Ken Griffey Jr. made his MLB debut with the Seattle Mariners in April 1989.  In his first home field at-bat, Griffey swung and barreled a ball over the left field wall.  His home-town home run was one of hundreds more to come.  Griffey hit 417 home runs in front of Seattle crowds during his career as a Mariner.

Although his powerful swing was mighty enough to build a career on, Junior. was taught that defense came first.  The centerfielder played the game with reckless abandon, and challenged the dynamics of baseball physics on more than one occasion.  Junior routinely left the earth, and sacrificed his body to take away extra base hits.  He ran up walls and crashed into them.  He even brought one down in Baltimore.  Once, during his sophomore season, the Mariners traveled to Yankees Stadium, where Junior robbed slugger Jesse Barfield of his 200th career home run.  He jumped over the warning track and, in the same stride, leapt half way up the wall.  He extended his glove and snared the bleacher bound ball, then pulled it back into the field of play for the final out of the inning.  It was by all accounts, a spectacular play, and one of many defensive highlights Junior would create.

Throughout the 90’s decade, Griffey was a fixture among the best in the biz discussions.  Still today, he is hailed as one of the greatest center fielders to ever play the game.  He won 10-straight Gold Glove Awards, was selected to 10-consecutive All-Star teams, and he won seven Silver Slugger Awards, all during the 1990’s.  His induction into the baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown seems eventual, but his influence on the game spans far greater stretches than his centerfield range ever did.  He is loved in Seattle where he made his debut, and equally cherished by thousands in Cincinnati.  But beyond the great impacts he made in the communities where he served as an ambassador of the game; Ken Griffey Jr. demonstrated for a generation of athletes, how fun and integrity should fit together in professional sports.

Though injuries plagued him through portions of his career, the infamous asterisks tied to so many of today’s great players, have no place in discussions of The Kid.  While Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire chased Roger Maris’ single season record for homeruns in 1998, Junior trailed not far behind, but ultimately fell short with 56 dingers, to McGwire’s 70, Sosa’s 66.  However, it seems fitting that the historic race between Sosa and McGwire easily forgets that Griffey almost did it too.  In the months leading up to the 2010 season, McGwire came clean about his steroid use as a pro player, and Sosa tested positive in 2003. Both players will forever remain a part and portion of the doped-up age of the MLB, and there is nothing they can ever do to erase their names from the pages of steroid-user history.

George Kenneth Griffey Jr. has remained untarnished and untouched by the dark cloud of scandal that hangs over baseball’s most powerful records.  Junior’s righteous credibility as a player who never touched steroids, rings a refreshing reminder of the child like innocence and wide eyed belief in our heroes, we used to share for the game.  It also reminds us of professional sports’ desperate need for greater integrity from their athletes, because what’s left when they retire is the impact they’ve left on the game, and the fans.  Griffey retired ranked fifth among the game’s most powerful men in history, with 630 home runs.  Barry Bonds* sits atop the prestigious list and holds the record for most career ‘outta heres, with 762.

The Kid retired from major league baseball in May 2010, after 22 big-league seasons.  He finished his career in Seattle, where his indelible mark impressed baseball fans, from the very beginning.  His individual accolades and highlight reel never culminated into a championship, but perhaps that isn’t why the game needed Junior.  We didn’t need individuality or prestige.  We have enough pride and ego in the game to suffice already.  Rather, what the game needed The Kid to do is teach the baseball world about integrity.  We needed him to offer a counter point during the darkest age of modern era baseball; when cheating ran rampant.  He is not the savior of baseball, because the game would have continued with or without Ken Griffey Jr., but throughout his stay, Junior demonstrated how to play the game, the right way.

the cars themselves are
no better
the air conditioning
roaring helplessly
against the heat
a tired old man
begging for mercy
his button-down shirt
open to his flabby
man-breasts drenched
in sweat

i fall in love with
colorado in weather like
this

the lovers’ spat
of the little miseries
of winter forgotten
behind us

palmer shouts in my earphones
about relationships and
insanity
and how can
i enjoy this music
when i have never had
my heart broken
i have never had
a heart to break
for one
never opened up
enough to find out
what heartache feels like
for other people
only inchoate longing
for people i cannot
know and never touch

the bright star and
the dubliner both
died virgins
didn’t they

“who needs love when
there’s law and order”

a sheen of sweat
but no discomfort
the sun has set finally
i think about a girl
i used to know
and wonder where
she is and if she
ever thinks of
me.

Khepera.

You move close to the earth, eat bits
of old. An amulet allowing ascension

adorning the deceased with spells
written on cool stone: prayers balanced

against a feather. You push the sun across
the sky and motion the moon to do the same.

Your image, carved

on earthen walls, watches my wrapped body
lowered into the sand. There I dissolve

into the womb of your child

and am reborn.

Whispers:
primordial language
of water.
Juniper and sage
spice thin air.

Scent and sound
discordant
coexistence
with a harsh,
gracefully broken land.

Persistent sunlight
grazes a shear
rock face,
ghosts twist
between crevices
and emerge
as ancient art
carved
onto ancient walls.

We open our palms,
touch cool red rock,
delicate skin
exposed and painted
with muddy earth,
blending with sandstone,

and it is sudden,
the understanding of
vulnerability.

