Kill the Wild

by S T Branton

  "That's not entirely accurate," Archie objected.

  "Really? Where exactly have we gotten?"

  "You've learned a lot about tacos." He’d obviously been unprepared for me to challenge his optimism.

  "That's true," I conceded. "But that won’t do us a lot of good when it comes to the Harbingers. They're still operating. We know they're doing something, but we can't figure out what. So, either they're getting smarter, or they're planning something huge. All I know is, I haven't made any progress in tracking them down."

  "Still no luck figuring out Hobbes?" Archie finished his taco and reached for another one. The tongue had grown on him.

  "No."

  "What do we know about him?" Ally asked.

  "That his name is Hobbes," I said.

  "Oh."

  "Yeah. It's the minor little details we're missing, like who he is, why he's doing this, and why he framed me for a disgusting mass murder.”

  “Technically, it was your dad he framed.”

  I rolled my eyes at Ally. She shrugged. “What? It’s the truth. No way Hobbes could have foreseen you volunteering as tribute or whatever to save your dad.”

  I sighed, not wanting to continue with that line of thought. She was right, but more often than not, talking about my family filled me with emotions I didn’t have time to deal with. I knew they were safe—Ally gave me weekly updates on their wellbeing—but the fact that my presence back in The Near put them at risk meant I couldn’t see them. I had to focus on saving the world. The family reunion would be my reward only after I succeeded.

  "Right now, I'm more concerned about the Philosophers pulling that trap. It means they're closing in," Archie said.

  "I can handle it. There's nothing else I can do." I dropped the taco in my hands and wiped the juice from my fingers while letting out an exasperated growl. "Unless there's a special rune you have tucked away somewhere that will let me suck up all the Farsider scum and keep them in little tubes Ghostbusters-style. That's something I could appreciate."

  Archie narrowed his eyes at me. "Hey. Not all Farsiders are assholes like the Fae. Some are like everybody else, trying to make it in the world."

  He sounded offended, but I wasn't convinced. "Solon always said the same thing, and I was willing to buy it in The Deep. Magical prison isn’t exactly a fair sample size. But my experience since coming back to Earth calls BS on your ‘hashtag, not all Farsiders’ nonsense. Almost every single non-human I’ve ever met wants me dead. The smart move is to assume they’re all evil and act accordingly.”

  He shrugged. "I'm a Farsider, and you keep coming back to me."

  Ally cocked her head at him, her huge dark eyes roving over his face and considering him as she chewed slowly. She had foregone the tongue. In her mouth was boring old chicken. "Why are you so different?"

  He shrugged again. "There are almost no Farfolk born in The Heights. I was born here. After Pan'Rhea, most Farsiders were. Like them, I was born into hiding. We have to make our way in a world that isn't quite our home, surrounded by those who don’t understand us. It isn't easy. And humans don’t make it any easier.”

  "Humans have a right to defend themselves," I argued.

  "Farsiders do, too. It's not like it was our choice to come here. The Pax Philosophia applies to us, as well."

  I backed off, wanting to enjoy my tacos in peace rather than letting the conversation get any more heated. A little while later, I balled up the trash from lunch.

  "We'll leave you to your work," I told Archie. "Be nice to the table for the rest of the day. You gave it a hard time there."

  Ally and I left his house and walked through the city, our pace slow as we savored the moments of not being chased by anything that wanted to eat us.

  "I can't believe I forgot to tell you this. You know who I saw the other day?" Ally asked.

  "Me?"

  "No. Well, yes. But other than that?"

  "Who?"

  "Anthony Rodriguez." Her voice reached a higher note that made me feel like we were back in high school.

  "Really?" I sighed. "He's gorgeous." I straightened and looked at her questioningly when I realized it had been ten years since I saw the man, and a lot could have happened to diminish his appeal. Aging was less than kind to some people. "Was gorgeous?"

  "Still is," she confirmed. "He mentioned you."

  My eyes widened. "He did not! What did you say?"

  Ally tilted her head at me while narrowing her eyes. "That I missed you dearly, and it was tough going these ten years without my best friend who disappeared from her living room never to be seen or heard from again."

  "Oh." We walked a few more steps. "Bummer."

  She shrugged. "It happens."

  We rounded a corner, and I nearly knocked Ally down by sticking my arm out to stop her. In front of us was a group of punks, probably in their mid- to late-twenties, circling someone that they were taunting. I tried to hear what they were saying, but their words only came to me in snippets of the brutish, vulgar variety. Whoever they were circling was smaller than them and likely not prepared to fight off what looked like six average-sized meathead morons.

  “You’re not going to get in the mid—” Ally began, but I was already marching my way toward them. “Of course you are. Because, hey, six to one is good odds when you’re completely insane.”

  “Hey, asshats,” I shouted at the group, but they didn’t seem to hear me over their game of ‘make someone feel like shit.’ “I said, hey, asshats!”

  That time I caught one of their attention, and he smirked at me before going back to his fun. He slapped one of his friends on the shoulder and pointed at me. The friend looked up, his wide, dumb face red with rage.

  “Who the hell are you?” Venom laced his voice, and spittle fell from the corner of his perennially downturned mouth.

