Apocalypse Dance

by M. Barnette

  Nikki could tell Anya was crying by the quaver in her voice.

  "I'm sorry. I'm sorry,” the auburn haired woman told no one in particular. “I just didn't want any strangers around. I just didn't want anybody with us now."

  "You never want anyone with us!” Hawk snarled and stalked away from all of them, heading into the trees.

  "She's been acting weird for the last few days,” Dal whispered to Nikki. “She on the rag or something?"

  "No,” Nikki replied softly, relaxing in Dal's arms. He was comfortable, easy to get along with, reasonably good looking. And he was too damned big. Scary big. Not as bad as Roderik, but big enough that she knew what her reaction would be if they tried having sex. But he was a good guy, too. Nice, gentle.

  She was idly thinking about what kissing him might be like when a revelation hit her like a ton of bricks. “Oh God,” she whispered. “I think I know what's wrong with Anya."

  "She's gone psycho on us?” Dal asked, a grin on his face.

  "Not exactly. Just hormonal."

  He blinked at her. “PMS? She's never been this bad before."

  "No. Pregnant."

  Dal stared. “Pregnant? By whom? She wouldn't do Chet, Hawk wouldn't with her cause he knows I like her, and I didn't. Not that I don't want to, but ... well ... no condoms or pills."

  "Probably the mechanic back in Junction City. I'd bet that's how she got the truck fixed for us. She screwed the guy for the work."

  "Aw, hell...” Dal muttered, shaking his head. “She'd be about three months gone then, and Hawk's being mean as a snake to her, and we're not much better."

  She pulled out of Dal's arms and hopped out of the truck.

  "I'll tell Hawk,” Dal said.

  Nodding, Nikki headed toward the tent intending to comfort Anya. Now it all made sense. Anya was going to have a baby and she was getting scared. The last thing she'd want around them was a stranger, a potential threat to the new life growing inside her, especially one who bore any resemblance to the man who'd given her to Roderik.

  She found Anya sitting off in the tent, a towel gripped between her teeth to prevent any of her sobs from being heard.

  Nikki felt like a total idiot for not seeing it before. She'd just thought Anya had picked up a couple of pounds. All the canned food they ate could account for it, at least she'd put it down to that. Now she realized what a blind and complete moron she was because their supply of tampons wasn't running out as fast as it should have. And, if she knew Hawk, he'd beat himself up over what he'd said to Anya.

  "Some doctor you are,” she berated herself.

  * * * *

  Alone on the road, he quickly discovered he didn't like the silence. There was the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that said he'd been alone too much and was thoroughly sick of it.

  On the other hand, he didn't want to stay were he wasn't really welcome, either.

  It was certainly a dilemma, and he wasn't sure what the solution should be. He really didn't have anything he could contribute to the group. No food, or usable goods anyway.

  But with a wire brush and a few minutes I could get the truck going.

  Yeah, he could because, from the sound of it, the spark plugs were dirty. The truck burning oil because of bad seals.

  How do I know that?

  He braked hard, the bike going into a skid that he easily controlled. Coming to a stop, his vision blurring, a dull ache creeping through his skull.

  National Division C Champion. Blackcard Player, whispered through his thoughts, images dancing in his mind's eye. Motorcycles, an arena, gunshots, blood. The word GameNet in big letters on the arena wall ... and Kimiko. Big, dark eyes in a heart-shaped face, delicate as a china doll, smiling brightly as she gave him a thumbs up from the pit before he went out to fight.

  Player. Motorcycle riding gladiator. It had been sport. A bloody, miserable, well paying sport.

  The urge for a cigarette and a shot of strong whiskey hit him along with the memories. He'd been a hard drinker then. And he'd smoked. More than just tobacco too, his mind supplied.

  But you quit, Daddy, a girl's alto voice reminded him. That was his daughter's voice. He knew her name. He knew it, why couldn't he tear it out of the fog? What was her name?

  Pain spiked behind his eyes and the images winked out of existence. But they'd left bits of knowledge behind. Knowledge he wasn't sure he really wanted.

