S. Davis - 900 Miles

“Ahh, hold that thought,” Gordon said calmly, as if speaking to a few friends.

Stepping over toward the bars, Gordon raised both hands in the air. “We have a winner!” Looking out toward his team, he continued, “Come on, men, let’s give this warrior a round of applause.”

The remaining Amigo appeared to be the one with the gash in his head. His chest heaved up and down as he pulled deep breaths into his lungs. He was trying to stand up as straight as possible within the confines of the dome.

“Well, anybody who knows me will tell you I’m a man of my word,” Gordon continued. “Isn’t that right, Jarvis?”

Jarvis didn’t respond. He didn’t even move a muscle.

“OK, little man. Come on out of that cage. You’re free to go. Before you come out, I need you to know two things…”

Gordon stopped mid-sentence as the Amigo pulled his free hand up, exposing an obvious bite mark that had pulled a chunk of flesh out of his hip. I winced at the realization that the Amigo wasn’t going anywhere.

Before anybody could react, the Amigo once again yelled out something in Spanish. The only word I made out was “God,” just before he pulled the knife in front of him with the sharp end of the blade firmly pressed beneath his chin. Looking over at the four of us, he said in plain English, “They were my friends.” Then closing his eyes, he dropped down on the ground with the weight of his body driving the blade up through his skull.

“They were my friends.” It echoed in the back of my mind as I closed my eyes and let my shoulders drop in defeat.

Gordon and his men didn’t make any noise for what seemed like an eternity before Gordon finally lifted his cane as high as he could in the sky and let out a cheer, “Now, that was a contest!”

His men followed suit, one of them actually discharging his weapon into the sky.

Gripping my hands together, I couldn’t tell if they were shaking because I was scared or pissed. Probably a little of both. Jarvis was looking down at the ground, and Kyle was shooting daggers with his eyes toward Gordon. It wasn’t hard to figure out what they were thinking. I agreed with them. None of this would be happening if we’d just killed the bastard after the arena battle. I knew we wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

Returning to us, Gordon looked at the top of Jarvis’s head which was still pointed at the ground. “So, what say you, old friend? Are you going to help us save a lot of people? After all, there aren’t too many of us humans running around these days.”

Lifting his head, looking Gordon directly in the eyes, Jarvis paused for a moment before finally saying, “There is no world in which I would allow a maniac like you to run Avalon. I don’t care what you do to us. I will never willingly hand over the keys, Gordon. Never .” He emphasized the word “never” as boldly as he could muster up.

Taking a moment to think, I watched as an eerie smile grew across Gordon’s face. His eyes lit up slightly as he finally broke the silence. “I was hoping you’d say that, old friend, but I have a feeling you’ll be changing your mind in no time. By tomorrow at 8:57 p.m., we’ll be storming the gate… and you’ll have helped us.”

8:57 p.m., I thought. That seemed awful specific.

Gordon nodded to the men standing behind us. I felt a tiny prick in the right-hand side of my neck. Twisting around, the last thing I remember seeing was the Hulk standing above me with a syringe, still displaying that dumbfounded expression across his face.

I lay there on the ground for a moment, with my final thought on Tyler. I needed to get back to my son. He was all that mattered.

Then the world faded to black.

You’ve got us here, Gordon. Now what are you going to do with us?

From his resting place on my shoulders, Tyler broke into the hysterical giggle that only an infant can pull off as I held his arms out in front of my head and galloped around the open field. The laugh of an infant is the only truly pure thing left in this life. The older we get, the more it seems like laughter is a socially expected response versus a true expression of joy. However, I could feel the innocence echoing from above my shoulders as I bucked up and down.

It was the best sound any father could ever hear.

The sun beat down on our backs, and the wind blew the restless trees back and forth, waving at us as I did what fathers do best. I made a fool of myself, and it was amazing.

Stopping for a moment, I looked across the neatly cut grass at a couple holding hands as they lazily walked along a sidewalk that circled a small, artificially created pond. A pump in the middle of the pool spit water high into the air, creating an almost calming white noise as it came splashing down.

Across the pond from Tyler and me, another father leaned down to show his little boy how to thread the hook with the fishing line of what looked like a Spider Man-themed fishing pole. The boy stood there, wide-eyed, absorbing every sage piece of advice. A father is like a benevolent God to a small child. Everything seems like magic.

Pulling Tyler from my shoulders, I set his feet down onto the grass and watched the blades stick up through his tiny toes. However, to my surprise, no longer was Tyler the seven-month-old infant. He was now a toddler and smiled at me with teeth so white the sun sparkled off of their shiny finish.

He continued to grow, and I watched as he took off into a sprint across the field, chasing a magnificent yellow butterfly. Sitting back on my elbow, one arm spread across the grass, I took a moment to enjoy the rays from the sun across my face. The fresh smell of spring was in the air. There was no death or pain, just my son, growing up before my eyes.

Glancing back toward Tyler, I watched as he cornered the butterfly on a giant tree in the middle of the field. My attention was pulled to my right toward a woman in a white dress, the skirt waving in the wind. She was wearing a round sun hat and appeared to be almost drifting across the grass. Her face remained hidden in the glare of the sun, but I felt her presence. With each floating step toward me, my wedding ring seemed to pulsate like a tiny, silent alarm.

I almost stood up in surprise when I saw those eyes. They stared at me, the sun gleaming through her short blond hair, projecting a sense of divine beauty. It wasn’t my wife. It was Claire’s eyes peering deep into my soul.

She was moving her lips, but I couldn’t hear her. Leaning forward, I still couldn’t hear her whispering voice. She leaned down closer, pulling herself just above me.

I could feel the ground starting to shake. The water fountain in the pond was getting louder, and my arms felt stuck to in the grass. My pulse started to quicken. Fear entered the back of my mind.

I tried to pull my shoulders up, but I wasn’t able to move. My mind started to race, and I frantically looked out toward where I last saw Tyler. I started to panic as I saw the butterfly smashed into the deep brown bark of the tree, with Tyler nowhere in sight.

Looking back up at Claire, her mouth was still moving. She was speaking into my left ear now.

“Wake up,” she whispered.

“ Wake up !” she screamed…

Jerking awake, I blinked twice before seeing wires and gauges sticking out of a metal wall. There was a loud hum pulsating in my ears, and the ground had a low vibration thumping through it like an old drum. Tightening my core, a pit opened in my stomach as I instantly recognized where I was.

Great, another goddamned helicopter , I thought as I lifted my head.

Deciding to table the meanings behind the dream, including why the hell Claire was there, my mind turned to the crap that had been injected into my neck. I had never willingly taken any hard drugs in my life… at least none that I’ll admit to. However, whatever shit they’d stuck in my neck was enough to knock me the fuck out. Still, I’ll always hold onto that moment in the beginning of the dream. I would take that drug again in a heartbeat if it gave me another memory like that.