by Javan Bonds
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32
The Game Changer
THE DOCTOR THOUGHT he should run some quick tests on the captured plague victim; no time like the present. He would be able to handle it himself, even with the other phantoms away dealing with a dispute or whatever it was. The Medicine Man would’ve accompanied them to meet the mayor at the southern causeway, but felt that immediate study of this new subject was more important. The Phantoms would be able to handle any domestic disturbance. The cardiologist was more intent on gaining any information concerning the infection as soon as possible.
During his first testing with chemicals, he discovered that the infected was driven insanely hungry by a very small amount of vinegar. Though it did not physically injure the creature, he found that it reacted to trace amounts of alcohol as if it caused a burning sensation. No other liquid provided any reaction.
Dr. George was ready for more. He went to retrieve several items for use in experiments. As he opened the door, light from the barest hint of the sunrise crossed over the plague victim. The cardiologist was surprised there were no screams or howls, no signs of distress. Dr. George got a new idea. Even if it might bring expiration earlier than expected, he was willing to put the subject under more stressful tests. If it was terminated, that would simply mean he could start studying its infected heart sooner. The doctor knew it all sounded cruel and that some would cry that “peevies are people too!” He was more concerned with the rights of thinking humans and would do everything he could to get closer to ending the danger posed by these monsters and whatever was affecting them.
The Medicine Man reentered the room with a cart of various bulbs and lighting equipment. He flipped on a battery-powered neon light but got no response. The thing had not noticed the room’s incandescent bulbs or his battery-powered penlight. The Phantom doctor still had a few more to try. A cigarette lighter, florescent bulb, and LED fixture also produced nothing. He finally flipped on a UV light and pointed it straight at the animal, completely strapped down on the gurney.
It blinked; but nothing out of the ordinary. After again receiving little reaction when he had definitely expected something, he lowered the electric light and pulled the cover off of the window in the door. Natural sunlight shone directly on the thing’s face but it still didn’t seem to care. Its pupils were visibly dilated, dark yellow openings centered in bright yellow eyes irises and surrounded by pale yellow sclera, disgusting, but human-like–not feline as he had noted before..
The Medicine Man lifted his walkie-talkie. He spoke breathlessly and shakily, “Randy, I think we might need to look out for some new DEVELOPMENTS.”
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33
Mo Journal Entry 13
I TURNED, WATCHING and waiting for my brother to enter the scene unfolding in the armory. I finally turned back to see Easy just standing there with a perplexed look on his face. “Fucking go” I mouthed. I gestured intently in the direction of his fiancée. I agreed with The Expert that we should go get our needed weapons before the grenades went off upstairs. We were kind of on a strict time schedule, the dumbass needed to get a move on.
He moved much too silently for someone of his size. I could compare it to The Oracle’s raccoon slippers or maybe it was his use of the Force–neither would know what I was talking about there. It seemed he had simply appeared just outside the door, waiting to throw himself around the corner.
Aka nearly had Mr. Rent-a-Cop passed out from blood loss. That would kinda be a less painful way to go for him.
She bent over in front of him to pick something up and I almost broke out in a sweat. He had his back to us, but I’m not sure it would have mattered if Easy had started screaming like a madman at the other end of the hall. He was too entranced to notice anything beyond the bootylicious treat before him.
My brother punched the security guard in the temple, his stadium -style class ring audibly impacting against bone. The small man collapsed on his side, a neatly folded piece of luggage. The Oracle and I moved up even with the white Incredible Hulk.
My brother’s fiancée began in her normally soft voice, “Thank God! I’m not sure how much more of that I could have taken…”
“Yeah, me either,” I stated matter-of-factly. I received humorless silence from the audience. Even Smokes gave me a look of disgust. Like he wasn’t enjoying the show!
My brother shut the door and dragged the limp body to a storage locker. He was able to force the unconscious little man inside before breaking the lock. It seemed like he had done this before, shoving kids into lockers. I chose not to comment from the peanut gallery of critics.
My future sister-in-law found some bulletproof vests in an orderly pile. She slipped one over her head before tossing one to Easy. I was sure that even if it was a one-size-fits-all vest, it would come nowhere close to covering his giant body. I was confused when he slipped it on and smoothed it out to fit perfectly over is muscular chest. What the hell? That was as impossible as The Oracle’s fitting into his vest with room to spare at Bottom Dollar on the day we met Hammer.
We all began shoving pistols into our waistbands and throwing rifles over our shoulders. We were confident each was loaded after discovering the first few miraculously contained ammunition. Do all prisons keep loaded firearms inside? That doesn’t seem safe. Maybe it’s all part of the plan.
Before leaving the room, I discovered something that might help us make our prison break: cartons of grenades. Hammer would probably orgasm. I’m a little disappointed there were no RPGs.
We exited the room at a slow pace, over-encumbered by countless weapons. Maybe we would find a magic bag on our way or simply drop most of them once we got to our designated meeting point of the rear fire exit. We could even stumble upon a merchant who would pay for some of our wares.
