Stone Soldiers 1: Mythical (6 page)

Beneath the ashes and debris from the harness he had clearly once worn, Mark found other items. A gigantic, semi-automatic pistol, its handgrips melted off, the metal blackened. Brass casings, thicker than bananas- grenades? He finally found a knife in the debris.

A Kabar. He recognized it immediately.

He’d carried that same knife in Korea. The leather-disks that had made up the handle were dried and burnt, but it was the same knife he’d always tucked into a boot sheath. His last backup. His lucky knife.

Mark picked the knife out of the ashes and dusted it off.

Jimmy wasn’t willing to let the conversation with Josie end there. “This is because of your dad, right?”

Josie looked at Jimmy as though he were an escapee from a mental institution. “My dad? What are you talking about?”

“Your dad died fighting a fire, you meet this guy- who died in a fire.” It made sense to Jimmy. Josie had been haunted by nightmares about her father being burnt alive for years. Even though she’d only been two when it happened.

“Died in a fire?” Josie asked, a little angry at the suggestion. “Do you realize how crazy you sound? He's standing right there.”

Josie pointed to Mark to emphasize the point.

Mark stood up, sliding the old Kabar knife into his left pocket. He turned to face the kids.

Josie was glad to change the subject. “Find anything?”

“Straps, belts, holsters,” Mark said. “I was loaded for bear.”

“You were hunting?” Jimmy asked. This Mark guy talked weird.

Mark considered for a moment before speaking. “I think so. In a manner of speaking.”

“What were you hunting?” Josie asked. It just kept getting more and more interesting.

“I can't remember,” Mark admitted. “I don't remember this boat either.”

Jimmy was reaching the limits of his patience. This week was supposed to be his big chance to finally tell Josie how he felt about her, before she went away to college in the fall. He’d wanted to say something since they were little kids, and he knew that this was his last chance. Then Mark had come along.

“Well, what did you do, after the war, but before you remember dying in 1962?” Jimmy asked, a little condescendingly.

“I was a soldier. I fought,” Mark answered matter-of-factly.

“Fought what?” Jimmy asked before Josie could.

“Communists mostly,” Mark responded. He was clearly being evasive again.

Josie was a little perturbed herself. “We can't help you if you keep a bunch of secrets from us.”

Mark considered that for a moment. His memory might stop at 1962, but what he did remember from before then was too much for these kids.

“It's classified,” he said. “Or it was. Who knows anymore? We sure didn't have people using abilities in public, back in '62.”

Josie took a step forward, toward Mark. “Look, whatever secrets you had, I think we've learned enough to know more. Or we can't help you.”

“Procedure would be for me to report in,” Mark stubbornly said. He could tell the girl was sincere. He briefly considered telling her more.

“Report in to where?” Jimmy asked, folding his arms across his chest. Why couldn’t they just drop this guy somewhere and get on with their summer vacation?

“Good question,” Mark said. He hadn’t thought of that. “I clearly haven’t been operating out of the same place I did in '62. And I clearly haven't been asleep since '62 either.

“I just can't seem to remember from ‘62 to now.”

Josie walked up to Mark, her eyes pleading and sincere. “See. You need our help. Your memories are coming back, right?”

“Slowly,” Mark agreed.

Josie smiled. “So you just need somewhere to stay for awhile. To rest.”

Jimmy didn’t like where this was going. “Josie...”

Mark thought about it for a moment. “Maybe.”

Josie clapped her hands once. “Great. My mom and I live alone. We have a big house- you can stay with us.”

Jimmy’s jaw dropped. “Josie! I don't think that's a good idea!”

Jimmy was horrified. This wasn’t a stray dog they were talking about. It was an arguably-human being, with super-human strength and amnesia. What if he turned out to be a homicidal killer?

Josie turned to look at Jimmy. She gave him a withering glare that made him look down at the ground like he was in trouble.

“You want to just drop the amnesiac off in the middle of nowhere?” she demanded.

Jimmy sighed. He knew he was beaten. “No.”

A new idea occurred to Jimmy. He didn’t want to offer, but at least it would keep Mark away from Josie. “He can stay with me.”

