by Gavin Reese
There, seated upon a white, blood-streaked toilet, sat what Scott assumed had been Mister Salez. Essie’s father. The naked body displayed stab wounds on his chest and torso, and slashing wounds across his hands, forearms, and upper thighs. The black handle of a chef’s knife protruded from the dead center of his sternum, its blade having been completely shoved inside the body, all the way to its hilt. The man’s torso and chest also showed dark bruising, and his lower extremities, his feet and dangling hands, were abnormally purple. The man’s eyes appeared to look straight back into Scott’s, but their dry, opaque surface reflected no light back at him. The terrible, unexpected horror momentarily stopped him in place. What the fuck happened here…Essie!!
Outrage and fear swiftly propelled him from the small room and again into the hallway. If he got Essie!! FUCK!! Scott moved left toward the last door at the very back on the long hallway. His Glock’s weapon light revealed the door’s handle, doorframe, and front surface printed and smeared with blood. As the handle was on Scott’s left, he knew the room likely opened to the left and the hinges, on the right, likely indicated proximity to a wall. Doors rarely open toward the middle of the room. Without breaking stride, Scott launched his left foot into the thin door as hard as he could, smashed its veneer-thin surface, and separated the handle from the door itself. He’d moved into the doorway and pressed into the room so quickly the broken door bounced off the wall behind it and rebounded into his right shoulder as he passed by. Pointing the Glock and its light to his left while continuing forward, he saw the master bedroom, much like the living room, showed signs of a struggle and more blood evidence. He moved now to his left to walk around a humble double-bed and toward an open walk-in closet. Keeping the Glock trained on the last potential threat area, he pushed forward and shone light into the closet. Empty, only clothes, and everything’s in order. Fuck…
“James! Where you at?!”
Scott immediately recognized Alex’s voice, having been partnered with the detective for two years before Landon promoted to Criminal Investigations. “Here!! Back bedroom, I’m…I’m here…in the fuck-ing…back bedroom…” His perceived, personal and immediate danger over, he heard his voice weaken and trail off as he yelled out to his friend. Seconds later, Alex strode through the threshold, holding his own Glock up and tight, in obvious preparation for a proximal gunfight. “Landon, what the fuck, man?! Did you fuckin’ see that shit, Landon?! That’s a goddamned fuckin’ nightmare, man!”
“Scott, are you hurt, man, you okay?” He saw fear on Alex’s face as the detective holstered his gun and moved toward him.
“No, I’m fine, I’m okay, I mean, no, I’m not fucking okay. Did you see that shit, man? Who the fuck does that to another human being, Landon?!” Scott heard his emotions saturated and strained his voice.
“Scott, let’s get you outside, man, you don’t need to be in here anymore. The garage and kitchen are clear, brother. Go ahead and holster Roscoe, there’s no one else here but us, man, but you shouldn’t stay in here anymore.” After carefully sliding his handgun back into its holster on his right hip, Scott let Alex guide him toward the front of the house. “Did you know these people, Scott?”
Shaking his head ‘no’ before saying anything, Scott then explained. “No, man, I never met these people in my life. I, I don’t know them from Adam, and, the fuckin’ horror scene that this house is, man, I don’t, I, don’t give a shit about that.” He noticed that Alex had moved to his right side as though to try to shield him from again seeing the gruesome corpses as they passed through the house.
“You’re just shook up, man, you didn’t show up here expecting to find this, Scott, this is gonna impact everyone who works it.”
Scott stepped outside the open front door, stopped, and turned to face his friend. “Alex, do you know who they are?”
“Whaddayamean? I’ve never met them, either, at least I don’t thi--”
“Alex, those are Essie’s parents! Essie! God rest their souls, but I don’t give a rat’s ass about them right now! One of us has to tell Essie, Alex, someone has to go to her home, wake her up, and give her the worst news she’s probably ever gonna fucking get in her entire life. Her brother’s free for two days, and carves her parents up, like that!” Scott’s right hand and index finger pointed back into the house as he fought hard to keep his tears at bay. “I’ve never told anyone this, Alex, I barely say it to myself, but I’m in love with her, man! I’ve been in love with her since the academy. I’m not thinking about this shit for me, or what it’s gonna do to me, or what I feel about me right now. I’m heartbroken for her, Alex, and I’m heartbroken for what this is gonna do to her.” Scott wiped uncontrolled, streaming tears from his cheeks. “How are we supposed to break this kinda news, Alex? She’s not a civilian we can give vague answers to, she knows about this kinda shit, she’s seen it, she’s worked cases like this, and it’s gonna fuckin’ kill her, man.
