The Collective Protocol (12 page)

FIFTEEN

New York City was a war zone. Police officers battled gangs and armed citizens for control of the streets. The tenuous power grid that the rest of the United States maintained had totally failed here. At night everything became pitch black and the only lights were those from the cars of people either stupid enough to be outside of sanctuary or up to no good.

The mayor declared martial law and imposed a strict curfew at dark while the New York National Guard and the NYPD patrolled the streets. After the first few weeks of darkness, the unofficial policy of the department quickly evolved into a “shoot first and ask questions later” mentality. Thousands of people had been killed in the skirmishes and every morning there were more bodies that appeared out of nowhere.

Since most gasoline and diesel fuel went to power emergency services generators the city couldn’t afford to expend the fuel for backhoes and bulldozers. In order to keep the chance of disease as low as possible, the bodies were loaded onto barges and taken to North Brother Island sitting off the coast of the Bronx in the East River. Initially people had been vehemently opposed to the city’s answer to the problem, but the naysayers were silenced early due to the sheer number of deaths in such a short period of time.

The federal government wasn’t much of a help either. They were dealing with massive problems of their own in the aftermath of the mass murders around military installations. The deaths were disbursed across such a wide area surrounding the affected installations that they’d had to resort to going house-to-house to look for bodies. Conservative estimates put it at well over 2.5 million dead, including most of the nation’s military forces stationed in the Lower 48.

The fact that U.S. troops and interests abroad weren’t affected—even those in Alaska were unharmed—firmly tipped the worldwide paranoia that some type of disease was running rampant through the United States. The federal administration had also adopted NYC’s shoot first mentality and broadcast it to the world’s leaders that they wouldn’t hesitate to initiate a nuclear strike if anyone tried to take advantage of the problems. People everywhere were legitimately scared of a global nuclear war started by the U.S. as a deterrent to invasion.

Jimmie Rollins sighed and strapped his riot gear on for the night’s patrol. He was bone-tired, but if the city was going to survive, the men and women of the NYPD had to stay focused and protect the population. He and Rob had been in so many gun battles that it was a miracle they were still alive.

“Hey, buddy. You ready for the night?” Jimmie asked his partner.

“Yup,” Rob answered as he slid additional pistol magazines into his vest.

“The sergeant said they went into Central Park today. The Guard is holding the perimeter and they want us to go in and clean it out.”

“In the dark?”

“Yeah. Apparently there’s a group of nut-jobs in there who’ve tried to set up a whole kingdom or something. They’ve taken up residence in the Met. It’s some type of church and word is that they’ve been abducting women as a part of their dogma.”

“Hmpf,” the big man grunted.

“Their leader says that the world as we know it is coming to an end and it’s his church’s responsibility to stay safe and then repopulate the earth. Can you believe that?”

“Happens a lot.”

“Yeah, I know there were others before all of this happened, but when will people realize that it just isn’t true?” They’d been partners long enough that Jimmie knew he wouldn’t answer. “Why is it that all of these cults continue to flourish? They’re spreading nothing but lies and hatred. Hell, this one is even publicly advocating for the rape of women.”

“People need something to believe in,” Rob answered profoundly.

Jimmie sat heavily on the locker room bench. “Why can’t they believe in the power of good? Why is it that people turn to evil deeds in times of trouble?”

“So you can earn a paycheck. Let’s go.”

Rob had a way of making Jimmie see the true nature of things. The man that he called his father used to tell him that you can’t see the forest if you’re only looking at the trees. At the time, he’d been so messed up from years of foster care that he didn’t know what his father meant. He was constantly in trouble and wallowed in self-pity because of what had happened to him when he was a child.

Over the years, he finally understood what the elder Rollins had meant with that little saying. You’ve got to look beyond yourself and your immediate surroundings and see the whole picture instead of focusing on a small part of the problem. Yes, it was a tragedy that he’d been abused, but he could move beyond his own problems and intervene for those who couldn’t help themselves. Years of therapy and a good, loving adoptive family had helped him grow into the man he was today. He’d joined the police force to help stop bad people from doing bad things and that was their mission tonight as well.

“Yeah, you’re right, Rob. Trying to understand what goes through people’s minds is a waste of time. We need to just do our job and be thankful that parts of the city are still under control.”

He leaned down to finish buckling his shin protectors and then stood up. The get-up felt almost like a second skin to him now that he’d worn it so often for such long periods of time. Even though it made driving more difficult, the rewards were worth the burden. There’d been several times where they pulled up directly into a fight of some kind or another. The riot gear was effective at stopping just about any type of blunt object that could be swung at him; so far he’d been hit with a tire iron, several baseball bats and a cast iron frying pan. Jimmie saw another officer take a chain completely around the mid-section without a complaint.

The duo drove north along Madison Avenue until they came to 79th Street. They parked their cruiser next to twenty others along Madison and walked the block over towards the Met entrance. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, or the Met, was a massive two million square foot building located just inside Central Park. Three months ago it held more than 2.25 million exhibits—more than one for every square foot of space. There was no telling how much of it remained today after everything that had happened in the city. The fact that a cult had commandeered and occupied the building was proof that preserving the past wasn't nearly as important to the mayor as protecting the future.

They weaved their way through the journalists who were kitted up like it was Beirut, not the largest American city, and continued towards the building. There’d been legal questions about the outright warfare against American citizens. Most everyone agreed that
something
had happened to the homeless and made them act as if they were possessed, but the media asked if it was legal to shoot these citizens since they clearly weren’t in their right minds. The courts relied on a century of legal precedence and ruled in favor of the city. Lethal force was authorized if a person was going to harm others. Now the reporters stuck around to cover the rapidly deteriorating situation. They’d likely get a ton of great footage tonight.

