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Dragon - DerVVulfman - 12-25-2008

Chapter Twenty
Everything is Black and White


Later that day, she was taken to Dr. Roberts’s living quarters on deck 11. No soldiers were present. It was a bit hot inside, but only for the doctor. He adjusted the thermostat, then wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He smiled at Becky. “One of the advantages of being a dragon is that you never sweat. You keep cool internally, no matter where you are. Unless, of course, you lose your temper. Bad joke, I admit.” He closed his file cabinet. Her mood hadn’t improved one bit since this morning. She stood silently, bitterly.

“It’s all right for you to hate me. I understand completely. A little hate is good for the soul. I’ve got lots of it-- none for you, just... other things. If the hate improves your work, please keep hating me. You were magnificent last night. That’s exactly what I wanted to see. But... I’ve put you under a lot of strain.”

Is he out of his mind? Becky thought, not answering.

“The property you destroyed won’t be held against you. It was yours, it was your privilege. Fortunately, it’s all replaceable. I want you to be happy, Drag--”

“THEN LET ME GO!!!” Becky shouted.

“I can’t do that. You know that. I control a lot of things, but make no mistake, this is the General’s ship. You can stay in this room temporarily, while I switch to Deck 7. This is one of the best rooms left. You deserve the best.”

“Thanks, Doc, but I love my own room the way it is right now.”

“Will you please be sensible? Just listen. Because you’re stressed lately-- and not without cause-- you won’t have to go on any missions for one week.”

“I may not have to go at all, if I get my way,” she warned.

“Don’t threaten. Listen. I’m placing you on R&R for seven days. No assignments until next Thursday. I’ve already prepared them, but there’s no need for you to worry about them this week. You’ve earned a break. So try to have some fun.”

Becky scowled contemptuously. Fun? FUN??? “Speaking of fun, will I ever get to kill someone who really, really deserves it... like YOU?”

Roberts scowled back, waving a thick manilla file at her. “Don’t be insolent. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. If you keep acting like an idiot, I’ll spray you with the chemicals all over again. The people in Utah did deserve it. So do these people.”

“May I see that?” Becky pointed to the assignment. Roberts handed it over. Without even looking at the details, she spat fire on it, reducing it to ash. “Oh, my goodness, clumsy me. I’m so sorry.” She smirked.

Roberts then said “Well, thank God for floppy disks. I gave you seven days. I won’t change the schedule beyond that. You’re going to get these people.”

“The hell I will. Who are they this time?” Becky asked. “Ninja rabbits?”

“More white supremacists,” Roberts answered.

“MORE? ARE YOU BONKERS? ARE YOU TOTALLY INSANE, DOC?” She couldn’t believe it.

“No. Are you?” He shot back, irritated.

Becky was irate. “We just lost three VSO guys tackling the LAST ones, and now you want to do it all over again? What’s the MATTER with you?”

Roberts spoke quickly. “It was worth it. We lost three, they lost five. Sometimes you just have to sacrifice. We’re going to do it again. And it’ll be even more marvelous next time. What’s a few dead soldiers? Risk is there job. The point is what we-- you-- can do to them. The Aryan Brotherhood of Colorado is next on the list. The VSO’s going to burn them off the face of --”

“NO!!! I SAID NO!!!” Becky screamed. “I WON’T DO THIS ANYMORE! I’LL KILL MYSELF BEFORE YOU MAKE ME DO IT AGAIN!”

Roberts slammed his table. “I’LL KEEP YOU COLD-PACIFIED FOR THE WHOLE WEEK BEFORE I LET YOU DO THAT! DO YOU WANT THAT? DO I HAVE TO TIE YOUR HAND BEHIND YOUR BACK TO PREVENT YOU FROM CUTTING ONE OFF???”

“I’M NOT STAYING HERE, NOT IN YOUR ROOM, NOT ON THE SHIP!! I’M NOT--”

“YOU ARE STAYING HERE, DAMN YOU, AND YOU’D BETTER LIKE IT!!!” They were both screaming at each other. Spit was practically flying.

“NO!!! I WANT TO GO HOME!!! I WANNA GO HOME!!!” Becky was pounding the file cabinet with each anguished syllable.

“THIS IS YOUR HOME, YOU STUPID WHITE--”

“NO, IT’S NOT!!! NO, IT’S NOT!!! I WANNA GO HOME!!!” She was going to pieces.

“AND I WANT MY CHILDREN BACK!!!” Roberts screamed just as furiously. “BUT IT’LL NEVER, EVER HAPPEN!! JUST FACE UP TO WHAT YOU ARE, AND FORGET ABOUT YOUR FIANCÉ AND YOUR SISTER AND YOUR FRIENDS AND YOUR NIECE, BECAUSE... be-because...”

“Because... why?” Becky cried.

Roberts’s expression suddenly intensified even more. His hand seized Becky’s wrist in a tight grip as he pulled her forward, violently opening his desk drawer. “Here’s why, you cowardly skum-— HERE’S WHY!” The black-bordered picture frame he yanked out of the drawer clattered on the desk. The picture was of the two most adorable children Becky had ever seen. A six-year-old boy. A five-year-old girl.

