Apocalypse Dance

by M. Barnette

  "He's in the tent. He's tired, so I let him use my sleeping bag."

  "Oh. That was generous of you, letting him sleep in there,” Anya remarked. She didn't sound too pleased from the way she'd said it, and Nikki sighed as she accepted a bowl of chili from the other woman.

  "What if he's got lice or some shit?” Chet asked as he crammed some chili into his mouth. “You could wind up with a case of the crabs or something really nasty."

  Hawk's dark eyes met those of the younger man and Chet went silent for a full five seconds.

  "I was just, you know, concerned about Nikki getting nasty stuff. Wouldn't want her sick or nothing,” Chet muttered around a mouthful of chili.

  "I had him wash with that soap we've got for the bugs,” Hawk lied.

  Nikki knew he was lying, too. They'd run out of the lice soap weeks ago. But there was no sense trying to explain that Immortals didn't get lice or die from diseases. They couldn't pass them on to others either. She knew Hawk had gotten sick when the Ebola thing came around, he'd told her so, but it hadn't been any worse than a normal person catching a cold. And some people had turned out, for whatever unknown reason, to be immune to the disease. She and Anya had both been totally immune. Dal, from what little he'd said about the Time of Death hadn't been any more sick than could be accounted for by a bad case of the flu. And Chet, well ... God watched over little children and fools, and the man hadn't so much as gotten a sniffle or a case of poison ivy since she'd met him.

  He had managed to cut the tip of a finger off with one of Hawk's knives. But that was typical Chet in action. Klutz extraordinaire, until it came to shooting people. Oddly, in a fight he never had accidents or made mistakes.

  "Well, that bug soap won't kill stuff like them STDs..."

  "Which you don't get by using someone else's sleeping bag,” Hawk countered, holding his empty bowl out to Anya for another spoonful of chili.

  The dark-haired woman frowned. “Not much left, Hawk. Should I save some for Blondie?"

  "He won't eat yet,” Hawk replied with absolute certainty.

  "Well, it still ain't right, him being in her bed,” Chet mumbled, swallowing and shoveling in another heaping spoonful.

  "It's not like she's in it with him, Chet,” Anya said sharply. “You're acting like you've got some say in what she does, when you know you don't!"

  "But we don't even know his name!"

  "Bells,” Hawk replied. “He told me last night."

  "Oh.” Chet shoveled more chili into his mouth. “Maybe he's gonna try and take the girls away from us, Hawk."

  Nikki and everyone else saw the glare Hawk leveled on the younger man.

  "Chet...” the older man began, taking a deep breath.

  Nikki could have hugged Dal when he forced a change of the conversation. “We going to try and get the truck working, or do we just abandon it and walk, Hawk?"

  Dark eyes met Dal's gaze, and Hawk smiled, for which Nikki and Anya both breathed a sigh of relief. There was one thing that none of them dared with Hawk, and that was to interrupt him when he was speaking. But he'd understood what Dal was doing, getting Chet off the subject of their erstwhile guest.

  That was one of the many things Nikki admired about Hawk. His intelligence. That and a body that looked as if God had personally sculpted it. If only she'd never met Roderik—but she had.

  "Fix it if we can. But if it's not running by...” Hawk paused to look at the tent, a frown on his face that worried Nikki. Was he already regretting helping the other Immortal, or was something else troubling him?

  "Hawk?” Dal asked, puzzled because the man had stopped speaking in mid-sentence and that was uncharacteristic of their leader.

  The man blinked. “If it's not running by day after tomorrow,” he said as if he'd never stopped speaking, “then we walk."

  Even Chet had noticed something was wrong with the big man, and he looked at Nikki in a way she'd come to understand meant What gives?

  She shrugged. Mentally she wondered what was bothering the man; he still seemed distracted and he refused the chili Anya was about to put in his bowl even though he'd just asked for it.

  "Finish up, guys. We've got work to do,” Hawk told Dal and Chet.

  Anya looked at Nikki and mouthed, Something's wrong.

