“Fffffuuuuck,” she groaned and then coughed. Despite shutting her eyes and mouth, the dusty rubble still invaded her lungs. She spat soot and dirt and wiped the residue on her sleeves. She rolled over, flinching at the wracking pain of her shoulder, and gawked at the crash site.
The train seemed to have stopped about 20 yards from her. The first-class passenger car had flipped on its side and dragged behind the engine. Clouds of dirt took their time to settle, but she could make out the wreckage.
She heard the sound of something leaking, and she wasn’t sure what. She considered it could be an air hose connected to the couplers or a brake line or even just water, but if it were diesel fuel, she’d smell it, so she didn’t worry.
She teetered to her feet, bracing herself against a nearby tree. She twisted around to see her gunshot wound, checking if all the activity had made it any worse. From her angle, she couldn’t tell, and trying to bend only caused more pain. You don’t even need to look, you broke open the wound again, you idiot. “Shut up.” It’s going to get infected, and you’re going to lose it. “Shut up.” She reached down and touched the surface area. Fresh blood. Told ya. She let out a scolding guff to shrug off her horrible thoughts.
The Blackhawk landed near her, and she squeamishly picked it up, tolerating the ripping pain as she bent over.
Wheels spun without a track to roll on with a squeaking whistle sound that Fiya found abrasive. Walls of the carriage were split apart on impact and twisted into junk. She used the debris to keep herself balanced as she limped to the front of the crash. She intended to make sure the thing was dead … for good.
As the clouds cleared ─mostly anyway─ she could see the demonic monstrosity lying across the tracks. His left arm twisted and bent in a way that wasn’t natural, even for a supernatural demon creature with draconian features. Shin bones protruded through the tough hide of his legs, the vibrant color of beet juice traced the edges of the scales that provided his natural armor and pooled beneath his body. The massive head lay limp, and his tongue splayed loosely outside of his jaws. It twitched.
The image of sad roadkill that didn’t die yet came to her mind.
Soon, Fiya felt sturdy enough to stand by herself again without the aid of the debris. The limp however, she couldn’t shake.
When she got closer, she could see that Bahtzuul’s eye remained still. Then he blinked, desperate to remove the settling dust. The giant orb of an eye rotated toward her. “Huuuuugggguuuur ...” was all he could say. His tongue slithered slowly back into his jaws, but with such little control, it snagged on some of his own teeth, raking and tearing open. A brown substance like dark honey seeped out.
From his point of view, Fiya towered over him, even though his head was wide enough to come up to her chest.
She examined his body, admiring all the lucky damage she caused. The chest wound had been crushed hard from the train; the axe wound had ripped open even worse; and now, she could see part of his heart, pumping away, protected by a pathetic, shattered ribcage. She was bummed she missed it, having assumed she must’ve hit an artery, or something else as vital. Without tough scales in its way, the bullet penetrated excellently through his hide.
Without proper tools, she couldn’t spot her entry wound after Bahtzuul’s flesh absorbed all the trauma from the wreck. His heart thudded irregularly.
“Didn’t see that coming, didja?” she asked, looking back at his wandering eyeball, making sure she had his attention.
Bahtzuul drooled, and then tried to speak again. All she could make out was “ssssllllurrrgggh.”
She smirked. “I don’t know where you demons go after we smite you. I know you don’t go home in Hell because you’re not getting exorcised, but in case you do have an after-life, someone’s going to want to know who put you there. You can tell them the Graveslinger handed you your undead ass. Did you understand that phrasing?”
Bahtzuul continued to blink and drool. He failed to understand why he wasn’t regenerating, but Fiya knew perfectly well why. She might not have killed him with the bullet fired from her blessed weapon, but non-mortal wounds from Immortuos Venandi weapons have been known to stunt certain abilities, such as regeneration, especially with the undead. Silver did the same with lycanthropes. Demons were tougher to crack, due to their lack of activity over the centuries, making it harder to make them stay dead. Bahtzuul was, however, a revived corpse, giving Fiya the perfect loophole to kill the bastard for good. She loved when a technicality fell into her favor.
