Axler, James - Deathlands 66 - Separation

by Separation [lit]

"So you gonna tell me about it, or is it another thing that you keep in the dark?" he asked spikily.

  "Oh for God's sake!" She spit the words out angrily. "I've tried really hard not to do that. Try to see it through my eyes."

  The Armorer shook his head. "Can't. Don't know what there is to see," he said simply.

  Mildred screwed up her face and looked around. There were few people around, sure, but for what she had to say, she needed somewhere much more private.

  "Look, there's more going on than we could talk about tonight, but when I met Barras this morning, after leaving you, he told me something—asked us something—that I can't talk about here."

  J.B. nodded. "Then let's get some privacy."

  Without waiting for her to comment, J.B. led her out of the square and through to the outskirts of the ville. As they passed the wildlife pens, she noticed that he was still limping quite heavily: not on the side he had been shot, but on the other, where his old injuries had been aggravated by his overcompensation as he sought to keep weight off the fresh wound.

  It got darker and quieter as they neared the woods. J.B. led her into a clearing and sat her in the center.

  "This should be far enough. Anyone who wants to eavesdrop on us now will have to make enough noise getting here for us to know they're coming."

  "I know that. I haven't forgotten everything," she said angrily.

  The Armorer took off his spectacles and started to polish them. "Sorry," he said quietly. "So, why don't you start at the beginning?"

  Mildred began. She filled him in on the background to the hidden horde, and why it had to remain a secret from Sineta. She detailed how they could find it, and added that Jak would be the best bet to gain ingress to open up the hidden part of the cave where the riches were stored. She finished by explaining why Barras felt that they would be best equipped to find and transport the horde until it could be given to Sineta.

  When she had finished, J.B. pushed back his fedora, scratched the top of his head, then whistled softly.

  "And we're supposed to be flattered that the old baron trusts us?" he said finally.

  "Why not?"

  J.B. gave a short, barking laugh. "Think about it, Millie. Mebbe you've not noticed, but we're not exactly popular around here. Someone tried to chill me yesterday, and another man was chilled so that we could be blamed. If Markos or anyone close to him or his brother gets a sniff of this, we'll be lynched."

  "Markos wouldn't do that," Mildred said in a way that made the Armorer look at her shrewdly.

  "That's as may be," he said, opting not to argue. "Mebbe you trust him, but how do you feel about that brother of his?"

  Mildred took a deep breath. Should she mention the argument she had overheard between the two of them that morning? How could she without it leading to matters that would cloud the issue?

  "Exactly," the Armorer said, reading her pause the way she had hoped. "He's going to be a big problem."

  "But we'll do it, right?"

  The Armorer shook his head. "I don't know. It's up to Ryan. I'll tell him everything you've told me, and then we'll see. Problem is, if we do it, then how do we all get out of the ville or away from our work parties, get the treasure and hide it without anyone becoming suspicious or noticing we're gone?"

  Mildred sighed heavily. "Yeah, you've got me on that."

  J.B. stood and looked around. "Yeah, well, I guess we'll just have to work that one out when we come to it. We'd better get back. Someone on sec will have noticed us leave, and if we spend too long out here they'll get suspicious and come looking."

  They returned to the center of the ville in silence, passing a sec patrol on the way. When they were in the small square, both J.B. and Mildred noted a sec man watching them with interest.

  "Markos likes to keep his eye on things," J.B. commented wryly. "And I'll tell you something else, Millie. We haven't really talked much about anything except—"

  "I know," she said, cutting him off. "Priorities?"

  "Mebbe. But it's not just me. Where do we all stand with you?"

  Mildred shrugged. "I don't even know where I stand right now. Things are going too fast for me to step back to figure it out. But I know I'm going to have to," she added before J.B. had a chance to speak.

  "Okay," he agreed. "Look, I need to get back to discuss this with the others. Tomorrow morning, right here, before we set off for the felling area."

  "Yeah. Be careful, John," she said, holding him for a moment.

