First Book of Zyzie

The human, "Mop Head," continues looking straight at me. An eerie feeling runs throughout my bones. Jake does not notice, until I point to him, again. Jake, "I told you to ignore humans, and stop calling him ‘Mop Head.’" The chill up my spine warns me that bad things are about to happen, so I unlock my “Spoots.” “Spoots” are like boots however, I can unlock their sole. We have four hands, so when your Spoots are unlocked, you can use your lower gloved hands, when necessary. Anyone riding a motorcycle, barefoot, knows why we wear gloves on our lower hands. Now the other lane starts to move. The van moves farther into the left lane and starts to pass us. As it moves forward, it veers to the right then, into our motorcycles. Several men jump out. I feel two of them drag me from my bike and into a nearby van. Now, the bike lies on its side, engine running like some kind of injured horse waiting to get up and run. Jake yells, “Zyzie, Defend, Defend, Defend.” After Jake demands, “Defend, Defend, Defend,” I have to react. I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would called upon to defend against a human. Hurting humans is strictly prohibited. How can I get myself to do such a thing? Yet, I have to obey Jake. I will just do the best I can without hurting anyone. I am not allowed be captured, that will create another “Area 51, Roswell New Mexico” incident. What will I defend against? Humans can do anything they want with us. We are not human and, after all, Jake is not in any danger. None of the attackers pays any attention to Jake. Jake drops his bike next to mine and follows me into the van. I hear the van rev up to leave with me and Jake inside. It can go nowhere in this traffic jam. Certainly, the van will not cut through the busy weigh station, with me screaming and Vermont State Troopers there. With Jake in the van, the bad dudes have no choice but to attack him, as well. Now, I have something to defend. One human has me in a chokehold, and others were trying to tie my hands. Jake drops the one on my right arm, with one solid uppercut to his chin. It seemed to come from the floor. I hear a sound like a dry limb being snapped across someone’s knee, then that bad dude crumples to the floor. I notice his jaw looks crooked. Jake grabs him by his belt then, just tosses him out of the van. I think Jake’s favorite boxer, Sonny Liston, would be proud of Jake. Jake often talks about his boxing days, this is the first time I saw him in action. Now, it is my turn to get into the action. I try to shake the other bad dude loose from my other arm. Someone, behind me, has me around the neck in a "figure four" chokehold. They smell like “Tonga” aftershave. Thankfully, my helmet makes choking me impossible. Over my earphones, Jake is yelling, “Zyzie, use your Quadradextrous Judo.” Jake lands a left hook on the face of the “Tonga” dude behind me. He releases his grip. I am “Quadradextrous” and learned Judo in that fashion. My “Spoots” are already unlocked, so I grab the nearest ankle. I bring my elbow to the dude’s chin. The dude yells at me, as he flies out the door. “Sugar Nuggies,” that is way too much fun. I feel something hit my helmet and spun around to face an unwashed dude, in total shock. He is probably wondering why I am still standing. Now he can wonder why he is flying through the air. I sometimes carry a 400-pound backpack on twenty-mile hikes. Tossing a 200 pound, “Jamoke” out the door and over the bikes, on the ground outside, is small bananas. I step on the club the “Jamoke” dropped after hitting me. I rarely lose my balance, but find myself crouched against the far wall of the van. I regain my balance, and then I look around for the next threat. Someone was standing at the van’s door. They have already thrown Jake out the door. I see some “Gunslinger” reaching for a firearm in a holster between his back pockets. I do not have time to think. Jake and some karate movies taught me what to do next. I am engineered to lock my muscles, kind of like a grasshopper, and release all of that energy at once. It is kind of like holding a finger back with your thumb, then releasing its energy, snapping the finger against the heel of your hand. I am against the far wall of the van and I launch myself towards the Gunslinger. I lock my right leg muscles, and then release that energy through my right leg, aiming for that little “apricot” at the base of his skull. Ask any Navy Seal what happens next. The Gunslinger drops like a wet washcloth and lands like a cow pie, with his upper torso partly under the van. His legs are over my KLR’s exhaust. I hope he is not hurt too badly. I look around for other threats. I turn towards the front of the van. The leather volleyball dude is coming into the cargo area of the van. He reaches behind him and pulls out a very large knife. Say what you will about firearm control legislation; a knife is quiet and can be just as deadly. With so many State Troopers nearby, inspecting and weighing trucks, a loud firearm is a real bad idea. I didn’t expect him to lunge at me from so far away