by Greg Dragon
There were gunshots from all sides of the house and women were running frantically away. I looked for Mother, but couldn’t see her.
“Run,” shouted Grandpa suddenly beside me. “Take your mother and Victor and leave town. Do it now.”
“We can’t leave you,” I said, but he was already gone, charging towards Skull who was preoccupied with reloading his ancient revolver.
The Shrieker didn’t see Grandpa until he is almost upon him. Skull’s eyes shoot wide and he dropped precious cartridges onto the ground in his haste. Skull kicked at Grandpa who caught his foot and twisted the man to the ground. I saw Skull point the pistol in Grandpa’s face and pull the trigger.
The weapon made a small click sound.
Skull screamed in rage and then in pain as Grandpa smashed his large gloved fist into the smaller man’s groin. The two struggle and roll on the ground. Skull kept trying to point his pistol at my grandfather and pull the trigger. Soon Grandpa was astride Skull choking him. The Shrieker raised his pistol again and pulled the trigger.
With a blast Grandpa fell back off of Skull, blood pouring from his head. The Shrieker rolled away from Grandpa and climbed slowly to his feet.
“No,” I whispered. Part of me wanted to run to help my grandfather and another part wanted to flee with the result that I was frozen. I saw Clay striding towards me out of the billowing smoke, a pistol in each hand. He glared at me with pure hatred.
My paralysis was suddenly broken, I turned to run away, ashamed at abandoning Grandpa, but also relieved to be leaving this place of death and horror. I ran as fast as I could around the corner and slammed into something immovable. Falling back on my rear, I saw Reaper towering over me.
Before I could get up, he placed one giant boot on my chest and presses down. I swung the cudgel weakly in his direction, but he caught it and yanked the weapon from my hand. I looked into his face and see no mercy or humanity.
He swing the cudgel one handed at the side of my head which seemed to explode with fire and pain.
My mind closed down to sounds of screaming and music.
***
When I awoke I notice we are all crowded together into the Dormitory. The cots and makeshift dressers have all been rudely pushed against one wall. I felt dizzy and my mouth was dry.
“Don’t try to move,” Mother whispered from beside me. “It will only draw attention.”
I slowly turned my head and saw Grandpa lying beside her, his head in a heavy bandage.
“I saw him get shot in the head.”
“It didn’t penetrate his skull,” she explained. “The bullet traveled around his head tearing loose his scalp. I need to sew it back on.”
“Getting shot in the skull by Skull but the bullet doesn’t go through the skull,” I laughed hysterically at my own humor.
“Shut up!” Mother hissed at me.
Looking around I saw other huddled groups of friends and neighbors and many of the children we’d put to bed safely the previous night. Lanterns posted at regular intervals cast menacing shadows around the room. Five dead Shriekers were laid out on the stage at the end of the Dormitory and many more dead women were piled unceremoniously below them. The smell of blood and burnt flesh was thick in the air.
Clay sat in a chair on the stage while several other Shriekers stood around him looking down at us hatefully. A dozen or so of the Prospects were posted along the walls. All seem to be waiting for something.
A door bangs open and in strode two Shriekers leading a group of children. I could see Victor was with them looking confused and frightened. He cradled his rainmaker in his arms and was forced to sit against the far wall near the stage. Two Prospects closed the doors and stand guard.
I tried to catch Victor’s eyes, to reassure him, but he was too far away in the dim and crowded Dormitory.
The last two Shriekers walked up on stage. All nine of the remaining Protectors stood around Clay who sat looking at his feet while tapping a pistol against his leg.
He stood suddenly kicking the chair violently behind him. “Who is responsible for this?”
No one answered.
Clay nodded as if he didn’t expect an answer. “We’ve lived in peace by the Treaty for nearly a decade and now you go and do this?” He pointed at the pile of bodies at his feet.
Unbidden, my eyes looked where he indicated. I think if I had tried I could recognize each body. Instead I closed my eyes and felt a single tear roll down my cheek.
