Return of Victory

by Justin Sloan

  If it all felt apart, worst case scenario was to leave one alive to torture. That would do it.

  His drew his knife, aimed at the little target, and let loose. It hit dead-center in the attacker’s exposed crotch. As the man screamed and collapsed in a pool of blood, Garcia got up, darted over to new cover behind a car on its side, and unslung his rifle, taking aim through a hole in the rusted metal.

  Two of the attackers ran to the spot where he’d just been, but Garcia ignored them for now. His focus was on the woman, who had pulled the knife free and was charging the father with it.

  BAM! Her neck blew open, red painting the ground, and the man scampered backward toward his son. Once he had the boy in his arms, he looked around wildly. Garcia spun and took out the other two, who had just spotted him, and shouted, “Run!”

  The dad just glanced around, confused.

  “Run, you stupid son of a bitch, run!” Garcia was up now, leaning the weight of his rifle against the car so he could aim and take out another attacker.

  They were getting smart now. Out of the remaining three, two dove for cover. One, however, went for the father and the boy.

  Ok, maybe not so smart.

  Garcia took a couple shots, then stepped out and shouted. The attacker threw himself backward so he didn’t get hit, then rolled toward him as he pulled his knives out. He threw one, which would have taken Garcia in the gut had he not moved aside, then ducked back behind cover.

  He wasn’t out of harm’s way here either, though. It turned out that both of the other attackers had managed to sneak around while he was distracted. One came from around the car and the other from on top, both with knives glinting as they thrust and slashed.

  Maybe, just maybe, I overestimated my abilities, he thought as he did his best to fight them off. His rifle acted as his shield; he used it to parry the blows as best he could. It was clear they were more skilled than him. Faster.

  But he was a military man and, before that, he been a brawler.

  He knew he couldn’t survive this for long, so he did what he needed to do. While shooting off rounds randomly, he threw himself at the closest attacker’s legs with a roar.

  To his surprise, it worked. The attacker was caught off-guard, maybe from shock at all the noise. Garcia plowed through him, knocking the man back and into the car hard enough that the car started to rock.

  A quick struggle and several slams of the man’s head later, and he saw the car start to tip.

  Oh, damn.

  He rolled out of the way and saw the other attacker leap to safety, and both cleared the car as it landed with a sickening crunch. The two stared at each other for a moment, and then the man lunged. He kicked Garcia’s rifle away and came at him, moving on all fours like a dog. Garcia tried to scamper backward but bashed his head into the car, having forgotten it was there.

  He saw the fierce eyes, the glint of steel, and the flash of a black boot as it stomped the man’s head into the ground. It did that again and again, until finally the attacker couldn’t get back up.

  Garcia’s eyes followed the boot up the leg, and then looked up to see the father there, his son behind him grabbing Garcia’s rifle and turning to shoot the others. It wasn’t clear if he was finishing them off or just making sure, but what was clear was that the boy knew how to hold a rifle properly, and how to operate one too, apparently.

  “Who the hell are you?” the father asked, kneeling to take the man’s knife and put it to his throat.

  “Not yet,” Garcia shouted, then repeated himself in a calmer voice. “Not yet. I need one of them alive to show me where their camp or hideout or whatever is.”

  The dad considered him, then slit the man’s throat anyway. There was enough of a twitch to show that the man had still been alive, but then it was done.

  “Well, thanks for that, asshole,” Garcia grumbled.

  “You always talk like that to men who just saved your life?”

  “Men?” He glanced at the son. Whatever. “Point is, I saved your lives. And then, yeah, then I suppose you saved mine too.”

  The man simply grunted.

  “What’s it to you?” the boy asked, turning the rifle to point it at Garcia. “I would say give me a reason not to shoot you right now, but, thing is, I’m kinda enjoying shooting people today.”

  “These people attacked us,” Garcia replied, starting to rise but pausing when the boy shook his head. “They killed one of ours, a nice old man named Pops.”

