Chapter Nine

Hero's Call: Chapter Nine

It had been a week since Milo had started his paper route. It had required him to wake up earlier than he ever had in his entire life. It was somewhat of a shock to him to find out that there was a four o’clock in the morning as well as one in the afternoon. He was not surprised to find that the only people up beside him at that time of morning were the elderly, birds, and his mother. Every morning for the past week, Milo’s mother had been waiting for him with a hearty breakfast. Milo didn’t know if she always got up that early, or if she was so concerned about him getting a good breakfast to start the day off right that she adjusted her sleep schedule just for him.

Milo dragged himself out of bed with all the effort he could muster. He’d heard that once you got into a routine it would get a lot easier. When that would be, he didn’t know, but he assumed it would be never. The only real motivation for him to torture himself with the early morning wake ups was the money that came from it. He’d been living off a weekly allowance from his parents for the last few years. His current wages were considerably more. It being his first week, he had yet to receive a paycheck, but he knew how much it was supposed to be, and was excited about the sudden upturn in his income.

He walked down the Hall of Fame and into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and took a quick shower to wash away the remnants of sleep that were still hanging around. Showered and refreshed, Milo walked back down the hall to his room, dirty clothes in hand. The temperature was starting to drop outside as autumn was setting in, and the house always had a bit of a chill to it that early in the morning. The left over droplets of water on his skin tingled as the cool air past over his body.

Back in his bedroom, Milo threw his dirty clothes next to others that were on the ground. He dropped the towel next to the clothes and walked to his dresser that was against the wall. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a pair of plain, forest green boxer shorts and pair of mismatched socks. Milo kept all of his socks separate in the drawer so he seldom wore a matching pair. He pulled a pair of jeans out of the bottom drawer and slid them on over his boxers and socks. He pulled a t-shirt out of the closet and threw it on. He grabbed his jacket from a hook on the back of the door and left the room.

Milo was greeted in the kitchen by the smell of cinnamon sugar oatmeal and bacon. His mom already had a plate set on the table for him. He plopped down in the chair and began to eat without saying anything to his mother who was standing at the sink washing dishes. He downed the oatmeal almost without taking a breath, and scraped what was left over up with the last couple of strips of bacon.  He got up from the table and put the dishes on the counter next to the sink.

“Thanks for breakfast, mom,” Milo said, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand.

“Say hello to the Blackwell’s for me,” Brooke replied over her shoulder as her son left the room.

Milo walked into the hall that lead to the garage and slipped on his sneakers. He went into the garage and waited for the garage door to open while he grabbed his bike. He left the door opened for his father who would be leaving long after him, and headed down the street towards the outskirts of town.

The Blackwell’s lived about ten minutes outside of town by car. For Milo, it took about a half an hour to get from his house to his employer’s house. Milo found the early morning bike ride quite refreshing. It was a chance for him to see his small town at peace, something he wasn’t normally used to experiencing. He loved the sounds of the birds chirping, and the crisp cool air. He hated being awake that early, but the ride was quickly becoming his favorite part of the day.

When he pulled his bike up the Blackwell’s house, he left his bike leaning against the fence that ran around the perimeter of their front yard. The Blackwell’s would never be a feature in Good Housekeeping, but it had a certain hominess to it. The fence was missing several planks, and their front yard had bits of this and that scattered about. In the flagpole that was mounted on a banister of the porch Ohio State Buckeyes flag. In Ohio, if you weren’t a fan of the Buckeyes, you weren’t a true Ohian. Mr. Blackwell lived in a fantasy world in which he had been a star quarterback for the Buckeyes in his youth, winning them six national titles. More than any one person could achieve, given that it’s only a four-year school for most people.

Milo didn’t bother to knock on the door. The Blackwell’s left it unlocked for him. He entered the house, and it smelled like baked beans and tortillas. Milo wasn’t sure what kind of breakfast that was, but it definitely wasn’t one for champions. The inside of the house was much like the outside. Different bits of long forgotten doodads and thingamabobs were strewn about. Evidence that they were used for a while and tossed aside, but just not far enough to make it to the trash can or a garage sale. Milo made his way around all the junk and into Blackwell’s kitchen.

Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell were sitting at the table. Mr. Blackwell was rolling the papers and sliding on a rubber band. Mrs. Blackwell was sliding the rolled up newspapers into plastic sleeves. Neither of them looked up when he walked in.

“Hello, Milo,” they said in unison.

“Hey, guys,” Milo said in reply. He turned one of the papers around so he could read it. The headline story was a how-to piece on surviving the Y2K disaster. Stories like that were growing more and more prevalent as the year, the millennium, was coming to a close. Milo wasn’t buying into it. Just another one of those horror stories someone cooks up to sell more of everything.

“It sells papers, kid,” Mr. Blackwell said, noticing Milo reading the front page.

