We ran past crumpled cars and still forms of ruined bodies that lined the roadway. Some of them still twitched as we ran past.
As I jogged past a small red Mini Cooper that was set ablaze, the paint beginning to bubble and peel, a hand shot out from underneath and sent me sprawling to the ground. I kicked out with my boot as I noticed a charred figure trying to pull himself forward and out from underneath of the burning wreckage, and take a chunk out of me with his teeth. I kicked him in the head. My foot slid off taking bits of burned flesh, revealing his bone-white skull underneath. I gasped at the fact that this individual was still even moving. I raised my leg up and stomped down hard, splitting the skull open, sending bits of congealed brain matter splattering across the ground like a squashed bug.
Richard thrust a hand out and helped me to my feet, and we continued on, picking up the pace as I heard the roar of a plane’s engine in the distance.
“Shit,” I said, and Richard shot a side glance over to me, a questioning look on his face. “We need to hurry,” was all I said in response.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” the officer replied.
We reached the gray and yellow police cruiser, nearly out of breath.
Richard thrust his hand down to his duty rig and located a set of keys that were attached with a metal ring. He unclasped the key ring and fumbled around with them for a moment until he located the key he was looking for, thankful that the department had keyed all of their standard cruisers with the same locks. Richard inserted the key and gave it two quick turns to the right, disengaging the car’s locks, and climbed in.
I hurriedly followed suit. I slapped on my seat belt and looked in the rearview mirror just in time to see an F-18 Hornet throttle out of the horizon.
“Get this bitch moving, Dick!” I said with an edge of fear in my voice.
Richard followed my gaze to the rearview to see what I was staring at. “What the hell is that for?” he said, observing the scene.
“That’s winged death,” I said in response. “Their planning on torching this place.”
“How in the hell do you know that?” he questioned.
“Just trust me and get this bucket moving,” I said in reply.
Richard cocked an eyebrow and started the engine. The police cruiser purred to life; he threw it in gear and hit the gas pedal. The police car accelerated smoothly.
I cocked a short-lived grin when I thought of how cushy the vehicle felt in comparison to the monster car I cruised around in all day. The police car took the roads bumps and curves with ease, and among all the tension, I had to stifle a laugh.
Richard glanced over at me. “What?” he questioned, looking confused.
“Nothing.” I smiled and shook my head. “I was just thinking how smooth this thing runs. If I were in my truck hitting some of these bumps, my head would be smacking the ceiling.” I involuntarily touched the top of my head.
“No shocks.” It was a statement more than a question.
I nodded my head in agreement.
“Well, our vehicles are the best the taxpayers have to offer,” he said and followed with a grin. At that moment, there was a huge concussive blast that shattered the cruiser’s rear safety glass and hit with enough force to cause the car’s back wheels to rise up off the roadway. Richard fought with the steering wheel, doing his best to control the vehicle that had briefly hopped up onto its two front wheels. He had just regained control when our eyes went wide in unison as we saw a massive fireball headed our way.
“Ahhhh, shit! Step on it, Dick!” I shouted, glancing behind us nervously.
“I’m stepping on it! I’m stepping on it, and by the way, the-name-is-Richard!” He shouted back. The cop reached down and tapped the turbo button on his cruiser’s console. There was a momentary burst of energy, and the car rocketed forward. Richard’s face was perspiring, his brow furrowed in intense concentration as he whipped the car around almost unintelligible obstacles. He maneuvered the cruiser with the precision of a surgeon as he avoided stranded cars and debris.
The fireball struck, moving way too fast for us to outrun. I just hoped we were far enough away to not be vaporized immediately. An intense heat struck our backs and flooded superheated air into our nose and mouths, making our lungs feel as if they were on fire. The car shot forward, no longer under the power of its own engine, but being forcibly projected by the intense pressure of the blast. Control of the vehicle was futile as we were propelled forward; the cruiser rocked on its antiroll suspension and was forced sideways, and then flipped over like a newspaper blowing in the wind. Feeling the inertia as the car began to flip, I wrapped my hands behind my neck and bent down, tucking my head into my knees like they tell you to do in a plane crash.
