by Jeremy Mac
Lathan’s katana is stopped by a long lead pipe just inches from the Maddick leaders head, and at its end stands the masked man. He appeared out of nowhere, saving Vincent’s life.
Lathan kicks out, the masked man blocks it, but Lathan stays in motion by swinging his katana around into what is to be a failed strike as it is blocked by the lead pipe.
Vincent gets hold of his bearings and steadies himself to shoot.
Lathan quickly turns and jump-kicks the rifle upward and slashes his sword over Vincent’s hand. Lathan strikes again with his sword but the masked man anticipates his move and blocks it with a counter attack.
“Go!” The masked man hollers at Vincent, clutching what is left of his hand. The Maddick leader runs off.
Lathan and the masked man square off and then go to trading blows, katana to lead pipe. Both are skilled but in completely different styles of fighting; in Lathan’s offense the long fluidity of movement of the sword is calculated for each strike of the blade to be a potential deathblow, and the masked man’s more aggressive offense with shorter and jerkier spurts of multiple strikes and blows are much more bone jarring. Neither seems to have the upper hand until Lathan is hit by a bullet in the back of his left shoulder, sending him sprawling forward and almost immediately afterward another bullet hits him in the back of his left leg, bringing him to the ground.
The masked man stands over him and peers down as if he is a big bug about to be exterminated beneath his foot, the red glow of the bonfires reflecting ominously off his sinister eyes, windows to a black soul.
Acting fast, Lathan stuffs a hand into his pants pocket.
The lead pipe is raised but just before the deathblow is delivered three fiery explosions simultaneously erupt, knocking the masked man off his feet and slamming him backward into the truck-tank.
Body parts shoot in all directions from those who were anywhere near the explosions. Many are hit by automotive debris. Very few are left unharmed.
Lathan forces himself to his feet. Immediately experiencing a tremendous amount of scorching hot pain from the bullets lodged in his shoulder and leg. He retrieves his katana and hobbles to the front of the truck-tank where he frees the man tied to the front of it. The pain and exhaustion brings the man crumbling to the ground. Lathan leaves him there as he climbs to the top of the truck-tanks cab, cringing at the pain soaring through his shoulder and leg but trying his best to put it out of his mind. He frees the man on top of the cab who seems to have a little more energy than the one on the ground and is able to climb down on his own. Both he and Lathan then help the other man to his feet and quickly head to the gate.
The guards are stunned by the explosions and haven’t a clue as to what is going on but are ever ready for what may be an imminent attack.
Before Lathan and the two men make it to the gate they start yelling for the guards to open the gate. The guards recognize them and hurriedly let them in.
26
Muffled voices.
Blurred images.
Choppy thoughts.
In and out.
In . . . and . . . out.
A dream? Death? Dreams about death?
Lots of instruments. Shiny tools. Clear tubes.
Suction. I need suction here.
He remembers when she used to drink soda through a straw down to the very bottom of the cup and kept sucking up what was left and making that annoying sloshy suction sound. She’d do it over and over and then laugh when he’d give her that annoyed look.
I need more suction here.
But Doc, that sound really annoys me to no end.
But that’s just it, little things like that that tell you, “Hey, I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t like ya.” And liked him she did. Even loved him, a mutual feeling, but you can love someone and still not like them, at least not completely. But he did completely like her. What was there not to like? Great personality, beautiful face, fine body, long legs . . .
How’s the leg? Any serious damage?
Serious damage! Come on Doc, tell me that it’s nothing that a little of this dream juice can’t take care of.
Pressure on his shoulder. Very deep dull ache, brightening and fading. Continuous.
More suction. Why so much suction? The thought that it may be a bad sign occurred to him but the thought quickly vanished. He isn’t much in the mood for doing any thinking. He feels observed. By aliens. Aliens probing and prodding. Isn’t that what they do? Probe and prod and plant microchips? She was fascinated by the notion that there may be other life forms out there, watching us perhaps. We had been watched. The eyes in the skies had been watching us all along until they decided it was time to send out the nukes and go kaboom.
Well, baby girl, you were right all along, because here I am, a product of the system under observation.
I got it. I got the bullet.
A pause. Then a heavy clink, a piece of lead dropped into a metal bowl.
Okay, let’s close him up. His body will do the rest.
Do the rest! What if it doesn’t do the rest? It didn’t do the rest for her, so what makes you think it will do the rest for me?
But sir, her destiny was fulfilled. Yours, however, has not been and will not be until that which is to be fulfilled is fulfilled. That’s how destiny works around here, sir. Besides, she didn’t have any dream juice, did she?
No, she certainly didn’t. She didn’t have a chance to take any dream juice. It happened so fast that there’d been no time to do anything. Not even to think. Like now, although there definitely is time, he just doesn’t want to think. Not right now anyway. All he wants to do right now is let go and dream.
27
Very little happens the way anyone thinks it should. And just when you believe it’s all over, it’s really only just begun.
The light comes first, bright and pure white, so full and complete he actually believes he has died and is entering that other place he’s always heard about. Although he always believed that when his time comes he’ll be heading more in the southern direction where it’s said to be a lot more warmer, and he’s not talking about Mexico either.
