by CJ Lyons
There were sixty desks: sixty operators responsible for the more than one hundred police and fire/EMS agencies scattered around Allegheny County. Sixty men and women who listened day in and day out to their neighbors’ cries for help, of panic, of fear.
Most of the visible desks were vacant. A few had bodies slumped over them.
Lucy took a step. Her shoe squished. The carpet was soaked with gasoline and blood. Haddad moved to the right as Lucy moved left, clearing the spaces between and under the desks. No obvious threats. Just silence broken by the hum of computers.
She lost count of the number of bodies she found face down over their keyboards or fallen to the floor. At the final row of desks she spotted six more bodies on the floor near the main door as if they’d tried to escape. She hurried over, checked them for life. Nothing.
“They must have doused everything with gasoline on their way out,” Haddad said. “Otherwise their weapons would have lit the fumes.”
“Why go to the bother if they have a bomb?”
He shrugged. “Maybe it’s not a very large bomb and they wanted to make sure there was a big enough fireball in here to destroy any evidence.”
“Or to tie up more of our resources as we work to identify the victims.” She glanced at the nearest body, thinking about the World Trade Center attacks and the lengthy recovery process after. Not to mention the grieving process that still hadn’t ended. How long would it take Pittsburgh to recover from tonight’s events?
To the left of the main entrance was a door to another room that stood ajar. No signs of tripwires or anything that would ignite the gasoline fumes. She pushed the door open.
Behind her, Haddad made a gasping noise and turned away. Lucy wished she could. Dozens of bodies were scattered throughout a cafeteria-style break room. The way they were clustered, the shooters must have brought them here in groups, Lucy thought as she scanned the room. The scent of blood was mixed with the scent of gunpowder and the damp scent of fear. Somehow the smell was worse than the crime scene at Raziq’s house earlier. She choked as she tried to swallow, her mouth too dry to produce any saliva.
Eight bodies slumped in one corner, out of sight of the door unless you closed it and turned to look to your extreme left. Another dozen or so beside them, facing away from the door. Some had fallen face down, some leaned against their neighbors, all on their knees. The ones closest to the door must have realized what was coming; they were turned in every direction. Maybe they'd even tried to fight back.
“Sons of bitches executed them.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud until the echo of her voice circled the room, filling the hollow silence.
Now she knew why the shooters didn’t bother blocking the stairwell door.
A groan came from somewhere in the mass of bodies nearest her.
God, was someone still alive in here? Lucy froze for a moment, not even sure where to start with the overwhelming number of bodies.
“Haddad, get in here!” She shifted the Remington to her other hand, slung the AK over her shoulder, and reached for the nearest body. A woman. No signs of life. She pushed it aside. It rolled to the floor with a sickening thud, blood smearing against the linoleum.
Blood slicked her hands, smeared her arms and body as she moved one corpse after another. Her fleece top stuck to her, glued to her skin by the Kevlar and sweat. She felt fever-slicked and flushed as she urgently worked.
“Lucy, David!” Despite Lucy’s radio being turned down, Jenna’s shout made Lucy jump. “They’re leaving. Not just leaving—running. You need to get out of there, now.”
Haddad came in behind her. “Lucy, stop. They might have booby-trapped the bodies. As concentrated as these fumes are, it’d only take a spark for this place to go up in flames.”
Who thought like that? Lucy hesitated. Leaving would be the smart option. Another moan sounded from the pile of bodies. Hell with that.
“What are you doing? Come on,” Haddad urged.
“Someone’s alive. I heard them.”
A man’s hand grabbed her ankle. Lucy gasped, then turned to push another man’s body off him. Haddad bent to help her. “Holy hell.”
The man on the bottom of the pile was one of the sheriff’s deputies. Large, muscular, at least six-four, two-fifty pounds. His face was pale, eyes closed, as he struggled to breathe. Blood stained his khaki uniform shirt in several spots, more pouring out with each gasp.
The man opened his eyes. Looked right at her. He opened his mouth as if speaking but the only sound that emerged was a low groan.
