“That’s it? Where’s everyone else?”
“They’re all out responding to domestic disturbance calls.”
Matt’s brow creased. “Involving dogs?”
Mendoza looked up from his screen. “How’d you guess?”
“You can’t hear them outside? The whole damn town sounds like it’s gone barking mad.”
“Well, someone called in around four when I first got here. They were complaining about their Labradoodle going rabid or something. Calls haven’t stopped since.”
Matt watched Mendoza’s control panel light up as he answered another incoming call. He then walked off towards the stairwell that led down into the bowels of the building.
Today was going to be one of those days, he thought.
Matt entered the building’s basement. It held the look and feel of a high-school athletic facility still frozen in the late twentieth century. Apart from the locker room, there was a small briefing area with a blackboard and some benches. In some corners of these rooms, there were visible signs of peeling lead paint.
Matt walked into the locker room to see Sheriff Ted Armstrong adjusting his tactical gear. Standing alongside him was Lieutenant Sean Brand and Captain Faye Pearson.
As a young officer, Matt held a deep respect and admiration for the Sheriff. A silver-haired martinet, Armstrong’s stoic demeanor often complimented his pragmatic nature when it came to law enforcement. He had also taken a shine to Matt early on, sensing a combination of steadfast ambition and raw talent, which as far as he was concerned, was exactly what the department needed more of.
Brand had also taken to him. He was a tall, ruddy-faced bruiser of a man who loved busting Matt’s balls. A Louisville PD transplant, he also happened to possess the most mundane and toneless drawl Matt had ever heard. There was an ongoing joke around the department that if Brand ever got talking for too long, any suspect being interviewed would be asleep, head down on the table within minutes.
Pearson on the other hand was the complete opposite of Brand. Originally hailing from Detroit, she was loud and brash, with a pair of thighs that could most likely crush a bag of walnuts. A loving wife and mother of two twin boys, Pearson was a tough, no-nonsense African-American street cop who did not suffer fools lightly. Since his time at this department, Matt had learned a lot from her about trusting his gut instincts.
“Morning,” Matt said to the three of them with an earnest nod. He opened his locker to see a folded paper note stuck to the inside. He lifted the folded half with his finger to see a message scrawled in pen.
Watch your six, boy scout.
He turned to Brand with a dismissive chuckle. “Gee, thanks so much for your concern.”
Brand grinned and tossed him a Ballistic Smart Vest. “You’re welcome, trooper. Was just telling the Sheriff about my dumb mutt. Hasn’t stopped barking since three this morning.”
“Yeah, sounds like every dog in the county also started around that time.” Matt unzipped his duffel and started gearing up.
“Must’ve been a full moon last night,” said Pearson. “Animals always tend to go a little nutty.”
The Sheriff glanced up at Matt before checking his sidearm and holstering it. “You ready for today, son?”
“Yes, sir. Glad to be finally called-up,” Matt replied, fastening a Velcro strap on his armored vest.
When the Sheriff left the room, Brand turned to Matt with a perpetual shit-eating grin he carried around with him most days. “You’re lucky you weren’t here ten minutes earlier. Otherwise, you’d be out with Ortega and Wilcox dealing with ten-eighty-nine’s all morning,” he snorted.
Pearson chuckled grimly. “Yeah, and with the CPA now auditing our response times, poor bastards have no choice but acknowledge every call.”
“Lotta dogs in this County,” Matt said, glad not to be out there with them.
Brand turned and slapped Matt on the back. “Hey, I was just thinking - maybe you could go give them a hand. It’s not too late, Reeves. You like little doggies, right? Heard you used to volunteer down at the local shelter.”
“If I wanted to hang with dogs all day, I’d work K9, Brand,” Matt replied, hoping this wasn’t going to be another morning of non-stop ball-busting at his expense.
Pearson laughed while closing her locker with a loud slam. “That reminds me, show Reeves your new lady friend.”
“Oh, that’s low. Even for you, Pearson. Don’t ever talk that way about the woman I love.”
