Ranger Martin (Book 2): Ranger Martin and the Alien Invasion

by Flacco, Jack

  The door trembled with a massive crash. This time, the frame holding everything in place had moved forward by an inch. Torn plaster and paint chips crumbled to the floor. Whatever wanted to get in had decided no amount of door would prevent it from entering.

  After winding the wastepaper basket behind his back, Carson smashed the grate. A small dent appeared, but not enough to cause the damage he needed to get the screws to move. His face turned sinister, mouth frowning, eyes dark. That grate will break. He had no doubt. He wound the wastepaper basket again, but this time he stepped back and with a hard, solid hit the grate collapsed inward.

  The first smiles on the teens’ faces crested. Their joy didn’t last though. Another massive thump to the door caused more plaster and paint to erupt from the frame. Whatever wanted them did not surrender. It would do anything to get into that office, even if it had to take the whole wall with it.

  Carson pitched the wastepaper basket. He wasn’t about to let those Things tell him what to do. He weaved his fingers through the grate and tore it from the vent. Like the wastepaper basket, he had no more use for it and pitched it on the floor. The hole stretched a few feet from side to side, wide enough for the three of them to fit without a problem.

  “Amber, you go first.” Charlie said.

  “Charlie’s right. You go first.” Carson nodded his approval.

  Amber leaped on the desk not saying a word. Carson grabbed her by the waist, propped her against the wall and pushed her upper half into the vent. After flipping her blond hair away from her face, she tried to reach for something inside the aluminum corridor, but couldn’t. She slipped as her hands flailed about. Sensing trouble and not being shy about it, Carson grabbed her by the butt and pushed her in, legs and all.

  One safe.

  The growls behind the door turned dark and sinister. The pounding stopped.

  “You’re next, Charlie.” Carson said, massaging his scarred hand.

  “We should flip for it”

  “Get up here and get in that hole, now! I’m in no mood to argue with you.”

  Charlie scaled the desk as his heart skipped a beat from his friend’s outburst. He had never seen Carson so agitated before. If he wanted him to go first, he could have asked politely. Charlie would have gone without the chew out session. After Charlie tucked his foot in Carson’s cupped hands, he reached for the vent. A boost is all it took for him to jump in and join Amber.

  Two safe.

  Now Carson needed a boost himself. The shaft allowed Charlie and Amber enough room to crawl forward, but they couldn’t turn around to grab Carson’s hands.

  When the growls behind the door grew deeper, Carson gulped. If he didn’t survive, he knew he had done his best to save his friends, and that was all that mattered. Yet, he held hope he would survive. His one chance would be the wastepaper basket. He hopped to the floor, retrieved the basket and set it upside down on the desk, underneath the vent. He thought that ought to hold his weight. He then climbed the obstacle mountain to reach its summit where he slipped his arms and head inside the vent.

  Charlie and Amber heard Carson entering the dark enclosure behind them and relief washed over their faces.

  “I’m almost in.” Carson said.

  The growls stopped. Silence filled the office. Perhaps the Things had given up.

  A final blast sent the door in the room flying to hit the opposite wall in pieces. The Things managed the impossible. They breached the fireproof door to make their way into the room.

  Carson couldn’t see behind him. The wastepaper basket had fallen from the desk and his feet dangled in the air.

  Hearing Carson struggling, his hands squeaking on the aluminum surface of the opening, Amber crawled ahead in another passage and swung around to double back. She thought Carson had saved them. It was their turn to save him.

  “I can’t seem to grab on to anything.” Carson said.

  “Hold on, I’m coming.”

  “I just need a push in.” But Carson spoke nonsense. He knew that was impossible.

  After Amber crawled over Charlie, she saw Carson in the opening several feet away. That’s when her eyes widened, her face turned white and her breathing grew rapid. Behind Carson, one of the Things had latched to the ceiling and headed straight for him. “Carson, look at me. Look at me. Push yourself up. Don’t turn around. Just push up.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “C’mon, Carson, you can do it.” Amber sped her pace to get to him but the tunnel was too narrow. A few more seconds was all she needed to reach him and pull him to safety.

