Storm Front - eARC

by Robert Conroy

  He looked up at the looming building. He had to get closer. He had to see just what the hell was going on inside that big house.

  Stan radioed Mike that he was going to move closer and again began his slow, laborious crawl. After what seemed an eternity, he was up against the brick wall of the Lawford house. The building was solid brick and not a façade like new houses. It would make a helluva good fortress if it came down to a gunfight. Shit, why did the bad guys draw all the high cards?

  He was beneath a window. He asked Mike if there was any indication of undue light or heat from behind it and was assured that there wasn’t. As far as technology and the human eyeball could determine, the room was empty, although there was probable occupancy of the room farther to Stan’s right as he faced the building.

  Stan raised himself to where he could see in over the snow piled against the window and confirmed that the room was indeed empty. However, he did see a snowmobile in another room and just visible down a hallway. He radioed that info to the others. If the killers tried to escape by that route, they would have to exit the rear of the house. Petkowski was grateful he was in the front. He checked and the window was locked. Just as well. He had no urge to crawl in and confront Tower and Raines all by his Polish lonesome.

  Stan checked with Mike and was told to sit tight. “Easy for you to say,” he whispered in mock anger. “You’re in a nice dry house while I’m freezing my ass off in a snowbank.”

  Stan was about to add something else when he heard the sound of a window opening above him. He looked up through the falling snow and saw a naked woman leaning out.

  * * *

  Officer Clyde Detmer wondered if he was making the right decision. He’d been offered a decent pension and was considering taking it. He would miss being a cop. But he already missed riding a motorcycle and giving tickets to people who thought they were either above the law or who professed blindness when it came to speed limit and stop signs.

  Still, he had nothing to complain about. He had a bad habit of being sarcastic, about work and his weight and he knew that annoyed some people. His job this day wasn’t difficult and it did enable him to work with kids, which he enjoyed. He also liked working with their teachers. With only a few exceptions, he respected them. He had an associate’s degree in criminal justice and had toyed with the idea of getting his bachelor’s, but his wife talked him out of it. He was fifty-five, she reminded him. Just what would he do with the degree? Teach? There were more teachers than there were jobs in Michigan; ergo, he would not go back to school.

  When the severity of the storm became obvious, he volunteered to get out of the offices and help control hundreds of antsy kids. The little kids responded well. The bigger ones were different. With them, he decided, it was like trying to herd cats. Raging hormones and pent-up energy barely accounted for it. It more than kept him busy, but he did feel he was doing something useful. Along with having a cop’s command presence, Detmer was a large man.

  He was deeply grieved on hearing of the death of Wilson Craft. He had known the man and, while he and Wilson had never been close, his death was a tragedy nonetheless.

  Even after the power went out, he still convinced himself that things were pretty much under control. However, when the fire alarms started screaming and the sprinklers went off, he wondered just what the hell else could go wrong. He told those teachers who were too surprised to think that they should get the kids under tables and desks while he went to find the source of the fire. Normally, everyone would have filed out of the building and gathered on the lawns and in parking lots. Only thing was, that was clearly impossible unless it was an act of utter desperation and his gut said it was a damned false alarm.

  “There’s smoke reported down by the library,” a very harassed Nancy Hamlin announced. It was her second year as principal and Wally wondered if she wasn’t in way over her head.

  “Then why did all the sprinklers in the building go off?” Clyde asked. Nancy said she had no idea.

  A few seconds later, they and the sirens stopped. “I’m going down to the library,” Detmer said. “I’ll bet you a dollar that some jackass kids set it off.”

  Nancy smiled wanly. “I will not bet against you.”

  * * *

  Chief Bench turned and walked toward the mayor’s office again. He was more sober than he’d been in days as he opened the door and walked in. The mayor was nowhere to be seen, but there was the sound of moaning and the smell of cordite and blood.