“People suck. A lot of them do, believe me. Hell, on a bad day, I could probably make you a list that could comfort your appetite for a few centuries. But you eat indiscriminately and can’t be trusted - I mean … come on … you’re a fucking demon, you ate the one loyal follower that brought you back - and the people who don’t suck don’t deserve to pay for the ones that do.” Fiya paused to catch her breath and glanced around at her surroundings again. The dust had begun to settle. Her eyes settled back on his. “You took one away from me already. There are two more back there that don’t deserve it and I intend on making sure of that.”
She raised the Blackhawk and pointed it at Bahtzuul’s stuttering heart. She breathed in, and as she slowly let out her breath, she recited:
I am a Knight of the Immortuos Venandi,
vengeance to the wicked.
No fiend shall escape thy Wrath.
With thy weapon of grace in hand,
until the end of thy lifeline,
to slay all demoni, cease the fell beasts,
and bring death to undeath.
BANG!
Bahtzuul’s eyelids twitched and flickered. A hog-like squeal stirred behind his tongue.
She turned and looked him in the eye, still pointing the Blackhawk at his open chest. “And another one for Rutger.”
BANG!
The eye stopped moving. His pupil shrank to the size of a quarter, and there was a hiss as the last bit of air expelled from his lungs: a foul stench of bile and rotten ghoul flesh. After sleeping for several centuries, of course the morning breath is rank.
Fiya watched, not caring how long it took to be sure the thing was dead.
She still had two bullets in the chambers if she still properly kept track. She shifted her aim to Bahtzuul’s great eye. She waited for the slightest fluctuation in the pupil or even a twitch of his eyelids.
Nothing happened for several steady breaths.
“Fuck it,” she said, and she unloaded her last two bullets.
BANG! BANG!
The eyeball popped like a water balloon filled with jelly.
She hoped the bullets went right home into the brain. Some of the gooey eye matter splattered on her like raw egg. She didn’t flinch.
As she pulled the trigger again, hearing only a click, a whirring sound presented itself in the distance. She looked around, at first along the track ahead of her, then down the slope nearby.
Just beyond Spire Mountain appeared a helicopter: an emergency bird, from the looks of it. From a distance, it looked like a toy to her. She snorted a laugh. “Oh, sure, now the park services show up.”
Everyone at the Spire Mountain tunnel saw the helicopter, and all were sure it saw them as it buzzed by to observe the crash. They couldn’t have been missed since they surrounded the stopped train out in the open.
Thomas and Liama had walked away from the train and up the tracks for a bit, farther than the others dared venture. Some watched curiously as they neared the bend, concerned if Fiya was okay or if something was going to eat them. Every one of them hoped for the former.
As they approached the bend, which went around a natural rock formation that obscured them from seeing the event, Liama found Fiya’s mask lying in the dirt. She picked it up and ran her fingers over the shattered lens and fractures in the fiberglass. She started to cry, thinking the worst happened. She froze, and her father didn’t pressure her to continue. He let his hand rest on her shoulder as she held the mask to her che
st.
“I think we’re good, baby.”
“How do you know? I don’t hear anything anymore.” She tried to give a smile, crooked, and limp.
“But the last thing we heard was gunshots. A bunch of them. That had to be her, right?”
“I guess so.”
“That’s why I think we’re good. Never thought I’d be so relieved at the sound of gunfire.”
She looked at the mask again as he ushered her to walk back towards the train with the others. He wasn’t confident it was dead, and the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to be near the tunnel if it did come back around. Things became uncomfortably quiet.
Rocks crunched around the corner in a pattern of staggered footsteps.
Liama turned back and saw Fiya appear from behind the rocky bend, limping along the tracks, with the revolver still in her hand. In her other hand, she used Rutger’s axe as a crutch.
Though he was glad to see she was okay, it was Liama who was beyond happy and rushed to her.
“Fiya!” she cried out, and threw her arms around her waist, planting her face against Fiya’s belly for the biggest hug she could give. “I knew it! You ARE a superhero!”
