by Dave Buschi
61
LIP saw them ahead, by the trucks. There were more than three now. Fuck.
Other men had joined the three he’d initially seen from the hill. He saw a group clustered together. Not three men, but six. Their heads turned as Lip drove towards them.
So much for the odds he’d pictured in his head. 3 to 1 was okay. 6 to 1 sucked.
One of the men was looking right at Lip, like he could see through the black-tinted windshield. Lip reached for Bertha. Bertha was next to Alice in the passenger seat. Bertha was everything Alice wasn’t. Where Alice was precise, Bertha was messy.
Bertha was a Mossberg. One big momma shotgun. Twelve gauge, pump action. Six rounds in it. One already in the chamber.
Lip took a deep breath. Pep talk time.
Rock and roll, Tiger.
Lip tapped the button for the passenger’s window. He turned slightly to the right. The six guys were coming up.
Flyby.
C’mon Bertha, make it count.
The men saw the window start to open; saw the barrel come out. They didn’t try and dive or move. Instead, to a man, they started raising their weapons; one of which looked just like an AK-47.
Shit.
Then things got loud. Real loud.
62
MARKS heard the shots. They were faint, but he could hear them through the blast door. Tiny tinny sounds, as if multiple rounds were being fired.
What was going on out there?
Four of the kids were down the corridor, tucked from sight. Two of them—the two oldest, both girls—were with him at the door.
“You sure you can do this?” Marks said.
The girl nodded. “I’m ready.” The girl’s name was Cassie, short for Cassandra. Marks had gotten all their names before he’d given them the final instructions; how he’d knock, how not to open unless the sequence of knocks exactly matched. He reminded them that it might take him some time. Do not open the door until he returned; it could even be hours. He was hearing the words he’d already told them. “I hope not, but plan for that. Just know I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Cassie looked at him with determination in her eyes. It was a good sign. She’d rebounded and was taking charge; no longer a victim, but a girl that wanted to live.
“You remember what I said?” Marks said to both of them. “This is going to be quick. Stay back until I go through the door, then lock it. Use this. Turn counter clockwise till you can’t turn anymore.”
The girls nodded.
“You are coming back, aren’t you?” Maria asked. She bit her lower lip; her eyes were wide and scared. She was the one who’d spoken Spanish. She appeared to be of mixed nationality. He saw Hispanic and what might have been Asian in her. She was beautiful, just like Cassie.
“You better believe it,” Marks said. “Now step back. Cover your ears. This may be loud.”
The two girls moved away. The tiny tinny sounds were going strong. Marks turned the wheel to disengage the bolts.
The door was heavy. He pulled it back about a foot, let go and yanked the pin on the stun grenade. In one fluid motion, he tossed the device with a hook shot into the other room and threw his body against the door. He got it shut, turned the wheel and engaged the bolts.
In the other room the flashbang went off. Through the three inches of steel it sounded like a low boomy rumble. Flashbangs were a double-whammy thing. Light and sound. Anyone near the thing was done.
The flashbang was just a precaution. With the rounds being fired out there, it was the safe call. Big negative was it announced he was coming like a freakin’ gong.
Marks turned the door handle again and disengaged the bolts. “Okay girls, you know what to do.”
Marks pulled the door open and went through the opening. Behind him the girls sprang forward, getting to the door. Marks took in everything in the other room. Saw two men.
Good call on the flashbang.
One of the men was halfway up the stairs, like he’d just been going up them. He was crouched down, a weapon dangling from his neck, hands over his ears. Another man was to Marks’s left. Also armed. He was stunned; temporarily blind by the look of it; still standing.
Marks used the MASS on the standing guy. Blew him against the wall. The concentrated buckshot almost cut the man clean in half. He tugged back on the bolt handle and loaded another shell from the magazine. He swung the barrel towards the other guy. He moved forward, up the stairs.
Two steps up, he pulled the trigger. The MASS recoiled and swept the guy away like a broom. The man fell from the stairs. Marks humped it, going up like a bat out of hell.
