Good and Evil : Freeland - Part Two (9781628547375) Page 6

  The rifle taser in one hand, the cop in the other, a strong tornado was pulling at F4-strength gusts, and Zon held everyone’s livelihood in his hands. He was going to be the dictator of everyone’s demise. If he threw the cop into the blade and used the taser to wedge the fan to electrical death, he would still have some explaining to do, when God gave his third judgment, as to why everyone was here anyway. Could he be charged with the killing of one of God’s own, or was he supposed to do away with this hypocrite and take him out, like his father had done, no matter what consequences would befall him?

  Without total understanding, nor mental development enough to wade through the perils of right and wrong, a pain in his heart made Zon set the officer down. Not to protect him from harm, nor to throw him deep into his death, instead, Zon put his massive arms out to the sides and braced all one hundred and seventy-two people not shackled. The line stopped one by one until compacting to each other like a can of sardines. Everybody learned that putting their arms out would alleviate the determination of the front man. So, to lessen the amount of strength he had to endure, the line grew strength from its numbers.

  The wind-tunnel, still starved of its meal, pulled harder and harder. So hard did it pull that an angry bellow sounded, and Waylon fell to the floor. In grasp of Zon’s taser strap connected to the outside linebacker’s arm, Waylon could feel the beast of steel structure pulling at his feet. One boot had actually fallen off and sat tangled in the middle of the fan as it awkwardly found balance the more times it was spun around.

  One boot off, one boot on, Officer Meane could only find traction with one of his feet. He slowly and weakly teetered to one knee, implanting the boot into the slippery floor. He looked kind of like a first-day ice skater trying to maintain balance after falling on an ice pond. Again, in a slow, unstable manner, he held onto the taser, with his last bit of strength, for his life and pulled anxiously from the support of the result of Zon’s work ethic. Once more, another life was in the control of Zon’s strength.

  Once on his right knee, and almost to a stand, the curled-under sock had worked itself halfway off the officer’s left foot, creating the life-ending menace that sent Waylon swiftly to his stomach. Once contacting the bottom of the metal pipe in less than a moment’s time, he slid ever so quickly to the brink of this suction device. As fast as it was, Zon’s mind slow-framed the event. To the memory banks it was deposited as he replayed it time and time again. The outreached hand, fingers white at the knuckles and curled halfway back, frozen in the air, called out for Zon to let go of the duct and grab a hold of them. The overextended hand desperately grasped its way up the taser, slipping from sweat with each try. The gun, warming from the friction, stood temporarily as leverage. Slipping ever so slowly, Waylon kicked and sputtered for a firmer grasp until his stiff finger came in contact with the trigger of the laser taser. The gun went off and Zon was instantly acquitted of any guilt from everyone beyond. The timeless mercy of all things done wrong was cast from the cop’s face. So sorrowful a moment, the emotions were readily interpreted. Though Zon was not one to show much emotion, a solitary tear sagged heavily from his left eye. All of this took place in a fraction of a second.

  The blood spurted outward and was quickly drawn within the life-taking blades almost extending far enough to reach the line; this is how close they had gotten. Like playing tug of war with the strength of your own team, Zon and his gang were now battling two combatants. It was their mind over matter, or the power of their own mentality against themselves and the machine. How would they find enough room in the ten percent of mind humans use to overcome both themselves and something man created at the same time? It is not possible; that is where the grace of God embraces.

  A miracle occurred. The team was so close to the fan that the taser was sucked in and twisted around and around as the shoulder harness got tighter and tighter on Zon’s arm. It got so tight, he thought it was going to take his bicep clean off. If he let go, to let it slide off his arm, he would be so close to the blades it would enter him too. The entire team would slowly, one by one, be taken into its gyrating jaws. Eventually all would be fodder at the bottom of the Shord’s Knuckle. Zon was determined not to let that happen.

