Wixon's Day Page 8

  “It’ll hurt for now, but you’ll thank me later!” the Kand roars, his friends laughing. The girl’s screams are turning to sobs. Marquos grimaces, holding up the borer as Goreth appears alongside him.

  “Are you done here?” Goreth asks with quiet urgency. Marquos stares at the girl on the floor as she writhes. Goreth warns him, “This isn’t our affair.”

  “I’m a man of the world,” Marquos whispers back, gripping a hand on the borer’s cord. “Every affair is mine.”

  He hauls the motor over his right forearm, the ripcord in his left, and charges out across the clearing. None of the Kands notice his approach until he pulls the cord, metres from the man with the hammer. The motor roars to life, chugging with a small puff of smoke, and he instantly transfers his hand to the lever and pulls it down. A spike shoots out of the pipe and immediately back into it. The Kand with the hammer stands in shock for a moment, looking down at the gaping hole in his side, before dropping to his knees and crumpling to the floor. The girl has stopped screaming, her attacker stopped laughing; both stare up at Marquos. Everyone is frozen for a moment with the roaring fire and chugging borer filling their ears. The Kand on the floor makes a break and scrambles back, struggling to pull his pants over his still erect member, but he barely has a chance to move before Marquos jumps forward and pulls the lever again. The spike fires out. In again. Its action is barely visible; in a flash, half of the Kand’s head is missing, pushed out with such force that the splatter is practically vaporised. As the body drops sideways, the final Kand comes at Marquos from the side. The pilot does not see the attack coming, merely feels the crashing blow of the bottle slamming into the side of his head, and goes rolling across the ground. The borer is flung away and the Kand is suddenly on top of him, punching down into his face. Marquos raises his hands defensively, deflecting a furious flurry of blows, dazed and weakened. A loud squelching sound jerks the Kand to a halt. He opens his mouth and lets out a gargle before falling to the floor. Goreth steps over Marquos, an axe in one hand, and holds his free hand down to pull Marquos up. Still dazed from the blows he took, Marquos sways on the spot and Goreth has to hold him up. The pair pause in the clearing, surveying the carnage.

  The final Kand lies twitching in death throes on the floor, blood seeping out into the grass around him. The other two have such neat holes in them from the borer that their corpses appear naturally dismembered. In between them, the girl rolls onto her side, covers her head with an arm and sobs into the earth. Marquos turns on the spot, looking out at the shady trees.

  “You alright, boy?” Goreth asks, holding him still and looking into his eyes.

  “Fine, fine,” Marquos shakes him off and takes an unsteady step away. He crouches by the girl and rubs her shoulder, but she flinches away from him with a scream. He speaks loudly, “You’re okay! It’s safe now, they’re gone!”

  “Get off!” the girl scrambles across the floor. “Get away from me!”

  “Do as she says,” Goreth says, pulling Marquos back. The latter can barely react, dumbly tripping across the floor. He grabs the borer, then stumbles through the clearing. Lian awaits them in the trees, nervously taking to a run as Goreth spurs him on, “Get out of here!”

  12

  Alone on his bed.

  Marquos jumps up with a start, looking around the room, and immediately cries out “Red? Red where are you?”

  Marquos bursts through the door into the cabin and freezes. Goreth and Lian sit calmly, looking up at him. Red is stood in front of Goreth, her hands raised as if in play. He taps her, smiling, and says, “Go give him a hug, precious, show him we care.”

  Red runs over to Marquos and squeezes her arms tight around his legs. He rubs her hair and whispers “It’s okay, honey. I’m okay.”

  He looks past the two Kands to see the borer laid on the steps at the rear of the cabin. It has small dark spots on it; splatters of dried blood. He stands, holding Red to him for a moment, trying to collect himself.

  “You’re a lot tougher than you look,” Goreth says, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve rarely seen a man so collected in a fight. I hope you don’t mind that we took the liberty to open up the boat again.”

