Pope 1

 The endless, silent peace of the horizon was broken by the sounds of a distant motor. The silent hills seemed to stare down like great giants of old, watching the old and crumbling road as a single car made its way down it.

It was a rusty black, built for speed and power but clearly having seen better days. Dents and cracks lined the body and the driver-side window had a large crack. The back seat was full of boxes of everything from blankets to books to tools. A sleek, grey cat dozed lazily on the dashboard. The radio played a static-heavy version of an old country song.

A battered sign with several bullet holes broke up the monotony of the desert landscape, informing the lone driver that a town was coming up in a few miles.

The car rumbled to a stop, pulling to the side of the road. The door opened and the cat jumped out, stretching and yawning before sauntering off into the brush. The door closed and the car roared back on its way.

Not long after, the lone black car pulled into the quiet town of Lost Elm. Eyes watched the strange vehicle from the shadows as it pulled up to the gas pumps. The powerful engine cut out and a single man stepped from the car, glancing around at the empty town before making his way inside the station.

The walrus-like man behind the counter looked up with wariness as the stranger stepped inside. He wore a black suit and tie, though they were wrinkled and added to his unkempt appearance. His hair was an orange rat’s nest and his face was unevenly shaved. He wore a pair of black sunglasses and fidgeted with a toothpick, while nodding at the attendant.

“Jelly Beans?” He asked

The Attendant raised an eyebrow.

“Candy” The stranger clarified. “Sweets, whatever you got. And coffee”

“Payment?” The Attendant asked gruffly, looking at his shelf to see what he had.

The stranger walked up to the counter, searching through his suit. He took off his sunglasses, noting the Attendant flinch at the grisly sight of what had once been his left eye. He pulled out a golden necklace and a couple packs of cigarettes, scowling at the latter, and handed them to the Attendant.

“Nice town” The stranger said casually, then gesturing at himself. “Pope”

“Nice enough for us” The Attendant said, ignoring the introduction. “Gas for that thing?”

Pope glanced back at his car and shook his head. “Nah. Got my own fuel. See many come through here?”

The Attendant shook his head, glancing at the cigarettes and setting a large pile of sweets down on the counter. The stranger rifled through them, picking and choosing, pulling another scowl at the lack of jellybeans.

“Why’d you stay?” Pope asked.

The eyes, watching from the shadows outside, narrowed. The sound of boots scuffling quickly followed. Doors quietly pushed open. Breath coming careful and low. Magazines slipped into place and hammers pulled back.

“Personal question, don’t you think?” The Attendant asked with a forced calm, wondering why the stranger had just stared out the window as if he had heard something.

“Fair question, don’t YOU think?” Pope muttered, before turning and giving the Attendant a smile that did not reach his eye. “Ninety-nine percent of Humans took the Strangers up on their offer and went to the stars. What made you stay?”

The Attendant studied the stranger for a tense moment, before giving a forced smile of his own. “Just don’t like change I reckon. Someone’s gotta sell sweets”

The tension seemed to have evaporated as Pope chuckled, slipping his sunglasses back on and pocketing a final chocolate bar. “Fair enough. Pleasure doing business with you”

The Attendant visibly relaxed as Pope turned to go, but the stranger paused with his hand nearly on the doorknob. “Still” he said in a quiet voice that could freeze the ocean. “I wonder if you wouldn’t mind stepping out this door first”

The Attendant made a grab for his holster. Pope was quicker. The shot was like a crack of thunder as the Attendant’s gun went flying out of his hand. He stared in disbelief at the stranger, who just shrugged, smoking pistol in his hand as if it had simply appeared there. And then it was like an entire thunderstorm had descended on the sleepy town.

Dozens of bullets slammed into the gas station, shattering windows and splintering into the walls. The thankfully empty gas tanks were pilfered, while round after round bounced harmlessly off of the stranger’s car. A dozen armored figures slowly approached the station, laying down round after round until their leader raised his hand in a signal to hold their fire.

Silence filled the air again as the men watched for signs of movement. The door flew open and the men filled the figure stumbling out of it with lead, realizing too late that it was their own friend.

Instead, the distinct crack of a machine pistol fired from the station itself: Once, twice, three times. Another armored man fell, grasping at a bloody knee. Their leader cussed and screamed for his men to charge the building.

