Chapter 5: Recovery Road
"I just don't see why this is such a big issue for you?"
"Considering this guy has assaulted several of my officers, he needs to be dealt with."
"Then he's your problem, not mine."
"Even when he's caused some trouble for you?"
"Trust me, I'll deal with him when I find him. But in the meantime, what makes you think he'll comply to your commands when he's escaped from captivity, twice?"
"I'll handle him like how I handled you."
"By wearing a maid outfit? Cooking him lobster?"
Sanford gives no response as he parks his police car next to the station. The building's shadow covers them, relieving both the driver and the passenger of the bright sun.
Hank slouches upon seeing the entrance. "Have you ever considered the reason why Harley was so hesitant on having us in prison?"
"I have, and there are some merits to why he did." Sanford switches the engine off. "But that shouldn't allow this maniac to run wherever he damn well pleases and cause havoc."
"And you think you can handle him? The same man who can get run over by a car and be back to normal within a few hours? What good is it to contain him if he can't be restrained to begin with?"
"We have to do something, don't we?"
"And you suggest we use ineffectual methods of capturing Henry?"
"With the right resources and planning, we can find a way."
"For Jebus' sake, you can't even handcuff him."
"No, but we can cut off his hands if he really wants to be that big of a problem."
Hank blinks. "You're serious."
"Yes… Moving on, there's the case of the AAHW murders."
"And?"
"We've found out there's more than one person involved in this case. There was an artist who was very much a supporter of the AAHW who still despises us and Antithesis."
"He was the latest victim?"
"He was one of the killers."
Hank shakes his head. "Of course he was."
"Yeah, it's a bit weird. When Deimos and I finally caught him, we found several insignias in his living quarters. One of them being, The White Lion Society with the Latin phrase 'Ab Ipso Ferro.'"
"From the same iron."
"I'm surprised you and Deimos conveniently know Latin. Anyway, when we tried to chase him, he fell over and burned alive in black flames." Sanford opens the glove compartment in front of him. "Somehow they were resistant against a fire extinguisher."
"What?"
"This is the forensics report," Sanford says, handing him a folder before pulling out a flask from his inner jacket pocket.
"Didn't Melissa tell you to cut down on the drinking?" Hank asked.
Metallic whirring can be heard as Sanford twists the cap open. "As far as you and my wife are concerned, I am."
Hank opens the folder and sees charts and photos of the charred corpse. As he sifts through the files, Sanford chugs down the contents of the small container.
"How could there have been no ashes?" Hank turned to him. "How did the fire go out?"
Sanford lowered his flask. "It just did."
"And you're saying this is from the White Lion Society?"
"That's right."
Across the desert is a road sign that reads, "Welcome to Sky Valley." An injured man wearing a torn overcoat lies beside it, ignoring the heat radiating from the sun and reflecting off the ground. He chews on his chapped lips.
"What am I doing with my life?"
Sitting up, he groggily looks down the road beside him and sees the abyss that is the desert melting the horizon. He moans as he gets up, feeling the same wounds from the previous day scream at him and his idiocy.
"I don't see how coming to the desert is supposed to help me, Vickie?"
The man turns to the sound and sees himself, slightly younger, talking to a woman that very much resembles Cathy. She has the same blue eyes, high cheekbones, as well as lengthy hair. She wears a white skirt alongside a grey and white long sleeve shirt. The only differences that can be seen is that she has jet black hair instead of blonde and has more of a buxom build.
"Come on, Hank." The woman grabs him by the hand and walks with him further down the road.
The injured man follows them and sees a polkadot mat in front of the couple, topped off with a picnic basket and a bottle of wine kept in an iron bucket, filled to the brim with ice.
The younger self looks down and shakes his head in disappointment. "We're having another date."
She turns to him. "What's so bad about that?"
He shakes his head. "It might just be because we're in the middle of the fucking desert having a picnic."
"I don't follow."
"Why couldn't you just do this same stunt in the city?"
"Because there'd be people staring at us. And I know you don't like being the center of attention."
He grumbles as she keeps a tight grip and drags him against the sand and to the picnic mat. As they both sit down, the woman reaches for the basket and pulls out two plates. She hands one to him and gets some bread out of the basket and puts it in her own. The injured man steps closer to the couple, seeing himself without the bullet hole in his cheek and eating without much trouble.
