by Flacco, Jack
Ranger and the kids dropped their hands and continued to the truck. “You shouldn’t have killed that dog.”
“I’ll remember that the next time you need help. I’ll leave you alone.”
A smile drifted along Ranger’s face as he thought how it would be an improvement if he died with no one there to lend a hand.
“You said you knew where to find more vehicles.” Hendricks rolled his sleeves to his elbows as the guard tower snipers rested at ease.
“Forty miles east of here is a farm. We’ll find all the trucks and jeeps we’ll need there.”
“Sounds like you’ve been there before and if I guess right, considering you’ve asked for my men with weapons and ammo, you want to lead an assault. If this is true, you won’t win. The military knows what they’re doing.”
“Is that why you AWOL’d, because the military knows what they’re doing?” Ranger dipped his head in his truck and scrounged the glove compartment while Matty and Jon looked at each other wondering what he was doing.
“That’s because I knew what I was doing.”
Popping his head from the truck, Ranger held in his grasp a can of turkey meat. He smacked it on the hood of the truck. He used the can opener from his jacket pocket to reveal the tin’s delicious contents. He dipped his fork into the meal as he glanced at the colonel and noticed how Hendricks stared at the food and licked his lips. Ranger quickly lost his appetite and gave the can and fork to Hendricks without so much as having a bite.
The colonel nodded a thank you, then walked the food to his men prepping the load of weapons in the center of the camp.
“Hey, that was my fork.” Ranger said, watching Hendricks share his food.
“Don’t worry, Ranger.” Jon said, “We’ll get you another one.”
* * *
As daylight drew near, Ranger, Hendricks, and the three men crammed in the backseat of the SUV that scurried along Weis Highway toward sunrise. Everyone slept except for Ranger who drove, and Hendricks who sat staring at the passing scenery in the passenger seat.
“The kids told me you were a truck driver. How long?” Hendricks asked.
“My whole life, if you don’t include the time I’d spent growin’ up on a farm.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed you being a farm boy.”
“I don’t know if you’re being sarcastic or if that’s your way of sayin’ I’m obvious.”
“I don’t do sarcasm.” Hendricks joked.
“In that case, yeah, I grew up on a farm. I was part of the whole farmer life. Helpin’ with the chickens, feedin’ the hogs, tendin’ the cows.”
“You’re from Oklahoma?”
Ranger nodded, then asked. “Where are you from?”
“Tucson, Arizona.”
Rubbing his eyes from being up all night, Ranger said, “I’ve been to Tucson.”
“I believe you.” Hendricks slouched in his seat. “My kids would have liked their dad to be anything but a soldier. They watched a movie once about soldiers in the battlefield then realized I could lose my life on the battlefield. They were proud of me, but they hated me leaving for my tours. They eventually got used to it. They also hated the travel whenever I moved from one city to the other.”
“What happened to your kids?”
“My wife died of cancer three years ago. My kids stayed with my mother up until the change. Once the change happened, everyone in Tucson had disappeared.”
“I would have thought the army would have taken care of your family.”
“You would think.” Hendricks turned from the scenery to stare at his hands, thinking how in the past they had caused so much pain to others. Perhaps the death of his family at the hands of the army served as poetic justice.
Wanting to steer the conversation in a different direction, not because of insensitivity, since he lost family to the change as well, Ranger asked, “Why would General Grayson take Randy to Wichita?”
“We, rather, the Resistance, didn’t know where the next mothership would land. We prepared for it, in the event the aliens decided to come back to Utah, but we didn’t have a confirmed location until now. Wichita seems to be the closest place, since the general would have otherwise gone somewhere else.” Hendricks looked out his window before he continued. Somehow, the view of the passing mountain brought him back to the present. “We have a transmission we want to send to those alien bastards, and if that former camp guard was right about the ship heading to the top of the Epic Center for the rendezvous, we can send our care package from Beech Factory Airport situated on the outskirts of Wichita.”
