Red Lashers

by Kyle Dane

  Kshh. “All teams…kill.” Sankeela gives the order to neutralize targets. Our own target still waits to be discovered, but first, we need to locate the river.

  BAMBAMBAMBAMBAM! Gunfire blisters through the air ahead of us to our left and right flanks. After about ten seconds, the shooting stops. Someone has won a very short battle, and as much as I hate rooting for the Tyros, I hope they’re the victors.

  Kshh. The radio signals a pending speaker...“Status on all Lasher Bait.” Sankeela, an obvious survivor, calls for the report. I wait intently to hear the outcome.

  Kshh. “Torben here…my prey’s all dead. No casualties. They fer sher were government. All kinds of tech up in here. And weapons.”

  Kshh. “Tumzi…same. Had no idea what hit em’.”

  Kshh. “Crill…I lost three Tyros, but we’re clear now.”

  One after the other, each group leader confirms success in conquering the cabin outposts which were in fact occupied by government personnel just as the Stranger promised.

  Kshh. “Ruko…” Sankeela calls me out over the radio. “...take a deep breath. Looks like you delivered. Keep me posted.”

  His words almost taste like relief, but more obstacles need to be conquered before I can even think of breathing.

  ∆∆∆

  “There it is…the river,” says Hayvin.

  I see it now—a shiny shimmer through an abrupt tree line that suddenly comes upon us. We pass the tree line and step into an open view of the night sky where the river runs. It’s considerably brighter out here and easier to capture geographic details, including the river’s impressive width, and a length that stretches north to south as far as my eyes can travel on the light.

  I remove my nightglasses and pocket them, for now. I suspected the river to be fast-flowing like the raging mountain type I’m accustom to seeing back West. Aside from a feeble trickle-of-a current, this body of water seems to be sleeping. Glistening upon the calm surface is the full white moon that stares vainly at its own reflection. So deceptively peaceful. While the water may be peaceful, what lies beneath is what I’m afraid of. Alligators. And...possibly something more terrible. Something my thoughts haven’t left me alone about. Lashers. But even if they were somehow this far in the wilderness, they’d be lying dormant in the deepest parts of the river, only to wake during the next scheduled Red-out which isn’t for another few days. So tonight we’re safe from at least one thing even if we’re in danger from everything else. “White Moon” is what I’d spray paint on one of Hayvin’s blessing trees.

  “Where do we go from here?” Brac demands.

  I don’t say anything.

  Hayvin hesitates.

  “We follow this for a while,” Hayvin finally yields up a shy detail.

  All four of us change our eastward direction and walk northward within the trees.

  “Move,” Brac cracks as he brushes hard against me.

  My adrenaline jumps into fight mode at the unexpected physical contact from my hated enemy. A full assessment says he’s not attacking, just being a punk.

  He passes me up, apparently wanting to take point as leader from here on out; I guess he can, at least for a while, thanks to the simple instruction to follow the river. I shoot a quick glance behind me and see that Daño remains at the rear. I feel even more uneasy with this new arrangement of being surrounded.

  ∆∆∆

  After speed-hiking through a few hot and muggy minutes, a sandy, riverbank sidewalk—compliments of Mother Nature—appears from out of nowhere. It’s an open beach several feet wide between the river’s edge and the tree line that looks like easier walking compared to this constant shuffling around trees and forest debris. Brac unhesitatingly takes the new path while simultaneously increasing our group’s pace to a light jog.

  “What the...?!” Brac barks up ahead and does a side-to-side freak dance.

  “What is it?” I yell.

  “The ground…it’s moving!” he claims.

  I look to Hayvin for an answer. Sure enough, she has one.

  “It’s just water moving underneath the ground. Some places you step might feel like a small earthquake. But it’s nothin’ to be afraid of. It’s safe.”

  I too begin to feel movement under my feet. Feels like stepping on the gurgling stomach of a sleeping giant, as if the ground were alive, a squishy stomach of wet sand. It’s difficult to stay balanced.

  Brac cautiously tiptoes his way closer to the river’s edge, and I follow suit in his footsteps, like an ant following another ant.

  “No, stay away from the water. Get by the trees,” Hayvin urgently whispers under her breath.

