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Dragon - DerVVulfman - 12-25-2008

Chapter Ten
Shocks


“Hey, Pardy!”

“Yeah, Chris?”

“Where the hell are we going?”

“How should I know? What diff does it make? Just keep us floating, okay? Okay! If we stay up here long enough we’re bound to find something!”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right... keep pedaling, kid... looks like we’re heading west.”

Moulty was trying to regain his equilibrium. They were too damn high. “Oh, man.” He was doing loop-de-loops inside his cage, involuntarily. “Can’t you guys keep steady? I think I’m gonna puke all over my seed treat!”

Pardy was pedaling angrily. “Stop criticizing or I’ll eat you! At least you get a free ride, Cupid! I’m the leader now! I’ll decide what we’re gonna do!”

“Oy, vey,” moaned Moulty.

“Let’s set down somewhere in one hour, kid,” Chris said. “This gets boring after a while.”

? ? ?

John Diamond and David Furfy were traveling in Diamond’s car. The security guard looked out the window, gaped, then stopped driving. He got out. So did Furfy. They both looked up in mute amazement. Furfy looked disgusted. Finally, twenty seconds later, Diamond spoke. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding!!!”

? ? ?

There was a knock on Becky’s door. It was Hunt.

“Thanks for knocking,” she said. She noticed he carried his tazer drawn... set to full charge.

“I wish it was good news, but...” he looked guiltily at the floor. “I think you’re in trouble. Let’s go, Fox. I’ve gotta take you to deck 8.”

“What’s happened?” She asked.

“I can’t tell you until we get there. I’m sorry.”

They arrived. Everybody was there-- the Genera, Roberts, Emerson and all the rest standing in front of something large, circular and white.

“Hit it, Emerson,” Hunt ordered. The private began playing a grand piano.

As Becky stared, flabbergasted, everyone but Hunt and the General sang... Hunt was cracking up standing behind her, while Roberts sang loudest of all.

[indent]“Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday, dear Dragon!
Happy birthday to you!”[indent]

Applauding her, Roberts and the rest cleared the way so she could see the vanilla cake, and its 18 burning candles. “Come on up! Blow it out!” the doctor said, smiling.

Becky incinerated the entire cake, flicking twice in one second. Now the soldiers had a nice pile of black ash to chew on. She stormed off.

Robert looked hurt. “That wasn’t what I had in mind.”

? ? ?

In Diamond’s car, Furfy took out a photograph of Becky. He told Diamond sadly, “If she’s still around, she just turned 18 today. Dammit.” He wiped his eyes. “And these... these bastards think she’ll go to war for them? Kill for them? They’re out of their heads. Becky would never hurt a fly. There’s no way.”

“That’s the kind of person who usually fights for the war makers,” Diamond said.

? ? ?

“Happy birthday, carrot-top, wherever you are,” Chris muttered.

“What’re you talking about?” Pardy asked.

“Never mind, kid. Let’s get ready to land. We need to get a bite to eat.”

“Thank God,” Moulty sighed. “Hey, wait a minute! Did we forget to contact Dragon’s sister? I just realized it.”

“We did not forget,” Rabikes answered. “We just didn’t do it.”

“Well, why the hell not?”

“‘Cuz Tracy’s got a temper that makes even Furfy look like Mr. Rogers, and there’s no point in worrying her just yet. If we can get Becky back today, I can unleash my latest practical joke on her. This one involves crabs. But if we can’t get her back, Moult, I guarantee you her big sister’s gonna hold every last one of us responsible. Pardy, let’s land this sucker. What’s that building down there?”

“Commencing Big Wheel impact! T-minus 5... 4... 3... ” Pardy snarled.

? ? ?

Roberts came to collect Becky. He was alone, but carried a tazer.

“It’s time for your second major field trip, Dragon. Let’s go.”

She sighed, “Do I look like a flying green lizard to you? She left her room.

“The VSO appreciates your cooperation,” he said. “Try not to worry. This assignment is different than the first. It's not what you think.”

Sure it isn’t, she thought. She stopped walking and said “Dr. Roberts, will you marry me?”

The doctor stopped, jutting back his head quizzically. Now or never! Becky thought, and whipped around, punching him in the gut and forcefully as she could. Startled at the sudden eruption of brutal Beckiness, he fell back into a line of file cabinets as she snatched his tazer. Down but not out, he shouted “Stop her!” to no one in particular.

Becky ran around the side corridor and was instantly taken down by Emerson and Pastula. “UHHH!!!” they zapped her side and legs. The setting was high enough to put her out cold. Her escape attempt was 9.3 seconds long.

? ? ?

She awoke in the VSO van, with Roberts, Emerson and six other soldiers. There was no sign of Hunt. She looked out the window, but didn’t recognize the city area.

Roberts told her “That was stupid, Dragon. Shame on you.”

Emerson added “D’ya think you can just run off every time you feel like it?”

“Where’s Kevin?” she asked. “Where are we going?”

Roberts replied “The General’s dog, while off the hovercraft, is on solo assignment.”

“That’s a little harsh, Doc,” Becky said. “What do you want from me now?”

The van parked. “I want you to enter that courthouse all by yourself...”

“No backup?” she questioned. This was unusual.

“I doubt you’ll need it. For your information, we’re in Minnesota. But time is short. You have to go into the courthouse in five minutes and be out in ten. I’ll give you the specific instructions in two minutes. Let’s just say you may not have to kill this time. That’ll be a random factor. But you do have to flame up, of course.”

“You want me to go in there. Alone,” she repeated.

Roberts nodded. “We all wait outside.”

Becky asked “What’s to stop me from just -- ”

He leaned very close to her. “The life of a very special someone in your precious life.”

She bit her lip. “You... you have David?”

“No. Your niece.”

Dragon - DerVVulfman - 12-25-2008

Chapter Eleven
Julie


Becky lunged at the doctor, but two of the soldiers were faster. They shot her arms with low-level voltage. “Aaaaah!!”

“Julie Clancy’s survival depends upon you following our exact instructions within those ten minutes,” Roberts warned.

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS!!” Becky shouted. “I WON’T LET YOU -- ”

The soldiers zapped her again, this time in the shoulder and hand. “Aaaaah!”

Roberts continued coldly. “Let’s have some intelligence, shall we?”

“Just do it, dammit,” Emerson urged her.

“Are you going to hear the instructions,” Roberts said, “or do you require further prodding?”

? ? ?

With exactly ten minutes left for Julie to live, Becky took a deep breath and strode inside the courthouse. Her brain was frantic. They got Julie. But how? Did they get her at school? At Home? If they have her, do they have Tracy and Matthew, too? She checked her watch. Nine-and-a-half minutes. Gotta hurry-—

“Hold it, miss!” barked a guard at the front entrance. She’d set off the metal detector. “Put all your metal objects in this box. Your pocketbook, too.”

Hiding her frustration, Becky removed her engagement ring, then fished her pockets for loose change and two pens. “Sorry.” Nine minutes. Oh, my God -- if Hunt’s gone solo, does he have Julie? Trying to act natural, she headed for an elevator.

Because of the ebb and flow of cops and lawyers on each floor, it took two more minutes to get to the fourth floor, and another two to find the courtroom... Five minutes. Please, God, don’t let anyone get hurt. Don’t let Julie die! There it is -- number 4077. Time to become a terrorist, Becky. Move fast!

? ? ?

“Why do I get all the weird ones?” asked the judge.

“Objection, your honor. My client is not weird... merely lackadaisical.”

Your client took his time getting here. He kept me waiting six hours.”

“Me, too, your honor. That’s just the way he is.”

“Tell that S.O.B. to stand up right now.”

“He is standing, your honor. He’s an eagle.”

“Then put him on a chair so I can see him! Will the defendant please rise?”

Becky entered the room at this point. Two bailiffs were in front.

“Slomo Bloodbeak, I find you guilty of wasting my time. Unfortunately, you’re really hear to stand trial for multiple counts of armed robbery.”

The defense attorney protested. “But he was never there, your honor. He never is. He’s too damn sluggish. Can’t you see he’s incompetent? Look at his face!”

“Objection!” Slomo said as Becky walked forward.

“Your honor,” she said, “Bridget Van Pelt for the defense -- ”

“What? I’m defending this idiot! Who are you?” said the defense attorney.

“I’m taking over. You’re fired,” Becky insisted. Now. She took careful aim to her right, and flicked on the flame. Bailiff #1's gun and holster melted together, only lightly singing the man they’d belonged to. “Oww! What the -- ”

The second man pulled out his piece, but Becky’s flamespit made him drop it. Gritting her teeth, she destroyed his gun with a stronger diagonal burst. The bailiffs looked at each other, each giving his partner a “you first” expression.

Becky ran forward, pushing the judge away from his bench. “EVERYBODY STAY DOWN! NOBODY MOVES, NOBODY DIES! GET DOWN! Thank you!” The judge, the attorneys, bailiffs, and the jury all dropped to the floor. Slomo just stood stupidly as Becky turned to the judge’s wall and motioned with her head.

