Swell: A Different Path: Account of the Change, #3

By J.G. Johnson

How far would you go to be free?

When Mick Renalds packed his bags and left for Japan, he thought he was free of the shackles of his past, but some people are destined to walk a Different Path.

As much as Mick would like to live a quiet life, Destiny has something else in mind, and Mick is just the man for the job.

As the world turns upside down, the real monsters are out to play, and only Mick can stand between them and those he loves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.G. Johnson
• Release date: Aug 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393315254

J.G. Johnson

J.G. Johnson lives and works in Japan with his violinist wife and rambunctious son, who would even give a Tanuki a run for its money. He enjoys all things outdoors and absolutely despises the tedium of sitting around with nothing to do. In his limited free time, you can usually find him nose deep in a good book or writing, although he has been found in the kitchen whipping up some food or sweets from time to time. Nothing better than a Pumpkin-chip cookie and a good book.

Book preview

SWELL A DIFFERENT PATH

Account of the Change

J.G. Johnson

Swell: A Different Path Copyright © 2019 by J.G. Johnson. All Rights Reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review. 

Cover designed by Michael Chaney 

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. 

J.G. Johnson

Visit my website at www.Nascentbooks.com 

Printed in the United States of America 

First Printing: Aug 2019

J.G. Johnson 

ISBN-13 978-1393315254

CONTENTS

DEDICATION

CRAZY FRIENDS

WHINERS

LUCKY JERK

A REAL BUDDY

DIFFERENT PATH

THE GROWLER

LIFE'S WRENCH AND BATTLE AXES

WHO I AM

THE END IS NIGH

RAVENS! WORSE THAN CHIHUAHUAS

STAND TOGETHER OR HANG SEPARATE

SURPRISE GUESTS

WHAT LAYS IN THE DARK

PRICE OF LOVE

REBOUND

AWOOOO

FOOL’S ERRAND

WHAT LAYS IN THE DARK AGAIN

DANCING IN THE MOONLIGHT

HEART'S CONVICTION

KILLING FIELD

AFTERWARD

BY J.G. JOHNSON

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DEDICATION

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Many thanks to the people that have supported and encouraged me to chase my dreams and my heart. Without you, I would never have been able to go to the places I have, seen the things I have seen or learned just how big the world really is. This book is for you, and it is for everyone that still believes that dreams aren’t dead. Don’t let anyone tell you what is impossible; only you know what is impossible for you. So, live your dream and follow your gut. Lastly, never fear chasing the squirrels and bunnies of your life. They may just lead you to your destiny, and even if they escape, you will have learned something. You have a brain, a heart, and a soul, never stop feeding them.

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Also, to my readers, thank you for your patronage. I write because there is a story crying out to be told, but what good is a story without a reader? Thank you for being that reader and taking the time to share in the worlds I have created. Please enjoy and drop a review if you enjoyed this story or if you have any comments.

CRAZY FRIENDS

Saturday, June 26

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A stiff elbow to the ribs pulled Mick out of his daydreaming as the jet taxied towards the runway. He shot a reproachful glare at his neighbor and 'friend' who not only wasn't fazed by it but didn't even seem to notice. It would have miffed him if anyone else did that, but with Jake, it was just who he was. What!?

You ever wake up one day and think, 'Today is the day that everything is going to change?' I mean, like real change, the kind of change that did in the dinos, wiped out the mammoths, ate the dodos?

Dude, no more anime for you! Just because we're all going to Japan, it doesn't mean something daunting is going to happen requiring the rise of a champion to lead the starved, beaten, and weary to victory against all odds, Jake! Mick Renalds retorted with a snort from his window seat. Blond hair, blue eyes, 23, pushing 6"5,' and with a physique that would make a mountain troll princess swoon, he was about as opposite as you could get from Jake. But, like the dreamer beside him, he was on his way to Japan to work as an English Assistant Teacher or EAT for short. He was also a realist. Had he watched his fair share of Anime? You bet. And he enjoyed tearing holes in their plots.

