by Ryan Garner
“Shit!” Andrew yelled as he reached for the radio on his equipment belt before quickly bringing it up to his mouth.
“Officers need assistance Dawson and 17th!!!” He shouted into the radio. “Wilmington! Officer's need assistance NOW at Dawson and 17th!!! You’ve got a riot breaking out down here!!”
Just then, Smith shoved his body up against Andrew, pinning him against the rear portion of the Oldsmobile. He then jerked his arm away from the officer and jogged towards the crowd disappearing into the angry, jeering mob that had begun to surround the police officers. Andrew could have run after Smith, but he knew it would have been a grave tactical mistake. He saw that Massey was still blinded by the blood and glass as he stumbled helplessly around his patrol car.
Suddenly, a brick was thrown by someone in the center of the riot. Andrew watched as it sailed through the air and crashed into the side of Massey's head. The moment the impact occurred Massey’s legs buckled and he fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. Trash, debris, and any other various materials that could be picked up off the ground were now being hurled at the two officers. Shielding his head from thrown rubbish Andrew sprinted towards his fallen comrade.
“Officer down! Officer down!! We need help!!” He shouted into his radio before quickly placing it back onto his belt as he rounded the front of the patrol car where Massey was lying unconscious. The radio was now a flurry of cross talk as other officers and dispatchers responded to the events that were unfolding.
As Andrew knelt next to Massey he could feel himself being struck by rocks and other hard objects being thrown by anonymous individuals within the crowd. Even though he and Massey were in danger of possibly being killed he couldn't just randomly open fire on the crowd. He'd have very little control over who he might or might not hit. Some people were merely shouting at them while others were attacking and he couldn't tell who was doing what. Plus, they were vastly outnumbered and for the moment the crowd was at least staying back away from the two officers. Opening fire could cause them to rush in and attack therefore sealing both officers’ fates.
Andrew’s heart was racing as he wiped the thick red blood from Massey’s face and felt around his neck for a pulse. He knew they had no time to wait for backup. Even if officers managed to fight their way through the crowd to them, Massey was seriously injured and in need of immediate medical attention. A former Marine with a degree in history, Andrew wondered if this must have been how the four Blackwater Security Agents must have felt in Fallujah back in 2004 right after they were ambushed.
The screams and cries of the crowd were growing closer and even louder as more and more materials were hurled at the officers and their patrol cars. This only helped to increase Andrew’s anxiety. He quickly stood up and moved to the driver’s side door of Massey’s patrol car and tried to open it, but found that the door was locked. Securing the patrol vehicle after exiting was a common practice among officers. It was done to ensure that no one made off for a joy ride in their high powered police vehicles since they were often left running at all times Today this practice could have deadly consequences.
Grabbing his fellow officer by the upper body Andrew began to drag Massey back towards his own patrol car all the while being pelted with debris from the screaming crowd as they encroached in on the two officers. His friend was slightly above average size, but throw in another twenty-five to thirty pounds of equipment that each officer wore on their body and it in turn made the task even harder. He struggled to move the dead weight of the unconscious Massey.
“Fucking pigs! I hope you die!!!” he heard one of the rioters shout. To say that the crowd had turned hostile was an understatement. This was an unnerving situation even for a combat veteran such as Andrew. He found that he was both infuriated and virtually helpless at the same time. Suddenly, he felt a searing pain as something sharp struck him in the cheek. Andrew immediately knew that he was injured and bleeding, but he was unsure how bad it might be. Nevertheless, there was nothing he could do about it at the moment.
Finally reaching his own patrol car Andrew dragged Massey towards the rear of the vehicle. He rested Massey's limp body up against the side of the patrol vehicle before opening the back passenger door. Struggling with the weight, Andrew heaved Massey across the rear seat as carefully as he could, but delicacy was not much of a concern right now. He could hear numerous objects bouncing off the roof, sides, and windows of the Police Charger as he finished placing Massey across the back seat.
Where have all these people come from? Andrew asked himself. There had to be hundreds of them out on the street now, it was almost as if the situation had been planned. The crowd had virtually surrounded them and the moment Andrew closed the passenger door another bottle struck him in the shoulder. It didn't hurt much, but the situation was now more than terrifying.
Opening his driver’s side door Andrew ducked inside just in time for a piece of concrete to strike his windshield sending large spider web like cracks all across the glass. A split second later something else struck the driver’s side door window and the glass shattered, only the protective laminate held the pieces in place.
There was no safe way to make it through the crowd, Andrew would have to force his way past them. Dropping the Charger into gear he moved forward at a steady pace forcing people out of his way while his patrol car was banged, shaken, and struck by the angry mob. After a few minutes he managed to push his way through the crowd. Once free Andrew floored the accelerator and headed towards the hospital as quickly as possible, leaving the hundreds of angry rioters behind him.
