The Detour

By Travis Pearson

Dan Icor Is a good samaritan who embarks on a cross-country road trip to formulate a plan for his future after he loses his job. When he detours from the superhighway to a rural country road, Dan has no idea he is about to be led in a direction he never could have imagined.

After Dan pulls into a gas station in the middle of nowhere, he witnesses an unspeakable crime and commits a selfless act that leaves him critically injured. As he heals, he realizes he has acquired special abilities and has been pitted against ruthless adversaries intent on terrorizing a small town. While Dan courageously takes on corruption and incompetence, an emerging leader threatens the American dream. As Dan’s journey grows in scope, he must prepare to take on the other merciless opponents waiting for the right time to pounce.

In this compelling novel, a good samaritan is thrust into a violent confrontation that sets him on a new path where he must battle dangerous enemies as he discovers newly acquired secret abilities.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Aug 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483455679

Travis Pearson

Travis Pearson is a retired bank chairman and chief executive officer, an accomplished marksman, pilot, sports car driver, martial artist, and sportsman who tells an interesting story. He currently resides in Lucas, Texas.

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Pearson

Copyright © 2016 Travis Pearson.

Cover Design: SelfPubBookCovers.com/Fantasyart

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-5566-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-5565-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-5567-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016912220

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 08/08/2016

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 1

Driving fatigue was setting in. Tired and hungry, Dan Icor looked for acceptable lodging to rest for the night. The desolate route offered nothing but endless miles of rural America. He’d detoured from the crowded superhighway hours ago in search of solitude, and he found it.

Dan thought his life was falling apart.

With the gas gauge registering near empty and being in the middle of nowhere, he pulled his Honda Accord into a small, old-style gas station. It consisted of only two sets of pumps and a dilapidated building with a sign saying restrooms were around back. No other service centers, towns, or even civilization had been visible for several hours.

As Dan pulled up to the gas pump, he noticed a middle-aged Native American man fueling an old Ford pickup. The rusty pickup had faded paint and many character dents.

He watched an exceptionally attractive Indian woman guide a preteen girl to the restrooms behind the building. Dan assumed they were a family. The man glanced at Dan and nodded. Dan smiled back.

The sunshine warmed his body, enhancing the picture-perfect day that consisted of a comfortable temperature with low humidity, a gentle breeze, and a cloudless sky. The setting would normally lift Dan’s spirits and recharge his energy. However, this day he could not help but reflect on the improbable series of events that preceded him gassing up in the middle of nowhere.

Until just two days ago, Dan had worked in a regional bank as an executive trainee. He received this position after passing the CPA exam with very high scores on his first try. In addition, he withstood an extensive interview process, including several written exams. Dan thought that at twenty-three years of age he had a promising future, and he dreamed of quickly ascending the corporate ladder. Dan was certain he possessed the judgment, knowledge, problem-solving skills, and commitment to accomplish his goals.

Dan Icor had the knack to notice concepts and systems that were problematic, and he possessed the ability to fix these irregularities. Although his observations of this institution uncovered material deviations from generally accepted banking procedures, his superiors did not care. They did not understand his thought process. In addition, they refused to review his findings. Instead they dismissed him as arrogant and uncooperative. They thought he was impatient—too anxious to get ahead. They believed he should keep quiet and perform his functions without comment.

In reality, his superiors should have addressed his concerns. The financial institution exhibited substantial financial risk. Dan understood these impending disasters.

During a high-level committee meeting, Dan pointed out several areas he considered problematic for the regional bank. But his supervisors did not grasp the gravity of these system breakdowns and product-pricing mistakes. They fired Dan on the spot. The bank officers stated he was not a company man. Dan surmised they wanted a cog in a clock.

Requiring time to reevaluate his life and reflect on future career choices, Dan decided on a road trip. He enjoyed driving, and it seemed to help his cognitive skills.

He felt this road trip offered the promise of peace and relaxation.

His thoughts were interrupted as a black Dodge Ram pulled into the gas station and parked at the pump next to his. Four very large gangbanger types unloaded from the vehicle. The largest of the group had his black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.