Then the pain hits him and he realizes that he’s lying down in a bed in a room brightly lit with very white walls.
He glances around him, moving only his eyes. When he peers down to his right he sees a mass of dark hair by his side. His hand is down there being held. He lifts his left hand to touch her hair but regrets trying to do so the second he moves it, hissing at the pain.
She lifts her head. Her eyes are red from sleep and there’s a trace of drool at the corner of her mouth which she quickly wipes away. She smiles and says, “Hey you. How ya feel?”
“Like crap,” Lathan croaks.
Taya giggles. “It’s better than nothing at all. I was worried, but the doctor said you’ll be fine. You just need to rest. Is there anything I can get you? An extra pillow? An extra blanket?” A lecherous smile curves her lips. “A little victory sex, maybe?”
He laughs halfheartedly. “If I could, believe me, I would.”
She mildly persists while softly rubbing his hand. “Then how about a little fellatio? You won’t have to move a muscle.”
“Taya, I’ve just been shot, twice. Give me a little time to recover.”
She pouts cutely. “I know, I’m only joking. Kind of, anyway. Is there anything I can get you though? Are you thirsty?”
Partly joking but also partly serious he asks, “I don’t suppose you got any morphine, do you?”
“Oh, here.” She opens a small pill bottle and dumps in the palm of her hand two little white pills. “The doctor said you’ll probably be wanting a couple of these when you wake up.”
“What is it? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Gimme.” He takes them with a glass of water she hands him.
“How are the other two?” Lathan asks.
“Stan is okay. He’s just got a lot of bumps and bruises and little cuts. Jonsey got the worst of it. His leg had to be amputated, Vincent liter
ally skinned it and it got infected. He also cut off one of his ears and cracked a couple of his ribs. What kind of person would do such a thing?”
Someone knocks on the door, and then a baldheaded be-speckled man peeps his head inside.
“Hey, Dr. John,” Taya says cheerfully. “Look who’s up.”
“I see,” Dr. John says. His smile is warm and genuine. He steps inside wearing a white smock and a stethoscope around his neck. Very retro. “I heard voices as I was passing by so I thought I’d check to see who it is, and bless it be our hero.”
“I don’t know about all that,” Lathan says.
Dr. John insists. “You did a very selfless and great act. You surely saved the lives of two young men and may have saved the lives of many others here, I would be honored to shake your hand.”
Lathan humors the good doctor by shaking his hand and says, “I guess that makes two of us. Seems you saved my life as well.”
Dr. John waves it off. “Oh, that was nothing. It’s what I do. Besides, I was under strict orders to not even allow God himself to take you away. Mr. Grant would not allow it.”
Lathan is unsure how to take that. It may mean a couple of different things. One, James didn’t think he would be able to accept Lathan’s death after what he thought Lathan had supposedly sacrificed for everyone, or two, there are selfish reasons on James’ part for him needing Lathan to be alive, like if something else happens they will be able to count on Lathan to help them again.
But when it comes down to it Lathan doesn’t much care either way. He did what needed to be done. Got himself shot up in the process, minor setback, but he’ll be well enough to check out in due time.
Dr. John checks Lathan’s pulse and heart rate and asks a series of questions about his past health and how he currently feels. The good doctor adamantly sticking to his professional roots and protocol.
“Everything seems to be good then,” Dr. John concludes. “Taya has already made it quite clear that she will be taking care of you personally around the clock, but I will be checking up on you now and then while you are here. Taya, did you remember the pain killers?”
“Yep. I already gave him two.”
“Good. Take them when needed and do not overdo it. If there is nothing else, I need to inform Mr. Grant that you have awakened. I expect he’ll be here soon after.”
Dr. John eases the door closed behind him.
28
Taya informs Lathan that he’s been all the rave throughout the entire town with talk about how he singlehandedly killed five hundred Maddick’s and saved The Pinnacle.
“Five hundred?” Lathan says skeptically.
Taya grins at the notion. “Next week it’ll be a thousand.”
“And I believe it.”
Both are quiet for a few ticks, then Taya breaks the silence. “Why’d you do it? Why did you go out there by yourself and risk your life?”
Lathan is unable to honestly answer her, so he simply shakes his head and shrugs.
Taya is only slightly disappointed.
“Were you scared?” she asks.
“Not really.”
“Did you ever think that you may die?”
“Not at first, but toward the end . . .”
Another knock on the door and this time it’s James, looking exhausted but relieved to see Lathan well.
“Lathan, I can’t imagine another soul in the world more thankful for anything right now than I am for you having done what you did. On behalf of all of us here, thank you.”
“I really don’t know what to say, James.”
“You don’t need to say anything at all. Simply relax and have a successful recovery. Are you comfortable? Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?”
“I’m good, thanks. I took a couple of pain killers a while ago and Taya is going to get me something to eat soon, so I’m already looked after quite well. But thank you.”
James smiles on his niece. “Taya’s a good girl, I keep forgetting she’s no longer a little girl. She’s all grown up.”
Taya rolls her eyes and says, “I’m going to get you some food. And when I get back, visiting hours will be over. Understand, uncle James?”
