Animalis

by John Peter Jones

  Before the razor-tipped hands could swipe for him, he leaped again. Misha fought the force of his jump, giving him just the resistance he needed.

  He could feel the edge of what he had always known his muscles were capable of, and pushed past it. Parts of his body cried out, telling him not to push them further. It hurt, the tendons stung, the muscles burned, but they kept going. They gave him everything they had.

  Jax stretched. His arms reached. The tips of his fingers called out for something to grab onto.

  He stopped.

  He was holding onto the edge. He had made it.

  Feet scuffled close by. He hadn’t escaped yet. The guards were coming closer. Keep going! he commanded himself.

  Jax pulled, lifting his forearm on top of the wall. Over the edge, he could see the Animalis audience thrashing about in a commotion. A large group had gone for the leg, pushing and yelling. Others were looking at Jax, who was crawling over the short wall of the arena. The guards had seen him too, and were coming for him.

  With another heave, Jax pulled himself over the barrier. He lifted himself onto his foot.

  The leopard guard was very close behind him now, hissing out Russian.

  Jax crouched down to jump away, but, when he tried to flex his leg muscles, nothing came. That was it—This must be the end, he thought, and almost wanted to laugh. Jax’s leg lurched him pitifully onto the floor. The leopard must have expected another jump as well, because his shock stick shot out in the air above Jax’s head.

  He had a moment—there was still time to do something. Jax desperately scrambled toward the crowd of Animalis.

  The leopard went to jab his stick at Jax again. Jax rolled to his left and pulled on one of the legs from the crowd of Animalis to block the attack. The hot shock of electricity sent shivers down Jax’s arms as he held onto the foot. He flipped back onto his hands and good knee, and started to crawl to an opening between rows of seats. He wasn’t fast. A wave of hopelessness passed through Jax’s stomach. How was he ever going to get out of this?

  Some of the Animalis that had been watching the drama of an escaping fighter had started rushing for the exit. Jax pushed between and under the legs.

  Behind him, the leopard yelled. It lit up the shock stick and waved it above its head. The scared audience only move forward faster, and Jax moved along with them, dragging himself by their legs.

  The short hall opened up into a circular foyer that ringed the arena, and the crowd began to split. Jax could hear more harsh Russian being growled out by humans and Animalis on either side of the foyer. Just above several signs on the opposite wall was a row of windows. What was below them on the other side? The shadow of a flag fluttered across the windows.

  Jax crawled to the window and got back up on his leg. He had to do it one more time, leap, and throw himself through the glass. Jump, he commanded his leg muscles. And he felt the leg respond. He put his elbows out in front of himself and tucked his head forward, smashing through the window.

  Glass burst around his head and he went soaring through the deadly hole. He looked for the flag. It was sticking out to the left of him, the pole extending from the building at an acute angle. It was just a foot out of reach.

  A gust of wind whipped the tip of the flag toward Jax. His fingers brushed against its silky fabric, and he snatched hold of the last handful of it. His other hand got a second grip on it. The flag pulled tight under his weight. It stretched and pulled him sharply back to the building. Shards of glass tumbled to the ground below, hitting the hard concrete street. A few pieces fell in front of a passing semi truck. If Jax hit the wall and swung back out, he might have enough momentum to fall right on top of the trailer of the truck.

  The muscles in his good leg had given out. He was still going to hit the side of the building. Instinctively he reached with his right leg and cushioned the impact with his severed stump. There was a dull crunch from bone scraping against the hardened plastic wall, but it didn’t hurt. He pushed back out, swinging to the end of the arc, and then let go.

  He fell through the chilled morning air and hit the trailer with a heavy slap. The truck began to slow, another car sounded a loud horn behind it, and the truck kept going.

  Jax rolled to his side to watch the building pass behind him. The guards were at the window. One pointed, spotting him riding away on the trailer.

  They were going to follow him, find him, and kill him. Jax didn’t want to do anything about it. Didn’t want to find a way to survive. The cold wind whipped around him. I just want to be home.

