Around them, in the dark and the distance, they could faintly hear gunfire. It was far away, and it echoed through the hillsides and cliffs. On the horizon there was the reddish-orange glow of fire. The street lights that lined the highway were on, drawing power from somewhere, and they illuminated the spot they were in. Roger watched Tormodis and his wife briefly before losing interest. His terrible headache was gone now. He was able to see again. And his nose didn’t hurt like someone had shoved a hot poker into it. He was bored now and his eyes and mind wandered together over the few things around him he could see in the darkness. They were near a big sign that was on the side of the road, painted in red and white and blue colors. The picture was a sea turtle and dolphin and scuba diver. He wasn’t sure what that meant but, it was something to look at.
Tormodis slowly raised his head to look around. “Crap, I missed it.” He breathed out.
“Don’t worry, honey. We’re back on Guam, at least.” Margaret tried to comfort him.
He sat back, his legs folded, on the warm asphalt. “Remind me to never do that again.” He told her pitifully.
“I agree.” Margaret added. “Right now, we need to find some transportation.”
Tormodis took a couple more deep breaths letting his shoulders slump forward on the last one. “We don’t even know where we’re going.” He said.
“Mel said it was Pete’s Emporium. How hard can that be to find?” Margaret looked down the highway in front of her. There was nothing but more lights, road, and darkness.
“How big is the island?” Tormodis looked at her.
“I know where that is.” Roger said happily. His attentions had snapped back to the present world.
Margaret and Tormodis both looked up at him. “You do?”
“Oh, yeah. I know where the Honey Pot is, the wash pot, the steel pot, and the bathroom pot. All the pots!” He threw his hands up in happy exultation.
“That’s great.” Tormodis managed a snide reflection. “How are we going to get there? Walk? I can’t port again for a while.”
“No, we can take that.” Roger turned and pointed enthusiastically in the opposite direction.
Margaret and Tormodis both turned. They hadn’t realized that something significant was behind them. There was a gate, a military gate about a hundred yards behind them. It was the main entrance to the Navy base but, it was barricaded with abandoned vehicles and jersey barriers. They couldn’t see anyone there. It looked like, in the semi-illumination of the street lights that the guard shack was partially destroyed and a body or two was hanging out of it. All the vehicles were burned and there was debris smoldering everywhere. All the vehicles, except one. A large tank sat in front of the gate; its barrel pointed toward them. But, it, too, looked lifeless. The hatch was open.
“A tank?” Margaret said loudly.
“Yeah!” Roger was nodding his head up and down emphatically.
She looked at Tormodis. He shrugged at her in reply.
The last attempts to get the reactor online failed. Despite everything Dennis tried he could not bypass enough of the systems to get it back on in time. As the plasma guns fired the last shot, the power levels sank below operating range and the lights began to blink off again. They had to move quickly to plan B, evacuating to the lowest levels. Pete told Dennis to get below while he turned the few remaining systems off for the topside. They were abandoning the top. He set the rest of the control panel on a timed circuit failure and then proceeded at a brisk pace out of the control room. He took the two guns he had used earlier with him. Not that far above, the sounds of rumbling and shaking sent debris falling into the floor. The lights were flickering again.
Pete made it to the hatch just in time as the power to the top floors was cut. Everything went dark as he was lowering the heavy steel door in place. It wouldn’t take long before the spiders pushed their way in and glass and concrete and steel would begin to give way. He dogged the hatch over his head and began to descend down to the lower levels. With the power out the elevators would no longer function. The elevator shafts were now sealed off by giant steel doors that slid into place. The only way in and out of the lower levels was this one hatch and the special escape tunnel far below. The lower levels were designed to be tough as Fort Knox. They had a limited power supply from a single gas powered generator and a bank of batteries, neither of which would last forever.
Pete passed through the second hatch and then dropped down into the lit corridor of sublevel one. He quickly dogged that hatch into place as well. Dennis was there waiting for him.
“Okay, Boss, we’ve got everyone down here. The auxiliaries are on. What now?” He asked.
