THE GIFT

Chapter 1

The burnt-orange Texas sun kissed the horizon as the dusty black sports car pulled into the long gravel driveway running between towering pecan trees. James drove into the horseshoe parking area, came to a stop and killed the rumbling engine. He and Melanie climbed out of their bucket-seated confinement and stretched their weary bones in the balmy evening air.

They had traveled many miles in the last couple weeks, in a rambling attempt at invisibility from the threat that was seeking them. Old Route 66 helped that. Roadside novelty motels…teepees and caterpillars and such…and cheap diners, as well as tents and campfire meals had begun to wear thin. It was time to land somewhere safe for a while, if such a place existed.

This was their best shot…James’ long-lost cousin, Curtis.

He felt a little guilty about imposing. Afterall, he hadn’t even spoken to him for a decade or more. To track him down and call him out of the blue…because he was in trouble…seemed tacky. He felt like he was using Curtis, which he was, but not in a malignant way. He had nobody else. His choices were limited.

But the instant Curtis recognized him on the phone, he was insistent that they come for a visit, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

They walked up to the ornate Americana prairie house. A covered porch wrapped around the entire house. The corner to the right was a rotunda that formed a circular den enclosed by multiple curved, leaded glass windows with stained floral patterns. The balcony over the rotunda sported French doors, accessing whatever room the balcony served (the realtor in Melanie assumed it was the master bedroom). A windowed cupola with a conical copper roof topped the balcony, creating an observatory. The obligatory weathervane creaked idly at its point.

The house was painted a seafoam green with intricate white trim work and more leaded glass windows. The obligatory porch swing hung lazily in front of picture windows. A huge black Mastiff resting by the front door rose to its feet, evidently prepared to meet a threat or greet a friend with equal attention.

The perimeter was masterfully landscaped with native flora and a few exotic specimens. The center of the horseshoe driveway was dominated by a huge rose bush, meticulously shaped into a mound and covered with yellow blooms. From its midst, a flagpole stood, the American and Texas flags waving proudly.

Cousin Curtis has done well.

“This is beautiful.” Melanie commented as they stepped through the white picket fence gate. The dog, who seemed more a small pony than a canine, stood motionless by the welcome mat. He raised his head slightly as they climbed the broad stairs. No threatening growl or raised hackles. His unnerving gaze and his very size made such things unnecessary.

James started to knock on the leaded glass door behind the ornate oldschool screen door, but decided to ring the doorbell instead, getting “The Yellow Rose of Texas” response.

“Yep, we’re in Texas.” Melanie quipped with a grin in a fake cowboy accent, then cast a “no offense meant” look to the dog...or whatever it was. She could almost imagine a saddle on the beast. She heard heavy footsteps walking toward the door.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Curtis bellowed, opening the massive door and swinging the screen door wide. His huge frame nearly filling the doorway. “If you ain’t a sight for sore eyes. Come on in here.” He waved them into his home. “I sure am glad you called, Cuz. How long has it been? Fifteen years? Damn good to see ya! You look great for an old man.” he proclaimed, embracing James in an affectionate bear-hug.

“You must be Amelia!” he said, turning to Melanie and, throwing his arms open.

James held a hand up to stop Curtis. “s**t!” he exclaimed. “You don’t know, do you?” He had forgotten that Curtis had never met Amelia. He had sent a very expensive Persian rug as a wedding gift, because he was “deployed” to that part of the world, at the time and couldn’t make the ceremony.

“Umm…Amelia died a little over a year ago.” He choked out. Seeing Melanie’s discomfort, he added, “This is Melanie Hart. She’s my…very special friend.” He explained inadequately. A puzzled look washed over Melanie’s face.

“Aw, man…I’m sorry to hear that.” He hesitated. “I reckon you can fill me in later.” Feeling the awkwardness of the moment, he turned to Melanie, and said in his most polite Texas drawl, “Ma’am, I am honored to meet you. Welcome to my home.”

Stepping aside with a flourish, “This is my lovely bride, Sharon.” He proclaimed, waving his arm toward a stunning woman who could only be described as the epitome of a Texas ranch gal…confident and gentle, in a tough sort of way, comfortably dressed in a plaid blouse and a denim jacket with gloves hanging out of the pocket, and worn jeans tucked into worn cowboy boots. Her strawberry blonde hair was gathered in a rough bun. A long strand hung to her shoulders, framing crystal blue eyes and an exquisite, tanned face that makeup would only detract from. You are one lucky dude, Curtis!

“Please, make yourself at home.” Sharon offered, “I just finished with Roy. Let me wash up and I’ll fetch some cold Shiners.” she finished. Her lilting Texas drawl rich with urban elegance. “Then you can fill me in.” Curtis added. His expression became curious. “Fill you in?” James queried.