Three flaming letters blackened the wall: VSO, each twelve feet high.

She turned around swiftly, facing her captive audience, and asked loudly, “Has the jury reached a verdict?” She gritted her teeth again for emphasis.

“Innocent!” three jurors replied simultaneously.

“Not guilty!” shouted two more.

“Let him go!”

“Objection!” Slomo said stupidly.

“Overruled!” the judge yelled. “Shut up, you idiot!”

“What did I tell you?” marveled the defense attorney.

Becky raced for the exit doors, turned and said angrily, “Nobody follows me -- RIGHT?” She tried to look psychotic, but didn’t think she pulled it off.

“We ain’t moving”, answered one of the bailiffs.

“Then stand by for further instructions,” Becky said, and jumped out of the room.

Slomo, after thirty-eight seconds of consideration, wadded towards the exit doors but couldn’t figure out how to open them properly. “Verdict overturned! Get back here, you plucking moron!” shouted the judge.

“Objection!” Slomo said.

“Too late!”

? ? ?

Two minutes forty-five seconds, Becky thought, moving quickly through the corridor. I don’t dare use those elevators! The stairs this time! Stay calm. You’ve got time. They won’t hurt Julie if you’re on time. Stay calm and you’ll make it—-

Dragon - DerVVulfman - 12-25-2008

Chapter Twelve
The Dick, The Twit and the Brat


“BECKY!” shouted a floating Christopher Rabikes from 200 feet away. She whirled around in utter shock, How the hell did HE get here? No! Not now! “Becky, C’MON!” He began sprinting upside-down towards her.

Becky bolted and ran down the fourth-floor stairway, determined to make Roberts’ deadline. “What the hell are you running for? It’s me!” she heard Rabikes shout in confusion. Chris launched himself off the south-wing wall after her, then ran upside-down one level, stopping briefly to monitor her escape route. He floated out the 3rd floor door.

How the HELL did SHE get HERE?!? Rabikes thought. Not that his gang wasn’t searching for her, but he, Moulty and Pardy were only in the damn courthouse for the purpose of a recreational lunch! He couldn’t believe his dumb luck when he spotted her moving down the hall. Now he couldn’t believe her reaction. Where did that crazy broad thing she was going?

Two-fifteen, Becky thought, scrambling down three flights of stairs, and darting around several people on the way down. “Please get out of the way!” Mentally, she cursed the bad timing of it all. Of all the times to run into Chris, why the hell did it have to be now? She looked up the stairway quickly. No sign of him.

Catching her breath, she jumped the last few steps, hitting the ground floor, then yanked the stair-door open. Running out, she saw him again -- this time sixty feet away. He’d just shot out the side door. Seeing her, he grabbed onto a handrail, ready to propel himself again. “Why the HELL are you RUNNING?” Rabikes shouted.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!!” Becky shouted back, and retraced her steps to the courthouse exit. Rabikes catapulted himself again... instinctively... into the opposite wall. THUD!

Hey! He thought. No flames? I thought I’d be toast! She’s talking! Way to go, Becky! The former police officer felt relieved. “NOW SLOW THE HELL DOWN AND TALK TO ME!”

But, the anxious aunt kept moving.

One minute, forty-five seconds! Becky marked, and thought Hold on, Julie! We’re gonna make it! Damn you, Chris! Not now! Not here! This is the worst practical joke you could ever play on--

At that moment, she decided to play one on him.

She was running towards twenty cops, all in a crowd, all in an off-duty group. Chris was gaining ground on her. Somehow she knew it. In a matter of ten seconds, he’d be around the shooting around the corner after her.

“Hey! Slow the hell down, lady!” one cop ordered. “This ain’t the Minnesota Marathon!”

Becky tried to sound helplessly pathetic. “Officer, there’s some crazy FLOATING SEX PERVERT with an eyepatch waving his... YOU-KNOW-WHAT at me!!”

“What? What? WHAT?” repeated Capt. John Silver.

Becky pretended to cry, but she was laughing inside. “His dick!” She ran as fast as she could away from the cops. “He’s trying to...”

“STOP THAT BROAD -- UHH! AHH! UGGH! OOF!” Christopher Rabikes barreled sideways around the corner and was instantly caught inside the largest policeman-sandwich of all time. Twenty angry officers slammed him down.

“Zip it up, mister!”

“Get your hands ---UFF --- off me! UHH!”

Pardy Hardy came out of nowhere (actually the cafeteria), jumped on one of the cops and kicked furiously. “LET HIM GO! LET HIM GO!” They didn’t obey. Pardy shot her head left. “OH, CENSORED SHE’S GETTING AWAY!” She jumped off the police pile, kicked a blue arm and raced furiously after Becky. Moulty Rodriguez was already doing the same thing, running like plucking hell on the floor in a straight line after his fellow mutant.

One minute, ten! Take that, Chris! I’m home free! Becky thought, actually laughing at Chris’s predicament. Then she looked back once again! Oh, shit!

Moulty and Pardy were racing towards her, and Moulty was gaining! The little blue twit closed in with terrifying speed. Becky knew using her flame against them was out of the question. Moulty was too small to survive it, and Pardy’d been hurt enough this week. Keep running! This is the last hurdle! Go for it! she thought. She couldn’t let ANYTHING stop her now. There was no time left.

“GO, MOULTY, GO, MOULTY!” Pardy sang.

Becky saw her two-ounce team leader fly past her and land on one of the metal detectors. With all hiss might, he tried to seize her with his outstretched left wing. It almost worked. She shot past as Moulty’s momentum crashed him into the wall. Fifty-five seconds! Oh, God!

“HOLD IT!!!” screamed Prudence Ursula Hardy.

Becky looked back and looked in horror as Pardy drew a gun and fired. The redhead took three suction-cupped darts in the torso. POIT! POIT! POIT! Rubbery blue sticks dropped to the floor.

Oh, come ON, Pardy, she reacted, eyes glaring. This was silly.

“BURN THIS!!” Pardy shouted and emptied her last two suction-cup darts from her gun. They hit Becky in the cheek and forehead. POIT! POIT!

“Hrrrrrrrrr!” she growled. Pardy ducked, only twenty feet away. The front gate guards were closing in. Becky turned around, flicked her fingers and let loose a large flamewall-- and lept right through it to safety. It tickled. Without a second glance, she raced outside for the van.

Dragon - DerVVulfman - 12-25-2008

Chapter Thirteen
Such a Bastard


“DAMN!!!” Pardy shouted, furiously. “SHOT HER FIVE TIMES! What the--” She saw Moulty running dizzily on the floor and ordered “Fly through that!”

“Hell, no! YOU fly through that!” Moulty shot back. He’d computed the trajectory in his noggin and it didn’t look good.

“That’s an order, budgie!” Pardy yelled.

“Forget it, kid stuff! Moulty don’t jump through no flamin’ hoops for nobody!”

? ? ?

Becky, out of breath, slammed her hands onto the side of the unmarked VSO van. “LET ME IN!!” she screamed. The door slid open abruptly.

As she was pulled in by Emerson, Roberts critiqued “You’re four seconds late.”

“FOR GOD’S SAKE! I DID THE BEST I COULD! SHE’S ONLY A KID! PLEASE!!”

“Calm down. Just making an observation,” Roberts said.

“PLEASE DON’T KILL HER!”

“Please then calm down,” he ordered.

“PLEASE--”

“Calm... down.”

“What have you DONE with her? WHERE IS SHE?”

“Calm down or the men will shock you again.”

“I can’t,” she cried. “Where is she?”

Roberts sighed, disappointed. “Dragon, I’m giving you an A-minus for the overall effort, but I really wish you’d keep your emotions under control. Members of the VSO don’t have the luxury of...”

“Doc...” Becky pleaded softly, sadly. How can he be so evil?

Emerson was staring to feel some sympathy. “C’mon, doc. Four lousy seconds. Let’s cut her a little slack.” He patted her shoulder in support.

“If you insist, Private Emerson... she’s in the hovercraft. You can see her in fifteen minutes, barring further outbursts.”

“Is she... is she all right?” Becky asked.

“Fifteen minutes.” Roberts stared at her coldly.

? ? ?

Lizzie was in her eighth straight hour of wave-monitoring when she shouted to Diamond and Furfy “I’VE FOUND SOMETHING!!!”

“About time, Ho,” Diamond muttered under his breath.”

“SOMETHING ABOUT BECKY?” Furfy raced in from the next room, practically knocking Diamond over in the process. The men had made it back two hours ago, and both were impatient, having little to do besides pace and wait.

