RB 01 Through Flesh & Bone

by Frederick S dela Cruz

  He walked up the stairs and helped more people get on their feet, asking them if they were okay. After making his way to the last person, he stood still, while his thoughts scanned the entire building from top to bottom. There was no one left on each of the floors. At the east stairwell exit, everyone had gotten out.

  He now stood alone inside the building.

  But then, he found a faint sign of life.

  It was on the first floor, toward the back of the building.

  When the tank of Sik’s fuel truck exploded, both the truck’s frame and the tank immediately tore in two. Nothing remained from the rear half. But the front was strewn across the floor, tumbling over itself several times, before slamming through one of the meeting rooms along the north wall. It lodged itself into that wall and came to a stop lying on the driver’s side door. The far distance, between the truck and the heart of the flames, had kept the truck from being overcome by fire.

  Inside the truck’s cabin, he could sense the faint life of the unconscious and injured woman. Her limp body lay over the driver’s side door.

  Quickly, he ran down the stairs, skipping over every other step. Outside the building, he turned the corner, ran to the front, and then sped through the crumbled lobby entrance.

  His lungs burned hot.

  As he quickly glanced behind him, he saw police cars and emergency vehicles begin to position themselves in the street. Speeding through the cracked marble floors, he ran around the gaping hole in the ground, where the fuel tank had exploded. As he came closer to the truck, an uneasy feeling crept into his thoughts. It was a warning urgently sent to him, telling him of impending danger. But he didn’t want to listen; he was determined to save the woman and nothing would stop him. “No!” he growled, scolding away the feeling, “I’m gonna save her if it kills me!”

  Unlike the man he was, only weeks ago, he was now willing to risk his own life to rescue another.

  With his arms pumping and his legs straining, he continued his relentless sprint and dashed through the broken glass windows of the meeting rooms, to reach the front of the truck. Skidding on his knees, he stopped and bent down at the opening where the windshield used to be. The woman was there. He crawled in, just enough, to raise one of her wrists, expecting to see a familiar tattoo. He saw it. Then quickly, he thought of how to best move the woman outside, without further injuring her.

  Suddenly, the warning and uneasy feeling within him intensified. He and the woman were in jeopardy. He jerked his head up and turned his attention, instinctively, to the east end of the building.

  A moment later, the final explosion was ignited, its source ensconced within Sik’s leather briefcase that he had previously hid, at the east corner of the building. The tremendous blast tore through the entire area, disintegrating everything around it.

  As the shock waves and scorching flames flew towards him, he immediately slowed down time. He felt the expanding bubbles of energy pulsate from his body once again, affecting time and space.

  There was something else making its way to him, something small and spherical. He sensed it rapidly approaching and racing faster than the shock waves themselves. The small object penetrated and burrowed through the remains of the aluminum fuel tank, through the metal skin of the cabin, and arrived directly in front of him.

  Pure white light shined through its tiny spherical body.

  With great effort and concentration, he made time crawl, ever so slightly, until the dime-sized sphere came, almost to a dead stop, at his arm’s reach.

  Quickly, his mind probed the object’s chemistry and determined it was the same sphere as the other two already embedded in his forearm and leg.

  The three spheres, somehow detecting each other’s proximity, began to slowly strobe their soft and pure white light.

  Hurriedly, he enclosed the sphere floating in front of him within a dense and transparent globe, about the size of his hand.

  Losing no time, he raised both hands and tightly gripped the small globe.

  He closed his eyes. In an instant, he, the woman, and the sphere vanished.

  Simultaneously, time resumed its natural unrelenting pace. With the shock waves from the explosion held back no more, they thrust the fuel truck completely through the north wall of the building. People witnessed all remaining glass panes explode into millions of shattered pieces. The police cars and emergency vehicles were violently shoved away from their places, as their windows blew away into pieces. Crowds hid in panic, while other vehicles were tossed and tumbled over. The building’s suspensions beams and support columns buckled once again, irreparably cracking and splitting.

