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As sprays of blood were splattering out everywhere, Riker had one thought and one thought only. To stop the carnage. To get to the shooter or shooters before they could do any more damage.
Over two hundred people were trying to squeeze through a few single exits. Riker saw brother after brother helping the very young and very old. Another group of Saints raced towards the sound of gunfire. The Saints were a pack and when threatened they worked together intrinsically. Some held back, some cleared the way, and some ran forward into the storm.
Riker jumped over pews and plowed through everyone in his way as he tried to reach the front of the church. Suddenly another round of shots fired out and the man next to Riker fell to the floor. The woman beside him did a sort of macabre puppet on a string dance as a half dozen bullets tore through her body. The smell of rich iron filled Riker’s senses and he almost slipped on all the blood.
“Who is shooting? Who the fuck is shooting?” Riker bellowed out into the crowd.
In his peripheral vision, Riker saw a small figure raise up from a corner in the room. He turned to see a boy of about nine or ten crouched down on the floor all alone. Somehow in the fray he must have gotten separated from his family. His hand was shaking, but he stood up bravely and pointed towards the choir balcony.
“He’s up there. He’s shooting at everybody!” As the boy cried out, the shooter turned and aimed straight at the kid. Just then Jules ran between the boy and the shooter. In one quick athletic motion, he managed to sweep the boy into his arms and shove him behind one of the thick Corinthian columns.
Riker swivel back around to see that the long barrel of an automatic weapon was now pointed at his chest. His eyes widened as he recognized Fat Freddy, the guard from the prison. Fat Freddy’s sausage- like finger pulled back on the trigger and zeroed in on Riker. The laser-sight painted a green dot right over his heart.
“How do you like me now, Mother Fucker?” Freddy yelled out, his eyes filled with maniacal blood thirst. Freddy pushed down in rapid succession on the trigger and Riker prepared himself to meet his maker.
Nothing.
Fat Freddy was out of ammo.
Riker led out a rebel yell, jumped up on the back of a church pew, then leapt up about five feet to the bottom of the upper balcony. Fury driven adrenalin coursed through Riker’s body as he used the heavy muscles in his arms to pull himself up, then he balanced for a second on his heels before he leapt over the balustrade.
Riker acted on pure animal instinct.
When the shooter tossed the empty gun aside and bent down to get the loaded AK7, Riker pounced. He went at the former correctional officer with all he had. Church pews splintered all around them as Riker used his fury to push Freddy through to the floor. Once the asshole was down, Riker shoved his face into the splintered debris. Then Riker pressed his knee hard into Fat Freddy’s spine. He heard Freddy’s arm pop out of its socket as he pulled his hands behind his back.
As sweat poured down Riker’s face, his hands grew slick with perspiration and his grip began to slip. He flexed his forearm and put more weight on the shooter’s thick wrists. Freddy yelped out in agony as multiple carpal bones snapped like dry twigs under the pressure.
“The next thing I break will be your fucking spine, cocksucker.” Riker applied more pressure against Freddy’s back bone. “Who else is with you? Is anyone else shooting.”
“No…no.” Freddy sputtered.
Just then a heavy boot shot out and stepped on the side of the Freddy’s face. That boot increased the pressure until the face had turned a mottled purple. “You plant anything in the church? Booby traps, bombs, trip wires? Anything?” Prosper growled out.
“Nothing.” Freddy wheezed out.
Suddenly the careening sound of the alarm stopped its loud ringing. A deadly and sudden silence fell over the cathedral. Riker swiveled his head in the direction of the sound of multiple heavy footsteps. Men in riot gear filled the church, while droves of EMTs were right behind them.
“We got this.” A man in uniform told Riker and Prosper. “Step away. We got this.”
Prosper was only mildly surprised to see Special Agent Kennedy walk towards him. “I’m sure there are people that you need to attend to. Let us deal with this slime.” He said.
“I want to be the one to cuff this motherfucker.” Riker rasped. Prosper still had not released the pressure from the side of Fat Freddy’s face.
With a nod from Kennedy, an officer tossed Riker the cuffs and with great reluctance, Prosper released the pressure very slowly from the shooter’s face.
Riker cuffed Freddy so that the steel bit hard into his fat wrists. Then he gave him a couple of well-placed hard kicks before he hauled him to his feet.
“Get that piece of shit out of my sight.” Kennedy instructed his men as they began to move Durants toward the exit. “And be real careful going down the stairs with him. We wouldn’t want the ass wipe to stumble and…oh…let’s say …blow out his knee cap or anything.”
“Guys like that? Guys who open fire on innocents? Who wore the uniform for years and abused the position they hold? Men like that should be shot.” Kennedy spat out in an uncharacteristic display of animosity.
After a pause, his steel gray eyes turned to Prosper and Riker,
“We’ve been watching Fred Durants for a while now…” Agent Kennedy began.
“Oh yeah? Apparently not close e-fucking-nuff.” Riker spat out.
Then he left Prosper and Agent Kennedy to hash it out while he went to find his family. Riker fought to keep his eyes focused ahead and his spine ramrod straight as he made his way across the church. First responders were shouting out orders and IV bags were being hung everywhere. The sound of more ambulances quickly approaching could be heard in the distance. Jules, a trained medic, was helping out with the more serious injuries.
