TWENTY-SIX: trap

"Meryl! Meryl, come inside this instant! It's dangerous out there!" Her mother half-walked, half-ran out to her, her eyes darting sporadically toward the approaching storm. Meryl wasn't listening, of course. She rarely did anything she did not care to do. The twelve-year-old stood out in the front yard, defiant, staring up to the wall of wind and sand racing toward her.

Meryl was invincible. Her father had told her so. She had decided to face this challenge head-on.

It seemed like hours until she was awake, her mother staring down at her with sad, worried eyes. She blinked, scarcely recognizing where she was at, only knowing she was alive and that her arm ached fiercely. She tried to cradle it to her chest, but she couldn't move.

"Oh, Meryl…you could've died. Why can't you just listen to me for once in your life?" Her mother shed tears for her, grateful that she had somehow managed to maintain Meryl for one more precious day.

"It seems my little princess is awake," Richard said as he stood in the doorway. "Meryl, you worried your mother. You must promise never to disobey her ever again. I know you would never disobey me, but your mother loves you as much as I do. It would break her heart to loose you. It broke her heart enough to see you injured."

Meryl swallowed and nodded meekly. "I'm sorry."

He smiled and gave her a gentle kiss on the nose. "You were very brave, Meryl," he said gently. "But sandstorms don't care if you're brave or scared out of your wits. Either way, dead is dead."

Milly pushed herself to a sitting position, peering about the campsite. The sun had risen, and the sky was as brilliant and blue as she could remember. She saw Stryker's arm draped over her and flushed with embarrassment. Removing it from her shoulder, she glanced to Meryl, who lay across the fire, alone.

"Hey."

Milly jumped. "Mr. Stryker. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. I've been awake."

"Oh? Where is Mr. Vash."

"He left. He must have gone a walk. He was gone before I woke up." He held up a silver magnum, his eyes watching her reaction. "Wherever he is, he's not armed with this."

"Oh no! Mr. Vash's gun!"

From her spot across the campsite, Meryl stirred. They could see her peering at them over the blackened pit where the night's fire had dwindled. She groaned softly as she lifted herself to her feet, rolling her back and stretching toward the sky. She yawned, rubbing the last of the sleep from her eyes.

She seemed to notice in that moment that their camp was missing one of it own. Vash was nowhere to be seen. She felt a panic come over her, and turned to see her friends watching her.

"Where's Vash?" she asked under her breath.

Stryker rose to his feet. "He disappeared." He held up the angel arm gun, and her face paled. "It's all right. I'm sure of it. Vash'll be fine."

Meryl rushed over to them and lifted the weapon from Stryker's hand. It was awfully heavy; Meryl remembered why she carried all those derringers around. She couldn't think of a single reason that Vash would wander off like that. In the past, it was a frequent hobby of his, loosing the girls whenever they turned away, but now she couldn't see why. Her father had threatened their lives, her life; she didn't think Vash would just leave her like this. It didn't make a hell of a lot of sense.

She finally looked back to Stryker and somehow managed to think of a question to ask. "No tracks?"

"Don't see any. There was just enough wind over the night to cover them up."

"With or without Vash, we need to keep going. We're sitting ducks right here."

"But Meryl, do we even know where we're going?" Milly asked, no doubt worried over the prospect of just leaving. She gazed out over the barren landscape, searching for a sign, any sign that might reveal the location of the Humanoid Typhoon. The big girl whimpered a little at the fearful thoughts trickling through her. Vash was gone, and nobody could offer a reasonable explanation as to where or why. "What if Vash doesn't want us to go on?"

"I don't know Milly, but I doubt he wants us out here in the open. We need to find some sort of shelter at least. We can continue in the direction we were headed. It's all I can think of to do."

Stryker gazed to the north, in the direction they had been traveling, and made a decision. Without a word, he began the trek that way. He didn't know where Vash was, but that didn't matter. He felt something strong pulling at him, driving him toward a mysterious world where he'd never been before. He only hoped he could help the girls along the way.

Meryl turned and watched Stryker take the first steps of the journey without Vash, and then helped Milly to gather up their things and follow him. She held Vash's magnum tightly as she walked, inspecting it along the way.

She couldn't help but notice Milly's face, set with her most serious look, determined to help as best she could.

"We're coming, Mr. Vash," she murmured. "Soon, we promise."

He was sore, but he supposed he was lucky to be alive at all. Shifting into a seated position, he rubbed his neck where he had landed in his fall from the top of a dune. Blood-soaked fingers came away from where the bullet had nicked him. He then peered about, searching for whoever had shot him, but he didn't recognize his position. He knew only the heat of midmorning as he rose uneasily from the seat of his pants. Peering about, he saw only desert for as far as the eye could see.

