Red Sky: Rising

by Ben Archer

  “No need to rub it in. I get it. Hahaha.” I promptly slam the door shut behind me with sarcasm firmly in place.

  “No, but seriously!” She pounds the flimsy steering wheel with those damn tiny fists between each word.

  “Really, I get it!!!” My agitation is clearly showing through now. I have to remind myself where all the laughter comes from. I mean, of all people, I should understand. It would honestly be a lot easier if her little pounding fists of fury weren’t such a constant beacon of irritation. Maybe it’s stupid, but it’s embarrassing to have been knocked out by a hand that small!

  I decide to do the completely mature thing, and turn away from the giggling girl. Our tables have turned, that’s all. The logical side of me knows this. I need to suck it up and move on, but for whatever egotistical reason, I can’t. Even when the loud engine revs back up to drown out the incessant snickering, I know it’s still there.

  It gnaws on my mind as the tires chew through the desert towards Titan. The only distraction is when the massive central tower swallows the entire sun. Its cold shadow helps my mind finally move on from the embarrassment. The insecurities get shoved even further back when we reach the entrance to the intimidating city. We’re greeted by a massive sheet of metal bolted to the first building. On it is a wild looking bird with sharp, circular wings. I don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t fill me with optimism for what’s to come.

  It’s been a good life, right?

  At least it’s been a long one.

  Chapter 34: Welcome to the Jungle (You’re gonna die)

  Nothing about this place sits well with my growing paranoia. Strangely, it’s the total lack of guns, guards, and gates that freaks me out the most. I don’t know if it’s that I’ve grown so accustomed to them, or perhaps my expectations were just so completely off from actual boring reality. There should have been ravenous hordes roving trash-littered streets, angry mutant beavers, and bad guys punching fluffy kittens on every corner. Instead, there’s regular old streets filled with people rushing off to who knows where, while barely even noticing each other. Just like every other big city!

  The only oddity here is that the wild bird from outside is EVERY. DAMN. WHERE. It’s on street signs, graffiti tags, tattoos, and a whole lot of very colorful clothing. Some only have the giant bird, most add the word “Harbinger”. The name sounds familiar, even if I’m not exactly sure why. Whatever it is, they sure take a lot of pride in the menacing avian symbol. Another oddity is that no one has even bothered to look twice at our beat up truck cruising along. My crushing sense of dread has, consequently, lowered to more of a moderate suspicion of disaster. Similarly, Quinn’s white knuckle death grip on the wheel has become more of a casual ten and two.

  We haven’t said a single word since entering the city. A permanent silence has settled over the uncomfortable cabin. Occasionally we’ll exchange an uneasy glance, but that’s about it. There’s certainly not the same special connection as before. That was so strong it made me believe a complete stranger over my best friend. Hell, it’s probably the reason we’ve been able to make it this far.

  We’ve hit a few rough patches to be sure. Turning someone into a bloodsucking killer is a bump on any road to friendship. The crazy rant in the desert probably didn’t help much either… My mind continues searching for meaning behind our extended silence. The only other thoughts that can board the philosophical train are nagging questions of familiar self-doubt. Why did we come here? The memory we’re following could be a week, year, or decade old? This is where he was, but where he is now could be totally different!

  My first instinct is to regroup before making any decisions. We need to find a place to hide, heal, and figure out what to do next. This is basically my plan from Vegas with an extra emphasis on healing, due to my frequent, unexpected, trips out of the speeding truck. I could also use some answers from Quinn. Like, “Who was the guy from the wreck?” and “Why was she so freaked out about him?”

  Maybe my mistake was getting too comfortable with the idea of having any kind of control at all. How could I have ever thought life will be anything more than an endless pinball game? Whatever the reason, in a flash, all that’s gone.

  The shape appears too fast to be anything more than a blur in front of our truck. That doesn’t stop it from hitting us with the strength of a runaway train. The bumper is instantly buried deep in crushed pavement, while the rear is launched skyward. The already small cabin folds in even tighter as everything lunges forward. I tumble onto the plastic dashboard so it can fill the space where my lungs used to be. The painful groans are eerily easy to hear since they occur during the silence between impact and our inevitable return to the ground. But the calm doesn’t last long.

