Hell Is Empty (The Frontier Book 3)

by Travis E. Hughes

  Without seeing where the buggy was, he made for the shuttle port. He remembered how fast the buggy could travel from the time the drone tried to keep up with it on Athena. So instead of trying to catch him in the streets he hoped to get to the shuttle port before he could load the buggy into his shuttle and get off the planet.

  C Street, he figured, was a straight shot to the port and so when he came to the corner of Twenty-Second and C he turned.

  By the time he reached the shuttle port, Rex was backing his buggy into the larger, black shuttle. But he froze when he saw the rail guns mounted on the beast.

  Rex waved to him. He was wearing the blood drenched blue feather in his own hat now. A token of his kill. Rex had the body.

  “We’ll have our day, Bill,” shouted Rex from across the tarmac. “I’ll be back.

  He was going to perform his ritual and eat Kidd Wylie’s flesh. It disturbed Talbert but he realized he could do nothing about it now. The private shuttle lifted off and spun around before soaring high into the Danaus sky. Talbert fired a shot but it hit the side of the shuttle as it turned. It was such an angle that it didn’t bore a hole but instead ricocheted off.

  “We can’t let him go,” Roslyn said, as her bike whined up next to his.

  “We’re not letting him do anything,” Talbert grunted. “He’s just doing it.”

  “There’s a massacre going on in the streets back there,” Frank said, pulling up. “The people are killing the Amazons and the Red Scarves. Our detectives have all switched to kill mode. It’s a blood bath.”

  Roslyn looked back at the town. Her shoulders dropped.

  Talbert watched the shuttle shrink away into the sky. He tried to imagine what came next. His impulse was to follow him back to Athena. But perhaps he’d go someplace else instead. The rich little psychopath had holdings all across Orion’s Arm. He could go and hide anywhere. Talbert burped and tasted last night’s bug juice and wiped his lips with the back of his trembling hand.

  Bat Matters and Earl Wyatt threw canisters of tear gas into the mêlée, hoping to drive people back. The result was more chaos.

  When the smoke did finally clear, dead bodies littered the crimson streets. While the majority was Amazon or Red Scarf, there were plenty of civilian casualties as well. Roslyn surveyed the carnage with a sense of shock and sorrow. This was war. This was what that looked like. But this was the people’s war, as well, she thought. They had risen as citizens to defend their homes; their way of life.

  Had it really only been about the murder of Vincent Van Grothic? It took the public murder of a local celebrity to call the people to arms. She wondered what the Birds would think of that. Humanity turned out to be one messed up race. The Birds proclaimed that just a few fundamental changes to our society would propel us toward true enlightenment. Roslyn very much doubted that as she strolled along the gore speckled sidewalk. Several people suffered serious injuries and Dr. Gonzo and Jane Goodaire rushed to help stabilize those they could. Roslyn offered several agents to help establish a triage near the doctor’s cabin.

  She came across Drago, wounded but alive, leaning against a wall. He’d wrapped his arm tightly with his deepening-red scarf.

  “You chose the wrong team, Drago,” she said, helping him to his feet gingerly.

  “No, I was kicked off the right team and forced to survive on the wrong team,” Drago said, wincing with a sharp pain.

  “No, you assaulted a fellow officer and were justly fired for it,” she said hurrying her pace, making him suck in air through clenched teeth.

  “You slept with your employee and then when you were done with him, you found a way to fire him,” Drago said. “Slow down, please.”

  “We need to get you to the doctor,” Roslyn said. “If that’s what you need to justify what happened, then… whatever. Get over it and move on, already. Seriously, dude.”

  “You’re such a hypocrite, Ros,” Drago said.

  She took his arm from her shoulder and pointed up the street.

  “That tent in front of Dr. Gonzo’s cabin; you can make it that far on your own.” Roslyn turned back toward Yellow Donkeyballs to help others who were also wounded.

  Those who could help did so and the streets were cleared and hosed down by the next day.

  “The Interstellar Peace Keepers have seized Mr. Omnious’ holdings in New Vegas,” Roslyn said into the drone hovering a few feet in front of her. She stood before the main entrance of the office.