Fiya’s dire face did not share the same enthusiasm. She had cried, dirt and blood were smeared on her face, and she fought hard to keep her eyes open. Half of her face felt swollen, and after all this, her nagging stomach decided to burn again. The kid is lying to you.
During her long walk back, she found her sword. The hilt was visible from where she walked along the tracks; she snapped it back on her magnetic sheath. Rutger’s axe proved to be a little more hidden in the shrubbery, but she soon found it, too. She still could walk without needing to put all her weight on the axe, but as a crutch it was just easier to deal with.
Wincing, she politely removed Liama’s arms from around her waist and continued to walk toward the people surrounding the rest of the train. The sitting prisoners stood up, and some clasped their hands together, as if their prayers had been working. Some even appeared to be crying. Fiya immediately felt uncomfortable.
Thomas walked alongside her. “Is it dead?”
There was a long pause before she answered. “It’s dead.” Her tone was cold and monotone.
Behind them, Liama exclaimed, “Yay!”
Liama ran around to her front side to hand Fiya her mask. Fiya stopped and held it, giving it a morose look. Her thumb gently traced some of the cracks. After a deep breath, she handed it back to Liama. “You keep it.”
“Really?!?”
Fiya forced herself a smile with a dash of pain. “Yeah, you keep it.”
“Wowee! Thank you!” Liama turned to admiring the mask.
As they continued walking, Thomas leaned into her and asked, “You didn’t have to let her have it. Why did you?”
“I know, but it seems to mean more to her than it does for me.” In truth, she could get a new one made if she really needed one, but, for now, her mind just wanted to let it go and get away. To crawl in a hole and isolate herself for a long while. She yearned for it.
Closer to the train car, the rest of the group approached her. Thomas continued walking alongside her as she kept a blank face, staring at the ground ahead of her. He said, “You saved us all, all of us. Probably more. I saw on this map that the tracks would’ve gone all the way to Seattle. You just stopped that thing from having a buffet.” Thomas put his hand out for her to shake it.
She stopped, looked at it for a brief moment, as if it were a foreign concept to her, and then she shook his hand before it got too awkward.
He smiled. She didn’t.
Fiya knew it wasn’t their fault that Rutger ─ her mentor, the person closest to a father she’d had for most of her life ─ died. She tried like hell not to project her anger on them, any of them. It wouldn’t be fair. Besides, it’s your fault.
As she let go of his grip, the others crowded her. They bombarded her with desperate “thank yous” and praise that all felt empty, deflecting off an emotional wall she put up. One of them even dared to say she was so amazing. Her inside voice mockingly laughed. If she were truly amazing, that thing never would’ve come back to life in the first place, and Rutger would still be alive. She fought the urge to tell everyone to just fuck off and let her leave.
“What would you like us to do?” Thomas asked. He was trying to be considerate, seeing she didn’t appear relieved and needed to rest. He didn’t want her doing any more work. He wouldn’t usually say it to a woman, but he thought she looked like hell.
The crowd soon let Fiya move through them, and she said softly, “You all can go home.”
They followed her, but then she stopped and turned around to face them. She reiterated, louder: “You all can go home now. Wherever that may be.” She looked through the crowd to Thomas and Liama. “Although none of you may want to go to the Seattle area; it’s tainted. This Ghoul Fever crap really spread out there.”
The chattering of the survivors rose, with the most common question: “How?”
Fiya shrugged. “That bitch wannabe priest? She spread out the cursed disease as a distraction while she did this. They have the area under quarantine, and there are uninfected residents still inside the barricade. So, just avoid going to that area. Enjoy the rest of your lives. Please.”
She turned her back on the crowd, leaving them confused as she walked toward the tunnel. They didn’t follow.
Liama’s smile left her face as she watched, just as confused as the others. She looked up at her father. “I don’t get it. Why’s she leaving? I thought we were friends?”
Thomas hugged his daughter and said, “Just let her go. Remember when Mommy died?”
