Chapter 13

For the next few minutes or so, the entire world turned grey and hazy on me, as if my reflexes and senses had been turned up to an eleven or even twelve on the dial, and the more rational parts of my brain had shut themselves down in violent protest. For starters, to this very day I have absolutely no memory of how I got down from the third floor roof. I don’t think I painstakingly climbed down (slowly) the various ad-hoc ladders cobbled together from 2x4’s that the builders had left, so that probably meant that I simply jumped straight down from the roof to the ground without hurting myself ... or breaking both legs! Preposterous ... that would have been way too insane for me to have tried.

Worse, I came somewhat to my senses to find that I’d taken the truck directly on the shortest possible direct path from that building site to the Motor Inn ... on a beeline, just as the crow flies, directly through the trees, rocks, hills, and arroyos, and woe be to any cactus or smaller shrub directly in my path! I’d been steering with my knees, and making rather a hash of it, while fumbling with my dad’s shotgun to force two shells into the breech ... all while doing at least highway speeds in the desert.

What might have smacked me back into some minimal state of awareness was the feel of my head smacking hard against the cab roof as my truck, seemingly driving itself up to now, had gained a good bit of air as I had taken a small hilltop crest at 50 mph or more and gravity had now suddenly reintroduced me to the ground. As I wasn’t wearing a seat belt, the landing was a bit rough on my head and my ribs nearly broke the steering wheel. My truck wasn’t happy about landing directly upon the sharpest end of a large rock either! My skull might not have been cracked, but the bottom of my radiator certainly was. Still, the truck lumbered onwards and smacked down the last few small standing trees, shrubs and various cacti in our path and we barreled into the Inn’s parking lot billowing a growing cloud of radiator steam.

For just a moment, I considered torpedoing the black government plated SUV, but I figured that the vehicle would have at least some internal armor or reinforcing, and my almost new but already battered to fuck truck was missing most of its front end already and would likely come out the loser of that fight, so I settled for blocking the blockers, and I parked directly behind them.

Well ... at least the shotgun was properly loaded, because I now needed it! Two MiB’s had been standing guard, outside of the cabin with their arms at the ready, and when they heard and saw my wounded truck bumbling along its last weary few yards, scattering gravel everywhere, they unloaded their magazines upon the poor thing, finishing by deliberate injury everything that the earlier insult of the engine compartment being smashed by a rock and crashing into trees hadn’t already accomplished.

The good part of this was that my ass was already flinging itself out of the passenger door down to the dirt, gravel and sand of the parking lot, my face eating dust, long before the armor piercing rounds from their assault rifles had completely giving the interior an entirely new and comprehensive air conditioning make-over! When their gun magazines now empty and they stopped shooting, I saw two sets of shiny black government Oxfords walking over to the truck to check for my lifeless body, I could easily see and aim at their knees from underneath the truck and I gave each one of them one of the barrels.

#00 buckshot is nasty stuff! That’s a good deer hunting round, each of these 20 gauge shell loaded with a dozen .33” diameter slug pellets inside of it. Dad used it on coyotes, usually at a distance, so the barrel was still its original factory length but the rounds were more than adequate against human predators too. I rolled out from underneath the truck and got into a crouch to reload two fresh shells into the breech, but I didn’t need them. One of the MiB’s was clearly missing a leg from the right knee down and the other guy didn’t look much healthier. Both had dropped their guns and were in enough of a state of shock that I didn’t bother to give them a follow-up shell into each of their faces. I did stop for a half minute to find and toss away their sidearms a good distance across the parking lot. Maybe I ought to have kept one of them, but I had the loaded shotgun and I was comfortable and familiar with using it.

In retrospect, I’m not quite sure how I dodged the bullet that sped past my head, about an inch east of my right ear. I think I stumbled, trying to take the three wooden steps up to the open cabin door at a run, but my body was in the middle of a surge of adrenaline rush, my reflexes ratchetted up to at least an eleven, so I vaguely thought I saw the bullet coming towards me, like a fat knuckleball that didn’t knuckle would appear to all-star slugger, as he licked his chops before clobbering it.

