By David C. Daoust
Nonsense– Old Charles Haul Senior knew it was expected of him, well most the time he knew it was expected of him. So, when the chance arose… why not give it to them?
That old memory about his jacket sprang to mind because it was one of the first times he got caught standing around with something that wasn’t his. One of the first times he had to run his mouth to talk himself out of trouble, and when he was a young man, nonsense didn’t cut it. He’d managed to side step the strange man’s query in that past incident by sending his future-wife in to make sure the club’s backdoor was wide open when he found an excuse to leave the man in the lurch. The idea being, if he got stopped on the way in, he could just explain that he wanted to clear up the confusion with his girl… he had that lie locked and loaded– felt good to finally use it.
It was a familiar feeling— standing around with something that wasn’t his. Just like moments before, when the sheriff showed up while Grandpa Haul was lugging around a plasma cutter, which clearly didn’t belong to him.
The feeling was the same. Feelings tend to bring him back into old memories. He couldn’t really say that his mind hadn’t slipped back to that time while he was telling the story, but he had a firm grip on what was going down now.
And what was going down, now, was that the sheriff was likely to haul him into custody, til he could find someone responsible for him.
The people of Grady were weird like that; Nursing Homes and jibber-jabby, nothing Grandpa Haul was interested in. If Grady had their way, they’d lock anyone with silver hair in that ‘Bram Family Nursing Home’… Nothing the First Wave was interested in neither.
Luckily, his grandson appeared in the distance, just as the tall Sheriff seemed about ready to take him in.
“Oh, here’s my grandson now… Charles the First,” he declared with a proud grin as the boy approached, “He’ll probably know where my girl is.”
Grandpa Haul let the oversized tool down off his shoulder, somewhat miffed that he’d lost the hovering contraption that stole Ratchet’s thoughts. The truth was, he had that plasma cutter in his possession to cut that ‘brain-stealer’ device apart, thereby destroying any record of his grandson’s stolen mind.
Unfortunately, some sort of fiery little bot-thing rode off on it. Life was weird sometimes, Charles was old enough to know.
Grandpa Haul had the sense not to inform Grady’s Sheriff of this intention.
“Mr. Haul?” the Sheriff asked as he recognized the teen, “This is your grandfather?”
“Yeah,” the young Charles Haul answered, somewhat uncomfortably as he shoved his still bruised fists in his pockets, “I was just coming to check on him…”
“Well, any idea what he was doing with a plasma cutter?”
“Oh, your guess is as good as mine…” the boy lied smoothly, then added in a hushed tone, a hushed tone that Grandpa Haul had no problem hearing, nor delighting in, “his minds not quite what it was… there’s a chance he thought he was working on any number of projects of his past… best to just let it pass.”
The Sheriff took this information in with a nod, gave the old man a compassionate look, and seemed about to do just that… if it wasn’t for the sudden rumbling roar in the distance.
Grandpa Haul knew the sound of a Sand Crawler, and this one’s engine was blasting recklessly. The three of them all turned to find the very top of the massive vehicle, over the piled debris that surrounded them, as it tore through the rubble….
“That’s the Blue’s Crawler…” his grandson said aloud, “Ratchet’s in there!”
Grandpa Haul knew the rest of the First Wave vehicles were out in the desert for a little pow-wow. He also knew Mrs. Blue was with them… the only thing that went through his mind; his gut… was that little fiery guy!
“The Brain Stealer!” Grandpa haul announced, following his instincts, “We gotta get that little bugger!”
“The what now?” the Sheriff asked clearly taken aback by the suddenly roaring Sand Crawler as it tore into the desert, “Ratchet Haul’s on that vehicle?”
“Yeah,” the two Charles Haul’s said in unison.
“He should not be leaving the town limits…” the sheriff informed grimly.
“Well, I mean,” Charles the First suddenly stuttered the start of a major backtrack…
“Not by his own will!” Grandpa Haul was excited, and thinking fast, “We got to chase’em down, Sheriff! My grandson could be in danger! Got a vehicle around here?”
“Yes, follow me!” the sheriff said as he led the way through the rubble.
Snatching back up the massive plasma cutter, the old man followed behind.
Grandpa Haul was back on the hunt—the Brain Stealer was going down!
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