The Attack

The Surprise : Chapter Six

12:34 CST August 16th

Elliot Harper, Birmingham PD

"Hi," a voice on the other side of the phone said. "I'm just checking in on you. Please call back." It was Abbie, my wife.

I told her I would be busy for a while. A long while. But of course, her inner stubbornness got to her.

I heard a med team chatting around the left wing of the theater, which only had minor structural damage.

"No, President McMartin hasn't released a statement. Would he, though? He hates Alabama."

"Yeah, well did you hear all these false reports on Fox?"

"I know! They said around four hundred people were dead."

I walked over there. "Can we get back to work, guys?" I said calmly to them, not trying to hurt any feelings.

"Our work here is done. We never had any work. We were going to set a station for those who only had minor injuries," a black male about thirty said. "But everyone was dead or seriously injured. We have never seen such deadly bombs in Birmingham, ever."

I shook my head. "I haven't been inside. What does it look like?"

"Anyone with in 10 m of the bombs were incinerated. It's estimated the temperature when the bombs went off was around 5000 degrees."

I was shocked. I had worked on abortion clinic bombings before, and nothing like what was described to me had ever happened.

My phone rang again. I picked up.

"Hi, I'm busy Abbie. I love you, but-"

"This is officer Xavier. Your superior." A tough voice crackled over the phone line

Even though he wasn't there, I bowed my head in shame.

"Yessir."

"Your job, officer Harper-" there was a sharpness in his voice as he said my name, "-is to brief the special forces officers when they arrive at the field. They will be there around four. So get some lunch and rest a little bit. But not too much."

Gunshots went off somewhere a couple blocks away. Was it just gang violence, or what?

Screams pierced my eardrums. Another gunshot. The medical team that was idling around went for cover. The ones that were still retrieving the missing bodies continued their jobs, unaffected. A third gunshot caused me to get into my squad car and head toward to the disturbance.

"10-71." I said into my radio.

"Roger that. We have three officers on it." It was another superior sending me a message.

Three shots, most likely from an automatic weapon, went off. The sound of a car crashing echoed throughout the area.

"10-88, Harper! 10-20 at 1600 7th Ave S!"

I floored it.

On my way there, an estimated 15-20 gunshots were fired. That is when my radio went to static.

"Welcome!" A voice over my radio, not police, sang happily.

"It was tough, but I did it! I destroyed your security and got into your cars! And soon, I can say that my operatives have killed a total of 500 people! And then I can move from Bombingham on to bigger places!"

Manical laughter ensued over the hiss of static as I arrived at the address. Blood stained the windows of the Children's Hospital endocrinology and allergy clinic. Masked men were jumping into a van marked with coded messages.

I took out my pistol and shot one of them as they tried to get into the passenger door. They fell, and I got out of my car after short firefight with the remaining three men.

I walked up to him, my gun always pointed at his face if needed. "Who are you?" I shouted.

"My master would not approve the disclosure of information."

"What?"

"Get out of this city, before it is engulfed in flames and we take another one in the name of him."

"You are coming with me-"

He slipped his head forward and grabbed something small out of his breast pocket.

"Don't move or I will kill," I said, cocking my gun.

"Too late." And then he swallowed the pill. His body began convulsing, he foamed at the mouth for a little while, and I tried to save him. He was a terrorist, but one with valuable information.

--------------------------

The attack on the hospital was not as deadly as whoever took over the radio signals expected. The terrorists were obviously bad marksman, which was a blessing for the families of the victims. Twenty-three people were shot, but only eight died. Well, nine if you count the suicide.

The city was put on lockdown for a little while and a squad was was sent to find the criminals. I was deemed unfit, and I helped the medical efforts.

I sat in an area clean of blood near the testing lab, and thought about what the man on the radio said. I made my head hurt thinking about how sick some people are, and a nurse in a flowered scrub came by and offered some aspirin. I took it and felt a litle better

I turned on the news.

"A new report," a solemn reporter said, grimacing, "puts the dead in the theater bombing and hospital clinic at three-hundred three."

"Lord," the nurse at the front desk of the clinic said, biting her lip, "may we have guidance during this time."

I agreed with her solemnly. Then, I sat in silence for a little while. I was thinking about the maniac who had come over the radio. What had he said?

"'And soon I can say that my operatives have killed over five hundred people!'" I whispered to myself, puzzled. Then it hit me. No, not an idea, but a wall of bricks as the explosion rocked the clinic.

I blacked out, real quick.