Ranger Martin (Book 2): Ranger Martin and the Alien Invasion

by Flacco, Jack

  Jon ran to help her with the concrete block, but before he could lift it, Charlie nudged him aside to help her instead. He noticed she didn’t make a big deal of the whole thing. He wanted to make sure she knew he didn’t blame her for anything and that she’d recognized he had changed. He didn’t want any bad feelings, also appreciating how she helped him come back with the aid of a candy bar.

  “When we walk outside, stay together. If we separate, run back here.”

  “This sounds all too familiar.” Charlie said waiting for Matty to open the door.

  Matty placed her hand on his shoulder and stared at him in the most dead serious gaze she could have given him, “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

  Not knowing where she received her strength, a corner to Charlie’s mouth rose in pleasant surprise. He wasn’t about to go anywhere without his new friends.

  Chapter 8

  General Grayson’s office light flickered, rendering the walls in a warm glow that spilled from his window into the night. The general sat in his chair listening to the conversations pouring from Logan Airbase’s Barracks 13 on his desk speaker. He heard Billy tell of how he saw the military murder people at the edge of the crevice. He heard David talk of how the military cut off communication to the cities. And he heard how Harold wanted to organize an escape.

  Smacking the switch to the bug’s transmitter, General Grayson leaped from his chair, stomped to the door, and hurled it open. He flared his nostrils and wore dark eyes when he pointed his finger at the guard stationed in the receiving office. “Get in here.”

  “Yes, Sir!” The guard pulled his feet from his desk. He would worry about getting his sleep another time.

  Inside the general’s office, as Grayson took his seat behind his desk, the guard, who acted more as a flunky, reported to his superior with a salute.

  “At ease, soldier.”

  The soldier placed his hands behind his back, planted his feet apart and stared ahead.

  “I want you to head over to Barracks 13 and drag three men to the center of camp. Their names are Harold, David and Billy. Check the prisoner dockets to find and match them with their hometowns mentioned on this recording: Echo, five, Romeo, seven. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir. Recording E5R7.”

  “Good. Haul their asses from the barracks and make an example of them for everyone to see. When you’re done, throw them into the brig, and call Central Command. I want to know when the next envoy’s coming so I can get a shipment ready for them.”

  “Yes, sir. One question, sir.”

  “What is it?”

  “How will we know we have the right men? There could be more than one Harold, David or Billy in the barracks.”

  “Corporal Wilkins, do you think I would have you as my personal secretary if I didn’t trust your sense of getting things done?”

  “Sir.”

  “Get it done.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  * * *

  Matty opened the door slowly, peeked from the corner of the doorway, up the stairs and along the side of the building where the railing met with the top of the alley. She didn’t know it yet, but with Perry Park a block away, she will appreciate having checked everything before leaving the basement apartment. Turning to Jon and Charlie, she nodded an “all clear”, and they made a beeline up the stairs to the side of the building.

  Other than a light breeze whistling through the alley and the sound of dripping water from a rusty rainspout, silence filled the air.

  “Where are we going?” Charlie asked. His voice boomed through the alley.

  Before Matty could quiet him, a grunt and a moan broke from the doorway coming from the bottom of a neighboring stairwell. Then an upward shuffling began.

  “Matty!” Jon pointed to two zombies scampering from behind.

  Her head spun, and she caught the belly reapers advancing toward the trio.

  “Isn’t that Eddie and Trish?” Charlie tore behind her.

  “That was Eddie and Trish.” Matty pulled her gun and pointed it at the two undead.

  No one moved. Matty had proven in the past she could take out a bottle cap from the top of a merry-go-round while a tornado spun ahead, ravaging a car lot. In this case, the eaters, formerly known as Eddie and Trish, dragged from ten feet away without much in between. The first shot clipped Eddie square in the head, blowing half his brain on the stairwell behind. It dropped like a puppet having lost its strings in a gooey green mess. The second shot ripped through Trish’s larynx.

  “Ha, you missed!” Jon said, then chuckled.

