by Ben Archer
Lifting her off the ground relieves most of the problem. She can’t kick nearly as hard if there’s nothing to push against. As an added bonus, I get to use the rolled steel as a bat to swing at the remaining townspeople. It works, but more rips begin to appear in the metal after only a few hits. We need to get out of here before it splits all the way. Although, the carnage ―walls of flames and fire― have made the location of the gate a complete guess.
So I try making up for what I lack in knowledge with sheer determination. Our direction will be based purely on the space available to build up the needed speed. Three short jumps later, we’re sailing out over the arena wall, with no one following us!
Our escape is actually going shockingly well! This positive turn of events makes me almost ignore my hip tagging the concrete on the way back down. Compared to the other ass beatings I’ve had today, this one is a mere scratch. The only real damage it does is shaking the wiggling kid a bit looser.
We’re only taking turns bending the fragile metal. She’ll push it out, I’ll press it back in. I have to plead between jumps for her to calm down. The words fall on predictably deaf ears. All I can do is keep on jumping and hope it holds out long enough to do… something?
One way or another, she’s coming out of this thing soon. I figure have about two minutes to figure out what to do with the pint-sized tornado between my arms.
Maybe less.
Chapter 19: Hold On
I don’t even get the full two minutes before she makes it out. While my momentum keeps me going forward, she drops straight down into a dense group of trees. She takes another sizable chunk of my left shoulder on the way.
I eventually land on a riverbank that would be serene, except for the constant string of obscenities spewing out of my mouth. Partially from losing the girl, but mainly from the steady stream of blood pouring out. It’s fairly easy to see the alarmingly large puddle already accumulating under me. Here’s where a choice has to be made:
1) Go back in and get the insane vampire child?
2) Get really, really, really far away from here?
She’s probably busy biting the head off a rabbit so I wouldn’t want to interrupt that, plus I don’t stand a chance against her in my current condition. I can barely stand up and thick blood is leaking from pretty much everywhere.
Unfortunately, the leaves are already shaking from the kid plowing through the forest. The growing rumble makes it painfully clear that the choice has already been made for me. She’s coming out.
I anxiously watch the line of dark trees for some sign of my approaching doom. Tense moments click by while looking for something to signal where the angry little wrecking ball will be coming out. Finally, I spot one shadow that isn’t swaying like all the rest… it’s moving in a more forwardly direction. She isn’t coming out, but an entire tree is!
Mostly by luck, the largest parts miss me. Only a few of the thin outer branches actually make contact. Some crack like a sharp whip, others connect more like a Louisville Slugger. However, it’s not the physical pain that hurts me the most. It’s the knowledge that “she threw a damn tree at me” that ultimately sends me stumbling out into deeper water. I go out in search of some kind of protection, but the slippery rocks make standing, let alone running, impossible. They’re coated in a thick slime that keeps me splashing around, instead of focusing on the hostile woods.
My eyes can’t even make sense of the dark puzzle. The gentle rustling leaves disguise the dangerous secret hiding inside. They’re the perfect canvas on which to construct imaginary creatures crawling from the void. Could she be torturing me? This doesn’t feel like the wild, uncontrollable girl from earlier. That’s when I wonder, “Am I her mountain lion??”
Will I die in the same cruel fashion my monster came to life? Flashbacks of all the nasty things I did to that creature convince me karma really is a bitch. Shouldn’t I have some feeling of acceptance at least? Don’t people get a grand awakening that brings them comfort in their final moments? Well, that’s the last thing I feel right now!
Quinn doesn’t wait for my internal struggle to finish before roaring out of the shadows. She rips back the shadowy curtains by leaping from the top of one of the tallest trees imaginable. She’s so high that it feels as if she’s falling in slow motion. Even with the extra time, all I can do is sink deeper into the slimy water. There’s no way of avoiding the coming collision, so I just throw up my hands in desperation. That’s when the arms that were supposed to block her, end up buckling and sending us both deeper into the river.
The only thing visible through the cloudy water is a mess of thrashing limbs and tangled bodies. She moves so fast that it looks like eight arms are attacking me at once. Thankfully, after a few seconds, our fight stirs up so much sediment she can’t seem to find me anymore! I take advantage by quickly sliding over to where only an occasional scratch can reach me.
The tide officially turns when I find a sturdy rock to anchor against. Using the new-found footing, I simply reach in and pluck the little wolverine from the muddy blizzard.
While I have to pause and take a much needed breath, her constant violence never skips a beat. She actually gets faster! Most of the skin on my forearm disappears within a matter of seconds! All concern for her well-being vanishes immediately when I have to basically heave her off in any direction just to end the assault.
The blind throw ends up sending her toward the middle of the rushing river. She flips end-over-end a few times before being swallowed by the swift current. I rush to sneak in a few quick breathes while waiting for her inevitable return. The pressure of breathing pushes my fresh cuts wide open to expose them to the freezing water. Crouching is the only relief I can find. It’s cold, but at least the raw flesh isn’t being forced open anymore.
