Druz’ka Lanth made it clear that he owed her ten Drol’ka heads. Jaxon wasn’t sure how to distinguish the lesser drol’ka from humans. He looked through the spotting scope and tried to pick a target with those weird ears. They were the easiest way to spot a drol’ka. Even though the elongated and widened jaws were tempting pick, he wasn’t ready to risk his life on them. He had seen plenty of stark-jawed men before the bombs, so he focused on ears.
It was dusk, and he crouched behind an air conditioner condenser atop the Love’s Travel Stop in Atoka, Oklahoma. A Walmart was across the way, and a group was gathered in the parking lot. Most of them looked human, and Jaxon surmised they were forced labor. There were a handful of semi-trucks being loaded with food and supplies. The humans were noticeably exhausted. He watched them shuffle and stumble about as they carried boxes and bags to the trailers. They looked like ants as they filed into the store empty-handed and then came back loaded with supplies.
So far, Jaxon was sure of at least ten drolka. There were double that number, if you counted the ones he wasn’t sure about. His original plan was to pull a Charles Whitman and start popping off shots from his defensible position. The front doors of the Walmart were less than one hundred fifty yards away. It was an easy shot with the AR’s 5.56 rounds, but he knew within seconds of his first shots, everybody would scatter. At best, Jaxon could rely on two or three kills before the drol’ka found cover.
He turned his head and looked to the copse of trees that flanked the travel stop and wrapped behind the Walmart. The trees were a couple of hundred feet away, but luckily, there was a row of parked semis between the travel stop and the trees.
He crouched behind the condenser and double-checked his gear and weapons. Druz provided him with a flak jacket, a very unintimidating pink fanny pack, a black backpack filled with water, MREs, and some special drink mix for if he was wounded. She also gave him two frag grenades, a bowie knife, and a machete. The grenades were stowed in the fanny pack, the knife was sheathed on his belt, and the machete was strapped to his right thigh. He checked his ammo and got back into shooting position.
Jaxon was waiting for it to get a little darker. Once the light was right, he would start with the most drol’ka-looking targets and see how many he could take from a distance. Once that opportunity dried up, he was going to leap off the roof and run to the trees. With his augmented speed, he figures he could use the tree cover to sprint around the Walmart and make a close approach from the opposite side of the store. Once he got that far, it would be a reactionary assault.
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The sun had vanished behind the trees, and his light was fading. Jaxon used the spotting scope to locate the four drol’ka that were his primary targets. One was standing at the doors of a trailer, bullying the people as they unburdened themselves at the trailer. Another leaned against the plate glass next to the entrance doors. The final two were standing together as they flanked the group of workers. Those two were far from any cover, so Jaxon decided to worry about them last. He decided to take out the one leaning by the door to discourage anybody from fleeing into the doorway.
He crawled to the roof’s edge and propped his rifle onto the shallow lip that lined the edge of the flat rooftop. He put the crosshairs over the drol’ka’s left collarbone and breathed out.
PWAK PWAK PWAK
Jaxon didn’t waste time confirming the success of his shots. He swung the sight to the left and fired five rapid shots at the center mass of the second drol’ka. Three splatters of blood painted the white sheet metal of the trailer, and Jaxon moved on to the final two targets.
The two drol’kas had begun to react to his shots. The one on the right had turned in the direction the shots sounded from.
PWAK PWAK PWAK
He crumpled to the concrete, but the final drol’ka sprinted toward the nearest trailer. He ran straight away from Jaxon. The crosshairs ran up toward the drol’ka and then passed him. The sights were centered on his head, but led him by a few feet.
PWAK PWAK PWAK PWAK PWAK
The first two rounds buzzed over his head, but the third round blew the top off his skull. The fourth punched him between the shoulders and knocked him forward. The fifth round ripped through his ribs and bounced off the concrete.
Jaxon rolled away from the edge and army-crawled toward the condensers. Once he cleared them, he sprang to his feet, turned to the left, and sprinted toward the trees. He jumped from the roof and propelled himself through the air. His enhanced speed and strength allowed him to cover half the distance to the trucks. He landed with a roll and popped up sprinting. Rushing between two trailers, Jaxon shot into the open and closed the distance to the trees.
