The End

by Mark Tufo

  “Wonderful.” Tracy said sarcastically.

  “They won’t get too close with the fifties going.” Sergeant Stanton said.

  “How many rounds we have again?” Tracy asked.

  “Good point.” The sergeant retorted, pushing the gas pedal through the floorboard. The transport surged from fifty-five miles an hour to nearly fifty-eight.

  “Sarge, they’re peppering the shit out of us back here!” A Marine’s voice came over the radio.

  “No warning shots, Corporal.” The sergeant yelled into the handset to be heard. “Light ‘em up, help is on the way.”

  “Private, light ‘em up!” The corporal yelled to his gunner, finger still depressing the send signal, the lead hummer was able to listen in stereo as the blasts came over the airwaves. Mutilated metal screamed in protest as high velocity rounds crucified the lead attackers sheet metal covered car. The dull explosion of the car could barely compete with the expenditure of the machine gun.

  “They’re pulling back Sarge!” The corporal said excitedly.

  “Take out another one before they get courageous.” The sergeant said.

  The corporal relayed the message. Two rounds later an eerie quiet descended over the travelers.

  “Any chance that’s a jam?” The sergeant asked the corporal.

  “Fuck.” Came the corporal’s flustered response. Seems we’re out of ammo and those crazy sons-of-bitches know it.”

  The pops and bangs of multiple small arms fire dominated. “Shit they got a tire Sarge!” The corporal shouted.

  “You’re fine corporal, the ‘run flats’ run rough but it's drivable.”

  “Run flats?” Tracy mouthed the question to Murphy.

  “Yeah all military vehicles have them, it’s a hard rubber insert within the tire. So if the tire is shot out the truck can still move. Kind of a necessity.”

  “Apparently.” Tracy said with concern.

  “Eagle two, eagle two this is Rover Seven, can I get an updated eta we seem to be in a little bit of trouble, over.” The sergeant spoke into the hand piece.

  “Rover seven, this is eagle Two, when aren’t you in a little bit of trouble.”

  “That’s what everyone needs, a smart ass.” The sergeant said to the occupants of the transport.

  The sliced air percussion of the chopper blades was an unmistakable sound as the Apache helicopter closed in. The attackers were either extremely desperate or extremely stupid or both. Three of the attackers peeled off as the helicopter came in. The other six pressed the attack. The Apache hovered in the sky, a lone sentinel dispensing justice one tank-busting round at a time. Thirty seconds later four cars and two trucks were nothing more than twisted, shredded remnants of their former selves. The small military convoy raced away from the scene. The Apache hovered for a few more seconds looking for any signs of life, nothing moved except for the lazily drifting smoke from the wreckage.

  "Base Custer, Base Custer this is Eagle two."

  "Eagle two this is Base Custer, over."

  "Base Custer, six of the attacking vehicles have been disposed of, permission to pursue the three that have fled the scene."

  "Eagle two, that is a negative. Repeat that is a negative. The Colonel wants you to watch Rover Seven's back."

  "Great babysitting duty."

  "Say again Eagle two."

  "Roger that Base Custer. Eagle Two out."

  CHAPTER FIVE - JOURNAL ENTRY 1 -

  Holy shit, I’m in Heaven. Any place that smells like fried chicken has got to be heaven. My mouth worked on its own volition as orts of something wondrous crossed my lips. My eyes fluttered open.

  “Dad! Dad! He’s awake!” The shouting came less than six inches from my face. That was my introduction to ‘Porkchop’ as he leaned down looking at me, flakes of deep fried goodness spilling down from the chicken leg he held close to his mouth. I was mildly repulsed as his yelling let pre-chewed bits of food fall from his mouth and into mine. I might have pushed him away if I had possessed the strength. The second part of the equation though was the sheer look of exhilaration in his face at my awaking. His sincere visage and husky features completely endeared him to me, and then the cold cruel world shattered the well being that had momentarily enveloped me.

  “Brendon?” I asked him. His look of not knowing of whom I was talking about answered my question.

  ‘Dad’ came over to my bedside. “Didn’t think you were going to make it, Michael.”

