Warbringer

by Aaron Hodges

  “Keeping our guests happy I hope, Liz?” She jumped as Andrew appeared beside her.

  At six-foot-five with a buzz cut and heavily built shoulders, Andrew towered over Liz’s meagre five feet and two inches. He had served five years with the Western Allied States military before retiring from active duty and starting his own bar here in Sacramento. Or so he claimed on the memoire plastered on the back of every menu. It wasn’t like there was any way to verify his story—even in the city, computers and the internet were only accessible to the rich. Where she’d grown up, they’d been lucky just to have electricity.

  Crossing his tattooed arms, Andrew raised an eyebrow. She quickly flicked off the tap and placed the pint on a serving tray. “He’s just drunk, Andrew,” she muttered. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “I didn’t say handle him,” Andrew replied coldly. “I said keep him happy.”

  Liz swallowed as he stared down at her, but she stood her ground. “That’s what the beer’s for.” She nodded at the mug, taking advantage of the opportunity to break eye contact. “I’d better not keep him waiting.”

  Snatching up the metal tray, she raced back out amongst the tables. The other customers ignored her as she made her way between them. There were only a few occupied tables left now, and she was the last waitress on duty. It was a Tuesday night and her remaining patrons were mostly men in their thirties and forties—too young to have fought in the war that had claimed so many of their fathers.

  “One Grass Valley Ale,” Liz announced cheerfully as she placed the beer in front of the dark-eyed man. “Is that the lot for the night?”

  Without answering, the man swept up the beer and gulped half of it down in a single swallow. He let out a long sigh as he placed it back on the table. “I like the taste.” Before she could react, his arm shot out and wrapped around her waist. “Matter of fact, it’s made me hungry for the real thing.” He laughed as he dragged her forward.

  Liz’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach as she felt his hand grasping her backside. The awful stench of his breath smothered her. Puckering up his lips, he tried to kiss her. She twisted away, the tray still clutched in one hand, and tried to shove him off. But even drunk, he was twice her size, and too strong to resist in such confined quarters.

  “Get off,” she snapped, the words grating up from the back of her throat.

  “What? Think you’re too good for me, ya little rural tramp?” His other hand came up, going for her breasts. “Come on, sweets, you know—”

  Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off as Liz gripped her serving tray in both hands and brought it down on his head. A satisfying clang echoed through the room as it struck, and the hand vanished from around her waist.

  The man reeled back in his chair, hands clutching at his face. Blood dribbled from a gash on his forehead, tangling with his greying hair. He lurched to his feet with a roar, sending the table and his freshly poured ale crashing to the ground. The sound of breaking glass was punctuated by his screams as Liz retreated a step, holding the tray in front of her like a shield. Her assailant swung his fists blindly in her direction, but alcohol had dimmed his senses and his blows met only empty air. Face beet red and cursing, he staggered in her direction.

  “Oy!” Andrew’s voice cut through the man’s shouts like a knife.

  Liz glanced back and saw him stepping out from behind the bar, the baseball bat he used to threaten rowdy customers grasped in hand.

  “What’s going on here?” he shouted as he marched towards them. The other patrons watched on, eyes wide, silent.

  The drunkard took another step towards Liz before he seemed to catch himself. His eyes flickered uncertainly at Andrew, then back to her. “The little tramp hit me!”

  Anger flickered in Liz’s stomach. Throwing caution to the wind, she drew her lips back in a sneer. “Why don’t you call me that one more time?” she growled, flourishing the tray.

  Before her assailant had a chance to answer, Andrew caught Liz by the collar and hauled her back. She cried out as the tray slipped from her fingers and landed on her foot. Cursing, she staggered sideways, but before she could regain her balance, Andrew shoved her again, sending her crashing into an empty table.

  “Out!” Andrew screamed, waving his bat above his head.

  Liz scrambled back across the wooden floor, feeling the dried beer sticking to her clothes. Once out of range of his bat, she picked herself up and stood facing him. Heat rushed to her face. She struggled to keep from shaking as she clenched her fists.

