Bobby Akart - Desolation

All of a sudden, several shots broke the silence. Mike immediately spotted the source through the muzzle flash. The man on the catwalk fell to his knees and began shouting.

“That’s me you shot at, dumbass!”

“Sorry. I didn’t know.”

Mike took advantage of the confusion and moved deftly along the catwalk to get into position. As soon as the gunman on the upper level stood upright, Mike shot him without hesitation. He rushed toward the body and fired another round from his service weapon into the man’s chest.

Below, there were panicked shouts coming from the two remaining gunmen. They fired into the ceiling, knocking out one of the skylights. Then their heavy footsteps could be heard running away from Mike’s position.

Mike searched for the sliver of daylight coming from the exit door on the opposite side of the building. He had a clear shot at the door. He held his breath, trained his weapon on the exit leading to the breezeway, and waited.

It took just seconds for him to find his target. The men ran side by side and slammed into the doors simultaneously. The moment the panic bars were hit with their hands to open the double doors, Mike fired in rapid succession, sending round after round into their bodies until they crashed through the doors and landed facedown on the concrete sidewalk. Their motionless bodies lay half in and half out of the doorway. Dead.

Any return fire never materialized, so Mike and Sanchez cleared the second floor of the building. When they returned to the catwalk, they could see Hank standing over the two gunmen with his shotgun pointed at their heads. Mike finally exhaled and holstered his sidearm. He cradled his shotgun and turned to Sanchez.

“What’s your body count?”

Sanchez thought for a brief moment. “Three up here. Three down there. Those two in the doorway. Plus whatever happened outside. It’s possible we missed somebody.”

Mike chuckled. “I dare them to stick their heads out of whatever hole they crawled into.”

Tuesday, November 12

Marathon High School

Mike and Sanchez joined Hank on the sidewalk, where he continued to stand over the dead men. He cradled the shotgun in his arms and wiped the sweat off his brow. Hank had been through a gunfight before and knew what to expect. He silently said a prayer thanking God for keeping his family safe once again.

He turned his attention to Mike and Sanchez, who squinted to allow their eyes to adjust to the daylight. “You guys good?”

“Yeah,” Mike said, mindlessly kicking the legs of the two dead men bleeding on the pavement between them. He half-waved to Erin, who stood over the other three dead men. Her head was on a swivel, looking between the hedges toward the loading dock and across the street toward the crowd of people who’d accumulated in the street. “What’s all that?” He pointed toward the onlookers.

“We made plenty of noise, I guess,” replied Hank. “Erin shot out their tires, by the way. If there are any stragglers, they’re walking home.”

“There might be, but I believe they’re long gone,” said Mike. “Plus, we have a few dead guys inside. Did they give you any trouble?” His face showed his concern for the onlookers, who were inching closer.

“No, they stayed hidden behind pilings and cars. I doubt they want any piece of this.” Hank pointed the barrel of his shotgun toward the two dead men.

Mike took a few steps toward where Erin stood. He studied the crowd, who continued to inch closer. He estimated there were more than a dozen of them. He turned to address his deputy.

“Sanchez, go to my truck and grab a couple of rolls of crime scene tape. I’m not sure it’ll keep them out, but we gotta try something.”

“Do you think they’re gonna rush us?” asked Hank.

“The building. They want what’s inside as much as these guys. Only, they aren’t willing to die for it.” Mike paused and then added as he unconsciously raised the barrel of his shotgun slightly, “I hope.”

“Is it full?” asked Hank.

“Pretty much. These morons shot it up, but there are a lot of nonperishables inside.”

Sanchez returned with the yellow and black tape containing the lettering CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS. Mike instructed him to cordon off both entrances to the utility yard in front of the loading dock and from the hedgerow to the entrance to the high school.

“You know what,” began Hank. “Let me go talk to them.”

Hank wandered away from Mike and Sanchez to join Erin.

“Is it over?” she asked.

“Yeah. However, we need to make sure these people don’t do anything stupid. Wanna help me?”

She nodded and lowered her weapon so as not to appear to be a threat. Erin was aware that the mere appearance of an AR-15 sent some people screaming into the night. They walked side by side toward the crowd, causing some to react by backing up several paces. Hank noticed this first and began to speak as he approached. His goal was to satisfy the curious and to warn them against interfering.

“Hi, folks! My name is Hank Albright, and this is Erin Bergmann. If you have a moment, let me bring you up to speed on what just happened.”

Erin made eye contact and gave him a reassuring smile. Hank nodded his appreciation. What he was about to say would spread around Marathon faster than the Coconut Telegraph could be printed.

“Don’t you own the inn on Driftwood Key?” asked one woman.

“That’s right. And my friend, Erin, is the United States Secretary of Agriculture. She’s here to help us through this mess.”

“What happened over there?” asked a man in the front of the group.

Hank glanced over his shoulder and then explained. He chose his words carefully in order to send a very clear message. “Those armed gunmen thought they were entitled to something they weren’t. Many in our community are suffering. They’re sick, hungry, and thirsty. But that doesn’t give a few the right to load up in their trucks, arm themselves with guns, and break into a place like the high school to steal. My brother and his loyal deputy took decisive action to protect this food for everyone in Marathon, not just a handful who thought they could take it by force. They paid the ultimate price for their rash decision and brazen attempts to kill two members of our law enforcement.”

A shy woman at the rear of the group pushed her way to the front. “There have been people breaking into our homes at night. They carried guns and threatened to kill us if we tried to stop them. They robbed my sister’s house across the canal. She was hiding in a closet and overheard them say they were from the Tarpon Harbour apartments.”

Erin addressed her. “Thank you for this information, ma’am. We’ll provide it to the detective and his deputies. Does anyone else know anything about these break-ins?”

Suddenly, several people in the crowd began to relay what they’d heard and experienced. The home invasions had a chilling effect on everyone in the adjoining neighborhoods, who were just trying to survive. Their plight was made all the more difficult by the brazen robberies.

Hank and Erin listened intently to their stories, mentally taking notes to share with Mike. As the conversation died down, one man was bold enough to ask what was on most of their minds.

“Hey, is there any food in there?” he asked.

“How about fresh water?” chimed in another.

Hank wasn’t sure how to answer the questions. He presumed to know why they were asking. “Well, we were a little busy, as you can imagine, to take inventory. After the deputy secures the building, I’m sure some kind of inventory will be taken. Technically, it’s the property of the county, so I’m not sure—”