Into the Fire

by Mark Tufo

  “Not helping, Mike,” Tracy berated me.

  “Come on, man. Maybe we should just go. He’s right. What’s the point?” Sparks asked.

  “Are you afraid of him, you chicken piece of shit?”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid. We’re in a gunfight and he’s laughing. I’m fucking petrified. Even if he’s not Mike Talbot, he’s a crazy son of a bitch.”

  “I would appreciate it if you would keep my mother out of this,” I told him.

  “What are you doing?” BT asked.

  “If he thinks I’m crazy I want to play it up.”

  “No need for acting, my man. No need at all,” BT explained to me.

  “I’m out of here,” Sparks said.

  “You leave and I’ll shoot you.”

  “I’m your brother, you aren’t going to shoot me.” We all heard the crunch of glass as Sparks walked back out and presumably down the road.

  “Three on three now. You still want to go through with this?” I asked. “And if you think you’ll be getting help from the storage room you’re mistaken.”

  “Harly?”

  “She’s dead. I’m sorry about that, she definitely shot at me first.”

  “You know, you could have maybe lied and said we had her tied up,” BT whispered.

  “Didn’t even think of that.”

  “What’s all that whispering?” Wham-O asked.

  “My friend here doesn’t think I should use the grenades. I, on the other hand, think this is a perfect opportunity. He seems to think we could potentially get hit from some of the shrapnel, especially considering they are white phosphorous grenades.

  “What the hell is white phosphorous?” Wham-O asked.

  “Nasty, nasty shit, burns whatever it touches, goes right through metal, so no problem on skin and bone. I’m told one of the worst ways to go, although, if I’m going to die, I’m taking everyone with me. I’m kind of selfish like that.”

  “You are so full of shit I can smell it from here.”

  “Am I? Are you willing to take that chance? Like Sparks said, I’m fairly unstable.”

  “I can attest to that,” Tracy chimed in.

  “I expected that from him,” I told her as I pointed to BT.

  “Let’s just work this out. I’m not going to burn for Cypress, but Harly and I had a thing.”

  “Wham-O?” someone else asked.

  “I’m thinking! Shut up! FUCK!”

  He screamed a guttural sound. I knew that rage; it was an impotent feeling to have that much fury built up and not be able to release it upon someone. He started slamming the shelves, what little product remained on them fell to the floor. He was teetering on the edge of either withdrawal or full on suicidal assault. I thought about forcing his decision to leave by sneaking up on him but I didn’t trust my injured leg to not betray me at a most inopportune time.

  “I’m going to make it my mission in life to find you, Michael Talbot. This battle may be yours, but I’m going to put a bullet in you eventually. Let’s go,” he told his men.

  “One more thing, we need a car.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I’ll burn your food.” He had to take pause at that; it looked like enough food for months in there for them, he could not easily dismiss that threat.

  “Hardcore, man,” BT said.

  “The joy I’m going to take killing you will be like nothing I have ever experienced before. Yankers, go get him a car.”

  “Which one?”

  “Just get him a fucking car!” Wham-O screeched, his voice nearly tearing his vocal cords if the way his pitch changed was any indication.

  Yankers was back in a couple of minutes, the purring of an engine sounding like the heralding of angels.

  “That’s my truck, you idiot!” Wham-O shouted.

  “That’ll work fine,” I told him. “At least you’ll know what to look for when you come for me. Now, if you’ve got any funny ideas about ambushing us when we’re out there, I have a detonator on a small grenade cluster inside the store room. We get shot at, and this place goes up like a bad meth lab. I’m sure you’re familiar with what that looks like. Now get out of here before I stop feeling so generous.”

  “Stop pushing it,” Tracy said, putting her hands up slowly in an attempt for me to ease up.

  “NOW!”

  We could hear footfalls on crushed glass as the men left. We waited a few more minutes, straining to hear anything out of the ordinary.

