He didn’t want to delay too long though. Just enough. He figured he would know when it was time. Maybe there would be a sign or something. Anything to tell him that the timing was correct and his course was straight. He knew he was still out of range for any attack they would make, or at least he hoped he was. If there was more coverage on the ground he might have been worried about someone trying to sneak up, but this city was a wasteland. He had been sure of that. There was only a small section of downtown, and of course all of the parks, that had survived so far. He planned to keep the parks, downtown was a different story all together.
His soldiers were still preparing. Some of the older boys were painting their faces with ash and trying to convince the younger ones to follow suit. Their views were met with varying degrees of acceptance. It was time to be soldiers, and they wanted to feel like soldiers too. All of them were worried, but there was comfort in playing the part.
Pyro waited. He had no necessary preparation. He would go in there like a human torch. It was all he needed to do. It was all he knew how to do. He was just waiting on that sign and it looked like it would be coming any time now.
2.
Pyro’s sign arrived in short order. He was amazed at how beautiful this one happened to be. The sun had started setting, and the air was filled with ash and soot. It was the makings of the perfect sunset. He could do nothing but stare in awe. It was beautiful and as the other kids saw him staring, they all followed suit.
“Wow, it’s beautiful,” said Mary.
“I know. It tells me that we’re doing the right thing. Until all of this started I had never seen such beautiful sunsets. Now each one is prettier than the last.”
Pyro had never quite put together the fact that all of the fires he had started were the cause of the gorgeous scenery provided by each and every sunset. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t doing the right thing, but it doesn’t mean that he was either. Regardless of that though, he took it as a sign of a job well done and the permission to continue on.
“Everyone ready?”
“Yes, sir!” They were all ready for their movement. Good or bad, this was it.
The kids began the final part of their march. They sang their songs. The ate a quick snack. They soldiered on. They knew that they would be facing people they knew today. Their teachers. Some of their friends. Their families. People they would have never attacked before, but today was different. They were determined to do what they had to do.
Pyro lead the way toward the former White House. He could sense people in and around the still standing buildings. He figured that they weren’t his friends. He decided to keep an eye on that. He wanted to do his best to protect his army, as well as himself. As the cleared the inside corner of the buildings, shots rang out. Most of them were headed directly for Pyro, but a few were aimed at other targets. They kept walking to the sound of screams coming from the buildings. His party was still unharmed. More shots ended with the same result. He wanted to wait a little bit longer before demolishing the buildings. He could let them try and have their fun, it would all end the same anyway.
The first two groups of snipers had been taken out of commission. Not all of them were dead, yet, but they would be soon enough. Pyro wondered how he would fight himself if he had to. Water was the first thing that came to mind, but he seen the ineffectiveness of it. Not only did it steam and make everything hazy, but it would burn just as easily as wood. At least it did for him.
The shots had startled some of his entourage, but they continued on. Now confident in the fact that Pyro would protect them.
3.
“Are any of you still alive,” radioed the General.
“A few of us sir. I don’t think for long though. I see smoke and I can’t go anywhere. He shot through both of my legs.”
“Hold tight. We will try to get you out of there.”
“Don’t bother. It isn’t going to matter anyway.”
A few more shots rang out. Nobody answered the radio call from the first two buildings.
“What are we supposed to do against that?”
“Well Joe, I don’t really know. You have any bright ideas,” asked the General.
“A fire hose,” said the President.
“Two problems with that, sir. Number one is that I’m not sure where to find one right now. Number two… Do you really think it will work? It’s not like he is on fire,” said the General.
“So what about gasoline,” asked Joe.
“Huh,” asked the General and the President simultaneously.
“I figure it is like this. He isn’t on fire, but everything else will be. What if he was on fire as well?”
“Now that’s an idea. Here, tell my guys,” said the General.
Joe explained the idea over the radio. The soldiers started to find all the combustible liquids that they could find and spread them on the ground.
There was a sudden pop and burst of flame from one of the troops. The gas can had suddenly exploded, drenching him in petrol. This in turn sent him running and screaming toward another guy, who subsequently caught fire as well.
Watching this all take place was something like watching the deadliest game of dominoes in slow motion. With each piece falling, the next ignited. So on, and so forth. Joe, the President, the General, and Pyro all watched this display in awe. There was such a beautiful dance happening here. It was like a ballet on LSD. The screaming, flaming guys making the perfect soundtrack to this exquisite display of brutality and mortality.
