by Jason Frost
She could almost laugh at the irony of running from Vietnam-both sides wanted her dead-only to end up in a California as ravaged as Vietnam ever had been. The stupid Americans living here thought they were so clever surviving the natural catastrophes. But this was how it had been to live back home for many years. Vietnamese children of six had more survival skills than most of these bloated Americans.
She crouched behind the bed, waiting. If she had learned anything in her adventurous life, it was the virtue of waiting for your prey to come to you. She ignored the various pains that rattled through her body. The dive out the window and leap to the tree had not been without costs. The skin on her left palm had been raked off when she'd grabbed the branch awkwardly. The bark had sandpapered her skin into a raw mush. Her shoulder ached where the muscle had ripped when she'd dropped twenty feet out of the tree. Her lower back muscles burned with a long thick bruise where Tracy had smacked her with her cane, almost knocking her unconscious. She would take special interest in repaying the bitch for that. Perhaps death would be too kind. Yes, maybe mutilation would be more appropriate. Once she had cut off the toe of a man who refused to give her information she wanted to sell. He still refused, playing the brave patriotic soldier. She then forced him to eat his own toe. He told her everything.
She smiled, passing time by deciding which parts of Tracy to amputate.
***
They were less than thirty feet from the door to their room when Blackjack stopped.
"If we're taking off in the morning to follow the map, I'd better get back to the ship and get my crew ready. We'll need them to help carry the guns back."
"Good idea," Eric said, dripping water onto the floor. "Still have the map?"
Blackjack patted his back pocket and pulled out the little memo pad. He flipped it through the air to Eric. "Here, you hold on to it."
"Shouldn't I trust you?"
"This has nothing to do with trust. Anybody finds out about it, I don't want them coming after me. I figure after the way you handled Rhino, you can handle just about anybody."
Crowds of people were still winding through the corridors, some just waking up, some just heading for bed. It reminded Eric of an old zombie movie or of red-eyed gamblers in Las Vegas.
Eric pinched the notebook between finger and thumb to avoid getting it wet and handed it to Tracy. She tucked it away in one of the extra pockets on the thigh of her pants. Rachel Loeb had given them to her after Blackjack had cut up her jeans to treat her hip wound. They were some designer's fashionable imitation of a carpenter's pants, but without the bib. They even had a loop for a hammer. It had pleased Tracy at the time to discover the pants were a size too large for her, until Rachel informed Tracy that they were also too large for her. But she'd immediately liked Rachel when she'd laughed and said, "It took an earthquake to keep me on my diet."
"Hey, Tracy," Blackjack said, "you still with us?"
"Huh? Oh, right. I'm just tired, letting my mind wander. Now that Rhino's dead and Angel's gone, there's nothing more to worry about." She laughed. "I guess I'm just not used to relaxing anymore."
Eric squeezed her shoulder affectionately. "Take a nap, you'll feel better."
"Great, a nap. Then I can have my milk and cookies. Honestly, guys, every time I make a comment or an observation, it doesn't mean I need help deciding what to do next. Christ."
Blackjack held up his hands and grinned. "Uh-oh, domestic squabble at twelve o'clock high and coming fast. This is where my people have an old saying: Feet don't fail me now." He spun around and headed toward the exit, one hand on his saber as it jangled at his side. He waved. "See you back here in a couple hours."
"Right," Eric waved back.
They started back toward the room.
When they were ten feet from the door, Eric stopped. "Listen, Trace, I think I'm going to go get that bath now, maybe some new clothes for the hike."
She arched one eyebrow. "And where are you going for this bath?"
"The only place you can get them here, Casa del Sol."
"Yeah, that's not all you can get there. Don't bring back anything contagious."
Eric looked her in the eye, knew she was teasing him. "I'll be back in a while. Maybe we can take that nap together."
She smiled, wiped away some of the unidentifiable filth from the pool that was still clinging to his cheek, and kissed him there. "If you still have the energy."
Eric winked, turned, and angled through the crowd toward the exit.
