Donald Harstad - Known Dead

I grabbed my rifle, and headed into the courthouse at as good a speed as I could, considering the traffic coming the other way, some of it in uniform. I stopped two troopers, and told them to stay put. It turned out that their sergeant had told them to get toward the school. I brushed by, saw the elevator was packed, and ran up the stairs. That just about did me. I wasn’t used to the boots, the utility belt, the ballistic vest under my shirt, or the exercise.

I got to the top of the long, steep stone stairway and saw one of our reserve officers staring out the window at the other end of the building.

‘‘Mark,’’ I yelled at him, ‘‘look sharp.’’ A deep breath. ‘‘Watch your step.’’ Another deep breath. ‘‘We may have company.’’

‘‘Okay,’’ he hollered back. He had no real idea what I was talking about, but he moved to one side, out of the window, and looked alert.

Only one person, the Clerk of Court herself, remained in the Clerk’s office. Her staff was out looking at all the excitement. Just as I was about to ask her where Nola Stritch was, I saw the county attorney, Nola’s attorney, and the court reporter come out of the courtroom.

‘‘Where’s Nola at?’’ I asked.

They all looked at the rifle in my hand and obviously thought I was nuts. The county attorney just pointed toward the courtroom. I brushed by them and saw that the world had left Nola guarded only by Sally, who had nothing but a can of Mace to defend herself with. They both turned as I came in the room and headed toward them between the gallery.

‘‘Get her to the jury room,’’ I said. ‘‘We’ll sit on her there.’’

‘‘What the shit is going on?’’ asked Sally.

‘‘I think somebody is coming to get her,’’ I said.

Nola just smiled.

‘‘All this for her?’’ asked Sally. ‘‘The explosions, the trees.. .?’’

‘‘I’m ’fraid so,’’ I said, herding them toward the back of the courtroom.

‘‘Well,’’ said Sally, talking to Nola, ‘‘you must be a better lay than you look, honey.’’

‘‘You little bitch,’’ hissed Nola, moving toward Sally.

‘‘Don’t do it Nola,’’ I said. ‘‘We can’t afford to bury you.’’

I kept moving the fighting pair to the jury room door.

Suddenly there was a noise that sounded for all the world like somebody with a set of drumsticks had just played a tattoo on the wall that separated the courtroom from the hallway. Followed by what sounded like a pistol shot. Muffled, but enough for me.

‘‘Get behind the judge’s bench up there!’’ I hollered, pushing both women ahead of me. ‘‘Move, move!’’

Ever since a dude had tried to pull a gun on the judge while court was in session, the clerk had taken to stacking old lawbooks on the other side of the judge’s desk and partition. The bench. Although only thirty-four inches high, it made a pretty effective barricade.

Seeing Sally and Nola going behind the bench, I charged a round into my rifle, and pointed it at the main courtroom door. About a second later, a face in a ski mask peeked around the doorframe, with a long black object just under it. He saw me, and the long, black object suddenly became a submachine gun with a silencer. He fired, and I fired. I missed. He hit me in the belly. I rocked back on my heels, and then ducked down. I looked at my belly. Small hole in my shirt, and a lump in my ballistic vest right behind it. Cool.

‘‘Fuckin’ thing really works,’’ I said. It did. Course, it was probably a 9 mm round slowed to subsonic speed by the silencer. Hey. Not time to get picky.

‘‘Jesus,’’ said Sally, who had seen the bullet hit, ‘‘you okay?’’

‘‘Fine,’’ I said, kneeling down behind the bench.

She looked at me. ‘‘You better keep that belly of yours covered up.’’ She put her hand on my arm, the only gesture of affection she’d ever shown. ‘‘You scared me to death.’’

‘‘Kiss it and make it better,’’ said Nola.

Sally turned on her, and grabbed her by the blouse collar.

‘‘Jesus Christ, you two,’’ I said.

Wonderful. Trapped with two women who were about to kill each other.

I tried my walkie-talkie. No answers to me, but lots to other people. Pandemonium.

I unsnapped my. 40 caliber S amp;W and handed it to Sally. ‘‘You might need this,’’ I said. ‘‘I think they shot Mark out in the hall.’’

She took the gun. She’d qualified on our handgun course. Had to, to be a matron. Never carried one since, and said that she hated them.

‘‘There’s one in the chamber,’’ I said, too late. She’d vigorously worked the slide to chamber a round, ejecting a live round from the gun, which hit the railing in front of the bench, clanked off the court reporter’s desk lamp, and spun off onto the floor.

‘‘Never mind…’’ She looked a little embarrassed. Not good for the troops to be embarrassed. ‘‘Promise me you won’t use that on Nola,’’ I said.

She smiled. ‘‘Nope.’’

Nola wasn’t sure what to think. Good.

It looked like we had a minute. ‘‘Okay,’’ I said to Sally. ‘‘Looks like some paramilitary people want Nola here. Probably the same folks that shot Kellerman and Turd.’’ I spoke very fast.

‘‘Okay,’’ she said softly.

‘‘They’re good. So be very alert.’’

‘‘Okay.’’

‘‘I want you to watch the door on the left, and keep your head down. I’ll take the big doors to the hall.’’

There was what I took to be a burst of fire from the area of the main door and a loud noise. I say I took it to be, because I didn’t hear any gunfire, just the sound of many things striking the bench, hard.

We ducked. The loud noise probably meant that somebody had hit the floor when the shots were fired. Swell. We had company in the courtroom now.

The problem was this: As soon as somebody came in the main doors, there were the gallery benches. The benches were in two sections, like church pews, just not as many. On my left was the jury box. Separating the jury box and the rest of the courtroom was a three-foot-high barrier of oak that traversed the entire courtroom. There was a swinging door in the middle, so the attorneys and witnesses could come from the gallery toward the bench. However, anybody making it through the big doors could be completely out of my line of sight, and could either creep down to the jury box, about fifteen feet from me, or get almost all the way to the barrier door in the middle before I could see them.

Unless, of course, I stood up. Hardly a viable option.

I tried the radio again. This time I got an answer.

‘‘Where are you?’’

‘‘I’m in the courtroom with Nola and Sally and we are being shot at!’’

‘‘Repeat.’’

I did.

‘‘Three, I’m not sure I understand you.’’

I said it a third time, slowly. Nola chuckled, and Sally glared at her.

‘‘Got it!’’ said Dispatch. ‘‘Help’s on the way.’’

God, I said to myself, I sure hope so.

‘‘Give up, Deputy,’’ boomed a voice from the hallway. ‘‘Come on out with your hands up.’’

‘‘Not on your life, asshole!’’ I shouted.

I was watching the edge of the jury box and trying to keep my eye on the little gate at the same time. I could feel myself getting tense, and felt the pulse in my neck throbbing against my shirt collar.

A head in a ski mask popped up right where I had my gun pointed, just at the intersection of the barrier and the jury box. I fired, and he ducked. I half stood, and fired six or seven more times, through the barrier, and to where I thought he’d be.

The firing was deafening, and slightly stunning in the confined area of the courtroom. The resulting silence was just as bad. Nothing for several seconds. Then the voice boomed out again.