Max Ryker- The End Begins

by David Wayne

  “If I bounce, it will break.” She was beginning to panic, which was no good.

  “Sister, don’t panic—”

  “Don’t tell me not to panic. I’m stuck! Oh, no…”

  “Just bounce a little, and it will come unstuck. The cable’s rusty, and you didn’t jump hard enough. You can’t hold on all day. Bounce.”

  Finally, she started bouncing, and the trolley moved forward slightly. As she got more confident, she bounced more vigorously. Now, instead of moving inches, it broke free and slid a good ten feet but then became stuck again. She was dangling there, about halfway across.

  “Why is it sagging so much?”

  I couldn’t hear her well from this distance. “No big deal. This time, bounce as hard as you can, and you’ll zip the rest of the way across.” Man, this was a nightmare.

  “Are you sure it won’t break, Max? Promise me?”

  “I swear it won’t break. It can hold two elephants. Bounce with everything you’ve got.” Finally, she did.

  Bounce, bounce, bounce…

  Pop!

  That didn’t sound good. Then I heard another loud noise.

  Snap!

  Then I heard what I wished I didn’t hear.

  Ker-plunk!

  Damn! The cable had broken, and Sister was in the drink.

  Chapter 32

  Instantly, my mind went to work. It was at least an eight-foot hurdle outward to clear the trees on the embankment, trees that had previously been cut down by camp staff. This area was not intended to be a jump-off down into the river. If I didn’t leap out far enough, I could easily become impaled by a tree branch. Without hesitation, I removed my backpack and slung it far out into the stream. I backed up a good ten paces and ran like hell, jumping and pushing outward at the very last second. I swung my arms to aid my propulsion, hoping to feel the cool splash of water and not the bitter hurt of a stick protruding through my guts.

  Splash!

  I hit the water but didn’t touch bottom; it was a deep stream. I surfaced swiftly, wiping water from my eyes, and looked around for the sister. I could see her arms flailing about, her head bobbing just above the water’s surface. She was yelling frantically for help.

  I dove under, swimming hard with the current, paddling my feet and arms with all my strength. When I surfaced again, I was within ten feet of her. She was screaming now, panic stricken, and looked to be sucking in a lot of water.

  Fortunately, she had swapped one of the triplets’ backpacks for her own. Theirs were rugged and watertight, which now acted as a float—not enough to completely hold her weight, but it was helping. I dove under again, and this time I ran smack into her, taking a good hard kick in the chest—followed by a solid elbow to the nose. I came up sputtering water; her cold-cock knocked the breath out of me. Before I could get oriented, she leaped onto me, her weight pushing us both under before I could get a full gulp of breath. I almost panicked; my God, she was going to drown us both. With great effort, I pried her loose. I tried to kick away, desperately needing air. I made it to the surface and breathed in a deep breath of life. I wasn’t out two seconds when she leapt forward, reaching for my neck. This time I was ready.

  I kicked her in the stomach, the water reducing the thrust to more of a hard push. The force pushed her one way and me the other. Immediately, she started splashing back toward me, fear and adrenaline driving her actions. I dove deep, swimming under her wildly kicking legs. I surfaced behind her. She was frantic, hands snatching where I used to be, grabbing nothing but air and fistfuls of water.

  From behind, I looped my arm under both of hers, locking it around the chest while encircling her waist with my leg. “It’s okay, I got you. Please stop kicking. You’ll drown us both if you kick.”

  She calmed a bit, and I headed for the shore across the river, talking softly to her the whole time. When we reached the bank, she was choking up water, and I began pumping her chest. Several cups of brackish water gushed out. I followed this with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. For a moment, she lay still, not responding to my rescue efforts. I had to fight the panic building in my gut. No, this can’t happen. I tried again, pumping her chest, following up with mouth-to-mouth. She coughed and sputtered out dark liquids, then fell still again. I was about to repeat the process when her eyes popped open, and she rolled over, voluntarily coughing out more water. Then she sat up, falling against me, gasping for breath.

