Lost Shadows

by Warren Ray

  “Makes it all worth it, doesn’t it?” said Meeks.

  “Yeah, it does.”

  The last vehicle to go by was a pickup truck pulling a flatbed trailer loaded with the elderly and mothers holding their children. All with anxious faces but relieved to be getting away from Jackson.

  “That was a lot but not enough,” said Meeks.

  “I know. That was what, maybe a couple of hundred.”

  “If that.”

  “Still leaves, what, about seven hundred or so.”

  “Right around there. C’mon, let’s go,” said Meeks heading back to the squad car.

  Meeks dropped Amber off at the cruiser they had come to retrieve, and she followed him back up the road.

  Scar kept his head down as the cops continued firing on their position. They were wasting their ammo as none of the shots were doing anything. They were amateurs at best and certainly not trained as real cops. They only paraded around, using the uniform to take advantage of their position.

  He saw Meeks and Amber break over the horizon and once they were parked on either side of them, it suddenly released some pent-up stress he hadn’t realized was there. Amazing what a fortified position can do to bolster your confidence.

  “Sorry it took so long,” said Amber getting out first and ducking down. “We had to wait for the convoy to pass through.”

  “No problem. How did it look? How many?”

  “Close to two hundred, maybe.”

  Scar nodded. “It’s a start.”

  Meeks joined them. “How many cops you figure are up there?”

  “Can’t say for sure but the longer it goes on, the more there will be joining them.”

  “Why don’t we waste one of those grenades on them?”

  Scar considered this for a moment. “Might not be a bad idea. Whaddya think, Corporal?”

  “I’m always up for some boom-boom. Besides, it’ll scare the hell out of them. How many you got left?”

  Scar agreed with him. “Got five.”

  “Mind if I have the honor?” asked Bassett.

  Scar handed him the launcher and Bassett rose up to take aim. The grenade took off in an arc and sailed through the air before hitting the squad car on the hood. A big fireball began consuming the car. Smoke poured out and wafted through the gentle breeze.

  “Damn that thing really is awesome,” yelled Meeks. “Look at that damn car burn.”

  Scar laughed to himself. He remembered training with grenades in boot camp. The first few times he’d had the same reaction as Meeks did. It was something of a big-boy-toy to a civilian.

  The gunfire from the cops ceased, and they could see why as the smoke blew away. Every one of them was dead. Scar was starting to re-think his strategy. They would probably be able to leave fewer people down here to handle the cops. Undoubtedly, more would come this way, but how many would dare get close to them after seeing how one of their cruisers had been blown up. This would let him get back into town and start killing Jijis again.

  He pulled his radio out and called down to Taylor. “How’s it looking down there, Badger?”

  “We got things under control here. What was that I just heard?”

  “Launched a grenade to clear them out.”

  “Well, perhaps you could send one down my way, make my job a bit easier.”

  Scar looked at Bassett and Burns. “Think you boys could hold down the fort?”

  Bassett replied for the both of them. “We can do that.”

  “I’m thinking if we cleared out Badger’s position, we could send a couple of his men up this way while we go back into town.”

  Bassett nodded.

  Scar turned to Meeks and Amber. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 62

  Washington D.C.

  Green drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove to work. The traffic was heavy and was making him late, but he was in too good a mood to let it bother him. A smile broke across this face as he thought about kissing Stormy. It was a thrilling surprise and one he’d never forget. He thought she liked him but could never be sure because of their crazy situation. It threw off all the signals you’d normally use to pick up on to know if a girl was interested. He hadn’t been bold enough to just come right out with it because he didn’t want to make things awkward for the group if she’d had no interest in him.

  The other reason he was in a good mood was their meeting with the artist last night. The young man’s ideas, talent, and enthusiasm had been another unexpected surprise. He had no doubt that they were going to make an impact on the city.

  His mind drifted to Lawrence Reed, who he still had not heard from since the assassination attempt. He hadn’t shown up in the office, and no one had seen or heard from him. He had to be plotting his revenge and Green hoped it involved an attempt on Perozzi’s life.

  Green pulled onto 18th Street NW and patiently waited in the traffic. He again found himself tapping on the steering wheel when he saw a small crowd of people on the corner of G Street. He slowed down as he came to the intersection and passed by the World Bank where a large poster was pasted on the corner of the building. It was one of the collection Vasquez had shown them.

  His mouth dropped when he saw people taking pictures of Perozzi being held up by two bikini-clad beauties. It was the one with the colostomy bag, and it looked absolutely brilliant.

  Green had arrived at work and couldn’t park his car fast enough at work so he could trot down and observe everyone’s reaction. He wondered how many of the posters they had plastered around town and how long would they last. Vasquez had told him that wheat pasting made them quite difficult to remove. You needed a pressure washer to get them off cement walls. You couldn’t just peel them.

  After parking, he hurried back down the three blocks and couldn’t believe the number of people who stopped to stare and laugh. Some people even dared to have their picture taken standing beside it. This was a bold thing to do in the current political climate, as you never knew who was watching you. He stood off to the side and watched building maintenance come outside trying to decide what to do. One of them tried to peel a corner of it off but was only able to get a small piece. The people’s reactions were priceless and ranged from glee to fear. Some had a healthy dose of caution knowing what could happen to the artist and even those celebrating it.

