10. Killer

"Where'd she go?" Riley asked as Manton started the truck, Bonesaw's blithe suddenly weighting heavier.

He taped the empty blood container with one hand and offered a warm smile. A fatherly smile. Proud to take care of her.

Riley tittered, trying to remain calm.

She couldn't control other people's actions, she told herself. Only her own.

She hadn't asked Siberian to go find more blood. Siberian, or rather Manton, had taken the initiative.

It wasn't her fault.

Siberian would refill the reservoir, and Riley would drink the blood. She would get her power back, and life would go on (except for the source of the blood.)

It would be risky not to keep drinking blood. She couldn't say with one hundred percent certainty whether she had already fulfilled the conditions to retrieve her power. It was better to be safe.

With her power, she could stop the remaining members of the Nine. She could fix her past work. She could prepare against the threats humanity would face these coming years.

She could have her second chance after all.

But first, she needed to drink blood.

Still, she couldn't shake off her unease at the thought of Siberian bringing back a dead body.

Had she known that not drinking Jack's blood would come back to bite her in the butt, she would have brought a damned bendy straw to that knife fight.

They'd stopped for the night on the side of an isolated dirt road, and Manton turned around to go back where they'd come from. They had foregone using main roads to avoid drawing attention, since the flapping plastic covering the windows and windshield was apparently the most attention-worthy thing about their group. The back roads hardly saw any circulation, and it had been a while since they'd seen a town.

The last bit of civilisation they'd encountered was the gas station they'd stopped at last night and–

The gas station.

How far was it? She hadn't really paid attention last night. Was it in Manton's range?

She glanced at him.

His eyes were on the road, but there was something different about his demeanour. A focus, an intensity that hadn't been before.

He looked more alive.

His body was taut, his eyes focused, as thought he wasn't a middle-aged man driving a truck in the middle of nowhere but rather a predator hiding in the shadows, ready to strike.

It was eerie to see that familiar look on him rather than Siberian. It felt out of place on his face, too far removed from the shy, quiet man who could barely meet her eyes. Part of her resented him for it, still sore over the betrayal even years later.

Was the predator finding prey? How many people would be at the gas station?

Mannequin and Siberian had killed a bunch of cops at the tattoo parlor yesterday, and there hadn't been a way to prevent it without breaking character in front of Jack and the others, but the excuse felt feebler now.

Riley found that she didn't have the heart to finish her half-empty glass of blood and set it aside in the cupholder.

Could she stop Siberian? Not physically, no. Nothing could. But if she found the right words…

She would still need blood.

What other option did she have?

Bonesaw's stuff? No. She hadn't seen any other blood container while packing, and without her power, she couldn't whip out a substitute that would satisfy the parasite's needs.

Murder Rat? No. She'd done enough damage there already.

Hatchet Face? No. She was pretty sure that whatever fluids ran through his body didn't qualify as blood anymore.

Manton? Donating some of his blood wouldn't kill him, especially if her power came back as scheduled tomorrow morning.

Mind lending me a few pints of O neg? I swear I'll give them back.

Except that suggesting it would be out of character. Bonesaw didn't care about the lives of random civilians and wouldn't think twice about bleeding them dry if she needed blood. She would be delighted to see Manton taking on a fatherly role by hunting one down for her in her time of need.

It would draw suspicion, especially so soon after turning against the rest of the Nine. Manton wasn't dumb. He might assume he was next on her list and that this was all a ploy to get him in a position of weakness. As much as he and Siberian might care about Bonesaw, Siberian's primary goal was always to keep him safe.

Could she reveal the truth?

I'm from a post-apocalyptic future where I'm not Bonesaw anymore, and Bonesaw's consciousness was presumably overwritten by my arrival. By the way can we stop killing people? It's so 2011.

That probably wouldn't go over well.

The longer she took to think, the more likely it was that Siberian would come back with a dead body. Or several.

Not having her power made it harder to think on the spot. Her mind kept reaching for the place where knowledge and intuition should be and finding nothing. Her usual three-dimensional thinking had been flattened to two dimensions, and she kept trying to find the missing depth.

She needed more time to think. She needed to stall Siberian.

"I don't feel so good. I think I've had too much blood."

Manton stopped the truck on the side of the road.

Stumbling out, Riley made a show of falling to her knees and retching dramatically.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Manton looking at her with worry.

She doubled down on the retching. With some mechanical assistance, the performance culminated with a generous spray of half-digested blood.

She looked back, panting.

No sign of Siberian.

Manton looked concerned, but hesitant to act, like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the right words.

Siberian never needed words to comfort her, but it wasn't quite enough for him to call her back.

