Kevin-6

"Hi," Trevor said.

He appeared at Niki's left. She'd come to after a few moments of being unconscious, but...still...that unexpected cement block to the head had really gotten to her. She fought the urge to vomit. Her vision wasn't blurry, but it wasn't quite right, either.

Worse, she couldn't get her thinking to go right.

She found it hard to get to her feet. It wasn't that her legs didn't want to cooperate. It was the mind that was supposed to be controlling her legs that was the problem.

And she really did think she might vomit.

Trevor helped her back to her feet. "Are you...?"

"Fuck you, I'm fine."

"Your eyes are going two different ways."

"Let's get Fathom and get the Hell out of here."

But, for the moment anyway, Fathom acted like she didn't want to be any part of that plan. She looked at Niki and Trevor like they were two predatory beasts. She refused to take her eyes off of them even as she backed away.

"Darling..." Niki started towards Fathom, a look of pleading in her eyes. But she also looked as pale as pus, and a thick, steady stream of blood ran from her skull down her neck. Plus, that single word? "Darling..."? It came out kind of funny, kind of slurred, but not how someone drunk would slur it.

Just then, four panel trucks stopped in the middle of the street, and people from inside those trucks joined the "party". To Trevor, they looked like biker versions of cops. More than half of them wore dark glasses so that their eyes could not be seen. They all wore thick, black boots. One of them had a club strapped to his hip. Two held handguns. Two more held rifles. One wore a blue shirt that looked like it may have once belonged to an actual police officer, but that shirt was now torn and frayed. Two wore helmets that looked a lot like police helmets. One guy wore his hair so long, though, that his helmet wouldn't rest on his head right. He had to use the chin strap.

Self-appointed militia, Trevor thought. Got to be.

"I need you all to calm down," one of the militia members yelled in a manner that sounded anything but calm. He looked like the weakest of the bunch, in Trevor's estimation. Thin and unmuscled. Someone much bigger and more confident-looking stood directly behind the guy who spoke. Trevor figured this second guy was the true leader of the group, so it was to him that Trevor pointed out Niki and said,

"My friend needs help. She's got a..."

"They tried to kidnap me!" Fathom blurted. "They want to take me to a place there they can rape and beat me until I die!"

One of the guys pointed a beefy finger in Trevor's direction. "Hey, I know you!" he bellowed. "You're Trevor Harper! You killed that one guy and raped his wife!"

Okay, Trevor thought. Turning visible was a bad idea. Now I know.

"Bye," he said.

But it was too late. A couple of militia/biker guys had already gotten their hands on him. He broke free from their grasp by kicking one while palming the other one in the face. Four other militia members converged. Trevor quickly found himself in no position to move in any direction.

And where did Niki go? Trevor'd lost sight of her for a second.

"Niki!"

"Wha..."

"You've got a concussion, Niki!"

Is that what it was? Niki knew that she now had something very, very wrong inside of her head besides just a massive, throbbing pain. Her mind, her personality, her self, was the only thing she'd ever truly been able to count on her entire life. To have it taken her from this way...She fought to will it out of herself, to will all the intense agony and jagged confusion out of her skull, but all she managed to do was make the pain and disorientation worse.

Trevor said, "Uh...Pomimi?"

"Yeah, uh, sure." Pomimi felt reluctant to appear before a crowd of panicked, armed citizens, looking, as he did, as much like a reptile as he did a human. Still, when the team leader gives an order...

"Hi," Pomimi said.

Here's what everyone saw as Pomimi appeared before them:

They saw what looked like a six foot frog wearing body armor. Green. Huge, round eyes that seemed to be able to move independent of one another. (Two brains? Trevor thought.) No hair whatsoever. Thin fingers that became long, sharp claws. Big, frog mouth, and, when he opened it to speak, he revealed three rows of teeth designed by the nature of his planet to rip into living flesh. His feet were huge and flat with toes that could hold and cling.

Pomimi made a face and roared like Godzilla. Everyone in the area who wasn't a militia member got one look at that, screamed, and ran in terror.

The militia members, though? They, also, looked terrified, but they held their ground.

Damn.

The side door on one of the militia panel trucks slide open. Two militia women leaped out. One grabbed Fathom's left shoulder, the other her right. Fathom barely had time to cry out. They twisted her in such a way that allowed her no choice but to be led by them back into the truck. The door of the truck slammed shut, and the truck itself zoomed off.

No!

Trevor looked at Niki.

Still totally disorientated, Niki stumbled towards another militia panel truck.

The side door of that truck flew open and, again, two militia woman leaped out.

They grabbed Niki by her underarms to drag Niki into their truck.

Then that truck drove away.

No!

Trevor looked in Pomimi's direction. Two rifles and two handguns were aimed in his direction. Their owners obviously had every intention of ripping Pomimi to pieces with bullets.

A fifth member, the biggest militia guy of the bunch, easily three hundred plus pounds and all muscle, strapped a weapon to his shoulder that looked very much like a bazooka.

A bazooka?

What?

Trevor had no choice, really. For the moment, Trevor had to let the panel truck Niki was in go, as much as he hated to.

A fellow soldier was in immediate danger and needed help.

Still,

Even as Trevor jumped into the fray, he thought, don't worry, Niki. I'm not going to forget about you. I'll track you down and get you some help.

Count on it.

CONTINUE