Clone Killers

by Raylan Kane

  “How about these Rys models?”

  Sarm reached below the counter and has placed two small silver guns in front of me.

  “How much for both?”

  “20.”

  “20? For two guns? Do they have any power?”

  “No. Can barely dent a tin can with those. But they look like the real deal, if a bit small.”

  “It’s true they do look stronger than that.”

  In taking back our trucks and our product, it may be the appearance of strength combined with the actual strength of the weapon I’ve already purchased that may win the day. The clone’s Fold is starting to run low, I don’t have many other options.

  “Deal – I’ll take them.”

  I head out of Sarm’s with fresh clothes on and my new guns in my new bag. It’s amazing how spending money you didn’t earn can feel so satisfying. With the bag slung over my shoulder, I’m walking toward the taller buildings cast across a grid of city blocks. On every corner is a vendor with a grill, serving up charred clone meat for city dwellers that can afford the oversized slabs. Perhaps one of them will know the way to Low Command HQ.

  “Mister – pardon me – you wouldn’t happen to know where I might find the offices of the Regional Low Command?”

  “The gatekeepers – why would you speak to them? Speak to me. They use mind control. They’re using mind control right now. Why would you trust the gatekeepers?”

  “Sorry to have bothered you.” Somehow I always manage to find the crazies.

  “Bothered? They bother – they found the sister planet – they found,“

  “It’s you,” a female voice said. It’s her! She is even more gorgeous than I’d remembered, as though that were possible.

  “I remember you.”

  “You robbed my store.”

  “Your store?”

  “I should report you to the Low Command. It’s not far from here.”

  “I was headed there myself.”

  “To confess?”

  “To find you.”

  I notice she has taken a step back. “That’s a bit – strange.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re going to say that to a stranger? You’re going to wander into a big city hoping to see someone you’d only caught a glimpse of late one night while you were robbing them? Are you crazy?”

  “I was not robbing you. I needed fuel. I have no money.”

  “That’s a thief talking.”

  “Are you going to have your boyfriend arrest me?”

  “I just might.”

  “He could try.”

  “You think highly of yourself, don’t you?”

  “Higher than Low Command fools like him. What was his name? Rydar?”

  “It’s Rygart.”

  “Oh, pardon. Do you not tire of their endless false bravado and talk of patriotism?”

  “What – so everyone should live as you do? A common thief, with no money, no morals.”

  “Morals are what keep me from joining a corrupt outfit like the Regional Low Command.”

  “How can you say such things? You’re a thief, and a stalker.”

  “I’m not stalking you. I saw you with your silly Low Command boyfriend. I fell in love with you on the spot. I saw your beautiful face, and the rest of my life flashed in front of me, I felt like I already knew you. I just have to see you again.”

  “You are truly mad. I am glad we are in full daylight.”

  She thinks I’m crazy. She may be right. Oh, lovely, here comes Milne’s boyfriend with three other Low Command pukes, this ought to be interesting.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The four misters are standing next to Milne and giving me threatening looks. No one seems to care that we’re standing next to a busy intersection in the middle of the city.

  “This is that thief I was telling you about,” Rydarr said, or whatever his name is, I think it's Rydarr...who cares at this point?

  “I’m no thief,” I tell him.

  “Is that why you assaulted us and made off with those tins of fuel? So now you’re a thief and a liar.”

  “I didn’t assault anyone either. You were in my way.”

  “No one does that to me and gets away with it.”

  “Rygart, please – let’s let the mister go. We’re in full view of everyone out here. You want an assault on your record – the Low Command will toss you,” Milne said – Rygart, such a forgettable name.

  “Major Klin saw the video from the store – I gave it to him. He has signed Order 80. We are clear to deal with this scofflaw in whatever way we deem fit,” Rygart said.

  “You should listen to her, this won't end well for you."

  “I will enjoy this – perhaps too much,” Rygart said – he and his henchmen have stepped toward me – Milne has jumped in front of them.

  “Wait! Look – I don’t know what your name is,” she said.

  “It’s Bramen.”

  “Okay, Bramen, you need to leave. Order 80, have you not heard of it? The Low Command rules over this jurisdiction – the constabulary will not help you here. They mean to hurt you.”

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  “Out of the way, Milne.”

  “Stop!” Rygart pushed Milne hard and she falls back. She jumps back up and runs away. Rygart is the first to step close. He puts his hands on my chest and thrusts his head forward intending a head butt, I tilt my head left and he misses, I bring my right hand up and under his right hand grabbing hard on his wrist and I feel one a man behind me grab my shoulder.

  I keep hold of Rygart's wrist and the man behind me falls in agony as I pop his knee out of joint stepping backward with my right foot. I pull Rygart toward me and he stumbles. I plant my knee in his face. His nose explodes blood in all direction.

  The man to my right swings his heavy arm in a punch, I move under it and wrap my arms around his midsection tackling him to the pavement, his head thuds off the sidewalk and a pool of blood forms. Instinctively I crack him across his jaw with a solid punch.

