Chapter 16

Why's It Always Monkeys?

Ty was struggling, falling, and still being crushed by a monster's tail.

He blinked.

Gentry appeared, digging his wooden fist into the face of the previously oblivious monster. The tail's grip loosened and Ty went to work at once, trying to pry it open enough for him to slip out. As Gentry continued to wail on Ty's captor, the end of the puppet's cloak split into long rope-like tendrils that wrapped around the tail. Between the boy and the cloak they finally managed it, and Ty slid out of the tail's grasp.

More than half of the tendrils released the tail to dive after Ty.

Bad move.

The tendrils that stayed behind were unable to handle the tail on their own with their strength divided. The appendage pulled free with ease, knocking into the cloak and pushing it away. Ty reached for it, his fingers brushing one of the dark strands for an instant, and then it whipped out of reach.

#

Gentry had troubles of his own. He got in a good dozen hits on the dazed monster before the tail lost its prey and turned its attention to the puppet. The tail wound around his neck, pulling him off its owner and giving it time to recover from its beating.

It cracked its neck, wiped away a trickle of spit seeping from the corner of its mouth, and hissed, “You will pay for that, thing.”

As he'd thought, this was the leader. How did it get out of the smoke stack to ambush them? In the end that really didn't matter, nor did the creature's petty threats. Gentry was well aware what the tail squeezing his neck meant: it no longer had Ty. The boy's safety was all that mattered.

The tail released his neck and coiled down to bind his arms against his sides. The monster grinned as he relished in his revenge, slashing at Gentry's face with its claws over and over.

Despite his lack of flesh and nerves, Gentry could feel pain. The flakes of wood flying from his face with each swipe might as well have been blood. His need to protect Ty came above everything and gave him the strength he needed to ignore it all.

He had no way of knowing where Ty was so he relied on luck and intuition. The left hand burst out of his bound arm into the unpredictable and unknown.

He prayed it was of help to Ty, somehow.

#

Ty saw the hand as it launched. Now he knew, this would be the part when that wonderful wooden limb homed in on him with perfect accuracy, he would grab it, and be pulled up with lightning speed. He would then deliver a quick kick to the monster's head and rescue his puppet pal.

Instead, the hand whizzed right by him, none of the heroics actually taking place. Ty spun around, watching the hand as it continued down, desperate to see it do something, anything. All he saw was a disembodied hand disappearing out of sight without purpose; a fly ball that missed the mark by a long shot.

Ty already gave up hope when, hundreds of feet below, it landed right in the middle of a rooftop. The fingers dug into the surface as the mechanisms in Gentry's arm adjusted the string's length, making it taunt and secure.

The string quickly caught Ty's eye. He smiled and pulled his spear out of his belt loop and held it out far enough to catch the string, trapping it where the tip of the weapon met the shaft. Then he pulled himself closer to it, holding his spear with both hands and balancing it on the string, riding it like a zip-line.

He looked down, tempted to stick his tongue out at the street. However, after seeing how close it was, he realized he barely escaped the clutches of his cement-y foe. He thought it rude (and unsafe) to taunt it when it was such a close call.

Once over the roof, he let go of his spear with one hand and hit the surface in a roll, shooting for grace but, as usual, coming up short. Instead of landing firm and on one knee as he envisioned, his momentum spun him into an extra roll, making him smack into the shingles face-first.

But it was hard to complain. He was alive, after all.

#

The kid made it. He felt the spear sliding along his string, felt the weight of Ty leave near where his hand was, and knew that he made it to safety. Now he could give the thing bashing his head in the full attention it deserved.

Gentry's cloak morphed into tendrils again, running out of the tail's grip like spilled ink. Once free, they darted upward and caught the monster's hand, stopping it mid-strike. It was Gentry's turn to smile at the poor confused fiend. His cloak yanked its hand, pulling it close to Gentry as he delivered a swift and powerful headbutt.

