Lone Star Renegades

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “You think?” Tink retorted. “We have a problem,” she said.

  You have no idea, Collin thought. “What is it?”

  “The wing. It’s right above me and I can’t see a way … wait. Okay, I can crawl off to the side here.”

  He heard her kicking again and then the sound of something heavy falling. “Tink?”

  Nothing … Collin’s body tensed. “Hey Tink … you okay?”

  Still nothing.

  Finally her voice came, “I’m fine. I think I found a way through here.”

  “I’m coming.” Collin got to the underside of the wing and listened for Tink. He again held the flashlight between his teeth and noticed the beam was vibrating. Had he ever been this scared in his life? There was a creature lurking nearby, probably hungry, and Tink had chosen a path that went right in its direction. Collin crawled through the debris around him double-time. His knee hit something hard and an intense pain shot through his leg. He looked down and saw his pants were ripped and there was blood. Crap! He touched the wound with his right hand and assessed the damage. Probably could use a few stitches, but he’d live.

  There was a noise to his left. He pointed the Maglite in the general direction. All he saw was more junk.

  “I’m on the wing! I made it!”

  “Good, hold tight … I’m coming.” He wiggled through an area that wasn’t much wider than his own body and wondered how the other guys, all quite a few pounds bigger and heavier than he was, would make it through here. Eventually he pulled himself through and, sure enough, found the back edge of the wing.

  “What was that down there, Collin?” Tink’s voice was barely a whisper. He saw her feet. He wiggled out of the shaft he’d just maneuvered through and held up his hand. “Give me a hand, will you?”

  Using two hands, she pulled until Collin was able to crawl up onto the wing.

  “Answer me!”

  “I don’t know.” He got to his feet. The plane was crushed—at least half of it was. The passenger railcar took up the space where the rear of the plane used to be. Collin and Tink exchanged glances.

  “They might all be dead, Collin. They may have all moved toward the back of the plane and gotten crushed.”

  Collin had to duck his head. Above them, an eighteen-wheeler’s big aluminum trailer lay on its side. It slanted upward, propped onto the top of what remained of the 777’s fuselage.

  “Let’s see if anyone’s home.” Collin sidestepped a metal file cabinet and moved over to the jetliner’s emergency exit. He looked in through the little porthole window. There were still cabin lights on. He pounded his fist against the door … bang bang bang.

  Within seconds there was movement inside. “I see movement,” he said. It was still too dim inside to see who was in there. “It’s me … Collin. Open the door!”

  He heard excited murmuring—elevated voices inside. Then came a series of sounds, like the latch mechanism being worked, and the door, now unsealed, was pushed outward. Collin and Tink stepped backward as the big door swung open. The first person to greet them was Lydia. She rushed into his arms.

  Chapter 9

  Lydia pulled away. “Are you the only one left? Did the rest …” Her eyes welled up with tears. “Did Darren … die down there?”

  Collin’s heart sank, but his face gave no indication of his disappointment. “No, Darren’s fine. Same with Humphrey and DiMaggio. As you can see, Tink is fine, too. We lost Tami, though.”

  Lydia brought a hand up to her mouth as if choking on what she had to say. “There were a few back in the tail section. They were getting ready to go below. Bobby Lopez, Ryan Mansfield, and Brianna Gould … all are dead. They’d have to be dead, right?”

  Collin nodded and did the quick math in his head. They’d started out with somewhere around forty-eight kids. About half of those didn’t make it off of the bus. Now, with Tami gone, along with the three in the tail section, there would be twenty kids left. At this rate, it seemed all of them surviving the day would be a stretch.

  Collin noticed that although she had taken a half-step back, her palm was still resting on his chest. She looked so scared and vulnerable, he wanted to pull her in close … tell her everything was going to be all right, even though he knew things couldn’t get much worse.

  “I’m scared, Collin. We’re all scared … I miss my parents. Are we going to die?”

