Bystanders

by Phillip Murrell

  The night is now fully descended on Colberton. Power is with the rest of his crew, a total of seven of them altogether.

  A large crew member approaches Power. “Power, you sure you don’t want us to send out runners to push the crack?”

  Power responds, “Nah. The fiends will come to us. I feel better with everyone here. The police scooped me up earlier, so I don’t want to leave our safe zone. Everyone bring the big guns?”

  A second man, covered in tattoos, shouts, “Hell yeah!”

  All present lift large caliber pistols, shotguns, and semiautomatic assault rifles. They look impressive.

  Moments later Claire and Lou pull up and park on the street. They look at a group of obvious thugs. The two remain in Claire’s car as they assess the assembled gang and potential possibilities. Surprisingly, Lou shuts off the engine.

  “Claire, I have a bad feeling about this. Those are scary men and women, and they aren’t carrying water pistols.”

  “Relax,” Claire replies. “We look like a yuppie couple who wants to buy drugs.”

  Lou looks at her with a skeptical face.

  “One word about me being too old and I’ll slap you straight through the door.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that,” Lou says.

  “Sure, you weren’t.”

  Some college students approach Power and his crew. They’re a pack of his regular customers.

  The first student addresses Power. “Hey, man, you holding?”

  Power isn’t in the mood for the normal games. “What do you want, Eric? I don’t have time for the back and forth.”

  “Sorry,” the student says. “I just need two.”

  “Here you go.”

  The two exchange money and drugs. As the students walk off, Power notices a couple sitting in their car.

  “You guys keep watch on that car over there,” Power instructs. “They don’t look like police, but they don’t look like customers either. I’m feeling generous tonight, so I’ll give them ten minutes to get the hell out of here. If they don’t leave, I guess we just got a free car.”

  The crew all grin, most are likely hoping the ten-minute time limit expires.

  Claire notices that they’re receiving an abundance of attention from the gang members.

  “Does it look like they’re staring at us?” Claire asks.

  “I think we should leave,” Lou says. “This is definitely not a good idea.”

  “You might be right. Turn the engine back on and we’ll get out of here.”

  At the sound of the engine turning over, Power and his crew get jumpy.

  A female crew member with a shotgun states the obvious, “Yo, it’s like they heard us giving them a ten-minute limit.”

  “You think?” Power wonders. “Screw it. Pull them out and let’s put the fear of God in them.”

  The crew instantly jumps into action. Weapons are drawn again, and they start to run toward the car.

  Claire shouts at Lou, “Time to go! Get us out of here! Lou! Are you even listening to me? Lou!”

  Lou seems paralyzed with fear. Claire knows that he won’t drive away, so she jumps out of the car and begins to run.

  Why did I do this? she thinks.

  As she slams the door, Lou jolts and stares at Claire. Instead of driving off, he immediately jumps out and follows Claire.

  “Claire, where are you going?”

  Claire looks back at him, shouts over her shoulder, and runs in a panic. “It’s too late to drive away because of you. You aren’t threatening; you’re just a big baby in a man’s body.”

  Claire and Lou head down an alley, as do the first four gang members.

  Power ceases his pursuit and shouts at his soldiers. “Let them go! Them bitches can’t be cops. They’re probably just Bible thumpers. Come back. We can’t leave this shit unguarded for others to take.”

  The two trailing crew members turn around and head back to Power. They take a final glance at the alley, then they start to run faster. They must have seen something latched on the side of the building, near the alley, that they don’t want to be a part of. Power looks up. He notices a shape that he can only make out when he focuses hard on the transparent image. He quickly grabs as much as he can from his hidden stash and runs off with his last two soldiers following him.

  Inside the alley, Claire and Lou run straight into a dead end. They bang on the wall and turn. There’s no place for them to go but back toward the four advancing punks. The walls are too high to climb.

  The smallest of the four crew members pants as he addresses Claire and Lou. “You’re pretty fast, but what are you running for? We just wanted to be neighborly.”

