Rise of the Scorpion

by Scott McCord

  Ven smiles and turns back to me. “Where were you while Slitters were giving the red necklace to Maw and Paw?”

  The blood drains from my face.

  “Nobody told you their throats were slit? Still in their bedrolls—awful way to die, gurgling like cut pigs, unable to make anything but that funny, bubbly wet sound.” The corner of his mouth twitches into a fleeting smile. His eyes narrow, trying to read the response on my face. “Everybody loses their folks one way or another. I don’t know why you and your other dangerball buddy think you’re any different. Mommy and Daddy have been around a long time—longer than most, but nothing lasts forever, and there’s a price for everything.” Ven shakes his head with a smirk. “The question is, hero, what are you going to do about it?”

  My thoughts are dull and slow. Ven asked me a question, but what does he want me to say. “Uh,” I start, trying to sort it out. It seems like we’ve had this conversation before. “Um,” I say, struggling for words when a sharp tap on the arm interrupts me.

  “Here Will,” Tommy says, handing me a bow and a full quiver.

  “Back off, civilian,” Ven snaps. Tommy pays no attention to the order as I dumbly take the weapons.

  “There’s plenty of light now, and the scumbags were traveling at night, so no matter how good they are, they left a trail. I’m going,” Tommy says. “It would be better if you come too.”

  “You’re not going anywhere, Scorpion, and neither are you, civilian.”

  Tommy’s eyes go to Ven. “We can find them.”

  “And then what?” Ven snarls. “What will you do then, besides get yourself killed?”

  Tommy’s face grows hard. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “I’m not in the militia, and I’m not one of your Scorpions. I don’t take orders from you.”

  Ven seethes, and I’m not sure what to do.

  Another moment passes and Tommy is done waiting on me. “I’m out of here,” he says, turning to leave, but Tommy doesn’t make it two steps before Ven’s men jump him from behind—tackling him to the ground. Tommy strains to break free as they take him by the hair, twist both his arms up his back, and pin him to his stomach. The weight of three Scorpions is too much. Tommy can’t move.

  “Get off me,” he spits from the dust.

  “Shut your mouth,” one of the Scorpions growls, sinking his knee into the side of Tommy’s head.

  Blood boils in Gas’s face. He starts moving toward Tommy, but I throw up an arm to keep him from doing something stupid.

  “That’s right, big fella, you keep back, or you’ll find yourself in a world of shit right alongside this smart-ass.” Ven sneers as he steps over to glare down on Tommy. He doesn’t look back to give me his orders. “Hero, take your fat dog and go stand guard at the bridges.”

  “That’s a waste of my time. I’m a scout, the best you’ve got.”

  “Did it sound like I was asking? Do what I say.” Ven sniffs, reaches out with his foot, and toes Tommy in the shoulder. “As for this guy, throw him in a hole.”

  The Scorpions drag Tommy to his feet. Dirt smudged on his face looks like war paint. Gas is losing it. He won’t let them take Tommy. He’s edging up, and there is no way for me to keep him in check. Time to make a decision…am I with my friends or not?

  “Ven!” Starter barks as he approaches. “What’s going on?”

  “Well, Captain, these two have orders, and this one is being held for espionage.”

  “What?” I say under my breath.

  “Hmm, espionage,” Starter repeats, stepping over to regard the prisoner. Tommy shoots me a quick glance as Starter considers the charge. He seems to think forever. “No,” he finally says, “let him go.” The Scorpions holding Tommy look to Ven. “That means now!” Starter snaps, and the men drop Tommy’s arms like hot coals.

  “Captain, I don’t—”

  Starter holds up a fist, silencing Ven’s objection. He takes a deep breath and leans close to Tommy’s ear. “Whatever you’re going to do…go do.”

  Tommy picks up his bow and collects his quiver and knife from the ground. He gives Ven a long, flat stare, spits, and jogs off for the perimeter. We watch him go.

  “Will, Gas,” Starter says, as Tommy skirts around the last tent, “Scorpions don’t bury civilians. Group 14 will take care of their own. The sub-captain has given you your orders, now carry them out.”

