Dawn of the Mad

by Brandon Huckabay

  “Holy shit,” Randy said, “he’s been hit like twenty times!” Randy inspected the Reaper more closely. Black ooze began to seep from his nostrils. “We got to ditch this guy, man. He ain’t gonna make it!”

  The van accelerated onto the expressway, heading north out of the city. “We’ll ditch the van,” Cyrus said. “That’s our next step in the plan—don’t forget the plan.” He faced forward and looked up through the windshield. “Dude, they have air support on us again. Hurry up!”

  Traffic was slow on the expressway, so Skinny stayed in the shoulder. He accelerated, passing cars in the regular traffic lanes. He exited at the next turnoff and entered a heavily congested warehouse district. Matthias and Cruwell followed as close as they could without arousing any suspicion.

  “I have them on the holomap,” Cruwell said. “I’m also reading a very abnormally high heat source. Our alien might finally be fried.” He looked ahead for a moment. “They pulled into that building over there.” He pointed at a large warehouse with several tractor trailers parked in the lot. “I have them on the map; let’s wait until Johnny and Scotts get here with some weapons.”

  Police cars began to enter the area, and police and news helicopters hovered overhead. A large blue van and an armored personnel carrier, complete with a fixed battering ram, entered the newly established police perimeter. Both vehicles had the words “County Sheriff SWAT” painted on their sides.

  Cruwell said, “It looks like they aren’t playing around with this one.”

  “Hurry up,” Scotts said. “We’ll never make it.”

  “Relax,” Roman said calmly as he activated his dashboard emergency lights. He accelerated, weaving even more as he negotiated through traffic. He had never bothered to turn in his cruiser or any of his equipment, as he had been instructed to do, and no one had tracked him down to ask for its return. He figured it would take the police bureaucracy a while to catch up with him, but he still did have a sense of duty. He still wore the badge and he was determined to catch this maniac. They had hastily filled the back seat with whatever weapons were easily at hand. Scotts sat in the passenger seat, loading up his EMR. Underneath the barrel was a grenade launcher, which Corporal Scotts loaded with short, stubby rounds.

  Roman, a lit cigarette in his mouth, drove as fast as he could, swerving from the shoulder back into traffic. “You better put your seatbelt on.”

  Scotts complied and buckled his seatbelt. He held up the holographic map and shouted directions to Roman. The black Crown Vic approached

  100 miles per hour as it sped along the expressway. “There. Take the next exit!”

  Roman swerved and barely made the exit ramp. Up ahead, the flashing lights of numerous police cars were everywhere caused him to slam on the brakes.

  “Great. This won’t be easy getting in,” he commented.

  Roman slowly drove the Crown Vic closer as he saw officers clearing traffic. Scotts pointed to a nearby Shell gas station. Roman hit the accelerator and pulled in. The familiar lime green Mustang was parked in the back; Matthias and Cruwell were outside the vehicle looking at the scene through binoculars.

  “It took you guys long enough,” Cruwell greeted them. “You bring weapons?”

  “We’re set. What are we going to do?” Scotts asked as he exited the Crown Vic.

  Roman opened the trunk of his vehicle and retrieved his ballistic vest. He put it on over his white T-shirt and proceeded to unload buckshot and insert slugs into his recently re-acquired shotgun. He also took out a Houston Astros baseball hat and placed it on his head backwards. He closed the trunk.

  “We need to find a way in,” Cruwell said, lowering his binoculars and looking at Corporal Scotts. “There is a massive heat buildup. Our guy might finally be dying. If they get him, we’ll have lost our chance.”

  The police had effectively cordoned off the area. Inside the warehouse, the situation had become tense.

  “We are totally screwed,” Cyrus said. “You took the wrong turn!”

  “Back off!” Skinny replied nervously. “I followed your directions, exactly like you said. How was I supposed to know there would be an army outside?”

  Skinny had parked their van inside a massive warehouse, seemingly empty, save for them. He and Randy dragged Reaper out of the van and laid him on the floor.

