Wrong Place, Wrong Time, Wrong Clark TOC can be found
Here Part 55 Part 56As Martha headed back to the house from the barn, she heard someone approaching from behind her. She turned and saw Wayne stumble into view from around the edge of the barn.
“Martha!” he gasped. “Martha!”
She ran to his side. “Wayne! Jonathan and I were so worried.”
“Thomas?” he mumbled.
“He’s in the house with Jonathan. He’s fine,” Martha reassured him. “Let’s get you inside as well.”
“No, Martha,” Wayne insisted. “The rock. Did Thomas bring you the rock? There’s men at my place, looking for it. Bad men.”
“Thomas told us. The rock is well hidden. Don’t worry,” Martha said, leading him towards the house. “Come on.”
“I’ve got to catch my breath,” he said, leaning up against the tool shed.
Jonathan rolled out onto the back porch. “Time’s a wasting, you two. Get inside!”
Wayne turned to Martha. “What? Why?”
Before she could answer, an army truck and a white van came barreling down the access road. The van stopped next to them, but the truck continued on to the house. Four men jumped out, dressed in military fatigues and toting guns. One took hold of Martha, one Wayne, and a third ran towards the house and Jonathan.
The tallest and oldest of the four approached Martha and Wayne. “So, Mr. Irig, are these the people who have my meteorite?”
“Trask, I told you. That’s all there was. I sent the entire sample to the lab,” Wayne replied. “Just leave us alone.”
“You see, Mr. Irig, I don’t believe you. I think you gave my meteorite to these people to hold on to it for you. Mrs. Kent, isn’t it?” Trask said, facing her.
While he wasn’t a hideous man, he had a stern, cold, and calculating expression to his eyes that chilled her to the bone. She had seen similar expression in the men who stared at them for marching for civil rights in the 1960s. The yellers often weren’t as scary as the calm, silent ones. This man was a fanatic, who would never see reason, no matter how clear and logical their argument was. He would kill them for his cause, and not give it or them a second thought, if they gave him half a chance. She refused to give it to him.
“I’m willing to do a trade. You give me the green rock…” Trask paused his speech as the third of his men rolled Jonathan, in his wheelchair, across the yard and up to them. “Mr. Kent, I presume? I was just explaining to the missus that I’m willing to set you all free in exchange for that rock Mr. Irig, here, asked you to hold for him.”
Martha stepped towards her husband and gripped his shoulder. He glanced up at her, setting his hand on hers, and they both knew that Trask was lying to them. He would never set them free.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Wayne didn’t give us any rock,” Jonathan told the man truthfully. Thomas had.
The soldier gritted his teeth. “A box perhaps?”
Martha and Jonathan shook their heads.
“Uh-huh.” Trask considered their denials. “Okay. What if I told you that I have your son in the back of my van there? Would you give me the rock to spare
his life?”
Her fingernails bit into Jonathan’s shoulder. Did he mean Jerome? Thomas had said that Jerome had been captured. Did this man already have Superman under his control and didn’t even know it? Or did he know? Did he know that the green rock had taken away Jerome’s powers, and wanted it to finish the job? He must not know that Jerome was currently vulnerable. On the other hand, did the fool actually think that Jerome was just Clark Kent, reporter for the Daily Planet, and their son?
Wayne’s brow furrowed. “The Kents don’t have a son.”
Martha wanted to elbow him to shut up, but Wayne wouldn’t understand.
Trask pondered this. “He looks a bit brawny for a daughter.” He set his hand on his chin in thought for a moment. “So, you’re telling me that I can just go to this van and open it up.” The man did as he said. “Pull out my gun...” He pulled out his pistol and cocked it. “— and shoot him, and you wouldn’t care?” He lifted his gun and pointed towards the inside of the van.
“Wait!” Martha caved first. “How do we know you have anyone in the back of the van at all?” It was true, they couldn’t see into the back of the van. It didn’t have any windows. They only had this man’s word that he’d be shooting anyone. As far as they knew, Jerome was already dead in the back of the van. She swallowed, biting her tongue to stop the tears from coming to her eyes.