  The tattooed crew member menacingly adds, “Yeah, you seemed interested in us. Is there something we can help you with?”

  Lou is clearly terrified and horribly stammers. “Now you, you, you, just, just, you just let, let, let us g-g-go.”

  “That’s telling them,” Claire states. She then admits to herself, “I’m gonna die.”

  The female crew member steps forward with her pump action shotgun. She cocks it once and points it straight at Claire.

  “You must be one of those clairvoyant bitches,” she says. “This is gonna hurt you a hell of a lot more than it hurts me.”

  Claire is about to close her eyes, but she looks up instead and sees an armored figure falling toward the crew.

  The figure starts invisible, but it transitions to an armored warrior. Claire knows that she has succeeded in finding First Line. He seems to move in slow motion as the woman fires a shot while screaming. The shotgun pellets spread out, heading toward Claire. First Line continues to fall and gets close to intercepting the pellets with his formidable armor. Lou selflessly throws himself in front of Claire.

  Unfortunately for Lou, First Line hits the ground after the pellets have passed his trajectory. The pellets slam into Lou’s chest. They lift him off the ground and smash him into the back wall. Claire screams as she falls to the ground and tries to get a response from Lou, who’s clearly dead.

  First Line stands between Claire and her aggressors. He’s completely covered in a thick, gray armor. It appears rigid, but his fluid movements illustrate an unearthly technology. There are two massive pods connected to his shoulders that are a lighter shade of gray with a small orb on each. Although he’s armored, he appears to be average height. He looks heavy. The armor clearly gives him upwards of three or four hundred pounds. There are no weapons visibly hanging from him, but he has numerous seams in the armor that Claire assumes hold various gadgets.

  First Line springs into action, and Claire is alert enough to start shooting pictures with her phone, having left her other cameras in the car.

  First Line spin kicks the woman in the stomach and doubles her over. She gasps as all air promptly exits her lungs. The rest of the crew fire at First Line, but the bullets bounce harmlessly off him. Still, Claire curls up a bit, in fear of a poorly aimed shot.

  First Line pulls out two metal objects from leg compartments in his armor. He thumbs a button on each, and they extend to lethal batons. Claire searches her memory for the term. They resemble escrima sticks from the Philippines. First Line beats the four hoods mercilessly. They’re quickly disarmed by brutally precise strikes to their wrists, hands, and elbows.

  The large man screams for assistance. “Power! Help us! He’s down here!”

  Claire briefly focuses her camera on the entrance of the alley and searches for any other thugs. She presumes whoever that person is has long since retreated and is well out of shouting range.

  The four try to run back out of the alley, but First Line pushes buttons on the inside of his wrist and shoots a mysterious purple energy barrier in front of them, prohibiting any escape. Claire frantically records all the action.

  The small man falls to his knees. “What the hell is this? Aw, man, he’s gonna kill us!”

  First Line slowly walks up to the four as they beg for mercy.

  Th
e tattooed man is first to speak to First Line. “C’mon, man, I didn’t do nothing. She’s the one who smoked that fool.”

  The shotgun-wielding woman looks at her treacherous accomplice with murder in her eyes. “Bitch!”

  She punches the traitor in the face and knocks him down. Before he has a chance to get back up, First Line begins beating the four again. He slams the large man’s face into the brick wall lining the alley. The man slumps to the ground unconscious with a fractured jaw.

  First Line then jumps and executes a spin kick that lands on the small man’s clavicle. It also gives a sickly snap as it pops and produces his screams. He falls to the ground, and then First Line ax kicks him on the bridge of his nose, breaking it and knocking the small thug unconscious.

  The tattooed man crawls backwards on the ground, trying to get away from First Line. He feels a pistol on the ground and grasps it. He shoots wildly at First Line, who grabs the gun as it fires. Without a place for the bullet to go, the pressure blows the gun apart inside the man’s hand. He screams as his appendage is horribly mangled. First Line then knees the man in the face and adds a third to the list of slumbering street thugs.

