by Dean M. Cole
The rear property lines of the homes on her parent's side of the street ran parallel to the airfield's sole runway. As the neighborhood's southwestern most property, her parent's house sat at the field's southeast corner, less than a hundred yards from Dad's old T-hangar. Having earned their name from an airplane-conforming shape, the T-shaped buildings were the country's most popular type of general aviation hangar.
Limping through knee-high weeds, she continued toward the maroon corrugated metal building. Sandy veered away from the central main doors. Instead, she headed to the front left edge.
Arriving, Sandy leaned on the building's corner. Grimacing against the pain shooting through her left leg, she fought to catch her breath. Dropping her head, she looked down on a dusty flagstone. "There you are." Bending at the waist, Sandy lifted the flat rock, revealing an ancient lozenge tin. Picking it out of the dirt elicited a metallic rattle. Lifting the hinged lid, she grabbed a well-worn bronze key and unceremoniously dropped the small box onto the ground. Reconsidering, she bent over and gently set the tin back in place, then repositioned the flagstone.
Standing, Sandy registered movement at the airfield's northeast corner. A dust cloud expanded behind a vehicle. It appeared to have just entered the field from the subdivision's far north end. When she'd first encountered the asteroid blocking her path, Sandy had considered doubling back to that end of the neighborhood to approach her parent's house from this side. However, that plan had evaporated with the appearance of her mother.
Still a couple of thousand feet away, the vehicle formed a tiny dot at the middle of an expanding ochre dust cloud. An inverted image reflected off the tarmac's shimmering heat waves. Morphing the car into the central disk of a surreal flower, the symmetrical likeness paraded an ever-blossoming halo of rippling pedals. It appeared to head straight toward Sandy. Disquieted by the vehicle's sudden emergence, she studied it for a moment, then shook her head in self-reproach. Stop being a paranoid jackass. Get what you came for.
Tearing her eyes from the distant car, she crossed to the hangar's side door. Thoughts returning to her father, Sandy grabbed the ancient lock hanging in its rusty hasp. Well maintained, the padlock accepted the key without resistance and easily opened. She removed it and threw open the door.
Morning light burned a hole through the hangar's darkness. Spilling through the opening, the light revealed a white wingtip. It was the right wing of her father's airplane. He'd had the four-seat high-wing Cessna 172 since Sandy had been a toddler. She'd grown up climbing in and on this airplane. It was also the first plane Sandy had ever flown.
Stepping through the opening, she ducked under the wing. Knowing exactly where to find her quarry, she didn't bother with the light switch. Tripping over clutter wasn't a concern. When it came to this hangar and his aircraft, her father was the ultimate perfectionist. Mom often joked that Wikipedia's page on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder featured a picture of her father standing in this hangar.
Reaching the back wall, Sandy dropped to her good knee. Groping in the darkness, her hand immediately fell on the item she sought. "There you are." Grunting under the load, Sandy picked up the heavy floor jack.
The mixed aroma of aviation gasoline, oils, and cleaning supplies reinforced her sense of nostalgia. With no time to reflect, Sandy hurried back to the door. Walking outside, she heard the throaty sound of an idling V-8 engine.
Stepping off the hangar's entry stoop, Sandy froze. Parked a hundred yards away, a familiar dark red Camaro sat along the airfield's eastern boundary. Strung behind it, the ghost of its dust trail still hung in the air.
"Oh shit," Sandy whispered. Without turning, she reversed directions, cautiously extending her foot back, toward the stoop's three-foot-wide concrete pad.
Suddenly, a hand clamped onto her right arm, and a raspy voice issued from behind her right ear. "Hello, Blondie."
Sandy dropped the jack and grasped for the pistol hanging under her left arm. However, another hand was already pulling the Baretta from its shoulder holster. Sandy clutched at it. A hard object jabbed her left ribs.
"Uh-huh-huh," taunted a second voice from her left rear. "I'll take that."
As the pistol slid from its nest and out of her grasp, Sandy quit struggling and tensed. "What do you want?"
"It's the end of the world, bitch," the voice in her right ear whispered. Like an ashtray dumped on two day old roadkill, the hot, dank breath on her neck wreaked of rot and stale cigarettes.