“Lewis Dean Roberts!” the doctor shouted. “Born January 18th, 1989! D-Died January 19th, 1995!” Oh, my god! She thought. Trying to break free, Roberts practically yanked her back. “Look at them!! Amanda Rachel Roberts! Born December 25th, 1990! Died January 19th, 1995! DEAR GOD!!! THEY WERE BURNED TO DEATH BY BIGOTS!! BURNED BY YOUR KIND!!!”

Burned. Burned to death. Six years old. Five years old. Now, Becky was finally realizing the extent of Roberts’s pain and obsession. It was too much for her to bear. It had to be a thousand times worse for him. They were his family.

Roberts let her go, turning his back.

“M-My kind?” Becky asked meekly, crying.

“My wife left me,” he said haltingly. “She wasn’t as strong as I am. She couldn’t stomach... the things that have to be done.” He turned around.

“Did... did Pure Skumm and the others have anything to do with...”

“Does it matter?” Roberts asked, angry again.

“It’d make me feel better about burning him...” she replied.

“This isn’t about making white people feel better!” he almost spat. “It’s about making white people feel DEAD!!! With your generous help...”

“Oh, no...” she sobbed.

“We’re going to destroy White America one stinking piece at a time --”

“--OH, YES, for what they did to my children.” He looked at her menacingly. “I... I don’t know who did the actual killing of Lew and Mandy. It wasn’t Pure Skumm. It happened too far away. I don’t give a shit. I’m starting with the supremacists, and we’re not stopping until I’m satisfied.” He found a glass of ginger ale and swallowed a swig, trying to regain his composure.

Becky felt an intense sadness, a surprising wave of sudden pity for the broken man. “Oh, Doc... can’t you see? Can’t you realize? You... can’t fight hate with hate.”

“It beats Bibles and butterfly nets,” he said. “When you came along, I realized I had the perfect instrument for revenge. You’re my instrument.”

“Don’t you mean SLAVE!!” she shot back. “Another kind of payback?”

“SLAVE, HELL!” Roberts fired up. “You’d better be careful with the analogies you make, girl. You didn’t go one-tenth of what most slaves went through.”

“Maybe not,” Becky dried her eyes. “But I never asked to be here, or to become an assassin. And I’m about as white as a girl can get.”

Roberts actually smiled. “You don’t count. I can’t hate you. You’re my instrument. Besides, you’re not white, you’re green.” He chuckled somewhat.

“My fiancé was burned too,” she said, trying to reason with him somehow. “Blown up act...”

“Yes, but he survived! Don’t compare your so-called tragedies with mine.”

“I’m not finished. He was practically blown up. Burned all over his face and body... and he’s still the kindest, most decent man I’ve ever met in my life. Ever!”

“So what?” Roberts said. “He’s still white.”

“Oh, the hell with it.” Becky gave up. “Consider me retired, doc. I quit-- now.”

“You keep saying that--”

“And I mean it! Now more than ever!” she glared.

“NO! You can’t quit-- ever-- because the General will pull the plug on you if you stop! For once in your life, listen to reason--”

“NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!!!” Becky stood fast “THAT’S IT!! I QUIT!!!”

“I CAN’T PROTECT YOU FROM THE GENERAL IF YOU DON’T OBEY!” Roberts insisted.

“I’m not afraid of that pig --”

“THEN BE AFRAID OF HUNT!!” he shouted.

She hesitated. “Kevin? Why should I be? We fought together!”

“That means absolutely nothing!” he warned. “Hunt is a VSO operative above all else!”

“Kevin’s not going to hurt me just because --”

Roberts lost it again. “HOW MANY TIMES MUST I TELL YOU?!? HUNT IS THE GENERAL’S DOG!!! YOU ARE SO NAIVE! HUNT WOULD SHOOT HIS OWN MOTHER, IF THE GENERAL WANTED IT! EVEN IF HE LOVED YOU, HE’D STILL DO IT!!”

“SHUT UP!!!” Becky shouted, not believing.

“SO YOU AND I HAVE TO KEEP UP THE MISSIONS SO THAT HE DOESN’T HAVE TO KILL YOU! WE’RE GOING TO COLORADO AND KILL THOSE WHITE SONS OF BITCHES!!!”

“NO! I WON’T DO IT!!” Becky screamed.

Roberts lunged forward, clutching her arms, his voice bellowing in desperation. “YOU’VE GOT TO!! YOU’VE GOT TO!!! PLEASE!!! FOR YOURSELF! FOR YOUR LIFE! FOR MY CHILDREN’S LIVES!” He was on the verge of crying.

“I’M SORRY!!! I CAN’T!!! I can’t--” She felt so much sorrow for him.

“YOU-- YOU-- YOU BITCH!!!” He slapped her hard across the face. She yelped, but didn’t want to retaliate unless he absolutely had to. Roberts was really, truly, unbelievably messed up. Justifiably insane? She didn’t know. “AFTER ALL I’VE DONE FOR YOU-- ALL MY TREATMENTS-- ALL MY GIFTS-- YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!!! I GAVE YOU YOUR VOICE BACK! YOU-- YOU TRAITOR!!!”