Trask shrugged in agreement. “Tell your Mommy you don’t want to die, Kent,” he said to someone in the back of the van.
Anguish filled Martha. Oh, if
their Clark had survived, would they have had a son as wonderful as Jerome? Would he have been kind, generous, and as helpful as Jerome was, with a dry sense of humor, and a good heart, who still needed her advice after all these years? Would he have called her ‘Mom’ and loved her as she would have loved him? If she and Jonathan had been blessed with a son of their own, even a human son, she would have been the happiest woman in Lawrence County. But to have had a son equal to Jerome, her heart doubled in size, she would gladly take any such orphan in under her wing, no matter the risks. Even if it meant risking her own life to save his.
“Let them go, Trask. They have nothing to do with me. We’re not related,” said Jerome’s voice from the back of the van.
Relief flooded her. Jerome was still alive.
Wayne looked at them and hissed under his breath. “Who is that?”
Martha doubted that Wayne would recognize Jerome’s voice. They had only met once or twice, if that. “A friend,” she whispered.
“No? So, it’s just a coincidence that you share their name?” Trask asked with a flip of his hand.
“That’s right,” Jerome replied.
“It would have to be a pretty big coincidence that the very same reporters who first interviewed Superman in Metropolis end up here, in Smallville, Kansas – of all places – at the very same time I do. The
same small town where Superman’s spaceship landed back in 1966,” Trask said.
Martha glanced at Jonathan with wide eyes. How did
he know that? Was he part of the same group of men who came and asked them questions about the Russian satellite that week after they had found
their Clark? Jonathan had said that he had destroyed the spaceship, burned it up and hauled it to the dump, so any germs that might have killed the child would harm no one in Smallville. Her wide eyes narrowed on her husband’s face.
Jonathan looked away from her, guilt written all over him.
What did you do, Jonathan Kent?“Superman landed in Smallville?” Wayne whispered to Martha.
She shrugged non-committally. She didn’t know for certain where Jerome had landed.
“Have you ever considered that you might have a leak in your organization, Trask? A leak who could have told us about your warehouse with your collection of space junk? A leak who told us you were planning on coming to Smallville, and informed us once you got here?” Jerome’s voice suggested.
Did he? No,
she had called the Daily Planet and told Lois that these men had come to Smallville.
“I thought reporters don’t give up their sources?” Trask retorted.
“I don’t, and I haven’t. You wanted an explanation for these coincidences. I gave you a much more plausible reason than the one you leapt to,” explained Jerome.
“No. My men are loyal,” Trask said after a momentary glance at the soldiers guarding them. “They know what happens to traitors, especially blood traitors.
And I don’t believe in coincidences, Kent. I don’t believe it’s just a coincidence that living on the
very next farm over from a man who found meteorite on his property, are an unrelated family named Kent.”
“It’s true. Kent’s a name just like Smith or Jones or Taylor. There are thousands of us sprinkled all over America,” Jerome went on.
Jerome’s explanation made sense, except the fact that two Kryptonians landed on Earth as infants and both ended up being found by people named Kent seemed impossible.
“So, these people, Martha and Jonathan Kent mean nothing to you?” Trask asked Jerome.
“That’s right. I mean nothing to them, and they…
they mean nothing to me. Therefore, it’s pointless to try to use them against me,” Jerome replied. “Or me against them.”
Martha could hear his voice cracking with emotion. Her heart ached for that man in the van who did care for them. He was right. They were virtual strangers, and yet, with his voice he was telling them he did care and cared a lot. Bless his heart; for a man whose secret identity depended on his lying, he really couldn’t lie worth a cup of beans.
She squeezed Jonathan’s shoulder and raised her other hand to her face to hide a sniffle of emotion, wondering how they had become so important to him. She hoped that Trask didn’t hear his lying as well.
“No?” Trask shrugged, lifted his already cocked pistol, and turned it on them.
“Wait!
No! Trask, no!” Jerome yelled at the same time Trask pulled the trigger.
Martha screamed.
The gun clicked. It was empty.
“No?” the soldier said to Jerome with sarcasm. “Because that was fear, Kent, real fear. Why would you fear the lives of people who didn’t mean anything to you?”