Mark was genuinely surprised. Jimmy had made it crystal clear he didn’t like him. Now Jimmy was offering him a place to stay.

Josie grinned even wider and turned back to Mark. She put a hand on his arm. “Great! Jimmy's folks are in Europe on vacation- we can have the house all to ourselves!”

“We?” Jimmy asked in shock. That was not the plan. He wanted to get Josie away from this Mark guy. Where she wasn’t in any danger, and she couldn’t ogle him any further.

Josie stepped around beside Mark, facing back across at Jimmy. “Hey, I found him! And you know I like a good mystery.”

Mark looked from Josie to Jimmy. “I don't know if that's a good idea. I don't want to put you kids in any danger.”

“What danger?” Josie asked, looking up at him.

Mark had no choice. He was going to have share more than he wanted. “I was hunting something. It's still alive.”

“How do you know?” Jimmy asked, hoping Mark could talk some sense into Josie and they’d finally be rid of the stranger. “I thought you couldn’t remember anything since 1962.”

“I remember dying,” Mark said. “Again.”

“What killed you?” Josie asked. It wasn’t quite the progress she’d hoped for, but it was a start.

“That I don't remember,” Mark admitted. “It's like a dream I can't quite recall. But, I remember that whoever it was, they ripped my heart out.”

Mark pointed to the stone heart Josie had dropped.

“That’s it there.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kendall had been serious about going to the police. He had taken the drive to the highway then driven straight to the nearest town and its small police station.

At first, they’d been met with skepticism and laughter. But when they described Mark, the Deputy took interest. He’d pulled down a WANTED poster hanging in the station and shown it to the boys. It was the stranger from the boat wreck who barely remembered his name.

The boys were quickly moved to an interrogation room. There they waited for nearly an hour, all seated next to each other, on one side of the table. A man in a black suit, with sunglasses and an ear piece, had come in and started silently watching over them.

“Well, this was a good idea,” Carlos said sarcastically. He wondered why the suited man just stood there, staring at them.

“Shut up, Carlos,” Kendall said. He tried to avoid looking at the man in the suit.

“He's right,” Logan whispered. “We should have just kept our mouths shut.”

“And leave Jimmy and Josie with that weirdo, alone in the des-“ Kendall responded. He was interrupted by the door to the interrogation room opening.

Another Fed in a bad suit. A tall, black man with a shaved head, also wearing sunglasses.

The second agent walked to the table and sat down across from Carlos, Kendall and Logan.

“So, where do you boys think your friends are now?” the agent asked.

“Out in the desert...” Carlos blurted out.

The agent reached under his jacket and pulled out a 5x7 photo. He laid it on the table and slid it across for the boys to see. It had a picture of Mark Kenslir on it.

“Is this the man you and your friends met?” The agent asked.

“That's him,” Kendall confirmed.

“What can you tell me about the man?”

Carlos shrugged. “He was super-strong... He picked up a motorcycle with one hand!”

“Was he alone? What did he talk about?” the agent asked. He was emotionless, robotic in his manner.

Kendall was getting suspicious. If this Mark Kenslir was a fugitive, why weren’t they headed out right now looking for him. Why all these questions?

“Why?” Kendall asked. “Is he dangerous?”

The agent took off his sunglasses, folded them and set them on the table. His brown eyes seemed to bore into the teens’ souls as he looked them over, one by one.

“Please answer the question,” the agent said. “What did the man talk about?”

“He couldn't remem-“ Carlos was interrupted by Logan jabbing him in the ribs with an elbow.

Logan was with Kendall. Something wasn’t right. “Who wants to know?”

The agent gave a smile. Not a warm, friendly smile. More of a I’m-going-to-skin-you-alive smile. It sent chills down the teens’ backs.

Before they could think any more about the agent, or Mark Kenslir, the teens suddenly sat up as straight as possible in their chairs. They became stiff, as though being electrocuted. Their eyes rolled up in their heads.

The teens sat this way, rigid, for several seconds while the agent watched them.

Several seconds later, the teens went slack- falling forward, their heads hitting the table. They were unconscious.

The agent reached into his jacket again and extracted a small cell phone. He dialed his superiors and held the phone to his head. Headquarters was quick to answer.