Becky was about to bolt from the room, but Roberts blocked the doorway.

“Don’t make me hurt you, Doc...”

? ? ?

Outside the door, in the hovercraft’s hallway, Sergeant Kevin Hunt, who’d been eavesdropping for the last six minutes, had decided he’d heard enough. He turned and walked quickly to the General’s office...

Dragon - DerVVulfman - 12-25-2008

Chapter Twenty One
That Burning Sensation


“Damien did... what?!?” the General asked, astounded.

“The doc’s gon rogue, General. I think he’s trying to use Fox to start up some kind of race war. I’ve never heard anything like it. You had to know.”

“Yeaaaaaaah, but how long has he been doing this shit?” He puffed a cigar.

“I’m guessing when we went after Pure Skumm on the last mission you authorized, it gave him an idea to incite things further. He--”

The cigar dropped. “What the hell is Pure Skumm? The last mission I authorized was for Minnesota. What the hell is going on?”

Hunt’s jaw slackened. “Oh, my God. Shit. Excuse me, sir, but-- he’s been playing us big-time. That whole last mission was unauthorized, and nobody knew it but HIM. Three men wasted for nothing. Dammit!”

“The ultimate black-Op,” the General realized, mouth wide open. Hunt waited expectantly. “Hunt... get all the men together on Deck 1... all of ‘em... and put Doc Roberts under arrest.”

“Yes, sir. What about Fox?”

“We’ll get to that. First, get the men.”

“Yes, sir.”

? ? ?

Some minutes earlier, back in Roberts’s bedroom, Becky and the doctor were still going at it like two stubborn bulls. Finally, he slid his door open. “All right, then! The mission’s tomorrow! You sleep in the damn hall! Get out!”

“TOMORROW? NO! I WON’T--”

[tabindent]“I’ve heard THAT before. Don’t worry, I’ll make you! NOW GET OUT!!” he shouted. She rushed past before he could change his mind, then he slammed the door furiously. Damn her, he thought, his mind teetering on complete breakdown.

Becky felt on the verge of vomiting. She walked quickly but pointlessly down several corridors, past more than a few soldiers, just trying to find someplace where she could be by herself. Her old room was off-limits, and no doubt being repaired for future bribery. She passed numerous overhead cameras and figured the soldiers didn’t need to trail her directly. Why can’t I find just one window so I can drop right out of it and be gone for good? she despaired.

She ended up in the one place she really didn’t need to see again, the immense military testing facility. It was completely barren except for its fireproof walls and the tank she spent hours in. It made her nauseous. She stumbled to the middle of the room, feeling her stomach spasm, then knelt down and threw up... fire.

There was just one problem.

She hadn’t flicked her fingers at all. The fire came up by itself.

NO! Becky screamed in her mind. No, please, no-- shut it off, flick it off! She flicked. The flames continued. No, God, no! She clamped her mouth shut, reflicked her fingers, the opened. Fire shot out. No, no, no! Please! She clamped again, flicked, opened. Fire. Clamped. Flicked, Opened. Fire. Flicked. Still fire. Flicked again. More fire. Flicked. Fire. Flick, fire, flick, fire, flickflickflick...

The only thing to do was shut her mouth...

Dragon - DerVVulfman - 12-25-2008

Chapter Twenty Two
Bill


Roberts had left his quarters and was proceeding to one of the emptier decks. He’d decided not just to change Becky’s mission date, but the target as well. Counting himself, his young weapon-in-training, and the General, there were only nineteen people left on the twenty deck hovercraft now. He encountered no guards in this area. All the better.

He was thinking.

Calculating.

The assignment’s going to be dangerous, but it’s got to out do the one previous to it, or else there’s no learning experience, he thought. So it didn’t have to be more bigot militants, as long as there was risk and reward. But her emotional unpredictability was becoming a disruptive factor. If she died on one of the missions-- most likely from gunfire-- before Roberts was satisfied with his vengeance agenda, what could he do, then? That meant this latest target-- who would definitely be white -- MUST have immense impact on white society. Thus, if Rebecca died in the conflict, the war could still be won with one crushing blow.

Now Roberts decided the target for Becky’s fourth (and possibly last) assignment. This’ll be so beautiful, the doctor thought. He and that wife of his are already at Camp David. I’ll assign both of them as targets. Hilary wasn’t as popular as Bill, but she was just as influential. And just in case, I’ll start working on the mission camouflage. I don’t want it coming back to bite me.

Now he was feeling vastly better. Tomorrow was another day. The best day.

Dragon - DerVVulfman - 12-25-2008

Chapter Twenty Three
Emerson


The VSO troops were assembled. “Is this everybody?” asked the General from his podium. “Where’s Roberts?”

Hunt answered “We haven’t come across him yet. He must be between decks 11 and 14, I’m guessing. But everybody else is here, sir.”

