Lorenzo stood on his feet like he was standing on an old water bound ship, swaying one way and then the other. He forced himself to keep standing. Bloody, swelling fists held high to protect his face, he looked at the three thugs who had attempted to rush him moments ago. The biggest of the three stood in the doorway, moving his jaw around before spitting a bloody tooth on the dusty wooden floor.
“You know, boy, all you must do is hand over the equipment you have there. All we are is hungry men. Our bellies will not fill themselves.”
The evil laugh of the man’s two companions said enough on their own. They were not hungry. Well, at least anything solid. Over the last few days, these thugs had been looking for things to trade for whiskey or rot gut. If they had taken the meager items he had left outside on the porch for them, it would not have come to this. But no, life was not meant to be easy for Lorenzo, so once again, he defended himself. As always, it was him against many, a story as old as time if his papa had been right before he had died.
His papa was a drunk, and had not been right once in his life, so Lorenzo pulled his fists tighter and pulled his arm back to go on the offensive once again. Leaning into the punch, Lorenzo threw his fist forward at the unexpecting braggart, who was too busy looking to the right at one of his two companions. He could tell that the punch was lined up exactly where he wanted it. Once it landed, it would hurt.
A loud beep split the air from behind Lorenzo and in his sheer startlement, he twisted around, hitting the old wooden wall with his fist. He had no time to feel the pain, as his eyes wandered across the scrap he had cobbled together over the last few years. On the big, cracked screen was a fast-moving green dot heading towards the center. His papa had been wrong in his entire life, but Lorenzo knew in his gut he was not.
A sonic boom shook the small shack, throwing dust out from every crack, crevice, and opening. Taking a quick glance at the big man darkening his doorway and the only way out, Lorenzo grabbed the rickety wooden chair he had spent over half of his life sitting in. The sign he was looking for was here. He would not need the chair anymore and it would be of better use battering his way outside.
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Swinging it up, as soon as the chair came to shoulder height, the blast wave hit. No one knew how long the old wooden shack had stood there, but it had been far older than Lorenzo. He and the three braggarts were witness to its end. A fist of air broke the old, wooden shack apart like a tsunami hitting a card house. All four men were thrown from their feet, to ceremoniously land hard a way from where they started.
Lorenzo coughed, feeling as if he had just had the wind knocked out of him by a prized fighter. As he fought hard to force his lungs to work, he watched through blurry eyes as the three braggarts ran to their fallen skimmers. Once they had their right side up, two of the three got on their machines and drove off. The leader of the pack ran over to an old skimmer that had been cobbled together out of scrap. Pulling important wires from the engine, Lorenzo yelled furtively as the big man laughed before driving off.
Slamming one hand into the dirt in frustration brought a cry of pain from Lorenzo, but he did not allow it to stop him. Throwing broken timber from him, he pulled himself to his feet before shuffling towards his small and decrepit wooden lean-to he called a home. Forcing himself to focus on what he was doing; he denied himself the chance to look up and see the newcomers who burned across the afternoon sky.
Whipping the standing curtain aside that he used as a door, he slipped into the shadowed interior. Seconds later, a loud roar burst from within and Lorenzo shot his motorcycle out through the doorway and into the afternoon sun. Instead of taking the roads that the skimmers took, he turned off-road to take a risk to race across the hard packed desert.
Above him, the sky burned as something broke through the upper atmosphere and battered its way lower into the heavier air. The sky’s fire trail lit up the ground for miles, but Lorenzo only had eyes for where he was going. If he was not careful, he would take a wrong turn, hit a dip, and crash. He did not wish to allow all his hard work to end up ending his life, all because he got distracted by a spaceship coming to this dying plant.
Leg out to stabilize an extra fast turn, Lorenzo risked a glance at the roadway and saw the dust plums that the three skimmers were causing. He would lose this race if he did not pick up his pace, so he let his leg whip back painfully as he gunned the engine. Because of being distracted, Lorenzo bit down on a cry as his left ankle slammed into something unseen, but no less painful for it. Forcing himself to place his hurting foot back on the peg of the motorcycle, he raced on in the hopes of our race the pack of drunks trying to race him to his prize.
