“Jumper.”
“What?” she asked as she rose to her feet, focused on the wetness between her legs.
“His name. It’s Jumper. He would love a bowl of water.”
“Gotcha. Let me know if you need me to look at that bullet wound for you, along with anything else you might need tended to.” Sally winked at Jackson. “Be right back with your drinks, fellas. And some chicken wings on the house for the hero,” she said just before she disappeared into the kitchen.
“I think she likes you,” Detective Chambers said to Jackson with that familiar half grin.
“She’s just being friendly.”
“I bet you get a lot of that. Friendliness.”
Jackson shrugged. “You said you realized how you know me.”
Detective Chambers nodded and rolled the sleeve up on his left arm up to his elbow, revealing a Corps tattoo on his forearm. “Ooh rah, soldier.”
“Ooh rah,” Jackson replied with a half-smile of his own as they fist bumped. “When were you in?”
“Same time as you, actually. That’s how I know you. We were in basic together all those years ago, man.”
“We were?”
“Yes. You beat me by two seconds on the confidence course. I didn’t handle that defeat very well,” he continued, his smile fading. “I still really hate losing.”
Jackson thought back to that day on the confidence course. “I remember that. That was you?”
“Yep.”
“I think you threw one of those metal folding chairs in the mess hall. Almost hit the drill master.”
“Yeah, that was me. Like I said. I didn’t handle the loss very well.” Detective Chambers patted his belly a few times and stared a hole into Jackson. “I’m still just as competitive. I’d say the margin would be quite a bit bigger if we ran the course again today. Unlike me, you’re in phenomenal shape, dude.”
“Got to be. I’m still in the Corps.”
“Really? You got out though, didn’t you?”
“I was out for a while and then reenlisted about a year ago. Ow!” Jackson groaned as he savagely scratched the mosquito bite on his elbow. The ring around it was wider and thicker now.
“That still bothering you?” Detective Chambers looked intently at the elbow as Jackson turned his arm over to look it over himself. “What did you say did that again?”
“A mosquito.”
“Doesn’t look like any mosquito bite I’ve ever seen. You need to get that checked, buddy. How’s that bullet wound? Looks better. Did you get it treated at the hospital?”
Jackson raised his shirt to get a better look at the wound site that was now sewn closed with brown thread.
“I stitched it up in the bathroom at the Walgreens down the street before we came in here.”
“What? You did that yourself? In the bathroom?
Jackson nodded.
“Jesus, man. You’re a beast!”
Detective Chambers raised his hand in the air and Jackson gave him a high five.
“No wonder you beat me that day. So you reenlisted?”
“I did.”
“I read that you were wounded pretty badly in the line of duty. Career ending. Mogadishu.”
“Read?”
Detective Chambers nodded. “Leatherneck Magazine. I get it every month.”
“Ah. Right.”
“Great story about what happened to you. Looks like they put you back together pretty well though. That’s some scar. Can I see it?”
Jackson raised his shirt up, wincing. Sally walked up to the table with the drinks while Jackson still had his shirt up.
“Nice tat. Whoa! What the heck happened there, hero man?” Sally placed her tray of drinks and a bowl of water on the table and touched the scar softly, tracing it a few inches, arousing Jackson once again.
She noticed.
“Sure is,” Detective Chambers agreed. “You’re looking at the battle wound of a real American war hero, Sally. One of the finest Marine snipers.”
“Oh yeah? You just get better and better! Drinks on the house then!”
Sally placed all the drinks on the table where they belonged and Jumper’s water bowl on the ground while she casually rubbed her butt against Jackson’s leg. He looked up to the ceiling as he felt himself become fully stimulated. The feeling passed, but only a little, as he scratched the mosquito bite again, groaning in pain.
“I’ll be back to check on you all in a bit.”
She stared at Jackson again and licked her lips before she walked away. He couldn’t help but stare back.
Detective Chambers raised his beer.
“What was your dad’s name?” he asked Jackson.
“Stanley. Stan.”
“To Stan the man then,” he said with his beer held high in the hair. Jackson tapped his Corona bottle against it and Jax tapped his coke.
“To dad,” Jackson said proudly. Melancholy.
“To Grandpa.”
“So how old are you, Jax? Is that one of those GoPro things?”
“Yeah. I’m thirteen.”
“Have you been able to record much of the trip?”
“All of it.”
“Cool. So you guys have traveled from Georgia and are heading to… where again?”
Jackson nodded. “Maine.”
“Oh yeah. For?”
“Why do you care?” Jackson’s edge was strange. To everyone at the table.
“Sorry. I get so used to asking probing questions and forget how rude it may come across when I’m not talking to a criminal. No reason, really. I’m just interested in your life, I guess.”
“Why?”
“For starters, what you did today at the gas station. It was amazing. Hardcore GI Joe shit.”
“You would have done the same thing.”
“I get paid to do that stuff. That’s different. There’s also your distinguished service to our beloved country. From what I can tell, you’re a heck of a good father. What do you say, Jax?”
“He’s the best,” Jax replied and hugged his father, who grimaced. “Sorry, dad.”
“No worries. Just a little tender.”
