Dusk Territories: Always Burning (21 page)

“That one,” Grigori pointed at Ivan, “chose not to learn English. Boris always thought in music and colors, speech were never of any use for him. It is disheartening that you cannot meet my brothers in a more desirable situation. What did you come here for, my friend?”

“A clue was all I was told.”

“Hm. Boris, remember what you brought me—“Boris left the conversation before Grigori had even finished. “Blunt type of man, he is.”

Boris went into a deep part of the room, coming back with a black canister. The first thing that Graham had notice was the symbol; the arch that he had saw on the soldier’s arm. “Can I have that?” he asked hurriedly to the mutant. Grigori repeated the request.

Very carefully, Boris placed it down.

“Thank you.”

Grigori relayed the thanks, and received a joyful high pitched laugh as a response. “He appreciates the thought. I suggest that you leave now. In fact, we all shall leave. They ruined my favorite sleeping spot. Are all of your countrymen so blatantly rude?”

“We don’t try to be,” Graham mused. “Lead the way.”

“Oh no sweetie, no you won’t.”

Curtained in flames, River stepped around the corner into the room. Her hair was down, wreathed around her neck and down her face. Ragnar followed her, a safe distance away. “We haven’t played enough, have we, Graham-cracker?” The pre-game had stopped, Graham knew, the moment she shot the fire ball from her palm. She had hurdled nothing less than a small sun at them. It consumed the room much slower, with the sound of a million dead souls shrieking. He heard the voices this time, begging in pain.

Graham felt outmatched, a feeling he never felt before. His hands went numb. His yes stared at the flames, calling out to him. Fear gripped him.
I can’t do anything about that
. Guns didn’t matter. His training didn’t matter. Just fear mattered.
This…I can’t…

“Stand out the way, comrade!”

Grigori quickly took the lead, stepping in front of the flame. His pale skin began to glow red as he embraced it. It was only for a second, since the next motion was him slamming his fist into the ground. A fissure stretched itself through the floor, traveling up the walls, and through the ceiling. The room split itself in half, crumbling messily through the side. River’s bath of fire stopped as it leaked into the air. Boris rushed to his brother’s side as the small man’s legs gave way under him, tossing him on his back.

“Let’s get out of here!” Graham roared, grabbing the canister.

The two remaining members of the
party nodded understandably. Graham charged towards
the only route out of the bunker as the stone crashed in pain.
You lucked out again in a game you can’t win. You’re still a human. And humans can’t live here.
He lived, but inside he was dying.

_

Graham had never been so angry before.

Pub, Haggis, and Crisium retreated back to the vehicles
with low to mild injuries. Grigori regained consciousness, but was still leaning on Ivan for support. Everyone kept quiet within the desolate Boneyard, tending wounds and regaining their breaths. Graham
recovered in a different way. He couldn’t get that feeling out of his head. He never met an enemy that he couldn’t handle, an evil he couldn’t face. He gritted his teeth.

“It could’ve been a lot worse,” Pub reassured.

“Especially if Ragnar was actually fighting serious.”

“Dickweeds,” Crisium snapped. She cleaned the remaining bits of Beastmaster out of her hair. Around her neck was his hand, fastened to a necklace. “You aren’t helping any.”

“Calm yer tits, warrior princess,” the brothers retorted.

Graham ignored them, kneeling down to the recuperating Grigori. He had no real expression, especially for a man who could have died possibly
in whatever his little act did. “See, the right thing. That is what you are known for.” He gave a bit of a weak cough, but overall he seemed better. “
You have gotten what you have come here for. I hope it is of some use.”

“What’d ya get exactly, mate?”

Crisium grabbed the canister from the truck and examined it. It was nothing real special, and more than a little rusted. Yet the symbol on the side of it was recognizable. “God—this is Z-12.” She said in shock.

“So the Ancestors made or used the Z-12 and we can assumingly the P-X35…” The words were almost sticky in Graham’s mouth. Humans were dark creatures, he knew. Yet, why would people create weapons like this, here? Whose order was it to make them? “Why?”

“That’s the million dollar question—ooww!”

