Surviving the Improbable Quest

by Anderson Atlas

  Jibbawk waves at him, taunting him, as it moves forward. Allan tries to step back, but he can’t. Bugs fall off of Jibbawk as it moves. They crawl to catch up to it. As Jibbawk approaches, Allan realizes Jibbawk isn’t dark because of the growing night. It is pitch black because the bugs are beetles as dark as black holes. It has red glowing eyes that emanate a heat from within them like a volcano ready to blow.

  “I will have the key whether you give it to me or I take it from your dead fingersss,” Jibbawk says, reaching out for Allan. Its voice is hoarse, but steady. It feeds off Allan’s fear, breathing it in like pure oxygen. “Sss, I only want what I deserve,” it says. “When everything is taken from you by forcccce, is revenge not the only way to be whole again?”

  It’s hard to picture this thing, this moving, churning, angry apparition as a scientist. It must have been pretty smart in order to manipulate genes and DNA and create the creatures on Lan Darr. If Mizzi is right, this thing might be responsible for the diverse life on this entire world.

  Maybe Jibbawk made it all up a long time ago. Maybe it wanted everyone to think it was the God of this place, but it really wasn’t. Isn’t that what all megalomaniacs want, power over others?

  Jibbawk reads Allan’s resistance and gives up its sympathetic appeal. “I made thisss, all of thisss, possible. Everyone owes me their lives. They should all be on their knees at my feet. And ssso should you!”

  It’s patriarchal plea falls on deaf ears. The shepherd that’ll kill the sheep to keep them in line is no shepherd at all. It doesn’t look so smart to Allan, just ruthless and desperate.

  Jibbawk lunges. Allan’s brain snaps into focus. He sprints in between two buildings and turns down a parallel street. He runs through another gap between buildings. Shadows from dead trees startle him. He gasps as he searches for a way through the thickets and the thorns and the boulders and bricks.

  Every building is in ruins, but some walls are more intact than others. He looks over his shoulder. Jibbawk isn’t far behind. It is truly the most frightening creature in this entire world.

  It doesn’t look like Jibbawk is running because the beetles that form its legs are shifting and rotating, moving like little wheels. To move faster Jibbawk bends down and lets its entire lower half break apart. Now the beetles roll Jibbawk along like it’s on a tank track. It makes a sickening clicking, snapping sound.

  Allan’s belt beeps. He looks at the light where the battery crystal is. He’s used about half the power. He’s got three and a half hours before the legs are useless. So Allan runs harder. Fear courses through him in waves. He runs through another alley then down the street and rests against a pile of large bricks. It’s dark now. Jibbawk is nowhere to be seen. Allan can’t run forever. He needs a plan, some way to hide or to fight. But how can he fight a ghost made of beetles?

  There’s a building that still has a roof and four walls so Allan ducks inside.

  Immediately, he regrets his move. Hiding isn’t a good plan. If he’s found, he’s trapped. There’s no window, no hole in the wall and only one way in or out. A dry twig snaps just outside. Oh no! Should he run? Should he stay? Here he needs to make a quick choice again and he can’t. He’s frozen with indecision. Allan makes for the doorway, but Jibbawk steps into it. Allan scampers back to the far corner wanting to scream, wanting to fight, but able to do neither. Jibbawk takes one claw and scratches a large ‘X’ in the wall. The ‘X’ bleeds red. It places its pincers on either side of the doorway; beetles break off and crawl along the walls. They disengage from its feet as well. Jibbawk melts into the walls and floor as thousands of beetles come closer and closer. Their pincers snap, snap, snapping.

  “That key is mine!” Jibbawk roars. “And ssso is your sssoul.”

  Chapter 15

  Rubic and the Dawn of Night

  Half a galaxy away lies Rubic, still under the large boulder on the riverbank. Night has fallen and an owl stares at Rubic in wonder. A curious raccoon scuttles up to Rubic and sniffs his cheek. Its whiskers tickle Rubic’s skin and he wakes with a start. The raccoon sprints away, but the owl stays and watches. Rubic shivers. He’s confused, but for only a moment. Panic sparks his consciousness awake. “Allan! Allan!” He tries to move, but can’t. His entire right side is numb. A huge rock holds him in the mud, his arm lost underneath the stone’s massive weight. He twists his legs back and tries to push the boulder off. How long have I been here? The stars above him number in the millions, and the moon is big and bright. There’s a rustle in the trees. This is bear country, and he’s as vulnerable as a shish kebab at a dinner party. “Allan?” he says hoping the sound is his nephew. There’s no answer.

