Episode 016

                “One man defending his homeland is worth ten armored soldiers.”
                                Robin Locksley, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves

 

                Eli sat with the rifle between his legs, the barrel leaning against his right shoulder. His head was down, his mind wondering in the late night. Outside, the rain poured down from the sky, showering the world with its presence.

                There was a vibration.

                Eli didn’t move. The gun stayed in place, his head down.

                The vibration sounded once again.

                Eli’s hand shot out, grabbing the cell phone off the stone floor he sat on. As he lifted the phone to his head, he flipped it open with his right hand. He leaned back against the concrete wall behind him, the window just inches from his scalp.

                “Eli.” He said with a horse whisper.

                “It’s Jericho.”

                “Yes sir.” Eli said, exhausted.

                “It’s two am. There’s still nothing on the news.”

                “It’s raining badly sir.” Eli said. “There aren’t many people out right now, especially in this area. Besides, the rain will make shooting nearly . . .”

                “I don’t want excuses, Eli. I want results.”

                “Sir, I’m not sure if I . . .” Eli started.

                “Three, Eli.”

                The phone went silent.

                Eli held the phone away from his head, his motions slowly and deliberate. He turned the phone off, and then flipped it shut. He tossed it down to the black sack at his feet. He turned his head slowly, looking at the black rifle that leaned against him.

                Shifting his weight, he turned around in the concrete room of the old warehouse. Sitting up onto one knee, he held the rifle up, lowering it to the windowsill. Rain splashed against the steady barrel as Eli flipped the sight open.

 

                Victor leaned over Marilyn’s chair, kissing the base of her neck. “Stop!” She exclaimed playfully, throwing her body back against the chair she sat in, forcing Victor to take a step back. She swung around, leaving her computer for a moment. “Can’t you behave?”

                “Oh come on.” Victor said, standing before her, a huge grin on his face. “You’ve been working since you got back from the meeting.”

                “Speaking of the meeting, where were you?” She asked, avoiding his playful grab for her hands. “You’re the security division’s head. You’re supposed to protect us.”

                “Nobody’s ever going to do anything to you, Mar.” Victor said confidently. “If they did, they know they’d have to deal with me.” He stepped forward, taking Marilyn’s hand, trying to lift her up. She fought against him, keeping herself in the chair. “Come on.” He said, trying to pull.

                “No!” She protested with a squeal. “I’ve got work to do.”

                “Do it in the morning.” He tried, still pulling.

                “It’s my eight o’clock class.” She said, finally wrestling her hands free of Victor. “Come on, I’ve got to work.” She stood up in her tiny, single dorm. She stormed playfully past Victor, opening the door. “Besides, it’s past curfew. This is an all-girl floor in the dorm. You can’t be here.”

                “I thought I was spending the night again.” He said, looking at her, his smile getting bigger by the minute.

                “Not tonight.” She said, motioning him out the door. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, I’m really tired, and I’ve got to get up early.”

                “Come on.” Victor said, trying to get her hand. “You’re smiling. You don’t really mean it.”

                “Yes I do!” She said, almost laughing. “I’ve got work to do. Get out!”

                “Come on.” He said, still trying to get a hold of her. “Just for a little while.”

                “No!” She said again. “Now get out!”

                “Come on.” He said, laughing now.

                “No.” She said. “Don’t make me call Malcolm have him get you out of here.”

                “Malcolm?” Victor said, his arms dropping and his smile turning into a look of disbelief. “Oh come on. Don’t tell me you think he could actually do anything to me?”

                “He’s really good, Victor.” Marilyn said, her smile disappearing as well.

                “Yeah, he is.” Her boyfriend protested. “But still. He couldn’t beat me.”

                “Well, I’d like to think you’d leave when asked, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.” Marilyn said, still standing by the door.

                “I just know you don’t mean it.” Victor countered, his smile reappearing.

                “Victor, listen to me.” She said, her mouth a huge grin. “I. Want. You. To. Leave.”

                He sighed. “You don’t really mean that. You want me to stay.”

                “I can’t make it any clearer for you.” Marilyn said, her smile still barely there. “I’ve got homework to do and you’re keeping me from it.”

                “Fine.” Victor said, making a big procedure of leaving. “I’ll go. Unloved. Uncared for.” He turned back to Marilyn, just outside the door. “But I hope you’ll be able to forgive yourself for the mistake you just made.”

                The door shut.

                “I’ll try and live with myself.” She sent through the heavy wooden door.

 

                Ruwani opened the door to her dorm room, the darkness shattering with the light from the outside hall. The rain echoed harshly from the barely opened window as she dropped her backpack onto her single bed.

                The room was long and narrow, with the bed taking up the entire back wall. Next to the head of the bed was her desk, which faced the small entertainment center that doubled as her kitchen. The television sat on top of the mini-fridge, while the microwave sat atop the DVD player on the poorly added wall shelf.

                Ruwani sat down hard on her chair, blowing out a chest full of air. She slumped down in the chair, turning around to her desk. She hit the base of her lamp, the tactile light coming on immediately. She turned the clock on the edge of the desk around, glancing at the time. “10:37.” She said to herself. She stripped off her workout jacket and threw it onto the bed, on top of her backpack. She hit the mouse for her computer, bringing the giant screen out of hibernation.

                As the computer warmed up, Ruwani turned around in the chair, holding out the television remote. She hit the large red button, turning on the large screen behind her. The screen came to life, giving the room a static, blue hue.

                Ruwani’s jaw dropped.

 

                Errol stood on the metal catwalk, looking down into the near-dark boiler room. Scalding hot to simply stand in, he was already sweating as he watched. Down below, two rows of men on either side of Jericho stood, their bodies exhausted from the training.

                “78!” Jericho yelled.

                The men dropped down, their hands hitting the metal floor with the sounds of bullet casings sent flying from a gun. They dropped down into a deep squat, and then sent their legs lunging out behind themselves. They lowered down until they were nearly lying on the steel floor, then they shot their legs back up underneath their chests, then stood up. At attention, they waited in the sweltering heat.

                Errol sat back against the metal wall, watching the training. He glanced at the watch on his wrist, noting the time. “Three hours.” He grumbled to himself. He shook his head. “My god.”

 

                Morgan stared out of the giant porch around the back of his house. The long yard spread out before him, the rain turning the night into utter darkness. The scant light that came from the distant house reflected off the wet grass and the falling rain, making the darkness seem even darker.

                In Morgan’s lap, his note pad sat, an assortment of words and ideas scribbled on it. But he didn’t even look at it. His head on his hand as he leaned against the armrest of the lawn chair, he stared out into the rain. The darkness stayed constant, the rain still pouring.

                There was a ring.

                Morgan’s eyes didn’t move. With a cat’s fluidity, he reached out with his right hand, passing by the large sword that rested against he wicker chair. He reached out to the outdoor dining table, grabbing hold of the black cell phone. He opened it with one hand.

                “Hello?” Morgan said into his phone.

                “It’s Edgar.” Came the familiar voice. “There’s been three more shootings.”