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No longer feeling quite as friendly as he had, Benny grinned at the dude in the army uniform swaying before him. The man glared back. At Benny's elbow his cousin Mark Waya hissed and groaned.
"Let's go, Benny. I got exams in the morning."
A couple of men from Fort Bragg wandered over, more curious than anything. Beer bottles were held loose, by the mouth, dangling from lax hands. Benny noted all this and opted for a peaceful settlement to the trouble brewing in the corporal's words.
The man before him swayed, muttering obscenities. Mark's adams apple bobbed once in a dry swallow.
"Come on, man," he said quietly. "Benny's only kidding. Weren't you Benny?" Hopeful, he glanced at Benny. Benny didn't look like he was kidding. Mark gave up his desire to live a long, full life.
The pair of them slowly closed the space between them.
"Hey now, hold on." Mark push himself between them. "You know my daddy. He retired out of the army, mister. Benny would talk-down the Army." He shoved back against Benny, trying to get him away from the drunk and his friends.
"The kid . . . is a Marine," the drunk said, his voice sneering and filled with contempt. "I says that's enough reason to bust him up." He bared his teeth in a grin and poked Mark in the chest with his fist. Benny shoved Mark out of the way.
"Don't freekin mess with my cousin."
Benny lowered his head, tipped it to the left and snarled a smile.
The man scowled. He turned slightly and made a comment under his breath to a man behind him. He turned back and beery laughter gusted over Benny and Mark.
"I say you're chicken, kid. You know somefin? I know you." He swayed close and peered at Benny. "I seen you- your picture inna papers, oh, maybe a year past." He snarled softly. "Whore." In a loud voice he asked, "How much you charge to go down on us?" He grinned at the laughter welling up around them and fumbled with the buttons on his fly.
Benny leaned forward and patted him on the face. Something stank, and it wasn't this jerk's unwashed ass. Benny had a bad feeling deep in his guts that this creep was leaning on him for a reason other than that he hated Marines.
Cindy. Two Swords glared around him. The dude worked for the bim, yo.
"I didn't come here looking for trouble, Corporal."
"Yeah? Says you." The man sneered at Benny. "But you found it, didn't you, kid?" He went back to the buttons on his fly.
Almost solemnly, Benny nodded, then popped the man lightly between the eyes.
Taken by surprise, the man stumbled back.
Mark groaned and slapped a hand over his face. "Armageddon." He turned and smashed his fist into the stomach of the Army man nearest him, a wild, "Yahoo," screaming from his mouth.
A private shouted at Mark. He lowered his head and swung at Mark's back. Benny ducked under the blow, came up, and cracked his head against the other's face.
Benny shook his head and blinked at all the pretty stars. He grinned and snatched the bottle from another soldier's hand and smashed it on the man's head.
That one fell to the floor, blood running from the dent in his head. Jerking and grunting uncontrollably, his spinster and urinary tract loosened.
The rest backed away from the wolfish smile and darkening eyes.
Behind Benny one of the men crouched, his teeth bared. He leaped. Benny saw the look in Mark's eyes. On instinctive he twisted and his heel snapped into the man's guts.
Grunting sharply the man doubled over and slumped to the floor. Beer and chips spurted up from his stomach.
"You-all take it on outside, hear?" the bartender shouted. "I got the cops on the line now." He held up the visiphone and screamed into it.
Grabbing Benny by the collar of the ancient leather jacket he wore, Mark dragged his cousin towards the door. "Daddy's gonna kill the both of us. This here is the third bar you got us kicked out of, man."
Pulling free, Benny flashed his teeth at Mark, looked pointedly at the blood dripping from Mark's knuckles and shoved through the doors. Mark snorted a laugh. Hoping for more entertainment, the crowd surged out the doors of the roadhouse.
Mark and Benny were surrounded. The soldiers were shoved at them. Bets were being called back and forth and the blood-lust rose in Benny, the wolf in his craw howled for war.
"Oh no you don't," Mark cried. He grabbed Benny's arm and slammed them through the mob.
Racing to the old Night Sun motorcycle, Benny whooped and threw a leg over the saddle.
"Let's get out a here," he screamed over the angry roars of the crowd.
Hands grabbed Mark and dragged him down under a pile of men.
The Night Sun roared to life and ripped out of the graveled parking lot. He muttered under his breath a prayer as Benny leaned hard and threw the old bike into a doughnut. The rear tire screamed and rammed the Night Sun back into the crowd of jeering soldiers.
The men and women scattered like quail.
"Move it," Benny shouted. He held out a hand and Mark threw himself on behind him.
Benny cast a scowl back the way they had come, saw cruisers rip into the broad and muddy lot. Cop cars dodged around parked vehicles and fleeing patrons.
"Oh, shit."
Two cruisers swerved wide to miss a screaming woman and slid in the direction of the roadhouse. They met in a threesome with a scarlet pick-up and the crash was awesome to behold.
Shocked and dazed, Benny turned to Mark and whispered, "I think the party's over, bro."
Mark rolled his eyes and snorted. "My cuz, the brain."
Roaring a laugh, Benny revved the engine and the rear end skewed around in a sharp arc, muddy water spraying at the uniforms racing towards them. Benny squatted low and the rear tire ripped down to gravel. Rock shot out behind them, they screamed a war whoop and tore out between the cruisers pouring into the lot. Cars scattered around them and the pair shot out onto the road, heading for Interstate-95 and freedom.
