S. Davis - 900 Miles

Gordon nodded over toward the Hulk, who stood up, glaring at Kyle. For a moment, I thought Kyle was going to stand his ground. When the Hulk took a step forward, Kyle let the breath out of his chest and sat down, pulling his wrists tightly against the metal pole once again. Not like Kyle to back down from a fight, I thought to myself.

“That’s much better, Kyle,” Gordon sneered. The Hulk stayed standing, steadying himself with one monster hand holding onto the railing that sat above his head and ran the length of the extended metallic cabin.

“Now why would I have shown you this? Why would I be taking you back to my base camp? Probably lots of questions running around in your minds…”

Jarvis didn’t respond. I got the sense that he was still pretty woozy. His face was pale, and I could see his eyes were bloodshot. Rodgers hadn’t really said jack shit since we were captured. I wasn’t sure if he was holding back, or if his mind had finally cracked all the way. It was strange behavior for him, no matter how I looked at it.

Either way, it was OK. Kyle was ready to do the talking.

“Yeah, Gordon, we’ve been wondering about that. Why don’t you enlighten us,” Kyle said, shifting his shoulders and elbows away from the Hulk and directly toward Gordon.

Pausing for a moment at the unexpected sarcasm, Gordon refocused and said, “I like that. The toughness. I could tell you were a real hard ass back at the Arena. I’m looking forward to when we land, Kyle. You see, I have a whole army waiting and ready to be airlifted over this sea of creatures. We’ll be drop-shipped right into Avalon’s front yard.”

“Big surprise. You already said you’d be attacking—at 8:57 p.m. exactly, if I remember correctly. What the hell does that have to do with us?”

“Oh, yes, 8:57. You probably don’t remember, but that is the exact minute Jarvis here decided to take Avalon from me. I find it only just that we come back for what is rightfully mine at the same time.”

“Yeah, real poetic,” Kyle replied sourly. “You still haven’t told us why you went to all this trouble to capture us.”

“Oh, dear Kyle. You see, taking Avalon back has everything to do with the four of you. You’re the one that set up most of the defenses, aren’t you?”

Kyle didn’t respond, leveling a stone-faced stare at Gordon.

Lifting his hands in the air to make air quotes, Gordon replied, “Oh, you don’t have to answer. I already know that the four of you have the inside scoop, so to speak.”

“We’ll never tell you a thing,” Jarvis finally spoke up.

“I have a few friends back at my base that think otherwise. We came across them a few months back. They were responsible for extracting secrets out of the Saudis during the last Gulf War. So you’re right, Jarvis, I don’t think for a second that you’ll willingly tell me anything. I’ll be letting my two good friends help to guide the conversation.”

The word torture entered my thoughts. I had never been tortured, unless you count having to watch night after night of reality TV with my wife.

“They have a little friend called Sodium Pentothal, which they say will have you whistling Dixie by the day’s end. I’ve asked them to take it easy on you at first. After all, we’re old friends. I need you to know, however, they have the kinds of tools that would have the Pope singing about God being a fiendish lie.”

He paused at this and took a moment to look at our faces. “We’re close now. I can’t wait to show you the medieval shit they’ve built. I have to say, I’m looking forward to seeing how much you tough guys can take.”

He wasn’t the only one…

Ohh. That’s really good.

Gordon left us there, tied up and stewing on the word medieval. The word brought up all kinds of madness into my thoughts. I thought back to fourth grade. One of the kids in my class had built a small diorama of a dungeon at a time when the class was learning all about the Middle Ages. The small, but detailed, replica built into a cardboard box had a number of medieval torture devices. It showcased an action figure that was being stretched across a table with ropes attached to all four limbs, as well as a metal spiked helmet that was clamped shut over another action figure’s head. For whatever reason, my fourth-grade memory still held them in high regard as the devices that would be used to torture someone.

Gordon was facing forward, with a headset clasped tightly over his ears, chatting it up with the pilot. Briefly wondering if his mouth ever actually stopped moving, I looked at Kyle, Rodgers, and Jarvis, only to realize that Kyle was inching toward the giant sitting across from us. Attempting to pull the Hulk’s attention away from his masterpiece, Kyle clanged his wrists tight against the pole. The Hulk shook his head, as if his attention has been shattered, and looked up from the artistic challenge.

Charles Darwin once said, “It’s not the strongest species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the ones most responsive to change.” Sitting there staring at the Hulk, I finally knew exactly what that meant. He wasn’t smart; that much was clear. I’d also seen stronger men get taken down by the creatures lurking down below. Yet he’d managed to make it this far. In the end, he’d found the right way to adapt to this world—following Gordon’s every command. He’d found a place where he had a purpose.

Humans are programmed to follow. Purpose is what keeps us alive.

Nodding to the Hulk, Kyle asked, “Whatcha drawing?” with a slight smile growing across his face. He spoke in a low voice, trying to find a middle ground where the Hulk could hear him and Gordon couldn’t.

The giant looked up and quickly shielded his drawing with a hand that could easily have palmed a beach ball. Remaining calm, Kyle kept the smile across his face, looking genuinely interested. After a long pause to let the request sink in, the Hulk slowly shifted his hand to the right, revealing an image of four stick figures. One was much larger than the others were, but they all had smiles on their faces. The largest of the figures had a winding string attached to a massive hand that led up to an oversized balloon.

“Ohh. That’s really good,” Kyle almost cooed as he continued to inch forward toward the carving. Sliding his hands up the pole once more, Kyle started to stand. “Can I see the whole thing?”

The Hulk tensed up and his shoulders shot out, exposing his broad chest. Expecting him to leap forward to knock Kyle down, I instinctively flinched back into my own corner.

Kyle did the opposite. I hadn’t realized what he was doing at the time. It was all the small movements that did the trick. Every time he stood, each body shift—the sly bastard had been chipping away through the plastic binding, wearing the tie around his hands to the snapping point.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. I watched, just as stunned as Jarvis and Rodgers, while in one single motion, Kyle pulled his hands away from the metal pole and grabbed the railing in the ceiling above us. Swinging slightly, he arched his back and sprung forward, pushing his entire body weight through his legs out in front of him. The hard rubber of his boot connected perfectly with the face of the Hulk. The giant just stood there, expressionless as always. Kyle paused as a dumbfounded look of surprise crept across his own face. Twisting his head from me to Jarvis, he raised one eyebrow and lifted both shoulders with a curious sort of shock. No matter how big the Hulk was, Kyle did still put a foot to his face… and considering who it came from, that usually did the trick.

An instant later, the Hulk’s eyes rolled into his head, and he began to fall backwards. Kyle, not wanting to let the thud of his body hitting the floor alert Gordon and the pilot, dove beneath him, trying to prop him up. It was a mistake that quickly found Kyle pinned between the wall and the unconscious giant. Snapping my gaze to the front of the chopper as Kyle struggled to break free, I watched in horror as Gordon started to twist back slowly to check on us. We all froze as if thinking Gordon’s vision was suddenly based on movement, much like the T-Rex in that movie, Jurassic Park .