by C. F. Waller
Pulling out a bent bullet, she holds it up between her thumb and forefinger, scowling. I am stunned it didn’t go right through her. Silver and gold glitter fly around the wound. Without hesitating, she winds up and throws her spear in a line at Decker. It hits him in the forehead and drives him over on his back as if he were hit by a car.
“Free trips to the morgue then,” Rahnee blurts out as she raises her guns in Rhea’s direction, the sharp click of the safeties coming off. “Run Arron.”
Not wanting to run back to Decker’s corpse, I break hard for Dorian, who is crouched by Dunn watching. I try and ask Dorian if he’s okay when I get to him, but he points behind me, mouth hung open. Turning, I see Rahnee moving in a wide circle as Rhea follows, tracking her movements.
“You people and your guns,” Rhea barks. “Long distance weapons of cowards.”
“No one is running away,” Rahnee fires back. “I’m right here.”
“A sword requires skill, a spear practice,” she lectures. “You’d have a better chance with one of those.”
“Have one I can borrow?”
“Sorry, no,” Rhea smirks. “All out.”
“Well shucks,” Rahnee coughs, her voice still weak since taking a bullet.
“How many times do you have to shoot me before you realize it’s futile,” Rhea rants on. “How many times must your eyes see before your mind grasps the futility?”
“Hold still and I’ll let you know,” Rahnee grunts, pulling the trigger on one of the guns.
There is a double boom that reminds me of a heartbeat. That sort of thump, thump you hear when you put your head on someone’s chest. As I surmised when I first saw them, the top barrel fires, then the bottom one follows in unison. Two separate bursts of blue gas blow out the sides of the barrel extensions as a burst of yellow flame escapes from the end.
As we view Rhea from the side, the shots hit her in the chest and blow clean through, clanking off the steel wall that’s well behind her. She looks confused, feeling for the exit wound on her back with a hand that comes back bloody. Other than the point blank head shot, no bullets have passed through her and out the backside. Even the high powered sniper round fired by Decker was absorbed by her body.
“That’s two,” Rahnee shouts. “Maybe two will do.”
Her chatter brings to mind the Tootsie roll commercial where the children ask the owl how many times he has to lick the sucker to get to the middle. One and a pause, two and a pause, three and a pause, the owl would recite before deciding on three.
Gold and silver glitter float in the air behind Rhea’s back. She rubs the wound on her chest then turns back to Rahnee.
“You might need more than that,” she shrugs, seeming amused.
“Wait for it,” Rahnee smirks, lowering the gun to her side, wisps of blue smoke trailing out. “It will come to you.”
Rhea laughs, but then coughs, putting her hand on her neck. She gags again then drops to her knees.
“Poison,” Rhea croaks.
“Cyanide and sulfuric acid,” Rahnee informs her. “Shatters on impact. The bullets are plenty deadly without it, but fantastic insurance in case you don’t have the decency to die, which apparently you don’t.”
“Won’t stop,” Rhea chokes out, but the rest is unintelligible.
She falls forward on her hands coughing and spiting into the gravel. Her back arches and she vomits. She suffers several convulsions as she struggles to remain on all fours. Her limbs shake and twitch and a wheezing sound fills the air.
“We should go,” Dorian whispers, tapping me lightly on the shoulder.
“Why,” I blurt out. “She’s got this.”
“I rather doubt that,” he grumbles, remaining behind me as he watches. “However much I wish it were so.”
Rahnee takes a few steps forward, but then freezes. Rhea tips her head up and smiles. With sudden grace, she rises, wiping the spittle off her lips with the back of her arm. Backing up Rahnee raises her guns.
“That was unpleasant,” Rhea coughs, spitting on the ground. “Not lethal, but very unpleasant.”
“Maybe you just didn’t get enough the first time,” Rahnee says, pulling the trigger on both guns.
