by Travis Smith
Resin had heard enough. He squeezed the trigger and braced his arms against the recoil of the gun—but no recoil came. The trigger clicked dryly. “What the fuck?” he asked.
“Whoops,” Maldeive chuckled. He pointed toward one of Resin’s men, Denwyle. Denwyle took the cue and aimed his own weapon at Resin.
“Boy, that better be yer idea of a joke, or I’m carvin’ it on yer back ’fore I send yer naked carcass back to yer wife,” Resin said to Denwyle.
“No joke,” Maldeive assured him. “Now, who would like eternal life?” he called again, turning back to the crowd of silent guards.
“You?” he asked, pointing to one of the nearby guards. The man shifted uncomfortably on his feet, unsure how to respond to the odd turn of events. “No, then,” Maldeive conceded, and the guard’s head exploded in a spray of blood and bone.
His corpse had scarcely hit the desert floor before Maldeive turned to another guard. “How about you?” At that point the nearby guards shrieked and stumbled backward. The man Maldeive addressed now stood slack jawed and speechless. “Pity,” he mused as a distant shot rang out and a hole appeared in the guard’s neck.
“How about you! Or you! Or you!” Maldeive sang out, twirling and pointing at guards in the crowd now like a deranged musician. With each point, the selected man or woman was cut down where they stood by bullets incoming from various directions.
“Now do not panic!” Maldeive shouted as realization of what was happening rippled through the crowd. “Do not panic, and do not run! Surely those of you still with us prefer living to dying! I can promise you all that life. I can promise ya that forever.”
4
The Stranger started and turned toward the voice, instantly on the defensive. Not far behind him, walking along the same canyon trail, was a man only slightly younger than his late father. He was carrying a large pack on his back from which long fishing poles protruded. He wore a thick and luxurious bear-skin coat.
“Just headed down to a lovely spot ’round the bend in the valley yon, if ya’d care to toss a line with me,” he said.
“Oh,” The Stranger began, caught off guard by the casual ease of the man’s invitation. “No—thank you—I’m just on my way …” He turned and gestured along the same path, his voice trailing off. He could see the lake’s edge
“Suit yourself,” the man said amiably.
“In fact,” The Stranger interjected cautiously, “perhaps I will join you. I can’t recall the last time I angled.”
The man smiled. “Can’t recall the last time I had good company,” he said, clapping The Stranger on the back. “It’s right up ahead. Name’s Cushing,” he continued without extending a hand to be shaken in forced formality. “Samuel.”
The pair ventured along the path and into the nearby valley. Samuel led them around the lake to a low ledge, where he unpacked his rucksack and handed one of the poles to The Stranger. He rigged his line and cast it toward the middle of the lake before pulling a sandwich from his bag and sitting with his feet dangling toward the water.
“Not many simple pleasures such as this to enjoy these days, eh?” he mused, offering The Stranger one of his spare sandwiches.
“Oh, I—” The Stranger began, but he hesitated. “I couldn’t.”
The man shrugged. “Not gonna be a lot of ham the way you’re headed, son. Take it. I can see you could use it.”
The Stranger obliged and finished it in four bites. “Thank you,” he mumbled with a full mouth. “I am indebted to your kindness.”
Samuel shrugged again, wearing a nonchalant smile. “Just pay it for’ard.”
The Stranger cast his line into the lake and sat beside the man. The pair sat in silence as the sun descended from high in the sky. The man had an easy way about him—conversation came easily, but sitting in silence was equally comfortable.
He retrieved a pipe from his sack after reeling in his third fish and began stuffing a hefty pinch of tobacco inside. He lit the pipe and took a long drag before offering it to The Stranger.
“No, thank you,” The Stranger said. He’d never been one for a smoke, but he was also busying himself with pulling his line taut. Something rather large had latched onto the other end.
“Whoa, there,” Samuel said. “I thought I was gonna have to slip ya half my catch if ya didn’t snag any yourself.”
