Road to Grissom: Part three of the Aftermath series

by Duncan McArdle

  “You’re kidding?”, Devon asked, watching in disbelief as he checked to ensure she was still breathing.

  “She’s just another pawn in all of this”, John said, confirming life before then lifting the woman onto her side, perfectly executing the recovery position for when she eventually woke up, “The less people that have to die, the better I’ll feel once we’re out of here”, he added, before standing back up.

  In his current state, John was far from presentable. In his bid to appear as if he were no longer a threat, he’d had little choice but to go for the deceased look, and it had worked perfectly. Fortunately for John, there had been a readily available source of blood to pull off the trick, but less fortunately, it was the blood of his fallen brother in arms, Danny. Having known the often arrogant boy for some time now, John didn’t imagine he would have taken much issue with the situation, but that didn’t make him any happier about what he’d had to do.

  Wiping off as much blood as he could – some of it had already dried in place and couldn’t be removed – John cleaned his hands on the clothes of the woman below. It was far from perfect, and he’d have the unmistakable smell of blood both under his nose and attracting the dead every step of the way, but if that was all it took in order to enable them to get out of there, it seemed like a small price to pay.

  Turning his attention now to some of the more favourable scavenging items, John set about quickly gathering up everything the fallen woman had to offer. He began by grabbing the dropped magazine and single round, reloading the bullet into the clip and then placing it back into the rifle. Cocking back the handle, John switched the weapon to semi-automatic – his favoured mode of fire – and then rummaged around in the woman’s pockets for any extra ammunition, eventually finding a fully loaded magazine in one of the front pouches of her body armour.

  Heading back in for more, John continued rummaging around in the unconscious woman’s various pockets, before eventually coming to the conclusion that she had nothing else of value to offer. Instead, John reached over towards her right hand, and picked up her M9 Beretta. Having not found an additional magazine, the pistol was going to be of little use during a serious firefight, but John was hoping to avoid one of those anyway.

  “Which do you want?”, he asked, standing up with the HK416 in his left hand, and the M9 in the right, gesturing for Devon to be the one to pick.

  For Devon, it was a difficult decision. He knew full well that he had the most recent military experience, and that he was almost definitely better trained at using more modern weapons such as the HK416. But he also knew that John was the best marksman he knew, and that despite it not being the kind of long ranged rifle the older man was used to, he would no doubt pick it up faster than most. The biggest issue however, was that Devon really didn’t want to end up with nothing but a pistol to defend himself with.

  “Actually”, John said, looking between the two weapons, “You might as well take this”, he added, throwing the rifle to Devon and instead retaining the pistol, “It isn’t really my kind of gun”.

  Smiling both at John’s reasoning, and at the fact he’d ended up with the vastly superior weapon, Devon happily caught the rifle and began getting to grips with it. It seemed strange not to have such a weapon fitted with a sling, ready to throw it over his shoulder and switch to a close-ranged pistol at a moment’s notice – as was the standard outfit for guards at the Chicago camp – but with only the one weapon, a sling hardly seemed necessary. Clearly this escape was not going to be done using the same level of equipment either man was used to.

  Now though came the time to make a significantly more difficult decision; what to do with the body of their fallen friend. Neither man was stupid enough to think bringing him along was a good idea, but that didn’t make the idea of leaving him behind any easier a pill to swallow.

  “What do we do with him?”, Devon asked, looking over at the fallen boy in the corner of the room.

  “You know what we do”, John replied, himself finding it far easier to do, albeit only because he was preoccupied with prepping and planning for the next task, “And he’d be telling us to do the same”.

  “I know”, Devon admitted, before giving a solemn nod to the boy as some last ditched attempt to show him some respect, “I’ll miss you buddy”.

  With that, it was time to get moving. Confirming for one last time that they had everything they could possibly get out of the still fairly barren room, John held the Beretta out in front of him, gestured for Devon to get in line, and then headed over to the exit, the door still propped open from the now unconscious woman’s earlier arrival. Suddenly it occurred to John that with the door open, noise may have been heard further down the corridor, but given that he could still hear gunshots going off in the distance – now more so than ever – he was hopeful it would have been drowned out.

  Making his way through the doorway, John did a quick sweep of the corridor to ensure there was nobody waiting for them around the corner. Devon meanwhile closed the door over, locking it with the key that was still in place as he did. Should the woman wake up, they didn’t want her getting out and telling everybody what had happened, they wanted as much of a head start as they could get.

  “Right, right, two, door, six, left, twelve, right, door, thirty, right, door”, John said, recalling the steps for getting out of the building that he had recorded earlier, before reversing them in order to plan their route back out again, “Door, left, thirty, door, left, twelve, right, six, door, two, left, left”.

  “Sound good to me”, Devon confirmed, having heard John speaking the directions and then matching them up with his own recollection.

  So John moved off, making his way down the first corridor, heading towards the door that the female guard had earlier been stationed just beyond. Pulling it carefully open with his pistol drawn and ready to fire, John confirmed the next snaking corridor appeared to be empty so far as he could see, and then led through it, shoving the door far enough ajar to allow Devon to make his way through, his rifle currently using up both hands.