“Sounds like you have everything covered. Where do me and the kids fit in all this?”
“You’ll concentrate getting Randy out that building. Once I rally the rest of my forces, we’ll meet and get you outta there.”
Chapter 30
Morning rays spilled from the horizon, and Ranger’s SUV approached the farm’s boundary with Hendricks nudging his men in the backseat awake. They yawned, stretched and scratched. The three Resistance fighters held their weapons tightly between their legs not wanting to lose them in spite of their fatigue. A small dirt road off the highway led the vehicles into a farming community where barns, sheds and untilled lands lay. Ranger seemed to know his way, since he followed it without much help from anyone or a map.
When they arrived at a crossroads, Ranger stopped the truck and got out. He walked several feet ahead, then stood gazing at the crops on his left, and watched the ripples from the wind surf the top of the wheat fields. He thought for a moment how beautiful life could have been without the alien threat. Then remembered without the extraterrestrial threat, humans would have still fought for possession of the land and its resources.
Inside the vehicle, one of the three men in the backseat asked, “What’s he doing?” Hendricks didn’t answer. Like Ranger, he noticed the crops in the field wafting in the wind. He gave the zombie slayer his space to enjoy the moment, a moment he’d also soon rather not forget.
A memory flooded Ranger. How Darla looked one morning when she came out of the shower getting ready for work. How he couldn’t take his eyes off her, and grabbed her right then and there, tossing her on the bed.
“Ranger, I’m going to be late.” Darla tittered through every word.
“You’ll be late, but you’ll have a smile on your face.”
Her giggles faded in his memory when Hendricks honked the horn to get a move on. After glancing over his shoulder, Ranger returned to the SUV, slipped into his seat and continued driving slowly past the farm’s red mailbox. Hendricks and his boys could see through their windows the parked Humvees scattered at the farm. Ranger didn’t keep his arrival a secret. He stuck to the center of the road and had anyone wanted to take a shot at him, he easily could have lost his life. Whatever he had in mind, though, he glanced at the rearview mirror making sure they had an exit strategy. Then again, the men in the backseat had their own exit strategy. They loaded their guns as their insurance policy against anything that would dare attack them.
As their truck rolled to the center of the farm, Ranger studied the layout. Four Humvees left abandoned, waiting for someone to take control. One in front of the house, a second near a field out back, the third sat silent next to the weather vane by the fence, and the last one in front of the barn where it stood frozen in time. Four trucks in all, four Resistance fighters, and Ranger to lead the way.
“What do you think, Ranger?” Hendricks narrowed his eyes on the Humvee in front of the barn and noticed how quiet it sat with dust having accumulated over its surface.
“Be careful. Get your men into the trucks and out of here as fast as you can.” Ranger glanced at his shotgun’s gleaming barrel. It’s seen its day, but this might prove to be something much bigger to handle.
The doors to the SUV opened. The three Resistance fighters spilled outside without making a sound. Hendricks motioned for the three to each take one of the trucks. Hendricks would take the last one behind the house.
Ranger didn’t follow the rest, who sneaked to their destinations with their guns at the ready, but had ideas of his own. He wanted to know what lay inside the house.
One of them slithered into the Humvee in front of the barn and carefully closed the door not making a sound. The others followed Hendricks, separating as they went from the center of the farm. One of them took possession of the vehicle next to the weather vane.
That was two. Two more and they’d be free.
They had orders not to start their engines until Hendricks gave the all-clear. That meant they’d sit in the trucks waiting, not knowing what would happen until they’d rev their engines for an escape. Under those circumstances, the Resistance fighter who had stolen into his vehicle first kept his eyes on the mirrors and on Hendricks. His heart pounded and his breath caught. His firm grip on his weapon didn’t loosen. Questions ran through his mind. What were the trucks doing there? Why didn’t they find anyone yet? Where did the soldiers go? What happened to have made everyone disappear? He thought perhaps one of the saucers might have changed the soldiers to the undead, but then, where would they have gone? He gazed out the windshield into the cornfield and wondered if the eaters had escaped there. Whatever happened to them, sweat poured from his forehead. He didn’t want to die, not die a senseless death. If death would catch him, he desired to make the most by escaping in a blaze of gunfire.
