Dudes With Guns: Episode 1 - 20909

By Will Hallewell

She was chained to a tree.
That was first thing he noticed about her.

From that moment on, Will and the other two “Dudes”, Dan and Tom, begin their first journey as “Dudes With Guns.”

Three ordinary men living ordinary lives. It’s up to them to become something they never knew they could be - Heroes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Will Hallewell
• Release date: Jun 22, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458123879

Will Hallewell

I have been writing for 20+ years. Currently you can find two of my books available on Amazon: "Dudes With Guns" and "God's Enchanted Rose".I live in Salem, OH with my wife and two daughters.

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Dudes With Guns

Episode 1

20909

Will Hallewell and Tom Logan

Published by Will Hallewell at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Will Hallewell and Tom Logan

This book is available in print at Amazon.com

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or givenaway to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchasean additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it wasnot purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your owncopy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Thanks to Tom and Dan

for letting me make you part of the Dudes

Dudes with Guns – Episode 1

Prologue - 20909

The bright, yellow school bus stopped in front of a non-descript house where some non-descript children got off at a non-descript time in a non-descript town. The logo on the top of the bus was Bluebird, and today it was bringing happiness to the children of this non-descript place. School was over for another week.

Take care, the driver announced to the children as they descended the steps one at a time, some of them responding, but most of them just hopping off of the bus and heading toward home. Have a nice weekend, he said as he watched them and made sure they crossed the street safely. He then closed the door, extinguished the blinking, red lights that surrounded the bus in every corner, checked his mirrors, pulled into traffic slowly and safely, and then drove away to the next stop.

He was three stops from the end of his route when he saw her. He had been watching her for weeks now, slowly and carefully sizing her up with the knowledge that she was the one. The next one.

She came down the aisle toward him, her two-toned blue, plaid, pleated skirt swishing softly as she moved toward the exit, her soft, yellow blouse accenting her lovely, blue eyes, her light blue sweater unbuttoned over her shoulders and her orange backpack hung like a mighty weight behind her. He watched, entranced, as if she were part of an eighties rock video playing itself out before his eyes in slow-motion, some Aerosmith song in the background of his mind.

'Pink,' perhaps.

She took a minute to adjust her backpack, but it didn't distract the bus driver. He was focused intently on the young girl's face as she made her way toward him, her image in the long, overhead mirror just a promised glimpse of the beauty which would soon pass by.

Bye, she called to him just before she reached his right shoulder. The bus driver had to swallow hard to even regain his composure as he melted at the sound of her voice. He loved them when they were still fresh. When they were still untouched.

Bye, now, Sheena. Be careful getting off the bus. Have a nice weekend.

She turned and smiled at him and he felt his knees go weak, even though he was sitting. I will. It's my twelfth birthday tomorrow. She gave another smile and a tiny wave and was gone.

The bus driver lingered, his eyes watching her skip down the sidewalk, but not too long so as to be noticed, then glanced in his mirror to see who was left. Closing the door he moved into traffic and finished his route without further incident.

I'm telling you, Jeffrey, she's perfect. Her smile will just knock you out, and her hair smells so good when she passes, he groaned as a euphoric memory crossed his mind, I think I've died and gone to heaven. He stared off into space for a few brief seconds before being snapped back into the present by the other man in the dingy living room.

Keep your pants on, Wallace. I'm not even done with the last one yet. These things take time. You don't want to toss them out before they're completely wasted up. You can just keep your eye on her and when the time comes...

How is the little wench, anyway? Wallace reached over to the stand next to the rocker he was sitting in and grabbed up his now warm beer. He placed the brown bottle to his lips and took a deep draw.

Arial? Jeffrey asked with no emotion.

Yeah. Arial. The mermaid. Wallace laughed. Where is she? He set the bottle down and wiped his sleeve across his face. I think I need to use her for a little while. You know, whet my whistle. He snorted and then laughed, standing up and heading out of the living room.

She's down in the hole Jeffrey pointed with a thumb over his shoulder. Didn't have the need for her at the moment. She's probably playing with those scraps of wood again.

Oh yeah. I almost forgot about that, he chuckled as he made his way toward the basement door.

Jeffrey called to him one more time, his attention not one-hundred percent on the conversation. Be careful with her, will you? You left bite marks on her shoulders last time. Drew blood, you asshole. Jeffrey looked over his shoulder to Wallace who was smiling in his direction.

Sorry, boss, he mocked. I didn't know there were rules to how we..., well, you know.

Well, there are. Just be easy on her. She has to last a few more months before we can get rid of her.

Speaking of which, Wallace's face lit up and he came back to the living room entrance. Anything on the police? Seen anything?

