Fool Me Twice
Jim Dodge Jr.
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 Jim Dodge Jr.
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Outset
I was lying in a pool of blood. It wasn't mine. I couldn't believe the bitch had shot me. We'd been partners for 16 years and there she was holding the smoking gun that caused this mess.
My chest was a throbbing mass of spectacular pain. I knew that if I moved she'd shoot me again so I didn't twitch a single muscle. I just lay there, bleeding pig's blood and pretending I was a corpse. She seemed to be satisfied with her handiwork. I heard her holster the .45 and walk away.
Right now I have a lot of explaining to do. I don't know if I'm telling God, or Buddha, or even an alternate personality of my own, but it feels good just to turn these random feelings into something coherent. My only hope is that I tell this story right. I guess I should start with a brief introduction. My name is Colin Chapel and I'm a cop.
The technical term was Narcotics Enforcement Officer, but nobody wanted to say that mouthful every time and the acronym is too reminiscent of a pitiful character from a cheesy sci-fi flick a century ago. In the year 2080 drugs took a major turn for the worse. Instead of chemicals derived from bleach and bathroom cleaner, we had spores that were carried into the blood stream by nano-bots. They were cheap to manufacture and easy to get. My job was to find the dealers, destroy their labs and keep the product off the street.
I joined the ranks of national law enforcement when I was nineteen. I was naive as hell and I thought I was invincible. I was shot twice in separate incidents before I was twenty-one. This drastically changed my outlook and, after that, I learned to keep my head down. The other officers I worked with took to calling me 'S.C.', which meant either 'Swiss cheese' or 'Supercop' depending on the speaker. They're all dead now so I don't hear that nickname anymore.
At twenty-two they partnered me with a gorgeous, deadly blonde by the name of Rachelle. She was stacked. If she wore less than a D-cup I would be surprised. Her violet eyes were shrewd and missed nothing. Her straight hair fell past her shoulders and caressed her back. Her hands looked deceptively delicate and were amazingly strong. She never wore tight clothes but what she did wear always accented her curvaceous figure. She could have easily been the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. On our first day as partners she caught me looking at her for too long and set things straight. She never said a word but I got the point and a few new scars. That babe could brawl like a rabid grizzly.
I had just entered the Nano-Narc squad and I was as green as the water in San Francisco Bay after the reactor leaked into it. Rachelle was a ten year veteran and had been in Narc for six of them. She was the type of cop that I had always aspired to be; minus the tits and pouty lips, that is.
We worked well together. I didn't hit on her and she didn't beat me up. We busted heads and even managed to win some ribbons from the mayor's office. We bagged more dope than any street peddler could sell in a decade. As the crime rates dropped, our confidence soared.
I can't begin to count the number of times we saved each other's lives. One time she picked off a thug who had a Winchester Boomstick pointed at my heart and I paid her back by clobbering a prostitute with knife-play on her mind. We became closer than twins.
As it turns out she came from a rich family. She was bored with the easy life and turned to law enforcement for recreation rather than those godawful syntho-treks. Hiking in the Himalayas isn't very challenging when all you have to do is say 'end' and you're back in your own bedroom. She seemed to have found enough adventure in the Narc Squad.
It wasn't until 2096 that things changed. A new breed of criminal was emerging. They were fast, smart and they liked killing cops. They stood over six feet tall and were heavily muscled. Short-cropped hair adorned their skulls. Their eyes were black orbs of malice under protruding brows. It was obvious they were enhanced, much like our space explorers and our athletes.
They started with our uniformed officers. They liked to lure them into seemingly safe situations and kill them in increasingly inventive ways. I'd describe their methods to you but there are just too many. Use your imagination and feel confident that the reality was much, much worse.
The worst thing about these murderous bastards was that they were organized. It became apparent that they had a single leader who was coordinating every strike and every movement. They were an army and their general eluded our best efforts to capture him. He knew what we were going to do and when we were going to do it. Routine raids turned into bloodbaths. No officer was safe even when giving a lowly parking ticket. All of our paths and patterns were monitored to eliminate us more efficiently. I quickly realized that a police officer was responsible.
I still don't know what drove this particular member of our brotherhood over the edge even though I know now, without any doubt, who it was. It was a sinister game and we were all pieces with no value, other than a certain level of entertainment.
After all of the blue-shirts were eliminated, they started on the plain-clothes officers. Time and time again a body would be found with his or her badge conspicuously on or near the corpse. Those few of us who survived went underground.
We threw away our badges and we stayed as far away from our homes and offices as possible. We had to give up the fight for justice completely just to keep breathing. The general populace panicked and the cities were non-stop riots. There was nothing we could do about it.
Rachelle and I had gone our separate ways in early 2097 to preserve our lives. She said she was going to Old Chicago since she had friends there but nobody would know her as a cop. I stayed in Philly (the city's fathers had voted unanimously to shorten Philadelphia officially in 2065) since this was the only city I knew. I kept my head down and my guns loaded.
The disease spread. News reports and e-papers all agreed that the violence and desperation were malignant and aggressively spreading. The 'Black Regency' was a nationwide concern in a matter of months. 'Lawlessness before all else' became the new motto of the Republic of North America. Our new, self-elected leader called himself simply 'The Regent.' He never showed himself in public but his symbol, a maleficent, black crow, projected itself from holo-screens whenever he made his announcements to the masses.
I did the only thing I knew to do. I sought him out. I killed as many of his flunkies as I could, while at the same time trying to determine who he was and where he ruled from. I wanted to eliminate him and regain the old way of the law.
