by Kyle Dane
“8:23pm...8:24pm...” The minute-hand of the Absorber’s clock reads just as accurately as the minute prior. Hayvin and I are on the road, Georgia-bound, and I can’t stop watching the time tick. I’m nervous.
The demise of each minute gives birth to a new bead of sweat on the palms of my soaked hands, a nervous tick inherited from Mom. Her hands used to always sweat. I think about her. A memory of her smiling face begins to pacify my anxiety, a bit. Not sure why a thought of her would help calm me down. Maybe it’s because throughout my childhood of waking up to nightmares or being afraid of the dark, it was always Mom who rushed into my bedroom to cradle me and my fears back to sleep—rescues that have stuck with me. Can almost feel that same comforting embrace as I drive into the uncertainty of the night on our edgy, life-threatening quest to end the Red-outs.
Off to the west, I see the sun sinking deeper below the Earth with fading orange light that flickers between the gaps in the trees as our car speeds northeast towards the encroaching darkness.
“Turn here,” says Hayvin.
I make the turn into a very tree-dense, jungle-like habitat. The Absorber lights up a large wood sign that reads, “Miakoda Swamp. State Park Wildlife Preserve.”
Pictures of animals with text descriptions, including warnings, occupy the sign and my mind with an added element of danger. “BEWARE OF: Alligators, Pythons, Water Moccasins, Rattlesnakes…WARNING: No swimming. Stay on designated path.”
“This is the front entrance,” Hayvin says.
Just as planned, we’ve arrived before the Tyros Clan. I make a quick U-turn down the road from where we just came.
“What’re you doing?” Hayvin questions.
“Hiding the car,” I explain. “If they know where it’s parked, they might not let us leave.”
I stop the Absorber in front of a cluster of large bushes that are taller than the car.
“You said they agreed to leave us alone,” Hayvin reminds.
“We’re gunna be fine. Just want to be prepared.” I accelerate forward.
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH! The Absorber screams in agony at the scraping of the bushes’ unwelcoming branches, but I don’t stop driving until we’re entirely consumed by plants, and all I can see out the windows is thick vegetation smashed against the glass.
“K, let’s bail,” I direct.
I shut off the engine, push open my door, halfway, and squeeze through. Shimmying down the side of the vehicle is not without pain. Hostile bushes stab into me with sharp savagery until I reach the open street where Hayvin already stands waiting. She’s much faster than me. More slender.
I try to memorize the spot; the Absorber is so well hidden I’m afraid even I won’t be able to find it again. Directional memory is not my gift but thankfully it’s Hayvin’s.
“There.” she points to the left. “That tree’s our mark. I’ll remember.”
So grateful to have her with me. I’m flashed by the stressful hour when Dad and I searched for our misplaced car in the mall’s large underground parking garage. Me and Hayvin can’t afford to lose that kind of time if the Tyros Clan truly plans to stab us in the back.
We hustle to the Miakoda Swamp entrance.
“Now we wait,” I say with wobbling composure. I try not to wiggle in place. Want to be strong, for Hayvin.
The Tyros Clan...they’ll be here soon. This whole thing feels like a freaking dizzy delusion. I live one moment of anxiety to the next. Will the stress ever stop? I hold onto the hopeful thought of what life will be like when there are no more Red-outs, no more Lashers, no more innocent blood spilled. The hope for such a world is worth the stress to achieve it.
∆∆∆
“They’re here.” Hayvin’s static words shock my spirit into restless terror.
I look down the road and see speeding headlights coming straight for us that become brighter and brighter as a blinding lumen forcing my eyes into temporary retreat. I count sixteen black SUVs now speckled around us in eerie idleness and two buses behind them. They’re parked, but no one hurries to get out. Hayvin and I remain firmly planted near the Miakoda sign awaiting our cue.
The doors to the vehicle closest to us are no longer closed, all except for the front passenger side which remains shut. Six Tyros with machine guns organize themselves around the vehicle in a protective way, Brac being among them. Then at last, the SUV’s passenger door splinters open and out steps Sankeela. The expectation of my greeting now dangles in the tense air.
“Wait here,” I say to Hayvin.