“We’ve lived in harmony and peace,” Clay continued. “I have been merciful and kind. Given you your freedoms. Protected you from harm. Someone is responsible, I refuse to believe that you all did this on your own. Again I ask who is responsible?”
People were starting to look around them. Several eyes lingered on Broily and Grandpa. Even a few stare hard at mother.
“Give me the one responsible,” said Clay. “This violation, this rebellion, cannot be tolerated. I do not want to punish you all, only the rabble rouser. The one who stirred up mistrust in your hearts. This person has led you astray. Give them to me. Who is responsible?”
A child started to cry. Then another. As if contagious, nearly all the small children were soon wailing loudly.
The sound clearly made Clay angry. “The Old Bible says that the children shall suffer the sins of their parents. I don’t want that and I know you don’t, but if you force me I’ll take it out on the little ones. Someone here has to answer for what happened. Someone has to pay in blood, that is the way to make things right again.”
Who is responsible, I wonder. Someone had put them in this position and gotten a lot of good people killed. Most would blame Grandpa, but that’s not who’s responsible.
“Okay then,” said Clay. “Bring me a baby. Any of them will do.”
I stood suddenly and nearly fainted. Steadying myself I looked at the stage and said as calmly as I could. “I’m responsible.”
“Sit down,” Mother was pulling at my hand.
“Bullshit,” said Clay. “You’re just a little girl.”
A wave of euphoria washed through me and I chuckled. “Yet we still almost beat you. A bunch of women and girls. Maybe we should switch places and you can let us protect you.”
The room was deathly still. “Come on up here then,” said Clay with a dangerous grin showing too much teeth.
“No,” moaned Grandpa trying to rise. “It was me. It was me.”
None could hear him but Mother and I. Yanking free of her grasp I made my way forward carefully trying not to step on anyone, pausing occasionally as a wave of dizziness washed over me. Soon I was standing at the base of the stage. Clay was in front of me and the pile of bodies was to my right. I heard the sound of murmuring behind me.
“Well, come on up here,” Clay waved at me with his pistol.
I measured the stage mentally and knew it was too high for me to climb in my current state. Turning to the left to walk up the stairs, I felt a searing agony in my head as my feet leave the ground. Screaming in pain, I’m deposited in a heap at Clay’s feet by Reaper who has just lifted me up by my hair.
“Go ahead and take the load off,” Clay said pulling the chair he had kicked to the rear forward. “You must be very tired what with all the conniving you’ve been up to.”
I do feel tired and just want to go to sleep. Sinking down into the chair I looked out at the room. Meeting Mother’s and Grandpa’s eyes I felt a deep love I had never felt before. Wishing I could hug them now, I smiled and wiped the tears from my eyes.
“Oh, tears won’t do you any good now,” Clay said. “It’s way too late for...what the hell is going on?”
There was a commotion to my right and I looked over to see Victor climbing up the stairs towards us, his rainmaker out before him like a protective talisman.
“No hurt, Teal,” he said.
“Someone get that simpleton off the stage,” Clay ordered.
Reaper turned and strode purposefully towards the big man.
“We’re going to hurt you in a minute,” Reaper shoved Victor.
The big man doesn’t move.
Reaper pushed harder and I heard a cascade sound. Looking over I see small stones pouring out the open end of Victor’s cylinder and onto the stage.
Oh no. They’ve broken his rainmaker, I think. “It’s okay Victor,” I said. “Just go sit down, please.”
Reaper grasped the large knife at his belt in his fist and yanked it out. “I told you I’d kill you if you crossed me again.”
What happened next seemed to be in slow motion to me. Victor was holding one hand out under the broken rainmaker as if trying to catch the last few stones. Miraculously a long thin metal object falls into his hand. He pulled the rest of the cylinder off and tossed it aside.
