Hereafter

by C. K. Crigger

  Without pausing to think, she rolled beneath the nearest horse’s belly, dodging its kick by an inch. Maybe not the best choice of shelter seeing it was the horse that’d been stabbed. It danced around her, squealing with pain and fear.

  “Hah!” Barnes roared. “Got you. Come out.” Slashing at her with his palm knife, only the short length of his arms saved her. Disgusted, he threw the blade down and snatched up the sword she’d let fall. His thick lips curled in a smug smile, certain there was nothing she could do to harm him. His magical screen wrapped him in security from head to foot.

  The horse jigged from side-to-side, restrained only by the harness. One oversized hoof knocked against the side of her head, making her vision blur as Barnes jabbed with the sword between its feet. Damn. Damn! Impossible to stay clear long enough to fight him.

  Timing the horse’s movement, she scooted backward until she reached the open space between the lead pair. Regaining her feet brought fresh blood pouring down her leg, which trembled beneath her. Safely beyond Barnes’ reach for the moment, her position served to madden him further. His thick lips drew back over clenched yellow teeth as he drew the sword back and took a hack at the horse.

  A chunk of flesh torn from its side, the agonized beast screamed and lunged forward, drawing the rest of the team with him. Lily hobbled between the lead pair, a hand on each bridle helping keep a precarious balance. At any instant she could be jerked off her feet and trampled. A precarious state of affairs to be sure. She had to stop Barnes. Now!

  The dwarf stabbed at her again. Frightened by the blade flashing in front of their eyes, the horses reared, lifting her into the air before dropping her down again. She hit the ground with a gasp of agony, her wounded leg faltering beneath her. Then Nate was there, filling her vision as he grabbed the horses, stilling them with what she thought was shear will power.

  “Hurry,” he said. “Get clear.”

  Rondo’s arrows bounced off Barnes’ magical armor as the dwarf bounded toward Nate, his stubby legs deceptively fast. He flung the sword at Nate, who dodged easily, but he was already reaching for a throwing knife.

  Lily crawled. No time. No time.

  Barnes’ hand came out from behind his ear holding a short knife by the blade. His piggy eyes narrowed on Nate.

  “No!” Careless of the rearing horses, she flung out her hands. Fire shaped into molten zigzags of lightning shot from her fingertips. One hit Barnes in his shielded face, rolled slowly downward, the fire dying and leaving Screenmaster unscathed. But it caused him to blink, which skewed his aim just enough for the knife to miss Nate and skitter harmlessly into the brush a few yards distant.

  How many more of those damn blades did he have? It seemed an unending supply, because he was grabbing for yet another. Her choices had run out and so had his. Gathering herself, she stepped forward and pointed downward. Fire rained from her fingertips.

  Screenmaster lost his smile as the bottom of his loose britches exploded. Orange and blue flames leapt up his stumpy legs. His eyes bugged, reflecting shock.

  She cast more of the tiny spheres. Ricochets bounced from the old paved road, flying beneath his shield and into his clothing. The balls glowed fiercely, before flames burst into being. Wherever they touched, they blossomed.

  The edges of Screenmaster’s wizard’s robe smoked, then burned hotly as though fed by a propellant. Caught within his screen, sparkling embers flew around his head. His hair erupted into a fiery halo. The screen dropped. Clamping both hands to his head, he tried to run.

  And then it was just Philip Barnes, no longer Screenmaster, but only a man on fire, caught in real human panic. A man with no third chance at life.

  After a time Lily thought would never end, he toppled onto the wet road, his body jerking and smoking within his armor. His charred flesh, she noted somewhere at the back of her mind, stunk of fire and brimstone. Fitting for one of his kind.

  She gave a great shuddering breath and fell to her knees, closing her eyes against the sight. As though from far away she heard Rondo shout, “Clear the way. Those sonsabitches are running for home. We beat them.”

  “Into the wagon,” Nate said. “Pete, get that door open. Hurry.”

  Someone, she knew it was Nate, lifted her in his arms. In a hurried, leg-jolting dash, he carried her into a dark place and laid her on a cot inches too short even for her small frame. She smelled the bodies crowded in with her. Sweat, blood, maleness—and Barnes.

