The Hero's Journey

The Hero’s Journey

Daniel ran down the steep edge of the cement aqueduct to the bottom where it was flat. A small amount of water was starting to pool in the drainage crease at the bottom and he knew by the end of the day there could be a raging torrent of water but for now, it was not only the fastest route across town but also the safest. Unless they blew the dam.

The city had been on high alert for the past twelve hours, the streets and highway leading out of the city were clogged with desperate families trying to evacuate the city. Looters were everywhere, not only the enemy but those whose goal lay more with a, “what's in it for me” attitude rather than a “let's help my neighbour” attitude. He had already come across two bands of looters, armed with weapons.

 The first group relieved him of his wallet, but that was okay, it was just a decoy, a fake wallet with fake money, and fake credit and debit cards. In past situations, he had learned that happily handing over something to would-be thieves, often kept them in a more positive way of thinking. And if their disposition was one where they felt they had bettered someone, well they seemed more inclined to let you live; you cross them and they just might feel inclined to put a bullet in your brain.   The real wallet was under his shirt and jacket, tapped to his back.  There were six of them, every one of them armed to the teeth, these guys meant business. He was relieved that they made no motion to relieve him of not only his wallet but his life, the ruse worked. He had no qualms about taking on four or five but six was just a little too much even for him and he was in a hurry. Best just to let them have their fun, play dumb, and play it safe.

 The second group of looters were barely out of puberty, their pimply faces and their voices screeched up and down the vocal register bespoke their youth when they demanded Daniels's wallet. A few of them had knives, he could tell of their inexperience by the knives they carried. Each had stolen a kitchen knife from their mother’s drawer or knife block. All but one kid had picked up a paring knife,  a bread knife or a butcher knife.  What did they think they were going to do with those knives, make a sandwich?  Amateurs. The only one who carried any kind of weapon that even remotely resembled a street weapon was the leader, who waved his six-inch pocket knife in front of Daniel's face. Daniel snarled at him and disarmed the leader within the first four seconds of the confrontation, grabbed him by the shoulders, and head-butted him. He dropped instantly and his would-be-followers scattered like the wind when they saw their leader fall like a stone to the pavement. Daniel didn’t have time for this crap. He glanced around at the crowded street, throngs of people evacuating the city, heavy-laden cars and trucks, mothers pulling children and toys in wagons.  He shook his head in derision, these people were woefully unprepared for any siege, evacuation, or emergency. 

The real problem was there didn't seem to be anyone defending the city, a bunch of small enemy planes flew overhead and blew up buildings and had caused some damage to the dam just outside of town, but what were the military doing to defend the city from the marauders? So far nothing. The local military base was located just on the other side of the river, so what gives? Daniel meant to find out. Someone had to do something about the situation and it looked like that someone was him. As always.  This was starting to become a habit. Hero for hire. Real cheap.

Daniel didn’t know what the going rate was for saving a city. He had been out of the game for too long. But he was sure it had to be more than he was receiving on pogey. Welfare just didn’t cover anything but the basics. And he hadn't had a decent paycheck for over a year. Not since before he lost Megan. Megan, just thinking of her made him shaky and wanting to reach for a cold one or a warm one. He wasn’t fussy these days. Then he remembered it was seventy-seven long days since his last brewsky. Why did everybody count it off in days?  His dishonourable discharge for conduct unbecoming a military officer was all in the past, this city needed every available able-bodied man.

 He checked his watch and redoubled his speed. He had about a twenty-minute run ahead of him to the military base if he was lucky and didn't run into any more interference. The aqueduct hooked up with the river and he was hoping that the bridges were still in place. From past experiences, he knew that blowing up bridges was always a tactical advantage when taking over a city. He had blown up a few in his day—more than a few. There was a certain satisfaction to see the twisted metal and tons of concrete fall into the water below. Where were those birds? The helicopters and fighter planes should have been out in full force hours ago. Flight command should have had them in the air long before now, but he hadn't seen a single homeland aircraft since he left the hovel that he now called home.  What was going on at command headquarters?

The stench of a dozen fires filled his nostrils. Definitely not reminiscent of the campfires he had had as a child. He remembered the applewood smouldering fragrantly in the fire as he and his brothers made s'mores. This was more the chemical smell of a mixture of burning rubber, burning petrol, charred bodies, and what was that other smell, oh yeah, fear. The aqueduct was narrowing now but he wasn’t too far from the first bridge. There was the Wilson Tunnel that he had to go through first, he just hoped that the flash flood that he half expected to fill the aqueduct didn’t happen while he was in the tunnel. Sooner or later he knew that the dam at the far end of town that had been damaged in the first barrage of artillery attack, would get a direct hit and the trickle that was running through the aqueduct now would become a… well let's just say the city would become an underwater Aquarius. The lost city of Atlantis came to mind. He ran on.

