Fireteam Delta

by J. F. Halpin

  Eventually, they saw the walls of the city. They were built out of gray stone and were about twenty feet high. Summers saw bits of bone and fur interspaced on the top like banners; some was even hanging from the deeply sloped, wooden roofs of the few buildings they could see. Shacks lined the road out front in what Summers guessed would be considered the low-rent area. Kids about Asle’s age scattered in the streets up ahead, clearing the way as their wagon approached.

  “I kind of expected trees,” Adams said, staring at the city in front of them.

  There looked to be a caravan of some sort beside the gate. It was massive, with nearly a hundred guards lined around wagons far larger, and more expensive-looking, than their own. Summers caught sight of an elven woman with silver hair at the front of the head wagon. Their eyes met for an instant, and he saw her tense.

  As Summers looked around, he noticed that everyone’s eyes were on him and his friends.

  “Uh . . .”

  They weren’t looking at Summers, though, or any of them. All their eyes were on the head of the enormous body in their wagon.

  The cow, in a show of utter indifference, just kept walking forward. It only stopped as they reached the gate itself.

  There was a long silence as Summers and his party stared at the guards blocking the path. There were about a dozen on the wall above them, each with elaborate short bows in their hands. Security here was not fucking around.

  “Asle,” Nowak reminded the girl. She immediately straightened and began the script they’d decided on.

  They were merchants from far away. They had goods, and the body of a monster they’d run across in their travels. They were here to resupply and trade their wares. That was the idea, anyway.

  A guard stepped forward, saying something in a distinctly unhappy tone. Asle held her ground, showing him the merchant’s badge. He looked it over for a moment before stepping aside, letting them in.

  “All right, then,” Nowak muttered.

  As they each stepped into the city, another guard took the reins of the cow. It stopped as more guards moved to the wagon itself, searching its contents.

  Summers watched as one guard found a grenade they’d brought from the Humvee. He turned it over in his hands, and Summers felt the muscles in his legs go taut. Each of them was ready to run at a moment’s notice.

  Thankfully, the guard lost interest, tossing it back where he found it.

  Summers looked up at the wall above them. The guards up there watched each of them with interest.

  In Summers’ opinion, bows weren’t a match for an M4, but an arrow or a spear will kill you dead just the same.

  As he watched the guards, he couldn’t help but notice they were treating them differently than the other merchants. It seemed like they had forgotten about the others entirely, in fact. He would have assumed it was because they were foreigners, but that didn’t seem right. They kept stealing glances at Asle, of all people.

  After the last guard climbed down from the wagon, he waved the group forward.

  “He says come in,” Asle explained.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  They’d managed to find something like an inn a short time later, although it had cost a few of their smaller, more common coins to grease the palms of some locals.

  Summers sat at a large wooden table. To its credit, the inn looked surprisingly lavish, even by modern standards. He would have appreciated it, had he not been dealing with his own problems. Namely that of sensory overload.

  “They have alcohol,” Cortez observed, a bit of reverence in her voice.

  A few patrons walked past with cups of frothing liquid. It was, in fact, a fruity alcohol. Summers knew this because he could smell it. That, along with the heavily perfumed guests, and the weird floral oils a barkeep was wiping the counter with. The number of sensations he was taking in was nearly overwhelming.

  “Mhmm,” was all he could manage while trying to hold in a sneeze.

  Summers saw the innkeeper as he stepped out from the back room. He said something to Asle, and Summers could guess the content of their back and forth: they’d asked for two rooms, and the man was holding two odd pegs he guessed were keys.

  “How much?” Nowak asked.

  “Two . . . gray? Two a night.”

  “Silver?”

  Asle shrugged.

  Nowak rummaged around in the sack that served as their coin pouch. Besides the copper disks they were using for bribes, there were dark, squares coins, and a round, silver type. That made things simple, at least. He handed two silver to the innkeeper.

  The man bowed graciously as he gave Asle the pegs in return.

  Nowak closed the pouch and put it back on his belt. “If I find out we just splurged on five-star rooms, I’m going to be pissed.”

  “It’s fine,” Cortez said. “I saw some stalls on the way in. We can get a feel for how much we have later.”

  “We should get some clothes, too.” Nowak rubbed the steel helmet on his head. “I feel like kind of an asshole wearing this indoors.”

  “Don’t worry. You look like an asshole, too,” Cortez agreed. Her hair was long enough to hide her normal, human ears, so she’d taken her helmet off once they sat down.

  “I know it.” Nowak checked the window outside. “We should probably switch out with the others.”

  “I’ll go,” Summers volunteered.

  The city was starting to get to him. They’d left Adams and Logan guarding the wagon, and all their belongings, in a warehouse nearby. One that had been, blessedly, a little more ventilated than the stuffy inn.

  “All right.” Nowak was looking at Summers oddly, but he wasn’t about to complain. “We’re in room”—he checked the keys—“red and orange bird things. Cortez, you want night shift or day?”

  “I’ll take night. Nothing fun happens in the morning, anyway.” Cortez started to get up.