  The light that had been reckoned as flickers from one of Trendago’s moon beams was actually a heli-bus Isaic had occupied in some mysterious manner, taking over the elite who had tried to incarcerate the rest of the youth. A long line was dangling from the heli-bus; the Love Shack’s elevator cage was still attached. Everyone could now see through the fan blades and beyond. Crashes against the backside of the fan sounded heavily; echoes faded and returned, reverberating like a boomerang through all of their ears. Another attempt, and the long line thrashed at the fan. The noise became hollow on its return. Another lashing and finally the fan collapsed, and so did the two-hundred-person line. Worn out from holding themselves back, they all felt weary, but knew this wasn’t the end.

  The six-foot-tall fan, with fat blades near three feet in width, pummeled itself over the edge of the sheer cliff and noisily jounced down the rocks. It finally spun itself out once, entering the slow currents of the river. Along the way to the bottom, it caught roves of spotlight. Isaic lit up the entire event.

  Isaic looked to the occupancy sign of the heli-bus and realized that if he was going to get all two hundred people into the shuttle, he was going to have to kick off some of the dead weight. All six guards’ bodies fell aimlessly through the lit night as they crashed wearily to the water. The splash faded as their remains settled to the bottom of the river.

  The basket, still dangling from the bottom of the retriever line, was loaded with ten people at a time. Zon stayed until the last girl had boarded, then he traveled back one last time to make sure there weren’t any people passed out or hiding near the club cave. A freshman girl sat next to Shane and Den-Den’s bodies, crying aloud and asking why they had to be taken away. Zon reached down and jerked the darkly cloaked and highly confused skater/goth/emo girl up, escorting her by her twig of a bicep to the tunnel. Sirens were blaring from afar; soon the parents of all these kids and enforcers would be on the prowl, if Zon didn’t act fast.

  Treble made it back to Drake’s ride, but he and Abby never did make it to the bus. Both passed out, Abby in Treble’s underwear covered lap, and they were left behind. This time with his best friend’s ex-girl was going to be his last, if he had anything to say about it.

  The rifle lay indolent on the floorboard of the heli-bus. The doors drawn tight, Isaic fluttered off into the night. All two hundred weary, party people were now less lively than two hours ago. This is not what any of them had intended. They were scared for the fact that each and every one of them had become accessories to the casualties left lying back at the Love Shack. They were Nostradama bound. No more innocence, they were all guilty just like Brody.

  Decision-time came, for the bird was unevenly loaded. Zon and Tynan advised different sizes of people to move here and there to even out the weight distribution. It wasn’t working. They were going to have to unload some more. The lights at the front, sides, and back of this two-story contraption were buzzing; the noise was excruciating to the ear. Harvey, Tynan, Drake, and Zon all huddled in the aisle. They devised a plan for Isaic to land the copter and return those who were tagged and shackled. Of course, this made sense. They would have been the GPS to their whereabouts. Wherever they were planning to go, it didn’t matter; with these kids on board, it was like they would have a light trailing them everywhere anyway.

  The last shackled student got off the winged bus, dragging his chained legs behind. Each member of the line looked up with tears in their eyes, knowing this was the last time they were ever going to see their friends. It was better this way, taking all of this chaos into consideration.

  The wind and roving light caught all of their sadness as the aircraft took flight again. Isaic signed a truce with those left behind by flickin
g the spotlights off and on to say goodbye. His near burnt-orange; puppy dog eyes lost gloss from his sadness once the light was off his face.

  On one rove, the light tore through the still of night, catching the vehicle Abby and Treble still occupied. At this time, Isaic was the only one to see that the light had woken Treble up but disregarded it for the sake of loyalty to his best friend. He intentionally forgot them, not that they had any more room anyway.

  The flight away from the outskirts of Rumor Mill was fast. Isaic flew over lands he didn’t even know existed. Luckily, there weren’t any towns near RM; the young teens didn’t want to attract any more attention. There was something odd that came up on the screen when they were flying over the Clue Valley Canyon. It looked like a radar view of a video game with a mini-castle in the middle. There were bizarre critters jumping back and forth on the monitor, but they would disappear along the contours of the canyon walls. Even the river lit up a different color than before, but then it stopped and so did the canyon. The screen showed little contours after that. The Wilderness, Isaic thought as he watched. Oh Great!