Pt. 2: “Nightmares”

Pt. 3: “Respite”

Pt. 4: “Illusion”

            Approximately thirty seconds after climbing into the Mercedes, Laine’s brain caught up with her. Jon Gold was not a person she knew in any but the broadest sense of the term. He had no reason she could see for doling out assistance. Especially at his own risk. If not for the initial bewilderment of shots fired in so public a place, she would never have ventured down that corridor with him. Moreover, how and why had he acted with greater speed than her security team? A missing link stood out glaringly among the facts of the action, and she had a strong feeling its name was “Joe.”

            It all came down to money, assuming she had the right of it. What she had overheard hinted strongly at a criminal exchange of dollars for services rendered that resulted in more dollars for both involved parties. It could not have anything to do with standard donations to the charity; otherwise, why would the man have acted so concerned about retaining anonymity? Most of the high-roller brand wanted recognition for contributing serious amounts of cash to worthy causes. And if the charity was so strapped for funds, why hadn’t she heard anything about it before? Most condemning of all, however, was Joe’s mention of “return payments.” That factoid erased all contrived guiltlessness of the conversation’s contents. And one well-framed question could lend confirmation.

            Speaking of which…

            She turned toward the golden-headed singer slouched thoughtfully at the other end of the Mercedes’ leather backseat. “Jonny, have you noticed anything…off…about Joe lately? He seemed…well, I heard him say some things.”

            His attention snapped to her. If she hadn’t been looking for it, she might have missed the look of cold calculation that flashed across hazel before settling into innocent query. “Pardon?”

            So Laine had her answer. Part of her immediately regretted the inquiry. Tipping her hand even a little likely placed her in greater jeopardy, but she needed to know Jonny’s level of involvement. From his initial reaction, she guessed it went deep.

            “Never mind. I’m sure it’s nothing,” she shrugged with forced bemusement. Let him think she had missed the significance of the exchange entirely. “Oh, but I’d better let Mitchell know I’m safe before he starts turning the city inside and out.”

            That last sounded extreme for Mitchell. Still, she imagined the likelihood of his finally taking safety over image seriously had grown quite a bit after witnessing an assault first hand. Maybe this was what it took to rattle him. Then again, maybe not.

            “Do you have a cell phone I could borrow?” She added a soft, helpless laugh. “I didn’t think I’d need mine.”

            Jonny shot her a rueful grin. “Sorry, Jace. Left mine at home too. When we stop, I’ll find you a phone somewhere.”

            Two obvious lies blasted his answer apart. Well, three—Laine doubted he was sorry. The outline of a phone stood out clearly in his jacket pocket. Moreover, she had spotted the driver’s cell sticking out of a cup-holder up front. Jonny didn’t give her powers of observation much credit. She would keep that in mind. As advantages went, it was nothing to sneeze at.

            Perhaps she could have at least indicated her awareness of the driver’s cell phone, but she wanted to keep Jonny in the dark as much as possible. The more he underestimated her, the better her chances of getting away. And she planned to get away. Not only that, but she planned on taking as much evidence with her as she could gather about whatever it was he and Joe were involved in. There was little doubt in her mind now that they were behind the attempts on her life.

            Why, of course, remained the biggest concern. Joe, if not Jonny, knew of the provision in her will that left Yellow Brick Road an exorbitant number of dollar signs. The exchange she had overheard sounded an awfully lot like an investment deal, so they were clearly looking to raise funds. For what, though? Until she found that answer, a gaping hole marred the puzzle of the last few weeks. And the final piece would probably cost her.

            Except that she had nothing to lose. Life as she knew it was finished. The most sensible road left to her stalkers was the one where they made her disappear while hiding their involvement. Either they took her out of the game, or she took them out first.

            She wished help was coming, accepted that it wasn’t. She refused to think further along than that. Unless someone had seen her leave with Jonny, her security people wouldn’t know where to start their search—assuming they were even in a position to come after her. And Kyle—

            Her stomach heaved and for a moment, she thought she might throw up. Doggedly, she pushed all thought aside and concentrated on what she did know: sooner or later, the car would have to stop. She would play dumb until that happened. And she would pray Jonny didn’t have a gun.

***

            Kevin Briggs was at a loss. Despite their best efforts, the situation had spun out of hand with astounding neatness. He still couldn’t pin down how. The venue was secure, all the guests registered, surveillance cameras in place, men present on the floor. None of it had done much good, not where it counted. Worse, with no Merrimac to call the shots, the responsibility now fell heavily on his own stiff shoulders.

            While ordinarily this would not have posed a problem, investigation was not Briggs’s strong suit. He had served a stint with the Marines, could take orders and give them too. That did not make him feel any more comfortable throwing out directions that might get the singer killed. He had watched her long enough to recognize that she knew better than to take off on her own. Whatever had gone down, chances were good she was chin deep in trouble.

            Mitchell Jansen’s snarls hardly helped the situation. The manager was absolutely livid that their team held a grand total of zero clues about Jacy’s whereabouts. The police detectives were no better. Not a single camera covered the section of room in which she had stood previous to the gunfire. Only through conjecture could they piece together what may or may not have happened after that. Because Hancock hadn’t seen a damned thing either.

            In the immediate mayhem, Hancock had inserted himself between the assassins and their target, and then laid down a few well-placed leg shots that toppled the pair in ten seconds flat. The bulky guard could certainly shoot—much more accurately than his beefed up build suggested—and his decision was defensible. Unfortunately, those scant seconds provided all the time necessary for Jacy to vanish.

