3 Unrest stop

      Time can be an individual's greatest enemy. Today it's Warren’s supervillain with a doomsday machine. A simple bathroom break became a fight for survival. It started with eyes in the trees but escalated to the rustle of branches, and unseen snarls. The rustle of branches and the glowing eyes followed Melanie. Her tattered coat blended in with the thick shadows, and the moon obscured the clouds. Warren lost track of her, and a speck of panic entered his mind. 

     Bit of sweaty palm stuck to the frosty handle, while Warren snagged the carbon fiber hockey stick out of the back seat. Hockey players can be superstitious. Warren believes the piece of sports equipment is lucky. It isn’t much but allows hope to enter his mind in a tough situation.

     Silhouettes streak from the trees straight to the bathrooms. Warren catches a glimpse of the crafty attackers. They are malformed, with three eyes and long yarn-like hair. Twenty yards stood between Warren and the possible rescue of his mother. 

    In the back of Warren's mind, a presence stirred. A primal instinct begged for control and clawed at his mind. Warren ignored it and pressed onward, with his stick raised over his head. Nobody hurt his mom, no one. The stick vibrated as it crashed against the skull of a malformed head. A high-pitched shriek caught the short creature's attention. 

  A bottomless well of rage-filled Warren, and he never stopped swinging. The primal instinct sighed in ecstasy with every blow. A minute later the terrors lay broken at his feet. Warren gave them the kick test and burst through the door of the woman’s bathroom.

   Warren fought the urge to burst into tears at the sight of blood. Long crimson streaks ran down the coat and formed a pool at Melanie’s feet. She wobbled on the spot and teetered on the edge of collapse. The primal instinct gripped Warren with ferocity and drove the teen to fight. Each beat of his heart cried out for the blood of his enemies. Warren answered the call.

   “I’m coming mom,” Warren shouted. The words bounced off the white concrete wall.

    The last thing Warren expected to see in the eyes of the grey-skinned horrors was fear. They pointed at Warren and chittered in panic. He rushed forward to attack, his eyes devoid of mercy. The creatures put up their hands and chittered rapidly. 

  “You should have thought of that before you attacked my mom,” Warren cross-checked them into the wall before he drove the but end of his stick into the gut of the tallest one. Horrid breath wafted up to his nose, but it didn’t matter. With a life on the line, victory mattered, the end.

  “Warren take the car and run,” Melanie shouted. She clutched her belly, to staunch the bleeding. Her hand gripped the porcelain sink to hold her aloft.

    The stick hooked a horror by the back of the neck and yanked it forward. He spun on his heels, and nearly took the creature's head off. It went face-first to the cold concrete. The primal instinct screamed at him to finish. Warren raised a size ten boot and crushed the skull beneath it. Purple ooze stained the rows of sharpened teeth. 

    Warren turned and the other had escaped. With the threat temporarily over the primal instinct retreated to whence it came. He regained his faculties and dropped the bloody stick appalled by his actions. What would his mom think? Right, his mom was by the sink bleeding to death.

    “Hang on, Mom. We have that deluxe first aid kit in the back of the station wagon.” Warren slid his hand around his mother’s shoulder, “You have to stay awake.”

   A blood-soaked hand caressed his cheek, “You are a good boy.” Melanie's body grew heavier, and her eyes started to close. “I’m sleepy, when do we sleep.” Her words slurred, and a trail of blood dripped down her chin.

  Warren found no shame in desperation, “You can’t do that, I thought you were going to sing?”

 A weak laugh turned into a cough. Flecks of crimson dotted the snow, “You don’t like my singing.”

 “Since when does that stop you?” The car grew closer, and Warren held hope in an iron grip. He could still save Melanie. 

 Melanie almost ground to a halt, “When I’m gone...”

 “Don’t talk like that. We have about ten yards to the car. Wouldn’t Nerea be sad if you didn’t come back,” Warren tried to pick up the pace, but his mother's body grew heavier with each step. A hand tapped Warren on the shoulder. 

 “Tell your father, there is nothing to forgive,” Melanie sighed, her eyes closed never to open again. 

   Tears welled up in Warren's eyes, and he slapped the still warm face. It couldn’t be true, she was just talking to him. She fell asleep and would wake up any second. Five minutes passed, still no pulse. After ten minutes, Warren accepted the fact Melanie died in his arms.

   Given his situation, Warren put grief on the back burner, he had no choice. He was in a rest area in the middle of nowhere, with God knows what in the woods. Hard choices lay ahead, and none of them were good. He agonized over the body Melanie. Should he leave it behind? Would people be disappointed if he did? How would he feel in the long run?

   However, dead bodies with serious wounds are hard to explain to a cop. How long before a body started to smell horrid? Warren had no answers, how could he? “I am not leaving you behind,” with a great heave he began to drag Melanie’s lifeless for toward the car.

   The floral scent found Warren’s nose, and as much as he hated it, it would be missed more. “Nerea will help us, I know it. I’ll call her as soon as you are loaded up.” It took fifteen minutes of hard work to pull Melanie's blood-soaked corpse into the station wagon. Salty tears bubble to the surface of his ducts, he tried to tell himself she’d wake up at any minute. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” Warren grabbed a scratchy wool blanket from the emergency kit. He covered Melanie with care.

    In an instant, Warren's mind snapped back to reality, and his eyes hit the treeline at breakneck speed. The unnatural growls and shrieks intensified, the rustle of branches and crunch of snow told him to get a move on. The primal instinct crept back into the forefront of his mind and urged Warren to take the driver’s seat.

   They came out of the trees waving spears and clubs made from bones. The snow stopped and the moon illuminated the angry mouths and murderous eyes. Warren Turned the key, the engine coughed and sputtered. He could see their tattered loincloths and their fetid breath hung in the chill air. “I know she’s dead, but if you don’t start we’re both going to die.” It seemed logical to convince the car to turn over. 

  A creature growled and raised a bow and arrow made of sharpened bone and drew the string back. Warren took a second to remember how Melanie would start the vehicle. Two pumps of the gas pedal, a tap on the dashboard, and he turned the key. The engine roared to life, and the lights illuminated the rest area like daylight.

  The humanoids covered their eyes in the face of the radiant bulbs. Warren put the car in drive and trampled the gas pedal. The car sputtered and stalled. “What is wrong with you?” he shouted. He repeated the start-up process, and the car groaned back to life. “Let’s try this again.” Warren put the car in drive and slowly pressed the accelerator down, the car lurched forward, and rolled. He took it nice and slow until he hit the highway and the rest area vanished from the rearview mirror.

  Warren held back the torrent of emotions deep inside of him. He decided now was not the time to open the floodgates. A flash of red light caught his attention, He looked down at the dash, The fuel sign neared the empty mark. Warren resisted the urge to bang his head on the steering wheel, what else could go wrong? 

   He took it nice and slow, as Warren had never driven a car before. He watched the side of the road for signs. Ten minutes later a sign that said Fox Creek twenty-eight km, flashed by the car. Warren stared at the fuel gauge and sighed. “Fox Creek it is.”