Glowing Embers

E

The group had been walking for a mere hour. Willow had explained her encounter of Archer to Whitney, who accepted that there is strength in numbers. The sun hung low in the morning sky, ambitiously inching its way up. The three friends relentlessly maintained their steady pace through the forest.

"Willie," Archer joked as Willow shot him a hard glare, "what weapon do you want? I have a sword, a trident, and throwing knives. All hand-crafted out of stone." Willow eyed the weapons he was lugging.

"Which one are you best at?" she indecisively inquired.

"Honey, I'm a ninja with all of them," Archer smirked. Willow laughed and nudged him while contemplating her choices.

"I'm stuck between the trident and the sword," she finally admitted, biting her thumbnail.

"Sword," Whitney stated firmly. "Take the sword. You held a tiger off using a branch. Then you threw it. So, um, you're obviously worthy of it." Willow glimpsed at her best friend and smiled. She then took the sword from Archer and rubbed her hands over it.

"That's right," Archer encouraged mockingly, "feeeel it. Be one with the sword." He grinned cheekily and looked over at Whitney. "You haven't spoken much," he stated.

"No shit, Sherlock," Willow counted, snickering as the boy placed his hand over his heart and whimpered. She turned to her friend. "What's up? You okay?"

"Just trying to figure something out," she replied, succinct.

"Less thinking, more doing," Archer interjected. "That's my motto." Willow playfully glared at him and turned back to Whitney.

"Figure out what?" she queried curiously.

"About the fire and the bombs. About 'weeding out the weak.' About mutated tigers and silent forests. It's all too impossible. No person could inflict this much damage on the world," she suggested, raising her voice as she peered around the forest.

"So what are you saying? Giant robots pressing buttons and murdering people?" Archer asked impatiently.

"I don't know," Whitney confessed.

"So keep thinking," he pressed on, rubbing his hands through his hair

"Look who's talking now," Willow simpered smugly.

"Don't even--" Archer's words were cut short by a sudden shriek coming from behind them. The three whirled around and saw a man fall to the ground about twenty feet away. He had cuts all along his body, and his head had bumps all over it. One of his eyes appeared to be squeezed shut, and the other was bulging and resembled a dark, murky color. He began hacking up blood, and Willow could see Whitney gyrate in the other direction. The blood was the color of ripe tomatoes. Archer ran ahead to confront the sickly man.

"Run!" the man screeched deafeningly. "Run away and don't come back! It's all destroyed!"

"Sir, what's all destroyed?" Archer dubiously questioned.

"Everything! It's all gone!" The man creakily managed to stand up, and staggered forward a few steps. He then collapsed to the ground, the life draining out of him. Archer leaned down, and slid his eyelids shut.

"We need to go," he confirmed to the waiting group. He dashed back to them, and paused to look back at the man. He took off running once more, and the girls followed. 

"What did he mean?" Willow asked, her voice cracking with fright.

"Evil is winning," he softly explained. All of a sudden, his eyebrows furrowed, and he clenched his fists. "Evil is winning and we can never go back. Whatever it is, whoever it is, it doesn't matter. It's sinister, and it won't stop until we're all dead. Or worse!" he exclaimed furiously.

"What's worse than death?" Whitney urged, her strides now longer than ever.

"Losing the fight," Archer tersely stated. Willow distinguished his vexation, and spoke up.

"We're not gonna let evil win. I'm not gonna live in a world where we are controlled by a nefarious force. I'm gonna fight until the good wins, even if that means dying in the process. Logistically, the only weapon we have against evil is determination to survive," she glanced down at the sword she was carrying. "What matters is not running into battle but surviving the attack. Whatever they throw at us, we boomerang it by living." Just then, Willow descried a bird flying through the air. It was seemingly soaring above the clouds. It spread out its wings blissfully. She pointed at the wonder, when suddenly it came zooming down to pounce on them. "Run!" she shouted.

Whitney darted her eyes up to the sky and ducked her head as she ran under a tree. Archer took out his throwing knives and stood in the middle of the forest trail as Willow ran backward, preparing her sword for a fight. The bird whipped past them and heedlessly charged toward Whitney. Willow shouted a warning and sprinted over to her friend who was helplessly dodging the incoming bird. Archer jumped into action and threw a knife at the careening bird. It missed by inches, and was sent spiraling across the forest. Willow, eyeing the weapon, hurtled over to it and turned her focus to the mischievous bird. She took a couple steps, pointed at the bird, and threw the knife with all the strength she could muster.

"Heads up!" she exclaimed as the knife tore through the air. Willow blinked, and the bird hightailed towards the ground. It seemed to die before it even hit the floor. Willow had just eradicated another enemy. She quickly dashed over to the group. Archer was kneeling before it, examining the specimen.

"It had really sharp talons. But they were stained with blood," he informed the two. He placed his finger on the blood and wiped it off. "Fresh." He picked up the bird and stood up, facing the girls. "We can eat this. Now we don't have to eat raw fish every meal," he added, glancing smugly at Whitney.

Unexpectedly, a queer voice abruptly announced its presence from behind them.

"Look what's on the menu today, Marty."