Naja

Harper shouldn’t be here, and she knew it. Biting her lower lip she glanced over her shoulder, no one was following. Shrugging her jacket farther up her shoulders she hugged herself in the brisk cold breeze that tossed her copper brown hair. She glanced up occasionally as she walked with a limp along the lonely road among the abandoned warehouses. What number was she looking for again? Reaching into the front pocket of her jeans she fished out a small piece of paper. Unfolding it’s crumpled form she reread it. “Witherford Docks Feb 22nd 5:30pm C3019d” Harper glanced at her watch. ‘5:26’ Sighing she couldn’t help but wonder why she was even there! She knew if she did this she would go from being one type of person to another. She would go from covering the story, to being he story. Then, she remembered the day in the park. Who was she kidding, she was the story already, but was she ready to do this? Her dad was a cop for heaven’s sake!

She sorted everything through as she walked on bile and hatred bubbled up in her stomach. The government had fucked up, big time, but they still hadn’t learned from their mistakes, people in power never do. Harper had seen the protests on the news, the people holding signs that read, “More jobs for our people!” “Keep the man out of my home, stop government access to the GPS in our phones!” “What about the children?” “Sure, bail out the banks so they won’t give me a loan. Homeless as of November 12th where’s my bail out?” “If you can read this thank a Librarian and quit cutting us from schools!” “We are the 99%” and “Muslim does not mean Terrorist!” She saw them attacking police and in sighting riots. Some of those issues had been going on before she was even born! But something about it all didn’t sit right with her, she was going to Journalism school and she knew there were always two sides to every story. What was theirs? And with which side lie the truth.

Harper began digging, she went to websites she’d never heard of, watched videos of unspeakable horrors committed by those she was meant to trust her life with! Tasers, mace, batons, fractured skulls and covered up deaths! For a time Harper was afraid to leave her own apartment, but she had work, and school. That was December, where rather than offering blankets to be sure the protesters were safe from the elements they offered hoses instead, all but insuring an icy death. By the New Year she had decided that she was going to get the story for herself. She surfed the web looking for good places to set up an interview, or maybe just some freelance filming of the brutality. It wasn’t until one morning still in the first week of the fresh year that she noticed something odd. The mouse to her computer was moving by itself, darting across the screen accessing files and pulling up code. Going to a friend for counsel she was shocked at their statement. “Looks like the government’s watching you, you know ‘Big Brother.’” One thousand two hundred dollars of Mac Book pro went into the trash. “Oh well,” she thought. “It was an Apple, Apples are evil anyway.”

Near the end of January is when she got in deep. Conducting interviews, taping riots recording history as it happened. It was on the 28th that the shit hit the fan. Harper was interviewing a man who had been protesting for three years, had lost his job, his wife and family. Harper’s most pressing question, was it worth after all that, after so long. His immediate and unwavering answer, yes. Awe struck by this man who lived off the kindness of others simply because he would not give in to an unjust society she didn’t even hear the first few shouts of “Raid, raid run for it!”

From there, it was panic. Adrenaline flooded her veins as she was caught up in raging torrent of wild animals fleeing the hunter’s gun. People were pushing and shoving cries of pain emanating from the back urging them on. Harper felt like a puppet on a string her actions dictated by another as she tore through the trees. She paused for a moment to help a fallen young man about her own age he cried out as someone trampled his head while another fell on his legs.

“Come on!” Harper shouted mercilessly as she pulled on his arm.

After a moment he got to his feet. “Thank you.” He mumbled as they ran blood leaking from his forehead. “I thought I was going to die!”

Racing with the blinded herd they were shocked to be met by another wave coming straight at them. “They cut us off!” shouted a man elbowing his way past them.

“We’re trapped!” cried a woman picking up a small child. Harper’s heart raced like a rabbit in a snare she had nowhere to run, the world seemed to close in on her and breath was hard to come by.

