Power Surges

A muffled scream pierced Zorah's contentment. She practiced her yoga breath and focused. Nothing.

Be your body--be your mind--be your breath.

"Ren, did you hear that?" She peered across the top of her Volkswagen and made eye contact with her friend.

Meager streetlight bunny-hopped over Renata's silver hair and peaceful face, then fandangoed along her Tai Chi staff. Ren must have forgotten to turn up her hearing aids after class. This keepsake came courtesy of the ex-husband, a man whose only eloquence had resided in his fists.

Beyond the weak circle of light, another truncated cry followed a man's guttural rumble. Zorah dropped her gear onto the hood, then hurried toward a dim alley. With a sweeping glance, she realized they were the only ones left on the street. As usual. She forced herself to halt.

Pause--observe--wait--move

As her teacher's internal voice counseled her, she assumed Mountain Pose. Stenches of urine, vomit and garbage roiled from the alleyway. Only the sparsest of light illuminated her surroundings. The staccato slap of Ren's shoes preceded her friend. Zorah dug a penlight from her fanny pack, then shined the beam into the manmade canyon.

"Hell's Bells," she said.

In prime Ren mode, her friend blazed by her. Heart thudding, Zorah drew level again. Together they closed on the brutish man whose bulk dwarfed the slight girl pinned beneath him. Mouth and nose covered by one massive paw, the girl's terrified gaze met Zorah's in mute appeal.

Clawed feet--spring-tension legs--

unyielding pelvis--fluid arms.

"Fire! Fire!" Zorah yelled, then waded into action. Grasping the man's scruff with both hands, Zorah yanked him off the child. Adrenalin gifted her with necessary strength. Her bad hip twinged.

Faithful to her training, Ren poised her stick for action. The golem of a man bellowed, then swung at Zorah, who dropped into an impromptu upward-facing dog. Renata thrust her staff into the fray. Screaming obscenities, the idiot cracked his head against the pole. With a satisfying thud, he dropped like an overripe pear.

"Who knew Swallow Dives on Water could be so effective?" Relief colored Ren's voice as she leaned toward the girl, who shifted into a crustacean-like scramble. The panic in the child's eyes held the ugly taint of shock.

Zorah straightened. She rubbed grimy palms against her yoga pants before reaching for the victim. Rather than respond in kind, the girl stumbled to her feet, then lurched from the alley. What clothes remained flapped behind her like broken wings.

Zorah gripped Renata's arms, whippet-thin and ropey with muscle. "Come on, Ren. We need to call 911 and the phone's in the car."

Ren fiddled with her hearing aids. Feedback whine pierced the darkness. Deep and lustrous, her shining eyes met Zorah's regard. "I don't think we'll be able to catch that child, but we'd better call the police."

Offering a tender smile, Zorah said, "Excellent idea. I'll stay with this cretin."

"Whack him a good one if he moves." Renata pressed her staff into Zorah's hands.

She nodded. Zorah bent to reclaim her flashlight, then checked the unnatural canyon. Despite the altercation, no windows showed signs of occupancy.

"Apathetic morons. They're probably treating this like a peepshow." Just to be contrary, she shined her light upwards. A watcher's eyes gleamed as he startled away from a grimy window.

Disgust filled Zorah's mouth with bitter juices. This entire neighborhood had become a cesspool. Even the building that housed the YWCA advanced at an alarming rate toward collapse. This used to be Hope's city center, rendered obsolete by three monster shopping centers and endless strip malls. Most likely that young woman, who had sported a bandanna top and butt-revealing shorts, worked in the Nude-Girls-All-The-Time! joint around the corner.

The last campaign to make this neighborhood fit for human consumption had failed miserably. The male-dominated council replaced bulbs in existing streetlights, but only those closest to the club. Apparently the councilmen worried that drunken patrons might trip over curbs and sue the city.

"Our taxpayer dollars at work." Zorah nudged the bulky attacker in hopes he would move. Then she could smack him with Renata's pole. Without the victim as witness, this predator would be back on the streets within the week, if not sooner.

"What passes for justice in this sick culture," Zorah muttered. Fifty-six years of cumulative anger surged. Her words tasted as dreadful as she suddenly felt.

Earth-powered legs--core-strengthened back--elongated spine

As Zorah extended into a standing forward bend, a plastic tube dropped from her fanny pack, which she insisted on wearing facing forward. She rescued the tube, then froze in contemplation. Superglue.

