Defender

by G X Todd

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked Dumont. There were more people than she remembered seeing earlier. Easily over thirty. There was a group of six loitering over by the Winnebago, standing listlessly, mostly staring at the floor. A few appeared to be speaking, but not to each other; no one looked up or even acknowledged the person beside them. Four more, three men and a woman, sat on the floor with their backs resting against the RV, their hands tied in front of them. They looked sullen and defeated and watched the goings-on around them with hostile eyes. The man in the middle sported a black eye and a fat lip, and the front of his once-white shirt was stained with streaks of what could have been dirt but Lacey suspected was blood.

  Dumont cocked an eyebrow at her. His wide shoulders stretched the material of his shirt. ‘We’re making preparations to leave.’

  ‘Leave to go where?’

  ‘My, you’re a nosy mite, aren’t you?’ Dumont went back to watching his people. ‘It’s time we headed for new pastures. We’ve picked this place dry. No more useful folk to round up in these parts.’

  He’s taking people, Voice whispered. Just like in those stories.

  ‘Do you tie folk up when they’re not useful?’ she asked.

  Dumont called down to a man called Terence who was examining a pickup’s rear tyre. Had he collected the car jack from someone called Stevie, Dumont wanted to know. Terence assured him that he had.

  Lacey didn’t think Dumont had heard her question and was opening her mouth to re-ask it when he said, ‘No. Those people down there will be useful at some point. They’re just not ready to join our cause yet. But they will.’

  ‘What cause?’

  ‘I don’t think you’re ready yet, either, my dear. All in good time. Posy!’

  Lacey spotted Posy down among the others, carrying what looked like the Boy Scout’s pack and heaving it into the back of a truck. He stopped at Dumont’s shout and looked up.

  ‘I’ve been told you’ve been on the radios again.’

  Posy dropped his head and shuffled where he stood. Literally, shuffled where he stood like a fat kid caught with his finger half scooped in a jar of peanut butter.

  ‘You’re not to touch them again. Understand? Touch them, I break your hand. And maybe even the arm attached to it.’

  Posy muttered to his feet.

  ‘He can’t hear you, dick for brains!’ Lou shouted from behind Lacey, making her heart seize and her shoulders tense up.

  Posy didn’t lift his head, but he did raise his voice. ‘I won’t, Boss. No more radios for me, Boss.’

  Dumont nodded, satisfied. ‘Good boy. Carry on.’

  Next to the pickup Posy went back to loading up was the jeep that had brought her here. And there was that word again, in tidy silver lettering on its rear panel. ‘DEFENDER’. Lacey’s hand crept to the hem of her shirt, reaching under it, her fingertips briefly touching the paperback book she had shoved into her waistband, trying to draw courage from it.

  ‘Red,’ Lacey said.

  Dumont didn’t move, not to look around at her nor even to acknowledge he had heard her speak.

  But he’s listening, all right, Voice said.

  ‘I know where she is,’ Lacey said.

  This time Dumont turned all the way round to face her. She recalled how his arms had bulged with muscle while he lifted Alex off the floor by her neck. She remembered how the veins had stood out on his forehead, his face dark from exertion, his eyes alive with excitement.

  ‘And I’m to believe this why?’ he asked.

  ‘I can prove it to you. But first we talk terms.’

  He broke into a bright smile. ‘Oh, I do like you. You’re very entertaining. You know, Doc told me you didn’t take Jebediah’s death very well, even though you had wished him dead. Even though you seemed quite satisfied by the fact he was near to death’s door the last time we spoke. But it’s hard to watch someone die, isn’t it? Even someone you don’t like. Especially someone you don’t like. Just imagine how it would feel watching someone you do like slowly die. Now that’s a new experience altogether.’

  Lacey breathed heavily through her nose, fighting to keep her face impassive, trying very hard to look him steadily in the eye and not show any sign of weakness, exactly like Voice had told her, when in fact all she wanted to do was curl into a ball at his feet like that kid down there had after he was attacked.

  ‘I’ll show you where she is,’ she said. ‘All you have to do is let Alex go. And when I’ve led you to her, you let me go.’

