Cyclops Road

by Jeff Strand

  "We should have turned there," says Harriett, as we pass an unpaved road.

  "Why do I have to keep telling him?" I ask.

  Harriett knocks on the window. "That road," she says, pointing behind us.

  If it were possible for a stream of fire to jettison from somebody's eyes, the look Maraud gives Harriett would be when it happened. But, still, he turns around and then turns onto the unnamed street.

  Riding in the back of the truck sucked before, but it's significantly worse now that we're on a dirt road. We hit bump after bump after bump. Not to mention that the sun is beginning to set, so we're about to have an added element of nighttime spookiness.

  The houses we pass get further and further apart. With every minute, the odds that we won't be attacked by cannibalistic mutants seem to decrease. I'll give Maraud points for bravery; I sure as hell wouldn't be driving out here after dark with three strangers with uncertain motives.

  The road curves a lot, and is becoming quite a bit less road-like. Harriett and Seth aren't whimpering in fear, so I'm not going to either, but, jeez, this is unnerving. We hit a bump that practically knocks me over.

  Soon, there are no signs of civilization, no illumination except the truck's headlights, and we have to hold on tight to keep from bouncing around like popcorn.

  I keep asking Harriett if she genuinely thinks we're still headed in the right direction, and she insists that we are. I have no idea how far we've gone. Five or six miles, maybe? This is insane. This can't possibly be the way to an actual town, unless the town consists of a small shack where an inbred family whittles knives made out of human bones.

  Oh, yeah, we haven't had cell phone reception since we left the paved road.

  Finally, there's a huge dip in the road that almost sends me crashing into Harriett. The truck makes a noise that I can't quite identify but is definitely not something you want to hear out in the middle of nowhere after dark, and then the truck comes to a stop.

  Maraud gets out. If I could see his face clearly, I assume he'd look mad.

  "What happened?" I ask.

  "Broke the truck."

  He reaches into the back and picks up a large flashlight. I lean over the side to watch him crouch down and shine the beam underneath the vehicle. He stands back up.

  "So...?" I ask.

  "Just what I said. Truck's broken."

  "How broken?"

  "Not a mechanic. Big piece on the bottom is broken."

  "The axle?"

  "Sounds right."

  "We can't fix a broken axle by ourselves!"

  "Nope."

  "You seem weirdly calm about this."

  Maraud nods. "That's because, if I let it sink in, I'll go on a killing spree. Right now I'm taking deep breaths and thinking about things that make me happy. Horseradish sauce. Bowling."

  "I promise we were going the right way," says Harriett.

  "Do you have any idea how much further?" I ask.

  "Sadly, no. I suppose we have two options. We can stop for the night and sleep in Maraud's truck—"

  "The back of my truck," Maraud clarifies.

  "Or we can leave the deceased vehicle behind and forge onward."

  "Not forging anywhere if we don't know where we're going," says Maraud. "Want to sleep in the back, fine with me, but the only direction we're walking is back the way we came."

  "Snakes can't slither up the side of a truck, can they?" Seth asks.

  "Maraud is right," I say, ignoring what I hope was a really stupid question from Seth. "I hate to backtrack, but at least that way we know we can get a signal and call for help. Otherwise, we could be walking through the forest for days."

  "I can forage for food," Harriett assures us.

  "Should we put it to a vote?" I ask.

  "No," says Maraud. "I call the shots. I say we're not going to go forward on foot unless I know what's ahead."

  "You were not elected our leader," Harriett says.

  "Want to fight me for it?"

  I kind of want to see this battle.

  No. No, I don't. We should not be fighting amongst ourselves, no matter how entertaining it would be to see Harriett take out Maraud.

  "Everybody calm down," I say. "Harriett, I'm sure that you would be perfectly fine if we had to walk for a few days, but at least two of the rest of us would die. We're not equipped for this. We don't all have to go, but somebody needs to call a tow truck."

  "All right," says Harriett. "But I'd like to go now instead of waiting until morning."

  "I agree," says Maraud.

