The Recusant

by Greg Hanks

  “Piss off, rat bitch,” he said, disappearing behind the railing.

  The other guard drew his weapon. “Turlio says hi!”

  V’delle squeezed her fist. The shield burst to life, deflecting the bullets. She commanded and corralled Ferret while backpedaling to the other door, each pelt of automatic fire vibrating her forearm bones. They reached the door and disappeared from the chandelier’s range.

  A corridor continued onward, a door at the middle, another at the end. V’delle retracted her shield and replaced her pistol with her rifle.

  “I . . . thought I knew . . .” Ferret said quietly to herself. “I’ve lost it all. Everyone . . .”

  “Shh!” V’delle whispered, grabbing Ferret’s arm.

  TINK. TINK. TINK.

  They stopped next to the middle door.

  “That’s the sound,” said V’delle. “What’s in there?”

  “We need to get your friend! Who gives a shit about—”

  V’delle kicked open the door.

  A man stood behind a single metal table. He held a giant cleaver above his head. A blue-bruised and blackened body lay on the table, one leg already severed. The man—a bald, disgruntled, crusty degenerate—looked at V’delle, raised an eyebrow, and dropped the cleaver onto the next leg. TINK. Blood drained from the table into the floor grate. Using the cleaver, he scraped the chopped limb into another laundry cart aside the table.

  It took V’delle a few seconds to realize Balien was sitting in a chair next to the table, hands tied behind his back, mouth taped shut. He moved in his chair, mumbling loudly.

  V’delle lit up the butcher, a line of bullets straight up his chest and face, Ferret tried clawing V’delle’s rifle away, screeching. V’delle elbowed Ferret, who fell to the floor.

  “What, did you know him, too?” V’delle snarled at Ferret. She ran over to Balien, magging her rifle to her side.

  “I swear I didn’t know about this!” Ferret said, getting up. “I told them we were going to use him for work. He’s too valuable to eat. I promise!”

  V’delle ripped the tape from Balien’s mouth and cut his bands.

  “Thank you,” he said, standing.

  “We’re leaving,” V’delle said.

  “This place . . .” he started saying but couldn’t finish. He wasn’t beaten but looked rattled. “Your shoulder, are you all right?”

  “I’ll fix it in a second,” she said. “Your weapons?”

  “Their leader,” Balien said. “He has the rifle, pistol, the grenades. Everything.”

  “Shit,” V’delle said. There was almost an inkling to blame Balien for this setback, but it sloughed off when her brain caught up to her anger.

  Ferret took advantage of the fuming silence. “They’re coming. So you don’t have another option now. There’s not an exit close enough. Your only option is to stay. And help me.”

  “Bullshit,” said V’delle, stepping across the room and touching the rifle barrel to Ferret’s forehead. “Tell us how to escape.”

  “I just told you!” Ferret said. “All the windows are barred, and the door at the end of the hallway is another dead-end. I promise.”

  “V’delle,” Balien said, touching her shoulder. “Let us think this through. Okay?”

  Ferret smirked. “V’delle?”

  V’delle considered ending Ferret but turned to Balien. “These people are drug addicts and cannibals.”

  Ferret’s eyes displaced, a slight puncture behind her adamant disregard for feeling.

  “What if we hole up here?” Balien offered. “Make them come to us?”

  V’delle didn’t take her eyes off Ferret, concocting her own agenda. She shook her head. “No. They’d overrun us when we ran out of ammo.”

  Ferret’s face morphed into one of sincerity. “I’m sorry Turlio’s men stopped you out there. I don’t want this world any more than you do. I hate it. I hate the dirt, the blood, the smell. Please, help me kill him and his followers. I’ll have my guys fix your motorcycle. We’re always fixing shit. It’s probably only a flat tire. We can swap it out. We can patch it.”

  V’delle weighed the question, looking to Balien.

  “How many people does your leader have?” Balien asked.

  “Like thirty or so. But they’re all rat-spleens and cut-guts. With weaponry like that,” she nodded to V’delle’s rifle, “you’d slice through ‘em like a hot blade.” She tongued her little gap excitedly.

