Pecos

Habit floored the pedal in a desperate attempt to raise some air pressure, reflexively shoving in the valves, knowing they wouldn't stay in.
Rick shot the first one in the pelvis. Easiest way to bring a man down. Shattering that bone will immobilize quicker than any other shot.
The rat man tumbled so quickly, the two following tripped over him. A minor delay, but every second was critical.
He followed up with a head shot on the next one in line, the little rat like head exploding like an over ripe tomato in the Texas sun.
The two fallen ones were already scrambling to their feet, trying to regain their balance. He took them back down with two quick shots.
The remaining four scattered. ####, they learn fast.
Forty pounds. The yellow button stayed in this time, but the red one didn't. Hell with it, drag the #### trailer tires. With 600 HP, that should be no problem.
Although they couldn't know it, it was the only option they had. One of the remaining four rat men was under the trailer, chewing through the air lines.

 

Rick was in that place. That dreamlike state where everything is happening very fast and time slows down.
It doesn't happen in every firefight. Some seasoned vets say they have never felt it.
The best fastball hitters claim a 95 MPH fastball slows down to the point of slowly floating towards the plate when they are in the zone.
He believed it.
He knew he had used four rounds out of this magazine. He knew a rat man was cicling the hood of the truck en route to the driver's side step.
He knew there was another approaching his open door.
He knew there were two more unaccounted for out of the eight that swarmed from the office.
And he knew exactly what his next two moves were. Like playing checkers with a child.
"Get down, Marine!" he yelled in his best drill sergeant voice.
He was already squeezing the trigger as Habit dropped forward and to the right, the bullet grazing his shirt as it travelled into the rat man's throat.
He made the shot left handed, still holding a bottle bomb in his right.
He felt the cab shift as rat man leapt onto the step behind him.
Without turning around, he drove his right elbow back with all the force he could muster, crushing the little semi rodent face like a head of lettuce.
Rick felt the claws dragging across the back of his neck as the creature fell backwards, while dislodging the beer bottle in the process.
The rat man and the bottle landed on the concrete floor at the same time.
The glass shattered, spraying the golden fluid onto the legs of the prone rat man.
He screamed out in horror and began writhing on the floor in agony.
Habit chose to launch in 4thLow. As he releasd the clutch, Rick grabbed the last bomb from his makeshift pouch and lit the fuse.
The hose munching rat underneath was caught unaware as the trailer shot forward.
In a blind panic he dove to one side, behind the sliding set of duals, not taking into account it was a spread axle trailer.
He almost made it.
Rick stood on the running board, and using an underhand toss, lobbed the bomb toward the crates, allowing it to land and ignite inches from the target.
As he released the bottle, he sensed movement to his right.
Seven accounted for, he thought, as the legless torso shot from underneath the trailer.

 

The big rig slapped open the heavy swinging doors like they were saloon doors, breaking the left one off it's hinges.
The big WHOOSH from the igniting fuel occured as the cab cleared the doorway.
Looking in the mirror at the firey display of vivid colors, Habit grinned broadly and said "Wow, that is totally awesome. Burn baby burn."
Once the locked up trailer axles cleared the building, Habit cranked the wheel to the left, executing a 180 degree turn, heading north to the gravel exit road that went north to I-20.
The unpaved road offered less resistance to the non rolling wheels, and also provided an enormous dust cloud.
As soon as they put a little distance between them and the airport, they planned on dropping the trailer.
The tires would soon blow anyway.
Looking at Rick in awe, Habit asked "You ok dude?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Your neck, man. You have lost a lot of blood. You haven't noticed?"
Being a corpsman in the Marines, he recognized a fatal wound when he saw one.
"Oh,that? Nah, I'm good." Rick answered.
Habit just shook his head. It had all gotten beyond weird.

With the rat men and the burning building behind them, there was a new threat in front of them.
Blue lights from three police cruisers blocking the road ahead.

 

Habit set his jaw in determination and pressed harder on the fuel pedal.
"Listen, buddy. You don't want to do that. There is nothing back there to incriminate you. The whole joint will be incinerated back to the stone age shortly.
You never kill a cop. That's one thing you never come back from."
"OK" Habit said as he exhaled the deep breath he was holding.
Closing in fast, he got on the brakes hard.
A loud thump on the hood as the rat man who had been on top of the cab tumbled down.
He grabbed the windshield visor to keep from sliding off.
So that's where number eight was, Rick thought. Not bad.

