The Fire and the Free City

by Eric Wood

  Sam nodded toward his own already-raised hands. The Company man nodded and lowered his weapon slightly. Now it was only pointing toward Sam's chest, rather than his face. Perhaps not quite the deescalating gesture the man thought it was, but Sam wasn't in a position to argue.

  "See, isn't that better than fighting, or running through the streets like a crazy person?"

  "What do you want?" Sam asked. With the Company agent's attention off of him, Rend took a small step toward him, no doubt getting ready to strike. Sam met Rend's eyes and gave him a slight shake of the head.

  "I already told you, Sam, I — we just want to talk. We tried to be patient with you, but everyone's patience has a limit. We want that drive, Sam, and we're done asking nicely."

  "I don't remember you asking at all," Sam said.

  The Company man shrugged. "A figure of speech. What I mean is we tried all the...we've tried taking a lighter approach, and well, it's just not working out. So, direct it is. You give us the damn thing, right now, or things become very bad for you. The boss may have said he didn't want you hurt, but I refer you back to what I said about patience."

  "Your boss is an idiot," Sam said. "Or maybe it's just you that's the idiot. Roosevelt says he doesn't want me hurt, but he's okay with you stabbing one of Ki's main people? When you killed Highmane, you started a war. You realize that, don't you?"

  The Company man shrugged again. "You're not wrong, at least not about Roosevelt being an idiot. The man is also vain, pompous, and shockingly easy to manipulate. But him being our boss? Now there you are wrong. Don't worry about that, though, it's an understandable mistake. You'll meet the real boss soon enough. In fact, we're going to take you right to him. You can explain to him exactly where you've been keeping that damnable drive."

  You probably don't want to meet this guy's boss, Sam, Vincente's voice told him.

  No, Sam thought, I don't think I do.

  What he needed was a plan. You know, V, it would be nice if you pulled your weight once and a while, instead of just telling me what I already know.

  Sorry, Vincente's voice replied, but as I'm just a manifestation of your own guilt and unresolved grief, I can't do a whole lot more than that.

  What Sam needed to do, he decided, was to stall for time. Keep the man talking.

  "I'd love to know how you're planning on getting us to this mysterious boss of yours," Sam said. "Ki knows what's happening a hundred miles away. She's got to know by now that a Company agent killed her man. You're not going to get out of this market alive."

  "Oh, you don't need to worry about that," the Company man said. He looked down at his watch. "Ki and Roosevelt are about to have some much more immediate problems than us."

  He nodded to one of his fellow agents, who then reached a hand into his jacket.

  A moment later, the explosions started.

  38

  You're going to teach me some manners, huh?

  Abigail brought her wrist up and into the underside of the Company Reaper's arm, breaking his vise-like grip on her shoulder. At the same time, she leaned back, raising a foot off the ground, her knee tight to her chest. She pushed her foot forward with all of her strength, and her front kick lifted her opponent off the ground and launched him away from her. He hit spine-first against the trunk of a nearby tree, the crack of the impact like a gunshot, the powerful collision dislodging leaves, dirt, and small twigs which rained down around them like falling ash.

  "How is that for manners?" Abigail said. She raised her pistol, aiming for the Reaper's head. The bullets in his chest may not have put him down for long, but she was hoping a couple in the brain would have a more lasting impact. She fired two quick shots; the Reaper ducked to the side, and the rounds buried themselves into the tree.

  She caught motion out of the corner of her eye: either the fight or the gunshots had attracted the attention of the Company Reaper's companions. They were shouting and running straight for them, any attempts at stealth now abandoned.

  "Roach, handle them," she called, pointing toward the newcomers. She hoped these weren't more Reapers. Her threats to Roach previously hadn't been empty boasts; Ravager or no, Roach wouldn't have much chance against a Reaper.

  Roach cast her a wide, very Ravager-like smile. "I thought you'd never ask." She turned toward the approaching soldiers and took off at a sprint.

  A leg that felt more like a swinging iron rod struck Abigail's ankles, knocking her feet out from underneath her.

  Right, she thought as she fell, nearly headfirst, there's still that small matter of the Reaper trying to kill me.

