When It Rains

by Joel Shaw

  “What are you doing? I thought we were on the same side,” Leland said sternly to obscure a growing fear.

  “There ain’t no sides, kid...it’s every man for himself in our new world order and, to answer your question, I ain’t no fucking Swan. I’m an...independent contractor.” He deactivated the NoVisVeil and smiled at the men unabashedly, taunting them with bold gestures.

  Jerry’s temper flared in the face of the now-visible man’s insolence. He initiated slow movements toward his bow and arrow lying on top of a crate a ten feet distant. He made eye contact with Leland for an instant.

  Leland read his mind; a diversion would be helpful. Leland let his hands drop into a just opened a crate labeled tomato-paste eight ounces. He kept his eyes locked on Jordan while he loaded four cans in each of his super-sized hands. He arched his back as if stretching, spreading his feet slightly, balancing on the ball of his left foot he rotated his torso with maximum effort, launching the octet of red paste at Jordan. On cue, Jerry moved quickly grabbing bow and quiver as he rolled backward into a kneeling position, nocking the arrow as he rotated, aimed, the bow is drawn, the arrow is loosed.

  Jordan was slow to respond to the unexpected mini-missiles. His belated reaction caused him to stumbled backward along the narrow aisle, his trigger-finger slipped, spraying three rounds aimlessly at the ceiling, a perfect two-rail bank shot returned them through a fog of red paste to his body in a sloppy group below his solar-plexus as the home-made-by- a-the-great-great-great-grandson-of-Dakota-Native-Americans-Alexander-and-Snana- Goodthunder arrow carved a new wrinkle in his neck as his head hit the steel floor with a sickening SPLAT.

  “That takes care of that son of a bitch.” Milton spit the words with uncharacteristic vehemence as if he had pulled the trigger. He paused briefly, remembering how he had admired the engineer or whatever he was and had sincerely wanted to get to know the man. Too late now.

  “He was a sneaky bastard, I’ll give him that...”

  “Greedy, too,” Jerry said, “just like the rest of you white fuckers.” His laughter exploded like steam from a relief valve as the tension of the last few moments was released. Leland and Milton laughed, too, not at anything in particular, laughter for laughter’s sake. It felt good, all that hollering and howling, like coyotes during happy hour.

  “Who’s going to tell what’s her face...Sheila about her brother?” Milton wondered aloud.

  Immediately, the laughter subsided and was replaced by a feeling of gloom.

  “She’s gonna be mad. I wonder if she knew anything about her brother’s ahh...character flaw? Leland said, “I have an idea that he might have had a lot of practice being a sneaky, double-dealing bastard.”

  “We have to get him out of here,” Milton said. As a pragmatist, he more concerned about the groceries in the container than the corpse on the floor, “and clean up this mess before it starts to stink. We should bury the two guys out there in the field. They’re gonna start stinking, too.”

  “I agree,” Leland said, “let’s do it and get back to Faye’s. We can make up our story on the way.”

  “The truth is our story,” Jerry said. I don’t have a problem telling her the truth. It’s on you if you want to walk the trail of lies, white man.” He grinned widely.

  “You can take care of it, chief. She likes you better than me, anyway.” Leland returned the grin.

  “I think she likes your sister better than me, cowboy.” Jerry said.

  After stripping the bodies of the bad guys and cleaning up the mess, they reloaded the supply container, and blocked the door as best they could feeling quite certain that the contents would not be disturbed. After all; how many Swans were still alive? They didn’t know. Who knew?

  “Shit...how are we getting back?” Leland’s chin hit his chest. The answer was exhausting. “We have to walk...five fucking miles...shit.”

  “No way, man.” Milton stopped the shit slide, “ my ride is on the other side of the field. Remember?”

  Leland recovered from his despair. “Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Whew. I don’t think I could make it to Faye’s on foot. I’m beat to the ground, dude.”

  “Me too.” Jerry said.

  “Me three.” Milton said.

  They each took a long, parting glance at the supply container as they stumbled under dawn’s early light through the killing field homing on the distant HummVee, each hoping to be the first to return to their claim.

