Iron Manimal Comes Alive!: Iron Manimal, #2

By H. Seitz

Iron Manimal is back with a vengeance. With nothing left to return to, he must make a new place for himself in the world. After so much time alone in the wilderness, will he be able to cope? Or will the consequences of his actions finally catch up to him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. Seitz
• Release date: May 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386591337

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Iron Manimal Comes Alive!

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C1

Phil stumbled a bit ahead of me. His drunkenness was fading into the beginnings of a crippling hangover.

I know what you're thinking. You think my powers are lame, you think that I'm lame, and you're right. I admit it.

I think it takes time. That eventually, we'll both get better.

He moved some branches aside and crouched under them.

We’ll never get better. But at least you have some sort of ability. Whatever I have might as well be schizophrenia. Schizophrenic dementia brought on by alcohol abuse, that's what they'd call it.

That isn't true at all.

All of it was true.

Yes it is. I may be a drunk, but I'm not stupid. And if you're in such a rush, why don't you just turn yourself into a horse and let me ride you?

What? I'm not in a rush. I've got nowhere to go and no reason to be there.

Wait a second.

He froze and I sighed before I could catch myself.

You think I'm being ridiculous? Well we'll see just how ridiculous.

He started running and waved at me to follow.

We're almost there. And we could move a helluva lot faster if we didn't have to trudge through the forest.

I have no problem leaving the forest.

Yes you do. You hate people. You're afraid of them.

Well he had me there.

I'm afraid of animals, but here I am, in the forest. So you can go to hell.

Phil's 'power' over animals was more like a mental handicap. Sometimes, when he was very drunk, he could control a few of them, or at least trick them into performing certain little pointless tasks. But for the most part they seemed to be driving him insane. And when he was drunk and lucid, he refused to discuss it.

We arrived at a derelict cabin. For whatever problems he was having with his animal friends they still helped him to find these places. This one was more like an outhouse.

He let out a sigh of relief as he closed a rotted wooden door behind us.

Finally. Break it out.

I took off my backpack and reached into it, then started rifling through it. Phil began to panic.

What the fuck man? 

There was half a bottle left.

What the fuck!

You probably stole it. It wouldn't be the first time.

Don't fuck with me, Scotty. Where is it?

Phil -

He started to hyperventilate and bolted, smashing through the door and toppling the rest of the cabin with it. I followed him up over a small rise and then another.

For fuck's sake!

He looked back at me for a second, eyes glazed, before disappearing around a bend and down into a gulley. When I caught up to him he was holding a rusted old gas can. He blinked as he raised it to his lips. 

Phil, no!

The smell of gasoline hit me as it dribbled down his chin. I'd never seen him eat or drink anything other than grain alcohol or fast food hamburgers. I wondered if he was about to keel over and a part of me hoped that he would. The only peace I ever got was when he finally conked out.

A tremor rose through Phil's body, his head shuddered and he blinked his eyes as it left him.

Holy shit. Try some.

He held out the can to me. He looked calm and strong for once. I took it from him and drank and was hit by a wave of euphoria. I became aware of a thousand little nagging aches and pains as they finally melted away. It was unthinkable to live with such pain for so long. How did I endure it? How did anyone? No wonder I'd never felt quite right - I never was. Or at least I hadn't been for a long, long time. It felt like being young again.

Wow.

I tossed the empty can aside and stamped my feet, the new heat in my blood loosened my toes.

What happened back there?

He shrugged.

It's always about food and fear. All the animals, all the time. Food and fear and fucking and fighting. It's a circle of madness, and for me, it's a dot. A black hole of madness, all happening at the same time. The alcohol dulls it and makes me stronger, but this? This is 100 times better.

I took a deep breath as I leaned back and blinked my eyes.

We should probably figure out what the hell we're doing.

Phil considered this for a moment as we examined each other. He looked like he had before the accident. I hadn't realized how far gone he'd been. I could tell he was thinking the same thing about me.

We go east.

And then what?

We buy a boat.

He laughed. It sounded almost alien compared to the maniacal cackling that generally passed for happiness these days.

We buy a boat, I echoed. It was all so simple and perfect and obvious.

He put a cigarette in his mouth and stopped short of lighting it.