Pete looked at him downcast. “How ‘bout de armory down here?” He asked. “Is it ready, bra?”
“Of course.” Dennis replied. “I check it monthly.”
“Good.” Pete said thoughtfully. “We might have to start handing dem out to the refugees. I don’t know how long dat gonna hold out.” He glanced upward.
“What about your friend, the one at the gas station? What do we do about him?” Dennis asked
“Nuthin we can do, bra. He on his own now. Maybe pray. Pray for us too if Mel and Rog don’t show back up soon.” He said. “Let’s go to da udder control room.”
Pete followed Dennis down the corridors to the control room for that level. It was virtually identical to the one above and it was the only one functioning now in the Pot. They were down to their very last back-up systems. Pete took up station at the main control console and started looking over the remaining power levels. There was enough left for 10-20 hours of continuous use, including the batteries. But, the defenses were all gone. The shield was gone; the guns were gone, and the will seemed gone.
Pete had a very disgusted look on his face as he examined the controls. “Dey went tru that stuff way too fast, way too fast.” He seemed to be talking to himself. “What we gonna do now?”
“We’ve still got the levels overhead and we still have the escape tunnels to get out of if we need to.” Dennis tried to encourage him.
Pete looked up at him quickly and tried to smile. “I know, bra. You don’t give up do ya?”
“It’s not in my training.” Dennis replied.
“Dat’s why I hired you, you know? I found out about you long time ago, bra. All dis stuff,” he looked overhead, “It don’t mean nuthin if it can’t be used right. It’s not my last line of defense, you are.”
Dennis looked at him concerned. Things were starting to get heavy.
“Now,” he returned his attentions to the console, “How many people we got down here anyway?”
“My last count was 1168, including the ones your family brought in. They’re all here except for your uncle Albert.” Dennis replied.
Pete smiled a little and lowered his head. “I don’t worry none bout Uncle Al. I’d be more worried about the spiders den him. He know how to survive.” Pete turned toward him and smiled broader, looking his friend and manager over. “I can’t believe you went tru all dat and didn’t get dat suit dirty. You one crazy operator, bra.”
Dennis looked down at himself, running his hand down the double breasted suit coat. “Well, boss, if I have to face the end of the world why not do it in style?”
“Good point,” Pete replied. “But I tink I’ll just wear my zorries.” He looked back at the screen again. “I hope dat Rick he made it somewheres safe.” He half muttered to himself.
“Maybe, he’s pretty resourceful.” Dennis tried to reassure him.
Pete smiled. “Yeah, he got to be. He drive a cab in Tampa. He gotta be resourceful.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Unified Reality Theory
Or
The Common Man’s Approach to Split
Personalities.
Rick fell out of the portal and impacted the cold pavement with a loud grunt. He was on his back, dazed, irritated and slightly barbecued. The smell of burned hair was filling his nostrils. After a few minutes o
f adjustment and adaptation, he realized the smell was coming from him. He felt the skin on his forehead. It was bare and smooth except for the bump in the shape of the button from the REAL-Pro 9000. His eyebrows were singed away from the heat of the explosion. His pale-white face was a little burned as well. Great, he thought, do I have any hair left? He patted his head and was relieved with a handful of his dark hair still attached to his scalp. That reassured him, and he relaxed a little. So much for that Prime Sphere thingy, he thought. Thanks a lot, Mel. He decided to lay there for a few more minutes on his back staring up at the night sky.