  Marquos frowns at him. He pulls away from Red, whispering “Run into the bedroom, honey, let me talk with these men for a moment.”

  “Are you really okay?” Red asks with concern, and he smiles back at her.

  “Of course I am. You know I don’t get hurt.”

  “They said you were very brave and protected us all and saved another girl.”

  “They did, did they?”

  “And they said that you were hurt on the head but you would be okay because you are a rock.”

  “That’s right,” Marquos ruffles her hair again, “You wait in there for me, I’ll be in in a minute. Draw me a picture?”

  Red nods and skips away into the bedroom. Marquos closes the door behind her and turns back to his passengers. Focusing on Goreth, he says “I don’t remember getting back here.”

  “You did alright,” Goreth says. “We had to help you up, and you weren’t quite yourself after taking them blows to the head, but it wasn’t all the violence what knocked you out. I gave you a little drink for the pain, it put you right to sleep. And I think you needed it.”

  Marquos sways slightly, his head throbbing, and has to put a hand out to steady himself. The events just passed seem as transparent illusions in his mind. He can barely focus his eyes, has to keep blinking to try and clear them.

  “It was a very brave thing you did, Marquos,” Lian offers shyly.

  “Braver than many, that’s for sure,” Goreth gives his fellow Kand a piercing glare. Turning back to Marquos, he says “You done that before?”

  “Used a mechanical spike on a man?” Marquos retorts. “No.”

  “Taken a life?”

  Marquos stares at him in a grim moment’s silence, then slowly shakes his head, but says “Not directly, like that. But I’ve been responsible for a few.”

  “Now’s not the time to fret on it, it’s done,” Goreth says. “And you couldn’t have done it to more deserving people. Makes me ashamed to be Kandish, seeing their sort.”

  “We should’ve acted sooner.”

  “The job’s done, it’s no matter. How’s your head?”

  “It hurts. Hurts like hell.”

  “You need more of this,” Goreth pulls a small flask from a pocket and tosses it over to the pilot. Marquos holds it up carefully and unscrews the lid. He takes a sniff and backs off with a gagging cough. Goreth laughs, “Like glus but better. Stronger. I recovered it shortly before I boarded with you. It’ll take the edge off.”

  Marquos accepts it, taking a sip that immediately feels like an explosion of lava down his throat. He coughs but keeps it down, throwing the flask back. The numbing effects are almost immediate, making him close his eyes and sway slightly. He speaks calmly, “That man did a number on me.”

  “He got in a few good hits,” Goreth agrees. “We were lucky, the whole lot of them were probably far more dangerous than they got credit for. It’s no matter now, he gave you a few bruises and nothing more. We took their lives, nothing less. That girl will be fine, whatever she has left to live for, but you understand I could not stay there?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Marquos averts his eyes. He mutters on, with less conviction than before, “I asked you to stay away from Red.”

  “I know, and I thought you’d be sour about it, but I wasn’t letting her see you in that state. She’s a darling girl, that one, and we’ve been nothing but friendly to her. I’m not pining for anything from you, understand, but I hope caving an axehead through a man’s skull for you gains me at least a small measure of your trust.”

  Marquos scans both of the men, Goreth confident and without apology, Lian fidgeting and barely able to look at him. The pilot responds quietly, “Thank you.”

  “What’s her story? Where’s her mum?”

  “That’s what I’m
setting out to find, right now. Her family are in the Meth Fields.”

  “She’s not yours?” Goreth raises an eyebrow.

  “No. Just someone who needed some help.”

  “Interesting,” Goreth looks away, and Marquos glares at him, understanding the note of accusation. The Kand goes on, though “I guess you are not so cold to the plight of others after all.”

  “I help people when I can,” Marquos tells him levelly. “The important thing is that I know when it’s possible.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. We need to get moving, though, skipper,” Goreth clasps his hands across his lap. “If it’s all the same to you, that fire will draw attention, and we can’t hang around to see what sort.”