  “Nah … we’ll be fine. Someday you’ll be able to tell your grandkids about your adventures in space.”

  She nodded but clearly didn’t buy the mini pep talk. “What do we do now?”

  “We need to get everyone out of the plane. There’s too much heavy crap on top of it … sooner or later, it’ll cave in, like the tail section. Can you have everyone collect their stuff and gather here on the wing? I have to go back down … help the others come up from below.”

  “You’re going back down there?” she asked, looking somewhat exasperated.

  “Believe me, there’s nothing I’d rather do less.”

  * * *

  It took the better part of an hour to get Darren, Humphrey, and DiMaggio, as well as the weapons and duffle bags, transferred up to the wing. The latter aspect was pretty much left to Collin and DiMaggio to do on their own, since Darren and Humphrey said they’d rather leave everything behind than take on that extra work. While Collin checked out his still-oozing knee, which had begun to throb, he told DiMaggio what he’d seen—what he thought he’d seen, anyway. At this point he was less and less sure. He was fairly sure the mind played tricks on someone under this kind of stress. Just the same, they both kept an eye out for something furry and green-eyed.

  Collin, thankful for his own forethought, brought the automatic weapons up last. There was no way he was going to leave them lying around for Darren and Humphrey to grab up while he was climbing around under tons of junk metal. What the survivors had done, though, was rifle through the bags of clothes—much of which were now haphazardly strewn all over. Tink was in the process of repacking things when Collin lifted himself over the top of the wing and sat with his legs hanging over the edge. DiMaggio passed up the heavy duffel, holding the weapon cache. Collin looked up when he noticed someone standing behind him. Surprised, he saw it was Bubba. He had on a pair of green army pants from the baggage supply, but they were clearly too snug for him around his thick legs.

  “Hand it up,” he said.

  Collin momentarily debated if he should oblige him but figured the big guy had little idea what was in the duffle bag anyway. Bubba took hold of the handles with one hand and lifted the duffle up and away.

  “What the hell you got in there?” he asked, now using both hands to carry the bag to the center of the wing.

  Collin waited for DiMaggio to reach his hand up and, when he did, Collin pulled him up next to him on the wing. DiMaggio was sweating and out of breath. In the background they heard Darren’s voice.

  “Listen up, everybody. Gather round … chop chop,” he said, waving his hands in toward his body.

  Collin and DiMaggio ignored the directive, preferring to stay seated where they were. Lydia moved in close to Darren and he swung an arm around her shoulders. Several of the guys who’d been inside the plane came out and were now huddling around their quarterback. Collin noticed Bubba stayed where he was. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “What’s this about, man?”

  Darren combed his fingers through his long hair and smiled. “It’s about what we’re doing next. We can’t have everyone going off in their own direction … we just need a few minutes to strategize.” Some of the cheerleaders were speaking among themselves, which brought a loud shush from Humphrey.

  Darren glanced over to Collin and continued: “The jetliner isn’t safe, as we’ve discovered. So we need to move our base to a new location. For now, we can stay back in the railcars.”

  “Uh … railcars are full of a bunch of dead guys,” Clifford Bosh said, looking like he wanted to vomit.

  “Well, we’ll have to
move them out of there … won’t we?” Darren said.

  “What about food? All the food’s still here … on the plane,” Garry Hurst added.

  Darren chewed his lip for a second before looking over to Collin.

  After several long beats, Collin said, “If we limit the number of people going in and out of the plane, that might be okay.”

  “And to drop a brick?”

  “Yeah, same thing. Get in and out of the heads fast. Limit the amount of people inside the plane at any one time. That’s my suggestion, anyway.”

  “Good. So that’s what we’ll do. Let’s get moving. Everyone needs to help,” Darren barked.

  As the group started to disperse, Collin, DiMaggio, and even Bubba stayed put. Humphrey took a step closer. “You got a problem, Sticks? You too important to heft a few bodies?”

