Fear Builds a Garden - Mateo Forero
“This is not a scrapyard.”
“Damn! I might have lied. But hey, I can show you something better than esas Maricadas.”
We were in Isaiah Diaz’s old muscle car parked in front of New Geweld’s Natural History Museum. He was leaning back on his seat, blowing more smoke than a campfire, and I was in the passenger seat absolutely bewildered. The only object that looked like junk was the giant oxidized copper statue of a man with wings, holding a greatsword up to the sky, standing in front of the brutalistic building. Its face was smooth, almost as if to not give any idea of his complexion or identity.
Both my arm and tool box rested between my smudged brown overalls, I was sure that no work would be done with them. I sighed, “Then why did I bring this with me?”
“For being so smart you ask too many questions.” he leaned out the window, snorted and spat out a hunk of flem that sizzled on the asphalt.
“You’re a part of the gang, and as family, could you at least tell me why you have an interest in history all of a sudden?!” I felt something small claw its way out from the abyss within.
The sun was at its peak, and if it weren’t for Isaiah’s disregard for the concept of honesty, I’d still be tinkering. It wasn’t particularly warm; it was only April. But the day was pretty, in stark contrast to the driver.
I only left my workshop because Isaiah said he’d take me to some junkheap he’d found out of town. I needed more parts for the garden, it wasn’t right how I left it. There was so much blood. It never stopped, even when I closed my eyes. I still see Eric, and everyone else who saw it happened.
“It’s a rite of passage, kid.”, Isaiah said, taking long drags from his cigarette as he leaned on the wheel. The only consistent thing about Isaiah besides that black leather jacket he always wore was his car. It always smelt like hell. And no matter how hard I tried fixing it, Isaiah always found a way to undo my work. At least he let me roll down the windows.
With little conviction, I said, “I’m as much a kid as you are. Aren’t you, like, two years older than me?” The stench of smoke and rotten eggs made me dizzy.
“Si pero... no tienes mundo. I’m trying to teach you an important life skill. You’re like a little brother to me.”
Having a brother wasn’t strange to me, his behavior was, “What could you possibly teach me?” Whatever feeling of frustration that clung to me was being swatted away by my curiosity.
He drew his yellow eyes away from my stare and gripped the steering wheel, the knobs of his knuckles turned white, “I could teach you how to be more of a man and less of a fucking rat. Pull your own damn weight. But that wouldn’t be too much a problem since you’re so frail.”
I was a fucking rat, I started to realize that more these past few weeks. Every day the hill kept getting steeper as I dragged myself out of a terrible abyss I fear I could not come back from.
“Take me back.” I muttered.
“Why? So they can coddle you more? Marica, enough is enough. Be better.” Aggravated hisses emanated from Isaiah.
“I want to go home.”
After failing to convince me he shrugged his shoulders while scratching at the stubble of his mustache. He made a noise under his breath, it was a mix between a scoff and a growl.
Isaiah then whipped out his revolvers, checking the cylinders as he spun them. Beautiful weapons that belonged to an ugly man. They had a silent elegance to the way their blackened metal shined in the light, and since they were also double action one, could down over a dozen targets if you were good enough.
“Wait here, I ain’t leaving till I get a good take. One day you’ll learn how to support your family, rat.”
As he exited the car and swaggered up the discolored steps of the museum I yelled out, “My name is Walter!”
He doesn't even look back at me. My eyes are watering, why did I care about what he was saying? I helped my family, I would do anything for them. Just as they would do anything for me.
The smell of rotten eggs left yet the tobacco stayed. Just like Isaiah. It was in the seats, the glove box, the sun visor, the engine, in the fabric of my white-collared shirt. Hell, it even made its way into the cracks of my skin.
This was the first time me and Isaiah had ever had a conversation and I already wanted to be gone from him. He’d only been with us for a year, and not once did he say a word to me. Not a single hello, goodbye, how are you, not even a go fuck yourself. Every other day I felt his piss yellow eyes lingering on me when he thought I couldn’t tell, and when I turned to peer at him he never said a word. Just a scowl stuck to his mouth as if he knew what he smelled like.
