The Arrival Page 11

  “Stranger.” Ion gets to his feet. And the other three now walking with Phillipe, who does the talking. “There are still three more with us. I count that we have the bigger number.”

  “With this in my hand, I think I’d do ok against you four. Being outnumbered comes with the job I do.”

  “And what job is that, stranger?”

  “It would involve arresting hoodlums like you who murder lives to get a point ahead. Where I come from, we have other ways of making the corrupt listen.”

  “Out here, we’re the true law. Learn that stranger.”

  “My name is Darren. You might as well address me by my first name since we’ve pretty much spent a full day and almost a second together. I don’t have any quarrel with you. You rebels need to understand that I’m not here infiltrating your homeland. I’m not here for such things.”

  “Peacock is the one who’ll know if that is the truth.”

  “Then let me come with you, in peace. Not with a bruised lips and blackened eyes. My ribs are pounding, and my ear aches. I’m hungry, and I need to go pee. I feel battered, so I’m not going to be able to outrun you all.”

  Phillipe glares to his chums for some bearings that he should skateboard on. They remain fixated on Darren. Ion especially would like his weapon back. “Shall we let him walk freely with us?”

  Ion moodily replies with, “I want my machete back.”

  “That’s not what I asked, cry baby.”

  Another speaks, “We’re nearly there. It won’t hurt us to let him have some food and relieve himself.” The kinder of the three, Darren feels this guy could be reached in some capacity.

  “Let him walk before us?”

  The other two shake their heads at Phillipe. “Ok, you can walk with us. But you will push that wheelbarrow as we want to keep that. And you’ll chuck back that machete for Ion.”

  “I want to keep this for now.”

  “No way!” Ion jerking out those words crossly.

  “Let him hold onto it until we reach Peacock.” The friendlier rebel to Darren’s rescue again.

  “Why did you become a rebel Sharton? You are too soft on these people. They’ll only disappoint your trust in the end. Wasted. Very wasted. But ok ... I want to get him out of my site. You may piss over there. And be quick about it! Leave him some food in that wheelbarrow when he’s finished.”

  Ion stops Phillipe abruptly with a shoulder nudge onto his own, “I want my machete. He has my machete.”

  “Then take it from him ... good luck.”

  Phillipe walks to Sharton and they both turn to Ion to see what he’ll do. Darren waits for Ion to come over...which he does and stops in front with his left hand held out for the weapon back and his eyes angrily lit whilst his mouth is covered by the balaclava.

  “This is my brother’s. I allow no other man to hold onto it. Give it to me now!”

  “I’ll take good care of your brother’s machete.” Darren advances back. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m with you. You’ll be able to see me at all times with it.”

  “Give it to me!” Ion lunges but drops to his knees when he sees that Darren has the machete’s blade kissing the whole back of his posterior cervical area. Ion awaits to be knighted. Darren is surely tempted to slice that into orbit for him.

  “I’d hate for you to die by your brother’s weapon. It’s best you let me hold onto this and then I’ll give it back later.” Darren allows Ion the chance to get up as he removes the blade. “Can I pee now?” He addresses this to Phillipe.

  Phillipe nods. And Ion stays down on his knees, grimly surveying Darren all the way until he goes behind a bush to urinate.

  “Stop watching him so harshly Ion. And get up!” Phillipe whispers, “Let Peacock handle this one.”

  “His filthy hands are touching that grip!” Darren would do best to stay behind that bush.

  “Then deal with him when you get it back. I do not like him one bit.”

  “We deal with him now ... now! I want my machete!”

  “Shut up!” Darren finds his urination interrupted by Sharton’s bellowed frustration. He shakes his piece and then peeps from the side of the tree at the rebels. “We are close to Shandi Town. You know they often come out this way to check for rebels.” Sharton takes steps out into the plain. “We have to be quiet. Us four cannot take that small army on. And I do not want to die.”

  “They won’t see us.”

  “You said that last time, Phillipe, and we lost five men with that same confidence that you handfed us back near Torbelli. We must be more careful. Too many losses with no real reason to justify it.”

