Original Fiction: JACKED, Book one of The Origin Dime Chronicles, Episode 11

In this episode, Jack's ends up back where he started, sort of

Jack climbed behind the wheel and ground up into first gear.

The Rabbit lurched, but didn’t die, and although it chugged a bit, he took some small solace in the fact that he had started a standard from a dead stop -unassisted- for the first time in his life.

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He smiled at himself in the mirror and was happy to note that he looked like himself, a side effect of sudden bursts of adrenaline, he would later find out.

The narrow lane stretched into the horizon, but what was at the end of it; Jack would never know, because the next thing he saw was the city limit’s sign of good old Clark City and the familiar shape of the Mad Cow, well, almost. Smoke rose from what was left of the restaurant, and the sign hung at a crazy angle.

Phineas had taken him back to where he started. When he turned to say something, the seat next to him was empty and there on the dash, sat the thumb drive. Jack rolled into the parking lot, unsure of what to do.

He put the Rabbit in first gear, set the parking brake and turned off the ignition. The little car chugged once, and then died, the engine pinging as it cooled.

When Jack woke up, it was dark. He was still behind the wheel of the Rabbit parked next to what was left of the Mad Cow and there was no one in sight. He checked his phone. It was past one in the morning, and he had no idea of what to do next.

It occurred to him that explaining the presence of a multi-dimensional Volkswagen Rabbit, might not be a simple task. So he decided to hide it in an ancient barn at the back of the Mad Cow property.

The barn had escaped the Nosher Pirate raid with no damage, although it would have been hard to tell, if you had not grown up playing in it as Jack had.

He pushed the sliding doors back, rolled the Rabbit in, turned off the key and drug a heavy tarpaulin over it, feeling every inch as if he was hiding a time machine.

The barn had been a mechanic’s garage, back before cars were more computer than machine and there was a small cot in the former office. The cot was still usable. Without anywhere else to go, he made himself comfortable for the night, having first tied the thumb drive to an old shoelace, he found hanging on a nail.

He draped the shoestring over his neck and dropped the thumb drive down inside his shirt.

He lay on the bed, feeling the bulge of the forgotten handgun in the waistband of his pants. He used his phone’s flashlight app to make sure the safety was set, then tucked the gun under the dusty old pillow and passed out.

It was early. It still smelled like night when Jack woke up. It was not light, but the gray had softened enough inside the old barn that he knew the sun was going to rise soon. He lay very still, listening for the sound, and then he heard it again, the snap of a twig.

Someone was coming.

He quietly rolled over and onto the floor, and then he slid under the bed, the handgun gripped tightly with both hands. He did not know if it was loaded, and he had only ever fired a gun two or three times, but somehow it made him feel better.

Sneaker soles crunched on the debris scattered across the barn’s floor and a moment later; Jack saw a pair of black “Chuck’s” stop, facing the bed where he had been laying only moments before. The bedsprings crunched lightly as someone pressed into the mattress above him and ruffled the pillow.

Checking for warmth, likely, he felt like such an amateur, and then he corrected himself for being such a bully to himself when he had barely had time to roll under the bed. The shoes turned to walk away and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Too soon!

The next thing he knew, the flimsy foam mattress was torn from the frame, exposing his hiding place.

“Aha!” A voice shouted. Bang! Jack felt the pistol buck wildly, knocking the wind out of him as it jerked back and slammed into his solar Plexus. He coughed violently, knowing this was the end, but unable to stop.

“Holy crap!” It was a girl’s voice. “You idiot, you could have killed me!” The overhead light came on as the “nosher” girl with the violet eyes pulled the string on a rusty old hanging lamp with what used to be a green metal shade.

The otherwise bare bulb, swung wildly, casting shadows across the room. Jack squinted and dropped the pistol, rubbing his eyes, which now saw nothing but bright white spots.

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