Disclaimer: Once more because I have to, I have no interest or ownership in the Terminator franchise, characters or movies. Original characters are mine.
The Human Condition-Chapter 3
I'd Look Behind Me, But Something Might Be Gaining on Me
YEAR 2019
Admitted into the large command bunker, Marcus held open the door, allowing Blair to enter first. She tucked into the shadows. Lt. Soames resumed his prior station in the corner, propping his long legs up on a stack of wooden crates.
Marcus noted the presence of John Connor. Of course, Barnes was there, and a couple more of the California military planners. He saw some ranking officers he didn't recognize, probably visitors. One wore a deep scowl.
You're probably the guy who's been pressing Connor for the additional tests on me. This meeting of the Marcus Wright fan club will now come to order.
"You wanted to see me?" he questioned John.
"Have a seat" Connor replied, indicating a sturdy looking chair that long ago might have begun life in an office. It sat next to a huge repurposed door that now served as a conference table.
Marcus sat, adopting his usual calm posture. Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned back slightly, extending his legs and crossing one booted foot over the other at the ankles, and waited expectantly.
Connor said nothing more for a few seconds, then "how many?" he asked.
The apparent non-sequitur caught Marcus off guard. "Excuse me?" he returned.
"How many banks did you hit?" Connor clarified.
The question straightened Marcus up slightly. Connor watched amused as the emotions on Wright's face changed from surprise to confusion to disgust as he realized where John must have gotten his information.
Doing his best T-800 imitation, Marcus slowly swiveled his head to fix Bill Soames with a flat look of disapproval. Soames suddenly found the ceiling of the bunker to be scintillating.
He turned back to see John Connor studying him, a rare smile hovering just off his face. Glad I'm good for a couple of yuks, Marcus thought ruefully. Then he shrugged mentally. They already knew he wasn't a nun in that other life.
"Forty-three" he replied honestly, not factoring in the non-bank jobs.
Impressed but not wanting to show it, Connor followed up with "Successful?"
Marcus was mildly offended. Was Connor trying to insult him?"Yes" he replied shortly.
"I understand there were a couple payroll jobs and an armored car or two also, that right?" John asked next.
Enough with the twenty questions, Marcus decided. Time to find out what was really going on. "Why am I having a job interview?" he asked, instead of answering the last question from the resistance leader.
"Why don't you tell the man what he wants to know?" Barnes demanded, speaking for the first time.
"Why…am…I…having…a …job…interview?" Wright repeated slowly, ignoring Major Barnes, continuing to focus on his boss. His tone made it clear things would precede no further until he got answers of his own.
Instead of words, John Connor leaned forward, toggling a switch on the control board in front of him. A large monitor situated to the side sprang to life.
Immediately mesmerized by the monitor's display, Marcus temporarily forgot Connor and rest of the room. He sat forward, intrigued.
Year 1989
Marcus suffered through several sleepless nights following his dramatic ouster from J. C. Dixon High School. He didn't know what to do. Realizing the security offered by Carl and Valerie Soames was genuine was akin to a bomb going off in the middle of his young life. They weren't going to ditch him and Sam. There was no other shoe waiting to drop. No pain, no tricks and no lies. Only the comfort and stability of a loving home. He wasn't sure how to respond to that. Unusually quiet during mealtimes, he had a lot of thinking to do.
Carl and Val couldn't help but notice his pensive attitude. They seemed to understand he was wrestling with something, but wisely, backed off and said nothing. Neither was worried about the whole school issue. Val had a teaching degree from Baylor University. If necessary, Marcus could be home schooled.
For their part, Sam and Billy also sensed a difference the older boy. Surveying Marcus from the corner of his eye, Sam would join his brother to sit on the steps of the rear deck in silence. With Billy in residence on the other side, the trio would often just sit and watch the sunset.
