by RJ Johnson
Clearing his throat and dusting his clothes off, Alex stood and faced the four men in jumpsuits, who were reloading their Heckler and Koch compact machine guns. Irritated, he fingered a hole in his shirt.
“Aww, now guys, that just ain’t cool. I just got this!” Alex spit on the shirt and attempted to clean the red stain where one of the bullets had hit him. “Any of you have any soda water?” he continued in a normal conversational tone. Spitting again on the bloody shirt, he continued, “The secret is to blot, not rub. Martha Stewart taught me that.”
He shook his head, “Scott is so gonna kill me. He got this shirt at our first Pearl Jam concert.”
The four men reloading their weapons stopped, momentarily dumbfounded as they looked at each other, unsure how to continue. Each man was certain they had hit Alex at least once. Omar was particularly dumbfounded. In all his years as a professional soldier, he’d never once missed a target. The soldiers racked the bolts on their machine guns again, and resumed firing on Alex.
Nine-millimeter cartridges are normally plenty lethal. In fact, only the kinetic energy from the bullets managed to somewhat knock Alex off balance as each of the four mercenaries emptied another magazine into him. Alex just smiled broadly.
Geoffrey Tate watched with binoculars to his face, dumbfounded at Alex’s incredible power. “So, I’m not crazy,” Geoffrey whispered to himself. He stepped out of the truck and moved closer to the four mercenaries, out of Alex’s eyesight.
“Look, fellas,” Alex said in a conversational tone, withdrawing his pistol, “I’m not much of a killer. I’ve had to kill some of your buddies tonight in self-defense, but they made it me or them, and…” Alex shrugged, “I chose them.” He paused, winking at one of the mercenaries, whose jaw was currently on the ground.
“Pluuus...” Alex drawled, almost enjoying himself as he watched one of the soldiers make the sign of the cross while reloading his machine gun, “as you can see, you must have gotten your bullets on discount, because they ain't having too much effect on me tonight.” Alex racked his pistol, loading a bullet into the chamber, holding the grip tightly, ready to pull the trigger on anyone who approached or made any threatening moves.
“So,” Alex continued, “it appears to me you have two options: One, continue trying to pump me full of lead while I skip, dance and sing the Oscar Meyer Wiener song, or two, lay down your weapons, walk away; no harm, no foul.”
Alex stopped as he came within ten feet of the four men aiming their submachine guns at Alex’s chest. “So, what’s it gonna be, fellas?”
The four men glanced at each other nervously. No one wanted to be the first to lay down their arms, but with what they had just seen, their entire faith in reality had been skewed.
“Deal ends in thirty seconds, guys.” Alex tapped his wristwatch with his pistol. “Tick tock, tick tock.”
The seconds ticked down, slowly at first, and then one of the more nervous mercenaries began to lay down his weapon, the other three almost following suit before Geoffrey, in disgust, whipped out his nine millimeter and shot the surrendering man in the forehead.
“Coward,” Geoffrey hissed as he spat towards the already-dead man. Alex, unnerved by the sudden murder of the mercenary by one of his own people, was momentarily distracted. That was all the time Omar needed; he rush-tackled Alex, knocking the pistol out of his hands. Alex cursed himself for allowing Omar to get so close.
Alex fell to the ground hard, knocking the back of his head against the black pavement of the parking lot. Stars exploded. Alex’s vision swam. With the world moving slowly around him, he watched helplessly as Omar took advantage and expertly pinned him down. Being highly trained in combat, one of the first things Omar had learned in boot camp was the restraint of another person. Interlocking his arms with Alex’s, he quickly eliminated any chance for Alex to get away.
Alex swore at his own stupidity and recklessness as he struggled against the man who now pinned him down. The stone gave him incredible healing powers, but not, he knew, total invulnerability.
Geoffrey stepped out from behind the passenger door of his SUV and approached the two entangled men on the ground, smiling for the first time all night.