  The remaining attacker wraps his arm around my neck and pulls me up off his friend. He has me in a headlock standing behind me. I reach over my shoulder with my left hand feeling for his face, some soft tissue I can exploit. His face is exposed, I plant my thumb into his eye pushing deep into the socket. He screams and loosens his headlock, I turn around and clasp my hands behind the mister’s neck and pull him down as I bring my knee up with a thunderous shot to his jaw that causes the bottom of his mouth to break sideways from the rest of his face.

  Rygart stumbles and staggers as he stands. By now a small army of onlookers has gathered on all sides of the intersection, stunned looks across their faces. Rygart hobbles toward me and starts taking more swings. This fool has a lot of fight in him. Another wild swing that fails to connect, I pivot my feet and nail him with a heavy hook to his side that seems to wind him. His breathing is loud through his busted face. I take one step past him and stomp hard at the back of his left knee, the joint explodes as his leg hyperextends to an extreme angle. Rygart screams and falls. The other three men lay writhing in pain. I hear someone say something about more men coming – a taxi approaches. I grab my bag of guns, flag the car down and disappear from the scene. Assuredly all of that was caught on surveillance cameras – they’re everywhere throughout the city, and Milne – lovely Milne – knows my name. It will be hard to remain anonymous now.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Trident and the clone both sit up on their respective beds as I enter the motel room.

  “That was a long trip. I was worried you wouldn’t come back,” Trident said.

  “Come here, no!” The clone...again.

  “Why wouldn’t I return? We have unfinished business with this lot across the way,” I said.

  “Of course, I know that. What’s in the bag? Are those new clothes? You know your shirt’s torn, right?”

  “I have guns in the bag
.”

  “How many guns?”

  “Three. And yes, these clothes are new.”

  “I hope they gave you a discount for ripped clothing.”

  “That happened after I bought them.”

  “What happened?”

  “Forget it.”

  “Why three guns?”

  “Curses – are you with the bloody Low Command? What’s with the interrogation?”

  “I just want to know what we’re doing.”

  “Yes, three guns. One for each of us,” I said pointing to the clueless clone sitting on his bed in stunned silence.

  “You’re giving him a gun? Are you mad? He’ll get us killed for sure.”

  “They don’t know he’s a clone. If anything they’ll think you’re the clone.”

  “Oh, so I’m target practice then when they figure I can’t shoot.”

  “You can’t,” I said.

  “Clever.”

  “We just need our friend here to appear as though he might shoot them. It’s more the appearance of strength than-”

  “Than actual strength – got it. So, what’s the plan?”

  “What do you mean? I just told you the plan.”

  “The three of us – with guns – what, we go across the way, knock on their door and take back our trucks with our product inside?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I look across the courtyard – their window’s gone dark. The gun is at my side. Trident and the clone are behind me as I open the door a crack, their weapons are smaller than mine, I didn’t have the heart to tell Trident his gun has little in the way of power.

  “Are we ready?” I said.

  Trident nodded. We have the clone’s mouth gagged, he’s fidgeting, but he hasn’t shot himself yet trying to remove it so we’re in good shape.

  “Let’s move.”

  We grab each arm of the clone and skitter across the courtyard and hide behind my hay truck. I peer around the left side to the gang’s motel door, there’s no sign of movement inside. I give the signal and we run up to their door and stand the clone directly in front of it – Trident rips off his gag, I give their door a good pounding.

  “No! No! Yes! Come on!” Right on cue.

  A commotion erupts in the room – Trident grabs the clone and brings him down to crouch with him on the right side of the door, I am crouched on the left side.

  Their door swings open and three men have run out the front, each appear to be carrying metal pipes of varying lengths.

  “Drop them!” I said, as I step toward the men with my gun held high. The metal clangs loud across the courtyard as the pipes hit the ground.

  “Curses – look who it is,” one of the men said.

  “That’s right, look who it is,” I said.

  Two other men run from the room, Trident stands and draws on them, they put their hands up.

  “What’s this all about?” A miss walks out of the room.

  “You have my truck – and my friend’s truck – and our product. We’re here to take it all back.”

  “That so? How’d you even find us?”

  “You fouled up when you messed with this one,” Trident said motioning with his head toward me.

  “We’ll see about that,” the miss said.

  “Is this everyone?” I said, looking at Trident. The clone is standing facing the wall of the motel a good ten feet away, probably too scared to move.

  “I don’t know,” Trident said.

  “Yes, this is all of us,” the miss said. “What are you going to do? Shoot each one of us?”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way. But I could, what with it being Rule of the Hunt and all – you all are out in Full Dark,” I said.

  “What’s to stop me or the rest of us from moving back inside?”

  “15 bullets is what.”

  “You wouldn’t do it. If you have it in you to kill us you’d have done it already.”

  “Try me.”

