Turnbull checked his watch. Just fifteen seconds till 10:45.
“You got a round in the chamber?” asked Turnbull.
“Of course I do!”
“Can’t hurt to ask. Try not to take this guy in the head. Better to keep him alive. It’ll be noisier.”
“Okay,” said Wohl, taking aim.
Turnbull stared as the second hand ticked off the time. “Four, three, two, one. Take him.”
The rifle kicked immediately, and loudly even though Turnbull had his earplugs in.
Through the Bushnells, Turnbull watched one of the PSF guys near his cruiser suddenly slammed against the rear quarter panel as if someone had just pounded his thigh with a sledgehammer. He fell to the ground, rolling, spurts of red visible even from that distance.”
“Nice shot.” They could hear faint cries from that direction. The other PSF took a moment to figure out what was happening and they were now scurrying like ants hit by a splash of Raid.
“Next shot. Take out a window.” No sense in trying to hit one of the scattering PSF officers – anyway, they needed to be alive to call in for help.
“Roger,” whispered Rogers, letting out his breath then squeezing the trigger. The big deer rifle kicked up again.
Downrange, the rear window of one of the cruisers exploded. The other three officers had taken cover; one of them had the limited presence of mind to fire a series of bursts from his weapon in the general direction of the noise. The guy in the Corolla opened his door and ran away; he forgot to put it in “Park” and it started rolling forward. One of the other PSF decided to shoot it full of holes for some reason as it drifted toward the curb.
“Not a bad shot for a Walmart guy,” Turnbull said.
“It’s like riding a bicycle,” said Wohl. “Except louder.”
Through the binoculars, Turnbull could see a second officer was not shooting while a third one had gotten inside a cruiser and was shouting into his radio.
“He’s making the call. Shoot out another window.”
Wohl said nothing. Aim, breathe, squeeze.
Another cruiser’s window blew out. The return fire, which was aimed nowhere near their position, ceased as they ran dry and reloaded.
“I think we’ve got a sufficient distraction. Let’s move out.” Turnbull paused to pick up the three empty .30-06 shells Wohl had ejected. No need to provide the PBI with any evidence.
The pair moved off to the rear, heading quickly back into the woods and away.
Inside the station it was chaos since the call from the checkpoint came in. Since the previous morning, they had been expecting something, but no one was exactly sure what. Now it was here.
“This is Unit 15! We’re under fire, we’re under fire! Over!”
Ted Cannon watched the squad room freeze, then burst into activity. Everyone was rolling, but not him. He had been restricted to the station, assigned to assist in integrating the 20 new PSF officers and several PBI detectives down from Indianapolis early after the bloodbath at First Baptist the day before.
When the report of the PV shootings came in, he had to be physically restrained from leaving the station. Even Kessler was stunned – she hadn’t anticipated that her instruction to intimidate the townies would be interpreted as orders to commit mass murder. They were just supposed to find that big guy, and break a few heads – help the locals get their minds right, as it were. They were supposed to send a message, but not that message.
Still, perhaps the inadvertent message would prove useful. Kessler had recovered her composure quickly once her higher PSF headquarters essentially shrugged when she broke the news. Now she was ordering the PVs out of town and doubling patrols on the street, just in case there was a reaction.
“We did not want to have this happen,” she told her officers. “But the racists and Christianist extremists brought this on themselves. Understand that we will defend the integrity of the People’s Republic, and we will not allow the forces of reaction to delay or derail our journey to true freedom!” Some of the PSF officers clapped.
“Only twelve?” sneered one male-identifying officer a little too loudly. Cannon lunged at him and had to be held back by several others.
Kessler stepped between them. “Deputy Cannon – Officer Cannon – you will control yourself. Your connections to this community are useful to us, but remember that your duty is to all the people of the People’s Republic, not just the ones here. You can help these people most by helping them accept what has changed, and commit to the new reality. Now get back to work.”
It was about six that Sunday evening when Cannon was finally able to leave the station. He headed out and drove directly to his sister’s house. There were only a few people on the streets – Kessler’s curfew began at 7:00 p.m.
The first place he went was the Chalmers’ house to see his sister. Liz and the kids were fine. She gave her brother a beer, then started crying. Dale came in a few minutes later while Ted was still hugging her; his church clothes were caked with dried blood.
He ignored them, went to the kitchen, and brought back a Budweiser. It was in a rainbow can, and it tasted like Old Milwaukee backwash. The PR had nationalized all the breweries after the Split; too many brands was “inefficient.”
“You okay?” Ted asked, letting Liz go. Upstairs, Jimmy started crying – he’d been crying a lot after what he saw that morning – and she left the living room to go to him.
“Do I look okay?”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen, Dale.”
“Twelve people. Twelve of our friends. Will Collins, Patty Enright. Some of this is Pastor Bellman’s blood, Ted. And your people just let it happen.”
“They didn’t mean to let anything happen,” Ted replied, miserable. “That wasn’t planned. They just came looking for the guy who drove off the PVs. It wasn’t supposed to turn into a massacre.”
“You think giving a bunch of gangbangers guns and sending them out to threaten us, to come into our church, is going to end well? You think they care that this happened? They don’t. They think it’s going to scare us into giving up. A bunch of dead hicks isn’t a bug. It’s a feature.”
The deputy said nothing. What could he say?
“You need to choose a side, Ted.”
“What do you mean choose a side?”
“I mean choose a side for what’s coming. Because this can’t go on.”
“I’m not choosing some side, Dale. I’m just choosing to try and keep some order, keep people safe.”
“How’s that working out?”
“What the hell do you want me to do? It’s me, maybe two other locals left and a few support people and that’s it from Jasper. Everybody else is from outside. They’re sending in another couple dozen people and some detectives too. I can’t do anything.”
“You can’t?” said Dale leaning back on his couch and taking a swig. “You’re inside.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Ted said. “Do you want me to quit? Walk away, go south like all the others and leave you with nobody from here in that station?”
“No Ted, I want you to stay. I want you to do your job. I want you to be the very best PSF officer Jasper’s ever seen.”
“I don’t understand,” Ted replied, but he really did – he just did not want to go there.
“I want you in there, telling us what’s happening. From the inside.”
“What do you mean ‘us’?”
“I mean us. Our people. This is war now. They started it, and we have no choice. None at all.”