For nearly two years I was hard on his trail. I would penetrate his defenses, enter his stronghold and find it abandoned. It was another part of the game for him to leave guards around an empty building to mislead any possible assassin. The ruse worked well and I fell for it dozens of times.
I killed hundreds of super-crooks and still there were more. There were thousands of them, maybe hundreds of thousands and they kept an iron grip on the cowering masses. Curfews were imposed and rules were made. Nobody violated them. Death was the penalty for every infraction. Only criminals walked the streets openly and the people starved. Not even the worst dictator from the history books had instilled fear this palpable. Hitler and Hussein seemed like rude grocery-mat managers by comparison.
Eventually I got lucky. I think I should rephrase that since my luck was mostly bad. I stumbled across the Regent in his hideaway while I was trying to escape one of his patrols. This unobtrusive two-storey house in the suburbs of Louisville, Kentucky was surrounded by black-clad troops carrying all types of guns, knives and blunt objects. It took stealth and good aim to eliminate even one of them and I would have to take out hundreds of them to have any real chance of getting a clear shot. I did my best but it wasn't good enough.
I tried to get a good glimpse of the Regent but the goons who were there to protect him were very eager to escort him off the premises. I was unable to penetrate the wall of toughened flesh and bristling weaponry. I began to grudgingly respect him for his ingenuity at using nondescript locations for control centers. It was no wonder nobody had managed to find him before now.
I stayed low but close on his heels. The high concentration of troops that surrounded him at any time was a good indication of his position. I followed them from city to city in my effort to eradicate his evil designs.
I tried to play my own cat-and-mouse games with the black-hearted mobs but it was just too risky. Leaving their bloated corpses as grisly trophies was fun and kept my instincts honed but after a few close calls I gave up my sport for my own good. These men were fiends who killed without regrets. I never wanted to see my lungs and I certainly didn't want them fed to dogs while I watched. I became a shadow.
One night they stopped in a small suburb outside of Old Chicago. Crumbling, brick town-houses and dying trees lined the streets. No wind blew the stifling heat away and the mosquitoes were so numerous that I had to pull my shirt over my face so that I didn't take a thousand of them in with every breath. The moon shone feebly through the clouds, illuminating the cracked sidewalks and the sagging porches. The air stank of old death.
I thought briefly of Rachelle and wondered if she was still alive. Whether she was or wasn't, there was nothing I could do for her. I kept my thoughts on keeping myself alive.
I watched and waited. A dilapidated structure at one-sixteen Plum Street was the chosen, temporary headquarters of the Black Regency. The feeble glow of a single bulb lit up the windows, outlining a few silhouetted ruffians who appeared to be sparring.
I found a good place to hide so I could safely spy on my enemy. Nobody entered the building. Nobody exited the building. I fell asleep behind a desiccated azalea bush. I woke up when approaching footsteps caught my attention. The first thing I noticed was that all of the guards were dispersing. Still nobody came from inside the building. Only two soldiers remained to protect the door. After a couple more hours of inactivity my curiosity overcame my caution. I pulled my Whisperer from its holster.
Smith & Wesson and Colt merged in 2051 for the benefit of both companies. They began to experiment with quiet weaponry. Silencers became obsolete and the manufacturers got even richer than they had intended. The Whisperer was the quietest pistol ever made. It took shells that had the stopping power of a twelve gauge shotgun but were so quiet that the target only heard the shot if the gun was within an inch of their head. Those who survived the ordeal compared it to a lover's breath in their ear, hence the name. This gun and I were old friends.
The second guard looked up when he heard the first one fall but he made no more noise than his companion had. They never heard the shots that killed them. The coppery smell of their blood tainted the still air. As I was dragging the second dead goon into the bushes the door opened. I slid back into the shadows, a phantom among ghosts.
A figure emerged from the doorway. He was over six feet tall and well-dressed in a black pinstripe suit like the gangsters wore in the old reel-movies. His dark hair was slicked back and he wore black sunglasses. His entire look had gone out of style nearly eighteen decades ago. He walked as if nothing could harm him and wasn't concerned that his guards were missing. This had to be him, the Regent himself. The king was about to be dethroned.
I called out to him. "Hey, buddy, got a light?"
He looked up with an amused smile and was about to respond when my shot tore his right arm from his body. He fell hard and immediately became motionless. He'd never made a sound except for that of his ass hitting the pavement. It was too easy.
I approached him carefully knowing that most people lived for a few minutes before the shock killed them. He didn't even twitch as I poked his arm socket. The metallic sheen underneath his skin told me why he had been so easy to stop. Robots were programmed to shut down automatically when they sustained damage of this extent. It made them easier to salvage.
I was about to scream savagely and had my foot pulled back to kick Mr. Roboto in his titanium balls when I heard a foot step behind me. Shit. I knew the sound of a gun coming out of its holster better than my own voice. This was not the place I wanted to be right now.
"Turn around," she commanded, "slowly."
Hope flared. The owner of that voice was my savior. I turned around, grinning like a fool.
"Rachelle!" I greeted warmly as I turned to face my old partner.
She was wearing a black Armor-Skin suit that gave her the deceptive appearance of a masculine build. Tall, crimson tactical boots and a matching trench-coat proved that her sense of style remained. Her flowing, blonde hair was pulled back severely from her face. She looked older and tired but she was still alluring.
"Colin?" She was shocked. "Is that really you? I figured my legions of loyal idiots had buried you long ago."
"What?!" I couldn't believe my ears. "Run that by me again, I seem to have misunderstood you."
