An alarm rang. It did little to disturb the static heat that hung inside the car. Slowly, painfully, and with sweat sticking every inch of his clothes to his body, Zeke awoke. The scratchy beeping continued just beneath his right ear. A scowl crossed his face and Zeke reached down, moving the thin mat to reveal an old timepiece. His gloved fingers slid over the watch, hoisting it from the dusty ground. Zeke's emerald eyes stared down at the smudged face. Cheap make. Zeke’s palm encapsulated it. The chirping continued for a second. Then the metal clicked. Magnets snapped as the inner workings of the small timepiece shredded. Zeke released his weak grasp as the lightning from his glove quieted. His bleary eyes stared out of the well-dusted window. Low clouds were rolling in on the chain-link fenced parking lot.
The air was heavy and warm. It smelled of smoke, pizza, and cheap air fresheners. Sweat had collected on Zeke’s forehead and shirt. It was sticky and stiff. Zeke wiped his forehead clean and looked around for his jacket and phone. It was a small space in the backseat. Zeke leaned the top of his head against the driver's seat to look down. There in a small bundle was his thin jacket, beanie, and, resting atop all of it, his flip phone. The phone screen was dark. One new message. Zeke’s eyes stayed on the mail logo. It was six o'four. Exactly twenty-four minutes past when Zeke was supposed to die.
Zeke flicked the phone open. He pressed the keypad until he came to the messages. The number was old. A burner phone Charlie hadn’t used for five years. Zeke pressed the worn center button. “Killroy Valentine.” Zeke’s eyebrows raised. Valentine? The name was completely foreign. Zeke had never met a Killroy or a Valentine. Still, the name told Zeke one thing. Charlie wasn’t coming. Zeke sighed a heavy, deep sigh. He cast one final glance out the front window as distant thunder began to cackle. Waiting just beyond the gate was a man in all black. His skin was bleached and blood ran down his exposed forearm. His hoodie had been shredded by something. An animal? Perhaps. More than likely, his own drug habits had ruined his clothes. Zeke's eyes were set on the man. Not an unfamiliar sight in Denver. However, the man's hollowed-out gaze was too piercing. Zeke's dry throat clicked as he swallowed. Trying to keep his gaze on the man, Zeke's right arm went down to the small bundle he'd left on the center console. He gently slid his light-jacket into the passenger seat, but there was a metal thud. Zeke's eyes quickly shot down. A heavy weight had gone down with his jacket. The walls of an ancient city were the only thing protecting Zeke now. When Zeke looked back up, the figure was gone, like it had never been. Just vapor rising up from the sewers. It was a few more seconds before Zeke shook his head. The silence was broken again by his soft tutting. Zeke had been sleeping in the car for just half an hour. Already, he felt overheated. Charlie wasn’t here. It was getting late. And Zeke, Zeke was beginning to feel that pit in his stomach. The Panic.
It was a muggy spring evening in Colorado, at least outside the car. Zeke finished sliding his jacket over his thin frame. He shoved the flip-phone into his left jean's pocket and turned to take out one last article from the old car. His Jericho. A Jericho 941, a semi-automatic pistol. It fired nine millimeter rounds. Zeke had sixteen in the clip. With one chambered. A parting gift from his sister. Zeke slid it into the back of his waistband and walked slowly to the rear of the old car. He had already popped open the fuel release before leaving the driver's seat. He fished the key from his back pocket and shoved it in before closing the hatch.
Reflected in the shimmering puddles were the down-turned faces of passengers, scowling at the cooling asphalt. The hot southern wind blew in, threatening to raise the temperature again. The sunset would be lovely. The heat and rain had already begun to hint at the soft amber and peach dusk yet to come. The heat had a few more days left in it, but then a spring storm was coming. The rain would dampen the earth, cooling it all once more. Zeke didn’t appreciate that. It had been hot early this year, but the rain was much worse. Rain made getting places much harder. It also made directions confusing and most of all, it made knowing who was who very, very hard. Zeke sighed and took one last look at the sky. The clouds were gone from the morning, though that seemed weeks ago.
It had been a long, long day. Most of the traffic was heading out towards the parking lot. However, Zeke started down the stairs. He moved silently through the waves of people. Their blank expressions as they exited the train station were comforting to Zeke. No one noticed him, just another face to be forgotten before the drive home. Most let the young man simply bump past them unaware. Zeke preferred no company to bad company but in company like this, it was hard to tell which was which. Zeke’s eyes tried to catch any outliers. Anything or anyone out of place. The blank expressions all blurred together so many distinct faces, so little ability to remember them.
