Wordsmith Holler

Original Pulp Fiction

Tag: Weapons Of Weather

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

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

    “I am not sure he is my brother, and I am not sure he isn’t my brother,” I was talking to myself and Charlie didn’t care. With Dan missing, I felt absurd once I heard the words come out of my mouth. Charlie just let me ponder it out.

    “He resembles him, but he doesn’t act like him,” I pondered. “And you know Charlie, he knew nothing about the time I smacked him in the head with my front forks. I don’t think he’s my brother.”

    “Well, then who is he?” asked Charlie who bounced in his seat as we passed over a pothole.

    Before he was dead, I started asking Dan some questions. The motorcycle accident came up as a little test of his memory and my brother failed. He knew nothing about being hit in the head with my front forks. He failed a few other memory tests too. Such as the time we tried to set the farm ablaze with fireworks.

    None of this matter though because Dan didn’t want to walk down memory lane. He was still on a mission and before I could call him on his memory lapses, he told me about his plan to get back to the base, capture the weather machine, and keep the Air Force from turning it into a weapon.

    He had pulled himself off the IV stand and was still alive. He knew the Air Force would come for him, and he was just waiting.

    “I will power down for a few minutes and get some rest,” Dan told me before shutting his eyes. A few minutes later I found the contacts. Dan never moved an inch. Then the Air Force came, Dan escaped, and Charlie and I were going to the brig.

    I caught Charlie up to the present.

    Dan had told me he had to get back to the base, sneak into the lab, and take away the weather machine. I presumed he meant to destroy it, but everything was happening so fast I forgot to ask questions.

    “The guy isn’t dead?” Charlie questioned my story. We were riding with five of the airmen, and they had already warned us to “shut our mouths.”

    “No. In fact, he should be right behind us.”

    I lost track of Dan when I had to run outside to stop World War III. Before I left the diner, I convinced Sally to attend to him and do whatever he wanted.

     I now wondered if that was such a good idea. Sally counted on tips to round out her check, and she might have put off any field trips to the base. I glanced at my watch.

    “Just after two,” I muttered to myself. “Sally should have finished the lunch rush.”

    “What part of quite don’t your get?” an airman asked. “Why are you talking to yourself?”

    I glared at him, but didn’t open my mouth again until we rolled into the base. Charlie looked at me and nodded.

    We have been friends a long time and Charlie seems to understand my impromptu plans by a simple glance. He rose from his seat and lunged at me.

    “You no-good bastard,” Charlie screamed. “This is your fault.” He threw a punch, which landed on my chin. I fell backward. As I scrambled to climb up, two airmen wrestled Charlie and pinned him against a tire.

    “What the hell is going on in here?” Colonel Cox stood at the back of the van waiting for an answer.

    “These two haven’t followed a single command since we left Pretty Prairie, sir,” said an airman. “And now this one wants to fight.” He grabbed Charlie by the shoulder and stood him up.

    “Put them in the brig until we can sort them out,” said Colonel Cox.

    Three airmen shoved me and Charlie into what amounted to a chain-link cage. We each had a bed and a blanket. Where the bathroom was, I didn’t know, but I wished I had asked.

    They searched my pockets and took away the contacts in the medicine bottle. I hoped they would think it was only aspirin. We were now alone.

    “The weatherman is alive?” said Charlie.

    “I think he has a few more lives left to live,” I said as I looked around the cages for a way out.

    “Nice punch. I was hoping they would take us right to the brig.”

    “Anything else I can do?”

    “You can look for a way out of here.” Charlie looked around his cell and the warehouse they locked us in. I couldn’t find a door.

    “I’m guessing that guy isn’t your brother?”

    “Pretty sure. He favors him though.” I had decided there was no way the weatherman was Dan.

    “You keep saying that like you hope it’s true.” I thought Charlie made a point. Losing Dan with no trace in Afghanistan had left me and my mom and dad lost. It was too much to hope for a happy reunion.

    Still, the weatherman lacked some of Dan’s features, and he had no memory of some of our key exploits as kids. Memory loss? I think I was putting too much faith in hope.

    “We need to figure out how to escape.” I looked around the room and tried to push way the fence or twist around the posts. It was sturdy. Someone stretched the fence trying to kick through it. I pulled at the chain link and tried to stretch it more to free it from the post.

    “We don’t have a lot of time,” I said. “Charlie, find a camera and see if we’re being watched.”

    I turned over my bed to see if I could tear off a leg and use it to rip the fence. The aluminum leg bent off after a little effort. I used it as a lever to pull away the fence from the post.

     I made progress and soon one of the fence wires broke. I tore into it with more fury and snapped a few more wires. Now, I could grab the fence and pull it away from the post.

     A small hole formed against the wall. I pulled on the post trying to bend it in half. Soon, I could push my head through the hole. Two wiggles and I was outside the cell.

    “You made swift work of that,” said Charlie. “Now get me out.”

    I used the bed leg to work on breaking the lock holding Charlie in. It was a tough go, and the lock refused to break. Out of the corner of my eye I followed an arm reach around me and drag me to the ground. An airman had me pinned. I observed a hidden camera behind our cell.

    “Well Charlie, you missed a camera,” I said pushing back at the airman. I saw a second airman throw Charlie back into the cell. He bounced back from the fence, and judging from the look on his face, he knew he had messed up.

    The airman slammed me into the cell. He wrenched my arm around my back, as a steady stream of blue-uniformed sentries filled the space between me and Charlie.

    They rushed in and brought Charlie out holding his hands up. They had us and there was nothing I could do to stop them.

    I pulled away, and the guard held me as another brought down a baton in a swift thrust to my shoulders.

    I let out a groan and everything went black.

    I woke up in a huge computer room with various people twisting knobs, staring at screens, and recording measurements on tablets. The guards had taken off my cuffs, and I rubbed my sore neck. In the center of the room, nurses were intent on taking care of Dan, the weatherman.

    They cleaned his face and from his neck down he wore a white jumpsuit. The clothing appeared too white, and I thought they wrapped him in a cloud. I recalled the storm, the torn up clinic, and Dan going off to the Middle East.

    “I thought you were dead,” I said to Dan who acted like he did not hear me. I would have asked him again if Colonel Cox hadn’t boomed from behind me.

    “Oh, he’s very much alive.” The colonel walked around to block my view of the weatherman. “Only he’s not your brother.”

    I sort of knew this already although I still hoped it was Dan.

    “Well, you had me fooled.”

    “You know,” said the colonel. “We never even considered the two of you might run into each other.”

    “It is a mystery,” I said. “I suppose you’ve cloned my sister too?”

    “I wouldn’t call it cloning.” I scanned the room as the various scientists turned toward me.

    “More like artificial intelligence.”

    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


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

    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 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

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