I hold back, wait for the Goddess’ word to attack.
Now.
Mush push feet like rain, I smoothly slide across terrain in a toxic sprint to mass attack. I am the night – black; I am the sun, the burning one, the festering rash, the Champion of the Stayed as I back-shiv the man closest to me and use my forward charge to slam his body into the other guard. Confusion accomplished, I dig my nail-claws into the other man’s face – eyeball gripping – and retrieve my shiv. Another back hack attack, I pull the filet-er of men out and pounce on guard two.
His hands scramble to retrieve his clubbing stick from his belt, but my teeth are on the spot where his nose should be by this point, biting down and ripping cartilage and bloody snot away. I muffle his incoming scream by swiveling my knee against his chin. Pressing down, I feel him bite and I press harder with my knee until his jaw pops.
(He’s not faceless! He’s biting you!)
‘Quiet, you.’
I’m up to my feet a moment later after I’ve unclipped my clubbing stick from my belt. While the second guard doubles over in pain and cradles what’s left of his faceless face, I return to the first and smash the dying shit out of him as his sphincter lets go and the smell fills the air and I finish the job my shiv started. Back to number two, I sink a few to the back of his head, drumming the song of bludgeoned death.
‘How many more are there?’ I ask, huffing puffing. Commotion inside the complex – my little attack wasn’t as quiet as I would have liked it to be.
One human coming towards you now – I’ll delay him for a moment. And two metal men in the inner compound. They have metalzip flingers and they’re in the inner chamber with Zander and his family.
‘How do I kill them?’
One at a time.
.5.
The Book says that the Stayed moved in whisper-walks, talk with their mouths shut and kill to be killed. I am no different than them. There won’t be a time in which I’m not filth, but the Goddess’ servant I’ll remain. With Halo’s wise words over my shoulder, I’ll boulder over any trouble. I will own this existence and renew my commitment to abstain from being Deathborn.
Eyes up, I spot my advantage.
With the guard’s key, I open the gate and let myself in – still in the shadows, I peel feet bottoms to the entrance to Zander Damien’s home. No time to admire the cactus lining their entry way that reach towards the sky, I glance left and right, hoping to find something that can put me at a better vantage point.
There’s a ladder.
‘My luck!’
I had one of the guards move it there earlier. Get in position, the human will be here soon!
‘Thank you, Goddess,’ I say as I scurry up. ‘I won’t need your assistance for this one.’
In no time at all, I’m on my haunches near the roof’s edge, waiting for my target to exit. He steps out, crouches, points, points, points with the weapon – a metalzip tosser – constantly in motion, like a lizard’s tongue tasting the air, and I hold my breath in anticipation of the righteous death that is to follow. I pounce bounce down and he hits the ground hard, the breath gone from his body. A couple of quick shivs to the back and he’s bleeding out, moaning in agony. I give him a few more, lick the blood off my shiv and stab again.
Man down, liberation done, I catch my breath for a moment with my body pressed against the side of the house. I get the notion that I should wait for them to come to me. Still, even with rooftop pounce, metal men don’t bleed like the Stayed.
‘There are two metal men, right?’
Yes, and you can’t overpower both of them. I think they’re able to see you in the dark, so shadows won’t help.
‘How?’
I will use Zander’s wife and children. I will have his family attack the metal men – I don’t think I can have them do it all at once, but I can at least keep one occupied. The metal men won’t kill the family. It should give you the distraction you need. I will do my best to assist you, Hunter.
--You’ve disobeyed me!
Ignore that voice.
(Blasph! Father Miscavige would never do you any harm!)
‘Too many voices.’
Just focus on mine, Hunter. Focus on my voice.
‘Yes, Goddess, anything for you.’
I enter, my shiv in one hand and my clubbing stick in the other. A moment of silence presages the violence yet to be had.
The lights come on; voices from an antechamber a stone’s throw away whisk my whiskers.
It has started. Zander’s wife is attacking one of the metal men now. Go, Hunter, while confusion is still your shield! Your first target will be on the right as soon as you enter.
