by Kyle Dane
“But…how do you know for sure Sankeela will listen to you? That he won’t kill you?” Hayvin reopens the fearful possibility.
With a face of immovable conviction, my tongue confesses the honest truth, “I don’t.”
CHAPTER 17: RECRUITING KILLERS
The end of a long kiss goodbye marks the beginning of a long drive and dangerous mission. Danger I'm voluntarily facing. Sure, I could stay put on the Kes farm in the comfort and safety of my newly-found country paradise. But then again, how could I, knowing the things I know now? For all our sakes, I must recruit the help of violence from the only group fully capable and more than willing to give it. I must confront the Tyros Clan.
As I journey in the Absorber, I catch myself frequently checking the rearview mirror, trying to get used to this new haircut that doesn’t quite resemble me. It’s short. The back and sides are tightly uniformed whereas the top is more lengthy.
My head feels lighter, having shed the hair, as does my conscience, having shed the guilt with every fallen lock. For the first time in four years, the mark of the Tyros Clan is clearly visible on the back of my upper neck, but I’m not ashamed of it anymore because I’m not that same person.
For me, the eyeball no longer symbolizes a selfish quest for power but a reminder to seek after opportunities to help people in need, to look upon the helpless with protective eyes. That’s the reason I’m on this interstate: to begin a covenant of redemption.
Progressively, my head empties of all thoughts except one, like a bowling ball knocking down the pins but a single survivor is left standing—Hayvin’s journal entry from the first Red-out. The tear-stained pages. Her friend, Jenness, robbed of life at such a young age...a time of dreams. Dreams of love? Family? Traveling the world? Chasing a career? I don’t know, but whatever her aspirations, they never had a chance to grow into anything real. Millions of people just like her have suffered the same fate of destroyed dreams, and many more are in the future's forecast if the Lashers aren’t stopped.
Sankeela will listen to me. He must.
∆∆∆
Twenty hours of tireless tire-burning finally gets me to SLC. The recent weeks spent away from Utah are marked by a dramatic seasonal change; it’s my favorite time of year in this place. The land has blossomed into the beautiful portrait of early summer: green mountain ranges still frosted with sugar-white snow; a layer of blue skies on top of that; and the yellow sun as the portrait’s centerpiece. The giant day star quenches its powerful thirst by lapping up the surviving mountain snow. Majestic. If only I were here to enjoy it.
The closer I get to the city, the more the journey’s high-priority purpose closes in on me, as does my throat. Can hardly swallow.
“Devonshire.” I’m on the road that’ll take me to Mrs. Daily’s Bakery—the Tyros Clan’s newest base and place where my life will be weighed, measured, and judged. I stop the car in front of the building.
“Grrraaaa!” A pump-up growl is combined with a tightly-gripped jolt on the steering wheel. I free the wheel and see the sweaty imprint of my anxious fingers and palms. You got this, Ruko!
I step outside the Absorber and boldly thunder into the old bakery. The far wall at the end of the room waits for me to knock. My lungs wait for me to breathe.
BAM! BAM! BAM! I promote my presence by beating on the cinderblock with the same chair I used to beat Brac’s face a couple months earlier. Seconds pass. I know I’m being watched by a security camera that’s hidden somewhere.
At last, four Tyros burst out of a closed door that’s camouflaged into the cinderblock wall, and they snatch me up as if I was planning to bolt. Wolves on an elk.
Pow. I’m punched in the stomach. Pow. The face.
Now, a blinding cloth swallows my vision.
“You’re gunna wish you never came back!” yells one of my capturers. It’s Brac’s voice.
Violently, I’m ushered forward and thrown into a wall, nose first. Multiple ruthless hands keep me pressed against it as I listen to a pair of footsteps from one of the four Tyros fading away from us, probably going to inform Sankeela of my arrival.
I speed through my head—word for word—the exact message I plan to present. I’ve got one shot at this, and it all rides on my ability to play it out with a good performance; the nervousness is a million times worse than how I felt right before giving a classroom presentation at school.