  A slap across Sharton’s face has Darren jamming the zipper against his crotch area and quietly yelping as he tries to un-jam it. “Why did you slap me!?” Sharton raises his machete that comes hurtling down towards Phillipe who blocks it with a side-parry from his blade and then stomps on Sharton’s toes. Sharton recoils back when that swiper-mode and instant slash-down comes from Phillipe who does it multiple times at him.Sharton cling-cling-clings with his itchy wrists in defence each time he’s forced to hurl back and not get blade stroked.

  Sharton then throws the machete to the ground before Phillipe comes for him again. Phillipe immediately does the same. “No more.” Sharton holds his arms out to embrace Phillipe.

  “Yes. No more.” Phillipe welcomes that embrace but backhands him one more time.

  Sharton holds back from rebuking and charging for his machete. The other two rebels reframe from doing the same. “Sharton, let me make this clear to you. Out of all who are fighting to gain back our home, you are the weakest link. And if it wasn’t for Peacock, and his recommendation to bring you along, I’d have sent you home with the townsfolk long ago. You have no heart to do the things that I do.”

  “No man has your heart, Phillipe. And in the end, I’m sure you’ll see just how lowly you’ve sunken.”

  “That end might not be too far away. And we’ll see who’s the survivor on that day, Sharton.” Phillipe gets bored of Sharton and his self- righteousness, so instead, he recalls Darren’s pee break. “You’ve got me all worked up Sharton. Stranger ... or Da—wen?” He finds the name hard to pronounce. “We must get moving and I’m in a bad mood!”

  The four rebels wait...and wait...“Da-wen!?” No answer from behind that bushel. “Ion, go see if he’s behind there?”

  “Are you boss now?”

  “I’ll cut off your hand if you question a simple task to do. Go and get that Da-wen from behind there.”

  Ion drags his feet, but he manages to reach the bushel, scans around and then panics for his machete. “Da-wen is gone! And he has taken my machete that he promised to give back.”

  Phillipe and Sharton come over to see the revelation before their very eyes. Sharton scouts on ahead cutting some of the dry bushes with his machete as it lingers on for a few yards more to see if he’s hiding anywhere.

  Ion dashes back wildly and taps Elven, “Da-wen is gone. We must search for him!” They trek back together and check behind every tree, nests of bushels and dried earth that’s has branches or leaves above it due to weather and accidents that happen out in nature. They slip into a few.

  They come across a few burrows and paths where better shoes would be needed to reach and even go back to where Peter’s dead body lies against a tree. And figure that he couldn’t have come back so far without them picking up some indication of him being there.

  When Ion and Elven return, Phillipe and Sharton are heading to Shandi town and are becoming smaller in their eyes. Phillipe calls back to them in a pure adulterated fashion, “Liars. They all are. He must be heading to Shandi Town. We will find him and whip him senseless. Come on!”

  Darren thanks his lucky stars for being such a good tree climber in his youth. That same tree where he had pissed 9 meters away from is now where he resides high above and is able to see the four rebels, without the wheelbarrow journeying to Shandi town. He’ll let them go until he can no longer see
them. And then he’ll head back to find Lee. That’s who he must find next. He checks his phone battery, it’s dead.

  Chapter 10

  Hona had Angelina on the phone as he neared the bottom of Torbelli on horseback with the distressed dupe leaning his head against him as he tried to stay awake from his gunshot wounds. The silvery white beast had slowly trotted all the way down, making it a faster process for Hona who needed to get this man immediately seen for questioning.

  Hona had patched him up by washing out the wounds with cold water and then finding some large bandaging in the stable and wrapping his shoulder, arm, and spin all at once. It worked. But Hona had no clue if the injury was internal. Because the man was becoming paler and paler as time went by.

  He would take him to the nearest medical building in Torbelli, and that was closer to where Albastor and his living-it-large clientele would sit above. It was a small practice run by a private doctor who would open his doors to everybody who needed serious medical help. It was 2-miles from where Hona was now, and he would need to let the horse jog a little to reach sooner.