“Understood.”
Taya winks at Lathan as she goes out the door.
James brings Lathan up to speed on what took place after he rescued Stan and Jonsey. Those who weren’t near Lathan or the explosions had either run off or began charging and shooting at the gate. Most of them were shot down by the gate guards and those who weren’t got away in the few vehicles that weren’t damaged by the explosions. The next morning an armed guard clean-up crew went out to haul in what could be salvaged and burned the dead bodies in the incinerator.
“It was a mess, but a mess that we were more than happy to clean up. Only one thing though, there was no sign of Vincent. Did you see him out there?”
“Up close and personal. I cut off a couple of his digits.” Lathan holds up a hand and wiggles his pinky and ring finger. “But a man wearing a mask came out of nowhere and saved him before I could finish him off. Know anything about that one?”
“Mm, yes, Vincent’s personal body guard. No one’s sure what his name is, we refer to him simply as ‘The Masked Man’. They say that he will follow Vincent into hell itself if need be.”
“How do you know so much about them?”
“There’s a few men here who’ve infiltrated Maddick as spies. One of our men was eventually discovered, and Vincent sent him back, piece by piece. We no longer risk lives to spy on them.”
Taya shows back up with a bag full of food. She empties its contents on a table next to the bed.
“Everyone sends their love and respects. I got some baked chicken from Mrs. Dobbs, our poultry and rabbit keeper, some goats milk from Mister Markum, the goat man, some bread from Mrs. Floyd who runs the bakery, and . . .” she brings out a Tupperware bowl filled with a mix of colorful green, red, and orange, “Fresh salad with dressing.” She holds up a bottle of dressing.
Lathan gives her a knowing grin, remembering what transpired between the two while making a salad the day before.
James says, “I guess I’ll leave you two to it. I’ll drop in on you sometime tomorrow, if that’s all right.” Before leaving out the door he turns back to Lathan and says with emotional sincerity, “Twice you’ve put yourself in harm’s way to save the lives of others. First you saved my nieces life and now you saved our people’s lives. Complete strangers to you. You are a rare breed, Lathan. And a complete mystery. But I hope we will get to know each other better. This is your home, whether you take it or leave it, you will always have a place with us.”
29
“Jacko!”
The pumpkin faced man scuttles into his King’s chamber like a frightened mouse.
“Yes? What is it, sire?”
Clinching teeth, Vincent says, “My hand is killing me. Summon Jizell and tell her to bring me the best dope she’s got. Quickly!”
“Yes, sire.” Jacko bows and leaves as fast as he came, eager to please.
Vincent takes another strong belt of the God-awful bootleg from his bottle, squinting as he swallows it down. He’s been laying up in bed since he got back yesterday, drinking and smoking, trying like hell to deaden the pain in his hand. His personal doctor bandaged it up and gave him some pills he called pain killers that have not been working worth a damn.
Vincent lifts his bandaged hand to his face, considering how odd it looks. Like an alien’s hand. It is now thinner than his wrist. He closes his fingers into a fist – half a fist – and wonders if he will be able to throw a good punch again?
No matter, I’ll still be able to wield a knife.
A half hour later Madam Jizell M. D. slinks into the room, looking most delectable, wearing sandals and skimpy clothing; practically ribbons and threads. Great eye candy.
“I hope you brought me something good,” Vincent growls. “My hand is killing me.”
“So I’ve heard
. The whole town’s heard.” She stands next to him and places a black physician’s bag on the bed. “Now what did Doctor Frankenstein do and what kind of medication has he already given you?”
Vincent’s face scrunches up. “Why do you call him that? He’s a good doctor.”
“Mm-hm. Is that why you called for me? Because of how good he is. Let me see your hand.”
“My hand is taken care of. It’s fine. All I need is something for the pain. So why don’t you open up your little bag there and give me something that is going to take me straight to the moon.”
“Fine, if you don’t want my help, I’ll just leave.” She snatches up her bag and turns to leave.
Vincent panics and quickly reaches out for her. “No no no no! Wait! Don’t leave! Here’s my hand! Just don’t go!”
Jizell slowly turns back around, cocking a hip out with a delicately plucked eyebrow raised, giving Vincent a defiant gaze.
Vincent wags his hand out to her from a loose wrist, assuring her he will be compliant.
Placing her bag back on the bed, she takes his offered hand and jerks it to her, not real hard but hard enough for him to know she is peeved.
“Ow! E-zee. Half my hand’s been chopped off for Christ’s sake.”
“You’ll live. Your bandages are soaked. I need to change them.”
With the bandages removed, his hand looks like the side portion of an uncooked steak that’s been sliced in half, only nastier. The bleeding is stanched with no apparent infection.
“Looks clean,” Jizell observes. “I’ll just need to put some ointment on it and wrap it with clean bandages. What did he give you for the pain?”
Vincent plucks a bottle off the bed and tries to read the label. “I don’t know what the hell these things are. Here.” He tosses her the bottle.
She snickers. “Regular Tylenol. Good for headaches and mild pain, but that’s about it. I’m going to give you something a little better.”
“A little! How about a lot?”