“Did you hear me?” Jenna’s voice came over the radio. “You need to get out of there!”
“We heard, we’re coming out,” Haddad told Jenna.
“Now. Hurry.”
Lucy worked her arm under the man’s shoulders and raised him to a sitting position. He gasped in agony, blood speckling his lips, eyes rolling back as he stopped breathing. She quickly lowered him once more. His eyes fluttered. His chest heaved as he began to breathe again. With each breath more blood pulsed from the wounds across his chest.
“He’s too big,” Haddad said. “We’ll never make it with him.”
“Shut up and help me.” No way in hell was Lucy leaving him here to die.
“There’s no time.” He yanked her to her feet, half dragging her away from the man. “We need to go. This whole place is going up.”
Lucy struggled free and rushed back to the man. A stream of frothy blood and a rattling noise escaped from his mouth. His eyes were vacant.
She felt for his pulse, refusing to even consider the possibility that he was dead. After everything that had happened, someone had to live, she had to save someone.
“No. No—” A tear smeared her vision until she blinked it away.
Haddad pulled Lucy to her feet once more. She felt sick to her stomach, her throat burning with bile as he hauled her out the door.
Lucy caught her breath and ran after Haddad to the stairwell, her eyes tearing. From the gasoline fumes, of course. She wasn't crying. No way. Fire Exit, the sign above the door promised. She hoped it wasn’t lying.
Haddad pushed her through the door as if he didn’t trust her not to go back to try once more to save a man now beyond saving. She ran down the stairs, Haddad so close behind he practically tripped over her heels.
They sprinted down to the exit. An alarm sounded as they pushed through the door and found themselves at the rear of the building. They raced across a service road. On the far side, four dumpsters sat behind a shoulder-high cinderblock wall.
Lucy dove behind the wall. As she landed, her ears popped and the air was squeezed from her chest as a blast shattered the night.
<><><>
Trooper 4: Incident command, this is State Police Helo, Trooper 4. We’re responding to City Unit 3435’s call for assistance. Active shooter verified. We are taking fire from a sniper under cover, could use some ground backup. What’s the ETA?
NIMS Incident Command: No units available at this time, Trooper 4. Please keep shooter engaged until civilians are clear.
Trooper 4: Copy that. We spotted the officer down. He’s twenty feet west of his vehicle. Not moving. Repeat officer down, not moving. Civilians still in area and taking fire.
NIMS Incident Command: We’re trying to clear a unit to respond, Trooper 4. Please stand by.
Trooper 4: We’re hit, we’re hit. Breaking off contact with shooter. I think we can make it down. Prepare for hard landing, map grid….
NIMS Incident Command: Trooper 4 you’re breaking up. Repeat location. Trooper 4 do you copy?
Chapter 17
Jenna steered the Tahoe down the corkscrew ramp of the parking deck. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this exhilarated, this alive. Better than sex. At least the drunken, oblivious sex she’d been having lately.
At first she’d forced herself to think of the men she shot as targets, not human beings. It was them or her. So she shot at one, then another, then another
, with a precision that would have made her grandfather beam with pride.
Each kill brought a rush of satisfaction, each miss a surge of fear.
Missing gave her opponents time to regroup and take aim at her. Soon she was drawing fire from two sides, bullets spitting shards of concrete as they ricocheted past her.
Her aim got worse as she took fire from below. Fear blurred her vision, made her hands tremble. Then she’d gotten angry. Began envisioning each target as her favorite teenaged psychopath: Morgan Ames.
Exhale, aim, squeeze. Morgan was dead. Repeat.
By the time she finished, Jenna was so juiced with adrenalin and the thrill of surviving that she was disappointed when she could find no new targets living on the streets below.
Then came Lucy’s order to help Walden. She’d scooped up her AR-15, the long gun she had the most ammo for, and ran for the Tahoe. As she turned the Tahoe around she wondered if, when she talked to Morgan again, she should thank her. Without that hatred to center and focus Jenna, she never would have lived long enough to protect the others.
