The general whispered something too low for Sage to hear.
“You’re going to have to speak up, General.”
Meyers repeated his whispered remark. Sage rolled his eyes.
“Oh dear, it appears you’ve become too weak to even talk! Here, let me lean down and see if you can give it one more attempt.”
When Sage’s face was but a few feet from his own, General Meyer’s right hand shot upward and gripped the front of the EPA official’s throat in his right hand and began to squeeze with every bit of remaining strength left in him.
Sage’s eyes flew open as he began choking violently while trying to pull himself away from the general’s choke hold that was cutting off the oxygen to his brain. A series of high pitched yelps fell across the tongue that hung from his mouth as his fingers dug into the Meyer’s right wrist and forearm.
The two armed EPA agents standing on either side of Sage scrambled to free him from the general’s grip and for a few seconds, even they struggled to do so as Sage’s eyes began to roll upward into the depths of his skull. Perhaps just ten years earlier and General Meyers would still have possessed the strength to have crushed Sage’s windpipe. As his hand was forced away from Sage’s neck the general knew he was too old though, too near death, too damn crippled. Though Meyers was unable to maintain his hold on the EPA official’s throat he did enjoy watching as Sage fell backwards gasping for breath while simultaneously being gripped by a series of loud, body shaking coughs.
It took nearly a full minute before Dr. Sage was able to push himself back onto his feet, exposing a face reddened from equal parts fear and lack of oxygen. Sage noted the general’s faint and satisfied grin and proceeded to deliver a rage-fueled second kick to the side of General Meyer’s head.
Myers nearly lost consciousness.
“Stay with me, General. We’re not quite done talking yet.”
The general’s eyes opened to see Sage calmly readjusting his tie.
“Ah, there you are. Anyways, I’m happy to be the one to tell you that you are to be the very first example of the cleansing program that is about to be unleashed upon all of the other undesirables throughout the country. As you lie here burning please keep that as your very last thought, General Meyers. What is being done to you, will be done to thousands upon thousands more in the coming days and weeks.”
Sage suddenly turned and left the cabin with the two armed EPA agents following close behind him, leaving the general struggling to try and move his legs.
The injury to his spine prevented that movement.
I’m not gonna scream. He won’t get that from me.
The sound of the helicopter powering up outside reverberated throughout the cabin. The upper half of the general’s body could feel the floor vibrating beneath him. He closed his eyes and allowed thoughts of all the previous moments he had shared with his wife and their family inside the very place that was to be his tomb. All the fishing that had been done on the lake, the laughter while seated around the fireplace, the time they spent Christmas here almost twenty years earlier. They all sang carols as they decorated the tree on Christmas Eve. He was Colonel Meyers then, no longer young, but not yet old, and as content as he had ever been in his life.
The EPA chopper had begun its ascent.
I’m not gonna scream.
Though he couldn’t see the chopper, the general knew by the sound it was directly over the cabin and climbing upward slowly. He had witnessed the use of napalm during the first Gulf War and recalled the terrible smell it left behind – a mixture of acrid, gassy chemicals and burnt flesh that seemed to leave an oily residue in the air long after the flames had died away.
He knew too that the canister would strike the top of the cabin, detonate, but that the resulting explosion would not immediately decimate the structure. There would be several seconds of time, perhaps more, whereby the temperature of the surrounding area would rise dramatically. The roof would then be engulfed in flame, then the walls, and soon the mixture of burning wood and napalm would make its way to the floor below where the general remained unable to move, left to await his final end.
I’m not gonna scream.
A dull thud struck the cabin roof followed by a powerful rush of air that seemed desperate to escape the cabin interior. General Meyers forced his eyes to remain open as he watched the ceiling above him disintegrate in a climax of searing hot flame and smoke. He opened his mouth wide but found no oxygen left to fill his lungs.
Instead the terrible heat began to bubble the exposed flesh on his face and hands and sear the soft, moist tissue of his tongue and throat. The cabin walls groaned angrily as the back portion of the roof collapsed under its own damaged weight, and then the walls themselves did the same causing just a hint of air to mix with the smoke and flames and give the general just enough oxygen to form the last sound he would ever make before the napalm took his life.
He screamed.
Dr. Fenwick Sage watched the cabin’s destruction and the end of General John Meyers like a satisfied cat smiling at the death throws of a mouse it had finally grown bored playing with.
As for the destructive results of the napalm itself, he couldn’t have been more satisfied and with seven more EPA choppers already customized with their own canisters at the ready, he could hardly contain his excitement over having such power at his command.
It had proven to be a very good day.
