The tunnel ended in a collapsed section, halting their journey. Martin finally relaxed, realizing that no skinwalkers would come at them from this direction or from the shielded bank.

“Pocket burger?” Alexa offered, sitting down on the pile of rubble.

“Uhm. Are you sure that those are still good?” He inquisitively looked at the tinfoil-wrapped offering.

“Probably?” She shrugged, unwrapping the incredibly crushed meal and biting into it. “More for me.”

Martin was feeling hungry, but he wasn’t hungry enough to enjoy that sort of meal.

“I see you’re waiting to see if I die from this burger. Wise decision is wise.” Alexa winked at him. “I bet you’re thinking - if she doesn’t die, I can totally eat these after we flash back to the present!”

He looked at her dumbfounded. “I wasn’t! Honestly! Why would...”

Alexa looked at him for a bit and then started to giggle. “You’re far too easy to bamboozle. I don't even have to pretend to be Rep Agatha with you."

"What? Rep Agatha?" Martin frowned.

The pair sat somewhat awkwardly on a pile of rocks until Alexa’s bracelet beeped and flashed them into the present.

. . .

“Never mind my fake civilian identity as a corporate middle manager! Woo! The path is clear. Mush, minion, mush!” Alexa directed Martin forward.

“Why do I feel like I’ve been set up to carry this?”

“Don’t think too hard or you might blow a…”

A horrid boom resounded from behind them. The two teenagers turned, listening as concrete rocks rained down the distant tunnel.

“I think I know who made that hole.” Alexa gulped.

“Who?”

“Delinqueeeeenttsssss!” Mr. Canard’s voice resonated through the tunnel, sounding like a mix between the teacher’s prior yelling and a skinwalker’s unnatural screeching. “You’ll paaaaay for deesssstroying my lovelyeeeeeeeee hiveeeeeee!!”

On the one hand, Martin was relieved that Mr. Canard was alive, on the other he was still clearly being possessed by a skinwalker.

“Whelp. He’s got immunity to explosions, can see through walls, and also can punch really hard. We’re boned.” Alexa commented.

Martin’s face paled as he realized exactly what kind of a threat they were really facing.

“After me! Hop on the ladder, minion, n’ rise like the wind!” She whisper-yelled, already climbing up a ladder leading out of the sewers.

He climbed after her, panting and struggling not to slip from the rickety metal ladder, weighted down with the incredibly heavy gold-filled bag. The bag groaned at the seams, threatening to split open at any moment. Alexa shoved the manhole cover up and aside with a loud clang, emerging from the manhole into the late summer evening. Martin followed after her, nearly falling over.

“Deeelinquentssssssssssss!” Mr. Canard’s voice vibrated from the tunnel depths as he drew near.

Alexa accelerated forward with the power of her shoes, leaping towards the ice cream van, flying straight into the front seat. Merry music twinkles filled the air, the van’s headlights blinding Martin as he pulled himself out of the manhole. The ice creams truck's engine roared in no way that an ice cream truck should, tires squealing as it rushed towards him. The vehicle turned sideways, right before it smashed into Martin, an open door presenting itself to him with Alexa’s hand reaching out from within.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

“In! In! In!” She yelled, silver hair swaying. “Freaking hurry! He’s almost…”

Mr. Canard’s bald head emerged from the manhole. It turned 180 degrees, like an owl’s head would, the spine and muscles twisting at an angle impossible for a human. The gym teacher no longer had lips or eyebrows, looking more like a well-baked zombie. Alexa pulled Martin into the car, pressing on the gas.

“There you are,” the backwards-rotated head in the manhole said casually, starting to sound more human. Muscular arms snapped upwards, pulling the gym teacher out of the sewer. His body was covered in hideous burns, muscles, and bones exposed and pulsating, clothes shredded and blackened by the flames.

Martin stared at the infected teacher through the “objects may be closer than they appear” side mirror. Mr. Canard’s head faced them as his body rotated towards the departing van. Legs snapped into a runner’s position.