There's an interstate 12 miles north of here and a small town not much further. From there, we can probably rent a car.

You can go ahead and light that.

He lit his cigarette.

I always thought, maybe because of the movies?

Gasoline just isn't that volatile. People wouldn't be allowed anywhere near it if it was.

I guess it's an instinct. Risk aversion. Better safe than sorry.

Risk aversion. I think I can live with that.

Phil kicked at the dirt.

So what would you say is more volatile than gasoline?

I looked down at my left hand and rolled my fingers. 

C2

Three or four Greyhound buses and 38 hours later, we arrived in Virginia Beach. We made a few quick stops to pick up supplies, then headed toward the water. It was dark by the time we found a secluded place to camp. By some unspoken mutual consent, we started in on the wine. Phil took a long pull and shuddered.

Arghh. This is terrible.

He took another long pull and lit a cigarette, then offered me one.

I lit the cigarette and drained my bottle. My eyes watered and a wave of dizziness hit me. I started to hiccup.

How is it?

He had chosen something called MD2020, or Mad Dog.

It's actually not that bad. Want to trade?

He passed me one of his and I passed him one of mine. There was a roar above us and twin streaks of fire as a jet shot out over the water.

There's a naval base not far from here.

We eyed the gas can.

There are other ways.

He put an exaggerated look of concentration on his face. A small bottle nose dolphin stuck his head out of the water and chirped at us from about 20 feet offshore.

Phil popped open the cooler and we gagged.

We should've got white wine, to go with the fish. 

I wondered if Mad Dog or Wild Irish Rose came in white and prayed to God that they didn't.

Phil tossed the dolphin a fish, then smelled his hand and dry heaved as the dolphin disappeared into the water.

I don't get it.

Wait.

Why did we bring fish? Can't you just call them?

It's a little more complicated than that. I can't really control them. For the stupider ones, all I can use are simple ideas, like 'food' or 'danger'. Danger works best, especially if they aren't that desperate for food. For the smarter ones, like dolphins or monkeys, it's best to just ask or make some kind of deal. It depends on the kind of animal and the individual animal. Dogs are generally cooperative, cats are not. I can communicate with them, but I can't change who they are.

That doesn't explain the fish.

Tricking a school of fish into getting themselves murdered didn't seem like the best first impression to make. Most animals, their default reaction to an unknown threat is a kind of frenzied panic, it spreads from animal to animal and across species. And the associations animals can make are quite complex, especially in matters of life and death. Maybe half or more of the initial associations are wrong, but still.

Better safe than sorry.

Exactly.

The dolphin resurfaced and chirped. Phil picked a fish out of the cooler and waded out to meet him. He removed a few objects from the dolphin's mouth and gave him the fish, then waded back and sat beside me.

Any of these valuable?

He handed me five rings. Two were stainless steel, one was a cheap class ring, one was silver and one was gold.

These two. I handed them back and he brought them back to the dolphin with another fish. He wiped his hands off in the water before returning.

Over the next few hours several dolphins came to us with gold and silver rings. They continued to come even after we were out of fish.

I took the latest batch of rings from Phil and placed each into the appropriate pile. There were three silver, nine gold and two platinum. I weighed each pile in my hands.

This has got to be worth at least a few thousands dollars.

We stayed up drinking and playing with the dolphins until we were out of wine, then stretched out on the sand to smoke a last cigarette.

Alcohol is a relatively honest drug. Other drugs, it isn't necessarily that you lose everything. It's that you just don't care. You wake up one morning and you don't love anything anymore, and you just don't care.

And then you kill yourself.

We both started laughing.

Good night, Scotty.

Phil closed his eyes and rolled onto his side.

Good night.

I eyed the gas can.

But it really does clear your head.

Need has a way of doing that.

I pretended to talk with Lulu as I waited for sleep. It was a sadder, more pitiful version of talking to myself. We had had one week together, and by then it was already too late.

Lulu.

It'll be okay.

But Lulu -

Move with your fate, not against it, and someday, you will be free.

I woke up.

Who were you talking to?

But he knew. This wasn't the first time he'd heard me.

What the hell are you doing? Scotty, no!

He tried to stop me but I sidestepped him and swatted him aside as I slugged down the gasoline, nearly all five gallons of it, before tossing the