First Contact (15 page)
Authors: Walter Knight
Johnny scooped up the man’s body and flew across the border. His buddies in the pickup hadn’t gone far. Johnny dropped the carcass from a thousand feet. It crashed through their windshield with devastating effect, crashing the truck and killing both drug traffickers.
Why did I do that
?
Johnny asked himself. “Because I can!”
Johnny returned to the ghost house. He tore up the floor, then burrowed into the ground like vermin. The tunnel went straight down, then veered sharply to the back yard for escape if need be. He carefully pulled debris and plywood over his new lair before drifting off into a sound sleep. This was just temporary. No self-respecting vampire lives in a hole in the ground. Johnny would soon rent a nice crib, get minions, and be a player on the border. Life was cheap on the border. That also suited Johnny just fine.
* * * * *
When Johnny woke the next night, he found the broken door to the ghost house had been nailed shut. Yellow police tape warned trespassers to stay out.
Damn!
The marijuana packs were gone. More disturbing, Johnny caught the scent of a dog and humans in the house. The police had searched the house, but not found his hole. That was a close one.
Johnny took flight out of town. Once safely away, he took a leisurely hike up Sycamore Canyon north of Nogales, enjoying being one with nature. Bats fluttered by in the darkness. An owl hooted from a mesquite tree. Coyotes howled in the distance. Frogs croaked in the stream. Johnny ate a frog. Yum, yum. It was kind of spicy, but tasted a bit like chicken.
It upset Johnny that the creek was littered with garbage, plastic bottles, and clothes from illegal immigrants sneaking across the border. It was hard to commune with nature when nature looked like a trash dump. Johnny ate another frog to console himself. After a few miles walking, he came upon an old homestead, not much left but some adobe walls. A past campfire had blacked one corner.
Johnny could sense violence in this place. Ghosts still screamed their outrage. Life must have been hard on the frontier, back in the day, and did not end well for many.
Nothing’s changed
, he lamented.
Life is tough, then you get your head torn off and sucked dry. Or scalped, like what happened here. Too bad, so sad.
Johnny dived for the cover of the mesquite. The distinct buzz of a drone in the air flashed him back to his days in the military. But it wasn
’t a drone.
What the hell?
It was an ultralight lumbering north with several hundred pounds of drugs.
It doesn’t get better.
Johnny followed the drone at a discrete distance all the way to an abandoned cotton field south of Tucson, where the pilot dumped his load and turned south back to Mexico. Invisible in the moonless sky, Johnny circled, watching people quickly gather the bundles to a waiting van.
The ingenuity of these desperate humans was fascinating. Johnny ignored the ultralight at first, but then it veered sharply to the west.
Odd.
It should be doing a bee-line for Mexico. He followed to investigate. The ultralight followed a roadway until passing the Tucson Mountains, then landed in a small field. Another van waited. Men quickly loaded more packages, then the ultralight took off southbound again.
Yes!
Johnny swooped down on the pilot, greedily tearing into his neck. Blood splattered back across the wings as they spiraled down, crashing into the arms of a tall saguaro cactus. Plastic wrapped packages were strewn everywhere. The pilot
’s distorted body sprawled grotesquely pinned across the saguaro. Johnny ripped open a package. It was money, bundled one hundred dollars bills, as good as cash.
A cell phone chimed from up in the saguaro, norteno music on the breeze. Johnny gathered the packages. It was too much for one vampire to carry, but still he tried. He buried most of the treasure nearby, determined to come back for it later, after buying a mansion somewhere. A mansion, with a basement, and a swimming pool, and a four
-car garage for his Porsches.
That’s the ticket! This millionaire vampire is gonna be stylin’!
And a horse. Cowboy vampires needed at least one horse, maybe two or three.
Can vampires swim?
wondered Johnny. He didn’t think so. Fuck the pool. He’d get a fountain.
* * * * *
Johnny Black returned to area 51. His wife Anita was still locked up inside those bunkers, and her parents would literally give him hell if he didn’t get her out. Oddly, the base was all lit up. Military vehicles were racing through the desert sagebrush looking for something. Helicopters shined spotlights downward, searching in a grid pattern. Had they detected his flight on radar? Johnny didn’t think so. Those fools weren’t looking in the air.
He flew closer to listen in
. The soldiers talked of a remote-control runaway dune buggy that escaped from Area 51.
Stupid GI’s. How do you lose an oversized toy like that? I’ll bet that’s one expensive piece of equipment.
Johnny circled in a big arc around the base, finally locating the fleeing vehicle as it tried to hide among some rundown buildings miles from the base. Johnny listened intently as he heard the talking dune buggy tell its story to an old grizzled prospector named Iron Mike.
