He followed the horde into the howling wind, hoping the vets who’d been around the command table remembered their duties and could control those who wanted to rush the building and charge in shooting. The deputies and highway patrol officers shouted at the others to fall back, but their words were lost in the wind.
They were out of Ethan’s control.
The storm hadn’t lessened one iota, and the courthouse didn’t come into clear view until they reached West Washington Street, which directed traffic into a one-way, counterclockwise circle around the building.
The stream made of parents and citizens wavered in indecision. Ethan felt momentary hope. “My squad! North entrance! Everyone, remember what you’re supposed to do! The rest of you fall back!”
The wind snatched his words away, and the citizens of Ballard were absorbed by the storm.
He was surprised that none of the continuing gunfire sought the barely controlled mob. Sonny’s information about the east and west doors being blocked popped back into his head.
But why weren’t they shooting from the windows facing South Charles?
The volunteers separated without casualties in front of the Palace Theater. Ethan’s group split to the right, toward the sheriff’s office. Others veered in the opposite direction toward the southern entrance. Herman and Gabe stuck to the plan and circled through the nearest alley.
Ethan thought they’d reach the building without encountering resistance when automatic weapons from the north and south ends of the courthouse opened the ball in a long, unbroken roll of thunder.
A dozen individuals charged the eastern side of the building. A ground-floor window exploded outward, and gunfire shattered the charge. A sickening number of bodies dropped into the knee-deep snow, some limp, others to take cover. The assault broke and those still on their feet retreated to cover and return fire.
Ethan slid to a stop, thunderstruck at the volume of fire poured on by the enraged citizens of Ballard. It seemed that half of the townspeople carried AR-15s or similar weapons. Those with experience were conservative in their responses, keeping their fire restricted to short, accurate bursts.
For the most part, they threw lead toward the vague muzzle flashes as they ran, hoping some would connect. The rounds smacked into the building like smoking hot hail, pulverizing the stucco exterior.
Muzzle flashes from first-floor windows strafed those fanning out around the courthouse. The citizens sought shelter behind cars parked around the building. Deer rifles cracked and the hunting calibers joined 5.56,. 223 rounds, and .22s that spat lead at the terrorists who dared to invade the West Texas town.
Ethan led a mixed team in a sweep toward the sheriff’s office. They ducked behind the Palace and into the alley as bullets followed, shattering glass and blowing out chunks of brick.
He slid to a stop beside the theater as two figures half-carried a much shorter person from the alley. He recognized the snow-covered Mayo brothers when they emerged from the white veil. “Who’s hit? Is she bad?”
“It ain’t a she.” Luke Mayo pushed the figure forward.
Arturo stumbled forward and stopped in front of the sheriff. “Naw, I ain’t hurt, and I ain’t a she, neither, vato.”
“Jesus! Where’d you get that gun? Who are you, kid, and where’d you come from?”
“I was inside with Sonny Hawke.”
Ethan recognized the boy. “Arturo. Sonny said you were with him. How’d you get out? Is he still alive?”
“He was when he left me. He’s whittling them down, but I don’t know what’s going on in there now. I climbed out a window.”
“As quick as you can, tell us what you know, son.”
Chapter 81
Gabe, one of the first out of the Posada, spun up tight at the thought of his Evangelina inside with the other children in her class. He wanted more than anything else to make entry on his own, but the death pouring from the courthouse proved he’d made the right decision in following the sheriff’s plan. He’d have been shot down long before reaching the building.
He clung to the hope that Evangelina was safe with Sonny.
Gabe held back so Herman could keep pace as Ethan and his team split off and raced across the street toward the alley beside the Palace. Gabe slowed and ducked behind an abandoned, snow-covered car when he reached a point across from the theater. A stitch of exploding snow erupted to their right, and the men dove behind his questionable shelter.
Herman slipped and fell hard. “Goddamn it!”
“Puta madre,” Gabe muttered.
“We need to keep moving, and that’s the best you’ve cussed since we met.” Herman pointed. “This way.”
