After the End Trilogy Box Set

by Mark Gillespie

Eda threw her arms around the frail body of Talbot Goldman. He felt light, absent. Like a paper man.

  She could hear the grunt’s feet slapping off the groundsheet behind her. He was coming in fast.

  “Better go,” Eda said. She kissed the old man on the cheek and looked at him.

  Goldman’s eyes were burning with excitement. With a smile he slipped something into Eda’s hand. He quickly wrapped both her fingers around the offering, concealing it from the view of the grunt coming up fast behind her.

  “A gift,” he whispered. “Hide it. Fast.”

  It took Eda just a second to register what Goldman had given her. With a quiet gasp, she dropped it into the inside pocket of her rain cloak.

  “Anything goes,” she said.

  “Anything goes.”

  The angry grunt caught up with Eda and yanked on her arm like he was trying to break it clean off at the shoulder. She got up and let him drag her away from Goldman. He was cursing and berating her in his native tongue but Eda didn’t care. As she was roughly pulled towards the entrance flaps, Eda turned around one last time to see Goldman sitting on the floor, saluting her with a clenched fist raised aloft.

  He was grinning.

  “Good luck,” he said.

  14

  The crowd was on the beach waiting for the second duel to begin. This time they’d formed a tight circle around the dueling ground, their bodies becoming a sweaty, drunken amphitheater that was alive, constantly edging closer to where the blood would soon be spilled.

  Eda’s long walk to the lion’s den was accompanied by a howl of derision from the spectators. The grunts weren’t just betting on two strangers this time around. This was something more than entertainment. It was personal and the hatred was palpable. Some of the grunts jumped in Eda’s path, booed and after a swig of beer, spat the cold, disgusting liquid in her face. Then they’d disappear back into the crowd only to be replaced by another drunken heckler.

  She had to keep going.

  Finally Eda reached the dueling ground. As she stepped into the clearing, escorted by two guards, she wiped the foul smelling spit off her face. Even the spit reeked of alcohol, or so it seemed. The guards’ faces and clothes were covered in it too although they didn’t seem to care.

  Torres was on the opposite end of the dueling ground, waiting for Eda.

  The commander’s right hand was wrapped around the handle of a lavish samurai sword. She held it aloft and the curved blade glistened in the morning light as if the gods of war were blessing the weapon. Torres’ sleeves were rolled up for battle, showing off her sinewy light brown forearms. Her large breast pocket was unbuttoned, the top flapping around in the breeze. She’d taken off her badges and medals for the duel, and the top two buttons of her shirt were loose, exposing the hint of a crooked scar above her breasts.

  Lex’s katana lay at Eda’s starting point. Eda bent down and picked it up, slashing at the air a few times to loosen her wrists.

  “Why don’t you take your cloak off?” Torres said. “C’mon now Eda, let’s at least try to make this fight entertaining while it lasts. That thing is only going to slow you down.”

  The commander grinned, hatefully so.

  “I’m an ambassador for the Complex of New York City,” Eda said in a voice that defied her nerves. “This is my uniform. If I’m going to die here, I’ll die wearing this.”

  Torres lowered her sword.

  “Are you trying to make it easy for me?” she said. “Did you challenge me because you’re too much of a coward to kill yourself?”

  Eda turned her head away from the commander. She glanced to her right and saw Manny and the other three senior officers standing at the edge of the wooden platform. The officers stood like dead-eyed robots. Manny tried to copy their detached air of superiority but his fast-blinking eyes gave his true feelings away.

  “All bets are in,” Torres said, silencing the crowd with a wave of the hand. “In this fight there are no rules. We start with swords and anything goes from there. Death is the only judge today. You understand?”

  “I understand,” Eda said, staring back at her opponent. She then pointed a thumb towards Manny and the other officers to her right. “Just one thing first. Tell your second-in-command what happens if I win the duel. I want to hear you say it out loud and I want it confirmed on your honor that both Goldman and me get a head start on the mainland. Chase us all you want, but we get that head start first. Swear it.”

