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

by Flacco, Jack

  From outside in the parking lot, the light from the ship turned purple and screams flooded from the arena doorways into the street. The zombie horde standing in the street remained silent while traces of red rose into the bowels of the ship. The light quickly turned white, then switched off.

  Through the arena’s broken front door, collapsed gate, and into the former skating rink, the horde that had encircled the Waynes dispersed. The knife George had held in his hand had fallen and rested next to his feet. From behind, everything looked normal. It seemed as if the zombies had given up on the Waynes and allowed them to live.

  Zombies don’t do that. They don’t let humans live, especially a bleeding human who had incited a frenzy from the masses. No.

  The zombies let the Waynes go because the Waynes, upon closer examination, had white eyes, just like them. They had pale greenish skin, just like them. And the Waynes began to moan, just like them. The Waynes had become zombies. And just like the horde, they wandered in separate directions searching for humans to entertain them for a meal of their choosing.

  * * *

  Huddling in the corner of the barracks, playing cards with his men, Colonel Hendricks lost interest in the game and watched a cockroach crawling on the wall next to the window. He wondered what the roach might have seen while incarcerated with the other prisoners who no longer lived there at the camp. He threw away the idea and went back to the game. They played in silence after having found the bug General Grayson had planted in the barracks for errant chitchat. The colonel knew better than to talk openly of an escape plan.

  Earlier in the day, Grayson had allowed the prisoners fifteen minutes exercise outside their barracks. More for the general’s benefit than the prisoners, he had wanted them to have the strength one day to walk to their own death. During this time, while tying his shoes in the middle of the yard, Hendricks had sneaked a glance at the layout where the oil well’s blowout preventer rested. He had noticed the proximity between the blowout preventer and the parked trucks. He also had measured the distance between the blowout preventer and the two towers on either side of it. He had made a mental note of the information and stored it for later use.

  As he threw a two and a six on the table, the colonel picked up a seven and a jack. Three sevens and two jacks made a full house. He had a lucky hand. But that lucky hand would soon prove useless.

  The doors burst open. Two burly soldiers, who had tree stumps for necks, pushed their way to the corner of the barracks where Hendricks was admiring his poker hand. With another soldier stationed at the door, the two plowed through another group of prisoners and came upon the colonel.

  “That’s him.” One of them said, holding a photo of Hendricks.

  Slamming their hands on the colonel’s chest, the lumbering military dragged him from the corner card game, through the aisle, and into the hands of the two Military Police waiting outside. One of them tapped his gun with his finger letting the confused prisoner know that if he tried to escape or struggle, he’d end up dead. This became clear to Hendricks, and he went without a fight. The two MPs led the way while the two other soldiers pulled the rear. The soldier who had held the door to the barracks slammed it shut.

  * * *

  The door to the general’s office opened, and the MPs shoved the prisoner to the center of the room. Grayson sat behind his desk with a coffee by his side and a biscuit on a plate next to the cup. Reading caught the general’s fancy, and he had turned the page when the MPs had barged in unannounced with the prisoner in tow. Under other occasions, the general would have shot any of his men who dared enter his office without an invitation. In this case, he expected them.

  “General, sir.” One of the muscle-packed soldiers stood at attention. “As you ordered. Colonel Hendricks.”

  Grayson peeked over his reading glasses. Somehow, the prisoner appeared smaller than he had imagined. He plopped the book on the desk, the reading glasses on the book, then danced his lips on the rim to the hot liquid. After placing the cup in its place, he said, “Leave us.”

  The MPs didn’t trust Hendricks and gave one another a confused look.

  “It’s quite all right. Leave us, I said.” The general stood from his desk and saluted his men. Once the door closed, the general went back to sitting in his chair, reading glasses on the bridge of his nose, and book in his hand.

