Flame

by Jim Heskett

  Yorick looked toward the bar. No music. No one there eating a meal or drinking a beer. They’d cleared out, probably because they’d known this was coming.

  “No,” Malina said. “Oh, no no no. This is all my fault.”

  Yorick slammed a fresh magazine into his pistol. “Doesn’t matter. We have to go, now, before this whole town closes in on us.”

  And so, they ran. Across the lobby, down the steps, out into the morning light. Tenney waddled as best he could, a hand placed firmly over the injury in his side. He flashed teeth as his jaw tightened, and the grimace seemed melted onto his face.

  Out into the street, there were no town residents directly chasing them, but Yorick didn’t bother to check the faces of each person they passed. The owners of the brothel would be out looking for them, for sure. And any White Flames buddies of the three they’d killed.

  Yorick ran, buildings and people flying in a blur. Rosia and Malina kept close behind. Tenney, panting and labored, kept up as best he could. The women helped him, and Yorick stayed in front, weapon up to act as their scout.

  Down the street, he spotted a clock outside a public restroom. 7:55. Not good. This was taking too long.

  They turned a corner, and he could see the big building with the large clock. And the bus there, idling, people pushing their bags into compartments and then boarding the bus.

  “Hey!” Yorick shouted, but no one seemed to notice him or stop what they were doing.

  Three hundred meters away. Yorick looked behind them, and he could hear a crew of armed men and women hustling down a side street, searching for the four fleeing serfs. They weren’t in close yet, but soon, they would figure out which street they were on, and then a confrontation would ensue.

  “Move, move,” Yorick said, his heart pounding in his throat.

  Two hundred meters away. The man who had offered Yorick a seat on the bus leaned out of the door at the rear, and his jaw dropped open. The mob had turned onto this street, still too far away to locate the serfs. But, they were coming.

  The bus organizer squinted in the direction of the mob. His eyes then widened at the sight of the oncoming search party. His head shook as he grabbed the door handle.

  “We’re leaving!” he shouted. “Close it up! Now!”

  The baggage doors shut, and one final person scrambled to board the bus. Everyone in their seats.

  “Wait!” Yorick bellowed, but there was no one left standing near the bus to hear him.

  The front and rear doors shut.

  A hundred meters away.

  The bus made a whooshing sound, and the wheels turned.

  “No!” he yelled. The clock on the building showed 7:58. There was still time. There was still supposed to be time.

  Panting, haggard and tired, they came to a stop in the street where the bus had been. The odor of the tires still hung in the air.

  Now, once again stranded. Except now, they were exposed, with the townspeople only moments away from catching up to them.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Yorick and Rosia looked at each other, and then down at their pistols. The rifles were in their bags, broken down into pieces for travel. He didn't know how many additional magazines Rosia had on her. Maybe one, maybe none at all. Yorick didn't have any extra. Everything else was packed away.

  Not enough bullets to take on a mob, for sure.

  "What do we do?" Tenney said, wincing against the pain in his side. "They're coming."

  They were all looking at Yorick for the answer. He glanced around at their surroundings, taking it in and trying to think strategically. There at the edge of town. Open hillside blanketed both sides of the road to the east. An array of buildings stood to the west, interspersed with houses. Many of these were in the war-torn area of town, and none of them seemed sturdy. No good place to run.

  The incoming mob was still marching, but they didn’t appear to be heading directly toward Yorick and his group. They hadn’t yet been spotted.

  Yorick again looked at his pistol, and then he nodded toward the edge of a nearby building. "I guess here we make our stand. If this is where we end, then so be it."

  Rosia held up her pinky finger and touched it to Yorick's. "Always," she said, rushed and frantic.

  "Always."

  They shifted over to the building, leaning against it to get some semblance of cover from weapons fire. Now, they could hear the sounds of the crowd coming after them. Sounded like they had absorbed a few additional people into their lynch mob.

  Yorick peeked around the edge of the building and lifted his pistol. "All of this was my doing. You are all here because of me. I'm sorry for that. That doesn’t mean much right now, but still.”