  Nikki frowned. If Hawk wasn't saying what was wrong, then it probably wasn't anything for them to worry about. At least not yet. But she'd noticed that look on his face once before, and a few hours later they'd been running for their lives trying to escape the Knights of the East. It had been the day they'd met Dal and Chet.

  "Let's clean up and get stuff back onto the truck, just in case,” she suggested to Anya as the three men headed for the hood of the truck to work on the broken vehicle.

  "Sure, Nikki."

  * * * *

  Bells woke up to the sound of men cursing, and the sputtering sound of a gasoline engine refusing to catch. He sat up, pulled on his boots, buckled on his gunbelt, and stepped out of the tent to see what was going on. The man called Chet sat behind the wheel of the truck, and the other pair of dark-haired men peered under the hood. The taller man, Hawk, looked angry. The smaller one—did he know the man's name?—looked perplexed.

  Absently running his fingers through his hair, trying to work out a tangle, he wandered over.

  Ice flowed down his spine and he dove aside into a combat roll, left hand gripping the revolver and directing the deadly business end of it at the person who'd drawn down on him. But he didn't pull the trigger.

  It was the woman with auburn hair, holding a .45 which was no longer aimed at him; it was still aimed at where he'd been.

  "Holy shit...” she breathed, staring at him and the gun clutched in his hand.

  "Is it that you really want to shoot me, or are you just testing me to see if I'll blow your head off?” he asked her, voice hard-edged.

  "Anya, what the fuck are you doing?” the man who'd said his name was Hawk demanded of the woman. “Do you want that man to shoot you?"

  The gun was lowered, “No, I just..."

  "Are you suffering from stupid germs?” Hawk asked as he left the front of the truck. “I swear to saints you've been acting like a nut since we stopped here. Leave the man alone!"

  "Sorry, Hawk. I just ... he was...” she shook her head and stuck the pistol back into her shoulder rig.

  Bells holstered his revolver and turned around, looking for his motorcycle. It was where he'd last seen it, by the tree.

  "Sorry about that,” the big man began.

  Waving off the apology, he walked to the bike.

  "He's not very friendly,” Chet complained.

  "Leave him be,” Hawk order, his tone gruff and no-nonsense.

  "Damn fast,” the man whose name he wasn't sure of said. There was genuine admiration in his voice.

  Faintly he could hear Nikki asking Anya why in hell she'd drawn on him. He just blocked out their conversation, too tired and sore to deal with an edgy woman bent on putting lead into him for no reason he could fathom.

  His stuff was exactly where he'd left it. He'd done his best to get the blood out of his jacket, but he could still smell it. Short of a dry cleaner—as if he'd find one of those—there would be no getting the stains out.

  That was something else that suddenly struck him. They were all carrying guns, and his mind accepted that as perfectly normal on one hand, while on the other hand he knew it was anything but part of ‘normal’ civilized behavior. He rubbed his temple and tried not to think about it too much. His memory would come back. Or not.

  Until then, he'd take everything in stride and try not to analyze it too much. After all, the first four letters of analyze were anal, and he wasn't going down that road.

  Picking up the duffel, he pulled out a brush and started working at the tangles in his hair. It was time to get the braids back in so his hair would stop falling in his face.

  While he worked on his hair he wondered what his next move should be. Stay with th
ese people, or move on—alone. Somehow that last idea didn't appeal to him, but at the same time he knew it was probably the best thing for him to do. Not buying into any problems by associating with them. On the other hand, he'd be buying into a host of other problems, like being alone in an unknown area with unknown hazards.

  It was one of those situations that had no neat and simple solution.

  He was deftly binding a strand of thread into the end of a braid using a needle to work it back and forth into the hair to hold the end tight, preparatory to fastening a bell there, when he heard a twig snap.

  He didn't bother turning around. He knew who it was.

  "Hey,” she said. “Do you want any help or, should I leave you alone?"

  "Hey. I've got it,” he replied.

  She walked around to face him. He didn't look up; he was busy knotting one of the silver bells into the end now, making sure it was secure.

  "Why do you wear your hair like that?"

