Those Who Fight
Others would come, he had been told, they had all been told, warned that whatever it was they had gone through that long, hot summer three years ago was not the end, that everything they had had fought for, everything they had struggled for was just the beginning—and then nothing. They had been on constant alert for a year, returning to the ship beneath the old quarry, training endlessly, but then, one by one, they had slowly started dropping out, Zack at first, Kimberly second, then Trini, until eventually it had been only him and Billy left, and, well, there were other things Jason worried about, other things he had to think of now; 2017, that warm summer when they had all been 16-years-old, felt forever ago. Sometimes, he would still see Billy in town, but he tried not to make eye contact, and if forced into conversation, tried to ensure that it did not last. Not, of course, because he disliked Billy, but because he couldn't deal with the shame of leaving the other boy behind.
It didn't matter now, he figured. As of January, they had started building a new apartment complex up where the old quarry had been, so any chance of communicating with Zordon and Alpha-5 had been lost then, not unless they felt up to arguing with site superintendents or whatever. Which Billy probably did, he thought to himself, feeling both an awful sadness and awful pride at this realisation.
But now it was different, now they had a sign. He looked down at his phone again, the blurred images on the screen rushing up to meet him, his heart beating faster, his breath feeling stale with anticipation behind the surgical mask he wore as he waited in line to get into the grocery store, one of countless others, each the requisite distance apart.
This thing, this whatever it was, this creature with the ability to transform those around it into mannequins, this had to be the work of Rita, or, if not her, something just as powerful. The footage was blurry, filmed on a phone by someone running to get away. Perhaps if he had Billy go over it—he stopped himself, feeling suddenly awkward again. It felt like a big ask to call on Billy for something like this. 'Hi, I know we haven't spoken much over the past three years, but can you have a look at this thing on Instagram and tell me if it's fake?'
He flicked his thumb across the surface of the screen, highlighting the uploader's detail: meicake, Tokyo, Japan. There was a ton of stuff, a ton of footage of people who looked like Rangers, of shuddering monsters the like of which didn't seem even remotely human, but then there was this last video, uploaded last Sunday, this twisted creature with its trailing green cloak and its mannequin's torso for a head—this creature seemed unlike the others, unlike anything else this meicake had uploaded.
The sight of it horrified him, made him feel as if the world he knew had suddenly shrunk, had collapsed in on itself; it made him feel that he should have listened, should have paid more attention to the threat that Rita had made, to the warning she had spoken.
The queue moved forward, and he stumbled along, thumbing the screen again, watching the short clip once again, and then pausing it as he caught sight of a lone figure in the distance behind the monster, her uniform fashioned in purple, her right hand grasping the handle of a wicked looking whip. Again, he felt his heart hammer in his chest. Was this their master, was this woman the force behind this hideous mannequin beast? A chill ran down his spine, a feeling of anxiety and horror, the mask he wore feeling suddenly constrictive, his skin clammy.
If only they could contact Zordon again, he thought, and then, unbidden, realised that Billy would have a way, that out of all of them, Billy would still be able in contact with the spirit of the former Red Ranger, despite everything that had happened over the last three years.
There was movement ahead of him again, he lifted his head, and found a young woman a head shorter than him standing before him in the queue, glaring up at him, her expression unreadable behind the mask that she likewise wore, that they all wore nowadays.
Her hair was dark, bobbed, and yet despite her youth, there was a streak of silver. In the distance, he heard the sudden squawk of carrion birds.
"Is this it?" she asked, speaking aloud, looking at him, though not talking directly to him. "Is this what humans call anticipation?"
He swallowed hard, trying to quell the fear he suddenly felt, and she threw back her head in a howl of abrupt laughter, her head rolling, the sound of her mirth exciting the attention of others. Just as abruptly, she stopped, turning away, now indifferent.
Trembling, Jason Scott waited behind her, uncertain of what to do, uncertain of how to react. On his phone, the blurred image of the woman with her purple uniform, her wicked whip, moved out of frame once more.