Warrior Chronicles 1: Warrior's Scar Page 4

  He looked across at Ben, then drained his glass. As he poured another drink and walked to the window, he continued. “Did you know Angela lost a baby in the middle of all this? No? I didn’t either. I still wouldn’t except she got so drunk last night that she started talking in her sleep. I had a thirty minute conversation with her. It was like she was hypnotized. It’s always that way when she drinks, which, thank God, isn’t often. But you want to know what I found out last night? I found out that if I had some other job, maybe, just maybe, I would be a dad right now.” Cort put his glass down and dropped two more ice cubes into it before pouring more whiskey. As he stared into the amber liquid he continued. “I found out one of my brother’s made a pass at her while I was in Caracas. I found out the reason he’s divorced is because he called his wife Angela when they were fucking. Let’s see... What else?”

  Ben could tell Cort was getting angry. Not his normal, efficient, cool, ice cream stayed cold on his tongue angry, but really angry. The kind he saw on the video of what Cort had done to the men he had found peddling little girls to tourists in Brasilia three years before. That was the day that Ben realized Cort was scary. Not boogeyman scary, but really scary. Like a pit bull. The most loving, loyal, playful creature in creation. Until it wasn’t. Since that op, Ben knew that Cort was a pit bull. He needed to calm his friend down. “Cort...”

  “Shut up and listen Ben!” Cort snapped. “Where was I? Oh yeah, I found out Angela has been lying to me about how bad her mom’s cancer is because she knows how much it hurts me. I found out that while I was off ‘protecting freedom’, Carole, the closest thing I have to a mom left in the world was mugged by two punks who beat her up over a fucking cell phone and thirty bucks.” The last word was accentuated by the sound of the tumbler shattering against the wall behind Ben’s head. “And I found out that my wife lost a baby and didn’t tell me because she was protecting me. She was protecting me, Ben!” Cort dropped his smartphone on the table, cracking the screen, and turned for the door. “Ben,” He said coolly, fully in control again.”Fuck you. Fuck you and fuck them, Ben. I’m just a husband now.”

  Two

  Tulsa, Ok

  Cort Addison walked through the Wal-Mart wondering about dinner. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he knew there was nothing in the refrigerator at home so it was either buy some groceries or buy take-out. Since it was his weekend with Diane, groceries won. One of their favorite things to do on their weekends was cook together. It was something he had once enjoyed doing with her mother Angela so it was bittersweet, but he wouldn’t give it up. Pushing his cart down the wide aisle across the back of the store, he recognized a voice that always brought a smile to his face and turned onto the toy aisle housing Barbie dolls and play dresses. Halfway down the aisle he saw Angela. Fortunately she was facing away or he was sure she would have tried to avoid him. Diane was not though. “DADDY!” the four year old screamed happily.

  “Hey, Punkin’! What are you doing here?” he asked reaching down and picking up his daughter. As Angela turned around, he could already sense the look of disdain she was wearing even though he hadn’t glanced at her. Well, if he were honest he did notice the view from behind. But even as he thought it, he realized that was a visceral reaction, not an intellectual one.

  “What are you doing here?” his ex-wife asked him.

  Cort pointed at his empty blue cart and responded, “Needed groceries. That cart has more food in it than the fridge. Stocking up for the weekend.” Turning to his late mother-in-law’s namesake he continued, “So Sweetie, what do you want special this weekend?”

  Before Diane could respond with her standard ‘mac and cheese’, Angela said, “Try to keep it healthy, okay?” Cort winked at his daughter while nodding his head. It didn’t fool anyone, and little Diane giggled. “Really Cort, vegetables. Contrary to what you think, they aren’t just what food eats.” Before she could continue, they heard two distant pops coming from the front of the store. Cort immediately shoved his daughter into her mom’s arms and dragged them both to the main aisle. As he glanced left, he saw one armed man shoving the clerk in automotive away from the counter while a second one was barricading the security door there. He pushed Angela and Diane across the aisle into clothing and finally into the center of a tall, round display of men’s shirts.

  Ignoring the screams of customers throughout the store Cort turned toward the two people he had to protect. “Listen to me,” Diane knew from the look on her dad’s face not to say a word, and Angela knew their lives might depend on what he said next, “don’t move from this spot until I come get you. At all. Stay quiet. Totally quiet.” Looking at Diane, who was on the verge of tears he continued, “Honey, there are bad men here. I have to make sure they don’t do anything really mean, okay? You have to help me and Mommy by being brave and quiet. Can you do that?” Diane nodded and he looked at Angela. “Unless it’s me or the cops, don’t move from this spot. Dial 911 on your cell phone. Don’t speak though, and turn it to silent. They have to send someone to check on the call. They probably already know what’s happening, but call anyway, understand?” Without waiting for her to nod, Cort took a compact from her purse and disappeared. Angela knew the drill. She would follow his instructions because right now all that mattered to either of them was making sure Diane made it through this, and she knew the man she had divorced three years earlier was the best chance they had of making sure that happened.