“Come on, Cuz…you ain’t here because you miss me...even though ya do.” he winked. “Somethin’s up. Yer into somethin’, or somethin’s into you.” His intuition was uncanny. “Time has passed, and we may be grown up, but I still know you…and I still got yer back. We’re blood, Cuz.” he concluded. “Anyway…welcome to my humble hovel.” He announced, waving them toward the circular den.

The inside of the home was like a trip into a John Wayne movie. Wide open spaces, heavy leather sofa and chairs, a huge coffee table on a calico longhorn cowhide rug. Mounted above the river rock fireplace was a huge set of polished longhorns. Family photos in elegant frames lined the massive mantle.

Then, there was the gun cabinet. An imposing, beautifully carved piece of teakwood art that Curtis found in Thailand, when he was stationed there. It was well stocked with firearms ranging from antique Kentucky long rifles, Winchesters and a Sharp, as well as several traditional hunting rifles, a special rack for nearly a dozen various scopes, including what James suspected were night-vision scopes. The left side displayed two columns of handguns, from flintlocks to revolvers to semiautomatic pistols. To the right, there were scary black guns that kept the news waves buzzing and ignorant rabbits cowering in fear. An AK-47 was mounted on a rack of its own with a small brass nameplate below it. James was sure there was a story behind that, but that would come later.

Curtis was about as American and Texan as one could get. He was a decorated combat veteran and hardcore patriot. He was a certified gunsmith and loaded his own ammunition. He also volunteered to train law enforcement officers and agents, many of which were personal friends, as well as Boy Scouts, on his privately owned firing range behind his house.

He was a Marine trained as a Navy S.E.A.L. sniper and served multiple tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. He wasn’t a violent person, or a fringe lunatic. Quite the opposite. He was a gentle, honest man who served his country honorably and held a deep abiding belief in and love for its People and its Constitution. His lethal service to those People and that Constitution had shown him that evil would destroy freedom and liberty, either for spite or greed, or for misguided religious fervor. He 5 was determined not to stand by watch the threat arise at home…and he knew what to do, if needed.

James felt a sense of awe overtake him. Knowing how fearless the old Curtis was growing up, he had no doubt that he had become a formidable force…thankfully, a good one.

Curtis searched his newly reunited cousin’s face. He could see the fear doing it’s best not to burst forth.

Sharon returned, cleaned up and minus the denim jacket, bearing four frosty bottles of Shiner Bock by their necks, two in each hand…no fancy trays here.

“I’ll tell ya, Cuz…it is so good to see you.” Curtis started. “Our hellraising days are some of my best memories. I sure have missed you, you ol’ sumbitch. But I suppose you had good reasons for not stayin’ in touch. Can’t say as I blame ya. Given your folks and all. I get it. I wasn’t exactly convenient, either, was I?” he said, melancholy creeping into his voice. “I wish it was just you missin’ my happy ass that brings you here, but I know better. So…spit it out. What have you got yerself into?”

James felt a twinge of guilt for involving his cousin, but what choices did he have? He dwelled on his answer for a long pause.

“Ya know, Curtis…” James hesitated, “I don’t think I should involve you. It’s too risky. I don’t want you to get caught up in this s**t. It’s pretty messed up.” He was starting to regret coming here.

“Okay…I call “bullshit”. I appreciate your concerns, but do I look like someone who needs to be protected…from anything?” Curtis barked after a long pull on his beer. “You’ve opened up the can, now let the worms out…and don’t worry about my delicate feelings.” That drew a snort from Sharon.

James hesitated again, but eventually asked “Have you heard about this so-called “miracle cure” folks are talking about on the Internet? You know…the one that supposedly cures everything?”

“Uh-huh.” Curtis nodded slowly, taking another sip of his beer. “Seems a bit far-fetched. Sounds like a load of manure to me. Somebody is trying to sell something. I ain’t buyin’ it.”

“Well cousin, I hate to call you wrong, but it’s true…and I’m it.” He tossed out cryptically.

Sharon and Curtis exchanged a blank expression.

“What do you mean “I’m it”?” Curtis demanded, not sure whether to laugh or growl. “What…are you some kinda genius-scientist? I didn’t figure you for that kind of s**t. I thought cars were your thing.”

“They are…and no…I’m not a genius or a scientist.” He defended. “I twist wrenches on cars. That’s all. I’m the fricken’ guinea pig that escaped the lab!” he declared louder than he intended.

“What the f…“ Curtis shot back, getting a sharp look and a firm “ahem” from Sharon. “Guinea pig? What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Curtis,” Sharon chimed sweetly, “Hun, you look really pissed. Take your mean face off. He’s family.”

“Oh…shit. I’m sorry, Cuz. It’s an automatic thing I cooked up in the ‘Stan”. He apologized. “Used to use it to intimidate villagers and bogeys. Scared the s**t out of ‘em. I hope I didn’t upset ya.” James could certainly believe that. He envisioned bad guys cringing before this huge, armed beast who looked like he was going to eat them.

