From Planet Texas, With Love and Aliens

by Pat Hauldren

  It sounded good to me. I unhooked my second dog tag and gave it to him. He gave me his. I clipped it around my belt, so the graves people would know it wasn’t mine. He did the same.

  We didn’t run into any more VC until we were almost to the firebase. We had the compass, but I was still damn proud of myself for finding it. Especially after all that walking. Maybe fighting the card gave me an edge there. We were tired and footsore, but we were in sight of safety.

  The card hadn’t beaten me yet, but it could sure as hell try. There were VC all over the place, and right as we started planning how to slip through and get to the firebase, they started gearing up behind us for an attack.

  “Great,” I said, “When they go for the firebase, we’ll have bullets all over the place. Then air support comes, and the whole area becomes a deathtrap. We can’t go back through all those VC, and we don’t have time to go forward safely.”

  “Then we make a mad dash,” the medic said, “Listen close. On count of three, we go for the firebase. You go left, I’ll go right. Just go. No stopping. It’s the only chance we got.”

  “I hear ya,” I said.

  He counted off, “One, two, three!” I scrambled. I’d gone maybe forty yards when I heard him shout, “Hey Charlie! Uncle Ho’s a jackass!”

  At least a dozen AK’s opened up. When I risked a glance back, I saw him standing straight up and waving his arms. Damn fool. But they hadn’t gotten him yet. “C’mon, is that all you got?” he was screaming. I heard two VC RPD’s go to work. They really wanted to get him.

  But I kept going. There was nothing I coulda done for ‘em. I slowed down when I was near the firebase. Last thing I was gonna do after all that shit was run towards a firebase without warning and get gunned down.

  I hailed the firebase, and they saw me. They didn’t have to check twice before they let me in. First time I ever thanked God I was black.

  I made a run for it, and landed inside. I’d made it! I’d won! I’d beaten the damn card! I was hopped up on joy for a few minutes.

  And then I realized maybe the card wasn’t supposed to be for me. Maybe it was about the doc. Poor, noble, dumbass. Jesus, I’d never even asked his name. Maybe the card was about him. Maybe the card was right after all. When I thought of that, I was about ready to puke. The guys at the gun ports were ready and waiting, but the VC was just throwing a few bullets our way. I spotted a louie and said “They’re gearing up for an attack out there.” The louie sent me back to the medics, but I ended up stumbling into the graves registration point and trying not to think about that crazy bastard. We might have both made it. Crazy bastard.

  “You need to see the medic?” somebody said.

  I looked up at the GR guy. “I’m fine,” I said, “But I lost my buddy.”

  “We ain’t lost anybody in three days. When did it happen?”

  “Few minutes ago.” I waved at the field where I’d last seen the medic. “Out there. We were so close…”

  “Any chance?”

  “Ten rifles at short range. Beautiful target. Standing up and yelling so they’d shoot at him. You’d need a six-pack of goddamn miracles. Crazy bastard.”

  “Gooks are getting tired out there. We’ll get his body back.”

  I remembered the rubbing and handed it over. “That’s him,” I said. I looked down at the dead guy right next to me. It looked like he’d caught a sniper shot, and there wasn’t much left of his face. Something lay in his open right hand. It somehow looked familiar, so I looked closer.

  It was a scrap of paper with “XII” at the top. The rest was the rubbing of a dog tag.

  My dog tag.

  ***

  J. R. Martin is from Dallas, TX. He writes in multiple genres, Urban Fiction, Science Fiction, and is currently working on a Steampunk novel. He loves reading all types of fiction and poetry. His Urban Fiction is about a group of characters called the Hallowed. Look for more short stories involving these characters.

  REFLECTIONS

  by J. R. Martin

  Samuel looked in his mirror and saw the reflection of a man standing behind him. He spun around quickly to find himself alone. He closed his eyes to steady his heartbeat. They opened slowly and he took a careful look around. Only an empty bathroom stared back. Must be nerves, he thought.