Something slammed lightly. Most people wouldn’t have heard it over the buzz of the commuters, but Zeke did. His neck popped as his head swiveled quickly. Janitors. Two young men in blue suits were throwing sacks into the dumpster. As they tossed the large bags of colorful garbage, Zeke noticed writing on the rusted green dumpster. It was partially concealed by the overflowing trash. Just the ends of the letter stuck out, “Blood from the eyes.” And above it, hanging out from the bin was a human hand. Another sack landed and the hand was buried.
As Zeke descended the stairs, the temperature finally changed. A cold, clammy burst of humid air clung to his already sweaty clothes. Picking his steps carefully, Zeke descended the last of the concrete stairs. His right hand gripped the railing tightly to keep him there. Valentine? Some kind of code? Zeke frantically tried to recall any acquaintances by that name. Luckily, Charlie's personality kept their list of friends incredibly short. Movement brought Zeke out of his thoughts. A man was hauling an oversized suitcase up the steps just a few feet away from Zeke. Keeping away from the incoming cinch, Zeke kept a steady gaze on the tracks below. His short nap was proving to not be quite long enough. Muddy thoughts honed in as Zeke neared the Amtrak line. Two tickets for Salt Lake city, but he'd only need one. Zeke shoved the ticket into his jean pocket and flattened out his shoulders. His eyes forward, his mind elsewhere and the train rapidly incoming.
Another train whirled past, sending newspapers and other trash spinning. As the train left, Zeke stood staring at the wall behind it. Past the sea of people getting home from their jobs was a macabre art display. A body knelt, face-forward to those leaving. The front half of the face was missing. Like it had been sanded off. A mix of blood and grey matter spelled a warning. “Beware the Swarm.”
The roar of the train rustled Zeke’s hair. It was here. Zeke stepped onto the opening doors. Few joined him. He sat down upright ensuring the Jericho wasn't disturbed. Rather than face the eerie writing on the right side, Zeke had taken the closest seat to the door. Just in case he wanted off last minute. Valentine. Zeke went over his best friend’s last words once more. As a habit, Zeke drew his phone again. He clicked to his inbox. One message: Killroy Valentine. Had he heard that name someplace and just forgotten it? No. He hadn’t heard it. Read it someplace? Zeke clicked to his deleted messages. Nothing. No calls. No old messages. Zeke closed his phone and look aft. A mirror caught his eyes.
Zeke’s green eyes met with his reflection. Could he really do this? He looked so exhausted. Long purple lines traced under his eyes. A toothbrush would have gone a long way... His soft, wavy, bronze hair was mostly covered by a beige stocking cap. Noting a few oily strands had gotten loose, Zeke shoved the rest under the safety of his stocking cap. Zeke’s face was slender with a rounded chin and patchy stubble on his cheeks. Zeke always looked young after he cut the start of his beard. His nose was small but angular, his eyes weren’t overly sunken but not usually this puffed up. A thin jacket over a green shirt hide his narrow frame. Best not to show he was slowly starving. Zeke touched up his glove. Midnight black, made of a familiar synthetic weave. The glove was flexible but offered protection to his hand.
"This seat taken?" Zeke looked up to the only other soul in his car. A young man with short nearly-bald black hair. In fact Zeke might not have noticed he even had hair except that his hair was so black and his skin was so pale. He wore a thin red t-shirt that was a few sizes too large for his athletic frame. Black sweat pants and flip-flops completed the stay at home college student look.
"None of the other sixty-five seats interest you?" Zeke raised a quizzical eyebrow to the empty car. The kid shrugged and sat across the aisle. "Amtrak to Salt Lake city, departing." The doors closed and the train was silent. Then there was a jostle and huge locomotive began to lurch forth. The kid sat opposite Zeke without a word. He just stared ahead at the gently bouncing seats. Slowly Zeke's eyes drifted to the passing buildings. The sunlight shown off them with a reddish sheen. But that wasn't all. Zeke sat up in his seat. The train was nearing a tunnel and under the roof of that tunnel, eight figures floated like hang-ed men. Zeke stared silently as the nose of the train entered the tunnel, and the hang-ed men dropped onto the roof.
As soon as the train entered the darkness of the tunnel, the light died. "Get down!" Zeke shouted to the boy. It was pitch black in the rattling car. Zeke spun around ducking behind his seat. His right arm rested on the seats of the row behind him and his gloved hand gripped the headrest of his old seat. He could only make out the silhouette of the boy mirroring him across the aisle. Blood pounded in his ears. The sound of the two boys breathing mixed with the cacophony of the echoed tunnel. Then the door cracked open. A lone gunman stood in the doorway. In his hands was a short rifle. Zeke couldn't tell exactly what it was, but from the long neck he guessed an M4 carbine. Far more firepower than his Jericho. Zeke pulled back from the corner and tried to silence his breathing. He waited for the steps. Heavy boots. The chink of steel-toed boots. Another two steps and the gunman would be between the boys. Zeke braced himself to launch when the footsteps stopped. The rattling of the train was the only sound. No more movements. Time hung heavy like a humid breeze. A gun clicked. Zeke dove under the chair towards the door as the carbine opened fire into the seat.
