by Eric Wood
She expected him to shout, to turn red, to smack her across the face. To get angry. Instead, he considered her for a moment and then straightened back up, nodding to himself. He turned away from her slightly and looked up at some unseen spot on the ceiling, seemingly lost in thought.
After what seemed like an eternal silence he finally spoke. "Ordinarily, we would proceed next with making you tell us the truth, with all the unseemly and unpleasant methods that entails. Though if this was an ordinary situation, I wouldn't be down here myself. Cleansing this territory — my territory — of your scourge has become, as of late, little more than a rote exercise. A simple, straightforward process at which my men have become exceedingly adept. Of course, this particular situation is quite far from ordinary, is it not? And you are far from an ordinary Ravager."
Roach shrugged. "Well, from here, you look a lot like an ordinary asshole."
He ignored her insult, continuing to stare up at the ceiling, continuing to think. "Building a city, building a civilization, is difficult work. It takes one with a certain strength of will to do what needs to be done. It takes one with the strength to unify those who would resist being saved. It takes vision to know the proper course, and it takes a certain sense of purpose to follow that path without doubt or fear. Do you not agree, Ravager?"
"Dude, I don't even know what you're talking about," Roach said.
"Of course you do not. My job is to lead this place back to the glory we had before our forebears brought the terrible folly of their own arrogance down upon us. To forge a gleaming beacon of civilization that the rest of the country — the rest of the world can follow back into the salvation of the light. I have done much to achieve this lofty goal, Ravager. I have forged an army of order from the gangs of defeated neighborhood warlords. I have secured mines of coal and rebuilt the old dynamos, returning electricity across the entirety of the city. I have come far in wresting order from what was only chaos."
He turned to her and held her gaze, slowly shaking his head before again looking away. "And yet there are those who still resist. Those who only care about power for its own sake; those that crave hedonistic pleasures and material goods. Those with no thought of anyone besides themselves; those that would do anything, no matter how terrible and destructive, in the service of their own short-sighted goals. Those that would invite chaos into our fragile order; those that would bring terrors like you into our midst."
"You sure like to talk, huh?" Roach said.
This man, despite his measured speech and immaculate dress, reminded her of Deacon. Deacon had always been convinced of his own greatness, his own superiority. That was what had made him so charismatic, and so frightening. Roach could immediately tell that this self-styled 'Lawbringer' believed in himself and his cause to a degree that would have made even Deacon blush.
It was how he spoke, the conviction in his voice. He stared into the middle distance with such fervor, quite obviously imagining the unblemished honor of his cause: Yes, this Roosevelt seemed to her completely certain of his own self-righteous purpose. That what he was doing was just. Deacon's confidence, for all its psychotic fervor, was always about what was good for Deacon. This Roosevelt was a believer.
"You know," Roosevelt said, "When my people first questioned you, you told them that it was you alone who killed all those Howlers, who killed all my soldiers. You alone, and no one else. Of course, every one of those same questioners insist that you were lying. That it had to be a full war-band of Ravagers responsible for all that carnage.” He paused, making a show if his consideration. “Now me, on the other hand, I think that you were telling the truth. And why do I think that? Because I believe that you aren’t just any old Ravager.” He shook his head. “No, no, no. What I believe you are is something entirely new."
This Roosevelt held her gaze like few of the sheep-men had ever been able to, with an intensity she found disconcerting. His eyes were glowing, but not with fear. With purpose. Excitement almost. Roach looked away, and immediately felt a hot rush of shame at doing so.
She turned back to find him smiling. "I believe you may be some new tool my enemy — my last great enemy — has set against me. Why else would you appear now, when I am so close to defeating her for good? Coincidence? There is no such thing as coincidence. No, no other explanation fits this particular puzzle quite so well. The only correct answer could be that you are one of Ki's creatures. Whether she made you herself, or simply found you, it makes no difference. She has once again failed, and now you belong to me."
