Vagabonds

by Kyle Olson

  “Marshal Reith! Has anyone claimed responsibility?”

  “What will be your response?”

  “Do you think this is a direct action against you?”

  “There hasn’t been a terror attack in—”

  “No,” Jasmine’s voice boomed, cutting off the squawking gaggle, “We do not yet know who has done this and will investigate any and all leads as they come in. For the moment we are focused on saving those we can and sweeping the city to ensure there are no further devices. Once the city and its people are safe, then yes,” she continued, voice dropping to a rumble—peering not into the cameras but through them, as if searching for the perpetrator, “We will exact retribution for the senseless violence wrought today.”

  “Senseless violence!” Ifon burst out, not just in laughter, but even knees were slapped, “Listen to you! The politician already!”

  As much as he knew there was no way for her to hear him, he still liked to think she did, going by the subtle twitches peeking through the cracks in her mask.

  The operation had cost a fair bit, but nothing that couldn’t be hidden in the budgets and filtered away. They needed to keep her unbalanced, make the people question their election choice. Make them lose faith in their government. The next few planned demolitions would see to that.

  Soon as she got everything solidified and began conquering neighboring nations, she’d be able to unify a region that’d been fragmented since The Endless War ended. No doubt she’d start invoking that old empire’s name.

  It occurred to him at that moment that using a dead empire’s name was not a bad idea. In fact, it might be a good one. While Coanphany was, at best, on the fringes of territory once held by the Fionsys Empire, it was still within the bounds. People in the area still prided themselves, to an extent, on that fact.

  Perhaps with his new-found alliance there existed the possibility of a return to those days of glory, just like Daontys had suggested. Wouldn’t that be a banner to rally under? Or maybe… As tantalizing as the prospect was, for now, he had to keep it on the back-burner.

  Ifon flicked off the stream, having grown tired of the reporters repeating the same handful of words after Sejit had beaten them off so she could attend to matters. He rocked back and forth in his chair, the creaking of its old springs were an irritation and a comfort at the same time. Helped him think almost as much as a good whiskey did.

  I keep her from doing anything important, and Daontys gathers up a few more of us, bands us together, and then… threatens her? Or are you just planning to assemble a pantheon in front of my face so you can stab me in the back later?

  In theory, himself, Daontys, and a smattering of others would be enough to browbeat Sejit into submission, because even if it came to conflict and things escalated out of control, she couldn’t hope to defeat them all. Then, when she was toppled, it didn’t matter if humanity knew of them or not. A united pantheon could square off against the world. Probably.

  Yet here I am, taking all the risk, engaging in the very same means I chided the jackal for employing.

  He laughed, this time dry, raspy.

  Just like the old days. All risk, no honor.

  His thoughts were cut short by a quiet beep from his phone.

  That’s the third check-in Phytos has missed since he found the jackal’s progeny. Could he have… No, not possible. No, but perhaps something happened to his phone. Isn’t like he can message me from just any device.

  A sound enough reason, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Tess alternated trundling, ambling, and dragging herself along a stretch of rural county highway a few miles outside the city. The rental SUV had been a victim of the conflagration, though it was still identifiable enough she had to reduce it to a pool of slag for good measure.

  She’d run through the forest that made up the back yard of the estate until she came upon the road, snaking its way alongside the trees on one side, pastures and farmland on the other. So, with nothing better to do, she shut off her mind and let her feet guide her wherever and however far they pleased, until the sun had long departed below the horizon.

  Every so often her mind would spark up, rattle the bars of its cages. In turn she’d shake the cage, bouncing thoughts around until they were bruised into silence. Thus the battle went, prisoner against warden. And her feet, they just kept on goin’.

  Eventually, she noticed a building in the distance. Or, as she got closer, it was more like an expansive shack. The sign above the entrance declared, in bright, neon gaudiness, that this establishment was called “Tarbenders,” complete with an old, animated neon sign featuring a caricature of a drunken man.