“You didn’t, don’t worry.” James lied, “I’d be a little taken aback, too, if someone told me this crap. But its real. No s**t Curtis. It’s got me at my wits end. I need help. I’m…scared.”

“I can tell. That’s okay…I’ll shut up and let you talk.” Curtis offered.

“Now that would be somethin’ special.” Sharon added playfully, winking at her husband. Curtis stuck his tongue out at her.

James started at the beginning, explaining his hopeless malaise after Amelia died. He told them how his side job, working on exotic cars put 7 him in touch with an eccentric, perhaps even mad, scientist who eventually revealed his secret…that he was performing “off the record” research into human genetics. The doctor had met with unexpected success on animals but was stopped from moving forward for one major reason…he couldn’t test it on humans without it becoming known. That would have caused him a great deal of trouble, maybe even prison time.

James shortened the story as much as he could, but still gave all the pertinent information. He was clear that becoming a guinea pig was his idea, not the scientists. But the decision ultimately got the scientist murdered by a “man in black”, who had also been following him and threatening Melanie.

As he explained the changes he went through, he showed them his driver’s license picture of a much older looking James with grey hair and obvious wrinkles. He told them of ailments and scars that disappeared over time.

“I thought you looked really good for someone your age, but hell, I thought that might be surgery or somethin’.” Curtis interrupted. Sharon rolled her eyes.

“Do you remember the time we were running around outside your house, and I slipped and cut my knee wide open?” he asked.

“Do I?” Curtis blurted, “All that blood. I got an ass whoopin’ because my old man thought I had pushed you.”

“Yea…well, I’ve always felt bad about that. I tried to tell them, but your dad was short-tempered…and he always scared me.” He admitted.

“Tell me about it.” Curtis added sourly. Memories of bruises, and worse tickled the edge of his mind.

“Anyway,” James continued, “that big crescent scar it left?” he said as he pulled his pant leg up to reveal a pristine knee “…is gone!”

“NO…WAY!” Curtis blurted incredulously. Then looking at James with a strange expression, he rasped “Dude…who are you…what are you?”

Sharon saw the wounded expression on James’ face. “CURTIS!” she barked. “He’s family…not a “what”! Hun, talk to me.” She said, turning to James. “Give this dumbass some time to process what you just said.” She offered, shooting a dangerous glare at Curtis. “Sometimes he talks before he thinks...other times he just doesn’t bother to think.”

“What the…” Curtis started, but seeing Sharon’s fierce expression, he concluded “Well…I did say I would shut up.”

“Yes…you did.” Sharon reminded him with a scowl.

James explained how he and Melanie met, and with help from her to fill in the blanks, they told the story as completely as they could. Sharon was particularly touched by the story of how the transfusion of James’ blood saved the elderly Irene O’Connor’s life so she could continue to share it with her beloved Reggie.

Melanie told them about the scheme to keep the O’Connors safe by turning them into Internet celebrities, giving them such a large profile as to make it too risky to go after them. She was proud of how most of the world had responded…and ashamed of how some of it had.

Irene became “Grandmother Life” to her followers. Some swore their fealty and promised to move close to her, to help keep her safe. Others built shrines to her picture and lit candles in her honor.

He explained that leaving them was intended to draw the danger away from Reggie and Irene.

“Okay…you’re leaving something out.” Curtis insisted, unable to stay quiet. “Cuz…if you can’t trust me…how can I help you?”

James inhaled deeply through his nose and looked at Melanie. A quizzical look crossed her face.

“I didn’t tell you because…” he started to explain to her, “hell…I don’t know why I didn’t tell you, but…remember the night I went for a drive?” Melanie nodded. “…and do you recall the fatal car crash that was reported the next day?” Again, she nodded, “I did that. It was that guy in black. The one who killed Ronald. I couldn’t let him get to Irene. I lured him into a car chase and ran him off the road.” He admitted in a low voice.

“Holy s**t, Cuz! You did WHAT?” Sharon reached and grabbed Curtis’ hand to calm him, her face a puzzle of curiosity. “You better do some ‘splainin’ there, Lucy!” He nearly growled, leaning forward. “Cousin or not, I can’t be harboring a fugitive. That could cost me.” His licenses coming to mind…as well as a conviction.

“No…no, I’m not a fugitive…at least not from the law.” He defended.

“Cuz…yer gonna have to quit being so damn cryptic about this. I’m not very patient with bein’ run-around.”

