"Command center, this is 7-A-26. We are escorting a CDC ambulance to Memorial Hospital, heading east on Grand South Avenue. Requesting road clearance."
Jack called the command center over the radio while turning on the siren. His patrol car led the way, followed by John's, with the ambulance right behind them.
The command center quickly responded, "Copy that, 7-A-26. Highway patrol is en route to assist."
Under the escort of the two patrol cars, the CDC ambulance sped to the hospital at an average speed of about 120 kilometers per hour, reaching the hospital entrance in just eight minutes.
"Hey, can we get some help here?"
John shouted to the medical staff in the emergency lane.
Jack got out and quickly walked to the back of the ambulance, intending to open the door and see if he could touch Tim. Suddenly, he felt a chill down his spine and heard John's panicked shout.
"There's a shooter!"
Before Jack could turn around, a volley of bullets whizzed past his shoulder, hitting the rear door of the ambulance and leaving a row of bullet holes.
Damn it, when will this end? Already somewhat on edge, Jack didn't dodge but turned swiftly. He saw a white woman holding an M4 carbine, using a stone pillar by the hospital entrance as cover, firing at the ambulance and the two patrol cars.
John, Nila, and Angela reacted quickly, returning fire with their Glocks, sending shards of stone flying as the female shooter ducked back behind the pillar.
"Fuck you, bitch!"
Jack was enraged to see two medics, who had just come running out from the emergency entrance, lying in a pool of blood. The thin metal of the ambulance's rear door certainly couldn't withstand 5.56 standard rifle rounds, leaving the people inside's fate uncertain.
He drew his Glock with his left hand and his Python revolver from its underarm holster with his right, dual-wielding as he advanced towards the stone pillar without flinching.
Lucy emerged from the side door of the ambulance, immediately blocked by Jack, and shouted a warning.
"Jack, I'm right behind you."
Jack ignored her and continued his determined stride forward.
"Come out! Your buddy on the bus was killed by me. If you want revenge, come on out."
It didn't take much thinking to realize that this female shooter was likely the accomplice of today's two terrorists. Why she didn't participate directly in the attack earlier was unclear.
Now she was here, either to rescue her comrade who had been sent to this hospital or to take revenge on the police, or possibly both.
"Jack, what are you doing? Be careful!"
John and the others stopped firing as Jack moved into their line of sight. Their initial shooting angles were poor, with the stone pillar the shooter used as cover just in front of a glass wall leading into the hospital interior. Any stray bullet could easily injure civilians inside.
Jack moved swiftly, closing the distance to the pillar in a few steps. The shooter, hearing the calls and the approaching footsteps, sensed danger and tried to aim her M4 at him, only to be forced back by Jack's precise and rapid gunfire from both hands.
After emptying both guns, Jack lunged forward, grabbed the barrel of the shooter's rifle, and yanked her out from behind the pillar.
The scorching barrel burned Jack's left hand, the pain further fueling his anger. He headbutted the woman brutally, smashing her face, then grabbed her right hand, still clutching the M4, and wrenched it, dislocating her wrist.
The M4 fell to the ground. Jack wasn't done. He grabbed her collar and headbutted her several more times until she collapsed.
"Fucking bitch, attacking civilians, bastard, scum, son of a bitch."
John and Angela rushed over, grabbing Jack's arms. They had never seen this usually smiling guy lose control like this and feared he would continue attacking the unconscious suspect.
"She's fine. If I wanted her dead, I'd have crushed her larynx with the first hit."
Jack waved them off, indicating he was okay. He saw Nila Harper cuffing the shooter, who was vomiting from a severe concussion, then turned to the ambulance. Tim was standing at the rear door, gun in hand, looking dazed.
Jack wiped the blood from his forehead. He had only a minor cut; most of the blood was from the shooter, whose face was basically ruined.
"Are you crazy? You're going to get yourself in trouble."
Angela nervously glanced at the patients and medical staff pouring out of the hospital, many of whom were filming with their phones. While terrorists had no rights in the USA, public actions could be misinterpreted and maliciously edited to paint the police in a bad light.
Jack had no time to worry about that. He wouldn't have been so impulsive with a regular suspect. But this was a hospital. If the shooter had turned her gun on the glass wall behind which civilians were, who knew how many would have died.
Besides, the media landscape in this world wasn't as toxic as in his previous life. The LAPD's PR department was still quite capable.
He kicked the M4 on the ground, which had two 30-round magazines taped together.
Nila Harper pulled another three magazines taped together from the shooter's belt and tossed them aside.
"Jack did the right thing. She wasn't here to rescue her comrade; she came to massacre. We were just lucky to be here."
Tim, still pale, came over and nodded at the taped magazines. "She's had military training. This is a common battlefield method for quick reloading."
Jack looked at him and asked, "Are you okay? Is anyone in the ambulance hurt?"
Tim shook his head. "Dr. Morgan got grazed, but everyone else is fine."
Just then, the backup police arrived. Superintendent Gray, looking furious, got out of his car and started yelling at a DHS agent.
The group overheard bits of the argument and gathered that DHS had known about the existence of the female shooter while investigating the first victim but had withheld the information from the LAPD, even keeping it from the FBI.
The crowd glared at the DHS agents. While knowing about the shooter wouldn't have guaranteed predicting her attack on the hospital, they needed someone to blame for the risk they'd taken. The DHS had to shoulder the blame.
After all, the conflict between federal and state police systems was serious. The LAPD's Wilshire Division had earned MVP honors for this case, and the CDC and FBI would share in the accolades. Someone had to take the fall, and the DHS was the perfect scapegoat.
The aftermath would be handled by higher-ups, irrelevant to the patrol officers. They could look forward to promotions and raises. John and Lucy would likely soon shed their rookie status and might even earn a medal.
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