She nodded her head against his waist, watching Fiya disappear into the blackness of the tunnel.
“Well, you were upset for a very long time, so now she’s upset too and wants to be left alone.”
She remembered and felt somber just thinking about when she looked in her mother’s casket, looking at her mother’s face. Before getting lost on that horrible memory again, she asked, “She’ll be okay, right?”
Thomas smiled, “You were, eventually.”
They didn’t have to wait long for the park rangers to come back around, but Fiya was long gone by then.
Somewhere near the southwestern tip of Ross Lake, a few miles away from Rutger’s burned-down cabin, rain fell. At first a soft spattering, then a heavy downpour, before setting somewhere in between. Fiya sat on the wet ground, staring at the patch of earth that she just finished filling in. Rutger’s axe erected from the ground, the shaft buried far enough into the dirt to support the weight of the axe blade.
It took her almost half a day to find Rutger’s remains, and she made sure she avoided the eyes of others as she traveled north with them. How would she explain carrying around the lower half of someone’s body? Sure, authorities may have their hands full with the Ghoul Fever breakouts on the other side of the mountain, and even a little bit on this side of the mountain. Still, cops had itchy trigger fingers now, and she wasn’t going to take that chance.
Usually, she could have men in suits help her through the police bureaucracy, but all the Order of the Immortuos Venandi in the area managed to get themselves blown to high hell days ago. What a devastating overreaction. Maybe there was something to Rutger implying others were involved, beyond just chicken-shit Paul. She hadn’t been able to verify if the others ever got back to her because her phone officially died.
The rain drenched her in sheets now, washing away her tears; the dirt she would yet clean off, and the long-dried, blackened blood. Her face had swollen, and the bruising already peaked. Despite the Kevlar gloves and jacket, her body had become a cartograph of bruises. She also was positive there were a few broken ribs in there, maybe some internal bleeding, but that just could be her head messing with her again: overthinking the amount of damage she took, distracting her from the “big C” word.
She kept her weight on h
er good leg, and one arm across her torso, clutching the other arm that held a bottle of Lagavulin. The whole town was abandoned, so she just had helped herself when she passed through. More than a few towns were suspiciously empty as she traveled, making her believe there could be an expanded evacuation order in place. No ghouls in sight, so it’d have to be, dumbass.
Fiya brought the bottle to her lips and drank. “I’m sorry,” she croaked. She paused and took another swig. “You know that.”
Behind her, through the trees and hills, the rain pummeled the lake, offering a sound of applause to Fiya. She listened, like a shy kid trying to give a speech in front of an auditorium full of enthusiastic-as-fuck parents.
She swigged again. “I’m appreciative you were always there for me, saving my ass, many … many times. And you know what the fuck of it all … is?” She looked at the bottle, gauging it to be about half-full now, and then gulped some more. That’s right, drink it like it’s water, thirsty bitch. “I never got to save you. You pulled my deadweight ass out of the fire: fires I even started, teaching me how to pick myself back up, but I never got to help you in return. I only got to watch you die.”
Though in the rain it proved to be pointless, she dried her face on her sleeve. Her face felt numb to the touch, letting her know the Laga was working. “First, my biological parents, now you.” Her throat burned as she guzzled more of the whiskey. The sizzle gripped her throat as it flowed, eating at her stomach. “That was my fault too. I liked visiting the kitties when my mama would go out to feed them.”
She didn’t care anymore. What could it possibly do that was worse than cancer? She wanted to believe Kael lied to her, but she sensed he hadn’t. A part of her wished she accepted his … gift. Then she cringed just thinking about how he called it that: “gift.”
She looked at the bottle and guessed it was down to about a third now. Her hands were numb, and she didn’t notice her bruises or gunshot wound anymore. That’s a plus. She smelled the mouth of the bottle, a pungent combination smack of smoky fish and ocean salt in a blanketing caramel malt. Dismissing the temptation to take another drink, she tipped the bottle away from her and poured the rest over Rutger’s mound of dirt. The rain made sure to bless the whiskey into the soil for him.
Graveslinger Page 29