            Their best chance at recovering her might lie in the hands of Porter, Mercier, and whatever useful information they brought to light. In the interim, Briggs checked and rechecked the video records from his laptop while Hancock and the police canvassed the crowd for a lead. Someone had to have seen something.

            Over and over, he watched the killers enter the ballroom and make their way across the floor. If they had a third party working with them, their accomplice blended too completely for him to detect. Or maybe they were already inside among the guests. In the next series of frames, he could see Merrimac smoothly part the crowd on his way to check out their suspects.

            And then running.

            And then falling.

            Over and over and over again. Until the scene lost its affect.

            Switching cameras, he chose the one closest to the spot where Jacy had disappeared. Nothing about that part of the crowd stood out either. Determined, he scanned the shocked faces. There. He recognized that one. A friend of hers, from what he’d seen. Maybe he had noticed something.

            Glad for a legitimate reason to put some distance between himself and the raging manager, presently giving all hell to the detective in charge, Briggs strode back into the corridor that led to the ballroom. With any luck, Bobashank was still inside.

***

            It took much longer than she anticipated but finally, just when she felt certain cold anxiety had worn chinks in her otherwise blasé expression, the car began to slow. Jostling a little from side to side, the Mercedes pulled into the pitted gravel parking lot of a run-down motel just off Highway 94 on the outskirts of Jamul. Any move she made would have to come quickly. Each mile brought them nearer the Mexican border.

            The proximity did not bode well for her prospects.

            Her only other opportunity for escape had come over an hour ago, when necessity forced a stop for gasoline at a 7-11 near San Diego. During their drive, Jonny had launched into an intricate explanation concerning plans for her continued safety. He suggested she leave the L.A. area prior to contacting her people, and when that vital phone call was placed, he insisted he be the one to do it. Playing along seemed the best course of action until she could signal someone for help. The gas station seemed the likeliest place. Unfortunately, Jonny had locked her inside with the driver while he located a payphone, and not a single patron approached the 7-11 in all that time.

            Frustration had eaten away at her, urging her to take a chance before it was too late. Still, the small part of her brain that controlled her urge to run every time her feet hit center-stage held her back. She was no secret agent, no martial arts specialist. With the limited skill-set at her disposal, her only shot was getting the timing right. Otherwise, she would have no chance at escaping pursuit. And there was no doubt there would be pursuit.

            When Jonny returned, it was to say he had contacted Mitchell after getting the number from his own agent—stupidly, she had Mitchell’s contact information saved in her cell phone and therefore had not bothered to memorize it. Her manager was supposedly relieved and urged her to hole up someplace safe until the proper authorities arrived.

            She knew all of this was another in a long series of lies. Jonny had not contacted Mitchell, nor did he plan to. And even if by some extreme chance he had made contact, then either Mitchell had turned idiot, or he was in on the whole thing. Neither option sat well with her. Her first phone call, after she figured a way out of this mess, would be to the police, and not just because she didn’t require a cell phone to keep track of their number.

            A tap at her shoulder yanked her attention back onto the current bane of her existence. Somewhere along the line, Jonny had taken over the role from Robin Kasey. “Hey, I’m gonna get us a room and give it a quick once over. Stay in the car ’til I give the go ahead.  And hey, cheer up. We’re in the home stretch now. Nothing for you to worry about.”

            Hard to worry when you’re dead, she smirked through a touch of morbid amusement.

            “Thanks, Jonny,” she said aloud. “I really appreciate your help.”

            Like hell she did.

            Another empty parking lot, another chance lost. She was running out of options more quickly than they appeared. For obvious reasons, this was a substantial problem. If she did not develop a new plan and soon, the clock would wipe any last, infinitesimal opportunity off the map.

            Time and distance were the foremost factors in achieving an exit strategy that gave her the best chance at success. The more time she wrangled before someone discovered her missing, the more distance she could put between herself and pursuit. With enough time and distance, she could call up help while giving it a chance to arrive.

            Any ideal scenario, however, now seemed doubtful. She would have to make do with what she had, before she had nothing. If she could just get them to leave her alone, even for a minute…but the likelihood of that happening was slim to none. Now that Jonny had her, he would exercise every caution he could afford. And he could afford quite a lot of caution at this point. He held all the cards. It was her job to make him hand over the trump. Every trick counted.

            She was not without a few assets. Jonny didn’t know she knew anything was amiss. He might guess it though. She was in superb physical condition, could run three miles in under twenty minutes, and her front thrust kick packed a punch. Thanks to the media, this last was virtually common knowledge. She did have a face people recognized. There was little he could do about that. Not in a public environment. She was also wearing an outfit that stood out like a dissonant chord this close to the border. Any onlookers would have to be blind to miss her sleek, steely blue sheath dress and four-inch sandal pumps. They were hardly desert-wear.

            Perhaps she should slip out of the car and make a run for it. Only there was nowhere to go. The truck stop across the street might offer some shelter, but she doubted she could make it there without cuing Jonny to drastic action. The same would come from causing a scene in front of motel management.

            Her gut insisted she play along a while longer, that this was not the right moment to bust a move. Countless hours of dance said that timing was what landed a jump, or instigated injury. Instinct kept the whole routine moving. If she wavered at all, concentrated too closely on what she wanted to accomplish, everything would fall apart.

            Personally, she preferred that not happen.

