Secession: The Storm (9 page)

A process soon developed. The men would dig furiously for three or four minutes, and then Ford would whistle a halt. Everyone would remain absolutely still while the NOPD officer would exchange shouted words with the trapped victims.

“Oh, please, sir… save my children,” the progressively weaker voice entreated. “They were already feverish when the building caved in.”

“We’re coming, lady; hang in there.”

About then a large section of wall collapsed, several hundred pounds of brick and drywall just missing two of the men. Rather than retreat, Ford ordered several of his crew to brace the wobbly structure with whatever materials they could salvage from the rubble. Zach expected to be buried alive at any moment.

They put eyes on the woman ten minutes later. Her two preschool-aged children and she were pinned in what had been their kitchen, trapped in a small pocket between an overturned refrigerator and a stout breakfast table.

As they began to dig the mother out in earnest, the firemen arrived. Using crowbars, axes and other equipment, they took to the task while Ford’s team stepped back. The crowd of responders breathed a collective sigh of relief when the first tot was passed up and out of the wreckage.

A Coast Guard helicopter appeared over the scene, circling once and then landing in a nearby parking lot. It wasn’t long before the medics were evaluating all three victims. After a few minutes of frantic activity, Zach watched as the crews began loading the family onto the bird, preparing them for the flight out.

Word got around that one of the kids had some internal bleeding, and the mother suffered a compound fracture, but they all were expected to survive. Several of the firemen approached the law enforcement officers and praised Ford for his team’s good work. Spirits were high all around. In the midst of chaos and mayhem, they had made a difference.

After the rescue crews had cleared, the sergeant’s team mulled around, dusting themselves off, guzzling bottled water, and generally cooling down. Ford allowed his men a 15-minute break and then motioned for them to form up. It was time to get back to work.

Abe and Charlie were quietly huddling in the kitchen, plotting their next move to get their father to evacuate with them voluntarily. Dad was catching a nap on the couch.

The sudden banging on the front door spiked the brothers’ adrenaline, the shocking racket so loud and unexpected it sounded like a bomb had exploded on the front porch.

Charlie reached for the nearby shotgun as Abe moved to see who would dare be so bold as to splinter the front door. As he passed into the living room, he was surprised to see his father reaching for the deadbolt.

“Who is it?” the elder Hendricks shouted, turning the knob just as Abe screamed for him to stop. It was too late, a large man in a blue uniform pushing his way inside.

“New Orleans Police Department!” the intruder shouted, repeatedly bumping the elderly homeowner backwards with his chest. Before Abe could do or say anything, a stream of uniformed bodies poured in behind the huge cop, the living room soon filled with armed men and rifle barrels sweeping in all directions.

Still in a state of disbelief, Abe could do nothing but hold up his hands in the classic,
“Don’t
shoot,”
position.

“You have to leave,” the bull-cop began shouting. “The mayor has ordered all residents to evacuate. Now!”

“We’re not going anywhere!” Mr. Hendricks responded, finally recovering. “Get out of my house.”

Abe noticed the intruders spreading out, one man in an Army uniform slowly moving to get behind his father. Another cop who shouldered a shotgun was making for the staircase.

“Do you have a warrant?” Abe barked, not sure what else to say.

One of the two NOPD officers stepped closer to Abe, poking him in the stomach with the barrel of an AR15. “This is our warrant,” smirked the cop.

“Are there any firearms in this house?” the lead man asked. “We’ve been ordered to confiscate all weapons.”

“You can’t do that,” protested Abe, “That’s illegal as hell. Get the fuck out of our house.”

“Yeah… what the hell is wrong with you guys?” Mr. Hendricks demanded, regaining his composure and stepping toward the big policeman. “We’ve got rights here… you can’t just barge in here and….”

A lightning storm charged with events erupted. Placing a hand on each of Mr. Hendricks’s shoulders, the big cop yanked the old man savagely to the floor. Abe’s natural reaction was to help his father, but he didn’t manage a single step before the closest invader dove into his mid-section, slamming him brutally to the carpeting.

Someone was trying to pull Abe’s arms behind his back as the room filled with the bedlam of shouted commands and confusing orders. Swirls of fast moving bodies, firearms, and his father’s screams of protest made it impossible to discern what was happening.

“Where are the guns?” someone kept shouting. “Where are the guns?”

Two of the soldiers started for the kitchen. Abe’s eyes followed their movement, despite being pinned on his stomach.