Yeah, sometimes things happened, standing convention on its head, but that was just the undeniable truth making its presence known. Try to tell that to a dreamer like Jake, and you were in for a long argument with someone who could almost make the unbelievable sound believable. Imagine if he ever learned the truth.

He had no idea how Jake could do it, but on the drop of a dime, he could lead you down a most plausible-sounding rabbit hole and not only drag you through Wonderland but make you accept that you weren’t tripping and that the Caterpillar was actually a larval telepathic alien learning about how messed up the human psyche really was as its Ph.D. thesis.

In a lot of ways, it was a wasted talent. Had Jake ever applied himself to something like politics or business, he would have been a force to be reckoned with. Alas, every time I even mention such an idea to him, he gets a dead serious look on his face and says something like, 'You do not want a person like me in a position like that. I might just succeed.' Which is probably for the best. Honest dreamers meet tragic ends, and things could become ticklish for his continued existence should he show up on others' radar. He sighed, casting a sideways look at his friend. Some secrets are best left sleeping.

One of these days, something is going to happen, shattering that protective dome of reality Mick relies on so heavily upon. Hopefully, it isn't to his detriment. I'd hate for Mick to be Dodo-ized. Where's your sense of adventure, man? Jake Jameson demanded, disappointed in Mick’s apparent refusal to dream.

Jake was the epitome of average. Look in the dictionary for a picture of average white American, and there he was. 5"10', short sandy brown hair, and an average if slightly athletic build. Check, yep normal. His marbled hazel green eyes, which gave those who stared the feeling that a swirling galaxy was gazing into their soul, were the only thing abnormal about him. He also looked a good five years younger than he actually was at 26. He'd never could decide if that was a good or bad thing.

What do you call what we are about to do? Mick demanded. Considering what they were currently doing, Jake's question made little sense. It's not like you, me, and the fifty or so others with our group alone, aren't moving to another country where the culture, language, and environment is starkly different from anything most of us have ever experienced! Some of us may even stay and start whole new lives! he retorted, watching as his chastisements bounced harmlessly off of Jake's chipper mood.

Well, yeah. But that's a little adventure. I'm waiting for the big one to come along! Jake replied, practically bouncing up and down with anticipation. He couldn't explain it, but somewhere deep down, maybe in his atoms themselves, something was screaming that there was more, much more, out there than mankind had ever imagined. or forgotten, the voice whispered, half-heard, in his head. He did his best not to think about it.

Well, let's hope your grand adventure is kind enough to wait until we land in Japan. I don't have any desire to wind up like those people in the TV show having a shared final delusion. Oh, and wake me when we land! Mick asked, promptly passing out before the Jet was airborne.

WHINERS

Sunday, June 27

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Mick had not slept much for the last few hours as they approached Tokyo. No one but the dead had, and even their sleep wasn't peaceful. To say the turbulence was severe would have been an understatement on par with saying they only hadn't crashed yet because the wind was so strong that they couldn't fall from the sky. The two fools who had tried to get up had found themselves bouncing off the ceiling of the fuselage as the jet hit a particularly turbulent patch, plummeting and rising several thousand feet several times in a row like a demented lead yo-yo. Between the injured man, the restless ‘dead’ man with the freakout factor he induced in some passengers and his stench, and the headwinds they had been battling with since almost the halfway point reducing them to flying on less than fumes, they couldn’t divert and were being allowed to land despite the raging typhoon.

Go to Japan, gain a little experience, and have some fun. Escape family obligations and heritage. Mick chuckled as he clutched at his armrest.

The jet lurched sickeningly, eliciting a moan from the injured man and a new volley of puking from the passengers. To say that the jet would need a thorough cleaning, if it managed to survive, was an understatement. If this keeps up, crashing may be preferable, if only to bring an end to this stench. Fell-hound stool stinks less than this!

Well, Mick, it looks like we won't end up like those folks in the show. According to the map, we are over Japan. Granted, we still need to land. Preferably on land and on a runway. Bad things happen when jets do crunchies on buildings, and with the waves, a water landing would be pure suicide. In one piece would be nice but alive will do, Jake jabbered as the jet shuddered, emphasizing how dubious that proposition was. There was no doubt that they would soon be on the ground but in one piece? Well, that was another question altogether.