  Thea Hamilton followed the chief and walked behind the desk. “Oh, Christ,” she said and began to vomit. Carter lay face down on the floor in a widening pool of blood and what looked like pieces of skull and brain matter. A handgun lay beside him. Behind them, voices yelled for help.

  EMS techs and other cops arrived quickly and began to work on the mayor’s limp form. Bench stepped aside to allow them through. A sheet of paper on the mayor’s desk caught his eye and he picked it up. The heading was Carter-Sheridan Construction Company and it was a list of addresses. As quickly as he could without his glasses, Chief Bench read the list and the brief accompanying text. It said that these were the properties the FBI was investigating for shoddy construction, and there were nearly fifty of them. Sampson’s Super Store was on it, which provided an answer to why the mayor shot himself. At least five people were now dead at the store and many injured. The mayor was looking at major jail time for his involvement in the deaths and the fraud. Bench had done dumb things in his life, but he’d never endangered anyone. He found little pity for his fallen boss.

  “I didn’t know the mayor could shoot a gun,” Thea said.

  “He can’t,” Bench responded. “He’s still alive. Once again, he’s fucked up.”

  Bench allowed his eyes to wander down the list. One additional building caught his eyes—Patton Elementary School. Jesus, he thought, now the stupid bastards have put little kids in danger.

  * * *

  “Damn you, Wally. You said this was going to end soon.”

  “Hold on to your delicious little gubernatorial panties, Lauren, it is ending, just not as fast as we’d all like. Besides, the word “soon” is very subjective. How soon is soon to God, for instance? A billion years? Think about it. This could be it for the rest of our lives. Maybe a new ice age just began and we’re privileged to see it.”

  “Shut up, Wally, and get serious. Make it stop.”

  Wally Wellman glanced at the computer monitor that showed the latest satellite update. Another look at the radar and satellite report confirmed what he’d said. The line of demarcation now cut through the metropolitan area like a knife. To the south and west of Detroit, around Romulus and the Detroit Metropolitan Airport, there were reports of clearing skies. The plows trying to clear the airport runways were beginning to make some progress. It would be a long time before planes moved, but there were places where the runway was actually visible.

  Not so to the north of the city. “Wally, we’ve got more than a foot of new snow in the roadway behind where the Guard has cleared it. The plows are having to replow what they’ve already cleared. It’s like a tar baby. We just keep getting in deeper.”

  “Not my fault, Governor. I only make the announcements. As they say, I’m in marketing, not production.”

  “Wally, don’t be a smartass. I’m beginning to like you again, so don’t screw it up. Oh, that’s right, I always did like you—just some days more than others.”

  Wally grinned. He liked the idea of her liking him. “Seriously, Lauren, it is beginning to clear, but that’s the key word—beginning. When the front passes, it seems to turn off rather quickly, but it’s still not going to be instantaneous and it’s got a long ways to go before it reaches you. You’re on the northern fringe of it, so it’s going to be a while before any change comes through to where you are.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know that. I just need somebody to complain to and you’re the lucky one.”

  Lucky me, indeed, thought Wally with a smile. An
d don’t ever stop calling me.

  * * *

  Traci Lawford leaned out the window and looked down at the deep, white snow. It looked so inviting, even fluffy like a pillow. The cold, wet wind on her bare skin told her that it was treacherous, not gentle. And it might cover something very harmful should she jump and land on it.

  Even though it was her own yard, she was disoriented both by the abuse she’d endured and the snow that had wiped out any semblance of familiarity. The yard that she’d taken for granted now looked alien and threatening. Worse, she hated and feared heights. She’d gotten physically ill watching scenes of people jumping to their deaths from the World Trade Center. What terrors could motivate a person to do something like that? Now she was beginning to realize the answer—total desperation. Here, Tower and Raines were the all-consuming flames.

  Put it in perspective, she ordered herself. She was not on the top of the World Trade Center. No, she was only a dozen or so feet above a snow-covered lawn. Those people in the house were going to kill her if she didn’t free herself. She couldn’t depend on the possibility of cops coming to help her. She had to get out of the house.

