Storm Front - eARC

by Robert Conroy

  Of the two people down, Petkowski was obviously in worse condition. There was blood all over his chest and head. His eyes blinked feebly and his breath was raspy. His Kevlar vest had stopped most of the bullets but at least one had penetrated near his shoulder. Traci Lawford had stopped screaming and looked about in wide-eyed shock.

  The roar of an engine brought Mike back to his senses. He was in the way of the medical personnel and there was still a killer on the loose. The sound was a snowmobile. Mike ran around the house in time to see Sergeant Patti Hughes plant herself in front of a monster that was bearing down on her. She never got off a shot before the snowmobile struck her and flung her against the side of the house like a limp toy.

  Mike screamed in anger and frustration as the vehicle turned in front of him. Still, he couldn’t shoot indiscriminately. It wouldn’t be like shooting Raines where there was a brick house directly behind the target. Now there were houses behind him and there were people in them. An M16 round could travel more than a mile and could pierce walls. He fired a short burst down, towards the ground. If he hit anything it would be the driver’s legs. If he missed, maybe the shots would go into the snow.

  There was no response from Tower. The bullets had all missed him. But one had hit the snowmobile, piercing the gas tank, which erupted in a ball of flame that wrapped itself around Tower and threw him onto the snow-blanketed ground only a few feet from Mike. He flailed and tried to stand up. He had a pistol in his hand and howled in pain. He seemed to point the gun at Mike. “Thank you,” said Mike and he fired three more rounds into the stocky little man’s chest.

  Mike lowered the rifle. He walked back to the house through the trail he’d made. EMS personnel were rushing to aid the fallen. Traci Lawford’s leg was clearly broken and they began to move her into the house. Setting it there would provide little more than first aid. She needed a hospital.

  Petkowski was in far worse shape. He had to go to a hospital right now for him to stand any chance at all. The EMS tech shook his head and said they’d do their best, but it didn’t look good at all.

  Patti Hughes was trying to sit up. “My leg’s broken too, damnit.”

  Mike started to shake with relief. He’d never before even drawn his weapon, much less shot anyone, and now he’d killed two men in a matter of minutes. That they’d deserved all they’d gotten and more was scant consolation. He’d killed. He didn’t like it.

  Another EMS tech began to examine Hughes. She was yet another person who needed a ride to the hospital. Out of the corner of his eye, Mike sensed a large, even monstrous shape, coming across the lawns. At its front a huge plow bulled the snow out and away. It pulled up in front of Mike. The logo on the door of the truck said Gomez Snow Removal.

  A Hispanic-looking man leaned out the driver’s side. “I heard you got people who got to go to the hospital? Put them in the back. I know a way to get there if I stay off the roads.”

  EMS and other cops put all three people in the back of the dump truck. Mike turned to Gomez. “Who told you to come?”

  “Thea Hamilton,” Gomez said. “I called her a while ago offering help, and she called me when you guys left for here.”

  With a roar, the big truck took off through the snow. It wasn’t going fast, but at least it was moving. The hospital they were headed to was more of an industrial clinic than a real hospital, but it was a lot better than trying to do a bunch of medical procedures in a living room. Maybe, finally, things were going to settle down and turn out right.

  “Hey, Sarge!” yelled one of his cops. “We got problems at one of the schools. Roof’s down and people are trapped and, oh yeah, there may be a fire.”

  “Which one?” Mike asked with a feeling of dread.

  “Patton.”

  Chapter 17

  When the power went out, Stoner thought it was an inconvenience. Now he realized he was getting cold. Red and Gus were looking at him for leadership.

  “Okay,” he said. “Do we want to back to the classrooms?”

  “Hell no,” said Red, and Gus nodded.

  “Then we’d better do something to get warm. This is a library and it’s empty because it’s cold but it’s full of books and stuff that will burn and keep us warm. The power won’t be out for too long so let’s just get some old encyclopedias and burn them.” He giggled. “Nobody uses them anymore. Maybe they’ll even thank us.”