  “See you two in the morning.” Nowak waved as he and Asle headed upstairs.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Summers stood in the small barn they’d rented, along with Cortez. It was quiet here, and the fresh air let him relax ever so slightly.

  The wagon was sitting in one of the many storage warehouses that lined the walls of the city. He assumed the guard station beside them was supposed to make the area look secure; however, none of them fully trusted a city they knew nothing about.

  Summers turned at a kissy noise from beside him. Cortez was trying to elicit some kind of response from the cow. It wasn’t working.

  “I kind of like its attitude. He doesn’t give a shit about nothing. It’s cute.”

  “Your definition of cute is disturbing.” Summers watched as Cortez scratched the cow behind its ear. It made no reaction, but didn’t try to pull away, either.

  “I’m calling him Tank.”

  “You can all him what you want, but from what we’ve seen, I think Lunch is more appropriate.”

  “I think Tank’s a she, actually.” Cortez ducked under the cow, verifying that, yes, there wasn’t anything there.

  Summers sighed, stretching to try to loosen his stiff muscles. Maybe taking what was essentially a double shift wasn’t such a great idea. “How much longer you think we have?”

  Cortez stepped outside and looked at the sky. “Another six hours, at least.”

  He settled in against the near wall. It was going to be a long night.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  By the end of their shift, the two were tired, bored, and more than a little annoyed by the entire concept of guard duty. The guards on the wall above had only stared down at them impassively as they passed. He could swear they were giving him dirty looks, only without any expression whatsoever.

  Then a noise from outside put him back on alert. Their little storage space was at the far end of the street, so no one would have any reason to get close if they weren’t coming to them specifically. Cortez saw him react and readied her own weapon.

/>   “If that’s one of you, say something before I blow your head off,” Summers called out.

  “Try me, asshole.” It was Nowak’s voice that called back. “We gotta set up a challenge phrase.”

  Cortez walked to the door. “Why? We’re the only ones who speak English around here.”

  The barn creaked open as Nowak stepped in with Asle. An older elf woman followed in after them—the same silver-haired trader Summers had seen at the head of the caravan when they arrived.

  Nowak gestured to him. “Guys, do me a favor and bring that worm thing’s head over.”

  “Any particular reason why?” Cortez grunted with effort as she climbed into the wagon, straddling the body of the creature.

  “Ms. Synel”—Nowak started with emphasis on the woman’s name—“is a buyer. I don’t know how she found us, but Asle says she’s real hot shit, so play nice.”

  Summers hauled the easily 200-pound head out of the back of the wagon and, with some help from Cortez, dropped it on the front seat.

  Nowak led the woman forward. She was clearly tense, as if she expected the monster to come back to life at any moment. Actually, for all they knew, that probably wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities.

  Summers moved to Nowak’s side as the woman inspected the beast. “The fuck does she want with a head?”

  “She wants the whole thing. Said it’s some kind of charm. The smell of the big ones keeps little monsters away.”

  “That . . . sort of makes sense. We didn’t have to deal with much after we took this thing down.”

  She turned to Asle and said something.

  “She wants to know if there have been any offers on the . . . trophy?”

  “No—” Nowak started to reply, but Summers put up a hand.

  “Sarge, you’ve never done any negotiations before, have you?” Summers turned to Asle. “Tell her we had a standing bounty in the next city. If she asks what it was, tell her you can’t discuss the details, but they were very, very generous.”

  Asle nodded and spoke again to the woman.

  Summers caught a flash of tension in the woman as Asle spoke. It was a little odd; maybe elves weren’t as used to hiding their involuntary reactions as humans were. Or, more likely, their culture just didn’t encourage them to read one another. She lowered her head in thought, then raised five fingers while muttering something to Asle. Summers took that as her naming a price.

  “She’s offering five stones—”

  Summers cut her off. “Tell her thank you, but no thank you.”

  “Summers, what the hell are you doing?” Nowak looked like he was debating whether he should jump in.

  “Trust me. She’s been eyeing this thing since we got into the city. She’s not leaving without it. Watch, while we’re talking, she’ll make another offer.”

  “Seven,” Asle called over.

  Summers pretended to consider that for a moment. “We’d be willing to go as low as eight. And only because we value her safety and future business.” Summers looked at the wagon. “In fact, explain to her that we plan to be on the road again soon, and we’ll buy one stone’s worth of food and supplies as part of the deal. You got that?”

  Asle tilted her head in confusion, but relayed the message anyway.

  After a long second, Summers heard the woman speak again.

  “Ms. Synel agreed.”

  “Summers, we have no idea what a goddamn stone is,” Nowak whispered. He was looking at him like he was crazy.

  “I know we just got seven of them. And I really don’t want to haul this thing around much further, do you?” He gestured to the monster.

  Nowak shook his head, then crossed to the woman. After a quick back and forth, she bowed to Nowak, her left hand covering her chest. Summers saw Asle return the gesture, so they followed in kind.

  As he lifted his head, he saw Synel watching him intently. She turned to Asle and asked her something. Asle gestured to Summers and said his name. He supposed this was about as much of an introduction as he was going to get. Her eyes lingered on him a moment before she turned to leave.

