Chapter 7
The piercing glare of the police spotlight trapped Terrell and his accomplice like deer in headlights, casting long, distorted shadows across the gravel lot. Marcus pressed himself deeper into the recess of the steel beam, watching the chaos unfold just yards away. Terrell’s calm demeanor vanished instantly, replaced by a frantic, animalistic panic. He threw a desperate look toward the freight cars lining the tracks, searching for a path to bolt, but the tactical units were already swarming the perimeter, blocking every possible exit.
"Drop the bag! Hands on your head where we can see them!" the amplified voice echoed through the megaphone, shaking the metal siding of the nearby warehouses.
Terrell’s accomplice immediately threw his hands up, dropping the leather duffel bag onto the ground and sinking to his knees in surrender. But Terrell didn't drop. His hand shot toward his waistband, his fingers curling around the grip of the matte-black firearm tucked into his grey sweatpants.
"Don't do it, Terrell!" Marcus shouted before he could even stop himself, stepping out from behind the steel beam into the edge of the spotlight's glare.
Terrell froze, his head snapping around to find Marcus standing there like an apparition. A dark, venomous sneer twisted Terrell’s features as he recognized the young man who had dared to stand up to him. Instead of raising his hands, Terrell whipped the firearm out completely, leveling the barrel not at the police, but directly across the open space toward Marcus.
"You little ungrateful rat," Terrell snarled, his voice carrying clearly over the idling engine. "You followed me here?"
The police officers instantly opened fire with non-lethal beanbag rounds and loud warning shouts, but Terrell lunged backward, grabbing Marcus by the collar of his black t-shirt with his free hand and using him as a human shield against the advancing wall of officers. The cold steel of the pistol barrel pressed roughly against the side of Marcus’s neck, sending a jolt of pure adrenaline through his veins.
"Back off or the kid takes the first round!" Terrell screamed at the officers, dragging Marcus backward toward the open door of a rusty freight car.
Marcus struggled against Terrell's iron grip, refusing to panic despite the deadly danger. He looked past Terrell’s shoulder, locking eyes with the lead detective who was advancing steadily with her weapon drawn, waiting for a clear shot.
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"Do it," Marcus choked out, straining against Terrell's arm. "Shoot him!"
Terrell cursed, shoving Marcus violently to the side and scrambling up the metal ladder into the dark interior of the freight car just as a volley of flashbang grenades detonated across the platform with deafening concussive roars, blinding everyone in a flash of magnesium fire.
