Wind Runner: The Complete Collection

by Edmund Hughes

  It was a better catch than he’d had in days. He smiled to himself as he tied it to his belt. The bushes where he’d found the rabbit were full of wild raspberries, and he filled his pockets with as many as he could.

  Chaste Widow was outside the hideout when he got back. She’d picked up one of his rags and soaked it with water, and was slowly cleaning herself up as best she could. She’d taken off her bra and panties, and Malcolm felt a conflicting mixture of emotions as he approached, doing his best not to ogle her naked body.

  “Uh…” he said. “I’m back.”

  She put an arm over her breasts and glanced over her shoulder at him. Her eyes lit up when she saw the food on his belt.

  “I’ll have to make a fire up above so we can cook,” he said. “I can wait for you to finish, though.”

  “I’m as clean as I’m going to get,” she said.

  She pulled her panties back on, along with one of Malcolm’s shirts, and then walked over to him.

  “Here.” Malcolm pulled the berries out of his pockets. “You can snack on these while you’re waiting.”

  Chaste Widow took half of them. Malcolm grinned at her and made a show of eating the half he had left in a couple of wolfish bites.

  She followed him down the ladder as he went to get his fire-starting kit, and then back up. Malcolm spent a couple of minutes gathering loose newspaper and bits of wood to use as kindling. Chaste Widow kept following him, almost like a lonely puppy. She carried some of the wood, but didn’t say anything.

  Malcolm built his materials into a fire bundle and started striking at his flint. He glanced up at her a couple of times. She’d meet his gaze now, and it made emotion flutter in his chest when she did. He had no idea what to say to her. He wanted to ask how she’d been, but it wasn’t a question that he thought she’d be comfortable answering.

  And likewise, the last thing he wanted to talk about was his own descent into the dirt and grime of the post-collapse world. An awkward silence hung on the air between them, and as much as Malcolm hated it, it was still preferable to dredging up painful memories.

  “I’m sorry,” said Chaste Widow, as Malcolm started to cook their food on sticks over the small flame.

  “You’re… sorry?” asked Malcolm. “For what?”

  “I broke my promise to you.”

  It took him a couple of seconds to realize what she’d meant. In one of his last jobs as a champion, Malcolm and Tapestry had hunted Chaste Widow. He’d made a judgement call, letting her go instead of taking her prisoner. He’d made her promise to stop killing, in exchange.

  Is that a promise anyone could hold to in this new world? Especially an attractive woman?

  Malcolm shook his head.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve broken a lot of promises, too.”

  He didn’t elaborate any further, and tried keep his thoughts from turning back to Tapestry and Rose, and all the pain he’d caused them.

  “It wasn’t… like I wanted to,” said Chaste Widow. “I didn’t have a choice. In the first few weeks, I lost my house. Money stopped mattering. There was no law, and men would just try to… force me. And die, from my kiss.”

  “You don’t have to explain it to me,” said Malcolm.

  “It was all I had,” said Chaste Widow. “My power actually felt like something useful, for once. But it wasn’t enough, in the end. Your powers were like a sword. Mine was just… a tiny knife.”

  “A sword…” said Malcolm. “Ha.”

  A sword that I’ll never be able wield again.

  He’d spent more time than he cared to admit in the months after losing his powers, trying desperately to summon them back. He would set up his empty water jugs and concentrate with all the will he had, trying to control the wind and knock them over as easily as it once had.

  It’d never worked, and always left him feeling like a ridiculous child, playing at being a Jedi or being stuck in The Matrix. His powers were gone. He’d accepted it. It meant being less than he’d once been, acknowledging a weakness, a deformity. It made him feel like a paraplegic that’d lost all hope and finally accepted that they would never walk again.

  “Smoke,” said Chaste Widow.

  Malcolm glanced at the skinned rabbit he was cooking over the fire. It was starting to burn on one side.

  “Oh,” he said. “Right.”