Running man floor defiler, I hit the door hard and bolt right. My shiv upside down, I swing at the metal man with both arms, clubbing stick and the blade to follow. He dodges and I give it another go. This one connects and does little damage aside from sending a stinging sensation up my neck.
Across the room, Zander’s wife is on the other metal man’s shoulder, whirling about while Zander – or at least who I assume is Zander – shouts and points at me. His two kids stand frozen, their eyes rolled into the backs of their heads as they sightlessly watch the proceedings.
(Pay attention, Hunter!)
The voice I should ignore becomes the voice I shouldn’t acknowledge as the metal man tries to hit me with the butt of his weapon. He nearly connects with my chest, but I suck in just in time, pivot left and by sheer lizard luck, I thrust my shiv into his eye socket.
Shocked, I gather my wits as he stumbles about, trying to pull the shiv out. Wits in hand, I beat the living metal out of the back of his skull until he falls. The second metal man tosses Zander’s wife off his back and raises his weapon. ‘Noooo!’ Zander bellows, all red-faced and bulging eyes as his son – a teen the same age as Greene – dives in front of a metalzip to protect me. It blasts through the youth, who is now my shield against any incoming metalzips.
(He’s not faceless! None of these people are faceless!)
They are now.
Zander’s face blurs just as I feel a hand gripping my leg. The metal man closest to me is scramble-brain yet still trying to administer pain. No time to process, I pull the blade out, follow up by whacking the rats out of him with the hilt of my weapon. He lands on his back, stops moving.
The other metal man cum kid-killer is trying to understand the situation.
Zander’s wife is on his back again and their younger daughter is pulling at his flinger. Zander can’t seem to find the nuts to actually do anything but scream and piss himself, and I take this blip in time to advance towards the second metal man. His eyes lock onto me, dilate a bit, but I drop my clubbing stick and launch myself at him, crash into him, his weapon, Zander’s daughter and take us all down onto his wife.
My targets are his eyes and I’m just about to drive one home when the metal man gets my throat. Zander’s daughter recovers, wraps herself around his arm and peels his hand from me. The man’s eyes dilate again; confusion darts across his face and I get a good enough grip on my shiv and puncture one of his beady blacks.
I close my eyes and the battle comes alive. In my element, I shiv his other eye and leave my blade there as he dies all twitchy.
I stand, survey the chaos – two metal men dead-dead-dying, Zander’s son Death Prayer ready, his wife bewildered, their daughter crying.
Bring Zander, leave the family.
I glance at the pale and trembling mother and the screaming, crying daughter. Their faces flash faceless.
Leave them, Hunter. There are Southerners coming now to kill them. Get Zander – don’t kill him – and follow my directions. You will deliver him to me that I may render judgement and retribution.
‘Yes, Goddess.’
‘Please!’ Zander screams, spittle flying from his lips. ‘Don’t hurt me! Who are you? What do you want? I can give you whatever you want! Bits, lovers, delixer, power – yes, power! Just don’t hurt me, please!’
>
A quick crouch and I pick up my clubbing stick.
Don’t kill him, Hunter.
‘I won’t, Goddess,’ I say as I approach the quivering man. ‘But I would like him to be quiet for the time being.’
Book Two: Epilogue
‘What do you know about metal men?’ Sterling asks the OL Officer who is still under Halo’s control. The very air seems to roil with madness and chaos; the sounds of violence and conflict have grown steadily closer. Beige stands off to his left, sulking in her armcuffs because he’s been so mean to her.
‘Metal men?’ Confusion spreads across the man’s face. ‘What metal men?’ I don’t know anything about metal men.’
‘He doesn’t know?’ Sterling asks Halo, trying to get her talking. He has no idea how she’s going bring Zander to him, or if that’s just another one of her untruths and misdirections to keep him obedient and compliant, despite her promises otherwise.
Some of the OL Officers know about the metal men, others don’t. Besides, they aren’t the only humans made of metal in the Canyon.
‘What do you mean?’
Flesh givers.
He glances to his sister, checking to make sure that their conversation is private. ‘You’re kidding.’
Again, not all are metal, but some are.
