Calhoun wasn't surprised to hear the bomb threat come out of the man's mouth. He knew enough about the radical left movement to know they had always been bombers, going all the way back to the '50s and '60s. That was just part of their methodology. Champion free speech by shutting up everybody who doesn't agree with you. Advocate for equal rights by taking other people's rights away from them. Protest violence by blowing up a bunch of people. You name it!395Please respect copyright.PENANAV2BZwjq9XJ
Cowards at heart, every goddamn one of them!
But some of them were committed enough to their so-called cause to risk blowing themselves up, too. Calhoun couldn't really wrap his brain around that concept. He had accepted the idea of possibly dying in battle when he enlisted in the army. It was part of the job description, after all.
He didn't think a willingness to die in an explosion excused the fact that you'd also be killing a bunch of innocent people, though. Martyr or not, you were still a fuckin' killer, as far as Calhoun was concerned.
Then he looked at the man with the gun standing near the escalator and thought. This guy is no martyr.
He wasn't sure what it was about the man, whose voice and face were perfectly sincere as he issued the threat. Most people would think he meant it, without a doubt. Something was off, though, and after a minute or so, Calhoun thought he knew what it was.
His mind went back to a hot, dusty, empty street in a city on the other side of the world, where he and some of his fellow grunts had been clearing the buildings as they came to them, slowly forcing the insurgents to retreat and killing as many of the bastards as they could along the way. The patrol had been passing an alley mouth when a faint sound had warned Calhoun and sent him spinning in that direction with his rifle up and ready.
Two insurgents stood there with rifles of their own, Russian-made weapons ready to spew death. Calhoun was maybe 15 feet from them, plenty close enough to see their eyes.
One man just looked scared, like he wished he was anywhere else in the world other than this dirty alley, pointing a gun at an American soldier pointing a rifle at him.
The other guy, though---he was loving it. His life would never get better than this moment, standing there ready to deliver death to someone he hated to the very depths of his being. Even if he died, it was still the best, most holy thing he could ever do. He was far beyond rational thought, so caught up in his primitive beliefs that it might as well been the 12th century again and he was about to run screaming at the infidel with a curved saber in his hand rather than an automatic rifle.
Calhoun shot him first, giving the bastard the death he wanted, though Calhoun figured whatever was waiting on the other side, it was going to come as a downright unpleasant surprise to the guy.
Then he turned his attention to the second man, only to discover that he'd dropped his rifle and was running away as fast as he could, arms swinging and knees pumping high as he tried to outrace a bullet.
Calhoun let him go. His CO had chewed him out for that later, but he still thought he had done the right thing.
And he had never forgotten the fires of fanaticism that burned in the eyes of the man he had killed. He had never stared into the abyss---and had it stare back at him---from that close before or since.
This guy holding court on the lower level of the Hamilton Memorial Library didn't have those same fires burning in his eyes. He would kill without competition or even a second's thought, he had proven that, but he didn't want to die himself. He might rather die than be caught, but he wanted to get away. He figured he had something to live for.
The bomb threat was an empty one, Calhoun decided.
But that didn't mean the guy was harmless He still had that gun, and he had allies who likely were just as willing to kill as he was, and there were a lot of innocent people on this campus who might die before this crisis was over. If Calhoun was going to succeed in stopping this somehow without a great loss of life, he would need to be very careful.
The idea of just standing by, doing nothing, and hoping for the best never occurred to him.
From elsewhere in the library came angry shouts as the leader's allies ordered people to get down on the floor. They seemed to be doing as they were told. Calhoun didn't hear any more shots. He tensed, getting ready to raise up high enough to get a good look around.
Brooke must have felt that in his muscles where he was pressed against her. She clutched at him and whispered, "Cal, no! Whatever it is you're thinking about doing, you'll just get yourself hurt."
"What am I supposed to do? Lay here and let those guys keep on hurting people?"
"I don't want them to hurt you. Or me, for that matter. Let's just do what they say and see what happens, okay?"
The idea of that grated on Calhoun's nerves, but he could see that Brooke was very frightened. He couldn't blame her for that. She might teach criminal justice, but he didn't suppose she had ever had much real-life experience with all the bad things that can happen in the world. Not to the extent that he had, anyway.
He knew that evil could never been appeased. It just got worse and worse until everyone it touched was dead---unless someone took action to stop it.
But for now, he would do what Brooke begged of him, and wait. Maybe if he could play out the hand and get one of those sons-of-bitches alone.....
