Hawke's Prey

by Reavis Z. Wortham

The bad guy hadn’t taken but two steps inside when he saw the body I’d speared. You could see him process the information at the same time he caught sight of us standing around like a bunch of idiots. I’ll give it to him, the man was quick when he recognized what had hit the fan, but he wasn’t as fast as the Korean War veteran standing a few feet away.

  The guy shouted something unintelligible and pivoted at the same time Mr. Beck brought his unfamiliar pistol up with fluid ease. Aiming with one hand like he was at a pistol range, he shot the guy square in the chest two quick times.

  The terrorist collapsed in a heap at the same time the other guy outside the courtroom doors threw himself backward and disappeared from sight. The barrage that followed filled my ears with cotton. The weapons I’d distributed to everyone chewed the doors and frame to bits, and accomplished nothing but a lot of noise.

  “That’s enough!” I didn’t need to be quiet anymore, and I was afraid they were going to empty their magazines. “Enough!” I waved my arm to catch their attention.

  The gunfire ended with the rattle of expended brass clinking at our feet. The first guy moved an arm and Mr. Beck anchored him with another bullet to the head.

  “Cover! Now!” The unarmed children and adults screamed and scattered to hide.

  Maribelle shouted from behind the judge’s bench. “Beck Terrill! You shot that man in the head and he was already down!”

  The pistol still extended in one hand, Mr. Beck covered the door with his shoulder pressed against the inside wall. “I sure as hell did. I didn’t want the sonofabitch to get up.”

  I wasn’t much in the mood to hide and bring gunfire on the hostages. We were in no position for a firefight. “Stay here, Mr. Beck. You’re in charge.”

  Without taking his attention off the door, he kept the muzzle of his Glock aimed at the opening. “Yessir, but I need to ask you something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Can I trade you this plastic gun for that .45 you’re a-carryin’? I’m more used to it, and I know I can hit with a Colt from a distance. This toy, I ain’t so sure.”

  “You didn’t miss much a minute ago.”

  “He was close.” His eyes flicked to the Sweetheart grips. “I knew your grandmamma. I’ll take care of her.”

  It felt a little weird to think about giving up my familiar sidearm, but his accuracy would improve the chances for everyone in the room while I was gone. We traded guns and I handed the Glock to Colleen Brooks, secretary to the game warden. Her boss was lucky enough to be somewhere else.

  “Can you shoot?”

  Eyes wide with fear, she nodded. “It’s been a while, but yeah.”

  “Good.” I unsnapped the two spare magazines from the other side of my gun belt and gave them to Mr. Beck. “Hope you don’t need these.”

  He glanced at the clear left grip to check the rounds stacked there. “Me too.”

  “Here I go.” Weapon ready, I swallowed a knot of fear and eased through the door, expecting to find our acrobatic terrorist waiting in the hallway that proved to be empty.

  Chapter 74

  Snow flew against Arturo’s bare midriff, prickling like needles against his skin.

  He reached up and grabbed the doubled extension cord, trying to free himself, but the tangled machine pistol’s strap held him as secure as an animal in a snare. The loop tightened even more, but one hand caught the last knot.

  They say adrenaline performs miracles when frightened people enact superhuman feats of strength. Grunting and scraping against the wall with every gust of wind, the youngster used that burst of hysterical strength to pull himself upward, hand over hand, gaining enough slack to wriggle his trapped leg free.

  He didn’t have time to yell before falling the final ten feet, arms pinwheeling. The deep snowdrift that looked as soft and comforting as a stack of mattresses did little to break his fall. Arturo dropped through the fluff and his head slammed into the frozen ground.

  One second later, the MP5 pulled free of the extension cord and fell, striking him in the stomach with the force of a solid punch. He thrashed in the drift, desperate for air as his brain demanded that the nerves in his diaphragm release. Rolling over in an effort to find relief, he thought he was going to pass out. Sparkles flashed in front of his eyes.

