Neely Tucker - Only the Hunted Run

Empty, thank the Jesus. He got under the conference table and let the door close behind him. Where was the phone, his phone… Here. The inside pocket of the sport coat. One bar. Fuck. But he punched the buttons and it went through, the Metro desk answering on the second ring. He asked for R.J., his editor, and the man himself was on the line in milliseconds.

“Sullivan! You’re where?”

“The Capitol. There’s been some-”

“AP bulletin says shots fired. What, what?”

“We got bodies, brother, we got six, seven, this is minimum, this is in the Crypt and then the second floor, I’m talking the floor the Rotunda’s on, more hit. Ah, what, I got two police officers dead in the, the Rotunda, one gunman reported-”

“-slow down, down, give it to me again, I got a file, I got a file, where, now now now. Seven bodies? Dead, wounded? You’re inside the building?”

“-with a semi, I, I got, I wasn’t taking pulses. One guy, his head blown open, he’s gone, that’s in the Rotunda, this lady in the Crypt, she’s gone, the cops and this other guy in the Rotunda, all head shots.”

“Where are you?” Sully could hear R.J.’s hands flying over the keyboard, banging out the dictation.

“A meeting room in the hallway to the Speaker’s office, just off the Rotunda. You know where-”

“You’re inside the building?”

“Did you hear me? Write this down: In the fucking middle of it.”

“What can you see right now? What are you looking at?”

“The underside of a desk.”

“Goddammit-”

“Calm down. I know, I know. I can-”

“The shots, man, the shots. Did you see anybody with a gun?”

“You got to slow down. I ain’t seen nobody with a gun. It started down low, though, I can tell you that, the shooting, I mean. The Crypt, from that entrance. The east side. The shooter came in from the east side. Moved up to the Rotunda, seems to be behind me in the Speaker’s office, but I can’t confirm the last. May be just the one shooter.”

“Basis for the observation?”

“This kid, this intern? He got tagged on the shoulder, there in the Rotunda? He said one. The shots I’ve heard, from a distance? They’ve all seemed to be in one place. I think it’s here. You know, the Speaker’s office. But I can’t hear shit from in here, this room. Calling in to dictate.”

“Go, go, go.”

“Okay, let’s go with, ah, Jesus, okay.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “At least one gunman fired dozens of rounds in the U.S. Capitol building this afternoon, killing at least four-ah, it’s gonna be more, but let’s stick with four for the minute-and seriously wounding several others in an attack unlike any other in the nation’s history… With me?”

“Keep going.”

“At least four bodies lay in the Crypt and the Rotunda in pools of blood. Shots rang out. The screaming of women and bellowing of men was, what, what, it was pronounced , the raised voices echoing down hallways of marble and tile. A fire alarm was activated, adding to the confusion, though no flames or smoke were immediately present. Two security officers were hit by gunfire at the east entrance to the Crypt and they fell, perhaps fatally wounded. Two more officers were hit, fatally, in the Rotunda, one floor above. Also in the Rotunda, at least two other victims had been shot to death. A witness in the Rotunda, a young man hit in the shoulder with at least one bullet, said he saw only one gunman, and that the man had gone toward the Speaker’s office. Time that at, what is it, 5:37 p.m.”

Running his palm over his forehead, through his shock of black hair, “Okay, okay, how we doing? What else, what else you guys getting-”

“Complete and total fuckery. First AP bulletin was, was eleven minutes ago. ‘Shots fired at the eastern entrance to U.S. Capitol building.’ A follow six minutes later, reporting Capitol police officers down at that entrance. Something about a confrontation at the metal detector, guy pulls out a gun and goes all Columbine.”

“Ah, shit.”

“Television has some cameras outside, but they’re not close. Everybody was down at the federal courthouse. I’m looking at long-range lens stuff on the screen. People running. Did I say fuckery yet?”

“Is there a wide shot of the building?”

“What? Yes, yes. CNN.”

“Is there smoke?”

“Not that I can see.”

“Good. Then somebody just yanked the alarm; it didn’t go off because of some sort of fire I can’t-”

“When can you get-”

“-get to, look, keep an eye on that body count, right, particularly the officers? My numbers are all over the place. I saw two dead, two dead cops, in the Rotunda. Didn’t see any other reporters, or anybody else at all, so I wouldn’t think those two are included in the AP’s count of three. So we may have five cops down.”

“Networks and the cables are on air now with people calling in from the building, hiding in offices, like that.”

“The kid I saw, the one that got tagged? He should be outside by now, but he’s catatonic. He’s not going to make it to the cameras. Too bad. He saw the shit firsthand.”

“You’re sure about the female fatality in the Crypt, though?”

Sully closed his eyes. The blood, the bubble on the lips, the way she’d looked not at him but in him. He could not let that in, not now, maybe not ever. You could not do this job and let the eyes of dead and dying see into you.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m pretty goddamn sure.”

“Okay. Okay.”

Sully’s eyes popped open, the thought just coming to him.

“Wait, wait, wait. Isn’t Timothy in the building? I saw him upstairs about an hour ago.”

“Timothy is in the press room. He’s on the line with the National Desk. Says they’ve barricaded themselves in there. He’s calling, looking for the leadership.”

“Barricaded?”

“Says they locked the door, moved chairs and couches.”

“The fuck is he doing in the press room?”

“Timothy has been in the press room for approximately forty-three years.”

“You’re saying the press corps locked themselves in the press room when the shooting started.”

“Yes.”

“To keep themselves from getting to the news?”

“I don’t think they want the news getting to them.”

“Jesus the fucking H.”

“Are you going to get over this?”

“Tell Timothy to find his dick-it’s usually right below the belt buckle-and get out of the press room and do some gotdamn reporting.”

“Not happening. Turtles in the Galápagos move faster than Timothy. He’s-wait, National sends an all-newsroom message here.” There was a pause. “He saying he’s got the House Speaker on the line.”

“Who is where?” Sully said, startled, sitting up straight.

“At home in Georgia.”

“That’s going to help.”

“Nobody is in town. Nobody.”

“Where’s POTUS and Vice POTUS?”

“West Texas and a secure location, respectively.”

“Is Al Haig in charge?”

“Can you get out?”

“Of what?”

“The building!”

“Why, why would I do that?”

“An outburst of common sense?”

“You pay me to-”

“Then stay put. Now gimme the rest of what you’ve got. Gimme, gimme the narrative, walk it through.”

“-to, what, okay. Look, I was stalking Evans, the senator lady from back home who approved these drilling rights, like I’m supposed to be doing- fuck Clarice, why am I the pinch hitter? I’m walking to this hearing Evans is supposed to be holding, but like three people are in there and, and nobody is up at the stage thing or wherever they sit, right? The dais, is that the word? So I’m going back the other way, going through the Rotunda, thinking I’m in the wrong place, and then there’s this noise, this rumpus from way off, it’s like you’re at the beach and somebody a quarter mile down starts yelling ‘Shark!’ but you can’t hear them for the wind? But something’s obviously going south? This was downstairs at the time. Absolutely downstairs. People start running like a cattle stampede, screaming ‘He’s got a gun! He’s got a gun!’ Like that. Bursts of shots, one, two, half a dozen, you can’t really tell because it’s all marble and tile and everything echoes. So I ran downstairs, heard some fire, hit the floor, but then the next volley was from upstairs because-”