by Kyle Dane
“You’re nothing, old man, but a failed, washed-up president who couldn't handle rejection, so you decided to become a mass murderer of innocent people. Families. An evil that has zero justification and zero right to an apology of any kind from anyone. No, the world doesn’t need you...it needs you dead,” strut the bold words from off my tongue’s cat-walk.
V’lore’s demeanor instantly funnels back up to anger so volcanically pressurized that he looks like he's literally about to explode. “Death?! Then I'll start with her!”
V’lore pushes the gun harder against Hayvin’s head, to which she reacts by launching into the air like a rocket, faster than I’ve ever seen her move. The top of her head slams into the bottom of V’lore’s chin.
“Ahh!” shouts V’lore.
The gun goes off but misses Hayvin, barely. She whips around and beats V’lore with no mercy, until he mashes to the ground like a soft potato. She pounce attacks and keeps hitting, grilling into his head over and over again, no slowing down. She’s going to kill him. For a few seconds, I supportively watch, until his arms go limp and fall to his sides, no longer defending his face.
“Hayvin...that’s enough,” I urge, afraid she’s crossing the thin line between righteous indignation and reckless hatred, a nasty place where I’m no first-time tourist. We’ve done good up until now, bridling the violence, letting it loose just enough to win the war, fully intent on hanging it up like a detested shirt we hope to never wear again. If we didn’t, if we lost control, we’d become no more noble than the Lashers.
Besides, the weight of V’lore’s blood in Hayvin’s hands is not essential. There’s a better, less direct alternative: the bomb. But...Hayvin pays as much attention to my order as a dog lost in kill mode mauling its prey; she doesn’t come close to ceasing the fist-fire.
I jet over and pick her up off of V’lore’s nearly lifeless body. After she tranquilizes, I let her go. Tears roll down her face as her journal’s tearful words roll down my mind, “Jenness was dead. It was the darkest time of my life.” Hayvin’s hatred of V’lore is equally justified as my own, but a grudge can destroy a person. Need to move on.
I grab V’lore by the garment collar and drag him to the Zadium reactor. As I lock him in place to the reactor’s foundational structure, using strips of metal I peeled off another piece of machinery, Hayvin mounts the bomb onto the side of the cylinder. V’lore’s bound in an awkward position, contorted on the ground against the machine, half sitting and half laying, unable to free his arms from the strong metal binding no matter how hard he shakes. He looks up at me with swollen eyes and incoherently gurgles out of a bloody mouth, “What...are...you?”
I step over him—and his question—so I can help Hayvin power the explosive. Done. It’s set for 60 seconds, which is plenty of time for me to swim us out of here yet short enough to ensure quick detonation. Can’t afford a snag.
I check our work as if to grade it. Red numbers flicker downward. “60. 59. 58...”
Time to leave. Hayvin and I start running when V’lore again demands with the last energies of his life force, “Who?!...what?!...are you?!” His shell-shocked pride still can’t fathom the impending reckoning ticking down in front of his face, after so long being the person in total, uncontested control.
I stop. With my back facing V’lore, I decide to answer his question. “Just a kid.” My head now turns in his direction. “A kid who misses his parents.” The ghost voice of my fourteen-year-old self speaks from the dust of ancient heartache directly to the man responsible for it. It's just a glimpse of who I am and how I came to be, not physically—not the scientific secret for my unique Lasher transformation, no, I’ll leave him guessing—but emotionally. My motivation. I know he couldn’t care less about that answer, but that’s all he gets.
I rejoin Hayvin in a fast run.
“Don't leave me! You can't! I’m your president! I...AM...YOUR PRESIDENT!!! You need me!” V’lore belligerently screams. We ignore him. I can hear his body shaking back and forth, lashing out in boundless anger. “I'll kill you! I...WILL...KILL YOU!!!”
Really? Tell that to the bomb staring you down. No sir! Your hellish reign of killing is finished, V’lore...most vile of all the Lashers.
We return the way we came, whooshing through the doorway and onto the deck, jumping over the bodies of the three guards, and splashing into the water, almost hitting the fourth body, which floats on the water’s surface. Hayvin holds tight to me in her reassumed position on my back, trusting that I’ll return us safely to the surface of the Blue Hole.
