“Killing the monster that used to be Bradley Rogers,” said Savior. “I believe you knew him by the name Melt?”
Malcolm felt a chill run down his spine. Melt had been a field champion, more of a coworker than a friend, but someone Malcolm had known personally. He’d been there when Melt had turned into a demon.
It was at least partially my fault. I stopped him from fighting Rose, and pushed him over the edge.
“You want me… to kill Melt?” Malcolm asked, slowly.
Savior nodded, his expression unchanged.
“Yes.” He held out his hand, palm up. “If you can’t, then I’m afraid we’re going to have to find a different role for you, going forward. Something more… behind the scenes.”
Malcolm winced. The idea of having to kill someone he’d known, regardless of whether they were a monster, made his stomach feel queasy. He didn’t feel like he had it in him, like it was something he’d be able to pull the trigger on. But was there any other choice?
“I’ll do it,” he said. The words came out less confident than he’d intended, but there was nothing he could do about that.
“Good,” said Savior. “He’s been spotted in the abandoned campground south of Vanderbrook. One of the reasons why I’m asking you is your ability to get there quickly with your powers.”
“You could get there just as quickly as I could,” said Malcolm.
“The other reason…” said Savior. “Is so you can prove to me that you’re still trustworthy.”
Malcolm nodded.
“I figured as much,” he said.
Savior eyed him for a moment, as though considering whether Malcolm would be up to the task.
“I like you, Cutter,” said Savior. “I think… You have a similar outlook to mine, in a lot of ways. If you succeed here, you could go far in the Champion Authority. You could have the power, perhaps, to one day influence policy in our organization.”
The words were exactly what Malcolm needed to hear. He suspected that Savior was exaggerating his potential slightly, but it didn’t matter. It was the big picture that mattered to him, the idea of one day being able to free himself and other champions from the burden of having to kill sprytes and demons for no good reason.
One day… But obviously, not today.
“I’ll do it,” he said, this time with confidence.
“Good,” said Savior. He passed Malcolm a slip of paper. “Here’s the address, though it shouldn’t be too hard to find if you just keep heading south.”
CHAPTER 29
Malcolm left immediately. He used his wind manipulation to travel, launching himself upward with a few brief, powerful bursts of air, and then gliding forward, starting the process over again once he’d lost enough height. He tried to limit his usage of his powers as much as he could, more aware than ever of how easily he could end up in the same position as Melt.
His doubts stayed with him, even as he made it past the southern edge of Vanderbrook and into the more rural areas outside of town. What was he supposed to say to Melt before killing him? Would it be better to stay silent? To press on with the attack, and just get it over with as fast as he could?
I’m thinking about killing someone as though I’m cleaning a dirty bathroom. Can I really do this?
He wondered if Savior was expecting him to fail. Perhaps it wasn’t about Malcolm proving to him that he was capable and committed, but rather, confirming that he actually wasn’t. If he let Melt escape, or worse, died fighting him, Savior wouldn’t have to spend time wondering if one of his new champions was worth trusting.
Malcolm landed about a mile out from the summer camp, not wanting to give away his presence by making a grand entrance. It was on the shores of a small lake that the brook from which Vanderbrook took its name fed into. The surrounding forest gave him plenty of cover as he approached, and Malcolm used the wind to cushion his steps and keep from making too much noise on the leaves and fallen branches.
Fifteen minutes later, he approached the first of the summer camp’s buildings, a small, open faced wooden shelter. He leaned up against the side of it, closing his eyes and listening to the wind.
By focusing hard enough, Malcolm could use his wind manipulation to extend the range of his hearing. It was a simple enough thing to do, but only when he could get himself in the right state of mind for it to work. Wind listening was a little like mediation, and at times, he found it frustratingly elusive to achieve.
He had trouble with it this time, finding it hard to clear his head of thoughts about what would happen once he found Melt. It wasn’t just about having the nerve required to kill him. Malcolm would have to defeat a demon in a fight, one with powers that would probably be more effective against him than his were against Melt’s.
