Story code: ST-000651
Part 2: The Breach
The back of Councilman Vance’s head smacked against the concrete with a dull, hollow thud. His breath left him in a sharp wheeze, his manicured hands flailing wildly against Elias’s grip. Before Vance could suck in enough air to scream, the deafening, rapid-fire crack of a short-barreled rifle split the morning air.
Sparks blew out from the brickwork of the high school facade, just three feet above their heads. The security contractor who had grabbed Elias’s bag instantly released it, letting out a high-pitched yelp. He backpedaled, his polished combat boots catching on the edge of the freshly welded transit bench. He went down hard, his knee slamming into the unforgiving metal divider he had been admiring moments before.
Elias kept his head low, pressing his shoulder into the rough surface of the concrete planter. His eyes never left the white delivery van. Three men poured out of the rear doors. They wore unmarked black tactical gear, heavy plate carriers, and balaclavas. They moved with a terrifying, practiced efficiency that instantly told Elias this was not a random act of violence. It was a coordinated, military-style assault.
“He’s attacking me! Shoot him!” Vance shrieked, his voice cracking into a hysterical pitch. The councilman thrashed on the ground, blindly throwing a fist that glanced off Elias’s jaw. Vance’s eyes were squeezed shut. He hadn’t even processed the gunfire yet; his pristine reality simply refused to accommodate the brutal violence erupting around him.
“Stay down,” Elias growled, pressing his forearm across Vance’s chest to pin the thrashing politician to the pavement.
The second security contractor, the one who had been glued to his smartphone, finally reacted. He drew his sidearm from the flimsy nylon drop-leg holster. But his hands were shaking violently. He didn’t aim at the men in the tactical gear. Blinded by panic and reacting only to his boss’s screams, he pointed the muzzle of his pistol directly at Elias’s chest.
“Get off him!” the contractor screamed, his finger twitching dangerously on the trigger. “Hands in the air!”
Elias stared at the shaking barrel. The thumb safety was still engaged. The slide was fully forward, and Elias doubted the man had even chambered a round. The guard was a walking liability, a prop in a uniform.
“Look at the van,” Elias said, his voice deadly calm, cutting through the guard’s panic.
The loud, rhythmic pounding of heavy boots on asphalt forced the contractor to shift his gaze. The three masked men were ignoring the plaza entirely, sprinting in a tight wedge formation straight for the high school’s reinforced steel gates.
The contractor’s jaw dropped. His weapon wavered, dipping toward the concrete.
At the front of the wedge, one of the attackers swung a heavy, long-handled breaching ram. He didn’t aim for the thick steel bars of the gate. He aimed straight for the cheap automated track housing at the base. The ram connected with a sickening crunch of shattering plastic and bending aluminum. Just as Elias had predicted, it took exactly four seconds. The massive, imposing gate groaned, violently derailing from its track and crashing backward onto the concrete with a sound like a dropping anvil. The impenetrable fortress Vance had spent millions of taxpayer dollars on had just been bypassed by a single piece of heavy iron.
“No, no, no,” Vance whimpered, finally opening his eyes to see the smoke and the fallen gate. The councilman scrambled backward, his expensive suit tearing against the pavement. He tried to stand up in a blind panic, exposing himself over the top of the concrete planter.
Elias grabbed Vance by his heavy leather belt and yanked him back down just as a three-round burst chewed into the rim of the planter. Stone chips and gray dust exploded over them, raining down into Elias’s collar.
“They’re going inside,” the armed contractor stammered, dropping to his knees and curling into a tight ball behind the bench. He made no move to disengage his safety. He made no move to fire. He just covered his head with his trembling hands and squeezed his eyes shut.
Elias shifted his position, risking a glance around the jagged edge of the planter. Through the shattered remnants of the gate, he could see straight into the high school’s glass-fronted lobby. The lockdown drill had trapped the students exactly where they shouldn’t be. A young teacher was frantically pulling at the handle of a secondary security door, trying to usher a dozen terrified teenagers into a stairwell. But the door was electronically sealed for the drill. They were completely exposed in the brightly lit corridor.
The three attackers stepped over the fallen gate, their boots crunching on the debris. One of them raised a heavy shotgun, aiming directly at the electronic lock of the main glass doors.
Elias looked at his olive-drab duffel bag, lying out in the open, five feet away. Inside it was a heavy steel flashlight, a roll of duct tape, and a basic first aid kit. Nothing that could stop three rifles. He looked at the cowering security contractor, who had dropped his gun entirely. The black pistol lay on the concrete, two feet from Elias’s hand.
Vance was hyperventilating, clawing desperately at Elias’s canvas jacket. “Do something!” the councilman sobbed, a string of spittle hanging from his lip. “You’re supposed to do something! Arrest them!”
“I’m a drifter, Vance,” Elias said coldly.
The boom of the shotgun echoed across the plaza, instantly followed by the sound of shattering safety glass cascading onto the lobby floor. The attackers were inside the building. The screams of the trapped teenagers pierced through the ringing in Elias’s ears, high and frantic.
Elias snatched the discarded pistol from the concrete. He thumbed the safety off and racked the slide, ejecting a live round onto the pavement just to be absolutely certain it was loaded. It was a compact nine-millimeter. Against three men wearing body armor and carrying automatic rifles, it was practically a suicide weapon.
One of the attackers, lingering by the shattered glass doors to cover the rear, suddenly snapped his head toward the plaza. He had spotted the movement behind the planter. The man raised his rifle, the black muzzle aligning perfectly with the gap where Elias was crouched. The heavy, rhythmic thud of the attacker’s boots began to close the distance, moving aggressively toward their pitiful cover.
Elias pressed his back against the concrete, gripping the stolen pistol tightly. He had nowhere to run, a useless politician dragging on his coat, and a heavily armed killer bearing down on him.