Roach shook her head and laughed, trying to keep from losing her composure completely in the face of Roosevelt's tirade. "Sure, guy. You've got it all figured out, seems like. Don't know why you're even bothering talking to me. Other than, you know, you seem to really like talking."
"Ki will stop at nothing in her crusade to destroy me and take control of this city," Roosevelt spat back, real anger edging into his voice for the first time. "She will say all the right things, tell all the right lies, but in the end, she cares about nothing but her own uncontested power. She will plunge Cheyenne into anarchy and flame. She will rule over the city's ashes if that's what it comes down to. You owe her no loyalty, Ravager."
Roach eyed Rend, realizing for the first time that Roosevelt had focused entirely on her. He doesn't realize what Rend really is, she understood. Roosevelt sees how I look and how I dress, and the scars and tattoos, and he sees the Ravager I was. Maybe she hadn't changed nearly as much on the outside as she had on the inside, but Rend sure had. He looked completely different from the Howler he'd been only a day ago. Roosevelt thinks he's just some Uninfected schmuck from the Wilds that might have caught what I have.
Noticing her gaze, Roosevelt finally shifted his attention to Rend. Part of her cursed her own foolishness in betraying her thoughts, but another part of her was simply glad that the Lawbringer's attention was directed somewhere other than at her. Whatever else you could say about the man — and Roach could say plenty, even after only knowing him for a few minutes — there was a certain weight to his will. She might have tried to play it off as nothing, but it had been bearing down on her considerably. Now that it was gone her thoughts felt somehow lighter. Relieved.
"And what to make of you, boy?" Roosevelt said, pacing slowly in front of Rend. "Dressed like a drifter, keeping company with a Ravager, and all of this without a weapon and not more than a few hundred yards from my dead soldiers. While I'll admit the girl piques my interest a bit more, you are somewhat of a mystery yourself. Perhaps I should be asking you my questions. You are still human, after all. What do you say, boy? Care to make things easier on yourself? All you have to do is talk."
"I don't know anything," Rend croaked. He was bent over with his hands on his knees, staring at the floor. He didn't sound scared, but despite trying his best to hide it, Roach could tell he was still feeling sick. Her stomach twisted itself just a bit in sympathy with him.
Roosevelt grabbed a fistful of Rend's sweat-slicked hair and wrenched the younger man's head upward, so he couldn't help but look the ruddy-faced Lawbringer in the eye.
"She is a Ravager!" Roosevelt screamed. "One that can pass as human. An abomination that threatens this entire city!" He barked out each word louder than the last, until he was on the edge of a full roar. His ruddy complexion had darkened a few notches to a purplish brick-red. He took a deep breath and calmed himself. "You'll tell me what I want to know, boy. You only have to decide whether you want to do it now, or after we pull off some of your fingernails."
Here is the real Lawbringer, Roach thought. The version of himself that Roosevelt had no doubt kept well-hidden from the rest of his people. She felt like things had reached a sort of tipping point. One more wrong word and she was certain Roosevelt's fury would erupt fully. At least Rend was the one in that eruption’s direct path, and not her.
Which is why she couldn't believe what she did next. She burst out laughing.
"You are an even bigger moron than I
thought," she told Roosevelt. "Don't get me wrong, when I saw those stupid medals and that even stupider mustache, I knew you were a fool, but...wow, you're really something. A true moron among morons; a moron king. Which of those medals is for that?"
Roosevelt returned his attention to her, the smile that seemed glued to his face doing a poor job of hiding his mounting fury. "You have something to say, do you?" he asked, a tiny warble marring his courteous tone.
And now it was time to get really stupid. "It's just that, if you thought I was as dangerous as you say," she said, "you shouldn't have gotten this close to me." Just as he stepped to within arm’s length, she snapped out her hand and struck him in the neck, just below his thick chin.
She was on her feet in an instant, winding back her other fist for an overhand hay-maker and aiming her teeth just above that broom-like mustache. She was bound to get a beating at the end of this little conversation; she might as well earn it.