  But Carson knew he wouldn’t make it. He stopped squirming and smiled at Amber.

  “Don’t you do this, Carson. Don’t you give up!”

  All at once, Carson disappeared from the opening with the sound of a thump.

  His screams raised the hair on Amber’s neck. She wanted to take a minute to reflect on how he helped Charlie and her escape. How he led them to safety. But she didn’t have time for that. She retreated into the darkness and said, “Charlie, go! Go! Go!”

  The kids scampered deeper into the ventilation system and aimed for the next opening on the opposite end of the shaft. When they encountered another grate, Charlie couldn’t push it open, not because of the screws that kept it sealed, but because of his shaking hands. The growls and screams had left him frightened and he fumbled through the process. Amber slinked over him and with both feet smashed the metal grate to the storage room below.

  The minute he saw Amber with her feet dangling through the opening, he surprised them both when he said, “Let me go first.”

  Amber reassured Charlie with a smile. She’ll be fine. Something else, though, had other plans for her. She screamed loud and hard. Water suddenly covered her eyes. “I don’t want to die!”

  Charlie grabbed her by the hands and said, “I’ve got you. I won’t let you go.”

  But Charlie couldn’t do a thing. The Things had broken into the storage room where the grate had popped and taken Amber by the legs.

  “I don’t want to die. Help me. Please, help me!”

  “I’ve got you, Amber. I’ve got you.” He deceived himself.

  Amber slipped from his hands. Her fingernails dragged on the shaft’s aluminum surface to disappear into the darkness with screams of agony following her.

  Charlie’s mouth quivered, his head dropped, and he smacked the bottom of the shaft with his hand, cursing himself. He should have held on longer. He should have not let go. He could never forgive himself for what he had done.

  Growls floated through the vent passing Charlie’s ears. He lifted his head and his nostrils flared. The Things took the lives of his companions, but he’d be damned if he’d allow that to happen to him.

  Chapter 3

  The black SUV crashed through the barricade, tossing dust and splinters along the side of the abandoned road and into the woods. Soaring past the speed limit sign, Ranger held his gaze on the asphalt while Randy dove into a bag of chips to satisfy the grouchy sounds rising from his stomach. After having pulled a handful of the salty snack, he offered some to Ranger who shook his head, choosing to starve instead.

  The afternoon clouds hadn’t disappeared nor had it rained, which meant Ranger didn’t have to contend with driving through mud and getting stuck. A good thing.

  Left of the road, Randy spotted the Oak Ridges county sign, a skull and crossbones symbol painted over it in what appeared blood. Someone didn’t want the boys there. Ranger chuckled in amusement and kept his foot on the pedal without flinching. As if a sign would discourage him. Right of the road, a set of cottages flew by, old and rickety, broken from months of neglect and exposure. Shingles had gone missing from their roofs replaced with holes in the center. Others featured busted windows, doors tossed open, and fencing shattered in pieces.

  When Ranger pulled the vehicle to the side of the road and shut the engine, Randy waited. He wanted to see what Ranger would do before he pushed his passenger door open.
If anything he had learned from the zombie killer, he’d learned Ranger could sense trouble. He long since resolved always to follow Ranger’s lead.

  Ranger leaped from the driver side and met Randy at the edge of the walkway leading to an old, beat-up cottage by the side of Porter’s Lake. In the old days, when civilization had a sense of normalcy, folks would travel from American Fork, Orem, Provo and the other surrounding areas to Oak Ridges in the mountains in order to get away from the hustle and bustle of city life. The cottages sat on prime real estate before the change. Utah’s rich and famous owned parcels of land and had built luxury cottages for the pleasure of owning and using them for recreational purposes. Ranger wasn’t about to leave without seeing what one of these places looked like inside.

