by Darcy Town
“Hey, we’re all friends here, no need for this.” Rake watched marines point their weapons at a table of Thai gamblers that refused to give up their seats. He knew where this led. “There’s no need for this.”
The marines pushed the men outside, into the darkness. Out of sight, the marines discharged their weapons. The flashes of their guns reflected off the glass windows.
The first marine grinned at Rake’s expression. “This is what happens. Endless training and where do they send us? The No-Law City or is it No-God City? Either way, hang tight Louisiana, we have no grudge with Americans.” He glanced at Calpsan. “Real Americans. We just need to blow off steam, you know how it is.”
Rake leaned against the wall. “English are real American—”
“Colonists.” The second marine sneered at Calpsan. “How does it feel to be owned by us for a change?”
Calpsan gazed at him evenly. “The same as it feels to be owned by anyone else. Empires are all the same. No matter who is in charge, those at top are always living on those below them.” He glanced at Rake.
Rake glared back. He shared the sentiment, but was this guy insane?
The second marine stood. “Are you comparing us to the goddamn Commie Chinese?”
Rake shook his head minutely at Calpsan. Calpsan stood and pushed Ravil behind him, towards the door.
Rake laughed. “What a joke that is! This guy, can you believe—” The marine that held Rake slammed his head to the wall.
Three girls ran out of the back room and dashed for the exits. The marines at his table grabbed for them, letting Rake go. Rake shook off the blow to his head and slid towards a window, his eyes on his exit. The women screamed and asked for help. Rake bit his tongue until it bled. Men whooped.
Rake pried at the closest window, locked. He examined the pane, considered if it were worth it to make the noise of breaking glass in order to escape. Probably wasn’t.
He slipped along the wall and reached for another window, similarly locked. Warm liquid hit him in the neck. Rake looked into the glass and saw the reflected image of a woman bleeding out from a slashed throat. Rake ground his teeth and fingered his gun. He whispered to the paint on the wall, “Don’t, don’t, don’t Rake. Just leave and live. Just go and you’ll live.” He took a step towards the next window.
Asian cooks ran out of the kitchen, shotguns in hand. They blew the heads off the two closest marines. Rake dropped to the floor as soldiers flipped card tables over. Men and women dove for cover.
The marines leveled their weapons and shot the closest man in the chest, his body reduced to a pulp of bullets and a puree of flesh. The other two cooks ducked down the hall and the two groups exchanged fire. Women screamed, marines shouted, and others did as Rake did, got out of sight and out of notice.
Rake crab-walked to the next window. No one would hear it break over the current racket. He put his hand against the glass and gave it a push, locked as he thought. He ripped the window curtain off its hooks and wrapped it around his hand. There was movement in his vision. He drew his gun and pressed it against Calpsan’s forehead. “Don’t stop me.”
Calpsan put his hand on Rake’s shoulder calmly. “You must help.”
“No.” Rake’s brows knotted. “Get back or I shoot you.”
“You have to help.”
“No I don’t, I don’t have to do anything. I don’t take orders from anyone anymore.” He turned and pulled his arm out of Calpsan’s grip. His words were clipped, “Just play dead, they might leave you alone.”
“But will they leave her alone?”
Rake turned. “Her?”
Calpsan pushed Ravil at Rake and tore off her hat and hood. Ravil’s white hair tumbled down and framed her face. She screamed as a shotgun blast ripped into the wall inches above their heads. She looked to Calpsan for help.
Rake’s face drained of color as he realized what he was looking at. “Why the fuck did you bring a little white girl here?”
Calpsan sighed, tired. “I had no choice.”
Ravil covered her ears against the gun blasts, her voice high and distinctly feminine. Rake reached out and touched her shoulder. She stopped screaming. She looked at him and their eyes met. He flinched. She grabbed his hand and held on tight.
There was a flash of movement behind her. She was ripped from his grip and pulled along the ground. Rake snarled and lunged. He grabbed her wrist and threw her towards the wall, firing twice where her face had been just a second before.
