Eternal Samurai (12 page)

To a hungry Tatsu, the breakfast was absolute perfection, and the food went down fast. He smiled his gratitude, a quick flash of perfect white teeth accompanied by unexpected dimples. “
Domo arigatō gozaimasu,
but you really didn’t have to do that.”

“Certainly did, boyo. You saved my arse. Most folks would take off, not even stop to call the coppers. Not that it would do any good, seeing as how they’re strictly day-lighters. Not like in the old days.”

Mochiron
, of course. Bana was around during the old days—before the plague turned the world upside-down thirty years ago.

“What was it like, back then I mean?” Tatsu’s mother would have thought it an impolite question. But polite would not get him far in this world.

“Shite, boyo. Wasn’t as good as some like ta think. In fact, this country was on its way to the crapper even before me Mam spat me out. Economic hell, I heard. No jobs, millions, and I mean millions, o’ homeless fightin’ over scraps. This place was worse than many. The American government tried to crack down and Bob’s-yer-Uncle, they got civil war. And that was even before we was hit by the fekkin’ vampire virus.”

“Do you remember the virus?”

“Lost half me family to it. Didn’t know what the fuck it was. Told it was like the flu. Couple billion died, thousands turned bloodsucker. Sod me, who knew vamps came from some fekkin’ disease? So-called genius scientists couldn’t figure out how something that was hidden for centuries suddenly woke up. This country was hit worse than any other. Dunno why. Some places did better, ones like the Dominion of Canada and the Greater European Consortium. All old history now, boyo.”

Bana gave a little snort and got to the point of his breakfast invitation. “You snooped around my apartment the other night, didn’t cha? Noticed a little more than ya bargained fer.” He stared at Tatsu long enough that those honey-colored cheeks flushed.

“
Sumimasen,
I aplogize. You have a nice apartment.”

“Sure do. And I gots the means to keep it.”

“
Mochiron
, it appears you do, Bana-san. Several lethal means. Aren’t you afraid of breaking the law?”

“Not me, I’ve got what you might call special dispensation,” Bana evaded any further details by slurping his coffee with noisy relish.

“One of those vampires the other night had a gun.”

“Yeah, lotta good it did him, eh? Stupid git shoulda remembered his best weapons are in his mouth. Along with their super speed and strength. Makes life pretty crappy fer a lot o’ citizens. But enough o’ my blather. Where you learn to use swords like that? Christ on a crutch, you killed three bloodsuckers in seconds.”

The corners of Tatsu’s mouth turned up in a ghost of a grin. Bana’s conversation sure jumped around. Still, Tatsu sensed a definite purpose behind Bana’s questions, something more than friendly curiosity. Tatsu’s guard crumpled. Was it his dire need for information? Or just to talk with a man, any man, after so many weeks of painful solitude?

“
Ojii-san
, er … Grandfather, started training me almost as soon as I could walk. I always thought it was some sort of family tradition, you know, honoring my ancestors, embracing the mysticism of samurai honor.”

“Pretty efficient way o’ packing ’em on yer back like that. I know that ain’t traditional.”

“I was taught Miyamoto Musashi’s techniques. He was one of Japan’s greatest samurai in the seventeenth century. We call it the Way of the Two Swords. Basically it means I adapt to whatever works.”

“So, where’d you get ’em?”

“They have been in my family for five centuries.”

Bana gave an admiring whistle. “Packing anything else?”

“
Tanto
. Short knife. Pretty handy. Used for many things including committing
seppuku
.”

“Ugh, you mean suicide. Don’t understand that concept at all.” Bana scrunched up his nose. “You Japs take this sword crap pretty serious, don’tcha? Seems using a gun is a hell of a lot more practical, if you get my drift.” Tatsu goaded, hoping to hear the Irishman explain those Berettas.

“Maybe for you. But I’m not breaking the law. And I’d put my swords against any gunman within twenty feet.”

“Twenty feet. What the fuck’s that mean?”

“Inside that distance, I can draw my sword and slice a man open before he can pull the trigger.”

“Not for me to deny it boyo. Not after seein’ ya take out three bloodsuckers faster than shit through a goose.”

Impatient with Bana’s chatter, Tatsu pushed his empty plate aside. “Who are you? How’d you know where to find me? What do you want from me?”

