by R. T. Lowe
“Go back to the bar,” Allison ordered, the annoyance she felt evident in her voice.
They both laughed, apparently amused.
“This one’s gonna be a real party!” Coptic laughed gleefully. “We’re gonna get along real fine, you and us. You’re gonna be one satisfied little whore when we’re through with you.”
They were wasting her time, ruining her opportunity to feed the hate in her heart. There were three Protectors inside the bar and she’d set the perfect trap. It was one in the morning and she was all alone in an alley in a rough part of town. They had every reason to think she was wasted stupid drunk—an easy target. No Protector, she thought, could pass up on such a golden opportunity to assassinate a Sourceror.
“Go back to the bar!” Allison repeated, raising her voice. “Last chance.”
Swastika grabbed himself. “I’m feelin’ you, baby.” He touched himself again and as Allison’s eyes followed his hand, Coptic darted behind her and wrapped her up in arms that felt like steel cords.
“You feelin’ me?” Swastika said to Allison, coming close, flicking out his tongue. “You will soon, baby doll.” He reached out for her.
Allison struggled, pulse racing, the anger in her heart swelling. She felt Coptic’s mouth on her ear, biting, nibbling at her lobe, and then his plunging tongue. The smell of whiskey and sweat washed over her, sickening her.
“Just spread your legs and relax baby,” Coptic whispered, squeezing her tight, crushing the breath from her. “You make it hard on yourself, you gonna wind up hurt. You don’t want us to hurt you, right?”
Swastika’s fingers flitted up Allison’s thigh, lifting at her dress.
“I warned you,” Allison said softly. Dipping her head for half a heartbeat, she snapped it back, smashing it against Coptic’s face. She felt his arms slacken and he stumbled back, screaming in pain, clawing at his shattered nose.
Swastika’s eyes flashed in surprise and he rushed her, right hand flying for her face. Allison beat him to the punch, planting her fist on nose and lip, feeling bone and teeth collapse under the weight of her blow. Swastika’s feet rose above the trash strewn pavement, and his head, snapping backward, pulled at his torso so that when he hit the ground, his head struck first.
Allison stared down at him for a moment, bleeding and unconscious. She turned around.
Coptic appeared stunned, cupping a hand to his face, trying to staunch the gushing flow of blood.
“Come here you fucking rapist!” Allison snarled.
Coptic lunged for her, swinging both arms.
Allison landed a straight right to his face, paralyzing him, and before he could recover, she knocked him to the ground with an overhand left. He screamed, scrambling to his hands and knees.
Allison allowed him to stand. “You need to treat women with respect!” She stepped forward and brought him to his knees again with two chopping blows to the side of his head. “Because I’m gonna make it my life’s mission”—another blow to the ear caused it to burst open, fountaining blood—“to make sure you do!” He started to stand and Allison smashed her knee against his mouth. He fell flat to his stomach, his breath hissing raggedly through broken teeth.
A hot rage had descended on Allison. “If you ever try to do that to a woman again, I’ll kill you, you sick fuck! You hear me? I’ll find you and I’ll fucking kill you! I’m your shadow! You hear me?”
Coptic groaned, and if he was conscious, it was by a rapidly fraying thread.
Protectors! Suddenly remembering the people inside, Allison retrieved her pocketbook and flung open the door, running past the bathrooms to the bar. She looked to the table in the corner. Empty. Searching with her eyes, it seemed as if time had stood still while she was outside. Hank was slouching despondently on his wooden stool. The seats at the bar were still filled by the same people and the same guys were at the poker machines and playing pool, laughing and drinking beer from cans. Only the table in the corner seemed to abide the normal rules of time.
“Hey sweetie! Come sit wi—”
Allison stuffed a hand in Hank’s face and pushed him back in his stool.
“Where are they?” she screamed at the bartender who had come over to see if Hank was all right. “Where’d they go?” She pointed at the corner table. “The three people sitting over there, where’d they go?”
The bartended shook his head and shrugged as if to say how the hell should I know?
“How’s about you mind your manners?” a woman chortled, sliding away from the bar, stepping close. Her face was haggard and yellowed, prematurely aged.
