by Roger Hayden
9
The Outlaws
They reached Dallas in the afternoon, hoping like nothing else that they had made it in time. From the highway, it was clear the city was in chaos, with gridlocked traffic leading in one direction: out of the city. The exodus was similar to what they had seen all across Texas, and it didn’t show any signs of slowing down. Lines of military cargo trucks roared past them along the shoulder of the road.
Roads and exits were blocked off by police. Helicopters hovered in place, watching over the city. News vans were parked along the side of the road, satellite antennas extended high into the air. It almost looked as though the terror attack had already happened. But if that were the case, Angela believed they would already be dead.
“Good thing we don’t have to go in there,” Burke said, pointing to the heart of the city’s booming skyscrapers.
Angela was relieved too. According to her phone GPS, the power plant was twenty miles outside the city. Just for good measure, she had a state map opened, looking for possible backroads or detours around the blockades. For whatever reason, traffic authorities had boxed in traffic, funneling it to only certain areas leading in and out of the city.
The four-lane westbound highway they were on was slightly more forgiving than the lanes headed in the opposite direction. Angela looked toward the city, its buildings reaching into the light-indigo sky. It was an architectural competition, with lofty, rectangular eyesores, some with pointed tops and blinking lightning rods, others flat, with their checkered windows and neon lighting, and each one seemed a symbols of pride for the renowned city.
Under any other circumstances, Angela could see herself visiting and enjoying a day of cultural exploration there. But all of that was under a shocking threat. A threat that most Texans, judging by their hasty withdrawal from the city, seemed to finally get.
Martinez was tied up on his phone like a telemarketer on a busy day. So far, he had confirmed fifteen Outlaws through nothing beyond sheer persuasion. Burke had taken Interstate 30 from Fort Worth. They would have to remain on course if they hoped to reach the Dallas nuclear power plant within the hour. That was, if Angela could find a way around the traffic that wasn’t currently blocked off.
“It makes no sense,” she said, looking around in wonder. “Why bottle us in like this?”
“It’s all about control,” Burke said. “Security, surveillance, and containment. The hallmarks of martial law happening before our eyes.”
Angela could see the armored trucks driving through the city and the overwhelming presence of police in riot gear and army soldiers taking positions at several blocked areas. There was an indisputable militaristic feel to the city. Perhaps it was for the better. The radio news elaborated on the mounting panic sweeping through the city.
“Local officials have advised residents to stay in their homes and not to travel. Hundreds of businesses, restaurants, and bars have closed their doors indefinitely during this time of crisis. Over one hundred and forty-five people are reported dead following the Oak Park massacre, making it the deadliest terror attack in American since 9/11.
“Officials in San Antonio, where a similar attack took place, killing an estimated two hundred people, are working to shut down all travel in and out of the city, as thousands of residents cope with unspeakable loss and horror in their own backyard.”
“The president addressed the nation briefly today, vowing to put an end to the violence sweeping across Texas, perpetrated by ISIS-affiliated terrorists.”
Angela said, “He can start with the power plant.” Perhaps they were chasing a ghost. She hadn’t been to Dallas in a while, but the sight of the city saddened her. Sirens wailing to no end. Flashing road signs blocking off traffic. Businesses closed and vacant as far as the eye could see. It was hard to believe how quickly things had turned so bad. How on earth had it ever come to this?
Martinez lowered his phone after finishing what seemed like his hundredth call. He let out a deep sigh and ran a hand through his hair.
“How we doing back there?” Burke asked, tapping the brakes as traffic slowed again to a halt and stretching his neck to see if there was an alternative route. But with so many roads closed off, they didn’t have much choice but to remain on the highway.
“Eighteen,” Martinez answered. “We’re getting close.”
Burke contemplated the numbers as Angela examined the map for an opening.
“We need more,” Burke said.
“I’m doing all I can,” Martinez said with clear frustration in his tone. He leaned forward and clutched his chest in pain. Angela turned around, concerned.