  Balien groaned. “That is a lot of people.”

  V’delle searched the floor for the answer that could save them. But all she found was black blood and rust-colored concrete. The smell of cut human flesh brought her back. She spun, taking in the room. A cleaning station, a bookshelf, and a floor-to-ceiling metal freezer. She sized it from top to bottom.

  “I have an idea,” she said, detaching her shell. With accuracy and caution, she slowly plucked one of Ketterhagan’s EMP balls and supported it with her fingers.

  Balien’s eyes widened.

  Ferret didn’t catch the ominous meaning of a silvery ball. “What, a grenade?”

  “It’s an EMP,” V’delle said. “Ferret, what does this place use to get power?”

  “Solar panels on the roof power our generators,” she said. She looked at the sphere blankly, but then her expression changed to confusion. “Wait . . . you’re not going to—”

  “What about our suits, your weapons?” Balien asked.

  V’delle smiled. Balien waited, bristling.

  She pressed the locking points on her suit and undressed, careful to move it around her shoulder. She stood in black tights with gel footpads, and a loose, baby-blue t-shirt with a dark purple stain.

  Ferret laughed. “The hell’re you doing?”

  V’delle pried open the freezer door. Hanging slabs of human meat, shelves of limbs, and plumes of frozen air. She placed her gear on the cold floor and stepped back, looking at the craftsmanship of the freezer. “It should work.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ferret asked. “They’re going to be here any second! Get your rifle! If you won’t take it, I will!”

  “Be quiet,” Balien said, which caught V’delle’s attention. “It is called a Faraday cage. Our equipment will be protected from the EMP. Theirs will not—if they even have anything like that.”

  “A what cage?” Ferret asked.

  “It doesn’t matter what it’s called, it just works,” V’delle said. She looked at Balien. “It’ll dismantle your equipment so they can’t use it on us.” She shrugged. “It’s something.”

  “How does it work?” Ferret asked dumbly. “How’d you know that?”

  “A lot of reading,” Balien said curtly, removing his gear. He emerged in a beige t-shirt and black tights.

  “Hey, I read,” Ferret said, folding her arms.

  Inside Balien’s shell, V’delle found Hayla and Rosalie’s salve. A tiny dot on her fingertip was all she needed. With the wound already numb from the acorn device, she reached under her shirt and lathered the shoulder hole without a wince. Once the gel was applied, she took a doily-like bandage from the shell and placed it on the wound. It stuck to her skin like tape and would seal the wound without the need for suture.

  As Balien kneeled to place his gear, the intercom above the door squeaked. A scratchy, bored male voice cleared his throat.

  “Ferret.”

  V’delle and Balien looked up and watched her.

  “Ferret?” the voice continued, moist and clicky. “I don’t know where you are but it’s not an endless hotel. All your friends are locked up. You’ve got no one to lead anymore. So that’s that, right? We can finish this off easy. I’ll make you an offer, if you vow to follow me from now on, I’ll let you live. At least until we run out of meat. Little, little Ferret. Come to the lobby if you’re smart.”

  Ferret shook her head. “No. There were too many of us. He’s bluffing. Just make sure your Freeday cages work.”

  V’delle clutched the EMP while Balien
closed the freezer.

  “You’re really gonna go along with this?” she asked Balien.

  “What do you mean?” Balien said.

  V’delle scanned his face. “I just didn’t expect you to concede to my plan so easily.”

  “You’re gonna let that Preen’ch talk to you like that?” Ferret asked from afar. “What kind of kutt are you?”

  Balien and V’delle looked at Ferret as if she had said something incredibly stupid.

  “Were we speaking to you?” V’delle asked.

  Ferret resigned with open hands, but her face showed true confusion. “I don’t care. It’s just . . . odd.”

  Balien approached Ferret, towering over the scrawny body with his immense frame. His face in shadow, his burning red pupils gazing lethargically at her.

  “Did you want me to be more intimidating?” he asked.

  Ferret looked him in the eye, her face visibly shook. Then a smile creased. “Beige suits you.”

  “I thought it was a nice color,” he replied. She stepped back, his eyes following her.