Alexa pushed the ice cream truck to its top speed, but the gym teacher was rapidly gaining, muscular legs flashing back and forth, grime and blood flying off him as his body slowly repaired itself. Martin snapped his seat belt on, terrified of them crashing into something.

“Damn tank super,” Alexa growled. Mr. Canard vanished from the mirror. In a few moments, he appeared on the side of the truck. The van’s door next to Alexa ripped off its hinges, flying away into the street, bouncing up and down the road, and raining sparks.

“Got you now!” The teacher roared, entering into the van.

Alexa pointed her pink raygun at the super, but he instantly moved out of the way, avoiding whatever invisible ray it was projecting. His large, extremely blistered arm slapped the raygun out of her hand, the hairdryer bouncing off the seat and flying out into the street.

“Go to timeout, delinquent.” He smiled with a grotesque grin, grabbing Alexa by her shirt’s collar.

The vehicle spun out of control as Mr. Canard pulled Alexa from the wheel. It rolled over the sidewalk, wheels flying over a small concrete barrier towards a kids playground.

Martin watched in terror as the infected teacher flung his friend right out of the truck without regard for her safety. Alexa’s yelp of surprise was interrupted as she was slammed into a concrete pole, sliding down like a limp ragdoll. The ice cream van finished its journey by colliding into a swing set with a resounding crash of bending metal.

Martin and the teacher were both flung forward. Martin nearly smacked into the front panel, but was held back by the seat belt. The teacher, on the other hand, flew straight into the front window. As he scrambled backwards, getting momentarily tangled up in the folded, shatter-proof glass, Martin lifted the nail gun from his belt and fired it at Mr. Canard’s hand.

“This is going on your personal record!” Mr. Canard said indignantly, trying to grab at Martin. The fingers of his free hand missed Martin’s clothes by a few millimeters as Martin backed away, bumping into the loot bag. The teenager flung the gold-filled backpack right at the gym teacher, trapping him with its weight for a few seconds.

The small skinwalker spider in the glass bottle observed Martin's struggle with curious eyes.

Martin threw open his door, jumping out of the van. He knew that he had no way to outrun the super and yet he still ran. The front of the van looked severely mangled up, but the swing had somehow suffered no damage. The merry twinkle music from the damaged speaker slowed down to an eerie, deep, hiccuping reverb.

Martin glanced down. “This playground was funded and built by the Superstate” message was printed in bold letters upon a golden plaque at the swing’s base. The little hero turned deeper into the playground, knowing that this place was likely his only chance.

The gym teacher’s feet thumped behind him.

“Foolish child. You might have torched my spawn, but my other shard shall wear your flesh.” Mr. Canard hissed from behind Martin. Several nails were protruding from his hand. He held a glass bottle in his other hand, filled with the second skinwalker they had brought from the future.

Martin ran up a metal stairwell, jumping down a slide. Mr. Canard followed. The slide propelled Martin into an enclosed steel tube with a whoosh. He emerged out the other side, scrambling away on the gravel. The gym teacher’s followed Martin into the tube headfirst, sliding down. His massive body became stuck halfway in it, at the bend. He roared, unable to move forward or back, fist smashing against the metal with no result.

Martin let out a held breath. His plan had worked. This playground was made by the Superstate and was likely made of the same stuff that was used to build Titanomachy - it was far, far sturdier than what was necessary for a kids playground, rustproof and made to last for a thousand years. There was no way for the skinwalker-piloted teacher to —

Mr. Canard flung the bottle at Martin. It detonated against a concrete barrier beside him. Martin spun, getting ready to run. A black spider, liberated from its confinement, jumped onto his pants. Acting without thinking, Martin tried to smack it away with the nail gun still held in his hand. The spider was faster and Martin managed only to hit himself in the crotch with the full weight of the nail gun. He stumbled over forwards from the pain, collapsing onto the ground with a squeak. The spider skittered towards his face. Martin screamed as tens of slick, multi-jointed fingers grabbed at his mouth, pulling his teeth apart.

The little monster clawed itself into him and Martin fainted from the pain and shock.