In Victor’s hands was a long sharp two-handed sword. On the pommel was the unmistakable symbol of an eye. The sword flashed forward in a blur.
Reaper shifted slowly back towards Clay and the arm that previously held the knife was now missing from the elbow down. Before he could take another step, Victor raised the sword to shoulder level and with a powerful swing took Reaper’s head off.
The room was still and nearly silent.
Victor drove the bloody sword into Hellspawn’s chest before yanking it free and moving forward to jab the tip of his sword into Thor’s eye.
There was screaming from the Protected and the Shriekers appeared confused about whether they should attack this bloody apparition before them or flee.
Victor continued forward. He kicked Skull savagely in the groin and then drives the tip of his sword into the prostrate man’s chest before turning to take the top of Bird’s Eye head off. He followed this up by slamming the hilt of his sword savagely down on Stormchaser’s skull.
Clay grabbed me by the front of my shirt and stuck the barrel of his pistol against the side of my head. “Stop or I’ll shoot her.”
The big man slashes downward cutting off Irish’s leg before spinning and slicing open Firebrand’s abdomen.
“I’ll do it!” screamed Clay.
Victor tripped Cowboy as the Shrieker tried to flee and then drives his sword through the man’s lover back.
“I swear to God,” shouted Clay, “if you don’t stop right now, I’ll—“
The pistol fell away from me and Clay collapsed on the floor. I looked down to see his headless body, his head having rolled off the stage and onto the pile of Protected corpses.
Victor was past me and continuing in his carnage. I reached down and pried Clay’s pistol out of his hand and stood. Mother was there suddenly holding me up. She reached down and secured Reaper’s big knife.
“Don’t let any of them escape,” Mother screamed out over the crowd. The mass of women seemed to come to life slowly and then with growing intensity. Some of the Prospects had fled out the doors, but newly armed Protected were now chasing them.
Victor killed Spike, a Prospect who had climbed up on stage, before turning to address the room in a voice as loud and strong as Broily’s. “Show no mercy. The Prospects are not part of you. They are Shriekers and must die. Do it now.”
I turned to stare at the big man. “Victor? Is that really you?”
“It is, Teal,” he answered in a clear and intelligent voice.
“How is this possible,” Mother asked.
Victor smiled and brought the pommel of his sword up to his face. The eye on the hilt shown out clearly through the thin film of blood covering it.
“We got your letters.”
***
Mother and I cleaned Grandpa’s wound with some of Reuben’s leftover peach alcohol recovered from the Shrieker House. We then carefully stitched his scalp back on. He sat stoically through it all, his hands clinching the arms of his wheelchair tightly.
My grandfather had somehow become the de facto leader of Newton. There wasn’t an election or even a discussion, people just started bringing their problems to him, and they did what he said. He told everyone to keep doing their Shift Work and to prepare for winter. Grandpa also directed us to repair the burned out Borderland around town by reloading the old booby-traps and digging out the debris from the stake pits.
We buried the Shriekers in the big communal garden knowing they would make good fertilizer. The Protected we placed lovingly in the New Cemetery, the services, quick and simple. Snow was in the air and there was too much else to do.
Victor helped. People at first looked to him for guidance and answers, but he just shrugged and said, “It’s not my town,” or “I’m not staying here much longer,” or “You need to learn to figure things out yourselves.”
It was strange to have such freedom all of the sudden. I’m sure most of the women acted as I did, going about our routines out of habit, expecting the lash or a slap whenever we did anything wrong. We got rid of the Protectors, but their ghosts were still with us.
Perhaps they would always be with us.
Victor still slept in our house on the pallet in front of the fire although now he engaged us in conversations and stories of his travels. Grandpa eagerly soaked up information and many nights Broily is here too, writing furiously on moldy paper with his left hand.
“I’ll have to leave tomorrow,” Victor announced abruptly one morning.
Mother, Grandpa, and I looked at each other in concern. “You can’t leave,” I finally said.
