One Rule - No Rules

by Lawrence Ambrose

  "What was that?" he demanded.

  "Just something that might reduce the pain."

  She noted the speed as over 400 knots, and thought it might be a good idea to reduce that as much as possible. Flipping the fuel switches and pressing the red power button shut down the engines. The only sound now was the wind hissing over the body of the plane. The altimeter began spinning downward with considerable vigor.

  "I should think we'd be better off nearer the rear of the plane," said Murphy in a calm voice. "And perhaps we should take a seat and attach our seatbelts."

  Cool customer, Thalma thought, impressed despite herself.

  "That's your choice," she said. "But I have another idea."

  The plane began shuddering violently, as if hitting a series of speed bumps. Thalma was flung forward, smacking into the windshield. From there she could see the ground peeking through the clouds – still tiny green and blue squares and lines. Thankfully, they were over a rural area. She had no idea how long it would be before they hit the ground, or if it would be long enough for the LSD to activate her power of flight.

  "What is your idea?" Mr. Murphy called to her, clinging to a seat, his face the color of the clouds they were passing through.

  "Leaving the plane."

  "Really." He coughed hard and swallowed, raising his voice above the shuddering plane. "You don't appear to be wearing a parachute."

  Thalma stayed by the window. The checkerboard squares below were growing larger and moving faster. The altimeter passed the eight thousand foot mark. The speed was now 275 knots.

  She tugged Murphy with her back into the cabin, and checked the door latches, making sure she knew how to open it.

  A calm, almost exuberant, confidence flowed into her. The shaking plane no longer seemed threatening, but strangely amicable. Warm sunlight suffused the room in warm, prismatic colors. Time inched to a near-stop. Murphy was giving her roguish grin.

  "Hallucinogen," he said. "LSD 35, I presume."

  "Yes."

  "The point being?"

  "You'll see." She added with a sparse smile: "I hope."

  Thalma began to feel the tug of the gravitational forces all around her. She was almost ready. Adrenaline and her thundering hearts had accelerated the onset of the high. She experimentally neutralized the forces, and coasted off her feet through the air.

  "Far out," said Mr. Murphy. "Words I thought I'd never say."

  She half-walked, half-floated over to him, feeling her control over the forces growing.

  "I'm going to leave the plane," she said, holding out her hand. "You can come with me, if you want."

  "You can't really fly, you know," he chuckled. "It's an illusion."

  "Are you sure about that?"

  "We have a better chance of surviving within the plane."

  "Your choice."

  She turned to go. She wasn't going to beg this man to let her save him. Murphy snagged her arm. He was still smiling, but his eyes glowed with questions.

  "Why would you help me?"

  "Because I'm tired of killing – of pointless death."

  "Yes, it is all pointless. I can see that now. Life is too beautiful for such ugliness."

  He grasped her hand. She hauled him to his feet. They shuffled across the bouncing floor to the cabin door. Thalma paused, connecting herself firmly to the surrounding energy. The Force is strong in me now. She grinned, and wrapped one arm tightly around Murphy's waist.

  "What's your name?" she asked. "Your real name."

  "Believe it or not, it really is Murphy. Paul Murphy."

  "Well, Paul Murphy, I suggest you hold on with all your strength."

  She snapped open the safety locks and then the final deadbolt. Murphy laughed like an exuberant child.

  "Something tells me this is going to be a wild ride. A part of me doesn't even care if I die."

  "Good."

  Thalma kicked the door open. Air blasted them backwards. Now, she thought, latching her arms around him. Fast.

  They launched out through the door as if shot from a catapult. The Cessna receded and passed out of view in a white blur. Clinging to her like a lost child, Murphy gasped in her ear. They freefell for a while, until she could see the fuzz on the cornstalks below, and then she slowed. They landed among the stalks as softly as if they'd hopped down from her front steps. She loosened her hold on Murphy, but he kept clinging to her, peeking down the rows of corn.

  "No way," he whispered. "No bloody way that just happened."