  "Should somebody stay with the truck?" asks Seth.

  "Yes," says Maraud. "Appreciate it if you defended it from the truck-slithering snakes."

  Seth says nothing.

  We push the truck off to the side of what little exists of the road, and then the four of us start walking back the way we came. I wish we had more than one flashlight between us. There's way more darkness surrounding us than I'd prefer.

  "There's really no upside to having met you," says Maraud.

  "I feel differently," says Harriett. "If there are terrors in the night, I believe that our combined might can defeat them."

  "You're paying to get my truck fixed, you know."

  "No, we're not," I tell him. "You should've driven slower."

  Maraud shines the flashlight beam directly into my face. "You saying this is my fault?"

  "Could you please keep the light in front of us?" asks Seth. "I'm trying to monitor the snake situation."

  "Too cold for snakes after dark," says Maraud.

  "Forgive me if I don't trust your snake credentials."

  "Want me to carry you on my back?"

  "No, I want you to keep the light shined on where we're walking. I'm not trying to be cowardly; I'm just saying that stepping on a poisonous snake in the dark is something that can be avoided if we watch where we're going. Also, if the road is so bad that it broke your truck, it would be nice to not step in a giant hole."

  Maraud shines the beam back in front of us.

  "Was that a tarantula on that tree?" Seth asks.

  "Doubt it."

  "Swish the light back over there."

  We stop walking and Maraud shines the beam around some trees.

  "Back one," says Seth. "Yeah, right there. See it?"

  I look closely. It does indeed appear to be a tarantula.

  "They aren't venomous," says Maraud.

  "Oh, well, then let's just go get it and drop it down the back of your shirt."

  We resume our walk.

  "Graspin the Colossal wouldn't be afraid of spiders," I say.

  "Graspin the Colossal kills giant spiders left and right," says Seth. "He can also turn invisible and eat an entire wild boar in one sitting. Too bad he's a fictional character. Anyway, I didn't specifically say that I was scared of the tarantula. I just thought we should all be aware that we're in a tarantula-laden environment."

  "It's good information to possess," says Harriett. "Could we perhaps pause for a moment so I can break off a large branch to carry?"

  I don't want to drain my cell phone battery, so I only check for a signal every ten minutes. The fourth time I check, there's still nothing. This is better than being in a to-the-death cage match, I suppose, but everybody's morale is low.

  "What was that?" asks Seth, looking to the side.

  "A tarantula-snake hybrid?" asks Maraud.

  "You didn't hear that?"

  "Slithering and scurrying of tiny spider feet?"

  "Stop being a jerk. Just listen."

  We all stop and listen.

  "Oh, shit," says Maraud.

  "See? You act like I'm some big baby, but apparently I'm the only one paying attention to our surroundings."

  "Shhhh," I say. "Do you hear one growl or two?"

  "I hear three," says Seth.

  The growls are coming from in front of us. Maraud shines his flashlight all around the road ahead, stopping at the coyote near the side of the road
that's, at most, a hundred feet away.

  "Everybody stay calm," says Maraud. "He's as scared of us as we are of him."

  The coyote steps onto the road. It's immediately joined by two more. They certainly don't look like they're as scared of us as we are of them.

  They all look hungry. We can see their ribs.

  Harriett raises her branch into a defensive position.

  The coyotes begin to walk toward us.

  "How many you think you can take?" Maraud asks Harriett.

  "If they suddenly charge at us, two."

  Two more hungry looking coyotes step out onto the road. All five of them are growling. Nobody says it out loud, but I'm sure that Harriett, Seth, Maraud, and I are all thinking that we should have waited in the truck until morning.

  I put up my fists, which is perhaps the dumbest thing I've ever done. I'm not going to punch out a coyote. Seth, as if bolstered by my ridiculous show of bravery, puts up his own fists as well.

  "Why aren't we throwing rocks at them?" Seth asks.

  That's actually a much better idea than standing around like idiots. There are rocks all over the place. I pick up a couple of them and fling one at the nearest coyote. I miss on purpose, in hopes that I'll scare them away without enraging them. The coyotes don't seem intimidated.

