Cars were already leaving when he reached his, climbing in next to Chris, who had taken the call. Grabbing the radio, he began giving instructions so that they all didn’t converge on the pharmacy.
It was only a few blocks to town and when they arrived, two officers were already inside searching. Other officers were searching the surrounding buildings. When they found Mrs. Clayton, she pointed down the block. Chris didn’t wait for a translation; she floored the accelerator, squealing down the street in the direction of her point.
On the radio again Ray gave general directions, sending the patrol cars in a crisscross pattern through the streets. He cautioned Chris to slow down, and they drove up and down the blocks scanning the passersby.
A man in a hurry zoomed his pickup into the 7-Eleven parking lot, and Gil suggested he leave his keys behind. He did, and as soon as he was out, Gil passed him, climbing into his car. The man looked back when he heard his car start, and shouted at Gil. Gil put it in reverse, smoking the tires as he backed up. When he paused to shift into first the man jumped onto the passenger-side running board, cussing Gil and threatening him. He found it easy to be angry that someone insignificant as the man on the running board would dare threaten him. Gil held him in a cold stare, then pictured a rock the size of a basketball, and pushed. The window exploded in the man’s face, his head nearly knocked from his shoulders. A woman running to help stopped and screamed when she saw the remains of his face. Gil floored it, drowning her screams in the squeal of his tires, and raced out of the driveway toward freedom.
Chris was an excellent driver and worked through the intersections expertly, using only her flashing lights as a warning. Up and down the blocks they worked, passing other patrol cars at intersections. They were working out of the business district into the east residential district, and on the other side of that was the freeway. Roy knew that if he had gotten that far he could have hitched a ride and gotten away.
Chris’s head snapped back and forth, looking up and down the streets faster than Roy could, but he trusted her young eyes and let her work at her own pace. Suddenly she hit the brakes.
“Did you see that?”
Without waiting for a reply she put it in reverse and backed into the left lane, continuing into the intersection. Pointing across Roy’s chest, she said, “Something’s going on.”
At the end of the block in the 7-Eleven parking lot a man was standing on the running board of a pickup. Suddenly the window exploded, the man’s head snapping back and his body tumbling toward a woman coming out of the store.
“Jeez!” Chris said. “It’s got to be him.”
Before Roy could answer the pickup came roaring down the street. Without waiting for instructions Chris backed out of the intersection, swerving back into the right lane, and then she waited, counting to herself.
“Seven, six, five, four . . .”
Roy grabbed the microphone, giving instructions to other patrol cars.
“. . . three, two, one, now!”
With a roar she shot into the intersection, cutting off the pickup, which screeched to a halt inches from their car. Roy found himself staring face-to-face with Gil. Stunned, they both stared, unsure of what to do. Then Roy pulled the shotgun from the dash holder and opened the car door. When he stepped out, the windshield of the pickup exploded and his door was slammed into him, his hip taking most of the force. When the door bounced off his body, he collapsed, quickly pulling his legs out of the opening to keep them from getting crushed. Just as he did the door slammed again, a huge dent appearing over the police emblem.
Roy rolled to his stomach and brought the shotgun up, firing wildly and hitting the truck’s grille. Escaping steam whistled and blocked his view, but he fired blindly anyway, hitting the grille again. Still the engine kept running and the pickup went into reverse, racing backward down the street. Bystanders ducked into stores and behind cars to get out of the line of fire.
Roy got to his feet and yanked the door open.
“Get in!” Chris yelled.
Roy barely had his feet inside when she put it in gear and turned, gunning the motor to race after him.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I’ll be sore tonight, but not as bad off as he’s gonna be,” he said coldly.
Chris glanced over at him, then nodded her head. “I’m with you!”
The pickup continued its backward race, heading to the other end of the block. It was nearly there when another patrol car blocked the street, cutting off his escape.
“It’s going to get ugly now,” Chris said, slowing slightly, watching for his escape move.
