Our Contest

by Phillip Murrell

  “Surprise,” Claire begins. “As Mark Twain once said, ‘the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.’ All I can say now is that we made it. The Malignant are under a new leadership that I assure you plans on rebuilding the damage they caused.”

  Alex watches the report in a hospital bed with Donald at his side. His right leg is amputated. Kim, Ava, and the twins rush into his room. They all share a tearful hug as they make up and apologize for being stubborn.

  “Life will take work to make it normal again, but when has it not?” Claire continues.

  Tina, Nick, and Jenny’s parents charge into a police station where Keith and Jenny sit in new clothes. Both teens hug and kiss their parents, but they share a friendly smile as well.

  “The first step will be the hardest. We must forgive. Over the next few weeks I’ll deliver all the information that I feel is pertinent to explain why the Malignant are not our enemy. This will be hard for many of you to accept, but you must. They’re now our friends.”

  Shattered Blanket cries as he watches Claire’s report and sees the ruins of Yama. His family surrounds him and gives him what little comfort they can.

  “For now, we must remember our fallen.”

  Sooyoung, Vick, and Carl pour a drink onto the floor to honor their fallen A-Men.

  “But we must also remember those who still live with us and make the most of our time together.”

  Benji listens to his fiancée’s voice and constantly grips his hands as he tries to steady his uncontrollable shaking. He smiles despite this as Claire helps the world heal.

  “Until that time, this is Claire Kennedy.”

  “What a bunch of horseshit,” Maria says.

  She turns the radio off in her car and patrols the streets. She nods to the Enterprise enforcers whom she sees as she passes. They exchange the gesture.

  “Time to get paid,” Maria says.

  Votary’s pod crashes into the deserted street near his home. He activates his cloaking device, but it deactivates only seconds after he pushes the controls. His armor sparks. The denial is proof that he needs a new set.

  Votary opens the door to his pod and scans his environment. Nobody is in the streets. Some may be watching from their homes, but Votary’s armor will probably scare them into ducking back inside. He’s only a few blocks away from home. He can walk in the open.

  Votary staggers through the streets. Each step brings a new burst of fire in his lungs. His will wanes as he turns onto his street.

  The neighborhood is somewhat expensive and full of luxury. Abel told him that rich people pay less attention to their neighbors than poor ones and used his infinite fortune to buy him a four-bedroom house. Votary takes more steps and looks at the house on his right. He smiles beneath his helmet as he thinks of the residents. He’s spoken to them politely from time to time, but Keith and his mother, Tina, are good people. He wishes he hadn’t failed them during the Osaka Riots. Keith hasn’t been the same since. Votary supposes that’s to be expected.

  Two more houses down, on the opposite side, is Votary’s home. He removes a standard key from a waist compartment and lets himself inside.

  Votary’s home is sparsely furnished, but he does have copious animal figurines decorating the place. Only his bedroom and living room have any proper furnishings. Votary stands in his living room. He yanks at the various armor connection points. He refused to wear the upgraded Malignant armor and his wound is making him pay for that now. Votary yelps as he tosses the equipment to the side. He grips his covered wound and uses his right hand to remove the last piece of armor, his helmet.

  Toby tosses the helmet onto his sofa. He shuffles to the refrigerator in his kitchen and grabs a bottle of root beer. His hands tremble, and the cold bottle slides through his fingers. It shatters loudly on the floor. Toby ignores the mess and simply grabs the next bottle.

  He shuffles back to his plastic-lined recliner and flops down. The motion causes him to gasp again. He twists off the bottle top and throws it onto the floor. The cap is the sole piece of trash in an otherwise immaculate room. The germs that Abel made him terrified of were always around him.

  Toby reaches for a remote control and turns on his television. Most channels are disabled or only report on the destruction and death. Toby lived that. He doesn’t need any more updates. He settles on the classic rock music station and throws the remote down as he shakily takes another sip.

  Toby listens as the next song begins with a somber guitar rift. Toby smiles to himself.

  “How appropriate. Sing it, Bob,” Toby says. “I don’t need this badge no more either.”

  Toby reaches inside his shirt and pulls out a chain with a metallic sprig of mistletoe. Toby clutches the platinum-like metal charm and holds it to his chest with his left hand. He drinks deeply from his bottle. Toby swirls the sugary beverage inside his mouth before a fit of coughing forces him to spit most of it out onto his white carpet.

  Toby takes another sip but spills some out the side of his mouth. He closes his eyes and leans his head against the rest. He tries to sing along with the lyrics.

  “Knock, knock, knockin’ on—”

  Another round of coughing interrupts Toby. He decides to just listen to the music. Toby drops his bottle at his side. His hands lazily dangle over the armrests.

