Daugher of Ash

by Matthew S. Cox

  “Something wrong with the other rifle?” He fired a hasty burst, ducking as a spray of bullets hit the metal by where his head just was.

  She dropped to all fours. “Trigger’s plastic.”

  “Oh, right. Hah.” He popped up, firing a series of rapid single shots until something exploded. “I feel like an action hero or something. Stay down, I’ll protect you.”

  “I’m not some helpless princess.” She climbed onto the hood, burning the paint to bare metal wherever hand or foot touched. “We’re gonna die if we stay in this damn box.”

  Kate squeezed through a narrow gap between the coffin and the car, crawled over the roof, and jumped to the road, crouching by the driver side door. Blood and automotive fluids leaked from dozens of holes, sizzling away from her toes. Three buggies circled clockwise, trading shots with the convicts still alive on top of the trailer. Her position behind the car kept her out of sight as another roaring engine came around the rear. Behind the driver sat an enormous clear plastic tank. Kate grinned as she focused.

  Greasy black smoke oozed from a ten-meter fireball that engulfed the rickety vehicle. The driver’s screams lasted only seconds. The charred buggy wobbled on melting wheels into the ditch. A howl of terror came over the speaker from Bernie, accompanied by a repetitive bashing noise. Kate whirled to her left, staring down the length of the truck carcass at the goggle-wearing raider from the missile truck. He attacked the windshield with an enormous medieval style sword.

  “They’re everywhere,” the driver cried. “Escape! They’re escaping!”

  “Bernie, no!” Kate yelled.

  Goggles looked at her, grinning at what he mistook for an unarmed, helpless woman. He gave up on the windshield and stalked in her direction. With a wild howl, Wilma jumped down from the top of the trailer, landing behind him with one arm across his throat and the other around the wrist of his sword arm. The men struggled for a few brief seconds, though the mohawked convict seemed far stronger than the raider, and controlled him with ease.

  Humming, Wilma proceeded to waltz the raider around in a circle for a moment before crushing the man’s wrist, causing the blade to clang to the ground. They danced for another few seconds in front of the cab, Wilma vocalizing his best attempt at classical music.

  The one convict still atop the trailer roared as he took a bullet in the leg; he fell seated but continued machine-gunning a buggy passing what had been the top of the truck, out of Kate’s view. Rippling clanks became wet splats and then a roaring burst of flames, sending a billowing cloud of smoke over the trailer.

  Wilma planted a kiss on the grimy sweat-covered side of the man’s head and flung him face-first into the windshield.

  “I want you ta apologize ta Bernie, mate. Wasn’t nice o’ ya ta stick the truck wif’ a missile.” He held the bandit against the glass, ripped a knife from the man’s belt, and drove it into his back. Goggles struggled for another few seconds. His cries sprayed blood on the glass before he went limp. “Aat’s a right proper ‘pology, I fink.”

  Bernie’s scream rang louder than Goggles’, even over tiny speakers. Kate blinked at Wilma, stunned wordless, not moving until she whirled at electronic beeps from the coffin.

  “Shit!” Shouted Esteban. “That fucking jackass triggered the vests!”

  “Come out here now!” Kate jogged along the trailer toward Wilma, waving at the last man. “Hey! Come down, get close to me.”

  One man from the Eagle’s nest abandoned the rifle and jumped to the road nearby.

  Two smears of red painted the road, twisty trails that lined up with the crushed remains of gunnery pods on the side in contact with the pavement. She slipped, cursing under her breath while skidding across one as the liquefied man steamed out from under her foot. Wilma looked to the clouds, holding his arms out to the side, bloody knife still in hand. A cluster of red lights flashed at the center of his vest, blinking in time with beeping.

  Esteban grunted and heaved the compact car out of his way. He rushed out of the coffin, catching up as she held up a hand to keep Wilma two steps away. Shots rang out from above, followed by clanks and squealing tires. The last buggy broke the circle, speeding off down the road in the direction they came from.

  Kate set her feet in a wide stance, held her arms out, and concentrated on the area around her. Psionic energy shimmered in the air, creating a sphere similar to heat blur around her. No burning. The convict on top of the truck panicked as the pace of the beeping reached the point where it sounded like a single tone. He shouted at Bernie and clicked the trigger at the cab, but the gun didn’t go off.

