by D M Robbins
He responds, “Whomever is killing us intends to leave no trace of us. We will burn up and ash away with history.” Tanz stares at me as the root pulls him closer. “It is feeding time,” he says with his low measured voice.
We’re trapped. The root snakes have slithered around, encasing us like a wooden jail. I see how far we are to the lava through a sliver between the snake cage bars. The shrill cries pierce the air as they draw us near.
Tanz shouts above the snake frenzy. “…If the nickel and iron of the lava can zero out and neutralize the iron core crystals, well then, the same must be true in the opposite direction. And lastly, I never told you, but I hate snakes. They do not exist on Narican.”
“Great to know. Well, how do you propose we do that?” I’m sweating from the heat of the lava. Too hot. “Tanz, hurry up. I’m starting to cook.”
“I have no calculations. Just a theory. Blood. Find a sharp root or snake tooth and cut yourself. Aim or rub it on the root. The immune system built into our blood will attack anything impure.” He lets out a scream as the root squeezes tighter. Bones may break.
“I hope this works,” I say.
“If not, we have failed.”
“And are gonna die.”
“Yes, we will die. As will Narican.”
I find a sharp root and cut my hand and forehead on a snake tooth. The blood drips and the parts of the root disintegrate and loosen. More blood drips and the roots smoke.
“It’s working,” I say as the snake root cries out in pain, retreating. My ears are hurting. “Worst… Sound… Ever…!”
We can’t get close enough to the lava, but a hole is created in the roots. We fall out as they retreat.
A few feet away we stand and stare at each other then start spitting at the lava. Roots begin coming at us again, striking. We slap them away. Steam rises where the spit hits. Small stones now float. I spit some more.
Standing so close we perspire heavily, wiping our brows and shaking our hands, throwing whatever sweat and spit we have left. More chunks of stone form on the surface.
“It’s not enough…” I say. My mouth growing dry. Snakes slither faster down the hillside.
“What else can we do? They’re coming,” I say, staring at them then Tanz.
He ponders for a moment. “We must pee into it.”
“What?”
“It is the only fluid left we can spare. Now pee into it!” he commands.
Now that he mentions it, I have been holding it a while.
“Fine, but don’t look, okay?” I turn away, unzipping.
“I won’t, but shake it around.” We stream pee in all directions.
“Don’t waste any. Get as close as you can.”
I step closer to the lava edge trying not to fall in. Feeling like a firefighter: Code 12. Code 12 Lava Lake with snake roots: hose running at full strength.
On a side note, I’ve always been known to have a large bladder yet never thought it could save my life.
More stones pop up. The lake rumbles, turning gray. The lava bed steams and settles. I shake what’s left. “Now that felt good,” I say, zipping my pants.
The last rock spits up and rolls within a few feet of us. The heat diminishes. The snake roots retreat up the hillside, snapping at each other. The roof retracts and opens.
Breathing heavily, we look at each other, catching our breaths, sweating.
“Might as well bed down for the night here,” he says. Exhausted from the battle and hunger, we fall asleep next to the lava bed seeing the night sky again. Stars are plentiful.
*
The next morning is sunny. We walk up and out of the bowl. I stop at a petrified tree and think I hear it hiss. Snapping off a branch I throw it as far as I can. The branch smashes into pieces on the jagged stone lava below.
We find our way back to the government road and continue toward the capital. The strange voices are gone. A few miles pass and we see the tips of the capital’s tallest buildings off on the horizon. We’re getting closer. My stomach grumbles.
“I am so hungry.”
“We’ll find something in the capital.”
That idea settles me for the moment.
In the barrenness of our surroundings, something is out of place. A bicyclist rides from the direction of the capital, fast, as if propelled at us by a motor.
“Keep an eye out.” Tanz says.
The man slows then stops on the other side of the road clearly keeping his distance. His right hand remains on a small lever.
“Nice day for a walk,” he says, looking around then up at the sky and back down at us. “Where are you guys going?” He’s fit with wavy blond hair and blue eyes, early thirties.
“To the capital…” Tanz answers.
“Let me guess, a couple of darkness salesmen: guns, mind manipulation, murder. Not enough pain in the world for you?”
“No, sir. We’re just tourists. And you are?” Tanz responds.
He points and says, “Just a bicyclist enjoying a sunny day and fresh air. You see that dark cloud hanging over the capital? It’s been growing in recent months, yet the capital is always sunny.”
“How can that be?” I ask.
“You tell me.” He looks us over. “You two may not be darkness pushers, but you sure aren’t tourists either. It’s a strange town. You’ve been warned.”
“We’re getting used to strange.”
“Whatevs. Enjoy the walk. They do have faster ways of geeetttt-ttting thee-eeerrrre…” He presses the lever and the bike shoots away at breakneck speed as if his ten-speed had a jetpack. A second later he cruises over a hill we passed half a mile back.
We stand alone on the road that carves out this strange rugged wilderness leading us to answers, and no doubt, trouble. Hopefully some food first.
“Weird stuff out here, Tanz…”
“And the weirdness will most likely increase.”
Another hour of walking with tired feet and we make it to the capital gates and city limits. A black cloudless sky sits overhead.
