Raid

by K. S. Merbeth

  So what else do the townies have up their sleeves? If we’re lucky, maybe it’s nothing. Townies are simple things, after all. Maybe they didn’t think any further than this clever little ploy. Maybe they thought they’d be able to pick off more of us before we realized what was happening. Though, judging from an explosion on the other side of town, some of the other crews haven’t caught on yet. If we’re lucky, maybe the townies will just focus their attentions elsewhere.

  But luck is rarely on my side lately.

  Before I can even catch my breath, the door to a nearby building bursts open, and townies pour out. There are more than I would’ve expected. Few of them are armed properly, but those that aren’t still carry things like wooden boards and broken chair legs and metal pots. There’s no fear, no hesitation—they flood out and run, yelling, at the closest raiders. A pack of them swarms Jed and me.

  I thought it would be hard to kill townies. I thought—perhaps hoped—that some shred of my conscience would awaken and make me hesitate about pulling the trigger on people who are just trying to defend their homes. But, as it turns out, there isn’t much time for conscience when the townies are running at me with weapons in hand. It’s not even a matter of right or wrong. It’s a matter of staying alive. A choice between them and me. A matter of necessity.

  Without conscience hindering me, the raid becomes nothing more than a very easy fight. See target, pull trigger, body hits ground. Most of the townies don’t have guns, and those who do hardly know how to use them. To a professional like me, they might as well not have any weapons at all. I shoot them down, one by one, before they’re even close enough to endanger me. Quick and easy. Almost too easy, actually, and I start to get bored after a while. I put my gun away and grab my knife from its sheath on my leg, using that to take care of the next man who comes at me.

  I laugh—and immediately sober as I catch myself doing it. I’m enjoying this, I realize; I’m enjoying slaughtering these mostly defenseless townies in their own home. I look around me, at the town swiftly being overrun by raiders. I see raiders killing people, torturing people, looting bodies and buildings, lighting fires and destroying things for the fun of it. Some of them are laughing, just like I was a moment ago. I lower my knife to my side, guilt creeping up on me as I look around at the chaos being wrought.

  I search for Jed in the fight, and find him gleefully wrapped up in it, wielding two pistols he must have looted from someone. I try to catch his eye, but the sight of him taking out two townies at once and whooping excitedly stops me in my tracks. For him, this is just the same as killing raiders in the Nameless Town. I can’t let that be the case for me; I have to keep myself under control. I turn away from Jed and head deeper into town, away from the worst of the fighting.

  I can’t handle being deep in the fray anymore, but I know that the raiders will be suspicious if I’m not doing something helpful. So I decide to search for loot, heading up to the rooftops where I suspect the townies have hidden their goods.

  There isn’t much to find; most of it was thrown down at the raiders, and what’s left isn’t useful. I pick my way among smashed furniture and tattered blankets. Some children hide among the wreckage, staying out of the fight below, but I ignore them and keep looking. Even though I’ve escaped the fight, the sound of gunfire and shouting is constantly on the edge of my consciousness, and it’s almost physically painful to keep myself away. The outcome is obvious; these townies took out an impressive number of raiders, maybe enough to save the next town the army hits, but they’re severely outmatched.

  I walk to the edge of the building and look down on the town below. The ground is strewn with the remains of the townies’ hail of junk, along with bodies from both sides. The fight rages on atop the wreckage. I search for Jed, but I can’t find him in the midst of everything, not from this distance.

  Instead, I see something else—and my body goes rigid, a sharp breath hissing through my teeth.

  Vehicles are approaching. Five of them altogether, and they’re not the shoddy, pieced-together scrap metal that people call cars out here in the west. They’re big, intimidating trucks, all shiny and painted black. My heart sinks down into my stomach as I get a better look at them. I’ve seen these kinds of cars before. Everyone in the east has, and everyone knows that they can only mean one thing.

