by Travis Borne
Carmen looked into her man’s eyes then squeezed his arm tight; Jerry reared up a little from the pain.
And Patrick explained further: how they’d lived in Midtown, and the underworld, for centuries at least. He explained the delicate balance of work, how half of the town would be working, and the other half enjoying life here, above—with weekends off, if won.
“But, over time,” Andy said, arriving to the table, “the officers have been becoming increasingly vulgar, domineering, to the point some actually prefer the underworld. You know I had to send the fuckers down, Pat.” Patrick nodded, Jerry tried to nod. Through the window a second pile of officers could be seen. Andy sent a thumbs up and his redneck buddy outside slammed the button—swoosh. The red-suits went like a clog at the end of a supercharged vacuum pipe. Andy said, “Flushed. Fuckin’ bastards.”
Then Marti came over, as well Bart and other bartenders. Bart carried a round of drinks, “On the house,” he said, and he put the tray of bubbling green ale on the table. “Well deserved.”
Because Marti had no voice, he signed, “Jerry, you did it, you really did it!” And he continued with his sign language. “Congratulations to us all.” And, motioning to Jake, “Thank you, sir.” All held their drinks high and toasted to Jerry, and of course, to Jake. Pat told Jake what Marti said.
One of Jake’s eyebrows was up and he whispered, “Why are they green?”
“We, Mr. Toll, are workers,” Bart replied. Marti, a human, and the other workers, headed back to the bar after bowing out. “We stay up here, and work, for it is just known we do not possess something the humans possess, something pertaining to The Special—although we have very limited information as to why or what it actually is. The officers were told information during their arrival. Likewise us, the workers, were told disparate information, even and as well, the humans. Although the information itself varied we have managed to pool our knowledge—yet it has always been apparent the officers were entrusted with more, and furthermore their knowledge was vastly dissimilar.”
Jake took a drink, keeping an eye on those around him. He was being taken for a wild ride, or had fallen into the rabbit hole. The bartenders, except for Marti the mute, as well many others, had pale greenish-gray skin as if they’d been hit with a bomb of pastel, glow-in-the-dark chalk. The workers were shorter too, and thin, and had outfits to suit their professions; wearing a light-blue jumpsuit, a janitor was cleaning up in the back, and like many his attention made its way to their table; he sent a nod to Jake. This is too insane, Jake thought. Like outside when he’d first arrived: he had to be seeing things; the time distortion—it had to be that. Nope, a green man really had passed me by.
“Well, what about you?” Carmen blurted, sitting close to her swollen man.
“Long story, but nothing as fantastical as any of this,” Jake replied, still glancing about. “I’m a physical trainer and I lived in a place called Jewel City—on Earth of course. Been there seventeen years. It was a quaint place, simple life—” He thought about his new, colorful mind. “—black and white really. Then this ship came to our rescue—just in the nick of time because hordes of drones were attacking us. Anyway, to make a long story short the ship kicked those drones’ asses, then we boarded it. Then the door sealed shut, rather abruptly, and after a long and very boring flight we found ourselves at the bottom of the ocean.” Jake described the sea creatures he’d seen at the stop for repairs. He told them of Boron, and the power the seaweed-green beings possessed, and what they’d done to a girl named Macy. He told them about the line of citizens, the archways and tubes, and—the time. “I think I arrived many days ago, come to think about it now. Time was sped up, but then it slowed to normal, and—
Then Kelly came into the bar. Amid taking the first gulp of his Alligator Ale, Jake noticed. But it wasn’t as if he’d seen her. He’d felt her presence, oddly.
“Kelly!” Jake waved. “Over here!” Too, she seemed to notice him quickly through the substantial, curious crowd, and people made way. “It’s great to see you. Did you just get here?”
“Jake, yes, about fifteen minutes ago I suppose. I found myself in, in a dumpster. What—is all this?” she stuttered.
