Echoes (12 page)

The crowd exploded as Thomas walked to the podium. Keeping his jubilation internal, he put on his sternest face and looked over his congregation. The perfectly tailored suit, trim grey hair, and lined face gave him an air of supremacy. The applause rose to thunderous levels as he stood there and soaked it in.

Murdock struggled with every fiber of his being not force Thomas to bludgeon himself with his microphone.

The president basked in the ovation for nearly a minute before quieting them with his hands. Looking into the designated camera, he hammered away at the evils of terrorism and warned of the wrath of America. He used a perfect pause after each phrase, building the feverish crowd into a crescendo.

The American people just wrote me a blank check.

Murdock couldn't contain his broad smile. After the death of their president, the American people were going to crave the destruction of the Middle East. There would be plenty of blank checks, but Thomas would never have the chance to cash them.

As President Thomas slammed his fist on the podium, emphasizing his final point, Murdock made his move. Latching onto the Secret Service officers at the back of the stage, he forced them to draw their weapons and march forward.

Even through my addled mind I could hear the boisterous crowd a block west of us. Their pitch rising and falling as the president worked them into a frenzy.

The cop forced us out of the car and demanded we get on the ground. My faculties were failing me so I fell down when I tried to get out. Even the pain of falling on my knee couldn't fully hinder the flood of emotions and thoughts drowning me from the thousands of people in the audience.

Then the gunshots started.

The crowd fell silent. More shots echoed through the streets and then pandemonium broke out. The anger that wafted through the air to me changed to confusion and fear as everyone panicked. I could feel the ground vibrating as people began stampeding in all directions.

Confusion stopped the officer in his tracks while he stared at the fleeing people.

"What the—" he said before bleating from his radio interrupted him.

"We got shots fired! Multiple officers down! Get units up here now! We need medical now! Send everyone! The president has been shot!"

"My God." He stood there, looking over the chaotic, onrushing crowd.

Were we too late? Did Murdock already murder the president?

Through my hazy vision I could see the officer’s internal struggle as he tried to decide whether he should continue to detain us or rush to help his brothers in uniform. His eyes darted back and forth from us to the end of the street.

He grabbed his shoulder mic and leaned into it. "Ten four." Looking down at me, he pushed his gun forward for emphasis. "Stay here! Do not move!"

"I wouldn't go if I were you," I said.

"Shut up and stay down!"

Plunging into the crowd, he disappeared, likely to his death, as more shots rang out.

"What exactly do we hope to accomplish here? I weigh ninety pounds, her IQ is ninety, and you're moving around like you're ninety," Nami said. "You want us to head to the gunshots and Murdock? There's a whole lot of shit-your-pants going on over there."

That pretty much summed up how screwed we were.

"Is ninety good?" Sammy asked.

"I don't expect 'us' to accomplish anything. I'm going in there alone. You guys need to blend in with the crowd and get out of here."

Ahead of us, the elderly woman who hit our car with her cane was knocked to the ground by a heavyset man as he wobbled away from the violence. People always act more like animals than humans when they're scared.

"We need to get her off the sidewalk and against the building or she's going to get trampled to death," I said as I pointed towards her. My arm felt like it was made of lead.

With Sammy's help I struggled onto my good leg and hobbled forward. Panic had overtaken the old woman and she struggled against me when I tried to pull her out of harm's way. As we got closer to the building she seemed to realize what I was trying to do and started pushing with her legs, helping us get the last few feet.

"What's going on?" she asked as she settled against the building.

"A new Apple product must be launching. I need to borrow your cane for a little while," I said.

I tried dodging the stampeding people as best I could while hopping, on my undamaged leg, in the direction of her cane. A shoulder slammed into my chest just as I shifted my weight onto the walking stick, reminding me that something had been knocked loose in there.

The cane itself was stout and knotty with a large knob at the end. Its heft made it strong enough to support my weight. It would make for a nice club if necessary, though I wasn't sure swinging it would be possible in my current condition.

Sammy and Nami watched from the front of the Explorer, not wanting to abandon me.

"Ash, don't go in there. Come with us, please!" Sammy said, her eyes moistening. I could barely hear her over the noise of the rushing people and the thoughts bouncing around in my head. "What can you do against Murdock? You can't even walk!"

"Tits McGee is right: you can't win this. If Murdock doesn't kill you, Smith will."

They were right of course. I couldn't win. Maybe I could even the playing field a bit though.

"Smith tried to kill us. I have to return the favor. Nevada, make sure you get Sammy as far from here as possible."

Blaring sirens approached from almost every direction. If they didn't get out of here soon, they wouldn't be able to at all. Their hesitation told me that they knew this was probably going to be a one-way ticket for me.

"Go, damn it! If you get arrested, who knows what will happen to you."