  “I am coming,” said Wilma, at the clouds.

  Esteban waved at him. “Mack, get do―”

  The tone ended with a muted thump from above and a shower of gore. Most of what had been Mack rained on them. Bloody tatters of orange, two legs severed at the thigh, flopped onto the road. Esteban looked down at his vest, sagging with a sigh of relief at the dark lights.

  “Fucking hell,” said the man from the eagle’s nest, wiping blood and chunks from his face. “Bernie, you cocksucker…”

  “Don’t,” said Kate, in a zombie’s tone. “If you get too far away from me, it’ll go off.”

  Wilma peeled his gaze from the clouds, raised an eyebrow, and laughed. “It seems he will wait for me still.” He eyed Kate up and down. “Perhaps you and he will meet.”

  Her eyes shifted toward him. “Don’t distract me if you want to stay alive.”

  “I see it in your heart, little one.” Wilma leaned close enough to make a face at the heat. “He’d like you.”

  “Back off,” said Esteban.

  “I am merely having a conversation about theology.” Wilma held his hands up, smiled, and took a step away.

  “We can’t fucking stand here forever.”

  Esteban flapped his arms at the man from the eagle’s nest. “Yeah, Kurt. Right on point with the obvious again.”

  “Right here.” Kurt grabbed his crotch.

  “I wanna twist that little weasel’s head off,” said Esteban. “Let’s move as a group to the front. Kate, can you walk while doing that?”

  “If I step in Mack and fall, you all die.”

  Wilma laughed. The others gagged.

  Kurt’s face froze in a warp of confused anger. “Wait a minute, how are we still alive?”

  Esteban pointed. “She’s psionic. A pyro.”

  “A pyro?” Kurt turned pale. “I didn’t think they could stop fire… much less bombs.”

  “Gift horse,” said Wilma. He grabbed the man’s vest and spun him around.

  “Hey man, I ain’t into that. Get the hell away from my ass!” Kurt struggled, but Wilma held on.

  “Shh,” whispered Wilma. He clamped one hand on the vest between Kurt’s shoulders, and the other around one of the struts. “This won’t hurt. It’ll be over before you know it.”

  “Oh, shit!” Kurt screamed through clenched teeth.

  Wilma turned red, veins rose in his forehead and arms. A weak cracking sound came an instant before a spark flew out of the joint. The shoulder strap popped open with enough force to throw it airborne, over the trailer. After catching his breath, Wilma broke the other side. Kurt slipped the vest off over his head and threw it at the cab.

  As soon as it flew about fifteen meters away from Kate, it detonated, launching a blast of fragments. Spiderweb cracks raced across the reinforced windscreen.

  Kurt recovered his balance and ran to the break, kicking at it. “Bernie, you little shit. Turn off the fucking detonator.”

  Indistinct murmurs sounded inside the cab, like someone shrieking underwater.

  Kurt glared at the clouds for a moment. “He thinks I’m escaping.”

  “So kill him,” muttered Kate. “Never really liked that asshole.”

  He shrugged, and got to work kicking the glass. Wilma broke Esteban out of his vest and carried it a little farther away from the truck while waving at Kurt to clear away from the cab.

>   “Give us a little room, what? Got a nice little somethin’ for the Bernster.” Wilma winked.

  Once Kurt cleared out, Wilma hurled the vest so hard he took two involuntary steps forward. The vest detonated on impact with the windshield, which flashed opaque white in an instant from millions of cracks. Kurt ran back over and put his boot through the armored glass, peeling it out like a wall of stacked snow. He reached in, hauled the bloodied Bernie out, and threw him on the road. After a parting kick to the side, Kurt crawled into the cab.

  A few minutes later, he yelled. “I think it’s off.”

  Esteban jogged over. “We need more than think.”

  Kate crept toward the cab. “What’s the release code, Bernie?”

  Bernie dragged himself over crumbles of glass and blood. “I don’t have it. There isn’t a business need for drivers to know the ERV codes.” He shrieked when Esteban grabbed him by the boot. “They shouldn’t have tried to escape!”

