Quicker

by Laurence Dahners

  As she felt her pulse turn to a slow throb and the world decelerate, she twisted the latch, pushing the door open. Everything out there moved in slow motion, the door took forever to swing back but when it did, the guard by the potty hadn’t moved. She stepped across to him and pulled the Beretta out of his holster, she found the safety and flicked it off as she stepped away from him.

  First order of business was the second portapotty guard whose weapon was already drawn. To Ell it almost seemed like someone else was directing her movements – the Beretta swung slowly up and bore vertically on the guard’s right arm so that the upward motion imparted to the muzzle by the gun’s kick would only move the aimpoint higher on the arm, not produce a complete miss – she squeezed the trigger resisting the kick; the muzzle began to swing to the right while her eyes tracked the bullet to the guards arm, she didn’t flinch as the bullet broke his humerus and grossly deformed the arm – buckling it hideously between the elbow and shoulder, she noted absently the guard’s pistol falling from nerveless fingers; now Ell’s Beretta tracked across the left handed guard who was just beginning to react, her finger pulled the trigger again as the muzzle passed the pistol seated in its holster on his left hip, she saw the bullet fly to strike the pistol, driving it into his hip, she noted that he would fall down from the unexpected impact; the gun now tracked across the guard by the door, her finger started pulling the trigger just before it crossed the assault rifle, yes the gun fired as it crossed the rifle but she saw that the bullet would miss the weapon, with regret she pulled again as the muzzle crossed center body mass, hoping it didn’t kill; she buckled her knees to lower her profile against return fire and leaned backward to present a moving target, her muzzle came up on Hamid, turning toward her, eyes widening, hand dropping toward his holster, his turning brought the holster on his right, opposite hip barely into view, she pulled the trigger again and saw the bullet was going to pass through his anterolateral thigh then strike the holster; as she continued spinning, the muzzle of her Beretta passed the bus and the portapotty that had been behind her, and Jamal in the door of the bus – she considered the two remaining guards who must be reacting by now, they appeared in her field of view, yes they were moving, the one with the assault rifle was bringing it up and, in his excitement, fired a shot into the floor, then another, he was going to spray the athletes on automatic! The Beretta in Ell’s hand fired three times as it crossed over his silhouette while his weapon also fired three times, still hitting the floor but each bullet tracking higher and about to point into the seated Olympians, her muzzle tracked backwards and fired a fourth time, this bullet she saw would strike his assault weapon and drive it back downward and to the side; she resumed turning to the right and the last guard with a weapon came into view, his hand had reached the butt of his Beretta and was pulling the weapon out of the holster, her muzzle crossed the pistol and flared, the bullet tracked true to hit the gun and drive it into his right hip. The guard she had taken her gun from was stepping toward her, as her muzzle passed his thigh it flared again, she noted his thigh deforming gruesomely as the bullet struck his femur, he will fal,l she thought; she continued turning, the first guard she’d shot was reaching down with his intact left arm for the weapon on the floor where he’d dropped it when Ell had first shot his right arm, the Beretta’s muzzle flashed again, the bullet tracking correctly to strike his left arm; the next guard was still falling from the impact of his pistol being driven into his hip, his pistol was obviously deformed from the impact and he’s out of this fight; Ell’s eyes tracked over the door guard still falling backward, yes, he’s out of the fight too; now she saw Hamid, gun indeed blown off his hip, Hamid was turning toward the assault rifles stacked against the bus behind him, Ell’s muzzle tracked over his thighs and barked twice; she continued tracking around the circle, the grate guard was flying backward, his assault rifle driven back down toward the floor, no longer firing but had it hit someone? The seventh guard was still falling from the impact of his Beretta against his thigh; Ell back counted her shots, fourteen, so she had one bullet left in the Beretta if it had had a full fifteen bullet magazine when she started; she quickly wiped it down against her pants, tossed it and stepped to pick up the undamaged Beretta the portapotty guard had dropped. She took it off safe. Ell resurveyed the terrorists to make sure none of them were in condition to do harm. She looked at the athletes; they had all “hit the floor” and were making themselves small. Phil suddenly stood up. His hands in front of him, he started her way. Ell stepped to the toolbox while calling Phil’s name, then grabbed a wire cutter and tossed it toward Phil, carefully pulling the throw to make it slow enough for him to catch. She stepped to Hamid who lay crumpled on the floor and pointed the Beretta’s muzzle at his face, speaking slowly so she would be understandable, “Turn on the video link to the outside. Now!” She repeated it in case he didn’t understand.