"Say, Vickie..."
She turns to him. "Yes?"
"Why'd you go through all this trouble for just a picnic?"
"I know that you're not one for extravagance."
He continues eating. "That doesn't really answer my question."
"Oh, come on, Hank. I'm just trying to make you happy for once."
"Is that so?" He looks into her eyes with a slight smile as he takes the wine bottle out of its metal container and easily pulls the cork off.
She pulls out a double handle corkscrew from the same iron bucket. "Guess we didn't need the wine opener after all."
"Trust me. With these hands," he gives her slight jazz hands. "You won't need any kind of tool when it comes to food."
"Not even a can opener?"
"Well..." He pauses, glancing at his scarred hands. "I might need my pocket knife for that scenario."
They both laugh as she gets a couple of wine glasses from the basket and he pours a little of the wine into each. She takes a sip while he gulps it down.
"Can I ask you a question," she asks as gets her plate and starts making herself a sandwich.
"Sure."
"Why do you go to that abandoned church on I-15?"
He puts his glass down, his expression turning into an alien sternness. "How do you know about that?"
Her face grows pale. "I… I saw you leave there one time."
"Was it one time?"
"I also asked Deimos..."
"And he told you I go there every Sunday, right?"
"Yeah," she says as she looks down.
"Well," he looks up into the passing clouds. "The place is kind of like a sanctuary for me. Lets me be alone for a little bit, try to ask God some questions, and hope to hear His answers."
The injured man blinks and the couple disappears from his sight. But he still hears her.
"Did you ever hear any of His answers?"
He looks to the clear sky, squinting at the bright blue above him.
I don't know if I've ever heard any of Your answers. I don't even know if You've yet to answer any of my questions or problems.
Looking back at the place he first saw the couple, the injured man sees only the barren desert that surrounds him. He turns back to the road and resumes his travel. Sweat deluges his back, making his footsteps weary and uneven.
He rests his working hand on his stomach, feeling like it is tied in a knot. Tolerating the pain, he continues down the empty road. He falls upon his knee as his intestines feel they are being torn out of his abdomen. Facing the concrete in front of him, his vision blurs. The same nausea reaches to his throat.
The injured man closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath and hears a familiar voice nearby.
"Again," a thick russian accent bellows to the scarred man.
Following the voice, the wounded man sees a teenager that very much resembles himself. Next to him is a strange man wearing a dark grey duster.
"We've been out here for at least two hours..."
The man in the duster pats some sand off of his left shoulder. "Do you remember what I told you before we started this exercise?"
"That I have to land a hit in order for us to be done for today."
"That's right."
"Well, we've wasted more than enough time going to the middle of fucking nowhere just for me to not even be able to hit you."
"If that is the case," the man in the duster looks around the area. "What are we standing on?"
The teen looks at his feet. "Sand."
"Why not use that?"
Chuckling, the injured man turns back to the road and continues his journey. He ignores the pain and nausea emanating from his stomach as his next footstep presses on the sand that covers the concrete road leading him… somewhere.
His broken arm starts hurting more than it should and forces him to stop walking. Standing still and holding his breath, he grabs his right jacket sleeve in a vise grip and pulls on the fabric, forcing the sleeve to tear right off, exposing part of his humerus that is outside his upper arm.
"So, this is what becomes of the great hero, Hank J. Wimbleton."
The injured man turns to the familiar voice. He sees a man wearing a red tie and black shirt, covered by a dark great coat. Wrinkles surround this man's eyes that have pure white irises.
The broken man stands up straight, still holding his broken arm. "You're supposed to be dead."
"So should you. It seems that fate still has something in store for creatures such as we."
"What are you doing here?"
The stranger in the great coat starts walking to the injured man. "Shouldn't you be asking yourself the same question?"
"More mind games."
The stranger stops and gives a slight grin. "You know me too well."
The injured man turns back to the road and starts walking once again. He keeps moving until he feels a hand on his left shoulder. He jabs his left elbow behind him, breaking the stanger's nose. Blood flows from the stranger's nostrils as he staggers.