  The two continued this way for the next few corners, sailing through the route with incredible pace and seemingly following it perfectly, until they eventually arrived at the final door. Knowing this led into the large, open wing of the stadium that represented their single biggest challenge yet, John paused for composure a foot or so ahead of the barricade, took a deep breath, and then reached towards the handle.

  But before he could make contact, John was stopped by the faint sound of movement, mixed in with the more distant rattle of gunfire, and seemingly coming from somewhere much, much closer.

  “People!”, John whispered to Devon, who was a good few feet further back.

  Thinking fast, Devon quickly yanked open the nearest door to him – a stock room that had mercifully been left unlocked – and disappeared into its darkened interior.

  John however was less fortunate with his current position. With no real idea how far away the person or people were, and no decent hiding spots in his immediate vicinity, he was suddenly narrowed down to only one, incredibly risky option. Throwing himself against the wall to the side of the door, John pressed his body in as much as he could in an attempt to reduce the risk of the door hitting him as it opened, and hoped desperately that when the door did open, it would cover up enough of him that whoever was coming through managed to miss him completely.

  Standing there, sweating slightly, John began holding his breath the second the handle descended, and the door began to open. Swinging ajar incredibly slowly, John watched the metal door get closer and closer, until it eventually stopped barely a millimetre or so in front of his nose, where it held in place for a tense few moments. Waiting patiently, John looked to his right just in time to see the large mass of the earlier guard stationed outside the box, making his way through the doorway at an incredibly slow pace that was accompanied by the kind of heavy breathing associated with someone of his level of fitness.

&nb
sp; Mercifully, once the larger man was clear of the doorway, the door began to swing back closed, indicating that he was alone. John had been incredibly worried that if there were to be a number of guards, his current position might be easily spotted when one turned to talk to another, but fortunately, it appeared this wasn’t the case. Less fortunately however, the new arrival only made it as far as the room Devon was currently hiding out in before he stopped.

  Had he heard Devon moving around inside? Or had he perhaps realised something untoward was going on just a few steps behind him? Maybe he’d seen a reflection of John now stood behind him, slowly raising his pistol up in preparation for what he might have to do. Holding steady, John lined up a headshot – he wasn’t sure shooting someone that large in the chest with a small calibre handgun would do an awful lot to slow them down – and waited for the man to turn back around. After a few seconds though, he simply carried on walking, seemingly having remembered that whatever it was that caused him to stop, was apparently not a major current issue.

  Within a few moments, Devon re-emerged from the store room, closing the door softly behind him so as to minimise noise, and then caught back up with John, ready to make their way into the main wing.

  “You ready for this?”, John asked, his measly pistol now fairly useless if they were forced into a gun battle across the length of the wing.

  “Guess so”, Devon replied, cocking back the handle of his rifle.

  “Good”, John said, “Because I don’t know how long we’ve got until that guy figures out something’s up”, he added finally, before pulling down the handle and opening up the penultimate door on their journey to get out of the stadium.

  On first inspection, the area appeared to be empty. With it apparently being a little later in the day, light was starting to dwindle outside and thanks to the dirtied windows, this was amplified significantly. With little illumination making its way inside, John imagined they could get away with a small amount of movement even if there was somebody nearby, though it presently appeared that there was not.

  Making their way out into the lobby however, John soon realised that not everything was going their way. Outside, around a hundred feet from their location and in the exact direction they needed to go, the south-eastern guard tower remained manned by at least two people. John could see weapons, he could see movement, and most importantly, he could see what would happen if they tried to make a run for it in that direction with armed guards watching the route.

  Without a word, John moved on to his backup plan. Heading further into the stadium rather than out of it, John quickened his pace to a jog, with Devon following close behind. John couldn’t help but admire Devon for not questioning the current manoeuvre, apparently confident that John wouldn’t be leading him into anything stupid. Despite Devon’s own ability to lead competently, it was his ability to follow orders too that set him apart at times like this.

  Arriving at the centre of the wing, John turned right towards the doors they had earlier gone through, but then stopped dead upon making an unfortunate realisation. Sitting in the corner of the doorway, his head in his hands and a just barely audible whimper coming out of his mouth, sat a boy that looked no older than eighteen, crying into his hands while his rifle stood helplessly propped up against the wall to his side.

  Approaching with caution, John raised his pistol towards the boy – who didn’t appear to have noticed the new presence due to the still overwhelming noise of gunfire and yelling in the distance – and then lowered it slightly, knowing it was more than likely not going to be required.

  “Kid”, he said softly, hoping not to startle the boy.

  Looking up, the boy – who had large, bushy eyebrows and short jet black hair – took a moment to figure out who it was that was talking to him, before suddenly lunging for his rifle.

  “DON’T be stupid!”, John said aggressively, hoping to avoid a death, “We don’t want to shoot you any more than you want to shoot us”, he guessed.

