Charon
She takes her pack off and puts her rifle on top of it. Wait a second…
Oh Jesus, what crazy thing is she doing now – she only has a combat knife!
She's making a shitton of noise. Wait – she's weaving like she's drunk. She starts to sing – well, slur – "Let's go sunnin'!"
"Oh, HEY – how you fellas doin'? You got anything to drink, I run plumb dry!" A hiccup. All three of them sat, stunned for a couple seconds – I can hear their pants rubbing against the ground, a clink of armor, maybe a chain – they love to decorate themselves with that pointless shit. Sloppy, stupid, arrogant shit. The world ended, and they still posture, strut like peacocks. Some things never change.
They all stand up; maybe they sense she's unarmed; helpless. I grip my shotgun – despite her order to stay, if her life is in danger, I must intervene. After all, she didn't say how long to stay.
"Well, now, what's a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?" says the tallest one, swaggering towards her, confident in his safety. I stifle a growl – I don't know what she has planned, but it's gonna be entertaining. I'd hate to ruin it for her. She might even punish me, although it's been a long time since she has. She said she wouldn't ever punish me again, but who knows?
I sense a swift movement on her right side. A grunt.
The man gurgled, split up the middle. His buddies didn't notice anything right away, his body in between her and them. He drops to his knees; I can see his eyes, shining in the scant moonlight.
She laughs; an eerie sound. It still sends a shiver up my spine – if I still had skin on the back of my neck, I'd probably get goosebumps.
She lunges to the closest one; stabbing him in the jugular notch, the raider grabbing his throat, eyes wide, blood pouring out from between his fingers. Her face is probably the last thing he'll ever see.
She glances at me – or, the rock where I'm crouched behind. My night vision is stronger than hers, she probably can't see me, but she knows I can see her. The remaining raider, evidently feeling that discretion was the better part of valor, turned on his heel and ran.
Even I know better than to do that. Like a dog, she can't help but chase her prey – she likes them scared, and if she's letting him get this far, she wants to spend some time on him. There is no escape from my Angel of Death – if you run, you'll just die tired. Better to fight and die quick. I've seen the alternative. It ain't pretty.
She turns, sprints – one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight – "OOF!" A scuffle. A male scream.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, AND I MIGHT LET YOU LIVE!" she barks.
She's lying. She has no intention of letting him live. When I first witnessed her cruelty, I was stunned, but time changes things. I tried to get her to stop, but if she doesn't take out her frustration on something, she'll lose it. I don't know if she could live with that. Good thing there was plenty of deserving targets that she could take out her rage on.
"I wonder – maybe I should take a souvenir." I could hear the man breathing, raspy, labored. She's probably sitting on his back. "Maybe an ear." A moan. "Oh, that doesn't suit you, huh? I know – I'll take a finger or two – you've got plenty of spares!"
"No, no! I have a wife – and kids!" he pleaded. That maniacal laugh again. "Is that right? Liar. You know what I hate more than cowards? Liars." I snort. You don't hate liars – you just hate people lying to YOU, sweetheart.
The screaming took forever to stop.
"You can come out now, Charon."
I rise, brush the dirt off my knees, and walk toward her. "Feel better now?" I know she's been restless, pissed off. A lot of people are that way when they give up the bottle. All the problems come back, they get overwhelmed – gotta blow off steam somehow, I guess. There's only so much fucking and smoking she can do before the urge to hurt something gets too strong to ignore.
She wraps her arms around me. "Mmmhmm."
I hug her back, twist back and forth. "Why dontcha save one for me next time?" I ask, joking. I feel her giggle into my chest. I soak up the warmth – she practically radiates heat. Traveling at night, I get cold – the places that don't have skin leak heat like a sieve. If I don't watch out, I can get pretty stiff in a hurry.
"You wanna find a place to hit the sack?" She asks. "It's almost light."
I look at the horizon, then down at her face. She looks up at me, smiling softly, blood smeared on her cheek, soaked into the collar of her shirt. My beautiful Angel of Death.
I give her a squeeze. "Sounds like a good idea."