  “We are offering a two hundred thousand byte reward for information that leads to the capture of Rex Omnious AKA Dylan O’Hare. He’s considered extremely cunning and dangerous. Please do not attempt to apprehend him yourself. Call boxes will be installed at the shuttle port and in front of the bank. If anyone sees Mr. Omnious in town call our agency immediately.”

  The board met the next morning.

  “So we’re just going to wait and hope he comes back to town?” Talbert asked, scratching his wrist below the hand-cast.

  “It’s time to start focusing a bit more centrally,” Roslyn said from the head of the table. “I mean, we don’t have the resources to chase him down. We have no idea where he’ll go next. You assume Athena but, do we have the time to send someone there to find out, send word back and deploy a team to take him out?”

  “He’s gone to the cosmos,” Frank said. “The right play is to do what we’ve already done. Seize his assets here in New Vegas. That’s the only way we can touch him right now.”

  “We focus on first establishing a better way of life for the people of New Vegas, then Yanker and then North Vader and then Danaus. We set the example,” Roslyn tried to keep her voice steady. “We are far from expanding to Athena. That didn’t work out. Those people are greedy pricks who deserve their own bullshit.”

  “Well said,” Siringo chuckled.

  “I wish we did have the resources, but let’s be honest here,” Roslyn shrugged.

  “That and we can bring in Rondell Moseby for questioning,” Frank added.

  “Is he still in town?” Roslyn asked everyone down the table. A few people shrugged. “Send out some juniors to find out. Now. Bring him here if he is.”

  Word came back by noon that Rondell Moseby had also skipped town.

  “Who’s running the bank?” Roslyn asked Barry Gould, who stood in the doorway of her office delivering the news.

  Barry shrugged.

  “The bank needs to remain open,” Roslyn said, standing and closing the hovering document before her. ‘This town needs the bank. The proceeds no longer go to Mr. Omnious is all. That goes to us for the cost of bringing him in eventually.”

  “Maybe Sage can do it?” Barry said as they strolled past the cubicles in the former dining room of the restaurant.

  “No, we need Sage running our office,” Roslyn said, pushing the front door open and blinking in the bright light of midday. “Find out who is second in command over there and put them in charge.”

  “Hey, chief,” said Siringo approaching up the street. He had a bag of local nuts that he was munching on. “I was thinking, since we own the bank now, does that mean we own Yellow Donkeyballs as well?”

  “Well, the name’s going to change, but… I suppose we also own the Grand Mother Hotel too, now.” Roslyn had de’ja’ vu about taking down Star Belly’s empire and giving it to the workers. But this time things were different, she justified.

  “So like, my bar tab is wiped out then, right?” Siringo said.

  “No,” Roslyn said. “It’s not.”

  “Seriously?” Siringo moaned.

  You’re a hypocrite, Ros, she heard Drago’s voice in her head.

  “Technically by changing the name, you are in fact creating an entirely new establishment, so, I mean, technically…”

  “Get out of my face now,” Roslyn said, half jokingly, but only half. She decided to catch up with Barry Gould and to see to the bank personally. It needed to be operational.

  It would take a little detective work
of a few aspiring junior agents to find out the extent of Rex’s holdings in the town, but after a few weeks it was sorted out and the agency absorbed it all.

  Frank suggested they build their own offices outside of town with the extra revenue stream. Talbert suggested selling the businesses to locals, his argument that they were bounty hunters first, being a sound one.

  “In order for us to expand our reach, we need the resources,” Roslyn countered. “We hire the outside people to run these businesses, but we have a steady income that will buy us guns and more field agents, right?”

  “I propose giving Wild Bull senior agent status,” Talbert said.

  “I would second that,” Siringo said.

  “Yeah,” Frank nodded. She looked down the table to Hattie who grinned and nodded.

  “All right, then,” Roslyn said. “Next let’s see how our friends over in Yanker are fairing.”

  “I can put together a team to go and see,” Frank said. “I have a feeling the Red Scarves are going to be a problem.”

  “Yeah,” Roslyn nodded. “Go in battle ready.”

