Desert Assassin

by Don Drewniak

  “That I’m the luckiest guy on the planet?”

  “You may not think that after what I have to say.”

  The first thought in his mind was that she was having second thoughts about their relationship. His stomach began to churn and out came, “You’re dumping me?”

  “God, that was dumb of me,” he thought. Looking closely at her, he could see that she was struggling to respond.

  “No, Stan, that is the last thing I would do, but I’m afraid it may be you who wants to do the dumping.”

  Ling’s first reaction was puzzlement; however, his mind cleared and he was became fairly certain what he had suspected was reality. “You and Bill have a past.”

  “Has it been that obvious?”

  “No, but little by little I figured it out. First, there was body language. Subtle, but nevertheless noticeable. More than that, when the General first brought you into the comm van, it was obvious that he did not know you prior to your arrival. Then, at the first meeting, there was no question that you and Bill knew each other. It wasn’t much of a leap to figure out that he must have asked the General to have you brought there. Therefore, he had to have known you and known you very well.”

  Tears welled up in Henderson’s eyes. Difficult as it was sitting in the plane, Ling gave her a hug.

  As they were checking in to the hotel, Ling suggested that they freshen up, have dinner and visit a casino.

  “No,” she replied, “you are coming to my room. We will see about the rest later.”

  “Let’s run through the plan again,” suggested Fowler as he was driving the truck with the ATV in tow en route to their quest to find Assassin. It was left to the General to see to the immediate retrieval of Williams’ Ford.

  “The odds of my finding the meteorite were a helluva lot better than our finding Assassin, presuming it is still alive. Hopefully, if it is alive, it will have gone southwest into the hills after leaving whatever that was that vaporized. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on Morgan’s face when that happened.”

  “You want to get him, don’t you.”

  “Not as much now as when I first met him and he steamrolled the General and then used Alice as a pawn to get me to go along with him. Who knows, though? With his resources, I wouldn’t be surprised if our paths cross down here again. But right now, our only mission is to get Assassin as quickly as possible.”

  “Want me to drive faster?”

  Williams laughed and continued, “Once we get there, we pull a needle in a haystack routine, try to find it and kill it anyway we can. Then we hope it hasn’t already replicated. About the only other thing we can do, or try to do, is get a sample for Ling and Henderson.”

  “Suppose it starts to evaporate?”

  “Again, everything is based on hope. In this case, I’m hoping what we saw the first time was somehow caused by Assassin and that it won’t happen this time.”

  “Lot of hopes and ifs, Bill.”

  Six days passed. Each was spent wandering through the hills from dawn to near dusk. The searching produced nothing. Nothing is what they also heard from the General; meaning his satellite had not spotted Assassin. Drones were not used for fear of drawing Morgan’s attention. At dawn on day seven, Williams asked Fowler to work his way back to the truck, drive to Magdalena, get himself a good meal and pick up enough in the way of supplies to last another week.

  “Be careful, Bill.”

  Fowler returned during late afternoon. Included were a half dozen thick deli style sandwiches stuffed with roast beef and provolone cheese. “Not anywhere near as good as what I used to make at the Deli Don’s, but they’ll have to do.”

  “Thanks, Young Artie.”

  Fowler laughed, “You remember.”

  “How could I forget that story?”

  Between them, Williams and Fowler finished four of the sandwiches and then continued searching until sunset. As soon as they set up camp, Fowler pulled out a bottle of Merlot he had bought in Magdalena. “Go easy, we have an early start tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.”

  Nine days came and went all too quickly for Ling. The following morning TDY assignments came in for him and Henderson. It was back to reality as he was being sent back to Wright-Patterson, while she was going to Fort Belvoir. The only reason that Ling could think of for her being sent to Belvoir was its proximity to the General.

  “Damn the bastard,” thought Ling. He wondered how long it would be before they would see each other again. As events would soon prove, the separation was to be a short one.

  Another six days of futile searching passed for Williams and Fowler. Williams had decided to call it quits, but Fowler convinced him to give it a few more days. A week to the day from his previous visit to Magdalena, Fowler headed back for additional supplies.

