Marty
Tambler tried to take the glass of water that was being offered to
him, but his hands were still trembling as he reached for it and
thought better of it. He waved it away.
"Do you want to
continue your story?" the sheriff asked. He was sitting on the
edge of his desk, looking down upon Marty. The sheriff was an
imposing figure, but that didn't faze him one bit.
Marty took
a deep breath and then continued. "Well, one of the eight guys
looked ready to kill me, he drew his gun and brought it up to my
head. Then a woman's voice from the shadows said, 'I wouldn't do
that if I were you.' And that's when everything went to hell in
a handbasket."
"She stepped from the shadows,
seeming to be glowing in very pale light, she was holding something
in her hands, and I heard one of the fellows hiss, 'This is not
your fight. Besides this is not even your prime, go back to where you
belong.' And she told them 'All primes are mine'.
"I
heard someone mention something about a plex-guardian, or something
like that, and that's when she went to town on them."
The
sheriff shook his head and then asked, "Is that the way it
happened, Marty? You know we will get to the bottom of this."
Marty
looked at the sheriff and right into his eyes; the sheriff had been
on the force long enough to know this fellow wasn't embellishing his
tale one bit. "As God as my witness. He sent an angel to deliver
me from those evil bastards."
Dream Street. 11:33pm The emergency lights flickered like distant lightning from an approaching thunderstorm. It was never a good sign when you have over a dozen squad cars lining a section of the street. "This doesn't look good," Frank muttered as he placed his styrofoam mug of Warbuck's coffee into a holder. "It never is when there's this many at the scene," Max replied. He saw an opening and made his way there. Max pulled the car off to the side and stepped out; he rifled through his coat and couldn't find what he was looking for. He checked the dash of the car and saw the package of nails waiting. He grabbed them off the dashboard and lit a cigarette. "She's not going to like it," Frank called from the other side of the car. He stood there making sure his overcoat was unrumpled. "Yeah I know," Max replied after a long puff. "Your funeral, partner," Frank gave him a wink. They approached the crime scene. A young cop stood by on sentry duty, a junior grade rookie but trying to make himself look like someone of importance as Max flashed his badge to gain entry. "Det. Cube," Max said out of habit. The cop lifted the police line tape as Max and Frank ducked under it. They walked into a tangle of police cars and cruisers parked on the road like a child's matchbox set. As they approached the crime scene they noticed that portable lights were set and lighting up a section of the ground. "Cube," a voice full of authority called. "You know you should put that out." Max shrugged as he approached Maggie. "What's up, Margaret?" Max asked, noticed the cringing look in her eyes. He knew what buttons to push.
Someone
had let out an agonizing scream as they rushed him. Max had no idea
who it was that let out the scream since he was too busy trying to
stay alive.
He feinted off to one side and the LEGACY goon
fell for it, and Max made him eat a blade between the ribs.
Max
thought he might have a chance in this encounter.
"What
you are saying is that they are all robots?" Max asked. He butted
out his third cigarette and reached for another one from the open
pack at the table. "All of them?"
Frank
nodded before replying. "Every last single one of them. It's
like it's all gone Stepford."
"Creepy,"
Dexter said with a shudder. "Everyone?"
"Not
just everyone," Frank stated. "It's every freakin'
thing. Even the rats and birds and the spider that makes a web by the
mailboxes!"
Max
lit up his fourth smoke. Inhaled and waited several long seconds to
let the smoke out. "I guess that settles it then."
Dawn
was breaking over the treetops when Max stepped out from the tent. It
was a cool damp morning, and he zippered up the jacket. The unit had
already begun breaking camp down, loading equipment into the back of
trucks.
Before
he did anything, he fished a cigarette out of a metal pack in his
pocket and lit it. He wanted to start the day off on the right
track.
"What's
the word," he asked a soldier who was passing by.
"We
got to head west," the warrior said. "There's a huge storm
front coming in from the east and we need to find a better place to
hold up for a while."
Max
nodded at the soldier and turned to see if he could find a cup of
coffee somewhere.