  That immediately got their attention, and the boy lowered the rifle with a silent curse.

  “Say that again?” the man demanded. “What exactly happened to Pops?”

  “These fighters, these men and women, attacked in the night.”

  “And Pops is dead?”

  “That’s right.” Garcia couldn’t help but notice how their expressions went from angry to sad. “His people are following close, as it is. War’s breaking out.”

  “Sure is,” the dad said. “Some tyrants in New York think they can stomp all over us. Well, hell no to that, but…” He stopped, turning to his son.

  “That’s right,” the son said, stepping up next to his dad, rifle still at the ready. “El Diablo and its people declared against Lady Woo.”

  “It sounds like we have ourselves a genuine New Yorker here.”

  He simply glared, pissed that he had put his mission on the line for anyone that would turn on him like this. It was possible he could take them, but not easily with the rifle aimed in at him like that. So instead he decided to try another tactic, one he didn’t like to use too often. Talking.

  “Actually, I’m not with New York. Or not originally, anyway. You heard of Terry-Henry Walton?”

  The son scoffed, but the dad’s face went white.

  “Put the rifle down, boy,” the man said.

  “What?” The boy stepped forward as if he hadn’t heard properly. “This man ain’t the Colonel, even I can tell that.”

  “I’m not the Colonel,” Garcia said, now slowly standing since he had gotten their attention. “But I am one of his soldiers. He appointed me to New York, to help train their army.”

  “Bullshit,” the boy said.

  “I said to lower that damned rifle, boy!” the man said, then turned and snatched it away from the son before holding it out to Garcia. “We’ll show you where it is.”

  “What?” both Garcia and the boy said at once.

  “Take the rifle. We ain’t your enemy, not if you’re with the Colonel.” This time he thrust the rifle into Garcia’s hands. “Go on. But you better know what you’re getting into.”

  Garcia took it, eyeing the man skeptically. “Why were they…treating you like that? Aren’t you on the same side.”

  “Those sons of bitches ain’t on no one’s side,” the boy answered for his dad. “We were just messengers for—”

  “For Lady Woo,” the man finished for his son. “But that was before we knew about you. Knew that Colonel Walton was backing a side.”

  Garcia nodded, looking at them and considering what he’d said. “Here’s the deal. We know the people in New York are good people. Lady Woo? She attacked me and my friends before, and we know she’s not good people. Why’re you with her?”

  “It’s about survival. We live out in the Badlands. We deal with scum every day. Best way to survive? Form alliances with the good and the bad alike.”

  Garcia nodded, getting that. He hadn’t had the easiest time of it himself before finding the Colonel. “What’d you say your name was?”

  “Fred Jones, related to the great Eddie Jones. Ever hear of him?”

  Garcia nodded, thinking that rang a bell. “Yes…but I can’t place where.”

  “Out of Queens, before we left. In his day, he did some good. There was one man my family always talked about, one man they respected, and that was because that man saved my Eddie Jones’ life.”

  “Let me guess—Colonel Walton?”

  Fred nodded. “The one and only Colon
el Terry-Henry Walton. You’re with his people, then I’m with you.”

  The son seemed to be finally grasping what was happening, because his eyes suddenly went wide. “Oh, shit. You mean the same colonel, TH?”

  Garcia chuckled. “Try calling him that to his face, see how he takes it. He only lets the very closest to him use his initials. By the book, you see.”

  “I’d expect nothing less,” Fred said, then hit his son in the arm with a gentle thwack. “That’s Colonel Walton to you. Only,” he turned back to Garcia, frowning, “you talk as if he’s still around. You’ve gotta mean his great-grandson or something. Same name?”

  “They call me Eddie Jr.,” the boy offered.

  “And it’s a good name,” Fred replied. “But shut up and let the man speak.”

  “You…didn’t know?” Garcia asked, unsure if the Colonel would want this out there or not. He’d never really asked or thought about it, but this guy was likely as loyal as they came. “The Colonel, he’s not like you or me. He’s enhanced.”