  Vasquez couldn’t have picked a better location than the World Bank. This one would be seen by lots of influential people in the banking community.

  After seeing enough of the response, Green headed back to the office where his secretary, Grace, asked him about the posters.

  “Did hear about the posters making fun of Mister Perozzi?”

  Green nodded. “I just passed by the one on the World Bank.”

  “There’s a lot more than that one.”

  “How many you think?” asked Green.

  “I know of at least six others.”

  Green acted surprised.

  “There’s one at the top of a building. I just don’t know how they got up there,” said a confused Grace.

  “That is weird.”

  “I wonder who did them?”

  “Oh, I’m sure we’ll find out.”

  “They better hope not,” whispered Grace. “You know what happens to people like that.”

  Green didn’t answer her, and only nodded.

  Grace took a quick look out the office door and said in a low whisper. “They’re pretty funny if you ask me.”

  Green nodded again. He didn’t want to continue talking to her about this. He did find her response fascinating because she worked for the man who would give the orders to “black-bag” everyone involved. Regardless, even she had let her guard down to her boss and confided her approval. She was taking a risk doing that, but the shock of the whole thing must have released a repressed frustration of some sort to allow that one verbal faux pas.

  This is what Green found fascinating. If she reacted this way, then many more people around tow
n were going to do the same thing. It would spread like wildfire, frightening some and giving hope to others, perhaps starting some dialog. That’s what was needed. Dialog. Bold dialog.

  After grabbing a cup of coffee, he entered his office and sat down. As soon as he did the phone rang. He heard Grace answer it and looked up when she came to his door bugged-eyed

  “Mister Reed is on the phone.”

  A shot of excitement burst through Green’s body knowing he must have heard about the street art. He took a sip of coffee before reaching for the phone.

  “This is Major Green.”

  “Major Green. How are you?”

  “Sir, I’m very well, thank you, but I’ve been worried about you. How are you?”

  “I appreciate your concern, Major, but you have nothing to worry about.”

  “So, what can I do for you?”

  “I heard some artist put up some interesting pieces last night.”

  The question gave Green pause. That was a strange way of describing vandalism. He needed to tread lightly here because Reed was obviously enjoying the negative art at the expense of his new nemesis, Perozzi. Green couldn’t show even the slightest bit of approval. Otherwise, Reed might catch on that he knew it was Perozzi who made the attempt on his life.

  “Yes, sir. I happened by one that was pasted on the World Bank.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Well, after driving by, I walked over to it.”

  “What was the picture?”

  Green purposely hesitated to pretend not to want to tell Reed. The old man was without a doubt enjoying this.

  “Go on, Major.”

  Green described the piece to him in full detail.

  “What was the people’s reaction?”

  Again, Green continued haltingly but made sure to relay to him how lots of people were laughing and taking pictures. Green could sense Reed’s elation through the phone.

  “All very interesting,” said Reed.

  “What are we going to do about it?” asked Green.

  “I think we should let the people have a little fun so they can blow off some steam. It’ll be good for morale, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, sir. I suppose so, sir.”

  “I’m instructing the National Police to back off for awhile, and we’ll see how this thing plays out.”

  Green had to fight off his impulse to let out a celebratory scream. “Is there anything else I can do to help you, sir?”

  “No, I think that will do for now. I appreciate what you did the other night, and I’ll not forget it.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  “Goodbye, Major.”

  Green put the phone back in its cradle shaking his head in disbelief. He silently thanked himself for instructing Vasquez to concentrate on Perozzi. Not many people even knew who Reed was. Therefore, satire directed at him wouldn’t have been nearly as effective, and if they had ridiculed Reed, his response would have been entirely different.

  Chapter 63

  Jackson Michigan

  Nordell raised the binoculars and looked across the road. He couldn’t see them yet, but his spotters just reported troop movement on several streets heading toward Francis Street and East Washington Avenue.

  Colonel Ali Baba, as Nordell was calling him, was sending fighters in from two different directions. No doubt, they’ll come in from behind them as well.

  He called out to Bobby who was hiding on top of a warehouse building down by the railroad tracks on Washington Avenue. He was one block away from the side street Colonel Ali Baba would have to use enroute to Washington, as it was the next best road with direct access to downtown from the hospital. He wouldn’t use Michigan Avenue since it would be too obvious.

  “Nick, they’re turning onto Washington right now. There’s a bunch. I count fifteen vehicles, so close to a hundred I’d say.”

  This piqued Nordell’s attention. If he were sending a company one way, then he’d send another company the other way. This meant there would be two hundred fighters to engage.

  Bobby’s men were stationed in a warehouse area with plenty of long buildings to use as cover. “Bobby, I need for your team to light them up. Do not let them pass through Hupp Avenue. I repeat, do not let them get past that intersection.”

  “You got it, Nick.”