  Hendricks adjusted his clothes, removing the wrinkles from the manhandling. He stood in one spot waiting for the general to acknowledge his existence. He knew the tactic well. He’s seen it done many times. Psychiatrists might have originated the technique, he thought. Let the patient squirm in silence until the silence became uncomfortable. The patient would then crack by talking first, and the doctor would have gained the upper hand. Grayson didn’t know Hendricks had all the time in the world and was willing to wait all night in order to find out what the general wanted.

  Several minutes later, General Grayson threw the book and the reading glasses into the desk drawer and slammed it shut. Then, clasping his hands over his belly and laying back into his chair, the general studied Colonel Hendricks. As he rocked in his chair, he hoped the squeaky sound would have stirred the colonel to say the first word. As the seconds wore on, though, he recognized the colonel wasn’t about to do that. Grayson had to break the ice, which will have made him the loser in the first battle of wits.

  “Every prisoner who crosses the gates into my camp goes through a security check. Did you know that? It doesn’t matter if they’re toddlers or old and gray. Everyone. It’s rather unfortunate what happened to your man who thought a tousle with my guards would have worked to his advantage. I suppose a message delivered by the heel of their boots made it clear who was in charge. For that, I apologize. However, you have to understand I have a job to do. I take great pride in what I do, and I know I do it well.”

  “What do want?”

  “Good. A man to the point.” General Grayson rose from his chair and sauntered to stand several feet in front of the colonel. “What do you think I want?”

  Hendricks let out a loud sigh, then said. “I’m a colonel. I don’t read minds.”

  “You’re an ex-colonel. You gave up your rank once you deserted your mission at Katlyn County Jail and took up arms with the Resistance.”

  “I don’t hear a question.”

  “So you don’t.” The general examined Hendricks’ face almost memorizing it to see if he would flinch at his next statement. “I’m looking for someone. A boy. His name is Randall Morrow. He’s fifteen. Some may know him as Randy. Do you know where I can find him?”

  Hendricks’ poker face made an appearance. If he reacted to the general’s question, the general would know he knew something about Randy. No doubt, he did know. He remembered Randy and some other kids who had come to the railway yard with a protector who wore a baseball cap, but no way would he allow the general to know that. Grayson would haul his ass and have him tortured to get to that information.

  “Is that a no?” Grayson stepped forward, gazing in Hendricks’ eyes for any change.

  “Who is he?” The cold, steel stare Hendricks wore suited him well. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t squirm. His gaze remained solid.

  General Grayson walked behind his desk and pulled a file from one of the baskets on his desk. He didn’t have time to waste. Opening the file, he leafed through the contents until he found it. He pulled the page, dropped the file on his desk and carried the page to Hendricks with his fingers holding it as if it harbored a deadly disease. “Is this your signature?”

  Hendricks scanned the paper from top to bottom. His eyes settled on the signature line. He recognized the signature. It was his. No escaping. The general knew, but he didn’t answer him. Instead, he chose to maintain his hard stare as his form of defiance.

  “That’s what I thought. Where is he, colonel?” The general allowed the question to hang there, lingering in the air while he went to his desk to slip the paper back in the file.

  The colo
nel knew better than to answer. He stood in his spot, not moving and not even allowing his heart to dictate how he felt, even though his heart patted like a jackhammer. The general couldn’t get anything from him if he didn’t talk.

  “When you worked with Sergeant Baskins at Katlyn County, he had you thrown in jail for treason. That page with your signature on it was the only thing that survived from that place. They were orders to move Randall Morrow to the G wing of the jail. You signed those orders.” General Grayson paced in front of his desk with his hands cupped behind his back. “Now, if you didn’t know him, then why is your name on the orders?”

  Hendricks shook his head, and shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  The pacing stopped. The general marched to Hendricks’ ear and whispered, “I’m asking you politely, soldier. If you didn’t know him, why is your name on the orders?”

  A smile trickled on Hendricks face.

  The general pulled back and noticed, “What’s so funny?”

  “You. You can’t make up your mind about me being an ex-colonel or a soldier.”

