Chapter Twelve
His Time Coming
There was what could really only be called worldwide panic in the days that followed the attack on the International Summit on Global Terror.
There were so many unanswered questions, and so many dead. People didn’t even know where to begin. A numb helplessness grabbed them by their throats.
It was such a personal assault. The Devastation had been unknowable and sudden, almost like an act of god or nature. But this, this had been armed men storming a state function and massacring heads of state. There had been military and intelligence men in that building, not just rank and file soldiers either, operational commanders and Directors. Captains of finance and industry, bankers, private security professionals, nearly all of the most influential and knowledgeable men in their respective fields, gone. Just like that.
For many people, this was far worse than the Devastation. That was an explosion in an industrial park. This was an armed assault on a hotel in the center of a major city. It was a violation.
It was like being raped.
And they had gotten away with it! Again! Coupled with the attack on the medical college, it was starting to seem to many that their government was powerless in the face of these villains.
And the villains had a name and a face. After the Devastation, people had been concerned about Las Apatridas. They had been told that they were the men responsible for the attacks on their countrymen. But this new threat, this El-Hesab, was striking at their heart. Las Apatridas put out videos on the internet. El-Hesab was killing college kids and government officials, and walking away scott free. Suddenly, despite the best efforts of the newsmen, people were less and less afraid of Las Apatridas, and more and more concerned about El-Hesab.
Because they seemed invincible. And that was a property reserved only for god and government. People believed when their politicians told them they would protect them. They believed that their military might was beyond compare. They believed their government was omnipotent, and by extension, so too were they.
But these attacks by El-Hesab were challenging that view. And that’s what really scared people. It was the idea that they were not as all powerful as they thought. Being a part of the greatest country god ever gave man made people feel strong. They took pride in it. They measured their own worth in their patriotism. And they felt that its might was theirs.
But if that country were not the juggernaut they had believed, then what were they? If it was not powerful enough even to protect its own citizens here at home, then was it powerful at all?
That was the fear that truly gripped the people in the days following the attack on the summit. Not that they might be the next victims of violence, but that they might not be so great as they once thought.
A people who had invested everything they believed they were in their leaders had just had their leaders taken from them in a most violent fashion.
What did that leave them?
He hadn't even had breakfast yet, and already Grandon was furious.
He was supposed to know exactly what was happening at all times. Information was important. It was necessary. And he paid good money to make sure he had the best information possible.
And yet somehow, despite all his resources, eight hours ago that sonofabitch Alexander had managed to move without his knowledge. Grandon only learned about the assault on de Vitoria after it was already over. Far too late to profit from it.
The whole point of his latching on to Alexander’s popularity was so that he could step in and take over once Alexander was removed. But with this, Alexander would become a hero to the people. Once word got out that he had ended the “threat” of Las Apatridas, and gotten revenge for the Devastation, he’d be untouchable. Killing him then would be to risky.
He’d have to move fast.
Grandon picked up his phone and made the first of several phone calls. The line only rang once before he heard a voice on the other end. “Good to hear from you son. Is Dad home?”
Grandon was almost frustrated enough to forego signal security, but he paid for professionalism. “Dad’s out. Look, we need to talk.”
“Sorry boss, I didn’t know they were moving on Vitoria until moments before the strike went down. This was a top level need to know operation.” Imalt took his failures personally. But he also understood that in this game, these things happened.
“What do we know?” Grandon understood too, and rather than focus on the mistakes of the past, he needed to formulate a plan for the future. The immediate future.
“He’s not dead.”
Grandon thought he misunderstood. “Who’s not dead? What are you talking about?”
Imalt repeated himself. “He’s not dead. De Vitoria. They took out three men. Two were clearly dead, but one was standing as they walked him out to an unmarked military vehicle. Gagged and bagged.”
This was important news. If de Vitoria wasn’t dead yet, then that meant two things. Alexander had a plan for him, and Grandon still had time to act.
“Where are they taking him?” This could change everything.
Imalt paused as though he was checking something. “Military facility. Black ops. I’ve got the coordinates here. It’s a prison facility in the desert, high level detainees. Off the grid.”
Grandon was beginning to see a plan take shape in his mind. “Assemble your men. I’m going to make some more phone calls and then I’ll contact you again. I want you to have a strike plan for that prison. We’ll be moving soon.” With that he hung up the phone and dialed another number from memory.
“Good morning Legislator. How good to hear from you again.”
“Comrade. I have some Work I think you might be interested in. Have you heard about what happened last night?” Grandon was sure he would have, Gorsky had his own methods of getting information.
“You mean the strike? The one that no one was supposed to know about? I’ve heard a thing about that.”
“Good. Then you probably also know that de Vitoria is still alive. I know where they're taking him. If you’re interested, I’m putting together a team. I have a plan.”
Gorsky was interested, and as Grandon unfolded his plan for the tactical strike on the prison, he saw opportunities for his own future begin to take shape.
The launch had gone well.
On his command, the clean room containing the vessel was filled with a brilliant white light, and when it faded away, the room was empty. The vessel had disappeared.
For days, Issacson was hailed as a hero. His work had been a triumphant success. He wasn't alone either, his team was being heralded for their efforts. Lattimer and Paulson were the toast of the office. In the afterglow of the launch, Issacson nearly forgot about his concerns.
It was four days later that the board called Issacson in for a private conference.
“I'm sorry, sir, you want us to make another vessel? And bigger this time?” Issacson wasn't incredulous, he just wanted to make sure he understood their instructions.
It was Black who spoke. “That's correct Dr. Issacson. We've analyzed last week's launch, and we believe that we are ready for a larger scale effort. We want your team to construct a larger vessel. We believe the time has come to conduct human trials, and we intend to send a team through this time.”
Issacson was already making calculation in his head, trying to determine the amount of energy needed, as well as what additional requirement they would have to consider in order for humans to safely make the trip. He knew from their small scale tests that organic material could make the trip safely, and that the transfer was nearly instantaneous, so they should be able to account for the biological needs of human passengers without difficulty.
Of course, that begged another question. “We tested two way transfer way transfer technology in the prototype vessel, I'm assuming you'll be wanting your team to return with data?”
Black nodded his head. “Our hope is that we can use the device as part of an ongoing field mission. We would like to be able to send a team back and forth repeatedly, as well as data and possible specimens. Will the vessel be capable of that?”
“That shouldn't be a problem. I'll have to instruct the team on the operation of the vessel, but we have a user interface in the works which is mostly automated.”
“May I ask sir, what was the purpose of last weeks launch? The latent directive?” Issacson was on thin ice here, but his curiosity was what made him such an innovator. The puzzle had been nagging him, and he couldn't completely put it out of his mind.
His patriarch looked at him for a moment before responding. “I'm sorry son, I can't tell you that yet. There will come a time, but some secrets are still beyond your station. I'm sorry to put it that way doctor, but it is that way.” Issacson could tell by the look on his face that the man who sat at Black had said all he would on that topic. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the man who sat at Red was glaring at his patriarch.
Issacson returned to the other topic. “Have you selected the members of this team yet? The team going in the next vessel?”
Black looked him in the eye. “Are you interested Dr. Issacson? We haven't made any final decisions, but for the first team we're going to make sure to send security professionals, for safety purposes. However if it proves safe there may be a place for you and your team on a future deployment.”
Issacson's head was swimming by the time he left the boardroom. He had always been more of a lab tech, not the kind of scientist who spent his time in the field, but to be able to take this journey, in a vessel of his own design, was an opportunity he could hardly imagine.
He was so excited at the prospect, he forgot to ask the board what the goal of the proposed mission was.
The line at BurgerHut was ridiculous.
Casey kept looking at his watch while he waited for the woman in front of him to decide what she wanted to order for herself and her fat children. It was almost one. He only had fifteen minutes to eat before he had to be back at the counter at the sunglasses store he worked at. He had thought he could just run down and grab a burger and fries, but there seemed to be some kind of problem.
