The Water Come
One Step From Heaven - Part Five
(Follows Silent Running)
*"Jim! Can you hear anything!"
A shake of his head, a flash of worry as our eyes meet. The wind screams, drowning out the voices in our earpieces; huddled against the rear door of the farm, we have no shelter from the rain that pounds against us and soaks us to our knees.
I barely hear his fierce whisper. "Simon, I'm going in!"
"No, you're not!" I throw out an arm to restrain him. The scene is too confused, the field too congested for one man - even this one - to make a move. "Wait until we hear from Joel!"
He nods with a muttered curse, settling next to me near the bottom step of the porch. Tonight we have teams all over the Morrison property, with senior officers taking on the main structure where three confirmed targets are located.
Beside me, Ellison stiffens.
"What?" I remember just in time to keep my voice low. "What do you hear?"
"Not hear," he says, turning to me with more than worry in his eyes now. "Smell - cordite, and something - oh, Jesus - "
He's gone before I can stop him, sprinting across the dark yard to the single-wide mobile home on the edge of the property. I hear Joel give the signal and I can't wait for Ellison to return - I bust through the back door without backup and pray to God I'm not facing more than one gunman.
There's the usual confusion until we've secured the building - and then through the radio come the words that tears apart the soul of every cop.
"Will that be all, sir?"
"Yeah, thanks. Keep the change."
I picked up the bag filled with Styrofoam containers and stepped outside, turning left onto Prospect. The rain had moved in late in the afternoon, bringing a storm almost equal to the downpour we'd experienced the night of the Morrison raid. As I juggled my bags and umbrella, I admitted that this crusade of mine was either a true sacrifice for friendship or the dumbest thing I'd ever done. Well, I was about to find out, knowing that I could end up with a crack on the jaw for my efforts. Damn thing was that I think I deserved it - even though time had proven me right.
The rain was coming down harder as I neared 852 but that wasn't the reason my steps began to slow. This was it - a final peace offering of beer and lasagna in the hope that time had carried away Jim's anger.
The wind grabbed my umbrella as I keyed in the combination to the lobby door. Setting the bags inside, I moved back out to wrestle with it and managed to drench myself further in the process. When I turned back, the door was being held open. I began gasping out a thank you - but stopped when I found myself looking into the pale, unforgiving eyes of Jim Ellison.
So much water moving underneath the bridge
Let the water come and carry us away
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