Highway To Armageddon Read online

  HIGHWAY TO

  ARMAGEDDON

  By: Harold Bloemer

  HIGHWAY TO ARMAGEDDON©2014 by Harold Bloemer. All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, without written permission from Highway To Armageddon Entertainment, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Edition

  First Printing 2014

  SUMMARY: Young bounty hunters hunt down the world’s most wanted terrorist in order to avert a nuclear war.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  WARNING: THIS NOVEL CONTAINS CONTENT THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR ALL AUDIENCES. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED

  Chapter One: Lance

  Cincinnati, 2150

  “Lance, what the hell are you doing?”

  I glance at Krystal. She has her hands on her pudgy hips and impatiently taps her right foot. I can’t help but notice all the bullet holes running up and down her Kevlar vest.

  “What do you mean what am I doing?”

  Krystal narrows her beady brown eyes. “Don’t do that, acting like I’m stupid. You were staring off into space.”

  Yeah, I tend to do that a lot. When you’re in Hell, it helps to day-dream.

  “We got a mission to do. You do want to pay for this month’s rent, right?”

  “No, I want my cousins to get evicted from the Sanctuary so they can be raped and killed by bandits.”

  Krystal punches my shoulder. “Don’t get smart with me.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter. I learned long ago it was better to apologize to Krystal than start up an argument. I’ve seen her kill a man with her bare, manicured hands. She isn’t someone to mess with.

  Krystal whips out her sunglasses and presses a button on the side. A few people in the bread line give us funny looks. I can’t blame them. It’s cloudy and drizzling. They’re probably wondering why we’re wearing sunglasses. They’re also probably wondering why we’re armed with guns, tasers, knives, tear gas canisters, handcuffs, and grenades. We have so many weapons hanging from our belts and strapped to our backs that we sag under the weight.

  Krystal spends several minutes scanning the faces of all the people in line. It’s a time-consuming task. This is one of the busiest bread lines in Cincinnati. 30,000 people come here everyday.

  Krystal sighs. “I don’t see him. Are you sure he’s here?”

  “Why are you asking me? You’re the one who dangled his mother from a bridge and threatened to drop her unless she gave him up.”

  Krystal sticks out her bottom lip. “Don’t act all high and mighty. If it wasn’t for me doing all the dirty work, we’d never catch any of these thugs.”

  Krystal turns back to the line, which snakes around the block and goes on for miles. “The crazy old broad must’ve lied to us. She said he came here every evening at 5:00. I knew I should’ve dropped her.”

  I nudge Krystal in her side. “You see that old woman over on the left?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  I nudge her again. “Don’t stare. I think that’s him.”

  Krystal nods. When you’ve worked together as long as Krystal and I have, you pretty much have a psychic bond. We bicker a lot, but when it comes time to catch a crook, we don’t have to say a word.

  Krystal and I slowly make our way toward the ‘old woman’, who has just left the line with half a loaf of moldy-looking bread. The ‘woman’ has her back turned to us, but she must sense we’re coming because she suddenly takes off at a full sprint.

  “Ah hell, I do not feel like running today,” Krystal groans as we take off after our target.

  The ‘old woman’ tears off her robe and wig, revealing a grungy man underneath. The man turns around for the briefest of moments. I’m ready. As soon as I catch a glimpse of his face, my sunglasses project a transparent image in front of my eyeballs. A picture of Theodore Maxwell materializes, and a computerized voice inside my head says, “Perfect Match. Theodore Maxwell, age 47, five-foot eleven-inches and 155 pounds. Wanted for the attempted assassination of Cincinnati Mayor Johnny Jackson. Bounty is currently $100,000. Proceed with caution.”

  “It’s definitely him,” I shout over my shoulder.

  “Well shoot his ass!” Krystal shouts.

  “No!” I shout back. “If we kill him we only get half the bounty!”

  Theodore spins around and fires off several shots. Krystal and I duck for cover as bullets whiz past our heads. People on the street scatter like cockroaches exposed to daylight.

