Tempest

by Kenny Soward

  “You, too.” Marcy smiled wide. “I guess we’re partners now, huh?”

  “Uh, sure,” Jake said. “We better get back downstairs and tell everyone what’s up. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

  Chapter 4

  Sara, Gatlinburg, Tennessee | 5:20 a.m., Saturday

  Sara repeatedly glanced in her rearview mirror as Zoe continued to wail in the back seat. She wanted to turn and comfort her daughter, but their escape from the fake cop would mean nothing if she ran the van off the side of the road and put them in a ditch.

  Todd leaned between the seats with his finger in his ear and a frightened expression on his face.

  “What just happened, Mom?”

  “I’m not sure.” Sara tried to keep her voice calm, hating that it still quivered with elevated emotion. “I think it was someone impersonating a cop. Can you hear okay?”

  “My ears are ringing,” Todd said with a nod, “but I can hear.”

  “Good.” Maybe the open windows had allowed some of the sonic energy to escape, so the gunshots so close inside the van probably hadn’t done irreversible damage. “Now can you please calm your sister down while I drive?”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  “Hey, sis,” Todd said, smiling as he gently touched her shoulder. “You okay? That was scary, huh? Do your ears hurt?”

  “Yeah.” Zoe stopped crying and focused on her brother.

  “You can still hear, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Well, I need you to do me a favor, okay? Rex looks scared, and I think you’re the only one who can make him feel better.”

  “Yeah?” Zoe’s question was innocent and enthusiastic, and it broke Sara’s heart with pride how her daughter could forget her own pain if someone—or some dog—needed comfort.

  “That’s right,” Todd continued. “Rex listens to you best, so I need you to grab Rex real tight and tell him it’s okay. I’m serious, Zo. You’re the only one who can help him.”

  “Okay,” Zoe said, and Sara glanced back to see her daughter wrap her arms around the shepherd’s neck and put her face to his, whispering, “It’s okay, Rexie boy. It’s okay.”

  “Oh, gosh,” Sara said, wiping tears off her cheeks. “That’s pretty cute.”

  “Okay, Mom.” Todd squeezed between the seats and plopped down in the passenger seat, keeping his voice low. “You just, um, shot someone.”

  “Yes, I did. I really did.”

  “And I would have done the same thing. He was strangling—”

  “We need to report this to the police.”

  “That was the police.”

  “No.” Sara shook her head vigorously. “That was a fake. Someone stole an officer’s uniform or something.” It was more than that, judging by what was going on back at the gas station, but Sara didn’t want to alarm her son any more than she needed to.

  “Like on TV?”

  “Yeah, just like TV.” Sara thought hard as they rolled into Maryville proper. “Can you look up directions to the police station?

  “Sure, Mom.” Todd’s voice was surprisingly calm for a young man who’d just witnessed someone get shot and possibly killed. He lifted his phone and went to work. “Just stay on 441 for another quarter mile.” Then, twenty seconds later, he said, “Now, turn right, here.”

  Sara followed his directions like a zombie, turning the wheel with numb hands and a gun in her lap. They pulled into the parking lot of the Maryville City Building, a long, modern-looking building made of light brown brick.

  “The police station is inside,” Todd said, pulling on the driver’s side door handle.

  “No,” Sara commanded. “You stay here with Rex and your sister. I’m going in.” Sara checked the safety on her gun and then put it back in the biometric compartment bolted to the central console. She didn’t have to worry about Todd messing with it, because he was trained to use guns, but Zoe wasn’t old enough to have access to weapons. She’d been taught to shoot a small .22 caliber pistol on the range only under the strictest of supervision.

  Gun locked away, Sara climbed out of the van and stood straight, smoothing her flannel shirt down. Her hand passed through something wet. She raised her fingers, eyes widening at the blood on her fingertips. It wasn’t a lot, just some spots mixed in with the red and black squares of her shirt. No one would notice unless they looked hard.

  I hit him, she thought with a mixture of wonder and horror. I really hit him.

