Red Lashers

by Kyle Dane

  “Is that it, Hayvin?” I throw a hopeful nod at what appears to be the spring we’ve been searching for, the presumed Blue Hole from where the water originates, the river’s beginning.

  “Yes! That-that’s where it should be,” replies Hayvin in a panted breath.

  A few hurried strides across a small, sandy beach, lead me to a pool of water. A wall of tall cat tails and other aquatic, weed-like plants encircle and would otherwise completely conceal the inner-dwelling pool were it not for a narrow, two foot opening in the weeds.

  “Ay! Tonto shoes,” Daño belches a line of complaint. He’s on the ground behind me by the forest edge, retying the bootlaces he just tripped over.

  I don’t care. I turn on the flashlight setting of my nightglasses. A powerful light from each of the two lenses, like car headlights, beams down into the nature-made pool. The water is remarkably clear. I observe white sand, thin patches of grass that wave back and forth to the rhythm of a soft current, and a huge hole dwelling at the very bottom. It’s a blurry, dark-blue opening six or seven feet wide, tucked against the pool’s earthy side wall.

  Good hiding spot, Mr. President. Hard to imagine this underwater cave being the entrance to a hidden building, because there’s nothing about this area that remotely indicates the presence of people. It’s even harder to believe that beneath my feet lies the source of all the suffering our country has endured for the past seven years. A quick swim and we can end the Red-out nightmare once and for all. Salvation...is literally a breath away.

  Thump THUMP, thump THUMP, thump THUMP, thump THUMP. The sound of a hyper heartbeat bangs my eardrums into a sudden bass of panic that builds atop the fear already crushing me. I know that sound.

  “Ruko!” Hayvin screams, volume cranked. I take my eyes away from the water and spin around to see the reason for her frightful shriek. It’s Daño...

  He hovers inches above the ground, legs dangling and arms trembling. His eyes are bulged and mouth is wide open, but the only sounds that escape his lips are suppressed gasps desperately clinging to life. Reddish black fingers—cracked and leathery—are stabbed into the sides of Daño’s thick neck from a Lasher that stands behind him, holding his heavy bodyweight and keeping it suspended in air with just one arm.

  “Hayvin, get behind me,” I protectively order. As she does, dead Daño is thrown to the marshy floor, and his traumatic image is replaced by the Lasher itself. Despite looking half human, the demonic creature wholly personifies its monstrous side, a side I’ve never seen this close before. Long cracks that look like wounds from a box cutter blade populate the skin. Dark-crimson eyes—no pupils, no soul, sunk behind an unnatural face—glare at me with a menacing hatred that’s so raw, so evil, it chills my very bones as if my body was already preparing itself to die and go cold. Giving up the ghost before the fight even begins.

  Its hairless head tilts off to the side at a ninety-degree angle. No blinking. No breathing. Just stares at me. I’m terrified. My chest pounds like a sledgehammer telling me to run, but there’s nowhere to flee. It’d easily outrun my greatest escape effort.

  Thump THUMP, thump THUMP, thump THUMP, thump THUMP. As if wired by an extreme caffeine overdose, the Lasher’s audible heart continues to pulse freakishly fast and yet, strangely, it doesn’t rush to kill me. Doesn’t move at all. Instead, it reverently maintains a stationary stance, hunched over like a fatigued old man drained of strength. What’s it waiting for? What’s with this odd behavior? Lashers are always on the move, never staying still for more than a second. Is it injured? No, impossible.

  Whatever the rhyme, I know the reason why it woke up...to kill. That’s the point that matters. Even though it’s several inches shorter than me with a much skinnier physique, I’m hilariously outmatched, fate fastened to a violent end—I’m a dead man. I shut my eyes and wait.

  “Whata we do?” Hayvin shutters behind me.

  Hayvin! I’m so scared, I actually forgot about her for a split second. But her voice quickly reheats my soul, alerting me of her own vicious death should I fail to protect her.

  My inward focus shifts outwards onto Hayvin, igniting a fiery anger that blazes through my veins and begins to burn down the forest of fear...the fear of facing a Lasher eye to eye. I won’t let Hayvin die without at least trying to defend her. But what can I do?