Pyro hadn’t expected it to play quite this way. It worked out to his advantage, but that didn’t make it any more normal. And gasoline… He would have never even thought about it, not that it would hurt him anyway, but it could hurt his followers. He’d have to keep an eye on that then.
Both sides could hear the ticking. The ticking of life’s clock counting down. The ticking that was leading to a resolution. The ticking leading to death. The ticking of tank treads.
“Oh, shit,” said Pyro.
The tank fired a warning shot. Pyro tried to deflect it, not that it would hit anyone, but it would be good to know. It seemed to veer slightly off course, but not by as much as would have been hoped.
“Run! Go! Behind the building.”
The children scattered like cockroaches. They divided themselves in the sudden panic. They had time, but not much. Pyro’s building shook violently. Glass sprayed in all directions. He had not been prepared for this, not did he have any good offense. The tank was out of his offensive range.
The next shot was lobbed. The children were scared. None of them knew what to do.
“Try your fire on the next shell,” said one of the entourage.
“Huh?”
“Just try it.”
Pyro tried it. The shell burst and sent shrapnel screaming in all directions. The building protected the young army, but many of the other men were hit. Screams rose and clouded the air.
“How’d you know that?”
“I love tanks. I just figured they might be using explosive rounds, but I don’t know if it really helped any. Either we get blown up, or we get cut to death. Pretty crummy either way.”
Pyro was trying to think, but was constantly interrupted by the clamor. Chucks of concrete were falling from the building. Most of them were small, but he knew that soon they wouldn’t be so lucky. He didn’t think he could manage control over 100’s of piece at once. 10 or so was an easy feat, but the shrapnel seemed to be much too great in quantity. He was running out of ideas.
It seemed to be about two seconds from the time he heard the tank fire, to when it impacted the building.
“When the tanks fires next, everyone run for the other building.”
They all nodded. The tank fired. He counted. One. Two.
“Run!”
They sprinted just as the round caught the structure. Pyro was too busy to notice the piece of concrete which impacted his face with sufficient force to knock him unconscious.
“Grab him. Let’s go.”
He was drug to safety just as another round was volleyed.
“Is he dead? I don’t want him to die,” said Mary. Her eyes began to water, on the verge of tears.
Pyro stirred, but did not wake. He had a nasty cut which was oozing sooty, black blood down his face.
“Please… wake up. Please…” Mary started crying.
“Ouch,” said Pyro.
The boys, who had drug him in, grinned.
“So I guess you’re still with us? We were just about to go throw up the white flag.” The boys beamed.
“Afraid so. Any brilliant ideas now?”
They discussed some tactics among the bombardment. They figured out that if they could make it to the next building, then the damage from the tank would cause massive collateral damage to the opposing troops. It sounded like a good plan. The main points, like run to the next building were relayed to all. They were told to start making there way around the back and to the corner where they would be running from.
Pyro took the lead and rounded the corner. A soldier jumped, squeezed the trigger on his rifle, and almost instantly dropped to the floor. No screaming, just blood discoloring the ground. He looked like an angel with a crimson halo. That is if an angel would be missing the top third of his skull. He had been sent to creep up behind the children, and had almost made it.
“That guys scared me,” said Mary.
Pyro nodded and continued. He still had no real ideas. He knew there was no way to get around everyone and come up from behind. If he hadn’t destroyed most of the city then there might have been. Just chalk it up to experience. He never actually expected to be here, like this, especially not with an army at his tail.
“You said you knew about tanks?”
“Yeah,” said the kid.
“How fast can this one shoot?”
“About as fast as it is.”
“Hmm… And how fast can it turn it’s gun?”
“The turret? It could track an A-10 if it needed to.”
“Meaning?”
“You can’t outrun it.”
“Well there goes that idea.”
4.
“We are losing a lot of people with this tank,” said Joe.
“Well, if they would step a few feet back from the building, they would be just fine.”
“That’s all fine and dandy, but I think it would be hard to step back with that many people on your heels.”
“True enough,” said the general.
The children had made it to the next building, which was slowly being reduced to it’s foundations. They couldn’t stay there forever. In fact a few more minutes might be too long.
“So… Are we just going to keep shooting at the building or do you have an idea here,” asked Joe.
