Tertiary Effects Series | Book 1 | Rockfall

by Allen, William

  I heard a murmur of voices rising over from the direction of the ransacked food aisle and Mike made a gesture that I knew well from our shared youth. Run away, run away, as we used to joke as kids after watching some Monty Python on the VHS tape. This time was no joke, and I made a quick U-turn for the salesclerks up front. Whatever was going on back there, Mike and I didn’t want any part of it.

  The cash wrap area of the store lay at a forty-five degree offset from the rest of the floorspace, restricting the flow of the customers but also making it harder for items to walk off unnoticed. I saw the four checking stations already in use had plenty of business, but luck broke my way for once and I caught a new lane opening up. I hustled to transfer my purchases to the rolling belt while Mike stood a few steps to my right. Other shoppers clattered over to join the new, shorter line.

  The lady who rang up my purchases seemed distracted, glancing back repeatedly to the middle aisles where the bottled water and food items once rested, and now a growing rumble of raised voices could be heard.

  As she worked the scanner, I studied the clerk while casting nervous glances over my shoulder. Mike wasn’t even trying to pretend, and his body position told me he was about ten seconds from drawing that concealed pistol. In an effort to calm both of them down, I tried to think of something to say. The lady looked to be in her mid-thirties, so half a decade my junior, and she still had that cute, girl-next-door look that always drew my attention. She seemed vaguely familiar, reminding me of someone I’d gone to school with, but not quite. Younger sister, I realized.

  “This is going to sound weird, but I think I know you,” I said casually as I fished some bills from my pocket. This wasn’t a huge purchase, so I went with the somewhat depleted roll of twenties I’d stuck in my right-hand pocket. I had a similar roll of hundreds in my left pocket. “Sorry I don’t remember your name, but I think I went to school with your sister.”

  “Sarah,” my brother blurted out as he studied the lady’s features.

  “I do have a sister named Sarah,” she admitted, “and my name is on my tag.” She indicated the white plastic oval with black, stamped-out letters on her smock. Kelli.

  “How is Sarah? I haven’t seen her in years,” I asked, still splitting my attention between the sales lady and the rumble of raised voices behind us. I saw one of the store employees, a weedy-looking young man in his twenties dart in that direction, with an older man, a tall, blocky gentleman in his forties, hustling to catch up. Probably a stocker and the store manager, I deduced.

  “She’s good,” Kelly responded. “Lives over in Orange. Still married to Stan, if you remember him. They’ve got two kids, and the oldest is a senior in high school.”

  I shook my head, trying to force a laugh, pretending there wasn’t a gang fight about to break out just a dozen yards away. “Yeah, I know Stan. He was a beanpole in school, but he sure made up for it after he graduated. Anyway,” I handed her some money, “When you talk to her next, tell her Bryan Hardin says hi.”

  “And Mike,” my brother chimed in. “Tell her Mike Hardin said hi, too, seeing as how she always liked me better. And now that I think about it, I know I remember you, Kelli Morgan. I think you were a freshman when I was a senior.”

  Kelli snapped her fingers, then pointed at Mike with a girlish giggle. “It’s Kelli Stacek now, and I remember you, too. Did you ever get that superglue out of your hair?”

  Mike turned an amusing shade of scarlet at Kelli’s words, and I had to stifle a laugh. I didn’t know the story, but now I had something to take my mind off our troubles, and I wouldn’t let this go until Mike spilled the details. Kelli looked down at the cash register and keyed in the cash amount, dinging the cash drawer and rapidly pulling a few bills with efficient skill. She was handing me my receipt and the change before my brother could form an answer to her hilarious question.

  “No,” Mike admitted sheepishly. “I had to cut it all off. That’s why I joined the Army. I already had the haircut for boot camp.”

  With Mike’s comment, all three of us exchanged a round of nervous laughter that was immediately doused with the deafening bark of a gunshot, followed immediately by a second.