“Damn yeah. I’m better in Español.” Gabe led them around the corner to duck behind another drift-covered car.
* * *
Big Bend School Superintendent, Damon Cartwright and High School Principal Victor Hernandez joined Sheriff Armstrong beside the Palace. Principal Hernandez recognized Arturo before he could answer the sheriff’s question about what he’d seen inside. Hernandez grabbed the young man in a bear hug. Shocked, Arturo hugged him back.
“Are you all right, son?”
Arturo looked at the men surrounding him. His eyes welled as he ran fingers over the back of his head. “Bumped my head, but I’m okay.”
Superintendent Cartwright squeezed his shoulder. “How are the rest of the kids?”
“They’re still inside.”
“Have you seen them?”
Arturo wiped at the tears rolling down his cheeks. “No, but I think Mr. Hawke has.”
Hernandez noticed the little weapon hanging over the boy’s shoulder. He reached for the strap. “Where’d you get a gun? You better give that to me.”
“Nossir.” Arturo stepped back. “Not right now.”
Both unarmed school administrators ducked when a round shattered the glass on the movie placard around the corner.
The day was so bizarre Sheriff Armstrong had to laugh. “Let him keep it.” He squinted at the Mayo brothers. “I thought you guys were looking for a tunnel out of the courthouse.”
Danny wiped ice from his thin mustache. Snow covered his hat and shoulders. “Yessir. We found it.”
Leave it to the Mayo brothers. Ethan had lived there his whole life and didn’t believe the rumors were true. “I don’t think it’ll do us much good. We’ve lost the element of surprise.” He pointed to the west. “What’d I see on fire over there?”
“The house where the tunnel comes up.”
“How’d it catch fire?”
“Danny set it.”
“What the hell?”
“We couldn’t figure out any way to make sure they didn’t get out through there, and there aren’t enough of us with the experience to cover it. Hell, they might have pitched grenades out the door for all we knew.” Danny grinned like a kid who’d made the honor roll. “So we lit it.”
Luke chimed in. “We figured the smoke’ll drift down the tunnel and into the courthouse to smoke ’em out.”
“There’s folks living close by.”
“We checked. They skinned out through the back doors.”
“What I mean is their houses are gonna catch fire.”
“Don’t think so.” Luke pulled his collar higher. “There’s so much snow and ice, and it’s settin’ there on that big corner lot. I believe they’ll be all right.”
Ethan pulled his hat down lower to keep the blowing snow out of his eyes. “You two beat all I’ve ever seen. Did y’all think what might happen if the smoke did fill the courthouse? There’s hostages in there, you know.”
The impulsive Mayo brothers exchanged surprised looks. They hadn’t thought of that twist.
Deputy Don Nelson, who’d provided covering fire while the brothers dug Arturo out of the snow, spoke up. “Once things simmer down a little more, we can get the fire truck in. It really was the best thing to do.”
The roar of gunfire rose and fell. “They’re killing us.” Ethan felt sick know
ing bodies were falling into the snow, neighbors, men and women he’d grown up with. “We need a miracle now. I wish we had some grenades or a rocket launcher or something to hit that south door while we go in the north.”
Danny and Luke exchanged grins and the mischievous glint sparked into something more dangerous. “Y’all hang on.” Luke led off with Danny falling in behind. They disappeared into the storm.
Chapter 82
The terrorists surrounding DeVaca sprayed the dark floors above, their muzzle flashes painting parts of the second floor with sparkling light. Others rushed to the ground-floor offices, responding to a crush of charging townspeople.
It provided the perfect opportunity for DeVaca to use the nerve gas. A hail of hot brass rattled through the overhead spindles and jangled on the rotunda floor. “Kahn.”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
His voice over the comm unit competed with the staccato of automatic weapons. “Tax office.”
“Get back here.”
Kahn left the shattered window after emptying one more magazine and raced into the rotunda. DeVaca pointed at a dusty tank. “Wire that one.” He checked his watch. “And put one of the smaller canisters in a pack.”
