by Jim Heskett
Museum Attack
A Layne Parrish Novella
Jim Heskett
1
Layne Parrish glanced at Jasmine’s hand as they crossed 13th street, moving toward the complex of buildings constituting the Denver Art Museum. Her hand hung by her side, limply, gliding as they walked. A small collection of gold bracelets on her wrist clinked as she moved.
He told himself to slide his palm down her wrist and lace his fingers inside of hers. Then, he told himself not to do it. They’d only met in real life a half hour ago, and even though he’d felt that tingle of chemistry, maybe hand-holding was too brash. Too forward. He wasn’t hip to the hand-holding etiquette of modern times. Since his daughter had been born, he wasn’t much for dating at all.
He felt like a silly teenager again, even though he was twice as old as one.
“Layne? You with me?”
His eyes flicked up, toward her face. “Sorry, what?”
“I asked about which exhibit we’re going to see. You know what it is, right? Or are we going in blind?”
“Song of Ice and Fire. You know, Game of Thrones?”
“Huh?”
“Concept art for Game of Thrones set design. Mostly from the TV show, but some concept art based on the novels, too.”
She raised an eyebrow and pushed a chunk of clean and tidy dreadlocks out of her face. Tucked it behind her ear. “You a big Game of Thrones fan?”
The eyebrow raise concerned him a bit. They hadn’t previously discussed the art exhibit. He stopped himself from mentioning that he could name most of the characters in the books, which numbered in the thousands. She didn’t need to know those particular details.
“I mean, sure,” he said, shrugging, “who’s not a Game of Thrones fan?”
She hesitated a moment and then said, “you’re cute.” She offered him a smile, and he couldn’t tell if it was meant to be placating. He would have preferred cultured, or even settled for sexy. But cute would have to do.
He still figured he had a decent chance of ending the afternoon with the promise of a second date. Any woman who didn’t appreciate Game of Thrones wasn’t someone he’d be interested in seeing again, anyway.
At the edge of the museum campus, they passed underneath an art installation that loomed over them like a dozen sets of interlocking handcuffs, painted red and made from bronze or steel. Layne didn’t know a thing about art, but he knew plenty about handcuffs. He’d slapped them on wrists more than a time or two in his life.
“Which building?” she said. Jasmine blinked at him, her brown eyes blanketed by smooth, chocolate skin. This woman was beautiful.
He tried not to stare and averted his eyes toward the campus. To their left were the two main structures, one a standard office building, the other the giant glass and metal thing like a cruise ship on dry land. A giant, pointy bow cast a shadow over the courtyard’s middle area. He only knew the name of the building they were looking for and had no idea what they’d find in the others.
“There,” he said, pointing to the North building. Seven stories tall, the outside made to look like a castle with turrets and arrow slits for windows. A towering structure.
“Nice,” she said. “You been before?”
He hesitated. Admit to not being an art person, or start off on the wrong foot by fibbing right away?
“Once,” he said. “But, full disclosure: I’m totally clueless about art.”
She grinned and inched closer to him. “That’s okay. I am too.” She reached across and took his hand. He stared down for a second, her dark fingers interlaced with his light ones, butting up to the tattoos covering his arm. The red of her nail polish a stark contrast to both of their skin colors.
“Where’s your daughter this morning?”
“With her mom, in Broomfield. It’s her weekend.”
“Must be nice to get a break from time to time.”
He shrugged. “Sure, but I still miss her.”
Jasmine tilted her head toward the building. “I’ll bet. Game of Thrones concept art, huh? You can tell me all about it.”
As they set off toward the building, Layne said, “well, the first thing you need to know is about the novels versus the show, because—”
Before he could complete the sentence, a boom rocked the air. As if the sky had cracked open and rained thunder around them. The ground shook. Layne whipped his head up to see the bow of the museum-boat spaceship-thing shake, and then, glass from the side spraying out like a garden hose erupting. Fire shot out of the hole after it. A great red tongue lashing at the blue sky.
Thousands of glass shards fluttered through the air, hurtling toward the courtyard. Bits of metal followed, knifing the air on a descent to the ground below.
For a moment, they both stood there. He had no idea what was going on, and neither did the few dozen people in the courtyard, necks craned upward to see the chaos erupting above their heads.
“What?” Jasmine said. “What is this?”
He could barely hear her over the sound of the glass ejecting from the building. The side of it appeared to ripple as the damage spread out, like a wave. Windows cracked and then shattered.
“We have to move,” he said. Their hands were still clenched, and he pulled her close, clasping her hand to his rib cage.
“Now, go!”
He broke out into a run, tugging Jasmine along with him. Another explosion erupted from somewhere, but Layne couldn’t spot the origin. Glass rained down on the brick walkway around them. A few pieces thumped him on the scalp, felt more crunch underneath his tennis shoes. The other people in the courtyard came to their senses, fleeing in every direction at once like ants trying to escape the path of a magnifying glass death ray.