  He looked regular army in his pressed digital battle fatigues and captain bars. He might have been a little on the heavyset side but that was nothing new to the army.

  “Hardly seems worth it at this point, Doc.” I answered. Abdication was interwoven with my words.

  He ignored my self-pity. “You’re family has been here for three days straight. I finally had to send them out to get some sleep. I don’t think they would have left except the big kid, what is his name?”

  “Tommy”

  “Yeah Tommy said you were going to be alright. At that point I wasn’t so sure but they deferred to him. Sure is something about him.” The Doc said with a faraway look. “Your daughter is a mess. I’ve been keeping her lightly sedated.”

  “Oh my God, Coley!” I lamented even harder. I was too mired in my own depression to realize there might be someone else grieving harder than I was.

  “She’ll eventually be alright Mike.” The Doc answered more familiarly.

  I braced myself for my next question but it needed answering. “Doc can you give me a list of everyone who did come in with me?”

  “You up for this?”

  I nodded in ascension, but my heart said abso-fucking-lutely not.

  “There was your wife, her mother…” He hesitated. I almost shit myself in panic. “Then your older son Justin who I have on antibiotics, he was in rough shape, some sort of low grade fever was running rampant through his body. I went in…”

  “DOC!”

  “Sorry, umm okay, and then your younger son, Travis, I believe is his name. This mean tempered giant.”

  “BT” I answered. He looked at me inquiringly. “Big Tiny or Bad Tempered, take your pick.”

  “And then of course Tommy.”

  He stopped. As heart struck as I was that my family had survived, I was still desolate. We had suffered two devastating losses. I turned from the Doctor not willing to cry in front of him. He respectfully walked away. Porkchop, however did not.

  “Hey mister what’s the matter?” He asked, as chicken still spewed forth from him. I could feel the bits as they clung desperately to my previously fever streaked face. “Why you crying? Do you want some chicken?”

  “Porkchop let him be.” His dad called from across the room.

  “I’ll get you some chicken.” He stage whispered to me.

  A few minutes had passed and the depth of my mourning had somehow deepened. A bottomless chasm of despair, I gained momentum as I sank deeper and deeper.

  Porkchop came back, ruddy with exertion. “I would have been here sooner, but Buddha knocked me down and then Henry took the piece of chicken I had got for you so I had to go back and get another piece.”

  A brilliant beam of light pierced the darkness. I wouldn’t believe it, not just yet. False hope is worse than no hope at all. I looked piercingly at Porkchop. My red-rimmed eyes making me look a little more unstable than usual. “Who’s Henry? Porkchop.”

  “He’s Buddha’s newest best friend.” Porkchop answered back innocently.

  “What is it with you and your dad? Why do you guys keep circumventing answers?”

  “Huh?” Porkchop answered as he tilted his head.

  “Dad, I think this guy needs some more medicine or something.” He said as he absently took a bite of the chicken that he had promised for me.

  I wanted to grab the boy’s shoulder and shake the answer out of him, but it became unnecessary as a large brown bundle of fat and slobber walked through the door, most likely after the piece of chicken that
got away. I bawled like I was 3 and my favorite balloon had loosed from my wrist and was now halfway to the stars.

  “See dad. I told you he needed more medicine.” as he took another bite.

  Henry didn’t hesitate. He somehow launched himself onto my bed, the pain as he stirred my injury was nothing in comparison to the relief that flooded through me as he licked my face. Now I’m not ignorant, I know a large part of the licking had to do with Porkchop’s chicken, but not all of it. His stubby tail spoke volumes as it shuffled from side to side. Within moments a brindle colored bulldog of roughly the same size of Henry sauntered in.

  “That’s Buddha.” Porkchop filled in.

  Buddha looked to his partner in crime. I watched as the dog looked at the floor and then at the bed trying to figure out how Henry had got that high. He also smelled the chicken. His great head swiveled towards Porkchop.

  “Dad?!” Porkchop yelled, looking for backup.

  “Both you mutts out of here.” The Doc ordered them.

