by Riley Flynn
Anna refused to believe it was her reflection, just as she refused to believe that she’d watched Ryan die in his bed at Fort Carson four days earlier. She refused to believe that she’d found her husband, Garry, in a pool of his own blood on the living room floor of their little downtown condo, the shotgun he used for duck hunting every fall next to him.
There were no oranges here. She looked at the old man and shook her head.
“I hate shopping at Walmart,” she said. “I just don’t believe in their philosophy. But I need oranges, so I guess I don’t have any choice. Have a nice day.”
As she walked past him toward the entrance, she heard him mutter something that sounded like grazy bits. She didn’t need any grazy bits, she needed oranges. And she would keep going until she found them.
She absently lit another cigarette as she left the darkness of the Save-A-Lot and walked into the bright sunshine of the afternoon.
***
“They shot him in the back,” the long-haired kid said, scowling. “They shot him in the fucking back and nobody has said boo to me about it, let alone apologized.”
Rob Taylor nodded. The people around him nodded. They’d all heard the stories out of William J. Palmer. The army had invited people to a meeting and it ended with a dozen people shot dead. As if there weren’t enough dead people around already. Rob’s own parents were dead out at Fort Carson. The only way he’d found out was by reading a notice that the army had posted on bulletin boards around the city.
“It’s an attack on our rights,” said a man who’d introduced himself as Steve when Rob had met him earlier. “We’re American fucking citizens and we have rights.”
They and a group of about 20 others had been hanging around the playground of a downtown park for the last few hours, drinking from a half-dozen cases of warm Coors they’d taken from an abandoned 7-11 up the street. Most of them were men ranging in age from late teens to late sixties. A handful of women had joined them, though none of them were of an age that Rob would have been looking for in a date.
He kicked back the rest of his beer and tossed the can into a pile next to the slide, thinking vaguely about his mom. His old man had been an asshole, no loss there, but his mom was nice to him. Made him spaghetti when he’d asked for it.
He’d been living in an abandoned condo a few blocks from the park for the last several days. His parents’ home, the house he grew up in, was fine but it wasn’t close to things, and driving was next to impossible these days. So he’d moved downtown to be close to places where he could steal supplies.
“That’s just it,” said a middle-aged guy with thinning hair and a button-down shirt. “Rights can be suspended. Might makes right, and the army has the might. Nothing we can do about it.”
A murmur of agreement ran through the group. Another older guy said: “Yeah, but some of them are dying from the disease, too. And from what I can see, their technology is just as fucked as ours. Their electric vehicles still seem to work, but they’re using analog radios.”
More agreement from the group, interspersed with the hissing crack of beer cans being opened. The long-haired kid reached down to the bench next to him and patted the stock of a military-style rifle, the kind Rob had seen in war movies. There was a gym bag full of ammunition clips next to it.
“This is all the technology I need,” the kid said, then followed it with a mammoth belch. Rob was pretty sure the guy wasn’t old enough to legally drink, but what the hell did that matter anymore?
“And what are you going to do with it?” asked a middle-aged woman in a gray track suit. Fashion didn’t seem to be on anyone’s mind these days. “Take on the army? Look where that got your father.”
“Don’t talk about my dad,” the kid warned. Rob didn’t like the look in his eyes.
“And don’t talk to ladies that way,” said the man in the button-down shirt.
“I’ll fucking do what I want.”
The mood was starting to kill Rob’s buzz, so he pulled another Coors from the case next to him.
“All I know is that our rights are being trampled,” said Steve. His ass was propped against a cedar post. “And we aren’t even getting anything in return from them.”
“That’s not true,” said the lady in the track suit. “The army took care of my Frank until—until the end. They let me stay at Fort Carson with him.”
“And then what?” Steve asked. “What did they do after he died?”
She frowned. “They brought me back here.”
“And abandoned you.”
“They’ve been bringing water and canned food—”
“Wow, aren’t they heroes? Sounds more like a pet owner to me.”
“Look,” said the man in the button-down shirt. “I just don’t know what else we can do. I’m a financial advisor—what am I going to do to help people? Tell them to liquidate their retirement assets?”
Rob was growing tired of the conversation. The last few days, he’d found himself growing tired of everything: the boredom, the canned food, the loneliness. He finished his beer and cracked another.
“I know what I’m gonna do,” said the long-haired kid. “I’m gonna fight back.”
“Yeah?” Steve asked, clearly intrigued. “How are you going to do that?”
“My dad had a lot of guns. Anyone who wants one can have one. We can take back this city.”
“Whoa,” said the older guy. “Let’s not start talking like that.”
“Why not?” asked a guy in his thirties who’d been silent until now. “My wife and kids are dead. What did the fucking government do to stop that? Nothing, that’s what. There’s a lot more of those soldiers alive than the rest of us, seems to me.”
“You don’t know that,” said the middle-aged woman. “There are so many sick and dying—”
“Not everybody’s dying,” said Steve. “I met a guy who said he got sick but then he got better. He’s still pretty messed up, but he’s alive. Weirdest thing is his eyes are two different colors now. Freaky as hell.”
