Road to Grissom: Part three of the Aftermath series

by Duncan McArdle

  What separated them from the outside was a now much smaller run to the nearest shattered window, rather than the doors at the far end of the wing. Dashing out through one of the hundreds of openings, John emerged first into the earlier evening air before anybody else, something he immediately regretted as his eyes scanned over to their left, and towards the nearest guard tower to them.

  On top of the tower, the guards were just about finding their own feet after having been knocked to the ground out of shock. Reappearing at the top of the tower, the two figures began scanning the area, trying to understand what had happened, whilst also looking for the culprits. Unfortunately for John and Devon, there was little better ways of looking guilty than to be the only two people running away from the explosion.

  Just barely making out the guard’s movements, John knew what they were about to do. This organisation was not some justice system based group who dished out fair punishments and adhered to the concept of basic human rights. It was a kill on suspicion gang with strong leadership but little else in the way of competence, at least not amongst its lower ranks. The watch-tower men weren’t going to ask them to stop, check their papers and then make an informed decision, they were going to shoot the most obvious suspects and then carry on with their day.

  That was of course, until the next part of John’s plan kicked in.

  Though it had taken a little longer than he’d anticipated, the mass exodus was following close behind. Just as John felt himself falling into the crosshairs of the marksmen, he felt the thundering footsteps and screams of every guard on this side of the stadium, making a break for the outdoors in the same direction as they were headed. Whoever wasn’t already on the other side of the building dealing with whatever it was they were dealing with, was now running just a few feet behind, no interest in catching anybody, and nothing more than self-preservation on their mind. Suddenly, John and Devon began to blend into the masses, and the guards in the tower had no choice but to assume they were just another two terrified members of their group.

  In fact, thanks in no small part to John and Devon’s experience with handling themselves in such high-pressure situations, as well as their desire to remain able to defend themselves should the need to do so arise, their running rather than sprinting pace soon began to pay dividends. On every side, terrified amateur guards with no desire to stick around were sprinting past at an incredible pace, desperate to get far enough away from what for all they knew could be some kind of weapons of mass destruction.

  With all the chaos, getting a decent distance away from the stadium was a cinch, and before long they were back on the road they’d originally been picked up on. It was a long road from here on out, and an even longer one if the Ford wasn’t there by the time they got to it, but if it was, John figured they could be back at base and putting all of this mess behind them by the very next morning.

  One flaw in John’s plan however, and something he was beginning to notice more and more the further they ran, was that despite how easily they’d blended in to the crowd, they were now starting to blend back out of it. Having continued to run once out of range from the blast, they had singled themselves out from the masses, who had instead only ran far enough away to reach safety, before turning back around to check upon what was essentially their home. Being the only two figures that had kept running was something John hadn’t anticipated, and was now causing him a great deal of concern.

  Looking back, John glanced up at the tower to check on the guards’ latest movements. Mercifully, it seemed as if they were currently more preoccupied with their crumbling stadium, so much so that it appeared they were making their way back down to ground level. John hadn’t expected what he was fairly certain were more elite guards to abandon their post, but as he watched the improvised towers sway violently, it occurred to him that the blast might have made them just unsafe enough to remain occupied, an unintended but happy side effect of his plan.

  One other thing that caught John’s eye however, was a vehicle making its way across the car-park. Despite the overwhelming desire for everyone to get far away from the blast, John had yet to spot any cars or bikes evacuating soldiers, something he assumed was a consequence of people not wanting to take the time required to get such escape options moving. In addition, he had correctly guessed that most vehicles would be on the side of the stadium currently engulfed in a gun battle – which although dying down, still seemed to be going on – and so was particularly surprised when he saw the headlights bouncing around as it darted between fleeing guards in the middle of the car-park.

  Turning his attention back forwards, John tried to block out any concerns over the vehicle, and instead put all his focus into simply getting as far away from the stadium as possible. But he couldn’t ignore the growing levels of light from the headlights for long. Barely a hundred or so yards on, he was forced to turn once more, and that’s when he realised it was no coincidence that the vehicle seemed to be heading in their direction.

  “Take cover!”, John yelled, darting behind the nearest car in a row of them stretching right the way down the street, the same row they had taken cover behind during their initial approach to the stadium. Sliding into place behind some kind of family minivan, John looked to his left to confirm Devon had done the same, and then peered carefully through the minivan’s nearest window, still quietly hoping they hadn’t been spotted.

  But what he saw confirmed that they most certainly had been. Pulling into place around twenty metres from their position, the all black Jeep 4x4 skidded into position, and three of its four doors swung open well before it had fully come to a stop. Smoke billowed from its tires and its engine roared loudly, evidently having strained massively to speed its way around the stadium and across the car park in search of the culprits.