“How do you tell someone,” Scott asked as he again wiped his tears away, “who’s seen this horror, and knows all the atrocities that mankind commits against each other, how do you tell them that it’s happened to them? That someone they love came to this end? That they died in sheer terror, probably calling out for help, to be saved, and you weren’t there to save them? I don’t know how we do that.”
The Toxin
Beneath red-and-blue police lights and a high-decibel siren, Detective Alex Landon drove his unmarked, black Dodge Charger through the streets of downtown Dry Creek, Arizona, with near-reckless abandon. As he wove through sporadic early morning rush-hour traffic, his Bluetooth system alerted him to an incoming phone call, and Alex pushed a corresponding button on the steering wheel to take it.
“What’ve you got, Ron?! I’m almost on-scene now!” The siren’s wail sporadically filled the background of their conversation.
“Landon, the medical examiner and forensic chemist said the first eight deaths were caused by an airborne overdose.”
“You mean, like, inhaled powder?!”
“Yes! Do you have your gas mask and flophouse kit with you?”
“Yeah, somewhere in the trunk!” Alex made a hard left turn, and saw bright flashing emergency lights emanating from the rear of Officer Talbert’s patrol car parked near an office building two blocks ahead on Alex’s right. “Gotta go, Ron!” Alex disconnected the call and picked up his police mic. “David-33, show me arrived.” His own vehicle’s emergency lights encouraged the few cars between Alex and the scene to move aside.
“David-33, we copy. We can’t reach Bravo-23, he’s the only officer we show on-scene at this time.” The dispatcher sounded unsettled to Alex.
“I’ll advise,” Alex replied as his own anxiety and stress levels elevated even further, “and I just learned from David-41 that this is likely gonna be a chemical overdose from an unidentified airborne powder.”
“Copy,” his dispatcher replied, “we’ll notify other responding units in the area.”
“Dispatch,” Alex paused a moment to calm his thoughts and produce a reasonable request before he spoke, “go ahead and ask Dry Creek Fire to help us get a hard perimeter in the area, and let ‘em know we need air and plume monitoring near the scene to determine if this stuff is contained or not. Break.” He released the mic button and took a few more moments to consider his needs at the scene. “David-33, for now, until Fire can tell us otherwise, use reverse-911 to call homes and businesses on the surrounding block and notify everyone to shelter-in-place. It’s unlikely that anyone outside would get sick, but we can’t take that risk until we know for sure what we’re dealing with.”
“Copy, 33, we’re on it.”
Alex stopped the Charger only a few feet behind Talbert’s abandoned patrol car, grabbed his black ballistic raid vest from the passenger seat, and leapt from the car. He donned the vest over top of his short-sleeved polo shirt and tightly secured its hook-and-loop fasteners and buckles as he stepped around to his sedan’s trunk. As so
on as the trunk opened, Alex frantically searched its velocity-shifted contents. Spying a portion of the tan slingbag he sought and its white, personalized embroidery, Det. A. Landon, Western Arizona Drug Task Force, he forcefully yanked it from beneath several others. Placing its single strap over his head and left shoulder as he slammed the trunk closed, Alex slung the bag onto his back and ran toward the building’s oddly-opened front entrance. While en route, he pulled the bag around in front of his torso, unzipped the large, main pouch, retrieved his CBRNE-filtered gas mask, and checked that its all-hazards filter remained properly seated. Nice to have a mask that’ll filter chemical, biological, radiation, nuclear, and explosive agents, but it’s always a Goddamned bad day when I need it.
