but that he hadn’t done the shooting.
In the command van, Petrelli hovered over Murphy’s shoulder as they watched the drama unfold live on television. At first, the sheriff was pleased with news of the arrest. Then he saw the strange uniform and watched two voters fall to the ground, and he knew right away that Michaels had been right all along. He also knew that all of his deputies were out of position, setting up a trap for the Bailey boy at the Lewis and Clark Memorial.
He issued orders for the dispatcher to move all units in the direction of the shooting, then countermanded them a minute later when he realized that Nathan was leading the chase toward the square.
Michaels considered the possibility that the first shot was a backfire. At the sound of the second report, he knew better. He drew his S&W snub-nose and took off in that direction.
It wasn’t until he saw the commotion on the street that he noticed two helicopters hovering low about a block ahead. He took a few seconds to hang his gold shield in his suit coat pocket, then sprinted toward the action.
God, it was hot!
Steadman was pissed. No one seemed to know what was going on. First he was told to set up the sniper’s post, then he was told to break it down, then he was told to set it up again. Shots had been fired, yet no one was authorized to leave their posts. Murphy insisted on commanding things himself, but he couldn’t make a damned decision.
From his position, Steadman couldn’t tell where the shots had been fired, so he followed Michaels with his scope, having to move from the front window to the side window to track his progress. The range had changed, though, and he couldn’t keep focus in the scope, so he looked away to get oriented to the full range of vision.
Steadman’s heart skipped a beat when he saw a filthy, tattered boy fitting Nathan Bailey’s description dart into his field of view. A uniformed cop he didn’t recognize was only a few steps behind.
He brought the rifle up into position and hurriedly adjusted the scope to the new range.
Nathan tried to speed up, but there was nothing left in his legs. He willed them to pump faster, and they would for a few steps, but they had gotten clumsy. He felt himself start to trip three times, and was able to recover, but he knew he’d lost valuable distance. The same heavy stride he’d heard in the apartment building was drawing steadily closer, and there was nothing he could do about it.
People all recognized him now as they jumped out of his way to avoid a collision. He didn’t have enough wind in his lungs to ask anyone for help, not that they would have given it anyway.
“That boy is a fugitive!” Pointer bellowed from behind him.
“Stop him!”
A huge high school kid wearing a football jersey emblazoned with a big “78” did just that, stepping in front of the boy and catching all of his momentum with his left arm. It was much easier than stopping quarterbacks, he thought.
Nathan didn’t have the strength left to fight the football player. When he felt Pointer yank him back by his shirt collar, he knew that he was dead. He swung wildly with his fists as he was spun around, but stopped when a powerful backhand caught him square in the face. He heard a snap as his nose broke, and his vision disappeared in a blur of tears and blood.
Action News caught it all, in extreme close-up. Alone in his apartment, Billy Alexander covered his eyes and cried.
Denise Carpenter wished she didn’t have to be on the radio anymore. “Oh, Jesus, no,” she pleaded. “It can’t end this way. Someone has to help that poor kid.”
Warren slowed his stride when he saw Nathan plunging through the crowd toward him, relieved that he was still alive, though the terror in the boy’s eyes told him that danger was right on his heels. He remembered Nathan telling him that the killer was a cop, and so he was. In a Braddock County uniform, no less!
The kid in the football jersey came out of nowhere, and really fucked things up. Before Warren could react, Pointer had wrapped a forearm around the front of Nathan’s throat and had begun to drag him off.
Warren dashed another thirty feet to get a better angle, then shouted out to the police imposter.
“Police officer! Don’t move!” Warren yelled, his voice breaking from the effort.
Pointer reacted instantly, lifting Nathan off the ground by his chin and using his wriggling body as a shield. The boy brought his hands up to his attacker’s arm, doing a chin-up to keep from strangling.
“Back off, pig, or I’ll pop him here!” Pointer yelled, bringing the Magnum up to the boy’s temple. His threat was barely audible above the din of the hovering choppers.
“I’m not going anywhere!” Michaels declared. “You let the boy go, and you live. That’s the only deal you get. Anything else happens and you die!” Warren tried to look menacing in his two-handed shooter’s stance, but in his heart he knew he could never make the shot without hitting Nathan.
The situation had been played to a standoff. No one would shoot as long as Pointer had the boy as his shield, and Nathan was the only bargaining chip that Pointer had left. As he played out his bluff, Warren was vaguely aware of the arrival of a swarm of other police officers.
In the command van, Murphy slammed his fist on the console. “I don’t fucking believe it,” he declared to the room. “I’ve got a murderer being held hostage by a kidnapper impersonating a police officer! Where the hell are the good guys?”
He snatched the microphone away from the dispatcher. “Command to SWAT Leader. Give me a report.”
“It’s bad, Sheriff,” said a metallic voice from the speaker. “We’re stuck until something breaks. I think it’s a bad idea to move in any closer.”
Shit. “Command to Sniper One, what kind of shot do you have?”
The range had increased to a hundred yards, and Steadman’s sight picture was half-cop and half-boy, and moving around crazily.
“Shitty,” he replied. “Who’s my target, anyway? The police officer or the kid?” It seemed obvious enough, he supposed, but one doesn’t blast another cop without being very damned sure.
After a pause, Murphy answered, “It appears that the cop is your primary target, unless the kid poses a threat to somebody. Remember, he’s still a killer.”
Nathan couldn’t breathe. With his feet dangling in the air, his arms didn’t have the strength to continue supporting him. As he lost his grip, Pointer’s arm crushed his windpipe. He felt like his head was going to explode, the increased pressure causing blood to stream faster from his damaged nose. As the muzzle of the Magnum bore into his ear, Nathan wet his pants.
Out in front, through the blur and the pain, he saw a man with a gun, dressed in a brown suit with a blue shirt and a striped tie. He was shouting something that he couldn’t hear. He had soft eyes that looked sad. He looked like a good guy.
“Sniper One to Command, do I have a green light if I’ve got a shot?”
Typical of a politician, Steadman thought. Murphy wouldn’t make that decision on his own. Rather, he bumped it to the real leader on the street.
“SWAT Team Leader?”
“The situation is critical here, Sheriff. I say take what he can get.”
“That’s affirmative, Sniper One, you have the green light if you have a shot.”
Steadman smiled. Finally his moment had arrived, but the best shot he had was a terrible shot. At this range, a slight breeze, a sudden movement by the target could turn a sure kill into a tragedy. He worked the bolt to chamber a .30-caliber round and rested the stock on the windowsill. He’d have given a lot for the comfort of his first station at the front window, but he had to settle for what he had.
He thumbed the safety off and settled in to await his opportunity.
Then it happened. Pointer looked straight at him.
Nathan felt like he hadn’t breathed in an hour. He knew death was coming to him, but he wasn’t prepared for this much fear and pain. Noise and activity swirled all around him. None of it had form or meaning until Pointer hiked him up a little higher and growled in his ear, close enough that he could feel his hot breath on his cheek.
“Say goodbye, you little shit.”
Nathan closed his eyes.
Steadman knew it was over as soon as they made eye contact. The target hoisted his hostage higher,
