by Terry Yates
The group stayed at the house for an hour against Potts wishes. Kyler thought that Rhonda might need a good rest after all that she’d been through. That was a little battle that Potts would let Kyler have. As gung-ho as he was to get moving again, he would’ve had to admit that he was tired from lack of sleep and exhaustion.
He’d seen Lauren come out of the kitchen with Kyler with a large bandage on her nose.
“Hetho…” she tried to say to Potts through her nose.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
“Dr. Kyla dit thith toomee,” Lauren answered, smiling up at the doctor.
“Yeah…well, next time I tell you to do something…you do it right then, Missy! Understand?”
Lauren smiled up at the doctor, then turned her attention back to Potts.
“I’m thorry I caud you a thtubbun’, one-eyed thun-uv-a-bith,” she told the colonel, her eyes cast down in shame.
Potts and Kyler exchanged glances. Potts saw Kyler’s eyebrow rise. The bastard was loving this.
“Ah…that’s okay, Kid,” Potts said, looking down at the girl uneasily. “Maybe I was being a stubborn, one-eyed son-of-a-…” he trailed off, without finishing. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t hear you.”
“I think,” Lauren said slowly, trying to talk through her mouth instead of her nose, “that when Sgt. Cohen set off all of those grenades on the island, it deafened you some.”
“About four o’clock,” Potts answered, looking at his watch, then turning to walk away.
Kyler was floored. Had Col. George Patton Potts just made a joke?
“I’ll get Mrs. Weaver up,” Denny told them. Potts had given them a couple of more hours to let everyone recuperate.
Denny walked to the bedroom door and gently knocked on it.
“Come in,” came a voice from inside that sounded almost chipper.
Denny slowly opened the door and peeked in. The bed had been made and Rhonda was sitting, back turned, at the old dressing table with the three vanity mirrors.
“Why come in, Denny Lusk!” Rhonda told the teen, who stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him.
“Why how are you, Denny?” the woman squealed.
Denny was happy to see Rhonda in a better mood, but this threw him a bit. He stood and watched her back as she leaned forward and began to apply lipstick.
“Look what I found Denny…all of this makeup…and a beautiful old music box, too. She opened the music box and a melody that Denny didn’t recognize began to play.
Denny took two steps forward, then suddenly stopped. At first, he thought that the mirrors were just warped or he was standing at a strange angle, but all three mirrors couldn’t be wrong. Through the reflection in the glass, Rhonda was applying the lipstick, which didn’t take very much, because Rhonda’s Weaver’s mouth and the rest of her face was shaped like a bat’s.
“Looks…nice…” Denny replied, nervously.
“Why thank you. Are you and Tobin gonna play today?”
“Yes’m,” he answered slowly. “He’s outside. I’ll go get him.
“Tell him to put his shoes on. Ellen cut her foot last year. Lord, I never saw a five year old wail so much.” Rhonda giggled as she continued to apply the makeup.
Denny forced a smile in case she was still watching him, then opened the door and stepped out of the room.
“She ready to go?” Zack Olsen asked.
“Where’s the Colonel?” Denny asked.
Zack pointed toward a window where Sam and FranAnne stood, both looking out into the yard. Denny moved in between them and looked out the window, where he saw Potts, hatchet in hand, aiming it at a tree from about twenty feet away. He lined it up, aimed again three times, the same way one would throw a dart, and then finally, threw the hatchet, which sailed end over end before hitting the tree, the hatchet blade buried in the trunk, bits of bark flying from each side of the tree.
“He hasn’t missed yet,” Sam told him, still looking out the window. “Of course, I didn’t start watching him until I heard the hatchet hitting the tree several times.
“He started at about ten feet,” FranAnne said, pointing to the tree whose trunk was covered with cuts. “And he keeps moving back.”
“I need to talk to him,” Denny broke in, walking away from the duo and toward the door.