Tracy sighed as she limped toward the door to their room, her cane thumping next to her with each step like a pronouncement: Hear ye, hear ye. This person is permanently crippled.
Watching Eric fight Rhino had exhausted her more than it had Eric. She had strangled her own hands during the battle, grinding the knuckles of her fingers together as if they were Rhino's throat.
She turned the doorknob and entered the dark room. She didn't remember the room being this dark before. Perhaps one of the security force had drawn the curtains when they left last time and she'd been too scared to notice. It didn't matter. She would just open them again.
Or maybe she should leave them closed, tumble into the bed, and sleep. God, that sounded more erotic than sex right now. Sleep.
Suddenly she heard a faint whispering sound, like a long hiss of something flying toward her. An insect, she thought. Then came an explosion of hot pain as something sharp dug into her chest.
***
Tracy staggered backward, arms windmilling to keep balance. Her cane clattered to the floor and rolled away. It was too dark to see what had struck her, but she grabbed for it with her hands.
Then another hissing sound and something stabbing her right thigh. She dropped to her knees, hands groping along the dark floor for her cane. Finding nothing but blackness.
"I had hoped for all three of you," Angel said. "But this will do. This will do nicely."
Angel's cold voice clawing through the dark was even more terrifying than the pain. She had seen Angel's supple agility at work before, witnessed the woman's power. How could she possibly survive against a woman like this? Tracy felt panicky, as if she were being buried under a truckload of gravel.
With some difficulty, Tracy plucked the throwing star from her chest, jiggling and twisting until it jerked free. It had lodged just above the breast and to the side. The muscle ached, but there was no injury to any internal organs. The one in her thigh was a little more stubborn, but she finally coaxed it out, feeling the warm blood soaking into Rachel Loeb's pants. She gripped one of the stars in her hand as if it were a rock she intended to skip across a pond. She wasn't exactly sure how they were supposed to be thrown, but she didn't care. At least now she had a weapon too.
Tracy shivered, feeling terribly exposed. Despite the darkness, she was sure that Angel could somehow see her plainly, was just toying with her. But if she couldn't, Tracy didn't want to crawl or limp around and tip off her location. She waited, hoping her eyes would eventually adjust to the dark.
But there was no time.
There was hardly any sound at all. A hop, maybe a leap. Then Angel was on top of Tracy. A knee to the chin flipped Tracy onto her back, the throwing stars tumbling out of her hand, scurrying across the floor, and disappearing into the darkness.
Dazed but still conscious, Tracy's hands reached out at the dark figure hovering above her. Everything was in different shades of black now, with Angel being the darkest shadow in the room. Tracy's hands were still groping for some part of Angel that she might wrestle to the ground, when she grabbed the muscular legs straddling her. Suddenly she felt the sting of sharp cold metal slashing the top of her hand open. A second slash caught between the webbing of two fingers and cut deep, bumping bone. She cried out with pain.
Angel dropped onto Tracy like a rock from a cliff. The air whooshed out of Tracy as she felt the smaller woman's knees slam into her chest.
I'm going to die, she realized. Just when she'd thought there was some li
ttle safety. Eric had killed Rhino, now it was her turn to die. It was the way of the world. Everything died unexpectedly.
She wondered if that thought had gone through Eric's mind while he was battling Rhino. Had he ever doubted that he would win? He had once told her that he'd been paralyzed with fear the night Fallows had sent someone into his room to assassinate his family. He had stood in his bedroom next to his sleeping wife, knowing someone was coming up the stairs, and had been frozen there, unable to move. The fear had been so great, he'd said, that he'd wanted to die more than experience such fear again. Yet somehow, he had roused himself, had fought the intruder. She hadn't totally believed him, had been unable to accept that Eric Ravensmith had ever felt such fear. He had only been trying to make her feel better. But now she knew he had, and that he had probably felt it again while Rhino held him under the rancid water of that slimy pool. The difference was that he had kept fighting despite the fear. He'd overcome it, battling it with the same ferocity he had Rhino.
And so would she.
