Rick Carter's First Big Adventure (Pete's Barbecue Book 1)

by Samuel Belcher

  Pete woke with the feel of a cool damp cloth on his forehead. He was lying on his back on his couch while Margaret nursed him with the cloth. Her smiling face was a delight to see as he came out of unconsciousness, certainly better than Mel’s face. He smiled back at her. “Hello, I’m Pete.” He said in a low and melodious way. She patted his forehead again.

  “I know.” Her voice was calm and reassuring. “You already told me.”

  Pete could hear someone arguing from outside. It sounded like Mel and Tormodis, but he couldn’t be sure. He pushed up on his elbows and looked around. “How long have I been out?”

  “Just about ten minutes or so, not long.” She told him and sat back in her chair, her job done. “That Mel guy said your prime something took the blast, but it was still too much to keep from knocking you out.”

  Pete rubbed his head. “Prime Sphere. Yeah, it does dat. So, what are dey arguing about?” He nodded toward the sound of the two voices.

  “Oh, something about Tor going to find some tracker.” Margaret seemed mildly uninterested.

  “He de Tracker,” Pete said as he moved and put his feet back on the floor. The sweet smell of burning wood and insulation was thick in the air. Pete sighed. “Dis gonna be a really bad one.”

  Margaret looked at him puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  Pete hung his head. “Dis just de beginin’. We got some bad stuff comin’. You got to get you husband to find de Tracker for us. He ‘bout de only one dat can help now.”

  Margaret looked out of the cracked and shattered window at the smoking remains of Pete’s once proud diner. She could hear her husband arguing with Mel. Tormodis insisted that they were leaving, and Mel quickly stopped him. The really loud arguing began shortly afterward. “I’m sorry about your diner.” She said sadly.

  Pete looked up at her and smiled. “Don’t you worry none ‘bout dat ole place. It done been blowed up, at least, four times before now. Prolly not de last time needder. ‘Sides, it got de spiders didn’t it?”

  Margaret smiled again. “I’m glad it did. There were too many to handle.”

  Pete’s face changed to deep concern. “Der gonna be a lot more. Dat just de start lil’ girl.” He stood up with a groan and grunt of cracking knees and old age.

  Margaret put her hand out. “Maybe you should take it easy. That was a pretty good blow you took.”

  Pete rubbed the back of his head again. “Nah, ole Pete done been knocked around so many times. He jus’ like a spring toy, keep comin’ back for more. Now, come on les’ go get dese two straight ‘fore a nudder war break out.”

  “If I haven’t met him yet, how can I find him!?” Tormodis shouted at Mel, who was standing defiantly in front of him with his arms crossed and a determined look of resistance on his face.

  Pete stepped out of his doorway into the carnage that used to be his front yard. “Finding him’s not the problem, bra. Convincing him to help is. I know where you can find him.”

  The small group scattered across the area looked quickly at Pete as he walked out toward Mel and Tormodis. Roger was playing with a piece of burning debris in the yard, and Rick was sitting at the old dry rotted picnic table that had miraculously escaped the disaster unscathed. Even while all the burning pieces of Pete’s Barbecue fell around it after the explosion nothing landed on the picnic table and Rick was now perched there, feet outstretched in front of him while dreaming about the barbecue he had eaten there just a day ago, before the world went crazy.

  Tormodis huffed. “Okay, but if I don’t know him yet, and he doesn’t know me how am I supposed to convince him of anything? More to the point, why should I? I’ve already spent too much time at this party already.” He sternly pointed out.

  Mel started to counter him with a fierce broadside but, Pete interjected. The fight had gone on long enough. “Tormodis, dis is way more dan we got time to tell you. But, findin’ the Tracker is our only hope at dis point. We got to head dis ting off ‘fore it gets out of hand, and more people die.”

  Tormodis looked at him with a determined expression filled with his youthful candor and opposition. “This isn’t what we came here for.”

  “I know brudda. But, we need your help on dis one. I saw lots of people die before. I lost my wife in de last one. Dat ting you saw was a robot from de Company. Mel thought it would help me get along better after Maria died. But, I never forgot de ones we lost dat time. We got to move now and not wait.” Pete sounded hard and serious. His years of experience and the pain he had suffered were telling in his tone and on his broad wrinkled brown face.