He led the way, hurling a grenade through the open door. But as it sailed in, something else sailed out, crashing through what was once a window and landing in an upright position, firing again. Another attacker went down.

Pope fired with one hand, holding a bottle of wine from the late attendant’s stock in his other. One of his attackers growled and threw his empty gun aside, pulling a wicked looking knife. He charged but Pope deftly sidestepped him, tripping the man as he went and landing a shot in the sprawling man’s side.

The other attackers used the distraction to reload, while their commander threw another grenade. Pope casually kicked it under his car, before throwing the bottle of wine at his opponents. He shot it in midair, spraying them in wine and glass, buying him enough time to reload himself.

The grenade went off with a dull, harmless thump and cloud of dust.

Pope slid across the hood of his car, sending the leader flying with a kick. He shot another attacker in the leg, before his buddy managed to slam into Pope, knocking his pistol from his hands. Pope pulled the man’s own knife and sunk it into his shoulder before knocking him out with a punch. He ducked another volley of fire, rolling over the groaning commander’s form and coming up with HIS pistol, downing another of the attackers.

Two attackers remained, staring down the stranger as their commander slowly climbed back to his feet. Pope gave the duo a small shake of the head, warning them not to try it.

“What are you waiting for?” He roared. “Get him!”

The two men obediently raised their rifles but Pope was faster again, hitting the first at an angle that made him shoot his own buddy as he fell. The leader snarled and went for his knife, but Pope sent his own pistol flying into his forehead with a satisfying ‘thwack’.

He surveyed the carnage, nodding in approval as he saw most of the men writhing and groaning, clearly still alive but not interested in trying the stranger again. Pope slowly walked over to his own handgun, breathing heavily as he retrieved and reloaded it, before slipping it back into his suit.

Pulling a water bottle from his car, he leaned against his seemingly impervious steed as he glanced up at the sun and took a long, deep drink.

And then cracked open a pack of pop rocks.

“Who the he-” The leader of the attackers began, before falling silent as Pope’s gaze immediately snapped to him. The stranger slowly approached the would-be killer, as he feebly tried to crawl away from the slow, menacing shadow.

“Pope” the stranger said with an eerie calm. “But I’m asking the questions. You know why I’m here. Where are they?”

The commander looked like he’d rather die than tell, but then seemed to remember that was a very real possibility and weakly gestured to the old post office. Pope nodded his thanks and made his way in that direction.

“But how did you know?” One of the other men blurted out. “How could you possibly know we were here?”

Pope smiled, or perhaps smirked was a better word for it. He seemingly ignored the man, instead bending down and calling sweetly towards a row of bushes. A sleek, grey cat emerged from them, sauntering over and purring in response. “Let’s just say I have good help”

Pope shot the lock off the old post office’s door, kicking them in and studying the empty room inside. The cat mewed and Pope nodded, his own less-keen hearing still picking up the sound of muffled sobs from beneath the floorboards. It didn’t take long to find the entrance to the basement and blow it open as well.

There they all were: a dozen terrified, grubby women and twice as many children, all roughly tied and clearly terrified, but seemingly no worse for wear. After all, slaves in poor condition didn’t make their captors very much coin.

Pope ignored the little voice that told him to go put a bullet in each slaver’s head as he carefully released the prisoners, with a warm smile and reassuring hands. If the women wanted to, he reflected, they would be more than capable of finishing the men themselves, given the latter’s present condition. He satisfied himself with letting them know that he was driving on ahead, to send word to all their families that they were fine.

He made sure they were all freed and well-supplied before he went. They were certainly well-armed enough, thanks to the slavers. He watched with grim satisfaction as the women decided against finishing them off in front of the kids, instead herding, dragging and pushing them into the same basement they had just been held in.

The phony gas station had more than enough food for them all and the pump out back still worked for water. Pope even graciously gifted the entire store of sweets to the children, assuring them with a wink from his one good eye that, given the circumstances, their mothers wouldn’t mind.

He did keep the pop rocks for himself though.

With a final round of “goodbyes” and “thank yous” Pope climbed back inside his car, making sure the cat followed, taking back his perch on the dashboard. With a roar, he was back on the road, pointed towards the sunset on the horizon.

An old country song played, clear and crisp, over his radio