He slowed as he entered the tunnel, his eyes tried to adjust to the light difference in the dark tunnel. Most of the time the tunnel was well-lit and filled with homeless people; vagrants without a home. Those who shunned the numerous well-meaning shelters that do-gooders provided for the needy. Mixed into this group were petty thieves,  drug addicts, and prostitutes.  The dregs of society. Humanity at its poorest, most pathetic, and most dangerous. Here, life was cheap.  He recounted numerous stories on the news about skirmishes and stabbings in the tunnel. This was a place where murders were a frequent event over the theft of an item out of someone's shopping cart. New stories were frequent about the need to get rid of and relocate the growing population who habited the tunnel. 

 He could see the numerous plastic bags piled into shopping carts. Possessions of the denizens, treasures left behind in the mad dash to save life and limb. Generally, the tunnel was well-lit, but the south side had been one of the first hit, and hardest hit areas.  Lights were now dangling from the roof, and giant slabs of concrete lined the tunnel floor exposing twisted rebar. The tunnel appeared empty, even the homeless had fled their home, such as it was. Abandoned tarps and tents, bundle buggies, and shopping carts filled the tunnel. He stopped and pulled out a small flashlight that was strapped around his ankle; armed with the gift of sight he was all set to forge ahead when he heard a cough coming from the edge of the tunnel. He swung the beam of the flashlight and trained it against the arched wall until he found the source of the noise. There was an old man huddled in what looked like a bundle of rags. He coughed again as Daniel approached.

“What are you doing here,” Daniel asked him, “everyone has bugged out.”

“What do you think I’m still doing here? I’m dying.” He coughed again.

“What’s wrong? Let’s take a look.”

“A piece of the roof caught me,” he waved a hand at his legs. 

 Daniel trained his light to where the old man gestured. A large piece of the ceiling had come down on the man's legs. The cart beside him was squashed flat, taking most of the brunt of the debris. Daniel wasn’t a medic but he knew that the man needed medical attention. Stat.

“Let's see if we can get you out of there.”

“I’m dying man, I’m as good as toast.” The old man shook his head. “I lost all sense of feeling. He lifted a bottle to his lips.”

“That could be the spirits talking’” said Daniel as he continued to assess the situation. “We gotta get you to a hospital”.

“No point, I can't walk.  Just go, save yourself. I’m gonna…die anyway.”

“Not on my watch,” vowed Daniel. “I’ll carry you if I have to.”

He glanced around, “maybe we can use that cart,” he nodded to a cart nearby.

“No, not that one.” the old man shook his head, “try that one,” he pointed to the other side of the tunnel. “That's Peter's cart, it's the fastest, he just traded up last week.

Daniel ran over to the cart that the old man indicated and flipped it over spilling the contents onto the ground. The cart did look much newer than most of the other numerous carts in the tunnel. He glanced down at the handle, “Thank you Walmart,” he murmured as he pushed it beside the man.

There was still the matter of the slab on the old man's legs. 

“I don't think you can do it,” said the man.” Pete and Frank tried and they couldn't budge it.”

Daniel bent and took a deep breath, blew it out, and tried to lift the slab. It didn't move, not even a fraction. He looked around and spied a small girder in the nearby debris and wrestled it out. Using it as a fulcrum we wedged it under the slab.

“Ok, when I lift, can you pull yourself out?”

“I’ll try.”

“Good.”

 There was a sudden explosion in the distance.

“What was that,” said the old man as he peered out in the direction of the sound.

“The dam.”

 The dam had burst and soon the aqueduct and this tunnel and half the city would be under water.

Daniel gave everything he could to move the girder. And with the power born of desperation, despair, and adrenalin the slab shifted and moved so the old man could free himself. Daniel lay the girder down and turned to the man, he was out cold. Glancing down the aqueduct, Daniel wasted no time lifting him up and placing him in the shopping cart. He took off down the tunnel running as fast as he could. Exiting the tunnel he headed up the hill pushing the cart labouriously, the hospital was only a block away now. Thankfully it was uphill out of the path of the water that would be surging through the aqueduct at any moment.  

