Rick Carter's First Big Adventure (Pete's Barbecue Book 1) (27 page)

CHAPTER TEN

I Think We’re Gonna Need a Bigger Gun

    
A bead of sweat rolled gently down Rick’s forehead, navigated through his thick eyebrows and managed to flow directly into his right eye, nearly blinding him.  The timing could not have been worse.  He was looking through the sights of the Barrett which he had propped up on the top of Pete’s truck cab.  They were sitting in the road, Pete idled the engine ready to go while Rick was in the bed, squatting down, trying to get a sight picture and using his right eye to focus.  The sweat didn’t help matters.  He rose slightly and wiped his eye with his hand and flung the excess sweat off then he went back to his sight picture.

     The shot wasn’t that difficult.  He was maybe forty yards away.  At that distance, he probably didn’t even need to hit it directly.  A glancing hit would do about as much damage.  But, he wasn’t thinking about such things.  His mind was focused on solidly hitting one of the two spiders on the road in front of him.  And his back and legs were starting to hurt from the awkward position he was in.  It would have better to be prone or seated.

    The scene he was staring at was a very unfortunate one.  Had they arrived just a few minutes earlier they may have been able to save at least one of the several people lying in front of their cars whose limbs were cut off and strewn about the road-side.  Rick couldn’t tell much about them.  They were far too mangled to see clearly, with pools of deep red blood flowing across the hot asphalt. He was far too occupied with the business at hand to look.  There were two spiders, as large as the ones that attacked the diner.  They were feeding, oblivious to the presence of Pete and Rick sitting just forty yards away.  They were so unafraid that they hadn’t even looked up from their meal, content to continue to tear at the portions until they could sink their large proboscis into the abdomen and liquefy the contents for their version of a human milkshake. 

      The victims had crashed their cars.  One had rolled and landed off the road to the right.  The other was stopped cross ways and blocking the road.  It looked like one had tried to come to the aid of the other, only to be cut down in the process.  That was the reason Pete had stopped, very suddenly and asked Rick to get out and set up in the bed of the truck.  He kept the rest of his plan to himself.  Pete’s intentions were not clear but, Rick’s were certain.   He slowly returned his first target to its proper alignment, placed his trigger finger around the cold steel and slowly squeezed.  He tried to brace for the impact, but it took him by surprise. When the round went off, he lost his grip on the gun and nearly fell back.  He saved himself by sliding his right foot further back and bracing himself better.  But, none of that helped protect his hearing from the loud report of the big gun.

     Rick was amazed when the round struck and nearly vaporized his target.  Parts of spider flew in all directions along with the gooey innards as its body peeled open like a squeezed grape.  The remaining spider fell back, stunned and tried to focus on the attack.  It was sluggish from its feeding and couldn’t get its brain to comprehend what had happened.   Raw instinct kicked in instead, and it reacted by bolting toward them. 

     Rick grabbed the gun again and quickly pulled the bolt back to eject the spent brass and chamber another round.  The spider was fast.  It covered most of the forty yards in less than two seconds before Rick could get the gun loaded and readied for the next shot.  It was almost on them when an AR popped out of the driver’s window below him, and a burst of fire sent the second spider rolling in a ball off to the left and over the small ledge that over looked the ocean.  The victims had been avenged, but it wouldn’t do anything to bring them back.  Rick stood upright; holding the gun still perched on the cab.  He could hear Pete’s voice from below.

    “Hold on tight bra.  I tink we gonna find a lot of dis on de way!”  Then the old truck went into gear, and he slowly drove forward, edging around the car on the sparse shoulder of the road and before long they were on their way again north, toward the Honey Pot.

      As the old truck sputtered along and gained speed, Rick kept watch standing against the cab and holding onto the Barrett.  That had been their first sign of victims, and he was trying to get the images out of his head.  He knew people were dying; people were in trouble.  The nature of their mission was a grave one.  He started to understand the heavy burden Pete and Mel bore, and he began to share in their sense of urgency.  He just hoped that Mel and Tormodis hadn’t killed each other yet or at the very worst, they hadn’t found what they were looking for.  Time, or reality, would tell.

     Meanwhile, those few intrepid souls ready to brave the very disaster of a reality crisis were trying to get to places necessary for the battle to commence and necessary for saving lives.  Pete wasn’t sparing anytime in his dogged drive to do his part.  Rick, trying to steady himself in the small swaying truck, watched as they quickly approached the T-intersection where a red light marked an immediate stop.  Left went to the Navy base; right went north.  Pete didn’t bother to stop, or slow down.  He gunned the engine on the sputtering truck and made the turn on two wheels.  Rick grasped the Barrett with one hand and the passenger’s side of the cab with the other trying to keep himself from flying out.  He only briefly noticed that the navy base was locked up, armored vehicles were parked outside the white gates, and smoke was rising from somewhere inside. There didn’t seem to be any SPs around.  The gate looked deserted.  Then the truck was gone, and he couldn’t look back.    

    Dennis, he thought, you picked one helluva time to go AWOL.  As much as he had hated his first port experiences he was beginning to think it preferable to Pete’s race to death.  The lone mosquito determined to go out in a blaze of glory that flew right into his mouth didn’t help matters.  He was trying to wipe his eyes clear of the tears flowing from the wind on his face when it rocketed into the back of his throat.  He started to gag and then spit voraciously.  He hated insects, of all kinds.  He particularly didn’t like them in his mouth.  When he was satisfied that he had spit out every bit of the bug, he glanced back up to see another curve in the road coming.  This one was gentler than the last but Pete didn’t take it any less slow.  Rick was suddenly grateful that there were no other cars on the highway, which was a very peculiar thing.  So far the only cars they had seen were the two victims they had avenged.  But, it wasn’t something he could dwell on, especially because of what they nearly ran into as the made the curve and shot out on the other side.

