by Mark Tufo
“Be careful, Johnnie,” Max replied, not really believing they were in any imminent danger. “Probably just a deer. Maybe we’ll be able to send a hunting party out to get it.”
The shots caught both of them by surprise. Beth nearly dragged Max down to the ground with her.
“Johnnie! Johnnie! Are you all right!?” he screamed into the radio.
Beth desperately wanted Max to be quiet and come down to the ground with her. But her voice failed her.
“Johnnie!” he screamed again.
Beth’s adrenaline kicked in—she grabbed Max by the shin and pulled him over. He tried to kick her away as she grabbed the radio with one hand and covered his mouth with the other, using her body weight to silence his struggles.
“Is that you, bitch?” came the malevolent voice over the walkie-talkie, sounding far more insidious through the circuitry. “Come on, one or two more screams for poor little Johnnie and I’ll have you. What is it bitch, you too high and mighty to do your own handiwork, you have to send little kids out to do it for you?”
“Oh, Johnnie,” Max wailed, muffled through Beth’s fingers. Beth was shaking from a combination of fear and rage.
Max had finally squirmed himself loose from Beth’s death grip.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing at Beth’s hand. “We’ve got to get out of here. This is the only path from where… from where Johnnie was.” Max tried his best to keep from crying. “If we stay here, he’ll find us.”
That got Beth moving. “Where are we going?” Max led her off the path and into the thickets.
“We’ll take a shortcut to where the car is.”
“Is it safe?”
“It’s safer than staying here,” Max said without ever turning to look at her. Both walked crouched over, expecting at any moment to come face to face with their pursuer. The radio crackled to life.
“You’re really starting to piss me off. Why don’t you just come out and get this over with?” The man stated, almost matter of factly.
“Why don’t you just die?” Beth replied with as much hatred as she could muster, before she shut the radio off.
“That’s the spirit,” the man shouted far too close for comfort.
Beth and Max moved towards the sound of the man’s voice, though she wished they were moving away from him. Max quietly explained that he was directly in the way of where they wanted to go and that they would have to go around him. The plan was going well until they heard a scream.
“Johnnie!” Max said in a loud whisper.
“Hey, I’ve got some company, you should come and visit,” the man shouted.
“Oh my God!” Beth cried.
“He’s got Johnnie, what do we do?” Max pleaded. Fear sweat dripping from his brow.
Beth knew what she must do, though she didn’t want to. She began to move in the direction of Johnnie’s whimpers which were becoming clearer and clearer. Max caught up to her and grabbed her hand.
“You can’t, he’ll kill you both,” he said, looking into her eyes.
“I can’t let him have him,” she answered. “What kind of person would that make me? You have to stay here, Max. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you. I’m the reason Johnnie is in danger, I can’t just leave.”
Max was torn, his best friend was in mortal danger and one of the only grow-ups he liked was about to put herself in the same situation.
“Max, whatever happens, promise you won’t follow me,” Beth said as she knelt down to look him eye to eye. Max didn’t answer. She shook him a little fiercer than she meant to. “Promise me, Max!” she begged.
Grudgingly, he answered, “I promise,” his lip quivering.
Beth walked closer toward her boogeyman, occasionally looking over her shoulder to make sure that Max was honoring his promise. But he had left, running in the opposite direction. Beth was saddened, but not completely without understanding. She didn’t want to hear herself get shot, either. Beth was approaching the edge of the woods, and the clearing up ahead, Cobbler’s Field, she assumed. And twenty-five yards from where she stood was her pursuer, with the quaking form of Johnnie at his feet.
“You let him go and I’ll come out!” Beth yelled, the words were hers but she didn’t feel like it was her talking. Her legs were like lead, her heart raced, her mind was going a mile a minute.
