by C L Walker
“He is mine. Besides, he won’t survive.”
“Nobody survives,” Ehl said, wiping bloody spit from the girl’s chin. “In the end, they’re all dead.”
“Not by your hand.” Ahn dropped into the pool, forgoing the stairs and levitating as Ehl had done. “This host is done, and we have a hint of a plan. It’s time to move on.”
“Agreed. I will see if any of mine are involved, and if they are how they managed it. I would be surprised, but I can see how it could be done.”
“As can I.”
Ehl jumped down into the pool to stand beside Ahn. The knight knew what was coming next and wanted desperately to get away from the scene, but he spoke up anyway.
“Can you leave her alive?” he said.
“Your monkey speaks to me,” Ehl said, for the first time bothering to look his way. “I find it irritating when it is silent.”
“The girl,” the knight said. “She doesn’t need to die. You can fix her and leave her hale. She is but young.”
“And the predator she was strolling with?” Ehl replied, glancing up at Ahn’s host and confirming what the knight had only suspected. “Would you have your master leave him alive, as well? If so then you are only condemning her to the same fate. Or, rather, a slower version of it. More painful, too, I can assure you.”
“Not him,” the knight said. He could hear the resignation in his voice; he knew how this was going to end already.
“Then you are choosing based on morality, but your morality is flawed.”
Ahn finally spoke up. “Leave him alone. He is too simple to understand.”
“No, I believe he can get it. Knight, this man has done nothing yet, so you are condemning him based on your expectation.”
“No,” the knight said, swallowing his fear. “On yours.”
Ehl smiled. “Fine, then based on my belief you would send this man to his death, but not this girl. What if I told you she would grow up to be a serial killer? That she would do far more heinous things than this old monster could dare to dream. Would that change your mind?”
“You can’t know that,” the knight replied.
“But would it change your mind? I’m curious, and if you answer me honestly I might allow the girl to live. I’m willing to grant your wish, monkey.”
The knight considered for a moment before answering, though he knew it wouldn’t matter. “I would choose to save her regardless. I’m only human.”
“Oh well,” Ehl said. The girl snorted, though whether it was autonomic or divine, the knight couldn’t tell. A moment later she was empty. Her corpse fell into the blackened pool, twitching and writhing her final moments away.
“You tried,” Ahn said. Its host showed none of the signs, but they didn’t always. Sometimes the hosts seemed normal until the end. “Ehl was never going to give you what you wanted.”
“Will you?” the knight asked, dropping his head as though in prayer.
“No.”
The chain pulled tight and a moment later they were gone.
Chapter 9
I found five sets of footprints, all large men, leading first from the woods to the van, then away from the van and toward Littleton.
Five sets, and no sign of a struggle. Mouse hadn’t fought, but she hadn’t walked away under her own steam, either. They had incapacitated her somehow, perhaps catching her unaware.
I spent a few more minutes examining the dark ground for more information before turning to face the direction of the music. They’d taken her, and done it so quietly I hadn’t noticed, though I’m not sure I would have in that moment. I’d been too preoccupied and that lack of focus had left her open.
I set off, following the footprints into the woods. Their trail was easy to follow, even in the dark. They hadn’t been hiding. I planned to make them regret it.
I came at Littleton from a new angle, further back from the road and away from the party, leaving the woods and entering the shantytown that made up the bulk of the old commune. The music blared here, as well, surrounding and filling every space, and making my ears useless.
I kept close to a corrugated steel wall, turning left and slipping between two ramshackle dwellings. I could barely make out snoring from the first but the sounds of several people enjoying their own private party somehow carried loud and clear over the music.
Turning another corner let me see where the men had been headed. An old farmhouse stood tall over the shacks and tents that made up the bulk of Littleton, and the trail led directly toward it. Where lanterns and small portable torches hung everywhere else, the farmhouse was ablaze with electric light, presumably drawing power from the same place as the lights strung over the party.
There were people roaming the shadows of Littleton but they were drunk or high and I avoided them easily. I slipped between the tents and stuck to the deeper shadows, letting the music hide what little noise I might be making. I knew where I was going now. I knew where my prey was waiting.
I stopped a short way from the building, dropping into a crouch beside an ancient caravan with a small, rusted generator lying dead beside it. Standing outside the door to the farmhouse, dressed in his expensive suit and trailing his bodyguards, was Trevor Foster. He grinned at the dreadlock-wearing man blocking the front door.
Dreadlocks spoke, his lips easy to read in the bright lights of the house.
“You’re too fancy to be slumming it here with us, Councilor.”
Foster must have replied, though I couldn’t hear anything.
“He’s coming. Chill.” Dreadlocks raised whatever he was smoking and offered it, chuckling when Foster shook his head. “Your loss, man. Homemade produce. Natural. Can’t be beat.”
Another man arrived from within the house, touching Dreadlocks’ shoulder and waiting for him to get out of the way. He was tall and too thin, but he wore it well, stepping forward and shaking Foster’s hand with an easy confidence.
“What can I do you for, Councilor?” he said. He stepped back and leaned against the open door, his hands slipping into his pockets.