“Duck and cover, people!” The line from some movie I cannot remember obscurely flitted through my thoughts. The car rolled several times before landing squarely on its roof, spinning like a top, showering the area with sparks that were barely visible with the surrounding fireball that engulfed us. The car slid about fifty or so feet along the highway before being slammed into a guardrail, and finally coming to a rest.
I watched bleary eyed and dazed as the flames blazed around the car, reminding me of a blast furnace. I felt my skin begin to burn under the intense heat. This is it, I thought as I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the sting of tears that attempted to fall but were being immediately evaporated into the air. I opened my eyes and gazed over to Richard through heat-distorted waves. He groaned in pain, a large welt beginning to form on his forehead. I watched the fire as it roared by, and I let my thoughts drift off to my wife and children. If I was going to die here, I wasn’t going to let my last thoughts and feelings be full of fear and remorse. I thought of my daughter and the four sons that we shared. I thought about Boy Scout meetings and trick or treating on Halloween, our last Christmas, where my wife and kids had all pitched in to get my car detailed.
I wished I was there now. Instead I was stuck here in this hell. I stared out of the window, wondering just how much time we had left; and as if by some miracle, the flames ceased just as fast as they appeared. I heard a whoosh of air flood around the car. Smoke poured from the roadway and surrounded us. I had to wonder if we had just survived the explosion only to die from smoke inhalation. However, it seemed that the police cruiser, even as banged up and shattered as it was, helped to keep most of the offending toxins outside of the cab.
I closed my eyes, feeling incredibly dizzy, a sense of nausea overtook me, and I vomited. Acidic bile ran out of my mouth and up my nose as I hung upside down still strapped into my seat belt. I aspirated on the putrid liquid and began to gag and cough uncontrollably. My lungs spasmed trying to remove the vile fluid from within them. I took in a ragged breath of hot air and began coughing anew; white spots started entering my vision like mini explosions going off in my optic nerves. I fought for consciousness but lost as everything started to fade to black.
Chapter 11
Marvin Winters crouched low on the forest floor atop of a hill overlooking the roadway where he had just narrowly escaped. He kept quiet and out of site while he tried to catch his breath; he rubbed his throbbing knee, the artificial metal joints adhering his prosthetic leg gave him hell in the best of times, and that was when he was sitting on his ass all day pushing down on a gas pedal. Now that he was up and moving, running for his life, he was living through pure torment. He felt the grinding of the metal joint against his muscle tissue with every slight movement.
“I’m getting too old for this shit,” he grumbled as he watched a group of Homeland agents approach his rapidly burning vehicle.
Marvin watched somewhat amused when he noticed the gas tank on his ruined rig catch fire. “Get ready for a big surprise you fuckers,” he said to himself, cocking a sly grin. Marvin, however, knew better than to stand there, gawking like some civi. As a former Marine and a demolitions expert to boot, he knew one of the first rules pertaining to explosives: if you were close enough to see i
t, you were close enough for it to kill you. So Marvin backed farther into the forest’s shadowy interior. As quietly as he could, he navigated his way through the thicket of trees and underbrush. As far as stealth goes, he could have sworn that he sounded more like a bull in a china shop rather than the cunning fox that he was trying to be.
“Fuck aging,” Marvin said to a squirrel that happened to be in his path. The squirrel apparently heard him coming from a mile away and subsequently scurried up a nearby pine tree in response. His thoughts drifted back to his glory days in the Marine Corps, moving as quietly as a tiger in the grass ready to pounce on its prey as he and his crew planted explosive charges behind enemy lines to halt or even cripple their operations.
The sound of an engine in the distance snapped him out of his reverie, and he gazed upward at the gray sky. It had been a while since he had heard the sounds of military aircraft, but he could pick out the urgency in which it seemed to travel. The unmistakable drone of a jet engine hurtling toward his position, he knew that when there was that particular sound, a shit-storm was sure to follow. He just hoped Kyle had enough sense to get out of its way, if the kid was still alive, he thought.