  Traci leaned farther out the gabled window and eased herself onto the roof. The snow was deep and the footing slippery, especially since her bare feet got cold quickly and lost any sense of touch. She managed to get herself out onto the roof and sat there, shivering and naked in snow that was over her waist, and contemplated her next move. She was two stories above the snow-covered ground. Did she really have the courage to jump?

  From inside the house, she heard the door to her room open, followed by angry shouts. She climbed up to the top of the gable. Now she was almost three floors up. Her feet dislodged some snow and a small avalanche fell.

  Below her and unseen, Petkowski spoke softly and carefully into his radio. “Did anyone see that? Where did she go? I lost her.”

  “She’s on the roof,” Mike answered, “and just out of your view. Oh, shit. Someone’s at the window and it’s got to be one of the bad guy’s looking for her.”

  Mike gave the radio to Officer Donlan and picked up a rifle. The range wasn’t all that great, but he only had sight of part of the target’s body and the blowing snow distorted the view. He only assumed the person in the window was either Tower or Raines, but he wasn’t certain. He didn’t want to kill an innocent person. What if Traci Lawford wasn’t the only hostage in that house? They’d assumed she was alone, but what if she wasn’t? What if there was a girlfriend, or a lover, in that house. Hell, what if it was a small kid?

  The man in the window disappeared. Had he realized that their prisoner had flown? It occurred to Mike that the man might have assumed that Traci Lawford had jumped instead of being just above him on the roof. Good—let him think that.

  But she couldn’t stay up there forever. Minutes would be more like it. Mike didn’t know how long it would be before hypothermia set in. Considering her total nakedness, the snow depth, and a wind chill well below freezing, it wouldn’t take long before she was incapable of functioning and not much longer after that before she was dead.

  Across the yard, Traci Lawford’s cold hands lost their grip on the roof and she slid off the gable. As Mike watched in horror, she slid down the roof and, arms flailing, fell soundlessly into the snow by the house, only a few feet from where Petkowski waited. A second later, Traci Lawford began to scream in agony and flop around in the snow that trapped her.

  * * *

  The roof at Patton Elementary fell in sections that seemed like waves. Still, it happened fast enough that there was no real way to escape the torrent of white snow and roofing debris that buried many in the school.

  One moment Maddy and Donna were looking up at the shuddering ceiling and wondering what their next step might be, and then they heard a roar and the roof came down on top of them. They tried to run, but were quickly engulfed and buried.

  Maddy was covered by the white stuff. She tried to move and couldn’t. She was pinned. With great effort, she twisted her body, while at the same time, more snow and debris poured down on them. She heard something snap, and then she screamed from the searing pain in her left arm before she passed out. Before losing consciousness, she realized that being able to scream told her that she was buried in an air pocket.

  Maddy awoke to more pain and cold. Something hard was sticking her in the side. She could breathe, but not see. Gritting her teeth, Maddy started to use her good arm and hand as a scoop to try to dig her way up and out.

  * * *

  Officer Stan Petkowski stood in stunned disbelief in snow that came to the middle of his chest. One second he’d been contemplating a way of getting into the Lawford house, the next Traci Lawford was writhing in agony a few feet from him. Her leg was twisted and a piece of bone had burst through her skin—a compound fracture. Worse, it looked like she might slip under the snow and drown. Or freeze to death. Christ.

  Petkowski yanked off his now filthy white sheets and pushed the few steps to the screaming woman. He threw them over her in a pathetic attempt to cover her and keep her warm. She stared at him with horror-filled eyes and continued to scream.

  The door to the house opened and a man with a rifle stood only a few feet in front of him. Petkowski recognized Raines from the photo he’d seen. Petkowski scrambled for his rifle, but a confused, hurt, and panicked Traci Lawford chose that moment to grab for his leg, throwing him off balance.