“We can’t shoot for too much longer. Tank is almost out of ammo. I don’t know what’ll happen when it is empty.”
“Great. So you’re basically saying we’ll be dead in a few minutes?”
“Pretty much. It bought us a little time anyway.”
“No other tanks or ammo in the area?”
“Nope,” said the General.
“Super.”
“I thought so.”
They were running out of ideas. Tank ammo almost depleted. Crazy boy that could light things on fire. This had the makings of a perfect day.
There was a sudden crash, explosion, and shit storm in the middle of the crowd. Screaming, flying body parts, and a whole lot of dead people.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” said a voice over the radio.
“Sorry ‘bout that? That’s all you have to say?”
“Collateral damage sir. Computer changed the target, fired the shot, and went offline.”
“That’s real clever,” said Joe.
“Isn’t it though? I think they just took out a third of our force,” said the General. “Is it going to be back online anytime soon,” the General asked over the radio.
“That’s a big negative. We are actually in the process of evacuating. There is way too much smoke in here. It looks like the computer decided to hinder our cause by lighting itself on fire.”
“Perfect,” thought the General.
“So… Now what?”
“Well Joe, why don’t you come up with something. I think we are pretty much screwed.”
They both stared at the field of dead and dying. Out of ideas. Out of options. Anything done now would just be for show. They could surrender, but realized that there would be no point in that. If they were going to die, they could at least go out trying.
The Jump
1.
When Pyro was a little boy he had some crazy ideas. About the time he discovered his powers, minimal though they might be, he had dreams of being a superhero. A fire flinging, flying, upholder of justice. It took him a little while, but not too long, to find the scope and limitations of his abilities.
He, like 99 percent of the populations had always wanted to fly. He had tried multiple times to just do it, but nothing ever happened. See this little kid. See him standing with his arms raised to the sky. Watch him jump as high as he could and then return to the ground. Sometime he would jump so hard, and believe so deeply, that he would touch down and then go tumbling. He sprained multiple ankles that summer. His left wrist would ache for the rest of his life from an untreated hairline fracture. It wasn’t bad enough to cause major pain, but a decent amount of discomfort would be normal for him.
After months of trying to be a space shuttle, he decided it might be easier to be a bird. He would run as fast as he could. He would flap his arms, or wings, whichever was more fitting at the time. Moving as fast as he could, he would jump, flap, and sometimes, land on his feet and keep running. Other times he would land and create a spectacular display of cartwheels and summersaults.
He was determined that his lack of success with the bird method was due to his lack of speed. Next it was the skateboard. When that didn’t work, and nearly killed him in a headfirst dive for the pavement, he upgraded to a bicycle. The results were even worse than the skateboard. He was even nearly run over by a car backing out of it’s driveway. He wanted to try to hood of a car, but his parent’s had told him no and he had no other ideas of who could drive him.
So after the bird thing had failed miserably, he decided to try another tactic. Maybe he needed actual vertical propulsion. Not being put off easily, he devised a simple lever from some scrap wood. He built a very rickety, makeshift seesaw. On the roof he positioned the largest stone he could lug. It turned out to only way about 15 or so pounds. He had attached a rope so that he could stand on the plank and pull the weight down onto it. The hope was that it would fling him up and then he would fly away into the sunset.
The first attempt went amazingly well. He tugged the rope and sent the mass tumbling through the air. It accelerated at roughly 32 feet per second, which is pretty standard. When it should have struck the plank, it actually missed. He had positioned his launching pad too far from the house. The rock had fallen about a foot short. Try two went better. The rock struck the plank in the perfect place. The lever placed force against Pyro’s feet. It was going to work. Then the plank broke at the fulcrum, but wouldn’t it have been impressive if it had worked? Even if it hadn’t broken, he wouldn’t have flown very far. The amount of force generated was far too low to amount to any measurable vertical movement.
So feeling defeated, and downtrodden, he decided to give it one last shot. If it didn’t work this time then he would never try again. Maybe believing that he could do it really wasn’t enough to make it happen.
For his final trial he figured that maybe he had to actually be going toward the ground to kick in the flight mode. So along those lines, he climbed to the roof. While climbing, he almost slipped and fell, which would have been bad. It probably would’ve hurt pretty badly.
