Skyfire (29 page)

              Trent looked very confused.

              “You got him!  He’s fucking done!  What the hell is wrong with you?” asked Karl. 

              “I don’t know.  I’m sorry.”

              “Dude, it’s fine.  Jesus Christ.  Remind me never to let you get me in the full mount.  Holy shit.”

             
Aim my demon.

JACK

              “Jack, it’s Karl.  Radio check, over.”  Karl’s voice came in garbled over Jack’s radio.

              “Got you.  Anything to report?  Over.”

              “Hughes just went full retard on some dude.  Don’t let this idiot mount you or it’s a rapin’ you’d be praying for instead.” 

              “Wait, what?” 
Jack Rugerman and his merry band of idiots.

              “Jesus Christ, I didn’t think you could make a head come apart just with elbows!  It was fucking crazy, man!” 

              “Any casualties?  Over.”

              “Hughes looks like he’s about to cry but he’s just being a bitch.  Right, buddy, you’re be-”  Karl let go of the hand-mike, presumably to berate one of his best friends.

             
You can’t always choose those who become close to you.

             
“Sorry, dude,” Karl continued.  “I was just professionally developing Captain Hughes here.  Anyway, I can’t raise Green Dragon 1-3 on the radio.  Can you?”

              “No.  I think we’re in a bad spot next to the core of the building on a low floor.  I still hear the chief going back and forth overhead from time to time.  Keep trying him as you guys get further up the building.”

              “Roger.  Will do, man.  Hughes, are you just going to-” 

             
Fucking Karl.  Always talking shit.

              “What was that about?”  Callie had been listening intently.  “What happened to Trent?”

              “He’s fine,” said Jack.

              “But what happened?  I’m not the bad guy here, dude.”

              “What are you to him?”

              “What do you mean?” Callie asked.

              “Like, how long have you known him?  Been a while since we’ve seen each other, but I know for a fact he’s married.”

              “His wife’s name is Emma,” Callie replied.

              “So how do you fit in?”

              “Sometimes when everyone is dead it’s nice to be with someone who isn’t, regardless of who that happens to be.  I would never have talked to that dude under normal circumstances.  Plus, he would have been dogshit at taking care of that little girl.” 

             
She got deeply sad as soon as she mentioned that little girl.   
“Fair enough.  I’m really sorry about the girl.  What was her name?”

              “Jessica.”

              “What was she to you?  Or to Trent?”

              “Trent found her,” said Callie.

              “Mother?” Jack asked.

              Callie remained silent.

              “Right, got it.”

              “That it?”  asked Callie.

              “Yeah.”

              “Really?”  Callie was surprised; she’d been expecting to get grilled.

              “I know Trent Hughes.  I know him better than he realizes.  The man hates himself.  He doesn’t trust anyone.  He can be the biggest asshole on the planet.”

              “Why are you telling me this?”

              “Let me finish,” said Jack.

              “Sorry, please finish.”

              “All that aside, once he accepts someone into his life, he is the most fiercely loyal friend you could ask for.  If he decided that you’re good enough to take on an air assault, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt.  He sees something in you I don’t, but I trust that drunk asshole more than 99% of humanity, especially in situations like this.”

              “World ending disasters?” said Callie.

              “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

              “Fair enough.  You know I kind of thought you were the biggest douche alive before.”

              “And now?” Jack asked.

              “Not so much.  I’m sorry for having thought that.”

              “The fact that you apologized for a thought means you’re the type of person I can grow to like and respect.  No one in this world has any fucking self-awareness.”

              “No, dude,” said Callie.  “No one in YOUR world has any self-awareness.  It seems like a bunch of dudes who should be secure, but all they care about is keeping up with the Joneses.”

              “You got that from… Wait, how long did you say you knew Hughes?”

              “What day is it today?” asked Callie.
              “I lost track too.  My watch says Tuesday.”

              “Whatever, I don’t know.  Almost one full day, I guess.”

              “So you gleaned all that insight from a day with Trent fucking Hughes?”

              “Well, yeah, but it wasn’t even fair,” said Callie.  “I’ve been high like the whole time.  I’m high as fuck off half a pot brownie right now.”

             
“That’s the greatest thing I’ve heard all day.”

              “Hey ya’ll, I think one of these motherfuckers just shit his pants,”  said Harrison, referring to either the unconscious man or the two Swedish children.

             
If it’s not detainees, it’s kids or old people during an alien invasion.  Let’s call this what it is.  We are in a goddamn alien invasion. I always thought it would be four-foot tall gray aliens shoving things inside my ass.  Instead, it’s so far advanced we could never have imagined it.  It’s like that time in Afghanistan.  We are capable of so much more and we don’t even know it because DMT, something in us all the time, is considered a schedule one drug.  Why would you ban something that could help you learn so much?  Oh fuck.  It’s because it helps you learn so much about what matters!

             
“Uh, sir, it really smells like this man shit his pants.  I’m pretty sure it’s the old dude.”

              “Shitting your pants doesn’t kill you, but people do it when they die.  Make sure he just shit his pants and didn’t die.”

              “He’s good, sir.  I still feel him breathing.”

              “Warrior 2, this is Green Dragon 1-3,” said Chief Rudich.  “My apologies, my headset cord was loose. You guys hearing me now?”

              “We got you, man.”  Karl said. 

             
He’s in “heightened sense of awareness” mode, I’m in “Oprah” mode.  He’s the real fighter.  I belong in an S2 office up to my eyeballs in debriefs. 
“Green Dragon, how’s it looking out there?” said Jack.

