Chapter 127: Officer Gillert

It's been hours since we got the call to search for the missing Mrs. Fuentes. I've been assigned one of the most deserted sections of the city, Sector Seven. It's close to the wall and far from the city resources so many of the buildings were left abandoned as people moved into the slums and closer to city centre.
It's unlikely the Desert Wren would've made her way over here. She's a busy-body, has her hot little hands in everyone's business, from refugees, to the illegals, to the city elite. She's probably holed up with a new man somewhere in the slums. It doesn't hurt me none to imagine what the Commander will do to her once he finds her.
I've been told she might be in the presence of Stryker. Now he's a man that deserves a little respect. Not because I actually respect the guy, but because he'll rip a person's head off and shit in the neck hole as soon as talk to them. I've steered clear of that guy as much as possible. When he comes into the police station, I'll usually head out on patrol.
Now, if the little urchin turned Warlord's wife took off with Stryker, that'll be an interesting predicament. Between Fuentes and Stryker, I don't know who I'd lay money on. Both men are deadly, both accurate and both power-thirsty.
Not me. No, I'm mister status quo. I'd rather live a comfortable life flying well below the radar. It's why I picked up a job as city police. The job is interesting, not very dangerous since the Warlord keeps a tight city. I get to exert my own brand of power and then go home and forget about work after a long day. Even this search for the Warlord's wife, a good time waster in my opinion. It took him years to get his hands on her in the first place, if he can't keep her nailed down she'll disappear and never come back.
I'm about to radio into HQ that the search of Sector Seven is a bust when something catches my eye. A car. Vehicles are rare enough as it is but seeing a road-worthy one in a nearly deserted place like this is definitely unusual. I get out of my own police issued cruiser, a car I share with a few other guys on the force, and walk around the other vehicle.
"Fuck me." This car definitely belongs to Stryker. The mismatched scavenged parts had been painted a bright cherry red except the hood, which is a dull black. The paint is chipped and rusted out, but the car is still recognizable.
I hadn't actually thought I'd find the pair, am not prepared for any kind of fight. Stryker can kill me six ways to Sunday before I could get off a single shot, and even glancing at the Warlord's wife is risking life and limb. This is not how I saw my day going.
I unhook my radio from my belt and lift it slowly, hesitating. I could just walk away and pretend I didn't see a thing. It'll be far safer for my health if I don't confront Stryker without backup. Then again, if anyone finds out they're out here and I was the one assigned to this sector, it could mean more than my job.
Maybe they won't ask me to go in?
"Officer Gillert to Commander Fuentes."
It takes seconds for an answer to come back. I haven't talked directly to the Warlord since he brought his Desert Wren in for police processing over a year ago. His voice still gives me the chills.
"Fuentes here, report," he demands.
"I was told you were looking for Mrs. Fuentes," I say hurriedly.
"Do you have her?" he barks.
"No, sir, but I have Lieutenant Stryker's car. It's sitting outside of a property that could contain your wife."
Seconds pass, then, "What Sector?"
"Seven, Commander."
"Fuck, I'm on the other side of the city." Another moment passes in silence, then the words I dread hearing, "Listen to me carefully, Gillert, because if you fuck this up, I'll have your balls and then your head."
"Yes, sir."
"I want you to go into the property and search for Taran. You will go in with your weapon drawn. Stryker is a dangerous man, you don't want to go in unarmed. If he's threatening then you shoot to kill. Don't wound him, that'll just piss him off."
That's what I'm afraid of.
"Be careful, Gillert. Find my wife. Make sure she's safe."
I swallow and lift the radio, "Yes, Commander."
"Report back the second you find out what's going on in there."
"Yes, Commander."
"Fuentes out."
I should've volunteered for another section of the city. Hell. I should've volunteered to man the wall. Right now, the thought of taking out a Primitive horde seems easier than taking on Stryker by myself.
I draw my weapon and approach the house cautiously. Like many of the homes in Tucson Sanctuary, it's bungalow style with a front entrance that opens into a living room and kitchen area with the bedrooms toward the back of the house. The door is unlocked and opens easily under my hand. I'm sweating profusely now and have to pass a sleeve over my forehead before I can continue.
If I survive this, I think I'll retire and do something less dangerous, like wall construction, or waste removal. Anything other than police work. Anything other than dealing with the Warlord's hellion bride. She's not worth the trouble.
I pass into the front room, sweeping it at a quick glance, my weapon out in front of me. I put my back to the wall and glance quickly around the kitchen. Clear. The entire house is weirdly silent. Dust has settled over almost every inch, though there is still evidence of recent occupation. Dishes piled up, the trail of a fingerprint through the dust, and a man's coat laid out across one of the chairs. Someone's here. No one leaves behind clothes, not when they're still useful. Good quality items are hard to find.
I want to call out, ask if anyone is there. Human nature to see if an answer comes. But police training tells me to keep my mouth shut. Don't give away my position.
I make my way slowly down the hall, back to the wall, glancing into each room as I pass. The master bedroom catches my eye. The blanket has been pushed back as though someone sleeps here. I go in, give it a quick look around. Hasn't been occupied in a few days, but this house is definitely not abandoned.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and I swing around, lifting my gun. An apparition stands in the doorway, blocking the hall. Beautiful, pale, ghostly, long red hair tangled down her back and a bloody gown clinging to her legs and stomach. My mouth goes dry and my hand shakes.
Her eyes are dull and the hollows beneath give her a stark appearance. But the strangest thing about her is the bundle held tight to her chest where her dress is pulled down and her breast exposed, the nipple pressed to the tiny mouth sucking greedily.
Slowly I lower my weapon, my eyes still wide and mouth hanging open. Totally lost for words I just stare at her as she looks me up and down and then gives me a pointed look that gives her opinion loud and clear. She definitely remembers me as the man who arrested her during the food riots.
"Gillert," she sighs.
I continue to stare for a moment, and then finally manage to blurt out. "Stryker?"
"Dead," she says matter-of-fact, then walks toward me. My hand twitches on the gun, but she just passes by, stumbling toward the bed. She eases in, the baby still clutched tight to her breast. When she settles she looks at me. "Well don't just stand there like you've seen a ghost, please get the Warlord on the radio."