  “Stun or kill?” Frank asked.

  “Stun them and take their guns away,” Roslyn said.

  “Stun ‘em and de-gun ‘em,” Siringo added.

  Dr. Gonzo removed Talbert’s cast. The regeneration tech had done a fine job.

  Wild Bull accepted the position gladly. He was promptly put on the team to head over to Yanker to check on the status of the local guns. Roslyn had promised the full force of her staff and she delivered. She arrived in Yanker with twenty of her best agents, both junior and senior.

  Frank suggested they check in on the Arjun Grover’s Roach Guard first.

  They found Arjun at his store. The smell of processed meat turning over under heating lamps hit Roslyn upon entering the converted shipping car.

  Upon seeing her flanked by Frank, Talbert, and Wild Bull, Arjun sent one of his Roach Crew members to call in the others. There were thirteen total.

  “We’ve complied,” Arjun said. “But if the Red Scarves haven’t and it comes to shooting, we’re switching back to lethal and killing them. That’s not up for debate.”

  “I think some of them left town,” said a member of the Roach Guard.

  The thirteen denim and leather clad men showed Roslyn their newly upgraded guns. Most of the men carried sleek Bome and Finch semi-automatics but the leader, Carlos Sumag, sported a Kirkland Four-Sixty Classic; a monster of a hand cannon. She was pleasantly surprised that he’d gotten a stun mode attached.

  “You fellas want to switch to stun mode and come check on the Red Scarves across town?” Roslyn asked.

  “If they haven’t upgraded, I stand by what I said,” Arjun replied.

  “We take their guns away,” Roslyn said. “We aren’t going to slaughter them.”

  An army of over thirty well-armed men and women marched across town and up the hill to Lu Yanker’s hardware store. Word must have reached him because he waited out front of his store with his hands raised.

  “So this is how it goes, huh?” Yanker shouted as they approached.

  “Check sight lines. This could be an ambush from roof tops,” Frank said, pulling a portion of the troops back to flank the building.

  “Well played Arjun,” Yanker said to the finely dressed man beside Roslyn. “I have to tell you, the Red Scarves no longer work for me. When they refused to upgrade to stun guns… Well, let’s say I had a prophetic vision of just this moment.”

  “Good,” Roslyn said. “Have they left town? I haven’t seen any of them around so far.”

  “They have moved on to fight another day, would be my guess,” Yanker said, lowering his hands. “Went where the work was. No clue where that might take them.”

  “I see,” Roslyn said, looking around.

  “So, what now?” Yanker asked. “Am I to be run out of town?”

  “No,” Roslyn scoffed and shook her head. “The Roach Guard no longer work exclusively for Mr. Grover.”

  She could feel Arjun turning toward her.

  “You both, along with other business owners in town, will start paying them to keep the peace in this town,” Roslyn said loudly for those who gathered to see what was happening.

  “A form of taxation is what you’re proposing?” Yanker said, equally loud. This caused some rumbling in the crowd.

  “Call it what you want,” Roslyn said rolling her eyes. “What’s fair, Carlos?”

  The leader, Carlos Sumag, and Frank Lee worked up a ballpark figure for his Roach Guard to make a comfortable wage while protecting all the local businesses.

  The owners of various businesses were called to Yanker’s store and shook hands on the agreed weekly price. There was some argument from some of the smaller businesses that they shouldn’t have to pay the same price as the bigger businesses. But it was finally settled that there would be one flat weekly fee. Spread out across all the business owners in town it wasn’t a burden on any one person.

  Roslyn floated on a high that took her back to New Vegas and spilled over into the celebration at Yellow Donkeyballs. She decided not to change the name so that Siringo still had to settle his bar tab.

  END OF BOOK THREE…

  Travis E. Hughes

  I have been a writer since before I could spell. I came naturally to it, as I was spawned from a long line of jokesters, liars, and storytellers. I grew up in the country, in a gorgeous little town in southwest Missouri, with three younger brothers to bounce my ideas off of. We are all still very close. If crying to tears is your idea of a good time have a few beers with my brothers.

