Chapter 23: Disillusioned Paladins

After making their way through the many huts and houses dotting the landscape, Roberta and Revy hurried through another stretch of trees and emerged to even more manmade structures. It was all part of the same fishing hamlet but its buildings had been spread out across the countryside near the coast. They were near the end of it, now. The two women came to a stop at the end of a wooden walkway that had been built to cross over a stream leading into the ocean. There was nobody immediately in sight, but that did not mean they were alone. The hamlet was far from abandoned. Roberta wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. The whole ordeal was taking its toll on her. Soon enough, what little energy she had left would fail her. When that time came, she wasn't sure if she would be able to continue.

"Er, hey, you alright?" Revy asked, noticing her demeanour. "You don't look so hot."

"I'm fine," she lied, clutching the crucifix around her neck. It comforted her, and gave her hope in the face of danger. With her condition, her faith was one of the only things she had left. "We cannot afford to stop. The Young Master and Rock need us."

"Agreed," Revy said firmly. She did not want to waste any more time. "So what's the plan? I figure the second we head out into the open, it's gonna be a goddamn free-for-all."

Roberta looked ahead of her, her eyes scanning the ground for any trails or signs of movement that may lead her to Garcia. She spotted something, a faint set of footsteps imprinted in the dirt. Roberta crouched and ran her fingers over one of the prints lightly. She had something to go on.

"Hawke has been this way," she said. "I recognise the boots. Military issue, the same ones he wears. And he was accompanied by another, a civilian, I think. Or maybe…"

"Alejandro," Revy said quietly as if just saying his name would make him appear. "Any idea where they went?"

"Yes. They both made their way to that cabin near the shoreline. Alejandro split away from him and headed to the north. If they're smart, they will have separated Rock and Garcia to divide us."

"That's a big 'if', sister."

"If Master Garcia is anywhere, he will be with Hawke," Roberta deduced. "I must go after him. There is no other way."

"Whoa, whoa," Revy protested. "These assholes took our boys to different locations so they could split us up and your idea is to go our separate ways?" Roberta knew the danger of what she was about to do. The chances of her surviving this were slim, but all she wanted was to save Garcia. She did not care whether she lived or died if it meant he would be out of the danger.

"Every moment I am away from the Young Master, he is in danger. The only way to ensure he will be safe is to kill Hawke. I must go after him."

"Sheesh," Revy groaned. "Well, I guess that leaves Alejandro to me. You better get a move on if you want to get back before dark."

She went towards the path to the northern side of the hamlet so she could pursue Alejandro and find Rock, but Roberta did not move. As she headed away from her companion, Revy came to an abrupt halt, as if realising something. She turned to look at the maid one more time before they would very possibly not see one another again.

"Hey," she said. Roberta looked up from the ground and caught the gunslinger's eye. "You good?" Roberta managed a weak smile and nodded at the woman she had long been rivals with. Revy nodded back and they shared a brief moment of mutual respect. This was the end of their temporary companionship and neither of them particularly wanted to see the other one killed in this place. Revy turned her back on the maid and continued on her quest to save Rock. This was it, then. Somewhere in this Hamlet, Hawke was lying in wait, and Roberta was almost certain she could track him to that one cabin. Once inside, there was no telling what would happen. She removed the satchel and dropped it by a tree, near a small pool of water. It shifted with the weight of the items inside and tumbled into the pool with a splash, but Roberta just kept walking. She reached around behind her and unsheathed the knife so that she could defend herself. Finally reaching the cabin, she held the blade in front of her and pushed on the door with her knee. It creaked open slowly. Upon immediate inspection, there did not appear to be anybody inside, but Roberta knew much better. She inhaled through her nose and the smell that Hawke reeked of, the stench of gutter mud and gunpowder, filled her from top to bottom.

She crossed the threshold and shut the door behind her with her elbow. She was not sure where he was, but she began walking to the right so she could circle the interior of the building. Eventually, she would find him. As she entered the room on the right side of the cabin, filled with bedrolls, lanterns and magazines, she heard footsteps from the opposite side of the building. It was like Black Bear all over again. As she circled the interior to try and come upon him, he was doing the same and staying just out of reach. Roberta would not play his game. She came to a stop and laid her back up against the wall, beside an open doorway. Hawke's footsteps ceased with her own.

"I assume you came here looking for the boy," his voice carried. He was not hiding behind cover, he was standing in the doorway at the end of the corridor. If only Roberta could still fire a gun. He would be dead in minutes.

"Where is he?" Roberta asked, gripping the knife tightly. If Hawke tried anything, she would bury it deep in his guts. "If you've laid a finger on him, I swear to Santa Maria I will gut you like a fish!"

"The boy is fine," Hawke promised her. "He was a means to an end. I used him to lure you out here, but I think you might have figured that out already."

"Here I am. Your plan worked and I am at your mercy. Are you happy now?"

"Not yet. I'll be happier once you're dead…Bloodhound of Florencia." Roberta had grown accustomed to being addressed by her old title, but it was different hearing it from Hawke. He was not using it to label her like others who she had met because her reputation preceded her, he knew all too well what she was. Having worked for the FARC himself, he had more reason than most to hold a grudge against her. She did not quite understand his motivation, though, at least not entirely. He was a runaway, too, and he must have understood her position, but he was still intent on killing her.

"You've spent all your time hunting me down," Roberta began. "And for what? You have no masters to bow to anymore. You have not been sent to leash me or eliminate me like the ones who came before. You bear no loyalty for the 'revolution' anymore. The cause."