  She muttered a protest.

  “Be still,” Nate said. So she was silent, listening as the few remaining saiclers, thoroughly defeated, fled back toward their parked bicycles and pushed off the way they’d come. So far as she could tell, not one stopped to mourn their Screenmaster.

  Chapter 22

  Bannion seized Screenmaster’s wagon, drafting it into ambulance service for the trek back to O’Quinn headquarters. Too many of the clan were incapable of either riding or walking.

  “Damned lucky to have it, too,” he told Nate, helping cut the wounded horse out of harness.

  Lily, sitting on the low step leading to the wagon’s driving seat, looked on.

  “Don’t know how else we’d get the injured home,” Bannion continued. “There’s not enough of us to lug stretchers.” A worried glance spelled out his particular concern. Kira Shandy, moaning softly even though unconscious was in a condition sure to twist anyone’s heart.

  Lily knew clan members selected for medic duty had done their best. In her opinion, that wasn’t saying much. Someone handed her a sterile pad with instructions to exert pressure on the deep cut on her own leg. Not much, she told herself, compared to poor Kira Shandy. What a horrible, sad case she was in.

  Drawn by the remaining three big white horses, the wagon was soon overloaded even though several of the injured fighters rode horseback when they should’ve been carried. Six bodies bound face down over their saddles followed the sad cavalcade. It was an appalling number of casualties for such a small force.

  After that first fainting spell, Lily counted herself among the lucky ones able to ride. Nevertheless, she had only vague impressions of the damaged horse being led away. Nate had done that. She’d heard him talking to the horse, soothing, apologizing as he tied it to the wagon’s tailgate. Bannion had wanted to put the big animal down; Nate insisted it would be good as new, given a few days rest and care.

  She was glad when Nate won the argument. Glad, too, when he took on the chore of seeing she didn’t fall off the roan horse once she was helped up. Then came the eternity of wending their way along the old rutted road. She wasn’t the only one unable to hold back a groan when her mount stumbled, as it did every now and then.

  Eventually, all the wounded ended up outside the little hospital. Neila and her medical staff began triage, and the mourning of the dead began. Sobbing filled the expansive compound; grief drew the falling darkness around the bereaved. And that, Lily thought sadly, meant nearly every one, this being an extended family. Only the traders drew back. And Lily.

  Lips tight, faces drawn, Neila and Bren went about the business of selecting Kira Shandy, grotesque in her injuries as their first patient. The second was the girl with a severed hand. The scout Dak, third. Others followed.

  Lily came in dead last. No more than she’d expected.

  She sat on the lobby floor with her head leaned against the wall and her eyes closed, waiting, only half aware of the sometimes frantic activity around her. Even a semi-conscious state couldn’t keep what she’d seen and done this day from playing in her mind’s eye like a particularly vivid horror movie.

  She’d torched a man. Not a good man, but a man nonetheless. Made of flesh and blood. Watched him burn. Heard his screams. Felt no real remorse. And that was only one of a series of new experiences. Nothing in her career had prepared her for this. In her previous life she’d seen a couple gunshot wounds, been on the scene of traffic accidents, walked into one or two nasty domestic violence situations, both arguments over drug running.
But today had been war of a truly primitive, bestial kind.

  Take the young guy—House, she remembered his name after a minute—whom the saiclers had caught scouting along with Kira and Dak. Lord, his injuries looked like wolves had been at him, his body drained of blood, his toothless mouth agape in a rictus of agony.

  And now the aftermath. The crying, the sorrow, the rage. And the pointy finger of blame. Oh, she heard mutters, all right, about how it was her fault. By her resurrection, she’d drawn the enemy down on the hapless O’Quinns. But most of all, she was a Cross-up and O’Quinns hated Cross-ups. Even one who’d fought on their side.

  Damn all ungrateful fools, she thought resentfully, rolling her head from side-to-side as a fresh wave of pain flooded through her. It was like blaming the rain for muddying your road. Her awakening wasn’t anything she’d planned, for God’s sake. They must know that, consciously or unconsciously.

