If you would let me hold your hand, I promise not to let you fall. I'll do my best to understand, I'll be the pillow where you land. If you let me into your heart, I will always answer your call. If I see it begin to part, I'll glue it back before it starts. If you reveal to me your mind, I will wander its many halls. I can get lost in your designs. I can learn your ways over time.
The Unseen
‘A Pile of Dead Rats and the Human Mousetrap’
One, two, one, two, one, two…!
“How long have I been here?” My thoughts wander for a moment. No. Don’t break the flow. I need to keep moving: if I stand still, they will surround me.
Footsteps closing in behind me now. One pair is near, the others lag behind by more than a few seconds – that’s long enough. Adrenaline seems to bind the hands of time as I drop my shoulder and tuck into a low roll. My pursuer can’t slam the brakes on in time. He tries to skip a step and to hop over me. When he does, my knife lashes out like a whip and I can feel its razor edge tear through his groin from below. A startled yelp preludes a crash followed by horrible wailing.
I’m already up and running again before I can check my handiwork. Barely lost a step against my other pursuers, from the sound of it. They’re still after me though. The Covetous. Fortunately for me, this museum is massive and full of dark corners, catwalks, and balconies. If not for that, I might be dead already.
“One less rat!” I look over my shoulder as I shout back to my pursuers. When I do, I see one of them plant his feet and raise his pipe shotgun. Shit. I swerve suddenly and not a second later I hear the crack of a lead slug rip the air where my head had just been. Time to disappear again.
“Get out of the fuckin’ way!” I can hear him berating his comrades so that he can get a clear shot. No, I don’t think so. I round a corner suddenly to break his line of sight. There are walkways above that are still adorned with ancient, rotting cloth tapestries. Excellent interior decoration idea. I jump, kick my way up the wall to the tapestry and grab it. It barely supports my weight as I use it to quickly scale the wall and ascend to the second level.
Crack! Just as I clear the railing and disappear from sight, another slug flies by me and ricochets off of the stone wall.
“Who taught you rats how to shoot?” My voice drifts down towards them, accompanied by my mocking laughter. I need that one dead. His shotgun is dangerous, even if it is just a steel pipe rigged up to a piece of wood and a few scrap bits. Crouched low and out of sight now, I quickly make my way across the walkway and create some more distance between myself and my pursuers.
“Split up and find that fucker!” I recognize the man with the shotgun’s voice again. He’s the leader. That means he’s probably the only one with a gun, too. Well, you know what they say… strike the shepherd and the sheep will scatter. I force myself to take deep, full breaths and slow down my heart’s thunderous percussion.
“How long until you slip up, Trent?” I feel the hair on my forearms quiver with goosebumps as the voice inside my head takes this break in the action as an opportunity to taunt me. The shadows dance across the ground in front of me again. I look up and see a ceiling above me. Great. I vigorously shake my head to dispel the specter. Focus! You need to survive this. You have to see Seles again.
“It’s not time for me to die yet.” I murmur. Just like that, the doubt and hesitation fade away like a morning mist melting in a midday sun. My vision sharpens. My knuckles crack as I try to crush the steel handle of my hunting knife in my palm. I can feel the electricity starting to crackle and course through me now. That’s right. It’s not time for me to die just yet, not without speaking to her one more time.
Back to business. The man with the shotgun is, predictably, surrounding himself with cannon fodder now. I don’t need to peek over the balcony to know what they’re doing because I can hear the pairs of cautious footsteps beneath me.
“That’s right. Two at a time so your buddy can watch your back for the boogeyman…” I think to myself as I smirk. Predictable behavior. I continue to crouch in a dark corner on the second floor, listening, waiting for them to spread out more. After all, I’ll take the odds when it’s only two against one. Looking up, something interesting catches my eye; all along the second floor, between the balconies, there are steel cables. Some of them still suspend strange, foreign objects and structures in the air above my pursuers on the first floor. That could be helpful.
I continue to work my way along the walkway, staying low and out of sight. My pursuers have spread out now, but I’ve lost track of where the leader is. Another quick scan of my surroundings reveals a nearby staircase. More cautious footsteps now, echoing up the corridor. My lips part slightly and I force myself to keep breathing deep even as the adrenaline continues to flood my system.
The first pursuer steps up onto the landing. Silence. He doesn’t see me crouching behind the pillar adjacent to the landing. The trudge of quiet footsteps continues as he begins moving in the opposite direction from my hiding place. I hear the second set of footsteps clear the landing and continue off in the same direction.
One, two, three, one, two, three…
Heel to toe, heel to toe, gradually rolling my weight across my foot with each step to remain quiet as I creep up behind the two. They’re close now. Crack. I inadvertently step on a piece of broken glass.The man in back snaps around and turns to face me. Too slow: I’ve already blasted my knife through his oily, black beard and into his throat. His eyes bulge in shock and horror as I raise my knee and snap my leg into a front kick. The weight behind my boot is enough to send him staggering backwards into his confused partner. I’m already following up, charging at the tangled duo.
The survivor stumbles forward as his partner slides off of him and tumbles to the ground, clutching at the hole in his windpipe. The one still standing turns towards me and swings with a steel pipe as he does so; I lean back just far enough to avoid it and I can feel his swing push the air past my nose. As he recovers, I rip one of my knives across the back of his arm, tearing through the muscles. He howls and tries to swing with his free hand. I raise my left hand to block the haymaker, step inside to reduce its power, and drive my knife through his solar plexus with my full weight behind it. He gasps as I wrench the knife free and then he doubles over. I grab him by his mop of unruly blonde hair to hold his head down with one hand. A quick flourish to re-grip and now I’ve slammed my knife down into the back of his neck, through his spine.
“Two more dead rats…” I call out in a mocking, sing-song voice as I skip over to the one that I stabbed in the throat and finish him with a brutal round kick that connects squarely with the tip of his chin. Crack. Silence again. Knowing damn well not to stick around in the same spot, I duck around another corner and distance myself from the scene. How many have I killed already? I can’t remember. I had more important things to think about anyways, like how to kill the rest of them. How many are left? I steal a glance at my wristwatch next – and then I realize I do not have much longer to play around here. Shit. Focus. Don’t break the flow.
“He’s over there!” I hear a distant voice call out. I turn my head and see the man with the shotgun clear the landing of the second set of stairs. He levels the shotgun in my direction and I don’t think, I just react, planting one foot on the railing and launching myself off of it towards one of the artifacts suspended by steel cables: an ancient airplane, something Moria had often spoke of. Crack. Another slug rips the air where I’d just been standing a second ago. Thud. I land squarely on the center of the plane’s wings and throw my hands out into the air to steady myself as it sways under the impact. The steel cables supporting the sculpture groan but I ignore it as I make my way across it with quick, careful steps.
“Don’t let that fucker get away!” I can hear the leader’s voice getting louder now. He’s trying to get a better shot. I look down below me for a second. Three have gathered below me, looking up at my perch like hungry sharks eyeing a fresh slaughter. I’m already two steps ahead of them though. I take a deep breath and harness the lightning coursing through my veins. My right eye begins to crackle and itch as I drop into a crouch, my legs coiling like powerful springs ready to explode. A burning blue silhouette encapsulates the man with the shotgun as he raises it towards me in slow motion.
Nothing escapes my eye now. I can see the electrical impulse travel from his brain down to his trigger finger. Right before it reaches its destination, I explode up and off of the suspended airplane and into a soaring backflip. He fires and his slug ends up blasting off the tip of the airplane’s wing, where one of the steel cables had been attached. A deafening groan fills the museum hall as the old airplane, no longer balanced, careens sideways, straining the remaining connections. Pop. Another connection point comes loose, followed by another, and then the entire plane ends up slamming to the ground with a deafening crash. I hear a pair of startled screams as at least one of the men are crushed beneath the massive artifact. The impact of the plane slamming against the ground kicks up all of the dust and soot that had gathered in the museum over time and fills the hall with a cloud of dirt and deafening reverberations.
My poncho flutters around me as I complete my flip and begin to fall towards the ground. I twist my torso, reaching back with my hand to grab onto another one of the rotting cloth tapestries hanging from the balcony. My fingers close around the fabric and I squeeze, trying to break my fall. The cloth begins to tear almost immediately, but it’s still enough to slow my fall to a manageable pace. As I approach the ground, I stomp my feet to absorb the impact and allow the momentum to carry me forward into another roll. Now I find myself on the first floor once more, concealed within the cloud of dust that the impromptu plane crash had kicked up.
No time to spare. I start to make my way towards the stairs, before I can do so, a hand grabs my shoulder and spins me around. Thud. A fist slams into my jaw, but I turn my chin with it to break the impact. My head snaps back and I can feel the fury in my eyes. He goes to swing again, but I grab the inside of his bicep to stop the swing, gripping his jacket sleeve like my dirt bike’s clutch. Taking his trapped arm with me, I pivot to the side and drop to my knees, pulling him over the top of me and throwing him through the air head over heels. His back slaps against the tiled floor and as soon as it does, my other hand is ready to plunge my knife into his eye socket. Another dead rat. I slink away into the shadows once more before his comrades can spot me.
