Dusk Territories: Always Burning

by Munden, Deston

  With a painful lurch, Wood sat up. Drifter noticed the movement, acknowledging it with his fierce blue eyes. “Welcome back, sonny.”

  “Wher—“he couldn’t even finish his word before his throat shut from pain.

  “Don’t talk. Just ride.”

  Wood took the advice with grace and relaxed himself.

  “I don’t know if ya ‘member him. Bardon Grimstad.” Drifter pointed to the cockpit with the crown of his head. “Why don’t you say hello, bubba?”

  “Howdy,” Bardon responded.

  “And he brought some company.”

  Wood knew now what happened.

  It rained fire.

  Bardon Grimstad was one of the few people besides Drifter with a plan. He controlled what was formerly a piece of the Air Force. Thusly, he had weapons. Without a president, without an order, most people in his power would have run with it. Yet, the only two things that mattered to him once the world went to hell were his daughter and protection of the people. He and plenty of his high ranking buddies settled within places along the Tear, for a moment like this.

  “Thanks for calling me, Wood. Would shake your hand, busy piloting this here helicopter.”

  Wood nodded his thanks as well. Drifter relayed it for him, adding: “Thanks for saving my boy.”

  Bardon chuckled. “Always coming to save your ass is getting old, man. But consider it a pleasure.”

  Drifter shared in the laughter, but unlike most times, it didn’t reach his eyes. Those eyes stayed focused on the burning. Gunfire and explosions sung into the air. Nothing seemed to faze him; he just pulled the brim over his brow. The grin on his face felt different, like his voice. Where before it held some amusement to how twisted the world was. Now, it held something different, something that even the closest person to the Drifter couldn’t figure out.

  “Grimstad. Pardon me for bein’ a bad host.”

  The thin dark skinned man with a long greying ponytail nodded, saying: “Are you late for a party, Drift?”

  “No. The party doesn’t start until I get there. But, still, I don’t want my guests to fight over the appetizers when they don’t got the main course.”

  Lowering altitude, the helicopter swung down. Grimstad held an amazing control over his aircraft, weaving through the worst of it all. As they descended, Wood saw the rest of the Drifter’s team as well as a captive. The young person was held up by Pub, bound by a thick cord and a hood over his head. He had been stripped of all weapons and gear, his upper body completely bare. Burns lined his body from the airstrikes, but was treated well. No one wanted him to die before Drifter got there.

  Undulating of the helicopter’s propellers startled him. His small head whipped back and forth, trying to figure out what the sound was. Fear settled well from the darkness of the cowl that covered his head and bound his neck. Sweat gleamed from his body. The Tear was hot, the flames didn’t help much.

  “Meet our honored guest,” Drifter said, fixing his hat firmly on his head and giving Wood a hand up. “This is our honored guest and Grandson of the order known as the Ancestors. I present you, Mr. Damien Howard.”

  They stepped off the helicopter, the winds still whipping all around them. Wood passed Drifter his cane, which he declined. “You use it my boy, you need it more than me right now.” His legs wobbled underneath him, quaking and unsteady. Grateful, Wood did as he was told and used the cane as his strength.

  “Allow me to introduce myself, Mr. Howard,” Drifter said approaching the man. “I’m the Drifter, and your kind has sinned against me.” In a soft, deliberate motion, he untied the cord around Damien’s throat. “What do you say of that?” He pulled the black cloth from the man’s head as the engines of the helicopter turned off behind them.

  Damien gave a loud gasp as he took in free air. His slick brown hair was dripping sweat, and he coughed violently. He looked like a child pretending to be a man with his tuff of a beard and quaking expression. “You know never mind. Breathe, we have all day. Relax,” he was told as he whined. “Allow me to talk to you for a minute. Just give into an old man’s ramblin’.”

  “You see. I’ve been thinkin’. What if bees watched flowers die? Just never had the energy to go from one to another. What’s the quote, you can bring a horse to water but you can’t make it drink. So, does the horse want to die of thirst as it watches the water? Or does it prefer being drowned in it, I wonder? Drink or drown was the choices I was given. Life or withering. Tell me what would you choose, Mr. Howard?”

