Runners Chronicles
Two
“Hey, Ryan,” Brendon says. “Look over there.”
Ryan puts Brendon down, and it’s been long after the ten minutes he promised, but Ryan wouldn’t admit to it because neither one of them knows how to really keep track of time. When Brendon’s on his feet he looks in the direction Brendon is pointing, and Ryan has to squint and hold his hand up to his face to block the sun, but he sees three figures in the distance. When they get closer, he notices they are riding motorbikes, things Ryan’s only ever seen pictures.
“Are those motorcycles?” Brendon asks, eyes wide. “That’s so cool!”
“I think so…” Ryan says, and quickly stands in front of Brendon, his back to the approaching figures. He opens his bag, and pulls out a smooth, heavy object. He stuffs it into the waist of Brendon’s pants and gives him a stern look. “We don’t know who they are, Brendon. We also don’t know what their intentions are. Don’t let them know you have this, and only, only use it if you have to. Understand?”
Brendon gulps loudly, but nods his head. “Gotcha.”
Ryan doesn’t turn to face the motorbikes, only stares into Brendon’s eyes. “Just, remember to breathe, and let me do all the talking.” He tugs on his shirt, and gives Brendon a once over. “How far are they?”
“Fifty feet,” Brendon whispers. “You’re not leaving me, right?”
“Promise,” Ryan says, and when he finally hears the roar of three engines he turns around.
“Well, well,” one of the guys says when they pull to a stop only ten feet from Ryan and Brendon. He pulls off his helmet, and both boys blink a couple of times because his hair is blue. Bright, electric blue. “What do we have here?”
Another person takes off his helmet and his hair is yellow like the sun. “Runners?”
“I guess so,” blue hair says. “You escape Battery City?”
Ryan stares at them, his eyes hard. “Just looking for a friend.”
“You didn’t answer our question,” yellow hair hisses.
“Shouldn’t have to,” Ryan shrugs.
Blue hair gets off his bike. “You don’t look like Killjoys,” he implies. “And you look a little weak to be getting me angry.”
Ryan looks at the three of them, trying to size them up. The two who took their helmets off don’t look that strong. They’re muscular, but just barely. The one who has yet to speak looks like a big problem. Big, buff, and burly. “We’re not here to make trouble,” Ryan says quickly.
“Too bad we are,” blue hair smiles wickedly. He motions back to the guy who hasn’t talked yet. “Cracker Jacker. Get them.”
Ryan pushes closer to Brendon, almost protectively. The big guy on the bike, Cracker Jacker he assumes, gets up, and cracks his knuckles. He takes three steps forward before Brendon grips Ryan’s arm, and squeezes it so tight Ryan’s sure he’ll bruise.
“Ryan,” he breathes, his voice scared and worried.
Ryan doesn’t say anything because he’s scared too, and he doesn’t know what to say that’ll calm Brendon down, let alone if he’ll have time to say anything because the guy is striding forward, helmet still on, and pulls his arm back before slugging it hard at Ryan’s head.
Ryan doesn’t feel anything for about three seconds. It’s all white and shinning, and then it hits him like a wave, and he’s falling to the floor, Brendon reaching out to catch him. It’s a snapping pain, like he just got hit with a hundred bricks, and he knows that will bruise. It’s pounding and loud, thudding and hammering, beating his head and it won’t go away. It’s like he just keeps getting hit again, even though he’s sure he’s not because he sees Brendon pull the pocketknife out of his paints, and flick it open. He’s cradled over Ryan, trying to stare at the three men threateningly. When the big man goes to punch Brendon, Brendon reacts quicker than Ryan expected, because he lunges forward and drives the knife to the guy’s thigh.
Ryan can barely keep his eyes open, and it’s hard to tell if he’s getting hit, or if that’s just Brendon falling on him. Everything hurts, and the sun is blinding. He can’t hear anything except the pounding in his head, and eventually he feels a warm trickle of liquid travel down his arm. It’s red, he notices, and then he realizes it’s red like blood. Blood.
