Marker of Faith

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 17

John skidded to a halt at the edge of a crowd gathered on the mosque's front steps. For some reason the short run over left him breathless, and over his panting he heard the sound of someone screaming inside the building; long agonized screams filled with terror and pain.

"Police! Move away now!" John yelled, flashing his badge as he drew his gun.

The crowd didn't flinch. He tried to push past them, but it was like they were made of stone, immovable. The people all had their eyes closed and were either smiling or whispering something unintelligible. They were all holding hands, swaying back and forth and seemingly serenaded by a dark lullaby or enraptured like lost souls in some back woods tent revival. John expected someone to whip out a snake and start speaking in tongues at any moment.

"I said move!" John yelled again and shoved a middle-aged man with a bad comb-over. The spellbound man didn't budge, and John was about to mace the guy when the sounds of sirens and police cars braking to stop made him spin around.

Five police cruisers and a SWAT van had jumped the curb and were spread out behind him. The eerie group of spectators didn't even notice the arrival; they just kept swaying to the rhythm of the anonymous death inside the mosque.

"Get these people secured!" John yelled as the cops fanned out around the perimeter.

"Detective, what have we got?" a burly SWAT guy asked, shouldering his rifle as he stepped forward. John didn't recognize him, Portsmouth didn't usually need assault teams, and he glanced back at the crowd.

"Don't know yet, I just got here. Someone is getting a serious hurt-on in there," John said, pointing at the building where the screams were intensifying. His ears ached from the sound.

"Right," The SWAT said with a quick glance at the mosque. "You are the OIC - Officer in Charge, but I want my guys in place. Agreed?" He didn't wait for John to answer. "Maddox, Johnson," he shouted. "Take your teams and split up. Get to the sides of the building and block the exits. Surveil the windows." He pointed at two more men who were gearing up.

"Ramirez and Pasco, take the back. Standard op. I want O'Keefe's team with me for the assault on the front." He was no-nonsense as he turned towards John. "Your guys need to contain this crowd."

"I'm Homicide, they're on it." John said, stepping out of his way.

"Right. I love this shit," the SWAT said with a grin. "Let's move, people!" he shouted, and pushed forward with his team.

Cops were grabbing people out of the crowd and forcibly dragging them down the sidewalk. John watched with fascination the dazed death-groupies' energetic struggles, but their faces were slack; it was like they were on autopilot. However, there just wasn't a big enough police presence on site for this type of crowd control. For each person the cops dragged off, another one would fill the gap and link arms with the zombie next to them. The cops redoubled their efforts and soon they had managed a sizable gap big enough for the SWAT team to move in.

The screaming from inside the mosque stopped and the remaining crowd let out a collective sigh. It sounded like a giant snake hissing, and John could almost feel it slithering down his back. He shuddered and movement ahead of him caught his eye. Lem was standing at the top of the steps near the entrance, smiling at him.

"Hey there," Lem sing-songed.

John leveled his gun at him and took a step forward. "Don't move," he shouted.

"You think that's gonna hurt me?" Lem laughed and started humming the catchy theme song from the television show "COPS".

"Don't push me, Lem," John said and took another step forward. This little punk was nuts -- what had Rattle said? Bat shit crazy. It seemed to fit the bill.