  “I didn’t miss. That was for the aggravation Trish put me through back in the basement apartment.”

  The hair in Charlie’s ears tingled as he couldn’t believe how matter-of-fact the siblings acted when faced with killing former friends.

  Another shot ripped through the air and into Trish’s head, splattering green matter across the side of the wall behind. Within seconds, Trish fell on top of Eddie. No more zombies.

  While Matty checked her gun, she led them to the bodies. They stopped short of their stroll when they had reached several feet to hover over the corpses.

  “How did they get this way? It looked as if they had changed without much of a fight.” Charlie said, not having an idea of how zombies became zombies.

  Matty knew, but she didn’t have time to tell the whole story. A few words escaped her lips, though, not that they helped clear the air for the boy. She directed her words at the bodies, more to vindicate her extra cautious side than playing the insane card. “Didn’t I say for you to stay inside? I told you it was dangerous. But, no, you wanted to do your own thing. Now look at you.”

  The bodies lay strewn in pool of green juices. Charlie thought he also could have followed the two teens to their death, had he not remained sitting on the bed in misery mourning the loss of his sister. He could have lost his life. He could have lost the opportunity to stand over their bodies in a state of denial. Instead, he focused his gaze on the side of Matty’s face, then thought she knew more than he would ever know.

  “Shouldn’t we think about getting out of here?” Jon asked, wondering if the sound of the gunshots might have sent vibrations across the alley walls and ground. He thought some of those vibrations might have also hit the ears of those caught in the same state as Eddie and Trish.

  “You’re right. If we don’t, there’ll be more of them.” Matty said.

  As soon as Matty said that, a horde of the undead piled into the alley ahead of them, and right on cue, the three kids turned and sprinted in the opposite direction. Somehow, a smirk slid across Matty’s face, the same smirk Ranger wore whenever he felt things were just about to get interesting.

  “I don’t know what’s got you all happy, but whatever it is this is not the time.” Jon prattled on as Charlie followed with fear in his face.

  “Remind me to lecture you when we get out of this jam.”

  They disappeared into another alleyway, on to the main street, and into a retail outlet while the stampeding crowd fell behind.

  * * *

  The door to the barracks slammed open with soldiers pouring inside armed with batons and heavy armor. Other than a few restless sleepers, everyone had their heads firmly tucked on their pillows when the lights burst bright to reveal the prisoners’ locations. No one understood why the soldiers had invaded their quarters to awaken them from their slumber, but the mystery would soon reveal itself.

  One at a time, the grunts pulled the blankets from the prisoners. When they found Billy, one of them threw his hands on the young man’s chest and heaved him to his feet. The soldier pitched him to the awaiting arms of his fellow grunts, who tossed him on the cold dirt outside. Lights from the towers blazed through the night and illuminated a large spot where he lay.

  David was next, who had flung his arms high in the air to avoid the grunts getting anxious of proving their strength with his tiny muscles. It didn’t stop one ambitious soldier from t
hrowing a punch at his head as the other grunts threw him outside on the ground next to Billy. The boys couldn’t do a thing other than cover their eyes from the intense light spilling on them. Military Police surrounded them to ensure they had nowhere else to go.

  Hiding in the far corner of the room, Harold had placed a blanket over his head when two grunts found him. Before they could lay a hand on him, he rammed them and a whole team of grunts, as if he were playing bowling with them as the pins. His football player stature gave him the advantage to have gone against a whole unit and win. A fancy grin beamed from his mouth when he had rammed seven of the eager grunts to the ground. The smug look covered his face as his cockiness pushed him to strut around like a champion with arms in the air.

  He didn’t even see it coming. A baton landed to the back of his head, and his glory days were over. He fell over backward, not entirely out of the game but stunned. The grunts, who had tumbled at Harold’s hands, rose and shoved him from the barracks to join Billy and David. He also covered his eyes when the bright lights hit his retinas.