"I ordered them to kill you before I even left Philly," she explained. "I knew you would cause problems if you were left to wander around."
I nearly cried. I loved her more than my own mother. I had watched her back just as she had watched mine. I would have gladly given my own life for hers and nearly had on several occasions. I raised my gun. She shot me without hesitation. The slug hit me in the chest and knocked me down onto the uneven pavement. Blood soaked my shirt and I lay there dazed. She strolled over to my prone form and looked down at me.
"You should have seen this coming, Colin. I hated the way things were and you knew it. I wasn't shy about my feelings. The world is a sewer! I'm fed up with being a piece of debris floating merrily along in the stream," she paused to let her words sink in. "No technological marvel, no governmental body could have gained the control I have. Nobody else could have done this; nobody but me. It takes unfailing ruthlessness and staggering intelligence to do something on this grand a scale."
I lay there panting as pain washed over me in sickening waves. She paused again to organize her thoughts.
"I can't say I'm sorry it ended this way," she finally continued. "You always were a simple-minded bundle of hormonal excess. I'll enjoy watching you die."
I rolled my eyes up to look her in the face. She was still beautiful but her evil ways were etched in the lines around her eyes. She was the worst villainess ever to arise from the world's degradation. I hated her completely.
"What, no witty comeback? That's not like you, partner." The word sounded filthy coming from her mouth like that. Anger helped pull me from the haze of pain I was in.
"You've forgotten..." I croaked.
"Forgotten what?" she snarled. Arrogance oozed from her every word.
"You forgot...the most important...thing," I gasped.
"Come on, die already. I've got troops to move and people to terrorize. I'm a very busy tyrant."
What she had forgotten was what a tricky bastard I am. A friend of mine from the academy studied movie special effects from the twentieth century and loved to install blood packs on anything he could. I had talked him into installing some on my bulletproof vest in the hopes that it might one day save my life. The thought was that, after being shot by a perp I would bleed convincingly while I had time to recoup my strength and formulate a plan. All I had to do was lay still and not move if they kicked me. All they had to do was not shoot me any other place than in the chest or back with an old style, non-armor piercing round. It was a gamble I was willing to take.
I tensed my whole body as if I was having a seizure and then went limp. I didn't breathe. I didn't flutter an eyelash. I didn't fart. I was as dead as I could make myself. She knelt down and poked me with her gun a few times then stood back up. She refrained from desecrating my 'corpse' in any way and began to walk away.
I cracked one eyelid to be sure she was really leaving me. My Whisperer was still in my hand and I raised it without a sound.
"Rachelle," I called.
She whirled to face me, startled. She started to say something but I rudely interrupted her.
"My turn."
Bang.
Resurgence
My bullet hit her in the right eye. Her skull exploded, shearing off that side of her lovely face and messing up her long, blond braid. I hated to waste a good-looking woman like that, but she had it coming. No chick, no matter how hot, was going to kill me and get away with it.
I peeled off my bloody clothes and dropped them on the sidewalk. I must have been quite a sight, standing there on the sidewalk in my birthday suit, surrounded by dead bodies. I mopped the blood off myself the best I could with my pants after I rummaged through my pockets. I collected my wallet and my keys. Both items were useless but they were mine.
Armor-Skin made the best personal body armor known to modern man. It was light-weight, durable, waterproof and yet just as comfortable as old blue-jeans. It could stop knives, arrows, tasers, lasers, and most armor-piercing rounds. It could even prevent a tank shell from penetrating the person wearing it. It just couldn't prevent the smashing of internal organs when the enormous shell crashed into the unlucky target. The prospect of finally owning my own set was exhilarating.
After all these years I finally got to do something in the real world that I had previously only been able to do in my fantasies. I got to take Rachelle's clothes off. With only part of her head remaining on her cooling form this was much less exciting than my daydreams had been. I tried to pretend she was a mannequin from the local Armory Outlet. The ruse was only partly successful. I left her bra and panties on just to be respectful to the dead bitch.
Since Rachelle had picked a 'Skin that was intended to disguise her feminine form she had unwittingly left me with a valuable asset. In minutes I had freed my prize from my ex-partner's corpse. Amazingly, none of her blood had gotten on her clothes. What hadn't sprayed out of the back of her head had run into the gutter with the other waste.
The crimson boots and trench-coat were a little gaudy for my tastes, but they fit perfectly. Now I was dressed like an old comic-book super-hero. Somehow, wearing women's clothes didn't feel as awkward as I had imagined. It was rather liberating in fact. I felt like a new man.
I searched the pockets of my new garments and found little of any real use. There was a pack of gum, a self-lighting syntho-rette and a pair of tactical sunglasses. This ingenious eyewear blocked UV rays and gave the wearer some infra-red capabilities. It even afforded their owner some semblance of night vision. Bonus items like that certainly made life better. If a nuclear explosive detonated, the glasses would survive, even though their fashion conscious owner wouldn't. I knew those would come in handy so I put them on. Cool.
I adjusted the straps and fasteners on the Armor-Skin until it all settled into place. After that I brushed the dirt and leaves off of the coat, smoothed it out and checked my reflection in the nearest window. I was dressed to kill. Again. I knew it was time to bring justice back to the streets. As I turned to walk away, a pair of Regency soldiers approached me. Their confusion was obvious as they looked me up and down.
"Who are you?" the blond galoot asked.
"What are you doing here?" his idiot partner with the brown buzz chimed in.