  #

  Dawn wouldn’t come soon enough for Sheila. Her pleas for release had been ignored. The size of her prison severely restricted her movements. Bound hand and foot, she could either kneel or curl into the fetal position. She had shifted from one position to the other, getting very little rest and no sleep. She was cramping and had to pee. She began yelling to emphasize her condition. It worked. The cabinet door swung open and she was hauled out by her collar by an enormous woman.

  “Have a nice night?”

  The question was rhetorical but she answered anyway.

  “Hell yes,” she said, displaying her best smile. The fire had rekindled.

  The woman laughed deeply, obviously deriving pleasure from Sheila’s condition. “That’s good, and I suppose you wouldn’t mind spending another night in my little mouse trap?”

  Sheila was seething but projected a pleasant facade, like a white-chocolate candy bar filled with Habanero peppers. She knew she was out-womaned. There was no way she should would be able to defend herself against the hulkstress. She had to be smart about this. Play bad Sheila, good Sheila.

  “Fuck you. You’ve got me, I want to know why. And by the way, who the hell are you?”

  “You know me. We met a long time ago. As a matter of fact, your brother introduced us at the company picnic. We worked together for the NGA, the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency, remember? No? Back in forty-five? No? Anyway, I was Wicked Mike in those days. I’ve changed my name...along with a few other things,” he-she winked, “since then,” she was grinning, “they call me Wicked Alice.”

  Sheila wanted to laugh but caught herself. Wicked Alice was not to be trifled with.

  “So, Alice..”

  “Wicked Alice.” Wicked Alice sneered at her with wicked yellow teeth.

  “OK, Wicked Alice. What do you want with me?”

  “You’re a means to an end. I want your brother. I figure he’ll come looking for you. All I have to do is wait.”

  “What? Here? He’ll never find me here. He doesn’t even know this place exists.”

  “He will, I’m sure of it.”

  “I hope you’re prepared to wait a very long time. In the meantime, would you please untie me so I can pee. I need to wash myself too. My period started.”

  Wicked Alice expected Sheila to plead for her freedom. She had just the device to keep her in check. She retrieved what looked like a dog collar from her saddlebags and clipped it around Sheila’s neck.

  “There you go, honey. You are officially my pet. That collar you are wearing is a shock collar. If you try to get away, all I have to do is activate this here device and you will wish you weren’t alive. Savvy? I’m going to untie you so you can taker care of business. Don’t fuck with me. I promise, you will regret it.”

  “Hurry, please.” Sheila said, ignoring the threats.

  Wicked Alice cut the ropes using Sheila’s knife. “There you go. Nice toy you have here.” She balanced the throwing knife on her index finger. “Thanks. Now go on...shoo. Do what you have to do. I’ll be watching.” Again with the yellow sneer.

  Sheila stood and stretched quickly surveyed her surroundings. She had no idea where she was. She could just make out a cluster of tall buildings to the East. That must be downtown, she thought. She had waited too long, she couldn’t hold it, she dropped her pants, squatted and peed where she was. The blood stained urine disappeared through the cracked granite. Wicked Alice was watching with great interest. Apparently there was a bit of he remaining in the she.

  “You h
ave a tampon handy?” The question sounded absurd, especially now.

  Wicked Alice laughed. “That’s good. I’m glad you have a sense of humor. I can’t stand people who take themselves seriously. I sorry to say that I don’t. I have a rag in my saddle bags. It’s got a little oil on it, but that shouldn’t bother you.”

  “Will you get it for me? Please.”

  “Aren’t you a polite little thing...just like your brother. I’ll get it since you asked me so nice and all.”

  “Why do you want my brother?” Sheila asked, dabbing at herself with the oily rag.

  “Your brother is on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted List. Did you know that?”

  “BULLSHIT. My brother never...” She suddenly realized that she knew little about her brother. They had been separated for thirteen years. She decided to pump Wicked Alice for as much informations as she was willing to give.

  “What did he do?”

  “He hacked several government agency computers and stole a boat load of classified information. That’s treason, and treason is a hanging offense. My job is to bring him to justice. He’ll be tried in a court of law, all legal like, and then we’ll hang his sorry ass from a Cherry tree on the mall.”

  Sheila had no idea what Wicked Alice was talking about. What Government? What court of law? What mall? As far as she knew there was no government. No courts, and what the hell was a mall? She buttoned her pants and threw the freshly stained rag at Wicked Alice, who caught it and began sniffing it like an animal. At that, Sheila knew she had lost the gross-out contest. Wicked Alice was indeed wicked.