63
“STRONZOFUCKINSHIT!” Lip said, as he tried to make like a gopher in the dirt. He was behind a pile of tires in-between the two warehouses, out in the middle of the field. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to go.
The clunky sound of an AK-47 was popping off rounds, Crraack Crraack Crraack Crraack…
The men were unloading on him with everything they had. The AK-47 was the show stealer, but Lip’s ears were also hearing what sounded like a Tec 9 and MAC-10 in the mix. Kraakk kraakk…kruush kruush kruush…
It sounded like a damn ballistics convention out there. Lip backpedaled with his heels and got himself into a sitting position with his back pressed against the tarp that was covering the tires. Rounds were shredding the other side of the pile. Dirt was popping up to his left and right—big ass divots exploding like popcorn.
In his hand, Lip had Bertha. Alice and his other ladies were about twenty yards away. In Vlad’s car. Or what was left of Vlad’s car.
Those guys had torn it to hell. He couldn’t see it, but the car was done. His flyby hadn’t exactly been a resounding success. He’d hit one, maybe two of them, and that was it.
The others were now responding in kind. They’d taken out his tires. Not twenty yards past them and the car simply cratered. Came to a dead stop. He’d barely gotten out of the car with Bertha, before they just tore up fuckin’ everything.
This sucked. He was pinned down.
Kraakk kraakk…kruush kruush kruush…crraack crraack crraack…
All they had to do was flank him. Hit him both sides. Another ten seconds and these blockheads were going to realize that.
“Babel?”
He was hearing voices now. It took Lip a moment to realize what that sound was over the hellacious racket.
Lip tapped his ear mike. “Meat?”
“Need help?”
Sonnofabitch.
“Nah,” Lip said, his ears ringing. “I’m good. I got ‘em just where I want ‘em.”
64
THE sound of rounds being fired. Marks had once heard a GySgt compare it to a rock concert. It had been with some new recruits. Bunch of fresh blood, raw and untested, baby cheeks every single one of them. Gunny had laid it on thick. He was a Mississippi boy with a body chiseled from obsidian.
You little girlies been to a rock concert, ain’t ya? Ever have front row seats right next to them momma big ass speakers? How’d you feel afterwards? In a daze, huh? Kind of like a fog. Head ringing from all that noise and that juicy juice you probably swilled, huh? Well crank that shit up. You girlies are going to hear the SAW today!
In a nutshell, sustained weapons fire was pretty intense. There was a phrase, “the fog of war”. It was used to describe more the whole shebang, the runaway animal that a theatre of war becomes. The macro picture. Same thing, though, held true for the micro picture. When you’re in the soup, just hearing weapons fire… after a while that’s all it was, it becomes like background noise, white noise, there, but pushed back, like it wasn’t really happening. You feel in a fog. A total daze. Ears just stop working.
Marks wasn’t in that place, luckily. As he’d raced up the stairs, he still had his hearing faculties—they hadn’t gone to mush. In fact, he was quite in the opposite camp. He was squared away. One jacked up Marine. Took a lot more than a few potshots to rattle him.
He was in his element,
inventorying and processing, all on the move. Sound is mostly omnidirectional, but there are nuances. Depending on where you are, if you’re tuned to it, you can tell whether the fire is coming at you, or heading away from you.
Marks had heard the AK-47 crunching and the other weapons cracking. They were loud as hell. But those rounds weren’t coming his way. They were going outwards, towards something else.
Lip?
He’d crested those stairs not even breaking stride. A big empty warehouse greeted him. No one inside. He hightailed it towards the open roll door. The shooting was coming from outside in the yard. He made it to the wall and peered around to see through the roll door opening. He had grandstand seats. Whole thing laid out like a baseball diamond.
Pass the peanuts.
Three of the guys were in front of the trucks letting all hell loose towards a pile of tires in the middle of the yard. Not but a short stone’s throw away was Vlad’s car. All shot up, smoldering, smoke coming from the hood. Guys weren’t shooting at the car, but at the pile of tires. No doubt, that was where Lip was, behind those tires.
