Chapter 2
Brrm Brm Brm. The old man strikes his kickstand. His motorcycle roars an echo through silent barren hills. Sliding on his goggles, he grips the handlebars and revs the engine. Drum connects the side-hatch to the bike and pumps his fist in the air, pointing forward. The old man smirks turning the ignition and kicks up dirt.
The desert road is loaded with testosterone, oil, and sand. The blistering sun beats down on their freshly trimmed, scaly backs suited with boots made of Sand Kanarck skin, still warm from its torn flesh. The duo begins scouting for their next kill… aimlessly scouring the cooked ground inspecting for prints as they try to capture that thrill, that fight.
Drum leaps out of the side-hatch. The old man releases the throttle as Drum scans the next one hundred feet for any prints. Atomic green lasers blare out of Drum’s eyes projecting outward onto open land, in an intertwining entanglement of dancing melodies. Back and forth, up and down, twirling to distances allowing a final curtain call as heated lines retreat. Drum wakes up from his daze looking confused. He signals a track ahead and says, “I identified an unrecognizable footprint, forty kilometers northwest.”
They cruise to the destination and walk towards the final foot of Drums data map. He points at the print. The old man bends down squinting at the scuffled ground. He struggles to understand the discovery and Drum’s database can’t define it. The print must be an anomaly in Drum’s brain. Beasts can be scarce on this planet and it wouldn’t be the first time he’s found an error in his system.
The old man strikes a match and burns the clean coal in his pipe. Puffing in and out as the smoke exits his lungs and into a thoughtful sky. He ponders, the unrecognizable print and analyzes what he sees. Four long toes with a fifth toe behind the base of the foot. At the end of each toe are long, sharp claws. According to these tracks it looks like the creature has two legs and can run fast. The footprint almost hovers over the ground leaving circumstantial evidence. The old man assumes, “Hmmmm... well I don’t think we’ll be able to catch this one, its long gone from here.” From time to time the old man thinks to himself, creatures unknown to the universe are here on their doorstep as he begins to salivate of the invigorating thought, of the adventure. They pick up their feet and head back to the bike as his thinking cloud dissipates into dull air.
They continue riding into the night sky. As wind blows through the old man’s hairless dome and the sun hides all light behind the planet. The old man decides to overlook sleep and ride on. He switches on his headlights to scare the darkness by flooding light a mile down its path. The creature has peaked their interest as they desperately search for the fastest body they have ever seen.
What once was pitch black are now shades of light. A thought races across his mind, this creature could be attracted by the bright lights. Known as a dangerous technique of hunting, attracting a creature to them may cause violent behavior. The Midnight Swirl, as it’s called, causes many issues including: the motorcycle can be seen from miles away - blowing their cover , illuminating unwanted and deadly beasts of the night that hunger, ready to kill at any moment. Adding to the danger of the technique would be swirls of MoteCohans gathering their stark red eyes ready to feast. After a past hunt, the old man left a uncut creature overnight and the MoteCohans swarmed in whispers of whirlwinds devouring a one ton beast disappearing as quickly as the whispers echoed past him. He was lucky to be alive, truly. The old mans only glimpse was of its hundreds of red eyes. He wasn’t even sure if it was real. The only reality he held onto was that an un-moveable corpse disappeared into the night, leaving nothing behind not even the bones.
They blister through wind currents of a cold night sky, driving for hours through the frigid, icy surface. The old man can only see dark skies, and the creature is probably long gone but his eagerness has gotten the best of him. Now long nights wait ahead of them with no fire in this freezing, forsaken desert night. Just as hope begins fading… sounds fly by the speed of light, WHHHPPP. wiippp. Errrrrip.
Something flies in right in front of them! The old man stomps the brakes as the back tire swings around. His body jolts forward then back as he settles from the emergency stop. He juts out his leg to hold up the bike. A silent pause, as he tries to catch his bearings. Squinting into the dark sky he slowly slips his left hand into the motorcycle’s satchel and lifts a lightning grenade. He cautiously raises his right arm then his left to pull the trigger. The lightning grenade illuminates and he throws it unknowingly into the black hell. The toss is a good one. It explodes light as the old man crouches on the ground with his arms in front of his face, protecting his eyes but still able to get a view at the thing running. It looks to be double his size, running on its hind legs with a long scaly tail and feathery Mohawk down the middle. The motorcycle’s headlights flicker as he wearily rises. Drum is frightened, standing behind the old man. The lights hum into broken rhythm. The darkness is blinding and the old man only possesses one extra lightning grenade, he has to be careful. He holds the second grenade in his palm, ready to ignite. Drum staggers behind him, whispering, “Do you see it?” The old man urgently shushes him, quiet he says. To his left he hears fast steps… very fast. He looks over in flickering light as he sees a foot, four toes with one giant back toe, all with long talons. The old man hears it running again, coming closer. The old man jumps around, he’s panicking and doesn’t know when the creature is going to attack. Whatever this thing is, It’s circling them…
The old man hears it running, he hears footsteps every second. It’s closing in. He tries to time it. In five seconds he’s going to throw this thing straight. One. Two. Three. Four. FIVE!
He throws a lightning grenade forward. The blinding light BOOMS in the distance of twenty yards. He sees the creature fly directly at him, closer than anticipated! The old man miscalculated. Its hind legs strike his shoulders. He falls straight back into searing pain, as his head strikes the ground. Blood stains the sand. Vision gets fuzzy and hearing deafened…
Blinking in and out of consciousness he sees Drum standing eye to eye with it. He’s frozen instilled with human fear. The creature bends down into an attack stance. The old man can’t fathom how his calculation was so off. The things fast, very fast. He’s a superior hunter… he always gets it right, always kills the damn thing. It makes a move charging at Drum. The old man un-straddles his filleting knife out of its holster. The creature lowers its head bracing for impact. A direct hit. Spearing through Drum’s chest. The cyborg flies violently backwards, crashing into the motorcycle. Light flickers around the merry-go-round into the black cold night. In the old man’s final ride, he throws the dagger and hears a high-pitched yelp as everything turns black.
Read next
From @freshblock