  Nordell then turned his attention to Francis Street. Again, an obvious choice for someone who didn’t know the town like he did. There were three or four streets the man would try to use, but all emptied out onto either Francis Street or Mechanic Street both of which he had barricaded.

  It was a residential neighborhood with plenty of houses to hide behind. He had placed thirty men throughout the area, and they would use guerrilla tactics by shooting and running to the next spot. The Jijis would suffer casualties before they’d be able to hit downtown and once they did, Nordell had his sharpshooters to finish them off.

  Gunfire started erupting from Bobby’s men, and after a few minutes of a non-stop barrage from M4’s, he started to hear the AK’s returning fire. Then, that was all he heard for the next excruciating five minutes. It was punctuated with two different explosions that shook the ground each time.

  Nordell’s confidence melted away once he heard the first explosion. He strained his ears for any more M4 fire but heard none.

  He yelled into the radio. “Bobby, what’s going on?”

  Nothing.

  “Bobby, what the hell’s going on?”

  Finally, he got a reply. “Nick, we’re about done for. They got most of us on the run.”

  Furious, blood rushed to Nordell’s head. When Murphy’s Law visited, things went south in a hurry, and he had just paid them a visit, and as usual, it wasn’t pleasant. The Jijis would be able to flood downtown from all directions.

  This wasn’t good, but stopping them was still doable because he had the bridges barricaded, and he had shooters on top of all the buildings. He also had the SAW and three RPGs left. He wasn’t done by any stretch of the imagination.

  Sporadic gunfire from the north disrupted his thoughts. The shooting stopped for a minute before resuming. Nordell nodded his head. That’s what he wanted to hear. Off and on shooting. His guys were doing what they were supposed to do.

  Vehicles in the distance caught his attention. He hustled to the other end of the rooftop and raised the binoculars. Three vehicles approached the barricade at Washington Avenue. He watched as his men started firing at them.

  The Jijis took up defensive positions, after a few minutes they returned fire. It looked like his guys stopped them in their tracks, but then Nordell saw a Jiji shoulder an RPG. It took off and hit the barricade.

  The rocket punctured a hole into the side of the car before it exploded in a fireball. His guys hadn’t stood a chance. The concussion would have killed everyone around it.

  Nordell lowered his binoculars and let out a frustrated sigh. The enemy had superior firepower and was using it effectively. His only hope was that they didn’t have too many rockets or enough launchers.

  He looked down at his own supply. He had three and would have to use them sparingly.

  The three-vehicle convoy moved up to the smoldering vehicles and pushed the remains aside as it rammed its way through.

  This must be the first of the fifteen vehicles Bobby had reported. He watched the first one start to come toward him on Washington Avenue.

  “About damn time,” he grumbled as he grabbed the SAW and racked the slide. He then ran back across the rooftop to other end and got down into a prone position placing the machine gun on the edge of the roof.

  The big M249 fired 750 rounds per minute with an effective range of 870 yards and a maximum range out to 3900 yards. It was a beast in the right hands, and the retired Marine had the right hands.

  The van stopped at Francis Street.

  “C’mon, ya little bastard,” Nordell said aloud. “Turn this way.”

  The van started moving again and continued up Washington
, but the pickup behind it turned his way. The truck continued slowly on Francis Street with two men in the back shouldering AK’s. It stopped a half a block away when the driver saw the road blocked.

  Nordell took a deep breath and held it for a moment before exhaling. He lined up the shot and pulled the trigger. Bullets began slamming into the pickup truck. A couple of rounds hit a Jiji taking his head clean off while the next few rounds knocked his partner back into the bed in a bloody mess. The staccato fire punctured the windshield into a million pieces while taking out the driver and his passenger.

  It didn’t even take five seconds to remove the threat.

  Nordell swung the gun over to the right. The van that had passed by was now backing up on Washington to maneuver into a parking lot.

  “Dumbass,” said Nordell as he applied pressure to the trigger.

  Hot shell casings flew out as bullets ripped into the van. The driver was no longer in control, and the wheels turned left as it shot forward crashing into a building. The side door opened up with men falling out. Nordell felled the first two with non-stop jacketed bullets pouring into the van. Any other passengers inside didn’t stand a chance.

  Nordell stopped and grabbed his binoculars. The perforated van had no movement inside.

  He scooted his body over to the left swinging the big gun to search for the third vehicle. He didn’t see it.

  Whether they had heard the SAW ripping into the first two vehicles or saw them torn to shreds, Nordell would never know. Either way, it was sitting safely behind the building waiting. Were they waiting for backup or preparing for an assault?

  Nordell got a sinking sensation in his gut. These guys weren’t waiting for backup. They were getting into position to fire a damn RPG. On a gut instinct, he grabbed the SAW and rolled over a few times before getting up to run to the other side of the building.

  Just as he reached it, an RPG exploded on the very spot he just left. It shook the whole building and the concussion knocked him over.

  Chapter 64

  Nordell lifted up on his elbows and shook his head. His focus was foggy, so he rolled over on his back. He grabbed his water bottle and poured it on his face. The fresh water began to do its work helping him regain his senses.