  Hamid’s eyes were filled with disbelief. His faced turned grim, “No! Kill me.”

  Ell couldn’t imagine trying to torture cooperation out of the terrorist leader. She looked over the terrorists once more to make sure none of them posed a threat, then let the zone go and felt exhaustion roll over her. Reaction trembled through her. Without a doubt she had just seriously mangled some other human beings, had she killed some of them? Questions avalanched through her consciousness. How would she get the police to break into the hideout to rescue them? Could she be charged with murder for killing terrorists? Should she go get her HUD and try using the net to contact the police? Go to the door and knock? Was killing terrorists “justifiable homicide”? Could she do anything to help Anna? Should she be doing anything for the wounded terrorists? Oh God! She needed to get help somehow! Suddenly it all seemed insurmountable and her vision blurred with tears.

  The tech monitoring the audio turned, “Chief! Gunfire inside the room! Sounds like automatic weapon fire!”

  Christ! They’re killing them all! The chief thought to himself, “White! Swat is go! Rip that door off and get in there before the bastards kill everyone!”

  The assault truck started up and roared toward the door, lance extended.

  Phil heard Ell call his name and saw her throw something toward him. Reflexively he tried to catch it. HOLY HELL! It hit his bare palm like a full on baseball pitch and stung like hell! However, he did catch it and looked down to recognize a wire cutter, Ah, to cut the cable tie plasticuffs. He couldn’t turn it to cut his own cuffs though, so he knelt next to the closest athlete and cut her cuffs loose, then handed her the cutters so she could cut his loose.

  He thought back over what he’d just witnessed. Everyone else in the big room had been watching the two swimmers writhing and wondering what the Hell? Phil had been distracted momentarily but then turned his attention back to Ell in the portapotty wondering what in the world her plan was. The door of the portapotty had exploded out and completely off its hinges as Ell flew out. She blurred past the closest guard toward the one with the drawn pistol. Phil flinched then as an automatic weapon opened up, a muzzle flashing right in front of Ell. He expected her to be flung back but no! It was Ell who had somehow obtained a weapon and had fired that burst herself. Then, she seemed to fall, spinning, back to her left. Before he could think, She’s been hit! her spin had faced her the opposite direction and another a burst of muzzle flashes streaked to his right – just as he heard an automatic weapon start firing from over there.

  As soon as Phil’s wrists were free he leapt up to sprint to the front. He had no doubt that Ell’s bursts had taken down two of the guards but there were seven of them! They’d be on her in a moment and his heart trip-hammered at the thought, eyes seeking one of them to tackle.

  He stumbled to a halt. They were all down! Holy shit! he thought as prickles ran down his neck.

  Ell! He saw her kneeling over and pointing a pistol at one of the terrorists who was saying, “Kill me!”

  Distractedly Phil wondered what she had done with her automatic weapon and where she�
�d gotten it, he briefly pictured it hidden in the muck at the bottom of the portapotty? But for there to be a weapon in the portapotty, someone would have had to put it in there before this even happened - so that couldn’t be? Could it?

  For a moment Phil wondered if she would shoot the terrorist as he requested, but then she stood up, looking desperately around. Phil asked, “What do you need?”

  “We’ve got to let the police know to break in here and rescue us!” She spoke so rapidly he could barely understand her; it took a moment after she stopped speaking for him to process it.

  “Are they outside?” Phil asked in astonishment. “Why haven’t they already broken in and rescued us?”

  “This place is like a fort! It would have taken so long most of you would have been dead before they could...” Her pressured speech was interrupted by a roaring sound, then a loud crash as some long object ripped through the steel door in the corner. It deployed an enormous barb as it retracted and the door ripped outward. A moment later small objects flew through the door.

