“Reaper!” I shouted.
A bullet had smashed his chest plate. He was bleeding badly from the side of his head. I shook him.
He opened his eyes, looked around in confusion, then grimaced. “Ow **** that hurts.” He rolled over and put his hands on his skull. “****** shot me and I hit my ****** head on the ****** car. Quit yelling at me! Oh ****, he shot me in the arm too.” Sure enough there was a nasty wound through his bicep. Jill kneeled by his side and put pressure on it. “**** I hate getting shot!”
“You’ll live,” Jill said.
I could be relieved later. I pulled Reaper’s radio off his vest and yanked out the ear piece plug. “Bob. Can you hear me?”
“Yeah, bro, I’m fine. That guy must have picked up my laser. Pinned me down good.”
Somehow we had all survived. I checked my watch. Less than thirty minutes had passed since I had first crawled through the garage window.
“If you see another car moving down the road. Kill the driver.”
“He’s already around the bend. I don’t have a shot.”
I swore as I keyed the radio again. “Get down to the road as fast as you can. We’ll pick you up in a minute.”
“I’m on my way,” he answered.
I stuffed the radio in my pocket. Nightcrawler had picked up the big PK and taken up a defensive position. I started for the sedan. The door was unlocked. No keys of course. I whipped out my Multitool and cracked open the cover beneath the steering wheel. It took all of thirty seconds to get the car hotwired, and that was between boughts of violent coughing and blood trickling down my arms and making my hands slippery with the stuff. The powerful engine turned over as I struck the wires together.
The others were already cramming into the sedan. Nightcrawler had to maneuver the Russian machine gun to make it fit. The entire prison camp was burning bright now, and we needed to get out of here before the authorities showed up to investigate. I slammed the car into gear and floored it as soon as everyone was inside.
#############
The car was dieing. Something must have been hit as we were unloading on the Fat Man. All of the warning lights were on. The engine was coughing almost as badly as I was. Jill was squished against me, with Bob and his body armor taking up most of the front seat. All of us were filthy, sweating, and some of us were bleeding. Bob’s shocked reaction to seeing me under the car’s interior lights when we had picked him up told me about how horrible I looked.
“We’re almost where we left the vehicles,” Bob stated calmly. He was covered in desert dust and his .308 was between his knees. The fire from the work camp was just a visible glow over the hill behind us.
“The kid’s going to be okay. Bullet clean through the bicep. I’ve got the bleeding under control.,” Nightcrawler said from the backseat.
“I suck at this stuff,” Reaper whined. “I keep getting shot.”
“You get used to it,” Nightcrawler said.
“Bob, I need you to get these guys out of here before the cops show up. Reaper needs medical attention. Think you can handle it?”
“Yeah,” my brother answered. I knew that he was some sort of medic in the National Guard, an 18 Delta he had called it. “But I think you need a hospital.”
“It’s better than it looks,” I lied. There were deep lacerations on my face, scalp, and down my arms. My hands were a blood soaked mess. I had first degree burns on much of my body, and from the throbbing nerves down my back and legs I knew that there were some spots that were much worse. I couldn’t stop coughing.
But there was no way Eddie was going to get away.
The car died as we rolled into the rest stop. I jumped out and started towards the stolen Explorer.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jill asked.
“After Eddie.” I opened the door. “He told Gordon that he had flown into Quagmire. I can catch him before he takes off.”
“You’re injured. You need medical help,” Jill insisted. She was right of course. I was running on nothing but adrenalin and anger now.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ll hook up with you later.” I didn’t want them with me. Gordon had probably notified the authorities, and surely word would reach the cops in Quagmire about the massacre at the old work camp. I grabbed the wheel. My vision was blurred and my head was swimming. Bob was helping Reaper into the back of the G-ride Suburban.
Nightcrawler tossed his keys to Jill. “Follow Bob,” he told her. “I went through too much trouble to get that car.”
“Lorenzo…” Jill trailed off. She was filthy, stupid pink outfit splattered with blood, her hair matted with dirt, hanging like a dark shadow over half her face, a stolen handgun dangling at one side.
She was beautiful.
“Yeah, I know,” I rasped.
Nightcrawler opened the passenger side door and slid in, maneuvering the big Russian machine gun to fit between us.
“What are you doing?” I shouted.
“Shut up and drive.” He slammed the door.
##########
I pushed the Ford up to a hundred and ten. It wouldn’t go any faster. I-15 was only two lanes wide, east bound, through this stretch of desert, and I careened around and between cars and big trucks in a manner that I would normally consider insane. I was a good driver, but I was no Carl, especially in my current condition. I wasn’t worried about being pulled over. Multiple flashing lights and sirens went past us in opposite direction, heading towards the burning prison camp. Apparently word of our gun battle had gotten out, and with at least twenty bodies back there the local cops probably weren’t worried about speeders.
Nightcrawler held onto the overhead strap, or ‘Oh **** Handle’ as Reaper liked to call them. Two semis were side by side on the freeway blocking both lanes, so I took us onto the jittery median, vibrating the hell out of our vehicle, and then back onto the road. He began to look for his seatbelt. The 4x4 was not built for speed and it shook like we were going to fly off of the road and add yet another fireball to the desert. “We probably should have taken my car,” Nightcrawler suggested.
“Yeah, well… didn’t think of it.” We passed a sign. We were only a few miles out of Quagmire. “Why did you come?”
“I didn’t know which way Gordon went,” he shrugged.
“Well… thanks.”
Nightcrawler rolled his eyes. “I’ve already shot like a dozen people tonight, so yeah, you’re welcome.”