Once the officers had fled the vengeful crowd immediately turned its rage on the remaining patrol car and whatever other property was in the area or any person that appeared different from the growing mass of infuriated rioters that were quickly flooding the streets. Shop and business windows were smashed out and looters rapidly swarmed inside to collect whatever bounty they believed rightfully belonged to them. If an owner was foolish enough to remain inside they were dragged out of their place of business and brutally beaten.
Many in the mob had heard the rumors about the suspension of entitlement checks. If these statements were indeed true then they would take what they “deserved” from those who they believed owed it to them. Cars and other structures were set ablaze sending black billowing smoke clouds into the sky as the air was filled with the sound of burglar and car alarms mixed with the echoes of angry screams. Anyone that had any sense quickly fled if they could, if not they locked themselves in whatever building or residence they had and prayed the vicious crowd would not attempt to make entry.
CHAPTER 17
Karina had to get away. She had no idea where to go, but she knew she had to get away. Repeatedly wiping tears away from her eyes she sped down the road, trying unsuccessfully to focus on the route directly in front of her car. After informing her of Tiffany's death, John had practically begged her to stay, but she couldn't even look at him. None of this was his fault and she knew he only wanted to protect her, but she could not risk placing him in anymore danger. John would have done the best job he could trying to safeguard both of them, but he had become more involved in this entire situation than she had ever wanted. The only thing Karina could think to do was to get as far away from him as possible.
Karina felt as if she had abandoned Tiffany when she needed her the most. She had left the friend that had once saved her life to be murdered by an NGP assault team. In the end Tiffany died afraid and alone. Maybe if she had been at her apartment she could have done something; or maybe not.
Where could she go now? It was a forgone conclusion that her apartment was still crawling with NGP Officers and Jennifer was probably one of them. Jennifer would love to see her rolling up in her little green Honda Accord. Who knew what that wicked woman would do to her now? Karina was also certain that by this point the NGP would have found some Occupy Congress paraphernalia in her residence and even if they had not, she was sure that Jennifer would be able to
make something “appear” that could be used as evidence against her.
By now the NGP would have made contact with Wilmington PD, informing them to be on the lookout for both her and her vehicle. They would have placed a hit on her tag number so that license plate readers that were located at numerous and random locations around the city and on any number of police and NGP vehicles would immediate get an alert from the Department of Criminal Information if she were to drive past them. Driving with no tags was not an option either. That would be viewed as extremely suspicious. Through the haze of emotions Karina was glad she had at least remembered to quickly make her way to the parking lot of a nearby grocery store soon after leaving John's apartment. After picking up a prepaid cell phone from the store (there was no use trying to retrieve her own phone from her NGP controlled apartment) she used her multitool to remove her tag and swap it out with another Honda's plate. The car wasn't the same year as hers, but she hoped that an officer casually scanning over the vehicle's information on his Mobile Computer Terminal as he drove down the road would not pick up the discrepancy. She also hoped that the owner of the vehicle would not notice the different tag she had placed on his car or be pulled over anytime soon. However, her whole plan was a house of cards that could easily come crashing down on her.
With the proliferation of facial recognition cameras merely changing her license plate was only a temporary fix at best and she knew it was only a matter of time before she was caught. The sense that “Big Brother” could so easily follow her every movement gave her a truly claustrophobic sensation. She almost felt as if she couldn't even get out of her car without risking getting caught. For the moment she could only drive aimlessly down the road with tears streaming down her face.
….
John tightly gripped the steering wheel of his Ford F150. After revealing the devastating news to Karina about Tiffany's death he had tried to persuade her to stay with him, but she had adamantly refused. Instead she had practically sprinted out of his residence. In a brief confrontation in the parking lot he had again desperately tried to convince her to stay, but Karina rejected his entreaty saying something about having destroyed enough of his life and not wanting to be responsible for his death as well. She had even made him promise that he would not try to follow her. Short of physically dragging her back to his apartment, which John was sure, would have caused enough of a scene for his neighbors to call the police, subsequently resulting in both of their arrests, there was nothing he could do, but watch her leave.
John had barely enough time to process what had just happened when he received his second distressing phone call of the day. It took him a few moments to put Samantha's name and story to her face, but once he had done so he listened more earnestly to her appeals for help. While he had not been able to get the entire story out of her over the phone he heard enough to at least put parts of her situation together.
After a particularly horrendous night with a client she had been left to find her way home, injured and alone. The pain in her voice was apparent and it was obvious to John that she was too hurt to make the trek to safety by herself. Given the nature of her line of work John understood that Samantha would believe that calling the police would be out of the question. She had instead chosen to call him. Still reeling from Karina's departure John was surprised that he had immediately chosen to undertake this particular venture, but the pain and loneliness that he had seen in Samantha's eyes the night he met her had just reminded him too much of Karina for him not to try and help her.