“You’ve known her for a week,” she snickered.
“So? Love works in mysterious ways.” Brand waved at the watch on his wrist and a small holographic photo gallery icon appeared in front of him. He scrolled through the gallery with his finger until he found the photo he was after, then tapped it.
The image expanded before Matt, revealing a fifty-something battle-axe, posing in what was sure to be the world’s most scant bikini. The dramatic, yet perfectly manicured coif of blonde hair, and the enormously enhanced breasts were also impossible to ignore. Matt didn’t know whether to burst out laughing or just turn away.
“Met her online last week. She’s a Goddess,” Brand said proudly, gleaming at the photo. “I mean, look at that. She loves that I’m a cop too. Said it turns her on.”
“Protect and perve, huh.”
That got a huge belly laugh from Pearson. She walked over and bumped fists with Matt. The kid was holding his own this morning. “Dude, I so got your back out there today.”
Brand pinched the air with his fingers and image of his newfound love vanished. He looked at Matt, feigning disappointment. “Just so you know - if I get smoked today, I’m blaming you.”
Matt smirked at him dryly. “You’re hilarious, Brand.” He then took a seat and began lacing-up his tactical boots. “So where’s the rally point this morning?”
“Corner of Quisenberry and Vigo,” Armstrong said in a gravelly voice as he marched back into the room holding an over-sized duffel bag. “We’ll escort both teams up into Hatton until we reach the gates of the compound.”
Brand and Pearson immediately went back to fastening their gear. Playtime was over.
The Sheriff shoved his duffel into his locker, closed the door, then turned to them and clapped his hands.
The three police officers stopped what they were doing and gave him their full attention. It was common knowledge among the department that whenever Armstrong clapped, it meant shut the fuck up and listen.
“OK, I need the three of you to remember - we’re only tagging along today for the optics. This is KDCI’s show, and chances are, they’ll be looking for any opportunity to remind us of that. Now, I know the work each of you has done was a crucial component in forming this investigation. Everyone knows that. But this is about politics. With a state election looming, the Attorney General’s office is desperate to convince the public they’re out there doing something about Fizz-related crimes, and today’s bust will be their moment of glory. Unfortunately, we have no choice but to stand back and let the bastards take it.” Armstrong took a moment to scan the three police officers while they continued getting ready, making sure the implications of what he just said was received. He could tell they weren’t too thrilled about taking such a back-seat on this operation, but there was nothing any of them could do about it. “Am I understood?”
“Understood,” replied Matt. Pearson and Brand also nodded in agreement.
“Good. Let’s get through today quickly and safely. Grab your kit and head out back. We roll in ten.”
Once Matt was suited-up and ready to go, he closed his locker and followed his three colleagues up to the armory.
Four
The police convoy snaked its way through the outskirts of Shelby County, the populated areas quickly giving way to dense wilderness. This part of Kentucky was hard country, both in geography and attitude.
The convoy consisted of several unmarked SUVs, as well as two KDCI armored assault vehicles that trailed closely behind. As it pu
shed deeper into the heavily wooded region between Hatton and Peaks Mill, the ramshackle homes, rundown farms, and abandoned distilleries became few-and-far-between. Occasionally, they would pass a rusted car left stripped and abandoned on the side of the road, but for the most part, the entire area was unpopulated and untouched.
Matt rode shotgun in the second SUV with Armstrong as they continued to blaze up the narrow dirt road towards their primary target. Brand and Pearson were in the back, dressed for battle, semi-automatic rifles at the ready, barrels pointed down.
When Matt felt the vehicle slowing, he looked out to see the lead SUV had stopped. It quickly became apparent as to why.
Up ahead, there was a small trailer sitting by the side of the road, partially covered in brush and weeds. It was not uncommon for the criminal gangs who manufactured Fizz in this area to have unmanned lookout posts stationed a few miles from their cook-houses. The trailers were usually empty, rigged with a wireless alarm system that triggered a warning any time a person or vehicle passed by it. It was also not uncommon for these trailers to be booby-trapped with explosive devices.
