Wordsmith Holler

Original Pulp Fiction

Tag: Jake Rutledge

  • Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing – Part Nine

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing – Part Nine

    Trash and debris covered the floor leading to the lab. Nurses, guards, and other people covered in blood and gashes poured out of rooms lining the hall. We stumbled passed them and ran toward the center of destruction.

    We turned a corner. I noted a considerable rip running through the center of the lab like a giant claw hammer had torn through the building. Pieces of paper, debris, and insulation floated where the ceiling used to be. I now went to the central area, where all the computers and Dan-clones had been standing.

    On the far end of the room, Colonel Cox slumped against the wall and a smudge of blood showed where his head used to sit on his shoulders. There was no way he wasn’t dead.

    The chest of the clone I once thought was my brother Dan, sat on the floor next to the colonel’s body. Wires, tubes, and fluid dripped out of the bottom. He had no legs. With an outstretched hand he motioned for me to come closer.

    “He wanted me to kill you,” said the clone. “Use our collective mind to alter the weather and destroy you. I couldn’t do it. Our creator never wanted us to do evil. We only were designed…”

     The clone stopped whirling and his mouth froze before he could finish his sentence.

    “Designed to end a drought, time rain storms to optimize the growing season, make it possible to enjoy a snowstorm on Christmas Eve,” said a familiar voice.

    I turned away from the clone and Colonel Cox to face a haggard version of my brother Dan. He had a bandage around his waist and was standing on crutches next to the nurse from earlier. Behind him, a gigantic cube rotated on a wall screen.

    I wondered if it was really my brother.

    “Come here, brother. Let me look at you,” said Dan. I hesitated. “Oh, I’m real,” he said. “I’m not one of these clones.”

    “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you come home?”

    “I wanted to. But I came back less of myself,” he said grabbing my arm. “I wandered around until I could pull it together. By the time I finished college, everyone believed I was dead. I decided it was better that way.”

    “Mom would have taken you back in dead or alive,” I said. “Your death hit her real hard.”

    Dan pulled me closer. My brother was very much alive.

    “I understand none of this. Messing with the weather, tearing up Pretty Prairie, all those people dead. It makes no sense,” I said to my brother.

    “I never wanted that,” said Dan. “Colonel Cox forced me to develop my invention into a weapon. In the lab, I wanted to make it rain,” he said. I stood feeling both happy and confused.

     “It was a fluke. One minute I was tinkering at a university in Wisconsin and the next thing I was heading up an Air Force weapons program here in Kansas.”

    “How did you get to be so smart?” I asked. The Dan I loved was more of a jock than a scientist. “Facing death in the desert changes your perspective,” he said. “And being forced to kill your little brother changes everything back.”

    “We’ll, I’m glad you didn’t kill me,” I laughed. Charlie chimed in. “Me too. I don’t think rotting in a grave would have fit into my life of ignorant bliss.”

    We all laughed.

    I sat at the counter in the diner in Pretty Prairie waiting for Sally to refill my coffee. Farmers overfilled the place and my favorite waitress didn’t seem to notice me as usual. She was too busy handing out plates of eggs, bacon, and toast. I thought about reaching behind and filling my cup myself.

    The bell on the door of the diner rang out and in slipped Dan and Charlie returning from filling the car with gas and stowing our things. Dan slapped me on the back.

    “Best be going brother.”

    “Yeah, after I refill my coffee.” Sally made it to my end of the counter holding the pot of black gold and looking as sassy as ever.

    “Think you can give me a go cup?”

    “Will you finally get the hell out of here?”

    Charlie laughed. “I don’t think she ever liked you.” Sally smiled. “Oh, I like him. About as much as I like liver and onions.”

    She handed me a Styrofoam cup and touched the back of my hand. A soft, flirtatious goodbye.

     Just the way I like it.

    THE END

    Jake Rutledge returns in Jake Rutledge and the Acadiana Gator Treasure

    Part One – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Two – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Three – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Four – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Five – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Six – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Seven – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Eight – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Nine – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing

    Looking for a new adventure? Walk around in Jake’s shoes.https://t.co/OOkd9VBHyh pic.twitter.com/FvqK46Ra8w

    — wordsmithholler (@wordsmithholler) July 11, 2018

    If you enjoyed this story, consider reading Cindy’s Sin, the first novelette I wrote after my stroke.


    Other Writings You May Like

    A Genius Savior The Man of Her Dreams Postmeridian Cynosure Reflected in Morning Light Scribble, Feb. 20, 2019
    Read more: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing – Part Nine
  • Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing – Part Eight

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing – Part Eight

    That’s when I recognized it. They dressed Dan in a pure white cloth suit covering up a series of tubes, wires, and circuits. He wasn’t my brother! He was just an android made to resemble him.

    “Why does he look like Dan?” I roared at the colonel.

    “He was a good as anyone,” Colonel Cox answered. “We needed a face of a person already dead. It didn’t matter who. Your brother popped up.”

    In fact, all the scientists in white coats looked like Dan. There must have been six or seven.

    “Why so many?”

    “The whole thing is a secret experiment,” said the colonel. “Your presence puts a crimp in the plan. We will have to figure out what to do with you.”