The Stranger chuckled. “Well, this is your spot after all,” he grunted, pulling with full force against his line.
“This one might outweigh all three of mine together!” he said, reaching over to help drag The Stranger’s line in.
After a brief struggle, they reeled in a sizeable lake trout that did indeed outweigh Samuel’s other three. He broke away to start a fire while The Stranger tended the lines and took his paring knife to scrape away the scaly exterior of his catch.
“Thank you again, Samuel,” The Stranger said when he returned. “This is a direly needed hiatus.”
“Speak not of it, and call me Sam,” the man said, waving a hand. “Look at this delightful dinner you’ve provided me.”
“Where do you hail?” The Stranger asked.
“Small village outside Mitten.”
The Stranger nodded. “I once knew another from Mitten.”
“Uh huh,” the man mused without particular investment.
“How do you—” The Stranger began. “How do you just carry on such as this?”
“Pardon?”
“Since everything … that happened in Reprise,” The Stranger clarified. “It seems the entire world has fallen into darkness, yet here you are meandering to your private fishing hole.”
“Nothin’ to it but to do it, son.”
The Stranger smiled again at his infectious nonchalance.
The pair shaved the largest of the catches into thin strips and draped them over the fire to cook. They shared their portions in silence, breaking away when one or both of the lines began bobbing with the weight of another curious fish.
As the sun descended over the distant canyon wall, the sky over the valley exploded with a pink-purple hue. The warm look of it soothed the chill that still hung in the evening air.
“This place is so unlike my home,” The Stranger mused. “I wish I’d had occasion to visit before my … before everything.”
Samuel nodded.
“I wish that I could stay and enjoy the company and the landscape,” The Stranger continued, “but I feel guilty even stopping here to fish.”
“Well, you have to eat, no matter the urgency of your quest.”
“I suppose,” The Stranger agreed. “I’ve not taken time to be kind to myself of late. Nor to my companions.”
“There is kindness in your eyes,” Sam assured him. “It hides in the shadow of your suffering, but it is there. That much I can see.” He removed his heavy coat and handed it over to The Stranger, along with a tied bundle of the six trout they hadn’t already cooked and eaten.
“No. Thank you, but I can’t burden you so.”
The man scoffed. “Burden me? You walk hunched beneath the weight of your own burden. I’d not attempt to rob you of that right, but six fish and a winter coat are of no consequence to me. My family will subsist. Your journey must be long and taxing, and this is the least that I can offer in aid.”
“Why?” The Stranger asked. Samuel had asked no personal details since they’d met, yet he spoke as though he knew well the struggle that The Stranger endured. “Why do you aid me so, a stranger to your land?”
“Our worlds are shaped by the kindness and cruelties of those around us,” he said simply. “So, too, are our identities. Call it self-preservation, for if I see your silent suffering snuff out the kindness behind your eyes, my world will be worse for it.”
5
“Lower that weapon, young man,” Corina Delgor demanded.
The small group had scrambled and crouched behind nearby crates. Jake hadn’t lowered his weapon. He snarled at the guard, standing his ground. Brandon lay on his ba
ck, looking up, eyes dancing between the two in standoff. The guard lowered her weapon and pointed it at Brandon.
“Just shoot ’er!” Brandon said.
“If you pull that trigger now, I can assure you ye’ll all be dead before this one makes it back to his feet.”
“Only thing ’appens when I pull this trigger is you die, bitch,” Jake growled. “No more sellin’ children. No more torturin’ elders. No more forcin’ pris’ners t’ fight.”
The guard scoffed. “When have you ever seen me do any such thing?”
“You walk these grounds just like the rest of ’em!” Brandon shouted at her. “Kill ’er, Jake!”
“Behind me is a room filled with the boss and his most loyal guards. They’re waiting this thing out right now, but if they hear a gunshot at this moment, you can warrant on yer lives they’ll lay in wait no longer.”