He again moved the pea in the great shell game of the day. The canister of Sarin going into the pack wasn’t much bigger than the Boston bombers’ homemade pressure-cooker IEDs. DeVaca hit the radio again. “Tin Man. Where are you?”
“In the basement!” His voice was muffled by the SCBA mask.
The burst from an M4 close to his ear made DeVaca wince. He spoke in the midst of the cacophony as if they were sitting on a porch. “How many more of this size are down there?”
“Four.”
“Good. Help Kahn load them into backpacks. Each man takes one as he leaves to use when the time comes.” DeVaca rubbed his hands together. He didn’t expect any of the others to escape, but the idea was so delicious he couldn’t help himself.
“I have some bad news.” Tin Man’s voice was muffled and he’d reverted to Spanish. “The tunnel is out of the question. Smoke is pouring through, and I’m the last one down here.”
DeVaca ground his teeth. “How many big containers can we get out in the van?”
“Half a dozen. But do you think we can get away in the van?”
He didn’t think so, but there was always a chance. “There’s no choice. We need to move. Get them in and ready. We’ll disperse as we escape.”
The firing upstairs fell off.
Reddy Freddy, aka Fred Richardson, left the safety of an alcove that once held a pay phone. He picked up an empty backpack as if he were going to load it with gas. “I did my part. I get the rest of my money when we get out, right?”
DeVaca drew his pistol and shot the old man in the forehead. “Sure. Thanks.”
He holstered the weapon as Tin Man popped up through the hole with an oversize blue daypack over his shoulder. “This one is yours.”
“Bring another.” DeVaca keyed his mike. “Dorothy!”
Kahn pointed. “She is right above you. Dead.”
Instead of answering the Syrian terrorist, DeVaca crept forward and glanced upward to see a slim hand dangling through the spindles. The Demon gave a strangled laugh of regret and fell silent.
Kahn pushed his comm button. “My men. Delay them as long as you can, with as much damage as possible, and give your lives to Allah!”
The enthusiastic Syrians almost made DeVaca laugh. Zealots, either religious or political, would do as their leader said to further their cause.
The gun emplacements at both ends of the building opened up again with a roar. Bullets snapped through the windows and doors, searching for flesh.
DeVaca felt a calm fall over him. “Time to go.”
Chapter 83
Gabe and Herman slipped through the alley protected by a line of tired houses.
“This one! It’ll give us position to see the doors and east side.”
Gabe saw Herman point to a stucco house facing the southeast corner of the courthouse. Instead of trying to help the old Ranger climb over a ragged patchwork wood and metal fence separating the yard from the unpaved alley, Gabe kicked a rotting plywood panel out of the way. It dropped into the ill-maintained back yard that would have looked harsh and dry in the summer heat. The blanket of snow softened the landscape, but despite the cover, clumps of tall grass shivered in the wind.
Herman jogged through the knee-high snow to the rear of the house with two lit windows. Fragrant piñon smoke scented the Arctic air. Inside, a yapping dog tuned up when Gabe tripped over a buried wheelbarrow.
“Damn and hell!”
Frightened by the battle across the street, a middle-aged Hispanic man peeked out the back door, revolver in hand. “Quien es? What are you doing out there? What’s going on?”
Gunfire snapped and crackled. Gabe stepped close to the house, making sure the muzzle of his .243 was pointed away from the frightened homeowner. “Estás solo?”
The man’s pistol came up. “Por qué? Why do you want to know if I’m alone?”
Herman held up the wallet from his back pocket containing his retirement badge. “Easy, hoss. Texas Rangers.”
Gabe spoke in rapid Spanish. “Because there’s a lot of shooting across the street and no one needs to be in your front rooms. This man really is a Ranger. He’s the law.”
“I am alone. My wife is on the other side of town. She was cleaning a woman’s house when all this started. Are you really the law, too?”
“I am now. You don’t have any idea what’s going on?”
