Castroville: Countdown to Armageddon: Book 7 (22 page)

-47-

     The San Antonio Police Department hadn’t dealt with such an assault on its ranks since the blackout occurred. Most of those who were on the force in the pre-darkness days were long since dead. Most of the current cops had never been through the police academy. They’d simply been hired off the streets because they were looking for work and passed a screening by Chief Martinez or Deputy Chief Parrish.

     Still fewer had received any tactical training. The crime scene at the corner of North Hein Road and Rigsby was chaos in its purest form. For Robbie, it was reminiscent of an old
Keystone Cops
short. Officers ran here, there and everywhere, desperate to help in the situation somehow but now knowing what to do or how to do it.

     It would have almost been funny, except that there were three men dead.

     There were six of them there now, scurrying like ants all over the scene. No sergeants were yet present. Only three were on duty on this particular day, and the nearest one had a flat tire. He was waiting for another squad to pick him up and was still twenty minutes away.

     None of the officers on the scene knew how to establish a perimeter around the area, or to organize an effective search. None of them, save Parrish, established the link between the location of the shooting and Chief Martinez’ residence, just down the street.

     And none of them, save Parrish, wondered why the chief himself hadn’t radioed in to give his input.

     Parrish knew Martinez wasn’t at the crime scene. He’d have been on the radio barking orders by now. He strongly suspected that Martinez had been shot or taken hostage. And that Robbie Benton was waiting to ambush anyone who came to his aid.

     He hoped it was the latter. As much as Parrish hated having to deal with criminals for the release of hostages, a live chief was much better than a dead one. Especially when the chief was a good friend he’d known for almost thirty years.

     More than anything, the cops at North Hein Road and Rigsby needed leadership. And Parrish was just the one to provide it.

     He was still ten minutes away.

     While he waited, Robbie marveled at the stupidity of the men at the scene. There were three men lying dead at their feet. Yet not one of them realized an immediate threat.

     Had they been more experienced, they’d have realized from the wounds that the men weren’t killed by handguns at close range. They were felled by a long range rifle.

     And until a sweep was done of the area, no one could be certain that same rifle wasn’t trained on them at this very moment.

     Still, they milled about, conferring amongst themselves, obviously not having a clue about where to proceed or what to do.

     They were obviously waiting for supervision of some sort to arrive and guide them in the right direction.

     It was too much for Robbie.

     He wished his rifle was equipped with a silencer. Silencers had long been illegal in the United States, but he’d seen a few on the streets since the EMPs threw the world into chaos. He wished he’d kept one for his own use.

     A shot with a silencer could have come from anywhere. He could have dropped the Keystone Cops one at a time, the bullets seemingly coming out of the blue, from every direction. Until one of them was smart enough to establish a trajectory based on where the latest victims were standing. And they’d all be dead before that happened.

     A shot without a silencer would announce his location. Or, at least, give them a direction to look in and a hint on where to search for their shooter.

     Still, he was getting antsy. And he’d come here to go to war, not to stand in the same spot watching for hours while tiny fire ants climbed up his legs and caused him misery. They appeared to be attracted to the blood on his shoes. He wished they’d stay there.

     “To hell with this,” Robbie finally muttered to himself.

     He lined up again on a cop who’d only been on the force for a few months. He recognized him from such a distance because he, like John Castro, had a very distinctive walk.

     Robbie wondered why he couldn’t remember the man’s name. But it didn’t matter. Robbie didn’t like him. They hadn’t hit it off since the first time they’d been introduced. As a rookie, he’d been assigned to be Robbie’s partner for a week, before he rotated through several other partners.

     Robbie didn’t like rookies. And he didn’t like partners. He did his level best to make them miserable.

     This particular rookie irritated Robbie even more than the others because he was a know-it-all. He’d taken a few courses in criminal justice in college before the world went to hell, and thought he knew more about police procedures than Robbie did.

     His first day on patrol he was making suggestions regarding how Robbie should do his job.

     On the second day Robbie had told him to shut the hell up or he was going to shove his service weapon down the man’s throat.

     On the third day he’d gone to a supervisor and requested a new training officer. And that was fine with Robbie.

     That was the last time a rookie had been assigned to ride with Robbie Benton.

     And that was the same time rumors had started to circulate around the department that Robbie might be unstable.

     Robbie leveled his sights on the man’s chest and rested his finger on the trigger. Then he remembered that the rook… Officer Dumbass or whatever the hell his name was, was one of the few officers in the department who wore body armor.

     No problem. He was just standing there, in the open, talking to another officer and no doubt offering advice on how to process the crime scene.

     Robbie raised the gunsights and zeroed in on the man’s head.

     Then he changed his mind. This man needed to suffer, he decided.

     He moved the crosshairs again. Down about ten inches or so. Officer Dumbass would die, but it wouldn’t be quick. It would be a very miserable and very painful death.