  Everyone hid their eyes and faces, as the accompanying intense blaze consumed the entire bottom floors, in iron-melting flames.

  The doomed building tragically buckled. Once again, it began to collapse.

  Chapter 13

  Just over a mile away from the 101 Freeway and Kenmore Street, Sik continued his solid, uninterrupted sprint.

  He had turned left and right through many corners, through many streets, and through many alleyways. Finally, he ran into the last alley between two tall buildings. He stopped. As he leaned against a wall, his lungs continued to breathe at the same fast rhythm of his sprint.

  Slowing his breaths and calming his pumping heart, he eased forward with his hands on his knees.

  Almost a full minute passed.

  Finally, he took one last deep breath and stood up straight.

  The black remote control was still in his hand. He raised it up and glanced at it. A moment later, his eyes followed it, as he lowered it back down.

  Again, he noticed his father’s dog tags. With his other hand, he grabbed the tags inside his fist. Then, he gazed up into the sky.

  A long moment went by.

  Finally, he said in a whisper, “I’ll make it up to you, Dad…somehow.” But he didn’t believe his own words.

  The remote fell to the ground, as his grip on it loosened.

  Slowly, he lowered his head. Gradually, his body began to sink to the ground. The back of his shirt scratched against the wall, hitching against the concrete.

  A moment after, he was crouched down over his bent knees.

  Still gripping the dog tags, he moved his arms around and drew his legs in tight.

  He remembered, when he was sprinting away from the Geminnel building and about to trigger the explosion, that he saw his father’s shining dog tags bump off of his chest. At that moment, a memory came to him, but he suppressed it. At that moment, he felt the guilt.

  Now, he allowed the memory to play in his mind. And now, the guilt lay heavy upon his heart.

  His father always let him wear the dog tags whenever he was home from deployment, and this was the last weekend before his father would leave for the last time.

  Sik remembered the tags reflecting the bright sun, as they dangled in front of his face, while his father hung them around his neck.

  He was sixteen, five-feet and nine-inches tall, lanky, and awkward with his height. His hair was long and dusty-blond and needed a haircut.

  He and his father had just arrived at a park, two blocks from their home.

  On the path that outlined the grassy park field, a girl maybe five years old rode a pink bicycle. Her mother sat on a bench near a sandbox, reading a book. Close by, a man and his wife tossed a tennis ball between them, as their Labrador tried to chase it down.

  Samuel and his father began to throw the football back and forth, at the end of the park that was near the street. The little girl rode past them for the first time. Her pink and white helmet was on snugly, and she focused intently on the path.

  With his father acting as quarterback, Samuel ran post and slant patterns on the grass.

  As the little girl approached once more, a tennis ball bounced directly in front of her, with the Labrador chasing immediately behind it.

  The passing dog startled the girl, and she tried to adjust her direction, in order to avoid the dog. She
swerved left, then right, and then finally lost control. Just before running into a tree, she fell on her side, scraping her hand on the dirt path. The bike’s front wheel spun around, struck the center of the tree, and immediately dropped.

  Seeing the girl fall, his father instantly stopped his throwing motion, and jogged to her. Samuel followed.

  When his father reached her, he set the football on the ground and helped her stand up. He noticed she was about to cry, and then said gently and reassuringly, “Aw, hey sweetie, you’re a brave girl, aren’t ya? Look at you; you’re a brave girl, not even crying.”

  The girl heard his words and took too deep breaths, composing herself.

  “Yeah, you’re ok. Let’s see what happened,” he said.

  She was shaking her wounded hand in the air. The little girl’s mother ran to them, and when she reached her daughter, she bent down at the girl’s side.

  Samuel’s father said, “Hi there, looks like your little girl got a little scrape on her hand.” He turned to Samuel standing at his side, “Sammy, could you go get that little first aid box in the garage?” Then, he added, “Hold on.” He picked up the bike and saw that its front fender had dug into the tire, preventing it from spinning. “Could you get me a pair of pliers too?” he asked.