The sound was deafening in the enclosed space. Zeke came up from under the chair with a wild swing at the gunman's face. He wore the accursed antlion mask of Panic. Orange tusks hung down obscuring the gunman's true facial features. And protecting his neck. So as a second best choice, Zeke landed a solid blow to the man's temple. In the same movement he yanked the rifle from the man's hands. Which came loose... too easily. Zeke stumbled back finding the gun securely in his right hand. However he did not anticipate that the gunman had given it to him in order to get an opening to stab him. Zeke felt a serrated blade go through his side before quickly coming back out. Zeke shouted in pain and instinctively collapsed back onto the seat. The man fell on top of him bringing the knife back down. However, the dark-haired kid grabbed the knife hand and yanked it back with surprising force. The gunman allowed himself to be pulled back and use the new momentum to slam a fist into the kid's face. The boy fell back as a rain of blows battered his skull. Zeke could feel hot blood pouring out of his side, but he didn't have time to stop. He leveled the carbine and squeezed the trigger just once. A shot burst of shots pelted the gunman's back. Though his body armor would keep him alive, Zeke was sure it must have hurt. Then the gun flew out of Zeke's hand as the gunman's steel-toed boot launched it into the space between the seats and the door to the next train. The boy grabbed his right arm and wrapped around it like a python. Anytime the gunman would try to punch him, the boy would weave just out of reach of the blow bringing the fight to a stand-still. The knife was outstretched from the gunman's hand as Zeke fished the Jericho out from his waistband. He cocked the hammer back and the gunman flicked the blade down slashing the top of the boy's forearm open. The boy pulled back covered his now bloody arm and before he could react a haymaker from the gunmen sent the side of his head into the seat. Zeke fired once and the bullet seemed to bounce off the man's headpiece. He grabbed both of Zeke's hand still wrapped around the pistol and stabbed again. Zeke brought his right leg up to block the attack but found his quadriceps stabbed instead.
Zeke fired the Jericho point blank into the gunman's face. His mask cracked and his head snapped back. Before he could recover the black-haired boy wrapped his right arm around the man's now exposed neck and his left kept the gunman's knife hand down. The gunman arched his back to try and buck the boy's grip but he held fast. Zeke charged up voltage in his gloved hand and slammed a haymaker into the gunman's chest. The lightning made him breath out unexpectedly and the boy tightened his grip. Zeke charged up another punch but as he swung again, the man kicked him in the groin. Zeke crumpled and the gunman kicked his face knocking him to the ground. Zeke sprawled in pain on the floor for a few moments as the man stood with astounding strength and slammed the black-haired boy into the roof of the train. The kid held on, but the man toppled to the right bringing all three fighters to the ground. He began to pry his right hand free now that the boy's grip was cut off. Zeke gritted through his pain and got up to his knees. He landed another lightning punch square in the man's face. The man kicked against the chair legs trying to rotate himself but like a snake, the black-haired boy suddenly coiled upright bringing the man with him. His right leg was wrapped around the man's right arm pulling his back and now both arms were chocking him out. The gunman struggled vainly to stab at the boy's calf. Zeke glove glowed with yellow lightning as he slammed another haymaker into the man's solar-plexus. Blow after blow and finally the man's struggling stopped. Zeke leaned forward on his knees as the boy slowly released his grip around the now stiff man's neck. Pale as a sheet the boy collect himself from under the dead man and stood up in silence. Zeke kept breathing trying to recollect his thoughts. His raspy breath was the only sound, but Zeke knew it wouldn't be for long.
"One dropped in front that means seven more from behind us," Zeke pointed to the back of the car.
"Seven more what?" Before Zeke could answer the boy the back of their train car burst open. Two more gunmen stood in the narrow doorway. Their rifles went up and heated lead began to tear the train seats apart. Zeke grabbed the carbine and drove against the door. Bullets ripped through the thin plastic seats putting holes into the floor of the train. The boy yelped as one landed in his shoulder as he tried to push himself tightly against the floor. Zeke pressed his hand against the door. The electro-magnetic pins clicked as his glove overrode the metal lock. Zeke shoved the door open and the roar of wind filled the train. As soon as they cleared the tunnel Zeke would jump. The gunfire stopped for just a moment as a metal scraping made its way across the floor. A grenade. The boy dove across the gap and Zeke yanked him out into the spinning darkness of the train tunnel.
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