“Alright, good luck with that,” Bruce said. He smoothly backpedaled into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door and pretended to contemplate its contents as Queen walked into the great room. “Hey boo,” she purred at Darryl. She threw her arms around his neck and playfully bit his lower lip.
Darryl wrinkled his nose in disgust. Her breath smelled like booze, weed, and a musty odor he couldn't quite identify. Probably had her face buried lips deep in somebody’s crotch, he thought. The thought of kissing her suddenly made him feel ill. He tensed and didn’t reciprocate her display of affection. He didn’t even take his hands out of his pockets.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Queen asked. She pressed herself against him, grinding her pelvis into his thigh. “Why don’t you come outside with us? We getting ready to get in the pool.” She grinned to show a set of uneven teeth. “When I get you in that water I'll show you how long I can hold my breath.”
“No, I don't think so. I'm not in the mood.”
“No problem baby, what you in the mood for then? We can go back upstairs and I can—”
“No!” Darryl said. He forcefully ripped her arms from around his neck and pushed her away. Queen lost her balance and fell back against the glass-paneled wall hard enough to crack one of the panes.
“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Queen said.
“Look baby, I'm sorry. We did and said some things to each other that we shouldn't of. You and I have gone in different directions. We ain't the same people we was back in J-ville.”
Queen steadied herself. Her dulled brain was struggling to make sense of Darryl's outburst. “Baby, what the fuck are you talking about? We still Queen and Blaze, right? We still the dynamic duo, kicking ass and making cash. Baby, it can be like it was before, just let me prove it to you.” She reached out and tried to take his hand.
Darryl took one step backwards then faced away from her. “I'm sorry Queen, but those days are long gone. You need to go back to Jacksonville and live your life and I gotta stay here and live mine.”
Don't you say that shit to me now Blaze!” Queen said, her blood shot eyes brimming with tears. “I don't want to hear that shit! I gave up a lot to come down here and be with you. I thought we was gonna be together, you know, like you promised.”
Darryl turned and stuck an index finger in her face. “Baby, that promise was made a long time ago. You broke that shit when you let Ice between your legs.”
“Is that what this is about? Baby, Ice didn’t mean nothing to me! He was just there, you know, right place, right time, when I was tripping about you not coming back to get me. He didn't mean nothing to me. Anyways baby, he dead now. I only got feelings for you Blaze. Come on baby, don't be mad at me over some stupid shit like that.”
“Stupid shit?” Darryl shook his head and laughed. “You know something, you have always been a supreme bullshit artist. I was just too blinded by love and loyalty to see it. But I see that shit clear as day now. Your ass ain't nothing but a gold digging hoe, willing to put out for any motherfucker with a little coin. Well bitch, I fold. You can go play your games elsewhere.”
Queen balled her hand into a tight fist and swung at Darryl's head, missing him by several inches. “Don't nobody call me no hoe!” she screamed, “Queen don't play that!” Darryl had sidestepped her punch and had taken a step toward her when a bright light flared outside, bathing the backyard in a harsh reddish hue.
“What the fuck was that?” Bruce said, emerging from his hiding place behind the kitchen island.
“Hell if I know,” Darryl replied.
Queen gathered herself to take another swing at Darryl, hoping to catch him while he was distracted. She spun around, planting her feet and twisting her body at the waist, her left arm drawn back taut across her chest so as to inflict as much damage to his face as possible. Take this fucking black eye back with you to your fat ass virgin girlfriend, motherfucker.
Her punch never connected.
Without warning, the glass and wood facade exploded inward. Queen, Darryl, and most of the furniture in the room were thrown backward. Bruce, partially protected by the bar counter, was knocked back into the kitchen, slamming his head into the edge of the countertop and then onto the slate floor. High velocity shrapnel tore through the room, peppering Queen's back, arms, and thighs with needles of glass and wood. She bounced off the floor, limbs flailing like a rag doll. Her body cartwheeled then plowed headfirst into Darryl’s midsection. They both were thrown against the wall, Darryl's head hitting it hard enough to knock him unconscious. Their bodies fell in a heap on top of the snowdrift of debris piled against the wall by the blast. The entire house shuttered at the damage done to its foundation and threatened to collapse under its own weight. In the shock wave’s wake, the once serene and beautiful neighborhood was instantly transformed into a living hell.
