The Walker

As the dogs leapt and strained against their leashes and the handlers sweated and swore in the heat, the girl could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She’d already had to kill one man, she wasn’t sure she could do it again.

She swallowed and pushed her unease aside, flicking her hair from her face.

Walker knelt across from her, looking carefully out of the window to her left. He seemed calm, but no grin was on his lips. He stroked his chin thoughtfully and motioned to her. He held up four fingers, then two, and then three. She assumed this meant there were nine of them but they had not discussed hand signals before, so she had no idea.

He suddenly cocked his head, like a dog noticing something. She heard him curse, ever so softly, and he scratched his chin again. The girl hazarded a look herself. What she saw brought fresh waves of guilt and nausea.

Staggering up the hill, towards the back of the posse, was Bernie. Her head had swollen grossly from their fight in the keg-store; where she had been struck the flesh was purple and yellow, the wound was leaking; she could barely walk straight. Every now and then the madder of the two dogs would turn and bark at her, but she swatted at them with a length of scabby leather. The men around her looked both worried and angered; she would yell and scream obscenities at them, urging them forward.

The girl heard a quiet click as the walker carefully readied his pistol. She tried to follow suit, but her hand cannon was home made, and old. She tried to gently release the safety, but it clunked and whirred as the targeting lasers fired up automatically. It was too loud; the men beyond the wall heard. Shouting and firing randomly, the posse rained chaos upon them.

Walker cursed again, louder, and shouted something at her, but she could not hear. He deftly slipped from his spot and fired through the window, knocking a heavy set, bearded man down to the ground, screaming and clutching his chest. The attackers responded, and the girl’s ears seemed to shatter. Chunks of stone rained down, cutting her cheek and stinging her hand, which was shaking again. She had to stop them shaking; would Walker let her follow him if she couldn’t even look after herself in a gunfight? She tried to visualise herself stepping out from cover and firing upon her attackers as Walker had, but could not. All she could picture was the veteran, crushed and dead in the bar, and Bernie, head swollen, body stumbling up the hill, like a monster from a nightmare.

She inhaled deeply and managed to peer out from cover. Bernie was still coming, screeching incoherently and flailing with her whip, the wound on her head shining sickeningly in the morning light. The girl exhaled, steeling herself, and swung from her position at the window to fire at a man leading a dog. She missed the handler, but the dog, a great, savage, dark beast, howled woefully and died. She ducked back into cover as the owner retaliated; she could feel his rounds thudding into the wall behind her through her back, shaking her body, worsening her feeling of nausea.

Suddenly, she heard Walker again, louder, “I told you!” He bellowed.

The girl ducked as a salvo of shot flew through the window next to her; it pinged off into the tower, causing no damage but scaring her to hell. “What?” She screamed.

“I damn well told you,” he repeated. “She followed us!”

He spat as a chunk of window frame splintered into dust, spattering his face. He stood and fired, anger etched in the hard lines of his mouth. The girl watched as Bernie’s overripe head burst; her screams died into gurgles and she toppled to the ground, twitching.

She turned away from Walker back to her own window and found herself facing the other dog. All muscle and mad, animal rage, it launched itself ferociously through the window at her, knocking her to the ground and sending her gun flying, out of reach.

She screamed wordlessly.

The dog was on her chest, snapping viciously at her face; its weight pressed down on her, stopping her from breathing. The dog gnashed angrily, its teeth scraping off her visor, inches from her eyes.

Struggling to keep the weight of the dog’s jaws from her face and throat, she screamed again, hoarsely, “Walker!”

She tried to look for the walker out of the corner of her eye, but he seemed to have gone. She swore inwardly and closed her eyes against the snarling maw, tried to close her nose from the reek of death. It rolled its mad eyes as its teeth smashed against her visor, drool pooling on its surface.

There was a crashing boom that filled her world, louder even than the dog’s barking. She paused. The dog had stopped straining at her; it’s dead weight was now on top of her and she couldn’t move it.

She opened her eyes hesitantly, the sound of gunfire still ringing in her ears, and looked over to her right. Her brother stood there, her still smoking pistol held in his shaking hands. His eyes were wide, like a child with a new toy. The girl stared, open mouthed.

“Thanks,” she managed to gasp.

She tried to sit, struggling to breathe, but her brother did not move to help her, “Hey, help me get this thing off of...”

But he had gone, leaping over her and the lifeless dog that was pinning her, and was outside before she knew what was going on. She cried out as best she could under the dog’s weight and pushed, but couldn’t shift it.

She heard excited laughter and the heavy gunshots of her homemade handgun, and began to panic. Her brother had gone out there alone. She heaved once more, her desperation lending her a maddened strength, and finally managed to move the carcass.

She wriggled fiercely, finally struggling free. She leapt up and peered cautiously through the window. It looked clear enough, so she vaulted the ledge, landing lightly in a half crouch on the ground below. Her brother was dancing about like a madman, laughing and firing wildly upon the attackers, most of whom had either been shot or had run.

