by Brian Cody
“I have no reason to keep the damage or the evidence to a minimum, and I have no reason to be expeditious. I don’t have to hurry through this. I…can take…my time”—Arthur swiped his blade across Erik’s left forearm, cleaving half of an inch into his flesh. Erik screamed and banged his head into the ramp, and Arthur swiped an identical cut to Erik’s right forearm, then his left, then back to his right, and then to his left, while Erik wailed, screamed, and fought against the urge for his grip to unlock.
Erik slammed his jaws shut, but, at the same moment, the grip of his right hand loosened. “No!” Arthur snarled as he gored his blade behind Erik’s right wrist and between his forearm’s bones. “I’m not done with you, Erik!” he chuckled as Erik wheezed. “Remember, Erik?” Arthur inquired with a grin as he rose, “I told you that you’d be decapitated, and that your body would fly off the roof and hit the ground. It might not have sounded like it, but rest assured, it was a promise. And I suppose…that it will be the one promise I keep!”
Arthur lifted his blade and swung as Erik cried out. With that blade whistling on a downward curve for his neck, Erik’s cry rose, then deepened, and then strengthened into a roar. In a flash, Arthur’s blade combusted in orange flames, and, as Erik’s roar deepened further, those flames spread to Arthur’s hand. Arthur groaned and retracted his hand. Then, he swiped it, trying to douse those flames in the downpour, but they strengthened and rushed up his shoulder. “What is this!?” Arthur growled as he spun to Erik and froze. Erik’s wail had erupted into a bestial exclamation.
Arthur caught only a momentary glimpse of Erik’s irises—once a dark brown but then a ghoulish, pale-orange—for, the second that those two compared gazes, Arthur’s body was engulfed with lashing and spiraling flames. Arthur cried out as he felt his suit’s protection diminish. He swung and flailed, trying to douse those flames and trying to keep them and their heat from his head, but the harder he swung, the hotter the flames would burn. Snarling, Arthur spun to Erik, stepped, and hammered the top of his foot into Erik’s jaw, kicking Erik up and away from the ledge; yet, before Arthur could retract his leg or cough that burst of laughter in his lungs, Erik caught Arthur’s foot, and, as he roared and as Arthur looked on, Erik spun and flung Arthur over the ledge, while the recoil of that launch smacked Erik into the bottom of the ramp. Arthur, then, was the one to cry out as he spun in search of a ledge to grab, but found none as he plummeted and hammered into the earth.
While hearing that cratering impact, Erik closed his eyes, dug his hands into the bottom of the ramp, and, once more, tried to hoist himself. The strength to reach the roof, once more, was unfounded. His right slipped from the blood streaming from his forearm, and his left followed, but was caught. Erik jolted as a hand squeezed around his open cuts, but he opened his eyes after a few moments, and, with his irises once more a dark brown, he looked up as Turrisi held onto him with one arm and the ramp’s apex with the other. Turrisi held his breath and pulled, dragging himself and Erik until he could roll onto the roof’s flat surface and hoist Erik to solid ground. Breathing and looking skyward, Erik cradled his arms, turned to Turrisi lying behind him, and looked over that ledge. Groaning, Erik sat up, and, as Turrisi rolled onto his knees, Erik looked towards the crater in the center of the road some two hundred feet below. He stared, his eyes squinting and his breaths slow as a victorious rush was stifled by a deepening gape.
His eyes widened, to a slight extent, as he perceived motion from that outstretched figure. It was strong enough for Erik to conclude it to be neither a play on the lights, nor the spasm of a corpse, and, as he stared, he surmised that the suit had preserved Arthur Grant’s life. Erik then looked back to find Turrisi grabbing him by the shoulder, and, as Turrisi hoisted him to his feet and wrapped him around his arm, Erik looked to his left, to the flashing lights speeding down the road and towards that building, before turning to the stairwell that could deliver them to their team.
“Nice shot”, Erik remarked after clearing his throat.
“Thanks”, Turrisi replied as they limped towards drier ground.
April 2010
Chapter Fourteen: Friday, 30 April
SENTINEL IS EVER-WATCHING.
—
Reception of command is confirmed.
