Chapter 24
When Christian stepped into the stairway, there was a cop in riot gear checking for a pulse on the officer sprawled over Stephen Joyce. He stood up quickly and pointed his pistol at Christian. “Drop your weapons!” he screamed. Before Christian could respond, the cop fired at him twice, both bullets striking the metal door on either side of him.
Christian fell to his knees and started shooting at the cop with both guns. The officer fired once more, the bullet deflecting off the banister, and dove for cover down the stairs.
Below him, he could hear more rounds being chambered, shotguns being loaded. He took a deep breath and ran forward, vaulting over the bannister. He twisted in mid-air, landing on his feet next to the dead cop. His left leg buckled underneath him, twisting at a wrong angle, but he managed to keep on his feet. He immediately started firing blindly, driving two officers into cover. Several other officers ducked behind the blasted double doors.
One rolled down the stairs and out of Christian’s firing arc. The other took a hit in the middle of his body-armor and was knocked sprawling. The first officer leaned around the corner and fired twice. One bullet went high, tearing a hole in the wall two feet above Christian’s head, showering him with shattered ceramic tile and plaster dust. The second went through the tail of his coat and hit the wall. The cop was knocked back when one of Christian’s bullets hit his weapon hand. He dropped his gun and ducked back down the stairs. The second cop rolled over and tried to shoot, but Christian took aim and fired three times at his head. One scored home, spraying the officer’s brains over the floor. The other cop screamed out and tried to go for his companion, but was forced back into hiding when Christian shot at him.
Outside the stairwell, other cops were shoving their guns through the shattered windows and shooting, their bullets ricocheting through the stairway, creating a killing zone.
Christian rolled over the railing, landing on his back at the feet of the injured cop, who was ducking to avoid the stray bullets of his comrades. As he sprawled, his guns fell out of his hands and slid to the edge of the landing. The cop clawed at his legs, and Christian struggled to reach his weapons. He grabbed one as the officer got to his knees and lunged. Christian rolled over and fired both guns into his chest. One struck his body armor, knocking him back. The other tore through the top of his shoulder, barely grazing the flesh. As he stumbled back, he was caught by a stray bullet from one of the officers outside. The slug impacted on the rear of his vest and knocked him forward.
Christian flipped backwards, crying out as he struck his injured knee on the landing. The cop fell face-first onto the landing at his feet and didn’t move. Christian pulled himself to the edge of the stairs and swung himself into a sitting position. Above him, the first floor doors opened and cops ran in. Christian did a stumbling run down the stairs as one of the police above him radioed that he was going down. He cried out as his injured leg buckled beneath him while he pulled himself through the door. He flipped the lock and collapsed, curling his injured leg beneath him. The police began pounding on the door, trying to open it.
“Drop your weapons!” ordered a female officer at the end of the hall. She grasped her pistol with both hands, assuming in a shooters stance.
Christian raised his empty hands and pulled himself to his feet. “I’m... I’m unarmed,” he panted. “Don’t shoot, I’m unarmed!” When he started to walk forward, using the wall as support, the second cop came down the hall while she continued to aim.
“Stay where you are!” the woman barked. “Don’t move!”
“I surrender!” Christian wailed. He fell into a doorway and drew the final pistol off his hip. He reached around the corner and fired blindly.
Behind him, the window on the stairway was shattered.
He continued to fire towards the first two police. They returned fire, yelling for the others at the end of the hall to stay in cover.
Christian tried the handle on the door he leaned against, and fell into the classroom. He limped over to the large teacher’s desk and turned it on its side. He dragged it around to face the door and knelt behind it. He sat there, rubbing his knee, wincing at the pain and reloaded his gun.
“Christian Duke!” one of the male cops called out from the doorway. “Christian Duke, this is it! There are only two ways you can come out of this room. Why don’t you make it easy on all of us and do the right thing?”
“I don’t want to die!” Christian called out, chambering a round. “I tried to surrender, and you shot at me!” He clutched the gun tightly. “I’m a cop-killer, you’re going to shoot me! I don’t want to die!”
“You don’t have to die,” the female officer answered. “Just slide out any remaining weapons you have and come out from behind there.”
“I’m done,” Christian cried. “Please don’t shoot me! I’m all done!”
“That’s all right,” the woman answered. “Just slide your gun out and everything is going to be alright.”
“We’re coming into the room, Christian,” one of the male officers said.
He squeezed his eyes shut tightly when he heard the sound of a round being chambered. “Please don’t shoot me!” Christian cried. He took a deep breath and stood up, keeping his gun hidden in the folds of his coat. When the male cop aimed at Christian, Christian shot at him twice. He put too much weight on his injured leg and fell, dropping out of the path of the bullet the male cop fired. One caught the male cop on his inner thigh, half-way between his knee and crotch. The second round flew wide, striking the door-jamb inches from the woman’s face. Christian nearly fell, but regained his balance, supporting himself on the desk.
His pause gave the police a moment to recover. The woman was momentarily blinded and took a step back. An officer behind her stepped in. The first male cop fell to his knees, blood pouring from his severed femoral artery. He fired one shot that went through the sleeve of Christian’s coat but hit no flesh. The second officer fired a round that went by Christian’s head close enough to wave his hair.
Christian turned to the first male cop, firing twice at him. One shot hit him square in the chest and knocked him over. The second went high, shattering the blackboard. The first cop toppled backwards, splashing into a growing pool of his own blood.
The second man fired two shots from his service revolver, using the door-frame for cover. Both slammed into the desk, the second shot almost knocking it over.
In the hall, someone was screaming into the radio, “Basement floor, one officer down, shooter still firing!”
Christian turned on the cop in the doorway and fired three times. The first shot exploded on the concrete wall by the door. The second grazed his shoulder, and the third slammed into a locker across the hall. He swung around, repositioning himself to get a clearer shot.
The adrenaline pumping through his veins kept the officer from even noticing his tiny wound. He fired two more shots at the same time as Christian. His first shot went wide and hit the wall behind Christian. Christian walked into the second bullet as he turned. Then one of Christian’s shots went through the cop’s trachea and lodged in his spine.
Christian felt like he had been hit with a brick. He watched the cop stumble back, dropping his gun and clutching his bleeding neck, and slamming his head against a locker and splashing blood all over the wall. It was hard to breath, and at first, he thought he had been hit with flying debris. When he tasted blood in his mouth, a chill ran over him. “Oh God,” he tried to say, but couldn’t find the breath for words. Without noticing it, his gun fell from his hands. The first cop lay on his back, perfectly still.
Christian gathered his courage and looked down at himself. He had fallen to one knee without even knowing. His shirt was soaked with blood. Through the hole in his shirt, right between the phosphorescent ribs, he could see his wound. It blew his shirt out and sucked it in with every labored breath. He was down on both knees now. It was becoming hard to hold onto the desk.
Cops were running into the room. One was attending to the dead officer. The female cop had her gun pointed at Christian and was yelling something, but he couldn’t hear her over the blood pumping in his ears.
His hands slid off the desk and he slumped over on his back. The ceiling was blurry. Two figures knelt over him, but he couldn’t see them. He gathered his strength and whispered, “It hurts.”
Then everything faded away.
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