When Ranger approached the porch, Hendricks and his third man followed behind. They didn’t have any idea as to what Ranger had in mind. Still, Ranger had burst through the camp’s gate in order to help with the overthrow. Perhaps the zombie slayer had more to him than Hendricks had given him credit.
The Humvee next to the weather vane quickly fell into the hands of the third Resistance fighter. He didn’t waste time as he tucked himself safely into the driver’s seat and slowly closed the door.
So far, so good. That was three. One more, the vehicle behind the house. Hendricks would take that one.
As the colonel made his way along the side of the house, passing a rose bush, Ranger’s next step caused one of the boards on the porch to creak. The sound shot into the house, down the stairs and into the cellar. Hendricks turned the corner and saw the vehicle, then his gaze drifted to his left. His face drew pale and a chill hit his back running along his spine. A pile of bodies lay on the back wall of the house next to the rear entrance steps. Hendricks recognized the army uniforms. One of the bodies had its legs torn off while its head appeared half-chewed from the skull inward. Nothing remained of the brain. Another body’s arms were missing, torn from the sockets. Its chest ripped open from an intrusive demon that had gone on a feast of its innards. One of the bodies was that of a redheaded woman, her mouth torn open, front teeth broken and nose missing. Patches covered her head from something that had wanted to get to her brain. Whatever had attacked her had twisted her arms in multiple directions and her legs had fallen over her shoulder. Her heart was gone. Nothing remained below her waist, consumed to an empty shell. He saw more bodies, but Hendricks had to turn away. In a split second, the realization hit him that whatever had committed these things might be in the house.
As Ranger pulled on the handle to the veranda screen door, Hendricks jumped from his spot and tore along the side of the house to stop the zombie killer from entering the house. He pushed hard, passing the rose bush again, and cutting around the corner to the front of the house. Within a moment, Hendricks waved at Ranger from the side of the porch. Don’t open the door! Don’t open the door! Ranger let go of the handle.
Relief covered the colonel’s face after he buried his head in his arms against the porch banister. Breathing heavily from the run, he smiled thinking he saved the undead slayer from the horror that could have come at him from the house, that same horror that had committed the barbaric atrocities out back. No sooner had he thought they were safe, the smile disappeared when one of his men in the Humvee next to the weather vane started his vehicle. The other two, believing they also had seen the colonel giving the signal with the wave of his hands, started their engines.
Hendricks lifted his head and with a horrified face gazed at Ranger. It was too late. Ravenous growls had drifted deep from within the cornfield next to the home and pierced their ears. Their attention turned to the stocks tossing back and forth. Seven areas rippled from left to right creating paths headed for outside the field. Ranger had a good idea what they were, but he wasn’t about to let Hendricks find out. He leaped from the porch and shouted to the colonel, “Get to the truck out back. I’ll take care of them.”
Not arguing, Hendricks raced the length of the house and hopped into his truck, started it, and took off crashing through the rose bush, petals flying everywhere. He met with the truck next to the weather vane and waited for Ranger, but Ranger had other plans, waving to Hendricks and his men to go on ahead, he’d catch up.
The four Humvees careened from the farm and headed back to Logan Airbase.
The growls sounded closer as the trailing paths had reached the center of the cornfield. He had very little time before they’d emerge from the crop chasing him. To Ranger though, his mission had more to do with revenge. Revenge against the undead that had torn apart his life, and revenge against anything that would get in the way of his ambition to start a new life free from running around, blasting his shotgun at anything that moved.