The dust from the crash settles, the reverberations echo away, and silence returns to the museum. My right eye is still itching, crackling with electricity, and a quick scan reveals two fading silhouettes beneath the crashed plane. Two more dead rats. There can’t be that many left. I had counted maybe a dozen at the start. I look down at my wristwatch again and see that the timer I set continuing to tick down, unabated. Two of the electric blue silhouettes peer cautiously over the railing and down at the crashed plane. I don’t see any others remaining. Time to finish this.
One, two, three… one, two, three…
I slip through the first floor of the museum without making a sound and then I swiftly ascend the staircase. The hair on the back of my neck is standing at attention now – that means the storm is going to be here soon. I have to finish this and get out of here. My remaining pursuers are scared now; I can tell because they are sticking to each other like glue, moving very slowly, constantly glancing around. Pressing my back to the wall still, I pause to think how I can separate them, or at least close the distance and kill the leader before he can blast me with his shotgun.
Then it dawns on me. I clear my throat.
“He’s over here!” I call from the stairwell, cupping my hands over my mouth to try and disguise my voice. It seems to work. I can hear the footsteps coming towards me now. Closer still. Three seconds, two seconds…
“I don’t see—” The first man who rounds the corner starts to respond, but he’s suddenly interrupted as my bayonet pierces the soft flesh beneath his jaw and drives upwards into the roof of his mouth. He looks at me with big, bulging eyes, like a minnow on a fishhook. I’m not done with him though. Using my knife to control his head, I turn him and put him between me and the leader. BOOM! The crude, improvised shotgun’s rapport is deafening as it is fired at point blank range. The slug thuds into a scrap armor backplate, pierces it, and burrows through the man’s chest before it is stopped by his chest plate. I’m already pumping my legs to drive him forward, towards the man with the shotgun. One step, two steps, and then on the third, I shove my human shield into the leader.
“Motherfucker!” He screams at me in rage, realizing he’s just killed one of his own men. He bodies the wounded man away to get a clear shot on me. Click goes the breach of the shotgun as it opens and he hastily stuffs another shell inside the barrel. As he snaps the breach shut and raises the shotgun to fire, the tip of my boot finds the bottom of the barrel as I bend backwards and kick it out of his grip. The shotgun sails high overhead, spinning circles in the air. In one practiced movement, I draw one of my other knives with my left hand and tear it across his throat before he can react. Hot blood sprays my face and I squint to see. The shotgun gradually descends and lands in my waiting right hand.
“You lose, pig.” I smirk before I pull the trigger on the shotgun. The slug takes the man’s head clean off of his shoulders from this range and a geyser of crimson erupts from his torn neck. Strangely, he manages to stand on his feet for a few more seconds before he drops to his knees, then slumps over backwards. An awkward looking corpse, to be sure. I wipe the blood off of my face with my poncho and collect my knife. Deep breaths, Trent. Deep breaths. You did it. My shoulders slump as the collective exhaustion from this encounter hits me all at once.
I begin to make my way towards the exit now. As I do, something interesting catches my eye. A porcelain figurine of sorts, life-sized, illuminated by a single ray of sunlight beaming through the window above. The statue is wearing a long coat of sorts, very heavy and made out of thick leather. I can tell that this coat is much older than I am, but it seems to be in good condition. More interesting than that is the short blade belted to the statue’s side. I grasp the handle and draw the blade. My ears are quick to appreciate the bell-like chime the blade makes as it is removed from its sheath. I look it over for a minute – the blade looks to be about twenty inches long, much longer than any of my knives, but still manageable. I swipe the blade through the air a few times to test it. I like this.
A few minutes later, I am back on my dirt bike and speeding through the city streets, careful to swerve around the many breaks and obstructions littering the old roads. My leather duster flaps behind me as my new blade rests in its sheath by my side. I glance over my shoulder and see the telltale indigo hue of my lonesome only friend gradually growing more and more distant. I’ll need to take a bit of a roundabout route to get to my next stop, and so I rip the accelerator and speed off towards the setting sun.
A PILE OF DEAD RATS AND THE HUMAN MOUSETRAP
Written by Jungle.
© 2021, all rights reserved.
‘A Home With Only Windows’
I ride. I ride until I can’t feel my tender toes hidden inside my beaten boots – they’re doing little to ward against the unwavering winds whipping my hair around my face. I ride until the huge shock of adrenaline gradually erodes away, like some imaginary cadaver dragged behind me by a sturdy length of chain, grating against the dirt, the rocks, and the broken patches of pavement here and there. I rode until I could see shocks of sunlight streak across the sky, radiating from a single focal point behind distant peaks. I ride until I see the dawn sun crest the horizon and with it, bring a new day with new challenges.
My ride ends in a dim alleyway that the sun’s rays have not yet reached. I remove the key from the dirt bike’s ignition and proceed to open the door to the adjacent garage. While the bay doors to the garage are, certainly, locked shut from the outside, the side door here was left open. Fortunate for me, this bike will walk its way inside without a problem where nobody will be the wiser to it.
Yes, this will do. I tip the bike over onto its side, gently, and pull a dusty blue tarp up and over the bike, then scatter a few empty cans of paint and some other garbage around to make it look natural. Perfect. Nobody will see it. This is just another bombed out building on the outskirts of just another ruined city. Not atypical for this world we live in.
Satisfied, I leave the building and shut the door behind me. I’m too tired to trot after riding for hours and so my tempo is not quite as lively as it normally is, but it is still spritely enough. After all, I know what is waiting for me – a clean, made bed to fall asleep on. I glance over my shoulder for a moment. Sure, I can still see the indigo thunderheads, but they’re now distant and hardly threatening. I’ll be able to get real sleep tonight. Finally. All the murder was worth it.
After a quick stroll, I arrive at an old apartment building a couple blocks away. I do not see or hear a single creature on my way there – and this is not unusual. Not here, close to my home, that is. I do not bother to walk to the front door of the four-story building. After all, there is no real way up to the top floor anymore. I’ve trapped the first two floors of the building and destroyed the stairwells. You aren’t getting up there unless you know the right way to approach it. Well, that or you’re impervious to tripwire shotgun traps.
Fortunately, I know the right way to approach it. After all, this is my home. I continue walking past the front entrance and around the outside, towards the adjacent brick building. Turning on my heel and rounding the corner, I spot my objective: an old fire escape ladder with several missing rungs. No problem. I simply muscle my way up past the missing rungs, as I’m accustomed to. I’m wearing gloves and so I don’t have to worry about the rusty iron too much.
Before long, I’m counting paces from the edge of the roof. One, two, three, four, five. Yes, that should be enough. I take a deep breath, steel myself, and spring forward to cross the distance in five bounds. After the fifth bound, I hurl myself across the chasm between the two buildings. I let momentum and gravity carry me into a graceful front roll as I pass through the open fourth floor window and land in my home, an old apartment that I’d appropriated and blockaded off.
Dark and sparse, just as it should be to avoid attracting any unwanted attention. Nothing unusual here. Nothing worth checking out. I glance over at the cupboards briefly, thinking to eat, but my bed looks too attractive at this point. I saunter over, spin on my heel once more, and allow myself to sink into the bed. I don’t even bother to burrow under the covers, but I manage to toe off my boots and kick them onto the ground.
Sleep comes for me now and with what to follow in its wake?
A HOME WITH ONLY WINDOWS
Written by Jungle.
© 2021, all rights reserved.
‘The Wolf Mother, a Floating Forest, and Many Ways to Murder’
I can see the sun peeking over the eastern horizon. I can smell soil and grass just a few inches below my nose. Marty lies at my side covered in olive drab from head to toe. We raise our heads high enough only to see what’s ahead: barren, empty flatlands surrounding a mossy green cityscape. The Ivy City.
“Farmlands?” I ask.
“Likely. No crops though.” Marty replies and shifts his weight to one side.
“Abandoned?” I return.
“I don’t think so. Look.” Marty nods. I look in the same direction and spot something out in the distance. Barely visible. The benefits of experience are one reason I picked Marty as my bodyguard for this mission.
“Is it a person?” I study the shape. It could be.
“They haven’t moved.” Marty’s response is quick.
“A scarecrow?” Marty responds to my question by reaching into his kit bag and retrieving a set of binoculars. He raises them up to his eyes and scans for the scarecrow, centers, then makes some minor adjustments. I see him freeze up.
“Take a close look, Cliff.” Marty pauses before responding and then he hands me his binoculars. I prop myself up on my elbows a bit higher and raise the binos up to my face. I start scanning. I stop on the silhouette. I zoom in further and then my jaw goes slack. It’s no scarecrow. No, it’s a cruel warning: a human corpse, well past rotting and decayed, impaled from one end to the other on a large wooden stake jutting up from the earth. Not just one, either.
“They aren’t scarecrows. They’re markers. Territory markers.” Marty’s voice is low and ominous at first, but then it gets quieted by my own thinking. What about Robb? Robb is why we came out here in the first place. I zoom out and start scanning from left to right with the binoculars. The binoculars come to focus on another cadaver. I scan the corpse for any clues, any hints that might indicate that this one had once been my brother, Robb.
“That’s their way of saying… this is… ” Marty’s talking to me again, but I can barely hear him over the sound of my own thoughts. I’m still scanning the fields, checking each corpse. Is this one Robb? No. What about this one? Wait a second.