‘Have I ever been with one?’ Sterling whispers.
You have, more than once.
‘News to me.’
The light of a motocart flickers in the distance. A sudden chill crawls up his spine and prickles his scalp; instinctively, he reaches for his shiv. The approaching light dips left and right, bouncing irregularly as the motocart zig-zags through the Khomei barriers.
Sterling tastes bile at the back of his throat as he keeps his eyes trained on the approaching motocart. His hand is wet on the shiv’s grip, and he can feel the tremors as he dries it on the seat of his pants.
The motocart stops just inside the Khomeis and the driver switches off the light.
‘Who is it, Halo?’ Sterling whispers.
It’s him.
The driver briefly mumbles to himself before he dismounts. He takes two steps towards them and automated floodlights high up on the wall snap on and illuminate the entire area. He stops dead in his tracks, squints, and shades his eyes with one hand.
The stranger is tall and well-built, his clothing ragged, filthy and spattered with blood. He casts his eyes over them and stands with his hands open at his sides, ready to pounce. His appearance of muscular perfection is marred by the welts and weals and cicatricose disfigurements visible on every portion of his exposed flesh. His nose has been broken repeatedly and his hair has been torn out in patches, leaving irregular scars in his scalp. Two fresh gashes on either cheek have yet to scab over. A sudden shift in the wind wafts his aroma past their nostrils; it is of a mass grave inadvertently opened in the heat of the day; it is a communal latrine overfilled and long neglected; it is dried blood and pus and disease and putrescence. It is horrifying in its intensity – and the man is still three body-lengths away.
Beige yelps, tries to clap her hands over her mouth and dry heaves. Sterling wants to, but now is not the time to show even the slightest weakness. Halo appears unaffected.
‘Who are you?’ Sterling demands.
‘Hunter,’ the man smiles, reveals a set of brown and crooked teeth that have been filed down to points. He licks his lips and says, ‘You are faceless.’
***
‘Don’t give me that Southern shit.’ Sterling’s grip tightens his grip on his OL shiv. ‘You’re in the North now, and facelessness is a good thing.’
Hunter snorts, steps left and right. He stops again, places his hand over his eyes. ‘I know he isn’t faceless,’ he whispers to himself. ‘Just imagined it. Quiet you!’
Sterling cuts his eyes at his sister. She’s pale and trembling, backing away as they speak. ‘That’s Halo’s brother,’ he says under his breath, ‘keep quiet and stay behind me.’
Hunter smashes his fist against the side of his head. ‘I can see that! What? Goddess? Leave them here unharmed? Where’s your kidnapper? Where are you? Church of the North? With Time?’ He stops his rambling for a moment, looks down at the backs of his scarified and filthy hands. In a blur of motion, he produces an oversized shiv from somewhere within his feculent garments and makes ready to attack.
Up until now, Sterling has been afraid of no man – but he’s not exactly sure that the monstrous apparition poised before him and coiled to strike is, in the strictest sense of the word, just a man. Whatever he is, he radiates menace and deadly intent, and Sterling realizes that he is significantly outclassed in the murder, madness, and mayhem department.
‘Come and take it.’ Sterling says, his shiv at the ready, pleased that his voice is firm and steady, even though he’s leg-wetting scared. His eyes are dry and gritty, but he hesitates to so much as blink.
Hunter grins, snorts, and feints forward all of half-a-hand’s width; his almost palpable stench billows ahead of him as he does so. Sterling coughs, backpedals and stumbles over Beige who is close up behind him rather than out of his way as he’d told her to be.
‘Dammit, Beige!’ he hisses at her, his gaze still fixed on the nightmare before him.
Hunter eyes Sterling, alters his position slightly, grins his dreadful pointy grin as he locks eyes with him. Sterling desperately wants to look away, but knows that the moment he does, his lizard luck’s run out, the comedy is over and Halo’s brother will be all over him like… like stink on shit. It occurs to him that he’s not likely to walk away from this one; the best he can hope for is to kill him back.
