by Perrin Briar
Chapter Ten
THERE WAS ONE thing Bo couldn’t stand, and that was bullies. Even as a kid he couldn’t stand them. He was bullied mercilessly by the local school thugs, beaten to a pulp most days. When he got better, they came back and beat him up again. There was no escape from it.
Until one day he decided to do something about it.
It had occurred to him before, as it occurred to everyone at some point in their lives, that those at the top only remained there at the acceptance of those on the bottom. A poor man’s fist was every bit, and often more, stronger than a rich man’s. And yet they allowed themselves to be ruled by the weaker man. It was not right, to young Bo’s eyes, and if he could get just a small percent of the repressed to unite alongside him, the bullies wouldn’t stand a chance.
They needed someone to rally behind, someone who would take the brunt of the aggression if the coup failed. That turned out to be Bo. The bullies had made a mistake when they beat him so badly. It left no room for hope. There was no chance his situation would get better. He had nothing to hope for. He had nothing to lose.
It had been surprisingly difficult to find willing participants to stand against the bullies. It was going to be a big event, and many of those who initially refused, said they would come watch the show—nothing was better than watching someone getting beaten up, especially when you turned down helping them in the first place.
Bo was not a popular student at school. He was average or less in every subject. He preferred not to be seen, to be invisible, which was why he was so easy to pick on, he supposed. Soon, he wouldn’t be easy to ignore, not with a few dozens guys at his back.
It came to the big day, and Bo strolled up to the bullies, an army of onlookers at his back. They all stood at his back, none at his shoulder. That should have been the first warning bell in his mind. But he had been young, naive and stupid.
He had hoped that when the others saw how he was standing up to the bullies, they would follow suit. That, of course, turned out not to be the case.
“Hey,” Bo said, addressing the lead bully.
The bully had been busy dealing with another kid, stealing his lunch money. The bully turned on him and Bo said they had all had enough of the bullies picking on them, that it must all come to an end.
It was the bully’s worst nightmare, and he had made it clear by looking at them all with his beady eyes, counting them up. If he was afraid, he didn’t show it. He calmly asked who would was on Bo’s side.
To Bo’s surprise, everyone—even those who had sworn loyalty to him, that they would rise up alongside him when the situation demanded it, did not do so. They were spineless.
And so Bo was alone, there to face the bullies, and knew the retribution he could expect as someone who had tried to disturb the natural order. The bully had to show them all what happened to kids who tried to get above their station.
Bo had never received such a beating before. He was used to them, used to learning to block the pain from his mind, used to overriding the fear that he associated with the regular beatings. But this time, the bully went too far, and Bo was beginning to get scared as the blows continued to rain down upon his body.
He feared for his life.
None of the students stepped forward, not with the look in the bully’s eye right then, and it took the bully’s friends to drag their leader off Bo as a teacher approached. The teacher stood, agasp at Bo’s state. His eyes searched and locked on the bully straight away—his bloody knuckles more than enough evidence for anybody.
The bully was expelled. It was a while before Bo would set foot in the school again, but once he did—on crutches—he was met with silent nods of approval from everyone he met in the corridor—even those who had once been best friends of the bully. It turned out they were every bit as afraid of their friend and cohort as the rest of the school was. But not Bo. He hadn’t been afraid of the bully, and never would be. He had conquered fear. He never felt it again.
Bo learned that day not to rely on anyone by himself. If others wanted to join in, then so be it, but he would not follow them, not if it deviated from his goal. He may not have always been right, but in his own mind, he was right. Just as he was right to confront the bullies.
They never let him forget he tried to overthrow them that day, that he had attempted what was so obvious. They were the weak ones. They needed the supplication of the masses.
It rankled him that two young kids had to run scared from these bullies with motorcycles. Bill was not afraid of them, no more than he had been afraid of the bullies. And these bullies had been allowed to get away with far too much for far too long. He could not—would not—simply stand by while they did whatever they wished with the two innocent teenagers he had helped shelter, even if for only a little while.
He picked up his shotgun, grabbed a handful of shells, shoved them in his pocket, and stepped outside. Bo McMurphy had never been afraid of bullies, and he wasn’t about to start now.
He slipped out of the comfort and safety of his Control Center and crept across the road. He kept his gun close to his chest and an eye on the alleyways and streets that ran off at odd angles. He grew up on these streets, knew them better than the back of his hand.
He knew he wouldn’t stand much of a chance if he stayed where he was, at ground level. It would be much easier to take advantage and take out the scumbags if he had height on his side.
He moved through the alleyways and twisting streets until he could hear voices. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he recognized the two younger people.
He moved toward the front door of the building and tried the door handle. He was in luck. It was unlocked. He pressed his weight against it. It gave way. If there were any houses or homes that weren’t residential, they were kept open and unlocked for anyone to use. Bo shut the door behind himself. He eased it closed.
The room was full of furniture, gathered together in this single room for future residents who might have need of it. He approached the stairs, careful to place his feet so as not to make too much noise. He ascended.
Out the frosted windows he made out a crescent shape of men, standing before a pair of smaller shapes. The scene couldn’t have been more obvious if Bo was watching up close in HD.
