by Kelli Kimble
As expected, Willow woke up refreshed and ready for some killing the next day. We reviewed the plan one more time over breakfast, then gathered up our already-packed supplies for the hike to the village. I led the way, until we came to a field right outside the village. We split up—Willow went around to the south, Swen to the North, and I went straight into the village.
I didn’t get very far into the village proper before a tanker spotted me. I let him give chase—though I was supposed to be caught, so I didn’t try very hard. If he noticed that it was easy to catch me, he must have thought it was just because he was so much better than I was.
“Where you think you’re going, you filthy primitive?” he asked as he pushed me to the ground. He removed his belt and leaned over me, then pulled my hands together.
“I don’t know where I’m going,” I said. “But, I suspect you’ll be going straight to hell.”
He straightened and looked down at me. I heard the zing of the bow as first one, then another arrow whipped by him. It startled him, and he flapped his hands around his head. “Dang bugs, just leave me alone, already.”
I suppressed a smile, because the next zing connected, right through his temple.
He staggered a step to the left and keeled over. I waited a few moments, and then checked for a pulse. He was definitely dead. I glanced around to make sure that nobody else was coming, then I grabbed him by the legs and dragged him to the closest house. He was too heavy to get up the steps, so I pushed him into a shaded corner next to the porch. I took the blanket slung over the rocking chair and covered him as best I could.
I continued into the village, going towards the new house at the center of the village. It was built on the site of the old meeting pavilion. It was likely that I’d find more tankers there—and hopefully, Adam, as well.
I wasn’t disappointed. As I approached the enormous house, I heard a voice calling, “Hey! Hey, you!”
I turned to see a tanker running towards me. The moment she recognized me, her face changed from curiosity to anger. She let out a long, shrill whistle between her teeth. Behind, me I heard the door open.
“Fiona. I didn’t think we’d seen the last of you,” Adam said. He came out on the porch and waved the approaching woman away. The clomping sound of her running slowed, and then ebbed.
“Won’t you come in?” he said. He stepped aside and held the door open.
I entered the house. I felt hyper-aware of his presence. His eyes seemed to know that I was there as part of a plan to kill him and all his friends. But, at the same time, he couldn’t help but let me in. What was it that he wanted from me?
“Your house is quite large,” I said. “Do you all live here?”
“No. Only Eve and I live in this one. Everyone comes here for meals, though. What’s left of us, that is.” He sneered as he said the last part.
“Ah. I’m sure you understand about that,” I said, nodding. “I couldn’t just roll over and let them kill me. I’m not one to give up.”
“Persistence. I have it, too. Probably something I inherited from you, right?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“So, you accept that I’m your son now? Your flesh and blood?”
“I accept that we are genetically linked,” I said. “The children I had all died before they could even be born into the world.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.
His sympathy took me by surprise. But, he was Leo’s son, too. And he’d clearly inherited Leo’s ability to manipulate.
“Thank you,” I said, as neutrally as I could.
“I’ve upset you,” he said.
“No, I was just thinking that you have some of Leo’s genetic traits, as well.”
“Oh, I’m not related to Leo,” he said. “Barrow was my father.”
A darkness spread over my vision, like a cloud blotting out the sunlight. “Barrow? The queen’s advisor?”
“Yes. The man you killed to escape slavery. Do you need to sit down? You look a little pale.” He guided me to a chair, and I sat. He sat across from me, his expression mildly mischievous.
A surge of anger against Barrow rose in me. I felt rage, and the desire to kill him again spread through me.
“I don’t blame you for killing him,” Adam said. “By all accounts, he was a bad man. Just ask my sister. He was her father, too, wasn’t he?”
“I don’t know who Eve’s parents are,” I said. “Nobody ever told me.”
He tipped his head forward and looked up at me knowingly. “I’m not talking about Eve. We aren’t genetically related. I mean, we’re a couple. It would just be weird if we were related.”
“Then, who are you talking about?”
“Willow. Barrow was her father, too. We’re related, she and I. Just like you and I. We’re an interwoven family,” he said, locking his fingers together in demonstration.
“I’d forgotten about that,” I said.
“That’s part of why she hated the tanker program so much. Barrow liked nothing more than to spread his seed around. But, everyone says he was a terrible father.”
“That’s something we can all agree on,” I mumbled.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“In the interest of honesty, I’d like to point out that I know Willow is still alive,” he said.
“I gathered that.”
“I know she wants me dead. I know she wants to extinguish the tank program. Her little stunt the other day didn’t go unnoticed. I had someone back at the mountain within an hour to get the power restored. All but two were saved.” He looked at me expectantly. After a long pause, he continued. “Aren’t you going to extend your sympathies?”
“Loss of life is a shame,” I said. “But, you know I don’t agree with breeding people in a tank.”
“You know what surprised me? Swen. I thought I had his loyalty. But, he turned on me. I know he helped you and Port escape. I know he gave you that tablet, and he and Willow killed two of my friends to sabotage the tanks. What I don’t know is what he’ll do when he’s caught.”
