A piece of Fiction?

I wrote this for my private blog but thought it might fit here. It will most likely recieve more editing on my other blog. Undecided as to if I will keep it up.

A Piece of Fiction?

"I'll be right Back."

Dietrich said, as he slid out of his seat, the door of the pickup screeching closed behind him. It was an old American-made pickup. A canvas covered their most treasured possessions in the truck bed. Much less conspicuous on the back roads they were traveling than a family in a sedan, heavy in the trunk.

The sound of his boots on the crushed stone of the parking lot, sharp and piercing in the almost unnatural quiet.

'The peace of country life.' Dietrich tried to convince himself.

The air was thick and hot,and the mid-afternoon sun shown strong through the haze like atmosphere. The relative cool outside the cab brought a faux sense of relief. It was the time of year and the time of day when fierce storms seemed to materialize out of nowhere. But Dietrich was early.

He had headed north, paying a visit to his parents. A ruse to throw off the authorities. Afterwards making contact with a friend of a friend... of a friend of a high school classmate, making the switch from their sedan to this off the market heap of a pickup. Their best chance for escape, for freedom, as best they could imagine it.

With no job in the small town where they lived, and the constant and growing visits from an increasingly intrusive civil service, Dietrich looked to the new western nations, with their booming economies, as the chance for a better life. An opportunity he dare not let pass. Though originally from the big city, the great conflict had left it a burned out shell. The local capital of the never-ending queue of hopelessness. Where all wait their turn for a piece of the promised never nearing bounty to come, resting just beyond the horizon. Beyond one more campaign against the enemies of the people. One more damn or highway or factory, all constructed under the guidance of the great leader, who alone could open the floodgates of prosperity.

But Dietrich was hardly the only or the first with the same idea. The government had already closed all the main roads and was quickly closing off the entire border. Winding through small farming hamlets along country roads and highways, he found himself at a roadside canteen called 'Shults'.' An establishment housed in a generic structure, which served like all such country outposts a fare unique to its part of the country. In this case, a specialty meat battered and deep fried, and of course a home made brew.

He stretched his stiff legs, walking slowly towards the service counter. The young girl at the window looked his way and, with a nervous start, stepped away from her window into a back room.

'Fear'

Dietrich's life had hardly been easy, without its own traumas and corresponding terrors. Fear was something he had taught himself to treat with disdain. With a veiled huff he approached the service window. Leaning in slightly he called,

"Hey, can I get some service?"

Both defiance and caution ringing in his voice.

A long silence followed.

Then the door to the back room flung open. The young girl, a high school student at best, strode out slapping the key to the men's room down on the counter. She quickly turned and walked away, fixing her gaze upon the deep fryer, standing motionless.

His hand slid over the cool stainless steel, gripping the well-worn wood block attached to the key. A sinking feeling growing in his gut, he turned slowly heading for the far side of the building. Rounding the corner he shoved the key into the men's room lock. A quick forceful thrust opened the sticky door. It slammed behind him as he entered.

A urinal, evident by smell if not by sight, a sink and a stall, and a curious apprehension highlighted the spacious, for its type, room. Before Dietrich could wonder about what he had gotten himself into the door flew open. A middle aged bearded man swiftly stepped inside, watching the door close behind him, his hand keeping it from slamming.

"Are you Dietrich?" He asked.

"Are you Jason?" Replied Dietrich, waiting for the proper response.

"No, I'm Freddie."

"Then I'm Dietrich."

Named neither Jason nor Freddie, the bearded man's face sneered. Marching forward, pushing Dietrich back chest to chest he grabbed Dietrich's shirt collar with both hands, slamming him against the toilet partition.

"You were told not to tell anyone, punk!"

Dietrich instinctively brushed away the bearded man's arms, pushing him back.

"What are you talking about?"

The bearded man setting one hand on the partition leaned in strong. With teeth clenched and trying not to raise his voice said,

"You told your father!"

A dark cloud covered Dietrich's face. His dad...? He wondered why he had expected anything different. But he always did.