  I throw a second rock. This one strikes the nearest coyote in the side. It lets out a loud yelp that hurts my heart a little bit, because I love all animals, even carnivorous ones that want to rip off thick strips of my flesh. But despite the yip, the coyote doesn't run away. I guess they're all too hungry. They continue their approach.

  Maraud hands me the flashlight, then turns to Seth. "Piss me off!"

  "Say what?"

  "Piss me off! Make me mad!"

  "How?"

  "Figure something out!"

  "You suck!" says Seth.

  "Are you kidding?"

  I scoop up a couple more rocks with my free hand.

  "You're ugly," says Seth, "and your hair is out of control, and your breath smells like you've been gargling skunk juice, and the problem with the truck was completely your fault, because you suck."

  "Say something anti-gay."

  "No, I don't think so."

  I'm having difficulty keeping track of all five coyotes with the flashlight beam. I may have caught a glimpse of a sixth further up the road. If you asked me if I thought I'd be more scared than the time a guy tried to slash my throat with a pocketknife, I would've said, "Well, maybe, but not the same week."

  "You want to die?" Maraud asks. "Make me mad!"

  Seth kicks Maraud in the nuts.

  Maraud falls to his knees, clutching his groin in agony. From his expression, I am 99.9% sure that this is not what he meant...but, admittedly, he does look pretty angry.

  The first coyote rushes us. Harriett whacks it with the stick before it can bite a chunk out of anybody's leg. I still feel bad when it yips.

  If they attack us one by one, we might be okay.

  The remaining four coyotes attack.

  Maraud gets back up far more quickly than I ever would in a crotch-kick situation, and it's immediately clear that he is in full-on Maraud the Berserker mode.

  Harriett smacks another coyote.

  A coyote lunges at Maraud. He lets out a battle cry of such intensity that it threatens to start an earthquake, then kicks the poor thing in the face. He dives forward, grabs the coyote by its hind legs, lifts it into the air, then swings its body, using it to bash two of the others.

  I'm absolutely terrified that I'm seconds from death, but time seems to stop as I process this. He grabbed the coyote by its hind legs, and then he lifted it into the freaking air, after which he swung its body, using it to bash two of the other starving coyotes that were trying to kill us.

  I cannot say "Holy shit" enough times to sufficiently express my feelings. There are not enough holy shits in the world.

  Even Harriett, who is fending off ravenous coyotes with a tree branch, seems stunned.

  I fling another one of the rocks, feeling like a four-year-old who gets to pour the can of pumpkin pie mix into the crust and thinks he's actually helping make Thanksgiving dinner.

  The two coyotes that got struck with their fellow canine take off running. Maraud lets out another battle cry, and I really am surprised that the earth doesn't crack beneath his feet.

  One of the coyotes knocks down Seth. He cries out in terror. Maraud hurls his coyote, which is having a terrible night, at that one. They collide, yip, and run off.

  Harriett gives the last coyote a whack on the backside, and it, too, runs off. As I shine the flashlight beam ahead, I see that there was indeed a sixth one, but it has apparently decided to flee with the rest of them.

  I can't believe it. We—and by "we" I mean Harriett and Maraud—defended ourselves from a pack of coyotes! Who does that? I'm still dubious about the Cyclops, but if there is a Cyclops, we're going to kick its ass! We didn't even get...

  No, wait. Maraud has a bite on his arm. Not a bad one, but still, it's a coyote bite.

  I extend my hand to Seth. He takes it, and sheepishly allows me to help him to his feet. The front of his shirt has a couple of long rips in it, but I can't tell if anything broke the skin.

  Maraud lets out yet another battle cry, then, using his injured arm, punches Seth in the face.

  "Don't you ever kick me in the balls again!" he shouts.

  Maraud jumps up and down, howling in rage. Harriett and I carefully back away. Seth, who has returned to his spot on the ground, also scoots away.

  After about thirty seconds of the most extreme temper tantrum I've ever witnessed, Maraud stops jumping and starts taking deep breaths.