He donned the large mask over his entire face, pulled its six straps tight against his face and head, and looked to his immediate left, where he noticed a dark blue minivan had stopped in traffic no more than ten yards away from him. The blonde, thirty-something driver in a ponytail, sweatshirt, and no make-up, held a travel coffee mug in her right hand, the steering wheel in her left, and Alex read incredulous fear on her face. He looked just behind her, and saw two elementary-school-aged girls watching him from the rear seats. The one closest to Alex, seated on the passenger side, pointed at him, turned toward the driver, and said something he couldn’t hear or understand. The driver didn’t react and still stared at Alex. It’s gotta be a little terrifying, he thought, to see a cop in a raid vest and gas mask running anywhere nearby.
Alex pointed his right index finger at the driver, and then waved his hand forward to indicate she should drive away. He felt grateful that single act of encouragement propelled her minivan forward and away from the scene. Gotta get this area cordoned off, still not sure how bad this shit really is. He heard the minivan’s tires squeal as it made a sudden, high-speed left turn at the next block as the driver seemed to understand her need to create the maximum distance in the shortest time. Can’t say I blame her. Seconds later, Alex reached the building’s front entrance and paused to listen. As he stood alone beneath the morning sun, with dozens of innocent pedestrians, motorists, and an approaching school bus in the immediate area around him, Alex hoped today wouldn’t be the last for any of them. Really fuckin’ wish we knew what exactly we’re dealing with here!
“Talbert! You in there?!” He shouted as loud as he could, but the gas mask muffled most communication. The sudden expulsion of the hot air from his lungs temporarily fogged the inside, lower half of his mask. Long, eerily-silent seconds passed with no response. While his left hand keyed up the radio mic, Alex’s right hand reflexively drew his handgun from its holster as he had done thousands of times.
“David-33,” he yelled, “no sign of Talbert, and no response at the door, making entry now.”
“Copy, David-33.”
Clicking a button on his wristwatch, Alex intended to monitor his time inside the building. He raised the gun up, held it just below his line of sight, and stepped into the structure, moving right to clear a small reception area. With no one inside the room, he pressed forward, toward what he assumed was the back-office area, and soon saw black patrol boots and dark blue uniform pants on the floor there, in an office just beyond the reception area.
Oh, God! “Talbert!” Quickly gravitating toward the downed officer, Alex soon realized his friend lay awkwardly on his stomach beneath a partially opened window, as though he’d collapsed or passed out there.
As he entered the office, Alex swung his focus and gun left, to the open part of the room, and realized two civilians had collapsed awkwardly on the floor around a large wood desk. While still in motion toward Talbert, Alex secured his handgun in its holster and knelt beside him. He forcefully rolled Talbert onto his back and saw no indication of external wounds. Glancing back to the civilians, Alex realized his fears and Berkshire’s warning had been justified. Telltale, white froth-cones emanated from each of their mouths, which indicated they’d likely died from a severe opiate overdose. Fearful of the unknown lethal toxin, Alex subconsciously held his breath to limit his own internal contamination. Go fast!
Working quickly, Alex grabbed Talbert’s booted ankles, stood, and dragged him about six feet away from the wall and partially opened window. Pulling him out’ll be too slow, so this carry-roll better work the first time. Alex felt his body’s chemoreceptors begin alerting him to his bloodstream’s elevating carbon dioxide levels. No time to mess around, gotta be one quick, continuous movement. While keeping tight hold of Talbert’s right leg, he dropped forward and rolled counterclockwise, planted his right shoulder into the officer’s stomach, and forcefully dragged Talbert’s right leg over his own right shoulder as he continued to rotate and propel himself forward and up into a crouched position, the motion and momentum of which easily pulled Talbert up onto his shoulders in a Fireman’s Carry. Time to go!
With Talbert’s dead weight now squarely across his shoulders, Alex stood and urgently fled. Despite his mask and CBRNE filter, paranoia about inhaling contaminated air gripped Alex, and he consciously struggled to hold his breath. In order to avoid inhaling, he slowly exhaled and fought to keep himself from taking in any potentially contaminated air. As he felt his heart pounding in his chest, neck, and head, Alex knew he needed oxygen to carry Talbert’s weight much farther. Only a few steps to go…
Pushing himself through the open, exterior doorway, Alex looked at his stopwatch and kept moving: 00:02:05. He pressed forward toward the parked police cars, exhaling as he did so. All the oxygen-depleted air had now left his lungs and his leg muscles began to burn, but he forced himself to wait. Just as he stepped to the far side of his Charger, Alex gasped, deeply and repeatedly, for desperately needed fresh air. He lowered Talbert to the ground and began assessing him.
