Authors: Jeremy Mac
As
much as he did not want to get involved, Lathan’s hand has now been forced. If
this place is invaded he will then be forced to deal with them along with trying
to get to the safe to retrieve its contents and then try to exit the city
unscathed. It occurred to him that he can simply go to the safe right now and
then slip out of town, and he could very well do just that. But for whatever
reason, and against his own good judgment, he isn’t going to do that.
Kill
the head and the body will die.
Lathan
doesn’t have a problem sneaking out. He rappels down the side off the building
with a rope through one of the windows. The wall runs deep with guards but their
main concern is keeping those from coming in, so their focus is outward, not
inward.
On
the other side of the wall Lathan silently makes his way to the front gate
while staying within shadows and minding the perimeter in case of Maddick’s who
may be lurking.
Once
at the front he hides out in an alley long enough to count the number of men
outside the gate and study them for a moment, their grouping and their habits.
He estimates there to be approximately one hundred of them, a handful of them
women. Some are gathered around bonfires and others stay in their vehicles;
conversing, sleeping, and what-not. Many walk amongst themselves, drinking and
taking an occasional offered hit from a smoking pipe. The boss man is nowhere
in sight.
Lathan
slips off his coat and straps the katana around his back, unsheathes two eight
inch blades, and enters the battlefield.
He
silently approaches the three closest to him, they are away from the others
enjoying pipe hits from something he’s never smelled before. Lathan lunges
forward, jabbing the blade into the head of one and slicing open the neck of
another. Yanking the blade out of the head he spins and plants the blade into
the third man’s chest and follows through with the other blade into his temple,
causing his eyes to turn severely to the side. The action only takes a couple
of seconds with no sound. He doesn’t bother moving the bodies. They’re far
enough away that they won’t be noticed.
Crouching
low to the ground he moves in closer, using their vehicles for cover. He stays
clear of the bonfires, too much light and too many around. He eliminates the
weaker links first, those who’ve strayed from the groups, and carefully works
himself in. Many of them are inebriated from some form of intoxicant so they
aren’t as alert as they should be.
Easy pickings.
He
finds two empty vehicles he is able to hunker down between and lay in wait,
like a trapdoor spider, for someone to walk by and then shoot up, snapping
their neck or knifing them as he drags them in. Soon he accumulates too many
bodies and must move on.
With
still no sign of Vincent he must get closer to the truck-tank, Vincent is
either in the back under the canopy of the thing or in another vehicle close by
it. Lathan isn’t going to be able to keep this up without eventually being
noticed, and probably more sooner than later. He is going to need to start
taking bigger risks and acting faster.
He
fishes out a small magnetic device from the side pocket of his pants. It is
rectangular, about the size of two matchboxes put together and highly
explosive, detonated by a remote control switch. Mean little devil. He has
three of them. He flips its receiver switch on and places one under the gas
tank of a vehicle.
He
sneaks out, stealthily taking out several more men and also one woman (in cases
like this everyone goes) and along the way he plants a second explosive device
under another gas tank. He needs to go directly to the opposite side of the
street but won’t be able to without everyone seeing him, and so he thinks “Why
not?”
Lathan
rises to his feet, sheathing his blades, and walks nonchalantly in plain view
toward the other side. At times as he passes by many of them he is able to hear
their hallowed indiscretions and plans for the beloved Pinnacle once it is
breached. It sickens him to hear such things and only fuels his ever growing
hatred of them.
Just
before he makes it across the way a big fuzzy faced man suddenly grabs him by
the arm and pulls Lathan into him. Lathan nearly strikes him down but the man
bellows in his face. “
Tomar
’ we’ll be
drankin
’ fine whiskey and filling our bellies with swine by
the pound.” His breath reeks of halitosis and bootleg alcohol. He squeezes
Lathan’s arm and shakes with excitement as he says, “Gods of the world!
Ahh-hooo
!”
Lathan
peels the man’s hand away from his arm and shoves him on his way.
Unlike
the side of the street he just came from, this side of the campground is
thoroughly covered, making it difficult to plant the last explosive device, but
not impossible. A little improvisation is in order.
Lathan
begins to walk in a drunken gait, mumbling to himself. He stumbles over his
feet and collides into the side of a truck, falling flat on the ground. Those
who see this
happen
laugh at him. But no one saw him
slip an arm under the truck, sticking the device to it.
“Looks
like someone can’t hold their liquor.”