First, there was only one register open. Casey couldn't understand why, during lunch time, the idiots behind the counter didn't bother to open up a second register so that the line could move faster. He saw as he entered the food court that he would have to wait, so he tried to hurry over to the counter to get a good spot.
But just as he walked up to the line, this fat chick with her stupid, whiny kids pushed their way in front of him so that they could stuff their stupid faces with greasy cheeseburgers and fries. And so now he was waiting.
But she couldn't seem to decide exactly what she wanted, and she her kids couldn't decide which stupid little toy they wanted with their meal. Casey kept looking over at the line at the Pizza Station, trying to figure out if it was worth it to bail on the burgers and try his luck there, or if he was going to run out of time completely and have to go hungry.
He finally gave up on the idea of jumping to the Pizza Station, and had resigned himself to blankly staring at the wedgie the woman in front of him had as she tried to corral her children. Maybe he could take his burgers back to the store. If there weren't any customers he could probably keep his food under the counter and no one would notice.
The woman finally dragged her children over to the soda fountain to fill them up with sugar water, and Casey stepped up to the counter to order his food. He lifted his hand to point at the value meal he wanted, but before he could get the words out of his mouth he heard a sound like thunder and jumped so hard he hit his knee against the counter as he spun halfway around to face the direction the sound had come from. He heard more than one person scream, startled by the noise.
For barely a second there was an eerie quiet in the food court as everyone caught their breath. Casey was just noticing the pain in his leg and reached down to rub his knee with his left hand. Then, just as everyone turned back to the their food and their friends to continue their conversations, and Casey began to turn back to the teenager behind the counter, there was another bang.
Then another. And another.
Holy shit, Casey thought to himself. Those sound like gunshots.
And they seemed to be coming from everywhere.
The plan was beautifully simple.
The soldiers of God would enter from each of the main entrances to the shopping mall. They would shoot their way to the middle, then shoot their way back out. When they encountered the inevitable police forces waiting at the main entrance, the second force waiting outside would attack them from behind, trapping the officers in the middle.
They would blow through cops, split up into the explosive laden vehicles they had parked throughout the area, and head in every direction, forcing the state law enforcement agents to spread their resources thin trying to stop them. If anyone got stopped on the way out, they'd wait until they were approached, and then martyr themselves, taking any nearby heathens with them.
There were only fifteen men involved in the assault. Ten men would enter the mall in groups of two, firing into the crowds, focusing on the women and the children. The purpose of this was to make them afraid. Five more men would remain in their cars in the parking lot, seemingly struggling with loading their purchases into their trunks, or listening to the radio, and after exactly eighteen minutes, they'd ambush the police from behind just as the soldiers inside were making their exit.
Wahlid was supposed to be one of the ten men in the mall. He always believed in leading from the front. But the injury he had suffered during the attack on the terrorism summit had forced him to change his plans. He just wasn't strong enough yet. And the mission was more important than his pride. So he sent one of his most trusted lieutenants in his place.
They had been shopping at this mall for a week. Walking from end to end, going into each of the shops. Sometimes in groups of two or three, sometimes one at a time. They knew exactly what to expect.
The security office was located near one of the entrances, so the team who entered through that door would delay their entry by about thirty seconds, so that just as the guards were pouring out of their office and turning up the hall towards the sound of gunfire, the soldiers of El-Hesab would be walking right up behind them and putting them down.
They knew where the bathrooms were. They knew where the sporting goods stores were. They knew where the food court was.
They knew where the children's clothing stores were.
Wahlid knew that this operation would be a success. After their victorious assaults on the medical college and the terrorism summit, he was sure that God was on their side.
The infidels would feel the scimitar plunged into their breast this day.
Walter Kent knew exactly what the sound was the instant he heard it.
He was at the mall with his brother, shopping for some new suits. The “Don't Vote” party had a big rally later in the week, and he wanted to look his best.
They had only been promoting the “Don't Vote” movement for a few weeks, but the reception had been overwhelming. In retrospect, he thought that maybe he shouldn't be so surprised. There had always been a strong opposition to an overbearing government, especially in the rural communities that surrounded the small town they were in now. And as the local banker, Walter knew all the influential members of the surrounding communities.
Ever since the establishment of the “Homeland Security” department, people concerned about the abuses of government were coming out of the woodwork. Even to the most ignorant and apolitical people, even to those most enamored with the propaganda of the state, the idea of secret searches and no-knock warrants were disturbing.
When people heard that the government could enter their home, without asking them, take anything they wanted, without telling them, and that any evidence gathered in this fashion could be used to convict them of thought crimes, people tended to feel the noose tightening around their necks. There had even been some kind of protest going on in the capital for close to a week now.
So when Walter and Kent started talking about their “Don't Vote” party, and holding rallies and passing out signs, people started getting excited. And pretty soon, they weren't the only ones talking about it. Or attending the rallies. Or making the signs.
Walter knew the man who owned the suit shop he was in at the moment. He had given him his first loan to open up the business. Most of the stores here were corporate franchises. There were the usual cheap restaurants, and the usual hip clothing and cheap toy stores. But this man had always wanted to own a haberdashery, and when he approached Walter's bank about the loan, Walter had taken a good look at the man's business plan and credit, and done what all good bankers do. He made a judgment call.
And it had worked out pretty well. The man had moved his store within the mall twice, both times to larger spaces. Walter had made his initial investment plus his interest back ahead of time, and had always purchased his suits here since.
They sold ties, hats, boots, all manner of men's fine accoutrement there, and Walter was just trying on a wide brimmed stetson when he heard the first shot. He immediately looked at his brother's reflection in the mirror, at the same time that his brother looked over at him to meet his gaze.
Both men were carrying pistols, they always did when they went out. Even if they were somewhere where it wasn't allowed. They figured it was worth the risk of upsetting someone's delicacies rather than risk their safety. Of course in this small town there weren't any carry laws anyway, and both men had pistols tucked discreetly behind their suit jackets.
When he heard the second shot, Walter drew the pistol from behind his back and turned to face his brother. Kent already had his in hand and was checking the safety and slide. Walter turned back to face the man behind the counter. “Hall, I think there may be a problem out there. You carrying?”
Hall shook his head. “No Wally, I aint. I got a shotgun out in the truck, but the only thing I got in here is a cane in the back with a blade hidden inside. Special order from a while back that never got picked up.”
As the shots continued, Walter and Kent made their way to the entrance to the store and looked out into the hallway. People seemed dazed and unsure what to do next, but Walter knew that in a few seconds there'd be total chaos out there. “You got a private entrance to this place?”
Hall pointed into the back. “Door back there leads to the parking lot. I use it for deliveries.”
Walter nodded his head. “You might wanna poke your head out there real careful, and if the coast is clear, I'd make a break for it. Although you might want to lock up first.”
Hall shook his head again as he moved around the corner to meat them near the entrance. “I got a better idea, you tell the people out there to meet me in here and I'll direct 'em out the back. Don't know where those shots are comin' from, sounds like all over, and I don't want to trap anybody out there if I can help.”
Walter smiled a grim smile and reached out to grab the older man's shoulder. “Good man. Keep yourself safe Hall. I still need a suit for later this week.”
The brothers turned towards the entrance and prepared to step out into the hall. People were mostly still standing still, their bodies momentarily shutting down as they tried to make sense of a sudden rush of information their brains were taking in and interpreting. Occasionally, someone would run past, blindly attempting to flee from the sound of violence, lending even more surrealism to the scene.
Hall called out to them as the stepped out of his store. “You owe me for the hat too Walter, don't think I didn't notice.”
Walter hadn't, but once Hall reminded him, he realized he was still wearing the stetson. “Goddamned cowboy I guess.” he muttered to himself as he tugged hard on the front of it. His brother chuckled as the two of them moved slowly down the hall towards the sounds of gunfire.
It was absolute pandemonium.
Everyone reacted differently as the gunmen made their way through the mall. Once the initial confusion began to wear off and people realized that there was some kind of attack underway, things got really hairy.
