Chronicles of Jonathan Tibbs 1: The Never Hero
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Jonathan was visibly shaking. He held his hands clasped in front of him, trying to get them to hold still and failing.
“This is reality, if I go out there, it isn’t going to matter if it was the right thing to do,” he whispered. “This isn’t a comic book.”
“Yes!” Hayden said. “That is exactly what it is. It’s exactly what those stories are about. You have to get down there.”
“I didn’t volunteer for this!” Jonathan yelled, his fear spilling over into anger at Hayden for taking some moral stance when the situation required nothing of him.
“No you didn’t!” Hayden said, getting up off the couch, “and it isn’t fair! But what’s it going to be Jonathan? You want Paige to go get your pills? You want to go take a nap in your room while that thing kills a few hundred people waiting for you to show up!”
“Hayden!” Paige exclaimed. “That isn’t fair!”
Hayden ignored her attempt to defend Jonathan.
“You think you’ll just live with that?” Hayden said. “You think you can just say to yourself ‘it’s not fair’ and all those people getting killed out there aren’t your problem anymore?”
Hayden’s words were becoming heavy, the guilt seeping in. He wanted to ignore it, but couldn’t avoid seeing it for the unfair honest truth that it was. Knowing it still didn’t change the fact that it was a death sentence.
“Just give me a minute,” Jonathan said.
Panic welled up in him. He rocked back and forth on the couch. He didn’t know how to get up. He was stalling. All he wanted was for the seconds to stretch on into hours. He needed time.
“Jona—”
“Give him a damn minute Hayden!” Paige yelled.
“People don’t have a minute. Jona—”
The balance between Jonathan’s fear and anger shifted toward the latter. Before he knew what he was doing, he stood, crushing the coffee table in front of them and nearly put his foot through the floor boards. It was just too much to bear being called a coward once more.
Hayden stood his ground but Paige and Collin were visibly worried that he was pushing their unstable roommate into a rage while he was capable of doing some serious damage.
“What? You holier-than-thou Asshole! What?” Jonathan yelled.
Hayden yelled back “I’ll go with you!”
Jonathan swallowed. He felt like he’d just been gut checked. His anger and fear dropped off a cliff. Hayden wasn’t posturing, Jonathan could see it. He was volunteering. The man’s bravery; it moved him, but it shamed him more than he’d expected.
He turned to look at Paige and Collin. They seemed to struggle with the decision but then nodded. They, too, would go with him. They were all volunteering to help him face this. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this kind of loyalty.
He took a deep breath, the word “dammit,” escaping as he exhaled. He thought of his father, imagined what Douglas would say if he could be there to say it.
You won’t be able to live with having done nothing.
Who was he kidding anyway? Hayden was right. He wasn’t going to hide in his house with all those bodies piling up on the street knowing he was supposed to be the one stopping it.
Yet, of all the things, it was her voice in his head, a flash of the girl next door, that really seemed to make his mind up.
Nut up, Jonathan, he thought.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THURSDAY | JUNE 30, 2005 | 10:20 PM
“NO,” Jonathan said. “You aren’t going. None of you are going.”
Their volunteering had been enough. They’d been willing to put themselves in danger to help him act. He didn’t want to think of seeing one of them get killed just so he wouldn’t have to go out there alone.
When Jonathan was a teenager, his friends had taken him out to the cliffs to go diving. He wasn’t a thrill seeker, but he’d come along. Some of it had been pride, for sure, all his friends had jumped, but it had really been a test. What would it feel like to step off a precipice like that? His mind understood the safety of the water below but his body resisted, as if it were any other forty foot drop. He didn’t know how long he had stood at that cliff, trying to overcome fear with reason, trying to will himself to jump.
He’d grasped the truth eventually. He couldn’t talk himself into jumping, he could only decide. He had to commit to the point of no return. He charged the cliff, sprinting as fast as he could, so that even if his instincts tried to stop him, he’d still have plummeted over the edge. Instead, he’d jumped. There’d been no thought in his head until he hit the water. That was when the reality of getting back up the cliff became the problem.
He had to commit now, and deal with the reality once he got there.
“Collin, I need the keys to the bike,” he said.
Collin nodded, hesitating only briefly, and then shot off toward his room. Hayden and Paige stood uncomfortably. Hayden was still agitated by his own outburst. He looked like he was worried that his anger might be the last words Jonathan ever heard. It had been the right thing though. Paige looked like she might cry. Jonathan tried not to look at her; it was unnerving. She was a ball-buster and it didn’t fit right when she turned so vulnerable. It made him feel vulnerable. He didn’t need to see in her eyes that she didn’t think he’d be coming back.
“Do you have a plan?” she asked.
Jonathan shook his head. He had no idea what he was going to do once he got there. It hadn’t even occurred to him to think that far ahead yet.
“It’ll take a few minutes to get there,” he said. “I’ll try and think of something.”
Collin came back from his room. He had his motorcycle jacket, gloves, and helmet in his hands.