  She wiped her fingers off and walked to the front doors of the city building on unsteady legs. The doors were locked, but a sign on the wall instructed her to press a button to speak to the front desk.

  Sara pressed the button and held it down until it buzzed for a few seconds, then she lifted her finger. A moment later, a woman’s voice came through the speaker all tinny and loud.

  “Maryville police department,” the woman said. “How can I help you?”

  “I’d like to report an incident.”

  “What kind of incident?”

  “Well…” Sara hesitated, unsure of how to put it. “It might be better if I come inside and tell you, face to face. Please.”

  There was another short pause before the woman replied. “I’ll buzz you in.”

  “Thank you,” Sara said, and when the doors clicked loudly to indicate they were unlocked, she pushed through them and went inside.

  “Thank you so much,” Sara called out as she approached the big blue sign that read Maryville Police. Beneath it was a kiosk made of thick, bulletproof glass. A woman Sara guessed to be a few years older than she waited on the other side with a pensive expression. Her name tag read G. Riley.

  Officer Riley gave Sara a once-over with her eyes before she leaned down to a mesh voice port and spoke. “You’re welcome. Now, you say there was an incident?”

  “Yes.” Sara acknowledged. “A pretty serious one.”

  “Go on.”

  Sara hesitated to get right into the shooting part, so she started at the beginning. “I was driving the van up from Alabama with my son and daughter, and we—”

  “On your way to?”

  “Gatlinburg.” Sara backed up on the story timeline. “We were headed up to the mountains for a vacation. We’ve got a cabin there. The kids really—”

  “You were driving through Maryville on your way to Gatlinburg,” Riley said, pointedly, drawing out the words. “Then what happened?”

  “The strangest thing. We drove past Exxon out on 441, and there were several police cruisers in the lot.”

  “How many?”

  “Maybe five or six.”

  “So that’s where they got off to,” the woman mumbled with a worried expression.

  “Excuse me?

  “Did you see any of the officers? Did you engage anyone?”

  “The cruisers were all parked in the lot with their doors thrown open,” Sara said, still hesitant to reveal that she’d fired her weapon at an officer, fake or not. “There was a stain on the glass doors and—”

  “Did you engage with any of the officers?” Officer Riley repeated the question, her voice tensing a notch or two. “Did you see anyone?”

  “One of the officers followed us down 441.” Sara’s stomach twisted, and her head began to throb. “He pulled us over. Big guy. Huge. Like a bodybuilder almost. Something wasn’t right about him. His uniform was off. He had a strange accent. Russian, or something. Does that description match any of your officers?”

  “The biggest guy we have is Tim Stapleton,” Riley said with a shake of her head. “But he’s only big because he eats three donuts every morning. Probably never lifted a weight in his whole life. And he’s got a good old Tennessee twang, too.”

  “That wasn’t the guy who pulled us over,” Sara said with a shake of her head.

  Officer Riley looked frustrated, and she punctuated it with a sigh.

  “What’s going on, Officer?”

  “I’m not sure,” Riley replied, then she lifted her eyes to Sara with
a look that grew more unsure as she spoke. “I’m already short-staffed, mind you. Half my squad went off to help with the rescue efforts in Boston.”

  “What’s going on in Boston?” Sara asked.

  “Three big twisters knocked out most of the city,” Officer Riley said. “They’re saying catastrophic damage. But it’s not just Boston. Big storms hit all up the East Coast. Power is out, and a few towns have been buried. That’s where my people went, to join the rescue efforts.”

  “Oh,” Sara said softly, “I had no idea. We were packing most of the day yesterday, and I’ve been driving all night. I didn’t have a chance to check my phone.”

  “Where were you coming in from, originally?”

  “Mobile, Alabama. Got off the expressway at Athens and took 441 to Maryville.”

  “You can lose track of time on those long trips,” Riley confirmed. “Well, aside from that mess out east, two of my officers didn’t check in an hour ago, right about the time the 911 calls started coming in.”

  "911 calls?”

