Zephyrus of the Anemoi

The crazy man counts stripes in the suits in the department store window.
His wife, at home, waits patiently, wishing he were home.
A sketchy young man checks to see if he’s being watched before he pulls out his phone.
Checking in with his girlfriend in the middle of the day, he does not want to be seen by his friends.
A woman stands secretively behind a column, smoking her last cigarette before she quits.
It’s too late, her child already addicted to the nicotine sticks of death.
My walk back to work from lunch was unique.

Just, fire and… and flames, just flames are pouring from the buildings now, there’s cars toppled, buildings, entire, just… crushed and crumbled. I’m not sure if it’s safe to report from my vantage point, I — I really need to leave. Civil defenses inform me that the surrounding areas are, are in ruin. I… I see some people running now. In the opinion of this reporter… if this nation or, in fact, the world ever needed heroes, that time is now… that time is now…

WGBH News broadcast from “V-Day”

Emptiness and darkness. Two feelings so often evoked in those staring at the vastness of space. But not today. Today, that emptiness and darkness is broken as an armada of ships spreads across the stars. They pass a small, dusty planetoid and continue past it toward a blue and green and white planet hanging in space. They continue toward Earth.

The ships hit atmosphere and look at first as though they will burn up on entry, their angles too steep for any Earth craft to handle. Retro-rockets fire from beneath the ships and begin to slow their descent almost immediately. Gently, they descend toward Earth, spreading out across the globe to hover above cities, landmarks, anything that can be considered of value to the peoples of Earth.

Soon, the damage will begin. Soon, Earth will be no more.

The Retropocalypse has begun.

*******

Colette Bennett was having a bad day.

As she raced through the streets of downtown L.A. she could hear the sound of gunfire behind her. She swerved to the right, running a red light in the process. Thankfully, no cars were in the intersection. Risking a chance to check on her cargo, Colette very nearly didn’t see her escape hatch ahead of her. A garage door was open on the side of the road. A garage she knew very well. Bullets embedded themselves in her trunk.

“Dammit!” she shouted as she weaved side-to-side. Gotta time this just right.

Colette pressed a button on her dashboard. The garage door started to close. She spun the wheel and slid just underneath the closing door. It clanged shut as Colette shot out through the missing wall in the back of the garage. Bullets hammered against the garage door, but it held. Moments later, a car-shaped imprint was visible in the garage door, as well. But by then, Colette was long gone and her pursuers were splattered against the garage door. The newspaper article would mention the importance of wearing your safety belts. Even if you’re a criminal.

Colette coasted into her parking space at Destructoid headquarters. While Destructoid once started out as merely a gaming website, through the years it had become a force for all things good in the world. Members of the site trained in retro gaming were able to do incredible amounts of good for the community, thanks to their vast experience with the most bizarre of tasks, tasks that became increasingly necessary every day. Only Destructoid and a handful of other retro gaming organizations knew the reason for the bizarre attacks: multi-colored blocks falling from the sky, only to disappear when 10 blocks were lined up horizontally; giant monkeys climbing to the top of construction sites and hurling barrels at passers-by; large turtles crawling up from the sewers to harass innocent people.

Colette grabbed her cargo from her passenger seat and headed inside. She turned down the hall to where her team, Retroforce GO! was housed. It looked like the rest of the team was out. She set down the bag she had recovered and opened it up. Golden rings, gleaming with light even under the fluorescents hanging above, spilled out onto the floor.

Mission accomplished, Colette thought and leaned back in her chair.

No sooner had she closed her eyes than the alarms began to bleat out a warning. She sat up straight and looked at the monitor on the wall.

“Shit.”

She could feel the gravity of the situation in the pit of her stomach. She started for the door, stopped, and went back for the bag of rings. These might just come in handy.

*******

Topher Cantler fired his jets as he careened almost out of control toward the station. Destructoid Exo-1 loomed in the distance. Exo-1 was the first private space station and, Topher knew, the most advanced piece of technology off-planet. He prayed that the docking bay was up to spec, though. He was coming in hot.

Behind him, the invading armada hurled wave after wave of energy blasts.

Topher gritted his teeth. Bullet hell. I should have known it’d be bullet hell. He threw himself into a spin as a pulsing blue energy ball slid through the spot he had just been. I hope to God that the Vic Viper is fueled up and ready to go, cause these guys are seriously pissing me off.