"We are cut from the same cloth, you and I," Hawke told her. "We were dogs running in the same pack. And like dogs, we did just what we were told to create the perfect little world for our masters. So, tell me, what was it that made you leave?" There were many factors that contributed to Roberta cutting ties with the guerrillas. Chiefest among them was her acclimatisation into the Lovelace family and the bonds she formed with Garcia and his father. But she knew what Hawke was getting at. He was leading towards a different point of conversation.

"They called it revolution, but I saw right through their lies. When all was said and done, they were no different from the cartels. There was no damned cause. They just wanted to use us so they could protect their drug trafficking operations. I got tired of being used to do their dirty work and being told I was fighting the good fight."

Hawke hung on her every word. He may have wanted her dead, but he had to admit there was some kinship between them. It was interesting to reflect on their time serving the same organisation.

"It's a hard pill to swallow," he agreed, "to learn that you've been doing unspeakable things in the name of revolution only to learn it was all a lie. That's all behind me, now. Damn their cause and damn their leaders to hell, for all I care. I hope they all burn to the fucking ground."

"We share a commonality," Roberta told him. "Both of us were pawns in the game played by the cartels and our former leaders. And both of us refused to be used like that. Is there not more reason for us to be allies than foes?" Again, Hawke listened to her politely, having become comfortable listening to her. His anger had subsided for a while, but his desire to kill her very much remained as such.

"That's where you're wrong," he said. "You may have been a lone Bloodhound, but we were brothers and sisters during my time. Fuck the cause, but we cared about one another. That's where our similarities end, Rosarita. You gunned down a lot of FARC when you left. Too many good people. That's not something I can just forget." Roberta's hand twitched and she became acutely aware of the knife. She needed to be ready for the clash to come.

"That is unfortunate," she told him. "Your judgement is clouded by your feelings. I can sympathise, but it is a shame." There was no talking him down, a fact she was certain of. There was only one way this was going to end.

She heard Hawke walk forward and his fist came whooshing through the air when he reached the doorframe. Roberta was fast, lifting her hand and blocking the attack. Hawke's other fist came in to strike her abdomen, then. He was clearly expecting her to be caught off guard, but she was far too attuned for that. The knife sliced downwards and caught his hand, forcing him to retreat. While he was on the back foot, she slashed several times in his direction. He raised both arms like a boxer attempting to shield himself from the incoming punches of his opponent, but the blade cut through his military fatigues and blood poured from the wounds. Hawke lost his temper and lunged at her, managing to grab her by the throat and push her backwards further into the room. She struggled, but it was difficult to compete with his strength. Lining up the knife with great difficulty, she sent it forward into his side. It had been intended for his bowels, but the chore of maintaining her composure and trying not to get strangled to death made it hard to land her attacks. Nevertheless, he roared in pain and both of his hands released her neck and went to the blade. Roberta seized the opportunity to tackle him to the ground and he landed on his back by the front door. She grabbed the knife from the ground and went to him, ready to finish this. He was too fast, however, and kicked her in the ankle. She fell forward and landed on her hand and knees beside him. The knife had fallen from her grip and Hawke took it eagerly only to drive it into her back. It emerged from just below her collarbone and she shrieked in pain, a horrible bloodcurdling scream. With her sufficiently subdued, Hawke caught her in a chokehold and lifted her up until her feet no longer touched the ground. His grip was unrelenting and it would not take long for her to run out of air. Again, she struggled and fought against him as best she could, but it was no use. He had her in his grasp.

She remembered Garcia and a horrible feeling of dread welled up inside her. She had been unable to save him, and now he would never know she had come for him. The memories of her days in the FARC came to her and she remembered the lives she took, lives of women and children, until more recent images entered her mind and she heard the voice of the man who had bested her in combat, the man from Havana. I see the Bloodhound is still as ferocious as ever. The sound of metal meeting flesh, and then bone, met Roberta's ears and Hawke's grip on her loosened. She collapsed to the ground coughing and spluttering like a child. Much to her surprise, Hawke also fell down beside her, blood seeping from the mystery wound in his stomach. Roberta reached behind her and grabbed the handle of the knife. It shredded through her with a sickening tearing sound. Her cry of pain rang out, but she ignored it and held the knife high in the air. Her eye met Hawke's. He was dying in front of her, no longer capable of fighting and barely bothered to try. He did not resist his fate. He accepted the judgement of the Bloodhound. Her knife came down and crunched into his chest, killing him almost instantly. It was over. Hawke and his New Order could plague the Lovelaces no more.

Roberta let the knife fall out of her hand and she turned around to see who it was that had saved her. The Wolf stood in the doorway with his blade in hand, having taken Hawke by surprise and plunging the deadly weapon into his back. There was an eerie tension in the air as the two killers looked upon one another with some very mixed emotions, but Wolf sheathed his blade shortly and reached out one of his arms to help Roberta to her feet.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him.

"There'll be plenty of time for explanations later," he said hurriedly. "Right now, we need to have a look at that wound. Take my hand." She slipped the knife back into its sheath before doing as he instructed and he pulled her to her feet, putting her arm around his shoulders and helping her out of the cabin. Then, they left and sought cover in one of the other buildings for the meantime. If Hawke's people came looking for him, they could not stay with his body, but they had to get in out of the open to tend to the stab wound in Roberta's back. And she needed to rest. After everything, it was becoming harder and harder just to stay standing. She wasn't sure how many more breaths she had left in her.