Then he would have a gun and one less foe, and things would be different!395Please respect copyright.PENANAXLwzyWnLlO
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Taaj still hadn't gotten down on the floor. As Donald lifted his head again, just a little, he was shocked to see that non only had the Moslem student not followed orders, but as the gunman at the foot of the escalators finished his rant, Taaj started walking toward him. His hands were raised to about elbow level and held out slightly to his sides.
The man saw him coming and raised the pistol again. Taaj called out quickly, "Do not shoot me, brother! I am on your side!"
The gunman looked more amused than angered in that bold statement.
"How do you figure that....brother?" he said.
"We both believe that this materialistic American society is the source of everything that is wrong in the world," Taaj declared. "We both would like to see it replaced."
"By a caliphate ruled by sharia law?"
Taaj shrugged.
"Would you prefer a godless communist regime?" he asked. "That argument is an endless one, and it can be resumed at another time. What is important now is that we both would like to see this country full of heathen capitalists and imperialists brought to its knees. Is this not so?"
"Yeah, it's so," the gunman admitted. "We need change, I'll buy that. What form that change ultimately takes can be settled later, like you said. But what do you want from me right now?"
"I would like to join you in your righteous assault upon this den of thieves and whoremongers," Taaj said. "I will help you destroy this land of---of Kardashians! Give me a gun!"
The leader looked at him for a long moment, as if seriously considering the suggestion. Then he laughed abruptly.
"No way, asshole. I ain't givin' you a damn gun. What kind of retard do you think I am? We may have some of the same enemies, but that doesn't mean I trust you." He pointed the pistol at Taaj, and his expression turned serious as he said, "Go back where you were and get down on the floor. I mean it!"
Taaj swallowed hard and licked his lips. He started backing away.
"You are making a mistake, friend," he said. "I will be a faithful ally to you and your cause."
"I got enough allies, here and in the other buildings and in the bombs we've planted all over campus."
The mention of the bombs made Donald feel cold inside again. If that threat was real, several thousand people were in deadly danger right now. The ideal of killing that many people at once, right here on U.S. soil, might have been outlandish once upon a time, but not now. Not anymore. It had happened before, and Donald was confident that it could/would happen again.
Donald lowered his head and pressed his forehead against the carpet. Much of the library floor was tile, but the areas on which the love seats and armchairs sat was carpeted.
That made living here and waiting to die a little more comfortable, he thought.
When Taaj had backed all the way to the convention area, he got down on his hands and knees and then stretched out all the way on his stomach. He was about four feet from Donald. He looked over and glared.
"Don't judge me," he whispered. "You should have been just as willing as I was to join forces with them. Your people are as oppressed as mine."
"My father owns 2 Fortune 500 companies," Donald replied, keeping his voice down. He was as little angry now, on top of being scared. "He's as much a 1%-er as anybody else that guy was raving about. When you count my trust fund and everything else I'll inherit, I suppose I will be, too. So don't go thinking I'm opposed to the same things he is."
Taaj sneered.
"You are no true black man. If you were, you would embrace the Islamic faith and turn against your decadent Western culture. I always knew you were a fake!"
On the other side of the table and underneath it, Mary, Nancy, and Jerry were looking at them. Nancy stared at Donald and said, "Uncle Tom."
"How do you even know about that?" Donald asked as he struggled to control the irritation he felt.
"I've studied history. Evidently that's more than you can say."
"Yeah, you're just it.....what is it?" Nancy said.395Please respect copyright.PENANAv35Uye1rOa
"Uncle Tom," Jerry supplied. "It's from a book or something, I think. Means a black dude who sucks up to the white oppressors."395Please respect copyright.PENANAGIkagphA1B
"I don't....." Donald stopped short. This was a ridiculous conversation to be having in angry whispers, especially while madmen with guns were stalking around and threatening to blow everybody to hell---the ones they didn't shoot first, that is. He shook his head and didn't look at the others.395Please respect copyright.PENANAcgdOxoMOz3
Probably they were every bit as scared as he was. Maybe they were just trying to distract themselves from that fear.395Please respect copyright.PENANAK5Iu2Akjdd
That made him wonder if there was anybody here who wasn't afraid. Maybe even someone who was planning on fighting back against the terrorists because that was the only thing it made sense to call them. The guy who had charged the gunman and gotten himself killed for it had just panicked, Donald thought. He'd never had a chance. But somebody who knew what they were doing.....395Please respect copyright.PENANAUSwuokJiHy
Were there any campus cops in the library right now? There should have been, Donald knew. Had they been taken prisoner, too? Had they been killed? And what could campus cops, who didn't even carry guns (!) accomplish against a bunch of well-armed fanatics, anyway? Who could even hope to stop them?
Then suddenly, for some reason, he thought about Calhoun Weaver.
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