The KW came to a stop twenty-five feet from the blockade.
One of the cops, understandably nervous opened fire at the rat man on the hood with his .357 revolver.
Two rounds struck Habit in the chest.
Rat man dove off the hood and began running east into the desert under a hail of gunfire.
Rick felt for a pulse. There was none.
Semper Fi, brother." He said as he opened his door, diving out.
The dense cloud of dust that had been trailing the rig rolled through, obscuring visibility to near zero.
Rick rolled under the trailer coming out the other side, breaking into a run westbound.
"Are you sure there were only two?" The police sergeant asked the other men for the third time.
"I swear I saw somebody in the jump seat."
"No way, sarge" one of the men answered. "Look at all the bullet holes in the glass."
"Yeah, right. Taylor, tell me how the hell you missed that clown standing on the hood big as a parade float."
"I know I hit him sarge. At least twice. He's not going far. If he don't bleed out, a rattlesnake will get him."
"Yeah, you better be right. We got the driver, anyway. Whatever that's worth."
"Hey sarge. I think you need to see this." Yelled one of the cops from the back of the trailer.
"You have got to be s____ting me! An empty trailer!" The sergeant nearly screamed.
"Deal probably went sour." The officer said.
"It happens. Got to arguing about money. No telling, now. Maybe the crime scene guys can recover something."
"I seriously doubt it." Sarge said. "I have never seen one burn like that. Looks like the flames of Hades rose up to earth."

 

The Dallas Herald
Byline Patricia Knox
Crime reporter

(AP) Some Pecos residents were treated to a light show thursday night like hasn't been seen since the fourth of July.
"I never seen such colors." said Janet Goolsby, local resident. "It's a government cover up, if you ask me. Always been strange going ons out there. Then that poor old Zeke. They won't never tell us what happened to him."

"The only thing colorful is Miz Goolsby's imagination." said local sheriff Billy "Billybob" Bobbit.
"It was an ordinary fire, of the sort you would see any time a large building burns. That place was ancient. Lot of grease and oil soaked into the soil from when it was a slaughter house years ago. That will cause some intense burning."

When asked about criminal activity on the scene, the sheriff told us this.
"I credit my department with good old fashioned police work. We have been investigating the location for some time, and it was time to make arrests.
It seems to be a terrorist sponsored drug ring. We confiscated a tractor trailer rig that was apparently used for large shipments."

In response to questions about suspects he gave us this answer.
"The criminals engaged my officers in a shootout. Thankfully, none of my men were injured. The truck driver was killed by one of my sharpshooters when he attempted to run them over. We can't release his identity at this time, but we believe him to be an ex Marine who was emotionally unstable. It's a shame when that happens. The boy was a patriot and he just snapped."

Concerning others involved.
"We believe this to be the work of a South American drug cartel. We wounded several of the terrorists in an intense firefight. Only a matter of time before we track them down. They can't survive long out there."

 

After reading the newspaper article for the second time, Rick opened another beer and told Jed, "Good old fashsioned police work. Makes me feel alot safer. Where did you get that newspaper anyway? I know you didn't drive that pickup into town."
"Just like the beer, it just showed up on the kitchen table." Jed answered.
"Them sure are some nasty claw marks you got there. At least you can cover up them three bullet holes with your shirt."
When Rick came dragging in the day before, Idabell cleaned his wounds and gave him some fresh clothes. Since then, he had giving Jed all the details of the events at the airport.
They lapsed into a comfortable silenced that was broken by a motorized sound in the distance, followed by a dust trail.
The Honda ATV came to a stop in the road in front of the house. The rider seemed unsure of entering, unable to recognize the figures on the shady porch from that distance.
After a moment, he slowly came up the driveway, stopping besides the Chevy pickup.
"Idabell, bring us a fresh bucket!" Jed shouted into the house as Habit walked up the steps.

 

Well folks, I reckon that's it.
I appreciate all the support and encouragement, and I hope everybody enjoyed it.