by Justin Bell
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The car skidded to a halt on the loose dirt outside the Strickland household, still bristling with activity. Black suits ran across the yard and throughout the two-story home. A sense of chaotic undercurrent could be felt in the air, with NSA agents scattered throughout the property, and the trail of disaster left in Strickland's wake. The broken down front door and smashed bay window joined deep trenches dug in the front lawn, and a car slammed into some trees. Even with a dozen men against one, this group of twelve had taken, by all accounts, a much worse beating. There was even a flatbed tow truck on the road, upon which sat the crushed and smoking corpse of what used to be an NSA issued vehicle.
Agent Burndock's face turned into a scowl once the full scope of what happened really settled in. A loud engine drew his attention and he turned, recognizing Ryan Sandidge's face from underneath the black motorcycle helmet as he rolled up the dirt road on his street bike. He hadn't spoken with Sandidge much, but he had seen the hard edge in his eyes.
Burndock walked up to the newcomer as he swung his leg off the seat of the sleek black motorcycle. "Anyone ever told you those things aren't built for dirt roads?" he asked.
Sandidge smirked. "Ducati's built for anything, amigo. My boy Turner has one too, but I don't see him here."
Burndock had heard rumblings about the fate of Hank Turner, but he elected to withhold that information, at least for now.
The two men turned to face the house and walked across the yard together.
"So what the hell happened here?" Sandidge asked, his eyes scanning the wreckage in front of him.
"William Strickland happened. Guy is a force of fucking nature."
Sandidge shook his head slowly. "When are they going to learn?"
Burndock slowed down and looked over at the other man. "Learn what?"
"Come on, man. They keep trying to make them bigger, faster, stronger? pretty soon, they're going to make them so big, fast, and strong that they're gonna put themselves right out of business."
"Supposedly, Strickland is a landmark case. We could be talking human race changing here."
Sandidge suppressed a laugh. "Who fed you that line of shit, man? This is the fucking NSA. Who do you think they're going to share this shit with?"
Burndock scowled. He had to admit, that thought hadn't even occurred to him, but hearing it stated aloud made him wonder. Was the agency he worked for capable of that? If they discovered life-saving genetic evidence, would they really suppress that for their own gain? The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Burndock couldn't quite figure out why, but he had been having some second thoughts about this whole series of events over the past few days. As he got deeper and deeper into Strickland's psyche, he saw a guy who didn't want to hurt anyone. He was just looking for his family? and the National Security Agency used that desperation to their own twisted ends. He tried to push that thought out of his head.
"So what's our next play?" Sandidge asked, stopping his forward progress and looking over at the other man.
"Orders just came in as I pulled up to the house," began Agent Burndock. "We're going to pull out, and leave a skeleton crew. But we're going to maintain a tight perimeter with long-range weapons. Four snipers." He lifted his arm and extended a long index finger towards the woods. "There. There. There. And, there."
Sandidge nodded as he directed his attention to the four sniper nests.
"The hope is," continued Burndock, "that Strickland sees a smaller protection force, and comes back home. Then we can take him out from long-range." Burndock had stopped walking as well, and turned towards Sandidge. "As you saw, he is lethal at close range."
Sandidge shrugged. "Yeah, whatever. So am I, hoss."
Burndock smiled at the man's bravado. The guy had brass ones. He had seen first-hand what Strickland was truly capable of? seen him clamp those twisted, misshapen jaws down on Mathis's throat and torn it right-
Burndock lowered his head, trying to shut the thought out. He'd served with Mathis for a long time. Guy had a wife and son back in Maryland. As mad as he was at what Strickland had done, a sizable part of him could not bring himself to lay the blame at Strickland's feet. He hadn't asked for this.
"I admire your bravery, man, considering what you saw the other night."
"What I saw?" Sandidge looked almost offended. "What I saw was some twisted asshole who did something equally twisted to a fellow human being. Ain't the first time I've seen it, won't be the last. Only thing I'm worried about is putting a few bullets in him to make sure he doesn't do it to anyone else."
Sandidge cast his eyes skyward where the sun was fat and pink, drifting towards a twelve-hour nap. "Getting close to dark," he said. "Almost time to play."
Everyone seemed to think that Strickland would double back and wait until nightfall to make his next move.
"You staying tonight?" Burndock asked.
"Hell yeah. I'll be over-watch on Team B. Not a trigger puller, but I'll be there with my SCAR in case things get more up close and personal." As if to echo his point, a low rumble of thunder rolled behind the clouds, signaling a potential storm.
Burndock looked up. "Well that's going to suck."
"Nah," Sandidge replied, shaking his head. "I love the rain, man. Beats the hot dry desert any fucking day."
"How about you? Staying?" Sandidge asked Burndock.
"No, not tonight. I'll be the lead sniper in Team A tomorrow night, though. Tonight, Grace wants me back at Watch Station. Going over some final plans."
"Well, hopefully we end this little game tonight and you won't have to worry about final plans."
Burndock forced a smile that was purely for show. "No complaints here."
Another growl of thunder echoed in the distance.