by ML Banner
“But the leader is not even armed,” Bill said out loud, offering a last minute defense.
He wiped away the discolored beads of sweat dripping down from his dirty brow, about to further blur his vision. The unshaded back area of the terrace allowed the hot Mexican sun to make the gun, his hands and body feel on fire. The humidity from the sea made it that much more miserable. His dirty tee shirt stuck to his back like a second skin.
Just then, he noticed it. The leader also had a sling around his chest.
All his attention now focused on what was connected to the sling. Was it a satchel or something worse? The answer to his plea was unmistakable. The short black barrel of an automatic rifle revealed itself from behind the man’s back with every other step of his stride. Case closed.
The image was now still, as was his resolve.
He squeezed the trigger. The blast was deafening.
~~~
“Come in, Señor Max,” said an icy calm voice with a thick Mexican accent that spoke violence.
Max walked through the entry and curtains, and saw Lisa and Sally huddled together on the couch valiantly attempting to suppress their terror and tears. Their wide-eyed gaze was trained on Max and the man in front of them, pointing a gun at Max. Max turned to the man and could see his unmistakable short-cropped hair and small scar on his check. It was Chaco, one of El Gordo’s men. Not knowing if he should celebrate or fear what was coming next, he asked, “Are you the one I have to thank for saving my life.”
A shot rang out. Max recognized the thunderous report instantly, greeting it with both happiness, and sadness.
With the icy conviction of a killer, not even flinching from the noise behind him, Chaco said with a sneer, “Don’t feel too rested, Señor Max. We going to see El Hefe now.”
“El Hefe here? He is in in Rocky Point?” Max begged with a worried voice.
“No, Señor Max, we go to da rancho del El Hefe.”
The front door opened noisily, and another of El Gordo’s men sauntered in with the leisurely gate of a homeowner walking into his own front entrance, the assault rifle slung around his neck breaking this illusion. He said something quickly and unintelligible to Chaco in Spanish, who had turned away from Max for just a moment.
Turning back to Max, “We go in your car, because ours no work. Let’s go now. El Hefe want you talk now,” he said pointing to the front door. “And no one else comes. If we see anyone follow, your friends not be happy with result. Tu comprendo?”
Max shook his head in agreement and then turned to Lisa and Sally, “Bill is up on my other house roof. Lisa, you’ll need to support him, because I made him do something to protect you both. Stay here and wait for him. When you see him, tell him what happened to me and I don’t want any of you to follow. I’ll come back, although it might be in a few days. Tell Bill to use the key he has to my office. Tell him to grab the book under my desk. You’ll both need to read what’s in there.” When he saw the questioning look of Lisa, he finished, “It’s alright, he’ll understand. You’ll all be fine now, I made sure of it.”
Sally leaped up and in a desperate attempt to keep him from going, threw her arms around Max. “Uncle Max, please, you can’t leave. We’re so scared.”
“You’ll both be fine.” If I don’t return in a few days, don’t worry, it’s probably just my jeep or what’s going on around us.”
He released Sally with a kiss on her cheek and kissed Lisa goodbye on her cheek as well. He walked to the front door accompanied by El Gordo’s goons, one on each side.
“Remember the book,” Max offered as he walked out, back into the heat of the day, then looking up to see if he could see his friend.
~~~
Bill looked again through the eyepiece to confirm he had killed the leader and that all his men ran off. One man stood composed, unmoving and staring in his direction, although Bill knew there was no way he could be seen from this direction without the aid of a powerful scope like this one. The men around this one confident looking man were either cowering in fear or had already run off. One other, the leader he shot, lay prone and unmoving in a growing pool of his own gore.
The confident man forced a grin right at Bill, as if saying I’ve got your number, buddy. For the third time today, Bill felt a chill down his sweat soaked back. Then the man turned, putting his back to Bill, readjusted his gun and walked away. The cowering men slinked after him.
Bill grabbed the cannon and ran to the front of the terrace, cycling another round into the chamber. He desperately needed to see what happened to his wife and daughter, and to Max. Just as he looked down, resting the barrel of the cannon on the lip of the wall’s edge, two men were walking Max out his front door. He was done shooting people for the day, and didn’t want Max’s encouragement to save him, not yet holding the weapon up to fire.
Max was already looking up and staring at Bill. Bill looked at him expectedly, fearful Max wanted him to shoot these two men, and held up a free hand, palm up, asking, what should I do? Max held his two palms at Bill and shook his head as if to answer no. Bill watched him walk to his Jeep, parked outside in front of the garage. They got in, Max in the driver’s seat, it started, and they drove away.
Not wanting anything more to do with the rifle, Bill let go of it, leaving it on the shelf protected by the wall. He bounded downstairs, out the door, fumbling with his lanyard and key, trying to lock it as instructed. Now frantic for news about his wife and daughter, he galloped to his house. He felt exposed, as if another dozen or so mass murderers with riles were going to rush into the street with guns blaring. His paranoia was thankfully just that.
When he was about to cross the front door threshold, he yelled out their names, “Lisa? Sally? Where are you?” He was half way down the hallway when four outstretched arms embraced him, squeezing him very hard. Like a blanket, their embrace and tears covered them with warmth and peace.
