Fear the Nobodies: Part Twenty-Five

Art by Gamesfan

>You motor the rustbucket up a steep hill, the rubber sole of your shoe nearly touching the bare metal of your unfinished interior as you stomp down on the accelerator

>“C’mon, baby,” you say as you swat the steering wheel like your car is misbehaving, “you can do better than twenty-five up a hill. C’mon, I know you can.”

>The rustbucket chokes and sputters under the weight of darkening skies

>You do at last surmount the tree-lined hill, likely at the cost of your car’s timing chain

“Wow,” you sigh, easing the rustbucket to a crawl as you crest the hill, “last time I was up here there weren’t nearly as many trees. And they weren’t nearly this tall.”

>Sam’s attention is fixed on the road behind you, a lonely strip of asphalt that terminates in a cliff overlooking the gunmetal horizon

>Through extreme neglect, tragedy’s deep wound, rejection by the world around him, or vicious abuse from hands that should have held him, Sam taught himself to speak in a way that nobody could hear

>You’ve begun to structure this language in your mind – assign English to the gesticulation of a mute

>Right now, Sam looks like he’s waiting on the inevitable; some craven prophecy assigned to him by fate, proven across his skin

>What is that inevitability to Sam?

>Fear – a life cast in lead; tragedy shining its spotlight on an actor who doesn’t know his lines

>A shadow walking behind the rabbit, weighing his soul against grains of sand

>Guilt

>Rough hands eclipsing his throat

>Anger

>Burn marks and bruises that blossom on his skin; stubborn flowers rising from the cracks of broken asphalt

>A beaten sedan; a bright-red cigarette lighter

>A pair of headlights that scream down the road, dragging the acrid reek of smoke out of the driver’s window like comet’s tail

>Like a train he can’t dodge

“Sam! Sit your ass DOWN! I’m trying to make this turn!”

>A girlish squeak launches the rabbit into the roof of your car’s interior

>He clatters down like a bottle rocket ricocheting off the ceiling of Mike’s living room when you were twelve

>“S-S-Sorry,” Sam moans, collapsing into a pile of dirty clothes, brown fur, and floppy ears

>He brings one paw to the top of his skull and gingerly rubs the newly christened bump

>Your car rolls to a halt at a bent stop sign, one bleached of color by years of sun and road salt

>There’s only one other way you can go up here if you’re not headed back down

>Left

>You stare down the weathered strip of asphalt cutting across the hilltop, like a canal cuts through the jungles of panama

>A weakened sigh filters out of you as you throw a glance at Sam’s pathetic form, still trying to right himself in his seat

“I know you’re worried about your dad. Trust me, I’m almost as worried as you are,” you say with a cautious smile, “but you know what? Unless he followed us around town, there’s no WAY he’s going to come looking for us up here.”

>In response, Sam wrings his ears like wet rags

>“Y-Y-Y-You d-d-don’t know my d-d-dad.”

>You flick on your blinker, its metronomic chime like a heartbeat

“Come on,” you extend an open palm to Sam, “give me your hands. You’re going to destroy what’s left of your hearing if you keep doing that.”

>The car doesn’t move-

>Sam puts his small, delicate hands into your open palm

“Together. We do this…. together.”

>-until you both decide it does

>Thickets of wild grass, cherry, and thorn bush choke the gutters – or what once passed as gutters

>Huge tree branches, curling with age, stretch across the tops of the asphalt

>“T-T-The trees up here…” Sam says, squeezing your fingers tight, “…t-they’re di-di-different than by my h-house. L-Like d-d-dead g-giants.”

“That’s because they’re old, Sam. Old and feral with neglect. This is maybe one of the first ‘places’ in all of Ranchview that wasn’t a cattle ranch. I don’t think the city knows what to do with this place.”

