed to one of the ambulances.

  "Why don't the both of you go over there," Miller said.

  Agent Miller made a motion with his head to one of his men. An officer stepped forward and walked beside Dwyer and Kelly Paul. Kind of led them to the ambulance.

  They were walking slowly. To Dwyer's right he saw a couple of men looking at the ground. They were by themselves, maybe eight feet away. They were standing still, not talking. Looked like something was wrong. He could see a heap of something on the ground. Wasn't sure what it was.

  To his left, lots of cops. They were walking men out of the house. All of them cuffed. Same routine hands behind their backs. He saw another ambulance. Back doors were open. Two paramedics were adjusting things.