Then the door opened and Gil leaned out, looking at the police car blocking his path.
Roy grabbed the microphone to shout a warning but it was too late. The police windshield imploded; then Gil jumped back in and pulled forward. Chris spun the wheel, putting the car into a sideways skid, blocking his advance. Gil swerved right and into the 7-Eleven parking lot, Chris right behind, sliding to a stop. Shotgun in hand, Roy got out, shouting for him to stop. He didn’t, but his head turned, fixing Roy in an icy stare. Roy jerked at the trigger just as an invisible wall hit him, knocking him back against the car and slamming the door on his legs. The shotgun fired, but the blast went wide, shattering a window in the 7-Eleven.
Chris leaned across the cab, weapon in hand, and fired as Gil disappeared into the building. Suddenly they were slammed again, Chris knocked back onto the pavement. Roy jerked his legs out of the way just as the door slammed shut.
Screams came from the 7-Eleven and then shouting. Silence followed, and then a shout from Gil.
“If you try to come in I’ll kill them! Do you hear me? I’ll smash them like flies!”
Roy shouted for everyone to take cover and to call for additional units. Chris leaned in the window, her nose bleeding. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“Nothing broken, but my shin’s scraped all to hell. How about you? Your nose is bleeding.”
“My wrist is broken too,” she said, then held up her left arm gingerly, her hand hanging limp. “But I’ll live.”
Roy wished he shared her confidence.
Panicky now, Gil worked at keeping his anger level up. He couldn’t afford to lose his power now. Menacing with the gun, he herded the customers toward the back, away from the windows. Ordering them to sit in a circle around him, he squatted, looking fearfully down the aisles, expecting an attack at any minute. After a few minutes he was confident they’d believed his threat and he sat, now becoming aware of his hostages.
There were four men and three women, one the clerk. One of the women was blubbering, and it irritated him, keeping his anger high. The women all averted their eyes when he looked at them, and he knew he had nothing to fear from them. When he scanned the men’s faces only one stared back. Gil recognized him. He was from the fraternity he’d used to try and get rid of Ralph. Gil’s nostrils flared as his anger flamed. He’d taken some revenge on them, but not enough. More important, this one didn’t look scared—wary, yes, but he looked like he was plotting. Gil wanted to kill him then, to smash his smug face in with all his power. He pictured a spiked mace swinging at his head then pictured what the spikes would do to his face and eyes, but held back. He might have a better use for him, and still get revenge.
The 7-Eleven was encircled with patrol cars, police armed with shotguns and rifles. This time there would be no escape. Roy used a bullhorn to call to Gil. Chris stood next to him, holding her left arm to keep the wrist from moving around. She refused to go to the hospital until she could “see him go down.” Flipping on the bullhorn, Roy said, “Gil, there is no escape. Come out with your hands up.”
A minute later a person appeared in front of the glass door, but it wasn’t Gil and he was facing backward.
“He’s got hostages,” Chris said.
With a bang the doors were blown open and the man was ejected from the store, tumbling across the parking lot toward the police cars, st
opping twenty feet away. Two officers moved to help him, but Roy shouted for them to stop.
The man struggled to his feet, breathing raggedly and holding his chest. Roy recognized him, he was from the fraternity where the boys had been killed—Ron Classen, the chapter president. He staggered in a circle, dazed, unsure of direction. The police shouted to him, but the multiple voices confused him and he continued to circle, trying to localize himself. Roy shouted down the other officers, then called out to Ron, giving him directions. Soon he was stumbling toward Roy, following his voice. As he reached the car, he steadied himself on the hood, working around the front. Roy reached out, taking his arm. Suddenly something whistled through the air, the police shouting a warning. Too late, it hit Ron dead center in his back, knocking him into Roy. Together they collapsed, the injured fraternity brother on top. Fearing he was dead, Roy put his ear to the boy’s lips—he could hear shallow breathing.