  “What was in those documents?” She asked, innocently.

  Wicked Alice laughed loudly . “Nice try bitch. You think I’m going to tell you that? I’ll tell you this, if I don’t catch him, somebody else will. Rangers will keep coming until they get him, so don’t think that eliminating me will solve all your problems. It’ll make them worse.”

  It was Sheila’s turn to laugh. She laughed long and hard, hoping to plant a seed of doubt. Let the mind games begin.

  “You have no idea what you have gotten yourself into, Alice. My friends are going to kick your fat ass.”

  She shouldn’t have used fat and ass in the same sentence. Wicked Alice was sensitive about one thing; her ass. She drew back her ham-hock of an arm and punched Sheila in the solar plexus, doubling her over as she gasped for air.

  “Better watch your mouth. I mean it you skinny cunt. You mention my ass again, and you won’t see tomorrow.”

  Sheila covered her grin with a groan. It worked, she had gotten inside Wicked Alice’s head. Alice kept glancing over her shoulder, trying to see if in fact she did have a fat ass.

  In spite of the pain, Sheila was enjoying herself.

  “What kind of shampoo do you use? You hair is stringy, lacking body, you could use a trim, too. Your split ends are showing.”

  Alice came alive. “Is it? I just washed it. You think it’s stringy?”

  Wicked Alice was off her game. She suddenly found herself defending her image instead of taking care of business. Girl talk was cathartic, she found herself wanting more.

  “Do you think I chose the right color for my hair?”

  “I think it looks great,” Sheila said it sincerely. She surprised herself.

  “You do? Thank you so much, I’ve been worried about that ever since I colored it.”

  “We women have to take care of each other.” Sheila winked, then blushed for doing so. Little did she know that she had paid Wicked Alice the greatest possible compliment; she had called her a woman.

  Wicked Alice dropped her guard completely. Her voice rose a few octaves. “That’s very nice of you to say.” She actually sounded like a woman.

  “As a matter of fact, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She smiled sincerely for the first time. A yellow smile to be sure but a smile nonetheless.

  Sheila had her where she wanted her. Now, she had to be patient and wait for her opportunity to strike.

  #

  Amber was jarred awake by a foul odor, it took her a few moments to realize that she was the source of the choking bouquet. The dried slime from the swamp covered her body like a fungus. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she discovered that she was in a corrugated tube used for drainage. She remembered crawling in it after dark, seeking security more than comfort. She felt rested, hungry and thirsty; then she moved. Excruciating pain in her rib cage stole her breath. Regardless, she had to get out of the pipe and into the sun to warm herself. She hopped forward on her knees using one hand for balance, cushioning her ribs with the other. She thought about how Redwing managed to move in spite of his amputated leg. She would have to copy his technique. It was an amusing notion, and progress came at great expense. The pain forced her to take short breaths and shorter hops.

  She kept moving toward the sunshine wondering how long she had been sleeping. Had she been missed? Were they looking for her or were they all dead? What about the hulk? Where was he? Was he waiting for her? Probably not. He had thrown her away. Time to get out of this mess. She purposely breathed through her mouth, unable to tolerate the powerful odors that assaulted her each time she disturbed the muck covering the bottom of the culvert.

  She stopped at the mouth of the pipe, listening for any activity. She could see the ledge from whence she had been thrown, then she shuddered at the sight of the hulk sitting near the prison-cabinet that she had shared with Sheila. The hulk appeared to be talking. Amber cupped her ears, held her breath and listened. She heard “Bullshit.” She was sure it was Sheila’s voice. Her heart soared; Sheila was alive. That was the motivation she needed to attempt a rescue.

