Thomas’ head rested against the siding, tilted at a sharp angle that looked incredibly uncomfortable. However, his chest still breathed a steady rhythm. He had been curled in between the seats. The shotgun fell from his grip and got lost somewhere in the bus. He stirred and then opened his eyes. They were hazy at first, but the blurs soon sharpened. A burst of pain shot through his neck as he tried to straighten up, and he let out a wet groan.
He glanced over to the seat where Fiya had been, an easy seat to spot due to the blood left behind, but Fiya was no longer to be seen. The window near her seat had blown out during the crash.
He twisted to see if she was outside. There were a few dark shapes lying in the grass, but he couldn’t make out who they were.
When he rolled over on his stomach and propped up on his elbows, he looked outside through his cracked window. He saw the low, grassy hills of the lawn they rolled over, the fence they barreled through, and the great beast lumbering forward with his baby draped over its shoulder.
As rage again boiled in him, he glanced around for his shotgun and couldn’t see it anywhere.
He froze as he heard the mushy crunch of heavy feet on wet grass. It reminded him of soggy cereal. Looking back, he saw the hulking, hairy legs of Kael, only a few feet from him, just outside the bus.
The beast walked around the bus, slowly, as if he were searching for something. Kael made it to the other side, and the massive legs stood near Fiya’s window. The beast's heavy breath vibrated the metal shell of the bus like a subwoofer, then Kael’s snout appeared in one of the windows, taking in a deep breath. A cloud of dirt kicked up as he exhaled. The glass that didn’t fall from the window frames fogged.
Then he heard a familiar voice, a tiny moan. He turned back to where the beast had walked and saw that Kael set Liama down on the grass. Liama appeared to be asleep. Though he still wanted to take Kael’s head off, he felt a wash of relief knowing his baby was still alive.
He glanced back toward the beast, hoping he might be able to sneak out the window so he could grab her and run, but still saw Kael’s muzzle sniffing around.
Thomas decided to try and chance it until he noticed that the window was too small for him to squeeze through. He sighed and looked back at Kael, who had moved a few yards from the bus. Thomas slithered quietly to not attract attention, hoping to make it to the front or the back and get a better view of what Kael was up to.
Looking back at Liama, he saw her stir and soon noticed more ghouls coming their way, one carrying a rifle. His heartbeat rose as he looked back at Kael and saw that he approached a sword sticking in the ground, slanted and low, as if it were thrown from the bus rather than placed there. He recognized it as Fiya’s sword and gulped. Guns and scattered boxes of ammo also lay across the grass. Two other escapees lay face down outside near the bus among the scattered gear, and he was sure neither was Fiya.
Dusk began as Kael searched the surrounding area of the crash. The body of one of the escapees twitched on the ground, which caught Kael’s attention for a moment. Kael turned back to the sword, sniffed it, and recognized the scent of his pack on the blade. It definitely was the sword of the huntress; he had no doubt in his mind. But where was her body?
“Eeeeeer … ugh,” a voice cried out from the bus.
Kael turned his head back to the bus, growling, narrowing his eyes. He detected movement near one of the broken windows and approached. The beast leaned in, his muzzle filled with teeth that could put a grizzly bear to shame and stared at the person regaining consciousness. He vaguely recognized the prisoner. He paid little attention to Violess’s captives, he had only focused on the two who escaped, but he did remember that this one was particularly mouthy.
“I’m not going back,” Javier said, opening one eye and finding the giant werewolf near him. His voice trembled, but he still tried to keep a tough image.
Kael sneered when Javier reached for a shotgun nearby and pointed it through the window.
Before he could pull the trigger, Kael yanked him out of the bus to his eye level. Javier let out a yelp as the beast lifted him by the arm.
Javier flailed and kicked at him, but it didn’t faze Kael. He stared at the helpless punk for a moment, as if taunting the feeble attempts did nothing to him, and then Kael ripped through Javier’s shoulder like slicing through tissue paper, severing his arm from the rest of the body.