While I’m waxing Never Winter Nights, I’ll go ahead and choose to be a cleric/fighter Dwarf named HANNIBAL.
34
Not A Killing Shot
THEY BRIEFLY SCOUTED the two upper floors and came to a mutual decision. Hammer would start by dropping a grenade in the middle of the office space on the top floor. The two would rush to the stairway on the opposite side of the floor where The Loner would ready his grenade. They would descend to the next office where he would lay his explosive, then they would head to the ground floor. This would be easy as pie. They were sure any guards they ran into while descending would assume they were merely among the scant few office workers left after May first, rushing to escape the unexplained explosions above.
On the second floor, the janitor held the grenade and slowed near the middle of the long hallway that ran across the level. He pulled the pin, about to drop the explosive as they hustled. Hammer was a few feet ahead of him as an armed security guard came around the corner.
The guard’s eyes focused on The Loner, alert at the sight of the grenade. He drew his pistol as he screamed, “What the fuck are you doing–” His question was then wrapped by a stiff running kick between his legs courtesy of The Expert. As he dropped to his knees, he was able to get two wild shots off in the direction of the elderly black man. One of the poorly aimed shots took out Adjutant, immediately killing the poor animal and sending him flying off the janitor’s shoulder. The second shot hit what was soon to be The Sacrifice, our second one, below the knee.
The Loner momentarily collapsed while still squeezing the spoon of the frag. Captain Sledge thrust the heel of her boot into the guard’s face, preventing another shot. Already on the floor due to her nut shot, the unconscious man now simply looked like he was sleeping. She moved back, realizing her comrade had only been shot in the center of his right calf, far from being a fatal wound. Hammer helped him to his feet and began half carrying him as he dropped his grenade. He might likely survive such a gunshot wound; The Expert had taken much worse herself. But Hammer could not fool herself; the Captain already knew the score. The Sacrifice would not see the SUNSET.
35
Mo
Journal Entry 14
THE FOUR OF us, armed to the literal teeth made our way to the rear fire exit. Easy watched our collective back as we plodded down the hall. We could occasionally catch wind of prison employees racing to or from the stairs. Thankfully, no one came in a fire exit and we ran into no one during our trek. We had so many guns that we probably couldn’t have raised one even if needed. The explosions from above began right as we left the armory. Following the third boom, I was hoping to see our fellow escapees come to meet us, their plans going off without a hitch.
We rested next to the red door. Smokes offered between gulps of air, “Jumpsuit’s da Sacrifice, yo.” Before I could ask what he meant, the couple of demolitionists burst through the stairwell door. Tychus was using The Expert as a crutch.
Motherfucker! Do we have to have one of these in every damn journal? If I thought I could spare the effort, I would’ve thrown something at The Oracle. He knew! The fat bastard could’ve just fucking told us and this old dude would’ve made it out, but now he’s probably going to die! We could try to carry him, but that would just slow all of us down and get more of us killed. Shit, there’s probably some other reason he needed to stay behind anyway, undoubtedly making sure the rest of us would make it. I hate the logic of this screenplay.
I sucked in through my teeth. “How bad is it?”
Hammer opened her mouth to respond, but The Loner beat her to it. He shakily offered, “Shattered fibula. I expected a lot more blood and pain but Hammer dumped some sulfa powder on it. It mostly just aches now. I’m not going with you, I will only slow you down. I’ll go to the roof and keep them busy with a rifle.”
I hate to say it, but I’d known this was coming.
I’ve got to ask: sulfa powder? What the fuck is this, Saving Private Ryan? I had no idea where you would find that stuff or that it was even produced in the 21st-century. She must keep her sulfa powder stored right beside her eight tracks and her crocheting kit inside of her Model T, or wherever she was hiding supplies.
He gestured to a bagged rifle my brother had leaned against the wall. “What’s in there?”
It was apparent through the cloth casing that the rifle was equipped with a scope. Easy unzipped it and began, “It’s a–” The injured janitor picked up, “A scoped M 14. That’s my girl! I got the marksmanship award for shooting mine.”
My brother ensured the magazine was loaded before handing over the dealer of death. I was bursting at the seams to say the soldiers prayer. Tychus looked to the expert beside him as he used the covered sniper rifle as a crutch to back away. “I can take care of the guys in the towers and keep them off your backs. Get away from here and I will be happy.”
Before he could turn, The Oracle reached out and gave him a couple of pistols. “Fo close quatas, cuz.”
Well fuck, I’ll just be a worthless piece of shit sandwiched between two competent, forward thinking tacticians, my perfect brother and my hefty friend. I feel useless when everyone around me does something of use and I just stand here like a mute idiot.
The Expert almost broke as she ordered him. She commanded, “Stay alive soldier. We’ll come back for you when the coast is clear!”
Before disappearing, The Sacrifice smiled. “You know where I’ll be,” and just like that, he was gone.