“He's alive,” the agent announced. “And he doesn't remember a thing.”

***

The ride out of the desert had gone slowly. Josie had tried a few more times to ask Mark about his deaths. He remained tight lipped- repeating only that he’d died in an explosion in 1962, and that his most recent death had come after his heart had been ripped out.

Mark wasn’t much of a talker.

Josie had tried changing tactics. She asked Mark about his early life- where he was from, if he had family.
             

Mark had again been reluctant to speak, but Josie wore him down.

Born in 1928, Mark was the son of a Titanic survivor. His father, Thomas, had been a small child, the youngest of seven boys and two girls, who had emigrated from Scotland on the Titanic. The family had originally come from Germany, centuries before. Thomas was the only one to survive the Atlantic crossing.

Adopted by a family in Canada, Thomas grew up and became a member of the Northwest Mounted Police.
In Western Canada, he’d met Mark’s mother, Mary. The couple moved to the United States in the 1920s, where they too had a number of children. Mark was the youngest of seven boys.

When World War II broke out, Mark was too young to fight- but watched as his older brothers went off to fight. Two didn’t make it back.

Mark himself was later accepted into West Point, and graduated in 1950. A couple of years later, he saw action in Korea. And that’s about where Mark decided to clam up. Josie imagined he’d seen some horrible stuff in the war.

Jimmy was glad Mark had stopped talking. Josie had taken far too much interest in him.

Once out of the desert, the trio had hit the highway headed home. The first small town- little more than a gas station and a dozen other buildings- Josie made Jimmy pull over.

Jimmy pulled up to the gas pumps to refuel. Once again, Jimmy got out on the driver’s side, while Josie followed Mark out the front passenger door. Josie led Mark around to the pumps. He seemed fascinated by the design.

Josie held her hand out to Mark. “I need some cash.”

“For?” Mark asked.

Josie pointed to his bare feet. “You need shoes.”

Mark looked down at his feet. He could feel the pavement was hot, very hot. But it didn’t hurt. Even small rocks on the asphalt didn’t bother him. That was a far cry from how his feet had been after those cold years in Korea when he nearly lost several toes to frost bite.

“Surprisingly, my feet don't hurt,” he told Josie.

“Yeah, well we need gas,” Jimmy added. “And I'm hungry. So pay up.”

Josie glared at Jimmy. She couldn’t understand why he so obviously didn’t like Mark. Which was doubly weird considering Jimmy normally liked everyone. Except maybe Logan.

Jimmy shrugged. “Hey, he ruined our summer vacation too.”

“Jimmy!” Josie said, shocked. This was so out of character for him.

“It’s okay,” Mark said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out several twenty-dollar bills and offered them to Josie.

Josie plucked the money from his hand. “That'll do fine.”

Josie then turned and started walking to the gas station.

“Try to behave while I’m gone, boys,” she called back over her shoulder.

Jimmy started pumping gas into his truck. He and Mark just stood there for several moments, in awkward silence.

“Tell me more about these
super-heroes
,” Mark finally asked.

Jimmy wasn’t the expert on the subject that Carlos was, but he decided to give it a try. Even if he still didn’t like Mark. Talking was better than staring at each other in silence.

The first really
super
hero, had been a man who called himself the Sentinel of Liberty. Hailing from California, the Sentinel had been capable of flying, lifting cars over his head and appeared impervious to injury. He made his appearance in 1971 as all the astrology, new age types were trying to deal with a new decade and the Vietnam war.

The Sentinel started off flashy- a garish costume and stopping a bank robber in downtown Los Angeles. The media had been all over his sudden appearance. And he kept them busy.

Only a month or two later, more
superheroes
began coming out of the woodwork. The public was skeptical at first, but the New Agers claimed this was all a result of the Age of Aquarius and that the world had held mystery and magic for thousands of years.

The public bought it- with the help of Hollywood.

By the 1980s, superheroes were selling toys and lunch boxes. Everyone talked about them. But their crime fighting was waning. Lots of local jurisdictions, California included, didn’t want citizens- even those with super powers- taking the law into their own hands.