Marty stops talking. I can feel his hand on my shoulder for a second, then I feel nothing. Big, heavy breaths now. The sound of my heartbeat fills my ears. Tears well up in my eyes but I can still see through the binoculars. Is that him? He’s not facing me. Those are his clothes. Is that him? I can’t tell. I have to get closer. As I start to stand, I let my hand fall to my side, then I drop the binoculars in the grass. Marty hisses at me like a snake. It doesn’t matter. I have to see. Is that him? Is that my brother?
I stumble out into the field and start to run. My legs start to pump. The figure looms larger. Then it hits me, like someone light a fire inside my chest. Something ripped through me. White hot pain. I can’t feel my legs now. What was it? I look down at my chest: blood, bright red, spurting out from a fresh wound. A flash of recognition: I’ve been shot. I’ve been shot! Am I starting to fall? Yes, I’m falling backwards now. I hit the ground hard but there is no more air for the earth to slap out of my lungs. My chest is warm. That’s all I can feel now. Laying on my back, I watch a hungry blue sky devour the world until there is nothing left. I have to get up, I have to know. I have to…
We should have approached when it was dark. That’s what I kept telling myself. We should have approached when it was dark. I should have left Cliff at home. I should have known what we’d find and that he wouldn’t be able to handle it. Mistakes were made. I’m still alive though. I want that rifle, too, and I’d be happy to cut that asshole’s throat in his sleep if that’s all it takes to get at it. He deserves it, anyways.
Patience is a virtue though. I look over to my side and make sure that my back-up, Kris, is managing to keep up with me in the dark. He’s one of the older survivors, like me, but he’s a little sloppy and kind of careless. He’s hard, though. Not like Cliff. Cliff and Robb were still green and the world has got no patience for that. Kris, on the other hand, was someone you could bring with you if you needed to cut somebody’s throat. I wince as he absent-mindedly kicks a large rock and it makes a loud thud.
“Low and slow.” I growl at him under my breath.
“This place is fucking creepy.” He hisses back at me in an angry whisper.
“You’re better off being scared than you are being dead.” I remind him with a sneer; those were Quade’s words coming out of my mouth. Kris snorts and we continued to work our way across the field, hunkered down low to the ground. The night sky is full of clouds and so there is hardly any moonlight to cast shadows around us. I think I can make out the shape of some of the scarecrows.
“I don’t remember that many…” I mumble to myself. There were more of them. More scarecrows. I try to focus so that I can concentrate on the task at hand. My mind wanders anyways. Is Cliff out here, watching me with pecked out eyes? Did he find his brother in death? I shake my head and snap myself out of the spiral. This is bad. Whoever this is – he likes to play games and he’s not alone.
“What’s wrong?” Kris must have noticed me tense up. He pauses for a second and I end up in the lead.
“There’s more bodies out here. It’s only been a few weeks.” I whisper back. Kris responds the way I want him to, by shutting his mouth and starting to get serious.
We continue to creep through the abandoned farmlands and before long, we are less than a stone’s throw from one of the totems. That’s when I start to notice it. The smell. The stench of death fills my nostrils, all lukewarm and noxious. I grimace and can’t help but be reminded of that time our generator malfunctioned and all the meat in our cooler spoiled. I shove that memory aside and we continue to creep towards the scarecrow. Something doesn’t add up. We’re not down wind. It’s only one cadaver. Why does it smell so bad?
“Damn! Do you smell that?” Kris raises his voice in disgust and it startles me, a bit, I turn to look back at him over my shoulder as I continue to creep forwards, across the field. I notice he’s fallen a few more steps behind me now. Maybe I was wrong and Kris is a coward.
“Smells like shi-IT!“ My voice spikes into a yelp as I place my foot down on something that is not solid earth. I feel myself falling forward and I hear the scraping of dirt and soil around me. Then it dawns on me: a trap. That’s when an army of wooden spikes and concrete rebar rush up to meet my flesh. At first: pain. Blisteringly hot pain. Pain-like-never-before pain. Overwhelming pain. I never hit the ground. I can’t breathe. I try not to move anything but my eyeballs and I look down to see that I’m impaled. I’m choking now, choking on the smell of shit. Unmistakable. I try to breathe in – sharp pain. My lungs won’t fill with air. I use my remaining breath to try and scream but it just dies in my chest. I try to flail but I can’t feel my arms or legs. My eyes continue to dart around: everything is dark now. Dark and quiet. I can feel my own blood starting to soak through my clothes. I can’t breathe. I try to twist and flail, but I just sink deeper onto the spikes. I’m getting numb. I can’t die here. Not here. Anywhere else but here, in this fucking ditch full of shit, please, I’m begging you, anywhere else but-
“Fuckin’ Marty, man!” I cry out a bit as I stub my toe on a big rock in the forest. Fuck! Why did I ever agree to go with Marty that night? I wish I had told him to go fuck himself instead!
“Watch it, Kris.” Logan grunts back at me. He’s still bent out of shape over Marty, I think. Bastard. Don’t blame me for Marty. I wasn’t going into that fucking pit to save him. He was dead. Period. Even if I got him out of that pit – it was filled with shit. Literally – it was filled with shit. There’s no way he would have fucking survived the infection so I put him out of his misery. I had to!
“Fuck off, man, bastard could have got me killed with his dumb ass idea.” I growl back at him.
“Yeah, well, Marty’s dead now.” Now Logan’s the one growling. I feel a little bit of the fear prickle up on the back of my neck.
“There was nothing I could have done for him. I told you. Drop it already.” I whisper back, trying to defuse Logan. I didn’t want to fight Logan tonight. Not here, in this creepy forest. Not now, in the dead of night. Logan doesn’t respond and so we continue to make our way through the forest without any further discussion. I glance off to the right and through the patchwork of trees I can see barely make out the field a ways off.
Quade was a clever guy. I mean, he must be, or else why would we all gather around and start following him? When I told the boss what happened, he showed me this spot here on an old map – big patch of green. I forgot what he called it – one of those long words he likes to use, anyway, Quade told us to try and approach through this forest at night instead of crossing the fields and so here we are, tripping our way through the forest in the dark. A branch cracks off a ways.
“You hear that?” It’s Logan again. He stopped moving, so I stop too. Then Vito stops.
“Probably nothing.” I whisper back.
“It didn’t sound like nothing.” Logan growls.
“Shh, listen guys.” Now it’s Vito’s turn to enter the conversation after remaining silent the entire trip. Vito puts his hand to his ear for a second.
“Damn, for a second I thought you forgot how to speak, Vito.” I quip. He shushes me and I can imagine him scowling at me in the dark.
“I’m not talking because I’m trying to listen, Kris.” First Logan, now Vito. Both of them are pissed off and growling at me in the dark now. Great. As I go to take another step forward, I miss the earth I expected to feel under my foot and freeze in sheer panic as my mind flashes to Marty’s final moments. Squish. My foot finds a mostly solid earth a moment after I expect it to, but it’s squishy. And it stinks.
“Shit again?” I ask with a sigh and pick my foot up. My glowstick casts a weak, faint red light over what looks to be a pretty fresh pile of shit. Damnit.
“Yeah, that’s a pile of shit. That means there are animals here, Kris. Now shut up.” Logan asserts his dominance as the point man now. Lead the way, prick. He starts walking forward again and so we follow a few paces behind. I wonder what kind of animals live in these woods? Judging by the size of that pile, it wasn’t a small animal. No, not a small animal. I gulp. Another branch cracks in the distance. This one sounded closer. I don’t realize it right away, but Vito froze when that branch cracked. Logan and I continue without him for a few paces. Logan notices first.
“What’s the problem, Vito?” Logan looks back and asks in a whisper.
“We’re being stalked.” Vito’s response sends shivers down my spine.
Now all three of us have stopped. Logan and I start to look around. I can hear my heart beating faster now. Vito was right; I spot a pair of yellow, feral eyes glinting in the darkness for a moment. The rustling of dead leaves and branches accompany little footfalls that seem to echo through the forest. We’re already surrounded.
“Just some fucking mutts…” I grunt. I hear Logan thumb the safety off of his rifle so I shoulder my shotgun now, scanning the darkness for another pair of eyes. The flashlight on Logan’s rifle starts cutting through the darkness around us. Before I can find a pair yellow eyes to blast with my shotgun, something sings through the air and harpoons my calf. I can feel my calf muscle start to curl in on itself and my knee buckles as I drop to the ground.
“AHHH MY FUCKING LEG! MY FUCKING LEG!” After a second or so, the realization hits me like a stone wall. I can’t help it. I scream. I scream to let out the pressure, to bleed away the pain, to get the adrenaline pumping. I struggle to stand but I can’t find any strength in my leg at all. Looking down, I can see why: a huge arrow has pierced my calf and pinned it to the ground. I lower my gun for a second so I can try to pull on the arrow and free myself.
That’s when a massive missile of fur, bone, muscle, and sinew tackles me to the ground. I can feel my neck in its jaws. Time seems to slow down as the jaws clamp down on my neck like a vice and the teeth rip through the tender meat there. The adrenaline is not enough to dull the sawing pain of its fangs ripping through my skin. I scream as loud as I can. As the dire wolf shakes the life out of me, my eyes barely register the other sets of teeth digging into me, the shadowy figures clumping up around me, or the terrible smacking sounds of Logan being eaten alive right beside me.
Then I hear my neck snap. What a fucking sound.. !