THE WEIRD CAPITAL, FOOD, AND A POLITICIAN
Inside the gates, row houses run up to the edge but not beyond, not into no man’s land.
“Wait a sec.” I walk back outside the gates.
“There’s a black sky above but it’s sunny inside,” I say, walking back in.
“As the man said,” Tanz runs a quick equation. “It is the same black sky that yesterday sat over the lava lake and the day before dictated the storm and tornado.” He wipes it aside.
“So, what do we do about it?”
“Nothing at the moment. The universe has a way of revealing information when needed.”
“Great. Can it reveal some food?”
“Let us walk.”
A few blocks in we act like tourists, pointing out famous buildings, taking goofy pictures. In front of the Grand Almeida building there is a brick square with several food trucks. I walk over to the hot dog stand and overhear Tanz say behind me, “Selfie.” He snaps a picture of himself then types into his phone.
“What are you doing?” I shout over.
“Posting to InstaFace.”
I cram my mouth with ketchup laced hot dogs.
Tanz takes a more tactful approach to eating and chewing, with measured bites. “Good for the digestive tract.”
Everyone in the square is happy and smiling. There are jugglers, balloon guys, children chasing bubbles, people sitting on walls reading. I start feeling lightheaded myself. I’d like to juggle for a while or lay down, nap on the grass as several others are doing.
Tanz looks at me with scowling, intense eyes.
“Why are you so unhappy?” I ask him.
We look at each other strangely. My head doesn’t feel right. We look back to where we’d been. The hillsides surrounding the city are sunny.
“Come.” Tanz pulls me by the hand.
“Why, this is so great.”
We walk back outside past the gates; the dark cloud l
ooms overhead.
“Breathe… get your senses about you. I cannot continue with you acting like a buffoon.”
My happiness fades outside the city gates, back to my old self. I shake my head. Tanz slaps me on the shoulders.
“Okay, okay, what was that?”
“Stay here.” He steps onto the other side of the gate and tests the air with a small equation in his hands, so no one sees him. It concludes, folds, and flies off.
“There’s a slight drug in the air putting everyone in this euphoric state. A compression chamber envelopes the city.”
“You mean a bubble?”
“Precisely, a bubble.”
“The black sky is creating that?”
“It is more like something is creating the black sky.”
“Why?”
“The illusion of joy is too overwhelming to ignore. People often seek to escape their struggles with a misperception of happiness. Do not get lost in it again. Stay focused on your heart and spirit when we re-enter; this will keep your head from floating off.”
I store the information away as we step back in.
“Okay, so how are we going to find this politician?”
“Like anyone else, call him.” He brings up an image that shimmers radiant blue.
“I see you’ve gotten your DNA back.”
“One must align one’s cells with source. Thus, allowing one’s higher self.”
“I’m starting to get it.”
He scans an image of Qualmsy then scrolls back to earlier, in the limousine. Qualmsy seems uptight, straightening his back in his red velvet room with the floating haze balls above him. He stares at the phone as if someone is yelling at him. Tanz zooms in on the number across the phone screen and reads his moving lips. “Se-na-tor Kim-bel.” Tanz mouths along with Qualmsy.
“The guy from the newspaper?”
“Ah, the ego. Apparently fighting bears is not enough.”
Tanz grabs the phone out of his pocket and dials. It rings several times and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to pick up. About to click off, we finally hear, “Hello.”
Tanz doesn’t respond yet closely listens. I lean in.
“Hello, who is this?”
“Ah, Senator Kimbel, we are looking for you. Are you, sir, scared of the boogey man? Well the boogey men have arrived.” He takes the phone away from his ear and snickers. I roll my eyes.
“How did you get this number? Is this the old man? I heard you had escaped my associate.” Tanz places it on speakerphone and we listen. There’s typing in the background. “I hope you brought the boy…”
“Oh, he would not miss a chance to visit the capital and our favorite senator.”
“Soon to be Citizen Leader. Good. We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Oh, and thank you for sending your welcoming committee outside the city. Very impressive. Lava. We’ll be visiting with you real soon.” Tanz clicks off, not picking up anything certain, and shakes his head.
We keep walking into the capital toward the city center.
“Wow, you talk a good game, man.”
“I do understand the finer details of smack talking and its effectiveness.”
*
On the main road there are many people and television monitors everywhere on lampposts, shop windows, street corners floating for people to view while walking, at bus stops and in some places embedded in the concrete of the sidewalk.
At a storefront we stop to watch. Though summertime, two women walk in fur coats and also stop to watch. There is a montage of Senator Kimbel running for Citizen Leader.
The beautiful blonde newscaster exclaims what a great citizen he’s been.
“What a lucky nation we are. And this newscaster hopes upon hopes that he becomes our next Citizen Leader. We now take you to this exalted candidate’s press conference.”
His press secretary stands at the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, your candidate and soon to be Citizen Leader, Senator Kimbel!”
The crowd goes wild and gives a standing ovation as he walks onto the stage.
One of the women in a fur coat says, “He’s so manly, like a handsome knight.”
“So strong and smart. I wish my husband were more like him,” the other one agrees.