Hunter freezes in place; his eyes unfocus. ‘Anything for you, Goddess,’ he murmurs as he un-tenses, lowers his shiv, relaxes his shoulders. He spins on his heel and strides back to the motocart.
‘What in the fuck is this?’ Sterling asks, catching his breath.
I’m… masking myself… from him; no sudden movements. This is… taking everything I have.
‘What the shit is wrong with him?’
Not now!
‘Fucked in the head if you ask me…’ Sterling gets his shiv back up and watches Hunter return. He effortlessly drags a man by his collar like one would a sack of trash. Sterling lowers his guard ever-so-slightly when he sees that it’s a bruised and bloodied Zander Damien.
‘Here. He still lives.’ Hunter deposits the most powerful man in the North at Sterling’s feet.
‘He still has his face,’ Hunter mumbles in passing. ‘He still has his face. Anything… Goddess… I will go there now. You are in danger? I’ll hurry!’
He mounts the motocart and is just about to start it when Beige calls out, ‘Where are you going?’
‘Idiot!’ Sterling grits. His face a mask of fury, he leaps for her, catches her by the hair, clamps his hand over her mouth and digs his fingers in. She stares at him, wide-eyed.
After a long pause, Hunter turns to them and says, ‘I am going to find Halo, and I am going to find her kidnapper and punish him until he begs me for death. I am her protector, the champion of the South. Someone stole her from us and I WILL make that man atone for his sin with my bare… bare hands. I will also kill Time, the false Goddess of the North.’
‘Not a sound,’ Sterling says to his sister through clenched teeth, his hand still firmly across her mouth. She nods nervously, swallows hard.
Hunter turns on the motocart’s front light, aims directly at them, but does not drive off. The silence between them stretches as Hunter sits for a moment, mumbling quietly to himself. The wind picks up and Sterling catches a blood-curdling scream in the distance. The bedlam worsens by the moment.
Hunter nods. His cheeks twitch left and right, as he starts the motocart again and turns it around. He’s gone seconds later, the tail light shrinking until it disappears completely.
With his hand clamped over his sister’s mouth, Sterling waits until Hunter is completely gone, and waits thirty heartbeats more for good measure.
He releases her, grabs her by the upper arms, goes nose-to-nose with her and is just about to hurl invective into her face when she apologizes, tears streaming down her cheeks.
The tension abates; Sterling rests his forehead against hers and brings her in for a hug.
***
Semi-conscious Zander Damien lies at Sterling’s feet. His expensive, ostentatious clothing still retains some of its glory, despite the activities of the last few hours. In addition to pulled seams and large rips, his clothing is marred by blood, dirt and Hunter’s filthy handprints. His crotch is wet to the knees, and Hunter’s signature aroma no longer masks the fact that Damien has soiled himself.
Sterling positions himself between Zander and the women, makes sure his back is to them. He undoes his fly and takes aim at Zander’s face. The richest man in the North tries to roll away as Sterling empties his bladder. He coughs and chokes, and Sterling waddles after him until he’s finished.
Was that necessary?
‘Fuck this guy,’ he says, ‘and you got nothing to say, anyway.’ He’s once again the toughest tough guy in the immediate area now that Hunter’s gone, and his moment of fear and self-doubt is rapidly receding.
Zander groans, swipes at the liquid in his eyes, cautiously touches fingertip to tongue, gags, and brings up breakfast, lunch and last night’s supper all down the front of himself.
‘Glad you could join us.’ Sterling remarks as he finishes up, repositions and adjusts his accoutrements. He hears his sister harrumph behind him and he ignores her.
Zander wipes his face with his sleeve, sits up, and blinks into the light. ‘Officer,’ he sputters, ‘I demand that you… ’ He trails off as he recognizes Sterling in his ill-fitting OL uniform. The actual OL Officer catches his eye, and he booms, ‘OFFICER! That man is Sterling Northrope, a notorious criminal!’ The officer’s face remains impassive and Zander tries again. ‘I DEMAND that you apprehend him! Do you hear me, you fool? He’s a criminal – do something!’
The Zero Patient Trilogy (Book Two): (A Dystopian Science Fiction Series) Page 15