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Chapter 13 - I Talk to the Rain
🕑 Added 2024-09-15 13:46:53 +0000 UTC“Second floor’s clear!” Dag’s voice thundered from above. Mr. Moon did not reply, only filing Dag’s report away in his head while he continued to methodically search through the main floor. The living room was empty. So was the entrance, the hall, and the hall closet. Part of him wondered if this was nothing but an example of his paranoia. An extra squad car parked out front hardly meant for sure that there was another officer in the house. Considering no one came running after hearing a gunshot, odds were he truly was being paranoid for no reason.
On the other hand, Mr. Moon had just shot the chief of police in the back of the head. In an operation as delicate as this one was turning out to be, he couldn’t risk news of the murder being revealed in the wrong way. No, better for no witnesses to be around other than himself and Dag. Then he could claim it was done by a Russian sniper with none the wiser.
Mr. Moon walked down the hallway, glancing at the back door and noting that it still appeared locked before moving into the chief’s office. Compared to the spartan look of the hallway, the office was practically a full-on lounge. A fireplace, empty at the moment, but with large splashes of soot on the brick that spoke of heavy use. A thick wooden desk faced the door, one utilitarian wooden chair behind it while two more comfortable lounge chairs were placed in front.
On the walls were several more pictures, some featuring the chief posing with a grin next to his daughter, others showing various scenes of a hunt. Trophies of those hunts were littered around the wall – deer, elk, turkey, and even one bear head stared lifelessly down at Mr. Moon from where they were mounted. Above the fireplace were two hooks, clearly meant to hang some sort of firearm that was at the moment, missing. Most likely a hunting rifle. Perhaps it was at some hunting lodge or taken down for cleaning. Mr. Moon couldn’t claim to know much about hunting seasons and whatnot.
He completed his quick sweep around the room. Few objects could realistically hide the body of a grown man, other than perhaps the large desk, which he checked behind to reveal nothing but air. The fireplace, meanwhile, would be much too small for anyone but a child to scoot up, and none of the chairs were positioned in a way to block an observer’s line of sight.
Mr. Moon turned, heading back into the hallway… just in time to hear the crackling of a radio coming from the living room.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Cass’s breath caught in her mouth. Blue Tie had disappeared, his footsteps fading toward where she thought the office was. That was their moment. If they moved fast and silently enough, they could squeeze out the back door with none the wiser.
And then the walkie-talkie still strapped to her… dad’s belt. It crackled to life. A voice came out of it, garbled to the point that Cass couldn’t fully understand it without an extreme amount of focus. In an instant she could hear Blue Tie’s footsteps returning, the man dashing down the hall, through the living room, and arriving to crouch at the side of the man he’d murdered in cold blood. Her eyes narrowed in pure, undiluted hatred, fingers creeping along the stock of her hunting rifle. The pantry was cramped, almost unbearably so with both her and Mark standing in it. At most the walk-in space was meant for one person to quickly dip in, grab an item, and leave. But… if she…
Cass squeezed her back as tightly into Mark’s body as possible, causing the bulky football player to take half a step back – the only amount he could retreat by without bowling over the shelves behind him. That movement left just enough room for her to bring the muzzle of the rifle up around waist level, with the stock of the gun poking into Mark’s stomach even as he sucked in his chest. It was incredibly close. Each centimeter higher she nosed the weapon up was a centimeter closer to the tiny gap in the mostly closed door.
Mark's hand frantically patted at her shoulder. Undoubtedly he was freaking out over what he could see her doing under the dim light streaming in from the crack in the door. Cass ignored him. The shot was iffy. On one hand, the scum was five, maybe six feet away from where Cass stood. On the other hand, she would have to hip-fire the rifle. The crack in the door was too small for her to use the scope on the weapon to any noticeable effect, and it was already a difficult enough task to bring the rifle up to a firing position at her waist in the cramped confines of the pantry.
Nor could Cass open the door any wider, or even step out. She was angry, not stupid. She’d seen how quickly Blue Tie drew his weapon and fired. The man was a professional killer while she’d gone hunting only a handful of times with her dad. The difference would be enough to mean her death. And as much as Cass wanted to spray Blue Tie’s brains across the living room as soon and accurately as possible, she also owed it to her dad to survive. Throwing away her life only for the barest chance of a better shot would just make him sad when they met again in the next world.
The revolver in her other hand trembled, though if it was from fear, rage, or simple adrenaline, Cass did not know. Two guns could even things out. The distance would mean the lesser accuracy of the pistol wouldn’t matter much, though Cass would have to use her thumb to pull back the hammer each time before she fired. A downside of the single-action nature of the weapon.
She could shoot through the door, no need to open it wider. Unlike in the movies, her dad had always told her to never rely on any door, whether car or house, to keep her safe from bullets. Not unless it was several arms-widths of steel thick.
Cass’s index fingers curled around the triggers of both weapons while her thumbs flicked each of the safeties off. She took a deep breath, releasing it then drawing in another. This second breath she held in her lungs, keeping her body as steady as possible so as to not mess up the shots. Her finger began to tighten.