  Mike reacted first, hitting the hard, concrete floor in a painfully-looking belly flop, and he had his small pistol out and oriented on the back of the store before he had time to give a muffled grunt from the impact. Behind us, I heard other shoppers scattering to seek temporary shelter or, like Mike, going down flat where they had been standing.

  “Get down!” I barked, and rapidly followed my own words and went down on one knee behind the end of the sales counter. Kelli, I could tell, was frozen in fear, so I reached out, grasped her wrist, and pulled her in my direction. The action caused her to jerk back instinctively, but when she saw my face, she quickly followed me around to hunker behind the plywood and metal counter.

  I didn’t hear any more shots, but terrified patrons began streaming towards the front of the store like sprinters competing in the Olympic trials. Their faces reflected varying degrees of shock, fear, and outrage, but they fought their way to the door with frantic determination. Mike crowded closer to the counter to avoid being trampled by the fleeing masses. I did notice the skinny kid I’d pegged as a stocker in the store seemed to be leading the pack, his knees lifted high like he was taking the hurdles at a sprint. No sign of the guy who’d looked like management, and I had a bad feeling.

  “Go or stay?” I looked back and asked Mike. He nodded at the first word, so I gave Kelli a light squeeze on the shoulder and caught her eye. Any other day, leaving the scene wouldn’t be a consideration, but we had no information to give the deputies when they arrived, and with the many items left on our to-do list we couldn’t afford to waste the hours.

  Catching Kelli’s eye once again, I explained what I thought was a decent plan of action.

  “I don’t know who was shooting, or if they even shot anybody back there. We’re going to move to the parking lot as soon as that crowd clears out. Mike and I will escort you out, then we’ve got places to go. You going to be okay?”

  She took a moment to process the words, and then Mike cleared his throat.

  “Bryan, I can’t go yet,” he whispered apologetically. “I thought I could just leave, but I have to go check. If there’s somebody bleeding to death back there and I just run out…”

  I felt a flash of anger and frustration at Mike’s words. We were so close to just walking out, and then Mike had to get this sudden urge to be a do-gooder. I released a sudden sigh through my teeth.

  “All right, all right. Change of plans. Kelli, after that lady in the fuchsia warmups gets out the door, I want you to book it for the parking lot. Sir Galahad needs to go check for anybody injured, and I have to back him up.”

  “Bryan, you don’t have to do that,” Mike protested, but I held up a hand.

  “If I let you get shot and I don’t have a bullet wound of my own, what do you think Marta will do?”

  That logic did the trick, and when Kelli gave me a questioning look, I just mouthed the word wife and she nodded in understanding.

  “I got my Sig in my truck,” Kelli said unexpectedly. “I get to that, I can back you boys up.”

  Gotta love them country girls, I thought to myself.

  “No, you just go ahead and get clear. But if you see any cops headed our way, please tell them Wonder Boy here has his Combat Lifesaver certification and a hero complex.”

  “What about you? Any training?”

  “Just in being a smartass, but I have to cover my brother. You know how it is,” I replied with a snort for punctuation, and Kelli gave an unexpected grin.

  “I’ll tell ‘em, but you keep an eye on your brother, and stay safe.”

  As if to punctuate Kelli’s comment, the massively-overweight matron in question hit the rubber pad of the automatic door opener with her dainty size five foot, making the door quiver in sympathy, and Kelli was off in a flash.

  “Okay, let’s
do this,” I muttered. Despite my grumbling, I wasn’t heartless. Mike knew this. Try as I might, I couldn’t take on the dispassionate approach some people in the Preparedness movement seemed to espouse. The risk of losing Mike weighed heavily on me, though. This was a risk, and an unnecessary one as far as I was concerned, but I would back Mike’s play.

  We approached middle of the store cautiously, pausing at the corner that led to the bumped-out half section of the store. Mike, pistol already drawn, gave me an encouraging nudge and I withdrew the little KelTec semi-automatic I carried in my jacket. This was the definition of a pocket pistol, but the six rounds of 9mm in the single stack magazine made it much more effective than any old derringer. I had an additional magazine for the KelTec in my jacket pocket, but if things went that far, we were likely screwed anyway.

