Chapter Text
April 30th—it’s a beautiful day. The sun is rising barely above the horizon, casting a stunning orange-pink glow over the treehouse and funneling light into the room. I can almost hear birds singing and leaves blowing in the wind, all blanketed by the distant call of an alarm—likely one from a crushed car under a huge monster’s clawed paw.
It really is a beautiful day.
And my birthday.
I’m turning 14 today, but it feels a bigger number than it really is—especially since it’s my tenth birthday all alone.
But, it’s whatever! I’m used to it by now, anyways. Over the years in the adoptive system, I’ve counted ten families that I had been paired with before the final one dipped out on me—or at least, that’s what I told the gang at the start of the Apocalypse. Ten chances, and not one could compare to the memories I barely held on to in my head from my real family. Hell—I was three when I was put into foster care! Every end of April is just a punch in the gut, reminding me that I will never get the chance to have a family of my own again. And sure, maybe I’m not truly alone, but it feels as empty as ever. I’ve got Quint, and Dirk, and June—
—oh, June. We’ve spent almost half a year together, and my feelings for her never really died down—not even in the slightest. Every time she touches my hand, or she compliments my fighting, it’s like butterflies in my stomach hatch from their cocoon, and try to gnaw their way out of me. It’s a good feeling—just trust me.
I crack open my eyes.
The day doesn’t seem so shimmery once I realize it’s my birthday. Funny how that works, as a kid I always loved my birthday. You get presents and cake if you’re lucky—and for most foster families, it was the only day I was appreciated. But now, I don’t want to celebrate, honestly, I just want to pass on through the date without anybody ever acknowledging it. Hopefully, Quint won’t blow my cover. And even more hopefully, he forgot the day all together.
I get up from my bed—made of old clothes from my foster brother—and yawn before leaving my room to go into the living room.
“Mornin’,” June says groggily as she sits up from the couch. She rubs her eyes and clears the hair from her face. Man, she is pretty. Her eyes twinkle in the orange glow.
“Morning, June,” I say, smiling a bit. Thank God—nobody’s saying any of that Happy Birthday! stuff. I audibly sigh out of relief.
“Morning guys!” Quint exclaims. He’s working on the radio, as he has been for the past week. I hate the thing, but everyone else loves it so dearly, so I just keep my mouth shut and continue to act like it doesn’t affect me—normal, gung-ho Jack. But at the end of every day, I know my time is running short with them. Can’t believe I’ll lose my post-apocalyptic family for a stupid ass metal box.
Quint lays his screwdriver down and stretches his arms. “I’ve made quite a bit of progress on the radio this morning. I’ve almost finished rewiring the antenna for further reach!”
June shoots up from the couch and practically jumps out of joy, “That’s rad, Quint! How close is it to being done?”
I lean on the wall of the hallway and silently mock the two, rolling my eyes and scoffing. Quint, how’s the radio? Is the radio okay? Was that a voice?—is all I ever hear anymore.
“I would say I’ll be able to finish by tomorrow, but for now—I need a break. What’s on the agenda for today?”
Good—maybe they’ll forget the radio for a few hours.
“Jeez, nerd, we just woke up!” Dirk mutters, clearly waking up himself from the beanbag in the corner, “Give us a second to breathe, dude!”
“Alright, fine. I’ve been up since four working on this thing, forgive me for my interruption of your twelve-hour slumber,” Quint smirks as Dirk growls at him.
I groan before breaking the tension, “Well, I’m starving. What’s for breakfast?”
The other two people in the room, including me, look at Quint, who then points at himself in question.
“Why me? You can get your own food, right?”
“I mean, you’re kind of the only one who can cook well . . ?” June laughs, scratching the back of her head.
“Yeah, the last time any of us tried to cook, Jack caught the microwave in Joe’s on fire,” Dirk says jokingly.
“Hey! The directions weren’t clear enough!” I bark back. That was a lie. I forgot the water, but what type of hero forgets water in mac n’ cheese? Totally not this one.
“You can’t just eat a PopTart or something?”
We all shrug before Dirk speaks up, “I won’t survive off of a PopTart.”
“Fine, fine! I’ll make breakfast!”
“Thanks Quint, you’re the best!” June says, shooting finger-guns at him before turning her attention to the radio.
Dirk and I join each other on the couch and I look through a magazine that was left on the coffee table—Spiderman. I open the booklet and flip through the pages. I’ve read this one dozens of times, but how could anybody get sick of Spiderman?