Weird feeling. Like she owed Morgan anything. She didn't. Not after what that bitch had gotten away with.
Fury flooded her again. She arrived on the first floor of the garage. She burst out of the Tahoe, rifle raised and ready. The van Walden lay on top of was in the center of the floor, giving him a clear aim of both the exit and entrance. But two shooters were converging on him from the rear of the garage, moving to get a clear shot at him.
The ramp had brought Jenna out on the same side of the garage as the shooters. They turned to aim at her. Too late. She took out the nearest one with a single shot and Walden managed the second. Then she spun to evaluate the threats from the front and side of the garage. One man made the mistake of showing his head above the Suburban blocking the garage entrance. It was the last mistake he’d ever make.
There was another man beside him. She fired again but her shot went wide, pinging off the side of the SUV.
The radio Lucy had taken from the cartel shooter on the roof crackled to life. Jenna realized she and Walden were the only ones left alive in the garage.
Jenna covered the ground between her and Walden, using the parked cars and concrete pillars as cover. “Where’d everyone go?”
“Not sure,” he said, facing away from her as he covered one side of the garage. “They just took off.”
“There was something on their radio but I missed it.” She turned the volume up and listened. “They’re calling all their men out of the 911 Center.”
“They’re going to blow it. Warn Lucy.”
Jenna called in her warning. No answer. Then finally, David responded. “We’re coming out.”
“Hurry.”
“Help me down,” Walden said. Jenna climbed up the ladder to the van’s roof. Walden had propped himself up behind a luggage container but there was a pool of blood below his calf. She awkwardly helped him balance on one leg as he climbed down to the ground. He sat down, leaning against the van with a sigh. “It opened up again.”
“Hang on, let me re-wrap it.” She took the gauze from the combat medic pouch he handed her and added more layers, wrapping them tight. As soon as she finished a ribbon of red bled through.
The building shook. Jenna threw herself on top of Walden. There wasn’t a lot of noise; instead a wall of hot air hit them followed by a low boom not unlike thunder.
New car alarms screeched from all around, adding to the pain in Jenna’s ears. She looked up then quickly covered her head once more as a light fixture came loose from its mooring and crashed down on top of the car next to them.
More sounds of broken glass and the whine of metal buckling. Then everything froze, as if the building was taking in a deep breath. No, it wasn’t the building trying to breathe, it was Jenna. She blinked hard, fought to clear her ears. She felt like she was underwater, all her senses fuzzy.
She looked at Walden. Walden looked at her.
“You okay?” he asked. She could barely hear him but it was easy enough to read his lips.
“I’m fine.” She rolled off of him. “I’m going to check on Lucy and David.” Her voice echoed inside her head. Then her ears popped. The blare of the car alarms made her wish the underwater feeling would return.
Debris littered the floor of the garage: glass shards, a side view mirror knocked loose by a fallen light fixture, fist-sized chunks of concrete. Dust roiled through the open walls of the garage on the Lexington Avenue side. Jenna tucked her chin into her neck, covered her mouth and nose with her hand, and squinted her eyes.
There was a three-foot retaining wall between the garage and the service drive behind the 911 Center. Most of the dust came from the front entrance of the 911 Center on Lexington Avenue. If Lucy and David had made it out the back, they might be okay.
The walls on this side of the 911 Center were mostly intact, although the windows had all been blown out. Cinders, pieces of paper, singed plastic floated down. Flames etched the darkness, reaching through the second floor windows, greedy for oxygen.
“Lucy,” she called, picking her way over the rubble. “David!”
No answer. At least not that she could hear over the damn car alarms and the ringing in her ears. She spotted a body on the ground near an overturned dumpster. Lucy.
As Jenna ran across the broken pavement Lucy groaned and rolled over. Her nose was bleeding, her chin scraped. She sat up, a bit unsteady, brushed debris and garbage from her body. They were lucky the concrete enclosure for the dumpsters was there, it had shielded them from most of the blast.