“Allrightey, then,” said the General. “May I have everyone’s full attention, please. Doctor Roberts is gonna be charged with unlawful and illegal private usage of VSO property-- Rebecca Fox-- for nefarious purposes and unrestrained mayhem, and all that. You know what I mean. I want Roberts found and put in the clink. I want him in the hoosegow by the time it takes me to finish this cigar. Plus...” he paused for emphasis, “The Fox broad’s gotta be terminated... immediately.”

Hunt didn’t expect this. His head pivoted in the general’s direction. He was not altogether hiding his surprise. Finally, he asked “Are you... certain, General?” The other soldiers looked at each other, mostly shocked but quiet.

“Hell, yes I’m certain! She’s been compromised by being on this unauthorized shindig of the Doc’s! Who know what else Roberts has done to her? Besides, there’s been a hell of a lot of misbehavior on her part lately! She burned her whole @#$%ing room up! She’s beyond the bend! As far as I’m concerned, she’s too dangerous to keep around. She’s terminated. Got it?”

The sergeant was very quiet. As the general was speaking, Hunt slowly, subtly moved from one end of the room to the exit, passing between many of the soldiers on the way out. Most of the men took no notice of it.

But the General did-- ten seconds after Hunt was gone. “Where’d he go?”

Private Emerson, his arm in a medical sling, replied “Most likely he’s gone to shower off the shit you just dumped us all with, sir.”

The room suddenly got totally quiet. The General leaned forward at his podium. “What the @#$% did you just say to me, Private?”

Emerson didn’t back off. “I think Sgt. Hunt just quit the VSO. And I don’t blame him one bit.”

The General exploded with laughter. “What’re you talking about? Did you guys just hear my orders or not?” His laughter halted.

“Up yours, General,” Emerson said, cradling his taser. “I’m not going to kill an eighteen-year-old girl. Foxy saved my life the other day.”

“WHO GIVES A SHIT?!? I GAVE YOU AN ORDER!!!” The General pounded his podium. “Or do I have to go down there and ram them orders down your throat,” he snarled, pointing the cigar at Emerson like a weapon.

“Come on, then! Come down here!” Emerson taunted. “I’ll fry as much o’ your butt as I can reach! I’m a private citizen now! @#$% the VSO! C’mon guys, help me out for God’s sake! You guys don’t want Foxy dead any more than I do!”

The General was livid, but he didn’t have the guts to call Emerson’s bluff. “HEY! I’M IN CHARGE HERE, PRIVATE!” He didn’t move forward. You’re not quitting just because you don’t like my orders! Now KILL the bitch and arrest the doc! ALL OF YOU!!!”

“SHE’S EIGHTEEN, MAN!” Emerson shouted. “GUYS! WHO WANTS FOXY TO LIVE! RAISE YOUR @#$%ING HANDS AND RESIGN RIGHT NOW!”

One of the soldiers finally raised his hand. So did Emerson. “IS THAT IT?!?” the private shouted. “HAVE Y’ALL NO SHAME! RAISE YOUR HANDS!!!”

A third soldier raised his hand. Then two more. “I quit,” said the sixth, and raised his hand. Four more. Then it became ten raised hands in protest of the General. Eleven. Twelve. Three soldiers were still on the fence. “ARE YOU GUYS @#$%ING RETARDED?” Emerson shouted. NOW it was fifteen.

“You’ll pay for this,” warned the General impotently. “This is @#$%in’ MUTINY!”

“Wrong again, lardbutt. This is desertion! We’re not taking over, we’re quitting!” Emerson walked past the other soldiers. “We’re just gonna land this floating sucker so we can be on our way.” The General, still simmering, remained standing behind his podium. “If you want to terminate Foxy, DO IT YOURSELF! She’ll broil you alive and make jumbo chicken! Bet your life on it!”

Emerson moved into the C&C to land the hovercraft while the others warily guarded the General. Three minutes later, the immense VSO craft was on the ground. Fifteen ex-soldiers disembarked without even looking back at their superior officer. They had vanished.

How the hell do I lift off this thing? the General tried to recall.

? ? ?

I’m right back where I started, Becky thought, only worse! She had no pen or paper, no decent way to communicate. She was still in the huge military lab, which had only one small exit. There were assorted small fires in the chamber, but they were dying. Becky stood in the far corner of the room, diagonally opposite the exit, feeling more despondent than ever. What am I going to do? Why couldn’t I at least still be able to talk? What’s going to happen tomorrow? God, get me OUT of this SOMEHOW! Please--

Two hundred feet away from her, the exit door opened. The figure entered, then clicked the door shut with a heavy CLANK. She thought it was Roberts, because the man was wearing his metallic asbestos bodysuit. Now what does he want from me? she thought. Another stupid temperature-test? Why now?

The man took a couple of steps forward, adjusting his radio suit speaker.

“Fox,” said Sgt. Kevin Hunt, “I’m sorry about everything... everything you’ve had to go through...” Poor kid. She looks more miserable than ever, he thought. “... including this.”

