Fractured: The Fracpocalypse Book 1

by D. S Mac

  “You’re coming with us. Comply, or I’ll do more than hit you!” The line went dead.

  “Fuck!” Drake ran back to the stairwell and jumped several steps at a time to make up some speed. As he reached the final flight to the fourth floor, the door burst open. Two more gunmen saw Drake and went for their guns. Drake was too fast. He already had his gun up and sent a bullet into the kneecap of the man behind. He screamed out in agony as his body bucked forward, he fell into the first gunman, and they both went sprawling down the steps. They crashed at the bottom in a heap of limbs, and Drake executed them both with a headshot.

  He continued up the steps to the fourth floor and peeked through. This time, he was met with a hail of bullets. He dove back as the door got torn to shreds; splinters of wood burst over the stairwell. Finally, the gunfire ceased, and Drake could hear the tapping of several running feet. The first set of arms poked through, armed with a handgun. Drake grabbed the barrel, used the momentum to pull the gunman through, and snapped the arm backwards. The man screamed but was silenced by a bullet to the side of his head. He hadn’t even hit the floor when another black-clad man pushed through. He had his hands on an MP5 and blindly sent a spray of bullets rattling throughout the stairwell.

  When Drake heard the click-click of an empty mag, he stepped into view and shot him point-blank in the face. As his body fell, Drake barged into it and used the momentum to knock several other guys back. Two fell onto their arses, but one still stood. Before he could gain his balance, Drake was through the door and had him in a chokehold. He went to shoot the two guys on the floor, but the man he held was writhing too much. Drake took an elbow to his stomach, which knocked the wind out of him. The next thing he knew, he was being thrown through the air over the gunman’s shoulder. Drake landed on his back hard, knocking what was left of his air out of him. He went to raise his gun, but in the struggle, he had dropped it. A quick look over to his right confirmed his problem, as the gun had slid a good few meters away.

  “Don’t even think about it!”

  Drake had thought about going for it, but when he saw three men with guns pointed at him, his plans drastically changed.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t Drake Osborn. What are we going to do with you, eh?”

  “Fuck you!” Drake said as he went to sit up. A boot promptly found his shoulder, and a flash of pain seared through his arm.

  “Don’t waste your time getting up. Forrest will be pleased we have the girl. I’m assuming that’s why you’re here? To save Mr Davidson’s little piece.”

  Drake glowered at him. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

  “Now, now, you’re not exactly in a position to be making threats.” The three men all laughed. “In about five minutes, our helicopter will arrive on the roof, you’ll be dead, and Mrs Davidson, well… she will wish she were dead.” An evil smirk protruded from corner to corner on the gunman’s face. He raised his gun and pointed it right between Drake’s eyes. “Goodnight, Mr Osbo—”

  “Police. Freeze! Drop the weapons, turn around, and lie face down.” A woman’s stern voice echoed down the corridor.

  He sniggered a malicious little laugh but didn’t take his eyes off Drake.

  “Pardon the intrusion.” He looked up at the two other gunmen and nodded in the direction of the policewoman. “Sort her out, will you, lads.” The loud cracks of gunfire, the sulphurous tang of burnt gunpowder, and the rattle of spent casings filled the air.

  Chapter 17 - Freeze

  Hannah felt way out of her depth. Modern policing was usually a breeze. Because of the lack of crime, the worst incident she had ever investigated in her career was a robbery. She had the training, she knew what to do, but nothing could have prepared her for today’s shift. One shoot-out at the underground and another at a hospital of all places was completely unheard of and had to be dealt with fast.

  She pulled up out front of the hospital, completely ignoring the yellow criss-cross paintwork of ambulances only. Hannah was not surprised to see that there was no police presence yet, beat cops weren’t strictly needed anymore, and only a handful were kept on a shift at any given time.

