The Last Marine : Book Two (A Dystopian War Novel)

by T. S. Ransdell

  Gunn got out of the SUV to fill the gas tank himself. A tall, lean man in grubby clothes at the next pump caught Gunn’s attention.

  Young. Mid-twenties? Gunn noted to himself. Wearing all that black. Looks like one of the rioters on the news.

  This ain’t good. Stay cool, Rivett told himself. I need to move this van. Rivett looked around the parking lot. He chose a spot across from the pumps at the side of the station. From there, he would have a visual on the storefront as well as the FedAPS agents filling up next to him.

  Rivett noticed the FedAPS agent staring at him as he replaced the gas nozzle on the pump. Rivett looked the agent in the eye and nodded. He jumped into the van and started it up.

  There’s something about the kid. Red flags went up in Gunn’s mind. The way he looks, the way he moves, acts. Doesn’t add up.

  He watched as the kid drove across the parking lot and then backed into a space directly across from him.

  Why not leave? Gunn wondered. If he’s waiting on someone in the store, why not park in front of the store? Instead, he’s parking across the lot?

  “Fill her up, Bisceglia. I’ve got work to do,” FedAPS Agent Taylor Terrez said grinning, then jogged off to catch up with Blige on her way to the convenience store restroom.

  Gunn, distracted from watching at the weird kid in the van, shook his head. He made eye contact with FedAPS Agent Cole Bisceglia, who knowingly smiled and began to fill up the gas tank.

  Terrez was a good enough agent when he focused. Lately, the problem was Terrez’s attraction to Blige. Under the circumstances, and the fact that Blige seemed to only encourage Terrez’s attention, Gunn declined to say anything about their behavior. After all, their mission was to reinforce an Arizona trooper roadblock set up to find a Hannah Tse; Gunn rationalized the workplace flirting couldn’t hurt anything.

  “We shouldn’t have too much farther to go, huh, Sarge?” Bisceglia, who admired the veteran agent, tried to make some conversation.

  “No, not too much–” Gunn stopped mid-sentence, interrupted by a series of gunshots from inside the store.

  Mackenzie placed packages of beef jerky and crackers with peanut butter on the counter. Distracted by his security monitors, the clerk ignored her. She looked over the clerk’s head to see Sean Harris’s picture on a small television screen behind the counter. Mackenzie recognized it as the picture Marines have taken shortly before they graduate from basic training.

  He looks so young and handsome without the scar, she thought.

  The news broadcast ran his full name, Sean Daniel Harris, under the picture along with his rank and affiliation with First Battalion. Then a computer-generated picture of what Harris looked like now came onto the screen. Mackenzie thought the computer had done a good job, except it had failed to capture the anger in his eyes.

  “FedAPS authorities have now confirmed new evidence linking US Marine Sean Harris to the brutal murders of several San Diego women,” the newsman read. “Harris has a record for violence on and off the battlefield. FedAPS sources say Harris has already spent time in military prison for nearly beating a FedAPS officer to death.”

  “One has to wonder how someone like that could even be allowed back into the country,” the female co-host opined.

  Her male counterpart only gave a nod of agreement and kept reading his script. “FedAPS officials also say Harris is believed to have been an active conspirator in the Marine Corps’ munity and treason to the President of the United States…” Boot camp pictures of Edwards and McCurry popped up on the screen.

  They found Sarah, Mackenzie thought.

  “Sergeant Ethan Edwards and Lance Corporal Michael McCurry are subjects of interest with FedAPS authorities. All three Marines are at large, extremely dangerous, and may be traveling with a female hostage…”

  Hostage? I can still get out of this. Mackenzie felt a brief pang of guilt about the idea of abandoning Ethan. Two days ago, she believed she was in love with him. However, she had no such sentiments about Harris. His thoughts, his words, were too extreme, in her opinion. Harris was angry about the past. Mackenzie wanted a future with Ethan.

  She knew they had no role in the Marine Corps’ attack on FedAPS. Nor in betraying President Tang. Running away was supposed to buy time to get their story out and explain the truth. Ethan could clear his name, and they could move forward with life. But what was there to move forward to now? Mackenzie had stood and watched both men kill. She found it ugly.

