Frightened Boy

Chapter Seventeen - Bond of Union

***********************

Hello readers! It's me again, Scott Kelly, the author of Frightened Boy.I'm here to beg for votes again. Why are votes important? They let potential investors know I can attract readers. Please, vote on all the chapters. A vote translates directly into money and success for me. Vote on every individual chapter of the book - I know it takes a while, but each vote counts toward my total, and that total decides my rank on Wattpad.

Thank you, seriously. Now please, enjoy the show. Shit's about to get real.

***********************

17. Bond of Union

Escher and I arrived back at the Stranger's camp without anyone being the wiser as to what we’d accomplished—well, what he’d accomplished. I wondered if every time he disappeared he was out doing something as incredibly dangerous and exciting as what we’d just been through.

Couldn’t think about much. Couldn’t even think about Erika, even if I knew where she was. I spent an hour sitting down next to a tree in the center of the camp, my head between my knees while I tried to stop the world from spinning. What was Escher? Was he immortal? What was he capable of?

The hum of the camp was disrupted by a singular figure walking into their midst. It was clear he didn’t belong—not because of the way he looked, but by the way each of the Strangers reacted to him.

The intruder wore an old pair of sneakers, tattered blue jeans, and a gray hoodie. His face was feminine, a delicate chin, angular cheekbones, and dark brown hair with bangs down the right side of his face, covering one eye entirely. A boxy, black set of headphones covered his ears, the cord running into the backpack slung across his back.

Nothing about the man seemed too strange except for the way he carried himself. He appeared oblivious. He was just walking, either completely unafraid or completely unaware of where he was. Could have been at the bus station in Downtown Banlo Bay, or at the mall, anywhere but sauntering through a jungle into a camp of terrorists.

A Stranger, a shirtless man with two clowns tattooed on his back, approached the newcomer. “Hey, you. Stop. Seriously? You think you just get to walk through here?.”

The newcomer kept walking. The Stranger backpedaled to keep up with him; now all eyes were on the uninvited guest. A symphony of bullets sliding into chambers, of clips being pushed into guns.

Frustrated, the Stranger lifted the headphones from the newcomer’s ears.

Instantly, an ear-splitting noise burst through the air. A nauseating sickness overcame me as my vision spun like I’d been placed inside of a kaleidoscope that was aimed directly at the sun. I felt like someone was driving railroad spikes through my ear canals.

Strangers curled up into themselves, hands on their heads to escape the aural assault. It was the sound of gears grinding, of machines fucking, of aliens using power tools to perform abortions on whales.

Through the haze of my deteriorating vision, I watched Whisper move rapidly toward the newcomer, walking in her authoritative way with her high-heeled feet jutting from beneath her thick trench coat. She reached the man, who finally stopped walking and simply with a bored expression on his face, and yanked the cord from where it ran in his backpack.

There was relief. The silence was warm and inviting. All guns were immediately pointed at the newcomer.

Whisper raised her hand, signaling for them to hold. “He’s one of us. This is Lux. He’s come home.”

“Hello, Whisper,” the man said, voice bored.

Escher peeked his head out from a nearby tent. “Did I hear something?” The Red King sauntered out, apparently in the middle of sponging himself off. Pants soaked with water, bare chest shining from the sunlight that pierced the canopy of leaves above. "Lux!" he shouted. “You’re back! How was America?”