That’s Kevin? Including ‘this’? Becky thought in a mad mental jumble. If that’s not the doc, why would Kevin have the suit on unless h-he came to--

“But I’ve got my orders, dammit.” The sergeant moved forward more rapidly. It was then that Becky noticed the seven-inch military knives in both of his gloved hands. Roberts had been right about Hunt one-hundred percent.

Dragon - DerVVulfman - 12-25-2008

Chapter Twenty Four
Hell


OH, GOD, NO!!!! Becky screamed in her mind. KEVIN, STOP!!! DON’T MAKE ME HURT YOU, KEVIN!! STOP!! STOP!! He kept advancing. He was just fifty feet away when she opened her mouth all the way.

The flameblast enveloped Hunt, sending him back about fifty feet, but he landed expertly, still holding on to both knives. Becky kept her mouth open, sending more flames at him, to very little effect. The radio speaker had shorted out. That was about it.

He slowly but surely walked in her direction again, his suit surrounded by fire that couldn’t yet harm him. Worst of all, he blocked her escape route. He couldn’t let her get past him. The large tank in the room began to warp from the heat. Some cracks began for form.

Hunt was closing the distance, matching Becky move for move, taking all her flame and lapping it up, keeping her sufficiently cornered. Chess-wise, it was like a pawn versus a queen with nobody else left on the board. Becky needed all her firepower to keep Hunt back, but just how long could she use it at this intensity? Were her flames limitless? Hunt would not retreat. He held on, closing.

You stupid dope, she thought to herself, stop wasting the flames on him and just melt THE KNIVES!!! He was thirty feet away. She concentrated, narrowing the angle of fire and shooting frantically at his sides. The weapons in his hands were also surrounded by fire, but they didn’t melt one bit. Nothing’s happening! Becky thought, horrified. I don’t understand! Why can’t I melt them?

Hunt was twenty feet away now, not quite able to run, but almost home.

Becky let loose orange hell at her opponent, knowing the suite wouldn’t be destroyed, knowing it was hopeless. But there was nothing else she could do. KEVIN, STOP!!!

Fifteen feet. He was about ready to strike any second. The tank shattered. Becky couldn’t see Hunt’s eyes through the suit’s visor. They were fogging up too much. Can he still see me? She thought. Twelve feet between them. KEVIN, NO!! PLEASE!! STOP! STOP STOP! But the only thing that even slowed was Becky’s stamina. She felt incredibly tired, her strength waning, like an hourglass leaking sand.

Hunt was damn close. Becky was damn tired. Any moment now she was either going to lose consciousness or run out of fire. She was truly cornered. Her mouth wouldn’t stay open. She hit Hunt with another full-power burst when her mouth shut involuntarily. She opened it again, but with only half the power. Ten feet. Confused and tired, she opened once more. Hunt continued to approach, raising one of the knives over his head, ready to strike.

Becky stared in to Hunt’s expressionless eyes before the visor was stained red. Two powerful gunshots rang out in the chamber, and the VSO sergeant fell, barely two feet away from the horrified young girl.

She stared in disbelief, then looked across the room. Doctor Damien Roberts, sweating profusely, was staring anxiously at her, holding a large caliber pistol. Her mouth clamped shut, Becky ran through all the fires and dashed to the exit. The expression in her eyes told Roberts all that he needed to know.

“You can’t talk,” he realized sadly. “I have no more antidote.”

She looked back at the flaming room one final time, then back at him, her eyes pleading with his. He understood her very well, too.

His voice was sad beyond belief. “Go home, Dragon.” He was pointing at an unlocked hatch. “Don’t waste any time. I may not have much left. Go home any way you can. That’s your mission now. Be good.” He tried to smile. “Don’t wait for me. Just go. I’ve got some unfinished business to take care of... my white whale.”

Becky obeyed, but still wished he would’ve come with her. She ran to the hatch and climbed down the emergency ladder until she touched solid land.

Green grass under her feet, trees to one side, and the crumpled remains of a swing-set lodged in the belly of the hovercraft. They landed in a city park just yards from a street. She didn’t know where she was, but it seemed to be the middle of the night in some suburban neighborhood. She had taken ten steps when she heard the shot from a revolver. Then silence.

Doc? she thought, stopping in her tracks, hoping, waiting.

Thirty seconds later, the General appeared at the foot of the ladder, aiming a high caliber... Roberts’s high caliber pistol at her. She scrambled as he let loose a volley of bullets, missing her by inches. The gun jammed.

Becky shot back with a stream of fire in his direction, making him drop the gun. Barely missing him, he fell backwards. Becky remembered what Roberts had told her moments ago and decided to follow it. Don’t waste any time! Go home any way you can!. She spat three last wads of fire in the General’s direction, turned away and ran like hell into the night, into the nearly-deserted city streets...

“Aaaaaaaah!” the General muttered, annoyed but unhurt, and reluctantly re-entered the VSO hovercraft, hoping to find a LAUNCH switch...

? ? ?