  Watching on with great concern over what might be about to happen to their as yet perfectly executed plan, John inspected each of the three figures that soon jumped out from the off-roader. The first two were dressed in all black, most of it seemingly body armour, and even had their faces covered by what John was fairly certain were paintball masks. It was the exact attire that the guards stationed throughout the wing during the stadium’s show of force had been wearing, as well as the guards stationed on top of the tower. These were clearly members of the elite team that did the real work, and they cut a menacing figure as they immediately brought their fully automatic rifles up to eye level.

  Clambering out of the truck last came a man dressed exactly as John had expected him to be. With his thick military grade boots, his full camo-infused uniform and what looked like an all-black Remington 870 shotgun – not unlike the one John himself had used months prior – he conformed perfectly to his own stereotype, and was recognisable as both RP and the stadium’s head-honcho instantaneously.

  Suddenly it occurred to John that the situation was more than a little serious. Despite what little he knew about the man, what he did know was that RP wasn’t known for heading out into the field and getting stuck in with his troops. He was an office-based leader, happy to stay inside the safety of his building and to instead instruct others to work on his behalf. The fact he was actually out here spoke volumes about how pissed off the man must have been, and that was immediately confirmed by the greeting he chose to give.

  “You… mother… FUCKERS!”, RP yelled, advancing towards the cars hiding John and Devon and firing off the first round of his shotgun straight into the side of the minivan, some of the pellets making their way through the windows and narrowly missing John’s previously exposed head. “We offer you SAFETY”, he continued, firing a shot with the loudest word before cocking the shotgun once more. “We offered you a HOME!”, he yelled, firing again, “And this is how you REPAY us!?”, he finished, at which point the two other guards joined in.

  Whilst the sound of a pump action shotgun pummelling its way into the vehicle right in front of you was fairly unnerving, it was far from the kind of devastation two fully automatic assa
ult rifles – each equipped with what looked to John like high capacity drum magazines – could cause in a matter of seconds. Firing at a combined rate of nearly thirty rounds a second, the rifles rinsed their way through the far side of the minivan and began bursting through John’s side at the various points where the metal was thin enough to allow. At this point, John thanked his lucky stars they weren’t using AKs.

  Thanks to their quick thinking, both John and Devon had gotten themselves into cover, but it was clear that this alone wasn’t going to be enough. It was only a matter of time before the vehicles in front stopped absorbing all of the bullets, or the people firing them got close enough for a more accurate shot. Accordingly, both men began formulating plans on how they intended to take down the three attackers in front, and of the two, Devon was the first to put his plan into action.

  Grabbing hold of a wing-mirror on the car nearest to him, Devon used the power of his massive forearms to rip the plastic casing off of the vehicle, before grabbing the mirrored element out from its innards. Holding the mirror up, he then used it to get a view on how close the men were – and more importantly, what they were doing – without actually exposing himself to the still consistent levels of gunfire.

  Watching intently, Devon waited until the first of the two men hit the end of their hundred-round drum mag – a point which signalled the fact that they, and presumably their fellow gunner, were about to have to reload – and then flicked his rifle to fully-automatic. Whilst he appreciated John’s preference for the more conservative, more accuracy focused approach of semi-automatic shooting, he felt this particular situation called for something a little more full-on.

  Devon stood up almost exactly as the second man’s rifle clicked to signify its now empty state, and the immediate need for it to be reloaded. At this point, the first of the two men had opted to lunge forwards and take cover behind the cars now separating the two parties whilst he reloaded, but his friend remained out in the open. Taking the opportunity, Devon lined up his rifle, and squeezed hard on the trigger, unleashing seven shots in quick succession. Drawling a line from his left foot right the way up to his head, the final shot well and truly finished the man off, and the combined force of the numerous bullets sent his now limp body flying backwards, after which Devon quickly descended back down to the ground.

  John meanwhile had turned his attention to the man now leaning against the same car he was, something he knew only because he’d felt the minivan shift slightly as the other man arrived. John didn’t have the foresight to engage the mirror technique Devon had, not least because John was much more in the firing line and thus at a much greater risk if he attempted to grab the mirror, but also because he had other intentions. Having a pistol rather than a rifle demanded a very different approach after all.

  Lowering himself down onto the ground, John quickly attempted to spot the second guard. But just as he expected, the well trained individual had opted to shelter behind the tires, obscuring them from John’s view. Looking between the two options, he had no choice but to guess which one the man was hiding behind, at which point he eventually fired a well-placed shot through the very right-hand edge of the left-hand tire.

  Almost immediately, the man came crashing down to the ground. Already struggling to stay upright in his crouched position, John’s bullet had ripped through his right calf muscle and thrown him completely off balance, causing him to descend to the ground in a position far less covered than his former. So it came as no surprise to the man when John was then able to quickly line up his second shot, and put a bullet right between the eyes of the figure now laying down on the ground.

  John couldn’t celebrate too much yet however. Aside from giving him the ability to take out the second guard, his new position had given him one other important piece of information, and that was that RP was now unaccounted for. John was unable to spot him to the left or right from underneath the cars, which meant he’d either gotten back inside the Jeep, or more worryingly, was already somewhere in their midst.