“You come out and I’ll let him go!” he responded. Even from here she could see his yellow stained grin. Beth hesitated. “I’ve got no use for the boy; you show yourself and he’s free to go. What choice do you really have?” He smiled again. He knew he had her and if he pressed he could have the both of them. “Now!” he shouted. “Or my good disposition might change, I’d hate to accidently put a bullet in his leg,” Johnnie whined. Beth came out of the small copse of woods, her legs moved but not of her own volition. The man’s smile got even bigger. His camouflage clothes torn in many places and two weeks of growth on his face made the man look that much more menacing than she could have imagined. With Beth’s emergence from the woods, the man’s attention was completely drawn away from Johnnie.
“Johnnie, run!” Beth yelled.
“Yeah, Johnnie, run,” the man echoed, never taking his eyes off of Beth.
Johnnie seemed to be frozen. “Get out of here Johnnie, FUCKING run!” Beth screamed. The expletive seemed to have broken through the ice. Johnnie slowly rose and looked warily at the man and imploringly at Beth before he ran away as fast as his legs could take him.
“Damn, you’re fine,” the man said as he rubbed his forehead with the barrel of his gun. “It’s such a damn waste to just kill you.” He leered at her. Beth felt violated merely from his stare. “Maybe I’ll have a little fun with you first. Hell, maybe I’ll keep you as a pet for a while. Beth involuntarily convulsed, she had hoped that the end would come swiftly, not as some extended nightmare. “But then I did see what you did to my brother, you’d kill me the moment you had an opportunity.”
“I would,” Beth said as she stopped ten yards away. She figured if she could get him mad enough or at least a little concerned that she would kill him, he’d just finish her off. At least that way she knew Max and the others would give her a proper burial.
“Put the gun down,” came Sammie’s voice.
“What the fuck is this!” the man yelled, swiveling to his left where the voice came from.
“Put the gun down or I’ll shoot,” the boy said, his voice cracking a little from the stress.
“Yeah, alright. I’ll put the gun down ‘cause of some squeaky voiced teen told me to,” the man laughed.
The boy gave a warning shot, the noise was deafening, birds flew from trees, dirt spewed up from the foot of the man. His cracked grin fell away.
“Listen, mister, at this range and with a scope, I can put a bullet in your belly button,” Sammie yelled.
“Hold on, kid,” the man said as he turned toward the woods. “I’ve got no beef with you, I just came for the girl.”
“You can’t have her,” he replied.
“She killed my brother!” he yelled, rage and anguish etched on his face. “She has to pay!”
“Mister, if you don’t put the gun down, I’m going to gut shoot you and leave you for the crows,” Sammie answered.
The man was shaking with rage as he bent to put the gun down and his hands halfway up.
“This isn’t over!” he yelled. “Not by a long shot. First, I’m gonna track this bitch down again and I’m gonna take my sweet ass time carving her up like a Christmas goose. Then I’m going to find your little fort and kill every one of you little fucks!” he screamed. Spittle flew from his mouth as he over enunciated each word.
“Beth, come on,” the boy said, his voice cracking even worse this time.
Beth started to move toward Sammie. “Shoot him!” she shouted. Not caring in the least that this would be killing in cold blood. “Shoot him!” Beth yelled as she got closer to the woods.
“I’ve never shot a man,” came the trepid re
sponse.
‘Oh God, why did he say that out loud?’ Beth moaned.
The tree next to Beth’s head exploded in a shower of bark and sap. Sammie’s rifle answered in return the noise was deafening, Beth’s heart was hammering as she dove into the woods. But there were no more shots, when the smoke cleared, the man was gone.
“Let’s go!” the boy said, grabbing Beth’s arm as she was absently picking the tree bark from her hair. Beth couldn’t hear him but from his gestures and rapid mouth movement she could tell that he wanted to go, and fast.
Being deaf is very tranquil, Beth noted. As she was slowly extracted from her shock and good fortune, she realized her good luck could be very short lived if she didn’t get a move on. Beth’s equilibrium was also on the fritz—more than once she caught her shoulder on a tree. Slowly, but surely, she was able to run a little straighter and began to hear her own labored breathing.
“How much farther?” she said a little too loudly.
“Beth, I’m right here,” the boy answered.