“How’s about you shut the fuck up!” Allison raged at the woman.
“Go on!” the bartender shouted at Allison, waving a dish towel at her. “Go on and get out of here before I call the cops.”
The woman smiled up at Allison and blew smoke in her face. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to your mommy and daddy?” She shot a look at the bartender. “Aren’t you supposed to be carding these kids?”
Mommy and daddy. The words echoed cruelly in Allison’s mind. The taunting woman with the foul Marlboro breath wasn’t responsible for killing her parents. Let it go, she told herself and stalked out of the bar and into the night, fleeing the jeers and handclaps that finally faded as she came upon another alley a block over. In the distance, taillights glowed red and exhaust steamed the air in great bursts of white. The lights flickered, the engine growled, the tires squealed for a moment and the car sped down the alley, rounding a bend and disappearing.
The anger inside Allison threatened to explode her chest. She sprinted down the alley, chasing after the car, screaming, “Come back! I’m right here, you motherfuckers! Come get me! Come get me!”
Chapter 15
THE INCORRIGIBLES SOLUTION
Xena could tell that Rolf was losing patience, which was a skill of sorts, considering his beard left only his eyes and nose uncovered. When they’d connected outside Helena three weeks ago, he’d just started to grow it in, and the short bit of scruff reminded her of the way he used to look before he went away for six years on manslaughter charges.
“We’re safe here,” Rolf repeated stubbornly. They sat on the floor in the hunting cabin, keeping the fire burning with branches from the nearby trees. The cabin was without windows and uninsulated so the fire kept them alive (it was always below zero in the early mornings) and provided light. There was no running water or electricity, but it was remote—the deep woods of Montana, a three day trek in snowshoes from the nearest plowed road—and somewhat miraculously, their cell phones worked, though they only used them once a day for a few minutes to preserve battery life.
“We’re not safe anywhere,” Xena replied firmly. “We’ve already been here too long. We’ve got to keep moving.” She had tried to contact Lynch three days after their last meeting. Her network of criminals-for-hire was inherently unreliable, and when two of her operatives had landed in jail before the launch date of an attack inside a movie theatre, she’d notified Lynch to inform him and request approval of a modification to the plan. Lynch hadn’t responded. She’d waited two days, texted again, and when no response came, she assumed the worst and fled north, contacting Rolf because his survival skills and knowledge of the wilderness was legendary.
“Move where?” Rolf said, angry that they were having this conversation again. “The closest shelter from here’s a five hour walk and there’s not as much game in those parts. If they can find us here, they can find us anywhere.”
Xena snapped a branch in two, tossing the short piece in the fire and stoking the flames with the other. When the cops had picked up Xena’s operatives, it hadn’t surprised her. Career criminals and drug addicts could never stay out of prison for long, and many of her ‘lieutenants’ were permanent guests of the U.S. government. Then others went dark, people she’d known for twenty years, smart people like her who paid the desperate and disturbed to do the dirty work. By the time she and Rolf had finished provisioning, all of h
er contacts in the prisons had gone silent, and her few remaining sources on the streets were hearing rumors of sweeping arrests and mass executions.
“Then we’ll keep moving,” Xena finally replied. She rubbed her hands through her hair. It was oily and she knew she smelled. There wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for a hot shower.
“Canada?” Rolf guessed, his eyes furious. “You’re out of your goddamn mind! Why would anything be different there?”
“You don’t know what they can do to us.”
“I don’t know?” Rolf said incredulously. “The New Government used us to tarnish the Old Government and now the New Government’s in power. I may have never graduated high school, but I’m pretty fucking sure the New Government’s cleaning up its loose ends and you’re the loosest fucking bitch I’ve ever known!” He curled a huge paw of a hand around his cell phone and shook it at her. “I’ve heard from no one in ten days, Xena! They’re cleaning out the prisons! Sending them out in the ocean in big boats and blowing them up! They’re fucking exterminating us and you are at the top of their fucking list, so don’t tell me I don’t—”
“Calm the fuck down,” Xena said, making herself sound reasonable, almost bored, not wanting to provoke a confrontation. They were in the middle of nowhere. She needed him more than he needed her, and his volatility was almost as legendary as his ability to live off the grid. “These people, they… they can do things a lot worse than killing our sorry asses.”