He ran straight through the trees and sprang through a small opening into a second group of trees at the back corner of the Walmart. This line of trees ran along a fence and took him away from the building, but he used them as cover to approach a third copse that flanked a house behind the store. He rushed through the third bunch of trees and exited as they ended near the house’s picket fence. He continued sprinting along the front of the property before turning further from the Walmart. He had to use an adjacent yard for cover, so he could approach a field that butted against the opposite end of the store’s parking lot. He hopped the field fence and used the solid line of cedar trees that grew down the fence row for cover. The trees stopped just short of the front of the store. He hopped back over the fence and bolted for the building’s southern wall. The entire approach was over a quarter of a mile. Jaxon did it in under thirty seconds and wasn’t even winded.
He could hear the chaos coming from the parking lot. People screamed, and drol’ka yelled for the humans to stop running and to get back in line. Jaxon was tempted to peek around the corner to see if he could get some shots off, but he remembered his augments. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and squatted low. He thrust his legs and propelled himself up onto the rooftop. After a few long strides, he was peering over the front of the roof.
As numerous dol’ka attempted to wrangle them back into order, dozens of humans were frantically running about. A seemingly human woman clotheslined another to the ground and began kicking her. The prone woman curled up and covered her head with her arms. Jaxon didn’t take the assailant for a drol’ka, but he figured her actions could reasonably justify her to be one. A 5.56 round ripped through her neck, and she toppled to the ground.
PWAK PWAK
Another figure rolled to the concrete and screamed as blood spurted from a gaping stomach wound. Two more rounds hit their targets, and a third took out a man beating an elderly woman. By now, most of the remaining drol’ka stopped worrying about corralling their captives and ran for cover. A few were unfortunate enough to seek refuge inside the building. Those were rapidly dispatched as they ran toward their assassin.
Stolen story; please report.
Jaxon’s hand blurred as he ejected a magazine and jammed a fresh one into the rifle. He noticed a man with the telltale ears of a drol’ka fleeing toward the far side of the parking lot. His first two shots missed the zigzagging target, but the third rammed into the drol’ka’s thigh. The drol’ka managed to stay on his feet until another bullet plunged into his back.
The humans began to realize who the targets were. They stopped trying to escape and lay down or crouched low. This benefitted Jaxon tremendously. With fewer forms scurrying around, it was easier for him to pick out drol’ka. A woman with a particularly blocky jaw caught his attention. Her chin was wider than her head, and her arms were unnaturally long. A single shot rang out, and she dropped like a sack of potatoes.
A figure in the parking lot pointed at him, and he noticed the drol’ka ears jutting from the man’s bald head. He lifted the rifle just as a group of drol’ka ran out of the front doors and lifted their rifles in his direction. Their appearance surprised Jaxon, and he barely managed to roll away as bullets tore at the edge of the roof. He sped across the roof and dropped down at the same spot he had jumped up from. The drol’ka were still spraying rounds toward his previous location. Jaxon squeezed his finger four times, and the four drol’ka were dead.
A nearby semi rumbled to life, and the loud hiss announced the release of the parking brakes. A group of people was using the truck for cover as it lumbered forward. Jaxon sprinted for the truck, and the sheepish survivors fled as he ran toward them. His superhuman speed propelled him past the humans and to the cab of the truck. He jumped up and took hold of the vertical chrome bar attached beside the door. He let the rifle hang as he let go of it and yanked the passenger door open. The driver jumped as Jaxon suddenly appeared. He lifted the AR and pointed it at the driver’s head.
“Stop the truck and put the parking brake on.”
The driver did what she was told.
“Now, get out.”
She popped her door open.
“Slowly!” Jaxon added.
As she turned to crawl out, he saw the back of her wide ear poking through her long black hair.
PWAK
Blood splattered all over the driver’s door, and her lifeless body fell out of the cab. He hopped from the truck and walked toward the back of the trailer. The nearby survivors didn’t move as he strode by them. Their hushed whispers and confused questionings were ignored as he peeked around the trailer.
“Who is he?”
“I think he’s here to help us.”
“Is he alone?”
“Is he one of them? Did you see how fast he is?”
“He moves like one of them.”
“Hush! Just be quiet!”
“Thank you, mister! God bless you!”
Jaxon heard the last words and turned back toward the cowering group of humans. They were tired and terrified. Their clothes were stained with sweat and grime. Their faces were smeared with dirt wetted by tears and sweat. His gaze silenced them and he held their attention for a moment.
