Fortunate Son intensifies

Philip returned to a world of chemical smells and harsh sounds. Distant sirens and rough wind came through the window with scents of gasoline, blood, and something burning. His face stung, his ears rang, his body ached. He focused his breathing until the pains faded into background noise, one by one. Luke coughed in the netting. The wet sound told Philip his chest was caved in, and he didn’t have long.

The crash had knocked the sedan twenty yards ahead and crushed the back end into a jagged mass of metal and plastic. A man stumbled out of the driver’s side door and leveled a submachine gun. White, snowing circles sprung up on the windshield as the muzzle flashed, silently, muffled by the ringing in his ears and the earbuds. He reached weakly into the center console and his fingers brushed a pistol grip.

Something slammed into the gunman and threw him into the side of the sedan. He crumpled to the concrete as it twisted to a stop with a squeal. A motdorcycle. The rider swung up an MP5k and finished him off with a few suppressed snaps.

“Thanks, Mother Theresa,” Philip said weakly.

“What?” said Lindsey in his ears, freeway traffic roaring behind her voice. The rider took off their helmet, exposing a poof of short, bright red hair half-hidden under a bandana. Little grey-blue eyes in a soft round face glared at the crumpled car like it had insulted her.

“Oh. Beth’s here,” Philip said. Luke coughed behind him.

The passenger door swung open and the guy came out firing. He missed her by a mile and she dropped down and got him through the head with one burst. The door closed itself as he hit the ground. Philip sighed and everything hurt again.

Sam stood back up and fired on the windshield till the mag ran dry. She let the gun swing down smoking on its strap and flicked a sawn-off double-barrel shotgun out of her side holster. She pulled both triggers and the windshield went solid white.

“The fucking guns she brings.” gasped Philip. He had given up pulling whatever gun out of the center console when he remembered the pistol on his hip. He doubted he would have to use it now, but he unbuckled his seatbelt anyway.

Sam stepped around the passenger side of the sedan like a lioness, breaking the shotgun and sliding two more shells in. She held it one hand and took out her phone. The sedan chirped as she spoofed the locks.

“We fucking got him.”

“Are you sure?” said EP.

A noise had been rising in his ears, but he hadn't thought to pay it any attention. Sam aimed the shotgun in one hand and reached for the door handle with the other, just as he realized what it was.

A bullet cracked through the air and Sam collapsed behind the sedan. The gunshot boomed a second later. Philip looked up at the helicopter about half a mile away. Something flashed on the side of it and the windshield went white in an area the size of a dinner plate. Another crack followed closely by a second boom. This time, he was sure it was a fifty.

“Shit.” He threw himself back over the center console. Another round landed, but this time it zipped through and bounced around the cab like an angry metal insect. He crawled over the folded down center seat onto the floor as another faster weapon joined in. Another loud smack and distant boom, then more cracks and zips as rounds flew freely through the windshield, and the dull sound of rounds hitting flesh above him where Luke hung in the netting. Gore splattered the back window and everything else. Hot blood poured onto his legs. The chopping roar pressed in through the windows, mocking him.

“Is the target dead?” EP said in his ear. She sounded panicked. Good.

“Not unless he died from friendly fire! Mark’s dead! Beth’s dead! I need back up.”

He crawled towards the hatch as death flew thick as rain a foot above his head.

“Theresa’s been rerouted to the office,” EP said.

“Fucking great!”

“Boss wants her on intercept!” She had the nerve to sound annoyed, even as the steady boom of the sniper grew louder.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“How the fuck did you not see a helicopter coming at us? Isn’t intel your job, you sassy bitch?!” He yelled into the floorboards.

“And killing the target is yours! If you had done it, they would be airlifting a corpse right now!” He could tell from her voice that she felt guilty, but he tried not to care. A bullet grazed the top of his shoulder. That helped. He growled and crawled faster.

“They’re on the ramp,” said EP. “The target looks like he’s struggling to get out of the car. Can you get a shot?”

Philip laughed, but the bullet storm above his head let up. He looked at the hatch. If he opened it, they would dump lead all over him again.

“We’ll fucking see!” He pulled the M240 out of its recessed compartment, pulled the belt out of the case and tossed it on top. He put his foot next to the hatch open button and braced himself.

“Someone hopped out of the chopper. He’s moving to the target!” EP said.

“What a friendly guy,” Philip whispered. He kicked the button, hoping the hydraulics hadn’t taken a bullet, and the armored door strained open. After a few seconds, when the gap of sunlit road was a foot wide, the gunfire resumed and rounds hammered the SUV. A fifty punched through the side window and sprayed Philip with glass and bullet fragments. He shoved the M240 out the back and rolled out after it.