Javier cried out in ghastly pain as he fell to the grass. His tough tone had turned into a pathetic grovel as he reached and felt a stump of smooth, wet bones where his shoulder used to be. The collar bone and shoulder blade remained intact, but no humerus bone.
His watering eyes looked up to find the creature looking back down at him, holding his arm like a club. The large bulb end of his own humerus bone glistened at him.
As Javier attempted to roll away, Kael stopped him with his foot, carefully placed on top of his head. Javier then pissed himself. Then Kael growled at him, “Won’t need you anymore anyway.” He pressed his massive weight on Javier’s skull until it squished like a plump tomato.
Kael glanced at the front of the bus, where he saw Rutger smashed against the glass. “We have a replacement,” he said, as though Javier still listened.
On the road, more ghouls approached. They were armed with clubs, axes, and other basic tools, but only Marco approached with his rifle, which he retrieved from the bushes. His face was ruined by the shotgun with fragments of pellets buried in his skin; bloody craters like popped cysts, and his entire upper right cheek blasted down to the bone. His right eye swelled with red while the other maintained its dull yellow color.
One of the ghouls in coveralls dragged Liama away.
Kael pointed to the front of the bus and barked, “Round ‘em up while they’re still limp. Everyone has a pulse, except for the mouthy one.”
Rutger’s eye cracked open, and then all he could see was the web of cracked glass against his face. Before he could get himself up, he found himself being dragged out. He didn’t fight being dragged over the broken glass. He ached all over, but his face stung the worst. He couldn’t fight back now if he wanted to; his body just didn’t want to do anything but lay limp and heal. The handle of his axe slipped from him too quickly for him to react. He witnessed one of the ghouls grab the axe for him and carried it off toward the school.
He was rolled over, face down, and several ghouls secured his hands behind his back with zip ties. He could see others being tied the same way. In the distance, he saw Fiya’s sword in the ground.
Standing near the sword was the alpha werewolf, who’d been staring off into the nearby woods. Another ghoul in coveralls, carrying a rifle, approached him. Kael’s mighty head swung to him and asked, “Did you let her know?”
Marco nodded and said, “Yes, sir.”
Kael returned his focus to the trees. Nothing but a darkening silhouette of Douglas fir, black cottonwood, and western paper birch trees. He sniffed the air and then looked down at the sword. His thick, coarse, ash-black hair flickered in the wind, and his ears twitched, trying to tune in on anything.
Marco still stood by, glancing toward the trees, and then back at their prisoners getting rounded up.
Without turning toward him, Kael said, “You have exact numbers again. There’s only one extra, but the extra is mine. This is my fee.” He sniffed again, long and savoring.
“You’ll have to tell her that.”
“I will.”
Kael reached down and gripped Fiya’s sword. He held the hilt and caressed it as he took a deep breath and then while still holding the hilt, stomped on the blade, snapping the sword in two. The section he still held in his hand was a third of its original length, looking more like a short sword with the blade tapering to one side rather than coming to a center-point. The other two-thirds of the blade lay flat in the grass. The bottom of his foot got sliced but had already begun healing. Kael grabbed the rest of the blade and walked back toward the rest of the crew, never looking back at the tr
ees.
The ghouls stuck the prisoners with syringes, including Rutger. Thomas pretended to be unconscious but was wide awake to feel the needle enter his neck. He did his best not to flinch to avoid serious damage to himself. As he held his breath until they removed the needle, he watched Rutger blackout.
Soon, he did too.
Deep in the woods, in one of the towering paper birch trees, Fiya watched the new cult of Bahtzuul take her mentor and the two persons she now considered almost friends, along with the prisoners back into the confines of the school.
After being launched from the bus, she had rolled into the tree line and into the brush, out of view.
During the accident, the bus and the flying debris blocked the approaching alpha werewolf from seeing her disappear into the trees. She moved quickly and, despite her injured leg, climbed the first tree that could support her weight. Halfway up the tree, she noticed no one else followed her: not Rutger, not Thomas, none of the prisoners. She thought about running back, even with the wounded leg, but the big beast already made it to the bus.
