A tow truck with a crane had its yellow lights flashing as it parked behind a police vehicle.
“Looks like someone hit a greeper.
Ron spoke next.
“Poor guy. Looks like he bought it.”
“Looks that way.”
Greepers were massive. Some weighed in at two tons. To hit one with a car traveling seventy meant the front end of your car was a goner. You too, most likely.
“From the damage, I’d say he was doing about ninety,” Ron added.
I was tempted to slow down. It was a dilemma. Slow down to live but take more hours to get to your destination. So I compromised.
“Chima, keep a lookout for something on the road ahead. If you see anything, slow down. If you see a greeper on the road or about to go over the road, come to a full stop.”
That should do it.
That was the only exciting thing on the long road. From my mental calculation, we were about a hundred miles from our destination.
On and on I drove. Quite boring really. Thank heavens the designers of this road built in curves every mile or so to keep drivers awake.
A white rectangle came into view on my right. Clumps of trees and open grasses spread beyond it. The ground was covered in snow. As a marker sped by, I read “Chester 10.” Made of circular concrete, the marker looked like it could withstand greepers using it to scratch themselves. Built perfectly vertical, the cement rectangle faced oncoming traffic with a metal sign on the cement. Maybe it was to make the words visible, even if it snowed or rained. Must get a lot of both. No lights though.
Chapter 48
“Ron, wake up!” I yelled.
The seat next to me rose to an upright position and Ron blinked before commanding to the van, “Chima, coffee.”
“We’re coming up on Chester,” I said.
When the tray slid out with a paper cup full of the dark liquid, adjusted to his taste and at a temperature he enjoyed, Ron lifted the cup to his lips.
To my left, off in the distance, I saw a white blob move. Staring at it more, I observed a white gofer prowling low. She must have seen something ahead of her. Female gofers do most of the hunting for food.
Sure enough, I spotted a greeper, also white. Must be a male to be alone like that. Female greepers, along with their young, had a tendency to be in herds.
The greeper busied himself with eating the branches of a bush, whose leaves had long since fallen to the ground. He must have enjoyed himself gorging on the food because he paid no attention to the danger sneaking up on him.
I watched in fascination as the gofer raced in a charge to the greeper. Both had six legs and were built close to the ground.
On one of its breaks from dining, the greeper must have seen the gofer because it faced its attacker and raised itself up on its two hind legs with claws from the four other paws waving, along with its abundant teeth. I could not hear anything from this distance but imagined the greeper let out a roar when the gofer charged it. The greeper fell over backwards as the gofer hit it and the two went down. The gofer was smaller but had momentum going for it.
The road curved and I paid attention to my driving. When I turned the wheel and held it steady, my gaze returned to the two animals off to my left.
But by now, nothing stirred. I switched my vision from the road to the animals, and back several times.
As the sight of the battle passed behind me, I saw the gofer stand over its kill, now lying belly up and not moving.
“Would you look at that?” said Ron.
I shook my head. Rossa was such a wild world.
It took several minutes for my heart to stop pounding. Only flat land separated my van from the two large animals in the distance.
A couple miles farther I came upon a fence surrounding the small town of Chester where three thousand people called home. A red and white striped board blocked the snow-covered road. Two guards in uniforms and carrying side arms strode up to both sides of my van, their faces exhaling puffs of white in the cold air. The guard on my side pointed to my front license plate for his partner. I pushed the button to lower my window.
My guard held his right hand on his weapon and leaned down to my level.
“Why are you coming to Chester?” asked the guard on my side.
“We’re tourists,” I said. “We came to find out what life is like in a small town. If we like what we see, we may bring our families to live here.”
The guard on Ron’s right looked us over and tapped on his window. When Ron lowered it, the guard asked, “You queer?”
I sensed Ron’s shoulders dropping as he shook his head.
Ron replied, “Hey, I thought Chester was a friendly town.”
If the guy hadn’t worn a badge and carried a gun, I could have challenged him on that. But in Rome, do as the Romans do.
I smirked to the officer on my right. “I said our families. Both of us are married with kids. And I mean married to women. I have two kids, boy and girl. He,” I pointed with my thumb, “has three kids, all girls.”
“What’s your wife’s name?” asked Ron’s guard.
“Arlene. But do I need to reveal that to go into Chester?” asked Ron. “That’s not a friendly greeting. I heard this was a friendly town.”
“Bring the virus with you?” asked the guard on my side.
“Nope. Everyone in both our families got vaccinated a week ago. How are the folks ahead? Been vaccinated?” I asked.
My guard nodded his head. “Four days ago.” Then he looked at Ron before returning his gaze to me.
“You guys reporters or sumtin’?” my guard asked.
“No,” I sighed. “I run a business, import/export. He’s a waiter at a restaurant.”
The guard looked over to Ron. “What restaurant?”
“Ever hear of Stennos?” asked Ron.
“Hmph,” replied my guard. He straightened up, nodded to his partner, and walked to the shed, probably to get warm in this snow.
As the barrier in front of us raised, I drove through.
