Again, Asher dodged him.
The air felt warm against Asher’s skin. The smells seemed to bounce off of him. The sounds ran through the hairs on his arms. Asher’s senses were no longer simply acute. Time no longer simply slowed; he was now aware of each moment. The calm returned.
“I want you to know. I never touched her. Never kissed her. Never shared a physical moment. I loved your wife more than anything, but we never crossed that line,” Asher said, reaching his right hand across his body to deflect an oncoming punch by pushing Ben’s left hand in the air. Asher saw Ben’s heartbeat pouncing against his bloody shirt as left side was exposed with his arm raised high.
Asher looked down at the hammer. This was a weapon used by his brother to kill so many wolves in such a short time. He was gifted with immense powers, but not enough to overcome lies of his own heart. It was Ben’s own decision to cripple Harry and set up Edie and Lynn to die. It was Ben’s decision to hate Asher this deeply. It was Ben’s decision to be a bad husband.
Asher bent down and picked up his brother’s weapon. The handle was cold and soft. Asher thought of what Mona told him. He understood now. It wasn’t about fighting his brother, it was about saving people. It wasn’t about giving up on Ben, it was ending the tyranny of Ben’s mind. He was saving Ben from himself. If he didn’t do this, Ben was going to heinous acts against anyone who stood in his path.
Asher’s left shoulder moved backwards and his right shoulder moved forwards, creating a spinning motion which quickly built momentum. The wind whistled behind the speed of the hammer.
Asher looked up to his brother to see the hateful surprise on his face and his left arm fully extended upwards.
The hammer landed into Ben’s exposed rib cage, instantly stopping Ben’s heart.
“Ahhhhhppp. Ahhhhhpp,” Ben said lowering his left arm. It was disjointed and uncomfortably hanging in front of him. Asher could hear his brother’s blood flow lurch to a stop.
He sucked into his lungs. No air came. Or went.
“Ahhhp. Ahhh. Ahh. Sha.”
“I’m sorry brother. I’m so so so sorry. I love you,” Asher said.
Ben fell to the ground. Finally released.
-
Greg’s lungs burned as he sprinted east, evading the chase of a dog. The unexplainable mistake of peaking around a distant corner garnered the attention of a mutt. This resulted in a game of cat and mouse. Despite natural, canine behavioral inclinations, the dog left the pack and followed Greg.
It would be easier to quit, as well as a relief. He could not run much further before inevitable cramping and muscle failure. It was only a matter of time before the dog had him. The world had been reduced to the white-grey sand covered wasteland leaving no place to hide, no time to think. Greg reached the highest point of the arched bridge heading east. He was surprised how quickly he covered the distance. Then again, his perception of time was skewed since the chase began. The panting remained quiet but persistent.
In only a moment, Greg’s mistake became the final nail in his coffin.
Was it foolish? Looking back at the dogs from his supposed safe hiding spot was only to satiate his curious mind, so yes, it was foolish. Then again, a canine’s smell is equally sensitive as its sight; Greg had not showered in days and would have given off quite the alluring scent. Either way he may have been hunted.
A thick cough spewed out from his chest. Thick gobs of blood burst from his nose. The hemorrhaged wounds of his face broke open. Pain brought tears streaming from his eyes. Greg thought of the stories of dogs eating until their stomach’s burst. Animals did not have the mental capacity to stop until there was nothing left. Greg was not one of those animals. All of his desires to survive in Salt Lake City came down to being alone, physically broken, and mentally reduced to a gazelle running from a lion.
He stretched his body around to look back. The dog’s presence made Greg involuntarily groan. The noise and response hurt his jaw. He needed to think of a plan. Something. Anything. How would he get out of this? There must be a potential opening for survival hidden by Greg’s current reaction to circumstances. There is a way out of this, and Greg will find it.
Nothing. He searched the deepest parts of his intellect and found nothing.
It was over.
Greg lost.
His quivering legs gave in.