            The cracked door of the rust-stained adobe building swung open and Jonny made his way back to his very out of place Mercedes. It didn’t belong, she didn’t belong, and frankly even he didn’t belong. Someone was bound to notice. Dark sunglasses obstructed his optical focus, but Laine felt certain it centered on her. She settled for a look of impatience, entangled with irritated reproach at their present locale. Let him misinterpret the reason for her aggravation with his oh-so-grand plan.

            A nod toward the driver sent her window rolling downward and she glared out at him. “What the hell are we doing here? We should have headed straight to a police station. There are army bases that are closer. I understand wanting to keep a low profile, but this is ridiculous.”

            He slipped his shades up to perch atop his head and lifted the corner of his mouth in a cocky little grin. “Jansen wanted you to trust me, remember? He’s sending a car for us. They’ll meet us here within a couple of hours. So relax, Jace. I’ve got this under control.”

            Under cover of a heavy sigh, she pushed at the door. To her surprise, it actually opened. The driver must have unlocked it at Jonny’s reappearance. Pushing to her feet, Laine sighed again and squared her shoulders. “I assume we’re going in?”

            That infuriating grin flashed again and Jonny raised a key that dangled from a neon pink plastic paddle. “Room 122. We’ll head in the back way.”

            Even more annoyed at his ploy to avoid the desk manager, Laine followed a few haughty steps behind. The minor tantrum disguised her own scheme: memorizing the layout of both building and deserted stretch of desolate wild. When the time to run finally came, she wanted to know where she was, and what led where.

            They arrived at the door almost too quickly, though at the least it was positioned down a short hall that led out of the Mercedes’ line of sight. That facet might come in handy.

            Hunching over slightly, Jonny fitted the key to the lock and twisted. The door creaked open. Laine winced. That sound would not be easily disguised. Clearly, she was not going to catch a break here.

            “Fortunately, we won’t be here long,” Jonny shrugged in apology. “Not even a television. Phone doesn’t work either. It’s safe enough, though. No one will ever think of looking for you here.”

            Therein undoubtedly lay the problem.

            “It’s fine,” Laine brushed past him. Unless she completely missed her guess, Jonny had disabled the phone on his initial visit. Since he had thought this detail necessary, she hoped it meant he might be planning on leaving her on her own, long enough for her to contemplate a phone call. The thought almost made her giddy. This room might make all the difference.

            “Can I get you anything?”

            She simply stared at him.

            “Stupid question,” he snorted. “Not much around here worth the getting. I need to run over a couple of things with Phil and see about finding a working phone, so will you be all right if I leave you on your own for a few? Shouldn’t take long.”

            Frowning, Laine nibbled at her lip. “You’re sure no one followed us?”

            “Positive.”

            Slowly, she exhaled. “I’ll be fine. Just, would you mind calling Marshall again? See how long this’ll take?”

            “First call on my list.”

            When the door fell shut behind him and the lock snapped back into place, Laine smiled and dead-bolted the door. Then with two long strides, she crossed toward the window.

***

            He was awake. Awake, and seriously pissed off. The white walls that enclosed this room looked like giant slates that accused failure on top of failure. Until this moment, he had never doubted his team’s ability to complete the job. And yet, here they were.

            If they had anticipated another attack, if they had at all doubted their skills and strategies in the event of trouble, they would never have let her walk through those giant double doors. But the honest truth was that their confidence had cost them. They had misjudged the situation in every way that counted. Whatever happened next depended too much on factors over which they had no control. All because they had lost the focal point of their protective services.

            That was part of the reason for his angry outlook. Mostly, though, he railed at his own stupidity. Despite everything he knew about staying close to the target, he had fallen for the trap. He had walked away. Ultimately, he had no one to blame but himself.

            Outside the industrial steel framed window, traffic buzzed and screeched along the well-trekked boulevard. Life went on as it always did, regardless of what happened in the quiet corners of individual life. The world didn’t hold its breath for anyone these days, or if it did, the moment passed by more quickly than it had come. There were errands to run, phone calls to make, work to get done. The plight of a star singer hardly felt real by contrast.

            He registered the thud of footsteps outside the door just before a tight rap sounded. “Yeah, come in.”

            “Mer?” Briggs poked his head into the room, his face drawn and two shades paler than normal. Relief washed across the ex-soldier’s face when he saw his partner sitting up. Slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched. “You look like hell.”

            “Glad to see you too. What’s our situation?”

            Briggs clomped across the compact space, settling onto the only other piece of furniture, a barely padded bedside chair. “Porter call?”

            A short nod confirmed it.

            “Then you know about Gold. Damn good thing Bobashank saw him leave with Jacy, or we’d never have run his name this fast. The LAPD have eyes out for the vehicle, a 2010 Mercedes E-Class Coupe, but Marshall tells me they’ve got nothing yet. If he was smart, Gold got out of town fast.”

            “No,” Merrimac grunted. “The smart one’s whoever stayed behind. Unless Gold wants to pin the tail on himself, he’ll be back and soon.”

            The other man looked away. “Not good for us.”

            “What about the charity? Anything yet?”

            “According to Bobashank, there’s a rumor going ’round that puts Gold in the middle of something big and illegal. Whatever it is, he’s been asking around for investors. Don’t know for sure about the charity. Porter’s reading through financial records right now. There has to be a connection in there somewhere, something that’ll connect Jacy and whoever else is in on this. Shouldn’t be too hard to see which direction the money’s flowing.”

            Merrimac shook his head. “Not good enough. We don’t have time to waste here. There’s a bullet out there with our girl’s name on it. This isn’t about a ransom. My guess is we’ve got hours at best. Not enough to go around checking names, assuming the charity is even involved in the first place.”

