by Jason Brant
“The riots are in full swing,” Drew said. “Hang a right on Mason up ahead and find a place to park. The final two blocks are packed with civilians. You’ll have to go on foot.”
“Are you shitting me?” Tate asked. “This is insane.”
I had to agree with Captain Grumpy on that one.
We were all wearing black cargo pants, body armor, black tactical vests, and black ski masks. On top of that, we had big-ass guns and bad attitudes. People who saw us running down the street were either going to flee like cockroaches when the lights turned on, or they would attack us.
“If the rioters catch you in the vehicle, you could be in trouble. Better to go on foot. It’s only two blocks, tough guy.”
Tate continued to grumble.
I picked up my rifle.
Popped the mag to make sure it was full.
Checked the chamber.
Peeked through the iron sights.
Ready to rock.
I’d done all of this before we’d left, of course, but I always did a last-minute inspection of my equipment before heading into hostile territory. It helped calm my nerves.
Except it didn’t really help that time.
Smith’s men were violent psychopaths who didn’t care about the consequences of their actions. They’d murdered an entire town of peaceful people without batting an eye. Hell, we didn’t even know why they’d done it. They’d never made any demands, never contacted anyone to negotiate a money exchange or for a surrender.
Nothing.
That made it all the more frightening. We were heading into a shitstorm and we didn’t even know what our enemy wanted. Smith was obviously butt hurt over President Thomas shutting down his operation, but he’d taken things to a crazy level that didn’t fit the perceived crime.
On top of that, I was surrounded by people who didn’t believe in the psychic abilities they might encounter in the next five minutes. If they thought what I could do was farfetched, I could only hope that we wouldn’t run into another Murdock type.
That was another point that had me on edge.
Where were the rest of Smith’s telepaths?
We’d been told that he had several working for him.
Murdock was dead. We knew he’d gone after a handful of our ilk before I’d given his head a new hole, but we didn’t know if he’d killed them or not. There could be half a dozen telepaths working for Smith just then.
If that was the case, then we were all in deep shit.
Shea pulled into a parking lot with an attendant standing by the entrance.
The man waved at us as we eased to a stop beside him. “We’re closed. The city is losing its damned mind.”
“We won’t be long.” Shea flashed his DHS badge. “You might want to go home. Things are going bad.”
“DHS? Oh, damn. Double damn.” The man’s eyes widened at the sight of the badge. “I’ll leave the gate open so you can get out.”
“Much appreciated.” Shea hit the gas and rocketed us into the parking lot.
He eased off the accelerator as we approached the far end, then swung us around and parked across two spots. The front end of the SUV pointed at the exit for a quick escape.
I liked Shea. He knew what he was doing.
“Check your weapons,” Tate said.
Everyone complied but me. I’d already done it.
‘Cause I was awesome.
Manning’s fingers shook as she worked the action on her rifle. Just watching her tense, jerky motions made me anxious. Her aim would be a complete shit show if she didn’t get herself under control.
“Are you going to be okay?” I asked.
“I’m good.” She slammed the action home, looked at me. “I always get like this before a sting.”
“No time to turn back now.” Tate pushed the button under his earbud. “What’s the clearest route to the building?”
That was why we’d brought Tate into the fold. Sure, the man was an asshole of epic proportions, but he knew how to run an op. Nelson had told him he would be in charge of the team while we were in the field.
I’d agreed with that decision wholeheartedly. Not that my opinion mattered much, but I felt more important if I put my two cents in.
My missions in the sandbox had been pretty hardcore, but they paled in comparison with the kind of action Tate had seen. If anyone could command a small contingent of alpha males, it was Tate.
The only stipulation Nelson had given him was that he had to listen to any intel I provided on the fly. Tate, obviously, didn’t believe that I would provide anything other than my stunning good looks to the team.
He would come around soon.
“Head north to the end of the block, then cut through the parking garage,” Drew said. “It’s hard to tell how many rioters are in there, but foot traffic in and out is fairly light. The apartment building is on the side of the garage.”
“Affirmative.” Tate turned to each of us one at a time. “You all know what you’re doing. Follow my lead and we’ll get through this.” He glared at Manning. “Except you. If you fuck this up and get one of us killed, I’ll take you out myself.”
Manning returned his glare, but said nothing.
He kept his attention on her. “When we get to the parking garage, you’re going to split off and move to the top of the structure. Get a line of sight on the apartment building and report in when you’re set. Don’t fuck around. We don’t need to be standing in the middle of the street with our dicks in our hands while you take a coffee break.”
“Got it.”
“As for you,” Tate said, glancing at me. “Stay in the middle of the group and keep your mouth shut. If I hear you talk about any stupid mindreading shit in the middle of this, I’m going beat you within an inch of your life. All of that size you seem so proud of is going to slow you, and us, down. They saddled me with you, so stay the hell out of the way.”
I struggled to hold in a laugh.
