SigRyd3r
Captain, were you able to evade the shade?
Asher? It's Jess. Please respond.
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Asher
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Asher stumbled forward. He was having trouble focusing, his mind still spun around the fight. His sister. His sister was alive? Was he alive? A spike of pain in his side answered his question and brought him back to the present. The sidewalk and street were getting crowded for a Saturday morning. Lots of kids were out with backpacks and parents were heading for work.
Wait, that made little sense. No, there was no way. It was Friday when he went to sleep, but now his best guess was Monday morning. He knew it was morning because cars were leaving driveways and kids were walking towards the school. The sun was no help. He couldn't even see an impression behind the unbreakable mass of swirling gray clouds.
Asher filed the disappearance of 48 hours with everything else he didn't know and kept moving. The baseball bat he held had lost most of its color, only the faded blue tape remained. His hand contained only hints of what should be flushed olive-toned skin.
Exhausted, that's what he was. His body felt heavy, making each sluggish step difficult. More than once, a front yard he passed had a lawn that looked like a good place for a break, but then they came — shades. That's what Miranda had called them. The last thing he needed was another monster spawning in his face if he accidentally touched one of them, but he also needed to tend his wound and take a breather. The shades made that — difficult. Asher couldn't find a place that wasn't in their path.
When he thought he saw somewhere safe, like between two houses, or in a recently vacated driveway, or on an empty lawn, something always changed the scenario — kids would run out to play, old friends would reunite, items were left behind and needed to be recovered.
Eventually, his path took him out of his neighborhood to a main road with several businesses. He spotted an alley between two rows of brick shops across the street. It was quiet. No threats. "Yet." He glanced from the alley up the street. The crosswalk was another block. Plus, he would have to push a button. If it would let him. He remembered the shower tap and the window in his bedroom. No, it wasn't worth the risk. Crosswalks be damned.
He took a step off the curb, grunting in pain as the shard of glass in his side shifted. Asher looked down and steadied it with his hand, avoiding the edge, while taking his second step into the street. The sound of tires and combustion pulling his attention from the wound, he jerked his head up. Eyes darted to the left as the gray car sped towards him. It didn't stop. They always stop, but this one didn't even slow.
Asher took two quick steps and lunged forward on the third. His leading knee bent well past 90 degrees with his foot. He dropped the bat, slapping his hand to the ground for balance as he kicked his back leg out in an arc away from the front tire about to pulverize it into the pavement. He bit down on his tongue to avoid a scream. The movement caused the held glass to twist, but he wasn't done. As he recovered, Asher arced his back to avoid the driver's side mirror, feeling it whiz past his shoulder blades as he stood with both feet on the dashed line. The bat rolling into the next lane.
He tried to lunge for it, but his world blurred as dizziness overcame him. Breathe. Just breathe. He hated cars. Hated driving them. Hated their necessity. Hated what they had done to his family. Asher felt the familiar sensation seeping from his core and into his chest.
His little brother's hazel eyes stared up at him from the floor behind the driver's seat. The tree's branch had pierced the underside of the vehicle and sliced through Ben's thigh. Asher couldn't see his feet. They were below the thick puddle.
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No! Asher gave the shard a twist, the pain bringing clarity. He gasped, blinked rapidly, his head down to let the tears drop, snarling as the hallucination faded. He knew O'Leary would tell him to get out of his head, to focus on the action. Focus. He held the glass firmly enough that it bit into his hand. He checked to make sure his phone was still secure in the waistband of his boxers. The drivers were shades, and, like all the others, he didn't think they could see him. Dammit, crosswalk or not, streets just got way more dangerous. The bat was in the center of the next lane. He pushed the dread down, lined himself up, and sprinted for the center line, scooping the bat as he went.
Two steps ahead of an oncoming truck with bullet hole decals and metallic hitch nuts, he reached the line. Bat in hand, he tried to flex and shake away the fatigue in his muscles without success. Instead, he focused on his breathing, his pain, and held one of O'Leary's many third period pep-talks in his mind while waiting for the next opening in traffic. He only had two lanes to go.
'We're tired, but we're not weak.'
His eyes scanned the faces of drivers trying to gauge their reactions, confirming what he already knew. They didn't even realize he was there.
'We're down by two. They're good, but we're better.'
An opening appeared; Asher sprinted for the curb. He crossed the first lane in three heavy steps. There was no time to stop. He took the fourth, but his legs collided, and he stumbled.
'It's on us to get up. To PROVE IT!'
He caught himself and pushed off the ground with a free hand, taking the fifth step. Then the leg on his injured side went numb. A man and his minivan were mere inches from ending Asher's brief nightmare.
'So, we get the puck, and we shoot to prove it! We shoot to fucking WIN!'
With a growl, Asher pushed off his good leg. The minivan's tire sprayed dust against his back as his uninjured side slammed into the sidewalk. Asher rolled to his back, his everything throbbed in pain. A quick glance was enough to notice the nearly gray blood trickling between his fingers had turned the side of his boxers into a sticky mess against his leg.
Thank you, O'Leary. You're not a poet, but you get results. Now Asher just needed to face whatever came next — easy. He stumble-crawled into the alley, pushing up to lean on the brick wall for support. The bat clacked against it as he went, but he propelled himself deeper, out of view from the street.
His path blocked by a trio of metal garbage cans. Asher slid down the brick to the ground with a grunt. He could barely keep his eyes open. He needed help. Dropping the bat, he pulled his phone from his waistband and tapped it awake. One unread group text from O'Leary and someone named SigRyd3r. People still did Leet speak? Jess? Oh shit, Jess!
She was the wing to his center, also his first, second, and third girlfriend. The team called her Snipe. How? She'd left, didn't she? Moved to… somewhere. How did he not remember? He shook his head; it didn't matter right now. It felt like he was thinking through a brain stuffed with marshmallows.
"You don't look well, Two-legs."
The voice was quiet, but felt close. Asher looked around but couldn't find the source. Great, now he was hearing things. Heh, what else was new? First, he tried 9-1-1 again, but the same not in service message played in his ear. Then he checked his contacts. O'Leary, SigRyd3r, and Wheeler were the only numbers colored in his phone. Did that mean they would work? Were they here? It didn't matter he had to try, so he responded to the group text.
I'm in trouble. Stabbed.
O'Leary
What? We're almost at your house.
Hold on. Don't touch anyone!
SigRyd3r
Where's Miranda?
Did she give you food?
Too late. Miri with a monster.
I had to run. No.
Asher didn't need food. He needed an ambulance or at least a first aid kit. He hit send before something furry and fast knocked the phone out of his hand. It clattered to the pavement.
"Listen here, you two-legged pup. You heard me before; I know it," said the small banana bread colored critter with four legs, long floppy ears, a tuft of a tail, and brown eyes on either side of his head.
Well, 'said' might be generous. Asher didn't notice the bunny's mouth move, but in that moment, he hadn't noticed much. He was still processing the phone not being in his hand, and his brain was trying to use what power remained to scream. There wasn't energy enough to go around. "Go away. You're not real." It was more slurred than his party king proclamations from Wheeler's the night before.
"Stop being a dummy, Two-leg. You're fading and will cycle at any moment. We need to color you up and get that glass out, or you won't be any fun at all."
The four-legged figment didn't wait for a response. He hopped, spun, and headed for the street. At the mouth of the alley, he turned and sprinted full speed straight at Asher.