    Colonel Cox stared at me and in our locked eyes I realized he would not let me go back to Pretty Prairie.

    “What have you done with Charlie?” I realized I hadn’t seen my friend since the fight outside our cell. Even if he was with me, I didn’t expect he was going to just walk out of here either.

    “He’s entertaining my guys,” said the colonel. “He’ll be along soon.”

    Dan rose from his chair and walked over to the colonel. He looked calm, and I wondered if his protest with the flag had been an act.

    “I feel much better now,” Dan told the colonel. “I remain in your service.”

    “What is he, a slave?” I shouted at Cox. “The only reason I’m in this mess is because I believed him when he said you were trying to turn the weather into a weapon. Plus, he looked like my brother.”

    “Amazing what a little tuneup and a computer wipe can do to make you more than willing to press on,” said the colonel. “Are you seeing what’s going on here?”

    Actually, I did, and it made me mad.

    “We will keep testing this weapon and no one will be the wiser,” said the colonel. “Guards. Take him and clean him up. I don’t want to see him again.”

    The guards pushed me all the way down the hall, passed the weight room, around the corner through another narrow hallway, until we arrived at an infirmary where I found Charlie. He was sitting on a raised gurney with a nurse swabbing blood off his right eyebrow.

    “It looks like you took it harder than the other guy,” I said. Charlie winced as the nurse dabbed on some iodine. His left arm was in a sling, and he resembled a torn raggedy doll.

    “I don’t know why they are fixing you up,” I said. Charlie frowned, and I was honest with him. “I get the distinct impression they plan to kill us.”

    “No, we will not kill you,” said a blue-shirted sergeant. “We will let a tornado do that.” He laughed. Charlie and I did not join him. In fact, it was the first time I recognized fear in Charlie’s eyes. “Tornado?”

    “Yeah, we’re testing the weather machine on you next.”

    “We’ve already had it tested on us, so we’re good,” I retorted. The sergeant just looked at me failing to laugh. He did not see the irony of my previous experience in Pretty Prairie. He turned away to talk to the other guards.

    “Well, we should look at you too,” said the nurse in a pleasant tone like she was stitching up two farmers rather than sending a couple guys to their doom.

     “I’ll need you to show me your arm, hon.” I waited and hesitated. She smiled. I did as she told me and watched the airmen in blue.

    The biggest guard bummed a cigarette off the littlest, and they stood in front of a door talking. They reminded me of that cartoon where the alpha dog prances around with the little dog yapping and jumping after him. The little guy was trying too hard to laugh at the big guy’s jokes.

    The nurse placed an electrode on my left temple, my neck, my arm, and my chest. She had also dressed Charlie with wires coming out of his shirt. I suppose she was prepping me for the science project they planned to conduct on Charlie and me.

     When she had finished dabbing my cuts, the nurse took the gauze and iodine and danced around the guards. She smiled, pretended to laugh at the airman’s joke, and hurried out the door.

    That left me and Charlie alone. I felt rotten and Charlie appeared worse.

    “So what’s the plan? Drive us out into the prairie, tie us up, and wait for the tornado to pound us without a weather warning?” Both guards looked through me and went back to laughing.

    “Seriously. You don’t think we’re going with you without a fight?” I taunted them with the hope they would come closer.

    The airman weighed in. “Yeah, we will strap you down like guinea pigs and wait for the storm. Now sit over there and be quiet.”

    “I hardly think you can hold me down, let alone the little guy.” The small guard bristled at my taunt and started toward us. “Look dude, I’m the one with the gun.”

    He had a point. Charlie and me only had our fists and each other. Still, I thought I could take him. I inched toward the guards. Charlie stood with me. Both of the guards reached for their holsters and told us to stop.

    “Come one step closer, and we’ll shoot,” said the big guy. It appeared he hoped we would rush them.

    “Look. We’re tired, we want to go home, and we’re done with today,” I said. “If you want to shoot us, do it. Shooting us would be a relief.”

    The larger guard laughed and the little guy joined in. I didn’t care at this point. The whole mess wore me out.

    “Sorry, I got you into this.” Charlie shrugged his shoulders and stood taller.

    Before we could start a fight, the room shook, and we fell to the floor. Dust and smoke rolled into the room and a massive explosion took out the lab.

    I jumped up, and reaching through the dust, grabbed Charlie by the arm. Together we leaped over the guards and ran toward the lab.

    Part One – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Two – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Three – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Four – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Five – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Six – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Seven – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Eight – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Nine – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing

    Looking for a new adventure? Walk around in Jake’s shoes.https://t.co/OOkd9VBHyh pic.twitter.com/FvqK46Ra8w

    — wordsmithholler (@wordsmithholler) July 11, 2018

    I you liked this story, check out Cindy’s Sin, the first novelette I wrote about a girl traveling to Las Vegas to get revenge.


    Other Writings You May Like

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing – Part Nine Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Six Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Seven Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Five
    Read more: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing – Part Eight
  • Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Five

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Five

    It never fails. Sally took longer than I thought she needed to pour the coffee. I was mad and irritated. I looked around at the faces in the diner. I was so happy everyone could gather at their usual breakfast spot and act like nothing had happened. They were all assholes.

