Uprooting Demons
A short story by Jeffrey Zweig II
Copyright 2011 by Jeffrey Zweig II
Smashwords Edition
The heavy rain slapped the back of Mark Strunk’s elegant trench coat down to his leather briefcase as he stepped off the platform of the submarine cruise liner. Three days round trip. Its meeting rooms were luxurious enough to hold entire corporate conferences. And he was as tired as a marathon runner from the whole ordeal. Except for the occasional promiscuous girl, most of the trip he found trite and boring. But it was a living, and it let him do what he wanted with his free time, and that was enough for him.
He didn’t like Old York, the piece of the oversized city where they docked. People here bought into the latest fad - LED implants. A throwback to the Rave scene, it grew with the popularity of heavy body modification that gained some national attention a few years back. People implanting all sorts of foreign devices under their skin to make them more like animals or insects, or Martians from another world. Some of it was appealing, while some literally seemed like they’d lost their minds on some far-off distant planet.
As Mark passed from the dock into the city, beggars and tramps peddled for money. He did his best to ignore them. He was already late for his car rental, and found the building closed when he got there thanks to sleazy men in suits that kept him, asking questions long after the submarine docked, and it cost him another day in this place. He would have to hole up at a hotel. He knew one a few blocks down.
At the nearby corner he saw a bus stop. He thought it would be advantageous to take the bus now with the basketball rain drops, his heavy clothes and briefcase threatened to drag him down to the grimy street beneath his feet. As the rain bounced against his jacket, he hadn’t noticed that a child no older than ten came out of the rain and stood next to him, close and within his shadow. Mark glanced down upon him.
“Please. Don’t move.” The child voice quivered from being soaked in the rain. Mark followed the boy’s stare, which wasn’t at him, and in the opposite direction; a black man was walking away from them. As the man turned his head to scan his surroundings, Mark could see yellow LED’s burning brightly from his lower lip just before he turned the corner at the next building.
“Is he bothering you?” Mark inquired. The child shook his head, rain fell off the short limbs of his hair as he shivered from the wetness.
“That’s Jacob. Bad man.” he said.
“What’s your name?”
“Dustin. Friends call me Dusty.” the boy said, tightlipped.
“Dustin. Let’s go.” Mark said, switched the briefcase from his left to his right hand, and held out his open hand to the boy. The child was hesitant at first, of course. A complete stranger offering him help, he didn’t know him from Adam. But Mark’s confident swagger was comforting to the boy.
So the child took Mark’s hand, who led Dustin through streets half full of rain water, past more starved pedestrians. On the corner of Anderson and Tarra Boulevard, the Old York Children’s Community sat dead like a skeleton in the pouring rain. Mark couldn’t believe it.
“It’s been closed down two years, sir.” Dustin said, who noticed the suddenly serious face of his concerned heroic businessman turned sad.
“Hey!” said a screechy voice from afar. They turned to their left and saw Jacob, the man with the LED’s in his lip, head in their direction at a hunter’s pace.
“Run!” Mark shoved Dustin away. He did as he was told. Mark stood his ground as Jacob approached. As the hustler tried to pass Mark, he stood in his way.
“Out of my way, pin-stripes!” Jacob tried to brush past, but Mark shoved the man into the wall using the flat of the briefcase. He saw some white in his black hair, but aside from that minor distraction, Jacob was too strong for him, and after shoving the briefcase aside and landing a couple of swift jabs, he sent Mark to the concrete. The hustler stared at him with an angry fist, but slowly retracted it, “Mark. You shouldn’t have gotten involved. It’s been too long.” Jacob said and left him to continue the pursuit.
Dustin sprinted through a wide alley clogged by garbage and squatters. He found his nook among cardboard houses fit with a rusty pillow and blanket and hid. These nooks looked all alike, impossible to tell apart without intricate knowledge of its occupant. The time passed slowly as he watched and waited in horrid anticipation. All he saw was the shadows of feet. Anyone passing might have been his hunter. As the exhaustion of the chase sunk in, his eyes weighed heavy and they closed.