  “Leave him alone,” I demanded as I got within feet of them.

  “Fuck you,” said the one closest and turned to shove me. That was exceptionally poor planning.

  I snapped him over in a hip toss, using his momentum against him, and when he hit the ground, I twisted the arm I hadn’t yet released and heard an audible snap from his shoulder area. His sudden scream of anguish at his now-broken arm drowned out his initial girlish scream of surprise.

  A hand tried to grab my shoulder to spin me around, and I obliged by spinning much faster than the person intended and bringing my fist with it. I connected with his nose, crushing it back into the skull and sending a stream of snot-filled blood into the air and down his face. He stumbled backward while I kicked one of his buddies in the gut. He crumpled to the ground on one knee, and I stepped on his upright one to get some height to land a blow to the chin of one of the other jackasses.

  They scattered. Three ran in the direction of the main street, around a corner, and off to wherever they had come from. Another ran past Ally, who surreptitiously tripped him. He scrambled back to his feet to run some more and rounded the corner we’d come from. That left Broken Arm McGee and Captain Flatnose.

  Before I could do anything else, I caught sight of Splinter crawling up the back of Flatnose’s leg. Flatnose was now advancing on me, his jaw set in the way that goons since the caveman days have done to indicate that they intend to pound whatever they’re looking at into submission. As he came within prime punching range, his body locked up and his mouth opened. No words came out, but his jaw flapped a couple of times like it wanted to. Then suddenly, he screamed…and screamed and screamed and screamed.

  Then, Flatnose crumpled to the ground while thwacking his body in various places and keeping his legs together. Splinter dove out of the man’s pants leg and bounded over to me. When he saw Splinter, Flatnose’s eyes grew wide, and he stood to run but hobbled and kept his thighs tight.

  “I don’t want to know where you bit him, do I?” I asked Splinter as he wiggled his way back into my pocket.

  “Thank you,” came a voice from the middle of where the circle had been. I look
ed down and saw a Farsider kid. He looked vaguely human, but there was a gnomish quality to his cherub cheeks and short stature. It would explain the bullying. Even if they didn’t know why those punks could tell this kid was different. I tried to push Archie’s words out of my mind as I reached out.

  Suddenly, the Farsider’s eyes widened, and he backed up to the storefront of the building nearest him. “You. You’re…you’re Sara Slick!”

  With that he took off, running for all he was worth and only looking back once when he rounded a corner and disappeared.

  “You’re welcome,” I called after him.

  “You have such a wonderful reputation, Slick. That kid was scared shitless of you,” Ally joked. I didn’t laugh.

  “The only way to get the world not to hate me is to find Hobbes and prove my innocence.” I eyed Broken Arm McGee.

  “Then that’s what we’ll do. Together.” Ally put her arm around my shoulder. I leaned my head in to touch hers and sighed.

  Chapter Five

  Splinter wasn’t a big creature. He was small enough to take up residence in my pocket and be quite happy about it. But, the spiky little guy snored like a sailor three days into shore leave. Or my Great-Auntie Birdie. Nobody wanted to share their room with Great-Auntie Birdie when she visited for Thanksgiving.

  My rodent companion was in full-on Macy's Day Parade turkey-induced snoring beside me on our hotel room bed, but I couldn't sleep. The room around me had come to feel like home. After spending so many years stuffed into cells with countless other people, grimy dangerous creatures, and the occasional corpse I talked to until it became a skeleton, the solitude was a luxury.

  It didn't feel as much like a luxury that night. It felt like straight up being alone. No matter how much I tried to close my eyes and force myself to rest, my brain wouldn't let me. The events of the day looped through my mind like a torturous middle school mixtape created by a particularly uncreative ex-boyfriend.

  Your heart simply cannot go on that long, Adam.

  I couldn't stop thinking about the way the Farsider kid looked at me. It wasn't the same intimidation that younger people have on their faces when they look at an adult who's angry with them. It wasn't even the startled reaction of a boy who couldn't possibly imagine a girl laying the smackdown on him. He wasn't upset because of my one-woman anti-bullying campaign that saved his ass or that I proved to him his fighting skills weren't as impressive as he wanted to think they were.

  The look in his eyes was sheer terror. He knew who I was, and was deeply, intensely afraid of me.

  There was a time when I wouldn't have gotten anywhere near that type of reaction. I wasn't the one inspiring fear. Instead, I was the one suffering it every moment of every day. I could still so distinctly remember my first days in The Deep. The hopelessness and helplessness of not understanding why I was there and fully believing those dirty, miserable walls would be where I died made me feel hollow. The only thing that saved me from imploding and giving into the darkness was Solon.

  The powerful wizard didn't teach me not to be afraid. That's not something he could have taught. Instead, he taught me to take that fear and not run away from it. He taught me to turn it into myself and use it to protect and fuel me. That fear told me when I needed to act. It told me when I needed to push back against it and force it behind me.

  Then Solon taught me to kill. I would never forget those first kills. Never in my life would I have imagined being a person who would take the life of another living creature. I scooped up spiders and brought them outside and opened windows for flies. But there came a time when I no longer had the option for compassion.