  I need to be with Tommy, tracking down the Slitters who murdered my parents, but I’m stuck with a bullshit job assigned by a vindictive asshead. It’s a total waste, and I know Starter will change my orders when he finds out. I start to tell him, but Gas takes hold of my arm and shakes me off.

  “Just leave from the bridge,” he whispers. He’s right. There is no use in provoking our sub-captain any further. I have a bow and quiver, so I’ll walk out to the construction site with Gas and slip away to find Tommy later.

  “What are you waiting on?” Ven barks, and steps over for a private consultation with Starter. I drag my feet to eaves drop.

  “You know I trust you, but do you really think letting a spy run around the woods is the best thing to do, Captain? This shit-storm on your watch must have you rattled, so it might be best to hear me out before making those kinds of decisions in the future. We want the men and The Body to have every confidence in what we do.”

  I’d like to think Ven is totally full of crap, but I know what Starter was doing when my parents were killed, and it wasn’t looking out for the safety of Community. This happened on his watch, but that makes no difference now. The sooner I get to the bridges the sooner I can leave. Gas fills our waterskins and I grab a couple fistfuls of grain from a bucket. We’re nearly out of camp when Ven calls for us to hold up. He’s still standing with Starter when we turn back.

  “If you run into trouble, you’ll need all the help you can get,” Ven calls. He signals his three escorts in for an unexpected conference. The men nod dutifully at their new orders before turning to head our way. Starter watches in silence. “I’m sending these guys with you. You’re in command, hero, sorry about your folks.”

  19

  Will

  I’m not going anywhere. Ven has made sure of it by sending three meatballs out to the bridges to keep an eye on me. The one with the cheek-to-jaw scar on his face seems the most dangerous, but the short one is built like a tree stump, and although he’s not quite as bright, he’s every bit as mean. The third Scorpion is taller and more slightly built with a shaved head. The blonde hair is just beginning to grow back, and you can see where the knife nicked his scalp in several places underneath. He probably lost a bet.

  Blondie has chronic gas, and Stumpy and Scarface laugh like jackals anytime his flatulence changes octaves, lasts more than a few seconds, or just stinks to high heaven. These are definitely Ven’s guys, and anyone of them would be happy to put an arrow in my back and claim I was deserting my post if I even thought about leaving. I can’t even take a pee without being asked where I’m going or one of them following me out. I’ve set a couple rabbit snares so I’m not stuck eating grain every meal, but mostly I sit against a tree thinking about my parents or what Tommy is doing.

  Nothing is happening and nothing is going to happen here, except a lot of waiting around, staring at bridges day after day like some forgotten guard dog. I stew as the hours crawl by. The attack on Group 14 runs through my head. The horror and despicable cowardice of the raid festers in my heart until I thirst for a long drink of revenge. ‘What am I going to do about it?’ Ven asked. I’m not doing anything. He won’t let me. I hate Scarface, Stumpy, and Blondie for keeping me here as their unofficial prisoner, and I may just beat Blondie to death if he farts where I can smell it again.

  §

  Another day and another night go by and the rabbit we had for dinner runs right through me. I’m not bashful about letting one rip. It sounds like a pig swallowed a reed whistle, and everyone busts out laughing. In a moment of good nature, I realize Scarface, Stumpy, and Blondie didn’t come o
ut here willingly, they’re just doing their jobs—following orders to keep me in check. They may be idiots, but they’re not as bad as I thought. Ven is the one pulling the strings. I pass time chewing on a weed, contemplating ways to undo him.

  §

  The sun sets and rises more than once, and I’m still trapped at these damn bridges while the Slitter trail grows stone cold. I envision the scumbags who slaughtered my parents laughing and joking somewhere across Middle Ground, thinking they’re safe. Well they are, as long as I’m under Ven’s unofficial internment, but I won’t be stuck here forever.

  I get up for a walk—Stumpy and Blondie trail along. It would be easy to disappear into the trees, leave these morons behind, but Scarface would take it out on Gas if I turned up missing. I’m as good as shackled as long as my friend is an unwitting hostage.