  “I must cool down,” Reaper said again, repeating the words he had whispered dozens of times. He stared in dismay at the remaining cracked syringes he had retrieved out of his jacket pocket. The precious pink, strength-giving liquid was all but gone. He was dying, and he knew it. He needed to find the doctor quickly.

  “This guy should be dead. He is not right,” Skinny said.

  “Shut up,” Cyrus answered tersely. “He saved our asses back there. Find the exits and cover them. We need to see what the cops have facing us.”

  Skinny and Randy looked at each other quizzically, before heading off in different directions. Cyrus looked at Reaper. He put a hand to Reaper’s pale head and noted that he was hot to the touch. He looked around and saw a sign above a door that read “Break Room.” With one hand, he dragged his brother into that room.

  “You’re lucky, man,” Cyrus said, spotting an ice machine sitting in the corner. He propped Reaper against a wall next to the machine and began to scoop out ice and drop it onto his brother. After a few minutes, all of the ice was gone, but Reaper’s skin had cooled down. His black eyes opened very slowly, and he sat up straighter.

  “Where are we?” he managed to say. His wounds began to close up, much to his relief.

  “We’re trapped. Skinny took a wrong turn, and we’re boxed in. They have SWAT teams out there. I ain’t going back to the joint, man. This is it. Hang in there. We still need you, man.”

  Cruwell frowned over his holographic map. “What’s wrong?” Matthias asked.

  Cruwell began to tap the side of the box that projected the map. “The heat signature is fading away. This thing is running out of power or something.”

  “No, I think our alien is attempting to heal himself.”

  “So what does that mean?” Roman asked, dropping his cigarette to the ground and grinding it out with the toe of his boot. He stared up at a passing helicopter.

  “It means they could try to escape the police perimeter,” Scotts answered. “If he is healed, he will be ready to fight.”

  Roman sat down in his Crown Vic and listened to the radio transmissions. “It looks like they’re going to send in the SWAT teams any minute now. This should be interesting.”

  The warehouse was completely surrounded, and the police had barricaded the only entrance into the industrial park. Two camouflaged Humvees, a black RV and three unmarked Crown Vics entered the perimeter and came to a halt.

  The doors to the vehicles opened, and several figures emerged, wearing black trench coats. Camouflaged soldiers got out of the Humvees, each carrying an M-4 rifle. The last figure to exit the Humvee adjusted his blue beret and returned the salutes of his waiting men. One of the trench- coated figures walked toward the man and pointed to the warehouse. A marked sheriff’s car pulled up to the perimeter, and a seemingly agitated sheriff got out and began yelling at the assembled group, which largely ignored him. One of the trench-coated figures spoke a few words to the sheriff, who, still seemingly very agitated, quickly got in his vehicle and drove off.

  “This is horseshit!” the sheriff shouted into his cell phone as he drove to his command post. “I am the county sheriff, and this is my county. I was called to deploy my tactical assets, and I have. I don’t need any feds or military telling me what to do! When the chief of police shows up, he will tell you the same thing.”

  “I am sorry, sheriff, the voice on the other end of the phone said. “This is now a US government operation. We all have our orders. The chief of police has assured us his complete cooperation. Colonel Little is in charge of this operation here, and we will need your tactical team and equipment. This is now a matter of national security, and you n
eed to give him your full and utmost cooperation.”

  “Fine. But my SWAT team is pulling out,” the sheriff replied sternly. “He can use his soldiers for a suicide mission if he wants. Matter of fact, I should just pull all of my men out and let him handle it by himself.”

  The calm voice on the other end of the phone replied, “Sorry, sheriff. You will cooperate and give Colonel Little access to all of your men and equipment. If you don’t like it, I will find someone to replace you. I have a press conference to attend to now. This type of incident doesn’t get ignored for very long. Good day.”

  The sheriff placed the cellular phone onto its dashboard-mounted cradle. He soon reached the mobile command post and jerked his car to a halt. He got out and walked toward the post, shaking his head, muttering under his breath. “Damn politicians.”