The top of the stairs led to a flat roof. He stayed down, but needn’t have worried. The Raiders hadn’t taken up similar positions. He got onto his large belly and wiggled forward. He lifted himself up over the side and peered down at the Raiders.
Showtime.
Chapter Eleven
HELL’S ANGEL slipped in close to Wyvern, looking this young boy in the eye.
Blood spilled between Wyvern’s lips, making them black and bloody. They dribbled out the corner of his mouth and onto his chin and neck. Still, Hell’s Angel hadn’t removed his eyes, hadn’t taken them off the boy. His eyes bore into him, quickly losing focus and becoming cloudy.
Wyvern gripped Hell’s Angel’s large scarred hands with his own and attempted to pull, weakly, as if removing the larger man’s hands would heal him and he would return to normal. But he was too weak. The man’s hands were like stone.
Siren let out a scream, a cry that belonged in a horror movie. She had her hands wrapped around her face, her cheeks, unable to process what was happening. She couldn’t move. From her vantage point they could have been embracing, except she knew by the way her brother’s body moved, the jerking movements, that there was nothing affectionate about it. Wyvern had always been so graceful, now he was stiff and rigid. He could hardly move, pinned in place.
Hell’s Angel leaned in close, the blond whiskers of his mustache and beard grazing Wyvern’s cheek.
“You made your decision,” he said. “You made your choice. I can appreciate that. I can even respect it. But it isn’t my team. It isn’t my choice. And you have to live with your decision. Or rather, die with your decision.
“I’m sorry things had to end up this way, I really am. But there’s noth
ing for it now. I can’t take this back even if I wanted to. But you know what? I don’t want to. Further, I want you to watch what you failed to stop happening to your sister. It’s the least I can do for my men you murdered.”
Hell’s Angel gritted his teeth and pulled his blade free. Wyvern’s body fell forward, onto his front, his face biting the dirt. Siren ran to him, fell to her knees, and lifted him, turning him over so he was on his side, and then his back.
“Wyvern?” Siren said. “Wyvern! Get up! You have to get up!”
“I… I can’t…” Wyvern said, blood pooling around his mouth. “You… You have to go. Fight. Run. Get out of here.”
“No!” Siren said around a mouthful of tears. “I can’t go! Not without you!”
“Okay,” Hell’s Angel said, tucking his hunting knife away. “Let’s get this show on the road. I claim first dibs. After that, you can fight amongst yourselves. Let’s get her set up on the car hood here. It’ll be easier that way.”
Uhhhhhhh
The effect of the unholy groan had an immediate effect on the Raiders. They spun round, peering up and down the streets and alleyways.
“I thought they were heading away from town?” one of the men said.
“They were,” Hell’s Angel said. “But that was before our engines roared and gave them reason to turn round and head toward us.”
The lurching figures danced like shadows at a rave across the bare brick walls. They were coming.
The blood, Siren thought through the misty haze that had settled upon her mind. Wyvern’s blood. The roaring engines would have gotten their attention, but the blood would have driven them insane.
“Blades only,” Hell’s Angel said.
He wanted as little unnecessary noise as possible. The men did not argue or complain. They put their automatic weapons aside and reached for their blades—a host of unassailable gleaming edges—machetes and daggers.
Siren looked down to find Wyvern had stopped moving.
“Wyvern?” she said. “Wyvern?”
It was no good. He wasn’t moving. His skin was already turning pale. Siren had seen what had happened to him, but she wouldn’t accept it. Not yet.
The Raiders turned, forming a line, and approached the Grayskins closing on their position. They hacked and slashed at the lurching bodies. They were experts at this. But then, Siren supposed, they were all experts at taking the Grayskins down now. If you weren’t, then you wouldn’t still be alive.
Siren knew she needed to act quick. Who knew how long these monsters would keep coming. Sometimes there were just a handful of them, sometimes an army. She had seen how many had been heading toward them from the CCTV footage she had seen in Bo’s Control Center.
Siren had nothing to lose. She had to make a break for it, or else knew her predicament. And that was if she was lucky.
She couldn’t carry Wyvern’s body. She was weak and didn’t have the required strength. She turned and crept toward the Raiders’ parked motorcycles. They had left the keys in their ignitions. They didn’t expect anyone to steal them.
Siren kicked a stand away and pushed the bike in Wyvern’s direction. It was heavy and she could barely take it, but when your life was on the line, you didn’t worry about whether or not you could do something, you simply did it.
She pulled up alongside Wyvern’s unmoving body, kicked the stand out, and set to hefting Wyvern up onto the backseat. She grunted, but she managed it.
“Hey!” a Raider shouted. “Hey! That’s my bike!”
Siren didn’t turn to look back. She hopped onto the bike and turned the key in the ignition. The engine revved. She twisted the handle. The engine began to rev, but the bike didn’t move.
A pair of hands grabbed her and pulled her off the bike, tossing her to the ground. Siren landed with a grunt of pain. She shuffled back on her hands and feet. The man before her was huge, almost as big as Hell’s Angel himself. His fists were shovels, the knuckles dented out of shape from use.