Some people froze up, unable to process what was happening. Some turned and ran, sometimes not even conscious of where they were going. People ran into each other and tripped over kiosks in desperate self preserving flight. One man stood still for nearly a minute, then suddenly turned and blindly ran full tilt for about eight feet until he slammed into a wall and knocked himself unconscious.
Women grabbed their children and carried them, or dragged them through the halls. Some people tried to find places to hide, or made their way towards the exits, only to find their path blocked by men wielding small semi-automatic rifles. Others got on their cell phones and began calling the police.
A few people pulled out guns of their own and made their way towards the sounds of gunfire, as frightened customers and families streamed past them in the opposite direction.
For the soldiers of El-Hesab, things were progressing smoothly. Just as they expected, people were unprepared to face the kind of violence which had so suddenly exploded in their lives. They simply hadn't come to the mall today expecting life or death combat. There wasn't any sport in it. It wasn't a fight. This was just shooting civilians in the back.
But it was the work of God. These were, after all, infidels. By not submitting to the will of God, they were
living lives of evil every minute, and killing them was nearly a mercy. They took no particular joy in this, they were soldiers, bred for war, but this was a smaller battle in a greater war, and each of the men involved understood that today's planting was tomorrow's harvest.
As they made their way through the mall, each pair of two moving steadily inwards from their respective entrance, things seemed to be going exactly according to plan. The security guards had barely made it out of their office before they were shot from behind. Of course, the police would be arriving eventually, but that was part of the plan as well.
It was one of the reasons Wahlid had chosen this particular target. The local law enforcement agencies had cars, but no helicopters. Once they were ambushed, there'd be no one to chase the soldiers as they made their escape, and no eye in the sky to track their movements. With luck, by the time the larger state and federal forces got involved, the men of El-Hesab would be in the wind.
They knew how long it took to make their way from one end of the mall to the other, and they had synchronized their watches hours earlier. They had made mental notes of checkpoints throughout the mall in order to keep themselves on schedule. None of them had to hurry, but they also didn't go out of their way to chase people into stores or make sure they killed every last person who crossed their paths. On a larger scale, the purpose here was to further rob the infidels of their sense of invincibility.
The team which had taken out the security force had just reached their first checkpoint when one of them suddenly took two rounds in the chest, knocking him backwards and onto the floor. His partner only glanced in his direction before crouching behind a nearby kiosk selling phone covers and spotting the shooter down the hall, just inside the entrance of a sports memorabilia store. For a moment, he couldn't believe his eyes.
It was a cowboy.
Kent kept his eyes on the man Walter had managed to hit with his first two rounds. Tight grouping, center mass, just like dad had taught them as boys. The second man had crouched down and was pinning Wally down from a defensive position, he clearly had military training, but he hadn't realized that Kent was there as well.
Kent had the angle on the man from his side of the hall, and was preparing to fire on him when he noticed the first man struggling to get up. He adjusted his fire high and smoothly squeezed the trigger back into his wrist.
The side of the shooter's head blossomed in red as he was slammed sideways and down from the force of the bullet. While he was still falling to the grown, Kent swung the barrel of his pistol over to where the man Walter had shot was still struggling to his feet and squeezed the trigger again, knocking the man onto his back again, this time with a large hole smashed through the front of his skull.
Walter and Kent left their positions and rushed towards the bodies of the fallen terrorists. They each checked the bodies of one of the men to make sure they were down, and Kent gestured towards one of them with his pistol. “Vests. These guys are for real.” He gestured to the other one. “He clearly had military training. I don't know what's going on here brother, but this is serious.”
Before Walter could respond they heard more shots coming from behind them, in the direction of one of the other entrances to the mall. He looked at his brother and tugged on the front of the big cowboy hat he was wearing.
“I hope Hall's ok. Let's go little brother.” Without waiting to see if Kent was coming, Walter turned and quickly made his way down the hall in the direction of the noise.
The phones were ringing constantly now.
For the last few minutes, they had been receiving calls from the mall. Donovan didn't know exactly what was happening, but he knew damn well that there was some serious bullshit going on at the shopping mall.
It had started slow enough. The first caller didn't know what was happening, just that there was some kind of emergency at the mall and they needed help. Donovan was just about to send out a panda bear when the phone rang again. Then, while he was answering it, it rang again, on the second line.
They were a small police force. They only had a few officers and usually didn't have to deal with anything more serious than a bar fight or a drunk husband. Last time they had a murder was more than five years ago. Donovan couldn't remember a time all three phone lines were busy at once. But within minutes of the first call, every line was blinking and Captain Donovan was trying to get a statement from a screaming woman running through the mall.
And then he heard a loud clap through the phone, and knew exactly what kind of bullshit was going on at the mall.
At that point, he quit worrying about the phone and got on the radio.
Every damn cop in town had better be there when I get there, Donovan thought to himself as he ran to his cruiser.
He didn't know what to expect, but he sure didn't want to face it alone.
Chapter Thirteen
When To Act
Surely by now, they must have heard that there was shooting going on at the mall. Surely someone had gotten out, or at least gotten on the phone. It seemed like it had been ages since he'd tried on the stetson and they'd heard that first shot. Walter knew logically it couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but his blood was pounding in his ears, and it seemed like time was slowing down around him.
Some dim part of his brain idly wondered if that was his body trying to drink in its last few moments, just in case he died today. It was a dark thought, but the part of Walter that was calling the shots didn't have time for philosophy. He was too busy checking downrange for hostile targets.
He was just six years old the first time his dad taught him how to shoot a gun.
They'd gone out to an old dried pond where the bank rose up on one side to meet a stand of oak trees. Their dad took a small box he had carried with him and opened it up, revealing a strange black object.
Walter didn't know it at the time, but the object inside the box was an M1911. He recognized it because his father carried it on his hip when they went out to feed the cattle in the fields, but he'd never actually seen his father use it.
First, his dad took it apart for him and showed him how the different pieces fit together. He took it apart and put it back together again and again, while Walter and Kent looked on in amazement. Their father was a constant source of wonder to the two boys, and this new thing he was showing them had them captivated.
After a while, he passed the pieces of the weapon to Walter. He asked Walter to show him how to put the pieces together. Walter remembered being too weak as a young boy to fit them back together himself, but his dad would put them back just how Walter told him, while Kent looked on.
It went like this for a while, and then, when he thought they were ready, their dad began to explain to them how the pistol worked, and what it was for.
He gave them each a bullet to hold in their hands, and described for them the different parts of the bullets while they held them up to their eyes to examine the tiny pieces of metal. Walter remembered looking over at his brother and seeing Kent with his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth and one of his eyes squeezed tightly shut while he tried to focus the other at the small ring on the end of the shell casing.
The mechanism was really very simple. He told them it was based off of something called “Newton's Second Law.” He had the boys face each other and put each of their palms against the others and press as hard as they could. He explained how the harder they pushed against each other, the harder they were being pushed back, and that that was how the mechanics of the pistol worked as well. Their faces took on looks of quiet scrutiny as they listened attentively to their father explain how the chemical explosives in the rounds were ignited, and how they simultaneously pushed the bullet forward and the slide back, just like when they pushed on each others hands.
When he thought they were ready, their dad walked over to the other bank and place a small paper target on the ground, about ten feet in front of where the boys were standing.
When he walked back to the boys he handed them each two small earplugs and showed them how to roll them between their fingers and place them in their ears.
He told them it would be loud.
When he fired the first shot, Walter fell back and landed in the dirt. His dad stopped and reached down to help him up, and Walter remembered looking up at his father with a sense of dread. How could such a noise have come from the small device in his hands?
His father took the boys over to wear the small piece of paper was on the opposite bank and showed them the whole that had appeared in it. He explained that a bullet just like the ones they held in their hands had been fired from the gun and crossed all the way over to here and hit the paper.
He placed several more targets next to it and then walked them back over to the other bank. He fired the rest of the magazine into the targets across the way, and then another magazine after that. One shot at a time, slowly, while the boys watched holes appear in the targets. After a while, Walter quit jumping every time the gun went off.