He stood there sullen for a moment. Kyle was a smart kid, little bit full of himself at times but a smart kid nonetheless, not to mention that he loved his family more than anyone he had ever seen. That became keenly apparent if you happened to work with the man aside from his constant rambling about his wife and kids; he would quite literally run his ass off just to get home to spend a little more time with them. Marvin took in a deep breath and continued forward through the trees, wanting to put as much distance between him and this place as he could. If only for his family, Marvin knew Kyle would make it. Besides, the boy was just too damn stubborn to die.
Marvin looked down at the mud-encrusted metal case that he gripped in his left hand. He had to periodically swap the case in between his hand’s, alternating arms due to the strain the heavy case put on his weathered shoulders. He winced and spat as he walked directly into a large spider-web. “Shit,” he spat again as he wiped the offending strands of spider silk from his face with his free hand. Their rough calloused surface brushed along day-old gray stubble. “Should have shaved this morning,” Marvin mumbled.
He debated, taking a moment and trying to force the case open, figuring it to be rigged with a GPS locator, not to mention finding out exactly what it contained that our illustrious government was willing to kill for. However, still mindful of the jet heading his way, he decided he should probably keep moving; he had a very bad feeling about that sound. He would, however, have to ditch said case probably sooner rather than later, lest they use it to track his position. If they did, he doubted very seriously that he would survive a second go-round with Homeland’s goons.
Marvin cut a path through the vegetation, knowing that soon he would run into the side street that bisected the main road from which he had just departed. He hoped that among the smoke and confusion, no one had noticed him slip away from the wreckage; he knew they would figure it out sooner or later, but he hoped he’d be long gone before then.
Marvin approached a drop off in the landscape. Peering down below the smoke and gloom he could just make out the roadway below. It was a narrow stretch, probably a service road to the main highway, he mused. Using his free hand, he gripped onto the base of a spindly sapling and started his way down the steep incline, taking care to avoid slipping on the now-damp and slick leaves that coated the earth. The rain had all but ceased to fall; the only droplets cascading down upon him were the result of water collected atop the leaves of the trees he disturbed while making his descent. After several minutes of slipping, sliding, and cursing his way down the slope, Marvin reached the edge of the forest and crept silently toward the roadway, doing his best to stay out of sight.
He gazed skyward to see the military jet go screaming by. “Shit,” Marvin hissed and ducked down low, not knowing exactly what to expect next. A moment later, the earth surrounding Marvin’s feet shuddered and quaked beneath his boots. Trees atop the hill flattened with the concussive blast that resounded throughout the expanse. Old growth oaks and pines tumbled down the hill in waves like something you would see in old turn-of-the-century logging camp films.
Marvin jumped out from his hiding place and dove to the drainage ditch aside the roadway, moving quickly as adrenaline fueled his tired body. Immediately going prone and using the metal case as a shield to protect his head. Dirt and debris rained down upon him for what seemed like an eternity. Bits of earth and rock pelted the metal case. To Marvin, the sounds of the debris striking the case sounded a bit like popcorn popping in his eight-hundred-year-old thermonuclear microwave oven. The ancient contraption looked akin to something they would have produced out of three-mile island instead of something he and the Misses picked up at Macy’s sometime in the early eighties.
The sounds of material striking the case grew steadily slower until it came to a stop. Marvin slowly removed his head from underneath his makeshift shield and brought his gaze upward. He stared in shock and awe at the miniature mushroom cloud that plumed beyond the hill, and he then noticed a giant timber that teetered above him merely yards away, hanging directly above his position.
Marvin quickly scrambled to his feet lest a squirrel farted in the wrong direction causing the massive oak tree to come tumbling down into his hidey-hole. He climbed his way out of the drainage ditch and stepped onto the roadway. He glanced in both directions, still having the presence of mind to check for any threats that may be lurking about. Thus far, he had been protected from the insanity that had befallen the area, enclosed within his nearly impermeable armored shell. Now much to his chagrin, he was right in the thick of it. Marvin set the heavy metal case on the gravel road beneath his feet.