  Samuel focused on the mirror again and gave himself a fake smile. He flipped his edger on and let it hum in his hands as he contemplated his facial hair. In the mirror, he saw the shower curtain rustling.

  A gun, pointed at him, appeared from behind the shower curtain. He spun around, diving at the shower, arms spread wide to wrap the attacker in the curtain. Samuel crashed into the shower and hit his head on the soap dish as he fell through the shower without resistance.

  He stood outside the tub and touched his head where a knot already formed. His heart raced and this time he could not stop it. The reflection in the mirror still showed a gun pointing from the shower curtain. Samuel stared, frozen, and then looked back at the shower curtain sitting unmoving in the tub. What the hell is going on here?

  Focused again on the mirror, he watched as a figure moved the shower curtain aside and stepped out from behind it. He appeared to be average height, with a lean muscular frame. He wore a white newsboy cap which contrasted sharply with his black button down shirt and pleated slacks.

  The figure spoke to Samuel, “The balance must be maintained. You prepare for a hero’s feast given by this city in thanks for making its streets safer. Do you not know that a soul, once cleansed, will invite seven times the demons that infested it before? Dallas does have a soul, and you invite worse people here than the ones you’ve already dealt with.”

  Samuel’s lips moved up and down no words escaped them. Oh God, I am losing it. Did I take my meds today?

  Samuel finally responded, hoping he wasn’t going crazy, “I don’t know who the hell you are, but you don’t come in my home and threaten me. Better men than you have tried to kill me and all of ‘em failed.”

  “You’re a good man. Please, help maintain the balance,” the figure said.

  “Sounds to me like you want the crooks to go free. I bust some friends of yours?”

  “No, but you are too efficient at what you do. At some point, the tide will swing the other way and like it or not, you will be forced back into balance. Spare the lives of the innocents that will die because of you. Stop, leave tonight, and don’t come back, or…,” the face of the man in the mirror softened, “work with me to maintain the balance, let me tell you more about who I am and who I work for.”

  Samuel laughed then replied, “Is this some type of bribe? No dice. We’re done.”

  The figure shook his head, “Good men should not have to die, there are so few that are willing to stand up for what’s right.”

  The reflection in the mirror raised the gun again and aimed at Samuel.

  “You’re a reflection man. What’re you doing pointing a gun at me from a mirror? My reflection isn’t even there for you to aim at,” Samuel said.

  A gunshot erupted in Samuel’s bathroom and he hit the floor. He had been too slow and the bullet had gone through his neck rupturing his jugular and sending blood flying on the walls and fixtures. Blood gushed from the wound, spilling over the floor of the bathroom. The figure in the mirror watched as blood from Samuel’s neck stopped gushing and slowed to a trickle. Samuel’s eyes closed.

  The reflection counted seconds to himself, “Oh, so that’s how you’ve been doing …”

  Samuel’s closed eyes opened and he sat up quickly then threw his edger at the mirror sending glass raining down on the floor and sink. The windowless bathroom became deathly quiet except for Samuel’s ragged breathing.

  Samuel touched his neck. He felt the exposed flesh of the scar that remained from the bullet wound. Samuel looked at his hand and the tips of his fingers held blood. I’m not losing it. This guy is that good. The flesh needed time or encouragement to fully heal, time he did not have.

  He
heard sounds coming from his bedroom. Drawers opened and closed in the bedroom further down the hall. Samuel had not seen or heard anyone enter his apartment from the front. The mystery assailant in the room wasn’t important now. He needed to get to the living room to get his gun. Got to put a gun in the bathroom.

  Samuel stood and moved quickly down the hall. You may have my gun cabinet cornered, but I have enough hardware in the living room to deal with you. I’m sure the family and friends will get me having the guns now.

  “Who’s going to bother you in your home again,” one friend would ask.

  “Attacking you at home is like fighting a dragon in his lair,” someone else had said.

  There is someone else here. Maybe whoever it is thinks he’s a dragon slayer. Samuel chuckled to himself. I’m not losing it. The noises in the bedroom proved it again. That helped him calm down some.