    I held me head. I felt like someone made me suck on an exhaust pipe all night long. And my brother Dan, the weatherman, lay below us dead in the basement. Not that anyone around here seemed to care.

    Charlie buttered a biscuit while I tore open three packets of sugar into my coffee. I stirred the black syrup, and I cracked my neck. I let out a long yawn and tried to recover from my malaise.

    The farmer next to me tore into his breakfast with his knife and fork like he was ringing a bell.

    “Those good eggs?” I asked.

    “Yes.”

    “You know there’s a dead guy below you, right?”

    He stopped in mid-bite and slowly brought the fork to his plate. He struggled to see past his boots and the floor.

    “No. I didn’t.”

    “Don’t worry about it,” I said. There was no point in going into it. “Any damage out at your farm?”

    “No. Not a thing.” He turned to gaze at the broken clinic. “Nothing like here.”

    He scrutinized the pile of brick, wood, and plaster where the clinic once stood. Smoke rose from the rubble where I spent last night watching a storm crush the walls, suck out the sheriff, and toss an IV stand into my brother.

    As I thought about the events of last night, a stream of four Air Force trucks rolled through and blocked the view.

    I motioned to the Charlie. “What are they doing back?”

    A patrol of blue airmen jumped off the trucks and marched over to the clinic. The airmen picked up debris and hauled it to a waiting Colonel Cox. A sergeant barked orders while he supervised. Every once in a while the colonel would stop the airmen hauling the debris. A man in a white coat joined him, and they to an interest in pieces of rock and sheet rock covered in frost.

    “Come on Jake. Let’s go look.” Charlie said from the open door.

    “You go on ahead Charlie. I need to figure out something first.”

    A bell chimed as Charlie left the diner, and he ambled over to the crowd watching the soldiers work. A few farmers stayed close to their eggs and couldn’t care about the crowd. I walked over to the storm cellar door and disappeared under the floor.

    Sally glanced at me before returning to cleaning the counter. She moved to help a few more customers eating their eggs. I thought to myself another day in tornado alley. Nothing, especially a tornado, could stop the folks of Pretty Prairie from moving on.

    Dan lay silent in the basement. I fumbled for a light switch and a fluorescent flickered to a shade of pale green. I inched over to the body and uncovered his face. He resembled a dead version of me.

    In the clinic, he told me he was my brother. The nose matched mine, but one thing bothered me. In the clinic, his eyes were brown. When I was a kid, Dan had blue eyes. So I decided to see.

    I lifted the lid of the right eye and it stared out into the room. The color of the eyeball was unnatural. Then I solved it. He was wearing contacts!

    I wet my finger with my tongue. It didn’t bother Dan that I was sticking my finger in his eye. He didn’t move, and so I was not as careful moving his head.

    I held the contact to my face and peered through the lens. There was a faint pattern around the edges. It was too light and I couldn’t be sure what I was seeing. I stuck the contact in.

    You know, thinking back, if others were around, I might have paused before sticking a contact lens from a dead guy in my eye. Something like that would not go unnoticed. I revolved around to make sure I was alone. The thought of wearing a dead man’s contact made me squeamish. Still, I needed to know what was going on, and lying there, Dan was in no position to offer any clues.

    I blinked a few times to settle the contact in place. It was a hard glass contact lens — not one of those plastic films — and it felt weird. I had to blink a few times to make sure it stayed in place.

    I opened my eye wide and focused on the far wall until a diamond pattern in four colors surrounding a center purple dot appeared. I blinked again to secure it in place.

    The pattern didn’t go away. I decided the glass contact was a key.

    The storm cellar door slammed shut, and I jumped away from Dan. The door swung up as I pulled the contact out of my eye.

    “Jake, you better get back up here. Charlie has started a riot.” Sally stood at the top of the stairs looking down into the basement. “Jake, you still down there?”

    “I think Charlie can fight for himself. Why would he start a riot?”

    “The airmen are trying to take the sheriff away and his family doesn’t want him to go. They say it’s for his own good. But the sheriff is a bloody mess, and it’s disrespectful to be taking a dead man away from his family.”

    “Just a sec.” I lifted Dan’s left eye and revealed another brown contact. It had a similar pattern. I lifted it up and cradled it in my left hand. Now I was juggling two contacts in my clinched hands and had nothing to carry them in.

    “Jake, it’s getting bad out there.” Sally insisted. I thought how funny it was how everyone needed to jump when she called.

    I set both contacts on Dan’s chest and searched for something to keep them safe. All I found was Dan’s wallet, an envelope, and an aspirin bottle buried deep in his pocket. I put both contacts in the bottle, shoved it and the other stuff in my pocket, and ran up the stairs.

    I spied a small riot taking place in front of the diner with soldiers on one side, farmers on the other, and Charlie holding them off with a pitchfork. He was standing beside a gurney covered in cloth and a leg sticking out. I assumed it was the body of the sheriff.

    I recognized the 4X4 and the football players from last night who were standing by the body like defenders. They were in a crouch and trying to defend the body as airmen closed in.

    An older woman comforted a crying girl while trying to hold back a militant third woman who was yelling at Colonel Cox. With no one to stop him, Charlie had set off his last stand. I rushed out the diner and into the street.

