Maybe the modification was a bust, and didn’t take with him. Maybe nerves, which were so hard to heal to begin with, wouldn’t heal at all. Just because he healed fast, didn’t mean he could heal from anything.
It felt like his eyesight was improving and that gave him hope. Everything was still blurs and edges, but a couple minutes earlier, he couldn’t even see that much. He saw the shape of the Wizard finish tying his end of the rope and go to help the Snake.
More slippery sounds came from the Snake. It sounded like a question.
“Don’t take him beating you so hard,” the Wizard said. “We win in the end.”
More words from the Snake.
“You’re one sick bastard,” said the Wizard, his face turning toward Nash. “Fine, you can have one finger, but I’m not watching you eat it. Makes me want to puke.”
His finger? The Snake wanted to eat his finger? Somehow that almost sounded worse than just dying a simple, painless death.
The Wizard made a gesture in John Wayne’s direction. “I’m going to tie up the cowboy first. The Mongoose isn’t going anywhere, not for a long time, so you tie up the girl.”
The Snake’s tone was whiny as he dragged one end of the rope they’d been working on toward where Chiel was lying. From his tone, Nash assumed the Snake wasn’t happy with just one finger. He shuddered to consider.
Try it, he told himself. Move something. First a finger, then your fists.
One finger. He could try that. One of his hands was twisted under his body. Nash focused on the index finger of his right hand, the trigger finger. Channeling all of his will into that one digit, Nash let out a mighty mental yawp. It was like trying to deadlift a thousand pounds and he continued shouting his battle cry as he thought of the finger’s fate if he failed.
The thousand-pound weight came off the ground one millimeter—it twitched. His finger twitched!
Tingles came next to that finger, the same as a limb waking up from a dead leg. He tried again, pushing against the unmovable weight, and the finger twitched again.
He checked his enemies and found them still arguing over the best way to tie the knots.
Hands wouldn’t do him a lot of good if he didn’t get his feet under him. Repeating the process, Nash pushed with all ten toes, digging into the blackness of the impossible wall that separated him from body control.
The toes sprang to life, in the same way plants push through the soil in spring. It was mild, yet miraculous.
Then came the pain. All ten toes zinged with electricity. Wiggling them again made it worse but it was all he could do.
Legs next. Nash dreaded even trying it. Before he could overthink it, he tried to bend both legs at the same time. If Nash had been watching his legs, he didn’t know if he would have noticed the movement with his eyes, but he knew in his heart that he had moved them.
A million angry scorpions jabbed their stingers into Nash’s legs at the same time. He was glad he couldn’t cry out, because if his vocal cords weren’t paralyzed, he would have filled the street with a roar to equal the venom-in-the-eyes roar. Usually if Nash held still when an arm or leg fell asleep, it could wake up in peace without the electric-shock torture, but not this time. Tears clouded the already blurry images in his eyes as the electrifying sensation faded slowly
He tried moving his toes again, and found that they all moved how and when he wanted them to.
The lightning bolts traveled on their own across Nash’s hips and gut, then sent shocking tingles along his spine and out across his arms. The electric needles reached Nash’s chest and he just wanted to die. The scorpion pricks in his legs had subsided, but everywhere else still felt like it was in the electric chair. His chest spasmed, forcing a few choppy breaths out.
The Wizard was still crouched over John Wayne. He was making large tugging motions as if the ropes were in place, and the knots just needed some good tightening.
Nash had to act soon, but there was a chance he’d eat asphalt if he tried to stand. It was now or never while he had the element of surprise and his opponents both had their backs turned. Unfortunately he had to do it all while still half-blind.
Nash forced his arms to work, pushing himself up to all fours. The pins and needles returned with a vengeance, firing against every square inch of skin like a pincushion grenade exploding inside his body. Nash gritted his teeth, hoping the sound of them grinding didn’t alert the Wizard. The worst of it passed and Nash rose shakily to a standing position.
