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Chapter 48 – Grenada

May 8, 2012

Chapter 48 – “Grenada”

Now – Off the Grenadian Coast

Mendoza dropped to twenty feet above the water about half a mile from shore and hovered the black chopper there.

“This is as far as I can go. They’ll spot us if we get any closer. Best of luck, Braden Nelson.”

Braden opened the door and looked at the dark, churning water below.


“No problem. His complex is another half mile in, on top of the hills up there.”

He pointed.

“And I was never here!”

Braden shouted back as he jumped, “Who wasn’t?”

Mendoza closed the door and headed back to US air space.

What the hell. It’s the end of the world anyway. What could they do to him now?


When Braden made it ashore it had been very quiet. Just a few tourists on the beach who more interested in why the sky had gone dark. Some worried, some excited.

Braden trudged up toward the road that wound around the “hill” Mendoza had pointed to. This close, it looked more like a mountain.

Braden didn’t bother trying to move it closer with will or belief. He started jogging up and around.

He was about halfway up when he saw that military police had barricaded the road. Most of them were relaxing, smoking and chatting. One noticed him, though. He pointed and shouted to someone else.

Another officer emerged with a bullhorn.

“Attention! This area is off limits! Turn back immediately! Attention! Cette zone est interdite! Retournez immédiatement!”

Involuntarily, Braden suddenly recalled a joke his father told him when he was very young.

A pair of Army privates are sitting in a foxhole. Neither has any weapons. One is frightened. The other one smiles.

“Don’t panic,” he says. “It’s all in the head.”

“What do you mean?”


An enemy soldier ran forward and jumped into the foxhole with the Army boys. The smiler yelled, “Stabity stab!” and held his hand as if he had a knife in it. The scared soldier was certain they were dead because the enemy had a real knife.

But instead, the enemy dropped the weapon and fell to their feet. He was dead.


“Yeah, but there are more coming and they have guns!”

“You just pick up your ‘rifle’,” he made a gesture as if holding an imaginary one, “and shout, ‘Bangity bang!'”

In fact he did that very thing and enemies were falling down on the battlefield before they could reach the foxhole. The scared soldier still thought it was crazy, but he tried it anyway. He was amazed! It worked! Enemies were falling down left and right.

There was just one enemy left. A very big man. They kept shouting ‘bangity bang’ but he kept coming. Their imaginary bullets did nothing!

As he ran right over them and kept on going, he was saying—

Braden’s legs were already pumping. The jacket and shirt would certainly be worse for wear, with the all the bullet holes in them. But his skin bounced them right off.

They shouted and parted when he jumped just over their heads, breaking the wooden barrier as he used it for a little extra height.

A pair of the Grenadian’s tried to figure out what the hell “tankity-tank” meant. He had been muttering that or something like it as he jumped over their heads.

“Il est peut-être néerlandais?”

The jeeps pursued him a good three hundred years up the road, but stopped at a stone archway over the road. He must have entered Roarke’s property.

The police turned around and started back down the hill. Something was odd.

Braden understood why a few seconds later when out of the ground popped up five noisy, mechanical defense mechanisms. They were waking around all on six legs but otherwise resembled spiders. In place of mandibles were twin heavy caliber machine guns that opened fire immediately. There was also a rocket launcher. Seeing that the bullets were not stopping Braden’s advance, one of them aimed the rocket launcher at him.

Braden ripped a tree out of the ground and smiled. It’d be like baseball followed by some very satisfying bug-swatting.


©2011 Christopher C. Knall


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