Environmentally Friendly

by Elias Zanbaka

  ENVIRONMENTALLY

  FRIENDLY

  by

  ELIAS ZANBAKA

  First published in 2016 by E.Z. Entertainment

  Copyright © Elias Zanbaka, 2016

  Cover Illustration Copyright © 2016 by The Cover Collection

  Cover Design By The Cover Collection

  e-book formatting by Guido Henkel

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters in this eBook are the sole products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  “Mother Nature, she does what she wants to do. We can’t control it, yet.”

  - PHIL GRIGSBY

  “The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire.”

  - FERDINAND FOCH

  SERGEANT SCHAEFER blindly dove into the shallow puddle in front of him to hastily douse the fierce, scorching glow that engulfed his entire body. His target, manically welding a makeshift flamethrower and a stolen, rusted chainsaw, launched away from him like a missile just as he collided hard with the wet concrete.

  Schaefer slid down the grazing pavement a millisecond before desperately unleashing his entire body into a continuous rolling motion across it. Heavy rain assaulted the agonizing heat clawing at his skin whilst the harrowing screams of the many wounded environmental protesters flanking him rose above the roaring thunder. The glistening ground and unstable, grey sky alternated in his vision, twirling in rapid succession before violently blurring into one. His skin sizzled and screamed just as the heavens shot out blinding flashes in frightening sequence. The tinge of burnt flesh that hung in the thick, black smoke now emanating from his body signalled him to arrest his movement.

  With no time to observe the damage to his body, Schaefer painfully propelled himself off the ground in time to see flames engulf two trees in front of him, then three, then four. He lunged toward the rapidly shrinking figure, whose finger mercilessly strangled the flamethrower’s trigger; causing a horizontal geyser of fire to relentlessly sweep over each tree the figure flew past.

  Schaefer’s eyes could only watch whilst his right hand could only freeze above his holster that once housed the Glock now tucked into the back of his target’s pants.

  The trees lining Hollywood Boulevard now brilliantly ignited like the lights on an airport runway.

  As Schaefer pounded his legs through the air, the target began to swell until he could spot the flames chaotically glinting off the myriad of army medals that proudly hung from his target’s immaculate Army Service Uniform.

  Amongst the glowing trees, his target’s legs were now ploughing into each bin, allowing a stampede of garbage to spill onto the street and explode into flight. His target’s crazed eyes glared in delight at the polluted sight. This was his army, his army against his enemy, an enemy he needed to confront - nature.

  The intensifying rain rapidly grew heavier on Schaefer’s head and shoulders.

  The blunt, padded needles of dampness came in by the thousands, dragging him down. He could see that the waves of water being absorbed by his target’s olive uniform soured it to black just before the entire sight vanished behind a foggy veil of mist.

  A microsecond was barely allowed to pass before the vicious grunting of a chainsaw contaminated the air. Schaefer pushed to accelerate himself as excruciating pain throbbed his entire body. Emerging from the mist, Schaefer’s eyes locked onto the target’s chainsaw, its teeth already halfway sunken into a tree about ten metres ahead of him. Two metres ahead of his target, he could finally see the alleyway.

  Ten metres shot down to eight, which shot down to six.

  The tree immediately began to slightly tip over towards the main street to his left just as his target glanced up to the sky.

  Six became four.

  “Come on! Let’s see an earthquake! Show me an earthquake! Bring me a goddamn tsun-” more thunder boomed and towered over the target’s screaming voice.

  Unwavering, the target roared back as the rain venomously streamed off his chin, “You think you can destroy us? Wipe us all out? Well, I can play that note too! I can do the exact same to you!”

  With that, the veteran now hammered his left foot repeatedly into the tipping branch in perfect union with the slicing of his chainsaw to help send the entire tree crashing down.

  Schaefer could now make out the blockade of squad cars just ahead of the alleyway.

  He was almost there.

  A globule of nausea suddenly shot into his chest as he stifled the pain-induced convulsions ready to command his entire body.

  His mind screamed for his body to hurry, for his legs to pound faster.

  The target’s foot was relentless. The tree was barely holding on. A glob of yellow sputum had shot out of his mouth and onto the collapsing, shrieking bark.

  The flashing and wailing squad cars were quickly accompanied by screaming officers with their weapons aimed at the target, screaming for him to put his weapon down, threatening to fire.

  “NO!” Schaefer cried with wildly flailing arms as claws of debris and sparks exploded all around them.

  A debilitating hollowness rapidly accumulated in Schaefer’s chest. It was inevitable, he was going to fa-he threw his entire body at his target, becoming an eighty-kilogram projectile that tackled the target into the alleyway to their right just as the tree sliced through the scream-filled air like a blunt, searing knife through butter.

  Vehicles on the road swerved in sheer panic.

  Nature continued to furiously plunge its glowing pitchforks into the ground.

  The firing had suddenly ceased.

  Immediately backing off, Schaefer was hurled backwards even faster by a lethal kick to the sternum, purging his lungs of air. The target bellowed in pain, clutching at the gushes of blood now pouring out of the wound in his right thigh.

