The Oneiro Rangers: First Night (2 page)

“It’s not out of line. Right when summer ended, he scared me with
a fake rat. He made me pee my pants, so I’m making him pee his pants.”

Angelica’s eyes widened. “Umm, gross?!”

“You can help me if you want,” Malory offered; more so insisted
with the tone she used.

Angelica rubbed her small chin, humming in thought. “Actually, now
that you mention it, I
would
like to help. Roland’s been asking for it
for some time now. I’m in. When are you going to do it?”

“Well, bed time is at eight, so I’ll sneak out of my room at nine.
Does that sound good?”

Angelica let out an evil chortle. “Sounds perfect! I’ll knock on
your door a little before then so you don’t have to worry about finding me.”

“Now all I need is a bucket. Do you know where to find one?”

“I’ll get you one during lunch,” Angelica answered quickly. “Don’t
worry about it. The real trouble is getting in the boy’s room. Now, if you ask
me, I say—”

Going around the corner, they continued to plan and stop to giggle
on their way down the stairway, making sure their night will be one to
remember.

Chapter 3

Surrounded by search towers and light posts along the wire mesh
fencing, the track and field area was lit up with enough artificial light to
drown out the bright morning stars above. Teenagers drenched in sweat crossed
the track’s starting line for the last time, finishing up their ten kilometer
run. Nothing special, just a warm-up. For the kids who forgot their first class
was physical education and ate too much for breakfast, their run sent them
straight to a nearby trashcan; heavy liquid splashing noisily into the bins.
Errol and Roland were near the back of the group, taking it easy on the first
day back into training.

But, that didn’t mean their undershirts weren’t soaked in sweat; a
ten kilometer run making anyone need a break.

Roland wiped the sweat off his forehead with the bottom of his
shirt. “I think that run gets shorter every year. Either that or my legs are
getting longer.”

Errol looked down at his shorter friend, seeing no difference in
his height since last year. “How can you tell?”

Roland pointed a finger up at Errol, pressing it under his nose.
“Hey! No lip from you, mister high and mighty. It’s not my fault you’re made to
be a lumberjack.”

Coach Dirga made himself present from the shadow of the bleachers,
blowing his whistle. “Gather up, maggots! In a line! Let’s go!”

Roland snapped his gym shorts higher up, wearing them over his
stomach in a horrible attempt to intimidate Errol. “Yeah, big show, let’s go.”

Against the concrete edge of the track, the students filed up as
quickly as they could, most of them still out of breath. Being next to each
other, the heat and smell within the line was unbearable, despite the soothing
cool air blowing across the field. Anyone who was too foolish or slow to not
cooperate right away was quickly shoved into a spot by one of Dirga’s big meaty
hands; the coach marching forward like a walking steamroller, shoving students
left and right. His buzzcut and cleft chin made him seem more appropriate for
an army sergeant than an academy coach.

Grabbing one of the puking students by the collar, Coach Dirga
lobbed him into the line.  “You’re done, let’s go!”

The strong, sour, smell of bile and sweat was all anyone could
think about while trying to stand up straight in the line; most of them
fighting back the urge to gag.

Coach Dirga paced back and forth alongside the line, on the
lookout for anyone ready to complain. “All right, now listen up. Last year, you
chose the fighting style you felt most comfortable with. Now, it is your job to
master it. Punching, kicking, grappling; even if it’s poking your opponent to
death, you’re fighting style is not going to be effective against a Nightmare
until it is mastered.” He stopped pacing, turning to face the students. “Pick a
partner, find a mat, and show him what you’re made of. Now, move!”

The line exploded in acknowledgement. “Yes, sir!”

“Yeah, sure,” Roland said right after.

Coach Dirga instantly caught Roland in his sights, homing in on
him. He shouted at the top of his lungs, veins popping out of his neck. “Don’t
back sass me, you pile of mud! Drop and give me a hundred push-ups! Move, move,
move!”

Roland got into position, hiding a smirk under his hair. “Sure
thing, bub.”

The coach bent down to get close to his face. “None of those girly
ones, now. Go all the way up and all the way down, like a man.”

Roland effortlessly did his pushups, not a sign of slowing down
after ten. Huffing angrily, coach Dirga marched away. Some of the kids
snickered, watching the example Roland made himself into. Errol shook his head,
squatting down to talk in secret.