Ok, that meant someone inside was shooting at me, so I dove for the cover side of the front porch side of the doorway and heard (rather than saw) another bullet pass somewhere over my feet before I made cover. When I risked a nanosecond peep, another bullet pinged the log frame of the doorway, missing my nose by perhaps an inch ... putting a few wood splinters into it, I soon discovered.

At least with a brief glance, I could now get a sense of the situation. Leah and Roberta ... or at least someone who was a splitting image of her, were in bed, sheets pulled up to their necks. Probably nude, having been ‘busy’ when unfriendly company had suddenly arrived. To the right of the bed in the corner was also a Roberta... (or her doppelgänger) being held in a hostage position with a pistol being pointed right at her head by her crazy half-brother Gordon.

Yep ... all of the pigeons had come home at last to roost. At least this would all be over soon now, one way or another.

“Jesse Spacey,” his voice called out to me, in a happy cheerful manner, “I’ve been waiting for this chance to meet with you again! I was sure that it was you, there playing up there in Maine ... I recognized your face almost immediately when I saw it in a sports magazine. The associates I sent to confirm this tried telling me otherwise, so I knew that they couldn’t be trusted and I eliminated them ... and the rest of their Dangelos series as well. Can’t be trusted – any of them!”

“Except for the Salazars’ ... and yourself in particular?” I called in.

“We’re family, even you should understand that. Even animals, like your species, only have loyalty to their own. I know what is best for my family and I’ve always had the willingness to do what is necessary to protect them.” At this comment, both of the Roberta’s seemed to snort, obviously making statements of disagreement or at least derision to that notion.

“And everyone who knows you is certain that you’re insane ... absolutely unhinged with paranoia, to say the least. You’re clearly howling at the moon crazy right now, terrified that someone is going to take your sister or sisters away from you ... or worse, that somebody else other than you, might have even slept with them ... or worse, intends to implant them with a human baby – and done the old-fashioned primitive way!”

Perhaps this wasn’t entirely sensible, but I didn’t have any other ideas. I wanted to piss Gordon off, enough for him to drop holding the Roberta he had as his shield and come out here to get me ... whereupon I would feed the crazy nut-job a face full of #00 buckshot. The problem with this plan was that it worked, and he reacted completely and entirely the way I wanted ... like a complete unhinged lunatic with extra-human reflexes and blinding speed that made me look like a sore-assed mule in comparison!

I never got my shot off before he was right there in my face and handling my business like he was a professional prize-fighter and I was the chump. He could have shot me a half-dozen times or more, but mercifully that wouldn’t have given him the satisfaction he wanted of beating the utter crap out of me first, before gloating over my broken and helpless body before he killed me.

My reflexes were pretty damned good, and far better than average ‘unaltered’ human-grade, but he was a bit faster and stronger ... and he’d had at least some hand-to-hand combat training. That last part is what I think really made the difference. I got a few licks in ... but he definitely won that round and put me on my back pretty damn fast. He could have really broken me to pieces, and pretty damn fast if he’d wanted to, but he was enjoying his triumph and not wanting the fun to end too quickly.

That’s serious super-villain level stuff – gloating over a nearly defeated foe before you’ve put in the final boot or last finishing touches to your complete victory. There’s probably a Greek God responsible for that sort of thing too ... since the end result usually ends up become hubris.

In poor Gordon’s case, as in the old Greek plays, there was a deus-ex-machina appearing at the very end of this last sad act. I was down on the ground and pretty much done for the count. Things inside of me, like my ribs, were loudly complaining that they were broken. I was pretty damn sure of it, and couldn’t get up again on my feet just then, even to save my life. Gordon’s boot was right there, on standing on my neck, and he was moments from crushing my neck hard to finish me off, when a pair of pistol shots rang out.

