World in Tatters Ch. 29

My four companions and I jump up, shocked by the sudden violence. The smell of blood fills the air as the crimson fluid sprays from Luther’s rent throat. The bodyguard holds Luther’s head back and watches, chuckling while his victim dies choking on and gargling his own blood.

The sight, the smell, they’re sickening, but I can’t look away. Luther is…was…a piece of human garbage, but still, it’s hard to watch.

Once Luther takes his final gasping breath, Rolo smirks, drawing air deep into his lungs. “Peace at last. Now, back to the task at hand. You two were just figuring out my identity?”

“What is he talking about, Steven?” Jason urges, “Do you know this guy?”

“His name is Rolo Kilik. Alice and I knew him when we were kids.”

“Took you long enough to figure it out!” Rolo jeers. “I mean, come on! My scar should have been the dead giveaway.”

“A lot of people have scars, Rolo.”

“True, but not like this one.” Rolo traces his finger down the scar. From just above his hairline the white scar cuts through his right eyebrow and down his cheek. He’s right. A scar like this one is unique. Branches from the main cut make it appear as a lightning bolt flashing through a storm cloud. “It’s my most distinguishing feature.”

“What happened to you wasn’t our fault.”

Rage flashes through Rolo as he jumps up from the sofa. The man stands about my height, but he’s thin, lanky. As a teenager, his legs grew faster than the rest making him a bit clumsy, but it seems he may have outgrown that stage. The only intimidating thing about him is his gnarly scar and cowboy bodyguards. “You may not have been the one who cut me, but you are just as responsible.”

Glaring straight into Rolo’s eyes, “I am not your father.”

With near blinding speed, Rolo whips a knife from below his belt. Grabbing me by the throat, gripping the push knife between his index and middle fingers, he presses the flat of his blade into my cheek. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alice leap into action. One blade flies across the room, embedding itself in the eye of Luther’s killer, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. She brings a second dagger to bear directly at Rolo’s neck. The man in the hat trains his pistol on Alice’s head.

The tension in the room is palpable, but I force my breathing to slow, not giving Rolo the satisfaction of showing fear.

“You were supposed to be my friend! I came to you when dear ole dad did this to me.”

“I was your friend. Alice too. You wanted us to help you kill your father.”

“So, you turn me in to the guard?” I feel Rolo drag the flat of his blade across my cheek.

“We were thirteen.” Alice insists. “What did you expect us to do?”

“Stand down, Rolo. We have our orders.”

“Shut up, Butch.” Rolo hisses to his man, “You work for me!”

“No, sir, I do not. I work for Drum. So do you. Now, stand down. Or I will put you down.” Butch pulls a second pistol from under his coat, training it on Rolo.

With a petulant grunt, Rolo shoves me away from him. “You two are lucky today. My boss wants you alive. As soon as he’s done with you, I’ll gut you myself.” Turning to Butch, venom drenching his words, “Bind them all. If they resist, shoot Jason and the boy. And search Miss Falstrom. Thoroughly. Knowing her, I’m sure she has more knives on her person than I care to count.”

Rolo storms out of the parlor toward the front door of the house.

“Just try it.” Alice spits under her breath, defiant as usual.

“Alice. Stop.” I admonish. “We’re surrounded. If we fight them now, Jason and Chris will be dead in seconds.”

Butch scoffs before calling his men in from the hallway. As ordered, my party is bound, searched and stripped of any weapons on hand. None of us resists as they place all our gear into a large chest and lead us one by one out the front of the house.

They lead us out to a wagon waiting just inside the iron gate. On our way out, there’s a woman and two young boys being held at gunpoint. The Luther family. “No witnesses. But be quiet about it.” I hear Rolo instruct his men.

Without hesitation, three of Rolo’s thugs drive knives straight into their victim’s hearts. Barely so much as a whimper escapes the mother and children as they fall at the feet of their killers. The Luther name ended in one night by an incredible act of brutality.

Within a few minutes, Butch had the five of us loaded up into the covered wagon. Before we take off, Rolo pulls Butch aside. I can barely make out what they’re saying, but Rolo sounds irritated.

“Take them back to Atlanta. I have more business here. Drum’s orders.”

*****

By morning, our caravan makes it to a camp a few miles outside of Hattiesburg. From what I can see and overhear, Rolo has a sizable force behind him here. Before, I thought he must have ten or fifteen soldiers at the most, but here, I see sixty or seventy men, another twenty or so women. All of them appear well trained…and well-armed.

Nearly ninety soldiers under the control of the mysterious Drum camped only miles from the capital of a rival government. I fear war is coming to Hattiesburg, and they may not even know it until it’s too late. Unfortunately, there isn’t much I can do about it. I don’t know who this Drum is, but he’s bold.

We do not stay at this camp for very long before Butch orders our caravan to move out again. Save for Butch, all of the men in our caravan are replaced with fresh troops. We travel until a few hours after nightfall, moving at a steady pace. The men set up a small campsite. Butch orders that the five of us be pulled from the wagon and tied to trees near the campfire. Strangely, some of the soldiers set standing torches at regular intervals surrounding the site, the sickly floral smell of citronella filling the clearing.

Alice and I are bound side by side a few yards from the fire; Rachel, Jason and Chris opposite from us. Once they have us secured, they pretty much leave us alone to go about their chores.

“Alright, Steven.” Alice leans in toward me, keeping her voice low to not be overheard. “We’ve put up with this long enough. We need to get the others and run.”

The ropes chafe my wrists, as I try to adjust enough to look her in the eye. “And how exactly do you think we do that? You have a plan? Because I don’t.”

“We wait until most of them are asleep. Then we get free and kill the night watch.”

“Can you get your hands free?”

