The Conch Shell of Doom

by Ryan Hill

  Farther down the beach, Trenton plunged the knife toward Bailey. It flew out of Trenton’s hand, leaving Bailey unharmed.

  Bailey was too afraid to open his eyes. Was he dead? Did it happen that fast? Had he gone into shock? Surely, getting stabbed in the chest would be incredibly painful, not to mention horrifying, as he’d be helpless to do anything but watch himself bleed out. The weird thing for Bailey was that he didn’t hurt at all. What gave? He opened his eyes to find out.

  Trenton didn’t have the knife in his hand. Bailey didn’t know where it was and didn’t care. All he knew was that Trenton looked pissed. He shouted and flung his arms around, accidentally clocking Percy in the face, knocking the stoner out. Trenton motioned to the sand soldiers. “Go get my brother and whoever else is with him. I want to squeeze the life out of the entire lot.”

  The soldiers fanned out across the beach.

  Trenton pointed at his followers. “You all, as well.”

  “I’ll get the scrawny bastards.” Deckland punched the palm of his hand.

  Trenton knelt next to Percy, pressing two fingers against his throat. “Hm. Dead. That’s one less thing to do later.”

  Nuh uh. No way. Trenton killed Percy during a temper tantrum. Bailey didn’t think it possible, but that made him wish the crazy townsfolk were still around. Without them, there was no buffer between Trenton and another outburst.

  “I know you’re scared, but I want you to know something.” Trenton patted Bailey’s leg, a cold shiver giving him goosebumps.

  Bailey forced himself to speak. “That this is all a big joke?”

  Trenton shook his head. “After this is over, your body will be free. It will no longer be imprisoned by your fear. It will blossom and bloom into its full potential.” He squeezed Bailey’s arm. “Such a waste. I will make this body into the most powerful specimen on the planet.”

  Bailey wanted to make another snarky remark, but in a busted, roundabout way, Trenton made a solid point. Bailey had wasted his time. The anxiety was like a cage, keeping him from doing a lot of things. Without the anxiety, what all could he have accomplished? Maybe dying would truly set him free.

  Wait.

  Why did Trenton get to make that decision for Bailey? He was only sixteen. There was plenty of time to figure things out and work on his issues. That’s what life was all about. Live and learn.

  “You’re so full of it,” he said.

  “Careful. I could rip your throat out with these two fingers.” Trenton made a pinching motion with his index finger and thumb. He coughed.

  “No you couldn’t. Because you need this body.”

  “Body, yes. Head? No.” Trenton grabbed Bailey by the face and ripped him from his bindings. “The knife was simply an act of mercy, so you wouldn’t have to experience the feeling of your head being removed from your body. However, I can’t say I’m feeling too merciful at the moment.”

  Feet dangling in the air, temples pressing against his brain, Bailey wondered if it was really the best time to have a confidence-building epiphany.

  After knocking the knife out of Trenton’s hand, Franklin picked up Alexis, slung her over his shoulder, and high-tailed it back to the others, not even bothering to see if anyone had given chase. He set her down once they’d reached cover of the building and then rubbed his injured knee. Carrying a girl Alexis’s size like that didn’t do the aching joint any favors.

  “Did you do it?” Tim asked his sister.

  She smiled and bumped fists with him. “It only took three tries but still.”

  Julie peeked around the corner. “Here comes your boy.”

  Franklin took a peek. Deckland was marching up the beach, with six sand soldiers in tow. Franklin got knocked out by the Irishman not long ago, and already he was back for more?

  “Spectacular.” Franklin steeled himself for another beating, stretching his arms and legs. “Nobody, and I mean nobody, do anything until I come back.”

  “What if you don’t come back?” Marshall asked.

  “Then you’re on your own. Until then, wait here.” Franklin was going to have a hard enough time with Deckland. If Franklin had to worry about the kids doing something, the ginger would probably take advantage and rip a few appendages off.

  Franklin held up both hands in the air, middle fingers extended, waiting for Deckland to notice the double-bird. The Irishman stopped in his tracks and laughed. He mouthed something to himself. Franklin met his opponent halfway. The foes locked eyes, like they were in some Old West duel, as the sand soldiers fanning out around them.