  Is Ethan really any different than Harris? Mackenzie asked herself. This is not what I signed up for, she concluded, her fear winning out over her love for Edwards.

  “I hope they waste those sons of bitches.” Mackenzie suddenly was aware of the clerk watching the news broadcast along with her. She just stared back. “You know FedAPS has a reward out for renegade Marines. Hell, I wouldn’t mind a chance of shooting one of those fascist bastards myself. After what they–”

  “Help me,” Mackenzie urgently whispered. “I’ve been kidnapped.”

  “What?” The clerk turned to her with a look of disbelief.

  “Sean Harris is here.” Mackenzie nodded toward the TV screen, which was again showing a picture of his face. “They’ve kidnapped me and killed others. They’re trying to escape. Please help me!”

  Ventz heard her words and wondered if she was high, crazy, or both. She was young and pretty. He wanted to help her. Ventz looked her in the eye and determined her fear was real. He began to reach for his phone. Then he noticed one of the men she was with walking towards him. The black hooded sweatshirt obscured the man’s face. But for a brief instant Ventz saw a scar running across his cheek.

  That’s the killer, Ventz’s mind screamed. Without further thought, he reached for the .40-caliber pistol at the small of his back.

  Hey,” Terrez called out to Blige as he jogged to catch up with her. Suffering a growing attraction for the new agent, Terrez finally made up his mind to ask Blige out. He saw this short bathroom break as his chance.

  “I’m so sick of Gunn’s attitude,” Blige immediately complained to Terrez. “He expects me to pump gas.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Blige loved having a sympathetic audience in Terrez.

  “Yeah, I understand. Sometimes Gunn has a rod up his ass.” Terrez chuckled, trying to sound sympathetic. “ Say, ah, Lewis is having some agents over Sunday for a few beers and to watch the game. I thought maybe you’d like to go with me.” He stopped talking just long enough to open the door for Blige. “It’d give you a chance to get to know some of the other agents. Perhaps…”

  Terrez looked up from following Blige into the convenience store, to see her frozen with shock. He turned straight ahead to see a man behind the cash register with a drawn pistol.

  “Hey, I’m going to check out the maps.” McCurry pointed to the far corner of the shop from the cooler.

  “Yeah, good idea,” Harris answered as he held the cooler door open and pulled a twelve-pack of sodas from the bottom shelf.

  Along the way, McCurry looked over the gas station’s supply of antibiotic ointment, aspirin, and Band-Aids. He grabbed the items, along with some gauze and a pair of nail clippers. You never know, he told himself. Rivett’s ranch was supposed to be within a day’s, two at the most, hike from here.

  “Anything can happen,” McCurry mumbled to himself. Suddenly, his attention was diverted by the storefront’s door beeping, signaling someone entering or exiting the shop. McCurry’s body involuntarily tensed at the sight of two FedAPS officers walking into the shop. Just as quickly, he was relieved by their casualness, that was until he saw the male agent reach for his pistol.

  Harris looked at the floor as he walked towards the cashier with the twelve-pack of soda. Suddenly, the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He looked up into the eyes of the store’s clerk. Harris recognized the look. The man was going to try to kill him. Harris dropped the sodas and reached for his pistol.

  Drawing his weapon, Terrez screamed, “Drop y
our weapon,” and immediately fired twice.

  McCurry lay on the floor dazed. His mind registered he’d been shot.

  It’s never felt like this before, McCurry told himself, as if the fact were up for debate. Because you were wearing body armor then, McCurry answered himself.

  How did I get hit? he asked himself, hoping for another answer. But none came. Ignoring the shots ringing out around him, he pulled his shirt up, looking for the wound. Panicked at not finding a bullet hole, McCurry desperately reached below his waistband. His hand came back bloody.

  It wasn’t that Ventz did not want to comply with the FedAPS officer. He hadn’t realized the agent was yelling at him. Ventz thought, after all, he was one of the good guys. He’d merely turned to look at the federal agent, who then shot at him. Although the agent missed, Ventz was so terrified, he accidentally discharged his own weapon and shot the man in the far corner of his shop. The FedAPS agent fired a second time. Ventz didn’t have time to realize the agent had missed again; a bullet from Harris had ended his life.