Their confusion ended when they spied Rachelle's nearly naked body on the sidewalk. I shot them both before they could bring their AK-48's up to firing position. The blond proved tougher than his companion. Then again, I had shot him in the stomach and his brunette pal had taken his in the windpipe. I walked over to the fallen monster. He was gasping for air but I knew that he could potentially live for at least another hour before he died. He was bleeding slowly but steadily. I stood over him in the most intimidating manner I could manage.
"My name is Chapel. You'd do well to remember it."
He didn't seem impressed. I shook my head and nearly shit myself when a bullet whizzed by my ear. I ducked and rolled behind the nearest car.
The rusted out shit-box that I had chosen as my sanctuary disappeared in an instant. The loud boom hit me a full two seconds after the concussion of the blast sent me sprawling. My friends must have brought some well armed reinforcements. Only a Clint Big-Boomer packed enough punch to make a piece of Detroit rolling iron disintegrate like that. It was time to move.
With no time to catch my breath, I sprinted around the corner of the building closest to my position. It was the wrong way. I found myself staring down the barrel of that Clint and wishing I didn't have to pee so badly. My options were limited so I shot the gun-toting flunkie in the balls with my Whisperer. He dropped the 'Boomer and made a grab for his missing genitals. It was so funny I had to laugh as I ran for my life.
I knew the boys from The Regency wouldn't bother to stop to help their fallen comrade in their desire to waste me so I pushed my aching body to its limits. I ran for blocks. I turned left. I turned right. I jumped a fence and headed back in the direction I had originally come from. I figured that would stump them. I was right. They hadn't bothered to move the bodies, help the wounded man or to remove their weapons. I took the AK-48 and the extra ammunition from the dead man and walked back over to the dying one. I felt better. My Whisperer was nestled in its holster, its comfortable weight a reassuring burden.
"How are you feeling?" I asked Blondie.
His response sounded like somebody saying 'fuck you' through a muddy bog. Blood ran from his mouth and down his chin to join the growing puddle beneath him.
"That bad, huh? I'm sorry I didn't kill you. Want me to finish you? It'll be quick" I offered sympathetically.
He spit a wad of bloody mucus at me. It landed somewhere in the vicinity of his knees. With his throat cleared, he was able to garble a few words.
"We'll get you," he said in a gravelly whisper, "your time is past. The Black Reg..."
A single shot from the AK stopped the propaganda from spewing out of his mouth. I wasn't known for my patience and today I was grumpier than usual. I held the automatic rifle at the ready as I headed away from the bodies of my fallen foes. If it hadn't been for the aches and pains of weary muscles I would have felt on top of the world. The crumbling buildings and burned out vehicles helped bring me back to reality. The world was fucked up and somebody needed to fix it. I only hoped I was up to the task.
☺
It was getting dark fast. The pollution in Old Chicago was world famous. I needed to find a place to sleep before I couldn't see enough to walk safely. I picked the least dilapidated house I could find in the gathering gloom and tried the door. It was locked. I used the butt of the rifle as a skeleton key and smashed the knob. The door opened easily enough after that so I let myself in.
"Knock, knock," I called cheerfully.
Nobody answered so I made myself at home. I closed the door behind me and surveyed my new digs. The usual compliment of rooms was present; family room, kitchen, dining room, and a hallway which presumably led to the bedrooms and the bathroom. There was an overstuffed recliner in the family room that had very little dust on it so I made it my temporary base of operations.
I sat down in the burgundy chair and put the leg rest up. My feet were immediately grateful. I set the AK so I could easily grab it and checked to make sure my Whisperer was clear in its holster. I felt a little silly but I'd rather live than die. No surprise there. Exhaustion quickly overcame my sense of self-preservation. I was nearly asleep when I heard footsteps approach stealthily from the back of the house. I hadn't searched the back rooms for any occupants and I was about to pay for my folly. I was so tired I could barely think straight but I found that I already had the rifle in my hands. In one quick move I leapt from the chair and spun to face my assailant. It was a child.
"Hey there." I tried to be pleasant so I wouldn't scare the little guy. "Where are your parents?"
The tike was about three feet tall, grimy as hell and had long, unkempt hair. I couldn't tell if it was a boy or a girl. I was listening intently for the sound of any other people in the house. I heard the wind against the windows and some distant explosions but if there were any more refugees in the building they were keeping very quiet.
"What's your name?" I asked. "I'm Chapel. I'm a cop and I won't hurt you."
"You're a copper?" the tiny voice piped. "Really? A for real policeman? Not one of them killer-men?"
I could tell I hadn't convinced the child of my noble intent and I felt that a lot hinged on this moment. I looked into the big blue eyes in front of me and filled my voice with sincerity.
"My name is Chapel. I'm a really for real policeman. I only kill bad guys and I love children." I pointed the gun at the floor to show the truth in my statements. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers so if you'll tell me your name, we can be friends."
The waif's face betrayed an inner emotional struggle but disbelief finally gave way to grudging trust.
"My name's Marie," she answered hesitantly. "But my Pops calls me Shoestring."
With that little mystery cleared up, Shoestring ran up to me and hugged me with all of her miniscule might. I was so surprised I nearly shot myself in the foot. I put the safety on and set the rifle in the chair. I hugged that child as if she was the only other good person left on earth. I was amazed at how good it felt to have human contact that didn't end in bloodshed. I cried a little, I was so overwhelmed.
"Well, Shoestring, it's very nice to meet you." I smiled the best smile I ever had in my life. "Where's Pops? Is he alive? I would like to ask him if it's okay if I stay here tonight."
Her face clouded. I knew the answer before she spoke.
