Every Dark Little Thing

by T. S. Ward

  Oil and blood coat my hands now. Sweat is dripping down my forehead. I wipe it off with my wrist, although I’m sure I just smear blood and oil on myself instead.

  “What now, Ghost?” I lean my head back and stare up at the few white clouds rolling by overhead. I try to come up with a plan.

  The shit in the truck is too heavy to move while I’m like this. I’ve got three days allotted before Ezra sends someone looking, or comes after me himself if he’s serious. I only have a few granola bars in my bag. And there are beetles in the area.

  I nod. Breathe. “Alright. Alright. One time, Ghost, we’ll try this one time, and only one time.”

  I grab the radio. Turn it on. I pace back and forth for a couple minutes, just listening. Nerves twist up my guts and I don’t know why. Not sure if it’s because he might answer or if it’s because I know he won’t. I click the button, open my mouth, let go of it again, shaking my head. Click the button again.

  “Ben—”

  I let go, set it on the driver’s seat, and start pacing again.

  He won’t let me go alone if I do find him. If he does show up. And Ezra will use him against me. I’d have to break him out the same way I’ve got to break Sadie out. That is, if Ezra doesn’t kill him on the spot.

  And there’s a shit ton of people who need this. I can’t just ditch it and run. I can’t just abandon Sadie, either.

  The radio makes a stuttering noise. My heart stops, and I’m about to go back to it, to grab it, to get a better signal, but something stops me dead. Movement out of the corner of my eye. Something dark comes around the corner of the building. A truck. Black. Armoured.

  Goddamn beetles.

  I slip into the hardware store as they drive up slowly, trying to stay in the shadows.

  The truck stops next to mine. The doors open and stay open, two people jumping out. I watch through the sliver of the door, between the hinges, moving back slowly.

  They’re completely decked out, fancier than the last one. Extra beetle-like. And, honestly, cool as fuck.

  “Fresh,” one of them says. Her voice filters through the helmet from a speaker.

  “Radio here, too,” the other says. “November?”

  “November was blue. Might be Delta.”

  “Let’s check it out.”

  Shit.

  I cut down an aisle, panic surging in me. There are no flashlights that follow me, but I hear their boots on the cement. Night vision, then. Which is both cool as hell and bad for me. I don’t have my flashlight. Can’t even blind them with it.

  Think, Ghost. Where can a girl hide? There won’t be any climbing the shelves, and I’m standing in the door aisle. Fuck it. I slip between a pair of windowless ones and try not to move, knife in hand.

  It feels like forever before a green laser starts weaving across the floor. My heart is beating in my throat then. I can’t see another way to do this, but it doesn’t mean I want to. Doesn’t mean I’m not about to fuck this all up.

  I need their truck, and all that shits in the back of the dead one.

  The beetle steps past me quietly, turns their head at exactly the right time—wrong time, for her.

  I slip out, step up lightly behind her, and grab her braid as I bring the knife around and pull. My brain is screaming at me. Didn’t have to do that, didn’t have to do that, didn’t have to do that, but there’s something else, something vicious, that wants it. That doesn’t feel bad. Revenge, for the scars left on my body. Revenge, for fucking everything up so royally.

  What the fuck, Ghost. What the fuck, Keely.

  Warm blood spills over my hand and down my arm.

  Just a deer, yeah? Not even as heavy as a deer. Just a deadly. A biter. A threat, a threat, a threat. A threat!

  I lower her to the ground and put a foot in front of the laser as I wipe my hands on her sleeves. The helmet has a clasp under the chin that I undo. If the other one can see in the dark, so can I. And I’ll have a gun, too.

  The helmet fits snugly. Her bullet proof vest is just the right size, even if it’s a little blood soaked. And this night vision—it isn’t like anything I could have imagined. Clear as day, stark black and white, the laser a pure white line.

  I nearly swear out loud but a voice in my ear stops me.

  “Lopez, I said visual. Answer me.”

  Think fast, kid.