I missed the reply. I needed to get closer, anyway, and now I wanted to know what the target was doing here. I pulled back, moving deeper into the shadow of a tree before running around the side of the house. I kept my head down and followed the map I’d made in my head, hitting a well-lit spot that was out of sight of the front of the house before coming to a stop against the rotting wooden wall.
I risked a glance around the corner in time to see Foster stepping inside. His goons remained on the lawn and glared at Dreadlocks, who chuckled and tried to offer them his homemade product. They, too, declined.
I tracked their movements through the house, slipping from window to window until they stopped in the kitchen. It was surprisingly well equipped, with gleaming surfaces and modern appliances. The skinny man, a leader by the looks of it, hopped up on the counter and gestured Foster to a barstool. Some others were already waiting but I didn’t give myself time to identify them.
I rushed around the back of the house. The music was muffled and I could make out movement on the other side of the thin wooden walls, but nobody was enjoying the night air behind the house. I settled below the open kitchen window, making myself as small as possible in case this changed.
“Are you coming to buy?” the tall man said in his easy-to-like voice. “We’ve got a lot of fun stuff here, but we’re not in the sales business. You’re welcome to hang anyway, of course.”
“You have a problem,” Foster said. Somehow, beside the tall man and in Littleton, his voice was that of authority, of structure. I imagined it grated on the pseudo-hippies.
“Nope, sorry. Not buying whatever you’re selling, politician.”
“The sheriff is gunning for you, and he’s planning on using force.”
“We’ve had half his people down here from time to time. We’re on good terms with the locals.”
“He believes you’ve been attacking people, stealing things. Making a nuisan
ce of yourself.”
“Bull. Go peddle your fear elsewhere.” This was a woman, one of those who’d already been in the kitchen.
“Be civil,” the tall man told her. “Foster, we’ve got no issue with nobody. That’s not what we’re about here. Share and share alike, and all that jazz.”
“And the meth?”
“What?” The tall man didn’t sell the confusion as well as he probably wished he did.
“They don’t know about your storehouse in the basement, but they’re just looking for a reason to mess with you. They’re coming, and finding your little secret will give them all the excuse they need to squash you.”
“You’re full of it.” The woman again.
“Shh. So what do you propose, Councilor? You going to sell us protection?” He said it as though he was making a joke, but there was concern there, too.
“No, Galahad, I’m not. I’m just here to warn you, and to offer a bit of free advice.”
“Yeah, what’s that?” the tall man, Galahad, said.
“Watch out for them. Know that they’re coming and prepare for it. That’s all.”
“What’s your angle?”
Foster laughed. “Why does everyone think I’ve got an angle? I’m in this for the community, and you guys are good for the community. I want you to keep doing what you’re doing. Just do it quietly and make sure you know where the exits are. Don’t get trapped.”
“We can defend ourselves,” another man said from the other end of the kitchen. “We can protect what’s ours.”
“I wouldn’t advise it,” Foster said. “But if that’s your choice, then so be it. You guys just need to be careful.”
“You know we found someone watching us?” Galahad said, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I bet you do. I bet you planted her to get us scared.”
“No idea what you’re talking about.” Foster said.
“He thinks we’re idiots,” the woman said. “He thinks we’re just some homeless scum. Don’t you, suit?”
“Could you be more of a cliché, little girl?” Foster’s tone seemed designed to rile her up.
“We’ve got her locked up downstairs, if you want her back,” Galahad said.
I didn’t wait for any more. Mouse was downstairs, which had to mean a cellar of some kind. I moved around the side of the house I hadn’t seen yet, looking for a window I could use that was out of the way. Instead, I found a small wood-frame window at the base of the wall, hidden behind weeds and broken with age.
The interior was blocked from view by some cardboard taped to the inside. I felt around the edges of the window until I found a spot warped by the weather, dug my fingers in as far as I could, and pulled.
It gave up immediately, pulling away from the frame with a cry of broken hinges tearing from wood. I fell back with the window still in my hands. The cardboard was spray-painted red on what had been the inside.
I checked my surroundings but the sound of the party was loud enough to cover any noise I was making, even this far from the center of the action. I pulled the weeds aside and lay down before the window.
The basement had old furniture stacked around the walls but the center was empty except for an old, patched recliner. Mouse was duct-taped to it. She was limp, blood drying on her unconscious face, but I could see she was breathing.
The sight of her stopped any thought of strategy or planning, and I was halfway through the window before I heard people stomping down the stairs within. I dropped to the ground and moved behind a table on its side. The single, dim bulb overhead gave me plenty of shadow.
“I’m telling you, it was him.” The man whose name I didn’t know said. “We should cut her throat and drop her off on his lawn.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Galahad said. “We’re not gangsters. We’re not the bad guys.”
“She deserves it if she’s spying on us,” the woman said. “We’ve got a right to protect ourselves.”
“You two are insane,” Galahad replied. “I don’t know what’s going on, but the meth has made you lose your minds.”
“We have to protect our investment,” the woman said.
