Free Secession: The Storm by Joe Nobody Page B

Abe screamed, finally managing his feet. “You murdering pieces of shit,” he cried, staggering toward his father’s body.
     
    And then his way was blocked by the hulking shape of the bull policeman, the man raising a shotgun toward Abe’s midsection. The remaining Hendricks knew he was about to die.
     
    A flash appeared out of nowhere, the outline of a human arm entering Abe’s narrowed view of the weapon that was going to claim his life. Striking the barrel just as a fountain of white fire erupted from the muzzle, the mysterious hand somehow managed to push the shot wide.
     
    Blinking in surprise, both Abe and the big cop glanced up to see a man in a cowboy hat stepping between them. “Enough!” screamed the hat. “Stop this!”
     
    Sergeant Ford blinked, looking into Zach’s eyes as if he didn’t know where he was. “Cease fire! Everybody! Secure your weapons – now!” screamed Zach. “Cease fire!”
     
    Abe again tried to move to his fallen father’s side. He managed a single step before a jolt of agony shot through his head, and then the world turned black.
     

     
    The fog of shock and confusion in the Hendricks’s living room was as thick as the cordite gun smoke. After a few moments, Zach’s reeling brain registered the absolute blanket of silence that covered the area. It took him a few seconds more to realize the quiet was due to his ears being overwhelmed by the close-in gunfire.
     
    The rest of Sergeant Ford’s group appeared to be in some form of trance as well. One trooper stood and fidgeted with his M16, another man’s eyes darting rapidly from body to body strewn about the floor. Ford was statue-still, his mouth moving, but no sound coming from his throat. One of the guardsmen rushed to the front porch to wretch.
     
    “Are they all dead?” Zach finally managed to ask, his voice roaring inside of his skull as he tried to overcome the ringing in his ears.
     
    The question seemed to break the spell, the men moving quickly to check pulses and listen for beating hearts. The news wasn’t good.
     
    Both of the civilians were dead. The guardsman hit by Charlie’s initial shotgun blast had taken the blunt of the load in his body armor but was bleeding from several smaller wounds on his arms. The NOPD officer, caught by the scattergun’s second shot, had a thigh full of buckshot and was hemorrhaging enough to turn his pants leg a glistening red.
     
    The home’s third resident, lying at the feet of Ford and Zach, was still alive, but bleeding from a nasty gash on his head – courtesy of a cop’s rifle butt.
     
    “What the hell happened here?” someone finally asked. “How the fuck did this spiral out of control so quickly?”
     
    And then it seemed everyone wanted to talk at once.
     
    Ford was the first to realize the ramifications. As the soldiers worked on the two wounded team members with their first aid kits, Zach could tell the sergeant was already formulating how he would frame the incident in his report.
     
    Moving from team member to team member, the senior officer barked very pointed questions, such as, “What did you see?” and “Who fired first?”
     
    When it was Zach’s turn, the ranger answered in a neutral tone, “I didn’t see shit. I was the last one in, so I have no idea what happened.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but not entirely a lie. Besides, Ford’s attitude was beginning to seriously concern the Texan.
     
    Emotions continued to build throughout the group, an initial wave of anger quickly replaced by a current of remorse and chagrin. But then the tide started to turn.
     
    “That guy from the kitchen fired first,” someone protested, self-preservation finally taking hold of the herd’s mentality.
     
    Regret at the loss of human life was quickly cast aside. “What fucking choice did we have?” someone else chimed in.
     
    With the exception of the Texan, it became evident that every man in the room was having negative thoughts about his