“No, no, no,” he said, “no, no, no, no, this is not happening!”
Yesfir smirked, biting the side of her lip and adjusting her wavy hair. “You seem unfocused, even more than usual.” She began making her way around the lot, running her hands along the cars. “I always wondered when you’d get over that.”
“Where’s everyone else!” he said, back on his feet and in his familiar fighting stance. “I know you’re working with the government—MIRS or whatever they’re called—is this some kind of ploy to bring us in or—”
“Of course you’re panicking,” she sighed. She raised her arm in the air. “Perhaps a change of scenery will ease your nerves.”
The night sky split and a streak of light blue peeked though, growing wider and wider until it turned to day. Xole could only look on in awe; slack jawed at the sight before him.
‘Was this her Talent the whole—?’
“Hahaha! I wish!” she laughed. “You should take a better look around yourself, love. I thought I taught you better.”
Xole looked around himself. He was back at home. Everything was just as he remembered, the same one story house, same couch, Yesfir’s chair, the clothes hanging in the backyard, even the spot where he hid her alcohol in the kitchen was all visible to him.
“Do you get it now?” she said, now sitting in her chair. “I’m not actually here, Xole.”
“Well you sure act like it.” He replied staying in place. “Why is this happening anyways? What are you doing in my head? How am I supposed to get out?”
The young woman drank down a few gulps of her vodka. “You need to stop asking so many questions.” She raised her arms, “Leave room for your imagination!”
“Yesfir now’s not the time.”
She giggled, “Fine, fine.” Standing up, she poked Xole’s chest. “For one, we are not in your head, but in here.”
“My…heart?”
She smacked the side of his head, “Don’t be foolish! What is your Talent again?”
Xole thought a moment. He wandered down the hall to Yesfir’s room and pushed the bed aside, looking for the floorboard that led to her bunker. However, there was nothing there. He let out a breath, “I get it.”
She stood beside him looking off at the hole, “The ‘me’ your seeing is the me you want to believe. The ‘Yesfir’ you won’t let go of, Xole.”
Xole swallowed hard, “Then…then who are you?”
“…You’re making it more complicated than need be.” She wandered back to the kitchen and snatched the hidden vodka behind the vase. “You’ve taken a significant amount of damage and have gone into a state of hyperarousal, or as you would say ‘fight or flight’. Right now your body’s attempting to dig deep into you to extract the information needed to defend itself for further conflict.”
Xole sat on the couch and folded his arms. “Well, how does my body even know I have the answers?”
The woman downed the entire bottle in a few seconds, looking at it after, unsatisfied. Without warning, she hurled the bottle at Xole’s face but he threw his hands in front of himself, catching it just in time.
“Satisfied?” she said.
“Just what point are you trying to prove?!” he demanded, shooting to his feet. “’The power’s been in me this whole time’? Bull crap! I don’t want that, I want an answer, a real method to get rid of this—”
He cut himself off before he could finish, letting silence fill the void. Yesfir hopped off the counter and walked up to him.
“The better question is, why doesn’t your body have the answers? Why won’t you be honest with yourself?” she stepped behind him and knelt close to his ear, “You don’t have the answers because you don’t want to know, Xole.”
“Your wrong!” he spun back and swatted his arm at her, knocking her to the floor. “Of course I want to learn! I don’t want Gus’s talent to go to waste! Because if it does then…then…”
“Then what?” Shakar asked crouching before Xole.
“Quit playing games!” he exclaimed punching at the smiling Shakar. The younger man caught his fist, squeezing it very, very, tightly.
“I’m not quite sure what you’re coming off of,” he said, “but please don’t take it out on me.
“OW!” Xole cried yanking his hand free. He looked around. He was in a sleeping bag in a large rocky dome filled with spaced out tents with a few people coming in and out. ‘This must be those ‘Zones’ they were talking about.’ He thought
To his left he saw Abbas, Spit-Take, and Trix standing at his side. On the other were Mr. Holdover, Salamander, with Patchwork coming back from a tent nearby.
“So responding to him did wake him up.” The doctor said scribbling something on his clipboard.
“Ha, ha, that was close!” Salamander smacked the boy’s back hard causing him to cough. “Fo’ a sec I thought Snap really don killed ya! Good thing he ain’t got no spine, right? Ha!”
“When I heard, I thought you were a goner.” Spit-Take said. “But you took it better than most would. You have my respect.”
“What the fuck happened while in was gone?!” Mr. Holdover nearly shouted throwing his arms up at the Groundhogs. “And the hell’s with you guy’s and blowing this kid up?!”
“We were manifesting his Talent,” Abbas said.
“Manifest his—?! What was next, roasting him over a damn fire?!”
“In all fairness,” Patchwork said. “I believe between all the screaming and highly questionable recovery methods, we’ve made some substantial progress.”
“Wait he was screaming again?” Mr. Holdover said, “Well shit I take it back then, blow him up all you want.”
Shakar wiped a bead of sweat from his face.
“Don’t gimme that look!” Mr. Holdover pointed at him. “He’s not some five-year old and you know damn well how obnoxious he sounds!”