“So, it seems to me,” Geoffrey said in a perfect imitation of Alex’s earlier smugness, “that you have two choices: one, coming with us or…” Geoffrey withdrew a small baton, flicking his wrist. The baton extended quickly, the side away from him with tipped with two metal prongs. He shoved the cattle prod into Alex’s side, sending more than 100,000 volts of electricity into his body.
Alex and Omar screamed as the current coursed through their bodies, the electricity overloading their nervous systems. The stone flashed, unable or uncertain how to heal the damage Alex was receiving from the shock.
Geoffrey watched with satisfaction the man who had given him and his boss so much trouble tonight writhed pathetically on the ground. “Or you could just come with us, I suppose.”
Alex’s cried out in pain as Geoffrey plunged the cattle prod back into his side. His mind burned with one question: where was Scott? Wherever he was, Alex hoped he was running far away from this little scene. Two deaths on his conscience were more than he thought he could handle for one day.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Scott was, in fact, very much alive, and sprinting down the hallways back to his laboratory. At NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory, scientists were encouraged to create and begin original projects on their own time using university resources. Some of the projects developed out of this program had become some of the most far-reaching and scientifically-advanced experiments mankind had ever attempted.
Scott’s proudest achievement had been a direct result of the free-thinking administrators’ offer of support to independent projects. Scott’s first idea had started as an option to attach on the Mars Phoenix Lander. Needing a device that could dig through the solid concrete-like ice on Mars, NASA had turned to Scott, who had managed to develop a small handheld digging tool he proudly called the Microwave Sound Amplifier (MISAMP). The MISAMP had been Scott’s crowning achievement, a feat of engineering that hadn’t been seen in quite a while. With a range of several hundred feet, it combined concentrated microwaves and a high-intensity sound wave that shook and separated materials on a molecular level, leaving a nice-sized hole behind.
Though lauded by his peers (and secretly envied), Scott’s model was unfortunately still far too heavy and, despite its compact size, demanded too much power for the revamped Phoenix Lander.
Unwilling to give the secret of his breakthrough to the Air Force, out of fear that it might be used for less-than-productive purposes, Scott’s MISAMP plans had gone into Cold Storage, and the prototype stayed in a safe in his office. Scott had decided if NASA ever did send a manned mission to Mars, only then would he allow the MISAMP out of his hands.
Pressing his palm onto the electronic door lock, he waited impatiently for the telltale click of the magnetic bolts releasing. The light on the panel flashed red, and Scott growled in frustration. Placing his hand over the electronic lock again, he was rewarded this time with the release of the locks. Wrenching the doors open frantically, he dashed towards the corner of his office where some of his former experiments lay.
He grabbed one that resembled a heavy-duty flashlight, with a thick outer shell encased in a black gunmetal frame. He turned to his computer, calling up the security cameras aimed outside where Alex was. The screen flipped through several images of the campus until he finally found Alex among them, getting too close to the henchmen. Scott watched in horror.
“What are you, stupid!?” Scott screamed at his display. But Alex couldn’t hear him, and so the question was moot. One mercenary fell from Geoffrey’s shot, and another man, only a second later, dived onto Alex’s body, struggling to bring him down. Scott sighed.
“Of all the idiotic things to do,” Scott said, shaking his head. “Now it’s up to me. It’s his own damn fault now if he gets us killed.” He checked
the tool in his hand, flipping a switch to check the power level. Five out of five green bars indicated a full charge. Grimacing, he closed the display panel and opened the door of his office to go back and help his friend. He sprinted towards the emergency exit, arriving only a minute or two later. He paused, catching his breath as he panted heavily. He didn’t want to be puffing too hard once he got out there. One thing was for sure: if the men with guns didn’t kill him, he’d get back into the gym and let it finish the job.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alex was lying sprawled out defenseless on the cold concrete parking lot, defeated for the moment. Helpless against Geoffrey’s continued onslaught with his cattle prod, Alex watched painfully as his stone flashed unpredictably. The stone was powerless to prevent Alex’s muscles from the violent spasms each time Geoffrey rammed the cattle prod into his gut. His limbs and arms were shaking wildly as a hundred thousand volts of electricity flowed through his body.
