World of Ashes (55 page)

             
“I swear, sometimes I think you’re a genius, Sir. Other times I think you’re a liquored up old cop who smells like weed.” Lee shook his head. “I’ll start running the men through Counter Insurgency Drills. Ethan, I don’t mean to boss you around, but I’d appreciate it if this could be a joint operation under the Army’s command.”

             
“Only during training.” Ethan made sure the door was locked. He could see Allen, who’d recently returned to work full time, escorting the two travelers out of the station where he’d then follow them out of town. “The police have to remain separate from the military.”

             
“That makes no sense, Ethan. What if no one can reach you? We can’t have the Sheriff’s Department fighting with the Army over jurisdiction or authority.” Lee became rather animated, his eyes appealing to Kenly for help.

             
Kenly rolled his eyes. “Ethan, I know this is a shit time to agree with Lee, but if we’re attacked it only makes sense to have a unified chain of command. This doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“I’m go
ing to quote a man I greatly admire…” Ethan took a deep breath, “
There's a reason you separate the Military and the Police. One fights the enemies of the state, the other serves and protects the people. When the military becomes both, then the enemies of the state tend to become the people
.”

             
“And who the hell said that?” Kenly asked.

             
“Commander William Adama.”

             
Lee put his face in his palm. “God damnit, Ethan…”

             
Kenly didn’t watch much television. The quote from
Battlestar Galactica
went right over his head. “I don’t disagree, Sheriff. We can discuss this later. Just… don’t give this Jenny Kopland bitch any reasons to win this election, okay?”

             
“So then I can go?” Ethan smiled.

             
“I never invited you here in the first place.” Kenly waved the brothers away.

15

"The last hope of human liberty in this world rests on us. We ought, for so dear a state to sacrifice every attachment and every enmity."
~Thomas Jefferson

              The first snow held off for a bit. The November 6th election began with Ethan having not even bothered to show up to a single rally. At home he was on autopilot. He listened to the kids play in the living room, Lee and Paula playing cards, Mary cooking. Taking the kids to the park on his days off. Autopilot. No recollection at all. Making love to Mary… Autopilot. At least he could still keep it up, so maybe it would take her longer to notice all his carefully maintained façade was crumbling. He couldn’t sleep. If he took sleeping pills he just started hallucinating, his mind unwilling to surrender to the nightmares waiting just beyond his focus. That’s not to say some of the hallucinations weren’t entertaining, he enjoyed his chats with Stan Smith, CIA Man. Staying awake was all Ethan had now, though the survivor’s guilt manifested itself in rampant daydreams that would often lead to panic attacks. Ethan never stopped looking over his shoulder, never stopped hearing the figurative voices of the people who’d called him out on being a shitbag years earlier. If only he’d done the world the favor of ending himself back then. Keith would never have died in his arms. He’d have never had to relive that morning in Iraq when he obeyed an order he never should have. There was a word for what he’d done; destroying evidence. Well, more a phrase than a word.

             
Parking his patrol car behind a warehouse that was now a factory Ethan prepared to get some sleep, nightmares be damned, he was seeing double on the roads. He had Bogey with him today and the beagle was pretty good about not having to be walked very often. He could maybe get an entire hour squeezed in before waking up in a cold sweat as always. Ethan rolled the windows down only so far that they wouldn’t suffocate, but not far enough for a Zim’s fingers to get the window open. He reclined the seat and tipped his hat over his eyes. The dog had been asleep for a few minutes already. Bogey was excellent at sniffing out Zims before they got close and was extremely territorial about his house and whatever car the family was in. Howling at someone’s approach he was a perfect alarm clock, if an alarm clock chose its own times.

             
His eyelids heavy, Ethan let himself drift off, hoping for the sweet release of sleep. He’d rediscovered his talent to sleep in short intervals, a skill developed over time in the Army and USMC Junior ROTC years before. Waking up briefly every fifteen minutes or so gave him a chance to look around and kept him from reaching REM sleep, the land of phantasmagoric nightmares.