  “Alright, quick sweep,” Tracy said as she stood. BT helped me up.

  “Shit, that hurts.” I winced for emphasis.

  “You okay?” Tracy came over and gave me a quick kiss.

  “Better now.”

  It only took about a minute to figure out the store was empty. Now that we were near the windows, our next move was to vacate and get to the idling truck that was so tantalizingly close.

  “You trust them not to shoot us?” BT asked as he looked at the gap between safety and us.

  “Depends. If I give him enough time to dwell on whether I really have detonators on me and had the time to set one up.” I hobbled through the window, my rifle up scanning for a target. I moved to the truck.

  “How about letting us know what the hell you’re doing?” Tracy followed, her rifle up as well, moving back and forth.

  “I am so thankful I did not get any of your blood in me.” BT brought up the rear.

  Chapter 15

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN – DRABABAN

  The Hill was a bustle of activity. Personnel were moving back and forth with supplies and an ever-increasing arsenal.

  “We’ve been non-stop since the Progs showed back up.”

  “How many residents do you now house?” Drababan asked.

  “Not nearly enough, sir. At last muster, I think we had twenty-four hundred inhabitants, eleven hundred of those are active or past military, the rest are mostly family.”

  “Not much in which to lead a rebellion.”

  “Not much at all, sir.

  “Who is in command?”

  “Well, now that you are here it would be you, sir. Captain Jordania was the highest ranking officer up until five minutes ago.”

  “Could you please have your men find a room for my guests and godson.” He motioned to Tony, Travis, and Yodell.

  “Of course.”

  “And then I would like to talk to this captain.” Drababan turned. “Fear not, Michael’s sire, your son is not dead. I feel this deeply rooted within me. I will do all I can to locate him and bring him here.” Tony nodded. “Now you, little one. Get some sleep. I will find you later and we will find some blocks to create something with.”

  “Like Legos?” Yodell asked. “You can actually put together Legos with those hands?”

  “I would much prefer separating heads from shoulders, but I have more than enough dexterity to manipulate the small plastic blocks.”

  “This way, sir.” Dewey was smiling as he led Drababan to the Captain’s quarters. “Just a bit of information, sir, umm Captain Jordania can be a bit prickly. He’s been under a lot of strain these last couple of weeks.”

  “Prickly as in he will be happy I am here to relieve him of his duties, or will not relinquish them without a battle?”

  “Tough to say, sir. Good luck,” he said as he knocked on the door marked, “General Ginson.”

  “Did I not say I wished to not be disturbed?!”

  “Sir, we—”

  Drababan moved the sergeant to the side and opened the door. “You improperly used a double negative, Captain. It implied that you indeed did wish to be disturbed.”

  Captain Jordania, in a world starved for resources, was a large man who had taken more than his fair share for himself. His eyes were blurred red and a half empty bottle of scotch sat on his desk. He reacted quickly, reaching for his sidearm when Drababan walked in.

  “Sir, sir!” Sergeant Dewey said, stepping in between Drababan and the captain. “This is Major Drababan. We just brought him i
n.”

  The captain’s panic began to wane and was slowly being replaced by a developing sneer. “So, this is how you betray me, Sergeant, by going out and seeking a higher ranking officer to take my place? I won’t have it!” He had difficulty moving his bulk off his chair, as his large stomach bounced off the desk and threatened to sit him back down. “And a Progerian, no less!”

  “I am a Genogerian.”

  “Whatever, you’re a goddamned alien, and I don’t give a shit what you want to call yourself.”

  “If you call me otherwise again, as your commanding officer I will have you thrown in the brig.”

  “Isn’t that rich, a commissioned alien officer bastard throwing me in my own brig.”

  “Sergeant, could you please summon two guards and escort the captain back to his quarters before he does something he will regret.”

  “I don’t regret shit, just because you were Michael Talbot’s pet doesn’t mean shit to me. He’s dead by the way, so I guess maybe you’re looking for another master. Maybe if you’re real good, I’ll allow you to be a footstool for me.”