  Two cars behind him screamed as the tree flattened them.

  It took an incredible amount of restraint for Schaefer not to launch his hands into a tight-lock around his target’s neck. He’d been set alight, almost shot down by his own and just suffered a massive blow to the chest. He resisted the anger that wanted to lunge him forward towards his target, and instead allowed him to charge down into the alley that only led one way.

  He could see the target struggling to suppress the limp in his right leg.

  He had him now.

  Schaefer allowed a few seconds to pass before dragging himself up to continue the chase.

  The target bulldozed through a door sunken into a wall at the end of the alley, already rapidly ascending the flight of stairs that greeted him. Schaefer halted himself just outside the door before gently closing it, trapping his target inside the small warehouse.

  A crop of police officers, psychologists, psychiatric wardsmen and special effects technicians carrying heavy equipment sprouted from behind the bins flanking Schaefer. They converged on the door in a rapid blur.

  A small window embedded in the door allowed Schaefer to see his target reach the summit of the stairs and run across a platform elevated by a jungle of hydraulic cylinders. The platform was a soundstage that supported a replica of the remainder of Hollywood Blvd. The street ended at and yet continued into a matte painting that showed, in perfect, meticulous detail, everything beyond the Blvd.

&
nbsp; LED lights of diminishing size and brightness were properly secured into cut out holes, also of diminishing size, within the painting where the bulb of the street lamps should’ve been.

  The technicians had already activated the sprinklers scattered across the ceiling along with the thunder-emitting speakers that shot down the side walls. Several fog machines unleashed a flurry of smoke to conceal the ceiling in which they hung from, creating dark angry clouds above the target’s head.

  One of the police officers, Lieutenant Silas Hazzard, a lot older and more weathered than Schaefer, shot up beside him, “This better fuckin’ work. A lot of money’s been thrown at this thing, and on such short notice too! It’s ridiculous!”

  “Then why the fuck were you guys shooting?” Schaefer barked back, pressing his face up against the officer’s, almost touching nose to nose, “You know how hard it’s been just to lead him here? I haven’t stopped chasing him for the past half hour!” The coiled anger within him had finally flung outwards, endlessly and uncontrollably unravelling. It rattled his bones to their very core. He could’ve almost torn a chunk from the officer’s face with his mouth.

  “I didn’t tell ‘em to fire, alright?” the frustrated officer instantly rebuked.

  “Then keep them on a fuckin’ leash! They,” Schaefer declared, pointing intently at the team of doctors beside them, “have only got one shot to get this right!”

  Lt. Hazzard immediately drew his gaze to the group of technicians and psychologists glancing nervously, worriedly, at the two of them as he tried to calm himself down, “They sure picked a helluva time to conduct this bullshit experiment of theirs. They could’ve done this when he was still a guest at the psychiatric ward, rather than waiting for him to escape and unleash this shit storm on the city.”

  “Yeah, well, have a talk with ‘em. They somehow only managed to get the money and the okay to do this right after he escaped two days ago. Either way, he’s boxed in now and that’s what matters,” Schaefer said without extending him even the slightest glance.

  “Glad to know they took advantage of his escape and this fuckin’ mess,” Hazzard said, now storming away from the door before murmuring, “It’s bullshit if you ask me. All fuckin’ bullshit. What a waste of money, time and manpower this would be if this doesn’t work. We should just go in there, handcuff the bastard and throw him back in maximum security where animals like him belong.”

  “And that’s like putting a Band-Aid over a gunshot wound, it’s going to do fuck all. He knew there was going to be an environmental protest here, that’s why he escaped, to make his final stand. He’s tried unsuccessfully to do this before and that’s what landed him a position in the nuthouse in the first pla-”

  “Just listen to yourself! Jesus, you sound like you’ve just come out of college, ready to change the world or something! You don’t know this guy! He’s a complete stranger to you! You don’t owe him a fuckin’ thing! The lengths you’re going to to help this guy, all the shit you’ve put yourself through…at best you should be doing that for good people, people you know, people you love. What the fuck are we? Police officers or fuckin’ shrinks?” Schaefer felt the tinge of venom seething in the officer’s voice more than he’d heard it. Hazzard charged back toward him, this time in his face. Other officers around them were readying themselves to step in between them.

  “Answer me, Schaefer! What are we? I’ve got ten officers who are down an-”

  “Down but still breathing!”

  “Try barely breathing! Along with many others who are bleeding their guts out there on the street. It’s NOT our fuckin’ job to be do-’

  “WE have an opportunity to help!” Schaefer roared with a voice that towered above the officer’s, “He wants to accomplish the mission he originally set out to do and we’re gonna help him achieve it! We’re gonna help heal his wound,” Schaefer confidently replied despite struggling to relax his heavy panting.

  “Oh, fuck off!” Hazzard spat out in annoyed disbelief, once again turning his back to Schaefer and aggressively shoving his way past his own men, “Fuckin’ bullshit. Talking to this naive boy scout is like talking to a fuckin’ wall!”