>Wild branches scrape against the side of your car as you ease down the narrow road

>What few, stubborn leaves that still anchor themselves to dead branches flip back and forth in the wind

>Like they’re waving at you and Sam

>With the last of the daylight wandering behind the mountains, and the skies reduced to a graphite smear, it’s like you’re driving the relatively short distance to the church through a tunnel of trees

>And they all want to hurt you

>A bleached-white steeple crests above the treeline; a skeletal finger breaching through the crooked timbers

>You guide Sam’s eyes to the forested landscape, drawing his attention to the flickering gaps in the foliage

>The ground gives way, the landscape slopes and bends

>Tree trunks thin into iron spikes

>Slabs of wood and steel sit pressed into the earth, sleeved in a moat of gravel

“There’s a train line that runs down there, at the bottom of the hill,” you smile, “and let me tell you, when you’re a kid, and you’re ghost hunting with your friends out here, some asshole conductor blaring his horn is a lot scarier than ghosts.”

>You spent a lot of time up here with Mike and Alex, waving flashlights at shadows, working one another into pants-shitting episodes of fear

>Back then, you didn’t believe in the ghosts you chased

>The idea of three kids, a stolen camcorder, some flashlights, and your bikes?

>That’s all you needed to find ghosts, real or not

>Mike’s ghoulish figure sits slouched against a dead streetlamp and an overturned shopping at the entrance to the church’s small parking lot

>The rustbucket crawls across shattered glass and road grit, until it comes to shuddering stop

“Yo, fagtron,” you, your head out the window, “where is everyone?”

>Mike flips you the bird and then eases himself upwards

>You’re glad to see you two are back to normal…

>…kind of

>Your short, pale friend throws his thumb over his shoulder, aiming it at the white oak door church

>“they’re inside,” his voice booms over the wind, as if he swallowed a microphone

>Must be the vampire powers

“No shit? You guys got inside? That’s great!” you howl, cutting the rustbucket’s engine, “So, did you rip the lock apart with your newfound ‘inner beauty,’ Michael?”

>Mike’s jaw sets into a hard line

>“Alex hacked through the lock on the door with his sword,” he growls

>You’re about to ask Mike how Alex acquired a weapon, and why he’s allowed to have a sword-

>“Hi, Anon,” Mike says, smirking, suddenly a passenger in your backseat

>At once, he blasts the seat ahead of him with his fist, drawing a feminine gasp from Sam

>“Hi, Thumper,” Mike grins

>Your head collides with the ceiling of of your car at the same time Sam’s does

>HOW DID HE GET BACK THERE SO FAST?!

>“How are you two lovebirds doing on this bleak evening?” Mike says, voice heavy with snark

>Your heart is a trapped bird, throwing itself against its enclosure,

>You spin to see Mike Sapone reclining, in your backseat, his eyes tempered red, like the angry coils of your car’s cigarette lighter

>“H-H-How did you g-g-get b-back t-t-there?” Sam says, voice skipping with fear

>“Uhhh, I walked over from the stoop to the door, Sam. Didn’t you see me?” Mike chides, “I wanted to show you guys my new ‘inner beauty,’ up-close and personal.”

>You catch him winking at you in the rearview mirror

“Y-Yeah, well you’re still ugly and short,” you grumble

>It’s going to take some time to acclimatize to this new Mike

>“Ahhhhh,” he sighs, throwing his hands behind his head, leaning up against the upholstery, “it’s good to go back to the way things used to be – you and I casually insulting one another-”

“-until things explodes into violence,” you say, cutting Mike off

>“Yeah. That too,” Mike replies all too casually, “you know, I really missed our toxic dialogues.”

>You pause and think for a moment

“Strangely enough, so did I.”

>Sam leans over the center console, pink nose wrinkling

>“Y-You two are m-mean to each other,” he says, a shock of brown hair falling over his eyes, like soil burying gold, “b-b-but it’s f-f-funny. You s-s-still respect e-e-each other. I don’t g-g-get it.”

>“Anon and I are mean to each other because we love each other, Sam,” Mike leans forward and blows you a kiss from the backseat, “also, Anon is my bitch, and he always will be.”

>You struggle to contain a dopey smile

“What? If anything, you’re MY bitch. You’re always stealing my dad’s beer and bumming rides off me. I’m your sugar daddy, bro.”

>Yeah. Mike’s back

>Sam is lost in the conversation, as if you and Mike took up speech in a foreign tongue

>You’re sure as hell not going to explain all of this to him – the boy must learn through patience

>You clear your throat and try to steer the conversation towards something productive

“Why are you out here alone? Where%apos;s Alex and Jenna? Colder than shit out here.”

