Derelict

How Will You Escape Being Condemned? - Part A

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Late Autumn - 2020 (Exact Date Unknown)

Bryan eased the pickup truck to a halt in the middle of the road. He paused for a moment, rhythmically banging his head against the steering wheel, visions of Mr. Sanchez flickering through his mind. It had been his truck, after all.

Not that he would be missing it. Or ever would. Instead, the only thing Sanchez was missing was the upper half of his body. And if he wanted that returned, it would have to be scraped off the lab wall back at Mine Site 9-B in Sierra Blanca, Texas.

Collaborators. Bryan hated them. They sold out their race and betrayed mankind, all for a few scraps of food and a bit of shelter. Sanchez deserved what he got!

He pushed the thought of the dead man aside and opened the door, stepping out onto the blistering pavement. The landscape shimmered like a living thing while he studied the horizon. Heat waves danced in the distance across his entire field of vision making movement difficult to discern. Leaning back into the truck, he grabbed the binoculars, also belonging to Mr. Sanchez. I'm pretty sure he won't mind!

He dropped the tailgate and sat, using the rail of the truck bed to steady the glasses as he peered down the expanse of highway he had just traveled. Long moments passed with nothing other than a pair of tumbleweeds rolling across the roadway to catch his attention, but no signs of life. He lowered the glasses and wiped the sweat from his eyes, dismayed at the desolation surrounding him. The land was dead and barren. There lived no humans, no animals, not even any insects.

But overshadowing all that was the fact there was nothing on the road. He allowed a trickle of relief to flow over him, grateful there seemed to be no pursuit.

The frantic escape from the mine site had left him exhausted and weak, like soup that had been watered down until it was thin and pale with no taste remaining. He had grabbed the sonic weapons, rifled through the pockets of Sanchez's still twitching body until he found the truck keys and strolled out of the building to the parking area exuding an air of casual confidence only his thundering pulse belied. His attempt at acting nonchalant lasted all of about thirty seconds before the alarm sounded and guards poured from the complex like a swarm of bees from the hive.

One or two guards eyeballed him as he strolled out of the building but the load of weapons confused them, allowing him precious moments to locate and drive away in the pickup truck belonging to the still warm, but very dead, Mr. Sanchez. He drove for a good half a minute, putting distance between himself and their arsenal until the burst of activity spilled out into the parking area accompanied by the sight in his rear view mirror of an RPG being hauled out from one of the buildings. He had no idea of the range of the sonic rifle, but he hit the brakes and grabbed it anyway. If nothing else, it would give them something to think about. Remembering the powerful kick from the smaller handgun, he braced himself against the open door of the truck and shouldered the rifle. The weapon buzzed like an angry hornet when his right hand gripped the trigger, a strange tingly feeling reverberating all the way to his elbow.

He squeezed the trigger and hoped he had aimed with even a drop of accuracy. That thought was wiped away when he was slammed against the door of the truck like he had been launched there by a catapult. The sonic disc tore through the air and ripped into one of the one of the vehicles next to the guard who was readying the RPG. The truck detonated with a dull thud and a fireball blossomed, all red and black and greasy looking, throwing to the ground those nearby and coating more than a few with flames and smoke. Within seconds the fire spread to other vehicles, each in turn erupting in its own fireball.