“Only a dozen? I thought you were supposed to be some sort of gunslinger,” I responded sarcastically. “At least I shot a poodle.”
“Damn…” Nightcrawler gave a low whistle. “That’s hard core. Bet the little ****** deserved it.”
I tried to laugh, but it turned into coughing. My cell phone vibrated. I pulled it out of my pocket and flipped it open.
“Yeah?”
“Ahh Lorenzo. Just checking. I thought that was you I saw standing on the side of the road back therre. Did I kill any more of your friends with my little drive by?”
“No, Eddie, you’re a sucky shot.” The sound of his voice made me push the gas pedal even harder.
“You certainly are hard to kill.”
“You won’t be,” I promised. “Why did you call?”
He laughed. Somehow his laugh was girly and sadistic at the same time. “To taunt you. My plane is taking off as we speak. I imagine that you are trying to catch up with me, but you will be too late. As soon as I hang up, I’m going to ring one of my associates, and then the fun will begin. I’m not just going to have your loved ones killed, I’m going to have them tortured first. I’m going to take your little nieces and nephews, and I’m going to put them up for sale to the highest bidder. I will—“ I ignored his ranting.
Quagmire. I had to stomp on the brakes to keep from losing it on the off ramp. “Which way is the airport?” I shouted.
“I think it’s that way,” he pointed.
“Hang on.” I cranked the Explorer hard through the stop sign and through the intersection. We were on two wheels for a few seconds.
“No ****,” Nightcrawler said as the PK slid over and struck him. It was early enough in the evening that there were still a few cars on the road. I tore past them and through the center of the sleepy town, dodging back and forth, narrowly avoiding oncoming headlights. People honked. We flew past Jill’s café and the hotel, and the speedometer needle was rapidly climbing again. “I thought you liked to plan stuff out in advance.”
“I’m winging it,” I answered. “Which way?”
“Straight. You pass it on the way to my friend’s house… there… Turn!”
I spotted the chain link fence and smashed the brake, spun us ninety degrees, bounced across a small ditch, hard enough to smash both of our heads into the roof, and then crashed through the fence. We slid through some sand and onto pavement. “There!” Nightcrawler shouted, pointing down the runway. I followed the trail of blue lights. At the end of the runway was a speeding Lear jet, twin engines screaming, building up speed and jumping into the sky. Almost a half a mile away and heading in the wrong direction. “We’re too far.”
Eddie was still going on. “—you hear me? Nobody crosses Big Eddie! Nobody! I’ve got to make an example out of you. I’m going to cut their little fingers off. I’m going to—“
The Explorer skidded to a stop, leaving a trail of rubber. Nightcrawler leapt out, pulling the machine gun with him. He set the barrel over the junction of the door and frame, crouched down, and squeezed the trigger. The PK roared, sending a stream of tracers down the runway and towards the climbing jet. He hosed the rest of the belt, at least a hundred rounds, at the target. Bullets streamed around the jet, but it was just too far away. The PK’s bolt flew forward on an empty chamber. That was it.
“—that’s the best you’ve got, Lorenzo?” Eddie cackled. “Not a scratch on me!” I stuck the phone in the front of my armor.
“****!” Nightcrawler shouted. “He’s getting away.”
“No.” I stated calmly. While he was shooting I had limped around to the back door. I opened it, pulled the concealing blanket aside, and pulled out the portable surface to air missile that I had stolen from the Chechen border jumpers. “He isn’t.”
“Whoa,” Nightcrawler said simply.
I set the heavy tube on my shoulder, took one step around the Explorer and looked through the scope. I had read the instructions earlier, and it seemed relatively straight forward. I found the red and green flashing lights of Eddie’s jet, centered them in the circle, and hit the lock button. It took a few seconds for the sensor to read. It made a noise like a microwave oven saying that the hotdogs were done.
I pulled the heavy trigger.
FOOOOOM
The concussion was horrendous. The rear windows of the Explorer shattered. The initial charge threw the missile straight out. A split second later the rocket engine ignited in a gout of flame and soared after the jet with a shrieking noise like some obscene bird of prey. The impact staggered me. I pulled the phone out of my armor with my shaking left hand.
“—should have just given me the case. I’ll—“
I cut him off. “Hey, Eddie…”
“What, Lorenzo?”
“See you in hell.”
“What are you… Evade! Evade!” He screamed at the pilot.
A fireball blossomed in the night sky. The entire jet was illuminated for a moment as one of the rear engines was engulfed, sparks drifted towards the ground like a demented fireworks display. A secondary explosion took one wing off just as the sound of the first impact reached us. The plane spun laterally, trailing fire, and disappeared into the desert hills. A tower of fire rose from the hillside, illuminating the rising cloud of black smoke. The sound came later. A rumble of thunder.
I looked down at the phone.
Call Disconnected
Elapsed Time: 1:28
It was over.
Big Eddie was dead.
My body began to shake, to tremble. All of the pain that I had forced aside came rushing back, staggering me, sending me to my knees. A year of doing the impossible. My loved ones held hostage. My friends in danger. Some injured. Some killed. All came down to this.
It was over.
“We better get out of here. Cops are probably coming.” Nightcrawler took one look at me, leaning against the Ford, tears cutting through the soot on my face, and said, “Uhh… since you’re spazzing out, I’ll drive.”
I climbed into the passenger seat, eyes closed. The pillar of fire that had been Eddie’s plane burned onto the inside of my eyelids. “It’s over,” I said.
Nightcrawler put the Explorer in gear. “Okay, whatever… hang on, Poodle Killer,” he laughed.
I let the pain carry me into the dark.
…over…
Wrote that one on my lunch hour.