>Mike stretches out, clearly enjoying the warmth of your car’s barely functioning heater

>“The fox and the commie are inside the old church. Only good the lord knows what they’re doing in there, literally,” Mike shrugs

“So then you’re out here int he cold, waiting for us? That’s awfully cute, Michael.”

>Mike scowls and points to his eyes, smoldering in the backseat

“Oh. Right. I forgot about that,” you say, voice an awkward whisper

>But you’re not exactly apologizing

>And you’re not afraid that Mike will hurt you again

>Some how, some way, it feels like you’re talking to him as his equal

>Mike shrugs, as if he could care less that his dreams of escape, college, and partying, died when your ‘fix’ failed

>“I’m still getting used to ‘everything,’ you know? There’s a lot nuance to existing as a blood-sucking edge lord, and chief among them: I’m not allowed in churches any more. Holy ground and all that bullshit.”

>You nod in affirmation

>Makes total… sense

>“H-Hey, M-Mike,” Sam squeaks up, “ha-have you ever…”

>And then, Sam’s question trails off into a quiet awkwardness when he catches Mike’s angry glare

>Sam shyly look up at you, if only to distract himself

>“Have I what?” Mike demands

>“Y-You know…” Sam tries again, his attempt sputtering like cheap a go-cart in the mud

>“Oh. You mean the blood thing,” Mike folds his arms across his chest and stares ahead at the church doors through your cracked front windshield

>“I don’t want to talk about that right now,” he says

>Sam shrinks into his clothes melding into the passenger seat

>As if he feels he crossed some social tripwire, and stumbled headfirst onto a landmine

>“Sorry…” Sam whimpers

>Mike just sighs, as if his version of a ‘benign answer’ is anger to Sam

>“No, no. Don’t be. It’s fine. I just… don%apos;t want to talk about it. You’d think it’s gross.”

>Conversation dies as the wind steadies, becoming a radio frequency you all tune in to

>“You two should get inside, though, cause Comrade Alexi and Jenna are waiting for you. Or maybe you should all come out here. I don%apos;t know,” Mike says

>You snatch your keys from the ignition, and then pause

“Wait, why is Jenna Orthorn here again?”

>Mike kicks his feet up onto the center console and eases his tired eyes shut

>“Because… she saved my life,” he says wistfully, as if from behind the haze of a dream, “she followed me for hours. I don’t know why.”

>Mike’s ordinarily short, spiked hair is ruffled with exhaustion

>His skin is bruised and pale

>His clothes are speckled with blood

>Whatever happened today must have been a lot for him…

>…and he’s practically snoring already

>“Yo, Anon, I’m going to stay in your for a hot minute. It’s getting dark, and it’s colder than a witch’s tit outside,” he says, slipping under the cover of exhaustion, “I’m sick of being in the fucking wind.”

>Yeah, he’s done for a while

>You want to ask him a little more about Jenna, but you don’t bother

>All will be explained later

>Probably

>Hopefully

>You push open the twin oak doors leading into the church with Sam at your heels

>A rush of warm air slaps you across the face

“That’s SO much better,” you sigh, “it’s goddamn windy out there.”

>On cue, the wind slams the doors behind you shut, like you just entered a boss area in a video game

>Sam shoots nearly a foot into the air this time

>Listen, you know he’s your friend and all, and he’s got… issues…

>…but it’s like every little thing sets him off, and-

>“ANON!”

>Like a hypocrite, you jump too

>“WELCOME TO OUR HOLY FORTRESS!” Alex shouts, as he vaults from the altar at the far end of the church

>Your lanky human friend stumbles forward with little grace, his katana bouncing against his right shoulder

>Alex throws an arm around you, pulling you in tight for a genuine hug

>Sam looks on in dismay, and maybe a little of jealousy

>Sensing this, Alex detaches from you, bends his massive, six-foot-two frame over the rabbit, and practically lifts the five-foot-nothing anthro into the air