  Isaic had to turn the front lights off to avoid detection. Flying by a navigation helmet alone was similar to the simulator class at school he had been taking in training to become a Jr. R.O.T.C. (Reconnaissance of Trendago’s Chosen) magistrate. He had the highest grades in that class; it was just unfortunate that he was so lazy to ever use them until now, when everyone’s life was in his hands.

  The shield screen on the helmet advised by radar that the craft was low on fuel and several bleeps were coming from behind. The only chance that Isaic had to escape danger was to use the last of the fuel by speeding up and then quickly landing somewhere. If it were to take an emergency landing, he was mentally prepared.

  Harvey, one of the biggest people on the heli-bus, had strapped himself to the leg braces of a middle aisle seat on the bottom half. He was deathly afraid of heights. He was playing games on his cell phone to distract himself. By now, there were many people getting up to use the restroom. Some danced in the aisles, decisively making the most of the last of their free time. They all knew the consequences. Being young and underdeveloped didn’t excuse them from any guilt.

  Knowing the consequences of triangulation, Zon used a cell phone anyway to text his mother goodbye just before its battery was going to die. He told her not to worry and that everything would be all right… someday. He was going to have to take on the responsibilities she had been pushing upon him since birth too. He let her know that she was always going to be with him and asked her to forgive him. Hopefully, all of this will be justified whenever the truth was revealed. He didn’t tell her where they were headed or anything about the heli-bus.

  The flashes were getting closer, and the crew was starting to get restless. They could sense that something was off, even though a majority of them had never flown before. Again, buzzers were blaring; the music was turned up to try and drown them out. The atmosphere was getting more edgy than when the magistrate had sought them.

  Nearing the last bit of fuel to push them far enough ahead of the bleeps, Isaic told everyone to get low and hold on; it could get a little hairy.

  The headlights were turned back on to see the terrain ahead. The flight helmet was torn off and the autopilot was disengaged. It was up to Isaic to land safely on this strip of abnormal land.

  An adolescent—maybe eleven or twelve years old, naked and pasty-looking— dashed in front of the headlights and vanished into the night. Isaic tried to spot him with the roaming light, but the being was nowhere to be found.

  The terrain was odd, a rarity none of them had ever seen. It was like a strong magnetic field in the Bermuda Triangle; this one more like a Desert Triangle, but it was elongated the circumference of Trendago’s globe and not wet. All of the kids’ cell phones died at the same time. The calamity caused frequency failure with the electronics portion of the aircraft. By doing so, it took Isaic’s ability to man the shuttle away and replaced it with a slow, level descent. It was eerily amazing.

  The first instinct everyone had was to stand to the back to bring the front up because it looked like it was going to sink into the mirage. Wavy fumes of visible land spanned a stretch the width of the headlights. As they pushed into the ever-growing dark, this illusion of terra firma was nothing of the sort. It seemed to evaporate but never disappear, like it was floating. Somehow the heli-bus was anchored directly on top. The doors opened by themselves, even though no one was around to usher. The lights died and the propellers slowed to a sudden stop. Everyone stood in the quiet dark, wondering what was going to happen next.

  Once again, being the leader that he was, Zon called out to his squad, speaking especially to those brave enough to take on this situation, summoning in a chain Tynan, Harvey, Drake, and thirteen other teammates who had formulated the party for them to take responsibility for their misdeeds. They chose to walk the crowd hand-in-hand down this stretch of vapor-releasing land. The lunar forces from afar were highlighting the night enough for most to see their way. Moments later, the heli-bus sank below the ground like it was in some kind of quicksand. Like ants overcoming a stranded piece of candy in the park, the bus was disassembled, piece-by-piece, by more of those strange looking people who were nothing more than shadows now emerging from the various cracks of this odd stretch of land.

