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Elizabeth Stroudwater
Waves of deafening bullets roar over my head as I crouch down behind the large wagon beside me. Inside of it lies several dead men who follow Johnny, throats slits, heads exploded, and limbs amputated. All I can do is hyperventilate as Hell itself embarks around me.
My eyes are frozen on the dead body of a man beside me, one that Dakota just tore the throat out of. The man threatened me with a gun, and the young fox did as his owner told him, with the man unexpecting his ferocity. Blood trickles from his neck toward my feet, the unkempt road dyed by the color of man.
My knees hurt, and my head pounds as the world shakes around me. Unnatural abilities and inhuman skills fly all around me, showing me the horror of the world. Death can happen at any moment. I never thought I'd be this terrified, but here I am. A sobbing little girl in the middle of combat. The only comfort I have is Dakota, Wyatt's fox that has followed him everywhere, but even the orange thing gives minimal comfort.
The orange coat, now dyed red by the man he stands over, makes my hands freeze up and lock as Dakota approaches me. The fox tries to comfort me, but it only makes things worse.
I fall backward onto my rear, sinking my clothes into the coat of crimson that floats above the road. Deathly screams of pain and agony constantly resound through the very early morning. Most of these are caused by Sacate doing his job, but not all are.
A large portion of them are the men we were sent to check on and keep safe. Meanwhile, all I can do is panic and freeze behind a wagon, unable to help. It's one thing to help fight a small group of people with my friends, but this? This is too much.
The scenes of walking into a small forest where a black market stands will not leave my mind. It seems to be permanently etched into my pupils.
The scene of a man we just met, Ryan, jovial and energetic about Sacate's arrival having his head explode like a stomped watermelon. Then the ambush arrived as we made our way to the small group of men, only about twenty in all. Sacate did what he could to protect me, his skin deflecting bullets with a sheen of green and his breath releasing a wave of turquoise that could catch shots.
But he could not protect me from the sights or sounds. I've seen Wyatt get injured, but he was always alright, no matter how bad the injury. While I knew not everyone is like that, it's another thing to see dozens of people die before your very eyes, mowed down like agriculture.
These people treat lives like wheat, something to be harvested and enjoyed. The thought sickens me and freezes me. The thought of dying as they all did horrifies me. Leaves me unable to move. Let alone help.
While I sit here frozen, looking at the brains of Ryan in my hands, I dumbly hear the footsteps of another person approaching. Almost hypnotized, I slowly move my eyes up to meet who turns the corner of the wagon.
It's a man with a shotgun and a hatchet; he's wearing almost complete grey with a Hunter's badge dangling from his neck. Panic strangles me even further to the point I can't even breathe, just like how it did when the first man arrived to get killed by Dakota. Luckily, the fox has learned from his owner how to fight, that or his instincts are just that good.
I watch with glazed eyes as Dakota growls at the man, warning him not to approach any further, but the man only chuckles and takes a step forward.
"Look what we have here. I didn't know you rebels carried around pets or slaves. Don't worry, girlie, I'll help you out. Then you can come back home with me. How's that sound?"
I don't answer, unable to as I am still frozen in fear, but he must take this as an affirmative. He takes another step forward, one that Dakota disapproves of.
The bundle of bloody fur darts to the side as he spins and bites at the man's ankles seeking to bring him down to his level. It worked on the last man. Unfortunately for Dakota, however, his teeth cannot pierce the man's skin. The man's ankle, where he is a bit, turns gray and steely.
The fox yipes in pain at his jaw as the man retaliates, kicking the fox out of the way with a curse.
"What the fuck! Damn, fucker is fast! Can't be having wild animals around, sorry."
The man lifts his shotgun and points it at Dakota, who is stunned on the ground, whimpering in pain. The fox has already killed three people today, but it seems it met someone stronger than it. I watch with horror as I am still frozen. I want to move. I need to move, but I cannot. The image of the man I killed long ago who defiled me comes to mind, his taunting voice keeping me frozen.
"You've no use but as a wife. I can see why your family wants you gone."