Ejecting the spent disk from her camcorder she darted to a nearby tree and shoved it into a hollow. Two grey squirrels bit and clawed her hand as they tore from their hole racing to the branches above. Shots could be heard coming from every direction now; bracing her back against the tree Harper prayed they were rubber rounds. She shook knowledge of close quarter fatalities from such rounds vigorously from her mind as she put a fresh disk in and mounted the cam in the hole praying also that it wouldn’t be found. She crouched low to the ground as the first of the enemy could be seen bursting through the undergrowth on a chestnut stallion, baton crashing down on anyone within reach. Squeezing her eyes shut she forced her mind to rewrite the last thought, he wasn’t the enemy, he was a police officer and he was just doing his job! Although she had changed her mind her heart screamed otherwise as SWAT teams marched through on foot unleashing a hail of gas grenades. The young woman’s stomach wretched as she saw the projectiles collide with unarmed civilians.

With a sickening crunch a can struck a nearby man in the face, his cheek, nose and right side of his forehead had collapsed under the immense pressure of the blow. His body convulsed on the ground for several moments before stopping. She didn’t need anyone to tell her that he was dead, his concave skull and bloody mash of a face was enough for her to know. Harper screamed covering her face with her hands, she just screamed. It was the cries of another woman that finally brought her free from the grip of unending sorrow. Looking she saw to her horror a clearly pregnant woman on the ground cover her head as best she could while a cop cracked his baton over her body again and again.

“Stop it!” Harper screamed racing towards them. She didn’t know what she was going to do, she thought about that in the few seconds it took to reach them, she didn’t know what she was going to do. Arms out wide she leapt at him in a fierce tackle, absurdly remembering sitting with her father shouting ‘Go Pack GO’ as Clay Matthews took down another Giant. The man was down and his helmet had rolled away she was straddling his waist uncomfortably, but in a fit of rage and furry she brought her fists down on face over and over, a guttural animalistic roar rising from her throat.

“Don’t hit them!” protesters called out to her. “They’ll kill you!”

Suddenly there was an impossibly loud thud, and she was on her side. She blinked trying to figure out how she had gotten there when a burst of fire ripped through her skull. Pulling her bloodied hands to her head she screamed as fire filled her gut, side and legs. Daring a glance up she was consumed with fear and darkness, they were stomping on her. There was a momentary pause that allowed her time enough to breath, to scream, but her face was filled with a hellish burning her lungs threatening to retreat from her body via her mouth as she inhaled the pepper spray. A strangled cry escaped her as the beating resumed. Each blow sent a flare of pain through her, each blow teaching her new torture, then, finally colors spinning for ever so brief a moment before her eyes a second baton to the head sent her drowning in darkness.

Consciousness came in flashes. She was in a vehicle, then being wheeled down a hall with large luminescent lights. Then she was in a room, cold and alone. It wasn’t until what seemed like years later that she was finally able to stay awake. Carefully looking around herself she found that she was in a cell. She tried to move; her hands were still cuffed behind her back and somehow connected to the bench on which she lay. Looking down at herself she could see her left leg twisted grotesquely halfway from ankle to knee. Her shirt was covered in blood and she could see sharp protrusions sticking out of her side. In a temporary state of manic behavior she burst out laughing, her ribs were sticking out of her body, her leg was broken and it was just now dawning on her that her right eye was swollen shut!

The laughter soon became rolling cascades of tears as the pain over whelmed the shock and flooded through her. “Hey, vid girl!” called a male voice from somewhere near her feet. Adjusting herself she turned her head as far as she dared, spotting the man she had helped to his feet in the chaos. “You were pretty brave!” he smiled from his cell through a mouth full of missing teeth. “I, uh saw where you put it.” he said in a more hushed tone, “I’ll make sure the world sees it.” he reassured her sending a wave of fear through her, was she going to die. A guard came suddenly to his cell and unlocked it, no it wasn’t that, he was just going home, and she wasn’t.

It was two more days before anyone even acknowledged her existence, and when the guards came they were rough and could care less about her pain. They mocked her for having defecated herself, unable to rise from the bench. It was yet another day before they released her. Battered and bandaged she was sent home covered in her own filth and blood. People stared at her on the street, but not one offered a hand of help, not one asked if she was alright, they didn’t care. Opening the door to her apartment she stepped inside and collapsed on the floor crying. Amidst her tears she jumped at the sharp knock on her door, and watched puzzled as a piece of paper slid underneath it. It read “Witherford Docks Feb 22nd 5:30pm C3019d.”

