by C. E. Martin
“I sure hope so, baby. I need lots of help,” Pete said.
Guys like this they had plenty of in 1962. Mark stepped down off the truck- even over their stench, he could smell these two were trouble.
Cletus and Pete seemed to notice Mark and Jimmy for the first time. Jimmy didn’t impress them- a skinny nerd wearing nerdy clothes. Mark on the other hand... the locals were baffled by the flip flops, obviously military cargo-pocket fatigues and the KE$HA t-shirt. And the precise flattop hair cut.
“Well, hello, Sarge,” Cletus mocked. “You just get back from the war?”
Josie worried where this might be going. She hoped she could prevent that. She held her hand up, towards the locals.
“Trust me fellas, you don't want any of this,” she said.
Cletus suddenly grabbed Josie around the waist and pulled her in close. His sweat soaked through her shirt and he reeked of body odor and stale beer.
“You're right, girly. I want all of it!” Cletus declared through a mouth full of teeth Josie suspected hadn’t seen a toothbrush in years.
Josie responded accordingly. She drove her knee up into Cletus’ groin as hard as she could.
Cletus immediately let go. He also stepped back a few steps, doubled over, holding his privates. He felt like throwing up, and his vision swirled a little.
Pete didn’t like that. Nobody treated his best pal like that. Especially some scrawny, little city girl. No matter how good she looked.
Pete balled his fists and took a step toward Josie, his face showing his anger.
Mark stepped in, calmly reaching out with both hands open, intercepting Pete. With little effort, he pushed against Pete’s chest.
The small shove sent Pete flying. Nearly twenty feet, like he’d been hit by a car.
Pete hit the ground hard, tumbling end over end, his hat and one boot coming off. He rolled several more feet before he came to a stop.
Cletus, still doubled over, couldn’t tell what had happened. His vision had cleared and he saw Pete hit the ground behind him. Holding his groin, he staggered over to his friend.
Mark touched Josie lightly on the shoulder. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Josie responded. She was trying to brush the invisible filth of Cletus off of her. He was disgusting and made her feel dirtier than several days in the desert without a shower had.
Jimmy was just shocked. He’d wanted to say something, to do something. But like always, he’d been too scared. Then Mark had taken one step, and pushed with less visible effort than it took to open a door. And now the local was trying to pick himself up from the ground.
If Jimmy didn’t like Mark, he’d think that was pretty darned cool.
Cletus and Pete, meanwhile, had come to a different conclusion. They were too stupid to realize just how strong Mark was. He just looked like some steroided jerk who needed an ass whoopin’.
They staggered over to the front of the gas station’s store. There were supplies stacked out front-including a big barrel, full of various tools.
The duo grabbed at the wood handles and each pulled out a weapon. Cletus had an axe. Pete had a garden hoe.
The two dirty men looked at each other, then at Cletus’ axe, then at Pete’s hoe.
Pete threw the hoe down on the ground and reached back into the barrel. This time he pulled out an axe as well. They gripped their weapons tightly and turned to face Josie, Jimmy and Mark.
Mark turned to Josie and Jimmy. “Get in the truck. I’ll handle this.”
Jimmy nodded affirmatively as Mark started walking over toward Cletus and Pete. He seemed very calm for someone about to get in a fight.
As Mark approached a surprised Cletus and Pete, he asked them something strange. “You guys know where I can get some pancakes?”
Cletus and Pete exchanged puzzled looks.
“Mister, we're gonna pancake your face!” Cletus snapped.
Mark stood only a few steps short of the dirty duo. “C’mon- lumberjacks always know where the best pancakes are. You are lumberjacks, right?”
“Lumber-?!” Pete was partly enraged, partly confused. His solution was to attack.
Pete stepped forward, swinging his axe up and over in a big arc he aimed right for Mark’s head.
Mark reacted quickly. Very quickly. He snapped his hands out, held flat, and caught the axe head between his palms.
For Pete, it was like hitting a rock. He felt the force of the blow reverberate up the handle, and into his wrists.