  I pull out my gun. “Maybe shooting him isn’t such a bad idea.”

  We take off after Max, who has just entered a crowded marketplace. Krystal and I try not to knock people over, but at times we can’t help it. I feel horrible about knocking over an elderly woman, and I’m sure Krystal feels bad about knocking a little kid into a puddle. At least, I hope she does.

  We’re starting to gain on Maxwell, and he knows it. Out of desperation he knocks over food carts. Apples and oranges roll toward us, causing us to stumble. I glance back to find Krystal chomping on one of the apples.

  A man shouts, “Hey, that’s $5.00!”

  “$5.00?” Krystal cries, still chomping away. “That’s highway robbery!”

  We finally exit the marketplace and enter a dark alley. I hear Maxwell’s feet pounding the pavement, but I can’t see him. Krystal grabs the back of my shirt and yanks me backwards.

  “What are you doing?” I snap. “We’re going to lose him!”

  Gasping for air, Krystal says, “That alley is a dead end, fool. We’re running into a trap.”

  I click a button on my sunglasses, and a map of the area pops in front of me. I press the button a few more times, narrowing the search parameters until the map shows me the alley. Krystal’s right, the alley is a dead end.

  “Damn,” I mutter. “What should we do?”

  I notice several dirty children huddled in front of an abandoned building. Krystal must see them, too, because she puts her hand into her pocket and pulls out several gold coins. Still looking at me, she flips the coins over to the orphans, who squeal with joy. I can’t help but crack a grin. Krystal likes to act like a badass, but deep down inside she has a huge heart.

  “There went the rest of my money,” she says with a sigh. “Now we have no choice but to go after the asshole.”

  Krystal and I activate the night-vision function on our goggles. It’s still daylight out, but the alley is so dark it would make a blind person feel right at home.

  We cautiously enter the alley with our guns drawn. I scan the left side and Krystal scans the right. The alley is narrow, but we still manage to walk side-by-side.

  I eventually come across a wooden door that’s propped open just a crack. I tap Krystal on her shoulder and point. She nods and mouths, “Do it.”

  I unhook a flash bomb from my belt, kick open the door, and throw it inside. A split-second light, a blinding flash of light illuminates the entire alley. Krystal follows up by tossing in a smoke bomb. We both jump back and wait for our prey. I’m shocked when four young children stumble out, coughing and gagging. The kids are soon followed by Maxwell.

  Krystal shoves the kids out of the way, grabs Maxwell by his long, dirty hair, and bangs him against the wall.

  “You’re under arrest, sucker! You have the right to get your ass kicked if you so much as make a peep!”

  Krystal seriously watches too much 21st century television.
Apparently back in the day you were supposed to recite something called “The Miranda” to criminals when you arrested them. Nowadays criminals were lucky they weren’t shot in the head.

  Max tries to brush Krystal’s hands away. Krystal knees him in the stomach.

  “Don’t touch me, fool! I don’t want your cooties!”

  Krystal bangs Max against the wall again… and again… and again. She finally stops when I touch her arm. “Let’s try to apprehend him alive, okay?”

  Krystal snarls. “You always gotta take the fun out of this, don’t you?”

  Max stammers, “Please… I… I’ve done nothing wrong! Let me go!”

  Krystal bangs Max’s head against the wall a fifth time. “Shut up! We know you tried to kill Mayor Jackson! Now I can’t really blame you. The guy’s an idiot. But we can’t be having unhappy voters whacking their elected officials all the time, can we?”

  I just realize the four kids who stumbled out with Max are standing uncomfortably close to us. They have their arms crossed, and their eyes are narrowed into hateful slits.

  “Um, Krystal?”

  Krystal bangs Max up against the wall a sixth time. “Now we know you didn’t act alone. You’re too damn stupid to pull off an assassination attempt. I can tell just by looking at you. Who are you working for? Are you in cahoots with that slimeball Caesar Dominguez?”