Marks saw one of the guys jack in another magazine. Those three were laying it down heavy. Pin Lip down. Smart. Fourth guy was it. He was to the left—shooting past first base—about to flank Lip. Almost there too.
“Babel?”
“Meat?”
“Need help?”
Marks switched to ‘full auto’ mode. There was a break in the trucks, a window just wide enough to give him the full view. Marks lifted his weapon and tracked the guy.
“Nah, I’m good. I got ‘em just where I want ‘em.”
Marks smirked. His iron sights locked on the guy. He led him by a hair. Come to poppa.
Marks let fly a burst. Four rounds hit the guy almost simultaneously. Guy jerked like a rag doll and toppled forward.
One down. Marks stepped forward; his barrel swung towards the other three. They were still cranking the lead out. …kruush kruush kruush… They hadn’t seen what had happened, yet. Marks had a bead on two of them. Third was now behind a truck. One of them stopped firing and began to reload. He paused; saw his compatriot that was down.
Marks let go another burst. Cut the guy in two. Without missing a beat, he stepped forward again. Did a burst while on the move.
Third went down. Fourth was still out of view. Man wasn’t firing. Marks moved to the right, across the loading platform. He saw the man in-between two trucks turning with his weapon—big AK-47 widow maker. The man spied him. It was a race to the finish. Both weapons being aimed at each other. Only one got their first.
One burst. Count it, wrap it, put a friggin’ bow on it. Marks stopped firing. He surveyed the grounds and tapped his ear mike. “Six down.”
Lip came back. “Six works. Cover my ass.”
Before Marks could ask why, he saw Lip running from the pile. Lip headed for Vlad’s car. The engine was no longer just smoldering. Flames were coming from the hood.
What the hell was he doing?
Marks did a one-eighty. Looking for others. Nothing. He moved to the right, checking in-between two more trucks. All clear. His partner reached the car and pulled open one of the doors. He started pulling stuff out. One duffel bag was tossed to the ground. Another was taken out.
Marks tapped his ear mike. “Need help?”
“That’d be nice!” Lip yelled, not even bothering to use the mike.
Marks hustled down. The car was in full flames now. That didn’t look good. He covered the twenty-five yards and grabbed one of the duffel bags. Lip had the other duffel and a rifle. Marks stole a glance back at the flames.
“That’s gonna…”
“I know,” Lip said.
They ran towards the trucks. Bag was heavy. Felt like he was running in snow. He made it to the first truck and hit the ground near one of its wheels. Lip plopped down next to him.
“You good?” Marks said.
Lip opened his mouth to say something just as the car exploded. The force of the blast rolled in a wave and seemed to almost lift the truck. It took a moment before the world stopped bouncing.
“You good?” Marks said again.
“Do you really want to know how I feel? Pull this.” Lip held out his finger.
There was the sound of a vehicle crunching on gravel. Under the row of trucks, Marks caught sight of a sedan. It was heading towards the front gates.
65
“SOMEONE’S bugging it,” Lip said.
Marks rose. “Not if I can help it.” He headed across the yard. Thirty yards into it, he knew it was a lost cause. Vehicle was already through the gates. All Marks got was a brief glimpse before it slipped from view, down the feeder road, heading away fast.
Marks stopped running. He cursed under his breath and went back and joined Lip. Lip was near one of the KIA, turning the guy over.
“This one look familiar?”
Marks recognized the face. “Starbucks.”
Lip pointed to another, or at least what was left of him. “Him too.”
Marks checked out the others. It was the whole crew, except for the guy he’d taken down with the power hit to the jaw.
“Did you find the kids?” Lip said.
Marks told him, describing it all, down to the cages and blast door.
“How many?”
“Six,” Marks said.
Lip nodded. He gave a close-lipped smile. Marks knew what this meant to his partner. Saving lives. There was nothing better. It was a feeling unlike any other.