Minutes pass without a stray ripple to signal the start of round two. The little beast has been gone for way longer than she should. Either she can breathe under water now ─or she can’t swim
Shit.
I tear off toward the spot she went under. Each rapid step pulls out every ounce of pain possible. It drives the icy river into my open wounds like sharpened icicles. The immense throbbing brings on the familiar twinkling stars and tunnel vision of a rapidly approaching blackout. Diving under only intensifies the overwhelming sensation of swimming down a dark hallway.
I can only trust my hands are still pulling me into the abyss. The ability to see (or feel) them went away as soon as I went under. But that’s not the worst part, it’s the thought that she could reach out of the darkness at any moment. Her deadly fast fingers could pull me under, and I would never see it coming. However, those fears are put to rest when I find the two dim candles at the end of the long tunnel. There’s barely enough vision left to even see her eyes glowing in the dark. The angry girl has fallen all the way to the moss-covered bottom of a deceptively deep river. Although that still hasn’t stopped her from continuing the rage filled, one-sided fight.
Nothing’s changed. She’s the same wild manic that’s chewed me up and spit me out several times now. My body goes limp without the hope to keep it driving forward. Watching her struggle to reach me with those swatting claws drains all remaining life from me. The spreading poison, her monster coming to life, the mental torture she’s endured, all of it has created this rampaging creature in front of me.
So what has to happen now… Hayden Flynn could never do. I cowardly retreat to allow the monster to return. He has no guilt or shame holding him back. He’s survival in its purest form. An emotionless tyrant that will keep my arms locked when they desperately want to reach for her. He knows she can’t be pulled up like this. It would threaten his survival, and he would never let that happen.
The monster only permits me to float along next to her. I have to watch as her movements grow slower, more pained, for what feels like an eternity. I remain stuck, trapped in this underwater hell, forced to watch the life fade from her hateful eyes.
Eventually the
waves from her snapping jaws fade away. She’s become nothing more than a puppet guided by invisible hands by the time the last air bubble is carried away. Her body sways softly in the current from side to side. It no longer moves on its own.
Quinn’s gone.
So now the countdown to pull off a miracle begins. My arms and legs strain to close the distance between us.
Four seconds.
I lose time when my hurt hand slips off while pulling her in. One meager second doesn’t sound like much, but it could actually be the difference between life and death here.
Two seconds.
My numb fingers can’t even tell what they’re grabbing ahold of anymore. They just dig at whatever’s within reach.
Five seconds.
I’m kicking with legs too frozen to be of much use anymore.
Three seconds.
Finding the surface takes another setback when the broken thumb can’t keep its shaky grip on the girl.
Five seconds.
Precious seconds tick away as I simply try not to completely drop her.
Five seconds.
I tangle the busted hand up in the dress so the fingers won’t slip again.
Seven seconds.
My lungs heave from the stale air rotting them from the inside out.
Four seconds.
The harder I kick, the farther away the surface gets.
Three seconds.
My lungs reject the decomposing air.
One second.
My cheeks FINALLY shatter the rough surface of the river! My mouth was so eager to take in the fresh air that it forgot to clear the choppy water. I end up choking down a few gallons of the foul-smelling river.
Two seconds.
The frigid air burns my lungs like hot fire. Surprisingly, any body part that’s not completely numb, is ablaze.
Five more seconds
I’m shaking so hard it’s impossible to control most of my body. It’s seizing violently while trying to wrap the crushed hand back up in the dress. Getting it to stay will free up my good arm to help get us ashore quicker.
Seventeen seconds.
Her face won’t stop dipping underwater. I don’t bother wasting the time it would take to rearrange her; just keep pressing forward.
Six seconds.
At this point, my numb legs barely move anymore.
Seven seconds.
Honestly, I can’t even tell when my feet drag across the rocks close to shore. It’s not until I’m smacking my hands against them that I notice.
Two seconds.
The slimy rocks, that were hard to navigate earlier, are virtually impossible now. Mostly because of the dead legs flopping around underneath me. Digging my knees in the mud is the only way to get the leverage to toss her ashore. It’s not a good throw, but good enough.
Three seconds.
Without the added weight of the girl, plus being able to use of both hands, the crawl from the watery grave goes much quicker. Still not “fast” though.
Five seconds.
I end up flopping around the choppy surf, desperately trying to pull myself in. I eventually use her dress as a rope to literally pull myself ashore.
Eight seconds.
I waste no more time in tilting her head back and yanking her jaw open. Her chest rises and falls with every forceful breath leaving my mouth. I’ve gambled her life on being able to pull this off.
Six seconds.
Her blue lips and pale face show no signs of life.
Sixteen seconds.
What have I done?!?
Twelve seconds.
I watched her drown right in front of me!
Let it happen!
Why didn’t I pull her up???
I could have fought her off!
It’s that fictional thought that pulls me back to cruel reality. We would have both died if I tried that. I would have been gutted and she would have drown. No, I reluctantly accept that this was the only way we could have both gotten up here. It still doesn’t help much with the crushing panic.
I start desperately searching for any small sign of life after each new breath.
Ten seconds.
Nothing!