  We get immersed in a hurricane of swirling sparks and grinding concrete the instant we land. The severe impact makes it almost impossible to even remain in the car during our wild inverted slide. I somehow manage to secure myself in a corner, while Quinn locks onto the steering wheel. The entire cabin lights up from the fireworks pouring in through the holes that used to be windows. They force my eyes shut, and without the visual stimulus, I’m left listening to the unbearable racket of the roof grinding away on the road. The larger sparks bite my naked arms, although there’s not a damn thing I can do about that right now.

  The relentless slide lasts so long that my teeth are still vibrating after its eventual stop. I try opening my eyes, but the tense muscles won’t release more than one at a time. My entire body has the disoriented sensation of being flipped completely upside down.

  Because it is.

  In fact, the entire car is lying dead on its crumpled roof.

  I go through the checklist to make sure everything still works. Breathing must be fine since my nose is filled with the sweet acidic smell of radiator fluid. My ears, which I thought were ringing, are instead hearing the loud buzz of free spinning wheels. Both eyes are finally open to see just how much smaller our cabin has suddenly become. Now there’s only inches separating us from the crushed roof and shattered concrete. The front of our truck appears to have been buried beneath a large mound of crushed grey concrete. Only the side windows are left free of debris, and they’re triangular slits at this point.

  So it’s safe to say they know we’re here…

  “You ok, Tiger?” I attempt asking. It comes out as a pre-teen squeak due to the knees that have been firmly pressed up into my throat. It doesn’t matter since she doesn’t waste time answering me anyway. She’s already rolling into a compact ball to flip herself back upright. After a quick second of almost accidental eye contact, hunks of seat and metal begin flying throughout the truck. There’s no method to where the ripped pieces go. She simply slings them aside recklessly.

  Eventually enough pieces go missing to make our dark cabin appear a lot brighter. It’s safe to say that whatever hit us won’t have to wait much longer to meet her. I obviously need to work on getting out of my flipped position much faster. Which is much easier said than done. My attempt at her effortless roll goes off more like a drunken bear than graceful jungle cat. By the time I finally make it over, and manage to crawl out of the narrow hole, she’s already found our wall. And it’s not what I ever expected.

  At all.

  Standing directly in front of us is a very angelic looking guy. I mean he’s absolutely captivating! He has these intense, burning eyes that draw you in with some invisible magnetism. He radiates so intensely that you almost ignore the one feature that should be instantly noticeable-- his lips are completely sewn together with a thick brown thread! The skin is fully grown over, so it must have happened long ago. Oh, and that damn bird is tattooed down his side.

  “Well, who the happy hell are you?” Obviously forgetting the problem with asking him any type of question. He answers by stretching one long finger across his sealed mouth in a “shooshing” motion. I impatiently answer with a different finger of my own. He doesn’t respond in any noticeable way except for taking one
intimidatingly large step towards me. I can already tell that this is not going to end without some (probably a lot of) extreme violence.

  Quinn decides to shoot first. She instantly rips off one of the mangled truck doors and flings it in his direction. The speedy man calmly swats it away as if it were a simple buzzing fly. It unfortunately has about as much of an effect as my raised finger does. None.

  “Whoa! Silent and deadly!” The obnoxious pun is a desperate attempt to disguise my own steadily declining confidence. Somehow though, the little wildcat is completely un-phased by the unexpected block. She already has another door, and a warped tire, on the way. Until they meet the same sad ending as the first. His brutally swift hands brush them aside without even altering his casual pace. Each step has stayed the same length, stride, and speed. Not even his eyebrows flinch while destroying everything Quinn throws at him.

  “Is there someone else we can talk to? Or maybe we should just come back later?” My jokes continue to go unappreciated by the silent duo. Trash talking is not nearly as fun when no one talks back.