She struggles for a moment, pulling against her bindings. “No. Can you reach my ropes?”

“No. I’m stuck pretty tig…” A silver flash crosses my vision. I hear a loud thud as a knife the length of my hand embeds itself in the tree.

I look up as Butch crosses to us from the fireside. Yanking his blade from the trunk, “Quit talkin’.”

Alice and I sit in silence while Butch and his men gather for their supper. Though Alice does not speak again, I can feel her tugging at her restraints. A few hours pass, as Butch’s soldiers carry on laughing and drinking together. Only a few abstain from the festivities. The night watch I assume. Even Butch took to enjoying himself.

Many of Butch’s men peel off to go sleep in their respective tents. However, Butch, drunk and loud, stays by the fire for a while longer. “Bring ‘em over here!”

Two of his more sober men come over to Alice and me, unbind us from the tree and pull us to our feet. The men drag us to the campfire before forcing us to our knees before their leader.

“What makes you so special?”

I sit there on my knees, hands still bound behind me, staring up at the brutish drunk. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, her, I get. Daughter of the last Alliance President. But you. Yer sister. I want to know why Mr. Drum had us spend so much time and recourses trackin’ you down.”

“Couldn’t say. I don’t even know who this ‘Mr. Drum’ is. Care to enlighten me?”

“Ye’r being hunted by the most powerful man in this region,” Butch shouts, “and you don’t even know who he is?!”

“That about sums it up, yeah.”

Turning to Alice beside me. “What about you, girly? Surely you’ve heard of ‘im.”

I turn my head enough to see the expression on Alice’s face. Her jaw set, she stares straight into the eyes of our captor. A glint of recognition in her eyes. “Of course, I know him.” Her voice is calm, venomous. “He’s the reason my mother’s in prison.”

The burly man scoffs in Alice’s face, “Not the way I hear it!” Butch’s men chuckle behind him. Alice’s anger visibly growing in response. “I heard yer mother was a royal bitch!”

Alice pulls against her restraints, trying futilely to attack Butch. “My mother was a great leader!”

One of Butch’s men chucks a piece of half-eaten fruit, hitting Alice hard in stomach. “Your mother was a tyrant!”

Alice doubles over, wind knocked from her. Breathlessly, “Screw… you.”

My blood begins to boil, but I keep myself in check. I slowly work at the knots binding my arms, hoping to free myself, to no avail. Butch, still laughing a deep, drunken laugh, pulls Alice back up to her knees. As soon as he gets in her face, Alice jerks forward, head-butting Butch square on his nose. A spurt of blood shoots from him as he jumps back, dropping his knife to the ground. Alice’s blood splattered smirk is almost ominous in the firelight.

Grasping his nose in one hand, Butch pulls back to strike her. Before he can carry out his retaliation, I see something hit the guard standing just inside the torchlight. With barely a yelp, the man falls to the ground, my view obscured by a nearby shrub.

That yelp was just enough to draw the attention of Butch and his retinue. Butch straightens himself, still holding his bloody nose. With a huff, he gestures to one of his men to inspect their fallen comrade. The man nods, pulling a hunting knife from his belt.

The night becomes eerily quiet as Butch’s underling approaches. The only sounds are the crackling fire and the insects chirping their songs. When he reaches the prone man, “He’s still alive! Someone help me with him!”

One of the others at the fire rushes over to assist. The two drag their man from the bushes, an arrow protruding through both sides of his neck. The others drag him, gagging and choking, over to the fire. Butch and his remaining guard go to high alert, scanning the surrounding woods.

A second arrow flashes across my vision, dropping one of the men carrying his comrade. The three fall to the ground under his weight. In short order, Butch starts shouting orders. The rest of his men burst from their tents, arrow after arrow flying through the camp. Several of the missiles tipped with fire, find their home in the tent walls, setting them ablaze.

Chaos spreads through the camp as the men and women of Butch’s force dodge arrows, grabbing weapons while trying to dowse flames. After the first volley, panic more than injury seemed the intended result. A few of the men draw their firearms, popping shots off into the dark woods.

In the commotion, Alice rolls onto her back, grabbing Butch’s dropped knife. Quickly and agilely, she cuts herself free. As soon as she’s free, Alice runs to me, slicing my bindings. I look for Rachel and the others where they had been tied, finding that Rachel had already shed her bindings.

The repeated volleys of flying arrows suddenly cease. Gunfire from Butch’s soldiers continues for a moment more before they too stop, realizing their wild shooting was getting them nowhere. The soldiers gather around the center campfire, facing outward into the darkness.

Our crew is still scattered, taking refuge behind trees and bushes, hiding from both the remainder of Butch’s force and the mysterious archers.

Such an odd choice. Why use bows and arrows? Why not guns? It would have been quicker, more precise, greater range. Why archers? More importantly, are they friend or foe?

Everyone stays in place. Uneasy, but still and quiet. One by one, the torches surrounding the camp blink out, leaving the area in darkness. From somewhere nearby, I hear the distinctive ringing of metal against metal. Without warning, another volley of arrows flies from the east side of the camp, striking two of the soldiers and drawing fire.

From the corner of my eye, I see two figures rush out of the shadows. Screams echo from the soldiers as they are cut down. I look out from behind my hiding spot just in time to see Butch run off into the woods. Between me and the campfire stands a silhouette of a man wielding… of all things… a sword. Next to him stands a woman, no less formidable, surrounded by the corpses of every last soldier that accompanied Butch.

Two hooded figures, with bows still in hand, rush past them about to pursue Butch into the brush. “Let him go!” The woman shouts, her commanding voice stopping the archers in their tracks.

A few moments pass in silence before the man speaks, “You can come out now, Steven.”