  The stirrup iron of the saddle was comfier than Hona realized, and the saddle didn’t ride up his middle quarters as badly as he remembered as a boy. It had been a long time since he got on a horse and enjoyed it. This was a stolen moment of joy and he would memorize it in these bleak times. “I couldn’t find Maddalena. But then, I hope Lee might have better luck in discovering if she’s still alive. I hadn’t searched the house.”

  “And what about her family, father?”

  “None were in the small homes. All empty with wardrobes full and no sign of forced entry or being broken into. Shoes were gone. Sections of the cupboard in their kitchen were raided. But nothing to point me down their road.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that at all. I wish you had stayed and seen if Maddalena was alive. She’s very important to us.”

  “I had to let Lee discover what she needed up there. These men were not rebels. They could pass as drifters, but still, if they were sent to kill Lee then we should help her out and work with her.”

  “And will she help us find Camilla?”

  “She said she would, yes.”

  “I have no idea what happened to her friend Darren. It’s nearly been a full second day and I journeyed to Shandi town to see if he was there by hitchhiking.”

  “I don’t like you hitchhiking alone!”

  “Father, most know me around here and wouldn’t dare try anything suspicious. Have more faith in me. I’m stronger than I look.”

  Hona knows. He knows it enough to reassuringly grin at her demand for him to trust her judgment and choices. “And there was no sign of him?”

  “No. It took me awhile to get in there as thorough checks are being placed to get I.D. on everybody who comes and goes.”

  “A new regime. I had to go through the same process myself.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Still in Shandi Town having a glass of homemade lemonade. I’ll wait to see if they’re a little late in arriving. It can happen with these wayward rebels.”

  “Yes. Stay there. But be careful. Because it’s never predictable in Shandi.”

  “Maybe Ringo is here hiding?”

  “He likely is. But if you find Darren, you don’t let him know that. We still need pieces of leverage over these two people. You cannot trust anybody.”

  ...

  Lee was staring down at the body who had tried to jam his fingers and fist down her throat. A choking mechanism that had been performed on her plenty of times by those who had lost their weapons in the process. She was recuperating and stumbled over to the sink where she spat out the taste of his fingernails and bacteria-infested fingers by washing it in the sink.

  She spat-and-spat until she could psychologically not savour it anymore in her brain receptors. Her forehead was gashed, and she tapped it with some tissue to stop the bleeding that kept on flowing. Her cheeks were partially swelled, and her knuckles sore and redder than strawberries fresh out of the garden.

  Lee was lucky to be alive as she sank down against the cupboard door and onto her bum cheeks to contemplate why life was always cat and mouse with no interval of 15-minutes? Her hand cupped her temple, and her eyes felt heavy with tiredness from another battle to save her own damn life from an enemy who didn’t know her personally. Her head was a migraine that was set off by a detonator bomb...because only now does it fully hit her into sleepiness.

  Her head had been bashed against Madelene’s marble kitchen counter, which is how the gush and bruise upon her head was formed which she cannot touch for fear of irritating it more. When her eyes closed for a few seconds to regain her lost lungs that she forgot she had, she sees that the knocked-out body quakes awake but isn’t able to get up. Lee Coil’s up again, ready to ask a few questions that she needs rounding up for a tasty meal.

  ...

  Once Hona had trotted off with the horse and the confessional fighting for his heartbeat behind him, she made her way inside the supposedly empty house. Now, in most cases, the hidden attacker would lurk around and Lee, being the seeker, would have to check every known room, storeroom, basement, attic, and have her sniffer onto try and pinpoint the assailant who would jump out at her at the last minute and try to take her life to the graveyard.

  As she stepped onto that front porch, up those steps, she gave a quick survey of the foyer that was wooden floorboards, carpet, umbrella holder, old-fashioned coat rack shaped like it had multiple walking canes, dining cabinets with antiques of bulls and angels, the kitchen was visible on the far right: open planned setting, and the living room in the other corner with the grandfather clock taller than she was. She found that on the steps, right at the top, was the man who came down with the automatic machine gun pointed at her.

