Cyrus #2
News articles stated: Modern-day Robin Hood.
Social Media Influencers praise a radical group of bank robbers.
Is stealing from the wealthy really a crime?
This case has become a massive PR disaster for everyone involved.
The surroundings change. A pulsing silence falls over the night as the ground beneath us trembles, shifting the asphalt.
Caleb shouts, “What the fuck?” as a high wheezing sound penetrates the city block we’re on.
The K9-unit’s dogs have the noses to the ground, whining, barking.
Everyone’s ordered to back up as police officers retreat toward my team’s position.
An indescribable, high-pitched shriek pierces the air.
I cover my ears, sensing my eardrums pulsating in time with my heart.
The throbbing irritates me, so I tighten my jaw to stop myself from grinding my teeth in response to the high pitch frequency.
Caleb shouts orders, but the sound is so deafening that I’m completely stuck.
It occurs without warning, instantaneously.
A massive explosion sends sewer covers, glass from police cars, and shop windows flying.
I falter, momentarily disoriented, as I’m lifted and thrown.
Crunch. Metal buckles and glass cracks dented by my body.
Dazed, I lay there, trying to get my bearings.
White rocks, in large chunks, are flung across the sky as I remain where I landed.
Sirens blare, shouts fill the air, a baby cries off to the side of my position.
My body wracks with pain as I cough. Warm liquid runs down the side of my face.
A dog lets out a whine. The last thoughts before darkness claims me… Where the hell is Caleb?
Smoke rouses me from my slumber, choking me.
I fight the pain shooting down my spine as I turn my head; the inescapable scent of burning debris and seared flesh fills my senses.
At first, shock, then realization. They demolished the bank.
The building’s exterior is ablaze, with an inferno raging.
Pillars that once stood tall have been obliterated.
Flames consume the street, devouring everything in their path.
The surrounding shop windows lie shattered, jagged teeth of glass glittering beneath the inferno’s glow.
Nearby, a stop sign hangs twisted and warped, its metal groaning as the scorched octagon sways back and forth in the heat-choked wind.
Something lies crumpled beside it. My vision tunnels, smoke and shock blurring the edges until my brain tries to make it into something harmless. A trash can, debris, anything else.
Then the haze clears.
A torso.
Nothing else. No appendages. No head. Just blackened flesh and shredded fabric sprawled across the pavement.
My stomach lurches violently. Nearby, the tent that housed the negotiating team no longer exists—nothing left but a scorched wound carved into the earth where command once stood. Where most of our leaders stood.
Fuck.
“Cal,” I wince in pain as I utter my partner’s name, coughing. Each rack of my body brings a fresh wave of excruciating pain. I have to get up, evaluate the damage, and check on my team. Find my partner. What the hell happened?
I look around, slowly twisting my head to take in the chaos. The crunching of metal? That was me hitting the cruiser parked behind us. This will hurt in the morning. Metal rods protrude through the hood next to me, and I force myself to focus.
Indistinguishable beneath the rubble, dark hair hangs limp from a head pinned beneath a massive slab of concrete. I yank my legs upward, and searing pain rips through my thigh. Shrapnel. A jagged piece of metal has me pinned to the pavement, locking me in place.
The scream that tears out of me as I rip my leg free is pure agony—a sound I know will haunt me long after this night ends.
The second the metal releases me, I crumple to the ground.
Hot blood pours down my thigh while shattered glass slices into my palms as I drag myself across the pavement toward the body.
Please don’t let it be Caleb. Caleb, my best friend. Caleb, my partner. My son’s godfather.
Caleb can’t be dead.
An intense burning sensation shoots up my arm, and my vision blurs.
I blink, trying to focus through the haze.
My lungs burn as I cough. Small spots of light dance in my line of vision.
Dark, sticky liquid trails into my eyes from my hairline.
Beads of sweat form along my brow from the exertion it’s taken to reach the body pinned to the ground.
The boulder-sized chunk of the bank is hot to the touch. This is a fucking nightmare.
The putrid stench of burning flesh hits the back of my throat as I breathe in.
My throat constricts, and I gag. Sagging into the destroyed asphalt, I fight back nausea and, with some effort, unclasp the buckles to remove my vest, using it as a shield against the burning debris.
I shift my position, rising to my knees, adrenaline pushing me forward, leaning against the rubble.
I grunt under the pain as I force it to the side, freeing the body trapped beneath it.
Shock sets in. My body runs on autopilot.
His large shoulder is soft to the touch.
Grunting with exertion, I roll him over.
His face is drained of color. No-fuck no, this isn’t happening.
The sight of his lifeless face, his brown eyes dull, with no humor left in them.
No jokes about a near-miss devastate me.
No, this wasn’t a narrow escape. There would be no more calls.
I grip his vest’s neckline, lifting dead weight to my chest. I choke on the stench of sulfur, angry that the putrid stench covers my brother in arms. Dark liquid oozes from his forehead onto my cheek as I sit with him one last time.
Ignoring the pain that lances up my leg as I rock us gently.
“It’s okay, Caleb. We’re going to be okay, man.”
He doesn’t respond.
I reach up, jabbing the call button on the walkie.
“Agent down. I have an agent down. Send help. Corner of M Street and Wisconsin.”
Static answers.
My voice cracks. “Cal—you’re okay. You hear me? This is fixable. We can fix this.”
I still hear his voice in my head. ‘No, man. Your fucking hair is in the way.’
I almost laugh. My ribs scream in protest, but I ignore them. Swallowing the pain.
“Man, recovery will be a bitch,” I whisper. “You’ll be flirting with nurses, bitching about physical therapy. Hang on, big guy. I’ve got you.”
I shift back, trying to get a clearer look at him. My fingers press to his neck, searching.
There—perhaps. A faint flicker. Then nothing.
Air won’t fill my lungs. Panic climbs fast and brutal. My hands shaking, my whole body betraying me as I struggle to breathe.
“No, no, no, you’re not doing this to me, man. Caleb, man. I need you… I need you to stay with me. Stay with me.”
Hysteria consumes me as I try my damndest to jounce him awake.
“Stay with me.”
Blood coats his face, a mangled ear. His crushed body doesn’t move as our foreheads touch for a final moment.
I make an indistinct sound as his death plunges me into devastating anguish.
My heart, that stubborn beating organ, cleaves itself in two.
Cold reality crashes over me, a tidal wave of sorrow, and Caleb is gone.
I register something else too, nudging at my subconscious. My final thought before darkness consumes me is that it should’ve been me.