12
“Uhhh shit,” Darryl moaned. His head swam in pain. He felt as if every muscle in his body was on fire. “What the fuck happened?” he said out loud, expecting a response. There wasn't one. He could hear the wind whistling through the trees, and mixed with it, the soft crackle and pop of a fire. He could smell it, and even taste it on his breath. It was acrid and oily. An old memory flashed through his mind, of a young Darryl Strickland, out way too late on a school night, watching the crack house on Edgewood and Reed burn to the ground. Black, acrid smoke washed over the crowd that had gathered to watch it burn, the firefighters taking their time to douse the flames of a dwelling everybody wanted gone. A panic suddenly welled up in him. The fucking house is on fire.
He was lying on his back, his body draped over a lumpy mass of couch cushions, smashed furniture, and broken glass. He opened his eyes and tried to sit up. A bolt of pain seared a path across his back and bloomed at the base of his brain. He fell back and the pain intensified. “Awww shit!” he yelped. His heart raced. His breathing was short and rapid. He tried to force himself to focus and be still. Don't pass out! Stay awake! Don't pass out! he thought. The pain was so severe, it was hard to concentrate. Something is stuck in my shoulder. He could feel it inside him, just above his right armpit. He carefully brought his left arm across his chest and laid his hand over his right shoulder. He felt it. A piece of jagged material was protruding about two inches from his shoulder, between his armpit and collarbone. He blinked the tears of pain away to clear his vision. He was surrounded by a pitch black so profound that he closed and reopened his eyes a couple of times to make sure he hadn't gone blind. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out a very faint blueish haze beyond the perimeter of the gaping hole that used to be the glass pane wall of the great room. Nothing moved except silhouettes of tattered debris that shifted fitfully in the breeze from the mangled ceiling. “Queen? Brute?” he called into the dark, “Where y’all at? I need help. Something stabbed me through the shoulder. I’m stuck. I can't get it out.”
He waited. Nothing.
It was so quiet, his heart sounded loud in his chest. There's gotta be somebody outside, he thought, there were at least three other people out there with Queen watching those meteors. One of them has to be ok enough to help me. “Hey! Help!” he yelled as loud as he could without jarring his shoulder. Even so, the pain ebbed across his chest and down his arm. He was feeling light-headed and weak. I'm gonna pass out soon, he thought. I've watched enough CSI to know I'm probably bleeding out. If I don't want to die, I'm gonna have to man up and pull this shit out myself.
He thought about his failed college football career. Back then his teammates and coaches nicknamed him Darryl 'Strictly Straight’ Strickland because he couldn't run routes over the middle of the field. It wasn't that he wasn't fast enough—he was one of the fastest guys on the team—the problem was he was afraid of getting hurt. He'd seen wide receiver’s careers, and even lives, ended by one blindside hit that took out a knee or snapped a neck. He didn't want to end up like that. So he tried to use speed and finesse to make plays but it didn’t work. He was surpassed by players willing
to sacrifice everything—even their life—for a promise of a big payday. He failed because he was afraid to take chances, to take a risk, to put it all on the line. Even when I was selling drugs I was a little chickenshit, he thought. I let Queen take all the risks while I hid in the shadows and collected the money. And then he met Moji. He had never met a woman—a person—like her in his entire life. She was intelligent, confident, and principled. She was both his most ardent cheerleader and his harshest critic. Most importantly, she gave him the ability to believe in himself, to not be afraid of the unknown but to embrace it. She gave me the confidence to run routes over the middle, he thought, I owe her everything and I let my past and my ego fuck it up. The pain in his shoulder throbbed for his attention. I have to get out of here, find Moji, and set things right. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. Ok Darryl, don't be a punk. This is going to hurt like a motherfucker but it's the only option you got. Before he gave himself time to second guess his decision, he took three short breaths then threw his entire weight over to his left side. “Arrrgh! fuuuuck!” Darryl screamed as the object backed out of the hole it created, it's jagged edges taking a chunk of his pectoral muscle with it.