“Sorry,” she answered sheepishly, again too loudly.
“Just come on and shut up!” he hissed.
Beth couldn’t be sure, but she would have sworn he was swearing at her.
When Beth thought she might be at the limit of her sprinting ability, the woods finally thinned out, and not more than thirty yards ahead stood, the most beautiful sight she had seen in ages, a 1970s mint green Buick Skylark, battered and bruised as it was, it still represented everything she could hope for, escape from the mad man behind them and another step forward into the waiting arms of Mike. She would have wept if she had the breath.
Beth circled around to the passenger side and got in, the boy’s door shut only a split second before hers.
Beth’s hearing had almost come back in full as the rear windshield shattered in. Glass fragments peppered everything.
“Fuck!” the boy yelled as he tried to put the car in gear.
The man was no more than twenty yards behind the car and closing fast.
“Hurry!” she screamed as she turned to look back at her pursuer. His face contorted in rage. “Fucking Hurry!” she screamed, she could make out the whites of his eyes.
Sammie got the car in gear and gunned the 350hp engine. Pebbles shot up from the rear of the car, assaulting the man, Beth noted with some satisfaction. His gun roared again as the front windshield exploded out. The car began to veer wildly to the left, Beth grabbed the wheel instinctively, narrowly missing a pine tree.
“Sammie? What are you doing?” Beth asked as she kept steering, the car picking up speed.
Sammie looked over at her, his eyes glassy.
“You’ve been shot! Sammie take your foot off the gas or we’re going to crash.” He couldn’t understand her or he was unable to comply, either way Beth knew they were in immediate danger. She didn’t have time to see where the man was but she figured they had put enough distance between them so she could do something. She pulled Sammie toward her as hard as she could until she was sure his foot had left contact with the accelerator, and trying her best not to lean on his wound, she contorted over until she was able to put her foot on the brake. Sammie grunted as he smashed forward into the gear shift.
The man, noting his good fortune, was once again running full speed, to the now idle car. Sammie seemed to be made of stone as Beth grabbed him by his jacket and tried to force him over into the passenger seat. She had moved him halfway over into the bench seat, before she hazarded a look at her pursuer. She would never have enough time to get out and run around to the driver’s side. Apologizing as she went, Beth crawled over the now lifeless form of Sammie. Part of the steering wheel disintegrated as Beth slid into the driver’s seat, the shot had missed her by no more than three inches, and he had done that while he was at a full sprint. Beth jammed her foot on the accelerator, the car burped, lurched, and shot forward like a rocket. She didn’t hear another shot.
“Sammie, hold on!” She reached over to check for any signs of life. His chest was rising, but it was labored. He’d never make it an hour to Worcester, but where else was there? Beth shot out of the woods and onto the Mass Pike with a thump. She didn’t know what kind of speed the car could handle, but she was determined to find out.
CHAPTER TWENTY - Mike Journal Entry 6
The ride on the zodiac, considering what was going on around us, for the most part, was uneventful. The night was moonless and should have been dark enough for the covert mission for which we were involved, except for the fact that the French landscape was blazing like a bonfire gone completely out of control. Drababan and I sat in the middle of the small boat as it zoomed toward the rendezvous point. Drababan slipped in and out of consciousness, the paramedic wasn’t sure if he had helped or made matters worse by extracting the bullets from Drababan. But Drababan was still alive and so the proof was in the pudding, so to speak. The Marines stayed professional throughout the ride but I could tell they felt the trade off for their comrades was seemingly not worth the payout. I had to agree. Twenty Marines had died, France and most likely the world were ablaze and I couldn’t help but feel responsible.
“Fuck, I just wanted to see Widespread Panic,” I muttered.
“Did you say something?” The female sergeant said. The blaze of the fires made her eyes even more electrifying.
“Uh, no. Just ahhh…” I stuttered.
“Yeah, right,” she said as she turned back around to keep her vigil.
“Dee, you still with us?” I asked Drababan, since it didn’t seem like anybody else wanted to talk to me.
