by C K Burch
Thomas frowned. “Hanu-whom?”
“Hanuman.” Her gesticulations grew more and more rapid, as did her speech. “Hanuman returned to Shambhala to seal the land, but I never dreamed that he would settle here. If those truly are his descendants – ”
“Ssh.” Dust held out his hands for her to calm down.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Jack agreed. She settled herself, but her face betrayed her distraction. “So, what's our play?”
“Guns and map,” Dust replied. “He might not be able to read it well, but Ryder will have a more difficult time discovering the city center without it. I'll shimmy down there nice and quiet, steal some guns – we all need them, not just myself and the boy.”
“I told you, I can't stand them.”
“Better a rifle in your hand that you hopefully won't have to use, than for the moment to come and there's nothing you can defend yourself with. Particularly against the children of the monkey king, being as antagonistic as they appear.”
“They are the guardians of Shambhala,” she stated hotly. “And Hanuman is considered a deity in some circles of worship. We are not simply dealing with the concept of simple primates. We are facing the notion of perhaps the most intelligent, fierce members of the primate family. Possibly even the missing link between man and ape.”
“You've thought about this already.”
“I have, yes. And so we must tread lightly and cautiously.”
Thomas stood and brushed himself off. A newfound calm had washed over him. “I agree entirely.”
Dust reached up to grasp Thomas by the arm. “Dammit, sit down before we – ”
Thomas quickly withdrew his arm from the offense and reached into his coat to retrieve a small pistol, inlaid with gold and marked with ornate designs. He turned the pistol on Dust and smiled with contempt. “That will be the last time you place your hand on me. You've bloody nearly ruined everything with your antics and now you'll sit tight and quiet. Are we understood?”
Dust blinked. In the turn of an instant, Thomas' voice – his entire posture – had transformed from one of disinterested fop to assured contempt. Considering how largely unexpected this was, Dust found himself without recourse. He stared at the pistol as though it were imaginary, clearly unreal. The drunkard brother couldn't possibly be capable of something like this.
Jack's mouth hung open in shock. “Thomas – you – what are you – ”
“Quiet!” Thomas snarled. “Christ, I've heard enough out of you to last a lifetime. Now, will you please shut your bloody yap for five goddamn minutes so that the adults who know what they're doing can converse?”
Jack looked as though she'd been slapped in the face.
As if to seal the revelation, Thomas turned his face to the window. “Ryder! Up here!” he called. “I've McAlan and the others at gunpoint! You can come up and we'll get ourselves back on course, eh?”
Dust balled his fists. Slowly, Dust realized the “drunkard brother” was an act. Everything made sense now, and he felt a fool for not seeing it before. Of course Ryder had been planning to betray them – because Thomas had been the one who'd suggested it. It had been the two of them in the cafe talking before Dust and Jack had approached; it had been Thomas signing checks and making deals. Seven hells, he'd been trying to ride in the same vehicle as Ryder the entire time – from before the drop to the immediate after. All of this, from the funding to the selection to the arrival, had been under Thomas's watchful eye. He had played them all.
Bastard.
***
VII
“Ryder!” Thomas again shouted outside, and shook his head at the lack of response. “Bloody imbecile, it's a wonder he accomplishes anything.”
From outside, hurried footsteps in the street led to splashing through the standing water in the foyer below. Moments after, Lincoln Ryder appeared at the top of the stairs with two of his men following close behind. All of them were armed: Ryder held his shotgun at the ready, whilst the men carried Tommy guns. Dust noted the men had pistols holstered on their belts as well – couldn't be too cautious or well-armed, it seemed. As they reached the summit, it appeared as though they'd expected a fracas, and realized with some frustration that Thomas' yelling had been only for want of attention. Ryder gave Thomas a wild-eyed look of contempt and sliced the edge of his palm across his throat rapidly: Quiet the hell down you bloody idiot.
Thomas glared back with comic exasperation. “I have them, you nitwit. You're welcome.”
“Took you bloody long enough.” Ryder's voice was a hot whisper as he scanned the group. He reached out, stole Dust's pistol, and tossed it to one of the men before glaring at Thomas again. “Bloody disarm them next time, will you?”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Dear god man, there isn't going to be a next time.”
