Free EnEmE: Fall Of Man by R.G. Beckwith

the man’s last name. Banyan, like Jace’s and my dead friend.
     
    “Ooookay…” said Freeman.
     
    “So, is this all of the resistance?” Banyan asked.
     
    “No,” I replied. “There are more people…coming.”
     
    “ That’s . . WHORE . .  good ta hear!” Banyan responded.
     
    Freeman and I looked at each other. Before I could think of a polite way to ask, Freeman just came out with it.
     
    “What’s with all the swearing, buddy?” asked Freeman. “One of those drones knock a screw loose or somethin’?”
     
    “Ah, shite, don’t mind the cursing, I don’t even . . . ARSEHOLE . . . realize I do it half the time anymore,” said Banyan. “I’ve got a case of the Tourettes or as me mah called it the Shite Head.”
     
     
    Assuming that he had had another outburst from his disease I politely asked, “What head?”
     
    “Shite Head.” Banyan responded nonchalantly. “That wasn’t Tourettes; me mah was a real bitch.”
     
                  “PIG’S ARSE” Banyan shouted as we walked towards the sliding doors of the hospital. “Ah, but me uncle, he’s a right good fella. He’s the reason I came over ta America in the first place. He’s always been there to help me no matter which windin’ path I took in this journey called . . . BALLS . . . life.”
     
    I could tell despite the vulgarity coming from Banyan that his feelings and care for his uncle were genuine. I dreaded telling him that his uncle was dead.
     
    “I was named after me uncle, ya know?” said Banyann. “Ah, but that was before me mah knew about me old cracked noodle. If it hadn’t been for me Uncle Jessie, she probably woulda left me in the outback long ago and claimed her crazy son had just gone walkabout.”
     
    “It’s a shame that some people can’t see the value in those who have a mental disability,” I offered, attempting to comfort the man.
     
    “Mental disability? Don’t go lumpin’ me in with the rest ah those retads. . . PISS CHRIST!” The younger Banyan replied. “I just curse a bit. No worse than any LAME DILL sailor!”
     
    Freeman couldn’t help but laugh. Banyan and I looked at each other and chuckled, too.
     
    “Anyway, me uncle’s a hotshot surgeon in this here hospital, and I thought if anyone’s gonna be able to help me survive all this craziness, it’s him,” said Banyan. “Plus he can get me more of me medy’s, to help control me outbursts.”
     
    The hospital doors slid open with a quiet “whoosh” as we entered a very empty, very silent corridor.
     
    Only a few yards into the hallway, we couldn’t do anything but watch as a squadron of five host soldiers quickly rounded a corner in the distance, turning directly at us.
     
    “Halt!” one of them shouted, bringing the squad to a stop, weapons drawn.
     
    Freeman answered with a volley of gunfire that left two of the host soldiers dead or injured. The rest opened fire. Freeman did a combat roll into an adjoining corridor on the left while Banyan and I scrambled for cover into the one on the right.
     
    Gunfire erupted all around us. Energy balls exploded the plaster in the walls above us, showering us in a white powder.
     
    “BLOODY SHITE!” Banyan yelled, barely audible over the sounds of chaos.
     
    Freeman continued to return fire and I pulled out a micro-Uzi. I turned to look back at Banyan as we lay on the corridor floor. His previous good nature was gone, his face was filled with fear. Sweat ran down his forehead and his breathing had become incredibly fast.
     
    “I need you to calm down and take this,” I said, holding out the gun. “If we don’t kill them, they will kill us. I’ve seen enough so far that I have no doubt.”
     
    He took it from my hand reluctantly, refusing to grip his fingers around the handle.
     
    “Ah geez, fuck.” said Banyan. “I don’t know. Guns ain’t me style, ya know. Me unc was always a pacifist and he always taught me that there was a better way. Ya know?