Bobby Akart - Desolation

“No problem,” said Erin. Her look of determination gave Mike a comfort level to proceed.

“Agreed,” added Hank.

Mike whispered into his radio, “We’ve got backup. We’re moving.”

Sanchez readied his rifle and leaned around the corner of the wall, focusing on any movement in the broken window. He responded, “Move!”

Tuesday, November 12

Marathon High School

Mike and Deputy Sanchez worked together now. With Hank and Erin ensuring nobody else entered the building after they did, the trained law enforcement officers could feel comfortable they wouldn’t get trapped. There were four pickup trucks backed up to the loading dock. Mike checked their exhaust pipes to confirm they were still warm from being recently driven. He expected there could be as many as eight armed gunmen inside, plus the two who were likely wounded from his shotgun blast.

He led Sanchez into the spacious receiving room. They both walked in a low crouch, separating once they were inside so as not to present their attackers with a single target. It was oddly quiet. Mike expected to be fired upon as soon as their silhouettes appeared inside the building, but they found themselves alone. There were no whispers or muffled coughs. No footsteps echoing across the concrete floor. The loading docks were devoid of human activity other than Mike and his deputy.

Mike motioned for Sanchez to walk along the perimeter walls of the intake room. He did the same, constantly checking on his partner as they encircled the space that led to a single set of double doors in the center of the back wall.

The fixed door latches had been opened, resulting in the spring-assisted door being left slightly ajar. Mike dropped to a knee and cradled his shotgun with his right arm. Using his left, he slowly pushed the door open, wincing as it creaked on its hinges. He held his breath, assuming a barrage of gunfire would be thrown in their direction.

Nothing.

Great , he thought to himself. Now these guys had found some discipline. Mike knew the dynamics had changed. He put his game face on and made a decision to head toward his left down the corridor. To his right was the community college, and to his recollection, it did not have a full cafeteria like the high school did. Its portion of the storage warehouse was probably dedicated to sanitation supplies and the like.

He whispered across the door opening to his partner. He pointed his hand down the left corridor. “Sanchez, take the lead. I’ll cover our back.”

Mike pressed the button on the tactical flashlight mounted to the Mossberg 590’s Picatinny rail system. He swept the barrel of his shotgun up and down the hallway. Satisfied the corridor was clear, he moved to the right and once again pointed left, indicating Sanchez should get started.

The two men walked in tandem. Sanchez concentrated on the upcoming door openings in the hallway. Mike walked backwards, focusing on their rear while periodically swinging around to check his deputy’s progress.

Sanchez had been trained in search techniques by the sheriff’s department. In fact, he was one of the better deputies at the MCSO. Mike was lucky the man lived in Marathon, making him a logical addition to the newly formed substation.

They moved quickly along the painted block wall until they reached the first doorway. With their backs flattened near the door opening, they focused their hearing on any sounds indicating movement in the room. They shared a nod, and Sanchez led the way inside, moving to the right while Mike slid along the wall to the left.

While being cautious, they wanted to hit the rooms aggressively with the intention of startling any of the gunmen lying in wait. Tensions were high as their flashlights illuminated the space, searching for a target. Several cubicles were located in the center of the room, providing ample cover for the gunmen. Mike dropped to a knee and swept the flashlight underneath the partitions, which were three inches above the concrete floor.

Satisfied there wasn’t anyone hiding in the cubicles, he motioned to Sanchez to move quickly along the outer walls. Just as they’d done in the spacious loading dock area, they kept their backs against the perimeter of the room, their eyes darting around the space in front of them as well as back to the door through which they’d entered.

After clearing the first room, they carefully reentered the hallway to move on to a room down the hall to the right. A large set of double steel doors were closed, unlike the next door in the hallway to the left, which was open.

Mike could’ve easily assumed this room was unoccupied, but he left nothing to chance. After he and Sanchez were in position, he slowly turned the knob and pushed it open. This open area had windows on the back side, and just enough ambient light was available for him to get a good look at the layout.

The perimeter walls were lined with cubicles, all of which contained a rolling office chair and a desktop computer. In the center, there were half a dozen utility tables with folding chairs around them. The space could’ve been used as a meeting room or even a break room for the cafeteria and loading dock employees. The sheer amount of clutter and furniture in the room gave him pause.

Mike stepped through the doorway first, attempting to lead by example. Sanchez immediately followed and moved to the right as before. Suddenly, there was a muzzle flash, and several bullets stitched the wall to Mike’s left. He dropped to a knee and held his position. He racked a round and fired in the direction of the muzzle flash. The shooter fell in a heap.

Another gunman was in the opposite corner of the room, hiding behind some boxes. He shot in the deputy’s direction. However, his bullets were deflected by the metal folding chairs around the tables. Sanchez didn’t hesitate to return fire directly into the stack of boxes. Some of the buckshot made it through, injuring the gunman. When he fell into the open, Sanchez pulled his service weapon from his utility belt and shot him again.

Mike and Sanchez quickly approached the two bodies sprawled out on the tiled floor. Blood splatter covered their clothing and the walls behind them. The holes in their chests and throats were all the evidence Mike needed to confirm their deaths.

“They look like soccer dads, not gangbangers,” quipped Sanchez.

Mike kept an eye on the door and responded, “Everybody’s a banger in the apocalypse.”

“Four?” asked Sanchez as he led the way back into the hallway.

Mike whispered his response. “We’ve still got work to do.”

They cleared two more rooms and made their way to the end of the corridor, where two double doors were propped open with cases of bottled water. They had to be extremely careful now, as the gunfire just gave away their approach.

Mike’s flashlight illuminated the sizeable storage room that rose two stories to an open-beam ceiling. The interior was filled with steel shelving full of dry goods and pallets of boxes. Above their heads, a catwalk filled with boxes extended around the second level.

This was the high school’s storage area and the prize the intruders sought. The numerous obstructions and the potential for gunmen having the high ground would make this a difficult space to clear. Mike took a deep breath and contemplated his best approach. The large size of the warehouse coupled with the amount of shelving in the center made splitting up unwise.

He also wanted to limit the ingress and egress to the room. Mike leaned into Sanchez and whispered his instructions. “Help me with these cases of water. I wanna seal off this exit, or at least make it difficult for them to come in or out.”