Ryan blacks out.
Ryan puts Brendon down, and it’s been long after the ten minutes he promised, but Ryan wouldn’t admit to it because neither one of them knows how to really keep track of time. When Brendon’s on his feet he looks in the direction Brendon is pointing, and Ryan has to squint and hold his hand up to his face to block the sun, but he sees three figures in the distance. When they get closer, he notices they are riding motorbikes, things Ryan’s only ever seen pictures.
“Are those motorcycles?” Brendon asks, eyes wide. “That’s so cool!”
“I think so…” Ryan says, and quickly stands in front of Brendon, his back to the approaching figures. He opens his bag, and pulls out a smooth, heavy object. He stuffs it into the waist of Brendon’s pants and gives him a stern look. “We don’t know who they are, Brendon. We also don’t know what their intentions are. Don’t let them know you have this, and only, only use it if you have to. Understand?”
Brendon gulps loudly, but nods his head. “Gotcha.”
Ryan doesn’t turn to face the motorbikes, only stares into Brendon’s eyes. “Just, remember to breathe, and let me do all the talking.” He tugs on his shirt, and gives Brendon a once over. “How far are they?”
“Fifty feet,” Brendon whispers. “You’re not leaving me, right?”
“Promise,” Ryan says, and when he finally hears the roar of three engines he turns around.
“Well, well,” one of the guys says when they pull to a stop only ten feet from Ryan and Brendon. He pulls off his helmet, and both boys blink a couple of times because his hair is blue. Bright, electric blue. “What do we have here?”
Another person takes off his helmet and his hair is yellow like the sun. “Runners?”
“I guess so,” blue hair says. “You escape Battery City?”
Ryan stares at them, his eyes hard. “Just looking for a friend.”
“You didn’t answer our question,” yellow hair hisses.
“Shouldn’t have to,” Ryan shrugs.
Blue hair gets off his bike. “You don’t look like Killjoys,” he implies. “And you look a little weak to be getting me angry.”
Ryan looks at the three of them, trying to size them up. The two who took their helmets off don’t look that strong. They’re muscular, but just barely. The one who has yet to speak looks like a big problem. Big, buff, and burly. “We’re not here to make trouble,” Ryan says quickly.
“Too bad we are,” blue hair smiles wickedly. He motions back to the guy who hasn’t talked yet. “Cracker Jacker. Get them.”
Ryan pushes closer to Brendon, almost protectively. The big guy on the bike, Cracker Jacker he assumes, gets up, and cracks his knuckles. He takes three steps forward before Brendon grips Ryan’s arm, and squeezes it so tight Ryan’s sure he’ll bruise.
“Ryan,” he breathes, his voice scared and worried.
Ryan doesn’t say anything because he’s scared too, and he doesn’t know what to say that’ll calm Brendon down, let alone if he’ll have time to say anything because the guy is striding forward, helmet still on, and pulls his arm back before slugging it hard at Ryan’s head.
Ryan doesn’t feel anything for about three seconds. It’s all white and shinning, and then it hits him like a wave, and he’s falling to the floor, Brendon reaching out to catch him. It’s a snapping pain, like he just got hit with a hundred bricks, and he knows that will bruise. It’s pounding and loud, thudding and hammering, beating his head and it won’t go away. It’s like he just keeps getting hit again, even though he’s sure he’s not because he sees Brendon pull the pocketknife out of his paints, and flick it open. He’s cradled over Ryan, trying to stare at the three men threateningly. When the big man goes to punch Brendon, Brendon reacts quicker than Ryan expected, because he lunges forward and drives the knife to the guy’s thigh.
Ryan can barely keep his eyes open, and it’s hard to tell if he’s getting hit, or if that’s just Brendon falling on him. Everything hurts, and the sun is blinding. He can’t hear anything except the pounding in his head, and eventually he feels a warm trickle of liquid travel down his arm. It’s red, he notices, and then he realizes it’s red like blood. Blood.
Ryan blacks out.