by GR Griffin
The guards at the mouth stopped. “It’s coming down,” the officer in command yelled. His voice drowned out in the crashing of metal and wood. “Stop, men! Don’t go any further!”
The construction buckled to the side then collapsed from the top. Fleck pushed their human body to its limits, determined to make it through before they were buried alive. It all fell inwards, breaking down in the centre before working its way out. Fleck felt the platforms slam into the ground mere feet behind them, shooting brick and paint dust into the air, engulfing everything and everyone in the enclosed space. Fleck, unable to see anything in front, drowning in the din of disaster all around, listened to the voice in their head that beckoned them forward. They ran at full pelt, praying that nothing tripped them or hit them or landed on them.
Someone out there liked them. They emerged out the dust cloud, without a scratch on them.
As the dust cleared, the extent of the damage became apparent. The entire narrow passageway was blocked completely, crammed with debris. The troops on the other side unable to pass. Fleck braced themself on their knees, savouring that precious moment to get their breath back. A droplet of sweat fell from their cheek.
“We’ve been cut off! Corporal Barmy,” the same deep voice called out from beyond the wreckage, “do not let them get away!”
A figure above darted between the rooftops. His shadow eclipsed Fleck for a split-second. “No problem.”
He moved unnaturally from cover to cover, stalking his prey from up high, waiting for the right opportunity to strike. The crackle of energy as he readied his bow gave away his position for a brief moment.
Fleck looked forward at the stretch of parallel walls ahead. With a tired sigh – their moment of rest over already – they continued, the chase far from over. The adrenaline in their blood offered some slight reprieve from the ache, anything to battle their failing leg muscles. A shadow sliced back from forth on the ground, sticking close to the target. Barmy cackled softly, finding the human’s attempts to flee amusing.
Time slowed down from the both of them when the corporal performed an aerial cartwheel between the rooftops. Upside-down, he formed his bow and arrow into his hands and took aim. Fleck watched as the bowstring straightened and the arrow flew in their direction. They had no time to react, but could merely watch as the blue arrow flew toward them, spinning clockwise in mid-air. Fortunately for them, it pierced the ground around their feet.
“That was a warning shot,” he said after concealing himself in plain sight. There was no distinct place where his voice resonated from, like he was everywhere and yet nowhere. “You might not be so lucky next time. I’d give up if I were you.”
Fleck could not stop, not now, not later, not ever. They stepped hastily into another clearing that was filled with the pleasant aroma of pine – well, car air freshener version at least. The surrounding walls were adorned with balconies and al fresco art. A lovingly tended tree stood tall and proud in the centre, encircled by beds of flowers and healthy green grass. A small slice of haven in this concrete jungle.
No time to relax. A few more alleys leading back to the harsh world of brick and mortar awaiting them, each one summoning them to enter. Fleck moved toward the one on the left, making it two steps before the squirrel knight bounded through the air, taking aim and firing off six arrows at once.
Barmy landed on a balcony, opposite the wall where Fleck stood. He turned and smiled, admiring his handiwork. The human had been stopped dead in their tracks, pinned to the wall with all six arrows.
One had snagged the left sleeve, another under the right armpit.
A third caught the fabric around the left knee of their shorts.
Arrow number four was a millimetre away from their right foot, which was up on the tips of their toes.
The fifth above their head, brushing against the strands of their hair.
The sixth and final arrow…? Take a wild guess.
Fleck – unable to move, unable to breathe – clenched their teeth so tight that they were in danger of cracking them. Sweat trickled down their face. He could see it in their eyes, the human was scared.
Accurately, Corporal Barmy – soon to be Sergeant Barmy – loaded a fresh arrow into his bow, ready to deliver the chase ending blow. “You might wanna look away a sec.” He drew the string back, setting the arrow tip level with the human. “This is gonna sting a li—”
Suddenly, the balcony door behind him swung open, slamming into his back. Barmy lurched forward. The arrow flew, going completely astray and into the tree. He trundled over the guardrail and fell four flights to the ground, landing on his head in a bed of fake roses.
Lucky break for the kid. Fleck breathed out, ridding their dread in that puff of air. For a moment there, they thought that they were a goner. They pulled away the arrows one by one until they were free. They wanted to rush outside, but they found themself heading over to check on the squirrel, the same one who, seconds ago, was about to make a shish kebab out of them. Barmy was out cold, but at least he was alive – the flowers must have broken his fall.
One thing occurred to them as they checked on the corporal, they could hear a noise – the sound of escaping air, the same sound one of Sans’s whoopy cushions would make. Fleck looked around to find the source of the noise, a small glimmer hoping that it was the comedic skeleton himself. It turned out to have been coming from the most unlikely of places: the tree. Air escaped from where the arrow had pierced. The tree deflated like a balloon. The branches lost their rigidness, flopping to the ground like wet noodles. It shrank and shrank until there was nothing left but the shrivelled, empty husk the colour of tree bark.
