by RJ Johnson
This is supposed to be my vacation?
Chapter Ten
Only twenty-four hours ago, Alex’s biggest problem had been whether or not his father had brought enough ice. Each and every trip, as they packed, his father Ted would insist that they had enough of everything. Inevitably, somewhere along the way, they would need to pick something up. With the lessons learned from over a lifetime of camping with his father, Alex had only smiled and agreed that one bag of ice would be plenty for their weekend trip.
And Alex had smiled again when they needed to stop outside Joshua Tree to stock up on more ice.
Now, as he ducked oncoming fire from a group of people he’d never met before – and, until they killed his father, never had a beef with — Alex thought about how wonderful it would be to have some mundane details in his life right about now.
Instead, Alex found himself struggling up a steep and rusty ladder to get onto a roof in the hopes he could get a bead on some of the men currently trying to kill him. The two pistols Alex had crammed into his pockets threatened to fall out to the floor below. Stopping for a moment, he clung tightly to the ladder with one arm as he used the other to readjust his pistols.
Alex’s head popped out into the night air as he took a quick look around. The distant thumping of helicopter blades – that was how they had reached him so quickly, Alex thought to himself — beat steadily in the night sky. He craned his neck, looking for the mechanical bird. That might be a problem.
Future Alex’s problem, his brain insisted. Alex jumped up on the roof, crouching as he ran, holding the two high-powered rifles he had confiscated from the weapons locker below. The helicopter noise began to drone louder as Alex approached the edge of the station roof. There, approaching quickly, the helicopter stopped, reared up, and hovered over the Sheriff station parking lot. Two more black Suburbans added to the one Alex had stolen from the men in the desert. Three men hid behind the trucks, firing into the station with their automatic rifles.
Keeping his profile low, Alex watched the helicopter circle around the station. He ducked suddenly against the wall as he hid from the searchlight that threatened to expose his position.
Reaching the front edge of the station, Alex closed his eyes for a moment. The image of his father falling off the cliff flashed to the front of his memory. Gritting his teeth, Alex got up from behind the wall, put the scope of the rifle to his eye, and looked for the nearest target firing into the broken windows of the small Joshua Tree Sheriff Station.
With the patience and careful aim drilled into him by the Army, Alex breathed in deeply, exhaled halfway, and held the rest as he squeezed the trigger. His target’s head disappeared from the scope.
Alex checked the spot where the shooter had been only moments before. All that remained was a pink smear on the ground. He didn’t feel sorry for the man below; he was an enemy and out to kill him. His training was probably going to be the only thing that might keep him alive in this insane series of events that had apparently just become his life.
Alex ratcheted the bolt on the hunting rifle and closed the action, loading it once again. Taking aim through the scope, he fired, taking down another one of the mercenaries firing at the Sheriff Station.
Unfortunately, it was then that Alex’s luck ran out. Seeing two of his companions fall, the man on the ground spotted Alex’s position on the rooftop and began frantically screaming into his radio. The pilot of the helicopter moved the spotlight mounted on the front of his aircraft towards the roof as he wrenched his controls over in order to give the shooter on his bird a shot at Alex.
Alex racked the slide on the rifle once again, leaning back to give himself room. As he did, a bullet ricocheted off the concrete wall he had been leaning against only moments before. Startled, Alex instinctively rolled back, using his momentum to flip himself back up onto his feet and run to the other side of the roof, barely avoiding several more shots that had been headed for his abdomen only moments before.
As Alex ducked more fire from the flying sniper, the helicopter rushed overhead, flying into the desert in order to turn around and take another run at him. Alex glanced down and noticed he was bleeding. The now-familiar blue glow had already reacted to his new injury and began healing it with no pain whatsoever. He hadn’t even felt the bullet go in, and that small reward made Alex smile. His powers were apparently getting stronger.