Darryl lay face down on the floor, his body spasming uncontrollably. Fuck, I did it, he thought, I took that shit over the middle, he thought.
Then he passed out.
13
“Moji! Moji!” Crystal screamed.
She was kneeling over her friend’s unconscious body, Moji’s head cradled in her lap. Tears of fear streamed down Crystal’s face. “Baby, please wake up!. All hell's breaking loose and I need you to wake up so we can get out of here!”
Moji didn’t respond. Crystal was terrified. The explosion had set off a chain reaction of chaos that was getting worse by the minute. First, there was the blindingly bright light, then the blast that just about knocked her over and scared Tyson so badly that he bolted, yanking Moji off her feet in the process. Now, all the lights have gone out and people were going crazy. Oh dear God, please let my kids and husband be ok.
The park was pitch black. She could barely see her hand in front of her face, but she could hear the sound of the chaos. Crystal dug her cell phone out of her bag. She activated it and the display glowed dim. A little telephone pole icon blinked steadily in the top left corner. Damn it! Battery’s almost dead and there’s no service.
She put the phone away, wanting to conserve what little power it had left. There seemed to be action all around her. She couldn’t see anyone but she could hear people running, screaming, crying, calling for each other, begging for help. She heard what sounded like cars crashing into each other, glass breaking, and then, soon after, gunshots. It was the gunshots that scared her the most. She thought about her husband and her children and a feeling of dread came over her. Dear Jesus, you know me and bullets don’t mix. Please, let Moji wake up so we can get out of this park and I swear I will stop all the flirting and be the most devoted wife and mother you’ve ever seen.
She looked down at her friend. She could barely see Moji’s face in the dim starlight, but even with no light, she could tell that Moji needed medical attention. She felt the back of Moji’s head with her fingers. Her hair was wet and sticky with blood. Her fingers probed for the source of the blood flow and traced it to a jagged gash on Moji’s scalp. The blood there was thick and coagulated and she prayed that meant the bleeding had stopped. But the gash was at the apex of a lump that seemed to be getting bigger and she was afraid that meant Moji’s situation was getting worse. I need to get you some help Moji but I don’t want to leave you and I damn sure can’t carry you. Please, in Jesus’ name, please wake up!
Another gunshot rang out, close enough to make Crystal flinch. She bent lower, hoping to make herself as small of a target as possible. Oh my Jesus, that was close, she thought. I don’t want to die out here! No sooner had that thought surfaced than she made a decision that she hoped God and Moji would forgive—she reached back and slapped Moji’s face as hard as she could.
“Wake up damn it!” she cried, “Moji please!”
The palm of her hand stung from the force of the blow. Crystal steeled herself for another swing when Moji stirred. Moji’s head rocked from side to side, and a low moan escaped from her lips.
“Moji? Moji baby can you hear me?” Crystal said.
Moji became aware of the Milky Way’s band of stars—the star’s road—arching across her field of view, blocked only by the silhouette of a large, vaguely familiar mass that she had trouble identifying. Then the mass shifted and spoke in a voice she recognized. “Wha-what is happening? Where am I?” she mumbled. She tried to move her head. The pain that followed almost made her cry out. She reached up to use her hands to steady her aching head. Her cheek and arm also hurt. She could taste blood in her mouth.
“It’s ok Mo,” Crystal said, “everything’s going to be ok.”
“Crystal, you never call me Mo unless something’s wrong.”
Moji tried to sit up. The pain intensified. Her head swam and she felt dizzy.
“Crystal, why is it so dark? And why does my face and head hurt so much?”
“I think the explosion somehow knocked out all the lights. People have been running around screaming, cars crashing into each other, people shooting. It’s crazy. Tyson got spooked and he ran off, almost tearing off your arm in the process. He yanked you off your feet and you banged your head pretty good when you fell.” She left out the part about the slap.
