Josh, Sully and I were on a mundane quest for food.
It was after 9pm, the day before Thanksgiving.
We were only slightly aware of our surroundings.
As we attempted to cross the street, a Jeep Liberty came to a stop, even though we were jaywalking.
Josh strafed, lined it up, and dashed across the street behind the Liberty.
Sully and I walked in front of the sessile Jeep.
Sully stated, “if they'd just maintained speed, they wouldn't have hit us.”
I replied, “perhaps it's the same SUV as the other night, the one that almost hit the high stepper.”
And perhaps it was.
Not a block later we could hear a high pitched keening.
We were next to Church's Chicken, so near to my house.
We turned to see the source.
A Durango matched our speed. It was the source of the horrible whine.
I forked right, Josh and Sully forked left.
The path to the drive thru was no longer obstructed by us. I expected the Durango to accelerate and push past.
Instead, it followed me on my right forking.
As I prepared to figure out what was going on, it became clear. The shrill screeching sports utility vehicle was parking.
My right forking route was through a nice parking spot. The Durango was precisely between the lines, that was all it took for my anxiety to disappear.
We sallied forth.
We didn't notice anything on our walk to Culver's.
We could have, but we were having a wonderful discussion of the coming Should Day. Although, it wasn't until April, it tended to be a fine day. The best of days. It dulled our awareness to our surroundings.
Four followed us in to Culver's, a group that'd listened in on 8 of the 11 minutes of Should Day themed conversation.
The four acquired the nearest table we began our discussion of cheeseburgers with 8 lbs of cheese and xbox 360 and waited for our food.
We ate, discussed Amazon.com's discovery of the long tale.
We left, so did the four.
We left having just bought belts from Target, then Sully became alarmed.
Josh noticed Sully's tension.
“What's going on?”
Sully's eyes grew large.
Then we heard it, too.
The far off drums, the blat of tubas, the chirping of flutes.
It seemed to be coming from the East, in the same direction one could find my home.
We added a spring to our step and ventured that way.
As I stepped off the curb, nearing the parking lot's steps down the hill, a Jeep Liberty stopped. Its frong pointed at me and the stairs.
I felt a little menaced.
The phantom band made me nervous.
My group walked down the steps.
I looked up at the SUV.
“For a second I thought it was going to follow us down the steps.”
Then it did. It contracted, getting just skinny enough to make it down.
We ran a little, then we heard the crying of un-greased axles.
Durango headlights were upon us.
It crawled at us at one mile per hour.
Sully noticed the four folk that'd followed us.
We were all acutely aware of the swelling and approach of the phantom band.
The four followers removed their shirts, revealing they were amongst the Branded.
A thump of an ephemeral bass drum and a house on the East side of Ward Parkway fell.
I almost thought I could see the band members, but the lighting was tricky.
That was when the Liberty hit me.
As I rolled over the top I planted my hand on the hood, then on the roof.
My landing was soft and confusing.
A two inch bed of hay caught me.
I didn't see Josh anywhere, but Sully looked fairly surprised.
“You have another Mister power!”
“What?”
I writhed a bit in pain, making a sort of hay angel.
I looked up and Sully pointed to the Jeep.
It was filled with hay.
The tailpipe overflowed.
Two Branded descended upon Sully.
Two upon me.
The Durango pointed at me, menacingly.
As the first Branded arrived within combat range, I truck at him with my palm. A thin sheet of hay filled the space betwixt skin and pants.
He was un-phased.
The two laid into me.
A flurry of strength enhanced strikes.
I looked to Sully, who was enduring much the same.
“You're Cow Defender's sidekick, get him here.”
Sully didn't comply and the Branded men pinned him to the ground.
A drab olive pantsed Branded held his wrists.
A khakied Branded held the ankles.
They pulled and the Durango pointed at him and crept his way, screeching all the while. Its angle of approach was 45 degrees to Sully's linear stretched body.
The front driver's side tire nudged him.
“Tell us, Mister Wire, where is he? Where is Cow Defender?”
I flailed my hands to offer some obstruction to oncoming fists.
I flicked out my hands grabbing both of the fellas by the hair, I pulled myself up.
My head climbed to the same level as the heads of my assailants, who knelt at both my sides.
Once in this lofty position I didn't know what to do.
The Branded didn't have to think, they simultaneously flung fists at my face. I was driven back to a laying down position, but I had two fists full of hair.
I felt a little repulsed.
I looked to Sully.
The Durango began to squeal and climbed up Sully's ribs.
A muted crackle.
Sully let out a pained breath.
The ankle holding, khakied Branded demanded. “Get Cow Defender here now!”
Sully turned to me.
“Use your other power!”
“What other power?”
“You can summon Cow Defender!”
“Oh, right. I have to be standing. And out of everyone's field of vision.”
Another voice entered.
“Maybe I can arrange that.”
I recognized that voice, it spoke again.
“Condiment Kick!”
The denim-clad Branded man on my left flopped from kneeling to laying.
My own khakied attacker to my right looked towards Condiment Man.
I saw my chance.
I cupped my hands and blew.
Pulled hair scattered and swirled into his eyes and mouth.