  His hands stilled. A face swam up out of the fog in his head. A black girl with beads and cornrow braids, laughing as she plaited his blond hair. Her voice whispered across his mind, “Kimi's going to laugh at you when she sees it, you know that, don't you?"

  Just as fast as the face and voice had surfaced, they were gone.

  But he'd known that girl. She'd been ... what? A friend? Lover?

  The memory was gone.

  But she'd said a name that was hovering just at the edge of his awareness.

  Kimi. Kimiko. His cherry-blossom girl. Dark brown eyes. A sweet heart-shaped face.

  Thinking about her caused a sharp ache deep inside him. A tearing that felt like his soul was on fire. Burning. Being consumed from within.

  There was a hand on his arm, a worried look in the sable brown eyes. “Hey, you okay?"

  Bells blinked.

  For a moment he didn't know where he was again, then it came back to him, what little there was of it at any rate.

  "Bells?"

  "Nikki?"

  "Yes. Are you okay?” She gripped his arm a bit tighter. “Hey, you there?"

  "Yeah.” He moved his arm, breaking the contact, taking his gaze away from her face, her sable brown eyes. They were so like...

  What? What were they like? He shook himself. “I'm fine,” he murmured, using a comb to separate another lock of hair. He divided it into three sections and started braiding quickly to hide the fact that his hands were shaking.

  What had happened? There had been a memory. But it was gone. Completely gone, leaving him feeling drained and confused.

  "Well if you want to eat, just say something. We've got lots of canned goods."

  "Sure."

  But it wasn't food he wanted. He wanted something—no—someone else.

  Someone with dark brown eyes who could look into his very soul and see the good in him.

  Someone who loved him, unconditionally.

  Someone whom he could love in return.

  But he knew in his heart that the someone he wanted was dead and a piece of him had died with her.

  Kimiko had been the light in his soul.

  Without her, there was only darkness.

  Chapter Three

  Nikki sighed and headed back to the truck.

  The man was downright anti-social.

  Or maybe just exercising a lot of caution, considering the fact Anya kept aiming guns at him as though he were about to attack them at any moment. It left Nikki wondering just how much actual resemblance there was between Bells and the man who'd sold Anya to Roderik. Too much if he was making Anya this edgy.

  She glanced back at him, sitting alone under the tree, braiding his hair.

  He looked ... lonely. And the look in his eyes ... for a moment they had been full of such grief that she had just wanted to put her arms around him and hold him.

  Considering his reaction at being touched, she was glad she hadn't tried. It was all too apparent he wasn't the type to look for human contact, or compassion. Watching him, she wondered exactly what type he was.

  "He doesn't belong with us,” Anya muttered irritably as she poured canned spaghetti into a pot.

  "Why do you resent him so much if he isn't that guy who gave you to Roderik?” Nikki asked, regarding the woman and wondering why she was favoring the man with so much undeserved hostility.

  "Have you forgotten what happened last time?"

  Nikki stared. “Last time? What last time?"

  The woman rolled her green eyes at Nikki. “That guy who joined us last spring. You know, George. You do remember George, don't you?” The woman's mouth twisted into a sour expression as she added, “George the tit grabber."

  "Oh, come on, Anya. All George did was grab your boob. It's not like he tried to rape you or anything. Chet's done it too and he's still with us. You even made a joke of that. You act like that was some kind of big dangerous event. He didn't shoot you or stab you, he wasn't even trying to rape you, he was just testing the waters. He even apologized.

  "You sure you aren't just overreacting because he looks like the guy who brought you to Roderik?"

  "Yeah, I'm sure. And he isn't the same guy. I know that. I just still don't like Hawk letting people into our family. It never works out."

  "He's hardly part of our family,” Nikki argued softly, “and if you keep it up I can tell you he's going to leave. But then that's what you want, isn't it?"

  "Yeah, actually it is. We worked hard for what we've got and I'm not sharing it with any worthless biker scum."

  Chet waved at Anya from where he was seated inside the truck, waiting for the signal to try and crank it. “I don't like it neither,” he agreed, his voice even louder than Anya's had been.

