by Ryan Schow
“Tell me that when you catch a bullet,” she says half heartedly.
“Where do you think I learned this from?” he asked. She smiled, then glanced back up at him and realized he was being serious.
“Really?”
“Three slugs in the back. At first it was like getting kicked by a mule. Then the adrenaline wore off and the exit wounds started to burn. Like they were on fire. The recovery was long and brutal, and it made me bitter, but strong. I’d stopped taking my antibiotics at the time. I didn’t think I needed them, and I hated how irritable they made me feel, but then infection set it and they had to do what you’re doing now. They had to go after the infection both internally and externally.”
“That sounds horrible,” she said.
“The second round of antibiotics drained me, made me even more irritable. This time I didn’t have enough energy to actually vent properly, so I just sat there day after day, incapacitated, my skin lit with this nasty, nasty fire. And that’s when I learned the value of meditation and moving into a problem as opposed to away from it.”
“That’s very brave,” she said.
“I wasn’t brave,” he said with laughter in his voice. “Basically I had no choice.”
“Well I don’t know if I could do it.”
“In this world, you can’t help doing anything but that. Everything about our lives has now changed. Our friends are dead, our families gone, all measure of purpose and pleasure ripped free of us leaving this huge gaping hole in our lives where we have to reinvent family, friends, happiness, safety and pleasure. We’re doing that because we cannot lay down and die, we flat out refuse to.”
She listened intently, then appeared to give it some thought as she took out a large bandage, put some antibiotic on the treated strip and affixed it to his arm.
“This will bleed through pretty quickly,” she said, unwinding some gauze. Slowly, methodically, she wrapped his arm, then finished the bandage and said, “See me if it gets too wet.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
“Well I’m not a real doctor, and I don’t know if I did the right thing or not, but we’ve got a limited supply of solutions here. So no blood test, no x-rays or CT scans, no wound cultures to test the infection. Here at the City College of San Francisco, we just rip it off, hose it down and bandage it up. If it hurts, throw a little dirt on it.”
She said this then she laughed. They both did. It was a lighthearted moment he needed, followed by an unwelcome return to seriousness.
“So you’ve got some experience in getting shot,” she said, cautiously, “but you don’t look like a cop and you don’t carry yourself like ex-military—”
“I was an enforcer for one of the SoMo gangs. Not a pretty life. Lots of regrets, including the total loss of my family and friends. What my former life didn’t take from me, this war on mankind did.”
“Were you good at it? Your job in the gangs?” she asked, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, but driven by curiosity and a false sense of safety. She tried not to look afraid, but she was. He could smell it on her. The fear was practically wafting off her skin.
She didn’t smell so clean anymore.
“Well, like you say, the past is in our rear view mirror and we’ve got a new life ahead of us, one that demands we shed our old ways. Our old skin. It’s time we build something new, something lasting this time.”
“If I don’t see you later today,” she finally said, cleaning up, “then stop by in the morning and we’ll change the bandage.”
“Sure thing,” he said. At the door, before leaving, he turned and said, “I’m not used to people being good to me, and truth be told, I probably don’t deserve it, but—for what it’s worth—I will do everything in my power to be a good part of this community because you were kind enough to take me in and I refuse to violate that trust.”
“I appreciate you saying so,” she said, but by the look in her eyes, she was clearly pacifying him.
So yeah...
He was sure she was going to say something.
Chapter Fifteen
Further up the hallway, in the residential wing of the school not too far from where Sarah was taking care of Gunderson, many of the adult members of the community were deep into discussions surrounding the attacks on the school.
When Sarah finally finished up with Gunderson, when she was certain he’d had enough time to get back to his room, she went to find Rider, all the energy crackling in the ends of her fingertips and down her spine. She could hardly breathe she was so rattled.
She tracked Rider down in the newly christened “War Room,” a place where a lot of people regularly gathered to discuss the future of the college.
Now they were talking war.
The classroom was long and narrow with lots of windows for natural light and enough room to butt together several long tables. They took up most of the length of the classroom, packing the room with bodies and body heat. The windows were open, allowing fresh air inside, but it still looked stuffy, what with all the talking and interrupting and menial banter.
She found Rider, zeroed in on him. He finally looked up at her, which is when she made eyes at him and gave a little head nod in her own direction.
Nodding with understanding, he cleared his throat then excused himself for a few moments. Only a few people even noticed, and when he got up and headed over to Sarah, hardly anyone seemed to care.
“You have a look,” he said, complimenting her with his words, his eyes, and his close proximity to her. He adored her, but what she loved about him most was that he made sure she knew it.
“What look?” she asked, coy.
“It’s not just that gorgeous face of yours...”
“Is it the anxiety tearing through me right now?” she asked, a bit breathless. “Because I’m told I look sexy when I’m scared.”
The flirty air of him fell off, almost like it stepped off a cliff.
“Yeah,” she said, patently unsettled. “It may be nothing, but I think we might have a problem.”
She told him what she saw then watched the color drain from his face. He turned, looked inside the War Room where a couple of eyes turned to him. One of those concerned glances came from Indigo. He waved her over.
