short bristly hairs back behind her ear. The movement made Cleese’s pants feel funny; funny in a way that they’d not felt in a very long time.
'We have been watching you, Cleese,' Chikara began.
Cleese involuntarily raised his eyebrows in surprise.
'So far, we like what we see,' she said finishing he thought.
'We?'
'Yes, we…'
'I’m flattered.'
'You should not be,' she said with a slight sniff. 'We—and by ‘we’ I mean the Budo Warriors—have been watching you since you first arrived. In fact, it was one of my Warriors who first brought you to Masterson’s attention.'
'Hmmm… so, I have you to thank for this little adventure.'
'In a way, I guess… Yes. We heard about you and thought you would do well here. Now that we have seen the genuine article, it is evident that we were correct in that assumption.
'Hmm… well, thank you,' he responded. 'I’m guessing there’s more…'
Chikara smiled again and turned to look him in the eye.
'We were hoping you would join us.'
'Join you? Join the Budo Warriors?'
Chikara nodded and looked off serenely into the distance as if, her request now made, she’d returned to a peaceful place in her mind while she awaited her answer.
Cleese stared at her for a long time as he pondered the real meaning of what had been said. He was honored. Hell, who wouldn’t be? Still… Cleese had never exactly been a 'team player' and the idea of joining the ranks of any organization—no matter how loosely compiled or prestigious—sat like a turd at the back of his throat.
'Well…' he said, 'while I am honored at the invitation, I’m not so sure that would be a good idea. I’m not exactly someone who is able to tow a line, you know? And in case you haven’t noticed, you tow a pretty stern line.'
Chikara grinned and nodded. Cleese found that, despite himself, he respected this woman. She’d no doubt suffered a lot in order to bring her to where she was today, fought her way through competition and adversaries alike and had come out on top. In many ways she was a lot like the other fighters that were here, but in other ways—more important to Cleese’s way of thinking—she was quite different. She gave off an air of great strength and yet there was a deep compassion and sensitivity evident in her.
'Somehow,' she said finally, 'I knew you would say just that.'
Cleese smiled and leaned back against the tree.
'Well, I aim to please.'
The two of them sat quietly as the sun slid below the horizon. Cleese periodically looked over at Chikara and was amazed that she’d returned to her meditation, effectively shutting him out. He took the time to look her over once more. Sitting this close he noticed some small ragged scars across her upper arms and neck. He leaned in just a bit closer and saw that they were several matching sets of four scratches; one scratch for each of what must have been a UD’s jagged fingernails.
He figured that the scratches were a result of the way Chikara got in so close during her matches. A fighter couldn’t let that sort of shit happen as much as she did and walk away unmarked. Luckily, no one had ever become infected as a result of a scratch or two.
No, for that, it took a bite.
'You are staring…' Chikara said with a slight smile, eyes still closed.
Cleese was yanked out of his reverie and realized that he had been staring—pie-eyed and open-mouthed— just a couple of feet away from this woman. He felt his cheeks grow suddenly hot and flushed.
'Oh… uh… sorry,' he apologized.
Chikara smiled and seemed to rise like a marionette; her strings lifting her effortlessly to her feet.
'Come. We should get back.' Then, 'I would like it if we were able to talk more sometime later.'
Cleese smiled and nodded.
'I’d like that as well,' he replied and, with another groan, he got stiffly back to his feet.
'Well, good,' and she graced him with another one of those smiles.
'Jesus…' he said with a wince once he’d gotten fully to his feet. He bent his back and it made another painful cracking sound. 'I feel like shit.'
'Lactic acid has built up in your muscles as a result of all of this exercise. It is just making them stiff. An interesting side note for you… lactic acid is very similar in chemical composition to something found in the UD’s metabolism—something called Sarcolactic Acid. In The Dead, Sarcolactic Acid or Paralactic Acid is the chemical that causes Rigor Mortis. So, in essence, what you are feeling right now is nothing more than ante-mortem rigor. Stop by my crib later and I can give you an herbal tea that will ease some of the pain a bit.'
'Man, lookit you…'
Chikara laughed aloud, her laughter sounding light and almost care-free on the evening air. She looked up at him and, after a moment, looked away. In the diminishing light of the day, the blush that flushed her cheeks went unnoticed.
'Well,' she said, 'I, too, aim to please.'
As they made their way down the hill and across the grass, Cleese stared at her for a long time. Again, something primal stirred deep within his belly. It’d been a long time since a woman made him feel the way Chikara did; too long. As he smiled to himself, he decided that he liked this feeling and wanted to explore it further.
They walked together in silence until they’d reached the outskirts of the compound’s buildings. Abruptly, she stopped and reached out to lightly tug at the bottom hem of his shirt. Almost as suddenly as she’d done it, she pulled her hand away. A wave of embarrassment washed over her face as if her body had betrayed her and done something she’d not meant it to. Her gesture was something from another time and another place. It was like a distant echo from when she’d been another person. It reminded her of how long she’d kept that person locked away from the world. For some time now, she’d not allowed herself to feel like a woman. Doing so had proven itself to be far too dangerous here. Cleese, though, was able to let her be who she was and not make her feel like that was to her detriment.
She silently feared the repercussions should she let the Woman influence the Warrior.
'I have enjoyed finally meeting you, Cleese.'
Cleese smiled broadly and ran his hand through his hair. The motion was something he’d tried to control for a long time. It was his 'tell.' And what it told was that he was interested or embarrassed. For some reason, none of that mattered to him now.
'Believe me… the pleasure was all mine.'
The two of them stood looking at each other, each silently not wanting or knowing how to disengage.
'Come by before you turn in for the night,' she said, breaking the awkward silence. 'I will give you that tea.'
'Yeah, thanks,' he said and his hand once again ran through his hair. 'I’d appreciate that.'
And without another word, the two fighters walked off toward the center of the compound; each of them lost in the whirlwind of their own thoughts.
Last Rites
As the moon slowly rose to its apex over the relative quiet of the compound, the temperature within the Holding Pen had begun to slack off and the heat of the day finally started to dissipate. Shadows, a constant commodity in this forsaken place, covered the ground as heavy and thick as spilled oil. The incessant gloom arrested the sparse illumination and gave the space a muted tone, making it seem even more menacing that it already was. The darkness was just something you got used to if you spent enough time tucked away here. It was something that usually happened shortly after you got used to the never-ending moaning of the dead.
Getting used to the smell…