  The woman makes her way to Claire. She has murder in her eyes.

  “I won’t die alone. You coming with me, bitch!” she shouts.

  Claire screams and curls her body around Lou’s lifeless one. Her eyes are closed, and she wants nothing to do with First Line or this story anymore.

  She hears the woman scream. Claire keeps her eyes shut as she recognizes a struggle. She clutches Lou tightly as she listens to each bang and then a climactic pop. The sound Claire would expect cracking vertebrae to make. Then, there is silence. The silence lingers. It soon becomes more unbearable than watching the violence. Claire is still too terrified to open her eyes. She keeps waiting for the end, but it never arrives.

  “Hello? Anyone still there?” she inquires.

  She keeps her eyes closed for another couple of agonizing seconds.

  “I’m going to open my eyes now. I’m a reporter. I’m here to get your story.”

  Claire slowly opens her eyes and gasps. The four crew are lying about the alley. Three are unconscious, and the unlucky woman is clearly dead. The energy wall has dissipated. A distant figure stares down the alley, but Claire can’t make out any features other than a gray hoodie. Lou’s still warm body cools off in her arms, and First Line stands mere inches in front of her.

  “Thank you. You saved my life,” Claire says.

  First Line stares at her, or whatever it’s called when a cold helmet looks straight at her, and speaks, for the first time, in a heavily modulated voice.

  “You’re a fool,” he menacingly states to Claire in a cold, robotic voice.

  Chapter 2

  The evening continues as Carlos and Karen return to their patrol car. They’ve just finished responding to the earlier disturbance.

  As the two enter their vehicle, Toby is once again heard over the radio. “Three Adam Twenty-One, we have numerous reports of shots fired near Maple Lane and Milk Boulevard.”

  Carlos picks up the hand mike. “Control, this is Three Adam Twenty-One, we’re en route.”

  Karen turns on the siren, and the two speed off toward their next call.

  First Line stands before a frightened Claire. She holds up her smartphone and begins recording again. Her voice quivers with her trepidation, but she slowly begins to compose herself.

  “What did you just say?” she asks. “Do you have a comment for the public? Where do you come from? What do you hope to achieve?”

  First Line continues to stare at her. The cold, emotionless stare of a helmeted figure.

  “What’s your armor made from?” Claire continues to ramble. She spouts off questions in quick succession, doubting that any will be answered. “Are you an alien? A billionaire? With the military?”

  First Line finally responds. “I said ‘you’re a fool.’ Tell your story anyway you wish.”

  The soles of First Line’s armored boots glow red. It reminds Claire of the coils inside a toaster. First Line takes flight as if he no longer has any weight.

  Carlos and Karen pull up to the alley and see the back of an armored figure just as he lifts off. They’re speechless as they follow the red glow of his boots in the night’s sky.

  Carlos addresses Karen as they both exit their vehicle in complete wonder. “I guess that crosses you off the list.”

  Karen doesn’t respond. She’s dumbfounded. They track the vigilante in the sky as he flies at incredible speeds to the west. They both look at each other for silent confirmation of what they just witnessed.

  Reality quickly sets in, and they realize another figure is standing nearby. The person nonchalantly walks away from the alley as he stuffs a smartphone into the pocket of his gray hoodie and whistles.

  Karen shouts at the teenager, “Hey! Wait a minute!”

  The boy ignores her entire presence and crosses the street.

  A victim in the alley hears Karen’s voice and screams for assistance. “Help me! My friend is dying!”

  The woman’s screams bring Karen’s attention back to the more important task at hand. She and Carlos immediately run to provide help. Karen rushes to a couple she assumes to be the victims while Carlos checks the injured assailants.

  Carlos speaks into his radio. “Control, this is Three Adam Twenty-One. I have possible homicides at my location and numerous injured. Please send ambulances and backup.”

  Toby’s voice comes back over the radio. “Roger, Three Adam Twenty-One. Help is on the way.”