Staying low, she sidled as quickly as she could to one of the fallen enemies, the heavy man with the beard that Walker had first killed. She pulled his pistol from his grip and looked around for targets. She saw a couple of heads peeking over the brow of the hill, one in a duster and farmer’s sun hat waving a pair of pistols, the other hairy, like a wild man, wielding a long, thin rifle. They were too far away for her but that rifle would be deadly for her and her brother.

She yelled as he danced about like a lunatic, but he couldn’t hear her.

“You’ll have to get through me, first!” he bellowed at no one, shaking his fist and firing randomly.

“Lenny, get over here! It’s not safe, it’s—”

There was a crack of rifle fire, and her brother stopped dancing. The gun fell from his grasp, and he held his gut, slumping to his knees. He fell sideways, sending a soft cloud of dust into the hot, still air.

Her stomach dropped.

She screamed a wordless curse and ran towards her brother, firing at the thing with the rifle. She could see the man desperately trying to reload. There was a loud crack and the man was snapped back, red blood glittering in the sun as it rained from the hole in his forehead.

As she ran across the open ground, away from the shadow of the tower and into the sun, the farm hat stood and made to fire upon her, but dropped suddenly, with two loud cracks. She ignored them and continued towards her brother, curled up against the dust and the pain. She slid next to him and held his head.

“Why did you do that?” She sobbed, stroking his hair.

She could still hear shouting, interspersed with gun shots, but she was focused on Lenny. She sat; stroking his hair, telling him it would be alright, trying to wipe the blood from his chin. She saw the red stickiness of his grubby, sweat stained shirt and looked into his rolling eyes; he was barely here, after all this, the flash still had him.

A shadow fell over them, but she didn’t turn. “I told you to stay in the shade.”

She didn’t look up at him, but murmured softly to her brother instead. “Why, Lenny? Why did you do that?”

She retracted her visor and looked down into her brother’s dark brown eyes. She could see the handsome, strong boy he had once been. He coughed and smiled; he was still high, she thought wildly, feeling hope attempt to surface in her guts as she wondered if the flash might help.

He spoke. “D’you remember that time, we followed that man? Pointed a gun at my head... think he killed me...” He coughed, and blood spattered her leather half coat.

Still, she couldn’t cry; even as her brother lay dying, she couldn’t do it.

The walker spoke from behind her again, “You should kill him. Put him out of his misery.”

She heard the flare of a match, and turned to him, disbelieving. “It’s my brother” she choked.

The walker exhaled and rubbed his chin. “All well and good, but I reckon that’s a gut shot. Fatal. Man’ll be dead eventually, even if he’s full of flash. But it’ll be slow and painful, best you do him now and—”

She jumped up and stormed over to him. She drew her arm back and, with all she could muster, swung it upwards towards his chin. He caught it deftly and slammed her in the gut, hard, knocking the wind out of her. She collapsed, struggling to breathe, the tears gathered in the corner of her eyes, threatening to betray her.

He stood over her and adjusted his hat, “Don’t try that again, girl. I like my face the way it is, and I didn’t kill those men over there so you could live, and ruin it,” He stepped over her, as she wriggled in the dirt, and drew his gun.

The girl tried her hardest to stand, but couldn’t, collapsing awkwardly in the dust.

“Now,” The walker began, “you got two minutes to say your goodbyes, and all that. We need to leave now; some of those lads ran off and will be back, with more men. So you got one minute to catch your breath and another to say goodbye. Then you do it,” he nodded to her brother, “Or I do.”

The girl retched as she struggled to breathe, but managed to stand. She glared into the silver band, which stared impassively back, before limping back to her brother. She knelt and took his head in her lap again.

“How did we get here?” He asked her, eyes staring up into the sky, unseeing. “I thought mum and dad lost the home years ago?” He laughed, clearly remembering something from the hazy past.

The girl just sat dumbly as her brother slipped into delirium. At least he didn’t seem to be in pain. He soon stopped talking, and seemed to be sleeping fitfully, his breathing ragged.

The walker stepped forward, “Time’s up. He’s just suffering now. You going to take the shot or...”

She didn’t answer, rubbing a grimy hand under her visor and grabbing her gun from the dust. She pointed it down at her brother, said a hoarse goodbye, and closed her eyes. There was another boom like a cannon, and Lenny was gone.

The girl shuddered, running her hand through her hair, blood from the day’s work mingling with her sweat. So many dead, already, within a day of being with this man. And now what? Her home was gone; she had no friends, and now no family left. She had no choice but to follow Walker and hope he would take her to the Order, and wouldn’t rob her, or kill her, or something equally horrible along the way.

She holstered her pistol, and turned to speak to the walker. He had already moved away, following the rising sun.