  Why? Why would she prevent me from following Brac’s path? She literally just explained that it’s safe. Regardless, I trust the exclusive warning; obviously she knows something I don’t.

  We continue forward in a zigzag formation with Brac at the head, farthest to the right and nearest the river, while me and Hayvin lean towards the left, almost completely off of the beach sidewalk, scraping the tree line. Daño lingers behind, carefully nurturing his shoulder bag.

  “Awww!” Brac suddenly cries out.

  I watch as the ground below his feet opens up into a small sinkhole. He drops straight down and splashes into the water beneath the hollowed-out earth, taking his scream with him. He’s gone. Vanished.

  “Brac!” shouts Daño.

  No response.

  We all wait.

  Despite my hopeful wishing, an angry, soaking-wet Brac springs back to life, although not from the sinkhole that ate him; he somehow swam his way under the sidewalk and out into the open river. He aggressively paddles towards us—not happy in the slightest. Nor am I. Wish he’d stayed underwater permanently.

  Brac reaches the shore and clamps his hands upon the dirt, lifts his body halfway out of the river, and beaches himself for a couple quick breaths. He spits water and stares up at Hayvin. “Safe, huh?! The ground is fine?!?! I’m gunna kill you…you lying...”

  Before the ugly threat is finished, a shadowy object next to Brac that I assumed to be a large mound of dirt, opens up and transforms into the enormous head of an adult alligator whose mouth is lined with long, jagged teeth. Brac’s clueless of the predator’s stealthy presence despite being only inches away.

  “Aguas!” Daño yells the word for watch out. The attempt to caution the soon-to-be river snack is made to no avail as the reptilian killer strikes faster than Brac can even let out a yelp—its giant jaws clamp onto Brac’s body, and he’s pulled back into the water. Daño runs over to help but can do nothing. The muffled sound of Brac’s weapon is heard from underneath the water. We watch as the gun lights-up like fireworks in a circular pattern as though Brac was spinning; the gator must be doing a death roll.

  We duck down to avoid any stray bullets that jet out of the river as Brac is hauled deeper and deeper until we can no longer hear the gun or see the sparking light. He’s dead. The water returns to peaceful stagnation as though nothing happened. Nothing at all.

  Wow. I realize that would’ve been me, too, had it not been for Hayvin’s warning. Her wisdom coupled with fate’s blessing has proven to be our salvation so far.

  “How terrible...those boots looked expensive. What a waste.” Hayvin expresses sarcastic remorse.

  “What?!” Daño grimaces, baffled at Hayvin’s audacious words. His mouth goes quiet, but his body moves at her with a loud, threatening look while pointing the machine gun at her chest.

  I dash between Hayvin and Daño. “Hey!” I boom to get his attention. “What happened to Brac wasn’t her fault and you know it. Let’s just keep going. We’ve got a job to do.”

  Daño’s so close to my face, I can feel and smell his nasty breath as he violently exhales like an old furnace cranked on high. Without needing to break my stare for verification, I already know his hand is teasing the gun’s trigger.

  “Really? You gunna finish this by yourself? You need us,” I staunchly advocate for our lives.


  Daño’s arms fall to his sides, releasing the weapon that hangs from his neck as well as letting go of his sadistic agenda for Hayvin. It’d seem we’re allies, once again.

  “Walk!” Daño orders. His temperature is still high but cool enough to intelligently recognize the need to avoid a rash decision. Hope he doesn’t change his mind. He could gun us down from the back at any moment.

  ∆∆∆

  For the rest of the journey, it’s mutually agreed to travel in the woods for safety from earth-crumbling paths but still in plain view of the watery compass that’ll keep us on course.

  “It’s Daño…Brac’s dead,” he radios the other Tyros. “Still got Ruko and his girl. Apúrense ya, que me den apoyo. Nos vemos pronto a la cabeza del rio.”

  His private message is made without realizing that I’m part Mexican and understand Spanish. It’s an SOS for help. He’s nervous to be isolated with us. But would Sankeela answer the distress call? It'd go against his original assignment to maintain the outposts. I hope he doesn't. After Daño blames Hayvin and I for Brac’s death—I know he will—there’s no way Sankeela will keep us alive for long after that. In his mind, that’ll be the perfect excuse to break our truce. He’ll first make us take him to the Blue Hole, then kill us.