Jake looked at his multi-function compass watch, which he’d just happened to be gifted upon arrival. Two hours and twenty minutes had passed since he had arrived. He put his huge mitt to his chin and looked about. Others followed his every move curiously. “Kelly, you were right behind me in line, and entered the—”
“Yes,” she said meekly, trembling.
“Right behind me?”
“Yes, Jake, now please tell me what’s going on? Where are we?”
He stood up and stole a chair from a nearby table and put it next to him; she took a seat. And Jake proceeded to explain. Then Jerry, his head like a swollen purple balloon, his face floating inside it, raised a hand; he made his first attempt to speak.
59. Spread the Love
She wiped his face clean but the swelling was bad; Jerry had taken some hard blows. There were the fire extinguishers, brass-knuckled fists, and innumerable kicks. And now Jerry acted as if he was blind, kept feeling around at the table and his head barely looked like a head. It was shocking, more so to Jake and Kelly, for all at the table had beheld horrific disfigurements, and to a degree far worse, on themselves and every one of their fellow humans in ways staggeringly more punishing.
Carmen helped her man take a drink. Alligator Ale was one of Marti's number-one concoctions, derived not only of spirits from his large still, but infused with bile from animals found in the forest. Jerry hunted for Marti on his days off; a pleasure for him and a needed commodity for Marti. Animal brains, the primary ingredient; as well Marti found myriad uses for the other parts. Marti’s medleys had healing properties both mental and physical and could dull a jittery edge, as well obscure memories of the prior work week. It was, therefore, the most requested drink after work.
After taking a sip through blowfish lips, Jerry immediately felt better. Carmen had consumed hers totally; she had lost her shakes, as well many of the others were rapidly becoming, normal.
After Jake brought Kelly up to speed, Jerry raised his ale. With renewed power from a few more sips, and slightly cleared vision, he stared at Jake, feeling a sort of beneficial aura shedding off the purple-black truck wearing fishing gear. He heaved the hefty mug on his own now and guzzled the rest, reestablishing his gaze after slamming it onto the table.
“Ah…” The release came out gravelly. “I’m not going back down,” Jerry said. “I’ll heal—here.” His throat was a fluttering hole and he sounded like a muffler that had been shot full of them. “Jake—” His head fell forward. Carmen attempted to aid, but really, she didn’t know what to do. Normally the officers would arrive, seemingly always at just the right moment. The bastards would immediately escort injured or dead to the well—in a week, good as new. But there were no officers now, the humans would have to help Jerry, or hopefully, he actually could heal on his own—something never before seen or done.
“Jerry, it’s the only way,” Patrick said, sitting high on a stool to his right, beside Carmen.
“None of us are going back, unless it’s to kill—” Jerry took a wheezing, deep breath. Gurgling sounds visibly oscillated the skin of his throat. “—them sons a bitches. Jake, would you come here, please.”
Jerry was sure of it now; he felt something in Jake’s presence. Through slits his pupils couldn’t seem to veer away from the big man. And he noticed now, the purple in the purple-black, was an aura around Jake. Because of squinting, damaged eyes, Jerry’s blurry vision was perceiving the faint glow. This is something, Jerry thought. Something—and while he couldn’t pinpoint the feeling, he knew it was something he’d lost a long, long time ago. Jake’s mere presence brought a sense of completion, a sense of imagination and limitless possibility, and as odd as he knew it was, a sense of someone he’d recently remembered. Jake said he’d arrived days ago, time had been sp
ed up, slowing down on today and running normal for him as of about two and a half hours now. Yes, this—something. Since Jake’s supposed arrival he’d felt it, and her, Amy. Even while they were beating him, down there. And Jerry realized whatever it was, it was the same feeling, substance, or aura, that had flooded his mind with memories on Wednesday, empowering him.
“Uh, yes, sir,” Jake uttered. He made his way through a growing crowd and around the large round table. Like a blind man feeling the air, Jerry raised his hand and placed it on Jake’s shoulder. And he pulled him close.