“Pick
‘
im
up and throw ‘
im
in the
back of the truck.”
Lathan
picks himself up on all fours, sways side to side,
then
follows through with a foot on the ground and then the other. He unsteadily
rises to his full height and places a hand on the truck for balance.
“You
alright, pal?” one of them asks.
“
I’ma
aw ‘
ight
.
I’ma
‘
kay
.”
“Say,”
another says curiously, this one is so ugly he makes most of them look GQ, and
comes closer to Lathan. “What kind of sword you got there?” Just when he’s
about to put his hand on it Lathan turns his back to the truck.
“What?
I can’t have a look at it?” the man says, his ugly face knotted up in insult.
“Who the hell are you, anyway?
Jax
!
C’mere
! You know this guy?”
Here
comes
Jax
, not quite as ugly but just as nasty. He
scrutinizes Lathan, giving him a head to toe inspection.
“
Naw
.
Never seen him
before.
Who’d you come in with?”
Lathan
answers with a slur of words, which gets him a slap in the face by Ugly Face.
“Ay,
asshole, snap out of it. Tell us who the hell you came in with.”
Lathan
acts as if he’s unfazed by the slap and keeps slurring his words which gets him
another slap in the face.
“Ay,
who the hell are you? What’s your name, huh?”
Another
slap follows. Those who are watching start to laugh. Then
Jax
throws in his own slap which nearly makes Lathan spin on his feet, and everyone
really guffaws at that.
Ugly
Face turns to the growing crowd and asks aloud, “Does anyone know this
asshole?” Everyone responds with a “No”. He turns to face Lathan and says, “You
gonna
start talking? Huh? Because if you don’t it’s
about to get real bad for you, stranger.”
Ugly
Face’s hand is caught right before it meets Lathan’s face, and
all the
sobriety in the world cannot match Lathan’s eyes
when he says, “It’s already gotten real bad for you, asshole.”
Just
then someone hollers in
a frenzy
at the top of their
lungs, “They’re dead! They’ve killed them! They’re here! Find them!”
Lathan
punches Ugly Face in the nose, snatches out his blades and unloads on
Jax
. The others are stunned but soon realize what is
happening.
Ambush.
They lunge after
Lathan but are stopped by his thrown blades, one strikes the head and the other
the chest. He unsheathes his katana and swiftly slices off the top half of Ugly
Face’s head, exposing his brain, and taking down the next two coming after him
without a hitch. Those who are unaware of the current situation he is causing
run toward the area where the bodies were found.
Several
men jump from the canopy of the truck-tank. The last one who emerges is Vincent
Maddick.
Lathan
makes his way toward the truck-tank, no sense in being stealth
anymore,
word is out loud and clear.
Most
of the men have no idea where the threat is so they glance about them unsure of
where to begin fighting. But those who are aware are no match for Lathan.
Although many are strapped with guns, they don’t do them much good once Lathan
is right up on them. They have a killer’s instinct but aren’t actually trained
very well with the tools that will kill. Lathan goes through them like a
tornado in a trailer park.
Vincent
barks orders at everyone.
Then upon seeing a man with a sword
slaying everyone who comes to him, making a beeline directly at him, Vincent
points and yells in a near panic, “There!
There’s one of them! Get him!”
The
Maddick leader reaches into the canopy of the truck-tank and pulls out an
assault rifle. He cocks it for action but has no time to aim before Lathan is
upon him preparing to strike. Vincent raises the rifle to shield the blade and
kicks out a foot, causing Lathan to double over and backpedal from the blow to
his stomach. He rights himself in two steps and responds with a roundhouse kick
to the rifle Vincent is about to aim his way. Vincent is thrown off balance,
exposing him to danger.
So
long Vincent Maddick
.
Lathan’s
katana is stopped by a long lead pipe just inches from the Maddick leaders
head, and at its end stands the masked man. He appeared out of nowhere, saving
Vincent’s life.
Lathan
kicks out, the masked man blocks it, but Lathan stays in motion by swinging his
katana around into what is to be a failed strike as it is blocked by the lead
pipe.
Vincent
gets hold of his bearings and steadies himself to shoot.
Lathan
quickly turns and jump-kicks the rifle upward and slashes his sword over
Vincent’s hand. Lathan strikes again with his sword but the masked man
anticipates his move and blocks it with a counter attack.
“Go!”
The masked man hollers at Vincent, clutching what is left of his hand. The
Maddick leader runs off.