  His head was aching as if someone had hit him with a hammer.

  Or a tree.

  Nikki had helped him. That meant something. He knew it did. Something beyond a simple act of human kindness. But what?

  He sat there on the idling bike, undecided on his course of action. Go off alone, or turn around. Taking off his helmet he rubbed his temples and waited for the spike of pain to ease. Microstroke, his thoughts supplied. Aftershock of hitting the tree. He was still healing, not completely recovered. He needed a couple of days to rest.

  Something told him he wouldn't get those days. But maybe that was just his cynicism and paranoia talking. Was he paranoid? Is it really paranoia when people are out to get you? But this wasn't his world.

  Now what did that mean?

  Bells shook his head and heard the soft chiming of the ornaments in his hair. The motion made the world go into a slow spin and he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to will the pain and dizziness away. A few slow, deep breaths seemed to help, his thoughts telling him that he just needed to find his center and regain control of himself, both body and mind. Fat chance of the second part of that. He didn't have much of a mind at the moment.

  There was a group of people back there. People that were—at least in part—willing to help him.

  He'd heard them talking, and without the truck they were stuck there. And he could fix the truck. That was a fact.

  He put his helmet on, turned the bike around, and sped along the road, slowing down when he was close enough to see the truck. Bells sat there, waiting to see what kind of reception he was going to get.

  Nikki came out of the tent and stood in the center of the road, looking in his direction.

  Remembering the concern in her eyes when he'd zoned out, he suddenly recalled their color.

  A deep, rich brown.

  Like her eyes had been.

  They said the eyes are the mirror of the soul.

  And he'd liked what he'd seen in those mirrors of hers. Probably liked what he'd seen there too much. Human warmth and genuine concern. Soft woman's mouth, fair skin, strong cheekbones. Very pretty.

  Too pretty.

  He'd keep his distance from her. Fix the truck and see where things went from there. Maybe stay with them if the auburn-haired woman didn't actually put a bullet into him. He hated being shot, and that came with the knowledge that he should have died many times over from gunshot wounds alone. But he hadn't, and he wouldn't because he was Immortal. Undying.

  But it still hurt like a motherfucker.

  The big man, Hawk, was walking his way along the side of the truck, hand shading his eyes.

  Decision made, Bells rolled the bike along slowly, stopping when he reached Nikki.

  "You came back,” she said, eyeing him curiously.

  "Yeah.” He pulled the helmet off and the braids spilled free, the bells at the ends ringing.

  The sound made her smile, and he found himself giving her a faint answering smile.

  "Why?"

  "Thought you might want me to fix the truck."

  "Can you?"

  He nodded.

  "We'd really appreciate it if you could."

  "Okay."

  The auburn-haired woman, eyes swollen from crying, came out of the tent, a guilty expression on her face. “Hey, I'm sorry. I'll fix something for everyone to eat. You hungry?"

  He nodded at her question. “Not a problem,” he replied to her apology.

  A wide smile of welcome on his face, Hawk stopped walking a few feet from the blond man. “Change your mind about leaving?"


  "He's come back to fix the truck,” Nikki informed. She was smiling at him, too.

  "Well if you think you can help, that'd be great. Frankly, I'm no mechanic and we can't figure out what's wrong."

  Bells rolled the bike slowly to the side of the road and parked it. Going around to the front of the truck he found an open toolbox, half the tools scattered around it on the ground. He quickly located a spark plug puller and the wire brush.

  Discarding his jacket, he pulled out the first spark plug like someone who knew exactly what he was doing. Despite having no knowledge of where he'd learned to be a mechanic, he knew how to fix the truck.

  "The truck's burning oil. It's gumming up the spark plugs so they can't spark, which means the gas isn't igniting in the cylinders."

  Hawk grinned. “Sounds like you know what you're talking about."

  Chet stared gape-mouthed at the blond. “You can fix the truck?"

  Bells pulled out the first spark plug and looked at the end. It was black with carbon buildup and oil residue. “Yep. But I'd suggest changing these out for new ones, if you can find any. Get the whole engine rebuilt if you can."