My unnerving terror is resembling anger more than concern. That fevered mindset leads to smashing into her frozen chest with both closed fists. They don’t even stop after feeling the unmistakable shift of a dislocated rib. They just keep beating her like a madman, without ever accepting the possibility she’s already gone.
Five seconds.
All that unwavering belief is finally rewarded with the most beautiful eruption of vomit ever! A steady stream of wonderful, muddy water is dribbling out with every new cough. I set her up to clear out the rest, while attempting to regain the composure needed to only tap hard enough to remove the remaining fluid. What follows are several lengthy coughs, each growing deeper, and darker.
Chapter 20: Hold On Too
Nothing has changed. Her eyes reveal the same furious glare as before. As we speak, there’s a hard valley carving across the ridge of her furling brow. It runs down to perfectly blend with a wide snarling mouth. Her lethal fingers begin crawling their way back up my still-bleeding arms.
Really?
After all this, it’s going to happen again???
My fist instinctively buries itself between her pale blue eyes. I didn’t tell it to. I don’t think the monster did either. Maybe it’s simply as frustrated as I am? Either way, it had to happen. That single, desperate punch, is enough to leave her an unconscious ragdoll on the edge of the desolate river. Then I turn into a hysterically screaming fool, “Where do we go from here Quinn?” My voice breaks from the physical and mental strain. What happens when she wakes up ready to kill again? Then what?
Kill her???
How would I even do that????
Serendipity is defined as “The occurrence of events, by chance, in a happy or beneficial way.” As odd as it may sound, my serendipitous moment comes in the form of a comically overweight beaver sitting just a few short feet away. The chubby little fellow drags me from the sticky tar pits of insanity just when I needed it the most.
I suddenly go from screaming at the unconscious kid, to calmly watching the silent creature watch me back. We share a look that makes it pretty clear we’re both surprised to have found each other. The rotund rodent’s hilariously large eyes are so ridiculously funny that I can’t help but to burst into tearful laughter. His tiny head resting squarely on top of a massively round belly, makes him resemble a Hershey Kiss or jolly snowman more than a living creature.
The abrupt laughter causes him to spill the branches he had been meticulously gathering. That’s when he makes the difficult decision to abandon his hard earned loot to make a not-so-quick escape. It takes several adorably awkward rolls to make it back over onto his petite feet, but after that there’s no looking back! His chunky tummy sways back and forth like a half-filled water balloon while making his frantic getaway. Although he does stumble a few times from the shifting weight, he always stays moving forward. He starts making loud clicking noises that echo all the way down the valley. They make it sound as if there’s a dozen beavers, instead of just the one.
The fun distraction comes to an end as his flat tail and fuzzy butt slip into an extra tall patch of grass. It served its purpose though; my mind comes back from the brief comic interlude in a totally different place. All the anger and frustration is gone. In its place is a more realistic view of our current situation and, realistically, we’re still screwed.
The dull moonlight paints everything in a shade of grey that makes it feel even more desolate than it already did. There’s a growing sense of dread that the next shoe is ready to drop at any moment. Seriously though, why haven’t we seen the townspeople yet?
They could have easily followed the noise we’ve been making. I mean, she threw a damn tree and I’ve been ranting loudly for over five minutes. I guess we should take advantage of this unbelievable head star
t, instead of question it. I begin by rolling Quinn up into a neat package and clumsily staggering to my feet. At first I blame the slippery rocks for throwing my balance off, but soon a whole new wave of nausea kicks in. One I know all too well.
Hunger.
The extremely rubbery knees make it obvious I’m fading fast. My last meal should have lasted much longer than this. Normally a feeding that size would’ve lasted for weeks! My body must’ve used it all up trying to heal from the countless beatings I’ve taken lately.
Another disturbing trend is the volume of blood still leaking down my side. That should have stopped a long time ago too. I try using a ripped section of shirt as a makeshift bandage to slow it down. It helps, but there’s still a decent amount oozing around it. The blood loss could account for some of the nausea, plus the sensation of wading through wet cement with every pained step.
But, since passing out here is definitely not an option, we need to keep moving. But to where? I guess that, for now, our best answer seems to be “not here”.
Life usually demands a definitive answer: Yes OR No.
This way OR That way.
Right now, my choice simply has to be ANY way.
So I heave the (mostly) dead girl off the ground and take off in a random direction. It only takes about five steps before figuring out carrying the extra weight will not go very well. My arms refuse to lift any higher than shoulder height so the best I can do is sorta pull her along. She slips further and further down with each uncomfortable step. After five minutes, she’s fallen to about mid-thigh. By ten, she’s close to knee level and I’m basically dragging her. Then, two minutes later, she’s yanked out of my arms by a small weed! A WEED IS STRONG ENOUGH TO PULL HER AWAY FROM ME!
We’re going absolutely nowhere fast. To put it mildly, I’m as worn-out, exhausted, and broken as a living person can be. I flop myself down on the ground. My defeated body can no longer combat the virus, so it’s simply shutting down. I can feel it eating away at any muscle that refuses to stop moving. Just sitting here hurts.