A mile beyond the guard gate, Ron said, “Damned suspicious.”
“Gotta keep the narrow-mindedness pure, ya know.”
He added, “Just give me the go ahead and I’ll trim the reproductive tree.”
“We gotta choose our battles. Remember what we came for,” I replied.
“Arlene was your mother’s name, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. It was all I could think of at the moment,” Ron replied.
It took only fifteen seconds to reach the outskirts of town. Even in the dark, I could see the smaller rectangular glow of lights in windows. It was too dark to see any smoke from chimneys.
I had searched the Net for motels in this small town. So I kept an eye out for Motel Ten, the only place where visitors could find a room. Sure enough, its sign lit up the left side of the road as we entered. Chester had two stoplights on Main Street, the main drag. As I drove past First Street, I realized there was a third stoplight on First a block away to my right. As I drove by, I noticed a pickup truck went through the red light to make a left turn.
Must not get much traffic here. Either that, or the driver was related to a cop.
As I drove through the downtown, I swear mine was the only van on the streets. All the rest were trucks or SUVs. We endured stares from every turned face, in the trucks, on the sidewalks, or in the stores. Guess they don’t get many visitors here. Just like that, we got to the other end of town. I made a U-turn and headed back to the motel.
#
Ron and I registered in adjacent rooms on the ground floor. From the lack of cars in the parking lot, we could have had our picks of rooms. I dumped my suitcase in my room. Ron came over and the two of us walked to the adjacent York Western Restaurant.
I selected a booth and slid in so I could keep my back to the wall. Ron sat opposite me.
Ron had the house special of spaghetti and meatballs. I had the rack of lamb. Yeah, the whole rack.
From t
he look on Ron’s face, I said, “No competition for Stenno’s, eh?”
My lamb wasn’t much better. Tough. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was mutton.
We ate in silence, enduring the stares of the other patrons. I noticed most of them wore clothing that suggested a rough life. Long sleeved shirts of either black, or checkered red and black, blue jeans, black or brown boots. Made me wonder if they kept their cowboy hats in their trucks.
We, on the other hand, had on city clothes. I wore a white shirt, gray dress pants, gray jacket, and black shoes. Ron was clothed in a blue and white checkered shirt, blue slacks, and black shoes. I noticed an earring in his right ear. That could be why the guard on his side of the van thought he might be gay. We stood out like New Yorkers in Podunk, Missouri.
I pulled on my left earlobe while looking at Ron and mouthed the word “remove.”
He eyes rolled up but he detached the earring.
We avoided their alcoholic beverages and had coffee instead. Meaning we didn’t drink their draft beer by the mug like most patrons did.
The music was awful. Pure country, complete with the twangy guitars and off-note singing of a guy or girl losing a lover. Or a pet dog. The sour notes came from overhead speakers.
At one point, the waitress collided with the right shoulder of Ron, spilling coffee on his lap. I saw my buddy purse his lips and look at me. He tolerated this rude behavior when he much preferred to beat not only the waitress but any of the locals who came to her aid. If only they knew how dangerous we were.
Once we finished, Ron paid and I put down a robust tip. Maybe the waitress would remember us kindly.
Back in my room, Ron said, “I’d just as soon…”
I shook my head and placed my finger to my lips. Our room might be bugged. After the greeting at the fence and the stares in the restaurant, I wouldn’t put it past the owners of this place, figuring guests might let their guards down in the privacy of their rooms and say whatever was on their minds.
He nodded. “…take a nap after that meal.”
“See ya, later. I’m gonna hit the sack too.”
Ron left and I walked around my twin-bed room with my comm activated to detect any device that broadcast over the air. Nothing. That didn’t mean it was clear though. So I checked all the light fixtures and the phone. There was no chandelier. Nothing again.
The air smelled of pig.
I set my comm to wake me at midnight and slipped under the covers. I don’t know how much sleep I got when I heard a scream. Several more followed until they became a constant scream. With a sigh, I got up and walked in the chilly air to the front window.
I pulled down one metal blade of the venetian blinds and peered out to see the nearby pigs. They gathered near their enclosure and faced in the same direction. I looked there and saw a dark blob at the fence.
A shot rang out and I looked to the right to see where it came from. Another shot came and I saw the flash of light from the muzzle of a shotgun. A man walked from the main office of the motel while reloading. Another man followed with a rifle.
The dark blob retreated back to the woods, and the pigs stopped screaming.
I peeked at my comm. It was only ten. Maybe I could get some more shuteye so I climbed back under the covers. The warmth felt good.
#
My comm’s vibration woke me in the dark.
I yawned, flipped the covers back, and stood in my street clothes. From my bag, I took a stim. Closing the bathroom door to keep the light in, I turned on the light and downed the tablet with a half-glass of water.
Next came rubber gloves. I applied black makeup to my face before removing the gloves. I doused the light and walked back to the main room where I removed my shirt, taped a transponder to my chest, and turned it on. Then I finished dressing in all-black, including shirt, pants, and athletic shoes.
