PM Chapter 2

Log was groggy; everything seemed to have happened in a blur of motion. He was in a vehicle; he could hear the tires humming and cars passing them at speed. They were on a highway or an interstate by the sounds of it. It was raining. With a glance to his left he saw Zaxian lying unconscious. Why wasn't Z bound? Log tried to sit up, but it felt like his head was tied to the floor. With a groan he tried to speak but his tongue merely flopped around in his mouth.

Using what little field of view he had available to him he assessed the situation. The top of the vehicle was white with obvious support bars and the walls were not disguised, either. It was obvious he was in the back of a van. He could hear murmuring and movement in the front, but that was out of his range of vision. There was a slight hint of coffee and cut wood, but otherwise it was non-descript.

Concentrating, he struggled to remember what he glimpsed just before blacking out: A large black man with dreadlocks hastening out of a sliding door. Again he looked over at Zaxian and strived to speak but an unintelligible groan emitted from his mouth. Z seemed okay, a little bit of blonde tuft sticking up on his chubby head from where he smacked the tire. There was no evidence of blood and he was breathing the deep calm of sleep. Why were people after them? He was praying fervently that everyone on campus happened out of that mess okay, especially Susan, when a deep voice spoke.

“It would be insulting to the point of ridicule if we let them kill you. Would you mind answering a few questions?”

With that said, Log’s bindings vanished and feeling returned to his mouth. He sat up gingerly while glancing about. They were in the back of a van on top of plywood that covered the van’s aluminum floor. No visible rope or bindings could be seen anywhere. There were too many strange occurrences recently, and so, Log assessed their attackers carefully before making his move.

The man speaking to him was huge; muscles growing out of places he’d never dreamed had muscles. Dreadlocks framed his face to shoulder length, and a black muscle shirt barely held its fibers together over his form. He was sitting on a bench behind the front two seats, leaning forearms on knees. The man’s head still touched the ceiling. His loose fitting black pants were bloused over black combat boots. Log now realized why there were no bindings – a man like this had nothing to fear.

Log didn’t say anything and sat up in a crouch, the man acknowledged that as an answer.

“Why are they after you and why are you not in hiding?”

The question was so strange, the entire scenario so awkward, that Log replied without thinking, “I have no idea what’s going on.”

“You should have felt it, with news of the attack – how could you miss it?”

“Felt what, and what attack?”

The man removed his sunglasses and glared at him, “Someone with your strength can not possibly be ignorant.”

Log stared at him, dumbfounded.

The man’s face changed suddenly, as if it dawned on him that Log really had no clue, and then – just for an instant – there was a look of fear.

“You really are… unguided?” He asked.

“What?”

“My name is Ray Michaels,” he put his hand out and Log took it, a babies hand grasped by an adult, “and I have no idea how to explain the situation.”

Logunese Liberatus felt nothing, as if emotions could properly fit the moment. Were they abducted by madmen? He took a moment to stir enough courage to speak. Mad or not the man could squash him like a bug, possibly even like a small car.

“You could start with why we’re in a van,” he glanced over to Zaxian to double check that he was, in fact, breathing.

Ray moved off his bench and sat Indian style on the floor before him, “Those people were trying to kill you. Clearly you have no clue how - or you refused - to defend yourself. We’ve been watching you for weeks. Your power is so strong that Zim up there could feel it miles away.”

Log glanced to a buff, pale middle-sized man driving the van with unkempt light-brown hair and tattoo sleeves. A stained white tank-top fit just right. Power, huh? He was becoming more convinced of their madness by the minute.

“What power?”

“The power of your mind –have you broken the barrier?”

“I. Have. No. Clue,” he paused for effect, “is this a joke, somehow? A dream?”

Ray’s scowl was slightly more than terrifying, “The president’s death was not a joke. The deaths at the university are not jokes. Someone wants you to die, and if you don’t know why…”

He left it hanging. Log wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be annoyed. His heart ached at the thought of ‘deaths at the university’ and honestly, Log was feeling a bit frightened.

“I have no clue. None, nothing. Power? Death? How am I linked to the president? Why would anyone try to kill me?”

“If you truly are ignorant… they are after you because of your strength, you are a threat. We can feel you. It is logical to assume they can as well. Let us hope they do not want you dead as bad as it seems.”

“What strength? Why? Who are they? What’s going on?”

Ray Michaels sighed and leaned back against the bench, “We call ourselves ‘The Protectorate.’ We are people who can do things others cannot; some call it ‘magic.’ Our group tries to remain hidden and keep the balance between what we’re capable of and how the world perceives what we’re capable of. In short, we police ourselves and try to keep the peace with everyone else. There are many dispositions amongst our ranks.”

Log made to speak but Ray cut him off, “There is too much history to explain now. What you need to know is: those who attacked you and the President are the same. They are like us – but they’re using a different method. We’re not precisely sure how it’s possible.”

Log was convinced, this man was insane. He had no idea what to say. Magic? Next thing he’d be getting an owl and a letter to school.

“You have done impossible things before, haven’t you?” Ray eyed him suspiciously.

Log considered the question and then answered, “Yeah… if benching all the plates in the gym is considered impossible.”

Ray must’ve though Log was making fun of his size because he growled and grabbed Logun’s arm in a crushing grip. Trying not to wince Log listened to furious words, “I don’t care if you believe me or not! Someone is trying to kill you and they almost succeeded! We saved your ass so you’ll be doing what I say until we can be sure you’re safe.”

“Why do you care about my safety?”

“Because of your strength. I can feel it in your friend, too. You’d both be useful allies, especially now that the world is at war.”