For the second time I find myself in this fucking forest. Yes, this forest right next to a fucking haunted sniper city. Yes, this forest where I saw Kris and Logan get eaten alive by a pack of fucking wolves. The forest of fucking death. You know, you hear about that sort of thing happening these days: someone wanders away from camp, they never turn up, maybe in a few days you find some of their clothes strewn about and you just figure eh, that’s nature. Seeing it with your own eyes is a different story though. I saw Kris and Logan get torn apart by huge timber wolves. I know I did.
I didn’t want to come back here. Quade insisted on it though. I knew what that meant. So, sure enough, here I am, sitting in the back seat of this pick-up truck as it rolls through the forest. Except it’s not really a pick-up truck anymore. It’s more of a tank or uh, what did Quade call it? Some fucking big word he probably made up. Anyway – we welded a bunch of thick iron plates to the truck to make it bulletproof. Yeah, it makes it harder to see out the front and drive around, but it’s better than getting shot dead. Should keep the critters away too.
More thoughts run through my head as we work our way through the forest, towards the Ivy City. Why am I still alive? That one stumps me. Other questions too – like why didn’t Kris just fucking shoot the bastards? I knew I shouldn’t have let him carry the shotgun. Fucking idiot froze and got himself and Logan killed. What a chickenshit. Oh well. At least I lived through some miracle. Pretty soon my pondering is interrupted as we approach the edge of the forest.
“Stay frosty. They got rifles. Real rifles. Traps, too. Try to stay on the concrete whenever you can.” I issue a warning to my crew. Quade sent me out with three real ones this time, all handpicked. Not only that, but he sent me out with one of his trucks, too. I could tell he really wanted some intel. He must have fancied that sniper rifle. I bet he wanted the guns that Logan, Kris, and Marty lost, too. Quade was always big on any ‘old world’ toys. There were probably more in this city. Might be a ticket to get into his good graces…
Soon we break the tree line and our truck lurches out into the open as it fails to find traction for a second. Four- wheel drive saves the day and we kick forward, churning through the dead grass and onto the cracked concrete. Massive, multi-story buildings loom up in front of us, all of them draped with different shades of green: dark green moss, pale green ivy, bright green vines. All of the buildings around us were made out of bricks and concrete, and everywhere there were bricks and concrete, there were green things growing over them.
“This place is crazy…” Mark is the next person to break the silence. I look over at him; he’s sitting in back with me, peering out the little peepholes in our makeshift armor, taking it all in. I look around the inside of the cab. Everyone else was on the same page as Mark.
“Guys! Look! Guys that’s a fucking tiger!” Suddenly the jeep swerves as Jomm swings the wheel to keep the feline in view. I don’t get to see it – the armor obstructs the view. A tiger? What the fuck is a tiger, anyways?
“What the fuck, Jomm, are you drunk or something?” I chide our driver, Jomm, for a second.
“I wish!” He shrugs and replies with a smile. I shake my head. The truck rounds a corner and we roll forward down one of the main roads that traversed the length of the city. That’s when we see it.
“Whoa!” Mark yelps and points straight ahead. I had to shake my head for a second. Didn’t we just leave the forest? Sure enough, it looked like a whole section of the city, seemingly centered around a massive, six story stone building, was now some kind of hybrid, a fusion of nature and old world architecture. Everywhere huge trees jut up from the breaks in the road, even through the buildings and out of the windows. The center building was even more unbelievable: the trees continued to grow up from the roof. It was a forest, surely, but instead of growing out like most forests did, it grew upwards, somehow aided by this massive stone structure.
“What the hell is that?” I think out loud.
“It’s like a forest growing out of a castle.” I lean forward so I can hear Phil, who is riding shotgun; his voice is hardly louder than a whisper. He’s awestruck by what he sees. We all are. We’ve never seen anything like this forgotten city. That said, we’re the only people besides Quade to ever set foot inside the limits and tell anyone about it.
“I thought it was a flying forest at first.” Jomm confesses. I make a mental note never to let Jomm drive me anywhere ever again.
“It’s not natural. Not natural at all.” Phil continues in his awestruck whisper. He has a point, too. It’s not natural… but was it made by humans? I notice the truck start to pick up speed now.
“I want to take a look. What if there is food growing inside?” Jomm says, leaning over the steering wheel and peering through the slats in the armor. Greedy fuck. Before I can get a word in, Mark speaks up.
“Maybe it’s a grow house.” He speculates. I look at Mark for a second and I end up considering his theory. Maybe it is a grow house? It wouldn’t hurt to drive closer. Quade wants intel, after all. A large sign catches my eye as we approach it: garage. Jackpot. Garages are full of old cars, most likely in disrepair. I took a mental note here; even if they were scrap, they might have parts we could use to fix other, working vehicle.
“Slow down!” I order Jomm and he obeys. We resume our leisurely crawl as we approach the garage. I lean over Mark and peer through the window, trying to look inside and get a sense of how many cars were in there.
“I said slow do-“ I start to bark another command and then the glass windshield and windows all explode around us as a massive shockwave bores into my gut before dissipating into the seat behind me. Time crawls by for a second. Two seconds. I manage to look up – a huge chunk of concrete as wide as the truck has collapsed the hood of the truck. Steam billows up from the hissing front-end of the truck. Jomm is slumped against the bloodied driver’s wheel while Phil screams and claws at his eyes and face.
A second chunk of concrete caves the front half of the roof in. Phil’s screams are silenced as both he and Jomm are completely crushed under the massive weight of the concrete. Instincts take over now. I rip the handle and hurl myself against door, bursting out of the car. As I find my feet and start to stand and run, a third concrete block crashes down where Mark and I were just sitting. No need to look back; the truck is wrecked. I start to wheel as I pick up speed, quickly accelerating to full sprint, orienting myself back towards the way we came from. As I look up, I see Mark is up ahead of me by more than a few paces. Shit! I struggle to keep up with him as we sprint down the street, away from the wreck. As I look down at the concrete to catch myself from tripping on any cracks or obstructions, I start to see them: shadows passing from one side of the road to the other. I look up and a massive shape blots out the sun behind it as it passes directly overhead.
“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” I turn and scream, trying to raise my rifle in time. Too slow; I feel a sudden, sharp pain in my chest, just below my sternum carried by a weighty impact that sends me flailing into the air. I gasp as the back of my head slaps the concrete and I see stars dancing in front of my eyes. I look up at the sky from my back and then I notice it: the massive wooden shaft of the spear that just fucking impaled me. I wretch and spit out some blood onto my chin and neck. Footsteps, now. I can’t breathe. I keep trying to, but my lungs won’t do anything. That’s when it appears: the monster. I continue to gasp and suffocate.
“Do you know why we keep one alive?” It speaks. It’s speaking to me. I try to focus my eyes even as I feel myself fading away. The beast stands impossibly tall over me. Is it human? It looks more like a wolf than a human. My eyes start to close before I can get a good look, but what the hell do I have to lose? I force them back open and try to look it into the eye instead. Two eyes stare back at me. One is bright yellow. One is dark blue. I’m staring at a human face. My jaw goes slack. It’s not a monster. It’s a woman.
“To tell our story.” These are the last words I hear before her heel comes crashing down on my skull.
“And how did you survive, Mark?”
I look up from my lap and across the table. Quade is sitting across from me and as soon as I make eye contact with him, I regret it. His eyes are dark charcoal, almost obsidian, and his pale white skin makes them even more apparent. I look down at my lap again.
“I ran. I ran as fast as I fucking could. That thing wasn’t a human or an animal.” I responded, choosing my words carefully. Silence fills the room for a moment, but it’s broken when some of the officers sitting behind me begin to chuckle and jest in amusement.
“Then what was it?” Quade says as he gestures for silence from the officers. The sound of wood scraping on wood creeks through the room as he pushes his chair back and stands up. I swallow hard.
“A monster.” I manage to croak. Silence, again. I allow myself a little bit of optimism: it seems like Quade is taking my story seriously. Who gives a damn what the others think, it’s Quade that runs the show; as long as Quade believes me, I’ll be alright. I’ll be alright.
“I see… a monster.” Quade picks up something off of a nearby shelf and begins to examine it. It looks like a small box, maybe a shoebox? I can’t really tell. I can’t see what’s inside it, either. As he stands there and peers into the little box, wearing his olive-green fatigues, the room stays silent.
“All of you are dismissed except for Mark. Mark, you have a seat.” Now I can feel the blood as it freezes solid in my veins. Oh no. I look down at the table in front of me as the officers file out, murmuring, and Quade continues to stand with his back towards me.
“Do you know what I think, Mark?” Quade speaks once the door shuts behind the last exiting officer. His voice grows softer; disarming, even. He begins to leisurely pace around the room. My eyes follow him nervously.
“What do you think, General Quade?” I respond. He suddenly turns towards me and makes eye contact with me again. His left eye bulges a bit as a grin sweeps across his face.
“Our enemies are not monsters. They are humans, like us, and our enemies are more than just a bunch of primitive savages. They have numbers. They are organized. They clearly have a leader. That leader just sent us a message.” My eyes continue to follow the general as he explains his theory. Soon the General circles the room and I can no longer see him without standing up from my seat, but I’m too scared to do that. The hairs on my neck stand up now. He seems to believe me. Doesn’t he? If he believes me, I should survive this, but why do I feel this sense of dread then?
My gut tells me that one wrong move is fatal here.