  "Need a machine shop for that, or someone with one who's willing to do it. That costs,” Dal explained. Bells noticed he was looking at Anya when he said it.

  Now that she wasn't trying to shoot him, he had a moment to appreciate the fact she was a pretty lady. She was also, he noted, pregnant.

  How do I know that? he wondered. Her scent, was the answer his mind came up with, and that only added to his own growing sense of puzzlement. The answer did float up out of the muddle in his head. Immortal senses are more acute than human senses. And those senses are more developed in older Immortals.

  So why didn't I catch it before? And the answer came to him just as readily: You weren't close enough and the wind was blowing the wrong way.

  Too weird. He shook himself, and the braids jingled.

  Sable-brown eyes were watching him, a slight smile on a sweetly curved mouth. He fought the smile that tugged at his own mouth and got to work.

  Nikki was gorgeous, though, with her deep brown eyes and chestnut hair that had a golden glow when the sun hit it just right. She was tanned and her clothes hugged curves that were strategically designed by genetics to catch a man's gaze and hold it for a long time. Nikki was also almost exactly his height, which make her a tall for a woman. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Nope, not at all. A tiny flare of desire prickled along his nerves, making something south of his gunbelt twitch restlessly.

  Not today, Billy boy.

  He brushed off the second of the spark plugs and replaced it, before pulling the next one.

  * * * *

  Fascinated, Nikki watched the blond repair their truck with quick professional efficiency. He was smiling slightly, and this time it reached his eyes, turning the already beautiful blue to a richer, more intense shade.

  "You know,” Chet said to her from where he was sitting in the cab, “he fixes it, he's earned his keep."

  "Yes, Chet. I'd say you're right."

  Dal chuckled.

  "We're going to need to start searching for places we can find more food. What we've got won't last forever, and with six of us to feed now, its only going to go faster,” Anya remarked. She had the spaghetti in the pan and was stirring it, but her eyes kept going to the blond. She seemed nervous, probably worried about having the belled man with them.

  "That's for sure,” Chet agreed. “And I'm really hungry. Bet Mr. Jingle is, too."

  "His name is Bells,” Dal reminded Chet.

  "Yeah, I forgot. Sorry,” Chet offered to the smaller man.

  "S'okay,” was the truncated reply he got from their anti-social mechanic.

  Now that the blond was proving useful, Chet was all for having him stay. Nikki shook her head. That was typical Chet.

  "Nikki, could you find an extra plate or a bowl and a spoon or something for him to eat with?"

  "Sure, Anya,” she replied, jumping into the back of the truck. She started rummaging around, searching for the milk crate that held their camp dishes. She'd just found them when she heard Bells tell Chet to crank the engine.

  After a few sputters, it caught and kept running.

  "WOOOHOO!” Chet caterwauled.

  Picking up the plate and spoon, Nikki hopped out in time to see Hawk patting Bells on the shoulder.

  "Good job, thanks."

  "That stuff hot yet?” Dal asked as he strolled toward Anya.

  "Getting there,” Anya replied as Nikki handed her the dish and utensil.

  Glancing over to where the braid-decked man was wiping his hands clean with some grease remover and a much stained shop towel, Nikki caught his cobalt blue eyes watching her. She smiled.

  He returned the smile with just a faint quirk of his lips, but there was no change in the man's eyes. Nothing. And maybe that was what alarmed Anya so much. His cold stare. He was, and at the same time, wasn't like Hawk, she realized. Hawk was still very much human, his emotions showing in his eyes.

  Bells wasn't like that. There was a hardness, like armor on the surface. Like a layer of ice that wasn't going to melt and let anyone in if he could help it. She'd known men like that before.

  Roderik, for one. Cold, calculating, and downright unpleasant, the man was a ruthless killer. But even that bastard wasn't as hard as the blond. Roderik took too much pleasure in hurting and being cruel, and he always smiled when others were screaming in pain and fear, glorying in their misery.

  Nikki turned away, finally seeing what Anya had noticed. It made her feel even more an idiot than she already did for not realizing Anya was pregnant.