“See?” The long-haired kid pitched his empty Coors can and lit a cigarette. Smoking wasn’t quite as expensive a habit these days, Rob noted. “They got a cure, they’re just not giving it to us. They’re keeping it for themselves.”
More murmurs through the crowd. As they talked, Rob looked at the kid’s gun. It looked powerful. He wondered how it would feel in his hands, how heavy it would be. What kind of a kick it would have.
“I’m not going to have anything to do with this,” said the middle-aged woman, walking away. A number of other women joined her, as did some of the men.
But there were plenty who didn’t walk away, Rob noticed. He was one of them.
“You guys are smart,” said the kid. “You see that something’s gotta be done.”
“Where’s your house?” Steve asked.
A slow, greasy smile spread across the kid’s face. “Follow me, gentlemen. This is how movements start. People don’t recognize ‘em right away, but they read about them in the history books.”
Rob grabbed another can of Coors as the crowd began to mobilize, the long-haired kid in the lead. As he cracked his beer, he wondered what it would be like to be written up in a history book.
Chapter 17
It was the first time Jax had heard an alarm go off since he’d arrived at Cheyenne Mountain. The jangling put his teeth on edge as he headed for the designated muster point in the mess hall.
The sound stopped after about thirty seconds, which Jax was grateful for. The rest of Echo Company was streaming into the mess alongside him, all of them in combat gear, like Jax. He didn’t want to think about what the emergency might be, and found himself hoping it was just a drill.
It wasn’t. Col. Smith stood placidly at the front of the room next to the kitchen, his hands behind his back, as the rest lined up along the walls. While they were taking their places, Ruben jogged up next to Jax.
“Drill?” he asked hopefully.
�
�Look at Smith,” Jax said. “Now ask again.”
“Shit.”
Jax approached his CO. “Sir. What’s going on?”
“Rioting in the Springs.” As usual, Smith sounded like he was talking about a drywall delivery. “Armed, at least twenty of them, attacking downtown stores. Guns and Molotov cocktails. You need to get it under control.”
“Yessir.”
Smith leaned in. “Downtown is a critical area for supplies,” he said. “Keep them secure at all costs.”
Jax arched an eyebrow. “Can you clarify that, sir?”
“I’m telling you to deal with this the same way you did with the people at the high school. Extreme prejudice.”
“Is there anyone in harm’s way?”
“There are supplies being burned,” Smith said, mild annoyance creeping into his voice. “We can’t make more. Do whatever is necessary to secure them. That’s an order.”
Jax took a deep breath. “Yessir.” He turned to face his men. “A and B Groups, this is yours. Get to the motor pool and secure a transport. We’ll need a bullhorn. Lt. Lambert and I will follow in an SUV. The rest of you fall out.”
“Two groups,” Ruben said as he sidled up to Jax. “Is thirty men enough for this?”
“Thirty highly trained counter-terrorist specialists against a dozen armed civilians? I think so.”
“What was Smith saying?”
Jax thought for a moment before lying: “He told me to do whatever it takes to keep from having another Palmer High on our hands.”
***
The transport truck stopped two blocks from the center of downtown and dropped off the members of Echo Company. Jax and Ruben pulled up next to them, the electric SUV’s motor thrumming.
Jax pulled the portable bullhorn from the backseat and gave the button a few test squelches. Loud and clear.
“Ready when you are, sir,” Farries said from behind him. The men stood at ease, rifles tilted downward toward the street.
Another SUV pulled up alongside them. Three people in combat gear got out: Jax recognized them as Grant, Price and Skolnik. The guardsman looked like he was dressed in an ill-fitting Halloween costume.
“Sir,” Grant said. “Reporting as ordered.”
“What are these two doing here?” Price asked. “They don’t have combat experience.”
“Neither did any of the men behind you until the first time,” said Jax. “Everyone has to lose their cherry sometime, especially these days. And since you’re so battle-hardened, Major, you can take up position with the Echoes.”
Price scowled but did as he was told. As he did, Jax leaned in to Grant and Skolnik.
“Stay low and stay back,” he said. “Draw your weapons only as a last resort. Clear?”
The two nodded. Jax took his position at the front of the group, Ruben at his side.
“Archer would kill you if he saw you in front.”
“Yeah, well, Archer’s a bureaucrat now,” said Jax.
With that, he motioned for them to move forward toward the smoke that was billowing upward two blocks away.
***
Jax noted with relief that the fire was contained to a strip mall that was surrounded by concrete. There was almost no chance of it spreading, which was good, because he had no idea if water would still come out of the city’s hydrants, assuming there was anyone around to man the city’s pumper trucks. Given the fact there weren’t any on scene, he was pretty sure he knew the answer.
Even without the smoke, they need only have followed the sound of gunfire to find the rioters. As Jax had suspected, most of the twenty or so men were firing their weapons at the walls of buildings and laughing as chunks of brick and concrete sprayed all over the street.
“Those men are hammered,” Ruben said from his flank.
“They are,” said Jax. “Which means our job could be easy or it could be hard.” He turned to his men. “No one fires without my order.”