  Working the slide, I chambered one of those rounds and clasped the weapon in a modified Weaver grip. The short butt of the pistol was actually much smaller than my big right hand, but at the range I’d found my accuracy was greatly improved if I used my left hand as a shelf for support. Plus, it helped with the vicious recoil.

  I watched Mike cautiously slice the pie as he rounded the corner, only advancing when he was sure the way was clear. We would never have the time to clear the back or side offices of the store, but neither of us wanted to stumble into a hostage situation unaware.

  Eyes moving constantly, I kept expecting a slime-covered dungeon monster to leap out and take a bite out of my face, but the store proved to be creature-free as Mike navigated the piles of overturned shopping carts and scattered packages of snack food. I stayed back and kept my head on a swivel, pistol down and sweating buckets in the air conditioning. My heart threatened to beat free from my chest and I wondered for a moment if I might be having a heart attack.

  “Looks clear, but we got two down.”

  Mike’s soft words made me jump, and I gave him a fierce glare. Then I turned and saw the pair of crumpled bodies on the concrete floor and felt my stomach turn over threateningly. One body looked familiar as I spied the man I thought of as the manager, sprawled out in what appeared to be a pool of ketchup. It wasn’t ketchup, though, and he wasn’t moving. I knew it was the dead man’s blood. I felt my stomach jolt again.

  Laying just to the side of the cooling corpse, I saw a lady laying only a few feet away, their bodies joined by the sea of red. The second victim looked just as dead as the first, but when Mike took a knee and felt for a pulse he must have found something.

  “Grab me something I can use to put pressure on the wound!” Mike barked, and I spun in a quick circle, suddenly shifting to scavenger hunt mode. My eyes moved just as rapidly as when I’d been scanning for a waiting gunman, and I realized even with this added drama, the shooter might still be within feet of us. I once again became aware of the weight of the pistol in my hand, and I made a silent vow to watch Mike’s back no matter what.

  “Keep your shirt on,” I replied testily, my voice crackling with adrenaline and emotion. I cast about, looking for something to do the job, when my eyes fell on a rumpled bundle of cloth kicked almost under one of the endcaps. I recognized the packaging for those light blue shop towels mechanics were always using. I fished out the less-than-sanitary roll, tore off the plastic wrap, and dug out one from the middle and handed it to Mike. I figured the ones on the inside would be clean, cleaner anyway, despite being punted across the store and used as a dust mop.

  Finally sparing the woman a glance, I saw Mike was trying to stem the flow of blood coming from a nasty-looking neck wound. Mike snatched the blue cloth away and instructed me to find more. Well, I had another four in my hands, though maybe not the cleanest, so I just stood there and kept my eyes moving as I tried to ignore the grisly spectacle. We’d seen no sign the shooter was still on the scene, but I didn’t want to join in that pile of bodies on the floor, and I knew Marta would skin me alive if her husband shared their fate. Minutes passed and still no sign of the killer, and Mike continued to work as he cursed under his breath.

  I didn’t know that much about anatomy, but I figured the bullet must have missed the major blood vessels or she would have bled out by now, but the sight of raw, glistening flesh exposed to the artificial light made me look away again. I continued pretending to be looking for the missing gunman, but in my heart, I knew I just wanted to keep my eyes off that horrible wound.

  By the time the cops showed up and ordered me to the floor, I was more than ready to get out of there.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Thanks to the statement by Kelli, the friendly store clerk, Mike and I were eventually cleared by the Jasper County Sheriff’s Deputies that appeared on the scene, but only after sitting on that hard, concrete floor for over two hours. I think Mike’s Good Samaritan routine probably also bought us some slack, as did our concealed carry licenses.

  Kept separate to prevent us from conferring, Mike and I recited our stories half a dozen times to different law enforcement officers as the investigation continued. I could see Mike was also talking to one of the EMTs left on site by the county, but I was too far away to hear their conversation. The lady Mike treated still looked dead when the paramedics departed with her, but judging from the IVs and apparatus attached, she was clinging to life when the ambulance left the scene.

