In the Grip of the Atarashi Kami

It is slow going as I make sure my pack doesn't rattle or shake too much, while also keeping low and out of sight. But the metal head kids are going at a meandering pace as well. So it is really pretty easy to keep them at a safe distance while still in sight.

From the little I can remember of the map I had seen in the station we are heading north to what seems to be rice fields. We pass what looks like a small shinto shrine then follow the road left, trading the paved road for a dirt and gravel walking track that ascends a steep hill into the rice fields. The crops look as I had expected when I first spied the feilds. They barren of plants, but the soil appears recently tilled and damp. I assume this is from the irrigation system I can see runs between each of the small fields.

The metal head kids are grunting and laughing as they tramp over the rich soil. From where I am hiding about 100 meters away, I hear the kid with the tire iron let out an audible grumble at the steep incline. But a barked word from the older kid with the satsumata shut him up in a heartbeat.

I am starting to really wonder where we are heading, till we turn off the walking path and start to snake our way trough the fields towards a cluster of sheds made of corrugated iron. It must be their camp or hideout or whatever… I think, then pause for a moment. I have so far been using the steep incline of the hill as a way to keep out of sight. But that isn't going to work if I followed them now. I glance down at the irrigation trench. There is water in it, but it doesn't look all that deep. With little other choice I hop down into the running water with a muffled splash.

The water is cold against my skin. But it is strangely refreshing after so long in the heat. I make sure to keep low, then dash up as close as I dare to the metal heads. They make their way into the sheds and out of sight. 'Crap…' I mutter. Then I pick up the pace as I follow the natural shape of the trench into the shed cluster.

All I have to guide me is the sound of their buzzing and clicking voices. I also assume the kid with the plastic bucket must have woken at some point because I could hear his shrikes and cries.

'Keep yelling kid…' I mutter. 'Show me where you are.

In all honesty I barely have a plan. Arguably I barely have a goal besides "help". My only real hope is that they have been keeping him alive for a reason. And that they will leave him alone at some point so I can get him out. I am still operating on the idea that this world is going to follow the kind of logic I can understand. But this is not some boys-own-adventure action story – I hear a voice in the back of my mind question.

I follow the desperate pleas from the plastic bucket kid through the labyrinth of sheds. Each one made of the same corrugated iron. But also with slight differences in the size and shape as well. The lack of uniformity in size also makes it impossible to space them easily. This means some as distanced be a few meters from each other. While others are all but leaning on each other.

There aren't enough of them for me to truly feel lost. But I do start to feel disorientated after a while. However, when I am sure I am close, I drop down as low as I can, my knees dipping into the water as I move. I get as close as the trenches can take me, then silently vault out and onto the soft grass. Without stopping to think, I dash as fast as I dare to the closest shed and press myself against it. I can here the inhuman voices of the metal head kids clear as day now. They cannot be more than a dozen meters away. I edge carefully to the corner of the shed I am leaning against, then I peer around the side.

The three metal headed kids just finished untying the plastic head kid. However, they have surround him so that – even though his hands are free – if he were to run he only has one direction he can move. That path leads towards another of the countless corrugated iron shed. However this one also appears to stand out among the others. They all look old, but this one looks positively ancient. The gutters are thick with tangled leaves. The walls are spotted with rust and there are countless holes all over the wavy sheet metal. There were countless tiny holes, and I swear I could see shadows of movement from within. The plastic bucket kid gets to his feet and I can see that directly in front of him there is a large open window in the face of the shed. The metal heads slowly move closer and closer to him from all sides, brandishing their weapons. I assume they must want him to climb into the window, that this shed must be used as some kind of cell. If that is the case, my rescue opportunity may be coming up. In There is a strange silent and cruel indifference as the metal head kids press-gang the plastic head towards the open window. No more jeering, no more laughter. Just mechanical trudging.

Okay. I think to myself. Just wait till he is in the shed. Once he is inside you can figure out how to get him out. I mean even if they leave a guard I should be able to take down one of them — right?

That is when an unnatural chill enters the air. Despite the heat of summer all the blood in my body suddenly turns cold as ice and my stomach goes tight. A moment later a grey-blue skinned hand raises up and extends through the window and out of the shed. I feel my heart drop. This is no normal hand. The grey coloured flesh, the knobbly knuckles stained with black grease... this is the same kind of hand that attacked me in the information centre... except this one isn't alone...

It starts with a cluster of fingers. They are thin and covered in weary blue veins that stand out on the corpse pale skin. Each digit is long and the joints are broken up by crackling knuckles that sound like dried out chestnuts as they undulate.