  To make matters worse, ice crystals filled his throat when he inhaled, making him cough like he had the croup. After what seemed like an eternity, they melted and he laid still, drawing great whoops of air.

  The snow was like razor blades against his bare skin. Collecting himself, he pulled the shirt and coat down, and raised his aching head to peer across the white lawn.

  A yellow glow muted by the falling snow signaled a large fire behind the houses on the west side of the courthouse. It almost seemed normal in light of what had happened so far.

  Expecting to get shot to pieces, Arturo gained his feet and loped across the barren west lawn toward a snow-covered truck and horse trailer parked across the street. The run warmed him, and he was feeling loose by the time he reached the end of the trailer and spun around to put it between him and the courthouse.

  The building was as serene as a monastery. There were no shouts. No gunfire.

  He was free and out of danger.

  Grinning wide enough to split his head, Arturo jogged down the street, heading toward the sheriff’s office.

  Chapter 75

  I hadn’t taken three steps out the door before the bad guys poured enough firepower up the open staircase and rotunda to shred everything in sight. Maybe they thought I was with a team of commandos or wanted to make sure no one was coming down after them.

  The military calls it suppressive fire, and it suppressed the hell out of me. I dropped to the floor while rounds buzzed overhead, splintering the paneling and punching holes in the windows. They were yelling at one another and shooting into the shadows, but some of that lead came pretty damned close. I knew they were getting ready to come charging up pretty soon.

  I ignored the screaming from the courtroom off to my right and waited for a lull. When it came, I squinted through the red dot sight on the MP5 and poured return fire down below to keep everyone where they were.

  The little machine pistol ripped off thirty rounds in a hurry. I slapped in a fresh magazine and caught a glimpse of someone coming up the southern stairs. I cut loose again with the little automatic, and he dropped to roll back to the bottom.

  The shooting stopped like someone threw a switch, and we were back to rattling generators and the wind moaning under the eaves. I wondered how long the battery was going to last on the H&K’s red dot. There were no iron sights, and if the battery gave up the ghost, I could do nothing but point and shoot.

  Chapter 76

  DeVaca ducked when gunfire erupted one floor above. “What was that?”

  Dorothy’s tinny voice spoke in his ear. “It wasn’t me. Hold please.”

  Another crack appeared in DeVaca’s demeanor at the trite response. Hold please. He hadn’t asked her to find a goddamn phone number. He waved two fingers toward the staircase. “Cover fire, now!”

  Enrique Rivas hesitated. “We have people up—”

  “Now, I said!”

  The rotunda vibrated with the thunder of gunfire. DeVaca swiveled in place and pointed to the opposite set of stairs. “Move!” Morales charged in that direction.

  DeVaca knelt and shouted into the hole. “How much longer?”

  The voice was dim over the thundering gunfire. “We might be able to make it.”

  “Prisa!” A second burst of fire came from above. A round whanged off metal, skipping through the hallway and burying itself into a wall inches from DeVaca.

  Alfonso Morales made it halfway up before return fire brought him down. The MP5’s butt to his shoulder and aimed upward, Kahn backed toward DeVaca, searching the darkness above and ignoring the body rolling back to the bottom. “Who is up there with automatic weapons?”

  From his demeanor, DeVaca appeared as c
alm as if he were standing in a cocktail party. “Go find out for yourself.”

  Kahn refused. “That’s why we have others.”

  With grudging admiration for his willingness to sacrifice his men, DeVaca hit the comm button. “Dorothy, if we’re being breached, tell me now.”

  Dorothy’s panting voice crackled in his ear. “Can’t tell yet, but those idiotas down there almost shot me.”

  Silence confirmed his suspicions. “All right. Can you see anything?”

  “Not sure yet. I think Fuentes is down. Torres is somewhere on the floor with me, I think. Hold your fire.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Third floor. They must have infiltrated a team and gained control of the second floor.”

  DeVaca bit his lip, wondering if someone they’d missed had gotten his hands on a weapon. But it might be SWAT or a Special Forces team who somehow found a way into the building. He’d been expecting something like that, but the maneuver had been delayed by the weather. It didn’t matter.

