Join Date: Oct 2008
Dibble clambered down the rungs of the ladder. Below him the water level had risen so now the narrow ledge was almost submerged. The chain linked rail was now slippery in his grip. With horror he realised that it was now covered in the water logged remains of the human dam. He sort to wipe the unholy slime away on his trench coat, but looking down he could see that it too was covered with the matted soup of human blood, hair and skin.
He retraced his steps back to the control panel. Slamming the steel door shut. Blocking out the roar of the water and the smell of death.
He searched for his key and fumbled to persuade it into the lock of the control panel. Grabbing hold of the phone he stopped suddenly, he was at a lost to know what to say.
“ Off…Officer 367 Reporting. Please assist. Code 1 RED, I repeat Code 1 RED.” He stuttered as he finally forced himself to speak.
The voice replied, but it seemed to Dibble that it sounded even more cold and automated then ever before.
“Officer 367 Confirmed. Code 1 Red confirmed. Assistance transfer confirmed.”
It was now that the automated voice should have been replace by the familiar tones of a human one. The Code 1 Red should of connected him direct to the control centre, but it hadn’t. The dialling tone rang but no-one picked up. The automated voice chimed in again, revising it’s announcement.
“ Officer 367 Confirmed. Code 1 Red confirmed. Assistance transfer Terminated, Terminated, Terminated. New route selected, Confirm.”
The control panel map now flashed out a series of emergency route which should of lead Dibble out of the Drains and back up into the city. But each time the panel flashed up the route was terminated by a flashing red station.
Dibble studied the panel looking for some route the system had missed., but all were compromised. Then he spotted a possible escape. East Main 3.
East Main 3 was a prison block unit. Built into the Drains years ago. Now it was a high security prison. It would be manned. He pressed the corresponding station light and the system flashed up the quickest route, then he snatched his key from the lock and started to race down the corridor, leaving the phone dangling.
Half an hour later he was still running, his chest heaving and his numb feet burning for the first time in months. The pain in his temple was now pounding back and forth, it seemed to be building in strength but Dibble knew he had to hang on , East Main 3 was only a few stations away.
Dibble staggered to a halt. The door that lead to East Main 3 was now just in front of him. The door itself was designed to look just like all the other doors, only a cop could spot the difference. Once the key was in it had to been turned four times and then once back. Dibble steadied his hand and turned the key. The door hissed as the pressure lock released. He pushed the door inwards and it swung smoothly back, opening out into a small anti-chamber. Along either side there was a series of narrow slits running up the smooth concrete surface. Beyond that in front of him was the entrance.
He approached slowly. Something was wrong. The guards should have been alerted when he had opened the door, but no-one had come out to greet him. It was then he noticed scraps of paper littering the floor. He drew his gun. It too was linked to the battery and hung by the same wound cord as the flashlight. His let the beam of the torch lead the barrel of his gun around the room. Stepping carefully around the scattered piles of paper so not to slip, or make a noise.
He made his way down the hallway to the guard room, and found it deserted. On the floor more piles of paper lay crumpled. Some marked by the dirty footprints of police standard issue boots. Carefully Dibble bent down and retrieved one of the scraps of paper.
It was clearly headed ‘Top Secret’ in bold red script. He briefly read the imperfect typewriter print. It was old and contained a list of names and date. He didn’t recognise any of the names save one. ‘CLAY, CASSIUS’ Next to that it read,’ Boxer, Freed Slave. Charge: Draft Dodging / Political Activist . Sentenced by Governor R.N. DEATH 1967.’
Dibble let the paper fall to the floor. It was the Freed Slaves that he had forced into the buses. The Projects had been set up to house the Blacks who had been granted freedom. But there were concerns that they had become political active, like those in Berkley, that they wanted political change. The government must of thought there was a danger that they would of sided with the communists if the city had fallen.
That’s why nobody asked any questions when they disappeared. Nobody asked any questions about Blacks. But that didn’t answer the question which haunted Dibble now. What was going on here now?
He turned the corner and saw that the walls were caked with dark soot. A door lead off into a long narrow office. And once inside he saw that this was where fire had started. The cabinets had been set ablaze, their contents burned beyond recognition.
It suddenly hit Dibble that they had done this deliberately, burning all records of what they had done here and in the State.
He felt his temple burning with pain now. It was getting harder to think straight.
A thousand thoughts now rushed through his aching head. He now picked up the pace, finding room after room gutted by fire. Until finally he reached the vaulted door that lead into the holding cells. He stopped, it was open. The door was solid steel and a foot thick. A line of combination tumblers ran down its centre, ending with a large brass wheel. The fact that it was now open added to pressure bubbling away in his brain.
He slipped into the opening, careful not to touch the sides in case he set off some hidden alarm. Inside he could smell death once more.
The Last Cop Chapter 1 by Wayne Clayton
The Last Cop Chapter 2 by Wayne Clayton
The Last Cop Chapter 3 by Wayne Clayton
The Last Cop Chapter 4 by Wayne Clayton
The Last Cop Chapter 5 by Wayne Clayton
The Last Cop Chapter 6 by Wayne Clayton
The Last Cop Chapter 7 by Wayne Clayton