The Shadow Walker

by William R Hunt

  He smiled. “It sure feels like I do.”

  She smiled and dropped her head, a few locks of hair falling to hide her face.

  “When this is all over,” Victor said, “I want to take you on a date.”

  She brushed her hair back and met his eyes. “You think things will ever be normal again?”

  “I do.”

  Her blue-gray eyes were wide and unguarded, like a wintry ocean—cold, cruel, and full of wonders. He wanted to fall into them, disappear, lose himself, to be a human and not a machine, to act on emotional instinct for once and not logic, to be swept up in the mystery of not knowing what would happen next.

  She didn’t lean toward him as he kissed her, but neither did she lean away. Their eyes remained locked together. Then her hand was against the back of his head and she pressed herself into him, both of them ignoring the wounded arm between them, and all the rest of the world lost its color.

  ___

  “What did you mean?” he asked, lying on the tiles with his back propped against the wall. “About the backpack?” He didn’t know how much time had passed since the others had left, and he didn’t much care.

  Scarlett was lying beside him, her head against his left shoulder. “Just what I said. It’s full of explosives.” Her voice carried a tenderness Victor had never heard in it before. She sounded vulnerable, almost girlish, and this only strengthened his desire to prove her wrong about him.

  “What are they for?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t even supposed to know there were explosives. Gabriel told me.”

  Victor clenched his teeth at the sound of that name. Where did Gabriel fit in all this? Was Scarlett with Victor now? Would he and Gabriel get to duel for her honor? It all sounded like a high school flashback.

  “Gabriel thinks the Baron is growing too powerful,” she continued. “He thinks that’s why Yates has been so paranoid.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a fair fight.”

  “It isn’t.”

  Victor tried to imagine a bird’s-eye-view of their journey since leaving the Commune. He believed they had been moving in a northerly direction, despite a few detours along the way, and this meant they should soon meet a river flowing west to east. Maybe this river acted as a boundary between rival factions. The Baron’s territory, Kassel, could be just on the other side.

  “He’s the reason you were leaving the Commune, right?” Victor asked.

  She hesitated. Those few seconds were enough to confirm what Victor suspected.

  “Who?” she asked.

  “Gabriel.” He waited, expecting her to get angry and say something about how he didn’t know a thing about her or that he should mind his own business. But when she spoke, her voice was soft and thoughtful and sad, and it sounded as if she’d needed to say these things for a long time.

  “I was sick when I stumbled into the Commune,” she began. “I needed food and medicine, but I couldn’t pay for either, so…” She drew a shaky breath. “I almost did it, I was ready to do it, but that was when I met Gabriel. He noticed me. He paid to have me taken care of, and I didn’t understand it at the time - I thought it was an act of charity - but now I know…”

  “He wanted something from you.”

  She sat up, pulling away so she could meet Victor’s eyes. “It’s ungrateful of me—he saved my life. I’d be dead without him. But does that mean he owns me? Does that mean I’m his for the rest of my life?”

  “Of course not.”

  She looked away. As often as she might have told herself that she was free to live her own life, the wistful twist of her eyebrows suggested she felt differently deep inside in that place where logic holds no power. She might spend the rest of her life at Gabriel’s side, marooned on an island of obligation and self-guilt.

  “Hey,” Victor said, sitting up straighter and taking her hand. He tried to will her to look at him. “Whatever you owed him, I’m sure you’ve paid it by now. You’re free. You can choose whatever you want. If you don’t love him, if you don’t want to be with him—”

  “I do love him,” she answered, scarcely loud enough for Victor to hear.

  The words stabbed at Victor’s heart. “Oh. Well…” He released her hand.

  Scarlett faced him. Her eyes blazed with an earnest intensity. “I love what he did for me. I love the small part of him that truly wanted to help another being. The rest of him—I don’t love any of that. He’s selfish, he cares only about his suits and his food and the shine of his boots—and he only cares about these things when he sees someone else who doesn’t have what he has. He wants to be superior to everyone else.”

  “Sounds to me like he just wanted to make you feel indebted to him.”

  She did not reply, and Victor knew better than to press his point. She had probably made these arguments to herself many times before in an effort to break the stranglehold Gabriel had on her mind, but her sense of guilt and obligation had proved too strong. She was a good woman, Victor realized. Maybe too good.

  “So how did you meet Calvin?” he asked, sensing she needed a diversion.

  She looked at him again. Her eyes were the soft blue of hydrangea flowers, and there was a smile hiding somewhere in them. “Calvin was a good kid. He lost his family in a gas-line explosion that sheared off most of the house they were living in. Calvin was pulled from the rubble, but his arm was broken in too many places. They had to amputate. After that, he wasn’t much use in the Commune.”

  “So you put him to work, scavenging supplies with you on the outside.”

  She nodded. “I found him begging on the street. It’s illegal in the Commune—begging. But the law isn’t enforced everywhere. Gabriel was furious when he learned I was giving food to the kid, so that’s why I made an effort to put him to work. Once he was earning on his own, Gabriel left him alone. Gabriel didn’t want me out there, either. He preferred to have me depending on him.”