  From the holster tied around his right leg, Ranger pulled his shotgun and strode on the walkway to the residence while the breeze moved the leaves back and forth to make a swishing sound as they fell in the autumn air. Water from the lake lapped on the shore. Other than the dead leaves in the gutters, the cottage appeared in good shape and the windows had survived the elements.

  Ranger and Randy stepped on the porch, and the boards creaked as their weight shifted from one foot to the other. They noticed two large recliner lawn chairs sitting alone in one corner, propane BBQ occupying another. The boys shook their head at the cooking artifact without realizing they did it for the same reason. What were the chances of having fresh meat for dinner? A silly question to think about for sure, considering the likelihood the former owners might have depleted the stock to stay alive themselves.

  After the thought left them, Ranger’s hand drifted on and gently turned the door handle. He didn’t know what lay in wait on the other side, and he didn’t want to shoot anything forcing other eaters to come after them. No, he wanted to make sure the place was safe for a while and he’d worry about food later.

  The door opened without effort. It didn’t even creak.

  They stepped inside. A few cobwebs covered the entrance, but everything else had remained untouched since the owners’ disappearance. The back of the room had sliding doors that led to the walkout deck with a view to the lake. On the right, another door stood silent, waiting. To the left, an open concept kitchen greeted them. In the middle, sofa, ottoman, chairs, and coffee table filled the space. And a big screen TV hung over the fireplace. Whoever had owned the place knew how to make it comfortable.

  Randy knew better than to explore on his own, it’s caused him grief in the past. He stayed well behind Ranger and let him make the first move for everything, in case anything should go wrong. What could go wrong, though? Could a zombie of gargantuan proportions charge from a hidden crevice in the cottage? Could one of the undead leap through the sliding doors and charge the zombie killer?

  A few steps forward, Ranger holstered the shotgun. His instincts told him they had nothing to worry about. Had there been a disturbance within the residence, they would have seen the furniture in disarray, the kitchen would have had broken items everywhere, and the big screen would have had cracks all over it from the victims tossing objects at the intruders to defend themselves.

  While Ranger plopped on the leather couch with his feet up on the ottoman, Randy ambled to the kitchen, first, laying his gun on the counter and second, checking the fridge to see if it still worked. Sure enough, the fridge had power much like the rest of the places they’ve visited throughout their journeys. Grabbing a carton of milk, he opened the lip and took a whiff. As if taking a whiff would prevent him from getting sick. In this case, it may very well have saved his life. He closed his eyes, wrinkled his nose and turned his head in disgust. The milk sat in the fridge for months. He placed the carton back where he found it. Next, a couple of cans of soda stared at him in the face. Safe food. Nothing to get sick from the contents protected by aluminum. He tossed one over the counter, across the room to where Ranger, always prepared, caught it. He continued rummaging. Other than moldy vegetables, rotting fruit and expired products, he couldn’t find any other sustenance for two growing boys.

  He moved his interest to the top cupboards. His best hope would have been to find canned items to save them from famine. He rifled through each cupboard until he hit the jackpot, five cans of beans, three pineapple, and one can of each, turkey and tuna. Randy tossed the turkey to Ranger, knowing it was his favorite.

  Now, they could eat.

  When Randy joined Ranger on one of the chairs surrounding the coffee table, he brought with him his food consisting of a can of tuna and soda. Ranger dug for the opener in his front right jean pocket and handed it to him. The kid pierced the top of the can while Ranger looked on thinking how an ordinary pleasure could become a feast for a hungry boy. After fiddling with the lid for a few seconds, Randy passed the tool back to Ranger and dove into his meal with a fork he had found in one of the kitchen drawers.

  “Steady, now. I don’t want you chokin’.” Ranger said, twisting the opener’s wheel and releasing the sweet smoky aroma of the turkey.

  “This is so good.” Randy managed to say through a mouthful of food.

  “Nothin’ quite like Momma’s home-cooked meals.”

  “You should try tuna once in a while.”

  “Sorry, I’m not set up for that.”

  “It’s not going to kill you.”

  “No. But I’ve never liked fish.”

