Marin's Dale

5

Tyler was holding his head as it seared. What the fuck had that been about? One instant the fat man and the girl with those white eyes were walking toward him. The next moment, the bottle had cracked him in the face.

There was blood coming down from his face and he could hear the fat man yelling expletives. What in God's name had Tyler done? Tyler looked up, one hand on the rough asphalt, another on his bruised left eye. He stared through the blurry vision, trying to bring things to an even level.

There are a lot of switches in the human brain, and in that single fraction of passing life, a whole bunch of them went off. Tyler stood up. And then he was running, full force, plowing toward the man. The hefty slob didn't care; he was waiting with a haughty smile.

Tyler ran his fist into the man's chubby face, and there was a crackling of the jaw. The man staggered back, grunting, but the girl with the all-white eyes didn't even flinch. Tyler looked at her, transfixed on those dark alien e—

"Big Mistake!"

Tyler was on the ground, the full weight of that monstrous grunt bursting into him. The arms clobbered, a tangle. Tyler jerked and squirmed and threw his fists into the unsuspecting mouth. Stinky skin was leaking sweat, the hairs bristling, curses streaming; and all the while—Tyler retaliated. His head dodged the fists, as his knees knifed upwards into the man's belly and his groin and his thick, tree-trunk thighs.

"Get... the... hell off of me!" Tyler roared.

The seas shifted. Tyler was on top, and without even thinking his fists rained into the grubby face of his larger-than-life attacker. The blood was fresh and frothing; Tyler's fists turned warm with the eruption. He didn't have time for this. He needed to find the others.

He thundered one last resounding punch through the broken cake face of the brute. And then Tyler was up.

He paced in circles, calming his breath, finding everything, now, strangely more bright and fuzzy than he remembered. He sucked the air, hoping to breathe fine—but the pain on his chest, like weight, was unbeatable.

"You asshole," he muttered between breaths. "You freakin asshole..." He looked again to the girl. She was facing forward now, uncaring as to the bloodied body near her feet.

"You okay?" Tyler asked. But the girl made no effort to respond. In fact, Tyler had no idea if she even heard him. He had seen something similar with Audrey before, the way she could turn inward when she was really peeved about something. Though Tyler knew this was a different kind of silence. He wondered if the girl even had a voice...

She pointed to the straight road ahead, vanishing in the distant mouth of darkness. Some of the orange streetlamps were flickering now. Crashed vehicles still kindled. Tyler shook his head. It was getting way too hot, and yet the scar in the sky was gone. Tyler had seen it disappear with his own eyes. He had felt the elation, he had been absolutely enthralled.

He had thought it was over.

Tyler came to the girl's side. "Is that where we need to go?" He asked softly. She gave a nod and then her arm fell to her side. And she began to walk. Tyler glanced one last time at the body of the fat man. His chest was still moving, his breathing coming in gurgles of blood.

Tyler turned away. Holding his hand to his head, he could feel the cuts from the thrown bottle. It wasn't bleeding bad—as bad as it could have. But Tyler was feeling it. That wooziness. Perhaps, from the bottle. Perhaps from the heat, or the scar in the sky, or the impossible death-bringing music of the empty radio and T.V. stations. Perhaps, from an alien voice.

Tyler fought back the searing in his skull. How much longer could he go?

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