I paddle and kick until we practically burst out of the metal tunnel, followed by a left turn into the natural neck of the cave. I swim on. Weird. I start to get the sensation that our pace is slowing dramatically, even though my paddling efforts are not. I feel different. Almost sick. No. My strength is weakening. What’s going on? What’s wrong with me?!
I’m frightened by the sudden urge to breathe, along with another dramatic loss of energy and also blurred vision. It’s getting darker. My eyesight is reverting to its normal human capabilities. The Zadium inside me is being depleted—burned up like gasoline in a speeding car, and the only way I'll get my power back is if I refill my tank. Need more red mist.
The water’s strong exit current offers some hope. It fought against us on our way inside the cave but now offers much-welcomed assistance as we desperately try to blow this place...before the bomb does. Or before our oxygen’s spent.
My vision dims more and more, and the cave grows darker and darker. Ouch. I hit my elbow on unseen rock from the cavern wall. I cling to it and begin feeling my way onward with a swim form that is—at best—reckless. I cut my arms again on more sharp rocks, having completely lost the ability to heal, in addition to everything else. Night vision. Lasher strength. All of it is gone.
Hayvin’s hold around my neck tightens, signaling her fright and need for air. My grip on the rocks intensifies for the same reasons. Lungs feel like balloons about to pop. We keep fighting forward, twisting and turning to the crooked design of the cave.
Yes! Red-tinted light begins to color away some of the darkness. Never in my wildest dreams would I have viewed the red mist as a sign of hope, but tonight it is because of what it means—we’re almost outside, I’ll regain invincibility, and once again we’ll have a fighting chance to survive the night.
So close. The light grows brighter as we curl around another bend. The Blue Hole exit is just yards ahead of us.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!
An explosion like thunder rattles our ears and shakes the earth around us. I don’t dare look back. An orangish-yellow light from behind us grows brighter and brighter on the surface of the rock stockade at my sides, indicating the approach of the bomb’s fire cloud.
“Aww!” A gurgled, water-filled yell escapes my lips after a giant piece of rock from the cave ceiling collapses onto my leg, slashing the calf muscle. Can't stop swimming though. All that matters is getting out of this cave and away from the awful prospect of death by asphyxiation, being buried by falling boulders, or being burned alive.
The moon and stars shine red through the water as if to help pull us up—cheer us on. And thanks to a sudden spike in the water current, we now rapidly ascend out of the mouth and up to the surface, as if someone cranked up the jets to this heat-rising hot spring. My one working leg kicks mightily, joining with the new thrust until we explode out of the water, flop onto dry land, and roll several feet away from the water’s edge. Beached.
The orange and black fire cloud plumes out of the water, placing close second to Hayvin and me in a tight race. It scorches into the sky like the eruption of a pissed-off volcano, the color of which is followed by bright red from the reactor’s liquid Zadium that now, after being exposed to the open air, has converted into the gaseous fog most familiar to me. The night is vastly more red than it was before; it's the brightest Red-out ever.
“Ahhhh!” I yell in pain. The fire cloud rubs against my back
as I hold tight to Hayvin in a spooning fashion, trying to keep her safe from the scalding heat behind me. My nostrils panic at the smell of burning meat. Breathe, Ruko!
“Huhhh,” I finally suck in. An instantaneous second transformation immortalizes my mortal frame of flesh, making the fiery smoke powerless to hurt me.
The explosion ends. I help Hayvin to her feet, and together we stand at ease for a quick, much-needed break.
Pensively, we observe lingering trails of smoke and red Zadium fumes that funnel out of various pockets of earth and travel into the night sky. From out of the vapors, my imagination sculpts images—silhouetted shapes depicting thoughts and memories of old Red-outs that have haunted me for years. I see the first one for the last time, which includes a glimpse of my parents and the Hive. I see the dumpster behind the thrift store. My mountain shelter. Dismembered bodies of countless victims. The fear. The hate. I see it all—a smoky scrapbook incinerating into space as though it were a literal cremation of my darkest past; a funeral viewing I’m actually happy to witness because it means the Red-outs are no more.