“Mark, have you told anybody else about this?” I hear Quade’s voice from behind me now, nearly in my ear. I can hear it dripping with malice.
“N-No, General Quade.” I croak again, then swallow hard and compose myself before continuing, “And I promise I will keep it-“ Now I feel Quade’s hand pressing down hard on my shoulder. I look up and find myself staring into the muzzle of a gun.
“Keep it secret? Of course you will.” I hear Quade’s voice one last time before he pulls the trigger, releasing a loud, sharp hiss.
THE WOLFMOTHER, A FLOATING FOREST, AND MANY WAYS TO MURDER
Written by Jungle.
© 2021, all rights reserved.
Click below to keep tracking Roré…
‘The Huntress and the Lost Cub’
Trust yourself. Believe in the vision. I crouch in wait at the base of an aging birch tree, drawing the gray fur of the Wolf Mother around me to ward off the chill. The familiar smell keeps me calm and drives away the anticipation of the hunt. Even still, I am cold. Off in the distance, I can see the great stone wall marked by a crescent moon. Behind it looms the True Moon, full and bright. With or without its light, I see all –…
‘A Man and a Plan’
The first step towards getting anything done is coming up with a plan. The most important part of any plan is the goal. So, what is it that I want? Is it simply to survive in this shithole, alone, until I finally slip up and get myself killed? No, I’ve had enough of that. That’s not a life: that’s waiting to die. I want to at least live a little bit before I die.
I also want to see her again, at least once. Miss You-know-who. The little phantom. Some know her as the Queen of Dreams. Others know her as the Siren of the Sunken Shore. I simply know her as Seles. You know what I noticed about her name? If you spell it backwards, it is still the same: Seles. It suits her. After all, she’s always so quick to tell you what’s on her mind. She’s usually just as quick to tell you what’s on yours, too.
Time to attend to the details. I need to make myself presentable. That means finding someplace to bath and wash my clothes. Should have enough water in the rain catchers to handle that. What else? Right, I should visit Izya’s place and see if I can trade for a quick trim and a clean shave. That shouldn’t be too hard if she’s in a good mood. If not, I may end up getting cut. A considerable risk, sure, but so is looking like shit.
What else? I’ve got the dirt bike now. Easy transportation. There are plenty of places to siphon fuel around here too. It does get pretty fucking cold riding that bike at night though. I should go for a walk around the ruins and see if I can find some heavy coats since we’ll be on the road for a long time. Maybe Ruina will inspect that bike for me. Don’t want it crapping out and leaving us stranded. On that note, I should probably bring a good present for Ruina, just in case she’s still mad at me.
What next? Oh, right. Medicine. Surgery. All the forte of my friend Dr. K. She’s the first person I see any time I get stabbed or shot. Yes, it happens more often than you might think. She can also take care of animals, too; Dr. K has a knack for fixing all kinds of broken things. She also likes to keep her company limited to the furry four-limbed variety and so I don’t think she’ll be keen to roam the world with us. With any luck, she will agree to put together a care package for the road.
Okay. That’s the plan: first, scavenge the ruins, then I’ll make my rounds.
Then I’ll see Seles.
Now it’s on me to make the plan happen.
A MAN AND A PLAN
Written by Jungle
(C) 2021, all rights reserved.
Click here to keep following TRENT…
‘A Pile of Dead Rats and the Human Mousetrap’
One, two, one, two, one, two…! “How long have I been here?” My thoughts wander for a moment. No. Don’t break the flow. I need to keep moving: if I stand still, they will surround me. Footsteps closing in behind me now. One pair is near, the others lag behind by more than a few seconds – that’s long enough. Adrenaline seems to bind the hands of time as I drop my shoulder and tuck into a low roll. My pursuer can’t slam the brakes on in time.…
‘The Wizard and the Prisoner’
“Hey dude?” I look up at the big guy, Arden, as I finish unbuckling the belt. This belt belonged to Jeb. Jeb’s dead now and I’m already tired of seeing Arden’s naked ass. I start sliding the pants off of the dead guy, but I still have to fight the urge to puke because I think Arden hit Jeb so hard that Jeb might have shit in his briefs. Either that or Jeb never bathed. I’d buy it either way.
“Yes, Dash?” The big guy responds as Jeb’s pants float over and smack his unassuming face. He has a weird way of speaking, can’t quite pin what it is though. It takes him a moment to take the pilfered pants into his hands. He looks at me with a blank expression: that’s his go-to.
“Put those on, man. You’ll scare the locals otherwise.” I tilt my chin up in his general direction as I continue to toss clothes at him; first his pants, then his belt, then each of his work boots and last, his cape. Cape? Cape. I didn’t want my buddy here to get mistaken for an Enforcer so I left the shirt. The big guy is just standing there with a pile of clothes at his feet now.
“Those are yours.” I wave my hand at the pile of clothes. That seems to snap him out of his trance, then big guy makes this face like, “Oh, right,” and starts to get dressed. We lucked out. Jeb’s boots fit and his pants are a little big around the waist on Arden, but they are mostly a fit, kind of on the short side, and so we end up cutting them up and making some baggy shorts. I look him over once he’s done.
“Much better. We’ll get you some better clothes once I introduce you to my friends.” I talk fast as I finish looking him over. He’s still shirtless, sure, but at least now he’s got some cotton shorts, some boots, and a traveling cloak: low-key and probably enough to stay warm at night. That’ll work.
“You do want to meet my friends, right?” I look him in the eyes for a second. When he makes eye contact with me, he doesn’t break it easily and I gulp, remembering what he just did to Jeb’s jaw a few minutes earlier. He’s hard to read with that blank stare. I’m sure he’s not a bad guy, though.
“Yes. I would like that.” His response is simple and to the point, like usual. He flashes that big, unassuming smile towards me. How naive can you be? He doesn’t know who my friends are. For all he knows, I could be setting him up. Does he care? It doesn’t seem like it. Is he that strong? I mean, he did stop those clubs with a magic spell, didn’t he? I guess he figures he can handle whatever life throws at him. Then I notice him staring at me again when I don’t respond right away.
“Aren’t you even going to ask me who my friends are?” He’s still staring at me with that blank expression.
“Is that important?” He asks back. I don’t know what to say.
“… Yes? I mean, yeah! Aren’t you worried it could be a trap?” Now I’m the one who’s staring. Who the fuck is this guy? I turn away and shake my head for a second because I am in total disbelief.
“Hm.” He pauses and seems to really think that idea over before he speaks again.
“No, I do not think it is a trap. I would like to meet your friends.” That might actually be the longest I’ve heard him speak. I get a sense of the ‘flavor’ of his voice there; on one hand, it’s really deep, but it doesn’t come across as commanding or menacing because he’s really soft spoken. It’s almost like he’s worried he might come across as threatening. Hm. My new friend is a pretty interesting dude. Definitely not from around here: if he was, he’d lead into that.
“Well… my friends are in this group called the Returners, right?” I start to explain and then I pause, taking a quick look around to make sure that we are still alone. Arden is staring at me again and nodding his head with that blank expression of his. I look up at the sky for a second; sunsets in the west, it’s sunset, that means we need to head… this way. Now I start putting one foot in front of the other. I look over my shoulder and see Arden following a few paces behind me.
“Why do you call yourselves the Returners?” Arden now asks. His expression isn’t blank anymore, either. No, he looks curious.
“We’re called the Returners because we want to return freedom to the people.” I try to say this as cool as I can and I even pause after I finish so that last word can sink in for a few seconds. There’s a lot riding on this pitch. This guy, Arden, would be a good guy to have around. Not only that, but we’re blood brothers: we fucked up those Enforcers, a crime punishable by death. That makes us outlaws. Well, if anyone saw us. Huh. If nobody saw it, did it even happen?
Wait, why did he stop walking?
“Are the people… prisoners?” Now Arden was giving me those scary vibes again. I stop and turn to see he’s got that same serious expression he had when he was asking Jeb about my cuffs. His hair is swaying but I don’t feel a breeze. Deep breath. Tell him, Dash.
“Yeah, more or less. This little jackass named King K, he tells you what to wear, what to think, what to feel. He tells you when to sleep, when to wake up, and what to do when you’re awake.” Now I’ve stopped too, turning to face the big guy. His brow is furrowed and he’s starting to breath faster. This is risky, but I press on anyways. I’ve got this. I’m Dash, the fucking wizard!
“Those guys you smashed? They’re his goons. Enforcers. If you don’t do what he wants, he sends those after you. If they don’t get you, they get the people you know.” I continue to explain the situation to Arden, even as I can see his eyes starting to cloud over with anger. His hair continues to sway and I definitely don’t feel a breeze.
“In a way, it’s like living in a prison.” I finish my explanation and pause for effect again. Now, the slow turn and I start to walk away. Wait for it. He’ll bite. Yup. I hear his footsteps behind me pick up again.
“I would like to meet this so-called king.” Whew. Okay. The newfound menace I detect in this man’s voice makes me shiver for a second. Play it cool.
“Don’t get hasty. He’s got an army of goons and he’s got lots of guns, too.” I look over my shoulder and now I am the one grinning. This guy, Arden – I don’t know what it is about him but being around him makes me feel at ease. On top of that, the thought of him punting that little freak, King K, like a football is also a pretty funny mental image. Now I look forward, at the open landscape in front of us; an ocean of sand split by cracked concrete.
