your ass!”
His leg was throbbing. The muscles had knotted around the hot steel, and the whole leg had stiffened. He pushed himself back with the other leg, gritting his teeth. He tried to hold his weapon steady in one hand, as his other held him up off the floor.
The walkway clanked with Mad Dog’s crossing, and the sound of it told Wentworth that he was bent-kneed and cautious. Ragged breaths shot through him, blowing spittle between his teeth, as he continued moving backwards. One more enemy, just one more… but no matter how stupid or arrogant, this one owned the high ground.
His leg throbbed worse, and the tip of his weapon shook violently. He found a position against the other wall, and steadied the rifle. He was ready for whatever might come, but if Mad Dog had any more flash-bangs the fight was already over.
His eyes narrowed, and the footsteps approached.
Wentworth lay still. Three staggered breaths worked through him — then a voice spoke, its tone strained. “Wentworth, man — you okay?”
The tension poured out of him, as his rifle fell down to his lap. “Yeah,” he paused to listen, but heard nothing over his heartbeat. “You just got the fat one, eh?”
“Mad Dog? Yeah, I think that was him.”
Wentworth’s breath left him in a sigh. “Hey Raxx? I think we won.”
Falcon crouched in the thicket. Instinct held him in a defensive pose, but his weapon hung listless as he watched the two men crawling out of the warehouse gutters.
He’d been out walking the field, ruminating darkly, when the sound of gunfire had first reached him. He’d started running — bitterness forgotten as the fear of Viper retaliation incensed his blood. The explosion had gone off then, shaking the air as he made his way through the trees, around the undergrowth. He reached the western sentry point, and found what was left of Dunzer’s kid. The slick line across his throat glistened in the moonlight.
He’d switched to a crouch then, moving into the shadows of the wooded ridge overlooking the compound. The sounds of a full-on firefight broke out, and dread took a cold grip of his heart. He reached a promontory that looked down into the warehouse, and took a bead on the sleeping room’s door. Before his weapon had steadied he’d seen two figures spilling out. The injured one was dumped in a mechanic’s trench, then the other took cover behind a work table. Falcon eased to the side so that his iron sights swung onto the form.
For a long time he just panted in the darkness. It never occurred to him to squeeze the trigger.
His weapon had slowly dropped as he watched Dunzer, Chain, Sheik, and Mad Dog fall to the madmen’s fire.
Who the hell were they?
His surroundings creaked silently in the breeze. Whoever they were, it didn’t matter anymore. The Hellhounds were dead. His eyes tracked them as they moved from body to body, but his mind was reeling and he saw none of it. The Hellhounds were dead. The stunned villagers trooped out from the back, along with the cattle; a single mass.
The Hellhounds were dead.
It struck him — the Hellhounds —
His eyes watered up.
Laying down his weapon, he fell back into a sitting position. A silent sob seized him. He felt for the patch on his flak-vest’s shoulder. Gripping it by the corner, he tried to tear it off. A few strings broke, but he couldn’t get the rest.
The herd of men, women, and cattle were disappearing, heading back towards the town, into the pinkening sky.
Once they were out of sight he’d go down to the compound, grab the best weapons, some loot, and some gasoline. Then he’d leave. He wasn’t a Hellhound anymore. He wasn’t Falcon, either.
He didn’t know who he was.
The sun broke the horizon. He walked on stiff legs down to the carnage.
He set to scavenging.
Wentworth stepped into the office. The air was cloistered with the scents of vomit and diarrhoea. Behind the desk the old woman huddled in a mess of soiled blankets, shivering despite the warmth. Her head was erect, though, and the eyes that peeked through her ravaged face burned with pride.
“Vree.”
“Wentworth. I fear what you have to say. I see no joy on your face. And I doubt you would come to witness me without cause. But speak — I would hear it.”
Wentworth crossed his arms and looked down. “You told me to tell you when… if—”
“Ai, so I did. What is it, then?”
Wentworth looked up. Deep within her eyes a flame of hope still flickered. After a moment’s consideration he raised his goggles. “The children are dead, Vree. I saw Lucas and Marie with my own eyes. Connie — well, Raxx is still with her…” he grimaced and glanced down, before looking back. “But if she’s still alive, she won’t be for much longer.” A fit of coughing broke over the Councilman. Wentworth waited, ignoring the bloody flecks, and the bout of incontinence that accompanied it. When she managed to breathe again he continued. “I’m sorry Vree. Some of the adults are still alive, but you’re the last Senior. None of the others could hold on. And the rest aren’t going to last much longer, either.” He glanced down, and squeezed the pistol on his belt. “I wish there was something more that I could do.”
“Ai…” she seemed lost in thought, “ai… it would be easy to blame you for this sickness,” another bout of coughing, “but that wouldn’t be right. I think I’ll take the… your offer, Wentworth. Please.”
He nodded, walked around the desk, and stood next to her chair. He drew his pistol. He readied it with a firm draw then pointed it at her head.
Her sightless gaze was broken by a sudden jerk. “Wait — I would do it.”
Her eyes were firm, certain. He turned the pistol around, and handed it to her. Her hands trembled under its weight as she gripped it backwards, and put it into her mouth. The shaking increased, then it subsided. A strange look came over her, and she removed the weapon.
“Wentworth… those men would have been sick just like us, if you and Raxx hadn’t fought them, ai?”
“Yeah.”
She stared down into the chamber. “So they all got the easy way.”
“Not that easy.”
“Wentworth… thank you.”
The gun fired, and her body jerked, flinging the pistol away as she bounced back in her chair.
Wentworth waited to see that she was dead. When she didn’t move he wiped the splatter off his sleeve, retrieved his sidearm and left the office.
Vince stood behind the Landfalls bar. A scratchy voice sang an old love song on the stereo as his features sagged.
Wentworth sat across from him. Vince poured him a drink which he drank thoughtfully. When it was gone the Merchant refilled it, as well as his own.
“All the cattle survived…” the older man mused.
“Hah. Why not? They survived the war.”
Vince nodded, taking a sip before continuing. “I’d heard of radiation sickness before… in the old stories…”
Wentworth glanced up. In doing so he realized why his eyes were burning; he’d forgotten to put his goggles