  I keep my voice low, talk through my teeth, and hope she can’t hear the difference. “Don’t. Move.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s got this place rigged. Coming to you. Don’t move.”

  “Copy.”

  She’s all the way on the opposite side of the building, in the lumber department. Her laser gives her away, a stark white line moving slowly around from a single point.

  I crouch down to watch her through the shelf. A clear line of sight.

  “I don’t see anything here,” she says, and then she sees the laser on her. “The fuck are you doing?”

  “Look up,” I whisper, and I pull the trigger as soon as she does.

  She drops like a sack, collapses, and I can hear the sputtering breaths and gasps through the helmet. It doesn’t last long, but it’s sickening. It turns my stomach.

  My hands are shaking.

  I find the keys for the armoured car on her, tucked away in a pocket. It’s all I needed.

  I leave the hardware store covered in blood.

  The adrenaline high I’m left with helps me swap out everything from the truck to the back of theirs. All the supplies, all my shit.

  This thing smells like new leather. It smells like working car. It starts up perfectly well. And I start driving with the radio on the passenger seat.

  I don’t hear any more static from it.

  Day Two Hundred and Eight

  It’s early morning when I pull up to base.

  Mist settles in along the perimeter, and a low sun catches the tops of the trees in a warm, yellow light. I stare at it for a while, seeking the peace of it. My hands are still coated in blood.

  As I wait, Viking’s map falls from where I stuck it in the passenger visor. It lands on the seat, falls open, and a shiny sticker catches my eye. It’s stuck over some place a little south, just below the state border. A suburban area.

  I make a note of it before I peel it off and stick it to the dashboard.

  Someone comes out of the gate then and trots up alongside the truck, so I roll the window down, start to say something, but he beats me to it.

  “Squirrel!” He looks over his shoulder to his patrol partner. “Let Ezra know Squirrel’s back!”

  I raise an eyebrow when he starts looking the truck over. “You like it?”

  “It’s sick. Where did you…?” He sees the blood dried up on me, goes a little pale, and gestures to his own face. “Come on in. I’ll call the medic over.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. It ain’t my blood.”

  He pulls the gate open all the way for me, and I drive through slowly, cutting down the main road straight toward the supply warehouse.

  I almost wish that kid didn’t run off to tell Ezra yet, so I can go get cleaned up and get some rest, but it’ll be better to get this shit over with well before I try to relax. I’m not sure I would be able to, anyway, worrying about it. About Ezra.

  Worrying about Fox and Viking.

  Hopefully they got their families and got where they were going. I’ll believe that until I see them dead myself. I’ll believe it until I check out that area he marked on the map, and either find them there or find nothing. At the very least, maybe I’ll find Macon and his crew.

  Supply patrol starts hollering and whistling as soon as I pull up and pop the trunk for them. It’s almost too early for it, for me, especially considering I haven’t slept in a long time, but still, I smile at them. I smile while I drag all my shit out of the truck and toss someone the keys.

  Sharpe is there, suddenly, eyes looking back down the road as he walks up to me. “Where are Fox and V
iking?”

  “Got no fucking clue,” I say, opting for the truth. “Bastards took that damn truck and fucked off. Left me to deal with all this heavy ass shit and these fuckers who had this truck—hey, check this out. Put this on.”

  I hand him the helmet and watch him struggle to fit it comfortably. He looks into the supply warehouse, where it’s darker, where I shine the laser on the rifle for him. He pulls it off and hands it back.

  “The fuck kind of…?” He frowns, tapping the top of it. “Solar. Neat. Shit fit you? It’s small as hell.”

  “I’m small as hell.”

  “And you got yourself a fancy vest. Maybe I should have gone with you.”

  I shrug. “Would have been better than taking down a fucking black ops team by myself. You know where Ezra’s at? Should probably mention that to him. There were more of them.”

  If there’s something that can come out of this, it’s Ezra’s men making enemies of the beetles. They’ll take them down, or force them out of the area, and with any luck they’ll follow Fox and Viking and assume I’m with Macon instead. At least if they’re an enemy of Ezra, it’ll be a bit safer. A bit less stress. No longer worrying about them so much.