     He eased back the trigger and the bullet flew, ripping a hole through the rookie’s throat and plowing through his jugular vein.

-48-

     Officer Kenny Woods went down in a flash, a dazed and confused look on his face, his hands reaching up and clutching his neck.

     The other officers took cover and looked to the east, where the shot had come from.

     Luckily, one of them had the forethought to radio in with the call, “This is Charlie Nine. Shots fired, from east of our location. Officer down.”

     He probably saved Deputy Chief Parrish’s life. For at the time of the call Parrish was only three blocks away. Had he driven into an active shooter scene, he’d have made a target that Robbie couldn’t possibly have passed up.

     Instead, he parked his car and started giving instructions without actually eyeballing what was going on.

     “Charlie Nine, This is Eagle Two. Are there any supervisors at your location?”

     “No, sir.”

     “Very well. You’re in charge for the time being. Are all your men safely under cover?”

     “Yes, sir. Everyone except Woods. He’s been shot.”

     “Are any of your men able to get to him without being shot themselves?”

     “I think Delgado can crawl over to him from the house.”

     “Direct Delgado to him and have him perform buddy care and first aid. Have him stay with him for the time being.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “Do it now.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     Parrish could hear the fear and the stress in the young man’s voice. By taking the decision making away from him, he prevented the possibility of him freezing up or doing something stupid.

     “Okay, sir. He’s with Officer Woods. He’s trying to stop the bleeding.”

     “Very good. How many men are there with you, other than Woods and Delgado?”

     “Four, sir.”

     “Tell them to work their way to the alley north of North Hein Road. Then have them work their way east. How many shooters are we looking for?”

     “I don’t know, sir. There was only one shot.”

     “And you’re sure it came from the east?”

     “Yes, sir, east of here for sure.”

     “Very well. Have your men work their way east through the alley. Slowly and methodically. Tell them to use hand signals to communicate. Provide cover for each other and use extreme caution. Tell them to mute their radios and stay against the fences and on the grass as much as possible. Tell them to eyeball or enter each yard and to make sure it’s clear before they proceed to the next yard. Also to check for activity within the houses and on the rooftops.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “You move to the alley too. Keep them in sight as long as you can, but hold your position for now.”

     Parrish could almost hear Charlie Nine breathe a sigh of relief. He certainly didn’t want to get any closer to the shooter himself.

     “All Units enroute, report your ETAs if within ten minutes.”

     “Charlie Three, five minutes.”

     “Delta Eighteen, seven minutes.”

     “Delta Eight, five minutes.”

     “Charlie Four, six minutes.”

     “Charlie Three and Delta Eighteen, take up a position at the corner of Elm and Marley. Watch to the west and north.

     “Delta Eight and Charlie Four, take up a position at the corner of Stokes and Marley. Watch to the west and south. Anyone else who is enroute, take up positions at one of those points.

     “All units, be careful who you’re shooting at. There may be civilians in some of those houses, and I don’t want us taking out any of our own.”

     Parrish drew his service weapon and headed east, in the alley south of North Hein Road. He tried his best to stay low, all the while bemoaning his bad knees and advanced years.

     It occurred to him that he was probably the only one out there who’d had any significant tactical training. And almost certainly the only one who’d been in an active shooter situation before.

     Other than maybe the shooter himself.

     It was a bit unnerving, knowing that the shooter might be more experienced than his officers. He already had the advantage of being hidden. He had the element of surprise on his side. And if the shooter was indeed Robbie Benton, he had the additional advantage of knowing his targets. Who was a good shot and who wasn’t. Who was likely to freeze up and who wasn’t. Who could run, who couldn’t.

     It occurred to Parrish that his men might be at a severe disadvantage. The gunman seemed to have all the cards, except for the numbers.

     And numbers could be whittled down, one or two at a time.

     Parrish made his way through the alley, moving cautiously from behind one dumpster to the next. Before each movement, he scanned everything in front of him. The rooftops, the trees, the tops of the privacy fences. He was looking for anything and everything. In his right ear was an ear bud so he could monitor the frequency. He didn’t want his radio to suddenly spring to life and give away his position.

     With his left ear, the better of the two, he listened. For any kind of movement behind the high fences. For the sound of anyone running across a rooftop or through the alley. For any shouting or talking which might indicate the shooter had been captured.

     Or, which might indicate the shooter had an accomplice.

     The stalking of Robbie Benton had begun.

 
-49-

     Parrish had gone completely silent. He monitored the radio through his earpiece but would let Charlie Nine run the operation on the north side of North Hein Road.

     He’d have rather gone in with backup on the south side, but he didn’t want Benton… or whoever it was… to get away.

     He passed the center of the block, moving slower than he’d have liked, but also using an abundance of caution.