  "I'm not sorry," Rosia said.

  Malina and Tenney both shook their heads. "We are not sorry either," Tenney said. "We're here for you. This is all of us together.”

  As the rumble of the mob neared, a strange new sound joined the fray. A house’s screen door swinging open a few meters to the left. Next to the current boarded-up building, a small house sat alone.

  Yorick swiveled his head to see an older woman, gray bun of hair on top of her head, leaning out of her front door. Glasses obscured her eyes, and she was wearing what looked like a crocheted shawl with pockets.

  "Hello?" the old woman said in a scratchy and tired voice. "Come inside, quickly. Before they see you.”

  Yorick and Rosia shared a look, but only for a fraction of a second. No sense in questioning a gift like this one.

  The four of them stashed their weapons and raced over to the woman's house. She waved a hand to beckon them up the stairs and in her front door. The screen door slammed shut behind them.

  The house felt cool and quiet, a stark change from the outside. Rosia and Malina helped Tenney over to a couch in the living room. They lowered him down onto it, grunting and panting. The wound in Tenney’s side had pushed a faint red blotch against his shirt. He breathed unevenly, sweat dripping down his forehead. Yorick pulled back the curtain over the window and glanced outside.

  The roving mob was now twenty strong, many of them looking like the same type of White Flames gang members they had killed in the inn's lobby only a few minutes ago. They were out there, wandering, aimless, hunting. Rage on their faces.

  Yorick straightened up and nodded at the woman. "I don't know who you are, but you've saved our lives. Thank you."

  “Who would like some tea?" the woman said.

  A little blip of an involuntary chuckle escaped his lips. “What?”

  “Tea,” the old woman said. “I’m offering. I have Earl Grey and chamomile.”

  "Sure,” he said, his head swimming. He’d never known tea had different varieties before. “Whatever you have is fine. I think we could all drink some tea."

  "Make yourselves comfortable, dears. I'll be right back. If you need to use the facilities, there’s a bathroom upstairs, first door on the right. The hand-towels in there look decorative, but you can use them. I don’t mind.”

  The woman disappeared into her kitchen. The four former serfs all stared at each other in disbelief. A clock ticked, relentless.

  The living room of this woman's house was decorated like a museum, artifacts covered with dust. There were small ceramic figurines on shelves. Babies playing, angels with wings dancing, light-skinned people holding hands. A few framed portraits of unknown people on the walls. Her furniture looked ancient. Deep, dark wood.

  "Is this for real?" Malina said.

  Yorick shrugged as he looked around. A musty smell hung in the air, thick, like soup. “Only the stars know, but this is better than death at the hands of a mob.”

  He pulled back the edge of the curtain again and checked the outside world. Some of the mob had dispersed, but there were still several out there. He saw one talking to a person at the bus stop, a man in a uniform. An employee of the bus service, most likely. That man pointed off in the distance, in the direction the bus had traveled.

  “
What do you see?” Tenney asked.

  “They don’t know where we went,” Yorick said. “For now, at least. I’m not ready to assume they’re done looking, though.”

  Rosia joined him next to the window. She leaned close to whisper into his ear. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

  He laced his fingers into hers and gave them a squeeze. “I don’t either. Keep your guard up.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  Two minutes later, the old woman came back into the room, carrying a silver tray with four glasses of tea. She set it down on a small table and then stood back, her hands clasped. "You're probably wondering why I invited you in."

  "Yes," Yorick said. "We're very grateful, but it does seem strange."

  The old woman sighed as she strode across the room and pulled back the curtain to gaze outside. "Outlaws. This whole dang town has succumbed to the outlaws." She turned around and looked at them, the thickness of her glasses making her pupils seem large. "I don't know who you young people are, or where you've been, but you look like decent folk to me.”