  “It must have been nice having someone to talk to,” Victor answered. “Calvin, I mean.”

  She nodded again. “He wasn’t much use with only one arm, but he was a smart kid and we talked about everything. I told him how I felt about Gabriel. Calvin was good with secrets. He didn’t talk to anybody he didn’t trust.”

  They heard footsteps on the floor above them. Scarlett immediately rose and ran her fingers through her hair. “Get up!” she hissed at Victor.

  “Why?” But he knew. She wasn’t ready to leave Gabriel, regardless of her true feelings about him, and so she didn’t want to be seen with Victor.

  She picked up the medical kit and leaned against the wall as if she had been waiting there the whole time. Just then Gabriel’s face appeared above the stairway barricade.

  “Found him!” he called. “The little bugger was hiding under a coffee table. Can you believe it?”

  The three men began climbing across the furniture. Victor stayed where he was, feeling a strange sense of apathy as he watched them. He wished Scarlett would just come clean with Gabriel, let him know she could look after herself now. He understood why she felt indebted to Gabriel, but not why she let it rule her life.

  “No trouble?” Scarlett asked as they approached.

  “Nothing we couldn’t handle, baby,” Gabriel replied.

  Scarlett went to meet Gabriel. He seemed ready to lean in for a kiss, but Scarlett turned and gestured at Victor. “I made a sling for him,” she said to Gabriel. “He’ll make it.”

  Dante studied Victor with a pained expression. “Does it hurt?”

  “Of course it hurts, you bastard.”

  Dante grinned. “That’s my brother. Ornery as ever.” He helped Victor to his feet.

  “How’s the ankle?” Victor asked.

  “Not too bad.” Dante glanced at Victor, then averted his eyes. Victor wanted to bring up what had happened earlier with the Lemming, explain to Dante that he was just trying to look out for their interests, but Dante was already making a remark to Scarlett about how he hadn’t known sh
e was so good at playing doctor.

  Then Victor’s eyes found the Lemming’s, and the little man hastily turned his head, studying the ground. And Victor thought, Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am toxic.

  “What now?” Scarlett asked.

  “We have to get back to Yuri,” Dante answered. “I can’t believe we just left him.” He shook his head ruefully.

  “No,” Gabriel answered. “He’s dead—we all know that. We need to keep going.”

  He started toward the entrance. Scarlett fell in step beside him, the Lemming hurried to catch up, and then - with a troubled, fleeting glance at his brother - Dante followed, leaving Victor alone in the shadowy room.

  Chapter 54

  He had not felt so alive since he popped out from between his mother’s legs and into the waiting arms of strangers. That was how he felt, anyway—it was impossible to know since memories faded so easily. Besides, nobody really remembered their childhood, did they? Meatloaf was glad he didn’t remember. Children disgusted him, with all their mewling and screaming and perverse bodily functions.

  At any rate, he fairly danced his way to the meeting-place at the old church. Maybe he would have danced if he had not been obliged to lead Jenny by the hand. Last night, shortly after the real festivities had begun, he’d found himself standing at the curtain to her tent, debating whether or not it was time to acquaint her with the real Meatloaf instead of chummy old Oswald Crumley.

  It would only be the work of a few moments. No longer than it takes to light a smoke or tie your shoe. And gosh dang, wouldn’t it be fun!

  In the end he had settled on painting three lines on the tent with the bloody end of the meat tenderizer. They formed the imaginary frame of a wooden door, just like in the old Bible stories. It was not lost on him that, in this analogy, he would be God’s destroying angel.

  Now, with Jenny’s smaller hand tucked within his, he picked his way through the sunbeams dancing down from the church’s collapsed roof. Galaxies of motes swirled and eddied in the light, an impossible number of particles usually invisible to the eye.

  This was the place.

  “Might as well take a seat!” Meatloaf said cheerfully. He was in a rare mood today. He felt impervious to every form of ill-fortune. He also felt as though he’d just run a marathon, eaten a delicious meal, drunk several cups of coffee, and voided his bowels for a full hour. It was a wonderful sensation.

  Jenny patted a long plank - part of a collapsed bench - before settling down. She did not notice the mouse droppings beside her, and Meatloaf did not mention them. His mind was on bigger and brighter things.

  Jenny fidgeted with her hands in her lap. As if to balance the universe, she was in a far different mood from Meatloaf’s: quiet, distant, troubled, practically afraid to speak, though Meatloaf saw no reason why she should be. He had spared her, after all, and what greater expression of affection could he have given than that?

  When she tired of wringing her hands, she placed them beneath her thighs. When that grew old, she chewed her lips. She did not know Meatloaf was watching. She did not know how annoying he found this behavior.

  “What the devil is wrong with you?” he burst out, sounding more like his father than he cared to realize.

  She nearly jumped into the air. Her hands flew out, as if ready to ward a blow, and then slowly settled in her lap again like startled birds. Shadow pricked his ears but that was all.

