by Marlin Grail
He then, appropriately, grabs my shoulders so I’m precisely on the center of the stage. Looking ahead of me is my group. They watch with full attention, seeming as though they’re treating this just as important as the rest of everyone does.
I’m glad we’re finding ourselves adapting to what’s changed for us at the moment. To me, it would be hard to teach. Thankfully, I don’t have to.
The instructor then straightens his posture, raising one of his hands to his mouth, and asking, “How do you walk normally walk?”
When he means basic, he means it.
"Well, I usually walk from my heel to my toes, in a concise and controlled movement.”
“Fairly healthy, if we were in a healthy life. Being out here in the woods, one great danger to you is the sounds you make with your feet. The rustling around could attract all sorts of danger.”
He goes on with a whole development of explanation, speaking more with his expressions than with his mouth. Most of what I can see is his disapproval to my response. “Now, you might just be getting lucky,” he snipes, petty and judgmental.
By the way he smirks after the fact, being disdainful, it makes him contradict what he said recently. These teachings don’t have to be for just the kids.
I hold my observations about him, and let him go on about his presentation. He then continues with the explanation of how cats walk silently.
“Cats will oftentimes not land their paws on their heels. As a matter of fact, they’ve conditioned their bodies’ weight to be balanced on their toes section. It lets them move about very silent and graceful. Humans can have that same ability, too.”
I’ve never thought of it that way before. His dissection is legitimate.
He then circles himself around me, telling me to close my eyes and try to point where he newly stands. I go along with it, hearing a lot of the kids giggle with humor. Several times, I mistake a creak in the planks as his footsteps, but happens to actually be mine.
He then knocks his knuckles on the top of my forehead, which makes me quickly open my eyes with adrenaline. He then smirks once again.
“You see? You’d be much better off moving like a cat than a human. In my belief, the more you adopt a technique from something you’d least expect, then the more chance you’ll blend in with the wilderness, as every animal can seem to.”
To be honest, there’s nothing he’s explained that’s not helpful. I can take this teaching for our group. Personally, I do feel the little sting of insecurity from this, because it’s something self-critical, but I can’t make this about me.
“Thank you for helping me demonstrate. You may return to your group.”
I shake his hand, keeping my composure distant, then immediately leave from the platform. I find myself also distant to the kids, giving them a forced smile as they look at me walk by. They’re making it apparent that they find me the “clown” of this event.
For them, this can still be fun and games, but, for me, I’m only seeing it as the fact of bettering my group’s survival.
The instructor transitions to a new topic, with it being about self-defense. “Your family and guardians might not always be available to protect you from outside dangers. That being said, it’s important to know how to defend from those troubles yourselves. Sir, if one more of your group can come up here.” He stirs a long “Uh” with his mouth, then hovers his finger until he points it precisely at Ashton. “You.”
Ashton then gets up, moving quickly up to the platform. The instructor then commences his dissection of lecturing regarding Ashton’s physical body. “You see, this man here is quite a firm and wide person. He may seem imposing, but get him where it can hurt, and he’s not so tough.”
Ashton then chuckles under his breath, which really places the instructor’s immediate attention on him—sounding somewhat offended.
“It’s funny now, but a quick kick to your knee cap, and sure enough I’ve proven myself correct.”
Ashton apologizes, assuring that his snicker was completely irrelevant to the explanation.
The instructor, looking with a slight glare at Ashton, continues onward, then tells the kids, “Now that I’ve shown you, how about all of you come up here and try the attacks?”
A brief delay occurs with all of the children heading up to the platform. “Single-file,” the instructor says. “Make sure you don’t actually hit him. If you did, he’d probably prove the results accurate.”
That comment and face he’s made sounds and looks rather…disparaging towards Ashton. Did Ashton upset him?
Ashton remains standing, only this time getting into a low-crouched stance. He tells the first upcoming kid to not be afraid.
The first kid tries it, but misses Ashton’s knee that is closest to him. The instructor immediately comes in, carefully helping to pick up his leg and angle it at the part of Ashton’s knee that would injure him. “Remember, bud, you get one chance at it. If you miss, it could be over for you.”
The instructor is compassionate, but sounds ominous at the same time.
I would suppose it can’t be sugar-coated to the kids that danger from an undead, or person, can and would kill them—like it would an adult.
He tries again on Ashton, succeeding in tapping the cap. Ashton plays around with it, and acts as though the little boy really kicked him hard. The kid jumps back, worried he actually hit Ashton.
The instructor vocally bites into Ashton. “Quit the tomfoolery!”
“I was just kidding! Don’t worry about it!” Ashton laughingly argues.
The instructor takes a step back, then tells the next kid to come in line, all while keeping his gaze glued on Ashton. Once more, the practiced kick from the next kid is a struggle.
The instructor then says, “Look, maybe what’s throwing you off is knowing it’s not a real kick to him. Let’s change that.”
Chapter III
He’s making this personal about Ashton, though he’s trying to mask his dislike for him with the idea it will teach the children.