  I pulled free of her grip and visually searched the river for my backpack. I spied it stuck on a low-lying branch, about forty feet downstream. I swam to get it. I took my time returning, floating on the backpack, kicking slowly. I was exhausted. As I approached, she was standing in a purple, frilly bra and matching panties. I was shocked to see she wore contemporary underwear. I turned my head, realizing my gaze had lingered way too long.

  “Whoa, how about going somewhere private to change. There’s menfolk in these here parts,” I said, doing a poor hillbilly impersonation.

  “This stuff is no different than a bikini, so it’s hardly a big deal. Besides, you’re a gentleman. I’m sure you immediately turned your head,” she said.

  “Of course I did. I’m not a pervert, you know?”

  “Yes, but I know,” she said, leaving it up in the air.

  She knew I wasn’t a pervert or knew I peeked or both? She hadn’t turned around, so she couldn’t know for sure.

  As if reading my thoughts, she clarified. “I guess you could say I know both, Mr. Ryker. Now, if you’re done playing in the water, I’m ready to go.”

  I climbed out and started organizing our stuff.

  “Do you need to go out in the woods for some privacy?” she asked.

  It took a moment, then I got her drift. “No, these kinds of things don’t shake me up,” I laughed. It’d take a hell of a lot more than a close drowning to make Max Ryker shit his pants.

  “No, I mean, do you need private time in the woods? After seeing me undressed?” she teased.

  I couldn’t believe she’d said that. “You know, there’s something about diving into potential death, being kicked and almost drowned that kinda dampens one’s sexual drive. Not much of an aphrodisiac,” I said. “Plus, getting flashed with granny panties, which I assume all proper nuns wear, isn’t exactly sexy.”

  Chapter 33

  I woke up feeling refreshed, despite almost being drowned the day before. To my utter surprise, Susan was not up—a first. Usually, she was awake, pacing about, and waiting on me, even though I was always ready by six a.m. After yesterday, I’m sure she needed the extra rest. When she heard me clamoring around, a bedhead poked out of her tent flap. “What time is it?” she asked, her brain still hazy with sleep.

  “Who knows, sleepy girl. It’s late. Get your butt going. I’ve got breakfast.”

  She was ready in less than ten minutes. Geez, I’d had girlfriends who needed ten minutes just to crawl out of bed. “Where’s the grub, bub?” she joked.

  Joking was a positive sign. I had no idea what kind of mood she’d be in today, after her near-death experience. She was famished, scarfing down my scrumptious breakfast specialty—warm jerky soup and creamed corn. She ate like a man on a mission—or like a woman on a…on whatever it is that women go on.

  She set a fast pace, walking without talking. She did that when she was in serious-sister mode. That meant intense conversation tonight. She was thinking hard while hiking and would need to talk later. We’d moved off the trail and onto an old logging road. It was fairly compact and relatively straight. It allowed us to make good time.

  “Do you think we’ll make it to the Anniston Army Depot?” she said.

  “Not today, but if we keep up this pace, we should by tomorrow,” I said.

  “What do you think we’ll find there?”

  “No idea. Could be anything. I’d be happy with a strong military contingent and some real food. Could be overrun by Hogwogs.”

  “Then pick it up. Destiny awaits us,” she said, setting a gru
eling pace for the rest of the day.

  We covered close to fifteen miles, most of it on the logging road. The sister was resilient; I had to give her that. She’d drunk half the river yesterday and almost drowned. Today, she was running a marathon. At five thirty, we were a mile outside of the army base. We made camp, both of us exhausted.

  After dinner, I broke out the Jack Daniels. It still contained two fingers’ worth of comfort. Along with a half-smoked cigar, it represented the last of my stash. If I was lucky, both would be replenished at Anniston tomorrow. I grabbed my maps and kicked back for a nice, mellow evening. I’d study the possible routes into Anniston one last time, listen to the crickets sing, and enjoy a mellow buzz.

  Except that’s not how the evening unfolded.

  “Max?”

  “Huh?” I said, not looking up. Using my first name was her way of being sweet, which meant she wanted something.