  Absently, even as he saw Ell turn away, eyes scrunched shut and fingers in her ears, Phil wondered what they were. Damn! Of course! Flash bangs! he thought as he closed his own eyes and covered his own ears a moment too late to protect them from the painful sound and light. Blinded and deafened he didn’t see the SWAT team members run through the door. He wasn’t really aware of them until one of the team, none too gently, shoved him down to a prone position on the floor.

  Grimly, Chief Bowers followed a couple of stretchers through the small door into the terrorist hideout, expecting pandemonium and blood everywhere. To his astonishment he saw the athletes standing in a large group, talking excitedly while waiting to get their plasticuffs removed. The medics huddled over one red, white and blue uniform along one wall and by another in the middle of the room. SWAT team members stood over a number of prone or supine individuals in dark civilian clothing, mostly in the front of the room, though a couple were in the corners of the room. Medics worked on those individuals too. He found the SWAT team leader, “Report?”

  “Uh, yes sir.” He pulled off his helmet and rubbed his scalp, “Two hostage casualties. The girl, shot in the abdomen during the broadcast, and one of the shot putters, shot in the ass. Looks to be a flesh wound only.”

  Good Christ! Bowers thought to himself. Maybe my career will survive this fiasco after all. “The terrorists?”

  “Shot to shit, sir. Most of them will make it though. Damned shame.”

  “What!?”

  “All shot up but one sir. That Jamal guy that claimed to have turned. You know, the one we were interrogating outside?”

  “What the hell!? How’d he get in here?!”

  “Says he brought Donsaii in like we picked up on the net. Says it was her idea.” He lifted an eyebrow in doubt.

  “Shit! Is she in here too?” the chief asked rhetorically as his eyes had already found her standing with the rest of the athletes. He waved off an answer, “Never mind, who shot these bastards up? We need to give ‘em a medal or something!”

  “Nobody seems to know, sir. At least whoever does know ain’t talkin’. Maybe the bastards got in a fight with each other?”

  “You’re shittin’ me!”

  “No sir.”

  “Where’s that boss terrorist?” The swat leader waved over toward the bus and Bowers stalked over that way. Hamid lay on the ground; one of the medics was taping an IV to his arm. His swarthy face had paled and blood soaked the thighs of his pants. “What happened, you ‘guiding lights’ of the Moslem faith get in an argument with each other?”

  “No! It was Donsaii! She tried to murder us all! I demand an attorney.”

  The medic said, “You should answer the man.” He moved Hamid’s left leg and the terrorist gasped in pain.

  “You are torturing me!” Hamid gasped.

  “No sir, just trying to realign your broken legs.” He nudged the right leg and Hamid gasped again. “Just not sure which way they go.”

  “It was Donsaii!” Hamid squeaked, “I’m telling the truth. She had a weapon and shot us all!” Hamid’s jaw trembled in reaction.

  The medic looked up at Bowers, “Same shit, different tune. He’s sure fixated on Donsaii though. Seems to think she’s Satan incarnate. Dunno why.”

  Bowers looked at Hamid musingly, “What kind of injuries these assholes got anyway?”

  “This guy? Both femurs and a wound through the meat over his hip that exited through his holster and gun. Next guy over, shot, hit his gun and knocked him on his ass. Gonna have a major damn bruise but otherwise nothing permanent. Next guy, shot through both arms, broke both humeri. Guy by the door, left chest, right chest, probably won’t make it.” He pointed with his chin, “Shot in femur. Next one, also “hit in the Beretta,” huge freaking bruise. Must be some kinda record, four of these guys got shot in their weapons. What’re the chances of that?! Guy in the corner by the storm drain is ‘Swiss cheesed,’ three holes in the torso and one in his Kalashnikov, almost certainly won’t make it.”

  A chill ran over Bowers, despite the warm air. He turned and walked over to Donsaii. “I thought I put you in ‘protective custody.’”

  She hung her head. “Sorry. You did. I thought I could get them to take me and let some of the other athletes go. Didn’t work.”

  The chief grunted. “What did happen? How’d they all get shot up?”

  She shrugged, “I was in the portapotty. Then there was a lot of shooting.”

