William’s breathing became sporadic. He lowered his gun and grabbed at his chest. “St-Stop it! You monster! I trusted you. I listened to you. I - ”
“After failing your grandmother, I would certainly think you’d try a little harder to save your grandfather but you didn’t even make a move to save him from the knife that plunged through his lung at the hands of fourteen year old boy!”
William collapsed onto one knee as he was overcome with dizziness and severe chest pain. Heather knelt down beside him.
“Captain,” she called. “Captain!”
“As he bled out before you, drowning in his own blood, holding your hand one last time, you cried in the summer heat not understanding how it could have all happened. You cried because the system said you had to with no other options. You made their deaths meaningless by feeding the very system that killed them by becoming a rescuer of it. Countless more will die because of you for that. You don’t kill cancer with bandages. You kill cancer by killing everything…”
“He is, is a hero!” shouted Seong.
“You think he is a hero, Lieutenant?” Hernandez mocked. “Look at him. He can’t even stand. He is not a hero. He never will be until he realizes he is trapped within our system, trapped to do its bidding under the few who run it into the ground, trapped behind a veil of hope. Heroes don’t rise in this world. Heroes aren’t born. Heroes are simply products of their own perception.”
“I’m going to shoot him,” Vega said to Heather.
“No!” Heather cried. “He might kill the colonel if you fire. The captain wouldn’t want anything to happen to him.”
William hunched over as his chest continued to tighten. He felt waves of lightheadedness hit him. Drops of rain intermixed with sweat. His eyes began losing their sight, becoming clouded by horrific moments from his past.
“And now, once again, you are left weak because of this system you swore to protect. Look at what a few words can do to the world’s Lost Hero, the great Hope Giver. You can’t save anyone, Will. I can’t help but notice you are missing a team member,” chuckled Hernandez. “Lose another one did we?”
Anxiety swept William into its paralyzing grip. “No. N-Not now…”
“It seems that the worlds Lost Hero is still just that, lost. You can’t save anyone. Not your grandmother. Not your grandfather. Not your men. Not Samir. And now, not even your best friend…”
Hernandez fired his gun; a single shot that rang out louder than any concussion of thunder could. The bullet hit John in the chest. He collapsed instantly and rolled down the boarding stairs to the tarmac where he stayed. William looked up, shaking at the sound of the shot. He watched as John splashed into puddles, turning them red with blood.
CHAPTER 80: Let Go
“You are too hopeful of humanity, Will. Hope is not a strategy, it is an excuse!” shouted Hernandez quickly.
He swung his gun around and fired into the adjacent construction site through its chain link fence about sixty feet to William’s right. His bullet hit the release valve of a large hydrogen tanker truck at the base of the tower crane, releasing the gas with a loud hiss. He fired another bullet just below the hissing stream. The bullet grazed the metal tank creating a wisp of sparks. The sparks ignited the stream with an orange flame, which found its way into the tankers chamber.
Hernandez grabbed the object in Hammond’s hand. He released his headlock only to punch her in the jaw, knocking her to the ground. He took off running out across the apron towards the airports runways. William watched as Hernandez sprinted away.
“Stop,” he stammered. “Sto - ”
The tanker truck exploded into a tremendous fireball. The patrol cars closest to it were thrown over. Guardsmen’s uniforms caught fire. The explosion flashed boiled rain falling around it into a cloud of steam. William and his team were thrown down by the shockwave. All of Hammond’s planes windows blew out, as did the rest of the vehicles in the dissolving semicircle.
William fell into a puddle, hitting the back of his head hard. He looked up and saw the boom of the crane moving violently. Within seconds he realized the boom was collapsing as the foundation of the tower crane buckled. He saw it was going to fall in the space between him and the plane. With adrenaline pulling him off the ground, he dashed over to Base Commander Hammond. The metal cranes foundation snapped and creaked, smashing through the chain-link fence and through the overturned ISAF vehicles. Several guardsmen were pinned below its beams, crushing them. William dove and rolled just as the crane smashed into the tarmac beside him, cracking it. The boom buckled back on itself and landed on Hammond’s small plane, cutting it in half, igniting its fuel into another fireball.