  Rather than fighting her momentum, she swung into it, kicking her feet further into the air and extending her arms past her head and down toward the ground. Her hands caught the ground and she flipped backward, landing in a crouch facing her opponent.

  "Damn it, girl, quit wasting my time," he said. "Do you really think I came alone? Your fight is hopeless." He pulled a small, curved blade from a sheath at his back and took a fighting stance.

  She glanced over toward where Roach had engaged the Company man's companions. She had one lifted nearly off the ground by a single arm, the limb bent upward at an unnatural and quite painful-looking angle. Roach wrenched his rifle from his grip and fired a wild shot at the other one, causing him to dive to the ground to avoid the bullet.

  "You might need better help," Abigail said.

  He laughed. "You think those idiots are the only ones with me? There are more where they came from. Many more." He began to advance, toward her, blade first. "Don't worry, you won't be around to see them."

  "One of us won't," Abigail answered. She had four knives stashed at various points on her person. She pulled out the two largest, smiled, and prepared to dance.

  The head Company man, Cutter, led Rend and Sam quickly through Cheyenne's alleys and side streets, while the two others held pistols on them to make sure they didn't try to run or fight. All around the sounds of chaos wracked the city. In the west plumes of inky black smoke rose against the sky; minutes earlier a series of three explosions had come from that same direction. Rend could hear sounds of people screaming and windows breaking in the distance, oddly enough in the opposite direction.

  They came to the end of a narrow alley and the leader raised a fist, signaling the group to stop. He peeked his head around the edge of the nearer building, checking as he had at the last three corners to make sure their path was clear. Unlike the last three corners, this time shouts and a short burst of gunfire greeted the Company man's glance.

  He swore and pulled his head back behind the corner of the decaying brick building. "Hostiles left, at least three. Small arms. Martinez, forward. O'Brien, keep the package secure."

  O'Brien grabbed Rend and shoved him face-first up against the wall; a second later Sam was up next to him.

  "This is probably our best chance," Rend said.

  "And probably when O'Brien there is most likely to get spooked and accidentally shoot us," Sam said.

  "As opposed to intentionally shooting us?"

  "Hey," O'Brien barked. "Quiet, both of you."

  "All I'm saying," Sam whispered, "is we may only have one shot at this. We need to pick our spot carefully."

  Ahead of them, the pops of distant gunfire had begun to intensify. Cutter and the third Company man, both of whom had been returning fire, were forced back by the fire of an increasing threatening opposition.

  "Though you may have a point about this being our best chance."

  Cutter produced a grenade from his jacket. He tore the pin away with his teeth and tossed the explosive blindly around the corner. There was the low thump of an explosion, and the gunfire temporarily ceased. The Company men resumed their fire ahead.

  "What the hell is going on?" Rend asked.

  "I wish I knew," Sam said. "Though it sure seems like these dicks are behind it. Maybe behind everything."

  Sam grunted as O'Brien shoved the end of his pistol into the back of his ribs. "Shut
your mouths. This is your last warning."

  Rend cast Sam a smile and shrugged, turning slightly away from the wall and toward him. "You know, Sam, sometimes it’s better to make your own opportunities."

  O'Brien frowned, his brow furrowing. "Alright, I warned you." He swung the butt of his pistol at Rend's eye.

  Rend still hadn't figured out how to regain his hunting form, but he wasn't exactly helpless in his current condition. In his initiation hunt, he had taken down a full-sized Elk with only an ancient hunting knife. Just a year later, barely twelve summers old, he had fought and killed a grizzly bear with nothing more than his own half-grown claws. He may not have even those claws at the moment, but he still remembered how to fight.

  And this O'Brien was no grizzly bear.

  Rend ducked and got a hand underneath the Company man's pistol, forcing it up and to the side. He swung with his other hand, landing a fist just under the man's ribs. A counter-punch collided into Rend's nose; it knocked his head back and caused an explosion of white to fill his vision momentarily. Still, Rend kept a hold on the man's gun hand, using all of his strength to keep the pistol pointed harmlessly up in the air.