Then each cluster of fingers flexes out and reveals that they come together in a sweaty palm that is dripping with black oil and grease.

My tongue instantly dries up in my throat, and as much as I want to call out to stop what I realise is about to happen… I just can't find any words.

The kid with the plastic helmet screams – the sound is tinny as it bounces around the walls of his plastic shell. Then, as the hands grasp for him, he tries to flee, but is met what a stike to his gut by the smaller metal head boy's tire iron. The girl has withdrawn a small flip knife from somewhere and is brandishing it towards the throat of the terrified kid in plastic.

The poor plastic head kid staggers back at the knife. But he takes one to many steps back and the first of the greasy palms stretches out and grasps his shoulder, wrapping those vile fingers around his shoulder.

The kid with the plastic bucket screeches like a banshee – in an unmistakably childlike voice. The hands in the shed try to tighten their grip, but their ugly touch only cause the boy to panic harder and he yanks himself free.

I watch with morbid terror as he pelts as fast as he can towards at the metal head kids – no doubt hoping he can break through their lines. The girl with the knife does not hesitate. She says nothing, and without warning, thrust her knife directly into plastic head kid's gut. The boy with the plastic bucket wheezes, and his stomach slowly grows to a deep red-brown colour. The skin on his bare, sunburnt shoulders turns from an angry and inflamed red colour to a pale and ghostly white.

The girl yanks out her knife and wipes it clean on the face of Hello Kitty. The once white cat's already haggard and brown features now stained crimson.

The smell of blood enters my nostrils and I feel like I'm on the very of throwing up.

The boy with the plastic helmet staggers backwards, and the grasping fingers that desperately snatch out for him. The first clammy hand finds its grip on his shoulder. It instantly fixes its fingers deep into the flesh of his shoulder so deeply that they draw blood, then writhing palms yank him back to the now countless hands that stretch out from the dark open window.

The kids with the metal helmets do nothing but watch now. They coldly look on as more hands grab the kid by his bucket, shoulders, legs and arms. They begin to pull the thrashing boy back to the window.

The kid must let out what little strength he has left. Because I feel like I am going to throw up as he screams, kicks and pulls against his captor.

As the plastic headed boys shoulders disappear into the dark window he screams one final time with something more primal than rage, more frightening than terror, and more desperate than despair. Then his whole body goes limp. If it wasn't for the slow rise and fall of his chest I would have assumed that he had suffered a heart attack and died then and there.

With their prey now defenceless, the grasping hands yank him back hard. His head cracks into the top of the window with a meaty sounding crunch. The sharp rusted edge of the corrugated metal cuts right through his thin helmet and I am met with a view of the top of the boys skull as the bucket is shredded away.

I can't see a face – enough of the blue plastic remains to hide that. But on the top of his head is shaggy brown hair. It is drenched in blood, sweat and almost certainly tears. But more than anything else, it is very human looking.

I pull my gaze away then. Partly because it was incredibly hard to watch. But mostly because this time I really did throw up. What was left of the protein bar and the onigiri spill out of my guts and onto my shoes.

'Kshvvv ta?'

The voice cuts through the meaty sounds of the plastic head kid's bones breaking as the last of his body is no doubt yanked and beaten against the walls of the shed in an attempt to pull him inside. It was the girl with the knife and the rope who had spoken.

I shoot my head up and glance back around the corner to the grizzly scene. The boy is all but gone now — consumed by the writhing limbs. However, the metal head girl is pointing in my direction with her bloody knife.

The older boy turns and follows her morbid gesture. 'Gzzzzzka zzzt?' he bleats out. Then the slaps the shoulder of the boy with the tire iron. Tire Iron turns, looks at his two gangmates. Then groans. The older boy slaps his shoulder again – harder this time. Then barks something that sounds like an order. The boy with the tire iron grumbles, then starts to trudge in my direction.

I slam my back against the shed I am hiding behind. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! My thoughts scream as my heart starts to race. I dart my eyes around — looking for anywhere to hide.

There is the irrigation trench, but that only worked when they didn't know I was there. It wouldn't hide my whole body even if I was going to lie down in it. I then spot the sheds around me — surely it wouldn't be to hard to break into one? But I quickly rule that idea out too. After what I had just seen with the finger creatures... like hell I am getting inside one of these things willingly!

I risk another glance around the corner. The kid with the tire iron is still trudging towards me. However, he is less than a dozen metres away now.

