The Last Handful of Clover - Book 3: The Stone in the Stream

3.08 Officer Grayson

June 16, 6:22 am

The sun crested the peaks of the Wasatch, red and angry behind a pall of greasy smoke. Its weak illumination crept slowly across the valley, revealing the dying city: the burned buildings, the downed power lines, the shattered windows, and the destroyed cars. It kindled a spark in the dull gray eyes of the dead, scattered like autumn leaves on the silent sidewalks. It shone through gaps in curtains, revealing houses full of bodies, or houses full of the shattered, who peeked out with eyes wide or dull with despair. It sparkled brightly in pools of blood, fresh or drying. The sun banished the cool night air, but did nothing to dispel the scents of burning, decay, and terror.

Carla Grayson had been dispatched to the streets just after midnight, when it became clear that the Salt Lake City Police and Highway Patrol were now on their own. As the National Guard and Army pulled out of the city, the only authorities left to stem the violence were the ever dwindling local forces.

It had been over five years since she had last worn a uniform, and the one she had borrowed was ill-fitting. But as strange as it felt to be behind the wheel of a squad car again, Carla had accepted that it was necessary.

Not all of her colleagues had done the same.

The desertion rate in the SLPD was high, and getting higher each hour, as more and more cops decided that they either needed to be home to protect their families, or, sometimes, to simply protect themselves. Those who remained were left to confront a city gone mad. They were far too few and far too overwhelmed to really make a difference. But they persevered, going where the radio dispatchers sent them, or (more frequently, as the night wore on toward morning) just cruising the dark and deserted neighborhoods and dealing with whatever nightmares they encountered. If nothing else, the thinking went, seeing a police cruiser going by would inspire some small measure of hope in those who remained alive.

South Sandy was especially hard hit, and Carla couldn't even remember how she'd ended up here. The night had passed in a kind of adrenalin blur, starting just minutes after she'd left the police station.

In her long career on the force, Carla had never shot anyone. But that ended when she took down a woman who was dressed in an Indian sari. The woman had been beating a man with a golf club in a Utah State Liquor Store parking lot, but the man had been dead for some time. Carla had yelled at the woman to put down the club, but instead of complying she had just laughed and then charged, moving so fast that Carla barely had time to get her gun out of its holster. She'd put two bullets in the woman's leg and one in her abdomen before she finally fell at Carla's feet, writhing and cursing. When Carla grasped the golf club, the woman had been laughing, even with three bullets in her. She was chattering in a thick British accent.

"It's such bloody fun, sister! Such fun!" she cackled.

But in the next moment the woman's voice changed, and suddenly she was screaming in pain from her wounds. And when Carla had tried to talk to her, she realized that the woman actually didn't speak any English at all. She looked confused and in shock as she grasped at Carla's sleeve.

It was terrifying, but it was brief. The woman didn't take long to die.

Afterward, sitting alone on the sidewalk in the middle of the night, Carla decided she would do her best not to shoot another person on this terrible night. Whatever was happening to these people, they didn't know what they were doing. Whether it was madness brought on by a virus or by a chemical agent, there was no way these people could be held responsible for their actions.

That resolve held throughout the night, although she had seen more death and destruction in those few hours than she had ever experienced, either as a beat cop or as a detective. She had fired her gun several more times to scare off looters and marauders, but so far, she hadn't killed again. Her goal was to protect whoever was in danger, and then get them to safe shelter. In the course of the night she'd helped more than a dozen individuals and families to do just that. And especially for the families with children, she felt guilty when she eventually had to walk away from them. But somehow she sensed that a cop with a gun might even be of greater risk to these innocent people than not having her there at all. So she would get them inside and then move on.