  “Yeah,” Marquos murmurs back, heeding the Kand’s hints.

  13

  Marquos looks into his eyes. Those mad wide eyes, dripping with sweat, surrounded by sagging cracked skin. Skin broken all over the face, the texture of crumbling rock. That square head, that troll-like head. Thick-lipped and ugly, crooked teeth and bushy eyebrows. Mad eyes. Staring, full of sudden fear. Staring straight back at him. Only for a desperate moment.

  Marquos bows his head and screws his eyes shut, as though such an effort can block the image from his mind. It only makes the memory stronger, the imprint of the Kand’s face the last moment that it existed. He holds Red close to him for support, rubbing her back as she continues to draw, effectively ignoring his affections. He opens his eyes again, looking out at the silhouettes of trees before them, and wishes for the darkness of the night to swallow up his memories.

  “This is Mr Kand, and this is Mr Gore,” Red says with proud finality, turning to Marquos and holding up her paper. Marquos looks at it curiously. It shows the central stickman and small girl he is familiar with, this time joined by a wider stickman and a thinner stickman. Lian’s representation is slightly slumped, with small retreating arms, which makes Marquos smile and pat the young girl’s head. He tells her, “That’s a perfect likeness.”

  Red nods with knowing acknowledgement, resting her picture on the floor, and gives Marquos a serious stare before asking “Where did you go tonight?”

  “I had to help someone,” he tells her, eyes fixed ahead of the boat.

  “Who?”

  “Just a girl.”

  “A girl like me?”

  “Not really.”

  “Had she lost her home too?”

  Marquos looks down at her with sad eyes, the image of that abused victim crawling across his mind. He offers no comment.

  “Did you take her back to her family?”

  Marquos looks away again and answers weakly, “I did all I could.”

  “Why doesn’t she come with us?”

  “She has her own home.”

  “But she could have come with us.”

  “She didn’t want to.”

  “Marq? Was it the guards again?”

  “It wasn’t the guards, honey. It was just…some bad men. I’m fine, though, don’t you worry.”

  The guards wore masks. He never saw their faces when he hurt them. No. It couldn’t have hurt. The weapon moved so quickly. There was nothing left to feel the pain. The square head, no longer whole, like the jagged remnants of a broken jigsaw puzzle. One eye still looked at him as it fell back. He stared into the man’s soul as he died, just as he did the final Kand who’d taken the axe to the brain. He shudders.

  “Do you like Mr Gore?” Marquos mutters.

  “I do,” Red replies, happily giving him a quick hug and hopping up and down on the floor. “He says funny things. He’s very kind, and big.”

  “What funny things does he say?”

  “He told me that he thought my hair was on fire and pretended to put it out! But he was only pretending. And he showed me how you fought the bad men. He said you were like this, all pow! Pow! Take this!” she backs off, throwing fists, and Marquos cannot help but smirk. She stops abruptly and says, “Marq. I’m hungry. I’m really hungry.”

  “Okay,” he says. “Do you think you can fetch down and ask one of the men to help you cook a tin?”

  Red nods quickly, with a look of great pleasure at this new responsibility.

  “You go to it, then. I have to keep here, steering for us.”

  “I’ll bring you some!” Red cries out, running to the door and down the steps.

  “Don’t worry-” Marquos tries to call out after her, but the door swings shut and she is gone from view. He stares into space, and the darkness subsides again to show that vacant face. He can’t feel sorry for the Kand. The monstrous Kand, deserver of death. That square, hideous apparition, it had no place in this world. It had met the end it warranted. Marquos squeezes his eyes closed again, feeling tears throbbing at his eyelids, and he let out a choking sob.

  Only a few minutes pass before Goreth comes up on deck, loudly announcing his presence with a brash comment about Lian’s smell. He sits opposite Marquos, staring at him hard with a face set in sincerity. The pilot averts his gaze, wipes a sleeve across his eyes in case of remaining tears. The Kand says “How did you get so tough, boy?”