  Collin said, “I need to take care of something else. I’ll take DiMaggio, if he wants to come with me.”

  “And where’s that?” Humphrey asked.

  “To do a little reconnaissance. Back up to the top of the pile. I’m thinking at some point we’ll need to take control of this space vessel … at least try to. That, or wait to suffocate the next time that big aperture opens up to outer space again.”

  “Did you forget you’re just a skinny teenager, Sticks? Do you really think you can go up against a bunch of advanced aliens?” Humphrey asked, shaking his head.

  Collin shrugged, but stayed quiet.

  “I’m with you, Frost,” DiMaggio said.

  “Yeah … I’m with them, too,” Bubba said, looking bigger and meaner than ever. He stared back at Humphrey, as if daring him to say something. Collin was surprised Bubba wanted to come along. He unconsciously rubbed his upper arm where, not so long ago, Bubba had been mercilessly punching him.

  Collin spent the next few minutes familiarizing himself, DiMaggio and Bubba with the automatic weapons they’d collected. What they really needed was practice shooting the damn things. But with the limited amount of ammunition they’d found, that wouldn’t be a good idea. They determined Bubba would carry the MK48 and Collin the MK5, and each would bring along a small rucksack, holding food provisions and other odds and ends.

  Most of the group had already left to deal with the bodies in the railcars. Darren and Humphrey were still on the wing, talking between themselves. Collin seriously doubted either one of them would get anywhere near a dead body. They both looked up as Collin approached.

  “We’re heading out.”

  “You’re taking those weapons with you? Don’t you think that’s a little selfish, Sticks?” Humphrey asked.

  “You both have weapons. Speaking of which, there’s something you should be aware of … I think I saw something down there, in the pile.”

  “Saw something like what?” Darren asked.

  “It may have been nothing. It may have been my eyes playing tricks on me.”

  “Just spit it out, for God’s sakes,” Humphrey spat.

  “I think I saw something alive. It wasn’t a squirrel or anything like that. It was the size of a man and covered in fur.”

  Both Darren and Humphrey simply stared back at Collin for a long moment. Eventually Darren said, “You better not be pulling my chain—”

  “I’m not. I’m just telling you so you’ll keep an eye out. It’s one more reason I’m going to look for a way out of here.” For the first time, Collin saw the two teens not as thugs, but as what they really were—two scared boys in way over their heads.

  Chapter 10

  Collin took up the lead and together the three made their way again into the mass of junk. They headed straight up from the edge of the wing. Collin and Bubba had their rifles strapped across their backs, leaving both hands free to climb. DiMaggio, bringing up the rear, was in charge of marking their course. He’d ripped small strips from a bright yellow Hawaiian T-shirt and was tying them on to whatever was handy as they went along.

  After climbing for close to an hour, Collin stopped and rechecked his leg. He saw that it was getting infected—yellow-white puss was forming around the outer edge of the open gash. He retied a piece of cloth around the wound and looked down at Bubba and DiMaggio.

  “There’s a lot more than when we first got here. They must have made another stop.”

  “They definitely did,” DiMaggio said from below. “Look at this.” He held up an automobile license plate—only this one was significantly different from anything they’d seen in Texas. “It’s got RUS on it … I’m betting this is Russian. They probably stopped there for another load.”

  That made sense. For the past ten or fifteen minutes, Collin had noticed the metal items he’d been crawling around were not typical of what he was used to seeing. He’d seen the tail end of an automobile that definitely wasn’t produced in Detroit.

  They continued upward for another twenty minutes before Collin, his voice somewhat muted, said, “We’re near the top. I can see light coming in from above … and something’s moving around up there. Try not to make too much noise.”

  Collin came up beneath an overturned aluminum fishing boat. It smelled of seawater and the inside was caked with what could only be remnants of fish guts. DiMaggio and Bubba joined him and both scrunched up their noses.

  “What’s that noise out there?” Bubba asked.