First order of business was his personal safety. With what he had witnessed thus far, the world, at least in this general vicinity, had gone insane. People were attacking without justification, government agents were dropping bombs on American soil, and this was all too much for him. Something had gone terribly wrong, and he suspected whatever was in that case—he eyed the suitcase with disdain—had something to do with it. Marvin reached to his side and checked to make certain his .45 Glock was still firmly attached to his hip. It was; at least there were still some small miracles. Next thing he needed to do was get as far away from here as possible. With his bad knees, Marvin knew he wasn’t going to get very far before something caught up to him. At the moment, the gravel roadway that he stood on appeared empty; however, he knew he would have to find some sort of transportation if he were going to make it anywhere. He wondered briefly if he could catch a bus, then dismissed the thought. That would be a sight, an armored guard with a large case standing on a bus. Might as well just paint the target on his back. Not to mention all the other shit going on at the present time.
Marvin looked up and down the roadway trying to decide in which direction he wanted to travel. He guessed his best option was to make it back to HQ; now if only he knew which direction that was. Marvin looked down at a button compass embedded in his watch strap. He changed his position until the red needled directed him roughly to the north, knowing that he and his partner had traveled about twenty miles south of their home base, might as well have been a hundred in his condition. He would need to find a ride, or at least a phone; he wanted to check on his wife of the past forty years. With Homeland’s boys on his tail, he wasn’t certain if that was the best course of action, however.
Marvin kicked the case onto its side and pondered the locking mechanism. It was from all outward appearances a biometric lock, nearly impossible to open without the proper thumbprint or at least a good set of tools, neither of which he had. The case, however, had sustained a good deal of damage when his truck flipped over. Marvin glanced around the roadway until his gaze came to rest on a rather large hunk of rock.
“Ah, what the fuck,” Marvin said while plucking up the mini boulder. Marvin
knelt beside the case; he held onto the side of its now-dented surface and raised his hand up in the air. He brought the bludgeon down with as much force as he could muster. A loud pang reverberated through the air, sending shock waves up his arm. Marvin winced and struck the lock again. To anyone who may have been within earshot, it would have sounded akin to someone working metal on an anvil. Seven or so attempts later and nothing to show for it other than a slightly cracked LED screen. Marvin gave up and decided to move on lest someone get curious as to what the hell that banging was. Marvin had to laugh at the thought. Here, there, was just a massive explosion, and he was thinking someone would give a shit about his hammering. He shrugged.
He glanced over his shoulder and then did a double take; his neck cracked in response to the unexpected movement. Marvin squinted at what appeared to be two figures stumbling out of the brush, one of them lost their footing and plunged face first into the drainage ditch. Marvin cocked an eyebrow in amazement at the fact that the man or woman—he couldn’t quite tell at this distance—did a straight up face plant into a concrete drain pipe, not even bothering to put out its hands to protect itself. Its companion then tripped over the now-still form of its partner, successfully tumbling in the ditch after it.
“What the fuck.” Marvin snickered. “They must be stoned out of their gourds,” he smirked. It was then he noticed the two tangled figures begin to slowly emerge from the shallowly depths of the embankment; both figures were covered in what looked like a mix of blood and mud caked over with bits of gravel. Both of them reached out in Marvin’s direction and let out a ghastly snarl. Marvin’s stomach began to sour like curdled milk; it was at that moment he decided it was time to go. If anyone could take a fall like that and still keep coming, it’s time to bug out.
Marvin reached down and grasped the handle of the case once more. He toyed with the idea of leaving it behind and retrieving it later, but he could barely remember what he had for breakfast that day, let alone trying to remember where he stashed some flipping case in the middle of the woods. Glancing behind him and taking note of the position of his new fan club, Marvin set off down the road.
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