  I was never good at statistics like my accountant father, but I’m smart enough to calculate the plummeting probabilities of surviving the night. Need to kill Daño to prevent him from throwing us under the bus for Brac’s death. But, if I kill him and attempt to sell an accident story, I won’t be believed and just end up blamed for both deaths, anyway. Regardless, I’ll be facing Sankeela’s wrath within the hour.

  The Georgia heat doesn’t help my nerves any. I feel beads of sweat on my forehead that feverishly fall from my hairline, soak into my eyebrows, and puddle around the corners of my eyes. I don’t bother wiping them away, though, because I’m too preoccupied in my desperation to conjure up an escape plan that just keeps escaping me—no idea what to do.

  But, as I ponder our stressful predicament, I suddenly become aware of something far worse...worse than Sankeela, Daño, and all the Tyros Clan combined. Something impossible.

  I quickly clear my moisture-blinded eyes so I can better study the sky to confirm the most unthinkable environment change taking place right in front of me...the night is changing colors...to red! My heart drops. Feels like it plummeted a thousand feet in a short second.

  “Diablos! Wha-what is this?!” shouts Daño, who’s the first to broadcast the horrific surprise.

  The three of us stop walking and urgently judge our surroundings.

  “Red! It’s a...it’s a Red-out!” Daño panics more.

  I stand petrified in wide-eyed disbelief as I helplessly watch the red mist swirl into the moon’s light, which now penetrates down into the river water, making it glow like a giant, scarlet vein.

  But...the next Red-out should be in three days! Never in seven years has one been off schedule, early or late. Of all nights, why now?!

  Old nightmares instantly teleport my greatest fears back to Sterlings parking lot and to the horror of the Hive.

  “This’s impossible!” Hayvin joins the vocal pandemonium.

  “We-we need to get out of here! Back to the cars!” Daño says.

  I suddenly remember the Stranger’s personal guarantee that there are no Lashers near V’lore’s base. I didn’t believe it then, but now, I’m desperate.

  “No. We keep going,” I bravely say.

  “You crazy?! Do you not see what’s happening around you?! It’s a Red-out! Only a matter of time before the Lashers…” Daño hollers, but I cut him off.

  “We have to finish our mission. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we’ll be safe.” I try to sound collected even though I'm one step from slipping off the edge of composure.

  “Safe?! How do you know we’ll be safe?! You don’t even know what’s going on right now, do you?!”

  “No, I don’t! But we’re so close to finishing this. We can’t stop now. If we do, then everything...”

  “What’s that noise?” Hayvin frantically sneaks in a question that defuses the flared argument between Daño and me, and in an orchestrated fashion, we stop talking. All of us hold a paralyzed posture as we attentively listen to a faint but gradually growing sound of deep, airy groans that echo from out of the wooded darkness and across the swampland. It’s the noise of a nightmare. Something unfathomable yet all too familiar to my ears. Lashers. The Stranger was wrong. They are here!

  The rally builds louder and louder as more Lashers wake up and join in from multiple locations around us—their way of yawning. Stretching. Getting ready for the night. The most intense volume comes from our rear trail along the river and sends a spiny sensation all over my body as if I fell into a cactus.

  Abruptly, silence. The heavy breathing. The groaning. It all stops, which can only mean one thing: the Lashers are now on the hunt. They’re coming.

  “Run,” I almost yell the word but miraculously keep my voice at bay.

  Hayvin and I bolt forward, accelerating our miles-per-hour speed as high as our legs can handle, driving drunk with fear for the Blue Hole. I recklessly punch myself forward and almost crash into the first tree in front of me. I swerve around it and quickly put my nightglasses back on. Daño follows, not knowing where else to go or what to do. Didn’t need his permission to run. A more dangerous contender just entered the arena, so I really don’t care about Daño or his gun’s authority anymore. Besides, a quick bullet from Daño would be a more desirable form of death than the torture of a Lasher’s ruthless hand.

  AAAAAAHHHHHBANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! AAAHHHBANG! AAAAAAHHHHHHBANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Gunfire erupts in the distance. The Tyros Clan is in another battle, this one different than the first.