  “Drink…life…” the soldier coughed.

  “Classic choice. That’s the choice I made too. Congratulations. Life. Drink. But what if the pond is empty? What if the flowers die? What then. What are we left with? That choice was taken from us. We didn’t get to drink. These people,” he extended his arms, “They’re dyin’ of thirst and watching their flowers die. For what reason…”

  “I kept asking myself that over and over.” Drifter lowered himself to the man’s level, squatting. “I don’t have that answer. I just don’t. Who? I have that answered. Why? I don’t. Can you tell me why? Or is it the same reason that a wolf prefers to eat meat, it’s just in their nature.”

  “Why are you holding me captive?”

  “Why?” Drifter repeated in mockery. “Please don’t question me with that word when there’s already so many whys left to be answered. Just accept that you are.” Drifter seized the man’s hair, yanking his head back. “Formalities are slowly coming to an end. So I’m gonna get to the chase. Beg my pardon for bein’ blunt but I’m lookin’ for the Father.”

  Damien went pale. “I don’t know,” the answer had come quickly. “Even if I did know—“

  “You would rather die than tell, same talk I hear every time. I’m tired of that. That ain’t true. In the end, fish swim, dogs run, birds fly, and people talk.”

  Wood and everyone else knew what that meant. Threats weren’t an integral part of Drifter’s arsenal. Instead, he would persuade. Intoxicating words often left his lips. Now, they were poisonous.

  Drifter tilted his head, let go of his hold, and lowered himself to the man’s ear. He whispered. Word after word, the man’s eyes became larger and larger. The speaker kept his head lower, the listener almost quivering at each specific detail. By the end, Damien was the color of flour, staring at the person before him. To him, it probably didn’t even seem like a man anymore.

  “You’re—you can’t be human. You’re a demon, or a mutant. Something. You’re from hell, Drifter.”

  “Hell? The one you all created or the one already established?” He pulled down his sunglasses. “Pick one. Don’t matter to me, lamb.”

  “You’ll start a war!”

  “It’s already been started, and we didn’t get a chance to fight.” Ashes from the fires whistled their way in between the two men. A breeze swept upwards, causing Drifter’s white hair to fan around his ears. “Y’all did this to yourself. You started this war. Now, we’re gonna finish it. Whether it takes years or decades. Y’all, no matter the reason, started this. Every one of you…will pay for it.”

  The ashes in air couldn’t match the ashes in Damien’s mouth.

  “Sir. Should we…” Pub trailed off, pulling the man to his feet.

  “Kill him? Maim him? Torture him?” Heron asked.

  “No.” Drifter watched Damien’s face get some color back. “Well no in a sense.” He amended, seeing that color die again. “He still has a use. He hasn’t sung yet. And he will sing, won’t he, Wood?”

  Wood nodded. It was the simple truth of the matter. What did Drifter say, people talked? Yes, they did. Their mouths loosened eventually. I’ll see red this time.

  18

  Endgame: Concept

  “You’ve ventured a long way, but you’ll never be home. In the end, you’ll wish you hadn’t traveled so far.”

  You can’t shake the feeling. Can you?

  Graham could smell them, even when h
uddled in the dark corner of a former operation room. Thick shadows tumbled around them, winding endlessly as light poured from the dirty windows. Dust drifted above them, circling and landing on old operation equipment still brown from rust and blood. The metal table had been turned to its side for cover, with any reinforcement they could find. Now, they just waited, weapons pointed at the door.

  They needed to escape, but the storm of boots didn’t end. A break in the formation was all they wished for. The second floor to the ground could be easily scaled. However, Rachel’s bad leg made that impossible. In his right mind, he couldn’t leave her. That doesn’t mean the thought hadn’t entered his mind. You’re trying to save everyone again, his mind warned. They trust you with their lives. Can you hold them? No matter what, they were going to leave together. That was why they were going to make their stand here.