  Carlos releases his hand mike and calls to Karen, “I need your cuffs, Partner. These guys look rough, and I’m not taking chances.”

  Karen tosses her handcuffs over. Carlos begins securing weapons and cuffing crew members.

  The female victim shakes as her body expends her remaining adrenaline.

  Karen introduces herself. “My name is Officer Whitmore. I’m going to help you, but you’re going to have to move first.”

  The woman clutches the body of her boyfriend.

  “Is he dead?” she asks.

  “That’s not for me to decide,” Karen responds.

  Karen moves the female victim away and tries to stop the male victim’s bleeding, but she knows it’s a futile effort. The man has been dead for minutes.

  Like most nights, the Colberton hospital is busy. Donald Singh, a paramedic, leans against his ambulance. He’s a caricature brought to life. His hair is too slick. His face is too rat-like. He talks too fast. He gives the impression of a shady person, regardless of his good heart and noble profession. Donald gets the call to respond to Carlos and Karen’s scene.

  “Got it, we’re on our way,” Donald says as he puts up his mike.

  Donald looks around for his partner, Alex Williams. Donald hasn’t seen Alex for some time, then he notices his friend running up to him, in a bit of a hurry.

  Alex breathes heavily as he reaches his partner. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

  Alex is a pretty boy in his mid-thirties. He has a chiseled physique that no wardrobe could disguise. He must have run some distance to be so out of breath.

  Donald is annoyed with Alex’s tardiness. “If I didn’t know how much you love your family, I would swear that you were stepping out with a nurse.”

  Alex looks “caught” about something, but he doesn’t respond.

  Donald just laughs it off. “I’m not accusing you. Come on, we got a call.”

  The two men enter their ambulance, turn on the siren, and race to the crime scene.

  Donald drives and continues the conversation. “So, where were you?”

  “I thought you weren’t accusing?” Alex states.

  “I’m not,” Donald says, “but for the last couple of weeks, you just disappear on me.”

  “It isn’t anything bad, but I’d prefer to keep it to myself.”

  “Sure, it’s not like we aren’t best friends or anythi
ng.”

  “You’ve been doing the same thing to me lately,” Alex accuses. “What’s the call anyway?”

  Donald gets excited. “We’re responding to another Trash Man attack.”

  “That’s a stupid name. The guy is called Mortician.”

  “What? He never kills anyone! Why would he be The Mortician?”

  “Not ‘The Mortician’ just Mortician,” Alex clarifies. “And, because it sounds a hell of a lot better than Trash Man.”

  “The news said that he calls himself First Line.”

  “No,” Alex definitively states, “D2I said that he calls himself that. Then the other news programs immediately denounced that they ever met him or said that they were the ones with the inside scoop. I’ve been watching a lot, and so far, the names, Brutal, Godlike, and Concerned Citizen have been claimed to be his true name.”

  “Those are all horrible. I still support Trash Man. He’s taking out the trash in this city. It suits him.”

  The ambulance takes a sharp turn with sirens still blaring.

  “Easy there,” Alex chides. “Mortician is a criminal. I don’t believe he doesn’t kill. I just think the media wants to sex him up to be a comic book character, so they ignore the more gruesome crimes he commits.”

  “Well, the radio said that there were eyewitnesses and deaths this time, so maybe you’ll get your confirmation.”

  “Really? This is going to be a good night. Maybe we’ll get interviewed.”

  “Why would we get interviewed?”

  “Don, do you always have to rain on my parade?”

  “Alexa,” Donald provokes. “Do you always have to poke the bear by calling me that stupid name?”

  Alex just laughs. Eventually Donald does, too, and they continue to drive to the alley.

  Power sprints down the street, away from where he last saw Night Terror. He heard shooting, but it soon stopped. His last two associates trail him. They’ve been running for twenty minutes.

  The first addresses him. “Power, slow down, man!”

  “You saw what I saw!” Power screams over his shoulder as he continues to run. “I ain’t stopping for nothing and nobody.”