Ashton responds with no cheeriness in his throat. “Keep in mind that I need my knee to move.”
The instructor scowls. “These kids need to learn kicking. You should take this time to learn self-discipline.”
I take a look around at our group. Clearly, none of us agree with the instructor’s request on these kids. Ashton further gives a serious look towards the instructor, then looking to the little ones.
Ashton, don’t let your desire to be on top override your thinking.
I feel Ashton has thrown my mental concern out of his consciousness. He encourages the upcoming kid, “Show me what you’ve got.”
The kid nods, takes a few steps back, then lunges a foot onto Ashton’s knee, kicking it inward to his center of gravity. Ashton practically strings out a hard “S” syllable sound in response, then telling the kid, “Good contact.”
The instructor smirks, but not of admiration to Ashton’s reaction, but of pleasure hearing Ashton hurt. He then directs the next child up. Ashton goes to change his position, letting his other knee be the one kicked.
I have to say something. This isn’t okay.
This third child is more than eager to kick Ashton, for he quickly moves then strikes his foot at him. The major problem was that the kick drove deep into Ashton’s knee even after impact. This young man begins to giggle when Ashton ends up slightly falling to the planks, guarding his impact with the arm opposite to his currently hurting knee.
“Do not laugh at this. You should NEVER laugh when attacking your opponent,” Ashton firmly tells off the kid.
Several gasps can be heard from some of the groups around ours. I look around, then move onto the platform. I hurry and help Ashton up to his feet. He has both of his knees bent further than considered normal.
The instructor steps forward, right by me. “Excuse me! You weren’t asked up here!”
“I don’t need approval to make sure my people aren’t hurt!” I argue back, reclaim
ing my confidence with making this scene in front of everyone.
A slight sorrowful whimper comes from the kid. I can see several of the grown-ups from other groups giving off very offended and agitated looks at me, Ashton, and our group all together.
I’m willing to get an earful from our superiors from this, but I’m not okay letting Ashton get unfairly attacked by this “responsible” instructor.
“We’re leaving. You may continue your demonstration without us.” I keep my direct approach grounded in protectiveness.
If others want this assembly to continue as is, they can volunteer themselves. We’re adapting right now to what we want to change for us, for the better.
Ashton and I leave the platform, uncaring to the judgmental and smug gazes that weigh on us. Out of nowhere, I hear the voice that spoke to me at that gas station.
“I now know more about who you are.” The voice of Sarah comes to me. She’s frowning along with crossing her arms.
Quickly I respond to her, not sounding affected or guilty for my decision. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”
I help Ashton to the front passenger seat of the truck, while the rest of us pile in afterward.
Fortunately, we ended up one of the corner pieces to this boxed-in parking.
Not less than a few seconds after accelerating out of the area, one of the vicinity guards hurries to the front of our path, forcing me to brake hard.
“Supervisor needs you. Head to him now.” The guard says this loudly to me from the front, nonchalant.
I nod, and head us to his roadblock. On the first feet of pavement driven, I immediately ask Ashton how his condition is.
“Being kicked in the knees isn’t fun—no matter the age of the kicker.” He exhales from the stress of many things.
Janice touches his shoulder, as she sits behind him. “You did nothing wrong.”
He gently taps her hand a few times. “Thanks for seeing it that way, everyone. NO one there thought the same about it, however.”
Unable to disagree, we travel most of the short drive to the roadblock quietly. Once we near the end of the trip, Ashton’s voice loosens up to its normal pitch. “To be honest, I don’t think I could take care of a child in this world. Whoever’s kid that was has real bravery.”
All of those kids’ guardians are brave. It’s a different kind of commitment I think most of us don’t know about.
We park right by the roadblock’s gates. We don’t have to leave the truck for him. He walks over to my driver side window. His first words are delivered formally, and emotionless.
“You’ve got a new assignment. The biggest one you’ve been granted.”
I ease my hands off the steering wheel, crossing them to my chest. “What mission is that?”
“The man you brought back has decided to stay with us, on the request he be helped with clearing out his work zone.”
“Undead have taken—” I try to say before he ends up answering it.
“No. People. Outsiders have annexed his area. Only those that brought him back are to take him there.”
I re-grip the wheel. “… Where is this place?”
“A lumber mill. Pretty wide in scale.”
Will, in the backseat behind me, rolls down his window. “Sounds pretty wide in risk.”
He swipes his eyesight to Will, squinting them hard. “You don’t have to worry. Like I said, only the people who brought the man back will go on this one.” He refocuses his vision onto mine. “It will call for stealth. He told me to tell you as long as you get him to his space, unknown by the raiders there of course, then he’ll handle the rest.”
I worry about that. Only six of those people, including myself on that number, are left. For a mission this dangerous, the numbers could dwindle even less than now.
“Gary, I can tell you are unsure about this, so let me sweeten the deal. If you succeed…you’ll get ticket to C.’s voyage.”
