Garcelle still watched her, but her terror had faded to mere fear. For a moment she’d appeared to be more afraid of Ida than of her attackers.
“It’s okay,” Ida told her. “Everything’s going to be all right now.”
Garcelle nodded, folding her arms across her chest in modesty. Her tattered dress hung in ruins. One of her friends stepped up and helped her to sit down on the pavement.
Ida looked around. There were more bodies on the ground than people still standing. Smokey and Anton were both hurt. Dabney and the injured driver were unconscious, or worse. The four rioters were all subdued, either from gas or Ida’s own work. They needed urgent medical attention, but that meant going for help. “Wait here,” she said. “I’m going to fetch help. I’ll be back soon.”
But walking was more effort than she had anticipated. Her exertions had left her drained. Her boots felt like lead weights and every step took an enormous act of will. Soon she was shuffling instead of walking, her feet impossible to lift. Halfway back along the alleyway she stopped for breath and leaned against the wall for support. The bricks of the wall were cold, damp and rough, but as good as a feather bed. Ida closed her eyes. Just for a moment. She only wanted a little rest.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Anton’s arm burned with pain. The cudgel must have shattered every bone in his lower arm. He could no longer move it below the elbow, and each time he tried the pain shot through him like a jolt of lightning, bringing tears to his eyes. He feared he would pass out from the torment.
He’d lost his glasses when he fell down and couldn’t be certain what he’d seen. The man with the cudgel had torn Garcelle’s dress, he had heard that loudly enough, but after that, he couldn’t say for sure. The Black Dispatch, Ida, had become a blur. Without the help of his glasses, she’d already been hazy, but she had blurred more when she’d attacked the rioters, moving with blinding speed. Impossible speed. But what did Anton really know? Ida was a trained Black Dispatch, and he could barely see past the end of his own nose without his glasses.
He groped around on the ground with his uninjured hand, his fingers seeking out his dropped glasses, but they were nowhere to be found. Without them he was useless. Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes, and hot pain shot through his injured arm as he fumbled along the cold, hard ground. Then Ava knelt beside him and lifted the glasses from the pavement. “Thanks,” he said, as she slid them carefully back onto his face. The copper frame had twisted askew, but miraculously the lenses were intact.
Garcelle and the other girls were huddling together under the streetlamp, her friends holding her for support. She looked shocked but safe.
The other Black Dispatch, Dabney, had been hurt badly, though, and lay motionless next to the other injured man.
Anton looked for Smokey, and saw his friend struggling to his feet. Blood trickled from Smokey’s lips and the skin around his mouth looked broken. Like Anton, he’d taken a nasty blow from the cudgel.
A look of cold determination filled Smokey’s face. He limped to where the cudgel had been abandoned and picked it up.
“What are you doing, Smokey?” Anton asked. “Ida said to wait here.”
His friend ignored him. Instead he walked slowly to the prone body of the thug in the checkered mask. The teen lay in the street, clutching his face. Even without his glasses, Anton had seen Ida rip into him with her fingernails, splattering blood as she slashed at him. He was moaning quietly and didn’t look like a threat anymore.
“Smokey?” Anton said nervously.
Smokey’s attention was fixed on the injured teen. “Not so much fun when it happens to you, is it?” he said.
The teen said nothing. He just rolled over, his hands covering his bloodied face.
Smokey stepped on him, pushing his shoe against the young man’s neck. “I’m talking to you, peckerwood,” he said. “But I guess you ain’t got much to say, now.”
The young man moaned under the pressure of Smokey’s shoe.
“This is what happens when you pick on Negroes younger than you,” Smokey continued. “It’s what you get when you attack a defenseless young woman. Maybe you’ve learned your lesson now.” He turned to Garcelle. “Do you think he’s learned his lesson?”
Anton watched in alarm as his sister slowly shook her head from side to side.
“Should I teach him properly?” Smokey asked. He gripped the handle of the cudgel firmly.
“No,” Anton said. “Leave him, Smokey.”