  Intimidation. A voice of sudden inspiration whispers to my brain a memory of Chica: the night I first met her. The small fox had zero chance of actually beating me in a fight, yet nonetheless made me think twice about entering the room when she stood her ground growling with intimidating conviction that caused me to back out and shut the door. Yes. My goal, however hopeless, is to spook this Lasher away with the best of my bark.

  Courageously, my opened eyes return an unshaken glance at the monster facing me, advertising my unwillingness to go down easy. The forest of fear—is nothing but ash.

  “Woaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!” The Lasher opens its mouth and breathes, making the deep groan noise that takes about seven seconds to finish. The cracks on its body also open—I can see the deep muscle tissue—as it sucks in and absorbs the red mist that’ll give it a rush of energy and power I should fear. But instead of being demolished by doubt, I construct confidence.

  Without breaking eye contact, I slide my left and right fists into the Iron Bells from my pockets. I’m really doing this...about to attack a Lasher in hand-to-hand combat...

  “Raaaahhhh!” I set off a heroic roar and lunge forward. My left arm is pulled back like a catapult waiting to be released. After a short flight in empty air, I fall down onto the Lasher with all the force of my bodyweight and strength of my arm.

  POW! The iron-knuckled fist smashes into the right temple of the Lasher’s head before it can finish its breathing process. It’s a powerful blow that’d knock out or kill any normal human. But I know this match is far from done.

  Punch after punch, I mercilessly beat the Lasher’s head, launching everything I’ve got. It retreats backwards a few steps. I keep swinging harder and harder, waiting for it to fight back but it doesn’t. No idea how many times I’ve hit it already, but more than I could’ve hoped, as if I was battering a lifeless manikin with zero retaliation or defense response. The Lasher’s arms just hang down at its sides, not even attempting to block my punches.

  To brighten the spark of hope, I thought I heard the sound of pain coming from the Lasher’s vocals, as if it was actually hurt. But that’s impossible. From all I’ve learned about Lashers, they can’t be injured or feel any physical pain. Like the Lasher I saw years ago being shot in the head—the bullets entered and exited, but no injury resulted. Still, I could swear to the cry of distress, just now. Fear...could that be it? Perhaps my attempt to intimidate the Lasher into a temporary retreat is working after all.

  SMACK! Without fully realizing what just happened, I’m now airborne, only half-conscious but alert enough to feel the unpleasant crash to the ground. The Lasher finally countered with a single, powerful hit. Guess it’s done humoring me. Hayvin’s concern is the only thing keeping me from losing total awareness...

  “Ruko!” she screams.

  Watery eyes tell me I’m back by the water’s edge but farther downstream. The now riled creature moves back and forth, grunting, tweaking out and acting much more like a normal Lasher. As if it fell asleep for a sec but is now awake again. It notices Hayvin.

  “He-hey…” I faintly spit out, along with some dirt and blood. The air was completely knocked out of me, making it difficult to talk. The nightglasses were knocked off my face, too, they're somewhere, but there's no time to search; I can see OK.

  Hayvin has me at her left, the Blue Hole at her heels, and an angry Lasher in front preparing to attack.

  “Hey!!!” I repeat, this time shouting.

  The Lasher’s attention is stolen for only a second before re-centering back on Hayvin, as if it believes I’m no longer a threat to be concerned with—that I’m going to stay down.

  Like an Olympic
sprinter, I explode from my knee and tackle the beast.

  We both pummel to the ground, but I manage to maintain dominance, pinning the Lasher to its side between my knees and the earth. I drill my left arm into its protruding spinal cord, fast and hard. The harmful infliction of my blows is evident in the creature’s cries—that same distinct noise of pain I thought I heard earlier but more dramatic this time, as if injuries were compounding instead of healing. But that can’t be right, can it?

  No time to dwell on the odd but favorable phenomena, because I’m once again tossed backwards into the red air, as though weightless. The Lasher is still extremely powerful even in this apparent state of weakness, if weakness is truly the accurate diagnoses.

  “Ahh!” I yell, suffering pain of my own. I look at my right shoulder and see blood gushing out. The Lasher’s fingers stabbed into and straight through the entire muscle, as easily as puncturing butter.