His knees scrapped through the dust and against the hot concrete.
He laid with his face in the dust. His body felt the wave of coolness wash over him, grateful for rest. The wind seemed to be grateful as well. Greg accepted his fate.
The dog was coming.
-
Harry was in the middle of a nap when the door slammed open. His body leaned up before his brain woke up; it took some time before he realized Jenna and Shelly were pulling Mickey into his apartment. The mouse was unconscious.
Mona calmly nodded as the women scattered their words all over the room. All that made sense was a couple of dogs and a bar.
“Slow down, I can’t understand ya,” he said. They weren’t talking to him, but he was probably saying what Mona was thinking regardless. So it was okay.
Tink picked Mickey up off the ground and laid him down across the kitchen table.
Jenna came over to finally explain, “It’s bad. Mickey got tasered and is unconscious. He’s not breathing.”
-
The heat of the sun was unlike anything Greg ever experienced. It was dry and rough, as if sandpaper fell from the sky. Dust filled his mouth from the gentle wind. How was he still alive? Where was the dog? How has the temperature risen so drastically, so quickly? How long had Greg been on the ground?
His mind cleared; the realization of the mutual abandonment between he and the others brought about an anger foreign to his experiences. Their shortsighted planning and oblivious support for a little girl ultimately resulted in his unnecessary attitude and unwillingness to risk his survival on someone else. Particularly someone like Mickey or Jenna. He wanted to save lives with facts and truth, not spin their wheels with an empty promise and weak ideas. Mona spoke a lot of words, none of which offered a benefit. He was alone because of her. If it were Harry leading the group or even Mickey, someone would have come to find him.
“Two roads diverge in a yellow wood.” A voice came from above.
Greg looked up to see a blurry figured standing over him. His eyes struggled to adjust to the white sky preventing Greg from see the face, but he knew who it was by the indistinguishable suit. Greg leaned up, but stopped as the man in the black suit leaned down.
His eyes were bright blue and he had short brown hair. His lips were thin and short, Greg thought he smiled like the Mona Lisa. He looked at Greg with a glimmering friendliness he was not expecting.
The man cleared his throat, “I said, two roads diverged in a yellow wood.”
Greg replied, “I’m sorry?”
“No reason to apologize. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both. And be one traveler, long I stood, and looked down one as far as I could. To where it bent in the undergrowth,” his voice was rhythmic and smooth.
Greg recalled this poem from a general education class during his undergrad program, but the way the man spoke with calm and poise, which brought life to an otherwise bore of prose.
“I suppose a poem with yellow and wood does not fit in this city’s present climate, but alas, my dear Frost articulated the heart of a man faced with a difficult decision in such a relatable, yet pitch perfect piece of work. What man has not been faced with the dilemma? Take a look in the mirror, if you will, and see how your choices have led you to this very mound of fresh, white manna. Did you think you would be here 72 hours ago? I think not. Yet those choices, the two roads without a correct option, have proven you were not amongst likeminded individuals and were better off released from an obligation of servitude. Wouldn’t you say?”
“I, well, you are right.”
“Of course, lone travele
r. Choices even themselves out. I too have faced such a road, yet am I burdened by the weight of regret? Never. Each road has produced knowledge unfounded, which leads to unique directions.” His lips slightly widened while his eyes gleamed. The man stood up straight, his body stretched high. Greg could determine he was very tall, despite still laying on the ground. The suit was tight against his thin frame. “As an example, you were faced with such a traumatic dilemma on the roof of the beautiful Grand American Hotel, yes?”
“Where is the dog?” Greg asked, changing the conversation.
The man acted like he was covering his eyes from the sun and scanned his surroundings, “Milo is around here somewhere, always scavenging,” he replied.
“Milo?”
“Never judge a man’s choice of pet name.”
“You’re not a man.”