Matt’s earpiece crackled to life. “Possible alarm or IED obstruction ahead. Sit tight while we check it out,” said the Frankfort PD officer on comms.
“Roger that,” replied Armstrong, pressing a finger to his ear.
Matt turned in his seat to see the other vehicles behind them had also come to a halt. He then turned back and watched two Frankfort PD officers in the lead SUV hop out and deploy a small bomb disposal device from the trunk. It looked like some kind of a robotic crab, bristling with sensors and extendable pincers. Throughout law enforcement and counter-terrorism, these robots were simply known as Boom Crabs. The matte-black material that coated them allowed these robots to operate freely without prematurely tripping any wireless alarms or explosive detonators.
One of the officers began manually controlling the device from the holographic console on his forearm. It waddled across the road towards the trailer, and before it reached the door, rose into an upright position and extended a thin metallic arm from its underbelly, testing the handle. It wasn’t locked. It slowly pulled the handle down, cracked the door open and stepped up into the trailer.
Inside, the trailer was unoccupied - devoid of any furniture or living appliances. As suspected, it was a look-out post. The robot passed through the infra-red tripwire that was placed across the doorway and began scanning the vinyl wood-paneling and grotty fiberglass ceiling.
Another silent alarm had been fitted to the window-sill above the kitchen sink. It was a small black wireless device, no larger than a matchbox. The invisible beam that emanated from this alarm, extended from the trailer to the opposite side of the road. The convoy had come to a stop no less than a few feet from it.
The Boom Crab began working to disarm it while the convoy waited patiently outside.
The police convoy hammered up the winding dirt road, blasting through an iron gate that led onto a dried-up farm property. Scattered around the property were a couple of trailers, several large corrugated-metal structures, and a rotting water tower.
The convoy came to a halt before the dilapidated farmhouse, a massive plume of dust wafting back over the vehicles in its wake. The rear doors of the armored vehicles swung open and a small army of police officers poured out from it. The KDCI task-force looked like some type of futuristic bounty hunting crew, with each officer wearing Ronin ballistic helmets and armored exo-suits. The fully automatic smart-rifles they carried fired special armor-piercing rounds that could ricochet around corners. They stacked up behind their squad leader who tossed a handful of tiny dragonfly drones into the air. They began to buzz and swarm over the house, scanning for the heat-signatures of any occupants inside.
Matt, Armstrong, Pearson, and Brand hung back, fanning out across the yard with the other Frankfort PD officers. In a matter of seconds, the entire perimeter of the house was surrounded by cops.
As Matt crouched down into some thick underbrush, he spied several tricked-out vehicles in the distance, parked under a grimy tarpaulin. There were two black SUVs, a wagon, and four sedans. Somewhere else on the property, he caught a flurry of dogs barking excitedly. No surprises there. He peered through the sights of his rifle, scanning the farmhouse for any sign of activity.
No movement. Eerily still.
Too still.
Suddenly, Matt’s watch chimed softly. He glanced at it to see the incoming message icon hovering above his wrist. Karen was calling him. He wanted to ignore it because of the horrible timing, but he also knew she’d only be calling if it were some type of emergency. He went to swipe the holographic answer call button, but before he did, he glanced up at the farmhouse.
That’s when he caught the faint sound of a whistle, followed by a thin trail of white smoke racing towards one of the police vehicles.
Someone had fired an RPG from one of the top windows of the farmhouse. There was a bone-fracturing explosion as the lead police SUV erupted into a massive fireball, the force of the projectile flipping the vehicle onto its roof, thick black smoke billowing high into the air.
Matt instinctively ducked, feeling the heat of the blast wash over him. Armstrong’s voice suddenly shrilled into his earpiece, ordering them to return fire.
Muzzle flashes were already strobing from the farmhouse’s upper bedroom windows, and in an instant, the crackle of gunfire was deafening as both sides began trading heavy fire.
