Chapter 15
Zack
Well, that’s just lovely. Indestructible iron men that are out to kill us, stranded on an islandthat’s primed to self-destruct at any moment with no supplies or help on the way, an evil dude that wants to drink our blood, and we’re sacrificing comfort and pleasure for a mission to kill a man that’s virtually immortal. It’s a lot take in all before nine o’clock.
That’s all great. But the one thing that really worries me though, is Dylan.
He used to be the one to calm me, the hot-tempered maniac. We were friends right from the start, despite being so different. He was levelheaded and composed; always collected. Me; I was the crazy maniac who couldn’t concentrate. That’s why we worked as friends. I was the one that would pep him up with fanatical energy and he kept me calm as needed. He was the most soothing person I’ve ever met.
I say was because it’s true. That serene, levelheaded Dylan is history. He now looks maniacal, feral, and dangerous. Not to be trusted, but to be feared and cautioned. No longer my best friend. No I realize I don’t truly think that. I know that the old Dylan is under there somewhere, I just need to have the courage to bring him back.
But if the ferrum homiones are ruthless as to unhinge Dylan, will we live long enough to console him? As I have no idea, I think it’s just best to go with the old Zack standby. I’ll wing it, of course.
“Okay,” I announce. “First thing we have to do: calm down; especially you Dylan. We’re relying on you.” I pause, waiting for him to say something, or at least acknowledge that he heard me, but when he says nothing, I continue. “Second thing: prioritize. We need a plan to defeat them. Fleeing isn’t an option, as they’ll just pursue us through the earth anyway.”
“Fine,” Dylan snaps. “But I’m not the one who needs to calm down, Hot-Head.” I look at him in disbelief, and then decide to drop it. That’s Willow’s nickname for me, and I guess I’ve gotten used to it, but when Dylan says it, it stings.
“Hey guys,” Willow interrupts. “Why don’t you shut up so we can make the plan?”
“Why don’t we just have Willow levitate us in the air and then fly us out of range of the homiones?” Thalia proposes. It seems like a pretty good plan to me, but Willow shakes her head.
“We can’t evade them indefinitely. I could barely fly Zack and you for five hundred yards. I fainted from exhaustion afterwards, remember? Besides, hovering is much harder than just regular flying.”
Then the rare light-bulb flickers over my head, and suddenly I have an idea. “Hey, why doesn’t Dylan tell me whenever he senses the fair Hermione’s coming up through the ground, and I’ll melt them? That should work; they’re iron right?” I suggest excitedly.
We all glance at Grace hopefully. She shakes her head, and my heart drops down to my stomach. I thought it was a good plan.
“Ferrum homiones will reform no matter what state they’re in.” She explains gloomily. “Unless we separate their essences enough they’ll just keep reforming until they win. Besides Zack, this isn’t a one-man show.” She adds reproachfully.
“What if I wash them away in a tidal pool or something?” Thalia offers.
Grace considers this. “Fine,” she says rigidly. “Just stay alive.”
Dylan tenses. “They’re coming.”
The ground trembles and splits open. Evidently, Omnia has decided to break up our little organization session. Silver-colored hands claw their way up from the earth. When they’re all surfaced, there is an even dozen. They’re each about seven feet tall with glowing rubies for eyes. They have smooth, plated iron for skin that looks nearly impossible to penetrate. I realize I’m just about trembling to pieces.
“Zack. Right now would be a good time to melt them.” Willow advises unsteadily.
I try, but I’m paralyzed. Seeing that I’ve lost my nerve, Thalia shoots an arrow at one of them with flawless accuracy, but he catches the metal arrow in his hand and crushes it to a black powder.
One of them shoots forward with amazing speed, considering its weight, and lunges for Grace. Willow sweeps it away with a whirlwind, but not fast enough. Not before it extends a gleaming metal arm, as if to caress Grace’s hand, and cuts off her entire forearm with its razor sharp fingers.
A feral scream of shock escapes my throat. No, this can’t be happening. It’s not possible.