James took a long drink of beer and began to explain that the man he killed was the same man in black who had murdered the scientist and threatened Melanie. He explained that on the night of the crash, the man in black had chased him, and after a couple failed attempts to run James off the road, the smaller, more agile sports car executed a bootlegger’s turn and faced directly toward the oncoming SUV, forcing it swerve and plummet over the boulder-strewn cliff, crashing in a Hollywood-grade fireball. It appeared to be an accident…at least to local law enforcement. But it meant he and Melanie…and the O’Connors were safe…for the time being.

He omitted the “premeditated” part where he had searched local maps for the perfect road with the perfect curve to lure his nemesis to his death. They didn’t need to know that.

“They don’t know anything about you…yet.” James said to Curtis. “But they will soon, then you and Sharon will become targets.” He lamented. After another pause, he added “It was wrong to come here and involve you. I should head to Mexico …or somewhere else.”

“Yea…that’s it.” Curtis tossed out sarcastically. “Go to a country where you don’t know anybody an’ ya got no protection of any kind. How much dinero ya got? Speak Spanish? Didn’t think so. Brilliant plan. That oughta keep ya safe for…what…a week, maybe two?”

After a pregnant pause, he continued “Cuz…ya did what ya had to do. I get it. I probably would have just shot the bastard, but your way worked better. I admire your skills.” He offered sardonically, “But you need to stay right where you are…and here’s why…we’re family…period.”

“But what happens when they find me…us? You and Sharon could be in danger.”

“Bubba…” he started, “If they find you…they find me. They find me…their mommas should be worried about them.”

“Curtis, I know you were a S.E.A.L. …and a real badass, but these people have resources. Dangerous ones.”

“So…who do you think they employ? People like me, Cuz. Ol’ war dogs who don’t do it for Uncle Sam, anymore.” Curtis explained. “But not all of us w***e ourselves out to Big Money. Some of us really do give a s**t. We’re keeping an eye out for that “domestic enemy” we swore to protect the People and the Constitution…even from the government.”

“It may interest you to know,” he started cautiously, casting a knowing glance at Sharon…who nodded in return, “that I’m part of a handful of combat vets who stand ready, willing and able to keep that oath. We never foreswore it, and we still mean every word of it. I’ll tell ya more later, but you can believe we’re serious.”

“Isn’t that a…” James started, a little stunned by the revelation. This was the last thing he expected. A place to lay low for a while, sure…but a militia? He didn’t want to start a war, he just wanted to survive.

“A militia?” Curtis intoned, “Yes, it is. We’re a little one, mostly local. Twelve, so far…and yes, we’ve heard the Dirty Dozen jokes. We’re a “Constitutional” militia, not a bunch of beer-swilling hillbillies with 11 camo gear, a pickup and some guns. We are all former military and law enforcement veterans who don’t have a warm, fuzzy feeling about the way things are going, these days.”

“Remember when my ol’ man moved to Texas to work the oil fields?” James nodded, remembering the pain of losing his best friend. “I was just gettin’ into high school. That’s where I met Matt and Avery…you’ll meet ‘em, soon. We got to be real tight buddies. Hell raisin’, girl chasin’ an’ hot roddin’.”

“Anyway, after 9-11, we all joined the Marines together. Big mistake…goin’ in together.” He groaned, “Once the Gunny figured out that we were home boys, he wore us out every chance he got. Never broke us, though.” He grinned. “After basic, we went our separate ways. I went into S.E.A.L training, Matt went into Force Recon and Avery went into Military Police. We bumped into each other a few times in the ‘Stan and in the Sandbox...um, Iraq. I even went on a couple raids with Matt’s unit and was attached to Avery’s unit once, when they went into a hostile village. War makes for a small world.”

“After we became civies again, none of us felt that our service was over. We had seen, firsthand…what insidious control of people’s lives by just a few can do. When a small group of jealous narcissists hold all the power. The people suffer, liberty dies, and law becomes meaningless.”

His words had a rare, sincere virtue.

“This miracle cure you’re talkin’ about is the very kind of thing that would give the wrong people even more obscene influence over the people…over our lives.” Curtis finished, rather eloquently.

“So basically, if you believe in Providence…the good Lord was lookin’ out for ya. You picked the right folks to turn to.” he reassured. “Hearin’ what you’ve been through…and what you have become…” he said cautiously, eyeing his wife, “I can sure see the threat, if these bastards get their hands on this stuff…or on you.”

“I have no doubts that they will quash it and hide it away for future profits. They’ll need to eliminate you…and anybody else that tries to stop them…or knows anything about it.” He finished ominously.

He sat swirling the remaining beer in his bottle, concentrating, but not focusing…then suddenly sat upright.

Turning to Sharon, he announced “Darlin’, I gotta call the boys. This is some serious s**t. I’ll be back after a while.” He said, standing up and chugging his beer down. Giving a mighty belch, he kissed Sharon on the cheek. She playfully elbowed him in feigned disgust. Her adoring eyes followed him out the door.

“So…y’all hungry?” She piped cheerfully.