by James Axler
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.
If she had been thinking clearly, she would have realized what a stupid move it was. If she just left the sec man alone, he would mop up the mess. But she could only focus on the thought of her attacker getting away. She stumbled as she threw herself onto the back of the unsuspecting sec man, hitting him with very little force, her balance taking her to one side. Unfortunately, he hadn’t expected her to move after he had thrown her against the wall, and she caught him by surprise and off balance. With one massive hand still on her attacker, the sec man pitched to the side, catching his temple on the adobe wall.
It was enough for him to break his hold as he fell. And enough, with the sec man out of the frame and Mildred stunned and falling against the far wall, for her attacker to scramble down the alley, covering ground as he regained his senses, exiting into the street beyond.
“You stupid bastard,” Mildred gasped between breaths that ached in her bruised ribs.
The sec man drew his H&K and clicked the safety. “We’ll see about that. I think you owe me an explanation.”
“I think you both owe an explanation—and to me.”
The alley was flooded with light as Markos appeared with a flaming torch that cast shadows over the giant sec man and Mildred, who squinted with the sudden illumination.
“I—” the sec man began, but Mildred cut him short.
“Markos, someone tried to chill me. I fought him off—knife’s down there. He got away because of this guy…” she managed to gasp between labored breaths.
The sec boss’s eyes were drawn to the Tekna. “Which way did he go?” he rapped, a steely edge to his voice. Mildred didn’t try to speak, but indicated the far end of the alley.
Markos gave a curt nod and set off down the alley, his legs covering the ground with ease. He disappeared around the corner at the far end and the alley was plunged into darkness.
“I didn’t know who was protagonist and who—” the giant sec man began, only to be cut off by Mildred for the second time.
“Save it. Not in the mood right now,” she rasped.
She was in even less of a congenial mood when Markos arrived in the alley, his blaster drawn and J.B. preceding him.
“John?” Mildred gasped. The Armorer was limping, as when she had left him earlier. Limping like her attacker. But he was still dressed as he had been, and showed no signs of injury from combat. He didn’t look like a man who had just been in a no-holds-barred fight.
But what the hell was he doing here? He had to have been close, as Markos had only been gone a matter of moments.
“Millie! Dark night, what’s going on?” he said, making to move toward her, but stayed by the jab of Markos’s blaster in his ribs.
“Wait, my friend. I think you owe us an explanation.”
J.B. whirled angrily. “What—”
“Look, John,” Mildred cut in, indicating the Tekna that still lay on the ground.
J.B. followed the line of her arm and started when he saw the knife. “What’s that doing
here?”
“A good question,” Markos murmured mildly. “It is yours, is it not?”
J.B.’s eyes narrowed, and his voice became a thin whisper. “It’s been in the armory. Anyone with access could have taken it.”
Ignoring this, Markos directed his next question to Mildred. “Was it this man who attacked you?”
Mildred looked at the Armorer. She hadn’t mentioned her attacker’s limp, as this would lead to an obvious—to Markos—conclusion. But it was in her mind.
“I don’t know…” she began. “I can’t be sure. The man who attacked me was swathed from head to foot, masked.” She shook her head.
J.B. was furious and saddened in equal measure, a mix of emotions he couldn’t come to terms with. His voice was barely audible, even in the quiet night. “You’re not sure? You think I could…” His voice trailed off as he shrugged his shoulders.
Mildred couldn’t look the Armorer in the eye, turning away as she answered. “Why are you here? You were going back to the others when I left you.”
“I had to think about…what we talked about,” he said cautiously. He couldn’t reveal the secret entailed to Mildred, yet his necessary reticence made Markos all the more suspicious.
“How very convenient,” the sec boss murmured.
J.B. glared at him. “So what was Millie doing here?”
“Yeah, okay…I had to think about what we’d talked about, too,” she said. It was an admission that cast a different light on J.B.’s seemingly feeble excuse.
“So you cannot prove it was this man who attacked you?” Markos asked bluntly. “You will not say that it is?”
“I can’t.”
“But can you say it was not he?”
Mildred paused. Could she? It was a pause that brought anguish to the Armorer’s face. Finally she said, shaking her head sadly, “No, I can’t.”
Markos looked at J.B. with barely concealed contempt. “You may go…for now. But I shall detail men to watch you and your friends. Where there is doubt, I must make sure.”
J.B. left the alley without looking back at Mildred. She said nothing as Markos also dismissed the giant sec man. She said nothing when Markos told her to go and rest. She didn’t respond when he held out a hand to her as she passed him. She didn’t even notice his puzzled and hurt expression as he stood at the head of the alley, watching her go.
She had too many other things on her mind.
MILDRED TOLD Sineta only the barest details of what had occurred, and only to explain the condition in which she arrived back at the baron’s daughter’s quarters. She was quiet, and Sineta didn’t push her.
The women retired for the evening and Mildred figured that she would sleep from sheer exhaustion. But that was denied her. She couldn’t settle, her mind endlessly chasing arguments around in circles until she could find some kind of resolution that ceaselessly evaded her.
For so long she had denied a part of herself. She had been Mildred Wyeth, one of a team, despite the fact that she had a fundamental difference. She was black. In the days before the nukecaust, that had made a difference. Maybe it still did, but in a subtly changed way. Black was like mutie, despised by some and tolerated by others, but mostly ignored in the struggle to survive. Being in this community had put her back in touch with that lost part of herself, and that was good. But was it that great when it came to making her doubt J.B.? Leaving aside the relationship they had built between them, and her feelings for Markos, there were more pressing issues. J.B., Ryan, Krysty, Jak, Dean…even disagreeable, argumentative Doc—they had been through so much together, made bonds of loyalty forged in fire. The fire of battle and the promise of buying the farm. Things that went deeper than age, race and sex—the knowledge that they would pull together without it even being spoken of or thought about.
