Future Reborn Box Set
Page 7
He—she, it, whatever—bellowed like a mad bull, throwing a partially eaten ribcage into the air and surged into motion from around the stone. I knew something that size would probably have a turn radius like a city bus, so I flattened to the rock face and crouched, knives at the ready in hopes of a sneaky cut as the creature rushed past. There are no fair fights—there’s only winning and losing—and a standup fight with something that ate people sounded like a short trip to becoming dinner.
I was right. Hardhead was neither human nor animal, falling somewhere between in the dusk of nightmares. Tall, overpowering, and covered in black fur, his head crowned with six horns, his nose the seventh, and where bony plates would be on an actual rhino, he had teeth like a cartoon shark. His hands ended in black claws, the edges sharp and gleaming in the sun, wet with gore from the poor bastard still smeared across his chainsaw of a mouth.
He was twice my height and had an absurd little gray tail that wagged as he tried to turn, once his beady eyes sighted me clinging to the rock face. A rooster tail of sand shot from under his feet as he dug hard, reaching out with his left arm to swipe at me with those claws.
The invitation was clear, so I accepted. With one slashing stroke, I took off his left hand at the meaty wrist, rewarding me with a howl of pain that shook the air in my lungs. I followed up by lunging at his right leg, delivering a long gash to the bulging muscle just above the ankle.
I hadn’t said a word, but a smile crept over my lips as I saw all that gorgeous lifeblood spiraling out of Hardhead’s arm. Pressing my advantage, I made to greet him when he finished coming to a stop, thinking that the best fights were always over in a hurry.
Hardhead had a different idea.
He dropped to his good hand, turning in a circle with quicksilver speed to lash out in a donkey kick that tore my right blade away, grazing my shoulder with enough force to split the skin under my borrowed shirt. I say “grazed” because my ‘bots were humming at full speed, lending me the kind of urgency I needed to get the hell out of the way of that killing blow. Rolling to a sputtering stop, I fought a groan as bolts of agony shot through my body. Hardhead might have been huge, but he was also fast, angry, and mobile. I shook my head to clear it as the monster held on to his stump, wailing into the sun with his mouth thrown back like a grieving widow.
Hardhead’s mood turned from bad to worse. Lowering his head, he charged, and I backpedaled due to my healthy sense of self-preservation. In the brilliant sun, his gray fur had dark stripes that did a lot to cover that he was, at the very least, a humanoid. The horns and mouth were showstoppers, but I drew my blades, ready to kill.
“Hey, shithead! This way!” I crowed, counting on the beast hearing me as he charged.
Hardhead dropped to three limbs, holding his wounded arm up but accelerating like a runaway train just the same. In his bucking gait, he went full beast to greet me with his nose horn, standing at the last second to rake the place I occupied with a vicious swipe of his right hand.
“I’ll take that,” I told him, using my most reasonable tone. With an upward cut, I stole his other hand, then finished the blow by sending my opposite knife out in a flickering cut across the back of his leg. Before his hand could hit dirt, I cut him twice more, once in the back of the leg and a long, shallow wound that rattled over his ribs in a series of mechanical noises. Ichor and blood splashed me, hot and vile, but the big boy wasn’t done yet. He twisted again like he was going for the kick, and I threw myself back in a desperate attempt to get clear.
He brought the horns instead. The bastard lunged forward, blowing snot and saliva while his teeth flashed, and a new roar of pain broke free as he plunged his bleeding arms into the sand for balance. His nose horn took me square in the chest, but at a flat angle, so it didn’t puncture my skin. As a knife, the attack failed. As a hammer, it was a rousing success.
Sky and ground were a whirling kaleidoscope on the edge of my vision, my ‘bots dragging hard at my instincts as I readied myself for a hard landing. I had two knives, two hands, and one chance to land without breaking things I needed, like my legs or arms.