  Or not. The O’Quinns made their own rules, saw only what they chose to see. Either way, she remained quiet, making herself small in the corner. Sometimes she wrapped an illusion of invisibility around herself and to all purposes, disappeared from the minds of those nearby.

  But at last she was the only patient waiting. Bren called her name and, hoisting herself up by grabbing onto a chair, she limped into Neila’s operating theater under her own power.

  “So,” Neila said, stretching her back, her haggard face cold and unwelcoming. “You again. At least you managed to kill that other one, or so I hear.”

  Lily knew “that other one” meant Screenmaster. “Yes.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t join with him instead.” Neila snapped on a fresh pair of thin gloves without meeting Lily’s eyes.

  “Are you?” She sucked in air through her nose and damped down her frustration. “What you must think of me! Why? Your family and I were always good friends, before the Event.”

  Bren looked up from opening a new package of autoclaved sterile needles, thread, and bandages. “Has no one told her?” she asked Neila with a puzzled frown.

  Neila shook her head sharply.

  “Told me what?”

  “Cross-ups.” Neila injected a wealth of scorn into the word, never mind that it rang a little false. “The clan has met up with two, no, four now, counting Screenmaster and you, and the first three were pure evil. As for you?” Her shrug conveyed reservations. “When in doubt, err on the side of caution. That’s what I always say.”

  Bren bobbed her head in vigorous agreement.

  Pain of a different sort shot through Lily, leaving her wondering where her professionalism had gone. What Neila thought, what the entire clan thought of her shouldn’t matter—but it did. “You don’t know me at all, do you? Or even care to think I might be someone who only wants to help.”

  “So you say now. In five years, ten years, you’re apt to be singing a different tune.” Neila jerked her thumb. “Get those britches off and climb onto the table. I’m tired and want to finish up here. I’ve family to check on.”

  As much as she wished to walk out the door, Lily knew she didn’t dare. Couldn’t, most probably. In fact, she had to accept Bren’s help with her pants and shirt before climbing onto the table. Almost before she’d settled, Neila stuck a canister with an open top under her nose. “Here, take a whiff of this. It’ll help a little. We’re out of ether. The worst casualties have used up most of the supplies we just got from the traders.” She nodded to Bren. “Make a note. Don’t let the medical wagon leave. I’ll beg Frin for more medical supplies even if it means I have to owe him.”

  “It’ll be costly,” Bren warned.

  “I know. Maybe Pike will speak for us.”

  Lily pushed the canister away. “What is this?” She couldn’t help the distrust that crept into the question.

  “Aroma therapy,” Bren said. “Lavender, in this case .”

  Marginally reassured, Lily sniffed the sweet-smelling vapors, only to find it did nothing to ease the pain when Neila swabbed, then pinched the edges of Lily’s wound closed and inserted a neat row of stitches.

  Lily, drawing air through her nose in short bursts, refrained from either screaming or passing out. A matter of pride. Apparently, since she felt every stab of the needle, and every tug of the thread through her flesh, a real, working topical pain reliever didn’t exist. None they were telling her about, anyway. She wouldn’t put it past Neila to save the good stuff purely for the clan’s use.

  Ignoring her gasp of pain, the healer jabbed home an antibiotic injection. One technology they’d retained from the old days, perhaps handed on by Mrs. Poundstone who’d been a nurse practitioner. She wondered if Neila even knew that, about her long gone relative.

  “You’ll do,” Bren said brusquely, helping her sit up as Neila turned away, tossed her gloves in a receptacle to be laundered, sterilized and then used again. No more disposable latex, Lily noted. Another item lost in time. But at least they hadn’t neglected basic sanitation procedures.

  Neila gathered more gloves, bandages and spare needles for her set of glass syringes and prepared to make rounds. She barely glanced at Lily, who stood clad only in her underwear with her head buzzing and legs shaking.

  “Is there a robe?” Lily asked. “I’ll go to my room and stay out of your way.”

  “That room is full.” Neila shed her bloody lab coat and found another, pristine white.