  “Like cybernetics and shit?” Eddie Jr. asked. “Cool!”

  “No,” Garcia replied with a chuckle. “Like with vampire blood.”

  He expected them to be surprised, to reject what he had just said, but Fred just nodded as if that explained everything.

  “Still pretty cool,” Fred acknowledged.

  “Come on, we’ll show you the way,” Fred offered, starting to walk already and nudging his son to follow. “I can’t wait to see those bastards get what’s coming to them. Well, the rest anyway,” he added with a glance at the dead around them. “Maybe you can help me understand this New York situation better while we walk.”

  “Sure, just…one minute.” Garcia dragged one of the bodies over toward another, then laid it down at an angle, then did the same with another.

  “What’re you doing, some sort of burial ceremony?” Fred asked.

  “No. Creating an arrow.” He finished, took one of the blades and jammed it into the ground, hoping it would serve as a marker for his friends should they come by this way. “Done, let’s go.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Badlands

  The trip out to El Diablo was interesting, hearing Diego talk about all that had happened since Valerie had left them. She had also been chatting with Sandra over the comm device, which she held close now in case they needed to warn New York about any movements they might spot.

  Hearing it all from Diego, though, was a totally different beast. She had no idea he had been through so much, and the story of Felix getting hit with the cannonball tore at her heart. He had always been kind to her, and was a damn fine warrior. If it wasn’t for him, Diego might have stayed locked up in the Golden City and Cammie might have been killed before Valerie could’ve gotten to her. She’d only been notified of her predicament when Diego returned with Felix.

  Funny how one person could make such a difference.

  “Is he going to pull through?” she asked, only then realizing that Diego had kept on going, talking about their other adventures and whatnot.

  He laughed. “That big guy? Come on, he wouldn’t let something as simple as a cannonball take him out.”

  “Right. I think even I might have to call it quits if a cannonball put a hole in me.”

  “Nah, you’d never quit. You could be just a head rolling around trying to bite your enemies, and you’d keep on. I’m sure of it.”

  She laughed this time, nice and loud. “You’re ridiculous. Plus, I really hope I would just die at that point. I mean, a head rolling around…that’s gotta hurt. All those exposed nerves in the neck and spinal cord area. Ouch.”

  “We missed you, Val.” He stared out at the desert, then pointed to El Diablo so that she could steer the Pod that way. “Sandra says you’ve been talking a lot about space and what’s going on up there. Is that…is that for real?”

  She nodded, concentrating on remembering the controls on these Pods and how to lower it without jolting them.

  “But, I mean, doesn’t that go against the idea of being the Justice Enforcer and all that?”

  “Not at all.” She figured out the controls and leaned back, pleased to find the Pod moving steadily downward as it advanced on the town. “This whole world has changed so many times in its history, nobody can keep track. Am I right? I mean, for all we know, the gods of ancient Greece could have really been enhanced beings, right? Or maybe aliens were interfering with the Trojan Wars. Maybe King Arthur and that Merlin story had truth to the magic? Arthur could’ve been a vampire, for all we know.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked, staring at her like she was crazy.

  “I mean,” she answered with a chuckle, “that this world is unpredictable. There’re all those legends, then the crazy talk about some group called the Nazis, which seems even less realistic than all the weird shit I just said…or it would seem that way unless you studied human nature. I don’t know. But then the World’s Worst Day Ever happens, and for a hundred and fifty years it’s just chaos with a few good ones trying to put the world back together. Like that Colonel Walton guy. And now this group I put down in Norway, and this war. It’s insane, right?”

  “Still not following, but yes.”

  “Okay, so take all that. Let’s say we put an end to it…or not. Does it matter in the slightest if some alien fuckheads come down here and enslave us all or simply destroy the planet once and for all?”

  Diego just stared at her, his eyes narrowing.