“Explosion? Tyson?” Moji said, confused. She knew she should know who that was but her thoughts were so cloudy. She cradled her head in her hands and flinched when her fingers brushed the wound on the back of her head.
“Yes Tyson,” Crystal repeated, “You know, your dog? When the bomb or whatever that was went off, he broke the leash and sprinted off in that direction.”
Crystal was pointing toward the golf course fairway but then realized that Moji probably couldn’t see her arm in the dark.
“Crystal I don’t feel so good. I want to go home.”
“You and me both. Let me help you up.”
Crystal stood up then put her arm around Moji’s waist, using her other hand to guide Moji’s arm around her neck.
“Ok, let’s see if you can stand.”
Moji stood and immediately regretted it. A wave of nausea overtook her and she vomited violently, spilling the entire contents of her stomach on to the ground at Crystal’s feet.
“Oh God,” Crystal moaned. She couldn’t see it but Crystal could feel the warm, sticky mess sliding down her shin and into the heel of her shoe.
“Uh uh, I-I’m so sorry,” Moji said before doubling over in a fit of retching dry heaves.
Crystal waited for Moji to catch her breath before answering. “It’s ok, don’t worry about it. Can you move?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Moji said.
They shuffled slowly along the path, holding on to each other for balance and comfort. They could hear lots of activity around them—people running, shouting—but no one offered to give them assistance. Crystal contemplated calling out into the darkness for help, to see if anyone would stop and help them. But she thought better of it. Everybody’s panicking in the dark, she thought. Safer to stay quiet and not draw unwanted attention to ourselves.
After what seemed like an eternity of limping through the dark, they finally made it back to the park’s boundary. The street separating the park from the driveway of the Tower was empty except for the broken rectangles of tempered glass that littered its surface. The glass glittered like jewels in the soft starlight.
“Where did all this glass come from?” whispered Moji, still holding tightly to Crystal’s shoulders for support.
Crystal looked up at the Tower’s face. The building was completely dark save for the dim wisps of light from flashlights, candles, and emergency lighting that fluttered in and out of view from behind drapes exposed to the breeze from a large number of broken windows.
“It looks like the building was hit by a bomb,” Crystal said.
“Oh Crystal!” Moji shrieked in sudden distress, “we have to get up there! I bet my baby is terrified!”
“What are you talking about?” Crystal said, confused.
“Tyson!” Moji said, “He’s up there all alone! Please Crystal help me! I have to get up there right now!”
Moji pulled away from Crystal’s embrace and fumbled helplessly in the dark, slipping across the carpet of broken glass like a child standing on her first pair of ice skates.
Crystal thrust forward and grabbed Moji around the waist before she could fall and turned her around until they were nose-to-nose. “Listen to me girl! Remember, I already told you! Tyson isn’t up there! He was with us in the park. The explosion scared him and he ran away. I’m sorry Moji but your dog is not here.”
“Wha-wha-what are you talking about?” Moji said, her voice trembling with confusion and fear, “Tyson would never leave me. He loves me Crystal. He loves me.” The last of Moji’s words were slurred and she began to gulp big mouthfuls of air like she was about to cry—or throw up again.
“I’m sorry Mo,” Crystal said, gently guiding Moji’s head away from hers so as not to get a face full of vomit,“ I wish Tyson was here with us right now, I really do. But he’s not. Right now we have to concentrate on us. Ok?”
Moji behaved as if she didn’t hear Crystal. She had fallen to her knees, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso. She was sobbing. “We have to go find him! We have to find my baby! We have to find him!” A soft but constant wail began to emanate from Moji, like she was doing a bad imitation of a police car siren. She would pause to take a deep breath and then the wail would begin again.
”Mo please!” Crystal said. “Let’s not do this right now! It’s dangerous out here! We have to get inside. I promise I will help you find Tyson, but right now we have to get inside where it’s safe.” Crystal put her arms around her friend and helped her to her feet. Moji did not resist. “There we go. Thank you. I promise we will look for your dog later. Ok?”
The Scourge Page 13