  The woman dropped to the ground, screaming. Terrez momentarily feared he might have shot her by mistake. Then he realized Blige was the one screaming; the other woman had dropped down to take cover. The man behind the store counter fired at him, but missed. Terrez fired a second time and missed again. Terrez told himself to slow down, breathe, and aim. Before he could get off a third round, he saw the armed man drop from two bullets to the head. Terrez realized, to his horror, there was another man with a gun.

  Angry he hadn’t noticed the FedAPS agents earlier, Harris dropped to the floor behind the candy-bar shelves and low crawled toward Mackenzie. She was down, but he could see no blood on her. Through the screams of the other FedAPS agent, Harris heard footsteps approaching from his left. Three shots tore through the shelf of candy bars and prepackaged pastries Harris was using for cover. He stayed low, ready to shoot. When the FedAPS agent appeared at the end of the aisle, Harris shot him twice in the torso. The agent fell back into the counter in front of Mackenzie. Only his body armor kept him alive. Harris fired a third shot, hitting Terrez just below the nose.

  Panicked, Mackenzie jumped up and stood against the wall. Harris yelled at her to get down, but she only looked back in terror. He jumped up to pull her down.

  He killed the FedAPS agent! He knows I told the clerk, Mackenzie screamed inside her own mind. He’s going to kill me too!

  She ran with all her might when Harris lunged towards her. She hoped the other FedAPS agent would save her, or, failing that, Edwards would.

  Growing up, Janelle Blige loved firearms. In the movies of her youth, strong women with guns captured her imagination. Through movies, she learned armed and adventurous women were empowered. Smarter, bolder, and tougher than their male counterparts, these women were above reproach and beholden to no one. Unlike her own mother, who, without a husband, was needy and dependent on so many different men in her life. Whenever one of her mother’s boyfriends was no longer reliable, they embarked on another desperate search for a man to take care of them. Janelle’s was a childhood of chaos and instability. In her eyes, her mother was weak and insecure. Janelle yearned to be strong and secure, like the women she saw in movies.

  Unfortunately for Janelle, FedAPS training took all the fun out of guns. The instructors, many male war veterans, demanded compliance to safety rules.

  Where’s the independence in following someone else’s rules? Janelle asked herself. She could see absolutely no reason why training had to focus on marksmanship. Who actually takes time to aim in a gunfight? she’d thought to herself. Movies didn’t show anyone aiming. Not with all the running and jumping going on.

  But what really ended her love affair for the gun was how loud they were. More than a mere dislike, she hated the noise and the recoil. Janelle found her experience on the shooting range far from empowering; it embodied the fear and chaos of her childhood. She loathed shooting and was a terrible shot. Ultimately, she decided that if she were to ever get into a gunfight, she would just point the gun in the general direction and blast away.

  I’m bound to hit something. Besides, she told herself, marksmanship can’t be too important. I’ve never hit a bull’s-eye, and FedAPS still made me an agent.

  The first time Janelle Blige heard a weapon fired while not wearing hearing protection was when Terrez drew his weapon and fired in the convenience store. It terrified her. Janelle dropped to the floor and screamed. But soon her training kicked in, and she attempted to draw her weapon. Unfortunately, she fumbled her nine millimeter out of her holster, and it slid across the floor towards the restrooms. She scampered after the weapon, then crawled back behind the counter. Without looking, Blige stuck her pistol over the countertop while frantically pulling the trigger, laying down a field of fire she believed no one could survive.

  Getting out of the men’s room felt like an eternity to Edwards, but it was less than ten seconds. He emerged to see a female FedAPS agent rapidly firing her pistol, and a fleeing Mackenzie drop to the ground. Edwards fired two shots to the back of Blige’s head. He scanned the store, saw no one, and went to Mackenzie. She was dead.

  Harris stood up from behind the aisle shelf. Edwards briefly looked at him but said nothing. Harris headed to the other side of the store to check on McCurry.

  “You all right?” Harris asked, relieved at the sight of McCurry trying to stand up.