  Torres’ gleeful smile faded. With a look of disdain on her face, she spoke in the foreign tongue, directing her words at Manny. When she was done, it was Manny who nodded.

  “Happy?” Torres asked Eda.

  “In English,” Eda said. “Say it in English and then I’ll be happy.”

  “If you win, you get a head start on the mainland across the water. On my honor as a soldier. As commander of the Third Unit.”

  Torres smirked as she said it.

  “And the old man too,” Eda said.

  “The old man too.”

  Eda turned to Manny. “I want to hear you say it.”

  “You have my word,” Manny said in a voice that Eda could barely hear. “You’ll be released, of course.”

  Torres lashed out, striking the air with the katana. There was a loud whooshing noise as she sliced through the breeze with frightening speed. She bounced up and down, testing her feet on the rocky surface. The way she moved, Eda recognized a graceful warrior at work.

  A dark shadow swept across the commander’s face. Her sword arm twitched hungrily.

  “You won’t be the first American that I’ve killed,” she said in that cold voice of hers. “But I’m going to enjoy it like it’s the first.”

  Eda’s heart was like a drum.

  “Ready?” Torres asked.

  “Ready.”

  Torres marched down the dueling ground towards Eda, black-eyed and with both hands gripping the handle of the sword.

  Eda held her ground. Her katana was outstretched, waiting to greet the invader chief.

  Torres fired off a couple of probing thrusts, gauging the distance between herself and Eda. The crowd backed away as the action began, giving the fighters more room to move. The drunken grunts were at least sober enough to be wary of any wayward blows that might cut them open by accident.

  The rowdy atmosphere began to cool down, although it was far from silent on the beach.

  Eda circled the ring, using her feet to stay out of range of these early attacks. She fought back but Torres’ lighting fast reflexes were extraordinary. Every time Eda thought she was within striking range the commander was already somewhere else. Fast, so damn fast. And her arms were long for such a small woman. Eda had the impression that she was facing off against someone who’d been born to fight with a sword.

  Eda strained her eyes, scrutinizing every feint from the opponent’s sword. She knew that Torres was capable of springing into life like a cobra.

  After feeling Eda out a little, Torres sprang forward with a savage yell. Eda was pushed back onto the defensive, parrying each of Torres’ blows with instinct rather than skill.

  Sweat gushed from her forehead. Some of it was already running into her eyes and forcing her to blink furiously in order to protect her vision. As for the rain cloak, Torres had called it – it was weighing her down worse than she’d thought it would.

  Steel clashed against steel.

  The crowd was silent, a flock of shadowy faces in the background.

  Torres backed off from her attack and now it was Eda’s turn to charge forward. But her arms felt like they were moving underwater. She was always two steps behind her opponent, no matter what she did. As the fight progressed it became clear that skill and not stamina were going to be the deciding factor. And Eda’s skills were no match for the commander, that was painfully obvious. Eda’s swordsmanship was good, but not elite.

  Torres was on another level.

  Still Eda came forward, remembering something that Lex had t
old her back in New York. That fights were won and lost in the mind. Recalling those words, Eda hacked at the slippery shape of Torres, missing every time. Despite these failures, she continued being the aggressor, well aware that she was emptying the gas tank at an alarmingly fast rate. But if she gave Torres a moment to breathe it was much more likely that the commander of the Third would strike her down.

  The crowd was pushed back further as the dueling ground opened up. The fighters moved onto rockier stretches of the Dead Island beach where the footing was unstable.

  They were close to the water’s edge now.

  Torres blocked all of Eda’s attacks. Eda, out of sheer stubbornness, kept it up but the missed blows were becoming more exaggerated and she was leaving herself open for longer.

  Sure enough, a moment later Eda overstepped and Torres brought her katana down in a slicing, vertical motion. The edge of the blade scraped against Eda’s left arm, shredding up the bulky sleeve of the rain cloak like it was made of paper.

  Eda hissed at the sudden, searing pain. Her arm was exposed and a long cut emerged on the length of her pale skin. Streams of blood spilled downwards, running onto the wrist and hand.