I should have brought a gun…
A sound came from further into the summer camp, just beyond another building to the south. Malcolm crouched low, taking careful steps up to the corner of the building and crouched down just beyond the edge of the building. He peered around the corner, scanning the area for any sign of Melt.
He risked sneaking to the next structure, again cushioning his steps as he went. It was a lean-to, and a few dozen beer cans were scattered around the inside of it.
Malcolm heard the sound again. He was sure of where it was, now. He waited, wondering if the best move would be to stay hidden and hope to get the drop on Melt as soon as he revealed himself. A few minutes went by, long enough for the tension and pressure of the moment to start to get to him.
The sound came again, almost at the exact same pitch and volume, and then again, a few seconds later. Malcolm made a decision and started pressing forward, relying on his wind manipulation to move silently.
He took long, bounding steps, carefully landing in between dried leaves and grass. The summer camp looked like it had been abandoned for at least a decade, long enough for paint to begin to chip off the lean-tos, and small animals to take up residence.
His heart pounded nervously in his chest as he rounded the corner of a rickety cabin with a screen door barely hanging from its hinges. The sound was coming from a small clearing on the far side of the cabin.
Melt stood several dozen paces away from an old, wooden target. He held a bow in one hand, and there were a couple of arrows scattered around the ground near his feet. Slowly, he pulled the bow back and released, planting another arrow into the wooden target.
He didn’t look angry, or volatile. Aside from the small, misshapen bumps in his skull around the crown of his head, and the pinkish hue his skin had taken on, there was little else demonic about him. He wore jeans and black hooded sweatshirt. He was smiling.
Malcolm turned his attention back to the arrows on the ground. With the wind, if he was quick enough about it, he could get one of them into the air, and possibly through Melt’s skull before he even knew anybody else was there. He could kill Melt without having to say a word to him, or look him in the eye.
Would I be able to live with myself, if I did that?
He knew the answer before he’d even finished thinking the question. Malcolm took a deep breath and started down the slope, forgoing any further attempt at stealth.
“Melt,” he called.
Melt stiffened. He slowly turned to look at Malcolm, as though he’d forgotten that anything could be a threat to him. The bow fell from his hands and to the ground. Melt met Malcolm’s gaze, and a spark of recognition kindled in his eyes.
“They sent you?” asked Melt. “Savior thinks that fucking little of me? To send a champion barely past the point of wiping his own fucking ass?”
“Uh…” Malcolm couldn’t help but smile. “Nice to see you, too. I’m surprised you remember me.”
Melt scratched at his scraggly, overgrown beard.
“It’s not how I thought it would be,” he said. “It’s like … a jigsaw puzzle, with all the important pieces missing. I remember a lot, though. Fuck… I wish I didn’t.”
Malcolm looked at him,
trying to think of something he could say that would affect the outcome of their encounter. It felt like weakness. He was there to kill Melt, and that was what he needed to do, even if he didn’t want to.
“You little fucker,” said Melt. “I respect you now.”
“You didn’t before?” asked Malcolm.
“Fuck no,” said Melt. “You were a bleeding heart. Didn’t think you had the guts to actually face off against a monster without buckling…”
Malcolm almost brought up the fact that it was that exact trait that had led to Melt becoming a demon. He’d been unable to fight Rose alongside him, and Melt, pushing his powers too far, had turned.
If he doesn’t remember that, I’m not going to remind him.
Melt eyes narrowed, sharpening the silence. Malcolm felt himself tensing up, the anticipation building for what was to come.
“I’m sorry, Melt,” he said. “This time… I have to do it.”
“Then come and fucking do it,” said Melt.
Despite himself, Malcolm found it hard to attack first. Melt didn’t have his guard up. He was capable of fighting back, but seemed like he was already defeated in spirit.
“Don’t have the fucking guts?” asked Melt. “Do you need motivation, kid? Maybe I should tell you about the people I killed on the way here.”
Malcolm clenched his hands into fists.