There was a mobile command unit parked across 79th so Jimmie and Rob walked up to it. If anyone here could tell them what their assignment would be, then it would be the officer sitting at a field desk outside of the lightly armored RV.

"Hey, sergeant. Rollins and Dzanrsky from the 17th Precinct," Jimmy said as a means of introduction. "We were sent up to help out for the night. Where do you need us?"

The veteran looked up wearily from the spreadsheet that he was staring at. "The 17th, huh? Either of you boys got any SWAT training?" he asked.

Jimmie smiled widely and said, "Yes, both of us have trained with the team."

"Great, we're critically short on men for the raid on the building. The commander is Lieutenant Burgos over there beside the SWAT truck. Go see him. I'll log you both in as being temporarily assigned to his team."

"Thanks, sergeant!" Jimmie replied enthusiastically.

"Yeah, thanks," Rob echoed dully.

As they walked towards yet another command post Rob tapped Jimmie on the shoulder hard enough to rattle his teeth. "We ain't had no SWAT training," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Sure we have buddy. Remember that time the SWAT guys taught a marksmanship class to all of us?"

"You failed."

Jimmie stopped and gesticulated wildly in the direction of the SWAT team's truck. "That's because I hadn't fired a rifle since the academy! You know those skills erode if you don't use them. Besides, I was practically on SWAT."

"You tried out and failed."

"Okay, so I couldn't climb a stupid rope or make it through the obstacle course in some ridiculous time standard. What does that have to do with actually doing their job?"

"It was the first day."

"Well at least I tried out, more than you've done. How have all those bodybuilding competitions paid off for you during the apocalypse? We’ve been doing more running away than posing."

Rob chuckled at his partner’s good-natured ribbing. "This ain't the apocalypse," he rumbled.

"Well, hell. What else are we supposed to call it? We gotta come up with a good name for everything that's happened."

"Don't know.”

“What about ‘The Troubles’?”

“Northern Ireland, 1980’s.”

Jimmie threw up his hands and said, “Hell, I’m all out of ideas then.”

“Short list,” Rob replied and jutted his jaw out towards the SWAT truck. “The LT is handing out assignments."

"Damn. Quit your jabbering, Dzanrsky. We gotta get in on this!" Jimmie shouted and took off at a jog towards the team.

The big man watched the back of his partner getting smaller as he ran towards potential danger like a kid chasing after a rabid dog. He shook his head and plodded after him.

*****

“Why are we doing this?” Rob asked Jimmie as they rested against the side of the Met.

“It’s exciting, isn’t it, buddy? I mean, we have freakin’ night vision goggles and everything!”

“It’s dumb,” the big cop replied.

“Hey, keep it down you two!” the sergeant admonished. “Just follow the man in front of you. Pick your targets and only shoot if you’re sure that the person you’re aiming at is a tango. Got it?”

“Sorry. We’re just not used to a deliberate operation like this,” Jimmie replied truthfully and then covered it up quickly. “Everything we’ve done lately has been a spur of the moment street fight. There’s just a lot of time to think about things, y’know?”

“Alright, just keep focused and don’t do anything stupid.”

“No worries, sergeant.”

Rob chuckled slightly and muttered, “You’re in over your head.”

“Correction, pal.
We’re
in the position to see some freaking awesome action.”

They were in the second team that would go in after the initial breach of the side door. There was also a diversionary team at the front who would go through the motions of entering the building, but SWAT never went in the front door if they could avoid it. The wide, open Great Hall at the front entrance of the Met allowed for excellent fields of fire for defenders. Everyone expected a massive firefight with the cult, so it would be suicide to enter through the Great Hall.

The NYPD’s grip on the city was so tenuous that if it hadn’t been for the kidnappings, the mayor probably would have just left the cult alone until order could be restored in the city. But they’d steadily increased their boldness and finally came up on the police radar. Now something had to be done.

“
Breaching front door
,” the decoy team leader said over the radio. A loud explosion filled the evening air as the demolition charge blew open the doors. The team that Jimmie was in used the noise to disguise the sound of their battering ram. With one swift blow, the side door flew inwards and the SWAT team filed into the small hallway.

Shadows jumped strangely and everything seemed distorted to Jimmie as he followed the team through the doorway. His NVGs turned everything green and bright laser lights emanated from the end of the police rifles. The beams swept back and forth searching for targets. There wasn’t anyone in the hallway and there hadn’t been any return fire towards the decoy team.

“What’s going on?” Jimmie whispered to Rob.

“Beats me.”

The team crept quietly towards the exhibit halls. “
I’ve got somebody
,” the point man said softly over the radio.

A few officers moved forward while Jimmie and Rob held back. He couldn’t place it, but something felt familiar about this place, even though he’d never actually been inside before. There was also a pervasive feeling of
wrongness.
Jimmie didn’t know if that was a word, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Were they walking into a trap?

“
Never mind. This one’s dead. Looks like she was cut up pretty good
.”

The two men moved forward with the rest of the team and in the green light Jimmie could tell that the woman lying on the ground near the restroom had been
butchered.
He’d seen a lot of bad things in his time on the force, but this had to rank up there as one of the weirdest and worst. She was naked and her skin was flayed open like some sick biology dissection. The only problem was that it looked like she did it to herself.