“What’s there to do? If he’s caught, you’ll kill him. We all knew that risk.”
“I haven’t killed you,” he said.
“Did you ever think of a reason for that?”
He went to the window and looked outside. He pushed the drapery aside with a jerky movement. “I guess we’re about to find out what Swen will do,” he finally said, turning away from the window.
A few moments later, the door opened, and a tanker dragged Swen inside.
“I caught this primitive in the house next door,” the tanker said. He pushed Swen towards Adam, then hit him in the back of the head with the butt of Swen’s bow. “I took this from him.” He tossed the bow on the floor, near Adam’s feet. The bow string was snapped.
Adam poked at it with his toe. “Did you really think these old-fashioned weapons were going to get you anywhere?” he asked.
“You might check how far I got with it before you criticize,” said Swen, curling his lip.
Adam slapped Swen across the face. Not satisfied, he grabbed a handful of Swen’s hair and forced him to his knees. He kicked at Swen’s stomach, but it was not a well-planned blow, and there was a loud crack as Adam’s foot connected with Swen’s hipbone.
“Aaah, that hurt!” yelled Adam. He clenched his fists and walked in a tight circle, the toes of his injured foot raised off the ground as he hobbled on his good foot and the heel of his bad one.
He tried again, this time connecting with Swen’s soft belly. The air rushed from Swen, and he fell to his side, clutching his gut.
“Adam, I think that’s enough,” I said. “There’s no need for violence.”
“There is never a need for it. Violence doesn’t happen because I require it. It happens because people are in my way.” He leaned over Swen and spat on him. “I gave you a job, you miserable little jerk! And this is how you repay me? By killing my friends?”
I found myself separating from the situation somewhat. Instead of worrying for Swen and what they would do to him—or whether they’d already managed to kill Willow—I wondered whether the tankers who had built this structure had known what they were doing or not.
Scrambling, Adam stood. “Tie him up,” he said to the tanker. “Tie him up and throw him into the pit.”
“There’s no pit here,” I said, waking from my wanderings.
“There is now,” Adam replied. “Do it.”
The tanker grabbed Swen by the elbow and hauled him off the floor. Swen struggled to get his feet under himself. He looked back at me as the tanker pushed him from the room and deeper into the house. “We’re sticking to our plan, right?” Swen called.
“Right,” I said.
“I’d like to know the plan,” said Adam. He sat again and propped his injured foot on the low table between us. He removed his boot and peeled the sock away. The top of his foot was already black-and-blue, and his toes were swelling up until they looked like strange sausages.
“I’m sure you would,” I said.
“Let me guess the plan.” He assumed a thinking position, with one arm bent and the other propped on it, a finger to the side of his nose while he thought. “You’re going to kill us all and live happily ever after?”
“No,” I said. “That isn’t the plan.” I leaned towards him. “But, you’re close,” I whispered.
“Ooh, I’m close. Let me think on it some more.”
There was a crash from the other room. Adam started but didn’t get up.
“Aren’t you going to check on that?” I asked.
“No. I believe in my fellow tankers,” he said.
“I believe in Swen.”
He sat perfectly still for a few moments.
A crash and a tinkle of broken glass came from the other room.
“Maybe I will just go check and see what’s broken,” he said. “You stay here.”
He left the room. There were no more noises. I sat and waited for maybe ten minutes before I went through the door. It led into a kitchen, and the back door was wide open. Glass from the window next to the door crunched under my feet. I approached the door cautiously. There was a knife on the counter, and I took it as I went by. The door swung slightly on the hinges, and as I came to it, I saw a pair of boots propped toes-down at the top of the steps.
I came into the doorway, but the angle of the stairs prevented me from seeing who owned the boots. I scanned the area. Nobody was visible. I whistled once and waited for a response. I prodded one of the boots with my toe. No reaction. Trying to keep my eye on the area around us, I went down the steps and saw that the body belonged to the tanker who had brought Swen in. A large shard of glass was protruding from his neck. I noticed that the steps and porch were covered in blood. I hoped that none of it was Swen’s.
I crept to the corner of the building and whistled again. The silence made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. There was a shout around the other side of the house, and I moved forward to try and see what was going on.
Adam and another tanker were running up the path between the houses. The tanker’s body jerked, stumbled forward a few more steps, and then slid face-first into the stones. An arrow was sticking up from the base of his skull. Adam either didn’t see or didn’t care and continued running.
I whistled. This time, Willow whistled back. I tracked the sound to the window of a nearby house. She waved at me once, and then ducked below the sill.
I glanced around again. Adam was out of sight now, having turned a corner. I ducked down and made my way to the house as quickly as I could. I eased open the door and went inside.
When the door closed, Willow was waiting behind it. I jumped backwards. “Willow,” I said. “You startled me.”
“They’re all dead. Except Adam. We got them all.” She was breathing strangely, in great heaves.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s finish it, then.” I reached for the doorknob, but she shook her head.