Static crackled in his ears. “Topher?”

It was Stella. Topher answered the call with his chin. “Little busy now, sweetie.”

“I’m aware of that, but the blast doors are closing in the docking bay.”

“Umm… why?”

Topher heard Stella through the comlink. She was issuing orders to the crew of the Exo-1. “Sorry, things are a mess down here. What did you say?”

“Why are the blast doors closing?”

“The shield integrity is failing and in moments we’ll be venting atmosphere. The computer triggered an emergency lockdown and we can’t override it.”

Topher cursed under his breath. Time for Plan B. He spun so that he could be facing the enemy armada and judged the time he had remaining. It’s gonna be tight.

Topher brought up his left arm and started pressing buttons on the keypad at his wrist. Turning back toward the docking bay he saw the light of engine flare. Seconds later, a small snubfighter flew toward his position. Slipping into the open cockpit and sealing it around him, Topher waited for the cockpit to recompress and then popped his helmet. The engines fired and he roared toward the incoming fleet.

“Okay, boys. Let’s see if we can’t even the odds.”

*******

Stella Wong shouted to be heard as alarms blared.

“Turn that racket off, we know there’s an alert already!”

The klaxons silenced and Stella turned back to the vidcom. Colette looked back through at her.

“What’s going on up there?” came Colette’s voice via the vidcom.

Stella sighed. “It’s insanity up here, Colette. Topher is taking the fight to them. We managed to get a handful of fighters launched before the shields failed, but there’s no way they can take them all on. We need a plan, and we need it now.”

Colette’s eyes darted offscreen for one moment as an aide handed her some paperwork. She glanced it over and set it aside. “I’m trying to reach Chad right now, but he’s not answering. We’re going to have to assume he’s out of this fight for now. What are the odds of losing Exo-1?”

Stella checked the numbers. They didn’t look good.

“You don’t want to know.”

“That bad, huh? Okay, abandon the station. Give orders to the fighters to do what damage they can and then land. We don’t want to lose every advantage we have up there. Contact me when you’re dirtside.”

Stella nodded and thumbed the vidcom off. She grabbed the mic at her station and spoke to the crew of the station, “All hands, listen up. Get EV suits on and get to anything that can fly. We’re decompressing and detonating the station. Abandon ship. Repeat: all hands, abandon ship.”

So long girl. Stella kissed her fingers, and tapped the console in front of her. Then, with the bridge clear, she headed for her fighter.

*******

Chad Concelmo heard his phone ring again. This had better be important, he thought as he stopped punching the old woman in front of him long enough to pick up his phone. The old woman collapsed in a heap at his feet. Several other members of the Shady Groves retirement home cowered in fear. They didn’t know it, but Chad wasn’t just some asshole that beats up old ladies. He let the world believe that, because it helped his image, but in fact, the old ladies that Chad punched weren’t old ladies at all, but specially built robots to help him release stress.

Destructoid had developed the technology years earlier when they realized that Chad had an addiction and that it was going to get him into trouble one day. The general populace of the world may not care what happens to old geezers in retirement homes, but all it took was an ambitious lawyer and a disgruntled family old person. Destructoid couldn’t afford that kind of bad press.

The addiction had started out innocently enough. After the Senior Citizen Attacks of ’06, the world had come to view the elderly in a different light. Chad, a hero of that skirmish, had come out a changed man. Something inside him had broken and the only way to fix it, even if only for a moment, was to take it out on the very people that caused him to break in the first place.

Chad checked his messages and grinned. He had been right. The Retropocalypse was happening in his lifetime, and he was still badass enough to do something about it. He closed his phone and turned to the old woman robot, which was getting back to its feet. Chad smiled and threw one last punch, clean through the old lady’s head. Satisfied, he headed outside, hopped on his motorcycle, and drove off.

Let’s go have some fun.

*******

Somewhere, deep in the jungles of South America, Dyson Grigsby sat on the steps of an ancient temple. He wiped his handkerchief across his brow and drank deep from his canteen. He stopped, in mid-drink, eyes skyward. He saw several Destructoid fighters streak across the sky, as Nintendo-cartridge shaped ships pursued them. He winced as he realized he was gonna be sitting this one out.