Stepping around her right side, a short rail-thin man moved to stand in front of Sandy. Pointing an intricately engraved nickel-plated forty-four magnum at her face, he glared over the iron sight of the cannon's twelve-inch barrel. Bloodshot, his sole visible eye leered between matted strands of greasy shoulder-length black hair. Blinking furiously, it sporadically trembled side-to-side. Having extensively travelled through inland California—or Calabama, as many called it—Sandy recognized the eye twitch as a side effect of crystal meth abuse.
With the pistol shaking in his left hand, the meth-head pointed a yellow-nailed right index finger at the man behind her left shoulder. "Me and Leroy figure it's time to take a little back from this here world."
"You got that right, Buck. Get while the gettin's good," Leroy said from behind her.
Buck chuckled. "As a matter of fact, my brother had just said how unfortunate it was these aliens hadn't left any bitches layin' around. Then, your fine little ass shows up."
Leroy laughed hysterically at that. Stepping from behind her, the same greasy haired Calabamaian white trash she'd seen looting the bank joined Buck in front of her. The younger of the two, Leroy had a massive burn scar distorting the left side of his face, something she hadn't noticed during their first encounter.
For a moment, the two stood grinning stupidly. Leroy's manic eyes, as well as Buck's single visible one, greedily scanned up and down her body, lingering on her crotch and breasts. Like misaligned hundred-year-old tombstones, the gray-edged yellowed teeth of their grinning meth-mouths sent a chill down Sandy's spine.
Leroy lifted the shotgun's muzzle from her mid-section. Resting its barrel on his right shoulder, he kept his right index finger on the trigger.
Buck hooked a right thumb at his brother. "Dumb ass thought you were the cops. Good thing ol' Leroy ain't exactly a crack shot with that thing."
Leroy laughed. "When I told Buck how hot you were, he said we had to find you."
Buck pointed at the Camaro. "But, by the time we got that thing past all the wrecked cars, you were long gone. When we found your crashed truck, I thought you'd gone to ground. Then ole' Leroy spotted that Hummer at the bottom of the valley."
Leroy nodded with idiotic pride. "Yep, I saw you turn left on the highway."
"Then we almost stumbled into that damn roadblock. I don't know what you told them, but after you left, they folded up camp. Thanks for that. I thought we'd have to give up the chase."
Impatient with the idiots, Sandy cast a nervous glance toward the back of her parent's house.
Buck caught the look. "Is that where the old lady went?"
Sandy looked away too quick. "Who?"
"We saw the two of you scrambling 'round that rock."
"Yeah," Leroy said through his crazy machine gunning laughter. "She was F-I-N-E fine."
Buck shot an annoyed glance at Leroy and then turned back to Sandy. "Hell, we woulda followed you then." He pointed his free hand toward the neighborhood. "But, there were too many assholes walkin' around." Shifting his arm, he pointed at the still idling blue Camaro. "We stole that fucker fair and square, and I'll be goddamned if some jackass is gonna take it from me."
His nervous energy boiling over, Leroy giggled and said, "So, we went around to the—"
"We found another way," Buck interrupted, apparently impatient with all the talk.
"So, where is she?" asked Leroy, not catching his brother's aggravation. "She looked pretty fine! I'd like to—"
Buck smacked the back of Leroy's he
ad, shutting him up. Shaking his head, Buck turned his attention back to Sandy. "You'll have to forgive Leroy. He has a thing for ladies with … a few more miles on the old odometer." Exposing the dingy remnants of his wrecked teeth and gums, he grinned and winked at Sandy. Glancing right, he added, "Don't worry, brother, we'll save the best for last." Turning back to her, Buck's lust-filled eye crawled down Sandy's flightsuit-clad body. "But, we're gonna fuck this one first."
Sandy's heart raced, she wasn't worried about herself. However, fear for her mother's safety now boiled up to mix with the dread she already had for her father.
Buck stepped forward. The gun in his white-knuckled left hand trembled. However, the muzzle never veered from her face. The weapon's cavernous maw looked big enough to drive a truck through. His right hand reached for her left breast.
Sandy batted it away.
