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| You remember Ryebaum... |
Chapter Fifty-One
Ryebaum stood in the middle of the road…
Ryebaum stood in the middle of the road, holding Stevie in his arms. He was covered in blood from head to toe. Little Stevie hung limp, a dead weight in his arms. Rick was oblivious, and uncaring about the ache in his shoulders and neck. One of the baby’s legs was missing.
Chan brought the vehicle to a halt.
“Sir. May we help you, sir? We need to get you off the street.” Grunion called from her perch clinging to the roll bar.
Standing there, she had a clear field of fire in all directions, as Oberon clambered over spare wheels and the junk in the back, letting down the tailgate when he got over to it.
She covered Phil as he put aside the shotgun loaded with solid slugs, more usually used to take crack-house doors off their hinges. Dropping down, the sergeant cautiously approached the gentleman. Everywhere you looked, there were signs of devastation in the background.
“Let me help you, sir.” Phil was aware that to try to take the child right now would almost certainly spark what could be a potentially bad reaction, very time-consuming.
And they had no time.
“May I help you into the truck, sir?” He asked again, slowly and gently reaching out to Ryebaum’s other shoulder.
Thankfully the man seemed passive. Hollow, sorrow-laden eyes turned and locked on his. The man stood there, rocking slowly back and forth. The disheveled hair, the man’s unshaven face, the fact he had no shoes, told their own story. Clothes hastily put on. Dried-up stuff in the corners of his mouth, crust around the eyes. Dehydration, shock, trauma. Almost unrecognizable, yet Phillip Oberon was pretty sure he knew this guy from somewhere.
“Please let us help you, sir.”
This was an emergency situation of unknown size and scope, but there was a time for patience. A little compassion now, could help this man a lot later on. The sergeant gently patted the man’s shoulder to establish a warm and reassuring contact.
“We must get you off of the street.” He told the man. “We’ll take you to the hospital.”
Grunion was weeping, but blinking back tears to try to watch the perimeter. Chan sat impassively waiting, with a Glock 16 in his lap. The other guy, Don, held his rifle leveled at the surroundings.
“We better get a move on, Sergeant.” Don suggested through the passenger window.
“I just want to know what’s going on.” The man said.
Boots on, gun blazing.
Oberon tried to lead him to the truck, and finally the man shuffled forwards.
“Let me help you, sir.” He said in a confident but compassionate tone.
He had seen people at a time of loss a million times, and it was always the same. You never got used to it. All he could offer was gentleness.
“I just want to know what’s going on.” Said Rybaum.
They helped him into the back, never letting go of the baby. Finally he slumped down in the corner.
“I just want to know what’s going on.” Howled Ryebaum in agony, like a man whose very guts were being torn out of him.
“Sarge.” Grunion shouted, and he grabbed the shotgun in reflex, and spinning around, raised it to fire.
She was already shooting, but with that little pop-gun…
“Go. Go. Go.” He barked.
Gratitude filled his heart as the first rounds left the muzzle and he heard the truck’s tires peeling out. The beauty, the symmetry of it all made his smile one of unfeigned and sincere joy.
“Come and get it, you bastards.” He grunted, his heart literally stopped in his chest as Sergeant Phillip Oberon kept squeezing the trigger. He took one last breath.
This was the proper way for a cop to die. With his boots on and his gun blazing.
Then it was on him.
Yum yum. MEAT!!!
END
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Images. Louis. He steals them from the internet.
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