I hear Dirk mutter, “Dork,” under his breath. He’s just jealous I can have fun.
“Uh—guys? We have a major problem,” Quint mumbles sheepishly as he stares toward an empty cabinet devoid of any food, “We’re sorta . . . out of food.”
“That’ll be what we do today! A mission—for our hunger!” I exclaim, jumping up from the couch.
“Pipe down, hero. But, yeah, we should probably go to the store,” June says, picking up her broomstick spear and putting on gloves.
“Can’t I stay here? Not quite awake yet, I won’t be in prime monster-fighting condition!” Dirk complains.
“Do you want food or not? ‘Cause if you don’t help, no food for you,” June snaps at him.
He groans before reluctantly agreeing and getting up off of the couch. “Gimme a minute, mom,” Dirk mocks.
“Hey!” June points a sharp finger at him, “I am not your mom!”
Dirk scoffs as we start to slide out of the door, and down the ladder.
I hit the ground first, dusting off my pants and immediately walking over to Rover, beginning to wake him up, but first glancing back at my friends still in the treehouse. They’re bickering, practically pulling Dirk out the door. I sigh, reaching my hand up to pet Rover’s head. At least we’re getting out of this house—tree house. It feels like my friends have been in there huddled over the radio for months, while I just sit in the corner.
“Mornin’ Rover,” I say with a small smile. My words are met with a slightly-happy purr.
“We’re heading off to the store soon, so get ready to walk for a bit, buddy,” I laugh, scratching behind his ears. My smile slowly falters.
“Purr?”
“It’s really nothing.”
“Purr.”
“Okay, okay! If you really want to know..” I pause, and swing myself on top of my furry friend, “It’s my birthday today, and I guess it’s my first one where I’m not truly alone, but it still feels that way.”
I sigh, small tears forming along my waterline.
“I mean, yeah—I have June, and Quint, and Dirk, but I don’t have a real family,” I say, wiping water from my cheek, “and I guess I’ll never get one. These damn monsters—”
Rover whimpers as if he was hurt.
“You’re right—I’m sorry. I have you and the gang, and all of the other monsters by my side, so it isn’t that bad.”
Suddenly, a voice breaks me from my emotional trance:
“Jack! Come on, we’re going before Dirk falls asleep in Big Mama!” June calls out, waving me over.
I laugh slightly, before yelling back in reply, “You guys go ahead! I’m riding Rover down!”
“Sounds like someone is challenging us to a race!” Quint dares, a cocky smirk creeping on his face.
“You are on!” I say, commanding the dog-beast to run as the other three sped off towards the grocery store.
“Go Rover, go!” I shout in glee, but only make it half a mile in laughter before my laugh softens, and I tell Rover to slow down.
I stare into the windows of a light yellow, brown roofed house and I can feel my face drop. This looks just like my original family's house—before I got orphaned. It has a small pond of water in front—just like mine did.
My mom and I had dug the pond out before I was given up. It's a blur in my head, really, but it feels like it was yesterday. My mom handed me a small shovel, and I dug out a few cups of dirt before she brought the hose over to fill it with water. We’d sit there and talk about the bugs around us while it filled, and when it was done, we put rocks around it. Mom called it, Our little wishing well!
I feel hot wetness singe my cheeks, and it’s like I can faintly hear my mother;
“Don’t cry, Jack, it’s alright, hon.”
The tears race to my chin.
Shit—the race. I’ve got places to be.
I shake my head, “Forget it. C’mon Rover, let’s go,” I say with a scowl. Stopping there was a bad idea. Now I'm in a terrible mood for the adventure. I hate going on adventures with a bad attitude—I always screw something up, and then my friends argue, and I can’t help but find it to be totally my fault most of the time.
We arrive at the grocery store considerably later than the other three.
“There you are! I thought you got killed!” June says, laughing.
“Yeah man, you were totally—like—a mile behind us!” Dirk says as he hops out of the car, slamming the door behind him.
I falsely laugh before hopping off of Rover and scratching my head. “Yeah, nice going gang! You really . . .” I feel tears well, “beat me to it. What do we need from the store again?”
I tell myself, Stop crying. That was ten years ago.
“Uhhhh, let me check the list,” Quint says, pulling a small piece of paper from his back jean pocket.
“When the hell did you have time to make a list?” Dirk inquires.
“There is always time for list-making!”
“Alright, buddy, we get it. What do we need?” I say, laying a hand on Quint’s shoulder.