>“And look, it’s Sam!” He says, bouncing the rabbit like a struggling toddler

>“H-Hey!” Sam whines, struggling in Alex’s grasp

>“Ease up there, Comrade,” Jenna says, creaking upwards from an old wooden pew in the front row

>Huh

>You didn’t notice her sitting there

>Jenna’s tail fans behind her, and the smile plastered across her face says she’s happy to see that you and Sam are still alive, too

>She smooths out her knitted sweater, ears flat against her skull

>“They just got here, give ‘em some room,” she says with some restrained laughter

>Alex deposits Sam on the ground with immense care, as if holding a rabbit made of glass

>Still stunned, Sam gets two ‘loving’ head smacks from Alex

>“Pat pat,” Alex says in a vaguely authentic slavic accent

>Sam winces with each assailing touch, but endures through

>You don%apos;t know what to say

>It feels like a truck flattened you

>Mike is back on your side

>Alex is alive

>Jenna is here too

>And Sam, above all, is still safe

“I think I need to sit down for a second,” you say, dizzy from it all

>You lean yourself into a dusty, creaking pew

>The half-collapsed furniture squeals with age and protests your meager weight

>Sam hops up into the seat next to you, as light as a field mouse, his drawings still clutched in his hands

>You don’t really mind him tailing you anymore…

>…it’s the signals from Alex that you can%apos;t abide

>Alex winks at you and grins

>You raise your middle finger in response

>Upon witnessing this exchange, Jenna rolls her eyes and sighs

>“This is another thing nobody will explain to me, right?”

>“We’re trying to help Anonymous see that he’s gay,” Alex offers

>A rush of blood hits high in your cheeks

>“Y-Y-You’re gay?” Sam says, voice weakening

>He sounds heartbroken

>That’s… not what you expected at all

“No, Sam. I swear to you that I’m not gay,” your focus shifts to the fox, who looks just as confused as you, “Jenna, I swear I’m not-”

>The vixen shrugs in response before you can clarify

>“I-If you think that stuff bothers me, it doesn’t. One of my uncles is gay. It’s not a big deal, really.”

>GOD DAMNIT

>You throw your hands up, petitioning the empty skies for more competent friends

>You don’t need this shit right now

“Can we… not talk about this right now? So much has happened since I last saw the both of you. Plus, I need to talk to ALL of you as soon as possible, so we can get a plan together.”

>“A plan?” Alex raises an eyebrow, “What happened to wanting to stay out of this?”

>Hot air wheezes from your lungs

>You pause for a moment, the sound of wind swelling to fill in the silence of the moment

“We can’t hide from this. I think you know that,” you say after awhile, staring at the altar at the front of the church, “and, it’s likely we’re going to fail at stopping it all, too.”

>It’s simple oaken thing that no longer praises god, but only reminds you of his absence

>The slab of polished wood looks especially small in front of the stained glass depiction of Mary Magdeline

>Then your attention moves to Sam, whose eyes follow yours

“But I know this: I’m done running away from the things that scare me. Do you understand?”

>Alex hits a crisp salute

>“Sir!”

>Alex is like an obedient child sometimes

>Stupid, well-meaning, optimistic, but above all, he has what Mike doesn’t:

>a child-like attachment to life

>Still, you can tell that something’s changed with Mike, in a good way

>Your eyes turn to Jenna

“I’m sure Mike or Alex filled you in on what’s happening around school. You’re probably still confused,” you say, studying the vixen

>Her posture is rigid, green eyes focused, bright with interest

>Her nose wrinkles with unfamiliar scents of rot lifted from the floorboards by the wind

>And the two humans in such proximity

“What I’m going to talk to these guys about soon will make things even more confusing. Consider right now your chance to walk away from all of this,” you say, “I won’t hold it against you. Up until today, I didn’t want to get involved either.”

>You nudge Sam lightly with your elbow

>Jenna is an intelligent girl – perhaps your ONLY intellectual equal in the group

>Fuck it, she’s probably a lot more intelligent than all of you

>Why would she believe you’re on a mission to thwart the goth kids and save the world?

