The SciFi Triple Pack

by Adam Drake

“This is a good thing,” Wyatt mumbled.

  “What?” the guard said, finally unlocking the door and opening it. “What did you say?”

  Wyatt offered the man a syrupy grin. “This is all a good thing that's happened. Trust me on that.” He felt the conviction down in his bones.

  “Uh-huh,” the guard said, and shoved Wyatt up into the passenger seat. With his hands restrained behind his back, it made sitting uncomfortable.

  “I'm not comfortable,” Wyatt said. He felt sleepy, like a nap was needed now more than ever.

  “Shut up, and don't cause any problems,” the guard said. Confident Wyatt was secured, he fished a phone out of his uniform's front pocket.

  Wyatt watched him with pity and shook his head. “No need for those anymore, friend. Today has changed that.”

  The guard thumbed the buttons on the phone which looked like a toy in his massive hand. The screen remained dark. No rings or beeps. “Damnit,” the guard said.

  Wyatt watched him for a few moments as he futilely tried to resurrect the little device. “Do you know what is going to happen?”

  The guard looked up and arched a brow at Wyatt. “Yeah, I know what's going to happen.”

  “What?”

  “I'm going to hand you over to the police, is what's going to happen. Then I'm going to submit an overtime sheet and demand a danger pay bonus.”

  “Danger pay?” Wyatt laughed. The term was odd to hear out loud. “That's not what I meant.”

  “Okay, what do you mean?” The guard looked frustrated. Wyatt felt for him, he was having a rough day. Something Wyatt could identify with.

  “You're not going to hand me over to the police,” Wyatt said.

  The guard scoffed. “Oh, no? What am I going to do with you then?”

  “You're going to let me go.”

  The guard laughed, a deep barking sound. “That's rich. You really expect that, huh? Murder two people in my clinic and just waltz away?”

  “No, you're going to let me go because I have a job to do.”

  “And what's that? Kill more people?”

  Wyatt shook his head, the approaching night felt like cotton against his senses. “I didn't kill people,” he nodded toward the clinic and the bodies inside. “Those weren't people.”

  The expression on the guard's face said he thought Wyatt was nuts. “If those aren't people, then what are they?”

  “A beginning,” Wyatt said, smiling wide. He rested his head back against the seat.

  The guard scoffed again. “Damn nut-job. Murderous, killing nut-job. But you still didn't answer my question.”

  “Which was?” Wyatt said through lidded eyes.

  “Why would I let you go after what you just did?”

  “Because I have a job to do, and not you, nor anyone else, can stop me from doing it.”

  “What job is that?”

  Wyatt thought for a moment, then said, “I don't know. It's not clear to me, yet.”

  Some people at the front of the clinic starting yelling at each other. Then a man pushed a younger woman against a glass window, causing it to rattle.

  “Hey!” the guard said. To Wyatt he said, “Stay put and don't be stupid.” He slammed the door and went over to the brawling couple shouting for everyone to calm down.

  Wyatt watched as the guard tried to maintain order. Even despite his size, things were getting out of hand. The people were agitated. Not just at what Wyatt had done, but the fact that this entire situation was confusing, and it wasn't getting any clearer.

  He looked over each one, men and women, husbands and wives. They were all at the start of a great change. Sort of like himself, only Wyatt knew his change was for a greater purpose. What it was he couldn't be sure, but he wasn't worried. He'd get a sign soon enough.

  A strange sereneness passed over his body as he contemplated the possibilities of what his new job would be. Whatever it was, it would finally give him something more to strive for than simple survival. No more dumpsters, no more cans, no more bottles. No more being afraid.

  Killing Casket and Scarface had dislodged something inside him. A jagged thing which had been stuck in his soul for so long he'd forgotten to even dream anymore. Now, he was in a dream.

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  Wyatt turned to the voice. Ethan was sitting in the driver's seat, looking at him with a wide grin.

  “You're dead,” Wyatt said. “What's up with that?”

