Hell Fighters from Earth Read online

  Streaking the white towel with charcoal and mud, he made himself a headscarf that covered his head and shoulders. This he tied with a scrap of cloth and wrapped it loosely around his face. Now for his clothes, these he streaked and soon found brush to add to his camouflage.

  Only dumb luck would allow them to get the hounds on him, but someone might figure out that he had used the stream to get away. That could cause a problem. He had to move fast. Pushing up from his hiding place, he moved out and up the arroyo, which was getting smaller all the time.

  Dogs! Not good, were they on him already? It was hard to tell where they were coming from. Scrambling up out of the arroyo, he could see a ranch house in the distance. That is where the barking was coming from. Let’s not get jumpy old man. He would have to stay in the Arroyo, as there was too much danger of someone spotting him from the house.

  By now, the sun was getting low, and he was tired and thirsty. He lay down in what shade he could find, took a drink, and fell asleep.

  As evening came, the wind picked up, and he awakened stiff and chilled. He struggled to his feet and continued with less fear of someone spotting him. A couple of quick steps and he was out of the arroyo. Back behind him, he could see only wilderness; no one was pursuing him.

  Chapter 3: Alone Across the Desert

  The sun was down and promised relief from the day’s heat before it got uncomfortably cool. The desert had taken on a reddish tan that darkened with each footstep.

  He had stopped worrying about being caught out in this wasteland. Nobody was crazy enough to escape that way, which is why he chose this route. He walked on throughout the night, occasionally stumbling, and once he fell. He went on like this for two nights, hiding during the day in arroyos and under bushes.

  The sun had set, and he could make out the first stars. He moved to the right slightly to take advantage of a small prominence. Reaching it, he saw a colossal and quite unusual building. It was a medium brown with a few windows up high. It did not have the appearance of any construction he had seen before.

  It appeared as if it just grew out of the cliff. The top was round with a low dome, which stuck out on the sides, crowning it. As he grew near, he began to make out a large bank of windows high up in the tower. There appeared to be no landscaping; the structure seemed to have grown out of the cliff.

  He stood at one corner of the building. He had been careful to approach it so that no security people could see him. He had seen no one. No windows were lit.

  “I don’t see any security cameras,” he whispered to himself, he had to find some water, he thought. He dropped his kit, and seeing no doors, he began the slow climb up the cliff often stopping to look for a possible entrance. He also kept an eye out for the night watchman.

  Reaching the top of the cliff, he rested and looked around. Wait a minute, where’s the parking lot? Off to his left, he now saw a town, small, tidy, and quiet. Looking back to his right, these buildings were out of place. Below him and partway to the town was a park. There he saw several children playing.

  He quickly returned to the structure. Hope they didn’t see me. There has to be a water spigot somewhere on the outside. He found nothing as he searched, no sign of security, a path to the structure, or any water. It was as if it grew out of the side of the cliff, and no one in the town noticed, bizarre.

  He failed to see the kids walk up behind him. “You lost?” one of them asked.

  He turned too quickly. His mouth was parched. “I was four-wheeling in the desert and had an accident. Had to walk to town. I could really use some water.”

  One of the kids, a little girl, offered him her plastic soda cup with a straw. “You can have my ice if you like.”

  One of the older boys interceded, took the cup, and walked over to him with it. “I don’t know if there’s much left,” the kid said as he shook it, rattling the ice.

  Former prisoner 1553441 took it in both trembling hands, ripped the plastic lid off, and crammed it into his mouth. It was cold, colder than anything he could remember, and sweet. Some sort of sugar drink. Now only ice remained. He let it soak in and began to cough.

  “You okay?” one of them asked.

  He cleared his throat as much as he could. “Yes,” he said with a raspy voice. “Is there any water here?”

  “I don’t think there is anything up here.”

  “What is this? What’s it for?” he asked, pointing to the strange building.

  “We don’t really know. Some company came to town a couple of years ago, built it and left.” It was the older boy who replied.

  “We used to come up here a lot. Nobody’s ever around,” volunteered one of the girls.

  “Isn’t there a road up here or something?”

  “Nope, we’ve been all around it. We’ve never seen anyone.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “That’s what my dad says. You need a doctor or something?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I’m just thirsty.”

  The little girl who had offered the ice spoke up. “Are you hungry?”

  “I guess I was so thirsty I forgot to be hungry,” he said smiling.

  The older of the boys spoke up. “We can take you down to the homeless shelter. They’ve got food and water there. If you need a phone to call someone, they’ll probably have one.”

  “Yeah, I better call someone to come and get me.” At that moment, it dawned on him that he did not really know where he was.

  “You got a shelter in this little town? It doesn’t seem like it’s big enough.”

  “You mean the old library?” asked the little girl.

  “Library?”

  “Yeah, it was closed down, and some people opened it up as a homeless shelter. Only we don’t have any bums around here, but after somebody opened the place, they just kept coming to town.”