  Sam grabbed the Company man from behind, hooking one arm under his gun hand and the other around his throat. O'Brien yelled for his comrades before Rend hit him in the mouth with two quick overhand lefts, and the man's head slumped to the side.

  Shouts drew Rend's attention toward the other Company men. More had arrived, what looked like a whole platoon. "Get on the ground or you're getting a bullet!" the leader shouted, pointing his pistol their way and advancing toward them in a half-crouch. Behind him, the other one, Martinez, was still trading fire with whoever was around the corner.

  Sam let O'Brien go and raised his hands, letting the unconscious Company man slide to the ground. Rend held his own hands up as well, though slightly lower, just in front of his face: he wasn't about to surrender again. With a low growl he prepared to rush his approaching captor.

  Suddenly, Cutter's eye went wide, and he shifted his aim past Rend and fired a quick volley of shots. A burst of return fire caught him in the chest. The impacts staggered him back, but he was otherwise unharmed – he was obviously wearing a bulletproof vest under his black Company jacket. He swore, and reaching across his body, grabbed an enormous steel dumpster nearby. He gritted his teeth and swung the entire thing around, sliding it to the other side of the alley, near Martinez's firing position.

  Rend looked on in disbelief: the thing must have weighed a few hundred pounds, and the Company man had tossed it around like it was made of cardboard. More gunfire came from behind them and pinged off the side of the dumpster as the Company man ducked behind it.

  Rend felt a hand grab him from below. Sam had already dove to the ground; he pulled Rend down to the pavement next to him. Shots whizzed by above them in both directions. The attackers firing on them now had them from two angles: Rend could only hope that whoever they were, their interest was limited to the Company men.

  "This isn't over, Sam," the Company leader yelled from behind the dumpster, his words interrupted by a few final incoming rounds. "If the boss wants you, he's going to get you. Don't think you've seen the last of us."

  Rend looked over just in time to see the two Company men scramble around the corner, firing their pistols as they moved. He looked back in the other direction and was surprised by what he saw. He didn't know if he should be relieved or frightened.

  Alongside a group of mismatched, oddly dressed gunmen, each armed with automatic weapons, walked Highmane's giant partner Hydra. Next to him, also carrying an automatic weapon, walked Madame Ki.

  "You are two very lucky boys," she said as she reached them. "If I hadn't received a call from an astonishingly unexpected source, I do believe you would still be heading to your deaths. Now, I'm afraid there's no time to stand here and chat. The city's situation is evolving very fast right now, and we need to move just as fast if we hope to survive."

  39

  Roach pulled the trigger of her newly acquired rifle and frowned as nothing happened. A closer look at the thing revealed that it was a bolt-action model, and it would take two hands to reload and fire.

  She shrugged. Guess I don't need to keep holding this guy up anyway, she thought. She was standing next to the first of the two reinforcements. A few moments earlier, before he could realize how close his quarry had drawn, Roach drove a fist into his chin, twisted his arm around and upward, and disarmed him. She was now holding him up by an obscenely wrenched arm while he screamed in pain and tried fruitlessly to strike at her with his free hand.

  She tossed the hunting rifle — which she had been holding by its grip — up into the air and caught it halfway along its body. She held it with her elbow underneath, like she was about to throw a javelin. She spun around to face the weapon's previous owner and smashed its stock into his nose. There was a satisfying crunch, and the man went limp. She released him and he crumpled bonelessly to the ground.

  She still had one more opponent to deal with. She spun the rifle around and back into a firing position. She worked the weapon's bolt back and then forward, loading a fresh round into the chamber as she scanned the forest for the second soldier.

  A shot rang out: she felt a bullet sizzle past her ear.

  So that's where you went. She took aim at him as he ducked back behind the tree he had taken for cover. Roach, however, had never intended to fire.

  Instead, she ran toward his position, making for the opposite side of the tree he had ducked behind. By the time her opponent peeked out to try for a second shot, she had reached the tree. Now behind him, she leveled her gun and gave him a quick whistle.