  The others agreed and they quickly accumulated a pile of old books. Gus had once been a Boy Scout, which they thought was hilarious, and knew how to start a fire. They would keep it small and on the floor, which they didn’t think would burn. The floor felt like it was slate.

  In a few minutes, a decent fire was burning and keeping them warm. Stoner thought they’d be able to stay there forever if the power didn’t come back. There were plenty of books that nobody read anymore thanks to Nook and Kindle and other things. Food would be a problem, though, and Stoner’s stomach was beginning to grumble. They’d already eaten everything in their backpacks.

  They were smoking pot and discussing their fate when a gust of wind from somewhere took their fire and blew the burning pages around the library. To their horror, some of them settled in wastebaskets and other places that contained something to burn. They ran around and tried to stamp out the embers which only sent more swirling into the air.

  The fire began to spread as embers flew down hallways. This activated the smoke detectors which, being battery operated, were still functioning. As they commenced their ungodly screeching, the sprinkler system turned itself on. The fires were quickly extinguished, but the damage had been done. Everyone in the three connecting buildings was now wet as well as cold. Surrounded by smoke and dripping, the three young men stood in the library, too stunned to move. They were still standing by the remains of their original campfire when several teachers and Officer Detmer found them. A horde of students followed them. Almost all of them were recording the event on their phones and cameras. Detmer was out of breath, but smiled when he saw the soggy joint that was still in Stoner’s hand.

  Detmer took the joint, smelled it, smiled again, and put it in a plastic bag. “Damned if this doesn’t look like probable cause to search everything you’ve got including body cavities. I have been waiting to bust your worthless ass for a very long time and now it’s happened. Hallelujah.”

  Detmer kicked their backpacks which were soaked and on the floor. They came open and more bags of marijuana spilled out along with vials of prescription drugs. “The mother lode,” Detmer crowed. Some of the kids watching applauded, but he felt that a number had groaned. He secured the three dealers with plastic ties and then rifled through their possessions. Still more marijuana was discovered, along with an assortment of pills that Detmer said looked like ecstasy. Stoner moaned when Detmer got to his pack and a flash drive fell out. The officer plugged it into a laptop—luckily a teacher had found a dry one—and turned the screen so nobody else could see what was on it. Not only did the flash drive contain records of all Stoner’s business transactions, but there were a number of pictures of female students either undressed or giving the three of them sex. Stoner was eighteen and an adult, but Detmer recognized some of the girls. A few were as young as twelve.

  “I think I want a lawyer,” Stoner muttered as he considered the consequences of statutory rape on top of drug possession.

  * * *

  Mike steered his snowmobile through the hidden streets of Sheridan as quickly as possible, but it still seemed like an eternity before he arrived at the school.

  Scores of people were digging in and around the collapsed building. Parents and neighbors had arrived to help, along with police, fire, and EMS. As he watched, a snowmobile with a child strapped to a sled departed. An adult was also on the sled helping to comfort the child.

  With his badge clearly visible, people moved aside and let him into what remained of Patton Elementary. A woman with a bandage on her head stood against the hallway wall. Dried blood caked her face. If th
e wall hadn’t been there, Mike was certain she’d have fallen over. With a jolt, he recognized Donna Harris. Had it been only two days ago that she’d had them over for dinner? He touched her shoulder and she reacted suddenly.

  “What?

  “Donna, it’s me, Mike Stuart.”

  Her eyes focused a little. She was concussed and having difficulty identifying people. “Oh yeah, Mike. How are you? Maddy’s okay, by the way. I’m fine. Thanks for asking. I look like shit, but I’m fine. The fire’s out and the sprinklers have stopped.”

  I’m better off than you are, Mike thought, although the news about Maddy lifted a weight from him. But what the hell was she talking about fires and sprinklers? “You really okay, or should you go to the hospital?”

  “I can think a little. This isn’t my first concussion and there are people who are lots worse off than I am. The doctor’s checked me out and told me to stay right here, so that’s what I’m doing. People think I’m a hero because I got hurt. Can you imagine that?”