Her face was red with her own blood. Her body sore from head to calves, but her ankles and toes felt fine. Her leg hurt the most, almost enough to take her mind off her elbow, and the bleeding may have stopped by now.
The only stroke of luck was the bullet clearly exited the flesh, so she wouldn’t have to dig it out.
As she sat in the tree, after finding branches strong enough to hold her weight, she set her back against the trunk. She left her backpack on, not caring to remove it for now. Before she let herself catch any kind of rest, she retightened her handkerchief to stop the leg bleeding.
The school was in her sight as the setting sun turned the sky purple.
The shadow figures disappeared into the buildings.
She wasn’t sure what to do now, and she only aggravated herself more for failing to come up with a better plan. Sometimes, a shit plan was better than no plan. And even worse, Liama was down there. Her stomach soured, and a migraine swelled.
She thought about her sword, her main tool. She felt her soul crack as she witnessed that beast snap it like a toothpick; then the bastard took it away so she couldn’t grab the remains. She knew she still had work to do, but it was only going to be harder from here. Her mind settled on the Blackhawk in the backpack, and for the first time felt secure with it.
Then Fiya rested.
Two decades ago, Gerard Williams sat with his fingers woven over each other and in plain sight on top his desk. In front of him sat a younger Rutger, with a head full of reddish-brown hair and fewer cracks in his face. In a room that looked like a college classroom auditorium, Gerard’s desk sat front and center. “How is the girl now?” he asked.
Next to Gerard at the same desk was Marjorie Lindholm, who read through a pile of papers attached to a clipboard. There were no decorations in the room, giving Rutger the sterile and bland vibe of a hospital, which was exactly how the Order of the Immortuos Venandi liked it.
Gerard had a few strands of hair slicked over a smooth dome, not fooling anyone—he’d been balding for some time. Had a horse-like nose that held up a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. His milky skin suggested he needed to get out of the office more often. His thin neck craned as he glanced at the paperwork Marjorie rifled through.
When Rutger didn’t immediately reply, he pinned his eyes back on him.
“She’s well,” Rutger adjusted himself in his seat. Their voices reverberated in the room. “She’s had a lot of rest and is eating again. She’s good.”
Marjorie sighed. Her bobbed auburn hair jiggled as she looked up from the paperwork. “This is a mess.” Her cold eyes tried to burn through Rutger, and her impatient, yet calm demeanor always gave Rutger the impression she must’ve worked in the Department of Motor Vehicles before joining the Order.
“Not really,” Rutger replied.
“Oh?” She leaned in on the desk, making sure Rutger was paying attention. “You were supposed to kill an infected cat, and now this girl’s parents and grandparents are dead. The clean-up crew had one hell of a day with that mess, making sure the neighbors didn’t see anything. And you say, ‘Not really’? This is a mess, Mr. Bronson, whether you contained the Ghoul Fever or not.”
She relaxed in her chair again. Gerard’s cold eyes were on her as she took a breath to continue. “The police think it was a multiple-murder because that is what we made it look like. They have a fictional vagabond blamed for the massacre that way neither of her parents or grandparents are at fault, so their names wouldn’t be ruined, as per our request, using the FBI as our mouthpiece. All this is far more than we needed to do for this little mission.”
Rutger nodded as he was fed the details. He dreaded the desk jockey’s over-reaction because he found it tedious. He knew there had been worse incidents, probably even this very month, but the thing they were dancing around this time was the fact a child was involved. He believed it could’ve been a lot worse, and he was glad he didn’t have to put the girl down, too. He thought about how there would’ve been a mess anyway with or without the girl, but kept his mouth shut.
Marjorie continued. “The missing piece right now is if the girl will talk.”
“She won’t.” He paused for a moment, looking them in their eyes to make sure he had their attention. “She hasn’t said a word about the incident on the way here.”