  Ethan shrugged. “Can't say for sure. Only I know it has something to do with you, of all people. Damned if I can figure out why.”

  Wyatt looked Ethan over. His friend looked just as he was before Casket had sliced him up. Rough and ready for a day of dumpster diving. Was he an angel? He didn't look it. But he didn't smell bad anymore. In fact, Wyatt was certain Ethan smelled like peppermint.

  “No,” Wyatt said, sitting up. “You're dead. I saw you die. Then you talked to me from that gurney like nothing had happened. Now you're here in the doctor's truck like it was something I wanted.”

  Ethan looked around the truck's cab and placed his hands on the wide steering wheel. “This is the doctor's truck? Damn fine set of wheels, if you ask me. Guess he could afford it, being a doctor and all. Although I think he kind of sucks at his job considering he couldn't save me.” His face scrunched up in thought. “Do doctors have their pay cut when someone dies in their care?”

  Wyatt shook his head, his eyes never leaving Ethan. He was here. Really here in the truck. Wyatt could feel his presence just as if someone alive would be. “Why are you here?”

  “Enjoying this fine example of American automotive craftsmanship!”

  “No,” Wyatt said, shaking his head. “Why are you here for me? Are you a figment of my imagination? Am I suffering a trauma of some kind?”

  Ethan's smile slipped a little as he matched his friend's stare. “I'm not a figment of anything. I'm your friend and always will be. Trust me on that. And as for suffering a trauma,” he waved his hands at the darkness around them and the people clustered outside, “the entire universe is suffering a trauma on a massive scale. But it doesn't have to be that way. It doesn't have to be as painful as it might be unless something happens to ease them through this great change.”

  Wyatt blinked in confusion. “Gibberish. Pure Gibberish. You're not Ethan. At least not the Ethan I knew. You're something else.”

  “No, Wyatt,” Ethan said. “I'm still me. Only now I've changed, just like everyone else out there is changing, only they don't know it yet. But they will, they certainly will.”

  “Yeah?” Wyatt said, feeling his anger grow. “And how do I fit into all this? You said I had a job to do. What is it?”

  Ethan matched Wyatt's gaze. “Because your job is to save them.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Nate

  “I think you've earned yourself a bitter beer,” Nate said. He handed Martin a bottle from the cooler. “In case you wanted to reload for another round.”

  Martin twisted off the cap and took a sip, his hands trembling.

  “Here,” Nate said, pointing to one of the chairs. “Take a load off.”

  Martin dropped into it and sighed. He looked exhausted and Nate suspected it was from more than the day long hike pushing a wheel-barrel of prawns. It was his mind that was tired.

  Nate sat in the other chair across from the little fat man. “Sorry I stole your thunder,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Martin asked. His eyes were watery as if he might burst into tears.

  “Killing Unger,” Nate said. “I know a lot of people had it out for him, but I was the one who got to pop that cherry.”

  Martin waved a hand. “No, don't apologize. The bastard deserved it. The things he did to me...”

  Not sure he was ready for a sob story, Nate said, “He did a lot of crappy things to a lot of people. That was pretty much his job after all. But he got his comeuppance and there's no taking it back.”

  “I know. I just didn't exp
ect him to be dead so soon. I thought there would be time for me to find a way to get to him.”

  “Like a poisoned prawn?”

  Martin laughed. “Or maybe a poisoned import beer.”

  Nate spit out his beer and laughed. “Okay, that was good one.”

  Both men went quiet for a time. Nate leaning back and looking at the stars, Martin staring into the dying fire in the barrel.

  Martin finally asked, “Did they attack you?” He motioned to the other bodies with his beer bottle.

  “More or less. They tried to rescue their king and were slain for their efforts.” He was impressed this guy wasn't rattled at the sight of so many dead.

  Martin looked the bodies over. “You killed all of them yourself?”

  Nate didn't have to answer. He just took another swig.

  “Damn,” Martin said. “That's impressive.”