The man in the torn overcoat turns to the stranger one last time. "You're not welcome here."
The stranger looks back to his attacker, blood dripping from his chin. "And you are?"
The broken man shakes his head slowly. "I'm not the one who wishes to bring back a wingless angel to take over the world."
"No, I suppose you're not. But you are one who only brings destruction wherever you go. Here won't be any different."
The injured man gives no response as he stares at the stranger intently.
"You may have defeated me once, Hank. Don't think that means my plans have been stopped."
"How do you even have a plan, when you are the last of the AAHW?"
"Because I know how to turn my mortal enemies into the greatest of allies."
The injured man scoffs as he continues down the road. The skylight fades slightly, making the sand and road turn to a sickly kobicha. In the darkened land, he sees dim lights in the distance. Continuing his trek in the desert, the view turns to a radiant glow with a few buildings eclipsing part of it.
Hope this is the right city.
On the hot concrete that makes the desert highway road, a cockroach scurries along blissfully on the open field. It flies a few feet forward and moves to the double yellow line at the center of the road. Only seeing rock formations and dried brush, it turns around and scampers in the opposite direction…
Only to get run over by a blue highway patrol car.
Inside that car, Hank looks to the blue sky above him as he rests his head against the window, letting the fields of dried brush invade his peripheral vision. Sanford keeps his eyes on the road, ignoring the odd rock formations to his left. Sitting uncomfortably in the back seat is none other than Deimos, slouching over, putting his phone back into his inner jacket pocket, right next to his wallet.
The ride continues in its awkward silence until Deimos breaks it.
"Why exactly are we still looking for Henry?"
Hank turns his head to the back. "I've been asking Sanford that all day."
"Henry is an odd case. He can provide intel that can help us, since he just might be from another timeline or dimension." Sanford states as they head into a highway exit.
"Oh." Deimos sat upright. "Like that time we found that coke mommy?"
Hank smirks as he watches the fields have less brush and more rock and sand. "Yeah that makes sense."
Sanford turns to Hank slightly. "What?"
"You want to use him as your little coke-sniffing dog, don't you?"
Sanford turns back to the road. "Even if I am, what exactly is your point?"
Hank turns away from the window, leaving behind the site of a worn down shack and a bull skull. "My point is that you could've done this yourself."
"Hank. You and I both know that neither of us can really handle Henry if it was just one of us taking care of him."
"You could use the FBI or some SWAT team."
"I would've liked to use the FBI, if they weren't still in repair ever since the war."
Deimos leans towards the passenger barrier. "How is our government still not fixed?"
"Same reason it never solved any issue before then. And why Dan's still in Anti-AAHW captivity."
Hank tilts his head. "You mean Big Brother's gonna get their grimy hands on him at some point?"
"Yup."
"I wonder if they'll do an Operation Paperclip with him," Deimos asks as he rests back on the seat.
"If they do," Hank turns to Deimos fully. "We're screwed."
Their ride continues on the sandy road, passing by cacti that look like they have been cut into and stripped.
Deimos looks to said cacti. "So, why are using the highway patrol car?"
Sanford lets his right hand let go of the wheel and lie on the armrest. "Because we're pretty much taking care of things on the highway."
Hank abruptly turns to Sanford. "Are you saying..."
"Yup." Sanford nods. "We're going to Dead Nevada to find Henry."
Hank starts pinching the bridge of his nose. "What makes you think he would be there of all places."
"Where would you go if you wanted to blow off some steam or relieve stress?"
Hank rests his palm on his face and slowly shakes his head. "I would likely go to the gym."
"Right." Sanford tilts his head in agreement. "But I'm asking if you weren't accepted into places like that."
"You're saying he'd be in Dead Nevada, just to beat the shit out of some punks?"
"Well, wouldn't you do that?"
"I guess," Hank says as he shrugs. "I can't really look into different scenarios of my life and just instantly know how I'd act if fate dealt me a different hand."
"Oh well," Sanford has both hands on the steering wheel again as the group sees a road sign nearby.
One that reads "DEAD NEVADA: ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK."
Deimos looks to the dilapidated buildings. "Let's see if we can find him."