“Mmmm. Well said. Speaking of which, I love your work as a surgeon and mad scientist. My attempts to duplicate your mastery left quite the disaster, wouldn’t you say?” He brought his hands in front of Greg’s face. “See, these stains have yet to wash away. No stony brook or river deep could erase the juice from the fruits of my labor.”
Greg coughed again. His throat felt coated with rocky flakes.
“Here. Take this and call me in the morning.” He said, producing a water bottle from his jacket pocket.
Greg took it eagerly, unwilling to see if the man meant to torture him with it or was actually offering. Each gulp was a relief. He could taste the small hint of salt in the water and enjoyed the flavor. It was finished too soon.
The Man put his hand out again, holding another bottle. “Last one.”
“Thank you. Thank you,” Greg said and wiped his face.
“So, as I was saying. You were faced with two roads on the roof, two nights ago, weren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh come on, Greg. You’re in the company of a friend, you can tell the truth.”
“What were my options?”
“Short-term memory loss? I suppose the recent damage you’ve suffered could have clouded your recollection of recent events. I can respect your predicament and lay out those two painful options.”
“Well, I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“It’s okay. I wouldn’t want you to forget such a pivotal event in your life. You see, when you were faced with two roads. You chose survival. As I recall, and please correct me if I am wrong, but when you were on the roof with Mickey and the cripple, somebody else was attempting to join you three.”
“The wolves.”
“Wolves? Come on, you’re starting to sound like Ben. Wolves are too simple, too primitive. You are far too intelligent to be subjected to such immature terms.” The man said, he turned away from Greg and faced downtown. “But they weren’t the only one attempting to gain access to the roof, there were people in that stairwell. And you locked them out. They posed a risk to your survival and you chose to allow them to die. There were two roads. Lone traveler took the one less traveled.”
“How do you know that?” Greg asked. He didn’t deny it. He remembered the voice of the woman and young boy crying for help in the stairwell. He knew exactly what he did. He was unapologetic about his decision, albeit he would have never admitted it out loud.
The man’s only answer was shrugged shoulders.
“It was either us, or them. I didn’t see other options.”
His face never changed, but his eyes smiled, “Options are like apples. There are none, until you reach up and grab one off the tree.” He held out his arms to his sides. “Behold, I am the tree of life.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out an apple. “Our roads have led us to one another, friend. Will you choose to join me?”
All along, Greg’s chance of survival was dubious; he fought a losing battle since the man in the black suit first came, but now the leader of the night, the apex predator, the alpha, wanted Greg to join him. He also called Greg his friend. Throughout Greg’s life, this term did not come lightly, nor was it used as a label for Greg. Greg had no friends. The closest relationships he had ever experienced were with the other survivors, who apparently decided against teaching for him. Joining the man would not weigh against outdated moral code. Mona’s words were insipid compared to the freshness standing over Greg, not sinister nor intimidating. He certainly understood basic human interaction far better than a child. There was a disarming nature to the man in black, one Greg had not recognized, until now.
“Okay.”
“I was hoping for more excitement, Greg. Maybe even a little gratitude,” he said offering his hand. His strength quickly pulled Greg his feet with his legs still quivering. “My name is Adam,” he said and softly ran his hand down Greg’s cheek. “Let me show you my world.”
The dried stones of blood in Greg’s nose melted down his lips and chin. Oxygen cascaded into his clogged nostrils for the first time since the blank faced model pummeled him. His legs became steady as the muscle ache expunged away. His body was released from fatigue. His wounds were healed.
“Thank you. Thank you so much,” Greg said staring. He didn’t know how else to respond.
Adam pulled him in, hugging him.
“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”
-
“Sir, satellite reads clear on all boards. Red Wave is on your go,” the operator said.
“Thermal reads?” Conrad asked.
“Clear.”
“Airwaves?”
“Clear, sir.”
“Direct footage?”
“Clear, on all boards, sir.” The operator’s voice matched the room; tense.