The drive to meet Samantha had also given him a moment to clear his mind and try to process everything that had occurred. Why would the NGP choose to raid Karina's apartment? John knew she was part of Occupy Congress, but no one else did; at least he didn’t think anyone else knew. And even if someone did know, John assumed the second stop on the National Governing Police's list would have been his home. None of it made sense until it finally struck him; Jennifer had to be involved. It was the only reasonable explanation. She had participated in Wilmington’s own internal investigation resulting in his termination from the police department and even though she had not been able to obtain any specific incriminating evidence to use against Karina, John extrapolated that Jennifer must have figured out that Karina was indeed the only person that he would have risked everything to protect. She then must have convinced her NGP supervisors to help carry out her plan. That bitch was even crazier and more cunning than he thought. While Todd had not mentioned seeing her at the scene of the raid it did not mean she was not skulking around somewhere in the shadows and out of sight, planning her next move. John tightened his grip on the steering wheel further as he felt anger course over him.
Listening to his radio John discovered the news of the riots that had started earlier in the day. While early reports were sketchy at best it sounded as if what had started out as a normal traffic stop had somehow resulted in a full scale riot. Two officers had been injured, one seriously, and Wilmington PD was desperately attempting to isolate and control the areas that were experiencing civil unrest, but given that the crowds were rapidly growing in size, it would be difficult to do so without outside help. Curfews for night time travel had already been put into place and the mayor had requested all nonessential personnel to stay indoors and off the streets. Schools would be shut down early, and most businesses would eventually be forced to close their doors; even if it meant the owners might lose everything from the oncoming violence located in their areas. Even though they might voice their concerns about the forced exodus small business owners were viewed as inconsequential in regards to government edicts.
John had ignored that last part about remaining inside as he continued his quest to rescue Samantha. He found that he was surprised it had taken as long as it had for civil disturbances to reach the Wilmington area. With riots breaking out in force across the country it was only a matter of time before the same events began occurring in his city. He just hoped the situation would not get as bad as it had in Los Angeles or Chicago where the Marines had been called in to help reestablish order. Martial law had practically been put into place in those cities and it did not appear to be going away anytime soon. With the extreme violence rioters brought to a location it was certainly no place for an injured young girl to be wandering about on foot. Samantha would make an easy target for any one of the depraved individuals taking part in the chaos. As John turned onto Market Street he slowed down slightly and began to search the area for Samantha.
….
It was already past 11 o'clock and Samantha was still sitting nervously on the wooden and steel bench which was planted firmly into the concrete sidewalk that ran alongside Market Street. The dull pain that ran throughout her body remained. She had decided a while ago that sitting and waiting for John would be a better idea then wandering aimlessly up and down the sidewalk; especially given the growing number of locals that seemed to be accumulating in the area. Even though Samantha had not heard the news of the riots she could easily tell that something was up. Crowds of mostly black males and some females mixed with a few Hispanics and a hand full of whites were accumulating into groups at a rapid pace and they definitely seemed to have a very different mindset then the usual social gathering of unemployed individuals. Several of the males within the group continuously looked disdainfully over at the solo white female sitting on the bench across the street from them. Samantha grew more nervous by the second as she watched several members of the increasingly angry mob debate exactly what they should do with the trespasser on “their” street.
“Come over here and make yourself useful!” A man shouted to her, immediately garnering the perverted laughter of several of the men in the crowd.
“Yeah, girl! Come on over and we'll show you a good time!” was the next decree. Samantha fidgeted nervously trying not to make eye contact with any of them and not responding to their jeers. Not receiving the reaction they wished it became immediately apparent that the men within the c
rowd were growing more enraged.
“Get the fuck off our street whore!!” Another man shouted and from somewhere inside the group a glass bottle was hurled. It fell far short of Samantha’s location and exploded into a small shower of glass shards in the center of the street. Samantha glanced nervously up and down the street. Just as she did this John's blue Ford F150 rolled to a stop in front of her. The passenger window rolled down and Samantha breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing John in the driver's seat.
“Get in...” he said glancing across the four lane street at the growing crowd. Samantha stood and immediately felt pain shoot through her abdomen. She winced, but forced herself to move over to John's truck and climb into it.
“What the hell happened to you?” he asked observing Samantha's obvious injuries.
“It's a long story, just please drive.” she said with fear in her voice as she again looked over at the growing mob. John immediately hit the gas and the truck accelerated down the road.
“What happened to you?” John asked. Before Samantha even had the chance to answer or lie John continued. “Who did this to you?” he asked and Samantha glanced down with an ashamed look on her face.
“A client.” she responded, trying to be as vague as possible.
“Who?” John asked.
Samantha did not answer. If it were possible she felt even more ashamed. The truth of the matter was she did not even know the name of the man who had been brutalizing her, even though she had been with him on several occasions. Still sensing John's gaze Samantha shrugged her shoulders.