by Carver Pike
Twig shook his head. “No.”
Traven kicked one of Twig’s feet.
“Unbelievable,” he said.
“He thinks he can resist,” Growler called out, and laughed.
The other soldiers laughed along with him.
“Good,” Traven said. “Start with his nostrils.”
“Gladly,” Growler said with a smile.
He pulled a small two pronged fork-like tool from a satchel on his belt and straddled Twig. Traven smiled as he walked away from the fire with Twig’s screams filling the night air behind him.
***
Haylay was pulling Tania through the dark forest when they heard Twig’s screams ring through the air. Tania looked back and her face twisted in agony. Her bottom lip trembled and tears flowed from her eyes. Haylay hugged her tightly to his chest and stroked her hair.
“This is a bad, bad world, little girl,” he said. “This won’t be the last time you see evil, but I pray to the God Gabe and Lisa always talk about that this will be the worst you’ll ever have to see.”
Tania sobbed into his embrace.
“I know you don’t want to, but we have to keep moving. Twig wouldn’t want you to die out here too,” he told her.
Tania nodded and followed along like a zombie. She’d lost her father, mother, and boyfriend in the last fifteen minutes, and Haylay knew nothing else would ever matter as much in her lifetime.
***
Twig was dead. Growler had done what he did best. Information was needed, and that’s what he got. In the end, no one was able to hold out once Growler got his hands on them. Traven climbed up onto his horse as Growler approached.
“So there are two babies. Colossus will be pleased. Now he can sell one to Lord Shiva and keep one for himself,” Traven said. “That should prevent a war with Shiva’s quadrant.”
Growler pulled off his helmet, revealing a crazed-looking face. At first glance it looked like a strange, tribal sort of tattoo covered his entire face, but a closer look revealed that it was thin lines of metal planted into the skin. Growler was no stranger to pain.
Many of Traven’s soldiers had done strange things to themselves, often requiring cutting or implanting metallic objects into their flesh. Why? He supposed they thought it made them look more vicious. Traven thought they were idiots with too much time on their hands.
“What now?” Growler asked, squinting his eyes and making the skin hug the metal embedded in it tightly.
Traven winced at the thought of the discomfort that must come with every facial expression.
“Prepare the Shriek Kavas,” Traven ordered. “We got us two babies to catch.”
Growler laughed and clapped his hands together.
“It’s about time,” he replied.
Chapter 7 – Gypsy Freaks
Gabe and his troupe walked for miles beneath a pale moon that only broke through the tree tops from time to time, providing them with rays of blue light every now and then. To Gabe’s surprise, the night had been uneventful thus far. No deformed monkeys dropped down on them from above and no razor-toothed monsters shot out of the muddy ground. It seemed unnatural to him that everything was so peaceful.
Once they’d passed some sort of lagoon and flashbacks of the fishlike Gildwars from the Rancid Pools came flooding back to him. He warned his traveling partners to stay clear of the water. However, as they walked along the shore, no more than a calm ripple flowed across its surface.
The forest here in the Blue Capped Mountains was seemingly no different from its mirror image of the Porcupine Mountains, somewhere in Michigan. Ivy, Lisa’s image, had spent most of her life in Darkar, the dark version of Detroit, and had heard one of the girls in her brothel mention retiring in the mountains. She’d told Gabe and Lisa about it once, not so long ago really, but sometimes it seemed like ages since all the swapping back and forth through the mirrors.
Getting to the mountains in the first place had been no easy task, but once Cutter was dead, along with every other person trying to kill Gabe, they’d simply needed to stay clear of the most dangerous areas between the Slums of York and the Blue Capped Mountains.
Now here they were, once again on the run. Gabe was worried about Lisa, who looked exhausted sitting in the back of the cart, breastfeeding Vision. It was too early for her to be embarking on such a treacherous journey. He had no idea where Bronc was planning to take them, but he hoped they’d find it soon. Gabe reached over and tucked a strand of Lisa’s hair behind her ear.
“Lis, how you feelin’?” he asked.
Lisa looked at him and made her “this sucks” face by scrunching up her nose and mouth. Then she shrugged and smiled. It was forced, but at least she was making the effort, a symbol of her strength.
“I’m cool,” she said.
“Yes, you are,” he agreed. “Too cool. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine, babe. Promise.” She passed him a thumbs-up. “Vision’s goofing around, though. He doesn’t latch on for more than a few seconds. I hope he’s getting enough milk.”
“Up ahead!” Bronc announced.
A warm glow could be seen coming from somewhere ahead on the trail, but hanging branches hid its source. A ray of light danced across Gabe’s face.
As the horses pushed through the foliage, the trail opened up to a large valley, orange with bonfire light. Three sides of the valley ended with climbing hills. Hawks led the way out of the forest and into the clearing.
