The Glooming (Wrath of the Old Gods Book 1) by John Triptych Page A
Authors: John Triptych
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weather all over the country is killing the electrical grid. Looks like our Lord Jesus is on his way back and he’s gonna be here soon.”
Valerie smirked. She really wasn’t religious. She just didn’t have the time to even think about it. “You really believe that, Myron?”
“I dunno what to believe anymore, Val. I’m supposed to be two months from retirement and there’s still no word on Kevin either,” he said softly. Myron’s only son Kevin was in the US Army and he was stationed in Iraq. Then the unthinkable happened as a strange sandstorm had blanketed the entire region. The US military refused to admit on national TV they had lost communications with several thousand American troops in the region. Now people were starting to lose faith in the government’s ability to handle this new, terrifying crisis. Not even an hour-long appearance by the president on every single news outlet could assure everyone that the situation was under control.
Valerie turned away and looked down. “I’m so sorry, Myron. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
Myron placed a reassuring hand on her left arm and smiled slightly. “Hey, I was the one who brought it up so don’t worry about it.”
The squawk on the police radio got louder. “Thirty-two Delta, two down, possible knife assault at seventy-two Baruch Drive.”
Valerie grabbed the microphone as Myron started the car. “Thirty-two Delta responding. Can we get backup?”
“Be advised, no backup available at this time,” Central said over the radio.
“Ten-four. En route to location,” Valerie said on the microphone before putting it back on the side of the radio.
“Shit,” Myron said as he activated the dashboard siren while pressing on the accelerator. The rain came down harder as it pelted the windshield of the speeding car.
Valerie grabbed the microphone again. “Thirty-two Delta to Central, any word on the victim’s conditions? Is a medical team on the way?”
“No other information, Thirty-two Delta. A civilian called it in. Said there were two men on the ground with stab wounds, both black. We’re trying to get emergency crews to you as soon as we can.”
“That means the paramedics will get there in a few hours,” Myron said as he made a left turn into West Houston Street and sped on. They would be in the Lower East Side in a few minutes and then make the final turn into Baruch Drive. There were very few cars left on the streets because people were fearfully staying in their homes as many businesses stayed closed earlier during the day, while schools were suspended indefinitely.
It was the largest low-income housing project in Manhattan. Baruch Houses covered almost thirty acres and the two thousand apartments that were spread out in seventeen seven-story high-rise apartments that were built in the tail end of the fifties. By the twenty-first century, most of the residents were comprised of Hispanics and blacks who needed government subsidies in order to live in Manhattan. Both Myron and Valerie knew the area well, they had been called over there numerous times back when they were still rank and file police officers.
Baruch Drive was a residential street that cut directly into the heart of the area. As the car slowed and made its way to the crime scene, the squawk on the police radio had begun to lose reception, as the constant updates from the dispatchers were interrupted by static white noise. Both detectives noticed that only one or two streetlights were working, huge parts of the street and the surrounding apartment buildings were covered in an eerie darkness. Unpicked trash and debris littered the sides of the lane. Myron cursed again.
As the car made its way to the scene, both detectives noticed that there were three of them. Two men on the ground and another man kneeling over them. Valerie couldn’t make out their faces, as the only illumination came from their car’s headlights. Myron maneuvered the car so that its front was
Valerie smirked. She really wasn’t religious. She just didn’t have the time to even think about it. “You really believe that, Myron?”
“I dunno what to believe anymore, Val. I’m supposed to be two months from retirement and there’s still no word on Kevin either,” he said softly. Myron’s only son Kevin was in the US Army and he was stationed in Iraq. Then the unthinkable happened as a strange sandstorm had blanketed the entire region. The US military refused to admit on national TV they had lost communications with several thousand American troops in the region. Now people were starting to lose faith in the government’s ability to handle this new, terrifying crisis. Not even an hour-long appearance by the president on every single news outlet could assure everyone that the situation was under control.
Valerie turned away and looked down. “I’m so sorry, Myron. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
Myron placed a reassuring hand on her left arm and smiled slightly. “Hey, I was the one who brought it up so don’t worry about it.”
The squawk on the police radio got louder. “Thirty-two Delta, two down, possible knife assault at seventy-two Baruch Drive.”
Valerie grabbed the microphone as Myron started the car. “Thirty-two Delta responding. Can we get backup?”
“Be advised, no backup available at this time,” Central said over the radio.
“Ten-four. En route to location,” Valerie said on the microphone before putting it back on the side of the radio.
“Shit,” Myron said as he activated the dashboard siren while pressing on the accelerator. The rain came down harder as it pelted the windshield of the speeding car.
Valerie grabbed the microphone again. “Thirty-two Delta to Central, any word on the victim’s conditions? Is a medical team on the way?”
“No other information, Thirty-two Delta. A civilian called it in. Said there were two men on the ground with stab wounds, both black. We’re trying to get emergency crews to you as soon as we can.”
“That means the paramedics will get there in a few hours,” Myron said as he made a left turn into West Houston Street and sped on. They would be in the Lower East Side in a few minutes and then make the final turn into Baruch Drive. There were very few cars left on the streets because people were fearfully staying in their homes as many businesses stayed closed earlier during the day, while schools were suspended indefinitely.
It was the largest low-income housing project in Manhattan. Baruch Houses covered almost thirty acres and the two thousand apartments that were spread out in seventeen seven-story high-rise apartments that were built in the tail end of the fifties. By the twenty-first century, most of the residents were comprised of Hispanics and blacks who needed government subsidies in order to live in Manhattan. Both Myron and Valerie knew the area well, they had been called over there numerous times back when they were still rank and file police officers.
Baruch Drive was a residential street that cut directly into the heart of the area. As the car slowed and made its way to the crime scene, the squawk on the police radio had begun to lose reception, as the constant updates from the dispatchers were interrupted by static white noise. Both detectives noticed that only one or two streetlights were working, huge parts of the street and the surrounding apartment buildings were covered in an eerie darkness. Unpicked trash and debris littered the sides of the lane. Myron cursed again.
As the car made its way to the scene, both detectives noticed that there were three of them. Two men on the ground and another man kneeling over them. Valerie couldn’t make out their faces, as the only illumination came from their car’s headlights. Myron maneuvered the car so that its front was
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