As he pulled open the front doors to enter, I quickly scrambled out of his car. I fastened my mechanical arm around my left nub and gripped the tool box on the right. I didn’t want to leave it in Isaiah's car unattended. The city brought out the worst in people, I’ve seen it happen too often.
Trekking up the dull steps as my box jangled, I told Isaiah to wait for me. He examines me incredulously but drops it. There were supposed to be security guards at the entrance yet none were present, not even anyone in the front desk.
Before us was a large room with equally large cobwebs near the ceiling. The skeleton of some type of dinosaur stood in the center with a few of its vertebrae missing, a group of kids ignored the barrier and were coloring on its toes with crayons. A huge portrait of the city’s founder had doodles and various vulgar phrases written near the bottom.
“It’s best we pretend we don’t know each other until we start. I hope that isn’t asking too much from you.” Isaiah quickly put on a red ski mask.
He was going to rob the place, and he wanted me to be his accomplice, which did not please me in the slightest.
“And how will I know when it begins?”
“You’ll know.”
He disappeared down the archway and I went right instead. If Isaiah wanted to be cryptic and mysterious like Chief, even though it wasn’t as impressive, then fine. I wasn't completely worried since I doubted anyone would be concerned about our thievery on this alleged establishment.
As I wandered about, those kids by the dinosaur actually followed me. Their eyes wide and sparkling as the light reflected from my Mechani-arm. Their energy was brighter than all of the overhead lights combined. They asked me if I was a cyborg or a robot or a quasi, then they argued amongst each other over what the difference even was.
Under different circumstances I would have gladly given them the full demo and how I got the original idea by tying a machete to my nub when Andy was trying to teach me how to fish. Instead I told them to scram, as I shot them the nastiest expression I could conjure. The little spawnlings got the message and left me alone.
I went into the war section of the museum. Uniforms from different time periods all lined up on faceless mannequins. Different weapons used by US forces and its enemies. I inspected a bizarre pistol that a soldier took as a souvenir. Its grip was vertical, with a lengthy thin tube, and a bulbous mechanism jutting backwards from its obnoxious firing bolt. I’d imagined it being incredibly uncomfortable to fire while at the same time sporting fantastic stability. It was German, whatever that meant.
Suddenly, I heard music. Ghastly voices that sung from a melancholic pit, where all are forgotten,
The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find him;
His father's sword he hath girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him.
I had stumbled upon a massive diorama, more mannequins in gray uniforms stood side-by-side each other aiming their muskets at some invisible threat, one was kneeling on the ground holding a blue flag in dramatic fashion. In the middle of their final stand was a brass monster. A multi-barrelled, hand-cranked beauty on wheels: a gatling gun. The busted up plaque on the front claimed this was the world's first machine gun, and its inventor made it with the intent to reduce casualties in war.
The Minstrel fell but the foeman's chain
Could not bring that proud soul under
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again
For he tore its chords asunder
I felt an unpleasant creature claw at my innards once again. I move on with my body but not the mind.
Next was the Wildlife section. I was well acquainted with beasts, but there were some you just didn’t see every day.
Taxidermy for educational purposes was an interesting concept, the goofy animal noises coming from the speakers made it a real experience. One exhibit caught my eye in particular. It was of a pack of gray wolves devouring some animal.
The little description on the side explained that all members of the pack are equal in significance. Contrary to popular belief, the ‘alpha’ pair in the wolf pack are not the strongest or the most capable to defend their leadership position; rather the ones who lead the pack are the wolves that make it. The wolves who nurture the most are in charge.
Neat, I guess. I wasn’t sure if it was true at the time. The biggest one reminded me of Andy with his huggable livid fur you could take a nap that could last a few, and its stoic, sour gaze also reminded me of him, unfortunately.
I kept moving forwards, open to more information. I supposed that knowledge was always good regardless if you would rather be doing something else.
