by L. M. Vila
Montalv's second member shared a similar fate. His throat caught the first bullet. The puncture exploded revealing a six inch pocket that lead directly to his digestive tract. He left a similar stain on the walls like his comrade before him. Before he dropped, two more bullets blew through his midsection. He collapsed with a revolting thud swimming in a pool freshly drawn blood, still warm to the touch.
“Stay down!” Meryl commanded under the hail of erupting gunfire. Her companion responded by hugging the parked vehicle next to him, squeezing it like it was family. This thick chunk of steel would surely protect him. At least, that's what he hoped.
When the firing ceased, Meryl reach for two things; her gun and phone. Miller found it a bit difficult to step away from safety and into the fray but he knew it was best to follow her lead. Hitting redial this time happened on instinct. She didn't even wait to hear him start on the other line. Meryl started talking as soon as she heard the click.
“Shots fired. Dozens of them.”
“Can you see inside?” Perkins quickly responded. His mind already wrapped in the events involved.
“Negative.”
“Stay sharp. Roads are clearing up. Backup's on its way. ETA five minutes.”
Meryl tried to assure herself that they had plenty of time. She wasn't convinced.
Time for the main course. Michael searched for traces of Montalv’s stench. The candles in the church gave him little help. Only the nervous breaths of his prey guided the F.B.I agent. Thankfully, they were in great supply.
Richard couldn't believe it. Not only was he caught completely off guard but now he might be the only one left standing with this maniac. He continued to pray hoping his words would not fall on deaf ears. Richard took cover behind a pew with the revolver still glued to his hand. It didn't matter how many bullets were left. All he needed was one.
At least, that's what he hoped.
The target drew closer. Aiming the Desert Eagle for a precise shot was almost impossible. Then again, .50 caliber rounds didn't need to be accurate. Michael sacrificed a clean kill shot but still took aim and made sure Richard would never have one again.
He pulled the trigger. The wretched kick of the gun rocketed Michael’s outstretched arm, blowing up Richard’s hand. The bullet ripped through his wrist, severing the fragile connections of his skin, muscles, and bone, tearing the hand clean off. It bounced against the solid wood foundation of the church, the gun still firm in its grasp.
A sickening howl escaped Richard's throat. Blood flowed from the wound like an unmanned fire hose. He tucked the severed appendage under his arm as screams continued. Richards’s lungs burned with every expelled breath. His cries seemingly fell silent to God's mercy.
“What's going on in there?”
The anticipation was getting to the young officer. Any rookie would kill to see this kind of action in their first month on the job. After this experience, Miller had his fill.
Meryl was just as worried but refused to show it. Someone had to keep a level mind. As badly as she wanted to go in there, Meryl had to keep her impulses in check. She was no longer just responsible for her life but for Miller's as well. “Keep your cool Deputy. We're not in danger.”
Stating the obvious worked much better than he thought. Being this tense could make you forget things. Including the continuous storm they were sitting in. Now he felt every drop. Suddenly that wasn't something Miller cared to remember again but still better than the alternative.
More screams poured through the entrance of the church. Meryl never heard something so horrid. She clenched her pistol tightly wondering the same question Miller just asked.
Specifically, what was Michael's part in all of it?
Michael counted three down. With two already dead outside, that left two more of Montalv's men still hidden somewhere. It's possible they could have found another place to hide outside of the church but highly unlikely. Montalv knew better. The more men around him, the better his odds for survival. Michael took off his glasses and tucked them into his pocket. There were no more stun grenades left in his arsenal. It became a pointless accessory now. The darkness was much better suited for his naked eyes, even if they were glassed in the color of blood. Michael lost count on how many sleepless nights had passed. The hunt didn't allocate time for rest.
Hiding places were few and far between. Only the exits leading to the back of the church remained unchecked. All of those shots fired previously must have alerted the remaining threats. Adding their boss' horrific cries of misery should escalate their haste. Only a fool would gravitate towards those sounds.
Michael walked towards the main podium, behind a row of candles. His wounds continuously begged for relief. Deep and calculated breaths pushed through the cracks of his teeth, trying to soothe the pain. Exhaustion started to seep in as well. Michael ignored his body's pleas and pushed onward. Blood began to soak into hardwood floor. The price of the accident started to cash in. Simple movements like breathing added newfound distress. These problems paled in comparison to the one idea torturing Michael’s mind. Nothing hurt worse than the idea of failure.
Taps echoed throughout the church halls. Someone was coming. Michael turned towards the source. Another one of Montalv's men perhaps. Darkness hindered his vision. Michael drew his gun and fired. The quick flash caught a glimpse of the crewmember flailing a MP5 submachine gun in one arm and an old man in the other.
The building began screaming a symphony of gunfire. Michael dove, taking cover against the adjacent wall. Each movement drew out a new howl of pain as bullets painted the air. Although wild, this gunman had Michael at a disadvantage. The hostage combined with low visibility meant he had to take extra precautions. His enemy did not.
“Come out freak!” The crewmember shouted while firing a three round burst near Michael's vicinity, cracking the wood below. Chips flew and splintered against Michael's face. The pain reminded him of the mission's importance. A well needed wake up call.