“Good luck, guys. Retroforce, go.”

I must go back
I must be free
And trapped no more
Please, help me see
The path I take
To find the way
I’ll make it home
Or die today

The light fades to darkness as the sea caresses sand
And the moon leapfrogs the earth as stars walk hand in hand
The sun is hiding deeply in the shallow wading water
And all is safely hid from sight but not from Time’s own father
The hours drift gently on and moonlight turns to day
But ‘ere that hour of daybreak comes I’ll safely slip away
Into the great divide I run, the realm ‘twixt wake and dreaming
And there release my fears and hates and search throughout my screaming
For that one safe memory that will see me through the day
The dream of night so peaceful and the time that slips away
Now to your beds you must be gone for darkness here is fleeing
And when the moon is risen, I again you will be seeing
Sleep by day and wake by night and know you are my friend
For if you weren’t I’d never tell you of the evening’s end

A single tear slides
Swiftly down your face
You reach out to hold me
But I avoid your tense embrace
“I’ll not touch you,”
I cry, though strangely make no sound
There is little noise here
Where once it did abound
I see water drip,
A book fall
I shrug your arm off
But do not hear your call
All sound has gone
The light fails, too
Your grief envelops me
I can’t escape its tomb
Forgive me for my faults
I want to live!
Too late, my cry unheard
And life is not yours to give
I beg you to recall
The way you loved me then
You giggle madly
Sound returns again
“Loved you,” comes the cackle
Wisping through clenched teeth
“Not I, but you
“You loved me,” you seeth
And now my eyes are clear
Water drips, book falls
It is my arm on yours
It is I who calls
For a brief moment I understand your hate
But you leave anyway

The grass rustles beneath my feet.
Swish. Swish.
As I tread firmly on, stopping for no one.
Seeking justice. Seeking redemption.
Life flows from my side, mixing with the dust in the air.
Dripping into the dirt, making small droplets of mud.
Staining the tall grass as I pass through it.
Swish. Swish.
I must not stop. Not even for this.
Redemption is near.
I can see his shadow before me.
I can see the stained grass that he has left.
I can see his droplets of mud.
Swish. Swish.
I am gaining. Justice is nearer.
He stops and waits.
For me.
Turning, he lets life flow.
Swish. Swish.
I stand before him, treading no more.
Swish.
We both know the end is here.
Not near. Here.
No one will walk away, but honor must be restored.
Justice must be done.
He grins.
I lunge.
Sun glints off steel
Justice must be served.
No. Not justice.
Vengeance.

This story, like any other, is about a girl. All my stories are. It’s not that I have a one-track mind, or that I’m so desperate that I can’t think about anything but girls. Nothing like that. No, this story, and all others, are about girls for one very important reason. That’s what the audience likes to hear.

One very bright and sunny spring day, I was wandering home from school. I say wandering because I had decided, for the first time of many, that heading straight home was altogether boring. I saw the same buildings, the same cars, the same people, the same rocks. I wanted to see something new. So I wandered.

In my hometown, it’s easy to wander. In small towns it always is. Backyards are rarely off-limits, and when they are, it becomes a challenge to sneak through, anyway. Front yards are just as passable, and if you cross the right yards, you just might find a tree worth climbing. Wandering, however, is not just a rambling and a shuffling in any old direction you choose. Oh, no. There’s a science to it. If you ever catch yourself heading in the direction of home for too long, you have to immediately change directions. Sometimes this can put you in a bit of a pickle, what with thorn bushes, fences, and the occasional guard dog. But once you’ve decided to wander, you’ve got to stick to your guns. You can’t change your mind just because of an obstacle.

On this particular day, I was wandering exceptionally well. I’d managed to cross an enormous mud puddle and only got my sneaker a little wet. My hand was muddy, but that’s what jeans are for. Mother would probably have something to say about me coming home late, anyway, so I didn’t care too much about the jeans.

I was about half-way home and still had at least 15 minutes of wandering left when I stumbled through a backyard that had changed abruptly since my last wandering through it. The house had once belonged to an old woman, but I heard rumors at church that she’d died and the house was for sale. Whispering old ladies loved to talk about other old ladies. I never usually paid them much attention, but I’d pick up the pieces here and there. The backyard was full of wonders I’d never seen there before. There was a brand new swing set and an old tricycle. There was even the beginnings of a new sandbox.