  True to their breed, neither moved. Oh it wasn’t that they didn’t understand. They just weren’t given the proper motivation. The Doc reached into a drawer he had filled with biscuits just for these occasions. Both dogs were ‘rewarded’ with a cookie for doing what they had been asked to do, leave the room. A tear fell from my eye as I watched his ass waddle out. A quick smile came to my lips as I wondered if we had the dogs trained or they had us trained.

  "Fuck can't a guy get any sleep around here?" BT bellowed as he pulled his privacy curtain open. BT's massive body was laid out in an undersized bed. His leg suspended in some sort of medieval torture device was wrapped in a blue cast. "Good to see you Talbot." He said with a broad smile across his features. Puffiness around his eyes threatened to limit his vision. The pain of losing Jen and Brendon was still a fresh oozing wound upon us all.

  "Good to see you too BT." I said honestly. Neither of us commented on the others wet eyes. We bonded like all men, silently and in pain.

  "Lawrence why are you awake?" The Doc asked.

  "Who the hell is Lawrence?" I asked of the only other two occupants in the room. BT directed a stare at the Doc that should have stopped him in his tracks. The vapid gaze did not go unnoticed by me. "Lawrence? Your name is Lawrence?" I asked BT.

  "I'll wring your scrawny little neck Talbot if you let anybody know!" BT threatened.

  "It's not like you're going to be able to catch me in that get up." I answered him.

  If the human body contained gaskets, BT would have blown one. He shifted around on his bed looking for a way to get out of his traction. BT grabbed the stand that was holding up his IV bag and started to use it like an Italian gondolier, pushing his bed closer and closer to mine, which in itself was pretty impressive, considering the rubber wheels were locked in place.

  "Doc!" I yelled in near panic as BT inched nearer. "Doc!" I yelled again as I tried to sit up.

  "Hold on you two!" The Doc yelled. "This isn't a frat house! This is a fucking hospital!"

  "Sorry Doc." BT said as he lifted up his IV pole and swung it towards me, narrowly missing my leg.

  "Do you want me to put restraints on you, Lawrence?" The Doc yelled.

  "No Doc." BT answered, bowing his head.

  "He called you Lawrence." I taunted. "Ow!" I yelled as something pricked my arm.

  "Nightie-night Talbot." BT said smiling. "It'd be a damn shame if something happened to you while you were sleeping."

  I turned to my left. Doc Baker was just pulling out a needle roughly the size of a turkey baster.

  "You're next Lawrence." The Doc said.

  "Aw come on Doc. I just woke up." BT Pleaded.

  "He said Lawrence." I mumbled right before sleep dragged me down into the twilight.

  CHAPTER SIX - JOURNAL ENTRY 2 -

  To say my dream was vivid would be an understatement. I don't know if it was due to the drugs the Doc had used, my battered consciousness or a message from a higher entity. I found myself in a small valley, surrounded on all sides by majestic peaks. Fields of bright orange poppies were all around me. Don't think for a second that the irony of that wasn't lost on me as I walked around in this preternatural world. Hummingbirds flitted from plant to plant, a cool breeze caressed my face, a bumblebee nearly the size of the hummingbirds drifted by, slowing slightly to look at me as it passed. Is that possible?

  I walked a few steps reveling in the world I found myself in. It had much the same feel as Tommy's playground, but I could not sense the kid's hand in any of this.

  "Where am I?" I asked aloud.

  "You're in between." A familiar voice answered.

  "Brendon? You're alive?" I asked incredulously. I wanted to cry with relief.

  "Not quite Mike." Came the measured response. There was a sadness intermingled with expectancy. Sadness for what was lost, expectancy for what was to come.

  "Are you…dead?" I choked out.

  "I guess by the standards of the living Mike, I am. But I have never felt more alive in my life." He laughed. "Will you tell Nicole that I love her?"

  "Of course Brendon, and thank you. But why, why did you come back?"

  Brendon sighed, the echo of it reverberated throughout the valley. "I should have never left you guys, Mike. I let pride and ego get the best of me. Those petty human qualities mean so little here, Mike."

  "Is Jen with you Brendon?"

