Strider

Strider was confused. And tired. And hot. He knew he was in the middle of Mordor, which explained the stifling heat, but what were these odd structures he kept encountering?

And why was he in Mordor again? The Ring had been destroyed…hadn’t it? And with it Sauron. Yet here he was again and two Orcs were hot on his tail.

"Why am I here?" He kept repeating the words over and over in his mind – more confused than frightened. He dodged around the swamp near the curious glass cylinder and found a place to hide while he tried to clear his head. Maybe he was here because of these strange structures. He knew they were not in Mordor before and shouldn’t be here now. Sauron was supposed to be gone forever, but he knew he had a mission to accomplish…if he could just remember. And where were Frodo and Sam and Legolas and especially Gandolph? He had come to depend on all of them so much and here he was alone and more in need of guidance than ever before.

The Orcs were closing in. They had caught his scent above the stench of the swamp and were advancing on him steadily – calling on him in English to surrender his weapon and he would not be harmed.

Then, Strider heard Gandolph whisper in his ear, as he had so many times before… as though he was right next to him even though he couldn’t be seen anywhere around. "Fight, Strider. Fight with all your might. Do not surrender. Do not let them take you even if you lose your life. If you are taken you will lose your heart!"

Strider swung mightily at the two Orcs as they continued to advance on him. As he swung his sword the largest one jumped back and swore furiously, in an oddly human fashion, as the tip of the sword sliced through his harness. Breathing hard after the chase that brought them to the end of this dark, blind canyon, the two Orcs, slimy with sweat and ooze, retreated a few meters to plan their strategy as Strider pondered his options. Seeing no avenues for escape, and hearing the whisper of Gandolph in his ear, Strider prepared to fight his way out. “You’ll never take me alive stinking Orcs!”

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The two policemen, sweating profusely in the hot Oklahoma August night, waited at the end of the path under the Crystal Bridge: “John, if he charges me again with that sword I’m gonna shoot his crazy ass”, said the larger of the two. “He almost cut me in two with that damn thing!”

“I know, Nick”, said John. “But if we can hold him ‘till the CIT officer on duty can get here we can let him handle it. You can’t afford to have another shooting on your record whether it’s justified or not. When Jack gets here he can either talk ‘im down or use the tazer to bring him down”.

“Fine, John. But if he comes at us and you don’t draw down on him I’ll have to”.

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Strider listened curiously. While he didn’t speak the tongue of the Orcs, a corrupted form of Elvish, he could almost understand what they were saying. Strange words they were, though, because it seemed they wanted to take him alive, which was very much against how Orcs fought. He could only conclude they had been sent by their master, Sauron, to collect him so he could be tortured for information about his armies. And where were his armies? Strider couldn’t quite remember how he came to be in this predicament. It was foggy in his mind, but it seemed to have started after he was evicted from the inn he was sleeping at… But why was he at the inn and why would he be thrown-out? He had lived in the palace for years since the defeat of Sauron. He was, after all, the King of Gondor. Where were his men? Where were Frodo and Samwise and the gnome warrior-king? And where was Arwyn? She had not left his side now for more than a day since they had wed. Strider was confused and very, very tired.

“Arwyn, where are you”, he called into the blackness. “If you can hear the sound of my voice rally the brotherhood to slay these stinking Orcs.”

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Oklahoma Police Officer John Dunn and armed security officer Nick Patton were looking around nervously as Lt. Marty Stiles rolled up in his cruiser. “You don’t think there’re more of them out there do you John”, said Nick.

Marty Stiles, had a grim look on his face as he climbed out of the cruiser. He had been awakened at 3:00 a.m. to come on this call because the other CIT officer was on vacation. Right now Marty felt every bit of his 52 years and was very glad he was eligible for retirement in a month. He had been in tight spots in his career, but he wasn’t about to get himself killed just as he was ready to take semi-permanent residence at his lake cabin. He wanted to get this over quick and he was in no mood to muck about.

Marty was a big man, just as big as Nick, but with the build of a college full-back despite being 20 years Nick’s senior. He had a tendency to be intimidating to the younger officers and he knew it. It gave him an advantage and he tried to use it now. “I’ve never known Aarron to be violent before”, said Marty, as he ran his hand through his thick, gray hair, beginning to sweat himself in the humid pre-dawn morning. “What did you pups do to provoke him?”