“Don’t talk-- don’t--” Lizzie held up her hand. “I’m sifting info-- Minnesota -- CB police radio-- police officers notified - Saratoga station-- three... individuals chasing young redhead--” she squinted, and continued. “Disorderly conduct-- destruction of property-- several fires in courtroom --”

“Come on, come on, COME ON, what does it MEAN?” urged Furfy.

“Please!” Lizzie held up a finger to her teeth. “Three individuals caught-- one child, one man, one parakeet-- all arrested--” Lizzie’s expression grew angrier and angrier “--charged with arson, disturbing the peace AND INDECENT EXPOSURE!!! AHHHHHH!!! That idiot!” She took her hands off the television. “They’re in jail.”

“WHAAAAT?” shouted Diamond and Furfy together.

“Chris, Moulty and my... sister...” she seethed “are all being held for questioning in Saratoga County lock-up! Blast it!” Lizzie flared. “I knew they’d muck it up!”

“What about the redhead? You said ‘young redhead’!” Furfy demanded.

“I’m sure it was her, but details are sketchy. She’s not with them now.” Lizzie grabbed a sandwich and took two quick bites. “Fred’s still not back yet. You two keep an eye out for him. I’m going to get to Minnesota. I can get there in ten seconds. Then I’ll bail them out of --”

“HOLD IT!” Furfy spoke suddenly. “I’m coming WITH you!”

“That’s impossible, David. I can’t convert other people this way, just myself. Even if you drove, Minnesota’s at least eighteen hours away --”

“LISTEN TO ME!” Furfy broke in. “Whenever you molecularize, your clothes go wherever you go. Am I right?”

“Of course,” Lizzie answered. Though the first time she ever traveled this way was by accident. She was arguing with her dad on the phone about Pardy’s upbringing. Neither Lizzie’s mother or father wanted to continue custody of the pre-teen dirt machine, always saying that Pardy was better off with the other divorcee. In rage, Lizzie flared up. “If you won’t be responsible enough for your own daughter’s well being...” In that instant, she realized that she was standing in front of her startled father... in his house... ten miles away... with his phone still in hand.

“Where are you going with this?” Diamond asked Furfy, confused.

“Well, think about it!” the scarred cop slapped his hands together. “That means that if Mr. Changer here turns me into something portable-- you can take us both! I am definitely coming along, lady!”

Diamond smiled. “Dave, that’s genius! Why didn’t we think of that, Ho?”

Lizzie was uncertain. “Wait a minute. Theoretically, it should work-- but-- I can’t guarantee it. I’ve never traveled with a disembodied person before. You--”

“I’ll take that chance,” Furfy insisted. “We’ve got to find out whatever we can, and that means getting to Chris. Let’s do this right. Right now”

Diamond obeyed. Extending his hand, he spoke. “Handkerchief. Sixty seconds.”

>BING!<

Lizzie put “David” in her shirt pocket. He’s a smart man. That’ll be just enough time, if this works. Johnny, hold the fort and watch out for Fred.”

She vanished before he could reply. Diamond looked around the empty room. He touched his forehead and muttered. “Banana. Two seconds.” Nothing happened. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, thinking This is all your fault, you know.

? ? ?

Becky, Roberts and the others were back on board. The hovercraft had lifted off once again, heading further west.

Becky was looking for Hunt. She had a foul expression on her face. Roberts and company were close behind. She finally saw Hunt, alone, walking in her direction. “Hi, Fox. How’d it go?” he asked.

“Where is she?” Becky growled in a voice that scared even herself.

He stopped in front of her, grinning. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She flung her fist hard into his jaw. Hunt fell back, as she advanced, trying to claw him. “WHERE IS SHE!!! I’LL KILL YOU!”

The sergeant recovered, grabbing her hands as they sought out and found his eyes. “She who? Are you nuts, Fox?”

“I WANT TO KNOW WHERE SHE IS!” She tried to press her attack, but Hunt’s military training kept Becky in check.

“I WANT TO KNOW WHO SHE IS!” Hunt shouted back, then shoved her aside. What the HELL are you screaming about? You want me to take you apart?”

“WHERE’S JULIE?” Becky screamed, and rushed him again. He side-stepped, grabbed a handful of hair and forced her against the nearest bulkhead.

“WHO IS JULIE?” Hunt bellowed in her ear. “Keep this up, Fox, and I won’t be as gentle! You’re no match for me, unless you flame up! But, you won’t! You’re too smart. Sure, you could roast me, like Fricker-- but you’d be DEAD!!! NOW WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR @##%ING PROBLEM?!?”

Becky broke down, clutching the wall and sobbing. “I-- I want to s-see... Julie...”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Roberts cut in.

Those words struck Becky like a knife. Her eyes gazed at the impassioned scientist and felt her heart turn to ice. “WHY-- NOT?” Becky screamed.

“She was never brought on board,” the doctor replied.

“WHAT? B-But you s-said...”

“She was never even kidnaped.”

“Becky clutched her chest and nearly collapsed to the floor, her mouth open in simultaneous shock, relief and anger.

“You’re much to gullible and trusting, Dragon. Next time I hope you’ll know better.”

“Ohhh... Jesus...” she breathed. “WHY? Why...”

“We needed a hook. Stop acting so amazed. It’s not the first time I’ve lied to you.”

She was beyond tears now-- the news that Julie was completely safe was still soured, because that Becky had been tricked into returning when she could easily have escaped-- if she’d only known. She was the only prisoner aboard. “Why are you such a bastard?” she asked Roberts mournfully.

“I see. You’d prefer it if your niece had been in genuine danger. If we wanted to, we could set up that scenario any time in future missions. You next mission is in just three hours. Toughen up. You’ll live longer.” He paused for emphasis. “Besides... sooner or later everybody loses someone they love. That’s life.” He left the hall.

“Don’t let him get to you, Fox,” Hunt advised her. “He’s just messing with your head. It happens to all of us in training.” He massaged his jaw.

Becky looked at him, saying hesitantly. “So you don’t have Julie... but if you did... and Roberts ordered it... would you have killed her?” She wanted to believe otherwise.

“Go to hell, Fox,” Hunt snapped back instantly, and began walking away.

“Wait. Dammit! Wait!” Becky called after him.

“Two seconds,” he said.

“Kevin, I’m sorry I thought... I’m sorry I slugged you. Roberts made me think --”

“Forget it. You hit like a girl,” he said disgustedly.

“Hrrrrrrr-rrrrr...” Becky gritted.

“I said forget it, Fox. You don’t scare me and you can’t take me. Apology accepted. Try that again and you’re history. Se ya later, incinerator --”

The mini-fireball struck an intercom next to Hunt’s head, then dissipated.

“General says no flaming,” he reminded her, smiling.

“No,” she corrected, “Fatso said no flaming of human flesh. You may be human after all, but that’s beside the point. Who says I can’t take you?”

Hunt scoffed, “Come on! You couldn’t take Woody Allen with his arms and legs cut off.”

“Is THAT so?” He had her Irish up now.

“You couldn’t take Ray Charles out with a rocket-launcher!”

“You really think I can’t take you, Kevin?” she asked devilishly, tilting her head down.

“No way in hell, Fox.” He spat out a blood drop, and looked as devilish.

“That’s it! You and me, twenty falls out of twenty, my room, no flames, no tasers, ten minutes, no spectators! Deal?” she challenged. Inside her brain, a voice cried out: Are you crazy?

Hunt laughed. “How can I refuse such an invitation like that? You’re on, hot-stuff!”

Emerson just happened to be walking by at that moment. “Kevin and Becky, sitting in a tree,” he muttered, sniggeringly.

“Stow it, Private,” chided the sergeant.” This is purely educational.”

“I’m definitely watchin’ this on closed-circuit,” said the private.

“You’re dead, Fox,” Hunt smiled. “You’ve got guts, among other things... but you’re still dead.”

“Flick you,” Becky shot back. “I’m gonna get you.” They both grinned.

Dragon - DerVVulfman - 12-25-2008

Chapter Fourteen
In the Bedroom


She didn’t get him once.

It was pretty comical.

Becky rushed at Hunt from twenty different angles, and he deflected her every time. What made it doubly comical was that Hunt kept grabbing her and throwing her harmlessly onto the bed with very little variation. She shot back up, he threw her down, she shot back up, he threw her down. After the thirteenth failed attempt, Becky bursted out laughing, but she kept trying. And laughing. When the twentieth and final time was over, Hunt twirled her upside-down, flung her victoriously over his shoulder, Neanderthal-style, as she wriggled and kicked.

Hunt snarled at his helpless victim “Now will you EAT YOUR SPINACH?”, then threw her back onto the bed with finality. Then he threw himself onto the bed, landing like a human tiger overtop of the exhausted redhead.

“I am PATHETIC!” Becky realized, laughing still.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Hunt agreed. “Like I told you before, I’m very, very good at what I do. You can still be ad damn good SEAL, with the... skills you have...”

“Are you serious?” Becky asked, not noticing how dangerously close the sergeant was.