  “Put your maps away.”

  Apparently, I sighed.

  “Stop sighing. It’s irritating,” she said. “You’re like a Neanderthal, grunting answers, retreating to your man cave the first chance you get.”

  What was she saying? Something about a cave? I looked up, and she was wearing her I demand we talk face. I set the maps aside and sipped some Jack. I didn’t puff the cigar. I mainly wanted to twirl it between my fingers. If I toked it, it would be gone. I flung her my I’m ready to hear you talk look.

  She didn’t bother easing in; she never did. “You saved me yesterday. We faced life and death, and you were there for me.” Her tilted head and raised eyebrows indicated she expected a response even though she hadn’t asked a question.

  “We worked together,” I said, tapping a drumbeat against the bottle. Suddenly, I was in the mood for some hard rock music.

  “It made me think about my life—where I’m at, where I need to go. You know what I mean?” she said.

  I didn’t. “Mmm-mmm,” I said, glancing down at my maps lying on the ground.

  “A near-death experience can really make a girl think, you know?”

  I’d had more near-death experiences than crickets in the forest. What I hadn’t had in a long time was a good steak and a blow job. “Mmm-mmm,” I answered, reaching for my maps.

  “Are you going to grunt at me all night, or do you have words at your disposal?” She was getting pissed.

  “Let’s talk tomorrow, Sis. I’m burned out.”

  She softened her tone and put on sad eyes. “Max, I could have drowned yesterday. Wouldn’t it pain you if I died not knowing anything about you?”

  Of course I would care if she’d died, but what did that have to do with knowing more about me? I couldn’t connect those dots, so I just stared at her.

  She touched my arm. “Something personal, Max. Share a private story with me.”

  Maybe I could tell her the PG version of when I lost my virginity. That’s a funny story.

  “But nothing sexual,” she added.

  So much for that idea. “I can’t think of one,” I said honestly.

  “Tell me about your father.” It was half question and half demand.

  That caused me to sit up straight. I was going to blow it off, but she had this strange look. Like this was really, really important to her. But I had no idea why. I took a swig of Jack and puffed the stogie—irritated that it was becoming a butt. The mood in the air indicated I should accommodate her prying. I held back a sigh.

  “He was a textbook, cliché alcoholic. A violent, mean, low-life deadbeat. Couldn’t hold a job. Barely supported his family. Sucked at everything he half-assed tried to do except for one thing—he was an expert with the belt and smacking around my mother.” I had to move the cigar between my index finger and thumb because it had burned down low, but I wasn’t ready to thump it. I finished off the bourbon and set the empty bottle next to me.

  “No matter what I did, it was never good enough. Hell, if I’d won a million dollars in the lottery, he’d be pissed I hadn’t won ten million. One thing was certain—no matter what, I’d get the strap. A good dressin' down is what he termed it.” I dropped the butt; it was burning my fingers.

  “What happened to him, Max? Where is your father now?” she asked.

  “Dead and in hell, I suppose. I lost a wrestling match when I was twelve. The play-offs for the state championship. On the ride home, he was drinking whiskey from the bottle. Totally sloshed and totally pissed.” I grew silent, wishing I had more whiskey and another cigar.

  “And?” she prodded gently.

  I could only shake my head. “Like I said, a cliché drunk. He ran a stop sign and we got broadsided. Killed him instantly. My leg was almost severed, and I suffered two years of the worst physical therapy imaginable, but I eventually regained full use of it. Even now, when it rains or gets cold, my leg bones hurt. He felt nothing, and I still hurt.”

  “You’re not talking about your leg, are you?” she asked.

  I didn’t respond; I couldn’t.

  She was silent for a few moments before asking, “Do you ever think about him?”

  I rolled up my pant leg, revealing a ragged, fourteen-inch scar down my leg. “Only every night when I go to bed and see that,” I said. We watched the fire crackle and pop. The embers floating in the air were transfixing, providing a breather to the unpleasant conversation.

  “What happened to your mother?” she asked.