“You noticed all the hard work I’ve been putting in?” I looked down at my left bicep and flexed it. “That’s really sweet of you, but I’m just getting out of a relationship and I’m not sure I want to jump into something else right away.”
Manning snickered beside me.
The anger in Tate’s eyes would have made a weaker man cry.
It made me smile.
I had a feeling he and I were going to trade fisticuffs at some point in the near future. I was looking forward to it.
“Better get a move on,” Drew said. “Things are getting crazy down there. They’ve just set a church on fire.”
“Nothing says peaceful protest like burning down your place of worship.” Briggs gave us all a predatory grin. “Time to earn our paychecks, gents. And lady.”
“Stay with the car, Shea.” Tate opened his door. “We won’t be long.”
“Affirmative.” Shea peered in all the mirrors in quick succession. “Don’t know how long I can sit here.”
“Masks.” Tate pulled his down.
The rest of us followed suit.
Not gonna lie—we looked totally badass.
We exited the vehicle.
Down the street, right before the entrance to the parking garage, a crowd of people had formed in the middle of the road. Most of them were just standing there, shouting.
A few threw rocks and bottles.
Several others were armed.
Tate gestured toward the crowd with his left hand. “Move.”
20 – Officer Down
Officer Penn staggered forward, ramming into Christie.
Her feet tangled and she spilled to the floor, her arm tearing free from Koch’s grip.
Penn landed on top of her with a grunt. He pinned her to the floor, his arms on either side of her.
“Penn!” Koch spun on his heels, aimed down the hallway.
He fired off three rounds in quick succession.
“Are you hit?” Hart asked. He aimed over the top of Christie and Penn.
; “Yeah.” Penn pushed himself up a few inches.
Christie squirmed out from under him.
Koch grabbed his mic, keyed it. “Officer down! We’ve got at least four armed men engaging—”
As Christie followed his eyes, she saw two men pop out from around the corners at the end of the hall. They wore gray suits and held scary-looking rifles. They were the same men who had shot up the subway platform. The ones who had used a device that had driven everyone insane. Panic engulfed her.
The men fired down the hall at the officers and Christie.
She screamed as holes punched in the drywall above her head, showering her in dust.
The gunshots were thunderous in the tight hallway. She scrambled backward on her hands and knees, fleeing the violence, pure instinct driving her.
Koch crouched down and returned fire.
Hart joined him. Each of them shot half a dozen times before stopping.
The men had slid behind cover again.
“Get up!” Hart grabbed Penn under the armpit and heaved. “We don’t stand a chance in here!”
Penn’s face twisted into a mask of pain as he staggered to his feet. He swayed for a second before stumbling toward Christie.
She jumped up just as he got to her and sprinted for the end of the hall. More gunfire thundered from their attackers, and she screamed again. Penn hollered something from behind her, but she didn’t dare turn around.
Every cell in her body told her that staying in the hallway would lead to her death.
She reached the door at the rear of the building and slammed her forearm against the release bar in the middle of it. Light spilled into the hall as the door opened, temporarily blinding her.
Christie kept pumping her legs, not even considering slowly down even though she couldn’t see where she was running.
Her toes jammed against something, sending her sprawling.
Pain bolted through her foot, up her leg.
She fell into the parking lot, asphalt tearing at her knees and palms.
The door kicked open again and then slammed shut.
“Move!” Hart shouted from behind her.
Christie’s eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight. She twisted her head around and saw Koch and Hart bracing the door closed. They backed away from it, their pistols aimed at the middle.
Penn staggered drunkenly toward Christie. Blood dripped from the fingers on his left hand. The arm hung limply by his waist. He gripped the pistol in his right hand, though it was pointed at the ground.
His eyes had a glossy, distant sheen over them.
“Who are they?” Hart asked.
He called for backup over his radio again.
“They aren’t rioters, that’s for damn sure.” Koch continued backing up, his pistol trained on the door. “How you doing, Penn?”
“Been better.” Penn motioned for Christie to get up with his good arm. “Get in the car. Hurry!”
“They had M16s,” Hart cried. “M16s!”
The chaos had Christie’s thoughts twisted into knots. She didn’t know if she should get in the back of the car or run away from all of it. The officers were there to protect her, but they weren’t exactly doing an exemplary job.
Penn meandered to a squad car fifteen meters away and fumbled with the handle of the back door. He smeared blood over the white paint. “Get in. Now!”
Christie continued to hesitate.
“Move!” Koch reached her, though he kept his eyes on the rear door.
Finally, Christie got up and sprinted for the car. She figured that her best chance was to be around someone who was at least armed. And even with the adrenaline coursing through her system, fatigue ate at her muscles. She’d spent too much time running early that morning to be able to do it all over again.
She dove in the backseat.
Penn slammed it shut behind her.
Through the window, she watched the rear exit of her building.
It remained closed.
“Where are they?” Hart’s voice was muffled from the closed door of the squad car.