Passing through sarcophagi and limestone tablets, I see a brightness from the corner of my eye. I turned to see what it was and whatever thoughts I had all vanished. It was a Cauca meteorite. Hung from the ceiling, it was jagged and wild with crystalline rocks of a cosmic emerald. My nerves began to shoot up yet go down the more I stared at the wonderful power that radiated from its core. I was taught that Cauca was a chaotic element, it was not to be handled carelessly or be too close to it without the proper protection. Yet here it was suspended in the air like some fancy chandelier and if it were dropped from that height it would implode into a thousand pieces in the same manner.
I imagined what the world would have been like if we never discovered Cauca. A world with no craziness. No Superheroes or Supervillains. The Apostates wouldn’t have had a reason to come together. There wasn’t any point in thinking about hypotheticals, still I couldn’t help but feel like everything was affected by it. It drove people insane. Any power you could imagine or maybe you grow a set of wings and a beak and gain an insatiable urge to devour infants. It all came from Cauca. Only a few were capable of taming it. I am one of those few, having worked with it in tiny amounts up until this point. You needed to catch it at the right time so that it did exactly what you wanted it to do. You’d need to have a good instinct for that kind of catch, and I never fumbled.
BANG
BANG
I cringed inwards covering my head, whoever was near me fled almost immediately like frightened gazelles. Then glass could be heard as it shattered as more people came rushing out of the Indigenous exhibit, screaming in terror. Who did Isaiah shoot?
Running into the small room as I hoped to find out for myself, I saw artifacts from all over the globe, thrown into a dingy melting pot of a room with no sense of cohesion. The only form of protection from any more forms of burglary for these items was the glass that laid broken on the floor. The smell of rotten eggs was right around the corner.
A trail of thick red was pooled on the ground as droplets fell from the ceiling. Above me and past the lights were coils upon coils of every serpent known to humanity. All wrapped around a man, tightening with every wave of hissing. Isaiah was being held up by a pillar of anacondas that stemmed from the underside of his red shirt.
“Isaiah, bajalo!”, he listened to my plea and dropped him as he chuckled, the body making a loud wet thud splattering blood all over..
“Nice to see you, One-arm. Find anything valuable? Cause I did.”, he showed me the various thousand year old jewelry he’d stolen.
Red covered my shirt and overalls. I quickly went down to the security guard's side, his baton remained within its sling. His security vest was soaked in blood, two bullet holes went through his collarbone and right rib cage. The light in his permanently surprised ogle faded. To die at the hand of a brutish killer, what was good about gunning down a man who posed no threat to you? Is that what it means to be strong? To take life just because you think you can get away from it? Salty fluid ran down my cheeks almost instantly and that horrible gnawing feeling within was tearing at my skin.
“I thought that would have cheered you up. What about this?”, I looked up and saw Isaiah’s snakes flowing from his jacket sleeve holding a mask.
It was birthed from an ebony wood, it was oval shaped, with a jagged smile made of a knotted string and animal teeth. Dried straw came out from the back like prickly fur, it looked like a crown to me. Large white oval eyes placed near the edges, giving it a prey-like gaze. But it was so fascinating to me that the actual eye holes were much smaller and closer to the center of it.
“For some reason it reminds me of you. You little creep.”, he said as I gently took it from his slithering grasp.
A horrible burning sensation caused me to flush as I sniffled away any further cries. My calloused fingers caressed the fine woodwork, gliding across its grain as a thin layer of dust came off. As I brought it closer the smell of sulfur was most prevalent. I couldn’t stop studying those big false white eyes. The sounds from the museum's speakers had tribal drums and shouts playing now. From what land these tunes came from I had no idea. I doubt even the people who ran the place knew. They didn’t care. No one cared. And for a moment that seemed to last centuries of lethargic cruelty I couldn’t bother to care either. Why was it smiling? Is it mocking? Does it enjoy suffering? I wanted to know more, but I lacked the strength to rise up. The soul was a terrible thing to deny.
“Wow... what is wrong with you, One-arm. You acting like you ain’t seen a dead guy before.” Isaiah laughed.
I started to shake.