  They both watched the apartment burn like the fire was possessed with unfettered rage. If people had escaped they didn't do it from this side of the building. The heat was intense, and the flames brightened the back lot as if it were day.

  “So what happens now?” Martin asked.

  Nate knew he wasn't talking about the burning apartment. “I dunno,” he said with a shrug. “What do you want to happen?”

  Martin shook his head. “I'm at a loss. I'd resigned myself to having to work for this asshole for the rest of my life, or until I found a way to kill him. Now none of that matters.”

  This was music to Nate's ears, yet he still wasn't sure about this guy, having just met him. So he asked, “What if we were to go try and help those people?”

  Martin looked to the burning apartment. “Are you kidding? Why would we do that? If we go try to help, then their problems become our problems. And, I dunno about you, but I got my fill already.”

  Nate chuckled. Okay, he thought, this guy isn't a total fool.

  The smoke from the apartment inferno drifted over to where they sat, ruining their little get together.

  “Let's move this party inside,” Nate said, standing. “Besides, these guys are starting to really smell.”

  Nate followed Martin into the bar where they sat at one of the tables close to the front doors. The smoke was barely noticeable in here. Even the occasional screams from the apartments were muffled.

  Peaceful.

  “Are you armed?” Nate asked.

  “Only with a bad attitude,” Martin said.

  “You're going to need more than that from now on,” Nate said. “As you know, the shit has hit the fan and things have changed.”

  “But this can't last too long, can it? The power will come back on tomorrow, or soon after. It has to.”

  Nate reveled at the sound of desperate confusion in Martin's voice. “I don't think so. I believe this is the end-game which has fallen upon us and we need to get prepared.”

  “I dunno. It's possible this could be fixed real soon.”

  “Yeah, but does your phone work?”

  Martin fished out a little phone from his back pocket and tossed it on the table. “Dead. Like everyone else's I've run into. Yours?”

  “Very dead. Just like the cars and smoke detectors and planes, everything is dead that isn't even hooked up to the power grid. I haven't seen one electronic device of any kind working since this morning. Have you?”

  Martin shook his head. “No, not a spark of life from anything electrical. The roads are complete chaos. People hollering and screaming. Pandemonium.”

  Nate chuckled. “Pandemonium. Good word. I like that. Covers exactly what's going on. No power of any kind anywhere has led to complete pandemonium. So do you really believe that this can be fixed overnight?”

  “No way.”

  “Right. This is the ultimate dick-punch. A dick-punch to society as a whole. Maybe even the world.”

  “That's a pretty big dick-punch.”

  “And I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that, even if they somehow manage to reverse this colossal dick-punch, things will not return to the way people are used to.”

  Martin nodded. “Too much damage has been done.”

  “And many scores being settled. There is a purge occurring out there tonight, and will continue to happen for days and weeks if not longer. How can a civilized society recover from that? I mean, really?”

  Martin thought on this for a few moments. Nate drank his beer and watched him.

  Martin said, “I think you're right.”

  “About?”

  “About getting prepared. We need to protect ourselves. Get supplies and stuff.”

  Nate nodded. “We can't just sit around and wait for the government to come in and save our asses, now can we?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “They're too busy saving their own butts right now, mark my words.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So I think the best thing we could do is just as you said, get supplies and stuff. And by stuff I mean weapons.”

  “I have a pistol back at the warehouse which is also full of canned crap we could use.”

  Nate smiled. “I like that, Marty. A man after my own heart.”

  Martin's eyes lit up, and he stood. “Hey, don't those guys out there have guns?”

  “Yeah,” Nate said.

  “Uh, want me to go get 'em?”

  Nate shook his head. “No need, I stashed them already.” It was the first thing he did after plugging Morse. Can't have any guns laying about that weren't in his control so he stuffed them under Unger's desk for the moment.

  “Oh, okay,” Martin said, and sat back down. He took a sip of his beer.