  Turning as quickly as he could, John looked over at Devon just in time to see RP emerge from behind the nearest car to the man, his shotgun drawn and a sickening smile spreading across his face as he pointed the barrel of his Remington directly at Devon, and then a loud shot rang out in the ever growing darkness of night.

  Chapter 36: Bullet damage

  The immediate moments after a gunshot going off in your direction tend to be roughly the same. Your first instinct is of course self-preservation; if you’re not already behind cover, you get to it. But your second instinct might depend on the type of person you are. Those comfortable in a gun battle would perhaps look for how they can best return fire, whilst those less comfortable might instead check their own bodies for signs of having been hit. After all, the shock and adrenaline of a gunshot mean that pain can be one of the last senses to kick in.

  For John, leaning against the side of the minivan, draped in the shade of the setting sun, it was most certainly the former option. Despite not being the one RP’s close range gunfire was destined for, he couldn’t fight the immediate urge to subdue the attacker, irrespective of the fact the shot had already gone off. It wasn’t a conscious decision John made as such, but rather more of a reflex.

  Pushing off from the minivan now that he knew the only remaining source of danger was already on the same side of the vehicle as he was, John brought his pistol up to eye level and lined up the shot before he’d even had time to check on his fellow survivor. The light from the muzzle flash had barely faded away before John pulled hard on his trigger, firing off two shots in quick succession.

  The first of the rounds, sent hurtling forwards by his small but still perfectly deadly Beretta M9, caught RP just to the left of his forehead’s centre, less than inch away from his left eye and almost directly on top of his eyebrow. Embedding itself deep into the man’s head with enough force to push his skull backwards slightly but not enough to re-emerge on the far side, it seemed as if the bullet was absorbed by the inside of the head, before the sound of the second bullet followed soon after.

  With a now more difficult shot to make – both due to the recoiling target and the kickback of the pistol – John was less optimistic for his follow-up. But in true John Parker style, the round still managed to find the head of his target, though this time a little closer to the edge. Eventually making contact on RP’s right hand side, the bullet ripped through the side of the temple and gave a new angle of momentum to the already swaying head.

  Happy he had no need for a third shot – a piece of analysis that much like the two shots themselves, had been done in mere milliseconds – John kept his gun raised until he was certain the situation had fully played out. Despite the incredibly unlikely chance of someone surviving not one but two headshots, John wasn’t about to take the risk when his friend’s now presumably dwindling life was on the line.

  Sure enough however, the first shot had seemingly been more than enough. RP’s eyes slid shut before he’d even begun his descent, and soon afterwards he could be seen spiralling down towards the ground in an uncontrollable dive, his limbs now swaying limply in every direction as his body contorted uncontrollably, exerting a few brief death throes in his final few miserable seconds.

  Turning his attention to Devon, John’s immediate impression was one of admiration. Looking down at the man, John quickly observed that despite taking what was presumably enough buckshot to bring down a rhino, Devon had responded by rolling out of his own descent to his left-hand side, before swinging his rifle back around in order to line up his attempt at returning fire. Now laying on the ground, Devon bore much more of a resemblance to someone about to launch their own tirade of gunshots than he did someone who’d just been hit by one.

  “Devon!”, John yelled involuntarily, unable to think of anything more constructive to scream at a time like this.

  “I’m good”, Devon replied automatically, before lowering his rifle now that he had seen RP go down, an
d beginning to inspect his own body.

  John couldn’t believe his companion’s reaction. Not only had he come out of the situation ready to fight back, but he had the audacity to respond to being pummelled with a military-grade shotgun shell by declaring himself as being “good”. John had always known the man as being confident, but this particular instance took the cake.

  That was of course, until John himself got close enough for an inspection. Staring down at the man, ready to begin steps to minimise blood loss and remove embedded shrapnel, John struggled to find even a single sign of damage on Devon’s back, or his arms or legs, which might instead have caught the fire had it been inaccurate. In fact, John couldn’t see a single piece of evidence that a shot had even found its target.

  Had the shotgun misfired? Given the quality of the weapon this seemed unlikely. Had RP simply missed? Again this seemed ridiculous, especially given the man’s military background. Perhaps he’d fired a blank, loaded up as some kind of intimidation tactic for an earlier play? This was plausible, but once more pointed to incompetence on RP’s part, which from what John knew about the man seemed like more than a little bit of a stretch.

  But short of any other options, John was forced to begin searching for the shell. Without any obvious signs of just what exactly had happened – and with Devon still exerting facial expressions that indicated he too had absolutely no idea – finding the shell seemed like just about the best way of answering some questions. Yet John didn’t recall hearing the shell’s empty casing bounce off the hard concrete floor below, and he couldn’t immediately see it anywhere in the vicinity, ever increasing the strangeness of the situation.