Sudden Independents (38 page)

H
unter teetered on the edge of teeth-gnashing insanity from the pain in his shoulder. Most of the time his shoulder felt numb and he was able to cope. Other times, like this one, he wanted to rip his arm right out of its socket and beat the pain to death.

The pain sparkled as he climbed the rusty ladder to the grain elevator’s roof in Cozad, Nebraska. A mid-summer thunderstorm lashed upon him violently and sheets of water cascaded down the white concrete wall, making the climb more treacherous than he had anticipated. At least the rain provided good cover; the kid up top would be oblivious to Hunter’s approach in this mess.

Hunter reached for the next rung and his foot slipped, his body dropped and his left arm took the weight; pain seared through his shoulder. He clamped his other arm around the ladder tightly, trembling with fear from the thought of ping ponging down the safety cage. Rain pelted the hood of his waterproof jacket, loud and harsh in unison with his terrified panting. The ground waited to catch him a hundred feet below; another hundred feet of climbing and he’d reach the top where the sniper roosted.

Four months ago when Hunter had died, all of his cares and worries had been washed away. He was saved when his older brother, Jimmy, had made the ultimate sacrifice. That gift would be in vain if he fell now and crash-landed on his head.

Earlier that day, Hunter had slowed his motorbike up towards Cozad, visiting as an emissary from Independents to find out if Cozad’s food crops were also fighting a disease. That’s when the shots rang out, throwing up clouds of dirt from bullet impacts. Hunter had understood the message; go away.

Even if they had just been warning shots, he was still ticked off. Jimmy hadn’t given up his life so some yahoo could take Hunter out by accident or otherwise. Whatever the reason the kid had for scoping him with daddy’s deer rifle, he was about to learn the terrible consequence of jacking with people in the Big Bad.

With his grit back in check, Hunter climbed the rest of the way with no more thought about his shoulder. He peeked over the top where a hundred yards of puddles collected the rain over the flat surface. Thick drops clattered the metal roof of a narrow building that ran down the middle length of the grain elevator. No one was in sight.

Hunter stepped up and moved from the edge quickly before he was blown off like a kite in the gusty wind. He huddled against the narrow building and worked his bad shoulder, lifting up his arm and making small rotations. It still hurt, but that was expected. He could manage.

A taller out building at the other end of the grain elevator was barely visible through the curtain of rain. Maybe the sniper was inside cleaning his gun? Or maybe the kid went home at night? And maybe Hunter would just have to wait till morning before teaching his lesson? He’d been through worse weather out in the open.

Hunter caught a rotten whiff and pinched his nose. Whatever remained in the grain elevator had definitely turned. He crept alongside and peered with his left eye into the window of the lower building and saw only darkness. He lost his left eye the day he had lost his brother. He’d gotten used to the change of depth perception, but still struggled with the absence of Jimmy. That was going to take awhile.

He closed within fifty feet of the other end where a dark form huddled on the edge. A loud, thunder-like crack reverberated around the top of the elevator. Hunter saw the brief fire-flash and realized he’d been shot as the bullet ripped through his stomach and knocked him back against the building. He lifted up his shirt in startled amazement. The bullet hole closed without one drop of blood escaping.

When Hunter had been beaten to death, like the broken, bleeding and checking out for good kind of whooping, the ultimate sacrifice his brother had made involved Hunter being healed by a little girl named Catherine. Right then, Hunter thought the healing had some residual affect. Cool for him, bad news for whoever just shot him.

He advanced on the sniper and another shot fired, catching Hunter in the bad shoulder and spinning him to the ground. Hunter landed in a giant puddle and screamed in pain for one excruciating moment before the pain ceased. His shoulder reverted back to its normal dull ache, with no blood and no hole from the bullet’s entry or exit. The only thing he felt was a blood boiling desire to kill.

Hunter leapt to his feet and sprinted for the kid, but something wasn’t right. He skidded to a stop on the wet roof and wiped water from his eye. The boy’s clothes were drenched and his exposed skin rippled like ever changing waves on a pond; he stared at Hunter with milky eyes and a tail swished behind his back.

“You!” the thing hissed. “How did you get here? You won’t stop my master.”

Hunter wiped his eye again. Sure enough, he’d been shot by some kind of gun-toting demon-kid. If little girls can heal people back from the dead and some kid can unleash a plague that kills every adult around the world, then demons—why not. Hunter looked up for a guardian angle and was rewarded with a drop of water in his eye.