Before he let Walter fire the weapon, he explained to him that he always needed to be careful what he pointed it at. He looked him in the eye when he said that, and told him it was the most important thing he'd ever said. Walter could tell that his father was serious, and when his father handed him the gun he held it carefully in his hands.
Walter's father showed him how to stand and placed his hands over the boys. He told him to slow down his breathing and keep his eyes on the target. Then he had him slowly pull the trigger back towards his wrist until he heard a click.
He dry fired the pistol over a dozen times before his dad changed the empty magazine out for a loaded one. Once more he placed his hands over the boys and had him slow his breathing. Walter kept his eyes focused on the end of the barrel and the targets beyond, and after his father thought he was calm enough, he had him pull back on the trigger.
It was a moment Walter would never forget.
They were there for another hour, firing round after round into the paper targets. Kent was too young to get to use the pistol himself that day, but he got to watch as his older brother fire a weapon for the first time. A few years later, Kent got to have his turn at the edge of the dry pond, and the two of them would have a lifelong love, and respect, for firearms.
As they grew up, their father gave them weapons of their own, and like him they took to carring them with them as they went out to feed the cattle, in case they ran into a snake or wild dog. They found when they got older that society had it's own snakes and wild dogs, and it was important for a man to be prepared should he run into them as well.
Walter looked over at his brother as they slowly made their way through the wide hallway of the shopping mall. They could hear gunfire up ahead, and they ached to rush towards the sound because they knew that every shot fired would be aimed at an innocent civilian, but they both knew that it was important to tread carefully. They'd taken a number of courses on firearms self defense and were both well trained, and understood that impatience could be deadly in a situation like this.
They moved slowly past a store where children could construct and stuff their own teddy bears, and approached a turn in the hall. They could hear the shots just around the corner. Walter signaled to his brother to crouch low and move carefully around the corner so they could engage the shooters. Kent nodded his head and crouched down, hugging the wall, pointing his weapon in the direction of the shots to put down covering fire for his brother if needed.
Walter slowed his breathing just like his father had taught him, and when he was ready, he turned down the hall.
Donovan took command when he arrived at the shopping mall.
He didn't know what was happening inside the mall, having only sketchy emergency calls to go by. It seemed there was some kind of shooting going on, but he wasn't going to send his men in to a situation he didn't understand.
Which was another problem. His men. He didn't have enough. He wanted men at every entrance to the shopping mall, but even calling in the officers who were off, he only had a handful. It just wasn't that large a department. So he stationed a single officer with a squad car at each of the four smaller entrances and took the largest portion of his men to the major entrance to set up a blockade.
The parking lot was filled with cars, it was a busy day at the mall, and there were people everywhere. People were streaming out of the exit as his men began arriving at the entrance. Donovan tried to stop some of the people running past him to get some idea of what was happening, but most were too panicked to give him any useful information. And the information he was getting seemed to conflict.
From what he could tell, there were somewhere between two and ten men armed with semi or fully automatic weapons. He couldn't tell if it was a robbery, or a terrorist attack, and no one could give him a description of the shooters. Some people didn't even see the shooters. But everyone agreed that there was something going on, and that people were hurt.
Donovan thought to himself for a second that this wasn't the day he had planned for when he woke up that morning.
He turned to his second in command and began issuing orders. No one was going in that mall until they had a better idea what they would be walking into.
He was sitting in the parking lot when he saw the police come screaming in from the street. As they neared the entrance to the mall, they had to slow down their vehicles to avoid hitting anyone, but he watched them slowly make their way to the main entrance and begin setting up barricades.
People were running through the lot now. Some trying to get into their cars to drive away, most just fleeing on foot. He ignored them. They were unimportant. There would be plenty of people trapped inside the shopping mall anyway. And his orders were very specific.
He was to wait until exactly 1:18 and then open fire on the officers arrayed in front of the entrance, just as his brothers inside the mall were making their escape.
The radio crackled briefly inside the pick up truck. There were five of them outside the mall, one at each of the larger entrances. Their job was to watch for the police, and then converge on their position. He knew that four other men were watching and waiting for a signal. He reached down to the small radio transmitter in the console and clicked it twice, paused, and then once more. The men waiting at the other entrances would know now where the ambush would take place. They'd be here shortly.
They still had time. It was only 1:07.
At one of the other entrances, one of his brothers was just starting the burgundy sedan he was driving to head over to the ambush site when he saw a single officer pull up to the door and park his car. He watched as the officer stepped out of the vehicle and moved to the trunk to retrieve a rifle. He then returned to the front of his vehicle, and stood behind the door with the rifle pointed at the entrance while he got on his radio.
The soldier in the sedan started his car, but didn't drive off right away. He was close to the main entrance, it wouldn't take him long to get there. Instead, he left the car running, got out, and began to walk towards the officer. There were so many people running through the parking lot, no one paid any attention to one more person moving through that chaos. As he got closer to the officer he could hear him telling his superiors that he was in position and watching the doors. It was so easy.
When he was within ten feet of the officer he stopped. The cop was young, probably in his late twenties. For a moment, the soldier allowed himself to imagine what this man's life must be like. Perhaps he had a young wife at home. He had short blond hair and a medium build. The officer was so intent on the threat he thought would be coming from within the mall, he never noticed the man standing behind him. The soldier reached for the pistol he had inside his jacket.
From there, he waited until the officer put down the radio receiver, and then he crossed the last three steps to stand directly behind the officer. He quickly pulled the weapon from inside his jacket and raised it up to just behind the officer's right ear, and in one smooth motion, pulled the trigger.
As the officer fell the man caught him and guided him into his squad car. He crouched down for a moment and lifted the man's legs into the car with him, and then shut the door of the car.
Without looking around he pivoted on his heel and headed back to where his car sat waiting. He looked at his watch, it was only 1:09.
He rolled the car slowly out of the parking spot it had been sitting in and headed for the main entrance, where he knew his brother's would be waiting.
He wondered if things were going as smoothly for the men inside the mall.
They were the only two people standing in the hall, where just a little while ago dozens of people had stood looking into windows and moving in and out of stores.
It had been just over ten minutes since they heard the first shot, and the mall had taken on an eerie quietness. They could still hear gunfire, and screams, but it was further away. The air was gaudy with the smell of perfume that was wafting from a nearby clothing store.
Walter stood over the body of the second man he had shot that day. He considered the semi-automatic rifle the man had been carrying briefly, and then crouched down and picked it up from where it had fallen. He was running out of bullets, and thought he might need a back up. He slung the weapon over his shoulder and let it fall behind his back, where it wouldn't impede his firing motion.
He winced as he stood back up. He should have been more careful. Even with his brother laying down covering fire, one of the two men they'd encountered here had managed to get a lucky shot in. A bullet had smashed through the wooden display he had crouched behind for cover, and part of it had splintered off and struck him in the hip. He wasn't sure which of the shooters it had been, but the pain in his side told him he wouldn't be getting around as easily for the rest of the day.
Luckily, as Walter fell to the ground after the chunk of wood smashed into his hip, Kent had managed to take out the last of the two men. He looked over at his brother. Kent had a grim set to his face. It was grim work.
And what they'd seen moving through the mall hadn't acted to lighten the mood. It wasn't just the victims of the gunfire. There had been a stampede as people rushed to escape the shooters. Walter hoped that at least some of those bodies they'd seen laying against the sides of the halls, pressed up against the walls, were just unconscious.
No matter how the rest of this day played out it wasn't going to end well.
He winced again as he moved over to where his brother stood, checking the remaining ammunition he had in his pistol. Kent noticed his limp. “You gonna be ok brother? If you can't dodge better than that, maybe you should wait here. I can take care of the rest of this myself.”
Walter grunted. “You don't even know how much there still is to take care of. Don't tell me what you can and can't do. I'll be fine. I just need to duck behind something a little more sturdy next time.” His hip was really starting to burn now, Walter began to wonder just how badly he really was hurt.