Mutually, and so to not fall onto the big man, Jake also put a hand on Jerry’s shoulder. Jake felt the weight and power of the great man before him. He was not like those outside, the officers. When he’d pushed himself up out there he’d noticed how they’d felt—phony; it was as if they were not actual, real people. Then, when he’d imagined he was a superhero, he felt like he was fighting with, as strange as it had seemed to him at the time, paper dolls. They were easy to obliterate, hence his modest acceptance of the win; of course, at first with the rallying crowd, and his adrenaline—well, he couldn't help but raise his arms and rotate. The marvelous, remarkable, wonderful thing he’d done, so they’d said, having had saved them. But Jerry, this man, felt real. He felt as solid as a petrified tree—for he was as large as one—then Jerry pulled himself up against the advice of others who’d decided for him, that he needed to stay put, to rest and recover, drink more ale first, at least.
Jerry managed and solidly planted his size sixteens. He placed the other of his large mitts on Jake’s other shoulder.
It was the first time Jake had been so close. Really, Jerry was the largest man Jake had ever beheld; his proportions were natural. Abell was big, sure, Bertha also, even he himself and many others in Jewel City, but their proportions were off—it was easy to tell they weren’t natural, or born in such a way—especially now, in Jerry’s presence. All were genetically modified in the past, pre-war. But this man was a towering giant, strong, and surprisingly, not intimidating. Jerry’s hands palmed his shoulders, not as if they were basketballs, but mere softballs. And Jake could feel something when they touched. Jerry didn’t instill in him fear, or seem overbearing in any way—feelings of camaraderie, loyal friendship, and most of all, protection emanated from this man, all of it like a warm aura discharging from a blown ballast tank.
Jerry spasmed, taking Jake for a bit of a ride—others winced, thinking he was about to fall. But he re-solidified. “Please, just hold still for a moment, Jake.” The bar went quiet, the music box was unplugged and the bartenders ceased their percolators and backroom pumps. It was the glowing purple energy that stole attention spans, made fully apparent when they made contact.
Jerry remembered all. He saw the cave, the drones, even himself, out-of-body. It was cool out, the weather was clear and dry and the sky a tad less orange than usual. He was outside checking his nearest traps and Jon was sobbing at the graves: Jodi and Valerie—Jon missed them both terribly, destructively. Beside the two larger crosses was the grave marker he had carved during some of his most depressed times, for their stillborn baby. Flash! And then he saw that deer, first in years! Amy had said she’d seen animals, but just like the rabbits—
He was no longer out-of-body. He had merged without even realizing it…
We didn’t believe her. I became captivated and it lured me away from the cave. Why had we become so lax? Right, there’d been no drone activity in over a year, and we were moving soon…
I hate to do it to you, buddy, I thought, and raised my bow. The scruffy buck, clear in my sight, flicking its tail—it looks about alertly at the sound of a twig cracking under my foot. Even though you could be the last one, I must. You could feed us for months. We’ve been near starvation and your life won’t be in vain. I take in a deep, slow breath and pull back my bow string, ever so slowly. I take two more steps, quietly, quietly…so quiet. Now raise, aim, slowly, slowly. ZAP! Damn it. Laser blast, somewhere in the distance. I was so close, Amy would have been so—
It bolted, prancing down the mountain in a zigzagging pattern I’ve never seen before. Evolution? New smarts against a relatively new threat? Animals surviving amid this chaos. Then I see the drone rise up from below and I realize the ZAP was not as far off as I’d guessed. Shit. I sneak away. Another twig cracks under my feet.
Now it’s upon me and in full chase! Amy took the last and only blocker, again, and I hadn’t expected to be so far from the cave. But the deer, the first in years…
My legs are on fire now. I’m bolting through the woods. Almost there and I yell, “Jon!” I leap over the downed tree and duck past one of my traps. ZAP! The laser grazed my shoulder! I’m sprinting but twist sideways to see it. Damn, I have to go straight up the mountain and they’re in pursuit, twenty yards and closing fast, two of them, large ones. They’re so unfamiliar looking—unlike any of the models scribbled in Jon’s notebook. I can’t look back again, too close.
