by Kyle Dane
“Hayvin, don’t…” The Lashers in my face make it hard to talk. “…don’t move!” I blurt at last, afraid she’ll make noise that will disclose her presence. She’s about to stand.
“Stay down!” I yell, but she rises anyway and limps towards me on an injured leg. “Hayvin...” I try to verbalize more commands, but a third opponent jumps onto the pile—the Redwood Lasher that originally tackled me. And worse, my ears detect sounds of more Lashers incoming.
Do something, Ruko!
I manage to kick one of the Lashers off me. I punch another. But then the one I kicked jumps back on, and I’m right where I started, hopelessly overpowered.
CRACK! The largest of the three Lashers is off me. A flash of confusion fades when I see Hayvin standing with a hefty moss-covered tree limb, gripped sternly with both hands. Her strong swing got the brute's attention, but now she’s alone to confront power she couldn’t hope to defeat.
“Raaaahhhhhh!” I shout into the faces of the two Lashers keeping me ground-glued, and with enraged focus, muscle-up my superior strength into a tight grip on both of their heads—one palmed in each hand—and then with the clap of my hands, slam them together so brutally hard that it kills them. As their limp carcasses drop to my sides, my freed body springs to its soles.
Hayvin attempts another noble strike with her tree branch weapon, but the Lasher grabs and yanks it away.
Stealthily, I creep behind the Redwood Lasher, jump up, and punch it so hard in the back of the neck that it snaps. Timber. Before the falling redwood tags the dirt, Hayvin’s already in my arms, and we’re back on the move about to enter the wettest part of swamp.
Splash! Splash! Splash! Splash! The water underfoot greatly heightens the alarm of our escape; might as well be a megaphone announcing our location to every Lasher in the area. Wonderful. Why not? Bring it on.
Very quickly—one by one—the Lasher crowd grows larger. Dozens. All synchronized as a united pack honed in on us. Hayvin looks over my shoulder. She squirms. I don’t dare look back, though, because I’m afraid of what I’ll see and am already highly distracted by the frightful sound of countless footsteps meshing into one loud instrument of a deathly song playing just for us: leaves and sticks crunching, ground water splashing, hideous groaning. That’s the music of our murder closing in and the volume gets louder and louder with each new set of feet joining the monster mob.
Left, right, right, left. We pass Lasher after Lasher as I swerve in and out of foggy trees, sloshing through water, relentlessly making swift course alterations, and laboring hard not to hit Hayvin against anything that’d injure her or slow us down; can’t afford any more delays if we hope to live.
A Lasher tries to ambush us by leaping off a spidery oak tree. As it descends through the air, I shift my body and extend my arm for a clothesline move at its neck that flips the creature backwards into the water without breaking my pace.
Desperate determination not to fall to the stampede that’s well beyond my ability to fight generates minutes of flawless sprinting and a very beneficial gap between us. We haven’t lost them but their sound has weakened. More good news is that there are no more Lashers in front of us. No water. No fog.
Hayvin and I approach the road from where we initially synchronized with the Tyros Clan. Out of the trees we burst, my legs' cruise control locked on full speed past the SUVs that are still parked. Still abandoned. We keep going.
As I feared, I don’t remember which grouping of bushes hides our vehicle, but as I trusted, Hayvin’s better memory does.
“There!” she says while pointing. She unboards her transport, me, and fights her way through the concealing curtain of bushes and into the driver seat of the Absorber. The engine starts.
I stand in the middle of the two-lane, asphalt road watching our rear trail. Waiting. Listening.
The roaring noise of fast footsteps coming from the Miakoda Swamp, rises louder with each passing second. Then, in a sudden explosion, the monster mob pours out of the forest and onto the street, running in that dreadful form—torsos hunched over and arms flaring wildly in half-circles as if clawing at the air. They’re truly mad at everything, even oxygen.
Hayvin reverses the Absorber away from the bushes with a ninety-degree spin that faces the car opposite the Lashers, in a ready-to-peel-out position. But...there’s no time for me to get into the car; the gap between the Lashers and us is now closed.