The kitchen door flew open in slow motion, the barrel of Charlie’s shotgun rising frame, by agonizing frame. Abe wanted to shout a warning, tried to fill his throat with the words that would cause his brother to stop. But it was too late.

The 12-gauge exploded, pellets of buckshot driving into the nearest soldier’s chest. Abe saw his brother’s face wrinkle in pain and confusion as a series of bullets ripped through his torso. A cloud of red mist appeared behind the younger Hendricks as his body twisted and vibrated from the impacting lead.

Abe recognized his own voice screaming, “No!” while his little brother sank to the floor. As he went down, another jet of red fire sprayed from Charlie’s shotgun. Someone howled in agony, the sickening wail overriding the earsplitting thunder of gunfire and the blaring shouts of men in combat.

And then Abe was free.

The man holding him to the floor rolled away, seeking cover when the firefight began. Still in shock over watching his brother cut to pieces, Abe rose to his knees, thinking only of gathering Charlie’s limp body in his arms.

Movement drew Abe’s eye, his father finding himself unburdened as well. Ed Hendricks was reaching for something, extending his arm in Charlie’s direction. Too late, Abe again tried to mouth a warning for his dad to stop.

More thunder filled the Hendricks’s living room, one of the cops believing Mr. Hendricks was reaching for Charlie’s shotgun – or so they assumed. Abe watched in absolute horror as his father’s head exploded in a geyser of tissue and bone.

“You sons-ah-bitches!” Abe screamed, finally managing his feet. “You murdering pieces of shit,” he cried, staggering toward his father’s body.

And then his way was blocked by the hulking shape of the bull policeman, the man raising a shotgun toward Abe’s midsection. The remaining Hendricks knew he was about to die.

A flash appeared out of nowhere, the outline of a human arm entering Abe’s narrowed view of the weapon that was going to claim his life. Striking the barrel just as a fountain of white fire erupted from the muzzle, the mysterious hand somehow managed to push the shot wide.

Blinking in surprise, both Abe and the big cop glanced up to see a man in a cowboy hat stepping between them. “Enough!” screamed the hat. “Stop this!”

Sergeant Ford blinked, looking into Zach’s eyes as if he didn’t know where he was. “Cease fire! Everybody! Secure your weapons – now!” screamed Zach. “Cease fire!”

Abe again tried to move to his fallen father’s side. He managed a single step before a jolt of agony shot through his head, and then the world turned black.

The fog of shock and confusion in the Hendricks’s living room was as thick as the cordite gun smoke. After a few moments, Zach’s reeling brain registered the absolute blanket of silence that covered the area. It took him a few seconds more to realize the quiet was due to his ears being overwhelmed by the close-in gunfire.

The rest of Sergeant Ford’s group appeared to be in some form of trance as well. One trooper stood and fidgeted with his M16, another man’s eyes darting rapidly from body to body strewn about the floor. Ford was statue-still, his mouth moving, but no sound coming from his throat. One of the guardsmen rushed to the front porch to wretch.

“Are they all dead?” Zach finally managed to ask, his voice roaring inside of his skull as he tried to overcome the ringing in his ears.

The question seemed to break the spell, the men moving quickly to check pulses and listen for beating hearts. The news wasn’t good.

Both of the civilians were dead. The guardsman hit by Charlie’s initial shotgun blast had taken the blunt of the load in his body armor but was bleeding from several smaller wounds on his arms. The NOPD officer, caught by the scattergun’s second shot, had a thigh full of buckshot and was hemorrhaging enough to turn his pants leg a glistening red.

The home’s third resident, lying at the feet of Ford and Zach, was still alive, but bleeding from a nasty gash on his head – courtesy of a cop’s rifle butt.

“What the hell happened here?” someone finally asked. “How the fuck did this spiral out of control so quickly?”

And then it seemed everyone wanted to talk at once.

Ford was the first to realize the ramifications. As the soldiers worked on the two wounded team members with their first aid kits, Zach could tell the sergeant was already formulating how he would frame the incident in his report.

Moving from team member to team member, the senior officer barked very pointed questions, such as, “What did you see?” and “Who fired first?”

When it was Zach’s turn, the ranger answered in a neutral tone, “I didn’t see shit. I was the last one in, so I have no idea what happened.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but not entirely a lie. Besides, Ford’s attitude was beginning to seriously concern the Texan.

Emotions continued to build throughout the group, an initial wave of anger quickly replaced by a current of remorse and chagrin. But then the tide started to turn.

“That guy from the kitchen fired first,” someone protested, self-preservation finally taking hold of the herd’s mentality.