"The big soldier mens came to take him for re-re-re edgi..." she grasped for the word.
"Re-education?" I prompted.
"Yeah, re-education. He says he won't go so they shot him in the head." her expression went blank and no emotion was evident in her voice.
I hugged her again as I tried to figure out how this was going to work. I couldn't abandon her yet she was obviously capable of surviving on her own. Morals, ethics and all that shit ate at me. In the end, I did the only thing I could do.
"Shoestring, you're coming with me."
Every super-hero needs a sidekick.
Saddle Up
Since it looked like Shoestring hadn't eaten lately, I rummaged around in the kitchen cabinets until I found an ancient can of Van Camp's Pork 'N' Beans in the back corner of a top cabinet. It wasn't much but it would keep her from starving to death. I added supplies to my mental checklist. If we were going to travel we'd need some groceries.
As I popped the pull-tab, the can warmed the food up. By the time I presented the meager meal for her consumption she had already found a spoon. I worried for a moment that the tiny little girl might attack me if I didn't hand over the grub fast enough. She looked ready to wrestle mountain lions. I handed it to her gingerly, determined not to lose my hand in the process.
We didn't talk much. The silence was more comfortable. Instead we watched the darkness fall through the flimsy curtains in the back bedroom. Some period of time later, Shoestring fell asleep curled up in my lap and began to snore. That's all I remember until daybreak so I know I fell asleep too.
As the sun started pouring through the windows I woke, startled. I was sure I had heard the front door being opened. Shoestring was still asleep in my lap so I cautiously moved her onto the floor. I didn't want to wake her if I didn't have to.
I picked up the AK-48 as I crept out of the bedroom. I closed the door as I left so Shoestring could sleep through any noise I might make. It was most likely that the intruder or intruders were desperate folks like us. Just the same I made sure the safety was in the 'off' position. If things got nasty they'd do so real quickly. In this world it paid to be pessimistic. My Whisperer was snuggled loosely in its holster. The automatic rifle would clean out any infestation of two-legged roaches faster than my beloved pistol but I wanted it ready, just in case.
I walked down the short hall as if I was invincible. Actually, I felt invincible. The idea of being an unstoppable force for good had settled in and I was ready to rock. After a short burst of gunfire from our unwanted guests I picked myself up off of the disintegrating carpet. If it hadn't been for the Armor-Skin my folly would have been fatal.
The slugs hadn't done any real damage to me through the 'Skin but my pride was wounded. I fired off a short burst as I stood up and darted into the kitchen. I heard one body drop and countless bullets tear through the walls and cabinets around me. Several hit the oven and refrigerator with 'sproing' sounds. I hit the floor.
From my vantage point I could see the dust bunnies under the refrigerator. I made a decision to live a little longer. It was time for drastic measures. Being the brainless wonder that I was, I somersaulted into the living room, spraying rounds as I went. I called that move the 'Pinwheel of Death'. It worked. When the clip ran empty, I was the only living, breathing creature in the living room. Unfortunately one of the brutes had come around behind me and was attempting to crush my windpipe.
"We got you now, fucker," he grunted.
I tried to respond but his thumb was pressed into my vocal cords. Instead I grabbed his cock and balls and gave them a less than friendly squeeze. The only appropriate time to fight fair is when your life's not on the line. He must have liked S & M since he laughed low in his throat and actually got an erection. I let go of his family jewels. My vision was growing dark and all I could think about was Shoestring and the rape and torture she could probably expect if these goons found her.
I was running out of time so I called on my oldest friend to help me. One shot from the Whisperer was probably enough but as he fell I shot him twice more. It was a beautiful moment. Never had I felt so alive. As I was examining the hole in my lovely crimson trench-coat I heard a muffled cry of pain come from the rear of the house. As I left the battered kitchen I made a mental note to unsheathe my weapon before I fired it next time.
"Shoestring!" I yelled as my fear grew.
I sprinted down the hall. The door was open so I lost no time entering the room. I was shocked at the scene that presented itself. I had never witnessed anything so brutal, so gruesome or so beautiful. A dead Regency soldier lay on his back staring sightlessly at the ceiling with a large kitchen knife sticking out of his stomach. He appeared to have deep cuts on every part of his body. The fallen brute was shredded. It was like some mad scientist's failed experiment. I stood shocked for a moment as Shoestring jumped up and down on his chest and screamed.
"You killed my daddy you shitass! You killed my daddy you shitass!" She repeated it like it was a mantra, which I supposed in a way it probably was.
I put my hand on her shoulder and soon found that ten-inch blade pointing at my navel. I held perfectly still and waited for the haze of fear and anger to drain from her vision. It didn't take long. I could see the berserker leave her and she collapsed into my arms, crying as if the whole world was lost. It was but it wouldn't do her any good to discuss that right then. I hugged her back and tried to say soothing things until her tears dried up.
She didn't seem to want to talk about what had just happened so I didn't bring the subject up. Some things were better left unsaid. After she pulled herself together we stripped all the ammo off of the fallen men. One of them had a long boot knife with a black composite handle which I let Shoestring keep. She strapped the neo-nylon sheath around her waist like it was Excalibur. Looking down at the diminutive girl, I added clothes to the checklist. Her soiled t-shirt and shorts were more holes than fabric.
"Do you have any family?" I asked her when we had the bodies piled up like cordwood in the bathroom.
She shook her head. "No. Just Pops."
Her eyes misted up and she didn't say anything else for a couple of minutes. I let her have her silence while I rummaged through the remains of the kitchen for any food or water. Nothing. We needed to move quickly before another pack of jackals descended upon us. We had gotten lucky once and I didn't want to stake my life, or hers, on such a shaky bit of good fortune.
