“Split up and hide,” I told the girls while we ran, well, anywhere. “Make them have to hunt for you.”
They nodded and disappeared into the town, weaving between the old buildings. I was glad that they’d vanished so quickly but I already knew where I was going.
“Get out, Homer,” I shouted, bolting through his doorway. The bartender looked confused so I decided that grabbing him and dragging him out was better than explaining the situation right then.
We were almost to the exit when one of the Dragonovs fired off another missile. I dropped to the floor when I heard the hiss that sounded like a bottle-rocket going off and pulled Homer down with me. The tiny missile miraculously entered through a hole in the wall, passed over our heads, then exited the hut through yet another hole.
Before I had the chance to tell Homer to thank his lucky stars that his shack was so crappy, the missile hit the very much sturdy house beside us, causing Homer’s place to shudder. Grabbing his hand one more time, I monkey-crawled out the doorway as the roof caved in, pulling the older Scotsman behind me.
Only I wasn’t fast enough.
What was left of the ceiling, although not much, collapsed and pinned Homer from the waist down in the rubble, causing him to cry out. “What’s happening?” He screamed, pain evident on his lined face. Instantly I dropped to my knees beside him and started trying to pull up on the heavy wood on top of him. “Hang in there, Homer,” I said between clenched teeth as I strained against the weight, “I’m going to get you out of here.”
Something flashed in the corner of my eye and I turned my head just in time to see one of the hellish Dragonovs level his right arm down at us. “No!” I shouted, “Wait-!”
Then he fired off another missile toward the rubble. The explosion sent me skidding across the street. I groaned while my ears rang and I couldn’t hear anything but the accursed ringing when I climbed to my shaky feet and began staggering toward the flaming remains of Homer’s shack. I started out on my feet but ended up crawling on my hands and knees because my head kept spinning and I felt like I was going to be sick. I found Homer about ten feet from his blown up hovel on his back in the cold sand of the street staring up at the sky. He was missing a leg, I saw, as I crawled up to him and grabbed his hand. “Homer?”
“Ah never went ‘ter sea like Ah wanted to,” he gasped out and I could tell something other than his leg was damaged.
You know in movies and books when something like this happens and the guy holding the doomed man’s hand says, “You’re going to be alright.” And you know that he knows that the hurt person isn’t, in fact, alright nor was he going to be.
I used to read or watch scenes like that and just shake my head and think the other guy was a huge liar to tell someone dying that.
But you know, in the real world, there really isn’t anything else you can say besides that. But since I’d taken several oaths to myself to never tell someone dying that, I ended up saying, “I’m so sorry, man.”
“Dinna’ worry, lad,” He said, looking me in the eyes and squeezing my hand, “Maybe one day we’ll meet again.”
Then his hand slipped from mine and he was gone. I watched his face while what was left of his life drained away. Getting to a slumping position, I closed his eyes. “Sooner than you think, Homer.” I whispered. Then I heard the unholy gyrating of gears and felt the presence of my attackers close behind me.
“Jericho Johnson?” Someone asked in a normal voice and not one amplified or distorted by a battle-suit helmet.
Placing my hands on my thighs, I let my head roll back as I looked at the sky, sighed deeply, then tried to get to my shaky feet. “Depends on who’s asking,” I countered, barely managing to regain my footing while turning to face them, “How’d you know my name?”
“I am Verde’ von Klaus,” The man about my height with a mustache said in a thick Russian accent. He also was sporting a gauntlet that looked to be a shiny black. “I was able to get a little information about you from Dr. Atrium before I came looking for you. It seems you happen to be in possession of my property.”
“Yeah? Well, you just happened to kill a good friend of mine, chief. So nice work establishing a friendly relationship. You should really pat yourself on the freakin’ back for making me absolutely hate you in less than two minutes.” I said, my voice quivering with rage. I let my eyes flick to my gauntlet, not wanting to think what he meant by getting a ‘little‘ information about me from Chloe’s dad or how he did it.
“I was wrong. You did it in three minutes. Congrats, genius.” I only had two minutes left to find Chloe and Piper and get the helheim out of here. But I was thinking Klaus didn’t know that.
Klaus waved his hand like he was dismissing a child, “I care not for your friends. Why do you think I would?”
I took a step toward him and all three Dragonovs held a loaded arm. “I’m guessing since you’re probably a sadistic spawn of Satan, that you never had a mother that taught you the courtesy of, oh, I don’t know, not killing random people to get what you want.”
Klaus held up a hand and the Dragonovs lowered their arms. Then he walked the gap between us, stopped, and then looked at both the gauntlets I was wearing. “Why are there two of them?” He asked, frowning.
“Oh, you know,” I said, looking at them. “I loved the first one so much that I decided to grab another one while I was out picking apples.”
“Give them to me,” he growled.
I had one minute left. Sixty seconds to save the day.
Now I had fifty-eight seconds because I just thought that.
Fifty-seven, fifty-six…
“Since you don’t have a problem killing people, why don’t you just have your goons shoot me? Because that’s the only way you’re getting these from me,” I told him, hoping he’d say yes.
Not being one to dawdle it seemed, Klaus turned on his heel, “Have it your way.” He said, standing behind his troops.
I’m guessing Dr. Sparks hadn’t explained everything the gloves were capable of to Klaus. I mean, if I had been him, there was no way I’d let some guy wearing not one but two freakin’ electrical conductors have a chance of firing on my men.
Just saying.
But that’s just what he did.
Throwing up my hands before Klaus gave the order for them to kill me, I fired off both barrels, so to speak, hitting the Dragonovs who were, as luck would have it, standing close enough together to all share in the lightning fest.
Twenty seconds.
“Jericho!” I turned to see the girls rushing toward me. “C’mon!” I shouted to them.
I held my streams till my gloves started to smoke and stopped. Klaus, who’d also been hit, was lying amongst his soldiers, his body jerking when I had finished with them.
Ten seconds.
The last thing I saw of Klaus before we disappeared was his face as he tried to scream at us.
Then we were gone again to God knows where.
Looking back, I wish now that I’d have killed Klaus then and there. It would have solved a lot of problems and made this story a lot more enjoyable for me and everyone else in it. I keep telling myself that I didn’t have the time to kill him and that if I’d tried, I might have left without Chloe or Piper.
But I should’ve taken that chance. Klaus needed to die then and there. Bottom line.
But he didn’t. Which is why I can’t completely tell you the end of this tale because, frankly, I’m not sure of the outcome myself but there’s still more to go.
Chapter 27