  “You sure you don’t want your girlfriend to help? Or one of the kids? Because you’re a wee bit outnumbered,” the ginger said. “I’d hate for you to get your bell rung again.”

  “I’ve got to say, I’m disappointed. Do you really need these future sand dollars for back-up? You really are all talk.” Franklin pulled the Blade of Hugues de Payens out from behind him.

  “Pay them no mind,” Deckland said. “They’re only here to watch me put your head on a pole.”

  “That so?”

  “Nope.”

  Typical. Franklin didn’t expect a fair fight, not with their history. The sand soldiers closed in, the circle surrounding the immortal shrinking. Two soldiers on opposite ends hurled starfish in rapid succession. Franklin dodged them, and the projectiles flew overhead, taking down two grunts behind him. He swiftly spun around the others, taking their heads off with the blade.

  A cloud of sand got in Franklin’s eyes on the final kill. He tried to spot his nemesis through the burning sensation, but it was too difficult to keep his eyes open. He had no idea where anything was, except the sky. The Irishman’s fist connected with Franklin’s jaw, knocking him down. A super-sized boot came down, crushing his wrist. The Blade of Hugues de Payens was yanked out of his hand.

  “That was about as fair as I’ll get with you.” Deckland pulled up Franklin by his hair and then squeezed as hard as he could on his privates. “What are you packing in there? A couple of peas?”

  Franklin’s eyes rolled up in his skull. The deep, throbbing pain stretching to every part of his body was the worst he’d experienced since his wife died. Deckland kicked the feet out from under Franklin. A small piece of coral lay under the sand, gashing his hand as it landed on the hard object. Ignoring the pain of sand in an open wound, he grabbed the coral and swung as hard as he could.

  Deckland blocked the punch with one hand and slugged Franklin with the other. “Now who’s not playing fair?”

  The coral fell in the sand next to Franklin. It was embarrassing, always getting beaten by the Irishman. The ginger kicked the blunt instrument away and then pressed down on the immortal’s chest with his foot, applying more and more pressure. Franklin tried to push free. Deckland grabbed one of his swinging arms and pulled. Hard. Franklin screamed. The combination of his chest collapsing and his arm slowly being ripped clean off was too much for the immortal.

  “Oh, quit your whining,” Deckland said. “I think after I finish with you, I’ll move on to your lady friend.”

  “Sorry. You’re not my type.” Julie stood behind the Irishman, shotgun in hand. She pulled the trigger, sending a shell full of buckshot into his back.

  Franklin rolled away, trying to avoid getting hit in the face. Deckland took the shot square in the back, but he was fine. He let go of Franklin’s arm and faced Julie. The wounds looked more like bug bites than a shotgun blast.

  “My turn.”

  Julie’s jaw dropped, shocked he’d survived with not much of a scratch. Even Franklin was surprised. Julie opened the barrels. Both shells popped out. She did her best to reload in a hurry as her eyes darted between empty shotgun barrels and the Irishman, who looked like an agitated bee ready to sting whatever got in its way. Julie locked the barrel in place and aimed at his chest again.

  Franklin winced, not wanting her to repeat that mistake. He waved at her, getting her attention, and then shot himself in the face with a finger gun, h
oping she’d get the hint.

  Julie got a little closer to the ginger and then aimed the barrels at his head.

  “This should be fun.”

  Julie fired the shotgun. Everything above Deckland’s shoulders disappeared. His body remained upright for a second and then collapsed. Julie threw the shotgun on the sand and rushed to Franklin, taking him in her arms.

  “You okay?”

  “No,” Franklin groaned. “Got my ass handed to me. Again. Getting too old for this.”

  “You big baby.” Julie let go of him, his weak body slipping into the sand. “Can you walk, or do I need to get you a stroller?”

  “I’d take the stroller, but I doubt it’d get far in all this wet sand.”

  Julie offered her hand and helped Franklin up. He swung his arm around in a windmill motion, soothing the sore joint. At least the knee didn’t hurt any more. Immortality sucked for the most part, but quick healing, especially after a colossal ass kicking, was one of the perks. The Blade of Hugues de Payens lay half-buried in the sand. He picked it up and wiped it clean with his fingers.

