The Protectors

by King, Ryan

  "That's it," says Grandpa. "No turning back now." He pulls thick leather gloves on his hands and hops down out of the wheelchair. He moves over to a corner of the shop and hands me a heavy cudgel.

  "What about you?"

  Grandpa shakes his head. "I need my hands free. Besides, once I get a hold of 'em, I won't need anything else. Come on, follow me."

  As we exit the front of the bridal shop, I hear screams from inside the Shrieker House. Smoke and flames billow up from the top of the house and incredibly the loud music is still playing on the remaining speakers.

  A Chit Girl stumbles down the front steps bleeding and on fire. She falls into the front lawn and thrashes. A dazed Shrieker named Talon follows after her dragging a bleeding left leg. I can see our women standing around with their weapons in their hands, uncertain what to do.

  Grandpa races forward on his fists and stumps and I have to run to keep up with him. He slams right into Talon and drags the stunned Shrieker to the ground. Once there he holds the man in place by locking his arm against his body and uses one of his powerful hands to choke the man.

  The Shrieker's eyes are wide and he looks up at me like he can't tell what's going on. Then he begins thrashing and nearly escapes Grandpa's grasp. Without thinking of what I'm doing, I step forward and swing my cudgel down on top of the man's chest with all my strength. His struggles cease immediately.

  The women are now moving forward attacking the dazed Shriekers in groups. More screams of pain and surprise can be heard from the rear of the house. The sounds of the music mix with that of the fire and screams in a dizzying chaotic mixture so like a dream.

  Jonesy is there in front of me. He has Sarah by the hair and is punching her repeatedly in the face. Running forward I swing my heavy club as hard as I can at his lower back. He drops to the ground and then rolls over to look at me in amazement.

  Sarah is gasping and bleeding and I stand over both of them uncertain what to do next.

  "Kill him," Sarah gasps.

  "No," Jonesy holds his hands up towards me.

  "Do it," she says. "He'll kill you if you let him go."

  Jonsey leans up and starts to speak again. I swing the cudgel from the hip and catch him in the side of the head. I feel a wet dull thump as if I've struck a melon. Jonesy falls back to the ground, his head broken open and his jawbone protruding grotesquely through the stretched skin of his cheek. I remember that he wasn't that much older than me and that we had sat together during the Remembering when I was younger.

  Before I am aware of it, I am vomiting on the frost covered ground. I heave for several seconds after my stomach is empty and then sink to my knees.

  Sarah, her face already swollen, lifts me up. "Come on, we have to go help."

  I look around and it appears to me the women don't need any help. They are standing attentively, ready to attack any who emerge from the house. Just as I am starting to believe we are actually going to be able to do it, to win, I hear a horrifying sound.

  A gunshot.

  The pop is distinctly different from any other and I remember it well from the time they killed the black bear. The gunshot is followed by another and then another. Soon a cascade of pops echoes from the rear of the Shrieker House.

  Through the smoke I can see women running our way from the east. I spot Jonesy's mother fleeing the sound before she falls to the ground, blood soaking her shoulder. She tries to rise again, but Skull steps out of the darkness and shoots her in the back of the head with a pistol. He smiles maniacally through his orange face paint.

  There are gunshots from all sides of the house and women are running frantically away. I look for Mother, but can't see her.

  "Run," shouts Grandpa suddenly beside me. "Take your mother and Victor and leave town. Do it now."

  "We can't leave you," I say, but he is already gone, charging towards Skull who is preoccupied with reloading his ancient revolver.

  The Shrieker doesn't see Grandpa until he is almost upon him. Skull's eyes shoot wide and he drops precious cartridges onto the ground in his haste. Skull kicks at Grandpa who catches his foot and twists the man to the ground. I see Skull point the pistol in Grandpa's face and pull the trigger.

  The weapon made a small click sound.

  Skull screams in rage and then in pain as Grandpa smashes his large gloved fist into the smaller man's groin. The two struggle and roll on the ground. Skull keeps trying to point his pistol at my grandfather and pull the trigger. Soon Grandpa is astride Skull choking him. The Shrieker raises his pistol again and pulls the trigger.