Lathan
and the masked man square off and then go to trading blows, katana to lead
pipe. Both are skilled but in completely different styles of fighting; in
Lathan’s offense the long fluidity of movement of the sword is calculated for
each strike of the blade to be a potential deathblow, and the masked man’s more
aggressive offense with shorter and jerkier spurts of multiple strikes and
blows are much more bone jarring. Neither seems to have the upper hand until
Lathan is hit by a bullet in the back of his left shoulder, sending him
sprawling forward and almost immediately afterward another bullet hits him in
the back of his left leg, bringing him to the ground.
The
masked man stands over him and peers down as if he is a big bug about to be
exterminated beneath his foot, the red glow of the bonfires reflecting
ominously off his sinister eyes, windows to a black soul.
Acting
fast, Lathan stuffs a hand into his pants pocket.
The
lead pipe is raised but just before the deathblow is delivered three fiery
explosions simultaneously erupt, knocking the masked man off his feet and
slamming him backward into the truck-tank.
Body
parts shoot in all directions from
those who were anywhere near the explosions. Many are hit by automotive debris.
Very few are left unharmed.
Lathan
forces himself to his feet.
Immediately experiencing a
tremendous amount of scorching hot pain from the bullets lodged in his shoulder
and leg.
He retrieves his katana and hobbles to the front of the
truck-tank where he frees the man tied to the front of it. The pain and exhaustion
brings the man crumbling to the ground. Lathan leaves him there as he climbs to
the top of the truck-tanks cab, cringing at the pain soaring through his
shoulder and leg but trying his best to put it out of his mind. He frees the
man on top of the cab who seems to have a little more energy than the one on
the ground and is able to climb down on his own. Both he and Lathan then help the
other man to his feet and quickly head to the gate.
The
guards are stunned by the explosions and haven’t a clue as to what is going on
but are ever ready for what may be an imminent attack.
Before
Lathan and the two men make it to the gate they start yelling for the guards to
open the gate. The guards recognize them and hurriedly let them in.
Muffled voices.
Blurred images.
Choppy thoughts.
In and out.
In
. . . and . . . out.
A dream?
Death?
Dreams about death?
Lots of instruments.
Shiny tools.
Clear tubes.
Suction.
I need suction here.
He
remembers when she used to drink soda through a straw down to the very bottom
of the cup and kept sucking up what was left and making that annoying sloshy
suction sound. She’d do it over and over and then laugh when he’d give her that
annoyed look.
I
need more suction here.
But
Doc, that sound really annoys me to no end.
But
that’s just it, little things like that that tell you, “Hey, I wouldn’t be
doing it if I didn’t like
ya
.” And liked him she did.
Even
loved
him, a mutual feeling, but you can love someone and still not
like them, at least not completely. But he did completely like her. What was
there not to like? Great personality, beautiful face, fine body, long legs . .
.
How’s
the leg?
Any serious damage?
Serious
damage! Come on Doc, tell me that it’s nothing that a little of this dream
juice can’t take care of.
Pressure on his shoulder.
Very deep dull
ache, brightening and fading.
Continuous.
More
suction. Why so much suction? The thought that it may be a bad sign occurred to
him but the thought quickly vanished. He isn’t much in the mood for doing any
thinking. He feels observed.
By aliens.
Aliens probing and prodding.
Isn’t that what they do? Probe
and prod and plant microchips? She was fascinated by the notion that there may
be other life forms out there, watching us perhaps. We
had
been watched.
The eyes in the skies had been watching us all along until they decided it was
time to send out the nukes and go
kaboom
.
Well,
baby girl, you were right all along, because here I am, a product of the system
under observation.
I
got it. I got the bullet.
A pause.
Then a heavy clink, a piece of lead
dropped into a metal bowl.
Okay,
let’s close him up. His body will do the rest.
Do
the rest! What if it doesn’t do the rest? It didn’t do the rest for her, so
what makes you think it will do the rest for me?
But
sir, her destiny was fulfilled. Yours, however, has not been and will not be
until that which is to be fulfilled is fulfilled. That’s how destiny works
around here, sir. Besides, she didn’t have any dream juice, did she?
No,
she certainly didn’t. She didn’t have a chance to take any dream juice. It
happened so fast that there’d been no time to do anything. Not even to think.
Like now, although there definitely is time, he just doesn’t want to think. Not
right now anyway. All he wants to do right now is let go and dream.