Before he could take another step, he heard a screeching noise as a vehicle rounded a corner next to the strip mall. By the time Jax had registered the El Paso County Sheriff logo on the door, Maggie Stubbs had jammed the car into park and leapt out the driver’s side door.
Beside him, Ruben chuckled. “The woman’s got guts, man.”
“Yeah,” Jax grumbled. “Too bad she doesn’t have brains.”
As they advanced, he could hear the sheriff trying to be heard over the gunfire and the men’s shouts. Most of them were focused on the buildings in front of them; one, a kid with long hair, was in the process of stuffing a rag into the mouth of a red jerry can.
Maggie turned to see Echo Company and her head dropped back. Jax couldn’t hear her, but he knew she was letting out an exasperated groan. She turned and jogged toward him, leaving the rioters, who still hadn’t noticed any of them, behind her.
“Sheriff.” Jax grinned. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“I know how this looks,” she said. “But these guys are just drunk idiots letting off steam.”
“They’re endangering vital supplies.”
She shook her head in frustration. “Supplies of what? It’s an accounting office, a lingerie shop and a pizza place. I think we can get by without them, don’t you?”
“If you’re worried that there’s going to be a repeat of the high school, don’t be,” Jax said. “Unless they force our hands again.”
“We just need to talk to them!” she cried. “They’ll listen to reason, especially after what happened at the school!”
Jax pulled the bullhorn from its place strapped to his shoulder and handed it to her.
“Just hit that button with your thumb.”
She looked at him sidelong. “You’re going to let me do this?”
“We have to start working together some time,” he said. “Consider us backup. For now.”
She took the bullhorn as if she still didn’t believe him, then turned to face the crowd. Jax grabbed her shoulder and pulled him to her.
“You might want to do that from a position of cover,” he said sternly. “Unless you want to startle a bunch of drunk idiots with semi-automatic weapons.”
She blinked at him for a few seconds before nodding. Jax motioned for everyone to move into the alley behind an apartment building. He was amazed that none of the men had noticed them yet, which reinforced the belief that they weren’t really dangerous.
Jax waved Ruben Grant, Price and Maggie to his side at the corner of the building where the alley met the street.
“All right,” he said. “Once you get their attention, all of us will walk out into the street.”
Grant and Skolnik exchanged startled glances, but the rest of them nodded.
“Showtime,” Maggie said, bringing the bullhorn to her lips.
“ATTENTION!” The volume was deafening and the feedback whine was like a drill in Jax’s ears, but it worked. The gunfire stopped immediately.
“This is Sheriff Maggie Stubbs!” the horn blared. “I order you to lay down your weapons and leave the area immediately!”
From his position, Jax could see a group of the men noticing Maggie’s cruiser for the first time. Several of them were swaying noticeably.
“Fuck you!” one of them yelled.
“Give them the last call speech,” Jax said.
Maggie clicked the button again. “If you drop your guns and walk away, we won’t pursue you. No other action will be taken. If you don’t, you will be taken into custody by any means necessary, including deadly force. You have two minutes to comply.”
Jax nodded as she lowered the horn. “Not bad.”
“This isn’t my first rodeo,” she said with a frown. “I did learn something from Palmer High, you know.”
“So did I. Which is why I let you have the horn.”
“Hey!” one of the rioters hooted. “There’s soldiers in the alley!”
“Fuck that!” another yelled. Jax heard a loud clack as a rifle hit the asphalt. “I’m gone.”
/> A chorus of clacks as more weapons struck the pavement. People talking over top of each other, voices fading into the distance.
Jax took the opportunity to lean his head around the corner. Five men were left: two were still armed, two were motioning frantically with their hands as they argued with the others. He noticed the kid with the long hair was still holding his makeshift firebomb in one hand and a lighter in the other.
“Cover me,” he said, stepping forward.
“No!” Maggie stopped him with an arm across his chest. “Let me finish this.”
Jax saw the look in her eyes and considered for a few moments before finally nodding. He had always trusted his instincts in combat, and he was learning to do the same in this new, volatile arena. And his gut was telling him to let her do her thing.
Maggie turned the corner into the street. Behind Jax, two members of Echo took up position behind a green garbage bin, rifles pointed at the remaining holdouts from the riot. Behind them, flames continue to pour out of the blackened shell of the strip mall, sending plumes of acrid smoke into the sky.
The sheriff raised her hands and approached the men slowly. “I’m serious, gentlemen,” she said. “There are some very unhappy soldiers in that alley. Now, I can probably get them to calm down, but not if you don’t all get out of here immediately.”
The two remaining armed men dropped their weapons, to the obvious relief of the other two. The long-haired kid still held his jerry can, a cold stare leveled at the alley.
“You’re not gonna come after us?” one of the men asked. He looked like a kid who had filched a cookie from the jar and couldn’t quite believe he wasn’t in trouble.
“No,” Maggie said. “But I’m going to remember your faces. This is a one-time deal, gentlemen. If you try it again, my friends in the alley will be the ones who deal with you, and they are nowhere near as forgiving as I am.”
Jax smiled. Good cop, bad cop. A simple strategy, but it seemed to be working. He wondered if it might not have prevented a tragedy if they’d used it at the school.