He held onto Jasmine’s hand and raced as fast as possible toward the North building. His feet barely touched the ground as he sprinted. She kept up with him, her purse flapping around her body. The glass entrance of the North building invited them. A safe space where debris couldn’t rain down from above.
When they reached it, he flung back the door and pushed her inside. He jumped in after, bits of glass and tiny metal shrapnel pouring from his hair down onto his broad shoulders.
And then, three more explosions rocked the other building, and it began a systematic crumbling, sending fire and metal and glass in a dozen directions.
2
Once inside the North building at the Denver Art Museum, Layne and Jasmine stared through the glass front doors at the chaos outside. In quick succession, several more explosions rocked the campus. Their world seemed to shake with each boom, unsettling Layne on his feet and making his nose tingle.
The glass and steel building shaped like a pirate ship with a sharp triangle for a bow disintegrated. Its tip broke and came crashing down. The screech of the structure collapsing spread out like a sonic wave, reverberating across the sky. The entirety of the building toppled to the ground and multiplied everywhere. The rubble billowed into smoke, shrouding the courtyard in mist.
Shouts and screams filled his ears. Behind Layne, feet stamped, and people ran aimlessly inside the lobby of this building.
“What’s happening?” Jasmine said.
Layne shook his head. Adrenaline spiking and protection instinct activated, he had trouble speaking. Mouth dry and jaw clenched tight. “I don’t know. Stay close to me.”
“Are we under attack? Are those bombs, or is this a missile strike?”
He could only shrug. None of this made any sense.
Across the courtyard, the shorter museum building quivered. Air around the structure vibrated. Glass on the second floor spread out from the sides, followed by fire like puffs snapping the air. The building collapsed on itself, grinding from the top down. Pieces spilled out
from the side of the wreckage, but most of it stayed contained within the scope of the building.
Two of the three buildings were now rubble and dust.
Maybe seeking shelter in this, the tallest of the museum buildings, had been a mistake.
Layne came to his senses. “We should go.”
“What?”
He snatched her hand. “We need to go, now. I don’t think we’re safe here.”
Her bleary and vacant eyes drifted over the insanity in the courtyard. Glass raining down from the sky. Smoke swirling on the ground like a fog machine at a concert. People, many of them bleeding, trying to flee but finding no easy way to escape.
“This is crazy,” she said.
“I know, but we have to get out. We can’t stay inside here.”
Her head jiggled, something like a nod. He opened the door.
As soon as they set foot outside, a string of dark vehicles appeared amid the smoke. Headlights cutting lasers through the mist. Humvees. But not government vehicles, because these bore no markings on the sides. Plain black cars with windows so dark, anything could have been inside them.
And each of the SUVs had stacks of things on top, like huge metal plates. Layne stared at the plates, and couldn’t tell what the hell they were. They were thick, like doors, but at least ten feet tall and ten feet wide.
The Humvees parked in the courtyard, some of them climbing over bits of rubble as they found space to park. At least five of the hulking beasts, maybe more. Hard to tell through all the smoke.
The doors opened and out poured a series of men in dark clothing. No uniforms, no insignia, no loudspeakers declaring which government agency they’d come from.
But their weapons, those did look like military-issue. As they filled the courtyard, Layne spotted M4 carbine rifles with attached M203 grenade launchers. Many of them lifted walkie-talkies, shouting into them over the din of the settling explosions.
Layne halted, pulling Jasmine to a stop. Their route via the courtyard was now blocked by this ring of Humvees. He squinted, trying to locate a way through the rubble and the smoke. Hard to see anything out here. A path emerged to the right, away from the vehicles, and Layne thought he could see through the carnage, to cars traveling on a nearby street. If they could get out there, he might find a path away from the courtyard.
“We’re going this way,” he said, tilting his head toward the area. “Hold tight to me and don’t let go.”
He tugged on Jasmine’s hand, leading her into the path. His feet shuffled through glass and metal. He could barely see where they were going, but it didn’t matter. They had to get out of here.
But, within a few steps, a new vehicle’s headlights cut through the smoke, blocking off the path. Vehicles to the right, a mountain of wreckage to the left. And the choke point was now sealed.
“There!” she said, pointing at the car.
“I see it.”
The vehicle’s doors opened, and a cluster of men poured out. Drenched in body armor, carrying M4s, attachments jangling from their belts. If there had previously been a pathway through the smoke in this direction, there wasn’t one now.
If these men were government, why weren’t they announcing themselves?
“This way,” Layne said, tugging her back in the other direction.
Layne looked left and right, past the armed men. Through the disarray, he couldn’t see a way out. Nothing but obstructions in every direction. And, assuming these weren’t US soldiers or agents, there was no way he and Jasmine would make it past their line of sight if they tried to run. Maybe the armed men were as blind as he was, but Layne wouldn’t take that chance. Not as heavily armed as they were.
Several of these men, at least a dozen of them, pointed their weapons in a single direction and began a coordinated march. Legs rising, feet falling, all together.
“Back inside,” Layne said.
“What?”
“We have to go inside, right now. We have no control out here. There’s nowhere we can go.”