Like friggin’ Christmas.
66
THEY weren’t done. Not yet. Buildings needed to be swept.
Fast and smooth. Secure the area. Radio this in and get the kids out of here. The guy that bugged it could always come back with unwanted company.
Sweeping was more a job up Marks’s alley. Lip stayed to do his business. He had his print kit out and was taking wallet IDs and putting them in baggies.
“Five bucks these guys are all as clean as Vlad.”
Marks didn’t take that bet.
“Remember, I need anything and everything,” Lip said. “If it looks like a computer grab it. That goes for cell phones and anything else we can mine for data.”
“Alright, in my spare time. Any other requests?”
“If you see any more UMPs, Five SeveNs, anything cool, get those too.”
Marks shook his head and left his partner. Sometimes Lip jumped ahead of things. First order of business was to check for hostiles and see if there were any other kids. Afterwards, they could raid the store. Not before, though.
One thing at a time.
Marks looped around the warehouse. He went to the fire stair. Rule still applied. Go in high.
He climbed up the exterior stairs like he’d done before. Had a brief feeling of déjà vu. He ignored it and went past the second landing. No voices this time were coming through the door. He proceeded up the next two runs and made it to the third landing. He checked the open window. Had a view inside. It was a dark empty space.
Marks tested the door handle. Locked. Window it was then.
He went in. His eyes were already adjusted to darkness. He moved into a small vestibule and went through another opening. It emptied into a huge space that appeared to go the length of the building. Windows, blackened out, were on the sides and ends. There were some walls, but most of the space was wide open. Big and boomy. Like some old warehouse, back before electricity changed the game. Windows at one time would have flooded this place with natural light.
Not now, though. Whole place was dark and foreboding. Only light was coming from three flickering overhead lights; one nearby, the other two down towards the end.
He padded softly into the space, towards some rooms. He checked out the first. Had to use his moon beam.
His eyes were on high alert for any movement, but there was none. Only thing in the space were three bare mattresses, some soiled clothing in the corner, and an old Sanyo tube TV, unplugged, that wa
s near the wall. Dust covered everything. Place hadn’t been used for some time.
Marks killed the moon beam and left the room. He moved to the next area. Some old broken down boxes were on the floor. He went past those, and some more columns, scanning for any movement. Up ahead, light was spilling from a door. He gripped his weapon and advanced. Finger on the trigger.
He used the columns for cover. Was able to get a view inside. Appeared to be some sort of communal bathroom. He moved forward, cautiously. There was a bare light bulb in the concrete ceiling dimly illuminating the space.
He moved in. Saw just sinks, toilets and old-style urinals. Place was in poor shape. Mirrors above the sinks were missing or cracked. The tiles on the walls were falling off. Place smelled of mold and faintly of urine. Toilets were stained and growing stuff.
There went his appetite.
He moved out. Covered the rest of the floor. Nothing. Except a few more bare mattresses lying on concrete. Place at one time looked to have been a regular boarding house.
He tapped his ear mike. “Nada on the third floor. Proceeding down.”
“Copy that. I’m done here,” Lip said. “I’m going to clear the front buildings. I’ll cover the yard.”
Marks went down the stairs. There was one central stair that linked the floors. It was in the middle of the building. A big, wide open stair, like you’d find in an old municipal building. Dust bunnies wiggled and jiggled on the steps. Place needed housekeeping. Needed it bad. Whole place smelled damp and rank.
Second floor was a little more interesting. Marks clicked his ear mike. “Hold on. Got something.”
“Computer cache?”
“Nope,” Marks said. “Rats.”
67
HE’D smelled them before he saw them. They have a distinctive stench, unlike any other. They were in seven small cages on the floor, near the base of the stairs. All in a line. The cages the kind you’d use to carry cats or small dogs on a plane. The cages were made of steel, though, not plastic. Inside them were rats. Live ones. One to a cage. Some were moving, others just stared at him with their black beady eyes; long snouts and sharp teeth. Their tails were like garter snakes.