Finally, Marcus reached a conclusion. Thinking back on his behavior since arriving at Carl and Val's, he decided things would change. No more stealing from them or sneaking out at night. No more four letter tirades or doing any and everything he could think of to try and provoke them. He was going to do his best to treat them as good as they had treated him and Sam. They deserved a break. So did Sam. For months now, his little brother had been walking the tightrope. Trying to balance between accepting the peace the Soames house promised and pleasing the brother who'd always been his protector and confidant. Billy might like not having to step light around him all the time, too.
Over the next few days and weeks, everyone noticed a change in him. In private, Carl and Val discussed Marcus's new demeanor, but said nothing to him. No mention was made of his past misdeeds, either. They just went with it. Billy decided it might be cool having two brothers around after all. Sam smiled all the time now. Marcus was finally happy, so he was too.
To Val's delight, she discovered Marcus's cooking talents. His ease and knowledge in the kitchen gave her at least one night a week away from it. That suited her just fine. She'd never regretted giving up teaching full time to take care of her home and family, but free time to do anything that she wanted was always welcome.
Carl's engineering degree, one reason he bossed his own construction firm, allowed him to form a new type of bond with Marcus, who loved taking things apart and finding out how they worked. Many nights Val's exasperated voice would drag them away from a late night huddle over one of the family cars or some other dismantled subject of interest.
He didn't end up being home schooled, however. Not permanently, anyway. Val picked up where the high school left off, but only until the new semester started. Then, enrolling in a new school, Marcus made a fresh start. Making new friends and finding out school could be enjoyable was a real eye opener for him. He dived in head first. Of course, auto shop was his favorite class, but anytime he could get his hands dirty, time seemed to fly. And, to his considerable satisfaction, he found he had an aptitude for math and science. He was astonished at how easy it came to him. Who knew?
The following April, while helping Val engage in an activity she called "spring cleaning" he came across a box filled with old photographs, some framed some not, and articles. They were of Carl. In some of the pictures, he wore a football uniform. In others, he was surrounded by teammates and coaches. One in particular drew his attention.
"Tisdale High School Varsity Team, 1960 5A Division One Champs" A much younger Carl, kneeling on one knee and clasping a football, was in the middle of the photo. Marcus read the caption aloud. Val came, looking over his shoulder to see what he held.
"Oh brother, I remember that year" she said. "I had such a crush on him. I thought he was just a dream." She gave an exaggerated girlish sigh.
"Uugh! Yuk! Don't do that" Marcus winced, giving his foster mother the universal teenaged face for "gross."
Val laughed, ruffling his hair. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough, if you haven't already." Her comment was accompanied by a sly wink.
Marcus flushed. Did that mean she'd heard about him and Sherri Carter getting caught kissing behind the concession stand at Sam and Billy's youth basketball game? He sure hoped not. His first kiss was a new and thrilling experience for him, but talking about it with Val was way more than he was ready for.
That night, over dinner, he broached the subject of Carl's high school football career. It was then he found that, given the opportunity, Carl would discuss football until he ran out of breath if allowed to. Apparently, as Marcus was informed, football was king of Friday nights in the Lone Star state. Carl loved the game as much as anyone, and his knowledge was extensive.
"Naturally" he was saying around a mouthful of mashed potatoes, "young Billy here" he said waving his dinner roll in Billy's direction, "somehow got to be a baseball fanatic. He's probably the best shortstop I've ever seen step on to a little league field. He can smack that ball right out of the park when he gets ready to do it too. He'll probably end up playing in the majors some day. I tell ya" he told Marcus mournfully, "I don't know where his mother and I went wrong. Him being so good at baseball!" Carl sighed heavily, mugging for his audience. Billy beamed.
"Cou…could you… could you teach me?" Marcus whispered, uncharacteristically shy. Having spent most of his childhood in Australia, his knowledge of American style football was nil.
Silence hung over the table. He kicked himself mentally. Stupid! Why hadn't he kept his mouth shut? What if he got shot down!