“Sure. We’ll just call you Private Flipper,” Then he shifted his weight and flopped face-up next to her, laughing like a maniac.

“Shut up!” she pounded his arm.

“Ah, don’t let it get you down. You’re not here for your martial-arts abilities. Plus, after your running down Deck 13 the other day, it’s probably for the best that we don’t teach you any weapons handling just yet.” He smiled and tilted his head to face her.

“No training with a flamethrower for me. Oh, joy.” she sighed.

“You’ve got the prettiest nose...”

“Shut up.”

“...and you’ve got a primo pair of eyes.” She frowned and twisted around and saw him gazing at her. “Y’wanna get frisky?”

“Kevin, c’mon,” Becky began. I knew I made a mistake having him here.

Hunt held up a finger. “No hedging. Yes or no, Fox. I respect directness.”

“No,” she said, a little too nervously. He could pin me if he wanted to.

“Okay, then,” Hunt grinned and let his head fall back onto the pillow. “Suit yourself,” he said as he stared at the ceiling. “I just thought you might want to have a little Fox-Hunt.”

“Cute, Kevin.”

“Address me as Sgt. Hunt,” he ordered, feigning annoyance. Suddenly his wrist-radio beeped, and a familiar voice spoke.

“Am I gonna see some action or what? This is boring,” Emerson complained.

As Becky shot up in bed in surprise, Hunt grabbed the radio. “Drop dead”, he answered back. “And turn your screen off.”

“Read a magazine!” Becky shouted back and threw a copy of Teen Beat at the camera. She collapsed onto the bed next to Hunt and both remained still for a time. She sighed “Even when I think I have some privacy, I don’t.”

Better not tell her I saw her naked, Hunt thought to himself. They half-turned, facing each other. There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Can he hear us?” Becky asked Hunt.

“Turn off the audio, Emerson,” the sergeant ordered. There was a click. “Nope.”

Becky wasn’t absolutely sure about Hunt’s trustworthiness, but she appreciated his current restraint. I just wish he answered the question about Julie.

“Kevin,” she said slowly. “I, um... the reason why I didn’t... well... want to...”

“Get frisky?” Hunt said.

“Yeah... I didn’t want to because... I, um... was raped once, and...”

Hunt’s face changed gradually. His smile vanished. His eyes moved to the wall, then the ceiling, not looking at her. “Oh, shit,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, Fox. I didn’t know.” He sat up and swung he legs off the bed. “When’d it happen?”

“A couple of years ago.” Becky was testing him for a reaction. He seemed natural, but she thought I should have my head examined for telling him this.

“Who did it?” Hunt asked. Becky couldn’t see he face, but she heard some tension in his voice.

“Some animal. It’s all right, Kevin. He’s--”

“Give me his name and phone number,” he demanded.

He’s putty, Becky thought as she smiled inwardly. “He’s dead, Kevin.”

Hunt faced her, and smiled like he’d never smiled before. “Well, ain’t that just too bad. How’d he die?”

“He was shot by a cop.”* Becky got off the bed and walked to the sink to get some water. Hunt’s manner reassured her greatly.

“Serves the @#$%ing bastard right, then. Jeez. No wonder you freaked when Fricker was harassing you.”

Becky thought about her reaction to Fricker, and gulped the last sip she got from the sink. She looked at herself in the mirror and swore to be in more control. And she didn’t want to be responsible for anymore injuries. Problem was...

“Kevin, what’s the next mission going to be?”

“I don’t know, Fox.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m telling you I don’t know. The orders come from the General to Roberts to me. I never know until the mission starts. Which’ll be... two hours.”

“Roberts scares me,” said Becky. “He’s getting weirder every day.”

Hunt told her “Don’t be scared. Doc’s all right. Just a little messed up. He’s under a lot of pressure. He may seem like a callous guy with ice-water for blood, but deep down he likes you.”

He’s under a lot of pressure? Becky thought skeptically. “I’m nothing but a weapon to him. A tool for killing. I hate him.”

Hunt motioned an arm around him. “He got you these quarters, didn’t he? Three days ago, you thought I was the Antichrist, and now we’re practically lovers.” With her back to him, Hunt couldn’t see Becky blush uncomfortably. Instead, he scanned the room, and caught a glimpse of the Roy Schieder video collection. “Hey, Fox, wanna watch Blue Thunder?”

“Hey, Hunt, would it kill you to call me Becky?”

“Can’t do it, Fox. It’s called professionalism. Of course, if you want to get frisky...”

“Nah. I’d rather watch Blue Thunder.” She sat down in front of the television.

“Me, too. Not only is it just under two hours, it’s been a major VSO training film since ‘88.”

? ? ?

“YOU BONEHEADS!” shouted Lizzie.

“Eat my shorts, Blondie!” replied Rabikes from behind bars. “I’m being unjustly persecuted for a crime I didn’t commit! I never tried anything on HER!”

“Pardy shouted simultaneously, “Who are you calling a bonehead, you bimbo! I shot her FIVE TIMES, and she kept on running! Next time I’ll use real bullets--” Pardy was also locked in a cell. The one next to Chris’.

Moulty’s arguing overlapped with Chris’s and Pardy’s. “Diddle-diddle-ditt-ditt-ditt-ditt-DITT-DITT-diddle-diddle-diddle! DIDDLE-DIDDLE-DIDDLE!” He was doubly-locked-- once in a birdcage (the door stuck shut with a spoon), and twice in the cell itself. The three prisoners bickered all at once.

“ONE AT A TIME!!” David Furfy shouted. He pointed at Pardy. “You first. Why the heck did they put YOU in jail?”

Please, thought Lizzie. Don’t let it be for...

“Assaulting at least sixteen police officers!” Pardy answered proudly.

Damn.

“They put me in here with these two after I punched two more for calling me a boy! They’re so stupid!”

“THEY’RE stupid!” Lizzie flared. “You fly on a Big Wheel 3,000 feet in the sky just so you can get arrested for felonious assault?!? Don’t I raise you right?”

“No!” Pardy seethed contemptuously.

“Lizzie, Becky was running!” Chris stressed. “I saw her in the courthouse, I called her name and she ran like a bunny-rabbit! It doesn’t make any sense!”

Looking hard at Rabikes, Lizzie said, “Considering it was you, I think Becky’s reaction was about the sanest thing that happened all day!”

Furfy smirked. “I was gonna say that.”

“We did the best we could!” chirped Moulty. “That crazy dame be jumpin’ through fire! Makin’ whole walls of it! I tried to grab her!”

Lizzie sighed and tried to sound contrite. “I know you tried, Moulty, but it’s not you I’m mad at. You’re a bubble-headed booby, you don’t know any better. Besides, you’re accident-prone. Besides, you’re not human. Why am I even TALKING to you? YOU’RE JUST A BIRD! IT’S THESE TWO HUMANS I WANT TO--”

Chris banged his cell bars. “LIZZIE, LISTEN! She’s talking, too!”

“What are you talking about?” she asked him.

“Becky-- is-- talking,” Rabikes repeated. “I heard her voice. And she’s using her power-- which means she can CONTROL it.”

Lizzie considered that point. “That’s... wonderful, but... why’d she run?”

“SHE’S AN ASSASSIN, YOU NITWIT!!” Pardy shouted at the top of her lungs. “DO I HAVE TO SPELL IT OUT FOR YOU? A- S- S--”

“OH, LET’S NOT GO THROUGH THIS AGAIN, PARDY! YOU THINK EVERYONE’S AN ASSASSIN!”

“Becky is NOT an ASSASSIN!” shouted Furfy.

“I demand to SEE the GOVERNOR!” insisted Moulty, pounding the spoon with no success. “My seed’s gettin’ stale! Nobody’s changing the water!”

“Lizzie, don’t believe anything the cops say!” Rabikes said. “They think I’m some kind of floating, one-eyed sex deviant! I’m innocent!”

Lizzie turned away and sighed. “That’s too easy. I’m not even gonna comment on that.”

David was exasperated. “We’re here to bail them out. Can we just bail them out? Can ANY of you agree on ANYTHING?”

Pardy held the bars, eyeing Furfy. “I knew you’d come. Get ‘em to let us the hell out.” She was smitten the first time she saw him. If only the blast that forced his retirement from the bomb squad could have made him look worse, she could love him even more.

A frustrated Furfy walked off to explain things to the jail officer.

“Pardy, he’s taken,” Lizzie told her. “Forget about it. He’s too old-- for you.”

“Aw, come on, Ho-Ho! Why should Becky have dibs on the roughest guys? He’s older than Becky, too! She’s taken and she’s not coming back! We don’t need her burning up the place--”

“I don’t think he can believe Becky’s a mutant... much less an assass...” Rabikes began to say, but was cut off by Lizzie’s glare. “People, can we all just try to get along for his sake? Please?”

“Can you keep your doohicky zipped?” Lizzie challenged before she walked off to find the nearest payphone.