But he could still hear shots coming from one of the halls which met this one about fifteen yards away. And those shots seemed to be getting further away.
He turned and looked at his brother. “There's still more of them. Now I figure the cops gotta be getting here any minute now. We could lay low. Or, we could take the ammo we have left and head on down that hall. Whadya say little brother?”
Kent looked at his brother as he finished loading the half empty magazine back into his pistol and pulled back the slide to load a round into the chamber. “I don't hear any cops brother. Now they may be coming, in fact I hope they are, but after all this,” he gestured with his weapon at the carnage around them, “I don't feel like laying low.”
Walter knew his brother wasn't being foolhardy. Some of those bodies lying motionless in the hall had been too small by far. “I feel the same way Kent.” He stretched his leg and felt the burn in his sore hip. Definitely something injured in there. “Let's see if we can save the cops some trouble.”
This time Kent took the lead as they headed down the hall, with Walter keeping up as best he could and checking behind them for anybody trying to sneak up.
Not for the first time that day, he wondered what the hell was going on.
“Damnit Trenton. Where the hell are you?”
Donovan had been trying to raise his man on the radio for a few minutes now. He'd sent officers to each of the other entrances to watch for activity while he'd kept the bulk of his force stationed here at the main entrance. Trenton had radioed back to tell him that he'd reached the entrance, but since then he hadn't heard anything.
Donovan was growing concerned. What if the shooters had exited from that side of the building. Unfortunately he didn't have the man power to station sufficient forces at all of the entrances. He'd put in a call to the country sheriffs and the state troopers, but it would be another thirty minutes at least before they could make it.
He would either have to split up his force into small groups that might be overwhelmed at any of the entrances, or leave his men in one large group here, and take his chances. In their panic, several people had crashed their vehicles trying to escape the shopping center, and with the chaos in the parking lots, he wouldn't be able to move his force around fast enough to respond if he guessed wrong.
Donovan was just considering sending out another officer to check on Trenton when one of his men called out to him and pointed to a pick-up truck pulling up behind their barricade. Donovan recognized the men in the back of the truck.
They were all carrying rifles.
“What the hell are you doing out here Miller?” Donovan yelled at the men as they jumped out of the truck.
Henry Miller waved his hand to his boys and they started to head towards the entrance to the shopping mall. Donovan noticed a few other men in the group too, neighbors of Henry if he remembered right.
Donovan stepped in front of him and put a hand against his chest to stop him from going in. “I asked you a question Henry. This is a police barricade. I don't need hassle from you. Now where the hell do you think you and your posse are headed?”
Henry looked up from where Donovan's hand was laying against his chest. He had the look of an animal in his eyes. “I got a call from my wife Bob. She's in there with our youngest, and she said someone's shootin' up the damn mall. Now I don't know what your boys are doing sittin' out here, but me and mine are going in there.” He pushed past Donovan and headed for the entrance, his boys falling behind with a grim determination on their faces.
Donovan grabbed his shoulder and spun Henry back around to face him. “We can't just go in there Henry. We don't know what the goddamn situation is yet.”
“Of course we do Bob.” Henry was yelling now. “We know there's women and children in there and somebody's shootin' the hell out of 'em.”
Donovan tried again. “Listen goddamnit. If we go in there without knowing what's going on and get ourselves shot, who's gonna stop whoever's inside there?”
Henry looked at him with disgust. He spit at Donovan's feet and then looked him in the eye. “Who's stoppin' them now Bob?” And with that, he turned and headed towards the doors, the other men following close behind, their rifles up and at the ready.
Robert Donovan watched the men disappear through the doors at the entrance of the mall. He wasn't sure what to do, but now he had a whole nother problem on his hands.
He was trying to decide whether he should follow the men inside, or send someone to check on Trenton when he heard a bullet zip past his head and then saw the explosion of plaster as it smashed into the wall next to the entrance. Another shattered the glass window where the men had just entered the mall. Several of his men began shooting into the mall, thinking they were taking fire from within, but when Donovan heard a bullet strike the rear bumper of his squad car he realized what was happening.
As he scrambled around to the other side of his car door and crouched down behind it he began yelling to his men “Turn around. Those shots are coming from behind us.”
“We're being attacked from behind!”
The man had been sitting inside his pickup watching the time. It was still early. Only 1:14 when he saw the truck pull up to the police barricades.
He was too far away to know what was being said, but he could see that the officer in charge had stopped one of the men with rifles who had jumped out of the back of the truck, and they had spoken for a few seconds. Then the whole group of men who had arrived stepped into the mall.
He checked his watch again. Still too early. But this wasn't part of the plan.
He looked around the parking lot. It was easy for him to spot the other soldiers who had made their way to this entrance after he'd given the signal over the radio earlier. He made eye contact with each of them in turn, and nodded in the direction of the officers. They nodded back at him.
It was early, but they'd follow his lead. He reached under the seat and pulled out the compact semi-automatic rifle he had hidden there.
As he stepped out of his truck, four other men did the same thing in vehicles around him, mimicking his actions. He gestured towards the officers arrayed before the entrance and took a defensive position obscured partially by the bed of his truck.
He checked his watch one more time. Still two minutes early. But the men inside the mall wouldn't be expecting to run into a group of armed civilians. It was time to make a decision.
He aimed at the officer who was commanding the force at the entrance and squeezed the trigger.
His first bullet missed the man's head by inches at most and slammed into the wall beyond him. The other four men began firing at the police officers from their positions.
He realized the officers were still shooting into the mall. They hadn't even realized where the shots were coming from yet. He saw one officer, and then another, fall forward into their cruisers as they were struck from behind.
This was going to be a slaughter.
Kent and Walter were moving towards the main entrance of the mall when suddenly the sound of gunfire intensified in front of them.
They had been picking their way slowly through the hallway since they had reached the center of the mall. That was when they got a better idea of what they were facing.
There were bodies laying down every branch of the hallway leading away from the plaza. It seemed like the shooters had converged here from different directions, and then moved en masse towards the front of the mall. They weren't sure exactly how many they still had to face, but if they were moving in teams of two like the shooters they'd encountered so far, they estimated at least six men were heading for the doors.
They picked up their pace when they heard the gunfire suddenly multiply in front of them, assuming that the police had finally entered the shopping mall. As they neared the food court at the main entrance to the mall, they slowed and pushed themselves up against the wall to limit their exposure.
Kent crouched down behind a little kiosk which sold costume jewelry for little girls and poked his head around the corner to survey the food court. He looked for a moment, and then pulled back and turned to his brother. “We were right Wally. There's five of them. There were six, but it looks like one's been hit, and the rest are pinned down. I couldn't see who was shooting at them, not from this angle, but the bad guys have the high ground.”
Walter thought about this for a second. “Can we move around behind them? Flush 'em out where the latecomers can pick em off?”
Kent looked around for a second before noticing a rolling pretzel stand. He gestured towards it with his pistol. “I think we can if we use that for cover. We could come up behind 'em, try crushing in between us and whoever's shooting from the doors.”
Walter looked at the pretzel stand and tried to estimate the distance between it and where they were crouched. “That's a lot of open range between here and there Kent. You feeling lucky?”
Kent pulled a dark, nasty grin. “Today? I'm all luck today.”
Walter grunted a laugh and tugged once more at the stetson he'd borrowed from Hall's store. He looked over at his brother and then checked his pistol and the rifle he had slung over his shoulder. “No time like the present.”
With that, the two brothers jumped up from where they were pressed against the wall and sprinted for the relative safety of the wood and tin pretzel stand, which stood just ten yards away, like a mighty oak against a storm.
Somehow, everything was falling apart for the soldiers of El-Hesab inside the shopping mall.
Things had gone well until they'd reached the plaza at the center. Then, instead of five groups of two, there had only been three. Somehow they'd lost four men, and they didn't have the time to figure out why, because the men outside were going to start shooting at exactly 1:18 and they needed to be there to back them up.