  Drababan’s outward display of disposition did not change as he listened to a healthy serving of vitriol, even allowing the captain time to finish his drink and pour another. When he finally acted it was swift and without hesitation. He took one long stride, reached over the desk, and grabbed the front of the captain’s jacket, lifting him easily as if he were no more than a cardboard cutout of himself.

  “I have been as patient with you as I possibly can. It is my sincerest hope that the alcohol that you have consumed has clouded your judgment and that you are not such a truly weak-minded, small individual. Perhaps when the alcohol passes through your system we will find common ground on which we can stand united to fight the actual enemy. If not, I will strip you of your rank and find some duty more fitting for a man of your stature.” That last part was clearly meant as an insult.

  “Put me down, you animal!” Jordania was struggling to reach for his sidearm, his immense bulk hindering him from doing so.

  With his free hand, Drababan plucked the pistol from the captain’s holster before putting the man down. “Sergeant, please escort the captain to his quarters. I would like guards posted until such time as we can meet again and talk civilly.”

  “I’d rather suck cocks in hell!” Jordania spat out.

  “Truly?” Drababan asked seriously. “Do you have a propensity for extreme heat and engaging in sexual acts with members of the same sex? If that is not the case, I do not find myself so distasteful that you would rather visit upon your version of the underworld.”

  “You…you heard me.” Jordania seemed to be confused about what had actually happened.

  “I will not deny you your visit to Hades if you are so inclined to go. Sergeant, please remove him from my office.”

  Sergeant Dewey had two guards summoned and took a rapidly depleting Jordania back to his bunk.

  “Sir, he’ll be worse when he awakes,” Dewey told Drababan.

  “I was afraid that might be the case. Is there more?” Drababan asked perceptibly.

  “A couple of things, sir. I’m happy to see you here and in charge, but not everyone is going to feel that way.”

  “I understand that my commission was mostly honorary and was never truly intended as a means by which to command men. Yet, here I am, the highest-ranking officer. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Do they not, Sergeant?”

  “They do, sir. One more thing, sir. Captain Jordania has strong allies here. They will not take kindly to his being removed from his station.”

  “We will deal with one problem at a time, Sergeant. For now, you are to become my adjunct. I will need a roster of all military personnel and their skill sets, along with that of the civilians. In addition, provide for me a list of all the supplies and armament we have on hand, and I will get to work.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  Drababan placed the nearly empty bottle of scotch into the trash before he sat down in a chair that, while specifically built to meet the bulk of Jordania, was not quite large enough to accommodate his size.

  “Who would have thought this as a possible outcome?” he asked aloud, his hands interlaced on the desktop. “Hurry up, Michael. I will only be able to keep things together here for so long.”

  Chapter 16

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN – MIKE JOURNAL ENTRY 9

  Tracy was driving like something akin to a bat out of hell, mixed with a small dose of a pizza driver with one minute to go before the pizza was free and two miles to the final destination. At this moment, although my leg burned from the wound, I was not all that fearful I would live long enough for it to fester into infection.

  “They’re not following us!” BT kept turning around to look out the rear window and then over to Tracy and the speedometer. On the fifth time he just couldn’t take it. “Did you not hear me, woman? I said they are not following us.” He looked at me. “Why do we keep letting her drive?”

  I cannot even tell you how much I wished at this time in my life that I was not sitting in between the two of them. Not because I feared for what BT would do, but for how my wife would react to his words. She turned to look at him, the heat from her stare searing the tip of my nose before I could avert my gaze.

  “The road, the road!” BT was frantically pointing to the windshield.

  “Just because they are not following us now does not mean that they won’t.” She still had not turned forward. I was saying my Our Fathers; I even dropped one in there for Santa Francesca Romana. You would have to dig deep in your Catholicism to know she’s the patron saint of driving. I think that one took hold, because Tracy finally turned to face the road, swerving and narrowly keeping us from careening off the guardrail at a hundred plus miles an hour. There was no telling what might have happened.