  “That’s right,” Riley said. “There was a shooting at the fire department, and someone tried to break into the water refinement plant. We dispatched the last of my on-duty officers.” Officer Riley’s voice grew quiet, and her brow creased with concern. “Now those officers aren’t responding.”

  “What are you going to do?” Sara asked, trying not to think of Boston.

  “I called up to Knoxville for help,” Officer Riley said. “They’re short-staffed, too, because of the storms, but they agreed to send three officers down.”

  “That’s good.” Sara should have felt relieved. She wasn’t. “I probably didn’t shoot an actual cop then.”

  “You shot someone?” Riley stiffened slightly, eyes narrowing as her hand went to her gun, stopping just short of pulling it.

  “Yes, the one who pulled me over.” Sara’s next words came out rushed and tumbling. “I didn’t want to. Like I said, he looked strange. He asked me for my papers instead of my license and registration, and that’s when the alarms went off in my head. I reached for the documents out of my glove compartment, and that’s when he hit me. Hard, too.” Sara scoffed darkly as she rubbed the side of her face. “I mean, I saw stars for a few seconds. Next thing I knew, his hand was around my throat.”

  “Do you have your gun on you right now? How did you shoot him if you were being strangled?” Riley looked anxious, and her hand remained on her weapon.

  “I have a biometric gun safe along the center console of my van. I hit the release switch and pulled my Beretta on him, and I put it back when it was over.”

  “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to step up and put your hands on the glass.” Riley kept one hand on her gun while pointing to the bulletproof glass.

  “You don’t believe me?” Sara asked, incredulously. “Are you arresting me for defending myself?”

  “You just admitted to shooting someone,” Riley said. “I’m not arresting you, although I’ll need to detain you while we figure out what—”

  Gunshots reported from somewhere in the back of the station. Officer Riley spun and put her hand on her sidearm. She took two steps toward the door of the back office then stopped when more gunfire sounded. These weren’t just single rounds popping off. Rather, it was clusters of three to five rounds at a time.

  “That’s an automatic weapon,” Sara hissed into the voice port. She didn’t own a fully automatic weapon herself, but she knew what one sounded like. No one could mistake that ripping sound for anything else.

  Riley turned to Sara with an expression of intense fear coupled with resolute determination, then she drew her firearm. “Get out of here. Now.”

  “How are you going to fight someone with—”

  “Get back in your van and go.” Riley growled the words. “Get your kids to safety.”

  At the mention of her children, Sara knew it would be foolish to linger. The police had lost control of their cruisers and didn’t know where their officers were. Now, it appeared this police station was under attack. Riley could buy time for Sara to escape with the kids.

  “Thank you.” Sara touched the glass, giving Riley a reassuring and appreciative smile.

  Officer Riley nodded, opened the back-office door, and snuck through. Sara turned and hurried toward the exit doors without looking back. Just as she pushed through, three single shots sounded, answered by more automatic fire.

  Sara sprinted to the van with tears in her eyes, happy to see no one had bothered it or the kids. The attack must have been solely focused on the rear of the police station. Sara threw open the van door, leapt into the seat, and started the vehicle before tearing out of the parking lot. She banked right onto 441, speaking only when they got a few miles down the road and left Maryville behind.

  “Mom, what happened in there? Where are we going?” Todd pressed her. “Please, at least tell us that.”

  “We’re heading for the hills, kids. We’re going to the cabin, where it’s safe.”

  Chapter 5

  Jake, Boston, Massachusetts | 7:10 a.m., Saturday

  Jake and Marcy returned to the conference room to find Ashley tirelessly attending to the survivors of the storm along with another staff member Jake had seen around. When she spotted Jake and Marcy standing by the door, Ashley put down what she was doing and rushed over, bringing her teammate with her.

  “This is Sam,” Ashley said, indicating the husky teenager at her side.

  “Hey, Sam,” Jake said.

  “Hi,” Sam replied.

  “He’s the one who bandaged my head,” Marcy said, touching her fingertips to the bandage.