  The Lasher rises to its bare feet. I summit atop sturdy boots that help stabilize my faulty balance. For a quick second, we hold a hateful stare, neither one wanting to engage the other. I do my best to ignore the shoulder wound and ready myself for round three.

  The closed cracks in the Lasher’s body begin to open again, along with a stretched jaw. No. It’s going to breathe. Can’t let it recharge!

  I attack with a powerful left uppercut that levels into the Lasher’s face, trailed by two consecutive right hooks.

  “Graahh!” growls the Lasher, whose arm swings wide in an attempt to swipe my head. I duck, land another left punch, and add a hard knee to the gut.

  “Graaaahhhh!” it cries in both pain and frustration. All the Lasher knows to do is lash out—has no concept of fluent, strategic fighting like I do, which is my only advantage right now. But gotta focus. Although he’s predictable, tremendous speed makes up for bad form. One wrong move—one blink—and the fight could end, not in my favor. Stay in the game, Ruko!

  My forearm sprouts up—at a horizontal angle—to protect my head from a downward axe-like swing. Timing and form are perfect, yet I’m merely able to slow the Lasher’s powerful arm and am still punched in the head regardless, by my own fist. An ache shoots down through the bone of my defending forearm. No! My left arm! I can’t move it. My body’s single most critical fighting appendage is broken. My weaker right arm steps up to the plate as the new primary weapon. It’s like switching from assault rifle to hand pistol, for the making of an even more disadvantaged fight.

  Hayvin runs around our quarrel, over to Daño, most likely to grab the machine gun that was around his neck. Surely she's noticed the Lasher’s apparent vulnerability and is about to test the theory with bullets. Part of me doesn’t want her to because of what the shooting sound would invite...more Lashers. But what other option is there? I’m so weak from my injuries and, to make matters bleaker, that strange ache inside my body has spread and heightened to a level that’s not ignorable despite the survival-mode adrenaline rush that’s been keeping it at bay this whole time. My head pounds from an excruciating migraine fever, the temperature of which continues to soar. Can hardly breathe. Muscles are sapped of strength. Respiratory system is shutting down. About to pass out.

  I strain for another desperate shot at the Lasher. The right hook is delivered but in a pathetic package. The creature hardly moves its head, then wastes no time reminding me who’s the dominate contender as it uses both arms to launch me into the air for a harder-than-ever fall to the floor—my cemetery.

  I lie paralyzed, unable to get up. I’m done. The Lasher knows it has won and chooses not to follow through with a death strike, just yet. I lift my head—the last obedient body part—and remain conscious long enough to see the monster turn on Hayvin who struggles locating the machine gun from underneath Daño’s body. Is it even there? Why isn’t she finding it? Was it lost when he was tossed?

  Hayvin sees me and realizes I’ve been defeated. Failed. And to seal the deal, the Lasher begins breathing in the red mist that will recharge its energy and completely negate whatever damage I managed to inflict, as if I was never in the boxing ring at all. My effort’s been for nothing.

  “Aww!” I let out one last howl from the rampant torture inside me as my eyelids shut and everything goes black to a final image of Hayvin’s horrified face fixed upon the Lasher.

  Then. Something happens.

  With eyes closed and body lifeless, my consciousness gets lost in what seems to be a dream. But unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Out of the darkness, I see a variety of colors and shapes gradually evolving into the complete picture of the inside of my own body. The bones, blood vessels, muscle tissue, organs—I see it all. From the little I know about human anatomy, things appear normal, except for one thing: a brilliant, red glow radiates from every inch of my insides. It’s the red mist. The Zadium. Seems to be a part of me, somehow.

  Another strange observation is my heart. It’s different. It beats slowly yet powerfully. Inhumanly so. With each pump, the red mist flickers brighter and brighter, and I feel an intense surge of strength rush through my whole body.

  The dream continues. I now find myself staring at the wounded shoulder, still from the strange, microscopic perspective of journeying inside my own resurrecting corpse. I watch as the holes in the muscle tissue—where the Lasher punctured me—speedily fill with new tissue until the shoulder wound is completely made whole.

  This same miraculous regeneration process transpires with each and every of my bodily injuries. All the pain healed and gone, including the horrible internal sickness that I wrongfully assumed to be Sankeela’s parasite. In fact, I sense my body turning on and destroying the parasite. No, this is something worse. I’m transforming...into a Lasher!