They echo like a heart murmur. Thumping in unison, but one sound over the top of the other. The blue gas and yellow fire emitted nearly hide Rahnee from my view. All four shots rip through Rhea, tiny pieces of flesh and torn blouse fly from her back. The bullets clank one at a time off the steel wall behind her. I notice the silver and gold glitter floating back to her body almost immediately after being shot. Rhea is forced back a step, but remains standing. A quiet moment passes as Rhanee waits for the cyanide to hit her. When nothing happens it seems to leave her confused.
“You only get one shot at that trick,” Rhea informs her, then spits to one side. “As you may have guessed, I develop a tolerance for things rather quickly.”
“You don’t say?” Rahnee mumbles.
“My tolerance for you however has reached its end,” she snarls.
“That makes two of us,” Rahnee fires back. “Get out of here Arron.”
Dorian grabs my arm, but I pull it back, refusing to go. Rhea looks back at me and smiles.
“Hold on Arron,” she says in a deep gravelly voice, pointing a finger my way. “This won’t take but a minute.”
“Run,” Rahnee grunts as the first wave of bullets strike Rhea.
Dorian pulls on my arm, but I fight him. As I am dragged back, Rhea wades forward through a hail of gunfire. Rahnee empties one gun and opens up with the other. In between, she drops the empty clip and slams the gun down on a fresh one hanging off her belt. I was confused by this set up earlier, but it makes a lot more sense to me now. The bang-bang, sound of the guns going off mostly covers the howling and snarling that comes from Rhea as she tries to get close to her prey. My attention is pulled away as I trip over Bee. The sight of her blood soaked shirt infuriates me. Tears well up in my eyes, but Dorian jerks on my arm and drags me past her.
“Get up,” he fights me. “Stop being a nuisance.”
“Where do you think you’re running to?” I plead over the rapid gunfire. “Do you even care that she killed Bee?”
“She didn’t kill her,” he whines, looking down at her, then at Dunn’s expressionless face.
Shaking his head he loses his grip on my arm and stumbles backward. His eyes gaze on his friend’s body, but work their way to mine. His expression is dour, eyes watery with lips slack. The shooting stops momentarily, drawing my attention back to Rahnee.
Rhea, who looks shredded and bloody is followed by a swarm of gold and silver glitter. She has caught up to Rahnee and grabs her left hand, twisting it awkwardly. Something seems to snap in her wrist and she drops the gun. Rahnee presses the other gun to Rhea’s head and pulls the trigger. It fires several times and then locks, out of rounds. What comes flying out the side of Rhea’s head explodes into sparkling glitter and pauses in midair, before shooting back into her skull.
“What is she?” I mumble aloud.
“Ghost of the Future," Dorian recites in my ear as if on a stage. “I fear you more than any spectre visited upon me this night.”
“A Christmas Carrol?” I grunt. “You’re referencing Dickens now?”
“I thought it was rather clever,” he asserts, shrugging.
“Of course you do,” I grumble, turning my attention back to Rahnee and the spectre.
Within the swarm of glitter, she shakes her head as if she’s trying to dry her hair.
“Insolent mortal,” Rhea howls, the side of head reforming quickly.
Setting her feet, she throws Rahnee ten yards into the corrugated steel container wall. She’s not straight on the wall and her body skids along it until her momentum slows, dropping her in a pile near the area Decker went down. The gun in her hand ricochets off the wall and disappears out the gap into the containers. I hold my breath, but she doesn’t get up. I can see no movement from my position.
&
nbsp; “Can we go now?” Dorian shouts in my ear. “Or shall we all just die here?”
“Don’t go,” a raspy gurgle escapes from Rhea’s lips. “I’ll be right with you.”
When she turns back to me, it’s a horrifying picture. The gold and silver glitter swarms over her as she staggers on wobbly legs. Her vacant eyes seem to focus on me, becoming less damaged as seconds pass. After a half minute, she seems to gather herself and moves slowly to where Rahnee is laying.
“You going to eat her as well,” I shout angrily.