“Drive!” I yell, as I dive onto the trunk and simultaneously side-kick one of the front line Lashers across the head.
Pedal to the pavement—the car desperately climbs in speed with Lashers dauntingly alongside us, having no trouble keeping up. I plant my left hand into the trunk door as an anchor to keep me from falling off, while my free right arm and legs deflect the murderous hitchhikers each time they hop onto the Absorber.
For a split second, my eye is webbed by the car-high, panoramic view of the massive body of Lashers flooding the street; it's a larger army than I imagined. One hundred? More? The Absorber accelerates until it finally out-speeds the Lashers’ running limit, but not before my brief moment of distraction allows two Lashers to catch me off guard. They gang jump me from an unseen place—one on each side of my body. Their arms are tightly wrapped around my neck and torso, trying hard to haul me off the fleeing car. I’m absolutely unable to fend them off without the use of my other arm, which at the present time strains itself just to hold my body’s place on the trunk. If I let go, I’ll fall to the street...to the end of the road for me.
Suddenly, a thought strikes. A terribly brilliant thought that says this is best. Best that I die here and now, out of Hayvin’s sight instead of later on in her arms when I succumb to the Lasher comma. Forcing her to watch my body take its last dying breath and then bury it—alone, with her own hands—is torture I won’t allow her to suffer through. Besides, there’s only one way to eradicate these two Lashers and save Hayvin: I need my other hand.
From the rearview mirror, through the back windshield, Hayvin’s eyes reflect at me, panicking over my emergency predicament. I stare back into her eyes...the eyes of the only person I’ve ever loved—truly loved—with all my heart...the only person I’ve ever been willing to sacrifice my own life for...someone who means more to me than me. And now, I must say goodbye.
With all the strength I own, I lip talk the words to Hayvin, “Keep driving.”
Now, Ruko, do it. I release my left hand from the hole in the trunk, return the Lashers’ tight embrace with both my arms, and leap off the Absorber.
“Ruko!!!” screams Hayvin.
Me and the two Lashers tumble tumultuously across the street. One lets go of the threesome hug, being more concerned about the brutal asphalt assault—pain I don’t feel. But before it can completely separate from me, I speedily grab and snap its neck.
I turn my attention to the second Lasher, and using the momentum of the ninety—or so—mile-an-hour fall from the car, I grab its shoulders and kick off the ground. We flip high into the air. As we come back down, I make sure the Lasher’s face is the first thing to hit the hard road. Success. I ride its body like a skateboard as it breaks our fall to a complete stop, also breaking apart the street with a destructive skid mark. I get off the dead Skateboard Lasher and stand to face the rest of them.
Red Lashers of many sizes, one terrible purpose, rush to me. Never could I have imagined that this would be the view of my last day on Earth. The last thing my eyes take in. At least I know I accomplished what I came here to do—avenge my parents and stop the Red-outs. I did that. So no murmuring word will escape these lips.
“Ruko!” yells Hayvin, my faithful friend. She didn’t obey my command to keep driving but has halted the Absorber almost at the exact spot from where I jumped.
We have to part ways at some point tonight and this is the least painful way to do it. Why doesn’t she get that? Surely she’s put two and two together regarding my fate by now. Maybe she has...and has committed herself to death alongsid
e me? No way; I’m not letting that happen. Have to return to the car, now, for her sake, but it’s too late to turn around and run because Lashers are too close, coming at me way too fast. Have to fight.
My fists form into stones, clenched for battle. Through my nose, I suck in the red mist like an angry vacuum—followed by a strong surge of power that flows through my red veins. At a flicker of instinct, I body-slam myself into the road—fists first—and heave out a massive mound of pavement. I jump over the freshly made pothole and throw the pumpkin-sized rock. It smashes into the nearest Lasher without leaving my hands—deadly pie in the face. The explosive impact causes smaller airborne asteroids to jet off the sides of the Lasher’s head and hit three or four others; I grab the one closest to me and swing its body through the air in circles as fast as I can, knocking out as many surrounding Lashers as possible. I now release the monster into the incoming horde and keep at it.