             
The cold outside began to slowly suck the warmth from the patrol car until Ethan was forced the turn the car back on long enough to reheat it. Bogey licked himself, the engine starting up woke the pup from whatever he was chasing in his sleep. Today was election day. The idea of laughing his ass off as the next guy suffered through his job made Ethan smile. He didn’t expect to retain office, he had done everything in his power to avoid the chance of it, including saying “I quit.” No one believed him, even when he didn’t show up for work for four days. He went fishing in that time. Just sat on the river in his Grandpa’s canoe without a worm on the hook. Naturally, he caught nothing, and instead shot several Floaters. That was all reflex now, though.

A chirp over the radio made Ethan
open his eyes. He had to lean forward to grab the microphone dangling from the rear view mirror. After snatching it he let himself fall back down to the seat just as the car exploded in a shower of micro-fragments of safety glass. Bogey yelped and dived into the floorboard. Two more shots impacted the windshield, the slugs lodging in the plexiglass spit shield that separated the front and back seats.

             
Holding down the transmit button so hard his thumb hurt Ethan shouted, “Break Break Break! MC, Patrol Six! I’m taking sniper fire across the street from the airfield! Repeat, Patrol Six taking multiple sniper hits South West of Airfield at the old Aerofill plant!” Throwing the mic down Ethan slammed the car into drive and squalled the tires until they were behind an overflowing dumpster filled with all sorts of nastiness. It blocked the airfield’s view of the car, which was where the round had likely come from. The dog whimpered in the floorboard as two more rounds banged off the dumpster. The bullets weren’t armor piercing. Good. Someone had forgotten to come prepared.

             
“
Patrol Six, MC. Copy your transmission. Break. Code Two, repeat, Code Two. Sniper in the Open at Airfield. All personnel within the sound of this transmission are to hold fast until safe travel has been declared. 10-33 all radio traffic.
” Sabrina’s calm voice came over the radio. She was an improvement to Rowe’s witch cackle.

             
Ethan stayed low in the car and studied the holes in the windshield. They were small, a 5.56mm for sure. Switching to channel eleven Ethan inquired if anyone at the airfield had been conducting a range. Sabrina said no. There was for sure a sniper. Lee got on the channel and postulated rather openly as to who it might be, and that Ethan should probably stay in the car. If he wasn’t dead so far, there was a reason. The sniper would have to change positions and expose himself, unless he were a simpleton of course, in which case he’d probably stay in one place and wait for Ethan to make a mistake. Either way they were going to get this guy.

             
Reclining the seat the rest of the way Ethan made sure both his M14 and his 1911 were locked and loaded. There was an Army Kevlar helmet in the floorboard, Ethan put it on, wishing briefly he had a Kevlar vest for Bogey. He and the dog were both cut up pretty badly, small shards of glass embedded in their skin. Bogey whimpered, but knew they were being attacked and was ready to jump from the car with his master his own wounds and diminutive size be damned.

             
Looking down at the dog as the radio crackled Ethan patted his head gingerly, “You gotta stay in here, boy. Imma go shoot this motherfucker in the face.”

The
dog licked his hand and went back to hiding. Ethan slinked out of the car in the dumpster’s defilade and began peering through the trash at the surprisingly well kept landscape of the Army Garrison Area. The airfield personnel were all inside by now, Ethan could hear the other patrol cars’ sirens as they raced towards him and the shouts of men on guard duty searching for the sniper. Another shot zinged past Ethan and turned the headrest of his car into white pulp. Now he knew where the sniper was, and that the man had no patience whatsoever. Ethan needed to bait him into the open and let the Army take him out, just like Newton, though hopefully not with artillery.

             
Reaching into a pouch by his secondary weapon on the back of his belt Ethan reloaded the M14 with a special magazine he’d prepared. All tracer rounds, the best way to point out zombies and snipers. This also meant the enemy would know where he was, but it was a forgone conclusion he already did. Crawling along the parking lot’s grassy edges Ethan pushed the thumb trigger on the forward grip and the bipod shot out from within it. Through his ACOG Ethan could see the patch of woods directly in front of his patrol car. He’d have to wait for the sniper to move again, but it was only a matter of time now. Ethan said a prayer for the soul he was about to parole to Jesus. Hopefully God wasn’t listening, because the prayer was mostly curses.