“She doesn’t reply as she shuffles past Rahnee’s body and draws her spear from what I assume to be Decker’s head, although I can’t see his body from my vantage point. Once reunited with her toy, she starts back in our direction. I notice she’s walking better, the swarm of glitter trailing off as she walks. By the time she gets to the center, she’s barley limping. Her face is lined with ugly scars. Her blouse is torn in so many places you can see her skin underneath, which is also pitted and scared. There used to be a jacket, but only the cuffs and sleeves remain. There are fewer holes in her pants, but they were blood red moments ago and now it’s as if the reddish color is bleeding into the air and disappearing in the swarm. As I watch, the blood stains vanish, leaving only ripped clothing and scars.
“Not so pretty now,” I verbally jab at her, feeling Dorian tugging on my arm again.
“Like your friend said,” she coughs, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “You have to wait for it.”
“I don’t have time,” I say, pulling the gun retrieved from the trunk and pointing it at her.
“Again with the guns,” she whines, holding her arms out to her sides. “Wouldn’t you stand a better chance befriending me than shooting at me?”
“You’re not looking for friends,” I accuse.
“Well,” she utters and pauses, glitter flowing about her. “Seems I can’t get anything past you.”
I don’t fire, and slowly lower the gun. She has a point about continuing to shoot at her. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. However, this realization does leave me at loose ends with regards to a plan. Watching her, I notice that the swarm has lessened, yet she has not returned to her original state, meaning she’s a scared limping mess. How long does it take when so much damage has been inflicted?
“Dorian, where did you find this one?” she asks, stepping closer.
“Oh, just wandering about,” he answers, remarkably composed. “Oblivious to the dangers around him.”
“You might have left him that way,” she chastises him. “He’d have been far better off.”
“You’re probably right,” he agrees, for the first time sounding unafraid. “Let’s not worry about him. It’s me you want.”
Well, you are the last,” she coughs, a hand to her lips. “Once you are gone our pact with the Almighty is complete.”
“Took you long enough,” Dorian lectures. “Five thousand years was it?”
“It took me five years,” she asserts. “The rest of the delay resulted from a lack of resolve in leadership.”
“What’s to be your reward now?” Dorian questions her, possibly stalling. “What were you promised in return for eradicating us?”
“A seat at the table,” she replies.
“And if you don’t get it?” he poses. “What then?”
“Then allegiances may change,” she smirks. “Denied a greater kingdom, I might be forced to make one here.”
“I’m sure you will receive all that you have coming to you,” he nods at her. “In honor of your completed contract might you be persuaded to let my friend here go free?”
This conversation seems far to rehearsed to me. The longer I listen, the more convinced I become that Dorian and Rhea have previously met. How has this escaped detection and why wouldn’t he just tell everyone. Did Bee know any of this?
“Sadly Arron knows a bit too much to just turn him loose,” she sighs.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he remarks, stepping past me and walking boldly out to meet her. “He’s harmless. No one will believe a word he tells them. I hardly believe it myself and I have seen the carnage with my own eyes.”
I start to follow him, but as if he senses me, he puts a hand out and motions for me to stay put. What is he doing?
“You’re not really in a position to bargain with me,” she replies, her attention more on squeezing her left hand into a ball, having never completely healed from being shot in the palm by Shelly’s man.
“That’s true,” he concedes, stopping half way between Rhea and me. “Might I share a word with him before you finish me off?”
I’m not sure what he’s angling at, but an idea pops into my head. I pull out the pack of cigarettes and light one. Then motioning to Dorian, I nod, offering him one.
“A smoke for the condemned,” she chuckles. “By all means.”
Dorian returns to me, keeping his back to her as he talks. He declines the cigarette, but nods back at her before he begins.
“I’m sorry about all of this,” he whispers. “I suppose it was inevitable, but it’s my fault just the same.”
“Not your fault,” I shrug, blowing smoke to one side. “This is one blameless nightmare.”