Matt kept his weapon trained on a downstairs window, but in the corner of his eye, he spotted a figure at one of the upper bedroom windows. He tilted his aim upwards, but the gunman had already opened fire on him.
Matt was forced to leap behind a felled stump as a volley of high-caliber bullets rained down on his position, clumps of grass and wood-chips spewing into the air. When the assailant stopped to reload, Matt popped up from behind his cover and returned fire. Through the cloudy puffs of debris that geysered out of the bedroom window, he could see his rounds punching craters into the ceiling.
At the same time, a handful of KDCI officers had managed to reach the front door of the farmhouse unscathed, huddled tightly behind a large ballistic smart-shield that crab-walked ahead of them on four metal pincers. There was no plexiglass viewport on the shield, but the officers could still see via the drone feeds that were displayed inside their helmets.
Once the shield reached the front door, it readjusted its width and height, retracting to allow the lead task-force officer enough space to lean out and shotgun blast the door hinges while still remaining behind cover.
The door fell like a drawbridge. KDCI officers stormed inside like an invading Roman army, rushing the tweaked-out gunmen who were holed up on the ground floor. “Police! Down motherfuckers! Down! Down!” one officer yelled.
The relentless staccato pop of gunfire inside the house was instantly drowned out against the crackle of bullets outside. It was nothing less than a war zone. The farmhouse had been transformed into a bullet-pocked husk of scorched wood and shattered glass.
Matt continued firing at the upper bedroom window until he drained his magazine, a rooster tail of shell casings falling by his side. He dropped back down behind his cover to reload, fishing out a fresh magazine from a pouch attached to his ballistic vest. Suddenly, a KDCI officer screamed into everyone’s comm channel. “Suspects down! Suspects down!”
Then, the gunfire stopped. Nothing but the distant sounds of dogs barking.
Five
Matt entered the farmhouse with Armstrong, Brand, and Pearson, taking in the aftermath of the exchange.
The entire downstairs area was now packed with pissed-off cops of all sizes and ranks. A heated argument between two officers had already broken out in the kitchen.
“You need to clear your people out. This is our scene now,” barked one KDCI officer.
“It’s your scene when we decide to give it to you,” replied the other Frankfort PD officer.
Matt brushed past the
commotion and followed Brand and Pearson into the living room. It was a riddle of shattered glass and cratered walls. Frankfort officers were in the throes of restraining three male suspects. They were definitely Fizz cooks. The yellow hazmat suits and rubber gloves were the obvious giveaways. The giant holoscreen TV, and the idle VR gaming console that dominated the room indicated these cooks had been engaged in some downtime between batches.
One of the suspects began resisting, writhing on the floor while a young officer struggled to pin him down. “Get the fuck off me, pig!” he screamed.
Matt went to assist the young colleague but was cut-off by a bruiser KDCI task-force officer, who leaned over the suspect and pressed a hand-held taser device against the back of his neck. The suspect growled through clenched teeth, violently shuddering on the ground as fifty-thousand volts went postal through his body. When the shock dissipated, the young officer rolled the limp suspect over and zip-lock tied his wrists together.
“Y’all can’t just come in here and start shooting up our crib. This is private property!” the other suspect on the floor next to them yelled.
The KDCI officer holstered his taser and took a knee beside the suspect. He tapped an area on his armored forearm plate and a holographic document appeared in the air between them. “Yeah? This says otherwise.”
The suspect spat out a defiant cackle. “That warrant don’t mean shit.”
“I think the Judge who signed it might disagree with you on that one, amigo.”
“Fuck your Judge! My boss owns the cops in this town. He just has to make a call and your ass will be cutting parking citations by tomorrow morning.”
The taser-wielding KDCI officer let out a huge belly laugh. A couple of nearby officers who overheard the outburst also chuckled with amusement. “Wrong again, spunk bubble,” snorted the KDCI officer. “I’ve got a task-force in Lexington about to use a battering ram on the front door of your bosses apartment as we speak. He’s looking at a long bid. But nowhere near as long as yours.”
The Invasion Page 2