  He rode the transport for a long time, letting it take him away from the horror of the arena. Even if the guards tried to follow him, it would be better to let the truck take him far away before trying to drag himself through the streets with only his hands.

  Jax kept watch for something that could help him get off the transport. Finally, to escape the cold, he dove off into a pile of garbage piled on the side of the road. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and he lay there, cold and exhausted. He had lost his leg. A cripple the rest of his life.

  Lying there, partially insulated by the trash, he closed his eyes and tried not to think. The city stank, not just from the trash, but there was a chalky burnt smell saturating the air as well. A terrible ruckus hissed and grumbled all around him. The sounds were painful and abrasive.

  He stayed there most of the day, waiting to be found and taken back to his cell. The sun warmed the trash, putting off a pungent, sour odor that made the burnt chalk seem pleasant. Sleep came and went, making the wait stretch on and on.

  Why didn’t I bleed to death? Jax wondered, still refusing to look at his severed limb. He hadn’t had time to think about it during the escape. And why should he think about it now? They would come, take him back, and kill him still. He wasn’t going to help end the war, or save people, or be some hero.

  How could he have let this happen to himself? His leg! He had been stupid enough not to kill Misha, but she was willing to pull him apart piece by piece to eat him. If he had just pressed the shard a little harder …

  Animalis came. They spoke in gruff foreign voices, probably deciding whether to stun Jax or not. The trash shifted and bags were pulled away from around him, and he instantly missed their warmth.

  Then they grabbed him, pulling him by the arms, out of the pile. He didn’t want to open his eyes. Let them take me, he thought.

  They stopped pulling and left him on the hard sidewalk. He heard the sounds of bags moving and being thrown. Jax opened his eyes and saw two Animalis throwing the bags of garbage into a truck. When the pile was gone, they climbed back into the front and the truck rumbled away with a horrible hissing, grinding sound.

  He closed his eyes and shut his mind off again.

  ——

  When he woke, something was licking his ear. The sky had grown violet. It was noisy, with the sounds of cars with motors, beeps, and honks echoing through the streets, but the sound of the bumpy tongue sliding over his ear over and over took all his attention.

  Jax lifted his hand to feel what was licking him. He felt fur—soft and silky. It had the warmth of caring. Jax turned to look at it and found the small black eyes of Moxie staring back at him.

  “Moxie?” he asked.

  The furry white animal rubbed against him.

  “Moxie, where did you come from? Where’s Grimshaw? Where’s Hank?”

  The animal started to lick his face. But just when he thought he could cry out for joy, it scurried away.

  Jax lifted his torso up to see where it had gone. It stood three yards down the sidewalk, chattering at him. Could it really be Moxie? She had found him again, and Grimshaw had to be near.

  She trotted back to him and licked the top of his scalp. Her soft, warm fur reminded Jax of just how cold it was. Little teeth bit his shirt sleeve and tugged. She let go and chattered again. Then she ran away.

  “Moxie, wait,” Jax called, but she was gone.

  He waited for her,
unable to follow. Everything around him was so cold and so foreign. The sidewalk he was on felt like an ice cube. He wanted to get up, but every time he went to move, when he felt the resistance of this exhausted body, he gave up.

  “Jax?” someone said from far away.

  It was the voice of an angel. A beautiful, red-headed angel: Hurley Grimshaw. The scrape of boots running on the sidewalk drowned out the sounds of the city around them.

  Unless Jax had gone crazy. Maybe he had died back in the arena, and was dreaming on about life. But he knew it was real. He wasn’t crazy. Everything around him still had the weight of reality.

  “Hurley? Hurley, is that you? I knew you were here,” he said, quietly, to his own fears and anguish at having been abandoned.

  Oh no, what will she say about my leg? he thought, and then cursed himself. What a selfish thing to think about. If the Animalis find me now, they’ll take us both to the arena. That’s what’s important. Jax struggled to turn himself over to look at her.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” he called to her. “We’ve got to get out of this city before they find me. They’ll take us both if you’re with me.”

