The Sound of Distant Thunder { Watty Awards 2012 }

Chapter 7

Will drove hard from Bell Fouche to the south east.  He pushed the Bronco as hard as the fucking deathtrap would run.  Since killing the cashier and poor fried Freddy, he’d focused on one thing; Backup. 

            Just before he entered the Pine Ridge reservation he blew by a cop stop at about 80.  Flashing lights quickly caught the Bronco.  He considered ignoring them and just running the last few miles to the res, but he knew they would just call ahead and the ensuing fight might end his plans before they had a chance to bear fruit.  Besides, he could use a snack.

            He pulled the Bronco over.  The cop followed and in the taillights Will could see it was a troopers’ car.  Oh great fun.  As the policeman focused his spotlight through the back window, Will stepped out of the car.  The trooper, half out of his car seemed a little surprised.

            “Sir,” he stated in his sternest “what the fuck are you doing” voice, “you need to return to your car and turn off the ignition.”

            “Is there a problem officer?

            The trooper had gotten out of the car, but remained in the shelter of his car door.

            “There will be if you don’t do as instructed.” 

            Will noticed him speaking into the mic on his shoulder.  Calling for backup, no doubt.  He spread his arms wide; the Berretta at his waist was obvious, as was the clerks’ spattered blood on his shirt and pants.  Finally, the trooper noticed.  Not very observant, these protectors.  Will chuckled.

            “Ok.  Down on the ground!  DOWN NOW!” The cop shouted.  His hand was on the butt of his gun.  Once similar to what Will carried.

            Still smiling, Will said, “Sure man, whatever.” And dropped to his knees, and then did a slow pushup, placing his face on the ground and his arms straight out, palms up.

            “That cool, Brother?”

            The trooper made one fatal mistake.  Instead of waiting for his backup, he made the decision to cuff the suspect on his own.

            “Oops!”  Will thought, a malevolent smile of glee on his face.

            The trooper knelt, placing a knee in the center of Will’s huge back.  Will felt him twist his upper body to reach for his cuffs and as he did, Will spun from his chest to his back with one convulsive heave.  The trooper was knocked off balance, but had sense enough to yank his gun out and fire a couple of ineffective rounds off into space, then Will had him.  With frightening speed Will jumped on the trooper’s chest.  As the gun aimed for his face, Will snatched the troopers gun hand in his own and squeezed.  There came a series of sickening snaps as Will crushed it.  The trooper screamed in pain.

            Will took the gun from the troopers’ mangled hand.  He tucked it into his waistband, along with the gun he’d taken from the safe.  He saw the trooper try and grab the microphone on his shoulder and snatched it from him, ripping the cord from the radio as he did so.

            “Oh no.  We don’t want to be interrupted.  I’m a little hungry and you’ll do just fine.”

            Will ripped the troopers’ shirt off, then the ballistic vest underneath.  He didn’t bother with the T-shirt.  He raised his fist and brought it crashing down into the chest of the prostrate trooper.  The crunch of his sternum was music to Wills ears and even better was the sound of his great, blunt fingers ripping through the troopers pectoral muscles to reach the top of the sternum.  With little effort Will ripped it out.  The popping of the ribs separating from it was thick and meaty.  Though only making an occasional gurgling sound, the troopers still beating heart attested to his physical strength.