  Just one more song, Toby thinks.

  It plays.

  The End

  Thank you for reading my series. I may be done with the Bystanders saga, but the stories in my head are infinite. As always, I have a sample from my next book (one in a completely new fantasy world) called Augury Answered. I hope you enjoy it.

  Two Dogs took a stealthy step as he brushed his long, black hair from his eyes. He slowly placed his moccasin protected foot onto a moss-covered rock. The green lichen complemented the green of his animal-skin footwear. Two Dogs was a prime specimen of a man. For thirty-two years, beginning with his birth, Two Dogs prepared his mind and body for greatness. He had broad shoulders and well-defined muscles. All the women in his tribe spoke about his attractiveness when they thought he wasn’t listening. Two Dogs was always listening, and he always appreciated the compliments from the fairer sex.

  Ahead of Two Dogs was his hunting partner, Swift Shot. Although a few years younger than he, Swift Shot was the best friend he’d ever known. Like Two Dogs, Swift Shot was athletic, though her love of fighting made her less beautiful. None of that mattered to Two Dogs. Right now, he appreciated her most for her superior hunting skills.

  Swift Shot held up her right hand. Her left hand held a bow with an arrow already nocked. Two Dogs knew to wait for her to signal him to move again. He looked past her shoulder to see what lied in the open prairie ahead of them.

  Two Dogs’ heart fluttered when he saw the prey in the clearing. Past hunting trips, too many to count, had been disappointing. The mighty turklyo became more and more scarce as Corlains overhunted the animals that meant so much to Two Dogs’ Lacreechee tribe. Yet, thanks to Swift Shot’s keen tracking skills, a single turklyo grazed in front of them.

  A turklyo was a large herbivore, but not an ounce of the animal would be wasted. It had tough, green skin that was used to make the moccasins and clothing that the Lacreechee wore. Stretching ten feet long meant several new outfits would soon be created. The six hundred pounds of meat would feed his tribe for two weeks. The armored shell on the animal’s back would be suspended over another family’s tipi and protect them from the occasional magically-summoned hail storm. The children had to learn to control their power at some point. The beak would be converted into whatever tool was needed next.

  All the physical features of the turklyo had life-enhancing uses, but none compared with the bone plate on the crown of its head. The igsidian plate, often referred to as the stone, was a reflective black color with orange marbling running throughout. It protected the turklyo’s head, but th
e Lacreechee people had a far more important use. Igsidian stones gave the Lacreechees magical power. All children in the tribe learned how to manipulate the power inherent in each stone. Some, like Swift Shot, became experts in elemental powers. Lightning, fire, frost, they were all easily weaponized to protect the tribe. Others learned to summon people and animals from the spirit world to fight on the Lacreechee’s behalf. A few felt it was better to learn intermediate levels from each magical school. Two Dogs’ brother, Proud Wall, was a man trained in multiple schools.

  Two Dogs looked at the mighty turklyo in front of him. Magical attacks were unwise when hunting, too much was lost of the animal. Unless, of course, you were trained in protector magic like Two Dogs was. He clutched his tomahawk and knife. Each had a shiny black blade made from the Igsidian stone he recovered from a hunt when he was a young teen. He focused on the power that each weapon had. The blades glowed bright orange as he summoned a protective armor around his body. The igsidian embedded in his turklyo-skin shirt and leggings also glowed. Two Dogs felt his muscles tighten as his strength multiplied a dozen times. His speed only improved by a factor of four, but summoning this much magic took a toll. Exceptions had to be made.

  Swift Shot glanced back at Two Dogs as his igsidian brightened to a warrior’s level.

  “Let me take the shot,” she whispered.

  The sound may have been quiet, but Two Dogs felt like he had been screamed at. The turklyo must have sensed something. It quickly jerked its head upwards and began sniffing the air with amphibian nostrils. The female slowly retracted its head into the relative safety of its ridged shell.

  Two Dogs smiled at Swift Shot. “Well?”

  Swift Shot let out an exasperated breath at Two Dogs’ mockery. She aimed at the hidden head of the turklyo and let her arrow fly. The turklyo honked to express its pain. Swift Shot’s arrow snapped as the turklyo’s head quickly extended from the shell. The enraged animal ran away from Two Dogs and Swift Shot. Two more arrows flew at its back. One bounced off the shell, the other plunged into the back of the knee on the left rear leg.

  “I thought you were good at this?” Two Dogs teased.

  “Just get it!” Swift Shot shouted.

  Two Dogs could tell she was annoyed at herself as much as she was pissed he could be such an ass even when they finally found a turklyo again.