    “Whoa. Why do we seem to have the beginnings of World War III starting in the streets of Pretty Prairie? I think we need to calm down.” No one heard me.

    I never have trouble jumping into a fray and taking charge. As a kid, I was the one on the playground who set all the rules. My dad always told me to appear to be in charge and everyone else will follow your lead.

    Except this fight. This time, the colonel believed he was in charge. All I did was give him a new target.

    “Well, well, well, if it ain’t the guy who thinks my flag-burning scientist is a long, lost brother. Did you have a swell reunion?”

    I could taste the sarcasm and the whole crowd settled down to listen.

    The colonel pointed at the destruction of the clinic. “Your brother caused this, and he’s the only one who can put the genie back in the bottle.”

    I shook my head from side-to-side. “No, I don’t see how a flash of nature has anything to do with my brother.”

    “Oh no? Well, your brother not only created the tornado that tore up your clinic, but he scheduled it so he could escape. Now where is he?”

    I scuffed my shoe and glanced back at the diner. Colonel Cox followed my eye.

    “The weatherman’s in the diner. Go get him,” Colonel Cox bellowed. The airmen ran towards the diner.

    I thought about Dan’s silently lying in the diner and wondered how he went to Afghanistan a soldier and came back a climate-controlling mad man.

    Part One – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Two – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Three – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Four – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Five – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Six – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Seven – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Eight – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Nine – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing


    Other Writings You May Like

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Six Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Four Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing – Part Nine Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Three
    Read more: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Five
  • Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Four

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Four

    Through the night, we stayed huddled around Dan who alternated between sobbing and screaming. We kept him as comfortable as possible, changed his bandages, and tried to keep him from moving around with little success.

    At one point, he tried to sit and all he ended up doing was sliding across the pipe protruding from his stomach. He shouted in pain and promptly passed out. This was really for the best because if he moved anymore it wouldn’t matter what happened when we finally found a doctor.

    Charlie kept watch on the door with a shotgun. I guess he thought he was the prime choice for looters, or he expected a pack of wolves. I took a seat by the canned water and listened to the wind and rain pound the diner waiting for another tornado.

    I must have fallen asleep. When I woke it was a little passed 6 am and still dark. Everything was silent, and no one was with me in the storm shelter. The whole room was calm, and I wondered if I passed out drunk and dreamed the whole thing.

    Then I noticed Dan had stopped moaning and someone had covered his head with a blanket. I knew right away I had missed something. I pulled the blanket away and uncovered Dan’s gray face. I didn’t see him struggling to breathe or moaning anymore.

    Dead? What the hell? I lost chance at finding out what he had been up to and what the hell was going on with the weather, the Air Force, and my brother. The family and I stopped being close when I ran off, but still this was much. Family reunions don’t end in death.

    I replaced the blanket and stared across the room. It was as dark and empty as I felt.

    “What the hell is going on?” I demanded as I climbed the storm shelter stairs. A somber group scrutinized me as I emerged from the basement.

    “The storm didn’t blow us away,” Sally reported. “And, we think that guy died.”

    Her comment took me aback because it felt so cold. No one knew the guy was my brother. Still, I expected some sympathy.

    “I need a cup of coffee.” I motioned for Sally to bring me a mug.

    “How do you plan to pay for it?” I smiled and waved her over. I figured she was kidding.

    “It’s been a long night and I need it.” I held up my coffee cup and Sally stood dangling the coffee pot behind her. “You didn’t pay for breakfast yesterday and I doubt you can pay for breakfast this morning.”

    “Sally, just fill the cup!” She stood there like she was dug in. I fished out my wallet and sorted through the receipts, scraps of paper, and a picture of my mom. I found no cash hidden behind mom’s photo.

    I thought, Sally heard the whole thing. Surely, she had to know what kind of night it had been and was more than willing to help a guy out. I made me mad when she acted this way.

    I decided to beg. “C’mon Sally. Just give me a cup of coffee.”

    “No can do amigo. If you can’t pay, then you can’t play.”

    I motioned for Charlie to see if he had any cash. He shook his head no. My head was throbbing from a headache, my brother was lying dead under our feet, and the last thing I needed was the day starting without coffee.

    “The mayor came in here half-an-hour ago looking for you to do some cleanup down the street,” said Sally. “Maybe he can buy you breakfast.”

    I had many questions and glanced over to the storm cellar door. Was that really Dan? I needed that coffee. Sally wouldn’t budge, and she pointed to the pile of rubble.

    “He wants you to clean up the street, so it appears he’s doing something about the storm,” she said. The city had a habit of letting everything else go, but the block around city hall and the mayor’s store always sparkled.

    The mess went beyond a small amount of garbage on the sidewalk. Charlie and I removed a tree branch from the mayor’s store, boarded up a broken picture window at City Hall, shored up the corner of a wall where some bricks were missing, and swept out a mound of mud and rock blocking the entrance to the store. We worked three hours, and the mayor handed us each a $20 bill. “I like having you guys around,” he said.

    Carrying enough money to buy breakfast, we walked back to the diner.

    “I wonder if it is all coincidence? A guy shows up screaming and hollering, the Air Force pops in, and then a storm targets the medical clinic,” said Charlie. “Feels like more to it.”