  With a blast Grandpa falls back off of Skull, blood pouring from his head. The Shrieker rolls away from Grandpa and climbs slowly to his feet.

  "No," I whisper. Part of me wants to run to help my grandfather and another part wants to run away with the result that I am frozen. I see Clay striding towards me out of the billowing smoke, a pistol in each hand. He glares at me with pure hatred.

  My paralysis is suddenly broken, I turn to run away, ashamed at abandoning Grandpa, but also relieved to be leaving this place of death and horror. I run as fast as I can around the corner and slam into something immovable. Falling back on my rear, I see Reaper towering over me.

  Before I can get up, he places one giant boot on my chest and presses down. I swing the cudgel weakly in his direction, but he catches it and yanks the weapon from my hand. I look into his face and see no mercy or humanity.

  He swings the cudgel one handed at the side of my head which seems to explode with fire and pain. My mind closes down to sounds of screaming and music.

  *******

  When I awake I notice we are all crowded together into the Dormitory. The cots and makeshift dressers have all been rudely pushed against one wall. I feel dizzy and my mouth is dry.

  "Don't try to move," Mother whispers from beside me. "It will only draw attention."

  I slowly turned my head and see Grandpa lying beside her, his head in a heavy bandage.

  "I saw him get shot in the head."

  "It didn't penetrate his skull," she explains. "The bullet traveled around his head tearing loose his scalp. I need to sew it back on."

  "Getting shot in the skull by Skull but the bullet doesn't go through the skull," I laugh hysterically at my own humor.

  "Shut up!" Mother hisses at me.

  Looking around I see other huddled groups of friends and neighbors and many of the children we'd put to bed safely the previous night. Lanterns posted at regular intervals cast menacing shadows around the room. Five dead Shriekers are laid out on the stage at the end of the Dormitory and many more dead women are piled unceremoniously below them. The smell of blood and burnt flesh is thick in the air.

  Clay sits in a chair on the stage while several other Shriekers stand around him looking down at us hatefully. A dozen or so of the Prospects are posted along the walls. All seem to be waiting for something.

  A door bangs open and in strides two Shriekers leading a group of children. I can see Victor is with them looking confused and frightened. He cradles his rainmaker in his arms and is forced to sit against the far wall near the stage. Two Prospects close the doors and stand guard.

  I try to catch Victor's eyes, to reassure him, but he is too far away in the dim and crowded Dormitory.

  The last two Shriekers walk up on stage. All nine of the remaining Protectors stand around Clay who sits looking at his feet while tapping a pistol against his leg.

  He stands suddenly kicking the chair violently behind him. "Who is responsible for this?"

  No one answers.

  Clay nods as if he didn't expect an answer. "We've lived in peace by the Treaty for decades and now you go and do this?" He points at the pile of bodies at his feet.

  Unbidden, my eyes look where he indicates. I think if I tried I could recognize each body. Instead I close my eyes and felt a single tear roll down my cheek.

  "We've lived in harmony and peace," Clay continues. "I have been merciful and kind. Given you your fre
edoms. Protected you from harm. Someone is responsible, I refuse to believe that you all did this on your own. Again I ask who is responsible?"

  People are starting to look around them. Several eyes lingered on Broily and Grandpa. Even a few stare hard at mother.

  "Give me the one responsible," says Clay. "This violation, this rebellion, cannot be tolerated. I do not want to punish you all, only the rabble rouser. The one who stirred up mistrust in your hearts. This person has led you astray. Give them to me. Who is responsible?"

  A child starts to cry. Then another. As if contagious, nearly all the small children are soon wailing loudly.

  The sound clearly makes Clay angry. "The Old Bible says that the children shall suffer the sins of their parents. I don't want that and I know you don't, but if you force me I'll take it out on the little ones. Someone here has to answer for what happened. Someone has to pay in blood, that is the way to make things right again."

  Who is responsible, I wonder. Someone had put them in this position and gotten a lot of good people killed. Most would blame Grandpa, but that's not who's responsible.