Mark followed up with a quick jerk to the right. He snapped the axe head right off the handle with relative ease.
Pete and Cletus were astonished. Pete just stood there, slack-jawed, not sure what to do next.
Not Cletus. He still had an axe that worked. He reared his back, over his shoulder, as if it were a baseball bat. He was going to take this guy’s head off.
Before Cletus could even start his swing, Mark pivoted slightly on his right foot and his left leg shot out. The ball of his left foot smashed into Cletus stomach- right over the gigantic belt buckle he had under his untucked shirt. The impact doubled Cletus over and sent him hurling backwards.
Like a sweaty missile, Cletus smashed into and through the large plate glass window of the store.
Mark calmly pitched the axe head in his hands aside and turned back to Pete.
Pete looked back at the store and its broken window with Cletus’ feet sticking out. Where Cletus had been standing just a second ago, there was now just his hat and axe.
“Are we done here?” Mark asked.
Pete was furious. And he still had a big stick. Pete grabbed the broken axe handle in both hands- one on either end. He’d choke the gigantic freak with it.
As Pete stepped forward, Mark shot out a quick jabbing punch. His knuckles struck the axe handle with terrific speed, snapping it in half. The punch then continued on, square into Pete’s mouth and nose. Teeth and cartilage crunched, and Pete was knocked off his feet.
People from the gas station and surrounding buildings were starting to come outside. They saw Pete, unconscious, laying on the ground at Mark’s feet. Several reached for cellphones in their pockets.
Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out his last two thousand-dollar bills. He dropped them on the unconscious Pete.
“Make sure you get that window fixed,” he said loud enough for the other locals to hear.
Mark then turned and walked back to Jimmy’s truck. Josie and Jimmy were already getting back inside.
“We should probably go,” Mark said as he slid back into the truck.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Across the country, the report of Mark’s brief skirmish with Pete and Cletus was being analyzed.
A joint-command headquarters buzzed with activity. The large room held at least thirty soldiers, airmen and sailors, feverishly working at computer consoles. Large, seventy-two inch monitors hung on the walls of the command post, displaying information from around the world.
On the rear wall hung a large military crest: a half-red, half-green Special Forces shield, bisected by an upward-pointing black sword. Surrounding the crest were the words “DETACHMENT 1039" and the logo “POTESTAS ET SCIENTIA”.
Major Bill Campbell watched over the room with concern on his face. He wore his Army dress uniform, which was covered in decorations, awards and badges. Military Intelligence badges were pinned to his collar, while his shoulder bore the Ranger and Special Forces tabs.
A Sergeant in camouflage ACU uniform approached Campbell, holding a tablet computer.
“Another sighting, sir!” Sgt. Brown announced, holding out the tablet.
Campbell took the tablet and read over it.
“Another local police report in Arizona,” Sgt. Brown explained. “Two locals thrown around like rag dolls- injuries that seem out of the ordinary. Report specifically mentions their attacker punched through a wooden axe handle like it was paper.”
It had to be him, Campbell thought to himself.
> “Did we scout it?” Campbell asked.
“Yes, sir, I had a Ghost Walker check it out. Small town, nothing remarkable.
“Except it's less than 50 miles from the Target site.”
Campbell looked up from the tablet, surprised. Why was he still in the area?
“There's still been no contact?” Campbell asked. “How do we know this isn't some random Titan?”
“Witness descriptions were pretty clear,” Sgt. Brown replied. “How many people still wear a flattop these days- and have black-green eyes?”
Campbell agreed it had to be Kenslir. “Where'd he go?”
Sgt. Brown explained that Kenslir had left with two teenagers, according to witnesses. No one had gotten a license plate number, but the off-road 4x4 truck had two motorcycles tied down in the back. It would only be a matter of time before it was located.
Campbell was shocked that Kenslir would be with kids. Even if he did have amnesia, as the other teens had reported, why would he be hanging out with kids? Civilian kids? He had no relatives as far as Campbell knew.