The marine was dead before he hit the ground, the back of his head blown off and spread around the room. Two marines turned at the sight. Rake jumped up and fired, his left hand moving for his second gun as his right sought targets. He did not think. He was movement and purpose, unemotional.
Rake turned at the sound of the front door opening. He fired on the marines coming in from the outside. One of the soldiers carried a reinforced duffle bag. A grin graced Rake’s features for a split second. He ducked and rolled towards them.
He hit the ground and fired into the knees of the bag carrier. The man dropped and Rake shot him in the face, tearing the bag from his hands as the soldier went down twitching. The bag was open already. The spoils fell to the floor.
Rake threw his pistols and drew a blaster shotgun. He flicked the charger on and readied a round. He turned on his knees, closed his eyes, and fired, hitting the closest marine dead on. The shell tore through the soldier’s chest. The charger cell went off. Men and women cried out in pain as they went momentarily blind. Rake darted across the room and ducked behind an overturned table.
Marines burst up through the basement door and tripped, debris blocked their way. Rake kicked a table at them and fired into the wood, blasting them with burning shrapnel. He dove as they fired blindly, hitting more of their own. He raised the charger and fired, reducing the last marine to chunks.
From her spot against the wall, Ravil watched Rake in dazed amazement. He moved like a Hunter, every turn, each cock of the head designed to aid in finding prey. Nothing surprised him and nothing rattled him. He checked how many shots he had left as calmly as he had counted money at his table.
Silence followed as the corpses of the basement marines slid down the wall, dust settled. Rake sat against the wall. He stayed low, shotgun at the ready, eyes running across the length of the room. He caught Calpsan’s eye and made hand gestures. Calpsan shook his head, confused. Rake frowned and ignored him.
He picked up a discarded carafe, hefted it in his hand. He launched it at the far window, shattering the glass. Rake watched the room. Three separate places fired at the breaking glass: the first bright red fire and smoke, a Thai gun, the second, an electric bolt, bounty hunter fare, the third was a blaster, American Empire Marine Corps issue. Rake swiveled and fired through the table at his side. He jumped the material and landed on the freshly dead marine. He crouched down.
There were whimpers, crying coming from nearby. Rake spoke softly, “It’s Rake.”
One of the prostitutes raised her head. “Rakay?”
Rake shushed her. “There are others, I counted. Stay down.” He closed his eyes and ran through the scene when the marines entered. He opened them and whistled. “Meat hunter!”
The bounty hunter grimaced from his hiding spot. “What?”
“Can you see down the hall towards the showers?”
“Your fucking blaster blinded my left fucking eye; so no I can barely see anything.”
Rake rolled his eyes and walked in a crouch. He swept the room with his gun as he went. He heard a muffled scream, a woman.
Rake’s calm veneer cracked, his eye ticked. The woman screamed again and his emotions reached a tipping point and descended into rage. He tossed his rifle to the side. He picked up two standard issue marine pistols, fully loaded. Rake moved up against the wall and slid towards the showers, the screams louder as he neared. He grabbed a hat and jacket from a dead marine and slipped them on.
Rake knocked on the door and spoke English in a s
low drawl, “We got the situation handled. Room clear, it’s safe to come out.”
A man poked his head out and did not look past Rake’s Caucasian features. The soldier turned and waved to the others behind him. Rake blew his head off. He slammed into the corpse, throwing it into the men that waited behind him.
Rake disarmed the first and sent him sprawling. He leveled his weapons. The marines inside held up their hands, giving up. He took a quick glance around the room; five men were in various stages of undress, five women wounded and beaten. He kicked the door closed behind him.
***
Ravil stared at the gore and destruction around her. She watched Rake shoot the marine at the shower door and slide into the bathroom. Five girls limped out. They went straight for the exits and disappeared into the night. Gunshots emanated from the showers, the rounds popped in rapid succession. Ravil counted twenty and then she lost track. She turned to Calpsan. “Should we go now?”
Calpsan stared into the air sightlessly. He was unmarked, but he was very definitely dead. Ravil moaned and hugged him. “Calpsan!” She coughed as sobs shook her entire body.
