Infernal

A furious barking erupted from the garage door as one-hundred and ninety pounds of enraged St. Bernard charged the man Richard thought of as the Hyena. The Hyena’s attention shifted to the dog, as well as his aim. Charlie was close. Ten or fifteen yards away at most, but it was too far. He’d be cut down before he reached his target.

“No!” Richard yelled. Despite the pain in his shoulder and ear he lunged to his feet. The Hyena’s aim shifted again to cover the more immediate threat.

Instead of pulling the trigger the man jerked forward as if slapped from behind. The arm holding the machine pistol dropped to his side as a look of confusion overtook his face. He lurched again, took a loping step towards Richard and then fell forward. Richard took a step back to avoid the heavy body.

Charlie, his charge halted, woofed querulously and padded to Richard’s side. Richard stroked the big dog’s head absently, staring down at the man in wonder. Two holes had appeared in the man’s back amidst the white and grey pattern of his arctic gear.

Motion at the open back door caught Richard’s attention. The woman stood there, pale and drawn. She was a vision in sweat pants, an old flannel shirt, and bare feet; a silenced H&K USP9 gripped in one hand.

“Prime,” she said. “Last…hope.” Then she crumpled to the floor.

Richard went to her side and knelt there, Charlie tagging along but staying out of the way. He checked her pulse—again weak and thready—then lifted her head. Her eyes were open but unfocused. She was conscious, but only just. Richard lifted her into his arms, his shoulder protesting with a wave of pain that threatened to loose his hold on the woman, dropping her back onto the floor. He fought it and pulled her to his chest. She rested her head in the crook of his neck like an exhausted child.

Intending to return the woman to the bedroom Richard started into the house. The roar of an engine out front halted him. He’d forgotten the Doctor. He must have escaped the Hyena’s wild burst of gunfire in the living room. He would be in the HumVee, attempting to flee. And no doubt calling in the helicopter with reinforcements.

Richard maneuvered his burden through the kitchen and into the living room, ignoring broken glass grinding beneath his heels as he moved to the couch where he deposited the woman gently.

“Hurry,” she said, offering the gun still clutched in her hand. Richard could hear the roar of the HumVee’s powerful engine but the sound wasn’t moving away from the house. The vehicle was either stuck in the ice and snow or not in gear. Either way he had a chance to stop the Doctor from fleeing and maybe get some answers.

“Stay,” Richard told Charlie and took the proffered weapon. He then turned and bolted through the shattered door. The porch was in ruins, its support columns pockmarked with bullet holes. Richard had replaced the old wooden columns with steel framed supports just over a month ago and fleetingly wondered if they had deflected rounds meant to take his life.

As his feet hit concrete in front of the house he could see the Doctor inside the HumVee, slapping at the steering wheel with his right arm and frantically trying to get the vehicle to move. The tires weren’t spinning despite the throaty roar of eight cylinders. In his haste he’d neglected to shift the vehicle into gear. Richard covered the ground between the house and the HumVee at a full out run. It wouldn’t take the man long to figure out his mistake and Richard would lose the opportunity to question him.

The Doctor saw Richard coming and began rooting around the immediate area of the driver’s seat, no doubt looking for a weapon. Richard yanked open the driver’s side door and thrust the USP9 forward into the Doctor’s face. Then thought better of it and jammed the gun into the man’s crotch.

“Think about it, Doc,” he said. “You’re already down one arm. That’s gonna make jerking off a lot less fun. This’ll make it impossible.”

“Please, God,” the man whimpered.

“I doubt he’s listening right now considering what you and your friends have done here. Now get out.”

“No,” a voice called from the porch. It was the woman. She was leaning against one of the porch supports, her face pale and drawn. She’d walked through the glass in the living room and her feet were cut and bleeding. Charlie stood at her side, looking from her to Richard as if to say I tried to stop her.

“We have to go,” she said. “Now. The others will be coming.”

“Shove over then,” Richard told the Doctor and pushed against his mangled left arm. The man wailed in pain, but got moving towards the passenger seat.

“No,” Richard prodded with the gun. “Get in the back.” The Doctor did as he was told, trailing blood as he went. He’d pass out from hemorrhagic shock soon if something wasn’t done about it but Richard had neither the time nor the inclination to help him.

Richard got behind the wheel, put the vehicle in gear, and drove as close to the porch as possible. He leaned over and threw open the passenger door. Charlie jumped in first, climbing into the back behind the driver’s seat.

“Watch him,” Richard told the dog. “If he moves, eat his other arm.”

Charlie snorted and bared his teeth at the doctor, licking his chops. The Doctor whimpered and cringed away.

Richard went around the HumVee and helped the woman into the passenger seat. It was clear she was running on adrenaline and pure determination, on the verge of collapse. Richard didn’t know how much longer she’d be conscious or what shape she’d be in when this—whatever this was—was over. He belted her in and turned towards the house.

“No!” the woman said. “We have to go!”

“One second,” Richard responded. “There’s something I need in there.” He handed her the gun. “I’ll be right back.”