He was alone.

He held cradled his arm near his stomach as a sharp pain, as intense as any he had suffered for quite some time, stabbed at his innards. He remembered the Vash impostor from two nights ago, the one who had shot him in the right side, and knew his pains came from the aftereffects of that battle.

He hoped the others were all right.

Nice bit of work with Meryl, Needle Noggin'. I'm proud of you.

Vash spun to the shadows. "Wolfwood?"

But what he heard was no more than a thought drifting to him from a gentle breeze.

You know you're going the wrong way. Morgante's not to the north. That's what he wants you to think.

"What do you mean?"

You're walking into a trap, Needle Noggin'. You have to go back south.

"A trap."

Go find them. Hurry, before it's too late.

Vash clenched his fists and nodded.

And good luck, Vash the Stampede.

Meryl continued trudging along, her feet heavy, her knees nearly ready to buckle beneath her. She kept clutching the cross around her neck, running a finger along the grooves of the stem. It holds the key to the entire world in it. She kept going over the words in her mind.

"Stryker, maybe we should stop for a rest," she said softly.

Milly wiped the thick layer of sweat from her forehead. Meryl felt sorry for the girl, wearing that huge overcoat all this time. "Meryl's right," she said, her soft voice teetering somewhere between a sigh and a whimper. "It's so hot…"

She sunk to her knees in the sand, exhausted.

Stryker paused, glancing back. He nodded. "Okay. We can stop."

Meryl slid to Milly's side, rubbing her throbbing knees. She raised a hand to her head to wipe away the sweat that poured from her temple. It felt so good to rest a moment, even though they had been walking for hours with no sign of Vash or any other life to lift her spirits. She worried that maybe they had gone too far for Vash, that maybe he was lost somewhere in the opposite direction. Would they ever find him again?

Stryker sat in the sand next to them, handing out his canteen, still full somehow. Meryl realized it was because he wasn't drinking. She accepted the water without protest, seeing to it that Milly had the first swig.

The Vash duplicate peered about, uneasy. No doubt something trying lay in their path, possibly very close, and his thoughts were torn between it and the girls' safety. He didn't want to see what dangers lay in their wake, dangers no doubt meant for Vash the Stampede, but he would face them anyway because he had earned a place among them. He refused to turn his back on the trio now, not when they had turned to him and extended their hands in friendship.

"I don't feel like I could move another step," Meryl whispered, rubbing her sore knees. It hurt worse just to sit and rest then it had before they had stopped.

Milly leaned against her friend. One hand crushed her friend's fingers in a death-grip as tearful eyes gazed to the desert around them. She gazed to the north with a quivering lip. "Do you think he went that way?" She watched Meryl, heartbroken.

"I've sure of it," Meryl lied, almost too quickly. She didn't want to admit to Milly that she wasn't at all sure where their friend had gone, or if he was even alive. Or maybe she simply didn't want to admit that to herself. "I bet he's doing just fine. He's waiting for us right now." She looked to the northern horizon and sighed heavily.

"I hope you're right, Meryl."

"Me too, Milly. Me too."

Meryl shook her head, shaking away those terrible thoughts. "We should get moving. We still have a long way to go."

Just as she started to rise, Stryker grabbed her wrist.

"Wait."

Meryl turned her attention to him, and then followed his line of sight to a spot on the northern horizon. Where earth met the sky in a hazy mirage, she saw a flicker of light. Her heart nearly stopped as she realized what she was seeing. One thought came to her mind: this was the same way they had met Wolfwood more than two years ago.

Wolfwood had been a wandering priest who arrived by the glint of the suns, much like God had placed him there at that very moment for them to find, or for him to find them. A priest who had done so much wrong, that had in the end righted so much, only to die for that very reason. Because he had reformed.

Meryl wasn't sure what this new glint could be, but it felt somehow like a small ray of hope. Or was it that falling star of the night before, laying wake to the evident approaching danger. The world is in its misery whilst I myself sweep, she thought, remembering the old line fondly.

Milly trembled as though her heart had been snagged between the jaws of death, the life slowly draining from her soul. She clung to Meryl with tears pouring down her face as the thought of Wolfwood submerged her. Nicholas D. Wolfwood, the priest with a dark side, had given Milly the very best of his heart in the brief time he had been with her.

And then they had stolen him away.

