The First

Chapter 25

Warning, this chapter contains brutal graphic violence.

Read at your own risk.

On Ross's GPS, Independence Oregon fit between Salem and Monmouth like a chewed up puzzle piece split in half by the Willamette River. From Highway 22, the GPS took him on some winding back roads. Their population sign showed 8,662 residents. When he hit twenty-five miles-per-hour he rolled into downtown Independence. Businesses had shut down, windows boarded up, and lights turned off. Other than street lamps the only lights he saw came from flashing lights between several buildings.

When he turned the corner onto Monmouth Street, blue, red, and amber strobed through the night. A fire truck sat in the road sideways, blocking any oncoming traffic from the west. Two patrol vehicles did the same on the east side. An ambulance, the Fire Chief's jeep, the sheriff's cruiser, and the City of Independence Police Department sat between the barricades.

Ross clicked the button on the CB radio. "Salem dispatch. This is Agent Harris. Do you copy?"

"Dispatch, what can I do for you agent?" A young man's voice came over the radio.

"Can you try and call the Independence Police station for me? I need to know what's going on inside. Also, get SWAT over here as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir. I'll see what I can do. Over."

Muffled gunshots cracked through the silence. A flicker of light flashed in the window of the police station.

"I'm gonna need all the help I can get. Over."

"Dispatch copies, Agent Harris. Good luck."

"Thanks. I'm gonna need it." He pulled over and retrieved the riot shotgun from the back seat. "C'mon, baby." He made sure the gun had ammunition and kissed the handle before he started for the police station, staying low and out of the light. He had no idea what he might encounter and prayed the shotgun could bring down a Trill.

"Agent Harris, this is Dispatch." The voice over the radio startled him.

He pulled the handheld from his belt. "Go ahead Dispatch."

"No one's answering at the station. The line goes straight to voicemail. Usually, at this time of night, I can get someone. What's going on?"

"I'll let you know when I find out. What about SWAT?"

"They're at the other scene, surrounding the house. I've been told that they have one of those things trapped inside."

Ross didn't think it possible to trap a Trill. Unless...it wanted to be trapped.

"Can you patch me through to the SWAT team leader right now?" Ross prayed they weren't dead.

"Sure. Give me one second."

After a few agonizing moments and another gunshot from within the building, the SWAT guy came on the line. "Sergeant George here." His voice had a rasp to it. Either he'd been smoking his entire life, or yelling.

"Sergeant, it's good to hear your voice. This is Agent Ross Harris. I'm at the Independence Police Station. There's no one to be seen inside or out and I heard shots fired from inside. No telling what we're up against in there. Think you can spare me a couple of your team members for some backup? I know you're not too far from here. I think Sheriff Lawson's in the building, over."

"Roger that. I've got a few men I can spare and still keep the house surrounded until you get here. This one isn't going anywhere. We've got her pinned down."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that. They witnessed one of them jump across the river today. It's probably yours."

"With the firepower I've got out here, there's no way she's getting through--or--over us." He chuckled. "I'll get some men out your way after I shuffle things around a bit over here. Don't do anything stupid. They'll be there in ten."

"Thanks." Ross put the handheld back on his belt.

Ten minutes? What the hell are they thinking? With lives at stake, ten minutes might as well be two hours.

Again the report of gunfire came from somewhere within the police station. From the distinct bang the gun made, it had to be from Sheriff Lawson's hip-cannon.

Ross snuck from car to car, staying in the shadows. At each vehicle he took a peek in the window, clearing one at a time.

A megaphone lay on the ground below the open door of the sheriff's cruiser. Ross thought he'd use it to contact whoever might still be alive in the building. Though his safest option would be to catch the Trill off guard, maybe get a lucky shot.

Basic FBI training screamed at him not to go into the building. Blood spatter covered the insides of the glass. A glow from the light within lit the murk, revealing several clear spots he could see through. Inside the building, there wasn't movement or sound.

Sweat poured from his brow and his heart felt like a jackhammer. He pushed open the door with his right foot and shined his flashlight inside. His gut wrenched and he swallowed to keep from vomiting.

Inside to the right, and parallel to the wall stood a long wooden desk. Blood smeared the floor leading to the desk as if a mountain lion had killed a small deer and dragged it back to its den.

His eyes went wide.

Across the crimson soaked desk lay the body of what used to be a female police officer. The woman's legs had been spread apart. Blood dripped down the insides of her bared thighs. Multiple gashes in her upper back ended where her skirt and panties dangled in bloody strands. The horrific damage to the woman's backside made him erupt from within. Vomit splattered, mingling with the puddle of blood which oozed across the floor.

He looked away from the carnage, wiped his mouth on his shirt and continued through the station. A dim light glistened off the pale walls, revealing several smeared hand prints. The morbid path looked as if a child had gotten carried away with red fingerpaint. They led to a room on the right. His hope of finding survivors dwindled as he slowly opened the door.

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