Free Skyfire by Doug Vossen Page B

name is Callie Kennedy.” Callie’s voice was speedy, nervous. “I live over at the Riverside Terrace building, a few blocks away.  I woke up in the hospital down on River Road. I know this sounds crazy, but I’m pretty sure almost everyone is dead and actually I woke up in a morg-” Callie stopped. The officer hadn’t moved at all. “Hello? Officer…” Callie searched for nametag . “… Suarez? Officer Suarez? Hello?”
    Callie leaned over the waist high reception desk and tapped the officer on the shoulder, giving her a small nudge.  The momentum of the nudge carried Officer Suarez to the ground, as if she were dead weight.  “Oh shit!” Callie shrieked.
    Suarez had the same red membranes over her eyes and skin rash Callie had seen on the bodies at the hospital.  The officer also had a large exit wound just above her brow line.  I’m gonna throw up.   She heaved, spitting up only bile. Just when you think you can’t throw up any more, the universe shows you some shit that makes ‘Two Girls, One Cup’ look like an episode of goddamn ‘My Little Pony.’ She dry heaved again. It was starting to hurt; each gag and subsequent heave produced a steady stream of stomach acid, burning her insides and tasting absolutely wretched.  All she could focus on was Suarez’s body and the sound of flies buzzing around all the other corpses littering the area.  As disturbing as it was to see fresh human corpses, something about the buzzing of the flies made it all much worse.  It was a feeling she would never shake, a feeling that would haunt her for the rest of her life.  I am staring at a police officer who was shot in the back of the head sometime in the last few days.  Inside the very police station where she worked.  What. The. Fuck.
    Callie pulled herself together.  This horror was reality now.  She looked around for anything that could be useful - supplies, information, survivors - anything that might help.  She noticed Officer Suarez’s gun was not holstered.  It lay three feet from her corpse, as if thrown aside while she was attempting to draw it.  Who the fuck shot her in the back of the head while she was working the front desk? Another cop?   Callie felt entranced from her sativa-induced focus.  It made her hyper-analyze almost everything.  Either way, I’m taking this gun.  Wait, how the hell do I use it?  It’s like Homer Simpson said, point it at the thing you want to die and squeeze.  Something like that.  
    She carefully inspected the firearm.  The side read ‘BERETTA U.S.A. CORP ACKK., MO – MADE IN USA.’  Cool, thanks for nothing, gun. Callie fumbled about until her right thumb accidently depressed the magazine release, causing it to loudly clang to the ground.  Goddamn it. Fear took hold, telling her this was definitely not a toy.  She loaded the magazine back into the gun. Ok, we know what that does. Now what’s this?   Along the top sliding assembly was a small lever canted down at a forty-five degree angle.  She carefully flicked it forward, exposing a bold red dot underneath.  Red is usually bad. She used her thumb to pull back the hammer, exposing the firing mechanism.  Shit, why the hell did I do that?  I’m not Jason Bourne but I know enough that this gives me a bad feeling . Handling her weapon carefully, Callie pointed the gun toward an empty brick wall and squeezed the trigger.
    The jolt from the small caliber pistol startled Callie more than it should have. She let out a small yelp.
    So it works.  How do I make the hammer thing go back down?  It can’t be the button for the ammo clip and it can’t be the trigger.   She flicked the original lever back down, concealing the red dot and causing the hammer to snap loudly back into place.  She was again startled.  So this thing is a safety and this is the ammo.  If I pull back the slide thingy a little, I can see a bullet inside the chamber ready to fire.  I got this.  She realized her satchel was