The Shaking

Chapter Twenty Five

Senses overwhelmed by an explosion of pain Ryan was bowled over and lay stunned on the ground. He heard the engine racing again as well as the frantic pounding from the stereo gathering itself into a quickening crescendo. He knew that if the hatchback didn't finish him off this time the passengers he glimpsed leering at him through its darkly tinted windscreen were likely to get out and give him a vicious kicking while the other motorists looked on from the security of their vehicles.

Buckland gathered himself for one last effort while the car as if a pawing toro prepared itself for the final charge. Numbed leg or not he was going to have to run for his life. Then he heard the shrill of an approaching siren at the same time as noticing the flickering of intense blue lights at the periphery of his vision: A white police motorcycle painted with reflective yellow and blue panels arrived at high speed, riding along the pavement before coming to a stop at the edge of the green.

The boy racer noticed the biker cop's arrival as well, but instead of attempting to get away the driver lunged straight for him at full throttle. Unfazed the rider unholstered his high capacity pistol and gripped it in a two-handed Weaver stance while straddling his machine.

Crack! Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack! The officer fired a volley of flat sounding firecracker shots at the speeding vehicle. Abruptly its engine note changed to an unhealthy high pitched whine and the windscreen in front of the driver's face starred into milky splashes.

Pulling a handbrake turn the hot hatch tried to escape, but the gun spat more rounds at it, thunking into the bodywork and shattering the rear window. Ryan heard one of the tyres puncturing at the same time as the motor died and the sound system lost its power source. Both of the car's doors burst open, figures scrambled out and began running off, but the shooting wasn't over. Two more reports echoed across the park in quick succession; the driver, then the front seat passenger slumped to the ground, poleaxed. Buckland saw a dark crimson patch blooming on the back of the driver's hoodie as he fell.

Calmly the policeman got off his bike and reloaded his gun with a spare magazine drawn from one of his many black nylon body pouches. Flipping up his helmet visor he walked unhurriedly over to the two motionless bodies and looked down at them. Satisfied with his handiwork he moved toward the stalled car.

"YOU TWO; GET OUT NOW!" Ryan heard the cop bark at the terrified rear seat passengers frozen in place. Slowed by fear they eased the folding front seats up and exited the cabin under the cop's withering gaze. "LIE ON THE GROUND, FACE DOWN, HANDS IN FRONT OF YOU! " he ordered. Meekly the two gangling youths complied.

What happened next shocked Buckland to the core of his being. The weapon in the officer's hand jerked twice - crack - crack - as he callously executed the two men laying prone at his feet. It was like watching one of those sickening Daesh videos, but instead of this happening far away and the victims' heads being pixellated this had just occurred before his very eyes.

Gun still in hand by his side the policeman walked toward Ryan; was he going to shoot me as well? he wondered.

"Are you all right?" growled the cop.

"My leg..." said Buckland. "They opened the door on it. I think my knee got hit the worst."

"What happened?"

"I was trying to get home; just walking past this traffic jam when they started driving their car at me."

"That doesn't surprise me at all; they were a nasty little bunch of scrotes, part of a local postcode gang who've been no end of trouble to us. Well their luck ran out today!" the biker said with an obvious sense of relish. "With a State of Emergency declared they should've kept their heads down and their noses clean, but they learned the hard way all police officers have been granted emergency executive powers. We're judge, jury, and executioner in our own areas now!"

"I'd not heard about that."

"It's been broadcast everywhere for the last couple of hours. How long have you been walking for God's sake?"

"I was on the A2 when it happened. I parked my van up in an office complex near Dartford and started walking home."

"Where do you live?"

"Bromley: I need to know my wife and daughter are OK."

"That's a bit of a journey on foot, isn't it? How do you feel now?"

"My leg's gone numb. I dunno if it's broken or just bruised."

"Well just lie there for a bit while I organise the rest of them." he motioned to the line of cars. "We'll get you sorted out."

Turning, the cop strode over to his motorcycle and flipped a handlebar mounted switch. His amplified voice crackled from a loudspeaker mounted on the machine. "EVERYONE; GET OUT OF YOUR VEHICLES AND GATHER AROUND ME!" After seeing what had become of those who got on the wrong side of the law the motorists were only too eager to obey.

Once assembled the policeman informed the small crowd that under the Emergency Powers Decree he was going to order them to clear their cars off the road and drive on to the park. There they were to stay and await further instructions. He delegated some people to organise the task while others were allocated the grim task of recovering the gang members' bodies, putting them in the bullet riddled hatchback, and pushing it out of sight.

Ryan was assigned someone to look after him for the moment. "I'll be back in a few minutes with something which might help you." the officer said, straddling his machine. "Don't go anywhere." Roaring away the man was as good as his word, soon returning with a can of sports freeze spray requisitioned from a nearby chemist's shop. "Give that a go." he said as he passed it over.

"Thank you!" Buckland gave the canister a vigorous shaking, rolled up his grass stained trouser leg, and gave his yellowing knee a good spraying. The bone chilling cold seeped deeply into it, making him feel better.

After organising a group of people to follow him and commandeer supplies for the impromptu encampment from a corner shop, the policeman stomped back toward Ryan.

"Are you feeling any better? Can you stand up and walk? If you can then you're free to go; there's no reason to keep you here."

"I'll give it a try." Buckland replied. With the aid of his nurse Ryan struggled to his feet and took a couple of numbed steps.

"Yes, I think I'll be all right." he said as his assistant stuffed the spray can into his backpack before helping him on with it.

"OK." said the cop. "Try to get home before dusk as there's going to be a curfew tonight, though given the number of newly homeless people on the streets that'll have to be enforced sensitively. And the best of luck finding your family"

"Thanks!" replied Buckland - relieved to be getting away and not facing the prospect of spending an enforced night in a stranger's car - as he hobbled away. Ryan would drag himself on his hands and knees back to Bromley if that's what it took to be with his loved ones; to protect them against the dangers of a broken city sliding into anarchy and arbitrary justice.