       Pete pushed the limits of durability on his brakes when he saw the line of giant termites crossing the highway just a quarter mile ahead.  He fought for control, to keep the truck from skidding and turning over as tires smoked and brakes squealed before he brought the truck to a stop, slightly sideways, just twenty feet away from the herd of lumbering termites.

     Rick hit the back of the cab and nearly flew backward out of the bed when Pete brought them to a final stop.  The thick nasty smell of burning rubber filled the air. In front of them was a line of giant insects that filled their eyes with a sudden terror they were not expecting.   The termites were about half as big as the truck, segmented and bluish/white.  Their heads were red with giant pincers.  They walked in two columns, one following unwavering behind the next as each slowly moved across the road.  They were coming from the jungle on the right with eight visible in each line moving toward a row of concrete island houses in the distance on the left.  And they weren’t the least concerned about Rick or Pete or the rusty truck sitting nearly sideways in the road.   They were glued to the scent trail in front of them.

     The two men stared at them blankly for a few moments, taking in the sight like they were tourists at an African game preserve.  Finally, Pete shouted up, heedless of the attention he might draw from the moving giant insects.   “Whatta ya tink?”

     Rick was at a loss for words.  But, he managed a short. “Ram em?”

     Pete considered the proposal.  “I tink you should blow us a hole first, maybe scatter ‘em!” He shouted back.

   
Rick looked down at the Barrett in front of him just begging to be used.  As close as they were he wouldn’t even have to aim.  He thought better of that notion.  These giant bugs tended to explode on impact, and that meant lots of pieces to fly everywhere.  “Back us up some, Pete!”  He yelled.  Still the insects didn’t notice them or acknowledge them in any way.

    
Pete put the truck in reverse and the gears whined as it moved backward twenty more feet.   Rick judged the distance.  Okay, he thought, and he set the rifle properly on the roof of the cab and chambered a round.  A quick check before he squeezed the trigger and then boom.  The termite directly in front of them disappeared in a haze of yellowish goo that plopped down from the sky like a sickening rain from a horror movie.  The termite beside it fell back, opening up a hole as the rest of the columns behind suddenly stopped.  Most of the blast carried the stuff forward, but some fell around the truck.  Fortunately, it didn’t hit them.  Because as soon as it rained down Rick noticed the asphalt began to smolder where the droplets landed.  It was melting through the road.  Pete gunned the truck unaware of this new serious development.  Rick tried to shout a warning down to him but he wasn’t fast enough.  Pete let out the clutch, and they shot forward like a –squeezed watermelon seed.  Rick nearly fell backward from the momentum.

    “Oh for the love of…!”  He yelled as he stumbled and went down on one knee.  The pain shot through his joint, and the Barrett slipped back and fell into the truck bed, narrowly missing his head.  Pete drove them through the opening at high speed, popping the truck into a higher gear to get momentum back on their side.  They ran through the opening with no room to spare.   The insects were starting to close in again, unfeeling or uncaring about the fate of their brother termite who ended its life as road kill.   Pete’s joy of success was short lived.  Just a half mile further down the road the front tires blew first, the acid eating through the rubber, followed quickly by the back ones.  The explosions were so well timed together that they didn’t throw off Pete’s steering at all.  The truck just rolled slowly to a stop again as the melted rubber flopped around the metal tire rims.  Pete leaned out of the window and looked down at his tires.  “Wat da…?”  He began.

     “Acid,” Rick said as he pushed himself back up, grabbing the Barrett along the way and setting it none too gentle back on its perch.  “The termites have acid in ‘em.” He said a little louder.

      “Great,” Pete muttered.  “Hold on, Rick!  We gonna burn dis ole truck up.”  And he put it back into to gear.  The wheels rolled slowly at first before the fragmented rubber began to peel off leaving the bare metal to grind loudly on the road surface. Pete didn’t let it stop them.  He pushed forward.  They were about to enter more populated areas, and things were going to get a little more interesting.  The glow of something red and orange caught Rick’s attention, and he turned to see a flow of bright hot lava falling from the small cliff above them landing on the very spot where the truck had just sat moments ago.  The mound of lava began to pile higher on the road and spread out in all directions.  The truck dug into the asphalt and smoke began to roll out of the wheel wells.  Pete never noticed the reenactment of Pompeii going on in his rearview mirror.  He was too busy trying to get the most out of his dying truck. The old broken speedometer was stuck on 16 miles per hour.  He had no idea how fast he was going, but he knew he wasn’t going to stop.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Over the Hill and Through the Dale

     Mel was disoriented, and that was a problem because he never got disoriented on ports and to make matters worse he thought he heard someone whispering.  This state of disorientation was very unnerving, and as he floated quickly through the reality stream, the whispering was making him crazy.  By the time they all exited the stream, he had gone from an agitated foul mood to a downright intense irritated with a dash of insufferable tossed in to liven things up a bit.  Some people who knew him well would say that was just about normal, given his hyperactivity and chaotic antics.  But, Mel didn’t care.  He was on a mission. 

     It was intensely cold when they dropped out of port which did nothing to assuage Mel’s bad temper.  He did, however, discover the source of the whispering.  That little irritant turned out to be Roger talking profusely to the cockroach in his pocket.  Mel dismissed it, but he wasn’t about to let Tormodis know that.   He looked around and found him and Margaret looking the other way.  They were talking quietly, watching the distance.  Mel got straight to business.