by Amber Fallon
Still running full tilt to the sound of a pair of oversized carnivorous bullies hot on my tail, I reached my gun arm behind me and squeezed off a round. I think my shot must’ve gone wide because it didn’t appear to have had any effect whatsoever on the two douchebags behind me. My gun hand also hurt like hell all of a sudden. I didn’t remember any kind of pain anywhere but my eardrums with the first two shots I’d fired, so what was the deal? I had a momentary flash of all those cartoons where the gun someone is holding gets plugged up somehow and explodes in his face when he tries to fire it. Could that sort of thing really happen? I hoped not. I definitely could not afford to lose a few fingers (or worse) at this stage of the game.
Fearful of what I’d find, I swung my hand back around, noting that I was thankfully still clutching the gun—my only real weapon—in a death grip.
It appeared that gun had gotten longer somehow? The top half of it, anyway. There was a bit of metal that had somehow appeared on the back of it and taken a small chunk out of the skin between my thumb and index finger. A little trickle of blood ran down the back of my hand. What the fuck? Now guns could fight back against their wielders? How had I never heard of this phenomenon before? I attributed that to my overall lack of knowledge regarding guns. But I’d worry about that later. Right now there were still two alien assholes behind me and I was pretty sure they were gaining ground.
Without pausing, I flung my arm back behind me and squeezed the trigger again and exactly nothing happened. Not even a click. The trigger hadn’t even moved. Was the gun empty? Had I damaged it somehow? I had no way of knowing and I didn’t want to be distracted while fleeing for my life, so I stuck the gun back into the waistband of my jeans and continued running towards the food court. I didn’t want to discard my only weapon if there was any chance it might still be useful.
Distances are funny. Sometimes the comic book store three towns over seems like it might as well be next door while other times the end of the block feels like it might as well be the end of the universe. Right now, the food court felt like it was exactly three universes away, give or take a galaxy or two. I could see the bright orange plastic light above the frozen yogurt stand that marked the entrance, but it was like looking at some sort of strange optical illusion. It couldn’t really be as close as it appeared, could it? Not when I’d been running for what felt like hours and making hardly any progress.
Behind me, Captain Axe and his buddy were definitely not a universe away. I could hear the clamor of their breathing and this weird “whooshing” noise I figured was probably the sound of that axe ripping through the air much like it would rip through me any second now. There was no way I could win a footrace against these guys, but maybe I didn’t have to. Maybe I could outsmart them. After all, I had home field advantage, right? These fuckers knew nothing about Earthlings and our food courts. I was sure I could use this fact to my benefit. The question was how?
Beside the froyo place, just inside the food court proper, was a dinky chain sandwich shop, a larger chain pizza place, and a token Chinese establishment. There was a hallway next to that, directly across from the entrance I was heading towards, and next to the hallway was a taco stand, a roast beef hut... and a Thai restaurant.
I love Thai food. The spicier the better. In fact, I think that’s maybe why I love it—the fact that I can order my food so spicy it might take the paint off a car hood without anyone so much as raising an eyebrow. Dylan was always rolling his eyes at me and discouraging me from eating “more of that hot junk” as he put it—and who can really blame him? After all, he had to put up with the after effects. But maybe my love of all things face searing was really a blessing in disguise. I immediately recognized the bottles of red sauce with the bright green caps sitting on the counter in front of “Try My Thai Cuisine” as sriracha, that tastiest of hot sauces. If I could manage to get my hands on a bottle of that stuff before the aliens got their hands on me, I might be able to squirt a bunch of it in their faces. If the cards fell in my favor, it might work like mace; distracting them and causing pain and maybe even—god willing—temporary blindness. That might give me enough time to get away. It was certainly the best plan I’d come up with in the 26 seconds since I’d fled from the site of Hannah’s untimely death. And, after all, what did I have to lose?