Damn. I had been hoping to take him back to the island. The Tech would be jealous that I found someone with such an awesome name. It was nearly as cool as finding a survivor named Jean-Luc or Gandalf. I said “nearly as cool,” either of those would be nerdgasmic! Of course, my rude ass didn’t wish him luck or even say goodbye, surely adding “inept asshole” to Aka’s friendly descriptors of me.
I was just thinking, where’s his cat? I thought that it had been with him when we left this morning. I need to ask The Oracle if Adjutant had played the role of The Innocent.
Hammer interrupted my thoughts with a laugh, “You know, y’all didn’t have to bring the entire armory with you. We can’t carry all this.”
I was going to remind her that if we had not, Tychus wouldn’t have found the perfect sniper rifle and we would all die horribly. But I was still catching my breath, exhausted from carrying three times my body weight.
Smokes’s “you’s always at da place you is always post to be” flashed across my mind. I agree, everything happens for a reason. Shit, it’s creepy to be around an actual prophet; I’m just glad he’s on our side.
I leaned on something that looked like an MP5, M4, or possibly a UB40. “Well just grab what you want and let’s go.”
The earlier explosions had sent alarms blaring and my brother’s fiancée’s logical deduction could barely be heard. She spoke like we were in a library, “Yeah, but we shouldn’t start our escape until we start hearing gunfire from the roof or at least make sure no one is watching. We can open the door though, I think we’ve set off every alarm in this building.”
Uncharacteristically, Smokes took some initiative. He moved to prop the door open with a rifle.
Hammer waited halfway out the door, listening for a sharpshooter as the radio in my vest chimed. I looked down and was confused; my father and I had discussed that we would wait for our nightly chats as to not interrupt the other at an inopportune time. I cut my eyes at Smokes who widened his. He nodded, expecting this.
Unsure if I had really heard anything, I looked down at the radio as if it were going to tell me why it had buzzed. I questioned into the radio, “Hello?”
Daddy came back, “Mo, Gray Fox here, wasn’t sure if you could talk. How’s the escape going? Over.”
“We had to,” I paused, “make some alterations. We’re about to start our run. I’ll get back with you in a few minutes.” I didn’t add, “Or we’ll all be dead. You’ll figure it out.”
My dad spoke calmly, “Sounds like y’all will all make it back.” I heard rapid gunfire in the background from over the radio. “But we are under attack right now. Y’all should probably hold off on showing up until after we deal with this. Over.”
I gave The Oracle a pleading stare as I replied, “What? By who? Why?”
We could’ve played twenty questions, but he replied, “Not sure, they appear to have military equipment and–” his transmission was abruptly ended with sudden static following what sounded like the report of a rifle. The Oracle simultaneously shouted at my side in a singsong voice, “To the left, to the left.”
He pushed me to the side with both hands as the radio dissolved into static. Did he really just do The Heisman on that Mo? I probably would have gotten into a heated argument with him in which I would wind up being the militia member that dragged black people behind his truck. I surprised myself by completely ignoring that Smokes had just pushed me to the ground for no reason. Maybe I was more shocked at hearing my father apparently killed over the radio. Does that mean I’m not completely self-centered?
I looked between all of my compatriots as The Oracle gestured to the door. “We gots to get, mufuckas!”
No shit, dumbass. At that very moment, the captain alerted us it was time to begin our final march. We moved as one to the door. This was it, we’d either be cut in half before we made it to the plane or the Collins family would have a full reunion, provided, of course that my parents weren’t already dead. Actually, we could also make it to Alex and then Smokes could crash us into an open field; optimism comes naturally to ME.
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36
Mo Journal Entry 15
HAMMER STUCK HER head around the corner of the building, raised and kept her rifle on an enemy until he ran past without noticing our crew. We followed her around the corner and I silently thanked God that all of the building’s windows were too high for anyone to see directly down into the yard. We saw no movement in the towers as we came to the front corner. There was no sound, other than the distant fieldworkers; we assumed our sniper was keeping silent over-watch. All of the cellblocks and other buildings were on the opposite side of this main complex. Only the exercise yard st
ood between us and the double fence. It was empty, naturally. Inmates wouldn’t be involved in recreational activities when they could work the fields.
The Expert pointed in the general direction of the trees and the lake beyond. I had to ask, “Really? I’d rather not be in the woods with the peevies. We can’t stay on the road?”
“We will follow the creek back to the lake. If you see any Ruskies, get in the water.”
That was fairly logical. I made no retort as we walked past some basketball hoops. She tossed a grenade at the first fence, waiting for it to separate cleanly. The captain repeated the process with the outer fence. Just as our group came to the hole in the first fence, I heard the faint wailing of an alarm begin. There was no need to worry about that, it would pose no problem once we were in the woods, or so I hoped. We moved into the open area and we were free. What a boring escape! I hadn’t even been fired upon directly and there hasn’t been enough violence. Should I make something up here? Jesus, why you gotta give me such a hard time? I’m trying to write an end-of-days journal; I need to fear for my life!