“First, I’ll introduce you to the family.” I’m sure he’ll fit right in.
THE WIZARD AND THE PRISONER
Written by ‘Jungle’ (NFN)
© 2021, all rights reserved.
‘Three Ducks and Some Broken Cuffs’
“Better keep up with me, punk.”
“Piss off. It’s been a long week.” My comeback gets the angry reaction I expect: my captor jerks me around with my restraints. I lost track if it was Jeb, Jed, or Jef speaking. All three of them looked and sounded the same anyways: identical triplets, little piggies in uniform leading me on a leisurely trip through the Bloody Sands. At this rate, we’ll hit Palladia before sundown.
Unless I can bust out of these cuffs first.
“Dash? That’s your name? Hah.” I think it was Jeb speaking now, but who knows. He spits in my general direction – definitely Jeb – and I dodge to the left and remain silent for the moment, thinking. They’re still trying to butter me up. As if.
“Is that supposed to be… a joke or somethin’?” Jeb responds. I could tell Jeb apart from his brothers because he’s the only one of the three that packs chew and he’s always gnashing away on some of it, too, always spitting that brown shit juice my way. Bet he’s the brothel’s best customer – probably one of their favorites, too.
In, out; done, paid. Fucking pig.
“Keep poking, little piggy, I make my own opportunities…“ I mutter it under my breath. Jeb must have made out the word ‘piggy’ because he stops and turns suddenly, fist already cocked to throw a punch. Before the punch comes in, we get interrupted. Somebody was approaching us. One of the brothers grabs Jeb and spins him around by the shoulder.
“You see that Jeb?” The brother says. Process of elimination says this is… Jef? Or maybe Jed. I don’t care.
“Another one?” The third of the brothers now replies. Now I can see it, too – a shape in the heat haze becomes clear and as soon as it does, we stop. We stop dead in our tracks. Whoa.
“… You seein’ what I’m seein’?” I’ll go ahead and say this was Jed speaking, although I may never know. My brain is doing backflips as it tries to process the signals my eyeballs are sending it. And what exactly are my eyeballs seeing, anyways? I think it’s a person. Yeah, it’s definitely a person, but he looks more like a walking statue, I guess. Yeah. Like a big bronze statue, almost. A big naked statue.
Wait, what? I try to rub my eyes even though my hands are cuffed together. I cock my eyebrow and gawk. Yup, no doubt about it, that’s a naked guy. At least, I’m assuming that’s a guy based on what he’s packing. I wonder if he’s worried about the sunspots? This is a desert, man. Well, maybe he doesn’t burn, after all, he’s dark too – not as dark as me, but his skin is brown like driftwood, and so my guess is he doesn’t burn easily. I don’t know what a sunburn on your dick would feel like but damn, it’s not something I want to think about for too long.
I glance over at the three bullshit brothers. It looks like they’re still digesting this. I don’t blame them. I think all four of us learned a bit from the anatomy lesson here. The newcomer seems totally oblivious in every way, though, like he doesn’t even realize he should be wearing clothes to begin with. Nope, totally natural as he strolls towards us in every sense of the word. He doesn’t change directions and he doesn’t speed up or slow down, he just keeps on going like we’re not even here.
“… The fuck?” Good ol’ Jeb breaks the silence and spits, but he’s so absent mindedly staring down the newcomer’s package that he ends up drooling a bit of that shit water down the corner of his mouth and it leaves a nice shit streak down the front of his uniform. Haha. I think Jeb just figured out he has a small dick. I laugh out loud now, like really laugh for a second.
Damn. I can’t remember how long it’s been since I’ve laughed like that. That thought sobers me up a bit.
“Well, boys, looks like we’re bringin’ two back to King Klash today.” I’m just going to go ahead and say this one is Jed. The three brothers nod at one another and without warning, I find myself being jerked along by my chain once more as we set off on our crash course with the nudist. It isn’t long before we collide. My initial take – a living statue – really wasn’t that far from the mark. This guy is built and I mean really – this guy is built. You can see every single muscle on his body. Literally. He’s still naked, after all. His hair is black, like mine, but his is a lot more… feathery? No, not feathery… what’s it like? Flowy? Yeah, flowing… it’s more like…
At that same moment, I catch him looking over at me and I meet his golden amber stare with my one good eye. For an instant, a picture of a black lion flashes through my mind. Who is this guy?
“… You from around here?” Saw it coming; Jeb is the first one to taunt the newcomer now. The guy looks at him with these big, unassuming eyes and a really dumb grin.
“What do you mean?” He’s speaking, but his voice is loud and booming. Much louder than the Enforcer he’s addressing. Uh oh. Jeb is stunned for a second. This guy is definitely not from around here.
“Where … do … you … live?” Jeb repeats, raising his volume to match the newcomer’s and spacing out his words and emphasizing his lazy drawl. The newcomer seems kind of deaf to this little shouting match, but not to Jeb’s words. Nope, seems like he’s wrapping his whole brain around the question – I can tell by the way he’s staring off into space. My eye flashes towards Jed and Jef. They’re losing interest in me and starting to focus on the newcomer now. Good.
“Hmm…” The newcomer continues to ponder the question. At one point, he pulls his dark mane back over his ear and glances back over his shoulder, in the direction he wandered in from. Then, he turns his head back towards the three Enforcers.
“I live here…” He starts, pointing towards the ground beneath his feet and pausing to let his point sink in. Then, he touches his chest before finishing, “… and here.”
Jeb is standing with his back to me now and still, I can imagine that piggy’s little pink face growing redder by the second. This is going to get ugly. I figure worst case scenario, I’m digging a hole in the sand for this guy’s body and best-case scenario, I’ve got someone to bullshit with until we get to Palladia… unless this guy knows how to fight. Unless this guy knows how to fight? I mean, it’s three on one. That doesn’t seem likely. Plus, these pigs have armor and weapons. This guy is unarmed. Well, unless you count his, uh, you know, meat mace. Will I really see someone die with their dick in their hands today!? Holy shit!
“… We got ourselves a big JOKE teller guy. A real clown here. Listen here, Mr. Clown, do you think you’re a funny guy? You one of those joke tellin’ guys like this one ‘er?” Now Jeb’s changed gears from ‘confusion’ to ‘frustration’ and ‘annoyance’. Jeb takes a couple steps towards the newcomer but he doesn’t flinch. Instead, the nudist looks over at me and we make eye contact again. He breaks it to look down at my handcuffs, now. For just a second, the newcomer’s nostrils flare. Was that anger? I feel a prickle on my spine.
“What are those chains for?” The newcomer asks and his gaze settles squarely on Jeb now. A tiny dust devil picks up a cloud of swirling sand and dances across the forgotten highway between the two men like it was drawing a line in the sand. Jed and Jef start to fan out and make a circle around the nudist, crossing that line no sooner had it been drawn. Yup, it was going to get ugly. This guy must have gotten too close to a sunspot. How else would you explain him walking around the desert butt naked? Either that, or he ate something he shouldn’t have…
“Listen here, fella…” Jeb took another step in towards the newcomer now. I’m sure I can hear him licking his lips, too, and I shudder. This guy’s luck was shit. Guess we have that in common.
“I’m gon’ ask the questions here. See this badge?” Jeb gestures towards an iron plate on his uniform; a simple circle, cut no wider than a tape measure, stamped with the letter K. The newcomer nods to signal that yes, he does, in fact, see the badge, but I can tell that he doesn’t get what it means. I have so many questions for this guy if he doesn’t die right now.
“This means I get to ask the questions. I’m the boss now. So, I’m gon’—“ Jeb starts to continue his little speech, but he gets cut off.
“Tell me why he wears chains.” The newcomer’s voice is just as loud as it was before, but now it seems somehow more… commanding. There’s an edge that wasn’t there before. His eyes narrowed, too, but his hands are still at his side. I reel in my slack jaw here. This guy can’t be right. He must be sick or something. This is a death wish.
“Ain’t it obvious! She’s wearin’ the wrong clothes! Are you steeewpid!?” Jeb hasn’t quite exploded yet, but he’s malfunctioning now. That circuit was going to blow pretty soon – I could tell because he’d grabbed the baton off of his belt loop to ready it. Blatant foreshadowing of an ass whooping to come. I sigh – not just out of pity for this guy, but also at Jeb’s own ignorant insistence that I am a woman. I am not a woman. I am a man. How would you know, anyways? Only I know what I am. Not you, not them, not Klash, not anyone else. Just me, you dumb piece of shit.
“I’m not so sure. You there…” Now the newcomer was addressing me directly and I meet his golden amber gaze for a third time.
“Who are you?” He asks me. Jeb looks back over his shoulder at me and I can tell by his sneer that he does not want me to answer this question. Of course, that just pissed me off more so I decided to answer the guy.
“I’m Dash! The man, the myth, the wizard!” My voice is loud enough to blow back the newcomer’s mane and I do not break eye contact. His eyes widen in genuine surprise now, then his head tilts to the side for a second, rights itself, and finally, he begins to nod. He doesn’t stop nodding. He’s grinning now, too. His pupils dart upwards and I can tell he’s definitely thinking about something else and not about how Jed and Jef have also readied their batons, too. I want to go to whatever party is happening inside this guy’s head right now. For real. He’s grooving. Does he not realize he’s about to get his ass beat to death by three pink piggies with clubs?
