by Bob Brown
~o0o~
“What time did your assault on the house begin, Agent Kennedy?”
“The initial fire-fight began 9:45 that evening,” Agent Kennedy glanced at his notes.
“I see,” Senator Peters said. “What, exactly, happened?”
“The assault team was a bit confused at first,” Kennedy admitted. “They’d just seen two members go down.”
“Did you know that your agents were dead?” Senator Harper asked.
“No sir, not yet. We had to assume that they were still alive.”
“And did you know that Howard Collins was alone in the house?”
“No, sir, not at that time. We knew he was leader of a cell and had to assume his team gathered inside with him,” Agent Kennedy said, then added just under his breath. “I didn’t think it possible for one boy to take out my patrol.”
“I wanna talk about that, too,” Senator Fields would not be put off. “You say that you tried to serve these warrants and this kid opened up with a 30/30? Did you knock on the door? Did you identify yourselves?”
~o0o~
“What in hell’s goin’ on out here!”
Howie heard his neighbor call from across the street. He peeked over the couch and saw Mr. Carpenter on his own porch, dressed in his bathrobe and stocking feet, newspaper in hand. Howie could hear other doors open and the murmur of other neighbors. “Y’all get away from that house before I call the cops.”
“Go back inside, sir! This is police business!” A strange voice called from somewhere near his house.
Police business? Howie thought. Sure not any local police. He knew all five members of the police department and not one of them could have made such an assault on a house as these guys did.
“Police my ass,” Mr. Carpenter yelled. “Police in this town don’t go busting down doors. Y’all better show yourselves or you won’t have to worry about the police. I got my shotgun right handy!”
~o0o~
“We met with verbal threats of resistance from armed members of the immediate community, Senator Fields,” Agent Kennedy regained his composure. “Mr. Arthur Carpenter died as the result of an exchange of gunfire.”
“Another innocent civilian killed?”
“Collateral damage, Senator,” Agent Kennedy said, “it happens now and then in the best of circumstances.”
~o0o~
Howie watched as a shadow raced from the direction of the alley and used a flying tackle to push Mr. Carpenter back inside. Another crouched shadow slid in behind Mr. Carpenter’s Buick parked on the street.
“Now!” The shadow behind the Buick called, stood up, and pointed his weapon at Howie’s house. Howie saw just the flash before he dropped to the floor. Bullets ate through the window and what was left of the front door. The player piano behind him complained loudly as several of the slugs found connections on its wires. Constant hits shivered the couch as its stuffing filled the air like snow.
When the MP5 emptied its clip, Howie rose to a kneeling position, took aim through the shattered window and snapped off two quick rounds. The ninja guys must have hidden behind Mr. Carpenter’s car because that’s all Howie managed to hit. That’s when he heard the distant sounds of a siren approaching.
~o0o~
“What time did the local officials arrive?” Senator Harper asked.
“9:53, sir,” Kennedy glanced at his notes again.
“Who was first to arrive?”
“The town constable, Officer William Cullen Murphy, arrived on the scene after the second exchange, Senator.”
“Did you turn the matter over to him, Agent Kennedy?” Senator James asked.
“That would be against policy, Senator,” General Hamilton said.
“What were your people doing at that time, Agent Kennedy?”
“I divided the remaining crew into two groups.”
“By the end of the second fire fight, you’d lost three agents, almost half your team. Why didn’t you withdraw at that time?” Senator James asked.
“The mission remained incomplete, Senator,” Agent Kennedy said.
~o0o~
Flashing red and blue lights filled the dark living room before the police car screamed to a stop outside Howie’s front door. The radio in Murph’s car shrieked over an external speaker adding to the confusion as one voice tried to talk over another.
“Would you guys shut up!” The constable’s voice cut off all other radio traffic. Howie peeked over the top of the couch. Murph wasn’t getting out of his car right away, not until he sized up the situation.
“Howie? You okay?” He called through his radio speaker.
“Okay!” Was all Howie managed to croak. He shivered uncontrollably and felt his stomach churning again. He wasn’t sure Murph heard him.
There was a scraping noise behind him and Howie wheeled, rifle at the ready, only to face an empty kitchen door. Howie followed the sound and saw that the ninja in the dining room wasn’t dead, merely wounded. Howie crawled around the piano and pulled the small black gun out of the wounded ninja’s reach. He managed a quick search of the person, removing a pistol and a wicked looking knife from the belt. The person rolled over and gurgled. The entry wound, just above the collar of a bulletproof vest, shattered the collarbone and blood pumped through a large hole near the throat. Howie couldn’t see an exit wound. He felt tears streak down his face.
He’d shot a woman.
~o0o~
“Constable Murphy attempted communication with Howard Collins. Did you permit that?”
“At the time, Senator, there was simply too much confusion,” Agent Kennedy said. “As you said earlier, half my team was either dead or incapacitated. Agent Bolls was missing and presumed dead. Agents Atwater and Hopkins were down within sight, but hadn’t moved and gave no signs of life.
“When did you realize that Agent Bolls had not been killed in the assault?” Senator Harper asked.
“Not until after the autopsy, Senator,” Agent Kennedy said softly.