  “That must have upset the locals, all those people hanging around.”

  “No, they just come. We never see them go, and they don’t hang around.”

  “We got to get home,” said one of the boys who had not spoken. He took the little girl by the hand. “Come on, dinner will be ready, and mom doesn’t want us out after dark.”

  “But what about him? He might be hurt.”

  The oldest spoke up, “You guys take off. I’ll get him to the shelter, and don’t tell anybody we found someone.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “If we tell them, they will want to know what we were doing up here. You know we are not supposed to play up here. You want to get grounded like last time?”

  “No.”

  He led the way and partway down the hill, the others turned off toward home. “See you tomorrow.”

  “See ya’.”

  “Here, let me get some water for that.” The boy took the cup, went over to someone’s garden hose, and filled it.

  “It’ll taste like a hose, but you probably won’t mind. You always go four wheeling alone?”

  “Yeah, sometimes.”

  “What were you in for?”

  “I guess there’s no fooling you. I was a political prisoner, but I escaped.”

  “I heard about it on the news. My dad says there are a lot of them now. They say you’re armed and dangerous.”

  “No, I just tell the truth about the government to college students.”

  “Come on through the alley.” They walked on silently for a few minutes. The air was cool and smelled of moist lawns. TV screens glowed softly in some of the windows while music drifted out of others.

  “Wait here,” instructed the youth who said his name was Jerry. He was quickly over a low fence and headed for the house.

  This was a bit unnerving; the fugitive looked around and moved into the shadows.

  Soon Jerry returned with some jeans and a khaki short sleeve work shirt. “He
re put these on,” he said. “These should fit you better.”

  He quickly was out of his homemade camos and into the new clothes. “I feel better already. You could get yourself in trouble, you know.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s my brother’s place. He won’t miss them. Besides, he’s drunk by now.”

  “Drunk on a weeknight? Doesn’t he work,” he asked as he quickly dressed.

  “Hardly anybody works around here anymore. Most of the land’s contaminated. Besides, since they built that place up there, checks just come in the mail. Come on. Cops still work.”

  Officially baffled, and leaving his old clothes in a trash can, he followed the kid. After all he had been through, his fate depended on a kid who could not be but twelve or fourteen!

  They stopped before crossing the street. When no cars passed, Jerry slowly walked across, as if he knew what he was doing.

  “Shouldn’t we hurry?”

  “You’re new to this. That would make us look suspicious.”

  “Where did you learn all this?”

  “My brother also did some time,” he explained before changing the subject. There it is, the old library.”

  There, not two hundred feet away, was a standard issue government building that looked for the entire world like a library. He fought the urge to break and run.

  “What’d ya’ tell them about the government?” asked Jerry.

  “Well, uh lots of things, abuse of power, how the bankers are ripping us off.”

  “You know we got free speech?”

  “Not anymore. You ever heard of the P.A.T.R.I.O.T. Act or the Violent Radicalization Act?”

  “No.”

  “Basically, if they think you are a threat to the power structure, they come down on you.”

  “And you were a threat.”

  “Actually, I didn’t think I was that good.”

  They reached the door and went inside. There was a heavyset man at the desk. He looked up and smiled.

  “Hello Jerry,” he said.

  “Hi, Juan, how you been?”

  “Good, ain’t seen you in a while.”

  “Well, you know, school and all.”

  “Yeah, I know. So what’d you find, one of our lost sheep?”

  Juan looked concerned. “I don’t see you on our list.”

  Jerry spoke up, “I found him up by the castle. He’s a walk in.”

  “You’re getting good at this kid. Okay pal, I’ll just add you to our list of clients. You hungry?”

  “Yes, yes I am.”

  “Okay, come with me.”

  He turned to the boy, “Thanks, Jerry.”

  “Sure, glad to help.”

  Juan paused before heading around the corner of the receiving area and counted out bills into Jerry’s outstretched hand.

  Chapter 4: Recruitment Center

  The kid had been all right, but annoyingly streetwise for a kid in a small town. He did not think much of it until the man at the desk handed him some bills.

  “What was that all about?”

  “What?”

  “What did you pay him for?”

  “Oh, just a little something. Some of our clients get lost from the bus station to the shelter. He just helps them out.”

  I’d better not tell him I didn’t come from the bus station, he thought. Better not ask how the bus station fits into this either.

  “Okay, let’s get you signed in.” He turned the sign in book around for the newcomer to see. There must have been a Jones and Smith convention going on in town.

  He turned it back around. “Name?”

  “Uh, Smith.”

  “Really, I’d have taken you for a Jones. Ok, Mr. Smith T-12.”

  “T-12?”

  “It’s Tuesday, and you are the twelfth Smith to check in.”

  The old guy at the front desk gave him a crooked grin and led him back to a room. “Only one client per room; no visitors especially women,” he said as he led Smith T-12 down the hall.

  They passed a room where several men were watching a film or infomercial; he could not tell. “Your room’s here.” He pushed open the door and handed a key to Smith T-12.