“Stop being a little pansy, will ya?” Haggis urged his brother as he tightened the bandage. “You shouldn’t have gotten shot.”
“You did too, ya muppet.”

“Your wound’s a lot worse.”

“And I shall keep the scar proudly!”

“Stop it you two! Serious business here!” Crisium’s face flared up with anger. “If the Ancestors are behind whatever happened, we have to figure out why and who’s behind them. I doubt they are done with the world yet.”

It was true. Whoever started this, they had to figure it out. But, how? Where would they start? This leader of the Ancestors could be anywhere. “Since we know about the Ancestor’s involvement now,” Graham said, breaking his silence, “Maybe Drifter can figure out where they are.”

“The manuscript!” Everyone looked at Crisium as though she was mad. She went on to explain: “That’s what he was after going to Rootgrove. He was looking for the trade manuscript. Conjurer worked for the government before the war, a scientist I think. Drifter must have caught wind of something—“

“Then shit! He can’t stay for long in Rootgrove. If Drifter connected the dots between the Ancestors and Conjurer, Conjurer’s on the defensive. He knows that he can’t handle Drifter in a fight, a fair one, especially with Heron and Wood. He might try something desperate.” Haggis took a deep breath. “Tell your Russian friends sorry, but we have to leave.”

“I speak English, brother,” Grigori interrupted, lazily. “But go. Do not worry about me. We have made it through worse. Find out who destroyed home. Your home, my home, everyone’s home.”

Graham nodded. “Thank you.”

“No need. God look over your travels.”

“How can you still believe after all of this?”

“Is that not the meaning of faith?”

Those words stayed with Graham long after they had left towards the town again. He hardly had faith in himself anymore. This world was kicking his ass, and handing it back to him on a silver platter. But, he needed to fight; if not for himself, for everyone who lost their lives to this psychopath of an organization.
I’m willing to lose everything. I’m willing to kill everyone to get to the end of these lies.
His subconscious voice went silent this time, appreciating the thought.

_

“River…?” The voice said sweetly.

Ragnar watched the fight patiently; he was doing the same for the aftermath.

“River,” the voice repeated. “Would you care to explain the meaning of that atrocity?”

River kept her mouth closed. Her small lips were tight together, eyes poised into the darkness of the room. She crossed her legs, tapping her toes on the wood of the stool. “Please don’t chastise me,” she said with a smirk. “You couldn’t have expected that either. You would’ve been just as
surprised
as I was that they got away. Yet, I’m the one that’s sloppy. Oh that’s rich. You entrusted the script to Conjurer, knowing all too well that his rivalry with the Drifter supersedes his actual logic. Needless to say, his actual logic is fleeting anyway. So, I guess we all just rained on the parade. Too bad, I should have brought rain coats.”

“Don’t patronize me, girl!” The man snapped.

“I’m just a girl?” River laughed. “That may be true. Forgive me, but I’m speaking to a boy who thinks he’s a man. First big job by the big man and you mess it all up. Brink, what will they think of you? And you’re supposed to be a Son of the Ancestors. All I see is a boy that fell off the monkey bars.”

Ragnar couldn’t see the man’s face, but he saw him reach for River’s jaw and hold it tightly. “You think this is
funny
!” Lieutenant Brink snapped. “You think that this is all a big game and you are the only player here. On top of that, you think you’re winning. No. No. No. You’re a jigsaw piece, just a corner. So easy, that a
child
can figure out where you go! Either you do your job, or I break you. Understood?”

She gave no response. Brink snapped his fingers away from her jaw. “When I run out of fun things to do,” she smiled, despite the red marks on her cheek from the man, “I’m going to have to find another swing to play on. I hope it’s not in your playground sweetie.” She jumped off the stool, swiftly heading in Ragnar’s direction, smiling.

“It’s not fun being with someone who knows how to play your game,” Ragnar said, mocking the girl.

“Too bad he’s playing it wrong.”

12

The Break

“The first domino has fallen, and now we can’t stop what is happening next.”