  "Mebbe you should be thinking that of yourself," he murmured before turning to go.

  Mildred watched him leave the square, heading toward the companions' quarters. What exactly had he meant by that last remark? she wondered. Glancing over to Sineta's quarters, she wondered if she should break her promise to Barras and tell his daughter. It could help if they ran into sec trouble while trying to retrieve the horde. But someone from Pilatu knowing would really complicate things.

  Mildred decided to take a walk to take some time to think about things. She set off alone.

  AS SHE WALKED DOWN the side streets of the ville, wrapped in her own thoughts, Mildred felt so safe that she wasn't listening for attack, or keeping the corner of her eye fixed on that spot in her peripheral vision that was always the first indication of danger. She had grown soft during the days she had spent in the company of Sineta and Markos, believing the danger would be to her companions, not to her.

  She turned into the alley, thinking only of her dilemmas. Should she speak to Sineta? Was her future with the Pilatans or her companions who had rescued her as a freezie? What was she to do about J.B. and Markos? It was a problem for Mildred simply because she was a woman who had never really had to think about such things before. In the predark world she had fought every inch to become a doctor and exist to be considered a woman first and an African American second. Not because she wished to deny her heritage, but because she had felt this would be the only way on her chosen course to beat back prejudice. Maybe she had been wrong, and had forgotten things learned from her father and his teachers. It was right at the time. And then, after waking up in Deathlands, she'd had no time in which to consider such niceties—for that was what they had become. It was chill or be chilled, and survive at all costs. Given a choice, you tried to do the right thing, but what was that, now? Always, her whole life before and after skydark had been based around acting and reacting, moving forward. There had been no choices such as this to make; or, at least, no time to think about them when you had to move on with such rapidity.

  So now, when it came to a point where she had to consider such matters, she found herself ill-equipped for the task. She had never had to deal with her emotions in such depth before, and she had no idea where to begin.

  It was perhaps because of her introspection that she failed to notice the lantern in the alley was extinguished. It could have just been one of those things. Low on oil or a wick that wouldn't take after lighting. Maybe she would have taken no notice of it, even if she had been concentrating.

  But then, at least, she would have been on triple-red. As it was, she was oblivious to the sound of breathing and the deliberately muted footfalls that padded behind her. In fact, she was halfway along the alley, at the worst possible tactical position, when she became aware. Somewhere at the back of her mind, behind the constant rollover of cogitation, a spark of instinct alerted her, flashed warning lights.

  Jolted from her self-imposed reverie, Mildred suddenly became aware of the breathing and the soft, uneven pad of feet. One person—indeterminate sex— making an attempt to be quiet that would have worked in a less-quiet atmosphere.

  No one trying to be that silent in a darkened alleyway had any intentions toward friendliness.

  Mildred turned rapidly to face the opposition, whoever it may be. She was acutely aware that she was unarmed and not completely free of her preoccupation with her problems, which refused to be blotted out, and this would slow her reflexes. If she could spare the energy, she wou
ld curse herself. But it was already too late for that.

  Her eyes weren't accustomed to the darkness as much as she would have wished. She was only aware that her attacker was wiry—height was impossible to tell as he or she had dropped into a crouch. Instinctive reading of the body language and shape told her that it was a male attacker, but beyond that he was hidden in the shadows, his head shapeless beneath a hood or scarf of some kind.

  She had no time to make other judgments as he was on her. She was slow and had allowed him to make the first move. Nonetheless, he had to have had some idea of her capabilities, as he had been swift to pounce as soon as she turned. By the time she had fully rotated 180 degrees to face him, he had sprung forward and was in midair. His face was still swathed, his shape disguised by a loose cotton shawl or cape that billowed out to his rear. It was effective in more than just disguise. The material effectively blotted out the residual light from the street behind him, making it harder for her to see what he was doing.