  I stroll along the gully for a quarter mile or so before returning to sit at the base of my usual tree. Gas wants to talk, but I’m not in the mood to hear about the stupid construction, so we barely speak at all. He kills most of his time on the underside of Dad’s bridges, interpreting every strap and cross-member for its loadbearing or stability purpose. He sloshes through the creek, moving back and forth between the finished bridges and those still being built. Gas is using this time to understand, to follow his calling. I hope The Body is not too blind to see how valuable he really is.

  Ven’s Scorpions are sitting around, chuckling about some inane comment one of them made…they’re too stupid to be bored. I push myself up and Scarface stands with me…I yawn, stretch, and sit back down. I don’t look at him, but I know he’s watching. He eyes me a moment before settling back to his seat on the ground. I wait for him to get comfortable, and leap to my feet. He does the same, struggling to catch his balance, kicking up dust, and finally coming up slightly winded. I wait for him, and then without a word, I sit down again. Scarface snarls and paces around until finally deciding it’s safe to sit, and when he does, I stand and walk to the bridge…he follows…unhappily.

  This is where we crossed the creek coming in from maneuvers when Gas said he was ready to quit—the night my parents and Tommy’s mother died. How many days ago was that?

  The forest is thick and somewhere out there, on the other end of the Ark, godless savages thrive at our expense. Murderers, who come in the night, killing without provocation or cause. Squanderers, wasting vital resources, forcing our leaders to establish tragic institutions and draconian laws to counter balance what the Slitters steal from the world. We are victims of invisible people who will see us dead if we let them. Conflict is inevitable. War—a must. Revenge—the only prayer.

  Ven and his men are Scorpions like me. This isn’t our fault…we didn’t do this…Ven didn’t do this…it’s been the enemy the whole time. The stinking Slitters have pushed and provoked us for generations, and now it comes to murder in the night. Mom and Dad are gone. A heavy cloud descends over my heart, and a dark fire roars to life in its shadow. Everything inside me hardens, growing sturdy enough to lean on. I stare down the bridge at Scarface long enough to make him uncomfortable.

  “What?” he complains. “I’m just standing here.”

  I’m going to need him. I’m going to need them all. As a Scorpion I can make the enemy pay…I can make every one of them pay. No one is innocent, and on my parents’ graves, I will not rest until every Slitter is dead or cast from the Ark.

  §

  I fester three more days, growing almost fond of my piggish companions as my heart ruts out like a hillside in a rain storm. Gas is somewhere down the creek, as usual, and I’m laughing at Blondie’s last musical toot when two Scorpions arrive to relieve us. It’s Weeksend day.

  “It’s about damn time,” Scarface pipes up. “You guys get lost or something?”

  Our replacements report construction is scheduled to resume in the morning, and we are to head home, get some rest, and wait for orders. Gas decides to stay out one more night and wait for the work crew. He has questions for whoever is taking over for my dad. Stumpy and Scarface eye each other, wondering if it’s okay to leave Gas behind. I’m tired of this crap, so I test my officer rank for the first time.

  “You can stay here or leave with me. But decide quick, because I’m going and he’s not.”

  The snap in my words catches the Scorpions off guard. I whip around, starting for home before anyone has the chance to recover. Scarface and his two buddies hesitate, shuffling through what Ven would have them do, before deciding sticking with me is priority. They’re not long to catch up, traipsing at my heels with broken conversations of a full breakfast and soft bedrolls. As angry as I’ve been, I don’t hold anything against these men. They’re as happy as I am to be done with this bullshit.

  It’s Weeksend day in Community, and Group 14 is all but abandoned for parish services with their neighbors. Empty tents, low fires, and slow roasting meat all wait patiently for the congregation to return from church. A couple of straggling boys dribble a dangerball around some water barrels. They’ll get a lash or two if they’re caught playing hooky, but who can blame them, I’m not in the mood for religion either. There’s no way I can listen to the priest’s naïve words of harmony when everything inside me screams for the exact opposite.

  A black torch burns in my chest, fueled on the loss of my parents and Mim. Hatred puts down deep roots for those guilty of taking them both—Slitters. I will not allow my heart to ache…it’s better to freeze than to cry, so I nurture dreams of revenge, pruning them neatly, coaxing them to thrive in the dark. There is no time for a pompous priest with empty words today. I need to find Starter, get serious about training the men, hunt down and cut the heads off every scumbag squatting in the Ark God gave Community. It’s time to end this…forever.