  At least it wasn’t her sword arm.

  Torres smiled, like she could smell the blood. She’d glimpsed victory waiting around the corner.

  Lex’s voice screamed in Eda’s mind like a drill sergeant.

  You have to be first. First, first, first – don’t wait for her!

  Eda roared like a wounded animal. She charged forward, swinging at the shadowy figure of Torres.

  Torres dodged Eda’s sluggish attack, flipped her around and pushed her towards the water. Now the commander began to mix it up, throwing punches and kicks to body and head. Her blows were crisp – the cat-like limbs moving in and out like a well-oiled piece of fighting machinery.

  Heavy punches landed. There was no pain – that would come later if she was still alive to feel it. Eda went backwards, staggering into the shallows and hearing the waves behind her as they crashed towards the island. Torres was thinking now – she was laying traps by using her sword to lure Eda into a position where the punches could land.

  Eda continued to retreat, not looking at anything except the blurry shape of the woman in front of her. She almost tripped over the rocks several times but somehow managed to stay on two feet.

  Back into the water, back into the water.

  Her sword arm was numb. Useless. It was still a shock however, when Torres attacked her with a slashing blow that knocked Eda’s katana clean out of her hands. The sword flew through the air and landed in the shallows with a splash.

  The cold froth lapped at Eda’s feet. Torres marched towards her with the swagger of a conqueror. Chasing, chasing, chasing. Eda went back on unsteady legs, not even thinking about the fact that there was nothing but miles of ocean waiting behind her. Finally her legs gave out and she toppled over into the icy water.

  It felt oddly refreshing.

  Eda flipped herself over and her fingers clawed at the gravelly seabed. Behind her, the sound of someone charging through the knee-high water.

  She pushed herself onto her knees and began to crawl out to the deep.

  Before she could get very far, a hand grabbed Eda by the shoulder. The hand, which felt like it was made of steel, pulled her backwards, tipping her over so that she fell face first into the shallow water. A great weight landed on top of her and when she looked up, a leering Torres was on her knees, pinning Eda down with one hand against the chest. With the other hand, the commander threw a devastating blow to the head. Eda’s neck snapped backwards as it landed.

  Torres had apparently tossed the sword somewhere. Like Goldman and Mr. China, she wanted her enemy’s death to be as slow as possible.

  Anything goes.

  The commander’s hands gripped Eda’s collar. Her serpent eyes were emotionless as she gazed down at the bloody, beaten shape underneath her.

  Torres said something in her native language. With a gloating smile, she then pushed Eda’s head under the water and held it there. Eda’s body shook violently as it begged for air. A whirlwind of pressure built up inside her and it felt like it was building to a terrifying crescendo. This wasn’t going to be a peaceful death. Before Eda blacked out however, Torres pulled her up again and Eda’s lungs grasped for oxygen. She heard Torres laughing and it was a terrible, mocking sound. In the distance, the grunts were singing. The piper was playing and the music sounded like someone being strangled.

  Eda was pushed under again. Gurgled sounding laughter filled her ears, while saltwater poured into her lungs.

  The world was dimming at the edges.

  Eda closed her eyes.

  It was now or never.

  She took her hands off Torres’ arms and stopped struggling. Almost immediately, she felt the commander’s grip loosen on her shoulders. Torres must have thought that Eda had accepted her fate or that she was already slipping away.

  Eda’s right hand reached for the inner pocket of her rain cloak.

  It took her a moment to find the pocket. The cloak swayed underwater as Torres throttled her opponent a little more for good measure. Eda’s back was slammed hard against the gravel but she did all she could to resist the dreamy pull of the darkness that was calling her in.

  Her fingers slipped into the pocket. They wrapped themselves around the turtle shell texture of Goldman’s gift. At that same moment, a strange, euphoric calm began to wash over Eda’s mind.

  No.

  Don’t give into it.

  She yanked the grenade out of her pocket.