But Smokey was waiting for Garcelle. All the fear had gone from her now, replaced by a growing look of admiration toward Smokey. She nodded silently but resolutely.
“No!” Anton shouted again, but it was no use.
Ava laid a freckled hand on his good arm, kindly but firmly. “Sometimes, people deserve what they get,” she said.
Smokey lifted the cudgel high and brought it down against the thug’s right shoulder. It struck home with a loud crack and the young man screamed. “Bet that hurt,” Smokey said. “That’s for what you did to me.” He slammed the club against the side of the thug’s leg, producing another scream. “That’s for what you did to my friend.” Smokey nodded in Anton’s direction.
Anton watched in horror.
Smokey tossed the cudgel to the ground. “And this is for what you did to Garcelle.” He kicked hard, driving his shoe into the thug’s side. The dull thud that resulted was somehow worse than the crack of the cudgel against bone. There was no scream from the youth that time, just a grunt, and a sound like air being squeezed from a balloon. Smokey kicked again, and again, and again. When the thug stopped making a noise, Smokey stopped kicking. He stood in the middle of the alleyway, his fists clenched into tight brown balls.
“I reckon that’s enough,” Smokey said. “Didn’t nobody ever tell you? Bullies always get what they deserve.” His shoulders slumped then and the anger seemed to drain away. Suddenly he was just a skinny teenager again. He slipped his small hands into the pockets of his baggy trousers then walked back toward Anton, looking shamefaced and tired.
Anton couldn’t look at his friend’s face. Instead he looked past him to where Ida had stopped. She was leaning against the wall and didn’t seem to have noticed what Smokey had done. She was no longer moving. He didn’t think she would be able to fetch help.
He was wondering what to do about it when he saw something else. Just beyond Ida, at the end of the alleyway, a dog appeared and ran toward her. Not a dog though. It looked more like a rat. But it was too big to be a rat, though… or a dog. The creature was as big as a large man, with thick black fur and a long nose. In the darkness of the alley, its yellow eyes glowed brightly. The beast ran fast, and as it drew near to Ida, Anton’s attention shifted to the whiteness of its sharp teeth.
***
Ida saw the creature as it rounded the corner and entered the alleyway. It bounded toward her on its four strong legs, closing the distance between them rapidly. She leaned against the wall, watching through heavily-lidded eyes as it drew nearer, readying itself to leap. She’d seen its kind before, that night in Place Congo when the Beast had attacked Scobell.
This Beast looked different, though. The first had been smaller, with chestnut-brown fur, but this one had a pelt as black as coal and an enormous body, its huge head anchored by a thick neck, its muscles pumping like pistons as it ran. It was more like a bear than a rat. And it carried a strange smell, of oil and smoke. Its jaws hung open, showing white teeth like daggers.
It slowed as it approached, trotting forward carefully, its hackles raised. It filled the dim alleyway with a deep throaty hiss.
Ida pressed herself against the cold, rough wall, every muscle in her body twitching to escape. But she had no strength to run. She needed the wall’s help just to stand.
The giant rat padded steadily toward her, sniffing the air. It came closer, baring its teeth, its long pink tongue drooling saliva. Hot breath steamed before it and its yellow eyes glowed like torches. Ida looked on
helplessly.
The creature stopped abruptly, sniffing the ground. Then it stepped forward uncertainly. It came right up to her, its long nose twitching. She waited for it to bite her. She was so tired, she could offer no resistance. But the beast paused, its yellow eyes filled with puzzlement. It stared at her face, measuring her, as the first Beast had done—an unsettlingly human gaze behind its alien eyes. Ida returned its stare calmly. Whatever happened now was up to the rat.
The creature turned and ran. She watched it continue down the alleyway until it reached the others—Dabney, Anton, Smokey, Ava, and the rest. She watched in horror as the monster drew closer to them. When it leapt, she cried out.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
The rat ran closer. Anton couldn’t take his eyes off its white teeth. He had never liked rodents. Their sharp front teeth and feasting on garbage made them monsters in his eyes. Now a giant rat was coming for him, and there was no way he could avoid it.
