by Damien Wren
The Final Wave
Copyright Damien Nathaniel Wren 2011
“Please, Daddy?”
Jensen – a tall, hefty man of 30 years – looked down at the 10 year old. His expression softened. Gently, he reached down with a hand that seemed monstrous next to the little girl’s head – carefully lifting her chin with a curled, thick, index finger. His smile conveyed the love he felt for his daughter. He choked back a tear as memories of her mother came flooding in. She was a spitting image.
“Please?” she repeated.
“OK, baby. I’ll be back to pick you up at 5:30, then it’s dinner, practice, and straight to bed.”
“Thank you, Daddy!” She squealed as she leapt up – kissing him on the cheek. Wasting no time, she snatched up her doll and her bag and ran off to join her friends.
The doll outstretched its arms to the man as the girl ran. “It’s not fair! You know I’m going to regret this!” it snorted. Turning to the little girl’s ear it took a more tentative tone – throwing in a shudder for emphasis. “Can’t we talk about this?” it asked – and the girl and the doll both broke out in uproarious laughter.
Jensen – in a rare moment in his life – just smiled.
Walking back to his car he watched as a group of boys played a game of street basketball nearby. The boys were playing the same as they did every evening after school.
-=+=-
Troy executed a pump-fake once, then again. Carelessly slamming into Tyree he turned around and took the shot - a near perfect lay-up. Tyree took to his feet and gave the boy a shove.
“Yo! You fouled!”
A sly, smug grin writhed its way across Troy’s face. “No blood, no foul ya ape-ass-lookin’ sonuvabitch.”
Tyree gave Troy another shove. “Fuck you!”
Troy sighed. “Eh. Fuck it.” Troy threw a blindingly fast right knocking Tyree to the ground and bloodying his nose in the process.
Troy laughed. “Ah. There is blood. My bad.”
“Fight!” the other boys screamed – cheering them on as the fight took to the ground and the two exchanged blows. Tyree – not one to be beaten – made a desperate reach for a chunk of pavement that had broken off at the edge of the court. Wrapping his fingers around it he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and swung.
Troy immediately rolled over while grabbing at the wound. “You God-forsaken, mother-fucking son of a bitch!”
-=+=-
The woman was hysterical. Grabbing at whatever her tear-filled eyes could lock in on she threw – and threw – and threw. Lyndy struggled to find some semblance of safety on the other side of the bed.
Reggie had raised his muscular arms into a defensive stance – just in time for a low-flying copy of the “Book of Mormon” to strike home on his well-developed belly. He hadn’t even stopped long enough to pull on his boxers. With his new wife in the state she was in – he wasn’t going to waste that kind of time.
“Sara! Sara! Please! This won’t help anything! Calm down!”
Lyndy had wrapped herself in the bed sheets – and ventured a look over the edge of the bed just in time to see Sara deliver a swift kick right where it would count the most.
“Mom! Stop it!” She screamed – dropping back into hiding. Tears streamed down her face as she heard him hit the floor groaning. The hysterics continued as she kicked the downed man.
Lyndy’s voice was hushed. “You’re scaring me.”
-=+=-
Ian – meanwhile – was with his nephew Marcus. The winds in the park were great that day – and they’d taken a homemade dragon kite for its maiden flight. Marcus – at the ripe-old-age of 6 – sat amazed at the beautiful monstrosity at the end of his string as Ian watched, full of pride.
“Uncle Ian? How do you make a kite?”
Smiling, Ian began an explanation – then pulled out his PDA. He logged into the weather service. “We’re going to have a good wind next weekend, too. How’s about we make a kite together on Friday and you learn about it that way?”
“Can we?” The boy was excited – eyes all big and bright. “Cool!” he finished – and promptly began dreaming up designs. “I want mine to be a bat!” he said. “No – a fighter plane like the ones they use for the war and stuff!”
Ian laughed. “You got it! We’ll start talking about it on the way home. Good?”