  All the clues had been there for her to see from the outset. The way he'd held the gun on them even as badly hurt as he was when they found him. The way he'd swung the gunbelt on, reacted to Anya drawing down on him, rolling and coming up with the gun in his hand.

  He was a professional killer, and had been for much longer than the year since the Collapse. No one got that good in just a year. Even Hawk had been in the military a long time ago, and that was where he and Roderik had learned all the things they'd needed in order for Roderik to found the Lone Star Empire.

  Hawk had probably noticed how the man moved. He never missed anything like that. But if the man was a hardened killer, why would Hawk accept him into their numbers so readily?

  Roderik.

  That was the only reasonable answer. He wanted help fighting Roderik.

  She watched Bells walk toward the campfire with the easy grace of a predator, a killer. Even Dal under the influence of his Tiger Spirit didn't have the same strange fluidity of motion. It was inhuman. Chillingly so because his easy stride drew her gaze like a magnet.

  When she looked away from him, Nikki realized Hawk was watching her, not their guest. He smiled, glanced at the blond, and tapped his nose. He was saying bingo to her.

  For a second she was puzzled, staring at Hawk, not comprehending what he meant.

  Then it hit her.

  It took a Dragon to kill a Dragon.

  Her dark eyes widened. You mean ... ? she mouthed.

  Hawk gave her a single very deliberate nod of the head, his smile as coldly calculating as anything she'd ever seen on Roderik's face.

  * * * *

  Bells passed his empty plate to Chet and got to his feet.

  "When I've got the dishes washed we're gonna go, right?” Chet asked, glancing to their leader for confirmation.

  "That's the plan,” Hawk confirmed as he shoved the toolbox into the back of the battered pickup.

  Dal and Anya were taking down the tent, and Nikki was piling milk crates into neat rows in the back, getting their gear organized.

  Grinning, Chet grabbed the crate with the dirty dishes, took two steps toward the stream and came to a stop, looking at the blond, “You're going with us, right?"

  Nodding, Bells pulled on his heavy jacket, buckling it closed.

  "Cool! N
ow we got our own mechanic,” Chet replied and hurried off to the stream.

  Hawk sighed. “He's really not a bad kid."

  Bells just shrugged noncommittally.

  "You want to stick with us, help us out like today, or leave? It's up to you."

  "I'll stick. For now."

  "Glad to have you,” Hawk held his hand out to seal the offer.

  Bells studied the offered hand for a moment, then took it and they shook hands, Hawk's grip firm, but not exerting any more strength than was needed for the friendly business-like gesture. Their eyes were locked, and Bells could see a flickering in the depths of older man's deep brown eyes.

  "You'll do,” Hawk said and let his hand go.

  "Yeah, I thought so,” he replied flatly. He'd been right. The man wanted his help to fight someone else.

  A Dragon to be specific.

  He hated fighting Dragons.

  "Ack, this damn tent,” Dal swore as he struggled to get it to collapse evenly so it could be folded.

  With nothing else to do, Bells helped the struggling man get the tent under control and ready to be slipped back into its storage sleeve.

  The last few things were piled into the truck and Hawk looked around, puzzled. “Where's Chet?"

  "He's not back from washing dishes,” Bells heard Nikki say from the other side of the truck. “And it shouldn't have taken him this long."

  "Want me to go get him?” Dal asked.

  Bells was already walking for the stream, pausing by his bike to grab the curved Japanese katana he had strapped under the duffel bag.

  "Nikki, go with him.” Hawk told the woman as he climbed into the back for the vantage point the height of the truck gave him.

  "She stays here,” Bells shot back as he kept walking.

  "You see him?” he heard Dal ask.

  "Nope. Too many trees between here and the creek,” Hawk replied.

  Bells started walking a bit faster. He didn't know Chet, but if the others thought he'd taken too long then maybe there was something wrong.

  Reaching the end of the field, he ghosted silently between the trees. Even though he was wearing heavy armored boots he make no more sound than the sighing of the wind through the trees. His left hand gripped the scabbard of the katana, his right rested on the hilt of the blade.