The footsteps return.
“Bring him,” Brac’s voice orders. I’m pulled off the wall and practically carried by my arms deeper into the not-so-abandoned factory.
To a hard ground I’m thrown—the thrower completely unconcerned if I get injured. No real surprises so far; I knew my welcome wouldn’t be first-class treatment. From the back of my shirt, I'm re-grabbed and pulled up to rest on my knees. The head cloth is stripped off by the same unfriendly hands. My dazed eyes—still watering from the face punch and nose-to-wall cheap shot—begin to adjust to the dim factory lighting.
“Awww yes…it is you. HelLion. My lost child returns. But no longer worthy of your title so just, Ruko, then. Or better yet, Lasher Bait.” The familiar, unmissed, forty-something-year-old, Latin-accented voice bellows directly in front of me and is just as painful to listen to as it was years ago, like a red-hot needle poking into my eardrums.
Loud memories sound off, awaking a past life I labored hard to put to sleep. Don’t want to be here...this is truly the last place on Earth I’d choose to be, but with great self-control, I hold onto the reason why I must.
“So it’s true what your brothers tell me. You’ve been living out here all these years, hiding away. Yet now you show up to my new doorstep, willingly…like a stray dog looking for an owner. Now why does that remind me of something? Ahhh yes, because it’s happened before…after your Padre y Madre were used like Lasher Bait by you…their own son...you hid and let them die.” Sankeela pushes my emotional button, the personal story I once trusted him with.
I finally look up at Sankeela and stare with firm eyes. He stares back with just as much heat per his hallucinated entitlement to justice.
“I’m going to kill you, Ruko. You must know that,” he casually says. “And I’m gunna do it with my bare hands. Same hands that took care of you. Trained you. Protected you. You were one of my favorites. But you betrayed the family that took you in. So yeah, I’m gunna end you myself. But first, I want to know…why did you come?”
Obviously, Sankeela’s curious why I’d risk sacrificing my own life by voluntarily delivering myself into his clutches, which is the exact opportunity I was banking on.
“The Tyros Clan...” I begin to speak unshaken words even though I'm shaking inside. “...is powerful. You’re afraid of nothing and nothing gets in your way…except…every nine days, just like everybody else, you hide like helpless cowards. The Lashers are the only thing above you. You want them gone, just like I do, and I know how to stop them.”
A few arrogant chuckles spill into the room.
I talk louder. “I met a man…a scientist who worked with the government...with President V’lore...they’re the ones responsible for the Lashers, and I learned how to kill them. But I need help. Weapons, explosives, men who can fight. That’s why I’m here.”
I wait for Sankeela's response, praying it isn’t as hopeless as the laughs coming from most of the Tyros. He continues to study my face.
“Have any proof? Anything more than the word of a traitor?” questions Sankeela.
I reach into my sock to pull out the letter the Stranger gave me along with the picture of him and President V’lore.
“Ho!”
“Hold up!”
A couple Tyros nervously yell as I bend down. I slow my movements to show I’m not a threat.
“It’s just a piece of paper,” I insist. Both my hands are high in the air pinching the folded letter and picture.
“Hey man, I thought you checked him!” A Tyro blares at another who immediately defends himself.
“I did,
fool! I don’t know how he did that.”
Sankeela descends from his seat and walks down to me. His black eyes crowned by thick eyebrows, stare hard into mine, and, without a word, the Tyro Lord confiscates the paper from of my hands and returns to his ghettoized throne. He glances at the picture first, then tosses it to the ground, less than impressed. The letter is next to be scrutinized; hopefully that evidence isn’t discredited like the picture.
While Sankeela unfolds and begins reading over the document, I explain.
“A letter was mailed by the government to people across the country...people who were specifically selected by V'lore. But unlike the paper in your hands, the ones he sent were contaminated with a…a chemical that changed people into Lashers after touching it and then later breathing in the red mist. It was a chemical reaction. That’s why none of us changed that night. We never touched the letter.”