“Why were tear gas canisters fired, Agent Kennedy?”
“We wanted to use them as a smoke screen to remove our people from the site, Senator.”
“Did the fire start then?”
“No, ma’am, not with the first salvo.”
~o0o~
Howie slid away from the woman ninja and watched her, wiping the tears from his eyes. He knew he was in trouble. The woman on the floor would probably die if he didn’t do something. She tried to roll over, tried to moan, then settled into the pool of her own blood.
Howie sneaked a peek over the top of the couch. Murphy was out of his car and arguing with other ninjas. Howie crawled to the woman.
“I’m really sorry lady,” he sobbed as he inched closer. He wished he could stop crying. “I’m really sorry. Here, lady, let me help you.”
His scouting first aid merit badge seemed years ago. He reached out to turn her on her side so that pressure eased from the wound. As gently as possible, he removed her jacket and bulletproof vest. He tore his shirt off and tore it to strips to use as improvised pressure bandages. There was little he could do about the shattered bone or the pain.
He looked away from his work to see her green eyes watching him. Her tears streaked the dirt and blood on her face. Howie moved closer and cradled her head in his lap and joined her in crying. This wasn’t so bad, he thought, sitting her, holding a woman, even if she was a stranger. Just the soft touch of another human. She grabbed his hand and held tightly. Loud pops and thumping rattles on the front porch brought him back to reality. He’d forgotten about the ninjas out front.
~o0o~
“You convinced the constable to withdraw, Agent Kennedy?”
“No, Senator Peters. We were forced to physically restrain Sheriff Murphy. He was incapacitated.”
“How was that done?”
~o0o~
As the smoke on the porch rose to window level, Howie saw the ninja who fired the smoke grenade use the butt of his rifle on
Murphy. ‘Murph the Smurph’, the kids at school called him, crumpled like a rag doll. Angry that they hadn’t had enough, that they weren’t willing to give up and leave well enough alone, Howie picked up the weapon and fired it through the window.
~o0o~
“When did the third fire-fight occur?” Senator James asked.
“Officer Murphy had just been rendered unconscious when firing commenced from the target house.”
“Was anyone injured?”
“Agent Alred lost his life, ma’am.”
“And you fired more tear gas into the house at that time?”
“Yes, Senator, I did.”
“How many canisters were fired into the house, Agent Kennedy?”
“Five. Two upstairs and three downstairs.”
“Were these the cause of the fire?”
“That’s in our report. Yes, sir.”
~o0o~
A bouncing horror flew through the front door, ricocheted off a step and rolled to the foyer landing. Howie heard his upstairs window break and something thumped against his wall. Another smoking terror flew through the hole that had once been a living room window and ignited stuffing from the couch as it slid through the room. Howie heard his parent’s window break, but was too busy coughing to hear the fifth canister bounce off the living room wall.
He crawled back to the wounded agent. She shuddered each time she drew a breath. Her lip quivered, like an infant getting ready to cry. Her eyes fluttered with each quick breath. She wasn’t crying any more. Howie knew she was dying. The room filled with smoke and the blazing old sofa cast an eerie orange glow to the scene.
Howie started to drag the wounded agent through the kitchen. At the top of the landing, he caught a glimpse of another man hiding behind the tool shed, his weapon trained on the back door. Howie was trapped.
~o0o~
“Both Agent Bolls and Howard Collins died of smoke asphyxiation in the resulting fire, is that correct?”
“Yes, senator, that’s confirmed by their autopsies, although Agent Bolls’ wounds were probably fatal as well.”
“How long did it take for the fire department to arrive?”
“The first men were on the scene within a few minutes of the first tear gas, but as Senator James will tell you, it’s a volunteer fire department. It was ten minutes before their equipment arrived. By that time, the entire front of the house was fully involved.”
~o0o~
Flames from the dining room chased Howie back to the kitchen landing. He scooted toward the back door, only to be chased inside as the ninja behind the tool shed splintered the door frame around him. Smoke and tear gas burned his eye and made it almost impossible for him to breathe. The woman ninja at his feet had stopped breathing.
~o0o~
“Now this here piece of slag is what’s left of Mr. Collins’ computer?” Senator Fields asked as he pointed to a collection of melted, smoke stained parts wrapped in plastic, sitting in the middle of the table.
“More or less, Senator,” Agent Kennedy said.
“And which piece is the ‘more’ piece?”
“This is the disk drive from the machine,” General Hamilton said as he removed the drive from another plastic bag.
“Were you able to determine anything from this?” Senator Harper asked.
“It survived in remarkably fine condition, Senator,” Hamilton said as he turned the drive over in his hands, inspecting it again. “From what we could determine, it’s unlikely that Mr. Collins was the leader of any domestic terror threat. There simply aren’t any kind of radicalized messages or visits to extreme radical web sites.”
“Now just a dog gone minute here,” Senator Harper had a tendency to turn red when extremely provoked. His ears glowed like a pair of stop signs. “Are you tellin’ me that we done spent the best part of the mornin’ wastin’ time cause the press won’t let go and is demandin’ an investigation. And just what in blue blazes should we tell them? We aren’t likely to hide the fact of this meeting.”