Crap! I realise there is nowhere in sight that I can hide. But I'm also exhausted after the last two day. So there is no way trying to outright flee is ever going to work. Instead I try to silently shuffle around the outside of the shed I have been using as cover this who time. I move towards the far side of where Tire Iron is approaching from. If I can just break line of sight I can at least buy some time.

However, when I get to the edge and look around the corner my heart drops. This side of the shed is almost directly pressed up against the neighbouring shed. To have any chance of fitting through the tiny gap I have to swing my pack off and hold it tight against my gut. But with no options left, that is exactly what I do...

It is cramped as I start to shuffle into the small space, and I can feel the edges of the old frayed metal walls hook and grab on my clothes. I'm almost fully concealed when I try to tug at my arm but find it jerk about n place. I look over to it and see that the sleeve of my shit has caught tightly against a loose nail. I tug at it once but isn't giving way. I brace my footing to give it a much stronger yank, but then I hear the tramping footsteps of the kid with the tire iron coming around the corner and I freeze. The only thing that should be visible is that small corner of my shirt. If I'm lucky her may not see it at all.

'Chuchuk tzzt…' I hear the kid say in what sounds like a grumble. He sounds disinterested, and I hope that means he will lose interest soon. I mean how good could his vision be? He's got a big arse metal bucket over the top of it!

Yet, this it no time to relax. I am frozen still. I dare not breath in case it makes enough noise to give away my position. But my heart is pounding. My arm is caught and my whole body is moist with thick, dirt stained sweat. Just let him fuck off! I cannot help thinking in my head like a silent prayer.

'Znntakunya!' I hear a call from the girl a little way off.

'Guzzzzhu —' I hear Tire Iron start to stay, but then pauses. 'Byon byon…' I hear him mutter loudly to the others. Then I hear his footsteps start to thump against the soft grassy ground. He is heading in my direction.

My eyes fix on the shirtsleeve that must have given me away and my heart drops. 'Fuck…' I can't help gasping out. I clench my teeth and yank at it in panic. It doesn't move. I pull a at it again — still nothing. I brace my foot against the opposite shed and yank harder than ever — this time putting all the strength I have behind it.

I hear the soft cracking sound of fabric being stretched beyond its breaking point. Then there is a sharp shredding sound followed by a resonating heavy thunk! As the material gave way and my sleeve was torn free, my elbow crashed into the sheds wall. Almost like a gong the sound of shaking metal resounds in the cluster of sheds as it bounces of one wall and then another.

'Fuuuuck…' I cry out as pain shoots up my arm and I realise, if they didn't know I was there before — they sure as shit do now.

'Zhip ta ka!' I hear Tire Iron shriek as his tramping footsteps break into a run. I can also hear the shouting of the other two metal head kids screaming on the other side of the shed. I expect they will join Tire Iron soon — I have to be out of here before then. I start to yank and pull myself through the narrow passage. But every inch is a struggle as my clothes and skin catch and tear on every loose piece of steel. I clench my teeth, trying to seethe the pain of over a dozen cuts and gashes out through my jaws.

I have barely made it a couple of feet, when Tire Iron's metal clad skull comes into view behind me. 'Khazzt!' he screams.

'Shoot!' I spit back, trying to push all the harder through the narrow passage.

Tire Iron reaches out one of his blistered hands towards me, grasping for me with his bony fingers. I am out of his reach — but barely. Tire Iron realise this too, and he is not about to call it quits. He tries to follow me into the gap, pushing his skinny limbs into the small space.

'Get the hell away from me!' I scream, and I reach down for the hatchet strapped to my belt. As I fumble at the clasp I look down so I can focus on it better.

However, as soon as I take my vision off Tire Iron I hear a clang and then silence. For a startled moment I wonder if just the threat of me getting a weapon has actually worked, and that he is retreating. But as I free the axe and look back at the kid it becomes clear what has actually happened. Though Tire Iron is much skinner than I am, his helmet is much bigger than any part of my body, and it makes him far to large to fit through the space. Tire Iron is left helplessly snarling and spitting out all manner of abuse at me in his strange language. But he can yell all he wants, if he can't reach me it all sounds like music to my ears.

'Oh thank Christ…' I heave out with relief. I am about to start shuffling away again — safe from Tire Iron's snatching fingers. But then there is a scuffling of footsteps from the otherside of the narrow crevasse. I snap my neck around and see the girl and the bigger kid sprinting up to the other side of the gap.

'Oh cut me a fucking break!' I shout out, exhausted and drenched in sweat. With my only two ways out they have me trapped...