              “Like fuckin’ shit, sir.”

              “Please elaborate.  What’s our exfil route?”

              “Well, sir, this isn’t what you want to hear, but it pretty much sucks everywhere.  These animals are tearing each other apart and trying to destroy anything they can in the process.  It’s like no one’s home in any of their heads.  They’re everywhere.”

             
I hate drawing shit out of people. 
Jack mentally counted to ten before responding.  “Roger Green Dragon 1-3, which route is less bad?  The subway is no longer an option.  Do you like Columbus Avenue or Central Park West?”

              “Which one is which again?”

             
I just want to be left alone.  Goddamn this shit.  Just know stuff. 
“Central Park West is the one directly bordering the western edge of the park.  The Columbus exit shits you out the west side of the museum,” explained Jack.

              “Roger, sir.  Well, right now I’d say Columbus, but these animals are running around everywhere.  It could change.  I’ll give you sitreps every five minutes.” 

             
Wow, he really is kind of a good dude.  I shouldn’t be such a judgmental prick all the time. 
“Thank you, that’d be helpful.  Over.”

              “Roger, Green Dragon 1-3 out.”

              “Jack.”  It was Karl.

              “Karl, what’s up.”

              “We picked up three more live ones.  A term you love from our misspent youth – fighting aged males.”

              “Are they injured?”  asked Jack.

              “Negative, and they are motherfucking PISSED.”

              “Roger, understood.  We’ll add them to the pile.  List.  Whatever.” 
How the fuck am I going to get out of this one?  Multiple trips?  Christ, we’ll be lucky to land a bird anywhere in that park.  We’re gonna need a miracle to keep the maniacs at bay. Think, fuckface! 

              “Nah man, seriously!” said Karl.  “I want guns in these dudes’ hands YESTERDAY.  Hughes is laughing his ass off at this shit!  He thinks so too!”

              Jack pressed his right thumb and index finger against his eyes. 
It’s just Karl.  Let him have his bullshit bravado and attention.  Don’t let him get to you. 
“Roger, I am going to regret this but… Why?”

              “Hughes says they need knives because, in his words, they’re ‘Puerto Rican as FUCK.’  I think he makes a valid point!  May not be popular with the kids these days, but he has some good ideas!” 

              “Warrior 2, Green Dragon 1-3. Roger, I agree with the Captain’s assessment.  Give those goddamn Puerto Ricans knives.  Gerbers,  Leathermans, anything!” 

             
I am perpetually surrounded by idiots.  I miss weekends.  I wish I could just lock myself in my apartment in Sackets Harbor for the entire weekend and only interact with the pizza delivery guy.  I got so much DVRed shit to plow through.

             
“Jack, how do you people function?” Callie asked.

              “What do you mean?”

              “You’re all absolutely retarded.  I mean, I’m laughing my fucking ass off here, but is that what war is like?”

              “Yeah, I guess. Sometimes.  But Callie, come on, we gotta give those fuckin’ Puerto Ricans knives.”

              Callie burst out laughing.  “Oh my god, you’re actually serious!”

              “I grew up in a shitty neighborhood in Brooklyn.  During my rebellious phase, I dated a Puerto Rican girl who lived on the east side of Manhattan above 120
th
Street.”

              “OK …”

              “I secretly hope those are her three brothers.  Juan, Luis, and Jose.  Fuckin’ loved those guys!”

              Callie was still laughing uncontrollably.

             
“Roger, I agree,” said Jack. “Give them knives and guns.  Fuck it, what are they gonna do?  Jack our wallets?”

              “This one says he’s got a master’s degree in mechanical engineering and he’s never been in a fight in his life,” said Karl.

             
Fuck it, they got me.  I’m sucked into their web.
  “Roger, but there must be genetic muscle memory, right?  It’s like Asians are awesome at math.  Puerto Ricans… come on, Karl.”

              “The other one’s a goddamn lawyer!  Holy shit!  What is this - the fucking Spanish Cosby Show?”

              “Karl, they’re Puerto Rican, not Spanish.  Stop being racially insensitive,” said Jack.

              “But you know how part of the idea of The Cosby Show was to teach black kids that they can live successful lives?”

              “I’ll bite shit-dick.  What’s the third guy?  A doctor? A menacing Quaalude rapist?” 

              Callie was deep in the throes of laughter, clutching her stomach.

              “Hold on, over.” 

             
Karl is such a fucking jackass.  I love him even though I hate him. 
“Karl, not that important. Disregard.” 
Why do I always get dragged down into this nonsense?

             
“Hold on!” 

              “Karl, it’s really not important.”

              “Aw man!”

             
Fucking Karl Goddamn McMullin.

             
“Last guy is a drywall carpenter.  Holy shit, Hughes knows him from work!  They did some hotel renovation together five years ago.”

              “Goddamn Karl, can you guys please get back to looking for the guy we came here for?”

              “Hughes says this guy is a complete badass because he can do ceilings too!”

              “What?”

              “Apparently that’s a thing!”

              “Great man, he can hang a fucking drop ceiling.  Give them knives, don’t give them knives.   Make them do math.  Whatever, man.  Grab that goddamn physicist, please?”

              “OK buddy.  You’re close to tapping out.  Got it, dude.”

              “Karl, pertinent events going forward.  Watch your corn-hole out there.”

              Callie looked at Jack with a worried expression.

              “We’ll make it work,” Jack assured.