From out of nowhere ... I swear she suddenly appeared next to us as a sudden apparition, physically appearing suddenly from otherwise empty space. It was the surly inn proprietress, and using a large old western style revolver she calmly fired right into the side of Gordon’s head. When his already dead body dropped and fell next to mine, she then casually fired two more rounds into the back of his skull and finished off what used to be his brains. Super regenerative powers, like mine, or not ... Gordon wasn’t recovering from that,

Old school double-tap ... and her .45 Long Colt bullets had made damn 100% certainty of the kill. Then she looked down at me, as if deciding if I warranted a double-tap too ... and after a too-long moment, she stuffed her long revolver into the front of her jeans to holster it and gave out a loud disgruntled sigh.

“I don’t see what she sees in you...” she said with a plain emotionless voice, “and you’re certainly of no use whatsoever in a crisis. They told me that you play ball, humph ... well boy, now you’re really playing in the major leagues and you’re going to have to pick up your game a bit. Gordon’s not the only insane crazy one of us out there and the next time one comes around I might not be here boy to cover your ass!”

She gave me a long, very cold and uncomfortable look as if she were second-guessing her decision not to plug me, but she turned away from me and then calmly walked over toward the porch where I had dropped my shotgun. Both Roberta’s and Leah were at the doorway, looking aghast at what they had seen, but the surly motel keeper didn’t pay them any mind as she picked up the shotgun I had dropped when Gordon suddenly attacked me. She scowled for a second as she inspected the weapon, as if it (like me) had also failed to meet her exacting standards, but decided (also with reluctance) that for the moment it would do.

After nonchalantly making sure both barrels were loaded, she walked back over towards my truck and casually gave each of the fallen agents a blast to their faces. No hesitation at all! She inspected her handiwork for a moment and then tossed the unloaded shotgun back towards me.

“Lesson completed, so live and learn boy!” She snapped at me, “Never leave any them alive and wounded behind you, to live and report back to their masters. Now, if you can manage this without screwing up, go get those bodies all buried good and deep, and cover them up good with heavy rocks so the coyotes can’t dig them up ... and, don’t plant them anywhere around here! None of that is my responsibility!” Then she turned on a dime and calmly walked back to her office. Thankfully, I don’t think I ever saw her face ever again!

As for burying bodies, nope that wasn’t listed anywhere on my dance card before the better part of the next two weeks. I believe Leah and one of the Roberta’s handled that, later on that evening. The bodies got chucked into the back of the black SUV and everything disappeared later that night somewhere out in the deep desert. My almost new but now totaled truck was hauled off too, alas for parts salvage and then scrapping. One of the Roberta’s (mine, I think) knew just the sort of place to make things and people disappear forever. They left at about sunset and returned an hour or two after dawn.

Me, I was drugged up and put to bed. Sometime during the night, either a doctor or nurse showed up and gave me the full bandage and cast treatment. I could vaguely understand from the conversations that I did have several minor assorted bone cracks and fractures, but nothing was broken. I was told that if I was good and stayed quiet and rested for a few weeks, that I’d recover quickly and 100% completely. The alien nanites in me were still there and working inside of me and they just needed a bit of time to stitch me back together again, 100% as good as new.

I learned later that it was Doc Bishop from Ram’s Mine, tending to me again. He’d been living here locally and had immediately come again to my aid. When Gordon went on his first rampage, after I’d left, he’d left the town (and the secret base) when Shipley had been interrogated and then murdered. That was enough of government contract work for him and he was one of the first to escape using Roberta’s underground railroad! There was something of a long story involved, but I didn’t learn the shorter version of the situation for a few days, until my health had improved enough to plant my ass into a wheelchair to get out of there.

We’d all enough, for a while, of the Sagebrush Motor Inn!