Half an Hour of Searching Across Dead Nevada Later…
The gang stops their drive along a cement wall that is covered in grafitti. The most notable of the drawings and words is an eye that has the phrase, "Don't dare look away," under it.
Hank opens his door. "Deimos, you're staying in the car."
"Why do I have to watch over it?"
Hank turns to glower at him. "Because you're the techie."
"What's that supposed to mean."
Sanford gets his flask out of his jacket pocket as he exits his side of the car. "You've got half a brain Deimos. You might as well use it."
"Fuck you guys." Deimos retorts as he pulls his phone out once again.
As Hank and Sanford walk along the sidewalk, Hank notices one of the few buildings that still has working lights that surround the name of the establishment.
"Prehab."
And right underneath that.
"Get Fucked."
The two continue walking until a large man wearing scraps of metal armor approaches them.
"You really are Hank J Wimbleton."
Hank turns his head to the big man. "What gave it away?"
"One more step closer to this building and you're going to have your arm broken again."
Hank and Sanford stop dead in their tracks and look at the bouncer.
"What do you mean again?" Sanford asks as comes to being face-to-face with the former G:013M.
He points to Hank. "Last night, this guy was in the bar and started a riot. I had to throw him out and he was immediately run over by one of those leper drivers."
Hank tilts his head. "Leper?"
"He means Krokodil user." Sanford tells his partner as they both look at the general area where the event happened. "In any case, do you remember where he..." Sanford pauses as he points at Hank. "Went?"
"I remember him taking that route." The bouncer directs them to the intersection that has a stop sign missing its top half.
"Thank you," Sanford says as he and Hank leave the area and get back to the car.
"Where do you think Henry's going?" Hank asks as he opens the passenger side door.
Sanford opens his door and enters the driver seat. "Don't know yet."
Deimos looks up from his phone. "You guys found something?"
Sanford starts the car. "Kinda, might have..." He looks to the area with the half stop sign and sees blood. "I think we've found something."
Hank looks at Sanford. "What exactly?"
"We've found a trail."
Deimos leans against his left window, looking in the same area Sanford is watching. "Where?"
Sanford points to the disgusting carmine spots on the road.
"That's our trail?" Hank asks.
"It's our best yet."
The car stops next to the broken sign and Deimos gets out of the car. He leans down and looks to the direction the trail leads.
Sanford rolls down his window. "See where it goes?"
"Yeah," Deimos says as he points to the left road. "It goes to the other entrance."
"How can you tell?"
"I know this route."
"Alright, get in."
Deimos gets back into the car and Sanford speeds down the road.
"How can you even be sure this is Henry's blood?" Hank asks all the while facepalming.
"Right now, it's a hunch."
"It better be a good hunch."
Drip!
The sound reverbs from the corner of the room. Where the sound originates, is a dark puddle that erodes the tiles around it. Opposed to the rest of the floor that has square tiles surrounding a prisoner sitting on his cot.
Drip!
He stares upon the walls that have grime and dirt covering what once was the light french beige. The gray spots still leave their radiating mark that catches his eyes. He gets up from his cot and rubs his hand against the filthy wall next to him.
Drip!
He turns to the puddle, seeing piercing blue eyes stare back at him. The reflection's unkempt black hair makes him comb it with his bare hands… to little results. Defeated, he returns to his cot, lying down.
He looks to the skylight that makes his ceiling, the grimy walls that surround him leave his eyelids weary, making them slowly blink. All of this leaving him with his consciousness fading ever so much.
After a few seconds of slumber, loud knocking can be heard from his metal door.
"Lunch time, you psychopath."
A small slot opens in the door and a brown tray slides through to fall on the floor. The contents in the tray spill out, leaving a mess right next to the door.
"You better clean that up when your inspection comes. Getting tired of your shit."
The prisoner gets up from his cot and slowly trods to the door. Looking at the stew and bread that now cool on the linoleum floor. He grabs the bowl that has some food still in it and feels a thin sheet of paper on the bottom outside said bowl. Removing it, he reads the sheet:
Mitto Tibi Navem Prora Pvppiqve Carantem
He looks up. "Ave."
The guard audibly shifts outside. "I don't know why he wanted me to use a Latin riddle to let you know it's me."
"Latin is the gentleman's language after all. How much time do we have?" Dan asks before eating his stew.
