“Where,” the Lieutenant was cut short with a hard pressing of the Glock’s nozzle.
“Don’t fucking speak,” the man ordered Wilkes to remain quiet.
Wilkes acknowledged the Glock and nodded his head in agreement. He did however, plan an attack in his mind and bided for the right time.
“So, are you the only one here?” The man asked. “Nod yes or no.”
Wilkes hesitated.
Logan meanwhile was able to resurrect Nolan and garner a faint pulse. His impatience for the Lieutenant’s return led Logan to the intercom on the wall.
“I said, are you the only one on board?” The man buried the Glock deeper in the Lieutenant’s shoulder blade.
Wilkes took a deep breath in, wanting to address the group. But, he was cut off by Logan’s own voice over the intercom.
“Lieutenant, are you there?”
“Ah, I see we have more on the ship,” the man urged the Lieutenant over to the intercom. “Press the button and say everything’s kosher as Passover,” the man demanded. “If you bark one order, I shoot you right here.”
“Yeah, what’s up?” Wilkes returned the call.
“What’s taking you so long?”
“I’m looking for food.”
“It can’t be that hard of a job for a military hero. Logan joked.
“I ran into some rats,” Wilkes responded. He felt a sharp pain in his back.
“Rats?”
“Never mind. It was a bad joke.”
“I’ll say. Hurry back,” Logan’s voice was cut off by Wilkes.
“Hurry back?” The man prodded. “ More survivors?”
“What do you want?” Wilkes questioned his mystery attacker.
“Shut up,” the man insisted. “I’ll do the talking here.”
“Ever hear of Johnny Cash?” Wilkes rebuffed the man’s order.
“Johnny Cash?”
“Yeah,” Wilkes said. “Are you deaf too?”
“I’ll bite.”
“He had a song called ‘Don’t Take Your Guns To Town’,” Wilkes informed the man.
“And the point?”
“The point is, Billy Joe, the reckless youngster with the gun walked into a bar and laid his money down,” Wilkes said. “And he kept hearing his mother’s warning.”
“Which was?”
“Don’t take your guns to town Son, leave your guns at home Bill,” Wilkes recited the lyrics.
“I’m losing patience,” the man readied his shot.
“Okay, I’ll get to the point. On entering the bar, young Billy Joe encounters an arrogant cowboy who later begins to taunt Billy. So, Billy, like yourself draws his gun on the cowboy. But, the stranger drew his faster and shot the young kid.”
“That was a nice story. But, you serve no use for me,” the man pulled back on the trigger.
Wilkes timed his shot seconds before the bullet released from the chamber and caught the man directly in his jaw.
The man staggered backwards, and caught the tail end of a vicious uppercut from the feisty Lieutenant. Reaching down, the Lieutenant scooped up the Glock and headed back down the corridor to the stasis chamber to warn Logan of the intruder.
“Hey,” Logan greeted Wilkes. “What’s with the Glock?”
“It seems that we’ve encountered some extra baggage,” Wilkes said, reloading the pistol.
“Baggage?”
“Yeah, it seems that we’ve been carrying a stowaway.” Wilkes looked around the chamber, noticing Drake’s chest slightly moving up and down.
“A what?”
“It’s someone who hitches a ride,” Wilkes retorted. “You know like a water rat, or cockroach. Jesus, you youngsters need to brush up on your lingo.”
“Anyway,” Logan interrupted. “Drake’s got a pulse and all we need to re-hydrate the crew and have a good meal to regenerate.”
“Oh yeah, then there’s that,” Wilkes said with a sly grin.
“There’s what?” Logan demanded an answer from the cryptic Lieutenant.
“It seems our vagabond has eaten his way through our supply of food, and possibly water.”
“You’re joking, right?” Logan began to bristle underneath. He was in need of his medication.
“Nope,” Wilkes answered back. “So, we need to find a way...” his words were cut short by a deafening blast. Another vicious round caught the Lieutenant by surprise, as a mist of blood escaped from his chest from the close range shot.