“Demons again?” Rolf snorted, exhaling sharply through his nose.
“You haven’t seen what I’ve seen.” Xena stared at the flickering flames, remembering how Lynch created fire out of nothing, controlling it with his mind. “There are demons in this world, Rolf.” She pointed at him to show she wasn’t cowered by his anger. “I’ve seen them, and they’re running the show—they’re the New Government.”
“Shit, woman,” Rolf muttered and fluttered his lips, making a farting sound. “You off your meds?”
“There’s things worse than death,” she told him.
He belched and scratched himself.
Thump. Thump.
The walls rocked.
They jumped up, looking at each other. Something was outside.
“It’s him,” Xena said, feeling a rush of panic. “It’s Lynch.”
Rolf smirked and picked up his hunting rifle, checking the chamber. “I hope it’s a bear. You think I leave piles of deer guts so close because I’m stupid? I’d rather they come to me than I go to them. They’re makin’ it easy for me.” He pushed the door open a crack with the barrel, the cold gray light of morning filtering in through the treetops. “Back in a minute.” He slipped out and the door swung back with a sharp crack.
Xena gathered her shotgun, already loaded, and waited by the door. Her heart pounded. She willed herself to relax. Probably just a bear, just like Rolf said. Maybe a moose? They were big and aggressive, and just stupid enough to walk right into a cabin.
Ka-krack.
The discharge of Rolf’s rifle always made Xena jump. She’d been around guns her whole life, but Rolf’s was the loudest weapon she’d ever heard. Ears ringing, she stepped back from the door and raised her gun. If Lynch came through, she’d blow off his scarred face with a few rounds of twelve gauge buckshot.
“Xena!” Rolf called out. “You’ve gotta see this. Get your ass out here, woman!”
He sounded fine, Xena thought. Curious about what he’d shot, she lowered her gun and opened the door, the air so cold it made her cough. Rolf was standing close, cradling his rifle. She stared out at what he was looking at. Trees and a carpet of snow. Nothing unusual as far as she could tell. No Lynch, no people, and no animals, dead or alive. She pushed through the fresh powder, coming around him.
“What are you doing?” she complained testily. “What am I supposed to be loo—” She saw his face and stopped, perplexed. His mouth was parted and his eyes were twitching rapidly in their sockets. “What’s going on? Was it a bear? You get it?”
He stared back, not speaking. His eyes continued to twitch. What was he doing? she wondered. Playing a dumb game? Trying to scare her? Cabin fever?
Something brushed across her shoulder and she… she did nothing. She wanted to spin around to confront whatever was behind her—but she couldn’t. Her legs were rooted in the snow, her body calcified. She screamed.
From either side, shapes emerged, moving past her and toward Rolf, stopping between them.
“You must be Xena,” said someone in a white snow suit, turning to face her. It was a woman. Her face was pale, cheeks bright from the cold, a tendril of red hair curled along the contours of her chin. “I’m Natalie.” She nodded to her left. “This is Iphi.” She laughed as though something very funny had occurred to her. “Don’t bother with a hand shake. I know you’re a bit… frozen.”
Xena screamed. The demons had found her.
“So you’re the reason we’re out here?” The woman opposite the redhead—Iphi—sounded angry. She wrinkled her nose at Xena then spun and placed her hands on Rolf’s shoulders, holding him for several beats before releasing him and turning back. “We have some questions for you. If you’re thinking of being uncooperative…” She nodded meaningfully at Rolf.
Rolf’s jacket frosted over, beginning at the shoulders, traveling past his elbows and down to the cuffs and on to his gloved fingers like a windshield icing in the night. Cracks formed, racing across the surface, growing deeper, splintering and breaking apart, tumbling softly to the snow.
Rolf, Xena realized, had lost his arms. She stared in shock and terror, too scared to scream.