  "Will you two stop it?” Nikki snapped. “He's probably a decent guy."

  "Sure. Right. Real decent,” Anya snapped back. “That's why he used up most of that bottle of shampoo."

  Nikki saw Hawk coming toward them out of the corner of her eye and she frowned, knowing the argument that had been simmering for several hours was about to boil over.

  "All right, listen up!” Hawk snapped, pinning Anya and Chet with his dark, angry stare. “I'm only going to say this one more time. Leave the man alone, stop bitching about him, and shut the fuck up!"

  Anya opened her mouth to say something, and Hawk nailed her with a furious stare that had the woman taking a step backward.

  "For the record, I spilled the damned shampoo myself this morning. He didn't use anything but a towel because he has his own soap and crap. And the next time you get your panties in a bunch over us helping or even talking to someone outside this little family of ours, Anya, you're going to be looking for another family, get me?"

  She nodded and shot a worried look at Nikki as if asking Is he really serious?

  Giving the woman a slight nod, Nikki saw something large and deep blue moving in the corner of her vision.

  Bells rolling his bike across the field toward the cracked roadway. He had his jacket and helmet on, the visor of his helmet hiding his face.

  "Well shit,” Dal muttered and gestured to the man as he swung onto the bike. “Hey, don't go!"

  "I hope you're fucking happy now, Anya,” Hawk snarled, and the way he'd said her name made it sound more as if he'd said ‘bitch.’ He stalked away, heading for the blond before he could leave.

  Nikki hurried after him, Dal on her heels.

  "Well to hell with you, Hawk!” Anya snapped. “I'm tired of you bossing me and treating me like shit!"

  Hawk spun around, eyes flashing like black lightning. He'd turned so quickly Nikki almost ran into his chest. “Then start walking! See how long you last without the rest of us, Anya! You'll be back under Roderik within the week and you fucking know it!"

  The bike started up with a soft rumbling growl.

  "HEY! WAIT!” Dal shouted, taking off after the blond. The man accelerated, going from a walk to a dead run in four strides.

  Hawk spun around and took three running steps, his motion
going from human norm to an Immortal's burst of speed as he closed the distance. Nikki was left watching, unable to even come near the speed Dal could manage much less anything Hawk could achieve.

  The bike's rear wheel screamed, the front one lifting off the ground for an instant before it hit pavement, the heavy two-wheeler roaring away from them, accelerating more like a racing cycle than the heavy thing they'd been looking at for the last few hours.

  Fast as they both were, neither of the men could catch the blond on that bike.

  Nikki saw them slow down, the bike vanishing over a dip in the roadway.

  "Thanks a lot, Anya,” she said flatly. “You just ran someone off that Hawk really wanted to enlist on our side."

  "Why? We don't need anyone like him, not when we've got Hawk and Dal."

  "He's like Hawk and Dal, Anya."

  While she'd spoken to Anya, the pair of men had come striding back.

  Hawk glared at Anya. “Don't talk to me, don't come near me!” he told her and stalked to the front of the dead vehicle.

  Dal stopped and stared off into the trees at the side of the road, saying nothing, jaw muscles working.

  Nikki climbed into the bed of the truck and covered her face with her hands. She was ready to cry, the tension between everyone working on her nerves along with the stress of the broken truck.

  Roderik's Rangers were out there, following them. Without the truck they were screwed. Completely screwed.

  Dal hopped in the back with Nikki and wrapped his arms around her. “It's okay. Don't worry we'll be okay."

  Shaking her head, Nikki said, “Yeah, I know we will be. It's Bells I'm really worried about. He's got no food in his stuff. Hawk told me he searched it last night. He's only got twenty bullets for that old gun. Other than that he's got a sword and some knives."

  "If he's like Hawk he won't be easy to take down, or capture. Don't worry about him. He's not our problem anymore,” Dal said, stroking Nikki's hair.

  "No one told me he was like Hawk,” Anya muttered. “Nobody tells me anything and then I get blamed for shit."