  It was my life or theirs, and I was going to win every single time. That's when I knew I still had fight in me. The first time I was able to look into the eyes of another inmate and tear his belly open with the switchblade I took from Solon's hand, I knew somewhere deep within me there was still value and drive. I hadn't given up yet.

  But those eyes were still with me. Bloodshot and wild, they stared back at me from the scarred face of a battle-torn goblin who knew nothing but blood and torment. They met me with a threat. But as soon as the lifeblood poured across my hand and spilled out onto the floor, that threat became a plea, then a release. I wanted to think after that first death I wouldn't be afraid, but that wasn't the case. More deaths, more fear, more eyes. The eyes always stayed with me. Sometimes they held anger and hatred until the very last second. Other times, they almost seemed grateful.

  It was terrifying, then. That world was nothing but horror and clawing to stay alive. In this world, I was the terrifying one.

  That was a lot to process. As I tried to think it through, I toyed with the locket Solon gave me. My fingers flipped and twirled it on my chest and occasionally picked it up so I could look at it. It was one of the most important possessions I'd ever had in my life. Not only because of how many times since he gave it to me that it'd saved me, but also the link it gave me to my mentor.

  Having the rune made me feel like I still had Solon close to me. It still hurt so much that he was gone. There were moments when I almost turned to talk to him or tried to call for him so I could ask for his help. In the instant’s flash it took for the realization to settle in, the pain was always fresh. It was like I had watched my trusted friend die again.

  But this rune carried me through. It reminded me of the darkest moments of my existence when Solon still saw light. Even when I was sprawled on the ground, waiting for the next assault to finally finish me off so I could join the blood splatters on the stone and the bones in the pit, he saw more.

  It wasn't an accident that he saved me that night. He chose to. He could have left me to get tossed around like a volleyball by the giantess, spooky marshmallow spider, and goblin with mommy issues, then eaten as their midnight snack. He didn't. He saved me and kept saving me.

  And the rune kept me going. There had been so many times when I was right on the brink of disaster, and this little creation pulled me right back to save my ass. I wondered if he knew that would happen, if he gave me the rune as a source of comfort and a precaution, or if he could look ahead and see the challenges I'd face. One conversation we had reverberated in my mind.

  After one of the fiercest fights I ever had to endure within the walls of The Deep, he sat with me in the cell. We sat there in silence for several long minutes. Both of us saw the guards lurking in the back of the gathered crowd as I thrashed and flailed with the cyclops. They watched with as much sickening delight as the other inmates.

  It was a sinking moment for me. I already knew I was screwed. That wasn't something that could miss my awareness after more than about two hours in The Deep. But seeing the guards like that reinforced how dark my future was. Finally, he turned to me.

  "One day, I won't be here. One day, you'll be on your own. Trust yourself as much as you trust me. Because I do."

  I tried not to disturb Splinter as I climbed off the slightly damp, sagging bed. The careful effort was wasted. He flopped over into the indentation I left and kept right on snoring. I made my way over to the window, then moved the curtains aside and looked out over the parking lot.

  I wasn't really alone. Out in the shadows, I saw Dog marching paces around the hotel. I didn't know what he was doing there, but it wasn't the first time he'd shown up. Over the last several weeks, he'd shown up a handful of times and did the exact same thing. He paced around the hotel for hours, never wavering in his path or making any effort to communicate with me.

  He believed me when I told him his pack's deaths weren't at my hands. At least, I thought he did. He seemed to recognize my innocence and know I was being framed. But I still hated that his life was destroyed and somehow, although I didn't know how, I was connected to it.

  There was only one option in front of me. If I wanted to help Dog and myself, I had to find the real heinous one. And that meant finding Hobbes.

  Chapter Six

  I finally fell asleep at some point during the
night and woke up to the sound of Splinter munching his way through a bag of Cheese Doodles on the dresser. It wasn't one of those piddly little individual packets that barely had more than a handful. I'd gone for the full family size, and Splinter had established himself as his very own family.

  Almost his entire body was inside the bag. Only his chubby little rodent butt stuck out of the opening. Streaks of unnatural, vibrant orange cheese powder clung to his spikes. It was a good look for him. A little punk makeover to give him some extra edge. He wriggled backward and looked over at me.

  "Started breakfast without me?"

  His whiskers twitched as he considered what I said. He delved back into the bag and came out with one of the doodles in his mouth. He threw himself off the dresser and landed on the comforter beside me, then scrambled up to me to offer the crunchy snack. He was such a good listener.

  "Thank you." I took it from him and popped it into my mouth. "Grab me another one."

  I held my hand out to show him it was empty, helping him understand what I said. He scurried away and came back with another. I was taking it out of his mouth when the door to my room opened and Ally walked in. She cringed when she saw me take the doodle and bite through it.

  "You did not just eat something out of his mouth."

  "Yes, I did. Why not?"

  She closed the door and gave the slight shudder she always did when entering my room. In her defense, she was doing better with it. She willingly came inside and lingered for longer than a few seconds now. That was saying a lot for her. It still felt like a palace to me.