"Texas Wildfire" - Chapter 30

Texas Wildfire

Chapter 30

By Dwayne MacInnes

T.J. ran from one ruined building to another. A heavy rain fell from the night sky The clouds obstructed any moonlight that normally would have filtered down onto Houston. This was both a blessing and a curse. The blessing because the city had a strict curfew and anyone found outside after 9:00 P.M. would be arrested. It was a curse because T.J. could not see much in the darkness.

To make matters worse, all lights had to be blacked-out by nightfall as well. The military was not taking any chances in allowing the rebels any aid in assaulting the city. The city was now completely cut-off from the surrounding countryside.

T.J's foot splashed into a large puddle. The former oil executive cursed under his breath. He dearly needed stealth. The U.S. military were not the only ones after his hide. The Venezuelans were also interested in him. He owed them a lot of money and now he was sure that they were tracking him.

The soaked man dressed only in a dirty and torn business suit shivered as he finally huddled inside an old overturned dumpster. The U.S. military and local law enforcement were able to reestablish law and order only a few days ago. However, by that time, many buildings had been set ablaze. It was in these ruins that T.J. had stayed. He was hiding amongst the debris and constantly on the move. He had to stay ahead of the Venezuelan hit squad that Mr. Vargas had after him.

T.J. buried himself inside the garbage that was still partially inside the dumpster. He shoved wads of paper down his wet shirt to help towel himself off. Then he wrapped himself inside a mysterious fabric. It could have been a tablecloth or even a bed sheet at one time. It mattered little to T.J. he only wanted to use it to help keep warm.

Sleep did not come easy anymore. Between the shivering cold, the fear of a hit squad shooting him, and the U.S. armed forces arresting him, T.J. could only close his eyes after extreme exhaustion finally overcame him.

In a fitful dream, T.J. could hear voices speaking in Spanish. T.J. awoke shuddering in fear. He listened intently praying it was only his mind messing with him. Then he heard something fall over and crash onto the ground.

"Maldita sea!" a voice swore above a whisper.

"Cállate!" a second voice whispered harshly.

A third man's voice whispered, "Dónde esta el hombre?"

"No sé"

T.J. cautiously poked his head out of the dumpster. He could see three men in the early dawn light working their way through the burned-out building. They were carefully walking towards his hiding spot.

Fright overtook T.J. and he bolted from the dumpster. He ran through the soggy charcoal littering the street. He did not have any idea of where he was going to go, but he needed to flee before the three men captured him.

"Allí!" one man shouted as he pointed towards the fleeing oilman.

T.J. did not waste time to look over his shoulder. He let the adrenaline in his system carry him onward. He heard a pistol fire behind him. The bullet slammed into a steel girder near T.J's head with a metallic clank.

Another shot whistled past T.J's head as he ducked behind a brick building. T.J. gained the street and wasted no time in crossing it. He could hear the footsteps of the men pursuing him. T.J. ran down an alley.

As he passed broken wooden crates and dented garbage cans, T.J. found himself in a dead-end alley. A tall brick wall prevented him from exiting the far end. Another shot flew past and lodged itself into the brick wall. Chips of broken brick pelted T.J. as he stopped in his tracks.

T.J. raised his hands and quickly turned towards his pursuers. The three men laughed as they slowly walked towards the younger Murdock.

"Señor Murdock," one of the assassins spoke with a heavy accent. "You owe our employer a lot of money. I do not suppose you have it on you. Because if you do and you hand it over to us we might let you go for another day."

The assassin's companions laughed at this. T.J. slumped to the ground on his knees. His hands shook in fear above his head.

"Please," Murdock begged. "I do not have the money. It is utter chaos out there. Once things return to normal, I'll get the money."

"That is enough Señor Murdock," the man said with a sneer as he took another slow step towards T.J. "Your begging only sickens us. However, I suppose Señor Vargas would enjoy it."

The man turned towards a companion and spoke in rapid Spanish. The companion laughed and pulled out his compu-phone. Then he proceeded to record T.J. on his knees shaking.

"One more time with the begging, por favor, for the camera."

T.J's mind went blank. A cold dread seized his heart. He knew that he had finally reached the end. These men would finally kill him and he was utterly helpless to prevent it. Tears began to roll down his cheeks.

"Sirs," T.J. sobbed. "Show some mercy. If you let me go I'll give you more money than you can imagine."

The leader laughed, "I do not know. Señor Vargas, you see, has paid us a lot of dinero. This we have, you have nothing to offer us in exchange. Muy triste, Señor Murdock," the assassins raised and pointed their pistols towards T.J's head.

T.J. was thankful that his clothes were still soaked as he wet his pants. He closed his eyes and turned his head away with his hands shaking uncontrollably above his head. He flinched as three shots rang out in the alley.

It took a few seconds for T.J. to realize that he did not feel any pain. His brain raced for an answer and the only one that came to mind was that the assassins were toying with him.

"Mr. Thomas Jefferson Murdock?" a voice asked in an American accent.

T.J. opened his eyes and looked up at a squad of soldiers with smoking rifles. A sergeant walked forward and stepped over the bodies of the dead assassins.

"I am Staff Sergeant Murphy," the man said. "I am here to place you under arrest."

T.J. smiled and then he laughed as he lowered his hands. "Sergeant, those are the most beautiful words I have ever heard."