  “Here’s what’s gonna happen,” started V’delle. “Ferret and I will enter the lobby together. We’ll take up Turlio’s offer; we fall in. Balien, while they’re distracted, you place the EMP at the base of the stairs closest to us, try to stay hidden. Once we’re close enough to Turlio, set it off. Ferret, when everything goes dark, take Turlio hostage. Balien and I will take care of the rest.”

  Balien shook his head. “They were right about you in Beliveilles; what kind of plan is that? They are going to have human weapons. The second those lights go out, you will be cut down.”

  “I’ve gotten this far, haven’t I? Just wait ’til we’re close enough for me to grab someone. With Turlio in jeopardy, it’ll cause some hesitation.”

  “We have both kinds of guns,” Ferret confirmed. “But I really don’t think he wants to keep me around. The second we walk out there, we’re dead.”

  “Look at us. We’re both women. We’re all edible. And Balien and I have leverage with being Preen’ch and Khor’Zon. If Turlio’s got half a lobe, we’ll be okay.”

  “Turlio kills rapists, actually. He values work over food, and you’re far too capable to be food. But you’re also far too dangerous to be kept around. He’s going to kill us.”

  “We have information about nearby supplies. The connections we have are substantial.” She handed the EMP to Balien. “It’s got a five-second fuse.”

  Ferret paced the room. “This is . . . it’s just too fast. I need time to think about it.”

  “Nope,” V’delle said, grabbing Ferret by the arm and dragging her to the door.

  “What the hell?” Ferret grunted.

  Balien followed with the sphere in his hand.

  Ferret wrenched free and led the pack. “They should’ve just killed both of you outside.”

  The three of them walked down the hallway toward the lobby door. Balien took post at the threshold as V’delle and Ferret walked through.

  The chandelier was empty. A throng of men and women stood on the second-floor balcony between the two staircases. They all looked grimy and gleefully forlorn. Black eyes, grim smiles, beards, dreads, piercings and bloody knuckles. Hand wraps and bare feet. Brass knuckles with serrated blades. Missing teeth. AK-47’s and Khor’Zon rifles.

  “She’s come, Turlio,” a voice said from the balcony.

  “Then send her up!” rang a jovial voice from the unseen center of the upper floor.

  Ferret and V’delle walked up the closest staircase. Both sides were lined with Turlio’s gang, all peering, smiling, and yipping at the procession.

  “Who’s yer friend, Ferret?” spat a scrappy man whose bones overpowered his muscles. “Who’s yer sippy friend there? Lemme have a sip!” He cackled through teeth that looked like little black and yellow fangs

  “A Preen’ch!” one woman wailed, slender, half-naked, with a pointed nose and blood-stained lips. “Oh, a Preen’ch, Ferret!” More laughter availed. “Let’s make them do it, right here on the floor!” She screeched in mirth that bounced off the walls.

  Continued jeering and hollering followed V’delle and Ferret to the landing. In the center of the balcony, three men sat around a small card table. One divvied cards, one smoked a cigarette, and the other chewed on a silver coin. The man with the cigarette held his cards lackadaisically. Short black hair pressed so hard onto his head it looked painted except for a curl sticking out from his forehead. Tattoos covered his body like another skin, some faded with age, melting into each other. A tan, naked torso, lean and much too vascular. Black military pants tucked into floppy-eared boots. He took one glance at his hand of cards and tossed them behind his shoulder. He swung an arm over his chair and faced Ferret and V’delle. A wretch from the congestion crouched to pick up the cards and returned to his spot.

  “See, I’m not ruthless, Ferret,” the man with the cigarette said, taking a long drag and standing up. He swaggered over to the women and blew a huge plume smoke into V’delle’s face. “In fact, I’m downright charitable. I’m a goddamn miracle. That’s why they love me, Ferret. You were never supposed to lead us. It’s no hard feelings. It’s just how it goes.”

  “You pushed me to keep leading,” Ferret said. “Why? If you were just gonna kick me out later, what was the point?”