The thug that Smokey had beaten lay motionless on the ground, but two of the other vigilantes struggled back to their feet and turned to face the oncoming creature. One clutched a knife. The other brandished Porcelain Doll’s long metal pole. He turned the iron bar toward the rat, like a spear against a cavalry charge.
The rat flew at him, soaring through the air, its tail outstretched. Its huge open maw seemed almost big enough to swallow the youth whole. It dodged the pole easily, sweeping past the thug’s outstretched arms, and brushed the bar aside.
The jaws of the monster locked around the man’s throat, white teeth slicing savagely. The rat continued its arc as if nothing had happened, landing gracefully on all fours as the body of the man collapsed to the ground, his neck punctured on both sides, head dangling at an impossible angle, blood pumping from severed arteries.
The rat turned and flew again in a single movement, this time taking the knife wielder. The man barely had enough time to scream before he was dead.
The rat stopped, panting for breath beside its two victims, surveying the survivors with its cold yellow eyes. It circled around them, padding closer and sniffing the ground.
Still Anton stood mesmerized by its teeth.
“Anton!” Garcelle and her friends huddled together beneath the streetlamp. Smokey stood next to them, but a hollow look filled his eyes and he seemed incapable of action. He had no weapon but his clenched fists. Ava stood to one side, her beauty like a beacon in the darkness. The sight of her made Anton suddenly brave, and he turned back to look at the Beast.
Cruel golden eyes returned his gaze. He saw no pity in its eyes, only hunger. Yet Anton stood his ground. Only he stood between the monster and Ava, and he was going nowhere.
The creature’s jaws parted again, and it prepared to leap.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Robert followed Virginia around a street corner just as another bolt of electricity flew past. Brick dust pricked his eyes as the lightning struck a building, tearing a chunk out of the brickwork. The lightning carbine-wielding constables followed them relentlessly, their masks and helmets covering their faces, guns in their hands, firing lightning bolts as they ran.
Robert and Virginia had run all the way from the river seeking to evade their pursuers, but the constables came from all directions, more joining from side streets as they ran. Whichever way they turned their path seemed blocked.
“This way,” Virginia called. She dashed down a small side alley off the main street, Robert following close behind. As soon as they turned, Robert smelled rat.
Virginia stopped abruptly and Robert ran past her, desperate to escape the bolts of electricity. The alleyway smelled strongly of rat and a second later, Robert saw why. Another rat-kin stood in the middle of the alley, poised to attack a teenage boy. Behind them huddled a group of young women and another boy. There were bodies strewn along the alleyway, and to his left, a woman leaned against a wall. A high brick wall stood at the end of the alleyway, but it was no barrier to a rat. Robert could bound it in one leap.
He slowed down and sniffed. The woman had a strange scent, half-human, half… something else. She had been bitten or scratched, but had not changed despite the light from the full moon.
He had seen her before. Ida was her name. She had saved his life on Halloween night and been kind to him in the hospital. He padded to her and sniffed her face, but she didn’t react. Whatever had happened to her, she was totally exhausted.
Instead he turned his attention to the big black rat. A familiar smell rushed over him. Even in rat form, the Axeman stank of oil, leather and unclean female genitalia. Robert padded forward, Virginia following closely.
The Axeman paused in his attack and turned to look at the new arrivals. The teenage boy continued to stand stock still in the middle of the alleyway, his face a mask of terror. Robert walked up to the Axeman and stood before him. The big rat hissed at him, a warning.
In his ear, Virginia hissed. “Robert, we have to run.”
The huge rat glared at him angrily and gave another warning hiss. “This prey is mine,” the Axeman declared. “Go!”
One of the teenagers gasped when the rat spoke. Long black hair fell in thick curls around her face. She wore a torn black dress, revealing smooth brown skin that glowed like honey under the streetlamp.
The Axeman snarled a third time.
Robert studied the Axeman’s huge head, jaws parted to reveal white teeth and pink tongue. Yellow eyes shone brightly in black fur. The Axeman was a rat now, like Virginia. He should have felt a bond. They were children of the moon—he, the Axeman and Virginia. So why did he feel connected to the children instead?