  And evidently, people here are learning it too. Before long, people notice them coming, and a whisper starts up. It ripples through the town, even through the chaos, and the fighting comes to a pause. It stops townies and raiders alike, the eyes of both turning toward the east. The vehicles pull up to the front of town and stop there, engines growling loudly, the town quiet in their presence. One by one, the engines shut off, and silence falls. The whole town is hushed.

  Then someone shouts it.

  “Jedediah Johnson is here!”

  XXII

  The Raid Gone Wrong

  Some of the raiders turn tail and run, while others rush toward the vehicles, shouting and brandishing their weapons. Townies flee, or fight with renewed vigor. Just moments ago there were two sides to this fight, but it soon dissolves into one very confused mess.

  On the rooftop, I stand completely still. My hand is on my gun, my face turned toward the black vehicles that I’ve always known as a portent of death and loss. These are the cars that come when things are about to go terribly wrong. They show up to steal your supplies, to punish your resistance. They show up to drag people away kicking and screaming, people who will never be seen again. Now they’ve come so far from home, and they’ve come all this way for me, and for Jed.

  Jed. I need to find him. We need to run. Not only is this town about to turn into a massacre of townies and western raiders alike, but if they see Jed, it’s all over. Our only hope is that with everything happening around us, we can escape without his father’s crew noticing us. They can’t know for sure that we’re here, so if we manage to disappear quickly enough, maybe we’ll have a shot.

  I force away the childish fear that the sight of those vehicles ignited in me, and finally break my paralysis. I run for the rusty staircase I climbed to reach the rooftop, clamber down to the street, and keep running. I’m not even sure where I’m running, other than away, desperately hoping that Jed will have the same idea and head in the same direction … and desperately hoping that he was telling the truth when he said he didn’t want to go back to his father.

  But I don’t see him anywhere as I run through town, searching every corner and hiding place. I find an elderly couple hidden away in a building on the edge of town, an injured raider dragging himself into an alleyway, a dying townie holding her hands to the sky and begging for Jedediah Johnson to save her. Jed isn’t with them, or the mob of raiders racing to meet the eastern crew, or the stragglers fleeing town.

  Among those stragglers I find Wolf’s crew. The leader seems seriously displeased about leaving the fight, with Tank at one elbow prodding him forward and Dolly at the other, keeping an eye out for trouble. Kid, lagging behind the others, is the one who spots me. She slows down, raising a hand.

  “We’re getting out of here. You coming?” she asks. I hesitate, and shake my head. She looks over my shoulder at the town. “He was right in the thick of the fight when they got here,” she says. “Didn’t see where he went afterward.” I nod again, a silent thanks. She bites her lip, hesitating for a moment before blurting out, “I don’t trust the guy. Talks too pretty.”

  I’m not surprised. I remember the way Kid distrusted him from the beginning. And maybe she’s right; Jed has lied before, after all, and he’s pretty damn good at it. But still …

  “I know,” I say. “But I can’t leave him.”

  She sighs to herself, but doesn’t argue.

  “Good luck,” she says.

  “You too.”

  I stay on the edge of town, watching the crew disappearing into the vast expanse of the wastes before turning back to the town consumed by chaos. This could be my only chance to run
. I glance at the wastes again, imagining myself shouting for Wolf and his crew to wait, imagining myself fleeing with them and leaving Jed behind. I imagine a life for myself with them as my family, my home. Then I curse and run back into the heart of town.

  Jed could have turned against me the moment his father showed up … or he could be injured, or trapped, or captured. He could need me. And if there’s a chance of that, I can’t leave him behind. So I ignore my pounding heart and all my instincts screaming at me to run, and head right toward Jedediah Johnson’s crew.

  The infamous raiders are cutting their way through town, mowing down townies and western raiders alike. Some try to fight, but they don’t stand a chance. Jedediah’s crew is no unruly band of outlaws; they’re professionals, better fed and better trained and much better armed than anyone around here. These western wastelands must be a joke to them. Even for me, a bounty hunter used to dealing with them, Jedediah’s crew is a challenge. I might be able to take down a few of them, but I don’t like my chances against the whole lot, especially when I’m alone.

