by Byrd, Daniel
"Joel."
Joel could see Katherine's reflection in the window from the light in the hallway. He must've been standing at the window for a while, because she had showered and was wearing a bright blue summer dress that complimented her well. She smiled, hoping she had even a shred of his attention. “Come downstairs. You need to eat something. I left some clothes in the washroom. Clean yourself up and get down there."
Joel nodded silently and walked across the hallway to shower. The warm water felt good to his skin, but just as he began to enjoy it he turned it down to a chilling freeze. He didn't deserve luxuries. Those were for the saints and the innocent. As he stepped out of the shower he reached for the clothes put out for him, but something else caught his eye. Hanging on the towel rack was a dark purple dress covered in dirt and something else…blood stains. It was the dress Katherine has been wearing. He examined it in his hands and saw a tear in the front. It didn't make sense to him; why was this dress tarnished so? What had happened before he had awoken here?
After a few more minutes of getting dressed, Joel descended the stairs and looked for the den down the hallway. Which door was it?
"My favorite color is blue, but you don't see me with blue hair, do you dear?" a woman's voice said from somewhere in a room at the end of the hallway towards the front of the house. Joel assumed he was headed in the right direction. He stopped in the doorway and looked around. It was a nice place. Small, but cozy, just the way he normally liked it. The warmth did nothing to pry away the chills of his thoughts every few seconds. One thought of relief of being away from that Hell was constantly being ripped asunder by ten more of his fracturing mind. He subconsciously took a seat on the couch next to Katherine, who was chatting away with Mrs. Elliot. Mr. Elliot was across the room next to his wife in his own chair, examining the cup of tea in his hand with a sour face while listening to the radio. The man was old, but he had the look about him that said that he'd seen a lot of hardships in life. If anything, he was the only person in the world right now in the same realm that Joel was in. They made eye contact, and for a moment Joel felt like the two of them really were the only men left in the world as he knew it. The bags under Mr. Elliot’s eyes and wrinkles along his face spoke of days not missed. He reminded Joel of his own father in appearance, though he hoped he didn't drink as much. The old man was really focused on that radio as he stared him down, and after a few moments of listening in, Joel could understand why.
The infection was spreading through more areas across the world. A number of places in Africa were now affected, leading to genocidal groups stepping up their slaughtering games in an effort to scapegoat what they deemed as inferior groups of people. China was having enough issues keeping the population isolated from random outbreaks, and riots were bountiful. Military forces everywhere were frenzied, and the casualties were only growing higher. Anarchy had started in Egypt. In just a few days, humanity had fallen farther from unity than any other time in history.
"Dinner will be ready in ten minutes," Mrs. Elliot said to Joel, getting his attention, "I'm just waiting for the roast to finish."
Joel tried to bring himself back into his current environment as he smiled half-heartedly and nodded. "Yes ma'am. Thank you."
"So, if you'll pardon the question, but why don't you two leave?" Katherine asked.
Mrs. Elliot chuckled. “We've lived here for the majority of our lives, and our marriage. We're not leaving just because of another terror threat.”
Joel found such a statement a bit out of character for a woman such as her. She had the appearance of a kind, grandmotherly figure. She was even smiling, and had a knitting setup next to her rocking chair.
"Besides," she said, "my George and I can look after ourselves. We may be old, but we know a thing or two about defense against home invasion. I keep a knife beside me at all times." With that, she unveiled a combat knife from behind a potted plant on the end table between her and her husband. Joel gave an awkward grin. The lady was paranoid. "So, how are you this evening?" she asked Joel.
"I'm…you for your help. I'm grateful."
"Oh, you should thank George. He's the one who plucked you from that river of bodies."
George Elliot’s eyes were back on the radio, but he was still involved in the conversation. “I was the only one at the docks with access to a boat. I just did what I had to do. I saw that young lady struggling to stay afloat with your body and rescued you both.”
Joel shook his head. “Sir, you saved us. I'm in your debt."
Mr. Elliot waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, nonsense. We need to help each other in times like these. If not, what good would stand ready in the face of the evil taking over this world?"
"Yes," Joel muttered, "you're right."
Mrs. Elliot smiled. “Those clothes look good on you."
Joel blushed. “Um…thanks…”
Mr. Elliot laughed. “They're some old ones that don't quite fit me anymore. They're in better condition than that uniform you were wearing."
"Well, thanks for the dry clothes. I appreciate it, really."
Mr. Elliot smiled and got up from his chair to stir the logs in the fireplace. While the embers danced, Joel watched as the flickering flames reflected in his eyes. His mind was elsewhere as Mr. Elliot returned to his spot in the corner of the room. He leaned back in his chair before noticing Joel's lost attention.
"Are you still with us?"
Joel was still staring through the flames. Mrs. Elliot and Katherine were now looking at him as well. Katherine grabbed his right shoulder and gave him a gentle shake as she spoke his name, "Joel?"
Joel shook his head and looked around at the curious faces. His stress was mounting up too fast. “I'm terribly sorry. I…did you happen upon a pack of cigarettes in my uniform?"
"Oh, dear," Mrs. Elliot said, "everything in those pockets were soaked from the river."