Congress got involved. There were debates on whether or not super powers should be regulated. It was revealed to the public that there were also super villains- people who used their abilities for crime. Hollywood was accused of covering this up to keep raking in the money.

By 1990, the super heroes had become a passing fad. Some stuck to show business- headlining in Vegas, making documentaries and even half-hour children’s shows. Some formed philanthropic organizations. Some retreated to private communes or went overseas in search of fortune.

Genepeace was founded- a band of misfit, reject superheroes that protested on behalf of the
xenosapiens
as they called themselves- claiming they were discriminated against and treated differently. The government, who called them parahumans, ignored the protests and the publicity.

Until 1995 when it all finally came to an end. A band of protesters with links to Genepeace managed to seize control of a nuclear submarine. The Sentinel responded and was allegedly killed rescuing the crew. Two weeks later, he reappeared in Los Angeles.

News reports showed the first super hero on a rampage, fighting law enforcement and destroying portions of the city. A military helicopter gunship had to come in to drive him away. The government later reported he had died.

That pretty much ended the whole superhero thing. Those few left with paranormal abilities stayed in show business, fled the country or just disappeared.

“How many vanished?” Mark asked. He and Jimmy were now sitting on the lowered tailgate of the truck, waiting for Josie. The whole submarine thing sounded very familiar.

“At least thirty,” Jimmy said. “I think. I wasn't even born yet. Rumors on the internet are that the government rounded a bunch of them up and executed them.”

“What's an internet?” Mark asked. It sounded familiar, but he was still trying to process this whole caped, costumed thing.

Josie finally emerged from the gas station. She carried a couple of plastic bags over to the truck. Josie dug in one bag and pulled out a pair of black flip flops and handed them to Mark.

Mark looked at the foam rubber and plastic shoes with disdain. “Sandals?”

“You're lucky they even had any that big,” Josie said.

While Mark tried the shoes on, she rummaged in her other plastic bag. She gave Jimmy some beef jerky and a bottle of water.

Josie had attracted some attention though. Two dirty locals. They were walking up to Jimmy’s truck, talking to each other and watching Josie.

Cletus and Pete were dressed like rednecks. Plaid shirts with the sleeves torn off. Dirty, ragged blue jeans and cowboy boots. They wore ball caps- Cletus’ with “Caterpillar” on the front, Pete’s with “MOPAR”. The sweaty men were covered in razor stubble, with long, dirty hair down to their shoulders.

They walked right up behind Josie with big grins. Cletus looked Josie up and down. Twice.

“Who-wee! Look what we got here!” Cletus said appreciatively, elbowing Pete.

Pete leered. “You're mighty fine, missy! What's your name?”

Josie rolled her eyes, then turned around to face the locals. She gave them a withering glare.

“Can I help you with something?” She asked coldly.

Pete took his hat off long enough to wipe sweat off his brow. He grinned evilly and winked at his pal, Cletus.

“I sure hope so, baby. I need lots of help,” Pete said.

Guys like this they had plenty of in 1962. Mark stepped down off the truck- even over their stench, he could smell these two were trouble.

Cletus and Pete seemed to notice Mark and Jimmy for the first time. Jimmy didn’t impress them- a skinny nerd wearing nerdy clothes. Mark on the other hand... the locals were baffled by the flip flops, obviously military cargo-pocket fatigues and the KE$HA t-shirt. And the precise flattop hair cut.

“Well, hello, Sarge,” Cletus mocked. “You just get back from the war?”

Josie worried where this might be going. She hoped she could prevent that. She held her hand up, towards the locals.

“Trust me fellas, you don't want any of this,” she said.

Cletus suddenly grabbed Josie around the waist and pulled her in close. His sweat soaked through her shirt and he reeked of body odor and stale beer.

“You're right, girly. I want all of it!” Cletus declared through a mouth full of teeth Josie suspected hadn’t seen a toothbrush in years.

Josie responded accordingly. She drove her knee up into Cletus’ groin as hard as she could.

Cletus immediately let go. He also stepped back a few steps, doubled over, holding his privates. He felt like throwing up, and his vision swirled a little.

Pete didn’t like that. Nobody treated his best pal like that. Especially some scrawny, little city girl. No matter how good she looked.