The boy gave an emphatic nod. “Mm!” he said – and continued flying the dragon smiling bigger than ever. “It’s going to be the best!”
-=+=-
In yet another part of town Kim stood there anxious – watching as her boyfriend carefully leveled his rifle towards his target. Preston’s expression was intense as he acquired his target – currently jinking about in a futile attempt to save itself.
His finger tightened over the trigger to the rifle – which began to move at a carefully measured pace. Kim placed her hands over her eyes as he pulled the hammer back and fired. The sound of shattering porcelain accompanied a shocked expression. The carnival worker simply shook his head, smiling.
“Well, son – it looks like you proved me wrong. Anything you want – anything at all for the lady. Just choose.”
A smile crept across Preston’s face as sparkles danced in Kim’s eyes. “Go ahead – pick one – any one. You heard him.” He felt himself bursting with pride as Kim picked out a funny looking green doll with something that resembled Kermit the frog’s collar around the crown of its head.
“It’s so cute!” she said. “I wonder what it is, though?”
“It’s Japanese. It’s called a Kappa. They lose strength the further they get from water – so you have to keep water on the top of their heads or they die.”
Kim smirked – not really surprised any more by her boyfriend’s seemingly endless knowledge of all things “arcane and mysterious”. She looked at him - the look on her face changing to something more mischievous. “Oh, shuttup!” she said. She grabbed hold of him and pulled him close. “Come kiss me.”
-=+=-
Rand, however, lay back in his chair – asleep. He’d been on duty for over 12 hours now – his relief never showed. His shift had been preceded by a sleepless night dealing with his hysterical sister and a bunkmate who spent too much time partying and not enough time thinking about the after-effects of his alcohol on his already tender stomach.
“Rand! Wake up!” Silv shook her head as she kicked his chair. “What’s your problem, soldier! Are you tending your displays?”
“Uhb, uhm … yes, Sir! Sir!”
“Bullshit! Wipe the drool off your chin and get back to work! You’ve earned triple detail tomorrow and if I have to get a whip on your ass you will earn your next night’s sleep! Clear?”
“Yes Sir! Sir!”
Rand wiped his chin, and began flipping switches for show. Silv had a reputation for being a cruel taskmaster – but for being a bit of a softy if she could see you making real effort. Still, she wasn’t impressed.
“How long has this been here?” she asked.
Rand rolled over on his chair to the display she was referring to. There was an alert being displayed – a quiet little screen on the edge of his matrix representing a little watched, and little cared-for section of the base’s 250-mile perimeter.
It had been breached.
Rand panicked – hitting the alarm. Silv rolled her eyes. “So help me, Rand – if you get out this alive I’m going to kill you! Get to your machine NOW!”
Rand stumbled out of his chair – running to suit up for combat. Silv got on the PA and made the announcements – scrambling the whole of their forces. As she did so – she succeeded in getting a lock on one of the satellites revealing a top-down view of the action.
Sh
e went limp.
Plopping into the chair that Rand just vacated her eyes grew wide – twin images of the dark, fast-moving cloud approaching them reflecting on her steel gray irises. Her head sank.
“God – please help us.”
-=+=-
The sound of an explosion rocked the arena as a series of small, pyrotechnic charges went off over the end zone. The cheerleaders went frantic – rushing out onto the field to celebrate as a group of high-school kids rolled out onto the field – careering about in a small jeep as they fired T-Shirts into the crowd by means of a special, repeating cannon mounted in back. The crowd went wild with them – cheering their home team.
A few moments later the teams lined up, and kicked off.
It was a good run – placing the visitors at 27 yards. The two teams got into their respective huddles and discussed strategy before breaking into formation.
That’s when the alarms went off.
Air-raid sirens sounded through the city – warning the population of the impending attack. The football players gave way as the announcer gave instructions as to what to do next. People began rushing about the field – setting and cleaning up. Arena personnel moved their way through the crowds, barking instructions