Image by Richard E Marion — Pantech P2030 — Paint.Net v3.5.11

The Realm of Navigator Randall Dee: Trans-Human Cyber-Sorcerer

Navigator Randall Dee conjured the Nexus. A connection in the matrix of weather and time; animated and mechanical traffic.

The Tree-Spirits, guised as white snow-beasts dropped off the winter cryo-trees cached with red rock-hard berries. The Spirits landed upon stiff slurry earth, edged to adjacent tarmac, linked into a mile-long chain. They had to keep moving. As some souls must.

The Tree-Spirits left the tree fruit alone. They knew the Highwaymen would eat it during their seasonal migration breaching the Canadian Border, traversing an ancient burial ground adjoining the abandoned Larkhall Asylum For The Criminally Insane. There, they would huddle for warmth waiting for the apocalyptic dawn. Then move on.

Randall Dee pushed Diesel Dark’s tall gearing penetrating Vicious Winds howling like Northern Wolves: which is exactly what they once WERE in an elder realm. On the run…

Dee was bemused by the Wolven Clan. The former predators felt FEAR: a new emotion. A giant Electric Green Freight Train… the Tree-Spirits… substantial enough to hurt them would catch up and flatten them. Crippled, they would then be eaten by the Highwaymen.

The day had been stormy; cars went flying off roads; schools were closed. So a handful of brightly bundled determined joggers, that dark roadie biker, and Dee; had most of the local land for themselves. The only element entirely out of Dee’s control completely was the solar day: way, way, short in January.

Navigator Dee steered supernaturally over crumpled asphalt, past greedy potholes. Diesel Dark pounded brazenly at breakneck speed traversing powdered snow topped expanses of frozen slush and black ice, the Urban Assault Tank-Bike’s long wheelbase and fat 42 MM touring tires violating common sense and rewriting momentum and gravity physics.

Navigator Dee could just barely feel his gloved hands. Squeezed tighter on the alloy bars so he wouldn’t just plain fall off. Weathered hands cracked from working outside, pumping iron and riding the unseasonable winter. He preferred pain to uncertainty.

What Dee couldn’t conjure control he’d outrun. Would make it to Parrot Cove just ahead of darkness, at the palatial home of Laura and Vitor Tausk. Dee would warm himself within their Palace Of Light atop the Tall Place overlooking the Atlantic Sea.

About Richard E & Mary L Marion

Independent Writers
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