I put a fresh clip in the AK, put three fresh shells in the Whisperer and hauled ass out of the back door with Shoestring in tow. Just as I suspected, our luck didn't hold. Three Regency soldiers stood there waiting for us. I don't know what I fucked up in a past life but I must have done it right.
"Drop the weapon and surrender immediately!" one of them shouted.
As I complied, I glanced around. Shoestring had disappeared. I hoped she wouldn't be spotted by patrols. That girl was tough and deserved to survive my ill-fated company. I wished her well as I prepared myself to be executed.
As I knelt, one of the buffoons commanded. "Kneel, traitor." Duh.
"Hey, cockface, how's your aim?" I asked cheerily. "I just got this coat and I don't want my blood ruining it."
Confusion flashed across their faces. If you added their I.Q.'s together you might get a good golf score. It would be close, though. Mr. Talkative composed himself the fastest and tried to reassert order.
"Just do as you're told and we can get this over with."
I closed my eyes and offered a brief prayer up to whatever gods may be listening for the pleas of ignorant cops. I heard a surprised gurgle followed by several short bursts of gunfire. Expecting to find myself dead and ascending to the heavens, I was surprised to hear Shoestring laughing. Damn it. They must have killed her too.
"Mr. Chapel. Open your eyes. You ain't dead."
"You aren't dead," I automatically corrected, "and how the hell did I manage that?"
"Look."
I did. It was like a scene from a Chaplin film. With blood. Mr. Talkative had a slit throat which I knew had to be from the knife Shoestring carried. His two underlings had obviously been caught off-guard as well and had managed to shoot each other in their haste to defend themselves. I shook my head in bewilderment as I laughed. I never bothered to ask her how she had accomplished it. These guys were real big. They were real dumb too. It was amazing that morons like these had managed to conquer the nation.
I looked at my sidekick with new eyes. She was only three feet tall but she had guts. The clothes I wore weighed more than she did but they hadn't saved my life as effectively as she had. To say I respected her wouldn't even begin to cover how I felt.
"Where to?" I asked.
"Don't know."
"Does it matter?"
"Nope."
I picked the dropped weapon up out of the grass and led us to the nearest retail store. I knew one little girl who had just earned herself a new outfit.
☺
After skulking across town and nearly running into three more patrols, we reached the mall. Dollar-Mart had already been looted, most likely several times. The big glass doors had been smashed so thoroughly only dust remained. All of the windows had been smashed but the 'OPEN' sign still hung dutifully. It was good enough for me.
I carried Shoestring over the threshold so her bare feet wouldn't get cut on glass. I took her to the employee bathroom first. A humming buzz coming from the cash register made me believe the power might still be on. I was right. When I flipped the switch, the light came on. I closed the door so the warm glow wouldn't attract any attention from the street.
Yikes. This was the first time I had seen my new partner in full illumination. If there was a clean spot on her, I couldn't find it. I went back into the store and grabbed a few things. The looters had taken all of the food and the fake jewelry but normal items like shampoo and soap had been left undisturbed. I guess fiends don't bathe.
I hung my coat on the rack nearest the bathroom so I wouldn't foul it with filth from Shoestring. I was still fuming about the hole I had shot in it and I didn't want it damaged any further. I was becoming rather fond of my new wardrobe.
I was a little uncomfortable asking her to undress. "Would you like to do this while I stand outside?" I was squirming.
"No!" She blurted. "Please, stay wif me."
"Are you scared?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, let's get you clean."
Using water from the sink, I wet her down and lathered her up. It took two wash-cloths, a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo to discover the little girl under the grime. I ended up having to go find a brush with stiffer bristles because the one I had kept getting tangled in her hair. There were enough strands of that left over to make a medium-sized dog. It looked like an old mop in the trash can.
Finally we had her sparkling. She was shivering in the cool air. What I discovered was a pretty young lady with straight, mousy brown hair and the most brilliant blue eyes. Her skin was pale and covered in small bruises and scars. A roadmap of her life covered her body.
"One more thing," I assured her and handed her a big, fluffy towel.
After she had dried off, we browsed the racks of clothing. Everything was on the floor. We moved debris around and dug under rubble until we found her a dress that she liked. It had a blue-flowered print on a white background. We found her some ruffled socks and a pair of sneakers. I nearly collapsed beneath the weight of nostalgia the sight of her evoked.
Somehow I was able to find a sewing kit amidst the chaos. I chose the red that most closely matched the color of my coat and repaired the hole. It was near the seam of the arm so my half-ass stitching was nearly invisible. I put it back on and smoothed it into place. It wasn't perfect but it was close enough.
I packed a knapsack full of toiletries. I filled it with soap, shampoo, toothbrushes, toothpaste, brushes, wash-cloths and even two more of those fluffy towels. I packed a smaller bundle of clothes for Shoestring. I knew that no female would be content with one set of clothes for long. Besides, that dress would eventually get dirty and I was certain all the laundry-mats were closed. We slung our packs over our shoulders and carefully re-emerged into the morning.
Table Manners
I hadn't eaten in a couple of days and it was starting to show. The world spun, my head ached and my limbs were shaky. My stomach had gone from grumbly to upset and I felt like I was going to puke. Since there was nothing to come up, getting the heaves would be especially painful. The sunlight hurt my eyes and I knew I would fall over if I didn't find something to eat soon. Shoestring wasn't complaining but I could hear her stomach rumbling emptily. I counted my fingers and my toes to make sure she hadn't made a snack of them when I wasn't paying attention. For the first time in my life I wished McDonald's hadn't gone out of business when I was a kid.
