by Kyle Dane
He stops in front of a bookshelf filled with random things in addition to books. He reaches to the top shelf and pulls something down. “Once primed, the second step is to simply breathe in the Zadium, and the transformation reaction is inevitable. The Zadium was perfectly ready for use: a pure, raw power in similitude to the magnificence of the sun. An amazing thing. But it’s all about compatibility. Without optimal priming, the Zadium’s power couldn't be properly harnessed. Take pickles, for example. Cucumbers are packed with powerful nutrients that offer amazing health benefits, but to someone with a cucumber allergy, there can be terrible effects. In like manner, the problem with the Zadium Project was priming for human compatibility so that people could absorb the Zadium’s benefits without being adversely affected. The Primer’s allergy-like hiccups of deformity, soulless aggression, and insanity needed curing, and I was the repairman tasked to fix it all, to create a Super Primer. But you can’t just scare away those kinds of hiccups no matter the pressure from upper management. The clock ticked on, and the solution remained out of reach. Until eventually I discovered the secret, but when V’lore revealed his true intentions, I destroyed the last of my progress to prevent him from unleashing a far greater terror than what he already did. Now...back to your other question...it was this first step of priming that made it possible for him to handpick his targets, the reason why only some people changed that night.”
The Stranger walks to Hayvin and I with a book in his hands, which he opens and from it pulls out a sealed envelope. He stands at rest for a moment, gravely gazing at the envelope as if it held extreme value, like the sentimental heirloom of a deceased loved one. His arm reaches to me. “Go ahead. Open it.”
I glare at the envelope then at him, further annoyed with confusion; I hate these endless games but take the offering anyway. The Stranger returns to his chair and places the open book on the table.
I proceed to tear the envelope. A single, golden-brown sheet of paper is folded inside, but before I can analyze it, I’m distracted by Hayvin.
“Is that you and V’lore?” Hayvin asks. I look away from the envelope to see what she's talking about.
“Why don’t you take a closer look? Go ahead,” says the Stranger.
Hayvin grabs at an exposed photograph inside the ever-puzzling book—first there was the envelope, now a picture. What next will the book reveal?
As Hayvin examines the picture, her face screenshots on an expression that says she’s actually beginning to believe the Stranger’s words. “Check it out,” she urges me.
The picture shows the Stranger standing next to another man in a room of white walls. President V’lore. I know the famous face from TV, as does everyone else in the world. Fifty-something years old. Perfectly trimmed goatee that always seemed to never grow longer or get shorter. Silver-brown hair combed over to the side. They’re both smiling. The Stranger with teeth. V’lore, lips only. Yes, the picture is convincing evidence they know each other but doesn’t confirm all of the Stranger’s claims. I toss the photo back to Hayvin and re-visit the envelope.
“Why’d V’lore single out random people?” Hayvin questions.
“Not random. He targeted his followers, the sixteen percent of registered voters who still supported his presidency.”
I try to concentrate on the Stranger’s continued explanations while also analyzing the item in my possession.
“In V’lore’s mind, becoming a Lasher was their great reward. And he knew that once his followers became Lashers, they’d turn on his opposition—in the slow, brutal manner he viewed they deserved. Without choice or conscience, the Lashers became enslaved to doing V’lore’s dirty work.”
“Sooo...twisted.” Hayvin tries to make sense of V’lore’s senseless, insane mind but cannot. Good. That means her brain is sane.
With a firm touch, my fingertips notice the high-quality texture of the golden-brown paper. Upon visual examination, I become aware that the document is a government letter. Formal. Professional. In black typed characters it says,
“Dear Valued Citizen,
I wish to personally express gratitude for your continued dedication & support. Despite increasing opposition to our efforts of crafting a stronger, happier nation, rest assured that your unwavering faith will soon be gratified. Welcome to the future.
Sincerely,
President Mant V’lore”
The short paragraph is signed by V’lore and stamped with his official seal.
“This is?” I ask.
“A letter just like the one you’re holding was specially made and delivered to all of V’lore’s followers, each of them completely unaware of its true purpose, of course.” He takes another bite out of his pickle sandwich.