  Six loud cracks of gunfire reverberated through the quiet, cold air. Hannah was out of her car, gun ready and raised in a matter of seconds. On her way to the front door, she noticed a single smashed windowpane over to her right. The glass glistened on the floor from the white xenon street light. The rattle from the automatic doors bursting to life made Hannah jump. With her heart thumping through her chest, she slowly walked through. The lights in the lobby flickered with electrical-sounding zaps; each time they lit up the room, Hannah’s face dropped. Bodies lay everywhere, visitors and staff alike all lying in pools of their blood. The copper tang hung in the air. Hannah had to stifle a gag. The last thing the room needed was the smell of puke adding to the rank odour.

  There was nothing she could do for these unfortunate people, so she continued through the hospital. Hannah made her way through the reception doors, which led to a long corridor filled with the same horrors as the lobby. This area, however, had the addition of patients still hooked up to IVs, their blood splashing from bed to floor like a dripping tap. There were two directions she could go in. As she stepped forward to take the route ahead of her, she noticed three black-clad bodies down the corridor to her left. This was enough to make her change direction. Her curiosity willed her to check out the three misplaced corpses.

  Upon inspection, Hannah could tell they didn’t belong. They each had holstered weapons, no ID and definitely didn’t fit. If she didn’t know any better, she would say they were some of the shooters. Unfortunately, she couldn’t ask them because they had been executed, two shots each to the chest and one to the head.

  “Did you guys piss off the wrong person?” Seeing those three dead, armed men put Hannah on even higher alert. They might well have been the shooters, but who took them out? Hannah was ripped from her thoughts as three more shots thundered from the upper floors.

  Hannah quickly ran to the next turning, peeped round, and when she realised it was clear, she followed the signs to the stairwell. Hannah stepped over a body when voices echoed down the corridor from her right. She was out in the open with no cover, which was not ideal. She frantically turned her head, trying to find an idea, when she saw a supply closet. As quickly as she could, she jumped back over the body. Her foot slipped on a pool of blood, and she stumbled. Hannah managed to throw her arms out and catch her balance. The voices were much closer now. Hannah had maybe seconds to get somewhere hidden. She pulled open the supply closet door and squeezed herself in. With the door open a crack, she could see a thin sliver of the corridor. The voices rounded the corner. It was another two men clad in black and armed.

  “He must have gone up the north stairwell.”

  “Let’s head up here and cut him off.” A door creaked open, and their footsteps faded away as the door swung closed.

  Hannah pushed open the closet door and peered through the window to the stairwell. She could see two pairs of legs stepping out of sight. Carefully, she pushed the door open, crept in and followed them up. They had only made it up one flight of stairs when one of them looked back and saw Hannah.

  “Shit!” They both went to draw their weapons, but Hannah was faster. Two shots later, they were sprawled out on the stairs with bloody pulpy holes in their faces. More gunshots echoed from the floors above. Hannah picked up the pace and jogged up the stairs. She could hear the patter of feet echoing down the stairwell. More men were on their way down. Hannah stopped and waited with her gun raised as they came round the landing corner. Before they could even gasp, Hannah had put them down. They both fell back into the wall, leaving streaks of blood down the white surface.

  Continuing up the stairwell, Hannah thanked the Metropolitan Police for allowing detectives to carry guns. After the civil riots in 2030, where many people lost their lives to the revolt, British laws were changed to enable higher-ranking officers and detectives to carr
y firearms. There were strict rules, and every gun had to be signed in and signed out when her shift started and ended. Every bullet fired had to be accounted for in a long and arduous form. Luckily, most officers and detectives never had to use their guns. Today was an exceptionally bad day.

  Hannah was approaching the landing of the third floor when the door burst open. Two armed men had been waiting and used the door to knock her down. Hannah landed heavily on the step, sending searing hot pain through her spine. The impact forced her to drop her weapon. As she scrambled for it, she was met with a boot in the ribs. The force flipped her onto her back. Hannah’s hand instinctively went to the injured area. She had to think fast; disarmed and caught unaware, she was at a disadvantage. The assailant’s boot was raised, ready to stamp on her head. Hannah brought an arm up and knocked it sideways as he brought it down. He was caught off balance, and Hannah used this time to send a foot up to his crotch. The crunch of the boot to balls was sickening, and the assailant fell to the floor, writhing in agony. Hannah retrieved her gun and pointed it straight at his head.