Cars and pick-ups spilled out of the lot after them. Benny's middle finger shot sky-wards and his other hand twisted the accelerator to the max. The old Night Sun hit the ramp and roared up it.
"No," Mark screamed, "Wrong way." His fingers dug convulsively into Benny's shoulders. He stared in horror at the bright stream of lights pouring down from the north. All the lanes were full.
"Trust me," Benny shouted. "It works every time."
"You're nuts." Mark punched Benny in the right side.
Cracked ribs bent and groaned. Raw flame scorched through Benny, his teeth sheared though his lower lip. He grunted, half blinded by shimmering spots in his eyes. Benny rammed his elbow in Mark's stomach.
"You don't like it," he shouted over the guttural roar of the motorcycle, "then get the freek off." The motorcycle slowed and Benny rammed Mark off the saddle.
The old Night Sun bellowed a choking cloud of fumes and screamed up the ramp. Scrambling off to the side, Mark watched in stunned awe as his cousin plowed the motorcycle through bumper to bumper Florida-bound traffic. What he saw next took him to his knees, vomiting and screaming a denial.
Cruisers belted up the ramp, lights screaming. Numbed, Mark tumbled away, crashing to his side. "Why, man," he softly asked, "Why do you wanting to die, man?"
Cruisers and civilian vehicles in hot pursuit dodged around oncoming traffic, fenders scraped and ripped, bumpers snapped off, hubcaps became UFOs on a maiden flight through the humid night air. Mark watched it all. He scrubbed his eyes and passed out in the tall autumn grass.
Benny spat over his shoulder and eased over to the far lane. With any luck, cathouse luck, he smiled, he could make it to the grassy space between the north and south-bound lanes and then on to route 24 and down to Camp LeJeune.
Rumbling happily, the old Night Sun stretched herself into the wind and plowed her way through the lines of rushing cars. Lights flashed by in the night, horns screamed, drivers shrilly denounced them as lunatics. Benny stood on the pegs and raised his voice in song, screaming into the wind, "O baby, light up my fire, burn my soul, in your arms I am so-"
A small car bumped the Uohali, just barely touched it. The motorcycle wavered and before he could right it the grill of a tractor-trailer loomed. The driver screamed and the truck swerved, jack-knifed on the rain slick pavement.
The last thing Benny saw was the rear set of tires skidding around to slap him in the face.
A red film covered his eyes. Hot fluid ran from both ears. Benny drifted up, away from the thing his body had become. He could have laughed when the paramedic screamed, "Move it, Jack." Benny choked on laughter, and tried to speak, to move the raw flesh that had been his lips. They shook their heads in wonder and sadness.
Benny looked down at what had been a man. He closed his eyes and felt sick, desperately wishing he could be. Mark? Where was Mark? Benny looked around through the walls of the speeding ambulance and spotted his cousin in the back of a cruiser. Cuffed and stuffed, man, by some big red neck of a cop. Benny grinned. Mark was ok. He looked back and wished he could say the same for himself.
Man, but the face was . . . was, to put it politely, mangled. The right cheekbone was splintered and most of it stood stark and bloody above the flesh. His right side was a mess, raw, the clothing ripped away. His eye had popped out and lay on his cheek. Held there by the drying blood, it wrinkled and shriveled. The arm and leg twisted at grotesque and unnatural angles despite the straps that held the body down. His body remembered another time and place. The 'Stone. Old man Grey's leering face, and it struggled to free itself. Benny willed it sternly to calm.
Blood ran from bone that had torn through flesh and skin. Sharp and knife-like, his ribs stood out. Man, but they had been healing real good, too. Benny squatted next to his body and rubbed his face. From a glowering of pain each time the ambulance bounced he knew a rib had sheared through a lung.
He shook his head and hoped desperately they would be able to save his leg. It had wrapped around the axle and nearly been torn off. Man, but who wants to be a one-legged Rider, y' know?
The paramedic blinked back the moisture in her eyes. She glanced at the driver and sagged.
"Morgue?"
The woman grimaced. She stared at Benny and her head moved in a slight nod.
Morgue? Was he dead and didn't know it? Benny examined himself.
"No, man. I am alive." He looked at the massive Guardian Warrior sitting on his heels across the body from him.
Not dead. No . . . if they . . . didn't listen to him, they'd stick him in a cooler. A tag wired to his toe, like the Daniel's kid, Art, when they brought him home from South America.
Frozen . . . Frozen meant dead forever.
Grampa whispered in Benny's ear, "What about Mom?"
Benny rasped softly. Can't do that, not to Mom. She lost too much already.
"I'm alive, man," he assured the big Guardian and tried to get his body to move.
Guardian Two Swords stared calmly at a smirking Owl. The demon sneered at them. Growing impatient, the Guardian rasped a soft cough.
"Dude, my kid is alive. And he better stay that way."
The sword spun, flashing blue and gold sheet lightening in his hands. Heart trilled, eager to do battle with the dark forces. Living fire crawled down the silver and sapphire double blades. She snarled a warning at the Owl's sword, macana Gray-eater-of-Men's-Souls. Heart rasped a snarl and twisted in Two Swords' battle scarred hands.
Two Swords brought the massive sapphire balance to his face. Slow, wrathful, he thrust it out at the Owl.
"Beat it, jerk," Two Swords rumbled softly, "before I beat you."
The Owl hissed. "Benny is mine. The woman Leda-" Two Swords made an impatient sound and the Owl thought better of it. He stepped through the wall of the ambulance and was gone.
The siren ran down, the lights faded into the night. No longer was there any need for hurry.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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