Rise of the Scorpion

by Scott McCord

  “Still here? I thought you were getting a place of your own,” I say.

  “Shhh,” Starter snaps.

  “Why? Are you afraid I’ll wake the neighbors?”

  “Shut-up, Tommy, and listen.”

  Cocking my head back, I stare up into whatever day it is, and do as Starter says. The distant sounds of men cheering…shouting…finds its way to the bottom of the well.

  “Are they cheering?” I ask.

  “Maybe...I can’t tell,” Starter says.

  We fall silent a moment more, straining to pick up a clear voice or some other discernable clue as to what’s happening above our heads, but the earthen walls around us dampen every sound.

  “Maybe a party,” I say,

  “It’s not a party,” and Starter is done guessing. “Hey! Hey guards! What’s happening up there?” he yells, but no faces appear above and no one kicks dirt in the hole telling us to shut up.

  “That doesn’t seem right. Where do you think—”

  “Quiet, Tommy.” Starter pauses, listening to the faint commotion above. “Okay, alley-oop, I’m going up, get ready to give me a boost.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a dangerballer, you know what to do, so come on, alley-oop.”

  “But the guards—”

  “Aren’t there. Let’s go.”

  There’s just enough light to make out Starter’s silhouette. He’s twitchy and impatient. “All right, up you go,” I say, lacing my fingers into a makeshift stirrup. “It’s pretty tight down here, so watch your knees. I don’t want to catch one in the face.” I crouch and get set.

  “On three,” Starter says. “One…two…three.” He takes a skip-step across the well, plants his foot in my hands, and leaps for the top. I lift as hard as I can, but the damp days have stiffened my muscles, and it’s not enough. Starter reaches the top, but can’t quite pull himself out. He tumbles back in. I step to the side to avoid being crushed, expecting Starter to be pissed. He’s not.

  “All right, good first try, now put more back into it this time.”

  “Okay, give me a second.” I bounce on my toes, take three or four quick pig jumps, jog in place a couple of seconds, and squat into a long deep knee bend. All of it hurts, but it gets the blood flowing warm through my muscles. I stretch my arms above my head, roll my shoulders, twist back and forth at the waist, and I’m good to go.

  “Are you ready, twinkle toes, or do you need to work in some jazz hands first?”

  “Just…get out this time,” I say, lacing my fingers together and crouching to receive Starter’s foot once more.

  “I need all you got.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “On three—one…two…are you sure you’re ready?”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Because you don’t look ready.”

  “Oh, yeah, there is one more thing.” I raise my hands in the dim light and shake them wildly at the wrist like some dancers do. “Now I’m really ready, so quit being a dipshit and get up there this time.” I crouch and lace my fingers together. “Let’s go. Don’t knee me in the face.”

  “On three.”

  “For real this time.”

  “One…two…three.” Starter skip-steps across the well, plants his foot cleanly in my hands and leaps for the top. I lift with all my strength to give the extra boost he needs. He’s light as he moves skyward. I turn, catching his heels in my palms to press him upward until he moves beyond my reach and scrambles to the top. He looks around, pausing to catch his breath, and I swallow a wisecrack that would probably make him leave me down here.

  Another moment passes before Starter strips off his buckskin shirt and twirls it into a makeshift rope. He loops one end around his hand, drops to his belly, drapes his arm into the well and lowers the shirt as much as he can. “Don’t pull me in,” he says, “I have nothing to hold on to up here, so if I tell you to let go, let go.”

  I’m not even thinking about letting go. “Okay,” I answer. “Are you ready?”

  “Yeah, hurry up.”

  I move back to give myself as much room as I can to pick up speed. I take two steps, plant my foot into the wall and push upward, catching Starter’s shirt midway. I press my toes into the cut of the well, but it’s too shear and the earth is too hard to get any lift. Starter groans with my weight but doesn’t tell me to let go. “Don’t hang there like a dingleberry,” he hisses.

  I work up hand over hand, doing my best not to swing. I catch Starter by the wrist, and then the elbow. He slides toward the edge, but still doesn’t tell me to let go. I throw my arm over the top, catching Starter by the waist of his pants, using it as my last handhold to pull myself out. Starter’s teeth sound like pebbles grinding together as his britches bear my full weight. He probably thinks I’m trying to pull the seat of his pants clear up to his ears. I can’t help laughing as I climb over Starter and out of the hole. I roll to my back, staring up through the trees into a clear blue sky, chuckling to myself.

  “Damn, Tommy, what are you trying to do, split me in half?”

  I snort as Starter picks his buckskins out of his crack. “You’re such a great guy, I thought it would be nice to have two of you.”

  “It’s not funny, it freakin’ hurts. I hope I can still walk.”

  “Waah, waah, I thought you Scorpions were supposed to be tough. Who knew they could be incapacitated by a little buck-burn from an old-fashioned wedgie?” Starter pulls his shirt over his head, and the faint scent of a distant fire tweaks my nose. I sit up. “Wow,” I say mostly to myself, “I can smell that buck-burn from here.”

  Something is wrong. I push to my feet. From what I can see, Community Center is totally deserted. Everyone is gone or hiding in their tents, and there isn’t a soldier in sight. What I thought was cheering has disappeared, leaving only faint echoes of men screaming in the distance.

  “What is happening?” I ask.