Tracy bucked her hips into the air, trying to throw Angel off, but it did no good. All she received for her efforts was a shallow slash across the forehead.
"Careful, my little pretty," Angel cooed, "or I might miss and hit an eye."
Tracy remained still. Except for her left hand, which crabbed along the floor, sliding down her pants to the pocket on her thigh. In the right pocket was the map Angel had drawn. In the left was the small curved knife Eric had made from the steel arches of his boots.
"I have the map here," Tracy said, trying to sound as if she were begging. She didn't have to act too hard. Her hand dipped into the pocket. Slow and easy.
"My, what would dear Eric say if he knew you were bargaining away his precious map? Why, he might shoot you, as he did me."
"Please," Tracy said. The sob in her voice was real.
Angel laughed, flicked her wrist. Tracy felt the blade slice down the side of her neck. It happened so quickly, with such precision, she was reminded of the Japanese cooks at Beni-hana's. Crazy thought, she realized as her hand eased the blade free.
"Do not despair," Angel said. "Think of this as a test of Eric's devotion. Will he still love you after I've made a few alterations? You should be grateful to me. Not many couples have the chance to discover the extent of their mate's love." The blade whisked through the dark again and Tracy felt the skin on her chin part. "Are your ears pierced?" Angel asked, laughing. "Well, it won't really matter anymore- uhhnn!"
The laughing chatter was interrupted by a shocked grunt of pain and realization as Tracy plunged the handmade knife into Angel's stomach, just below the sternum, and sawed through the blouse and skin with all her strength. She braced her wrist with her free hand, forcing the hooked blade down toward the navel. She heard Angel's knife thud to the floor, felt the splash of warm liquid on her own chest. Tracy fought the cloying nausea as she smelled Angel's internal organs sloshing out of her body, spilling onto her blouse. Angel swayed a moment, tried to speak, but managed only a choked rasp. Then she toppled sideways onto the floor.
Tracy dragged herself out from under the corpse, brushing the slippery residue of Angel's innards from her own body as if she thought it too might be alive. She wanted to scream now. Scream so loudly that the whole room would collapse. Scream until the Long Beach Halo shattered like the inner dome of heaven.
Instead, she waited.
19.
Eric tipped the canteen, took a swig of water. "Well, at least we know the map is authentic."
Tracy leaned on her cane. "How do we know that?"
"Angel wouldn't have tried to kill us otherwise."
"Us?" Tracy said.
"You were supposed to be the first. She just didn't know how tough you were."
"Neither did I." Tracy lightly touched the cuts on her forehead and chin.
"I did," Eric said, with a trace of pride.
Blackjack looked up into the bright afternoon sun and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "The three of us are so bandaged up we look like those three Revolutionary soldiers in that painting. You know, one carries the flag, one bangs the drum, and one plays the flute or fife or some damn thing."
"That painting is 'The Spirit of 76' by Archibald M. Willard," Eric said.
Blackjack gave him a disgusted look and turned to Tracy. "How do you stand it."
"Lots of patience," she sighed.
The rest of the eight-member crew took the opportunity to sip water and complain about the hilly terrain.
"Time enough for me to take a leak?" Brad Collins asked. He was a young Australian who'd been visiting California for a surfing competition when the quakes hit.
"Sure," Blackjack waved, "take your time and do it right."
Eric pointed back across three hills they had just covered. Atop the farthest one was Hearst Castle. "Quite a sight, huh?"
Tracy shook her head. "It's a shame that all those great art treasures are being destroyed, but I hope we never see the place again."
Blackjack stretched, rolling his neck until the bones cracked into place. "One more hill and you won't be able to see it."
"One more hill and I won't be able to see anything," Tracy laughed.
Eric looked at his watch, then up at the sun. "Probably a good idea if we camp here for the rest of the day."
"What for?" Blackjack asked. "We can cover a lot more ground before the sun goes down."
"That's the point, Blackjack. We don't want to travel during the day. We dehydrate much faster. We don't know how much water there is between here and the weapons, so we have to conserve our supply." He threw his backpack on the ground. "So we sit here in the shade until dark and move out then. Besides, we have a great view of the castle."
