26 – Cat and Mouse

Andy envisioned himself as a tiger lurking in the tall grass, waiting for his prey. Well, he tried to think of himself that way, but another part of him, a small voice in the corner of his mind, kept repeating, over and over, you just killed two men. It wasn’t entirely true—not yet. The guy with the whiny voice was still gasping and choking out pleas for help. Still, Andy knew he’d delivered a fatal blow. Barring some sort of magical intervention, the man was doomed.

He'd done a lot of killing in the last couple of days. He’d killed his neighbors, but that had been after they’d become something monstrous. Andy just kept reminding himself that these men were still human in the flesh, but they were monsters all the same. In a way, they were worse than the goblins and other creatures that some people had become; the monsters hadn’t had a choice.

“Jesus, come on, Hank! I’m bleeding out!”

“Hang on, we got you, bud. Where’s Pedro?” It was the guy with the gruff voice. Andy didn’t move—where was the last one, the guy with the cutting, cynical voice?

“Dead! Oh, God. Oh, son of a bitch. I’m fading, bro. Where’d the moon go? Jesus, I’m cold, man.”

Andy could see his victim lying in the dirt a dozen yards away, so it was easy enough to spot “Hank” as he approached, a hatchet in hand. “Oh, buddy! Damn, he did you dirty, didn’t he? You can’t have much damn blood left.”

“H-Hank, I’m cold, man.”

That voice in Andy’s head asked him why he wasn’t ashamed. Why didn’t he feel sorry for that guy? He didn’t, though, and he didn’t have an answer for the voice. Maybe it was because they’d threatened the settlement. Indirectly, they’d threatened those kids and James and Lucy, Violet and Eduardo. How he justified it didn’t matter; he was still angry, still ready to kill. He scanned the darkness, looking for the last piece of the puzzle.

Something crunched off to his right, and Andy slowly turned his gaze that way, careful not to make any movements that might get noticed. He saw what he was looking for. Crouching low, watching Hank and their wounded companion, was the fourth member of their group—the guy with the rain jacket and the staff. Concentrating on being quiet and moving with the shadows, Andy pulled back and moved toward that man’s flank.

He figured if Hank was dealing with the wounded guy, the next logical target should be the man he’d left on lookout, the one he hoped would ambush Andy. It was obviously their plan. It was kind of brave of Hank to put himself out in the open to give his buddy a shot, and it gave Andy a little pause. He was probably a lot more dangerous than the two he’d already taken out. He supposed he was going to find out. First, though, he had to deal with Mr. Raincoat.

Andy crept toward the man, watching him peer through a gap in the big prickly pear cactus he was using for cover. He got around behind him easily enough—the guy was staring at Hank, watching, waiting for something to happen. Andy studied his back as he approached and decided to go for the kidney again—it was more exposed than other critical areas because of his hunched position.

He got within two steps and then lunged, driving his spear into the soft spot just beneath the man’s ribs. The spear hit…nothing. One minute, the guy was crouching there, an easy target, and the next, a sizzling sound came to Andy’s ears as his target dissolved into black smoke. He whirled, his mind desperately trying to make sense of things, and that movement might have saved his life.

The raincoat guy’s heavy, hardwood staff came down right where his head had been, but thanks to Andy turning, it hit him in the shoulder instead. “Ung! Dammit. He’s here, Hank!”

Andy’s arm went numb from the blow. He wasn’t sure if the guy had broken something, dislocated it, or just hit a nerve, but it fell limp to his side as he scrambled away from another whistling swing of the heavy weapon. He tripped on the prickly pear and nearly fell, but managed to catch his balance and bolt into the desert, skirting close to a big cholla cactus. He hoped his pursuers would step on the many spiny segments lying around in the soft dirt beneath the thing.

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He could hear them yelling at one another. Hank was giving directions, and the raincoat guy was cussing and complaining about a “wasted spell.” Andy ran. His left arm was tingling, and he shook it, trying to flex his fingers. His shoulder hurt like hell, but he could move everything; he hoped that meant nothing was broken.

When he’d fled, he cast Twilight Steps without even thinking about it. Could a new ability—a magic spell, no less—really become second nature so quickly? It seemed like it could. The point was, he’d easily left his pursuers in the dust, and he could hear them floundering around a good distance behind him. It would be reasonable just to keep running. He could take his wins and call it good, hoping they didn’t follow him. They still had the knife, though. They still had his blood. If they’d been angry enough to hunt him before, they’d definitely want to get him now.