What I found funny was that the police would send SWAT teams to arrest old people feeding birds at the park or crush your legs with a tank if you didn’t say hello in the appropriate manner. Or maybe they would curb stomp you into the pavement if you committed the horrific, despicable crime known as loitering outside of a train station when it’s cold enough for your toes to fall off; that's how I got the scar that hooked across my lip of course.
Killing a man with your powers in front of an entire crowd of people in the middle of the day was only going to guarantee one thing: New Geweld’s finest were going to bring down the thunder.
Unless we strike first.
Looking up, I saw Isaiah, his brows arched and a vile grin on his face. He rested his revolver on his shoulder and his hand on his stomach. Various jewelry and shiny objects hung from inside his jacket alongside scaly slithering masses. I was going to die because of his greed.
I put on the mask, fitting perfectly. My “brother’s” laugh devolved into a howling cackle, venomous and reckless. I got up walking towards him as I stepped over the poor security guard. Once I’m in front of him he stops laughing and he asks, “You didn’t answer, did you find anything? Why are you wearing that gay shit?”
I struck him, a loud crunch could be heard as the cartilage of his nose snapped at the impact of my vindictive fist. I consciously used my biological arm so as not to give him permanent brain damage. Although I thought he had plenty of that already.
“Follow me.”, I ordered him as he cupped his nose, moaning in agony.
“You rat, fucking... AAH! Why did you do that?!” Isaiah had a deep red stream pouring from his stubby nose, his look was something beyond furious.
“We have to focus on getting out of here in one piece. You’re lucky I have a plan.” I stomped off to do what I did best, not caring of Isaiah’s further protests or insults. But he followed me regardless.
We backtracked to the exhibits that had caught my eye. The Cauca meteorite, the pistol, and the gatling gun. It was only a matter of time before the police arrived.
Punching through the glass with my metal arm, I stole the Borchardt, then slid it into my overalls deep pockets. I didn’t need it urgently but I had some ideas for it later. If we survived. Then I tell Isaiah to bring down the meteorite, shoot the suspension cords so that it shatters on impact. However he protested, and I smacked him on the nose again. From there on out ese güevón walked with a hunched posture, like his confidence leaked out of his nonexistent spine as he stomped towards his assignment.
I returned to the gatling gun, standing there all cute and vicious-like in the warm decrepit lighting. Butterflies in my stomach as my machinations slowly started to blossom. One small problem, it needed bullets, the top mounted magazine was obviously empty. The meteorite will fix that. What was crazy was that it wasn’t bolted down, you could push it and hook it up to a truck if it pleased you. I grab the crank and I move it ever so slowly to see if the barrels followed, as it would make complete sense for a weapon such as this to be completely unusable. They clicked as metal began to slide as my arm went up and down. My heart was about to burst from anticipation, erratic bubbles formed in my chest and left my mouth as chuckles.
The music from earlier was still playing,
And then may he play his harp in peace,
In a world such as heaven hath intended,
For all the bitterness of man must cease,
And ev'ry battle must be ended.
I swung open my tool box, digging out wrenches and screwdrivers, hammers and
laser-cutters. Spare parts from the fertilizer spreader and electrical conduits would be welded onto the fame. I charged the empty rectangular magazine with plasma fluid. And then I wrapped it with duct tape, like a present! Although I never got presents so it appeared more like the gun had a botched surgery.
“Isaiah! How's that rock looking?” I wasn’t sure if he could hear me at all, hoping the echo would reach him. Until I heard the scratching of dirt and the clinking of glass on the tiled floor getting closer and closer.
“I'M COMING! Rat bastard... got me hauling... psycho pebbles... sucker punching hijo de puta....”,
As Walter and Isaiah toiled away and defiled the museum, a small force of a hundred had arrived near the entrance in response to the Supervillain threat.
Sleek, black and white police interceptors lined up in the street acting as a makeshift wall of order, prepared to stand firm against any form of dissent. NGPD officers always wore kevlar armor, over their navy blue uniforms. They were armed with assault rifles as well as protective helmets with clear visors. And on their chests hung badges with the symbol of a skull. Crusaders of a more mundane era, sworn to the occupation of New Geweld over the last 200 years.