Alex screamed as Geoffrey pushed his body back down with a long sustained burst from the cattle prod.
“I’ve seen this healing ability of yours twice now, and I must say I am just fascinated by it,” Geoffrey said lightly, as if interviewing a prospective job candidate. “But, it seems to me that you are still vulnerable to non-lethal means. What a shame that is for you, eh? Always tragic when a person learns he is not invincible.” Geoffrey shoved the cattle prod viciously into Alex’s midsection.
Alex screamed in pain, his body flopping around on the concrete. Geoffrey pulled the cattle prod back, a smile spreading across his face as Alex slumped back to the ground, a marionette with its strings cut.
Alex shook violently, the taste of bile entering his mouth. Unable to hold it back, he vomited all over the parking lot. His body, traumatized by the voltage, was unable to recover. He clutched the stone on his necklace weakly.
Omar watched impassively as Geoffrey chuckled at Alex. His laughter stopped as his eye fell on a familiar-looking stone hanging around Alex’s neck. Alex moaned, his body too weak to protest, as Geoffrey snapped the cord holding the healing stone from off his neck. He held it close to his face, inspecting the dark stone, his pulse growing faster as he began to put two and two together.
“Now this looks a lot like Mr. Kline’s…” Geoffrey trailed off, the smirk on his face fading fast. He had often wondered how Kline had gotten his incredible strength. Once, he had asked Kline about it; Kline had simply smiled and mentioned some vague things about nanotechnology and such. Geoffrey had never seen Kline without his ring; a ring with a stone that looked exactly like… No, that wasn’t quite right. Kline’s was a different color, of course, but the two stones LOOKED related. The man wore that stone everywhere, with no exceptions.
Once, while on one of Kline’s many trips to his native home in Kent, England, Kline and Geoffrey had been leaving the United States through New York’s JFK Airport. There, at security, the TSA agents attempted to stop Kline from going through the metal detector with his ring on.
Two hours later, after Geoffrey had smoothed things over with JFK’s airport and Homeland Security, the New York Transit Authority reported they found the TSA agent’s body out on the runway, torn in half. No one had seen her leave her post, and even more strangely, the Agent wasn’t even supposed to have had access to the runway. The grisly condition they’d found the body in had made the questions all the more intriguing. But, as Kline often reminded him, Geoffrey was not paid to ask questions.
Stabbing Alex again with the cattle prod, Geoffrey leaned down close to Alex and dangled the stone over his face.
“What is this?” He hissed. “Where did you get this stone?”
Alex spat in Geoffrey’s eyes. Geoffrey stood and savagely kicked Alex several times in the ribs then resumed menacing him with the cattle prod.
“What is this?” Geoffrey roared. “Tell me, dammit!”
“Go to hell.” Alex whispered, spitting out blood. Great, coughing up blood, ‘cause that’s always fun, he thought to himself grimly.
Geoffrey’ face wrenched into rage. He began to stab Alex savagely with the cattle prod.
Alex didn’t disappoint Geoffrey as his screams echoed through the parking lot. After a long moment, Geoffrey removed the prod and waved dismissively at the body in front of him.
“Cuff him and put him in the truck,” he growled to Omar. Omar nodded, reaching behind his back for a pair of handcuffs. He squatted on Alex, moving the man’s arms behind his back, closing the handcuffs tight.
Omar looked at the prisoner before him. This man had the ability to heal from any wounds. Omar was not a particularly religious man, but once you watch someone take thirty rounds of nine millimeter ammunition to the chest, miracles begin to look more than just possible. Could he be one of the blessed angels, one of God’s warriors his abuela used to tell him about when he was smaller in Chualexica? Omar swallowed, beginning to feel uneasy, thinking – not for the first time — that he might be fighting for the Devil’s cause instead of God’s.
Geoffrey ignored Omar as he stared at the stone on the chain in front of him. The more he examined the stone he had taken from the young man, the more certain he became that it was a twin to Kline’s.
