Victim's, Inc. Read online

  Victims, Inc.

  A Novel By

  A.R. Licht & Tanda Oui

  Copyright © 2016 by A.R. Licht and Tanda Oui

  Jacket cover design Copyright © 2016 by A.R. Licht

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers, allowing them to continue to work for your enjoyment.

  Dedication

  To our husbands, Aaron and Steve. Without your love, support, and belief in us, this book would never have been possible. To members of the media, who strive to tell the truth every day.

  And, to you, our dear readers, we thank you for giving us a chance.

  "Whether on television or online, our journalists abide by high standards of ethics and strive to adhere to stringent standards of journalistic integrity. We expect our reporters, producers and writers to be fair and honest and to confirm the facts before online articles or TV segments are released to the public."

  -Time Warner (timewarner.com)

  Prologue

  The black sedan rams again, this time throwing Kate into the window, hitting her head, splintering the tempered glass. She moans, a trickle of blood running down her cheek.

  She raises her hand to the the welt that formed there, noticing in horror that the car has pulled to the right, riding on the shoulder. It gives a light tap on the side of the bumper and the truck spins out of control in the heavy rain and hurricane-force winds.

  The truck slides to a stop at a dangerous angle on the opposite side of the dirt road. There is a deep void beyond the guard rail that stopped their spin, the emptiness of the space a suggestion of a long drop. Kate is focused on this when the car springs forward to finish off the job.

  It slams with incredible force into the passenger side of the truck. Kate screams as it reverses, shudders as it is placed into gear, shoots forward.

  The truck slides another five feet, teetering on the edge.

  The guard rail rends apart in a loud screech as it scrapes down the side of the truck, turning her so that she is facing down into that black hell.

  Chapter 1

  Alkin, North Carolina - April 6th

  The air is bitter with the taste of gunfire, shots still ringing in Kate Miller’s ears as she stands before the camera. Waylon’s free hand moves rhythmically in a countdown. Three, two, one. She is live.

  It's Kate’s first national broadcast for American New Broadcasting. Her entire career is riding on this one single moment. She sucks in a breath of air, holds it, releases it.

  "We are live, standing in front of the Alkin, North Carolina, Susan Anderson’s Women’s Hospital, where at nine-twenty-four a.m. two gunmen entered the building. They are currently holding hostage the patients, medical staff, and children attending the daycare center located on the first floor. The majority of the patients here are pregnant women, I'm told that some have given birth in the last two days.

  "It is unclear if there are any fatalities at this time. Police say that one man, now identified as Terry Berkus, an expecting father whose wife was scheduled to have a cesarian surgery this very morning, has been trapped in one of the bathrooms on the facility. It has been said that Mr. Berkus is in a precarious situation and that the gunmen are currently unaware of his location.

  He has stated that his wife is on the second floor where the gunmen have taken up a fight against the FBI and police officers on the scene.

  "Parents of the daycare children have been notified, as well as the family members of those in the building, and are en-route to the hospital as we speak.

  "It has been a morning of fear, tension, and horror as the sleepy town of Alkin has woken to this hostage situation. Alkin is a peaceful town where as one resident said, crime just doesn’t happen.

  "I have with me now an eyewitness, who claims to have seen what may well be the gunmen now holed up on the second floor. Margaret Edler, please tell us what you saw."

  Waylon directs the camera to a small old woman who appears frail, her hands shaking, her hair white. She nods and over-enunciates into the microphone, "Yes. I was just leaving after my regular hormone treatment when I got down to the main road. There were these two boys in an old beat up car that looked like trouble. They turned up the road to the hospital, music blaring. I believe they were listening to that heavy metal crap boys are prone to get wrapped up in. Boy, where they in a hurry, let me tell you!"

  "Did you see any guns, Mrs. Edler?" Kate asked.

  "Well, now, let me think. I know I saw one had long hair! I remember because he was dancing to that music and he was all over the place. The other, well he was just sitting still. I remember thinking that he looked like he was about to hurt someone. I might have seen a gun, but I’m not sure. But, next thing I know, I’m home and I turn on the police scanner because I love to hear what’s going on in this town, you never know what your neighbors might be up to! So I turn it on and there it is, on the airwaves. I hear that someone has taken the hospital hostage. I just missed it by minutes!

  "It is a nice hospital too, I’ve been going there for years. They offer such great amenities. Some of those ladies have such nice rooms to have their babies in. Oh dear, I hope those poor people are alright! All of those expecting mothers!"

  "Thank you Mrs. Edler. We appreciate your candor, and we are so glad you made it out in time."

  Pat Argyle, the news anchor back at the station in Baltimore, Maryland, speaks in Kate’s ear, "What a terrible way to start the weekend, Kate. How are police handling the situation?"