Parked at the center of the valley was a humongous purple tent. All around it sat smaller tents. Torches were staked into the ground at twenty-foot intervals, and a large bonfire burned brightly fifty feet in front of the purple tent.
People were everywhere, but covered in shadows it was hard to see whether they were friends or foes.
“What is this?” Gabe asked.
“Gypsies,” Bronc answered.
He rested against his wagon and looked back at Gabe.
“What does that mean? Friendly gypsies?”
“Were gypsies on your side of mirror friendly?” Bronc asked.
“We didn’t have a lot of gypsies roaming around Detroit,” he replied. “But I did see that Stephen King movie where the dude got cursed by an old gypsy woman and he kept getting thinner and thinner. Are we talking about those kinds of gypsies?”
Bronc looked at him with a blank expression.
“I forget,” Gabe added. “You guys don’t have much of a film scene over here. You don’t know what you’re missin’. Stephen King’s the best. Wrote about places like this.”
“If your King write about gypsies, I think they not shit compared to these,” Bronc said.
“Will we be safe here?” Lisa asked. ”Cause, no offense, but you’re not making them sound very safe.”
“If we make friend with gypsies, we never be safer. Nothing attack gypsies,” Bronc assured her.
Gabe pulled his horse forward, following Bronc as he broke free of the forest and trotted out onto the open field. It didn’t take long for them to be noticed.
As they made their way to the bonfire it was clear that the gypsies were free folk, celebrating that freedom and having one hell of a time. They drank from wooden mugs, a frothy substance that left white mustaches on even the ladies.
Each gypsy they passed stopped partying for a split second and glared at them. The stares lasted only a moment, as the attention span of those partying was as short as Gabe expected their fuse to be.
“Just walk,” Bronc warned. “No take much to make them mad.”
A man wearing a tall top hat walked past them on stilts. He chugged from his mug, then looked up at the moon and howled. Five acrobats flipped past them, doing summersaults and twists in midair, like weightless rubbermen. The first acrobat suddenly stopped running and leaned forward. The one behind him did the same, grabbing the first man’s waist. The third followed suit. The fourth climbed atop them and the fifth ran, leapt up onto the fourth man’s back, and sprung high into the a
ir. He landed on the shoulders of the man on stilts, who suddenly stopped howling and fell from his stilts. The acrobat on his shoulders tucked and rolled across the ground, unscathed, while the man on stilts splashed onto the ground in a belly flop, spewing his beverage all over himself. A crowd around them laughed and raised their mugs.
“HOOOODAAAAYAAAA!” they cheered. “HOOOODAAAAYAAAA!”
“I’m confused,” Gabe said as he watched the spectacle going on all around him. “Are these gypsies or circus folk?”
“Don’t understand,” Bronc said as he continued forward.
“These people look like entertainers,” Gabe said.
“Yes. They entertain selves. Very talented. Very athletic. Very…what is word…ferocious.”
Gabe wasn’t sure his question had been answered but he decided to give it a rest. It wasn’t like he was hoping to sit down with a bag of popcorn and be treated to a three-ring circus show. He found the situation odd and the people even stranger.
Bronc stopped in front of the purple tent and glanced all around him.
“What’s wrong?” Gabe asked.
“Looking for someone,” Bronc informed him. “Maybe he in tent, but we no enter without escort. Is insult could never be mended.”
“Bronc, are you sure this is a good idea?” Emma asked.
He looked at her, his strong face seeming unsure for the first time.
“Maybe we should go back into the woods and go around this valley,” Gabe suggested.
“Maybe he’s right, brother,” Hawks said.
A loud roar and cheering was suddenly heard from behind the tent.
“HOOOODAAAAYAAAA!”
“My God,” Lisa said. “How many gypsies are there?”
“They are small army,” Bronc answered. He grabbed his horse’s reins and walked around the tent. Hawks followed. Gabe hesitated for a moment and looked over at Lisa to see how she felt about the situation.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I don’t see how our babies are any safer here than they were back at the cabin, but we’re here now. We don’t have much of a choice.”
Gabe nodded, pulled the horse reins, and followed his friends.
Behind the purple tent was the real celebration. The crowd was thick with drunken gypsies, most showing off their talents in between swigs of alcohol. One man chugged, lit a match and burped, blowing flames high into the air. The crowd cheered.
A band off to one side played a mad arrangement of instruments. A beautiful woman with one breast hanging out of her top strummed a harp while next to her a man played a trumpet. A harmonica, xylophone, bagpipe, saxophone, guitar, big bass drum, snare drum, and an accordion rocked out side by side. It was a musical mess that somehow seemed to work.
Gabe laughed and tapped his foot along to the beat.
In front of the musicians, topless dancers shook their bodies to the music; some were beautiful, some not so much, some young, and some quite old.
“I don’t know whether to look, or not look,” Gabe joked.