“Because, unlike you, he’s not an unfeeling bastard,” Martha called out to the man, her heart still racing. “He cares whether someone lives or dies.”
Jonathan squeezed her hand, as if to warn her to shut up. The thug holding her arms, shook her a bit, as if to say the same thing.
Trask raised a brow. He pulled a new clip of bullets out of his belt pocket, reloaded his gun, and pointed at them again.
“Trask, don’t! No!” Jerome yelled. “I’ll give you Superman.”
“No! Don’t!” Martha screamed.
“Don’t give him anything!” Jonathan agreed.
Trask smiled and lowered his pistol. “Okay. I’m listening,” he said to Jerome.
“I’m Superman,” Jerome told them, and Martha’s heart sank.
“You’re Superman?” Trask echoed with disbelief, exchanging a glance with his associates.
“Really, I am, Trask.
I’m Superman,” Jerome repeated.
Wayne gazed at Martha with skepticism that matched Trask’s, and mouthed, “He’s Superman?”
Martha shrugged and shook her head, as if she didn’t know the answer.
“I stole their dead son’s identity to use as my own, so I could live a normal life with a home, a job, and friends,” Jerome admitted. “I’m not some faceless enemy. I’m not here to lead the hordes to invade. I’m not perfect, by any measure of the word. I just want to help, any way I can. I’m only a refugee from a dead planet, seeking a new life, a better life.”
“So, you come here to repay them for stealing their son’s identity?” asked Trask. “Did you steal his body as well as his name, so they would think that you were their son?”
“No!” Jerome groaned in what sounded like frustration.
Martha murmured under her breath, “Just stop. Fanatics can’t understand logic.”
“The Kents remind me of the parents I once had and lost,” Jerome admitted. “— and miss with all of my heart.”
Martha squeezed her eyes shut, unable to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks. Jonathan’s hand tightened on hers. Jerome thought of them like parents, and all they had ever wanted was a son or daughter of their own to love. Life was cruel with its cavalier strokes of fate.
“So what you’re saying is that, you, the man who loves humanity more than I do, are Superman?” said Trask wryly.
“And here you thought
I was the bad guy,” replied Jerome. “Please, let them go. They have nothing do to with this. This is between you and me.”
Trask raised his pistol and pressed the trigger.
This time Martha’s scream got lost in the explosion.
***
Jimmy couldn’t believe he had stuck his foot so far into his mouth. CK was going to disappear or die because he had yelled at this sheriff. “Look, I don’t care if you arrest me, but please help my friend. Trask
will kill him. Surely, you can see that killing a man for reporting the news is wrong and goes against the Constitution.”
“Are you calling me an idiot?” the sheriff asked.
Well, if the shoe fit… Jimmy thought, but wisely didn’t speak aloud.
“No, but I am, Max,” another man said, stepping up.
Jimmy glanced at the large man with a mustache who had approached them.
“Stay out of it, Hank. This has nothing to do with us,” pleaded his beautiful blonde wife, who held a sleeping infant against her shoulder.
“This has to stop, Lana. Max and his dad have terrorized us and this town long enough,” the man, Hank, said to his wife, before returning his focus to the sheriff. “You don’t arrest a man who comes to you for help, Max.”
“That’s Sheriff Harris to you, Hank,” growled the sheriff.
“Please, there’s some crazy guy named Trask, who thinks that there’s some rock on the Irig farm that can hurt Superman. He held Mr. Irig hostage while he and his men looked for it, and when CK went there to help, Trask captured him too.”
“Bright one, that bulb,” Sheriff Harris grumbled under his breath.
Jimmy ignored him. “Last we heard, Trask was taking my friend over to the Kent farm for some reason. I don’t know. Maybe he learned that CK’s from Smallville and wants to use his parents against him or something.”
“The Kents don’t have any kids,” Hank corrected.
“Cousins, whatever. Please, call the Daily Planet and tell my editor…”
“The Daily Planet? You mean, you’re with um… uh… the brunette lady…” Hank snapped his fingers as he tried to remember something. “— Lois Lane and her husband? He’s the one this Trask guy has got?”