While many might have thought Milly not strong enough to survive, she cherished in proving to the world just the joy that encompassed her soul. Wolfwood had taken a piece of that joy with him to the underworld, but it had eventually returned to her in her memories of the priest and the unexpected gifts that had rained down on her from their private moments together.

Milly swallowed and prayed that everything would turn out all right.

He sensed the attack before it came, in the quiet rush of the air around him as his enemy fell to him from the heavens, but for one of the few times in his life, Vash the Stampede was slow. The bullet came in from behind, ripping through his left arm, the prosthetic arm. He felt the pull of the shot, but that was all as his prosthetic limb did not register pain.

Come on, Needle Noggin'! Get your ass in gear! When are you going to learn that the most challenging things in life aren't going to come right at you?

True enough. Knives hadn't. Legato hadn't. The Gung-Ho Guns prided themselves on being the sneaky villains of this world. He couldn't think of any of them that had come straight at him. At least, not without a plan.

There was always an obstacle, or a distraction. And then, Vash would suffer. It seemed the world could not operate without extracting some sort of payment from the Humanoid Typhoon.

Vash spun and reached for his sidearm.

Then he gasped as he realized that his gun wasn't there. "Damn!" He looked up, wide-eyed, searching for his attacker.

Whoever had fired on him was nowhere to be seen.

"You really aren't very bright, are you?"

Vash's eyes widened. A woman.

A gunshot echoed in his ear. He spun right, just avoiding the shot as it tore through his coat and kicked sand into the air just beyond. He leapt out of the way of a second shot, allowing his hidden gun to activate. He took aim, spotting the blur of red where the shot had come from, and squeezed the trigger.

He fired only six shots, and then several soft, repetitive clicks, indicating the chamber was empty. A third shot brushed his left side, knocking him flat.

"Is that all? I expected more of a challenge."

Vash's eyes widened. He saw the blood-red leather of the woman's boots as he stood over him. He trailed the length of her slender leg up to a tone thigh, beyond a firm torso to the hateful smirk beyond. Staring down at him were twin emerald pools.

"I was getting tired of waiting," she said nonchalantly. "No matter. We're both ready now."

"Ready for what?" Vash asked. The boot came up suddenly and connecting firmly against his jaw, a smooth and easy motion that would have broken the jaw of most men. Vash was not most men, luckily. He simply fell back and landing hard on his back.

"For your execution, silly," the woman said, stroking a long, blonde braid that fell over her left shoulder. Her sinister grin widened, revealing flawless teeth. "What else would we have planned for the infamous Vash the Stampede?"

"Who are you?"

"Does it really matter. You're about to die either way."

The glint of her silver handgun stretched out across the desert as she took aim.

Vash was slowed by the bullet wound in his left leg, given to him by the man he had faced back in the shuttle before Stryker had joined his party, and it was only a matter of time before he slipped and fell to her mercy. While he had avoided most of her ruthless gunfire—damn, she's fast…faster than me—he couldn't avoid it all, and soon a single shot tore through his left ankle and he dropped like a rock before her.

"Nice. You're not so graceful as they say, ya know?"

"Yeah, I guess I'm not."

She smirked. "Easy now, hun." She slowly approached, reloading her weapon. She lifted the gun, taking careful aim. "It'll only be a sec."

Before she could squeeze the trigger, a large, white blur crashed into her. The woman screamed. Vash felt the exhaustion overcoming him as he tried to understand what he was seeing. The big white blur crashed furiously into her, over and over again as it tried to overcome the speed of the woman. Several shots were fired, but never once did Vash hear anything from the blur other then a furious snarl.

A dog? It had to be, a big, menacing dog, come to the rescue.

What dog would risk its life for him?

The truth of the matter was, he didn't care. He was only grateful for the extra moment he needed. As she finally overpowered the big dog and tossed it effortlessly away from her, the blonde in red saw as his hand fumbled in his pockets. A small box, a magazine filled with the bullets for his hidden gun…

Her eyes went from him to the gun she'd dropped. She'd never get there in time, and they both knew it.

She took a few steps back. "This isn't over, Vash."

"Good to hear. I thought as much."

She smirked. "You're good, no doubt about it. But a lot of it is that bullshit luck of yours."

He had to smile back. "I know."

"Until next we meet," she said, and turned to walked away.

Vash closed his eyes and leaned back to rest. Moments later, a wet nose nudged his hand, and he glanced up to see a twin red pools staring at him. The white dog sat down in front of him.

He smiled. "Thank you," he whispered.

Just the presence of the large beast comforted him.