And leave this red-faced dick with something to remember me by while I'm at it.
Her entire body suddenly flared with blinding, roaring pain. Her vision turned white as it felt like her entire nervous system was being seared on an overheated engine block. She lost consciousness for a moment; when it returned, she found herself down on the cold concrete floor with every one of her muscles clenched up and filled with liquid fire.
Roosevelt's voice wafted down on her from somewhere high above. "Now, you didn't think that I'd enter your cage without taking appropriate precautions. You're a wild animal, after all. And I am not, despite what you may think, a moron."
Roach groaned as her muscles began to relax slightly. She had been on the business end of a taser enough times in her life to recognize the feeling, now that sense had started re-establishing itself in her skull. It must have been implanted, she realized. When she had rushed Roosevelt, she had taken care to wait till his bulk had screened her from his guards' sight-lines. Well, it was worth a shot. And if that's the worst I'm going to get, then —
"Your baton, soldier," Roosevelt said. Roach was able to sit up enough to see him flick the black rod to its full extension. Okay, she thought, so it's going to get a bit worse. "You brought this barbarity on yourself, Ravager. But insubordination cannot go unpunished." He drew back the rod as Roach tried unsuccessfully to raise an arm high enough to ward off the impending blow.
An earsplitting roar sounded, coming from seemingly everywhere in the room. There was a flash of movement to Roosevelt's right — fur and teeth and claws — before the Lawbringer was knocked to the ground. Roach craned her head and saw that Rend had collided with Roosevelt. He was now convulsing on the cell floor under the effects of his own implanted taser. But it wasn't the Rend who had been sitting in the cell with her earlier. His fingernails had extended into one-inch claws, and likewise, four large, slightly curved fangs protruded from his mouth. His legs and his arms, even his jaw had all lengthened. He didn't look quite like a 'real' Howler, but he likewise wasn't the Uninfected-looking young man she had become accustomed to.
An image flashed through her mind, a memory of the previous night. She had lifted a soldier off the ground with a single hand, and it had been no more difficult than it would have been before Deacon stuck her with that damned serum. In that moment, she'd had every bit of her old strength; more, even. It looked like her blood might have had a similar effect on Rend.
Maybe Roosevelt hadn't been entirely wrong about them after all. They were indeed something new.
The Lawbringer seemed to share her realization. He scrambled to his feet, assisted by his guards. He wore a giddy smile, despite his heavy, puffing breath. "That, men," he said, pointing down at Rend with a single shaking finger. "That is what we are looking for. That is what will win this war. Shock him again, then take him down to the labs and strap him down." He turned to Roach and continued, "Leave her. Perhaps some time alone will loosen her tongue, or at least fix her attitude. Tell Marcus to meet us at the lab."
Two of the masked guards grabbed Rend's limp form from either side and carried him out. Roosevelt followed them out before locking Roach in the cell, alone.
He turned back to her, wearing the same wide, white smile with which he had entered. "Perhaps you need to reconsider your situation, Ravager. Things can still get much worse for you. Take some time to reflect. But first —"
He nodded to one of the remaining guards, and Roach's body again exploded in pain. And for the second time in two days, she was thrown violently down into unconsciousness.
16
After Madame Ki outlined the broad strokes of her plan to rob her rival the Lawbringer, Elena and her goon squad led Abigail and Sam out of Ki's office and down into the tunnels below the city. They trudged through the winding, dimly lit depths until eventually the path ascended and spit them out somewhere that nearly resembled civilization.
The tunnel never actually ended. It just widened, gradually, until eventually Sam and Abigail found themselves at one end of a stadium-sized cavern. The cave was dark, but no more so than the surface at night, with light showing in pockets around both a handful of yellow-white fluorescents high up on the cavern's roof and flickering orange barrel fires spaced out along its floor. These scattered bits of illumination revealed an entire undercity of ramshackle dwellings and shops and bars that stretched semi-chaotically from one side of the cavern to the other. Along the edges of the cave, mismatched, unstable constructions climbed up the walls like rotting-wood vines and rusted-metal ivy.