“That’s the real scary thing about being a demon,” said Melt. “Killing… is fucking automatic. I don’t know if it’s innate, or maybe, just cause we don’t remember enough to know any better. It’s easy using my powers, I just melt and go down people’s throats. Expand once I’m in their stomachs… Messy, but efficient.”
Malcolm forced himself into an attack. He rushed toward Melt, wind running with long strides. Melt watched him approach, dodging his first punch and countering with a knee to the stomach that completely winded him.
Malcolm fell to the ground, rolling to avoid Melt’s follow up kick. He grabbed at a couple of stray arrows at the wind and blasted them toward Melt’s chest with an intense burst of wind. Melt dissolved into red goo right before they struck him, dodging the attack easily enough to make Malcolm question whether it was worth trying the same tactic again.
He saw Melt, still in melted form, go for his mouth and throat. Malcolm had the wind on his side, and used it to create a powerful air current shield around his head, knocking back the red goo as it came within inches of his mouth.
He summoned as much of the wind as he could control and used it to blast Melt back completely. Melt reformed and assumed a combat stance. Malcolm lifted his own fists, drawing upon crumbs of martial arts advice from Tapestry, as the demon advanced on him.
Wind manipulation gave him enough speed to dodge Melt’s first barrage of punches. When Melt attacked with a roundhouse kick, Malcolm managed to knock him off balance with a blast of air from behind. He then rushed forward and managed to land a quick, grazing jab to Melt’s jaw.
“You’re out of your fucking league, kid,” said Melt. He dropped his guard, daring Malcolm to hit him.
Malcolm leapt, feet first, toward Melt. He went right through him. Melt dissolved just as Malcom should have made contact and reformed behind him, instantly grabbing Malcom and throwing him to the ground. Malcom cushioned his fall reflexively, but in his panic, he over compensated. Instead of catching his balance, Malcom launched himself ten feet into the air.
His head pounded with adrenaline and euphoria, from both the fight and using his powers so much. Melt was smiling, though the gleam in his eyes made his expression seem sad.
“You can feel it,” he called. “I know you can. Fuck, it’s the same thing that drew me in. It would fuck every champion over, if not for the stabilizers… and people like me and you. Well, now just you, I guess.”
Malcolm was circling around Melt through the air, trying to find an angle of advantage from which to attack. Melt suddenly changed form and surged up toward him as a red, gelatinous blob. Malcolm was too focused on shielding his nose and mouth to notice that Melt was aiming to get around him.
Melt reformed behind Malcolm, with one arm already in position for a chokehold. Malcolm was still airborne, and he struggled to stay aloft as Melt’s arms tightened around his neck. They began to plummet toward the ground as Malcom’s head throbbed from lack of oxygen. And then, the world turned off.
CHAPTER 30
When Malcolm woke up, it was with a pounding headache and a musky scent on his nose. He blinked his eyes, taking in the dim conditions of a small, dusty shack. There was a window on one wall, reinforced with metal lattice to make it virtually shatterproof.
He was sitting with both wrists handcuffed behind his back and the frame of a metal chair underneath him. Malcolm tried leaning forward, but the chair didn’t tip.
“It’s bolted to the ground,” said Melt. He stepped out of a shadow and into a beam of orange light. The sun was setting, telling Malcolm that he had been unconscious for at least a couple of hours.
“I’m still alive,” said Malcolm. “I feel like I’ve won a prize, or something.”
Melt didn’t say anything. A sinking feeling took hold in Malcolm’s stomach.
“Are you going to try to turn me?” he asked. “Force me to use my powers until I lose control, and become a monster.”
Melt slowly shook his head.
“I’m not like Rain Dancer, or Multi,” said Melt. “Those fuckers are just looking for excuses to kill.”
“Wait…” Malcolm frowned. “Multi… You’ve seen him since he was captured by Rain Dancer.”
Melt chuckled.
“They gave me the whole song and dance,” he said. “There’s a genocide against monsters, and we need to take a fucking stand. As though I’d sign up with them in an instant, throw away everything I believed in, just because I’ve got bumps on my skull now.”