“Partner, husband, whatever. Yeah,” Jimmy said, not wishing to correct any man interested in helping him at the moment.
“I thought I told you to be quiet,” Sheriff Harris said, giving Jimmy a hard shake.
“You recommended it, and I declined that right, because no intelligent judge will rule against the freedom of speech or the press when lives are on the line!” Jimmy retorted, before turning back to Hank. “Please.”
“And you think this Trask guy is on the up-and-up, Max?” Hank asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I do,” the sheriff said proudly.
“Well, that settles it. I’m heading out to the Kent farm. Walt was my best friend, and Mr. Irig and the Kents are good people, and if they’re in trouble, and there’s something I can do…” Hank said, pulling his keys from his pocket. “I’m doing it!”
His wife took his arm. “Don’t go, Hank,” she insisted. “Walt died ten years ago and his death has caused us nothing but trouble. We don’t owe the Irigs anything. What if you got hurt? You can’t go off on this fool’s errand, Hank; you’ve got a family of your own to protect.”
Hank stared his wife straight in the eye. “A family that
includes the Irigs, Lana,” he said softly, and then kissed her cheek. “I’m going.”
“Hank Aaron Jessup!” Lana roared, waking up the baby, who started crying. “If you take one step on that Kent farm, I’ll…”
“You’ll
what, Lana? Raise four kids on your own? I highly doubt it,” Hank retorted, turning back to Max. “You coming,
Sheriff? Or do I have to do your job for you?”
“Hank, I have no problem arresting you too,” screamed Sheriff Harris.
“You’d have to catch me first,” Hank said, jogging across the road and climbing into a pick-up truck.
There were cheers from the crowd as Hank drove away. Jimmy grinned, feeling much better about this small town.
“God damn it,” growled Sheriff Harris, dragging a still handcuffed Jimmy to his patrol car. He opened the back door and unceremoniously shoved Jimmy into the backseat. “Get in. I got to go stop that fool before I have a national incident on my hands and the feds get sent in.”
“You’re already there,” Jimmy informed him, unable to hide his glee.
“Shut up,” the sheriff grumbled, getting into the front seat without remembering to take off his wide-brimmed hat first, causing it to fall into the ground. He swore under his breath, reached down and picked it up, tossing it into the passenger seat beside him. Then he switched on the sirens and pulled out of his parking space.
Jimmy didn’t know if Hank would be able to do much. If this was the only way Jimmy could get law-enforcement to the Kent farm to arrest Trask for kidnapping CK and Mr. Irig, so be it.
Of course, Lois had asked Jimmy to warn Superman as well. He hadn’t had time to call Perry and the only other way was with his signal watch, which he wasn’t even sure would work. Superman was in Metropolis, and Jimmy was in Kansas. With his hands cuffed behind his back, he was able to hit the right buttons to activate the high frequency signal to tell Superman someone needed his help. It was the long shot worth taking if it meant saving CK.
***
Trask turned and faced Clark after firing his pistol. “You’re no Superman,” he said, shutting the door of the van and dropping Clark back into darkness.
He had done it. He had killed his new dimension parents. Either Martha or Jonathan, Clark didn’t know which. It didn’t matter anyway. Trask would kill the other one before he was done, and there was nothing Clark could do about it.
Clark had just sat there unable to move, unable to break his bonds, unable to get himself between them and the bullet. He might as well have pulled the trigger himself. His ears continued to ring from the explosion of the gun. He closed his eyes and let his head hang down, unable to reduce his misery even by covering his ears.
He had killed his parents.
Again.
Clark let the darkness swallow him.
Then, past the ringing in his ears, which had turned sharp and almost torturous in pitch, he heard something else, some
one else.
Help Clark.“Lois?” Clark replied, his head snapping up.
She was calling out to him. She needed him. If she were to die too, because he was here wallowing in all that he had lost…
“Just remember,” he could hear Trask calling to his hostages outside the van. “You give your lives in the cause of humanity.”
Someone must still be alive.
Without thinking, Clark pulled off his shackles and burst through the back doors of the van.