  He released her and took a couple of tottering steps before dropping to the ground. Thalma kneeled down beside him. A swirl of interlocking varicolored lines in his body appeared to show channels of energy. Small packets of golden light oozed from the wound in his right arm like droplets from a leaky faucet. His arm below the "leak" was fading into grey. She reached down instinctively and pressed her fingers into the area, imagining the energy channels connecting, directing the droplets into an unbroken current. Murphy groaned and attempted to push her hand away.

  "Relax," she said.

  The packets of light fused into a steady stream. The greyness below the wound began to glow a dim blue, and then red.

  "What are you doing?" he grunted.

  "I think I'm healing you."

  Thalma felt her own strength draining as the lines of energy in the man's body started to flow a vigorous, luminescent golden red, like convoys of eager motorists emerging from a freeway traffic jam.

  "Either I'm hallucinating," he coughed out, "Or you're a god."

  "Neither."

  Thalma pushed to her feet, feeling a bit wobbly. Her connection to the forces around her was lessening. Hoping she wouldn't regret it, she dug her fingers into her back pocket again, and then breathed in the residue on her fingers. Murphy gazed past her at the sky, a big grin pasted on his amicable professor's face.

  "It's all so beautiful," he said. "Life – its power is everywhere. Original, irreplaceable, precious beyond measure."

  "Yet you try to destroy it – to control it."

  "Never again." He licked his lips, as though savoring the sweetness of the air. "Never again."

  "Good." She started away.

  "They're moving against the farmhouse."

  "What?"

  He pushed himself up one elbow, meeting her gaze. "The orders were given when we were on the plane – from above me."

  The sunlight, so warm on her skin moments ago, now felt deathly cold. Thalma rubbed her arms.

  "What are their orders?" She forced her voice to be steady.

  "To abduct whoever was there and to tranquilize the dog. The people were to be held and questioned until this situation is resolved."

  "What would it mean to resolve the situation?"

  "To determine the extent of your threat, and how it can be handled."

  "Where are they being held?"

  "At a safe house in Sioux Falls, I believe. Don't recall the address. But once they hear the plane has crashed, I believe they will be ordered to return to the farmhouse and seize all removable assets."

  Thalma steadied herself, determination like a steel knife-edge cordoning off her heart. Her second dose of the drug seemed to be kicking in. It was time to go.

  "Thank you," said Murphy, squinting up at her through the kaleidoscopic sunlight.

  "Thank you for telling me about the farm."

  Thalma reached upward and shot into the sky, rising until she was little more than a speck. Then she pulled herself westward with every thing she had.

  On the ground, Murphy watched her go, blinking in disbelief. And yet, in some strange if not entirely logical way it all made sense. Gods lived among us. Those men never had a chance. He never had a chance. They could afford to be merciful, to be good, because they were strong. It was the weak who couldn't afford mercy and goodness. I choose strength, he thought.

  The thought seemed to physically buoy him. Murphy worked his way to his feet, surprised by his lack of weakness, and stumble
d out between the corn rows toward a nearby country road.

  Chapter 9

  I WILL NEVER BETRAY Thalma, Louis thought fiercely as the men dragged him into the house somewhere north of Sioux Falls.

  "She's just my girlfriend," he told them. "I don't know anything about what she does for a living."

  The men just laughed. They were muscular, ruggedly built men maybe a few years older than he was. They reminded him of the jocks of his nightmares that used to torment him regularly back in high school, but taken to the highest evolutionary rung of the high school bully: hardened professionals who embraced their inner sadist and even made a profession of it. Just being around them made Louis feel weak in the knees. He was waiting for someone to grab his underwear and give him the mother of all wedgies.

  Instead, one of them dragged out a sit-up board and mounted one end on a bar stool while the others delivered a water pitcher, rope, and some cellophane into the living room. A growing apprehension burned in Louis's chest.

  "What are you doing?" he asked, hating the thin, pleading sound in his voice.