  “The answer’s no, Diego. None of that would matter one bit, because it would all be over. We’d all be slaves or dead. No matter how much good we do down here, it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, not if we can’t keep the attacking forces up there in the stars at bay.”

  “Damn, when you put it like that…” He shook his head slowly. “And me? Maybe I should—”

  “Shut up. Just, stop right there.” She held up a hand, not wanting to hear it. “You and Sandra are going to have a baby. Don’t you dare talk about leaving that child.”

  “You said it yourself. What life would that child have if the aliens win?”

  He had her there, kind of. “I don’t care if I said it or if B.A. herself comes down and tells you you’re needed. You even think about leaving Sandra behind to raise that child by herself, about leaving that child fatherless, and I will personally offer up your heart to the aliens. It’ll be poisoned so they die after eating it, but they will eat it.”

  For a long moment he seemed about to explode, but then his tension erupted in a laugh. “Fine. Dammit, Val. You make one hell of an argument for you going, and an even more compelling one for me not to.”

  “Good. Never talk about it again.”

  “You think I’d want to do that to Sandra? You think I’d want my child to grow up without me?” He scoffed. “Come on, Val. I’d hope you would have more confidence in me, more faith.”

  “People have given up their time with their families for far less,” she countered with a sigh. “I just can’t see you go through that. I couldn’t fight knowing that was the case.”

  “And yet you agreed to let me come out here with you.”

  She turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “If you think it’s going to be that dangerous, if you’re worried one bit, I can turn this Pod around right now, mister.”

  He held up his hands, then nodded to the town. “Too late, we’re here.”

  Sure enough, when she turned back she saw that they had almost landed. The town was right in front of them. Taking back the controls, she maneuvered over to the entrance, then set the Pod down with only a bit of a bump.

  “So…” Valerie turned to him before exiting. “All of you, you’ll forgive me?”

  “For what? Leaving?”

  She nodded.

  “Yeah, Val. Of course! I mean, you’re practically family, so of course we’ll miss you.”

  “And the child?”

  “Val, you haven’t gone anywhere yet.
You don’t even know when—”

  “Right, I know. But just in case. You’ll tell the child all about me, and write me so that I have some way of feeling like I was here?”

  “You know Sandra will, and yes, I promise to do my part too.”

  Valerie breathed out deeply, then opened the door. “Just because I’m committed to doing this doesn’t make it easy.”

  “I bet.”

  She turned away from him and then mouthed, “Oh, shit!” as a rocket came flying at them. All she could do was grab Diego, then leap up and slide over the Pod. She pinned him under her as the rocket hit the other side of the Pod and exploded, sending the Pod to collide with her body. Flames from the explosion burned hot on her back and the Pod went tumbling over her, but she stood her ground.

  When she looked up and Diego wriggled free to see what had just happened, they saw that the Pod was upside down, one side completely singed and dented. The rocket had come from town, and now there was movement.

  “Your back,” Diego said. “Damn.”

  She felt the breeze on her skin, but had no time to worry about how badly she’d been hurt. The pain hadn’t set in—perhaps out of shock—but she felt the wind on her skin and exposed flesh. It would heal, she figured, and judging by the silhouette of the man with the rocket launcher who was preparing to fire again, they needed to move.

  “I see him,” Diego grunted, and then he was off, transforming as he ran for the town. His clothes mostly stayed around him, though she heard ripping in a couple places. They were really getting good at figuring out clothes for Weres that would mean less nude moments before and after transforming, but weren’t quite at the level of perfection yet.

  Valerie wasn’t about to sit back and let all the fire be directed toward him, especially not after having just discussed Sandra and the baby.

  Skin and flesh ripped as she ran, but she could feel it healing already.

  “Why the hell are they firing at us?” she shouted to Diego as she caught up, and then she dove left to try and distract the enemy. No response came since he was in Werecat form and couldn’t talk, but the answer hit her as soon as the question had. Of course! They had either been taken over or left.