Less than five minutes later, Rick found himself edging along the back wall of the farmhouse, staying low and moving slowly to avoid detection by whoever it was that was trying to get the drop on him. He kept his eyes and ears open for any sight, or sound that would alert him to where whoever these men that had come to grab Christopher, were lurking.
He heard quiet voices conversing from around the right side of the building. He paused, listening, his hand stretching towards the revolver strapped to his hip. The gun slid free without making even a whisper of sound. Rick peeked around the side of the building and saw a faint red glow as a cigarette got tossed to the ground and stomped out.
"I say we ignore the boss and teach the Kean woman about her proper place in the scheme of things. Coupla smacks to the back of her head oughta make her know when it's time to obey."
Rick felt his blood boil at those words. A part of him, a dark part he worked hard to keep buried, wanted to spin around the side of the building and empty his gun in them for even daring to consider putting their hands on a woman, much less one he had grown to care for as a friend and ally.
However, the moralistic man he was, the one who strongly held to things like law and justice, banked that urge. He would not kill the living. Not in cold blood. It was a road he refused to even consider taking. If one of the men tried to hurt Raya or her children was one thing.
He was a cop and his sworn duty was to serve and protect the protect from those intending to do them harm. Not before then, though. I will not become like those I swore to bring to justice.
That he was, essentially, obeying the same strict set of tenements Raya followed was not lost upon him. Her unwavering dedication to finding another way to bring criminals to justice was just one of the things he had come to admire her for.
Even the few small bands of walkers they met shown respect and compassion. Life was held in the highest regard by the members of Raya's family. And death treated with the honor it deserved.
"Barkin' up the wrong tree there, Hoss," the second man said in a deeply accented voice. Rick tried to place where the man could be from but couldn't get any closer than somewhere near the border. New Mexico maybe, he reasoned as he tried to get a look at the man's face. "Just shootin' the feller she's screwin' is gonna piss off Luthor."
"Yeah?" The first man, Hoss, grunted. "And why's that?"
"You want to deal with a woman trained by the Bat?"
Bat? Rick wondered. Who the hell is the Bat?
"Boss is sure then she's the Fenix?"
Fenix? Who's Fenix? Are they talking about Raya? He frowned with his confusion and growing suspicion. Was it possible she was some sort of government agent? A spy, perhaps? It would certainly explain some of those combat skills she displayed when she thought he wasn't paying attention.
His lips trembled, curved. He had to admit that the woman could throw a punch that would make any boxer proud. And her feet were even more lethal than her hands. His own body throbbed with the memory of those blows. He couldn't begin to imagine the agony of those who had received them.
"Oh, there ain't no doubt about it," the one he christened New Mexico said. "Not after seein' her beat the shit outta Nico and his boys earlier this afternoon. She's Fenix." He spat on the ground. "That's why killin' the pig and the other brat is a bad idea. Just invitin' a whole mess of trouble we don't need now."
"Then why is 12 allowing it?" Hoss questioned as he lit another cigarette. "If all this is gonna do is us get our nuts in a sling, why is he allowing it?"
"'Cause he's a dumb shit, that's why." There was the click of a safety being taken off. A quick peek showed Rick how each man carried an assault rifle. "C'mon, we better get our asses back," New Mexico told Hoss. "Got five minutes before the shit hits the fan."
Hoss took one last puff of his cigarette before snuffing it out and sticking it in his pocket. "Let's hope we don't get the shit sprayed on us."
Rick listened to them walk away, feeling electric currents of anxiety and anticipation dance in his veins and pool in his belly. These men were not only hell-bent on kidnapping Christopher and taking him to this Luthor fella, but they were also planning on killing Rose. Rick felt his entire body clench as that fact washed over him.
Well, it wasn't going to happen.
