A chunk of the deck next to the French doors was blown away, the deck floor flaming up and advancing. Judge yelled at Owen to drop himself onto the grass a full story below them. Judge lobbed his dog over the railing; J.D. hit the ground okay and backed away from the blaze, then barked up at his master. Behind Judge on the deck Edward was on fire, lying atop a screaming Naomi Coolsummer. He rolled off her, pleaded with Judge…“Lower her down!”…then rolled back and forth against the deck flooring, his chest and back flaming up. The rear of the townhouse was ablaze, the flames nearing the second floor windows. Judge ripped Justice Coolsummer’s burning apron off her, lifted her into his arms and wheeled, his Tourette’s now kicking in, sapping his breathing…
“…Motherfucker cocknobbin’ MOTHERFUCKER!…”
A metallic pffft grazed Judge’s neck from another shot. He jumped off the deck with Judge Coolsummer in his arms. Owen was down there looking up, his arms open, wanting to break their fall. His eyes got big as they came slamming down, nearly crushing him. Above them a weaving Edward leaned over the deck rail, stripped off his burning jacket revealing body armor also on fire. He ripped it off and prepared to jump. Another sniper shot. Edward’s shoulder jerked forward, freezing him in a silhouette against the fire. He groaned then was airborne, landing awkwardly on the grass.
“Edward!” Justice Coolsummer tried to stand, her ankle buckling. Repeating shots rained down, chipping away at the burning deck, now in the way of the sniper’s line of fire, the angle shielding them, the deck still standing but not for long. The floorboards started snapping from the advancing flames.
“We gotta move!” Judge yelled, sirens gathering in the distance. Neighbors poked their heads out of their townhomes, some exiting their back doors, moving in their direction.
The wounded marshal hauled himself up from the grass, lifting Justice Coolsummer over his shoulder. “My truck,” he shouted, panting, “bulletproof…”
The black diesel monster was visible between two townhouses the next street over, thirty yards away on the other side of the common space. Edward lumbered toward it, Justice Coolsummer bouncing against his shoulder as he ran. Judge scanned the rooftops. No gunpowder flash, but a reflection as good as one caught his eye, on a not-too-distant rooftop, city lights mirroring off something metal or glass, the object moving along a ledge. Simultaneous to the reflection Edward’s other shoulder jerked forward; he dropped to his knees. The advancing neighbors backed off, returning to the protection of their homes. Both Edward and Justice Coolsummer groaned. Edward struggled, got up, and kept moving.
The gunshot was a tell as bad as a mirror in a desert: a rooftop two blocks away, an apartment house six stories high. Another marshal, Abelson, saw it too. He was now outside on the ground-level patio and talking into a mouthpiece. A helicopter swooped in closer, hovering above the community, its searchlight scanning nearby rooftops. Abelson assumed the position and fired repeatedly, emptied his gun, slid in a new clip, took aim again. A burst of semi-automatic rifle fire took out the copter’s searchlight then hacked out chunks of Abelson’s thigh like red cabbage cleaved by an axe. Judge’s TS kicked in full throttle.
“…motherless motherfucking motherfucker…!”
Judge and his dog and Owen reached the street, huddling together behind concrete step risers; they could see the pickup. Its idling engine roared once from a heavy foot while still in neutral, its interior lights on, Edward draped heavily against the steering wheel, Naomi Coolsummer in the front seat next to him. The truck peeled out, drove erratically, banging off parked cars, semi-automatic rifle fire from the roof tracking it, punching divots into the covered cargo bed before finding the rear tires. The bulletproof tires smoked from the hits but didn’t deflate, the truck careening forward, headed into a live road paving scene illuminated by two-story work spotlights. There the pickup fishtailed, slamming sideways into the rear of a tar truck, trapping the driver’s side against it. The tar truck bucked. Judge and Owen saw the horror materializing, helpless at this distance.
“No, NO, motherfucker, NO!”
The truck’s payload released, the hot tar cascading slowly onto the roof of the diesel four-door like fresh hot fudge onto a brownie, with Edward and the judge inside. The road crew tugged frantically at the pickup’s passenger side door, the tar sliding off the roof, about to swallow the truck whole. Judge trotted his dog toward the scene then stopped short when gunfire pinged off the chromed door handles. The roof of the pickup buckled under the weight of the tar, compromised by the heat. Bullets sizzled into the oozing black tar muck, bore their way through it then punched a hole in the buckled window, stopping moments before ordnance from the helicopter sent repeating gunfire at its unseen target. High-powered work lights were unforgiving in their display, even at this distance, until someone got wise and shut them off. Owen hustled in Judge’s wake. He caught up, doubled over and heaved up his barbecue.
Judge knew he’d be of little help here now. His rage kicked in, and with it his adrenaline pitched him into overdrive. He grabbed his dog’s leash, trotted him toward the community’s front gate to find his van, leaving Owen behind to finish emptying his stomach and his bladder. The assassin was two blocks away. He was going after her.