Can we count on you, Robert?
Those children were human, not rat-kin and certainly not croc-kin. But they were closer in blood to him than any rat. Were they not both apex predators? Were they not both the most adaptable and intelligent creatures in God’s creation? How could he hurt them?
And children descended from Mother Africa are the most adaptable; the most intelligent, Robert thought. He thought of all the people with black-skin he had killed. He had violated. He had destroyed in his bloodlust.
I am a monster.
Everything he touched he defiled. The girl standing beneath the streetlamp was just as beautiful as Virginia. All his victims were, because life itself was precious and sacred and beautiful.
The Axeman took a step closer, pawing angrily at the ground, fury in his cold yellow eyes. Looking at the Axeman was like staring into a black mirror and seeing the worst of himself, the monster Robert had become.
Can we count on you, Robert?
He remembered Virginia’s vision, her vision of a future where people of all races and religions lived together in harmony, where all were treated the same. He understood that vision, but now had a vision of his own—a world not where everyone lived in harmony, but a world where all were treated equally and all were left to be who they were destined to be; to thrive, without interference from others. And if he killed the children, or permitted the Axeman to kill them, he would killed that vision. He wasn’t going to do that.
“Come on, Robert.” It was Virginia, by his side. “Leave the Axeman to his kill.”
Robert shook his head.
The Axeman hissed, more menacing than ever. He took a step forward.
Robert held his ground. “No,” he said to the big rat. “Leave the children. Let them go.”
The Axeman scratched at the ground with sharp claws. He flexed his broad shoulders and readied his hind legs, preparing to spring.
Robert braced himself.
The Axeman powered forward, a rush of blackness silhouetted by the bright streetlamp. Two yellow points of light and flashing white teeth closed in on Robert.
Robert flew aside, feeling the sweep of air as the great rat flew past, jaws snapping closed on empty space. He spun round, his great tail swishing behind him as the Axeman landed and turned to face him again.
Virginia stood to one side, her brow knotted in confusion. “Rob
ert! Leave him. We have to get away.”
The Axeman prowled forward, unchecked fury contorting his features. He opened his jaws and screeched. The noise tore through the enclosed alleyway like a thunderstorm, yet Robert felt no fear. He had always been part of something bigger than himself. He had lost sight of that vision briefly, but now he saw everything in pin-sharp focus. Right and wrong had revealed themselves, and Robert had no doubt which side he was on. He positioned himself in front of the children and the injured men and squared up to the wild rat before him.
“I am a son of Sobek,” Robert shouted, rising to his full, terrifying height. “A god. You are a rat. There ain’t no Rat-God. You can’t win.”
The Axeman rushed him again, his huge bulk flying out of the darkness, strong jaws and sharp teeth slavering. Again, Robert dodged, but the Axeman was ready. The beast twisted in mid-air, slashing with his forepaws and raking Robert’s back.
Robert fell sideways. The Axeman’s claws couldn’t penetrate his scaly armor, but the rat-kin was strong enough to knock him off balance.
Robert rolled over, avoiding the snap of jaws as the Axeman spun around and lunged. He sprang back onto his feet and claws, turning, once again, to face his opponent.
Behind the Axeman, Virginia gazed on in horror.
Robert roared back at the Axeman, showing his own wicked teeth in defiance, but the great black creature advanced steadily.
Robert dropped to all fours, protecting his soft underbelly. Step by step the Axeman came closer, yellow eyes narrowed. Robert stood his ground, never once taking his gaze from the Axeman’s cruel eyes.
Suddenly the Axeman charged, forepaws raised, jaws widening to bite. Robert met him head on, and they danced together, jaws and talons locked in a grim pirouette. The black rat sought to push him over, but Robert stepped sideways to keep his balance.
Robert was much stronger, larger, but the Axeman was more agile.
Virginia watched, unable, or unwilling, to intervene.
Gunsmoke Blues Page 27