  Starter shakes his head he doesn’t know. “We need to get to my tent. I have weapons there, and it sounds like we’re going to need them.”

  Starter takes a few cautious steps forward, looking around for Scorpions ready to shoot us down like dogs trying to escape. But still, there’s nothing…only a thin veil of smoke wafting down from the trees, snaking around quiet tents and empty thoroughfares. Starter glances back at me, and no longer worried about being seen, he breaks for his old tent. I follow in an awkward trot until the muscles in my legs warm, and I’m able to move more like my old self. Wispy tongues of smoke eddy behind Starter as he reaches his tent and dives through the door, gambling his old quarters are unoccupied. I’m left with no choice but to do the same.

  “You’re going to have to be faster,” he says as I enter the room.

  “My legs—”

  “Shake them out,” he says, tossing a waterskin to my gut. I put the nozzle to my lips and suck down what’s left. “There’s a piece of jerky on the table.” I grab it and chew off a bite.

  “What’s happening?” I ask, but Starter doesn’t answer as he moves across the tent and snatches up his bow. He steps to the bed, reaches down and upturns the whole thing, revealing another bow underneath. He tosses it to the table. I chew jerky as he slings a quiver to his back and tucks a knife into his belt. His eyes dart around the tent, systematically scanning every corner and wall for something else, but he comes up empty.

  “Crap,” he exclaims, “I’m missing my other quiver. Six arrows isn’t much to share.” He reaches over his shoulder, draws three arrows from his back, and slaps them on the table. “But it’s what we have. These are yours and that’s your bow. I hope you’re half as good as you used to be.”

  “I’m feeling better, don’t worry about me,” I say, taking the bow and arrows. “Are you ready?”

  But before Starter can say yes, something brushes by outside, snarling and snorting like a crazed pig as it runs past. We drop to a crouch, senses on high alert, searching for some clue as to what that thing was, but before either of us
can ask, another one barrels into the side of the tent like a runaway ox cart. Poles topple, walls collapse and everything comes crashing down. We go to our hands and knees. It’s impossible to see anything as the tent settles around us. I crawl under the table, and Starter does too.

  “Which way to the door?” I ask.

  “We can’t go for the door. They’ll spot us under the tent. We’ll have no chance at all …an easy kill.” Starter pulls his knife and slides to the edge of the table. “No, we’re going out right here,” and without another word, he cuts a long slit in the collapsed tent and wriggles out. I take a deep breath and push through the opening after him. “Come on, Tommy.”

  The words hardly cross Starter’s lips before he is swept from sight, disappearing like a magician’s trick, instantly reappearing on the ground trapped under a great, vicious beast.

  My foot catches in the tent and I fumble with my arrows. I’m not used to having more than one in my hand. The monster is prying Starter’s jaw up to expose his throat. It snarls and clicks its teeth, forcing itself in for a fatal bite. Starter resists with all his strength.

  “I’m coming!” I shout, but the words barely escape when I’m struck from the side and spun around, going flat to my back with a Lopper on top of me. My head slams to the ground and the weight of the beast crushes the wind from my lungs. I’m dazed. I don’t understand what’s happening. Everything is hazy and blurred. The monster’s breath washes over my face, but I’m paralyzed in a dream, helpless to defend myself. It howls with delight…and I’m back.

  Somehow, I’ve managed to work my forearm across the beast’s throat in a last attempt to keep its teeth from my jugular. This thing is too strong. It forces itself closer, bettering my resistance, squeezing down like it’s trying to tell me a secret I don’t want to hear. The standoff will be over in seconds as strength drains from my body. I’ve been in the well too long. I’m not going to make it...not without a miracle.

  The Lopper is close enough to lick me on the face when it convulses, coughing blood over its lips and down my cheek. The sweet putrid smell of bile and vomit drills up through my sinuses as the monster strains for my throat…but it’s weaker now, and its fiery eyes are clouding over. It coughs again…and falls limp. I slide out from underneath, exhausted and sucking air.

  Two of the three arrows Starter gave me are pushed clean through the Lopper’s upper stomach and are sticking out it’s back. The third is broken off somewhere inside the beast. Holy crap, it fell on my handful of arrows and still nearly killed me.

  I kick away from the body and push to my feet while Starter struggles for his life in a losing battle. He’s freed his knife and is stabbing the monster on top of him repeatedly in the side. Blood spills to a puddle on the ground, but nothing vital is struck and the beast remains hell-bent on ripping Starter to shreds. Even wounded, the monster is too much for the Scorpion.

  There’s no time. I grab my bow, take four running steps to gain momentum, and swing it, crack, connecting with the side of the Lopper’s head. The stroke is hard enough to rattle my forearms and break my grip. I lose the bow to the ground. The devil sprawls sideways, and Starter lies helpless, exhausted and trying to catch his breath. I hit the beast with all I have, but it’s not enough. The Lopper pushes to its knees, shakes away the cobwebs, and readies for another assault…but I don’t give it the chance. I snatch the bow up again, and with a running start, crack, I break the weapon across the devil’s face. Blood explodes up over its forehead as the monster tumbles backward, landing semi-conscious on the ground. Starter takes his knife and staggers over to the dazed beast.

  “Goose,” he mumbles, and ends the Lopper’s miserable existence with a swipe of the blade. He looks at me, and we both sit down.