  “Let’s go see.” With Collin in the lead, they crawled downward and sideways, between several old-style school desks, and reached the surface. Collin found he was wrong when he’d thought the spaceship was filled to the max. There was a lot more stuff jammed in now than there was before. Mountains and mountains more stuff! But that wasn’t what captured Collin’s attention. Two football fields’ distance away was something that could potentially change everything.

  It was a small spacecraft of some kind—small only in the sense that it was a fraction of the size of the craft they were trapped in. Cigar-shaped, it was about the size of a naval submarine, but the similarities ended there. It was drab brown and had multiple thrusters around its circumference, midway along its fuselage, and two bigger ones at the tail end of the ship. The other thing keeping Collin’s eyes glued to the spaceship was that it was apparently trying to take off.

  “That thing’s beat to shit,” Bubba exclaimed.

  The vessel was only able to lift off another mountain of metal by ten feet or so before conking out and dropping back down.

  “Let’s go … that might be our ticket out of here.” Collin moved as quickly as he could while maintaining his balance over the rough terrain.

  It wasn’t long before the spacecraft ceased trying to get airborne. Good, Collin thought. It would do them little good if it took off and left them behind. Halfway to the vessel, DiMaggio abruptly stopped. Bubba careened into his back and both toppled over.

  “What is it?” Collin asked.

  DiMaggio got back to his feet and pointed off to the side. Collin was surprised he’d missed it. He could have thrown a rock and hit it.

  “The other bus,” Bubba said in a near whisper.

  No one had talked about it—not one student had mentioned it. Perhaps it was just too unimaginable to go there … there had been two buses coming back from the game away. This one, nearly identical to the one they had been riding in, held the younger freshmen and JV kids, as well as the four coaches. The three teens stood, deflated. The bus was crushed—flattened to less than half its previous height. Collin scanned the line where the row of windows used to be.

  The sound of the spacecraft again attempting to gain altitude brought them back to the job at hand. Collin ushered them forward. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

  They were close enough now to feel the effects of the ship each time it crashed down onto the metal mountain below it. “One thing’s for sure,” DiMaggio said, “there’s an idiot alien driving that ship. Repeatedly crashing down like that can’t be good. Asshole’s going to wreck the damn thing before we can even steal it.”

  For some reason that struck Collin a
s funny and he laughed out loud. The other two chuckled as they all cautiously approached. Collin and Bubba unslung their automatic weapons. Collin flipped the safety off and watched as Bubba did the same. DiMaggio had his Glock out and the three of them hesitated, cringing as the ship clattered down once again, twenty yards ahead. They took cover behind the haunches of a giant statue of a horse and its uniformed rider. Collin was pretty sure it was Civil War era.

  The ship sat stationary again, heat emanating from the now-quiet rear thrusters.

  “What do we do now?” Bubba asked. “It’s not like we can just knock on the door.”

  There was no reason to respond. The ship’s pilot had ventured outside and was now standing, with his hands on his hips, staring back at the ship. Much as Collin, Bubba and DiMaggio were doing.

  “Is that your wolf man, Frost?” DiMaggio whispered.

  Bubba looked at Collin with a furrowed brow.

  “I saw this guy when we were crawling around outside the jetliner. Wasn’t sure then if I was seeing things.”

  “You definitely weren’t seeing things.”

  They continued to watch the furry creature as he now strutted around the outside of the vessel. He wore no clothes and the likeness to a wolf man was less so, now that Collin saw him standing in the dim green light from above.

  “We got to do this,” Bubba said.

  Collin’s nod was subtle. He didn’t like it. But one thing was clear: these weren’t normal times. Their very survival depended on doing things they weren’t remotely comfortable with.

  Collin stood, aimed his MK5, and fired two rounds at a point near the alien’s feet. Startled, the alien crouched down and spun on his heels. He noticed the three humans—each pointing a weapon at him.

  Collin rushed forward. “Walk with me, spread out to the sides.”