  The shooting sounds sporadic and unorganized—even desperate—as if the Tyros were surrounded by a fast-moving force more powerful than themselves, creating what seems to be an every-man-for-himself battle scenario. And…an abnormality—an “AH” sound—mixes with the ricochet of exploding bullets. Screams. Earsplitting shouts of full grown men, tough Tyros to boot, blend into the turbulent airwaves as though they were the cries of helpless children. Only one thing could make them cower to this extreme. Lashers. Being in large groups must have made the Tyros easy tracking, and now they’ve become the very label they give other people: Lasher Bait.

  As I run, I’m hopelessly frightened to the point of questioning why my legs even bother the effort. The only obstacles of this mission were to be V’lore’s guards, then figuring out how to escape the Tyros. Both difficult but survivable tasks. Possible. But Lashers have us surrounded, and there’s no place for hiding. No shelter. No community Safe House. Nothing. We’re exposed in a wide-open wildlife preserve, breathing in the red, Zadium-flavored air that fills panicked lungs—our last consumption of oxygen, because we’re truly as good as buried. Coffin nailed.

  My breathing gets heavier. As it does, something strange begins to happen to me. I feel sick. Really sick. Powerful nausea—or something—turns my insides into a terrible knot of pain; the kind of knot that’s so bad you’d rather cut and throw away whatever’s knotted instead of dealing with it, like a ball of fishing line that pops off the reel. Can’t trash my guts, though. Gotta deal with it. But how? I don’t even know what’s going on. It’s as if all my internal organs are being ripped apart. It’s a whole new level of pain that can’t be compared to even the most intense food poisoning episode I’ve ever experienced. My vision blurs to an incoherent image and—despite the summer night’s heat—a subzero cold rushes from my head down through my legs.

  The parasite. Sankeela must have activated it. But why?! I haven't broken our treaty! Our mission isn't even complete yet! This doesn't make sense. Maybe...maybe it's something else. The stress of the night? The shock? A killer side ache from running too hard in a humid swamp? Rubbed against the wrong plant and I’m having an allergic reaction? I don't know. Whatever the case, th
e internal torture is now too intense to tough out. I watch as Hayvin and Daño out-sprint me, both unaware I’m falling behind. I stop, hunch over, and involuntarily advertise my suffering. “Aww!”

  “Ruko?! You okay?” Hayvin comes back for me. I massage my tormented stomach area and also chest now, while the nameless pain spreads. Has to be Sankeela’s parasite.

  “Keep moving!” yells Daño, up ahead.

  “Come on!” agrees Hayvin, as she tugs my arm.

  AAAAAAAABANG! BANG! BANG! AAAAAA!!! In an instant, the scream-shooting smoothie is blended to a final pulse. No more yelling. No bullets. No longer feels like I’m passing through an active battlefield but a quiet, peaceful forest again.

  “Call in.” Daño uses his radio.

  No answer.

  He tries again, “Sankeela? Torben? Anyone! Call in!” Still no answer.

  It’s confirmed. The Tyros Clan is dead. All of them. Good news for the buzzards watching from the trees with their hungry beaks waiting eagerly to indulge in fresh flesh. Bad news for us. With the Tyros out of the picture, the Lashers will seek out new victims, and it’s not like there’s a plethora of options to choose from. There’s only one group of living humans remaining with whom they could possibly have a run-in...us.

  CHAPTER 19: NEW EYES

  Snap out of it, Ruko! With a vigorous head shake, I subdue the mysterious pain that has taken over the inside of my body, at least enough to rejoin Hayvin and Daño in one final desperate dash for our lives.

  A beached alligator jumps into the river as we zoom past in our leg-powered explosion to the Blue Hole. Hayvin’s in the lead. I struggle behind her. Daño maintains a paranoid distance from me to protect himself from any revolt, but his precaution is unnecessary because now I actually want him alive. As an ally, he’s another moving body for the Lashers to target. My accountant father always taught that the smallest percentage can shift the balance between any two possible outcomes. In our case, between life and death. But who am I kidding? The instant a Lasher finds just one of us, we’re all dead.