“Quiet,” Ryder spoke between his teeth. “You don't know what's out there.”
“I bloody well do! We were chased by a tyrannosaurus rex, Ryder! That's the king of the dinosaurs for those who weren't paying attention during the museum tours!”
“Jesus, shut up.” Ryder shook his head. “You're bloody well lucky McAlan here didn't pop you in the mouth and leave you in the jungle.”
Thomas stormed forward. “I say, were it not for your incompetence in dealing with McAlan in the first, we would not be standing here having this argument!”
“My only incompetence,” Ryder snarled, “was in relying on you to follow through on arrangement of plans, except all of your 'stratagems' went fanny-up! Now if you will please shut the goddamn hell up. We have to keep moving before those apes find us again.”
“Apes,” Thomas scoffed.
Ryder sighed. Dust almost felt bad for him.
“Alright,” Ryder spoke to his men, “kill them quiet and let's move quick.”
“Steady on!” Thomas interjected. He gestured to Cairn. “The boy comes with.”
Ryder rolled his eyes. “God damn you, always changing things.”
“Never would I agree to my servant being killed!” Thomas was offended. “Christ almighty, man, you know how hard it is to find good help?”
“Clearly.” Ryder gave a dismissive wave towards Dust and Jack. The two men stepped forward and each took Cairn by an arm; the lad fought marvelously, but Dust shook his head. Now was not the time for heroism.
“Thomas.” Jack's voice was small and frail, as delicate as porcelain. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why?” Thomas stared back at her incredulously. “Why? The favored child must ask why? Between mother doting on you and father allowing you to do anything and everything unladylike, in your very best attempts to sully our family name with your indignance, you dare to stand there and ask me why I must take action? Because I, Sissie, I have the wherewithal to understand that our family name must survive beyond our own persons, and therefore, action must be taken. There is your why you insufferable stain.”
Jack recoiled as though struck by a whiplash. She placed one hand over her mouth to contain her horror, but her eyes revealed what those words had done.
“Say hello to mother when you see her,” Thomas sneered. “At least she'll be happy to see you.”
Dust grit his teeth. “You're a real piece of shit, Tommy.”
Thomas spun on his heels and crossed the space between them. He shoved the snub barrel of his pistol beneath Dust's chin and pressed it so Dust's neck was roughly exposed.
“You speak to me again,” Thomas growled, his body shaking, “and I'll pull this trigger myself.”
“Go ahead,” Dust spoke with calm. “They're gonna do it anyway. Might as well be you.”
A moment passed as Thomas hesitated. “You've spoken outside your bounds too often. It would be a pleasure for me to see this through, but I dare not sully myself with your blood.”
Dust smirked. “You've never killed a man, have you?”
Thomas said nothing.
“I have.” Dust forced the angle of his head down so that he could look hi
s foe in the eye. The gun remained where it was. “You want to know what it feels like?”
Thomas' jaw clenched, and he pressed the gun harder against Dust to push the offending gaze away, but he refused to move his head.
“You look at me if you're going to kill me,” Dust demanded.
Seconds passed. After this, Thomas pulled away sharply and cursed beneath his breath. He walked towards the steps leading down and took Cairn harshly by the shoulder; the boy winced in pain as he did. Together they disappeared towards the floor below, leaving Dust and Jack alone with Ryder and his men.
Ryder shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose as though he had a headache. “I don't know what I signed up for, but this is clearly not what I'd in mind.”
“Clearly,” Dust replied.
Ryder looked at his men. “We alone?”
One of them looked down the stairs, the other looked out of the window. Both turned back and nodded.
“Good.” Ryder turned to Jack. “Look, mum, nothing personal, here. Obviously it is with your brother and all, but I'm just getting paid to do what I do best. So if you've a counter-offer on the table that would promise more than his wager, I'll leave the two of you be and you can make your way off to wherever it is you'd like. There's not going to be gunshots, so his Lordship won't know the difference. And perhaps maybe you'll be able to have yourself a little family reunion to settle things.”