Campbell hated it, but they were going to need help. It was just too big an area for Detachment 1039's remaining field operatives.
“Call up the FBI. Get some units to that area. We need to contain and assess,” Campbell ordered.
Sgt. Brown saluted. “Yes, sir.”
***
After several hours of driving, Jimmy and Josie were almost home. But first, Josie wanted to stop by the mall.
“Why are we stopping here? I thought we were going to Jimmy's?” Mark asked as they pulled into the mall’s busy parking lot.
The sun was low on the horizon. It would be night in a couple of hours.
“Hey, I've been driving for hours and I'm starving,” Jimmy said. “I'm going in.
“And do you really want to keep wearing those flip flops?” he added.
Jimmy didn’t wait for an answer. He switched off the motor and got out.
Josie slid across the seat behind Jimmy, exiting on his side of the truck. Jimmy was very surprised by this.
“C’mon- you’ve got to eat,” Josie said. “And you really do need some new clothes.”
Mark sighed, and got out of the truck. He wanted to get back to the business of remembering, but he admitted to himself the flip flops were driving him crazy.
***
A short time after Mark and the teens entered the Mall, a police car began searching the parking lot. It rolled to a stop behind Jimmy’s parked truck.
Officer Raymond Lee confirmed the vehicle description with dispatch.
“Standby, 532,” the dispatcher advised.
Lee waited patiently, eyeing the empty, parked truck. It was very dusty.
The dispatcher finally came back. “532, our instructions are to remain in the area but do not make contact.”
That made no sense. “Is this the fugitive vehicle or not, dispatch?”
“Feds are coming in, to secure the scene, 532,” the dispatcher advised. “We're to standby but make no contact.”
“10-4, Dispatch.” Lee responded. “532, 10-8.”
Feds. They always did things so differently.
***
In the busy mall, Mark had surprisingly blended in, drawing only occasional glances. Josie got far more attention, in her leather jacket, short-shorts and sandals.
Josie knew the mall layout well. She led Mark and Jimmy directly to a men’s Big & Tall clothing store.
“What size are you?” Josie asked Mark.
“I don’t remember,” Mark replied. He did remember he hated shopping.
Josie took a short sleeve shirt down off a rack and held it up to Mark.
“I think this 3X Tall looks about right,” she said.
Jimmy felt awkward, standing around with nothing to do. He too hated shopping- something Josie was always making him do. Two of his least favorite things, Mark and the mall, combined in one trip. Great.
Mark felt at the thin fabric of the shirt. It was silky and delicate feeling.
“I prefer cotton,” Mark said unhappily.
“Okay,” Josie said, putting the shirt back. This was going to be difficult.
Josie suddenly had an idea. If Mark was really born in 1928, he would probably dress like her grandpa. She swiftly went around the store, picking out several shirts, some pants and finally a pair of white tennis shoes. Not that her grandpa would wear sneakers. But it turned out those were the only shoes large enough for Mark. It seemed he wore a size fourteen. Wide.
Mark went into a dressing room to try on the clothes Josie had selected.
Once more, Jimmy wanted to question what they were doing. He stood close to Josie while they waited outside the dressing rooms.
“Josie, we need to really rethink this,” Jimmy said.
“Rethink what?” Josie asked. Jimmy wasn’t exactly the best shopper- surely he wasn’t talking about her choice of clothes.
“Helping this guy,” Jimmy explained. “Did you see what he did to those rednecks?”
Josie sighed. Jimmy was at it again. “He was protecting me.”
“I think he has anger issues,” Jimmy suggested. It was all he could come up with. Even he thought it was weak. Those two idiots had definitely deserved the thrashing they got.
“Why are you so against helping him?” Josie asked.
Jimmy briefly considered telling Josie how he felt about her. But he just couldn’t do it. “I just don't want to see you get hurt.”
Josie missed the meaning of Jimmy’s statement. “He's fine. Really.”