“Word of honor. God, I hope this doesn’t go to trial.”

“It will,” Furfy said as he returned with an officer, “but the bird and the kid are exonerated. We can all go.”

“Oh, swell. Thanks, Dave.” Chris winced. With the turn of a key, each prisoner was released. Pardy, being the last stuck her tongue out at the officer who was still nursing the black eye she gave him.

“I can’t believe that girl’s turned on by this,” Furfy said, pointing at his own face. “You know, Becky said to me... after the explosion... she didn’t care about the scares. She told me she didn’t care if I had a face at all. She’d love me anyway, no matter what.” Rabikes smiled, nodding. “That is the most --”

Lizzie sprinted up to them. She just notified Diamond on the phone. Now they had another problem. “Fred’s disappeared. He never got back home. It’s been too long.”

“Great!” Rabikes cursed. “Now we’ve got two mutants missing.”

Dragon - DerVVulfman - 12-25-2008

Chapter Fifteen
Pure Skumm


Vellerton, Utah. Wednesday, 1:01 AM. The mission was about to begin. The VSO van held Hunt, Becky, Emerson, Pastula, two no-names and (of course) Dr. Damien Roberts. Hunt was looking over Roberts’s notes. Even he looked a little surprised at the information they contained. But he didn’t argue.

“The target this time, Dragon, is not a random police officer. The objective is not to sabotage a trial. This time, your mission is to dispose of pure scum,” said the doctor. “This individual is so reprehensible, he calls himself Pure Skumm. He’s all alone in that abandoned tenement. He is your only target.

“Who is this man?” Becky asked apprehensively.

Hunt answered. “He’s a white-supremacist asshole with connections to drug smugglers. Unusual for these supremacists. Most of them stay clear away from drugs. Not good for the ‘purity’ of his race. But this guy deals in PCP. Very abnormal guy. Not nice. You’d better be careful in there. When you see him, burn him real fast.”

“Crispy cracker-time,” Emerson spat.

“He owns the building,” Roberts added, “and they’ll be numerous rooms he may be in. I’ve been tracking his movements. He recently made it home. He’s all yours,” he told Becky. “You’ll do fine. Are you ready?” The van door was open.

“No,” she replied. “I’m no killer.”

“Become one,” Roberts said. “No more pacifism. This is where you deliver. I’m not going to threaten your relatives this time, but if you delay beyond the half-hour mark, or if you try to bold, Emerson and Pastula will kill you and Pure Skumm.”

“You’ve always wanted me alive,” Becky countered.

“If you won’t use those beautiful powers, your life is valueless.”

Becky could only play along, for now. “All right. Am I doing this alone?”

“Don’t be foolish. Emerson and Pastula are coming inside for insurance. They’ll be monitoring you. The rest of us will watch the building. That front door is the only way in or out. Pure Skumm must die. Kill him.”

Reluctantly, she stepped out of the van. She looked back at Hunt.

“You’ll be all right, Fox,” he said. “But he’ll be armed, so...”

“That’s no problem,” she said quietly. “I’m packing plenty of heat.”

Roberts smiled for the first time in ages. “That’s the right attitude. You go inside first. The soldiers will follow. Don’t get shot. You’re still human, you know.”

“Let’s KILL that @#$%ing cracker!” Emerson jumped out of the van, followed by Pastula. What the hell am I gonna do now? Becky wondered. The doc’s trying to make it easy for me by having me kill a total scumbag. This guy’s probably killed a few people himself. But that doesn’t make it any easier for me. What if Roberts is lying about Pure Skumm? He might not even be--

Pastula cleared his throat and waved his arm in the direction of the house. “Sometime this century?” He asked her sarcastically.

“Stop stallin’, Foxy,” Emerson said. “Just roast his ass.”

Becky walked about a hundred feet to the house entrance. Emerson and Pastula kept a distance of fifty feet. She moved the doorknob slightly. It was locked. Flicking her fingers, she melted the lock and entered the Pure Skumm residence.

The place was dilapidated, with drug paraphernalia, fascism pamphlets and German magazines scattered about. The lighting was equally poor, at least the downstairs. She could hear at least two separate radios blasting upstairs. Emerson pointed at her to walk upstairs (as silently as possible). “Are you guys coming?” Becky whispered.

“Maybe we are, maybe we’re not,” Pastula sneered before getting elbowed in the gut by Emerson.

“Never mind us, Foxy. Just light up the bastard. I’d love to waste him right now, but this is your initiation.” Emerson pointed up. “Follow the bad music.”

She reached the second floor, slowly moving from empty room to empty room, losing track of her VSO escorts. The music grew louder as she continued searching. All the windows in the house appeared to be boarded.

One of the radios suddenly stopped playing.

Becky froze.

A toilet flushed two rooms away.

It was then that Becky saw Pure Skumm. He walked quickly out of the nearby bathroom and sit roughly on the adjacent Nazi-flag bed. He was bald, big and Aryan-looking. His face looked perpetually-pained, like a gigantic hemorrhoid. He was 250 pounds of unadulterated “don’t-mess-with-me.” He had next to him at least two automatic rifles.

And he was smoking.

I can’t kill him, Becky thought nervously. Maybe I should, but I can’t. We’ve got to team up, or we’re both dead. She entered his bedroom.

Pure Skumm eyed her approach instantly and sprang up, but didn’t draw any weapons. He jumped forward, just a few feet away from her. “WHO? WHO? WHO? WHO? WHO” he demanded furiously, almost spitting.

Oh, God! Becky thought. “M-Mister Skumm?”

“ME! ME! ME! ME! ME! WHO? WHO? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?” he shouted.

“Mr. Skumm, my name is Becky Fox, and you’ve gotta listen to me” she hissed urgently. “You’re life’s in danger! There are men--”

“BECK! BECK! BECK! BECK! BECK!” he barked. “FOX? FOX? HOUND-DOG!!! LIFE, MEN, LIFE, MEN, LIFE, MEN?” He didn’t advance ore retreat. “BEER?”

“Do you understand me? Men are coming to kill you! They--”

“KILL! KILL? KILL! KILL? KILLA BE KILLED! KAY-KAY-KAY, WATDYASAY! YOU! WANNA JOIN? KILL-KILL?” He smiled evilly. “JOIN? BECK?”

“Please listen to me! You’ve got--”

The second radio was turned off... from the other room forty feet away. “SKUMM, WE’VE GOT COMPANY!!” shouted an unknown male voice.

Becky turned to the door, panicking. Private Pastula was racing down the hall, eyes bulging, running out of the darkness, two fiendish-looking tasers charged to fatal. “FOX! QUIT PLAYING WITH YOURSELF!” He screamed. “KILL HIM RIGHT NOW!!”

Pure Skumm leaped forward, seizing Becky by the hands, and using her as a shield. At the same moment, ten machine-gun bullets tore through Pastula’s body with terrifying ease, dropping him in his tracks. He fell dead.

Becky screamed. Now would’ve been an excellent time to turn on the flames, but-- of all the crappy bad luck-- Pure Skumm’s vice-like grip on her hands prevented her from finger flicking. She looked at the doorway, shocked.

A woman appeared... Pastula’s killer. Like Pure Skumm, she was a skinhead. She sauntered in, armed with a machine-gun and dangling a cigarette from her mouth. Apart from the haggard look on her face from drugs and violence, she didn’t look that much older than Becky.

“KILL! KILL!” Skumm greeted her, firmly gripping the fingers of the impotent Dragon.

“Yeah! Yeah!” The woman inspected Pastula’s shot-up body with a solid kick, then glared at Becky. “Who the @#$% is this? Skumm, you been cheatin’ on me? What the @#$% is going on--”

More gunshots occurred. This time from someone’s Colt-45. Becky heard Private Emerson scream.

Once.

Dragon - DerVVulfman - 12-25-2008

Chapter Sixteen
Corruption


“Tell them to STOP IT!” Becky pleaded. “Let me go! We’re all going to DIE if he doesn’t let me go!”

“Is that so?” the woman sneered. “How’d ya figure? Who the @#$% do you think you are giving us orders? Ya know what they do to thieves in Bangkok?”

“Chop hands off,” said Pure Skumm. “Beck, Beck, Beck. Wanna join? Beer? Beck?”

“I’m not a thief. Please let me go,” Becky said.

“@#$% you,” replied the woman. This ain’t your @#$%ing house. It’s ours.”

“Guys, guys, guys,” Pure Skumm shouted as he dragged Becky into the hall. “Got someone.”

“So did we,” announced another skinhead. “A nigger. Here! Can you believe it? Ammo and Warp-One are checking him out. I’m checkin’ the other rooms.”

“You shot nigger?” Pure Skumm asked as he followed the skinhead into the living room.

“You’re @#$%in’ right I did”, he replied. This skinhead was thinner than Pure Skumm, but still had the same painful expression of hate. That, and the Hitler-esque mustache he grew, screamed... “Hey, I’m a racist!”