Fleck stepped through the alley, back into the street. They looked around, having lost their sense of direction. They could hope that they could find a place that could tell them where they were… and then realised that the hotel was right in front of them. At first glance, no soldiers were around, and by a quick glance through the windows, none of them were inside either. They could make out the janitor as he ran a buffer across the marble floor.
They observed the street that lead to the station. If they continued now, they would surely be spotted and be dragged into another chase. By then, they would surely have missed their ride, and with it, their chance of getting home.
Fleck stepped through the revolving door. They had an idea.
* * *
Five minutes later, six members of the Monster Military entered the hotel, siphoning through one at a time. The leader of the bunch approached the desk and slammed on the bell, summoning the receptionist.
“What seems to be the problem, sirs?” he asked.
The guard raised a poster to the receptionist’s eyes. “Have you seen this person? Several civilians have reported sighting them in this area.”
The receptionist took it by the side and examined it closer. “Yes. Yes,” he said, gleaning a look at the portrait. “I recognise that person. They were here last night; paid for a room.”
“Which room?” the guard enquired, leaning forward with both hands on the desk.
The receptionist slinked under the desk, pulled out his trusty logbook, set it down on the counter, and pulled up the ribbon to the current page. He traced his finger down the list, ignoring the entries from that morning alone. The guard tapped his gauntlet fingers on the table, indicating his impatience. The fugitive was the last person to book the last room yesterday night. “Room number thirteen. It’s upstairs, the last door on the left.” He got a key out from his pocket. “I’ve got a master key. I’ll let you in.”
“Much obliged.” The guard waved his arm twice toward the stairs. “Hurry up.”
The receptionist slithered around the desk and took the lead up the stairs, the six soldiers on his tail. Going upward, they passed someone walking down. It was a funny-looking monster, with no arms, draped in a thick, grey, flowing robe and had a mop of long, tangled, straw-coloured hair. Whatever it was, it moved its three-foot frame straight,
taking the steps one at a time as if it would smite anyone who intruded on its chosen path.
“Excuse me, sir… or madam,” the receptionist said as he moved to the other side, allowing the monster to pass. The company behind followed suit.
They moved quietly down the upper floor until they reached the door marked with the number thirteen. The receptionist took one look at the guards. They were unsheathing their swords and daggers – weapons best suited for close-quarters combat. The receptionist swallow hard as he slid the master key into the lock and disengaged it, with only a small click to warn the occupant inside. He moved aside and the closest guard rammed into it, flinging the door open and charging in at the same time.
Four guards funnelled inside, shouting at the top of their lungs, keeping their weapons pointed outwards. Three charged around the bed while the fourth searched the bathroom. They pulled back the shower curtain, threw off the bed cover, opened the wardrobe and looked under the bed until they found out they had gotten the drop on nobody.
“Area clear,” the lead confirmed. “No sign of the target.”
“Where could they have gone to?” another asked, slipping his dagger into its hold.
The lead looked around. “This room has obviously been used recently. The target may not have gotten far.” As he made his way to the door, he said, “Get us some backup so we can search this place top to bottom, the human may still be around, hiding in another room. Until a full sweep has been completed, nobody leaves the building.”
The guards exited the hotel room and escorted the receptionist back to his place of work, informing him that they were going to perform a more thorough search of the hotel, whilst ensuring him that it was all for the safety of himself, his clients, and his business. The receptionist gave them full permission, since he did not have the authority to deny them; to do so would be an act of obstructing the law.
A blue flash caught the receptionist’s eye as he returned to his counter. It was a key, just lying there. Attached to it was a tag with a number etched on it. 13.
* * *
Fleck stumbled down the street, head down, managing to make out the two feet of pavement in front of them. Their cheap, ten second disguise was a huge gamble – they had no mirror to inspect themself after throwing on the fire blanket and mop head from the utility room, no way of knowing if it would fool the guards – but it paid off. The blanket was hot and heavy, itchy on the fingers, the tight knitting made it hard for their skin to breathe. The strands of the mop covered their eyes, making navigation difficult. It was slightly damp and smelled strongly of a hospital hallway. Fleck tried not to imagine where it had been.
Footsteps, slithering and crawling passed left to right. Fleck stopped and risked a look forward. None of the other monsters were aware of the human’s presence. They must have looked bizarre enough to be mistaken as one of them. Two soldiers under the Emperor’s banner moved past, neither drawn to them.
The main entrance to the train station lay straight ahead, through an automatic, parting door. Inside the crowded lobby of pillars, kiosks, and waiting chairs, four archways stood above four ticket booths with turnstiles that separated the lobby from the platforms, the employees fresh-faced and bushy tailed, some literally. A train rumbled out the station, heading southbound. High above on the ceiling, the arrival and departure times looked down, black screens with yellow figures, flicking at regular intervals. A few of them appeared to be delayed. The clock read ten to nine: the one Fleck wanted was scheduled to arrive in ten minutes. There was a familiar presence surrounding the station, as if they had gotten all of their inspiration from the humans. Mostly likely the shows they pick up on television.
