“Dorothy Gayle, it’s time to give up the fight!” A voice boomed over the roar of motorcycle engines as its owner stepped out of the shadows. The light, misting rain that had begun to fall gathered on the man’s toffee-toned skin like dew, giving him the look of a dark, richly flavored confection come to life. “We have you surrounded,” he continued, “and you’re already down two comrades.” He had an imposing look about him, though he was not overly large. “You’ve caused my Winged Monkeys too much trouble for one day. Enough!”
Dorothy turned in a slow arc to assess the bikers who had encircled them. She had seen the white wings stitched onto the backs of their dark denim jackets when they first rolled up on her group of allies. Still, it was unnerving to know that she was right: she was facing the notorious henchmen of The Foundation, an organization purported to champion marginalized voices. But Dorothy knew the truth. The Foundation exploited the vulnerable for labor, used them as muscle, stole their intellectual property and generally ruined once promising futures. Dorothy had also heard stories about this particular crew of enforcers and their leader. “I have no problem with you, Monkey King,” she yelled with a steady voice, refusing to let it betray her unease.
“Perhaps,” said the King, “but I think you know who won’t be pleased to know that you are trespassing on their property.”
Dorothy’s heart raced. The thunder rumbling through the skies seemed to remind her that she was outweighed in this fight. A mounting sense of terror told her she was cornered, but the small part of her that could look Monkey King in the eye asked, “Why do you work for that witch?”
“Oh come now, Miss Dorothy. We are not going to stand here and trade life stories about how we both came to be here, in this moment, facing off on opposite sides,” the Monkey King chided.
“You know,” she said as she continued to evaluate exit strategies, “only my professors and my grandmother call me Dorothy.”
“Okay, Dee it is then.” At Dorothy’s startled expression, the Monkey King explained. “Oh yeah, I know that your friends call you Dee, and I know that she,” he said nodding at the young woman standing to Dorothy’s left trembling with fear and anger, “is your best friend Nisha.”
“We were watching your little group for a while before we decided to take action to halt your progress. How else do you think we knew what measures to take to disable your strongest fighters?”
In the curious tone of someone wanting to know the secret to a magic trick, he asked, “Where did you even find a lion shapeshifter here in Georgia? I thought they primarily kept to the African continent. And that other one, was it a robot?”
The genuinely perplexed expression on his face was almost laughable, but Dorothy was not in a chuckling mood. She responded dryly, “He prefers the term synthetic human. Or android, if you must.”
“I don’t suppose I’ll be calling him anything anymore. Our little EMP trick seems to have put him down for the count.” Her roguishly handsome foe retorted dismissively. “How did you all even find this place? My employer goes to great pains to be virtually untraceable.”
Dorothy didn’t want to betray Nisha by looking at her. She knew that the techno genius would be worried about the damage caused to their friend by the EMP. No doubt her best friend would already be planning repairs or, in a worst-case scenario, a complete reconstruction. Dorothy covered her nearly imperceptible glance in Nisha’s direction by putting her head down and looking at the ground as if embarrassed to admit the truth. She mumbled, “a hacker named Scarecrow.”
“Damn! That was some Lisbeth Salander-level infiltration. We need that person on our side.” The Monkey King said, clearly impressed, having apparently not picked up on the fact that the person he was complimenting was standing by Dorothy’s side. Then, in a sobering tone, he asked, “is your beloved Toto worth all of this?”
“He’s family. He’s worth everything.” Dorothy answered without hesitation and with equal solemnity. It felt as if The Foundation had ripped her heart from her chest, and now they were holding it hostage. She would do whatever it took to make things right.
At her words and the tone in her voice the Monkey King seemed to pause to study her. His penetrating gaze swept over her, assessing her combat-ready stance, her braids tied back in a tight bun, and her tactical attire. “Nice Js,” he said finally, looking at her red and black Jordan 1 Retro high-top sneakers.
Dorothy squinted skeptically at the change in topic but responded reflexively. She was used to people looking questioningly at a young Black college student in expensive shoes. “A gift from my Auntie Glinda.”
“Glinda?” The Monkey King said with such familiarity that Dorothy wondered if he knew her aunt somehow. Glinda was well known in the community for her benevolent good works, but Dorothy couldn’t imagine a circumstance in which her aunt’s path would cross with a lieutenant for an evil organization like The Foundation.
“I see the calculation and the judgment on your face, Little Miss.” The Monkey King said, seeming to read her expressions like conversational road signs. “Good versus evil is not a zero-sum game. No person is all one thing or another. We are the sum of our experiences. Sometimes we unwittingly become the villain in other people’s stories. And sometimes it’s our friends and family who pay the price for our bravado and reckless choices.”
Dorothy shifted her expression into a neutral mask as she squirmed internally. She wasn’t sure which of the two of them he was talking about, but his words stuck a cord deep in her gut. She remembered watching her friends fall, the feeling in the moment that it was her fault for involving them in her fight. She didn’t want to believe that this stranger could know anything about her life or her circumstances. She did not want to think that his questionable choices could be in any way similar to the choices that led her to this moment. She found it hard to fathom that a few bad calls could lead her to be on the other side of this funhouse mirror.
The Monkey King began to walk, and his crew parted to make way. Two pairs of henchmen hoisted Dorothy’s incapacitated companions into empty sidecars. As they did, she idly wondered if the sidecars were used exclusively for grim tasks like carting away unconscious victims or, say, body disposal. The remaining bikers circled behind Dorothy and Nisha to herd the two of them into following the crew’s leader.
“My employer, ‘that witch’ as you referred to her earlier, has her own tragic story. One that likely set her on her current path.” At the clear interest on Dorothy’s face, he continued. “I don’t know all of the details, just that she had a sister who drowned during a rainstorm when they were children. As a result, she has a crippling fear of storms and large pools of standing water.”
Dorothy was suspicious of this information given so freely, especially in light of the darkening sky. The weather forecast for the next several days had been grim due to a hurricane that was making its way up the coast. “Why are you telling me this?” She asked.
“Not everyone has a golden path laid out before them. We have to play the game, be patient, and wait for an opening. When an opportunity is presented, it helps to already have a plan in place to take advantage of it. I’ve been playing the game for a long time. I didn’t exactly plan for you, but you’ll do just the same. I think we can help each other out.”
“I…?” She started uncertainly.
“Besides,” he interrupted, “your aunt was kind to me once. She tried to help me when I was in a bind. I just wish that I hadn’t been too jaded back then to believe that there are people in this world who do good deeds simply because it’s the right thing to do.”
Thinking of something her aunt had said to her once, “Do not confuse circumstance with intention,” Dorothy realized that perhaps he was trying to find his way out of a bad situation too. She looked up into his intense, espresso-colored eyes. “I understand.”
“Well then, Miss Dee,” he said, angling his head to indicate a slight turn as they began heading in the direction of the setting sun, “Antonio’s fate is in your hands. Are you ready to rescue your brother?”
Inspiration: The Wizard of Oz, by L. Frank Baum
Rachel Foster is a software engineer and small business owner. She loves science fiction and urban fantasy stories. Due to her dyslexia, Rachel became a book lover later in life, when she discovered audiobooks. In her leisure time, Rachel enjoys relaxing with her two dogs and devouring books.