  ‘You think Red is worth two people I already have in my possession?’

  Yes.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, hoping Voice was right.

  Dumont rubbed his chin, smiling, exchanging looks with Lou. ‘How do you plan on proving to me you know where she is?’ he asked her.

  Lacey didn’t answer, she simply reached to the nape of her neck, unclasped the St Christopher pendant and held it out by its chain. The silver coin spun in the air, catching the light every now and then and flashing it into Dumont’s eyes. He stared at it as if she had hypnotised him, not even blinking when the flicker of light blinded him.

  ‘I could just torture her whereabouts out of you,’ he said, almost too quietly for her to hear, still staring intently at the pendant.

  Lacey pooled the St Christopher and chain into her shaking hand, hiding it inside her fist. ‘Sure, you could do that. But it’d be wasting time. And she wasn’t in such good shape last time I saw her.’

  Voice gave a surprised guffaw inside her head. No, she certainly wasn’t.

  ‘Here are my terms,’ Dumont said, stepping closer to her, his large hand closing around her fist, where she held the pendant. ‘You lead two of my men to Red. When she is found, you are released. And when Red is returned to me, Alexandra is released.’

  She felt completely trapped by him. He loomed over her, his dark head bent so he could look directly into her face, his warm hand enveloping hers, his grip strong but not painfully so.

  ‘How can I trust you’ll let Alex go and not just kill her?’ Lacey asked, her voice barely above a whisper, amazed she had managed to find it at all.

  You’re doing good, girl. Just keep it together a little longer.

  ‘Why would I kill her?’ Dumont said, seemingly surprised by such a question. ‘She’s far more entertaining to me alive.’

  ‘That doesn’t prove to me you’ll let her go.’

  ‘Come with me,’ he instructed.

  He towed her after him, pulling her along by the hand clasped around her fist. She stumbled to keep up as he led her down the concrete steps and into the crowd of busy people loading up the cars. Dumont called over his shoulder to Lou, telling him to bring the woman.

  Reaching the back of a pickup, Dumont ordered Posy and another man to stop what they were doing and unload its bed. Posy kept slanting them curious looks as he lifted out the Boy Scout’s pack, along with a few other bundles.

  ‘What’s goin’ on, Boss?’ Posy asked once the bed had been cleared.

  ‘Go get the chain for the door, boy. Be ready to open it.’

  Posy set down the last bundle and wandered over to the chain pulley, all the while sending confused looks over his shoulder at Lacey.

  On the concrete docking platform, the middle door swung open and Alex was shoved through. She almost fell but caught herself with one hand on the floor.

  ‘Alex!’

  The relief that washed over Alex’s face at seeing Lacey was visible even from fifty yards away. She looked awful, though. The welt and bruises around her neck covered the entirety of her throat in darkly mottled purples and blues. Lacey’s vision blurred with tears as she ripped free from Dumont’s hold and ran. Alex had reached the bottom of the concrete steps when Lacey hit her, arms going around her and hugging her tightly.

  Alex gasped, flinching a little, her voice clenched with pain and barely above a whisper. ‘Not so hard, baby. You’re squeezing the life out of me.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Lacey
loosened her hold a little.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Alex whispered in her ear.

  Lacey felt the woman rub at her back, right between her shoulder blades, and she almost burst out crying. ‘I told him I know where Red is.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Red. The girl he’s looking for.’

  Alex didn’t say anything.

  ‘It’s the girl we saw crash her car, Alex. The one I took the necklace from.’

  Alex held Lacey’s shoulders and gently pushed her back far enough to meet her eyes. ‘You’re sure?’

  Lacey nodded fast, not sure how long they’d have before Dumont separated them. ‘I showed it to him. It’s hers. He wants me to take his men to her. Then he’ll let me go.’

  Already Alex was nodding. ‘That’s good. Go with them. Do whatever it takes, just get away as soon as you can. Don’t get all the way back there if you don’t have to.’

  ‘He said he’ll release you, too. When they bring Red back. He promised.’ Her voice cracked on that last word and tears filled her eyes again because she knew how ridiculous that sounded, how unlikely a man like Dumont would be to keep his word.