Now, normally I’m not one for playing with toys. I’ve been the man of the house ever since dad went away, and men don’t have time to play. But the sight of those toys still filled me with awe. I heard a screen door open and I quickly hid in the bushes at the edge of the backyard. I heard a woman’s voice from inside the house say, “Don’t get too dirty. We have company coming tonight.”

“Okay, mom,” came the reply. My heart sank in my chest. It was a girl. I realized then that I would not be coming over to play here. Girls and boys don’t play together, so men and girls certainly don’t play together.

She came around the corner of the house and plopped herself down into one of the swings. She was wearing a pink dress. I know you’d like a better description, but that is the best I can give you, as boys don’t usually pay much attention to girls’ dresses. Men pay even less.

She sat on the swing and looked pretty sad. A strange tingle went down the base of my spine and she quickly looked up at the bushes where I was hiding. No, not at the bushes. Directly at me. Somehow she could see exactly where I was. More than that, she could feel it.

“You can come out, now. I know you’re there,” she said, and turned her head away from the bushes. She sat that way for several seconds and I knew that she would stay that way until I stepped out of the bushes myself.

So I did.

Slowly I walked toward her and when I was about three arm-lengths away, I stopped. Three arm-lengths is the safe distance to avoid cooties from girls. Jimmy taught me that. Jimmy was my best friend before I became a man. We’re still friends, but men and boys don’t play together. Men don’t play at all.

“I’m Kira,” said the girl. “What’s your name?”

I’d never heard the name Kira before.

“John,” I replied. I’d heard the name John a lot.

The girl didn’t say anything. She just sat there on her swing.

“You have mud on your jeans,” she said. I looked down at the mud on my jeans and for the first time felt as though jeans weren’t meant to be dirty. I didn’t know what to say. “Would you like to push me?” she asked.

Boys don’t play with girls. Men don’t play at all. But men push girls in swings all the time. That’s not playing. That’s helping. Men help.

“Sure,” I said.

I started pushing her, softly at first, but slowly picking up speed. She didn’t say anything, but she closed her eyes and smiled as the wind blew her curly, blond hair back. When I started to push her really fast, she began to giggle.

“Higher, John!” she cried out. I pushed as hard as I can. I pushed harder than I’d ever pushed before.

When I thought she couldn’t go any higher, she suddenly jumped out of the swing. The smile that had crept across my face as I was pushing her quickly vanished as I watched her soar through the air. I’d never seen anyone jump out of a swing at that height before. It was dangerous.

She landed on the ground and crumpled into a ball. She didn’t move.

I waited.

She still didn’t move.

I ran to her side and knelt by her and shook her shoulder. “Kira! Kira, are you okay?” I asked, frantically. She rolled over and looked at me with one eye, the other squeezed tightly shut. She was grinning.

“That was fun,” she said. I felt a grin break out across my face, my fear forgotten now that I knew she was alright. “You should come over and play again tomorrow.”

She got up, brushed herself off and ran inside. The swing was still swaying from being pushed so hard. I turned to it and stopped its movement. Men don’t play at all. But boys do play with girls. Maybe I could still be a boy sometimes.

I ran all the way home, without wandering. From that day on, whenever I could wander, I always made sure to wander into that backyard.

They came on very quickly. Even with his superior reflexes, he nearly didn’t react soon enough. The first one fell on him from above. Rising as quickly as he could, Zephyr rolled out of the way, directly into the second one. It was waiting.

And that was the only way to describe them. “It.” They were clearly not human. Zephyr chuckled inwardly at the thought. He knew that humans were a lot less common than they realized. Many even believed themselves to be human and were not. Some, of course, knew what they were. The Anemoi had known for millennia. That knowledge had allowed them to protect the planet for some time.

But these things didn’t even appear to be human. They were quite clearly something different. Something new.

Someone had been busy.

Nearby, a scream split Zephyr’s thoughts in two, and his reflexes faltered.

Iris. Zephyr’s instincts had caused him to forget her briefly, and a third one had appeared and grabbed hold of her from behind. He turned toward the scream, prepared to rush to her aid, when the second one took advantage of the opportunity.