  Williams spent the day searching for Assassin with no success. At 4:00PM, he headed back to their base camp to await his partner’s return. Rather than eat anything, he decided to hold off figuring that Fowler would bring back more deli sandwiches. Instead, he opted for a small glass of scotch. Just as he was about to pour the scotch, he caught a reflection from the sun coming from an object about forty feet to his left.

  Turning slowly, he immediately recognized the barrel of a rifle protruding from thick brush.

  “Do . . . not . . . move . . . I . . . do . . . not . . . want . . . to . . . end . . . you.” The voice was robotic and totally devoid of any semblance of emotion.

  Methodically, a radically transformed Assassin emerged from the brush. As much as Williams tried to conceal his shock of what he was staring at, it was impossible. Assassin was now the size of a large tiger and looked – with two incredible exceptions – exactly like an overgrown mountain lion. Gone were the jackrabbit legs, the tarantula legs, the sand-colored tarantula hair and the amalgam of assassin bug, kangaroo rat and spider facial features.

  Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of two powerful looking human-like arms and hands protruding from the shoulders. Forcing himself to assess what he was facing, Williams realized that during the previous two weeks Assassin had somehow managed to overwhelm both a mountain lion and a human being. What else could possibly explain its appearance and the voice? Apparently, Assassin was adjusting to speaking using human vocal cords and its victim’s brain. “Alice nailed it,” he said in a whisper.

  At that moment, Williams’ only two hopes – there was that word again – seemed to be Assassin’s pronouncement that he didn’t want to “end” him and the return of Fowler.

  Assassin came to within twenty feet and stopped. The rifle, a Winchester Model 88, was correctly held in both hands and pointed directly at Williams’ chest. Williams had no doubt that Assassin had bagged itself a hunter.

  “We . . . meet . . . again . . . your . . . name . . . is?”

  “Bill Williams.” The reply was given with as little emotion as was possible.

  “No . . . your . . . military . . . name.”

  “Major Williams.”

  “You . . . could . . . have . . . ended . . . me . . . at . . . the . . . beginning . . . you . . . did . . . not . . . unless . . . you . . . force . . . me . . . to . . . I . . . will . . . not . . . end . . . you . . . and . . . then . . . we . . . will . . . be . . . even . . . though . . . you . . . would . . . be . . . of . . . much . . . more . . . use . . . than . . . Fred.”

  “So some poor bastard named Fred ended up as part of Assassin,” thought Williams. He decided to try to find out as much as possible about Assassin. “Do you know where you came from?”

  “You . . . show . . . no . . . fear . . . unlike . . . Fred . . . no . . . I . . . do . . . not.”

  “That is unfortunate. You, that is what was in the meteoroid that has become you, was probably trapped inside it in space for millions of years.”

  “I . . . have . . . no . . . memory . . . of . . . that.”

  “What is the first thing you remember?”

  “You.”

  “When, t
hat is, how soon after you came out of the meteorite?”

  “Not . . . long . . . after . . . I . . . came . . . out . . . of . . . it . . . you . . . have . . . said . . . meteoroid . . . and . . . meteorite . . . Fred . . . knows . . . only . . . the . . . word . . . meteor . . . for . . . a . . . rock . . . from . . . space . . . what . . . is . . . the . . . difference?”

  Williams seized on the opportunity to give a protracted explanation before asking how Assassin in its then newly created form was able to detect and recognize him.

  “I . . . could . . . not . . . see . . . you . . . like . . . I . . . do . . . now . . . but . . . I . . . could . . . see . . . your . . . shape . . . from . . . my . . . outside . . . that . . . is . . . how . . . I . . . found . . . the . . . food . . . why . . . did . . . you . . . not . . . end . . . me?”

  “As far as I know, you are the first alien life to have come to Earth. To have destroyed you would have destroyed the greatest discovery in history.”

  “You . . . have . . . been . . . hunting . . . me . . . why?”