“No, you’re not following,” he explains to me, pausing to think about what he wants to say. “Arron, I did not pick you out at random.”
“I know, you picked me because I had a clean driving record.”
“Yes and no,” he admits and lowers his voice to a hushed whisper. “Listen to me closely. Dunn and the people chasing us didn’t know it, but they were not really after me. Who they really wanted was you.”
“What? I whisper. “Me?”
“I am not the last of us,” he explains and then pauses. “You are.”
“I’m not like you,” I say a bit too loudly, causing me to look over Dorian’s shoulder at Rhea, who seems to be picking at her cheek.
“Actually you are just like me,” he insists, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m sort of your father.”
“Come again?”
“We don’t have all day here,” he grumbles, peeking back at Rhea. “Your mother’s pregnancy was an accident. She died in child birth as it has been with every mortal in her position.”
The sudden realization that Dorian may not consummate relationships because he might kill his partner washes over me. I freeze, the sea air fluffing my hair.
“You didn’t want to kill any of them,” I say under my breath.
He nods.
“Unfortunate time for all this to come up,” I sigh, a thought of who my mother might have been crossing my mind.
“The rules required that I report you to the Cartographer, but I didn’t want your name on the bloody Tree. Bee helped me find you a home and I have kept an eye on you over the years.”
“And you’re just telling me this now?” I whisper aggressively.
“Sort of pressed into it,” he admits, waving a thumb over his shoulder. “Not how I imagined this going down.”
“Dorian, what aren’t you telling me here?” Rhea quizzes. “You seem awfully worried about this one particular mortal.”
“Take this,” he whispers, pushing something into my free hand. “I know you will figure out what to do with it.”
Looking down I see a simple key. It’s too small for a house or a car, but bigger than a mailbox key. I try to hold it up to see it in the fading light of the day, but he clamps his hand over mine and pushes it down, out of sight.
“I’m going to give you a running start,” he tells me. “When the word is given, get out of here as fast as you can. Don’t look back, just keep going.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Don’t stay to see,” he implores me. “If you turn back and wind up a pillar of salt, I shall be very disappointed.”
“A pillar of what?”
“Oh dear Lord,” he sighs, then looks at me scornfully. “Does
no one read? It’s not a particularly obscure reference.”
“Tell me what you are going to do?” I interrupt, before he’s off on a rant.
“Buy time,” he explains, pulling his hand out of his jacket pocket revealing two small cans with batteries taped to the sides. “I really am sorry for all of this Arron. Remember, she doesn’t know you’re the last. Possibly it will end here.”
“You think that will kill her,” I groan doubtfully, glancing at her over his shoulder. “She’s a frigging Terminator.”
“Cinema poisoning,” he cringes at the movie reference. “My own offspring infected by it. Maybe it’s time I…”
“But you think it will stop her?” I interrupt him.
“Doubtful, but she is beginning to look a bit worse for wear today,” he offers, forcing a smile. “Run when I tell you to.”
“Dorian,” she beckons. “Is it possible his immunity to my charms comes from not being completely mortal?”
Dorians face gives away the answer before he can answer. Rhea sees this and a look of surprise rolls over her.
“Will the games never cease,” she grins. “Please tell me he’s yours.”
Dorian turns defiantly and walks to Rhea. She watches him in a suspicious way, glancing at me every so often. He gets right in front of her and bows from the waist, hands behind his back. She eyes him is a distrustful way.
“He is one of you,” she says matter-of-factly, peeking over his shoulder at me. “You hid him from Anthony did you not?”
“Guilty as charged,” Dorian admits.
“Color me shocked,” she grins. “He’s yours then?”
“He is,” he admits.
“I knew there was something off about you Arron,” she shouts past him to me. “Your aura smelled funny.”
“Odor aside, might you just take me and leave him be?”
“I don’t need to answer that do I?” she sighs. “The contract’s not complete as long as he draws breath.”