The bearded man stepped back and closing in on a whisper, words in quick succession, the tension never leaving his voice said,

"You're lucky. I shouldn't even be here. Keep south and turn onto the first gravel road on your right. After some miles you'll see a sign shaped like a steer with a farmers access road in front of it. Take it! It will take you to a small stand of trees. On the other side turn right through the field towards the river. You should be able to drive right through there. The border is several hundred yards beyond."

He raised his finger to Dietrich's face and said,

"Wait here till you hear me leave."

Walking away he stopped at the door and without turning back said,

"If you make it to the river they'll probably give up."

And he was gone.

Dietrich stood silent. The sound of a kick and a motorcycle throttling up came from behind the canteen. He listened as the bike sped off to the north, then stepped out of the men's room.

Support little and far between, and ultimately rejection was nothing new to Dietrich. He was in his natural element. Shoulders bent, head ever so slightly raised, holding something just short of a smile, he came around the corner exuding an odd confidence. Depositing the key at the service window, making his way towards the pickup, he spied a man on the phone on the near side of the canteen.

He noticed the utility room door slightly open, a broken lock resting on the ground. Leaning on the wall, staring down, the man on the phone looked up as if in response to Dietrich's own stare. A cold breeze drifted through the thick humid air. A chill and a shiver shot up the man's spine, but Dietrich smiled coolly. Never missing stride he walked calmly to the pickup.

Hopping in, fumbling with the keys to the pickup, his hand shook uncontrollably. With a deep breath and one swift motion he slid the key into the ignition and turned. There was a grumbled rumble and Dietrich dropped the engine into gear, gently pulling out onto the country highway.

Checking his rear view mirror, no one followed. The highway with its gentle rises and hollows ran due south through an endless sea of farms. The ride grew long and Dietrich pondered with the idea that he had missed the road, but couldn't see how. Then off in the distance, atop a far off rise in the road he saw them. A small column of military vehicles was heading their direction.

Dietrich's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, his breathing shallow. As the column disappeared behind a rise he sped up quickly, hoping to God he had not missed the turn. Anticipating their reappearance he slowed, waiting for his next opportunity, trying not to draw their attentions. After the third sighting he saw the gravel road at the bottom of a hollow and sped forward. Breaking at the last moment, nearly squealing to a stop, he turned. Slowly proceeding down the gravel road, not to kick up an unusual amount of dust, he let himself breath.

Cresting a small hill, leaving the highway out of sight without any apparent pursuit, they felt safe for the moment. After driving past countless fields of crops and patches of woods they saw the sign a mile or so in the distance. Dietrich had been keeping a generic speed, as if they belonged, but now their speed grew as the distance shortened.

Turning onto the dirt access road the pickup rocked softly forward and back, side to side. The stand of trees, stretching in a long line, was closer than he imagined.

Plop. Plop. Splat!

An ear of corn seemed to vaporize above the road before them. Dietrich turned and leaned out the window. Looking back down the gravel road he saw large dark clouds of dust rushing towards them. A well equipped jeep and military transports, loaded with soldiers at the ready leaning over the sides, were racing after them. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, the river flooded his thoughts.

Plop. Splat. Plop. Plop.

Warning shots sprinkled the road in front of them.

Eyes set forward Dietrich crushed the accelerator to the floor. A stutter and shudder exploded into a fierce roar as the carburetor snapped full open.

"Four! - Fifty! - Four!" shot through his head in word and spirit, bringing a moment of hope and a grin, as they were pressed hard against the back of the seat. The heap of a pickup lunged and leaped powerfully over the well rutted dirt road.

The gunfire grew into a steady din, ever closing as they made the shelter of the trees. Instantly the trees broke into chaos. Leaves rustling, boughs tossed to and fro in disbelief that they were not torn from their trunks, as two military helicopters crossed swiftly overhead.

The pickup burst out the other side of the stand of trees. Slipping and sliding, fishtailing over the field as Dietrich fought to keep control. Ripping through row upon row of corn he managed to point the pickup towards the river. It shook and trembled, cutting over the furrowed field. The stalks smashed and slid under and over the pickup with the sound of a tempest pouring down a tin roof.