  A dozen Military Police took over from where the soldiers left off. They jumped the three, laying cuffs on them. People from the other barracks heard the commotion and flooded the windows in an eager attempt to determine what had happened. They saw the tower lights, they saw the boys in the hands of the MPs, and they saw the soldiers all around them. No one said a word, even while keeping a close eye on them. The MPs hauled the boys to the center of the camp where all the other prisoners in the barracks could watch the show.

  A jeep towed a five-foot high wooden barricade to where the boys lay. The barricade had five iron rings bolted to the back, near the top. The rings had three feet between them, just enough room for five men of sturdy build. Made of solid oak, three men couldn’t move the thing, even if they tried.

  One at a time, the MPs seized the boys by the wrists. Their hands went over their head, and the MPs locked their cuffs to the rings on the other side of the barricade with an adjustable chain. Bound tight, they couldn’t move.

  David and Billy trembled. They thought for sure they’d die by firing squad. It didn’t seem to bother Harold, although he kept fidgeting since he couldn’t find a comfortable position for his arms. He gave up after a few adjustments of his muscles.

  The MP unit dispersed to form a line twenty feet away to face the boys tied to the barricade. The full dozen had rifles given to them by soldiers flanking the line.

  Billy’s eyes began to accumulate moisture. He didn’t want to die. He’d always thought he would live to be a ripe old age with grandchildren visiting every year for his birthday. Now, no more presents from his family; no more cake, candles, and fancy wrapping paper; and no more singing Happy Birthday, telling stories of all the things that went right throughout the year and embarrassing speeches from his now-dead uncles. None of it. The water soon dried from his cheeks and anger settled in his stomach. Who gave the military the right over their lives? Didn’t any of the soldiers have families, relationships or the simple pleasures in life? Didn’t any of them once enjoy a day where they had sat on the grass, stared into the sky, and watched the clouds turn to different shapes in an exciting display for the imagination?

  As the firing squad prepared their armaments, a beefy Neanderthal with a tree stump for a neck stood in between the squad and their targets. He had thick stubby fingers and paced the length of the barricade as he cracked his knuckles.

  The women in the barracks tore themselves from the windows. Most of them slipped back into bed with their children, pulling the covers over their heads. The men stood in their places with a sense of duty to honor those who would die at the hands of a sadistic army bent on wanting to instill fear in the most horrendous way they could.

  The lumbering Neanderthal stopped in front of Billy, furthest from the right. He plunged his hand into a pouch on his utility belt and pulled a set of brass knuckles. Billy’s face glazed over. Brass knuckles hurt. They break things. The picture became clear. The military planned to torture them, then shoot them dead like dogs in the street. The clear message was that if anyone plotted against the army, the condemned would receive the same punishment.

  Over the fingers they slipped, the instrument of pain covered a small portion of the Neanderthal’s hand. He didn’t need the knuckles larger. He’d make sure when he delivered his blows, they’d distribute the impact where he intended. He smacked the knuckles in his left hand, getting a feel for them. Were they on the right way? Did they make a perfect fit? It was his way of intimidating his victims. David closed his eyes not wanting to see what would happen next.

  First, on the list was Billy. The Neanderthal looked at him and smiled. He wound his arm and swung it hard and fast, landing the punch into Billy’s ribs. Everyone heard a snap, and Billy released an agonizing cry. He hung on his wrists, whimpering. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Second, David’s eyes remained closed. He didn’t want to feel it coming. Another crack and David’s ribs broke with a gasping cry. He released painful bellows that soon subsided when the Neanderthal moved on to his third victim, Harold. A moment before the soldier wound his arm to deliver the payload, the boy faced him without flinching and spat in the soldier’s face. This did not improve the situation. The Neanderthal reacted by throwing a punch straight across Harold’s jaw, cracking bone and breaking tissue. Harold let go of a grunt and propelled his head forward.

