A Police Officer's Story - part 6
by Ben Nettleship

Patrick spun around and frantically backed up, fumbling for his revolver as the raptor advanced towards him as the woman who he had been ticketing fled. The raptor was smiling; its mouth was open and its teeth were visible.

As the raptor started to charge, Patrick tripped over the curb and fell on his back, hitting his head on the pavement.

He was starting to get up, and then heard various sounds. Zaps, blasts and a searing roar. As he shook his head, he realized that the raptor hadn't gotten him but was, in fact, lying on the ground in front of him. A group of people wearing costumes ran by him as he got back up on his feet, and he heard part of their conversation as they ran by.

"We've got to hurry and close that portal," came a female voice in a southern accent. There was more but Patrick didn't catch it.

"Well, I guess those heroes are good for something," he muttered as he examined the downed raptor, though not for long. A few seconds later, it shimmered then vanished, as it was sent back through the timestream to its point of origin.

He mutely stared at the place where the raptor had been for a few seconds.

"What the hell was that?" Pam shouted, running up behind him, with her sidearm drawn.

Patrick shook his head. "Trouble. Again. This used to be such a peaceful city. You didn't have to worry about dinosaurs and super powered people causing random destruction."

"No, you just had to worry about being gunned down in a drive by or being mugged on your way to work," Pam stated.

Nostalgia lost much of its attraction when there were few things about the old days that any sane man would like.

"Ah, well, let's just call for backup," he said, jogging back towards the patrol car. Halfway there, another raptor leapt down from the top of a building. It landed in front of him, and was running towards him as he brought up his revolver.

Before he could fire, though, Pam was already shooting and sent three bullets into the prehistoric menace's head, stopping it for a second. She quickly emptied the remainder of the clip into it, dropping it in its tracks.

"Nice shot," Patrick commented, as she ejected the spent clip and loaded a full one.

"Not at all, it was moving straight at us. Now, if it had been dodging, that would've been harder. I'd have hit it, of course," she stated, smugly.

"Of course," he replied, a slight grin on his face, as they resumed running towards the car.

He reached in the window, grabbed the radio and shouted into it (it was starting to become a habit). "This is car fifty-seven, officers in danger, repeat, officers in danger at park area. Send backup immediately."

"All cars, all cars, officers in danger, officers in danger. Proceed to park immediately. Car fifty-seven, what's the problem?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. It involves Freedom Force. Tell everybody to bring riot guns, and alert the local military. Get some meat wagons down here too, I've got a bad feeling that there's going to be a lot of wounded people."

"Roger that, fifty-seven."

Patrick hung up the radio, and walked back to the trunk of the patrol car.

"Now what do we do?" Pam asked, walking beside him. "Cover the area and wait for backup?"

"Nope," Patrick replied, and opened up the trunk. He pulled out two riot guns, and tossed one to Pam. "Damned if I'm going to let Freedom Force kill more of these suckers than the police," he pumped the shotgun. "Grab some extra shells and let's go hunting."

Pam pumped hers. "Sounds like fun."

"Not really, I'm as scared as hell, and would much rather go find a hole and hide in it, but this our job."

"Hunting dinosaurs?" Pam asked.

"To serve and to protect, rookie."

"Oh, that."

Patrick held his shotgun in his left hand, and pulled a megaphone out of the trunk as well. He raised it to his face and yelled, "PLEASE MOVE TOWARDS THE SOUND OF MY VOICE! THIS IS THE POLICE; WE'RE SECURING THE AREA. I REPEAT, MOVE TOWARDS THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!"

Civilians weren't the only things that the megaphone attracted. Pam and Patrick had to put down three raptors permanently that came out of nearby alleys. Unfortunately for the raptors, a callous nature hadn't provided them with a skin capable of withstanding twelve-gauge buckshot.

"This is too easy," Pam noted, as she braced the riot gun against her shoulder and pulled the trigger again, turning the head of a raptor into a thin, red mist.

"I view that statement with much happiness," Patrick replied, motioning a pair of civvies to go into the building. Three more police cars had arrived, as well as the FBI super-human enforcement division. Also, sounds of a large battle had come from the park, indicating that Freedom Force was doing something.

As the blue suited and just plain suited heroes of Patriot City secured the area, another person with a gun was waiting for an opportunity. He adjusted the scope on his rifle, for the wind and elevation. He raised the Russian manufactured sniper rifle to his shoulder, and took careful aim.

Patrick wiped the sweat off of his forehead. "Finally. I haven't seen a single dinosaur for ten minutes. I think we're safe now."

Pam got off the radio and called. "Other units report the same."

"Finally. I hate this crap," he pushed away from the wall he was leaning against and walked towards the car, just as a bullet flew through the air and slammed into the wall where his head had been half a second earlier.

Wasting no time, he dove behind the patrol car, drawing his revolver as he rolled. Two more cracks were heard, and the bullets hit the ground near him.

Pam had followed suit. "Sounds like a long rifle. I think he's shooting from the roof of the building across the street."

A fourth shot rang out, and the radio in the car was smashed. "Damn, there goes any chance of backup."

"What do we do now?" Pam asked, drawing her Colt.

"Stay here and wait for someone to come. He's got us covered, we can't shoot at him without getting hit."

Suddenly, the car was lifted off the ground and thrown into the side of a nearby building.

The two officers whirled around into a crouch, leveling their guns. "You!" Patrick shouted, in astonishment.

"Prepare to die, fool," the Assassin said, flexing his hands. "My powers grow daily, my employer will not be disappointed."

Pam fired first. Her shot was deadly accurate, the affect of bullet wasn't. The Assassin stepped forward and knocked her into a wall, and then backhanded Patrick, sending him sliding thirty feet down the street.

Groaning, Patrick staggered to his feet, firing off his gun, the bullets bouncing off the walls of buildings and the street, his aim miserable due to his injury. The Assassin laughed, and started walking forwards towards him. Patrick desperately tried to reload, but the Assassin just knocked the gun out of his hand, grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up in the air.

Patrick desperately struggled for breath, to no avail. He was starting to black out, when the Assassin abruptly released him, letting him fall to the floor. Pam had come up behind him, and dealt him a quick karate chop to the back of the head. Oddly enough, it was more effective than the bullets had been.

It wasn't effective enough, though. He was still conscious, and not even dazed, just shocked that he had been hurt. But it passed quickly, too quickly. The Assassin grabbed Pam by the arm, lifted her up over his shoulder, and slammed her down on the ground, next to Patrick.

"Now die," he said, preparing to deliver the final blow to both of them, when there was a breath chattering and his coat lit on fire. "The hell?" he screamed, pulling it off. He spun around, a non-descript black car had pulled up unobservered, and a man in a suit who was holding a M-16 was standing there.

The man pulled the trigger again, and the bullets slammed into the street in front of the Assassin, briefly igniting in flame as they hit. Phosphorous ammunition.

For the second time, upon being confronted by a force that he wasn't sure he could defeat, the Assassin demonstrated the better part of valor, and leapt up the side of a building, a stream of bullets following him. Hitting a moving target is difficult, so none of the bullets hit.

"Thank god you showed up," Patrick stated, as he climbed to his feet. He was still dizzy from being knocked around, but he was alive.

"Who are you?" Pam asked, groaning a bit, as she pushed herself off the street.

"I'm Special Agent Johnson, of the super-human enforcement division of the FBI. Can you walk? Good, get in the car, we have some things to talk about.

To be continued...