On either side of the porch door going into the house hung two old-fashioned oil lanterns. Ranger quickly snatched the lamp next to him, feeling the weight with his hand. He shook it and found no oil in it. There goes one idea, he thought. He threw it away and grabbed the second one from the other side of the door. With little time to light the lamp and make a run for his SUV parked in the center of the farm, he plunged his hand into his jean pocket and hunted for the lighter. Not in his right pocket, he exchanged the lamp to his other hand and fished it from his left.
In the meantime, the paths grew closer and closer to the edge of the cornfield. Every precious second counted.
Ranger flipped the cover to the silver lighter, but not every flick of his thumb on the flint released a flame. He stood there saying, “c’mon, c’mon” several times with every flick. Then he had an idea. If the spark from the lighter’s flint could ignite the lighter’s wick, why not try to do the same with the oil lantern’s wick? Ranger threw away the lantern’s glass top, smashing it on the porch, and brought the lighter closer to the lantern’s wick.
He flicked it once, but it didn’t catch. He flicked it again, but it didn’t catch.
“Damn it.” He twisted the lantern’s dial both ways hoping the oil would soak the wick.
One last time, he flicked it and the spark ignited the lantern. Without hesitating further, Ranger sunk the lighter into his pocket, backed as far as he could from the rail closest to the field, then shook the floorboards underneath his feet as he plodded from one side of the porch to the other, aiming the lantern at the stocks. When he finally released the flaming bomb, it hurled through the air into the distance as he watched and muttered, “Hit. Hit. Hit. ”
The lantern crashed at the edge of the cornfield, splashing oil everywhere. The flames quickly ate the oil and devoured the first stocks of corn bordering the field. The fire then spread through the dry sections of the field quickly swallowing everything else. Whatever had formed the paths in the field had retreated from the voracious blaze.
A smile hit Ranger’s face when he saw the retreat. He descended from the porch stairs when he noticed one of the lines had not turned away from the fire but advanced at a rapid pace. No fear had seeped into Ranger’s body yet. The sound of galloping pressed him to turn his attention at the weight of the oncoming force. He knew the sound did not come from a zombie. They did not gallop. He did know, however, only one creature that could make that sound.
Not a horse. Not a bull.
The beast burst from the flames and landed on all four. It shook the cornstalk residue from its face and fur, then spotted Ranger.
> Ranger remembered the beast. He had tangled with it before on his way to Temple City. Back then, it had Ranger pinned to the ground and hadn’t Randy come to the rescue, Ranger would have surely died.
Drool dripped from the creature’s sharp mandibles as it sized up Ranger. The fur, shiny and moist, gleamed from the flames behind. Its four eyes had the zombie slayer centered for the kill. It flipped its head back and forth scrapping its mandibles in the dirt as if marking its territory.
Stepping into the center of the farm like a gladiator, Ranger pulled his shotgun from its holster and loaded more shots into his dear companion. The twinkle in his eye and the slight smile on his face mocked the creature’s threatening stance. He wanted this to happen and he didn’t have a problem dispensing justice. The wind in the air blew on his face delivering a potent smell of charred corn and something else he didn’t recognize. If he didn’t know better, the alien dog’s musty odor crept into the smoke.
The creature came at him full speed, pounding the soil, crossing the ten feet of grass that separated the cornfield with the farm’s dirt road. Ranger had already positioned himself, waiting for it with his shotgun at the ready. The beast snorted and drooled its way to the zombie slayer until a few feet where it leaped spreading its four legs and mandibles.
At the last moment, Ranger ducked to the side and pulled the trigger on the beast’s head, blowing a hole through its cranium, spraying its yellow brains clean to the other side. The beast crashed to ground in a massive cloud of dirt. Ranger heard a wheeze coming from the creature as air from its lungs escaped its open wound.
“Well, that was relatively easy.” Ranger said under his breath, holstering his shotgun and sauntering toward the dead beast’s body. Before he could take pleasure in the calm he had created, he heard snorts and galloping. This time, more than one.
Ranger shot his gaze at the cornfield’s consuming fire and noticed how the smoke had turned black, masking the activity within. Had he known, he would have started running to his truck that stood several feet away.