  “What?” she said through gritted teeth.

  “I said out!” Andrew repeated, pointing the bat at her chest. “I’ve had enough of you. Your lot aren’t worth the trouble.”

  Now Liz really was shaking. She opened her mouth to argue, and then snapped it closed again. Glancing around the room, she saw the eyes of everyone watching her. Ice spread through her chest as she looked back at her boss.

  “What about my pay?” She tried to keep her voice as calm as possible.

  “Consider it compensation for the damages.” Sneering, he took a step towards her, until the bat prodded her in the chest.

  Stomach twisting, Liz considered standing her ground. She needed that money—especially after the attention she had just attracted. She would have to move again now, pack her things and leave the room she’d already paid a month in advance for. With only the measly tips she’d made earlier in the night, she wouldn’t have the cash for another room.

  But she could see this was not a fight she was going to win. Letting out a long breath, she flicked a strand of curly black hair from her eyes and snorted. “Good riddance,” she spat.

  Spinning on her heel, she headed for the door. Her face burned as half a dozen eyes followed her. As she passed the last table, she paused, then lurched sideways, upending its contents onto the floor. The two men sitting there shouted and jumped to their feet as beer splattered them. By the time they turned their attention on her, Liz was already gone.

  Outside, Liz blinked, struggling with the sudden darkness. The bar had no windows facing the road, and with the streetlight out front broken, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Not knowing if anyone was going to come after her, she quickly started off along the street, her hands still trembling with pent-up rage.

  “Hope you enjoy cleaning up,” she muttered under her breath.

  Internally though, she cursed herself, even as she tried to contrive a plan that didn’t involve sleeping on the streets for the rest of winter. Staying in this suburb was no longer an option—not after the commotion she’d just caused. Even though Andrew had been paying her under the table, it wouldn’t take long for rumors to spread about the ferocious rural girl he’d employed. Then it would only be a matter of time before someone came asking questions.

  Taking the next street on her right, Liz disappeared into the shadows between the buildings. She was on the outskirts of Sacramento, California, where the streets were still relatively quiet, free of the traffic clogging the center. Even so, she could never quite feel comfortable in a city. The countryside was her home—as everyone here was quick to remind her—but there was no work for her there. And while she could get by on what she trapped and scavenged in the summer, she couldn’t stand the thought of another winter exposed to the icy elements.

  So at the first whiff of cold, Liz had packed up her rucksack and headed for Sacramento. It was a long way from her hometown, but she was terrified anywhere closer might raise suspicions, make it easier for them to find her.

  Until now, she had thought she’d made the right choice. From the tips she’d scraped together at the bar, she’d managed to rent what amounted to a closet in the basement of an apartment building. It was cold and damp, containing nothing more than a moldy mattress, but it was better than being woken up by falling snow. And it was off the books, too—safe.

  But winter was barely a month old, and she’d already blown it. Her teeth chattered as a cold wind whirled down
the street, and Liz cursed herself for leaving her hole-ridden coat back in the bar. There would be no going back for it now. Scowling, she shoved her hands into the tiny pockets of her jeans and did her best to ignore the cold.

  Liz glanced around again as she passed beneath a flickering streetlight. The urbanites could say whatever they liked about their shining condos—she still felt safer wandering the streets of any rural village than she did here. While she hadn’t been troubled yet, she now kept a knife in her boot at all times. It paid to be prepared.

  Unseen clouds blacked out the moon and stars, and the next streetlamp was a good two hundred yards away. Liz’s heart started to race as the darkness pressed in around her. She picked up the pace, berating herself for her paranoia.

  Reaching the next corner, Liz let out a long breath as she realized it was her street. Preoccupied, she’d lost track of the turns, but somehow had still ended up in the right place. Pulling her hands from her pockets, she power-walked towards the cul-de-sac at the end of the lane. Her apartment building was dark, and the only illumination was a flickering streetlight hovering above the turnabout.