  Mel shifted. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him, Pete. But, he won’t listen.”

  Tormodis sighed and shrugged at the same time. “How am I supposed to find this guy?” He mumbled.

  Margaret moved over by her husband and put a reassuring arm on his. “You know this is right, Sam.”

  He looked at her soot-smeared face and her hair thrown all out of place. Her eyes were so sweet and endearing and melted his heart every time he looked in them. He could never tell her no. He patted her hand on his arm.

  “I know where he is!” Roger suddenly piped up. He stood from his little fire and quickly stepped over to where the rest were gathered. “I can see him.”

  Tormodis looked Roger over, realizing for the first time that he so closely resembled Mel it made him grimace slightly. “Then why don’t you take them where they want to go?”

  Pete spoke up again. “Because the Tracker only gonna listen to you, bra. Dat de way it goes.”

  “We don’t know each other yet,” Tormodis complained again.

  “He gonna know you. Don’t worry ‘bout dat. You take Mel and Roger here and find him and get him to come back wid you. Den we can find dis ting and stop it.” Pete reassured him.

  Margaret looked up at her cantankerous young husband with her widest most pitiful look she could manage. He hated when she did that to him, but it didn’t matter. “Is this guy gonna be a pain in the ass the whole time?” He pointed at Mel.

  Mel looked at Pete with disgust. “Seriously? I’M the pain in the ass?”

  “Not de whole time. Just some.” Pete said chuckling.

  Tormodis drew in a heavy breath. “Let’s go then.” He finally conceded.

  Pete smiled broadly. “Dat’s good den. Yes, dats good. Mel,” He said, pulling his protégé to the side for a more private word. “You didn’t mention de Company, and all dat stuff ‘bout Roger and all to him did you?”

  Mel looked at him confused. “No, not yet. Why? He knows we’re Company, though. What does it matter at this point if he knows about Roger?”

  Pete was happy. “Well, Tor he don’t much like de Company, never did. Best keep all dat udder stuff quiet for now.”

  “Okay,” Mel agreed, “But, I can’t control what Roger blurts out. No one can.”

  Pete agreed. Despite the few minor set-backs, the spectacular mass of attacking giant spiders, the Japanese WWII fighters and the diner blowing up, things were proceeding according to plan.

  Rick, who had been patiently listening to the conversations, decided to interject his question in the mix. “That brings up a point, Mel. Why don’t we get the Managers involved? They obviously have the resources to deal with this, I assume. It follows that we would want their help if this is as big as you say.” He pointed out.

  Mel looked like someone who just learned their puppy was killed in a threshing machine. “Rick, you’re gonna find out the hard way, you don’t have to get the Managers involved. They probably already know.” He almost whispered.

  Tormodis was looking at him accusingly, but Margaret was still holding his arm very tightly and reminding him where his duty lay. “You ready?” He asked Mel.

  Mel shouldered his weapon. “Beam me up, Scotty,” He said smugly. Roger was almost beside himself with giddiness and telling his pocket that everything was going to be okay. Margaret was getting more concerned with Roger’s odd behavior. Without warning, there wa
s a flash of light, and the four of them were gone.

  Rick and Pete remained alone silently looking at each other while the smoking remains of the diner made a war zone backdrop that would have been a great photo-op. The fires had faded, and some of the smoke cleared, and they were left to deal with the remains of the catastrophe at hand. “So, that’s his thing, huh?” Rick lazily asked Pete who was lost in thought?

  Pete snapped out of his daze. “Tor? Yeah, he port when he want to, wid no machines.”

  Rick was stunned by the implication. “Then why didn’t he just port us all out of this mess?” He waived his hand.

  Pete smiled. “He just too young. Maybe get too rattled. Dat’s a lot to handle, yeah?” He pointed at his fallen diner. “Maybe too much for all of us,” He said reflecting. While he was musing, he noticed his large stainless steel refrigerator had been blown out of the back of the diner and was lying at an angle against the corner of his house. He looked amusingly down at Rick. “Hey, you want something to eat?”