“Whoa, slow it down, boyo. Me? I’m jist a simple Irishman, born and raised. As for finding you? Was a diddle. Strangers are always noticed in this neighborhood especially someone packing steel like yours.” The amused crinkle fell from his weathered face. “The way you handled yerself other night, that wasn’t yer first time. Been hearing a lot of shite bout vamps being chopped up by them swords. But you ain’t no hunter.”

“Perhaps I’m a different kind of hunter.”

A loud guffaw burst from the Irishman’s mouth. “There ain’t no different kind o’ hunters. You are either into the killing game or you’re not. No middle ground here, boyo. Wannabe hunters always coming here looking to score kills. They’re not encouraged to stay. I’d advise you the same. Move on. Vancouver’s not such a bad place. Canadians are real friendly folks.”

“I have something I must do.” Tatsu refused to curb the edge in his voice.

“Yer a stubborn shite. But since I kin tell you ain’t about to take my friendly advice, tell me whatcha really doing here?” Bana grinned, the friendly expression aimed at disarming Tatsu.

“I, ah … found out something concerning my family.”

“So, yer here to look up some long lost relatives. Lot of Orientals here. But something tells me you’re not one for family reunions. Right?”

Tatsu glared into those deep grey eyes that reflected more than idle curiosity. He wanted to trust this man, needed to trust him. Needed a friend. Tatsu crushed his innate reluctance to speak about his life. The story slipped from his taut, reluctant lips.

It was still hard to accept that two months ago his Uncle Ray had been murdered by a border jumper from Upland Mississippi. Tatsu could not speak of his near-crippling grief as he scattered the remains of his only relative on a slope of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Or the tears that soaked the letter he wrote to Warren, Ray’s former lover now living in New York.

“I was going through his papers when I found the Nagasaki police report about how my family died. Until I read it, I didn’t remember anything of that night although the file says I was there. There were photos, too.”

Six photos. Six glossy, full-color gore-filled photographs that ripped open the horror hidden deep in his mind.

Unbidden, the kaleidoscope of memories tore through him. With an implacable force all its own, his tormented mind relived every second of that night of slaughter. Suddenly, Tatsu was a little boy of ten, a terrified little boy drowning in a sea of blood and terror.

Nagasaki, Japan, 2009

“
Kachan, mother. Tadaima,
I’m home!” Tatsu’s usual greeting bubbled over with a rare excitement as he dashed through the front door of his house. He could barely contain his excitement at the amazing news that would fill his parents with pride. Just this afternoon, Chikamatsu-Sensei, the
shinkendo
master at the Nagasaki Boys Middle School promised Tatsu would be named captain of the lower-division team next term.

“
Kachan. Otoo-san
. Mother, father, I’m home,” he called again in English, knowing it would please his American father.

He kicked off his shoes in the
genkan
, the tiny vestibule leading to the living area. Tripping and laughing, he jammed his feet into his slippers. He giggled with delight at the sight of his father’s large, polished business shoes. Tonight everyone was home to celebrate his tenth birthday. Tomorrow morning they were going to visit his Uncle Ray in America. Tatsu felt his happiness would burst from his body and eclipse everyone.

Odd, there were no food smells even though it was an hour past dinnertime. Perhaps they were having
Hiyashi chuka,
his favorite cold-noodle dish. He charged into the kitchen. Puzzled, he skidded to a halt just inside the door. Where was
kachan or
his younger sister Min-chan who always pestered her mother to help with cooking? Tatsu stepped into the dining room expecting to see everyone seated and eating. Saw only five empty places at the low table. He giggled at his stupidity.
Mochiron
, of course, Tatsu you
baka.
How could he be such an idiot and forget? Everyone must be upstairs packing for their holiday.

In his excitement, Tatsu failed to notice the eerie quiet of the house. He bounded up the stairs; his long legs—a legacy from his tall, American father—letting him take them two at a time with ease. Tatsu raced down the hall to his room, tossed his school satchel onto his desk, scrambled out of his uniform jacket and dropped it in a careless heap on top of his bed.

“
Onii-kun
, guess what?” He ducked his head into his younger brother’s tiny bedroom. Felt a twinge of disappointment not finding his brother reading a book as usual. Rikaru-chan must be in their parent’s bedroom. He banged on the door to his little sister’s room. “Min-chan, may I come in?” Silence. The door remained closed. No matter.