  The kids ran down the beach screaming, with Chuck and Debbie trying to get them to stop. Franklin flicked wet sand off his fingers.

  “What now?”

  “Trouble.” Julie stared at the end of the beach.

  Franklin followed Julie’s eye line and saw Trenton holding Bailey a few feet in the air by the kid’s throat. Franklin sighed.

  “I give up.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Not Always Cute and Cuddly

  “I can’t remember the last time I saw something so comedic,” Trenton said. “You’re like a flightless bird, unable to fly but not smart enough to realize your wings don’t work.”

  Bailey gasped for air, legs swinging back and forth, reaching for something to take the weight off his neck. He wondered if anybody taught lessons on how to survive choking, and if so, how much they charged, because it was definitely a name your price industry.

  “Oh, look. Your friends are trying to rescue you again. Don’t worry. I’ll get back to you soon enough.” Trenton hurled Bailey into the ocean.

  He flew through the air, slamming into the ocean’s surface face first. The collision was like a battering ram trying to break through his skull. Bailey sank deeper into the water, struggling to get his bearings from the pain. Something inside of him screamed out SWIM OR DIE. It seemed like an easy choice. He swam upward, peeking his head above the water. His friends were trying to fight their way through sand soldiers. Alexis was a sight to behold. She flicked her wand, demolishing dozens of Trenton’s troops. That’s my girl. Much as Bailey’s aching body wanted to sit one out, he forced himself to swim toward shore.

  In between waves splashing in his face, Bailey saw the fight unfolding. Everybody was out of focus, like blurry figures running around, but he could recognize them by their body shape and clothes. He reached a point where the ocean’s depth was shallow enough; he set his feet down, making sure to only stay high enough above water to breathe. Wading toward shore, Bailey admired his friends as they fought. It wasn’t just for him. It was for the town. Everything, really.

  An errant starfish sliced through Marshall’s leg. Bailey was back on the beach. He picked up a swordfish and made a break for Trenton. The swordfish wouldn’t deal a death blow, but Bailey hoped it would at least injure the guy. With the weapon inches away, Trenton side-stepped Bailey and then cut a small gash in his face with the ceremonial knife. The momentum carried him straight into his parents. Earl and Wanda tried to grab Bailey, but he was too wet and slipped away.

  “How hard is it to pin down one kid?” Trenton snarled. “All I need is two seconds, and I can finish the ceremony.”

  Bailey staggered back from his parents, whose eyes were full of black nothingness. He waved the swordfish at them. “Stay back.”

  Earl picked up a sword himself that lay on top of a mound of sand. Wanda threw a starfish at Bailey. He easily knocked it away. Stepping back from his parents, Bailey felt the tide rush over his feet.

  “Come on guys, I’m your son.”

  “We don’t care.” Earl charged at Bailey.

  Bailey fought off his dad’s advances, moving from side to side. Blade banged against blade as neither could get the upper hand. His mother jumped into the action, the sharp edges of a starfish sticking out from between her fingers. Bailey moved in close to Wanda and smacked her in the face with the swordfish’s body, knocking her out. Earl grunted and charged forward, taking a big swing. Bailey moved out of the way. Earl pierced Bailey’s hand, slicing it open. He jerked his band back, dropping the swordfish.

  “What shall I cut off first? I’m sure Trenton can grow back whatever I take.” Earl grinned, his white teeth a stark contrast to those dark eyes. He rocked back and forth, as if waiting for the perfect pitch. Without a weapon, Bailey knew the score. His dad swung the sword back. A bolt of lightning struck him from behind. He convulsed from the current, falling face down in the sand and revealing Alexis standing behind him, wand in hand.

  There were so many things Bailey wanted to say. Unable to settle on any of them, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I want to make a joke, but I can’t.”

  Alexis gave him a funny look. “Probably the smart move.”

  A sand soldier fast approached, ready to stab Alexis in the back.

  Bailey pointed behind her. “Bad guy!”