  The general smiled, then began to chuckle. He soon howled in gregarious bursts of laughter, rolling side to side with his hand to his belly as if there was nothing funnier in the world. Of course, seeing Hendricks smiling more and more made him laugh harder.

  That is, until General Grayson’s fist plowed a fierce body shot into Hendricks’ stomach followed by a brutal uppercut to the face. Hendricks fell flat on his back, knocked out cold.

  Chapter 26

  Hendricks awoke from General Grayson’s pounding, finding himself lying flat, staring at a light hanging above. He tried to focus, but everything around him was black. It took a few seconds before his blurry vision adjusted to make out shadows in the background, and finally come to know his surroundings. He blinked a few times and glanced to his right outside a window with bars. It was dark outside. That much he knew.

  Then the realization hit him. He squirmed, and tossed but couldn’t move. Tied to a wide plank, he knew exactly what the general had planned for him.

  “This is your last chance, colonel.” Grayson stepped from the shadows to hang over Hendricks head. Their gazes met, but the general’s was upside down. “Where’s the boy?”

  Two guards came into view on either side of Hendricks. He also felt hands clasp his feet, pressing them against the board. The thought hit him that he hadn’t said good-bye to his men. A strange idea, considering his head swam with other things. What did he last have for breakfast? Would he ever see sunshine again? Why did he all of a sudden feel nauseous?

  As the general gave the guards the nod, the corner of Hendricks mouth curled into a half smile. He said, “Why don’t you go—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, one of the guards threw a towel over his face and the general withdrew into the shadows. The guard held the towel tight while the other one came and slowly poured water from a bucket on Hendricks’ bound face. The colonel seized, legs struggling, pulse racing. Hadn’t the third guard held his legs firmly, the colonel would have surely gone flying. His fingernails clung to the board, digging into the wood, leaving an impression. The water seeped through the towel and into Hendricks’ nose. Every breath flooded his mouth and his throat filled without end.

  The general waved his hand and the guards stopped the flow of water and removed the towel. The liquid spurted from Hendricks’ mouth as he gasped for air. He coughed long and hard until he opened his eyes to see the bucket floating over his head ready for another dose.

  General Grayson paced around the board in a circle. He tucked his right hand in his pocket and with his left patted the guard who held the colonel’s feet. Hardened by the things he’d seen in the past, the guard didn’t acknowledge Grayson, who said, “C’mon, Hendricks. Tell me where the boy is and I’ll let you go.”

  Spitting in the air the access water in his lungs and taking deep breaths, Hendricks blinked a few times before he answered, “I thought I told you to go—”

  Under the general’s quick direction, the guard cut him off a second time after he’d tossed the towel over the colonel’s face. The other guard delivered another bucketful of terror, splashing liquid over his mouth and nostrils. Again, Hendricks convulsed, ground his fingers into the board and buckled as he gasped for air that was not there. Twisting and turning, the guard held his head snug while smiling at the power he possessed over Hendricks’ life. If he had his way, the colonel would be dead and they’d be scraping his remains off the board into a shallow grave where he belonged.

  When General Grayson gave the signal to stop, this time, a smirk appeared on his face after he saw how the colonel reacted to the second jolt. Hendricks couldn’t hold out forever, he thought.

  The towel disappeared and another bucket came into view. Hendricks spewed water from his mouth and it poured all over the guard’s boots playing with his life. Coughing and wheezing, he relaxed on the board as more air flooded his lungs instead of the life-disrupting liquid. He tried once again to blink his vision into focus.

  “We can go all night, colonel. I know exactly how this feels. I had my men do it to me three times before I gave in and said stop. How about another round?” the general asked.

  “I don’t know anything.” Hendricks shook his head of the excess water.

  “There you go.” Grayson clapped his hands, then continued to pace around the board. “You actually said something believable. Unfortunately, I don’t believe you. Hit him again.”

  “No!”

  Towel. Water. Dousing. Convulsing.