I reached deep down inside myself to that place you hear marathoners and athletes sometimes talk about—that place of “Just a little bit more!” and my body responded with a burst of speed I hadn’t known I’d had in me. I bolted for the abandoned little Thai place with everything I had.
Unfortunately, as usual, fate had other plans. I had to change course at the last second due to a pile of corpses littering the floor of the main dining area. All those arms and legs and torsos lying around, not to mention the pools of blood and other fluids, would’ve made trying to cross even a few feet of ground like navigating a minefield. The last thing I needed was to slip in a puddle of something or trip on a cadaver and lose my footing.
So of course, that’s what happened anyway.
I altered my planned trajectory, making a quick turn towards that mysterious hallway. I didn’t see any other plausible options and time was most definitely running out. Just as I passed the side entrances to the Chinese place and the taco stand, I felt the toe of my shoe catch on something, sending me sprawling forward with the momentum of my run. As I careened towards the tile floor, I glanced down to see a dark skinned arm clad in the orange and white striped uniform of the froyo stand. It was not attached to a body.
The pair of aliens were right behind me now. I felt waves of heat baking off of them and smelled their rank, musky scent.
I braced myself as I fell; arms out in front of me like they tell you never to do or else you’ll end up with broken wrists. It worked for me, however, and allowed me to scramble a few feet forward in a panic driven mad dash towards someplace to flee. I was expecting to feel the blade of that axe in my spine at any second, slicing through me like a hot knife through butter. I pictured Captain Axe grabbing one of the gory pieces and holding it up proudly like Scorpion declaring FATALITY amidst a fountain of blood. Instead of hearing the sound of my own flesh being torn asunder, I heard something else entirely. It sounded like “Urk!”
The sound was so unexpected I flipped over on my back to see what had made it. I figured I was dead anyway, why not face my demise head on? What did it matter now? Better to see it coming than be caught unaware. I tried not to wet myself and psyched myself up so I didn’t scream when I saw the axe coming—after all, I’d like to retain a little bit of dignity, even in death.
Captain Axe’s buddy was standing in the doorway, his enormous bulk blocking my view. Instead of rushing me, he just stood there, staring. His eyes were wide but his jaw was slack. A dark line appeared across his tree trunk-like throat. It looked like the invisible man had drawn a choker on him with a sharpie. I had a moment to think “What the fuck?” before his head tumbled from his shoulders and landed with a meaty sounding plop a foot away from me. Thick black sludge oozed from the stump.
Just as the enormous white body began to tumble forward, I felt myself being yanked up off the ground by strong hands. Great, just perfect. Spared from imminent death by god knows what just to get eaten anyway? Figures.
Instead of one of the aliens, I found myself face-to-chin with a very attractive, young-ish looking man wearing a set of military fatigues. Salvation? Or was I already dead? Was this heaven? While my version of heaven would probably feature attractive young men, I doubted it would also feature the wrecked back kitchen of a food court. So I probably wasn’t dead. Maybe.
“Thanks a lot, asshole,” the guy snarled. “Now they know we’re here!”
Nope. Definitely not heaven.
He turned me around and shoved me from behind. “Move!” He propelled me towards another door out of the kitchen just as Captain Axe stepped over his fallen buddy and roared.
Military man paused to grab something from a
nearby counter. It looked like four cans with aerosol spray tops duct taped together. He shoved the odd looking parcel into a microwave, slammed the door, and pressed a button. Then he was back to pushing me out of the kitchen again.
As we made it through the doorway and into some kind of pass through storage area, I heard a familiar series of three repeated beeps. I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see Captain Axe pick up the microwave, still plugged into the wall, and stare at it with an almost quizzical expression on his face seconds before it exploded.
The improvised time bomb hadn’t done much damage—not enough to be fatal, anyway. And I learned something: Axe Body Spray smells absolutely god awful when used as an incendiary device.