The shudder elicited fresh moans of pain from mister 'seatbelt signs don't mean nothing’ and a bit of flopping limbs from the dead one and caused several more people to retch.

Jerk! Mick retorted, white-knuckled and holding onto his seat for dear life. The maniac is smiling!!! Man was not meant to fly!

Attention!!! We are now banking in for our landing. Remain seated! And a little prayer might be a good idea, the Pilot gritted out. You could hear the strain in his voice from hours of fighting like a one-armed strongman trying to benchpress a squirming elephant in freefall to control the jet. If you listened at all, you could hear the strain going through the fuselage in jolts, creaks, groans, and what sounded like cracking and rivets popping.

Did the Pilot just suggest we seek divine intervention for a safe landing? Mick asked, going even whiter than Michael Jackson.

If he gets much whiter, he'll either become a ghost or a pop star. Though at this rate, we might all be there with him. What fun. Jake smiled gleefully as he answered Mick. You see, if you had a little faith, that would have given you a little reassurance. For today is either your time, or it's not! he explained in a perfect seminar drone at stark odds with the hysteria surrounding them. In the end, that is what it always comes down to!

Dude, you’re not helping, Mick growled, through clenched teeth, worried about biting his tongue as he glared at his 'friend.' Why did I ever think being his friend was a good idea? Oh, because he is usually only an amusing degree of crazy.

A sudden gust swatted the jet almost 45̊ off course. Which was bad. It was made worse by the fact that the jet had been about to go wheels down. Where the jet, by some miracle, had been coming parallel to the runway, it was now just shy of sideways. Before the Pilot had a chance to correct, they touched down.

Things were going good. For about .003 seconds. Then the right-side landing gear collapsed in a screech of torn metal and exploding hydraulics and pneumatics. Granted, it was barely audible over the screaming of the passengers and maybe some maniacal laughter that definitely wasn’t coming from Jake. Probably. It could have been some other person.

THIS ISN’T A ROLLERCOASTER! Mick yelled at Jake, barely managing not to bite his tongue as the fuselage juddered across the tarmac.

The wing buckled as the fuselage’s weight and momentum bore down on it, folding under in a gout of flame that would have done a cranky Dragon proud as the Jet tumbled over it. The other wing joined it as the jet completed rolling.

Surprisingly, the fuselage had been holding up remarkably well, but being treated like a seesaw over two wings was more than it could take. Just behind the rear wing joint, a third of the way back in coach, and right in front of where Jake and Mick were sitting, the two halves of the fuselage separated. It wouldn’t have been too much of an issue except for the fuel truck.

Mick had a flashback to a lousy day on Kilauea as a fireball lit up the night and airport. There was nothing that he could do for those people except hope that they hadn’t suffered for long.

After several more rotations, the rolling slowed and came to a halt at only a slight angle as the storm lashed its rage into their faces. Seeing as how the rows in front of them had torn free, they were now effectively moved to the first-class and had plenty of extra legroom.

Mick stared out into the fangs of the storm as the warm rain washed over him. At least it doesn't smell like vomit anymore. He looked to his side as he was jostled by Jake getting out of his seat. Why must I not only live in interesting times but also be friends with an interesting person? Is this some form of penance?

I've always wanted to fly first-class. Now that I'm here, I don't see what all of the hype is about. Jake quipped, grinning at Mick, who didn’t reply.

Well, we're on the ground, and we crashed in a storm on an island in the Pacific. Yep, sounds just like that show. Pinch me quick and see if this is a hallucination, Jake mocked as he stopped the recording he'd been making since before things went sideways, horizontally so. Getting out of his seat, he pulled his Indiana-Jones-style leather messenger bag from SaddleBack leather out of the overhead and grinned out into the fury of the storm. As the lightning flashed, Mick could see him clearly - and even the devil himself, after reaping a world, would have been scared to tread near him.