  “No, I… I didn’t do anything!”

  Krystal slams him a seventh time. “Don’t lie to me!”

  I glance around and notice the four kids have inched even closer. And they’re not alone. Another six scraggy looking kids enter the alley. They’re holding bats and metal pipes. I recognize two of the kids immediately. They’re the ones we gave money to.

  “Um, Krystal?”

  Krystal slams Max an eighth time. “You are with Caesar, aren’t you? He’s behind all these political assassinations, isn’t he?”

  “No!” Max sputters. “I… I work alone!”

  Krystal slams Max a ninth time. “A-ha! You just admitted you were behind the assassination attempt!”

  I ignore the kids for a second and quietly admire Krystal’s brilliant interrogation tactics. She can get anyone to admit to anything.

  “No, I didn’t mean… I….”

  Krystal slams him against the wall a tenth time. “What did I say about lying?”

  I glance around again and feel my face turn white. The kids in the alley have doubled in numbers. And they’re inching closer with each passing second.

  I hear quiet mumbling and look up. Dozens of other scraggy looking kids line the rooftops towering over the alley. But these kids aren’t armed with bats and pipes. They’re holding stun guns, swords, and rifles.

  I grab Krystal’s shoulder and shout, “Hey!”

  Krystal shrugs out of my grasp and slams Max up against the wall an eleventh time. “Quit bothering me, Lance. I got this scumbag right where I want him.”

  “I think it’s the other way around.”

  Krystal turns around and narrows her beady little eyes. “What do you mean?”

  I gesture to the dozens of heavily-armed orphans surrounding us on all sides.

  “I think Max has us right where he wants us.”

  Krystal’s dark face turns almost as white as mine.

  “What the…?”

  The kids down in the alley continue closing in on us. The ones up on the rooftops keep their weapons aimed at our heads.

  We turn to find Max grinning like a sadistic madman. His teeth are yellow and crooked and have food chunks stuck in them.

  “We’ve been waiting for you two. You’ve been a thorn in Mr. Dominguez’s side for quite some time now.”

  Struggling to remain calm, I say, “So this was a trap?”

  Max continues smiling. “But of course. I knew you would come after me. Did you really think my apprehension would be so easy?”

  “Is this because we captured Caesar’s son and nephew?” Krystal asks. “Because it’s not personal, it’s just business.”

  “I don’t think that excuse works with mobsters,” I whisper.

  Rubbing the back of his bruised head, Max says, “You have two options. Commit suicide now, or suffer a slow, torturous death.”

  Krystal suddenly bursts out laughing. I always knew she was mentally unstable.

  Max scowls and brushes Krystal’s meaty hands off his tattered shirt. “Why are you snickering? You should be trembling in fear.”

  Still chuckling, Krystal says, “You think Lance and I are scared of a couple scrawny orphans? I’ll blow all their heads off with…”

  Krystal stops in mid-sentence. Her face once again turns white. I look down at her right hand, which is patting her leg. Her utility belt is gone. I reach for my gun and feel nothing.

  “Looking for this?” asks one of the orphans. He holds up my utility belt. My weapons dangle in the air.

  “You little son of a…”

  Krystal lunges for the orphan, which turns out to be a horrible mistake. The orphans pounce on us like a pack of lions on a couple of injured zebras. Sharp pain shoots across my face and stars flutter across my eyes. I fall to the ground as dozens of bats and metal pipes pound me like a steak being tenderized. More stabbing pain explodes throughout the rest of my body. I barely hear Krystal’s screams over the shouts of the orphans. Then everything goes black.

  Chapter Two: Boom-Boom

  I smell the pervert before I hear him.

  “Hello pretty lady, how much?”

  I lift my goggles and glance out my car window. A dirty old man with long, greasy hair leans against my door, staring directly at my breasts. My boobs are covered in bullet-proof armor, but that doesn’t stop him from breathing heavy. He smells like a mixture of whiskey, vomit, and crap. Still, he smells a lot better than the last three guys who hit on me.