So here was Pyro. Staring at the ground from 12 or so feet above it. Nervous, but convinced. He knew he could do it. He wasn’t worried about hitting the ground because he wasn’t going to. After a few deep breaths, he jumped as hard as he could. He was doing it, or at least he thought so until he reversed direction and saw it rushing up at him. He concentrated on going up, not down. He kept falling. He concentrated harder. He slammed into the ground and rolled. The roll would have been perfect to if he hadn’t caught his leg oddly and snapped it in three places. So while he lie there, a screaming bloody mess, he learned that determination alone was not enough to achieve everything. Sometime it would be enough, but not always.
2.
When the General was a young boy he used to go hunting with his dad. On one of the trips he mistook his dad for a deer, or at least that is what he told the authorities. He shot his dad in the left shoulder.
When Joe was much younger, he used to pretend that he was videotaping everything. His camera was a taped together conglomerate of a Pringles can, a tape recorder, and a Coca-Cola bottle. He videotaped a neighbor killing his wife. It would have been compelling evidence if he had actually had a real video camera. Oh, and if Joe hadn’t been a five year old with an active imagination.
When the President was a young boy he asked his parent’s for a dog. They got him a cat instead. He named it Fido and it died a few years later. He learned that cramming it’s mouth full of peanut butter was not a good thing for longevity.
When Mary was a young girl her dog ate her finger, but you probably already knew that. What you probably don’t know is that she never figured out why there was a crunchy hotdog in her macaroni one night after.
When Janice was a young girl, well… You already heard about that, but I bet you didn’t know that she was born with red hair.
When Mr. Abbot was a young man, his parent’s told him that he would never amount to anything and that he would just end up as another bum on the streets of New York. Boy were they wrong. He died in DC.
The tank commander had managed to destroy over 199 computers in his life time, just by touching them. Today he made it to the big two oh oh.
When everyone woke up this morning they assumed that they would live to see tomorrow.
[Unknown, yet again. Always with the unknown]
1.
“Tank’s down,” thought Pyro, but then he wondered. Was it a ploy or was it really out of commission. There was only one way to find out, but he wasn’t ready to take the risk. He figured he’d wait it out and see what happened.
He made the rounds to ensure everyone was still accounted for and to make sure everyone was still in serviceable order. Except for a few cuts and scrapes, and the other preexisting conditions, everyone was doing just peachy. Just getting tired of waiting. They were ready for it to be done so they could go play on the swing sets. Or have tea parties. Some of them just thought it would be nice to eat some dirt for old times sake.
It had become time. The sun had set. Pyro stood and motioned everyone up.
“I want you guys to stay back here. You can watch, but I would feel better if you don’t put yourselves in danger right now.”
This suggestion was met with varying degrees of enthusiasm. He didn’t care as long as they listened to him.
Pyro turned and walked toward the edge of the building. As he rounded the corner a solid wall of flame grew ahead of him. He stood looking at it for a minute. He noticed the intricate patterns that the fire would make and also realized that they changed, or disappeared, just as quickly as they were created. He took a deep breath and walked forward.
The people on the other side saw the wall suddenly appear. They were scared. They tried to run, but the sheer number of them made it impossible.
Pyro walked into the wall. His eyes were burning brighter then the fire that he controlled. Untouched by the flames, he stood in the middle of the controlled flare. He scanned the horizon and all of the people that stood before him. This would get messy, but he had done as much before. He would have mountains of people to climb here. He didn’t think those shadows wanted to play with him so they probably wouldn’t clean up after him either.
He dropped his head and with a slight gesture of his hands the inferno grew to the sides. He played the role of conductor, and directed a tune of his own design. The wall grew thick around the edges and shot straight out. With one fell swoop both side were consumed. He hadn’t taken anybody out of commission yet, but it would not take much.
He still couldn’t reach the tank, but it didn’t matter much. The General and Joe were still out of range, but he would make his way there soon enough. He didn’t even know their names, just that they were on the highest ground and the furthest away, so they must be in charge.
The screams destroyed the air, but did nothing to slow the situation. Pyro could not hear anything except his won heart beat. The flames died down for a split second and then suddenly leaped forward, from his position, straight into the crowd. Those who were unharmed choked on the burning air and the smell of roasting flesh. He had cut an almost clean line down the middle. As he lowered the torch, the gaps filled back up immediately.