He had no idea where he was. When he raised his head, he could see there was light coming from somewhere, but he couldn’t make out from where. He had thrown caution to the wind when he activated the REAL-Pro 9000. Especially, since he had no idea how to work the thing. But, the alternative seemed to be very gloomy, and he didn’t feel like dying in an accidental gas station explosion. In fact, a gypsy had once told him specifically that he would not die in an accidental gas station explosion. But, considering he couldn’t remember when, if ever, he had talked to a gypsy, he felt that assessment might be dubious at best. He pushed himself up to a seated position, grunting with the effort. The light was coming from a street lamp just above and to his right. He was on a sidewalk. It was a sidewalk in the middle of nowhere. He grabbed the M4 and pushed himself all the way up. His back was complaining, and he felt a little dizzy. But, altogether it was very little suffering compared to staying put and being blown up. He got up and started down the sidewalk, not sure where he was going or what he was looking for. But, just like every other event in his life he was very self-assured that some resolution would readily present itself. Things had always been that way, and he had no reason to assume that they wouldn’t continue to be. He led a charmed life, so far as resolutions were concerned. He had never had a moment where a difficult experience hadn’t somehow managed to resolve itself. In fact, he didn’t know what it was like to not have a resolution to a problem. They were always provided for him if only he were patient enough to wait. He didn’t even realize that this wasn’t normal and that other people had to suffer through life without provided answers.
When he made it to the corner of the street, he looked up and there it was glaring back down at him and screaming resolution. It was a street sign, a magnificent street sign. It read Marlboro Road. He knew a Marlboro Road, knew it well, in fact. There was a Marlboro Road in Tampa. He looked around disbelievingly. Hey! This is Tampa! He reached quickly into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The number for the cab company was the first in his directory. It only rang three times before someone answered. “Tampa Taxi, on time in time. How may I help you?” The woman said in a pleasant and cheery voice that was overly rehearsed. Rick was relieved.
“Tess? It’s me, Rick.” He told her.
“Rick? Where have you been? They’ve been looking for you. Have you heard what’s been happening?” She sounded frantic.
“Look, Tess, I’m kinda in a hurry. Can you send someone to pick me up at the corner of Marlboro and Van Cleve?” He felt a tad bit embarrassed to call his taxi company and ask for a pick-up.
“You want a ride?” She asked. “What happened to your car?”
“It’s a long story, Tess. Can you get dispatch to send somebody out?” He asked.
“Sure, just be careful, Rick. Watch out for them spiders.” She implored him. He completely ignored her and hung up, never thinking twice about what she said. He was too worried about getting back to Guam. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do it, but he would find a way. Resolutions always presented themselves.
He had to wait thirty minutes for someone to finally show up. It shouldn’t have taken that long. At any given time there should always be someone within five minutes of that location. Freakin’ cab drivers, he thought as he shielded his eyes from the glare of the tell-tale lights of a Yellow Cab Crown Victoria coming down the street toward him. The driver was dressed in black with a black chauffer’s cap shading his face from view. Rick didn’t care but he opened the creaky old door and tossed his weapons into the back seat, climbing in after them. The driver didn’t say a word.
The driver didn’t move, but kept his hands on the steering wheel and stared out of the windshield, as if waiting for something or someone. Rick was puzzled.
“Um, hello?” He tried to prompt the guy into action.
The man took off his driver’s cap and turned slowly, putting his arm across the top of his seat as he made the considerable effort to look at his passenger. Rick was surprised to see the face of Mr. Ball staring at him; a slight smile etched on his lined face. “Hello, Rick.”
Rick was unsure what to say.
“It’s okay.” Mr. Ball said in his calm slow southern style. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Rick. Have you got a moment?”
Rick looked around; one eyebrow cocked in disbelief. “I don’t seem to be going anywhere.”
“Good.” Mr. Ball smiled. “Good. I need to explain some things before we continue, you see.”
“Are we continuing?” Rick asked, unsure.
“What? Oh, yes. There’s much more to be done.” Mr. Ball fell into his thicker country accent. “I had this whole thing worked out. I had a long story to tell you, had it all worked out and it was going to explain to you everything going on. At least so far as what concerns the present predicament.”
“And?” Rick quickly asked.
Mr. Ball’s expression grew concerned. “Well, it’s just that…have you read a lot, Rick?” He unexpectedly asked. “I mean have you read a lot of fiction that is?”
Rick looked at him in disbelief. “Look at me, Mr. Ball. Does it look like I had much of anything else to do in my childhood but read? I’m not exactly the athletic type.”