>You COULD present all the evidence that you have:

>Aggression spreading around school like norovirus

>Vampire-cheerleader-thralls serving Lydia Penferth

>Lydia, standing second-in-command to Vanessa Doermuth

>Jocks-turned-werewolves-turned-slaves

>Tricking the goth kids into giving you powers so you could rescue Sam

>The moon that’s been full all week

>The mysterious albeit much-appreciated absence of Gloria Duchene

>The Book of Rite in your pocket

>The Book of Wrath (once you get a hold of it) in Vanessa’s possession

>Mike MOTHERFUCKIN’ Sapone’s extremely convincing vampire LARP

>You could tell Jenna Orthorn – an intelligent and skeptical fox – all of this, and it won’t be enough for her to-

>“Mike already proved everything to me when he called you here,” Jenna says dismissively “plus, I think I involved myself already, so I might as well be on the side of good.”

>You almost laugh

>‘The side of good’

>“H-H-H-How d-d-did you get involved?” Sam squeaks

>Jenna sighs in remorse

>“Lydia Penferth ate my car when I tried to rescue Mike today,” she says, “I’m marked for death as much as you guys I think.”

>Her lips part at the memory of a goth lioness ripping into her van’s engine compartment like a downed gazelle on the Savannah

>You can see the rows of her meticulously cleaned fangs

>Damn

>She kind of reminds you of Mike a little

>Same predatory aggression

>“Welllllll alright then,” Alex says, trying to yap away the silence, “what say we all take a jaunt on over to the rustbucket and Anon can let us in on what he’s discovered behind enemy lines?”

>Oooh, ‘jaunt’

>You like that word

>You’re proud of Alex

>His vernacular is growing

>Probably from all the books you’ve forced him to read over the years

>From the stained glass windows that loom over the sad, wooden altar, the blue light of dusk pours through

>You shoot a disparaging glance at the double-wide, white oak doors behind you

>There’s no power in this building, and therefor no lights to turn on

>It’s going to be cold as hell tonight, you tell yourself

>And dark

>But outside you go

>Because this is something that matters

>You rap several times on your rear driver-side window with your knuckles

>Mike wakes, snorting away a dream

>He casts his dreary eyes from window to window, shaking dreams from his head

>When his focus settles on you, he nods twice and reaches for the lock

>Your car seats exactly five people

>It’s rusty, smelly, and gets terrible gas mileage

>But damnit, you’re growing attached to its flaws

>The cracked windshield

>The bent-in front hood

>The raw passenger side door which lacks any kind of upholstery

>This little battlewagon can fit all of your friends, and that’s what matters

>Mike crams himself into the middle seat, sandwiched between Alex and Jenna

>Mike is practically on top of Mike as Alex’s spread legs drive the human and the vixen together

>Jenna looks flustered by the whole situation, a blush high in her cheek, her body naturally trying to keep some respectable distance from the human’s presence (to no avail)

>She’s a nerd, bereft of experience with the opposite sex

>Mike and Jenna quickly lapse into an argument

>Sam, however, is awarded the privilege of being passenger princess

>He’s too absorbed in the drawings that he never got to show you

“Sam,” you say in a hush, as the vixen and the human verbally spar in the back, “put those away for a second. This is serious.”

>With a disappointed nod, he wads up the papers, and stuffs them into his green hoodie’s pocket

“You can show me after this okay?” You try a weak smile

>You hate seeing him sad

>He only nods, staring hard at the glove box

>Alright, you’re all assembled now

>Where do you beg-

>“Can you hurry up Anon?” Mike demands, flustered, “You know fur is hot, and I’m practically wearing Jenna like a coat right now. Speed it up.”

>“You’re WHAT?!” Jenna gasps, “You SO are not! Y-You’re the one rubbing up against me, perv!”

>“I dunno,” Alex says to nobody, a dopey, absent smile playing at his lips, “I think both of you would make great coats for each other.”

>Mike slugs Alex hard on the shoulder for his transgression

>“Hey, don’t hit him!” Jenna cries, catching at Mike’s arm as it recoils for another slug

>Mike looks about ready to turn and cross the vixen across the face too

>To your surprise though, he lets his hand drop into his lap

>“S-Sorry,” he says, voice rumbling with restrained anger, “Alex needs corporeal punishment to stay on planet Earth sometimes.”