Standing here only proved to waste time, a finite commodity in this situation. Michael had to react in order to free the hostage. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the last resort, a fragmentation grenade.
This was risky. Very risky. Michael couldn't afford to set it off inside the building without injuring the hostage. There was barely five meters between himself and the gun-toting idiot. He couldn't measure an accurate throw, not without running into an MP5 parade anyways.
Michael couldn't wait for an opening, he had to create one. As more seconds passed the grenade was starting to sound like a bad idea. Then an epiphany struck. Then target may have been holding a hostage but he was also standing in front of some very fragile windows.
The grenade's safety pin fell to the ground. Shots continued to bounce inside the building. He must have reloaded two or three times by now, Michael lost count. Another pause gave him the opportunity to start fresh. He counted the time between shots fired. This would be the opportunity. Only a handful of seconds passed before each volley. One last bullet exited the barrel; the sting of the blast tormented his sense of sound. This was it.
Michael dropped the grenade. It bounced off of the hardwood floor no more than an inch high. The timing was crucial. Michael lifted his right foot forward and kicked the grenade with the heel of his boot sending it flying majestically into the air. More shots fired from Montalv's stooge. Michael immediately returned to cover. The bullet whizzed by closer than ever before. If he had reached out to throw the grenade, it would have killed him.
Glass shattered behind the crewmember. Michael heard it, but barely thanks to that constant barrage of gunfire. The grenade detonated as soon as it broke free from the building. Fire bellowed from the point of the blast. Montalv's man let out a shout of torment as pieces of glass and shrapnel viciously tore through his body.
Meryl dove to the ground. The explosion shocked her heart into a steady hum instead of rhythmic beats. Her hands quickly formed pockets and covered her ears. The
sound was deafening; which was more than enough reason for her companion to start flipping out.
“What was that?!” Screamed Miller, almost waking the nearby residents. Ringing silenced everything around them, including their thoughts. Meryl wanted to take grasp of the situation, not the other way around.
Shaking her head was a decent remedy. Focusing on the rain kept Meryl's attention from drifting wildly. Something had happened. It warranted a look at the very least. The sound emanated from the opposite side of the building. That meant they would have to leave cover and venture across the open street. A definite gamble.
Meryl knew what needed to be done. She didn't take this job to sit behind a desk.
Michael drew his pistol and moved to face the target. Perfection played out before his eyes. Instead of his prey using an innocent as a shield, he became a shield for the innocent. Shrieks coated the atmosphere. The pitiless crewmember had taken the brunt of the explosion.
The old man appeared to be safe. Still too difficult to ascertain in this light. Michael had to use the precious moments given to him wisely.
“Run!” Ordered Michael through his coarse, exhausted voice. Manuel was aged but desperation always invigorated the human body to extend its capabilities. He ran forward towards his savior thanking God for this man. Michael raised his weapon at the crewmember. The Desert Eagle screamed as the hammer came crashing down spitting gunpowder through the chamber.
His target’s cries of desperation were hushed completely as his chest erupted in a fountain of blood. The bullet cut through the skin, shattered his sternum and tore through his spine. Life exited his body before it even touched the ground. The crewmember slouched against the wall, twitching as copious amounts of blood pumped out of the wound.
“Move!” She shouted as her hands clasped Miller's shirt. They bolted south along Occidental staying between cars as they could. Hoover Street was not far, right across the entrance of the church.
The broken door continued to dance to the storm’s tune. Meryl clenched her weapon tightly as they ran. Danger wasn't knocking on their door yet. It was another twenty feet before they reached the other side. They kept moving.
Water poured without sympathy almost as if it were trying to hinder their operation. They made it around the other side safely. However, the marks on a wall spoke of a different fate. Meryl immediately reached for her phone, dialed her boss, and tossed the phone to Miller.
“Bring him up to speed.”
They were taking a huge risk. Staying behind a car and watching from the sidelines was safe. Walking up to the damaged wall and window was practically foolish. Her only hope was that any brain cells that perished in the next few moments were self inflicted.
Manuel tasted freedom as he grabbed his savior. Celebration quickly faded into trepidation. More footsteps approached and quickly. There wasn't time to move. Michael couldn't fight while protecting a hostage. At least not without exposing himself.
Shots tore through the air once more. Michael deferred to his instincts. He grabbed the old man and spun around. They dashed towards the door on the west end of the building. Michael felt a bullet impact against his right shoulder as he collided with the wall.
There wasn't any other choice. Michael planted both hands against flat surface, extending more of his coat and shielded the hostage as more bullets smashed against his frame. Not a single piece of hot lead could penetrate Michael’s armor.
Another trinket from one of the men on his list. The trench coat was made with a flexible polymer of Kevlar. It increased the weight considerably but also provided much more versatile protection than a simple vest. Unfortunately, the pain was still the same.
“Shots fired! Repeat more shots fired!” Miller screamed pressing against a nearby van. He had already attempted to explain the explosion to Perkins but it proved to be more of a challenge than he could anticipate. Even with the evidence staring right at him.