  Rubic feels around under his body and starts digging out dirt and stones. The boulder starts to lean on him more. Pain destroys his thoughts in one fell swoop. He cries out to help relieve the pressure of pain in his brain. After a minute the pain settles. He notices a small rock dam that diverts the water around him. Keeping the water off him kept him alive. Allan must have built it.

  “Allan! Where are you?” The only reply is from the crickets. “Crap, kid. You must be trying to get help. How are you gonna get anywhere without your chair?”

  Rubic grabs one of the larger stones from the dam, being careful not to dismantle the dam completely. Moving carefully but quickly, Rubic props the rock on one side of his arm then grabs a similar sized rock and wedges it on the other side. He starts to dig under his arm again, one scoop at a time. After several scoops, the heavy boulder starts to fall again, but is held up by the rocks. He keeps digging until his arm moves. He yanks his arm out and rolls away. The two rocks give out and the boulder falls. The boulder splashes into the river in a surprisingly subtle motion.

  Much worse than before, pain shoots up Rubic’s arm. His fingers are black, and he has a gash running up his forearm all the way to his elbow. It’s perforated and bleeding heavily now that the stone isn’t pinching the wound shut. Rubic unclips his paracord bracelet off his wrist. The bracelet is a braided military strength rope. From a pocket of his fishing vest he pulls out a pocket knife and cuts the end of the braid. It untangles easily and then he lays it across his lap. He cuts one entire lower pant leg off and uses it to wrap his arm. He then ties the paracord around his forearm using hand and teeth.

  “Where did you go, Allan?” Rubic looks around. The shadowy forest watches him. Shivers echo throughout his muscles. He pulls his cell phone out of one of his many vest pockets, but it’s been assaulted by water. He throws it in a tantrum.

  “Allan!” he calls out. The pain in his arm makes his teeth hurt. He can wiggle his pinky which is good. The circulation needs to return fully. If it doesn’t, the doctors will have to amputate his arm. The pain is too intense and he can’t hold his hand up. So Rubic takes the remaining paracord and fashions a sling that goes over his head and around his wrist to hold his arm up. The hand feels better. He breathes cool night air while ordering himself to relax.

  Rubic gets up and sloshes across the moonlit river and heads back up the river toward camp calling for Allan. Rubic strains his eyes hoping to see tracks, but the ground is dark. He thinks he can see drag marks on the edge of the forest. But following it leads nowhere. If someone had to drag themselves through the forest they’d have to find the path of least resistance. Rubic tries to find this path, but can’t. Now he’s deep in the forest and it’s too dark to see anything. Instincts tell him to parallel the river. He hikes around a huge boulder and over fallen logs and up a steep incline. All the while he keeps the trickling sound of water within earshot and wonders how Allan would be able to drag himself through the ferns and over the sharp rocks and pine needles.

  When Rubic gets to camp he sees his truck. It was pushed off the hill he’d parked on. Now it lay on its side, smashed against a large tree. He kicks the hood. The ranger station is at least eight miles down the road. Are there other campers who haven’t been swallowed up by the freak flood? Rubic likes this place because of how secluded it is, how
quiet it is, and how far from the loudmouths and the mundane tasks of modern-day life it is. Now he wishes there were a few other loudmouths around to help him.

  Rubic finds his cooler half-buried under mud and flips it open. The ice is still in cubes. He stuffs his mouth full of the lunch meat he brought and chugs some water. He unzips his first aid kit and pops four ibuprofen. His body feels as heavy as lead so he sits. Bending down sends pain out of his ribs and arm. Even in the blue moonlight he can see that his entire arm is purple and bruised. He takes some ice from the cooler and massages his arm. He calls for Allan, but only hears his voice echo off the nearby canyon walls and not a peep more. There should be frogs burping or crickets chirping, but there’s only a stony silence. There is no tent, no wheelchair, no firewood, no stove. Everything has been washed away.