  “I’m hit, but I can walk,” McCurry grunted, hoping he wasn’t wrong.

  Harris hadn’t taken four steps before he heard gunshots from outside the store. Without hesitation, Edwards scooped up Blige’s nine-millimeter and headed out the door right behind Harris.

  The sound of gunfire was all too familiar to Gunn. Yet he still took a moment to stare as if he could see through the store’s side wall. He wanted to think he’d been mistaken, or perhaps just paranoid. But Gunn knew he wasn’t. Realizing he’d wasted a small, but precious amount of time, Gunn committed himself to action.

  Seeing Gunn draw his pistol, Bisceglia went for the assault rifle mounted in his vehicle. Gunn headed towards the store and cautiously came around to the storefront. The sound of an accelerating engine immediately caught his attention.

  The grubby-dressed kid in the black van. Gunn mentally connected dots to all the violence in San Diego. He spun to his right, to see the black van speeding directly towards him. Gunn emptied his pistol’s magazine into the black van, barely leaping out of its way in time to save his own life. The black van crashed into the FedAPS SUVs at the gas pump.

  Gunn hit the concrete a lot harder than he would have liked. In pain, but not slowing down, he slapped in a fresh magazine and surveyed the damage to the van. Gunn thanked himself for using his ten-millimeter service pistol from the war instead of the nine-millimeter issued by FedAPS.

  “Bisceglia, you all right?”

  “Yeah. But I think my leg is broken,” Bisceglia cried back in pain.

  Gunn kept his sights on the van. He couldn’t see the driver.

  Rivett desperately felt around the floor of the van for his pistol in vain. The impact had sent it flying from where it was wedged between his thigh and the driver’s seat. He could hear the agents yelling outside. They’d come after him. Time was of the essence. He had to get to the others inside the store, if they were alive.

  He stifled a grunt, crawling on the van floor to the side door. Rivett was surprised to discover he’d somehow caught a round in his left thigh.

  Ignore it for now. Get out that door! Rivett told himself. Slamming the side door open, he painfully limped towards the store with all the speed he could muster. A smile spread across his face when he saw Harris, then Edwards emerge from around the corner.

  “Freeze! Hands up! Down on your knees!” Gunn commanded.

  Is he stupid? Rivett asked himself. Marines don’t surrender.

  Gunn knew he’d made a mistake as soon as he pulled the trigger, but not because he intended to kill. Rather, at that very moment he p
ulled the trigger, in his peripheral he saw two black-clad men emerge around the corner from the store’s front. Gunn prayed he was fast enough to shoot them before they shot him. He wasn’t.

  Gunn’s body slammed to the earth hard enough to drive all the air from his lungs. However, two nine-millimeter rounds had already done that. His body armor had kept him alive. Unfortunately for Gunn, the ten-millimeter was knocked from his hand. Ignoring his pain, and desire to breathe, he sat up and reached for his pistol. He heard three more rounds fire. He felt two of them. One shattered his right elbow. Another round hit him in the chest, slamming him back to the ground.

  Struggling to breathe, Gunn’s thoughts went to saying goodbye to his wife before he left for work that afternoon, without a clue it’d be the last time he’d see her. Then his mind went to his teenaged son and daughter, and the happiness he’d felt after the war, thinking he’d get to see them grow up.

  Fight to stay alive. Got to reach my pistol, Gunn told himself. I want to see them again!

  I don’t have to kill him, Edwards thought, shooting the agent’s elbow as he reached for his pistol. He stifled his vanity at making such a shot. He also stifled the inner voice screaming, Kill your enemy! Why didn’t you take a head shot? He knew the answer, but he wasn’t going to dwell on it now. He could deal with that later. If he was alive.

  From his right peripheral, he saw Harris moving out towards the two FedAPS SUVs, then lie down and fire three rounds under the wrecked SUV. Edwards couldn’t see Harris’s target, but assumed it was a downed FedAPS agent.

  Harris didn’t hesitate, Edwards thought.

  Harris then moved towards the lead FedAPS vehicle. Of the three vehicles, it was the only one that looked drivable.