Still in their disguise, they shuffled their way across to the booths, passing monsters and tempting offers from stalls. Who could resist fried chocolate? They spotted a few more posters of themself stuck up on the pillars and stall displays. Out of the four lines, they took their place at the back of the shortest one.
Two out of the five monsters in the queue took a painstakingly long amount of time to order their tickets. Every few seconds, Fleck glanced at the station, praying that the train they wanted did not come and go without them. The tension made their fingers twitch and their feet jumpy. From what they could see, it appeared that several monsters were transporting cargo toward the front end of the platform.
Finally, Fleck’s turn arrived seven minutes later. They stepped up to the booth, the bottom of the glass level with their nose. The operator, a hulking ogre in an ironed, white shirt, looked down through the sight of his tiny spectacles. They could make out the lines in his irises. “Good morning,” he greeted in a voice that did not suit him whatsoever. “How may I help you today?”
Without saying a word, Fleck pointed to the next train to arrive on the schedule.
The operator was an expert at charades. “One ticket to Winter’s Edge?” Fleck responded with a nod, wobbling the strands of their improvised wig. “Have you ever been on this train route before?” he asked. Fleck responded by shaking their head, the wig almost twisted off. “In that case, I must warn you beforehand that this train travels over the Shattered Zone. It can get a little… bumpy around those parts. Do you still want to board?”
Fleck took another look at the platform, feeling and hearing the train coming in. They needed to be on that train, whatever it took, it was their way of getting home, getting back to their friends. They nodded quickly.
The operator tapped on the ticket machine before him. “Also, this train is more suited for cargo runs, but the company have included a small side fee to ride as a passenger. That’ll be fifteen cloud coins, please.”
Fleck awkwardly fumbled with the money pouch, trying to open it up while keeping the blanket wrapped around them. After seconds of fruitless rummaging, they resorted to tossing the entire pouch onto the booth. The operator was honest. He took the pouch, extracted the amount he needed, and handed the rest back. The pouch was light now, the feeble jingle of five coins bounced around inside.
A ticket churned from his machine. After breaking it on the dotted line, he handed it over. “Here you go. That’ll be your ride coming into platform four just now. The passenger car will be the one at the end. Safe travels and remember to wear your seatbelt when asked to.”
Fleck took their ticket as used it to pass through the turnstile.
They moved as fast as they could, using the bridge that crossed above the tracks. Platforms 1 and 2 were loaded with monsters starting their commute, plenty of briefcases about. The train rolled into the station, seemingly going on forever, starting with the engine and followed by countless cargo cars. They made out the cargo as it passed; coal, timber, wood, heavy machinery, the usual sort of stuff. By the time they had reached the end of platform 4, where a few monster were waiting, the passenger cart at the very end rolled up. The doors opened and a smartly dressed monster stepped out with a hole-punch at the ready.
“Ticket’s please.”
An irked monster got on first, followed by another, and then a pair who would not shut up. Fleck, who was last, presented their ticket from under the blanket. The conductor clipped a hole in it and waved for them to embark.
The passenger car held a dozen leather seats on both sides, divided by the centre aisle. On the outside, it appeared aged and old-fashioned, however, the interior was quite modern. Fleck picked a seat and sat down, behind the chatty pair. They were surprised to find seatbelts fitted into the seats. Not your regular two point lap belts, but the kind one would find in a stock car. Were they on a rollercoaster ride or something?
As they waited for the train to move, they could finally breathe easy, or as easy as they could with the fire blanket on them. The events of the foot chase swam through their mind. There were two moments about it that they could not shake: the collapsing scaffolding and the patio door. Two accidents that got them out of tight spots. Two unrelated incidents that happened at the most convenient times.
However, Fle
ck was not so sure about that.
Under the scaffolding, they could have sworn they had seen a hand holding something sharp, moments before the rope snapped. Behind the patio curtain, there was a figure, who disappeared after the door was flung into the back of Corporal Barmy.
Those accidents might have been done on purpose.
* * *
Thank goodness they were kind enough to leave the door open.
Barb the Bounty Hunter stepped inside the hotel room, the one which her target had been using. Her high-heel boots sank into the carpet. Her entrance was so stealthy and silent that nobody knew she was even there. With nobody around, she was free to explore to her heart’s content. She gave the unassuming room a quick look around, finding nothing of great importance. Everything about that room, the economy room, was standard. The bathroom was spotless. The bed needed remaking.
Any ordinary monster would gather nothing from it. However, Barb was not like the commonplace hunter. She had trained her mind to gather clues where others would see none. One footstep in a muddy puddle was a compass marker. A broken twig acted as a homing beacon. A single blade of grass in the wrong direction was a detailed map leading to the target’s exact whereabouts.
The bed told Barb that the target had left in a hurry. The remote control by the bedside. Her eyes examined the leaflets on the desk, a smile formed on her red lips. The leaflets had been tampered with. Such amateur soldiers; none of them would ever dream that a trivial matter would hold a vital clue to the target’s movements.
Barb counted the ones that were present: the menu for Sweet and Sour’s. A vacation park. Day trips around Parfocorse. Summer activities for children.