William looked through the twisted beams. His team was okay; the impact had missed them by about ten feet. William keeled over once again in pain, panic, and fear. He couldn’t stop seeing his grandfathers whitening face as life escaped him in the hot New Orleans sun twenty-two years earlier. The heat from the fires brought images of the nuclear blast he agonized through…
“Help me, Lieutenant Emerson! I’m burning up! It burns! Help me…”
William caught sight of John again through the dispersing steam. He still hadn’t moved. He couldn’t be… Life couldn’t do that. Life couldn’t possibly be that cruel. William pleaded in his head for the sight in front of him to not be true, not to be another waste. John’s blood moved across the tarmac puddles, reaching William’s hands. Once again, they were doused in the blood of those he loved.
One of John’s fingers twitched, then another, and another. William began crawling over to him, his legs cramped with anxiety.
“John!” he cried. “John please, wake up! Wake up!”
John didn’t answer. William dragged himself up to the colonel. Blood was everywhere. An entry wound was just above his heart.
“John!” cried William again. “Wake up! Wake up damnit.”
“Captain!”
William looked back. Hammond was staring at him, clenching her right jawbone.
“Captain,” she said, “he’s not dead. He’s not dead. He’s not dead unless you let him be.”
“Ma’am…”
“Don’t let John become just another aching memory of someone you failed. He will die if you do not fight. He will die if you accept this as your own fault as you have so many times in the past. The water in your life has already drowned. The knife has already killed. The bomb has already burned. That cannot be changed; but, the bullet has not yet killed, nor does it ever have to. Hernandez is still out there, running. He is death. He is your retribution to your past. Face him. Fight him. Stop him, for all our sakes!”
“Ma’am… He, he was right. Look at me… The pain of those memories - ”
“Your grandfathers death was not your fault Captain! Your past was not your fault!” Hammond screamed. “It was life!” Hammond pointed out towards the runways. “That man is not life, he is mortal that, unlike life, can in fact be stopped. So do it!”
William looked down at John’s blood soaked body…
I saw my grandfather fall into John’s place, on his back dying outside the Superdome, covered in blood.
“Poppy no, no, no, not you too,” I said to him, crying. “I’m sorry. This is my fault! My fault! Don’t leave. Don’t leave! I don’t want to be alone. Stay here! Please. Please Poppy. You promised I wouldn’t be alone anymore!”
My grandfather took my hand, trembling. I remembered his next few words to be his last. But the memory changed. He looked different. He looked alive. Color returned to his cheeks and blood cleared away. A comforting smile swept his face. His hand stopped trembling. I settled in my breathing as I was overcome with peace.
My grandfather brushed my puffy cheek, looked me in the eyes, and said, “You’re my grandson, Will. You are never alone. Nothing was your fault. It wasn’t your weakness that killed me; it was just a knife being held by the hands of someone as scared and as innocent as you were.”
“But I didn’t
even try to stop the boy, Poppy. I didn’t even try.”
“What we do in one moment of our lives does not define us, it is what we do after that moment and how we bear the consequences of it, that do. Let your grandmother and I go, Will. You saved us by just giving us the chance to have a child again. Your friend before you, and the world as well, are the moment you must attend to right now so that the consequences of it do not overtake the future you still deserve, of the future we always wanted for you, one in which you do not suffer and do not fear.”
My grandfather squeezed my hand and wiped away tears from my eyes.
“It’s finally time to let me go, Will.”
I smiled one last time at him. “Okay, Poppy. Okay,” I tearfully nodded.