The clip shifts to Kimbel chopping wood, bench pressing without a shirt on, signing bills into law, helping old ladies across the street, and saving cats from trees. After the vain montage, back on the stage he stands as the ovation fills the auditorium with reverie as if a savior has come to deliver them. His stunning blonde wife stands next to him as he waves. Banner slogans roll across the monitor bottom. “Our Country is Boldest with Kimbel.”
“Impressive,” Tanz says.
Across the street a haze ball enters a sewer grate. “They’re watching us,” I say, elbowing him.
Scoping each direction of the city, he creates a small equation. “By the size of the place, Kimbel must have trackers around the perimeter and more heavily concentrated in the center. I calculate a thousand trackers, haze, and dark forces to watch his enemies.”
“That would be us, right?”
“Yes. And as they say in politics: keep your friends close, and enemies closer.”
“I’m glad I’m not in politics.”
“We are all in politics, like it or not.”
We walk farther toward the city center and state house. People watch us on street corners then evaporate and float off.
“How can they do that?” I ask. “How are we supposed to know if someone is real or not? Same as the people on the train.”
“We won’t. If we smell sulfur, trust it’s them. If so, run. Don’t stare. They will attack. There are too many of them.”
We walk and more images flash of reverent staged pictures doing more manly things: fishing, catching a burglar.
The newscaster fawns over him, “What an amazing man!”
Tanz observes, “It is a package they’re selling like blue jeans or a bag of potato chips that will change your life, but not make you fat…”
As we walk on, I look down at my waist wondering how blue jeans would make me fat.
Tanz stops, putting up his hand in front of me the way my mother and father used to when hitting the car brakes. Haze clusters gather at the next intersection.
“We must be getting close,” I say.
The ticker across the monitors read CITIZEN LEADER CANDIDATE KIMBEL LEAVES PRESS CONFERENCE. He gets into a limousine, the same one from Qualmsy’s.
People smile on the street, looking at storefront monitors and windows waiting for busses or just staring at the brave and powerful images, probably feeling so safe and secure, happy. A reflection of colors flash in one man’s captivated face. Images project from the lamppost he’s entranced with.
His dilated eyes and joyous facial expression bounce along with every flashing image then with a sudden burst the colors reflected in his face are flat, solid, dark. He double takes, looking at us with anger.
The newscaster reports, “Just a moment ago—” she holds her earpiece—“this ungodly event happened.”
All monitors switch. All images on the sets are now of Tanz and I murdering Senator Kimbel in his limousine as if it already happened. People on the street see us strangling, striking him.
“But, Tanz, that didn’t happen. We wouldn’t…” I stop speaking as people turn at us in anger, closing in. We walk faster.
As the newscaster speaks the volume on all sets increase. “If you see this old man and boy they are wanted for the murder of our most beloved and soon to be Citizen Leader.” Visibly shaken, the newscaster dabs her eyes with a tissue.
“Just a few months ago we lost Senator Milleron under similar pretenses. Now our most beloved Senator Kimbel is dead. These senseless murders must stop.”
Streaming headlines of “MURDERERS!” are on every television, seen by every face. Quickly we move down the block, but the mob closes in. The man whose face went from joy to
hatred grabs me as others grab Tanz.
“They killed our leader!”
“Rip them to shreds!”
They’re pulling and yanking my arms as the police arrive. Placed in a squad car, we’re hauled away. Their faces all filled with rage and hatred as we drive off.
I lean in and ask, “But what about all the joy?”
Tanz’s only response, “Base emotions.”
AFTER BEING CAUGHT BY THE MOB
I wake in a cement room with mist spraying out of two encased sprinklers on the ceiling. Tanz is awake, studying them. “It’s the toxin. Breathe through your shirt.”
“The cleansing toxin?”
Tanz nods.
“But how?”
He shakes his head. “We will weaken then our DNA will break down. Must esca…” he says, passing out.
My eyes then close.
When I wake two very large men stand in the room with rippling muscles and empty, soulless black eyes like the men at Qualmsy’s. The spray has stopped. Without a word they lift and throw us over their shoulders like bags of flour. I’m so weak I cannot move or tell if I am. Groggy, I’m having trouble connecting thoughts.
We’re brought into a main room where Senator Kimbel waits. Busts of dead Citizen Leaders stand in a row on the side beneath portraits of war scenes and valiant generals striding atop mountainsides. He speaks, pressing his face against a strange looking device with a contoured monitor.
“You must trust me. I’ve dealt with far more dangerous opponents than a boy and an old man. I’ve bombed entire countries: wiped them off the face of the earth. A bullet works the same for them all. Excuse me, my guests have arrived.” As we enter, he pushes away from the device, pulling a sheet over it.
“Welcome… Welcome…” He stands, clapping his hands together. “My mighty adversaries…” His sandy hair is perfectly parted. He wears a crisp blue collared shirt.
The big guys set us in chairs and tie us up then stand at our flanks. “Just for precautions. But by the looks of you, there is little need… However, you did elude Mr. Qualmsy. Yet the toxins are powerful and you will soon be dead.”
“How long were we unconscious?” Tanz asks, rubbing his face and stubble.