  Rick looked shocked. “Um, I think we might be out of the diner business, Pete. Last time I checked your barbecue went up in a nice little mushroom cloud courtesy of the Empire of Japan.”

  Pete laughed an open deep laugh. “I show you someting, bra. My barbecue it take more den some zekes to get rid of it. Don’t you hear ‘bout how Pete’s barbecue can cure illnesses, wake up de sleepin’ and put a smile on de dead man’s face?” He motioned for Rick to follow.

  “What about the end of the world Pete? Can it cure that? What’s the plan?” Rick reminded him.

  Pete stopped. “Well, you gonna scrounge us up sometin’ outta dis refrigerator while I get some clothes on and den we gonna get in de truck and go find out what happened to Dennis, how come he never port us out or show up, maybe shoot some spiders along de way. Good for you?” He asked.

  Rick put his hand down and grabbed the Ak-47 propped against the picnic table. “I like it. Simple, direct, to the point. But,” Rick looked out at the old beat up truck. It had survived the first wave of madness completely untouched, “in your truck?”

  “What you mean? What wrong wid my truck?” Pete seemed affronted.

  “Well, I don’t know, Pete.” Rick shrugged as he stood up. “How about something a little more sturdy like a tank, or a Crown Vic?”

  Pete had a wide grin on his face. “Come on. Let’s get goin’.”

  Pete finally reemerged in his opened doorway. He paused there long enough to button up tropical shirt, but he had obviously done nothing to straighten the tangled mop of salt and pepper hair on his head. He had sandals on his feet, old shorts over his boxers and a strangely contented expression on his face, as if all of the universe were moving in exactly the right way. Rick had barely had enough time to scrounge through the refrigerator to find some nice pieces of steak that were fresh and cooked to perfection. He had these in an unharmed metal bowl when Pete returned with his new man persona written all over his face. Pete looked at him with an AR-15 over his shoulder that he had recovered from his house along with a unique looking large gun held in his left hand. He hefted the massive weapon and held it out toward Rick.

  “Here, maybe you can use dis, make you feel better. Make you feel like a man.” He said sly.

  Rick could see now that he was holding a .50 caliber Barrett sniper rifle by the barrel. The old man was stronger than he looked. Rick, his AK-47 strapped over his shoulder and still holding the bowl of steak pieces, gratefully accepted it. “You know we could’ve used this earlier.” He tried to talk through a full mouth of barbecue.

  “Let’s go, bra.” Pete said, and he started out around the remains of his diner, around the concrete slab it sat on and the mangled pieces of wood and insulation and broken tiles, toward his truck out front. In the distance, there were lots of sounds and echoes of sounds coming from the hillsides. The shrill of an alarm sounded, and faint trails of smoke could be seen rising above the tree lines. Pete stopped long enough to point it out to Rick. “See tings is already started.” He said, pointing his AR at the pandemonium that was miles away. He thought he could see wisps of black smoke ascending up in the sky.

  They both headed toward the old truck sitting faithfully in the otherwise empty parking lot, except for a large amount of debris scattered around and parts of the diner’s roof lying over the truck bed. They halted long enough to remove the debris and to pull out the spider corps before they prepared to make the long ride back to the Honey Pot. Pete was about to get in when he noticed a car coming toward them at high speed. It was trailing dust from the dirt road.

  The gray sedan sped around the corner, not slowing, and came peeling into the small parking lot amid the pieces of Pete’s diner. It slid to a stop mere inches from Pete’s truck. Rick noticed that the brand new car was marred with an array of strange mishaps. There was yellow goo all over the hood and the top, large gouges in the paint on the sides, an area where the paint looked melted off and to top it off a large spider-leg stuck in the broken grill where steam was pouring out. Clearly the roads coming that way were not free of dangers. But it wasn’t the sight of havoc and hardship that got Pete’s attention. His eyes were focused solely on the sedan’s occupants and in a very unpleasant way. In the driver’s seat was a heavy set man in a tailored grey suit with thinning hair and beside him, exiting the car first, was a thinner man, with the same kind of suit, red hair and a light complexion with a funny red hue that came from too much stress and a whole lot of anger. The thin man slammed the car door shut and quickly walked around to where Pete was standing by the truck’s driver’s side. Mr. Tabert closed the gap quickly, determined and filled with anger that was barely contained before Mr. Ball had enough time to get out of the car.