    “Maybe. Or, it might just be a series of odd events.” I held the door to the diner open.

    “I don’t know,” said Charlie.

    “One thing is for sure. There is a dead guy below all those people.” We shuffled and took a seat at the counter.

    I squeezed next to a farmer and placed the $20 on the counter.

    “Hey Sally. Here’s enough for yesterday and today. Now, bring us some coffee.”

    Part One – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Two – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Three – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Four – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Five – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Six – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Seven – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Eight – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Nine – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing


    Other Writings You May Like

    control the weatherJake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Two Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Three Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Six Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Five
    Read more: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Four
  • Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Three

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Three

    Before I could register what he was saying, Dan passed out.

    He had a huge bloody gash on his forehead. And that would have been bad enough, but an IV stand stuck out of his stomach.

    The wound gushed blood no matter what I did and the pipe sticking out his gut would need a miracle.

    I tore my t-shirt into a bandage and tied it over the gash. Dan lay crumpled with his hands behind him. I found my knife and cut the restraints. That took care of his arms but there was no way he could stretch out with the IV stand sticking out of him. At that point, I thought he might as well be dead.

    Yellow sparks from the overhead light sparked no color in his face, and it remained gray like the storm clouds circling the torn roof. Pieces of ceiling tile and sheet rock covered the floor. I huddled by Dan next to torn insulation, ceiling tiles, bricks, and broken glass.

    Dan moaned.

    “What’s that?” I jumped to him.

    He whispered gibberish, which I couldn’t understand except for a few pieces. He plainly said “cube” and “weapon protocol.”

    The second phrase scared me, but “cube” piqued my curiosity. Where was this cube and could it be a key to the weather machine?

    “The cube is the key,” he moaned.

    “Key to what?” I wanted to know, yet he was moaning, talking gibberish, and passing out. I doubted he could tell me.

    “The weapon protocol!” Dan raised straight up and shouted. I decided he hoped they could hear him through the hole in the ceiling. It was important to him. But for all I knew, Dan was having a bad dream. It reminded me of watching a movie with no sound: you can see the action and still not know what is going on.

    Scuffing sounds came from the front of the clinic and Earnest tossed the wall away to find us. The short-order cook wiped a dirty hand on his apron.

    “We heard a roar and followed a huge funnel,” said Ernest, reaching out his hand. “It came out of the sky, set down, and wiped you out.” The way Earnest described it, the funnel targeted us before ripping up the clinic.

    “Nothing else in town is destroyed. The funnel only set down on the clinic and tore it up.”

    Earnest reviewed the room.

    “Where’s Doc Martin and the sheriff?”

    I had forgotten about them. They were here and then they weren’t.

    “Likely half-way to Iowa by now,” I mumbled. Earnest gave me a confused frown.

    “It sucked them out of the building.” I pointed at the hole and the gray sky.

    We were interrupted by the lights of a black 4X4, which lit us up in a yellow wash as the driver raced to a stop. “You hurt?” the driver asked. “What can we do?” He sounded like a pent-up Boy Scout. I shrugged my shoulders.

    I recognized the driver and his passenger as a couple linebackers from the high school football team. They always wore their Letterman jackets and pranced around the diner after school.

    “The sheriff’s gone,” Earnest called out.

    “Where did he go?” the driver peered through the broken window.

    “He went that way.” I pointed north in the direction the tornado carrying the sheriff, the deputy, and the doctor went.

    “We’ll go get him.” And before I could tell them about how the funnel cloud had sucked all three men from the clinic, the driver punched it into reverse and tore away.

    “I suppose somebody should fetch them,” I stuttered.

    Thinking about all that happened, I realized we had bigger problems to deal with. My brother Dan was dying, again, and I didn’t really know what to do about it.

    “The flag burner is bleeding good,” announced Sally, who sneaked by when I looked away. She had lost the gum, so I had no way of knowing she was near. She had a worried frown and touched Dan’s face. “We need to do something.”

    “We’ve got ice and a first-aid kit at the diner,” Ernest disclosed. “You will find a bunch of civil defense stuff in our storm shelter.”

    Charlie crawled over the debris and shook my hand.

    “Did you have a good nap?”

    “Well, I was doing good until all this ruckus.”

    My brother, who I was now thought of as the weatherman, moaned again. He tried to rise but the IV stand kept him pinned to the floor. He groaned and placed a hand on the bleeding cut, pulled back a red hand, and fainted.

    “We need to move him inside and find a doctor.” I gestured forCharlie to help me carry him out of the clinic and over to the diner. A crowd shuffled around us and some men offered to help carry Dan.

    Four men carried Dan like he was in a coffin while two others struggled to keep the IV stand from hitting the ground. They failed, and each time the stand struck the ground, my brother wiggled out of the hands of the four carrying him. And did he scream. This went on a few times until the weatherman passed out again.

    Ernest and I looked at the rubble of the clinic.

    “We will need a new clinic,” he contemplated. I stared at the rubble and the storm clouds floating away. “And a new doctor,” I added.