Interesting.
Johnny would make these two an offer they could not refused. They would enlist to get Anita back, maybe even become his minions.
No hurry. What was that? The dune buggy had a laser? It just gets better. I’ll run this state before I’m through
, Johnny promised himself.
And I’ll get Anita back if I have to declare war to do it.
###
Embassy Flag:
A Visitor From The Future
by Walter Knight
On September 11, 2020, the barbarians were at the gates of the American Embassy in Cairo. As crowds chanted
, ‘Death to America,’ the Egyptian security conveniently faded away. Tense marines stood guard at the thick walls, ready to defend sovereign American territory. CIA operative Manny Lopez supervised the early morning changing of the guard. He casually walked between the ranks, inspecting the young troops with their commander, Lieutenant Wakeman. Lopez stopped at the color guard, finding a small smudge on the neatly folded flag.
“
You will fly this flag,” ordered Lopez, handing Sergeant Gomez a still packaged new American flag, exchanging the old flag. “Under no circumstances will you lower this flag. The mob may rip it down, but it won’t be lowered by us.”
“
No one will tear down the Stars and Stripes,” promised Lieutenant Wakeman. “Not on my watch.”
“
No matter if it happens,” insisted Lopez, “as long as
we
don’t do it. Understand?”
“
No,” answered Lieutenant Wakeman. “Who the fuck are you?”
Lopez’s
temper flashed momentarily, then calmed. He smiled. “There will be a battle later today. Be prepared. Don’t worry about Old Glory. She’s a battle flag and can take a hit.” Lopez abruptly walked away.
“
What was that about?” asked Sergeant Gomez, giving Lopez’s back a hard stare. “Does he think his shit don’t stink, or what?”
“
Spooks,” explained Lieutenant Wakeman. “They appear out of nowhere, and leave just as fast, expecting us to clean up their mess. That one is psycho to boot. I can see it in his eyes.”
“
She’s a battle flag,” mocked Sergeant Gomez as he raised the new flag up the pole. “What does that fool know about battle? Nothing, that’s what.”
“
Just be careful, and keep your head down in case that fool knows something we don’t.”
* * * * *
As the sun set, an RPG was fired over the wall into the embassy compound, followed by another, and machine gun fire. As if on cue, the crowd surged forward with ladders and hooks.
“
Fall back,” ordered Lopez, “to the inner compound.”
“
We cannot let them breech the wall,” argued Lieutenant Wakeman, pushing back a ladder. “We’ll be overrun.”
“
I gave you an order!”
“
Fuck off and die.”
Lopez grabbed Wakeman by the collar.
“If you ever want to see the green and rain of Seattle again, you will fall back. Don’t worry, it will be okay. I traveled a long way to fight with you today, to make history.”
“
You spooks think you know it all,” relented Lieutenant Wakeman, turning to his marines. “You heard him! Fall back! Do it now!”
The first wave of the mob topped the wall as marines regrouped at the inner compound. Lieutenant Wakeman swore an oath to never retreat again. Arabs danced on the walls, cheering and firing weapons into the air, chanting
, ‘Our God is greater!’ A dozen militants pushed on the flag pole, bringing down the hated symbol of America. Lieutenant Wakeman bristled, but Lopez put a steady hand on his shoulder. “Wait.”
The mob
’s leader, Hous Bin Pharteen, doused the flag with gasoline, igniting it with a cigarette. Instantly the flag spewed a gray-yellow smoke, choking all those around it. Pharteen fell to his knees, a victim of nerve agent woven into the fabric. He died in spasm on the ground from the silent but deadly vapors. Others fell dead in a circle about their commander. Pharteen had been destined to lead the Muslim Brotherhood, but now was reduced to a mere skid mark on the footnote of history. Panicked at his loss, the mob scurried over the wall to the rocks they crawled out from under.
“
Bendahos!”
shouted Lopez, firing at stragglers. “Be warned! That was a gift from America and the civilized world, the first of many, and a glimpse at your sorry future! Hoorah!”
###
~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~
Walter Knight
played football on Tucson High School’s last state championship team (1971). He served three years in the army, and the GI Bill paid for his college education, helping him earn degrees from Fort Steilacoom Community College, Central Washington State College, and the University of Puget Sound School of Law.
Walter lives a very quiet and private life, residing with his family and horses, dogs, cats, and fish atop a hill in rural Washington. Walt enjoys taking road trips to explore ghost towns and casinos.
To find out more about the author and his books, visit his web site.
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