Chris picked up a can of pork and beans that had flattened against Ron’s back, shaking her head. “How are we gonna stop this guy? Nuke the Seven-Eleven?”
Thinking of the two dead police officers, and the injured people around him, Roy wondered if even a bomb would stop him.
32
HOSTAGES
Wes was still in radiology when the ambulance arrived with the injured officers. Elizabeth watched in the emergency room while they tried to revive them. Then she listened in horror as a policeman told how he had watched his friends shoot each other. A doctor quickly confirmed that the damage was extensive, shredding their intestines, and severing the spine of one officer.
Wes was in the cast room when an ambulance arrived with two men injured at the 7-Eleven. One was dead, the other unconscious. They were treating Ron Classen for spinal injury and quickly rolled him out of sight. The other body lay on a gurney; the sheet covering the body was bloody around the head. The policemen who accompanied the casualties told of their windshield spontaneously shattering, and other horrors happening around the 7-Eleven.
When Wes’s cast was finished Elizabeth hustled him out the door and into the car, filling him in on what had happened. “We’ve got to do something,” she declared. But he didn’t know what, and had no response.
Roy Winston pounded on the door, and then walked in before Ralph could open it.
“Hi, how ya doin’,” Ralph said in his usual friendly way, extending his hand.
“Is Dr. Birnbaum still here?”
“I call him Dr. Bin-Bam. He likes it though.”
“Is he here?”
“Yeah. His wife too. They’re in the kitchen. I can show you the way.”
Karon was working with Archie and Yu in the living room, and as soon as Daphne saw the policeman she went to the piano and began playing. Ralph led him to the kitchen, then stood against the wall, his jaw working a mouthful of gum. Dr. Birnbaum was in his wheelchair at the table, drinking coffee with his wife and Shamita.
“Dr. Birnbaum, my name’s Roy Winston. We didn’t get to meet last night.”
“Have you caught him yet?”
“We have him cornered in the Seven-Eleven, but we can’t get to him. He’s got this power—he can knock you down by just looking at you.”
“Telekinesis! But I’ve never heard of it at his power level.”
“He’s killed three people we know of—another might die. We need some way to stop him.”
Dr. Birnbaum drove his chair up close to Roy. “Tell me what’s happened.”
Roy began with a summary but Dr. Birnbaum had him start over, describing every event in detail. When he got to the incidents at the 7-Eleven he stopped him.
“You say he leaned out of his pickup and faced the police car behind him? That confirms what I’ve been thinking. Don’t you understand?”
Roy didn’t, and shook his head.
“It means he has to see to use his power. And a mirror won’t work or else he would have used the rearview mirror in the truck. Does that help you?”
“Maybe, but we have to see him to stop him, and if we can see him . . .” Roy faded out, toying with a couple of ideas. Then he was back. “He got two of my officers to shoot each other when he was hiding under a porch. How’d he see us then?”
“He must have already fled his hiding place. He was in the crowd somewhere when he attacked your officers.”
“That figures, I guess,” Roy said. “What else can you tell me?”
“For some reason his power seems to come and go. Not everyone that he used it on was as badly injured as that young man last night. He seems to need to recharge.”
“It’s been pretty consistent today. He’s hit us hard over and over.”
Dr. Birnbaum looked disappointed. “That’s all I can tell you for now. Would you like me to come to the scene?”
Roy Winston didn’t want a handicapped man anywhere near the 7-Eleven, but decided he might be useful at the command center a few blocks away. When he agreed to take the professor with him, Dr. Birnbaum’s wife objected, worried over his safety. Only after he reassured her that they would keep Dr. Birnbaum at a safe distance did she relent. When he turned to leave he found Daphne standing in the doorway, head up, staring wide-eyed. When he reached out to move her aside, she broke her stare and hurried to the piano, pounding out “Love Lifted Me.”