I think of that deer while my legs are burning. Its pattern was new and—another laser blast! It sends me ducking but my legs can’t rest now. Like the deer, I change tactics and move side to side, zigzagging. The blasts follow up this time, relentlessly. I swing my head around one last time and it’s as if all time has slowed. I catch sight of a third drone—a tiny searcher, loud and buzzing, overtaking the larger two from above. Twenty yards, shit, now it’s twenty feet! The three of them lean forward; the small one has an engine that’s reening like a chainsaw at full throttle. And there’s the tonal roar of their once silent engines. I’m afraid—for Jon, for Amy! The fear is an apple in my throat.
“Jon, ready the trap!” I’m now just thirty feet from the entrance of our cave.
Jon jolts from his teary-eyed slumber and fires several times while getting up from the ground. He follows me down into the cave—I must get the boom stick.
I think Jon got one! Mere luck, because he looked like he taken a bucket of cold water then fired half a second later, and I know he’s not the best shot. But damn—yes! Good shot, Jon! Now I have to take out the other. It’s chasing me down.
Running inside, I pull the trap line. It comes down—missing. Damn! And the large one is inside with me. I hope Jon can take out that smaller searcher. I reach for my shotgun—ZAP!
He remembered it all, clearly. Memories which had shortly ago been mere fragments, were able to be joined properly and the larger picture put itself together in his mind like a self-solving puzzle. He remembered dying, and seeing Amy at the top of the cave, peeking in, crying meekly. He remembered how worried he was for her, and how much he loved her, and the vow he’d made while standing in Vallecito Lake, a vow to protect her at all costs. He heard Jon’s scream when he took the laser in the eye, and he felt it all as if the burn went deep into his brain, taking a million years to come out the back; and the life—as it floated away. He saw himself from above and Jon fighting like he’d never seen Jon fight, with a severed hand. As he floated away, he could see Jon’s aura, red and yellow like that of fire, part of the flames reaching out for Amy. He saw Amy’s back, huddled behind the rock. She was terrified but doing exactly as she’d been taught.
Then he saw the bright red light in the cave and like a vacuum sucking him back, he was drawn inside, and into the black metallic monster that had stolen his life. Inside the monster, as if sharing its eyes, lunging up the cave’s stairs toward Jon. Jon fired and missed, and the look of sheer terror on Jon’s face—then all went dark.
Touching this huge, relatively short black man who had arrived to Midtown, did this to him. Jerry could feel it through to the bone. He could also, as if by some sort of sixth sense, feel something else inside the man. Flash! Memories arrived like a tree with branches of white lightning. Herald had always said she was—special. He gazed deep into Jake’s oddly colored light-brown eyes. Flash! Our bond, the last time we fished at the lake—memories poured in now, faster, more, and he had a ludicrous thought: a part of Amy, somehow, was sw
imming in this man’s soul. The touch continued its transfer of energy, as if repairing his mind, putting everything back together. He used the memories coming to him as if Jake, was Amy, and he was hugging her again. Flash! It was her power that had given him the strength to stop the raping on Wednesday! Amy’s power that had enabled him to destroy the evil, fucking, sadistic officers! He thought of her and the love, and his vow, more than ever now. He realized his memories had become a source of power—that must be it! Jake’s power, what he has brought to us is allowing my mind to feel my most important memories again. The memories are giving me the strength—I can, I can!
Small gasps turned to large inhaling wails, and oohs and aahs, and Jerry, the focus of every eye in Marti’s Place, began to change. His knobby cheeks and swollen lips, eyelids fused together, blindly trying to see the man before and below him, and his purple neck, even the blood and gashes, all began to heal. His posture became erect and tall and upright once again. His clothes even, became clean. His bloody, broken knuckles and stubs reformed into usable, very large hands. And within the course of several minutes the transformation completed. The bar had become quiescent and the townspeople stood frozen in disbelief.