June approaches the glass door and tries to open it. She pushes in on it, but to no avail.
“It’s a pull,” Quint interjects.
“Oh really? Thanks Einstein for the observation!” she growls, ripping the door open.
“Alright, jeez. Here’s what we need;
June, you get PopTarts, cereal, and coffee. Dirk; the pretzels, Cheez-Its, cheese puffs, and potato chips. And Jack, you get . . .” he pauses, scanning the list. I raise an eyebrow. “You get Advil.”
“Seriously? The only thing you want me to get is medicine?” I say, cocking my head with slight annoyance.
“Look—you can get a little . . . distracted,” Quint mutters, tiptoeing around the words.
“Quint, I assure you I can help you get more than one thing.”
“I don’t know, Jack. Last time we gave you something to get, you didn’t return for the whole day—and had nothing in your hands.”
I feel my face twist into an annoyed grimace, before rolling my eyes. If they want me to only get one thing—fine by me! More time for myself.
“Alright, cool, whatever, yeah,” I say mockingly, “Just split up!”
The other three exchange glances of confusion as I storm off, kicking things on the ground between spiteful murmurs.
I curse as I walk down the aisle, looking up and down for a bottle of anything that resembles medicine. They look all the same to me.
“Good ol’ unreliable Jack! Can’t trust him with anything, no!” I mock. “Bunch of fake friends . . .”
I quit my blabbering as my gaze is drawn to a large sign hanging above a display, titled Alcohol.
Have I seriously not seen this part of the store before? Surely I must’ve—but why should I care anyways? I roll my eyes and keep walking.
One of the foster families I was assigned to—back in Michigan—were sort of huge alcoholics. They spent more time on the floor than taking care of me, and that was the only time I got sent to foster care for my own safety. It was pretty nice, though—I did whatever I wanted to as long as they were out cold. One time, I snuck a few sips of a bottle lying on the countertop. It tasted terrible if I'm being honest. Though, the next hour, I felt amazing, almost like my head was in the clouds. Never tried it again after that. I didn’t want to risk being caught and going through all of that, Do you want to go back to the orphanage? business. I’m 13 anyways, it’s illegal! Wait—no, 14.
Stupid birthdays. Everyone else forgot about ‘em, why couldn’t I?
I crane my neck toward the glass bottles.
Or maybe I could?
I pick one of the wine bottles off of the shelf and pop the cork. It’s surprisingly easy. Maybe because it’s been sitting for half a year. Why shouldn’t I try it? I’ll be alone in a month’s time when they decide to go off with those radio people, so nothing really mattered did it? It’s not like the day could get much worse, anyway.
I sniff the inside and audibly gag. “Yuck,” I say aloud, before looking back toward my friends' direction.
“Oh, whatever, they don’t care enough anyways,” I mumble, sighing before taking a long sip—then coughing. God—this tastes awful! Maybe I should stop, I think to myself before shaking my head and remembering everything on my shoulders right now. The whole family-radio-Rezzoch combo is really starting to take a toll on me. I scoff, and take another long sip before sitting down on the floor next to the stand.
I don’t even feel anything yet—maybe it has gone stale or something.
I take another drink, but as I bring the bottle down, I feel a little dizzy, almost like my eyes are being pressed on. A few minutes later, I’m thinking maybe I spoke too soon, because I definitely feel something now. I lift the bottle to my face and see it half empty.
“No reason to not,” I pause, taking another drink, “finish what I started.”
I sigh and close my eyes, before chugging the rest of the glass bottle. When it’s empty, I half-heartedly slam the bottle on the ground. This feels good—real good. Almost like I'm flying, but I'm . . . not? Or am I? My head is hazy. I lean back and laugh to myself. The thought that I sounded insane barely scrapes my brain. It’s a relief to not think about anything for once!
“Man, this’s a pretty awesome sidequest!” I say out loud, but I’m starting to trip over some words with my tongue. It’s like someone was grabbing and pulling my tongue out—or like when you go to the dentist and they give you that numbing stuff so you can’t feel your mouth. The more I think about it, I’m starting to feel a bit sick—maybe this wasn’t the best idea? Why'd I do this on an empty stomach? What an idiot! If the gang found out—they’d probably feed me to a zombie, mainly for not getting the Advil.
But, man, it feels pretty good! All the weight of the radio or that damned King Wretch or keeping everyone together feels like it was lifted off of my shoulders all at once. I shoot up from the floor, albeit, unsteady. I feel my body sway as I teeter on one foot before balancing myself.