Then the second man, the one Blue Tie called Dag, walked into view to stand next to her father’s killer. Cass closed her eyes and regretfully let out her held breath. The rifle was a single-shot bolt-action weapon. The revolver was single-action. Even if she managed to kill Blue Tie quickly, her slow rate of fire would leave Dag time to kill both her and Mark for sure. Nor would her accuracy be all that great, with the hip-firing and the closed confines of the pantry preventing any real usage of the sights. She would be trading Blue Tie’s life for her’s and Mark’s. Dad wouldn’t like that. Not even a bit.
Damn it all.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The radio clipped to Chief Thomson’s waist buzzed again, this time with Paul’s voice.
“-Repeat, requesting immediate backup at the corner of State and Fairlawn! Shots fired, unknown number of assailants! Repeat! Requesting immediate backup!”
Mr. Moon unclipped the radio from the chief’s duty belt.
“Copy that. This is Mr. Moon. Dag and I are en route.”
He threw the radio into Dag’s hands without waiting for a response. The two men ran outside to the car.
“Russians probably. No one else is insane enough. What about the possible witness?” Dag rumbled, glancing at the cop car parked on the driveway. Mr. Moon paused next to it, shooting Dag a meaningful look before pulling a knife out from his belt.
Dag's face lit up in understanding and he pulled out his hunting knife. Mr. Moon's knife slashed through the rubber tires of the patrol car while Dag ran for the open garage, slashing open the tires of the chief's car one by one. The entire action took no more than ten seconds. Now if anyone wanted to use either vehicle, they would need to track down three more tires or accept they would have little-to-no control over the steering, along with a vastly decreased speed and being quite conspicuous.
At this moment that was all they could do. If the Russians were on the move again, neither Mr. Moon nor Dag could waste time at the house. The Russians, and the alien, were simply a higher priority than a witness that might not even exist.
“If our witness truly does exist, this should cut his options down by quite a lot. He’ll need to take it slowly, jack a car, or move on foot. All are conspicuous options.”
Once the tires of both cars were sitting flat on the ground, Mr. Moon and Dag piled into his car. Mr. Moon threw the vehicle into gear and screeched out of the driveway with only the barest glance spent at the house in the rearview mirror.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Cass waited five minutes in silence before easing herself out of the pantry, rifle held at a readied position in one hand while her other hand still clutched her dad’s Colt revolver.
The house was silent. Empty, aside from her and Mark. Even past the dreadful ringing in her ears, Cass had been able to hear the screeching of tires as the two murderers raced out of the driveway toward whatever Paul had radioed in for. Hopefully Paul would be okay. Blue Tie – no, Mr. Moon, that was his name according to Paul. Mr. Moon seemingly wanted to keep the murder quiet, so she couldn’t quite see him attacking Paul for no reason. Mr. Moon. What a stupid name. Probably a fake one, knowing how that cowardly bastard liked to act. Couldn’t even be brave enough to hand out his real name.
Cass shifted her eyes down to her dad. Her heart leaped up into her throat, while Mark loudly lost his lunch in the background once his vision followed hers. No glassy eyes were staring at her, nor was he barely breathing or trying to give last words. It wasn’t like any movie she’d seen.
Her dad was just dead. He was lying on his stomach, the back of his head coated with blood amid pieces of shattered bone.
Cass joined Mark in emptying the contents of her stomach. The motion made it even worse, as when she doubled over, her eyes flicked over the splatters of blood on the wall. Acidic bile mixed with hot tears that stung her eyes.
Soon her stomach was empty. Cass spat out the last strings of stomach acid, walking over to the sink to run her mouth under the faucet. Once they were both as recovered as they were going to be, Cass tossed the rifle to Mark, who jumped in surprise before catching it. They really were alone in the house, so no sense in clogging up both her hands.
Just Cass, Mark…
And her dad. Dead on the floor.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
“-Taking heavy fire from the South side! South side! We-“
The radio crackled as Cathy switched frequencies.
“-Hey, I’m going over to the gas station for some munchies, wanna come, Billy? I-"
The frequency switched again.
Again.
Again.
And again.
Over and over Cathy flicked through the different channels and frequencies. Some were inputted into the notebook in her lap for future reference. The standard police frequencies, the HAM radio frequencies preferred by the locals (or at least the few locals who bothered to use something like that), and a few more were marked down in her usual chicken scratch handwriting.
It wasn't the only radio in the room. The entire bedroom was filled with equipment – some silent, some buzzing with nothing but static, others lively with the sound of people speaking. The bed was shoved off to the side in the corner, sheets undisturbed as Cathy worked tirelessly to not only gather information but to also keep the team's comms running smoothly and securely. Department radios, secure phone lines, and even a connection to the office back in Washington. All of those required a communications specialist to manage them.
Her purse sat empty on the nightstand, part of it hanging off the end to make room for a pitch-black rotary phone. The weapon that had once been kept concealed inside of the purse, an S&W Model 29, was placed well within arm’s reach of Cathy on the desk she worked at next to a glass of ice water. She didn’t expect any problems. The house was nondescript, none of the neighbors suspected them, and Steve was not only busy infiltrating the community, but also serving as the first line of defense for the team’s communications hub. Still, better to be safe than sorry. It always was, especially when she could hear men dying over the radio waves.
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Greetings and salutations fellow humans. Not much to say today. Just been enjoying that September Fall weather for all its worth before the chill of Winter descends.
As usual, huge thanks to patreons, ninja editors, and all you lovely readers. Couldn't do this without ya.
Peace