-------------------------
EPISODE THIRTY-FIVE:
Preacher, Sarah, and Akrim had been riding for nearly eight hours straight. They continued to avoid the cities and larger towns, convinced the rarely inhabited rural roads would continue to allow them safer passage.
During those eight hours only two other vehicles passed them in the opposite direction. The first was a farm tractor driven by an elderly, white-haired man who gave them a curt nod without slowing down. The second was a wood-paneled station wagon that initially slowed down nearly a half mile away, then crept forward, and finally sped up and passed them at nearly eighty miles an hour. Sarah caught a glimpse of the family inside. The wagon was occupied by a round-faced father with glasses, a fearful looking mother who appeared to be yelling for her husband to drive faster, and three young children in back looking as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
Sarah squeezed Preacher’s torso and then brought her mouth close to his left ear so he could hear her over the rush of wind.
“I have to rest, Preacher. My lower back is starting to really bother me.”
Preacher glanced at Sarah and smiled while nodding his head.
“Ok, I’ll find us a place to get some rest.”
They had just passed through the abandoned town of Mendon, Iowa, once home to 168 people according to the welcome sign. The streets were completely empty, and on the opposite side of town they came to another sign, this one hand-painted in bright red letters that read, Last one leaving Mendon, turn out the lights.
That was just a few minutes earlier. The narrow, two-lane road was taking them toward the northwest corner of Iowa.
Sarah shivered as the cool wind turned cold. Dark clouds were quickly gathering overhead.
A storm was coming.
She hoped Preacher would find a place for them to rest soon.
As raindrops began to fall upon the paved road in front of them, Preacher suddenly turned right onto an unmarked, gravel driveway. Sarah peered through a row of tall, narrow willow trees and saw the metallic peek of what appeared to be a red painted barn. Akrim followed behind them some twenty yards behind on the scooter.
Preacher stopped the Harley well away from the barn entrance and surveyed the property for any sign of life, especially inhabitants who might prove less than friendly to the sudden arrival of weary travelers.
Another thick row of willow trees rose up directly behind the barn and were parted in the middle by a nearly overgrown walking path that led to a space beyond the trees.
Akrim pointed toward the path
.
“There’s a home back there – a big one.”
Sarah was happy to see Akrim was correct. A large, two-story farmhouse with a covered front porch stood nearly two hundred feet from the barn. The home’s cream-colored paint was cracked and peeling, its porch steps slanted, and the roof covered in several years of moss and dirt neglect.
Preacher’s attention was focused upon the large white propane tank that sat prominently to the right of the home. It was clearly newer, and he thought perhaps might yet contain fuel for cooking and heating inside the home.
He began to drive the motorcycle slowly toward the path that led to the farmhouse entrance as his eyes continued to look for any signs others might still be using the home.
No threats greeted them, no angry homeowner with a shotgun pointed in their direction and yelling for them to leave.
The place appeared to have been abandoned.
Preacher parked the Harley alongside the covered front porch, turned it off, and then gently helped Sarah off the bike. Soon all three were standing in front of the farmhouse attempting to look through the single-pane windows, still uncertain if anyone was inside.
Akrim was the first to make the short journey up the dilapidated steps to the stained wood front door where he proceeded to knock several times. Preacher and Sarah waited directly behind him. Preacher held his assault rifle in his hands prepared for any trouble that might suddenly reveal itself.
“I think it’s empty.”
Preacher nodded his agreement to Akrim.
“I think you’re right. Is it unlocked?”
Akrim reached out with his right hand and pushed the aged brass lever and was rewarded with the door swinging inward. Preacher quickly stepped in front of him with the rifle raised.
“Let’s not relax just yet.”
Just beyond the entrance was a narrow, wood-floored hallway devoid of almost any natural light. Preacher paused to listen for any sign of movement from inside the house but heard nothing. He crept forward a few more steps and then paused again, knowing the loud creaking of the floorboards would likely have alerted any occupants of his presence.
The farmhouse remained silent.
Sarah took a deep breath and noted a slightly damp, musty odor permeated the home’s interior. The floors were not overly dusty though, indicating the home had likely not been abandoned for very long. As they continued down the hallway this was confirmed by the smell of recently cooked meals that still hung within the large kitchen that took up a place at the back-left corner of the home’s first floor.
Preacher licked his lips without realizing he had done so.
“Been a long time since we had a proper meal.”
Akrim nodded as he made his way toward the large, white fridge that sat next to a four-burner propane cook-top. Before Sarah could warn him, he opened the fridge door and was then assaulted by the overwhelming smell of rotting meat and produce.