Not without him having a goddamn say in the matter. That these men also planned to kill him didn't overly matter. Way Rick saw it? He had lived his life. He had lived a good one. Rose, much like Carl was just beginning hers. Made hers the most important one to save. The light tread of footsteps broke into his dark thoughts and alerted him to someone making their way towards him.
A cool calm settled over Rick as he prioritized what threat he needed to handle first. It wasn't like he had to overly think of what he was going to handle first. He'd willingly taken Raya, Christopher, and Rose into his care. That made them his responsibility. His to defend and protect.
He felt a shift deep within himself, recognized it as the man he was, that law-abiding, morally just and relatively peaceful man he'd been before waking up in the middle of this nightmare, receding into the dark recesses of his mind so that the other man he kept buried could handle this potential menace.
He crept over to a huge pile of wood left when the owners of the farm took off for the hills and paused, his gun held up in front of him, hammer cocked and finger curled around the trigger. He felt, more than heard, whoever was creeping along the other side. He took a deep breath, held it as he waited for them to reach the corner of the building.
Without pausing to consider the danger or the possible ramifications of his actions, Rick swung around the wall to meet whoever was sneaking around. His eyes popped wide when he found himself face-to-face with an equally stunned Christopher.
"Where's your mother?" He asked as he slowly lowered his revolver to his side. "And Rose?"
"Waiting by the Bronco with Krypto," Christopher replied as he lowered the pitchfork he had grabbed before coming to give him a hand. "I told Mom to stay there with Rose while I came to get you."
A kernel of amusement flickered to life inside Rick at hearing that. Kid, you gotta lot to learn about women…
"See," he couldn't resist teasing the boy. "That's where you went wrong." One of Christopher's dark brows arched in silent question. Rick sent him an easy grin. "You can't tell your mother to do something and expect she'll actually do it."
"But..." A frown creased the boy's brow. "She didn't follow me."
"Knowing your mother? She probably went the other way."
The light of realization flicked on. "Shoulda known she wouldn't listen," he grumbled. "She never listens. Not even when Grandpas Bruce, Jim, and Clark tell her to do something."
Sympathy and amusement welled inside Rick for his plight. He knew it wasn't easy being twelve. Twelve and responsible for your mother and sister's care and well-being? Well, that was more than any teen could manage without some help.
"Your mom is..." He trailed off, fumbling for the right word to say that would politely express how Raya was stubborn as an ox. "Well, she's…"
"A mule," the teen helpfully supplied. "You don't gotta beat around the bush about it. Mom is a mule. You can admit it. Everyone else does."
Rick swallowed a laugh. "Yes..." he agreed with a slight nod. "Your mom is definitely very headstrong."
"No." Christopher shook his head. "Mom is light years beyond being headstrong. She's mule-headed is what she is. In fact," he huffed. "If you look up stubborn in the dictionary, you'll find her photograph."
And yours, kid. Wisely, Rick didn't point that fact out. He set a hand upon the boy's shoulder. "Your mom is a fighter."
"You have no idea..."
No, he didn't have any idea, Christopher was right about that. However, Rick vowed that just as soon as they were somewhere safe that he was gonna start asking the questions that he had avoided out of respect for her privacy. It's time that she gives me some answers, he thought as he signaled for the boy to follow him.
I can't help her if I don't know the truth. Something, though, told him - warned him was more like it - that he might come to regret what some of those answers might be.
…
"Pathetic," he spat into the trembling shadows. He shifted his massive frame to the side, bracing a large hand against a tree that groaned beneath his touch as he attempted to count the number of men gathered outside a large barn structure. "A handful of men making war upon a woman, her man, and children. What honor is there in this? What pride? Satisfaction?" He sniffed his disdain. "Bah!"
"Our men are spoiling for a fight," one of the men who stood with him at the edge of the property said. "This could be a way of allowing them to release their pent-up tension."
"An interesting proposal," the taller man mused as he watched the handful of buffoons sent here by Lex Luthor surround the front of the farmhouse in which the woman he, personally, had named Fénix slumbered with her family. He half-turned to look down at the man. "Do you make it because you believe the men are spoiling for a fight, or because you think that Fénix needs our help?"