From under the mop of hair, anger flared in Buck's visible eye as it snapped up to lock onto Sandy's. "Fucking cunt thinks she's too good for us!" Pulling back the silver revolver's hammer, he cocked the massive weapon. Raising its end, he jammed the cold steel muzzle against her forehead. Pressing her head back, he gestured to his right. "Now, Leroy doesn't much care if you're alive or dead. He's what you might call, an equal opportunity lover."
Leroy's manic staccato laughter sent another chill running down Sandy's spine.
As his brother's fit passed, Buck continued, the fire of his anger at her rebuff still burned brightly in his cycloptic eye. "As for me … well, I like mine a bit hotter." He emphasized the last word in a way that made Sandy's blood run cold.
Leroy stopped laughing. Absentmindedly, he fingered the left side of his face, tracing the twisted lines of scar tissue. "I know that's right," he said in a faint voice.
Ignoring his brother, Buck pressed harder, digging the muzzle into her forehead. "So, unless you'd like me to end it right here and let my brother have his way with your chilling corpse, I suggest you take on a more … cooperative disposition."
Pressing her lips into a thin line, Sandy nodded her head.
"Good, now that we have that settled, let's take this inside."
"But, what about the old lady?"
"She'll still be there, jackass." Buck said dismissively. "You can fuck her all you want when I'm done with this one."
"Don't call me that, Buck," Leroy said in a whiny tone. "You know I don't like—"
"Shut up, jackass."
Shoved backward through the door, Sandy tripped, landing hard on her butt and biting her tongue. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. Light chased away the hangar's inky blackness as Buck, close on her heels, easily found and flipped on the light switch. He kicked the door shut behind him.
"What the fuck, Buck?" Leroy yelled through the door.
Looking down on Sandy, Buck chuckled. "That never gets old." Then he shouted over his shoulder. "Just watch the goddamn door! I'll be out in a little while." Holding the gun on her, he scanned the hangar's interior. Apparently spotting his quarry, he stepped to the back left wall.
Seeing what he picked up, Sandy whispered, "Oh, fuck."
Leroy called through the door. "Okay, Buck, but don't burn her yet. I want my turn."
The can of gasoline in Buck's hands confirmed her worst fears. Sandy closed her eyes. She knew, if these animals had their way, not only would she die a horrible death, her parents would too. With every ticking second, Sandy felt her father's life slipping farther into the abyss. While it might be a silent passing for him, it would be anything but for her mother.
"Stand up, cunt!"
Sandy opened her eyes and did as he instructed. The forty-four's muzzle never left her face. She looked into Buck's eye. "I like the way you take charge."
His cycloptic expression shifted from hot anger to wary confusion. Still aiming the gun at her head, he set the can on the floor and fumbled with her flightsuit's front zipper.
"Here, let me," she said, giving him a nervous smile. As she slowly slid the body length central zipper down, his look shifted from distrust to hope. Shoving the two sides of the flightsuit apart, her large tee-shirt clad breasts fell through the zipper opening. No longer compressed by the flightsuit's confines, they now heaved with each breath.
The meth-addicted cyclops stared with unbridled fascination.
Sandy moved closer. The gun finally wavered from her face. As she pressed her body against him, he moaned, his rank breath boiling over her.
Stifling a gag, she asked, "You like that?"
His moan morphed into a hissed word. "Yes."
Sandy smiled. Sliding the one-piece flightsuit over one shoulder and then the next, she slowly turned around. As she faced away, her smile melted into a grimace of pure hate and revulsion.
With the uniform sliding past her waist, Sandy slowly bent over.
Buck scrambled to undo his ragged jeans.
As the flightsuit spilled to the floor around her ankles, its left side caught on the splint she'd fashioned for her knee. Undeterred, the pig grabbed her bare hips. Grinding his pitiful crank shrunk junk against her thong, he moaned again. No longer pointed at her, the side of the forty-four magnum pistol dug into her left hip.
"Yeah, baby," Sandy said. Still bent over, she reached between her legs. Grabbing the jeans bunched up around the top of his dusty boots, she drew him in tight.
He moaned even louder.