  Halfway down her street, Liz caught the faintest whisper of something behind her. Goosebumps shot down her neck, and she looked back slowly, expecting to see a stray dog wandering across the road…

  …and screamed as a shadow rushed towards her.

  Adrenaline kicked in as the man lunged, and she lurched back, hearing the whoosh as a fist shot past her head. A curse followed, then the weight of his body crashed into her. But she was ready now, already pivoting on her heel, allowing his bulk to slide by her. The man staggered past, and she leapt, driving her foot into the small of his back to send him toppling to the ground.

  Then she was sprinting away, eyes fixed on the light at the end of the lane, and the iron door to her apartment building. If she could just make it inside…

  Liz barely managed five steps before two men emerged from the shadows ahead, cutting off her escape. She staggered to a stop as they started towards her. Neither spoke, but they moved with a deliberate calm, as though they had all the time in the world to catch her.

  Ice spread through Liz’s veins as she turned to flee back down the lane, and found her first attacker on his feet, barring the way. For an instant she froze, her insides turning to liquid, panic taking hold. But it only lasted a second—there was no time for hesitation out on the streets.

  Dropping to one knee, she inconspicuously slipped the knife from her boot, and then leapt at the first man. A low growl rumbled from her throat as her anger took light. It had already been a bad night—she wasn’t about to let these thugs make it worse.

  The man hadn’t seen her knife. His teeth gleamed in the light of the distant lamp as he smiled and opened his arms to catch her. The next second, he was staggering backwards, eyes blinking rapidly as he reached for the blade embedded in his chest.

  Sneering at his surprise, Liz tried to yank back her weapon, but he sagged to the ground before she could dislodge it. She cursed, wasting half a second considering going after it, and then leapt free—only for his thrashing arms to take her legs out from under her. She crashed into the asphalt, her bones jarring at the impact. Fabric tore around her knees as she scrambled back to her feet.

  She tried to run again, but the other two were on her now. A hand caught Liz’s hair and pulled her backwards. Screaming, she twisted and swung at her assailant. Her fist went wide as the man leaned back, but her second blow caught him square in the throat. He staggered, but his grip didn’t falter, and Liz shrieked as she was dragged down with him.

  Tears sprang to her eyes as she yanked back her head and felt a clump of hair tear free. Something wet and sticky trickled down her skull, but she ignored it and tried to regain her feet.

  A cry tore from her lips as the last assailant tacked her from behind. The breath rushed from her chest as his weight drove her face first into the ground. Choking, she thrashed beneath him, trying to break free, to gulp in a mouthful of air, but his weight pinned her down. Stars streaked her vision as she gasped, and finally managed to suck in a breath.

  “Doctor,” came the man’s voice from right above her head, followed by the crackle of a radio. “We have her.”

  “On my way, Commander,” a woman’s tinny voice replied.

  Liz’s blood chilled at the voice. This was no drunken attack, no crime of opportunity. They had been waiting for her. Sucking in another half breath, she managed to croak out a pathetic cry for help. Iron fingers dug into the base of her neck and ground her face into the asphalt.

  “Quiet,” her captor growled.

  Liz stilled, even as her mind went into overdrive, seeking a way out. Her ears twitched as a distant tap-tapping echoed along the street. Her heart soared as she recognized the sound of footsteps. She cried out again, louder now, and received a blow to her head for the effort. Stars swirled in her vision again as the strength fled her limbs.

  “Enough of that,” a woman’s voice came from overhead.

  For a second, Liz thought someone had heard her calls.

  “Yes, Doctor,” her captor replied.

  Liz’s hope crumbled to dust as she realized the footsteps belonged to the woman from the radio.

  “You’re sure she’s the one?” the woman asked.

  “Matches the photograph,” came the reply.

  “Excellent.”