  "That is a great question, Pat. After receiving the phone call from Terry Berkus, trapped in the restroom, the gunmen themselves also contacted police. Police say that after many loud booms, Mr. Berkus thinks they went out to their vehicle which is currently parked out front and restocked their guns. They barricaded themselves on the second floor, and I can still hear the bullets singing off of the cars in the parking lot. Police arrived on the scene within minutes, but after being shot at from the upper windows, they had to pull back and regroup. Again, it is unclear if there are any fatalities."

  "Have there been any ransom requests?"

  "None so far, Pat. Since the original contact, police have been unable to get in touch with them again."

  "Has the gunfire been one-sided?"

  "So far, police have not taken a shot at the building for fear of possibly injuring one of the hostages."

  Shots rang out in the distance. These are different from the rat-a-tat-tat of the previous gun fire. Kate looks over her shoulder, back toward the hospital. She is frustrated because she can’t see the building itself. The media has been positioned in a grassy area on the side of the long, two-lane driveway leading up to the structure. The road curves sharply at an incline, there is a thick layer of underbrush and trees hiding the scene above from their view.

  Pat in her ear again, "Kate, what seems to be happening?"

  But, she doesn’t know. What can she say? She turns back to the camera, keeping her face grim, "It sounds like gunfire we haven’t heard yet today."

  Pop! Pop! A pause, then, Pop!

  Ann Pointier, ANB’s on-scene producer and editor, the woman responsible for keeping Kate in line, is making motions to draw it out. Say something, anything. Kate mentally kicks herself, dead air is bad.

  The
three singular gunshots echo throughout the valley, Kate feels the reverberation in her chest. The other correspondents in her view are craning their necks to see, but unlike her they have continued to talk.

  A cheer rises from the other side of the trees, something that sounds like an angry crowd that becomes a celebration.

  A man with a clipboard is standing near the edge of the media line and his walkie talkie squawks. "We’ve got them! Both gunmen are dead!"

  Kate looks into the camera, smiles and cheers, "Did you hear that just now? Those gunshots where from our side and they have taken down the gunmen. It seems the ordeal is over. I am hearing sounds of celebration and cheering."

  She ended the morning broadcast and Ann looked tense. "I know," Kate said, brushing past her to the van, "I should never have let there be dead air."

  "That’s right! You know that I’m going to hear from Jack. Maybe you aren’t ready to do this," Ann said, trailing behind her.

  "He’d be wrong, Ann. I did great. Did you see that? I got it on air. The whole take down! People are going to be talking about that for years."

  "No one saw it, Kate. They only heard it. They saw you just standing there looking confused. If anything, you will be a blooper, on some reel, somewhere!"

  Kate didn’t agree. Sure, that moment had been intense, but that interview had been great. Jack would be happy with that. She’d found someone claiming to have seen the gunmen on their way to the hospital. Waylon set his camera down, massaging his shoulder. "That was really something, Kate. Nice job."

  "Thank you, Waylon. See, at least someone thinks I did a good job." Kate nudged Ann who looked peeved she’d been touched.

  "We should get ready to interview the victims. They should be releasing them soon. We can catch footage of them being reunited with their family members. We should interview a few family members now, so we can catch some of their emotions before. It will make for a great story."

  "You never rest, do you, Ann?" Kate said, re-watching her broadcast. She liked to do that, so she could see if there was a hair out of place or if her makeup needed improving. She could also examine her movements and make herself more likable.

  The phone rang, Ann answered on the first half-ring. "Ann. Uh huh. I told her. That’s right. I know. Alright, I’ll let her know."

  Kate said, "Let me guess, dead air is bad."

  "Bingo."

  Waylon shrugged, "It wasn’t that bad, Kate. I think I counted a span of ten seconds which isn’t fatal. Just keep it in mind next time."

  Kate smiled and squeezed Waylon’s arm as she slid past him.

  "Where are you going now?" Ann said.

  "To celebrate. That was my first national broadcast and I’m going out of my mind."

  "No drinking on the job!" Ann said, but Kate wasn’t listening. There was a helicopter flying overhead, very low. One man, dressed in fatigues holding a sniper rifle was in the open doorway. Kate waved to him but he didn’t wave back.

  She brushed hair out of her face, yelling for Waylon to get the camera, but by the time he stepped out of the van and had the camera rolling the helicopter had moved on. "Darn, that would have been great footage."

  "Sorry, Ann was chewing my ass. She said that I’m enabling you," Waylon said and snorted.

  "That’s ridiculous."

  "That’s what I said. So, what did I miss?"

  "A sniper. I think he was the hero who took down the shooters."

  "Damn."

  "Oh look, the families are arriving now."