“We did it,” says Hayvin in joyful disbelief. “We actually did it.”
I share her shock. Hayvin and I are just normal people, not monster invasion extinguishers or government conspiracy specialists. Yet here we are nonetheless significantly responsible for stopping our country’s most mystifying and horrific evil. I only hope I’ll have time to enjoy the victory...since the moment I transformed into a Lasher, I’ve been dodging a depressing thought that’s hung out in the shadow of my mind’s periphery. But now, in the calm, I’m forced to confront it. Lashers need Zadium to live. What about me? In a few hours, they’ll succumb to the same nine-day sleep coma they always fall spell to, just, this time, they won’t be waking up. Neither will I.
“What is it?” Hayvin asks. My low mood is discovered, but I don’t dare share the terrible epiphany. Not yet.
“Nothing…it’s just…it’s all so unreal…a lot to take in,” I say, which isn’t a lie but not the full truth either. “We should leave. There’re still Lashers out there, and this explosion won’t go unnoticed.”
Although we've survived the Blue Hole, we haven’t yet emerged from the danger of this Lasher-infested swamp. I can hear them now. Moving in the distant trees. No...we’re not out of the woods yet.
CHAPTER 21: BLITZ
We begin to run, Hayvin and me, away from the Blue Hole and back to the Absorber. My new body is so much faster than the old—a power I’m still adjusting to—and without intending, I leave Hayvin yards behind. I return, grab her by the legs and torso, lift, and commence running at inhuman speed even with the extra cargo.
I follow our previous trajectory past the spot where Brac was taken by the alligator and mourn his mauling for zero seconds, no slowing down, no flinching to grieve. Although his fate was horrific...ours might be worse. In the distance, by the riverbank, beneath the open moonlight, I see something I wish I didn’t: roaming bodies. Lashers. Many of them, lured by the sound of the Blue Hole explosion, but with the faded noise they don’t seem to know where to go.
My run turns to a jog that now slows to a complete stop as I assess the situation for a safer path.
This isn’t good. Lashers everywhere. They’re at the river in front of us, but I hear them behind us and also in the woods to our right. I focus on the closest ones. Some stagger idly by, appearing tired from the early awakening while others are restlessly energized. Two fight each other in a vicious, senseless ground brawl. Another violently beats upon an oak tree as if it were a punching bag, hitting and clawing at the thick trunk with open hands instead of closed fists. Pieces of bark and wood chips fling into the air at the powerful beatdown. It’s a showcasing of obvious misery—the same terrible turmoil shared by all Lashers.
I almost feel bad for them, but now's not a time for pity. They'll kill us, given the chance. Need to get to the safety of the Absorber, as far away from the Lasher horde as possible. But first…we need to go through them.
“Hold on,” I instruct Hayvin, whose body remains cradled in my arms. I veer right, away from the river and towards the thicket of trees ahead, choosing what appears to be the least dangerous of two very dangerous routes. From what I can make out, less Lashers occupy the forest and are farther spread apart due to the many trees that may help conceal our escape. It’s our best shot.
With the pace of a steady jog, I start at the first Lasher in the pathway; the one currently distracted by the oak tree. For the moment, its backside is against our unnoticed approach. If I turn much to the right or left, we’d be headed for more Lashers; per my best judgment, the best path is forward.
With each lunge, we get closer.
One hundred feet.
Seventy.
Fifty.
It stops maiming the tree and carefully listens.
I increase my speed.
The two others at our nearest right pause their wrestling match and lie frozen in place on the ground, having also sensed something they instinctively know is more than the movements of another Lasher...a foreign life form that doesn’t belong in their disfunctional pack...they've sensed us.
Thirty feet.
Not turning back.
Ten.
The Tree Lasher twists its head. Hate-filled, crimson eyes stare at me in the same way the other Lasher did that I fought and killed, but I have zero intention of challenging this one to anything other than a racing contest.