“Here, drink up!” Trix said stuffing a green sippy cup into Xole’s mouth. He could taste a familiar refreshing flavor that made his sore body feel better.
“Hey, I’m already feeling better,” Xole said.
“Of course you are,” She smiled, “That Groundwater always does the trick!”
“BLAAAAAGHH!” the drink exploded from his mouth, leaving him gagging and wiping his mouth on his shirt until a rag was smacked into his face. He looked around, “Hey, thanks!” he said through the cloth.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Mr. Holdover blinked, his face wet. “Yeah.”
“Young one,” Abbas’s voice encompassed the area, “You were speaking to someone or…something in your sleep. Has this happened before?”
Xole took the rag off, “Sort of. When Spit-Take and the others fought us earlier I really thought I was going to die. But then that same voice—the one I heard now—spoke to me then, giving me instructions on how to survive and instinctively I followed.”
“Do recall who that voice was?” Shakar asked.
“…No.” he shook his head. “Especially not right now, no.”
A hand slapped his shoulder. He looked forward to see Abbas crouching next to him, smiling.
“All that matters is you’re alive, young one.” He stood up and left for the door. “Mr. Holdover Washington and Shakar, I’d like to see you two in Prime Hill for your assessment.”
“Oh,” Xole said, “could we talk before that too?”
“Yeah, yeah, just…my face,” Mr. Holdover said, wandering back to a far off tent.
The rest of the groundhogs followed Abbas. The large man turned around once more.
“And young one, stay rested for now and regain you strength. We will resume training immediately tomorrow, so use your time wisely.”
With that, the group left, leaving the three alone with the inhabitants of Zone 3. Shakar looked around and turned to leave himself, but Xole caught him out the corner of his eye.
“Hey wait!” he called. The younger man turned around.
“Yes?”
“You still never answered me,” Xole said, standing up from the sleeping bag.
“I’m pretty sure you never asked a question to begin with…” Shakar said.
Xole swept his hand to the side. “You know what? I’ll just cut to the chase; why’d you leave me back there in Patchwork’s office?”
“…”
“Don’t act like you don’t know!”
“I’m not. I’m just choosing not to answer.”
“Why?” Xole demanded, “You think I don’t deserve one after that crazy doctor nearly took advantage of me and tried to fry me alive?!”
“Just like how you tried to ‘fry’ Mr. Holdover alive back at the parlor?” Shakar replied.
“H-huh? Just what the heck does that even have to do with anything?”
Shakar looked at him, sighing and whipping out his stick, extending it to six feet and sticking it in the ground behind him. He leaned back against it and folded his arms. “Ever since we met you, you’ve been nothing more than a closed book, Xole,” he said. “Tell me, what do we know about you besides that you’re an orphan with a bit of a ‘tenacious’ babysitter and a dead rich friend?”
Xole tensed. “You…you know my memory’s not the best!” he stammered, watching Shakar roll his eyes. “A-and besides why does it matter anyways? Why is it even relevant?”
“If it’s not relevant then why shouldn’t it matter?”
“…”
“You see, Xole, you’re taking advantage of us. I don’t know if you’re doing this intentionally or accidently, but the fact is that you still can’t trust us, so naturally I can’t seem to trust you.” He got off the stick and walked over to him. “So just why in the world do you think you of all people are entitled any sort of answer when you yourself cannot give one?”
Xole felt himself grow frustrated, “It’s not that I can’t! It’s that—”
“Ah, so you won’t?” Shakar interjected. “You always wanted a second chance, but what about ours?”
Again, Xole was silent. Shakar took his stick and started to leave. Then he heard the older boy’s lower voice behind him.
“Shakar, even if it hasn’t been long I’ll—I’ll always appreciate what you’ve did for me. But to you, did it even mean anything?”
“I don’t see how it can.” He looked back and smiled. “Especially when there’s no honesty involved.”
Alone, Xole laid back down, feeling himself shake. He looked at his hand, he hadn’t noticed until now, but there wasn’t a single line on his palm. He clenched a fist.
‘You know what? Screw him! Shakar must think I’m dumb. He never even liked me in the first place so why should I even be upset? He doesn’t get it. This stupid Talent’s giving everyone a reason to kick me while I’m down.’ Then he thought a moment. ‘The Groundhogs. They might be rough, but at least their giving me something to put this stupid ability towards. Heck, they don’t care about my background—well except for Patchwork.’ He shook his head again and laid back. ‘There’s still Mr. Holdover. I’ll wait for him. Maybe tell him what’s been really going on…’
Those were his last thoughts before he dozed off to sleep.
“And that’s what happened,” Mr. Holdover said.
The two stood before the rest of the Groundhogs in Prime Hill. Pleased, Abbas nodded to him.
“It was good you chose to get those people here as soon as you did.”
Patchwork nodded. “The three took in a lot of water, especially the child. Two have woman up now, but the male hit his head against the rocks. Rest assured he’s stable now.”
Abbas nodded. He leaned forward in his chair, his face more solemn. “Now, you hypothesize the homeless are being abducted for their…Talent?”
“I didn’t believe it when I heard it either,” Spit-Take said.