"We don't need a great view of the goddamned castle. We need to move our asses over that hill so we can find the weapons. You want to get to Santa Barbara and find your kid, don't you?"
Eric smiled at him. "In time." Eric sat down next to his pack and leaned his crossbow on a nearby rock.
Blackjack was obviously displeased, but shrugged to the rest of the crew who quickly captured some shade for themselves.
They sat silently for more than an hour. Tracy read a book of Persian recipes that Eric had picked up as they left Liar's Cove. It was the only book he could find, but she was pleased. At least it was something to read.
Blackjack fretted, anxiously checking the sun, as if he could will it down out of the sky.
Eric closed his eyes and napped, occasionally waking up to check his watch. Finally, he kept his eyes open. He was smiling in a peculiar way.
"You aren't turning funny, are you?" Tracy asked him. "I mean, you don't hear messages from God or anything?"
"What?"
"Well, that shit-eating grin of yours. Did you just make a killing in the stockmarket, or what?"
"No, no. I was just thinking."
"About what?"
"Angel."
"Oh."
"Nothing like that. I was thinking how desperate she was to think she could get away with something so dumb."
"You mean trying to kill me? Hell, she almost made it."
"No, not that. I mean the whole map business."
Blackjack sat up. "What do you mean? You said it was real."
"Did I?" Eric said. He leaned back against his backpack, his hands webbed behind his head. "Did you get a close look at those bruises on her neck, Tracy?"
Tracy was confused. She knew Eric was getting at something, but she didn't know what. Whatever it was, she had a feeling she wasn't going to like the outcome. "Yeah, I saw them."
"C'mon, man," Blackjack said defensively. "I did what I had to do to get the map. You knew what was going on, so don't start accusing me of brutality."
"You miss the point, Blackjack. I'm surprised, too, you being a doctor and all."
"Cut the shit, Eric," Blackjack barked. "What are you getting at?"
"Notice the way the bruises were? With the thumb imprint l
ower than the top finger?"
Tracy closed her eyes, pictured Angel's neck as if she were about to draw it. "Yeah. That's right. So?"
"So there's only one way she could have gotten bruises like that. If she'd strangled herself."
"Jesus," Blackjack said, "the heat's too much for you white boys."
Tracy clutched her own throat, her hand upside down. "I see what you mean. But why? Scratch that question. I have a feeling I don't want to know."
Eric leveled his eyes on Blackjack. "It's simple, unfortunately. Angel knew she'd be forced to talk eventually, so she made a deal with Blackjack here. She'd tell him where the weapons were and split it with him later. In the meantime they'd perform their little act for us, fake a map, and all would be well. Only Angel had no intention of splitting with him. She came back to kill all three of us, but especially him."
"Come on, Eric," Tracy said. "You're scaring me."
"Sorry, Trace, but it's true. Blackjack is still an amateur at this kind of thing, but Angel's been dealing in deceit and double-crossing for years. She knew I'd never believe she talked unless there was some physical damage. Some cuts and bruises. I suspect she talked Blackjack into hitting her, but he couldn't keep at it as much as she wanted. So she made some bruises of her own. There's a lot more power in the grip upside down when you're choking yourself." He smiled at Blackjack. "How am I doing, Doc?"
Blackjack returned the smile, but there was a sadness in his eyes that made him look ill. He drew his.38 from the shoudler holster and pointed it at Eric. "You're the most irritating white man I've ever met." He waved at his crew behind him. "Pack it up folks. They know."
Tracy sagged. "I knew I w-ouldn't like it."
"Sorry, Tracy. But I warned you what I was at the beginning. I said I was a pirate, but you chose to interpret that to mean some kind of gentleman robber." He shook his head bitterly. "I don't have time to be a gentleman anything anymore. I'm dying. But before I go, I'm getting some of what's mine."
"What's yours? What the hell do you want?" Tracy demanded. "Guns, food, women? What?"