Tossing my left knife to the side, I went for a one-armed landing in hopes of sticking Hardhead where it would hurt the most, but gravity and his heart did the work for me. When I landed, he staggered, falling forward in a wheezing mess to cough his last breath out on my face, a mere three feet away. The ground shook with his landing, and his arm jabbed me in the ribs, stump grinding against me with a twitching strike. His fur fluttered, nerves sending one last hurrah through his system before the rest of him caught up to the fact that he was truly dead.
“I’ll be damned,” I mumbled, spitting dust and blood from my mouth. “You taste like you smell.”
“Did you kiss him before you killed him?” Mira asked. Sweat sheened her forehead, and she plunged her knife into Hardhead’s neck so casually, I thought she might wink at me.
“Might as well have.” I clambered to my feet, looking at the carnage. There were two hands, a lot of blood, and churned earth all the way around the rocks, along with the remains of several corpses, their tattered clothing all green and gold. “He’s been busy.”
“Ten that I can see. I knew he was done when you took the second hand. Matter of time until he pumped out the last of his fight,” Mira said, trying to be calm but breathing heavily.
She’d been right to worry. My body hurt in places I didn’t know I had, and it would be some time before I drew a full breath. With the stretch of an old man, I limbered up my right arm to finish the business at hand.
“What are you doing?” Mira looked alarmed, searching Hardhead’s corpse for signs of life. To her credit, she made ready with her own blade rather than edging toward safety.
“I don’t know this Wetterick, but he seems like the kind of asshole to go back on a deal.” I brought my blade down on Hardhead’s neck, swinging twice more to part the head from the massive shoulders. Bending over, I picked up the huge head by the nose horn, grunting with effort. “I’ll bring proof.”
Mira spat on Hardhead before a wry smile tugged at her lips. “Take it. It’s not like he needs it anymore.”
I swung the head jauntily as we turned back to the road. We had a debt to collect, and I had a world to conquer. Having a beautiful woman by my side and a thousand coins made visiting the post into something to celebrate.
“Hey, never thought to ask this, but do people still make beer?” I asked Mira.
She looked at me like I’d been kicked in the head. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. First cup is on me.” She regarded Hardhead’s dripping skull and smiled, a wicked grin full of danger and joy. “After that, you’re buying.”
8
“Who the hell are you?” The question wasn’t friendly, and neither was the person asking. He was one of three positioned above the post’s walls, guarding a gate made of bound lumber and iron straps like something out of a video game. The gate and walls looked amateur, even if heavily built. I could tell that whatever skills Wetterick’s people had, engineering wasn’t one of their strong suits.
I considered my answers, holding out a hand to stop Mira, who had a biting retort ready to fly. Her mouth wasn’t just beautiful; it was well-equipped for a lot of different jobs, including cussing like a drunken Marine. The conversation we were about to have could go one of two ways, depending on how big an asshole the sweaty, stinking guard turned out to be. The green and gold vests designed to show off their arms was a total amateur flash move that might intimidate starving traders, but to me, it looked desperate and stupid.
I chose the friendly route first, but with my own personal edge, but only because I didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding about what was going to happen next.
“Jack Bowman and this is Mira. I believe you know her, and as for this,” I brandished Hardhead’s enormous noggin, still ripe with congealed blood and a look of surprise on his piggish face, “is my good friend Hardhead. We had a disagreement, b
ut in the end, he saw things my way and asked for a favor.”
“A favor, you say?” The middle guard was taller, cleaner, and definitely in charge. His bearing was that of sergeant, not grunt. “What kinda favor?”
“He told me to collect a thousand imperials and blow it all on liquor for the post as a sort of going away present. Said he wouldn’t be able to make it, but you’d understand.” I grinned, waving the head by its nose horn. The smell was incredible, and I made a note to keep the damned thing still until I could unload it and collect. I didn’t want to puke on the sand and blow my credibility with the guards. Or Mira, for that matter.