  Schaefer watched him briefly before bringing his focus back to the door in front of him. He suddenly felt the gentle grip of one of the psychologists on his shoulder, it was warm and reassuring, accompanied by a compassionate face that offered him a brief nod of sincere gratitude and appreciation. Schaefer immediately found himself nodding back, a part of him now somewhat relaxed and yet more determined than ever.

  With great anticipation, he gave the signal to the technicians on his right as more officers flanked him with their guns at the ready on standby, just in case. He fastened his eyes on the small window in the door.

  The hydraulic cylinders underneath the soundstage exploded into oscillating movement.

  The entire soundstage uncontrollably shook with such powerful violence that it crumbled the fake and easily breakable structures it was supporting.

  Schaefer saw his target’s eyes glow underneath the black camouflage lines that streaked across his face like prison bars barely able to contain the unstable animal within.

  He could see his target’s mouth shout the words, “Yes! Yes! I’ve done it! Come on!”

  Struggling to remain upright, his target began firing Schaefer’s Glock into the trembling Earth.

  “And now!” Schaefer screamed.

  The flashing strobe lights, interspersed amongst the sprinklers, became one with the booming speakers so that nature reacted by bellowing out in an enraged cacophony of pain. The fog machine clouds erupted with light, almost attempting to blind the target who threw his gaze up to them.

  The weapon was now pointing upwards, launching fire into the flashing skies that were assaulting his eyes in retaliation.

  His finger now strangled the trigger, as his hand darted back to the ground, spinning more flame out of the muzzle of his weapon and into the belly of Mother Nature.

  He soon emptied the Glock before hopelessly spearing it into the ground in a determined rage. His gritted teeth were almost on the verge of cracking and crumbling with the buildings around him. The strobe lights cast an unflinching spotlight on his figure, which almost took on the appearance of a battle-ready Zeus, thunderbolt raised to the heavens. This vision was underscored by the speakers, which blared out sounds of thunder that fractured the air.

  “Fuck this!” a voice protested from behind Schaefer a split-second before the door suddenly blurred past him. He was now face down on the ground. His head jolted back up, and then to his right.

  A horde of officers were rushing to the figure of Hazzard frantically unlocking the door, the mad lights dancing in his wide eyes.

  The door flew open just as Hazzard’s gun was already out of its holster.

  In the next few seconds, Schaefer’s eyes struggled to focus on the chaos of movement in front of him as three officers leapt on top of Hazzard, pulling him back, grabbing his gun, a gun now facing the sky, firing into the sky, booming across the alleyway, pulling him back even mo-

  The bodies of the three officers were suddenly hurled backwards like ragdolls just as Hazzard vanished into the warehouse.

  Schaefer’s eyes enlarged with horror.

  “SHIT!”

  He was already back on his feet and snatching a gun from the holster of an officer who was trying to help him up.

  Now standing toe-to-toe with the open door in front of him, Schaefer shot a glance to the technicians beside him, “Don’t stop anything!” before charging up the vibrating flight of stairs. He just barely missed the orchestra of arms reaching out for him to pull him back.

  “Lock the door behind me now!” he ordered.

  The stairs immediately threw him off balance as he tripped and fell. The corner of the stair in front of him sharply dug into his right knee just as he heard the sound of the lock slipping into place behind him.

  He could h
ear Silas screaming and barking orders in the distance.

  “Silas! SILAS!” he uselessly called out.

  His eyes had suddenly caught a series of flashes before he heard the deafening crackle of gunfire.

  It jarred the rhythm of his racing heart; he could almost feel the blood leaving his face.

  The booming shots kept flashing along with the images in his mind, images of his target laying dead on the ground, of Silas laying dead on the ground, of both of them laying dead on the ground.

  He felt weak.

  The gunfire continued until it spun out into a frenzy of screaming and shuffling.

  Schaefer’s legs were now rocketing up the stairs, stairs which now seemed to multiply into vastness, purposely hindering him from saving the day. The helplessness jumped into raging convulsions and fits within his body, his legs were aching to reach the summit of the stairs.

  The sounds had now ceased.

  Schaefer was now at the top of the stairs.

  The soundstage stretched away from his eyes, almost fleeing from them, before they locked onto the sight of the whirring teeth of the target’s chainsaw, now a millimetre away from Hazzard’s neck.

  Schaefer’s body froze along with Hazzard’s, which was now pinned up against the wall of one of the crumbled buildings. At any second the vibrations were going to drive those vicious teeth into Hazzard’s throat. The gun in Schaefer’s hand was now aimed squarely at the target’s head.

  “Drop the weapon, step away from the officer and get on the ground now! Let him go now!”

  He resisted the urge to approach them, instead spreading his legs apart to brace himself.

  The target slowly brought his face closer to Hazzard’s.

  “You are not part of this mission,” he told him firmly.

  “You’re right, he’s not part of the mission but he’s also not the enemy,” Schaefer added.

  The target’s head jerked to face him, considering his words.