The pleased surprise stealing over Carl's face made him feel much better. "Sure. I sure could. You bet. I still have some of my old footballs in the attic, I think. If Val hasn't gotten carried away cleaning and thrown 'em out, that is."
Val huffed, giving Carl a look. As if she'd touch his beloved pigskins. She rolled her eyes comically as she got up to begin clearing the table. The boys all laughed. Sam followed her out since it was his turn to help with the dishes.
That next day, which happened to be a Saturday Carl turned oversight of his company's current projects over to his two field managers. A trip to the nearest sporting goods store yielded pads and helmets for the boys, at Val's insistence. Marcus and Sam, with Billy J's help, got their first primer in U.S. style gridiron play. Carl taught them how to hold and throw the ball. They got basics in the rules too. It was a day Marcus would always remember.
As spring turned into summer, he, Billy and Sam spent an increasing amount of time running around the Soames family's large backyard, engaged in a rousing game with Carl coaching. The slender but wiry Marcus discovered he liked football. To his great delight, and Carl's secret pride, he found he had something of a passing arm. He became fast and accurate. That fact would serve him, Kyle Reese and Star well years later when they were being pursued by one of Skynet's aerial spies.
Year 2019
Rising out of his chair, Marcus walked up to the monitor, still ensorcelled, until he was within arm's length. He studied the schematic in front of him, absorbing every facet of what he saw.
"What am I looking at?" he asked. He turned to look at Connor.
"You're supposed to be the big bad bank robber. You can't tell us?" Barnes challenged.
Marcus refused to take the bait. "This is a vault. Whatever is in there, Skynet cares a great deal about protecting. You can tell because of the extra layers of security" he explained, pointing out the areas in question, "laid around it." He met Barnes scornful look, speaking slowly, as if to a child.
"Every heist needs a focal point, a primary reason for being. Without it, you're unorganized, all over the place, wasting time. I never waste time on a job. I know where it is. I need to know what it is. So, I'm gonna ask you one more time. What am I looking at?"
"This." John hit another switch, and a second image superimposed itself over the original. Taking a couple of steps back for a better look, Marcus saw it was an enlarged likeness of a microchip. Not that he'd had a huge amount of experience with the things. In fact, he knew almost nothing about them, his own internal makeup aside.
One of the Arizona top technical people, Vince Lawler, took over at the General's prompting. "What we think this is" Lawler began, "is an advanced prototype that Skynet has developed. It's some kind of, I don't know, the best way to describe it would be to call it a 'super neural net .' What it does, or rather, what it has the potential to do, is make it possible for Skynet's creations, the T-800's and what not, to learn and adapt as quickly as it does itself. You realize what that could mean, right?" Lawler paused.
"Yes." Marcus shivered internally at the implications. All Skynet's functionaries with the ability to think and strategize with the same speed and versatility as their creator. Without having to wait for orders, instructions or programming. Yet with a hive mind. A thousand miniature, mobile Skynet's would increase the AI's lethality immeasurably. His head tilted to one side, body language Connor had come to recognize.
"You said what you think it has the 'potential' to do. You don't think it's been used yet? How do you know Skynet hasn't already fielded it?" Wright asked Lawler.
Connor interceded. "We don't. Not for certain. But, we do know that this technology is very new. The chip is in the late stages of development, nearly ready to be deployed. But Skynet's being careful about the release. It is a prototype, and as I'm sure you're aware, Skynet's been experiencing some, uh, some glitches with its prototypes recently."
It went by so fast, Marcus nearly missed it. His head came up sharply. Wait a second. Had the Great Stone Face himself, John Connor, just made a joke? Nah, not possible. Couldn't be. Then he realized Connor was grinning, not a lot, but grinning. Clearing his throat somewhat awkwardly, Marcus wryly considered that his dignity was taking quite a beating tonight. He snuck a peek at Blair. She put one hand over her mouth to smother a laugh. He saw her smile so rarely that he almost hated to ruin the moment. Unfortunately, it was back to business.