“Senator Harper, the Collins incident was six months ago,” General Hamilton said. “We have pictures of those that attended his funeral and have been able to identify the other members of his so-called cell.”
General Hamilton slid a series of glossy pictures across the table.
“What the hell? Why . . . this ain’t nuthin’ but kids!”
“As may be, Senator, but younger children all over the world are radicalized by their parents. Our leak indicates that such was a possibility here. So far, those in this room constitute the only group with all the facts. We intend to keep it that way.”
END
FROZEN
Liam Hogan
Charlie and I were parked up on Main Street, sharing a cherry cola and watching the world go by through the wide, open windows of the station wagon.
It was Election Day and the sidewalks were jammed. The registered Democrats had been awake since the caucuses, so they were used to the changes by now; but the floating voters had only recently emerged and were shuffling along, peering into the windows of stores that weren’t the stores they remembered, adrift in their ill-fitting clothes.
Charlie slurped the last of the perspiring drink, rattling the ice with her straw. “Let’s go somewhere!”
I waved at cars, bumper to bumper, purring like a swarm of happy insects. “Go where, hunnybun? Everywhere’s chocker. Plus,” I tapped the fuel dial, “We’re out. We blew our ration at the beach.”
She stretched, languidly. I felt the electric thrill I always feel when I glimpse her smooth skin, the fuzz of golden hair, felt the tug at my loins. She caught me looking and grinned. “Yeah, but it was so worth it!”
We’d spent most of the time in the unseasonably warm waters, before threading our way across narrow corridors of sand between an overlapping quilt of beach towels, looking for somewhere to perch and soak up the last of the October sun.
That was the problem with election years. The population doubled; short term, anyway. Mostly, industry coped. Restaurants got booked out solid, spare rooms rented at sky high prices. But some things, consumables like gas, were rationed, there being no easy or cheap way to up the supply.
Still, it was awfully nice just to sit there in my own car with Charlie at my side, even if we weren’t going anywhere.
“I’ll be glad when it’s back to normal,” I said.
“You’re not worried?” she asked.
I blinked. “Nah. It’s in the bag.”
She shook her head. “I hear it’s close. Real close.”
“You can’t trust the polls.”
“But if you’re wrong . . . what if we lose?”
“Then we get frozen,” I said, “Hibernate the Presidency away.” I shrugged. “Better than living through it; through the changes we can’t do anything about.”
“I’ve never been frozen, before,” she said, her voice low.
I looked at her in genuine surprise. I knew she was a first time voter, sixteen months younger than I was, but . . . “Never? What about your parents?”
“My father was a democrat, my mum a republican.”
I laughed. It was like the start of one of those lame political jokes.
Charlie pulled a face in return. “Ain’t funny. What’s the point of being married to someone you only see six months every four years? What’s the point of having parents you only get one at a time? And who age at different rates?”
I sobered up at that, drummed my fingers across the warped dash in thought. “Freezing’s not so bad,” I reassured her. “It is cold, though. But that doesn’t last long.”
We’d had three republican terms on the trot; it’d been a while since I’d been in the tanks. As a juvie, not yet registered, frozen by my parent’s mutually agreed votes. But I still shivered at the memory of the bone-numbing cold, before they put you fully under.
The deep-sleep process had been developed for space missions that never happened. Then, almost as a joke, or maybe as
a trial, those prototype tanks had been offered after a particularly bad natured election was won by the surprise Republican candidate.
Democrats signed up in droves.
It didn’t hurt that, as a welcome side-effect, the carefully controlled drip-fed nutrients forced your metabolism to reset to your ideal weight. Deep-sleepers awoke, slim and healthy.
And when both candidates realized having half the population asleep pretty much guaranteed they’d meet their election promises—full employment, better standard of living, even reduced environmental impact—the Voter Hibernation Act was signed into law.
So now, it was no longer voluntary. Everyone on the losing side who wasn’t considered indispensable, wasn’t a career politician, went into the tanks shortly after the election results were called. It took a couple of months before they were all frozen; same way it took a while to defrost them all. It was supposed to be done by ZIP Code lottery, but you could apply for an extension, if you were an employer rather than an employee, someone who had to wind up their business affairs.
There wasn’t much to wind up for Charlie and me. Oh, there was my old station wagon, I supposed. No point in putting that into storage, though. Better to collect the bounty for scrapping a clunker. By the time we came out, most likely there’d be no gas stations left and cars like mine would sit silent in museums.
“I hear there are floaters who vote to lose,” I mused, as much to fill the silence as anything else.
Charlie stared at me, eyes agog. “Why?”
I shrugged. “A form of immortality. They want to live forever, even if most of it is frozen. Like a time machine, lurching forwards four years at each hop.”
“That’s stupid. When do they get to live their lives?”
“In between.”
She shook her head at the dumbness of it. She reached out a hand, entwined it in mine. “If we lose, you’ll still be there, won’t you, when we come out the other side?”
I looked down into those big, brown eyes. Tonight, we’d watch the results trickle in, a little drunk, a little fearful. If it was close it’d be early morning before we’d know for certain. But win or lose didn’t matter half as much as the two of us watching them together.