“No. You won’t finish him. I know you. You think you can detach yourself from him, that he isn’t your son. But, he is. And you won’t destroy that.” She raised her bow. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, Fiona. The world will be a better place if humans just let it be.”
“Wait,” I said. “What makes you think that you’ll be able to kill him any better than I could? He’s your brother, after all.”
She lowered the bow somewhat as her face crumpled with disgust. “Barrow. He was little better than an animal, spreading his children around like he was better than all the rest of us.” Her resolve returned, and she raised the bow. “I hate him even more than I did before. Rest assured that I’ll have no trouble killing him.” Her finger slid over the trigger. “It’ll be fast; don’t worry.”
I watched with fascination as her knuckle tightened over the trigger. The nut began rolling forward, and the string was about to be released. I closed my eyes.
The door burst open.
I opened my eyes as Adam shouldered into the room and rounded on Willow. She’d been crushed behind the door and must have fallen. He dragged her to the center of the room.
“You call her your friend?” he said to me. Willow was kicking and twisting to get away, but he had a handful of her hair in one hand, and the back of her shirt with the other. The crossbow clattered to the floor. Blood was coming from somewhere.
“Easy,” I said, approaching her. “She’s bleeding.”
“I don’t care if her heart just came through her traitorous nose,” he said. “She was going to kill you just now. And you want to help her?”
“We’ve all got to die,” said Willow. “We don’t deserve the blessings we’ve been given. All we do is waste them and demand more!”
Adam released her shirt and shook her by the hair. She tried to get her feet under herself to lessen the strain. I saw where the blood was coming from—her cheek. The string of the bow must have hit her in the face when it released. It had sliced clean through, leaving an almost-perfect circle of exposed flesh.
I gasped. “You’re hurting her,” I said. “Either kill her or leave her be. There’s no need to draw it out.”
Adam released his hold on her and kicked at her. “That’s my mother, you stupid zealot.” He punctuated each word with a kick, then abruptly caught himself midway through his next blow. He took a step back. “Swen’s dead,” he said, turning to me. “She’s already killed him, too.” His eyes welled up with tears. “Everyone’s dead, but the three of us,” he whispered.
“Good,” said Willow.
He took a few steps away from her and sat on the floor. His breath turned shallow, and he began to pant.
“Are you all right?” I said. My feet were still rooted to the spot. I took a hesitant step towards him, and a burst of pain went through my leg. I looked down. Willow’s arrow had somehow struck me in the leg. The arrow hung from my thigh. I turned away from the two of them, wanting a moment alone with the pain of pulling it out. I grabbed the shaft with both hands, counted to three, and yanked it out. A blinding pain seared through me as the notched arrowhead ripped free of my flesh.
I fell to my knees and wretched, though nothing came up. The pain felt more than physical, like it would consume me. I collected myself enough to look at the wound. It didn’t look too bad, and although there was blood, the arrow had apparently missed any major blood vessels. I was nearly against the window, and a curtain blew in the breeze from the open door. It caught my attention, and I pulled it from its hooks. It was good, sturdy cotton; I’d woven it myself. I even remembered weaving it. It had been for Charity. A pretty blend of rust-and-yellow threads. I tore a strip out of it and wrapped it around my leg. I grunted with the effort of tying it off.
When I turned around, Adam was sitting astride Willow’
s chest, his hands wrapped around her neck. How had I not noticed such a struggle? Willow’s legs were kicking about in a useless attempt to gain leverage.
I held up a hand to stop him—though I don’t know what I thought that was going to do. He wasn’t going to stop just because I said so. But when I did, I saw my own blood on my hands. And something in me just let go. She’d already tried to kill me. If he killed her, that would save me from having to defend myself.
Adam let out a roar. He locked his elbows and used his body weight to crush his wrists against Willow’s windpipe. He pumped his whole body down against her several times. Her head made a sickening thump against the floor, and something inside of her made a muted crunch.
I closed my eyes. When I opened them, her legs were relaxed, but he was still holding her. Only now, his shoulders were shaking with silent sobs.
“Hey,” I said, approaching him. I touched him on the shoulder. “Hey, Adam? It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”
He released his hold on her neck. It was oddly distorted from his aggressive attack. Her eyes were open and blank. A fresh wave of nausea washed over me, but I pushed it down. I pulled my attention from her empty gaze and looked at him.
Tears were running down his face. “It didn’t have to be this way,” he said.
“Remember how you told me that only the tankers deserved to live?” I said.
He nodded and dragged his forearm under his nose, smearing away snot and tears.
“Willow believed you,” I continued. “She did what you wanted. She just . . . she took it a step further.”
He nodded again. I held out my hand to move him away from Willow’s body. He clasped onto it. His grip felt strangely cold and clammy. When I met his eyes again, he frowned, then lifted his shirt.
The reason he’d been breathing in shallow gulps was the knife wound just below his ribs. He took in a breath, and the blood around it bubbled.
“Swen,” he said. “He put up a lot more of a fight than I would have given him credit for.” He turned his face away. “Maybe he wasn’t so bad, after all.” He let the shirt drop.