“Cogito, ergo sum…” The newcomer mutters something I can’t quite understand. Is this a magic spell? Maybe I’m in luck and this guy is an actual wizard! Shit! That would actually explain a lot of this, too. Is he a wizard? I wait for fire to leap out of his eyes and melt the Enforcers down to their boots. It doesn’t happen. He speaks, instead.
“You know it to be true… and so it is.” The man makes eye contact with me one more time as he delivers this statement. Excuse me? I feel my jaw sinking again. Who the hell is this guy? He looks back at Jeb now.
“Release him.” There it is – that sudden gravity surprised me again. The newcomer’s nostrils flare once more. I catch him clenching his fist for a second. This is it now. The calm before the storm. I wonder who’s going to make the first move? Bet it’s Jeb. Yup, Jeb. Jeb couldn’t wait to take a swing at this guy and I could guess why – jealous pig.
Smack! The newcomer catches the club with his bare hand. Stone cold.
I can’t see it, but I’m imagining Jeb’s scared face right now and I can feel myself start to grin. Jeb’s grabbed onto his baton with both hands now and tries as hard as he can to wrench it out of the new guy’s grip. New guy still hasn’t flinched. Neither has the club. Jeb looks like a scared kid compared to the hulking nudist. I notice that the guy stopped grinning, too. Nope, he looks serious as fuck now. Alright, yeah, maybe this guy can fight… or make a distraction for me.
The new guy makes his move. In less than a second, Jeb is yanked forward by his baton directly into the new guy’s straight right and I cringe again because I can definitely hear Jeb’s jaw get completely pulverized by this guy’s massive fist, like it’s a steel sledgehammer blowing through a loose cinder block. Jeb’s head snaps left and rebounds right, his helmet tips and rolls off of his head, and I wonder if that sound I just heard was actually his neck breaking. In any case, Jeb’s out on his feet. If he’s even alive.
The nude dude is not out of the clear yet though. Right on cue, I hear the sizzle of Jed and Jef’s stun batons firing up. Not good. How would he deal with this? He can’t catch it, like last time. What’s he going to do? Maybe I can get the key off of Jeb while they fight…
That’s when this happens.
Jed and Jef go ahead and swing their electric batons at the new guy. New guy doesn’t even bother to face them, he’s still holding Jeb up by his baton. Not even a flinch from the new guy, so why did the batons stop in mid-air? Wait. What? I blink. What just happened? I cycle back a few frames in my memory reel here. Is that what happened? Holy shit! Déjà vu.
Now Jed and Jef are struggling to move their batons, but it seems like they’re frozen in place. Weird. Am I still alive? Is this a dream? Then, the statue speaks.
“You should not have done this.” His words are massive. This must be a dream. As soon as he drops that one line, he follows it up by dropping Jed with a vicious kick to the midsection that launches him from his feet and onto his back. Ouch. In the meantime, Jef decides to let go of his baton and wind up for a big haymaker. The guy is wise to it, though – he ducks back and lets Jef clock Jeb before Jeb finally tumbles to the ground. Before Jef can recover and square up with the new guy, he gets caught with a brutal roundhouse kick to the head. I can see his eyes go white for a second and I wonder if I just witnessed Jef’s ghost waving goodbye to his body. That’s two. Damn. This guy knows how to box. I wonder who taught him? Wait a second. What about Jed?
OH SHIT!!
I don’t think, I just act. My bare feet pump against the sand as I kick the earth as hard as I can, trying my damn hardest to close the distance to Jed now. Time slows to a crawl as it drags behind my adrenaline dump like a two-ton trailer. My eyes are riveted to one thing right now, and that’s the hand-made revolver that Jed is trying to pull from his holster. I jump on top of him now while he’s fumbling with the holster’s snap safety. He flattens out, prone beneath me, and I start to brain him in the back of his head with my manacles. I swing, I swing, and I swing my clasped hands together like a maul, making sure the edge of my handcuffs hits his skull with each blow. Crack. The old, rusty handcuffs break and at the same time, Jed stops his struggle. He’s not quite dead, but he might as well be. Good riddance. I pat down his pockets and zap, what do I find? Handcuff keys. Free at last. A few clicks later, I can feel the sensation of cold air on my bare wrists, ankles, and neck again. Feels like freedom. I straighten up and face the newcomer now.
“Thanks man.” I offer him a nod, tilting my chin up towards the hungry desert sky. He meets my nod with one of his own, dipping his head down towards the earth and offering no words.
“You got a name?” I ask him now. I don’t bother to hide my curiosity, either. After all, this guy is like some sort of living legend that can stop batons with his mind. Speaking of which – why is that baton still floating in the air? As my gaze drifts away from the newcomer, the baton seems to hear my thought and it falls to the sand. I swing my one good eye back towards the new guy, now.
“My name is Arden. It is nice to meet you, Dash.” The new guy, Arden, now bows his head towards me again and this time, he offers me a smile. I smile back.
“Don’t take this the wrong way man, but uh… you don’t seem like you’re from around here. Around here, there’s guys like this…” I pause, gesturing towards one of the Brothers Bullshit lying nearby and continue, “And if they catch you walking’ around like that again, they’ll probably try to take you.” I finish the statement and purse my lips, imagining myself shaking my head grimly. Once again, Arden’s silent and unphased.
“If you want, I could show you a safe way? It looks like we’re going the same way anyways, right?” I continue now, getting a little bit unnerved by the fact that this guy doesn’t seem to have any tells or any real reaction to what I’m saying. I don’t like not being able to read this guy. He’s too dangerous to not be able to read.
Another silence as seems to turn this proposal over inside his head.
“You are a handsome man. I agree.” I can tell he’s a man of few words. That’s fine, though. Wait, did he just say I’m handsome? Huh. Cool. I like this guy already. He might make a good sidekick.
The real question is… what will the others think of him?
THREE DUCKS AND SOME BROKEN CUFFS
Written by Jungle.
© 2021, all rights reserved.
Click below to keep fighting with DASH & ARDEN…
‘The Wizard and the Prisoner’
“Hey dude?” I look up at the big guy, Arden, as I finish unbuckling the belt. This belt belonged to Jeb. Jeb’s dead now and I’m already tired of seeing Arden’s naked ass. I start sliding the pants off of the dead guy, but I still have to fight the urge to puke because I think Arden hit Jeb so hard that Jeb might have shit in his briefs. Either that or Jeb never bathed.…
‘A Knife Fight, a Lightning Strike, and a Dirt Bike’
“One, two, three. One, two, three…”
The gentle percussion of falling raindrops accompanies my mantra.
“One…”
One radiant red ember bobs up and down in the gloom above the gas pumps. I can discern the silhouette of a single rotten rook as the dirty bird titters away, alone on his perch. The cologne of cannabis accompanies a cold breeze.
“Two…”
The back door bursts open with a bang and now a portly watchdog stomps out. He tears off his plastic football helmet and discards it like a piece of garbage. The helmet awkwardly tumbles across the cracked concrete before it comes to a stop in front of a rumbling, grumbling generator.
Now the watchdog glances over his shoulder as he heads towards the corner of the gas station’s brick main building. As he opens a chain link fence and melds into the night, his silhouette does not escape my gaze, not even when he slides around the corner, confident he’s given his pals the slip.
The muted flash of orange flame announces the birth of a second red ember. This one smells warm and savory: tobacco. My lips involuntarily pucker at the thought of treasure poised for the taking.
Lightning strikes in the distance, offering momentary assistance to the waning crescent moon. White light tinged with violet washes over my hiding place, revealing only a murky shadow among the rocks to the untrained eye. The flash is quickly accompanied by a foreboding thunderclap: the menacing growl of my lonesome, only friend.
“It’s time to begin the show.” My boots barely touch the ground as I glide through the darkness like a shadow dancing in the depths of the ocean. The watch dog on the corner gradually grows discernable. He’s too worried about being caught by his friends to notice me standing just an arm’s length behind him now.
My knife doesn’t make a sound as it is drawn.
The watchdog is midway through sucking in another mouthful when my hand darts past his head. I do not feel the lit end of his cigarette against my gloved palm as it slams down over his pursed lips like an iron portcullis. The smoldering ember falls into the empty abyss of his windpipe, but the watchdog does not get a chance to cry out.
I rip him backwards by his face onto twelve centimeters of sharp, matte black steel: the chosen instrument for this passage. My knife slides through his ribcage like a skeleton key and I can practically hear his heart squealing through the tip of my knife. As I twist my wrist ever so slightly, I can hear its pitch whinny to a crescendo before he goes limp, lost in death’s embrace.
“Another breathtaking performance.” I can feel a smirk creep onto my lips the way a snake might wind its way along a tree’s outstretched limb.
I free my knife from the fresh cadaver and help my appreciative audience member to a seat against the adjacent wall. Tendrils of smoke ooze out of his parted lips while his dead eyes remain wide, permanently stretched into a state of surprise. Before I stand upright, a quick pat down of his pant pockets reveals a pack of cigarettes, which I pick up.
“Treasure for the taking.”
The rook on the roof continues to chuckle away, oblivious, even as I plant my foot on his fallen companion’s shoulder and test my weight. Satisfied, I step away from the wall for a moment, measuring about three paces.
“One, two, three…” My lungs inflate with air once more, as if to help buoy myself into the air. I spring forward with three steps and scale the wall with my new friend’s assistance before pulling myself up and over the edge of the roof.