I try to interpret Sankeela’s countenance as he reads the letter with scurrying eyes. A blended message of shock but now—more abundantly—excitement is printed on his face. “I’ve seen this before,” he stammers under his breath. He pulls his gaze away from the document and off to the side of his chair towards the ground, pondering in such a way that suggests he’s remembering a past experience that relates to this letter? Connecting dots?
My presentation continues. “Just think about it…when V’lore’s gone…the Lashers gone…you’ll be set up in a whole new way. No more fear. No more hiding under the shadow of a greater power.”
Sankeela shatters his stare with the floor. “Out with the old…” He turns to his gang and finishes the crooked thought. “…and in with us.” He sways back to my direction. “Tell me more.”
I hear muffled reactions coming from Tyros behind me. Some are shocked Sankeela’s giving me the time of day while others are equally seduced by their power-thirsty pride. I waste nothing in taking advantage of their lured interest and so, into my other sock I reach for a second piece of paper and raise it up.
“Yo! Man you did NOT check him!” yells the same voice from earlier at the other Tyro who doesn’t reply back this time.
“This is a map…a place I’ll meet you four days from now,” I propose.
Brac assertively removes the map from my possession and delivers it to Sankeela.
“Georgia? That’s a long drive,” murmurs Sankeela.
“There's a hidden base. A facility from where V'lore controls the red mist...the thing that makes Lashers invincible. We destroy it, the Red-outs stop, the Lashers die, and you take over.” I validate the journey's sacrifice as straightforwardly as possible.
Sankeela gets slightly paranoid. “Why you really doin’ this? What’s in it for you? You come here playin’ to me like you’re on our side, trying to help us get on top…get more power.”
“No, that’s what you want. Not me. Should we be honest with each other?” I get bolder and stand up from off my knees. “Okay, let’s be honest. I hate every single one of you, and the last thing I want is more power in your hands to hurt more people.”
Sankeela fidgets in his seat, staring all the more venomously as I trash up his brand.
“But...with you being on top we all stand a chance. With the Lashers, none of us do. They need to be exterminated, and you’re the only ones who can help me. That’s the truth.”
Thick breaths steam out of Sankeela’s nostrils, but then he tucks it all away—the contention—with a strained, drawn-out smile. “It’s that lovely Lasher Bait girl of yours Brac was tellin’ me about. You’re doin’ this for her. To provide a good future and all that, am I right?” He smirks as he interrogates my personal motives for wanting to eliminate the Lashers. “Don’t worry...I’ll give her a good future as your new President, when the chore is hecho.”
“Just leave us alone,” I say, outlining my one and only term. “Stop hunting me. Consider my betrayal of the Tyros Clan resolved and settled. That’s all I ask and I’ll help you become the number one power. Win, win.”
Asking for this killer’s forgiveness murders me inside, but it’s a necessary part of my presentation to win his aid.
Tyros begin to portray excitement with the common practice of slapping each other across their bald heads: one hard hit on the eyeball mark, a way to get fired-up. I’m just as disgusted by them as I ever was.
“If you deliver on what you’ve said…then, yes, we’ll forgive your past offenses. Right chicos?” Sankeela looks to the others, commanding their buy-in to which they respond in the affirmative. “But if you don’t...I promise you won't like what happens to you. And your girl…I’ll keep her for myself.”
I ignore the threat. “Meet me where I’ve marked on the map. A hundred Tyros should do. Assassin Elites only, no rookies. Bring an explosive…the big kind. Come ready for war. We’ll need the cover of night to take out the guards at V’lore’s base, so be there after sunset at nine o’clock,” I instruct.
Sankeela silently preys upon me with a hateful stare, one last time; my bossy tone is getting under his skin. He finally speaks, “We’ll meet you in four days...but...I’m not letting you leave without some insurance first.”
A crooked smile now twists out of Sankeela as he nods at the three Tyros surrounding me. I'm immediately seized upon and held captive with a special focus on keeping my head so tightly pinned that I can't move it more than an inch in any direction. But why? What are they doing?
