Jack lit a candle and dripped the melted wax onto a plate. Before the wax solidified, he fixed the candle to the bottom of the plate and placed it in the middle of the aisle of the temporary detention area.
Although this glimmer of light was insignificant, it was better than being pitch dark. Lighting a few candles could at least help calm people down.
"Why did the power go out? Those rubbish corporations that control this country are really unreliable, and so is this government that's always talking big." The drug addict grabbed the iron railing and began to talk non-stop.
"This isn't a power outage, you idiot," the young black girl cursed. "Someone cut the power, and something terrible is going to happen here."
"Hey, pretty boy, do you know what's going on?" the black man who called himself Smelly asked Jack.
Jack pointed at the large, dark man leaning silently in the innermost cell. "Why not ask the guy next door? I think he's more knowledgeable about the situation. Maybe when he's rescued later, you can ask him to take you with him."
"I think you're mistaken, sir," the large, dark man, Bishop, said. "My men wouldn't point their guns at me. If that dead officer hadn't just walked in with the food tray, I'd be dead by now."
"Oh, it seems you've offended a lot of people," Jack said with a sigh. He found a broom and began to clean up the mess. In the chaos, the food the white state trooper had been carrying had been spilled and trampled all over the floor.
He didn't care about the two gunmen's motives. Whether they were saving people or silencing them was irrelevant to him. If he hadn't been unsure of how many people were coming, and worried that the old, weak, and infirm in the police station would hinder John, he would have fought his way out by now.
Scanning the hallway to the other end of the temporary holding area, the direction the two gunmen had entered and fled, Jack paused briefly, crouching down to pick up a deformed bullet from the ground.
"Jack, you'd better come over here," John's voice echoed from the other end of the hallway.
Jack sheathed the bullet, gave a meaningful look to Bishop, who had retreated into a corner, and followed John back to the office area.
The office area, which had been filled with festive atmosphere just moments before, was now only illuminated by a few dim candlelight flickers. All the blinds were drawn, the door bolted, and even the smashed window was blocked by a filing cabinet.
Sheriff Ronik was putting on his body armor. Most of the equipment in this shabby police department had been packed up and sent away, leaving not even a bulletproof plate, so he put on the two bulletproof vests he had found.
Meanwhile, veteran officer Jasper kept nagging beside him, "You don't have to do this. Now's not the time for impulsive action. We clearly have a better way to handle this."
"I can't let a criminal walk out of my station like that," Ronik muttered, pulling his uniform over his double-layered bulletproof vest, his tone undeniably resolute.
"What are you planning on doing?" Jack was a little confused by the scene.
John explained, "Sheriff Ronik plans to use the bus parked at the back door to get reinforcements."
Jack was surprised. How could this seemingly unassuming young sheriff, who even showed some signs of PTSD, suddenly become so brave? Could he be hiding some extra pills?
"The car has a radio. We can contact the main station by driving a distance away from the interference area," Ronik explained his plan.
"It's a good idea indeed. However, although the bus used to transport prisoners has been modified and may be able to withstand rifle bullets, the weather outside is not very good now. Are you sure?"
Jack did not object, but asked worriedly. There was a blizzard blowing outside at the moment, and this actually had its pros and cons.
It was late at night, and although there were some dim streetlights outside, the heavy snow made visibility extremely limited. As long as they moved quickly and used the bus's massive body for cover, the threat from snipers would be limited.
The problem was the snow on the road. And while the bus's body was reinforced with steel plates, the windshield wasn't bulletproof. Anyone unfamiliar with the surroundings could easily panic and drive the bus into a ditch if their vision was obstructed.
"We need help. If I don't try, that officer might die." Ronick smiled wryly and tilted his head to the black state trooper who had fallen asleep on the sofa. His gaze finally fell on Alex, the psychiatrist.
"Besides, there are civilians among us."
Jack opened his mouth, wanting to say that if the man's injuries dragged on until daybreak, it wouldn't be a big deal. But then he thought, the sheriff's plan had a high chance of success, especially with his cooperation.
"It's too dangerous. There are at least some outside..." Old Officer Jasper was about to persuade him again, but Jack had already dragged his suitcase over and pulled out a box with a combination lock. It looked very heavy.
Then everyone watched in surprise as he took out an FN57 pistol, some accessories, and two boxes of ammunition from the box.
"Who are you?" Old Officer Jasper, the only one present who didn't know Jack's identity, was stunned by this scene.
"A passing FBI agent." Jack attached red dot sights to the FN57 and his own Sig Sauer pistol, while John loaded the SS190 pistol magazine for him.
"More pistols won't change anything," Old Officer Jasper said with a rather unconcerned curl of his lips.
"Perhaps." Jack didn't intend to argue. Having more pistols wouldn't change anything, and a 50-meter effective range wasn't enough to counter a sniper rifle with a range of hundreds of meters.
But the 50-meter effective range of a typical pistol didn't mean the bullet wouldn't be lethal beyond that.
In this awful weather, Jack didn't expect a sniper to hide too far away. A hundred meters at best was the limit. In such a situation, continuous fire was the best cover.
"You and Officer Nolan, hold the front and protect everyone. They don't know what's going on inside, so they probably won't dare charge in."
Ronick gave the worried old officer a hug, silencing his remaining words. He then drew his sidearm, loaded it, and glared at Jack with murderous intent.
"Let's go. I hope your marksmanship is as good as your medical skills."
John patted his chest and gave Jack a thumbs-up, indicating that he could trust him with the situation.
The two walked through the temporary detention area, turned around the corridor, passed the storage room, and finally came to the back door. Ronik moved the chair that was propped on the door handle, looked back at Jack, and after seeing him nod slightly, he pulled open the iron door.
The wind and snow roared in, and the front of the bus was facing the back door, only more than ten meters away. There was a long drag mark on the ground.
The black state trooper had been shooting at the fleeing gunman from the front of the bus, but he was shot down, and then dragged back by Ronik desperately.
"Don't worry." Jack grabbed Ronik, who was bending over and about to rush out, and first quickly looked at the far corner on the left side of the door, then quickly changed his position, stuck to the left side of the door frame, and looked at the far corner on the right.
(End of this chapter)