  He put the fire out once the rabbit and fish were cooked. He didn’t have any plates or silverware, so he and Chaste Widow impatiently waited for the spitted meat to cool before digging into it with bare hands. The rabbit was tender and greasy. The fish was a little undercooked. Neither of them cared, and devoured both in far less time than it had taken Malcolm to prepare.

  “Thank you,” said Chaste Widow.

  “You’re welcome,” said Malcolm. “I think this is the first meal I’ve shared with someone else in months.”

  She furrowed her brow at that.

  “What about your friends?” she asked. “The other champions.”

  My friends…?

  Malcolm couldn’t stop himself from chuckling.

  “I’m not a champion anymore,” he said. “And as for having friends…”

  He shook his head. Chaste Widow gave him a pitying look, which coming from her, carried a significant weight.

  “Can I stay here tonight?” she asked.

  Malcolm nodded immediately. He’d only recently begun to discover how alone he was, and he didn’t like it.

  “Of course,” he said.

  CHAPTER 5

  The two of them spent some time in quiet companionship, neither of them saying much. Malcolm made another trip out to his traps, finally finding the energy to set up a second log trap and improve the fish nets. By the time he made it back to his hideout, the sun had long since set over the horizon.

  Chaste Widow had decided to stick around, and Malcolm offered her his mattress for the night. Her injuries were more pronounced than his, and it made him feel good inside to act as a generous host.

  “Sleep next to me,” she said.

  Malcolm shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “That’s… not a good idea, I don’t think. I have bad dreams.”

  “So do I.”

  She patted the spot next to her on the bed invitingly, but still, Malcolm refused. He was content with a blanket and an extra pillow. The concrete was cold and hard underneath him, but he took warmth from his actions earlier in the day. It was the first time in a long time that he’d stopped to care about someone other than himself.

  Malcolm slept easily, and probably more soundly than he should have. He dreamed of flying again, and was deep in the realm of fantastical memory when soft hands sliding under the waistband of his boxers drew him awake.

  Chaste Widow had slid off the mattress and joined him under his covers. Malcolm could feel her soft body against him. She was naked, the points of her breasts pushing against his shoulder as her hand fished around inside his underwear.

  “Uh…” moaned Malcolm. “What are you…?”

  He let his question die on his lips as her palm closed around his shaft. He’d developed an erection at some point during the night, even though his dreams had been tame. He breathed a sigh of pleasure as Chaste Widow slowly began to stroke her hand up and down. It had been such a long time.

  Why is she doing this? Does she feel like she has to?

  “…Stop,” Malcolm managed to say. “Please. I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything.”

  Chaste Widow didn’t stop. Malcolm guiltily let himself enjoy a few more seconds of the hot, stroking sensation before reaching out and taking her wrist.

  “Stop,” he repeated.

  “I’ve been forced to do this before,” whispered Chaste Widow. “This… and so much more. Just because I can’t kiss without killing doesn’t mean I can’t do… other things.”

  “I’m not forcing you,” said Malcolm. “And I never would. Please, let’s both just go back to sleep.”

  Cha
ste Widow disappeared under his blanket instead of listening. A second later, Malcolm felt a hot, wet tongue sliding circles over the tip of his erection with luxurious slowness.

  “Oh…” moaned Malcolm.

  “So many times, I didn’t have a choice,” she whispered. “Each time I thought… I’d be used to it, for the next time. But it doesn’t work like that. It just got worse and worse.”

  “Hey…” said Malcolm. “You aren’t thinking clearly. I’m a friend. Not somebody to force you into doing anything.”

  “It’s my choice!” snapped Chaste Widow. She gave his shaft another lick, as though to emphasize her point. “This time… I can choose you. Because you’ve been so kind to me. I can choose to share myself with you, and know that if you say yes, it’s out of kindness. And caring.”

  She kissed his thighs, and then all along his hardness.

  “Please…” whispered Chaste Widow. “Say yes. Let me do this for you.”

  Malcolm reached his hand down to her and cupped her cheek. The way she spoke of her pain, of all that had happened to her, was heartbreaking to him. He wanted to say no out of principle, out of a sense of what he felt was best for her, and what he felt she probably needed.

