Chapter 27: Chapter 26 – The Battle Begins

This was the first of the shooter’s mass shootings that didn’t start with him firing the first shot. The government troops and Disney mercenaries, all camouflaged in plainclothes, mingle unbeknownst to one another on Disneyland’s Main Street, as they await the violence. 

A young Disney conscript sees the outline of a bullet proof vest underneath a U.S. Marine’s denim jacket. He goes against orders from his squad captain and preemptively fires a silenced round at the Marine. The firefight between the two squads starts, contained in the area between a bathroom and the shops on Main Street. The squad of Disney soldiers use the bathroom’s connected locker room as cover, peering around the L shaped hallway leading into it to pick off any Marine foolish enough to attempt a rush in. A couple of Disney soldiers hide in the bushes with M-16’s, spraying the Marines across the tram tracks that divide Main Street. 

The Marines take cover in the candy and souvenir stores across the tram tracks from the bathroom. The rain of bullets from the wild mercenaries in the bushes shatter the glass windows in the opposing building, ripping into delicate drawings of old Disney cartoons in an artist’s mini studio, set up to display the artist painting inside for passersby to look at while they waited in line for the parade, or waited for a family member to use the bathroom. Paint chips off the orange brown walls outside the bathroom. 

The Marines begin the fight trying to protect the Disney tourists, but as their own take heavy fire, and the screams of the dying start to drown out the report of the bullets, the skirmish quickly becomes a kill or be killed situation. All of the people unfortunate enough to be walking between the buildings when the first shot rings out are subjected to the deadly haze of bullets spraying out of both buildings.

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Meanwhile, in California Adventures, the shooter turns on his Twitch stream, makes sure his sound is recording, pulls out his M-4, and lines up rifle sights with the camera’s viewfinder, and aims at the back of a man’s baseball cap. “Hey boys. Welcome to the happiest place on Earth.” Then POP. The baseball cap flies off the man’s head and vaporized brain matter sprays in red mist over the huddle of people who the baseball capped man was walking behind. Skull fragments ricochet off a trash can and make quick clattering noises as they bounce off a fake log hand railing. The shooter, an expert showman, lets the tension build as the crowd around him processes what just happened . The women the dead man had been walking behind keep walking, bizarrely, like a sixth grader pretending not to notice the food being thrown at him while walking through a hallway of eighth graders. 

Then, one of the women feels the back of her neck to wipe something off and realizes it’s a piece of someone’s face. Her scream rings out simultaneously with the screams of the ring of people directly surrounding the shooter, Ryan, and the shooter’s first kill (bleeding on the ground from the stump that used to be his head.)

“Let’s fucking gooooooo” the shooter crows as he whips his rifle around and mows down the screamers. 

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In the Disney jail drunk tank under the Pirates of the Caribbean, Peter feels dead inside, but tries to smile for Karen. “Well, I guess we did everything we could. And it wasn’t good enough. But what the fuck else could we do?” 

Karen nods, staring up at the ceiling from her reclined position on the cell bench. “True. Who knows, maybe he won’t hit this place after all. Maybe the guards are already on the lookout for him and just didn’t want us going around scaring the shit out of people and causing a riot.”

“Yeah, maybe. Well, who knows, maybe we’ll be getting a new cell mate soon and I can start sleeping again without being woken up by visions of all of his victims begging me for their lives or dragging me into a fiery crevice outside of my bungalow.” 

“Haha, yeah. Maybe I can finally stop drinking myself to sleep and then awake every morning. I’m running out of places to put the bottles.”

“Fuck off. In that monstrosity you call your house?”

Then— the shooting starts. Great cracks of thunder boom outside the walls of the jail cell and plaster dust snows down from the ceiling. “Oh fuck.” 

“I guess we spoke too soon.” 

More booms, and a hole forms in the back wall of the cells. White bricks fly through the air and Peter jumps under the cell bed. He and Karen stand up and survey the outside of the hole as the smoke clears. They’re looking out at an active war zone.

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As the shooter mows down the screaming park goers, Ryan fumbles with the safety on his pistol, then squeezes off his first shot. His whole body shakes with the report and adrenaline, and the bullet whizzes way over the heads of the crowd in front of him. The shooter pivots around and fires off a few rounds into the backs of the people running away from him. “Feels good, don’t it? Fire off a couple more now and keep ‘em coming.” The park goers try to disperse, but in the chaos, trip over one another and begin stampeding, trampling anyone unlucky enough to fall onto the ground. The shooter easily sprays rounds into the squirming, huddled mass of people lining the walkway. Ryan sees flecks of blood on the lenses of his glasses.

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The Tourorist watches the action below from the scope of their rifle. They let themselves breathe and take a moment to allow their heart rate to slow down. No heroes, so far. They’re tempted to pop off a couple easy shots into the crowd. No one would likely notice among the chaos, but the noise from the skirmish at the adjacent park sounds like it is growing louder, more desperate, and therefore more murderous. And you never knew when you would need that one extra bullet. Foolish to waste it on some pathetic father from Bumfuck, Ohio. Still tempting. 