“Dog tags,” Detective Chambers said as he stared at Jumper. “On a dog. Love the irony. He’s military, right?”
“Was,” Jackson replied. “Retired.”
“Jumper, you said?”
Jackson nodded.
“Interesting name. How did he get it?”
“Jumping out of helicopters with me.”
“No way! He was a Paramarine?”
“Over fifty jumps including drills. Before he was...” Jackson stopped short. He had relived that morning in Mogadishu enough yesterday. He thought back to their first jump together instead.
“You ready, Jumper?” Jackson yelled over the noise produced by the Boeing CH-47 Chinook. The helicopter hovered 1500 feet above the ground as Jumper, less than a year old at the time, panted with his tongue flopping out of his mouth while Jackson patted his back. They were strapped together chest to chest for the jump, Jumper’s first.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you, buddy.” Jackson rubbed Jumper’s head, every bit of emotion he felt transferring into the animal. “Promise.”
He held Jumper tightly though they were secured together with an abundance of safety belts. There was no such thing as too many. Jackson already loved Jumper, more than he loved himself. His brown eyes melted the man.
They jumped out of the chopper moments later, a bond that could never be broken forged as they fell together back to Earth.
“Was?” Detective Chambers asked, bringing Jackson back to the present.
“What?” Jackson asked.
“Was what? Before he was?”
“Wounded.”
“Oh. Right. I forgot he caught a round as well. Well, I’m sure he was quite a soldier.”
“The best. Still is.”
“I watched the video just before I came here. Smart thinking, man. When you had Ju
mper bark like crazy at that son of a bitch.”
“I was desperate. The guy had Jax.”
“Are you still married to that looker? What’s her name? She was mentioned in the magazine but I can’t recall her name.”
“Jamie. Damn! This stings!” Jackson scratched the bite again. He tried to rotate the arm, but had difficulty. “Can’t hardly move my arm,” he complained.
“Well, you were shot in the shoulder a few hours ago.”
“No. Not that.” Jackson tried to bend his arm at the elbow, grimacing. “It’s my elbow.”
“You need to be careful with that. Looks infected. Infection gets in your bloodstream and you’ll need weeks of antibiotics. Could kill you.”
“I’ll have it checked out when we get back home.”
“What part of Maine you heading to?”
“A town called Seacliff.”
“About to close out my shift,” Sally said as she walked back up to the table. “Anything else I can do for you before I…” Her piercing eyes were focused directly at Jackson’s. “Get off?”
Jackson shook his head. “We need to get back on the road, Detective.”
“We’re good. Thanks, Sally,” Detective Chambers replied.
“My pleasure. Pleasure to meet you,” she said to Jackson as she held her hand out. He held it softly and moved it up and down a little. “What the hell happen to your elbow?”
She noticed that Jackson’s arm was pink in color and there were half a dozen small pustules within inches of the mosquito bite that had now swollen up to the size of a silver dollar.
“It’s just a…”
“Mosquito bite?” Detective Chambers asked sarcastically, finishing the thought.
“It’s nothing. How much do I owe you?” Jackson asked Sally, sounding irritated.
“On the house.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“We don’t get someone like you in this bar too often. It’s been an honor.”
“Thanks.”
“You didn’t eat your wings.”
“You can have them,” Jackson said as he nudged the basket of chicken to Detective Chambers. “I’m not hungry.”
“How was that Coke?” she asked Jax who was wondering why his dad wasn’t insisting on paying since they had had that talk about doing the right thing earlier in the trip already. He also wondered why he wasn’t hungry now.
“Good,” Jax said as he took one long, final sip through the straw. He grabbed a chicken wing and started devouring it. He was starving.
Sally bent over and pet Jumper one more time. Jackson tried to resist the urge to look down her shirt again, but failed.
“I’m staying at the Mosley Motel not too far from here. I’m between apartments at the moment. Maybe we’ll see each other again,” she said with a giant smile as she stood up.
She walked away and took a last look back at Jackson over her shoulder.
“See you around, hero.”
“Finish up,” Jackson said to Jax sternly and then downed the remainder of his Corona. “We need to make some progress.”
“Thanks again for coming back. It was great to see you after all of these years.”
“It was cool to see you too. Thanks for the invite.”
Jackson stood up from the table and held his hand out towards Detective Chambers. The fellow Marines shook.
“Ooh Rah.”
“Come on, boys,” he said to his son and dog.
“If you’re ever in the area again, look me up.”
“Will do. Look me up if you are ever in Atlanta. I’ll make my patented bacon barbecue chicken nachos for you.”
“That sounds awesome. I’m sure we will see each other again.”
Chapter 29
“Are you okay, dad?” Jax asked a few minutes after 1:00 a.m. Thursday morning as the truck drifted into the oncoming lane. He had been watching his father yawn repeatedly for a while as the Chevy down the interstate, the needle hitting a hundred on the speedometer routinely.
Jackson jerked the truck back into their lane. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t know this old truck could go that fast,” Jax said, trying his best to ensure his father stayed awake, while hinting his concern. Jackson said nothing. “You keep dozing off, dad. Do you think we should stop and get some rest?”
