Down the Road: The Fall of Austin by Bowie Ibarra

“Yes.”
    “Bullshit,” Sgt. Arnold huffed. “He could not
have moved to the front of the room and not seen that bitch.”
    “Listen, Arnold,” Sgt. Nickson said, coming
to Garrison’s defense, “Goodson’s dead. There’s no use playing the
blame game. Our first priority is protecting the senators. We can
address Goodson’s body accordingly sometime soon. Let’s get back to
our mission now.”
    Sgt. Arnold was not buying Nickson’s high
road posturing. He considered the numbers in the room. Nickson,
Rodriguez and Garrison could quickly overtake him and there was not
one person from his own fireteam to bear witness to another
accident.
    Wisely, Sgt. Arnold decided to leave the room
posthaste.
    Three of the four Fireteam Nickson members
stood in the doorway. The energy of anger and fear resonated
heavily. Those energy waves were clashing as Sgt. Arnold advanced
on the rival team. Their hearts pounded. Their minds raced.
    Sgt. Arnold shoved his way through. The wave
of energy was enormous, and it punched everyone in their spiritual
centers. Rodriguez took offense to Sgt. Arnold laying a hand on him
and took a swipe at him. Arnold, an amateur boxer before joining
the armed services, decked Rodriguez with three quick, hard punches
to the body and face. The third punch connected squarely with
Rodriguez’s chin, and dropped the big man to the floor like a bag
of rocks.
    Sgt. Nickson tried to attack Arnold as the
fight spilled into the hallway. Arnold caught the advancing Nickson
with a jab/cross combination that stunned the fireteam leader.
Before Arnold could pounce and do some real damage, Garrison
tackled him.
    By the time Arnold could shrug him off, both
Nickson and Rodriguez had recovered. Arnold took several steps back
so all three opponents were in view. He did not want to give them a
chance to surround him like the pack of wolves they were.
    “Need you and two of your boys to take me,
huh?!” he shouted at his rival sergeant. “I swear when this shit is
done with, I’m going to kick your fuckin’ ass! All of you! One at a
time or all at once—I don’t give a fuck!”
    “Fuck you, Arnold!” Sgt. Nickson fired
back.
    “You listen to me, you dumb fuck,” Arnold
gritted. “The National Guard is minutes away. All this other shit
is on hold. For now.”
    “Fine with me.”
    In the distant rotunda, Talltree stood
silent. Watching. Measuring. Learning.
     

CHAPTER ELEVEN
     
    8:31 AM
    Silver Creek Apartments, South Manchaca
Road
     
    Drops of water echoed in a dark, dank hallway
as they splashed into puddles below. In a distant and non-visible
location, a red light bathed the soft, smoky mist with a ray of
evil. It cast just enough light on either end of the hallway to
illuminate each entrance to the steamy hall, but left the middle of
the long stretch of floor cloaked in darkness.
    Officer Mike Runyard stepped into the mouth
of the hallway. He looked into the darkness. He could not tell for
sure if something was moving around in the black void, if water
filled the void, or if there was even a place to stand in the
middle of the hallway. Fear pierced his heart and his breathing
became tense.
    An energy compelled him into the dark mystery
of the hallway. Water dripped on him as he advanced, hitting his
neck like the cold kiss of a mythical frost princess. As he moved
forward, the ground became soft and the frosty kisses began to fall
on his head, neck, and shoulders with greater frequency. Mike could
feel a muddy grass under his feet in the darkness despite seeing
the solid metal floor of the hallway yards away, bathed in red
light and mist.
    As he took more steps forward, he noticed
himself sinking into the ground. The floor was becoming bog-like.
The grassy vines were grabbing at his feet and legs, wrapping
around his limbs like tentacles, pulling him into the ground. The
cold mist became a steady, icy rainfall.
    He looked to the ground and watched his feet
slowly sink, pulled in by the green arms of the