Wilkes crumpled to his knees, teetering to the left. He loosened the grip on the Glock and sent it across the floor in Logan’s direction. “Kill the bastard,” his words spilled from his lips. Lieutenant Henry Wilkes then heard a voice whisper something in his ears. “I guess Billy Joe wins, Cowboy,” his attacker defiantly stated before he buried the clinching round against the base of the Lieutenant’s skull.
Riley’s Most Dangerous Game
Lieutenant Henry Wilkes’ final image was his late friend Commander Dylan Gordon. The white pristine picture mesmerized the stubborn Lieutenant. Gordon’s lips seemed to move with an effortless precision, just like the old days when he was barking orders at his Lieutenant. Wilkes couldn’t hear Logan screaming for someone to help him get the Lieutenant back to the infirmary and begin the Swarm technology on his riddled body.
Commander Gordon walked over in his Sunday’s best, a perfect complement of black trousers, a white shirt and darkened black jacket. He leaned over and took Wilkes’ bloodied hand inside his.
“Henry, get up,” Gordon commanded his Lieutenant. “We have some fishing to do.”
“Fishing?” Wilkes said. “Jesus, I’m dead.”
“Yeah, I know. It sucks,” Gordon deferred from the subject. “Listen, it was your time, and trust me, with what’s to come, be gracious you were able to bow out now.”
“What kind of pep talk is that?” Wilkes wanted to know.
“Trust me,” Gordon again hinted at the impending doom. “Athena’s crew will endure something truly evil, more so than your wily attacker.”
Henry Wilkes could faintly hear the ensuing pandemonium occurring inside the stasis chamber.
A hand gripped the downed Glock that Wilkes scooted over to Logan and fired off an errant shot. The bullet whistled through air, burying itself in the wall next to Riley’s shoulder.
Riley haphazardly returned the assault, piercing the outer shell of Donny’s stasis chamber and entered his shoulder, sending a spray of cherry colored blood across the clear glass.
“Do have him covered?” Logan asked Drake who came to his senses and was the one who interceded and grabbed hold of the gun.
“Yeah,” he groggily answered. “Don’t move another inch.”
Logan ran over to the wall, covering his head from Riley’s erratic shots. His hand scanned over the flat panel keypad, closing the chamber door.
Riley’s gun jammed, and all he could do was watch as the door continued to lower.
Logan witnessed the door closing shut leaving a divide between the crew and the crazed gunman outside in the corridor.
Riley held up his disfigured left hand, pressing it against the glass, smearing the Lieutenant’s blood down the glassy surface. “I’ll be waiting,” he said.
Logan couldn’t hear the man’s voice, the room was now soundproof. Logan turned and slowly knelt down before the dead Lieutenant. He rolled him over onto his back and gently closed his eyelids, offering some peace to the Lieutenant’s jarring death.
“How are you feeling?” Logan directed his attention to Drake.
“A bit woozy,” he replied. “What happened?”
“Your shell had a crack in it, allowing the mist to seep through over the last four years,” Logan said, helping Drake back to his feet.
“Do I have any lingering issues with my senses or body?”
Logan reacted a bit odd when Drake asked the question.
“What? Come on, tell me Doc,” Drake urged. “Am I going to live?”
“From what
I can gather, you’ve simply aged four years. Your entire body has four years worth of age collected, that’s all.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, you’ll need to trim your fingernails, toenails, and perhaps use a shave. Your beard’s quite extensive.”
“Ah, I’ll keep the beard.” Drake rubbed his beard. “But, yeah, I do need a trim.” He surveyed his lengthy fingernails, that had almost curled at the ends. “My feet also feel cramped.”
“Probably the toenails and their length. We’ll fix you up.”
“Who was that guy, and why did he kill Lieutenant?”
“Let’s get the rest of the crew out of their chambers, starting with Donny,” Logan said. “One of the stray bullets pierced the shell, and he’s hurt.”
“I’ll guard the entrance,” Drake insisted. “Can that chump get in here?”