  Two Dogs gave a mocking salute to his friend with the tomahawk clutched in his right hand. He chased after the sprinting turklyo as he adjusted the grip on his knife to an inverted one.

  The turklyo may have had a pair of wounds, but it was still a relatively quick animal. Swift Shot, or any other human that didn’t have igsidian-enhanced physical abilities would never be able to catch the animal. Two Dogs laughed to himself as he closed the distance in under a minute.

  “Where do you think you’re going, big girl?” Two Dogs asked.

  He dove at the turklyo and landed on the animal’s shell. His igsidian grew warm to the touch as both blades and all six stones in his clothing reached the brightest orange possible. His improved balance kept him upright on the shell as he gracefully walked along the animal’s back. Once he reached the neck, he sat and allowed a leg to straddle each side.

  “Thank you for your gift, Mother Turklyo,” Two Dogs said.

  He plunged his knife into the left side of the turklyo’s neck; his tomahawk hacked just below the right eye. The turklyo honked again at this new round of pain. Two Dogs ensured his weapons were protected for the strain they were about to be under. With each blade firmly inside the animal, Two Dogs twisted clockwise. His increased strength made short work of the turklyo’s neck. Cracking vertebrae echoed as the animal crumbled to the ground. Two Dogs jumped free. He executed several aerial summersaults before landing perfectly.

  Two Dogs took a moment to gather his bearings. The turklyo was mere feet from entering the relative safety of the wooded forest that bordered the tall grass prairie. The igsidian stones in his weapons and clothing faded to their original black color with occasional orange streaks marring the surface. With the magic surrendered again, Two Dogs took in several deep breaths. His body shook as his adrenaline subsided.

  Swift Shot caught up to Two Dogs. She was equally out of breath, but her reason was more basic. The short chase took Two Dogs a full mile away from where they had started.

  “Do you always have to show off?” Shift Shot asked as she regained her composure.

  “Every time. The tribe expects it of me.”

  “Perhaps we should change your name to Too Modest?”

  “Some already do call me that.”

  “If you make this about your dick again.”

  Two Dogs laughed. “Nobody would believe me if I told them it was twenty inches from the get go. I have to convince them it’s a manageable twelve inches, then they get the surprise.”

  Swift Shot gestured to the open plain with spread arms. “Mother Turklyo, please provide your son, Two Dogs, a reason to pause before speaking. Us mere mortals can no longer breathe when all the air goes straight to his head.”

  Two Dogs and Swift Shot clasped forearms as they good-naturedly laughed together. Their attention was soon drawn back to their prey.

  “That’s a big one,” Swift Shot said.

  “Women tend to say that around me.”

  Swift Shot slapped Two Dogs on the back of the head.

  “I meant that we’ll need the cart, the one you left a mile to the west.”

  Two Dogs rubbed his head. Swift Shot hit him harder than most would consider polite.

  “I guess I’ll go get it,” Two Dogs said.

  “I guess you—wait,” Swift Shot said.

  Before Two Dogs could ask what was wrong, he was given his answer. A second turklyo sprang from the tree line. Two Dogs quickly realized the danger he and his friend were in. The second turklyo was a bull. Not only did this mean it was three times larger than the female they’d killed, but it also came equipped with additional defenses. The male turklyo’s shell was twice as thick and covered in spikes that towered two feet tall. It also had a four-foot tail that ended in a solid igsidian ball. The clubbed tail flicked twice before the turklyo charged.

  Other Works by Phillip Murrell

  THE BYSTANDERS SERIES

  Bystanders (available now)

  Bystanders II: Trophy Hunters (available now)

  Bystanders III: Sleepers and Scouts (available now)

  Bystanders IV: Our Contest (available now)

  Augury Answered (coming 2019)

  Get updates @bystanderssaga

  A Note from the Author

  Thank you for completing my Bystanders saga. If you loved it as much as I do, please tell your friends and family. I also ask you to leave a review where ever you can. Getting discovered by readers is insanely difficult. Any support you can provide is greatly appreciated.

  I’ve been a fan of comic books and science fiction all my life. I often found myself annoyed that the stories never addressed the fact that buildings were always empty when a monster was thrown through one, or nobody ever moved away from the cities that had numerous battles. During my third deployment, I decided to start writing my own story. As you can see, Colberton was not given the same courtesy as many other fictional cities with superhero protectors.

  Now that Bystanders is complete, I will move on to single-novel adventures. My first is a fantasy story in the magic and muskets genre; however, I also have plans for a zombie story, a western, and a military sci-fi. Plus, I have several screenplays that will likely be converted into novellas. I hope I can count on you to give those stories the same chance you gave this one. Thank you for your support.