The aging hunting rifle jumped in his hands as it deflected three more rounds aimed for his body. Alex dropped the twisted pile of metal and took out the two nine-millimeter pistols he had pushed into his waistband. Looking at the heavily armored helicopter charging towards him, he glanced at his pistols and swore. I’d be better off with a couple of rocks and a slingshot, he thought to himself as the man in the helicopter began firing at Alex once again. He dived behind a large air conditioning unit, hoping for a respite from the firefight.
Glancing around, Alex noticed a large and outdated television satellite dish sitting on the south side of the roof. He looked around for the helicopter. After its last pass, the pilot had swung around east to let the sniper get a better bead on Alex. Not wanting to give him the chance, Alex ran to the other side of the roof, where the satellite dish precariously stood.
Alex crouched next to the parabolic receivers. Whoever the company had been, the workmen that had installed it had done an exceptionally poor job. All that held it to the side of the building were several rolls’ worth of duct tape. Alex doubted it could last through the next decent windstorm that came through the valley.
The steady beat of the helicopter’s blades against the chilly night air began to increase as it began to bear down on Alex and the Sheriff Station.
Using his body as leverage, Alex leaned against the retaining edge of the sheriff station and began to kick the satellite receiver off the remains of its rusting metal bolts. Screeching in protest, the dish fell onto the roof. Alex picked up the heavy dish and began to swing it around his body like a world class Olympian about to throw the hammer. The pilot, seeing what he was doing, flared the helicopter to slow the approach to Alex and his improvised weapon. Fortunately, that gave Alex the perfect opportunity he needed, as it exposed the rear rotor blades.
Alex, rotating around, spun his body faster and timed the release perfectly, throwing the impromptu hammer into the smaller rotor tail blades of the helicopter. The screech of metal on metal, and the shower of sparks and smoke, were his reward. Drawing out his two pistols, he fired at the helicopter pilot and sniper in the cabin of the aircraft. The sniper, caught by Alex’s first two shots, jerked back into the cab of the helicopter, his finger still on the trigger of his automatic weapon. As he landed in the cab, his finger depressed the trigger, shooting up the interior of the cockpit.
The pilot valiantly tried to auto-rotate the helicopter safely to the ground, but with the smoke pouring out of the cabin and the smashed control panel, it was futile. Alex stood up and watched as the pilot lost his battle with gravity and the helicopter crashed into one of the Suburbans the men had brought with them. The helicopter’s fuel caught, exploding violently as two men (who had the bad luck of standing too close) were sent flying through the air. All in all, the explosion felt rather satisfying, and Alex took a moment to smile as he watched the helicopter burn.
Suddenly, there was a scream and several more shots downstairs. Deputy Rogers was still down there trying to provide covering fire for Alex.
Alex turned and ran towards the hatch down to the station, reloading his two pistols and cocking both hammers back as he did so. Closing his eyes and concentrating, he muttered to himself, “Nothing’s gonna hurt you, nothing can hurt you…”
He dived into the hole, rolling his body on the floor to absorb the shock. Using the energy from the dive, Alex rolled up from his back, searching for a target for his pistols. No one was left inside. The place was eerily empty and quiet, flickering shadows lit by the fire raging outside, played against the white walls of the police station inside.
Alex flattened his back against the wall, and listened.
Shouts came from the back room where the faint flicker of a TV flashed lightly. Alex cocked his ears, approaching the room silently, his gun at the ready for any target.
Peeking around the corner, Alex saw two of them. His eyes narrowed as he recognized the large bald man who had been with the man who had killed his father.
The bald man was engrossed in sifting through some paperwork on the desk. The other man, leaner and smaller, was completely dressed in flannel and wearing a cowboy hat.
Cowboy Hat stood in front of the TV, smacking it repeatedly. Geoffrey looked up at him, annoyed.
“Quit messing with that and help me look for something on the man.” The bald man growled towards the redneck. “The guy just took out one of our helicopters and you want to watch TV?”
“I almost got it back,” Cowboy Hat said, smacking the TV set again. “Besides,” he added obnoxiously, “I don’t see how that kid could survive all the lead we put into this place anyway.” He hit the TV on the side again hard, a dull thud echoed through the room.