Burke told him, “Go easy, Captain Martinez. I promised Gloria that I’d get you home in one piece.”
Martinez took a deep, calming breath and leaned back in his seat. “I’m fine. Just some chest pains.” He paused and held his cell phone up, scrolling the contacts.
“I wouldn’t go near that power plant with any less than twenty,” Burke said. He then turned to Angela. “How many did we face in the compound? Twenty? Thirty, maybe?”
“At least twenty,” Angela said.
She hadn’t thought about the shootout as often lately, not with so many other things going on. Nor about her miraculous survival either, though she knew they had been lucky. When it came to life and death, it was best not to gamble. Yet, if she believed that to be the truth, she wondered what she was doing in Dallas.
Recalling the shootout, what she could remembered clearly were the deafening gun blasts on both sides. The white flashes and glimpse of bodies collapsing to the ground in pools of blood. She still had a slight ringing in her ears from it.
“If Asgar is serious about this attack, he’s going to put all his remaining resources into it,” Burke continued. “What else does he have left?”
“Hey, Wiseman, this is Martinez,” Martinez said from the back seat, phone against his ear. “Need your help, man, we’re in some real trouble here.”
“No shit!” a voice said loudly through the phone.
“Listen to me,” Martinez said. “I’m not talking about what you’re seeing on the news. There’s something much, much worse in store for us.”
Martinez continued to explain, as Angela traced the route along the road map. Her GPS signal was going in and out on her phone—ultimately proving unreliable. She looked ahead as though seeing a clearing. “In a half mile we can get off the highway and take Deermont to the industrial sector. Lots of back roads, but at least we’ll be out of this mess.”
“Sounds good to me,” Burke said. “I was starting to get a little worried.”
Angela raised her brow. “You too, eh?”
Martinez continued making his plea on the phone with one of the Outlaws. Many of them, it seemed, took some convincing. The notion of driving into Dallas after a major terrorist attack was dangerous enough. Luckily for Martinez and the group, many of the Outlaws were just waiting for an opportunity to get even with ISIS. Killing militants to prevent a nuclear explosion was about as enticing as it got. They couldn’t turn it down.
All in all, Martinez managed to reach twenty committed Outlaws. They were all to meet outside Fair Park near Cotton Bowl Stadium, mere miles from the nuclear power plant. Both places could be crawling with police, but the location would be easy to find, even amid the chaos.
They exited off the interstate onto Deermont Lane, an older area with several seemingly vacant warehouses and only moderate traffic in front of them. For a moment, there wasn’t a police car around, but Angela knew that wouldn’t be the case for much longer.
Burke turned his head back slightly to address Martinez. “These Outlaws. They some kind of biker gang?”
Martinez took his eyes off his phone for one moment to answer. “Not necessarily. They are known bike enthusiasts, but I don’t think they want to bring any unnecessary attention to themselves right now.”
“So what does that mean?” Burke asked. “Are they gonna be in station wagons or someth
ing? Compact cars? PT Cruisers? What are we looking for?”
“Hendrickson…” Martinez began.
“Hendrickson?” Burke asked.
“Yeah, he’s the leader. He told me that enough of them were able to meet up prior and piled up in a van. At least eight others will probably arrive in their own vehicles.”
Angela turned to Burke as the car rattled on the bumpy cracked pavement of a narrow backroad. “These guys are from all over. But thankfully they’re close enough to get here.”
“What time did you give them?” Burke asked.
Martinez glanced at his phone. “I told them as soon as they could. Most of them should arrive within the hour.”
“It’ll be a miracle if we pull this off,” Burke said.
Angela nodded while eyeing the map. The car bumped as they passed over some old train tracks, weeds sprouting up between the ties. To their right, a truck weighing-station sat idle, absent any trucks or personnel. Like any other building or business in the area, it looked closed down. Perhaps that would help them move more freely around the city. It seemed to be doing the trick so far.