“No,” Logan paused, “but he can disappear anywhere in the ship. We’re going to be fucked royally if he’s still hell-bent on mowing us down.”
“How’s your guy doing?” Drake asked the doctor.
“Donny’s suffered a superficial wound, he’ll make it.” Logan attended to the fresh wound.
“What about the others?” Drake asked about the remaining crew members.
“Once one pod is open, they all start opening within fifteen to twenty minutes of each other.”
“Anything you need?”
“Yeah, can you scour the ship and bring back some supplies and food?” Logan urged Drake to act promptly.
“Do you know where the kitchen is located?”
“It’s down the corridor to your left,” Logan began. “I think. In any event, you have a weapon, so don’t hesitate to use it.”
“I’m not a weapon type of guy. I tend to rely on my mind to get me out of jams,” Drake responded.
“Well, you’re going to have to be on your mental game today.” Logan applied pressure to Donny’s wound, causing the young officer to stir about.
“Lucky me.” Drake inspected the Glock.
“There’s also an artillery dock somewhere on this floor.” Logan pointed out. “If necessary we’re going to have to arm ourselves.”
“How do we stay in contact?” Drake asked the obvious.
“I’ll give you about twenty or so minutes before I come and check on you. Deal?”
“Yeah, deal.”
“Here, let me do that for you,” Logan said, gently laying Donny down and prepared to let Drake out of the room.
“The keypad is only responsive to either myself for the Lieutenant.” Logan took in a deep breath. “So, you are going to have play it safe out there. Another tidbit to chew on, the backup generator’s still humming along.”
“Which means what?”
“Which means that until I can restore full power, certain areas of the ship are going to be either dimly lit, or not lit at all.”
“I got it. Relax. If I can outrun, well, almost outrun a river of lava, then I can sure as hell play hide and seek with a stowaway.” Drake patted Logan on the shoulder. “Take care of my stick for me, will ya Junior?” He scooped up a small backpack and headed for the exit.
Logan watched as Drake exited the chamber and disappeared into the darkened corridor.
Riley actually embarked all over the ship during the four years, learning every nook, corner and turn of the ship. He knew the entire blueprint better than the engineers.
Riley’s confinement to the ship had subjected Riley to a gradual erosion of his mental facilities. If by any stretch of the imagination Riley was a bit off the center of the compass during his grudge match with Senator Perry, he was completely off the kilter at this juncture in time.
Roaming about the corridors, Riley knew exactly where he wanted to go. The artillery dock held all of the ship’s weaponry, from guns, explosives, grenades, to plasma shooters. He inspected all of the weapons and chose each one with careful precision. He ran his disturbed hand across the cabinets, sporting a childish grin. “Now, which one shall I experiment with,” he whispered while caressing the Dockery double-gauge shotgun. Which was named after its founder, Neider Dockery, a famous inventor of various weapons for the military and consuming public} “Come to Papa.” Riley loaded up endless amounts of ammunition, and a secondary weapon, the plasma shooter.
Riley, now fully stocked, shuffled over to the next room and grabbed an idle black and gold spacesuit from the golden hanger. The suit, which had fit Riley perfectly, came with one bothering nuisance. The name sewn on the upper right-hand pocket was none other than Adrian Blakely, billionaire philanthropist.
Drake approached the kitchen and cautiously entered the ransacked room. Filtering his eyes to the dimness, Drake found the vacuum packed envelops of food laying strewn across the filthy counter. Green beans, granola, oats, dried peas, and dried carrots, {to name a few}. Drake heard the faintness of footsteps entering the room
Riley’s hand clutched the Dockery with an evil passion. The last known survivor of the planet Earth unraveled from the seams. His mind became mired in an unhealthy spiral of unethical thoughts and actions. “Come out, come out wherever you are!” He shouted to Drake.
Drake, with a slowed tiptoe, moved past the expansive stove, watching Riley’s demeaning reflection in the black obsidian colored glass of the stove’s door.
Snarling, Riley caught sight of the scientist and squeezed off a deafening round into the surrounding area.