His second-in-command, a man named Hernandez, was silent as he contemplated his answer.
"I think," he finally said, "these vatos have become desperate. They believed they would easily kidnap the boy and return him to Luthor. After Fénix defeated them with the help of el sustituto, they saw it would not be so easy to take the boy from his mother."
"You think they will be willing to do anything to avoid this Luthor's wrath?"
"I think they are willing to do anything at this point in order not to fail, si."
He made a low, speculative sound deep in his throat as he pondered over what his follower had said. He had to admit that the man had a point. To carry out their mission and kidnap the Hijo del Fénix, they needed to cut the number of people who surrounded the boy and kept him safe. The Fénix's Esposito would be the first one these men would likely choose to either torture or kill.
And they will take their time, dragging out the moment slowly, and as painfully as possible, he mused, fingers curling around a low hanging branch. They will make Fénix watch every blow and listen to the adjunto's every scream.
And they will do so, he thought as the wood splintered in his hand. While reminding her about how she could have avoided this had she given her son into the care of Luthor.
Disgust coiled in his belly and spread an inferno of rage throughout his body. "Pathetic," he hissed again. "Making war upon a woman, her man and children."
"Should I tell the men to prepare themselves for battle?" Hernandez phrased the question cautiously, knowing to tread lightly and keep his tone respectful. "Or do you wish them to stand down and wait?"
The man known to the criminal underworld as Bane contemplated his answer as he reached into the pocket of his pants for an item he had carried with him for close to three decades. Speckles of moonlight caressed the gold necklace he held up in one massive hand and curled around the muscles that bulged beneath his black leather jacket and mud-splattered fatigues. He had the build of a professional wrestler or bodybuilder and held his head high despite his less than ideal circumstances.
Dark eyes gleamed out of the holes cut into a mask that concealed nearly all his face from view. The mask, made from the same material as a Luchadores, was all black save for a ghostly outline that covered his nose, mouth, and chin.
Pipes ran along the edges of the mask to a pair of miniature canisters at the back of his skull. No sign of fear showed in his gaze as he lifted his head and swept the grounds in search of any of those infected by the virus that had slowly overtaken the globe.
"Tell them to wait for my signal," he spoke calmly, and with complete assurance. "We will wait and see what the Fénix does before deciding if we will get involved."
"It will be as you say."
Bane nodded and turned back to watch the farmhouse. He heard the hushed voices of his followers behind him but paid them no mind. No, his gaze was upon the shadows he saw moving along the side of the house. So, he mused, the faintest smile curving his full lips, Fénix chooses flight over fight. A very wise decision.
That she was choosing to sneak away under the cover of darkness did not surprise Bane any. It was what he would have done had he been in her place. Cut your losses, he thought as a man in an ugly brown hat and the clothes of an alguazil slowly rounded the corner with a small boy right behind him.
Live to fight another day. The ayudante held his silver revolver with the comfort and ease of a man unafraid to use such a weapon to defend himself or his woman and children from any who intended to cause them great physical harm.
Bane studied the man with a critical eye. He possessed a natural, easygoing gait and had the lean, disciplined body of one accustomed to action. He nodded his approval. The Esposito de la Fénix needed to be a man of strength and honor. No less would be proper for a woman who possessed such fierce loyalty and courage.
Deciding that there was no need for he and his men to intervene now that the family was making their way to their vehicle, he signaled to his men that it was time to leave.
A movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to glance over his shoulder in time to see a chiquita with hair as dark as the sky overhead making her way towards her papa. Even from this distance, he could see her skin was the color of honey. Those eyes would be the same deep shade of green and spark with the same fire he had seen in the eyes of another.
Does the daughter's heart burn with the same fire as that which is inside of her mother's? A hum rumbled deep in his throat as he speculated about the answer.