Pure Skumm smiled. “Extra, extra beer. Looka what I got.”

“Yeah, I got eyes,” the mustache said. “Hey, red.”

“Did you kill him?” Becky asked, fearing the answer.”

He looked at her hard. “I’m gonna. How d’you feel about that?”

“Will you just tell this baboon to let me go?” Becky requested.

Moving forward, the woman pulled out a butterfly knife. “That’s our chief, sugar. He’ll let you go when he @#$%in’ feels like it. What’s this baboon shit?”

“Speakin’ of the devil,” the thinner skinhead pointed as two other skinheads brought the wounded Emerson in. He’d been stripped of his weapons and was badly bleeding in the arm. The two Aryans dumped him onto the floor of Pure Skumm’s living room.

Pure Skumm let go of one of Becky’s hands, which helped her not one bit. She had to flick fingers on both hands to get her flame.

Skumm scratched his chin, considering things. “Three break-inners... one dead,” he turned and smiled at the woman. “Thank you Psycho... one ‘bout to die... one might die. Might not? Join up, Beck?”

“Hey, Skumm,” one of the last two skinheads spoke up. He had a low forebrow and a thick beard on his face which made him look more neanderthal than the others. “The five of us are enough. We don’t need no extra bitch in the squad. Besides, she broke in with the nig’. Shoot ‘em both.”

Emerson, still conscious but fighting the pain, convulsed on the floor. “She’s-- not... gonna join you, Mr. Clean. She’s... VSO...” The neanderthal kicked him in the ribs.

“VSO?” Skumm asked. “What? What? What? VSO, VSO, VSO, Rock? VSO tie me up in a knot? Beck. VSO... what?”

Becky shrugged. “I... really don’t know what the VSO is. I...”

“Sure you don’t”, the woman snarled as she stepped closer to the helpless redhead. “You three came in together. “What does it mean?” Before Becky could protest, the blade of a butterfly knife was leveled just under her chin.

“Yo, Psycho bitch,” Emerson groaned. “VSO stands for vampires... sadists... an’ orthodontists. Got it?” The reply he got was a solid kick in the stomach. “UHH!”

“That’s Psycho CATH, wiseass,” she spat. “Warp-One’s right, Skumm. Let’s do ‘em both.”

“No,”said Skumm. “Want her to join up. Shave all head, of course.”

The last skinhead spoke up. He had a thinner mustache than the other two, but sported glasses with large bronze-tinted lenses. “All right. Skumm, let’s give her my piece. If you really want her to join. You sure?”

“Sure, Ammo, sure, sure. Piece. Beck. Piece.”

The skinhead called Ammo told Becky, “You’re drafted. @#$% your VSO. You’re one of us, now.”

“Whatever you say. Just let me go,” Becky said.

“Uh-uh,” Ammo shook his head. “He’ll let go someday. First, take your free hand, take my gun, an’ blow this nigger to hell.”

Becky nodded in agreement. “Give it to me.”

Emerson paled. “Foxy... now you finally wanna be a killer?”

Her face was surprisingly impassive. “Gun, please.”

Dragon - DerVVulfman - 12-25-2008

Chapter Seventeen
Hair


A few minutes earlier, within the VSO van, Roberts, Hunt and the other two solders heard an urgent transmission from Emerson’s radio:

“Code orange -- Pastula’s down! Multiple hostiles in building! At least eight gunshots! Do you copy? Foxy’s on second, but I’m too far -- AHHHH!!!” The sound of a .45 cut Emerson off, then silence.

Hunt waited a few seconds, then confronted Roberts. “Pastula’s down. Emerson’s down. I don’t know what the hell Fox is doing. You said it was just one man in there. What kind of intelligence is this?”

Roberts shrugged. “I miscalculated. He must have guests tonight. It doesn’t matter. Rebecca will find a way to handle it.”

“Well, I don’t see any smoke yet, Doc. Something’s wrong.”

“Give her time.”

“Hunt grabbed his M-16. “I can’t wait. Two of MY squad may be dead. I’m not gonna abort this, but it’s my perogative to check their status.” Hunt pulled out two clips of ammo and slapped one into the gun.

“Hunt, you can’t jeopardize this now! Get back here! If she can’t fend for herself, what good’s she going to be to the VSO?” Hunt ignored him. “I know you think she’s fetching -- and your concern for your men is admirable -- but you can’t deviate from this mission!”

“I’m not deviating. I’m overriding you, Doc. Don’t try to stop me.” He began to strap a pair of holstered Gloks to his legs. Half serious and half cynical, he offered a third to Roberts. “Want to come along? You can watch your dragon work.”

Roberts was annoyed. “Somebody’s got to stay out here in case she tries to escape. If you go in, you go alone.” He’s on to me, Roberts thought.

Hunt saluted, not very respectfully. “That’s fine with me, Doc. Just stop trying to read my mind, and get better intel next time. And what the hell does ‘fetching’ mean?” The sergeant raced out into the dark.

He doesn’t fool me. I thought if I kept him inside the van, things would be stable. They’re not going to be able to work together if they let their emotions interfere with their jobs. I should ask the General to transfer Hunt, but I doubt he’d do it. They’re two peas in a pod. Dammit.. Come on, Dragon, do me proud. You were meant to do this.

Kill them. Kill them all!

? ? ?

Moulty’s mutants took a three-hour plane ride back to Maryland. David, Chris, Lizzie, Pardy and Moulty spoke very little. Every half-hour, Lizzie called Diamond to see if Fred Freshee had returned. Six times, Diamond said no.

? ? ?

“Fox,” Emerson said, “don’t you dare.” It was bluster. He was in no shape to prevent her from shooting him. She was out of his reach.

“I figure it’s you or me, Emerson,” Becky said evenly. Or both of us, Becky thought. Unless I can... At that moment, Ammo handed her his revolver.

“Just a second,” she paused. “Can I keep my hair after I kill him?”

“No @#$%in’ way! What are you, stupid?” shouted the Hitler-wannabe.

“Hey, man, it’s my hair. What difference does it make?” The pistol was lowered.

“No, hair, no, hair, just shoot, shoot, shoot!” Pure Skumm said.

“SHAVE HER!” shouted Emerson bitterly. “Shave her first! Just lemme watch it happen before you ice me.”

Well, thought Becky, that might buy us some time. God, I’m gonna miss these locks.

“HEY!!” shouted Cath to Emerson, “Don’t give us orders, blackass! She’s killing you now. Get it over with, bitch.”

“No more delays. No more talk. Do it” agreed Ammo, now standing beside Becky.

Emerson looked at his former captive, eyes furious. “Fox...”

“Kill, kill, kill, Beck, Beck, Beck, kill, Beck, kill, Beck!”

Becky pointed the revolver at the VSO solder. “I’m sorry, Emerson.” There’s only one thing to do. The gang waited expectantly. I love you, David. She whipped the gun around and fired it at Pure Skumm’s chest... Click.

The gun was empty. No bullets. Becky halted, shocked.

Dragon - DerVVulfman - 12-25-2008

Chapter Eighteen
Too Much PCP


Pure Skumm looked at her maliciously. “Bad, bad, bad, Beck, Beck, Beck, can’t join now.”

Ammo muttered “I knew it,” and slammed Becky hard in the gut. “You flunked.” Pure Skumm still gripped her right hand as she dropped to her knees, coughing. Two small firewads briefly exited her mouth, then dissipated. That, in itself, surprised Becky.

It definitely got their attention.

“Holy crud, what’s that slut been eating?” asked the neanderthal. The skinheads moved in a little closer around her.

“Bad tacos.” The voice came from behind the crew who turned to see Kevin Hunt. He let loose a with his M-16, spraying the neanderthal into permanently-dead status. The Baretta he’d been carrying clattered noisily to the floor.

Pure Skumm dropped Becky completely. Emerson scrambled to the freshly dropped pistol, and pointed it at the nearest opponent-- Ammo-- and perforated him with even more ammo. “AAAAAAHHH!!!” Emerson screamed. “PIECE OF SHEET!”

Two dead in five seconds. Becky coughed. No fire. Behind her, she could hear Pure Skumm ramble on.

“HELL, WHAT, DEAD, WHAT, BANG, CLANG, BLOOD!” Pure Skumm barked, seeking cover behind the nearest furniture. The mustache jumped forward, knocking onto Emerson, as Hunt tracked Skumm’s movements.

“Fox, GET UP!!” Hunt barked. He fired at a couch. Was Skumm hit? Hard to tell.

She stood there in a daze as Hunt and Skumm traded bad-shots. The mustache slammed his elbow into Emerson’s face viciously as they fought over the neanderthal’s gun. Both gripped it tightly. “KILL THAT BITCH!” Emerson and his opponent shouted simultaneously at Becky and Cath. The scream and the female skinhead’s motion roused her attention. Cath closed in. Flick ‘em, Becky thought.

