The End of the Beginning

“Lewis,” called William over his radio.

“Captain, are you alright?” she answered.

“Fine. Get me Hernandez’s glass tag. We need to track him.”

After a second Nancy said, “Got it. According to my readings it is stationary, about fifty feet beyond where he started running.”

“Damnit... He took it off.”

William scanned through the car’s waving windshield wipers fighting against sheets of rain. Per the lockdown, no one was out across the airport so Hernandez would be easy to see in the vast open concrete plain of the apron. The cars radio began blowing up with chatter.

“Armed hostile is moving due west. Subject is Patrick Hernandez. Pursue with extreme caution. We are going to try and cut him off at vertical landing pad five. All units converge, repeat, all units converge.” William was paralleling the terminal, passing its southern facing wing. Hernandez came into view about 400 feet ahead. He was still running, with the caliber of an Olympic sprinter. William pushed the cars speed up to over one hundred miles per hour. William hoped between the cars silence, the rain, and Hernandez’s own pounding strides he wouldn’t hear him racing up from behind to run him over.

But Hernandez stopped. He turned around and took to one knee, opening fire on William’s car with his P90. William ducked below the dashboard. The windshield shattered. Rain flew in. The hood of the car filled with bullets and shot off flaking paint. William swerved hard to the left, letting the right side of the car take even more bullets, shattering both right side windows.