  "Okay then," says Clay. "Bring me a baby. Any of them will do."

  I stand suddenly and nearly faint. Steadying myself I look at the stage and say as calmly as I can. "I'm responsible."

  "Sit down," Mother is pulling at my hand.

  "Bullshit," says Clay. "You're just a little girl."

  A wave of euphoria washes through me and I chuckle. "Yet we still almost beat you. A bunch of women and girls. Maybe we should switch places and you can let us protect you."

  The room is deathly still. "Come on up here," says Clay with a dangerous grin showing too much teeth.

  "No," moans Grandpa trying to rise. "It was me. It was me."

  None hear him but Mother and I. Yanking free of her grasp I make my way forward carefully trying not to step on anyone, pausing occasionally as a wave of dizziness washes over me. Soon I am standing at the base of the stage. Clay is in front of me and the pile of bodies is to my right. I hear the sound of murmuring behind me.

  "Well, come on up here," Clay waves at me with his pistol.

  I measure the stage mentally and know it is too high for me to climb in my current state. Turning to the left to walk up the stairs, I feel a searing agony in my head as my feet leave the ground. Screaming in pain, I'm deposited in a heap at Clay's feet by Reaper who has just lifted me up by my hair.

  "Go ahead and take the load off," Clay says pulling the chair he had kicked to the rear forward. "You must be very tired what with all the conniving you've been up to."

  I do feel tired and just want to go to sleep. Sinking down into the chair I look out at the room. Meeting Mother's and Grandpa's eyes I feel a deep love I have never felt before. Wishing I could hug them now, I smile and wipe the tears from my eyes.

  "Oh, tears won't do you any good now," Clay says. "It's way too late for...what the hell is going on?"

  There is a commotion to my right and I look over to see Victor climbing up the stairs towards us, his rainmaker out before him like a protective talisman.

  "No hurt, Teal," he says.

  "Someone get that simpleton off the stage," Clay orders.

  Reaper turns and strides purposefully towards the big man.

  "No hurt, Teal," Victor repeated.

  "We're going to hurt you in a minute," Reaper shoves Victor.

  The big man doesn't move.

  Reaper pushes harder and I hear a cascade sound. Looking over I see small stones pouring out the end of Victor's cylinder and onto the stage.

  Oh no. They've broken his rainmaker, I think. "It's okay Victor," I say. "Just go sit down, please."

  Reaper grasps the large knife at his belt in his fist and yanks it out. "I told you I'd kill you if you crossed me again."

  What happens next seems to be in slow motion to me. Victor is holding one hand out under the broken rainmaker as if trying to catch the last few stones. Miraculously a long thin metal object falls into his hand. He pulls the rest of the cylinder off and tosses it aside.

  In Victor's hands is a long sharp two-handed sword. On the pommel is the unmistakable symbol of an eye. The sword flashes forward in a blur.

  Reaper shifts slowly back towards Clay and the arm that previously held the knife is now missing from the elbow down. Before he can take another step, Victor raises the sword to shoulder level and with a powerful swing takes Reaper's head off.

  The room is still and nearly silent.

  Victor drives the bloody sword into Hellspawn's chest before yanking it free and moving forward to jab the tip of his sword into Thor's eye.

  There is now screaming from the Protected and the Shriekers appear confused about whether they should attack this bloody apparition before them or flee.

  Victor continues forward. He kicks Skull savagely in the groin and then drives the tip of his sword into the prostrate man's chest before turning to take the top of Bird's Eye head off. He follows this up by slamming the hilt of his sword savagely down on Stormchaser's skull.

  Clay grabs me by the front of my shirt and sticks the barrel of his pistol against the side of my head. "Stop or I'll shoot her."

  The big man slashes downward cutting off Irish's leg before spinning and slicing open Firebrand's abdomen.

  "I'll do it!" screams Clay.

  Victor trips Cowboy as the Shrieker tried to flee and then drives his sword through the man's lover back.