Graham watched as the distance between them and Rootgrove closed. Rain clouds settled above them, their bellies slowly bursting in small intervals. Dusk passed, leaving nothing but the company of a dull night sky. The night should have been
nice, yet the only thing that he could think about was the flames. It was like this with most near death mi
ssions, he knew. The reaper hung around; flaunting it’s near victory and telling you one day that it will win eventually.

Despite even his current state, the reaper haunted him more than he knew. Some people accepted death. Many of his unit was like that. They didn’t care for what happened next. Graham told himself he was one of those men. He never was. Until he made the world a better place, he wasn’t going to die.
A damn shame to die
to a person like River
, he thought. That’s what made him angry, he almost did. He gritted his yellow teeth, cocking his head back as the rain streamed down his face. He hated it.

“Damn…things are looking bad at Rootgrove.”

Graham opened his eyes, staring into the darkness ahead of him. Billows of smoke wisped themselves in the air. The sting of it grated against his nose and through his sinuses. Squinting, he could see no burning, much to his pleasure. Yet what he could see was something equally as bad. A large portion of Rootgrove was gone; and everyone knew exactly what part that was.

“Conjurer blew it up!” Haggis said, looking at the black smoke.

“Stop the truck.” This time the words were calm and so was his face. Even over the roaring engines,
they did as he commanded. He jumped off the side of the truck wordlessly, his boots entering in the mud with a deep splash. “Get to the tanks. Prepare to hurt things. Secure the exit.” Graham grabbed his SAW, received from the Scotsmen, from his back holster.

“Something wrong?” Crisium asked.

“Don’t worry about it, head to the tanks.”

The words didn’t start the engine. Graham looked from the corner of his eyes, a look in them as fierce as a lion. “Go.”

They did as they were told. The wheels screamed as they dug through the muck, but soon they were on their way and heading around to the long side to the tanks. Graham was alone—alone with his ammunition and a hate for what this world had become. His world became nothing more than killing. Maybe that was the reason he was brought back, to even out this murderous game. It wasn’t a bad purpose. Good people with guns and powers needed to fight bad people with those resources.
I see it.
There was no reason to truly fear death, if you were going to become it.

Tireless miles felt like nothing under his feet, even in knee deep mud. He made it to the edge of town without being detected. The spot lights were on now,
sweeping in long arches across the fields.
The pattern was recognizable after a few sweeps. Thought would only soil the movement, so he went completely on instinct. He followed the path his feet guided him, carefully running through small openings down the side and occasionally when two of the beams crossed. A feather light weight swept through his body. He knew where to go with speed and gracefulness. Not a single thought distracted him.

Before long his muddy boots touched the edge of town, the large gate they had used earlier. It was closed. That somehow didn’t seem like a problem. Graham analyzed the situation. The side wall could be easily scaled, but the added weight of his gun would be problematic. His best bet was to pry open the gate. The lock seemed far from sturdy, and if he was smart, he could break or pick it undetected. Pondering would only waste time, so he acted.

Graham tried to work some magic. He pulled a knife from his shoulder holster, and tinkered with the lock. Bloc
king out the sound and focused on the tumbler. After a few times, it didn’t open. Cursing his inability, he took his side arm, and knocked at the lock with calculated swings. The rusted lock shattered after a while, plopping into the mud.

A foolish man would open the gate as wide as possible; a smart one did the opposite. Graham carefully pushed the steel gate open, bit by bit, making as little noise as possible. The mud caused a significant amount of resistance. The upside, however, was that it served as a muffle. He stopped, intermittently to listen to other sounds around him. If they had heard, the situation would be more difficult than he hoped. For now, he would avoid causing trouble.

The door finally gave way to a small opening in which he slipped through. Time passed, and h
e found himself back in town. The once quiet roads were abuzz with vehicles, and white soldiers like before appeared in swarms.
Graham kept to the shadows and the side roads, heading to the debris of the exploded building. Plenty of charred bodies sat in the base of it; all disfigured by the blast. Graham recognized some of the clothing as a portion of the Drifter’s party.
Conjurer must have ordered them dead after things went sour.
I took too long.

In the short time knowing Drifter, he knew he
wasn’t going to lie down and die.