You are reading story Red Streams at novel35.com

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Fritz has the mousey woman drop him off at the corner of Orange St. and Disney Boulevard. He can smell fresh lead and fear in the air. He takes his pistol off the terrified woman’s temple and steps out of the car. “Get the fuck away from here. As far as you can, and as fast as you can. Go!” The old VW she’s driving peels away from the curb. 

Fritz walks toward the park, his bag of death slung over his shoulder. He is happy to have arrived at a battle in its early stages. He sees the first hints of smoke rising above the ivy covered walls of the outer perimeter of the park. He approaches the wall and climbs to the top. He gets to the ring of barbed wire at its peak and pulls out his bowie knife. He hacks twice and the wire splits apart like a cotton bulb. He surmounts the top of the wall, and surveys the drop. He hops down and rolls when he hits the ground. 

Just as he calculated, he’s at the bottom of the Western end of the monorail. This would take him directly into the park, its path ending right around Tomorrowland. He climbs the staircase, its metal clunking under his boots with each step. The monorail station is empty, with the monorail parked on its railing. Safety messages play on repeat from speakers in the rafters of the station’s roof. In English, then Spanish, then Chinese. “Stand behind the yellow line when the vehicle is approaching. Enjoy your day at the happiest place on earth” Fritz pushes through the turnstile, and hears faint screams in the distance. 

He makes his way toward the control room and points his pistol inside. Chinese announcements play over the speaker. “Fucking globalists.” He grabs a badge that was left behind by a monorail operator in a hurry and strides toward the cockpit of the monorail. He scans the badge on the cockpit door and yanks it open. He sits in the pilot seat and presses the green button for “go.” He checks the ammunition in his weapons as the monorail makes its way into the park. Below him, he can see scattered groups of people fleeing, their shrieks muffled by the bubbled out glass of the cockpit window. His heart beats faster, and the sunlight burns brighter, and the colors of the trees and painted stucco passing below grow more colorful as the screams grow louder. 

The monorail pulls into the main station. Fritz pulls the brake and it squeals to a halt. He sees a small squad of Disney soldiers taking cover behind a brick walled planter, just outside of the monorail station. He crouches behind the wooden balcony of the station and then fires off a few rounds. The Disney soldiers collapse, strawberries bursting out of the backs of their necks. As they fall, a few more scurry out of their covered positions. Fritz rains death on them. He takes the employee-only staircase of the monorail station, pauses for a few quick breaths at the green steel exit door, getting control of his body as the adrenaline hits his hands. He kicks the center of the push bar and takes cover behind the cinder block door frame. A couple of bullets clang off the door and make its metal bubble inward, angrily at Fritz. 

He estimates the location of his assailants based on the trajectory of their bullets. He yanks a grenade from his bag of death and kicks open the door again. Midway through its hydraulically slowed close, he flings the grenade over the top of the door. He waits a beat, then hears someone yelling “grenade.” He bolts out of the exit and sprints toward the brick walled planter, where the six Disney soldiers bleed out. He sees a group of men running toward the clocktower, and picks them off, one by one, while he sprints. The explosion from his grenade sends shrapnel, debris, and cracked bricks into the sky. 

Besides the constant screams carried by the wind, and echoes from the gunfire in Tomorrowland, it’s quiet again. Fritz approaches the most alive looking Disney soldier. A rough, emaciated meth head type. Probably a Marine at some point. He's leaking from his neck, mouth, and a hole above his collar bone just above the top of his bullet proof vest. The soldier’s breathing is labored and shallow. His Mickey Mouse patch is covered in soot and blood. Fritz stands above him so he’s blocking the sunlight on the man’s face. “Nice day, isn’t it? Let me ask you, can you feel the sunlight in those bullet holes?” 

The Disney soldier moans, his voice barely a croak. “Please…medic.” 

“And ruin my handiwork? Nah, I don’t think so.” Fritz crouches down. He presses on the hole above the soldier’s collar bone. The solder shrieks dryly. “Now tell me. Where’s the one you’re protecting?” 

The soldier sputters between his short breaths “Cal…Calif…”

Fritz presses harder. A whistle emits from the soldier in place of a scream. “California? I’m here too. Fucking talk,” Fritz growls. 

The soldier, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, whispers, “….Adventure. Cal….Adventure…” 

Fritz smirks. “Ah… that’s better.”

A group of Disney soldiers storm through the tunnel by the clock tower, firing rounds down Main Street. Fritz is forced to retreat and sprint for cover.

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Meanwhile, bombs drop over the Matterhorn. Chunks of plaster and hunks from the blue white facade explode off the top of the snow capped mountain. Shrapnel rains down on the park goers who attempt to take cover in the various bushes that line the base of the ride. Disney soldiers and U.S. Marines exchange fire among the fleeing park goers and ruined park structures. 

A fleeing woman holds her baby out in front of her while running, as though she were waving a white flag or holding some magic shield, whose mere existence and presumed relationship to her would prevent her and it from catching any crossfire. Nevertheless, the baby’s body is punctured by armor piercing rounds, with a force such that it is knocked clean out of its mother’s hands. 

Left with nothing to hold onto, her run becomes a confused jog, and then devolves into a dejected, slumping walk. Finally, she too is pummeled and punctured by the relentless storm of bullets. A U.S. Marine screams for a ceasefire, but no one can hear him or cares to hear him over the never-ending moans of tourists and the riotous din of the firefight.

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