“I’d keep the coat and gloves on. They’re designed to help reduce injury if you fly off a bike. Can’t imagine it would hurt now. The keys are in the pocket.” Once he’d handed over the gear he added, “Jonathan, it probably goes without saying, but be careful.”
Jonathan thought about the words. Be careful. Given the context, what in the hell did that even mean? Don’t jump directly into its teeth? Make it work for it? The whole idea of staring down an eight foot tall creature from a nightmare reeked of reckless abandon. Regardless, Jonathan nodded and headed for the garage door.
Paige hugged him. She’d come up behind him, her arms suddenly tight around his chest.
“This is happening too fast,” she said.
Jonathan tensed, afraid to return the affection when he was unsure of his own strength. When she let go of him, he forgot himself a bit, tearing the door to the garage off its hinges. He grimaced at his forgetfulness and laid the door against the wall next to the now empty door frame. He was going to have to be careful riding the bike or he might damage the clutch or throttle just from lack of attention to this new strength.
“Watch the TV,” he said. “I have my phone. If anything changes before I get there, I might need you to warn me.”
They returned to the couch to do as they had been asked but watched him descend into the garage. When the motorcycle’s engine came to life, they would know he’d gone.
Jonathan opened the garage door by gently pushing the button that ran the lift mechanism. He put the coat on. Collin was right; the kevlar in the shoulders and the pads on the arms and back were reassuring. Any reassurance was welcome. Then he gently pushed Jenny out onto the driveway. It was amazing how easily the bike moved for him. Three hundred and sixty pounds of metal machinery, and it responded under his push like he was maneuvering a toddler’s tricycle. He felt like, if he wanted to, he could lift the thing over his head.
“Didn’t think you were the rider,” said Leah.
Jonathan was surprised. He hadn’t seen anyone when he pushed the bike out. He looked around the yard, but still didn’t see her.
“Up here,” she said.
He followed the sound of her voice, and saw that she was on her balcony.
“Jack has been asking if he could come by and see ‘the neig
hbor’s moto-bike’ since you mentioned it to him.”
He was alarmed for a moment, scarred that she would notice his chest was glowing, but the thick leather of the jacket hid the light.
“It’s Collin’s, my roommates. I’m just borrowing it. I’m sorry, I need to go, I’m in a hurry,” he said.
“Really?” she said raising a curious eyebrow. “Hot date tonight then?”
“Nothing so pleasant,” he said.
“Oh well, I just like to wish my guy friends good luck,” she said, “at least when it looks like they need it.”
Jonathan smiled. It was funny that levity could be found, given the situation. The way she talked disarmed him, even now. Of course, part of what was funny was how far off her guess was.
“Glad we’re friends. Wasn’t sure if you hung out with cowa…” he cut off the word, he didn’t like the sound of it, “well, guys who need babysitting.”
She shrugged. “I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.”
They were silent for a moment. The instant of empty awkwardness reminded him he didn’t have time for any of this.
“You haven’t seen the news tonight?” he asked.
“Nope, not as a rule,” she said.
“Well, don’t let the kid watch, but you should. I’ve got to go. Whatever you do, don’t go downtown.”
He put the helmet on, started the bike, and headed out of the driveway. It was abrupt, considering a moment earlier they had shared a smile, but there wasn’t time to explain.
Jonathan slowed for nothing. He swerved against traffic, fighting the flow of cars fleeing out of downtown. He split lanes and drove up on sidewalks when he had to.
He didn’t have to pay attention to where he was going, as the signal in his head told him he was getting closer. Collin had never told him what it was like to drive the motorcycle on the streets. Jonathan found it calming as it took most of his focus, and he thought of little else than the task of balancing, turning, not being hit by the panicked drivers, not letting his strength damage the bike while still maneuvering closer to his target.
With what mental capacity he had left to spare, he was trying to think of what he was actually going to do when he got there. It was one thing to assess the situation once he had a real look at it, but he would like to go in with a strategy at least.
Staying alive is a good strategy, he thought.
There were smarter ways to deal with this than just showing up. He had to go into this thinking he was going to survive. To do that he needed to start thinking like a survivor. He wouldn’t be out here if this thing wasn’t killing people, so task one was getting it away from bystanders and housing. If he was going to move it, then it had to be somewhere that gave him an upper hand. That just begged the question, what could possibly give him the advantage?
All he could think of was that he knew the city better than the creature, or at least he assumed he did. For that matter he could assume he knew the entire earth better, but how did that help him? He didn’t know a thing about the beast, let alone what would kill it.
That wasn’t necessarily true, though. If what was true on earth was true wherever this thing had come from, he might know more than he’d thought. He’d taken anatomy and physiology classes. It had characteristics he recognized. Large incisors and excessive sharp teeth, all predatory features. Long ears, indicated a developed sense of hearing. This was just becoming a list of his disadvantages though, none of which helped him.