Brow creased, she stared at him. He didn’t have time to explain to her the imminent death marching toward them. Retreat was the only option that put them at a distance from these invaders.
Rather than say anything, he jerked on her hand, pulling her toward the doors. The smoke had now reached the North building, and he could barely make out the front doors.
He bumped into them and fumbled for the handle. Whipped it open. Back inside the chaos of people running around, trying to escape, looking through the glass windows and doors, crying and screaming. Layne pulled Jasmine across the lobby, seeking a set of stairs or a door leading to a back exit.
And then, the armed men burst through the doors of the building, weapons raised.
3
Layne hadn’t been inside the art museum since the renovation, so the interior looked foreign to him. A large, open space with hardwood floors and glass everywhere. An interior balcony overlooked the main part of this room, with a gift shop and hallways to one side, and a reception desk opposite the main entrance. The room seemed shrouded in shadow, due to the smoke outside. Like dusk.
Several pedestals occupied the main floor, with statues made of wood that appeared to be warriors with helmets, maybe Viking or Mongolian. On second look, Layne realized the statues were made from pieces of chairs and other bits of furniture. One towered over him, a sword comprising several broom handles glued together. Horned helmet, broad shoulders, sadistic open-mouthed grin. Like a demon erected in the center of the room.
But he didn’t have time to analyze the statue in front of him, because a man toppled it as he tried to rush past, toward the lobby exit. The thing keeled over and smacked into the ground. Most of it stayed together, but the broom-sword disintegrated into several pieces.
The fleeing man didn’t get far, though. The invaders in the black clothing streamed in through the front door, M4 rifles raised. They fanned out, military-style, each one pointing a rifle in a different direction. Sweeping the room. Whoever these people were, their methods suggested they were well-organized. You’d have to be, to pull off the coordinated bombing of two giant museum buildings in the middle of the day.
Which begged the question: why hadn’t they bombed this building, too? Why enter it on foot?
A security guard popped up from behind the reception desk, arms locked out and a pistol pointed. He opened his mouth to shout something, but a spray of machine gun fire punched several holes in his chest before he could. He flopped over the reception desk. Blood dripped from his chest onto the floor. When he slumped over the front, a cluster of women huddled nearby screamed. Their voices echoed across the high-ceilinged room.
Another security guard rushed down the stairs, chubby and out of breath. He was swinging his gun as his dress shoes clacked on each step. Panting, face red, like he was late for an important meeting.
One of the armed men caught him out of the corner of his eye and lifted his M4. Cut the security guard down with a single shot to the chest. The chubby guard somersaulted down the steps. His gun skittered across the floor, landing at the feet of one invader.
The armed man scooped it up, as well as the firearm from the first guard. Then, he pointed at the broom pieces from the toppled statue and two other men went to work collecting them.
Layne took stock. There were about a dozen of these men in dark clothing. All of them white, in their twenties and thirties. Each one armed with a rifle. Not all were M4s, though. The invaders wore belts with grenades, loops of zip ties, and knives. Enough spare magazines for their rifles to conduct a small war.
There were about fifty civilians in the room, Some of them scrambling to find an exit, the rest cowering behind any large object they could find. The ones hiding tried to make themselves as small as possible, hands over heads or clutching loved ones close.
In the chaos, Layne couldn’t think straight. He knew he needed to find a way out of the building, but he couldn’t see through all the people scurrying
about. Adrenaline pumping through him put dots at the edge of his vision. His heart jackhammered in his chest. Years of training kept him from twisting off into a panic, but he didn’t know how to reason through this situation yet.
Jasmine hung close to him, gripping his forearm. He could feel the sweat from her palms.
As he pivoted, searching for an exit, half of the armed men rushed up the set of wide stairs at the south end of the room. Weapons out. They stepped over the body of a dead security guard as they ascended.
Layne noted a glowing exit sign past the stairs. A number of others had too, because a group of people rushed for it. And then, halted in their tracks as three new invaders emerged from that exit. One of them held a chain in his hand, which he looped through the double doors and then sealed with a hefty padlock.
“Listen up,” said one of the black-clad men, a giant with bright green eyes and auburn stubble on his scalp. When no one listened, he raised his M4 to the ceiling and let loose a burst. Half the room stopped, and then he spat a few more rounds. The other half now stopped, too. Frozen in place, as if playing some children’s game.
Layne gained a better view of the room now that everyone had stopped scrambling around. Aside from the stairs up, there was a bank of elevators. Front entrance, a couple hallways, and only one side room, leading into a gift shop.
The green-eyed man lowered his M4. “Everyone in the center of the room, right now.”
No one moved. He lifted a hand and waved it toward the pedestal in the middle. “If I have to come collect you, you will not like how the rest of this goes.”
Still, everyone seemed frozen.
“Now!” he roared.
People shuffled toward the pedestal, under the shadow of a statue depicting a ninja holding a curved sword built from what appeared to be chair legs. Layne held Jasmine close and walked her to the edge of the group.
“My name is Red,” the man said. “And if you want to live out the day, you’re all going to do exactly what I say. Understand?”