  Kate points toward a school bus that had pulled up five-hundred yards down the road and parked. The door opened and several people got off, many of them with badges around their necks. As they drew nearer, she could see that the badges were marked "visitor" where hers had been marked "media."

  She noticed three FBI agents with guns in hand walking down the hill toward them. She turned to Waylon, "Quick, just film everything."

  She rushed toward the group, singling out a young couple. "Hi, my name is Kate. I’m from ANB, may I interview you?"

  The woman, a petite blonde who looked distraught nodded. "Sure."

  "What is your name?"

  "Kelly Black, this is my husband, David."

  "Do you have family members inside the hospital?"

  "Yes," David said when Kelly seemed unable to speak.

  Kelly wiped a tear from her eye and nodded, "We have two boys. Twins. Luke and Duke. They’re four years old." She hesitated and David continued.

  "We dropped them off this morning before heading to work, just like we do on the weekdays. We love the daycare service here, they take wonderful care of our boys. They just love Hilga."

  "Hilga is one of the Daycare workers on staff," Kate said.

  "Yes, she is there all week long. Our boys are so excited to see her. Will Hilga be there today mom? Will she? It’s like that every day. And Duke, he loves animals. Hilga is an exchange-student who has a horse back home in Norway, so they like to talk about animals," Kelly said, hugging herself.

  The sun is rising high enough that it peaks above the trees, blinding Kate. She squinted and asked, "Can you tell me about your boys?"

  Kelly sniffs, "Well, Luke is so smart. We’ve been working on the alphabet and he just got to the letter ‘g’ just this morning and he’s only four."

  "Duke, he loves playing with our dog Skippy, but he calls him ‘sippy,’" David said, his hands rubbing Kelly’s shoulders.

  "So precious," Kate said.

  "Yes."

  Kelly nodded and David looked past Kate, and said, "Please excuse us, it looks like they are going to take us up there now."

  "Of course. Thank you for allowing me to interview you."

  The couple merges with the group and quietly they wait for the go ahead. Kate watches their faces, how determined they look to get to the building. Anxious to see their loved ones. She is sad that she can’t be there to witness it, to catch it on film and be there to ask how it feels.

  Chapter 2

  Alkin, North Carolina, April 6th

  Kate watches as the group moves like a flock of birds up the hill, disappearing around the corner. Thoughts of how she would feel in this situation makes her heart ache to think of her pregnant sister Abby, especially if she had been in this hospital when the shooters took control of it. At seven and half months pregnant, Abby's belly is swollen but she carries it well. Kate can't help but admire how beautiful she is.

  What bothered Kate was that none of the family members had been emotional. She knew that if she had been in their position, she would have been crying and running ahead, even if directed not to, just to learn if her sister was okay.

  A parade of FBI agents and police pass the media section, heading toward the corner and just before they disappear from view, the man with a clip board makes an announcement.

  "We are now able to allow all members of the media to move forward to the next taped-off section. We have erected a tent on the left side of the road, please check in there before proceeding. Thank you."

  Ann catches Kate’s eye and motions for her to go quickly, she points to herself and then to the van. Kate nods and Waylon follows her to the tent. The queue forms within seconds, she is lucky to be the fifth in line. She shows her badge and is waved on.

  It's hard to run up a hill in high heels, but she manages. She isn’t far behind the FBI as she rounds the corner. There is an attractive brunette with ombre hair fading to platinum blonde tips jogging ahead of Kate, her clothes even more expensive than Kate’s. She looks like a gazelle, graceful and athletic, loping in high heels. Kate feels like the clumsy step-sister you hide in the closet.

  They reach the taped-off area where a paper has been attached to the tape saying: Media Only. They group up, feeling like jury members about to give witness.

  Kate takes in the structure before her, feeling her body tense. There is a haze back-lit by the sun. If there hadn’t been a shoot-out here, this morning might have felt pleasant. Instead, it f
eels hot and intense as a light breeze rustles the leaves of the well-established trees.

  The two-story brick building has a portico under which expectant fathers can pull up to the front sliding glass doors and drop off mothers in labor.

  The building itself appears to be old, moss growing in cracks with a dark buildup where the roof drains from above. It gives the building an empty feel, full of ghosts and history.

  The windows are dark, reflecting back the clouds and tops of trees. Along the top row there are four blank spaces where glass once filled the vacancy. Jagged pieces of shattered tempered glass shimmer in the light.

  To the left of the building is a span of healthy lawn, part of it recently mowed but the rest leading up to the tree-line has been allowed to grow wild. To the right, a field that must have been planted early due to the warmer spring temperature, having produced a crop of knee-high corn. The wind ruffles through the green leaves, rippling the stalks. Further right, the trees pick up again with dense undergrowth. It's an old forest, giving privacy to the already isolated hospital.