    Inside the diner, the men dropped my brother on a table. He still had the IV stand sticking out of him and it was bleeding even more. They propped the stand beside him and a group of ladies stood around whispering. Sally found a pair of scissors, a pile of cloth linens, a tablecloth, and some tape from the first-aid kit.

    “Go on. I found the first-aid supplies.” Sally turned to the other women in the room. “You do something.” The women stared at Sally like she was asking them to strip off their clothes. Finally, one of them picked up the gauze.

    I thought Dan was nearly dead, and before he passed out again or died, I needed to figure this out. With the women doctoring him, I grabbed two mugs, filled them with coffee, and found a corner booth to talk with Charlie.

    “I was trying to talk to him when the storm hit.” I poured enough sugar in the mug to make syrup.

    “I caught it all from the alley,” added Charlie. “A fierce, dark funnel cloud pounced on the medical clinic. Tore it up in pieces. Then it vanished and left a pile of rocks.”

    “After the storm, he told me the Air Force wants him dead.”

    “Why?”

    “Because he knows how they turn weather into a weapon.” I could tell Charlie was trying not to laugh. He smiled at me with skepticism and I barely believed what I was saying.

    A weather radio warned us of another impending tornado. “The National Weather Service in Springfield has issued a Tornado Warning for Reno County in central Kansas until 10 pm central time.”

    “A tornado warning means we need to take cover,” urged Charlie.

    “There is your shelter?” Sally pointed to the floor in the center of the diner.

    Men and women rushed out of the diner and I guess they had better shelters to hide in. This left me, Charlie, Ernest, Sally, Dan, and two grandmas who I thought needed me to carry them down.

    “Can you two manage?” I reached out to help.

    “Don’t worry about us,” one of the grandma’s said. “We can move when we need to.”

    Part One – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Two – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Three – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Four – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Five – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Six – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Seven – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Eight – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Nine – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing


    Other Writings You May Like

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Four Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Six Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Five control the weatherJake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Two
    Read more: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Three
  • Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Two

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Two

    The stranger lay on his stomach randomly screaming about “the tyranny of the state” and “the air force knows a secret.” At one point he caught my eye like he was pleading “help me, man.”

    “I swear he could be your brother.”

    “I know. I find it hard not to stare,” I replied.

    It was improbable and impossible because Dan was dead.

    The sheriff and his deputies raised the flag burner from the ground and led him to their car. I wondered why they were putting so much effort into the arrest. It’s not like he triggered a bomb. But again, looking around at the shocked faces, I suppose lighting up the U.S. Flag in the center of town was just as bad for these folks.

    “I will try to talk to him,” I told Charlie who gave me a notion he was done with the excitement.

    “You go ahead. I will go take a nap.” Charlie walked off towards the hardware store, where I presumed, he planned to count cars and sleep.

    They took the guy down to the medical clinic where I waited until dark clouds rolled over the west. A steady stream of thunder boomers headed north to Nebraska and Iowa to dump rain, hail, and perhaps, a tornado in a cornfield. We had missed the brunt of the storm.

    In fact, all the thunderstorms this spring rolled away from Pretty Prairie. Even though I could use the work clearing debris, I am no fan of tornadoes. The thought Mother Nature can swat me away like a flea sends lightening bolts to my boots.

    I lit another cigarette and strained to focus through the glass window of the clinic. They still had the flag burner locked inside for medical tests and whatever else they decided he needed. I imagined he had to focus on pictures of patriotic children saluting the flag to prove he was squeamish. Goodness, who burns a flag in one of the most backwater places in America? Not for the TV trucks because there were none. He had to be nuts for even trying it here.

    Besides wondering what would happen to the guy, I also wanted a second take of him. My brother Dan died when he stepped on one of those homemade explosives in Afghanistan. He was dead. I went to the funeral. So why did this guy remind me so much of Dan? There had to be a believable explanation.

    I dropped the stub of the cigarette and crushed it with my toe. As I reached for my another, a weary Air Force truck stopped in front of the clinic. It was rusted like it needed a bath and a shine.

    A baby airman climbed from the driver’s side of the truck and ran around to the other door. He soon followed a cranky officer wearing a blue field shirt with a bunch of patches above the words “US Air Force” and a patch on his right arm showing he was Special Operations. He was important enough for the baby airman to rush to yank on the door of the clinic. They passed me loitering by the door without even looking my way.

    The clinic door slowed to a stop, and I slipped in behind them. The clinic waiting room was empty but I could hear shouting from the back. I creaked the door to the hallway and heard the important officer standing and shouting. He demanded to talk to the flag burner and a young nurse was stammering.

    “I… I… can’t let you bother him,” she squeaked out.

    “I don’t care what you can’t do,” the man barked. “I’m only interested in seeing my airman.”

    An older man in a white robe entered the hallway followed by a deputy. The doctor took no time in confronting the angry man.

    “You need to leave,” he declared. “We are not allowing anyone in to talk,” he paused, “or threaten him.” The doctor pushed the air force colonel with a jab of his thumb. This didn’t go over very well and the officer did not hide his irritation. The deputy placed his hand on his gun as a precaution.

    The cranky officer and the doctor stated a stare down and I wondered who would blink first. The officer let out a blast of air like a punctured tire and placed his flat hand on the doctor’s shoulder. He leaned in until he was inches from the doctor’s nose. Even I flinched at his sneer. This went on for a few minutes until I decided it was a good time to interrupt.