  "You look hot," one of them said with a grin. "We thought you could use some water."

  When men like these grinned, Louis thought, you knew you were in deep shit.

  "You don't need to do that," he said, a tremor in his voice. "I'll tell you everything I know."

  "Of course you will, faggot."

  They seized him and slapped him down on the sit-up board. He struggled – feeble and pointless struggles against their large, brawny arms and steel-fingered grips – as they bound his ankles to the footrests on the high end of the board and tied his arms to the board behind his back. Being completely immobilized was panic-inducing enough, but that was nothing compared to the primal fear he felt as they strapped cellophane over his mouth and the water pitcher hung over his head, slowly tipping.

  "No!"

  His protest ended in a gurgle as the water dribbled into his mouth and then up his nose. Louis was instantly transported back in time to when three older boys had held him underwater in the public pool. A mindless, nightmarish panic had seized him then, and the same sense that he was about to die a horrific death filled him now. He tried to scream, but there was no air.

  And then Louis was wrenched upward, the cellophane ripped from his face and a powerful hand was pounding his back as he retched up water and gasped for air. He was dropped on the couch, and the room swam around him for many nauseating moments before settling into the dismal reality of his five captors and their death's-head grins.

  One man stooped before him. At first glance he could've been the handsome, all-American boy next door: clean-cut, strong jaw, piercing blue eyes, white teeth framed by a golden tanned face. But something was off in those eyes.

  "Hey, Louis," he said. "My name's Rick. I'm telling you my name, because I'm the only guy with a heart in here." The others snickered. "I'm the kind of guy who brakes to avoid hitting a squirrel. I even got misty-eyed at the end of Bambi Meets Godzilla." More snickers. "I'm telling you this so you'll know I'm a regular nice guy who's on your side."

  He sat back, perching on the coffee table, affecting a compassionate smile while his companions stared at Louis as if they longed to skin him alive.

  "But these heartless bastards behind me would just as soon tear out your heart and eat it before your eyes," Rick said, with a sad shake of his head. "But as long as you tell me everything and don't lie, I can keep these monsters at bay. But if you even think of bullshitting me, these cruel sons a bitches will be over you like slime on spam. Do you hear me?"

  "Yes," said Louis.

  "Good." Rick patted him on the head. "Now, are you comfortable? Can I get you something to drink? Maybe some nice warm tea or coffee?"

  "No, thanks."

  "Okay. So Louis, tell me about this girlfriend of yours. She's pretty hot stuff, am I right?"

  Louis blinked at him, his face turning hard. Rick stood up and with a resigned shrug nodded to the others, who stepped forward eagerly.

  "Yes," Louis blurted out.

  Rick paused in stepping aside. "Yes, what?"

  "Yes, she's hot."

  "It must be something to fuck that hard-assed bitch," one of the others laughed.

  Louis clamped his jaw shut. Rick turned to waggle a finger at his friends. "Now boys, let's try to show a little sensitivity. We're all human beings with feelings here, aren't we?"

  "I'm not," someone snorted, and the others belly-laughed.

  "Okay. Except for Rog, then." Rick settled back down on the coffee table, facing Louis. "Anyway, about your girlfriend, Thalma Engstrom. We're wondering where she is."

  Louis gathered his thoughts. "She left this morning to check up on you."

  "When was that?"

  "This morning. Around eight, I think."

  "What was she planning?"

  "Just to see what was happening with you people. She said she wasn't sure when she'd be back."

  "We were told she was waiting outside the airport, but we weren't able to find her."

  Louis shrugged. "I imagine she didn't want you to."

  "I understand she's been through some Special Forces training, knows her way around a gun? Into martial arts?"

  "Yes."

  "How did you end up with her anyway?"

  "She probably needed someone to wash the sheets and scrub the floors and shit," one of the men chortled.

  "No, seriously," said Rick, his eyes earnest.

  "I was running from a cop," he said. "She picked me up, and helped me out."

  "Why were you running?"

  "I had some dope in my car."