  Although my frustration seems minor compared to Quinn’s. She hurls a few more things: a nearby stop sign, more tires, a passing car, and eventually herself, in a visible fit of rage.

  The way she lands is almost too disturbing to watch. She cocks her thumbs out into perfect little wedges that slide down into the corner of his eye sockets. The rest of her body is folded into a compact cannonball that slams into his bare chest. The impact must crack several bones, but you would never know by looking at him. He doesn’t even try to stop her! She’s squeezing so hard the veins of her hands bulge and dance, yet all he does is stand there!

  You get the feeling he’s letting her finish before taking his turn. She obliges by continuing on until her arms drop from exhaustion. After that she’s tossed aside with the same kind of casual pitch a kid would give an old toy. There’s nothing about it that’s meant to harm her in any way; simply get rid of her. Now all that’s left between us is… well, nothing.

  There are suddenly no more jokes waiting on my tongue. My mouth has been drawn back into the tight pucker of a man sucking on life’s newest lemon. He obviously sees this apprehension as well, because he cocks his head to taunt me into coming closer. I take the bait, and before I know it, I’m lying on the ground next to Quinn. Well, technically not true. She had already been back on her feet when I came bowling through, so now we’re both on the ground.

  There will be no winner to this fight.

  Only survivors.

  To increase the odds of that being us, I gladly surrender all control to the monster who’s been impatiently waiting. The minute he takes over there’s a brand new dynamic to our fight! Instead of me, it’s my monster getting his ass kicked. Not even he can phase the angelic man playfully dodging every punch, kick, bite, and scratch with ease.

  At one point, when Quinn and I are thrown against the same wall, I recommend running as fast and far as possible. She again doesn’t bother talking and stubbornly charges back in for more. This time my feet don’t move quite as quickly. This guy terrifies even my monster in a way I’ve never seen.

  I have to watch from the sidelines as Quinn returns alone. Although she seems to stay in the fight much better this time around! It’s almost good enough to unfreeze my cautious monster, until it notices that the silent man isn’t even trying. He’s merely playing as Quinn goes full-on psycho. Even worse, his facial expression and heart rate never changes.

  My feet finally release. Not because I’m happy to rejoin the fight, but because if they don’t ─she’s not coming back. I have to completely unleash my monster. No restraints, no rules, certainly no morality, just do whatever it takes to bring down the unstoppable man.

  This time our monsters stay in perfect harmony. Quinn and I move in a flawless dance of untethered violence that finds every fault, flaw, and opening in his defense. Amazingly, it works! For exactly eight hits… then the silent man stops playing and comes up swinging.

  HARD.

  After those lucky few shots, his casual speed disappears and all I can see is the ghost of where he used to be. Then he casually steps back to let us marinate in staggered shock. The corners of his mouth are drawn back into the first sign of emotion I’ve seen in him. It doesn’t pull back far enough to wrinkle the skin, but clearly shows his great satisfaction. No matter how coordinated, fast or fearless we fought, he’s just a totally different beast than us.

  Quinn and I look toward each other at the same time. Judging by our shared expressions, neither of us have any clue what to do. I happen to notice the three perfect cuts running across her forearms. They’re evenly spaced, straight as an arrow, and equally spread between wrist and elbow. Then I notice a burning sensation of my own. Sure enough, I have the exact same incisions, in the exact same places. They’re not deep enough to do any real damage, only meant as a warning to play by the rules.

  His rules.

  He’s the cat, we’re the ball of yarn.

  After our lesson, he takes two calm steps backward, and cocks his head to the side again. This time it’s directed at Quinn. I remember how this show ended last time. Before it can play out again, I snatch up the little wolverine and run.

  Very fast.

  Very far.

  It’s not glorious to turn tail and haul ass, but it’s better than being cut into little sushi strips. Besides, it’s not as easy as it sounds. She’s leaking slippery blood, pissed off, and really doesn’t want to go anywhere with me. Finding any kind of grip is absolutely impossible. At least her attacks aren’t directed at me this time!