“It wouldn’t be the craziest thing,” Patchwork said, “Historically, this sort of thing happens in lieu of cheap labor.”
“But on this scale?” Trix said, “What would they want with all this homeless Talent? A disposable fighting force? I still have a hard time wrapping my head around it.”
“Seems likely,” Spit-Take said. His face hardened. “It’s not that they’ll be missed by anyone on the surface anyways.”
“Dey gone too far,” Salamander growled taking a puff. “Dem Blues ain’t even tryin’ ta pretend like dey care no more!” he snickered. “Gonna teach ‘em a lesson, dat’s fo’ damn sure.”
Abbas stood up from the couch. “Regardless, it sounds as if you two had made substantial progress and for that, Haven and I thank you.” He tipped his hat and sat down. “However, are you certain your idea to infiltrate is sound?”
“I’m not worried.” Mr. Holdover said, “All we’re doing is hitching a ride, grabbing some info, then ditching. All you need to do is give us a route back.”
“As long as you keep the green pass I gave ya.” Spit-Take said. “That’s got routes for all of Haven. We’ll make sure to highlight one for ya.”
“Noted,” Shakar said.
“Though,” Mr. Holdover said. “The only issue is getting back to that shelter with the increased security.”
“Don’t concern yourself on that front,” Abbas said, “Just focus on bringing back the information. Discovering where the homeless are being taken is our number one priority.”
“Also,” Mr. Holdover said, “our agreement was that we get information as we help out. So where is it?”
“Hmm,” Abbas stroked his chin, “Was that really our agreement?”
The man forced a smile to his twisting face. “Y’know…I’m really, really not in the mood right now…”
He tossed his head back in a laugh, rumbling the room, with the other Groundhogs joining in. “Relax now. I was merely making a light joke.”
“There is nothing light about you or that joke…” he replied.
Reaching behind him, Abbas handed a yellow envelope to Mr. Holdover, who snatched it and nodded to Shakar. “C’mon, kufi, we’re out.”
Shakar simply nodded and followed. Spit-Take called out behind them.
“Hey! Make sure to be at the shelter tomorrow! Remember I won’t be there so you’re gonna be on your own! Ya got that?”
Neither of the two could be heard from the hall.
“I said, DID YOU GET THA—”
“I FUCKING HEARD YOU!”
Pg. 6
‘When one’s body is unfamiliar with something, it cannot perform up to the same standard as a body that is familiar. This is common knowledge for Material and Bodily Talent. In the case of Spiritual Talent however, the knowledge is there but must be discovered. In short; the soul guides the body to its natural course of action. A process only achieved through repetition.’
Mr. Holdover read the note again, scratching the back of his head. ‘Could he have made this anymore hard to read?’
“Well, well, well,” A familiar voice said. Looking to his side, he saw D. Clark stroll in tossing a nod to him, still scribbling in his notebook. He looked more beat up than before, a few bruises coming down past his hair to his busted lip. Mr. Holdover made a face.
“What happened to you? And who the hell still says ‘well, well, well’?”
“My friend you are too easily distracted,” he said, putting an arm around Mr. Holdover. He glanced down, “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yep,” Mr. Holdover said, “a piece of this damn puzzle is finally starting to come together.”
The younger man closed his book and tried to get a better look but Mr. Holdover thrust it away. He put his hand to his chest.
“My friend I’m—I’m hurt!” he said.
“Stop being sarcastic,” Mr. Holdover said, “I’ll let you have a look, but first I wanna know what your deal is with this.”
- Clark looked at Mr. Holdover and sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “It is what I told you earlier. But I can tell you Abbas promised me the same thing once.”
“He did?”
“You can believe me or not.” The young man gestured around Zone 2, “The fact of the matter is I’m still here and he’s still there.” He looked back at Mr. Holdover, “That should tell you enough.” He offered his notebook, “Now, temporary trade?”
He hesitated, but Mr. Holdover handed the slip to D. Clark, who looked over the paper, his eyes traced from the left to the right. Shrugging, Mr. Holdover glanced at what he was drawing. It was of the same street, only it was much dirtier, with run-down buildings on both sides. He couldn’t help but nod at the detail. Suddenly, the paper was held to his face.
“Thanks.” D. Clark said, taking his book back, “I get it.”
“Huh?” Mr. Holdover looked at the paper in case he missed something, “Like that?!”
“It’s pretty simple. Think of it as the opposite of muscle memory. Rather than physical movements leading conscious thought, your subconscious dictates your movements.” He pointed to the bottom of the page, “That’s why the bottom reads ‘the soul guides the body to its natural course of action’.”
Mr. Holdover looked at the paper. Then he looked at it again. “…Alright I’ll give it to ya, you’re better than I thought.”
‘This also must be the kind of training their doing with boy,’ he thought. ‘There’s gotta be more than just this then.’
“Well if it wasn’t for your hard work, I wouldn’t’ve been able to translate such.” He replied. He began to back up and leave, scribbling in his notebook once again. He pointed to him “So, same time tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Mr. Holdover said. “But, what do you plan on doing with the…”
There was no one there.
“And he’s gone again!”