  Roach expected that, seeing himself bested, the hunter would give himself up: she would content herself with knocking him unconscious, as she had with his friend. Mercy was not something she was familiar with — far from it, really — but at that moment it felt natural. Right. Stranger still, that obvious mental weakness no longer bothered her.

  As it turned out, she didn't have the chance to choose mercy. The hunter, rather than surrender, instead tried to swing his rifle around toward her, and Roach squeezed her trigger. Her shot struck him between the eyes with a wet crunching sound, just audible below the gun’s report. He died instantly.

  Roach shrugged. She supposed that was still progress.

  Back in the direction from which she’d come, Roach could hear the sounds of a fight. The two Reapers were still going at it. Abigail better appreciate this, she thought, turning and heading back to help.

  Roach stopped about twenty yards from their fight and sighted her rifle, hoping for a clean shot at the Company Reaper.

  Let’s see if Sam’s target practice pays off. Armed with three knives between the two of them, the Reapers exchanged one flurry after another of slashes, thrusts, and counter-thrusts. Their forms seemed to blur, so fast were the two of them moving. If her own life didn't depend on its outcome, Roach would have felt grateful to witness such a display of speed and precision. As it was, she was mostly just frustrated: there was no way she could get a clean shot at the enemy Reaper.

  She scowled. Trying to help fight hand-to-hand was more likely to hurt Abigail's chances for success than help. Screw it, she thought, anything is better than just standing here. She ran toward the fight.

  Abigail winced as she caught a slash across one of her thighs. She returned two quick counter-slashes, the first sending up a shower of sparks as it was parried, the second scoring a deep line across the black leather of the Reaper's jacket at the chest.

  As Roach closed within five yards, Abigail swung with both knives at the Reaper’s face, sending a thin spray of blood into the air. The other Reaper spun around and brought his own knife down in an overhand stab.

  Abigail screamed as the blade buried in her upper arm, just below the shoulder. The Company Reaper backhanded her across the jaw with his free arm, knocking her to the ground.

  Then, Roach lowered
her head and threw herself into the Reaper.

  It felt like trying to tackle a tree. The impact rattled her bones, her mouth filling with the hot iron taste of blood as she bit deep into her tongue. She wrapped her arms around the Reaper's torso and, roaring at the top of her lungs, lifted him off the ground and drove him back down.

  Now on top of him, she rained down one blow after another. For a few moments, she actually thought she was winning. Quicker than she could have hoped to counter, the Reaper grabbed hold of one of her wrists and tossed her to the side. She rolled to her feet, but the Reaper was already on her, grabbing her by the throat and squeezing the blood flow off from her brain.

  "Another short-sighted halfwit," he said. Roach's vision had already gone black around the edges; now it was rapidly narrowing to points. Well, she thought, I tried.

  Suddenly the hostile Reaper's grip jerked to the side. Then, she was free. Abigail, one arm hanging limp, swung a second looping hook that landed like a wrecking ball against the Reaper's skull. Gasping and trying to regain her strength, Roach stood up just as the Reaper struck back at Abigail. She ducked her head and caught the blow on her forehead; the punch knocked her down on one knee. Roach moved to throw a punch of her own at the Reaper. Before she could swing, Abigail pulled the blade free from her own arm and stabbed it upwards into the Reaper's heart.

  Abigail's forward motion rammed the Reaper backwards into a tree. He slid down into a sitting position at the tree's base, and Abigail slid down with him, her good hand still clutching the knife’s hilt. She grunted and wrenched the blade up further, and the Reaper's eyes rolled back in their sockets. She pressed it in a third time, and his head fell limply forward.

  Roach leaned against the tree and tried to catch her breath. Satisfied the Reaper was dead, Abigail rolled off of him, fumbling for the small canteen that hung from her belt. "Watch that asshole," she rasped to Roach. "Make sure he doesn't wake up."

  "He's got a knife in his..." Roach began, then stopped herself. She thought back to the hail of bullets this very Reaper had taken to his chest. She’d heard plenty of unsettling stories over the years: Reapers were common fodder for campfire tales. But now, it all seemed disturbingly plausible. She nodded to Abigail and watched the maybe-dead Reaper with eagle eyes, expecting at any moment for him to come alive and attack.