The Wizard was about three meters away, bending over John Wayne and doing something Nash couldn’t make out. He lurched forward as quietly as he could, stopping briefly to bend and snatch up John Wayne’s gun. He couldn’t shoot it, but it would still give him leverage.
The smart thing to do would be to cold-cock him before he saw it coming. That could kill a man, and Nash still thought he could end this without going that far. He’d been on the island an hour. He was determined to make a difference, but not by going around blowing people’s heads off or cheap-shotting them to death.
The Wizard started talking casually as he wrapped John Wayne’s wrists. “The Mongoose.” He laughed derisively. “And here you were ‘The Viper, too fast for the eye to see.’” He laughed some more and turned his head back toward his buddy. “You owe me a few rounds—” Sunlight hit his face as he froze and it looked like his eyes crossed, trying to focus on the barrel of the gun.
“I have a few rounds for you here,” Nash forced out. “And you’re going to get them if you don’t put your hands behind your back. Slowly.”
Sudden nausea made Nash feel as green in the face as he was on the island. He put his hand on his gut, feeling like he’d lose the small lunch he’d eaten on the ferry ride.
And there was the weakness that had been engineered into him along with his endowment. He had this sick feeling to look forward to for the rest of his life with every lie he told, such as telling the Wizard he was going to get shot with a gun Nash couldn’t shoot.
The Wizard’s confident façade had fallen. “How the hell did you—”
“No more talking,” said Nash, mostly wanting this encounter to be over, but also worried that too much dialogue would reveal the secrets of his endowment and weakness. “You saw what my partner did to the snake’s little friends. If you think you’d fare better without a head … Go ahead. Make my day.” That was a line from the original John Wayne, wasn’t it? Nash wanted to smile, but everything hurt too bad.
The slightest scuff of movement came from behind him.
Turning and raising the gun, he saw a blur of movement streaking his direction. He pulled the trigger with time to spare, but the gun didn’t answer the call. The Snake leapt in the air, heedless of the gun pointed at him. He collided with Nash and clung with all of his limbs, wrapping and grabbing wherever he could. While he was still scrambling for a solid grasp, he sunk his fangs into Nash’s shoulder.
Where the acid in the eyes had been sharp as if it was eating its way through layer after layer, the poison from the bite was liquid fire, pulsing and pounding with each heartbeat. At first it was concentrated in two distinct points in his shoulder where he’d been bit, but he could feel the burning venom spreading outward into his chest and down his arm.
As Nash fought to get the Snake to loosen his hold, he felt a hand grip the back of his neck roughly.
The Wizard came into his vision in blurry focus. “Abra cadabra.”
Another pinprick hit Nash in the neck and again the power to move left his body as if someone had hit a switch.
Painless agony replaced the agony of pain. He was in his enemies’ power and they would not let him surprise them again.
“I had just enough recharge to put him down,” came the Wizard’s voice. “That will give your venom time to do the rest.”
The Snake had perched protectively on Nash’s body, staring down at him with inhuman eyes which Nash was glad he couldn’t entirely make out. That disgusting, two-pronged tongue flick
ed in the direction of Nash’s face.
Trying to look on the bright side, his vision was getting better all the time.
“Next time, Ranger,” said the Wizard and it sounded like he was talking from the far end of a long tunnel. “Just take the money.”
Psychedelic waves swam across Nash’s vision, and his mind started pulsating. It reminded him of the time his friend’s brother had pranked them with some magic mushroom brownies that left him lying on the ground staring at the ceiling for hours.
The venom was stronger than the brownies, and he felt sleep rolling like a wave, dragging Nash away from the Hollow Island street.
3
First Lesson
<< Jennie: a resident of Hollow Island who has been modified, whether through genetics or technology. Derived from the principal phonemes in Genetically Engineered.
Definition from hollowisland.com/wiki >>
Something solid landed on Nash’s chest. It wasn’t heavy enough to hurt under normal circumstances, but after the beating he’d already taken, it felt like a stab to the ribs. He jolted awake, and when he opened his eyes, he was surprised that his vision was nearly perfect and his eyes didn’t sting anymore.