I-I-I haven't seen anything around here. A third man sitting on the other side of the room right next to where Wallace had just been sitting, lifted his beer to his lips after his announcement. He smiled an awkward smile.

Good, Wallace replied, pointing in the man's direction. Keep watching, Cinder. Keep watching. He rolled his eyes in amusement and opened the basement door.

Now if you don't mind, I think I'll go catch me a mermaid. Wallace laughed at his own joke and then headed down the basement stairs.

Jeffrey waited until the door was closed before he turned toward Cinder. He began with his mocking tone. Boy, you're sure doing a great job watching out for the cops, Cinder.

Cinder smiled a crooked smile toward Jeffrey, but he never caught on that Jeffrey was playing him for the fool. It might have been the down-syndrome that he had been born with, but it may also have been the countless times that Jeffrey took out his failures on his younger brother; Cinder was always looking for a silver lining in their relationship, that one time that Jeffrey would be nice to him. Thanks, Jeff. He smiled in Jeffrey's direction. I-I-I just want to help. You're my brother.

Well, that's nice, Cinder. Really great. And you're doing a fine job. A very fine job there, brother. Jeffrey was leading him, but Cinder wasn't following. But, don't forget, it's not Jeff. It's Jeffrey.

Jeffrey's expression changed like someone had switched on a lamp of anger instead of light, and Cinder just about dropped his beer bottle. His eyes grew wide, lost deeper in his down-syndrome round face, and he looked down to where a dark stain was spreading across the crotch of his jeans. He knew that smell that blossomed there; it was the smell of failure. Jeffrey had told him that a hundred times. And it also meant that trouble followed. Trouble for him. He tried to put out the rage in his brother's eyes before it grew any further.

I-I-I didn't m-m-mean anything by it, Jeff-Jeffrey. It was an accident. Just an accident.

Jeffrey stood up and sighed, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the table next to him. He lit one with the lighter that he kept in between the cellophane wrapper and the pack itself, and then took a deep drag. He tossed the lighter on the table along with the pack, and started toward Cinder.

Yeah, you didn't mean it, Cinder, but then you never DO! He back-handed his brother hard across the face and the beer bottle flew from his hands and landed on the base of the brick fireplace, exploding into hundreds of pieces, the amber liquid spilling on the floor where it pooled up and lay silently.

Jeffrey leaned over, grabbed Cinder by the hair on the back of his head, and pulled him in close. Cinder tried to put his hands up to protect himself, but Jeffrey only slapped him away.

You never do, Cinder. You never do, you never do! He took the cigarette from his lips and thrust it hard into Cinder's cheek, waiting to hear the familiar and delightful screams from his half-wit brother. When they arrived, he did it again until Cinder was finally reduced to heavy sobs, on the floor in a fetal position.

Damn it, Cinder. You wet your pants again. Jeffrey laughed hard as he put the cigarette back into his mouth and turned away. He headed to the basement, leaving Cinder to wallow in his own misery, urine, and spilled beer.

On his way down the cellar steps, Jeffrey could hear the satisfied moaning cries of Wallace, but nothing from the girl. He sighed. That could only mean one thing; she was almost past her usefulness. Once they stopped begging him to stop and stopped begging to be set free, it was almost time to waste them.

That was the thrill to him after all; the screaming, the pleading, the begging. That's what made it all worth while. 'Oh well,' he thought, Wallace did say that he had another one picked out. Maybe in a week or two he'd be ready for her.

Jeffrey crossed the basement, threw open the door to the makeshift, wooden dungeon he had built to house the girls he brought there, and pointed behind him with a toss of his thumb over his shoulder. Cinder needs you, Arial. Finish what you're doing and get up there and clean him up. Oh, and watch the glass when you're picking up his beer bottle. I wouldn't want you to cut yourself. After all, you just got your number.

The girl turned her head to look with eyes devoid of any feeling whatsoever as Wallace thrust on top of her, and Jeffrey knew he was right. Inside, she had resigned herself to her fate. She was ready to get rid of. Just like the others.

As he was leaving, Wallace's grunts now closer together and harder, Jeffrey stopped and looked at him, his pants down around his ankles. What'd you say the new girl's name was, Wallace?

Sheena, he grunted.

Hmmm. Sheena. I like that. Well, hurry up, Arial. Cinder's a mess.

Jeffrey pulled the door behind him and returned upstairs.

The basement remained accented by Wallace's grunts and thrusts, each of them reverberating off the chains and shackles and whips and other devices of torture that hung there in the shadows.

On the outside of the door which led into this dark dungeon which Arial had called her 'home' for the last six months, was a placard made from a battered piece of wood that was about one foot wide by about two feet long. On it was a number painted with some kind of black paint that seemed so fresh it was barely dry.

The number was 20909.