  No one knows my home better than me. I’m detective of the year. I just single handedly took down Sonny Torres and his gang. I survived that shootout. What can one man do to me? I got this… I got this.

  Samuel crouched at the entrance to the living room. Let’s do this by the book. I can joke about it with the boys at the station later. The noises from the bedroom stopped. He took that as a sign that the assailant had left, but waited a moment listening for movement. The door to his bedroom was noisy which should provide him with enough warning if opened. The living room became his main focus.

  From a distance, he saw both dead bolts were locked on the front door. Ok, the door is locked. Nobody can walk through walls, so how did someone get in? The two windows in the living room looked closed. Samuel watched each close for any flutter of the curtain that suggested the window had been opened. He examined the kitchen window. That one was too small for a man to enter. Even if one had, the dishes in the sink were undisturbed. A robber would have to know the inside of his kitchen well to come in that way without disturbing anything.

  Samuel’s eyes searched the few dark corners of the living room for any attackers. The room large, sparsely furnished room left few hiding places for an attacker. The entertainment center and door shared a wall. On either side two bookshelves stood, filled from top to bottom with DVDs, books, martial art guides, and various text books. His colleagues could not understand why he bothered to keep any of those books around. Those books have saved my life many times. I’ve learned a lot from them. Nothing like this is in there though.

  The opposite wall held the love seat, sofa, and recliner. Above the couch, he’d built a shelf where he kept two Chinese daos. They reminded him of his mother who always told him, “Protect the people, one day you will be blessed for it as your father was.”

  His blessing did come the year before, the first night he healed. Sonny Torres still roamed the streets then, and put a hit out on Samuel. The police chief asked him to leave, but he refused to run from his home. He believed the gang had no hope of finding a cop killer. He’d been wrong.

  His mother took him out the night it happened in celebration of his birthday. The two dined in China Town, and shared sesame buns made by a street vendor after dinner.

  “Mom, it’s late. I got to get home and you do to,” Samuel said.

  “I gave birth to you, not the other way around. You can’t tell me what to do,” his mother said.

  “Mom…”

  “Just follow me.”

  Samuel kept quiet and followed his mother. She walked ahead quickly as if she forgot her advanced age. Samuel smiled at her back and continued trekking behind the woman.

  They came to a martial arts studio and walked inside. Her mother spoke in mandarin to one of the men and the man left quickly. When the man came back he had a long cylindrical package tucked under his arm. The man passed the package to his mother and his mother presented it to him.

  “For my son, from your father. He was not Chinese by birth but, his spirit honored my heritage and took it as his own. He passes his legacy on to you in these two swords. Your father recovered from many grave wounds, may that spirit pass to his son.”

  Samuel fought back tears and unwrapped the weapons. The black, red, and white sheaths had intricate leather stitching that covered mahogany wood. Samuel knew his father made the sheaths with his bare hands during the brief moments the man did not have a drink in his hand.

  “Mom, Dad died in the fire before the swords were completed, how…?”

  “I hired a swordsmith to make it for me, but I finished the pommels with the same style your father used.”

  Samuel knew his mother knew nothing of being a swordsmith, yet her care to learn the craft to finish the project her father started touched him. He wiped tears from his eyes then embraced his mother. She pushed him away but he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.

  The two left then not saying another word. The walk back to the car did not take long with the streets emptying. Samuel checked his watch, nine o’clock and no one was around. The hair on his neck stood up.

  The bullet hit him from behind, then erupted from his chest leaving a gaping hole. His mother screamed as he fell. Samuel’s body grew stiff, daos clutched in his hand. He landed on the ground with his head faced towards the entrance to the parking lot.

  He watched his mother run over to him kissing his face, saw the man come up behind her dragging her away by her hair. She reached out to Samuel. Samuel reached back.

  The attacker stopped and stared as Samuel stood hands wrapped firmly around one dao. Once on his feet, he lurched towards the attacker. The dao dragged along the ground behind him.