  Mike grinned despite himself. “Wonderful. Where’s Maddy?”

  “In the classroom at the end of the hall. The one with all the snow in it.”

  Mike pushed his way through a crowd of people passing snow and trash through and out like a bucket brigade, only they were using their hands and wastebaskets and not buckets. Finally, he made it into a classroom that was the focus of their efforts. Maddy, her arm in a sling, was directing traffic. There was a cheer and a small form was lifted from the snow. It was a little girl, maybe eight years old, and the sight of the child choked him up. Then the girl started crying and everyone cheered again, because that meant she was alive, and that made the girl wail even louder. She was placed on a piece of plywood that was doubling as a stretcher and moved to another room.

  “That’s it,” Maddy said triumphantly. “All present and accounted for.” She saw Mike and grinned. “Bumps and bruises, and maybe one broken arm, not counting mine,” she said to everyone around, but to him in particular, “but no one’s in really bad trouble from the collapse.”

  She felt the caveat was necessary since Wilson Craft had died before the roof’s collapse. His body was still in the storeroom and buried in snow. Cold storage, she thought.

  The crowd cleared out of the classroom, leaving Mike and Maddy alone, if only for a moment. She kissed him quickly and put her head on his shoulder, again thinking that he wasn’t that much taller than she.

  “Where’ve you been keeping yourself, policeman?”

  Mike laughed. “I’ve been busy.”

  “The two guys? Did you get them?”

  “Yeah, we got them,” he said and gave a summary of the events. As he reached the conclusion, he began to shake all over and she looked at him in alarm.

  “Maddy, I shot them. I killed both of them.”

  She wrapped her one good arm around him while he tried to regain control of himself. “It’s all right, Mike, you did what you had to. You saved the woman and you probably saved a lot of other people if either one of them had gotten away.”

  “I know,” he managed to say. The shaking was subsiding. He had to have someone to talk to and he was very glad it was Maddy.

  “God, Maddy, I’m being very greedy with my problems. You must have been going through hell. Look at this place. It looks like a bomb hit it.”

  She too started to shake and it was his turn to hold her. “Hey, school’s out, isn’t it? I was strong for as long as I had to be and now I don’t have to anymore.”

  “You needed here?”

  “No,” she said. “The last of the parents are here for their kids. I am finally superfluous.”

  Mike realized he’d been on duty for a very long time with little more than catnaps to sustain him. He was both hungry and sleepy. He kissed her gently on the forehead.

  “Y’know, I think the world can get along fine without us for a few hours. I still have a snowmobile and your place is the closest. After getting you to the hospital, that is.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Then she looked up at the bright blue sky. “Well, I’ll be damned. It’s stopped snowing.”

  * * *

  “Hallelujah! It’s over,” exclaimed Mort Cristman. “Maybe we can go home.”

  Wally stretched and yawned. “Tell me how, buddy. The sun may be shining, but there’s still more than five feet of the ugly white stuff on the ground. I still cannot fathom why people would voluntarily go out and play in it. Mankind was meant to stay indoors. That’s why God took away all our fur.”

  The last official measurement of the snow’s depth had pegged it at sixty-three inches, and that didn’t take into account the considerable drifting that had doubled the depth in some places.

  Cristman sobered. “And the death toll is so high. What’re we at now, nearly a thousand?”

  “That’s what they say, and it’s going to get worse. More bodies are going to be found and now idiots who are out of shape are going to get heart attacks from trying to shovel their way out of this mess. The body count may be well over fifteen hundred before this is finished. Oh, did you give any thought as to where the snow’s going to go? My forecast says the temperature’s going over forty tomorrow and will be in the fifties by the weekend. That means major melting and there’s too much snow for the sewer system to absorb, so there’ll be deep water all over the place. We prayed for the snow to stop and now it has. Always be careful of what you wish for—it may come true.”

  Cristman shook his head. “You are such a bundle of happiness. Why don’t you call your governor friend and ask her what she’s going to do about it. Maybe I can get a low-interest loan to dig my car out.”