“You met with them,” said Malcolm. “And they just let you leave, when you said no?”
Melt chuckled.
“Nobody stops me from leaving,” he said.
A couple of silent seconds passed. Malcolm’s concern over what Melt would do next was outweighed by his curiosity.
“Did he still seem like himself?” asked Malcolm. “I can’t imagine Multi… working with Rain Dancer.”
“Didn’t recognize me, not that we were best friends, or anything,” said Melt. “If I had to guess… The memory loss… I think it’s like trauma. Like a head injury. It depends on how hard you get hit emotionally when you turn.”
“Is that just a theory, or do you have proof?” asked Malcolm.
“Yeah, I got fucking proof,” said Melt, sarcastically. “I’ve just been doing science and taking notes these past few fucking days. Fuck you, Wind Runner.”
“Jesus, Melt,” said Malcolm. “I hope you don’t kiss your mother with that mouth.”
“I don’t remember my mother,” said Melt. “That’s one thing that’s definitely gone. But even if I did… I wouldn’t want her to see me. Not like this.”
I meant that as a joke. Now I feel bad.
Melt took a deep breath, and let out a shaky sigh. He pulled up another chair and sat down across from Malcolm. He produced a flask from somewhere and tipped it back, taking a long swig.
“It’s hard for me to understand,” said Melt. “Why would anyone want to keep living… like this?”
Malcolm was torn, unsure of whether Melt’s question needed an answer, and if so, what he could say.
“You could try to be better,” he said. “Just because there are a lot of monsters out there who have abandoned their morals doesn’t mean that you have to.”
“You’re so fucking naïve.” Melt shook the flask, and then finished off whatever was left in it. “And that’s not even what I meant.”
Melt gestured to the cabin they were in, and then to the window.
“I used to work here,” he said. “Surprised I remember that. I was… a summer camp counselor.”
“That’
s… kind of hard for me to picture,” said Malcolm.
“It was a long time ago,” said Melt. “But… I enjoyed it. I honestly fucking did. It wasn’t fun, though, not exactly. It was mostly just boring.”
Malcolm didn’t say anything.
“That’s what I never got,” said Melt. “It was boring, predictable, and routine. Probably the happiest time of my life, if I’d stopped to really think about it. You’re lucky when you’re bored, especially if you’re around other people, who are bored too. You just never stop to fucking think about that, until you’re not bored. Until you’re scared, or angry at the world. Or you hate yourself.”
He’s venting to me. I don’t think that’s a good sign.
Melt flicked his empty flask across the room. It sounded like a tin can as it bounced across the floor. He reached a hand around to the back of his belt, and pulled out a pistol. Malcolm tensed up and immediately tried to knock it away with his wind manipulation, but Melt had a good grip.
“Easy, now,” said Melt. “Wind Runner, I’m going to tell you something. You gotta learn that you can’t always win. The most important thing you can learn in life is that you have to know how and when to lose. Cause sometimes… it’s too fucking pointless.”
“Melt!” shouted Malcolm. He pulled at the handcuffs as hard as he could, his wrists chafing as he desperately tried to slip them loose.
“Key is taped under the chair,” said Melt. “Along with a note. Give it to Greenthumb.”
Melt brought the barrel of the pistol into his mouth and pulled the trigger. The crack of the gunshot was deafening, and red and white bits blasted out the back of what was left of Melt’s head. He fell forward, blood still pumping out of his mouth and shattered skull, spreading across the wood floor, staining the edges of Malcolm’s feet.
“Jesus Christ,” he said. “Jesus fucking Christ, Melt.”
CHAPTER 31
It only took Malcolm a minute or two to find the key on the underside of his chair. Part of him was frustrated that he hadn’t thought to feel around there earlier, though he knew that it was just his regret manifesting as guilt. He couldn’t have stopped Melt from doing what he’d done.
Wind Runner: The Complete Collection Page 48