  “You did a great job,” Jake said, and he meant it. He’d had some basic first aid training, and the dressing was tight and clean whether Sam had intended to it that way or not.

  “Thanks,” Sam said with a slight blush despite the exhaustion in his eyes.

  “What’d you find out?” Ashley asked.

  “It’s bad out there,” Jake said.

  “Oh, no.” The young woman’s expression turned crestfallen, and her eyes darted back and forth between Jake and Marcy as if expecting better news. “I was hoping you’d bring the cavalry or something.”

  “Yeah, sorry,” Marcy said, then her eyebrows lifted positively. “But don’t worry. We’re going to go find help.”

  “It’ll be better if two of us go out together,” Jake explained. “In case we run into trouble.”

  “Makes sense. Where will you go?”

  “From the looks of the damage, the safest route will be southwest, farther inland. We’ll try to find help and bring them right back here.”

  “Can’t we all come with you?” Ashley asked, looking hopeful. “A couple people can’t walk, but we could make stretchers.”

  “You don’t understand,” Jake said, fixing Ashley with the grimmest expression he could muster. “It’s really bad out there. Cars strewn along the sidewalks. Dangerous debris everywhere. It took me fifteen or twenty minutes just to circle the building once. Dragging fifty people along with us would be impossible.”

  “That bad, huh?” Ashley looked even more crestfallen.

  “I’m afraid so,” Jake said. “And there’s flooding, too. And we’ll probably be hit with another arm of the hurricane before too long. I’d get folks upstairs. At least the injured ones who can’t move fast. Then take the rest of the food from the kitchen and move half of it upstairs, too. That way you have some redundancy in your supply locations.”

  “Sam and I will get right on it,” Ashley said.

  “Great,” Jake said before he fixed the two with a stern look. “And keep an eye on that jerk. Don’t let him order anyone around. He might be some fancy guy in the normal world, but normal just went sideways. Got that?”

  “We’ll keep an eye on him,” Sam assured Jake with a smile.

  “Good,” Jake said, liking the young man instantly.

  “I asked around, and a few of the folks really want to help,” Ashl
ey said. “One of them was an EMT, and she’s been checking everyone for bumps and bruises. And another man, Roger, he’s going to take some people and check the first floor, gathering bedding and complimentary snacks from all the rooms.”

  “Perfect,” Jake said. “That should last a little while. Where’s the kitchen? We’re going to load up before we head out.”

  “It’s down the hall from the front desk, behind the restaurant. Should be plenty of stuff left. You think you’ll need it?”

  “Hard to tell,” Jake said. “Just try to keep the ship tight, Ashley.”

  “We will.”

  Following Ashley’s directions, Jake and Marcy found the hall that stretched away from the lobby and followed it until they saw the sign for the restaurant. They stepped inside and had a look around. The emergency lights were fine to see by, if a little eerie with their blood-red color. There was no storm damage from the wind, but water dripped from the ceiling like it did everywhere else.

  Jake saw the busted-up vending machines Ashley had mentioned, and they went over and checked them out. The fronts had been smashed in and the contents exposed. The staff wouldn’t normally have done something like this, but it was more than understandable under the circumstances. There were plenty of candy bars, nuts, and bottled water left, too.

  “Let’s get what we can out of these and take it to the kitchen,” Jake said.

  “Okay,” Marcy replied before she started rooting around inside the machines.

  After gathering armfuls of stuff, Jake and Marcy went behind the counter and into the kitchen where they placed the vending stuff on a prep counter. Jake straightened and had a look around. The shelves were full of restaurant stock items like extra-large cans of tomato sauce, bags of flour, and spices.

  “There’s got to be something worth taking,” Jake mumbled.

  “Yeah, something that isn’t industrial-sized.”

  “There.” Jake spotted a cooler full of juices, wines, and other cooking mixtures. He went over and opened the door—it was still chilled inside—and removed a twelve-ounce orange juice. Popping the top, he drained the entire thing.