  I find Ezra in his house, sitting at the kitchen table, pulling his boots on. Lev is there, too, eating a bowl of cereal, and the kid looks up at me like I’m the damn devil walking into this place. He goes pale.

  Ezra just glances up, looks me over, and goes back to his boot laces. “You look like hell.”

  “That’s what happens when your men aren’t loyal,” I grumble.

  I pull out a chair, drop all my shit, and sit down with a smile tossed at the kid.

  Ezra raises an eyebrow. “How’s that?”

  “They ditched me with a trashed truck.”

  “Full report, Squirrel.”

  I take a breath, stretch my arms behind my head, and lean back in the chair. “Everything was going great, and then we get to the hardware store. Fox says the truck won’t start, so we find one in the parking lot, move all our shit over, siphon the gas. It’s all good, it’s good, everything’s fine. Then he says the store’s overrun—which Viking, very kindly, suggests he and Fox do the heavy lifting. Okay, sure. Fine by me. So then I’m sitting there waiting. And waiting. And I don’t see a single goddamn biter, mind you—so I think, what the hell, let’s go help them out. I drive up behind the place, don’t see the old truck. Kind of weird, I think. And then I go in to check it out and there’s absolutely shit all. Nothing. They’re gone, the place ain’t overrun, and I’ve got to load all this shit myself. Which—I mean, you call me Squirrel and not the goddamn She-Hulk for a reason. Then the truck doesn’t start, it’s completely trashed, and then—”

  I pick the helmet up off the floor and toss it to him.

  “These motherfuckers show up, kitted right out. Some high fashion military black ops kind of shit. Night vision and everything, and they see the truck so they’re looking for me. I thought I was completely fucked until I took one out and then stole her shit. Used it to trick the other one into thinking I didn’t just shove a knife in this chick’s throat. Anyway. We have a fancy ass armoured truck now and the ladies are happy. Just don’t know what the fuck’s up with Fox and Viking.”

  Ezra stares at me for a while, hands folded behind his head. “You’re saying my men aren’t loyal.”

  “Not Fox and Viking.” I shrug and pull a granola bar out of my pocket, peel back the wrapper, and take a bite. Shit’s stale as hell, but it’s something. “Which is what Sharpe always thought.”

  “And you took out these military types on your own.”

  I shrug again, talking around another bite. “Not the first time, don’t think.”

  “Not the first time, how?” He leans forward then, elbows on the table, and his hands clasped together.

  Lev is eating his cereal slower now, listening quietly.

  “About six months before I ran into you. Few like them, less fancy though, and they were with this psycho bitch. Took out all but one and their synthetic mother hen, but… this group chased them off and took me in, until I took their shit and left.” I polish off the bar, crumple the wrapper up, and shove it back into a pocket.

  Ezra nods slowly. “Why’d you take off?”

  “Didn’t want to be around people. Wanted to find the shit I lost. Bunch of idiot kids, anyway.” I see the question coming out of his mouth before he can say it. “A fine ass bow, and a photograph. And coffee. That’s what I went back for.”

  Lev snorts. “A photograph of what?”

  “My brother,” I say, and he snickers. “Does it amuse you that I like to remember my brother as having an intact face and skull? Is that funny to you? The idea of good ol’ Squirrel wanting to remember a time when her big brother didn’t have a shell tearing his head to bits, that’s just ha-ha, hilarious, huh? Might have been a real fuck up but that was still my brother. Think your sisters might know the feeling.”

  The kid grows quiet, staring into his empty bowl.

  Ezra swears. He runs a hand through his hair, and then scratches his jaw. The stubble on his cheeks is loud under his fingernails.

  “Son, why don’t you head down to the soup kitchen for breakfast?”

  “I just ate—”

  “I don’t mean to eat, Sherlock.” He raises his voice, smacking the kid up the back of the head. “I mean, get everyone gathered up and situated. I’ll be down in an hour to set things straight.”

  Set things straight.