Becky dodged a knife swipe by Cath by mere inches. Sidestepping her, she flicked her fourth and seventh fingers, only for nothing to happen...

Skumm resurfaced from behind a couch. Hunt clipped him in the shoulder, but had no effect on his target. Skumm dove down again. Hunt turned and saw Becky and Cath as Becky avoided slash after slash. “FOX, FRY ‘ER!” he screamed.

C’mon! C’mon! Becky thought frantically as she danced aside. Cath kept closing in with her blade. Becky re-flicked, but still nothing happened. NO! If this keeps up... Another lunge by the skinhead, her knife searching for Becky’s blood. Barely missed. Another flick of her fingers, and another slice, this time grazing her left arm. Becky shrieked in pain. At the same time, Cath screamed as her butterfly knife-- now useless-- melted into a fiery extension of her arm.

Witnessing Cath’s arm burst into flames freaked out the mustache, but he finally snatched the gun from Emerson. Becky tried to size up t he situation, but it kept changing every second. Emerson was flat on his back gasping for breath and his opponent became hers. The skinhead quickly trained the gun on Becky, but his hands got hell-hot as his weapon started to melt. He dropped it just in time as it contorted and flattened out on the floor.

Cath’s screams echoed in the room. But they were of no consequence for Hunt. Where’s Skumm? he thought. The couch again? The Chair? Damn! As he searched the room, he saw Becky shoot more flameballs at the other skinhead. They missed, as the Hitler-like skinhead ducked into the kitchen.

“KILL ‘EM ALL, FOXY!”, Emerson screamed, as the skinhead jumped over the kitchen counter, dodging two more flameballs. Becky was hesitant to follow him into the kitchen, though out in the open, she was a sitting duck. She had to follow. If not for the mission... the orders... she had to get out of the line of fire. As Becky stepped onto hard linoleum, a glint from behind the counter startled her. Becky ducked outside the kitchen wall just in time, as a loud blast from an assault shotgun rang out.. Scared as she was, she pressed herself against the wall and closed her eyes reflexively, wishing this all was a dream. But wasn’t, and the mustache had found another cache of weapons.

Hunt saw pieces of trim blasted off, inches from the redhead and returned fire into the kitchen. The mustache avoided the spray from Hunt’s M-16, but Cath didn’t. In pain and in panic, the female skinhead inadvertently ran into the line of fire. Her screams now stopped, she slumped to the floor; No more than a pile of flesh, blood and fire. “YES!!!” Emerson shouted.

“SKUMM!!!” Shouted the mustache as he saw Cath’s lifeless body. Becky eyes flew open just as Hunt fired a burst into the kitchen, shooting the shotgun out of the Hitler-wannabe’s hands. Becky saw a chance and ran over to Emerson. Ducking low, she started to pull the reluctant private out of the room. Opening her mouth wide, a jet of flames created a hellish barrier to protect Emerson and herself.

But Hunt was on the other side.

Still struggling with Emerson who refused to budge, Becky caught sight of Cath’s body on the floor. It was still burning. Her right arm, now a charred cinder. Becky turned away, muttering to herself “I didn’t kill her... I didn’t kill her...”

Hunt sprang forward and fired at the kitchen counter. After a short spray of bullets, he dropped the empty M-16. Becky watched from behind the fire as the mustache leaped forward. Oh, God! Kevin’s out! Becky watched with a mixture of amazement, relief and horror as the sergeant’s hand-to-hand skills came into play. As the mustached skinhead rushed forward, Hunt struck quickly landing a sharp blow into his opponent’s neck. He followed up his attack, fiercely placing blow after blow in every joint as the Hitler-lookalike staggered backwards. Dazed and numb, the mustached skinhead didn’t notice that Hunt pulled out a Glok and placed it to his forehead until the barrel began to smoke.

“KEVIN, LOOK OUT!” Becky screamed. Hunt didn’t have time to gloat over the latest body. A MacIntosh computer went flying through the air, crashing into Hunt, knocking him off-balance.

“MAC, ATTACK, MAC, ATTACK!” Skumm shouted as he resurfaced. Against Becky’s protests, Emerson started to crawl forward. Skumm grabbed a dresser-drawer and plodded over to Hunt. “THREE, ONE, THREE, FUN, ONE!” he sung out as he was about to smash the dresser into Hunt. Only, what remained in his hands were the embers of a dresser. Becky managed to strike the dresser in time. Skumm turned his attention towards her. “BAD TACO INDEED?” he laughed and threw down the flaming shards.

Why aren’t I running, Becky thought as the muscle-bound Aryan lumbered through the wall of flames towards her.

Hunt attacked from behind, jumping on Skumm’s back, but the thug didn’t seem to feel it. He spun around, grabbed Hunt, and threw him across the room.

Emerson attacked next. With all he could muster, he lunged forward. “TAKE THIS, MOTHER@#$%ER!” He stumbled, but hit Skumm square in the gut with his taser set to full charge. Even with all the voltage it delivered, it wasn’t enough. Skumm simply shouted “OFF, NIG, OFF, NIG, OFF, OFF, OFF!” and kicked him backwards. Emerson hit the floor again, cursing, but quickly rolled over and struck with his taser until it ran out of juice. No success.

Hunt was grappling with him now, wrapping an arm around his neck and squeezing hard. Even Flipper Becky was getting physical. She delivered a blow to the side of Skumm’s head with a Nazi Rolling pin (complete with swastika) she found on the counter.

“HMMM!” Skumm said. He swung powerfully at her, narrowly missing. It was too risky to flame him with Hunt and Emerson in close quarters, so she kept striking his legs and ribs. Hunt planted a knife in Skumm’s right shoulder. No effect.

Well, it did piss him off.

“AHH, THE HELL WITH THIS!” Hunt shouted. “Emerson, get back!” Hunt and Emerson stepped clear of the Aryan, leaving him alone with Becky.

“Just, you, just you, Beck, Beck, Beck” Skumm said menacingly. “BEER?”

“BURN HIM RIGHT NOW!!!” Hunt ordered. She did, stepping back and flicking six feet from her target.

Skumm’s legs ignited, plus parts of his torso. “BURN, BURN, BURN -- WHEN YOU’RE HOT, YOU’RE HOT! WOW! HOT! WOW! WOW! FAUCET! FAUCET! BATHTUB! NOW! NOW! NOW! WOW! WOW! WOW!” Becky gasped in disbelief. Pure Skumm was laughing as he stormed past the stunned soldiers, racing madly down the hall, leaving a flaming trail behind himself. He disappeared around a corner screaming “BURNIN! SKUMM!!! DAMN HOT!!!” Then there was silence.

“I am not following him,” Becky told Hunt. She was shaking.

“I don’t blame you,” Hunt said loudly, not smiling. “He’s had it. As far as I’m concerned, you got him.” Looking down the hall, Hunt shook his head. “JEEZ! How much PCP can one guy take?!?” No one could blame him. Skumm left a trail of fiery footprints behind him. “We’d better get the hell out of here before this whole shithole burns down! Emerson, can you walk?”

The private was in putrid shape. His arm was still bleeding, and he had trouble standing. “Dunno, man. I’ll try. But first... “he looked at Becky. “Cauterize...”

Becky was stunned. “You heard him, Fox,” Hunt said. “Patch him up, but don’t overdo it.”

“Are you sure?” Becky asked Emerson.”

“@#$%ing-A” he hissed. “I’m not gonna make it if ya don’t. DO IT!!”

Becky obliged, only opening so much between her teeth, limiting the flame. She was feeling much more confident with her ability to control it. Emerson groaned, but it was over in five seconds. “Damn.” He stood up, rubbing his repaired arm. “No flame, no gain. I think I can make it. Gonna need some help walkin’.”

“Right,” Hunt agreed. Pointing to the bodies of the dead skinheads, Hunt told Becky, “Them next. Fry ‘em all, and don’t hold back.”

“Kevin, please don’t make me --”, she began.

Hunt exploded. “DAMN IT, FOX!!! THEY’RE DEAD!!! I SAID FRY ‘EM!! CAN’T YOU FOLLOW ONE LOUSY ORDER FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE?? WE’RE OUT OF TIME!! WE’VE GOTTA MAKE THIS LOOK GOOD FOR THE DOC, SO DO IT!!”

Stunned into silence, Becky followed the order, leaving little left of the skinheads but gray ash and blackened bones. She tried not to look at the remains, fighting anger and revulsion. Great! He kills three, Emerson gets one, and I get credit for everything!

The three were halfway down the center hall when they encountered Pastula’s bullet-riddled body. “Him too. Now,” Hunt ordered. “He can’t be identified.”

Becky repeated the cremation routine on the dead VSO soldier, hating herself. She, Hunt and Emerson made their way downstairs as quickly as possible. Hunt was supporting Emerson behind her. “Fox, you take point so Doc and the others can see you. You’re the star of the show, anyway. Let’s go.”