"How do you know this isn't some sort of trick?" Marcus prompted." Something to lure you in? Skynet's played bait and switch before. Worked pretty well as I recall."
Connor's normal grim façade fell back into place. Wright's reminder of Skynet's fake "off switch" ploy cast a pall over the room. It was that incident which catapulted John Connor into his current position as leader of the resistance.
"Again" John told him, "we don't know for sure. But we're as certain as we can be that the chips haven't been put into anything yet. And we need to get our hands on them before that happens. To do that requires the services of someone who knows how to steal big. From what I understand, that's you."
"Sounds to me as if it's not him. I don't think Skynet's broken toy has what it takes anymore. You need to cut him out of this, General Connor. I don't even know why it-excuse me-he is here." The speaker was Jake Peterson, still smarting from the earlier public smackdown from John. Connor was about to respond, but Wright beat him to it.
"I'm here because General Connor wants me to be here." Marcus continued bluntly. "And I'm here because I'm the very best at what I did. If you want to be in on it, sit down and shut up. If you don't, get out and stop pissing away my time. I've got work to do."
Peterson bristled, coming half out of his chair. Marcus's squared up, regarding the Colonel steadily.
"That will be enough." John Connor stepped in. "This has already been settled, Colonel Peterson. Don't raise the issue again" he warned.
Marcus relaxed, eyeballing the monitor again. "When do you want to go on this?" he put to Connor.
"Yesterday" came the response.
Marcus nodded, making up his mind. "Understood. Give me a few hours to pull some details together."
John could already see wheels turning. "Alright, I want everyone back here in six hours" he said, dismissing the group.
Marcus wrapped his arm round Blair's waist as they walked to their quarters. Back in the game again after so long away. Unseen by the beautiful woman at his side, a gleam began deep within his ocean blue eyes.
Year 1990
It was late July. For the first time he could remember, Marcus realized he was actually eager for school to begin. The prior semester at Felix Garcia High School had been as different for him from his time at J. C. Dix as night was from day. He had friends and the teachers weren't always on his back. They seemed to think he had academic promise. He was looking forward to finding out how much.
At the high school to negotiate a construction bid, Carl wrangled permission for the boys to run off some of their energy on the empty field of the football stadium. After forty-five minutes of touch football (no tackling, Carl's orders), all three kids now lay on their backs, arms and legs splayed, watching the puffy white clouds roll across the intense blue Texas sky.
Still restless, Marcus pushed to his feet, wandering over to the water fountain. After taking a few sips, he walked over to the glass encased bulletin board mounted on the side of the stadium wall. He idly perused the various notices of upcoming events. One was particularly interesting.
FOOTBALL TRYOUTS: VARSITY, JUNIOR VARSITY AND FRESHMAN TEAMS. YOUNG MEN AGES 14-18 ARE WELCOME. SATURDAY, AUGUST 5, 1990. ALLEN THURMAN FIELD FROM 9:00 A.M. TO 3:00 P.M.
That night, half holding his breath he hesitantly asked Carl and Val if he could attend the tryouts.
A couple of weeks later, Marcus found himself grouped with boys his age, standing in one section of Thurman field, anxiously waiting for things to get started.
Carl pulled him aside. "Ok, bud. I'm gonna go now. I'll be back to pick you up later."
"What?" Marcus felt mild panic well up inside. "You're not gonna stay and watch me?" He wanted Carl there for support.
"No can do, kid. The coaches think this will all go a lot smoother and quicker without a gaggle of nervous parents getting in the way. They're probably right about that. So, um, so I'm out of here for a while but, I'll be back soon enough. Don't worry. You'll do fine. You've got great instincts and a natural talent. You think fast on your feet and you're good at strategy. I'm not even a little worried. You're going to do great."
Carl gave his shoulder a squeeze, (no hugging with Marcus's friends watching) and left.
Soames drove home, pulling out the paperwork for the Sunderson Plaza bid. He'd just gotten started when he felt a presence in the doorway. He looked up to see his smiling wife.