Iphi laughed cruelly. “It feels every bit as bad as it looks. Natalie immobilizes but she doesn’t numb. He wants to scream, but he can’t. Imagine how awful that must be? And notice how it’s not bleeding? That’s because he’s still frozen there at the joints. It’s not cauterized. As soon as he thaws, he’ll bleed to death. Shouldn’t take more than…” She looked to Natalie, tilting her head questioningly.
“Five minutes maybe,” Natalie replied casually, as if Iphi had asked her how long the cookies should stay in the oven. She went to Rolf and looked him in the face, smiling. “You should say your prayers—silent prayers, of course.”
“I’ll talk!” Xena shouted. “Anything! Anything you wanna know!”
“I knew we could rely on you,” Iphi said with a chuckle. “Anyone else here besides you and”—she snapped her fingers, trying to recall something—“what’s the guy’s name in The Revenant? The trapper frontiersman guy? You know, DiCaprio’s character?”
“Hugh Glass,” Natalie answered and smiled to herself. “That deserves Jeopardy points.”
Iphi smiled back. “Very impressive Nat! That bear scene was intense. So just the two of you?”
“Yes,” Xena said, her eyes fixed on the pink flesh surrounding the cleanly severed bones in Rolf’s shoulders.
“When was the last time you heard from Lynch?” Natalie asked.
“Lynch?” The question caught Xena off guard.
“Hugh’s sprung a leak,” Iphi said gleefully, grinning. Blood was trickling from Rolf’s shoulders now, staining red the snow beneath him.
“About a month ago,” Xena blurted out. “We met. It was operational. Going over plans. That kind of stuff. I texted him twice after that but I got nothing from him.”
Natalie and Iphi exchanged a look.
“Did he say what he was doing?” Natalie asked. “Where he was going maybe?”
Xena thought she was shaking her head.
“Hugh’s not looking so good,” Iphi pointed out. The blood was pouring from the wounds in steady streams, steaming in the frigid air.
“No!” Xena shouted, realizing her head was stationary. “He never told me anything like that. Operational stuff and money—that was it! That’s all we talked about.”
Iphi placed her hands on Xena’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “You’ve been very helpful.”
“What
are you doing?” Xena shrieked, feeling as though Iphi was filling her arms with ice water. “What are you doing? You promised me! You promised—”
A finger tapped down on her lips and they went instantly still. She couldn’t talk.
Natalie was smiling at her. “I don’t recall promising you anything. Now be a good little Wisp and die quietly, alright sweetie?”
Xena’s arms felt like they were swelling, about to burst, burning. She looked at Rolf. His eyes were open but unmoving, the blood spraying from his shoulders.
“…he has to be going after Felix,” Iphi said to Natalie. “There’s no other explanation.”
“Agreed,” Natalie replied then said something into her cell phone and slipped it into a pocket. “He wouldn’t piss off Lofton over that slut Kayla. Wish we could help him.”
“Not without going off the reservation ourselves, though I think there’s ways to do it without being so direct.” Iphi put her hands together as if she was in prayer. “Hopefully Lynch just kills him so we won’t have to get involved, but you’ve got to wonder if Lofton’s getting soft. What’s he thinking?”
Natalie grunted in agreement. “He should have sent us the second he realized Felix was the Belus. I, for one, am never going back to taking orders from any fucking Wisps!”
The sound of engines rolled through the woods, growing louder.
Xena wanted to scream, but her lips wouldn’t move. The pain was unbearable. Unimaginable. And then, like glass shattering under the pressure of an enormous weight, her arms broke apart and fell to her feet, her fingers still curled around the gun. Please kill me! she thought desperately, silently begging the demons. Please! So much pain. She couldn’t take it.
A pair of snowmobiles towing sleds packed with tarp covered bundles pulled up beside them, their drivers waving to Natalie and Iphi. They were still talking, but Xena couldn’t hear them, their voices lost amidst the whine of the engines. Don’t go! Kill me first! Please kill me!
Iphi and Natalie hopped on and the snowmobiles started off. Xena followed them with her eyes, watching in incomprehensible dread of a slow lingering death as they glided gracefully through the trees, soon lost to the woods.