The day was hot and quiet. It was the end of the season but summer hadn't given up yet. Mosquitoes attacked en masse in a vain attempt to find sustenance. The ones that survived our awkward swats surely flew off disappointed. Birds sang in the trees and bees buzzed contentedly from flower to flower collecting nectar. I envied the little insects their meal. If I wasn't about to die from starvation it would have been a glorious day.
We pushed on for a while but finally I had to rest before I collapsed from an ugly combination of exhaustion and hunger. I found a spot in a public park underneath a majestic oak tree. We rested in their shade long enough to make me nervous. There was a pond in the middle of the park and we took turns drinking while the other kept watch. The algae infested water tasted foul and it was overly warm but it was better than dehydration, though not by much.
"Shoestring, we need some food," I stated calmly. "I don't know where to find any but I know we can't last long without it."
She grew pensive. Her eyes squinched up and she cocked her head. I could tell she was working things out in her head. When she finally spoke I was impressed by her astuteness.
"Do the soldier mens have food?" She asked innocently.
"Soldiers, Shoestring, and it's not appropriate to add an 's' to men. It's already plural."
I felt kind of bad about correcting her but the world already had enough ignorance in it without us adding to it. I thought about it briefly and realized she was right. Even muscle-bound idiots needed nutrition of some kind in order to efficiently terrorize the populace. My mouth watered as a plan began to form within the haze that filled my thoughts.
☺
The black-clad soldier looked down at the approaching person. She was barely three feet tall and clad in a flowery dress. He could have easily crushed the emaciated child with his boot. He thought of shooting her but didn't feel like explaining unnecessary gunfire to his unit leader. The tiny little girl walked right up to him, fearless.
"Hey, mister," she piped sweetly, "do ya got any food? I'm real hungry. Pops don't come home no more and my tummy's grumbly."
A look of bored contempt crossed his face. His duty was to guard the doorway from all except Black Regency troops and officers. This little girl didn't fall into either of those categories.
"Go 'way. Before I hafta ventilate you." He growled menacingly at the end of the statement.
"But mister, I'm starvin'. Please won't you give me somfin to eat? Pleasssse."
She looked crestfallen as one big tear rolled down her grimy cheek.
"Go away now, you little bitch. I'll kill you where you stand if I have to tell you again." He produced a big, shiny pistol and pointed it directly at her face.
"Is that any way to talk to a child?"
The big guard's head whipped around to face my way as I stepped around the corner and placed a big shiny pistol against his temple. He had been so engrossed in Shoestring's approach he hadn't even noticed me.
"Now drop that pea-shooter and apologize to Shoestring." I left no room for uncertainty as to what would happen if he refused.
"Fuck off, buddy. If you kill me, you'll be dead before my body drops. This building is full of Regency troops. Now drop the weapon and back away."
"If by 'full' you mean five soldiers, then you're right. The bad news for you is that my diminutive friend here can kill more of you oafs than that by herself. You've got bad karma, asshole."
I took the gun from the burly guard's hand as his lifeless body fell. I waited for a few seconds, patiently.
"He was wrong, Shoestring. I'm not dead yet." I laughed at my own poor joke. "Are you ready to eat? I'm skin and bones."
She smiled up at me and accepted the henchman's pistol willingly. It was too heavy for her to use effectively but there weren't any smaller guns in evidence. She needed both hands just to keep it level. She pointed the dangerous end at the ground and slipped her little fingers over the trigger. She could barely hold the gun's weight. It wasn't great but it would have to do for now.
I had picked a little-used outpost for this excursion. I had observed this one in my previous wanderings and knew that troops rarely visited the old fuel depot. Conveniently for us, the soldiers stationed here barely came outside unless it was their turn to stand watch. Fortune had smiled on us so far but I refused to take any chances I didn't absolutely have to take. Either we got some food or we died of starvation. This was the only choice and we both knew it. I kissed the barrel of my Whisperer and holstered it lovingly. I retrieved the AK-48 from where it lay against the wall.
"Okay, Shoestring, this is the moment of truth. Are you ready?" I looked her straight in the eyes and waited for her answer.
"Yep."
"Shoot anything that moves. Shoot until it stops moving. If you run out of ammo, scream bloody murder. That might distract them long enough for me to get to them before they get to you."
She nodded her understanding so I led the way inside the old service station. The hallway was empty and no secondary guards were posted. Apparently the soldiers who occupied this outpost weren't worried about intruders. They hadn't even locked the door. I could hear the remaining men carrying on in the back storeroom. It sounded like they were having a hellacious party. I smiled, happy to be able to add something to their revelry.
I knocked on the metal door that stood between me and, hopefully, a meal.
"Just open the damn door you fucking half-wit!" an angry voice shouted from the other side of the door.
"Hey, boss!" I called merrily, "I have a surprise for you! Open the door will ya?"
"What the fuck?! Lazy asshole..." the other voice replied.
I heard a chair scrape across the tile floor and the stomping of booted feet approaching. The door opened and I was confronted by an enormous man in a black turtle neck and khaki uniform pants. The Regent's crow emblem stared at me from his right breast pocket.
"Surprised?" I asked jauntily as I opened fire.
They all had guns but none of them had time to grab them. Shoestring and I mowed them down ruthlessly. She made a strange barking sound every time she pulled the trigger but since she kept firing I didn't worry about it. I made room in the doorway for her so I didn't take a round in the butt cheeks. The smells of gunpowder and hot blood filled the air around us. Together we made short work of the remaining men.