Koch didn’t look away from his target. “Get Penn and the woman out of here. I’ll take the other car as soon as you’re out of the parking lot.”
“No, we can’t—”
“If they come out of that door while we’re driving away, we’ll be sitting ducks.”
Penn slumped against the side of the car. His shoulders had rounded. The left side of his body drooped considerably.
“Damn it!” Hart glanced at him. “Okay, I’ll take them. You’ll be right behind us?”
“Yeah.” Koch stepped in front of the car and stood between it and the building. “Go!”
Hart helped Penn around to the other side and eased him into the passenger seat. The wounded officer collapsed into it, his head slamming against the rest. He closed his eyes.
Christie didn’t like how shallow his breathing was. Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession. The fact that his appeared labored and slow didn’t bode well for him.
The rear door still hadn’t opened, and Christie hoped that the men inside had given up chasing them through it. Maybe the officers could get her out of there in one piece after all.
The mob in the streets didn’t seem too bad all of a sudden.
Hart jumped in behind the wheel and started the engine. He handed the mic from the radio in the dash to Penn. “Get dispatch to—”
A window on the second floor of the apartment building shattered.
Muzzle flare blazed.
Koch twisted to his right and collapsed to his knees in front of the squad car.
More gunfire came from the window.
Blood erupted from Koch’s back. He crashed face-first on the parking lot.
The windshield of the car spiderwebbed.
Hart’s screams were drowned by Christie’s.
21 – Have Some Fun
We raced down the sidewalk in a single-file line. Our weapons were jammed against our shoulders, barrels pointed at the ground in front of us.
Tate took point.
He had a Spas-12. It was a devastating shotgun at short range. The weapon would likely prove to be a good choice in a small apartment building and in the narrow streets.
The rest of us had M4 rifles, except Manning, who had her high-powered monster.
People noticed us when we were about fifty feet from the SUV.
The anger baking off their minds turned to fear at the sight of our guns and our black masks. They scattered out of the way, many running to the other side of the street.
I didn’t like being on foot in the middle of a riot. One that had started because of violence propagated against the American people. They were pissed that citizens were being killed and the government hadn’t responded in a way they found acceptable.
So seeing a group dressed like us made them think we were terrorists. In their eyes, we were responsible for everything that had happened over the past year. Say what you would about Americans, but when they thought something bad was about to go down, there was always someone who would step up and try to stop it.
Their emotions pulsated in my mind as we hurried toward the parking garage.
People feared us. They hated us.
Several of them thought we were riot-control officers, which made them even angrier. There was nothing rioters hated more than someone trying to control them.
A man with a bandana tied around his mouth and nose stepped out from behind a set of stone stairs leading into a brownstone. None of us had seen him right away as our attention was on the crowd in front of us.
He threw a wild punch that connected with the side of Briggs’ watermelon of a head. The big Texan was running in front of me and never saw it coming.
A grunt escaped him as he stumbled a step to his left, but he managed to stay on his feet. He must have had concrete in his skull to take a punch like that without even falling over.
Rather than open fire, I dropped the M4 that was clippe
d to my tactical vest. It dropped down in front of me, swinging against my side as I engaged the rioter.
He saw me coming and spun around.
It didn’t matter.
I jabbed him in nose with my left hand, then landed a straight teep kick square in his chest. He flew backward like he’d taken a twelve-gauge shell to the sternum.
Seeing the way I’d dropped the guy scared off a few others who were getting froggy and thinking about jumping.
Briggs watched the man collapse to the sidewalk before looking back and giving me a nod.
I hoped that had bought me at least a modicum of respect from the Texan. I didn’t want these guys worried I’d get them killed. They wouldn’t operate at optimal efficiency if they were concerned about their six o’clock during the entire mission.
Tate reached the front of the parking garage and cut through the entrance.
People moved out of the way as if he were Moses parting the Red Sea.
“Pigs!” someone shouted.
Oink oink, I thought.
The crowd closed in around the entrance as we moved inside, though they didn’t follow us. Judging by their mood, I didn’t think it would be long though. They were looking to destroy things, and we were suddenly high on their list of grievances.
“Easy now,” Drew said in our earpieces. “Don’t engage unless necessary. We don’t need to make things worse.”
“Tell that to them,” Huxx replied.
Those were the first words he’d said in a long time. Unlike me, he didn’t run his mouth when he was nervous or scared. He focused.
A few rioters were vandalizing cars inside the parking garage. One had a piece of rebar that he used to smash out the windows of a Mercedes. It was a damn shame seeing a jackass deface a work of art like that.
Tate moved past the vandals without so much as a second glance.
The idiots stopped smashing stuff as we ran by, shocked expressions on their faces. They watched us without saying a word. Even through the fog of emotions pressing in on my mind, I could feel the anxiety coming from the man with the rebar.
He thought we were going to shoot him for smashing up the Mercedes.
I didn’t want to shoot him, but I wouldn’t have minded tap dancing on his kidneys for a bit.