“David-33, I have Talbert,” he yelled in the mask to be heard on the police radio, “no breath, no pulse, potential opiate overdose, and at least two people Code Black inside.” Alex dug through the rest of his bag, which contained his “flophouse kit,” and retrieved his opioid antidote injectors, which were slightly smaller than cigarette boxes. He pulled a protective plastic guard off one end of the first auto-injector pack, held it against Talbert’s outer thigh, and pushed it against his leg to engage the auto-inject feature. Anxious seconds passed by with no response. “Come ON, Talbert!” A second auto-injector cover flew from its packaging and Alex pressed it hard against Talbert’s thigh. No response.
Frightened, Alex threw the empty kits aside, grabbed a third kit, and errantly dropped it to the ground, where it shattered. “GODAMMIT!!” He carefully retrieved his fourth injector kit, and momentarily held it. “Last one, Talbert, you better come to, buddy!” Alex quickly removed the protective top, held it against Talbert’s thigh, and pressed it hard there to initiate its auto-inject sequence.
Talbert’s right arm twitched. “Mmmmfffff…” Before Alex could respond, Talbert quickly sat up, with bewildered fear and panic evident in his eyes, and tried to speak through rapid, shallow breaths. “Wha…wha…”
Intense relief washed over Alex, and he felt a little dizzy. Gotta be the adrenaline dump. He pulled off his mask and CBRNE filter, and tried to stand up, but immediately realized his dizziness had increased and he felt lethargic and unstable. Realizing he was in trouble, he tried to focus on his flophouse kit, haphazardly shuffled through its contents, and grew desperate for another auto-injector kit. Fuck me, he thought, that really was the last one.
“Landon, what the fuck, man, what happened in there?!”
Alex felt overwhelming panic and fought hard to stay calm. “Talbert, listen carefully. There’s a real good chance I’m gonna go down in a few seconds,” he slowly explained as his tongue became less cooperative and his speech less articulate. “I’m gonna lay right here to may this easiehh foh you.” His vision darkened the world around him. Can’t panic. “Drug overdose. We got overdosed…”
Alex noticeably felt his body and reactions growing even more letha
rgic, and even his previously amplified heartrate noticeably slowed in his carotid artery. Not much time now. “There’s no more antidote, so I’m gonna need C-P-R until the bus gets here.”
“What?!” Through fuzzy vision, Alex saw Talbert working his way toward his feet, and he still appeared shocked and bewildered. “What, the hell, Landon!! What am I supposed to do?! WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?!?!”
Alex realized Talbert’s panic was consuming both of them. He desperately told himself to fight the drug and survive, and simultaneously, began questioning if this is how this life would end for him. I can’t stop this drug from taking me down, but I can give Talbert the best chance to save me by lying flat. C-P-R won’t work if my back’s off the ground.
“Talbuhh,” he fearfully pled as he felt the toxin solidify its hold on him, and a single tear streamed down the right side of his face. Anesthesia-like numbness quickly encroached inward from his hands and feet, and Alex realized darkness now consumed and narrowed his blurring vision as the sound of distant, wailing sirens approached. No point in counting backward from ’10,’ I don’t think they’ll get here in time. “You need…bhheathe, fohh me…ca…youu…”
Gavin Reese
Gavin answers his call to service by working as a professional cop, spends most weekends and holidays in a patrol car, and is honored to protect and serve the public in this manner. His ongoing training and experience in areas such as Patrol, Narcotics, Undercover Operations, Counter-Terrorism, Sex and Human Trafficking, S.W.A.T., and Dark Web Investigations provide an ever-growing queue of ideas and stories for his fact-based fiction. Gavin’s rare free time is devoted to family, travel, martial arts, SCUBA diving, mountaineering, and pursuing the perfect ice cream. A portion of all Gavin’s sales is donated to charities that serve law enforcement professionals and veterans, their families and heirs, and honor the memory of our Fallen Heroes.