And in the middle was Isaiah's old yellow car.
The boldest of these men and women, are all huddled together right outside the front doors, behind the statue. Their postures are relaxed and unbothered. Some walked around in circles scanning the floor while another was on his tenth cigarette. It was a slow day and their paychecks were getting fatter by the year. Shadows cast from the crows and ravens that hover above their small fortress of law under the all encompassing might of the sun as midday became evening.
“It’s been an hour since we called. And they still haven’t shown up.”
“Typical cape behavior.”
“Shouldn’t we go in? Like catch 'em by surprise?”
“City hall wouldn’t like that. Supervillains are handled by Superheroes. That's the law.”
“I gotta shit.”
“No it ain’t. When was the last time you saw those costumed freaks go toe-to-toe in public?”
“Their too busy fucking models and rescuing kittens for the news, thats why.”
“God, when was the last time I fucked some pussy?”
“What about that broad from the shelter?”
“Why don’t they give us superpowers? That would be a good idea.”
“She nearly clawed my eyes out. I like them strong but not wild.”
“I hope that new rabbit hero shows up.”
“Yeah, the one with the tight pink suit! Forgot her name. Was it Jackie Pow-Pow?”
“Chocolate Bunny is what I call her. I just want to pull her head by the ears.”
“Getting tired of waiting, let's kill those bastards!”
“Wait, are her ears real?”
“It’s a costume.”
“I’d prefer it if she did more publicity. Like a bikini calendar or an action-movie. She’s always sticking her nose in shit that don’t concern her.”
“Could you virgins shut the fuck up? You don’t get paid to talk.”
“She runs around town thinking she’s an employee like us. Self-righteous bitch!”
“We get paid no matter what ya smart-ass.”
“Fellas calm down, ok? Power-Jack saved my niece, show some respect. And besides she’s probably dealing with that trainwreck by 23rd Ave. We got less on the line here.”
“Counterpoint! Her ass is like an onion.”
“What does that even mea-?”
BOOOSSSHH
A force of splintering wood and scales sent the officers flying backwards, tumbling down the stone steps.
Noxious green smoke is all that remains of the doors, lighting and fury crackling, the sound of a thousand serpents hissing as metal squeaks its way closer and closer. A glittering entrance of a violent promise.
The clicking and clacking echo throughout the street as every man and woman aim down their sights with shaky hands turning off safeties and pulling back the bolts of their weapons.
An officer, with a splinter of wood the length and girth of a baseball bat jammed through their neck, gaped upwards before clocking out for the last time as he hears someone say,
“My turn.”
My arm did the cranking, twirling multi-barrels as fast as I could, as the other did the aiming. Up and down up and down. left, right, left, right. The magazine rattled as our interstellar makeshift bullets were dispersed.
GRACACKACKACKACKACKA
Like spreading fertilizer or weed killer. A rainstorm of burning hot lead flew towards me
that ricocheted off the gatling gun, hellish sparks landed on my skin and clothes, baptizing me as I took more lives. Sweat pooled and steamed inside the wooden mask, entering my eyes, as my breathing became faster and heavier. I must have been hyperventilating. I wasn’t much of a gardener, unlike Eric.
Cosmic green bolts blasted from the barrels of the gun and ripped through their roadblock. Isaiah was right behind me and the cobras, rattlesnakes, and mambas that poured from his skin and out of his clothing pushed the gun slowly but steadily forwards, he made larger snakes like titanoboas and anacondas act as walls to cover us from incoming bullets.
“You... not hit... car... Walter!”
Destructive bangs and pops rang through the air. My gatling and the pigs’ weaponry were having their shouting match, roaring like wild fireworks. Isaiah’s revolvers never stopped harassing my eardrums as he fanned the hammers, cutting down anyone who got too close with ruthless efficiency.
THUNK
Something flicked me in the face. It did little to stop me, so it must have been dirt or a rock that was flung over by the exploding patrol car.