  She didn’t seem happy. Even through her mask of indifference, that much was obvious. Good, that meant they at least weren’t getting ripped off.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Apparently, stones were metallic triangles with rounded edges. They were even larger than every other denomination Summers had come across. And true to their name, they felt like the kinds of stones you’d use to skip on a lake.

  The group had stayed in the barn at Ms. Synel’s request. It didn’t take long before she’d delivered on the short list of goods they’d given her. And she had very much delivered.

  “At least a hundred days’ worth of food, and that’s if we don’t ration it,” Cortez had concluded.

  “Huh . . .”

  There were crates stacked three high in the back of their wagon, each filled to the brim with travel supplies. Clothes, blankets, mundane tools. They had everything they needed. Summers had had to move the crap they’d gotten from the bandits to the floor of the barn. They had completely restocked their supplies and then some, probably enough to last them all the way to Nevada. All with a single stone.

  And they still had seven left.

  They were going to need to do some shopping.

  Chapter 10: Dinner Date

  Summers sat up on the furs that lined their rented room. The inn, while not being the most expensive in town, was more than enough for the tired group’s needs. Although elves apparently had different tastes than Summers would have expected. The “bed” was nothing more than a pile of pelts that the group had been sharing. The only other amenities were a table, a mirror, two basins of water, and a chest. All in all, Summers had stayed in worse places, and it was easy to fall asleep after fourteen hours of guard detail.

  He got dressed. They’d managed to find something a little more in line with local fashion in the clothes Ms. Synel had sold them, with something akin to a balaclava for their faces.

  It was nice not having to lug around thirty pounds of armor for once. The leather armor wasn’t much better than Kevlar, either. If it wasn’t winter, they’d have died of heatstroke traveling as they were.

  As he stepped downstairs, he found Nowak and Asle fresh in from their trip to the market.

  “So, what’s the damage?”

  Nowak tossed a full pack onto a nearby table. “Down to five stone. From what Asle and I could figure out, that should be plenty to charter a ship, even on our own.”

  “Don’t suppose they had anything we could use? Wands? Magic armor?”

  “No such luck. We did manage to get some books on language, hand made. Though most look like they’re meant for kids. I figured we shouldn’t rely on Asle forever.” Nowak sat, letting out a breath.

  “I speak better than you,” Asle insisted.

  “Yes, you do. But you can’t be with all of us all of the time.” Nowak laid a hand on the girl’s head. “I got a couple maps as well, proper ones. They were expensive sons of a bitches, too. Let’s see . . .”

  Nowak dug into the pack, placing a few items on the table.

  “This is incense that’s supposed to keep critters away. Not sure how well it works, but Asle says she’s seen it used before with the 63rd. So, we’ll give it a shot.” He placed a single bottle in front of Summers. “I thought you’d be interested in this.”

  He pushed the bottle toward Summers. It was filled with clear liquid.

  “What is it?”

  “They bottle the fog. It’s water from some spring. Near as we can figure, it’s like synthetic adrenaline. A big reason why the town’s here is so can they ship this stuff all over.”

  “They mention anything else. Side effects?”

  “You still feeling off?” Nowak looked at Summers with concern.

  “I’m good,” Summers lied. “I’d just like to know if my heart’s going to explode any time soon. I had a lot more than a bottle.”
>
  “I don’t know about that, if this is from that spring, it’s concentrated. And by the price, I don’t think it’s something they use lightly. I only bought this bottle to get the info out of the trader. Supposedly, it makes you stronger, faster, and immune to pain. Other than that, no.”

  Summers didn’t believe for a second that something like this didn’t have lasting effects. But the very fact that it wasn’t common knowledge meant that it was either something the merchants didn’t want to spread, or the people who used this sort of thing didn’t live long enough to experience them. Given what he was like when he’d fought those wolves, he was betting on the latter. Great.

  The barmaid handed Summers a letter. He obviously couldn’t do anything with it, so Asle snatched it out of his hands.

  “What’s it say?”

  “Invitation.”

  Summers waited for her to continue. She didn’t.

  “Asle?”

  “Ms. Synel wants to meet with you,” she finally replied.

  He glanced down at the letter. There were only about two sentences there.

  “Why did it take you so long to figure that out?”

  “Don’t trust her. Merchants want something, always.” Asle kept reading. “Why is she inviting you?” She pointed a finger directly at Summers.

  That was a good question, and it took a moment for Summers’ slow brain to come to the answer.

  “Shit. Sorry, Sarge. She probably saw me taking the lead on the sale. Since we’re supposed to be merchants and all, there’s a good chance she figures I’m the one in charge.”

  Nowak waved away the apology. “The invitation only mentions Summers?”

  Asle nodded.

  “Then I’ll play your guard. Or Asle’s. That shouldn’t be too weird, right?” Nowak looked to Asle. She nodded again after some consideration.

  “She calls you all ‘great hunters.’ It’s a compliment. Hunters have high status.” Asle pointed at the note. Summers couldn’t read a thing, but damn if the handwriting wasn’t pretty.