Galahad was done with the conversation. “Get out. I need to speak to our friend.”
“Bitch doesn’t need speaking to,” the man said. “Bitch needs a beating.”
“Leave, now.”
There was a pause and I imagined what was happening on the other side of the table. They were seething, angry, and ready to disobey him, but either Galahad’s charisma or a long time of following his orders was keeping them in check. The silence stretched for a few seconds longer before I heard the sound of two people turning and stomping back up the stairs.
“It’s time to wake up,” Galahad said. There was the sound of light slaps.
I moved out of cover, sneaking up behind the leader of Littleton. Galahad was bent over, his hands cupping Mouse’s face. I barely had to try.
I grabbed the man’s open shirt and yanked him backward, tripping him up and following him to the ground to cover his mouth.
“Surprise,” I said, holding my blade up for Galahad to see. “Keep quiet and you get to live. Understand?”
He nodded, his eyes wide, sweat breaking out on his forehead. I stepped away smoothly, keeping the knife ready.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Mouse said. I turned to her, momentarily forgetting my prisoner. “Do I strike you as a damsel in distress?”
“Right now, yes, actually.”
“I had a plan.”
“You have a bleeding head wound.”
“And a plan.”
Galahad interrupted, coughing softly to get our attention. “Excuse me, but who the hell are you people?”
“You’ll want to be quiet for a second,” Mouse said before continuing with me. “I was ready to go before you came crashing in here.” She squirmed against the tape for a moment and I moved to cut it for her. The look she gave me froze me in place, giving her time to complete what she’d evidently been planning all along. The sound of the tape tearing came a moment before she stood and showed me her own knife.
“That doesn’t mean it would have worked without me,” I said. I felt a little hurt for some reason, as though her being capable of taking care of herself was somehow an insult to me. Sometimes I’m an idiot.
“I’ve been doing this—”
“Longer than I’ve been alive, yes, I know.”
“I really need to know what your plans are,” Galahad said quickly, fitting himself into the gaps of our conversation. “Not to rush you or anything, but my people will be back here soon.” He stepped back when our eyes fixed on him. “They’ve become a little uncontrollable lately. That’s all.”
“He’s being really helpful,” Mouse said. “I almost feel bad about what I was going to do to him.”
“Was going to?” he said. He had his hands raised in front of him and he let them drop a little in relief. “Past tense?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said. “Where’s Trevor Foster?”
“Dude walked away. I don’t think he liked what we were saying.”
“Foster was here?” Mouse said. “What did he want?”
Galahad answered before I could. “He wanted to warn us. Said the cops were gunning for us and we should be careful. That’s all.”
Someone ran overhead, dislodging dust from the beams in the roof of the cellar. A flurry of activity followed with more people running back and forth. A door slammed and someone shouted. Before we could react the door at the top of the stairs flew open and a large man in army fatigues and sporting a crew cut burst through.
“What the hell?” he said, only pausing for a moment before charging the rest of the way down the stairs.
I took up a stance and tried to judge his weight and velocity, how much maneuverability he’d have when he hit the ground. He looked in control but I reached out and grabbed him as his foot left the bottom step, twisted around
and pulled, guiding him to the floor face first. He hit with a wet slap and lay still.
“Shit,” Galahad said, over and over. “Shit, shit, shit, man.”
“The window?” Mouse said. Her eyes lingered on the guy on the floor a little longer than I would have liked.
“Let’s,” I said, pushing her toward it. I turned to Galahad, who was looking a little sick. “I trust you’ll stay here until we’re gone?” He nodded, and he was scared enough that I believed him. “Don’t try anything.”
“Not my style,” he mumbled. He backed away until he stopped against a chair and couldn’t retreat any further.
“Cops,” a man yelled from the door above us. I turned to look and the man paused at the top of the stairs, staring at me like I was an alien come to kidnap him.
Mouse was through the window and I didn’t have time to deal with another witness. I joined her, pulling myself through and on to the damp and trampled weeds.
“The sheriff is here?” she said. From the side of the house we couldn’t see anyone but the flashing lights from their cars lit up the trees overhead.
“This night keeps getting better and better.” I gestured to the back of the house and the route I’d taken to get there. I knew the way and there was less chance of getting turned around in Littleton.
Three people were running from the house as we crossed the back yard. They jumped when they saw us but kept running. They were no threat. I realized the music was gone when the sound of someone demolishing the front door reached us in the newly still evening.
We made it around the side of the house and stopped before crossing to the relative safety of the trees. A handful of men and women in county sheriff uniforms stood in a half circle before the front door, their guns drawn and ready. None of them were looking our way and I decided to risk it.
We dashed, crossing the brightly lit section and stopping at the base of the tree.
“This is why I don’t go into the field,” Mouse said. She was breathing heavy and clung to the tree for support. Her eyes focused everywhere and nowhere, the start of panic.
“Don’t move,” someone yelled from the house. I grabbed Mouse and pulled her behind the tree as they fired. The bullet went wide but I could feel Mouse giving up. She slumped, her face resting on the rough bark, her muscles beginning to relax.
