Superior

by Nicholas Antinozzi

Stan pulled up to them and shut off the ATV’s engine.

  The sentries stared at him in disbelief. One of them, the older of the two, stepped next to Stan and looked him up and down. Above his pocket Stan read: Olsen. He then thumbed a small microphone that was clipped to his lapel. “This is Tango Two,” he said. “Can you have someone alert Captain Smith? I have someone here he’s going to want to talk to.”

  Stan sighed. “You couldn’t just let me pass, huh?”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” replied Olsen. “I have my orders,” he then narrowed his eyes at Stan. “I know what you’re thinking, but you’d never make it. We sent a chopper down there… it never came back.”

  “Jim,” scolder the other soldier, “you’re not supposed to tell anyone about that, especially civilians. Do you want to get us both court martialed?”

  “Dave, we’re all gonna be dead in a week or two,” said Olsen. “I don’t think it matters.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Stan.

  “The Great Lakes,” said Olsen. “They’re all gone. That’s what we heard, anyhow.”

  “Jim!” shouted soldier Dave. “I don’t think you’re supposed to tell anyone that.”

  Olsen turned to face his partner. “Like the public isn’t going to find that out,” he said, sarcastically. “Put a sock in it, Dave. Besides, this crazy son of a bitch is going to jump into that hole. Who is he gonna tell?”

  “Not if Captain Smith says he can’t… Oh great, here comes another one,” he said, pointing to something behind Stan.

  Stan turned and saw another ATV headed their way. The machine was far away, perhaps two miles, but it was making good time as it skimmed across the lakebed. Stan returned his attention to the soldiers. Behind them, Stan watched as another ATV painted camouflage approached. The machine roared up next to Dave and the man who was riding it killed the engine and stepped off. To Stan, the man looked like a throwback to another time. He was an older man with white hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore an officer’s cap and aviator sunglasses. Smith was printed above his pocket. He looked at Stan for a moment. “You’ll probably die down there,” he said, in an accent that was decidedly British. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “I do, sir,” admitted Stan.

  Smith smiled and reached his hand out to Stan. “You’re a brave man. Damn glad to meet you. What’s your name, son? I’m Captain Smith.”

  Stan shook the hand and found the older man’s grip to be like steel. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “My name is Stan… Stan Goobash.”

  “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Stan. You don’t mind if I call you Stan, do you? You’re a crazy son of a bitch, Stan. I like that. I wish I had more men like you.”

  “Thank you,” Stan said, noticing that Smith was staring over his shoulder. He turned to see that the other ATV was about two hundred yards away and closing rapidly.

  “Would that be a friend of yours?” Smith asked.

  Stan shook his head. “I came alone, sir. Look, it’s hot in this wetsuit. I’d like to make my jump, if that’s all right with you?”

  “If that’s all right with me, hell yes, it’s all right with me. I’ve been asking for volunteers, but these pansy-asses are too damn chicken-shit to jump into that hole. You’re going to have to give me a minute, Stan. I’m going in there with you. You don’t mind, do you? We’ll probably die, but it’ll be one helluva ride!”

  Stan nodded and he now heard the other ATV roaring up behind him. He turned and felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. The other rider was Jada and she was dressed in her wetsuit. Over that, she wore Butch’s parachutes.

  “Hot damn,” barked Captain Smith. He strode over to Jada and stuck his hand out to her as she killed the Honda’s engine. “Captain Ed Smith, United States Navy. Damn glad to meet you.”

  “Jada Goobash,” she said, eyeing Stan, suspiciously.

  Fifteen minutes later, dressed in their wetsuits and wearing parachutes, Stan and Jada stood at the edge of the chasm. They had been supplied with some military hardware, including night vision goggles and headset radio transmitters. Captain Smith was giving some last minute instructions to his unit and Stan turned to Jada. “I’m sorry for acting like such a jerk back there,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  Jada looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, but for a long while she did not speak. “I was only trying to do the right thing,” she whispered. “I didn’t want your folks to know how I really felt about Butch; how I really feel about you. I love you, Stan. I think I’ve always loved you.”