  There was a picture of Wally’s late wife on his desk. He looked at it and smiled, and he could have sworn she smiled back. Nah, he was just too tired to think. But calling Lauren seemed like a great idea. He picked up the phone and punched in the numbers.

  Epilogue

  Mike watched for oncoming traffic and turned left, away from the imposing bulk of the hospital located a few miles south of Sheridan. He was in his own car, not a squad car, which meant that a degree of caution was required. He was also wearing civilian clothes, not that any driver could tell. Maddy said he’d look like a cop regardless what he wore. Still, he didn’t want the embarrassment of being pulled over by another cop.

  He’d left the hospital buoyed by a degree of good news. Petkowski was continuing to improve, however slowly. The stocky cop would never regain full use of his left arm and, thus, would never again patrol the streets of Sheridan on his beloved motorcycle. For that matter, it was unlikely that he would ever drive a patrol car. The city would find a place for him—somehow, someplace—while he collected a pension for partial disability. Petkowski was appreciative of this as well as the simple fact that he was still alive and able to use his arm at all. He’d nearly bled to death and his shoulder had been turned to mush and crushed bone by Raines’ bullets.

  He’d told Mike that he would take some of his convalescent time to go to college and get more education in computer science. Mike hadn’t known about his friend’s interest in computers, and thought there would be a place for someone knowledgeable about cyberspace and computer crime. They’d joked about Stan pretending to be a fourteen-year-old girl in a porn sting. Mike then told Stan that he was going to start law school in the fall, and Stan feigned disappointment that Mike had chosen a life of white collar crime.

  As to Stan’s love life, well, for the short term that had gone from bad to worse. Cindy Baumann had inexplicably made up with her abusive and obnoxious shit of a husband and they’d moved away, thus, dashing any hopes that he would be her knight in Kevlar armor. Petkowski had been disconsolate for about ten minutes until he realized that one of the nurses was a) paying a lot of attention to him, and b) very attractive and single. Stay tuned, Mike thought with a smile. Stan might finally get truly lucky. God knew he deserved it.

  Detective Patti Hughes was back at work, although with a cane and a lousy
disposition because she was essentially desk bound, and that really frustrated her. Her husband and kids were just happy to get her out of the house.

  Chief Bench had retired and left town, and some jokers suggested that he’d bought a brewery in Milwaukee and retired to live inside a vat. Whatever, he wasn’t around and had been replaced by Joey DiMona, who held the rank of acting chief, just as Mike now held the rank of acting lieutenant in charge of the Traffic Division. If they succeeded in dragging the job researches out long enough, the city council might just give the jobs to them on a permanent basis. Mike would like that.

  Mike, Patti, and Stan had all been decorated and commended for their actions. Mike had gotten two paragraphs in Newsweek as the magazine summarized the ravages of the storm and it’s unexpectedly high human cost. After several postponements, an appearance on the Today Show was cancelled when the public lost interest in the story.

  So what was the cost? Mike gave it some thought. In total for the area, the estimate was about five hundred dead, not the thousand or more some had forecast. Sheridan alone had suffered disproportionately and people wondered why. Of course, just how many had died depended on who was counting and what they were counting.

  Obviously, the five people asphyxiated in the car needed to be counted, as did the old guy who froze in the snow and the five who were killed when Sampson’s roof caved in. But what about Tower and Raines and the two people they killed? If it hadn’t been for the snow, they’d all be alive. So too with the UPS driver who’d been shot by a homeowner who was now facing manslaughter charges, and there was the woman who’d bled to death from the deer slashing her.

  Then add Mayor Carter, whose suicide took days to become official. He’d lingered on for nearly a week before they finally pulled the plug on his brain-dead body. And don’t forget Wilson Craft, who wouldn’t have been on a ladder if it hadn’t snowed. Add other people who’d suffered fatal heart attacks and you had a current total of twenty-one fatalities. Quite a lot for a smallish city like Sheridan.