  Finally, one of the sergeants came by, casually unfastened the handcuffs, and told me I was free to go.

  “Thank you, sir,” I replied with forced politeness. “As soon as my brother is released, my weapon is returned, and I load our purchases, we’ll be glad to be on our way.”

  Finding out we had concealed carry licenses seemed to catch the sergeant off-guard, even though I know I mentioned it at least twice when I related our actions to him earlier. He wandered off, shouting at one of the other deputies, and I stood exactly where he’d left me. I’d never practiced criminal law, but had plenty of friends who did, so I knew enough to stay still and keep my mouth shut unless there was a question pending. There are all kinds of Constitutional limits on what law enforcement could do, and they routinely violated these rules with impunity, while the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals turned a blind eye. Spots on the Court of Appeals were elected positions after all, and the last thing you wanted to do in Texas was be labeled as soft on crime.

  With my brain resetting back to baseline, I realized I probably should have asked for a lawyer as soon as the deputies placed us in custody. Clearly my higher reasoning functions had been affected by the sight of the dead man and the nearly dead woman, but this could have been a disaster. Next time Mike wanted to play hero, I’d use that KelTec to club him over the head like a baby seal and drag him out of trouble.

  After finally retrieving our pistols out of sealed evidence bags, the deputies escorted us to Mike’s SUV and stood by as we loaded our purchases, then returned the pistols, with the magazines removed of course. Mike remained silent as he keyed the ignition and slipped the Dodge into gear. He could probably sense my mood and decided not to poke the bear.

  Finally, Mike broke down.

  “So, I can tell you’re not happy with what I did back there,” my brother said, purposefully not looking in my direction as he spoke. “I just couldn’t leave and not know. Turned out okay, though, and we did save that woman’s life.”

  I took a long, cleansing breath. Mike was a good guy, clearly a better man than me, and someone who cared about others despite his tough talk. With his combat lifesaver training, I should have anticipated his reaction. He was one of those people who instinctively ran toward the sounds of gunfire.

  “Mike, good job with getting that lady to the ambulance alive,” I began. “I’m not mad, honestly, but you need to get some things straight in your head. What is the most important thing we had to do today?”

  I could see my brother’s brow furrow as he considered the question.

  “Uh, we just needed a few things on the list Marta gave you, and you already got the diesel topped off, so I’m not sure I’m following you.
”

  “The most important thing we had to do today was get home safely,” I said with a forced neutral voice. “Forget all that other stuff. Honestly, I didn’t expect things to escalate this quickly, but I underestimated our fellow citizens’ capacity to lose their minds over stupid shit.”

  “So you think we should just turtle up and stay home?” Mike challenged, his ire rising.

  “Do you realize how close we came to getting killed this morning? For what?” I demanded, my anger rising to the surface to match his own. “Hooray, you temporarily saved a stranger who is likely to die in the next week anyway. Here’s a cookie.”

  I rubbed my face, scrubbing at my hair, but I couldn’t stop the rant that sprang out in a growing crescendo. “Fuck, you don’t stick around when the cops are responding to an active shooter scenario. That’s how you get shot! And did you even stop to think about where you were? Did you stop to remember what county?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Bryan. We did the right thing,” Mike countered, anger surfacing at being second-guessed after the fact.

  “Mike, that’s not the point,” I ground out, trying to get my own anger under control. “Do you understand? You barely got away with that stunt in Jasper, where they allegedly have good law enforcement. What if we’d been at Wilson’s? You pull that kind of shit in Albany County, and you’re begging that crooked asshole we have for a sheriff to charge you with murder.”

  “Bryan, that’s not going to happen. You’re overreacting.”

  I huffed out a gust of air as I banished my frustrations and played my last trump card. “What do you think Marta is going to say?”

  “You wouldn’t,” Mike responded, hesitation in his voice for once. “Dude, that would totally violate Man Card rules. You can’t tell my wife your story in such a way as to get me in trouble. That’s the freaking Prime Directive, for God’s sake.”