“That’s good.” Mr. Ball remarked, ignoring the reference to Rick’s weight. “I’ve always been a firm believer that people should read. I don’t much go for these new electronic devices. I like the feel of an old fashioned book in my hands. No batteries or plug-ins to worry about.”
Rick nodded his head trying to humor the old man. “Look, Mr. Ball. I don’t mean to sound rude but I’ve got to get back to Guam like really fast.”
Mr. Ball grunted. “Yeah.” He said in a slow relaxing draw. “Don’t worry about that right now. I’ve got this thing I have to tell you. Where was I? Oh, yes, the books. You see I learned at a young age to enjoy a good story. I could never write myself, could never get the hang of dialogue. Very tricky thing, dialogue. But, wasn’t William Porter good at it?”
“Who?” Rick asked irritated.
“William Sydney…O’ Henry. His pen name was O’Henry. That man could write dialogue. I asked him once how he did it. But he just gave me some ramble about how he listened to people speak and watched their tones and inflections. I didn’t buy any of it. I learned the hard way it’s just a natural thing to be able to write it, natural as breathing. You either have the talent or you don’t. Steinbeck was really good at it, too.” M. Ball’s eyes seemed to stare at something not there, a memory that was living and real in his mind.
“O’Henry? You came to pick me up to talk about O’Henry?” Rick was running low on patience.
“And Steinbeck. But, no, not really. My point was that in my reading one of the things I grew to dislike the most, no matter how good the author was, was long expository chapters. I hate a story that tries to explain the plot in a single short burst of jumbled sentences and hasty dialogue. I find it a very lazy plot device, don’t you?” Mr. Ball’s expression was deeply wrapped into his line of thought.
“I’m afraid I’m not following this, Mr. Ball. In case you missed the news, we have spiders coming out of the sky: Guam is now the fourth pit of hell and I have no eyebrows. Can I get back to the bug problem, please?” Rick pleaded.
“It’s okay. The reality tear has reached here now. The spiders are everywhere, not just Guam.” Mr. Ball informed him.
“How is
that okay?” Rick asked.
Mr. Ball smiled. “Relax. Everything’s okay right now. We can talk. I’ve done a few of these apocalypses before. Now, as I was saying, I hate long explanatory chapters.”
“I heard you. What’s your point?” Rick aggressively asked.
“My point is: that I don’t want to do that to you. I have all of this stuff to tell you, but I don’t want to tell you.” Mr. Ball reflected.
Rick grunted. “That sounds like a real problem.”
“Yeah.” Mr. Ball agreed. “But, the story is really fascinating and kind of tragic. So, instead of telling you, how about I just show you and we can talk about the stuff as we go?”
“Come again?” Rick was confused.
“Let’s go to the archives.” Mr. Ball’s eyes brightened. “The spiders will be waiting for you when we’re done.”
“Archives?” Rick sounded uncertain.
“Yes. You’ll love it. Lots of things to get into. Lots of history and interesting things about people you don’t even know.” Mr. Ball replied excitedly.
“Sounds fascinating,” Rick said, sarcastically.
Mr. Ball snapped his fingers and they were gone. The car, the guns, Rick and Mr. Ball just vanished into thin air.
Rick nearly fell back from the startling surprise port. His feet were firmly on a cold hard surface but his head felt like it was spinning. I really wish this would stop, he thought. Mr. Ball was standing beside him very satisfied. The trip had been a quick one.
“Where are we?” Rick asked, aware that his voice was echoing. The room they were in was vast, mostly dark and very empty. The floor was a nice gray streaked marble. But, the pleasant design features ended there. Rick looked around trying to peer in to the long shadows. A light was over them, not very bright, but with a slight pleasant blue tint to it. It was like a single 60-watt bulb shining down on them from forty feet up. It did little to chase the shadows of the large room away.
Rick Carter's First Big Adventure (Pete's Barbecue Book 1) Page 26