  Alexis sighed, as if the sand soldier was nothing more than an annoyance. She aimed the wand and flicked her wrist, obliterating the thing into a billion grains of sand.

  Bailey couldn’t help but be impressed. “Wow.”

  Her eyes lit up. “I know, right?”

  Franklin held a swordfish in one hand and the Blade of Hugues de Payens in the other, fighting through sand soldiers on his way to Trenton and those crazy kids before one of them got hurt. Nothing that stood in Franklin’s way posed much of a threat until he came across something new and unexpected that caught him off guard. He’d never seen that part of Trenton’s army.

  Two dolphins, complete with legs and arms that grew out of their razor sharp fins, and each of them armed with an eel whip, looked ready to fight. The pair stomped their feet, held out their arms, and whistled through their snouts in a display of dominance. Franklin knew he shouldn’t, but part of him wanted to laugh. They were dolphins, after all. The mammals spoke to each other in clicks and then lowered their heads in unison. An acidic liquid shot out of their snouts, sizzling with each drop of rain it tore though. Franklin dove out of the way, but his swordfish wasn’t so lucky. He threw it away before the acid streamed onto his hand. The melted weapon left a smell of burnt fish that turned his stomach.

  One of the eel whips wrapped around Franklin’s wrist, sending an electric shock through his arm and into the rest of his body, causing uncontrollable tremors. The current was especially painful in his hand, thanks to the Blade of Hugues de Payens. He was forced to let it go. The second dolphin whipped Franklin in the leg. Combined, the two whips made his entire body feel like it was being stabbed with needles. He fell to the sand. The dolphins loosened their whips, mercifully ending the shock treatment. Franklin rolled onto his back, holding up his hands.

  “Okay, okay. You got me.”

  The dolphins clicked and then moved in for the kill. They snapped their whips, wet clumps of sand flying up every time one cracked against the beach. Franklin lowered his hands, closing his fingers so he clutched two wet mounds of sand. The two mammals aimed their snouts at Franklin, ready to give him an acid bath. The second Franklin was out of their eye line he rushed at them, slamming the handfuls of sand in their snouts. They choked, trying to clear it out.

  Franklin cursed himself. He forgot to pick up the Blade of Hugues de Payens, which lay on the other side of the dolphins. The immortal prayed the sweet, adorable, and completely evil mammals wouldn’t recover in time to figure out his mistake. Franklin slid, grabbing the knife in one smooth motion,
and then rushed at the dolphins. He buried the blade in one dolphin’s head, making it seize up and die. The other cracked its whip as it struggled to blow the sand out of its snout, the acid shooting out every which way like it was going through a sprinkler. Franklin jumped over the whip and then stabbed his adversary over and over until its lifeless body keeled over.

  Of all the things that died by Franklin’s hand, it was the first time for a dolphin. It felt terrible. The guilt caused a knot in his stomach. Dolphins were his favorite sea creature. The immortal remembered petting one as a small child. That memory was forever tainted.

  Damn Trenton.

  Franklin’s anger gave him a razor-sharp focus. He was like a one-man wrecking crew, breathlessly moving past sand soldiers and sharks like a cool breeze, destroying anything that came between him and his brother. One soldier took such a vicious blow some sand flew in Franklin’s face, breaking his concentration. He stopped for a moment, spitting the gunk out and wiping his eyes. One of Trenton’s followers charged at Franklin. He tossed the man over his shoulder like a half-eaten apple and then knocked him out with a swift kick to the jaw.

  The march to Trenton almost resumed, but after taking down the follower, Franklin turned to see Portman and Jackson. The cops had the immortal dead to rights, guns aimed at Franklin’s head. He swallowed whatever bits of sand were still in his mouth, burning as they struggled to go down his throat.

  “This seems a bit like self-defense, doesn’t it?” Portman said.

  Jackson smirked. “I’d say more than a bit like self-defense.”

  Something stirred behind the cops. It brought a smile to Franklin’s face. “Come on, guys. There are children present.”

  “I wouldn’t say children, but a young man is, yeah.” Marshall looked confused about what was going on. “You two fine gentlemen were sworn to uphold the law, were you not? Were you not?”