I can’t really say for certain what that stoned bastard thought he saw when I floated up onto the roof like a phantasm. Judging by the way he dropped that joint in his lap, I’d guess he thought I was a ghost. Not far from the mark.
Unfortunately for him, neither is my throwing knife. He tries to scream but he doesn’t realize my instrument has nestled itself into the soft spot beneath his sternum. His diaphragm pinned by my knife, he clutches at the pommel, wide-eyed in mostly silent agony, as I casually saunter over to the lawn chair where the rook is perched.
I find myself squinting as a break in the clouds allows a ray of moonlight to reveal my face for a moment. The little rook’s terrified slack jaw is immediately replaced by an accusing scowl.
That doesn’t sit well with me.
“You need a new mask.” My baritone voice is barely a whisper beneath the wind. I can tell by his muddled eyes that he doesn’t understand and so I decide to show him my meaning.
With a casual flick of my wrist, I draw another knife and carve an ear-to-ear grin beneath the rook’s chin. Red rivulets of blood stream down towards the ground, leaking profusely from the rook’s freshly painted smile. I wrench my throwing knife from his solar plexus, freeing his pinned diaphragm and allowing his lungs to flood with blood as the rook gasps hungrily for air. His bubbling gurgles remind me of a fish and so my grin becomes a grimace.
“Shh… it’s rude to disturb a performance.” I chide him with another whisper. He bleeds out without further protest while I wipe my instruments clean using his shirt sleeve. As I do so, I notice the red ember of the rook’s joint on the ground and stoop down, pinching the cherry to extinguish it before pocketing it.
“Another rare treasure for the taking…”
Now my eyes flash towards the back door beneath me as I hear it burst open once more. My instincts tell me to get low and I hit the deck, hugging the roof of the gas pumps to avoid being seen.
“Three…” Staggering steps beat out an oddly timed meter that turns itself around with a heavy thud. Retching ensues along with the wet slap of something splashing against the cracked concrete.
“Three will make four…” Now I listen and wait. A minute passes and the retching diminishes to a series of struggling hacks and dry heaves. I briefly wonder if this one’s a free win.
Another minute passes us by. The hair on the back of my neck is standing at attention now. I am a patient hunter though, and I am certain at least one opportunist will wonder where this dumb drunk got the extra booze from.
“… deal me out… be right back.” An older man’s voice, deep and full of gravel, rises to my attentive ears amidst the competing voices from inside. For a third time, the back door swings open with a bang and I hear a much heavier set of footsteps now. Stronger, more confident steps.
A strong wind catches the flat face of the door and slams it shut.
I pause for a few moments before I risk a peek. Less than two meters away, I spot two more animals: the dumb drunk skunk, doubled over in the dirt, and the opportunistic old owl trying to figure out where the dumb drunk is keeping his extra booze.
The old fart with the thick spectacles is too busy poking around his pal’s pockets to hear the subtle flutter of my black poncho as it sails through the air behind me. I can feel my feet and hips rotate behind and above my head as the wind and the wet rain whips me in the face. As I complete the front flip, I slam both of my boots together, driving the full weight of my body into the old owl’s upper back from above.
I can hear and feel the crunch of his ribcage breaking as he is completely flattened beneath my feet. A bloody gasp erupts from his lips as my weight squeezes the air out of his punctured lungs like he was a makeshift trampoline. The old owl writhes on the ground, but his flooded, collapsed lungs cannot muster enough air to cry out.
My momentum carries me forward into a breakfall roll. Turning and standing upright, I now come to regard the drunk skunk with a calculating gaze as he stares up at me, totally, well, dumbfounded. Before his addled brain can make any sense of the scene, I catch him with a vicious kick to the side of his head, knocking him to his side, then follow up with a few well-placed stomps to his head.
“One, two, three, four…” I murmur quietly. The rapidly approaching indigo thunderclouds voice their approval with a resounding roar. I squint instinctively as another wave of light flashes over me not a moment afterwards. I know I’m running out of time. My unblinking eyes come to a rest on the generator near the door as it continues to rumble away.
“A calculated risk.” I creep towards the door and the generator, knife in hand. The wind continues to whip the rain into my face as the downpour intensifies. Dirty rainwater glides down the weatherproof coating of my poncho sleeve as I reach my outstretched hand towards the generator.
I clench my jaw shut as hard as I can and hold my breath. The naked tip of my index finger touches the positive pole of the generator. In a single instant, electricity courses through my entire body. My teeth grind together as my brain struggles to process a single signal on rapid-fire repeat.
Pain! Pain! Pain? Pain! Pain. Pain? Pain. Pain. Pain? Pain…
Now that signal short circuits. Silence.
My right eye grows hot and itchy. I close my left eye and squint to reveal a crackling blue glow enveloping the generator as well as the wires conducting its power. Squinting harder, I can even see it through the walls, like my own private blueprint of the gas station. As I put together the layout of the building, I become aware of four human silhouettes inside, all seated in a circle.
A card game, most likely.
I pinch the jumper cables and disconnect them from the building’s back-up power supply routing. All the noisy white light vanishes without a trace, plunging the gas station into an impermeable din that not even the frequent flashes of lightning would illuminate through its boarded windows.
Dismayed voices echo out from inside.
Now I concentrate and imagine that hot, itchy feeling in my right eye traveling down the side of my neck, running the length of my arm. The scrape of somebody’s chair sliding backwards against the concrete floor increases my sense of urgency.
”One, two. One, two. One, two…”
Blue lightning lances down my arm and wraps its way around my fingertip and into the cable, instantly traveling into the building’s back-up electrical supply input.
The building’s interior once again becomes bright and the voices inside change their tone. A couple seconds tick by…
Then the electricity discharged from my fingertip overwhelms the circuit and causes a violent power surge. The sound of glass shattering echoes from inside the brick building as all the lightbulbs burst simultaneously. This is immediately accompanied by a confused cacophony of pained cries and angry shouts.
Two gunshots roar back at the competing thunder clouds in rapid succession. I instinctively duck down low. Two heavy thuds follow; these must be the sound of two bodies hitting the concrete. I hear the latch of a breach open: a double barrel shotgun.
It doesn’t shut again. Cold, hard smacks echo out inside now: fists on flesh, presumably a struggle over the weapon. The mechanical click of the latch closing shut followed immediately by another blast from the shotgun. A third thud. Quick footsteps towards my location outside the back door.
Deep breath.
I press my back to the wall. Before the footsteps can reach the door, a startled cry; the owner of said footsteps seems to tumble to the floor and something thick, presumably his skull, crashes against the metal door with a reverberating clang. The door’s latch prevents it from opening and I presume the crack that follows that he probably broke his neck.
Only the sound of the downpour around me and the steady rhythm of rolling thunder fills my ears. I stand and turn towards the wall, squinting through my right eye once more. They’re fading, but I can still count four motionless blue silhouettes lying on the ground. True to my prediction, the one closest to me lies with its head slumped up against the door, its neck cocked at an unnatural angle.
I’d like to let out a deep sigh of relief, but a pillar of lightning laces the ground across the street from the building. The clap of thunder is immediate and deafening. I know it’s time to go claim my prize inside and get out of here while I still can. Quick, light footsteps carry me around towards the front of the building.
Less than two minutes later, I find myself exploding towards the glaring white light pouring out from the bright LED headlamp of my brand-new treasure: a fully operational dirt bike. An incredibly rare treasure, indeed, and with a full tank of fuel and spare tanks to boot.
As I speed down the cracked pavement of the broken road, I chance a quick glance back there, over my shoulder. Sure enough, I can see that telltale indigo tinge up high in the clouds behind me. As I swing my gaze forward towards the road before me, I swear that I can see a massive dark shadow for a moment, like the sort belonging to some mythical bird of prey hovering high overhead.
“Now, now, Trent… it’s only your imagination.”
The voice I hear inside my head this time does not sound like my own.
I rip the accelerator and speed off into the night.
A KNIFE FIGHT, A LIGHTNING STRIKE, AND A DIRTBIKE.
Written by Jungle.
(C) 2021, all rights reserved.
Special thanks to Sparrow Sensei for coaching me up!!
Click below to keep following TRENT…
‘A Home With Only Windows’
I ride. I ride until I can’t feel my tender toes hidden inside my beaten boots – they’re doing little to ward against the unwavering winds whipping my hair around my face. I ride until the huge shock of adrenaline gradually erodes away, like some imaginary cadaver dragged behind me by a sturdy length of chain, grating against the dirt, the rocks, and the broken patches of pavement here and there. I rode until I could see shocks of sunlight streak across the sky, radiating from a single focal point behind distant peaks.…
‘Shadows’
Will my eyes betray me if I look too closely? Battered by missing wings, will you just fade away, like wavering smoke rings broken in the bold breeze? What will the sun reveal? Shadow cast upon steel stitched to both my heels: the thoughts that I concealed, my hurt that had not healed, a harbinger so surreal. Changing shapes, give and take, toil in the soil and sand. No silent helping hands. Now I can understand there was no guardian waiting for me to stand. Flip the switch, close the door, watch it consume the floor, multiply into more sunken depths to explore: my every eyesore washing up on the shore.
‘Pillow’
One thing that I know: for your cheek, my chest is so the perfect pillow.
andante 