            “Shit.” Briggs rubbed a hand over his eyes. “We’re stuck in a maze, here. What the hell can we do?”

            Merrimac wondered the same thing himself. His left side ached, a generalized throb that covered each of the baker’s dozen stitches clamping across his lower ribcage. He’d gotten very lucky with the bullet, a clean furrow that stung like a sonofa without the added hassle of having punctured something vital. It made him feel like an idiot for passing out. That rarely happened in the movies.

            Shoving the pain to the back of his mind, he mentally reviewed the little information they had. Most importantly, Laine was outside their direct sphere of influence, and she’d last been seen with fellow celebrity Jonagold. No interaction between the two had been caught on camera, but street camera footage did show a silver Mercedes headed on the most direct route for I-5. Most likely the car was southbound for Mexico, although there was plenty of godforsaken desert available between LA and the border. His hunch said Jonny would drop her with an accomplice, sweep the car clean, and return on a roundabout way from the north. The accomplice would take care of the rest, preferably below the border, where any foul play was outside the jurisdiction of American lawyers.

            Unfortunately, this was a best case scenario. And it made him sick to his stomach. Mostly because there was a whole hell of a lot of empty land south of the city and he didn’t even know where to start. No time, a few flimsy clues, and a hankering suspicion that all of this was his fault.

            The nightmare was back, but without the boat and murky river water. Only miles of search grid and the knowledge that someone needed help before time ran out—and they drowned.

            Grimly, he stared at the IV hooked into his arm. “I’m not sure we do anything.”

            “What, so we just wait around for Gold?” Briggs spat his disbelief.

            “I didn’t say that. You’re going to go wrangle me a nurse so I can get the hell out of here, and then you’re going to call Hancock. Have him drop off the truck.”

            “We going somewhere?”

            “South.”

            After a moment, Briggs nodded. “If something changes, we’ll have a shot at being in position.”

            Or way out of position. It was a gamble, for sure. Still, “big and illegal” in this part of the world smacked of a smuggling ring, which meant Jon Gold would know his way around the border. With security on the look out in Tijuana, Tecate became the likeliest border town with plenty of branching rural roads in the vicinity. If it were him making the drop-off, that was the direction he would head.

            He just hoped Porter and Mercier could come up with something more concrete fast. Otherwise, they were flying blind, a dart hurled at the target in a pitch black room. If they believed in luck, they might have half a chance on principle.

            But Merrimac didn’t believe in luck.

            Neither would he bet someone’s life on it.

Dmitry curled one leg and then the other, they cracked to life in response.  He pulled himself together, then extended himself to stand.  He felt the whir of rising too quickly try and overtake him, but the world lit up from behind his dark desk, as if returning from a total eclipse. Dmitry stood in awe of this phenomenon.  His office was missing a wall, not just a window.

Outside, he could hear hysteria setting off into the streets.  The waft of burnt rubber and gas, mixed with the stench of  mechanical fire, set in through the massive, missing wall.  A tower of smoke billowed past the missing fraction of his cube; Dima continued to make his way around his desk.

Paperwork and file folders joined the trash and street litter.  Together they fluttered in the smoke and dust that brewed outside the boundaries of his missing wall.  The floor now ended at least a foot sooner than before, and Dima’s glossy eyes searched the chaos below for an explanation.  Sirens wailed to get closer; their flashing lights reverberated off the glass buildings and struck like endless bolts of red and blue lightning in his eyes.  Dima became dizzy and had to take a step back.  The putrid stench of gas and burning rubber grew thicker and it made Dima want to puke.  He felt around for his black leather chair, rolled it underneath him, then sat down to wait for the room slow its rotation and stop spinning.  He found he couldn’t see straight if he opened his eyes all the way.  So he squinted.  Against the harsh emergency vehicle lights that seemed to pierce the gray smoke, he squinted and he went blank.  He tried to remember anything from before the moment he woke up, but nothing flashed before him to replace an empty stare.  Nothing except the aggravating rhythm of red and blue rotations.

He winced.  Against the flashes of light that meant help was just below, he narrowed his eyes to see beyond the plume of smoke.  There was another building; a familiar neighbor from across the street with it’s tall translucent blue, glass windows.  It towered into the skyline of the city, and in it’s vertical, blue reflection, Dmitry could see the damage that was done.  His building was burning at the base, and as for what he could tell, was also missing around half of its panoramic views.  It looked like someone had ripped a cord and peeled off the bottom half of the building’s face, leaving behind rows of confused, broken cubes, and a cloud of nauseating, black smoke.  Like a cigarette left burning, face down in urban debris, the devastation done to his building was most dramatic at the base, closest to the fire.  Black and charred, still orange and lit; the sixty-two story high rise blew its toxins into the atmosphere, and its once beautiful reflection was replaced by something hideous.

Dima listened for the panic in the streets below, hoping for a clue.  He closed his eyes and concentrated his efforts, but all the panic had emptied out; spread into the surrounding neighborhoods.  Even the bleeps and bloos from car alarms had given up their pleas, replaced by sirens and an official sounding voice on a megaphone.  Evacuation orders for the area.  Dima knew he couldn’t stay in his office and considered his own evacuation, but the room was still in a flat spin which meant he was still firmly in place on his ergonomic chair.  Dima closed his eyes again and felt the hammer deep in his skull keep its repetitious thump on beat.  It seemingly threatened to break through the back of Dima’s head, but still he listened, for any clue whatsoever, from the street below.