  Knowing that he would cannon into her, and there was nothing she could do about it, Mildred let her muscles relax and began to fall back. It had the desired effect. As he hit her, the impact was lessened by the momentum of her own descent, and she was ready for the hard packed ground when she hit. It still jarred, but she didn't damage anything and the breath wasn't driven from her body for she had exhaled in readiness.

  Her opponent, however, didn't have as easy a descent. Expecting her to crumple and be driven back by the force of his body against hers, he was unprepared for the lack of resistance and hadn't had the time to prepare for the unexpected force of his own landing. He grunted at the impact. Although softened by having Mildred beneath him, it was enough to drive out his breath while his own momentum made him stumble and cartwheel over her body to land awkwardly some distance away.

  Before he had even come to rest, Mildred was coming to her feet, using a hand on the ground to pivot as she rose and turned simultaneously. It was risky, because if he was quick enough he could kick or strike at her hand and leave her falling on her face with one arm rendered useless. But if she came to her feet in any other way she would be facing away from him, leaving her back undefended.

  There was little room to move. The walls of the alley seemed to close in on her, making the area of combat close and cramped. Surely someone in the buildings on either side would hear the scuffle? If she cried out an alarm… No, that would take too much effort and breath. She felt in her gut that this was something she would have to deal with herself.

  She was on her feet and poised as her opponent hauled himself upright. As he did so, his right hand darted to his waistband and pulled out a wicked-looking knife. The blade was long and came to a vicious point. There wasn't enough light in the alley for the blade to glint, but the metal showed as a white shape, clear and sharp against the dark of his body.

  It was a knife that looked horribly familiar. Mildred felt her senses whirl. It was J.B.'s Tekna that her assailant was brandishing, and he was moving toward her.

  For a fraction of a second she was paralyzed by the revelation, then adrenaline kicked into her bloodstream and she was galvanized into action by the knowledge that if she didn't move right now, there would be no time later for idle reflection.

  Time slowed. The adrenaline in her system made everything in her body seem to move at a faster rate, making it easier to make snap decisions without panic. She knew that one wrong move could leave her chilled. She had no intention of making it that easy for her opponent. Dropping into a combat stance, she balanced on the balls of her feet, so that her balance had a forward impetus. As her opponent thrust at her with the knife, she swayed her hips to feint to her left. It was a movement her opponent followed automatically, with little thought and complete instinct, which was just what Mildred wanted. Straightening and moving to the right, she grabbed his forearm as it came past her, the knife harmlessly slicing at empty air. Both hands grabbed at the forearm, taking it in an iron-hard grip. With some part of her mind that was still functioning, she noticed that he was covered from shoulder to fingertips, long sleeves tucked into gloves. She had no idea if her attacker was white or black, something that was important to her. If it was J.B., and not merely someone who had his knife… But he had been in the armory all day. Who could take it without his knowing?

  All these thoughts whirled through her mind in a fraction of a second. The tension in the muscles of her attacker's forearm as he responded to her grip brought her attention back to the moment and focused her on the immediate danger. Hissing breath through her teeth with the effort, she thrust the arm down and brought her knee up so that it connected with his elbow. The force caused him to yelp with pain and the knife to fall from his nerveless fingers. She could also reasonably have expected the force to shatter his elbow and tear cartilage and tendon, rendering the arm useless. But whoever her attacker may be, he had reactions almost as quick as her own. Knowing that he couldn't stop the blow, he contrived to duck into the movement and twist his arm so that Mildred's knee didn't hit him square on the elbow, and he was able to absorb enough of the impact momentum to prevent serious injury.

  This fractional movement was also enough to upset Mildred's balance, which had been weighted toward the delivery of her knee. She stumbled, shuffling her grounded foot to adjust balance.

  It was the cue her attacker needed. He swept his own leg around so that his heavily booted foot caught her in the calf. A sharp pain shot up past her knee and the muscle went dead as the nerves responded to the blow. She felt her leg buckle and cursed inwardly as she knew she had to fall. She let go of the man's arm and tried to lessen the impact of her fall, but to little avail. She stumbled back, trying to make a yard of space for herself, or at least to fall against the wall of the building behind her, so that she wouldn't be prone. But it was no good. She fell awkwardly onto the hard ground, feeling the breath explode from her lungs. Her shoulder jarred awkwardly and painfully against the adobe wall behind her. She pitched herself sideways to prevent her head from cracking against the wall, leaving her at best stunned, at worst, unconsciously and completely vulnerable.