  The sheriff turned and walked back to his vehicle. He reached inside and retrieved the cellular phone from its cradle mounted on the dash. He quickly dialed a number and put the phone to his ear. He spoke as soon as the call was picked up, not giving the other party a chance.

  “This is the sheriff. Commander Glover, pull your SWAT team out. All deputies will also pull back. This is now a military operation.”

  “Sir, Colonel Little has given us orders to initiate an assault.”

  “Dammit, Glover, do what I say! That is an order! I am on my way!” The sheriff ended the call and got into the driver seat. Firing up the ignition, he quickly U-turned his vehicle and headed back toward the black RV. By now, more soldiers wearing blue berets manned the perimeter. The sheriff attempted to drive up to the black RV but was stopped by one of the blue beret wearing soldiers brandishing an M-4.

  “Your vehicle may not pass,” the soldier said.

  “Get out of my way before I run you over!” The sheriff hit the accelerator and broke through the yellow barrier tape. He parked his cruiser in front of the lead Humvee and got out. He was quickly subdued by two soldiers.

  “Get your hands off of me!” the sheriff yelled. He looked around, and much to his satisfaction, his SWAT vans were pulling back, along with the rest of his deputies. Only the Metro Police remained. The military now had an overwhelming presence. The black RV had a large radar dish and antenna array on its roof. As the sheriff approached, several soldiers got out; their distinctive blue berets perched on their heads. An Army veteran of the Gulf War, the sheriff recognized different military unit patches and ranks when he saw them. He noted with interest that these soldiers bore no insignia or name patches on their uniforms.

  “Unhand the sheriff,” Colonel Little commanded as he walked from his Humvee towards the RV. The sheriff brushed off his uniform and straightened up to face the colonel. He noted the distinctive full-bird silver insignia on his collar but saw that his uniform was devoid of any unit patch. “Sheriff, you disappoint me. You were to leave your tactical units in my command. They are now pulling back. We are going to lose a valuable opportunity, as you have the only tactical asset here.”

  “Listen, Colonel,” the sheriff answered. “My men responded to a bank robbery in which several officers were hurt or killed. I do not know why the military is here, but from what I understand, it is against the law for the military to be conducting police operations.”

  “These men that killed your officers are wanted terrorists. I am empowered by the President of the United States to arrest them and contain this situation before any more lives are lost. That is all you need to know,” the colonel replied curtly.

  “Terrorists? Are you kidding me? What is really going on here? The military just doesn’t show up for a bank robbery.”

  “Sheriff, there are three things I ask of my men. I ask that they lead, follow, or get the hell out of way. You are doing none of these things. So if you don’t mind, please, get out of my operation and direct traffic.” The sheriff shook his head angrily and got back into his car. Seeing the sheriff exit the military perimeter in his car, the colonel walked inside the RV.

  “Get those tactical teams back here at once,” he told his staff. “That sheriff has interfered for the last time, if necessary detain him.” He looked at a man wearing a black suit and tie, along with sunglasses, standing in the corner.

  “Instead of standing there, why don’t get off your ass and do something?”

  The man in black spoke. “I am only here to make sure you contain the situation, Colonel. Handling local law enforcement is of no interest to me.” The colonel’s attention was diverted by a soldier who sat at a terminal and shouted an alarm.

  “Colonel! They are attempting to escape!”

  The colonel moved behind the soldier’s shoulder to watch a camera feed on the computer terminal.

  “Damn. What is the status of the tactical teams?”

  “They are regrouping now, but they are not in position anymore, since the sheriff ordered them out.”

  The colonel pounded his right fist into his left palm. “That’s great. I want our reaction force ready to go when they arrive. Orders are to shoot on sight.”

  “Yes sir.” The soldier relayed the command through a microphone.

  CHAPTER 26

  “It’s now or never,” Randy said, peeking through the blinds of a window. “The SWAT teams are pulling back!” The crew had driven their van into an open garage door leading into a large warehouse and closed the door behind them. Skinny now stood next to the button on the wall to open it up again. They fired a few rounds into the ceiling, chasing out the few employees in the warehouse. Reaper sat up now; most of the ice that had been placed on him had melted.