Come on, Ruko! It’s go-time! Don’t break now! Internal pump-up yelling flexes my confidence as I go to face Sankeela and his surrounding executive team. His lower-level pawns wait patiently in the fifteen other SUVs and two buses. If each vehicle is full, then I’m in the company of around two hundred Tyros. A formidable force.
“Well…well, well, well.” Sankeela grabs the chest pockets of his black tactical vest and swings his elbows back and forth. “Mmm, what an exciting night,” he says, then grins at me.
This is torture. Aggressive urges egg me on to reach out and choke well-deserved justice into the evil scum standing inches from me. But can’t. Need to restrain myself and see this thing through—this swampy alliance—until the very end. Even Sankeela knows that.
“So…the plan?” Sankeela gets serious.
“You brought the bomb?” I question back.
He nods.
“Here.” I hand out six maps I prepared earlier. “There are six targets, so split up the Tyros into six groups. Each group follows the coordinates of their own map to a corresponding outpost. Each outpost will be guarded by V’lore’s men disguised as woodsmen, but they’ll have no idea you’re coming. Should be a clean hunt for you.”
“Remind me of your job,” Sankeela snaps.
“I’ll take the bomb to the Blue Hole. It’s a spring but also the entrance to V’lore’s command center. Where I'm going isn’t guarded, just hidden in a secret place V’lore wouldn’t expect us to know about, so…I’ll be fine alone. The biggest challenge is extinguishing the outpost threat. Your Tyros go in first, kill the guards, and takeover each station. You’re the perimeter clean. I’m the explosive sweep. We both do our job...we win,” I explain.
Sankeela thoroughly inspects one of the six maps I handed him. “The Blue Hole, huh? That’s not on the map you gave me.” Sankeela points out the detail I deliberately excluded. With that knowledge there’d be less reason to keep Hayvin and I alive for long if his intention, as I fear, is to betray our alliance. That’s why Hayvin memorized the map, specifically details to the Blue Hole—our leverage to be kept alive.
I attempt to sell an excuse, “I figured you wouldn’t care. You have your job to keep you plenty busy, which is to fight; that’s what you’re best at. And I have my job, which is to shut down V’lore’s base. We do our parts, we succeed.”
My explanation turns into a tongue-tied second of silence as I’m left un-replied to. Sankeela just stares.
“So…I’ll need the explosive,” I re-demand in brittle sternness.
“Brac…Daño…” Sankeela coughs out. The three conspirators take a few steps away from me and begin a private conversation, the likes of which are most likely less than good. The huddle breaks. They return. Sankeela stops a few feet in front of me, but Brac and Daño brush past him with eyes fixed on me.
“Brac and Daño will be going with you to the Blue Hole,” Sankeela reveals. “They’ll be your bodyguards, carry the bomb, and, well, they’ll make sure you safely reach your target.”
Before I can protest the imposed accommodation to my plan, he opens the palm of his hand and boasts his leverage over me: the remote control for the spidery parasite that still clings to my stomach. “I’m confident you’ll all get along,” he mocks, already knowing perfectly well I won’t try to fight or escape.
I glare at Sankeela with a controlled burn but say nothing. He’s the one calling the shots. Not me.
The two thugs, Brac an
d Daño, position themselves on both my sides, holding large, fully automatic firearms in their own large, fully augmented gym arms. Daño carries the explosive inside a bag that’s strapped to his shoulder.
“Hombre, it’s hot out here.” Sankeela raises his voice and looks to his comrades for support.
“Si, es cierto carnal!” replies Daño.
“Stuffy as hell,” chimes Brac.
Sankeela inhales the last comment with shut eyes. “Mmmmm…hell. Time for a new Devil.” His eyes open. “Tyros…let’s go hunting.”
Brac turns to the stationed vehicles and flings a hand signal at eight of the SUVs and one bus, after which their engines shut off and dozens of Tyros pour out like blood streaming from a cut vein. No one shouts. No one talks. It’s the silence of true predators.
The sight fills me with terror but also excitement in knowing I’ve got an ally powerful enough to win the war, a war we never thought was winnable, yet here we are. We might actually pull this off—Sankeela’s thugs versus V’lore’s soldiers.