That meant they had to move with only sixty percent of their force, and possibly leave hostiles coming up from behind. No one was happy about it, but if they could stay to the schedule and make the doors in time, it might not matter. They'd be making their escape before whoever else was in the mall managed to catch up to them.
Which was all fine until they entered the food court.
Just as they rounded the turn in the hall which emptied them out into the wide open space filled with chairs and small plastic tables and rimmed with every kind of fast food restaurant, one of their men took a shot high in the chest. It knocked him back, and as he scrambled for cover and ripped open his shirt to check his vest, another one of them took a round in the face, right below the left eye.
The rest of the soldiers of El-Hesab dropped to the floor or dived for cover as their brother fell to the floor, bleeding from a gaping hole in the back of his head. The stench was immediate and overpowering. Metallic.
They crawled towards whatever cover they could and then slowly backed out of the food court on their bellies. At the back of the dining hall there was a raised platform with a sports car sitting on it surrounded by a red velvet rope. The man that Wahlid had sent in his place gestured towards it and signaled to his men.
They crawled over to the dais and then took cover behind the car. From there they could see a small group of men, four or five perhaps, with what looked like hunting rifles, spread out in the dining hall. They'd taken cover behind support pylons and concrete planters, and were peppering the sports car with bullets.
The soldiers of El-Hesab began firing down on the men from their position, and the amount of bullets slamming into the side of the sports car dwindled as the men below ducked down behind their cover.
Their leader checked his watch again. They were running out of time. It was nearly 1:18 now and they weren't going to make it to the entrance in time. They needed to get past these infidels and their hunting rifles.
And that's when he saw the two men jump up out of nowhere into his peripheral vision, and dash off towards a pretzel cart.
Chapter Fourteen
Desperate Need
“Goddamn fool,” he thought to himself, “you're supposed to dodge the bullets.” Donovan had gotten over the frustration and the fear. Now he was just pissed.
Pissed at whoever was peppering the door of his squad car with rifle rounds. Pissed at Miller for making him feel like a jackass standing outside the mall. Pissed at God for giving him a shit day like this. Police work in a small midwestern town was supposed to be about giving drunk farmhands a ride home late at night, and helping cats out of trees. It wasn't supposed to be, well, whatever the fuck this had become.
Mostly he was just pissed at himself. Every movement now was reminding him of the hot metal slug searing the flesh and bone on his right side, and it was his own damn fault.
“You're too fat old man. Spent too much time sitting behind your desk. And now you're paying for it.” Donovan looked around at the men he had left to try to figure out what to do next.
It wasn't pretty. He'd lost two officers before anyone had even registered where the shots were coming from and turned around. Another had been his trying to jump over his hood to put his cruiser between himself and the shooters, and of course he had taken one himself when he stood up to try to fire over his car door. It had come right through the window. “Didn't think of that did ya Bobby?” Donovan thought to himself with disgust.
He'd only brought fourteen men with him to the main entrance to begin with, now he had two dead, and two more wounded. As near as he could tell, there were at least five men out there in the parking lot firing at his men from different positions. Five on fourteen, but the men out there had the advantage of surprise, were far more mobile, and had god alone knew what other surprises in store.
Donovan was getting goddamned tired of being surprised that day. He was supposed to go over to the wife's parents that evening for dinner. Ham and potato cakes. He wasn't in any mood for this shit. And somehow the whole situation had gone way past fucked.
The whole damn thing must've been a set up. Donovan wasn't wasting too much of his time thinking on it, but it seemed pretty obvious now. The shooters inside the mall had drawn the cops into a killing field.
And he couldn't even get to the radio in the car to let the state troopers on the way know what was happening. All the squad cars had been pointed at the entrance, because they thought that was where the attack would come from. Now that his men had had to reverse field and hide between the mall and their cruisers, no one could risk going into the open to get to a radio.
This situation was going to shit in a hurry. Donovan knew that if he didn't do something soon, those men out there were going to get the best of his officers. Even if he tried to hold out until backup arrived, that would be another twenty minutes.
Donovan wasn't sure they had another twenty minutes. Whoever was attacking them had all the advantages, and if his sidearm was any indication, his men were running out of ammunition. Donovan thought back to something an old marine friend of his had told him once. “When in doubt, act decisively.”
It was time to try something crazy.
The pretzel cart had seemed a better idea from across the hall.
It was barely big enough to cover the two of them, and the cheap particle board and tin it was constructed from was never intended to withstand high powered rifle rounds. Luckily, it was wheeled, and Walter and Kent had a plan.
His hip burning from where he'd been hit with a chunk of wood earlier, Walter tucked his weapon back into his jacket, crouched down behind the pretzel cart and grabbed the side.
He turned back and looked at his brother. “Ready?” Kent nodded his head, and the two of them began scrambling as quickly as they could towards the sports car on the raised dais.
The killers pinned down behind the car had noticed them as they ran towards the pretzel cart, and now that the brothers were moving towards their position, they'd begun to shift their fire away from the men in the food court below and their flimsy cover was beginning to take some real damage. They weren't going to make it much further.
But they didn't have too. Ahead of them was a four foot tall concrete planter with a small tree sticking out of it. Walter had never understood why people put things like this in the middle of shopping malls, maybe it was a way to ignite some ancient part of the human mind associated with hunting and gathering, so that they would view the stores around them as their hunting grounds and their instincts would drive sales. Regardless, he was thanking the gods of interior design now, because that planter would stand up to rifle rounds a lot better than their cart was.
They were only a few feet away when the front wheel next to where Walter was holding the cart was struck and exploded out towards him. As it shattered, the cart collapsed forward, slamming first into the ground over the broken front axle, and then tilting over towards Walter and Kent.
Walter screamed to his brother as the cart collapsed over them, “Run!” and dived for the safety of the planter. Kent dived after him, bullets ricocheting off the floor and filling the air with dust and shards of tiles.
Kent leaned back into the concrete behind them as bullets whizzed past, crashing into the candle store across the hall. “Who do you suppose we have down in that food court? Good guys?”
Walter finished checking his weapons and then pushed up on his heels and craned his neck to peek over the planter. He settled back down into the floor and glanced up and down the hall from where they were sitting. “Well, we know where the bad guys are, and whoever's down there is shooting at them, so I'm willing to risk it.”
Kent ejected the magazine of his pistol and counted the remaining rounds. “I've got half a clip here. How bout loaning me that pistol you've got and you use the rifle you pulled off the guy in the hall?” Walter handed his pistol over to his brother and swung the rifle around his shoulders and into his hands.. Kent continued, “You think those guys down there can hear us?”
Walter listened for a moment to the sound of bullets smashing against the planter behind them. “Doubt it.”
Kent nodded his head. “Guess we can't consider a coordinated attack then. What's the plan?”
Walter leaned up again to peek over the planter. “I'm thinking, we've got the angle on these bastards, we flush 'em out, and let the boys below pick 'em off.”
Kent turned to face the planter and squatted down, holding one pistol in each hand. “Looks like it's time to shine. You ready brother?”
Walter took a deep breath to calm himself, “Ready.” and as one they rose up over the planter and began firing on the men hiding behind the sports car.
Donovan turned his pistol towards the windshield of his police cruiser and fired his last four rounds directly into the driver side of the car.
As he finished firing the slide on the pistol locked back in the open position, and Donovan tossed the empty firearm to the ground at his feet. He climbed up onto the hood of his cruiser and spun around on his back. His side burned from the bullet he'd taken earlier as he placed both his feet against the windshield. “Being fat's gotta be good for something,” he thought to himself as he cocked both his powerful legs back and then kicked as hard as he could against the broken windshield.
It was designed to pop out in case of catastrophic failure, but it took considerably more power to kick it in, and Donovan slid off the front of the cruiser from the force, leaving a streak of blood across the hood, and landed on his shoulders with his feet up in the air. Without taking time to imagine how ridiculous he must look, he tumbled sideways on to his hands and knees and crawled back up onto the hood.