  “Pete Reyes,” He started as he came face to face with the old Chamorro, “I want an explanation this instant! Do you have any idea what’s going on back up this road?!” He almost yelled.

  Pete didn’t flinch, nor did he hesitate. “Look around, you blind or stupid? I tink we might know.”

  Mr. Tabert squared his shoulders. “Where’s Roger, Pete? We know you had something to do with his disappearance. And why is Carter here?” He pointed over to where Rick was standing uncomfortable but amused at the same time.

  “We don’t have time for dis, Tabert.” Pete fired back. “We got work to do. You in de way.”

  Mr. Ball came up with his partner and realized that, as usual when these two mixed, things had escalated quickly out of control. “Pete, Pete, just calm down. We’ve got bigger problems right now.” He put his hand out on his partner’s shoulder to calm him down. “Do you know where Mel is?”

  “No, I don’t.” Pete quickly lied. “But, I bet he tryin’ to fix dis mess, what you tink?”

  “See!” Tabert shot back. “It’s that kind of attitude that got you drummed out of the ranks. If you had been a little more of a team player and a little less concerned about your trainees, you might have been somebody.”

  Pete all but growled. “I got one ting to say to you, Tabert. Backup ‘fore I back you up.” Rick started to move forward, instinct compelling him to support his new comrade against this obvious threat. He never really liked Tabert.

  Mr. Ball moved between the two of them. “Okay, this isn’t helping.” He looked at his partner. Mr. Tabert took the non-verbal rebuff in stride, but he turned away just the same. Mr. Ball returned his attention to Pete. “Is Roger with Mel, Pete?”

  Pete looked over his shoulder at the smoldering figure of Mr. Tabert, who was busy trying to light a cigarette. Mr. Ball reached out and motioned Pete away from the truck, a little further away from the lighted match of instigation that was Tabert and a little further from being heard. “Is he?” He asked quietly.

  Pete leaned in slightly. “Yeah, he wid him. Dey got Tormodis, too. Dey going to find de Tracker.”

  “Roger couldn’t tell you where the tear’s coming from?” Mr. Ball looked concerned.

  “No, he don’t know.” Pete looked around at Ric
k who couldn’t hear the private council taking place. “Dat wat we get de Tracker for. You got some boys ready to field yet?”

  Mr. Ball thought for a moment. “We’ve got a couple teams inbound, but they have to prep first. You know how it is. I hadn’t counted on Tormodis showing up, but I’m glad he did. By the way, you’re welcome.”

  Pete looked confused. “For what, bra?”

  “For turning off that blasted alarm system at the asylum. It wasn’t easy getting in and out of there without leaving a trace.” Mr. Ball smiled.

  “I kinda figured dat was you. Didn’t help much tho. We still got dis problem wid nowhere to go.” Pete confessed.

  “It might have helped more than you think.” Mr. Ball reached inside his coat pocket and clandestinely handed over a small object with a leather strap to Pete. “Here give this to the Rook, make sure he knows how to use it. I didn’t realize we were going to have him in play so quick. I wish we could have prepared him better.”

  Pete grasped the REAL-Pro 9000 tightly in his broad hand. “It look like he ‘bout to get on the job training.”

  Mr. Ball raised his eyebrows in agreement. “Yeah, about that. Be careful will you? Tabert’s about this close to an aneurism anyway. We don’t want any more attention than we already have.”

  Pete nodded as the two seemed to conclude their private talk. Mr. Ball threw in a loud rebuke to make it sound like the conversation was more than it seemed. “Remember that Pete!” He said with force, and he turned away from the old retired agent in a quick huff. As he made quickly for the car again, Mr. Tabert nodded in approval and returned silently to the passenger’s side. Mr. Ball leaned forward just before getting into the car and directed his last comment to Rick. “I’ll be seeing you shortly, Rick,” He said menacingly. Then they reversed and sped off back in the direction they came.