Freck & Wishes in Death of Gee (Wattys Longlist 2018)

Chapter 10: Great Menace

Outside it was darker than a crow's shadow. A blood splattered horror was lurkin' near the doorstep. How did it know which house we was in? All of 'em look purty much the same as the others.

We warn't too worried 'cuz we'd surrounded ourselves with impenetrable barriers like the wedge Gee made in Shambhalla. Ya couldn't see 'em 'cuz they was invisible.

We ain't never seen a Beezzuk b'fore. They was black on top and dark brown underneath. The monster we was facin' looked like a cross b'tween a dragon, and one of 'em nasty flyin' monkeys from the "Wizard of Oz," 'cept instead of a monkey face, it had a powerful beak. It reminded me of a snappin' turtle. There was a hard crunch when it tried ta bite inta my shield. Good—it held—same for Freck's.

The beastie's five fingered hands was tipped with with blades like scimitars. Ya know, them curved swords carried by sultan's guards? It stood on its back legs, leaned forward, and furiously clawed at my sheild. It sounded like ten buzzsaws tryin' ta shred through. I was plenty a'scared. Those claws looked powerful nuff ta rip through the massive gates of Holl'a Earth. It didn't make nary a nick, though. All defeated, it whomped back on it's hinny, raised it's knees, and dropped it's head down b'tween 'em. I figured it never faced defeat b'fore.

The raidin' party kept their promise ta cease killin'—if'n we came out. Soon as we opened the door the destruction stopped, like lunchtime on a construction site. Gore sopped Beezzuks converged on GL's house. Slaughterhouses couldn' be more foul. I gagged on the reek of air ripe with the musty-coppery smell of fresh kill. How many Boros died in the rampage? I looked 'round. It was total mayhem. They cut a wide path of devastation. Now that I'd seen them wicked claws up close, it warn't no surprise ta witness the wreckage. Hmm . . . destruction . . . ruins. Huh, what if Beezzuks was livin' on earth at the same time as Boroses? They could'a been the reason for them ruins in Mexico. Maybe it warn't just natural decomposin' over time. When, if ever, we gets a break I'm gonna time travel back to see for m'self.

Freck mind-spoke ta me, "This is horrible. I cain't think straight. We saved some Boros' by comin' out when we did, but if'n we only knowed it was us they was after—more would'a survived . . ."

Freck couldn't finish 'cuz she was oiled over with regret. Gramma called it the hero's curse. No matter how determined and fearless a hero is, they cain't save ever'body. Some's gonna slip through. They'd be praised for what they did, but inside they'd carry a heavy load of regret. Why didn't they act sooner? How did they overlook someone they could'a saved? Ya can pat 'em on the back, hold a ticker tape parade, and give 'em keys ta the city, but it won't change how they feel inside. Real heroes are embarrassed by the fuss. If'n ya call em a hero—they's apt ta deny it. They'll say things like: anybody'd do the same thing, and I just did what I could, the real hero is someone else. The ones who bask in the glory prob'ly ain't true heroes at all. Leastways that's how I see's it.

"Freck, it ain't no use beatin' yerself up. We came out just soon's we knew what they wanted. No one can do better'n that. No way was this our fault."

"My head knows yur right, Wishes, but my heart's painin' me sumpin' awful."

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Meanwhile the gatherin' mob of Beezzuks was gettin' restless. Who knows what would happen if they all charged us at the same time? What if'n our shields warn't quite strong enough? It was a standoff, but it couldn't last forever. Sumpin' was surely gonna give. Even in my worst nightmares I never imagined this. Heck, we was just two scared teenaged kids from Burns, not great warriors trained to fight off a bunch'a bloodthirsty sky devils.

There was a dreadful scream—STOP! You were instructed to return them UNHARMED!" The Beezzuks cowered, where the heck was that voice comin' from? Was it one of the Beezzuks? I didn't know they could speak.