Lights blossomed behind Zephyr’s eyes. These guys hit hard, he thought to himself as he crumpled to the ground, a feint. The second one stepped in, eagerly. With his eyes still closed, Zephyr kicked out and up, snapping the thing’s head back with a sickening crack. His third eye, the one that could see everything, was satisfied that it would not stand back up.

One down.

“Zeph, help!”

Zephyr’s eyes fluttered open. The first one was missing, but the third was busy dragging Iris away. Zephyr rushed toward her, but was snagged from behind. The first one had slipped around behind him and it’s grip was deathly tight. Zephyr twisted and heaved, trying to break free, but found no way out.

“Sweetie, no…”

Iris’s voice had changed. It was softer, calming. She was no longer panicked. Zephyr looked up to see that the third had let her go and was standing idly by. Zephyr’s confusion radiated and Iris seemed to bask in it momentarily, a sad smile breaking out on her face. She approached him and placed a hand upon his cheek. Zephyr looked into her eyes and his heart shattered. There was no welcoming glance, no loving look from one who had claimed to love him. Only betrayal. For a brief moment a look of regret flickered across her face and vanished, to that place where suppressed emotions go, never to return. But it was in his head. It stayed there, and he treasured it for the rest of his life, knowing that a part of her still truly loved him.

Iris leaned in and kissed him on the lips, her tongue probing. His lips parted without thinking and his tongue suddenly felt a pinprick. He jerked back, the taste of blood in his mouth. The thing holding him shoved him to the ground at a nod from his love.

Zephyr struggled to his feet. The drug was working quickly. Too quickly.

What did she hit me with?

His mind reeled and his body faltered. He was strong, always had been, but even this drug was more powerful than he was prepared for.

“Iris…”

She appeared before him. His lover and betrayer.

“I forgive you.”

The world went away for a long time, and Zephyr found rest for the first time in months. A longer look of regret crossed her face, but Zephyr did not see it to take with him, and the two with her didn’t live long enough to inform their master that it ever occurred.

And suddenly, the light comes on. Paralyzing.

Zephyr finds himself staring into a small sun at the core of the room. His eyes, so well adjusted to the darkness never flinch. They are moths drawn to the flaming near-vacuum-encased filament. Burning away everything that makes them unique.

His eyes focus—relaxing, recovering, remembering what they are, their purpose, their teeny little place in this grand universe of insignificant pieces combining into even more insignificant wholes—upon a table.

No, not on the table. On the thing laying on the table.

He struggles to his feet, the paralyzing effect of the disorientation wearing off, and places one hand on the table for support. Dizzying images swim through his head, a nightmare of recent memories and fearsome probable futures ransack his brain, seeking a perch to call their own.

At least one is successful.

He sees a name slip in and out of focus on the cover of the folder on the table in front of him.

Brother, he says in that part of the mind that realizes things just a split-second before the rest, what have I done?

Frantically, he tears open the folder, scattering the malcontent pages to the wind. Zephyr finds what he is searching for and holds it up to the light, daring it to crumble to dust before his face under the searing heat so that he can pretend it’s not real.

But he is not so lucky. And neither is the one whose name is scrawled across the paper, a death certificate.

“Euri, no.”

He always was the unlucky one, he thinks.

Zephyr spins as he hears the creak of disused metal behind him. A door he’d not yet noticed opens and a familiar face enters the room.

Not a welcome face, but a familiar one, nevertheless.

“Zephyr.”

“Notu,” is his curt reply.

“Are you okay?”

Zephyr’s fist tightens reflexively around the morbid piece of paper in his left hand. Instinctively, he considers rushing the man standing before him. He also knows that to do so would be a terrible mistake. Determined to show no weakness, Zephyr nods his head. Slowly.

“I’m choosing to believe you,” comes the dry reply from Notu. “After all, if you can’t trust your family–”

“The last of my family is dead by your hand!”

“Brother…” Notu, with deliberate slowness that lends a poisonous air to his actions, begins picking up the papers from the file and placing them back in their obsessive compulsive home. “Let’s not fight today. I haven’t seen you in years and there is so much for us to talk about.”

Notu finishes gathering the papers and places the file on the table between Zephyr and himself. He motions to a chair for Zephyr to sit in.

“Please, let’s do begin,” Notu says, smiling.

His smile eats itself and Zephyr Anemoi begins to cry.