“Ack.”
He began coughing and scratching at his eyes.
He angrily punched down at me.
His partial blindness made it easy for me to roll to the side.
His fist impacted asphalt. I heard a sound I'd learned to recognize fighting by Sully's side.
The Branded had broken his hand.
I rolled to my feet, he was still on his knees.
I clinched my hands behind his head, at the top of his neck.
I jumped backwards, the Branded leaned out ahead of his knees.
I pulled down with all my might, my body stretched out.
His forehead was the first point of contact of our unified mass.
I arrived at a final position laying flat, face down, hands above my head, still behind his head.
I unclasped my hands and pushed up first to my knees, then standing.
Condiment Man stood in a martial artsy position, he advised me to go and get Cow Defender.
I ran off as the two bald patched Brandeds stirred.
My mildly concussed head did make for tough running.
I dizzily stumbled and scraped my knee.
I got right back up and successfully sprinted behind a Ward Parkway Mall tree.
Right before me, I realized, was the phantom band.
Not even 20 feet away.
Shimmery and blue-green.
An invisible army being drizzled on by anti-freeze.
They were all looking at me.
They began to play their instruments at me.
After a moment I felt that I'd fall like the buildings they've felled in the past.
I did, but only so far as my butt.
My hands instinctively went up.
Shimmering beams of ethereal hay darted through the air.
The beams hung briefly in the the air like contrails from high flying jets.
The hay accumulated wherever it hit.
Filling any then all instruments, rendering them useless.
A flutist huffed, her hands went to her sides.
“I don't know how we'll get that out of the drums.”
“You guys can talk?”
“Sure.”
“What are you?”
“Well, a year ago we were playing, we were about to win the state championship for marching bands. Then Linda Park's powers awoke. We were all snapped from the regular world to the phantom plain.”
I looked around the tree and saw Condiment Man surrounded on all sides by Branded. One held his utility belt thing. The Durango still sat squarely on Sully's sternum.
The phantasmal flutist continued.
“Linda is the super heroine known as the French Horn now. As far as us, we no longer age nor hunger. But we get bored and wreck buildings. But it'll take awhile before we can do that again.”
She fiddled with her flute, she removed a straw of hay.
“Sorry about that.”
“Oh, don't be. Cleaning out our instruments is something to do.”
The phantom band wandered off.
I became Cow Defender and re-entered the fray.
It did not go well.
After a couple of minutes our foes superior strength and numbers proved too much.
Those that'd pinned Sully under the Durango had beat me down and held me there.
The denim-clad hair-chunk missing Branded had been engaging Condiment Man but broke off and headed to the Durango. He opened the rear driver-side door. He removed a branding iron.
He held the brand skyward and it began to glow red.
He pointed the iron at me and walked my way.
I couldn't do much about it as he pressed the scalding metal to my flesh.
The odor of burning fabric filled my nostrils.
“Ow.”
Again the iron was pointed skyward.
The glow deepened.
The wielder pointed the brand at the defenseless Sully.
He pressed it into his side.
Sully let out an urgent yelp.
Again the iron was pointed skyward.
The glow deepened.
The wielder pointed it at the otherwise occupied Condiment Man.
I began an urgent struggle, to no avail.
A familiar voice mixed with the chaos.
“Condiment Man, get down!”
It was Heath's voice, Mister Hand.
I saw his slow tumbling dwarf tornado creeping at the hindshanks of the Durango.
Contact was made.
'pop'
The Durango ejected diagonally, twirling as it flew.
Those pinning me were distracted, but not the wielder.
He single-mindedly approached Condiment Man.
The Durango crashed down on its top.
I bucked off the two that held me down and lept to the condiment belt and found my little mustard bottle.
I twisted.
I aimed.
I squeezed with all my might.
Condiment Man turned and watched as the mustard arch made contact with the out-stretched branding iron.
His eyes opened wide.
The iron pressed against the red fabric of his costume.
But the mustard absorbed the heat.
Mustard bubbled and crusted.
'tink'
The wielder inspected his iron, and found it cracked and smelling of overcooked condiment.
Condiment Man inspected the spot on his costume that the iron touched, and found it stained, not scorched.
He scowled at me.
“I told you that you'd waste that mustard if given the chance.”
His head shook.
Sully stood.
He watched, as we all did, as his ribs moved back in place.
He breathed easy.
Heath walked to Sully and stood by his side.
I walked to Condiment Man's side and there stood.
The former wielder pointed to my toasted costume and the brand mark on Sully's side.
“Our primary mission was accomplished.”
The khakied hair-pulled fella began chanting 'one of us,' as the four walked away.
I looked down to my toasted costume, and pulled my shirt up some.
“Hm.”
My hide was too thick, the brand failed to mark me.
“Sorry, Sully, that we couldn't prevent your branding.”
“Ah, it isn't anything.”
“Why's that?”
“Well look.”
Sully pulled up his burnt black hoodie, revealing his side.
The brand began to fade before our eyes, until Sully was healed fully.
“Well look at that. Great! None of us got branded!”
Heath interjected.
“I'm still branded.”
Oh, right, Heath was still branded.
back to: CD Central Just by July