“You better quit while you’re ahead, Roland. I heard that guy
challenges students to fights when they get on his nerves.” Errol looked to see
the coach walk with his bulky arms hanging far out — too big to keep flat
against his triangular chest. “And if you ask me, I think he wins them too.”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s lucky it’s not
me
challenging
him
.
Twenty one... twenty two...” right when the coach entered a conversation with
some other students, Roland hopped back onto his feet. “... Skip a few, one
hundred. All right, let’s get crackin’.”

Errol tried to pull him back down onto the ground. “Whoa, are you
crazy?! He’s going to go off on you for sure.”

Roland waved a hand at it. “Ahh, screw the push-ups. I’ll do the
rest on my own time as an I.O.U.” He slapped Errol’s abs; like hitting a brick
wall. “Now’s the time for me to show you what I got.”

Errol followed him to a spot, trying to hold back his laughter.
“Okay, this I gotta see.”

As the students dispersed to their sparing zones, Sova searched
around for a partner. Options dwindled, the fighters leaving the line in pairs.
Everyone he was about to ask to spar with walked right past him or ran off to
someone else before he could open his mouth. Once he was left standing there,
alone, he dipped his head down. Walking in the opposite direction of the
fighting mats, he was stopped by a massive hand gripping his shoulder.

Coach Dirga didn’t look happy. “And just where do you think you’re
going?”

Sova turned around right away, dreading the chance of getting in
trouble. He spoke softly, yet clear enough to be heard from afar. “There is
nobody else to spar with, sir.”

The coach saw his ghastly white skin, black lips, and black
eyelids. The sight automatically switched Dirga’s face into a disgusted frown.
“Oh, you’re a Gothnian.”

Sova was confused by his words. “Does that account to anything?”

With a sigh, the coach waved someone over from far away. “It does
to some.”

A blonde teenager jogged up to them, his broad chest nearly
tearing his undershirt in half. Standing next to Dirga, he looked like a
professional wrestler, even going so far as to wearing the one-shoulder
leotard. “You find someone for me, coach?”

“I sure did, Wolfgang. Meet...” Dirga held a hand out, trailing
off.

“Sova.”

“Yeah, whatever.” The coach gave Wolfgang a firm slap on the back.
“Don’t break too many bones.”

Sova held a hand out, trying his best to keep a straight smile.
“It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance. I hope we have fun today, agreed?”

Wolfgang returned the handshake, nearly squeezing Sova’s fingers
out of place. “You’re going to have to eat through a straw once I’m done with
you.” He leaned close, gritting his teeth. “
Kelvoton
.”

Laughing, Wolfgang tossed Sova’s hand back at him, nearly spinning
the Gothnian around. Stretching his fingers out and rubbing the soreness away,
Sova followed him to a mat, wanting to walk back inside instead. That racial
slur told him that Wolfgang wasn’t going to go easy on him. Seeing the two
passing by, Errol and Roland stopped testing their moves to watch Wolfgang
guide his next victim to the mat.

“Hold on,” Errol insisted, “I don’t want to miss a second of this.
That Gothnian is going to get creamed.”

“Never doubt those darkies,” Roland retorted. “They’re chock-full
of surprises.”

Without saying a word, Sova and Wolfgang aligned themselves
face-to-face. Putting his fist up, Wolfgang stretched his shoulders out,
punching the air to test his speed. Sova stood there with his head forward and
one arm over his chest like he was preparing to bow. Wolfgang almost let his
guard down, letting out a deep chuckle.

“You can’t be serious,” he stated in disbelief. “That’s not your
stance, is it?”

Sova didn’t budge except for ticking his head to the side. “I’m
ready when you are.”

Starting with a straight jab, Wolfgang’s fist was knocked to the
side by Sova’s spin kick. The way Sova’s arms were placed allowed him to
instantly build the momentum needed to complete the spin, his leg now hanging
high at the ready. Standing on one leg, Sova waited for his opponent’s next
move.

“What kind of crazy fighting style is that?” Wolfgang cried
angrily, shaking his knuckles awake.

“One that’s hard to follow,” Sova answered simply. “Are you having
difficulty keeping up?”

Wolfgang yelled out, unleashing one punch after another. Sova
leaned back, dodging away from reach. Using his raised leg fall back and using
his other leg to perform a trip kick, Sova’s thin leg bumped into Wolfgang’s
ankle like it was a tree trunk. Unfazed, Wolfgang stomped down on Sova’s calf, pinning
his leg to the mat. Before his opponent could put his full weight on him, Sova
used his free leg and wrapped it around the back of Wolfgang’s knee.