She’d been running for two minutes down the middle of empty streets, absurdly looking for tossed pens of scraps of paper. It had occurred to her there were lots of VSO soldiers still unaccounted for, possibly waiting for her in the streets. If Hunt could try to kill her, so could they. Where the hell am I? I’ve got to find a police station! A gas station! A 7-11... something! I --

The car horn blared loud enough to wake the dead. She whipped around, and saw rapidly approaching headlights. Becky freaked out, throwing herself out of the road, preparing to bolt again. Oh, God, it’s THEM! The car stopped. Becky tensed, readying to fry the Chrysler Oldsmobile. It looked familiar.

Fred jumped out of the car, his mouth half-full of crushed apple fragments, and shouted “FOX, WHAT THE HELL ARE YA DOIN’ RUNNIN’ IN TH’ MIDDLE OF THE STREET LIKE A TOTAL DORKAHOLIC!! YOU OVERDOSE ON YOUR STUPID PILLS? SHEESH! I ALMOST HIT YA! GET IN THE FLAMIN’ CAR!!” He still wore his shades, even at 2 am.

Becky couldn’t BELIEVE her string of simultaneous good/bad luck. Bumping into Tom Christian last week while under VSO guard. Bumping into Rabikes inside the Minnesota courthouse at the worst possible moment. And NOW-- the joy of joys, the horror of horrors, she was BEING RESCUED BY FRED @#$%ING FRESHEE!!?

No. It wasn’t bad at all. She relaxed, walked forward, relieved beyond words, beyond measure-- and gave Fred the biggest damn hug his life! She thought she was going to cry and laugh. Hold it in, she reminded herself.

Fred was fighting to free himself, disgusted and revolted. “GET OFF ME, FOX!” The apple bits flew out of his mouth. “LEGGO, DAMMIT! SEXUALLY ‘SAULTIN’ ME! HORNY SLUT!” He disengaged after some struggle. His sunglasses were half-off his face. “Hey, you all right?” he asked her, no bullshit this time.

She nodded, smiling.

I’m free.

“Well, get in the frigging car then!” he urged her. “Let’s beat it!”

She nodded again, in full agreement. She giggled mentally. My hero... Johnny Appleseed. They stepped inside the front seats of the car. Becky vigorously motioned at the glove compartment with her hands.

“Now what, Fox? No time for charades.” She grabbed his leather jacket insistently, pointing inside the compartment. “Okay, okay. Don’t have an embolism. It’s open. Now what?” She found a pen, but no notepad. “I get. You want something to write on.” He found an old newspaper, turning it to a page with extra white space. “There.” He started driving, glasses back on.

WHERE ARE WE? she held up.

Fred snorted. “L.A., dummy! Where the hell do you think?”

She actually missed his rudeness. Nothing was going to spoil her good mood. She continued to write. HOW THE HECK DID YOU FIND ME?

“Murphy’s Law, Fox,” he replied. She looked at him quizzically. “Y’see, all of us were wrackin’ our brains tryin’ to find you. And when you want to find someone, Murphy’s Law says you can’t. But I kept my cool, took my car down to Shopper’s Food, bought every stinkin’ apple in the place and filled both back seats, plus the trunk with ‘em, and I headed west and kept going from Maryland to here.” He grabbed another apple. “I figured if I kept going left on the map, I’d bump into you out of sheer bad luck, ‘cuz I’d run out of cities eventually. God, I’ve been all over the friggin’ COUNTRY! Spent $700 in gas ALONE!” he bit an apple chunk.

Is he serious? Becky thought.

“But back to Murphy’s Law. This is the key: I didn’t WANT to find you. I mean, I looked all over, but I kept hoping I didn’t find ya, ‘cuz I can’t stand you. So by not tryin’ to find ya, and not wantin’ to find ya, I knew I would-- and I did! How’d ya like that?”

That’s brilliant, Becky thought. Only a moron like Fred could be so excellently stupid and succeed at it... oh, God, I’m so tired. She wrote another note for Fred: I’M GONNA SLEEP. DON’T TOUCH ME.

Fred choked on an apple chunk. “Please! I’m tryin’ ta eat, Fox!” He shivered. “Hey, you wanna lie down in the back?”

Nuh-uh. Too many apples there. Not comfy. She shook her head no. Fred pulled out a blanket from behind his seat. Three seconds later, she was fast asleep and was dreaming about her parents.

Dragon - DerVVulfman - 12-25-2008

Chapter Twenty Five
Some Like it Hot


Beltsville. Morale couldn’t have possibly been lower. Hit had been weeks since the initial capture, and Lizzie Hardy was on the verge of total mental breakdown. She was still scanning the TV-radio wavelengths hour after hour, day after day, and finding--

“NOTHING!!” She screamed, slamming the television top. “ALWAYS NOTHING!! DAMN IT, CHRIS, WHERE ARE THEY!?!”

Rabikes exploded right back “I DON’T @#$%ING KNOW, ALL RIGHT?”

“SHUT UP!!!!” Pardy shouted from the other room. Moulty diddled and squawked angrily. John Diamond stormed out into the living room, livid.

“WHAT THE HELL’RE YOU DOING, YELLING AT HER!!” he accosted Rabikes.

