Read Online Cries in the Night by Kathy Clark - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kathy Clark
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reactions from a person whose house is on fire. Once in the living room, Rusty had stopped so quickly that Jason, only a couple of steps behind had run into his back. “Sir, please stay outside while we go through the house. Did you see flames or smell gas?
“Nope.” The man, who had followed them inside, shut the door and calmly slid the bolts on a half dozen locks.
“What the fuck?” Rusty asked, his gaze falling on a dozen two liter bottles of clear liquid placed around the room. He couldn’t tell exactly what they were, but each had a timer and a separate compartment with another liquid in it. Also taped to the bottles were tin cans. Rusty couldn’t see inside them, but he guessed they were filled with nails, screws, ball bearings or something else that would rip through flesh and walls and anything in its path. Rusty was certainly no expert, but he knew he was looking at enough homemade bombs to blow the entire block off the map.
He had taken a few classes on bombs, but more along the lines of how to put out the fires they caused or minimize the damage and not how to keep them from going off. The thing that had made the biggest impression on him from the class was that most bombs weren’t stable or predictable, and definitely not something he wanted to be sharing a space with.
“So there’s no fire?” Jason asked, not quite comprehending the situation.
“Not yet,” the man said. “But there’ll be an epic blast if you guys don’t help me.”
“Help you how?” Rusty asked, focusing on the man while covertly trying to survey the room and assess the situation. The more he saw, the more concerned he became. This was no spontaneous idea. All the windows had been boarded up from the inside and the doors blocked by furniture. Like a spider with a web, the man had been waiting for his victims to be lured to his web. But why?
“Call your captain and tell him to keep everyone back,” the man instructed.
Rusty again eyed the bombs as he keyed in his radio, then spoke into it. “No fire, just a shitload of bombs. Clear the area and stay back.”
The captain quickly answered, “What’s the plan?”
“Not sure. We’re okay for now.”
“10-4.”
Rusty looked back at the man who nodded.
“They’ll listen to me now,” the man said with a satisfied smile. “I just had to get their attention.”
“Who?”
“The government. Obama. Congress. All of those fuckers that are screwing up this country. I’m sick of them sticking their noses in my life. I’ve worked hard all my life. I’ve paid money into my retirement. And now it’s all gone. I lost my job and nobody’s hiring. My 401K is drained. My unemployment has run out. I’m losing my house. My whole life’s gone to shit.”
“Things have been bad for everyone,” Rusty tried to find a point of agreement from which they could build.
“Not you,” the man challenged. “You’ve got a job. And health care. And retirement. And probably a hot wife waiting for you at home.”
“Actually, no wife …”
“Shut the fuck up,” the man yelled. “I know how women are about firefighters. Hell, my wife ran off with one.”
Rusty couldn’t really counter that one.
The man started pacing, his voice getting more agitated with every step. “I’ve got nothing. You’ve got everything. It’s not fair … but I’m making it right.”
A piercing alarm went off and the man pressed his hands against his ears and whirled around. “What the hell is that?”
Rusty and Jason both wiggled their asses and the alarm quieted. “If we don’t move for thirty seconds, it goes off so we can be found if we’re trapped or unconscious.”
“Don’t let it go off again,” the man screamed.
Since they were difficult to reach, especially when they were in full uniform, Rusty moved behind Jason and turned off the personal alarm security system unit that was attached to his air tank, then let Jason do the same for him.
The man picked up a package
“Nope.” The man, who had followed them inside, shut the door and calmly slid the bolts on a half dozen locks.
“What the fuck?” Rusty asked, his gaze falling on a dozen two liter bottles of clear liquid placed around the room. He couldn’t tell exactly what they were, but each had a timer and a separate compartment with another liquid in it. Also taped to the bottles were tin cans. Rusty couldn’t see inside them, but he guessed they were filled with nails, screws, ball bearings or something else that would rip through flesh and walls and anything in its path. Rusty was certainly no expert, but he knew he was looking at enough homemade bombs to blow the entire block off the map.
He had taken a few classes on bombs, but more along the lines of how to put out the fires they caused or minimize the damage and not how to keep them from going off. The thing that had made the biggest impression on him from the class was that most bombs weren’t stable or predictable, and definitely not something he wanted to be sharing a space with.
“So there’s no fire?” Jason asked, not quite comprehending the situation.
“Not yet,” the man said. “But there’ll be an epic blast if you guys don’t help me.”
“Help you how?” Rusty asked, focusing on the man while covertly trying to survey the room and assess the situation. The more he saw, the more concerned he became. This was no spontaneous idea. All the windows had been boarded up from the inside and the doors blocked by furniture. Like a spider with a web, the man had been waiting for his victims to be lured to his web. But why?
“Call your captain and tell him to keep everyone back,” the man instructed.
Rusty again eyed the bombs as he keyed in his radio, then spoke into it. “No fire, just a shitload of bombs. Clear the area and stay back.”
The captain quickly answered, “What’s the plan?”
“Not sure. We’re okay for now.”
“10-4.”
Rusty looked back at the man who nodded.
“They’ll listen to me now,” the man said with a satisfied smile. “I just had to get their attention.”
“Who?”
“The government. Obama. Congress. All of those fuckers that are screwing up this country. I’m sick of them sticking their noses in my life. I’ve worked hard all my life. I’ve paid money into my retirement. And now it’s all gone. I lost my job and nobody’s hiring. My 401K is drained. My unemployment has run out. I’m losing my house. My whole life’s gone to shit.”
“Things have been bad for everyone,” Rusty tried to find a point of agreement from which they could build.
“Not you,” the man challenged. “You’ve got a job. And health care. And retirement. And probably a hot wife waiting for you at home.”
“Actually, no wife …”
“Shut the fuck up,” the man yelled. “I know how women are about firefighters. Hell, my wife ran off with one.”
Rusty couldn’t really counter that one.
The man started pacing, his voice getting more agitated with every step. “I’ve got nothing. You’ve got everything. It’s not fair … but I’m making it right.”
A piercing alarm went off and the man pressed his hands against his ears and whirled around. “What the hell is that?”
Rusty and Jason both wiggled their asses and the alarm quieted. “If we don’t move for thirty seconds, it goes off so we can be found if we’re trapped or unconscious.”
“Don’t let it go off again,” the man screamed.
Since they were difficult to reach, especially when they were in full uniform, Rusty moved behind Jason and turned off the personal alarm security system unit that was attached to his air tank, then let Jason do the same for him.
The man picked up a package
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