  “Fine. Force them down.” He backed farther from the open area above. “Kahn, have your men hold this floor as long as possible.”

  “Allah’s will be done.”

  “Whatever.”

  Someone below saw movement above and opened fire again, followed by long, continuous volley.

  Chapter 77

  Dorothy listened to the infiltrators’ return fire coming from below her feet. Staying in the shadows, she angled for a clear shot, working around the rotunda the way Sonny had done earlier, hoping to gain a clear line of sight toward the shooter on the floor below.

  A triple tap answered from the shadows. Bullets destroyed the rails and pecan panels on the walls. She stayed well back from the danger zone. Instead of finding SWAT or Special Forces, she was stunned to see what appeared to be one of her own people shooting toward the first floor from a prone position. She crouched and crept closer, knowing his attention was directed downward.

  The lower half of his face was wrapped in a shemagh, and he wore a familiar combat vest. She wondered if one of her own people had snapped, or worse, was an undercover agent. It didn’t matter. She had the angle.

  Dorothy pushed her transmit button. “Stop shooting. I see him.”

  The shooting trickled off. She moved out of the shadows, dropped to one knee, and leaned on the railing to steady the shot. She acquired the red dot through her CompM2 sight, and used the splintered rail as a bench rest.

  In an effort to steady the dancing red dot, she adjusted her position and put more pressure on the spindles. The damaged 130-year-old pecan wood cracked and gave just enough to jar her aim.

  She knew she’d failed when the man’s head jerked toward the dot that skittered across the floor. He rolled and sent a wild stream of 9mm rounds in her direction. Dorothy recoiled and twisted away to throw herself back so the shooter couldn’t see her.

  Those below opened up again. The last thing she saw was the railing and spindles shattering into splinters, but four well-placed .45 rounds closed her blue eyes forever.

  Chapter 78

  I couldn’t believe how much firepower they poured in my direction. I returned the favor just enough to keep those people scrambling for cover.

  Motion on the other side of the rotunda caught my attention when another guy charged up the opposite staircase. I sent three rounds in his direction to discourage that kind of thinking, and he went down. I moved my elbow to find a new position and the firing fell off.

  That’s when a bright red dot jumped into view and skittered along the floor like something a cat’d chase. I knew the dot had been on some part of my body a second before, and it came from above.

  It had to have been the gymnast who’d gotten away. I rolled, holding the trigger down to send as many rounds as possible toward where I thought he would be, in the hope that he’d duck back long enough for me to scramble away.

  A roar of automatic weapons filled the air again. I was impressed at how fast he’d scurried up to the next floor, but I guess that somebody throwing lead at you can spark a little extra effort when you’re running the stairs. The Old Man called it “running a dog up on the porch.” A yard dog might run, but when he gets somewhere that he can watch his back, he’ll turn and fight.

  I was doing the same thing, so I understood the guy’s motives.

  I think he and I were both surprised when I held the trigger down and blew up the railing around him. Empty hulls danced on the hardwood floor and my weapon ran dry. I was fumbling to change magazines when four heavy shots came from my right.

  I rolled again, fearing another terrorist was behind me, but Mr. Beck Terrill was far more accurate with the handgun than I was with an automatic weapon.

  The terrorist didn’t see the elderly man standing just outside the courtroom, shooting the way he was taught many years ago. Mr. Beck squeezed the trigger of my. 45 slow and steady, as if he were on the range. The terrorist collapsed and came to rest against the railing that bowed outward from his weight. I saw the head covering slip free, revealing a mass of black hair.

  Mr. Beck quit firing at the same time as a woman’s slim hand fell between the spindles.

  Chapter 79

  Arturo jogged through the heavy, blowing snow for a dozen yards before angling off the sidewalk and across the street toward the sheriff’s office. The icy wind jabbed his lungs like an icepick and he pulled Sonny’s coat tighter around his neck. Halfway there he saw the empty building was shot to pieces, the door standing wide open.