Once outside, Denny stepped onto the porch and out into the yard. Hearing someone walk outside, Potts turned around and looked at him. Denny was embarrassed, because he still had traces of makeup on his eyes and his nails were still black in places.
“What is it, Kid?” Potts asked, turning around, and throwing the hatchet again. This time, Denny could hear the ‘whir’ of the weapon going end over end before planting itself in the tree.
“I need to talk to you,” Denny replied, looking at the hatchet.
CHAPTER 69
The group was standing outside the house. They all wanted to know what was taking Potts so long. He’d been in there for several minutes. After a moment, they heard a music box begin to play, and a minute later, they heard the first gunshot, which startled them all. They hadn’t been expected the .44 to make so much noise since Potts was inside the house. The shot was followed by the sound of glass breaking, then a heavy thud hitting the floor. For several seconds, there was silence. Even the music box had stopped. Suddenly, a second shot was heard that none of them had been expecting. Usually one was good for Potts. After another moment of eerie silence, they heard the slight creaking of metal, like the sound of a spring. They were all on the side of the house and hadn’t realized that the window was open. Of course, it would be open, there was no electricity and the Oklahoma sun could be brutal at times. The sound of the creaking springs was followed by the sound of the music box playing again.
When Potts exited the small house, he had been in there for over five minutes, too long, most of them thought, just to shoot someone. Surely, he didn’t have a snack or something afterwards.
He didn’t say anything but “Let’s go” as he walked toward the truck. The others moved from the side of the house to the front. FranAnne got behind the wheel of the food truck, hole in the roof and all, while Jordan got behind the wheel of the weapons truck. She turned the key. Nothing happened, except the sound of grinding. She tried again and again, but the truck wouldn’t start. She got out and raised the hood.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I think it’s finally gone kaput.
“The odometer on this truck has probably gone around several times, Williams added. “What are we gonna do?”
“We’re gonna put everything in one truck is what we’re gonna do, Williams,” Potts answered, already in the back of the truck and unloading it. “Let’s get to it!”
“How?” Kyler asked.
Potts stuck his head out from behind the truck and glared at Kyler who should’ve known better than to question such a stubborn mule. He and others slowly and dejectedly walked to the back of the truck and began unloading.
CHAPTER 70
Kyler looked up at the mountains. He thought that they were the Black Mesa’s. He was going to ask Mary Sue, but she was asleep, her head having fallen on his shoulder about an hour before. Lauren was asleep in his lap, her head against the window, her breathing heavy. When Kyler had knocked her down, he had bloodied her lip, and more than likely sprained her nose. He could see little drops of dried blood looking a strange color as they mixed with the bandage and her yellow skin. Joe was curled up on the floor between the seats, snoring loudly. He deserved a good nap, Kyler thought to himself…hell, they all did. What a motley crew of brave people…sans, himself, of course. He still felt like dropping ‘stink pickles’ all over the place every time he so much as thought of a werewolf. Even Lauren was running toward the melee…and he’d busted up her face for her trouble.
The back was a tight fit. The two wreck victims and Heather were laid on the bench seats, while Potts, Sam, Williams, Zack, Denny, Jefferson, and Jordan crammed themselves
on the third bench. The bed of the truck was completely covered with weapons, food, and as many blankets, sheets, tools, and other sundries that they could find in the house. Everyone noticed that Potts kept a large metal box still covered with dirt from being buried all night, between his legs.
Kyler and FranAnne had hardly spoken for the last hour and a half. Shock from the fight, mixed with lack of sleep from the fight, had completely spent them. FranAnne just drove quietly, thick sunglasses covering her eyes as the sun completely rose. She was tired and exhausted, plus Potts bitched her out when he’d found the radio that Williams had given her under her seat and in the ‘Off’ position.
“You weren’t given this goddamn radio to keep under the seat, Pvt. Fulton!” he had screamed, his one blue eye angrier and scarier than any ten complete sets of werewolf eyes. “Cpl. Williams, did you tell Pvt. Fulton to put her radio under the seat when you handed it to her?