“They’re loading up!” EP said.

“Try and hack the helicopter or something!” He moved in a low crouch away from the back of the SUV with the M240 shouldered and fanned out the belt. In a panic, he realized he hadn’t heard any gunfire in about five seconds.

He stepped out and fired in bursts at the rising, shrinking helicopter. Rounds danced up the underside and sparks flashed like sunlight. It was already a good five hundred yards away, moving up and out fast.

“Fuck!” He moved to the cement barrier, lay the weapon on it by the tripod, and took aim again.

“You’re out of range,” EP said. He let out another couple of bursts.

“Cops coming up the ramp!”

Flashing red and blue lights moved up the curving ramp. Two cop cars. Did they not hear the god damn machine gun fire?

He swung the gun around by the carrying handle with the stock under his armpit and let out a few bursts. The cars screeched to a stop just behind the curve of the barrier, then peeled out backwards. He sprayed the cement until the belt ran out, then dropped the gun on the street and turned back to the SUV.

“Can you get me out of here? Or should I jump?”

“There’s a roadblock the other way, too.”

Philip looked around. Wide, flat land from dull horizon to dull horizon. A haze of strip malls, fast food drive-thrus and industrial buildings spreading off the highway. Half a mile away, red and blue lights glittered towards him down a shimmering street. From some half-digested memory, he saw an old friend smiling at him, pointing at a place that could be right below him.

“This is what Updike called the un-grandest landscape in the world.”

There had been gunfire and pain then, too.

He noticed the ramp that passed underneath him, and walked up to the barrier and looked down. It was about a thirty-foot drop.

“Can you get a car stopped on this ramp below me?” he said.

“Let me see. Yeah. Can you get to it?”

“Yeah. Any police choppers inbound?”

“One so far, but they’re still about five minutes out. I had it called south when you and Mark started shooting.” So smug. Philip wanted to throw the earbuds off the ramp, but in a moment of unexpected calm, he felt guilty for yelling at her. If they got this one in the bag, maybe he would make it up to her.

He opened the side door of the SUV and got out the case of repelling gear from under the seat and set it on the street. Then he pulled the keys out of the ignition and grabbed the pouch of grenades, two more pistol mags, and one of Luke’s ammo pouches, all while trying not to look at him hanging in the netting. He snatched the rattler out of the net with his eyes closed and slung it over his shoulder.

“You’re on TV,” said EP as he attached the line to the hook on the SUV. The news chopper grumbled in the distance, and he wondered if they had seen him shoot at the other one.

“Cool. Got that car ready?” He got the harness on and took the line in his hands.

“Yep, routed an Uber to you. Hacked his Bluetooth and told him I was the FBI, ha ha ha.” She laughed through the voice changer like an old detective.

“Is it close?”

“Yeah, one sec.”

Tires squealed below him. Sirens wailed and the wind seemed determined to throw him off now that he was ready to jump. He held the trunk, alarm, and unlock buttons on the key fob. When it chirped, he let go and started counting to sixty in his head. He threw the keys at the horizon and swung over the barricade.

There was a sporty hatchback stopped in the middle of the road with its hazards on and a line of honking cars behind it. They got quiet as he came down. Once on the ground, he snapped the harness off then drew his pistol, a blued P226 Legion, off his hip and pointed it at the driver, who put his hands up as he came around the driver's side. He flicked his pistol in the universal “get the fuck out” signal and the guy scrambled off.

He holstered the gun, got in the driver’s seat, closed the door, arranged the Rattler in his lap, put on his seatbelt, flicked off the hazards and put it in drive. He had counted 45 seconds so far.

“News chopper got you going down. Coming around to get an angle.”

“They’re about to have something else to look at,” he said.

Right on cue, the bomb went off. The sound was massive. The ramp shook and groaned, and a bright yellow flash glared off the cement ahead of him. He floored it. The familiar smell of spent explosives rushed in the open window on a hot wind. As he came out from under the ramp, fire and smoke rose in the mirror, and debris hit the car like the ghosts of gunfire. The boom echoed across the flat landscape, shattered, and returned in pieces.

“Are they watching me now?” He took the first exit at eighty miles an hour.

“Nope. Looks like you’re in the clear.”

“I’m gonna swap cars. Ask Boss where he wants me.”

He swerved into the u-turn lane and disappeared under the bridge.