He made the discovery when he tried to get up to leave; it was there on the door, three feet up on the right side.  It made Dmitry pat the back of his head with his fingers. He pulled back his hand with blood, and he looked down at the crimson, shocked.  The door handle, a four inch bar connected to a one inch stem, where below, his head rested when he startled himself awake, shared the color of blood with Dima’s hand.

He wanted to call out for help, but he couldn’t do it to save his life.  Dima opened his mouth and expected there to be sound, but nothing happened.  His brain scrambled to find answers, but none were made.  He opened his mouth and formed the four-letter word in his mind, but again, when his mouth opened, nothing came out.  Panic flushed through his body and took up residence inside his brain; he sat in silent contemplation of his malfunction.  As the magnitude of his circumstance began to slowly seep in, for the first time in many years, Dmitry Ledkov became very scared.

Ch. 2 -Growl

Ch. 3 – Pant

Ch. 4 – Hunt

Ch. 5 – Cry

Ch. 6 – Fever

The white halogens that had not been broken or killed were scattered.  As if in hiding, a fear that a mass of their numbers together would bring out the attackers again.  Down the hallway they shone like spotlights, tiny squares of tile lit beneath them, the blackness of the school hallway pressed against them ready to spill over the bright edges.  David moved carefully, his feet brushing against dirt, metal, sliding on almost dried crimson liquid.  Each step gave him away.  They knew he was there.  They’d smelt him, tasted him on the air.  Their eyes saw no darkness, their paws pushed no sound.

David’s hands were moist.  His warmth beat against the metal in his hand, building warmer and warmer.  Ready to shoot.  He turned slowly, peered down side hallways and into open classroom doors, his eyes adjusting to the dark.  He walked in a slow spiral, each end of the hallway taking his focus in turn.  Clear.  Quiet.  Dark.  Clear.  Quiet.  Dark.  Each turn revealing an empty end.

Thu-bump. Thu-Bump. THU-Bump.  THU-BUMP. THU-Bump.  Thu-Bump. Thu-bump.

Something ran through the ceiling above him.  His gun drawn, he followed it from where he stood, pointing the way to the farthest end of the hall.  The end that lead to the gym and locker rooms.

When he lowered his firearm from the ceiling, turning toward where the noise fled, something waited and watched.  All fours slightly hunched, David could see the shadow was ready to charge.  Its eyes glowed, the only distinguishing feature of the dark creature’s head in the unlit end of the hallway.  It stared at him.David stared back, unmoving.

It struck him.  He wasn’t sure how.  It had never moved.  He took a few steps back, staggering.  He was sure it had never moved.  Its eyes, its head.  They hadn’t even shifted.  The glowing yellow had left and was replaced by a vibrant blue.  But the animal had never moved.

David lowered his gun slightly, bringing his fist to his abdomen.  He spat blood and propped a hand against the white painted brick wall.  He panted, fueled by fear.  He turned again to the far end of the hall.  The creature met his gaze with its now yellow eyes, turned and left.  Several others called to it in the distance.

From behind where it had stood, David saw the inside of the men’s locker room, the door no longer on its hinges.  Down the hallway, David stepped through the open door and over some pieces of wall that were scattered across the floor.  A shower was running, stuck by a creature during David’s escape.  The hot water poured undisturbed down the drain, spilling puffs of steam across the floor.  The steam tendrils reached out toward the broken lockers, vanishing against the cool surface of the tile floor.  David rounded on the first row of lockers, pressed a hand to his lip and dabbed an unnoticed spot of blood.

The end of the row closest to him was crumpled.  Like a house of cards blown over by a casual breeze.  A pair of legs stuck out from the crumpled foundation.

“Eric?”  David moved to the stack of metal boxes pining the legs.

“David… David?”  The legs moved slightly, fidgeting in their small metal cave.

“Hold still, I’m gonna get you out…” David grunted, lifting pieces of metal as he unburied Eric.  Piece by piece David slowly, and loudly, freed the man beneath the rubble.  Together they shifted Eric’s body, planting him on the tile floor panting and wincing.

“Are you okay?  Are you– Are… I mean…”  David shook his head.

“I’m alright.  I think my arm’s broken.”  Eric pulled his arm close to his chest.  “What’s wrong with you?  Your lip… David you’re bleeding.”

“I’m– I… My head hurts… I can’t…”

“Bet cha’ can’t!”  Lee Meyer stood like Peter Pan, hands in fists against his waits.  His tousled blonde hair waving in the midnight breeze.  “I bet you’re too scared.”

“Am not!”

“Then do it!  Break it David!”  Lee whispered sharply.

David turned to the car in front of him, the smooth metal baseball bat in his hand.  The night stars reflected off the windshield, little light pollution from their small town to block out the celestial target points.

David leveled the bat with his waist.  “Won’t we get in trouble?”

“Chicken!”

CRASH.

Hundreds of shards of glass spilled onto the previously covered car seats, others spilt onto the pavement and bounced across the black asphalt in rhythm with the startled car alarm.

Dee-voo.  Dee-voo.  Dee-voo.

“David?  David?”  Eric looked worried, his arm clasped to his chest, a dried gash glowing pink on his forehead.  “What do you mean your head hurts?”

David looked around at the dilapidated locker room.  “How long was I out?”