The van door slammed into one of Trask’s soldiers, knocking the man out. Clark caught the container of gasoline the man carried before it spilled a drop and set it down on the ground next to him.
Trask’s men had taken Jonathan out of his wheelchair and tossed it to the side. He saw that Martha, Jonathan, and Wayne were now tied up, back to back to back, on the straw-covered floor of the tool shed. Martha and Jonathan were facing him, but Wayne faced the back of the shed.
They were all still alive.
Who had Trask shot? Had it only been a bluff to test him?
Clark whipped the chain out from the back of the van to encircle around Trask, who was standing with his arms crossed and his jaw hanging open in shock, but the chain had broken when Clark freed himself. Instead, Clark pulled the steel bar, to which he had been chained, out of the van and bent it around the paranoid bigot’s arms. It encircled the upper part of his chest down to his elbows. Trask had collected himself by this point and pulled out his gun, but Clark was faster, knocking it free.
“Filmont! Tibbart!” Trask yelled, trying to run towards his men at the Kent house, before Clark caught him and stuffed a rag, he had retrieved from the tool shed, into Trask’s mouth. Then he sat Trask down on the far side of the van, wrapping what remained of the chain around his knees, fastening it shut by re-bending the broken shackles around the chain.
The two men, to whom Trask had been calling, acted as if they hadn’t heard him.
Good quality staff there, Trask, Clark thought.
He turned to his new dimension folks. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his heart beating a mile a minute. That was when he noticed that Wayne Irig’s head sagged forward over his chest.
“Wayne passed out after Trask shot him in the leg,” Jonathan explained. “He’s hurt bad, but Martha was able to tie it up with a handkerchief to stop the bleeding for now.”
Clark wrapped his arms around Martha and Jonathan and hugged them, ecstatic with relief they were unhurt, and feeling guilty that Wayne had sustained injuries because of him. He tore off the ropes surrounding them, and went to tie up the Trask’s man who the van door had hit.
There was a cackle from a two-way radio, which caused Clark’s head cock up as he listened.
“Avian Hunter, it’s Home Base,” said a scratchy voice. “Come in, Avian Hunter.”
“Home base, go. This is Avian Hunter group,” replied one of Trask’s men, sitting in the army truck on the far side of the yard, talking on the radio. The ever-observant soldier still hadn’t noticed his boss was hogtied out by the shed.
“Avian’s gal pal just overpowered one of our men and stole a truck. She seems to be heading your direction,” replied the voice on the radio. “Requesting backup.”
Avian’s gal pal? Superman must be the ‘thing pertaining to birds’ who they were hunting. Did they mean birdman? The metaphor was so ridiculous, and grammatically incorrect, Clark almost laughed. So, Superman’s ‘gal pal’ would be…? Oh, Lois!
Lois had escaped, his heart exploded with relief. Thank goodness! Then he grinned. Lois was going to love
that nickname.
Trask’s man retorted with a mocking chuckle, “Backup? She’s
one woman, Zulowski!”
“Assistance, not backup,” correctly the voice quickly. “— to intercept her from your direction.”
The man laughed at his comrade’s discomfort. “Yeah, right, Zulowski. Don’t worry, we’ll get rid of that problem for you,” the man replied. “Confirm. We’re on our way. Avian Hunter group out.” He returned the radio to his belt, and called to his partner, who had just stepped on the back porch from of the house. “Filmont! Zulowski’s found Lane. She stole a truck and is heading our way from Home Base. He needs us to capture her for him.”
Filmont shook his head, heading down the back steps. “Just like Zulowski. He couldn’t find his way into a woman without a magnifying glass. Better call over to the Colonel at the barn. I searched the downstairs, but didn’t find the rock. Tell him we’ll finish up after we catch the alien’s whore. Do you think he’ll let us have our way with her? I hear she’s pretty hot for a frigid b*tch.”
With one flick of his finger, with one breath, or with one look, Clark knew he could kill that man for what he said about Lois. Instead he balled his hands into fists, restraining himself, remembering Lois’s words when he had wanted to kill Luthor:
You’re better than that.“I wouldn’t bump that slut for all the guns in China, Filmont. Who knows what kind of alien VD she might have picked up?” Tibbart replied with a scoff, picking up his radio. “Avian Hunter One? This is Two, copy?”