  “Sorry dude, but I’m not a hooker. Now get off my car before I sever your wrist.”

  I whip out my knife and hold it over the pervert’s hand, like the dangling dagger of Damocles. The pervert backs away, allowing me to roll up my window. I proceed to lower my goggles back over my eyes. My vision is now tinted green. I press a button on the side of the goggles. A quasi-transparent screen pops up, followed by a bird’s-eye view of Lance and Krystal patrolling the busiest breadline in Cincinnati.

  The robotic mosquito we bought a few weeks ago is definitely worth the money we spent on it. It allows me to search our target from the safety of my car while Lance and Krystal do all the dirty work. Since I’m not in harm’s way I can remain calm and collected, allowing me to give a more analytical, reasoned assessment of any given situation. Of course, most of the time my hot-headed partners ignore my advice and I have to swoop in at the last minute to save their hides. Sometimes it sucks being the brains of an operation.

  I tilt my head. The mosquito follows my movement and flies directly over the breadline, scanning faces for Maxwell’s bio-signature. Even the people wearing bandages and headscarves aren’t safe from my mosquito’s all-seeing eye. The mosquito uses a combination of infra-red and x-ray vision to peek underneath anything obscuring an individual’s face.

  The mosquito suddenly homes in on someone. At first glance it appears to be an elderly woman dressed in rags. But I soon realize it’s a disguise. Under all the clothing is the man we’ve spent so much time looking for.

  I press another button on my goggles, transferring all my intel to Lance. There’s no sense sending it to Krystal. She’d blurt it out for the whole world to hear. Krystal comes in handy during brawls and gunfights, but she’s not all that great during stealth missions.

  I tilt my head to the left, causing the mosquito to spin around. I watch Lance whisper something to Krystal. Maxwell grabs his loaf of bread and walks past them. I find that odd. Someone of his criminal expertise must realize he’s being watched. Why would he…?

  My thoughts trail off as Maxwell takes off at a sprint. Blood rushes through my veins as I watch Lance and Krystal chase our
target through a crowded outdoor bazaar. It’s like watching an action movie, except my friends are the stars, and there are no retakes.

  Someone bangs on my window. I lift my goggles and glance to my right. The perverted old man is back, and he’s brought his crack-addict entourage. There are two disheveled men standing behind him. Two others approach the passenger side of the car.

  The dirty old pervert continues to bang on my window, getting greasy streaks all over the glass. He shouts something, but I can barely understand him. I start the car and am about to fly off when I notice two young, frightened prostitutes standing near the alley of a bullet-riddled pharmacy. Their massive pimp is out on the street, talking to a ‘john’. The girls look to be around the same age as me and my friends, 18 or so.

  I sigh and massage my head. I can’t leave now. Those poor girls have probably been abused for months, if not years. Just the thought of someone touching them makes my blood boil.

  I stop the car and roll down my window. This takes the pervert by surprise. He steps back for a moment before thrusting his head inside the car. The sickening stench of puke and alcohol forces me to choke down the acidic bile rising up my throat.

  “Playing hard to get, huh?” cackles the pervert, spraying spit all over my face.

  I wipe away the droplets of spittle and curtly reply, “I’m going to give you one last chance to get out of my sight. If you don’t, I cannot be held responsible for---”

  The pervert leans so far inside my car he practically falls on my lap.

  “What are you doing?!” I cry, moving my seat back.

  The pervert runs his grimy hands all over my gleaming dashboard.

  “Wow, is this the new 2151 Flying Stratosphere XV?”

  “It was a brand new Stratosphere XV until you got your cooties all over it.”

  I punch the pervert in his nose, cracking it. The pervert slides out of my car and collapses to the pavement, clutching his face. Blood trickles between his fingers.

  “You bloody bitch!” the pervert howls in a nasally voice. “You broke my nose!”