“What do you mean?  David… You didn’t– you weren’t out.  You just said your head hurts.”

“I… I dunno.”  David shook his head and took a deep breath.  “Come on.  We gotta get outta here.  There’s not much time left.”  The clock on the wall still ticked off the seconds.  They had just over an hour.  “Can you walk?”

Eric took a moment, wiggling his toes inside his shoes and turning his ankles.  He nodded and David pulled him gently to his feet.  He staggered and leaned into David for support.  This was going to take time.

Together they hobbled to the door.  David peered down the hallway.  It suddenly looked very long.  “Come on.  It’ll be faster if we cut through the gym.”

One hand around Eric’s shoulders, the other pressed against the gym door and pushed.

David stopped.  Stared in shock.

“Oh my God!  You–you’re early.  I wasn’t expecting you ‘til later…Baby, this isn’t what it looks like.”

Stared.

A hushed tone whispered in the dark, “you have to go.  …Go!”

Stared at the other man, a strange naked form pulling out of the linens and groping across the floor.  A sock.  Printed shorts.  Jeans.

“We were… we were just… Baby, say something.”

A half naked figure brushed past David, moving through the darkness, a whorish grin stuck to his face as he left.

David stared.

“Damn it.  If you’re not even going to talk to me how do you expect to make a relationship work?”  The other dark figure stood from the bed and pulled on a shirt.  “You have the communication skills of gnat.”  It pulled on a pair of shorts from the chair next to the bed.  “I don’t know why I even bother.  You’re such a child… I really don’t think this is going to work anymore.”  It stood.  “Look, this last year has been fun, but I’m looking for something a little more serious.  I don’t think there’s anything else for us to talk about.  You should go.”

It moved to the doorway, directing David’s departure.

David had never felt this way before.  It wasn’t sadness.  It wasn’t anger.

David’s hand connected with a jaw.

Not anger.  Not sadness.  “I hate you.”  It welled inside of David.

“Holy shit!  You little freak!  What’s wrong with you?!”

“David, what’s wrong?  David!”  Eric lay on the floor of the gym next to David.

The hatred welled up inside of David.  He couldn’t see.  His breaths were fast.  Eric’s voice called to him.  Brought him back.  Back to his pounding head.

“Are you okay?”  David rolled to his side, faced Eric on the floor.

“You just collapsed… Are you okay?”  Eric propped himself up with his good arm.

“Yeah… I’m– we need to go.”  David rolled to his feet, wrapped an arm around Eric’s waist and pulled him across the gym.  David felt grateful that schools were designed with so many clocks.  At least one in every room.

“Wait.  David, wait.  Slow down, you need to take it easy.”

“We can’t Eric!  We can’t stop we can’t slow down!  They’re gonna blow up the entire town in forty-five minutes and you can’t be here when that happens!”

Eric’s eyes turned to a deeper concern.  “What do you mean?”

“They’re gonna blow us up.  One last ditch effort to stop these creatures.”

“No, David.  What do you mean?  What do you mean: I can’t be here?  What about you?  You can’t be here either.”  Eric let emotion pour across his face uncharacteristically.

“Look.”  David pulled Eric along again, pressing through the far gym door and clenching his jaw out of pain.  “If something happens you have to go.  You have to get out of here.”

Eric choked, a warmth building behind his eyes and temporarily blocking his throat.

They moved down the hallway, the animals calling in the distance.  Joyously running up and down empty upstairs hallways and letting their claws clank against tile.

David could see the open doorway to the parking lot in the distance.  Flickering lights above them.  They pressed on from shadow to shadow.

A fluorescent went.  It burst, its life of stress ending in one brilliant flash of sparks that rained down from the sky.

Blues.  Reds.  Whites.  Stars and streamers.

“David!  Pie!”  David’s mom called over from the picnic table full of food, the lingering scent of barbecue clinging to the tablecloth.

Reluctantly he pulled himself from the blanket laid across the grassy hill beneath the fireworks.  David had never been a holiday person.  He seldom felt like he had much to celebrate.  This holiday was the worst.

“How big a piece do you want?”  His mom asked cheerfully.

“I don’t care.”

She silently cut an average sized piece and slid it neatly onto a festive paper plate.  “Ice cream?”

David pushed at the plastic forks on the table absently.  “I don’t care.”  He said, quieter this time.

She sat the plate down gently on the picnic table, pulled a paper napkin from the stack beside the pie and wiped her hands of cherry red goop.  She picked up the ice cream scoop and went to work in the bucket of vanilla.  “I miss him too.”

Identical balls of vanilla hugged each other, inching slowly toward the pie sharing their space.  “It’s been three years.  And every year is a different type of difficult.”  She reached for the napkin again.  “But, no one blames you David.”  She said evenly.

“I blame me.”  David picked one fork from amongst the many.

“You know how stubborn your brother was.  If he put his mind to something–”

“I know…”  David took his plate and pushed at the shifting ice cream with his fork.  “Pie looks good.  Thanks mom.”  David turned back toward his blanket, one anniversary weighing more on his mind then the other.  Twins in date but not in meaning.

“David,” his mother called, focusing on her son through the crowd of family ohing and awing under the early evening fireworks.

“I love you.”

Tears dripped down Eric’s cheeks.  The pain.  He pulled David through the doors and onto the parking lot ground.

“AAaaah!”  David moaned, pawing at his temples.

“Hang on.  We’re almost there.”  Eric heaved with both hands, broken or otherwise.  “Stay with me…”  Eric pleaded.