  The parking lot, much as the gravel and dirt clearing could be called, was filled with old, beat-up trucks. In front, a smattering of chromed-out hogs. Rough exteriors always meant rough clientele. This wasn’t a tavern, nor a pub, but a bar. For once, her mind had a different reason to rattle its cages. For once, she didn’t shake it into silence.

  Yes, this was just what she was looking for.

  Tess cracked her neck and ventured inside, drawing the attention of the exclusively male population. A trio were playing pool, one had been purveying the jukebox, and the rest were doing what they did best: Drink. They’d all paused to gawk at the newcomer.

  Her clothes had been reduced to bits of ash during the… execution, but she was able to find clothing that fit her—mainly by ransacking a neighboring manor home—though they didn’t fit her. Men’s clothing meant the jeans were far too tight around the hips yet baggy everywhere else. The button-up flannel shirt did a good job hugging her chest, but like the jeans, didn’t do much but flap about elsewhere.

  All this gave her the appearance of one who was not so different from them, even if her attire was stain-free and untattered around the cuffs.

  Once she’d been sized up, conversations resumed, but with a watchful eye on the newcomer.

  It was, then, that her first disappointment came when the bartender, rather than being a haggard old derelict serving up dirty glasses and providing a selection consisting of beer or whiskey, was a cheerful lad who handed her a drink menu.

  “Special this evening are long islands.”

  She immediately handed it back to him. “Sounds good, gimme two.”

  He paused, sizing her up, then nodded and went to mix up her drinks.

  The bar itself, now that she’d taken a seat and gotten a good look at it, was made of subtly different slats of wood, all fitted together, and deeply varnished, giving it a rich, bespoke quality. More amazing than that, it was clean.

  So that was her second disappointment.

  The bartender came back with the drinks, set them down, and went to the other side to take another order. By the time he’d worked the bar back towards her, both glasses were empty, the ice-cubes still showing clear edges.

  “Two more.”

  Again he paused, but made the order.

  After four tall glasses of what was, more or less, pure liquor, she was starting to feel… something she’d not felt in a long time. A wonderful numbness that held the power to make her stop caring about everything so damn much, a warmth in the pit of her stomach that flushed to her skin. To not care—bliss.

  By the time she’d downed her sixth glass inside half an hour, the bartender had become concerned.

  “You sure you haven’t had too much? That’s a lot in a short time, ma’am. Maybe you want something to eat? Don’t have a grill or anything, but we do have some sandwiches.”

  Two burly fellows had moved into the seats next to her at the bar. Good, solid heights with good, solid arms. Solid all around. Just the sort that, hopefully, could hold their own.

  Doubtless to take advantage of the poor lady too drunk to say no, she thought, breaking into a short, girlish giggle that would have anyone who knew her worried.

  Maybe I don’t want to say no. …But nah, good fight just s’what I need. Good f
uck can come later.

  She shot an eye so full of stink at the guy nearest to her he could smell it. He looked away, mumbling something to his buddy, and then they both looked at her.

  Yeah, they’ll go, she mused to herself with a smirk.

  “Ma’am?” The bartender inquired again.

  “What? Yeah, right. Bring me two more. Don’t worry, I’m good for it…” Tess’ voice had grown wobbly, but it was an experienced wobble that still had a good pair of legs under it.

  Which was likely the reason the bartender was so conflicted.

  To make her point, Tess fished for her wallet, coming to a horrible realization when nothing was in the pocket. Yes, she may have been good for it, but at the moment… She dropped the attempt to make a point.

  “If you say so,” said the bartender.

  “Keep me happy and there’ll be a nice, big, fat… tip for you,” she said, taking care to drag out each syllable.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Seven drinks down. Working on her eighth, the jukebox kicked in with something a little different from the twangy fare. A deep, solid beat, fast tempo, and a fella goin’ on ‘bout how the world done him wrong, his dog ran away, and his truck broke down.

  Tess had a look at the two next to her.