Rake threw open the door from the showers, his clothing splattered in blood. He stripped out of the marine’s jacket as he ran into the main room. “They’re dead, place secure. Everyone fucking split!” He helped wounded prostitutes get to their feet.
He gave the room a once over and spotted Ravil. He stomped over and hauled her to her feet. “Why are you two still here?”
“He’s dead!” Ravil wailed.
Rake let her go. “Sorry.”
Ravil sank down and held Calpsan’s hand. She closed his eyes and leaned her head on the wall, sobs renewed. “Calpsan.”
Rake glared at her. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Ravil ignored Rake. She touched Calpsan’s white hair, remembering it thick and brown. “I love you.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Rake stalked to the door and grabbed the duffel bag he’d found earlier. He rifled through it, throwing out things he did not need, strapping the guns he did want to his body. He glanced over his shoulder. Ravil hadn’t moved. He sighed, long and loud, but she did not look up.
He stared at her, back to his bag, to the door, back to her again. He frowned and forced himself to look away, to walk away, but he couldn’t, so he stalled. Rake upturned the bag and a curved gun fell out, he recognized it. “Why would they have a launcher in a city? That thing levels buildings.”
As the words left his mouth, the faint whomp-whomp of a helicopter became audible. Ravil noticed it too and sat up. She wiped her eyes and looked around, confused and scared.
Rake stared at her as the low groan of a rocket thrower signaled its warm up. “Shit.”
He dashed for Ravil, picked her up, and ran for the showers. He kicked the door open and jumped in as the first gas canister burst through the windows in the dining area. He slipped on blood and slammed into a bathroom stall, swearing as he righted himself. He dropped her.
Ravil stared at the five dead marines, almost unrecognizable, riddled with bullets.
Rake ignored the dead men and ran for the back window. He stuck his head out and then back in as a searchlight passed by. “Fuck!”
Ravil stirred, coming out of her miasma. “What’s out there?”
“Fucking choppers! These guys were planning to raze the area for fun. I fucking hate marines!”
Ravil recognized the gun in Rake’s hand. She poked her head out of the window and looked up. The chopper circled the building, radioing those below for status. Voices came through on the semi-defunct radios the dead marines had carried, orders to kill anyone that wasn’t part of their squad.
Rake listened and readied his weapons for an attack through the doors.
Ravil tore the rocket launcher from Rake’s hand and wrapped the curving material around her arm. She looked out the window as the chopper came into view. She focused and fired. The recoil rolled up through her arm, sending her to the bloody tile.
The helicopter exploded and careened into a building across the street. She heard the chopper go down and spat; speaking in a language Rake did not understand.
Rake’s lips formed an O of surprise. He helped her to her feet and put his hand on the gun. “Can you do that again?”
She nodded. “Will I need to?”
“They’re looking for sport tonight and you just made us a real fun target.” He climbed up to the windowsill and looked outside. The sky stayed clear of choppers, but visibility was low and there could have been others hiding in the cloud cover. He spotted a metal balcony to the left.
He grabbed Ravil and lugged her out of the window. He tossed her onto the balcony. He jumped, landing next to her. He repositioned his newly acquired weapons. “Come on, get on.”
She eyed him. “What?”
Rake held out his arms. “Are you deaf? Come on!” She frowned. He picked her up, forced her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. “Hold the fuck on already! I need my fucking hands!”
The whomp-whomp sound came back and another joined it. Rake and Ravil looked up and saw searchlights in the smog. A rocket slammed into the building next to theirs. Ravil’s muscles contracted, locking her limbs in place around him. He smiled. “Good Bebette, now hold on!”
Rake took a step back and leapt across the alley.
Ravil screamed. Rake landed on a balcony across the street. He jumped and scrabbled across the leaning building, his fingers clinging to the cracks and crevices. Ravil hit him in the neck. “You are not a Soda!”
“What the fuck does that mean?” He grabbed onto a gutter. “Ow! Stop hitting me! Damn it, girl!”