A soft double knock on my door told me I had a visitor. I tucked my shirt in my waist, picked up my Snap, walked to the front door, and opened it a crack to see my fellow spy dressed in black. I opened the door to let him in.
He carried his suitcase inside and waited while I packed mine.
We each carried a suitcase and went to our van.
Once inside, I asked, “Chima. Have you had any visitors?”
The computer voice responded, “No one visited the inside or the outside of the van.”
From the hidden compartment in the dash, we pulled out our Z helmets and put them on.
“Chima, stealth mode.”
I drove out with no lights showing, not even the backup lights. If I pressed on the brake pedal, not even the red taillights would go on. Ours was the only vehicle on the street and I drove using the night vision in my helmet.
I headed away from the center of town. “Chima, show map on the dash.”
The small screen lit up with Main Street. Above the screen was a metallic ridge preventing its light from being seen outside the van. I turned left a half mile later. Then I drove ten minutes at a slow speed on the dirt road. I stopped a hundred yards from the sign “Coocher Ranch ahead.”
Using the zoom lenses on my helmet, I checked the guard gate ahead. Two guys with rifles.
To our right was a wooden fence five feet tall, topped with razor wire. It might keep screechies out but not greepers or gofers. Maybe the guards took care of them.
Ron removed his helmet, pressed a few buttons on his comm, climbed out, and walked to the guard gate. I followed the conversation via my comm.
“Helmet, activate forward camera and zoom.”
Ron walked up to the guard gate.
When the younger guard heard Ron, he unshouldered his rifle and pointed it at him.
“Who is it?”
With his hands raised, Ron approached the guards. By now, the other one had his rifle pointed at him too.
“Where the hell am I?” asked Ron.
“Whatcha doin’ walking in the night?” asked the older guard.
“I’m lost. I left my car way back there.” He pointed behind him.
“Can you tell me how to get back to town?”
The younger one cocked his rifle and raised it to his eye level. Not a smart move. Must not be ex-cops. Maybe he was a wannabe who liked to carry a gun and wear a uniform.
“Headlights on,” I ordered Chima.
The lights distracted the guards. Ron ducked and pulled his Snap with its silencer.
The younger guard fired at where Ron used to be.
“What the hell?” said the older guard.
With two quick pops from Ron’s silenced Snap both men fell to the ground.
Damn!
I started the engine and drove up toward Ron.
He tossed something through the open door of the guard shack, another toward the fence, and lay on the ground. In seconds, the shack blew up, followed by the fence. If anyone watched in the main house, they’d sure be alarmed by now.
When the van got close enough, Ron got up, climbed in, and put his Z helmet back on. Ron had researched the kinds of bushes native to Chester and had chosen camouflage to match for our helmets.
I drove toward the house through the gap left by Ron’s grenades.
Chapter 49
The three-story house was lit up, including floodlights around the outside. Everything stood in shades of gray or black. The ground floor had few windows. A split staircase wound up to the main doors. One staircase to the right and the other left.
In the windows on the second floor, I spotted silhouettes of men with rifles. In front of the house was loose gravel.
Ron ducked down beneath the dashboard.
“I guess our surprise is over.”
“Looks like, doesn’t it?” I answered. “Chima, dim all windows.”
I pulled to the right and stopped.
“Out you go.”
Ron opened his door and dove to the ground with his helmet still on.
“Chima, close the door.”
I pulled off my Z helmet and retu
rned it to its hidden storage compartment. With my passenger assured of not getting involved in the firefight, I drove up to the staircases of the house and stopped.
“Get out of your car with your hands up,” commanded a loudspeaker I couldn’t locate.
I kept a Snap in my holster. They would expect one and would look until they found it. With that little task taken care of, I opened my door and exited the vehicle with my hands raised. As I closed the door with my hip, I lowered my left hand to cover my mouth to prevent lip reading.
“Chima, security lock.”
Now, no one could open any of the doors or enter through the windows except members of my team.
I walked out away from my car with my hands raised and my eyes squeezed narrow from the blinding glare of lights.
“Throw your gun away.”
I hurled the Snap to my left onto the paved stones and stood, waiting further orders.
“Turn around slowly.”
I turned to my left and completed the turn in fifteen seconds.
“Where’s your buddy?”
“This doesn’t involve him,” I said. “I left him back at the motel.” I pointed with my thumb back the way I had come before raising it again.
“Why are you here?”
“I have a score to settle with Coocher.”
“You’re not in much of a position to settle anything, mister. Who are you?”
“Jake Dani, father of Alena Dani. Coocher ordered her kidnapped and tortured.”
“So daddy wants to play hero, eh?”
Two men approached with handguns in front of them pointed at me. I could see their breath. Saw mine too. The air was chilly, below the dew point for water vapor.
After a pause, one of them said in a puff of fog, “The only reason why you’re still alive is the boss.”
A pair of flashlights approached. I tried blocking the light with my right hand.
“Keep your hands up!”
“Then turn the damned flashlights off my eyes,” I said as I kept my hand in front of me.
Humans Only: A Jake Dani Novel (Jake Dani/Mike Shapeck Book 2) Page 28