  The way he says it sets me on edge, and I regret not going straight to bed as soon as I pulled in.

  As soon as Lev has left the house, door slamming shut behind him, Ezra leans towards me and talks quietly.

  “I was just about to go out that door and get after you when Drummond strolled in here and said what’s what.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Still had a whole day left.”

  He tilts his head, holding a palm up. “Should have been back yesterday.”

  “Here I am, though. Today. Not yesterday, not tomorrow.”

  He presses his teeth together as he looks me over, eyeing up the blood staining my skin. Eyeing me up. “That story legitimate? You’re so damn small it’s hard to believe.”

  “My will to live somehow exceeds mass.”

  “Right,” he nods, catching his tongue between his teeth.

  He pushes up from the table and walks to a closet in the hall, rifling through it, and then pulls out a towel.

  “Come on. Go get yourself cleaned up. Run a hot shower. I think you deserve it, after that.”

  I nod slowly, and then I grab my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and start walking to him. “A’ight.”

  “You can leave your bag here,” he tells me, handing over the towel. He points out the bathroom with a hand on my shoulder.

  I shake my head and start walking toward it, flick the switch on, and turn around. “Wouldn’t if I didn’t need it. Fresh clothes, toothbrush, lady shit. You know.”

  Ezra leans on the doorframe and puts a boot in front of the door as I try to close it. “I was thinking, Squirrel. You’re welcome to stay here. Set up shop. Might be more comfortable than a hot tent. Hell of a lot more private. Hot showers, a working kitchen—”

  “Thanks, Ezra, but I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say.

  Heat flushes my cheeks, and it isn’t even out of embarrassment. It’s just that I’m nervous as hell to say no outright. I don’t want to be around him this much, let alone live in his house.

  I try to explain, quickly. “I mean, you want a kind of liaison between the king and the peasants, right? Think the peasants are going to trust someone who gets to live in the castle? Besides. Spend enough time in the tents and people forget you’re even there. They talk.”

  “And what is it they talk about?” He tilts his head, looking down at me with a sly smile.

  “How much they miss hot showers, mostly.”

  A short laugh bursts from him, lines in his che
eks and the corners of his eyes from it. “Clever. Well, find yourself missing that, you can just come around here. Find yourself changing your mind, there’s more than enough room. Girls share a room.”

  My eyes squint with a thin smile. “I’ll think about it.”

  As soon as I shut and lock the door, I sit on the edge of the tub, head dropped in my hands. Breathing shallow.

  —

  It feels like the whole camp is packed into the soup kitchen. And it is.

  I’m half asleep, cheek resting on my knuckles, one foot up on the bench. All the voices sound like white noise to me after a while and it’s so easy to close my eyes to it. I must fall asleep for a second, dream for a minute, because I see a flash of green laser and feel the warmth of blood spilling over my hand.

  I jolt awake.

  Ezra stands in front of the table, making some grand speech I don’t care to listen to. In fact, I’m so goddamn tired now that I can’t listen to it. Everything sounds muffled. Like there’s cotton stuffed in my ears and some faint ringing in the distance.

  My eyes don’t want to stay open.

  But I’m startled, fully alert, when Ezra grabs someone from a nearby table, shouts something, and then there’s that slick sound of a metal blade piercing something wet. The thing I was just dreaming about. Over and over and over.

  I blink in shock as screams fill the hangar, staring at the body Ezra drops onto the cement. Blood pools dark around him, around Ezra, coats his arms up to the elbows, hands dark and shiny red. It stains his shirt, his pants. It’s splattered over his face and neck.

  And his eyes are wild.

  What bothers me the most is the way his tongue flicks out over his lips once as he looks back at me, looks me in the eye, and only once.

  This one is only the first.

  We go to the other outposts and do the same. His reasoning is that they all need to witness it. Random choice to set them all on edge, so they’ll turn on each other if they see anyone acting against him.

  It works. For a while. A few months. Six months where I’m terrified to do anything wrong, to even pull out my journal and write in it or leave it unprotected.