Geoffrey Tate’s face flushed as his anger began to boil to the top. His temper had not always been a slow fuse, but in his business, clear, critical thinking was an asset, and a short temper could get you killed. While it might take quite a bit to set him off, once you did, there was no turning back. Cowboy Hat was testing the outer limits of his patience.
He drew his pistol, and without looking, fired shots into the TV. The glass shattered. The man yelped and leaped away from the exploding television set.
“Find something on this young man, or the next two bullets go into you.” Geoffrey Tate said dangerously without looking up.
“Jesus, man,” Cowboy Hat said, terrified. “Whatever! I get it. Sorry.” He’d been shot at before, but it was clear that this wasn’t the time to screw around. He turned towards the desk and halfheartedly began to shuffle through the papers. Geoffrey turned back to the paperwork on his desk in front of him and cursed in frustration. On one hand, it was possible this was a good thing. Perhaps the deputy hadn’t had enough time to take any sort of report from the man in the desert before Geoffrey and his men had caught up to him. On the other, he had only found one body in the station, and it wasn’t the kid Geoffrey had seen earlier, which was bad news. He looked around. There was nothing left to find.
He was about to turn to the man in the ridiculous cowboy hat and tell him to pack up to leave, when he noticed out of the corner of his eye the reflected shards of the TV screen. In them, a shadow moved. Geoffrey stayed absolutely still. Their quarry was hunting them.
Alex cursed. His knee had fallen asleep, causing him to trip slightly. Hoping he wasn’t seen, he stayed out of sight and quiet, listening for any movement from the other room.
Geoffrey Tate used the balls of his feet to slide noiselessly across the room. Drawing his weapon, he cocked it slowly. Quietly moving up to the edge of the hallway, he listened for any sound or indication of life.
Cowboy Hat turned from the desk, waving a piece of paper. “Hey, man, I think this might be something…” he started, but trailed off as he watched his bosses’ actions.
“What are you doing?” Cowboy Hat asked as Geoffrey’s face fell. The bald man waved his hands fruitlessly to keep his redneck employee quiet.
Alex knew the jig was up. Hoping to retain any bit of surprise he had left, he leapt into the room, diving to the side with both guns firing at the two men. Unfortunately, the quick movement and lack of preparation made his shots go wild, and Alex managed to miss both. Geoffrey, having better aim, fired several times into Alex’s chest, arm and legs.
Ignoring the blood flowing from his new wounds, Alex rolled onto his back and took careful aim at the large man that had helped kill his father. Aiming down the barrel of his pistol, he pulled the trigger. Three shots in the man’s chest, and he was a problem no more. Geoffrey’s body dropped, falling backwards from the force of Alex’s bullets. The slide on his pistol popped open, expelling his last bullet.
Cowboy Hat used Alex’s few moments of distraction to get in close. He rushed Alex from the side in a blind spot, and held his shotgun up to Alex’s gut.
Alex watched helplessly as Cowboy Hat pulled the trigger. The discharge, loud and violent, blasted Alex in the stomach, sending his body flying through the air from the force of the nearly point-blank shot.
Cowboy Hat looked around, adrenaline pumping furiously through his veins. The large quantities of meth and cocaine he had ingested over his lifetime had left his nervous system slightly fried and confused. He gave a victory yelp.
“Hell yeah!” he shouted to no one in particular. He hadn’t felt this alive in a long time. A no-kidding gun battle for your life was the ultimate high, Cowboy Hat decided. Unfortunately for him, the victory did not last long.
With some groaning, Alex got up, the last bands of muscle and skin reknotting together. The blue glow from the stone was bright, and lit up the entire station. Cowboy Hat covered his eyes with his hands as he gaped at the glowing blue man in front of him. His face dropped as he watched the seemingly reanimated corpse stand up.
“Zombie!” Cowboy Hat screamed. “Zombies coming to life! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it’s the apocalypse!”
Screaming, he pumped his shotgun, reloading it once again. He pulled the trigger again and again, each shot hitting his target, and each time, the buckshot had no effect. Finally, the hammer fell onto the empty chamber with a hollow, futile click. Stumbling a bit after the last shot, Alex looked at the ex-convict and smirked a bit.