“I think you like him,” Jimmy said, spelling it out for her. Oh, did he hope he was wrong.
Josie was taken aback by Jimmy’s accusation. “That is so gross! He’s old enough to be my dad!”
Josie felt her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. She had to admit Mark was attractive. But that was not why she was helping him.
“I think you mean your great grand-dad,” Jimmy corrected.
“I trust him, Jimmy,” Josie explained. “I can't explain it, but I feel perfectly safe around him.
“He's not going to hurt us.”
“Great. You do like him,” Jimmy said. He felt sick to his stomach. How could he compete with a super hero?
Before Josie could respond, Mark stepped out of the dressing room.
Josie had picked him out a dark green, cotton, polo shirt and tan cargo-pocket pants. He’d selected his own underwear and socks, and Josie wondered if he’d chosen boxers or briefs. The new clothes were a great improvement.
“Feel better now?” Josie asked.
Mark looked down at his clothes and shifted his weight back and forth in the tennis shoes. They were leather, with air soles and arch supports. Nothing like the canvas high tops he’d worn in the ‘50s.
“I’d prefer boots,” Mark said.
Mark’s old pants were folded up and put in a bag, and Josie picked him out an extra pair of pants and two more shirts. She made him go get an extra couple of pairs of socks and underwear, pointing out he didn’t know how long it’d be before his memory recovered and could go home. Wherever that might be.
The trio took all of the clothes to the front register where a young girl with several piercings in her nose, ears and lip rang them up.
Mark could hardly break his gaze from all the studs and loops in the girl’s face, as she folded all the clothes and put them in the bag with his old pants.
“Letting your kids pick out some new clothes?” the clerk asked when she gave Mark his change back. He was running low on cash now. Just a few hundred dollars remaining.
“Something like that,” Mark said.
“Finally,” Jimmy said. “Can we go get something to eat now?”
CHAPTER NINE
The Mall’s food court was bustling with activity- most of it younger people in their teens and twenties.
Mark at first was amazed by the number of restaurants available. But the longer he stood there, it started to seem familiar
. Not this particular food court, but the idea. His memory was indeed returning.
While Josie and Jimmy went off to get dinner, Mark purchased a newspaper and sat down to read it. The front page was filled with depressing news. A war in the middle east. Rampant crime. And the current President embroiled in some kind of scandal involving a mistress.
Not much different from a newspaper in 1962.
Across the food court, Jimmy and Josie balanced their trays carefully as they walked back to Mark. They had purchased a lot of food. Five orders of fries. Several burgers. Two orders of chicken strips and three chicken sandwiches. And three thirty-two ounce soft drinks.
“What if he doesn't like any of this?” Jimmy asked.
“He’s bound to like something,” Josie said.
“Did we get enough?”
Josie frowned at Jimmy. “You have seen him, right? I'm pretty sure he could eat all of this.”
The duo finally reached Mark’s table- a square plastic thing with two pairs of seats on either side of the table. Josie slid in next to Mark- much to Jimmy’s dismay. Jimmy glumly sat across from Josie.
Mark folded his paper and set it down on the table.
“Anything ring a bell?” Josie asked, setting a burger, a chicken sandwich and fries in front of Mark.
“Lots of them. But it's all still hazy,” Mark said, eyeing the food suspiciously.
Josie helped Jimmy set out the rest of the food. She gave herself a set of chicken strips while Jimmy opted for a burger.
Josie pushed the fries closer to Mark. “You've had french fries before, right?”
“Yes,” Mark said, frowning. “We had french fries in 1962. And hamburgers.”
Jimmy pushed an order of chicken strips in front of Mark. “You didn't have chicken nuggets. They came out in the eighties.”
Josie laughed as she chewed on a piece of chicken herself. “Jimmy is a fast-food historian... Among other things.”
Mark eyed the deep fried chunks in their small, paper container suspiciously. He poked at them with his finger. They looked like fried chicken. But with no bones. “I'm not really hungry. I'd just like some water.”