“Do ya’ll have an idea of how many of them there are?” he asked.
Nobody answered.
“I need to know what I’m up against! How many?”
An older man spoke up and told him there are about twenty of them.
“Thanks,” Jaxon replied. “What about the ones that look like us? Can you identify any of them?”
The man told Jaxon some looked like anybody else, but they wouldn’t be hard to find.
“What do you mean?” Jaxon asked.
“Well, their shirts. They are all wearing dark colored shirts. They make us all wear bright colors, and they wear dark colors.”
Jaxon hadn’t noticed before, but he thought back to the first four drol’ka he shot. They wore black tops. The ones he sniped from the Walmart roof wore black or brown shirts. The four that rushed out of the store wore dark colors, too.
“Thanks. That helps.” He nodded at the man before peeking back around the trailer. A distant figure was just leaving the Walmart parking lot. It was running toward the Love’s Travel Stop. The drol’ka wore a dark purple tank top. He started to draw down it, but he decided the figure wasn’t a threat. He needed to worry about more imminent targets.
A quick scan revealed that most of the remaining people were stationary. They had calmed since the shooting lulled, and there was almost zero movement. He exited the cover and walked toward the nearest grouping of people. They murmured and pleaded for him not to hurt them. They all wore bright colors, so he moved on to the next patch of people. There were no dark shirts there, either. He saw a man wearing a midnight blue shirt hiding behind an overflowing cart return. He stalked toward the man. Before he got too close, the man jumped up and ran away from him.
PWAK PWAK
Jaxon turned and approached a large group of people gathered between two semi-trailers. Everybody stared at him, except the three who wore dark colors. Those three were trying their best to remain unnoticed within the crowd. The survivors squeezed out of his way as he walked between the trailers. One of the drol’ka side-eyed Jaxon as he walked by. Jaxon ignored the figure as he passed. His hand blurred as he whipped the bowie knife from its sheath. He spun on his heel as he thrust the knife. The blade sank into the drol’ka’s neck, and the tip slid out the other side. He yanked the knife out, and blood squirted from the severed jugular vein. The crowd shrieked and hollered. One of the drol’kas took off, but Jaxon fired two rounds into her back. The third drol’ka grabbed a nearby woman.
“STAY BACK! OR I’LL BREAK HER MOTHER FUCKI—”
PWAK
Jaxon fired a single round, and the drol’ka’s brains painted the side of the trailer. The woman he grabbed screamed as she fell to the ground, swiping at the hot blood that sprayed across her face.
“Be quiet!” Jaxon ordered.
Everyone went silent, except the hysterical woman covered in fresh drol’ka blood. Jaxon returned to the parking lot and continued looking for the dark shirts. He only found two more. Like the three between the trailers, they tried to hide amongst the humans, but it didn’t work.
“You.” Jaxon pointed at a middle-aged man. “You. You. You…ya’ll go gather everybody up and bring them here. Tell everybody to come back here. Hurry!”
The four men rushed off and began gathering the survivors. Jaxon kept watch over the store. He wanted to make sure no drol’ka came out. Once the survivors had gathered, Jaxon addressed them.
“We have a safe place. It’s not far from here. Can any of you drive those semis?” Jaxon was surprised by how many hands were raised. “Alright, I need a driver in every truck. The rest of you, pile in however you have to. If the cabs are full, we will have to load into the trailers. You.” Jaxon pointed at a younger man. “Take these and run to the McDonald's down the road. There is a red Bronco parked in the lot. Bring it back here.” Jaxon tossed the man his keys.
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Jaxon led the convoy of trucks down Highway 3. He glanced in the rearview and looked at the three survivors in his back seat. He didn’t care about the survivors. They weren’t his job. All he had to do was bring back six Drol’ka heads. Instead, he was bringing back dozens of mouths to feed. Dozens of weak and useless people who needed protecting. As far as Jaxon was concerned, they were a waste of resources.
He reached behind his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. Somewhere in there was the kill switch Druz put inside him. He didn’t care about these people, but he didn’t want to be on Druz’ka Lanth’s leash any longer than he had to be. Jaxon knew that Druz cared about survivors, so he would care about them, too. He would keep killing drol’ka, and keep bringing back survivors. He would gain her trust…and then he was gone.
