Chương 25: Soap

Chris and I found something to finally agree on: That it was time to bust some heads. Well, I was gonna bust heads, whatever Christian was gonna do I wasn't really certain on but didn't care. We didn't have much time to debate what to do, as we were focused on crossing the road and heading into the building that the hooded man entered. The focus was instead on what we knew.

"So a bag and a big stick. Anything could be in the bag," I noted.

"No idea about the stick."

"That might be for magic. Some wizards have staves." No point in nodding, we were both looking ahead, so I just gave a hum of agreement before following up.

"Might just be to have access to wood in general, they've got the whole tree thing going on." He gave a similar agreeing hum.

"That's not impossible." I observed the truck again. The distance from it to the road-facing door was too far to go by foot. I stated my consideration.

"Had to be entering from the back or the side. What's your bet?" I asked.

"I think he went in from a side door, shortest distance." That did make sense, and that led to a silent consensus of moving towards the side of the building, which had...... Nothing. Just a bare wall. Christian produced this almost hissing sound slightly in frustration. Just air through the tongue and front teeth.

"Dang. Okay, so maybe the back?" He wouldn't have had that much time to go in through the back. I remembered the tree men being pulled underground. Looking down, I could see several portions of the concrete ground being broken up to the soil lying below it, and things started making sense.

"Through the ground. He went through the ground like the tree people. They make these vines that just yank you under. Doesn't leave holes. But I bet it doesn't come through concrete. Must have spat him out in a dirt ground part inside the building." Chris crossed his arms.

"Okay. So we'll need to go in through the door." Planting my hands on the wall, I gave the only logical answer I could to that.

"No we don't." He put his hand on my arm, which truly made it hard to not want to punch him into yesterday, but he spoke some reason that kept me peaceable.

"You can't knock down the entire building. Even if an evil cult's in it, the damage could be widespread. And if they have hostages inside they could get hurt." I didn't look at him. I focused on the wall, gazed at its façade. Cracks. Lots of little hairline fractures along the wall, uneven, spreading like tree branches. Fitting. Okay, there's a solution here.

"Watch where I'm pushing. You can see where weight is going, right? Try to see where it bleeds through. Those are the parts worn down by the elements. If I push on the right weak spots, I could make a man-sized hole and keep the rest of the building stable, yeah?" There was silence as he either looked at me like I was batshit insane or humoring me.

"Move your right hand down about three inches." Following along, I brought that hand to just below shoulder level.

"And your left hand, you can bring that like a foot higher." Kept up with that, with a hand just over my head now. He hummed a single note as he watched, compelling me to look at him to see what I was missing.

"Yeah. Yeah, this can work. Don't push slow. Give the wall a quick shove. If you go too slow, it might bring the rest of the wall with it." I nodded, stepping closer to the wall and giving an abrupt and harsh push. Portions of brick and concrete split into dust, filling the air and my eyes, compelling me to squint.

"Should've brought that stupid mask," I muttered between coughs. I didn't hear anything from Chris and half worried the wall came down on him amidst all the rubble moving around, before suddenly seeing his hand reach out through the dust cloud and tap my shoulder.

"Good news," he said, holding up some dirty shop rags. The good news was they didn't smell like anything dangerous. The bad news was they still smelled like chemical-heavy soap. Looking past him, I could see a prominent orange bottle. I knew that soap. Seen it in a garage I broke into to sleep one time. Was safe to breathe even if I didn't want it right in my nose. Nodding to Christian, I wrapped one rag around the lower half of my face while he did one for himself.

"Still need something for our eyes or tops of our heads." The two of us scrambled around, finding another rag that I could tie around my own head, but we failed to find anything for Chris.

"I should've gotten a buzzcut..." He sounded almost like he was about to quit just because of his hair. It was admittedly hard to mistake, but it wasn't the end of the world.

"You got an undershirt on?" I asked, and he nodded.

"Invert your shirt, pull it over the top of your head. Sleeves tie it off to keep it from slipping away. Just be ready for someone to grab it. Best shot you're getting in this situation." I had to give him credit, he followed my instructions to the letter. Looked ridiculous but people don't look this ridiculous walking down the street. It was good coverage. We rushed out of the room, some kind of cleaning supplies area, into a larger room. Seemed to be a break area, but it was empty.

All that was left were some tables and chairs. No further signs of items to cover up with.

"Abandoned. Wonder if they've been using this place for a while," I mused. The redhead shook his red head.

"Then why hadn't they done something sooner?" I shrugged, before picking up a chair. With a couple quick yanks, I removed two of the legs and held them out to Chris. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"Dunno if you use weapons, but I don't think you can punch through trees like I can." He took both, holding them in one hand.

"Thanks, I'll have use for them." Was curious as to what that meant, but I paid it no mind. Pushing through the next door quietly, we could overhear speech. Two voices. But we'd have to round the corner to see faces.

"You've brought the Pachira, Alex?" A deep, older voice. Sounded important.

"Yes, Father Pine." Fucking what?

"With its ability to grow without direct sunlight, all it will need is the Senate's fertilizer and it will make for an excellent throne." That voice was clearly younger. Older than Chris and I, but I couldn't guess the age exactly. Didn't like that.

"Good, Alex, Master Sequoia will be pleased." They needed a new person for these names.

"They need a new name guy," muttered Christian. I just stared at him. He didn't seem to notice. Better off that way.

"Gonna have to go in," I whispered, starting to walk. Christian grabbed the back of my shirt.

"Are you nuts? They might have guns." Turning towards him, I looked at him with disappointment even I could feel radiating from my eyes.

