01 Feb EMERGENCY ALERT Part 6
Liz and I have been talking.
She knows it–i know it. This can’t work forever. The people at MEW will never stop looking for her until she’s found. Sure, I could take care of McClellan, Sloan, Jones, Kowalski if necessary. But I’m certain they have more man power–and who knows, the other experiments might not be as kind as Liz.
We just gave the radio a try. Nothing much, really, but we now have a time frame for the arrival of the “officers.”
-“Kowalski? Sloan here. Over.” -“Sloan, hey. Have you and McClellan left for [withheld] yet? Over.” -“Yes, we’ll be there in…about two hours. Over.” -“I just left as well. I’ll be there in one and a half. Over.” -“Well, tell us where you have and have not searched when we get there. We need to shut this down TODAY. Over.” -“And Jones? Has he left? Over.” -“Not yet. HE probably wont be there for another three or so. Anyway, take care. Over and out.”
The dogs are safely locked away in my basement for now, but I’m trying to convince my brother to take them to his house until things blow over. I’ve told him about Liz being a normal person. He didn’t believe me at first, but I think he’s coming around. Right now she’s wearing a gray hoodie of mine over jeans, dark red converse, and a white Marvel T-shirt with a black Venom insignia. I don’t think they’ll be able to identify her without giving her a second glance.
A lot of you have been asking about the gun I found across the street. I did a little research, and the closest look-alike I found on google images was a Remington 870. I checked around my neighbor’s house for more shells like some of you suggested, and I found about 4 more, plus two more full power banks. I didn’t do a very thorough check, because we’re on a bit of a deadline right now. Okay, my brother just got back to me. He’ll take the dogs. He’s still confused, but he’ll totally back me up if I need him to when Officers Friendly, Smiley, and Joyful show up.
I’m not worried about running out of shells–if need be, Liz can probably make their heads explode or something, but I’d rather she didn’t have to because that would be difficult to explain to the authorities, especially when the authorities know about 013 and are the ones I’m getting ready to fight.
I really can’t see more than one update after this. I think today it will all be over. I hope Liz makes it out of this okay, but it’ll be a hell of a lot of work to keep them from her. If she’s to be free, either everyone in MEW must die or she’ll have to go on the run for real. In Mexico, maybe, or Canada–Canada’s closer, so that before Mexico. Although, maybe if Whitfield dies, the others will leave her alone?
I don’t know. It’s been about 45 minutes since we listened in on the radio–Kowalski should be here in 45 more. Liz had a bright idea, too. What if we left a note for him? We found some sidewalk chalk in the basement, and we took it out to the street and wrote “002” in large letters. When the others show up, either we can wash it off with a hose or with some rain courtesy of Liz. But I think it’s a good idea. What if Kowalski wants to fight just as little as we do?”
Okay, 15 more minutes have passed, and I’m really getting anxious. I think we should do one more sweep for supplies.
Okay, so we went back across the street and picked up a machete and a small revolver. I put the revolver in my pocket for now–I might give it to Liz even though I doubt she’ll need it–and put the machete on my back. I don’t know why all the other neighbors are being quiet. Should I give them a warning? I asked Liz if she killed them, too. She said no.
My brother showed up and got the dogs. Here, I’ll give you the gist of our conversation:
“Holy fuck, Sean!”
“What?” I asked him.
“You aren’t enlisting in the military, you don’t need a fucking arsenal!”
“You want one?” I asked.
“I’m serious, I said. “You might need it. These people are going to check all the houses on the block, probably!”
“I’m good,” he said turning to Liz. “So, you’re the one who kept walking around outside?”
“Yes,” Liz replied.
“What’s going on?” he asked me. “Are we involved in some messed up government experiment or some shit?”
“Well, frankly, yes,” I told him. “You got my–our–back?”
“‘Course,” he said. “But I better not go to jail for this, buddy.”
“Jim, calm your ass,” I said, motioning for him to calm down. “Just take the dogs to your place, maybe come back here. And be ready for a fight.”
“Okay,” he said, calming down slightly. “Okay.”
“Okay, hurry up,” I sad, and he ran into the basement to get the dogs. A few minutes later, he was pulling out of the driveway.
“Your brother seems nice,” Liz said.
“He’s an ass, but you’ll get used to it.”
Fifteen minutes before go, he came back. I handed him the machete when he refused the revolver. I offered the revolver to Liz, but she said she wouldn’t need it. I agreed.
I have my kitchen knife, too, in my other pocket. We all had one of those, actually. Also, I forgot to mention that the revolver had a full cylinder.
Okay, in five minutes, Kowalski should be passing by. I’m really nervous now, but I should be okay. I don’t think he’ll be a problem.
Okay, Kowalski showed up. I’m looking through the window at him. He’s looking at the chalk message, and he looks like he’s getting worried–nervous, confused, whatever.
He just saw me.
Okay, I’m back. I went outside with the shotgun in my hand and he took several steps back, his hands up. I questioned him a little, and he admitted to killing the real Kowalski. Then Liz came out. We checked him, took a handgun off of him (I’ll try to find out hat kind) and took him into the basement to tie him up. He’s currently sitting across form us, bound and gagged, my brother pale as a sheet. “We just kidnapped a guy,” he muttered.
“We’re probably about to kill a few more,” I said, “so buckle up.”
I noticed the insignia on his lapel. “MEW” written in white against the dark grey fabric of his shirt.
I decided to go wait behind my dead neighbor’s house for McClellan and Sloan. Liz and my brother, Jim (I don’t know if I said his name yet) waited at the house.
Okay, they’re here. They just got out of the car, but there’s four of them. McCLellan is a guy of average height and brown hair, moderately built, and Sloan is a slightly short woman with black hair in a ponytail. The other two are both tall and of average build, one with blond hair and one with black, both male.
One of the big guys just came my way. Sloan and McClellan are walking in my house’s general area. The other big guy is walking down the street away from me. I’m going to put my phone down.
Okay, guys, I just shot the guy.
He came around and saw me, and before he could take out his gun, I shot him with the shotgun. McClellan and the other big guy were both in houses, but Sloan was outside, so she saw him fall down, although they probably all heard the shotgun. My ears ringing, I stood up and got ready to run, shaky from the fact that I now had this man’s blood metaphorically on my hands. I shot at Sloan but missed, and she caught up with me as I was running. I shot her in the thigh, and she fell over, but sat up and started shooting at me.
McClellan must have decided to stay put, and the big guy was nowhere to be seen, so I crouched down behind the nearest house, Sloan crying out in pain. “Why…?” she asked me, looking at me angrily. “You ass hole…”
“You can’t have 013,” I said. “I know what you’re doing in that place.”
“I’m a police officer!” she said.
“But then why does your shirt say “MEW?” And why did you keep saying “over” on the radio?”
“All cops say “over,”” she said.
“I used to think so, too.”
“Look, I don’t care if 013 gets captured. But I need to do my job.”
“I’m giving you an out,” I said. “Stay quiet, lay low, and let me take care of it.”
She was looking behind me. I turned around as big guy numero dos came around the corner of the house with his gun held out. I took out my knife and stuck it in his shoulder–he fell over and I got on him, sticking it between his ribs. “I don’t want to do this!” I said. He fell limp, and I looked at Sloan. “If you can’t call them off, nothing can be done. If it’s something that can be stopped, then stop it.”
Through her radio, I heard a voice. “This is Professor Whitfield to Officer Sloan. I will be there shortly with Jones. In due time… Over.”
I took the shotgun, hit her with the barrel, and knocked her unconscious, my head swimming.