  “Fish is good for you. It keeps your cholesterol in check.”

  Ranger froze, and said, “I don’t have a cholesterol problem. I have a zombie problem.”

  Randy nodded. “You have a point.”

  Once he’d opened the can, Ranger dipped his fork into the turkey meat and pulled a generous helping. He hadn’t eaten all day and every morsel danced on his tongue with flavor. He leaned into his chair to savor the subtle richness of his dinner. If he could remember one moment, it would be this one. Yet, his mind drifted, perhaps because of the lack of stress. His thoughts went to the SUV parked outside. He said, “Let’s hope that truck out there lasts more than a few hours. I’m getting’ tired looking for a new vehicle every time we get into a spat with those belly mashers. The last pickup we had was a sweet ride. I woulda kept it hadn’t it been for zombie brain bits snarlin’ the engine.”

  Instead of answering, Randy had other things on his mind. He cracked open his soda and took a swig. He then said, “Now, Ranger, I know you don’t want to talk about it and it’s probably the worst time to say anything anyway—”

  “If this is about Matty, you’re right. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “But I miss her.”

  Ranger closed his eyes, deciding if he had done it out of frustration or from simply enjoying his meal.

  “Don’t you miss her, too?”

  “She made the decision not to be my friend. Accordin’ to her, I caused her grief. I’m not in the business of causin’ anyone grief. At least to those who don’t deserve it.”

  “You got to know she didn’t mean it, right? I’m sure if we go back and find her, she’ll take you back without a fight.”

  “It’ll never happen. She made the decision and I’m gonna respect that.”

  “You’re the next best thing she has to family. Without you, she’s lost.”

  Ranger placed his fork and empty can on the coffee table, wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand, and looked at Randy straight in the eye. “Matty made it clear. She doesn’t want me in her life. You saw how she treated me. After what happened to Wildside, she blamed me for all of it. I tried to explain but she wouldn’t listen. She thought I behaved like a jerk for sendin’ you two to do my dirty work. Her words.”

  Randy listened while licking his fork of the leftover tuna flakes from the can.

  “If she really wanted to be my friend, she would have stopped me from leavin’ as soon as I’d hopped in the truck to head north. She wouldn’t have let me go.”

  “Ranger, you know how Matty is. She’s strong-willed.” He scratched the back of his head wondering i
f Ranger would allow him to get away with his next statement. “I know someone else who acts that way, and remember I don’t know many people.”

  A smile slipped on Ranger’s face, not so much for what Randy said but for what raced through his mind. “Why didn’t you stay?”

  “You know why.”

  “Sure, you can’t remember a thing and you’re tryin’ to find out where you fit in this whole undead nightmare.”

  “I am.”

  “That’s not why you left, though.”

  Randy leaned forward and focused on scraping leftover tuna from the bottom of the can. He didn’t say a word.

  “You left because Matty didn’t want a boyfriend.”

  “What?” Randy dumped the fork and can on the coffee table, and hopped to his feet.

  “Sit down.” Ranger pointed to Randy’s chair. “Sit.”

  Randy sat down and crossed his arms.

  “I haven’t seen anyone cross their arms like that since Matty.”

  Randy unlaced his arms and placed his hands on his lap. No way would he give Ranger the satisfaction to compare his with Matty’s mannerisms.

  “All I meant is Matty’s a handful. She’s tough, strong-willed, and a bit of a pain. Typical fifteen-year-old behavior, if you ask me. The one thing she doesn’t need is a boyfriend.”

  “Oh, and she needs a father?”

  “I’m not her father.”

  “Then why do you act like it?”

  Ranger inhaled deeply and nodded at Randy’s quick thinking. The kid made sense. Ranger attempted to make a point all the while Randy had gotten the upper hand in the conversation. They needed a break anyway.

  Picking up the soda can, Randy took a long pull. He used the side of it to cool his cheek. Much of what he thought of Ranger, he’d blurted in passing. He had no secrets of how he felt about the zombie slayer.