"You think a bullet's gonna stop me?" He didn't look impressed.

"Have you been shot before?" I didn't have to tell him no. He just had to believe the answer was yes.

"Come find out." It took more effort than I expected, but I yanked myself from his grip and stepped out into the larger room. There I could see about five individuals. All grown men, all wearing green hoodies, except for one in the middle. He had more of a big cloak, covered in leaves. He looked old. Sixties at least. Big wooden stick in his hand. Most of them had sticks. Two of them had rifles, though. The old man spoke, a bit too arrogantly for someone with breakable legs.

"You seem to be in the wrong place, young man." I shook my head, stretching my right hand and letting my five digits be shown towards Chris. All I could do was hope he got the hint.

"No, I'm in the right place. Saw what looked like a jackass in a green hood, and lo and behold, I've found five of them." The two with guns turned to me in the space of those seconds, guns at the ready. I closed three of the fingers on my right hand to make a finger gun. Held it for a couple of seconds, before closing my thumb in and bringing my middle finger back out to accompany my index finger and signal the number of them. I didn't even know if Christian was looking, I didn't hear him move or anything.

The old man kept going.

"What you've found are things beyond your comprehension. I will give you one warning to turn around and leave before you put your life in unnecessary danger." Gave my head another shake.

"I'm gonna give you three warnings. This is warning one. You guys throw your guns away and drop to your knees, or I'm gonna make you all lay down instead." I could've come up with better. He scoffed.

"You'll do no such thing. And unlike you, I won't bother with extra warnings." With a dismissive wave, he turned around.

"Kill him." Prepared to find out if I was bullet proof, I never got the chance to find out. From my upper right came the two chair legs flying through the air, slamming into the men's rifles, causing them to tumble onto the concrete ground. I could not have been happier for Christian to show up. Time to try and put on the works. The first step was walking forward. Keep it calm and neutral as the formerly gun-wielding men nursed their hands, and the others were too shocked to realize what was happening.

"Second warning. Sit your asses down before I make you sit down." The riflemen scrambled for their weapons, and in the mean time, one of the cloaked men stepped forward with one of those big sticks. Chest voice time.

"Last chance." Didn't seem to work well, given none of them backed away. The stick suddenly burst out what might as well have been an endlessly-growing tree trunk, flying straight at me like a speeding train. My favorite kind of problem to solve. I reared my right arm back, before thrusting my fist directly into the oncoming hunk of tree. It split apart wide and flared as I kept my punch flying through it. After a certain point my fist ran out of tree to break as all the loose lumber flew past me.

Shaking the wood dust off my hand, I could feel a sensation comparable to that photo. That's a smile now. I know it. I was about to have real fun. Going from a walk to a sprint, I rushed at the stick-wielding man, grabbing a hold of his implement and yanking it from his hands. In a following movement, I just swung it down at his ankles. The intent was to trip him, but I saw his shins bend at right angles. Tancred wasn't gonna like that. I didn't care. They were planning on shooting me.

Looking up from the first man, I could see Christian pouncing down from the rafters he was in like a feral cat. I thought he nearly missed his landing given his legs were going past the nearest cultist, only to see one hand had caught the hooded figure's face. He was using the terrorist like an anchor of some kind, as he suddenly slowed his fall and the man in his grip backflipped in practically the same spot, though he didn't complete the spin, instead landing on his chest.

The redhead immediately pounced for the older man, who was trying to back away, only for one of the gun men to level his rifle at him. Not letting that happen. I yanked up the man I just crippled by the shirt, hurling him like loose luggage at the rifleman and sending them both sprawling. The other gunman tried shooting in the meantime, but the rifle clicked. The chair legs must have fucked up the inner mechanisms. Fine by me. My focus was on the older one.

Going by the conversation we overheard, he had to have been Father Pine. That kind of reverence made him important. Christian and I were now both chasing him down. Christian was off to his left while I was directly behind him. Pivoting on a heel, Father Pine brought a hand up towards Christian, hurling his staff at him. The wood of the staff expanded into a collection of vines that coiled around his limbs. He was stuck. Not ideal, but whatever.

The old man then reached into his big stupid leaf cloak and pulled out a handful of something round and small. No idea what, but he threw it at me and they suddenly expanded into the size of bowling balls. There were too many in my way to just avoid, and they looked blunt enough I could tolerate the impact. I just brought my arms up so that if any splintered, my eyes wouldn't get hurt. The good news was, none splintered. The bad news was, the ones that hit me weren't going for impact it seemed. Barbs.

Wooden barbs all throughout my forearms. I could feel them digging into bone, and moving fast. Every nerve in my arms was on fire, and it took everything in me to not just vomit from the pain. Had to do something fast. I grabbed one of the barbed spheres, yanking it out and letting blood fly everywhere. Probably the wrong move to give myself open wounds, but if those barbs kept spreading they could hit arteries.

Without giving myself time to recover, I grabbed the other one, struggling to maintain a grip as all the tendons in my right arm were frayed, but I managed to practically wedge it off with my hand. This fucking sucked. Looking back up, I could see that Christian managed to untangle himself partly from the vines, and began running towards Father Pine again. The old man was slow enough that Chris might have been able to pin him down. All it meant was the gunman. The gunman. Fuck, I forgot the gunman.

Rushing in that terrorist's direction, eyes only just then focusing on him, I saw his rifle was raised and steady on Chris. I brought an arm back, unable to tense my fist. Was just gonna have to whip my forearm at him like a baseball bat. Swinging towards the man's chest, I could feel rib bones loosening like I just ripped out a clump of wet sand. But what I heard was a lot worse than what I felt: BANG