  “I may have soiled myself,” I said, none too proud. My pants were soaked. “Nope, nope, that’s blood.”

  Tracy looked down in my lap. “My God, Mike, you said you were fine!”

  “Is it bad?” I asked her, my thoughts getting fuzzy. It was sort of funny to watch BT as he cycled now between looking behind us, the speedometer, and now my blood-soaked lap.

  “We’re going to need to find a safe place to stop for a while,” Tracy said.

  “I’m just going to take a little nap.”

  “No, Mike!” Tracy slapped the side of my face with enough force that I snapped awake.

  I heard the tires squeal as Tracy took an exit at speeds the truck was not designed for. BT was bracing both of us. I think it was only by the sheer force of her will that she kept the truck from rolling.

  “What’s your blood type?” she asked, as we got off the ramp and headed into a small outcropping of homes. BT was carrying me; I’m sure I was going to hear about this at some later time.

  “A positive,” I told her, happy that I could remember.

  “I know yours. BT, what’s your blood type?”

  “O negative,” he told her.

  “Universal…perfect.”

  “Why?” he asked her suspiciously.

  “Mike needs blood and mine and his are not compatible. I’m going to need some of yours.”

  “No, no, no,” BT and I echoed, though he sounded more vehement and my voice was beginning to trail off.

  “What’s the matter, is my black blood not good enough for you?” BT all of a sudden seemed perturbed that I didn’t want his life fluid, even though he was not willing to give it.

  “Not that,” I breathed out. “If your blood is like the rest of you, it won’t fit.”

  He started laughing. “Fucking cracker, I think I like you. I hate needles, Tracy, but let’s get this crazy whitey fixed up.”

  I don’t know how long I’d been passed out, but when I awoke, I was in a room awash with candlelight. Lying on the floor, I was staring straight up at the ceiling, shadows from the flickering flames dancing along the popcorn surface.

  �
�Tracy?” I turned to my side. BT was not more than three feet away. He batted his eyes and waved demurely at me.

  “Hi,” he said huskily.

  “What the hell is going on?” I was a little nervous.

  “I’ve now saved you more times than you’ve saved me. Plus, you have the added bonus of being related to me.” He held up the tube that ran from his arm to mine.

  “I think I would have rather died.”

  “I’ll wrap this cord around your neck!” He was sitting up.

  “Get back down!” Tracy ordered.

  “You’re lucky.” He was pointing at me.

  “Yeah, a hundred and ten pound woman just saved me from you. I must have been seriously worried.”

  “A hundred and eight and shut up, you need to save your strength. Mike, I swear to God, if you stick your tongue out at him, I won’t stop him the next time.”

  “You’re not even looking over here.” I turned to see she had her nose buried in a book. “On a serious note, how long have we been here, and more importantly, how long do we have to stay here?”

  “I’m going to unhook you two now. BT’s actually gone a little longer than he should have. Then I need to see if I can find a doctor, because your artery was nicked. I’ve got a tourniquet on there but that’s only going to be useful for so long until you either get fixed up or you lose your leg.”

  “Can’t you fix it?” I asked.

  “This isn’t like pulling out a splinter, Mike. I’m about at my level of expertise putting in the blood line between you two.”

  “What about you? We’re brothers now.”

  “I’m sorry, man, I don’t know the first thing about surgery. I damn near passed out when she stuck me for this tube.”

  “Tracy, I can’t keep fighting with only one leg.” I was thinking that karma had finally caught up with me for taking Durgan’s leg. I wondered if he was sitting on some cliff in hell overlooking some massive lava flow below him, laughing his ass off about what was happening to me.

  “BT, you need to remove the tourniquet every ten minutes. Let his blood circulate for a few minutes then reapply it, you got that? I have to go find help.”