  "I swear to God," shouts Clay, "if you don't stop right now, I'll --"

  The pistol falls away from me and Clay collapses on the floor. I look down to see his headless body, his head having rolled off the stage and onto the pile of Protected corpses.

  Victor is past me and continuing in his carnage. I reach down and pry Clay's pistol out of his hand and stand. Mother is there suddenly holding me up. She reaches down and secures Reaper's big knife.

  "Don't let any of them escape," Mother screams out over the crowd. The mass of women seemed to come to life slowly and then with growing intensity. Some of the Prospects have fled out the doors, but newly armed Protected are now chasing them.

  Victor kills Spike, a Prospect who has climbed up on stage, before turning to address the room in a voice as loud and strong as Broily's. "Show no mercy. The Prospects are not part of you. They are Shriekers and must die. Do it now."

  I turn to stare at the big man. "Victor? Is that really you?"

  "It is, Teal," he answers in a clear and intelligent voice.

  "How is this possible," Mother asks.

  Victor smiles and brings the pommel of his sword up to his face. The eye on the hilt shown out clearly through the thin film of blood covering it. "We got your letters. The Knights of the Watch help when they can."

  *******

  Mother and I clean Grandpa's wound with some of Reuben's leftover peach alcohol recovered from the Shrieker House. We then carefully stitching his scalp back on. He sits stoically through it all, his hands clinching the arms of his wheelchair tightly.

  My grandfather has somehow become the de facto leader of Newton. There wasn't an election or even a discussion, people just started bringing their problems to him, and they did what he said. He told everyone to keep doing their Shift Work and to prepare for winter. Grandpa also directed us to repair the burned out Borderland around town by reloading the old booby-traps and digging out the debris from the stake pits.

  We buried the Shriekers in the big communal garden knowing they would make good fertilizer. The Protected we placed lovingly in the New Cemetery, the services, quick and simple. Snow is in the air and there is too much else to do.

  Victor helps. People at first look to him for guidance and answers, but he just shrugs and says, "It's not my town," or "I'm not staying here much longer," or "You need to learn to figure things out yourselves."

  It is strange to have such freedom all of the sudden. I'm sure most of the women act as I do, going about our routines out of habit, expecting the lash or a slap when
ever we do anything wrong. We got rid of the Protectors, but their ghosts are still with us.

  Victor still sleeps in our house on the pallet in front of the fire although now he engages us in conversations and stories of his travels. Grandpa eagerly soaks up information and many nights Broily is here too, writing furiously on moldy paper with his left hand.

  "I'll have to leave tomorrow," Victor announces abruptly one morning.

  Mother, Grandpa, and I look at each other in concern. "You can't leave," I finally say.

  "I can and I will," he answers around a mouthful of bread.

  "But we need you," I say.

  "My family needs me more."

  Mother was surprised. "Your family?"

  Victor chuckles. "Margaret, I know you think I'm a vicious killer, not to be trusted, but I have a wife, two little girls, and a son waiting for me back east. I promised them I'd try to be home for Christmas."

  "Christmas," I whisper reverently. We had of course heard the wonderful and fanciful stories of this mythical holiday, but never experienced it. The Shrieker's had forbidden celebrations. "Can we have Christmas?" I ask Grandpa.

  He nods slowly. "I don't see why not. Be good for us, I reckon."

  "You sure you don't want to wait until spring?" asks Mother. "They'll be snow soon and it sounds like a long way."

  "I appreciate the offer," says Victor, "but I've already stayed here too long. Tomorrow morning I'll take my leave, got a few preparations to make today."

  Grandpa nods. "I can help you with that."

  Victor grunts and keeps eating.

  I go about the day noticing things as if for the first time. Of course life seems different without the Shriekers, but I guess I had imagined that Victor would now be our new Protector. I see how open the Borderland is. Anyone could walk into Newton if they wanted. The pits, booby-traps, and barriers are good, but we need something more. Otherwise it will only be a matter of time before some other road gang or pillagers come through.

  We need what Broily had called in one of his stories a militia. It would be years before the young boys were men, but I realize we women could fight too. We had already. We would have to if we wanted to protect what was ours.