Chapter Three: Walking And Fighting
Peter didn't find Jane near the exit, but he was far from worried. Jane had a sense of distance that was out of proportion to her own size. This was compounded by her habit of sometimes seeing things in terms of the near Umbra. This closest part of the spirit world could be spatially confusing, warping distances. To her "just over there" could be miles away.
He sniffed around for a while and found her in an alley a few blocks away. She was sitting on the ground squeaking to an injured rat.
"Just keep off it for a few days," she said in the language of her birth. The small rat tried to walk on the leg in question. It now sported a tiny bandage. The rat squeaked to her and ran off. "You're welcome," she said as it disappeared into the recesses of the alley.
She stood up and turned on Peter. Before he could say a thing she had him in another of her pint sized pincer hugs. "Peter! I'm so happy you're better," her tone left little room for argument. He began to wonder how seriously his behavior had concerned her. "And now we're going on a mission, a secret mission!"
"It's not exactly secret," he tried to curb her enthusiasm. "Rat showed me what I could do to right the biggest injustice of all." They began to walk through the dark streets. His hooded form towered over her. He noticed that she had changed clothes again.
Jane's wardrobe was in a constant state of evolution. Whatever she found something that she thought was pretty she would wear it, usually leaving some other garment behind. To her it was an exchange. If she found something in a garbage can or charity box she left a piece of her clothes behind. To accent this she, in the style of Shadow Seers everywhere, clipped, sewed, taped, or pinned anything she felt was important to her outfit. They did this because they felt the mundane could be of spectacular beauty and significance, often despite the opinion of others.
At the moment she was sporting black leggings with the feet torn out and no shoes. She was wearing some deeply pink and offensive long-sleeved shirt under a black minidress that had seen better days. From her ears hung earrings made from bottle caps and nails. All over this ensemble gum wrappers and bits of glass had been affixed, along with a crushed pop can that she wore over her heart like a brooch.
The image was made more unusual by the wooden staff she carried that was as tall as she was. She had found it one day floating down a sewer stream, she claimed it was a holy weapon, but Peter had never witnessed anything special about it.
Topping it all off was her backpack. It was a faded plastic Barbie backpack. Though he had carried it more than a few times, he had never been allowed to see into it. She claimed it was "a lady's domain." She carried first aid supplies and other things of use, but it was also the source of many of her odder adornments. No matter what she wore or how filthy it was she was a girl or rat of considerable beauty. Even though she tried to hide it he knew she had received several offers to bear pups. When he pressed her about this duty to the colony she only said she had to wait until she was finished her training, besides, she added, it was her choice
"So where are we going now?' she asked.
"We have to act fast. Some of the people I need to help me are only going to be in town for a short time." He guided them in another direction.
"How much do you know? What kind of vision was it?"
"Not like any other I've had," he said uncertainly. This was her area of experience. "I saw six of us, and I saw what we were going to do, but I assume the rest of it will come when I need," he looked to her for confirmation.
"Sometimes it works that way," she said comfortingly. "But it's hard to say. Are you sure you're ready to start this? You were pretty shaken up."
He lifted up his sweater a little, displaying a strap of his rig. "It's been a while since I've been this certain."
"Yes, I see that now." She gestured vaguely at the empty street around them. "They can all see it. Great energy is inside you now." He glanced about and saw no one, leaving him to assume she was looking at the spirits she was so close to.
The two walked down the sidewalk in silence for some time. At times she would mutter to herself, but Peter knew she was talking to things he couldn't see. He knew that she was in constant conversation with other beings. She was seldom alone, even in a locked room. The few times when no one was about she was even then in company. All Ratkin heard the voice of Rat calling to them when they thrashed in the fevers of the Birthing Plague. For some it never stopped, most became Twitchers. He shuddered at the thought of Jane as a Twitcher. They were in even more dangerous than the Blade Slaves, the Warriors, just as often to themselves as to others. Jane had beaten the odds and chosen to be a Shadow Seer. Spirits had been in touch with her even before her Birthing Plague. This contact had only made her more eager to learn from them. Thus it was that the voice of Rat constantly spoke to her, but she would never share what it told her. Those were secrets, she told him.
He was concerned for her. The vision had shown her with him, but she was no fighter. He was ready to sacrifice himself, but he worried at what might become of her. He had been her protector from the first days. She had, in turn, lavished attention and company on him. He considered her his blood kin, even though they shared no relation other than being children of Rat. Sometimes, he thought, family is what you make of it.