“We didn’t do nothing to him”, rankled Nick, 50 pounds over-weight, sweating and short of breath from heat and excitement, and not in the mood to be intimidated. “They booted him from Jesus House when they found that pig-sticker of his and he got all loud and abusive. He cussed-out the shelter manager and knocked him around a little. The manager called me after that and I found the s.o.b. still ranting and raving in front of the shelter. When he saw me he started yelling and screaming I was a dirty stinking Orc and he was going to cut me up. John pulled-up right after that and when “Strider” there saw he was outnumbered he ran. We chased him on-foot down here to Myriad Gardens and then called-in for more back-up. That was an hour ago and we’ve been playing tag with him ever since. I think if you hadn’t shown up when you did he would have charged us and I would’ve had to shoot him.” John corroborated the story, as Marty collected his Taser out of the car.

Marty was one of the few officers qualified on the tazer since the OCPD started using them, which required being shot by one before you could use one on someone else. Marty had always thought this rule particularly stupid, reasoning that you didn’t have to be shot by a 9mm before using one and was suspicious a crazy-ass rule like that would be coming soon. He did, however, have a healthy respect for the “non-lethal” weapon since going through training. It was perhaps the most intense pain he had ever felt, and he had been sure his heart would stop from the current charging through his body. Ever since, he was very cautious about using it if he didn’t have to. Tonight, though, he had already made up his mind he would probably have to use it. While he had never seen Aarron overtly violent, he had seen him pretty aggressive and psychotic, and had wondered how long it would take before he became physically abusive and dangerous.

Marty approached the nook Aarron had retreated to and started trying to coax him out.

“Aarron, it’s me, Marty. What are you doing down there? Why don’t you come up and let’s see if we can find you another place to stay.”

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Strider was really confused now. He knew this man somehow…or was he an Orc like the other two? His garments were the same as the others and they seemed to defer to his authority. He wanted to trust the one who called himself Marty, but if he could order the other Orc’s about he had to either be an Orc himself or be an evil wizard who could control them. Was he Sauroman in disguise? No, he could not trust this one. He had to get out of here to somewhere safe. He had to find Gandolf and ask him what to do. He had to fight his way out.

“My name’s Aragorn stinking Orc”, cried Strider. “Come down here and you’ll see what I’m doing here. I’m here to kill Orcs!”

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“Shit”, said Marty. “He’s really psychotic this time.” Always before Marty had been able to talk him down. They had a sort of odd relationship wherein Marty would bring him back to reality and take him back to his parents, but he had heard from Aarron’s mother that he had been going steadily down-hill since his father died last year. He’d been in and out of every shelter in town, kicked-out and barred from most of them, and lately refused to let his mother take him back in, claiming her to be an evil and powerful Elf Queen who only wanted to rob him of his will. This time Aarron was clearly a danger to others and completely out of touch with reality. He was going to have to go to the hospital, if he could just get him there alive.

“Now, Aarron” said Marty, “you know I’m not going to hurt you. Put down that sword and we’ll talk this out”. With every word he edged closer, trying to keep the Taser out of Aarron’s view.

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Strider would not be fooled. He could see the weapon the Orc was trying to hide from him. He prepared to fight his way out and thought of all the people who he would miss in the afterlife. He leaped out of his corner of safety and lunged at the Orc advancing toward him.

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For only the third time in his career, Lt. Marty Stiles fired the Taser at a violent human being who was trying to kill him or someone else. He fired the weapon and prayed to God Aarron didn’t slice through the wires before it brought him down.

Strider felt intense pain as the darts hit his chest, and instantly the pain spread to the rest of his body. He tried to swing his sword down on the wires sending the current to him, but couldn’t control his arms. Paralyzed, he fell to the ground, still conscious but feeling searing pain throughout his body and having absolutely no control over it. Weakened from heat, dehydration and hunger, he lost control of his bladder and his bowels as he convulsed and writhed on the ground. He thought of his beloved Arwyn and wondered if he would ever see her again as he lost consciousness.

“Damn”, said Marty, wrinkling his nose at the smell of sweat, urine and feces as he put cuffs on Aarron. “He’s going to be a mess to clean up and I just got that patrol car yesterday. Call EMSA. They can do it.”