  Grimshaw fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his matted scalp.

  “Right, we will,” she said with tender caring in her voice. When she pulled her head away to look at him, there was a blush of blood left on her cheek. “Can you stand? Are you alright?”

  “I’m … pretty messed up. I might need a medical car, I don’t know. Is Hank with you? The captain?”

  “Hank’s in the Atticus, trying to find the pyramid. I’m sorry we couldn’t find you earlier. Let’s get inside, then we can talk. A medical car? Are you alright?”

  She held her arms under Jax’s shoulders and started to pull him up. Then he saw her eyes grow wide—she could see the missing part of his leg.

  “Jax! Your leg!” she gasped and lowered him gently back on the ground. She looked into his face, searching for more information.

  Jax nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think I can walk. I probably can’t even stand.”

  “I’m so sorry. Oh, I’m so sorry.” She bent to get a better look at it. “How long ago did this happen? It’s not covered!”

  It had to look terrible. Bone, muscle, tendons…

  “Today,” Jax said, watching Grimshaw attempting to pull away a wrapper that had stuck to his skin with something sticky. “In the arena.”

  “Today? You lost it today?” She looked like she stopped herself from asking anything else. Her expression was intense. “We’ve got enough of the equipment to take care of this,” she said to herself. “Hospital is too dangerous.”

  Before Jax could protest, she bent and scooped up his legs. His body lifted into the air, draped between her arms.

  “Hurley, don’t,” Jax said. It was a weak attempt to stop her, caught between feeling ashamed for needing to be carried, and being amazed that she could carry him.

  Hurley didn’t respond. Her eyes stayed focused on the street ahead of her, and her breathing came in heavy puffs from the strain. She was stronger than Jax had estimated. In every way, she was stronger than what Jax had estimated.

  She carried him through the city, winding in and out of alleys. Moxie reappeared and led the way, squeaking whenever Grimshaw stopped to rest. Finally, they stopped at an old brick store.

  Inside the building, Jax saw a small shop. Books lined the walls on slender book cases. Three tables with wooden chairs sat in the space between the door and a bar counter. There were several large canisters of herbal air with little tubes going to breathing masks daintily propped up on a miniature coat rack. A dog Animalis stood behind the counter, watching them come in.

  “Is this where the Atticus is? Is Hank here?” Jax asked. He felt as vulnerable as a baby being held by its mother. Hank couldn’t see him like this.

  “Hodge?” Grimshaw called.

  They went through a curtain on the side of the bar where it opened into a back room. There was a wall screen with a heat radiator, animating a fire burning within a coarse fireplace.

  “Hodge, can you tell me what Jax needs?” Grimshaw said with a heavy strain in her voice from holding Jax.

  Hodge was beginning to lift a box from a cabinet, but put it back.

  “Jax!” Hodge said. He sniffed, then growled. “You were with a bear? In the arena?” He perked back up. “I’m glad to see you, very glad to see you again.”

  Grimshaw set Jax down in one of the soft chairs by the fire, and after a moment, he realized that it wasn’t a wall screen at all; it was a real fire, giving the room warmth and an acid scent. Grimshaw pulled her hair back into a fiery ponytail before looking at his leg again. Her fingers gently lifted the tattered fabric of his pant leg. Hodge grabbed the armrest, crouching down next to her.

  “You got scratched up pretty good by the bear. You made it out alive? Did …” Hodge hesitated. “Did you have to kill it?”

  Jax could feel pressure from Grimshaw’s hands touching the stump of his leg. “I don’t know what happened to the bear,” he said. “After it got my leg, I didn’t bleed at all. I don’t know why. I didn’t have time to do anything but get out. Is that normal?”

  “Hodge, what do you think of this?” Grimshaw asked, not listening to Jax.

  Hodge looked at the leg for a moment, and then at the rest of Jax.

  “Hurley, he’s fine. A lot of adrenaline, very scared. Not a lot of blood loss, still strong,” Hodge said.