Drake instinctively covered his head as frozen peas and carrots scattered about from the shotgun’s explosive round.
“Try to hide! I dare you!” Riley’s warped left hand pumped back on the shotgun and his right index finger triggered the next round.
Drake felt the round penetrate the marbled counter explode over his entire body, urging him to retreat back to where he was. Drake searched for anything to use as a defensive weapon.
Riley walked around the kitchen, crunching the frozen packets underneath his thickened boots. The shotgun rested peacefully by his side, waiting for action.
Kicking in the lower cabinet door, Drake found various sized frying pans, bottles of bleach and ammonia, and other assorted cleaning supplies. “Just my luck,” he muttered. His left leg began cramping from the procedure. Drake’s mobility had become compromised, leaving him unable to make an escape.
Drake reached for the large container of bleach and the largest frying pan, pulling them close to him. “I got something for ya,” he muttered, rising from his position.
“There ya are,” Riley said, reaching for the shotgun.
“Yeah, you got me.” Drake surveyed the area.
“You were going to leave without me.” Riley’s voice became agitated.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know who you are,” Riley said while clasping the shotgun.
“You do?” Drake tried to buy some more time. He had the bleach and frying pan hidden behind the counter.
“Your pedigree’s quite impressive.” Riley’s tongue rollicked around the corners of his mouth.
“Pedigree?”
“Don’t play blond with me. You are Dr. Nolan Drake. The volcano guy.” Riley pounded out the information.
“I haven’t done that television show in over five years.” Drake referenced his educational program. He admired Riley’s disturbed loyalty to the show.
“Yeah, I was bummed when they canceled it.”
“Really?” Drake played the game. “I still haven’t received that last royalty check.”
Riley brought up the shotgun. “Enough nostalgia. Let me ask you something Dr. Drake.”
Drake popped the cap off the bleach. “
“The United States government left my family, my friends, and my pocket of survivors to die out on that floating ice barge they call Antarctica,” Riley continued his rant. “We were told to migrate further south, everything will be okay.”
“I’m sorry,” Drake attempted to reason with Riley’s eroding condition.
<
br /> “I’m not stupid you know.” Riley tightly gripped the shotgun.
“I never said you were.”
“I know about the uranium deposits underneath Yellowstone. I worked the mines around the park.”
“So, you know of the nuclear winter that Earth’s facing.” Drake readied the bottle.
“I will re-take this ship and head back for the other survivors,” Riley hinted.
“Are you insane? It was a four-year trip here and another four back to Earth. That is if you even make it. We don’t have enough fuel to make a return trip back.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Riley pulled back on the shotgun.
Riley still was a good car length away from Drake and never anticipated Drake’s defensive move. Drake sent the bleach spraying through the air, turning the bottle in a clockwise motion.
Riley hesitated on firing the shotgun, his face becoming soaked with the devastating liquid. Screeching, Riley let loose on the weapon and clutched his face attempting to wipe away the burning bleach.
Drake quietly snaked his way next to Riley and unloaded with the frying pan, knocking him to the ground. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some manic depressive kill me today.” Drake continued on his way back to the chamber, leaving Riley rolling around howling distorted verbal obscenities.
Drake hummed a favorite childhood song, making his way back to Logan and the crew.
“Drake, good to see you made it back in one piece,” Logan said, eagerly welcoming back the scientist. “Any sign of our new friend?”
“Yeah,” Drake entered the room as Logan closed the door behind him. “He’s out cold.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, he had me dead to rights at the end of a double gauge shotgun.” Drake handed over the supplies. “I got some food and whatever bottles of water I could grab.”
“I appreciate that,” Logan unscrewed the cap to the Poland Springs bottle. “Here,” he tossed a bottle to Drake.
“I hit him with some bleach and then cracked the side of his head with the edge of a heavy duty frying pan. He’s not going anywhere for awhile.”
“That’s good to know.” Logan attended to Donny who was starting to stir about.
Wrath of the Carnelians (Europa) Page 7