“What purpose,” asks Hayvin.
“Each letter was coated with the Primer that, merely upon touch, would be absorbed and graphed into the body’s DNA, making it possible for that person to later transform into a Lasher once the Zadium was released into the air. Just had to breathe it in...a chemical reaction, as it were. Gotta be careful what we touch these days, huh?”
In a feeling of betrayal, I grimace at the Stranger and now pop off the wall, grab him by the collar, and lift him off his seat.
“Ruko...” says Hayvin.
“Why?! You let me touch it! Why would you prime me?!” I accuse the Stranger.
“I didn’t prime you,” he calmly claims, still completely unthreatened by me, even in my aggression. He peers at the ground. “And look...you made me drop my sandwich.”
“You’re lying!” I shout.
“No, I’m not. Look for yourself.” He tilts his head to the floor. “If anyone’s lying, it’s my sandwich…lying on the ground.”
My anger instantly triples at the Stranger’s stubborn sarcasm towards my serious distress. No follow-up comment comes out of my mouth, but I make clear my response with a tighter grip around his collar and a fierce shake. He will take me seriously. It works.
“There’s nothing on that piece of paper. Like you said, why would I prime you? I’m trying to help…help you end this,” he placates.
I exhale the frustration, realizing it'd do zero good to hurt him. My hands release their victim, and I turn back to lean against the wall.
“Wow…I’d say that’s good news,” The Stranger open-endedly says with an optimistic face.
“Really? What’s good about me almost killing you?” I throw back.
“Means you really do believe my story.”
“Why do you have the letter?” Hayvin asks what I’m too worked-up to express.
“It’s a copy, untreated…that means no primer. I keep it…” He starts to choke on some emotion. “...as a reminder of the evil I can’t rid myself of, the horror I helped bring to life.”
The room dims.
“Look, I said I’d give you a way to stop this…the Red-outs...so you ready to hear the rest?” The Stranger asks.
“Lashers can’t be killed,” I remind.
“Yes, but that’s only because of the Zadium...so long as they’re breathing it in. What happens when they don’t have access to it? You see, their power is only borrowed…like the moon steeling light from the sun to enjoy a brilliant glow for a short time. It’s not self-generated. This was another hiccup the Super Primer was meant to resolve. It would’ve made the Zadium a permanent part of the recipient, thus enabling access to its capabilities at will. Lashers, on the other hand, are dependent on an external source. And they can only use the Zadium for a few hours before going into an exhaustion coma. Their bodies literally shutdown from the overload of energy output and need to rest, like us after a long day’s work. But their need for recuperation goes far beyond our own.”
My dead light bulb flickers. “Nine days…that’s why they’re gone for nine days…they’re sleeping,” I mutter.
The Stranger’s eyes open wide with a “bingo!” expression. “And on the ninth day they’re completely recouped and able to utilize the full power of the Zadium a
gain. Ready to be awakened. That’s why it's then that V’lore releases the red mist.”
“But why don’t we see them? Where do they go?” Hayvin inquires.
“To the only place they’re safe…water. The deepest, murkiest water they can find. Swamps, oceans, rivers, lakes. They’re all around us. Hiding out during the coma period is a survival instinct, because although they still look like Lashers, they’re vulnerable to harm at that point. Also, like an overheated radiator, they need to be cooled down. For those two reasons—concealment and cooling—they can't help but be drawn to water. Remember the breaking news about water contamination? Can you spell conspiracy? V’lore needed to keep people from discovering and killing the Lashers in their weakened state, so he conjured up the lie. It’s worked pretty well, too, I’d say. Amazing what a good lie can do...his specialty.”
“How do they breathe?” Hayvin asks, wanting to know all the details like I do.
“They don’t need to. Or eat. Their unique condition makes them dependent upon the Zadium alone...and nine days of beauty sleep. Their metabolisms shut down like hibernating bears. One breath of residual Zadium left in their system is enough to keep the devils alive while they slumber in a submerged state.”