Joel was sweating. “Right…I just…need some air. Excuse me."
Joel stood up and staggered out of the room. Concerned looks were exchanged before Mr. Elliot rose from his chair.
"I'll talk to him."
"George," his wife pleaded, "be easy on him. He's lost the only thing he had left."
"Yet you asked him how he was this evening.” Mr. Elliot chided her.
“George,” she said sternly, “go and do a better job, then.”
“I understand," he said with a sigh before following behind Joel. He found him outside sitting on the front steps of the house. Joel was sitting with his head in his hands, watching two men fight over a car down the street. One of the men stabbed the other and jumped into the driver's seat, fleeing the scene and leaving the man to die. Others gathered to help the injured victim, and Joel didn't feel the motivation to intervene with anything. George walked across the porch and stood against the railing behind Joel.
"You're only a few steps from a mental breakdown," George stated.
"Is that supposed to be news to me?"
George grunted and reached into his pocket. Withdrawing a pipe, he tapped Joel on the shoulder and offered it to him.
"I prefer pipe smoke myself," George explained.
Joel took it and observed the instrument in his hand. "I've never tried one."
George handed him a pinch of tobacco from a pouch, along with a match. Joel lit the pipe and smoked away as he and George watched a family of four walk by on the sidewalk with suitcases overpacked with their belongings. The father was arguing with his wife while the children cried. Joel began to calm down, but his mind was far from at ease.
"That's oak," George said, referring to the pipe, "hand-made by a master at his work."
"It's a fine piece," Joel commented, actually admiring the instrument in his hand.
"It was a birthday gift from my son. The last one I got from him."
Joel had an idea of what was coming next; he'd given the tough talks to plenty of men under him. He remained silent as George continued.
"He was killed in
Afghanistan. Albert was a bright young man, always ready for action, so he joined the armed forces as soon as he could. He wasn't afraid of the locals, and took care of the unfortunate by offering water and food whenever he could. One afternoon an insurgent sniper picked him off while he was asking a local about instances of gunfire in the area. The report said that he probably survived the initial shot, but the rest of his squad couldn't get to him as he bled out. Joel, I'm not trying to say I understand, because you watched your son die, but-"
"I didn't watch him die," Joel interrupted, "I killed him."
George shuddered. “I…you…”
Joel laughed at George’s failed attempt to find the right words. “I commanded a lot of people in my career. I've been responsible for the lives of so many. I was held in high regard for losing so little. Outside of that life, I had lost it all. He was all I had left. My wife died years ago because I wasn't there. My son died because I was. I don't know where I'm supposed to be!"
George leaned over the railing and watched a car speed by and nearly hit the family from moments ago. Joel offered him the pipe back, and George took it with little thought. He was too busy trying to think of something to get through to him with. Finally, he had an answer.
"Maybe you should be where others need help."
"What?"
George blew a smoke ring and sighed. “I can't ever enjoy this pipe. It just reminds me of him..."
"Sir," Joel said, "what did you mean?"
George held the pipe up and gazed upon it while he answered. “Someplace to put your skills to use. You're trained to fight, right? Maybe you should be on the front lines fighting. Isn't that why you stayed away from what you loved? You would be helping everyone, and you wouldn't be near anyone important to you. Perfect choice for a man with a death wish.”
Joel mulled it over. “With my death wish, you should have left me in the river.”
"I'm sure you'll find your way and find that the gift of life isn't wasted. Maybe there was a reason I was there? Maybe something has a higher purpose for you? I’m not a terribly large believer in things myself, but I do know another chance is always there.” He relit the pipe. “Am I to assume you'll take her with you?"
Joel looked down at his feet as George smoked away. “There's only trouble where I'm going."
"There's trouble everywhere. Don't give me that rubbish."
"I suppose you're right, but I can't guarantee her safety."
"I don't think she cares.” George replied in all honesty. “She thinks a lot of you. You're a hero to her. Do you know what she did for you in return? While you were stricken by the loss of your son, she had to adapt to the situation. You're a hardened fighter. She's…well, from what I've heard from the conversation between her and my wife, she's a fragile one. It's hard to believe that she saved your life, but she did. Didn't you see the dress she was in?"
Joel remembered the dirty clothing upstairs. “Yes, I did. I didn't…I should have-"
"You did enough, and she handled the rest. Joel, you inspired a fighting spirit in that one. The world will need men like you in the coming times."
Joel grunted. “The world needs less people like me."
"You're her hero, Joel," George repeated flatly.
"Yeah?" Joel said questioningly. “Well she won't think that of me when she gets to know the real me. I'm not a hero."
George tapped the pipe to empty the contents. “You're concealing something. Something bad. Even before you killed your son, you've done something you regret before, haven't you?"
Joel laughed. “Sir, you have no idea what I've done."
"I can't imagine, and I won't ask you,” George commented as he packed more tobacco in. “Come on, let's put grub in us. After that we'll talk about what you'll do."
"Okay." Joel stood up and was handed the pipe for one last smoke. As he exhaled, he looked up at the sky above him as the sun was setting. He could make out a few stars twinkling behind the smoke. He wished he could be as distant as they were.
