Where Are The Dogs?

Since I’ve been goofing off lately (on my sequel writing duties) I thought I’d give you all a taste of Kurtz to get you through the week. Yes, it’s original flash fiction time here at the blog. As always, I hope this scares the snot out of you all. That’s the point: Assault on Saint Agnes is based on reality, it’s just a matter of time. So’s the scenario for today’s fiction.

That having been said, thanks for dropping by. I hope you’re safe. Part of being safe is carrying concealed everywhere you go, whenever you can. Do it legally, but do it. 100% of terrorist deaths are caused by death. Don’t you want to help them out in pursuing martyrdom? Pull the plug today on a terrorist and I’ll send you my thanks.

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Kurtz stood on the sidewalk outside the Hotel Saint Paul, surveying the park across the street. Jammed. Hundreds of hipsters, teens and tweeners staring at their phones, waiting for some Pokémon to appear. The dogs should have been here ten minutes ago, but the traffic was brutal tonight with the Wild Game just getting out, and Saint Paul P.D. was stretched thin.

Kurtz shifted to look around the food truck that had just parked across the street. These kids were packed in like sardines, and probably figured him for just another homeless guy waiting for a handout. His wardrobe, the subject of regular commentary from his wife in years gone by, was one notch below what the residents of the Gospel Mission received when they’d lost everything.

Until the sniffer dogs arrived, he was trying to profile the crowd to find the trigger man. All the intel whiz-kids had given him when they sent him the secure text was two words: bomb and Pokémon. He was at Mickey’s Diner when he got the message, and covered the two blocks at a run. He was playing the odds that this was the place. Suicide bomber? I.E.D. in one of the dozens of cars in the area? Or a device in a trash can? For all he knew, it was up in a tree, placed there days before and waiting for a command detonator.

Just as he came to the edge of the food truck and regained his view, the first device went off. It obliterated the TACOTRAILER and everyone within ten feet. The burning wreck landed on its side just four feet from where he had been standing a moment before. The next blast roiled up thirty feet to the left and Kurtz felt shrapnel sing past his head, lethal hornets seeking victims. Hitting the deck, he covered a small woman and her child with his own body just as the third and fourth blasts rolled down the street, perpendicular to the first two blasts. The bomber was herding the crowd toward the Landmark Center with the roiling flames and lung-shattering explosions. Trash cans. They had to be in the trash cans.

Kurtz struggled to his feet and hopped up on the retaining wall behind him to get a better look at the park. Dozens were down, most dead or working in that direction. He was looking for someone on the periphery who was filming the events and not moving to escape with the crowd.

There, on the steps of the public library. Two men, one with a cellphone and the other with a Gopro: the trigger and the cameraman. Kurtz was already on his Bluetooth, dialing a special tactical net number that brought him up live on the Police frequency, giving a description and requesting help. They weren’t done yet, and most likely were trying to bait the first responders in to the trap before detonating the last device.

Pushing against the crowd, Kurtz kept one eye on the two terrorists, and looked for the final device: it had to be big to make this all work. He found it without too much trouble: a semitrailer turned in from Fifth street and parked on the street near the Ordway. That shouldn’t be here on a Friday night, it was way after dock hours at the Xcel Energy Center. That, and the driver was running at full speed toward the two with the camera and the trigger.

Kurtz passed the information on and braced himself against the stop sign at the intersection. The laser dot from his Kimber squared up on the triggerman’s forehead. All it would take is a gentle squeeze, and his finger was already in motion.

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Well, if you liked that, go check out Assault on Saint Agnes. Thanks for dropping by.

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Comments

Where Are The Dogs? — 3 Comments

  1. I am reading the book at this time. I must say the suspense keeps me going.
    I keep seeing hints of you in the book.
    Keep up the good work.
    Review to follow.