Hayvin attempts another question but is interrupted.
“Look, the point here is they seem indestructible, but without the Zadium, the Lashers are not able to wake up and will eventually die. We just need to deprive them of their power source.”
“How?” I demand.
“There exists a facility hidden underground, from where the Zadium is manufactured and released into the air. Where V’lore himself lives. With your help, I can stop him.”
“Why haven’t you, already?” asks Hayvin.
“Like I said, I need help. And everyone I’ve tried to recruit has believed me crazy or chosen to shut their eyes to the truth so they wouldn’t have to risk their own lives. Sure, everyone wants the Lashers gone, but no one’s willing to put their own skin on the shredder. And I won’t lie to you…there is risk.”
The Stranger turns some pages of his book. He extracts a piece of paper and slaps it onto the table in front of him; it’s a map of Southern Georgia.
“V’lore’s base is an hour northeast of us.” The Stranger grabs a pen and draws a large circle onto the map. “A wildlife preserve called the Miakoda Swamp is right here. It’s infested with miles of alligators, but they’re not the real problem. This circular line is a security perimeter.” The Stranger draws smaller circles spread apart, overlapping the bigger circle. “These are outposts, six of them, each occupied with ten or more armed guards disguised as woodsmen”. He creates a medium-sized circle at the center point and stabs at it with the pen. “This is the Blue Hole. To the naked eye it’s just a spring, an underground cave with pretty blue water that flows out of it, but is actually an entrance to V’lore’s personal headquarters...the operating center that controls all underground Zadium discharge points that are located across the country. There are nine. If the Zadium reactor and control center are destroyed, then the discharge points will be rendered inoperable. And this is where I need your help…to detonate a bomb inside the base...”
“A bomb? Just detonate a bomb inside the base, huh? Yeah, that's no big deal,” I contest. Now I'm the one getting sarcastic.
“I promise it'll be easier than it sounds. The cave leads to an underwater door you’d have no problem getting through because it isn’t guarded...the hidden location is protection enough from any potential intruders. It’s the six outposts we have to worry about. And even if I could get past them myself, I’d never survive the swim through the cave thanks to the asthma and old age. But you could. It'd be quick and easy. For you.”
“How’re we going to get to the door when armed guards are protecting the perimeter, as you’ve illustrated yourself with this…beautiful artwork?” I ask.
“We can’t. Unless we go on a Red-out.”
“A Red-out? You crazy?” Hayvin questions.
“Absolutely...but not about this. I know it sounds insane to go on a Red-out, but listen carefully…there are no Lashers near V’lore’s base. He chose his location very strategically for his own protection. And, there are minimal guards during regularly scheduled Red-outs because they’re not needed—it’s a Red-out. People stay indoors, as you know. So the guards have those few hours off duty. It’s a small window they wouldn’t expect anyone to know about. The only window. That’s why it has to be then.”
Hayvin and I both gape at the Stranger with unconvinced stares.
“Trust me. This is our opportunity.” He can tell he’s losing us. “There’s a reason you’re here. To help me finally fix things. So please…” He starts to beg. “...go to the Miakoda Swamp next Red-out, after the moon turns red.” He emphasizes the last detail. “I’ll meet you at the entrance with everything we’ll need, including explosives and...” He wanders in his head for a sec, seemingly trying to find and reboard a lost train of thought. He found it. “...and Hayvin, you’ll stay in the car as a lookout by the main road...you’d be safest there while Ruko and I take the Blue Hole together.”
“Wait, you have explosives?” Hayvin asks, but her question is dodged.
“Hayvin, Ruko…if V’lore’s base is destroyed, we win. No more Zadium. No more Lashers. It’ll be over.”
“We…need to think,” Hayvin finally replies. I hope she’s joking. There’s nothing to think about.
I reach to return the Stranger’s opened letter, but he refuses. “You keep it. A reminder of what you learned here today,” he insists. “And this also.”
I stuff the paper into my pocket along with the customized Georgia map and the photograph the Stranger just handed me. Hayvin and I walk out the door.