The girl was soon joined by the Fénix and a huge white dog. Only the Hija del Fénix interested him, however. As Bane stood there and watched as mother and daughter crossed the distance to where a dusty police vehicle sat, his thoughts drifted back to the night when he had discovered just how precious and rare things like courage and loyalty were. Especially when such things were found inside the heart of a chiquilla...
"Merde! Look!"
A hailstorm of gunfire accompanied Hernandez's cry. Bane glanced over and saw Luthor's men taking aim at a bunch of ragtag figured stumbling out from behind the house. Bane turned his head and watched, deeply transfixed by the group of shambling figures shuffling through an open partition of the fence.
He quickly counted twenty adults in shredded and stained clothing, their heads lolling drunkenly upon their mangled and twisted necks, with maggots and other bugs falling from the open wounds in their faces, from their exposed abdominal cavities, and from their torn and putrefied fingers.
They lurched out one by one, spreading out like a tsunami as it came racing towards shore. All of them were in various stages of decomposition, their bodies rotting away a bit more with every rolling step they took. None of them could take that last step needed into that long goodnight because of whatever virus it was that caused them to stay in this state.
Some, Bane realized as he stared at one blonde woman, her once hazel eyes now a feral shade of yellow, were newly turned. How long ago was it? he found himself wondering. By his estimate, it had only been a matter of days.
The adults were soon followed by a handful of adolescents in torn and ragged clothing. Some had their heads hanging precariously to one side, others with cannonball-sized holes in their chests, and the rest had their intestines spilling out from what once had been their stomach cavities.
Disgust and a heavy dose of horror crashed over Bane. He had seen and done many despicable things while living in Peña Duro, but even he had not seen anything like this. Is this what I will find when I return to Santa Prisca? Will I find nothing more than these animated remains?
The thought was more than a troubling one.
He could tell the exact moment when the keen senses of smell that these depredadores picked up their scent. Their eyes gleamed in the shadows and their bloody maws started working in anticipation of a taste of fresh meat. Muzzles belched fire.
Bullets slammed into the fence posts and decaying bodies, chipping away at the wood and spraying slivers of paint and blood everywhere. The absolute lack of any other noise served to amplify the deafening roar of the guns, making him think of canon fire. The acrid stench of cordite mingled with that of the stench of the undead themselves.
"What should we do?" one of his men asked. "Should we help to stop these creatures?"
"Stand down," Bane told him in a calm, sure voice. "And wait."
"It will be as you say," the man immediately replied. "We await your signal."
As one, he and his men watched as Luthor's men fell back against the house, taking cover behind abandoned vehicles while continuing to fire upon the motley crew of infected. In the dense shadows, it was difficult to make out just how many of the undead there actually were.
Bane realized the numbers could be much more than the small bands that they had met as they made their way South. He was about to order his men to fan out and make sure that Fénix and her family came to no harm when a sudden explosion lit up the night and halted the words before he could say them.
"Madre de Dios!"
Some of his followers gasped as the doors of the house blew inwards in a shower of broken wood and glass. Great plumes of dense smoke blanketed the area, making visibility low. Bane twisted around when he heard a small voice crying out. In pain or fear? He couldn't tell which. A sweeping glance showed him nothing. He had no idea where either Fénix or her hija were at that moment.
The horde of undead came stumbling through the smoke, groaning with their insatiable hunger and thirst, and their eyes gleaming with their intention to satiate it.
Bane curled his fingers about the necklace draped over the back of his fingers. He could not stand by and allow Luthor or this world to make war upon a woman who had never been anything, but good and kind and decent to him.
It was dishonorable.
It was unconscionable.
It was... unthinkable.
"Ready the men," he ordered Hernandez. "Tell them to shoot anything that tries to harm Fénix or a member of her familia."
He did not have to make the request twice.
A/N: Hello, all! I hope that the week has been a good one to you!
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