“Trae el parásito.” With a buzz of pleasure, Sankeela tweets something I don't like the sound of. Not at all.
“Bring the parasite” is what he said.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Brac coming at me. Slowly. Something is in his hands...a large vial. He gets closer. Inside the vial, something is moving.
“Open your mouth.” Brac bosses me to do what everything inside me says not to do. “Now!”
My mouth obediently opens, although desperately wanting to close the closer Brac gets. What is that?! He opens the vial lid containing a vile creature I've never before laid eyes on. Some kind of insect resembling a small tarantula. Multiple legs and two long, black fangs erratically tap on the glass loud enough to hear, as its numerous eyes glow at me. Part of it is made of metal—a hideous hybrid species.
Brac tilts the tube upside down, then the creature jumps into my open mouth and moves quickly to the back of my throat. “Swallow!” he booms.
Tears of pain stream out the corners of my shut eyes while the spider-like nightmare forcefully pries open my throat cavity with its strong, spiny legs. It shimmies down the inside of my neck, deep into my stomach, and then after inflicting a searing pain, it stops moving all together.
Sankeela speaks, “Now that I have your attention...let me introduce you to el Parásito...my favorite creation of micro-electro-mechanical genius, a hybrid insect that can subsist in a human host and is preprogrammed to perform a very specific task. In this case, to help keep you honest. Right now she’s latched onto your stomach wall, patiently waiting for my command.” Sankeela pulls out a small remote from his pocket. “There are two buttons on this thing that might interest you. If I push the first button, here, and hold it down for ten seconds, el Parásito will bite and inject a toxin that will eat your body from the inside out until you’re dead. Very, very painful. But if I push button number two, here, el Parásito will simply detach itself and exit the way it came. Before our little agreement is over, I’ll push one of these two buttons. You decide which.”
Sankeela nods at the Tyros. The blinding bag is once again pulled down my ghost-white face—think I’m gunna puke. I’m grabbed by the neck and t-shirt and dragged away from Sankeela’s presence.
“We’ll see you soon,” Sankeela shouts. “Until then...take care of my pet.”
They keep dragging me until I’m out of the factory, then the bag is removed from my head, and I’m thrown onto the floor of the bakery.
SLAM. The door shuts behind me and I’m left to myself.
I rest on the floor without moving, feeling gro
ssly sick in knowing what’s inside me. Guess this is karma for giving Mom such a torturous time with house spiders all those years ago—now I’m paying for it. Don’t want to think about it. Instead, I focus on the awesome fact that I’m not dead. The plan actually worked. Now, the big battle is ahead.
∆∆∆
I carve off the dirt road and pull into the driveway of the Kes farm—dust cloud behind me. Hayvin lies curled asleep on the porch swing where I left her, but my arrival is quickly noticed.
She rushes to the Absorber, and before I can grab the inner door handle to exit, the door is opened from the outside.
“You're back.” Hayvin's on the verge of cheering—or crying—but contains herself. So do I.
“I promised, two days.” I pull myself out of the Absorber. “This twenty-one-year-old kid gets things done.” I half smile. So does she.
Hayvin gives an unbridled hug that nearly squeezes the breath out of me. “So, what happened?” she asks.
We both lean against the Absorber.
“We have help,” I say. “In three days, the Tyros Clan will meet us at the Miakoda Swamp. They’ll do the fighting for us and we’ll take a bomb to the Blue Hole.”
I try to erase any evidence of the fear that survives inside me, along with the hard-to-swallow stress of Sankeela’s creature dwelling in my stomach waiting to bite at the push of a button. Not going to tell Hayvin. Just one more thing for her to worry about.
“And we’ll never see the Tyros again, right? They don’t know where we live?” Hayvin checks.
“No, they don’t. We’ll never see them again. Just one night, that’s it. Then we’ll be back here eating fried squirrel to celebrate,” I reassure.
With a brave breath, Hayvin seconds the optimistic motion for a happy ending. “Yeah...it’ll all work out.”
CHAPTER 18: SWAMPY ALLIANCE