  Leaving them bleeding, moaning and groaning in agony, the Neanderthal stepped to the side. Without warning, the MPs stood on their mark. The boys hanging from the barricade knew their fate. They couldn’t talk, and that was the message the military wanted to convey. Anyone thinking of escaping would end up like them. An officer gave the signal for the squad to load their rifles. Then he motioned another signal and the squad took aim. Broken and withering away, David’s eyes flooded. The officer shouted, “Fire!”

  A barrage of bullets hit the barricade. It sounded like darts on a corkboard. Most of the audience in Barracks 13 had closed their eyes, unable to watch the three die under execution. Those who witnessed it shook their head in disbelief at what had happened. All for what? The boys had discussed plans to escape? Why not throw them in jail? Why take their life in such a dehumanizing way? It wasn’t fair. Not one bit.

  When the smoke to the firing squads’ guns cleared and the soldiers dispersed from the scene, Harold, David and Billy lay hanging by the arms, lifeless. Soldiers behind them unlocked the shackles allowing the bodies to drop into the dirt.

  But something happened when Billy had hit the dirt. He began to move and began to moan. Same with David and same with Harold. They were alive. The military fabricated the whole scene to illicit the strongest reaction from the prisoners who witnessed the whole thing. No one was safe. Everyone was suspect. Eyes and ears were everywhere.

  As the MPs seized the boys and dragged them to the brig, Corporal Wilkins, General Grayson’s personal assistant, the one who gave the order to fire, surveyed the barracks. He wanted to make sure the prisoners got the message, plain and clear. The smug look on his face said it all. If anyone dared think of escaping, no matter who they were, they’d have their lives to give away at the end of the barrel of a firing squad. Next time, it wouldn’t be a game but a real life scenario manufactured to make the discipline stick without providing a lesson. The officer smiled knowing they had watched the lesson for the night.

  Chapter 9

  Every light standard in Perry Park worked as usual. They spilled their glow on the winding paths and illuminated the night. Randy sat quietly inside the front passenger seat of the SUV, waiting for Ranger’s return. It felt like an eternity as his senses became aware of every leaf rustling and every twig snapping. He chewed the inside of his lip to pass the time.

  Earlier that evening, Ranger had entered Dexter’s Mall, across the street from the park, to see if he could find supplies for the rest of their journey back to the silo in Arizona. He had packed a few things from the sporting goo
ds store, but he needed one more thing to complete his pack. Giovanni’s Restaurant faced the park, and Ranger thought he might get lucky there, not only keeping an eye on Randy, who sat with the rear of the truck facing Ranger, but also searching for that last item on his list.

  After months shuttered, the glass door to the restaurant squeaked open and Ranger sneaked inside with his weapon drawn. The pale moon beamed its rays through the large front window on the dining tables, enough light for him to forego the wall switch. The first thing to hit his face caused a panic. He crinkled his nose and covered his mouth with his left hand as he holstered the weapon thinking nothing could have survived months with that smell. He thought a skunk had died on the premises and had decomposed in one of the corners of the kitchen.

  Surveying the dining area, Ranger strolled between the tables to the bar in the back. Without trouble, he found the cause of the smell. Someone had spilled milk over the counter leaving a generous portion to rot inside the carton. Well, he thought, at least it wasn’t a dead body. He knew what that smelled like.

  Ranger took his cap off and ran his fingers through his hair. Then, he went around the counter and searched through the bottles of whiskey, rum and vodka. He shook his head not having found what he was looking for. By chance, his gaze fell on the mirror behind the libations. Funny, all those months, he’d forgotten what he looked like. It’d only lasted a moment, then he tried the fridge. Perfect. There they stood. Two bottles of water. He cracked one open, waved it under his nose and shrugged. He took a short swig, sloshed it around, and swallowed. The sweetness in that first gulp took him by surprise, lighting his eyes. It was good. He grabbed the second bottle for Randy.

  After a while, the stench of the spoiled milk didn’t bother Ranger. He maneuvered around it with ease. He opened cupboards and pulled drawers. In the bottom of one of the drawers, he found a bottle opener, which would supplement his growing collection of household items he kept around for those just-in-case moments. A productive evening, he thought.