“Woah—Shit,” I mumble, hiccuping as I grab onto a nearby shelf for stability.
“I gotta get back to Quint n’ them,” I murmur to myself, taking a few uncertain steps forward. A sudden roar from outside jolts me from my self-teaching of how to walk like a toddler. I grab my bag and start to walk away, but stop. I turn around, and eye the stand.
“This’nt totally awful, I’m sure I could take,” my words are harder to form, but I pause, grabbing three other bottles off of the shelf, “a few more of these.” I stuff them into my bag. A small thought pops in my head, and I jam my jacket in between them. If they broke, I’d be—like—triple screwed.
I exhale and chuckle to myself as I, again, start my journey back to the front of the store. Shit—they would be mad if I don't return with something. As I walk past dozens of shelves, my eyes are drawn to a jar of Nutella on one of the rickety shelves.
“This’ll do,” I mumble, going to pick it up before the ground beneath me wildly shakes, sending the jar rolling off of the shelf and onto the floor.
“Aw, damnit!” I accidentally yell, before covering my mouth. Someone definitely heard me that time. A shrill screech shoots through the glass windows of the supermarket, causing me to jump a little and I sort of stumble forward. I catch myself on a pillar at the end of the aisle and shove off of it quickly. I go back into the main aisle, and quickly spot three angry people tapping their feet. I’d bet all of my marbles that they take my Slicer and stab me with it. Except, I don’t have any marbles. And there's too much fog in my brain to picture that.
“Look who finally came back!” Dirk snarls, clearly annoyed.
I might have a dopey smile plastered on my face—but I’m desperately trying to clear my head and find a good excuse—and I can’t.
“I uhhh . . . just got a bit lost, y’know how big this store is?” I joke, seemingly just stringing words together. My friends look at me like I’m an idiot—guess they aren’t too far off.
“We’ve been here at least fifty times, Jack. You statistically could not have gotten lost!” Quint says, throwing his hands in the air, “And where’s the medicine, Jack?”
“Yeah—you had one job, dork!” Dirk argues.
Shit, they’re mad—really mad. I’m swaying. My vision is blurry. I’m lightheaded.
Oh, man, I’m gonna fall flat on my face right here. I blink a few times and panic a bit before laughing—I’ll admit—hysterically, and then shuffling toward the three. I lay my arm—it feels real heavy to me—on Quint’s shoulder and lean a good amount of my weight on the small-framed guy. If I stand any longer, I’m gonna fall asleep.
“Calm down! It's not like the apocalypse’s endin’ any time soon! Plenty of time to get medical stuff!” I blurt out to distract them from my stumbling. They all just kind of look at me, so I shove off Quint, forcing us both to fall in opposite directions.
June quickly rushes forward to catch Quint, who is now seething with rage.
“Dude, what the hell?” June says, helping Quint back up.
I, on the other hand—of course—had nobody to catch me. I feel gravity take me to the ground and cackle. This was all so hilarious to me—I don’t really know why though. I just pushed my best bud over, but he did fall kinda funny.
“Oh, thanks guys! Talk about trust falls . . .” I mutter, grinning like that one cat from Alice in Wonderland. What was that ugly thing called again?
“Chesire Cat..?” Quint says, clearly confused.
Guess I said that one out loud.
I start to giggle a bit, but I'm interrupted by yet another roar.
“And that’s why it was crucial that you got back here! There’s a monster literally right outside that door!” Quint yells, obviously pissed off.
“Relaaaax! We got this easy!” I say, unsteadily getting up from the ground as I slide my backpack off of my shoulders and grab the Slicer. “We jus’ gotta charge him!”
“Nuh-uh. We are not charging that thing. You are not charging that thing! It’s literally invisible!” June says, grabbing onto my arm as I start to walk out the door. I don’t know what came over me—I would have never done this under any other circumstance. It just felt right, but I swung around and ripped June’s arm from mine. She makes a disgusted noise before shoving me toward the door, and I nearly fall over.
“Okay, then, dick. Go out and fight that bitch by yourself. I’m not going, and neither are any of us!” she says, crossing her arms and placing several bags of food on the ground.
I really messed up. Why did I do that? She’ll never think I’m rad and stuff now! But, I’m getting ready to fight—no need to get my hopes down. So, I just laugh it off as I quite literally spin through the door. I hear June grinding her teeth behind me.
“Yeah, I’m gonna kick this guy’s ass! Watch it!”