>You can’t help but crack a weak smile

>Just like things used to be

>Sam is growing bolder…

>…Alex is a dumb fuck…

>…Mike is an asshole…

>…and Jenna…

>…well, you like Jenna. She’s clever, and she’s a good counterweight to Mike

>But now is not the time for this

>Now is the time for… EXPOSITION!

>The sun has long since-slipped behind the mountains, strands of waning pink light shining through the overcast skies

>Blue dusk settles over the landscape soon after, smothering the old church and the surrounding forest in a wet shadow

“To recap: Vanessa and her gang of retards have their world-ending ritual in place and ready to go for October thirty-first. However, they need to gain control over their little nightmare creature first. They can’t do that without this little book,” you say as you hold the small red tome up to the passengers in the back

>Jenna can probably see the tome in the dark, and she studies it aggresively

>Mike too

>Alex leans forward, and squints, just inches from the tome, probably still unable to read it

“Sam found this in the bathroom a few days ago, and that’s why we have it now,” you say, turning your attenion on Sam, who looks increasingly small in his seat, “speaking of, the goths want to get a hold of you as well, Sam.”

>“W-W-Why me?” Sam replies, his voice shivering in the chilled dark

>“Because it was your blood that started all this, dummy,” Alex says, not cruel, but matter-of-fact

>“Alright, easy,” Mike claps his palms together, the resonance of which forces Jenna and Sam to cover their ears, “all we do is keep Vanessa or Lydia away from the book, and away from Thumper, too. That’s not hard.”

>You frown in the dark

>It’s never as easy as you’d all like

“Unfortunately, to stop all of this from happening… we need almost the same things the goths do. My understanding is that we’re in the ‘limbo’ stage, since we mucked up their first go and have their book.”

>“Limbo stage? Is that what Vanessa told you?” Jenna cocks her head

>You nod slowly

>“Should we fail to undo what has already been set in motion, then the world becomes a violent hell-scape, with NOBODY in charge.”

>Jenna looks incredulous

>“What do you mean we need the same things they do?” She says

>“Well, we need Sam – more specifically, we need his fresh blood – we need their Book of Wrath, and we need to perform some kind of… rite of our own… at the altar we saw above the school last Friday. That’s what’s going to send their Behemoth thing back to our dreams, and end the goth’s grip on Ranchview.”

>To you, Mike, Sam, and Alex, this makes total sense

>“I’ve got a question,” Jenna cuts in suddenly “what IS the Behemoth? Can’t we get the police to kill it or something?”

>You sigh, your stomach groaning with hunger

“No, the police can’t help us. When Vanessa told me all of this, it didn’t make sense to me either. Bitch said it was some kind of ‘incarnation of our nightmares,’ and what they’re going to use to gain control over the world, to bring about ‘chaos and-’”

>“-debauchery,” Mike adds

>You throw him a confused look

>He gives you a tired, knowing shrug

>“Lydia Penferth tried to convince me to join her side earlier today. She told me that same load of crap.”

>Jenna’s hands tense into fists

>“She tried to RECRUIT you?!” She says, voice an angry shiver

>Mike nods in affirmation

>“Then I blinded her with limes,” he says

>“Excellent choice,” Alex says, “limes are the most acidic of the citrus fruits.”

>“It- it-” Sam tries sitting up in his seat

>Damn, he’s actually contributing to this

>It’s enough to make you smile

>Ordinarily, Sam doesn’t speak unless spoken to

>Probably his abusive conditioning

>“It makes you s-see things that a-a-aren’t real,” he says, voice softening in the dark. “I s-s-saw my brother at sc-sc-school, b-but he d-d-doesn’t g-g-go to sch-school anymore.”

>Sam sounds like he’s ashamed of all this

>You’ve long-since wanted to ask about… Jacob? Was it Jacob?

>Maybe after tonight

>You clear your throat to dispel the melancholy mood settling over the vehicle’s occupants

“So, like I said, we’ll need to bring Sam and the Book of Rite with us on Friday, sneak into the Spooktober Fest in the gym, and… I’ll read up on this whole dispelling thing,” you say

>“We could…” Jenna starts suddenly, before her words collapse into a series of thoughtful hums you can barely interpret, “…we could all dress up in Halloween costumes, you know? The Spooktober Fest IS a costumed dance. Plus, the goths won’t be able to tell it’s us if we’re all dressed up.”

