by Len Melvin
Beaux put a hand on each side of Malouf’s face and drew him close to her. “You broke all of your rules, you know.”
“I know.”
“You changed history to save us.”
“No,” Malouf said forcefully, taking a step back. “I stepped in to save you. I interfered. But only you two can change history.” He looked briefly at Simon and then at Beaux. “So do it. Make a difference. Do something worthwhile with this second chance you’ve been given.”
“We will.” Beaux turned to Simon, who gave a slight nod, and then she looked back at Malouf. “I promise. We will.”
“Okay.” Malouf brushed hair from Beaux’s brow and then he kissed her. He wrapped both arms around her and kept them there. Finally, he took a step back, his hands clasping hers and stared at her for a long moment. He placed her baseball cap back on her head, and backed slowly away, his eyes moist. He exhaled slightly, then abruptly turned and strode to the stairs. Putting one foot on the first step, he gave a slight nod to Simon and began to climb. He stopped suddenly and took a deep breath. He turned to Beaux. “I love you, too.” He began to climb but hesitated and looked again at Beaux. “And I always will.” Malouf held his gaze on Beaux for a long moment and then climbed out of the cavern and was gone.
Some Time Later
He strode unseen through the encampment, stopping occasionally to watch, curious still of how things were done in the past. He had been to many of these camps through the years, through his career, and whether they were Barbarian or Christian or Roman or the Red Army, they all, more or less, smelled alike; of men and human waste; only woodsmoke, candles and torches had given way to electricity and portable grills and there were hover bikes instead of horses and the dozing sentinels had become electronic fences and drones.
A DX-12 Punisher snub-nosed double-barreled shotgun sat unattended on a bench beside a latrine. He picked it up, checked to see that it was loaded and cloaked it. He walked in the direction of the center of the camp where he knew she would be.
A large tent stood at the head of an open circular area, the ground worn down by the constant traffic. Two guards sat on stools near the opening of the tent engaged in a game of dice. He stopped, leaned against a tree on the edge of the circle and, as he waited, ran his hand over the raised surface of the coin in his pocket. It was close to four in the morning in the Northern Virginia countryside, and he thought the time must be near. He released the coin and took his hand from his pocket.
There was a noise behind him, and he turned and saw a dark-clad figure in the shadows, standing, waiting and watching. There was movement on the other side of the open area and another figure, draped in black clothing, walked in measured steps in the direction of the tent. In tandem, as if by signal, both figures moved toward the guards who were hunched over, involved in their game. One guard glanced up as a knife passed across his neck. There was a muted gurgle from a slit throat and he fell silently to the ground. The other guard writhed beneath the hand wrapped around his neck and then he too, fell. The men knelt on the ground beside their victims, waiting, surveying the area to see if the brief disturbance had raised any alarm. One rose and pulled back the flap of the tent while the other stood, weapon in hand, posing as a guard.
Malouf uncloaked the shotgun and moved from the cover of the tree.
◆◆◆
The loud blasts pierced the morning calm and brought Beaux from her mattress to a half-crouch, the Zombie Knife poised at the ready in one hand and the black baton in the other. She knelt and waited, her eyes growing gradually accustomed to the dark. A man lay face down, halfway inside the entrance of her tent, a knife held in an outstretched hand. She heard Uncle Simon’s voice and a cry from Christina amid the confusion and sudden uproar of people emerging from their tents. She rose warily and crept to the figure that lay unmoving on the ground. With her bare foot she turned him over and saw a familiar face. She pulled the tent’s flap back and stepped out. Another man lay unmoving on the ground, both hands held reflexively over a large, gaping wound to his stomach. The two guards lay to the side among dice and scattered coins.
Simon ran across the open area and stood in front of her. Behind him, Christina and a young boy followed. Soldiers filled the circle, weapons drawn, a general uproar of equal part anger and relief. Simon knelt and turned the other man toward the light, and there was another familiar face.
Beaux looked outward, above the frenzied circle in front of her, through the imploring by Uncle Simon as to her wellbeing, beyond the hundreds of bleary-eyed soldiers who had stumbled from their tents, into the morning mist of the woods and for a moment thought she saw a blue aura outlining a man. She took a step forward and the blue aura disappeared.
Malouf dropped the shotgun and pulled the cloak up around him. Though he had little time, he turned and looked back. He saw her face in the light of the lanterns and, even from the woods, he could see the crescent-shaped scar that stood out below her left eye.
He thought of all that had happened, and all that might have happened and how a huge dollop of luck and happenstance and doing the right thing had this time turned out for the better. He watched her begin to issue orders and smiled.
From his pocket, he pulled the coin given to him long ago by his father and again ran his hand over its face. He brought the coin up to the light. The regal image of Diana Sorenson stared back at him. He held the coin in his hand and his smile broadened even as his eyes glistened. She was there. She was still there. He looked longingly once more at the girl who had kept the promise she had given that day in the cavern and then he turned and headed toward the peacefulness of home.
The End