The guy in charge rubbed his chin after a quiet conference with the other two guards, then he leaned over the wall, which was only three meters high at most. “Hand it up, and we’ll see to it you get your credit, friend. A damned fine piece of cutting you done there—”
I let my laughter bubble up and out, wiping an eye before glaring at all three guards in turn. “Do you see a wound on my head that makes you think I’m stupid? Open the fucking gate, or I’ll come through it and find Wetterick myself.”
“You don’t say?” The big one lifted his brows then tapped his buddies on the shoulder in amazement. “D’ya hear that, boys? He’s going to come through the gate and see the boss on his own. Quite a feat for someone on the wrong side of the fucking wall. Give it here, boy, and I’ll promise to cut you in. I got no need to lie; you got the head, and I’m an honest man. Ain’t that right, ahh—”
“Mira,” she said, glaring at the men in turn.
“O’course, Mira. A lovely desert rose if ever I seen one. Well, Jack, ah, Bowman, if you can hand up that head, we can get you inside for a cold brew. Fresh keg cracked this evening, foam to the stars.” He reached down, a big, dirty hand clasping at air.
“Sounds good to me, I guess,” I told them. Mira gasped, and the guard smiled, revealing a mouth full of yellow teeth like an abandoned piano.
Hardhead had been combat, but this was something else. More like the Olympics, but in a desert on hard-packed sand. I jumped, drawing on my ‘bots in a single leap that threw me upward into the shocked face of the lead guard, who drew his arms back in a twitch.
He was too slow.
My right hand locked around his wrist, and I jerked downward with a savage tug, dislocating his shoulder and sending him spinning to the sand with a muffled scream. He landed like a sack of wheat, groaning once and falling silent.
“Anyone else want to give me a hand, or does she cut this fucker’s throat to the bone?” I asked the remaining two guards, who looked stricken under their coat of grime and scruff.
To my side, I heard Mira laugh, a low sound between a hiss and a giggle, followed by the metallic ring of her blade leaving the scabbard. “He needs a shave, Jack. Think I should give him one?” Her lips twisted in a cruel smirk that I found more than a little hot. I made yet another note to keep her on my good side, or better yet, underneath me. Women like her were rare in my time, let alone a flyblown shithole where rhinos with human hands ate people on the regular.
“Not yet, I think. Let’s appeal to reason. Gentlemen, what do you say? Open the gate, and we all become friends, or...” Letting the question hang, I watched their resolve crumble like a dune underfoot.
“We’ll get the gate,” they answered in unison.
The shorter one added, “Don’t hurt Stovar; he don’t mean nothing by it. Just trying to make coin. Things have been bad with one side of the post closed because of that—that thing. It’s been out there for two weeks, eatin’ people and stoppin’ trade.”
The gate began to creak open by an unseen wheel—foot-operated, based on how the guards were moving above the wall. When it was wide enough to let us in, Mira turned back to Stovar, who groaned lightly into the sand. She drew back a boot and kicked him in the balls hard enough that he screamed, blowing snot and spit into the space below his mouth before collapsing in a quivering mess.
“Now you can come get the bastard,” she said.
I shrugged as we went past the guards, who rushed to their friend. “You heard the lady. Now, about that beer?” I smiled at the men as the post opened before me. Dozens of people stopped in their tracks to watch our entry from the closed side. Clearly, we were unexpected.
“Is it to your liking?” Mira asked.
In truth, I’d seen worse. It was more than a trading post, it was a medium town, just inside a wall that was built by idiots. My blood hummed at the thought of a new challenge, and I wondered how long we’d be inside the walls before the usual suspects sent their feelers. Seconds, if I was any kind of judge of character. I smiled, breathing the thick air as a dozen or more people began to gasp at what I held in my hand.
“I like the smell, I’ll say that. Might like it more after we get paid,” I told Mira, who grinned at me in kind.
“What’s it smell like?” she asked.
Looking around, I considered my answer. “Opportunity.”