  “Willie will show you where the shower and mess hall are.”

  “Mess hall?”

  “Hey Willie, we got another guest,” he called to a man sitting behind a half-opened Dutch door. He looked up from his magazine.

  “How ya’ doin’?” he asked with a broad grin and perfect teeth, probably dentures.

  “He’ll need the usual, plus some clothes. I gotta’ get back to the desk. Willie’ll take care o’ ya’.” With that, he turned and waddled back the way he came.

  “What did you say your name was?”

  He hadn’t. “Smith.”

  “Okay, Smitty. You see that door down the hall, the first on the left?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, that’s the shower. Try to use it before 10:00 at night. Right around there,” he said pointing, “is the mess hall. We have three meals a day plus sandwiches in the evening.”

  Seems reasonable, why is it in this small town? Yeah, in a major city he could understand, but here. What if it’s a setup?

  “Hey Willie, why is a place like this in a small town?”

  “Oh, that. What did you hear before they gave you a bus ticket?”

  Uh oh. “Well, uh, not much.”

  “What you worried about? You got a place to sleep, something to eat, and you’re getting paid just to come here. You worried about the police? They can’t come in here.”

  “Well, that’s not an issue…”

  “Not an issue? You sound educated; they’re gonna’ like you. Now if I can give you some advice. Don’t talk too much, and don’t ask too many questions. You’re safe here. Just clean yourself up and get some sleep. Come on.”

  “Hey Cookie, I got you another customer. Got anything left?”

  A heavyset man behind the counter turned around. He was gray, even the hair on this chest. He had an anchor tattooed on his right forearm. “Yeah, I got some stew left. I was making the sandwiches.”

  “Why don’t you get something to eat while I get you a number one and a number two?”

  “Number one and two?”

  “Don’t worry about it. When you finish your tray goes in that window.”

  “Sure.” Smith T–12 turned back around to see the cook slopping something into a bowl. He walked over to the counter. To his right and behind the counter he could see a swarthy man loading up the dishwashing machine. He wore a white apron and white disposable coveralls.

  “Here you go,” said Cookie without actually looking at him. “Glasses are over there.” He pointed.

  “Thanks.” He took the hot bowl and headed over to the dispensers, grabbed a glass, and lifted the lever on the one containing chocolate milk. He quietly moved over to a corner where he could keep an eye on the door. After all he had been through, he didn’t want the cops just walking in and taking him.

  Willie handed him a stack of clothes and toiletries. “Here you go. Breakfast is at eight and your briefing starts at nine.”

  “Briefing?”

  “You know, to see if you want to continue. Otherwise, you get paid and put back on the bus. Didn’t they tell you anything?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Well just get showered and get some sleep.”

  “Yeah okay, thanks.”

  The shower was hot and delicious. After sleeping under brush and tramping through the desert, the concept of being clean and sleeping on clean sheets was a luxury.

  Eight o’clock came early, too early. Someone was knocking on the door. “Maybe he climbed out the window last night,” a voice said.

  “No, I’m here. Who is it?”

  �
��Frankie, I’m on the day shift. Breakfast has started.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there.” His head flopped down. He still felt exhausted.

  Breakfast was good; one size fits all pancakes, sausage patties, SOS, piles of scrambled eggs. They even had grits. This joint’s got class.

  Most of the seats were taken. I must be the last one. That’s why they had to come get me. He got a tray and went to the end of the line.

  After breakfast, everyone went to the briefing room. They found seats, and he began to surreptitiously look around. Some of the men were young, some middle aged, and a few geezers. He noticed that there were some women as well. Two of them looked like they were with men, and one was sitting by herself looking as if she wanted to be invisible.

  He did not look at any one person too long. That attracts attention. Attention he did not want. Smith slumped down in the chair as much as he could. Presently, a tall, lean man entered the room.

  He walked to the podium. Smith made note of him. He looked in his 50s, slim but strong, graying around the temples. He had a gray mustache with a brown streak on the right side. He was dressed in what could be a khaki uniform with a vest he wore open. He wore some sort of insignia or medallion on the right breast pocket.

  He smiled. “My name is Edgar Fitzpatrick.” The man sounded foreign and refined. “I’m here to talk with you about why you’re here. First, as to your pay, after I finish, each of you will be paid the $100 you were promised. I will make a further offer to those of you who wish to remain, and those of you who do not, will be taken to the bus station. Please remember, your protection from the police ends when you disembark at the bus station. Now let’s begin.”

  What, a hundred bucks just to be bused out into the boonies and listen to this guy talk. What’s the catch? Are the cops waiting at the bus station?

  Smith T-12 quickly decided he did not want to take the ride to the bus station. Could he find that kid who had helped him the night before? Is there another way out? The speaker came in from the left. If I think I even hear cops, I’m going out that way.

  Fitz looked at his notes and began slowly; he was glad to see them and tried to allay any fears about their safety while they were here.