>There’s a stark silence, as if everyone is still digesting the breadth of content here

>Sam squeaks up again

>In the mounting darkness, you can see his hands go to his ears

>He pulls at them, soft, like he’s gently ringing a bell

>“W-What about my d-d-dad?”

>Ah yes

>The crazy, abusive, dangerous, alcoholic rabbit who is probably still out hunting for Sam right now

>You hadn’t even thought of his place in this puzzle

>He’s a rogue element

>A dingo in the daycare

>It’s not like Sam can avoid school, either

>If this rabbit misses any more class, his chances of graduating are slim

>You refuse to fuck his life up anymore than you already have

>In the darkness you shrug, hoping nobody can see your complete ineptitude

>“What’s so scary about Sam’s dad?” Mike asks, breaking the silence

>Ah, that’s right. He’s never had the pleasure of meeting the guy

“Sam’s dad is-”

>“Deeply misguided,” Alex cuts in

>…

“You could say that,” you say, looking down at Sam

>In the dark, the rabbit is small, and tucked into himself

>Or you could speak up, and call Sam’s dad what he really is

>You ALL need acknowledge what he’s done to Sam isn’t okay, and that he might put the rest of you in danger

“Sam’s dad is an abusive, extremely violent drunk, and he’s out hunting for us – specifically, he’s looking for Sam,” you say on the rabbit’s behalf

>Sam remains quiet

>“You mean… like, right now?” Mike says, sitting up, “This guy is driving around town, looking for us? To do what?”

>Sam twists his ears

>He doesn’t like this subject

>On what is now instinct, you snatch the rabbit’s hands with your, giving them a firm, reassuring squeeze

>The rabbit steadies his breathing, and begins to speak

>“H-H-He wants to h-h-hurt me. B-Badly,” Sam whispers, “T-T-The last t-time I tried to r-r-run away, he hurt m-me and my b-brother real b-bad. He even b-b-burned me…”

>Jesus CHRIST

>This guy BURNED his own child?

>A memory returns to you of a sizable brown rabbit in a greasy mechanics uniform stomping in the hood of your car like he was trying to kill a wild animal

>Somehow, the goths seem less threatening than a psychotic rabbit with a genuine desire to hurt you and Sam

>You guess you’ll cross that bridge when you come to it?

“Sam’s dad knows my name, and what my car looks like, but I think that it. And we’re safe up here. Nobody ever comes to the old church.”

>You only get silence in response

>…

>Probably wasn%apos;t a good enough answer

>“Probably safe, huh?” Jenna says in an idle voice

>You grunt in annoyance

“Well, shit, what do you want me to say? I don’t have a plan. If we stay here, we’ll probably be alright. That’s what I think

>…

>“I bet I could take him in a fight,” Mike declares

>Probably not

>But okay

“Sure thing, buddy,” you say

>Your sarcasm is nearly physical

>Mike folds his arms across his chest, jabbing Jenna in the chest

>He doesn’t seem to care – probably hasn’t even noticed – but the fox sure does

>Jenna strains away from the human, but has nowhere to go

>Sam squeezes your hand confidently

>And for a good minute, nobody speaks

>You all saturate in the gravity of the evening, feeling it pull your tired bodies into your upholstery

>Alex, who doesn’t always say the right thing when he needs to, says the right thing this time

>“Bonfire?”

Young Cardinals

They abandoned his voice,
a derelict building;
the red heart of
struggling factory towns.
His plea
‘help me,’
bleached white,
a lonely echo of
mortar
flaking from walls,
a crimson tempest which
baptizes crows
into cardinals

A poem for Sam, written by Oliver Hart

Oliver Hart

Author of Foxing, Leaves of Fall, Liquid Courage, Beating the Heat, A Red Winter, Weber’s Gambit, and many other stories. He primarily writes hmofa, but dabbles in most genres. Interests include, writing, reading, technology, and music.

Stories: Foxing, The Leaves of Fall