Block after block and duck after duck, I dodge countless arms thrashing wildly at me. The Lashers don’t use their legs much as weapons. Luckily. But I do. I use all the Tyro training I’ve been taught combined with my superior strength and speed as a Super Lasher. So long as this remains stand-up combat, I stand a chance. But the second they get me to the ground, I’m finished.
Bodies lie dead all around me and my success pulls me in as an addictive force to battle on, nonstop. But can’t. Even though I want to destroy as many of them with my bare hands as the night will allow—go down fighting till my last red breath—it’s a selfish desire. My lifetime may be bleeding out, but Hayvin can still enjoy a new future with no Red-outs, something we’ve been dreaming of for seven years. At least one of us should live the dream.
I notice a few Lashers bypassing me. No! They’re targeting the Absorber! Hayvin! Without giving the others fair notice of a race, I throw a final punch, turn around, and torpedo back to the Absorber.
“Drive!” I reinstruct Hayvin, as I run. This time she listens, evident by smoking, squealing tires.
I floor my legs using the accelerator of desperation to reach Hayvin before the Lashers do, which thankfully takes only seconds for me to accomplish. I pass them up, spring into the air, and land onto the Absorber’s trunk—hand replanted into the hole I created earlier.
The engine revs loudly. I look back to a blessed sight. The Lasher protestors—still a large group—charge at us angrier than ever but lag far behind with zero hope of catching us.
∆∆∆
We ride for a few miles while I remain atop the Absorber watching for any immediate danger. Stopping hasn’t crossed either of our brains, but it should be safe now, because the red-tinted streets have been completely void of Lashers since we left the Miakoda Swamp.
I signal Hayvin to pull over, with a quick hood tap. She only slows down though; not being rude, just cautious. I don't blame her. At least she gets the door for me, which automatically opens by the push of an interior button.
“Thanks for slowing down,” I say, half-attempting humor as I get inside.
She says nothing.
I close the door. My worried eyes inspect Hayvin’s battered body.
“You okay?” I ask. Stupid question. Her arms and face are scratched up pretty bad, and I can see a painful-sized gash in her right leg from when I accidentally hit her against the tree.
She starts to talk, tries, but is gagged by a fierce emotion. Not from the physical pain, I don’t think; she’s the toughest girl I’ve ever known. Perhaps simply the overwhelming trauma of it all? Or...she really has put two and two together relative to my transformation and knows what’s going to happen to me.
Regardless, she nods her head, yes—that she's okay—and tears roll.
My hand lands softly on Hayvin’s upper back. There’re no words for me to say either. What else can you do in a moment like this, other than cry and comfort?
∆∆∆
Before arriving at the Kes farm, I notice my skin is back to its normal tan color. It just barely happened. I can feel the difference, too. A loss of power. I’m human again—a normal, mortal one.
I see that the red mist is still lingering outside in the air, but there's no point to roll down the window. Plus, I’m starting to feel horribly exhausted as if I couldn’t transform again if I tried.
“You’re back!” Hayvin also gives attention to my new old self. “How-how are you feeling? You okay?”
I twitch in my seat. No. The answer is definitely, no. Not okay. Literally in the middle of her question, I get real bad real fast as my energy level plummets to a lethal low, and I feel an instinctive, compelling force to find shelter for the coming coma. My body’s signaling that it’s had as much Zadium as it can take and needs to charge. Recover. Wish that was the extent of my troubles, just a long nine-day sleep. Heck, I love sleeping, but only because I know I’ll wake up later. Not this time.
“Hayvin…” I begin. Don’t know what to say but have to say something—can’t go out wordless. But what do I say? I’m sorry? I love you? Don’t miss me? It’ll be okay? What?!
“Yeah?”
“Hayvin...I…” The words don’t form. Control over my mind and body totally slips down a steep and sudden slide of tremendous fatigue. Downward I plummet further and further. This is it.
CHAPTER 22: BREATHE
“Huhhhhhhhhhhh.” The sound of someone taking a deep breath pulls me back into the world of the living. A loud, over-exaggerated inhale. I realize it was me. But how am I alive?
