Page 9 of Trigger Discipline

After a moment of lip wobbling, Tommy finally shook himself. “It’s usually outside, close to the pumps.”

Blake released him, racing around the counter and hitting the door. His fingers shook as he threw the deadbolt, racing out into the street. Looking around, he saw the big red button.

The button fastened to the outer wall of the gas station. It read ‘Emergency Fuel Shut Off’. Blake slammed it down withhis palm. Nothing happened, but he figured that was a good thing.

Turning around, he tried to get his bearings.

Situated on a corner lot, the gas station was old. With only two pumps, it was hardly bustling, but it was strategically located only a couple of miles off the highway. The first and last stop before you were helplessly ensnared in DC traffic. This part of town used to be mostly residential, but as the city expanded, it had turned more into a business district. Mostly warehouses and offices.

On his left, several cars and the building next door were ablaze. Sinister looking flames were licking towards the sky, oily smoke snaking up where the fire stopped. It smelled like burning plastic and hair. Gagging, Blake made to move back to the store when he saw his jump bag.

Made of sturdy plastic, it had everything needed to treat patients outside the truck. He must have grabbed it when he saw the victims. Sprinting toward it, he grabbed the heavy-duty strap and tugged it onto his protesting shoulder when he heard a weird clicking noise.

Through the thick smoke, he saw something moving at the end of the street. At first, he thought it was a mirage caused by the heat because his brain refused to process what he was seeing. It looked like a black smudge. But its movements were weird. Hunched over, it shifted smoothly like a beetle, its four legs moving quickly, but the body was strangely steady. His brain immediately went to the time his father made them stop at the USS Alabama on a road trip. The tour guide told him the massive gun on the deck was gyroscopic—no matter how much the ship rolled in the waves, it would always stay upright.

That’s what the figure reminded him of. Except instead of a gun on a battleship, it was more like an animal. Even with the smoke in the way, he could see its body was matte, maybe black? Hard to tell.

What he could see was that it was coming towards him. Stumbling backwards, he raced back into the shop, making sure to throw the lock.

“Get down!” he hissed, dragging Tommy behind the candy shelf.

Crouched, he looked between a missing dog poster and one advertising a yard sale from two weeks ago. It only took a moment for the thing to come into view. Tommy gasped, inhaling to scream, but Blake pinched him hard.

Without the smoke it was easier to see the thing; it had a head. Small and shaped like a triangle, with what looked like glassy sensors and red lasers on the tips. It shifted and rolled like it was studying everything. Its back was indeed hunched, but not like a beetle. It was too angular. Four legs jutted out like a horse, but it moved as if all its joints were rounded—smooth like a shoulder. Two stubby arms were attached to the chest area like a T.rex, useless. Except not, they sported two wicked looking pincers.

It was about the size of a Smart car, but way more terrifying.

Tommy was hyperventilating beside him, dark eyes wide. His mouth opened and closed like he wanted to say something, but there was nothing to be said. Blake kept his hand on his shoulder. He wasn’t sure who he was trying to comfort.

The creature ambled past, head swiveling and stubby arms clacking its pincer blades together.

“We need to get out of here,” he said as he looked toward the back of the store for an exit. Without waiting for Tommy, he started swiping food off the racks. Things like beef jerky.

“What are you doing?” his partner asked from where he was still staring out the window.

“Grabbing supplies,” he answered as he snatched up the fake meat jerky that Tommy liked. It smelled like ass and Blake had forbidden him from eating it in enclosed spaces.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I do know we need to get somewhere we can hole up. To do that, we need supplies. How far is the truck?”

Tommy stood shakily. “About sixty yards down the street. Fire’s close, but I think it’s ok.”

“All right,” Blake dropped to a knee so he could stuff the food and water bottles into the go bag. The zipper had difficulty closing, but he forced it.

He couldn’t help but begin to speculate. Everything was starting to make sense—Tommy’s mom’s weird call, the phones and radios cutting out. They were under attack. By whom or what, he didn’t know. Blake barely looked at social media, let alone the news. For all he knew, it was another 911. It didn’t matter. He had to do what he was good at.

In school, they taught them to triage. Ruthlessly and efficiently, Blake knew that’s what needed to happen. They needed to keep things simple. Prioritize.

The University Hospital. It was huge, with a basement. Blake was pretty sure it was a storm shelter. Either way, they had backup generators and might have a better idea of what was going on. At the very least, it was a place they could do some good.

“My mom…” Tommy mumbled as he watched Blake.

He didn’t know what to say. “She’s north of here. And it’s illegal to fire at hospitals.”

“Really?” Tommy didn’t look like he believed it.

Fuck if Blake knew, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. His mom’s hospital was a solid 45 minutes away—and that was without traffic and explosions. And on the other side of the MidSouth Building, which was definitely destroyed. He had no idea if they could get to her, even if they tried.

“Look, we’ll keep trying the phones? Maybe we can get back to the station and check the big radio. She’s probably got her hands full with injured people.”