Ever Onward by Wayne Mee Page B

Undoubtedly Tim
anticipated a repeat performance.
    Lieutenant Sam Waterson sat on the far
side of the lounge, quietly nursing a straight Vodka and
contemplating murder. Nurse Shirley Bates, her ear badly infected
from Pussbag’s bayonet, lay on the couch curled up in a fetal
position. Walter Pinkton stood sullenly off to one side, his eyes
fastened on the slowly rotating gun barrel.
    Suddenly Nathan Hight, a tall,
muscular black, came running in, his weapon sweeping the room.
“What’s all the shooting?”
    Pam turned her hard eyes on him and
smiled. “Just warming up the pie, Buckwheat. Want a
piece?”
    Nathon’s white teeth lit up his dark
face.
    Things were just starting to heat up
indeed when Rege Shehe and Pussbag filled the doorway. Between them
was a sallow faced teenager dressed all in black leather. Pussbag’s
bayonet was pressed against the youth’s throat.
    “Who the fuck ya got there, Pussbag?”,
George grinned. “Your new boyfriend?”
    Tim Galt seemed to find the remark
hilarious.
    “Caught the little fucker sneaking
round the trucks,” Rege said. “Calls himself Rat. Where’s
Jocco?”
    “Here,” answered a cool voice. Jocco
walked into the lounge. He was dressed like the rest in army
fatigues, only now he sported two .45’s in matching shoulder
holsters and four gold stars an his collars. General Jocco
Wellington turned and surveyed his troops, his cold eyes coming to
rest on Pussbag.
    “And what have you brought me now,
friend?”
    Pussbag seemed to swell with pride. “A
thief, Sir!”
    Rat suddenly squirmed free and stepped
towards Jocco. “I’m no fucking thief, man! Not no more! I came to
trade!”
    Jocco’s left eyebrow rose. “Indeed?
And just what, prey tell, would a daring young lad like yourself
have to offer?”
    Rat’s beady little eyes took on a sly
look as he milked his moment in the sun for all it was worth.
“People,” he said at last. “Five of them. Three men and two women.
One of them’s a real fox too!”
    Jocco moved closer.
“Where?”
    Rat’s pimply face cracked into a
smile. “You let me join up with you and I’ll tell you where, only I
don’t want no shit job like driving a fucking truck. I got me a
good hog outside. A 350 Honda. I wanna be your point man, your
scout.”
    Jocco’s smile never reached his eyes.
“Perhaps. Every army needs good reconnaissance. Now, where did you
say these people are?”
    Rat’s head came up in defiance. “First
tell these ass-kissers to give me back my gun!”
    Pussbag was already reaching for Rat’s
hair, his long knife ready when Jocco stopped him with a look. He
moved closer to Rat, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder. His
voice was like a patient parent talking to a belligerent
child.
    “We are not a mob or some mindless
group of looters; we are an army. Small, but growing quickly. I am
the leader. My people treat me with a certain respect. You - will -
too.”
    Rat shrugged, feeling more sure of
himself now, even a little cocky. “Ya, sure, General, I
understand.”
    “No,” Jocco said, still smiling. “I
don’t think you do. But you will.” He turned to Rege. “He had a
gun?”
    Rege pulled the .38 Special out of his
belt and handed it to Jocco. Flipping open the chamber, Jocco
removed five of the six shells, closed and spun the chamber. “Twice
I asked you where these people are. Twice you failed to respond.”
He cocked the .38 and pressed it against Rat’s forehead. The
tension in the room suddenly seemed to crackle. Shirley Bates
moaned from her place on the couch. Jocco’s voice, still that of a
patient parent, continued.
    “Twice.”
    The hammer of the revolver dry-fired.
Rat’s small eyes threatened to pop out of his head. Over in the
corner Walter Pinkton gasped. The .38 was cocked again, the double
click sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Rat sagged and would have
fallen if Rege and Pussbag hadn’t caught him. Jocco squeezed the
trigger a second time and Rat’s bladder let go. The