  “Sure, Dad.” Samuel ran to the house.

  His father said to the girl’s mother, with a kind smile, “She’ll be alright. We’ll fix her up.”

  When Samuel returned, the couple that owned the Labrador had joined them and was chatting with the girl’s mother.

  Samuel gave his father the pliers. His father told him, “You can take care of her hand can’t ya, son?”

  “I think so,” Samuel said, as he knelt down, in front of the little girl. He looked in her eyes and said calmly, “Hi, I’m Sammy. What’s your name?”

  “Cindy.”

  “Well, Cindy, nice to meet you. Can I look at your hand?” As she stuck out her hand, he asked, “You mind if I clean that? It’s got some dirt on it.”

  She nodded, “Ok.”

  His father began working on the bike.

  Samuel tore open an alcohol wipe, and then said, “This is gonna sting a little bit…so, can you make a funny face?”

  The little girl nodded. She grimaced and stuck out her tongue. Her mother chuckled.

  Samuel said, “Oh, that’s perfect!” He held the girls hand and began to gently clean the scraped area of her palm. “I wanna keep seeing that funny face…don’t stop.”

  After a few seconds, he said, “Ok, done! But if you want, you can keep the funny face on.”

  The girl laughed.

  “Now, I gotta cover that scrape.” Samuel then opened a small packet of antibiotic ointment, and after opening a band-aid, he put a little bit of the ointment on it.

  His father had finished with the bike and stood watching, behind Samuel.

  “And here’s the easy part,” Samuel said, as he applied the band-aid over the small wound. Then, he exclaimed, “Done!”

  “Thank you, Sammy! And thanks so much for fixing the bike,” the mother said.

  Her little girl echoed, “Thank you, Sammy!”

  Samuel’s father replied, “Sure, no problem. Then, to Samuel, he said, ‘Thanks, son.’

  Samuel smiled and stood up.

  As Samuel and his father walked away, they heard the owners of the dog again apologize to the girl’s mother.

  Samuel’s father hugged his son, “You handled that just fine, son. You make your dad proud.”

  Samuel smiled, as he walked.

  His father continued, “And I can’t say this enough. No matter what you grow up being, always remember that the people in our family are meant to help others. To help people get on their own two feet, to be able to take care of themselves once again.”

  “Yup, got it, Dad,” accepted Samuel.

  His father followed with, “And what do we say?”

  Samuel responded, “Stay good. Stay humble.”

  His father hugged him by the neck and kissed the top of his head. “I love ya, son. Now go long!”

  His father readied his throw.

  Running his pattern, Samuel ran down the field.

  That was the last weekend they had together.

  A few months after that day, Samuel was in his room, at his desk, with his head bent down over his homework, on a Saturday afternoon.

  The doorbell rang.

  He heard his mother open the door. Curious, he stood up and looked out of his room’s window.

  Two men in officer’s uniforms stood at the front door.

  Immediately, he shuddered and his heart began to pound. Quickly, he went to the door of his room, stopped, and leaned against the doorframe, waiting to hear his mother’s voice.

  The conversation, at the front door, was silent and almost muted.

  “Mom!” he called out anxiously, “Who is it?”

  There was no answer.

  He listened again.

  They spoke a little longer.

  “Mom?”

  Then, he heard the front door close.

  “Mom, who was that?” He leaned out further from the door, waiting for her answer.

  Then, a quiet but heart-breaking sound carried from across the way.

  Leaning her body against the front door, his mother cried softly, trying to hide her pain from her son.

  It pierced his heart in a way he knew he could never prepare for. He closed his eyes and began to sink to the floor. His father had tried to ready him for the possibility of his death. But his father knew, no one could truly be ready. Samuel and his mother could never truly prepare for this moment.

  Samuel quietly closed his door and leaned his back against it. Hugging his legs tightly in, he pressed his head down over his knees.

  His mother’s weeping grew louder; she could no longer control it.

  Upon hearing her through the door, he too began a painful cry.