  In college I joined a comedy TV show made on campus and from there a few of our more “artistic” sketches were sent to a film festival in Kansas City. There I met and befriended one of the producers of the film TOMBSTONE. I had recently completed my first screenplay. He agreed to read it. He liked it and sent notes and I revised the next draft and sent it back. He optioned the piece and took it to Fox Searchlight Pictures. I was barely a twenty-one year old kid and I had already made it big in Hollywood. During the time my screenplay was being read by Fox Searchlight, I decided to visit a couple of friends who had recently moved to Chicago.

  Through a bizarre series of coincidences, my friend Paul ended up working at a bar across from the acclaimed Second City Comedy Theater. In high school I was obsessed with three things:

  First AC/DC then later Led Zeppelin, The Godfather, (and all things related), and Saturday Night Live. For those not in the know when it comes to the comedy world, Google The Second City. I don’t have time here for a history lesson but everyone from Belushi to Farley to Tina Fey got his or her starts there.

  So I was most excited to see where he worked above all other sites in the city. But when we got there, despite it being lunchtime, the doors were closed. Paul, the same Paul who shoots my covers now, took me down the alley and we went in through the back entrance to find Richard, the owner, standing, smoking a cigar and fuming out of his ears. He explained how the day shift bartender hadn’t shown. He asked if I knew how to tend bar. I lied and said of course I did. I got the job on the spot. That was my interview.

  The next week I found out that Fox had passed on my script, but what did I care? I could easily do that again with an even better screenplay, right? Besides I had Chicago and Second City to distract me.

  It didn’t take long before I was caught up in that world. I rose fast in it. But I was a writer and not an actor and another series of strange coincidences took my away from all of that after about five years, eventually landing me in the south suburbs with a wife and three kids. But the rest of that is for another time.

  To say I struggled to fit into the suburban mold would be a blatant understatement. I couldn’t wear white sneakers with blue jeans and a tucked-in golf shirt. I don’t golf and I don’t bowl and I don’t throw bags well. I don’t really get that culture at all. I went from being this artist in the city to owning a minivan in less than three years. So
things slowly but surely soured for me. All the while, I continued to write and escape into my mind. For many years I wrote screenplays. I had a couple of them optioned but never sold outright. But still I wrote. Churning out project after project. I grew weary of Hollywood and eventually downright cynical about the industry itself, and so I turned to the novel. Here I have control. There are no budgets in a book, save the ink and the paper. I could write anything I thought of and so I jumped in and buried myself in my computer. When I should have been going on bike rides with my wife, I wrote. When things looked so promising so many times, only to have things fall through after months of rewrites and promises, tiny pieces of me died. But still I had to write. If I could just find the story that hit the right pulse… I believe that I did write a few things that spoke true. My youngest brother Ryan moved to Chicago to get his acting chops before moving to LA. We wrote a play together that was produced in the city and for a brief moment I was once again the artist in the city. But when the run was over, Ryan headed west and I south to the burbs. I made money occasionally from my producer friend for this and that but never enough to do anything with. But still I wrote. It felt like I was cursed or something. I went back to my novels.

  Then I realized, the problem wasn’t my writing, it was the fact that I didn’t know how to market. What people who know me, have no idea about me, is that I’m an extreme introvert. I would make a horrible salesman. I do not like feeling like I’m trying to talk someone into something. If they don’t want it, who am I to try and change their minds? I know I don’t like being sold to. I do unto others, for the most part. But then about a year ago I was introduced, by a big champion of my writing, one of the film producers who optioned a screenplay of mine in the past, to an Indy Author who was making a living at it. That blew my mind. He’d established a Facebook Group for Indy Authors and allowed me to join. I’ve been learning how to market and how to know which genre I would have the best results in. I chose science fiction. I thought I could get the most out of creating my own universe and going from there. So I set out to write at least three novels, because as the Indy Author stated, the kind of readers I’m looking for read only series, and there has to be at least three books before they’ll even give you a chance. So this is the first of at least a trilogy, but if they are successful enough for me to make a living at, then I’ll keep going with it. We’ll see. But about that curse…