  Maybe it isn’t for me to decide what she needs.

  He gave a slow nod, and then almost gasped with pleasure as her lips engulfed his erection. He pressed his head back against the pillow, and for the first time in months, let himself fall back into a cloud of erotic pleasure.

  Chaste Widow kept going at an even pace, her mouth gliding with slow, sensual movements. The sensation stirred emotions in Malcolm that he hadn’t expected, remnants of his feelings for Rose and Tapestry. An echo of the sadness he’d felt when he’d first seen Chaste Widow as a slave.

  She kept up with her lips and tongue until Malcolm was at his bursting point, and then climbed forward. Malcolm came very close to forgetting the nature of her power as she carefully worked herself onto his rod, finding the right angle and exhaling as she slid down.

  For several minutes, the two of them were just a man and a woman. The dismal world outside was forgotten. Their injuries, the lack of food, rough conditions, it was all secondary to the gentle movements of their bodies and mutual erotic pleasure.

  Chaste Widow shuddered and made a tiny, climactic noise only seconds before Malcolm found his own release. The two of them shared his mattress for the night, not out of any deep, loving connection, but simple affection and companionship. They didn’t have much, but a peaceful night wasn’t too much to ask for.

  ***

  Or so Malcolm thought. It was deep into the night, only a few shades away from sunrise, when he heard the sound of movement coming from outside the hatch. He froze as he heard someone trying the handle, and then roughly knocking in an attempt to wake him up.

  One of the gangs has found my hideout. Even if they don’t get in today, they will eventually…

  Chaste Widow was tense on the mattress beside him. Malcolm was annoyed at the ideas percolating in his head. Perhaps they could lay a trap for whoever was outside, if he hid somewhere and she stayed in bed, naked and inviting? He pushed the plan aside immediately, knowing the toll it would take on the battered woman.

  “Wind Runner!” The voice was muffled, but Malcolm still recognized it. He breathed a slow side of relief and set an encouraging hand on Chaste Widow’s shoulder.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s a friend.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Malcolm and Chaste Widow dressed, and then climbed up the ladder and out of the hatch. He wasn’t able to completely let go of his tension until he’d made it outside and seen the faces of Wax, Anna, and Greenthumb in the dim predawn light.

  He couldn’t believe that they were still alive, and from the expressions on their faces, they couldn’t believe that he was, either. None of them rushed forward to pull him into a hug, though Malcolm sensed it was less out of desire, and more out of respect for the time they’d spent apart.

  Six months in this new world is like a decade in the old one…

  “You are sight for sore eyes,” said Wax. “Truly, Wind Runner. It’s a miracle that you’re still alive.”

  Malcolm nodded slowly, only then examining the champions in closer detail. Wax was no longer the pudgy, bald man who would have looked at home in a cubicle or in the driver’s seat of a bus. He was muscular now, and he wore a black trench coat that hung in a manner suggesting it carried several pounds of weapons.

  Greenthumb and Anna were standing close to each other, too close for Malcolm not to notice. Greenthumb was half leaning on his walking stick, and Anna had a bandage underneath her hair. They both looked worn, but still confident to carry out whatever their current mission entailed. Malcolm found his smile fading a little as he scanned over them a second time, his curiosity getting the better of him.

  “I would have figured Tapestry to be more the kind of champion to show up on my doorstep in the middle of the night,” he said. “She’s not with you… is she?”

  Wax frowned, and gave a small shake of his head. “We haven’t seen her since before the collapse. Sorry.”

  The words cut deeper into Malcolm than he’d expected them to. He closed his eyes and massaged his temples, feeling like a fool for having pushed her away at the worst possible time. If he’d found the words for an apology, found a way to make her listen to him, he could have protected her and Melanie, kept them from heading off on their own.

