Wipeout | Book 3 | Empty Vault

by Richards, E. S.

  “Sir?” Dixon asked from behind the wheel. He was only moving at about ten miles per hour. “We’re not at the rescue center yet.”

  “I don’t care,” Walter replied, unfastening his seatbelt. “That was an order. Let me out here, I’ll rendezvous with you later.”

  “Are you sure? It’s not much further…”

  “Stop the vehicle now, Dixon!” Walter shocked his junior officer into slamming on the brakes, the Chevy rolling to a halt in the middle of the empty road. “Thank you,” Walter continued, “I’ll regroup with you later.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Walter opened up the passenger side door and climbed out into the street, slamming it closed behind him. He stood still while Dixon considered what to do, pausing for several seconds before he eventually continued to drive. Looking up, Walter saw a couple of children sitting in the street not far from him, watching the ordeal. He checked that his weapon was concealed under his shirt before walking toward them, cautious about how they were going to react to his presence.

  “Hey,” he called over in a friendly manner, “are you kids alright? Where are your parents?”

  The children – two boys in their early teenage years – looked at one another before pushing themselves to their feet and scampering away, turning down an alleyway and running out of sight.

  “Hey!” Walter called after them. “It’s okay! Come back!”

  His cries were worthless. He turned and caught more people disappearing up and down the street. Getting out of the Chevy perhaps hadn’t been the wisest idea. While people seemed happy to sit still and watch them drive past, they didn’t seem keen on interacting with anyone they didn’t already know. It was behavior that Walter normally associated with either criminals or the vulnerable. Everyone was scared and in order to protect themselves, they were avoiding any kind of confrontation, even if that may be the thing to save them in the end.

  Refusing to be put out by his interaction with the two children, Walter turned and started walking in the same direction the Chevy had gone, making his way to the rescue center. He knew these streets well and could cut down routes the vehicle wouldn’t fit through, familiarizing himself with what had happened to Brooklyn in the days after the crash. Turning a corner, he basically tripped over a man who was sitting on the street, stumbling for a couple of paces before he found his feet and steadied himself.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized immediately, leaning down and offering the man his hand. “Are you okay?”

  “Watch where you’re going pal,” the man on the ground spat back. “We don’t all have it as good as you.”

  Put off by the man’s aggression, but determined to help people and make a difference, Walter stood his ground. He had only recently learned the disparity in wealth that was still alive in the city and didn’t want to be one of those who took his position for granted. His ethos was built on helping others and now he had a chance to put that into action.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Can I help you up? I’m Walter Davies, a lieutenant with the NYPD.”

  “Oh hell,” the man shook his head. “You’re not going to arrest me for sitting here, are ya pal?”

  “I’m not,” Walter replied, familiar with this sort of reaction after all his years on the force. “I’m here to help you. There’s a food bank not far from here, can I take you there? When did you last have a good meal?”

  “I don’t need you to take me anywhere thanks,” the man huffed in response. “I’ve got legs and I can walk, just no point heading down there. The place has been empty for days now.”

  “Empty? What do you mean?”

  “I mean there’s no food there! No use having a food bank without anything in it, is there? It’s all well and good you guys rounding us up and telling us to head down there but it ain’t no use when our plates are still empty at the end of the day!”

  Walter faltered, surprised by the response. He knew the supplies for food banks were getting low, but he was certain there was still enough for the time being. He had been over the papers himself and counted the numbers, the resources shouldn’t have run out already.

  “That doesn’t seem right.”

  The man on the sidewalk laughed. “Yeah well, that’s the way it is now. There simply isn’t enough to go around so if you ain’t there first, you ain’t eating. Plain and simple.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Walter asked, his enthusiasm fading. He began to realize that he had left it too late before going back out into the city and getting his feet on the ground again. “Is there anything that you need?”

  Laughing again, the man looked upwards at Walter and smirked, raising his eyebrows as if to question Walter’s sincerity. “If you’re really a cop, you’re better off doing something where you can actually make a difference. Go and help the fellas trying to pull their wives from the wreckage on Lexington, or stop the kids from setting fires in all the subway stations. Ain’t no way you can make food grow on trees that aren’t here, so I’d go and try to make a change somewhere else. Pig.”

  Walter’s jaw hitched at the derogatory language, used to hearing it in his day to day life but still resenting it. Swallowing his pride and reminding himself why he was fighting to keep his city functioning, Walter ignored it and heeded the man’s advice.

  “Alright,” he nodded, “I’ll head over to Lexington then. Thank you.”

  The man scoffed at Walter’s response, turning away and tucking his knees up against his chest lest someone else walk around the corner and trip over his legs. Walter was just about ready to walk away and leave him like that, when he had a change of heart and softened somewhat, trying to think what this man could’ve possibly been like before Trident’s collapse. He couldn’t blame him for his sour nature when he may well have lost everything that day – if Walter really wanted to save his city, then he had to try and save everyone in it as well, even the difficult people.