  “I’ve seen a lot of the world,” Marquos answers cryptically. “And most of it on my own. I’ve had no choice but to be tough.”

  “But I can see it doesn’t sit well with you,” Goreth cocks his head to one side as though analysing the man before him, a curious specimen. “Which I suppose makes you an even better man for it. What I don’t understand, though, is what you’re doing with that child. It wasn’t the goodness of your heart that took you out to that clearing, though it kept you there longer than you’d intended. You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who takes to charity lightly.”

  “You don’t know me,” Marquos whispers.

  “I’ve known a few like you, though. Scavengers, transporters, you want to see the world without being a part of it. Make your way without having it made for you. But it was something different that made you go back for that woman, and I’ll wager it’s the same thing that keeps you looking after that kid.” Marquos gives him an icy stare, not willing to join in the discussion. Goreth knows his audience, though, and continues, “I’m certain you’re not the sort for abusing children. Those types are cowards and lunatics. I guess you’re mercenary, it’s not out of the question that you’d be throwing her to the wolves, to the right customer. That’s what I took you for at first, at least, a tough guy with a kid on board. But then what you did back there had me questioning it differently.”

  “I’m no slaver,” Marquos tells him defiantly, “I’d have nothing to do with that.”

  “Yet you worked in the Mines.”

  “It was a mistake.”

  “So this is some kind of redemption? Taking one child out of all that?”

  Marquos meets his eyes with a challenge in his own. It says that the Kand doesn’t want to know the truth, that no one should. Goreth is equal to the task, though, a veteran of tragedy whose gaze does not falter for a moment. The pilot has to break the look first, and lets out a sigh. He murmurs, “There was three of them, before. Well, lots more than three...but Red had a few friends.” Marquos gives Goreth another glance, giving the fighter a final opportunity to get out of it. The Kand merely raises his eyebrows back, prompting the pilot to go on.

  There were seldom many children on the Mine runs that made an impression. Most were too worn down by their work and lack of proper diet to even say a word, though one or two tried. Usually, the vocal ones were beaten into silence by the guards, something Marquos winced at but did not attempt to stop. It was usually done too quickly for him to have ever made a difference, he always told himself. There were three children who opened his eyes to how human these abused creatures were. The loudmouth Barker, an adolescent no older than thirteen who always had something confrontational to say; gentle Red who idled by with quiet innocence; and Red’s cohort Tojo, about the same age as her, a little more resilient in his behaviour. Barker was a staple on the boats, a nuisance to all,
but the other two appeared later in the period of work, together, offering a different perspective to the troubles the youth offered.

  They were there with one of the usual crowds of workers, muscled onto the boat with chains around their necks. Most the children avoided interacting with Marquos, but Red caught his eye and offered a sweet smile, then whispered something to Tojo, a boy slightly smaller than her, with jet black hair. As they rode down the canal, Tojo asked Marquos his name. He answered and the little boy started talking, saying it was a good name and he should like to have it himself. He did not respond, except for smiling back. After a few days, Tojo spoke to him more, and Red joined in with a few questions of her own. They were sprightly compared to the others, and Marquos understood they must have been newcomers, often sharing what they’d learnt with little whispers as though it was all part of a fascinating new game. The guards with their group told the kids to be quiet at first, and even swatted Tojo about the back of his head, but Marquos said he didn’t mind speaking to them. Still, they became careful, and only addressed him when they could see the guards were not paying attention. As days went by, Marquos saw both of them becoming more tired and worn by the work. Their skin was filthy and their weight had dropped. Their eyes still sparkled, but they did not have the energy to match the enthusiasm they felt inside. Red became quieter, whilst Tojo became more irritable, talking back to the guards and receiving blows for it. He started to make hate-filled comments about his work and living conditions, saying it was not fair and they should be released, to return to their families.