Lisa and Sally unleashed a fusillade of colorful descriptions of the preceding minutes. Bill said very little, holding tightly to what he had to do. For their part, Lisa and Sally never let on that they knew he had done something unsavory, and never asked. When they got to the part of Max’s abduction, surrender, and then Max’s final request, Bill jumped in, “Wait, he wanted to go with them?”
“They were quite insistent,” Sally answered, “But, it looked to me like he knew these people. They certainly knew Uncle Max.”
“Do you know what he meant about the book?” Lisa chimed in, having calmed down considerably, her curiosity now getting to her.
“No, I have no idea. Although, he did tell me he planned to give us lots of detail about his plans for us, but he certainly couldn’t have known about leaving us. Let’s go find out.”
Lisa looked past Bill to the dead man hanging out their dining room window, “How do we know they are all gone?” she finished, motioning with her head in the dead man’s direction. Her question felt surreal, as if she was asking how the china looked on the table of their dining room, when it was in fact a dead man resting in their window.
Bill turned, and stepped back, his mind catching up with his eyes. That explains one of the gunshots.
“I think there’s another outside the window,” Sally offered.
And that explains the second gunshot he heard. Bill’s mind ran through the events.
“Max seemed pretty sure that the others would run aw… that there would be no more, than those two.”
~~~
A few minutes later, after more hugs and a little more sharing of today’s events, Bill pushed the dead man through their window; the blast had done most of the work for him. Surprisingly, there was almost no blood in the house. All of the gore was on their windowsill, and outside.
The three of them, holding hands for comfort and protection, walked out back toward Max’s home, gingerly stepping around the dead birds that littered their yard, then around a greater number in Max’s yard. None of them questioned this, their senses numb from what they
had already witnessed. Bill led, walking them through Max’s patio doors and towards the bookcase.
Lisa, bringing up the rear and letting go of their hand-holding chain, stopped and studied the small desk to their right, “Is that the desk Max talked about? Look, here is the book,” she said, holding up the book Max had overtly placed below the desk earlier.
She opened it so that all three could see, not waiting for a reply. It said in hurried script, “Sorry, wrong book.”
“No, it must be in his office,” Bill said reaching up to the top shelves of the wood bookcase.
“What office?” Sally asked.
36.
Airport Parking
“I have to go pee,” Danny said meekly, interrupting Darla’s quite slumber.
She rubbed her eyes, and brushed some of her long hair behind her right shoulder, then stretched a little, working out the tightness in her leg from sleeping in one position for such a long time in their car.
“I really have to go,” now with more urgency.
“I heard you, kiddo,” Darla said as she opened the door to let in the sound of crickets and the heat of the day. “Why don’t you go there?” She asked, pointing at an area where the parking lot ended at a fence, protecting some heavily weeded field belonging to O’Hare.
“No, I want a bathroom,” Danny protested.
“Sorry, but you know how far the bathrooms are. Unless you want to hold it, you’ll have to go there.
“Fine, but don’t look,” exiting his door on the opposite side of the car.
She did just that, watching Danny walk to the fence, unzip his pants, and urinate on it, trying best not to act conspicuous, and not hit his shoes. She smiled at this, trying not to think about her next decision.
They had missed their flight by almost an hour. When they arrived at the airport after one in the morning, all the flights going out were cancelled, and incoming flights were only accepted because they had nowhere else to go. A pilot told her this, figuring he would be a better source of info than the peons at each flight counter. She found out that all airports were having communication problems and they could do little more than wait. Until further notice, all flights were cancelled. There was no place to stay. Every place she called was booked, and then they were having problems making phone calls at all. It seemed like the whole cell network went dead.
Without the ability to call, she tried texting her father, then Sally, then her grandfather, and finally Steve. It didn’t appear that any texts went through. Finally, exhausted from the driving, the late hour, and trying to negotiate a flight, lodging, and everything else, Darla gave up. “We’re going back to the car,” she announced to Danny. That’s when everything just stopped.
They had just walked past the TSA security lines, which were still large, even though the flights had stopped for almost an hour. Before making it to the exits, all the lights went out. The vast expanse of the airport went black. What was truly odd was the lack of light from anything. There were no headlights from cars right outside, and no lights from others cell phones either.
At first, most of the crowds were subdued, sort of a stunned silence, waiting for the lights to come on automatically as they would all expect them to. Darla and Danny both stopped their progression out as well, probably more curious than concerned. Then there was a scream, followed by another. Then a rush of footfalls, running, some tumbling. Panic fueled the crowd’s motion towards the doors, and the eerie ambient green light outside.
Darla and Danny didn’t need much motivation to start moving forward. Someone bumped into Danny, after tripping over the roll-aboard he was dragging behind him, almost knocking him down. Darla held tight and together they ran for the doors, holding hands and dragging their bags. Among the sounds of pandemonium behind them, Darla could hear Danny’s labored breathing. He was having an attack.
“We’re almost there. Let’s get through the doors and you can use your inhaler.”
