A Tale of Two Earths

Chapter 7: Myron (Final)

Myron called, "Shotgun!"

Darla's previous driving record won her a second opportunity to be the 'wheel woman' of the Bahaia family's second vehicle. It was a red, single cab pickup, primarily used to haul their jon boat to the river. It was a fishing truck and smelled the part, enough so that Myron immediately regretted his decision to sit in the cab. The two, small windows would not roll down far enough.

Before sputtering out of the driveway, the group raided the house of provisions; a rifle and ammunition up front with Myron and Darla, and a duffel bag full of snacks, drinks, and nudie magazines in the bed with Vlatko and Nestor.

Turning out on what should have been an especially busy thoroughfare, the small town of Melwood appeared to be frozen in time. Empty sidewalks flanked deserted roads and abandoned vehicles sprawled out across medians and intersections. Stoplights cycled through their progressions, yet Darla did not obey their commands.

There was a brief but tumultuous argument over which route to take. Myron won and directed Darla onto a road bound for the airport, which shared a boundary with the Northcorp main campus. None of which even mattered as far as Myron was concerned. A guard shack protected the parking lot and ten foot high fences surrounded the campus. No matter the approach, they were bound to get shot, a thought that made Myron wince. He wondered if it was possible to come back from the dead twice in one day. He also wondered why a Black SUV had jumped over the curb up ahead, and why no else realized it? The hulking beast charged headlong.

Myron shouted and tugged at the wheel, pulling the truck into left lane and sending the two rear passengers jostling about the bed.

Black as midnight, the massive SUV veered past so close that the two side mirrors almost kissed. Having missed its target, the dark one made a sharp right turn, drifting the back tires before straightening out like an arrow and flying forward.

"Go, go, go!" The crew of the ill fated truck shouted at Darla in unison.

"It won't go any faster!" she screamed.

The SUV pulled up along the passenger side with matching speed then swerved, it's black muzzle mashing into the truck's rear quarter panel. Darla tried to hold on, but the wheel spun and the back end swung around, reversing their position in the road. This dance carried on for a few more moments, until a curb sprung up and halted all motion with a violent slam. The SUV also came to a stop. Thirty yards or so in front of the truck, it sat a and watched.

In a frantic fit, Darla straightened the wheel, stepped on the gas, and adjusted the shift lever. The engine revved but the tires refused to move, the Bahaia truck was no more. Darla hung her head.

An unusual calm washed over Myron. Staring at the black lens of the beast, he saw two men talking, or arguing. Their conversation didn't matter, Myron knew what he had to do. He held the rifle in his lap and counted down from five. Myron wasn't completely sure of what to do when he reached number one, but he knew he had to do something, and for some reason he felt a touch invincible. He would have to come back, right?

Taking a deep breath, Myron counted, Five.

Like a pair of low-functioning cats, Nestor and Vlatko clambered over the tailgate and huddled behind the truck. They were safe from the view of the SUV, save for Vlakto's elbow, which Myron could see sticking out behind the bumper.

Four, Myron exhaled.

"Do we put our hands up?" Darla looked to Myron for validation.

Myron kept his gaze forward. In the side mirror, Vlatko's elbow vanished. In the rear view, he could see the duo moving fast and low towards a van on the median.

Three, Myron breathed in again.

Darla turned the truck off, eased out, and raised her hands over the roof.

"No!" Myron snapped.

Before he could act, the SUV's doors swung open. Two armed men, clad in black body armor hopped out. Like mercenaries in a video game they crouched and moved into firing positions.

Two, Myron exhaled and slid down below the dashboard.

The one on the left opened fire first.

Darla ducked. She screamed as the bullets THUNKED into the door.

The second shooter fired a burst through the windshield, showering Myron with stray glass.

One, Myron filled his lungs and kicked the door open. He slid out, not caring what came next, and rested the rifle on the door frame. Still holding his last breath, Myron took aim and squeezed the trigger. The shooter on the left fell back and flailed like a turtle.

Adrenaline surged, picking Myron up and marching him to the front of the truck where a burst of gunfire rushed to meet him, eating into metal and bouncing off asphalt. His left leg throbbed, but to Myron's amazement, he was still standing. Myron fired twice at the second shooter, forcing the mercenary to take cover behind the SUV.

"You okay?" Darla's voice called out from somewhere behind Myron.

Myron looked down. The pale blue scrubs turned a rich, wet violet. Multiple points of pulsating pain cried out as Myron stumbled back into the hot grill of the pickup. "Run, get out of here!" He ordered.

Shooter number two scurried around the SUV to retrieve his downed partner, who issued the middle finger as he was dragged out of sight. A final goodbye to Myron.

The SUV roared to life.

Myron raised the rifle and fired one last shot before impact.