  "I'm all right," he finally says.

  "Are you sure?" I ask.

  "Yep."

  "You told me to make you mad!" Seth wails. "What else was I supposed to do?"

  "Could've pulled my hair."

  "You might've liked it!"

  "No, you're right, you're right," says Maraud. "Did what needed to be done." He looks at his bleeding arm and winces. "Wish I'd brought the first aid kit from my truck."

  "I was our strongest proponent of not waiting in the truck until morning," says Harriett. "However, I have revised that opinion."

  I take out my cell phone and check for a signal. Nothing. "Yeah, let's head back," I say. "Hey, Maraud, is it okay for me to help Seth up, or are you planning to punch him again?"

  "Help him up."

  "I can help myself up," says Seth, getting to his feet. "I was gonna tell you how awesome you were in that fight, but you had to go and ruin it." He turns to Harriett. "You were awesome, though."

  "We all contributed in our own way."

  "Yes," says Seth. "I cleverly distracted one of them by letting it chew on my chest."

  "Didn't run screaming like a coward," says Maraud. "That's the important part."

  "I suppose. Are you going to bleed to death?"

  "Not before we get back to the truck."

  "Then let's go before another ninety of them come after us. There could be a coyote behind every tree. Clearly we don't know how nature works out here."

  We begin to walk back to the truck, not moving as quickly as we were before. I wish I'd made a video of this encounter. It would've gotten tens of millions of YouTube hits. I definitely could've monetized that.

  "What was that?" asks Seth, looking back.

  "A tarantula-snake-coyote hybrid?" asks Maraud.

  "I'm glad you're feeling well enough to make jokes. It's not like I wasn't the first one to hear the wild animals that just attacked us."

  "Defense mechanism. I feel terrible."

  "Shhhh," I say. "Everybody just listen."

  We're all quiet for a moment.

  "It's a car," I say.

  It's definitely a car engine. Are we rescued? We may be rescued, unless the car is on a different road, or the driver tries to run us down for injuring the members of his vicious coyote army. "Yo
u done went and hurt Bitey, Scratcher, Mangler, Devourer, and Flesh Remover! Prepare to diiiiiiiiie!"

  We wait.

  The car is on this road for sure, so at least we don't have to run through the predator-laden woods to try to intercept it.

  We can see the headlights.

  The car comes around the bend. We can't really see anything but the lights, but we all wave for the driver's attention, as if the driver could somehow miss four people standing on a tiny dirt road in the middle of nowhere.

  The car stops.

  I can hear the windows rolling down. I shine the flashlight beam into the front windshield—which is rude, I know—and see Reggie behind the wheel. He's still wearing his eye patch.

  I shout for the others to run, as Reggie and at least one of his partners get out of the vehicle and start shooting at us.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  We flee as quickly as we can. As I run, I turn off the flashlight to make it harder for them to see us.

  "Who the hell are those guys?" asks Maraud.

  "I'll tell you later," I say, figuring that this is not the best time for exposition.

  They shoot several more times. None of us cry out and drop to the ground, which I would like to believe is because the bad guys are purposely not trying to hit us, but is probably because they just haven't hit us yet.

  We hurry off the road. I'm not a big fan of the idea of running through the woods in total darkness, but what else are we going to do? I wonder if this means that we'll get lost and simply die more gradually.

  "We have to slow down," says Harriett. "We can't risk injury."

  She's right. Somebody, most likely me or Seth, is going to trip, break a leg, and force the others into the unpleasant decision about whether or not to leave him behind to meet his demise. We cease our all-out sprint and shift to a really fast walk.

  "Got a rifle in my truck," says Maraud.

  "Why didn't you bring it?" I ask.

  "We were searching for help. People don't help you when you're carrying a big-ass rifle."

  "All right, back to the truck. Good plan."

  I hear some doors slam. I risk a look backwards and see the car moving.

  "Hey," I say, "let's stick to the road. They're driving after us, but they'll have to drive slow, so I think we can outrun them!"