The ponytail man, who was muscular and exhibited cruel eyes, purposefully walked toward the Indian man and stopped. He puffed his body to appear even bigger as he glared at the smaller Native American. Dan watched, noting both men would not blink as their eyes locked on each other’s.

The second occupant, a stocky man with an Afro, took up a position near Dan. He intently watched the Indian man and the ponytail man.

The third and fourth occupants glanced inside the building and hurried around back, heading toward the restrooms. The third man was tall and wiry. He wore his greasy, jet-black hair slicked back. The fourth man possessed an average build with a severely pockmarked face. An angry scar accented the left side of his face to the left of his eye. The jagged cut looked like a hastily stitched downward slice. They had tattoos from their necks to their shoulders, were suntanned and weathered, and wore what used to be referred to as dago T-shirts.

Dan’s trouble detector was registering high alert! He sensed something terrible was about to happen. He was anxious to finish his fill-up and leave the gas station.

The Indian man knew these thugs were sent to intimidate him. The badass with the ponytail approached the Indian. Afro man stood surveying the situation while the two other men disappeared around the building, where the restrooms were located. Afro seemed unconcerned with Dan as he intently focused on the Indian.

When the two gangbangers came back to the front of the gas station, they were dragging the Indian woman and her daughter. Disgusted, Dan observed the pockmarked guy manhandle the woman, with his hand under her blouse squeezing her breasts. Pockmark enjoyed her pain and discomfort and was apparently aroused. Dan grimaced.

The fourth gangbanger, Greasy Hair, gripped the preteen girl and shoved her along.

John, you know what this is about. You know who sent us, Ponytail, the apparent leader, spat at the Indian. You accompany me. We go to the town. You sign the documents as requested. My men will stay with your wife and daughter.

Ponytail smiled deviously; his face radiated the cruel intentions that awaited the Native American family.

He continued, I am certain my men will keep them entertained. He paused for his words to register. In the process, your wife and daughter may suffer some pain or discomfort. He spoke in a measured understatement. However, when we return, they will be alive.

The gang leader enjoyed his position of power. He explained, You brought this on yourself, your wife, and your daughter. This is happening because you did not cooperate. He waited for the Indian man to acknowledge that he understood.

The Native American man stood motionless. Dan watched, knowing the Indian understood his predicament.

You were asked politely. You were asked more than once. Ponytail’s eyes rudely inspected the females. You do have a fine-looking wife and daughter, he stated flatly while leering.

Dan fumed. Everyone understood the repulsive intentions.

Dan was startled as a bead of anxiety-induced sweat rolled down his back. While he possessed a concealed-carry permit, this state did not recognize his license. His unloaded pistol, a Glock 19, was legally dismantled and uselessly stored in his locked trunk. He considered his cell phone, which he carried in his pocket, unusable. He doubted he could receive a cell phone signal in this rural location.

He knew this situation was about to boil over.

Dan didn’t have long to wait as Afro man drew his pistol and pointed it at the Indian man. Simultaneously, a gun appeared in Ponytail’s hand. He pointed it at the Indian woman’s head. She looked angry and defiant while the girl sobbed.

When we return, after signing the documents, we will let you all go, Ponytail stated, his eyes boring into John Strongheart, the Native American.

Dan sensed that the Indian man did not believe the men would ever let them go, and when they returned bad things would happen. John Strongheart had to act.

Without thinking, Dan Icor leaped at Afro, the gunman in front of his car, and put him in a bear hug, knocking the gun from his hand. Ponytail whirled around and fired three shots in Dan’s direction. Two of the bullets hit Afro, but the third shot penetrated Dan Icor’s torso. Dan felt a hard push slamming his chest, and the pain followed shortly.

As Ponytail turned and fired, the Indian deployed a large pocketknife and gutted the hulking gang leader. Ponytail died, disbelieving how easily John Strongheart had killed him.

Greasy Hair viciously threw the preteen to the ground and circled behind John Strongheart, drawing his pistol. The Indian man’s wife latched onto the pockmarked man’s arms and tried to keep him distracted and away from her husband. She kicked and flayed wildly.

Dan scooped up Afro’s pistol and double-tapped Greasy Hair in the chest and head before losing consciousness. His precise shot saved the Indian man’s life.