    “Um,” I paused because what I was about to say sounded impossible. “Um. I think he might be my brother.”

    “That seems far-fetched,” challenged the doctor. “Why would he be your brother?”

    The cranky officer and the doctor finally agreed.

    I shrugged my shoulders, “I recognize him.”

    The officer rushed to yell at me more. “The guy you think is your brother is a deserter, an enemy, and he needs to go with me.” He stressed with a hateful face. “This guy is just one of his anarchy friends.”

    The baby airman showed me disdain to add emphasis to his boss’ words.

    “Honestly, I’ve never seen him. He feels familiar,” I replied with more than a little nonchalance. Everyone waited for me to go on.

    I told them about my brother Dan and how this guy resembled him. I made myself out as a neutral party and explained how it couldn’t hurt to talk to him, and besides, as soon as I cleared this up I could go find some work. I waited as the cranky officer, the baby airman, and the doctor weighed what they would say.

    The commotion had made me more curious than anything and I wanted to figure out this thing about my brother Dan.

    “Maybe I can check?” I offered and started toward the door.

    Everyone stared at me until the doctor spoke up. “Sure. Let’s see if you’re related to him,” he decided. “You gentlemen can just as soon go. I’m not letting you back there.”

    I squeezed passed the officer, and he snarled as I went by.

    “Oh, we’ll be back with some MPs,” barked the colonel. “And we’ll take that airman back with us. You can count on it.”

    “Don’t you worry Colonel Cox,” the deputy chuckled. “He won’t spill any state secrets.” He laughed as the cranky officer huffed and stormed down the hall.

    I followed the doctor and the deputy into the middle of the room, where the sheriff and another deputy towered over the flag burner. He sat on an exam bed wearing handcuffs and a restraining belt.

    I could tell the stranger had been struggling to get out of his cuffs, and he was only sitting still because he had decided he couldn’t flee. It made sense because a wide deputy stood next to him like a bull terrier. The flag burner wouldn’t be going anywhere.

    “What’s your name?” asked the doctor.

    “I’m Jake. You stitched up my hand last week.” The doctor ignored me.

    “Well, Jake, I doubt he’s your brother, but we’ll see.”

    The wind kicked up and whistled through the vents sending debris into the utility pipes on the roof. Leaves and broken branches danced over the skylight. I assumed the edge of the storm had moved closer to Pretty Prairie and was taking some of our garbage with it.

    I took stock of the flag burner. His eyes were brown, while Dan’s were blue. His chin appeared wider than Dan’s. Although, he had my brother’s scar from when he flew over the handlebars and landed hard on the pavement.

    The stranger had Dan’s blonde hair, slender nose, and my thin lips. But it was the feeling I got inside when he glanced back that suggested familiarity, like I had eaten breakfast with this guy or hung out in our Dodge Charger drinking beer.

    It was a familiarity; like we shared a secret.

    “Dan?” The flag burner did not respond. I knelt down in front of the stranger and put my hand on his shoulder. “Dan?”

    The stranger smiled.

    “Do you remember the time we set off bottle rockets and almost took down the Pine Street bridge?” The guy just stared.

    “How about the time we slid down the ice sheet and ended up sliding across the road in front of those cars?”

    The flag burner followed my eyes, and I tried to see some recognition. He turned to the deputy and shuddered. He returned to my eyes and laughed.

    “This is my brother Jakey.” The flag burner went from pointing and laughing to pointing and crying. “He’s my brother Jake,” he stammered.

    I rose to give the man a hug, and the deputy took a step back. Something about the hug appeared off and as I brought my brother closer he spoke into my ear, “You’ve got to rush me out of here before that colonel comes back.”

    I pulled back, and the guy whispered, “We’re not safe.”

    A huge gust of wind ripped the roof off the clinic like it was a sardine can and it sucked the doctor, sheriff, and the deputy into a violent funnel cloud. The wind tossed Dan into a corner and me under a table where I clung to the legs as the wind tried to suck me out. Then the wind stopped and an eerie silence took over.

    “Dan?” I yelled. “Dan? Are you alive?”

    I rushed to the corner where Dan lay on his side bleeding from a gash in his head.

    “I need your help,” he gasped. “The Air Force wants to kill me because I know all about their weather machine weapon.”

    Part One – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Two – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Three – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Four – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Five – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Six – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Seven – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Eight – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Nine – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing


    Other Writings You May Like

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Four Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Six Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Three Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part One
    Read more: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Two
  • Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part One

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part One

    I like my steak well-done, my eggs runny, and my toast black.

    My waitress, who always wears a blouse with just enough cleavage showing, popped my toast in again to make sure she charred it. I appreciate the little touches provided by this dive of a cafe on the main drive of Pretty Prairie in southern Kansas. A regular three-calendar restaurant where the farmers arrive early to drink coffee and fight over who has the tallest sweet corn. Ever since my car overheated on the outskirts of town, I have sipped Irish coffee, listened to the squawking farmers, and dabbed my runny eggs with black toast.