  One of the men lurches forward and runs for the motel room door. I squeeze the trigger nice and even – a red mist spurts from the man’s shoulder as he falls just shy of the door. Everyone ducks down fearing I might shoot one of them next.

  “Curses,” the lady said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “And you didn’t have to steal my truck, or my family’s product for that matter.”

  “Okay, you win. Take the truck. Let me get the keys.”

  “Hold it. Wait. Allow me. Where are they?” I said.

  “They’re just inside the door. Center of the table.”

  I keep my gun aimed high as I slowly walk around the group and past the lady to the doorway.

  “Nobody move,” I said. The man I’ve injured is laying prone on his front. He’s not moving.

  I’m approaching the door. The table should be,

  Umph – a heavy thud’s landed in my gut – another member of the group’s been hiding inside the door. I fall to the ground and the gun tumbles out of reach. The mister who’s hit me with what looks to be another one of those metal pipes has my gun and is holding it to my head.

  “Good work, now pass me the gun,” the miss said.

  Trident fires a shot that strikes the man’s neck. The shot sends all but the miss scattering in all directions away from the scene. The man Trident hit is struggling to breathe and he fights to find the hole with his bloody fingers. The miss fires back, Trident runs between the two trucks. The clone is standing in front of the stucco wall staring at it, not moving. The miss walks toward my truck firing off rounds at shadows.

  “Hey, come here!” I said to the clone in a whisper yell.

  Trident appears from behind the truck and fires three rounds in the lady’s direction, none of them hit.

  “Come here! Clone! I need you.”

  The clone fidgets.

  “Come here! I won’t hurt you. Just walk over this way.”

  The clone turns his head and looks at me.

  “You may as well give up. Your gun has no power compared to this one,” the miss says as she rounds the trucks looking for Trident. The rest of the lady’s group must be hiding.

  “Hey!”

  “No!”

  “Yes!”

  “Yes!”

  “Come here!”

  “Come here!”

  The clone is repeating what I say as he steps closer. He is facing me with the gun at his side. He fires a shot straight into the dirt barely missing his foot.

  “Whoa! Wait! Don’t do that.”

  “The constabulary is on its way I’ll have you know!” The motel manager said – yelling at anyone who will listen. He then runs back inside for cover. Hating police or not, a full-on shoot out in the courtyard at night is likely not good for business.

  My belly still hurts too much to stand. The clone has stepped closer to me, but not close enough that I can reach him. The miss looks angry and she walks aggressively in my direction. This is not good. She has the muzzle of the barrel to the top of my head. The heat from the steel singes bits of my hair.

  “Get your friend to come out from his hiding spot. Do it now,” she said.

  “I don’t know where he is. He may have left,” I said.

  “Don’t play games. I will shoot you dead right here. You have three seconds.”

  Pop pop pop pop pop pop pop pop – the clone with his arm raised unloads eight tiny bullets into the miss’s face. She instinctively raises her hands up and in her frenzy has blasted her own head off with my gun. Her headless body falls over on the dirt, a river of blood pours out of her. Trident walks over from behind one of the trucks.

  “Curses and rhyme – what kind of gun did you give this guy? You really are crazy!”

  “Yes – you may want to take his gun, though it may already be empty,” I said. Trident pulled the gun from the clone’s hand
and has plopped down on the ground beside me. He smiles as he looks at our two trucks, now adorned with a few bullet holes for our troubles.

  “You okay?”

  “I’ll live.”

  A cavalcade of sirens grows closer.

  “How much were you looking to get for your hay again?”

  “500 Fold,” I said, wiping sweat from my brow.

  The red and blue lights flood the sky above us. Trident looks at me with a smirk, “500 Fold.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  I have not seen my parents in ten days. Father Brigg managed to trade in our shot up truck for a small bit of Fold and some parts; the thieves had already sold half our harvest. We wound up with 200 Fold for my troubles. Looking back on those disastrous few days is a nice distraction from my current circumstance; it’s better than counting the knots in the dark wood table in front of me. The white ceiling lights are reflected in its polished surface. At the far end of the glossy finish is an empty leather chair. The chair belongs to some Low Command mucky muck who will undoubtedly come in here and try to scare me with stories of indefinite incarceration for theft or assault or both. Two uniformed misters, serious looking men, have just entered; a third even more serious looking man walks in behind them, the other two have snapped to attention.

  “Prisoner, stand up,” one of the two serious men said.

  “Have a seat – it’s Bramen, isn’t it?” The man sat in the leather chair.

  “I’m sure you know my name by now.”

  “Yes will suffice.”

  “Yes.”

  “So I see you’ve racked up quite a resume.”

  I’ve got nothing to say to this guy.

  “What’s the matter? You’re not talking now? You’ve had plenty to say to the constabulary,” he said.

  “This isn’t the constabulary.”

  “No, this is the Headquarters for the Regional Low Command.”

  “Jye Region.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m from Gust,” I said.

  “Yes you are. A hay farmer of all things.”

  “Of all things.”