Gritting his teeth, Andy silently padded in a large arc, working his way around and back, angling for the two men. It would be ideal to separate them again, but if he waited, they might have time to set up another ambush. No, he decided he should strike while they thought he was running away.

They were in front of him now. Hank was cussing about something—a cactus, Andy thought. The other guy, Raincoat, hissed, “I used my mana, dammit! Give me a few minutes, and I’ll make a light!”

Andy grinned, stalking forward. He saw Hank using his hatchet to scrape cholla cacti off his boot. The other guy was leaning on his staff, watching. They were both facing away from him. Andy didn’t hesitate. For a second time, he skulked up behind Raincoat, and this time, he had a perfect shot at the spot between his ribs that would open the gateway to his heart—one step…two steps…lunge.

“Ack!” Raincoat gasped, but that was the only sound he made besides some soft wheezing as he fell. His heart was pumping his blood into his chest cavity, pierced neatly by Andy’s spear.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Hank asked, not even looking up. Andy had already withdrawn, slipping into the darkness. Hank must have turned to look at his companion because he suddenly exclaimed, “Jesus, Sal!” Now, crouching behind a greasewood, Andy watched as he stood up, axe held high, turning in a slow circle. “I’ll fucking cut your balls off and make you eat ’em, you piece of shit!”

Andy tossed a small stone toward a cholla on the right. It rustled convincingly as it passed through the dense, spine-covered segments. Hank whirled to face it, and then Andy was in motion, gliding through the dark. Using Twilight Steps for speed, he hurtled straight toward the man, aiming for the side of his torso—the soft part under his ribs.

He must not have been perfectly silent, or Hank had a good sixth sense. The man whirled at the last second, hacking his axe down in a smooth arc, deflecting the spear. He immediately charged Andy, chopping his axe in a frenzy, like he meant to cut him into a million pieces. Andy backpedaled, trying to get his spear between himself and the enraged man. Luckily, his skill with the spear proved superior to Hank’s frenetic attacks.

Andy circled, brought the spear in, and then lunged, stabbing it out to force the madman back. Hank growled, frothing at the mouth, eyes wide and bulging as he hacked at the weapon. Now that Andy had his balance, though, it was a one-sided contest. Hank’s furious hacking was no match for a skilled spear fighter. Andy used the reach of his weapon to keep him at bay, and when Hank pushed too hard and overextended, he gave him puncture after puncture for his trouble.

As the wounds mounted and Hank’s blood loss became too much to ignore, the man’s furious frenzy began to fade. His breathing grew ragged, and, finally, he fell to one knee. His handaxe hit the dirt, and he leaned into it, gasping. “No way,” he coughed. “N-no way. I’m fuckin’ Hank! You can’t kill me. I’m a b-berserker.”

Andy put his spear tip against the man’s chest, nudging until he looked up with bloodshot eyes. “Drop the axe.”

“Heh.” The guy tried to lift the axe, but he wobbled and almost fell. He caught himself by jabbing the weapon into the dirt again. “Screw you, b-buddy.” He coughed, listing from side to side. Andy had stabbed him half a dozen times, and some of those wounds were deep. He figured Hank wouldn’t have long to live unless he got serious medical care.

Andy didn’t exactly feel sorry for him, not after what he’d heard him say earlier, but he felt something like pity—pity and disgust. “You could have tried to be decent, you know. You could be helping people instead of preying on them.”

“F-fuck off.” Hank wheezed, slipping forward to fall onto his face with a thud. He didn’t move or make a sound other than the slow, irregular rattle of his breaths. Andy thought about stabbing him—like a mercy killing—but his blood wasn’t hot anymore, and the idea of slipping his spear into the guy like that turned his stomach. Instead, he turned the weapon and nudged Hank with the butt of it.

“Hey. Where’s your settlement?” He didn’t think the guy would answer, but he figured it was worth a shot.

“Hah,” Hank whispered, his voice rattling in his throat. “Hah. It’s in Construction City. T-tell Brooks… T-tell him fuck you…” Hank’s final breath wheezed out of him as he said that last word.

“Damn,” Andy said with a sigh, leaning on his spear. “Construction City, huh?” It was a huge, big-box, home improvement and contractor supply store about ten miles from the trailer park—probably a lot closer by foot across the desert. He stooped to pick up Hank’s hatchet, and that’s when a bunch of System messages flooded his vision.