“No.”
“Well, stay back here. Mala gente have taken over the courthouse.”
Herman grunted, thinking “bad people” wasn’t strong enough for those in the courthouse. “We’re gonna move around the side here and see if we can get an angle.”
An automatic weapon rattled. Glass broke in the front of the house. Without another word, the overweight man scooped up his yapping dog and rushed out the back door to follow their tracks out of his yard.
Gabe eased around the house, the stock of the deer rifle against his shoulder.
“Easy, hoss, don’t stick nothing out there you don’t want shot off.”
He took Herman’s advice and took a quick peek around the corner. Even if the snow hadn’t been falling, his line of sight toward the southern entrance was still blocked by a bull pine and a granite slab monument. Four trucks were parallel parked in front of the house and offered the only protective cover in sight. Gabe rounded the corner and ran forward in a crouch against the front fender of the nearest pickup.
Return fire from behind a white van backed up against the courthouse door kept the pressure on. Herman joined Gabe behind the truck. “I can’t see a thing.”
“Vamos a tener que estar más cerca.”
“Slow down, hoss. My Spanish ain’t near what you think it is.”
“We’ll have to get closer.”
Gabe’s ears rang from the din. His heart was beating hard, and he grimaced as needles of ice pricked at his face. Bullets pinged and ricochets whined into the streets. The concentrated fire was near constant. He never expected to hear anything like it in the Estados Unidos, let alone his town. The gunfire was muffled by the thick, icy baffling that covered the entire town.
“I can’t see a thing through this alcance.”
“Scopes ain’t made for this weather. That’s a fact.”
Gabe sensed movement over his shoulder. The Mayo brothers followed their tracks around the house, trailed by the bearded veteran from the command center. He ran with fluid ease, with the attractive, self-assured woman bringing up the rear.
Gabe remembered her name. Yolanda Rodriguez. She stopped at the corner of the house and squeezed off a short burst with an automatic carbine. The name Perry Hale snapped into his mind. The stocky man was also carrying an M4 with the familiar ease.
* * *
Two men materialized in the
thick snow behind Herman and darted for cover, throwing rounds toward the building. He saw them wave the vets forward. They slid to a stop on either end of the truck, one using the engine for cover, the other, the rear axle.
Reverting to Spanish again, Gabe’s attention locked on what Danny Mayo had in his hand. “Que es eso?”
Danny grinned and set an orange five-gallon bucket from the local hardware store at their feet. Most of the upper third was covered in duct tape. “The key to that door.”
Herman hunkered down behind the truck’s front wheel. He saw the white plastic lid duct-taped to the top.
“What is it?”
“Tannerite.”
“That stuff from the hardware store?” Herman had seen young people shoot the mixture out in the country. Once he saw a rancher detonate a container of Tannerite in the middle of a pack of wild hogs with devastating results.
Luke grinned. “We mixed it day before yesterday and didn’t get to use it.”
Danny smiled. “Got picked up, but it’s a good thing. We figure twenty-three packed pounds’ll do the job.”
Herman saw they knew what they were doing. “What’ll it take?”
“One of us needs to get close enough to throw it under their van, or in that alcove if we can.”
Gabe squinted at the distance. “It’ll take some doing.”
“Then what?” Herman couldn’t imagine how the powder was going to help.
Luke jerked his head toward his brother. “Then dead-eye here needs to shoot it.”
Herman raised an eyebrow. “That’s all?”
Danny nodded. “You can only set it off with a high-velocity bullet.”
“Think that bucket will be enough?”
Luke peeked over the truck. “Mr. Herman, it’s liable to blow that van to pieces.”
Gabe studied the building and the car parked between them. “I’ll throw.”
Herman held his arm. “We’re gonna have to get their heads down first.”
“Then shoot straight, jefe.”
“This’ll be something like you’ve never seen. We’re about to shoot men and them that don’t get shot’ll blow plumb up.”
“Amigo, I’ve killed before.”
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