In other words, I’m covered at both ends, thought Becky. She was too discouraged to even try to run now anyway.

They stepped outside, and were illuminated in a VSO spotlight. Roberts and the other two soldiers were directly outside the van. Roberts held a megaphone. “Well done,” his voice echoed. “Thirty-two minutes, total. You’re late again -- but that’s to be expected from females.” Becky growled at the insult. “Only jesting, my dear. I realize there were... unexpected elements within. Is Emerson all right?”

“Shot in the arm,” Hunt answered. “He’ll be better after you fix him up. We’ve gotta get him in the back. Open the van up.” They approached.

Roberts unlocked the rear doors as the other two soldiers moved forward to assist Emerson. The doctor kept his eye on Becky, who scowled at him hatefully. She clearly held him responsible for every event -- every death -- inside that building. Roberts hadn’t killed anyone directly, but he had damn well made it happen.

“Well, I can tell from the look on your face that you’ve done a fine j--”

“BECK, KILL - KILL, VSO, HOT, HOT, HOT!!” laughed a nearby voice.

“OH, SHIT!!” Emerson peed in his pants. Hunt and Becky ducked.

Pure Skumm ran madly out of his dilapidated house, firing two hideously large automatic rifles, eliminating the two VSO soldiers who’d been waiting with Roberts. Their bodies dropped next to Emerson, who pulled himself frantically into the van and somehow shut the back doors. Roberts froze. Hunt saw Becky run forward, angry as hell at everything and everyone, and he wondered Is she trying to get shot?

Pure Skumm kept laughing, waving the weapons about. His clothing was tattered, his skin charred in numerous places, and parts of him were positively smoldering. But he kept charging. “ONE, EIGHT, TWO, FIVE, NEVER LEAVE THIS PLACE ALIVE!”

Becky shot a ten-second burst right into his face, which pushed him brutally back, ramming him against the house. “NOW CAN WE GO!?!” she screamed at Roberts who nodded abruptly but kept staring at the hideous spectacle.

My God, she’s done it, he thought in amazement, and I got to see it happen. She did it. “Hunt, you drive!” the doctor ordered. Becky jumped into the backseat with zero hesitation.

Roberts kept looking at the flaming white supremacist, until Hunt shouted “Are you CRAZY? COME ON DOC!!” Roberts shook himself from his trance and calmly stepped into the front passenger seat. The van sped away, super-fast.

What was left of Pure Skumm kept laughing at the night’s bizarre turn of events. Eyeless and showing bone and muscle through charred skin, he bellowed for anyone to hear: “HAH, HAH, HAH! BLACK, BLACK BLACK! REAL BLACK!! BLACK AS A BROILED! NIGGO, NIGGO, LEGGO MY EGGO! NO EYES! NO EYES! FIND MY WAY BACK TO THE TUB! RUB-A-DUB-DUB! HAH REAL BLACK!”

Dragon - DerVVulfman - 12-25-2008

Chapter Nineteen
Trauma


“Where the HELL is Fred?” Christopher Rabikes shouted in frustration.

“Where the hell are we?” Lizzie asked, dejected. They were still in the air.

“Ohio, from the looks of it.” Chris looked out the jumbo-jet window. Moulty, Pardy, and even David were asleep in the nearest chairs. Lizzie was trying to relax.

“You don’t like to fly, do you?” Chris asked her.

Her eyes bulged. “Forget it. I’m not going through that again.” She changed seats.

“Say what?” Rabikes asked, perplexed.

“Never mind,” she sighed. “I wish I had a TV to scan. Or a radio. Something... anything.”

“Everybody needs a break, Liz. Don’t beat yourself up. Besides, it’s not like these VSO bastards are making it easy for us. They’re not on VHF... or UHF.”

David Furfy stirred, startled, sweating slightly. “God!” he breathed.

“What’s the matter, David?” Lizzie asked.

Furfy looked at them both. “I just... had the worst frigging nightmare in my life... oh, man... you ever see that movie, Being John Malkovich?” Lizzie shook her head no. “Well, in this dream, all of us were back in Beltsville.. you, me, Chris, Becky, John... everybody... but... b-but... everybody in the house... everybody in the city h-h-had Rabikes’s face on them!” he shuddered.

“Oh, my God!” Lizzie gasped, mouth wide with horror.

“What’s so scary about that?” demanded Chris.

“And all anyone said was ‘Rabikes? Rabikes Rabikes? Rabikes. Rabikes Rabikes Rabi-”

“David, stop!” Lizzie pleaded. “It’s so... disgusting!” Then she asked “Pardy and Moulty, too?” There was fear in her voice.

“Yes! Everybody in the whole city! It was awful!” Furfy reached for an air-sickness bag. “It was... it was...” he vomited. Lizzie looked sick, too.

“What’s the matter, babe? Rabikes taunted. “Don’t like my head on your body?” Lizzie game him a dirty look, then ran to the bathroom. Rabikes glanced at Moulty and Pardy -- then decided he didn’t feel like eating at the moment, he looked out the plane window, and decided to pray...

? ? ?

When Becky, Roberts, Hunt and Emerson had returned to the hovercraft in the middle of the night -- other soldiers tending to Emerson, once aboard-- Becky stormed off to her quarters, furious and distraught.

I’m a killer now, she despaired. I didn’t kill the woman, but she would’ve died from what I did to her. Looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, soot and sweat covered her face. Stop it! She tried to kill me! She was racist filth. I probably killed Skumm, but I don’t want to know! They were gonna kill Emerson-- gonna kill me-- what was I supposed to -- OH, GOD, WHY?!?

The screams of Pardy, Fricker, Cath were mixed with the crazed laughing of Pure Skumm within her brain, until Becky snapped. She’d been pacing back and forth, tears streaming, passing the Roy Scheider collection over and over until she knocked them clean off the table with one savage swipe of an arm. Her emotions blazing, Becky melted the tapes, then ran into her closet, tearing at the forty outfits Roberts had provided for her, ripping, then burning them.

On deck 4, a soldier watched Becky on a security monitor. Immediately, he alerted Roberts on the intercom. “She’s going crazy. Tearing up her room.”

The doctor was impassive. “Don’t send anyone in. She’s not going to leave the room. She’s got to vent, that’s all. Keep watching. If she does leave, then call us. She can’t hurt herself in there. She’s immune to fire, remember. Besides, the walls, floor and ceilings won’t melt. My chemical compound protects them from molecular breakdown, no matter how hot it gets.”

“What do you call that stuff, Doc?” Hunt asked him.

“Dolex-138. My invention.” Roberts smiled. “I should’ve sprayed her tapes and clothes with it.” They’d be protected, too,” he said sadly.

“How about people?” Hunt asked, curious.

“No way,” Roberts said. “The chemical’s poisonous to human skin. “Inanimate objects just absorb it, and they’re still safe for humans. Well, there goes the books and CD collection. She’s definitely angry.”

Inside the room, Becky took her frustrations out on the large-screen TV set, which burned into grey goop as the glass cracked and exploded into tiny pieces. She walked around, still angry beyond belief, looking for something else to destroy. There was nothing left but the bed. She advanced.

“Young lady, I realize you’ve had an extremely rough day,” Robert’s voice sounded from the intercom, “but there’s no point in incinerating your --”

She blasted the entire bed to hell. All of Roberts’s gifts and amenities were not toasty ash. If she wasn’t already exhausted from the stress of the previous day (ant its two terrifying missions), she would have filled the entire room with wall-to-wall flames. It wouldn’t have harmed her at all. She’d rather die than kill, but the one thing she couldn’t destroy was herself.

Why? Why, why, why, God, why? Becky curled into a fetal position and lay hopelessly on the floor, trying not to think of anything except happy thoughts, but finding none...

? ? ?

Eight hours later, there was a knock on the door. She wasn’t sure whether she’d gotten any sleep or not. She’d rested, anyway. The fires were all out. She was surrounded by a sea of grey ash and melted debris.

A second knock. “Fox, it’s me,” Hunt said.

“Go away,” Becky hissed.

He entered, carrying a tray. “Breakfast.”

“I don’t want any.” Her back was turned to him. She was sitting on a blackened chair, staring lifelessly at the wall.

“Tough. Take it anyway. I’m leaving it here. If you burn it, I’ll bring in another. Burn that one too, we’ll bring in an IV. Just eat it, okay?”

“Just leave it and go.” She still didn’t turn around.

He placed the food down on the former bed. It was just solid enough. “You shouldn’t obsess about this. You had to do what you did. Skumm was a menace.”

“And now I’m a killer just like you,” she said, her voice breaking. “Thank you all so very much.”

Hunt actually looked hurt. He touched her shoulder. “Becky... you’ve got to...”

“I’d like to be alone now, Kevin,” she cut him off.

He hesitated, then left the room.

She still didn’t turn around.