“You just shot me, twice.” He poked his belly, then his shoulder and frowned at the holes in his jacket. “Look at what you did to my brand-new coat!”

“That is nothing compared to what my master will do. He will rend your flesh and eat because he hungers. He always hungers.”

“Sounds like your buddy needs a pizza. Sorry, I don’t deliver. How about you drop the gun and go tell your master we got enough troubles without his baggage weighing us down.”

The creature rushed for Hunter, wielding the rifle like a club. Hunter ducked as the swing cut through the rain above his head, and he lifted the thing up, plowing it against the metal building where a nice demon-shaped impression was left.

The demon sank its teeth into Hunter’s bad shoulder and tore away a bloody chunk of skin. Hunter screamed, more from horror than the quickly subsiding pain. Again his body healed but now he had an even bigger hole in his jacket.

He gripped the thing by the throat and bashed it in the face repeatedly before releasing it with a final punch. The little demon scrambled away from the sudden fury, but Hunter yanked hard on its cable-like tail and started kicking.

“You ruined my brand-new coat my girlfriend made me. Now I’m going to hear all kinds of crap about how I never appreciate anything she does for me. Why couldn’t you just be some normal tool instead of a freak show?”

Hunter dragged the monster to the edge. He gripped the back of the demon’s shirt and lifted. The rain pounding down on him washed away some of the madness, and Hunter hesitated. With inhuman speed, the creature bounded off the ground, flipped behind Hunter and shoved him from the roof. Hunter caught the edge and his shoulder popped. Dangling and barely hanging on, he watched the demon pace above in quick, tight circles. It smiled and its forked tongue lashed out, flicking blood at Hunter.

“You haven’t found your wings. The fall won’t kill you, but it will hurt.”

The demon lifted its barefoot, clawed toenails sharp and threatening. Hunter strained to pull himself up, but his weakened shoulder denied the attempt.

Thunder roared as a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky and blasted into the demon-kid’s chest, driving it away from sight.

The air smelled of ozone and burnt toast. With the major distraction gone, Hunter strained harder, his boots finding traction and his bad shoulder holding, the other arm hauled the rest of him over the edge. He flopped onto the rooftop and rested a cheek on the cool, wet surface. The rain lessened with steady fat drops splashing in the puddles. Hunter closed his eye and considered checking out for a little nap.

“What are you doing, silly?”

He opened his eye. “Catherine?”

“Huh? Not even.”

Hunter flipped onto his back and sat up. A teenage girl, wearing a tight fitting t-shirt that Hunter found very distracting, dropped the demon-kid’s limp body. Behind them, a large smoking hole had been blown inward through the metal building, down into the grain elevator itself. He gagged and covered his nose from the overwhelming smell of rot.

“Stinks don’t it. Try living down there. I’ll never get that smell out of my hair.”

“Who are you?” Hunter asked.

“My name is Barbie.” The blonde beauty said flashing a bright smile. “Thank you for finding me.”

Hunter laid back down and watched the clearing storm shake out the last drops of rain from the clouds. “You have got to be kidding me.”

M
y appreciation must go out to my friends, writers and family. Thank you to Rob Siders and Karen DeGroot who critiqued me to the end; and to Rob again for kicking me in the pants. Special thanks to Melanie Tem and her writing group at West Side Books in Denver for inspiration and friendships. Also, thanks to Mario Acevedo and the Lighthouse Writers Workshop for more positive learning experiences and friendships. Kudos to the good people involved with Pikes Peak Writers and Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers: two topnotch Colorado writing programs that offer annual conferences and support. Thanks go to Vikki and Jordan Crawford for being my first, true readers and fans. Love and gratitude go to my wife, Michelle. And thank you, God for everything.

T
ed Hill grew up in the front pew of the Methodist church in Denton, Texas where he honed his scribbling skills on the church bulletin. He peaked as a senior in high school when he became Class President, Homecoming King, All-District Offensive Tackle, and Class Clown. He also failed Spanish II and Geometry, but graduated because of football credits. Ted then took his talents to Bethany College in the middle of Kansas where he fell in love with his wife, and the heartland. He now lives in Colorado, staying busy with his two boys, and their dog and cat—Molly and Ginger.