  “I don’t see why you don’t just leave me,” Rachel protested.

  “You’re too urgent to die.” Graham spat out the words with more poison than he intended. No. Because you’ll feel like a failure if you did.

  “You’ll be halfway out of here by now.”

  “For what? Them to torture you, or something horrible? I’m not stupid, Rachel, stop suggesting.” ‘Cause you couldn’t possibly have that guilt on your mind, could you, Corporal? Graham pushed his consciousness away.

  Everyone nodded in agreement.

  “We’ll wait for a break in their defense. Then we’ll double back to the city.”

  The plan wasn’t completely formulated in his head. But, it would have to do. Despite it all, the next part of the plan had to be in place no matter what happened here. It kept people alive. “Just focus on protecting yourself. If we’re lucky, we can get out of here without even shooting a bullet. And—everyone down.”

  Everyone dove behind the metal table, guns held tight to their chest. The sounds of boots were loud now. Soldiers, maybe ten of them, walked into the room. They moved in slow thoughtful motions. Graham could see the soles of their boots and shadows from the crack between the floor and the table. Words were exchanged amongst the men. The men kept their mouths in whispers, eavesdropping on them nearly impossible.

  Though their words were incomprehensible, their intent wasn’t. Graham felt their blood rushing through their veins somehow, smelled them. His heighten senses sensed hearts throbbing from adrenaline. Again, the side of his head ached. A blaze of pain shot from one side of his skull to another like a gunshot rocketing through his skull. He was trying not to growl, not to flinch. But, it hurt. Something was off.

  What the hell, he told himself. All of this felt familiar. Déjà vu struck, lingering over him like a bad dream. Worst of all, a bubbling anger whirled in his chest. Graham suppressed it, pushing it back. Yet, it didn’t leave. It stayed even when the soldiers left the room.

  “Something wrong?” Forrest whispered.

  Graham opened his mouth, but couldn’t put it into words.

  Emelle looked at him, her mouth in a solid line. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” As much as he didn’t want to alarm them, his gut was turning. Adrenaline was lost to him in this ghoul-like state, so it was something else. “I’m angry. No clue why.” Oh you know why. You’ve always known.

  “Well, chico, we’re six people trapped in a medical facility currently guarded by people with better guns and sinister powers than us,” Juvenico said. “Quite frankly, I’m pretty pissed too.”

  Graham gave a low growl. “That’s not completely the reason I’m pissed.” It sure didn’t help the situation. “I have a hunch. A hunch that something bad is going to happen. Something is way too familiar in all of this.”

  Putting that out in the open like that made the feelings worse. It’s justified. You know why. But you don’t want to see it. He pushed his feelings aside, glancing over the side of the metal table. He nodded. “We’re clear. I’ll move in first.”

  Crouching, Graham moved his way from behind the cover, staying in the darkness. He moved slower, weapon poised. The landscape of the room made it easy to transition from cover to cover. Small crevices were indented all along the wall, allowing him to move from point to point. He slipped his body in between the small areas, allowing his eyes to search the room more clearly. A quick nod to the rest of the team gave the confirmation that he planned to go in further.

  He kept his movements swift, staying to cover even though the room was empty. Even moving through it this way, something felt terribly wrong. Regret seeped into his chest almost halfway through the room. You know how this ends; you’ve been through this already. The better part of him combated that thought with all his vigor. However, it fought back as though it was right. This bothered him, even when he made it to the opened door.

  Graham cleared the room with a hand signal.

  The rest of the party followed suit, keeping their surroundings as best as they could. Graham watched them from behind the door. To him, it felt slow. Everything felt really slow. As much as he wanted to shout, he knew that wasn’t wise. Then…it happened. A howl of green flames split him from the rest of the group. Soldiers seeped into the room, storming every section. A few quickly grabbed on to Graham, pulling his arms behind his back. And you made the same mistake twice.

  “You’re so predictable, Graham-cracker.”