Brandon could see Jake’s mettle falter. The tip of his gun dropped just a touch. “It’s a trick,” he groaned, still on his back. “She’s gonna kill the both of us, an’ then all o’ them.”
Corina moved her weapon away from Brandon. She’d seen Jake’s resolve stutter as well, and that was all she needed. She reached one hand down for Brandon. He looked at her—eyes still locked upon Jake’s—and cautiously reached forward to take the hand.
“I’ve done terrible things for what I believed was good reason. I’ve stood by while others did far worse than I, but killing children is not an example of such,” she said. “You will not escape this prison if you continue this path.”
“We can’t go back,” Brandon said, dusting himself off and bending to pick up his weapon. “The only way is back through the prison center.”
Corina kept her foot on the gun as he gripped it. She shot him a stern, motherly look before letting up. “An’ ya can’t go this way, lest ya wanna shoot yer way through another ten or twenty armed guards behind me.”
“So are ye here to help us, or jus’ orate how fucked we are?”
“I can help ya, but ya must trust me now and waste no more time.”
Brandon looked at Jake, who shrugged and shook his head. What choice have we got? that look said. It was precisely what he was thinking himself.
Corina led the group of nine back the way they had come. Before too long, she pulled them aside and corralled them one-by-one into a smaller dwelling. She advised that they wait inside until she returned, which could be quite a while.
“I don’ trust this for a moment,” Brandon grumbled once the door closed and left the group in darkness.
“She coulda jus’ killed us out there,” Jake offered.
Brandon peered out small cracks in the drapes covering her windows. He glanced up and down the path, but it remained silent.
“So what do we do?” Jake asked after a prolonged silence.
Brandon clutched his weapon and looked around the dark dwelling. The door was the only obvious way in or out. His heart bounded in his chest as he anticipated a horde of armed guards to come marching around the bend. “What is she playing at?” he said at last, ignoring Jake’s question. He knew as well as his friend that they had no good options. They’d played it smart thus far, but if the guard were bluffing, Brandon couldn’t wrap his mind around her aim.
6
Corina made her way back around the path toward the prison center. When she got close, she crept in secret, not eager to get involved with any of the other guards. The shooting and chaos had died down before the previous nightfall, and now the barracks were eerily silent. She listened to the small band of new men, taking in their conversations to report back to Boss.
After listening for a while, she retreated back along the path to Boss’s shelter.
“It’s still too risky,” he exclaimed after Corina’s report. “How many o’ my men are still there?”
Corina shook her head. “I know not. Many of the prisoners have escaped, but I’ve got a small group locked in my quarters. What’s done is done, and I think it best to lie in wait a little longer while I discern their intent.”
Many of the guards were lounging lazily around the shelter now, but Boss still paced maddeningly. He kicked out at the flipped desk, and his boot splintered through the wooden frame. “Is everyone escaped?” he demanded.
Corina did not flinch at his predictable outburst. “As I said, many are gone.”
Boss clenched his fists and fumed visibly.
“But there is nothing to be done at this time,” she continued. “When it is safe, you will take back the prison and take back your people.”
“How many o’ the run’ways did ye secure?”
“No more than ten.”
Boss sneered through gritted teeth, deadly menace in his eyes.
“I will return when it is safe for you,” Corina said curtly, turning to the door before another outburst could ensue. “Be ready for a skirmish.”
She shut the door behind her and muffled the enraged shouting that followed. Making her way back toward one of the barracks’ storage bays, she heaved a shaky sigh. She wore a gritty, loyal façade for Boss, but it was taxing to her to keep up the ruse. She’d been working solitarily on a plan for quite a while now, and this chaos within the prison was precisely the distraction she needed to pull it off. It was both fortuitous and unsettling, for her hand was forced now—if she couldn’t work within this unexpected window of opportunity, she may never have another chance again.
