I hear footsteps behind me. Mike takes a seat on the grass next to me where we sit in silence. He is still carrying the broken M-16.
We’re going to have to find something else for him, I think, staring for a moment at the broken pieces.
Another breeze floats by. If it weren’t for the stench of the dead below, it would be a rather nice day. I can picture sitting on my back deck, having a beer or glass of wine, doing nothing but staring off into the trees and letting my mind wander to wherever it wants to go. Kind of like it is now.
“How’s your shoulder?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“Sore as shit,” he answers, rolling his arm and wincing.
“You don’t feel like there’s poison coursing through your system and about to turn you into one of those, do you?”
“You’re funny as shit, Jack.”
“Not many people think so,” I reply.
“Do you know what would go down real well and be perfect? A beer. I could really use one about now,” Mike states, his face taking on a dreamy expression.
“You’re not shitting. And why settle for just one,” I comment.
“Now you’re talking. I wonder if this town of Atlantis has any stores,” he muses.
“I don’t know, but if they do, the first one is on me.”
“You have yourself a deal.”
“Thanks for helping, yet again,” I say.
He pauses, looking sideways at me with an expression I can’t read very well. “Why wouldn’t I?’
“Well, there are plenty who wouldn’t have. You could have just sat up in the girders and never been seen. Then you could have climbed down after they left, my body being towed behind one of the bikes, skipping along the pavement. No one would ever have known.”
“I would have. The guilt would have killed me. Besides, who would buy me that first beer?” Mike responds.
“Thank goodness for beer, then.”
“Amen, brother.”
“Look, I made myself a promise that I’d share everything with you should I live through this last fight,” I start.
Mike’s expression is priceless. I guess he’s been with Trip too long for a statement like that to be remotely comfortable.
“Wipe the look of horror off your face. I’m not going to share everything. I’m not Trip. You won’t hear about the masterpiece of my last bowel movement. Although, I have to say, what he did back there on the road can’t even remotely be classified as human,” I state, the horror of what I saw coming fresh to my mind.
I shake my head of the image as Mike chuckles.
“He’s something else,” Mike says, turning to look back at Trip, who is currently sitting on one of the girders smoking a joint.
“What I mean is, if I don’t make it out of here, and you are somehow afforded the opportunity to tell my kids and Lynn what happened here, then you’re going to need something that will prove you were with me. Plus, there are some things you should know. I haven’t been entirely forthcoming.”
“Dude, are we going steady?”
“No, and you can quit puckering up. I’m not going to kiss you either.”
“I don’t know, man. It sounds like you’re about ready to ask me out on a date.”
“You have Trip, and he seems be the jealous type.”
“Well, you couldn’t afford me anyway.”
“That, I’m pretty sure of.”
I proceed to tell Mike of my being scratched, the subsequent coma, and how I came out on the other end. I mention how I can hear better; although how Trip heard the bikers before me still has me amazed. I let him know about my night vision and how I can see better in the dark than if I were wearing night vision goggles.
“And here’s the doozy, I can sense and talk with night runners,” I say, wondering about his reaction to that.
“Wait, you can talk with them? Like, they can still speak?” he asks.
“No, not quite like you would think. They communicate telepathically through the use of imagery. Like…well…picture messages. I can understand that to an extent, and even send them messages,” I answer.
“That’s…well…I don’t know what to say, other than, if they can communicate telepathically, that’s kind of fucked up. I guess that explains how they were able to coordinate their attacks. Why don’t you tell them to just back off, then?”
“I’ve tried. They don’t seem to like me much and won’t listen. It confuses them, but just for a moment. Then it’s all, like, dinnertime again.”
“So, you can tell where they are at all times?”
“Pretty much. It depends. For some reason, I have a hard time while airborne. And, in the area where we’re based at, it’s kind of sporadic,” I explain. “The problem is, they can sense me as well. So, it’s not quite the advantage it seems. I’ve learned to shut it down and do so for the most part. They really don’t have much to share other than what prey they’re after. Oh yeah, there’s also the chance that I may be a little stronger and perhaps a touch faster, although I’ve yet to experiment around with those and don’t feel any different.”
“It seems you could use that communication thing to your advantage somehow,” Mike comments, pondering.
“Maybe. If there is, I haven’t figured it out,” I say. “Besides, I haven’t had these abilities that long and haven’t worked with it much. The ability to see in the dark seems to be the most helpful. And the hearing thing, that’s kind of a break even deal. That fucking noise those assholes put out just about drove me into the ground,” I state.
“That was messed up, man.”
“I’m also going to also have to alter what my idea of thirty yards looks like,” I say, smiling.
Mike chuckles. “I would say that bike was exactly twenty-nine yards away. I think the rocket pushed it a yard, and then, when it fell over, that made it thirty.”
“Luckily, or we’d be having this conversation floating on a cloud and holding harps,” I comment.
“I seriously doubt I’ll be going there,” Mike says, his face clouding over.
“Well, with some of the things I’ve done in life, I’m not sure I have a ticket either.”
“So, what do you think happened here?” Mike says.
“I don’t have a clue. I’m thinking some space-time experiment that didn’t go as well as they planned. Other than that, I couldn’t hazard a guess,” I answer.
“What the fuck was up with that leg? I kicked it, but the fucker didn’t move.” Mike shakes his head.
“Fucking oddest thing I’ve ever come across. Did it seem fused into the road to you?”
“It seemed like the road was growing a leg, it was that embedded. I almost felt like watering it,” Mike says.
“Did you see the actual leg part?”
“No, did you actually touch it? I couldn’t bring myself to.”
“No way. Who knows what would have happened? The pant leg was down a little bit. Just enough to see part of the shin…although it was hidden in shadow. Man, I tell you, the skin seemed healthy,” I reply.
“You mean, like…”
“Yeah, like healthy. It was pinkish like it was still…well…fuck…living. It wasn’t the gray of someone who died.”
“Whoa! I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“I think I’ll do the same…pretend I didn’t see it.”
We fall into silence, each of us fading into our own thoughts.