“About three more blocks to Fairfield Park,” Angela said. “Then you take a left.”
Suddenly a police car appeared ahead, racing toward them in the opposite lane with its lights flashing wildly. Angela gripped the armrest on her door, feeling a sense of anxiety.
“Everyone stay calm,” Burke said, trying to sound calm himself, and in control, as usual. His dark sunglasses concealed what Angela assumed to be tired eyes. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had gotten some sleep.
Martinez was too preoccupied to even notice. “Hendrickson, listen to me,” he said into his phone. “We don’t have a lot of time. I need you to get your team out here pronto. The city is on lockdown, so try to avoid all major roads if you can.”
The police car rushed past them like a rocket. Angela could breathe a little easier, but she didn’t think it was the last one they would be seeing.
Cotton Bowl Stadium came into view, its high, circular colosseum-like walls a striking sight in the distance. There would be no sporting events that day, and the closer they got to the main road, the more clearly they could see a barrage of army trucks, Humvees, and trailers set up in the parking lot. Soldiers in desert-pattern camouflage uniforms moved throughout, setting up GP medium tents as though the formerly empty stadium lot had been claimed as an operations center.
Several surrounding buildings dwarfed in size next to the stadium—all seemed to be on some kind of lockdown. Gift shops, restaurants, bars, and retail stores were virtually empty, with flashing signs and barricades arrayed around them. The closer they got to the stadium, down the bumpy back road, the more parked police cars came into view, blocking parts of the road in succession.
“So do we start getting nervous now?” Angela asked.
“Not just yet,” Burke answered. They were still at a close enough distance to turn around, but what would be the point?
On the phone, Martinez was putting on the pressure: “Damn it, Hendrickson, we’re close. I need you and your men there, pronto.” Martinez paused, listening, then continued. “I know there are a lot of cops out. I’m looking at them right now. But they’re all gathered around the stadium. Fairfield Park is safe. Trust me. No one’s going to bother us there.”
As Burke veered off the road and around some buildings to stay out of sight, Angela imagined the worst. She hardly believed their presence was of any concern to the police, and they could still play it off as though they were with the Border Patrol and FBI. What concerned her the most was being stopped from reaching their goal.
Even if I tried to warn them, what difference would it make? Angela thought.
There had been threats against dozens of targets throughout the city. The report on the radio made that clear enough. There could be a very good chance that the power plant, ten miles away, was just as fortified as the stadium. After a few rattling bumps on a pebble-strewn dirt road, the pavement smoothed out. Burke pushed on, instinctively guiding them toward Fairfield Park and out of the view of the authorities.
“Any thoughts on maybe talking to them?” Angela asked with a nod toward the growing military presence around the stadium.
“Sure,” Burke replied. “When all else fails.”
Martinez continued his heated conversation in the back. “We’re almost there. Just hurry up. This city is shutting down faster than a bar at closing time.”
“I don’t know about this,” she said nervously to Burke.
Burke looked beyond the fairgrounds and then quickly veered to the right, driving on the grass toward a shady line of oak trees.
Once Fair Park came into view, over a grassy hill, Angela began to have doubts about the agreed-upon meet-up spot. It wasn’t a park of wide-open fields, but an eighty-acre fairground and historic center of landmarks, buildings, domes, and concert stages. A large reflection pond ran from one end of the park to the other. The premises were ghostly vacant, with the exception of law enforcement. There seemed to be just as many police vehicles and officers setting up camp as there were soldiers outside the stadium.
“What are you doing?” Angela said, gripping her seat as the car shook with sudden intensity.
“Trust me,” Burke said with a calmness that irritated her.
“You out of your mind?” Martinez shouted from the back seat. “Slow down!”
Once under a tree, Burke slammed the brake, causing Martinez to fly up a little and shout out in pain. “Fuck, my leg!”