  “I can’t disarm a damn thing,” said Kurt as he emerged from the cab. “It’s an immediate trigger. Truck computer isn’t showing any active links to explosive restraint vests. It thinks we’re all dead.”

  Kate grumbled.

  Esteban waved Wilma over. “Might as well try to break it.”

  With Kurt pulling on the vest from the front, Esteban holding on to the back plate, and Wilma shoving at it, it split in two neat halves, sparks flying. Kate cringed at the sense of nascent combustion, squashing it back into nothingness. They threw the pieces into the field one after the next. Each one exploded with a sharp crack and a shower of dirt and grass. Exhausted, Kate slumped to the road where she stood, panting and drenched in sweat.

  “Well, now what?” asked Kurt.

  Esteban squinted, trying to peer past the smoke into the east. “We search for what we can scavenge and get the hell out of here.”

  Wilma grunted in agreement.

  ate sprawled on the road, trying to catch her breath, inhaling in the scent of burned plastic, smoldering rubber, and charred flesh. The coarse texture of paving below came in handy to scratch an inch or two on her back. A steady serenade of creaking metal, squeaking springs, and cursing rang out as the three surviving cons rummaged among the wreckage. She relaxed for a while, skirting the precipice of sleep. Scuffing footsteps startled her awake as Esteban and Kurt returned with two battered submachine guns and a pistol. Wilma trailed behind them, carrying an enormous metal sword. He grinned from ear to ear while peeling bits of its former owner from the edge.

  She stood and stretched before swatting bits of glass off her legs.

  “He beckons, and I heed. This was a sign. I will be heading west. My time among the false civilization is at an end.” Wilma set the tip of the weapon in the road and bowed to Kate. “He calls for you as well, sister of rage.”

  She checked her beloved bracelet, relieved to see it undamaged. “You are entirely too happy with that thing.”

  Wilma laughed and hefted the sword, letting it rest over one shoulder. “The true measure of power is strength. I foresee much joy in my future, and this will not run out of bullets.”

  “Speakin’ of joy.” Kurt edged up to Kate. “How ‘bout a little head?”

  Esteban shoved him. “Hey, she just saved all of our asses. You’re not gonna touch her.”

  Kurt backed up. “Just asking. I weren’t gonna do nothin’ she didn’t want.”

  “We all want what we can’t have,” said Esteban.

  “Then your wants are too complex.” Wilma pivoted on his heel and meandered to the west, whistling like a farmer on his way to the field, the great sword balanced over his shoulder.

  Kate sighed at the crashed truck. I’m out here this far, might as well keep going. She gave Esteban a meaningful look and followed Wilma. Esteban shrugged and fell in step beside her. Evidently not wanting to be alone, Kurt hurried after them.

  Kate went off the road to avoid walking over the glittering field of smashed windshield, muttering at the smoking grass. “Something like that.”

  Esteban shot her a confused look until her voice echoed in his mind.

  No boots. Glass.

  Without thinking about it, Esteban reached out to help her back onto the road a safe distance away from the wreck. Kate disregarded him, clearing a ditch with a jump. She frowned at his hand and turned away before she had to look at his face.

  Wilma moved up to a jog, overtaking the limping driver who had made it about a quarter mile from the crash site. He hauled Bernie upright by a fistful of polo shirt collar. “Bernster…” The driver yowled. “Be at ease, driver. It is by your grace that my destiny has become manifest. You provided me the chance to play with the natives. Even if you did push the bad button, it wouldn’t be proper to leave you to rot.”

  “Fuck Bernie,” said Kurt.

  “If you want.” Wilma held the driver out to Kurt with one arm. “Don’t take too long.”

  Bernie wept.

  “You’re a walking psych thesis, Wilma.” Kurt shook his head and walked off. “Who names their son Wilma anyway?”

  “Dammit, Wilma.” Kurt shivered. “I meant fuck in the metaphorical sense.”

  Wilma marched west, dragging Bernie. Like an overgrown boy, he took great pains to keep stepping on the faded yellow paint in the center of the ancient road.

