Chapter 3: Chapter 3: The dying in the living room

I gave Kira a quick nod. She immediately fell in a few paces behind me, her movements mirroring my own. It was a familiar dance, one we’d practiced in training and perfected over countless calls. I took the lead, pistol held in a low ready, hugging the wall as we followed Martha past the doorway. The cool, stale air of the house was a sudden change, a welcome relief from the overpowering coppery smell outside. The scent of old wood and dust filled my lungs. But as my eyes adjusted to the dim light of the hallway, I saw it. Faint, but unmistakable on the dark wood, were bloody footprints. They were small, the tread of a sneaker, leading from the back of the house and ending at the threshold of the living room.

My mind processed the sight before me in a split second, the chaos of the scene filtered through the cold grid of my training. The father: posture is rigid with terror, not aggression. Eyes are wide, unfocused. He’s scared, not homicidal. The son: victim, non-responsive, in medical distress. The weapon: long gun, muzzle discipline is non-existent. He’s not a trained shooter. He’s a terrified man holding a tool he doesn’t understand.

“Sir,” I said, my voice deliberately calm and low, a stark contrast to the frantic energy in the room. I took a slow, measured step forward. “My name is Officer Stormson. We’re here to help. I need you to put the rifle on the ground and step away from it. Now.”.

The man’s head snapped toward me, his face a mask of profound shock and exhaustion. His lips trembled. “I… I didn’t know what else to do,” he stammered, his gaze darting between me and his son on the floor. “He was crazy—like an animal.”.

“I understand,” I said, keeping my tone soothing, authoritative. Keep your voice low and slow, Stormson. He’s in shock. Don’t spook him. “You were trying to protect your family. But we’re here now. Let us take over. Please, sir, put down the weapon so we can help your son.”.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kira begin a slow, silent flanking maneuver toward the son. She knew the playbook without a word. Create a new focus. Be ready. A flicker of relief went through me. I wasn’t alone in this mess.

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For a long moment, the father seemed frozen, trapped in his fear. His eyes dropped to the rifle in his hands as if he was only just now seeing it. The weapon seemed to grow heavy in his grasp. His fingers fumbled as he carefully leaned it against a nearby wall and backed away, his hands raised in surrender. “It’s just… it’s just a tranq gun,” he mumbled, his strength finally giving out as he collapsed into the armchair. “I’m sorry.”.

The immediate tactical threat was gone, replaced by a frantic medical emergency. I saw Kira holster her pistol as her focus shifted entirely from tactical to medical, and she was already moving to kneel beside the young man. While she did, I kept my own weapon in the low ready position in case things changed. Once it was clear the father wasn’t going to move, I holstered my pistol and approached the tranq gun. My hands moved with practiced efficiency, picking it up while keeping the muzzle pointed in a safe direction. It was a single-shot dart rifle, a veterinary tool. I broke the action open, visually and physically confirming the chamber was empty before placing the now-safe weapon on the far side of the room, well out of reach.

“It’s okay,” Kira said softly to the father, her voice carrying a professional calm as she pressed two fingers against the young man’s neck, searching for a pulse. “Just sit tight, we’re going to make sure he gets the help he needs.”. Her eyes scanned his body, and her breath hitched.

“Elias,” she said, her voice sharp. “Look at this.”

I moved to kneel beside her. There, protruding from the young man’s chest like a grotesque accusation, was a single, thick tranquilizer dart. His breathing hitched in shallow, sporadic spurts. Okay, new problem. Foreign object in the chest cavity, unknown substance, compromised breathing. Go.

“We need paramedics now!” Kira called over her shoulder to Martha, who hovered anxiously in the doorway.

I raised my radio again, my voice clear and projecting the urgency we both felt. “Dispatch, advise the ambulance to move in immediately. Adult male unresponsive with irregular breathing. Be advised, he has been hit with some kind of tranquilizer dart.”.