—
Coordinates located and locked.
Population accounted for.
Artificial structures accounted for.
Geological structures accounted for.
—
Sentinel is directing to locations.
Sentinel is programming.
Programming completed.
Locations logged.
Sentinel will remain in position to record results.
Sentinel is initiating operation code.
Operation code has initiated.
Operation has commenced.
All else is illogical.
***
The ascending sun brought illumination to the patches of forest, the straits of buildings, and the drifting James River alongside of Lynchburg’s northeastern end. The active were few—the early risers, and the retiring night owls. So scattered were they along the border between Lynchburg and Madison Heights, and so concentrated were they on their destinations as they walked or drove, that none sighted the five contrails sliding across the stratosphere and extending, it seemed, from nowhere, and none noticed those pale-white, slender clouds descending to one thousand feet and then sounding with a hard knock.
There came a momentary churn—the howl of wind resistance against a plunging object—but, if any of the pedestrians were to have looked up, they would have found an empty sky. The cloaked object went unnoticed as it fell past one hundred feet, then fifty feet, then as it impacted a mile north of the Fifth Street Bridge and drilled through a dozen trees before sliding to a halt. An extended crater of shattered trunks and condensed clay, ten feet in depth and a dozen yards in width, marked that object’s landing but went without notice in the brush, while a cloud of dust proved to be the only sign of impact to exist for more than a few seconds.
As the dust dispersed, the contrails and the undetectable shape exuding them diverted westward and then southwestward for a mile and a half before coming to another forested region. Once more, it loosed an object from its invisible hide. A second tremor sped through the surrounding region and persisted for a few moments before being replaced by a column of orange-brown dust which ascended and simultaneously dispersed.
The contrails then diverted southeast, ascending back to several thousand feet as they passed over the densest amassment of manmade structures within Lynchburg’s business district and then descending back to a few hundred feet as the shaped passed one mile of southerly flight, neared its second mile, and released a third object. As that object slammed onto the ground, the contrails angled skyward, nudging past one thousand feet, then ten thousand feet, and then continuing as the shape exuding them sped into the upper atmosphere. Unnoticed as the sun pulled past the horizon, the main signs of its existence, or of its purpose, vanished as those white contrails diluted into the sky.
May 2010
Chapter Fifteen: Sunday, 2 May
“Dude, what’s in the box!?”
Erik stopped as he opened Room 111’s door and turned to look down the hallway, while a rectangular box six feet in height and a few inches across lay under his armpit and perpendicular to his book-bag.
“It’s a lamp!” Erik replied to Bryan Brown standing near the back entrance of Dorm 10.
“Sweet; it looks like it could be a pole, or a spear, or a huge sword!” Bryan Brown replied as he gathered his car keys.
“Nah, it’s a lamp. Once I get it set up, I’ll let you see it!” Erik yelled as he waved, stepped into his room, maneuvered the box through the slender corridor, and closed the door. He locked the door, walked to the side of his loft, and placed the box against the bedpost before throwing his book-bag to the side of his desk, and pulling out his chair.
While in hi
s chair and diverting his eyes from the third page of his document, Bryen scanned that elongated box in front of him. “What’s in the box?” he asked as he peered over his laptop.
“Sword”, Erik replied as he clicked his mouse, then glanced to his left, to David, who, facing the opposite wall, looked to a political map of the world, his eyes scanning over the dozens of haphazardly placed pins on the United States’ eastern seaboard. “Dave, you know, as far as the government is concerned, the investigation has been closed.”
“Yeah”, David replied as he scanned that map. “It’s just”, he paused as he examined the placement of those pins which he had, to some extent, recalled from memory.
“We still don’t know where the robot came from”, Bryen explained, while David pulled his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms.
“Well, that too”, David replied as he looked back, “or maybe…just that”, he continued as he turned. “I don’t know…it just feels like…like Arthur Grant was a footnote, like Sterling Blue was trying to warn me about something bigger.”