  "She was for a while. But the pull from the other side was too great. Jo kept calling for Jen to join her. She did want me to pass a message on to you though. She wanted to thank you."

  "For what, I got her killed," I sobbed.

  "For giving her a reason to keep living."

  I dropped to my knees, the weight of the message driving me to the ground. Brendon appeared in front of me. He bent over, extending a hand to me. "Take hope away from here, Mike." He said as he pulled me up. "That's why you've been allowed to come. If not for yourself, then for your family." He paused. "For your grandson."

  "I don't have a grandson." I answered him, the dawn of the realization slow to shine on me.

  Brendon smiled as he slowly faded away. "Tell Nicole I love her and Chase is a fine name."

  I shook violently awake. BT was softly snoring off to my side. Henry had at some point in the night snuck back into the hospital, and was crowding in on my bed. A small light had been left on in the far corner. Night had fully descended on this place. Shit, I didn't even know where I was. That hadn't happened to me since my college days, and that usually involved copious amounts of alcohol.

  "Hi Talbot." For the minutest of seconds I thought Henry had spoken. His head still rested comfortably on my thigh.

  "Hi hon." I answered, as my drug addled brain began to put the pieces back together.

  "How you feeling?" My wonderful wife asked.

  "Like a truck ran me over, then backed up to hit me again, then put ice chains on and then…"

  "Enough!" She said exasperated. "I get the picture. There's something I need to tell you."

  "Nicole's pregnant." I said.

  I could hear the sharp intake of breath as Tracy tried to understand how I got that information. "There's more."

  "Brendon's dead."

  "How do you know all this? You've been unconscious for over three days."

  "Brendon told me."

  Tracy just about cried. "How Mike? Brendon died in that damned truck and Nicole herself didn't know she was pregnant until this morning."

  I shrugged my shoulders, which in light of my present condition might just have been one of the singularly most stupid things I have ever attempted. Blood ruptured from an opening that by all accounts shouldn't have been there. A distant klaxon sounded, the night darkened around me, blackness tunneled my vision into twin pinpricks.

  "Mike!" Tracy screamed.

  I heard some panicked voices and then I found myself back in the safe, warm valley. This time I was alone. "Brendon? Jen?" I yelled. It wasn't that I was scared I was alone, it just would have
been nice to share the experience. When I had first arrived in the valley the colors had all seemed muted. Everything from the smallest speck of dust now all shone with their own brilliance, so much so that I found myself squinting. The sun, which had seemed no bigger than a marble in the sky earlier, now threatened to overtake my entire field of vision. I found myself once again drawn to the light like a kid to a Toys R Us.

  "Mike, not yet." An agitated voice said. "How many times do I have to send you back?"

  "God?" Oh shit, I think I've annoyed God, that can't look good on your personal resume.

  "It's not yet your time, Mike. Soon but not yet."

  "Mom? Is that you? Mom, I'm tired. I don’t know how much longer I can do this."

  I was full out sobbing now, my feet shuffling ever forward. As I write these words I find myself ashamed. I had given up. I wanted to crawl onto my mom's lap like I was five and she would tell me the Indians were coming to get me.

  Ever forward I moved; the light didn't diminish this time. I was being repelled and accepted at the same time.

  "Mike." A voice said forcibly from behind me.

  I paid it as little attention as I could, left foot forward, right foot forward. The sweet summer grass I glided across became six-inch thick heavy mud. My feet became mired. Forward progress was slowed to a crawl. Still I pressed. If nothing else, I'm a stubborn son of a bitch.

  "Mike!" The behind voice yelled. "A few more steps and it'll be too late."

  "Don't you think I know that!" I screamed with everything I had. The rawness of my rage scraping against the linings of my throat.

  The six-inch thick mud, turned into some sort of twelve-inch thick tar and mud mixture. I pushed forward straining with all my being to push through this obstacle. I could feel my essence being sucked up and into the light, like I was made of dust and the light was a giant Dyson. I was close! I pulled my left leg up out of the soup to rest it on the once again soft summer grass. I knew instinctually that once I pulled my right leg up and placed it onto the grass I would have passed a barrier from which there was no return.