Angela whipped her head around, angry at Burke and concerned about Martinez. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Martinez gritted his teeth as the car came to a complete stop, and Burke not saying a word as they idled. Martinez answered, “Yeah. I guess.” He then turned to Burke. “How about warning me next time you want to do some off-roading? Not exactly in tip-top shape here.”
Angela turned to Burke. “What’s gotten into you? We have an injured man here.”
Burke stared ahead through his sunglasses, seemingly unfazed by the entire ordeal. “Had to make a quick call before we got made. We have a good view from the top of this hill. Plus, these trees give us the proper amount of cover.” He glanced up at the rearview mirror, looking at Martinez. “You call you friends and tell them to meet us right here.”
Martinez glared at Burke, and then slowly leaned down to grab his cell phone from the floor. “Fucking madman,” he muttered.
Burke turned around with unexpected concern on his face. “I am sorry about that, though. I’ll give you ample warning next time.”
Martinez gave Burke the finger and then held the phone to his ear with his good arm. He called the mysterious Hendrickson again as Angela wondered how they would maintain their cover once the Outlaws showed up in the vans or cars or motorcycles or whatever they would be driving.
Martinez was saying, “We’re under the tree line, overlooking Fair Park. Look for a black Ford Fusion.”
The insistent thumping of unseen helicopters continued, grating on Angela as she sat awaiting the arrival of their own militia. She missed Lisa and Chassity so much it was killing her. Burke remained still and quiet, staring ahead and scanning the area. It seemed they had remained unnoticed.
Martinez hung up his phone, sounding calmer and optimistic. “They should be about five minutes out.”
Burke seemed impressed. “They don’t waste any time.”
“These men are professionals,” Martinez said. “They take this thing very seriously. They don’t like to draw attention to themselves. Anonymity is also very important to them.”
“I know the feeling,” Burke said, turning his head to the side.
Martinez continued. “All they want to do is stop these guys, and call it a day. I wouldn’t expect much more from them after that.”
“Fine with me,” Burke said. He looked to Angela who was looking quietly out the passenger side window. “You good?” he asked.
Angela snapped out of her momentary lapse and glanced at both men. “Yes. Yes, it all sounds good.” Suddenly, she felt a hand touch her shoulder.
“I’m really sorry about everything,” Martinez said. “Everything you’ve been through.”
“It’s okay,” she said with a faint smile, while holding back her tears.
Martinez leaned back and sighed. “I think about back when this craziness happened. Only a few days ago when we were sitting on patrol. Almost like it was destined for us.”
Angela didn’t feel up for making any connections out of fear of reminding herself of what had led to her husband’s death at the hands of terrorists. Instead she let Martinez continue as soothing cool air blew from the vents. Outside, the air was dry, and the temperature remained in the high eighties as the sky grew darker with an approaching afternoon storm that still seemed plenty distant.
News reports continued, detailing the lockdown of the city on a massive scale. Such precautions should have made any terrorist attack impossible. But Angela knew better. The state and federal government had gotten it wrong before, and she wasn’t going to wait for them to drop the ball. Of course, she could always be wrong. Perhaps Asgar had re-directed targets elsewhere. There was no telling just how far he was willing to go.
Behind them, a turquoise VW van with gray parallel stripes rose up the hills. Their heads turned as another vehicle, a silver four-door SUV with tinted windows, followed behind.
“That’s them,” Martinez said.
Burke kept his watchful eye in the rearview mirror. Angela noticed the pistol he was holding in his lap. “How many did you say we were expecting?” he asked.
“Twenty,” Martinez answered. “Maybe more.”
Eager to get moving, Angela began to open her door, but Burke extended his arm across her chest, stopping her. “Not yet.”
Behind the SUV appeared an off-road super-duty truck with dusty seventeen-inch tires and a large bracket with spotlights in the front. Angela found herself nearly amused by the airbrush painting on its side, of a bald eagle and American flag.