Clark pulled out Trask’s radio from the man’s utility belt. “Copy,” he mumbled into the radio.
Trask screamed, but the gag was doing a good job of keeping him muted.
“Colonel, Zulowski needs some assistance in capturing Avian’s whore. We’ll be back as soon as we capture her,” Tibbart continued.
“Copy. Alive,” Clark said into the walkie-talkie.
“Copy, Colonel,” Tibbart replied with disappointment.
“Don’t touch her,” Clark commanded.
“Copy, Colonel. Over and out,” Tibbart said, and then scoffed to Filmont. “Like we’d soil ourselves on that alien’s castoff. Well, at least,
I wouldn’t.”
“Why do you think Trask wants her alive?” Filmont asked. “Guess he wants the pleasure of doing her himself.”
Tibbart gave his buddy a sick look as he started the truck. “Trask?”
“
Kill her, himself, that is,” Filmont corrected.
“
Or he wants to see if she’s been implanted with his brat, and raise himself the next generation of super soldier,” Tibbart countered.
“Trask’s always thinking ahead,” Filmont said with admiration and an agreeing nod. The truck disappeared around the bend of the driveway.
“Alien’s brat? Alien’s whore?” Clark mumbled, shaking his head. “For your information, Trask, Lois and I are just friends. She’s never sullied herself with the likes of me. So, you can sleep in peace tonight without that weighing you down.” He turned his back on Trask and returned to where Wayne lay and Jonathan sat on the tool-shed floor.
Martha brought over Jonathan’s wheelchair, and Clark picked him up, setting him back into it.
“Thanks, son,” Jonathan said with a smile.
Clark glanced at him as his heart skipped a beat at the endearment, despite him knowing that Jonathan didn’t mean it the way Clark took it. He scooped Wayne up into his arms. “I’ll take him to the hospital now. Tell Thomas that Superman took him to Wichita General, will you?” he asked them.
Martha nodded.
“I’m going to swing back by and make sure those men of Trask’s don’t hurt Lois, but I’ll return shortly,” Clark said, stepping out of the shed.
“Fly safe, dear,” she said.
Clark glanced over his shoulder at her, unable to smile at her with the warmth she deserved due to the day that he had experienced. He would make sure he’d make it up to her later. “Keep an eye on…” he started to say with a glance at Trask only to be face to face with a chunk of green glowing Kryptonite.
It felt as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs, his skin had been tightened over his entire body, while at the same time turning his bones to matchsticks. Everything hurt. Clark stumbled forward under the weight of Mr. Irig’s body in his arms and fell to the ground, unable to move.
***
Thomas could hear voices outside the house. It sounded like the soldiers got into the truck and drove away. He let out a barely audible whimper. Were they gone? Were the men, who had beat and shot his dad, gone? Was it safe to come out of his hiding spot in the bathtub?
He had been watching out Martha and Jonathan’s old upstairs bedroom window. Jonathan had given him his rifle and binoculars and had stationed him as lookout for his dad and the soldiers, when they came up the access road. When his dad had stumbled up the road, Thomas thought their plan was going to work. He hadn’t expected the soldiers, who had earlier been on foot, to arrive suddenly in trucks. There simply hadn’t been time.
Mr. Kent had gone out to warn Thomas’s dad to hurry, only to be caught himself. When the soldier asked Mr. Kent if there was anyone else in the house, he had told him ‘no’, that it had been only him and his wife. Mr. Kent might as well have been speaking the truth for the fat lot of good Thomas had done.
Thomas couldn’t hear what had been said down at the tool shed, but he had a good view of what happened. The leader of the soldiers, Thomas thought of him as ‘Trask’ as that was what Lois had called him, talked to his dad and the Kents for a while, and then opened up the van. There was someone in there. Thomas could tell because Trask looked like he was speaking to someone, but Thomas couldn’t see who it was as the front of the van pointed towards the house.