“I guess,” Jackson replied irritably. He eyed the GPS. “We’re so close now.”
“How far are we?”
“Few hours from Seacliff now. Damn it!” He shook his head fast a few times, shaking off his edge. “Guess we’ll get off at the next exit and turn in for the night. We can still see the guy by lunchtime and get back on the road home. Sound good?”
“Sounds good.”
Ten minutes later, Jackson opened the motel room door and allowed his son and Jumper to walk in first. The small room was not much different than the last. Two twin beds, a dresser, and a television took up most of the space.
Jax flipped on the television while Jackson rapidly pushed the down arrow on the digital thermostat, stopping to run for the bathroom.
Jax sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the television with Jumper lying down against the motel room door.
“You okay, dad?” Jax asked seconds later hearing the unmistakable sound of his father vomiting violently in the toilet. There was no response from the bathroom, other than more of the same. “Dad?”
Jackson slammed the bathroom door shut.
Jax shrugged and then turned the station on the television to CNN where a familiar face was reporting live.
“We have CNN reporter Jewell Hill joining us once again from Peterton, Virginia. Jewell, what can you tell us about this growing inauspicious situation?” the anchor at the news desk asked, looking at Jewell in the monitor on the set.
The dark of night dominated the scene’s periphery, though warnings spray-painted on the brick wall behind Jewell were unmistakable in the saturation of light from the CNN news van. Jewell had an uneasy feeling, as though that light was her best friend. She felt like she was being watched, but as long as there was light, she would be okay.
“I’m standing here in front of Patrick Henry High School, where sixteen year old Cheyenne Harper attended until she was killed by a local man, Kenneth Rally. Mr. Rally, a man of the cloth, was shot and killed by police days ago.
“As you can see,” Jewell continued as she turned and looked at the wall, “vandals have defaced the school with some rather interesting messages. Apparently, the artist has been watching too much TV. ”
Beautiful but ominous graffiti covered the red bricks, words and phrases that insisted the end of the world was coming. A single, yellow tinted, bloodshot eye stared into the eyes of the millions of viewers watching the broadcast.
“Disturbing,” the anchor said, nearly speechless. “Any news on the fate of the Rally home?”
“The house has been reduced to ashes. Neighbors report that a dark, unmarked van has been spotted at the house numerous times, including just before the home caught fire.”
A video of Gus and Will walking caution tape around the scorched yard played on the screen for the world to see.
“You can see the condition of the home in the footage. I spoke to the gentlemen you see on the property. They reported to me that they are with the CDC. You can see their dark van parked in the driveway.”
Jackson stumbled out of the bathroom, wiping the vomit from his lip. He sat on the foot of the bed next to Jax. He looked like he just ran a marathon as he focused on the new report.
“What were they doing there, Jewell?”
“Collecting evidence they said.”
“Of what?”
“They couldn’t say, strange as that sounds.”
“Strange indeed, Jewell. What are the authorities saying about what or who might have caused the fire? Was it those two men with the CDC?”
“I spoke to the Peterton Fire Chief earlier and he said the cause of the fire has been attributed to the st
ove being left on in the home.”
Jackson reached forward and fumbled with the television control panel, trying to shut it off as he threw up in his mouth. “Oh, God,” he said as he turned the TV off and laid down on the bed. He moaned as he held his head.
“Oh man. What’s wrong, dad?” Jax asked in a panic.
“I don’t know,” Jackson answered as he moved to the other bed and laid down. “I just felt… sick all of a sudden.” Jackson scratched at the open, gaping wound where the mosquito bite used to be. “Probably just something I ate,” he offered feebly. “I’ll be okay,” he continued as he threw up in his mouth again.
He couldn’t have looked and sounded any further away from ‘okay’.
“Your arm!” Jax stared incredulously at the elbow wound. “What’s happening to it?”
Jackson looked down at his elbow, having trouble focusing. Everything was blurry. All the skin was gone from where the mosquito bite was. The bite was gone too, leaving a deep open wound.
“I guess I scratched at it too hard.”
“Should we go to the hospital?”
“No! No hospital. I just need some sleep.”
“It looks really bad. And you are throwing up now. That’s not good. We haven’t talked to mom at all today.”
“It will be better in the morning.” Jackson sat up quickly, looking like death, holding in puke. “Today was…” He couldn’t finish his thought.
Jackson and his son stared at each other for a moment, both with the same look of misery in their eyes. They leaned off their beds and melted into each other for one of the tightest hugs they ever had.
“Hard.”
Jax finished his father’s sentence.
Jackson nodded as they released the hug.
“We never talked to mom.”
“I know. Work must have her tied up. We’ll talk to her tomorrow. Okay?”
“Okay. I’m sorry about Grandpa,” Jax continued. “And that the gas station guy.”
“Me too.” Jackson could hardly keep his eyes open as he laid back down in his bed. “I’m so tired.” He yawned the longest yawn of his life.
Suddenly, he stood. “Are you hot?” Jackson asked as he struggled to quickly pull off his torn up, bloody t-shirt, as if it was glued to his suddenly sizzling skin.
And We All Fall (Book 1) Page 22