Good ol’ Axe Face (now a hilarious pun!) roared as my savior shoved me through another doorway, yanking on some kind of cord that had been woven through the hinges and wrapped around the handle as he did. From the storage area we’d just vacated came an enormous racket as metal clanged and dishes shattered. Once again, I couldn’t resist looking back over my shoulder to get a glimpse of what lay behind us.
The neat, organized shelves that had lined the walls just moments prior had all been knocked over, pulled towards the center of the room in a configuration that looked something like a big metal teepee. Dishes, cookware, pots and pans, and bits and pieces of other debris littered the floor around the heavy metal structures. I was betting the obstacle course that had just been created wouldn’t stop Captain Axe, who I could see snarling and growling in the opposite doorway with half his face singed and burnt away, but it would definitely slow him down. I was pretty sure that had been the point.
The man in green continued to shove me along a narrow hallway until we came to another door. This one was wider and painted white, with a food safety poster stuck to it announcing the temperatures that various meats should be cooked to in bold red typeface. My rescuer held me back, putting his finger to his lips in the universal gesture for “Stay the fuck quiet”. I complied.
Military man grabbed a small silver pistol from a holster at his side and leaned against the door, listening for a second or two before pushing it open with his back and darting through, gun at the ready, just like I’d hoped to look when I was running around trying to be all badass. This guy made me realize how silly and juvenile I must’ve seemed by comparison. Here was a real action star, deserving of his own series of movies and merchandising. Thank god. All we needed was a kickass soundtrack, heavy on the bass, and maybe a token floozy or two to round the party out. Then we’d be summer blockbuster material.
The seconds ticked by as I waited for him to reappear. I’d long since finished plotting out our first film, complete with massive explosions and badass fight choreography, and had started to worry that maybe he’d abandoned me. After all, I was the idiot who’d run in and sprung all his clever little booby traps, announcing to the aliens exactly where we were. It was like I’d basted myself in gravy and rung a damned dinner bell or something. I could see why he’d want to ditch me. Hell, I probably would’ve just shot me and gotten it over with if I were in his shoes. But I hoped that wasn’t the case.
After what felt like hours, the door opened slowly and he reappeared. I let out the breath I’d been holding, some of the tension draining from me. I wasn’t sure what I would’ve done if it had been one of those big ass ugly aliens on the other side of that door, but thankfully I wouldn’t have to find out.
He looked at me pointedly and took a step backwards. He tilted his head toward the left twice in quick succession, and held the door for me. Feeling like the dim witted child of the group, I stepped through it and into a long white hallway that was obviously part of the inner workings of the airport. There were bulletin boards on the walls announcing promotions, birthdays, and service anniversaries, all with colorful clip art and pictures of smiling, happy people—most of whom were probably dead within a few hundred feet of here.
Stuck up on some of the other walls were posters with OSHA information, important contact numbers, and a flyer for the employee Christmas party the next night that featured a cheery looking Santa Claus holding a sack full of presents against a snowy backdrop. For some reason, that one stung the most. All those poor people would never see another holiday, never share another meal with their loved ones, never open another present, even if it was just another ugly sweater from Aunt Sadie.
Military man glared at me impatiently, one eyebrow raised, arms folded across his chest as he mimed the gesture of tapping one foot on the ground in an overly exaggerated fashion. I got the picture and hurried along after him, deeper down the hallway and towards a destination I wasn’t sure of. One thing I was sure of was that I was definitely better off following this guy than I’d have been on my own. He obviously had training of some sort, plus at least one other gun. And he seemed like the type that might be able to figure out whatever was wrong with my gun and fix it.
Taking a cue from him, I kept as quiet as I could. After passing half a dozen doors that presumably lead to some kind of offices, the man in green stopped at one in particular. He knelt down next to the door (so his shadow didn’t fall on the opaque glass window, I guessed) and listened for a moment before turning the knob and sneaking inside.