  “Because you are now viewed as a threat to human beings. Did you create and then kill the copy of you that we found in the desert?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was very clever. Why did the body dissolve into gases?”

  “I . . . do . . . not . . . know . . . but . . . I . . . have . . . something . . . in . . . me . . . that . . . allows . . . me . . . to . . . do . . . that . . . maybe . . . I . . . could . . . do . . . that . . . to . . . you.”

  Williams noted that Assassin’s last thought almost brought it to laughter. Almost, not quite.

  “Who . . . is . . . the . . . black . . . man . . . do . . . you . . . work . . . for . . . him?”

  “Do you mean the man wearing the black uniform?”

  “Yes.”

  Williams figured this was a perfect opening to once again stall for time. As a result, he gave a very detailed account of how he came to know Morgan.

  When he had finished, Assassin asked, “Do . . . you . . . know . . . where . . . I . . . can . . . find . . . him?”

  “No, I only know how to contact him by telephone. Why?”

  “Fred . . . has . . . very . . . limited . . . uses . . . he . . . would . . . be . . . very . . . useful.”

  “How?”

  “Survival . . . and . . . I . . . owe . . . him . . . nothing . . . unlike . . . you . . . can . . . you . . . telephone . . . and . . . tell . . . him . . . where . . . I . . . am?”

  “No, I have his private phone number written down on a piece of paper back in my house and I do not remember it.”

  “If . . . I . . . let . . . you . . . go . . . would . . . you . . . telephone . . . him?”

  “You do not want me to do that.”

  “Why . . . not?”

  “He would come here with dozens, maybe hundreds, of men and a vast array of weaponry. You would not be able to get near him.”

  “I . . . see . . . am . . . I . . . right . . . in . . . thinking . . . he . . . would . . . want . . . to . . . capture . . . me?”

  “Yes.”

  At this point, Williams pondered whether to try to see if Assassin had already replicated. He decided that was best left unasked for a while longer.

  “What . . . do . . . you . . . do . . . in . . . the . . . military?”

  Not knowing what capacity Assassin had to recognize lying, Williams continued to tell him the truth, as filtered as it was. He concentrated on his years in the Special Forces.

  When he had finished, Assassin asked, “Do . . . you . . . enjoy . . . ending . . . your . . . kind?”

  Williams was not prepared for the question. “That is both an unexpected question and a difficult question to answer.” Williams paused. “Do you mind if I finish pouring my scotch?”

  “No . . . I . . . know . . . a . . . little . . . about . . . scotch . . . from . . . Fred.”

  Williams poured himself the drink and took a sip.

  Assassin seemed to study his reaction to the drink. “You . . . enjoy . . . that . . . why?”

  “I never asked myself that. I guess that it is something that some of us are programmed to do, while others are not.”

  “Do . . . you . . . drink . . . it . . . often?”

  “Probably too often.”

  “Is . . . it . . . bad . . . for . . . you?”

  “Too much of it is, yes.”

  “I . . . would . . . like . . . to . . . try . . . it.”

  Not wanting to alert Assassin to the fact there was someone else with him, Williams offered him the same glass he had been using. Assassin cautiously walked toward Williams, all the while keeping the rifle steadily in place. Williams slowly bent forward and placed the glass on the ground. He then backed off about three feet. This allowed Assassin to move up to the glass.

  “Should . . . I . . . drink . . . slowly . . . like . . . you?”

  Williams fought the urge to laugh. The scene was absolutely absurd. Here he was telling an alien how to best drink scotch. “Yes.”

  Assassin took a sip with the glass in one hand and the rifle in the other. A minute later another sip. And then another. Finally, he put down the empty glass and said, “I . . . would . . . like . . . more.”

  “Do you mind if I have some first?”

  “No.”

  Williams slowly slid over to the glass, refilled it and took his time taking three sips. Assassin seemed impatient. Reaching for the bottle, Williams topped off the glass, placed it on the ground and moved about three feet away.