Mark pulled himself from the ground, found his briefcase again among some garbage cans, and followed Jacob several minutes later into Fortville Alley, as it was scrawled on a plank of wood that hung from a window. It was one of several tent cities of Old York and this one was especially poor. Patios above him did nothing to shelter a man from the elements, and the flimsy constructs of shelters barely held up to the wind, let alone the rain.
He pressed on, keeping his eye keen to each nook he passed and hoped to find Dustin among them. He knew though how hopeless it was to find someone he didn’t know in areas like this. He snatched a hat sitting on a window sill and tossed a few dollars to the owner that slept on his sandbag. He had lost the briefcase back on the sidewalk and hadn’t thought to take it with him. All of this combined with mud and a drenched facade helped him blend right in with the populace.
A whip crack of lightning stirred the colony. But even through the haze and the rain, Mark was about to see the crippled that were left to fend for themselves as Jacob scoured the tent city for their future. Their children. Tonight, it seemed, the hunter’s target was poor little Dustin.
The wild commotion roused the young boy from his slumber, disoriented and slow to move, the crowd shifted by his nook. He pushed himself to his feet and slipped into the crowd that was heading into the next intersection. He tried to blend in, but his young self didn’t blend in well with the crowd, and Jacob was too close not to notice him in the crowd.
The boy knew he was spotted and tried to make a run for it, but one of the old folk grabbed him and shouted for the Hunter. For a price he would give up the child; the old fool perhaps was bought or thought he could bargain something out of Jacob for the child.
Dustin tugged away as Jacob appeared and took him from the old man. Without a passing thought, Jacob brushed the old folk aside to make his exit when Mark tackled him to the ground. Dustin wretched himself free from Jacob’s claws as the two men fought in the rain. With each blow dealt, the mud mixed with blood. No doubt the money was on Jacob, him being stronger, but Mark continued on; the thought of freedom for that child drove him. As the world around Mark blurred into falling rain and murmurs of the surrounding crowd coupled with Jacob’s weight on top of his chest, it might have been the end.
The wet briefcase was heavy for Dustin. But his survival instinct allowed him the strength to aide his friend, and he used the square sturdy case to crack the back of Jacob’s head. It struck the base of Jacob’s skull, the pain immense. The hunter glanced back in time for another blow to connect with his face from another heavy swing. Dazed, his guard was down. Mark shoved his assailant over and was on his knees as Jacob slowly recovered, choking on the blood from his broken nose.
“You said you’d never come back.” Jacob’s LED’s were tainted red.
“As long as people like you are around, Jacob, I’ll never stop. I never should have left.”
On their feet, Jacob and Mark stared each other down. The audience looked on waiting for what happened next. Mark watched Jacob’s every step as he left the alley as Dustin remained at Mark’s side, Jacob never leaving his sight.
Once gone, Mark turned to the young boy.
“Well, Dusty. Looks like we have some work to do.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
Smiling, the businessman took his heavy briefcase from Dustin.
“Call me Mark.”
It was just over a week later that the Old York Children’s Community was reopened as the city’s premiere care-giving society. With it came the immediate dismemberment of the Fortville Alley’s tent city. Here it promised, at the very least, warm beds and decent meals. Mark used his own funds for the project. Dusty, his right-hand man, made sure all guests were kept in good order. Fueled by their need to ban their demons, they help those struggling with theirs. They offered a chance to escape this place like Mark did, and what Dusty will do if he stays the course.
###
About the Author:
Jeffrey Zweig II started writing long before he could drive. After high school He studied screen/creative writing at Indiana University and Indiana State University. After that he lost himself to learn to live, to write, and expand himself and his craft as a novelist.
He lives in Indianapolis, Indiana.
Other stories by Jeff Zweig:
My Name is Jerry Richardson II
Upcoming Projects for 2011:
The End Begins: The Nine (novel)
Project Nine: A Road of Fate (short story Anthology)
Connect with Jeff:
Twitter: http://twitter.com/jzweigii
His Blog: Stories of the Sleepless Mind
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/#!/jzweigii
Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/jzwegii