In the living room, Tex dozed in the chair by the window, having dutifully stood watch most of the night. His head rested on his chest, which rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. His hands still cradled the Westchester rifle firmly. Across the room, sitting quietly on the couch, Blake eyed it hungrily, as if it held the answers to the meaning of life itself.
In the kitchen, Lulah cleaned up the breakfast mess. She’d been on her game this morning, preparing a spread of fried eggs, bacon, grits, biscuits and gravy. Everyone loved it, and there were hardly any leftovers. Even the kids, who’d been taught by the school system to be wary of cholesterol and fried animal parts, followed the unhealthy lead of the adults and gorged themselves. Surprisingly, they enjoyed it a lot more than expected.
Usually, she would’ve welcomed fixing a big breakfast for such a large group as this. It was a reminder of her childhood back on the farm when her mom would insist the whole family start the day at the table. It was so rare, practically unheard of anymore, for families to do that in this uber-frantic world. She longed for those slower, simpler times back in the hills. But as they say, you can never really go back. There was nothing to go back home to. The farm was long gone. It was now a subdivision, a strip mall and a Buy-Mor wholesale warehouse, just another victim of the creeping kudzu that was overpopulation.
Tiger hardly said a thing at breakfast, apart from what was required in polite conversation. He ate only sparsely, and did not ask for the usual seconds on bacon, nor did he finish off the meal with the ceremonial hot buttered biscuit slathered with honey. He ate quickly, poured a shot of Choco-Mel whiskey into his coffee and then excused himself.
Walking out onto the back porch, he pulled out the PDC and told it to call a number. A moment or two later, a small hologram of a bald, well-built, black man appeared in front of him.
“Well, I figured it had to be you since I heard Jocko was in a medically induced coma,” the shimmering hologram told him.
Dontaeus “Dee Train” Ridley had “spaced” during the Rush with Tiger and Cutter for a few years. However, it quickly became apparent that his talents lay not in piloting, but in his mechanical skills and he soon parlayed those abilities into a lucrative position at Cap’n Reb’s Possum Works back in Huntsville. He was responsible for building the prototype for the Super Charger, the replacement for the tried-and-true Charger that had been the workhorse of the Space Rush.
But things had gone sour when that infamous occurrence now known as ‘Weird Wednesday’ happened at the Possum Works test facilities. Nobody knew for sure what had happened. What was known was that people had died, while others had gone missing. Many throughout the city claimed to have experienced episodes of lost time that day. The brilliant wunderkind scientist, Otto “Odder” Schmidt, would end up taking much of the blame, as scuttlebutt had it he was experimenting on some form of new inter-dimensional space travel and got in over his head. But the truth will never really be known. The Space Authority quickly moved in and sealed off the area. The Works were shut down permanently and put under heavy guard. Cap’n Reb, stricken with guilt and grief, left Earth for good, retreating to the frontier isolation of the ‘Roids, where he founded Dalton’s Dixie, a small, communal community.
And Schmidt? He wasn’t talking. He went missing with the rest of the six-hundred or so souls of the first crewed interstellar mission to colonize the stars, the ill-fated Genesis Now expedition.
Ridley had his fill of space. He remained in the Rocket City, getting a job at the new Von Braun Spaceport as a flight pad supervisor. While it wasn’t building sleek, gleaming rockets, it paid the bills, had excellent benefits and kept him close to the people and things he loved, like Tiger and Jenny Lou.
And even Jocko.
“So, he’s alive?” Tiger felt instantly buoyed at the news about his friend. “Where’d you hear this from?”
“Some of the security guys … they talk more than they should.” He rubbed his square, chiseled jaw. “It’s touch-and-go for now, but he’s hanging on … I didn’t realize the little fart had that much spunk in him.”
“Adversity brings out the real person. The Cap’n always told us, remember?” Tiger responded, thinking back on Jocko’s surprising heroics the night before. “The worst … but also the best.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Dee seconded.
“So, tell me straight …” Tiger tensed up like a man expecting a gut punch. “Any realistic chance of getting Jenny back?”
Dee didn’t even hesitate. “Not a chance in hell, bro.”
Tiger felt his heart rip. Even though he knew that was the only logical answer, he’d held out hope to the very end. Jenny had been his pride and joy; even more than that, his de facto home.
Poor Jenny. She’d be wiped clean, punished for something she had no part in, a crime she wasn’t even aware of. He felt nauseous as his breakfast turned sour in his stomach. Once again, another woman in his life … ok, so yeah, it was a spaceship, but still, Jenny was sentient. He wondered if he was the kiss of death to any female that had ever felt affection toward him?
But, right now, he didn’t have time to mourn his loss. He had others depending on him, flesh and blood females. “I need off this rock, Dee. Anything you can do for me, I’d appreciate it.”
“Man, who do I look like, Cutter Hawkins? I don’t have