It had worked, the windshield had crushed in and was hanging loosely across the passenger seat and sticking awkwardly out towards him. He scrambled across the hood of the car and into the drivers seat, pushing the shattered plate of glass out through the gaping hole it used to cover.
The first thing he did was unlock the semi-automatic shotgun from the vertical mount on the center console. Then he grabbed the radio and began calling for help.
But Donovan already knew help wouldn't get there in time to save his men. What he needed was a way to break them out of the ambush.
He grabbed the keys and started the engine.
Donovan threw the car into reverse and laid the shotgun across his chest pointed out of the still open driver's side door.
“Hell,” he thought, “it works in the movies.”
Donovan slammed his foot down hard on the gas pedal, and the cruiser jumped backwards away from the mall and directly towards the pick up truck where one of the shooters was positioned.
Through the hole in the windshield Donovan could see the shocked looks of his deputies as he sped away from them, but he could tell from the sounds of bullets slamming into his vehicle that he was drawing fire away from his men. “Get out of there boys.” he silently thought to himself. “Move! Now!” He knew that with the door open and the windshield gone, his next move would leave him wide open.
Donovan grabbed the wheel in one hand jerked it as hard as he could to the side, causing the car to turn sharply just before he slammed into the pick up truck behind him. He lost sight of his men, but now he had a clear image of the man who had been shooting at him for the better part of ten minutes.
It's funny what happens to a man at a time like that. The human animal goes through a lot of strange physiological changes as the brain dumps chemicals into the body. It sees and hears things it normally wouldn't, and sometimes the damnedest things will register as the brain strives desperately to assess the danger. In that moment, Donovan noticed that the man was wearing a blue blazer, with one of those little alligators sewn right over the breast. He hadn't seen one like that in years.
The first blast from the shotgun deafened Donovan and a red rose blossomed in the man's chest where the alligator had been just moments before. Donovan pulled the trigger again and another rose blossomed from the side of the man's head as he fell out of sight behind his pickup.
Donovan turned away from where the man had fallen in time to see another man directly in front of his car swing the barrel of his rifle towards the cruiser and turn his shoulders to begin firing through the absent windshield.
Instinctively, Donovan threw himself down sideways into the passenger seat, the gear shift and equipment that filled the center console biting painfully into his side. His pants were slick with his own blood now, and he was beginning to get woozy. As bullets flew over his head and crashed into the steel grid which separated the cops from the criminals in a car like this, Donovan used the last of his strength to shift the car into drive and square the wheel.
As he slammed his foot down on the gas pedal one more time and sped blindly forward toward where the man was standing, he prayed his men were using the opportunity he'd given them, though he doubted he'd ever find out.
Everything was chaos.
As soon as Walter and Kent started shooting at their position, the men on the dais scattered, and whatever was left of their plan went out the window. From their position, they were sitting ducks for the two men crouched down behind the concrete planter, and as they dashed away from the dais they became targets for the men in the food court below.
They continued shooting as they ran, but two of them went down almost immediately. That only left three men, and they were being fired upon from above and below. One of the men tried to make it back into the hall that the brothers had entered the food court from, but he took a round high in his shoulder and another just to the left of his spine, and went spinning down to the floor. The last two men suddenly turned and sprinted right at the concrete planter where Walter and Kent were positioned, trying to cut in between tables and displays for cover.
Kent fired the rifle over the top of the planter, trying to catch one of the shooters as he ducked behind a standing map of the shopping center with a big red triangle and the words, “this is you,” bright against a yellow diagram of the shopping mall. Walter was firing both of his pistols into an overturned dining table fifteen feet from their position, where the other man had taken cover.
Suddenly another shot crashed against the lip of the planter, sending debris up into their faces and the brothers dropped to the floor. Walter turned to his brother. “I think that was our friends down in the food court. We're in a crossfire!”
Kent nodded as dust exploded again over their heads and rained down into their hair. From down below they heard a groan as the man who had taken cover behind the overturned table was hit. That only left one.
But the sound of bullets ricocheting off the tile floor was getting closer. Suddenly Kent realized that he could hear the sound of someone running on the tile and realized it must have been the last shooter. Just as he turned towards the sound the man came around the side of the planter and stood over the two brothers.
Kent swung the pistol in his left hand towards the man and fired, but he saw Kent's arm moving and kicked out at it, causing him to miss. As the bullet sailed wide and shattered the window of the store next to the jewelry kiosk they'd hid behind only moments earlier, the slide on Kent's pistol locked back in the open position.
The man above them smiled as he brought his rifle up to his shoulder. Kent stared up at the end of the short semi-automatic rifle pointed right at his head and hoped one of the men below would get this son of a bitch before he got away.
Suddenly a foot of thin blue steel sprouted from the man's neck, just below his jaw. As it did, a spray of blood misted the air and the gun fell to the floor as his hands went up to his neck, trying desperately to understand what had happened.
Kent wiped the blood from his face and looked up at where the man was already sagging to the floor. As he fell, he saw Hall standing behind him, holding a bloody two foot long sword in his hands.
Kent sat for a moment, trying to make sense of the image. It was Walter's scream which finally snapped him out of it. “Hall! You sonofabitch! What are you doing here?”
Hall smiled as he slowly bent down to clean the sword on the shirt of the man who had fallen at his feet, a pool of blood slowly spreading from the jagged tear in his neck. “I told you. Cane sword. I asked some of those people you boys sent my way to stay behind and direct anyone else who came out the back, then I chased after you boys. But us old men don't move so fast, so it took me a minute to catch up. Looks like I was just in time.”
Kent laughed as he looked up at the old man who had just saved his life. The sound of shooting had stopped now as the men in the food court were slowly making their way up towards the dais to check for survivors. “You old coot! I thought I was a dead man.”
Hall smiled. “Well, I couldn't lose such good customers now could I?” He turned towards the men coming up towards where the brothers were crouched down on the floor. “We're clear up here. You boys clear?”
One of the men shouted up to him. “Clear! Who you got up there Hall?”
Walter recognized that voice. He stood and turned to look down at the men moving their way. “Henry Miller! That you?”
Miller laughed. “Wally, what the hell are you doing here? And what's with the cowboy hat?”
Walter remembered the hat he was wearing and tugged on the front of it. “I was trying it on when all hell broke loose. What do you think, does it suit me?”
Miller spit on the bodies of the shooter who had taken refuge behind the dining table. “Looks damn silly to me Wally, but whom am I to judge.”
Kent stood up next to his brother. “Hey there Henry, who you got with you.”
Miller gestured towards the men behind him. “I brought the boys and a few a my neighbors. Donovan tried to stop us on our way in, but we weren't having it. Kerry called me and told me there was someone shootin up the mall, I came as soon as I could.”
Walter smiled. “Damn good thing. We were wondering where the hell the cops were. You say Donovan tried to stop you coming in? Where the hell is he now?”
Miller looked back towards the entrance. “He's probably still outside waiting for backup.” He paused and then cocked his head and drew a strange face, as though he was straining for something. “Then again, doesn't that sound like gunfire to you?”
Everyone got quiet for a moment, and the sound of gunfire softly echoed in the cavernous hall. Walter grimaced and checked the rifle he was holding.
“Sounds like we might not be outta this yet.”
Henry didn't join them as they made their way outside, he insisted on finding his wife and making sure she and his daughter were safe.
As it turned out, they didn't need him. By the time they made it outside, having taken whatever weapons they could off the bodies of the shooters inside, it was all over but the dying.
Even old Hall had himself a rifle, but when they stepped through the remains of the glass doors which made the entrance to the shopping mall, he lowered it to his side. What greeted them looked like a scene from a disaster movie.
Most of the officers outside were out in the parking lot, some trying to administer emergency first aid to some of their wounded, some keeping an eye out for another ambush. The men were noticed immediately, and an officer ran over to them.
Walter recognized him as Donovan's second, Officer Hepburn. “What's going on here?”