  I smiled. “She ended up marrying a nice man. A damn good man. Smoked non-filtered cigarettes, loved old Beach Boy CDs, and put me in Catholic school. Never missed Sunday mass, even if he had the flu. A good egg. If it wasn’t for him, I’d probably be dead or in prison,” I said with a chuckle. “Or more like a major drug lord or a mafia kingpin or a—”

  “Got it. So, things worked out?”

  I paused on that, rising and heading for the tent. “To the extent that life can work out.”

  Chapter 34

  Anniston Army Depot was a five-square-mile facility that repaired, stored, and dispersed heavy military vehicles and equipment—jeeps, tanks, and serious mobile artillery. We’d skirted the outer perimeter, traveling south-southeast, and found an excellent spot to recon the entire base from one spot. I figured three possible scenarios. Best case, there would be a strong military community with excellent defenses, food, and real-time information. More likely, we’d find everybody dead. Worst case, Hogwogs controlled the installation. I hoped we wouldn’t find baddies driving around, shooting people with tanks and moveable fifty-millimeter guns. It was time to find out.

  The entry gate and main buildings were located on the southern edge of the compound, close to the east end. That made it plausible for us to see what was going on without scouting from multiple locations. We sat waiting for the sun to peek over the horizon.

  “The trick is to scout and find a good lookout tree, Sister. You don’t just shimmy up the first tall one you see,” I said.

  “You don’t say?” she said, not looking at me. “Like you did down by the bridges?”

  I chuckled. “You might be surprised to learn I’m related to Davy Crockett. That’s why I’m such an awesome backwoodsman.”

  “Is that so?” she said. “If you’re done telling me how awesome you are, the sun's up and the tree’s waiting.”

  “Somebody’s got the morning grumpies,” I said, heading up the tree and finding the perfect roosting point. I breathed in the fresh morning air, feeling like a nested bird. This high up, the view was gorgeous, and I set about scoping out the base.

  The property ran for miles, farther than my binoculars could see. The pavement ended about two miles north. Past that, it was just thick forest. I’d never seen so many military vehicles. Literally thousands upon thousands of jeeps and armored vehicles of different makes and models. Their names were unknown to me, but their purpose was obvious—war.

  I scanned row after row of warehouses. I saw no movement. I moved my focus to the barracks, scanning them for a good ten minutes. Nothing. I spent more time
on the common area—mess hall, showers, rec building. No sign of life anywhere. I scanned the entire compound one last time, its perimeter and surrounding landscape, before shimmying down.

  “Dead as a graveyard,” I said. “Nothing stirring, not even a mouse,” I laughed.

  Now the question was, how to get in? The galvanized fence was heavy-gauge steel, woven in a tight pattern—too small for feet, so we couldn’t scale it. Even if we could, the sharp barbwire at the top would cut us to shreds. The base of the fence was set in concrete, so we couldn’t go under it. The thought of pole vaulting crossed my mind, but that was stupid; that only worked in the movies. If we couldn’t climb it, couldn’t go under, couldn’t jump it, what could—

  “Max?”

  “Sister, please, I’m thinking.”

  “I know, but—”

  “I can’t think if you’re talking,” I said, irritated.

  “I have an idea—”

  “Look, I was trained for this kind of thing, okay? Now please, be quiet and let me figure out a plan.” I paced around, tapping my chin.

  “But the gate—”

  “What about the gate?” I said, taking a deep breath.

  She pointed over at it. “It’s unlocked.”

  “Huh?”

  We were about twenty feet from the main entrance, and she walked over to it, flipped the hitch, and rolled it open. “Voilà,” she said, waving her arm underhanded, like a magician does.

  “Oh…good,” I said.

  The good news was, the vehicles were unlocked. The bad news, none had keys inside. We did a thorough check—glove compartment, under the front and back seats, under the floor mats, beneath the visors, nada.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know how to hot-wire a truck, would you?” I asked.

  “No, but I’m sure you do,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’ve been trained for this sort of thing, up in Jersey,” she said smugly.

  “Very funny,” I said.