“Quite gentlemanly of you, Ryder,” Dust snarled.
“Get stuffed, McAlan, how do you think I've done this for as long as I have?” He looked again to Jack. “Well? Revenge is a steep cost.”
Jack looked down at the floor, her body quivering as she fought back tears. One slipped over and ran down her cheek; she caught it quick and wiped it away. Slowly, burning rage was replacing the anguish in her features, and Dust wondered exactly how much she craved the revenge Ryder offered.
She shook her head.
Ryder shrugged in disappointment. “Your loss, mum.” He gave Dust a casual salute, then nodded at the men as he, too, disappeared down the steps. Apparently he felt no need to be around for the dirty work.
The Venture boys slung their Tommies over their chests, then strode forward. Dust wondered how they were going to provide their services, as neither appeared to have a knife on their person. As they roughly grabbed Dust and Jack by the shoulders, one of them nodded, and the other reached down to take Dust's whip.
His eyes widened; he would not die by his own bullwhip.
Below them in the street, Cairn's voice briefly shouted, “Mum!” and was silenced.
As if by magic, Jack struck: she reached up and broke the grasp of her would-be executor, then grabbed him by the shoulders and drove her knee forward into his nethers. As he knelt over in pain, Jack smoothly reached down and removed the pistol from his holster. She placed one shot into the man's chest, then turned and placed another into the chest of Dust's captor, who'd been turning to block the escape attempt. Both men fell over lifelessly, leaving Dust to stare blankly, clutching his whip in both hands, wondering just what the hell had occurred.
Before anything else could take place, Jack reached down and retrieved Dust's pistol from one of the captors, and gently tossed it to him. He caught it numbly, his jaw open in astonishment as Jack quickly and expertly knelt down and stripped the men of extra magazines for her pistol. Then she callously rolled one of them over and unslung the unused Tommy gun from about his torso.
Outside, Ryder shouted: “Bloody oath! I told you quiet! You idiots!”
“They'll be upon us soon,” Jack said coolly. “You'd best grab that machinegun and prepare yourself. We'll have to free Cairn and then move on.”
Dust continued to stare.
Jack raised an eyebrow. “McAlan. Quickly.”
Shaken, Dust nodded, and pulled away the Tommy from the dead man before him. “I have many questions,” Dust stated.
“Save them.” She ensured there was a bullet in the chamber of her pistol, then tucked it into the waist of her pants. Anger was her on face, cold and contemplative, the worst kind of fury: calculated. Such was the kind of rage that reached out without emotion to blind it or stay its hand. Dust felt suddenly uneasy, and quite unsure of who was whom or if anyone was who they said they were anymore.
One thing was certain: Cairn was being held against his will. This was the first matter to attend.
Splashes below betrayed the footsteps of Ryder's men coming into the temple. Jack held the Tommy gun neatly tucked into the crook of her arm, and opened fire down the stairs. Beneath them were shouts of confusion and argument, followed by more splashes in the water. Jack then turned her weapon to the opening in the floor and fired downward; this time cries of pain accompanied her volley. She'd herded them backwards to where she could pick them off. Dust was unsure of whether to be impressed or afraid.
“Christ!” Ryder shouted. “McAlan's loose! Drive! Drive!”
“Not yet!” Thomas demanded. “She's still up there!”
As if to answer this, Jack approached the window, placed her heel on the ledge and aimed the barrel of the Tommy at the caravan below. She opened fire; Dust quickly came up beside her and pulled her back into the building and out of the fray, just before a volley of bullets countered her attack and peppered the wall around the window, causing bits of it to crumble.
“Careful!” Dust told her. “You could hit Cairn!”
“You're doubting my aim,” she replied firmly, and approached the window again.
“Christ!” Ryder shouted. “Bloody drive!”
Engines started and guns fired to prevent Jack from taking another crack at the Venture crew. She ducked down below the windowsill, patiently waiting for the next break. Somewhere in the midst of the cacophony, Cairn's youthful voice could be heard shouting, but his words were indecipherable. There was a break in the gunfire, and so Jack popped back into firing position. She pulled the trigger; the gun clicked empty. Frustrated, she threw the Tommy aside and reached for her pistol.