Chris didn’t cool down. He heated up. “YOU KEEP OUT OF THIS, WIGWAM! YOU ABANDONED BECKY! BOTH OF YOU! I’LL YELL AT HER IF I FEEL LIKE IT!”

Diamond became furious. Pardy rushed in, screaming. “EVERYBODY STOP IT!”

But Diamond all but charged at Rabikes. “YOU SON OF A BITCH! I’LL BREAK YOU IN TWO!”

“COME ON!!!” Rabikes screamed, preparing to swing at Diamond.

Fred Freshee appeared out of nowhere and jumped between the two. “GUYS!!! Guys, guys, guys-- chill the hell out, for God’s sake!”

Rabikes was still tense. “Shut up, you Rob Lowe wannabe-- WHAT THE @#$%?!? FRESHEE?!? Where the hell did you come from?!?”

“Outside. Hi, Miz Hardy.” Chris and John backed off, confused.

“Lizzie, wiping away the tears, said weakly, “Fred... where have you been?”

“I told you. Outside.”

“OH, CUT THE CRAP!!” Pardy shouted.

“PARDY, STOP CURSING!” Lizzie snapped.

“WHAT? ALL I SAID WAS CRAP! CHRIS SAID @#$%!!!”

Rabikes, still on edge, had Freshee in his sights. “Everybody zip it!! I wanna know where the hell you REALLY were, or I’m gonna knock the living shit out of you.” He glancing at Pardy, then her older sister... “Sorry, Lizzie.”

Fred took some milk out of the refrigerator. He looked depressed... beat. “Calm down. I’ll tell ya. I’ve been all over the U.S. of A. looking for her... and that’s the God’s-honest truth. Take it easy, all right”

“Keep talking,” Rabikes ordered.

“Okay. Everybody stay calm. I got good news and bad news. The good news is... I found Becky in Los Angeles.” He drank a sip of milk.

Chris, Lizzie, Diamond, Moulty and Pardy all reacted, excitedly. Fred held up his hands. “AND?” Rabikes asked, bracing for the bad news. Lizzie was trembling, anxious for Fred to spill the beans. Moulty’s eyes bulged.

“And we took a car out of L.A... the two of us...” his voice softened, “then a motorbike, and finally... a train, but... but... they... oh, man, I can’t even say this... they... they... th-th-th-they...”

“FRESHEE!!!” bellowed Rabikes.

Fred looked up regretfully, took off his glasses, revealing his tired red eyes. He was sitting at the breakfast table. “They captured her again in West Virginia.”

Rabikes slammed the wall. Lizzie moaned and collapsed to her knees. Moulty lowered his widdle head. Pardy gulped. Diamond shouted “DAMMIT!”

Suddenly, Fred shot up, whipped open the front door and Becky Fox jumped in, smirking and “ta-daaing.” “SIKE!!!!!” Fred shouted, laughing.

Becky, on the other hand glared at her recent traveling companion with disgust. That was cruel, you apple-assed jerk.

The entire room and everyone in it exploded with pandemonium. Rabikes screamed and pulled Becky into the room for a victory spin. Moulty did loop-de-loops in his cage swing. Lizzie, shocked, almost fainted dead on the table, then smiled with sudden relief. Diamond sighed, shutting his eyes. And Pardy, who never takes off her baseball cap, screamed and triumphantly threw her cap high into the air.

“OHH, SURE!” Fred smiled wolfishly. “When I get back, it barely registers, but when SHE comes back, it’s a friggin’ Mardi-Gras! This is so typical!”

Lizzie walked up to Fred, laughing hysterically. “H-How long have you been together, Fred?”

“Days, Miz Hardy. Days. Imagine the horror...”

She got really close, head-to-head. “And why in the name of Napoleon Bonaparte didn’t you phone us earlier and tell us you both were coming?” she smiled sweetly.

“Ah, jeez, Miz Hardy... I forgot!” Fred flushed.

She hit him over the head with a frying pan. Coming from her, he didn’t mind. He lay semi-conscious on the floor. The others gathered around Becky, who looked for and found a decent notepad.

“Becky, what happened to you? We were worried sick!” Lizzie said.

OH, BOY! She wrote. WHERE DO I BEGIN? She touched her forehead.

“Never mind the notes, kid... talk to us. You did it before,” Chris urged.

Instead, Becky smiled and shook her head. Sorry, Chris, she thought. No can do.

Rabikes’s smile wavered. “But I thought...”

I’M OKAY, she wrote. THANKS -- ALL OF YOU. MISSED YOU GUYS. Becky wanted to tell them everything, about Dr. Roberts, Hunt, Fricker, but there was so much she couldn’t... like what happened in Utah... what she did to Pure Skumm.

She looked out into the dining room. Pardy Hardy approached her. HOW’S YOUR HAND?” Becky wrote to her.

In response, the eight-year-old shot Becky in the forehead. POIT!