  “You have three seconds to tell me what’s going on and who’s behind it.” When he failed to respond, Hannah sent a bullet past his head into the floor, the crack echoed down the stairwell. He cowered away from it with his hands up defensively.

  “Wait…wait. I’ll talk.”

  “That’s better! Now, what is this all about?” Hannah took a seat on the step that her shoulder had collided with.

  “We were sent to get a girl. Her man pissed our boss off.”

  “Who’s your boss?”

  “I can’t tell you. They’ll kill me.”

  “What! And I won’t?” Hannah got up and smashed the butt of her handgun on the side of his head. He flopped sideways and placed a hand over the fresh wound.

  “Fuck! It’s Forrest…ok?”

  “Hmm, who’s been picking off your men?”

  “Ugh, some crazy fuck called Drake. That’s all I know. I swear.”

  Hannah was prepared to cuff him and leave him for now, but the fool reached for his firearm. Hannah saw him reach around his back and ended him before it became a problem. His body flopped back, his head hit the floor with a crunch, and blood sprayed up the wall.

  “Why did you reach!” Hannah composed herself. She didn’t like to have to shoot people. It went against every grain of her being to protect and serve. However, when threatened with a weapon or even having the slightest bit of suspicion for a gun being pulled, Hannah had every lawful right to fire. Even knowing she did the right thing several times this evening, it would weigh down on her morality.

  Another two flights of stairs and she reached the fourth floor. After carefully pushing the door open slowly, she crept through into the corridor. Apart from more poor murdered souls, it was empty. The stench of copper filled the air. Hannah proceeded quietly until she heard voices around the corner.

  “I’ll fucking kill you!”

  “Now, now, you’re not exactly in a position to be making threats. ”

  Hannah didn’t recognise the first voice, but the second one shocked her. It couldn’t be.

  “In about five minutes, our helicopter will arrive on the roof. You’ll be dead, and Mrs Davidson, well… she will wish she were dead.”

  How would he have even got here that quickly?

  “Goodnight, Mr Osbo—”

  Hannah stepped around the corner; her eyes widened with the disbelief of who was the apparent ringleader. She needed to stop him.

  “Police. Freeze! Drop the weapons, turn around, and lie face down.” With her gun raised, ready to shoot, she aimed straight at her partner… DI Jason Hendrick.

  Chapter 18 - Traitor

  Bullets riddled the hallway; the loud crack of gunfire echoed off the whitewashed surfaces. Multiple flashing muzzles cast intermittent shadows, highlighting the evil on DI Jason Hendrick’s face. His two henchmen crouched behind the overturned patient beds, firing off blind shots in the direction of Hannah. Jason turned back to look at Drake; his upper lip curled into a snarl.

  “I would have loved to drag this out, but I’ve got shit to do.” He pointed his gun at Drake and pulled the trigger.

  Drake had worked his leg up to the wall, and as Jason shot, he pushed as hard as he could. The effort forced him to slide a couple of feet to the right, and the bullet buried itself in the linoleum flooring right where Drake’s head had been. Before Jason could readjust, Drake buried his heel into Jason’s kneecap with a sickening crunch; his leg folded inwards. He screamed and collapsed to the floor. Somehow he managed to ignore the broken knee and lunged at Drake, fists first. They connected to his forehead with a crack, and Drake fell back, seeing stars. Blood rushed to his head, and he was seconds from passing out. He managed to compose himself in time for another attack. Jason had straddled Drake and sent a flurry of fists into his face. Drake slid his head over to avoid the first, and Jason’s fist smashed into the floor. A chorus of cracking bones and screams of agony blocked out the gunfire. As Jason retreated while holding his limp hand, Drake sent a right hook straight into his nose with a wet pop, and a waterfall of blood gushed down his front.