  Yeah, now’s a good time.

  Her grip faltered at a precise moment as she lurched sideways, dumping a full glass of long island on her target.

  He shot to his feet, sending the stool skittering across the floor. “Hey!”

  “Oh, how clumsy of me!”

  The man’s pants and shirt were soaked through. He fished an ice cube out of a pocket and tossed it away. Most of the bar had come to a standstill. All eyes were on them.

  At his full height, he was just about equal to about hers. Tess licked her lips.

  “Lady, what’s your problem?”

  “W-what? Oh, no! I have no problem with you, it was a total accident!” Tess flustered about, waving her arms and pushing her eyebrows together.

  He stepped towards her, as if moving to pin her against the bar.

  Her heart quickened, just waiting for him to do… something.

  “Yeah, accidents happen,” he said, reaching for a bar towel to blot himself and his stool off.

  …What?

  “And I mean, you waltz in here and start poundin’ those back. Only time folks do that is when they got problems. Drinkin’ like that just gonna make them worse.”

  His buddy nodded in agreement. Even someone in the audience did.

  The bartender returned, offering up more damp rags, but the man declined. “Naw, I got a change in the truck, thanks anyways.”

  Leave it for the third disappointment to be the worst.

  “Yeah, well, maybe I’m looking for a problem,” Tess said, taking to her feet with a sureness in stark contrast to her fumbling ‘accident.’

  Now it was their turn to be surprised, until the bartender said, “Ma’am, I think you ought to leave. Cool off and get a clear head.”

  Seriously?

  The soaked man moved to leave without so much as a muttered curse or name-calling.

  Fuck. It.

  It began with a fist to his kidney, a cheap shot from behind. The mob sprang into action to save one of their own and expel the intruder.

  Weren’t no fancy martial arts or warrior’s skill. No planning or reading the battlefield. Just fists and elbows and knees slamming against flesh and bone to drown sorrows that no amount of liquor could cover. For every blow she delivered, she received one, sometimes three, in kind. Some tried to restrain her, put her in a full-body hold or keep her arms pinned. They’d even knocked her to the floor once or twice and pounced.

  They may as well have been jumping on a grenade.

  Chairs broke. Tables toppled. Bottles shattered.

  The bartender called the sheriff.

  At some point, she began to laugh. Blood covered her knuckles. Hers? Theirs? Didn’t matter.

  Someone clocked her square on the jaw to no effect. “Gakaka! Who taught you how to throw a punch, princess? Your boyfriend?”

  Enraged, he threw an impressive, all things considered, jab, hammering her square on the nose.

  Where blood should have poured, a drop trickled before flesh knit and the twisted lump sprang back into its lovely, curvy shape like nothing had happened. The man, so certain he’d felt the crunch, hesitated. Tess licked the stray bit of blood covering her upper lip while staring him down.

  With two pairs of arms struggling to haul her to the ground, she stomped forward, all her weight carrying her fist into the man’s midsection. Eyes bulging and breath arrested, he toppled. Another combatant met a similar fate when she spun, fist bashing into the back of his skull.

  Didn’t take long after that for everyone to figure something wasn’t right. Weapons came out to subdue the rampaging beast in their midst. Someone swung a pool cue into the back of her knee, the tip whipping through the air before it cracked into the joint with such force the cue broke in half. What should’ve been a disabling blow succeeded only in dropping her to a knee for a moment.

  The more they fought and struggled, the more her deep, piercing, cackle of a laugh echoed off the wooden walls and floor.

  Stools seemingly did nothing but incense her, and they were even the kind with aluminum legs. One’d had its legs bent around her back. Glass bottles thunked into flesh or tonked off bone, each a blow that should have taken the fight out of any man.

  “What the fuck is she?”

  “A fuckin’ demon!”

  They pulled back into a circle of sorts, bloodied and battered as it was, around the woman. One of them finally pulled a knife and waved it at her.