“
Kachan, Otoo-san,
” he called for his parents again as he charged along the short, unlit hallway. For a moment, he wondered why he heard no happy chatter coming from his parent’s bedroom.
Mochiron
, packing is hard work. Rudely, he slid the door open without asking permission but knowing his mother would forgive. She always forgave.

Tatsu bounded across the threshold. His feet skidded from beneath him. He crashed onto his back slamming his head on the wooden floor. Bright lights danced in his head. Sticky fluid, like honey, coated the
tatami
beneath his splayed hands. A cloying, sweet smell mixed with the rank stench of sewage flooded his nostrils.

A moment’s confusion at the sight of a discarded pile of clothes.
Otoo-san
’s business suit? Why was the suit covered in red paint? He felt an odd disconnect before the horror hit him. The crumpled pile was his Dad! His father’s kind face, pale, slack, the eyes open but unseeing. A hole gaped like a second mouth below the chin. Thick, crimson fluid covered his father’s inert body.

“
Otoo-san
wake, up, wake up.” Tatsu cried reaching for the dear hand lying open and unmoving on the floor. The fingers were cold. “
Otoo-san
, Dad, please look at me.” Tatsu begged not believing his father’s warm, green eyes no longer saw him.

Tatsu lifted his head, stared blankly at the tangle of bedclothes spilling over the end of the bed. His cry for his mother turned into a shriek of agony as sharp claws dug into his calf with excruciating pain. With a neck-snapping jerk, his world flipped upside down. In terror, he twisted his body, flailing his arms, kicking with his free leg. One slipper spun in crazy arcs through the air and bounced against the wall. Someone screamed from far, far away. The screams were his.

The claws around his leg dug deeper, sent excruciating pain up his leg as his attacker shook him. Tatsu’s head flopped back and forth. A sick weakness swept through him. His cries drowned in a flood of bile that gushed out his mouth His eyes filled with tears, blurring the sight of his sister lying on the
tatami
, a mat that should have been a sea blue but now was insanely red. Her crumpled body looked like one of her dolls with its blank, plastic face.

The world spun, everything going topsy turvey. “
Kachan
!” his terrified cry came out as a liquid whimper. He saw his mother on the bed. Thick, red rivulets splattered over her torn neck and exposed breast. Her beautiful brown eyes stared unseeing up at him as he dangled above her too-white face. His little brother, Rikaru, sprawled immobile against her side. One of his small arms draped over her waist in a child’s desperate and futile gesture of protection.

The room rocked again as Tatsu’s body was whipped from side to side. More pain as his head snapped back and forth. Then the vice around his leg vanished, and he dropped headfirst onto the blood-soaked
tatami
. He wanted to curl up and bury his head under his arms but he was too stunned to move. He squeezed his eyes so tight that colored lights danced behind eyelids. But he could not shut out the sounds of laughter bubbling thick and wet with a dreadful delight above him.

Hands on his ankles and neck dragged him flat onto his back. A terrible weight landed on his chest. He heard the sickening crack of his own ribs then he could not breathe. He clawed at the arm pinning him, scratched the hand clutching his chin. Then that hand twisted his head sideways. His neck was going to break!

“You’re the last of that Kurosaki
onezimi
. The last vermin to ever carry that name.” The animal growl rolled against the terrified boy’s ear. A hiss of such hatred, Tatsu felt it would destroy his very soul. Agony beyond comprehension pierced his neck. Excruciating pain ripped along every nerve in his body.

“Filthy
Kyuk
.…” Grandfather Shiniichiro’s blessed, beautiful voice ripped through the blindness of Tatsu’s terror. The terrible scream of rage sounded like it was ripped from the depths of the old man’s soul. Another shout, this time the full battle cry of a Kurosaki samurai. The whistle of steel cutting through air.

The monster gave an inhuman shriek of pain and fury. That terrible vice left Tatsu’s throat. Another screech of agony, this time drowned out by Grandfather’s victorious cry.

A rank, cloying fluid gushed over Tatsu’s face, ran into his silently screaming mouth and down his throat. He choked, coughed, but still the vile liquid burned its way into his insides. Abruptly, that crushing pressure lifted from Tatsu’s body. Crashing and more cries followed by the tearing of a paper wall. Then silence.

Tatsu curled into the tight ball of a terrified infant and buried his head in his arms.
Kachan, kachan
, his gibbering mind screamed for his mother. Why didn’t she answer?