Nami turned to Sammy and gave her a gentle push in the direction everyone was fleeing. After a few seconds they were swallowed by the group and disappeared.

Pushing off with the cane, I went off to see what trouble I could stir up.

The advancing agents began firing as soon as they sighted their fellow protectors. Several Secret Service agents in the front of the stage managed to draw their guns and return fire, though most never had a chance to react. Blood from the nearest victim sprayed onto the stage by Thomas' feet. He jerked back in shock and revulsion.

The crowd, unruly only seconds before, was stunned into silence.

Spinning around, the president faced the men who were sworn to protect him.

"James, what the he—"

The agent he addressed shot him in the foot. A roar of agony escaped him as he fell to the floor clutching his injured extremity.

Chaos ensued as the bystanders tried to escape in every direction.

Police officers that had been placed throughout the crowd came running forward, weapons drawn. Officer Jones, a short but very muscled man, stopped at the edge of the stage, gun pointed at the agent who just shot the president.

"Freeze!"

Instead of complying, the agent swung his pistol toward the officer. Jones didn't hesitate, putting a bullet through the agent's left eye, sending him crashing backward. Leaping up beside the podium, he reached for the wounded POTUS when his stomach burned as if it caught fire. Looking down, he saw a soupy redness spreading across the front of his uniform. Two more rounds punctured his chest, sending him tumbling over the podium.

Murdock stood in place, reveling in the madness. Helpless fools ran around him like chickens with their heads cut off. The sounds of approaching sirens only meant more kindling for the fire.

One of the president's advisors ran onto the stage, trying to drag him away. Murdock had one of the three remaining agents shoot her in the temple from point blank range. President Thomas yelled in confusion and fear as he tried to stop her brains from leaking out.

Look at the most powerful man in the free world, shouting and crying like the weakling he is.

President Thomas strained his neck around in every direction, trying to see where the voice came from.

You shouldn't have left me to die in that hellhole. Watch what your stupidity has wrought.

Murdock ignored his pleading and attempts at justification. If he thought he could debate his way out of this then he was more incompetent than anyone knew.

A black limousine tore across the field behind the monument, dodging fleeing people by inches. As the presidential state car slowed by the stage, Murdock locked onto the driver's mind, forcing him to mash the accelerator to the floor.

Swerving into the crowd, he plowed through them, painting the grill and hood red. People crunched under the fender as the large car cut a path like a snowplow in the winter. Looking through the driver's eyes, Murdock spotted a woman pushing a stroller as fast as she could, trying to get her baby to safety. Angling the limo at them, he let out a maniacal laugh while he wondered if this would get him a double point score.

The scene playing out in front of me was complete anarchy. Secret Service agents littered the stage and ground, blood pooling around their bodies. President Thomas crawled on his stomach toward the far side platform. People were being trampled by each other as they tried to escape the carnage. The pops of gunfire continued as more agents and police officers tried to contain the situation, only to turn on each other a moment later.

Just as I stepped across Fifteenth Street, the mental tunnel formed with Murdock. I had been counting on this, hoping it would dampen all of the voices clouding my thoughts. It worked, and I could think clearly again. Unfortunately, the raw power of Murdock's mind threatened to smother me.

The cane in my hand wobbled as I tried to repress his booming voice in my head.

You!

Through the thinning sea of people I could see a black limousine barreling through them. Just as it was about to run down a young mother running with a stroller, it swerved away and crashed into a tree. The horn blared as the driver's body struck the steering wheel. The suddenness of our mental connection had loosened his control just long enough for the driver to dodge the woman and her child.

The anger billowing from Murdock made me want to turn around and hobble my ass out of there.

You ruined my fun.

Two men on my right fell to the ground, blood splattering my arm and face, as gunfire barked behind me. Afraid of falling down and not being able to get back up, I pushed my way deeper into the fray. An officer appeared ahead and marched straight for me, raising a shotgun to his shoulder. Putting my weight on my good leg, I swung the cane up, knocking the barrel of the gun into the air. Its boom rattled my teeth. The momentum of the swing sent me crashing forward, landing against his chest and jarring the cane out of my hand.

Bullets whizzed overhead as we moved around in a bizarre tango, struggling over the shotgun. Murdock had more cops shooting as. My grip gave way as a bullet ripped through my left shoulder, sending fiery pain down the length of my arm. The impact shoved me backward, instincts taking over as I tried to catch myself with my useless leg. The knee succumbed to my weight before I realized what happened.

Murdock cackled inside my head as I sprawled on the lawn in extreme misery. My body called it quits: moving was no longer an option. Warmth spread from my shoulder to my torso and neck. The cop I had struggled with repositioned the shotgun in his hands and pointed it at my face.