  The sound of leather scuffing against concrete followed. Cracking open her eyes, Liz saw a sleek black pair of women’s shoes beside her face. Presumably they belonged to the doctor, but Liz could see nothing more of the woman.

  “Please,” Liz managed to croak, “you’ve got to help me. You’ve got the wrong girl.”

  Neither of her captives deigned to reply. In her heart, Liz knew her words were a lie, that her past had finally caught up with her. She’d thought she’d covered her tracks so well, moving around, shifting from town to town, using a fake name, keeping off the records. On her brightest days, she’d thought they might have finally stopped looking, that they’d given up.

  How naive she’d been.

  She flinched as something cold pressed against her neck. Gas hissed and she felt a sharp pinch, then the pressure was gone. But now a strange warmth was spreading slowly down her spine, numbing as it went, and she realized they’d injected her with something.

  Liz knew it was hopeless, that it was already too late and the drug would soon render her unconscious, but she thrashed all the same. The man holding her swore and his grip on her neck tightened, hurting her. She cursed him, calling them every filthy word she could remember, but it was no use. He had her pinned on her stomach and there was nothing she could do to free herself.

  Then suddenly, the iron fingers were gone, the weight on her back vanished. Hope swelled in Liz’s chest, and she struggled to sit up, to scramble to her feet and race down the lane—back to the bar, to the cold, to the countryside, anywhere but these men and the doctor.

  Instead, she found her limbs twitching uselessly, her body unresponsive, her mind falling away into a swirling darkness.

  Too late, she opened her mouth to scream.

  Chapter 2

  Chris let out a long sigh as he settled into the worn-out sofa, then cursed as a broken spring stabbed him in the backside. Wriggling sideways to avoid it, he reached for the remote, only to realize it had been left beside the television. Muttering under his breath, he climbed back to his feet, retrieved the remote, flicked on the television, and finally collapsed back into the sofa. This time he was careful to avoid the broken spring.

  He closed his eyes as the blue glow of the television lit the living room. The shriek of commercials followed, but he barely had the energy to be annoyed. He was still at school, but he’d had to take on an afternoon job at the construction site down the road to help his mother make ends meet. Even with the extra income, they were struggling. His only hope was passing the entrance exams for the California State University and winning a schola
rship. Otherwise, he would have to beg his supervisor for an apprenticeship.

  “Another attack was reported today from the rural town of Julian.” A reporter’s voice broke through the stream of adverts, announcing the start of the six o’clock news.

  Chris’s ears perked up and he looked quickly at the television. Images flashed across the screen of an old mining town, its dusty dirt roads and rundown buildings looking unchanged since the 1900’s. A row of horse-drawn carriages lined the street, their owners standing alongside them.

  It was a common sight in the rural counties of the Western Allied States. The divide between rural and urban communities had grown in the thirty years since California, Oregon and Washington had declared their independence from the United States. Today, there were few citizens in the countryside able to afford luxuries such as cars and televisions.

  “We’re just receiving word that the police have arrived on the scene,” the reporter continued.

  On the television, a black van with the letters SWAT painted on the side had just pulled up. The rear doors swung open, and a squad of black-garbed riot police leapt out. They gathered around the van and then strode on past the carriages. Dust swirled around them, but they moved without hesitation, the camera following them at a distance.

  The image changed as the police moved around a corner into an empty street. The new camera angle looked down at the police from the rooftop of a nearby building. It followed the SWAT unit as they split into two groups and spread out along the street, rifles at the ready.

  Then the camera panned down the street and refocused on the broken window of a grocery store. The camera zoomed, revealing the nightmare inside the store.

  Chris swallowed as images straight from a horror film flashed across the television. The remnants of the store lay scattered across the linoleum floor, the contents of broken cans and wine bottles staining the ground red. Pieces of humanity were scattered amongst the wreckage, torn arms and shattered legs lying apart from their motionless owners. Chris’s stomach twisted as he looked into the eyes of the dead and saw the terror of their final moments reflected back at him.