  “You killed them, didn’t you?” she whispered.

  “Shut up,” he said, still angry. “You’re stupid and you know nothing.” She was ruining his good mood. Maybe he should just kill her and be done with it. He debated the idea again, just as he had the night before. No, the time was not quite right. If he decided to get rid of her at some point, he would need a better occasion than this. Besides, churches gave him the creeps.

  A board creaked. Jenny gave another little jump and asked who was there.

  “Just me,” Khan answered as he entered the old church. “Are you two alone?” He looked like a changed man. His eyes were thoughtful and focused, his face clean and clear, his clothes fresh and no longer smelling of alcohol. He was as far as he could be from the man Meatloaf had found attempting suicide.

  “Of course,” Meatloaf replied.

  “Good.” Khan set a duffel bag on the floor. “I packed food, water, medical supplies—everything we might need. Are you ready to leave?”

  “I’ve been ready to leave this stinkhole since I got here,” Meatloaf answered. He did not wait for Jenny to give her opinion. She would go where he led her, do what he told her. That was the way of things. She was a sheep, just like all the others.

  Khan, however—he was a bit more complicated. Was he a sheep or a wolf?

  “There’s a tunnel we can use to get beneath the checkpoint,” Khan said. “The streets aren’t safe for anyone associated with the Baron. Tensions are high right now.”

  Meatloaf studied Khan, the gears in his brain slowly turning. Sheep or wolf? The circumstances of their meeting had been fortuitous. Meatloaf had found Khan at his most vulnerable, had in fact saved Khan from certain death. But what did this mean to Khan? Meatloaf read no gratitude in his eyes. No, he supposed, Khan took no pleasure in their partnership. It was a partnership of necessity. As soon as one stopped needing the other, all bets were off.

  “I’m sorry, what’s going on?” Jenny interrupted.

  Khan crouched in front of the girl and placed his hand on her knee. He spoke to her in a low voice, deliberately keeping Meatloaf from overhearing—not that Meatloaf cared. He knew the substance of Khan’s words, the same lies all adults say to children every now and again: “Don’t worry,” “You’ll be safe,” and (Meatloaf’s personal favorite) “Everything will be fine. I PROMISE.”

  As if anyone had the power to promise such a thing. Life was a game of craps. The only control you had was deciding not to play—ergo, kicking the bucket, assuming room temperature, going over the Big Ridge, riding the pale horse, wearing a pine overcoat.

  You get the idea.

  Khan had tried leaving the game. How did that work out for you, big fella? Thought you had nothing to live for you, didn’t you? If he’d really wanted to end it, he should have started by burning that family picture. In Meatloaf’s experience, family ties were the root of most of humanity’s woes.

  Jenny nodded a few times as Khan spoke. Then, when the pep talk was finished, he helped her to her feet and she called Shadow over, and finally it was time to get the final leg of the journey underway. Meatloaf was excited—buoyantly, helium-filled, floating-to-the-ceiling kind of excited. This was a high for him. Destiny had seized him in its inescapable grip, and there was no telling where it meant to take him.

  “Meatloaf,” Khan said from behind him. “A word?” Then to the girl, “Go on outside, Jenny. We’ll join you in a minute.”

  The girl nodded again. It was difficult to read her face beneath those sunglasses. She and the dog slipped through the doorway and out into the sunshine, and as soon as they were gone Khan pushed Meatloaf up against the wall. Plaster dust drifted around them.

  “Don’t forget what I did for you,” Meatloaf said quickly. His mouth had gone dry. Had he miscalculated with Khan? Thought too highly of his conscience? He needed Khan to guide him across the city, but why did Khan need him?

  Needles of fear pricked at him. He forced himself to remember how pitiful Khan had looked taking those pills, how powerless. It made Meatloaf feel a bit braver.

  “That’s the only reason I’m not going to kill you,” Khan answered, continuing to pin Meatloaf against the wall. “I know who and what you are. I don’t know how your path crossed Jenny’s, but she doesn’t need you any more, understand? I’m going to look after her from now on.”

  Meatloaf could not stop a lazy smile from spreading across his face. “Because you have such a great track record of protecting the people you care about, right?”

  Khan’s arm cocked back like a piston. He punched throug
h the plaster just beside Meatloaf’s head, his hand disappearing to the wrist.

  “Don’t cross me,” Khan warned. “You saw me at my worst. You don’t want to see me at my best.” He stared Meatloaf down for a few more seconds, then released him and stepped back. He was breathing heavily—harder than he ought to be just from punching the wall.

  “Whatever business you have with Victor,” Khan said, “it has nothing to do with me—or with Jenny. You can tag along for now, but as soon as we find him, you’re on your own. Got it?”

  Meatloaf nodded slowly, and after Khan had walked past him and he was alone in the church with the dust beams and the splintered rafters, a connection sparked in his brain. This had happened before—not in the same way, perhaps, but it had been the same in substance. After setting Victor free from certain death, how had Victor repaid him?