The Viterals

Chapter 16: Breakdown

The pincers, the claws, the wings—they pulsed in Zakana's mind as reminders. Until this very moment, he hadn't remembered. Only in dreams and nightmares that left him shaking uncontrollably and changed him into another person entirely did he remember. Now he couldn't keep the memories down. His senses—they were stronger than his willpower. Any sight, smell, or sound that once destroyed him returned with an ever-destructive vengeance. Will it destroy me?Zakana wondered.

He ambled through this new city, the baby Eevee still cradled in his arms and stopped only to catch his breath or hide in the shadows until the night owls had passed by. Nothing made sense. Literally, what was anything?

Zakana's brain was scrambled and fried. He knew it. His fatigue yanked at him and forced him to recognize it. But his brain fought against it. It was doing things—episodic things that he couldn't slow down. This thought alone came through: it's been over eight years since it happened.

Against his will, the questions spilled out, like boiling soup in an untended pot. There was no baker, no chef—there was literally no one in the kitchen. No one even in the house. And Zakana always stayed in the house.

He screamed. Whimpered. Sobbed.

The journey will not be without pain.

Who had said it to him? What did they know of pain?

It was easy to sit in a high-backed chair, legs crossed telling others how to live.

A quiet settled over Zakana. He found himself on the ground, his back pressed against the earth. Where was here? The baby in his arms mewed and nestled closer to Zakana for warmth. His heart pounded up and down, served as a bounce house for the baby Eevee. Light rain fell and another level of silence ensued. A silence within a silence. Inside Zakana could hear nothing. The rain, so soft and delicate numbed his senses. He could hear people on the outside but none of their words. How long he lay there, he had no idea.

Was it a few minutes? Hours? Days? Did it even matter? Time, a fickle beast that whips you anywhere it wants to, throw you down, tells you to listen and then says nothing at all. You are always its slave bound to its will. And Zakana realized this would never change. He had always been bound to time and its instruments. For eight years he had been a slave, wishing and waiting for a new beginning, or a hard fast end. Would it come—would there be any difference in Zakana's pain if he were floating around in space as an astronaut, away from the Pokémon, away from the bugs? Or if he were standing, or lying on the ground trying to slow his thoughts to some semblance of normalcy—would there be any difference?

At one point, Zakana thought he knew. He thought he saw his path unfold before him, like a slowly rising curtain and that the answers were there. All actors laid out in different costumes wearing different facial expressions behind different masks. Though Zakana hadn't chosen a mask at all. He wanted the helmet. The astronaut helmet that blocked out all sound and feeling and was far away from anything that might smell, feel or look like death.

He had chosen that path wholeheartedly and without question but the universe saw a different path.

Bambi's sun-touched face swam into view and Zakana suddenly remembered leaving her. He had left her on the road with that boy Isaque.

Where was Yumin? And Kirish? Where were the family members that were supposed to deliver them from this evil?

Zakana found himself drudging along again as an orange sun split light into a valley. People watched him. They stared. They spoke about him as though he were a ghost, and honestly he felt like one.

He was in an abandoned warehouse. Cold metal slithered underneath his clothes, touched every bit of uncovered skin. Eevee crawled out of his jacket and instead nestled up to his chin for warmth. It could walk now and its eyes opened brightly. It grew fast. Nothing ever stayed the same. Soon, it would need food, but Zakana didn't have any. His stomach growled. Soon, they would need water. Was Slowpoke's water safe enough to drink?