“If only it were real,” Milo replied. He picked the sling up from the chair in front of him and threw it over his shoulder. He began piling papers into the bag until it was overflowing, weighing him down.

“Come back for the rest,” Mrs. Blackwell said, “and you’ll get your first paycheck.”

“Great,” Milo said, cheerily. “I’ll be back in a jiff.”

Milo left the house and climbed onto his bike. He rode back toward town, and set off on his route. At first, it was hard for Milo to keep his bike going straight while he grabbed and tossed newspapers from house to house. After a week, it was almost second nature.

He was reaching the last of the papers in his sling when he came to the Culpepper house. The Culpepper’s were out of town so they had requested that Milo leave their paper behind one of their azalea bushes. Milo let his bike drop to the ground and walked up to the front of the lonely looking house. He dropped the paper onto the top of a pile of old papers behind the bush as instructed. When he turned away from the house, a large, meaty fist buried itself in his stomach.

Milo dropped to his knees gasping desperately for air. His eyes were watering from the lack of oxygen as he gulped down massive amounts of cold morning air. He looked up to see a blurry shape standing above him. He couldn’t tell exactly who it was, but he didn’t care to find out. Milo forced himself to his feet, and bowled into the person in front of him, knocking his attacker off his feet.

Milo stumbled to his bike. The small front yard felt like a football field as he tripped across it. Just as his breath came back to him, and he wiped the blurriness from his eyes, Milo saw that his bike wasn’t where he’d left it. He turned in a panic to search for his bike to make a hasty getaway. It was nowhere in sight. He took a step to his left, abandoning the idea of getting away on wheels and adopting the idea of running like the devil was behind him, but was met with another fist, this time to his left cheek. Milo’s head whipped around, blood welling in his mouth. He could feel a tooth loose against his tongue.

He stumbled into the street but managed to stay on his feet. Milo tried to get to the house across the street and wake someone up so they could help him. Just as he reached the opposite sidewalk, a pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him to the ground. He landed hard on the sidewalk; the jeans covering his knees tearing away just like the flesh underneath them. Two more pairs of hands grabbed Milo by the arms and pulled him to his knees. Milo finally looked up to get a good look at his attackers. To his right was Wes Baxter. To his left was Josh Billings. Devon Macledowny’s cronies. It came as no shock then, when Devon himself stepped in front of Milo, staring down at him with a look of pure hatred. More than just a childhood grudge was brewing behind Devon’s eyes. Milo felt a chill run up his spine.

“Well, well, well,” Devon spat, each word venomous, “if it isn’t Milo Radcliff. You’re in real trouble here, boy.”

“Hello, Devon,” Milo said with a smile. Even in the face of danger, he couldn’t help mouthing off to his childhood enemy. “You’re looking rested. The time off school seems to be treating you well.”

“Shut your mouth,” Josh said, and punched Milo in the ear. Bursts of light shot into Milo’s vision.

“My dad beat the s**t out of me when he found out what happened at school the other day,” Devon said coolly, but Milo could see the rage building inside of Devon. It was no secret that Devon’s dad was an alcoholic and hit Devon when he’d been drinking. Milo felt bad for him. He didn’t mean for that to happen, but it looked like Devon was going to get his revenge. “It was your fault, and I’m going to make you pay for it.”

Devon didn’t say anything else. He just started punching. Milo’s nose was bleeding. His left eye was black. And he felt like he was starting to lose consciousness. He was also wishing it was going to be over soon.

“Drop him, guys,” Devon said after a few minutes. His goons let Milo go, and he crumpled to the concrete. “Alright, Milo. I’m going to take my right foot, and I’m going to place it right under your chin. If you’re lucky, you’ll pass out.”

“Give me your best shot,” Milo said, cursing his pride on the inside. He got to his knees facing Devon. He figured he had the best chance of blacking out if the blow landed directly.

He felt like hell, but something was suddenly different. Milo’s whole body was tingling. The pain was gone. All that was left was the tingle as it spread over his entire body. It was numbing him, and making his senses more acute at the same time. The wind felt different. The sweaty bullies smelled different. Their laughs sounded different. The blood in his mouth tasted different. The world was suddenly clearer. Everything was more crisp and beautiful.

Devon reared back his leg, but before the kick hit its mark a brilliant beam of emerald green light erupted from Milos eyes, hitting Devon square in the chest. The chubby bully was lifted off his feet and sent sailing across the street, colliding with the Culpepper house so hard he went through the solid wall into their living room. The couch broke his fall, but was broken in half in the process.

A long moment passed as the two remaining bullies and Milo surveyed the destruction in awe. Devon’s minions looked at each other in sheer terror and took off running in opposite directions. Milo climbed slowly to his feet. He could feel all the cuts and bruises healing as he stared at the broken house in shock. After several minutes of not moving and barely breathing, Milo followed suit and ran back towards his own house.

The thought of his bike hadn’t crossed his mind for a second.