  Nate wasn't quite ready to give this guy a weapon, but what choice did he have? Things were spiraling out of control and having him armed would be helpful. Could he trust him?

  After some thought Nate reached into his jacket's deep pocket and pulled out his pistol. “Here, take this for now.”

  Martin's eyes went wide and took the proffered weapon. “Wow, thanks!” He held it gently in his hand, inspecting it under the lantern's fading light.

  “You've used one before?”

  “No, never.”

  Nate tapped the barrel of the pistol with a finger. “You point that at who I tell you to, okay?”

  Martin barked a nervous laugh. “Yeah, okay.” He squinted at it. “Is the safety on or off?”

  Nate sighed. “Off. Just don't shoot yourself with it.” You wouldn't be much use to me if you did, he thought.

  “Okay,” Martin said, and slid the pistol in the waistband of his pants. His soft fat rolls nearly enveloped it. He may not be much of a gunman, but he was the only one Nate had at the moment.

  “I think it would be best if we stuck it out here until morning,” Nate said while Martin nodded in agreement. “Armed or not, it's too crazy out there to go traipsing around. And your lantern would draw too much attention to us especially if someone wanted to take it.”

  “We got guns,” Martin said, flush with his new responsibility. “They could try.”

  “Hopefully that stupid apartment building doesn't take this place down with it.”

  “I don't think so. It's pretty far over there.”

  They both sipped their beers. Nate considered practicing his new managerial style and brooch the subject of Martin's sob story. He'd learn more about his underling and maybe get a better angle on how to keep him under control.

  And if he didn't like what he heard he could always shoot him.

  “How did you get tangled up with the bear?” Nate asked.

  “The bear? Oh, Unger. Yeah, that there was a real piece of work. And it actually wasn't me that got tangled.”

  “It wasn't?”

  “No, it was my brother. He became an associate to that Morse guy and started to run errands for him.”

  “Poor bastard,” Nate said. He couldn't imagine having that screw-up as a boss.

  Martin nodded. “Had him running packets all over the city and into some really bad areas, too. Then afte
r a while it progressed to stealing cars. My brother had a knack for that.”

  “Yeah? He jack a lot of good stuff?”

  “Uh-huh, you name it he could steal it. Alarms meant nothing to him. But it was when he stole a mercedes that something went wrong.”

  An alarm bell rang off in Nate's head. There was something familiar about this. “What happened? He get caught?”

  “No,” Martin said, his face grim. “He stole a mercedes that was the wrong color Unger wanted. Black instead of grey.”

  Now those alarm bells had turned into a full on klaxon. Nate swallowed his beer and waited for what he knew Martin would say next.

  “Anyways, he brought this black mercedes into one of Unger's shops and when Unger found out the color, he went ballistic. Hated it and was crazy mad over the fact it wasn't grey. Unger actually made him take it back.”

  “Take the car back? From where he stole it?”

  “Yeah, and it was there he was pinched by the cops. Kid had no choice but to take it back or he might get clipped from not following an order. So the kid gets thrown in jail, waiting to go to trial. While he was in there, Unger roped him into the drug market he was trying to start up. The kid tried to do it for a while, but it's rough in there and he couldn't keep up with the other dealers.”

  Martin went silent and Nate didn't pry. He knew this tale by heart.

  After another sip, Martin said, “So he received a small shipment of crap from the outside, stuffed up a visitor's asshole. But before he could hide it, one of the other dealer's robbed him. Beat him up really good, too.”

  “And then your brother owed Unger for the missing drugs,” Nate stated, matter-of-factly. It wasn't that he knew the details, it was just the natural progression of events in any criminal organization. You lose something the boss owns, you got to pay him back.

  Martin nodded. “But before he could even start to try and pay Unger back, he got into a fight and was shanked. Bled out before anyone could help him. After that Unger said the debt was transferred to me. So he got me working for him for free, basically.”

  Nate gave him a few moments before asking, “What was your brother's name?”