Mick sat there, blinking against the squall of water cascading down on him and quickly inundating the fuselage as he came to grips with everything that had happened and the truly sane insanity of his friend. The strobing lights of the emergency vehicle's finally jarred him out of his reprieve from reality.

What am I doing!? Yah, Jake ditched me, but that was just Jake being Jake. I'm uninjured and over the shock. It's time I got a move on, and it's not like this is even the closest I have ever been to death. He stomped down hard on that train of thought before it could get any more traction. He had left that life behind. And for good reasons. Not least of which was that he liked his neck right where it was.

Mick climbed out of his seat and made his way to the gaping maw of the fuselage. Given the choice of wading back through the remaining passengers to get to the emergency slide at the rear hatch or following Jake's example and climbing down, he chose to climb.

I don't even need to worry about carrying anything because my bag was a few rows up, and that section is gone. I really hope my check bags were in the rear half of the jet. It wasn't like he had brought anything irreplaceable with him, but finding clothing for a man of his stature was nigh impossible in Japan. Even Amazon.jp didn't carry his size.

Mick turned around as his feet met the asphalt only to find himself face to face with a perturbed looking man who positively exuded authority.

I knew Americans were a crazy lot, but this is getting insane. Was there a gas leak or something on the jet that futzed with all everyone's ability to form rational thoughts!? he demanded. What part of sit, stay, and await aid from emergency personnel don't you all understand? I'll make it as simple as whitewash on a picket fence. Jet. Crash. Sit. Wait. Get rescued. Real simple. No? he explained, using exaggerated hand motions before shaking his head in frustration.

Mick did his best not to grin, knowing that it would only make things worse, but it was clear that this man had had a closer encounter of the Jake kind and that he wasn’t taking it well. Thankfully, the storm’s continued efforts to drown him with rain leached away most of the levity he could muster.

But, oh no, no, you all just come sauntering out without a care in the world! He glared after a rumble that was barely perceptible over the rage of the storm. It became a frown as he spotted a departing bus through the squall, heading towards the terminal. You have got to be kidding me! He let loose a slew of expletives in at least five languages that would have made Mother Tereasa blush while Mark Twain and Shakespeare would be swooning with envy at its sheer poetry and inventiveness.

By that point, more responders had gathered around and were staring at the response team's chief. You, take this lost little..., Chief gave Mick another glance, make that big lamb, to the bus, he ordered, nudging Mick over to one of them. The rest of you start getting the remaining passengers out and onto the busses. Be on the lookout for anyone suffering from shock. I have to go track down the one that got away before he causes any more problems, he said, standing there expectantly as no one moved. Now would be a good time to start! he barked. Like whippits after a rabbit, the responders jumped back into action while he rubbed his temples and trudged off, muttering invectives, to a waiting car that seemed primed to take flight in the gale-force winds that were tearing across the tarmac. All Mick could catch was a portion about 'raving mad foreigners,' before the rest was drowned out by the roar of the storm.

Mick jerked as he felt a hand clamp onto his elbow. It wasn't painfully tight, but it was solid and informed him that 'resistance was futile and he would be assimilated into the rescue effort.'

Great, now I have Star Trek going through my head. It could be worse. At least it’s not Galaxy Quest. Never Surrender... Mick shook his head to make it stop. Not wanting any more drama today, he didn’t protest and allowed the man to lead him. Not that they really could do anything to stop me if I wanted to resist. Still, I like to get out of this deluge, and something says resisting would only prolong my stay. And it isn't like I really want to draw any undue attention to myself either. I'm pretty sure that I lost them at this point, and it would be a real shame to find myself back on their radar because of some pesky reporter and a camera or a police report.

His stomach let out a rumble as they neared the buses. What with the turbulence, they hadn't been able to serve any of the inflight meals - which was not really food, and everyone knew that it was better not to eat on flights - or refreshments after the first go-around shortly after they took off. So, saying that he was a bit peckish was beyond an understatement. Any chance that some food and dry clothes are waiting for me at the end of this ride?