As the reality of our mission heightens, so does my grit to grind this out to victorious completion. Adrenaline pumps. Senses sharpen. Muscles harden. Yet, despite the thrill of it all, I hold tight to the moral warning inside my heart to not get comfortable with this alliance. Can’t allow myself to feel—even for a second—that I’m one of them.
I walk to Hayvin whose eyes are panicked by our Tyro escorts.
“Mm. The scenery in this place is just what I like,” comments Daño as his eyes scroll up and down Hayvin’s body. “Better be careful out here, niña. I’d hate for you to get dirty.”
Uneasily, the four of us linger in place while Sankeela’s SUV reloads with its original riders, including himself. They drive farther up the road, followed by other mission-briefed vehicles, all wrapping around to a backside entrance that will provide better access to their specific outposts.
The rest of the Tyros Clan fans out on foot in clusters and marches into the woods, molding to the darkness with their blacked-out outfits. Zero flashlights. Pure stealth.
“Here,” says Brac. He offers me and Hayvin our own pair of night vision glasses, nightglasses.
We put them on. They’re small, weightless, snugly fit to the head, and they offer exceptional visibility. Similar to sunglasses. The picture through the lenses is still dark, though, and I need to focus to make out the environment, but it’s the perfect cherry to top of a body that’s geared-up with the best, ready for a smooth, seamless op.
Black cargo pants made of a durable elastic material, cover my legs for easy maneuvering in rugged terrain while still being scratch resistant. Black, shin-high, snake-proof boots to save my legs from venomous fangs are snuggly tied. My black t-shirt leaves my arms exposed for ventilation and easier swimming once I reach the Blue Hole.
Hayvin’s geared-up appropriately as well; black clothing, tight pony-tail, no makeup—still stunning as ever. But I hate seeing her beauty in this grotesque situation, surrounded by so many revolting men and so close to death’s door.
∆∆∆
Now that the Tyros have a slight head start, it’s our turn to enter the forest. I hesitate, briefly, because I’m stuck looking at the stars. Not sure why. Maybe I’m double checking that tonight isn’t a Red-out. But also, I think I’m expressing one last hopeful, silent plea to whomever might be watching from above; Hayvin said an actual prayer in the car before we left, asking God for help. Her spiritual side keeps rubbing off on me, which I’m totally cool with because right now we could use all the help we can get.
My eyes blink away from the gray sky and recenter downward onto the much darker, pitch black shadow of trees in front of me that glare with the promise of trouble should I dare enter. My heart fumbles a final beat to a hard tackle of fear. Can’t afford to stay down and out, though, so bravely my heart pumps onward in unison with my legs.
I take point, making sure Hayvin’s close. Brac and Daño stay behind us with breathing room of about fifteen feet. We pass the Miakoda welcome sign and walk into the swamp arena like battle-ready gladiators.
After a few strides on the tamed, easy-to-walk trail that’s marked for the general public, we veer off and trespass into the wild of nature’s privacy. Pines. Palms. Vines. Curtains of moss. Buzzing bugs and croaking frogs...everything to be found on Hayvin’s farm abounds on a much grander scale. The sky has almost completely disappeared to a ceiling of giant trees. We hike in near-blinding darkness. The nightglasses provide excellent short range visibility, but long distance beyond a few yards is a blurry black mess of what I assume to be more trees. Won’t use the flashlight feature of the glasses, not now, because it’d give away our location. Onward we trek through the density.
Ground foliage is no less dense, with some plants such as palm frond bushes spreading several feet in width and rising higher than my head. We stay close to the thickest parts for concealment from whomever may be watching the area. Hard to imagine any human living in this no-man’s land, but they’re out here. Better be. Or Hayvin and I are dead for wasting Sankeela’s time. But I don’t dare dwell on that doubt. Instead, I faithfully hold onto the Stranger’s words, the photograph, the letter, Hayvin’s convincing confidence, and my own intuition. V’lore’s base is out here. We’ll find it. Please be out here!
