FIVE
Doubling Down
The steady rain slowly became a drizzle as the truck I was driving crept along one of the many service roads that snaked through the gas field. I'd been on site for only five days, and I was already sick of the place. Working midnight to eight was fucking with my sleep, the food, while tasty, sometimes gave me the shits, and the nearly constant rain made me want to put the barrel of the AR in my mouth and pull the trigger. I also hadn't been back to Mata since I fucked Holly, and not getting laid wasn't helping my mood either. I was finally starting to adjust to sleeping in the mornings, so I wasn't feeling so strung out all the time anymore, but there was nothing I could do about the food or the rain.
At least I wasn't forced to walk in the rain. I had use of a truck, not because ORSS or PerforMex cared about my comfort, but because the field was too large to patrol on foot, even with four guys. We each had a truck that we used to patrol a section of the field, watching for looters, vandals, and anyone else who was there to make trouble, though thus far I'd seen nothing more dangerous than a wild boar. I'd considered shooting the animal, and then having a pig roast, but decided not to out of fear the bullet would pass through the animal and hit something important. The last thing I needed was to try to explain to someone how I caused a natural gas explosion after being on the job for only three days.
As the rain slowed to a stop, I continued along the muddy road at the edge of the field, the Ford's headlamps piercing the darkness. I hated being cooped up in the cab, but I didn't relish getting soaked, and then wearing wet clothing for eight hours either.
The gas wellheads were far more compact, and closer together, than the typical nodding donkey pump jacks used for pumping oil. A maze of narrow, muddy roads, with no signage to prevent someone from getting lost, wound throughout the field to provide access for the service trucks required for the wells' repair and maintenance. While the drilling compound and support structures had fencing surrounding them, along with plenty of lights, the gas field was far too large to fence or light, so we patrolled.
The entire area was depressing. The jungle had been cleared back to leave nothing but muddy roads, gas heads, pipes running everywhere, and the occasional pile of rusting scrap. I carefully guided the truck through the square arch of piping, the pipeline making a ninety degree turn to the vertical at the edge of the road, before making another ninety degree turn to cross the road ten feet above the ground, and then making two more nineties before continuing to snake along the ground.
I pulled to a stop beside one of the scrap piles in my section and stepped out of the truck. Boots squishing in the mud, I walked to the heap and dragged my workout bar off the pile. I didn't know what the bar with the plates welded on the ends had originally been used for, but for me it was a piece of workout equipment. About twelve feet long, the bar was a comfortable diameter for gripping, and being solid metal with a thick metal plate welded on each end, it was heavy enough to be useful. I'd dug around in the two scrap piles in my section and found five more plates, four of which I'd added to the ends of the bar, swiping four large nuts and bolts from the maintenance shop to bolt it all together. If I could find one more plate, I'd add the new one, plus my extra, to the bar to give it some additional heft. The bar probably weighed between sixty and seventy pounds, which was a little light for me, but it was better than nothing, and I made up for the lack of weight with increased reps. If it wasn't raining, I stopped here on every round and did some curls to relieve the boredom.
I adjusted my grip until the bar felt balanced, and then began to work. I did twenty-five slow curls, baring my teeth and snarling quietly on the last three as my arms screamed with effort. I propped the bar against the truck and took a short break to catch my breath and to give my arms a chance to recover, before I repeated the set, straining and snarling through the last eight reps as my arms bunched and quivered with effort.
Blowing out a cleansing breath, my arms burning, I finished the last rep and then dropped the bar back on the heap with a loud
clang
. I slowly walked once around the truck with my hands on my hips to rest my arms and catch my breath. I left my bar on the heap, just another piece of scrap on a pile of scrap, because I didn't want to give the guys another reason to give me shit. Their ribbing was all in fun, but my exploits with Holly had gotten back to the team, and the fact we had an open shower with three heads didn't help. In the last week I'd been called Long Arm, Python, and Bunny, as in the Energizer Bunny, among others. None of the nicknames had stuck yet, but much to my annoyance, Bunny seemed to be the leading candidate.
I settled into the truck, started it, and pulled it into gear. I glanced at the radio for the time. It was nearly three in the morning. I groaned to myself. Five more hours before my shift ended. I drove slowly, the truck barely above idle. There was nowhere to go, so I had plenty of time to get there. I decided that if I slept as deeply this morning as I had yesterday morning, I'd drive into Mata after I woke up. Working with my bar helped take the edge off, but fucking the shit out of Holly again would do a better job of relaxing me.
I turned the corner, giving the truck a bit of throttle to climb the slight incline, when a flash of movement at the edge of my headlamps caught my attention. I stopped and backed up a bit, putting the light where I thought I saw the movement. The headlamps were already on high beam, so I flicked on the spotlight mounted on the A pillar and swiveled it around. The spot was much brighter than the truck's headlamps, but as I swept the area with light, I didn't see anything.