    As far as engine trouble, I might have done worse and ended up in Nebraska. Besides, this town needs me. A small place always favors a guy willing to do the stuff no one else will do, and well, I am that guy: Jake Rutledge, handyman. I am that roustabout people call when they need something fixed, thrown away, or made better.

    Early this morning, I eyeballed a fortunate sign on the western horizon as storm clouds formed at daybreak. The chance of a windstorm always meant someone would need a fence repaired, a tree cut, or a something found. I had no worries of the threat of a tornado. The fight over nature is something I can handle.

    I waved at Sally and pointed at my coffee.

    “You want to fill my mug?” I gave an expectant glance with a hint of sarcasm.

    Sally rested on a hip and stared through me. Like everyone else in this town, I got the impression she took joy in taking time to ponder if she wanted to help. Sure, a small puddle of coffee had dried in the bottom of my mug, and I wanted more. Nevertheless, I had to give Sally time to decide if I needed another cup. She took her time to reach for the pot and shuffle over to my end of the counter.

    As Sally lifted the pot over my cup, she teased, “So, do you still love me?” She had a sweet smile.

    “Pour the coffee and we’ll talk.”

    “Oh, the man doesn’t approve when I refuse to jump at his beck and call.” She returned the coffee to her hip.

    “I don’t care if you jump, as long as you’re quick about it.”

    The coffee filled to the brim and a steam cloud rose from the mug. Sally curtsied. Then she blew a bubble, snapped the gum with a pop, and winked before turning away. I admire Sally’s sass, but she should spit out the gum.

    I took a sip of the coffee and realized it needed a refresher. In my coat, I reached for my flask of whiskey, poured a finger into my mug, and took a sip. Overall, a fine version of a leprechaun’s kiss.

    “The car is still dead?” This line of questioning was rote. The person sitting next to me always started the morning by asking me when we were leaving.

    “I have my priorities. I would love to leave but I couldn’t hang out with you.”

    My neighbor laughed a deep hoarse rattle that became a cough.

    “You know Charlie, you ought to visit a doctor.”

    “Well, I ain’t got the money,” Charlie stated.

    We made a pair; two drifters stuck in Pretty Prairie, Kansas. Charlie Wadmeyer, landed here by riding with me in my junk of a car. He has always been tailing me and helps me when I need it. We go back to kindergarten, and he is my best friend. When he’s not following me around, he sits outside Honeyman’s Hardware down the street and watches the traffic. Once he counted two cars at once. You know how slow it can get in a small town.

    The noise from the farmer’s corner reminded me of hens in a chicken barn. I sipped my coffee and eavesdropped.

    “And so the guy shows up and plugs in a doodad and tells me the alternator is bad.” The old farmer nudged his glasses above his nose.

    “In the old days, you could diagnose it yourself.” I thought he might shout. His friends stirred their coffee mugs and waiting for him to continue.

    “Well, now a guy with a computer needs to tell you what’s wrong.”

    “Computers run everything nowadays,” another farmer waxed philosophical wearing a John Deere hat.

    “Yeah, unless I need a refill,” the old farmer remembered. “Hey, Sally. I need more coffee.” I held in a laugh. Darn if she didn’t glaze through him too.

    Sally eventually shuffled over to the farmers snapping her gum and balancing the coffee pot in her left hand. I could never call her one of those quick diner waitresses. It didn’t matter. Before she made it to the table, the whole booth of faded blue overalls stood to peer out the window.

    It had to be exciting for these guys to jump out of the seat, so when the farmers craned their necks to take it in, I decided I had better watch too.

    I had to push through the farmers to spy what was happening, and from what I could tell, nothing good would come of the spontaneous outrage in the parking lot. Surrounded by two cowboys, a pregnant mom, her kids, and a deputy sheriff, a lanky blonde stranger was dragging Stars and Stripes on the ground. He was shouting at the crowd.

    The deputy sheriff pulled the mom and her boys away from the protest. The two cowboys flanked the man who wore a black riding boots and full leather motorcycle gear. He pulled out a lighter setting the national emblem ablaze. This only enraged the cowboys. As flames touched the stars, both of them tackled the stranger to the ground. He let out a scream as the deputy stomped out the burning flag. Those cowboys might as well had hog-tied the man. He struggled to push away a boot on his back and squirmed around toward the cafe.

    By now we were all outside, me, Charlie, the farmers, Sally and everyone else. The guy rolled away from the cowboys and stood with one cowboy holding his leg. Charlie and I ran over to stop the guy from leaving. He threw a punch that landed right on my chin. I stumbled back while Charlie ducked another punch. I shook off the shock of the upper cut and tackled the guy to the ground. He landed hard enough to knock the wind out of me, and he appeared winded too. I rolled off the stranger as Charlie ran up.

    “Hey Jake,” Charlie noted. “That guy could be you.”

    Charlie was right. The man resembled me and how my face might appear if I was trying to fight off my attackers in a parking lot in Kansas.

    I took a second glance and then it hit me. The guy reminded me more of my brother Dan who died fighting in Afghanistan.

    Part One – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Two – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Three – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Four – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Five – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Six – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Seven – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Eight – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Nine – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing


    Other Writings You May Like

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Four Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Six Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing – Part Nine Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Three
    Read more: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part One