Log felt sick, “So… because I’m strong you want to save me, and for the same reason these other guys want to kill me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not trying to be rude but this is hard to swallow.”

“Do you disagree that those men were trying to harm you?”

“No, but…”

“Then shut up and do as I say. I’ll explain more, in time – once I figure out how.”

With that Ray kicked his legs over the bench and leaned into the passenger’s seat. Log could move freely so he crouched over Zaxian to wake him but Z remained immobile.

“What did you do to him?”

Ray snarled, “ZIM!”

Zim’s voice traveled to the back, a cool collected sound, “Yes, yes, okay, fine.”

Z sat up so quickly that he hit Log in the nose.

“OUCH!”

“Oh, sorry man,” he rubbed his forehead while glancing around and then he whispered, “are we in that van?”

Log brought him up to speed quietly and finished with, “I think they’re a little off.”

Z shrugged, “Well they’re not trying to kill us so I’m game, for now.”

“What?!”

“Lighten up man! We’re not even tied up! IF they wanted to kill us they could have done it already. Personally,” he lowered his voice, “I’m glad to be out of there.”

“Z, none of this makes any sense.”

“I don’t care,” Z was rarely serious but he put forth a convincing tone all the same, “the cloaks tried to kill us back there. I remember the heat and the explosions – they were REAL.”

Log decision was simple; he wasn’t going to abandon his friend, so he turned toward Ray in the front and asked, “Where are we going?”

“Dulles International.”

Zaxian looked up, “I don’t have a passport.”

Ray chuckled, “Your friend is enthusiastic. We already have your passports covered –do what we ask.”

Z looked suspicious, “Are you sure you’re not human traffickers?”

Ray turned around and glared, “Call me that again.”

Zaxian, intelligently in Log’s opinion, remained silent.

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After they arrived at the airport, a few hours after Ray’s silent demeanor overwhelmed the van, Z and Log initiated small missions to get themselves caught by real authorities. It wasn’t they did not believe Ray and his magic, but well, placing your life in someone’s hands demands a level of trust. That trust is hard to seal when they rant about magic. The world was in a serious way and they didn’t have time for doomsayers who’d inevitably make things more difficult.

Zaxian was shaken after his last attempt to nab a security guard, his forehead dripped in cold sweat as his eyes shifted regularly to Ray. Log sighed. They both made attempts but Ray was too quick, strong, and large for either of them to make more than a whimper. Somehow the fake passports passed the security screening and they were on their way to Concourse C to catch a flight to London. Ray smashed against Log in the front of the bus, scowling at Z.

It was a good attempt as far as Log was concerned. The airport was busy with extra security and anxious passengers as additional measures were being enforced due to “recent events.” Zaxian strolled just out of Ray’s reach with a how-do-you-do, walk-in-the-park air. He was about to speak when Ray smacked him in the back of the head and said, “The man’s busy enough without your personal indulgence. We don’t have time – get in line or your mother will redden your ass.”

Ray’s enormous form worked more than he could know. The guard smiled a half-hearted ‘thank-you’ and allowed the giant man to steer them away. Zaxian caught Log’s eye with an apologetic grin. Ray moved too fast without appearing to move at all.

The airport didn’t feel right. Men and women were looking over their shoulders and children huddled to their parents as a tense undercurrent permeated the air. It screamed that he, too, should be on guard. The bus was no different; everyone sat in their own select groups.

They dismounted and walked through double doors and up a staircase with mahogany railing. Without pause Ray led them to the right. Their shoes, and Ray’s large boots, clunked against the marble floor that gleamed in the fluorescent hue. People sat on wood benches lining the walls and spoke in soft conversation, very different from what Log expected. Generally the hub-bub of an airport was loud and raucous. Log slowed down as the tingling sensation returned in a rush. With gasping breaths he took a knee. Ray glanced over his shoulder, “I’m tiring of this game. What’s the matter?”

His mind splintered in a thousand searing shards and he screamed. Vaguely he was aware of dust in the air and the rush of movement. He could taste blood in his mouth. Log’s head hurt too much to open his eyes, and when he made the attempt another searing pain ran him through. This time he distinctly heard an explosion.

Everything was chaos, visions coursed through his mind like a broken video display, liquid hot pain streamed through his veins. Twisting and turning in agony Log realized someone was holding him. Panting Log focused on the background noise to avoid the pain and the visions.

“I’m trying to carrying him! Get behind the counter, NOW!”

Zim’s voice shouted from a distance, “We need to slice, Ray! There are too many!”

“Give us cover!”

BOOM! Little shards of steel rebar flew like shrapnel.

“On it!”

Screams and moans filled the air, some of which were silenced unnaturally. Another huge explosion rocked the building. Logunese could feel small pieces of mortar strike him. It hurt to breathe; the very fabric of his existence waged war. Random noises like loud bottle rockets and the popping of sparks on the fourth of July were immediately followed by an air of violence: screams, moans, and sudden stillness.

Zaxian’s voice was near but strained, “Let’s roll, big man! One way or another – the cloaks are closer.”

Ray shouted, “To site three, drive to the safe house!”

Another crackling explosion rocked the airport as sirens approached from all sides. A man yelled, “Get down, now!”

The sound of what could have been a giant melon being squashed with a hammer reverberated off the walls. Ray’s muscles tensed against Log’s body – he felt the strength and tried to siphon from it.

“You son of a bitch!”

“Stay down you fool child,” Ray scoot backwards pulling Log along, “he bought us the time we need.”

“We’re going to die.”

“Grab my arm.”

“Why?” Z was terrified.

“NOW!”

A moment later it felt like being pulled through a garden hose, stretched thin and sideways, as if suddenly turned liquid rubber. The pain vanished.