"I've got a mountain of errands to run" she was saying. "If I'm going to get it all done before nightfall, I'd better get going. Anything you need while I'm out? Besides a half gallon of rocky road from Ice Cream Fantasy, that is" She finished, naming her husband's favorite source for the frozen treat.
Carl's hopeful look turned into a mini pout. "I don't see what harm a few spoonfuls of ice cream could do" he objected.
"It would be more than a few spoonfuls mister, and we both know it. You're supposed to be trying to lose a few pounds, remember? Besides, Dr. Price is concerned about your ticker these days. You gotta cool it with stuff like ice cream." Val would take care of him better than Carl would take care of himself.
He sighed theatrically. Val laughed, blowing him a kiss as she left. With Billy and Sam spending the weekend at a friend's house and Marcus at tryouts, that meant he was alone in the house. At least he would have plenty of peace and quiet.
For a few hours, he worked without let up. Finally, he decided he was a ready as he was going to be to present his bid to the city of Brownsville for their new government complex. He looked around for something else to do. Carl knew he had to keep busy or else he would be back in his truck and on his way over to Thurman field, binoculars in hand. He would not embarrass Marcus that way so…
He was looking over plans from an architect his company did business with when he sensed he was no longer alone.
"Ah!" he grinned. "I knew it! You felt bad about earlier and you brought rocky road to make up for it! I tell you what, you don't say anything, I won't say anything and Dr. Price will nev-" he looked up and broke off mid-sentence. It wasn't Val he was talking to.
An unknown man blocked the doorway to Carl's study. Of medium height, but with a body builder's muscles, the man was dark haired with cold gray eyes. Roughly dressed, there was a cruel twist to his mouth.
The stranger took one menacing step into the room, slamming the door behind him. "Where are they?" he snarled in a low threatening voice. "That whore stole my kids! I've come for 'em! Where are they!"
Carl felt his core temperature plummet. This man had to be Dylan Taylor, Marcus and Sam's biological father, and murderer, before their very eyes, of their mother.
The cops had reassured him and Val that Dylan no longer posed a threat to the Wright boys.
"Don't worry, Mr. and Mrs. Soames" the police counseled, "he knows we're after him and he knows what'll happen when we get him. He's long gone from here by now. No way he'll show his face. He's probably already back in Australia, digging himself a nice deep hole to hide in. You're not going to have to worry about him again. He won't come back here, and if he does, we'll get him a long time before he has the chance to hurt anyone else."
So much for official promises, Carl remonstrated bitterly. So this was the man who'd wreaked so much havoc in his children's lives. He'd come to think of Marcus and Sam that way. He and Valerie had discussed formally adopting the two boys and were waiting for Marcus's sixteenth birthday to present the idea to the brothers. They'd already sounded out Billy J's feeling on the subject. Billy had been so excited his parents were afraid he'd blurt it out and spoil the surprise.
Now Norah Wright's killer was back, thinking to lay claim to his kids as if nothing had happened. Thinking he could just scoop them up like unclaimed property. No way, Carl though grimly. I'm not letting you anywhere near my family, you garbage. You want to get to them, you're going to have to go thru me. He compared himself to the other man. Carrying twenty or so more pounds than from his high school and college playing days, he was still in fairly good shape, his heart issues not withstanding. Dylan Taylor bore all the signs of a man who'd lived a hard life. If I can just get close enough, Carl calculated.
"Haven't you done enough to hurt those kids?" Soames grated. "You're already wanted for killing their mother. I'm not about to let you hurt them anymore. Now you get out of my house!"
Dylan literally growled in response, an ominous sound rising from his chest. Reaching behind his back, he produced a bulldog pug .38. He fired once, the bullet's passing nicking Carl painfully on the ear.
"Aaaaauggh!" Carl yelled, pressing a hand to the bloodied left side of his head.