  The kids with the ball stop when they notice us walking through. “Will, is that you?” one of them calls.

  The voice is familiar, coming out of the past, when children peppered me with questions of dangerball and stories of the arena. But they’re looking for a scout, the goalie of Group 14, the winner of the Grand Championship, not a duty-bound Scorpion sub-lieutenant reporting to his commanding officer. What they want of me no longer exists. Who I was before, what I believed was important is nothing now…a weakness, tying me back. These boys should be learning to throw apaches instead of juggling a ball. I ignore them as we move by.

  “What an asshole,” one boy mutters.

  I let it go, because he’s right. I’m finally acting like an officer with more important concerns than chit-chat with civilians. My gait quickens with purpose, and the men trailing behind have to break into an occasional jog to keep up. The Chancel with its Weeksend day congregation comes into view. I break off for the perimeter to avoid the crowd, but Scarface grabs my shoulder before I get too far.

  “Do you see that?” he asks.

  My eyes go to the pulpit and my pace drops to a slow walk. Beyond the turned heads, amid a ring of black and crimson body guards, the pale frame of a daytime ghost climbs the stairs. He’s buried in heavy robes and strains with every step. His face and hands are nearly invisible in the morning sun as the parish priest in his pointy hat welcomes Ayden to the stage. The congregation stands like scarecrows, and a stillness descends on the world when the priest takes a seat by the altar and Ayden moves to the podium.

  “Sir, maybe—”

  I snap my hand up to silence my Scorpion escort. Even if I could force my feet to keep going, snubbing the Supreme would be foolish, so I sidle in behind the last row of congregants to listen. Stumpy, Blondie, and Scarface move in beside me. The crowd is laced with Scorpions, and I wonder if Starter is here.

  “Good Weeksend Day,” Ayden opens in a whisper.

  The crowd tightens up and moves forward when they realize hearing will be a strain.

  “Good Weeksend Day,” Ayden repeats.

  “Good Weeksend Day,” the people respond.

  “Unfortunately, imminent matters of Community will prevent me from taki
ng service with you this morning…I’d hoped to deliver the sermon, but alas, it will not be possible.”

  The crowd holds its breath, not wanting the slightest noise to interfere with the words of the Supreme.

  “It is a terrible and atrocious thing that has occurred here in Group 14, perpetrated by terrible and atrocious people. We have lost dearly and mourn deeply the valuable members of Community who are now gone.” He gives a shallow cough and wipes his nose. “Being my point group, you are among the most courageous, but as you well know, being out front also makes you my most vulnerable.” He pauses to collect himself. “And now, my beloveds, you have become the target of a cowardly and unprovoked attack.”

  My nerves grow raw, and pressure pushes out on my eardrums, making every word Ayden says clear as a bell. I want to hear, and my senses heighten so I can.

  “My father and predecessor, Verick, was hopeful, abiding by the treaty set forth generations before, surviving in détente with our enemy neighbors ahead. He prayed tirelessly for Community, for the prophecy to unfold, for the earth made whole, and for our people to emerge from this cocoon the light of the world...as it is promised.”

  Ayden stands like a statue, arms at his side, reciting his flat words like a naughty child forced to apologize.

  “I too, want these things.” He pauses for a shallow breath. “Verick, like the Supremes before him, was an idealist, holding to time-honored institutions, striving for the balance Brother Ark demands. For generations, The Body has overseen your virtue and ensured your purity, making you the wheat of humanity—sires to heirs of the earth. You are the future.”

  It would be a rousing moment for a better speaker, but people remain quiet, afraid any murmurings will drown out Ayden’s next words. I press forward, hanging with everyone else on what he’ll say.

  “For years, the neighbor savages have lived without law, discipline or regard for economy. Their population is unchecked, taxing the resources and longevity of Brother Ark. They are fat and burgeoning, consuming far more than their due, threatening to exhaust resources that are rightfully yours.”