Here she was. Harper looked at the large foreboding building, she glanced at her watch ‘5:37’ she hoped that she wasn’t too late. Quietly as she could she opened the door and creped in. She didn’t expect so many people, she felt a little out of sorts as she slid into a metal chair in the back. She glanced around as a young man a few years older than herself shouted on a makeshift stage. She had an unnerving feeling as she realized that she was the only woman there. After she reassured herself that her pepper spray was still safely at hand she turned to the speaker who had the room baited with rapt attention.

“’We the people,’” he shouted feverishly at the crowd. “’In order to make a more perfect union.’” He paused. “’We the people. Not ‘we the totalitarian, omnipresent government!’” he said in a hushed tone. “Not ‘we the rich who steal from you the truth, who sensor the news, who spread deceases and cover up the murders of any who oppose us.’ No,” he said crouching. Harper got a good look at him then, and he was handsome. He had short dark brown hair that fell in a wave at his brow, his eyes were a milky sea green and his face was finely framed. “’We the people!” he bellowed standing suddenly a fist raised in the air. “And it’s about time we the people did something about the bastards ruining this country, this world!” Harper’s heart began to race, she knew what she was getting herself into, or at least she thought she did. She squeezed her eyes shut as the men around began an uproarious cheer. She placed a hand on her chest willing her heart to slow she felt everything he was saying, but was she willing to go through all that pain again?

Harper looked around herself once again, riots they were going to start riots, she bit her lip she wasn’t ready for this. “I invited each and every one of you here personally.” the man stated calmly. “Because I know about you, I know you have what it takes to do what is needed of you! All of you have fought the enemy before.” he smiled. “Whether with the fist, the pen, the gun, or the camcorder.” Harper’s heart raced leaping into her throat as he looked at her. Shell shocked she watched as he smiled at her and stepping off stage he began a film, it was a mash up of riots, police brutality, starving children, monks lighting themselves a flame. Harper turned away in terror shaking and crying softly. What was she doing here she had to leave. Daring a glace back she saw a pregnant woman being beaten and was startled to see herself run to the woman’s aid. She turned again she didn’t have the stomach to see herself beaten.

Before the film was over the men had been whipped into an angry frenzy seizing for action. “You see what these mad men do?” the speaker shouted, his eyes sharp and full of hate. “You know what must be done?” the room was full of shouting and roaring as the men rose to their feet. Harper felt herself shrinking she felt trapped just as she had that day in the park, it was hard to breathe, tears pricked at her eyes. “We must become cobras!” the man shouted. “Infiltrating their organizations, and striking them when they least expect it, unveiling ourselves as the true predators we are, we must strike and strike now, with fire,” he said moving to a table a ripping away the cloth that covered many items. He picked up a Molotov cocktail and tossed it to a man in the front row. “And bullets, and poison.” He yelled throwing out still more items meant to maim and kill. “We are cobras and we will not stop until we have won!” he shouted a fist raised in victory.

Then, just as Harper was looking to make a discrete exit the door was kicked it, seized with the same unearthly panic that had taken her before she couldn’t move at first. Then a man in the second row opened fire on the police. Bullets flying and people screaming the young woman stayed low and ran towards the man who had in sighted such hate as he seemed to make for a hidden exit. Running after him she found a short hall filled with drums and vials of chemicals. “Oh God,” she thought. “They’re terrorists!” The man tore left and so did she, her heart felt lighter, almost cheerful as she saw the door. There was a thud as is burst open sending send her guide flying against a drum. The mighty barrel toppled over spilling its contents over his face throat and chest. His skin bubbled and smelt of vinegar and sulfur poured over raw ground beef. Her stomach retching Harper dove into an adjoining room. She screamed when someone grabbed her knocking her to the ground.

“What ‘ave we got here?” he snickered into her ear lying atop her.

“Let me go,” she screamed. “Let me go!”

“That’s enough of that!” he said slamming her head quick and sharp against the floor. Bright colors swam before her eyes as the man rolled her onto her back. Shoving her jacket down her arms he tore at her red tank top.