Hepburn cleared his throat. He was young, and hadn't seen anything like this before. “Soon as you and your boys went in, we got hit from behind. Chief figured it was a set up. Whoever was inside drew us here, and then they ambushed us.” He looked back over his shoulder. “It's not good. Near as we can see there were only five of them, but we got shot up real good. Besides cuts and bruises, they got eight of our men, including the Chief. Five are dead. The chief and two others are in critical condition. Woulda been worse if the Chief hadn't broken us out.”
Kent looked around at the wreckage that filled the part of the parking lot they were standing in. He pointed towards a police cruiser about fifty yards away. It had crashed into a parked sedan, crushing a man between the two vehicles. “That Donovan's?”
Hepburn looked at where he was pointing and then turned back. “Yep. He managed to get into his car, through the windshield no less, and drove out at them, got one with his shotgun and then smashed that one before he passed out. He's been shot and he's lost a lot of blood, but he really saved our asses today.”
Walter pulled the rifle he'd been carrying off his shoulders and laid it on the hood of one of the police cruisers. “I'm headed back in. I think the shootin part's over, but we got a lot of injured in there. A lot. I'm gonna see what I can do.”
Kent turned to his brother. “I'm coming with you.” The two headed back into the mall with Hall and the Miller boys. Just as they stepped across the broken glass into the entrance way, they could hear the faint sound of sirens carried on the wind.
The cavalry had arrived.
It had been several days since Xavier de Vitoria had last released a video, and his fans were starting to grow concerned.
Up until that point, he had been faithfully releasing at least one video every day. When he first missed a day people were disappointed, but no one really thought about it. After three days, people started to question.
Where the hell was de Vitoria?
The government was silent on the issue, but it didn't take long for people to start forming their own opinions, and there was a common thread to all the theories.
They'd gotten to him.
Nobody was sure who, or how, after all, they didn't even know where he was holed up, but if he went suddenly silent there could only be one reason. He was, after all, enemy one of the most powerful nation on the planet. Sure, he could have slipped in the shower, but odds were on that he'd been caught. And if he was caught, he'd be executed, if he wasn't dead already.
Despite the best efforts of Alexander's administration, Xavier de Vitoria had managed to become a popular man. His videos had inspired people. And those people didn't want to see such a man murdered.
Which was what inspired the riot.
To be fair, it didn't start out as a riot. It started as a peaceful protest. The protestors wanted to know what had happened. It started as a leaderless movement on the net, one or two people suggested going to the capital and demanding answers, but within hours people were cross referencing posts and word spread like a fire.
By the fifth day after his last video, there were a few hundred people in the nation's capital holding up signs and demanding that their government inform the public about his whereabouts.
Two days later that number had swelled to over four thousand. And the government was finally going to give them an answer.
Thomas looked around himself at the crowd of people who surrounded him. He had decided to come out to the protest after watching the news coverage of it for several days, debating about whether or not he should get involved. He had worked a half day that morning to try and get caught up on one of the new promotions they were doing, and as he was leaving he decided to drive over and see it for himself.
It was a confused mix of people and ideas. Most of the people were there to try and get some information about de Vitoria, but there were also people dressed in funny costumes, and he swore he saw one person holding up a sign that read, “God hates Fags.” Thomas wasn't sure what that had to do with the protest, but he supposed this sort of thing brought out all kinds.
At least they were being peaceful. De Vitoria had preached against violence in his many videos, specifically decrying all but self defense as immoral and unjust, which was largely the basis of his opposition to statism and also one of the reasons Thomas found him so compelling, and so far the crowd had taken his philosophy to heart. Thomas was surprised at how relaxed and uncoordinated the protest was, considering the speed at which it was attracting attendees.
His phone rang in his pocket and he pulled it out and looked down at the display. It was Jennifer. For a moment, Thomas considered putting the phone back in his pocket. Things had been hard between them lately. He had been trying to talk with her, but it didn't seem to help. In fact, it seemed like they were drifting apart, and everything he said only made it worse. With a resigned sigh he flipped open the phone and raised it up to his ear.
“Hey Jen. What's up?”
He could tell right away she was upset. “Where are you? I thought you were only working a half day?”
Thomas knew how she'd react to this. “After work I decided to head down to the protest and see what was going on.”
Jennifer was not pleased. She'd been watching the news coverage of the protests for days, and secretly feared that Thomas would end up their eventually. After the way he'd been acting lately, it really wasn't any surprise. “Thomas, why? I want to understand. Why is this so important to you? You've been spending so much time reading about this guy, and watching his videos. I don't get it.”
Thomas wanted to explain it to her. He wanted her to be a part of whatever he was going through. But he didn't have the words. It was all too new to him, he didn't know how to explain it to someone else. He didn't even know how to explain it all to himself yet. After a moment, he dropped his head and mumbled into the phone. “I don't know Jen. It just, feels right. I wish I knew a better way to say it. Something's wrong. Not with us. With everybody. With the whole world. I started looking into it, and now, everything looks different. I wish I could go back to the way things were, but I can't unsee it. It's all around me.” He paused. “Jen. Don't leave me. I need you baby.”
There was nothing but silence on the other end of the phone. After a few long seconds, Thomas opened his mouth to say her name again, but before he could she replied. “Where are you Tommy. I'm gonna come down there. I don't know what you're going through, but I want to be with you.”
Tears rolled silently down his cheeks as Thomas told her where she could meet him. She told him she loved him and then hung up the phone. Thomas put the phone back in his pocket. He hadn't realized until that conversation just how frightened he was that Jennifer would leave him over this.
He was serious when he had told her that sometimes he wished he could unsee what de Vitoria had shown him. It was like stepping out of reality and looking at the whole world at an angle. It made every thing that the people around him said seem wrong. He was constantly confronted with the horror.
He had realized that everything he had ever been taught, everything, by people who were supposed to protect and mentor him, had just been a lie intended to rape and pillage him. Personally.
It was a terrifying thought. It took his entire world view and inverted it. Good and evil weren't as clear cut as they used to be.
Back when he was in college he'd felt like there was something wrong with politics. Thomas was smart, and it was plain to see that being rich meant being in charge, which didn't exactly fit with the idea of “representative government.”
Of course, some people argued that it was his responsibility to control the politicians, but that had seemed equally silly. How could he control politicians who passed bills with entire sections redacted for security reasons? How could he control a military which claimed an absolute need for operational security? It was why he'd given up on the whole thing years ago. After all, it didn't seem fair to put the responsibility for the governments actions on him but simultaneously deny him any of the information necessary to direct those actions.
And he'd always been told that he was somehow the problem. Ignorant and violent people were always telling him that “the price of freedom was eternal vigilance,” and that, “an informed populace is the only true restraint against government tyranny.” But none of that made sense.
No one had the right to force Thomas to waste his time and resources constantly monitoring the thieves and predators in the government just to make sure they didn't cheat or murder him. It didn't justify him being made a victim any more than it justified them committing crimes against him. Besides, everyone knew you couldn't really fight city hall. It seemed like “eternal vigilance” was just busy work to keep people distracted.
So for years, he'd simply walked away. Once he recognized it for the rigged game it was, he quit playing. And people told him “he was the problem,” or “he didn't have a right to complain if he wasn't going to try to make a change.” And he just went on enjoying life, and ignoring politics.
And then the Devastation happened, and he heard about Xavier de Vitoria, and anarchy, and all the sudden all those things which seemed fishy to him back in college were laid out in plain, unambiguous language.
Taxation was theft. Law was enslavement. Democracy was tyranny.
The state was death.
He felt like the girl who stepped through the looking glass. And he wanted, more than anything else, to bring Jennifer over with him.
But he just didn't know how. He wasn't a Xavier de Vitoria, blessed with the knowledge to communicate what was happening. He didn't have the words.
Thomas realized that was why he had come to the protest that day. Because he needed to find Xavier de Vitoria. So that he could teach Jennifer what he'd taught Thomas, and they'd be together on the same side of the mirror again.