He raised his great arms and brought them down, roaring at the top of his voice. He lost his footing and hit the dirt, hard. He didn’t get back up, nor stir another muscle. Siren hadn’t heard the gunshot that had felled the great lumbering giant, but it couldn’t have been anything else that brought the man down.
The Raiders pointed, gesturing at a nearby rooftop. There was a man up there, and he must have shot this giant down. Siren didn’t know who he was or why he would put himself at risk to save her, and she didn’t care.
She got up onto her feet and ran toward the bike. It was still ticking over. She put it into first gear, sat on top of Wyvern’s body in order to keep him in place, and pulled on the accelerator. The bike took off, so fast Siren almost fell off. It was much larger and more powerful than anything she had ever ridden before.
She heard the crack and pop of gunfire as she took off. She didn’t know if they were firing at her or not, or just at the figure on the rooftop, but she didn’t intend on finding out. She turned a corner, the scene behind her fading. Soon, it might as well have not existed.
Tears streamed down her face as she took the bike into the darkness, Wyvern laying across the back, into the countryside, out of a town she cared never to see ever again.
Chapter Twelve
SIREN didn’t know how long she’d been driving. Her body and her mind felt numb. She’d followed the road around corners and over hills. She thought the road would never end as she wound around beaten and broken vehicles and wandering Grayskins with no more aim in their life than Siren herself. She was lost, and yet she kept going.
The engine was a constant thrum beneath her, calming, reliable. But eventually it would give out. The engine began to sputter, low on fuel. Siren was shaken from her zen-like state and she pulled the bike over.
There were no Grayskins as far as she could see, and no Raiders either. The sun was already rising, bathing the world in a warm glow. The dawn of a new day. The first without Wyvern.
Siren turned the bike to the right and took it across a dirt path that wound through the country and swollen grassy green hills. There were a few trees. She had seen few places as calming and relaxing as this. Wyvern would have liked it if he… if he was there with her now.
The body that rode on the back of the bike was not her brother. She had long ago decided that. He was just a piece of flesh, a lump of a body he had once inhabited. She couldn’t ever bring herself to think about him like that.
Right about now was when he would speak to her, would say something that would lighten the mood, make her feel better. But he didn’t, because he wasn’t there. He was no more with her now than he was with God.
Just silence, emptiness.
She got off the bike and found a nice spot beneath a large tree. She tore off a piece of its bark—it came loose like a shell—and used it to begin digging at the soil. It broke off in her hands, becoming gradually smaller and smaller until there was next to nothing left.
It was a shallow grave. She would have dug to China if made any difference, but there was no point. She didn’t have the strength either. She hadn’t eaten in… well, she couldn’t remember. Which meant it had been too long.
She looked at the hole she had just dug. It was barely big enough for Wyvern. Hell, it was hardly big enough for her either. A snug fit for her… The darkness seemed to loom larger in her vision. She could almost hear it speaking to her. She could throw herself into the hole, could just lie there and die, join herself with Wyvern forever…
But she knew that was nonsense. Kill herself, and there would be two rotting corpses in one hole. That would be all that changed. There was nowhere they could end up together again. It was this world and nothing else. She could not bring herself to believe there was a god if he allowed the world to turn out the way it had now.
She tore her eyes away from the hole and focused on the body behind her. Flies were already making their homes on it. She pulled the body off the bike, letting it flop into the hole.
<
br /> Wyvern’s face was, mercifully, hidden underneath his arm. She didn’t need to see the expression he bore. It would be forever imprinted on her mind, and was not something she needed to be thinking about right now.
She covered the body with dirt and patted it down. Only then, once the ordeal was over, did she break down and cry. It was too soon, much too soon. He never should have died, not like this, not right then. He should have lived a long life. He should have been with her for the rest of her life. He should have died of old age. He should have… He should have…
But it was no good. There was nothing she could do about it. It was the past. It was history already, and though it hurt to think of her brother as gone, she needed to get over it. The Grayskins would not care how she felt when they came for her.
She got up, climbed onto her bike. She could go anywhere, do anything. And yet, that wasn’t true. There was, and would always only be one place she could go. The place where she and her brother had said they must find, the place that Wyvern had promised he would find for her. A place of safety.
And though she did not know if Whitegate was a place of safety or not, she knew she had to go see it, explore it. The place she and her brother had been chasing ever since they had entered this brave new world of theirs.
She pulled on the accelerator and turned back onto the road, continuing on her journey. In the twin side mirrors she could see the approach of a pair of Grayskins. They weren’t following her, she realized. They were heading for easier prey. The body of her brother.
Her fist eased up off the accelerator, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn the bike around. She twisted the handle again, applying pressure. The body was just meat, that was all.
Still, she couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down her face.
Chapter Thirteen
THE COUNTRYSIDE sprawled before Siren, into great wilderness. The farther she drove, the deeper into the unknown, the fewer and more sparse the Grayskins became. The ones she did see were broken and destroyed, missing one or more limbs, and seemed slower and more lethargic than city-dwellers. It was easy for Siren to weave around them.