  Cyrus stood alone, contemplating his next move, when Randy yelled out, “What are you gonna do, just stand there?”

  “Don’t yell at me!” Cyrus yelled back. “I’m thinking.”

  “Oh, that’s just great. Listen, they’re pulling back! We need to make a break for it!”

  Cyrus nodded, and ran over to Reaper helping him into a standing position. He walked him over to the van and helped into the side door. He picked up the SAW and put it in Reaper’s hands.

  “We gotta break out, man. I need you to cover us.”

  Randy ran back to the van and got in through the driver’s side door. He inserted a fresh magazine into his AK and stuck it out the window. Cyrus got into the passenger seat.

  “Hit the door and let’s go!” he told Randy.

  Skinny slammed the red button, and the garage door began to retract upward. He ran back and jumped into the van’s open side door. Reaper was poised at it, with his SAW hanging out of the open door. Skinny stood slightly behind, his AK at the ready. Randy hit the gas and sent the van hurtling toward the police perimeter.

  “Here they come! Open fire!”

  The few Metro police who had not followed the sheriff’s order to pull back opened fire with shotguns and pistols. The van took several hits, but it kept coming. The sudden withdrawal of the two SWAT teams created a gap in the perimeter, and the crew exploited it to the best of their ability. Randy and Cyrus fired through the windshield, sending several officers scattering for cover. As soon as the van passed the first set of cars, Reaper and Skinny unleashed a devastating broadside salvo. The van broke through a chain link fence behind the warehouse and turned down into a residential neighborhood.

  “Where are they headed?” Roman asked. Corporal Scotts intently studied the holomap. “If they continue, they will most likely come out here.” He raised a section of the map, which rotated and flashed the two likely exits.

  “That’s not too far from here,” Roman said. He surveyed the scene at the warehouse. “Looks like we could catch them before the cops will.”

  The warehouse area had turned into a giant traffic jam, as police cars and military vehicles tried to get to the back of the lot. Others tried to get to the main road, but they were blocked by disabled cars and empty cars whose drivers had fled and were being held back by the police perimeter. Roman got back into the driver’s seat.

  “Whenever you’re ready, l
adies, we can go, I’m driving.”

  Captain Cruwell jumped into the passenger seat, his EMR jutting out of the window. Scotts and Sergeant Matthias jumped into the back of the Crown Vic, each also sticking an EMR out his window. The car roared to life, and Roman eased it out onto the roadway. Using his emergency lights and siren, Roman managed to negotiate through the gridlocked traffic via the sidewalk. Using directions from Scott’s holomap, he quickly approached the van as it weaved through traffic at a steady but high speed. There were no police cars currently following it.

  “Wow. Hard to imagine they missed it,” Sergeant Matthias commented.

  “Actually, not really,” Roman replied. “The police will be trying to minimize civilian casualties. Hopefully, he will go north and get to a less populated area. I’ll try to hang back until we can find a good area to take them down.”

  The van continued north on a four-lane road and finally got to the outskirts of the city. The jurisdiction of the Metro police ended here, and they didn’t have many units in the area. Only the county sheriff had assets outside the city limits to use, but it seemed he wasn’t letting that happen. Roman thought they were all alone until Scotts looked over his shoulder out of the rear window and said, “I think they found us again.”

  Police sirens could be heard faintly in pursuit, and they could hear a helicopter overhead again.

  “It’s now or never guys. Make the call, Sebastian,” said Matthias to Cruwell.

  Cruwell looked behind him and up at the helicopter. He turned around and stared ahead at the fleeing van. “OK. Let’s take it out now. We will disable the vehicle. Kill the others if you have to, but try to get the alien alive.”

  Everyone rechecked their rifles. Roman leaned over, took his hand cannon out of the glove box, and press checked it.

  “Locked and loaded. Let’s do it.”

  Roman slammed down hard on the accelerator and pulled up to the van’s bumper.