  Bowers eyes narrowed, “The head bad guy says you shot them.”

  She looked up at the ceiling a moment, “When I came out of the portapotty I got one of their pistols.” She shrugged, “When I saw they were all ‘out of action’ I threatened the head guy with the gun, trying to get him to connect the camera to the net so I could call you guys to come in and rescue us and bring medics for Anna.”

  “Anna?”

  “The gymnast he shot. Anna Kernova. She’s one of my teammates.”

  “Hmmpf.” He looked away, “We’ll just have to download the AIs to find out what really went down I guess.” He looked back at her quickly to see if she would be wincing as she realized he would find out anyway.

  She looked blandly at him, “Good idea chief.”

  Chief Bowers talked to several of the athletes who all had variations of the same story, “No, I didn’t see who was shooting. When I heard the shooting I hit the floor. Donsaii? I did see her go in the portapotty right before the shooting. Whoever did it, tell ‘em thanks!”

  Back at the command truck Bowers remembered that all the athletes had had their AI’s removed when they were taken captive so there wouldn’t be anything to download from those AIs. He was surprised to find that the terrorists had very low level AIs that they pretty much used only for communication. Only two of them even had video recording, Hamid and Jamal. Jamal’s was useless, when the shooting started, he dove back into the bus and it recorded only images of the floor boards of the bus. Hamid’s video was facing the wrong way when the first burst went off. He began to turn toward the shooter but apparently he was hit by a bullet and nearly knocked down. He was starting to turn back toward the shooter when the second burst of gunfire was recorded on his audio track. The Kalashnikov’s distinct rip could be heard overlapping the second burst of fire but then it cut off. Hamid’s video blurred with motion artifact as it swung toward several Kalashnikovs leaning against the bus. Bowers thought he saw a figure wearing red, white and blue crouched near the portapotty in one of the frames, then a final burst of two shots apparently hit Hamid and drove him to the floor. A few moments later Donsaii could plainly be heard yelling, “Phil,” and moments after that she appeared in Hamid’s video log, pointing a Beretta at him and demanding that he connect to the net. Hamid said, “No, Kill me!” and Donsaii just went away.

  Bowers said, “What was that automatic weapon that shot them? I recognize the sound of a Kalashnikov on the audio at one point, but I haven’t heard that oth
er weapon before.”

  White from SWAT said, “The only weapons we’ve found so far are Beretta 9mm pistols and the Kalashnikov assault rifles. The Arab by the storm grate had a Kalashnikov which had been fired, five rounds short of a full magazine. One of those rounds seems to have ricocheted off the floor to hit the shot putter in the butt. One of the Berettas had been fired and was fourteen rounds short of a full clip. No other weapons had been fired. Audio records nineteen shots total, so the Beretta and the Kalashnikov account for all rounds.”

  “Wait, this Beretta had been modified somehow to fire as an automatic weapon?”

  “No sir.”

  “Are you saying that someone pulled a Beretta’s trigger so fast it sounded like an automatic weapon?!”

  He shrugged, “It seems so, sir.”

  “Holy crap! With bullets spraying around like that it’s a miracle we don’t have scads of collateral damage due to friendly fire! I wanted to figure out who did it so we could give them a medal but now I’m thinking we should charge them with reckless endangerment!”

  White wiped his forehead, “Uh, Chief. That Beretta fired fourteen rounds. We count exactly fourteen rounds striking terrorists. No stray rounds. All rounds striking Arabs near the shooter hit them in the extremities or hit their weapons. The only rounds striking ‘center body mass’ were those hitting the guards thirty to forty feet away who were armed with assault rifles that the guards already had in their hands. Maybe this was luck, but if someone did this shoot purposefully it is the finest bit of real situation shooting I’ve ever heard of! To be honest, Chief, I really don’t think that anyone could actually do it, so I guess it musta’ been luck but...” He shook his head. “But if someone really can shoot like that, I sure want to meet them and ‘make friends.’” He stared into space and muttered, “Sure as shit don’t want to be their enemy.” He looked back at Bowers, “Hey, pistol shooting is an Olympic sport. Were any of the Olympians in that room on the shooting team?”