  Raines fired a burst from his M16. The bullets stitched across Petkowski’s chest and hurled him into the snow that rapidly began to turn red. Raines looked down at the fallen woman and realized she was no use to him as a hostage.

  “Useless bitch,” he muttered and aimed his weapon at her.

  Across the street, Mike Stuart watched through the telescopic sight. Thermal imaging showed one man down and he knew it was Stan. Inadvertently, the other cop had been in Mike’s line of fire. Now the only one left standing was the shooter, framed in the doorway. From where he was, Mike had no idea which of the two killers he had in his sights. He didn’t care. He saw the target raise his weapon and aim it down.

  Mike fired a short burst of three. At a little more than a hundred yards, it was an easy hit. The man silhouetted in the doorway lurched back, crumpled, and lay still. He heard Patti Hughes yelling “Go, go, go,” to the other officers. Mike headed towards the door and joined the charge. There was still one man to go and a couple of people to try to save.

  * * *

  Maddy Kovacs’s head and shoulders were finally free of the snow and she gasped in relief. The pain in her arm had receded to simple agony. It was endurable. Other teachers along with Tessa and Lori pulled her the rest of the way out. She had to tell them that she was hurt and to leave her arm alone. They got the message when she howled as someone touched her. A sobbing Tessa took off her coat and wrapped it around Maddy’s shoulders.

  Finally, she stood on the snow-covered floor, clutching her bad arm with her good one. Donna Harris lay unconscious and bleeding from a head wound. Frieda Houle finished checking Donna over. “She’s alive. Other than a probable concussion, I don’t know what else is wrong with her.” Frieda caught a look at Maddy’s arm. “Oh shit, come here.”

  While Frieda tied on a rough splint, Maddy tried to figure out what remained to be done. Snow mountains were everywhere and more snow was falling through the opened roof. Kids were crying and several adults looked like they were in shock.

  Maggie Tomasi grabbed her by her good arm. “Four kids are missing.”

  Maddy looked down at Donna. Her eyes were blinking open, but she was only barely conscious, if that much. “Everybody digs,” Maddy ordered. She felt wet and realized the sprinkler system had just activated. Along with the snow, it was raining.

  * * *

  Jimmy Tower was panicked. He’d run down from the second floor, and been behind and to the left of Raines when Raines had shot the ghostly white apparition standing over Traci Lawford. He’d started to lunge forward w
hen Raines suddenly fell backward a second before he heard the sound of more distant gunfire.

  One look at Raines was enough. Two bullets had entered his chest and exited through giant holes in Raines’ back. Raines’ insides were splattered all over the floor and walls. He’d gurgled for a couple of seconds and then lay still.

  Tower knew he wasn’t considered very smart, but even a dumb animal knows when to flee instead of fighting overwhelming odds. Surrendering was out of the question. He’d been in prison and been badly treated by both inmates and guards. Other inmates had thought he’d make a great boy toy, and he’d been raped on a number of occasions. No, he’d rather die than go back to jail, and endure the pain and the shame again.

  “Gotta get out of here,” he said to himself. Through the snow, he thought he could see shapes converging on the house. He ran to the back of the house where the snowmobile was and opened the family room doorwall. He didn’t have his winter gear on—there simply wasn’t enough time. He might freeze his ass off, but he’d be okay if he could get far enough away from this house.

  Tower hopped on and turned on the ignition. It started with a roar and he gunned the machine out into the snow-covered backyard.

  * * *

  Mike arrived at the fallen Petkowski just seconds after the other officers. Wading through the chest-deep snow had taken what seemed to be an eternity of supreme effort, and Mike was breathing heavily from the exertion. EMS personnel had been waiting behind the houses where the police were stationed and were slowly converging on the two fallen people. There was still a shooter in the house and they were supposed to wait for the all clear before tending to any injured. Still, they found it impossible to wait while people might be dying.