  She took the force of the ground on her elbow and shoulder and tried to use any bounce in the earth to act as a lift as she rose to a sitting position. She was still vulnerable, but at least she was facing her attacker and might be able to parry an immediate blow.

  However, there was no such blow. Instead of moving in to strike empty-handed, her opponent had opted to try to retrieve the Tekna. Definitely for use in the attack, but perhaps also because it would be incriminating if found?

  Why the hell had none of the Pilatan sec heard the fight, or been alerted? Where the hell were they? Usually, it was impossible to avoid them.

  No time to think about that now. The assailant's move had bought her a precious fraction of a second in which to recover her balance and poise, to act rather than react. Pushing herself upright, Mildred ignored the throb in her calf, still aching from the kick, and moved toward the masked man. In the enclosed space of the alley, it took but a moment, and he only had time to look around from his action of picking up the Tekna before she was on him. Not trusting her aching leg to support her steadily, she used it to kick at the man. With his back half turned to her, it wouldn't be a truly effective blow in the manner of a head shot, but catching him full in the ass pitched him forward so that he sprawled on the dirt, the knife dropped.

  Mildred hissed in pain at the impact of the kick. She hadn't pulled the punch at the last, but was aware that her damaged leg carried less force than usual, and still hurt like hell. It was as well that she hadn't trusted it to support her weight.

  The masked man was scrambling in the dirt, rolling to face her as he tried to right himself. He lay with his legs apart, and she considered taking a kick at his exposed testicles. It would disable him, but she would run the risk of him grabbing her foot and pitching her off balance. Her eyes flicked across the ground, searching for the knife. There it was, to one side
of him, still within reach, but seemingly forgotten as he struggled to right himself.

  "Hey, what's going on down there!"

  The shouted exclamation from behind made Mildred start. She hadn't heard anyone raise an alarm, so it had to be one of the regular sec patrols that she had cursed for their absence a few moments before. She felt the automatic urge to turn to reply, but reason took over and she kept her eyes fixed firmly on her still prone attacker. The imperative had shifted. His priority now would be to get away fast, while she wanted to keep him right where he was, so that he could be unmasked.

  "I asked a question. Freeze and don't move a muscle," shouted the sec man as he began to move down the alley. She could hear his running feet. A few seconds and he would be at her shoulder. Time enough for her attacker to make his getaway if she let him.

  The masked man struggled to his feet as Mildred advanced.

  "No, you bastard," she raged as she launched herself at him. He had left the Tekna on the ground, so he was still unarmed: level playing field. Mildred's leap was tempered by her injured leg, which still refused to move properly, but she was still fast enough to catch him full-on as he clambered to his feet.

  Once more, the masked man grunted loudly as he was thrown to the ground, Mildred on top of him.

  But that was when it started to go wrong. As she hit the ground, she had the bizarre feeling that she had bounced back up. The sec man had arrived at the rear of the action, unable to see what was happening with any clarity, and had elected to take out the first party he could lay hands on…which just happened to be Mildred.

  "Okay, let's break this up," he said with a sharp exhalation of breath as he plucked at the back of Mildred's shirt and pulled her up, throwing her back against the wall. He was a huge man-mountain, several inches taller than the woman and almost as wide as the alley. And he could throw her with some force, as he demonstrated with ease.

  Mildred moaned as she hit the wall…hard. Her spine jarred, her ribs ached and she was unable to breathe. All she knew was that he had pulled her off the man who had tried to chill her, and he couldn't be allowed to get away. Unable to even try to explain, she knew she had to act. She forced herself forward so that she staggered toward the sec man as he bent to pick up her still-prone assailant.