On the porch, Ralph helped lift the wheelchair down the stairs and then into the Birnbaums’ van, sitting in the front passenger seat.
“Ralph, you can’t go with us,” Dr. Birnbaum said.
“I should go. Gil likes me.”
“No, Ralph. Gil is very dangerous.”
“I should go.”
“No,” Dr. Birnbaum said firmly.
Folding his arms across his chest, Ralph puckered his lips and assumed his concerned posture.
“Get out of the car, Ralph,” Shamita ordered.
Ralph hesitated, then reluctantly got out.
The Birnbaums drove off, following the police car and leaving Ralph on the sidewalk, his arms across his chest, his lip protruded in concern. Once they were out of sight, the others returned to the house. Ralph followed them as far as the porch, where he sat on the top step, lips still tightly puckered. When the others were inside, Ralph hurried down the stairs and down the block toward the 7-Eleven, striding along at full speed.
His hostages knew of his power but it was the gun they stared at—a gun was tangible. Their fear of the gun worked for Gil, because if all six of them bolted in different directions at the same time most of them would get away. As soon as they darted around an aisle corner out of his sight he couldn’t use his power on them. Ironically, Frankie had done him a favor by providing the gun.
Checking his watch, he found it was nearly time to kill another of the hostages. He didn’t want to do it. Not because he valued human life; he didn’t. He wanted a human shield around him when he walked out. Killing one meant more space between the others, making him more vulnerable to the police snipers.
One of the three women hostages checked her watch and began crying. She knew it was nearly time. Gil glared at her and she shrank back, trying to stifle her sobs. She would go next, Gil decided. He wasn’t going to put up with the blubbering—he had enough to worry about.
Gil studied the building, tracing the rafters, determining which were the load-bearing walls. The front of the building was almost entirely glass, the other three sides concrete block. He knew the wall he had taken refuge against was shared with a video rental store on the other side. There weren’t many escape options and his best hope was still the hostages.
Wes followed Elizabeth into the house, where Elizabeth immediately described Len’s condition for Karon and Shamita and then explained all that had happened. Karon cried at the description of Len’s injuries and soon excused herself to her room. Daphne listened briefly, then settled in at the piano, but her playing was erratic, discordant. Soon she gave up and ran up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door.
“You want me to comfort her?” Shamita aske
d.
“No, let’s leave her alone. I hate to see her in so much pain, but at least she’s showing what she feels now.”
After Elizabeth finished her story, Shamita told them about Officer Winston’s visit. Elizabeth and Wes frowned when they heard that Dr. Birnbaum had gone to see if he could help. Wes had an urgent need to help—to do something. He couldn’t help but blame himself for bringing this tragedy to these people.
“I might know a way to help the police with Gil,” Wes said.
“What? How?”
“I don’t want to do it—I don’t think you’ll want to either.”
“Tell me!” Elizabeth demanded.
“We know that Gil came back to the house because he was Frankie. Even after Luis was dead Frankie still took control. What if we run the integration again and bring back Frankie.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth interrupted. “If we run the integration it might release Frankie and stop Gil.”
Shamita joined the speculation. “Yes, we got Frankie even with drastically changed parameters. The Frankie without Luis wouldn’t be as smart, and would be more of someone else, but it would still be Frankie. More important, as far as we know Frankie doesn’t have the psychic powers Gil has. Frankie would be a lot easier to handle.”
All agreed. Shamita went to set up the equipment—normally handled primarily by Len. Wes herded Archie and Yu into the experiment room, while Elizabeth retrieved Daphne and Karon. Wes was fitting Archie with his helmet when Elizabeth returned.
“Where’s Ralph?” Elizabeth asked. “We could use him as part of the integration. Integration of his intellectual functions might lower Frankie’s IQ even more. Integrating Ralph’s emotions might make Frankie downright gentle.” Elizabeth looked around confused. “Karon, where’s Ralph?”
Fragments Page 34