His keeper turned and gave him an appraising look. Food, yes, probably. You are pretty big, so clothes may pose a bit more of a problem. We should be able to find you something, but no guarantees it won’t be a poncho.

I hope they have plenty of food because I could eat a whole cow at this point. Mick stepped up into the bus and took the seat nearest the exit by right of conquest. Any idea how long I will need to wait? he asked, trying not to cringe at the feel of his sodden clothes while still wrapped in the oppressive heat and humidity of the storm. There was nothing worse than being stuck in wet clothes. You'd think that after growing up in Seattle, that he would be used to being wet, but he'd always hated it and was one of the rare and devout umbrella users in the Pacific Northwest.

Shouldn't be long. We don't have that many people to recover, the man replied, before realizing what he had said. He looked back with fear for his career in his eyes.

I understand, Mick said, giving him a tired shrug. Those of us that made it are lucky to be alive. Some of the others may not feel the same, but when all of the rows in front of you shear off, and you're left staring out at the flaming front half of the jet and the jaws of the storm responsible for it, you develop a Crystal clear appreciation for just how lucky you are to be alive.

Right.

Mick turned away and looked out the window as the first shaky survivors were being shepherded towards the bus. Despite no real signs of injuries, many of the survivors were being carried on stretchers or practically being dragged between two responders. I may not have taken it with the same aplomb as Jake, but at least I don't think I looked as shocked as those people. Granted, there are more than a few wires loose in Jake's head. Although, it may be more of a case of a different wiring template altogether, not just loose wires. He shook his head reproachfully as the first of them reached the bus and fell into a seat in a sobbing daze. Something says that I am going to regret not joining Jake’s exodus when I had the chance!

By the time his bus pulled out, he was more than ready to be rid of the pity-party he now shared the bus with. It had only taken thirty minutes to load, but it had been a maddeningly long thirty minutes filled with the incessant sobbing and whining of the other survivors. It usually wouldn't have bugged him so much, but between his soggy clothes, low blood sugar, sleep deprivation, and all-around cranky mood, he was definitely a less than happy camper.

Would you all just shut up already!? Mick roared, rounding on them and cutting through the sniveling of the hoard. Heads snapped up before the recoiled back, terrified by what they saw. With the dark backdrop of the storm outside and the dim bus lights, he looked like some kind of towering barbarian or monster to them. You are alive. Unless you had family in the other section of the jet, you have nothing to whine about, and everything to be thankful for! Next one of you snivelers that I hear, I'm throwing you back out in the rain, and I won’t be asking the driver to stop before I do it. Then you will really have something to whine about!

Mick sat back down with a huff as the entire bus went quiet and stared at the back of his head since the headrest - painfully - only managed to reach the top of his shoulders. The bus driver started whistling happily.

***

Mick was the first off of the bus when it reached the terminal. Better to be back out in the rain than stuck another minute with that lot. In his haste to be free of the 'sniveling hoard,’ he almost ran over the small Japanese man that greeted him at the door with a wool blanket.

Reminded that ‘haste makes waste,’ and that his discomfort wasn’t a good reason to bite the head of a working Joe, even if it might have been cathartic, he forced himself to take a breath and put on a smile as he took a blanket from the little man who looked like a mouse caught before a hungry T-rex. Thank you! he said, with as much grace and courtesy as he could muster. Which apparently wasn’t very convincing given how the man wilted before him.

Sighing, Mick moved by to clear the door and posted up across the hall. He was just in time to see a TV clip of Jake giving a quick and vague statement. Despite his current irksomeness, he found himself smiling and shaking his head. Lucky jerk. He may get burned for that, but at least his visibility should be improved. Who knows, he may even be able to get a girlfriend now. He’ll probably also be able to get clear of the airport before the safety Nazis can detain him.

Mick's brief reprieve was interrupted by the arrival of the other survivors, who were keeping their distance, but glaring daggers when they didn’t think he was looking now that they figured they were safe. The remaining support staff had moved in and were, with little success, trying to shepherd the confused herd in the proper direction. He let out a sad sigh and hung his head, shaking it, before rounding on them once more. Why me?