  How?! Why?! Out of the frying pan and into the flames. I may end up being the one to kill Hayvin using the same hands that once loved her. But...why don’t I feel monstrous?

  A careful assessment of my mental presence confirms that I’m still manager of mind and boss of body. Still me. But not me. I feel...powerful.

  ∆∆∆

  The coma ends. Guess the transformation process ran its full course. I don’t know. Don’t know how this is even possible but don’t have time to think about it.

  My eyelids snap open. What was once night blackness is now daylight. What is this?! How long was I out? Hayvin! A flash of panic says I was unconscious far too long and Hayvin’s already dead. But to my immense comfort, I now see her curled near Daño’s body, alive. Only short seconds have passed since my blackout, which means nighttime hasn’t faded, however I can see as clear as day. My vision’s changed.

  I spring to my feet, effortlessly. In a full-speed charge—faster than I knew possible in a man or Lasher—I ram the creature before Hayvin’s touched.

  Leveraging the momentum of a 360 degree spin, I throw the Lasher’s body into a tree yards away, as if I’d chucked a lightweight rock.

  I turbo-glance at Hayvin, making sure she’s unharmed.

  “Ruko?” She stares at me frightfully, like I was going to hurt her next. I’m anguished by what this must signify of my appearance. Hideous like a Lasher?

  The monster runs back at me, extra angry and arms flaring. I burst forward to meet it head on.

  We clash.

  An axe hit swings down at me, but this time I grab the Lasher’s arm, easily stopping it in place. I twirl the body, wrap my right arm around the neck in a choke hold, and jackhammer my left fist relentlessly into the center of the bony spinal cord while pushing the creature towards the river. My fists are bare, yet I’m inflicting more damage than I ever could when armored with the Iron Bells. This power’s unreal. With each punch, the damage becomes more significant as indicated by the sound of breaking bone.

  After three wrecking-ball-force hits in the same area, the backbone fully breaks. The Lasher drops to its knees. Both my hands entrap the head and twist—with conviction—after which a loud, neck-breaking pop echoes through the Georgia trees, and the Lasher is now face fir
st in the shallows of the river. It doesn’t move.

  Patiently, I stand in the ankle deep water, hovering over the Lasher’s body, waiting for it to get up. Still no movement.

  Hayvin approaches. “Ruko? Is-is it...dead?”

  “Yes,” I answer. “Don’t know how but it is.” Then it occurs to me: although Lashers can be woken up early, V’lore sticks to the nine-day cycle because that’s the minimum duration required for the Zadium’s full power of invincibility to take effect. Anything less and they can end up like the corpse at my feet. So why do it tonight? Because to V'lore, there’s one life that takes precedence over that of his precious monsters...his own. He must have become aware of the outpost takeover and became desperate to stop us. So desperate that he prematurely summoned his personal army of Lashers that's intentionally placed in the Miakoda Swamp for the purpose of combating threats like us. His backup bodyguards. Makes sense. But how could the Stranger miss this? Did he truly believe Lashers were not here? Or did he lie? Don’t have time to think about it.

  “And...you? What-what’s going on, Ruko?” Hayvin switches from the dead Lasher spectacle to the other mind-mincing topic: me. Her doubting eyes widen while cautiously examining my body.

  I bravely lower my head to raised hands to see what she does, and the first thing I notice is skin that’s not mine. It’s no longer the caramel brown, sun-tanned shade I’m used to but scarlet red—a very vibrant, foreign color that radiates off me like a light has been turned on from the inside of my body. The dim but noticeable illumination travels throughout all the veins of my arms, which pop out in vivid definition as if someone took a marker and drew lines on me. Zero cracks cut into the flesh, though, thankfully. I run my fingers across my head. No hair loss. No deformity. Definitely not the look of a Lasher. But not human, either. What am I?!

  “Does it hurt?” Hayvin asks.

  “No,” I reply.

  Hayvin’s hands gently glide over the muscles of my arms that are presently relaxed but appear to be flexed in whittled detail. They even convulse, slightly, as if an electrical current were running through them. Thought I was ripped before.