The first time that madman pointed a gun inside the van, Thomas’s heart lodged itself in his throat. Fortunately, Mrs. Kent had stopped him from shooting whoever was in there. Thomas had screwed up his courage and, once again, set his sights on the leader of the group. Then Trask had pointed his weapon at Thomas’s dad and the Kents, but the man had only been bluffing. Thomas had pulled away Mr. Kent’s gun from the window, unable to catch his breath.
Could he be as cold and calculating as that man who was terrorizing his family and friends? Could he point a gun a fellow human being and end his life without knowing all the details? He hadn’t been trained to do such things as his father and Mr. Kent had been in the army. He was a farmer, and not a very good one at that. Could he do this?
Thomas had never enjoyed hunting and only done it as a way to get closer to his father. Walt had been the true hunter, the true father’s son, in the family. The one time Thomas had actually shot a deer had been the third worst day of his life behind the death of his mom and that deadly prom night. Third worst day of his life until today, that was.
His dad had been so proud of him for the kill, and Thomas never made his dad proud. But when his dad had left to go get the deer, Thomas had thrown up; he had been so ashamed at his actions. Even though he had kept his true feelings from his dad, he had cried himself to sleep that night and, for months afterward, suffered nightmares. His mom had known and convinced his dad that perhaps Thomas had been too young at fourteen for the responsibility of ending another being’s life.
His father never took him hunting again.
That Christmas, Thomas had taken a line dancing class taught by one Rachel Harris, junior at Smallville High. It had been love at first sight, for Thomas at least. Thoughts of Rachel had pushed away all of his bad dreams from his head, replacing them with dreams of this strawberry blonde with the catching smile and kind heart. Her death that spring had brought back the nightmares, tenfold.
After Walt had died and then his wife, Wayne Irig had never again gone hunting. He farmed. He survived, but he had stopped living, stopped doing anything he enjoyed, or anything that reminded him of the family members he had lost. His relationship with his remaining son grew cold and stale, causing Thomas to move to Wichita the day after he graduated from Smallville High.
It wasn’t until a year ago now, when Mr. Kent had been hospitalized from his accident that Thomas decided to move back home again. His dad was the only real family Thomas had after all. He still loved his dad and didn't want him to be alone on the farm, and frankly, Thomas was tired of being alone himself and having his life lead nowhere.
Thomas and his father had started their relationship anew. His dad bought him acres of land that the Kents could no longer afford or manage to farm on their own. He was slowly teaching Thomas everything Thomas had never taken the time to learn about farming while he was growing up. They had just started to have a real understanding of who the other was, laugh and joke with each other for the first time in years, when they had found the green glowing rock last week.
Through the window, Thomas had watched as Trask once more pointed his pistol at his dad; this time, shooting him in the thigh. There had been nothing Thomas could do to stop him. Thomas was angry, raging mad, but when he had lined up the shot that could have blown off that horrible man’s head, he couldn’t do it. He had griped his finger on the trigger and, up until that very moment, he thought he could do it, that his anger would push him over that line, that he would be a man, and protect his friends and family. At the very moment Thomas should have pulled the trigger, he realized that his hand was shaking. If he messed up, he could hit his dad or the Kents,
and he would give away his location. Soldiers would descend on the Kent house and blow him away. Self-preservation and safety won out.
Thomas knew he wasn’t hardwired like his dad or Walt. He was afraid, terrified even. Therefore, when his dad had been shot, it took Thomas a while before he had been able to breathe again properly enough to finally look out the window to reassure himself that his dad wasn’t dead. He saw Mrs. Kent tying some kind of handkerchief to his dad’s leg. His dad was talking her through it, Thomas could see, but when she tightened the bandage, his father had passed out.
Thomas knew he needed to figure out what to do next. His heart had been beating a mile a minute, yet his brain felt slower than molasses. Finally, he decided he needed to go downstairs to place a call for help to the devil himself, Max Harris. Thomas rolled his eyes, and corrected himself,
Sheriff Max Harris. A small part of him hoped Rachel haunted her brother for his evil deeds he did on her behalf.