He quickly closed the door and then paused, making certain he wasn’t going to vomit. Preacher chuckled and then began to open up the white-painted cupboards that sat just above and to either side of the kitchen’s white porcelain double sink.
Most of the cupboards proved empty but for some chipped dishes and a few interior-stained coffee mugs. Sarah looked for a pantry and found it just inside a short attached hallway on the far left of the kitchen. She also found a single white door at the back of the pantry which led outside.
The pantry shelves were lined along both pantry walls and though not well stocked, were not entirely empty either. Sarah grabbed a can of diced tomatoes and another can of pork and beans.
It’s not five-star dining, but it’ll do.
She returned to the kitchen and asked Akrim if the stove would work. Akrim turned one of the burners on and was rewarded with the soft hiss of propane. Preacher, who had just returned from checking upstairs, rummaged through a drawer next to the sink and then withdrew a partially full book of matches.
“Here, see if you can light it.”
Akrim turned the burner back on and then lit the match. Within seconds he had a hot blue flame filling the kitchen with both light and warmth.
Sarah set the cans down and began to search for a pot to cook in. Akrim found one in the large drawer directly underneath the stove. He handed it to Sarah and then declared his intent to try and find them some dishes. Unable to do so, Sarah shrugged and said they could just use the coffee cups.
Soon the kitchen filled with the aroma of baked beans and tomatoes. Sarah found some old packets of salt and pepper she used to add flavor to her mixed concoction, and then was delighted to find fresh water coming from the kitchen sink.
“The water is working!”
Preacher placed his right hand underneath the water and confirmed it was cold.
“Don’t drink it. If it’s a well I don’t know how it would be pressurized without some kind of power to the house. I’m gonna go out back and check it out.”
Sarah pointed Preacher to the back door. He disappeared down the pantry hallway and then she heard him open and close the door behind him.
Akrim leaned over the simmering pot and inhaled deeply and then nodded his head, clearly pleased by the smell.
“That smells wonderful, Sarah!”
Both Sarah and Akrim turned at the sound of the back door opening and then saw Preacher re-enter the kitchen.
“There’s a big circular plastic two-hundred gallon holding tank behind the house. It has a gauge that says it’s about half full. It looks like it’s gravity fed into the house – no need for power.”
“Where’d the tank’s water come from?”
Preacher looked at Akrim while pointing his left thumb over his shoulder and toward the back door.
“There’s a pump house for a well out there. When there’s power that’s what they used to keep the holding tank full.”
Preacher’s eyes widened slightly as he snapped the fingers of his right hand together.
“Stay put, I want to check something out.”
Akrim and Sarah watched as Preacher took the box of matches with him and then disappeared toward the front of the house. They heard him moving from room to room and then heard the creaking groan of a closet door opening.
Preacher returned to the kitchen looking triumphant, a sly smile spread across his face.
Both Sarah and Akrim were confused as to what Preacher was up to.
“What is it?”
Preacher’s response to Sarah’s question was to wag a finger at her.
“I’ll tell you in a little bit. Let’s eat first.”
Akrim managed to find a spoon, a butter knife, and a fork in the very back of one of the drawers. Each was used by one of them to eat from the steaming hot tomato and beans combination that was carefully poured into their respective coffee cups.
The meal was devoured by all of them in less than a minute.
After licking his cup clean, Akrim took a moment to look around the kitchen’s comfortable confines, noting the wood floors, though aged, were in good condition and relatively clean. So too were the walls, counters, and windows. The home was old, but it had been loved and cared for by its former occupants.
“Where do you think whoever was living here went?”
Preacher put his coffee cup on the counter next to the sink and shrugged.
“Took off like so many others, I’d guess. Maybe had family who needed their help elsewhere, maybe something spooked them. They didn’t get out of here in too much of a panic, though.”
Akrim’s eyes narrowed.
“How do you know that?”
Preacher pointed to one of the walls.
“There’s no pictures, no family portraits, art work, most the furniture and their clothes are gone. They left, but they had the time to get most everything out of here before they did.”
Akrim nodded.
“Yeah, I guess they did.”
Preacher took the other two coffee cups and then his own and brought
them all to the sink where he proceeded to turn the water on. He stood there with his pointer finger resting underneath the water not saying anything as Akrim and Sarah watched and again wondered what he was doing.
Preacher’s smile returned as he nodded while looking at the other two behind him.
“Check it out, we got hot water!”
Sarah and Akrim both took turns placing their hands in the water and marveling over how warm it was.
Collapse Fiction: RACE WARS: SEASON SIX: Episodes 31-36: A Time For Choosing Page 5