Flowing earth energy--coiling spine--

chest opening to sky--mind yielding to breath

The rapist moaned. Zorah's heart sped to a salsa beat, but not out of fear. Using Ren's stick for leverage, she flipped the slime ball onto his back. His cheap suit and fast-food physique encompassed all of the deadwood she had been forced to contend with during her productive life as mother, biologist, and activist.

In truth, the only predators Zorah valued lived in the dwindling wild: wolves, bears, mountain lions and coyotes among them. Those hunters took only what they needed to survive. They completed a necessary cycle. To her way of thinking, this urban denizen qualified as nothing more than toxic waste. Her gaze centered on the rapist's weapon of choice, which now laid across his pubic jungle like a purple slug.

Before she could change her mind, Zorah twisted off the top of the glue. Her foe stank of discount scotch and unwashed body. Despite his stench, she managed to empty the entire tube before Renata returned.

"I couldn't catch that girl, Zorah. Then it took forever to get through to the emergency dispatcher. How they dare call it quick response, I'll never know..." Aided by the penlight, her friend studied Zorah's handiwork.

Hands shaking, Zorah returned the Tai Chi staff to Ren. It's just nerves. My body's a combination lock. Find the numbers and unlock the strength. She breathed.

Ren crouched over the unconscious rapist. "Good grief, Zorah. What have you done?"

She swallowed, then firmed her jaw along with her resolve. "Only what was necessary. He needed a lesson. It won't kill him."

Ren flashed the penlight. "How?"

"Superglue. I had it to repair my yoga brick."

"And you...you glued his penis to his hands?"

"Yes. Although I didn't have much to work with on the left hand, so that's mostly stuck to his pubic hair."

"Oh, Zorah." Their gazes met as distant sirens pulsed.

A puckish grin creased the skin beside Ren's mouth as she stood. "Well, your remedy will certainly curtail his bad habits, don't you think?"

"Absolutely."

Then Renata tugged at Zorah's cold fingers. "Come along now, dear. It wouldn't do for us to be found here. I do hope that young woman can't identify us."

Walking as briskly as her stiffening hip allowed, Zorah snorted. "Are you kidding? We're women over forty in nondescript clothing. Exhausted by earning a living and child rearing. In other words, useless and aged. Invisible." The summation gave Zorah deep satisfaction.

"All right, then, dearest. You be Useless, I'll be Aged."

Zorah chuckled, discharging residual tension. As they approached the car, she pondered the uses of Superglue, none of which were specified in the fear-of-lawyers directions.

"Just think of what we could accomplish with a little glue, Ren. The incidence of domestic violence could drop like the Dow. Let's start with wife- and child-beaters. We can attach their hands to their own flanks until they pass courses in anger management."

Ren nodded. "And don't forget verbal abusers. For them we'll leave a straw-sized hole in their mouths until they complete therapy. It'll be dubbed the new Anger Management Diet."

As they reached the car, Zorah added, "Plus the ideal technique for elected officials who promise one thing, then do another. Our glue remedy will provide them with quiet time to reflect, commit and legislate."

"Perfect, my dear."

"What about miners of the Earth's resources!"

Renata cautioned, "Corporate owners only, please. The rest are simply trying to provide for their families."

"Fine. As long as we can fasten the CEOs to the wrong end of their tools of destruction." Zorah retrieved her gym bag from the car hood.

"Why not attach drug pushers to an IV of their poison?"

"And assault rifle advocates to barrels wedged into their mouths. Glue their sweaty fingers to triggers."

"Oh, and we need to deal with corporate pirates, too. Stick the evidence to convict them where the sun does shine."

"Domestic and foreign terrorists fastened to devices of annihilation. They'll be isolated, of course, so they maim only themselves," Zorah rushed to add before tossing her bag into the rear seat.

Renata nodded. "Bigots bonded to what they fear most. We'll need volunteer advocates of tough-love--"

"Gay-bashers attached to brawny gay athletes."

They offered each other a high five before climbing into the VW. Ren drove, leaving Zorah to contemplate a rosy future. As they zoomed past the police cruiser, she pictured legions of mature women in relaxed clothes and comfortable shoes, committed to leaving the lightest of footprints. They would flash each other enigmatic smiles that may or may not bare teeth, then harness their righteous anger.

She recognized the heat suffusing her body for what it was: a power surge.