Twisting around, he got Wolfgang right when he was off balance,
dropping him down on his hands and knees. Spinning his way back up, Sova gave
his opponent a firm kick in the keister, knocking him flat on his stomach. Sova
waited, fighting off the frail feeling that stomp had left in his leg. Head
down in rage, Wolfgang bared his teeth and circled around him like an actual
wolf would with its prey. Without warning, he charged in.

Ducking into a lift, Wolfgang launched Sova straight up in the
air. In midflight, Sova had no idea what was up and what was down; flailing his
arms to regain direction. Snatching him out of the air, Wolfgang landed, ready
to crush Sova’s ribs over his knee. But, Sova stuck his arms and legs out with
enough strength and flexibility to counter it, holding his position in a wide
arch.

Wolfgang struggled, having no way to pull Sova down effectively.
“What gives?” Any more force would just rip Sova’s clothes off instead of
finishing the attack, but he wasn’t willing to let go just yet. “I’ve been
practicing that move to perfection. Nobody’s been able to walk away from it,
let alone counter it!”

Sova stretched his neck up to look at him, the front of his black
hair draping back over his left eye. “First time for anything, wouldn’t you
say?”

Kicking off the mat, Sova swung a knee into Wolfgang’s temple.
Letting go, Wolfgang stumbled to the side. Curling his body upright, Sova
changed direction to sprint. Running up Wolfgang’s wide torso, Sova set a foot
on his shoulder and used his other to kick his jaw like a football. With his
head knocked back, Wolfgang fell flat on his back for good; Sova spinning in
the air to land right after.

Seeing that it was the end of it, Errol snapped his fingers in
defeat. “Darn. I thought for sure Wolfgang was going to show him who’s boss.”
He stared at Sova–who was unsuspecting of his audience– and the anger behind it
could boil water. Returning to spare with Roland, he visibly threw punches
harder than he was before. “That darky thinks he’s so good. He’s glad he didn’t
have to fight me.”

Roland checked the punches coming at him, blocking them smoothly.
“I’m taking you on pretty well. Maybe he should take me on for a few rounds.”

Roland changed the fight’s direction, throwing the punches now.
Blocking one with an open palm, Errol grabbed Roland’s fist in a tight hold.
With a powerful shoulder plow, Errol knocked Roland off his feet. Standing over
him with his arm at his mercy, Errol held his neck down with an elbow. Not
skipping a beat, Roland tapped out.

Errol let go, playfully ruffling his friends hair in victory. “You
were saying?”

Roland slapped his hand away and sat up to stretch the tension out
of his shoulder. “Ah, shut up. That’s what I get for going easy on you. Best
two out of three.”

.  .  .

One perk the Oneiro Academy had was indisputable: at least the
girls there were in good shape. A group of them walked on the lake’s shore in
their bikinis, show off what all that good exercise can do for a girl. They
screamed in surprise, getting drench after someone cannon-balled into the
water. He laughed obnoxiously, splashing them for good measure. Laughing along
with him, they dove into the lake to chase him down.

The lifeguard on duty stayed perched on his wooden tower, manually
pushing the searchlight next to him to watch over the students in the dark. The
light’s circular beam crawled along the lake’s crystal clear surface, slowly
hovering over a group of students batting a beach ball to each other. A boy
leaped off of one of the encircling trees, swinging on a rope and bellowing out
his jungle man call. In a shower of water, his landing rained down droplets all
the way to the wooden pier. Roland didn’t budge, staying in his relaxed state
against the pier’s end post.

Errol swam up to him, hanging onto a wooden plank. “I’m waiting
for our race. The clock is ticking.”

Roland didn’t take his eyes off the girls lying on towels at the
lake’s shore. “Can’t you see I’m busy enjoying the view?”

Errol rolled his eyes, climbing out of the water. “So long for the
race then.” He took Roland’s towel to dry off, twisting the water out of his
ears. “Nothing can break the spell they got you under.”

“We’ll,” Roland corrected, “usually I’m cured once a guy comes
into the picture.”

Done drying, Errol threw the damp towel over Roland’s face. “Ain’t
it the truth.”

Letting the towel slip right off, Roland continued to watch the
girls. Now, they were running around the sand, grabbing at each other’s bikini
top strings to slip them off. “I don’t know what game they’re playing, but
I’m
certainly winning.” Roland sighed deeply, stretching his arms up. “Yep. Nothing
could possibly ruin this day.”