  River walked in, flanked by even more men. Her long hair swept behind her as she entered. She kept her fingers her lips, as she looked at the pray that she caught. “Brinkies, I found them!”

  “What the hell, River!” Graham pointed the gun at her, yet she still seemed unfazed by the metal.

  “You escaped me once, Graham. Did you honestly think that I would let it happen again? You are still not strong enough to beat me. No matter what, you are soldier and I’m something much more. That’s NOT going to change. So you can put that gun down. You know how this works by now. This time, no interference.”

  “That’s enough, River.”

  The voice resonated in the echoing room, one that Graham recognized.

  A young man walked into the room, FAL-N in his hand. His walk was regal, his shoulders squared. The man looked around almost completely unaware that anyone existed. Instead, he looked at Graham as though nothing else seemed to matter. His thin body showed an itching for excitement. The cold eyes were alive with amusement. He aimed his gun, a smile on his face. “You should have stayed dead, David.”

  Then, Graham knew him and regretted that he did. “Phillip?”

  “So, you remember me…?” Brink said, not even bother denying.

  “But—“He was dead. Graham knew that because he saw his corpse. You knew from the beginning he wasn’t dead. You didn’t see his corpse. You convinced yourself that you did. Think about it. Name the one thing that didn’t make sense when you woke up. Oh that’s right. The skull…the eyes are always the first to go… “You are—“

  “Dead? No, that was supposed to be your job.” Brink, or Private Phillip Kingsley, gave an annoyed sigh. Brink was always his nickname. That’s why you killed that man brutally in the Boneyard for even saying it. You knew it was Kingsley. You knew. You always knew. “I suppose my sister had something to do with this. Been giving you clues, has she? She has never been as good with strings as I have. Her loyalties were always pretty bad.”

  “Celine?”

  “Oh she’s going under that name. Poor girl.”

  “What’s wrong with you, Phillip?” No, what’s wrong with you, David! You know you couldn’t trust from the very beginning. That’s why you had a hard time trusting, and was looking for it ever since you woke up. You gave up your trust. Gave it away and he crushed it. How can you give away something you never had?

  “Me?” Brink said, surprised. “You’re the one that tripped over something that you shouldn’t have. And you paid…with a price. You remember don’t you?”

  Graham’s voice crumbled in his throat. Of course you remember.

 
“You don’t. Let me remind you. River, drop the flames.”

  River did so with a snap of her fingers. And not a second later, a bullet soared through the air. It slammed into Rachel’s forehead, snapping her neck backwards. She tumbled to the floor, blood oozing from the open gash in her head. Death struck her, even before she hit the ground. “That was how Ken died, remember?”

  That was exactly how Ken died. After the SAME call to escape, you brought them out of cover too early.

  Graham could only watch as the rest of the team huddled around her.

  “Still don’t remember?” Brink mocked. He shot another time, this time in a spray of fire. The attack was sudden, hitting Emelle and Forrest in the chest and arms. Death too came for them. Emelle cried weakly as she died, holding onto Forrest’s hands. “You remember now, don’t you? You were always the strong one, so you more often than not forget that there are those weaker than you. Weaker people die, Graham. And now you are watching it play out all over again.

  “Stop it! Just stop it!” Graham tried to wrestle away from his captors. “What did I do to you?” he shouted. “Why are you doing this?” He’s done this before. Why does he need a reason to do it again? This is your fault. It’s been your fault. You brought them here. You made the same mistakes. The most painful memories are the ones you refused to remember.

  “It’s nothing personal. I promise. Quite frankly, I liked you when we worked together. But, I do know what hurts you. I know what breaks you. You two,” Brink pointed to Raleigh and Juvenico. “Come here.”

  The two remaining men scrambled to their feet, blood of their friends on their body. But, they didn’t go there. They stood their ground. They fired their weapons, sending a shower of bullets singing through the air. It would have worked, if not for River. Her flames caught the bullets inches before they could strike flesh. She giggled at the last stand before snapping her fingers, setting Raleigh ablaze with her flames.