She directed him around an overturned luggage cart, a dozen or so bags spilled off to the side. Several people were flailing on the ground, having made poor judgment of these obstacles, even though the light from the outside was better here.
They were at the door, Darla grabbing Danny’s suitcase, and yelling over the din of commotion that caught up with them, “Danny, you go first. I’m right behind you.” They were ten or so people from the exit, a clogged funnel of people surrounded them, trying to get through their chosen exit. The funnel pressed up against them. Just five people to go now.
A loud crashing sound and then an explosion behind them caught every one’s attention and quieted most of those around them. Darla pressed forward, not looking where others were. Three people to go.
Danny’s breathing was raspy, his lungs trying desperately to get air. An opening was just ahead, as two people fell forward and to the right of them. Darla pushed Danny to the left. Fresh air!
Darla steered Danny now to the right about ten feet to an area away from the door. Tossing their suitcases aside, she thrust his inhaler into his mouth, his hands there to guide her, “Breath slowly, Danny. You’re going to be just fine. Take another spray.”
His head was covered in sweat, his eyes looked dilated, but he was starting to calm down and his breathing was starting to sound more normal. He was probably seconds from passing out. Whew.
She took a moment to check out their surroundings outside. Cars were parked where they had abruptly stopped. There were people streaming out the exits all around them, like water from a fire hydrant, their streams running in between the cars and any other open spaces. Another explosion to their right, and this time, it drew both Darla and Danny’s attention. It appeared to have happened around a runway, out of their view, but they both could see the top of the fireball.
“Can you breathe enough to move?” Darla felt like they had to get away from the airport, quickly. She led him again, this time towards where they parked their car, thankfully a long walk away.
~~~
After they had slept a few hours in the car, her mind felt clearer. It felt like mid-morning.
She was now faced with a decision. Their car didn’t run, but apparently nothing else did, for that matter. They had little food and water. Waiting for help wasn’t going to work as she was pretty sure there was no help coming for a very long time. No matter where they went, it would be by foot, not an enviable prospect with an asthmatic brother. At this moment, the decision was simple. They would walk the fifty miles between them and their home in Chicago.
She was about to announce their decision to Danny when she smelled smoke, lots of it. Turning to the airport terminal, she could see its source. All the structures in their path were on fire.
37.
Wright Ranch, Illinois
Wilber was carrying his Mac 90, a sort of AK-47 knock-off made in China, but tricked up with a silicone stock and short Kimber scope. He had this gun for years and felt very comfortable with it, having shot maybe ten thousand rounds through it. It was slung around his neck, his hand on the grip, barrel pointed down. He walked quietly, looking for the wreckage of the plane that crashed on his property a couple of hours ago. He was pretty sure that they were not on his property for nefarious reasons, but you could never be too sure.
His Lab, Trixie, was leading the way, stealthily sniffing and walking through the brush and trees, honing in on something. Of course, the old girl could be hot on the trail of one of the feral cats around here as well.
The creaking noise of grinding metal on metal caught both their attention. It was dead ahead less than a few yards from them.
In a clearing, Wilber could see two of the larger oak trees on his property. He stopped to take in the abnormal picture of a two airplane wings, one on each of the side of two large oaks trees. A small private plane had flown directly between the two, sheering off its wings. He continued, while Trixie trotted ahead further and out of sight, obviously catching the scent of someone.
Barking from his dog
brought him to a run, until he found himself staring at the beat up rudder of a plane. What was left of the fuselage was wedged into a bramble of bushes and smaller trees. Trixie was on point and growling at the occupants. Wilber couldn’t see any movement. With riffle pointed at the cockpit, he carefully walked forward.
Peeking inside, he saw both occupants. The pilot looked bloody and unconscious, the other was moving, looking like he had just come to and playing with his open door. Wilber opened the cockpit door, its injured hinges alerting the waking co-pilot to the intruder.
“Let me see your hands,” Wilber announced his demand to the co-pilot, who had a small gash on his head, but otherwise looked unharmed. Again, he demanded, “Your hands.”
The co-pilot lifted his hands up, and pleaded with the gun, “Please don’t hurt us,” just noticing the pilot, “Please help us… my father is hurt.”
Wilber re-slung his rifle around his back, assessing they were no threat and needed his help.
“I’m Wilber, this is Trixie, and she won’t bite you if you don’t make any sudden moves. Are you able to exit the plane and come around to help me with your father?”
“Sure, thanks. He’s John and I’m Steve.”
38.
Crashing to Earth
Out of orbit, over Texas
Melanie’s calculating mind found endless folly in her actions, now figuring her chance of survival at maybe one in a thousand. She found much more comfort in her memories, even the sad ones. She thought about her family and friends. She had always been single, married to only her career, and her parents passed on long ago. So her friends and colleagues were her only family. What a sad sack, she thought. Then she thought of R.T. She really had feelings for him. He was attractive and available, being divorced for almost a year now. She laughed at the awkward ways he attempted to hide his interest in her. Yet, he was always professional. That’s what first attracted her to him on this mission. Most men, especially in superior roles, hit on her constantly. It was maddening and an affront to all the hours of work she invested in her career.