David was dazed.  “How long?  How much time.”  He staggered.

“I’m not sure I want to know.”

“You have to go… it’s–it’s coming.  I don’t want it to hurt you.”  David pressed his hands against his forehead again, a silent scream filling the vastly empty parking lot.

They both dropped to their knees, Eric bringing his hands to David temples.  “Listen to me David, you can fight this.  You’re gonna be ok.  You just have to hang in there.  Stay with me.”  Eric pressed against Davids hand which pushed against his chest, “I’m not leaving.”

“I’m leaving!  I hate you and I don’t want to live here anymore!”  David screamed through the front door of his house, his father sitting within view down the short hallway at the kitchen table.

Hate filled David’s head.  Pounding.

“David!  Listen to me!  Listen to my voice.”  Eric spoke calmly.  “I need you to listen to me.  I need you–need you here.”

“We don’t need you here anymore.”  Suzy Eve’s red pigtails bounced as she cocked her head.  “We’ve discussed it, and we all think you’re doing a terrible job.  Michael will be a better Treasurer.”  She peeked slyly at the dark haired boy in the corner of the classroom.  “Don’t bother coming to club anymore.  We don’t need your negativity.”

Jealousy.  Throbbing.

“Remember… remember when we met?”  Eric shifted to the ground, David shaking against his hands.

“Remember the student loan you have to pay off?”  David’s mom rarely got angry.  She was furious.  “How do you plan on doing that without a job?  Of all the– fired?  You had to go and get fired!  What?  You expect your father and I to be able to bail you out?  On our budget?  We’re barely getting by as it is!”

Shame.  It pulsed with every rapid heartbeat.

“You came in with some–God awful–cookies.  You wanted to say thank you to the officers who found your piece of crap bike after it was stolen?”  Eric laughed sadly.

“Really, I appreciate it, but I really had nothing to do with finding your bike.”  Eric smiled, reluctantly eyeing the plate.

“Oh, that’s okay.  I made plenty.  You don’t understand, I am broke.  That bike is my life.”

David breathed.

“I must have ate…ten of those awful things.  Spent what, half an hour talking?”

The low steady rumble of large plane engines called down from the sky.

“What was it you called those cookies?”  Eric rested, settling onto the pavement peacefully.  “They were chocolate.  With coffee or something…”

“I’m pretty much a cookie master.”  David joked, leaning against the police station counter.

“Cookie master?  Are they the ones with the different colored belts?  Or do you get a badge?”  Eric slyly picked another cookie from the plate.

“What did you call them?”  Eric looked across to the open pickup door.  His arm twinged.  Behind him he could just hear the howls of the animals being overshadowed by the roar of the plane above.  “What did you call them?”  Eric asked himself, accepting the ground below him and gazing absently at the world around him.

“Espresso my Thanks Cookies.”  David muttered weakly.

Eric pulled his gaze down.  David had stopped shaking.  Eric let out a laugh.

“Were they really that bad?”  David asked.

The parking lot blurred in Eric’s vision, moisture building up.  “No.  No, they were great.”

***

“Thank you for coming on such short notice Detective Ford.”  The man bowed politely, taking his seat again across the table as the Detective seated herself quietly.

“As you know, we’re all saddened by the tragic… Earthquake that ravaged several towns in the Midwest earlier this week.”  The man lowered his balding head to examine the stack of papers on the table in front of him.

“We’re very concerned that the few survivors are being–cared for properly?”

Ford glanced down at her tidy, short fingernails.  “They’ve been examined an successfully made it through the quarantine process.  I feel confident that they pose no threat–”

The man interjected, “Detective Ford, all I need is for the record to show that the survivors were not mistreated.  Any speculation on the cause or effects of the natural disaster should remain speculation and are officially of no interest.”

Ford nodded her head.  “Proper care was show to all remaining survivors.”

The man collected his papers, nodding.  He stood, rounded the table, his hand on the door knob.  “Detective Ford.  Off the record: we have intelligence that suggests a small town on the Eastern coast may be in danger of another catastrophic earthquake.  I believe Lewis has the details and travel arrangements for you.”  The man pulled the door open.  “I do hope we’ve seen the last of the earthquakes for a while.”

“Sir?”  Ford turned in her chair.  “Any word on the new team members I put in for approval?”

The man turned in the open doorway, the large high rise widows behind him looked out on clear blue skies.  “A civilian with no military training, and a cop?”

“They’re survivors sir.”  Ford stood from her seat.  “I insist.”

The man eyed her for a moment, glanced at some of the papers in his hands.  Slowly he nodded, and exited down the hallway.

Ford moved into the hallway, her slim figure reflecting off the glass panel in front of her.  She looked down at the city below her.  Thousands of people.  Millions of cars.  Trillions of emotions, thoughts, fears.  All clashing with each other.  The stress, aggression, hatred, shame, sadness.

The different walks of life.  Contrasting beliefs.  Opposing views.  Supposed different sides of the same fence.

The creatures were out there.  They couldn’t ever be truly stopped, and they would destroy more towns.  There was no helping it.

Somewhere in Detective Ford’s reflection was a smile.  Despite the odds, despite the hopelessness, she had at least two men on her side.  Two people who knew the stakes, and knew how to combat the creatures lurking inside any one of the everyday people walking the streets below.  Only three people who really understood.  Not much compared to the city beyond.

There is always power in numbers.