“Eh…” was all that escaped the fat corporal’s lips, not wanting to sell anyone out.
“Did he, Fulton?”
“No, sir.” FranAnne replied meekly.
“Don’t let it happen again,” he had said angrily as he walked away.
FranAnne had wanted to tell him that she just forgot the radio, which was an honest mistake, but knew that he would’ve come back with the same reply…”You’re a soldier and it’s your job!” It didn’t matter that she’d fought werewolves right alongside him, probably even saved his life on the island, because she would’ve gotten the same answer. “It’s your job, Maggot!”
Kyler found himself about to doze. For some reason, the steady drone of the old truck’s engine was causing black and blue clots to form in front of his eyes. About the time his face lightly fell against Lauren’s back, he heard a resounding “shit!”, then the truck came to a sudden stop.
Kyler came to as did Mary Sue, who suddenly pulled her head off of his shoulder. She quickly ran her hand over mouth, hoping she hadn’t drooled on the doctor.
“What’s going on?” she asked, as Joe’s butt went up into the air in a stretch. He didn’t seem overly concerned with anything but being with his ‘girl’ and the others.
In front of them, there was a line of about fifty cars in both lanes. It looked like one of the military branches was using the Rest Area as a headquarters/hospital/refugee camp. The other side of the road was just as packed, the military using that Rest Area, too.
“What’s happening?” came Potts’ voice from the radio.
“Looks like some sort of HQ-slash-Hospital,” FranAnne answered. “Guess we’ll have to walk from here.
CHAPTER 71
Kyler shivered as he finished urinating. As usual, he’d had to wait almost an hour just to whiz. When he’d finished, he’d walked back to the truck to retrieve his bag. There was a makeshift hospital on their side of the road, and he would go see if they needed any help. He sure wished that he could shower and brush his teeth before getting too personal with people.
He met a Dr. Gailey, who seemed to be the head medical man in charge. There were approximately five doctors, eleven nurses, and countless volunteers, so there hadn’t been a lot for him to do. He’d sutured two cuts and checked on a little boy, who had a slight fever, taking up a total of an hour-and-a-half, before he was back at the truck with the others. He’d halfway hoped that they needed him for days and weeks, and he could just stay and forget about werewolves, Dustin, and Heather, whom they’d left in the makeshift field hospital, along with the unconscious soldier and civilian.
“Where’s the Colonel?” he asked Jordan, who had just finished a sandwich and was leaning against the truck patting his stomach, a took pick hanging from his lips.
“He’s talking to some people over there,” he answered, nodding his head.
After a few minutes, Potts shook his head and returned to the truck
“What was all that about?” Kyler asked.
“There was an attack last night,” Potts answered, leaning against the truck.
“Other than ours?”
“Yeah.”
“L.A.?”
“No, just a couple of miles Northeast.”
“What’s wrong?” Kyler asked, seeing that Potts was mulling something over.
Without answering, Potts walked over to the restrooms, where the state map stood that shows all travelers exactly where they are. Kyler followed him to it. There had been a lot of hellraising from the local, county, and state cops, when Potts had ordered FranAnne to drive onto the grass and around the traffic, where they were immediately met by a solitary state trooper who had his hand raised in the halt position.
“Keep going,” came Potts’ voice from over the radio.
“Colonel…” FranAnne tried to say.
“You can’t…” Mary Sue yelled, taking the radio from FranAnne.
“Keep going.”
FranAnne then accelerated and headed straight toward the trooper. She wasn’t going fast and had no real intention of running the man over, but she knew he’d better get his ass out of the way or his Smoky the Bear hat and Ray bans were about to go flying. Seeing that the truck wasn’t going to stop, the trooper jumped out of the way. As the truck passed, they watched as he frantically yelled into his shoulder radio.
“Uh oh…” Kyler muttered. There was no way that this was going to turn out well.