One of them sighs, before reaching out with their hand;
“Jack, wait—” Quint yells, but it’s too late.
I stumble through the door and look around the front lot for the monster. Weird—nothing. By now, I should be knuckle-deep in some beast’s torso with my trusty Slicer. My eyes suddenly catch on an unseeable force pushing through abandoned cars. I must have Spider-senses or something of the likes to notice that, because I can’t even see my own hand too clearly. It suddenly strikes me: It’s the Camobeast. Aw, shit—I hate this guy!
I sucked at fighting it earlier this week, and I’m pretty sure that I can’t do it when I feel like I haven’t slept in a month. Maybe I’m overthinking this—that’s what Dirk tells me all the time. He usually says something like Jack, just charge! or Jack, forget that stupid ass plan!
Apparently, I’m listening to that motto right now, because I’m charging at the invisible force. I raise my shattered bat and slash at the being, brutally missing all of my attacks. The Camobeast quickly whips around to look at me, and defensively jumps atop a car, revealing itself to me as it growls. I only sheepishly smile as I realize that I’m going to get my ass kicked by this loser.
It lunges, barely missing a head-on attack, but it launches the bat out of my hand as I stagger backward. It snarls, and before I know it, I’m backing into a larger yellow car.
“Damnit—look, I’m sorry! We must’ve got off on the wrong foot!” I plead, tripping over my feet awkwardly and falling on the ground. I brace for impact, holding my forearms to the air, but instead of chomping my head off, the monster swings its tail around toward me. It must’ve nailed me right in the head, because my vision doubles and I feel my body actually flying.
The last thing I see—and feel—is me harshly hitting something hard with an intense CRACK. I’m unsure as to where the noise was from, but it might be the worst pain I’ve ever felt. My head gets a lot heavier as a sharp pain radiates through my skull. I groan as my vision darkens, feeling my consciousness slip away.
- - - - - - - - - - pov split - - - - - - - - - -
“Oh my God, Jack!” June screamed, pushing through the door as the other two followed her. By now, the beast had fled the scene, seemingly laughing as it slinked through rows of cars.
She sprinted across the parking lot, before stopping in front of a now deep asleep Jack, slumped forward as blood dripped down his neck.
“What the hell do we do? We can’t just leave him here!” June panicked as she went to grab him.
“Wait, June! Don’t move him. We don’t want to risk anything happening,” Quint interrupted.
“Then what do we do, smartass?” she pleaded.
“We’ll have to wait until he wakes up to help get him back to the treehouse. For now, go try and find a medical kit. Dirk and I will stay here and protect him.”
“Alright,” she paused, sighing, “I trust you, Quint.”
I wake up, and immediately wish I that I hadn't. I feel so lousy that I might as well be dead. What the hell happened? I feel woozy even with my eyes shut. I can hear Quint and Dirk nearby. Dirk is sleeping, snoring loudly; and Quint is murmuring to himself as he reads something.
I can't help but groan as I raise my hand to my head. I feel sick.
“Look who’s finally awake!” Quint says, volume in his tone increasing toward the end of his sentence.
I wince and scowl weakly.
“Shudd’up Quint,” I mumble, but I’m pretty sure it's impossible to make that out. My words feel like they are dripping with molasses.
“Well, I would, but apparently everything I say goes in through one ear, and right out the other, so it wouldn’t matter if I did!” he shouts back at me. I close my eyes and let out a shaky exhale, running a hand through my hair. My strange, newly sticky hair.
I flutter my eyes open and lift my hand toward my face to get a look at what's there, trying to push up further against the wall. My hand is covered in red liquid—blood.
“Blech,” I murmur. “Why’m I covered in blood?” I ask, voice quavering more than I want it to.
“We sacrificed you to get medicine, obviously,” Quint, snarky, replies as he stands up and approaches me, "Since you couldn’t get any yourself.”
I groan and lay my head on my knees as I bring them to my chest. I feel nauseous. I’m almost certain I’m going to vomit on the ground, and then I hear Quint sigh.
“I’m sorry, Jack. You just made me a little mad, friend.”
I crack open an eye and roll it.
“Here,” Quint says, laying a blanket down near me. I forgive him now, I think. I scoot towards it, and lay down, shutting my eyes. Finally—decent rest.
What was I thinking, anyways? I don’t even remember what happened! As far as I know—I woke up covered in blood, mind racing and head throbbing with no prior reason. I feel the pressure of sleep creep back up on me, and succumb.