Keep firing.
A meteoric shot landed on a pig, his helmet was obliterated leaving a charred stump on their bottom jaw. A few hit their rifles, metal morphed into thorny vines at the blink of an eye that tangled around them. Others began sprouting venus fly-traps from their unlucky wounds.
“Hahaha! I knew you would have fun with this!” Isaiah was laughing once more,
cackling with the purest form of joy you could imagine, right next to my ear. I haven’t been this close to him in my entire life and I made sure not to let it happen ever again, and to anyone else for that matter. My ribcaged heaved rapidly, I felt like I was electrified.
We got to the bottom of the steps, the middle was clear of targets while the opposite ends of the street had a few pigs left. I commanded my serpentious ally to swing me to the left, and to take the right on his own, which he did.
I managed to mop up the ones that remained on my side before I ran out of Cauca. There were a few fleeing for their lives away from the smoldering rubble. There had to be half-dead survivors writhing on the ground too. But they weren’t worth my marksmanship or the bite of my gunsmoke. Never send pigs to hunt rats and snakes.
Even after I finished firing, my bones continued to shake. Leaving the brass beauty where it was, beaten up and hot to the touch, I turned to Isaiah. His side of the street was empty minus the corpses laid out. Pig blood coated his leather jacket and tan pants. Impatient crows flew downwards to peck at slaughtered flesh before any pesky coroner intervened.
“All of this... for a handful of jewels?”, my hands were clenched into fists. My trembling didn’t seem to have an end, was I broken?
“You got something on that mask of yours.”
My deafness was finally wearing off, and I was laughing. Not hyperventilating. No, I was laughing the whole time. I ripped off the mask, forcing myself to stop my fit and saw a tiny piece of metal stuck on its forehead to which I picked out. It wasn’t a rock or debris, it wasn’t even shrapnel. It was a bullet. I was shot in the head, but the mask saved me. Staring at this work of art with a wondrous feeling recentering my soul, I couldn’t help but internally praise it. Much like my family, it saved me from an inescapable fate, and made me stronger than I ever could be.
In that moment, a pig sprang out from underneath Isaiah’s car and lunged at me with the butt of his rifle, screaming a futile war cry. Isaiah had an anaconda chomp on his head and flung the little piggy at the Godspeed statue, getting impaled by its sword.
“You can think, One-arm. But you can’t fight.” Isaiah jeered.
I smacked the mask across his face, knocking him to the blood stained asphalt, further punishing his battered nose. Ignoring his curses as he cradled his flattened nose, I ran through his pockets taking every goodie he stole and carried it myself. After this incident, I no longer trusted him.
“Half of this goes to the gang, the other is split between me and you. Got that?”
“FUCK, STOP IT! I already knew that, dickhead. I just saved your life, be grateful for a change, malcriado.”
“Just take me home.”
“Nah man this shit hurts I can barely see.”
“Alright, I’ll drive since being stupid and ugly makes you blind as well.”
I drove us out of there fast, turning into alleyways, underpasses, and through parking lots. It would take longer but I had to mess up the trail. We didn’t kill a lot of cops per say, New Geweld had them in legions. But very rarely did people stand up to them with such ferocity. Word would spread fast. Andy won’t be proud. Especially not after Eric.
Speeding on the highway north after I had enough driving all paranoid, we passed the city limits, as concrete walls waved us a scornful goodbye from the crooked rearview mirror. I also caught a glimpse of Isaiah failing to light a cigarette. Entering dense forests and onto uncharted mountain trails, my being welcomed a familial calmness. I looked at the rat mask and my toolbox that sat on the passenger seat next to me and back at the open road. I would have a lot of explaining to do when I got back.
Letting go a sigh of relief, I said, “Just hold on. We’re almost home.”
“Thanks brother. Can I get a light?”
“No.”
Mateo Forero is a Senior majoring in history and minoring in creative writing and is of Colombian descent. He enjoys video games, writing, and drawing. Also his favorite color is purple.