  Suddenly the boy’s demeanour changed. How did this stranger know he wasn’t cut out for killing? How did he know he didn’t have the guts to pull the trigger on the dead, never mind the living? Was it that obvious from the look on his face, or was this guy just an expert at reading people? Whatever the reason, having anybody know that you weren’t cut out for the job someone was counting on you doing was far from ideal.

  “Please, I’m sorry I just… I can’t… Nobody can know about this”, he babbled, his words barely coherent between tears and snot running down his face.

  “Kid”, John said, “Nobody can know about this either”, he explained, pointing between him and Devon, “So what do you say you get the hell out of here, and nobody finds out what either of us were doing?”.

  The boy looked between the two faces in front, trying hard to figure out if they were trustworthy, before eventually deciding that it barely mattered either way. “Alright”, he said, before wiping tears from his face and then clambering back up onto his feet.

  John couldn’t help but tense his grip on the Beretta when the boy reached once more for his rifle. John knew he had to keep the gun with him, but that didn’t stop him following the boy like a hawk until he’d run far enough away to no longer be a problem.

  “You really think he won’t go and tell someone?”, Devon asked, himself having doubts about the boy.

  “I’m not sure”, John admitted, tucking his pistol into his belt and then withdrawing the grenade that had remained in his hood, briefly inspecting it before speaking again. “But in a few seconds, it won’t matter”.

  Confused, Devon remained in place – ordered to do so by a hand gesture John gave a second or so later – and instead simply watched as John thrust the nearest set of double doors wide open, and then moved quickly through them. Watching through the small glass sections, Devon followed John’s movement several steps into the stadium’s main arena, until the man stopped, armed the grenade, reclined his right arm, and then launched the device forwards, heading, Devon was certain, in the direction of the huge pile of weapons, ammunition and most importantly, explosives.

  “RUN!”, John yelled as he burst back through the doors, to which Devon happily complied.

  Chapter 35: Run

  The initial explosion didn’t take long to come. For a brief period of time, John had been concerned that he was placing a large amount of trust into an explosive device he had little experience with, that had been pulled off of a pile of weapons that for all he knew, could all be faulty. In fact, given the stadium’s group numerous attempts to portray things to their new guests as being far better than they actually were, this seemed like a very real possibility.

  Accordingly, John was relieved to hear the initial blast. It wasn’t all that loud – in fact, for a brief instant, it was barely audible from the distance they were at – and was mostly buried beneath the distant sound of gunfire and closed doors separating them from the detonation. In fact, John’s initial feelings very quickly – and very briefly – turned to fear, as he contemplated the prospect that whilst the first device had indeed gone off, it might not yet lead to the chain reaction he’d hoped for.

  But soon enough, that single explosion turned to several, and several turned to the single most catastrophic chain reaction that could have possibly occurred. That one single grenade set off several more of its own kind, as well as triggering countless bullets and even a dormant missile, which all in turn went on to trigger more items around them, and more, and more, until the entire pile containing hundreds of explosive and thousands of bullets became an incredible ball of explosive and deadly flame.

  For John and Devon – who were presently sprinting between the doors leading into the centre of the stadium, and the doors leading out of it completely – the fireball wasn’t visible. Thankfully for them, they were heading directly away from it, shielding their eyes from what would have otherwise caused some potentially serious damage. But despite this initial luck, they were a far cry away fr
om being able to escape the explosion completely.

  The first thing they felt were the vibrations. Less than a few milliseconds after the initial blast, the ground shook violently, the windows wobbled and cracked, the ceiling shuddered as if about to cave in, and the entire building quite simply morphed several millimetres in every conceivable direction, attempting to absorb the huge new levels of energy that were ripping through its innards. Staying balanced in such an environment was an impossible task, and one neither John nor Devon managed for more than the briefest of moments.

  What hit next was the heat. Crawling up their backs with lightning-like pace until it suddenly burst out across every inch of every limb and from the backs of their heels up to the tops of their heads, an immense and unimaginable heat engulfed the area. Ripping through the air and throwing every door bursting open, the heat carried with it such force that the already cracked windows began to shatter, as pieces of clothing started to singe slightly and old wounds felt as if they might suddenly burst back open.

  Finally though, came the most obvious sign to those not already in the know that something unimaginable had happened. Roaring through the air at over seven-hundred miles per hour, the incredible sound of the gigantic explosion was deafening. It was the final straw for John and Devon’s balance – as well as most other people’s nearby – and sent the cracked and shattered glass soaring out into the car park, exploding with a life of its own out of the building and right across the city.

  For the duo that had created the explosion, the entire thing, whilst still remaining one of the single biggest sensations either man had ever felt, was thankfully reduced slightly by the knowledge that it had been coming. Still, the two couldn’t help but lay there on the floor for a moment, waiting for their heat-scathed vision to come back into focus, and for their severely damaged eardrums to stop ringing indefinitely. But eventually, the two were able to find their feet and clamber back up onto them, before giving a quick nod to each other to confirm their wellbeing, and then setting their sights back on the task ahead.