The world spinning terribly Harper was only just aware of what was going on. “No!” she shouted as her pulled at the front of her jeans kicking at him as she did. A hand closed in a vice like grip around her throat closing her air way and sending colors spinning before her. Never once letting go he roughly jerked her pants down tearing her undergarments completely away. His lips met hers in a grotesque, rough kiss that brought blood to her lips. Pain flared through her body, she gasped and tried to cry out but she had no voice to be found. The pain terror and shame seemed to last a life time as he rocked inside her.

“Please,” she thought “Let me die, just let me die!”

“Fredricks, God damn it!” a voice shouted as the door opened flooding light into the darkened room. A strong hand tore him from her cause a weak scream to escape her. “Get out there now and for heaven’s sake zip up your fly!” Harper’s rescuer called to him as he skirted through the open door. Tear raining down her face Harper was horrified to hear the men talking about coving up ‘this mess.’ That’s all she was, another mess to be sweep away, grief and sorrow, shame humiliation and pain like she never knew before washed over her. She, lying broken and defiled on the floor searched for someone who cared. Her eyes fell on him, his face half melted away his left eye boiling out of its socket. In that moment pain was shared between them his sea green eyes shining with tears not of pain, but tears for her.

In a voice harsh and ruined by the chemicals leaking into his throat he said, “I am so, sorry!”

For the next several months Harper lived in fear. She only ever left her home if she need to, she lost her job and electricity, she had enough for two more months’ rent and spent most of her time in bed unable to do anything more than weep. Then one morning a note was slipped under her door, picking it up she read it, ‘City hall tomorrow 5:40pm.’ Harper’s heart sounded in her ears and tears sprang into her eyes, she fell to the floor, flooded with unwanted memory. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? Why did she had to be raped? Why was she at the park that day? So many remorse filled questions haunted her and the answers she had were none.

Standing just across the street Harper checked her watch ‘5:43pm.’ Fear consumed her as a man walked past, her breath caught in her throat and tears sprang to her eyes. She was done, she was going home! Turning she began to walk away when she was knocked to the ground the windows blowing out of city hall in a terrible explosion! Her heart hammered away. What the hell was going on? Adrenaline leaked into her blood stream as her eyes darted around, and then she spotted something. A blue riot helmet with the protective shield lower and sharply black rolled down a small side street. Racing to it she scooped it up unsure of what else to do. She jumped when she heard sharp coughing behind her. Turning she saw him; he looked like something out of a comic book. His face was badly scared; he wore a blue and red suit a cobra emblem over his heart, his eye was looking at her softly yet with much intent.

“You came!” his voice was shrill and ruined from the acid.

“I did.” Harper said kneeling beside him and handing him his helmet. She cringed when she saw blood trailing down the front of his jacket, a bullet hole evident. Following her gaze he smiled weakly to her before pulling on his disguise. Pulling him to his feet she allowed him to drape an arm over her shoulders. “You should have been more careful.” Harper murmured.

“As careful as cobras get!” he grunted as they approached a car with its engine running. Helping him into the passenger’s seat the young woman walked around the car and got in the driver’s seat. Gripping the wheel tightly she watched her knuckles turn white. Little Springfield was about to change, she thought. The country was, hell the whole world was and the man to bring about that change was sitting next to her, bleeding, possibly to death. The young woman shook violently tears sliding down her cheeks. What the hell was she doing? Fear rose within as she tried to quell her insecurities. A hand came to rest on her wrist. Turning she saw him looking at her his green eyes full of just as much fear, apprehension, and sorrow hidden just below the surface as he lie on the ground that sicken smell round about him. ‘I’m so sorry.’ he had said. Blinking away tears she looked at him now the visor keeping his face well hidden. “Thank you Harper.” he said in his sharp voice giving her forearm a squeeze.

“No,” the young woman said steeling her nerves. “Not Harper, Harper is dead. Call me
Naja, Cobra Commander.”

He looked at her for several moments from behind his protect shield. “With pleasure Naja.” he said tipping his head toward her. Taking a deep breath Naja shook her head Springfield was about to change as was the country and the world. And she smiled to herself, the man she was going to help bring about that change was sitting just beside her. Shifting gears she reeved the engine, and just as an armed security guard ran towards the car peeled out of the small roadway, leaving pain, sorrow, loneliness, and fear behind her. Racing instead towards the future, racing instead towards a new, better world wrapped in the protective coils of COBRA.