“What’s going on?” Indigo asked. Sarah told the girl what she’d seen, which caused in Indigo a long moment of contemplation.
“I brought him here,” Indigo said, seemingly unmoved. “I’ll handle it.”
“What are you going to do?” Rider asked.
“Whatever’s necessary,” she said, determined eyes on Rider. “Same as always.”
“What if he’s not truly a threat?” Sarah asked. “What if he’s just another sad casualty, another rat that fell off his side of the boat and landed in the surf?”
“Then we listen to what he has to say and we look into his eyes. If anything stinks, we step on him, break his back.”
“You can’t kill someone inside the school,” Sarah said, concerned.
Rider and Indigo both looked at her, incredulous.
“I’m not killing anyone, Sarah. Not in here, and not out there. And certainly not him. The Ophidian Horde is gone. Whatever happened to them, they’re gone and this guy clearly isn’t with them.”
“But he said he was an enforcer. The guy is pretty scary.”
“Scary how?” Rider asked.
“Scary like you can look into his eyes and there is nothing. Not life. Not love or hate or anxiousness. He’d dead inside. Soulless by the look of him.”
“That’s what a broken man looks like,” Indigo said, her eyes flat.
“It’s different,” Sarah replied. “He had that look like he could just as soon tear out your heart as give you the time of day. I swear, I’ve never seen anyone so dead while being alive.”
“Let me see for myself,” Indigo said. “But it’s probably nothing.”
“No,” Sarah said, panic infiltrating her eyes. “This guy is the devil.”
> “I’ll get Rex just in case,” Indigo said to Rider. “You grab Jagger. We need to handle this. Especially if Sarah’s right, and I trust her judgement.”
Rider nodded, his arms flexed, his silver hair slicked back. He looked at Indigo but she was already heading down the hallway looking to fetch Rex. Rider looked in the War Room at Jagger, the younger military man. He caught the man’s eye and signaled for him to come over. Jagger stood and joined them.
Sarah stayed close to Rider, clearly shaken.
“We have a problem,” Rider said to Jagger. The younger man showed no apprehension. After what he survived to get here, while picking up Elizabeth on the way, Rider knew the guy had a rock solid constitution. “I need back up, just in case we have a situation.”
“Sure thing,” Jagger said. “Just give me the lowdown first.”
Rider filled Jagger in on what Sarah had seen, then Sarah told him she was going to their room and she would lock the door until the matter was handled.
“It’ll be okay,” Rider said, taking her hand and giving it a reassuring pump. “He’s just one man. And we’re…well, we’re all of us. Which means together, even the devil himself would be soiling his britches.”
She nodded then said, “Okay, but come and get me when it’s safe.” He gave her hand another squeeze, then leaned down and kissed her. Jagger turned away to give them their privacy.
“Like I said,” Rider told her once more, “it’ll all be fine.”
Just as Sarah was leaving, Lena appeared with Elizabeth, both of them looking for Cincinnati. Jagger smiled at Elizabeth, their connection even stronger than when he found her being held hostage at that old farmhouse outside Davis.
“She’s in the meeting,” Jagger said, clearly pleased to see Elizabeth not only with his wife but integrating so smoothly into the community.
“When she’s out,” Lena said, not wanting any part of the security end of the community, “will you tell her we’re all waiting for her back in the game room?”
Jagger frowned, then broke into a knowing grin.
“Card night, right?”
“Skip Bo,” Elizabeth said. This was her favorite game, and it wasn’t any wonder, the girl mopped up half the time.
“Go easy on ‘em,” Jagger told Elizabeth, eliciting bright eyes and a smile from the girl.
When he’d first found her, Elizabeth had long sandy blonde hair that Lenna had since cut into a bob just below her chin. If it was possible, she was even cuter than before. Seeing this little angel, she was the daughter he never had, the daughter Lenna always wanted. She still spoke very little, but the girl had an infectious laugh when she let loose, and when she got into a game of cards, parts of her she kept hidden began to open up.
Glancing back up at Lenna, he said, “I’ll let Cincinnati know you’re looking for her. We’re about to call a break anyway.”
When Rider and Jagger returned to the meeting, they waited for the person speaking to finish, then Jagger politely said, “Indigo, Rider and I have a matter requiring our attention. Does anyone have a problem with us stepping out for awhile?”
“Everything okay?” Cincinnati asked.
“Yeah, fine,” Jagger said. “Just…it’s nothing serious. It’s game night, by the way, so your presence has been requested.”
Cincinnati smiled.
“Something I can help you guys with?” Stanton asked. “The other thing, not the card thing?” He was sitting next to Cincinnati who was now looking at him with the same alert look.
This is some family, Jagger thought. Always ready to go…
“No, we should be good,” Rider said. “It’s more of an in-house thing anyway.”
Rider and Jagger left the room, met up with Rex and Indigo outside Gunderson’s door, then gave a knock. A moment later, a bare chested Gunderson answered the door, looking at all the faces. It was hard to ignore the mapping of ink all over his body.
Or how skinny he was.
“I’ve been expecting you,” he said. “Please come in.”