  Rubic starts hiking down the dirt road. The moonlight illuminates the road, making it appear plastic. It’s helpful because dark swaths of forest surround everything else. Eight miles downhill should only take three hours.

  An hour later he sees lights approaching. He waves his good arm in the air and hollers. The truck pulls to the side of the road. It’s white with a blue stripe down the side and has the postal insignia on its door. In the back is a large bag full of boxes and letters. Rubic runs up to the driver’s door. “Hey! I need help. Me and my nephew were hit by a flash flood. I’ve been pinned under a boulder and knocked out. I woke up and he’s nowhere.”

  “Oh never a dull moment up here,” the postman says. “I was wondering where all the water damage came from. I see it all the way down the mountain. A swath of water took out an acre of bushes. It’s crazy. C’mon, hop on in.”

  Rubic runs around to the passenger side. “Thank you.”

  “I’m Larry. I’m the mailman. You’re lucky I’m so late. Normally, I’d be at home watching the game on TV. Not too many people come up to this part of the mountain.”

  “I don’t feel lucky,” Rubic says.

  Larry gets on his walkie-talkie and calls the Ranger station. He turns to Rubic. “Help’s a-comin’.”

  “Thank you.” Rubic sways. “I’m about ready to pass out. For once I’m thanking the postal service, not cursing it.” Rubic looks out the back window, expecting to see walrus creatures poking up from the potholes, but they aren’t there. He sighs.

  “More mail every year. Someone’s got a mighty fine business up here, I guess. Plus, I deliver the mail to the residents that live up there past the glacier. It’s a year round hazard. I’ve got to fight walruses to get to their igloos.” Larry laughs. “Just kidding. But y’know, this narrow canyon is the main flood zone for the lake. I’ve never seen it, but folks say that every so often a large chunk of that glacier breaks off and falls into the lake. Yup. The lake overflows the dam and floods the valley. This one must have been a big break. Never seen anything like it,” Larry says, making chitchat.

  Rubic is too worried, in too much pain and too anxious to listen to Larry. “Look, my nephew’s lost up here. We both were swept away. I just woke up. I’ve been out all day. My arm is…” Rubic shows him his purple, blood-splattered arm.

  Larry clicks on the cabin light. “Good lord. You need a doctor.”

  “Only after my nephew is found.”

  “If he tried to go get help, he could have gone a long way in eight hours. Yup.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He’s paralyzed and his wheelchair was washed away.”

  “Oh dear. I’m sorry, I’m going on and on. This is terrible. Let’s get to finding your nephew.” Larry hits the gas and drives toward the campsite. “We can have a search party out here lickety-split.”

  Chapter 16

  Cornered

  Allan watches thousands of pincher beetles skitter towards him. Their shells are shiny and sleek, and their antennas search, feel for Allan. Jibbawk moves into the room like a mudslide. Only its body, face and eyes remain in their shape. Those hideous red eyes glow hot and are slit vertically like a cat’s. Allan can’t watch anymore. He closes his eyes, but he can hear the beetles come for him like the clicking of tumbling glass marbles. The ceiling of the house cracks. Dust rains down. As the crack widens, large chunks of ceiling break open and lift away. The night sky is in full bloom. Three moons stare down at him. Something leans over the hole in the roof. It’s a Lithic Fury!

  This is it. Game over. He won’t get another chance. He braces himself and says over and over, “Please, no. I don’t want to die...”

  Rocks pinch Allan around the waist and lift him up and out of the room. The air is squeezed out of his chest.

  Allan is gently set upon a rock that protrudes from the Lithic Fury’s neck. The ground is thirty feet below. Allan looks down to see Jibbawk and his legion of bugs break for the doorway, but not before the Lithic Fury topples the rest of the house on Jibbawk and his beetle crew.

  Allan considers leaping off the Lithic Fury and running away. His mechanical legs should handle the jump.

  “You don’t have to go,” says the Lithic Fury. Allan doesn’t hear the voice with his ears. He hears the Lithic Fury’s voice inside his head. “I won’t hurt you,” it says.

