Devon Ford - The Fall

Thirty-eight minutes after she had cleared the limits of the forest and headed north intending to head west on better roads, a single high-yield incendiary device dropped from near the stratosphere and plummeted earthwards like a dart, homing straight toward the signal emanating from the beacon, and wiped the Movement headquarters from the planet.

Further south, four people moved as fast as they could through the shadows of Central Park. The sound of sirens in the city was muted by their distance from the streets and shops which were being looted by everyone either too stupid, too selfish, or just totally unaware that nukes were dropping on the country. Trying to move around without attracting any attention to themselves was mostly simple, as the majority of people they saw had their own issues of more pressing concern than four strangers skulking west.

The majority, that was, with the exception of a young man having recently walked out of high school to walk a different path. His ‘crew’ made up entirely of children, only ever called him by his street name which, although apt, sounded comedic given his age. Muscle, a youth of fifteen but built like a man twice his age and heavy-set, watched them from the bushes and gave orders for two of his crew to follow them as he looped ahead.

This was a routine they had grown used to and, although they preferred to prey on naive tourists, it tended to work on New Yorkers who were supposed to be savvy enough not to get caught out like they did. Two hooded youths would follow the targets, staying close enough to unnerve them but never close enough to risk confrontation. When the nervous victims were spending more time looking behind them than in front, Muscle and the rest of the gang would burst from the bushes, beat their victims down, and rob them of everything.

The events in the city had led Muscle and his crew to step up their game that night, and already tonight they had committed dozens of felonies with impunity, as no cops ventured into the park that was their personal playground. They were encouraged into more bravery, more overt violence than normal, and now the reflected flash of metal he saw in the hands of one of them made him certain that he could now acquire the weapon he needed to be taken seriously on the streets. With a whistle and a nod of his head, two of the younger crew members, just thirteen and fourteen respectively, flicked up their hoods and set off into the darkness to set the trap.

Jake, at the head of their small advancing column, had his bright LED flashlight unclipped from his belt and held tactically in his left hand which he rested under his right as it gripped the Glock. He didn’t have it turned on, as he would blind everyone and ruin the night vision all of their eyes had acquired. He would use it if he had to, but he knew the results all too well of losing his visual acuity in the dark because some idiot flashed a beam too close to his eyes. The brightness of it was a weapon in itself, both psychologically and for temporarily blinding suspects, and he intended to keep that in reserve, not least for the fact that everyone would be able to see them at a distance and not the other way around.

“Jake,” said a voice softly from behind him, “we’re being followed.”

Jake froze and lowered his body weight instinctively on hearing the news. “Where?” he asked inadequately, when what he wanted to know were the answers to a dozen questions to correctly identify the threat and formulate the appropriate and accountable response.

“Two behind, hanging back,” came Sebastian’s voice, the smooth concierge showing an even more surprising skill-set with each minute that passed. “Keep moving slowly.”

Jake resumed their cautious advance at the previous pace, his inherent obedience to receiving orders from senior ranks so ingrained that he didn’t hesitate for a second. Not that he felt Sebastian was a senior rank, but something in the man’s voice said he knew what he was doing, and moreover made Jake really believe it, so he did as he was told after making a mental note to ask why a hotel manager was seemingly trained in night operations.

“Keep moving,” Sebastian said in the same low voice for the others to hear. “In a while they will probably block us in from the front and then try to rob us,” he told them, hearing an alarmed noise from the traumatized Louise between Cal and Jake. Jake swallowed on hearing the words. He knew about the gang activity in Central Park to some degree, but being stationed miles—and in a tightly packed place like Manhattan a couple of miles was an eternity in terms of people and crime statistics—away from it down in the One-Three, he rarely needed the information. Plus, there was also a task force set up for that kind of thing when it rolled around as flavor of the month for the brass to throw overtime at.

Jake could imagine the CompStat meetings held at 1 Police Plaza, or 1PP as they liked to abbreviate it, where crime statistics were fed to a room full of brass and overtime budgets were thrown back casually as though money could prevent crime.

He changed his mind about his earlier decision not to give Louise a weapon, and took away the hand with the flashlight to unsnap the fastening of the compact 9mm under his left arm. Holding it out behind him to Louise he whispered, “Know how to use this?”

“Yes,” she answered, taking the small gun and nestling it in her hand. A tense minute and a half later, Sebastian muttered two last instructions and then disappeared.

“Keep moving,” he said, “and don’t hit the flashlight until I call it.” Then he was gone.

Muscle rolled his thick neck on his shoulders, put on his meanest game face, and stepped out to block the path. He could see them approaching, not clearly but more a sense of darker shadows moving amongst the dark shadows. Once more he saw the glint of reflection ahead, telling him that the gun was there and it would soon be his. Then he would be taken seriously. What he didn’t see was any reflection from the black polymer of the three Glocks in the shadows ahead. Had he known, he would have hunted easier prey.

Just as a shadow ahead stepped out and partially sky lined itself on a slight incline, so too did the two followers pick up their pace to pen in the others. Sebastian, silently tucking himself into the foliage to his left and standing stock still with his breath held, felt the two pass right by him without ever knowing he was there. He slipped out and followed the unaware marauders on practiced feet, enjoying the adrenaline more than he thought he would. Sebastian Hill, remembering a life he tried so hard to escape and one he had promised, literally on pain of death, never to return to, suddenly found himself wondering why the hell he had ever retired. Hearing and sensing the inevitable confrontation ahead, he stalked forwards and struck twice, felling the two children with savage blows to their hoodie-covered skulls. Melting back into the undergrowth, he silently circled back around with a smile on his face which bordered on evil.

“Hand over everything,” Muscle demanded confidently, flexing his upper body autonomously even though his intended victims wouldn’t be able to see him sufficiently to fully appreciate the spectacle. A rustling to their right snatched their attention as two more figures emerged from the bushes, both brandishing reflective strips of sharp metal in their hands, held low but menacingly.

“Put your weapons down and step back,” Jake told them in the unmistakable tone of voice of an eager cop. “Do it now and you can walk.”

Muscle chuckled, a theatrical show of confidence which he actually felt, and sucked his teeth. He knew that people, especially cops, lived by rules. He felt free of rules and this empowered him, made him confident that he would easily triumph in this conflict even though he had literally brought a knife to a gunfight.