  As Jason fell back, one of the other gunmen had seen his leader falling out of the corner of his eye. His face bubbled with rage. He turned his gun on Drake and broke his cover. Seconds away from ending Drake, another two gunshots sounded. One buried itself into the shield the other guy was using, the second buried itself into Drake’s assailant’s head. His face exploded; teeth, bone and blood were sent spraying down the corridor. Time seemed to slow down as he stood there for a second with a look of pure confusion; then his body crashed to the floor. His hand loosened on the gun, and it slid to within reach of Drake. He grabbed hold of it and put two bullets into the back of the second gunman. His body juddered from the impact. He collapsed half on the bed, his blood pooling beneath him.

  Drake lay there, breaths ragged and head sore from the fight, the sound of Jason’s groaning at the forefront of his mind. Footsteps down the corridor tapped closer. Drake held a firmer grip on his gun, ready to shoot. If this was the cop, she would have no reason to believe Drake. The last thing he wanted to do was to have to shoot his way through her.

  “Drop the gun!” She stood above Drake, gun pointed straight at him.

  “I’m not one of them.”

  “I know, but show me you’re not a threat, or I will end you.” Her actions screamed control, but her eyes showed compassion. Drake threw the gun away and slowly sat up. He pushed himself against the wall.

  “Thanks for the save,” Drake said as he nodded at the gunman with the mangled face.

  “You want to tell me what on earth is going on?” She held out a hand in an offer to help Drake up. He took it; his head swam as he was pulled to his feet.

  “Short story. Brendan Forrest is going to end the world. I’m here to save my friend’s wife. They have her on the roof. Helicopter coming any minute.”

  Hannah’s jaw went slack. If it could have hit the floor, it would have. “Why do I believe you?”

  “Because it’s way too fucked up not to believe.” Drake laughed.

  “St. James’s Station… was that you?”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry about the extra work. We got ambushed there, my friend got shot, so… I need to save Amy to help my friend.”

  A burst of barking, manic laughter filled the corridor. Jason had managed to push himself to a seated position and began clapping at Drake and Hannah.

  “Beautiful, seriously is.” He screwed up his face from the pain. “But you won’t win, Drake. The end is inevitable.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Hannah turned and kicked Jason on his broken knee. His screams could have been heard from reception. “You treacherous bastard! Why?”

  He rolled his thumb and forefinger together. The strain of enduring a broken knee could be seen from his skin. It had turned several shades paler and glistened in sweat.

  “Money! You fucked me over for money.
I knew you were a piece of shit.” Hannah turned her back on him and started pacing.

  He laughed through gritted teeth while staring at Hannah. She pulled her gun and shot him in the face. His head snapped back; blood sprayed behind him as he twitched and went limp.

  “Fuck you!” Single tears rolled down the curves of Hannah’s cheekbones. She wiped them away, walked past Drake and pushed open a door. “Are we going to the roof now?”

  Drake stood there dumbfounded at Hannah’s actions—executing a criminal, a colleague! It was the last thing he would expect from a cop. He picked up the pace and followed Hannah to the stairwell. She had held the door open, waiting for him to catch up. Drake shuffled past her in the doorway, a little closer than what was comfortable. As he slid through, their eyes met. Hers were a dark hazel colour permeated with sadness.

  “That can’t have been an easy thing to do.” Drake broke the eye contact, which had lasted longer than it should have.

  “Honestly, before today I hadn’t killed anyone.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry. I’ve dragged you into some dark shit here.” Drake guided the way upstairs.

  “Don’t worry about it. My gut is telling me to trust you. I always follow my gut.”

  “You have great instincts.” Drake offered her a smile.

  “Don’t make me regret it. What’s your story, anyway?”

  “I’ll tell you everything later, I promise. Right now, we need to get to Amy.” Their synchronised footsteps echoed up the stairwell in a lightly tapping rhythm.

  “You’d better. Let’s get your friend.”

  They reached the top, and Drake approached the door. There was no window, so Drake had to peep through a crack that he had pushed open. The door made an awful squeal, he grimaced, and his heart skipped a beat. The hinges needed a touch of oil. From the crack, he could see across some of the roofs. Luckily, it was a hospital that had a flat roof with a helipad. If it weren’t, Drake would not be able to see a thing.