“Now, go,” my grandfather smiled. “Be all that you can. Save all that you can, Captain William Emerson… Captain William Emerson… Captain Emerson…”
“…Captain Emerson!” shouted Hammond, now kneeling beside William, shaking his shoulder. She was putting pressure on John’s wound with her other hand.
William suddenly grabbed her hand ferociously. “Where is he?” he demanded zealously.
The sudden change in William’s attitude startled Hammond. He was refocused and strong.
“Where is he?” William demanded again.
“He ran off towards the west. I think he’s heading towards the vertical landing pads. He’s going to try and leave the base.”
“No,” William shook his head, “he won’t. Get communications back online. Get a medical team for John.”
“They are already on their way.”
William stood up but Hammond tugged his arm down.
“I need what he took back, Captain. I need the flash drive.”
“What’s on it?” William asked.
Hammond scowled and looked over at the raging fires all around. “My mission.”
“Do you need him?”
“No.”
“Thought so,” reveled William coldly. He ran towards the last intact ISAF patrol car on his side of the fallen crane and got in it. It was already running. He floored the accelerator and skidded out of the parking space onto the apron and headed west.
CHAPTER 81: Leading the Charge
“Lewis,” called William over his radio.
“Captain, are you alright?” she answered.
“Fine. Get me Hernandez’s glass tag. We need to track him.”
After a second Nancy said, “Got it. According to my readings it is stationary, about fifty feet beyond where he started running.”
“Damnit... He took it off.”
William scanned through the car’s waving windshield wipers fighting against sheets of rain. Per the lockdown, no one was out across the airport so Hernandez would be easy to see in the vast open concrete plain of the apron. The cars radio began blowing up with chatter.
“Armed hostile is moving due west. Subject is Patrick Hernandez. Pursue with extreme caution. We are going to try and cut him off at vertical landing pad five. All units converge, repeat, all units converge.”
William was paralleling the terminal, passing its southern facing wing. Hernandez came into view about 400 feet ahead. He was still running, with the caliber of an Olympic sprinter. William pushed the cars speed up to over one hundred miles per hour. William hoped between the cars silence, the rain, and Hernandez’s own pounding strides he wouldn’t hear him racing up from behind to run him over.
But Hernandez stopped. He turned around and took to one knee, opening fire on William’s car with his P90. William ducked below the dashboard. The windshield shattered. Rain flew in. The hood of the car filled with bullets and shot off flaking paint. William swerved hard to the left, letting the right side of the car take even more bullets, shattering both right side windows.
CHAPTER 82: Facing The Enemy From Within
Hernandez regained his sprint after watching his pursuing vehicle swerve and skid away. He spotted his escape at a landing pad dead ahead, Phoenix 15. It was a CH-53K King Stallion, one of the largest cargo helicopters in the world. Hernandez only knew the basics of flying but he knew enough to set the autopilot and in a Phoenix that was all one needed.
In the distance to his right Hernandez saw flashing lights and heard a multitude of sirens. He tucked Hammond’s flash drive into one of his vest pockets and then checked his ammo count. He still had over half a clips worth. In the back of the helicopter through its open cargo bay door Hernandez saw a large rescuer transport vehicle being stowed.
He ran up the slippery ramp, squeezed past the bulky white vehicle, and into the empty cockpit. Throwing down his helmet, Hernandez switched on the helicopters massive rotors via the cockpits touchscreen displays overhead and in front of him. Phoenix 15 came to life. Controls lit up. As they did, Hernandez input coordinates into the autopilot. He disengaged the link to the bases supercomputer that could be used to remotely stop the aircraft.
“Attention Phoenix 15-4, power down immediately. Repeat, power down - ”
Hernandez switched off the radio. He readied to hit enter on the control panel to engage the autopilot when in the corner of his left eye he caught sight of movement. He looked over his shoulder just in time to see William’s patrol car careen into the helicopters front landing gear, tearing off the cars right front paneling and headlight. The landing gear was torn off, pitching the helicopter down while leaning left. Airflow through the whirring rotor blades allowed them to gain lift, pitching the Phoenix further left, throwing it off balance. The tips of the blades made contact with the tarmac with dramatic releases of orange sparks. The blades broke apart into hundreds of pieces. Fragmenting shards became projectiles across the apron.