The woman from the market, Chiel was looking down at him, scowling hard. Apparently she had dropped his gun on his chest. “You can wake up now. They’re gone.”
Nash realized where he was and pushed himself up to a sitting position, causing the gun to fall to the street. Electric pincushions shot through his body, but the worst pain came from his left hand, shooting up his arm. He lifted his left hand and had to blink to make sure he was seeing it right.
“Fig me,” he said, feeling the jargon of the island roll off his tongue naturally for the first time. The pinky of his hand was missing, cut off at the lowest knuckle. Sticky blood coated his hand and he saw a small pool of it on the asphalt where his hand had been resting, but the wound had clotted over.
They’d done it; the Wizard cut off his finger and fed it to the Snake. The thought made him want to puke. What the hell would make someone want to eat a finger?
“Got your pinky, huh?” asked Chiel. “Guess I can’t be too mad at you.” Her eyebrows went up and her head twisted. “Oh wait. Yes I can. Thanks to your meddling, instead of taking a few kilos of leather goods, they took everything. Including my horse!” She kicked him in the hip, sending electric currents shooting through his pelvis.
“Hey,” said Nash, rising to his feet as he snatched up his gun and holstered it. He swayed as another pincushion grenade exploded in every part of his body. When the storm died down, he said, “I didn’t even want to come here to begin with.”
“I wish you wouldn’t have.” She stormed over to John Wayne and threw his gun down onto his chest with more force than necessary. No wonder it had hurt Nash when she’d done the same to him.
John Wayne made an oomph sound and started moving his arms and legs.
“Why didn’t you just shoot them instead of punching that Snake freak at the beginning and talking all tough to the Wizard?” Chiel demanded. “Or at least knock him out when you had the chance? Is this your first day on the Island or something? Because you’re the worst Ranger I’ve ever seen.”
Nash wanted to deny it, all of it, but he didn’t dare bring back the sickening gut feeling.
“It is!” she said. “That’s my luck. Someone finally comes to stand up to them, and it’s the two stooges.” She threw an arm in John Wayne’s direction. “He has an excuse, he at least shot until he lost his gun, but you had them and just let that stupid Snake slither right up and bite you.”
Nash didn’t know what to say. Yeah, he could have done a better job, but he also could have been more prepared. He wanted to make it up to the woman, or at least make a gesture, so he reached for his coin purse.
It was gone. Of course it was gone, along with the twelve kilos he’d immigrated with. That much money was supposed to set him up while he figured out life here.
Frantically he reached into his pocket and dug around. In the bottom crease, his fingers found what he was looking for—the miniature Ranger his sister had given before she immigrated. The one item he’d been allowed to bring in from the outside. He exhaled in relief.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Chiel, swallowing the anger he felt with the entire situation. It sucked for all of them, but she hadn’t asked for help to begin with.
“You are sorry,” said John Wayne sitting up and grimacing with every move as his body regained feeling. He made eye contact with Nash. “Make my day? Did you really say, ‘Make my day?’”
“Yeah.” Finally Nash felt like he’d done something right. “Not bad, huh?” Lines that perfect usually came to him ten seconds too late to use them.
“No,” spat John Wayne, rising to his feet. “That was Clint Eastwood, not John Wayne, you piker.”
“Same person, isn’t it?” Nash wondered if his trainer was messing with him. “Real name and screen name?”
“Kill me now,” said John Wayne. “On second thought, I should just end your miserable life right now. Pigsquirmy. I’ve killed men for less before.” He shook his head. “I don’t even want to talk about the rest of that abortion you called a rescue. I’m just glad my face was looking the other direction so I didn’t have to see it.”
“I saw it,” said Chiel. “Couldn’t even look away, even though I wanted to. You would have died of shame.”
She had seen the beating he’d taken, the venom in the face, and how quickly he’d gotten up on his feet, despite what the Wizard had said. That was a whole different issue than just hearing it, as John Wayne had. Nash wanted to ask her to keep his quick recovery secret without making a big deal of it, and without John Wayne overhearing and knowing too much. Of course, if he let her know he didn’t want anyone to know, she could blab the secrets of his endowment to the whole island. He turned to John Wayne.