Sandy said, "How do you like this?" Like a long-snap pro-football center, she whipped her arm up as fast and as hard as she could. She felt a sickening but very satisfactory popping sound as the six inch blade of her father's buck knife sank to the hilt in the bastard's crotch. Bouncing off the inside of her forearm, his severed penis fell to the floor.
Having slipped the knife out of her flightsuit's leg pocket as she'd bent over, she now released it, leaving the blade buried in Buck's groin.
Convulsing, the man let out a high-pitched squeal.
Outside, Leroy laughed. Apparently mistaking Buck's scream for hers, he shouted, "Fuck her good, Buck!"
Wrenching the gun from the shrieking man's left hand, Sandy fell away from him. Spinning, she landed on her back and said, "You scream like a girl." She pulled the trigger. The massive gun jumped in her hands and shattered the air.
Buck's girlish scream died with him. The top of his head disappeared as a crimson mist haloed a geysering cloud of brain and skull. Reaching its apex, the gore reversed direction and rained down on Sandy. Then, the lifeless body fell on her. She struggled under its weight for a moment. Finally, a grunting shove cast the thin man off her.
"What the fuck, Buck?" Leroy yelled apprehensively.
Sandy decided that Buck had been wrong. That shit did get old. Still lying on the floor, she quietly slid her gore-soaked flightsuit back into position and zipped it.
"Don't burn her yet. I want my turn with the bitch."
Prone, Sandy aimed the hand cannon toward the voice and pulled the trigger three times. Twice the gun leapt, belching fire from its muzzle. Like white lasers cut through the hangar's wall, two new beams of sunlight burned through the smoke-filled atmosphere. The third trigger-pull generated a click as the hammer fell on an empty cylinder.
Against the ringing in her ears and her echoing breath Sandy tried to listen for evidence one of her rounds had struck home. After a few tense seconds, she received her answer. A new shaft of light burned through the smoky air. A blast of shotgun pellets dug into the hangar's concrete floor mere inches from her head.
"Fucking bitch, you nearly killed me."
Sandy rolled right, away from the line of fire. In desperation, hoping to find another live round amongst the revolver's six cylinders, she again aimed toward his voice and pulled the trigger several times.
Echoes of the hollow clicks bounced off the metal building's walls.
Apparently tracking the noise, Leroy fired again. A volcano of pain erupted in Sandy's abdomen. Unstoppable, a scream escaped through her clenched teeth. Like a deer caught in the headlights,
Sandy lay between the twin beams of sunlight the shotgun had carved into the hangar's atmosphere.
The crunch-crunch sound of Leroy pumping another round into his shotgun passed through the openings.
Paralyzed by the pain burning through her, Sandy closed her eyes, waiting for the third and final blast to cut through the wall and her head.
The shotgun roared again.
Her ears rang against the deafening silence that followed the blast. Sandy's eyes flew open. There wasn't a new hole in the side of the hangar. No new light beam had joined the other two. She did a quick physical inventory. Other than the fire still burning through her right side and her aching left knee, she was intact.
"Sandra?"
"Mom?" Sandy's heart raced with terror. "Run away, Momma. He's a sick bastard! He's—"
The hangar door swung open.
Sandy's heart sank as the muzzle of the psycho's shotgun slid into sight.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Through a rarely utilized fleet-wide EON command, Admiral Thoyd Feyhdyak ordered, "We have a Level One threat. All ships, commence firing, immediately!"
Without hesitation, every GDF ship opened fire.
Thoyd turned to his tactical officer. "We have to destroy these Zoxyth. I want the Galactic Guardian's main batteries to fire on any enemy ship that lowers its shields. There can be no hesitation."
"Yes, Admiral," the colonel replied and forwarded the command.
As he finished debriefing Captain Allison, one of the Zoxyth's shields started to fail. Several of the Guardian's batteries focused their fire on the failing shields. A moment later, the shield winked out. Under the onslaught, the ship instantly dissolved into bright red molten slag.
No longer held in place by a drive system, the debris surrendered to Earth's gravity, raining down on the carrier group. It bounced harmlessly off their shields then accelerated toward the ocean two hundred Earth miles below.
"Have the rear battlecruisers take care of that," Admiral Feyhdyak ordered. "If those largest blobs make it to the ocean intact, we'll have massive waves devastating coastlines around the planet."