  Eda screamed and felt a rush of saltwater pouring into her mouth. Her body was instantly engorged with the ocean. This maddening sensation gave her a sudden burst of seizure-like energy that allowed her to grab Torres by the arm and sink her teeth into the exposed, wiry flesh. She bit down hard. A reddish-brown liquid sprang out of the brown skin, dispersing quickly across the water like an underwater fog.

  Eda heard something above the surface that sounded like a choir of angels in her head.

  It was Commander Torres screaming in pain.

  Eda jolted upwards, breaking her battered body through the surface. Somehow she climbed back to her feet and found her balance was good. The dizziness faded, giving way to cold clarity. Torres was standing a few feet away, staring at her profusely bleeding arm. There was a look of shocked outrage on her face. Eda didn’t waste a second. She crashed through the shallows and threw a murderous right hand at Torres’ exposed chin. The blow knocked Torres back but she managed to stay upright. Eda chased after her again. She grabbed a hold of the dazed commander’s throat and hit her again. Then Eda shoved her off-balance, forcing the invader down into the water.

  Eda looked at the grenade in her hands, her heart pounding. With a gasp she pulled the pin, hoping that this was indeed one of those long delay grenades that Goldman had told her about. When the pin finally came out she felt a stab of terror.

  How long?

  Ten? Twelve seconds?

  Eda raced over to where Torres was floundering in the shallows. She jumped on the commander and threw a hard elbow to the temple. It landed flush. Torres was out of it, her eyes rolling around in her head. With her hands shaking, Eda quickly opened up the flap in Torres’ breast pocket. Then she slipped the grenade inside.

  Eda ran back to shore, pumping her arms and legs with everything she had left. As she left Torres in the water, she saw the soldiers standing on the beach laughing at her. They were pointing, doubling over at the hilarity of the situation.

  The American was a coward. She was a coward because she was running away from the fight.

  The piper played the first few notes of a victory song…

  And then the blast came.

  It felt like a deep, thunderous avalanche inside Eda’s head. She dropped onto the rocky beach in a split second, her hands pressed tight over her ears. Dead Island rattled underneath her like it was trying to get rid of the
infestation of human fleas on its back.

  When Eda finally looked up hundreds of gleeful faces had been silenced. Eyes bulged in the direction of the ocean. Mouths hung open.

  In the aftermath, a chilling silence emerged on the island.

  Eda lay perfectly still on the rocky shore, breathing hard, trying to recover her senses. Soon there was a flurry of movement on the beach. Eda heard it and she lifted her head, the bright morning light hurting her eyes. When her focus cleared she saw countless machine guns, automatic rifles and pistols pointing at her head.

  The entire Third Unit had her surrounded.

  Eda could taste the salt in her mouth, along with the metallic flavor of blood trickling down from her nose. She didn’t even have the strength left to surrender.

  Face down, she gritted her teeth and braced herself for the end. Let it be quick, she thought. A part of her yearned for it and she found herself thinking about the afterlife again – who would be waiting to greet her on the other side? Would the white light be empty? Or was death nothing but a black void where all pain, thought and sensation ended?

  Eda heard a solitary voice yelling out in a foreign tongue. The voice, which was familiar, cut through the tense silence. There was a noise up ahead – the rough sound of boots scraping off the rocks. Getting closer.

  The tall, skinny figure of Manny barged through the sea of grunts who stood around with murder in their eyes. Then he stopped dead. His glistening eyes zipped back and forth between the bloody figure of Eda and towards the ocean where the remains of his cousin were now fish food.

  His mouth hung open.

  Behind Manny, the invaders edged forward like a menacing pack of tribal vigilantes. Angry words were muttered. Their guns were still trained on Eda, the Yankee plaything who’d killed their god.

  “Where is your honor?” a man’s voice called out in the distance.

  “Where is your honor?”

  Eda could just about turn her head to the right.

  Talbot Goldman was staggering down the beach. His legs were unsteady. His skin was pale and gaunt, but although he looked like a freshly resurrected corpse the fire in his eyes still burned bright.