"Well, Shoestring, it would appear our friend outside was right. This room is so small that five men actually filled it up. I guess his ghost can say 'I told you so' on our way out."
We found a stash of canned food in boxes in one corner of the room. The floor was slippery with blood so we crossed the room carefully. Some of the boxes had been splattered gruesomely but we were too hungry to care. We crammed as much as possible into our packs. I filled my pockets when space ran out. I was weak from hunger but I knew it would be safer if we were far away from the site of our recent food-finding expedition. We walked until nightfall.
☺
Under cover of darkness, we made camp. We had trekked several miles east of Old Chicago. I wanted to get us out of the city so I took every back road we came across. My favorite ones were those with grass growing up through the asphalt. It was reassuring to see the unused roadways spread out before us.
We walked a short distance away from the road and had a feast. Green beans, peas, carrots; there were even some tins of Spam in our horde. It tasted awful but we ate it anyway. Nothing was left in the cans we opened. We even drank the water that surrounded the vegetables. It was ambrosia.
I didn't light a fire due to the risk of being spotted. It was really too hot to need the warmth and we were too tired to want the light. It had been a long day. As the full dark of night surrounded us we fell blissfully asleep.
We awoke as the sun rose. I was still dog-tired and I was hungry again. Shoestring had awakened before me, opened a can of something and was helping herself to breakfast. I stretched to work the kinks out before I joined her.
The day was full of promise. It was a sunny, cloudless morning full of chirping birds and soft breezes. The temperature was creeping up but it wasn't too hot yet. Other than the road, there were no monuments to mankind's stupidity to be seen. My confidence rose to pitiful heights. It was then that something strange caught my eye. A small, pink teddy-bear was staring at me from Shoestring's lap. I was momentarily confused by its presence. It seemed too normal, too perfect to exist.
"Where did that come from?" I asked slyly.
She looked embarrassed and wrapped her arms tightly around her fluffy friend. I felt almost guilty for asking her.
"I finded it back at the store. Where you washed me." She was clearly uncomfortable telling me. "I can keep it, can't I?"
I hid a smile. Goddamn this was cute. It nearly had me bawling like a baby. How could I say no?
"You found it back at the store. There's no such word as 'finded'." I pretended to consider her request. "Yes, you can keep it. As long as I can keep you, that is."
Her whole face lit up and she rushed over to me with that plush creature ensnared in her little limbs. She hugged me tightly and settled into my lap.
"Thanks, Pops."
'Was she talking to me?' I wondered.
I looked down into her big blue eyes. She was still smiling, her grin nearly splitting her face. Since she was looking directly into my eyes I knew she had been talking to me. I smiled back and made a silent vow to be the best father I could.
"You're welcome...daughter."
Ugh
"All right, Shoestring, we need a montage."
I had flashes in my head of all the old action movies where the hero only had a month or a week to learn to fight. Short scenes of pain, degradation and inevitable improvement move the story along in a matter of minutes while cheesy music plays to rouse the audience's emotions. In this case, my mighty miniature companion was the main character.
"What's that mean?" she asked sheepishly.
"It means that today you learn to defend yourself."
I felt kind of stupid, suddenly. I realized Shoestring already had four confirmed kills and helped me mow down those ruffians at the old service station. I wondered if I needed to ask her for some pointers.
"Get your gun, the one I gave you yesterday."
She did as she was told. She even remembered to point the barrel toward the ground. I wondered just what kind of man her Pops had been. Obviously somebody had taught her some survival skills and I would have been willing to bet it was her late father. Now it was time for me to attempt to add to her knowledge.
"What now?" Shoestring seemed sincerely curious and unafraid.
"First, you need to learn to keep that thing clean," I started, "because a dirty gun will get you killed."
I handed her a small, black plastic box out of one of my coat pockets. It didn't look like much but it contained everything we needed to clean our pistols. Life was in the details.
"Okay, Pops, what next?"
Her eagerness surprised me. It also filled me with hope and pride. If this little girl could face adversity so bravely, maybe the rest of the world could be saved. Maybe the Black Regency could be toppled. Maybe law and order could be handed back to the people. Maybe we could get through the day without Shoestring shooting my toes off.
☺
"What you have there is an old-style pistol. It's one of the finest pieces of steel ever manufactured by Heckler & Koch. In plain talk, it's a semi-automatic .357 Magnum with a chrome finish and wood grips. Its magazine can carry 15 rounds of death-dealing ammunition. It's loud, but effective. Damn fine gun, if you ask me."
She didn't look impressed by my speech. I'd have to teach her some healthy respect for projectile weaponry so she didn't get herself killed. Or me. I did a good enough job of risking my health without taking friendly fire. I knew she would never hurt me intentionally but accidents are called accidents for a reason.
I showed her how to remove the clip and clear the chamber. We broke it down together the first time and cleaned it so thoroughly you'd have sworn it was brand new. The second time, I made her do it while I watched. I tried to keep my smile from showing. The second time, she had that gun apart and back together in twenty minutes. The third time, it was less than ten. By the fifth time, it was like watching time-lapse photography. I was glad she was on my side. With people like Shoestring, the Regency would have been unstoppable.
"Is that okay?" she asked after the twelfth time.
I could tell she was getting bored. That gun was so clean you could blind an enemy at a hundred paces with its highly-polished surface. It was time to teach her the fun side of gunplay. Shooting.
☺
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