“I know, it’s pretty cool, huh?” Without waiting for an answer, Alex quickly shot him twice in the kneecap and Cowboy Hat fell to the floor, howling in pain.
Alex stretched his arms and chest as the last of his skin knotted back together. He walked over to Cowboy Hat and pointed the gun at his head, cocking the pistol back.
Cowboy Hat cried and muttered something about not wanting to die. Alex just shook his head, and used the back of his weapon to knock Cowboy Hat out. The blow to the head knocked his ridiculous hat to the floor. Looking around, Alex grabbed the cowboy hat and placed it onto the yokel’s face as if he were simply taking a siesta in the unlikely scene of a destroyed police station.
“You’re welcome.” Alex said to the unmoving cowboy.
Alex grabbed a pair of nearby handcuffs and cuffed him to the counter. He figured someone in charge would come around soon enough. Alex turned to the other man in the room, and he shook his head.
“No reason to waste any energy on you,” Alex said savagely, “I doubt anyone’s gonna miss you.”
But strangely, instead of being satisfied by killing one of his father’s murderers, he felt empty and hollow, as if none of it mattered anyway. He shook his head. The group therapy would have to come later, during a more convenient time when he wasn’t fleeing for his life. Until then, Alex had bigger fish to fry; and he needed a new pan.
The police station was a mess. Papers, blood, and glass were scattered everywhere. Alex looked back to the main room and saw Deputy Rogers’ body for the first time. He rushed over to him, hoping he wasn’t too late. Alex touched the man’s wounds, expecting the now-familiar glow to descend from his hands onto the man’s body.
Nothing happened.
“Come on dammit,” Alex pleaded to the stone hanging around his neck. “The guy saved my life; least I can do is save his!”
Unfortunately, it seemed that his stone had limits. Alex struggled with the large man for a few moments, urging his body and spirit to return from the great beyond. But the man had been dead too long for the healing powers of Alex’s stone.
Alex stood and stared at the deputy for a moment. A good man died today. Alex thought to himself. Then, Lots of good men die every day. No reason why you have to be one of ‘em.
Moving quickly, Alex grabbed whatever guns and ammo he could carry, in a few trips from both the police station and the men who had tried to kill
him. He loaded his bounty into the rear of the Suburban he had driven to the station.
On one of his trips, he noticed a tracking device clutched in the hand of one of the men he had shot, displaying their current location.
“Well how about that? They’ve got the truck Lojacked,” Alex muttered to himself. “That’s how they did it, all right.”
Alex ran the device over his new Suburban. Finding the Lojack GPS wasn’t easy, as the tracker turned out to be the size of a small button. Removing the troublesome piece of technology from underneath the bumper, he dropped it onto the ground and stomped it hard, smashing the delicate electronics into a thousand pieces. No one would be able to follow this truck now. He turned around and looked at the building, which hadn’t been exactly livable originally, but now lay in ruin. Joshua Tree was going to need a new Sheriff station.
Suddenly, a noise sounded off in the distance. Alex whirled, holding out a .45 pistol. He stared into the nighttime desert, unable to see much, the flames from the helicopter crash having long ago faded into smoky ruin.
Alex hopped back into his Suburban, putting it into gear. Even in a remote area like this, people with badges would be coming soon, with questions that he couldn’t possibly answer.
From the shadows, a coyote emerged from the desert and stared at the man getting into the black Suburban. Not wasting time, the coyote scampered close to the truck.
As the coyote got closer to the idling SUV, the stone in its ear began to glow. The coyote shrank to the size of a small lizard, comically adorned with a festive jewel in its right ear. Climbing quickly and efficiently up the rear wheel well of the truck, the animal burrowed itself within, undetected by Alex.
Alex began forming a new plan in his mind. Strange things were afoot at the Circle K, as Scott might have said, quoting two of their favorite philosophers. Alex smiled, thinking of his friend, and turned onto the main road. At the very least, the plan he had in mind would likely be entertaining.
