Jude swayed and staggered through the streets. The rain seemed to be everywhere in his blurry vision, frozen solid in the air. The crack in his forehead, unbearable, pulsed angrily and expelled rivers of blood. His arms trailed at his side, clutching his bow and his backpack. He stumbled to his knees, then dragged himself up and plodded on. Soaked hands wet with blood and rain. Frozen to the bone.
His fury rose with every step. He stumbled his way past Arnero’s Shanty, the shrieks and screams from inside barely registering through the piercing thump in his head. On he went. People in the night saw him and moved away. Of course they did. He was a blood-drenched demon, anguished in face, staggering in madness.
In and out of consciousness, he trudged the streets, yearning for his bed. He passed Dawson’s Shanty. Zuri would be back by now. Dawson would be berating her. He’ll have probably locked her in the hot hole by now. Good, Jude thought as he spat blood on the floor.
A pang of sadness tugged at him. Dawson would never let him back in now. Not now he’d left Zuri out at night alone. He had all the reason he needed to banish him from the shanty. Jude didn’t care. He didn’t want Zuri, not after what she had said. Only he did want her. His anger dissipated, replaced by the dull weight of sadness and guilt. A voice in his head chipped away at him. She’s out alone, she won’t make it home, she’ll die, or worse. How could you do this to her?
“What have I done?” he screamed. He began to sob uncontrollably. People skirted him, eyes down. He couldn’t go back. He wanted to, but he could barely walk. If he could just get to Trevor. Yes, Trevor would know what to do, and Lisa would stitch him up. It’s going to be ok, he lied to himself.
Thoughts of Zuri and how he could fix this mess compounded his blistering headache as he trudged into The Gardens. He could see Trevor’s Kitchen. He could see a large shape on the floor in front of it, and a man grasping a woman’s face. He staggered forward. It was Lisa’s face in Marcus’ ghastly hands. His heart stopped as realisation descended through his entire being, and he fell to his knees, blinking blood from his eyes. The shape on the floor was Trevor. He knew from the hulking body and the grease-stained apron, but his face was an unrecognisable mess. He cried hard, but there was no sound. Only silent agonal sobs.
He vomited, then yanked off his scarf and frantically wiped the blood from his eyes before wrapping it around his cracked head. Looking down, he could see four blurry arrows, but he knew there were only two. He picked one and notched it to the bow. Taking aim for Marcus’ bastard head, he fizzed it through the night sky, but his aim was off and it thudded into his shoulder. A satisfying scream of pain sounded as Marcus released Lisa and spun around, his black eyes glaring at Jude.
“The boy! Kill the boy!”
Four addicts emerged from the shack, sharp bars of metal in their filthy hands. He notched his last arrow, suspended in thought. A split second felt like a lifetime as he considered his next move. A second shot at Marcus should bring him down, but if he did that, he’d most certainly die. He couldn’t take four armed men, not in the state he was in. He could take down one of the four with the arrow and have an outside chance against three with his hunting knife, but then Marcus was free to harm Lisa.
Decision made. He had to save Lisa, even if it cost him his own life. He was ready to die. He had nothing left.
Jude drew back on the bowstring, took aim at Marcus, and taking one final deep breath, he released the arrow.
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The accuracy displayed by the boy stunned the man. To hit Marcus high in the shoulder from that distance whilst staggering was a feat to behold. Especially to fire it through wind and rain with eyes obstructed by blood. Truly impressive. He was game for a rug-rat.
Impressive but problematic, Marcus had to live. He was the key to finding the Conduit. The boy notched another arrow, and the man saw his eyes focus on Marcus. He was going for the kill, sacrificing himself for the woman. The man almost smiled, sighing. There was something he liked about this kid. He had mettle. Except he now had no choice but to intervene.
A whoosh of cloth billowed through the air as the man leapt to his feet, throwing the grey blanket about his shoulders into the wind. With blistering speed, he tore across The Gardens, eating up the short distance between him and the boy. His shoulder clattered into his chest and sent him sprawling to the mud. The arrow released from the drawstring and whistled away into the night. He turned and stood ground, staring malevolently at the four men advancing on him.
Jude was stunned. He grumbled and pushed his palms into the sludge, forcing himself up to his knees. What happened next would live in his memory for the rest of his days.
The man dropped a shoulder and fired a short shotgun. Both shells blasted from his hip. The shot tore through the lead addict's chest and hurled him back. Screams and gasps erupted around The Gardens. He dropped the gun to the ground and leapt at the second addict. A vicious stomp snapped his knee and buckled him, and as he stumbled to the ground, the man thundered a stake down into the base of his neck above his spine. The remaining two men, visibly terrified, shot glances at each other, telepathically agreeing to their plan.
They rushed the man together with an unconvincing battle cry. The man flicked up a black hatchet from a loop in his belt, his speed and accuracy unworldly. He reversed the blade across one addict’s throat, spraying blood into the wind. The next addict was dead before the first body hit the ground. The man dropped to his knees under the swing of a silver bar and fired the blunt end of his hatchet into the last addict’s gut. He folded over, grunting in pain. The man rose to his feet over him, and somehow both brutal and nonchalant, he thundered the axe through his neck. The head fell and slapped the mud unceremoniously as his body toppled beside it.
The man looked up at Marcus, who was watching wide-eyed. Terrified. Grasping at the buttons on his coat, desperately fumbling to open it up. He tore the last button away and panicked as he drew a knife from his waistband. He turned to Lisa, grabbed her shoulder, and pulled her onto the blade. It sank deep into her gut, her face unchanged from the vacant paralysis that rested across it.
He pushed her off and threw her to the floor between himself and the man. As he backed away, knife raised, he hefted the wooden torch of flame and tossed it into Trevor’s Kitchen. It landed in the oil the guards left spilled across the floor. Within seconds, Jude’s home was an inferno, towering over him and glaring manically at him, licking his face with searing whips of flame. His tears were hot. His face contorted in anguish, black from blood and wood smoke, and his eyes burned deep red in the firelight.
His tears flowed. He watched on, numb and broken. The man’s eyes shifted from Marcus and looked back over his shoulder to the tramlines. Two sets of headlights closed in on the bloodbath. Something had alerted the Guard. The gunshots or the screams – they were equally distressing.
The man’s guttural snarls sounded out from under the thick black snood covering his mouth. “Your time will come, Marcus. You’ll die like your brother. Hung, gutted, and staked!”
He drew a rail stake from his belt as he spoke and jabbed his arm to the windows above. Marcus’ frightened eyes followed the vector of the stake, and his yellow waxy face drained to ash as he saw his brother’s lifeless body dangling in the night sky.
The Gardens erupted. The packed crowd that had gathered during the affray screamed and clamoured, and they swallowed Marcus as they scrambled away from the murderous madman with the stake. City Guard pickups were temporarily disabled by the swarming madness.
The man spun on his heel and raced towards Jude. He shuddered at the speed of him. His knees felt cold in the mud. His head split further apart with every passing moment, the pain masked by grief. The man closed on him. Jude summoned some strength from somewhere and feebly swung his knife. The man swayed from its reach and cracked a vicious right cross into his jaw. Jude toppled forward, and the man scooped him up onto his shoulders, disappearing through the smoke and rain.