  “If you change your mind,” he commented, grabbing the man’s attention once more. “There are a couple more of my guys down at the rescue center. We’re recruiting people who want to try and help sort things out; tidy this place up. We can’t promise you money or anything, but you’ll be helping to make things right again. Helping to get things back the way they were.”

  “Yeah?” The man asked, “You gonna bring back the dead, too?”

  Walter froze, stunned by the man’s reply. So that was the reason for his bitterness. He had probably lost someone close to him, a fate that Walter himself had been lucky enough to avoid. Everyone that he loved and cared for was safe and alive, while this man was now out on his own. It was the one thing that Walter didn’t have an explanation for and sadly the one thing that he could do nothing about. Looking at the man, he didn’t know what to say that would make him feel better. For once, he felt like he had failed to do his job.

  “I can’t,” Walter answered eventually, doing his best to maintain eye contact with the man as he spoke, no matter how hard it was for him. “But I can promise to do everything in my power to stop any more lives being lost. I can promise to try and go forward from here, rather than fall backwards and wallow in what has happened. I can do what I can to improve and help people. If after all of that just one life is made better, then I can sit down and know that I tried my best and I made a difference, no matter how small it may have felt at the time.”

  Walter wasn’t sure if his words had gotten through to him, but he knew he had said everything he could have. “There are three officers with a silver Chevy down at the rescue center,” he reminded the man. “If you do want any help, they’ll be there for the next hour or so. Good luck.”

  Chapter 7

  “Lexington Avenue,” Walter muttered under his breath as he turned right and walked away from where he knew the rescue center to be. He was assuming that was the place the man was referring to, based on his knowledge of the area. But it was a long road, and without any further information, Walter didn’t have much to go on. Still he hea
ded in that direction, hoping he could be more helpful than he had just been.

  As a police officer, Walter wasn’t a stranger to people refusing his help or acting unfriendly toward him. However, the disdain in that man’s voice had still come as a shock to him. It made Walter question whether his view of New York was wrong. He’d sat inside the precinct for the last four days reading reports and calculating figures, feeling quite happy and pleased with how things were moving on. In actual fact, he didn’t have a clue how life was progressing outside the front door.

  After no more than an hour outside he was beginning to realize how wrong he had been. The city wasn’t improving and coping with the effects of the financial collapse. It was in turmoil and its people were suffering. Walter was well aware how widespread the effects were, with almost every major city across the world linked to Trident in some way. There wasn’t going to be any serious aid any time soon. So, it was up to each individual to make a difference. The only trouble was where to start. With a project so colossal, it was almost impossible for one action to change anything. Only by getting the whole city to focus on the same goals could they begin to push forward and make a change.

  Turning right again onto Lexington, Walter looked up and down the street and knew immediately which direction he needed to go in. To his left, the buildings continued along the street like they had always been. The occasional broken window or damaged entrance as a result of the riots, but other than that very little was out of place. To his right, the picture was the same for a few hundred yards, but then the scene changed completely.

  Evidence of fire that had scorched the buildings and burned them from the inside marked the brickwork and the rubble. Walter picked up his pace as he walked along, noting the crumbling structures and the fallen walls, the destruction gradually getting worse and worse as he walked along. Squinting down the street he made out a collection of figures gathered around the base of one ruined building. Remembering the words the man had spoken about people being trapped in the wreckage, Walter picked up his pace and started running towards the group, putting his fears to the back of his mind and racing head on into the danger like he had been trained to do.

  “Keep talking to me baby. We’re going to get you out. I promise.”

  That confirmed to him right away there were people trapped beneath the fallen building. A couple of faces turned to look at the new arrival, while the others carried on moving rocks and rubble, trying to dig out whomever was trapped inside.

  “Walter Davies,” he announced his arrival, “NYPD. How many people are trapped underneath?”

  “Three,” a woman replied.

  “How long have they been down there?”

  “Part of the building came down yesterday,” the woman explained. “With Dawn and Martha inside. We were trying to get them out when another part of the roof fell down and trapped Benji underneath as well. He’s not completely buried but his leg is trapped. Dawn and Martha are both still alive but I don’t know how much longer they can last,” the woman started to cry.

  “Okay,” Walter stood with his hands on his hips and surveyed the situation, the woman starting to sob in front of him. A couple of other people had noticed him now as well, but their focus remained on their loved ones trapped beneath the wreckage. “Where’s Benji?”

  The woman pointed to an area of the wreckage. Next to one intact wall, Benji sat amongst the rubble, covered in a layer of concrete dust. Despite that, Walter could see the sweat trickling down Benji’s forehead and the clenched teeth of a man in severe pain. His leg was trapped under a massive wooden support beam, pinning him to the ground. Two others stood next to him.

  Walter walked over to the group of men, acknowledging several others digging through the fallen building. One man – the one he had heard speaking earlier – whispered into the rubble, telling whoever was buried there that she was going to be okay.

  “Afternoon gents,” Walter addressed the three men as he approached them, speaking with confidence. “Lieutenant Walter Davies, NYPD – what’s the situation?”

  “We’re trying to find a way to get Benji out of here. Don’t have enough power though.”