  “You are ... Lee Coil?”

  “Does my answer merit if that gun will stay off or on?”

  “If I can see you’re lying, then it will depend on how I feel. Won’t it?”

  Lee’s tense. “Then I’ll keep silent. And wonder what the next move you’ll make will be.”

  “I’ve seen your picture.”

  “Lookalikes are common in the world today. I have plenty who could pass as my twin sister.”

  “You have uh ... a unique mark on your shoulder. A gun wound or something. That’s what sets you apart from your stunt doubles.”

  “You’ve done research!?”

  “If you had, then you’ll know my accent.”

  “I do. I can’t falter the Irish tongue. You’ve just been corrupted by extensive traveling and loss of identity.”

  “Very informative. But I still have to ask you again, are you Lee Coil?”

  There is a gun wound on her shoulder, that Lee often hides. She won’t give him the satisfaction of getting his job done correctly. Kudos to him, when Lee curtly makes a break for the living room and instead of the man opening up a can of machine-fire, he chases after Lee who brushes against the umbrella rack that falls onto the floor and he has to next jump over.

  Chase-me-chase-me, Lee knows that he’s behind her and trying to grab a lock of dreads to yank her back. He gives this an attempt but Lee whips her entire head and neck around and it gives him a wallop straight across his face, nose, and other cheek before he slants downwards to the right and Lee runs into the living room.

  Lee gave a quick scan from left to right, it’s smaller than she figured it would be. The man recomposed himself and is getting that machine gun ready. Lee inhales, and then bursts into a rugby tackle run with all her power working from the back to the front. She managed to stifle his triggering fingers and he lets loose the machine gun to prepare himself for Lee’s arrival by gripping onto her shoulders and swinging her against the wall of the living room closest to the open-planned door.

  Lee bashed violently against it and dropped with the floorboards making the lowering sounds of ka-boom-boom-boom. Her whole body fe
lt as if she had passed through to the other side of it. She used her forearms to levy herself back up, “fa-argh,” but Lee gets help with that when the man picked her up roughly by the underarms and gave her the opportunity to thank him with two low-blows to the groin.

  He hurls over ready to exploit his agony, and Lee twists his nose and then goes for the dirty poke in the eye which gives the man a whole load of contemplating to do. Where to begin? He’s hurting all over!

  Lee could jump out the window, but she isn’t a flying cheetah. With him screaming out, ’Argh’ and gripping his balls as he makes his way down to the floor, Lee finds that it’s the perfect time to run into the kitchen with her two guns that don’t need another magazine change. Shit! She drops one and has to go back before reaching the kitchen. The man’s limping with an invisible wedge riding up his ass. Lee wants to laugh, humor at a time like this is fertile as he stomps over to her with both legs wide enough to attempt the splits.

  The machine guns pointed at her; the swine-ball. Lee looks him in the eye because she needs her other Kahr. Gun him! Gun him! He breaks the eye-pattern and fires at her pistol so that she can re-think that strategy and give up. But Lee sees a chandelier above. And the man is coming ... just a little more ... a little more ... he stops when he sees that Lee takes out her pistol and aims it towards the holding string.

  A good shot, because it comes crashing down and the man has to jump out the way with his great-ol-balls-on-fire! Lee has time to collect her pistol, and then continue into the kitchen where she waits at the corner for him to show his balls-less self. He’s more agitated than before so him coming in here is met with little brain power. Lee can work with foolishness, but he catches her off guard again and slams that wrist against the casing but Lee doesn’t drop it.

  He squeezes, and Lee fights to keep her gun gripped. He takes his other hands and tugs her dreads violently until she’s opening her mouth more and more and her chin greets the ceiling unwillingly. To get out of this predicament, Lee thrusts her heel against the wall, does a full leg press and then unleashes that lever with her other Kahr shooting the machine gun out of his hand when she gets away from him.