“I can and I will,” he answered around a mouthful of kudzu salad.
“But we need you,” I said.
“My family needs me more.”
Mother was surprised. “Your family?”
Victor chuckled. “Margaret, I know you think I’m a vicious killer, not to be trusted, but I have a wife, two little girls, and a son waiting for me back east. I promised them I’d try to be home for Christmas.”
“Christmas,” I whispered reverently. We had of course heard the wonderful and fanciful stories of this mythical holiday, but never experienced it. The Shrieker’s had forbidden celebrations. “Can we have Christmas?” I asked Grandpa.
He nodded slowly. “I don’t see why not. Be good for us, I reckon.”
“You sure you don’t want to wait until spring?” asked Mother. “They’ll be snow soon and it sounds like a long way.”
“I appreciate the offer,” said Victor, “but I’ve already stayed here too long. Tomorrow morning I’ll take my leave, got a few preparations to make today.”
Grandpa nodded. “I can help you with that.”
Victor grunted and kept eating.
I went about the day noticing things as if for the first time. Of course life seemed different without the Shriekers, but I guess I had imagined that Victor would be our new Protector. I can see how open the Borderland is. Anyone could walk into Newton if they wanted. The pits, booby-traps, and barriers were good, but we needed something more. Otherwise it would only be a matter of time before some other road gang or pillagers came through.
We needed what Broily had called in one of his stories a militia. It would be years before the young boys were men, but I realized we women could fight too. We had already. We would have to if we wanted to protect what was ours.
Like the dogs, I thought, watching them patrol the edge of the goat herd. We needed to patrol our perimeter. Even the Shriekers had gotten lazy and complacent, I realized. They weren’t really protecting us at all.
We can do it, I decided. Newton didn’t need any outside help. We had everything we needed. Mother would help. So would Sarah and the other girls.
Newton still gathered each night after dinner for the Remembering, but the nature of the stories was starting to change. Others talked besides just Broily and now some of the stories are remembrances of the Shriekers and the things they had done. It still surprised us sometimes that they were gone.
“Polishing and cleaning their old motorcycles was somehow the worst,” said Juliette, now without her Chit. “Most of what we had to do was to se
rve them or satisfy some urge, but taking care of the worthless bikes seemed like rubbing our faces in their complete control of us. I also think in some ways they missed those old days when there were able to ride on the roads.”
“They’d even make the Prospects spend time sitting on the bikes,” added Tammy. “As if they could experience riding that way and become like the Shriekers.”
Victor stood suddenly and the giant stared out over us. The room became respectfully silent.
“You may have heard that I will be leaving tomorrow,” he said.
Although this wasn’t news to most people, a murmur of dismay spread through the crowded room.
“I’d like to tell you the story of the Knights of the Watch. Of simply the Watch as we call it and how it all began. Maybe it will help you.”
Nearly everyone looked at Broily at the mention of the Knights. Some surely feel guilty for doubting the old man. All are grateful for his sacrifice which made their freedom possible.
“At the End,” said Victor, “we didn’t understand what was happening. Didn’t know it was the end of everything. We were so accustomed to others solving our problems that we sat back and watched things get worse. The police and military and government simply melted away or took from us. We waited almost too late to act.”
Victor glanced around the room and grimaced. “It may be hard to believe, but back then we didn’t know all our neighbors, sometimes not even those directly around us. I was a senior in high school then, preparing to go to college on a football scholarship. My family got the early T-path vaccine, my father was a doctor you see. They died anyway. I never found out why.
“By then there was no one to call for help. I nursed them at home as long as I could once the hospitals closed down and then buried them together in our backyard. I hid in our house, eating what food we had while listening to the sirens and watching the smoke from the fires. I tried listening to the radio, but it got too frightening. Wasn’t long before the electricity shut off anyway.”
Victor shifted nervously and I realized the telling of this story was painful for him. He was a Sad One as well.
