Dragon

[DerVVulfman]

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.