The hospital was a disaster area. Not the building itself, which seemed to be intact, but the parking lot was filled with people in distress and it looked like triage was being done in the crowded parking lot. Daniel pushed his way through and went directly to a man dressed in scrubs.

 “This man needs immediate attention,” he said. “Now!” he barked the order, his years of command bringing authority and immediate results to the order.  The man turned and looked at the man in the cart and started to assess him. He called out something to a nearby worker.

Daniel was turning away when the old man rallied, “Thank you, son. You saved my life,” he said,

“ Best of luck to you,” said Daniel.

“Wait!”

“What?”  Daniel looked down the hill at the bridge he would have to cross to get to the military airfield, he was eager to be on his way.

 The old man lifted himself in the cart and gripped onto Daniels's shoulder, his grip strong and sure, his voice firm and authoritative. “Listen carefully to my words. Don't take the bridge down there.” He nodded to the bridge that could be seen down the hill. “Or the second one.  Don’t take the Elm Street Bridge either. Take the Grant Bridge.”

“It's further than I need to go,” answered Daniel.

“Heed my words boy. Take the Grant Bridge. Do you hear me?”

“Yes. I hear you.”

“ When you get to Andrews Airfield,” he winced but carried on. “Take the Striker, not the Wasp. Did you get that,” his grip tightened, his dirty fingers biting into Daniel's arm.

“Yeah, I heard you,  the “Striker” not the “Wasp.””

“That's right.  Trust me on this.  Trust me, Daniel. You got all this.”

“Yeah, take the Grant Bridge, take the “Striker” not the  “Wasp,” Daniel repeated dutifully to appease the old man.

 The old man sank back further into the shopping cart.  His head rolled back against the edge of the cart. He was exhausted but he rallied once more. “Good luck Daniel. We need you. Save the city.”

Daniel ran down the hill. He was halfway down when he realised that the old man had called him Daniel. He had never introduced himself to the old man. Not only that but how did the old man know he was headed for the military airfield and how did he know there were Strikers and Wasps there? Those were the nicknames for the gunners and were not military terms that the general public would even know about let alone a homeless man.

 He ran past the first bridge, dodging traffic, and was a block away from the first bridge when a blast filled the air. Looking back he saw that the Turner Bridge had just been blown up.  The first bridge. Smoke and screams filled the air. He headed for the second bridge, the Elm Street Bridge. It was the closest to the military airfield where he was headed. Then he remembered the old man's words, he had been right about not taking the first bridge, if Daniel had not heeded his words he would have been blown sky-high. He ran on and was two blocks away when he heard the now-familiar sound of an explosion. This time it was the Elm Street Bridge. The second bridge. More smoke, more screams. He was almost exhausted when he reached the Third Bridge.  The Grant Street Bridge was also packed and praying that the old man's words were some kind of prophecy or a premonition, he ran across it as fast as he could. Once he reached the other side he doubled back to reach the military airport. 

When he reached the military checkpoint he realised that there were no guards at the gate.  He looked in the guard houses and saw two sets of legs lying horizontal on the floor. He sprinted across to the hanger and carefully opened the mandoor, Gazing in he saw the carnage throughout the hanger. Bodies, dozens of them strewn throughout the building. Bodies in coveralls, bodies in flight suits, uniformed officers. All obviously gunned down in some unspeakable act.  The military personnel were not the only victims of the assault, it looked like a machine gun had been taken to the planes and helos in the giant hangar. He closed the door and checked out the aircraft parked in front of the hangers. All of them were destroyed. Then he remembered the graveyard. The place where old planes went to be retired. It was a small parking area in the rear of the humongous hanger.  Dead military personnel,  shot up planes, no wonder there had been no retaliation, already there was the stench of death. Daniel re-entered the hanger and ran across the hanger dodging dead people.  Finally, he reached the back door and exited, and took a deep breath of fresh air. Then he saw the Wasp.    

Daniel crossed over to the Wasp, a voice inside his head seemed to speak to him. “Trust me,” the old man had told him, “Trust me Daniel.” the words echoed in his head. He climbed down and looked at the Stinger. It didn’t have as much firepower as the Wasp. It was an oldie but goodie as they say. It had been retired for years now, a true relic. It had been years since it had flown but the old man had said take the Stinger, so take the Stinger he would take. He checked the fuel and gauges. Thank goodness old Bosco the head mechanic loved this old plane and kept it running. He climbed into the cockpit, buckled up, and started her up.  She started up with a throaty purr. Daniel gave a laugh and a warrior's yell.  It was good to be back. "Let's go save the city."