Grace faints, her face deathly pale, and her stub of an arm gushing blood. The heartless metal thing that mutilated Grace glares down at her with pure indifference. As if he thought it was pity his plaything was that breakable.
“Willow,” I snarl, shaking with fury. “Set Dylan and Grace down on a different part of the island. Then hover with Thalia over this area.”
She nods, her eyes wide with terror, and flies away.
The homiones watch me with interest, trying to see what I’m going to do. They take a couple of tentative steps in unison. Dylan, probably sensing what was happening from afar, sends up a humongous mountain a hundred feet wide. They’re punching through it slowly but it will hold them up just long enough for Willow to come back with Thalia.
As soon as they’re hovering above me, I let my wrath be felt by those unfeeling, cruel, iron beings that must pay for the maiming of my friend. I let the fury and desperation surge through me unchecked. All the neglect and anger I felt in the past thirteen miserable years that is my life. All of it takes control of me now, consumes me, and I let it explode of me.
Lava explodes through the top of the five-thousand-foot-tall mountain that Dylan has just made. Fire, lava and complete destruction cover the island and that’s the last thing I remember before I lose consciousness.
In my coma, I relive my entire past, my history, my being. It’s the dream that’s been visiting for months now. In my nightmares I don’t thrash around like Dylan does, I just lay there, petrified in horror.
It starts the way it always does. In the shimmering heat of my hometown; Mesa, Arizona. I lived in Mesa before Grace picked me up, a very tough part of Phoenix. Every other day I got offered drugs or alcohol. Every time I said no. Because of my mother.
She was the best person alive. So many bad things happened to her that it was a wonder how she stayed so innocent and true. Her mother (My grandmother.) was hooked on weed. My grandmother had a dozen other children, only few she could remember. My mother’s father (My grandfather.) was killed in a bar fight two months after my mother was born. By the time my mother was five she had been so scarred and robbed of her childhood she was a middle-aged toddler, taking care of her mother. When my mother was ten, she was taken away from my grandmother under the pretense that her mother was unfit to care for her.
She was moved to a different foster home every couple of months. When she eighteen, she got pregnant with me, and my father wanted nothing to do with it. My mother had to drop out of high school to take care of me.
For a while the dream focuses solely on my mother’s life. Then it goes to the worst part: her death.
It was nighttime when I heard the noise. Robbers. They were in the kitchen holding a gag over her mouth and a knife over her throat. The fury exploded out of me as it had just recently and the whole building was on fire in less than two minutes. The robbers hadn’t gotten anything, including oxygen; just like the other people in the building. I was the only survivor.
The police had been astounded. The fire had started right where I’d been standing. Yet it was I alone who left the building unscathed.
Arms squeeze me tightly. I wake, still halfway in dreamland, where all my worst experiences and fears roam. I thrash, still trapped in that burning building, unable to help the person who mattered to me the most.
My muscles relax as I look into the tear-streaked face carrying me. Willow.
“What happened?” I croak. As soon as I utter the words, everything comes crashing down on me. The iron men, Grace’s mutilation, the explosion. “Is she…” I found myself unable to finish the sentence, dreading the truth.
“She’s alive,” Willow answers shakily.
I feel my face flood with relief. “Where are they?” I ask, my voice clearer now.
“Just about half a mile to go.” She pauses, obviously wondering how much she should tell me. “Zack, we were so scared. The island was engulfed in flame and you were nowhere to be found. Eventually Thalia found you but…”
I laugh, almost hysterical. “Willow I’m fireproof.”
“Well how was I supposed to know that?” She defends. “We’re descending now.”
I jump off her back the last few feet from the ground, eager to see for myself that Grace is alive.
She’s lying under the shade of a palm tree, her face white and her arm a nub, but alive.
I feel faint with sweet relief. I squeeze her uninjured hand gently. I lie down a few yards away and fall into a deep dreamless sleep, knowing now that my power is in fact useful. Because if a gift like mine gives you power, but does not save the ones you love, then what good is the gift?