However, I’m eventually—and rudely—awoken by the loud chatter of three people.
“If he ever wakes up, how are we getting him home?” June says softly, devoid of any medical supplies.
I open my eyes cautiously to see an orange light being cast on the side of the building I was near. The sun was setting. Holy shit—how long was I asleep? It only felt like minutes! I sit up slowly to see a small puddle of blood where my head was at. Yuck. My face is wet from the liquid, too, and I feel every heartbeat pound in my head. At least this time I don’t feel as lousy, but I don’t feel exactly one hundred percent, either.
“Good morning, idiot,” Dirk mutters with disdain as he notices my consciousness return.
Well, gee, Dirk, screw you too.
“What time is it?” I mutter tiredly, clutching the side of my head.
“I don’t know, but we’ve been sitting here all fucking day because of guess who!” June yells, throwing an empty soda bottle at the wall behind me. I duck, and it clatters against it.
June’s mood suddenly changes, and she looks between the other two standing individuals with a shade of concern painted on her face.
I crane my neck to look behind me, and see half the wall painted in my blood. Fisticuffs.
“I-I’m sorry, Jack. I’ve just been worried about you.”
I only groan and lay back down.
“Hey, no! If you fall back asleep we’ll be here all night defending your ass from zombies!” June says, snapping her fingers at me.
I mumble something, half asleep.
“Jack, we need to get you back before dark,” June says with true concern in her voice.
“Yeah, I ain’t exactly looking to fight zombies all night,” Dirk says with an uneasy tone.
I guess they’re right, I don’t really want to be out here either, I just want to be snuggled with Rover in bed. I roll over to face the other three, who are all looking at me with pleading eyes.
“Fine, you’re right. We gotta get back,” I say groggily, sitting up. Spears of light pierce my skull, and I mutter solemnly, “No matter how much it hurts . . .”
I push myself weakly off of the ground and attempt to stand. To nobody's surprise, my vision blackens around the edges and my legs wobble. I’m overwhelmed with the hollow pounding in my head, and I stumble backward before Dirk steps in and grabs me by the scruff of my shirt.
“Woah,” I mutter under my breath, trying to blink away the urge to fall over. I smile, embarrassed, “Thanks.”
“Just throwing things out there—maybe you need to take it easy,” June chimes.
Dirk groans, annoyed, and drops me, and I fall into a lean on the wall, howling as I hit hard brick.
“All he’s done since he woke up this morning was take it easy! First no medicine—then he fucks around with the Camobeast, and now this,” Dirk complains.
I feel a slight anger rise inside of me. I can’t help that I got hurt!—apparently fighting a Camobeast? But, making a fuss would taint my whole tough-guy persona, so I just keep quiet. Fighting alone doesn’t sound like me, though—honestly. Speaking of fighting—where’s the Slicer? And my backpack too? God, how dumb I must have been to lose both things!
I stood off of the wall and walked forward as if I was balancing on a beam. I sure look stupid—but I’d look dumber face-first on the hard ground.
“Has anyone seen my, ah, bag? Or any of my stuff—for that matter?”
June groans in annoyance before walking to the truck they took to the store—now pulled up beside them—and turning on the engine. I scoff.
“Well, If you really have to know, your bat is about a mile north, and your bag is still in the store.”
“Ugh, seriously?” I say, sluggishly walking forward to get a better view of the lot.
“Yeah, I watched you get nailed in the face by that monster!” Quint laughs as he hops in the vehicle.
I sigh in defeat. So much for ‘tough guy persona’. I rub the back of my neck and regain my usual amount of confidence.
“Alright, well I’ll meet you all at the treehouse, I’ve got a weapon to find apparently.”
June and Quint share a confused look before one of them questions:
“You . . . aren’t coming with us in Big Mama?” Quint asks.
“Nope, me and Rover have some awesome questing to do—for the Louisville Slicer!”
“I don't know if that’s a good idea on your own—what if the Camobeast comes back?” June say, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and disbelief.
“All what-ifs, I’ll be fine guys! Trust me—I can do this by myself.”
“Alright . . . I guess,” she says, buckling her seatbelt and driving off on to the road home.
My ever-gilded smile falters as they drive away, and I take a deep breath. I don't even know if it's possible to find a small baseball bat in the dark—but looking at the lowering sun, I'm probably going to have to. Or, I could show up empty-handed, and prove how much of a fool I am! I feel awful, and sit down on the curb below my feet.