Losing the imbalanced lift from its disintegrated blades Phoenix 15 righted itself, its airframe pounding back down to rest on the ground. William skidded to a stop facing the damage Phoenix. He couldn’t see anybody inside the cockpit. Barely in view from his position, William noticed a large eight-wheel truck dart out the back of the chopper and veer right, heading due south out towards the airports two runways.
William threw his car back into drive and drove around the mangled helicopter after the truck. The transport lumbered ahead. It had a flat nose protected by a cage that was covered in LED lights. Over its square cab were more lights and antennas. The windows surrounding its cab were small, as were the windows built around the rescuer holding area in the back. Each side had a ladder to reach the roof and compartments for holding supplies behind roll up doors.
Hernandez needed a new means of escape. He spotted the grass-roofed hangers across the runways bordering the bases southern perimeter. Surely one had to have a plane to commandeer. In the drivers side mirror he saw William gaining on him. He knew he could not out run his patrol car.
William wasn’t sure if he could but he was going to try and do a pit maneuver on the truck. He caught up to its rear. Hernandez saw him in his driver side mirror again.
“Tenacious fool,” he muttered to himself.
Hernandez turned the truck hard into William’s car, forcing William to turn away momentarily. William retaliated by swerving back into the trucks far back left wheel but it had little effect. The airless design of the wheel made it extremely durable and almost unbreakable. Hernandez turned his truck hard to the left, forcing William to turn with him onto the taxiway that led aircraft onto the airports north runway. They were now moving due east. William tried to ram the rear of Hernandez’s truck again but it was no use, it was just too heavy.
William eased off on the accelerator. Across the runways over by the sections southern hangars he saw something that gave him an idea. He called DJ over his radio.
“Pate, you copy?”
“I copy, Captain!”
“I need your help and your probably going to need a copilot so bring someone along.”
“Copilot, sir?”
“I know you like to fly so I’m giving you the chance to… sort of. But you need to act fast. Hernandez is all ov
er the place and what I’m about to tell you may be the only sure way of stopping him.”
Ahead Hernandez saw Phoenix 27 making its way west towards them on the taxiway. The plane was a modified A380 that carried hydrogen fuel for other UNIRO aircraft for long duration missions over rescue zones. But, as it was today, it could also carry traditional jet fuel. Originally built to be manned, it had been modified to be completely autonomous so it had no windows, just a polished smooth white fuselage all the way around.
Hernandez lined his truck up with the approaching plane so that he could drive under the planes right wing between its engine and fuselage. He was going to finish William here. Hernandez slowed so that he matched William’s patrol cars speed. Once he did, he rammed hard into it. Metal screeched and grinded. Sparks burst through the rain.
William tried to pull away but he couldn’t, his car became hooked onto the truck. He realized Hernandez’s intention. Hernandez was going to smash his car into the approaching planes engine. He slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched and smoked. Nothing happened. William was being dragged.
Hernandez floored the trucks accelerator. They were 800 feet away from the plane. William looked up at the truck and saw its side ladder. He grabbed his P90 and unbuckled his seatbelt. William climbed up and out of the car through its broken windshield. He balanced himself against the car and the truck. They were moving at least fifty miles per hour. William grabbed onto the trucks side ladder and lifted himself completely off his patrol car. He didn’t know if Hernandez even saw him get out through the trucks small driver side window. He climbed up the ladder but slipped. Hanging on with one hand, he looked left. Phoenix 27 dawned just ahead; it’s four huge engines sucking in misty air. William regained his footing and doubled stepped up the ladder and tossed himself onto the roof of the truck. Hernandez heard his clunk.
The End of the Beginning Page 38