  Though I know that logically I don’t stand a chance, hatred bubbles through my veins at the mere thought of Jedediah’s crew, and having them so close at hand nearly makes me forget my goal. I know almost every one of them, by name and by face—and every crime they’ve committed, every town they’ve wronged. Some of them are faces that have haunted my nightmares for years; others are newer, but no less awful. I’d gladly kill each and every one of them, and do it slowly and with relish, without a shred of moral uncertainty to weigh on my conscience.

  I try to push aside anger and fear alike, to not think, to let my body move mechanically. All that matters right now is finding Jed. But he’s nowhere to be found. It’s like he vanished as soon as his father’s crew appeared. But did he go toward them, or away? Impossible to tell.

  I scour streets and buildings. I find raiders, and townies, and plenty of bodies belonging to both sides, but not Jed. I carry on, my search growing more frantic. Then I round the corner and run into a familiar face.

  Not a face I know personally, but one I’ve seen on wanted posters all over the eastern wastes. One of Jedediah Johnson’s crew members—Maria Heartless, they call her. A revolver is in her hand and pointed at me; I can tell she knows my face as well. We end up at a standstill, each staring down the barrel of the other’s gun.

  “Well, well, what a surprise,” she says. Then, she raises her voice to a shout, turning her head so the sound carries behind her. “I found the bounty hunter! He’s here somewhere!”

  The moment her attention shifts, I slam into her. She fires her gun, but the shot goes wild. I slam her back against the closest building. She grunts as she hits crumbling brick, but it doesn’t faze her. She slams the butt of her pistol up against my chin, and then into my face as I jerk back. I gasp, blood gushing from my likely broken nose, and keep grappling with her. A close-quarters fight is my best bet, but she’s not easy prey. She’s lean with muscle and full of fire, matching me blow for blow.

  We fight hard and dirty. She yanks my hair, and I spit blood in her face; I knee her in the stomach, and she hits me in my broken nose again, sending a jolt of agony all the way down my spine. I pull a brick free from the wall behind her, and send it crashing toward her face—but she’s quick, too quick, and ducks her head to the side just in time to avoid the blow. The contact with the wall sends pain up my arm, my knuckles scraping excruciatingly against the brick and my own momentum throwing me off balance. She slips from my grasp, and I whirl around to find her with her gun aimed at my head.

  She laughs, clucking her tongue at me like I’m a disobedient child. Fury threatens to make me do something stupid, but I force it down. My body is already shaking from the brief struggle. The days with scarce food and water have not been kind to me, and I’m at a disadvantage with that gun in her hands. I know when I’ve lost.

  I lower my hands to my sides, ready to admit defeat and let her drag me off to who-knows-where. At least this way, I can buy Jed some time to escape.

  She laughs and smashes the butt of the gun right into my nose once more. I stumble back, and before I can recover she hits me again in the forehead, this time causing my head to smack back against the bricks. I drop to my knees, my head spinning, the taste of blood in my mouth.

  The woman grabs a fistful of my hair and drags me down the street. I struggle and fight and claw at her hand, but I’m weak and hazy minded, my vision obscured by blood running down my face, my feet scrabbling against the ground. I find myself helpless as she drags me, past fleeing raiders and townies and straight into the arms of her crew.

  She throws me on the ground, and I land heavily on my hands and knees. I turn my face upwards to see a huge man towering above me. He’s broad shouldered, arms knotted with muscle, with a shaggy beard and hard eyes.

  I realize, with a jolt, that I recognize him. He was one of the tax collectors I saw in Sunrise, the giant one who hardly spoke. I wouldn’t have guessed that Jedediah Johnson would have the guts to go collect taxes himself, but I suppose it makes sense. And he’s exactly what I expected Jedediah Johnson to be: tough, intimidating, emotionless. This is the face of my real enemy, and now I’m at his mercy.

  He raises a gun to my forehead, cold steel pressing against my skin. I swallow my fear and meet his eyes.

  “Where is he?” he asks. His voice is gravelly and quiet, barely audible above the sounds of the fight.