  The hapless driver stumbled along, glancing back at Kate every few steps. He seemed unable to determine if the huge man was abducting or assisting him. Kurt and Esteban flanked him, keeping watch to either side. Bernie whimpered when Esteban fired a test shot from the sub gun.

  She slowed to let everyone get in front of her. Arms crossed, eyes locked on her non-boots, she moved only fast enough not to get left behind. Worry of being with two convicts she didn’t trust, especially when it got dark enough for holograms to glow, guaranteed she wouldn’t sleep. They walked without conversation for some hours. Soon, the earthy fragrance of meadow grass replaced the stink of war. Kurt yelled at the occasional insect that drifted too close for comfort, loudest when something the size of a hen’s egg took a keen interest in his hair.

  “I changed it,” said Wilma, out of nowhere.

  “Changed what?” asked Kurt.

  Wilma balanced on one leg before leaping a pothole he could have walked around. “My name.”

  “Why would you do that?” blurted Bernie when no one else had the nerve.

  The big man smiled at the sky. “Good for startin’ fights.”

  “Oh.” Bernie forced a smile. “I see.”

  Another hour or so passed in relative silence.

  Kate snarled at her bracelet showing a no-signal message below the time. When did I become so dependent on this thing? “How far are we from St. Louis?”

  “I’unno,” mumbled Wilma. “Let me check the navigation system.” He glanced at Bernie, waited three seconds, and gave him a hard shake when he didn’t say anything.

  “Uhh.” The driver looked around. “If we were still on the truck, we’d have been there by now.”

  “If you weren’t a chickenshit moron, we’d still be on the truck,” muttered Esteban.

  Bernie whimpered. “Where the hell did bandits get missiles?”

  “You’d be surprised what people can do when they have to improvise.” Kate absentmindedly covered her chest.

  Esteban winked as Kate drifted closer. “They probably looted a small military shipment or something.”

  Wilma rolled the great sword over his hand and caught it, making it whoosh. “It is futile to worry about where they procured it. Their arrow has already charted the course of our destiny.”

  “Damn thing hit the truck before I felt it burn,” said Kate. “Sorry.”

  Esteban glanced at her; Kate looked away.

  “What’s that smell?” asked Kurt.

  Kate perked up. “Water. We’re near a river.”

  “Let’s pick it up then.” Esteban walked faster. “Get inside the wall before it gets dark.”

  The comforting
scent of wood smoke wafted by, spectral threads hovered in a beam of light from a tiny window. Kate reclined in an ancient porcelain bathtub, daydreaming about what it might feel like to soak in water. She peered over the side at two thick blocks of wood with black footprints―Esteban’s idea to spare the floor. Embers of anger glowed in her heart, the boards a visible reminder of a barrier between her and the world.

  At her low angle, the tiny window offered a view of stars. She frowned at the light switch, out of reach. It wasn’t worth the effort of standing and balancing on a plank. The plastic lever would melt on contact with her finger and she would still be in the dark. Technology existed in a strange commingling in the Scattered Lands. Holo-terminals sometimes sat next to physical light switches, and modern micro-fusion power cells fed filament-based bulbs.

  Kate stretched and yawned. The old tub offered little in the way of comfort or room to move, but at least the porcelain tolerated her temperature.

  She closed her eyes, thinking of Esteban, and let one arm slide between her legs. Pleasure by her own hand was nothing new, but having a specific man in her thoughts was. Her mind ran away with impossible dreams as she writhed alone in a dirty hotel bathtub.

  A slam from the living room made her sit bolt upright in a frantic search to put her hands somewhere innocent and natural looking. Esteban appeared in the doorway holding a metal box. He had a small backpack over his left shoulder, and his weapon was gone. At the sight of her face, he broke up laughing. Seconds later, the smell of fried chicken followed him.

  Kate blushed, her embarrassment too strong to check his surface thoughts to see if he caught her in the act or only assumed.

  “Turned off the thing? Uhh, you okay with me seeing you like that?”

  “Mayyyybe,” she purred.

  He sat on the toilet and put the box on the sink.

  “Since I have walls around me, I’m saving the battery for tomorrow.” She pushed herself up into a sitting position. “I don’t like the way it glows in the dark, makes me feel like a ghost.”