  "What a surprise," one of the men snorted. "The drug of pussies."

  "So she took you in," said Rick, "brought you into her grow operation?"

  Louis hesitated. So they know, he thought. "Yeah, she brought me into her business."

  "She works for Land Trust Investments."

  "Yes."

  "Have you met her boss?"

  "No. She's, uh, pretty secretive about that."

  "What you don't know won't hurt you, that kind of thing?"

  Louis nodded. "Yes. Exactly."

  "Bullshit," grunted one of the men, the stocky redhead who'd taken exception to being called human. "He's holding back."

  Rick spread his hands in mournful agreement to Louis as the redhead lifted the water pitcher and his companions grabbed the rope and box of cellophane. Louis's stomach lurched. He shoved the air in front of him as though to push them back.

  "Okay," he cried.

  "Okay, what?"

  "I'll tell you what you want to know." He addressed a bitter scowl at his own weakness.

  "I was asking you about her boss."

  "As I said, I've never met him. She communicates with him in private, on her computer. Encrypted emails."

  Rick was nodding.

  "She gets assigned tasks. Like that thing at the steel factory. Or maybe collecting past due payments."

  "Kind of a karate Girl Friday with guns?"

  "Yeah." Louis made himself smile. "That's a good analogy."

  "Who’s the guy that works with her?"

  "Guy?" For an instant, Louis was at a loss. "Oh, you mean that Special Forces guy? He was with her in Rapid City when they took that case."

  Now it was Rick's turn to look confused. He glanced back at his companions, who either gave him blank looks or shrugged.

  "The older dude with the beard" Rick asked.

  "I guess. I've never met him. I just know he worked with Thalma sometimes."

  "I'm talking about a young guy. Name is Mark Matheson. At least that's what his driver's license says."

  Louis frowned.

  "He was the one who met with the bikers in Rapid City. Pretended to be an accountant or something, before he and that bearded dude stole that case."

  Louis scoured his mind, knowing he was seconds away from being waterboarded again. Thalma had never mentioned a "Mark Matheson" to him. Had she preten
ded to be a man? The tumblers of logic fell into sudden place. Wait – she has the ability to change into a man. She told me that. She hadn't offered to demonstrate, and he hadn't wanted to see it. Never wanted to see it.

  "I've never met him," he said finally. "She doesn't like talking about him."

  "Maybe 'cause she's getting some from him on the side?" the redhead snickered.

  Louis thought he saw a way of turning this to his advantage. He didn't have to work too hard to fabricate a scowl. The slight reddening in his cheeks came naturally. In some weird way he did feel threatened by her male half. Even weirder, a tiny bit jealous. A bigger, vastly stronger man than he – "Mr. Pussy", as these jerks would say – was. Judging from that one night, even better hung.

  "Well, I wouldn't worry too much about your competition," said Rick. "We got him right now, and after he's done telling us everything, he's gonna be retired. Permanently."

  Louis strained forward, his eyes wide. He saw Rick's powerful body coil in readiness.

  "You've captured" – he almost said 'her' – "him?"

  "He's on a flight right now. Turns out he followed our boss to the airport."

  "Mr. Murphy?"

  "Yup. So they decided to take him along for the ride. He's spilling his guts out – maybe even literally – as we speak."

  Louis sank back in the couch, his mind reeling. There was no way they could capture Thalma. No fucking way – not without an army and a field of dead bodies. Unless... He gripped his beard. Maybe she was weaker in her male form. Or...maybe she allowed herself to be captured.

  "You look shocked," said Rick.

  "I..." Louis coughed to buy time. "I'm just surprised they captured him. He's a pretty tough guy, from what I've heard."

  "What I've heard is he gave up without a fight."

  That sealed it for Louis. She had intentionally let herself get caught.

  "What aren't you telling us, Louis?" Rick's pleasant smile crimped at the corners. "Where do you think your girlfriend is now?"

  "I don't know. She might've gone home – to the farm. She'll know I've been taken, come looking for me."