He ran into the house and located the false panel in the living room that disguised the attic stairs. A firm push at the top of the panel released the pressure latch and the door swung open. He reached under the fourth riser and slid a latch with his fingers. The stair opened on hinges to reveal a small cavity. He reached in, removed a heavy backpack, and turned back to the living room.

He surveyed the parts of the house he could see. This had been his home since birth. His life was here. His history. He’d been a boy here. Become a man here. Despite his absence for more than a decade, it had stood firm. A symbol of family, strength, and peace.

Knowing he would never see it again, he turned his back on it and walked out.

Richard tossed the backpack on the floorboard of the HumVee and got in. He put the vehicle in gear and backed across the yard, the tires slipping briefly on the snow. He made a reverse u-turn at the entrance of the driveway before turning onto the main road. It was covered in snow-melt and icy, and though not specifically designed for use in these conditions, the HumVee handled it well. He accelerated to fifty miles an hour before the rear end of the vehicle started to shimmy on the road, then backed off to forty-five.

“Would someone…,” he began, but the woman, half turned in her seat, cut him off by raising the PS9 and aiming it at the Doctor’s face.

“Give me your RLP,” she said.

“I…I don’t have it,” he stammered. “Jefferson had the only device. We followed him…”

“Bullshit!” she said. “No one comes through without a portable. They’re probably tracking it right now. Now give it to me or so help me God I’ll blow your brains all over the back of this car and find it myself.”

“Hold on a minute…”Richard said, negotiating the turn onto Highway 36.

“Sophia, please!” the Doctor whined.

“…let’s just calm down here.” Richard continued. “What is an RLP, and would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

“I’m sorry, Richard,” Sophia said, her finger tightening on the trigger, “there isn’t time.” To the Doctor she said: “Last chance.”

As the tension in the HumVee rose, time stretched like a rubber band pulled taut. Richard noticed several things all at once.

Charlie, visible in the rearview, had been watching the exchange between the Doctor and Sophia with great interest. As the Doctor reached for a pocket on the sleeve of his beleaguered arm, the dog raised his head, his attention drawn to something beyond the man’s shoulder. Sophia—he had her name now, at least—was turned halfway round in her seat. She still trained the gun on the Doctor and was reaching out with her free hand to receive whatever it was she’d demanded. Richard himself had taken his eyes from the road and was looking at her in wonder. He’d rescued her from the mouth of the storm and tended her wounds, assuming her a victim. The violence of the past ten minutes made him question that assumption.

A shadow grew outside the vehicle, slim and swift. Richard looked to Sophia, perhaps to ask if she too were feeling as if time had slowed to a crawl, perhaps to just ask again what the hell was going on. Perhaps to just babble incoherently at the madness that had invaded his life. Before he could utter a sound the window behind Sophia crazed and her face began to stretch outwards. Her eyes bulged from overpressure as her forehead expanded and finally burst like a balloon showering Richard in blood and gore. Charlie yelped from the back seat and time snapped back into place as the burst of .50 caliber rounds fired from the EC635 light combat helicopter that had been stalking them since they’d turned onto the highway found their way inside the lightly armored vehicle.

Richard grasped the wheel to prevent a rollover and floored the accelerator. He wiped blood and bits of bone from his brow, spit a wad of something he didn’t want to think about from his mouth and squinted through the shattered windshield. The helicopter, black and threatening against the clear blue sky, raced ahead of the vehicle, turned, and hovered in place. Richard noted side-mounted M2 Browning machine guns, and something far more ominous pod mounted beneath the nose.

A line of fire traced a path from the pod to the HumVee. Richard pulled the wheel hard to the left but could not avoid the AGM114N Hellfire II missile fired from the BanaTech helicopter.

It struck the vehicle broadside, just ahead of the rear tire. The doctor was pulled apart by explosive force and Richard’s world went topsy-turvy as the HumVee was tossed into the air. It flipped over three times before crashing to earth, upside down, in the middle of the road.

“Hit it again,” the Hyena ordered.

He was aboard the EC635, bruised, bleeding, and highly pissed off. His nose was broken, his spine burning where the PS9 rounds had slammed into his body armor, and he stank of dog feces. To top it all off, his words were garbled from trying to speak without moving his broken jaw.

“Mr. Jefferson, sir,” one of the two pilots responded, “they’re gone. The Hellfire II has a thermobaric charge that incinerates anything in the immediate area.”

“I said hit it again,” the Hyena/Jefferson growled. “That bitch shot me. Twice.”

The pilots looked at each other and shrugged. A second missile traced a line of fire from the helicopter to the HumVee, striking the exposed undercarriage. Flames and shrapnel shot into the air as the vehicle was reduced to a burning shell. Jefferson found it painful, but satisfying, to smile.

“Good deal,” Jefferson said and patted the pilot who’d fired on the shoulder. “Now let’s get back to that house. I want some answers and we have a little housekeeping to attend to.”

The helicopter turned south and headed away.