Dust touched her arm to stay. He then removed the Tommy from around his shoulder and passed her the weapon. “Take this. I need freedom to move.”
Jack accepted the machinegun. “Move how?”
Dust peeked below. Tires squealed on ancient brick and the vehicles pulled forward sharply.
“Meet me downstairs!” Dust replied.
Then he turned and leapt out of the window. As he did, he uncoiled his bullwhip and flicked it so it would wrap about one of the streetpoles; it pulled taut as his weight stretched it tightly, and he swung over the street. Below him, the jeep in the rear of the caravan was unaware of his action, so he snapped his wrist to shake the whip free, and then he fell directly into the back seat of the jeep, landing with his knee on the back of one the men's necks.
Three pairs of eyes turned and looked at him in astonishment as he drew his pistol and fired twice, once at the driver, then once at the man in the passenger seat. The final crewman reached out, grasped Dust's wrist, and pulled hard. Dust, instead of resisting, leaned with the movement as the jeep slowed to a halt, and they both fell out of the jeep onto the street. Hard cobblestone bit into Dust's forehead as he attempted to roll over his assailant, but the bastard had brought up his knees to deflect the move. The pistol fell from Dust's grasp in a clatter on the stone. Quickly, Dust got to his knees and sent a ripple along the whip's length; the tip flew up and cracked against the man's cheek, leaving a hot sear of torn flesh, giving Dust the moment to reach down and take back the gun. One pull of the trigger sent the man to the ground.
Jack breathlessly caught up to Dust and climbed into the jeep, harshly kicking the former driver onto the street. Dust climbed into the passenger seat just as she pressed the accelerator down and they began to chase the caravan. Ahead of them, the caravan was rounding a curve to the left, and disappeared from sight. Jack drove harder.
“You have a hell of a lot of explaining to do!” Dust told her as he reloaded a new magazine.
“Explanations later!” Jack told him. “Cairn first!”
Dust began to turn to look ahead, but saw a shadow fly between the buildings above them as he did. Curious, he kept his eyes upwards, scanning the passing windows, but nothing else caught him. The sensation that they were being watched was inextinguishable, however. Whatever these monkeys were that Ryder had fought off, they would return again, and soon. He hoped that they'd have Cairn in hand before that quarrel could occur.
Jack pulled around the corner and immediately applied the brakes. As rubber protested against stone, Dust saw why: the truck, with its armored shell over the bed, had just finished a three-point-turn, and now faced towards them. As did the turret on top of the shell, which was currently manned and prepared to fire.
“Holy crow,” Dust whispered.
Jack threw the jeep in reverse and drove backwards. The intersection was mere feet behind them, so she pulled into it and swung the fore of the jeep around so they now faced the lane. Upon the completion of this maneuver, the turret opened fire: white-hot tracers swept past them and ripped up the pavement as the chuk-chuk-chuk of the heavy caliber echoed throughout the city. Jack hit the gas and drove them out of danger for the moment. The turret fire cut short and was replaced with the sound of the truck engine roaring to catch up with them. Any chance of the monkey guardians ignoring their melee before was now gone; the sound of the turret alone would be enough to rouse the city's inhabitants.
“We're not gonna be able to outgun them with that armor,” Dust said.
“We only have to outpace them,” Jack replied, and she took a hard left. “We can double back to meet the caravan on the opposite side, gather Cairn, and then lose them once more. If we stay ahead of the truck, we'll be clear.”
Beside them the wall of the nearest building exploded outward – fire and brick and gold assailed the side of the jeep as they both threw up their arms to protect themselves. Dust felt debris rip and tear at his flesh; the left side of the jeep briefly left the ground and the vehicle moved forward on only two wheels. Then it came down flat again, shaking them hard, thankfully providing a needed shake to return to their senses. Dust looked back while Jack managed to renew control over the drive. From the smoking hole of the temple came the truck, crashing through what part of the siding that had not been blasted apart. One man sat behind the turret, prepared to fire, and from the side of the shell emerged the torso of a second man, this one reloading – dear heaven, the imbecile was reloading a rocket launcher.