Rogue Alliance

FORTY-TWO



Brennan had never been camping before, at least not that he could remember. It was one of the many things on his long list of things to do from when he’d been at the institute.

Now, he was way up the mountain, about an hour past a small place called Whiskey Town, far off the road in a makeshift camp site, staring up at the stars. He’d been gazing at them for hours and had no plans to do anything else for as long as he could help it. There were so many, and the sky was so vast. There was something about the way it felt like the canvas above him was swallowing him up and consuming his whole being that calmed him. For once, he felt like he belonged there in the universe. The idea of dying in six months seemed far less terrifying as he sat under the stars.

He was glad he’d decided to get away for a night. With Victor in jail, he had a little time to himself to think. He couldn’t stay long. Victor’s arraignment would be first thing Friday morning and there were things to take care of before he got out, but he could take this one night of reprieve.

After hearing the latest news from the anonymous investor, he figured he’d better clear his head and make some serious decisions about where he was at and where he was going.

He pondered Shyla and Victor. One he considered a friend, albeit one with questionable integrity, and the other…well, he wasn’t sure what to think of her. She was trustworthy, intriguing, strong, beautiful, and even vulnerable. Her face haunted him.

Staring into the fire, which had taken him many frustrating attempts to start, he realized he needed more wood. He stood and crossed to the small pile he’d gathered.

A scent wafted over the cool night air and caught his attention.

When he turned, his body stiffened as he spotted two men standing just outside the shadows of the firelight. They were dirty from head to toe and wore thick, tattered flannel shirts. One had on a dingy baseball cap and the other had a knitted type with ear flaps that hung down. Their appearance wasn’t what bothered Brennan; it was the menacing looks on their faces and the way they held their rifles, poised, ready for action.

It was dark out and had been for hours. These men weren’t out hunting, though it was the season. They must have seen Brennan’s Hummer parked down the hill and hiked up looking for him thinking he’d be a prime victim. They either must have been very quiet or he had been too lost in thought because he hadn’t heard them approach.

“Hello there. Looks like you two have been hiking for awhile,” he said.

They stared at him.

“Can I help you with something? Maybe offer you something to drink? I don’t have much, just came up for the night. But I don’t mind sharing.”

“You the driver of that fancy rig down at the bottom of the hill?” one of them asked.

Brennan appraised the way the man who was speaking held his body and motioned with the gun. He would be quick in his movements, deadly if underestimated. The other looked bulkier, slower. He knew who he’d have to take down first. He couldn’t believe his bad luck. Even way the hell up the mountain, late at night, trouble found him.

“Why do you ask?” he ventured.

“Forget the small talk, city boy. Hand over the keys and toss us that backpack you got over there.”

“Oh, I can’t do that guys, you see…that’s not my car. It’s my boss’s.”

The men gave each other a quick and amused look.

“Well, we don’t really give a shit, now, do we?” the one with the ball cap said. He his rifle and pointed it at Brennan, “Now quit stallin’ and give us the goddamn backpack.”

Brennan had no desire for this situation to end badly but, given the circumstances, he was doubtful that it would end any other way. It didn’t help that his temper was flaring up and he could already feel the rush of adrenaline as it ripped through his veins. His training would take over soon and then they would all be past the point of no return.

“Sure. I don’t want any problems.”

As he sidestepped toward the pack, the other man raised his gun. Now there were two rifles aimed straight at his head. He didn’t think they intended to kill him or else they would’ve shot him already and taken what they wanted. Maybe the situation was manageable after all.

“Come on now, toss it over,” baseball cap shouted. He was growing more agitated by the second.

Brennan walked forward.

“No, no. Just stay there. I said, toss it.”

Brennan was now only about fifteen feet away so he hefted the pack and the guy with the knitted cap caught it.

“Now toss us your wallet and the keys,” said baseball cap.

Brennan slowly reached to his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and purposely tossed it wide and short.

“That was a piss poor throw a*shole,” the man said, jerking his head toward the wallet, “pick that up Derrick. Okay, jerk-off, now the keys.”

Brennan made a show of digging in all of his pockets and coming up empty.

“I…I don’t know where they’re at. Maybe I left them in the car.”

Baseball cap looked angry.

“No,” he said, “we looked already. There wasn’t shit down there. You have them and you know it.”

Brennan felt his pockets again and shook his head.

“I’m sorry guys. I swear I don’t have them.”

“Bullshit!” he yelled, “Dammit, Derrick, get your ass over there and find his damn keys.”

Derrick hesitated before tossing the backpack to the ground. He looked nervous as he approached Brennan. Switching the rifle to his left hand and pointing it to the ground he began to feel Brennan’s pockets with his right. This was the time.

Brennan moved faster than they could react. In one motion he grabbed Derrick by the shoulder and swung him around, wrapping his bicep around his neck in a tight headlock. Derrick raised the gun and Brennan easily snatched it out of his grip, pointing it straight back at his friend from behind his hostage.

“Drop the gun,” Brennan shouted.

The guy with the baseball cap looked so stunned it was almost humorous. He shifted the rifle back and forth trying to line up his sites to Brennan’s head but it was too close to his friend’s.

“I said drop the gun.”

Derrick’s breathing was raspy and quick. Brennan tightened his grip.

“Jesus, Chester, drop the damn gun.” Derrick choked out to his friend,

After another few moments of hesitation, Chester put his hands up in defeat and lowered his gun, but Brennan could see by the look in his eye that he was not giving up.

As that thought clicked, Derrick suddenly jabbed his elbow into Brennan’s ribs with shocking force. It was enough to take Brennan’s breath and loosen his grip.

Though Derrick grabbed for his gun, Brennan was stronger. Wrestling over the weapon with brute force, and applying more pressure to Derrick’s windpipe, he took aim just as Chester dove for his own weapon. A shot rang out. Chester screamed and reached down for his injured leg.

Derrick panicked. He started writhing and kicking and punching at random, slamming the back of his head into Brennan’s nose.

Pain split through the center of Brennan’s face and fury boiled over. He turned into Derrick’s neck and bit down. As usual, there was the initial resistance of skin then there was the pop and the flow of warm blood into his mouth. The frenetic frenzy that usually consumed him threatened to take over. But for the first time ever, a sliver of logic wedged its way through the mania of his training.

He released his jaw. He didn’t want to kill this man.

“Oh, my god! Oh, my god!” Derrick screamed, “Help me Chester, he’s trying to drink my blood!”

Chester was delirious with pain and oblivious to his friend.

Brennan rolled Derrick over and looked into his frantic, wild eyes.

“I’m not going to kill you…yet,” he said, “but if you ever do something like this again, if I ever see either of you again, I will. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Derrick nodded, “I understand. Just leave. Whatever you are, just leave.”

Brennan released his hold and stood up. Blood rushed to his head and made him dizzy. Fighting off instinct and years of training was taking a toll on his body. With cold, clammy skin and shaky limbs, he grabbed both rifles, his backpack and wallet, then left the two injured men to fend for themselves before he could change his mind. He seriously doubted either of them would go to the police. What would they possibly tell them?

He dropped the guns into a ravine not too far from where he’d parked the Hummer and drove down the mountain with sore ribs and a bad attitude. Guess I’m not going to camp out overnight after all, he thought.