And she was doubting that, denying it?
The time to strike out for the mainland was near. Within the ville there were the same divisions as when she first arrived. Those who wished separatism wouldn’t move on or accept cold reality. Was she overcompensating for all those years and edging toward them? Why else did she think J.B. had been behind the attack, if not because he was a different color?
There was a rift between her and the companions. But perhaps this was a good thing. It made her examine herself, her priorities and loyalties. Without the rift, she couldn’t have realized how much both her own color and also the loyalty of her companions meant to her.
In the end, the ideals of the island were pitched against pragmatism and experience of reality in the world outside.
Some wanted nothing less than war. But who makes the sides in a war?
Chapter Ten
For the next couple of days Mildred kept some distance between herself and the rest of the companions. Although she wanted to know what Ryan had to say about Barras’s revelation, and if they would act upon it, she was also aware that J.B. had been stung by her suspicions and that at least some of his anger would communicate itself to the others. She wanted time for this to subside, and for herself to gain some kind of equilibrium after the wild seesaw of her own emotions had stabilized.
Besides which, there was work to be done. The preparations for the exodus were nearing completion. The tree felling had been completed and the companions were now at work on the beaches, helping to build boats and seaworthy rafts from the wood they had helped to fell. It was an easier situation for them, as the beach was nearer the ville and, in a more open environment, it was easier to keep alert and to look out for your back. Not that this was as necessary as before. The radical separatists who had been detailed to tree felling weren’t allowed to work on the boats and rafts. Markos, in consultation with Sineta and Mildred, had felt that it may be too tempting for those radicals who were in favor of sabotage to loosen a few joints, slacken a few ropes, and so delay or scupper attempts to leave the island.
Mildred, meanwhile, had neared the completion of her own tasks. The Pilatans had the majority of the personal belongings and the tools of their trade packed and ready, leaving only the necessities for the time up until departure. The treasures of the ville, the armory, and the paintings and writings that charted the history of the ville were also carefully packed, along with food supplies and farming tools.
There was, however, the one treasure that still remained unclaimed, and time was growing short. Mildred had stalled Barras when he had asked to see her, but the old man was growing impatient and nervous on the matter.
“I do not have long, Mildred Wyeth—a matter of days, mebbe not even that,” he had whispered to her on her last visit. “How can I join my ancestors on the long journey knowing that I have let them down in the this manner, that I have betrayed my people?”
Mildred looked at him. She couldn’t argue with his self-diagnosis. He was little more than ashen parchment skin stretched over a skeleton that seemed to shrink into itself with each passing day. His eyes were cloudy, so that she could no longer tell if he was focused on this world or one that he could see beyond this life. His voice was little more than a harsh, croaking whisper.
She would have to act soon, or she was sure that he was right. He would buy the farm without being satisfied. When she’d left the baron on that day, she decided that she would have to act immediately.
It was a decision ratified by the events of the next morning.
“MY FATHER IS NEARING his end,” Sineta said softly as she and Mildred prepared for the day ahead. It was neither question nor statement. She continued. “The time for us to depart grows near, but still I feel I should spend more time with him.”
“So you want me to cover something for you?” Mildred questioned.
“The livestock is to be fitted for the crates that will carry them to the mainland. Horses will be loaded singly, but Markos believes that the pigs and goats should be crated in small numbers.”
“Makes sense,” Mildred agreed. “And you want me to go and oversee the fitting while you spend more time with Barras?”
>
Sineta fixed Mildred with a puzzled look. “Yes…are you sure that is all right?”
“Yeah, sure,” Mildred said in an offhand manner that she knew sounded false as it left her lips. The truth of the matter wasn’t that Mildred resented covering for Sineta, which was possibly what the baron’s daughter believed; rather, Mildred was concerned that Barras, nearing the big chill and beginning to lose his grip on lucidity, would say something to Sineta about the hidden treasures that Mildred was supposed to have recovered. To hear about it in the ramblings of her dying father and not from Mildred would naturally arouse suspicion. And if she told Markos…The sec boss was already growing distant from Mildred, their earlier attraction replaced by a self-imposed restraint. This would only add to his…what? Suspicion? Confusion? She no longer knew what he felt. Which made him a loose cannon in the equation.
“If there is a problem, you would not hesitate to share it with me, would you? We are, I would hope, bonded by more than just our skin,” Sineta said softly.
Mildred shook her head. “No, there’s no problem,” she said slowly, hoping that her lie wouldn’t show through. “It’s just that the end is near for Barras, and I’ve kind of grown to like him,” she continued. “It’s going to be tough for you when he goes.”
“It is good of you to consider me in this manner,” Sineta said softly, “but it is something for which I have been prepared for some while.”
Mildred sighed inwardly with relief. In truth, it hadn’t been a complete lie. She did feel concern for the baron’s daughter and was truly worried about how Sineta would react when her father bought the farm. She had merely used this to divert Sineta’s attention from the true cause of her apprehension.
With mixed feelings, Mildred made her way across the short distance to where the livestock was housed and farmed. She was relieved to be away from Sineta’s questioning presence, but tense about the possibility of fulfilling her promise to the baron.
She arrived at the livestock pens to find chaos. Markos and the giant Elias—whom she recognized from his tree-felling detail with the companions—were chasing a goat that had escaped its pen and was running riot among the pigs. The livestock farmers, meanwhile, were concerned with preventing the spooked pigs from breaking the walls of their pens and trampling the crates that lay empty and looked all too fragile at the side of the goat enclosure.