  So the question of the day has to be, “How do you stop an unstoppable man?” Can he even be stopped? Then after a few blocks a plan forms that’s so damn crazy, so completely ridiculous, it HAS to work! Mainly because it’s nothing that he (or anyone) could ever see coming!

  It all starts with getting some distance between us. And, for some mysterious reason, that doesn’t seem to be a problem! He’s following us, just not very close. Next step is to find a tall building with a flat roof. Since there’s a few to choose from, I settle for the closest and dig right in. Quinn decides to make life easier by not struggling during the entire thing. Pointing up is all it takes to get her to start climbing along with me.

  We chew up the formerly smooth wall, making sure to keep an eye on him the entire way. Every thirty seconds I’ll check his progress. It does seem he’s picked up the lazy pace a little bit. He’s steadily made up ground each time I’ve look back, but fortunately it won’t matter. We’ve already reached the top with plenty of time left to bring my plan to life.

  To keep the violence loving Quinn out of the way, I sling her through the exit door and down a flight of stairs. Sure, it’s a bit extreme, but I’ll really need twenty uninterrupted seconds to make this plan work.

  The final step is to remove the weathered, two-ton behemoth of an air conditioner sitting across the roof. There’s no chance of lifting the whole thing, so I simply remove one of the crate-sized motors that should make for a perfect anchor. The sloppy surgery results in a quick shower of electric sparks, then lots of clattering gears grinding to a halt. My best guess would be this big hunk of steel weighs in around three hundred pounds. That’s not as heavy as I would like, however, given the lack of options, it should do. And with all the miniature explosions working their way up the building, it appears the silent man is almost here.

  Ready or not.

  Tremors from his forceful climb shake the soles of my shoes. I peek over to line myself up with the little puffs of brick dust wafting out. I can feel every muscle swelling with mounting anticipation. They’re so anxious that they accidently crumple the hunk of steel in my hands. Not that it will matter much.

  The sound reaches the lip of the building.

  Three.

  Pebbles begin falling over the edge from the vibration.

  Two.

  I see the first finger rise above the concrete ledge.
>
  One.

  Every muscle surges to send the heavy motor on its way. I want to scream “Catch!” as the metal behemoth collides with the man, but only a strained grunt comes out. The loss of the funny quip doesn’t stop the throw from being a perfect shot that lands in the dead center of his chest.

  Like catching a falling star, all he can do is wrap his arms around, and go along for the ride. For a brief moment I get to enjoy genuine terror in the emotionless man. His fearful eyes leave me with the kind of satisfaction that’s bitter sweet to taste. By the time I reach the edge, his journey is already halfway over. He’s nothing more than a speck dropping between two extremely tall buildings.

  Of all the plans I’ve pulled out of my ass lately, this one goes down as the one that shouldn’t have worked, yet did anyway. He was a vicious, insanely skilled man, and now he’s nothing more than the bloody center of a concrete crater.

  Chapter 35: HARD LOVE

  Quinn throws the door open while I’m busy looking at the mess on the street below. And by “open,” I mean send it shooting off the hinges. I’m amazed the shock doesn’t send me over the edge as well. My own pounding heartbeat almost drowns out the terrifying breathing of the girl in the doorway.

  *Almost*

  She would be spitting dragon fire if it was physically possible. “Hey there, Tiger… how ya doing?” I try to diffuse our tense situation before becoming a second crater on the street. She’s having none of it. There’s no screaming or shouting, although I wish there was. We could use something to break our rigid standoff. It looks like she’s trying to find someone else to direct the rage at —unfortunately, there’s only me.

  I finally get my wish when a mysterious cracking noise echoes across the city.

  Then another.

  And another.

  And several more.

  They appear every few seconds in a constant loop. The slight delay of the echo makes each one reach my ears at a different time. This makes them seem even more haunting than they already are. It takes an embarrassing amount of time to identify the common sound of two hands coming together. That’s right, it’s simple slow clapping.