The girls drove us onward in the Bird, and if anything she seems to run better now than when I had owned her! Leah also gave me a long slow, wet and sloppy backseat blowjob while the Roberta’s drove and sat up in front, wearing matching skimpy halter tops and short floral skirts to catch the last warm sunrays of autumn, while the Firebird ran topless. Leah, lovely Leah, was back to her traditional attire of worn out short-shorts and a braless cut-off tank top. Anyone with a half-decent vantage point in the lane next to us could watch Leah’s head bobbing and could see exactly what we were doing in the back seat, and we got quite a few appreciative honks from the passing truckers.

We moved to a slightly less seedy but equally rustic motor lodge just outside of the Petrified Forest National Park and we also oddly seemed to have that place entirely to ourselves. Able to sit and relax a bit now, albeit still in a wheelchair, it was now deemed time for Roberta (mine) to fill me in with most of the pertinent details. For starters, that dodgy motor inn ... and this one too, were links in an underground railroad chain that allowed hybrids and a few normal human engineers and scientists to escape the base and assume new identifies elsewhere.

“For starters,” Roberta said with a sigh, “the other ‘me’ that you’ve seen is my sister, Marisol. We’re indistinguishable genetically, making us all identical twins, since she’s a Salazar like me. There used to be 48 of us, the Salazar-series clones, but now there are just fourteen of us left. All of us now, at long last, entirely all out of government service and living secret new lives elsewhere. Marisol was the last of us left at Ram’s Mine, along with myself. She’s been helping me get other hybrids out for years now ... to freedom, but now it was her time to leave, while she could. Things had been changing there for years, but not in any good way.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “the weird guys I met up in Maine had mentioned different vat projects, of some new and later series and someone said that none of them were working as anticipated.”

“You met Eberto there, I think ... not sure of his associate’s name, he was always a quiet one. They were all older, expendable Dangelos-series, very human in appearance but not overly bright, which made them good for going ‘outside’ to investigate things. They’re also very strong ESPers and can easily read most minds within 20 to 30 feet of them. I talked to Eberto when he returned to report, right before Gordon decided to purge those two last remaining ones, so I knew exactly what you had overheard ... even before you’d written me. The plan then was to feed Gordon enough misinformation, to either confuse or delay him, or else get him to overreact immediately. Instead he cleaned out house of everyone at Ram’s Mine that he suspected of conspiring against him. Killing off most of his human security and science staff, and a good chuck of the middle governmental management, and then he went after every hybrid whose lips were not glued to his ass and issued security termination orders for them. If he’d had his way, no one would have been left alive there that wasn’t a Salazar like him. I think he wanted to make himself a king over his own little tribe ... fortunately stupidity and blind obedience are not a Salazar traits and those of us that still remained there got the cue to come with us and get out fast. Marisol took the last remaining pair of us out ... but I stayed behind long enough to make sure everyone else made it out safely, and then I waited to give a final report back to Mother.”

“Mother...” I asked, “I take it that she’s responsible for the alien part of the human-hybrid program. She’s the one I met that dark stormy night who needed help ... and then she helped me in return.”

“The very one. There are not many of her race here ... visiting, and her function at the Ram’s Mine government base was very limited. To advise and consult, were her official orders. This secret base lab had been tinkering with variously acquired alien DNA’s for nearly forty years and the biological hybrid projects were always unofficial and unsanctioned by the highest military and political channels, until about the last decade or so. The Salazar’s were something of an exception, the first vat cloned specimens that Mother herself had provided the ova specially prepared by her for human sperm insemination. Since the government labs had played no part in selecting our biological and character traits, we were both an astonishment and a danger to them. We possessed exceptional intelligence that was useful to your leaders, and also a very human curiosity about the world that pushed us to grow far beyond our assigned boundaries. Worst of all, we were not pliable ... never willing to blindly take and follow orders of an increasing immoral or unethical nature. They, your government, tried to forcibly indoctrinate some of us that way, but it didn’t end well. Some suicided, but more found ways to escape, or like Marisol, became determined to find a way to let all of us escape and live in freedom.”