  “But I stole the key from the Baroon’s mouth. You were all sworn to protect it. Don’t you want it back?” Allan says.

  “We have guarded the key for a long time. But Jibbawk is still around. Even under the rocks it is not gone. It is the spirit of its elder self. Alas, we see now that while we kept Jibbawk from its body, it was not defeated. We hope you have a better solution.”

  “Mizzi does. He wants to set a trap for Jibbawk. Get its body and its ghost together again then confine them both forever. He says he has the power to do that now.”

  “Goooood.” The Lithic Fury’s voice vibrates Allan’s ribs like they are tuning forks.

  “I thought you all were dead,” Allan says as he and the Lithic Fury head down a road through the ruins of homes and buildings. The Lithic Fury stomps along, shaking the ground under each step. It moves slowly but covers a lot of ground with long strides. In time the Lithic Fury gets to the end of the charred ruins.

  “We did lose our purpose. So we started to fall apart. It is hard because we cannot do the thing we were meant to do. But we don’t want to fade into nothing. The only choice we have is to find another purpose. We can remake ourselves into anything we wish.”

  Allan looks at his legs, feeling the Lithic Fury’s words reverberate throughout his mind and echo in his chest. “I have to do the same.”

  The two travel through the countryside of Lan Darr toward the city of Dantia and toward Mizzi’s tree house that lies in the heart of the mushroom forest. It is dark, but lights on the horizon guide the way.

  “I don’t recognize this area. Are we going the way I came?” Allan asks.

  “This is the fastest way to the mushroom forest.”

  At the top of a grassy hill is a crowd of people. They are cheering next to a pathway of hot coals. The area is lit up with bright torches. The Lithic Fury steps away from the crowd. “They will fear me. I do not want to disturb the Testing.”

  Allan looks more closely. “That is the Testing?” The children and young creatures being tested wear toga-like robes lined with golden patterns and intricate symbols. Though the horses are walking on the coals, they don’t seem to be bothered by them. They are thin and bony and their hooves are a foot tall or more. Definitely not a horse, but more of a nightmare version of one.

  “They balance on a horse and race each other.” The Lithic Fury says. “This is the first and most benign test the children will go through.”

  The crowd surrounding the finish line waves torches and whoops and hollers, but the kids are still and focused.

  Allan watches them as they pass. “I never thought what they’re doing was possible.”

  The Lithic Fury answers, “You see, the young ones compete for freedom. There are five tests in total, all are called the Testing. Some die in
the games, some remain enslaved and some are set free.”

  One contestant falls off his horse and into the hot coals. His robe catches fire, and he leaps up and runs into armed guards wearing chainmail. They snatch the boy and haul him away. Allan notices that the boy’s sleeve is pinned to the shoulder fabric. The boy has no arm. “Why are they slaves?”

  “We are all slaves in some way,” The Lithic Fury answers. “I was a slave to protecting the key for decades. Some are slaves to their work and some are slaves to their fears. . . And there are some that still tie themselves up to the ghosts of their forefathers.”

  “I don’t have any choice and that makes me feel like a slave. I have to go to school. I have to do chores. Now I’m still a slave to that stuff and also to my wheelchair.”

  The crowd starts chanting. There are only two more balancers left on the course. The horse behind the leader leaps into a gallop. The boy remains on its back. It startles the lead rider and he falls into the coals. The boy gets to the finish line and is lifted off the horse by the crowd. Some cheer, others boo and the fallen boy is carried off.

  Someone notices the Lithic Fury.

  A man pulls off his top hat exposing wild frizzy hair. He points and yells. The crowd turns. Everyone flees in terror.

  “We must go now,” the Lithic Fury says as he starts to move quickly into the Mushroom forest. “I do not want them to fear me.”

  “You know, it’s weird. I sometimes get the feeling people fear me, too,” Allan says. “Not because I could hurt them, but it’s like they don’t know what to say around me.” He leans against the rough stone of the Lithic Fury’s long neck and rests his head.

  After a dozen long and careful steps, they arrive at Mizzi’s tree. It lifts a rocky arm up to the window and lets Allan crawl into it. “Good bye, Allan.”

  “Thank you. . . What should I call you?”