Anyway, he had made it to his feet to call their illustrious sheriff, when he heard a couple of those soldiers approaching the house, and he realized they still wanted that green rock. Mr. and Mrs. Kent never did tell Thomas where she was supposed to hide it. Thomas had gone to hide in the bathtub. He figured if the soldiers were looking for the green rock, they’d check the closets and under the beds. Why would anyone hide the rock in the bathtub? He had been right.
One of the men had opened the bathroom door, done a quick look around and not seeing anyone had left to search the rest of the house.
Now, that those soldiers had driven away, Thomas quietly left the bathroom and went back to peer through the window down at what was happening at the barn.
Jerome was there. Thank God he escaped. It looked like he had rescued the Kents.
Did all the soldiers leave? He thought with surprise.
Did their side win?He saw Jerome pick up Mr. Kent and put him into his wheelchair. Thomas knew he should go down there and help but, for some reason, he froze in that spot as if he was watching it unfold on TV. Jerome went back into the tool shed and brought out Thomas’s dad. One of his dad’s pants legs was darkened, as if soaked with blood.
“Dad!” he murmured. Was he okay? He wasn’t moving. Cradled in Jerome’s arms, his dad looked so old and fragile. Thomas set down the rifle next to the window, and started to run from the room, before deciding that perhaps he should take the gun with him.
As he picked it up again, he saw that something was wrong with Jerome. The man fell to his knees with Thomas’s dad still in his arms. In the shadow of the van Thomas could see the bright green glow of the rock, reflecting off Jerome’s glasses.
“No!” Thomas gasped. It wasn’t over.
Mrs. Kent had said that the light of the rock made Jerome sick. She wasn’t kidding. The same man, who had had no difficulty picking up either Mr. Kent or Thomas’s father, now, fell forward under the burden on the latter. Mrs. Kent ran towards the shadow of the van, where the green glow emanated, with a shovel over her head as if ready to strike a viper.
Jerome raised a hand in what Thomas recognized as a plea for her to stop. Mrs. Kent ignored him. A shot rang out, hitting and sparking off Mrs. Kent’s shovel. She froze, and slowly started backing away, dropping her weapon.
There definitely was someone in that shadow of the van, someone armed with both that green rock and a gun. That someone, Thomas guessed, was Trask. Thomas was a bit surprised that Trask’s men had abandoned him.
Thomas knew he should do something, but what? He, too, had a gun, he realized glancing down at the weapon in his hand. Would he be able to bluff his way into getting that man to surrender? First, Thomas needed to call in back up. He headed quickly downstairs, quietly as he could in case there was another soldier lurking about. When he didn’t see or hear anyone, he picked up the telephone in the living room and dialed 9-1-1.
“Sheriff’s Department. What’s your emergency?” a friendly female voice said into his ear.
“Darlene? It’s Thomas. Thomas Irig,” he clarified, so not be confused for the other couple of Thomases in town. “I’m over at the Kent Farm. There are some crazy men here holding the Kents and others hostages.” He knew that the sheriff didn’t like his family, but he couldn’t ignore such a public call for help through official channels, could he?
“Hey, Thomas, I didn’t hear you’d come back to town,” Darlene said happily, popping her gum. “Sheriff’s already on his way to your location. Hold tight. You hurt, darling?”
“No, but my dad’s been shot. He’s was captured by these guys over at our farm a few days ago. He escaped this morning, and the men followed him here,” Thomas said. “I should go see if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Honey, your dad wouldn’t forgive himself if anything happened to you. You know that, don’t you?” Darlene said. “Best lay low, and wait for the sheriff to arrive. He’ll take care of everything.”
Yeah, right.Thomas heard a screech of tires and the sound of breaking glass and metal. He ran to the front window, but couldn’t see down the driveway. A wisp of smoke drifted above the trees from the direction of the main road. “Something’s just happened, Darlene. Call the sheriff and tell him to hurry. Call the Medivac helicopter from Wichita. I’m thinking we’re going to need it. Gotta go,” he said, hanging up the phone. He grabbed his gun and ran out the front door and down the driveway.
***End of Part 56*** Part 57 I feel that it's only fair to spread out the cliffies among the different characters.
To yell at me, and/or my characters, please click
here. <Praise is also accepted, although never expected.>