“Hu-man, leave me be. I must rest,” Drababan answered.
That got the Marines’ attention as they all turned to see their ‘guest’ was indeed still alive. Everyone assessing the threat Drababan might yet still impose on them or their fellow Marine.
I knew what was coming, but it still surprised the hell out of me. The black gleaming hull rose huge out of the ocean not ten yards from our location. The bow broke through the churning ocean water. Moments later, a small detachment of sailors appeared on the hull, looking nervous. They did not appear to like being so exposed, they worked quickly, throwing rope ladders over the side.
“Drababan,” I said as I nudged him in the side. He looked up at me and then to the submarine and then his eyes gazed on the rope ladder. “Will you be able…”
“I am not quite dead yet, Talbot,” he answered. “I should be able to muster enough strength to scale that contraption.
Five of the Marines boarded quickly, sensing the danger being in the open hazarded. I climbed up next as the Marines set up a perimeter on the sub to guard against any imminent danger. The sailors glanced around nervously as Drababan grunted through his slow ascent, making them even more nervous. He was imposing even if he was half dead.
“I didn’t think he’d be so big,” one of the sailors stammered.
“Holy shit,” another said, startled as Drababan’s hand and then face broke over the top.
I stooped to grab an arm and help him over, it was tough to tell but he seemed to appreciate the gesture, whether or not I really helped pull his five hundred pound frame up was still in doubt. He shuffled to the side while the rest of our rescue team made its way on board.
Sergeant Yarborough was the last and began to issue orders. “Hennessey, Brooks, get our ‘guests’ down below and secured.”
“Ay-ay, Sergeant,” came the replies.
Secured? I thought, wondering if we would be held in the brig. My question was soon answered as we were ushered below. No, sooner had we made contact with floor when the sub made preparations for a dive. Drababan and the rest of us headed towards the sick bay.
“I want you two to stand guard on him,” Sergeant Yarborough ordered Hennessey and Brooks. “I will send replacements as soon as everything is settled and then I want you down in the debriefing room at 2200. Is that understood?” She didn’t wait for their reply. “I don’t want him so much as fluffing his pil
low without one of you covering him.” And then she turned to me. “Let’s go.” She looked weary, bone weary, sort of the way I felt. Drababan didn’t look like he was going to be any trouble, the bed creaked and groaned as he plopped his frame down into it, even though his legs were hanging over by two feet, he appeared to be sleeping before his head hit the unfluffed pillow.
“Where are we going?” I asked, too tired to be tactful.
“The ship’s commander wants to see you and then he’ll decide,” she replied.
We weren’t twenty feet from sick bay, when the shock wave hit, Sergeant Yarborough slammed into me as I cushioned her fall when I hit the wall nearest me. I winced in pain.
“What the hell was that?” I said as I stood up, rubbing the side where my almost healed fractured ribs were, now throbbing in protest. Sergeant Yarborough collected herself and refused my hand to help her up. “Whatever,” I said as I went back to caressing my injured innards.
The sailor who had been escorting us after the initial shock answered. “The aliens, somehow they see us as soon as we break surface. Luckily we learn their targeting systems are for shit once we get to below a hundred feet. We don’t know why that is, but they take pock shots anyway. We’ve lost a few subs, but nothing like the wholesale destruction on the surface units. They’ll take a couple of more shots, but where they think we are is not where we really are. At least we can hope those aren’t the same points.” As if to reiterate the sailor’s words, the next shock wave hit, but with nothing of the force the first had. My pulse was finally coming back down.
Sergeant Yarborough kept on walking as the seaman stopped and knocked on the Commander’s door. “Sir, Captain Talbot is here.”
It had been so long since I had been addressed that way I was slightly taken aback.
“Show him in, Yeoman,” he replied. “And could you please ask the chef to send up some coffee? Thank you.” Without waiting for an answer, I entered the fairly spacious—for a sub—compartment. The majority of the room was taken up with models of all subs from its earliest conception, to the latest super boomer models.