             
Another patrol car came screaming around a corner, sirens blaring. It was Rowe and Reynolds, the only real Cops left. Reaching for his radio Ethan tried to warn them to get off that stretch of open road, but he was too late. The sniper revealed himself to be the male agent they’d met only weeks earlier. He was carrying a foreign looking bull-pup style rifle Ethan had never seen before. Squeezing the trigger gently Ethan prepared to fire until the man stepped forward behind a large maple tree and opened up on the speeding patrol car. The gun cracked like a small caliber carbine, but its rate of fire was on par with the German MG42. The passenger side window and the windshield of the patrol car irrupted in glass and pink mist. The car’s tires exploded and it rolled dramatically onto its side. The Charger slid forward into the grass where the engine caught fire. Rounds continued to impact the undercarriage, who knew the carnage that was happening inside. The man knelt down to reload and that was when Ethan caught him. If you shoot a Zim in the head it explodes into a wad of black congealed snot and bone. A living person’s head creates a spray of bright red as brain-matter, blood and skull fragments paint the foliage behind the target.

             
The impulse to jump up and run towards the burning patrol car was overwhelming, but Ethan stayed low. He wasn’t dealing with a stupid savage hopped up on Afghani poppies. If the woman was with him there could easily be a second sniper. A Humvee and a fire truck headed for the patrol car. Nothing happened. Ethan waited. Nothing happened. He waited longer. Eventually several soldiers from the airfield walked up to him and Ethan guessed he could move. Opening the door to let Bogey out they ran towards the burning wreckage. The dog took one look at the fiery car as firefighters dragged the passenger from the vehicle and ran away towards the sniper instead. They found him right where Ethan had shot him, blood as bright red as the evening sun covered the headless body, its foot still twitching. The female agent was nowhere to be seen. Ethan spat on the body of the male agent and walked away.

             
The Army was still clearing the small patch of woods Ethan was in, looking for the female. Ethan found himself standing behind the firefighters, watching them remove Reynolds, who was in bad shape, but breathing. He had one eye open and was staring at Ethan. He’d seen that look before. Reynolds was driving, and because of the angle of attack Rowe took the majority of the bullets. Now he had to live with that. Ethan had a companion in the misery and guilt only survivors could feel.

             
On the other side of the over turned car, which more closely resembled Bonny and Clyde’s Ford than a police cruiser, was a blanket covering Rowe’s tattered body, blood darkening as it soaked into the grass. Ethan reached for his radio. “MC, Patrol Six. Recommend Condition One. Lima Delta. Lima Delta.” Lima Delta for Lock Down.

             
“
Lima Delta. Wilco Patrol Six. Break. All units set to Condition One. All Gates Lima Delta. Ten-Thirty Three Radio Traffic is still in effect.
” Sabrina’s voice scratched over the radio. Ethan wished he knew what had been the radio chirp that had saved his life. Was it Sabrina and divine providence? Or was it a random signal from something as mundane as a deputy bumping the call button? If he was more religious Ethan would call that divine providence.

             
There was nothing anyone could do for Rowe. She was dead. Reynolds didn’t look like he was in much better shape. Knowing he still had nineteen rounds in the magazine Ethan he made a sudden mad dash across the road into the woods on the other side. He could hear Bogey howling and radios from other search units echoing through the trees. He turned his radio off and walked slowly. He was the hunter now, not of wild game, but of his fellow man. There could be no greater thrill. Stopping suddenly, Ethan waited and listened, wishing his heart would stop pounding so fast. He could still hear Bogey barking and crunching his way through the woods, but that was in an area with leaves on the ground. There was another sound in the mix, one that didn’t belong. Crunching rocks. Someone was walking through a drainage creek with a rock bed between the fuel depot and the airfield. The soldiers hadn’t cleared that far yet.