Where was Rover? He had to be here somewhere, I’m sure that he wouldn’t have taken off without bringing me along.
Then I felt it—a long, wet tongue go up my back. I freeze, before slowly turning my head to see:
“Rover! There you are buddy—you had me worried,” I exclaim with a sigh of relief.
Rover howls, and I cover my ears with a small yelp.
“Let’s die down on the howling at the moon stuff for a bit, I feel like my brains got blown apart,” I say, grimacing.
“Purr . .”
“Alright big fella—we’ve gotta find my weapon, it has to be here somewhere,” I pause, and look about, “In this big, empty, abandoned, zombie-filled lot.”
I exhale deeply and saddle myself on Rover, encouraging a small bout of dizziness. I grip Rover’s fur tightly, before nudging the dog forward to look for the bat.
“God, this is impossible,” I mutter to myself as I look through several rows of rotting vehicles. Suddenly, a stick poking out of the grass on the far end catches my eye. Oh, thank God!
“Rover, there. Take me there!”
He speeds through the parking lot, crushing and denting cars as we go. After totaling hundreds of previous families’ transportation, Rover holds up about ten feet from the Louisville Slicer, eyes wide, and teeth bared as his ears shoot back. I hop off of Rover, who is now barking at the alleyway behind the weapon. I look at Rover. He’s acting weird, like someone or something was hiding in that alley. Just in case there is something there, I quickly retrieve the baseball bat. For some strange reason, I hold up at the entrance of the alley.
Something is in there.
“What’s wrong, Rover?” I say cautiously, scanning the area around me. Suddenly, it catches my attention—two large, glowing yellow eyes, with six smaller ones below. Shit. I could recognize that facial structure from a mile away—the King Wretch.
Rover is suddenly grabbed in its large claw, and tossed into the side of a building. I call out, “Rover, no!” as he slams against the wall and sinks to the ground, unmoving. A sense of overwhelming dread fills my head, and I turn back to the King Wretch.
“Fisticuffs,” I whisper to myself. I already know how this goes. I try to attack, fail, stand my ground, and then get my cranium filled with awful dream-vision thingies. But, I can’t let it skip to step four, so I shake my head and point my Slicer out toward the winged beast, who slinks out of the shadows. It really just towers over me. I mean, the thing’s gotta be—like—fifty feet tall at the least. But I just stand there, sword out, ready for attack. I know deep down that it won’t kill me. It needs me for something.
“What do you want with me? I’m kind of off limits for your whole head-manipulation thingy!” I yell, gesturing at the blood covering the upper portion of my face. I tap on my temple with the tip of my finger. Yeowch. Still aching away.
“It’d really just be unfair game if you were to try anything,” I tease, shrugging before taking a step toward the Wretch. It shrieks before stomping toward me, growling low as my confidence suddenly dwindles to none.
“Or . . . maybe you will just end me here.”
I laugh awkwardly and stumble backward as the larger yellow eyes atop its skull turn green and start to swirl. We’re really skipping the whole epic battle attempt today, huh? I quickly pan my view to the ground. The grass and inch-long ants make for quite the spectacle when there’s death hanging above me. The King Wretch screams, and I snap my head up to make sure I’m not being eaten. I am not, and I, unfortunately, catch a glimpse of the freaky eyeballs, and am unable to look away.
“Oh, God not again!” I cry out, before falling to the floor—submitting to the trance.
Man, I feel lousy even in my dream-nightmare state. And I definitely am not where I remember I last was—hell, I can’t really remember if I was anywhere before this. It feels like I had just had my head filled with all of the memories from someone else’s brain. I look around, and I notice that I’m at the treehouse, sitting inside on the couch with a checkerboard sitting in front of me. Nobody is across from it though, only a cup of half-finished coffee. Lame friends.
I stand up and call out, “Quint? June? Dirk? Anybody here?” but am met with no voice in return. A small internal panic rises in the back of my mind as I only hear my echo, but nonetheless, I’m looking up and down for any clues or notes of where they had gone. I walk toward Quint's workdesk, brushing my hand gently against the surface, gazing around the room as I pay no mind to the items on it. Suddenly I feel it—a small piece of paper. I pick it up to read:
Jack,
We’ve left for New York. Since you have nobody to find there, we decided it would be best if you stayed here. Took the radio with Rover and the other monsters. Good luck without us,
Quint.