  In the alley, Sik pulled his knees in more tightly. His aching heart, and the pain deep within his soul, overcame him. His weeping would not end.

  Down past the alley, into the street, and in between the whooshing sound of passing of cars, the silent weeping of Samuel Ian Kessian could be heard.

  He was a young man meticulous in his preparation, methodical in his actions, and relentless in his purpose.

  He was a young man fixed in a pattern, running away from the path of his father and the paths of his forefathers.

  He was a young man driven by self-destructive vengeance.

  * * * * * * *

  Returning from Los Angeles to his apartment, the goateed man concentrated on the transparent containment globe that had the pearl-like object within it - the third one that had shot at him, during the building explosions. As it rested in front of him, on top of his coffee table, he changed the form of the globe into a compact three-centimeter cube.

  Leaning forward, while he sat on his couch, he closely observed the pearl-like sphere within the cube, as it pulsated its pure white light.

  Suddenly, the cube began to slide toward his right forearm, and as it approached, the skin under his forearm started to bulge and deform. The material lodged within his arm was reacting to the proximity of the sphere within the cube.

  As his mind analyzed it, trying to figure it out, he could only curiously say, “Hmm…”

  He grabbed the cube with his left hand and positioned it very close to his right forearm. Within a second, he felt a dull pain among the muscles of his forearm, and then a sharp pinch in his skin. The material in his arm had migrated closer to the surface, and had perforated a tiny hole through his skin. It started seeping out, forming a small glowing droplet. As moments passed, he saw the droplet grow larger, first appearing like a small white pearl, then finally, at about the size of a dime, when all of it had escaped his body. Like the other sphere contained within the cube, it too was aglow in white light.

  When the sphere at his forearm completed its exit, he watched amazed
, as it immediately jumped across the air and implanted itself on the side of the cube. The two objects seemed attracted to each other, in a way similar to powerful magnets.

  “Ahh…” was the next simple utterance he could only say, while he watched in fascination.

  Quickly, he enclosed the second sphere within its own dense containment cube. Holding one cube in his hand, he saw the two cubes stuck to each other by their common attraction.

  Then, he positioned the two cubes above his left thigh - above the tear in his jeans created when the second sphere had entered his leg. Soon, he felt the same dull pain in his muscle, and then a pinch in his skin. The third sphere seeped out of his leg and peered through the tear. Immediately, it leaped across the air and attached itself to the bottom of the cubes above it.

  He yanked his head back in amazement.

  Finally, he said something that could be considered a word, “Whoa…”

  * * * * * * *

  Etelson and Stevens stood on the sidewalk, across the street from the Geminnel building that Sik had razed.

  Night had fallen.

  Agent Etelson had just finished a conversation with a detective, who had informed her of the explosions and of the sequence of events. Now, just standing and observing, she saw streetlights illuminate the night, including the red, blue, and white beams of light cutting through the air from the numerous police cars and emergency vehicles lining Kenmore Street. The area was still alive with activity. Firemen were about to finish hosing down ruins of the burned buildings. The police had cordoned off large sections of the area, some officers kept the curious public at bay, and others were still interviewing witnesses. The last of the paramedics were packing up, soon to leave. But the news media was still milling about, shooting footage and conducting “eye witness” interviews and interviews with public officials.

  Ready to compare notes, Agent Stevens had just finished talking to other witnesses and police officers that were on the scene.

  Unlike Stevens, Etelson never wrote anything down, but at times she would ask him to take down names and numbers for her. She turned to him and spoke first, “There were apparently two fuel trucks. The first down there,” she pointed down the street, “at the 101 and Kenmore, had the freeway collapse on it due to some explosives destroying the freeway above. An SUV from the 101 catapulted into the fuel truck, causing it to explode. The second fuel truck apparently drove off the street, went first through the Lejirri building under construction - soon to be under reconstruction - and then,” she directed Stevens’ eyes across the street, “crashed into this Geminnel office building. No one can describe the driver. Out of the handful of people in the lobby that could have seen the driver, none of them survived.”