Ravil looked down and held on tighter. “I don’t want to die!”
“Yeah, me neither!” Rake heaved and climbed onto the flat roof of an abandoned building. He got his bearings and bolted. They approached the ledge. Rake picked up speed and jumped. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck me!”
He came down onto the next roof, palms and knees hitting fractured tile. He jumped to his feet and took off, Ravil hung on. The searchlight strafed the roof of the building next to theirs. Rake breathed hard, running at full speed. He leapt to the next roof, landing on both feet. The choppers drew close. He pinched Ravil’s leg. “Fire when ready already!”
Ravil looked at the anti-aircraft gun and then back at him. “Are you insane? The recoil—”
“Will help me jump!” Rake leapt. He sailed through the air. His feet struck a ledge and the pair wobbled back and forth. He grabbed and caught a cable as the material under his feet gave out. Rake held on, swinging across the side of the building. He reached the end and soared towards another roof.
Ravil threw up her dinner in the air. Rake made a face; he hit the surface at a run. One chopper dropped through the smog, its light caught on them.
Rake saw the spotlight around his body. “Fire damn it! Don’t get me killed!”
Ravil raised her arm and shot, throwing them as he ran. The chopper’s propeller blasted off. The vehicle dropped towards the street like a stone. She bounced in his arms. “I did it!”
“I noticed.” Rake skidded to a stop at the corner of a roof and looked both ways. He eyed the distances to the next buildings. “Fuck I can’t tell. I can’t tell!”
She turned to look. “Can’t tell what?”
“How far I have to jump!”
The third chopper grew close. Ravil looked at the gun. “I do not have any more shots.”
“Of course you don’t!” Rake snarled. He backed up and sprinted, guestimating they were at least ten stories up, maybe. He leapt into the air.
Within two seconds Rake knew he’d made a mistake, they wouldn’t make the distance. He held onto Ravil and twisted, putting his body between hers and the ground. He closed his eyes and fingered his necklace pendant. “Sorry, Sammy.”
Ravil turned in his embrace, feeling air rush past her. She stared at the ground quickly approaching. Without thought, she reached out to the
humming in the air, the empty space welcoming and inviting. She spread her fingers. She touched the strings that held her universe together. She hooked a finger on one and tore. She caught onto a rope of light only she could see. Ravil and Rake disappeared mid-air.
Ravil rode the streams of the in-between space, bright and blue it disoriented her but she didn’t care. It felt alive, thrilling, like nothing she had experienced before. She strained to see where she headed. Without a destination known by feeling, she just had to pick something and hope it was all right. Ravil saw the outlines of a building, still in the city.
She let go of the rope and dropped back into normal space. She landed in gravel that covered a rooftop. Rake landed beside her, his body limp.
Ravil stared at the sky in shock. She lived. She’d succeeded. She grinned. “I did it Calpsan, Sirana, Paulos! I did it without a ship!” She jumped to her feet. Her world turned and she fell on Rake’s body. He wasn’t a pile of warm, quivering goo and she was thankful for that. She stared at his face, wondering why Wasters didn’t turn inside out when they died as the rest of the subspecies did.
Rake opened his eyes and stared at her. “Get off of me.”
Ravil screamed, scrambled back, and pointed at him. “You are alive!”
Rake held his head and ignored her. He looked around and spotted the helicopter searching roofs two miles away. “How the fuck? How fucking high am I?” He got to his feet. He held out his hand to her. “Come on.”
Ravil gaped and took his hand; she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Rake eyed her. “What?” He grew worried. “I didn’t do anything to you did I? I blackout sometimes, I mean I must have, where the fuck are we?”
Ravil nodded and then shook her head. “You ran until we passed out here. That’s what happened.” She poked his arm. He was most definitely solid and very alive. She couldn’t believe it.
Rake picked her up. “Good.” He walked to the ledge and looked down. He pinched her. “Piggy back?”
“What did you just say to me?”
Rake pushed on her ribs with a fist. “Do what you are doing now but on my back. I need to climb, unless you want to sleep on the roof?”