  Her shaking hand dipped into the pocket of her shawl and drew out a small candy wrapped in white paper. She popped it in her mouth and sighed. “When I saw you'd missed your bus, my heart hurt for you. No matter who you are or what you've done, you don't deserve whatever those outlaws want to do to you. Nasty, brutish people they are. This town used to be full of nice people. Well, not anymore. I’m the only one left.”

  Rosia wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, Malina openly wept, and Tenney and Yorick nodded their thanks. None of them seemed to know what to say to her.

  The woman heaved in a big breath, with a huge smile on her face. "Besides, the king’s soldados will be arriving in town tomorrow. Those brave men will take care of all these dirty outlaws for us, anyway. They always do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  They’d spent the rest of the day as willing prisoners of the little old lady in her house full of curiosities. They spoke little and did even less. Because of Tenney's efforts, his injuries had worsened, so they didn't try to move him again for the rest of the day. The old lady—who went by the name of Petunia—filled them with blueberry pie and ice cream. Aside from providing food, she left them alone and asked no questions.

  Next morning, they awoke and ate breakfast, and Tenney did seem a little better. He even smiled at places in their conversation. However, Rosia worried about the state of all three of her companions. Malina was a nervous wreck, and her poor decision to shoot the puta had brought peril on them all. Malina seemed to know it, too.

  Tenney, a young man so strong and capable, had been reduced to reliance on others for most things. Rosia knew how hard that must have been for him. And Yorick—her sweet Yorick. He took the whole group's woes on his shoulders. He blamed himself for everything that had happened so far because they were all here on a quest to seek out his parents. What Yorick couldn't seem to grasp was how much the three of them wanted to be here with him. That without this quest to reach the town of Harmony, they would've been aimless. That plantación life was all they had ever known, and none of them knew what to do next.

  After breakfast, Rosia sipped tea and sat in the chair by the front window. She looked out in the streets via a slightly drawn stretch of curtain. The old woman's promise of the soldados arriving had proven true. They marched into town, twenty or thirty of them. Immediately, they engaged in skirmishes with the local White Flames. Gunshots rang out every few minutes for hours.

  Apparently, this "gang cleanup service" was something the king provided in exchange for taxes. Rosia wondered if the people understood how this transaction oppressed them. The arm of protection would also keep you in line and living in fear. At the plantación, the mere suggestion of rule-breaking or conspiracy could land you up against the wall. A malicious rumor spread by an enemy might result in your death. Did the soldados also act as arbiters of local conflict, shifting into judge and executioner to settle disputes?

  Before lunch, Malina came to Rosia, with a bundle of clothes in one hand and wigs in the other. "What's that?" Rosia asked.

  “She said we could borrow these," Malina said.

  "Okay, but why?"

  Malina held out a short brown wig in the air and closed one eye. "I think this will look good on you."

  "Mal, why are we trying on wigs?"

  Malina sighed. "We need to do something. This is my fault. If I hadn't shot that puta the day before yesterday, none of this would've happened."

  "Okay, so why are we playing dress-up?" Rosia asked, but she had already suspected the answer to her question.

  "We're going out in disguise to find someone who can take us out of this town. There are so many people here, someone is bound to agree to trade gold for a ride.”

  Rosia shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea. The soldados are patrolling, White Flames bandits wandering around, stray bullets flying. It’s crazy out there. We have to wait."

  "I haven't heard a shot in at least an hour. The initial wave has to be over."

  "I don't know," Rosia said. "I still don't think it's a good idea."

  Malina put her hands on her hips. "The gate is closing in, what, two days? Tenney is hurt, your boyfriend is in a room upstairs, sulking. We need to do something about this. If you won't come with me, then I'll go out on my own."

  The last piece of the argument convinced Rosia. She couldn't prevent Malina from exploring on her own, and the girl clearly had impulse control problems. Rosia had to acknowledge that the best option would be to go with her, try to keep her safe, and also keep her from doing something stupid. Both were full-time jobs.

  When Malina left the room, Rosia hurried up the stairs. She opened the bedroom door to see Tenney on the bed, and Yorick in a chair in the corner, staring at the sleeping giant. A shaft of light cut through a slit in the curtain, painting a streak of white across Tenney’s midsection.