  ‘That’s great, honey,’ Alex whispered as firmly as she could with a voice that was damaged and broken. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘You always say that,’ Lacey accused, the tears spilling over. ‘And then you end up getting strangled or something.’

  Alex gave her a pained smile. ‘My intention is always to be fine, though. That’s the main thing.’

  ‘Enough!’ Dumont was suddenly there. He snatched up Lacey’s wrist and pulled her away from Alex. ‘Louis, you’re going. Pick someone else to go with you. Now.’

  Lou didn’t argue but went to a stoop-backed man stood over by the Winnebago’s rear bumper and exchanged a few words with him. Both men came back over to them.

  ‘Take her.’ Dumont shoved Lacey at them, and she stumbled into their arms, wrenching away from them as soon as she regained her balance. ‘When she’s led you to Red, and you’re sure it’s her, let her go. You hear me? You release her, alive and well, and come back here. If you hurt her, I’ll rip out your spines. We clear?’

  Lou and the stoop-backed man nodded.

  Dumont looked to Lacey. ‘Good enough?’

  She let the question hang inside her head, waiting for Voice, needing him to make the decision for her even if he was all in her imagination, because already an unbearable guilt was festering, growing inside her.

  It’s good enough, Voice said. There might be a way to come back for her.

  She looked over at Alex, and the woman nodded to her again. A resolute nod; nothing weak in how she stood there and met Lacey’s eyes.

  Lacey turned to Dumont and said, ‘Remember what you promised.’

  Dumont threw a hand up. ‘Posy! Open the door!’

  With a clatter, the rolling door began to crank upwards, a bright strip of sunlight widening on the concrete as it rose.

  The two men grabbed her.

  ‘Alex!’ Lacey struggled as they forced her into the front of the truck. ‘No! Wait! ALEX!’

  She continued to fight them until Lou climbed in beside her, behind the wheel, and punched her in the ear. She slumped in the seat away from him, holding the side of her head, her ear already swelling, hot and painful. A big boom clanged through the cab, and she flinched as the truck rocked on its suspension. Dumont stepped back from Lou’s door, a large, distended bulge on its inner panel where he’d kicked it.

  Lou held up a hand in apology. ‘Apologies, Boss. Won’t happen again.’

  ‘See that it doesn’t.’

  When Dumont turned away, Lou sent Lacey a sly grin.

  Posy had finished opening the roller shutter. It took two attempts for Lou to shut his dented door, but when he had he started the engine. Lacey twisted in her seat as the truck pulled forward, watching as Alex moved further away from her. Dumont came to stand at her side, one hand lifting to rest on the woman’s shoulder.

  Lacey held on to Alex’s eyes, wouldn’t look away, right up until Lou drove the truck out into the sunlight and Alex disappeared from view, and even then Lacey continued to stare out of the rear window as the roller door clattered down in a fast, noisy descent.

  It was the only thing you could do, Voice said. At least one of you has a better chance of getting out of this alive now.

  ‘What about Alex’s chances?’ she whispered.

  Voice didn’t answer.

  For once, Lacey didn’t have anything to say, either. She twisted back around in her seat and stared unseeingly at the glove compartment.

  It’s not such bad odds. Two and a half survivors out of three.

  It took her a second to catch up.

  ‘Two and a half? What’re you talking about?’

  Lou took out a hand-held walkie-talkie and spoke into it. ‘Heads up, Jacky. Boss wants to roll out in thirty minutes.’ He leaned forward and looked up at the roof of a neighbouring building, and Lacey saw a man step to its edge. He waved down at them. The guy replied that he was on his way, his voice sounding tinny through the radio’s small speaker. Because she was busy listening to all this, Lacey completely missed what Voice said.

  ‘What?’ she said, not caring that she was speaking aloud.

  Two and a half out of three isn’t so bad. You’re still kicking. And I’m pretty sure the Boy Scout is. And it’s not like Alex is out of the picture yet, either. She’s the half, he added helpfully.