He stopped her by taking her shoulder and turning to face her. She looked up at him. "Jane I want you to know that I will do my best to make sure you come out of this okay." She started to say something but he steamrolled over it. "Things might get rough, some of us might last 'till the end, but I want you to survive."
"Oh Peter," her voice gentle and soft. "Peter I love you," she said as tears began to well up in her eyes. She pulled him into a hug.
"I love you too Jane, you've been my little sister and I want you to be okay." Her head buried in his chest began to shake with sobs.
"You don't get it," she said in the midst of sobs. He didn't understand a word.
"So many people tried to put me down," his tone was stern. He had to steel himself against tears. Even so his eyes began to shine with moisture in the depths of his hood. "Even those that tried to help me were condescending, but you were always straight with me." She shook even harder. "But don't cry," he pulled her away from his chest. "We're both gonna get out of this fine."
She looked up at him with reddened eyes. Her whole face was wet with tears. "What makes you think so?" she asked weakly.
"Because we're family, you and me. That means we look out for each other." She shook her head in what he thought was an uncomprehending way. "I'm not gonna let anything change that." That seemed to make her feel better.
Jane wiped her face and dried her eyes. You're not a pup anymore, she told herself, someday you can tell him, but not now. "Ok," she finally said. "I'm not letting you get away from me yet," she added with conviction.
"That's just fine by me," he agreed.
"Where are we going?" she asked once she had fully regained her composure.
"I remember the name of our first recruit from my vision." The two resumed their way down the street stopping at an intersection. "His name is Frankie Jacks. He was the only person other than you I recognized. I think he lives up in Sakert," naming a much smaller colony up on the northern edge of the city. The traffic was nonexistent. The lights facing them were red.
"I think I heard of him. He's a Warrior," she added after moment of recollection.
"Yeah, we'd better get moving though," he looked around for a clock. He didn't have a watch, but he knew it was very late, or early. "Unless you have bus fare to waste it's going to take a few hours to get there, if we can beat morning traffic." At that he started to cross the street, the light had yet to change.
"Stop!" cried out Jane. She brandished her staff to stop him from stepping off the curb.
He looked up at the signal and smiled. She had a somewhat simplistic interpretation of human society and how to act in it. He gestured to the empty street. "There's not a car in sight, we can cross at any time."
She seemed disoriented when he spoke. He realized she was listening to somewhere else. "There's something else, someone coming," she added vaguely. "Don't you hear it?"
He could hear the distant wail of a police siren, a barking dog and the 'pling-pling' of the crossing signal. Then he realized that the siren was coming closer, and the sound of the dog was now being drowned out by gunshots. "What the…?"
Down the street on their left, far in the distance was a car driving towards them at full speed, behind it was a police cruiser in full pursuit.
"It's him," said Jane.
"What? How do you know?" he said.
"I know," she responded unhelpfully. "We have to jump on."
Peter did a double take. The car was traveling at well over a hundred miles per hour. It was too far away for him to see the colour, but he knew it would soon be a blur on the opposite direction. He turned to face Jane. "We can't do it."
She wasn't listening, mostly because she was folding her clothes into her backpack. She stood naked before him in the cold night. The wail of the siren was much closer to them now. She gave him her staff. He took it mutely. "Only you have to do it," at that she shifted into a normal looking rat. She climbed into the open backpack.
He had no choice but to close it and sling the thing over his shoulder. Staff in hand he looked back to the speeding chase coming towards him. Silently he prayed it would turn away. Pick an intersection, any intersection, any direction, he thought. Sure enough it sped towards him at full speed. It was less than five seconds before it reached him. He tensed every muscle in his body and threw himself at the car, prepared for the pain. The car swerved and almost rolled over but he was now the hood ornament of a high-speed chase. The wind buffeted him and deafened him, the slightest motion of the car threatened to throw him off. He clung to the car with all his might, trying to maintain his presence by surface tension, his knuckles turned white around the staff.
Finally he looked up into the car. Behind the wheel was Frankie Jacks, he seemed to be paying Peter no mind, keeping his full attention on the road ahead of him. Only occasionally did he glance up at the rearview mirror to check on the distance of the police. His upper lip was red with blood from a bloody nose, his right eye was black and there was a blood soaked bandage that had been hastily applied to his palm. It appeared he had been in a fight.
Frankie looked up into Peter's eyes and said something without missing a beat Peter read his lips. "Oh, hello Peter, out for a stroll?" His smirk made Peter want to twist his head off through the glass. "Uh-oh," his eyes went back to the road. Peter didn't want to look over his shoulder, nor did he have to. The reflection in the windshield clearly showed the police roadblock. This ride was about to end.