"You don't get it do you, you stupid wanker?" Dylan screamed, full of rage. "I'm in charge here, and I'm not leaving without those brats!"
"I'm not the one who's stupid!" Carl spat back. "This is Texas, you moron! You think my neighbors don't know a gunshot when they hear one? They're already on the phone to the cops!" Carl stepped out from behind his desk as he talked, closing the gap between he and his gun wielding assailant.
Dylan aimed again, this time directly at Carl's face. "You take another step I'll kill you where you stand!" he insisted shrilly. The faint wail of distant sirens was heard thru the study doors that opened onto the house's rear deck . Taylor nervously turned his head partially towards the sound. This wasn't going the way he'd planned, the way it was supposed to. He was supposed to be in control here! He had the gun. So why did he feel that control slipping thru his clammy fingers?
After months of running and hiding from the authorities, he'd finally been able to come back to look for Marcus and Sam. His intention for coming here was to find and kill them. They couldn't ever testify against him if he shut them up for good! It should have been easy, but instead of being afraid, this stupid cock in front of him was acting as if HE was the one with the power!
The sirens were louder, lending credence to Carl's words. Dylan started sweating for real. He had to find some way to regain the upper hand! And he had to do it quick, before the cops were on top of him! He lowered the .38, pointing it at Soames's knee.
"Maybe a little pain will loosen you up! It used to work for their cunt mother!" Taylor's finger tightened on the trigger. He leered hatefully.
Neither heard the sound of a door opening.
"Mr. Hayden gave me ride home Carl" Marcus's voice called from the front entranceway. Opening the study's hallway door, he ran in, excited. "Guess what? The coaches they think I can be the J.V. quarterback! They want me to-!"
Marcus's brain finally registered the horrifying scene. Dylan? Here? No! NOOOO! It couldn't, it, it couldn't be! How was he here? How…how did he find…why was he…? Marcus was rooted to the spot, his mind screaming for him to move, but his body unable to comply. Too late, as Dylan swung around, he noticed the gun in his father's hand. His eyes widened as he stared down the barrel. Dylan's malicious grin chilled him.
Oh, this was perfect! Dylan crowed silently. Things were finally going his way. Marcus was right here in front of him! Taylor pointed the gun at Marcus's head.
Oh my God! Carl realized. Taylor wasn't here to take the boys, he was here to kill them! In a flash, Carl was on the move! His own safety did not matter. He had to protect Marcus! He threw himself at the gunman. At the same time, he yelled "Marcus, run! Get out of here! Run! Run!"
Dylan pivoted to meet the greater threat, firing at the onrushing Carl Soames. Striking him in the chest, the bullet threw Carl back, his head impacting with the marble mantle of the fireplace with a sickening CRACK! He slumped unconscious, felled by the double blow.
Before Dylan could refocus on his eldest son he was distracted.
"POLICE! OPEN THE DOOR!" a voice not to be denied demanded, followed by heavy pounding.
His head turned, Taylor failed to keep an eye on Marcus. Jolted out of his shocked stupor by the sight of Carl being shot, Marcus dashed past his father to grab the heavy, granite handled poker. Grasping it by its' pointed end, he swung with all his strength, catching Dylan on the arm. The gun fell from Taylor's fingers and landed on the carpet.
" Aaaahhh! You little-!" Dylan's reached for his son but Marcus agilely dodged out of range and took a home run swing at Taylor's face. Blood spurted. Dylan staggered back, stunned.
By the time he recovered, he opened his eyes to see the gun now in Marcus's hands.
Marcus screamed, "I HATE YOU!" This man was responsible for so much misery and pain. Norah's, his, Sam's and now he'd killed Carl! "I HATE YOU!" he yelled again, firing at, but missing his homicidal parent, thru a haze of tears.
The police had finally battered their way past the Soames thick oak front door. Dylan heard them pounding down the hallway. Caught between the arriving cops and the son who would not miss again, he chose flight. He bounded out the door and over the deck railing, disappearing into the thick foliage behind the property.