I pass between the Tree Lasher and the Wrestlers and immediately blitz forward with lightning speed. I don’t look back. My ears tell me everything I need to know—that the frozen bodies of the three Lashers have thawed into motion with the two Wrestlers scurrying just strides behind the Tree Lasher that sprints but a short breath behind Hayvin and me. It’s so close I can feel finger tips brushing against the back of my upper shoulders. Its arms are stretched out trying to grab me, only scarcely falling short.
I kick my legs harder. Who knows how fast we’re running. Forty miles an hour? More? The fingertip sensation on my shoulder goes away. My speed, even though weighed down by Hayvin, out-performs that of the Lashers—I’m surprisingly superior to them.
I swerve in and out of trees, constantly changing routes to try to lose our hunters, but it doesn’t work. The angry footsteps move wherever I do, copycatting my every step.
“Aww,” Hayvin shouts.
I wasn’t paying attention and accidentally hit her leg against a tree limb. And worse than her pain is the fact that the collision slowed us down, slightly, but enough to fall back into arms reach of the Tree Lasher. Again, I feel the fingertips. This time, however, they skewer into my back and stay there like giant splinters I can’t get rid of—trying to pull me down to the ground, but I fight forward. Up ahead to the left, I see a large, fallen tree. I aim for it. Just before making contact, I jump high into the air, which finally disconnects my shoulder from the Lasher’s hand, and I land safely onto the other side of the tree.
SMACK! The Tree Lasher wasn’t as fortunate; the head-first crash into the massive trunk was enough to kill it. Karma for dismembering the innocent oak, earlier.
One down. But the two Wrestler Lashers remain in hot pursuit. Plus, I see new Lashers ahead. Feels like we’re descending deeper and deeper into a hell hole, worsening our odds of survival instead of improving them.
∆∆∆
A wall of thick, red fog—once white—is about to engulf us...we’re entering the swamp area.
Four monsters run from left to right, directly across our path, moving perpendicular to us. Miraculously, they don’t notice us. I steer to the left.
POW! Hayvin flies out of my arms, and we both crash to the earth. SMACK! I hit a tree and roll. SPLASH! I lie in water. Hayvin lies in swampy bushes, not moving. Our run has come to a sudden and complete stop.
What just happened?! I look for a clue, but instead of seeing one, I feel it behind me as a coarse hand wraps around the back of my neck and lifts me of
f the ground; it’s the same unseen Lasher that just blindsided me with a callous tackle.
I donkey kick into the Lasher's torso, and upon doing so, my neck is released and both feet are replanted on marshy ground. I spin around to face my enemy. Making eye contact is like gazing up at a giant redwood tree; it’s freaking huge. A true monster.
Come on...could this night get any worse?!
A weird kind of bomb sets off inside me. I shake my head.
“Look...” I speak to the Redwood Lasher as if it can understand me. “...I'm going to have a good day...”
It ignores my words and charges with flaring arms.
I block a downward hammer hit while continuing my statement, “...and there's nothing...” I counter jab across its head, “...you or your friends...” I upper cut into its face, “...can do about it!” I jump into the air like a mountain ram and headbutt the beastly creature, then throw its body sufficiently far to be swallowed out of sight by forest vegetation.
Yes, I'm going to have a good day today—whatever’s left of it. Fish might not be able to walk on land, but they can choose to be happy swimming, even when doomed to murky water, like I am. I'm going to die tonight. That's certain and out of my control. What's in my power, however, is the way I go out, and I refuse to die as a product of my circumstances, enslaved to misery or bound by fear. No thanks. I’ll exit planet Earth on my own terms. Free. Content. Determined to simply do my best then bravely embrace the outcome no matter what it may be.
Not sure why Abbud’s long-preached message of optimism-by-choice is sinking in so heavily right now in this random moment, but it is. How converted am I, though? The night isn’t finished with me…
Yet again, I’m forced to the ground, this time overtaken by the two wrestling Lashers that have now caught up to us. Both are on top of me, clawing and hitting like deranged animals. I try to get up but can’t. The power of their dual strength keeps me pinned flat on my back half-submerged in a small pool of muddy water; my head’s tilted to the side in Hayvin's direction. She remains undiscovered in the bushes but is no longer unconscious. She moves.