  “The wound is wide open, Hodge! Of course there was a lot of blood loss,” she said. “What do we need to do for the leg?” Grimshaw didn’t seem used to having to ask Hodge the same question multiple times.

  “It’s fine. There’s nothing to do. What do you think, Jax? It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

  “I didn’t bleed, Hurley,” Jax said again, “or else I wouldn’t be here.”

  Grimshaw scowled, looking from Hodge to Jax and back to the leg. Jax should have been as in shock as she was, but he hadn’t had time to. There was no good explanation for it. In basic training, he had learned what would happen to someone with an injury like this. Blood should have gushed out. Not just from his artery, but also his bone and muscles. His body couldn’t stop the blood flow with coagulation or swelling. Within ten minutes, he should have been dead.

  Instead, his blood had seemingly pulled up and away from the open end of his leg.

  Grimshaw finally spoke: “So … the blood must be blocked. Could there be a hemorrhage in his thigh? Does it hurt anywhere in your thigh, Jax?”

  It hurts everywhere, Jax wanted to say. But he was still thinking about what Hodge had said. He felt the burn and itch at the tip of the stump. It was annoying, but now that it was suggested that it didn’t hurt, maybe he had thought it was hurting because he had expected it to.

  “Yeah, it hurts everywhere, but not much in the thigh. Even the stump doesn’t hurt that bad. It burns, and itches,” he said.

  “Oh, it itches.” Hodge panted a little. “Better scratch it. I love being scratched.” He reached for Jax’s stump in an attempt to scratch it.

  “Hodge!” Grimshaw swatted his hands away. A piece of Jax’s ragged skin tore off in the commotion. “Oh! Jax, I’m sorry.” She turned on Hodge. “Hodge! What’s gotten into you? Please, get some cream and bandages for him. And I need the CT scanner.”

  “It’s alright, Hurley,” Jax said. “I didn’t feel anything. It’s like all that skin is already dead.” He reached down and tore away another piece about an inch long. “Where are we, Grimshaw?” He looked around the room. “Where’s Hank?”

  Hodge left to get a medical kit for Jax. Grimshaw looked closer at the ragged stump, delicately moving pieces of the skin with her finger. Where Jax had ripped the skin from, it hadn’t bled.

  “We’re in the back room of an herbal air shop. The shop owner is part of a group that has been helping us while we looked for you, and the pyramid.” She winced as she turned his le
g to look at his thigh. “If it hemorrhaged, we’re going to need to cut out the clot. It can’t be this main artery, or you would have bleed to death anyway.” She stopped looking at the leg and started assessing the rest of Jax’s wounds. “Hank is still looking for the pyramid. When the Animalis took you, he wouldn’t quit, and eventually he found where their plane had landed, here in Moscow. But their plane had gone to a private airport, then we separated. He stayed in the Atticus, and has been looking for you with whatever he does on the internet. You and the pyramid. Oh …” Grimshaw looked to her right.

  Jax looked too and noticed the dog Animalis peeking through the curtain.

  “And the Animalis here have been of the utmost help,” Grimshaw said. “Thank you.” She nodded to the dog and smiled.

  Its tail wagged, and it turned away and let the curtain close.

  “Do you want me to get Hank? We can let him know you’re back.” Grimshaw held Jax’s shoulder.

  If Jax had counted the days right, he had been away for a month, hoping to be found and taken back to their company. What would they do with him now? Now that he had lost his foot? Would they send him home? His mind clouded over. “I …” He didn’t know what to say.

  “Let’s get all of your scratches patched up before you move again,” she said.

  Hodge came back into the room with a medical kit.

  Grimshaw looked into his eyes. “Jax, we don’t have to do anything right now. Don’t think about it. Just rest and let us take care of you.”

  They worked quickly to spread an ionized bacteria cream over the end of the leg and the scratches covering his body. Within a few days, the modified bacteria would help to fight off infection, and promote healthy skin repair that would leave the skin with virtually no scars.

  Then Grimshaw passed the CT scanner over his leg. She stood up and walked to the curtain. “I’ll use the wall screen in the shop.”