  At the end of an aisle of tee shirts with funny sayings, he knelt and pushed the mirror of the compact into the aisle and looked at the reflection. He saw four men walking across the store, checking each aisle. As they found customers or employees, they were being corralled into the main aisles. Clearly they were grouping the people together. This would be a first sweep. One to get everyone they could immediately see into their control. At least one more would be conducted, then they would lock down the store tightly and people outside might find out what this was all about.

  Cort had to hide. Looking for another round rack, he waited until the group moved past the area he was in and slowly used the mirror to check the area around him before moving out of the display and back to sporting goods. Smartly, the men had already broken the guns out of their display case, leaving ammunition but nothing to fire it with. Given time, Cort knew he could make a few workable zip guns and employ the shotgun shells left in the display. He didn’t have that time though. Glancing around, he saw the compound bows and grabbed the largest one he saw, then a dozen arrow shafts and a few packs of broadhead points. Hearing footsteps, he moved to the display of hunting clothes and climbed in again. Tearing open the blister packs of three-bladed broadheads sounded to Cort like he was making enough noise to be heard throughout the store. He knew that wasn’t the case, but his own heightened senses made every sound seem like it was coming through loudspeakers and he had to assume the men who had taken the store hostage were in the same state of alertness.

  When the gunmen had once again moved through the store, Addison quietly climbed out of the display. There would be sentries throughout the building and he had to find one nearby that wasn’t in sight of the others. Luckily for Cort, that target was just seventy-five feet away in the automotive area, and he was watching the windows to the service bay. Not being able to sight the bow didn’t matter at this distance, especially since he didn’t need to worry about windage. His only concern was elevation, and he had over two feet of target zone from the man’s hips to the base of his skull. Releasing the nocked arrow, Cort watched intently as it disappeared into the neck of his victim, severing some part of the spinal cord.

  Drawing another arrow he shuffled from row to row, checking all four directions. He waited at the end cap of the last row next to the car stereo display for the man further down that aisle to turn and walk the other direction. When he was finally able to cross the aisle, he found his arrow had penetrated the man’s neck and one blade of the broadhead had severed a wire running from a throat mic to the man’s ra
dio. Well equipped. Now I am too.

  Dragging the body behind the battery display, Cort stripped the man of his clothes, donned them himself, and finally took the man’s place at the window. If they’re good, they have someone walking the store, checking each man. Hopefully, he won’t recognize that I’m not his man. He thought he was safe facing the other direction, so he moved the welcome mat that had been in front of the counter to cover the blood stain and stood where he could see anyone approaching from behind him in the reflection of the compact mirror which he placed on the window sill almost in front of him. When the patrolling sentry saw Cort from behind, he would see exactly what he expected to; a man dressed in black tactical gear, wearing a bulletproof vest, and a balaclava. Seeing what you expect to see always lowers your guard. The broken throat mic might cause a problem but he would cross that bridge when it took aim at him.

  A taser, a fixed blade Ka-Bar, a Glock 22 RTF2, two extra clips. That’s forty-five .40 rounds. Suppressed M4 with two extra clips. Ninety rounds of 5.56x45’s. What the fuck? Is this a war? Well if it is, I’m going to fuck these boys up.

  After listening to the patrol check in with each of the sentries, Cort was worried. It appeared that each man was expected to sound off as he was passed. Each man’s call sign was a Disney character. A minute later, Cort heard the patrol in his earpiece. “How about you Pluto? See anything yet? You got the tires under control?” With the last question revealing ‘his’ nickname, Cort glanced down at the compact mirror and saw the man was alone and looking at his back. Taking a chance he raised his left hand and flipped the man off over the back of his shoulder. “Yeah, fuck you too, Pluto.” he laughed and moved on.

  Cort wanted to wait an entire patrol of the store to learn how many men were here, but that might not be an exact count, and he might not get away with the finger stunt twice. His first responsibility was to get Diane and Angela out. Then he would worry about the rest. As Mickey Mouse moved into the grocery area, Cort quietly rushed to his family. He didn’t want to scare them, so he took the balaclava off and poked just his head through the shirts and told them he was armed and to follow him quickly and quietly through a maze of aisles. When they got back to the automotive alcove, he moved the barricade away from the door while Angela found the button behind the counter. She pressed it and moved to him after he turned the handle. “You know I can’t go. I have to try and help.” She shook her head but he stopped her. “Find the police. Tell them I’m here. I’m going to start evening up the odds. In twenty minutes, that’s exactly 6:17, I’m going to be back here. If I can, I will let them in. If I can’t, tell them to come in this way and across the back of the store. That’s the direction I’m going. Give them this.” He handed her a piece of paper with a rough sketch of the store, and where he believed each Disney character was located. Before she could protest, he gave his daughter a kiss, touched Angela’s cheek and shoved them out the door.

  Angela Johnson followed her ex-husband’s instructions. She knew he had to do it this way. But she also knew he had just saved her life. More importantly, he had just saved Diane’s. She ran out of the automotive bay and immediately into a SWAT member who was pointing a gun at her. He pulled her down and behind a low brick wall, then led her to safety. Diane kept looking back at her daddy. As they approached the line of police cars, she saw a sniper with his rifle pointing toward Cort. She screamed, “No! Don’t shoot him! He’s a good guy!”