  Five minutes later, Assassin had polished off the second glass. “This . . . is . . . very . . . good . . . I . . . must . . . be . . . programmed . . . like . . . you.”

  Over the next twenty minutes, for every sip Williams took, Assassin finished an entire glass. When the bottle was almost empty, Williams told Assassin there was just enough for one more glass.

  “Do . . . you . . . have . . . another . . . bottle?”

  “No, I’m all out.”

  “That . . . is . . . too . . . bad . . . I . . . would . . . like . . . the . . . last . . . glass.”

  Williams pushed the glass over. Assassin had trouble picking up it and the rifle began pointing more toward the ground than toward Williams. By the time the last of the scotch was gone, Assassin’s eyes began to shut. Instinct took over for Williams. He pulled a hunting knife out of its sheath which was fortunately attached to the right side of his belt and lunged at Assassin stabbing him in the left side of the neck. Pulling the knife out without hesitation, he plunged it into the right side. Blood flew out of Assassin covering Williams.

  Assassin dropped to the ground. “Why?” it said while staring at Williams.

  Moments later Assassin was ended.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “HOLY SHIT!” EXCLAIMED FOWLER upon his return. There was Assassin dead on the ground and Williams soaked in blood sitting beside it.

  “Give me the Merlot,” said Williams.

  Fowler opened one of three bottles he had bought and handed it to his partner. Williams picked up the scotch glass from the ground, cleaned it using a sleeve from his shirt, filled it and began to drink the wine.

  Neither said a word for the next ten minutes. Finally, Williams looked at Fowler and said, “He wasn’t a bad guy.”

  Fowler wanted to laugh, but he didn’t dare. “Are you okay, Bill?”

  “Why, don’t I look okay?”

  “Well, other than the fact that you are sitting in a pool of blood and soaked to your head in it and you are next to a monster-sized, dead mountain lion which has two arms, you look great.”

  That seemed to snap Williams out of it. Fowler pulled Williams up and said, “Now get those goddamn clothes off and get in the creek.”

  “Damn, the water was cold,” said Williams as he toweled himself off. Once he had put on a fresh change of clothes, he told Fowler that their next task was to get Assassin back to the truck.

  “You gonna carry it?” asked Fowler.

 
“Wise ass. We’ll put it on the ATV and bring it to the truck. We’ll make one more trip back here, pick up our gear and get the hell out of Dodge.”

  “Your buddy must weigh five hundred pounds and it’s dead weight.”

  “So?”

  Two hours later the truck bed was packed with Assassin and the gear.

  “One thing left to do,” said Williams. “Wipe down the ATV and the trailer. We’ll take them to a clearing a good twenty miles from here and torch them.”

  Fowler took the wheel. “Not a mile over the speed limit. We don’t need to try to explain our cargo to a trooper,” cautioned Williams.

  “You ready for the sandwiches I brought back?”

  “Yah, thanks.”

  Once they were underway, Fowler asked what was next.

  “Once we get through Magdalena, I’ll call the General and let him figure it out. Sometime tomorrow you’ll be having a steak and Chicken Killer Barley Wine Ale at Killer Two’s Diner.”

  “You’re not planning to give me any scotch, are you?”

  Williams came close to coughing up the the part of the sandwich he was chewing on. “No,” he laughed, “unless you saying something insulting about the Killer’s wrestling stuff.”

  “Good evening, General.”

  “Good evening, my ass. It’s well after midnight here, Bill.”

  “We’ve got a present for you.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve found Assassin?”

  “Better than that. Fowler and I have him in the back of the pick-up as we’re driving on Route 60 between Magdalena and Socorro.”

  “Dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “You killed it?”

  “We killed it.”

  Fowler yelled as loud as he could, “That’s pure crap, General. Williams got Assassin drunk on a bottle of scotch and then had his way with it.”

  “Can’t I get a straight answer?”

  “You need to get it off our hands,” said Williams. “Can you get a truck out of White Sands or Kirtland loaded with ice?”

  “Is it decomposing like the first one.”

  “No, appears to be a normal rate.”