  “He’s dead,” I say calmly. “Died in the fire at Fort Cain.”

  His face betrays nothing, but one booted foot shoves me so I land on my back in the dirt. He places the boot on my chest, squeezing the breath out of me, gun still aimed at my head.

  “Last chance,” he says, his voice as soft and stoic as before. “Where is he?”

  “Like I said.” I turn my head to the side, spit blood, and turn back to him. “Jed’s dead.”

  His finger tightens on the trigger.

  “Stop.”

  Both of our heads whip toward the familiar voice. I’m not sure which of us is more surprised to see Jed standing there, pointing a gun at the man above me. My heart sinks. The rest of the crew—those who aren’t immersed in the fighting, at least—all turn to Jed as well, gasps and murmurs running through their ranks.

  “You idiot,” I say, struggling for breath with a boot crushing my chest. I try to shove it off, but the huge man doesn’t budge. “You’re supposed to run!”

  Jed doesn’t even look at me. His eyes stay locked on the man above me—on his father. Jedediah Johnson.

  “Back up,” Jed says, his gun hand steady.

  You idiot, I think again, though I don’t have the breath to speak anymore. This will only get both of us killed. Does he really think he can help me? That his word will sway his father not to kill the bounty hunter who kidnapped his son?

  And yet, Jedediah Johnson steps away from me and lowers his gun to his side without a hint of hesitation. I scramble away in the dust, panting for breath and trying to process what’s happening. Did he just take an order from Jed? I stare at the man, trying to understand. After a moment, he smiles, an expression that looks strange and foreign on his formerly serious face.

  “Hey, boss,” he says.

  XXIII

  A Snake by Any Other Name

  At first, I don’t understand. The word “boss,” the way the raiders snap to attention, the utter adoration in their expressions. To say the crew is happy to see Jed would be a massive understatement. They look at him like a god descended from heaven in front of them. They seem to have forgotten about me entirely. I slowly get to my knees, but my legs give out when I try to rise any farther than that. So I stay down, my eyes locked on the man I thought I knew. The blow to my head is still making things murky for me, and this feels surreal, dreamlike.

  “Ah, hello, boys,” Jed says, in a voice that’s unfamiliar—odd and lilting, smooth on the surface with something dangerous lurking just beneath. He walks into the midst of th
e crew. The raiders eagerly gather around, but keep a respectful distance. He smiles at them, making eye contact with each and every one of them—and completely ignoring me. My whole body is numb, my brain full of static.

  “It’s so good to be back together,” Jed says. More of the crew members are breaking off from the fight in the town, drawn to him like a magnet. They form a loose circle, all eyes on him. He pauses briefly, stepping up to the big man who nearly shot me. He bumps knuckles with him amiably before continuing. “And wow, jeez guys, I am so touched that you all followed me across the wastes to this hellhole.”

  “As if we had a choice, Jedediah,” a woman says with a half smile.

  Jedediah. And there it is, finally, making its way into my shell-shocked brain. Not Jed, but Jedediah. Not the son of a ruthless dictator, but …

  “No,” I breathe. It isn’t possible. There’s no way it was really him the whole time, no way I fell for a stupid trick and became friendly with the man who burned down my home. No way I saved the life of the man who murdered my family.

  But the evidence is right in front of me. “Jed” was a lie. He never existed. All along, there’s only ever been Jedediah Johnson.

  The one and only, as he said himself not too long ago. All of his long-winded stories, stories I thought he was telling about his father … He’s been rubbing the truth in my face this whole time.

  He drops his old identity like a snake shedding its skin. His posture straightens, his eyes sharpen, his smile becomes unfamiliar. He rolls his shoulders back and cracks his neck and, in the time it takes me to blink twice, he has become a stranger. I saw glimpses of this man at times. I saw him when I first put a gun in his hands, and when he looked at the fire at Fort Cain—a fire, I finally realize with a growing horror, he must have started himself. He orchestrated the fall of Fort Cain, leading us to the raiders, and eventually … right here.