Elena and the giant led them through the underground city. Even more so than on the surface streets, the people here seemed quiet, reserved, and wary. Sam would spot people watching them a few dozen yards ahead, only to find those same people had somehow melted away into the darkness by the time they reached them. It felt almost like there was an invisible bubble around them, pushing people out and away as they passed. Sam wondered if they were afraid of Ki's people specifically, or if they kept away from anyone that hailed from the surface. Either way, this whole place was unsettling.
Eventually they reached the end of this strange cave city and found themselves at the mouth of another tunnel. Unlike the last one, however, this one had been squared off into an upward sloping hallway, its entrance blocked by a heavy metal door and two armed guards. The door was opened for them: inside was what seemed to be a sort of apartment lobby. From there Elena led them to what was to be, for the next seven days at least, their room.
Sam walked the entire way in a sort of daze. Even Elena's vague and perhaps overly enthusiastic warnings of the Infected still roaming the tunnels wasn't enough to get him out of his own head. Had his own Colony — his own people — really put out a bounty on him? Sure, it was always possible that Madame Ki was lying to him, manipulating him, but what would be the benefit in that for her? She already knew both who he was and why he had come to the city. She had to know she didn't need any further incentive to get him to go along with her plan. All of this boiled down to a single question — a single word: Why? No matter how long he bounced it around in his mind, he couldn't come up with any answers that made sense.
Maybe they just want me back, he thought. Maybe this is the only way they could find me. Maybe they're worried about me.
That's funny, Sammy boy, Vincente's voice spoke in his ear, laughing wearily. Retrieval job? Sound familiar? That's why they have people like you and me. Long-range Scouts. You think they'd risk giving the job to some Wilds yahoo if they were worried about getting you back in one piece? A bounty isn't a rescue mission, Sam. Don't forget, I did tell you not to trust those people.
Then what am I even doing here? Sam wondered. Why am I still pursuing this fool's errand?
Vincente didn't answer that question.
"Here is your room, kids," Elena said. Abigail entered the room, and Sam followed. "Get comfortable," Elena added, "you'll be staying here till we do the job. Try not to trash the place."
Sam looked back just in time to see Elena walking back down the
hall they had just traversed. A moment later, he watched as Highmane's thick slab of an arm pushed the door shut. Sam noticed that it didn't appear that Highmane was going anywhere.
The sound of something smashing against the wall roused him from his thoughts. He turned to see the remains of what was probably some sort of vase at the foot of the far wall. Abigail stood a few feet away, the obvious source of the vase's demise, silently fuming.
"I think she told us not to trash the place," Sam said.
He looked around the room for the first time. It wasn't a room so much as a collection of rooms. A living area, with a table and couch and a large curtained window at its rear, a small bathroom, and two darkened bedrooms. The whole thing was a lot nicer than he’d expected, if he was being honest.
"She dictates terms to us like we've already agreed to them," Abigail said, apparently to herself, as she paced the room. "She ferries us this way and that, whispers her veiled threats like she thinks we don't really hear them, and then she throws us in this cell, this cage. Unbelievable."
Sam watched her pace, vaguely confused by her words. Either she saw far more than was actually there, or he saw far less. "I don't know if this could really be considered a cage," he said. "It's pretty nice, actually, all things considered. We've even got a window. If she was really worried about keeping us here, why would she put us somewhere with a built-in escape hatch?"
Abigail stopped pacing and stared at Sam, crossing her arms over her chest. "Really, Sam?" He knew the eye-roll was coming before she actually did it. "This place might be a fancy cage, but it's a cage all the same. You don't believe me?"
She walked over to the window and pulled back the curtain. Behind it was the setting sun burning copper over a blackened skyline of low towers.