|The Assault in the Fog (standard:horror, 1814 words)|
|Author: Nathaniel MIller||Added: May 24 2016||Views/Reads: 585/352||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Story based on prompt activity: As I crossed the street I tripped over a...|
San Francisco, better known as the city, swirled in a misty shadow as night fell upon the semi-deserted streets. A place known for its homeless, crime, and cold nights is the place of the tale I tell. It was on the city streets at 2 AM that I received the call in the car, an incessant beeping on the radio for the call-up signal, and then the grated voice of dispatch giving out the calls it receives for a city in turmoil. No night is different, just crime, violence, and homeless in a city turned upside down. My name is Murphy and I am a detective for San Francisco Police Department. This is my story. “Car 55, come in please.” The voice said, and I glanced at the radio sitting idle as I let the heater do its work, on a cold night. I shook my head as I reached down to adjust the radio volume. The call was for me. “Car 55, here.” I said, picking up the receiver. “Possible 187 at 4th and King Ave.” The voice said. I grimaced at the code for Homicide but I shook my head, clearing my negative thoughts and focusing on rolling to assist. I hated this code, there was a person killed for nothing usually, and their innocent blood spilled over the usual urban violence of the city. “Roger.” I replied, and I put the car in gear and with lights and no siren, I rolled down the city streets. I happened to only be two blocks away. I didn't hurry with sirens blaring, and only lights would be adequate. It wouldn't tip off the perp if he was still in the area that someone reported his actions to the police department. . When I arrived at the street, I stopped the car, and got out. As I did so, I holstered my service revolver at my side, and checked the charge of my tazer unit. Slowly I walked in the thickening fog, across the street, the yellow street lights muffled by the mist and sprinkling rain falling upon me, quite the usual weather for the city this time of year. The street was abandoned at this hour, not a living soul usually inhabits this area except homeless or criminals, being that it is an industrial area near the docks and near the rail lines belonging to the Cal train ™ Commuter service people working in the area. As I walked down the street I tripped over a body lying on the curb. It was that of a brunette woman, her clothes in tatters, and the throat was brutally slashed. Two holes piercing her neck at the nap of it too. A pool of blood glistened in the yellow streetlights, and the mist growing thicker with each passing minute. “Bravo six to dispatch.” I said shakily in the handset. “Bravo six, go ahead.” “I need back up. I need three units sent, found a civilian down, at 4th and King, near Cal train. I think it's Officer Crawford, whose off-duty and listed as missing the last three days. Send Ambulance to location.” “Roger, Bravo six.” “All units, backup requested at King and 4th Street.” The voice said, “Officer down.” It was followed by a beep. I heard a clatter in the shadows and I drew my service revolver. My heart leapt as the mist and fog swirled along the street, the light above muffled by its thickness, making it hard to see anything. “San Francisco, Police Department!” I shouted, “Come on out.” There was another clatter and I slowly moved forward. “Come out, where I can see you, or I will send in the dog!” I shouted, and again it was met with silence. I saw a shadow in the darkness, a lumbering figure and I raised my weapon. “Hands in the air, or I will shoot!” Click here to read the rest of this story (138 more lines)
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