“This may shock you,” said Nash, “but I made it clear I wanted a minute to catch my breath on the Island before a knock-down, drag-out like that.”
John Wayne blew out a breath. “I started you out with an easy one. And you didn’t tell me they were immigrating greenhorns that no one could use.”
Chiel rolled her eyes and shook her head. Without another word, she turned and started walking away.
Nash still wanted to make it up to her somehow. At least a gesture. “Can we escort you home or something, so you get there safe?”
Without turning back, she lifted her hand in a fist, with her thumb tucked between her first and second finger. Nash had seen it enough on the hollows to recognize the fig. The woman he’d tried to rescue had basically just given him the bird.
This kind of rescue was what he’d come here for, and it had only taken a few hours to get a shot and blow it. He could handle the consequences to himself, but it wasn’t right for him to screw up other people’s lives. This was not what he’d bargained for and he was already starting to wonder if immigrating had been the right decision. For better or worse, he was stuck for the rest of his life, no matter how short that ended up being.
At least he wasn’t alone. He didn’t see eye to eye with his trainer yet, but at least he had someone to lean on for a while. Also, the pain is his body had gone dull all over and he could almost feel it stitching itself back together. Rather than being done with fighting, Nash thought he might be able to handle another one if he had to.
John Wayne chuckled and came to rest a hand on Nash’s shoulder. “At least you took a bit of a beating.” He looked Nash up and down. “Consider it your first lesson on the island.”
Nash had to wonder how much his trainer knew about the beating. That kind of a brawl, including the kicks he’d taken when defenseless should have left Nash on the ground drooling like a vegetable. Nash still wanted to keep the secrets of his endowment and weakness so he hedged, “Eh, I had worse back when I did MMA.”
Sudden nausea filled Nash’s gut with raw sewage again. He put his hand over it, t
rying to calm the churning nausea.
“You mean, like cage fighting? I was wondering what MMA meant in your bio.”
“Yeah,” said Nash, curious what else his bio said. “I was on the high school team. Sparred in gyms when I could find guys who would get me in for free in exchange for having someone new to slap around.”
“And they hit you that hard?” John Wayne looked skeptical. “I couldn’t see you, but I know a thrashing when I hear one.”
It was Nash’s turn to shrug and act like it was no big deal. “I won a lot.” That part wasn’t a lie. “It made some guys feel like they had to prove something. So when they had a shot at me they didn’t waste it.” Also true.
“And they hit you as hard as these pig milkers?” John Wayne would not let it drop.
“Sometimes.” The queasiness and stomach pain increased exponentially; if anyone had ever come close to the kind of damage Nash had taken today without a quick-healing endowment, he’d be dead or brain-damaged. Nash doubled over, resting his hands on his knees. Sweat broke out on his face and his mouth started watering profusely. The thought of swallowing pushed him into a retch so he spat against a wall.
“Hmm. I thought you were done for.” John Wayne peered more closely into Nash’s face. “You got spit on! Two hours in and they’ve already ruined that pretty face of yours. Sorry to be the one to tell you, but you look like the Son of Freddy Kruger.”
“I think it’ll clear up,” said Nash. “It barely misted me.”
The third lie hit Nash as hard as the kick to his gut had. Doubling over, he spewed vomit into the gutter. When he was done heaving his guts all over the place, he leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Puking didn’t even dispel the nausea. His gut felt like it was full of poison. He just wanted to curl up on the ground and never move again.
Laughing, John Wayne rested a hand on Nash’s shoulder. “Gonna have to work on that gut if you plan on attending any more fanny-kicking parties.” He handed Nash a relatively clean handkerchief, which Nash used to clean up his mouth. “Either that or don’t get any more concussions. And you’re lucky he barely got you. I know a man who went blind after getting spt on. Guarantee he’d rather be uglier than sin than blind.”
A Route of Wares: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure: Hollow Island Book One Page 3