  Turlio finished his cigarette and flicked the butt into the crowds surrounding them. “C’mon, Ferret. You know we do stuff out of emotion. This whole ‘coup’? I organized it, yeah, but I can’t keep an eye on every single prick and twat in this hotel. That’s why they like me so much. I give them freedom. I trust them. And I valued your input. You were close with Bashe. You knew a lot of the things he knew. That’s why you were picked. You’re good with the rejects. I still want you alive if possible.”

  V’delle waited for the sudden shift of darkness. She kept her heartbeat steady.

  “Things were good with Bashe,” Ferret said. “I just wanted to keep things that way.”

  “Sappy!” yelled someone from the crowd.

  Turlio gave Ferret a once-over before glancing at V’delle. “Where’s the kutt?”

  “Your butcher got to him before I could,” V’delle said.

  Turlio smacked his lips. “Well, shit. Woulda liked to know what you two were up to. Like I said, I can’t keep an eye on every corner of this hotel.”

  “Look, Turlio,” Ferret began. “I surrender. I get it; I was never meant to lead.” Her voice took a serious turn. V’delle lost focus for a moment, noticing the truthful quality to Ferret’s diction. “I tried. But I get it; people don’t like to follow me. Maybe I’m not the best to get along with. Maybe I’m not the best tactician. But I thought I had other kinds of courage. Courage that—”

  A bright explosion blew out the left side of the room, sending people on the leftmost side flying ten feet in the air. The orange-yellow flames and shockwave pushed everything outward, decimating the left side of the second floor and its staircase. Pieces of wood and marble spread like fireworks. Black smoke suffocated everything.

  12

  HEN AND CHICK

  “V’delle?” Farin said into the thumb-sized communicator. “Are you there?”

  She sat with one leg dangling from the table in the first-floor conference room, pushing a chair back and forth with her other leg. The comm was silent.

  Though it had only been about six hours, she still wanted to know where V’delle was and how they were doing. The other comm was in V’delle’s shell. If the other person wasn’t nearby to respond immediately, the message was saved for later. Farin had hoped V’delle would check her comm at lunch. Why did V’delle’s absence feel so long?

  Rosalie Fillion walked into the room, a box of coffee grounds under her arm.

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Rosalie said.

  “It’s fine. Just trying to contact V’delle.”

  “Anything?”

  Farin shook her head. “She’s super busy. I
’m just impatient.”

  Rosalie smiled, setting the box on the table. “How’re the kids coming along?”

  Farin stood up and rounded the table. “You know what these kids are like.”

  “An awful reality we live in,” said Rosalie. “At least they’ve stepped up. At least they’re not cowards.” But in Rosalie’s compassionate face were the inklings of worry. Her last living children were among those soldiers.

  Farin leaned against the buffet table and sighed. “I feel like I’m doing the same thing the Khor’Zon did to me.”

  “You’re certainly not brainwashing them.”

  “You know what I mean. No child should have to hold a weapon.”

  “War is a terrible, awful thing. I don’t want my children holding rifles either. But it will come down to that, eventually. And so I want them to be ready, however much it pains me.”

  “That’s why we need V’delle to hurry.”

  Rosalie nodded in thought. There was a long silence. “We should be helping her. While we’re stuck here, I mean. We should be doing something.”

  Farin ran her hand across some of the papers on the table. “I’ve been thinking . . . about that Khor’Zon, Maora. We need to convince her to speak to her people.”

  “I thought they were adamant about being neutral? They’re not the ones who make that decision.”

  “I just don’t buy that. There’s something they’re not telling us.”

  Rosalie started unloaded the packets of coffee. “Well, getting to know someone is never a bad idea.” Once she’d filled the packet receptacle, she took the empty box and put her back to the door, ready to leave. “Penelope’s up and walking. I assumed you wanted to see her.”

  ——————

  Penelope looked at herself in the mirror. What the hell was she gonna do with short hair? She had it for a while in the Chalis and hated it. Turning, glancing, trying to imagine hair in the bald spots. But for some reason, looking at the irregular chopped chunks of red, she kind of liked it. The pallid face scarred, two black rings around her eyes, flaky lips. It could only suit her, and she was almost proud of it.