“Can I ask what that is—”
He quickly cuts me off at first with a loud exaggerated sound. “No. You’re not to know what it is now. Do the mission first, then you’ll find out. You leave for the mill tonight.”
Will jumps in once again. “Can I volunteer for this mission?”
The supervisor gives him a surprised look—as if he wouldn’t suspect one of us to ask for extra risk in our lives.
We usually don’t ask for danger. Since it usually comes to us without permission, I suppose Will personally has decided to permit it for himself on this occasion.
“Y-you can’t. He negotiated with C. that he’ll only work with those that have seen him recently.”
I then look at this as an opportunity for further assistance. “Then, why don’t you come with us? You’ve seen him.”
He blinks, as though he never thought of volunteering.
“I know you’re the supervisor, sir. However, I think the more numbers we have then the better off we’ll be against the aggressors.”
“I’m the supervisor. I don’t handle the dirt. I just manage it.”
His response leaves me feeling less appreciation for him.
In my opinion, supervisor, you should be helping in as many ways you can. You shouldn’t just limit yourself to a role you’re deemed.
I turn my gaze away. Then, with a low-key tone, “Just let me know what time I must come back here.”
I’ve grown accustomed to the procedures of areas we go to. As much as it’s become easier to understand this organization, I still feel like a spectator to it all.
He steps away from my driver side, making the departure known more by gesture than speech. However, he draws in my focus at him again. “Come back in an hour. I expect only you in this truck. Speaking of which, what happened to the car you were given?”
I turn the ignition on, only to respond before reversing back, “It happens when you’re in the dirt.”
Chapter IV
Once more, time is choking and adding more pressure than wanted.
I meant to depart our shelter several minutes ago, but we caught sight of an air-bound haze hovering in the area. We know it’s nearly on top of our location. The sound of mass pulsing in the sky drills into our ears.
Ashton chuckles. “We really would do well with windows installed.”
I have trouble making a response to that, other than recycling what I’ve said to him, and everyone else, before. “If we can’t see it, then it shouldn’t see us.”
Will untwists the talking further. “Yeah, except C. has shown us they could. Maybe only on the ground, or maybe all of the time. Maybe the one above us right now knows we’re in here, but won’t bother with us when it knows it can’t get to us with where we’re at. Thank the lord for solid matter.”
There is so much we don’t know about hazes. We don’t know why there’s dark streaks in the sky. Or why it morphs something rather complex, a human per se, into something much more horrific than what a human is capable of being—even on their worst day.
I kindly ask Ashton for him to lend me his watch again. “The capture mission was quicker when we could tell the time.”
As he hands it over, the sound of the haze above slowly fades.
The R-rated killer has moved away.
“You better leave,” Janice advises from the top of her bed.
I nod, rechecking every pocket and gap of my pants where I can slip in weaponry, and prepare to leave the shelter. Before I do, I know I must provide Lissie, who’s silently watching me from the dresser, assurance and comfort.
“I wish we could go with you,” she says, with melancholy.
I gently place my thumb on the side of her cheek, smoothing it back and forth, then kissing her where we share our best reason to stay determined—determined to be able to feel each other’s lips for many more times than the current last one.
“I’ll return, Lissie. Just try and unwind for tonight. Keep everyone entertained with your wonderful ways.”
We give a straightforward, but meaningful,
nod to each other. I turn back around to face and open the doors.
I know the temptation to never want to leave this space, to never want to leave Lissie or my group out of my arms reach, but this has to be done.
With the sky growing dim, I feel the anxiety of being late to the mission.
I hope they’ll understand that things truly don’t happen smoothly, no matter how much they try to enforce a strict regime.
I hit the acceleration firmer than I normally do, working my mind purely off memory to avoid certain cracks and risky bumps to the truck. The RV gets no notice, other than me giving a swerving evasion from a constantly held down 50 miles per hour on what would be originally a 35. Once the first roadblock comes about, fewer people this time, I organically say the code, without necessarily stopping or turning off the ignition—as that girl Sarah told me to do before.
The town is barren of any new changes, other than a handful of undead curiously wandering within a few of the buildings.
I wonder if that haze in the storage room remains? I had heard that eventually this area will become a fully-renovated small C.-owned neighborhood, with boarded walls surrounding it. If that, no, when that happens, I’ll either hope the message I left remains. Else I’ll just have to risk being seen as a sabotage-man by most of the people if I, no, when I tell them.
I take sharp turns until I see the supervisor’s roadblock in the distance, with the dispatch and blond man standing around. I grow impatient, and show I’m stressed enough to not state the code. A few gunmen take aim, but the supervisor clenches his fist high up above him, hollering to diffuse the protocol.
He puts his hand back to his hip, stomping over to the predicted spot he’ll be in when I stop—right beside my driver side window.
Here comes the mouthful.
Chapter V
“Where were you?” he demands.
While shutting off the truck, I state, “Haze nature, sir. It delayed me for a while at my place.”