  “Wind Runner, don’t focus on what’s been lost,” said Wax. “The fact that you’re still in one piece is as close to a sign as we’re liable to get. The reports we’ve heard of Vanderbrook make it sound like a meat grinder, and Halter City is currently Multi’s main base of operations.”

  Malcolm frowned at that. He hadn’t heard much of Multi since their last encounter with him. It had been a trap that he’d managed to lure Malcolm, Tapestry, and Rose into, and he’d taken the opportunity to reveal the truth to Rose in a way that triggered an episode in her.

  “And elsewhere?” Malcolm asked. “Is there anywhere safe in the country, anymore? We don’t get much news here, outside of the occasional unsubstantiated rumor.”

  Wax and Greenthumb shared a look.

  “There aren’t many safe havens,” answered Greenthumb. “A few cities in California, and a handful in various midwestern states are still mostly intact. But threat of the demon Zeus keeps most of them from trying to establish themselves firmly.”

  Malcolm winced at the mention of Second Wind. If any of the others noticed, they didn’t let it show.

  “How much do you know about Zeus?” asked Malcolm.

  Wax shrugged. “Probably no more than you do.”

  “I… don’t necessarily think that’s the case.” Malcolm took a slow breath. “The three of you deserve to know the truth. All of it.”

  From the expressions on their faces, Malcolm knew that they had no idea what he was about to tell him. Even Chaste Widow drew in closer, coming around to the other side so she could see his face as he spoke.

  He started with the events from the last time “he” had seen them, just before he’d first split his life and shared it with Second Wind. Wax’s expression tightened when Malcolm explained his power mimicry and how he’d used it to borrow his power.

  He gave them a truncated version of his time as the Gifted Vigilante, purposely leaving out details relating to Rose, the other sprytes in the area, and Chaste Widow’s history. The important information all related to Second Wind, now known as Zeus, and he gave them that in full.

  When he finished, all three of the champions were staring at him, eyes dark. Malcolm sighed and felt part of the weight on his shoulders slide free.

  “I’m not sure how helpful any of this will be to you,” he said. “But I felt like you needed to know.”

  “So, all of this… is because of you?” asked Anna. “If you hadn’t made a copy of yourself…”

  “Millions of people would still be alive,” f
inished Malcolm. “The Champion Authority would still be strong enough to fight back against the monsters. Yes… It’s my fault.”

  “It’s no more your fault than Multi turning to evil was mine,” said Wax. “Though I do fault you for absorbing my power without my consent. I’m surprised it even worked for you. I didn’t realize that the seed of it was still in me, given that I can’t use it, myself.”

  “Copies can’t make their own copies,” said Malcolm. “Second Wind, or uh, Zeus, does have at least one limitation when it comes to how powerful he can be.”

  Greenthumb had stayed silent during Malcolm’s tale. He tapped his walking stick on the ground, his face pensive.

  “This only reinforces our reason for being here,” said Greenthumb. “You can still help us, Wind Runner. Even without your powers, you would be a useful ally. For example, could you guess at Zeus’s motive? The two of you shared a mind once, no?”

  Malcolm scratched his head. He’d considered it many, many times before, turning over the actions of his copy and examining all the angles.

  “He’s carrying a lot of pain,” said Malcolm. “Not just from my past, but from his present. And all of it… leads back to people and monsters abusing their abilities.”

  “Is this revenge for him, then?” asked Greenthumb.

  Malcolm shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t think so. I think he’s trying to burn the world down, so that he can lead the way to build it back up in the shape he wants.”

  In truth, Malcolm had no idea what Second Wind wanted. Trying to guess at the motives of a demon, even one that shared the better part of his memories, was an exercise in futility.

  “Wind Runner…” Wax’s expression was serious, and he locked eyes with Malcolm. “Will you join with us? We’re recruiting everyone we can. With enough champions and armed people, we might stand a shot at taking on Zeus, and any other monster that threatens the world.”

  Malcolm was already shaking his head before Wax had even finished speaking. It wasn’t a refusal based on doubt or fear. Rather, he felt as though his loyalty was still owed elsewhere.