The creature's head bounced off the puppet's wooden “skull” with a satisfying crack. Then its tail went slack, freeing Gentry from his uncomfortable prison.

Still smiling from his victory, he pulled himself toward his hand, the building, and Ty.

#

From his vantage point, Ty got a perfect view of the tail, moving without its still-dazed master's consent, swinging around in an ark. The blade froze above its prey, catching lights from the town below and shimmering in the dark.

Then it went down, too fast to see, digging deep into Gentry's back.

The puppet let out a scream and Ty just watched in horror, too far away to do anything else.

#

Gentry hadn't seen the tail coming. That stupid, stupid tail! The thing was far too violent, like it possessed a mind of its own. Gentry's cloak did its best to help him, winding itself around the tail and pulling with all it had.

He appreciated the effort, but he could feel the cold steel embedded inside of him. It wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He needed to get to solid ground, knock the creature out, and with the combined efforts of himself, Ty, and his cloak, then they could pry the weapon free.

There was only one problem with that plan: the flunkies were back, and bolting straight for him.

#

Being helpless had become an annoying trend as, yet again, Ty was unable to do anything to prevent what he clearly saw would happen.

Gentry's string brought him within ten or twenty feet of the building when the other two monsters tackled him. The force pushed all four of them down, crashing them into the side of the building with an explosion of shattered glass and rubble.

The hand by Ty's foot let go of the roof, bobbing along after its master.

“No!” Ty yelled, chasing after the hand. He made a grab for it, missing as it hit a loose shingle and bounced out of reach. A second later, his foot caught on the very same shingle and he was sent sprawling onto his stomach.

The hand was getting away. If he didn't hurry it would fall off the building and there would be no hope of him pulling his friend to safety. He used his spear to hoist himself onto his feet and into a run as fast as he could. He glanced from the hand back to his feet, careful this time to avoid any unstable footing.

It was almost at the end of the roof and he wasn't nearly close enough to make another grab. When he was sure he wasn't going to make it, he caught a stroke of luck—the hand suddenly stopped. Ty couldn't tell if it was from Gentry himself doing it, or if the hand had just snagged on a tile—either way it was the chance he needed.

Ty ran several more steps and dove for it, his hands reaching, reaching—!

His body slammed against the shingles, pain rushed through him, but the tips of his fingers caught Gentry's wooden ones and held on with iron determination.

Ty grinned, pulled himself closer, enough to get both his hands around his friend's. He looked at it and his smile faded. What did he do now? In his mind, Gentry would have been able to feel him through the disembodied limb, recognize immediately who it was, and the hand would grip Ty's, signaling that he was okay. But the hand was limp and—unless he imagined things—felt cold to the touch.

He pulled on it, putting all his weight into it, but it wouldn't budge. The string was still pulled tight; something down there wanted this hand. But... he started to doubt it was Gentry.

Next thing he knew, there was a tug on the other side of the string and he flew over the side of the building, his hands clinging to Gentry's in a death grip.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, the shadowy blur coming into focus as a massive forearm. It hit him in the stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs and the puppet's hand out of his grip. He watched it sail out of sight.

The owner of the arm tossed him back onto the roof, sending shingles every which way as his back slammed into it. The monster landed as well, its clawed feet slicing the unlucky rooftop beneath them to pieces.

Ty forced breath back into his lungs and, realizing he managed to keep a hold of his spear, pointed his weapon up at the enemy.

Now that he wasn’t thousands of feet in the air and with a break in the action, he was able to take in the full view of the monster.

The hair on the back of his neck stuck up as it hit him: they reminded him of the winged monkeys from The Wizard of Oz. Those nasty things who swooped out of nowhere to carry Dorothy away, scarring many an unsuspecting child... including Ty. He thought he got over his fear of them long ago, but seeing a living, breathing version that was twice as worse made it all come rushing back.

The bat-monkey opened his mouth, showing all of its teeth with a deep, malicious chuckle.