Lucy slowly climbed to her feet and seemed otherwise okay. Behind her was David. He sat on the ground, hands cupping his ears, gaze unfocused. Given how close they were to the blast origin, they probably both had lost their hearing momentarily.
Lucy staggered around in a circle then focused on Jenna as if just noticing her. “Walden?” Her voice was too loud, shouting. She began coughing before she could ask anything more.
“He’s okay. Leg’s bleeding and I can’t get it to stop. We need to take him to a hospital. You guys should get checked out, too.”
David grabbed hold of the dumpster and pulled himself up. “We need to find Rashid. I should have never let you compromise my mission.”
He was yelling at Lucy. Jenna doubted if he even knew how loud he was. Lucy lurched towards him, her balance still off. “One man or sixty civilians? Do the math!”
“Fat lot of good we did them. They’re all dead.”
“What else was I supposed to do?” She spun on her heel, teetering, then spun back. “And what the hell is wrong with you? You’re the only one with military experience. All your FAST missions in Afghanistan. All that intel Raziq has been feeding you. Why didn’t you or he or the damn DEA know about the cartel and its plans?”
“He did the best he could. The man’s lost his entire family—”
“For all we know the man may have killed his entire family!”
David stared at her, his face flushed. He stumbled toward her, one hand tightened in a fist although he didn’t raise it. “Bullshit! He saved my life. He just lost everything. That man—” He sputtered to a stop, at a lost for words. “That man is my friend. He loves his family. You think he, what, sold them out to the cartel for money? You think he let his daughters be butchered so he could make a few bucks? You are one heartless bitch!”
Jenna stepped between them. “We need to get Walden to a hospital. I think the Tahoe is drivable, just a few dents. Let’s go.”
David climbed over the rubble and headed toward the Tahoe. Lucy watched him, a scowl on her face, both hands on her hips. “Idiot.”
“You should cut him a break,” Jenna told her. “There’s a good reason he let you take the lead tonight.”
“What?” Lucy clapped one hand to her ear, eyes wide. Jenna wondered if it was because her ears had just popped or if it was because Lucy just realized just how far she’d fucked things up tonight. Jenna tried
not to gloat, but she couldn’t ignore a twinge of satisfaction at seeing Saint Lucy reduced to human fallibility.
“Did he tell you about Afghanistan?”
“Don’t shout, I can hear you. Yeah, Raziq pulled him out of a burning building, saved his life, whatever.”
“David suffered a traumatic brain injury. It was months before they let him return to work. Raziq may have saved his life but he couldn’t save the Marines who were with him. Don’t you think you’d think twice about leading people into danger if the last time you did you got seven of your friends and a bunch of innocent girls killed?”
Lucy stopped. Stared at Jenna as she wiped the snot and dust and blood from her face with the back of her sleeve—about the only part of her parka that wasn’t coated in blood. Jenna hated to think of what they’d found inside the 911 Center, but however bad it was, Lucy didn’t have the right to play the holier than thou card with David. Not that that would ever stop St Lucy the Judgmental.
Lucy sniffed. Started walking again but this time more coordinated. They climbed over the retaining wall into the garage and caught up with David and Walden. Most of the car alarms on the ground floor had died. It was weird, Jenna almost missed them wailing in time with her pulse. But at least she could finally hear herself think.
“Now what?” Walden asked as David helped him to his feet.
Lucy was silent. She probed her scalp beneath her thick, dark hair, her fingers coming away with blood that she wiped on her vest before anyone but Jenna could see.
“Now we go after Rashid,” David said. “Like we should have from the start.”
“Where?” Walden asked.
“I say we get to a hospital,” Jenna said. For like the third time. Why was it no one would listen to her?
Lucy paced, her gaze darting from dead body to dead body. “What do we know about the Rippers?” she asked, gesturing to the last man Jenna had killed and his gang colors. “Why are they working with the cartel?”
“Partner with the Zapatas and they’ll drive out any competition,” David supplied. “You’d be the last man standing.”