“I’m right there with ya, honey,” Lisa replied.
“I’m gonna look,” Hawks added.
Bronc looked over at Emma as if requesting permission.
“Go ahead,” Emma said. “You may never see a show like this again. I’ve seen enough of ‘em to last a lifetime.”
Beyond the dancers was a group of machete-juggling barbarians, complete with waist-long hair and necklaces made of bones.
“We should ask somebody where he is,” Emma suggested.
“Where who is?” Gabe asked.
“Sasha,” Bronc answered.
“Not Sasha,” Hawks said as he threw his hands up in the air.
“Who’s Sasha?” Lisa asked.
Emma looked down, ashamed.
“Thief of thieves,” Bronc answered.
“The man I was once in love with, before I met Bronc,” Emma replied.
The roar from the crowd sounded off once again.
“HOOOODAAAAYAAAA!”
“Too bad Twig didn’t tag along,” Gabe announced. “He wouldn’t know what to do with himself.”
Hawks laughed.
“That little guy would go nuts here. Too many naked ladies. He’d be begging to run off and join this circus,” he agreed.
A thick crowd of gypsies off to the right shook their fists in the air and cheered one more time. A few members of the crowd moved out of the way and Gabe saw they were encircling a boxing ring.
In place of the square ring’s ropes were wooden fence planks and gravel had been poured in to make up the mat. Bronc led the group closer to the ring.
“It’s fight night,” Emma informed them.
“We meet on fight night,” Bronc reminded her.
“You fought in that ring?” Gabe asked. “Are you nuts?”
“Need money, brother,” Bronc informed him.
“So you saw him fighting? And you fell for him?” Lisa asked.
Emma chuckled.
“Not exactly,” she said.
“I won fight,” Bronc said. “And they bring me money, but I saw Emma. She walk out, with head covered in hood, very mysterious. She sit down next to Sasha, who always sit in throne over there.”
He pointed toward a large wooden seat that was empty at one corner of the ring.
“She remove hood, I see her face. I fall in love. At first sight. I never see something so beautiful.”
“I thought he was very handsome too, once they cleaned the blood off him,” Emma added.
“Sasha is gypsy leader,” Bronc said. “I told him I no want money. I want her.”
“How romantic,” Lisa said.
“I was shocked,” Emma replied. “And terrified.”
“And I’m sure Sasha wasn’t too happy about it,” Gabe said.
“He said if I make it one week with them, she be mine,” Bronc said.
“And I guess you made it through the week,” Gabe replied.
Bronc nodded.
“You ask me how I get scars on chest and stomach. I tell you stories of animal, great fight with beasts. Fun stories for campfire. Truth is beast here. Gypsies was beast. Very rough week here, something I never want do again.”
“But by the end of the week, after all he went through, I couldn’t help but fall for him. It broke my heart seeing him fight his way through seven days of ridicule and pain, just for me,” Emma said as she leaned over and kissed Bronc on his cheek.
“Whoa, stop!” Gabe yelled. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? You got the shit kicked out of you for a week the last time you were here and this is the first place you think of to bring my family?”
“Was different situation. You will see. My debt settled at end of week. I leave on good terms,” Bronc assured him.
The crowd cheered once more.
“HOOOODAAAAYAAAA!”
At the center of the ring, a mean-looking roughneck with bad boy good looks bounced back and forth while his opponent rested on one knee.
“It’s Tact,” Emma informed them. “He’s still at it.”
Tact had a square jaw, jet black hair that was sweaty and hanging in front of his eyes, and a long scar that ran from his chin up the left side of his face to his forehead. He wiped blood from his nose with his forearm and held his gauze-covered hands that had been dipped in tar and gravel out for the crowd to see.
“HOOOODAAAAYAAAA!” the crowd yelled.
Tact turned back to his opponent, who was bloody and torn. His lip was split in the middle and his chest had an “x” made out of bloody slash marks.
“You ain’t gonna be pussy footin’ around wit me, are ya Po Boy?” Tact taunted.
His opponent, Po Boy, looked at the crowd around him and grinned.
“I’ll show you pussy footin’!” he yelled as he leapt forward with an uppercut that grazed Tact’s chin.
The crowed sounded off.
“HOOOODAAAAYAAAA!”
Tact wobbled backward, and slammed against the w
ooden ropes, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Po Boy ducked, grabbed a handful of gravel and tossed it in Tact’s face. Tact winced and coughed as Po Boy hit him with a one-two punch in the ribs. Tact’s skin split as the jagged rocks on Po Boy’s fists slid off his sides. Po Boy threw a wild right, but Tact slid to his right and Po Boy’s knuckles smashed into the wooden ropes. Po Boy howled as his wrist cracked. Tact pinned it to the ropes and swung his elbow up, shattering Po Boy’s nose.