Tears well up in my eyes as the man focuses his aim on the now unmoving fox. Then, the man goes to squeeze the trigger, but before he does, a raspy voice enters both of our ears.
Sacate's rough and grinding voice.
"Found you."
The man attempts to turn around, but before he can, the serrated, bonesaw-like blade that is Sacate's left arm bisects the man just below the rips. The man sputters and tries to talk, but he can only cough out blood as he falls.
The sight of the man's death and the blood that goes all over me only makes me shake harder, nearly a seizure, as I feel so cold despite the warm liquid on my body. Sacate sees me and crouches down to look me in the eyes. I can't even move my eyes at him; I'm so frozen in fear, so he just grabs my chin and shifts it so that my eyes meet his.
The man of few words and rough, uneven speech lectures me so closely that I can smell the blood that covers his face through the gunpowder in the air.
"Wake up, little girl, you wanted this. I understand you are afraid. You are afraid of death. Of Death. I see it in your eyes; I was once the same. My whole tribe butchered like cattle. Years it took to gather the courage to even hunt a rabbit."
Sacate turns back at the gunshots that are still resounding constantly. Then he looks back at me.
"You do not have years. You have seconds—to realize something. Death is only a single moment, one out of endless you will experience. Once you do, you will no longer fear it. Show your fearlessness. Why Johnny sees Amelia in you. One chance is all you get. Follow me or don't."
Sacate then stands from his crouch and turns around. He looks over at Dakota as he walks back toward the gunfire. His hand reaches out, and green light covers the small fox from his palm. The verdant light rapidly makes the fox's whimper fade.
"Do not disappoint the spirit beside you. It is just as tough, determined, and clever. Learn from the earth, and it shall learn from you."
Then, his silhouette fades as he turns the wagon's side to reenter the fight. I hear his warcry as the screams of those seeking out lives ring out as well. My eyes stay on Dakota even after Sacate leaves.
A part of me understands what he's saying, but the rest just can't comprehend it. I'm so frazzled and stunned with what's happening to actually do anything. I can't even stand. All I can do is watch.
But I want to help. I need to help. If I don't, I'll miss my chance. I'll miss that one shot to join Wyatt and Earl. That single opportunity to help make the world a better place.
Just the want isn't enough. My body doesn't respond to my desires. It just stays paralyzed in a pool of blood made by the two dead men around me. One who's cut in half and another who had his throat torn out.
I watch as Dakota slowly recovers from the devastating kick to his side. The fox then limps over to me and stands around me protectively. This is what unthaws my body and breaks me out of my fear. Well, it doesn't remove the fear; it just gives me the mindset to push past it.
Dakota reminds me of Wyatt in this single moment. Where a man stands up to fight once more even after being mortally wounded, no, after being pushed so far past the edge of death that he is only waiting for Death to claim him. A broken spine, crushed lungs, and an exposed heart. Even then, the young man stood up again to protect people he barely knew.
Dakota, while not as injured or as close to death as Wyatt, resembles his owner. The young fox was willing to die for me because Wyatt told him to. Where the fox gathers such courage is unknown, but I suspect it is from watching the man whom he follows constantly.
Wyatt has often told me he is no hero or even a good man, but I disagree. Who else would defend five teenagers and kids in the middle of a break while being one themselves? He might not see himself as one, but I certainly do. And the thought of disappointing him and getting the fox he cares for killed?
That makes my fingers move.
The thought of never being able to do anything more with my life than just die in a forest after running for weeks?
That gets my arms to move.
The thought of leaving my friends to fight on their own and Esther to grow up without a mother figure to take care of her in Rustbank?
That forces my legs to move.
The thought that my father was right? That I'm a useless daughter whose only worth is being sold off to the highest bidder?
That thought puts enough energy in me such that I stand. Not only do I stand, but I take a deep breath, one that mimics Wyatt's signature skill. Not to copy him, but just for comfort. The air entering my fragile body gives me waves of comfort, as if he's right here with me.
With this renewed resolve, I take a step toward the man who was cut in half. A gag bubbles up from my core as I look down at the now-dead man, but I force it down. Gathering all the inner strength I can, I bend down and pry the shotgun from his hand. Then, I take the hatchet from the other.