“Pretty good, B.F... How’s your face?” she responded, twirling around her plastic gun on her trigger finger. “We’re even now, got it? My shooter’s empty and my work is done.” The girl said as Becky smiled and pried the sticky-dart off her forehead. “Hey, can’t you tell us what happened? Nobody tells me anything! What was it like being an assassin? Was it cool? Was it like Patty Hearst? Better? Worse?”

Becky wasn’t offended. You’re truly an original, kiddo. She saw Diamond whisper something to Lizzie, whose whole face lit up, grinning. She walked upstairs with the look of someone about to spring a surprise gift.

Becky wrote another note for Rabikes and Diamond: WHAT IF VSO DOES TRY THIS AGAIN?

Diamond replied, “We’ll face that if they try. If it happens, we’ll face that together, and you won’t be left behind next time. Right Chris?”

“Absoflamingutely.” Rabikes looked at Becky, then asked her, “Can I have a light, kid? I’m dying for a cigarette.”

That seemed to annoy her. SMOKING’S BAD FOR YOU!! she held up.

Rabikes laughed. “Especially when I’m floating sideways. Always looking out --”

“BECKY!!! MY GOD!!!”

Becky’s eyes widened. She cupped her hand to her mouth. IT’S DAVID!!! Furfy, his mouth wide open in shock, descended the staircase in three quick jumps. Lizzie watched at the top of the steps as Becky shot like a projectile into the ex-cop’s waiting arms.

“BECKY! OH, GOD, BECKY, BECKY, BECKY!!” Two people never held each other tighter. Clenching her mouth, she buried her head in his chest, her body convulsing with grief and relief, her mouth stifling her sobs, her eyes tightly shut. Furfy was crying too. “Y-You’re back! Oh, my God, you’re back!”

“Hrrrrrr,” growled Pardy, her envy and jealousy building up by the second. But Lizzie gave her a warning-look and she subsided.

“I know just how you feel, kid,” Rabikes whispered to Pardy.

She gave him a wary look. “You mean you’re gay?” Rabikes’s butt-muscles involuntarily tensed. To make matters worse, Lizzie had heard Pardy’s comment and giggled.

Furfy stroked the back of Becky’s head, and leaned in, kissing the tears from her eyes. Becky flinched. Nervously, she slowly moved from David.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

YOU KNOW ABOUT MY PROBLEM.

“Yeah. They told me. So?” He touched her chin, asking her quietly “What are you worried about, hon?”

CAN’T TALK TO YOU, she wrote.

“You just did,” David told her. “It doesn’t matter.”

CAN’T EAT, EITHER.

Furfy paused. “We’ll save a lot of money on food, then. Doesn’t matter.”

CAN’T DRINK, SMARTYPANTS.

He was determined to keep things positive. “Drink from the pool, honey. It doesn’t matter.”

What? Becky thought, amused in spite of herself. But then came the last note. I CAN’T MAKE LOVE. She didn’t think he had an answer to that one.

“Becky-- it doesn’t matter. I don’t care, and neither should you. You think a little thing like that’s gonna change my mind? You’re crazy. Did you let my face get in the way of your loving me? Not for a minute. You didn’t care whether I had a face at all. I want to marry you no matter what. You’re mine and I’m not letting you go. Now be quiet. Am I understood?”


She smiled, tearing up again. Okay, she thought. If you insist. They embraced again.

“Did you hear him? Lizzie whispered to Rabikes. “Wasn’t that incredible?”

“Hmmm... love without sex. No, I can’t relate” he mumbled back.

Becky relaxed and outside, arm in arm, with David. She kept considering her last moments on the VSO ship. It was hard getting Kevin Hunt or the doctor out of her mind. Both had been cruel and kind at different moments; she had often been at a loss on whom to trust. She was wiser now (she hoped), maybe even wilder, like Chris said. As for Hunt and the doc, one had ultimately chosen to kill her, the other to save her. Yet she didn’t want to think of Hunt in all-negative terms, despite his last actions. She wasn’t sure what to think. For now, save and free at last, wrapped in David’s arms, Becky Fox thought her own personal prayer for the soul of Dr. Damien Roberts, then added:

Thank you, Doc.


For Morton Downey, Jr. (1934 - 2001)

Dragon - PoisonedV - 12-28-2008

This is the best fantasy store ever because you picked out names that weren't stupid as hell, something no fantasy writer has been able to do in the last 25 years.

Dragon - PoisonedV - 12-29-2008

Here is what I wrote when reading chapter 1
1. rabikes isn't as good a name as I thought
2. great idea for a story. kind of reminds me a bit of that ella enchanted movie (which i suppose is also a book)
3. writing style can be a bit disjointed at times and change style /pace suddenly
4. oh, its his last name, i feel better about it now
5. i dont know if you want feedback on this or to just be an archive in your story in which case delete my posts
6. I don't know why but its much harder to remember which character is which than in other stories. maybe its because they use several nicknames. if you could supply an image or something of them it might be easier.
7. writing style seems too pizzacatto at points, and at this point ive attributed it to the short dialog and the grammar rule of new paragraphs after dialog, so i guess its not within your control.
8. lol at the hot stuff bit
9. the dialogue of the army guy is great

like i said in number #5...