The pickup steadied as it hit a rhythm with the field. The river was quickly approaching as the sound of something like a freight train, a freight train that had left its tracks, boomed in the background.

Dietrich looked over at his baby girl. A dazed blank look covered her face. As their gazes met, her eyes brightened and twinkled. She broke out into a big toothless smile and he couldn't help but smile back as tears welled up. Looking to his wife, that one encouragement with that look that he would make everything alright, the hood shattered the windshield. Engine exploding, wheels shredded as fifty caliber machine gun shells ripped through the front of the pickup driving it hard into the ground, blowing off the drivers door. Rockets exploding all around, their vehicle lifted into the air.

Floating free Dietrich instinctively stretch his arm forward, his fingertips ever so slightly brushing the top of the cab as the pickup spun out of reach. Pieces of canvas, pictures, clothing, shredded vegetation, earth and fire filled the air. Gases and dust filtering the light giving the entire atmosphere a strange unearthly hue. overcome with shock everything seemed as a dream, a foreign landscape upon some other world.

But this was no nightmare Dietrich could shatter with force of will. His face terror struck, eyes fixed intensely on the pickup with longing and dread, he stained to catch even a glimpse into the cab, the pickup spinning on end round and round in almost a blur. A life that could have been flashed before his eyes. In what felt like an eternity but less than seconds, the truck smashing to the ground upside down, flames saturating the surrounding cropland.

Tossed and tumbled, Dietrich rolled up on all fours. His eyes ached pushed deep into their sockets, lids clenched closed. Blood and sweat streamed from his body, tears pour down his face. The air whirling around him as the second helicopter had instantly moved in overhead.

"Why, why, why God why?"

Dietrich lamented, as his guts wrenched, every muscle in his body stressed tight. Betrayed by his country. Betrayed by his family. Betrayed by himself, for how could he think of going on? He wanted to die. Collapse, sink into the earth and be no more, but surrender was something he had never given anyone.

Overcome with the shock and horror his mind went blank. One hand squeezed the mud that had been parched earth moments before as his other hand, without conscience awareness, reached slowly back. His fingers feeling for the shells in his pocket, a tingle shot up his arm at their touch, as the first helicopter hovered into position, returning from its strafing run.

Raising his head he saw just yards before him his loaded twelve gauge. Beginning with a crawl and then jumping to his feet Dietrich ran for his gun. He tried to scream but the bursts of air from the helicopter rotors halted his breath. Every inch of his body cried with pain, clinging to his skin like rain drenched clothing. Gasping for air through clenched teeth, amidst muffled sounds of shouts and the click of machine gun bolts, he let out a low growl, grabbing up his shot gun and turning towards the river.

Snapping the safety off he looked skyward towards his foe. Suspended beyond the doors of the pair of helicopters were two gun man, faces hidden behind visors, barrels pointed straight down, just letting loose their thirty calibers.

Ducking his head with elbows raised and knees lifting high to shield himself, earth, stone and burning metal splashed and slashed upon impact of a hail of gunfire, as he ran and spun, the ground rippling under his feet. Shooting blind the smooth slide action of his shotgun kept continuous motion as round after round of triball buckshot flew woefully into the air. Like spit in the wind in the face of overwhelming firepower.

Spit that hit its mark.

Havoc broke out on one of the helicopters, almost sending it into the other, before both veered off in opposite directions, settling far afield into a steady deliberate rotation around his position.

In a half run half stagger he made his way towards the river. Eyes scanning the shallows, he found himself amidts a sudden calm. But inside he had no calm. He longed to turn around, to look back, no longer knowing why, his heart aching at the thought.

As his foot sank into the softness of the river bank, Dietrich paused. He set his eye upon the horizon. Looking upon that vision of freedom he would give anything to share. Not knowing exactly where it started he knew it was there. An empty smile burst briefly across his face, a quiver over his cheek.

A bright flash from beyond the trees on the far side of the field lit up the corner of Dietrich's eye. The sound to arrive later. but not before the inevitable impact... as his eye came to rest upon that Lone Star State.