To my far front left and far right, I catch the last glimpses of Tyros scattered amidst the trees; they now officially disappear from view. Paranoia peaks now that Hayvin and I are left unprotectively alone with Brac and Daño. They’d kill to kill us—to avenge their subjugation beat down from that night at the bakery. It’d go against our alliance and Sankeela’s direct orders, but they’d do it. Being out of Sankeela’s sight gives Brac and Daño an opportunity to turn on us and then make up a story to cover their filthy tracks with only trees as witnesses and...fog?
A heavy white fog, thick as whipped cream, appears from out of nowhere and engulfs our small group as we step into it. Why fog?! If visibility wasn’t bad enough, it’s terrible now. Can only see a few feet in front of me instead of yards, even with the glasses on.
Splash. Splash. Splash. Splash. The hard ground underfoot turns into water covered-over by floating plants, and a stench like moist mold on old cheese floods my nostrils. Swamp. That’s what this is.
Hayvin notices my horrified face. She’s not relaxed either but offers some comfort. “It’s alright. It’s shallow this time of year. And there’s a high point up ahead just before the river starts.”
“High point? That means dry ground, right?” Daño freaks. He and Brac stand timidly by the swamp’s eerie edge while Hayvin and I continue.
“Yes, dry ground...eventually. But for now, little niño, I’m afraid you’ll have to get dirty.” Hayvin throws Daño’s own sarcastic words back at him with unintimidated attitude.
“So it’s safe to walk?” Brac double checks.
“Yes,” Hayvin snips. “See that water line?” She points to a cyprus tree sprouting out of the swamp whose trunk has a white and green line about ten feet from the ground. Other trees have the same mark. Hayvin continues, “Lucky for you the real rainy season hasn’t hit yet. Flood water gets high here. And gators...they love deep water.” She winks at Brac and Daño whose faces are completely void of the arrogance they wore earlier; they’re not in California or Utah anymore. No, they’re equally prone to falling prey to the indiscriminate wild.
Knee-deep, my legs slosh forward through the murky water that’s so dark it’s almost black. Like soda. Like I could literally bend down, drink, and slurp in carbonated sweetness. I’m thirsty. Throat’s like cotton. But no, I won’t try it.
Being the pack leader is nerve-biting, because I know I’ll be the first person to disturb any dangerous animal looming unseen underwater in our footpath and, therefore, first to be attacked. Animal images from the Miakoda welcome sign enhance my concern to the point of creating hallucinations; just about everything around me takes the shape of a snake or alligator. But each time I clo
sely investigate, it’s just rippling water, a floating tree branch, or plant.
Kshh. The radio on Brac’s belt makes a static noise, then a voice bleeds out. “This is Tumzi. My team’s approaching a cabin. I see light coming from inside. Someone’s definitely home.”
We stop walking to listen, breath held in suspense. The water’s as still as my motionless body.
Kshh. “Torben, here. We’ve also got a structure in sight.”
Those two groups are moving at about the same speed and have found the first of V’lore’s six outposts.
Kshh. “Antonio...we found ours.” A third group leader reports.
After a longer lapse of time, a fourth leader grumbles his location. “Riot, here...we ready.”
Kshh. “Sankeela speaking. Hold your ground. I want confirmation when all packs have targets locked. We attack together.”
The radio remains silent upon Sankeela’s command. I look down at my submerged legs and remember we’re still in swamp water; it's the last place I want to take a long radio break. I muck forward...but only a couple steps.
SPLASH! My heart shuts down at the sudden movement of a large snake leaping its massive, thick body halfway out of the water as I come inches from stepping on it. Not a tree limb...an actual snake! But I’m not bitten. The serpent swims away from our human herd, whipping and winding atop the water with graceful ease.
I try to shrug off the encounter and lead on. Have to. Can’t let every problem or paranoia distract me. My body calmly walks forward, although my heart continuously races like a frightened rabbit still running from a threat that's no longer in pursuit.
∆∆∆
A couple more minutes pass. Thankfully, the water begins to shallow-out to a shin-high level barely above my ankles. Starlight pouring in through a small opening in the tree canopy, reveals land a couple yards in front of us; it’s the high point Hayvin foretold.
Kshh. “Crill, here. Outpost visible,” comes the voice of the sixth and final group leader.