  Yorick’s elbows were on the armrests, his fingers tented in front of his face. He looked decades older than real life. Absent wrinkles around his eyes, Rosia could’ve sworn he was at least forty or forty-five years old.

  “Hi,” he said, not taking his eyes off Tenney.

  “I’m going out for a little bit.”

  Now, he did look up. “Huh?”

  “Malina wants to look for transport.”

  “Do you think that’s smart?”

  Rosia shook her head. “That’s why I’m going with her.”

  “This is a bad idea. You know it’s a bad idea. Do you really think you can keep a handle on her?”

  Rosia paused, then nodded. “She needs to feel like she’s doing something. She needs to help. I can understand why she feels that way. And, we don’t have a lot of time, do we? We can’t wait around this house forever, hoping something is going to change on its own.”

  “No,” he said. “You’re right. I understand. I don’t like it, but you’re right. We need to take action and I trust you to handle it. But, please be careful and come back to me soon.”

  She crossed the room to give him a kiss on the cheek, but he caught her wrist and then pulled her to him. She bent down to give him a proper kiss on the lips. “I will always come back to you. I’ll keep her in line.”

  She backed out of the room and blew him an extra kiss on her way out.

  Ten minutes later, she and Malina were in their disguises and armed with loaded pistols. Rosia didn’t like the idea of Malina carrying a gun, but given the level of danger, it felt necessary.

  When they ventured outside, Rosia could hardly recognize the former farm girl. But, the paleness of her skin still did shine through. As they rounded the corner and began to walk down the street, Rosia realized that coming with Malina hadn't been the only option. She could've offered to go alone and make Malina stay at the house. Rosia couldn’t decide if the two of them together made them both more safe, or less safe.

  Too late now.

  As soon as they progressed
from the houses to the taller business buildings of the town, a sharp-dressed man strolled down the sidewalk in their direction, and he showed a lopsided grin to Rosia.

  “Hello again, m’lady,” he said as he removed his hat.

  Rosia balked for a moment, then she remembered him. The actor with the strange accent and highbrow mannerisms, the one who had invited her out to see a play.

  “Hello,” Rosia said, and Malina held back, casting a suspicious eye.

  “I see you have adopted a set of lovely costumes, but I never forget a face.”

  Rosia smiled politely, but she didn’t know what to say. Her eyes darted left and right beyond the man, checking for threats.

  “And, I also can’t help but mention I have not seen you at the playhouse since our chance encounter at the inn. I was expecting your patronage.”

  “Well, we’ve been a little busy. Theater isn’t high on our list of concerns right now.”

  The actor opened his mouth to speak, but a blur of motion appeared over his head. Something swinging down. It cracked him on top of the skull, and he sank to the ground, blood dribbling down his forehead. Two men had suddenly appeared behind him, both holding heavy wooden cylindrical objects.

  One of them smacked Rosia in the stomach with the tip of his wooden object, sending her to her knees. Rosia snaked a hand toward her waist to grab her pistol, but a foot stomped on her wrist, keeping it pinned.

  From behind her, Rosia listened to Malina yelp and struggle.

  Nauseous from the stomach jab, Rosia watched these two men grab Malina, holding her limbs tight together so she couldn't wriggle free. Then, they disappeared back into the alley. Malina was gone.

  An excerpt from “A brief history of the decline of the United States of America”

  by James Eppstein, Ph.D.

  The war ended not with a big explosive finale like you used to see in the videos, but with a quiet takeover. That’s not to say it was easy. Tens of millions were dead. Untold billions in property damage had reduced hundreds of cities to rubble. Coastal cities seemed to be the least affected, like Miami, Houston, Corpus Christi, Portland. Many flocked to these areas. A few interior cities did emerge relatively unscathed, like Kansas City, Denver, Cheyenne, and Oklahoma City. But even these places weren’t without heartbreak and death.