I open my eyes and see the unmoving ceiling fan of the Kes farmhouse family room. Sunlight casts over me through the window behind my head. It’s mid-day. What day, exactly? And how’d I get on the couch? Last thing I remember was the Absorber, Hayvin, and me driving through a terribly traumatic night that ended when I passed out to the deathly comma from which I expected to never wake. Yet, here I am.
A muffled sob fills my ears. Hayvin...
I lift my head and see her backside hunched over in one of the chairs at the dining table. Her face is in her hands, weeping.
I command my groggy body to rise with my voice. “Hey…Sunflower Girl.”
Immediately, the crying ceases as Hayvin spins around in her chair with a dizzy greeting. “Ruko?” She bolts over, and I fear the tackle will be painful. It is. But also pleasant. She’s now smothering me in a celebratory embrace.
“How? How’s this possible? You weren’t breathing...I thought you were dead.” Hayvin asks the same question I’m asking myself.
“I thought I was too,” I admit. “So...I’m real glad you didn’t bury me. Would’ve sucked to wake up in dirt.” I smile out a joke even though this isn’t a joking matter. No. It’s a matter of extreme gratitude and thankful perplexity. Can’t believe I’m alive and back to a normal human state. My arms are their usual skin color. I’m breathing normal day air. My stomach rumbles from severe hunger that makes me feel like I could eat an entire deer. Yes, I’m very much alive, well, and human.
“How long? How long have I been here on the sofa? Nine days?” I check.
“No. Three.”
“Three?” I puzzle over the mystery of sleeping only three days when normal Lashers do it for nine. I guess that’s the explanation...I wasn’t a normal Lasher. “So...did the Red-out happen last night?” I ask, remembering that our Miakoda Swamp experience marked the next scheduled Red-out at three nights away, which would’ve been last night.
“No, nothing.” Hayvin informs me of the good news that’s almost too good to believe.
“Really?” I re-ask.
“Really,” she re-answers.
For the first time, the sky didn’t turn red, there were no Lashers, no screams, no innocent blood. Today confirms that our Miakoda Swamp mission wasn’t a delusion but really happened. Today's a day of celebration. A day to breathe the fresh air of peaceful relief—a breath I hope to hold in and never exhale.
A feeling of ecstasy exits my soul in the form of rejoicing tears. Can’t speak. So I don’t. I simply bathe in t
he moment and grip Hayvin more closely as she gets increasingly hyped in positive energy. She doesn’t actually talk either. Doesn’t even smile. It’s the simplicity of a lit-up face—around the eyes—that shares her joy. Ours is an understandable contentment considering what we’ve been through...believing we’d never see each other again.
Okay. Time to put on my big boy pants and say it; now‘s as good a time as any. With my eyes locked on Hayvin’s, I whisper the words I should’ve said a long time ago. “I...um…I just want you to know that…Hayvin, I love you.” There. I said it. The tender yet strong feeling has officially been verbally expressed.
Hayvin pulls up from my chest. “It’s about time you did somethin’ first. You know...since I held your hand first, kissed you first, followed you to your mountain shelter. I’ve done everything.”
The cloudy reverence quickly changes to sunny skies. I beam back, “Come on now...we all know I made the first move when I intentionally dropped those bench press weights on myself at Meilos. Clumsy charm gets the girl hooked every time...it’s the oldest trick in the book and what really started this whole thing. So. You’re welcome.”
“Stupid,” Hayvin responds. “I still love you, though, Mr. Ruko DoesNothingFirst-O.” She resends the love sentiment along with yet another swing and a miss at my last name. Been a while since she’s tried for a guess.
“Nalgasverde,” I say under my breath.
“Huh?”
“My last name...is Nalgasverde,” I confess, no longer caring that she knows, so long as it means she stops guessing.
“That’s it? That’s what you’ve been hiding from me this whole time? Sounds cool. Attractive, even. I’d personally love a Hispanic last name like that.” Hayvin flatters my name as if she wants it for herself. A hint at marriage?