“Super Suits are kind of big”, Erik remarked. “They give normal people gifted abilities. Think about it: we’ve had our powers for all-or-most of our lives, and we struggle everyday to not use them for something selfish. Now, imagine someone without that self-control gaining the ability to do whatever he-or-she wants. I don’t have all the details, but they’ve been in testing by one of the super-secret agencies in our government for the last few decades. I’m not sure how, and, to my knowledge, neither are my superiors, but some of the most recent ones got out to the black market a few years ago. We think Grant had something to do with that since he was wearing a different suit, which might or might not be from the U.S., but we’re not sure.”
“Yeah, but…that doesn’t explain the robot”, David replied, “and even though I was hit pretty hard that night, I still remember it clearly: it was a robot, or, at least, mechanical.”
“Well, all I can say is if you snoop too much, the government will send you to Alaska—like, the really desolate parts—and keep you there until you learn to shut up and mind your business. I’ve seen it before.”
“Well, you know what?” David grunted as he uncrossed his arms, “the frickin’ government can_”
“Is that actually a sword”, Bryen interjected as he poked Erik’s box.
“Hey man, don’t go poking my box!” Erik exclaimed. “And, yeah, it’s a sword. It’s another katana—or technically an odachi—specially made for me to replace both of mine being broken beyond repair in the same weekend. I had to pull some strings and promise undercover work for Japan, but Lamback was able to get my request approved.”
“How’s Dave doing?” David asked as he walked to his desk, pulled out his chair, and opened his laptop.
“He’s at about ninety percent”, Erik replied as he untangled his headphones and plugged them into his computer. “After two months of P-T, he still gets fatigued pretty easily, but his scores at the shooting range are par, and that’s really all the CIA cares about, as far as he’s concerned.”
“You can unlock it; it’s Shawn”, Bryen replied as he turned the pages to the textbook in his lap.
“What_?” David paused as a silhouette was cast over the gap between the door and the linoleum floor. That person knocked thrice in hurried pounds. He jumped, stepped past Bryen’s desk, and looked through the eyehole. Outside, with his hands by his hips, and a white baseball hat on his trimmed black hair, was Shawn. “Might as well”, David muttered as he turned the knob and stepped back.
“What’s up, what’s up?” Shawn inquired as he sauntered into the room and scanned the area. “How’s that paper going?” Shawn asked as he closed the door and looked to Bryen.
“Life”, Bryen grunted as he glared at the screen and reached into the first drawer to grab his mp3 player.
“I’m guessing that’s a ‘this sucks’”, Shawn chuckled before turning to the map. While crossing his arms, Shawn stepped to and then glared at that map, scanning over each location, each line of string, and then several question-marks along various places where pins had been moved. “Hey, Dave, it’s still off.”
“Well, Albert, you know what?” David groaned as he spun and flailed his arms, “you work on it!”
“I’m just sayin’”, Shawn replied. “It’s not perfect; I don’t remember what it looked like either. It’s not like I have photographic memory—like I can see something and remember it forever or something.” Shawn pushed out his chest and guffawed. “If I did, rest assured, I’d probably have a 4.0.”
“Your mom has a 4.0!” David wailed as he pointed.
“Well, I’ll have you know that if she were in college, she probably would!” Shawn replied as he stomped to his feet. “Is that a lamp?” he asked as he looked to Erik’s box.
“No, Albert, we’re not done! Tell me what-the-frick is wrong with the map!” David exclaimed as he stood.
“Sword”, Erik replied as he pulled off his headphones, reached into his pocket, and yanked out his rumbling BlackBerry. “Hi, mom”, Erik replied. The intermingling yelps of David and Shawn played in the backdrop, and the extended groan of Bryen cupping his ears and leaning drove Erik to cover his left ear while pressing the smartphone to his right. “Send you an email?” Erik repeated as he nodded. “I’ll send it in thirty minutes…yep, got it, thirty minutes, I promise; love…uh…uh…love you…too?” Erik finished as he lowered his phone, pushed out his chair, and stood.
“That was a male voice on the other end”, Bryen remarked while typing.
“Okay, see, that’s not fair!” David exclaimed as he spun. “B-money can use his powers, and no one will ever know!”
“The lowest setting on my music’s volume is almost too loud for me”, Bryen groaned.
“But yeah”, Erik interjected with a wave, “that wasn’t my mom; it was Dave…Lamback. We have to meet him at his place in thirty. He told me to tell you to bring your gear.”