This was the first time Conrad worked with this particular soldier. He heard the name ‘Gathe’ before, associated with Sergeant Major Marshall, but they never crossed paths until today. He was one of the few available operators with a clearance level matching this mission. He was the only one in the room who was not on Conrad’s aerial surveillance and mission control team. He was here because he spent time working under Marshall who recommended him to President Watt. Marshall’s team was regarded as the best and most ruthless, which made the inclusion of this baby-faced kid a surprise. He looked as battle-hardened as a guppy. The boy couldn’t have been older than thirty, and couldn’t have weighed more than the First Lady.
“Operation Red Wave on your go, sir.”
Conrad’s stipulations to lead this operation were simple; he needed updated footage from one of Aviant’s satellites, a full day to analyze previous footage, and he worked with his own team. Unfortunately, Conrad’s most trusted satellite-reconnaissance operator was out of pocket. Conrad needed one other man for this mission to go along with Marcel Reyes, Conrad’s drone pilot.
The unmanned aerial vehicle, or UAV, was a GEN8-18, first and likely last of its kind. It was built to specifically erase every living being in a target location while simultaneously starting a wild fire in the surrounding areas. GEN8-18, or Genie as Hemant Chatra labeled it in his Jordanian accent, would clear the area for Marshall’s cavalry and Chatra’s research team.
White and black lines flashed in and out on the large screen. The satellite was beginning to meet the same demise of its predecessors.
“Is Genie ready?” Conrad asked Reyes.
“Four minutes out, sir.”
“Green for impact on arrival.”
-
Tink’s body went through some damage since his sister’s vision of saving Salt Lake City. He was exhausted, sore, and now his legs were cramping as he pushed a luggage cart with two grown men up a long, winding hill. Mona warned him Capitol Hill would have a few kickbacks, but she didn’t say it would be this bad. Harry wasn’t making it any easier either. That old man’s mouth was running wild about the bomb and Mickey’s body odor.
They cleared the top of the hill and hit the smooth path of the capitol courtyard. Shelly grabbed her hand-basket
off the cart. Earlier on their walk, she sat it down when it got too heavy to carry. She would have set it in Jenna’s shopping cart, but Tink wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if he didn’t offer to help.
“Thanks,” Shelly said.
Mona warned everyone of Ben and the possibility of him waiting in the courtyard. However, all Tink could find was green grass and statues. No Asher. No Ben. Just the capitol building.
He continued pushing the cart while scanning the area. Ahead, a large hammer laid on the ground. Tink heard enough about Ben and his hammer to know what he was looking at. The thick handle was four feet long with a cinder block sized head covered in blood. The area felt like walking through a cemetery at night.
Asher’s head peeked into view from the east, covered in dirt and blood. He limped up the steep ledges of the hill. He gingerly walked with his left arm uncomfortably dangling in front of him. Mona rushed to him, and gave him a soft hug. He looked unhealthy, like he was coming down off an addiction.
“Why? Why couldn’t I save him? I killed my baby brother.” Asher said, bent down and weeping on her shoulder.
“Shhh.” She soothed him. “Let’s get inside. I’m so sorry for your pain. I know it hurts. Let’s talk about it in there. Okay?”
Asher nodded.
Tink tried to offer him a reassuring smile, but it didn’t work. Tink looked up to the ugly clouds, the light was fading behind them.
Time was running out.
-
Adam finally stopped as they walked underneath an overpass. Greg followed him through the dust for approximately an hour. He nearly needed to jog to keep up. Thanks to Adam, he could have sprinted, since his lungs, nose, and body had been fully healed by Adam’s touch. Greg felt physically invigorated, and he could run for hours.
“Lone traveler, dear friend, here is where our roads diverge,” he said, opening a steel door. It creaked loud when he opened it, the sound echoing through the empty, white streets.
Greg didn’t move. They spent the last hour talking about plans. Greg understood the plan, but at no point did Adam mention them separating. He didn’t understand.
Dark Genesis (Shadow and Shine Book 1) Page 33