It walked on two legs, yet thinking about it now, it had elongated arms, which might mean it was like a gorilla, moving on knuckles and feet when the situation called for it. This meant Jonathan would likely lose in a sprint, as four legs tended to move faster than two unless the terrain gave his smaller body better ability to maneuver. Again, this didn’t help him kill it.
Then a thought occurred to him. It seemed like a thin chance if any, but he doubted he’d have an opportunity to think of anything else in the time he had. He’d have to get the creature to—
The headlights of a truck cutting into his lane flashed across his vision and he was forced swerve, narrowly sweeping into the thin space between the car parked on the sidewalk and the little room the truck had left in the lane.
“Pay attention dammit,” he said to himself inside the helmet.
He wondered then if he’d even live long enough to maneuver the creature anywhere. Quickly, he silenced the part of his mind that wanted to go down that line of thinking.
Stop getting in your own way, he thought.
He was nearly out of time. He didn’t need the sensation in his head to tell him he was close. He could hear the gunfire over the roar of the motorcycle. When he turned a corner he finally saw the conflict first hand a few blocks ahead. SWAT and police cars blocked his view of the creature but the gunfire was deafening. Men opened fire from behind their cars. They looked panicked, some on the verge of fleeing. From where he was, he could see one of the SWAT vans topple over from the force of some impact he hadn’t been able to see.
False Challenger! Imposter! said the voice in his head, syncing with the harsh guttural growling in the chaos.
Only Jonathan understood what was happening. The creature thought the men firing at him were challenging it. It was expecting someone more physically capable. It was expecting him.
He pulled into an alley and killed the engine. Leaning against the wall of the building that blocked his view, he pulled the helmet off and dropped it to the ground. He closed his eyes. He hated that his plan was so flimsy. He hated knowing where he wanted it and not knowing how he’d manage to get it there. If that damn blond stranger had just told him what was going to happen, he might have had a real plan. He took in some deep breaths to hold onto his courage. Once he turned that corner, there was no going back.
He reached into his pocket for his cell phone, to see if his roommates tried to reach him. There were no missed calls, only one text message from Paige.
“SWAT failed. Army not mobilizing fast enough. Do whatever it takes Jonathan.”
It was that last sentence that disturbed him. He didn’t want to imagine what she must have seen, but knew he wouldn’t have to. He’d see it for himself soon.
Get a grip, Tibbs, he thought. Need to get the thing’s attention off the police. Find its weaknesses. Need to get the advantage. Now move before anyone else dies.
He turned the corner and made his way into the madness. As he neared the scene he started passing bodies, most in pieces. Half a man’s torso laid under a riot shield that had been snapped in half. Empty shells from all the wasted rounds littered the streets. Cars were tossed about, some lying on their sides others completely turned over. Weapons were abandoned in the streets or forcibly removed from their owners. Jonathan wondered if he would die as easily as these men had. What did it matter that he was strong if he could be torn in half as easily as anyone here?
He dropped down next to an officer firing into the circle. The man ducked back behind his vehicle and took notice of him there. He immediately started screaming at Jonathan for being an idiot; it was a testament to the officer’s bravery that he hadn’t run. Jonathan got the gist of what he was yelling, although he could hardly make it out this close to so much gunfire. “Damn fool,” “no place for a civilian,” and “police matter,” were in there. Jonathan agreed with the officer. This was no place for him. Why hadn’t the blond stranger been smart enough to see that? Now hundreds were going to die, while he was busy being a damn fool.
Imposter! Imposter! The beast roared again.
The translated words, spoken by his own internal voice, were like having his own thoughts turn on him, reaffirming the doubt he already felt.
Then it struck him, a surge of hope was born as he realized it. If it was surprised and angered every time it killed someone so easily, it must not be able to tell who the challenger was, it could not sense him like he could it. He did have an advantage.
Get its attention, Jonathan thought.
From above the barrier, he could see what had unhinged these men fighting around him. This thing, it couldn’t seem to tell the difference between the people running from it or the people fighting it, or it just didn’t care. It was piling the dead, stacking its kills one on top of the other in the street like trophies.
Jonathan wasn’t ready to see it; he couldn’t take it all in. With terrible understanding, he realized he’d smelled the blood. It pooled in the street beneath them. The odor was a visceral thing, flooding his lungs and threatening to empty his stomach. His eyes darted from one lifeless form to the next, he didn’t know what to do with the images and he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t looked away.
His eyes came to rest on a single color standing out in the pile. It was small and thrown so carelessly into the mass of bodies; pink, impossible to miss against the predominantly blues and blacks of police and SWAT uniforms. A jacket, a child’s jacket, a girl; she couldn’t have been more than six or seven. She was still, her body so fractured, her limbs and fingers contorted in unnatural angles, her jaw dislodged turning her childhood innocence into the very essence of wrongness. The little girl, the thing had picked her up and broken her, until nothing about her was right.
Her eyes stared back at him, lifeless, demanding an explanation from within the fallen. His vision a tunnel, the girl was all he could see, her dead gaze questioning him.