Marcus ran to the recumbent Carl, dropping the gun at his feet.
"Carl! Carl! Carl, please wake up! Don't be dead! Please, don't be dead! Please!" he begged hysterically, bending over Carl, desperate to find a pulse.
Police poured into the room, led by Brownsville's Chief of Police, Martin Suggs. Carl's best friend from childhood, he'd been at his desk on this Saturday, clearing up paperwork and preparing to make his department's case for more funding with the city council the next Monday. His friendship with Carl was the only reason Marcus did not have a juvenile record. The chief was on his way home when the "shots fired" call came over his radio. Recognizing the address, he hit his lights and siren, making a beeline for Carl's house. He swore furiously as he drove. It had to be that little punk again. Marcus. He'd been telling Carl and Val for months to get that kid out of their house. That Marcus was bad trouble that was going to bite them someday. Keep the younger kid if you want, but that older one, shake him off before its' too late. Carl kept insisting that that Marcus had turned a corner. That his behavior was much improved and the kid's days of causing trouble, stealing and fighting were over. Suggs tried to open his buddy's eyes. Tried to get Carl to see Marcus's reformed routine was all an act, but to no avail. The wool was over his friend's eyes good and tight. So, Martin made up his mind to keep an eye on the kid and hope when the boy finally showed his true colors, Suggs could be close enough to do something about it. But he hadn't been. He'd been too far away! And now this.
He sprang into the room, gun drawn, ready for anything, to see Carl lying helpless and maybe even dead, with Marcus next to him, a gun between them.
Marcus rushed at him frantically. "Please help! Please you gotta help him! Please! Dylan came here! He shot him! My father shot him! Please, he's hurt bad! Please, please help!"
His fury nearly overwhelming, Suggs kicked the gun out of Marcus's reach and shoved the teenager away from him and slammed the boy face down on to the floor, hard, cuffing him roughly. Other police went to Carl as the chief watched. Feeling for a pulse, one of the cops nodded. Carl was alive. Martin Suggs closed his eyes with relief. He looked to one of his officers coming in from the rear deck. The man shook his head no, indicating he'd seen no one.
Marcus, his head pinned to the carpet by Suggs's knee didn't see the signal that Carl, though gravely wounded, still lived. Tears poured from his eyes as his breath came in ragged gasps.
More sirens wound to a halt in front of the house.
Wrenching Marcus to his feet by the handcuffs now around his wrists, Suggs seethed. He longed to smash his fist into the fifteen year olds' face.
"I don't see anybody else here but you and him! You did this didn't you? You did this, nobody else! I tried to tell Carl! I tried to tell him what you were, but he wouldn't listen! What happened? He catch you stealing from him again? You did this, and now you're going to pay! Get this trash out of here!" he snarled from between clenched teeth to one of his men.
He pushed Marcus at them. Marcus, thinking only of Carl, twisted and turned, pulling against the hands restraining him, trying to see over his shoulder at his foster father.
"No! No! It wasn't me! It was Dylan! You gotta go look for him! He did this! He's gonna get away again! Please! You gotta go after him! He gonna get away! Please!"
"Shut your mouth! I said get him out of here! I want that little punk in a cell right now!" Chief Suggs roared.
Marcus tried to fight them, but their combined strength was more than a match for his own. The cops wrestled the struggling boy past the arriving paramedics, down the front steps and into a waiting squad car.
Marcus still didn't know if Carl was dead. He banged his head against the window in distress as he was driven away. "CARL!" he yelled. "CARL! CARL! CARRRRRLLLLL!"
Author's note: The Brownsville locations are completely made up. I've never set foot in Texas. As with the other chapters, reviews are welcome, as long as they are honest and constructive. If you're just in a mean mood, never mind. One aside: Any depiction of the Brownsville Police Dept. in this story is pure fiction. Respect to the real cops, doing a tough, dangerous job to the best of their ability. Stay safe, guys.