  One of the people least likely to be at a beer-drinking party with drugs, girls, and wild things going on, shouted out that he had heard something about this place to which they had been drawn. It was supposedly a mythological strip of land that fringed the planet as a whole, having been created some time ago to give a group of seven underground mercenaries immunity from God: the ability to do anything and everything they ever wanted to do without repercussions from God or any of his chosen. This strip of land was the abnormality that stemmed from Earth. Being within the clone and cast out to space as this twin planet, this circle of land was Satan’s ring of dominance within Trendago.

  The one-mile-wide strip of land was referred to as the Freeland. This was a place that people do not want to enter. Once there, they can never leave. It’s like living through the awareness that they couldn’t get sent to Nostradama for wrongdoings, but they also couldn’t return to Trendago. It was like they were trapped in the inner-darkness. Yet beneath the radiating vapors of gases escaping from the heat of the inner planet, there were many a stalaglites (lights from the floor up) and stalaclites (lights from the ceiling down) that had gems in them that created and stored natural light. Therefore, it wasn’t what one would think, as far as darkness was concerned, in an underground cave-society of emaciated mineral eaters.

  Lexie and Shana found a way down a pliable slope into the now well-lit cavern system. The steps of solid rock were carved into a long staircase, about five hundred stairs, to be exact. It seemed to wrap and swirl down into the nothingness below. This must have taken years to hull.

  All those involved traipsed down the mystical portal as the smoothed, wavy walls sucked everyone to the bottom until all were able to see the grandiosity of this underground. It was similar to the Love Shack, but more widespread. It was unreal. There were goings on that defied human interpretation.

  The denizens of these caves were pasty-looking people. Tynan looked over at Zon, his face lit up by a nearby gem-laden stalaclite, and said, “Look at all these Pasties.” That’s what they called them, the Pasties. Some were so off-white pale, they almost put off their own light.

  Kid-sized ones, fast at work, were tearing down the rest of the heli-bus, using the wings for flotation devices in the calm deposits of water. Surprisingly, there was more water on planet Trendago. It was all underneath, again heated up by the core of this sphere emitting from the depths of its middle. The water was pristine to look into as it harbored the light from above to show how clean and transparent it was all the way through to the lighted mineral bottom. Some shallow, some
abyssal, looking reservoirs separated the walkways of natural rock surrounding the perimeter. On the sides of the cavern walls, adobe-looking hulls were carved with exquisite precision; these were the homes of the Pasties.

  Some Pasties were coming in and some were going out; all were steadfast in their work ethic, like ants they all seemed to follow a pheromone trail. The heli-bus’s headlights were transformed into ground lights, absorbing the refracted light from the overhead gems to bend it within the cave of the elder Pastie. He, situated in the middle, was the leader of this sect. Several more sects of Pasties were envisioned further down the line. It was like a mini eco-society of underground townships.

  A Pastie finally caught notice of those who didn’t look like them. A young, little female, perhaps? There was no gender to decide. The equipment used to differentiate gender was not present; there was just skin—a high-gloss, anti-fleshy-looking frog skin from head to toe, no opening for entry, release, or detoxification. How did they procreate?

  A ceremony was underway in the brightest of dugouts. A Pastie was lying on its stomach, while another was carving into its back. A tuft of stretchy, rubbery shell was folded over, running the length of its spine. A baby was removed and the split sealed instantly. No blood. This was odd. It would take a day or two, time told by the darkening of the lighting gems, night from day, for the birthed Pastie to fully develop. At this time, the little baby Pastie was getting nourishment from a nearby, semi-dry pool of quartz-looking minerals that kept them fed. The baby Pastie started out without any eyes, just black divots and dark shadows where eyes should have been. Moments later, the birthing Pastie performed a ritual where the baby was lifted out of the water and suspended toward the lighting of the cave. It shot out some laser from its gems as the beam knocked two overhead stalaclites down. They landed perfectly in the eye sockets of the baby, where they would later be attached by the nourishing of minerals and stay for the duration of the young Pastie’s existence.