9
Wetterick lived near the center of town, which fit my expectations. He would be no hero, using the people as a buffer between himself and the Empty, along with whatever else came howling out of the dunes to slash and tear at easier prey. I waved off any official escort to see him, preferring to meander through the post and get a feel for what—and who—lived inside the walls.
I made sure to let everyone see Hardhead’s skull, purpling beautifully in the last rays of the day. “Is there an inn? Someplace to eat, sleep? Maybe bathe?” I asked Mira.
“Several. Want the best?” she replied, pointing to the best path in the town. It was to the right of center, long and straight, more orderly than the rest of the chaotic dwellings and businesses that marked the post. Someone had graveled the street, and there were lamps at regular intervals, waiting to be lit when the sun went down. I saw a pair of boys with a long wooden wick make their way past us, eyes agape at Hardhead, but they moved on to begin lighting the lamps in hopeful displays of civic usefulness. Graveled streets and street lamps were a good start. A bath and food would be even better, and then we could see Wetterick when I was in a better frame of mind.
I considered the post in detail. No building was over three stories, though some were well built and whitewashed over brick. Each business had an awning made of bleached desert hardwood covered in heavy fabric. They stirred in the last breeze of the day, snapping out a rhythm of commerce and civilization with each pulse of wind. The names and purpose of each place were stitched or painted on the canvas; everything from a cobbler to a bowyer, a butcher and vintner, and anything in between.
I could survive here.
Two armed patrols passed by, warily observing us as we made our way to the best-kept awning on the graveled street. “What is this place, friend?” I asked a young girl, hurrying past with an armload of rolled hide. The newly tanned leather was acrid with a stench that rivaled Hardhead, but she took no notice.
“The Street of Wells, sir,” she answered before a distant bellow caught her attention. “I must go. Thank you.”
“For what?” I asked.
“For that,” she said, looking pointedly at Hardhead. I had a fan. My smile broke free as Mira gave her the once over, a hint of jealousy in her features.
“You are most welcome, lady?” I invited her to give me her name. The call to her repeated from a short distance away, and I saw a burly man that shared her sharp features standing in the street, hands on his hips. Her father, I assumed, impatient but not angry.
“Da just calls me Scoot,” she said, flashing a gap-toothed smile. She whirled and ran, weaving through the crowd like a fish dodging sharks.
We watched her go, and I took note of the awning where her father stood. He was an armorer, and I filed that away for later when I had coins in my pocket and more of a plan about what came next. For the time being, my order of business included food, being clean, and after a long look at Mira, some quiet time to adjust my morale before facing Wetterick.
“Am I that transparent?” I asked.
“You’re a man,” she said but with a smile that meant she was glad of it.
I paused to rub at the back of my neck, thinking. “Speaking of bed, bigger is usually better. What do you know of that place?” I pointed to a three-story building with partial stone walls and bright blue paint. It looked cleaner than the rest and more solidly built. The windows had actual metal shutters that could close, and there was a slender windmill on the roof.
“I’ve been in the entry, but never in. The House of the Sky is too expensive for us.” A shadow passed over her face, then in a saddened voice, she said, “For Bel and me. I can afford a night or two now, though. I’ve coin enough for us to last a week if we don’t gamble.”
“I don’t gamble. I do eat and drink,” I said and touched her shoulder. It was tight with grief and a life of survival, and I decided to spoil her, if even for a night. She’d earned it, and Bel would have wanted it. “We’ll stay there tonight, and I’ll collect the reward in the morning. After that, I’ll know more about what comes next.”
Her look was grateful, though she wouldn’t say it. “Then we sleep in the House of the Sky, and the world will look different tomorrow.”
We wove through the crowd, buzzing whispers and commentary following us like a cloud of flies. In a pleasant surprise, the House of the Sky not only had an iron gate, it also had guards. Before they could speak, I channeled my inner general and assumed a commanding role.
“A room, a bath, food, and a bag for this until I claim the prize in the morning,” I said, brandishing Hardhead’s skull before me.