His ribs seemed to be protruding, and there was a patchwork of scarred abuse all over his back when he walked them inside.
Indigo and Rider exchanged glances, but it was Rex who said, “You said that you were expecting us?”
“Not you four in particular, but yeah, I expected company,” he said, showing them his bandaged arm. “It was the tattoo. And perhaps the honesty as well. At first I suspected I might have startled the doctor. Now I’m certain of it.”
“Honesty is a funny thing,” Indigo said, leaving the sentence wide open.
“You’re her, aren’t you?” he said, looking at Indigo. “I knew it the first time Rex said your name.”
“How do you know me?” she asked.
“You carved up Blood Pig’s body. Indigo. That’s what you cut into his chest before you stabbed him about a thousand times.”
“That man’s death was a tag-team effort, and more than deserved,” she said, remembering the firefight in the elementary school. Blood Pig must have been the name of the man who shot and killed all those people. The same man who almost killed Macy.
“You know Macy, right? Sixteen years old? The cute little blonde? Rex’s niece?”
“I met her.”
“She almost died from multiple gunshot wounds, but those particular injuries came after your man killed dozens of innocent lives. He mowed down men, women and children alike. Not a single care in the world for the value of human life, or the fact that a community had come together to see if they could get the pieces of their lives back in order.”
“They wasn’t my doing,” he said. “I didn’t agree with that.”
“What are you doing here?” Rider asked, his big hands now bigger fists. There was an edge to him you could feel in your bones if you were standing close enough to the man.
“I don’t know. I was rescued by Indigo and Rex, then offered a chance to stay. To be a part of something bigger than myself. A part of me hoped I could make a fresh start, but that might have been presumptive, perhaps even a bit too hopeful considering my past affiliations.”
“What happened to The Ophidian Horde?” Rex asked. “Why’d they just disappear?”
“They didn’t disappear. They’re all back at a half destroyed hospital not far from here. Every last one of them. Well, except for me. I haven’t been there in months.”
“Hagan and I were there once, a couple of months back,” Rider said, capturing his attention. “I didn’t know that was your HQ.”
“It’s a big building, even half destroyed. No one expects a gang to use a damaged building for their HQ, as you say. But we had everything we needed, including the anonymity we so desperately sought.”
“You talk in the past tense,” Indigo said, clearly not as angry as Rider, but suspicious never-the-less. Jagger crossed his arms, but loosely, just in case the guy got unruly.
“I speak in the past tense for a reason,” he said, looking directly at her.
“Stop being so damn cryptic,” Rider growled. For all his blustering, for all his barrel-chested intimidation, Rider failed to unnerve the damn near emaciated man.
Turning back to Indigo, Gunderson said, “I hear you’re an archer.”
“I am,” she said, not an ounce of emotion on her face.
Jagger had heard about her, that her nerves were braided steel, but this…facing this guy down the way she was, this was something else. Did this girl have a death wish?
Rumors alluded to that.
Even he was concerned about this guy, especially how unconcerned he seemed to be with all of them, and that gave Jagger significant pause.
“But you’re so young.”
“If you knew how many of your men I put down with my bow and arrows, you wouldn’t say I’m an archer, you’d call me an assassin with a bow. And you’d probably take this meeting between us a little more serious.”
At this point, the air in the room was getting stuffy, and the candles were beginning to f
licker. The shadows cast over Gunderson’s face played tricks on the group, making him look both good and evil at differing times.
“I’m taking you serious,” he said, pacifying her. “You got one of my guys in the poop-chute with an arrow for God’s sake.”
“He was trying to rape my friend.”
“Yeah,” he mused, looking away finally, “some of those guys, they had…problems.”
“I was their last problem,” Indigo said, countering his movements to stay in his direct view. She’d stepped past Rider, right into what Jagger thought of as a no-go zone on guys like this, then said, “Tell me why we should let you live, and I won’t kill you personally.”
Rex drew a deep breath, started to respond, but Indigo put her hand up, not looking at him yet somehow knowing he’d come to her defenses.
“Because all those same members of the Horde are still there. In their beds. Decomposing.”
“They’re dead?” Rider said.
“Yes.”
“How?” Indigo asked.
“I killed them,” he replied, turning those sick black eyes on Rider. “When I saw what they did at the school, when I thought about this life I’ve lived, how I lost everything—my family, my soul, my sense of right and wrong—I decided to make a break from those people. From that life. But you can’t just leave gangs, not without becoming their prey, and this was a very twisted pack of criminals. Like an All-Star group of degenerates, albeit competent ones.”
“So you killed them?” Rider asked.
“I already said that.”
“Because you had a change of conscience,” Indigo said through narrowed eyes. “Is that right? Is that what we’re supposed to believe?”
Jagger stepped forward just enough to get in range of Indigo and the former enforcer. Rider was already there. If this guy so much as flinched, he’d have all hell to pay.
“Yes,” he said, looking at the convergence of these people upon him. He swallowed hard, then said, “I didn’t mean for you to save me back at the park. I didn’t want you to save me.”
“Well we did,” Rex said, crossing his arms. “That’s because we’re not like you. We don’t kill innocents.”