  Half a second later, bullets whizzed and snapped past Arturo’s head. With a yelp, the youngster threw himself onto the ground, sliding under the snow, and crawled like a turtle swimming underwater.

  The pounding machine-gun fire coming from the courthouse plucked at the thick blanket with deadly fingers, but visibility was so bad the terrorists did nothing more than spray lead. Gasping from the icy crystals that again tortured his lungs, Arturo scuttled like a crab toward the abandoned sheriff’s office.

  He hoped they wouldn’t see him move, but after trying to crawl even farther in the fluff, he gave it up when he couldn’t breathe. Desperate, he rolled, pointed the machine pistol at the courthouse, and squeezed off a burst.

  The automatic weapon’s report was deafening, and the recoil scared him to death. The muzzle rose, stitching the building at an acute angle. He knew he’d made a serious mistake when the terrorists opened up again, this time closer than before. He wished he had time to say a rosary, because he was sure he was going to die. The terrified boy was ready to make a break for it when a weapon opened up overhead, firing fast and steady.

  A second rifle joined in and Arturo screamed at the concussions that felt like slaps against his head and ears. Instead of feeling the impact of bullets, more sonic hammers from still another gun made his ears ache. Shocked into immobility, Arturo screamed again when a hand plunged through the snow, grabbed him by the collar, and jerked him upright.

  “C’mon kid. Run!”

  An automatic weapon overhead hammered hard and steady as the stranger in insulated Carhartt overalls slung Arturo toward the sheriff’s office. His feet lifted off the ground as he flew through the door. He crunched across shattered glass, scrambling through the dark, frigid building with a man yelling in his damaged ear.

  “Move move move!”

  Bullets saturated the area, shattering everything they touched. Covered in snow, stunned, and disoriented, the boy passed a uniformed deputy pouring fire into the north entrance of the courthouse, and he wondered if everyone in the world had machine guns.

  “Go, go!” The deputy shifted his aim and fired again. “You boys get him out of here!”

  A man who looked like a carbon copy of the first popped up out of nowhere and grabbed a handful of coat. “I got him, Luke. Haul ass!”

  The Mayo brothers hit the back door running with the boy between them. The deputy caught up just as they lifted him off the ground, and they all ran like bastards.

&
nbsp; Chapter 80

  Sonny’s text came through.

  Hostages in second floor courtroom.

  Ethan pounded the table with a fist in satisfaction. “Hot-damn! Sonny found ‘em and they’re in the second-floor courtroom.”

  The brief moment of elation disappeared when automatic gunfire punctuated the howling wind. The shooting stopped, started, and stopped again. The lobby went silent. The stunned crowd waited, some making eye contact with others, hoping to find an answer that eluded them.

  More guns opened up with a different report, popping and crackling a block away in a long, sustained volley that rose in intensity. Ethan watched the crowd in the lobby stiffen then undulate in indecision.

  He addressed the men and women in the CP. “All right. We’ve outlined this mess the best we can and if y’all do what you’re supposed to do, we might be able to get everyone out. It’s time to go to work.”

  Low murmurs rose, and those Ethan had deputized started for the street. Seconds later, even more sustained gunfire rose over the storm. Ethan saw his response plan dissolve as those in the lobby who hadn’t been selected for the ad hoc SWAT team reacted to the increasing gunfire.

  “Oh, hell.”

  The crowd moved as one, and had it not been so terrifying, Sheriff Ethan Armstrong would have thought it wonderful. The instinctual response of the armed men and women fearing for the safety of their families would have swelled the heart of any military commander or Texas pioneer.

  With a head full of doubt and chest aching with fear, Ethan followed the stream of people flowing through the doors. They hit South Charles Street, leaving trails in the deep snow that led straight to the Ballard courthouse.

  Some might have called them vigilantes, but Ethan saw citizens protecting their town and their families, as Texans have done since Stephen F. Austin placed his settlers between the Comanches and Mexico City way back in 1821.