“What!?” David gasped, a glowing, gaping beam stretching across his face, “tell me you did!”
“Did what?” Erik began.
“You got Lamback to get us a patrol job!” David exclaimed as he looked around. “We’re going to spend a night on the town, boys!”
“Wait, Piekarsky, no”, Erik interjected. “Or at least…not likely. If anything, he’s probably giving us an update on Arthur Grant’s trial.”
“Before sending us out on patrol”, David continued.
“Yeah…sure…but no”, Erik replied. “B-money, can you grab Turrisi; and, Shawn, when you go to your room to grab your stuff_”
“Oh, I don’t keep my stuff in my room anymore. It’s in the trunk of my car. It would become harder to explain to Darren why some of my papers are burned.”
“Oh, okay…well”, Erik turned, “Piekarsky, can you go grab_?”
“Sorry, after I send this text”, David replied as he slapped the sides of his pants.
“And I have to get my stuff from my car”, Shawn repeated.
“All-frickin’-right”, Erik grunted, “I’ll get Nate.” Erik backed towards the door, opened it, looked left, then right, and sauntered down the hall. Moving in the opposite direction, Shawn strode for the main entrance, and, behind him, Bryen ambled to Turrisi’s door. At the same time, Erik turned into Room 107, where Darren stood while facing Shawn’s flat-screen with an X-Box controller in hand, and his gaze spinning from side to side. In Darren’s ears were a pair of earphones that dangled across the space between his body and the speakers to the left of the television, but, even as Erik detected the clashing blares of simulated gunfire, he picked up the zooming bass from the phoned music. Erik then looked past him, to Nate sitting cross-legged atop his bunk bed with his hands squeezing his biceps, and his eyes slanted towards the novel in front of his feet. Erik stepped, but paused as Darren turned and, with earphones still bellowing music and the controller in hand, outstretched his arms.
“Can I have a hug from my sec
ond-favorite Asian person?” Darren hummed as his smile widened.
“I don’t know…” Erik replied as he tapped his leg, “I’m kind of in a_”
“Can Erik please give me a hu-ug”, Darren sang, his voice ascending in a smooth rise.
“I guess…I guess I can”, Erik replied as he shrugged, stepped, and sighed as Darren embraced. What made me agree to this? he pondered. After ten seconds, Darren released and turned to the television, while Erik stepped past him and stopped at the foot of Nate’s bed. “So…” Erik began as Nate looked up while keeping his arms closed over one another, “are you…meditating…on fantasy novels?” he inquired, his left leg tapping.
“Uh, no”, Nate replied, “I’m stimulating my muscles with_”
“Wait!” Erik grunted as he spun to Darren and then back to Nate.
“With electricity”, Nate sighed, his gaze sinking.
Erik slammed his left hand against his forehead and rolled his eyes. He glanced to Darren, looked to Nate, and flailed.
“Erik, relax”, Nate remarked as he uncrossed his arms. “I’m pretty sure Darren’s almost deaf; do you hear how loud he blasts his music?”
“Whatevs’, man”, Erik hissed as he thrust his arms into his pockets. “You blow this, and I burn your sheets. Grab your stuff; Dave wants to see us.”
“Are we going on patrol? I want to punch people”, Nate remarked as he dropped onto his desk.
“No, we are not punching people; just hurry up so we can leave”, Erik replied as Nate dropped to the floor, applied his sneakers, ambled to the far closet, and pulled out a blue and black duffle bag from which protruded the edge of his hoodie. They stepped into the hall a few moments later and looked towards Room 111, where David stood while texting with his left and holding his book-bag with his right. Across from him, Bryen was stepping out of their room with his black duffle bag in his right and his left closing the entrance. Just beyond David and Bryen, Turrisi walked out of his room with his blue duffle bag. “Wait, Turrisi”, Erik called as he pulled out his keys. “Didn’t you leave your bag when we were on top of that…?” Erik looked around, counting the six open rooms and the fellow, but unknowing, dorm-mates occupying them. “On top of that roof near downtown”, he whispered, “the one overlooking the shootout?”