  A second man dressed very much like her dad currently was, lowered his sidearm and walked to her, “We know that miss. Bad guys don’t usually let people go.” To Angela he said, “What’s going on in there?”

  “I don’t know,” Angela Addison said, “but my ex-husband is going to put an end to it.”

  Back in the store, Cort Addison waited until Mickey Mouse had passed him again. This time Cort had used the other finger to flip Mickey off, accompanied by a nondescript roll of his shoulder and neck as if they were stiff. As Mickey moved away from him though, this time he was followed by Cort. Mickey passed the double swinging doors between the toy and sporting goods department and checked in with Aladdin who had turned to face him. Aladdin turned and went back to standing sentry at the double doors. As he made the final turn, he was startled to see Pluto standing in front of him, knife in one hand moving toward his neck and the suppressor of the M4 already pointed upwards at his throat. As Cort’s knife slid under the wire going down Aladdin’s shirt, Aladdin fell to the floor, one round from the M4 having shattered his larynx and his spinal cord before he could utter a sound. Cort knew he couldn’t count on silence every time, so he waited for Mickey to get a little further ahead of him.

  The time for hiding bodies was over, so Cort took Aladdin’s extra clips and moved to the electronics department. Bagheera was listening to Mickey check in with Chip when two nearly silent bullets entered his left temple and ear. This time Cort took the throat mic and plugged it into his own radio, turning off the VOX function.

  The next three entrances, layaway, children’s and dairy went very much the same. Now Cort was faced with a new problem; the long wide aisle that led from dairy through the lunch meat section and on to the meat department, had virtually nothing for cover and three doors all within clear view of each other. Each door had a sentry. He decided to pass them up for now and made his way carefully to the front of the store, where three more characters were guarding the hostages. They were corralled into the customer service area and while two men faced the people who were all sitting on the floor, the third faced away from them constantly surveying the surrounding area. He saw men at each of the two main entrances as well. He couldn’t do this alone. As much as he hated it, he was going to have to trust men he didn’t know to help him. Making his way back to the automotive area, he found five SWAT members waiting at the door. When he first appeared, they raised their weapons, but immediately lowered them when they recognized his blood stained collar. He removed his balaclava and let the men into the building.

  “Mr. Addison, I’m sergeant Williams, TPD. What’s the situation right now?”

  Cort looked around at the men as he spoke in a whisper. Two of them were clearly ex military along with the sergeant, but the other two he couldn’t tell about. Almost subconsciously, he addressed only the three he knew were military. “Six down, eleven, possibly twelve to go.” The corporal standing beside the sergeant was clearly surprised at the kill count Cort related, but continued listening intently. Okay, four military. Better odds, Cort thought. “Three along the north wall in meats, approximately here, here and here at the front corner.” Cort pointed at the rough sketch the sergeant was holding. It was the one he had given Angela. “How are my wife and daughter?” he asked.

  “They’re fine sir. They are in the command post south of the building. What about the hostages?” Williams responded.

  Listening to his radio, Cort pointed at the battery displays. “It looks like about one hundred in customer service, with three guards. Two facing them, one watching the main aisle. All the hostages are sitting. Two tangos at each main entrance and one more in the garden area. All within sight of at least one other person. Mickey Mouse is patrolling around the store.” Cort heard Mickey check in with Sleepy. “He’ll be here any second. Get behind the batteries. Once he’s past, we go to work.” Cort shoved the makeshift barricade back in front of the door as he heard Mickey’s footsteps approaching. He flipped his VOX on and waited.

  “Everything good, Pluto? Do you see cops?” Mickey asked.

  Cort intentionally coughed as he replied, “Keeping their distance.” He hoped the coughs would keep Mickey in the dark about his ruse. They didn’t. He turned just in time to see Mickey turning and raising his weapon. His momentary confusion allowed Cort to loose three rounds from his already raised weapon, coughing as he pulled the trigger to drown out the sound of Mickey’s lifeless body hitting the floor. He crossed quickly to him and keyed off Mickey’s mic. When he stood up, the SWAT team had converged around him. “Ok
ay, we have to play act a little bit, boys.”

  As the team moved into position based on Cort’s plan, at forty-five-second intervals they took turns responding to ‘Mickey’s’ inquiries. The corporal’s voice was closest to the dead sentry’s, so he played that part as he and Cort moved toward the meat department. Cort visually signalled the corporal when they were both in place and he took down the middle of the three meat department guards. Turning his weapon to the man at the back of the store, Cort emptied the last of his first magazine into the target, one controlled round at a time, walking a trail of bullets up from his target’s groin, across the body armor and into his face. The TPD corporal waited until his man turned toward the commotion, knowing that would be the cue for the rest of the team, and dropped his own target as neatly as Cort had. He then turned to the two men at the southernmost main entrance and had neutralized them both before Cort could even get in position for a clear shot. When Cort was beside him, the corporal relayed that the remaining gunmen were all down.

  “Any prisoners?” Cort asked.

  “No sir. They are all 10-7 perm.” Cort didn’t have all the police department ‘ten codes’ memorized, but he did remember that 10-7 indicated ‘out of service’.