  “Then where…”

  “Every available bed is full with our own people. So are all the spare cots. I don’t care where you go, Ms. Turnbow. I’ve done the necessary. Maybe there’s room in the barn.” She walked out, shoulders stiff with weariness.

  A slight smile tugged at Bren’s thin lips. “I guess your outing with Nate didn’t turn out so well.”

  Lily found her shirt piled on top her ruined cargo pants, both dropped carelessly on the floor. Her movements jerky, she pulled it on and fastened buttons higgledy-piggledy, intent only on covering herself. Bloody and torn britches followed, and her coat. Only when she was fully dressed and her boots tied did she turn to the other woman who stood back and watched. “Oh, I don’t know.” Her voice was sweet and smooth as honey. “Nate defended me with all his might, then picked me up and carried me to safety. Not so bad for a first date.”

  Her perfect squelch might have been more effective if she hadn’t had to cling to the wall as she staggered out of the hospital into the night.

  Where did she go from here? She breathed deeply, trying to clear the dizzying effects of blood loss and pain. The frosty air felt sharp in her lungs, but it was clean. Blessedly clean. Snow blanketed the ground away from paths which, due to increased foot traffic in this emergency, had been trampled to mud. Lights showed in the barn where last night—could it possibly only be last night?—laughter and dancing had warmed the night.

  Lily peered across the yard. The trestle tables piled high with trade good yesterday, now bore a different burden. Six bodies lay side-by-side, wrapped in stained sheets. From deeper in the barn she heard the scrape of saws and a pounding of hammers. Building coffins, she expected. The O’Quinns would take care of their own. The enemy must still lie on the battlefield where wild beasts would scour their bones.

  Cold, crackling like ice shards in water, ran through her in waves. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She wanted to leave this place. She wanted her old life and a civilized world.

  A man’s figure materialized wraith-like out of the night and headed toward her. Who now? Someone else coming to lay these deaths on her?

  “Come with me, Lily,” he said. “I’ve been sent to fetch you.”

  Nate? For a moment her heart leapt, but then she recognized Jacob Felix. So he’d survived his scout into the woods behind the horse herd. Praise be.

  She gave a shuddering sigh. “Better not be seen with me, Jake. I told you that last night and it’s even more true after today. I’mpersona non grata around here.”

  His feet shifted, uncomfortable at the pathos in her voice. His gla
nce toward the infirmary was troubled. “Don’t believe I know what that is, person not grot, but I can take a guess. Not everybody thinks like Neila, and not everybody blames you for what happened today. Most folks know you were fighting for us.”

  Had she been fighting for the O’Quinns? Or only trying to save herself and rid the world of the abomination of Philip Barnes? Part of both, maybe.

  “Fanta, for one,” Jacob continued over the buzzing in her ears. He sounded far away. “And Rory, some of the others whose butt you saved when you used the horses against the Techs. Lucky they don’t know shit about animals. And killing Screenmaster, well hell, that makes you a hero to the rest of us, the fighters out there today.”

  Lily swayed, putting out her hand to hold herself steady, surprised by how cold the porch rail felt against her fingers. “I didn’t kill the dwarf for the clan, Jake. I want you to know that. I killed him because I was scared and because he needed to be destroyed. Call me the executioner who finally carried out Philip Barnes’s sentence, but don’t call me a hero.”

  “Well, sure you were scared. Who wouldn’t be?” Apparently Jake forgave her this minor transgression. He reached for her arm, holding her upright. “Come with me, Lily. It ain’t far.”

  Her voice rang in her ears like a faraway gong. “Where are we going?” A kind of agreement, she supposed.

  He must’ve thought so, because he tugged, got her moving, one foot in front of the other. “Where nobody will give you a bad time. You’ll see.”

  A blur of motion joined them; Sliver, his black-and-white coat echoing the colors of the ground beneath her feet. The dog stuck his wet nose into the hand not clinging to Jake’s strong arm, as if he, too, would help her along. “Hey, dog,” she whispered.

  They went in the opposite direction of the barn, out where the only light was that reflected from the snow and where a few small houses crouched like toadstools beneath the trees.