"Fifteen minutes. Starting now."
"What's the call for this meeting?"
"Mainly the anomaly. Big boss wants to know if you have any knowledge regarding it."
"I do find it rather interesting, since it does help prove a theory of mine about infinite Improbability."
"It would be nice if you would relay some information about this."
"Right now, it's not that big of a concern."
"Even with the case of the duplicate?"
"You mean, Henry." He smirks to himself. "Your superior has told some intriguing matters about this man."
"Did he tell you that he has your hairstyle?"
"No, but I'm not surprised to hear it. He himself is a bit of an anomaly too, after all." The prisoner swallows the broth with loud gulps. "Something that could work to my advantage."
"Be careful with your words. You might make yourself an enemy."
"It will be a while before that would happen. I know your commander. He wouldn't throw me out over a few treasonous phrases. Not now at least."
"And why wouldn't he?"
He finishes his bowl. "I have my reasons."
"I don't like that ambiguity. It's the same reason I don't like our plans with our current recruitment."
"Why do you have me, then?"
A cold silence fills the conversation. The prisoner can hear a set of footsteps outside his cell.
The pacing stops. "Right now, you keep quiet."
"And have no one to talk to?" He chuckles as he sits back on his cot.
"If you really want to get out of this cell, I'd suggest you keep your priorities straight."
"Oh, I do have that in mind, just wondering what to do once your leader and I are met face to face."
"Keep that up Daniel, and I'll let these degenerates eat you alive."
"Okay. I've noticed, though."
"Noticed what?"
"These walls aren't as sturdy as they used to be."
"You had a hunch."
"I know."
"You had a hunch about Henry's blood, and you found nothing."
"I know, Hank."
"And yet, you brought me into this. Wasting an entire day of my life for some guy that you could have taken care of by yourself."
"Yeah, yeah."
"I'm not going to be in any more of your stupid goose chases."
"Good, you weren't much use anyway."
A brown motorola passes by, honking its horn as the trio of Hank, Sanford, and Deimos are stuck in their lane with a toyota blocking their path.
"Get moving you son of a bitch!" Sanford yells out his window and even turns his siren on and off. With a few seconds of eternity, the car in front of them drives forward.
Deimos reaches past the passenger barrier. "If you guys are done bickering like an old married couple." He presses the button on the radio and a soothing guitar riff can be heard in the highway patrol car. As the slow paced music plays with its whispers, Hank immediately turns the radio off.
"Hey!" Deimos calls. "It wasn't even obnoxious."
"Not now, Deimos."
"And you'd rather be angry right now and make the rest of us feel sullen?"
"As a matter of fact, yes."
Sanford pulls over to the sidewalk. "Alright asshole, here's your stop."
Hank unbuckles his seatbelt. "You better hope your other prisoners don't escape as easily."
"And you better hope Henry doesn't wreck your house."
Hank exits the car and watches it drive off. With the humming of the engine fades into obscurity, he turns to his mansion. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, save for one crucial detail:
The door is open.
He runs to the porch and pushes the door further open. Pistol at the ready, Hank heads straight for the living room.
"I came here to escape. Funny thing is, I'm already home."
Hank turns to the familiar baritone and sees Henry sitting at the kitchen, sewing a wound on his right arm. With his pistol aimed at Henry's head, Hank pulls out his phone.
"Stay right there."
He dials the phone and hears a couple of rings before the other end responds.
"Hello?"
"Sanford, I found him."
"He's in your house?"
"If you don't get over here in the next ten minutes, I'm going to kill him."
"Hank, if you touch him-"
Sanford could not finish the statement as Hank hangs up his phone. Henry finishes up with his arm and lets it dangle to the side.
"It's just you and me now."
Hank pulls the hammer on his pistol. "Yes it is."
Henry gets up from his seat. "Tell you what. I'm willing to make a deal with you."
"A deal?"
"I won't run off. Under one condition."
"And how do I even know you're going to follow through with this?"
Henry holds his broken arm. "You know me better than anyone, Hank."
"Which is exactly why I'm not lowering my gun. Just tell me your offer."
An unfamiliar sternness reflects off of Henry's face.
"I want to talk to Dan."