“She cannot stay with you. She must go to her family.”
Rutger cut her off. “The father’s side already has passed on─apparently cancer runs amok on his side─and as you know, the other grandparents were infected at the incident. There are no aunts and uncles, though there are some very distant cousins that probably don’t even know who she is, living in Cuba.”
Gerard cracked his knuckles as he considered this information.
Marjorie rolled her eyes. “I can’t recommend this decision. You can’t take care of the girl. You’re on the road all the time; there would be no one to take care of her while you’re on jobs.”
“Not if I take her with me.”
Shooting up from her desk, Marjorie prepared to explode. Gerard attempted to tap her on the shoulders to get her to sit back down and failed. “Are you fucking serious?”
“I am serious.”
Rutger looked at Gerard, saw an inquisitive look on his face, and then looked back at Marjorie. “This girl is not an infant and seemed to me like she had a good enough grasp on what happened. She’s emotional, but who wouldn’t after what she just went through? She’s already witnessed things that no one is meant to see. I feel I have skills to teach and train her in the field. I owe it to her.”
“That’s beyond dangerous. And stupid.”
“It’s always dangerous. But imagine if instead of waiting for her to become an adult to start training, she’s been training since childhood? No outside influences making her question the things we do. She’ll be like a sponge. She already has one hell of a head start.” Rutger sat back in his chair, lounging with his arms across his beefy chest. “I know children have been enlisted in the past, and that we haven’t practiced that in centuries. I’m not saying let’s revive a trend, but since she’s already witnessed ghouls, I’m asking, ‘Why not in this case?’”
Marjorie tightened her lips. “Foster care is best for her.”
“The hell it is.”
She sighed. “I know you had what you consider a rough go with foster homes growing up, but things are different now. Foster parents are screened better.”
Rutger scoffed a laugh. A ‘rough go’ was a polite way of describing the physical abuse he took. “I’d rather her not have to take that risk. I know I’m not a drug abuser looking to milk the government for money to take care of a child they think no one wants. Even if golden foster parents are screened, they won’t have the skills to take care of someone who’s witnessed the massacre she did. How would they deal with her headspace? I know I can care for her, and better yet, I know the trauma she went through.
Witnessed it first-hand.”
“Well …” Gerard said, before clearing his throat, “… right now it’s only complicated because we haven’t practiced taking in young hunters in a very long time. Women aren’t common for hunters, either.”
Rutger raised a finger. “But not unheard of: Yua Nakano was a fantastic hunter, and her battle with that Grave Champion was legendary.”
Gerard gave an agreeing nod.
Glaring in Gerard’s direction, Marjorie sat back down.
Wiggling his fingers as they remained crossed in front of him, Gerald continued, “It will be interesting to observe how this goes. Mr. Bronson, if you go through with this, anything that happens to her is on you.” Gerard pointed his ball-point pen at Rutger. “Anything.”
“Expected and understood, sir.”
Gerard looked at Marjorie, who had been tightening her lip, knowing she didn’t have the final say. “We should have a manual for training an adolescent, probably out of date but could still be good for guidelines.” He turned back to Rutger. “We’ll dig that up, and you’ll have to adhere to it, for her own safety. Updating it as you go, to modernize it.”
“Just as you like.”
Gerard and Marjorie dismissed him, informing him they’d keep him updated. Rutger thanked them for their time and left the room as they finished up going over the paperwork. He knew there would be more paperwork to officially adopt the girl, but it would come in time.
He entered a stark white hallway, just as dull as the room he left, but with brighter lighting.
Little Fiya sat in a chair near the door, swinging her legs because they didn’t reach the floor. She had stayed exactly where he’d left her, after bringing her all the way up to the Pacific Northwest Order of the Immortuos Venandi facility in Washington, a long drive away from Texas.
She cocked her head up at him. Her face was sullen, thinking about her family again, but this time her eyes were not red from crying, and her cheeks were not stained with tears. She was tired of crying and sobbing and had been for some time now.
Graveslinger Page 17