***
"Nothing?" Lydia repeated from the driver's seat. Aaron shook his head as he dropped the phone in his lap, more worried than frustrated.
"Nothing," he reiterated. “No acknowledgment that they're there, nothing about finding anything. They just won't answer."
Lydia and Aaron were only halfway through their journey, but Makoto and Alexis should've already arrived at the former Tiamat Unbound HQ by now. Aaron was worried; much more so than Lydia, who was listening to music she couldn’t even understand on the radio.
"They’ll be fine, just try and get some sleep," she assured him.
"I hope you're right," Aaron muttered as he reclined his seat. Lydia smirked at the road ahead.
"They had better be, because I need you to stop worrying and get some rest so I can stop driving for a while."
Aaron rolled his eyes before closing them. That sounded more like her. Lydia didn't think of what could go wrong. Optimistic, sure, but that made room for mistakes. Still, he himself couldn't help but feel that something wasn't right. Makoto Nagase was a very serious man, and he took that into his work. He would have at least given a two-worded status update from their end. Even that would have been sufficient, but here they were driving into the dusk and worried about the most dangerous man in their group. He chuckled to himself; when he thought of it like that, then Lydia was right. There was nothing to worry about. Makoto was a one-man badass. Nothing could put him in a tight spot.
***
Bits of porcelain flew through the air and peppered Makoto's face as the floor where he was standing just a second ago exploded. The two-headed monster that was attempting to flatten him with the iron ball chained to its right hand wasn’t giving him any time to counter. Big was one thing, but big and fast? This thing wasn’t even keeping him on his toes because he couldn’t get to them in the first place with each wild swing of that creature's weapon. Adding that to the fact that its left arm was a club of some kind from the elbow down, and this thing was a walking death machine. Alexis was nearby chasing the two in the dark, trying to get a clean shot at the thing's heads, but even with a flashlight to guide her aim, she couldn’t keep up with the two as they stormed through the room. She was able to discern a few things about the creature while not being the one under attack. The body was that of a once very fit and muscular man who was much bigger than Makoto, and she considered the samurai a giant. Both heads attached to the shoulders were conscious and roaring as the body was willed forward to attack. The only problem other than the threat it posed was how it actually functioned. Were both heads actually controlling everything, or were certain limbs relegated to each head? Not exactly the time to think of the science behind such a thing, sure, but she had to find a weakness. The giant was the very opposite of weak as it raised the clubbed arm.
Another smash shattered the center table and sent splintered wood flying through the darkness. Alexis couldn’t fire with the chance of hitting Makoto being so high, but she had to try something. Makoto tried to put some distance between himself and the abomination, but the two-headed behemoth of a walking weapon was already gearing up for the next swing. Desperation his driving point, Makoto came to a stop at the far left wall and turned his back to it, facing the creature that was bringing the ball around for a grand slam. Makoto waited until the last possible second before diving out of the way as the ball embedded itself into the concrete wall, sending cracks webbing out in every direction. The beast roared as it attempted to turn around and chase its prey, but even with two heads it was too stupid to realize its main weapon was hindering its movements. Clear to shoot, Alexis began to unload her last magazine into the creature's left head. The skin was torn apart as the bullets met their target, but it didn't let up its rampage, and as her last bullet struck, it tore the ball out of the wall in a cloud of debris and continued its destructive march towards Makoto. The samurai readied himself to counter this time as the beast stomped its way in his direction, lit up by the s
ingle beam of light from the flashlight. He had to time this right; there was no room for a mistake with that death swing being prepped again. The arm came down, and Makoto charged forward towards it, ducking beneath the swing as the fiend lost its balance and stumbled. Before it could turn back to face him he'd already raised the Masamune and was bringing it back down for a swift and deadly blow. His target was the right arm that the ball was chained to, and his blow struck home…and stopped on something only two inches inside of the skin. The sudden halt stunned him as metal reverberated on metal, an anomaly that paralyzed him more than the fear of this thing ending his life. What the hell was this ogre of a corpse?
"Makoto, look out!"
He came to his senses just in time to avoid being clubbed by the thing’s other weapon. Sidestepping around the swing of the club, he spun while readying for his next strike and sliced into the conjoined arm of the ogre. The sudden stop after only cutting a few inches in supported his fears, and he was forced to rip the blade back out as the monster swung again for his head. The arm was reinforced with some kind of metal framing. If disarming the behemoth was out of the question, then all he could do now was try and go for a certain kill. Both heads followed him as he ran across the room before turning back and holding his blade ready. His eyes swirled from one head to the other as the zombie approached, but the question was which to target? There was no time to carefully consider his options while the monster was closing the distance with each thunderous step, so he ran forward and made for the creature's left head. The clubbed arm went back before sweeping the area in front of it, but Makoto had already anticipated the attack and maneuvered around it with swift steps before leaping up and swinging for the horror's neck, only to be stopped by another clang of metal against metal as the blade sank into the flesh. The sword came with him as his momentum brought him landing behind the being, but the momentum in his head was gone. He was out of ideas. They didn’t have the means to kill this thing.