What? What the hell? There’s no way this is really the future, right? I’m almost certain. Almost. A small echo in my head: This is the future. I jam the note deep in my pocket and run out of the treehouse, practically jumping down the ladder. I fall and tumble on the grass, but stand up to run towards Joe’s Pizza. I sprint through the lot and into the door. The glass splinters and cracks as it hits the wall.
Empty. Abandoned. There is nobody here—not even Skaelka. Why did they leave without me? Why did they think I didn’t need to come? I defeatedly shuffle out of the restaurant and slide down the exterior wall.
I feel tears form in my eyes and pull the note back out of my pocket and I reread the same line over and over:
Since you have nobody.
I did have people—them—for the first time in my sucky life. A family that I wasn’t forced into. A family that was the best I ever had, but apparently they didn't think the same. This is a stupid future.
A rancid stench assaults my nose and I quickly stand up and try to see where it was coming from. Soon after, a loud screech rips through the air, and a winged beast perches atop the treehouse. It seems like it’s smiling—a wretched, evil, smile.
“What do you want from me?” I yell at it, waving the paper around in the air.
The Wretch’s chest suddenly splits open, ribcage cracking as the skin separates. A dull blue mist pours from the open wound, and a shadow moves itself forward. Shoot.
“Rezzoch.”
“YES, BOY. I AM REZZOCH, DESTRUCTOR OF WORLDS.”
“Why do you keep doing this to me? I just want to live in peace with my friends!” I scream, a tear running down my face.
“AND YOU CAN. JOIN ME, AND WE CAN BOTH GET WHAT WE WANT.”
“You have no idea what I want!”
“I KNOW EVERYTHING. I CAN HELP YOU, I CAN GET RID OF THAT RADIO.”
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I can’t even argue. He nailed that, spot on. I narrow my eyes and scowl. I know if they keep it, this nightmare will slowly come together, and I’d be alone again.
“Okay, maybe you know what I want, but that’s not what’s best for my friends!”
“JACK, WE BOTH KNOW YOU WANT TO STAY WITH THEM. I AM YOUR ONLY OPTION, IF YOU WANT THEM TO LIVE.”
“You will not touch my friends!” I respond with a yell. Suddenly, the world around me collapses and boom—just like that, I’m ripped from the vision. I rapidly blink my eyes open.
I’m back in the real world—I hope. I’m on the ground, hands and knees and all, with cold sweat dripping off of my face. I feel really confused and groggy and I’m heaving. My brain’s hazy—like soda bubbles in my head that had only just started to foam down.
I look up toward the King Wretch, who is being bitten by Rover in the arm. The Wretch squeals as it tries to fling Rover off, and he ultimately lets go as he catches a glimpse of me attempting to stand up. The Wretch snarls as it glares into my eyes, soaring up into the air and out of view.
I sigh heavily and fully stand, wearily. Rover runs to me and I scratch behind his ear.
“Thank you, boy, great job!” I say, mainly happy that Rover’s alright. “These visions have got to stop, I . .” I sigh, grabbing my weapon once lodged in the ground. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
“Purr.”
We walk toward the store’s front door, stepping through a pane of broken glass, and scour the entrance for any sign of my lost bag. As we search, I ramble on;
“I fear if I tell any of them, they’ll think I’m crazy. Shit—maybe I am crazy! Visions and nightmares from a winged monster controlled by Rezzoch..” I laugh awkwardly, “Oh, boy, I’m going insane.”
I spot a small fabric piece hiding on the floor next to a shelf, and run over, picking up the item—I now recognize it as my bag! I throw it over my shoulder, but I hear a loud glass CLINK come from inside. Yikes.
“What the hell?” I say, sliding the bag off and opening it. My eyes widen and I quickly zip the bag back up. Three bottles of wine are inside. Odd. Very odd.
“I . . .” I pause, looking around, “should not have these.”
I must’ve slipped them in before I got—ahem—hurt. I sling the backpack back on my shoulder. I’m not complaining. I probably worked real hard to not get caught with these! I wave Rover out of the store and climb atop of him.
“Aright, treehouse time! And do me a favor—” I motion to my bag, “don’t tell them about these. I think they’d literally kill me.”
"Purr . .”
“Oh, hush! I’m trying new things. June said I needed to!” I argue. That was true—she did say that—but, it was more or less because I was pestering her to play Mario Kart. “Now, do me another favor, and don’t go too fast. Don’t want my brains rattled, y’know?”
Rover barks happily before speeding off at an unfathomable pace. So much for having an intact mind.