  This time the general held a stance with crossed arms and feet apart. He allowed the guards to push the limit. Even the one holding Hendricks’ feet lifted his head to the general wondering how long he’d allow it to go on.

  Colonel Hendricks’s chest lifted into the air. His feet pulled backward and his hands turned into fists. Water splashed everywhere, including on the guard’s uniforms. How much more could he take?

  Once the colonel’s fists relaxed, the general said, “Enough.”

  Bucket disappeared, towel, too, and the guards stepped away. Hendricks collapsed. Every ounce of his strength had depleted. Water trailed from his face to the edge of the board and on to the floor of the cell. Even the guard who had held the towel over Hendricks face had lost his breath, panting from the struggle.

  For several seconds, the colonel didn’t move. General Grayson’s smug face disappeared, replaced by a blank stare that wanted to see the colonel rise one last time from the watery grave in order to confess what he wanted to hear. Perhaps he had pushed the colonel too much. Perhaps he had found the colonel’s limits. Had he gone too far?

  It began with a gush of water from deep within Hendricks’ throat followed by coughing, then a huge draw of air. He was alive, to the chagrin of all the guards in the room. Had they gone a few more seconds, they would have made sure the colonel wouldn’t have made it.

  “Well?” General Grayson asked, leaning on his hands over Hendricks’ head.

  Spewing water from his nose, the colonel had had enough. With a weak breath he said, “I don’t know anything.”

  The general studied Hendricks’ face. Even upside down, the general could tell a liar when he saw one. A twitch in the forehead, the way the gaze looked away, the biting of a lip, the twist in the neck, how he blinked, how he didn’t blink. The general had seen it all. He could spot a liar without trying. In Hendricks case? He said, “I believe you.”

  Hendricks laid there enjoying every single breath not knowing how long the air would last. He spoke with some measure of truth when he said he didn’t know anything. At that very moment, he didn’t know where Randy was. He may have had an idea, but he’d be guessing. Wherever he was, Hendricks would die with his heart at peace knowing he hadn’t betrayed anyone’s trust.

  General Grayson walked to the cell door and knocked. A fourth guard opened the door to the unruly general. “Release the prisoner.”


  “Sir?” The guard asked, not accustomed to hearing the general give that order.

  “I said release the prisoner unharmed. In two days, it won’t matter anyway. When the next saucer returns, Colonel Hendricks will be one of the first to face conversion.”

  Hearing the general’s words lit a fire in Hendricks. He didn’t mind anything happening to him, but if his men faced a fate worse than what he’d gone through, he’d do anything to save them.

  He resolved within himself that the time was right to set his plan of escape in motion.

  * * *

  The next day, during the prisoners’ fifteen-minute exercise period, Hendricks walked with Jonah, the young man who had led Ranger from Temple City into safety on a motorbike. A chill had set in the air, and they maintained a brisk pace around the camp with their hands in their pockets. They had passed their barracks at least twice and went for another lap when the guards had blown their whistles to gather the prisoners into counting formations.

  Every lap they had completed, Hendricks talked about another part of the escape plan. During the first lap, he’d had his eye on the brig. He spoke of how he’d discovered three young men in their early twenties festering in the confines of their cold cells. He wanted them out. If he and his men were to leave the camp, the young men would come with them. The second lap, he’d spoken of the weapons. The only chance they’d have to survive would be to seize the armory, getting rid of the guards and snatching the guns. The third and final lap, the conversation drifted on taking over the guard towers, overrunning the sniper canopies and ridding the place of anyone who would dare stand in their way.

  Hendricks asked about the homemade knives, the shanks. Jonah said they managed to tear apart splinters from the floorboards in the barracks, long and broad enough to arm two dozen or so men. Hendricks asked how he managed to do that considering the floors had a toughness to them. Jonah gave the colonel a look similar to saying, “don’t ask.” Hendricks smiled. Jonah then asked what the colonel planned to do about distracting the guards so that they could get to the armory. Hendricks gave Jonah the same, “don’t ask” look he received when asking about shanks.