  Stan sighed and stepped close to Jada. He put his hands around the back of her head and they shared a gentle kiss, carefully twisting their heads so their night vision goggles wouldn’t collide. Smith was suddenly standing next to them. “Excuse me,” he said. “But we’re burning daylight. If we survive, there will be plenty of time for that lovey-dovey stuff, later. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Jada grabbed Stan by the cheeks and pulled his mouth back to her own. The kiss became passionate, but he was suddenly aware of a familiar voice screaming at them in the distance. They quickly stepped apart.

  “Oh my God,” gasped Jada.

  Sol Goobash was charging up through the soldiers, screaming obscenities at the both of them.

  “Are you ready?” Smith asked.

  Jada nodded and a split-second later, she leapt into the gaping mouth of the sinkhole. Smith followed a few seconds later. Stan watched as both jumpers disappeared into the blackness. He then turned and saw his swearing father try to muscle his way through the crowd. Stan gave his dad a quick salute and then he jumped out into the chasm. As agreed, he counted until fifteen until he pulled his chute. Once it had deployed, Stan slipped on his night vision goggles. Instantly, the world was bathed in greenish light. Down below, he could see both of the other open chutes. Sadly, as soon as he began to speak into his microphone, the headset hissed with static. All Stan could do was hope the communication devices worked at the bottom of the hole.

  The earth here looked as if it had been cored like an apple. The crust was perfectly smooth; a cylindrical shaft that led to God only knew what. Stan tried not to think about it. He would know soon enough. The absolute silence inside the chasm only made it seem much more ominous. The only sound was that of his billowing chute.

  Suddenly, Stan became aware of a distant howl. The howling grew with each passing second, until it became a thundering roar. Frantically, Stan began twisting his head as he tried to find the source of the terrible, yet strangely familiar sound. And then he saw it; for less than a single second, but long enough to recognize what it was as it plummeted past him. The roar was coming from his father. Sol Goobash was falling at terminal velocity and Stan let out a startled gasp. A long second passed as Stan waited for his father to hit one of the open chutes. But nothing happened and Stan was quietly grateful that his dad hadn’t taken out Jada or Captain Smith.

  The gravity of the situation hit him hard. His father was dead, or he would be, very soon. On the whole, Sol Goobash had been a good father. At times, he had even been the best father a kid could have hoped for. He could be warm and generous, compassionate and protective, a loving mentor as well as a best friend. Even as Stan thought about this, he knew there was another side to his father. He could be as cold as January wind; wicked as a rabid grizzly bear and as temperamental as any woman suffering from PMS. Stan thought of how he had been callously dragged down the stairs, unconscious, barely an hour earlier. He wasn’t surprised to find that his eyes remained dry. As he had with Butch and Marie, Stan couldn’t find the tears inside himself to shed for them. Perhaps, he thought, they would come at a later date.

  He was jolted out of those thoughts by a high pitch squealing that was nearly on top of him. Stan looked up, just in time to see another body hurtling down at him. He recognized the screaming projectile, a green mass of flailing arms and kicking legs. He cursed bitterly as it collided with his open parachut
e. Myra Goobash flashed past him. As Stan’s parachute collapsed, he swore he could hear his mother let out a triumphant whoop. When the last of the air escaped his useless chute, Stan began to follow his parents in a free-fall. Somehow, he managed to slip in between Jada and Smith without doing to them what his mother had done to him. He heard Jada let out an agonized cry.

  Stan suddenly realized that he had just lost both of his parents. He was now sure that his mother had cheered. What kind of a woman does that? Stan asked himself. Like his father, there were no gray areas with Myra Goobash, she was hot or cold. His mother had always been a physical woman and she either caressed or she slapped. She loved or she hated; there was nothing in between. As her screams slowly died away, Stan thought her to be a cold, physically abusive woman, who hated him most of the time. As he fell he found himself smiling. He would not miss her, not much, anyhow.

  Thinking fast, Stan quickly unbuckled the ruined chute and tore it free, he then pulled the ripcord to his emergency chute. A second later, Stan was rewarded with the whooshing sound of his secondary chute filling with air.

  Thankfully, Stan thought, there should be no more falling bodies to contend with; he was fresh out of relatives. He thought of that as he continued drifting downward, expertly guiding his chute to keep it well away from the smooth