They’d got no more than fifty yards before two state cars and one county car drove onto the grass and stopped in front of them, leaving FranAnne no choice but to stop.
“Colonel?” FranAnne said nervously into the radio.
“I see ‘em,” Potts answered.
FranAnne looked at her long, side mirror. Sure enough, Potts was standing on the bumper and hanging onto the side with one arm. Before she could even come to a complete stop, Potts had jumped off and had begun to walk toward the front of the truck where six officers of all kinds stood. Mary Sue noticed that one of them was a woman. They could always be trouble, because cops are supposed to leave the field in charge, no matter what, and feisty little women cops have a tendency to not let things go.
Kyler, FranAnne, Mary Sue, and Lauren had watched as Potts met the group. The cops couldn’t help but appear a little nervous by Potts’ appearance. They would probably wonder what the other guy looked like.
Everything seemed cordial at first, until Potts took a cigar out of his pocket and placed it in his mouth. As he began to light it, they could see the female officer and one of the male officers say something to him. They couldn’t hear them, but they knew that the two were telling him to put the cigar away.
“Oh good God, what are they doing?” FranAnne asked rhetorically.
“They’re trying to control the situation by making him put out his cigar,” Mary Sue said. She’d asked enough speeders and scofflaws to put out their cigarettes while she was talking to or ticketing them. Only twice had people not complied, and both times it had lead to stupid and unnecessary fights and arrests, and both were just being pulled over for speeding, but because she, like most cops, couldn’t let the cigarette go, she wound up with a black eye and some bruises both times.
They watched as Potts took a deep drag from the cigar, removed it from his mouth, smiled, then blew the smoke into their faces, turned, and gave FranAnne the signal to drive on. As soon as he did, two of the male officers, both much taller than Potts’ five-foot-seven inch frame, grabbed him by each arm, from behind.
“Oh…shit…” FranAnne nervously spoke.
She’d hardly gotten the words out of her mouth before the four of them watched Potts’ shoulders move in an almost grotesque manner, as if they were about to pop out of their sockets. Then, simultaneously, both cops did somersaults, one forward and one backward, and both landing hard on their backs. A highway patrolman, taser out, came up behind him, only to be met by Potts’ foot in the chest, at which point, both cop and taser went flying. At this point, the other three policemen had pulled their weapons and were screaming at a smiling Potts to g
et on the ground. For his part, the colonel had just smiled as they continued to stagger scream. Around this time, the lawmen heard a series of clicks one after another that FranAnne knew to be weapons. The lawmen looked up to see Jefferson, Jordan, and Williams, each aiming assault rifles at them. To Kyler, time seemed to stand still as if God or Whomever pushed the ‘Pause’ button. It began again when he saw Potts motion with his hand for them to lower, then drop their weapons, whereby Potts motioned for Williams to collect the pistols while Potts himself helped the three officers to their feet. He adjusted his bandage, which had loosened some, took their pistols, emptied the clips, cylinders, and backup clips, and handed them back to the officers. He pointed to the Rest Area on their side, held up the ammo, then put them into his pocket before he, Williams, Jefferson, and Jordan returned to the truck.
“Drive,” Potts had told FranAnne as he passed.
She immediately put the clunker into gear and began to move forward, the defeated lawmen separating on each side, Mary Sue especially watching the lady cop who was adjusting her sunglasses. As much as they all hated having to step down, she could see that it was worse for the woman, who made eye contact with her as they passed. Kyler had given the cops on his side of the truck a shrug and a sheepish smile as they limped by.
“Hate cops, do ya’, Colonel?” FranAnne asked over the radio.
“Actually, Fulton,” Potts voice came back after a few seconds, “I have a great deal of respect for police officers, but I don’t respect the ones who push women down escalators, then arrest them, kill drunks who are putting up struggles during DUI stops, or blast away forty-one times at the wrong man. Now, shutup and drive.”
Kyler continued to watch Potts look at the map.