He decided to be playful here. Magic would be happening. His orchestra would play harder than it ever had. He shot bolts out at 45 degree angles. Once again the gap filled itself as soon as he relented. He wondered how long this could go on, and more importantly, how long could he do it before he became too bored with it. He guessed quite a while.
A column went up right in front of him and expanded to form an impenetrable barrier. As he slowly walked forward so did his wall, consuming all that were in it’s path. There was a lot of ground to cover and he had moved very little since beginning.
The sky was alight. If one didn’t know any better, and was looking the other way, they would think it was daylight. As the wall moved forward it formed little darting tentacles. They would randomly spear people a few rows back. The slithering tongues of medusa’s snakes. The people didn’t even try to run. They seemed to be made of stone. Too shocked. Too awestruck. Too frightened. And shortly after, too dead.
Blazing columns shot from the ground. To an observer it would have looked like one of the dancing water fountains. There was a reason for this too. Pyro had gotten his inspiration while he was storming the Olympic park in
His victims were not as lucky. Every shaft took more lives. There would have been such beauty in Pyro’s control if things were different. His delicate manipulation of his element was astounding. He could claim one person or 100 at will. The possibility of taking out everyone at once was there, but there just didn’t seem to be a good reason for that.
Even the shadows were afraid. They were not as immune as they would have first thought. The screams that they released were torturous. They pierced eardrums. Many people were deafened suddenly. The others were suddenly disheveled and tried to stay on both feet with only marginal success. Even Pyro was affected by those screams. When his concentration would break, the flames would falter for a moment. With his composure regained they would return with even greater intensity.
Every step forward would find his feet sinking into the pavement. The ground was becoming increasingly slippery, which among other things, made footing very unsure. He marched on, but with greater care to keep from falling. That just would not look very professional.
2.
Picture a wasteland. A vast expanse where buildings used to strike at the skies. Where people worked. Where they played. Where they had fun. Picture all of those people. Permanently encased in the asphalt that they used to drive on. Hands raised in anger. Charred bones covering empty sockets where eyes used to be.
See the little army marching thorough the street. Not paying attention to the bones being ground below their feet. Focused on the action before them. Walking on their teachers. Their friends. Their families. Watching the wall that consumed all who crossed it’s path. Smiling as their fates constantly evolved. As their dreams became one step closer to realization.
Half of the opposition had already been dealt with. With vengeance. With fury. With an unwavering lack of remorse. The other half had started to retreat to the best of their abilities. It was slow going. Too slow by far.
The children were singing “99 Bottles on beer on the wall.” With every step, the funeral dirge continued. The opposition could barely hear anything over the noise of shuffling feet, screams, and the crackling flames.
Pyro was having fun now. Tormenting the runners. He would lick their ears. Tickle the back of their necks. Pat their asses. Stab them through the heart with a glowing spear of light. Remove their feet with a sword of glowing embers. Up heave the earth under the crippled combatants. Make them pop like hotdogs, overcooked in a microwave. There was no end to the amusement. No end to the fun. No end to the games. He knew it would be over someday, but not for a while. He could take his time.
Exhausted. Everyone was exhausted on both sides. The children were stumbling along. The other side was trying to run, but it turned into more of an awkward stumble. Some of them were too tired to even manage that. Some would just lay down and wait for their fate to finally be sealed. It was much like abusing ants with a magnifying glass. There was nothing they could do.
There was no point in retreating. Joe and the General understood that so they stayed where they were. They watched. They waited. They accepted their fates. The President ran as soon as the rage had started. There was no telling where he actually went, except by following his footprints, which would be covered by a fresh layer of soot before too long. It would not change his end, just adjust the time scale slightly. He might also just expire do to hunger or lack of hydration, but that was yet to be seen.
Joe couldn’t help but sing “Another One Bites the Dust” in his head. He couldn’t explain it, but it made things slightly more bearable. The General heard him humming the tune and joined in, but it didn’t help his disposition in any way. In fact he now thought about terminating Joe himself, or at least breaking his legs, for getting the tune stuck in his head. He decided against it due to the amount of effort that it would require. He did hold onto that rage though.
Some of the children found themselves wishing for marshmallows. Not that they were particularly hungry, but the sight of such a huge blaze, coupled with the singing, brought thoughts of camping, s’ mores, and other fanciful thoughts. If they didn’t know any better they would’ve been able to imagine a friendly camping trip in the middle of a forest fire.
The General watched the events and was starkly reminded of the
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