I loop the head of the hatchet in the part of my belt that is slightly too big for me. I wore men's clothes for this mission or trip, which were too big for me. I had to make do, though.
Then, I pop open the chamber on the shotgun, it's double-barrelled, and both shells remain inside unfired. I immediately go to catch up with Sacate, but I hesitate. Two bullets are not enough. I learned that when we fought the Bakwa. Much more is needed. Especially with many people, no... targets. I need to separate my mind from it. I cannot handle killing more people. They are targets. Not people. At least just for now. I can come back later and process it.
I gulp and kneel back down to the dead man. Blood and get all over me as I search him for his spare ammo. Halfway through, I am forced to turn to the side and vomit. All that comes up, though, is bile. I've already puked plenty this awful morning. I force myself to recover even with stomach acid still on my chin. I need to do this.
My hands constantly fumble while I tear through his belongings. I find several unknown syringes and a powder with the words "Focus" written on the container. I shove them into the backpack I dropped beside the wagon in case I need them later.
Then, I find a case of shells. Eight more, to be exact. I pull them all out and frantically cram them into my pockets. Four into each side.
After I get ammo, I look to Dakota, who seems to be fully recovered at this point, whatever Sacate did with his Ether mending the fox's wounds. We share a look before running out from the safety of the wagon.
Bullets still rage, fires still burn, and Ether still flies. The forest is dense with trees and the occasional tent or pop-up store from the black market.
I see Sacate a hundred or so feet away in the middle of a group of people, butchering them like headless chickens. They scream and shout, all the while running from him constantly. They try to get a hit in here or there, some shooting at him, some stabbing, and some using odd Ether abilities that I can't recognize.
He doesn't appear to need help, so instead of going to his side, I look for anyone else that might need help. I didn't meet any of the other people that we were sent to find except for Ryan, who stayed outside the black market in case of people showing up from the road. It's not that hard to find out who is who, though.
The men who follow the Gunfighter seek to rebel against the Hunters. These Survivors are severely outnumbered, most of which are wounded. I make a mad dash toward them, running past the rounds of gunfire that make my heart beat a thousand times per minute. Every bullet that hits a tree or bush beside me makes my heart stop for a short moment in fear of getting hit, but I move on despite the fear.
Three men are hunched behind a fallen oak tree, the thick wood protecting them from gunfire. I run up to them and slide to the floor to meet them, and Dakota follows agilely. All three of them have different colored hair, and this is the only way for me to differentiate them because of the dirt, blood, and grime that covers their faces. Black, brown, and blonde. They all three look at me confused, and to prevent myself from being shot as they've never seen me before, I yell out over the cracks of gunpowder.
"Johnny sent me! Sacate is here as well!"
I see despair rise on their faces at the first part of my words, but the second part makes hope replace hopelessness. Obviously, these three know who Sacate is, but not me.
The three of them discuss loudly amongst each other of what to do and include me. The one in the middle with brown hair has a large hole in his shoulder from a bullet, but despite the wound, he takes the lead.
"They've got a gatling firing at us! We need to put it down! But we can't destroy it; it's what we came to buy. Johnny would kick our asses if he knew we broke a gatling. I say you create smoke to block their line of sight, Cigar. Woody, you protect us from strays with your timber. I'll try to ignite any bullet in the air that might come too close. What can you do, lass?"
Feeling underwhelming, I just raise my shotgun for him and point to the fox.
"I can help kill. So can he. The fox is deadly."
He looks at me oddly but nods and continues outlining the plan.
"Okay, you're job is to get the man on the gatling. We'll protect you, then. Cigar, start your smoke now. Woody, cover us in Bark. Alright, on three."
The man with brown air peeks over from behind the massive log we are using for cover and gets a look at where we are to run. Then he comes back down as a shard of wood breaks off and lodges in his cheek. He ignores the injury, however, and starts his countdown.
"ONE.
TWO.
THREE!"
During his countdown, the man with blonde hair, Cigar, blows out a massive cloud of smoke from his lungs that blurs the entire area leading to the man with a gatling gun. Then, the black-haired man, Woody, makes wood grow from the ground and onto our bodies, forming rudimentary armor.