Dan never saw the Indian kill the final hoodlum. The Indian man all but decapitated the attacker who had molested his wife. With a powerful swing, he sliced Pockmark’s throat from ear to ear.

The Indian woman hugged her husband and preteen daughter as they surveyed the carnage. John Strongheart checked the vital signs of Dan Icor. He looked solemnly at his wife, Faith.

He is dying. This young man is losing a lot of blood. He will never make it to a hospital. There is only one thing to try. He looked at Faith while checking Dan over.

John, that ritual will surely kill him! The ancient herbs are almost never successful, Faith stated.

She continued motioning toward the unconscious young man. His chances are less than one in one hundred.

His chances are zero if we do nothing. We are losing him. He is a brave young man. He deserves a chance to live. This was not his fight. We would all be dead if he didn’t intervene. Our family would have suffered pain and humiliation in the process. This was his reward. John sadly motioned to the still figure.

Faith Strongheart lowered her eyes and nodded. What have we gotten ourselves into?

You finish filling his gas tank and then drive the car to our place. I’ll check on Phil Turner, the gas station owner, and make sure he is okay, John Strongheart instructed. I’ll bring the young man and meet you at our house. I’ll return as soon as possible.

A quick glance inside the gas station and John Strongheart confirmed his own suspicions. Phil was dead. His crime was allowing John Strongheart to purchase gas when the owner was instructed not to. This was the only gas station within forty-five miles. The inconvenience to John would have been substantial. He realized this confrontation was a vivid lesson in disobeying the requests of these influential men.

Merciless people were losing patience with John Strongheart. They were becoming desperate, and these were very ruthless individuals.

As gently as he could, John Strongheart loaded the unconscious, dying youth into the bed of the Ford pickup. He headed toward the ancient herbs that were required to treat this kind of wound. John had to remove the bullet. He was glad the youth was unconscious for that part. John knew that it was not looking good for any of them right now. Sometimes things appear darkest before they turn completely black.

Chapter 2

Faith observed her husband gently place the motionless youth on their couch. It was barely a strain on his fit physique. John stretched before wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He filled his lungs with a deep cleansing breath before beginning the ancient remedy.

John Strongheart concentrated on removing the bullet from Dan Icor’s chest. He worked swiftly, professionally, and carefully with a practiced technique and tools not recognized in modern medicine. Faith Strongheart assisted in the operation, preparing implements and herbs. Dan Icor moaned weakly as he lingered near death.

Faith watched her husband, admiring his stoic nature as he decided on the best available alternatives for their family. She loved the chiseled features, dark skin, and prominent nose on his wiry, muscular frame. She knew most considered him emotionless, a result of his Native American childhood and culture.

Sweating profusely from fever, Dan lay on the cot in the spare bedroom of their comfortable country home. Faith tastefully decorated the house with Native American artifacts, which adorned the walls and pedestals. The residence projected unpretentious yet elegant style.

Gentle Breeze, their daughter, watched the young man suffer and whimper. She witnessed the pain of his injury as he hovered between life and death. Her big, dark, sympathetic eyes reflected her sadness. She did not understand the evil and violence surrounding her family. She silently begged the spirits for the life and health of this brave young man. She understood that he risked his life to save them.

After removing the bullet, John applied the ancient mixture of medicinal herbs to the open wound. Dan’s body convulsed as he cauterized the wound. Only then did Dan emit a weak scream of pain. John stitched Dan’s chest with animal gut and applied a different herb mixture to the outside of the wound. He watched the wound immediately start to close as it reacted to the ancient medicine.

Next, drinking herbs were boiled to prepare the sacred medicinal Indian tea. Faith applied a cool washcloth to Dan’s forehead. A short while later Gentle Breeze brought a fresh, soothing compress to Faith and returned the other washcloth to the sink.

The setting sun lowered the temperature as a nearly perfect light summer wind cooled the air and their bodies. Faith glanced out the bedroom window, admiring the stars on this clear country night. They blinked and sparkled. She wondered how the world outside exhibited so much beauty while their world remained fraught with uncertainty and danger.

Sadness overwhelmed Faith as she watched the feverish young man face death. His skin looked ashen as he lay on the cot, sweating and now softly crying.

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