  Amber waited for the hulk to look away so she could move without being seen. She was rewarded instantly. The hulk was smiling. Amber imagined she was probably torturing Sheila. Time to go break up the party. She crawled from the pipe and shuffled behind a nearby Willow tree, the branches created an umbrella of cover. She couldn’t stand her swamped clothes any longer. She stripped down to her sports bra and boxer shorts then peed before hanging her clotted clothes on some branches to air out and dry. She broke trail through the surrounding Buckthorn, suffering silently as the barbs clawed her flesh. She emerged from the brush, finding herself on a well worn trail. She squatted, resting. She thought of her hat. It would be handy right now. She must have lost it when she was captured. It had to be in the woods near the rear of the warehouse. Where was the warehouse? She had no idea. Something startled her, the pain associated with the sudden movement almost caused her to pass out. She clapped a hand over her mouth and bit down on the flesh of her palm to stifle her scream. Something was brushing against her leg. She looked; Redwing was beside her wagging his tail.

  “Redwing,” she whispered excitedly, “How did you find me, boy? Oh you are a good boy, yes you are. You want to help me? You do? Good boy.” She tussled tenderly with the dog, combing his short, thick hair with her fingers, grateful to have a companion. He was warm. She hugged him close, stealing his warmth while thinking about her next move. Whatever it was, it would be painfully slow. She knew she couldn’t control Redwing. If he could distract the hulk, just for a moment, she might have a chance. Still, she needed a weapon.

  She followed the trail as it wound around the unfinished dome, skirting the edge of the loathsome quarry. Through the thick underbrush she caught glimpses of the hulk every now and then. It was fussing with its hair. Amber was amused until she got close enough to view the big picture. The hulk was sitting on the metal cabinet while Sheila brushed its long hair. Are you kidding me? The hulk is a hippie? Could be a woman...a very large woman...she was having a hard time believing what she was seeing. As she crept forward, Redwing heard the voices, he tried to break and run but Amber held him back.

  “Not yet, boy.” She whispered. Redwing didn’t understand that or any other command. He heard Sheila’s voice again and barked several times...here we are... before lunging free from Amber’s grip. The th
ree-legged assault was underwhelming and poorly timed. The hulk remained seated, reluctant to abandon her impromptu make-over, she cast a cursory glance at the dog and turned away, unimpressed. As she turned, half-naked Amber came out of the brush carrying a large granite stone. Sheila, dopy from lack of sleep, water and food understood that this was her opportunity to settle up with Wicked Alice, but given her depleted condition she doubted her ability to overpower her captor. She hesitated, watching Amber’s rescue attempt with trepidation.

  Wicked Alice followed Sheila’s line of vision. It was then that she saw half-naked Amber sneaking toward her. She tried unsuccessfully to extract her 38.Special from a too tight holster sandwiched inside her jacket. Sheila saw the butt of the pistol in Wicked Alice’s hand and understood that it was now or never. A rush of adrenaline gave her the boost she needed. She reached for the rope that had been cut from her wrists. It was a bit thick for a garrote but it was all she had. She wrapped the ends around each fist leaving enough rope to loop around Wicked Alice’s thick neck. Now. With a quick motion she looped it over the freshly brushed hair and held it tight against Wicked Alice’s Adam’s apple, she put her knee in the small of her back and pulled on the line like she was landing a hump-backed whale. The battle began in earnest. Wicked Alice stood up, struggling with the object around her neck as she whipped her hips from side to side like a hula hoop champion in an effort to sling Sheila from her perch. Sheila’s eyes were blazing. Both knees were planted, her hands turned red as she twisted the rope drawing it tighter and tighter, slowly suffocating her foe. For Wicked Alice, there was no getting away from the fire. Several moments later Wicked Alice gave up the ghost. Her eyes turned inward as she fell to the ground somehow activating the shock collar.

  Sheila’s brief outburst of pain and surprise was quieted by the current that surged through her, contracting her muscles involuntarily, she fought it but couldn’t resist it.

  Amber, fast becoming an expert Tazer blazer, recognized the symptoms of electric shock. She noticed the odd collar around Sheila’s neck and knew it must have something to do with the spastic gyrations. She also remembered Jordan’s words of caution. She had to deactivate the collar before she could remove it. She had to find the trigger mechanism. She began searching the lump that was once Wicked Alice. There was nothing in her hands...she might be laying on it. She tried to move the two-hundred and ninety pound mass with her bodyweight. No luck. She braced her legs against a boulder, pressing her back against the blob, she pushed and screamed as her cracked ribs compressed. She kept pushing and screaming until she finally managed to roll ex-Wicked Alice on her side which released the pressure on the activation switch stashed in her pocket.