She passed by her quarters where the escaped prisoners were stowed but did not stop. Her scheme was larger than their dash for freedom, and she’d be cursed before she let a bumbling group of children thwart her …
Corina worked in secret for much of the remainder of the day. Several unfamiliar men wandered through the barracks looking for deserters, but she knew where to hide. Boss and his crew would remain quietly locked in his shelter, and if the prisoners in her quarters were wise, they would do the same when they saw anyone coming. She could not allow the interruptions to break her away from her work.
When she’d finished as much as time would allow her to accomplish—nervous heart pounding in her chest all the while—Corina made one last venture to the prison center to take assessment of the affairs.
“At your leisure!” Brandon barked at her when she finally returned to her quarters. “Thought for sure ya’d sent the other guards to fetch us!”
“I stand by my word,” Corina said, closing the door behind her.
“What word is that?” he demanded. “When are ya gettin’ us out of here?”
“In time. There is much at stake. You must have patience.”
Brandon huffed and looked to Jake for backup. Jake peered back without expression.
Corina moved a drape aside and peered out the window when soft voices began approaching from outside.
“What’s transpired out there anyway?” Brandon whispered. “It grew so quiet.”
Corina watched a pair of guards as they passed by the quarters. Her head remained still as her eyes traced their movement. “Someone’s taken over the prison,” she said without turning.
“Resin,” Brandon growled under his breath.
“Putting on a brutish display, executing some newcomers and a boy. To set off now would mean certain failure.”
Brandon’s eyes darted to Jake’s own. Now the burly boy’s stoic face was painted with woe. “A boy?” he asked. “What boy?”
Corina shrugged and turned away from the window at last. “Some newcomers, as I said.”
Brandon and Jake had both drawn their guns from their shoulders. The group behind them was now standing at attention, sensing an abrupt change in the air.
Corina stepped in front of the door and held out a hand in attempted calming gesture. “Whoa, now,” she coaxed.
“We must away,” Brandon said without equivocation. “Step aside now.”
Corina kept her hand in front of her. She glanced between the boys and read the somber determination in their eyes. They’d not back down from this fig
ht—that was apparent. But would their reckless endeavor ruin her carefully laid plans?
She shook her head minutely, in response to her own inner monologue.
“We are grateful for your assistance,” Brandon said, “but now you’re going to let us pass. Any who wish to stay behind are welcome.”
A murmur of disapproval ran through the small group.
Corina sighed and closed her eyes. If she stepped aside and let them leave now, any number of unpredictable events could follow …
Instead, she dropped her hand to her side and lay it on the butt of her pistol.
7
“Poor, tortured soul,” Maldeive crooned at Patrick, who was still teetering atop one foot, rope around his neck.
He’d effectively disarmed what remained of Resin’s men, as well as the prison guards Resin had won over. The hulking man was now on his knees with one of his own followers holding a gun to his head.
Maldeive’s voice pitched such that it was clear he was speaking to the spectating crowd, but his eyes did not leave Patrick’s own. “This man—” he gestured toward Resin, “this man promised ya only death.” His somber face dissolved into bright, cheerful smile. “But I have brought you life.”
Patrick cringed as the man laid a hand gently against his cheek. The fourth finger was cleanly nubbed at the knuckle.
“Ain’t life better than death?” he asked for the crowd to hear.
A murmur flowed through the crowd, but Patrick did not reply. His leg quivered, and his breath wheezed through the tightening rope into which he was leaning.
“Will you accept my gift, boy?” he asked. His white teeth were still flashing through a phony smile. There was an emotional disconnect between that smile and his gaze. Patrick stared into his hypnotic eyes that seemed to convey the very antithesis of anything he could associate with a smile. “Will ya embrace the bliss of life?” he asked, pitch rising and falling in showman’s flair.
“This life isn’t bliss,” Patrick grunted through his noose. Only the closest few could have heard his voice.