I stood outside and tried to act casual, again not sure what I’d do if an alien were to suddenly appear. There was probably a reason why we were being so quiet. I wondered if it was an extreme amount of caution or if maybe my action hero costar had seen something when he’d swept this hallway earlier. If he had found an alien, surely he wouldn’t leave me out here all by myself on the off chance it came by, right? Or maybe he was using me as bait to lure the alien into another of his traps? Or maybe he really was going to abandon me out here. That one seemed like a bit of a long shot, seeing as how he’d come back for me the first time on top of pushing me out of the kitchen in to begin with. He could’ve just left me there to die, after all.
After another eternity that probably amounted to no more than two or three minutes, the door opened again and a green clad arm poked out and gestured for me to step inside. For some odd reason, I was reminded of being summoned to the Principal’s office in grade school. I shook that weirdness away and stepped through the door.
It even looked like a Principal’s office, albeit an especially small and cramped one. There was a particleboard desk in the center of the room, a gray plastic waste bin resting beside it. On the wall behind the desk was the biggest cliché of them all; a poster depicting a little orange kitten clinging to a tree branch with the words “Hang in there, baby!” splashed across it in yellow comic sans. There was a beige metal filing cabinet in one corner and a big silk plant in the other. The wall behind the filing cabinet also held a narrow white door—a coat closet, perhaps?
I glanced up to see my rescuer once again staring at me like I was some kind of especially slow toddler. “You can check out the scenery later. Right now, help me barricade the door.”
Smiling sheepishly, I squeezed between the filing cabinet and the desk. Together we managed to move the furniture in front of the door in relative silence, despite it being a whole lot heavier than it looked. Once that had been accomplished, the man in green seemed to relax a bit, and holstered the small silver pistol. I followed his lead and leaned against the wall beside the door, letting my breath out in a sigh that was equal parts relief, frustration and anxiety.
I looked over at my hero, who seemed to be sizing me up himself. He had close cropped hair that was either dark blonde or light brown. Military haircuts often made it hard to judge hair color accurately. His big blue eyes were expressive and wide, surrounded by twin webs of fine wrinkles. He was older than I’d initially pegged him as, due to his boyish features and those big eyes. His skin had the rough look of someone who’d spent too much time in the sun, which made sense given the uniform. He’d probably just arrived home after a tour of duty in some far away desert. Great timing. He took a step towards me and reached for the front of my pa
nts. Maybe this really was heaven after all! But no. He grabbed the gun from my waistband while making the same sort of face you’d make while taking a machete from a three year old, though I could hardly blame him, given the way I’d been acting over the ten minutes or so since making his acquaintance.
He did something to the gun that made a part of it fall out the bottom. He looked at this piece appraisingly before slapping it back in, then doing something else to the gun that made the upper half shrink again with a resounding clack. He nodded before turning the gun around and handing it back to me.
“Don’t stick a gun down your pants unless you want to shoot your nuts off.”
“Maybe you should hang onto that.” I said, raising my hands in mock surrender.
He shrugged, tucking the gun into a pocket. “Suit yourself. It’s empty, anyway. I don’t suppose you have any more rounds for this thing?”
“Sorry. It’s not actually my gun. I took it off a dead security guard.”
“I’d believe that.” he said. I noticed the name ROBERTS emblazoned over his breast. “But you made it this far. That’s something.”
I smiled. “Thanks, uh, Roberts. And thanks for saving me back there. If you hadn’t come along, I’d probably be dead right now.”
Roberts extended his hand, also smiling despite all we’d been through, “Call me John.” he said. “And you are?”
I debated giving him any one of a dozen cooler sounding names, but in the end I went with my own.
“I’m Dirk.” I said, shaking his hand, “Dirk Bradley.”
“Well, Dirk Bradley,” John grinned, “What do you say we get out of this stinking airport and get some fresh air?”
I looked at him incredulously for a moment before agreeing wholeheartedly. I didn’t know what he had planned, but I didn’t exactly care. It wasn’t like there were other ruggedly handsome military men with weapons and training asking me to join their teams, after all.