True, Kline’s stone was red instead of the cold blackness of this one, but they both had the same distinct, claw-like shape. Occasionally, out of the corner of his eye, Geoffrey would see Kline’s ring flash, right before he displayed some feat of strength. Passing it off as some trick of the light, or a fear-induced hallucination, he had never paid much mind to it. But after tonight, and seeing the same bright flash as a bullet had entered Mr. McCray’s body, Geoffrey no longer had any doubt. The two stones may display different powers, he thought, but they definitely belonged to the same family.
Geoffrey’s greedy mind began to race with possibilities. If this stone was the source of the young man’s healing prowess, then this would put him on equal footing with his boss’s incredible strength. No longer would Geoffrey Tate be second fiddle to that man in the suit. He could ask for an equal stake in Mr. Kline’s operation.
Geoffrey clasped his hands together in glee. It was almost too much to dream. With the ability to live through any injury, if he played his cards right, he could have much more than fifty percent. With proper planning, he could have it all.
But, as Alex had so effectively proved moments before, being distracted in a combat situation is never good for your health.
Suddenly, Geoffrey’s hand holding the cattle prod began to glow red as it shook violently in his hand. Then, with a force unseen, it flew from his hand and landed across the parking lot, sparking brightly. Geoffrey glanced up too late. Scott, holding his secret weapon tightly, dialed up the power.
“Goodnight, sweet prince!” Scott yelled as he pressed the trigger on the beefed-up flashlight.
Geoffrey, standing next to the Suburban Alex had stolen from the men in the desert, barely managed to duck out of the way in time as the truck exploded into a thousand pieces of flaming shrapnel and metal. Scott’s weapon fired a green pulse of light, and a strange hum filled the air. The pulse flew through the air and shook everything in its path apart.
One of the mercenaries from Geoffrey’s team found himself standing too close to the SUV as it exploded, and his body flew through the air, finally crumbling to the ground several dozen yards away.
Dumbfounded, Scott looked down at his new weapon.
“Oh wow, OK, now that was cool!” Scott said, impressed with himself, as he reset the MISAMP.
He raised his arm up again, aiming his weapon towards Geoffrey. But by now, the surprise was lost, and Geoffrey had already pulled out his pistol and started firing back at Scott. Omar, who had also recovered, dropped to his knee, raised his MP5 up from the crook of his arm, and began to squeeze off three round bursts towards Scott.
Scott barely ducked out of the way as the lead began flying towards him. Scampering out of range, Scott turned the corner around a large university building an
d began aiming towards where he thought Geoffrey and Omar were. As he pressed the trigger, several thousand pounds of pressure created by amplified sound and microwaves crackled through the air at supersonic speeds.
Omar dove to the right, taking cover behind the other Suburban the team had taken to get to JPL. He looked up, catching Geoffrey’s eye. Making several hand signals, he silently told his boss to give him covering fire until he could outflank Scott and get a better bead on him. Geoffrey nodded, popped out from behind the column he was hiding behind, and began laying down fire.
Scott ran and ducked behind a small concrete obelisk, built as a lamp for the path at night. Their prey cornered, Omar and Geoffrey began to move in, shooting all around Scott to keep him where he was.
Scott screamed, scared out of his mind. For a moment, time stopped. He turned his head to the right, watching his best friend crawl away weakly towards some cover. He turned his head to the left. There, Omar popped up, his rifle aimed directly at Scott, the laser sight fixed directly on his forehead.
Then something strange happened. In fact, it was so strange that Scott was certain he was hallucinating. Suddenly, an enormous grizzly bear appeared behind Omar and roared.
Omar turned, hearing the sound behind him. Seeing the twelve-foot-tall beast in front of him, Omar screamed in terror. The grizzly roared and batted Omar with his paw, knocking him down, his body flopping uselessly on the ground.
Scott stared at the great beast in disbelief. It glanced back for only a second, then roared and moved towards Geoffrey to finish him off.
Geoffrey could only watch from a distance, incredulous as the grizzly bear appeared out of nowhere, knocking his best man down, tearing through his body like a sheet of tissue paper. Swearing, Geoffrey clutched the stone tightly, looking at it. No time like the present to see if it worked.