People in the flashy orange and blue outfits will lead you where you want to go. Follow them! Mick barked at the lemmings. They jumped a little, but after his threat on the bus, they obeyed and fell upon the surprised staff in a gibbering mob. Emboldened, they wasted no time starting in on their demands, complaints, and other plebeian jabberings. Of which, unsurprisingly, more than a few seemed directed at him. Mick let the shadows build and extend around him ominously. They quickly found their other complaints more pressing.

One of the staffers quirked an eyebrow at him and sauntered over. What was all of that about?

Mick turned on the man with a sigh. Lemmings, he answered flatly, walking towards the smell of hot food while the man stood there confused.

He quickly snapped out of it and tried to stop Mick. Hey, wait! You're going the wrong way.

No, I'm not! There is food this way, and I mean to get at it! Mick growled, pressing on.

But, you have to get examined... He quailed as Mick rounded on him. In this job, you learned to read people, and for a moment, he’d found himself faced with the unfathomable. It made that inner part of the brain that ran on instinct alone freeze as it recognized a predator that it couldn't hope to fight or escape. So, as any prey faced with such a situation, he froze, hoping that the predator might pass him by.

When would I get to eat!? Mick asked, taking note of the cold sweat the man had broken out in. Not good if that much is peeking through. I need rest and food soon. I can't afford any accidents now.

The man paused as the waves of fear passed, and whatever monster had suddenly loomed before him sunk back into the depths from which it had emerged, leaving just a mountain of a man before him. The memory of that brief glimpse into the dark would stay with him for the rest of his life. At last, his brain re-engaged, registering the terse question. Probably after a check-up and once we get everyone sorted out and through customs. About an hour. Maybe two, he answered dubiously.

Mick smiled and walked away, leaving the man to tail him at what his brain considered a slightly less perilous distance.

Most of the restaurants and stores were already closed thanks to the late hour, storm, and therein non-existence of customers, but he somehow managed to find an open Udon shop.

Rice and a large Kitsune Udon with extra green onions, please, Mick ordered, dropping into Japanese and stepping up to the window. The proprietor stood there staring, surprised by the wet giant before her, before shaking herself out of it with a shy smile.

Coming right up, she said, her smiling growing into a grin as she set to work.

It wasn't people's usual reaction to meeting him, but the smile gave him a bit of a warm feeling, not quite butterflies, but there was something there.

She moved like a leaf caught in the wind as she flitted about the tiny kitchen, barely seeming to touch the floor while her skill with the blade held Mick's eyes captive. The ingredients seemed to fall to pieces without even a hint of force being used. It was a casual display of a level of training and experience far beyond what a person working in a place like this should have had. It was par with, if not superior to, the skill of any knife user, inside or outside of the kitchen, he had ever seen.

When she was finished, she further surprised him by bringing his order to one of the nearby tables and waving him over.

Mick made to pull out his wallet to pay, but she cut him off before he had the chance.

You were on 'The Jet,' right? she asked, as he took a seat and pulled the tray a little closer, tucking a napkin into his collar. Past experience had shown that noodles were rather dangerous food to eat with chopsticks. Not that his soppy clothes would be much worse for the wear should he happen to fumble a noodle and cause a splash, but he didn't know how long he would be stuck in them and didn't much like smelling or looking like a slob.

What gave it away? Mick asked, chuckling in equal parts, sarcasm, amusement, and curiosity. I have never met anything like her before.

She laughed. No one likes a smart aleck, she scolded, but her smile to any barbs out of it. But since you are apparently dying to know what gave up your ruse, you look like a ghost, you're sopping wet, you don't have any bags, and a perturbed looking staff guy is glaring at you from around the corner. I think he is trying to decide if he should stick his own neck out and drag you back or if he should pass it on up to his boss. Given that he's getting out his radio, I figure he decided on the latter, and you have between fifteen and thirty minutes before they come for you.

Plenty of time. Mick smiled and snapped apart his chopsticks.

Heh. You are an odd one. Leaning back, she watched in appreciation as he devoured his food. He was either a