Meryl hugged the wall and steered clear of all windows. The gunfire came from an automatic weapon, no doubt about it. Identifying the shooter was still to be determined. Meryl remained firm, even as gunfire attempted to deafen her.
Perkins tried to have a rational conversation with the deputy. Apparently, Miller needed more training. “Steer clear Deputy. Where's Sergeant Lewis?”
Miller felt like he was going to regret what he was going to say next. “She moved towards the building sir, hoping to engage.”
This was unexpected but Meryl was a bit of a maverick. Both in work and personality. The Lieutenant had to relay a very important piece of information. He needed to make sure Miller heard every word.
“Listen closely Deputy. We ran an ID on the suspect that entered the building. Apparently he's an agent in the FBI that went AWOL. These orders were given by the director of the FBI himself. As soon as he exits the building, you have to detain him.”
Miller definitely didn't like the direction things were turning towards. Suddenly culinary school didn’t sound so bad.
Manuel was cradled by Michael's tight barricade. He looked up and saw the utter torment engrained his protector's face. Every bullet that made contact felt as if Michael had been hit with a baseball bat swung by a major leaguer. The FBI agent gritted his teeth and pushed sudden bursts of agony between the cracks. His body desperately wanted to give up. Michael belayed that order.
Over half of the magazine found their market against Michael's body. Montalv's last standing man was determined to survive. An hour ago, he saw this beast eat about half a dozen bullets in their hideout. This man was truly a freak of nature.
The firing stopped. Time to reload. Another window to advance. Michael's adrenaline forced a kick from his left leg right through the locked door. The wooden interior smashed to bits against the force of his boot creating an opening. He pushed the old man outside, releasing the hindrance.
Falling into the street, Manuel finally sampled delicious freedom. Meryl saw him heading towards the asphalt. She dove after him. They both landed painfully but safely against the wet concrete. Manuel let out a grunt signaling a bit of soreness and that his life was still intact. One good sign in a night riddled with negatives.
Lying on the ground with a door open meant they were still in danger. Meryl picked herself up and helped the old man to his feet. Manuel moved as fast as his legs would function and thanked this angel for saving his life.
Gun still in hand, Michael turned and faced the crewmember. Pulling the trigger never felt more gratifying. The gun's kick was almost too much for Michael's depleted energy to handle. Sticky red fluid spewed as the bullet penetrated straight through the target's heart. His timing had slowed. Michael's shot didn’t make it in time without giving his prey an opportunity to retaliate.
There was a certain sense of satisfaction that arose from saving a man's life. The bullet that passed through the building instantly broke that feeling. Both officers hit the ground, a redundant feeling at this point.
Asphalt had an increasingly detestable smell when wet. Inconvenience aside, danger still loomed and Meryl promptly picked herself up. Her eyes locked on the doorway. The man she identified earlier was reeling into the opening. Now she was certain. That was definitely Michael. And he looked like he was in a crippling amount of pain.
Just like the last time she saw him.
“Excuse me ma'am!” Miller shouted from across the street. That snapped Meryl out of her reminiscence spell. “I have an urgent message from Lieutenant Perkins.”
The thought intrigued Meryl,” What was it?”
“He said that they identified that man and,” he choked a bit as he continued. The rain and cold were getting to him.
Meryl was getting a bit irritated. “What about him?”
“We're... Supposed to arrest him as soon as he comes out.”
Her brain ceased functionality for a moment. Meryl was trained to handle thousands of different situations. However, none of them involved arresting your best friend.
; Michael's side burned. The 9mm round bounced off his spider silk Kevlar shirt and sent him stumbling into the doorway. This piece of armor is much more flexible than a vest but at the cost of reduced protection. Taking that bullet made Michael thankful he snagged this item. Calling it a lifesaver would be an understatement. The shot could have done some permanent damage. Every breath that entered and exited his body was far from reassuring.
Fighting had ceased. Montalv's men had been annihilated. Only one had been spared, the chief himself. Michael could still hear his anguish exploding near the entrance, like a child. Pretty justified actually. It's not every day you have to cope with the loss of an appendage.
Reality escaped Richard. The pain was so agonizing he never realized how much time had passed. Blood tried to force its way out with every passing moment. He was able to slow the process by using his shirt as a makeshift bandage. Not the perfect solution but it would keep him alive. At this moment, it was all that mattered.
Sounds signaling relief could be heard just down the street; one that drives criminals into fear and panic. Squad cars arrived on the scene just as Perkins promised. Meryl didn't waste any time and ran to meet them making sure her badge was well in hand.
Officers wearing bright yellow ponchos began to surround the church from the south making sure there was no room to escape. Meryl approached them and noticed that out of everyone on site, she was still the highest ranked. Her first duty was to secure the safety of the deputy before proceeding.
“Miller, take a squad to the west side of the building and cover it tightly. If a fly sneezes, I want to know about it.”
He instantly agreed and walked in that direction with six officers in tow.
“What's the situation ma'am?” Asked an officer with the rest listening closely. Before she could answer one of them offered her an umbrella. A very welcomed gesture. Meryl took it without a second's hesitation.
“Six men entered the building. One hostage clear. Another confirmed dead.” Meryl repeated the information formally, almost forgetting the chaos that occurred moments ago.