  “What’s wrong?” Tess taunted, staggering and swaying like the half-drunk she was, spinning round with her arms wide, “That all ya got? Fuckin’ men these days. I know this tiny little blonde, right? Arms like twigs, tall as a bush, still better’n any of you.”

  Cowardly it may have been, the man with the knife knew an opportunity when he saw it. With her back turned, he lunged, wrapping one meaty arm around her neck and brought the edge to her throat.

  “Now you calm down, hear?”

  “Amazing! Someone’s finally giving me the respect I deserve.”

  He tried to jerk her down, “On the ground,” he commanded.

  Tess threw her elbow back.

  Perhaps it was a reflex, perhaps not. It didn’t matter as the result was still the same: The knife buried itself in her throat. Blood poured from the wound and she pitched forward with a bubbling gargle.

  “Fuck, man!”

  “I didn’t— Shit!”

  “We were only defending ourselves!”

  “…All of us against her? She ain’t even armed!”

  “Like it fucking mattered!”

  Tess lurched and fell to her knees, gasping and clutching at her neck to stymie the flow soaking through her fingers and into her shirt.

  “Shit, someone help her!”

  Someone rushed with a bar towel for a makeshift tourniquet. Another, a fellow who had hunted and exsanguinated more than a few deer and wild hogs, noticed something amiss.

  “Wait—”

  But it was too late. Tess grabbed the man who’d rushed to help, holding him by his cheeks with both blood-slicked hands, “Well aren’t you a sweet thing, trying to help a lady in distress!”

  He gaped in terror, transfixed by her ruby, possessed stare until she shoved him away, laughing.

  “Now look at what you’ve done to my shirt,” she sighed, wagging a finger towards the large man who’d stuck her like a pig, “You’ll be a dear and give me yours, won’t you?”

  They all gawked at where a gaping wound should have been. Her neck was still slicked and soaked, but wasn’t… gushing. Or even trickling.

  Fear had taken them. Some tried to make themselves small and distant, insomuch as was possible in the bar. Her target, frozen on the spot by eyes the same shade as her blood
, stripped off his shirt and held it out to her in a shaky grip.

  Likewise, she yanked off her tattered garment and tossed it to the ground. The towel intended to staunch the flow had become just what she needed to clean up some. She wiped herself down without a care for who watched. The mob stared at her, not out of lechery or awe, but of fear, the way a man might stare at the rabid beast he’s been trapped with in a cage.

  Her new shirt was even larger than the last, at least around the arms and torso. Was still just a hair too short, but it wasn’t like she had many options.

  “Now then,” she said, rolling her neck and shoulders, “You boys ready for round 2?”

  The man who’d stabbed her trembled.

  Her excitement dropped off a cliff when bright, flashing blue lights shone in through the windows. Tess glared towards the bar, finding the tender peeking out at her, eyes level with the wood. Soon as they made eye contact, he dipped down.

  Slamming car doors added to the urgency of the lights. Without the excuse of them starting it, she had but one option.

  She burst out at the same time as they’d attempted to burst in. The sheriff found himself knocked on his ass, wide-brimmed hat sailing off his head. The deputies were fast, tasers armed and at the ready.

  “Stop her!” The sheriff shouted as he scrambled to his feet.

  A dual volley of electrified darts stuck into her flesh to the accompaniment of the sound of electrocution.

  Tiktiktiktiktiktik!

  “Owowow! That hurts, you little cunts!” Tess snarled as she barreled straight towards the trees.

  “Fuck is she on? Hit her again!”

  Tiktiktiktiktiktiktik!

  “Fuckshitowshitassholes!”

  Despite her twitching muscles making for an awkward and imprecise gait she kept running and made it into the trees.

  Yells and shouts filled the air behind her as the police took pursuit.

  Tess couldn’t quite hop and run as she liked—the liquor put a fuzzy damper on her fine motor control and the ample serving of electricity wasn’t helping. Some muscles were so stiff they may as well have been iron rods strapped to her bones for all the good they did.