The second his countdown ends, though, all hell breaks loose. The three of them bolt up from behind the fallen oak and sprint forward through the ever-growing smoke. I freeze for just a moment as I consider what I'm about to do. That I'm about to kill a person.
But Dakota pulls me out of my funk. Literally. The fox grabs onto the bark connected to my bloody clothes and pulls me. The second he does, I break from my paralysis and join the three men in their sprint.
Bullets fly by me constantly as we run forward to meet the gatling gun. Whooshes and whizzes go non-stop by my ears. Every once in a while, as we run, a bullet explodes right in front of me in the air. Each time it happens, I almost trip from surprises, but I catch myself with Dakota's help. The fox can always sense when I need help.
As we near the gatling gun and the man who uses it, the explosions become more frequent. Eventually, they become so frequent that some start getting past the brown-haired man's defenses. I feel several hard impacts on the bark that defends me as it begins to break and fall off.
Before it does, though, all three of us bursts from the smoke simultaneously, emerging right in front of the man on the gatling gun and the two people beside him.
My adrenaline is so high and my heartbeat so thunderous that I don't even think as I point the shotgun at the man on the gatling gun and pull the trigger. Not just once, either, but twice. Two series of deadly lead fly out and slam into his chest, shredding it and sending him off of the stand for the gun.
The second I do that, the other two people react to our presence. The one on the right brings a lever action up to meet my gaze, but before he can even pull the trigger, the black-haired man snaps his fingers and points at the gunman in one smooth motion.
The man's weapon explodes in his hands, the gunpowder detonating in all the bullets at once. Shrapnel flies into his face and body, and he instantly falls dead from the explosion in his face. The other Hunter is taken care of by Woody, Dakota, and Cigar, who attack him together. Cigar wraps a rope of smoke around the man to strangle him, and Woody holds him down with strips of wood so he can't attack. Dakota finishes the man off with a series of bites to the face.
The sight is hard to watch as I once more bend over and puke; this time, though, nothing even comes out. All I do is heave. Guilt and worry build for what I just did, but I see the black-haired man fall to his knees beside me, panting in the effort. Momentarily I can push aside my emotions to focus on him.
He's been hit two more times since the first. The mad dash must have ended up with a few bullets getting past his defenses. That or he focused on me, Woody, and Cigar more. I run over to him and kneel beside him. He now has three bullet wounds.
A gut, a shoulder, and a leg. Not necessarily lethal separately, but combined, the danger is great.
I pull out some bandages and immediately get to help him, but he pushes me off.
"I'll be fine. The Woodsman is here. He will take care of me. Go get your Sigil."
I look at him, full of confusion. How did he know I'm an Unsigiled?
"How–?"
"No Sigiled runs that slowly or unevenly. I had to put a lot of effort into keeping you safe. Name's Emmet Knox, but my friends call me Bonfire. Nice to meet you, girly, even if it's under gunfire. Get your Sigil before I bleed out talking to you."
I follow his directions and scramble over to the man I killed. The person whose life I ended. No, the target who I eliminated. Separate yourself from them, Elizabeth. That is the only way you keep it together right now.
The man's body is torn apart, and his torso resembles shredded beef. The thought of it makes me gag again, but I force it down. He is just a target. Something to help you grow so that you can help your friends. Nothing more.
Kneeling down, I press a hand against the target's corpse. Then, I close my eyes and delve into his body with my mind like how Earl and Wyatt talked about. Surprisingly quickly, I find two glowing Sigils within the corpse. A duo of mesmerizing glimmers is directly in front of its heart.
I let my mind touch upon it as I feel a warm presence. A presence that reminds me of the safety of my hometown's retired Hunter, the Sheriff that kept the peace. I press onto the Sigil and feel myself whisked away by some unknown power.
My eyes open again, but this time not to the forest blessed by early morning light. No, this time, I am in a gloomy cabin, slightly illuminated by the golden light from a book on the table. The book instantly calls for me, and I deliver myself to it. A simple question lies on the pages of the book made of sparkling illegible yet understandable letters.
What is truth?