  Lacey’s heart reared up in her chest, punching her breastbone.

  ‘Say that bit again. About the Boy Scout.’ She was having difficulty catching her breath.

  I saaaid, Voice repeated in an exaggerated way, that the Boy Scout isn’t entirely dead. At least, he wasn’t the last time we saw him.

  THE PART BETWEEN PARTS

  The Man Who Was Lazarus

  CHAPTER 1

  Pilgrim wished he were dead. If it would mean the abominable hacking pain in his head would disappear, then he would gladly offer himself up to whoever the hell was in charge of hell these days and dance a merry jig to gain their favour. Anything – anything – to make it stop.

  He had been cold for a long time, but the cold meant nothing in comparison to the molten agony flowing up his neck into his skull. It was like someone had chopped his head clean off and replaced it with the searing ball of the sun. Although shivers racked his frame and made his teeth chatter, his head flared hot with rancid pain, throbbing in sync with his too-fast heartbeat.

  At some point he had managed to roll on to his back, and then the second fiery sun in the sky jabbed hot pokers into his eyes.

  He lay there for what felt like months with the pain, and when he finally did manage to lift one hand to probe at the back of his head, his fingers found a pulpy gouge behind his right ear. Bone shifted sickly underneath his gentle pressing, and pain exploded like a nebula. He flinched rigid and cried out, a high, piercing cry like that of a wounded animal. Then blessed darkness claimed him once more.

  When he awoke, and found he still wasn’t dead, he groaned miserably. The sound didn’t last long, though, because his throat wasn’t a throat any more – it was a long strip of broken glass. Swallowing was impossible and breathing was difficult. Air whistled down his windpipe.

  He eventually became tired of the pain and the inability to breathe properly and his burning need for water. So he sat up.

  He regretted it immediately. A stabbing sensation pierced his side, and he clamped a hand over his ribs. He dry-heaved, and that small, convulsive, peristaltic movement set his head to thumping in sickly waves. He waited and, when it passed, the pain became a fraction more tolerable.

  He somehow found himself standing, weaving and blinking in the sun. He squinted at the wrecked car in front of him. Blinked again, because his left eye didn’t seem to be focusing properly. His right eye was still good, and he used that to study the broken glass, the blood, the tyreless wheel rim. That should m
ean something to him, he knew, but his scrambled brain wouldn’t let him grasp on to the what or the how or the why. And it hurt to think too hard, so he let it go. He stumbled over to the wheel tracks in the soft dirt at the edge of the road. Knew there had been a second vehicle here. That meant something, too.

  He needed water. That was his first concern. Now that he was standing up, his wanting to die had shifted down the list a place or two. He gazed back towards town. It was within walking distance. He squinted far up the road, turned around and squinted the other way. The horizon greeted him in both directions with nothing moving between him and it.

  He paused on his way back to the car and bent to collect something from the ground. He almost fell flat on his face when the world tilted like a carnival mirror around him. Straightening up carefully, he breathed slowly, letting the pain recede, rhythmically flexing his fingers around the rock he’d found. It was heavy, as big as a baby’s head. A good size.

  He brushed the glass off the driver’s seat before getting in, placing the rock on the passenger seat beside him. Holding his left hand in front of his face, he noted the palsied tremor, the dried blood. He couldn’t still his hand’s trembling, so he lowered it again and began to search. He found a crumpled map in the footwell and, on the back seat, a dark red scarf with tassels. The slinky material slipped between his fingers, the tassels tickling. When he held it up, the red fabric was so thin he could see the road right through it. It turned the whole world blood-red. He fashioned it into a bandana and tied it over his head, not tightening it too much when the back of his skull protested. The map he folded and slid into a pocket. He checked his other pockets and found a scratched-up Zippo, which worked, a penknife and a roll of string. With nothing left to check, he passed his fingers over the ignition and was surprised to find the key there. Closing his eyes, he twisted the key and the engine fired to life on the first try.

  ‘Potjack,’ he muttered.

  Turning the rattling car around, the wheel rim juddering and screeching along the asphalt, Pilgrim headed back into town.