It was probably another animal, but since it wasn't raining, I decided to get out and look around just to have something to do. Leaving the vehicle running with its lights on, I stepped out of the truck, unlatched and pulled my rifle to me, and attached it to my sling. Weapon pointed at the ground, I clasped the grip with my finger perched above the trigger and my thumb on the safety, not because I was expecting trouble, but because habits died hard.
I ambled toward the well head, the shadow cast from the headlamps making me appear huge and menacing. As I approached, I caught another glimpse of movement behind the well and I tensed. I didn't raise my weapon, in case it was a PerforMex employee, though the lack of a service truck made that possibility unlikely. Picking up my pace, I changed my approach, angling away from the well slightly to give myself a better view. A man burst from behind the well and began running. The movement startled me, causing my rifle to pop up as I crouched, my reflexes and training taking over.
"Stop or I'll shoot!" I bellowed in Spanish. The man kept running and I fired one round into the ground beside him, the crack of the.223 loud in the night. He stopped, his hands in the air. "Hands on top of your head!" He complied.
I approached slowly, on guard with my weapon at the ready in case he made any threatening moves. When I got close, I dropped the rifle, allowing it to dangle on the sling to free my hands.
"Don't move," I growled as I patted him down. He had a large knife on his hip, which I took, leaving the scabbard behind because it was looped through his belt. I tossed the blade into the mud before I turned him to face me. "What the fuck..." The man was actually a kid, certainly no older than fifteen or sixteen. "What are you doing out here? Trying to steal something?" The kid glared at me with malevolence in his eyes, but he said nothing. I knew he could understand me because I was speaking to him in Spanish. I slapped him on the head. "Hey, I'm talking to you."
Before the boy could answer, another gunshot sounded behind me, the bark of the weapon coinciding with the flair of pain in my back. I was wearing level IV body armor, enough to stop a high-powered rifle round, but the energy from the bullet had to go somewhere, so the impact still hurt like a bitch. Unprepared for the shot, I staggered with the impact of the bullet, grunting with pain while taking a half step forward before catching my balance.
I whirled as I drew my pistol to face another kid, this one perhaps ten or twelve, standing close and holding a small revolver in front of him with wide, fearful eyes and shaking hands. He squeezed the trigger again, and I again grunted as I took a bullet to the chest, but I was prepared for it and charged through the shot.
He tried to squeeze the trigger a third time, but I was already on top of him and wrapped my hand around the weapon and twisted it violently away. The kid cried out in pain as the trigger guard tried to snap his finger off, my hand around the weapon stopping the cylinder from turning so that the weapon could fire again. The kid released the revolver, and I backhanded him solidly with my other hand, my Sig Sauer P320 adding heft and solidity to my blow. The kid cried out in pain again as he went hard to the ground on his side.
I immediately whirled to face the older boy, instinctually knowing he'd go for his knife and come after me while I was distracted. I wasn't wrong. I didn't have time to holster my Sig, so I dropped both weapons, twisted as the kid lunged at me with his knife, and grabbed his wrist as it passed. I turned with him while twisting his arm hard in a direction it wouldn't go. The kid shrieked with pain as his hand spasmed open, the blade falling from his suddenly unfeeling hand. Still holding the wrist, I planted and spun him around. He was totally defenseless as I drove the meaty part of my hand into his face, pulling the punch slightly at the last moment, but he still felt it. Blood exploded from his lips as he staggered back a step before falling to his ass.
They were done. I reached down, picked up my weapon and the snub nosed.38, the Sig going into my holster and the.38 into my waistband. I then picked up the knife, and after some thought, slid it into my leg pocket. It wasn't an ideal place to carry the blade, especially without a sheath, but it'd do in a pinch. Now that they were harmless, I grabbed each of them by the arm and hauled them to their feet.
"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" I demanded, my voice harsh and demanding. Neither answered as they glared at me in clear defiance, the older one still wiping blood from his mouth. "A pair of tough guys, huh?" I shoved them toward the wellhead where I'd first seen them. "Let's see what you were up to."
On the ground beside the wellhead was a hack saw, and just behind the valve wheel, the stem was cut about halfway through. I didn't know if it was simple vandalism, they were trying to steal the metal wheel, or something else.
I glared at the kids. "If I catch you around here again, I won't go so easy on you. Now get out of here," I growled in my most menacing voice. Neither moved. "Run!" I bellowed as I shoved the younger kid, and then spun the older one around and kicked him hard in the ass.
They ran. In the distance I heard the roar of a pair of truck engines, and I could see headlights bouncing and swinging side to side as the vehicles raced across the field to converge on my spot. I walked to the truck, picked up the mic, and squeezed the button.
"This is Anders. You need to slow down before you kill yourselves."
Jesus Christ! Anders, are you okay?
the radio squawked in reply.
"Yeah. Just a little trouble with a couple of kids."
The sound of the straining engines disappeared.
I heard the gunshots, and when you didn't answer the radio...
another voice said.
"Yeah, I was away from the truck. Sorry about that."
Did you shoot the kids?
the first voice asked.