The Stranger echoes, “I’ll be there…waiting for you. Remember why you sought me out.”
“Thanks,” says Hayvin.
She’s nicer than me. I say nothing. We walk back to the Absorber in ponderous silence. I assume Hayvin’s doing what I’m doing—rewinding and playing back the Stranger’s words.
∆∆∆
As we re-enter the Snow Queen Oasis, I stop in front of one of the mutant magnolia trees and glare at it for a prideful second, wrestling the Stranger’s challenge to pull off a leaf—what he hinted is impossible to do. If he didn’t lie about that, then everything else he said stands a chance at being true, also. Here goes nothing, a lie detector test for the Stranger.
I reach out and grab a white flower petal, just one, so that I can quickly undermine the experiment and squash the rest of his crazy claims. It’s soft and rubbery to the touch like a normal magnolia flower should be. I pull. I pull harder. Now I pull with both hands as firmly as I can. I finally let go. The flower petal is still attached to the tree. I swallow hard.
CHAPTER 15: HotCurls: ‘GET OUT!!!’
Since our visit to the Snow Queen Oasis, a full day has passed without Hayvin and me saying much to one another. Been lost in the Stranger’s words. Both of us afraid to bring them up.
I stand hunched over the kitchen countertop, staring blindly out of the window and into the back field, eating my thoughts away. An open jar of sugary peach halves—from the ER—waits for my wet, sticky fingers to snag another, but I’m loitering on the peach slice that should’ve been swallowed a long time ago. As my wheel of thought spins faster, my mouth moves slower, munching and mashing the battered fruit into nothing but peach paste.
A group of black turkeys steps out of the distant forest and into the fifty-acre clearing that's directly behind the house. I watch as the sixteen turkeys completely abandon the trees' protective shelter and cautiously inch closer and closer to the center of the open field. The long, golden grass offers some camouflage but not much. They're definitely taking a huge chance of being spotted and killed by any onlooking predators from the tree line. Must be something good in the middle of the field that's worth the risk. They peck at the ground while trekking through the overcast day tha
t's only getting worse by the minute as charcoal-gray clouds swiftly roll in from the north. Going to rain soon.
“I think we should do it.” Hayvin's voice springs from behind me. “Meet the Stranger at the Miakoda Swamp. Feels like the right thing to do.”
She pauses upon sharing her frightful opinion that now waits for either a sustaining vote or rebuttal from the only other person in the room: me. I have to say something. But what? I can't properly think right now, let alone am I ready to talk about this. The thing that keeps plaguing my mind is a flashback of my parents' dead bodies, which was the terrible outcome caused by being too close to the problem—having a Lasher in our home. And now, Hayvin wants to go to the heart of it all, the very home of the problem itself. The home of the Lashers. How could this not end in death for us?
I grab my half-full drinking glass and fill it up with water from the five gallon tub we keep in the kitchen. I raise the glass to my mouth. Not even thirsty. Just filling the time and my belly as my heart fills to the brim with stressed emotions. The pressure mounts and it somehow feels as though the entire world is waiting to hear what I’ll say; as if everyone’s fate was in my hands in this very moment’s decision. Maybe it is. Maybe that’s the reason I’m choked.
While still looking at the turkeys, I utter the first thing that comes to mind, “It’s too dangerous, Hayvin. If the Stranger was telling the truth, then we could be killed.” I turn to her. “You could be killed.”
In an empathetic but strong voice, Hayvin replies, “Don’t you think I understand that? I know we could be killed, but we have to forget ourselves and focus on the big picture. The Stranger may be crazy, but it felt like he was tellin’ the truth…and obviously no one’s helped him yet, so if we don’t then we might never be saved. It's worth the risk.”
Despite hanging on the edge of sensibility, I get frenzied and want to argue against Hayvin's thought. “No! It’s not that simple. You-you don’t know what this whole thing has been doing to me, inside! Remembering what it was like to have the people closest to me, killed...you don’t know what that feels like! Your mom died cuz she was sick. Your dad left…he-he wasn’t even part of your family! You couldn’t possibly understand!”