  The attacker tossed Samuel’s mother to the side and walked slowly towards Samuel, “Still got life in ya.”

  Samuel just focused his eyes on the man, each step growing easier. Then the pain grew worse and he stumbled to the ground again. Samuel tried to roll over but only screamed.

  The man walked to Samuel and rolled him over with his foot. From his pocket, he pulled out a flask. The man screwed the top off and took a long drink.

  “Nuttin’ gonna save ya boy. Just die,” the man said.

  Samuel reached up for the man through his pain.

  “What’cha want? Some o’ this,” the man pointed to the flask, “You won’t like the way I give it to ya.”

  A wet gurgle left Samuel’s lips. His hands fell to his sides, exhausted.

  “Oooh yea’, you won’t like this one bit.”

  The man took a quick sip from his flask. He leaned in close to Samuel and smiled. He put the flask to Samuel’s lips and wet them with the liquor then, with a cruel smile, he emptied the flask slowly over Samuel’s chest.

  Samuel couldn’t scream but he rolled in agony. The blood on his chest washed away as the alcohol went inside the wound. The man stood and turned and walked back to Samuel’s mother who still sat on the ground.

  “Let her go,” Samuel said.

  The man turned back to Samuel and his jaw dropped.

  Samuel stood still slouched over leaning on the dao. His flesh knitted itself together before both men. Tendrils of tendon and ligament intertwined themselves together repairing the flesh.

  “What the…?” The man stood wide mouthed before dropping to his knees.

  Samuel moved forward on sturdier legs.

  The man said prayers over and over, asking for forgiveness for his crimes. Samuel stood over him dao unsheathed. He watched the man’s form as the other kneeled, forehead touching concrete asking forgiveness, “Only God forgives, not me,” Samuel said.

  The blade of the dao sliced through cleanly.

  Samuel quickly walked to the bookshelf closest to the door in the gloom of the living room. He kept a box there in the shape of a book that he stored a gun and cash if an emergency occurred. First time I’ve ever needed to use this.

  He inched down the hallway towards the bedroom. The living room and the kitchen right beside it were clear. He took a deep breath and took his first steps down the hallway.

  A breeze blew across the back of his neck rai
sing the hairs.

  “The balance must be maintained.” a voice said.

  Samuel turned towards the sound of the voice, hand on the trigger. The window was raised slightly and a breeze blew the curtains around. He searched in the window’s direction for the owner of the voice. The reflection of a man appeared in the glass. Samuel fired his gun aiming for center mass. The sudden, deafening, blast sent a round into empty air. He saw no sign of a reflection in the shattered window. Samuel took a few deep breaths. He closed his eyes and pushed the fear creeping in his chest to the side. My composure has kept me alive all these years, God help me calm down.

  He glanced towards his kitchen again and saw it empty. He turned the lights on to erase the shadows and he could see his reflection clearly in the mirrors and glass in the room. Clear, now what? The noises from the bedroom started again.

  Samuel walked down the hallway body pressed against the wall. The door sat closed. My nerves must be so shot I did not hear someone come out the room or go back in. Whoever he is will realize he should not have played with me.

  Samuel reached the door without making a sound. He grabbed the doorknob and slowly turned it. Two shots erupted from the room. Two bullets splintered wood as they came through the door. Samuel jumped into the middle of the hallway and fired back through the door. His foot slammed into the door as he followed his shots in to face his attacker.

  The room sat in shambles. Pillows and bed sheets had been ripped apart and thrown around the room. The glass in his cabinet lay on the ground shattered, likely from the bullets he fired. Drawers were pulled out and emptied. Someone was looking for something, or so it seemed. After a quick inspection, he accounted for everything. He searched the closet and behind furniture for the person that had ransacked his room. The window was still latched. It could not be opened from the outside.

  Samuel put his gun down and looked around the room in confusion. What the hell is going on here? He checked the window for a loose seal or cut glass something that could explain how someone got out of his room. Must be some sort of magician. Anger filled him. Gun in hand he left the bedroom headed back to the living room. It’s time to end this game.