  “Okay,” Walter started to roll up his sleeves. “How are you doing, Benji?”

  “My leg is killing me,” Benji said through his clenched teeth. “You’ve got to get me out of here.”

  “We will, Benji,” one of the other men replied. “Just hold it together a little longer, okay?”

  “Is he okay?” Walter asked as the two other men took a step away from their friend, turning their back on him for a second to speak to the new arrival.

  “I think his leg is broken,” one of them whispered. “He’s been stuck under there for hours now. I don’t know if we’re going to be able to actually get him out.”

  “I’ll do everything I can to help,” Walter reassured them. “I’m sorry no one could get to you sooner.”

  “Thanks,” one replied. “I’m Max, this is Damien. You guys must be spread pretty thin across the city right now, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Walter nodded, “What’ve you got for leverage?”

  “They’ve been using this crowbar,” Benji announced from behind them, banging the metal crowbar against a rock and making a loud noise. “I can hear what you’re saying you know. I’m not dead yet!”

  “I’m sorry,” Walter replied, turning and addressing the trapped man directly. “We’ll get you out of there. Just hold it together a little longer, okay?”

  “I’ve been holding it together for about as long as I can manage,” Benji muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes and gritting his teeth as he winced at the pain.

  “Okay,” Walter took the crowbar from Benji’s hand. “Let’s get you out of there.”

  Working together, Walter, Max and Damien positioned the crowbar under the wooden beam and pushed down on it, heaving and trying to create enough room for Benji to wriggle free. While it moved slightly and eased the pressure on his leg, there wasn’t enough space for the man to free himself and as the three of them were forced to ease up on the crowbar, Benji screamed out in pain again as the weight grew on his leg.

  “Stop, stop, stop! I don’t think I can take it anymore.”

  “This isn’t working,” Max said. “I don’t know what we can do.”

  Exasperated, Walter looked around, counting how many people were trying to dig people free from the rubble, or watching on in horror if they couldn’t help anymore. There were eleven of them in total now that he had arrived. Together, they had to be able to free Benji.

  “We need more leverage,” Walter announced. “More people. If we can lift the beam here and further down as well then we should be able to create enough room to get you out, Benji. I think we set up three points – have you tried that yet?”

  “No,” Damien shook his head, “we’ve only tried the one.”

  “Okay,” Walter said. “This might work. Everyone!” He raised his voice and shouted to the people around them, trying to get their attention.

  Damien put two fingers into his mouth, letting out a loud, shrill whistle that captured everyone’s attention the second it rang out. “Hey guys, listen up. We all need to try something to get Benji free. We need to all work together.”

  “I can’t leave Dawn!”

  “It’ll just be for a minute,” Walter shouted now that everyone was looking in his direction. “If we all work to get Benji out, then we can all start focusing on digging for Dawn and,” he paused, waiting as Max whispered the other woman’s name in his ear, “Martha. We need to leverage the beam at several points, then everyone pushes at once and we should have enough room to free Benji. Okay?”

  There was a pause of silence as people stared at Walter, several of them likely wondering who this stranger was who had walked into their group and decided to take charge. It was an atmosphere that Walter had experienced before on a number of occasions in his line of work, making it something he was well used to and unphased by. He was
doing what was right and what was needed in order to help someone, there was no shame or embarrassment in that.

  “Come on guys,” Max encouraged, “let’s get this done!”

  Walter organized them into three groups, armed with a crowbar and two long metal pipes they had pulled from the rubble. He positioned them along the wooden beam at intervals based on the size of what they were using to move it. It was just basic physics and Walter was determined to get this right. Now that everyone was involved, he knew they only had one shot.

  “Is everyone ready?” He shouted out from his position right next to Benji as the group of people stood at points down the line. “We push on three. Ready? One… two… three!”

  At his word, they all exerted as much pressure as they could manage, raising the wooden beam that trapped Benji and lifting it up. For the first time since he became trapped beneath it, Benji had enough room not only to move his leg, but to shuffle backwards and drag it along with him. People groaned up and down the line as they held the wooden beam up, but they struggled through, seeing Benji move and holding out just long enough for the man to shuffle along the ground and away from the beam which had held him prisoner. Once he was out completely, the beam was dropped and a huge cheer erupted into the air.

  “Incredible! Thank you, Walter! Thank you!” Max said.

  Walter grinned as Max clapped him on the back. He noticed people scattered quickly, only a few stayed close by to him and Benji. The others returned to digging through the ruined building for Dawn and Martha. Benji might be free, but there were still two women trapped underneath the rubble and no one could forget that, the man whose life they had just saved among them.

  “Where is she? Is she still talking? I need to speak to her!”

  “Benji, slow down,” Damien coaxed his friend, “take it easy.”

  “No!” Benji tried to get to his feet, but his left leg was damaged beyond belief and there was no way he could put any weight on it. He sank back to the ground, a devastated look on his face as he grabbed Damien’s ankle. “Please,” he begged his friend, “I need to know she’s okay.”