Vash! Meryl had never run so hard in her life, pain exploding along her sides and in her chest. Her body demanded air, but she refused to stop…not until she knew. Keep going, Meryl. You're almost there. Her footsteps hit the sand hard, digging into the grains and kicking them up behind her. The long, white cape swept up behind her as she pressed up the sandy hill.

Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the red mess sprayed across the desert floor like a crimson carpet meant for royalty. She dropped to her knees next to them, ignoring the pain that exploded in her legs as she hit the sand. The air stung her lungs as she fought desperately to regain her bearings. She was no help to him like this, and he needed help.

"Vash…" Her eyes burned from the acrid air that ruthlessly attacked her senses. She pulled her necktie loose and leaned over him, inspecting his injured ankle. She wasn't a doctor, but it looked like he was loosing a lot of blood. "I'm here, Vash. Hold still. We're here for you."

She slipped the necktie around his ankle and tied it tightly, putting as much pressure on it as she possibly could to stop the bleeding. Somehow she managed to keep calm, her face expressionless as she did her best to examine his wounds.

Milly flung herself into the sand beside Meryl and began to examine him. Blood soaked his coat on the right side, and they both knew that he had reopened the gunshot wound just two days ago. Stryker hovered over them with a dark look on his face. He looked about, but the assassin was long gone. He was sure he had seen something, but what, he wasn't sure.

"Oh, Mr. Vash," Milly whispered. She put a lot of force on his bleeding ankle, causing him to cry out in pain. Meryl grimaced. "He's gonna be okay, Meryl."

She nodded. "Thank God."

Vash twisted and turned, in obvious pain, and Meryl thought for an instant that, by the look in his eyes, that he had been lost to the torture of his dreams.

"Good morning Vash. I hope you slept well."

"I did Rem. Thank you." The boy plodded over to her and sat down at her side. Other than the two of them, the recreation room was entirely empty. This early, most of the crew would still be in bed, but Vash seemed to know whenever Rem was here, and almost without fail he found himself next to her. It was as though she called to him, beckoning him toward a life of prosperity and happiness. "What about you, Rem? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine Vash." She smiled. She glistened with perspiration, and the flicker of the room's digital sun cast an almost angelic glow from her high cheekbones and whimsical smile. Her smile seemed less natural today, and by the haze in her eyes Vash could tell that something was bothering her. He said nothing, but he didn't understand the suffering on her beautiful face. All that he knew was that for the first time since his birth, the woman he cared so deeply for had actually lied to him.

"You're up early."

Rem smiled. "I could say the same of you, Vash. Why are you up at this hour?"

"Couldn't sleep." He didn't say that it was because he had heard her tears from his bed as she raced away from her quarters to escape the cold, hard loneliness of the ship to the quiet peacefulness of the recreation room. He had risen and dressed for the sole purpose of checking on her, and here she was, on the verge of tears but smiling for him nonetheless. It was a painful sight in itself, to see Rem cry. Vash swallowed and then fell into her. She drew him tightly into her embrace.

Rem wiped her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve. Her smile came easier now.

"Of Vash. You're such a baby."

He clung to her, tears glistening in his eyes for her pain. "I'm here for you, Rem. If you ever need me, I'm here. You know I am."

"Vash…"

Vash's eyes slid open, and he stared up to the woman he loved.

"Meryl."

They closed again. He breathed easy, and another vision wedged its way into his mind.

"Vash!"

The gunman spun at the sound of his name crashing through the still air. His gun came free as he spun toward the girl that cried for him, taking aim at the man who held her. He held her against him, his gun pressed against her temple.

"Meryl!" Vash cried, his eyes wide with fear.

Wolfwood cracked a tiny, fearless smile, and squeezed the trigger. Meryl's head exploded in a shower of blood, bone, and brains.

"Nooo!"

Another gunshot echoed through the night, and Nicholas D. Wolfwood soon followed her to the sand.

"Nooo!"

Vash twisted and turned there in the sand, fighting his fears as they threatened to overcome him. Vast terrors had been unleashed inside him, to wrench him away from the people he loved so that they could be tortured within his soul. Wolfwood had been taken from the tree of life, no less than executed by Legato Bluesummers through the hands of Chapel the Evergreen.

His eyes suddenly widened as the visage of the bullet exploded through Meryl's skull returned to him. He saw it repeatedly, in slow motion, and it was the worst kind of hell. Pure terror raced through him with every heartbeat. It was the kind of nightmare that could only be eased with a gun, or a hangman's noose. Vash longed for death.

Tears poured from his cheek.

"Meryl." He felt that she was near, though he couldn't quite see her.

He trembled, something Vash never did without good reason.

Tears of pain christened the ground where he lay.