What else?

Bonesaw threw tantrums when things didn't go her way, and Siberian always hurried to soothe her when Jack wasn't there to keep her in check.

Riley threw herself on the ground, letting out a loud sob.

"I'm so sick of this. I'm not drinking any more blood!"

She wailed, face hidden against her arms as she fumbled to reacquaint herself with the mechanical controls to her tear ducts.

She couldn't even remember the last time she'd thrown a tantrum. How many years ago was it? It had to be before her time in the pocket dimension, since she'd been walking on eggshells afterwards.

It felt silly and manipulative. There she was, a sixteen-year-old pretending to be a twelve-year-old acting much younger than her age.

She remained on the ground, sobbing and whining, until a distant blur of black and white at the corner of her eyes rewarded her efforts.

Finally.

She kept up the pretense, playing up the waterwork until Siberian was right next to her. Then, the unmistakable sound of a body hit the ground, followed by a pained whimper.

Riley looked up.

The good news was that Siberian hadn't killed anyone yet.

The bad news was that the man was still very much alive.

She swore under her breath.

She'd expected either empty hands or a dead body, neck snapped and moral dilemma optional.

But Siberian was doing this for Bonesaw, not Riley. Bonesawwould have been disappointed with a boring dead body. Bonesaw would have wanted in on the fun, power or not.

Siberian crouched next to Riley and delicately wiped the tears from her cheeks before cradling her in her arms.

Riley accepted the hug but found it lacking its usual warmth. The rush of adrenaline, or maybe the man whimpering on the ground next to them, made it harder to enjoy.

"Did people see you?" she asked against Siberian's hair. The woman shrugged.

"We need to leave then. We're supposed to be laying low, silly, remember?"

Siberian shrugged again, one hand rubbing the spot behind Riley's neck that usually drew goosebumps.

The man tried to crawl away, but Siberian's other hand whipped out and crushed his ankle. He screamed, openly sobbing now.

Riley broke the hug.

"We should get going."

Siberian made a move towards the crying man, and Riley grabbed her arm to stop her.

"I'll get sick again if I drink more blood right now, and we need to leave. We can bring him along instead. Like takeout!"

The man sobbed louder at that, quite ungrateful of Riley's effort to buy him more time.

They moved Bonesaw's stuff to the back of the truck and Siberian tied up their guest to the passenger seat. Riley climbed in the backseat next to Murder Rat, Siberian following.

The man was tense, shaking. Taking shallow breaths between sobs while also trying to suppress them to avoid making any noise.

Benny, Riley read from the pin on his uniform. One of the gas station employees. A twenty-something man with greasy hair, looking like an overgrown teenager.

Something about him reminded her of Eli. Her first friend. Her first rebellion. She still wondered whether he'd heeded her warning and used the plane tickets she gave him. Too bad she'd picked Great Britain as the destination.

Benny had peed himself, she noticed. It had been a whole five months since someone had peed themselves in her presence – her best streak by seventeen days.

"So, do you like Love Bug?" She asked to make conversation as Manton drove away.

Benny didn't seem to realize he was being addressed at first, too busy looking at Siberian in the rear-view mirror. Riley cleared her throat, and he startled like she had fired a warning shot above his head.

"I… what?"

"Love Bug. The cartoon. Do you like it?"

"Pl– please…"

"It's okay if you don't. We're on season four now, but we can start back at the beginning if you want."

"I… I don't m– mind…"

She swapped the current DVD for the first in the series, figuring that while she could hardly make him more comfortable, she could at least make sure he followed the story. It might even take his mind off of the current situation, while she tried to figure out a way to keep him alive.

The first episode began, and Riley placed the DVD player between the driver and passenger seats so Benny could see it too.

As main character Luna Moth narrated the show's backstory, Riley pondered Benny's short and long-term survival.

A grown man's body contained about twelve pints of blood. She didn't need that much, and neither did he.

The problem was to explain it convincingly to Manton and Siberian.

She'd found it easier to pretend in front of Siberian since Jack's death, but this wasn't the same. Everything so far had been casual enough to allow her to comfortably straddle the line between Bonesaw and Riley, to be herself while still pretending.

This would be the first significant step away from Bonesaw – second, if you counted turning against the rest of the Nine – and she wasn't quite sure how to go about it. Her plan for a slow, gradual unveiling was dead in the water. It demanded baby steps, and this was too much change, too fast.

Siberian tentatively offered Riley her abandoned glass of blood, but she shook her head. Her performance on the side of the road allowed her to feign nausea, and she intended to milk it for all it was worth to delay the inevitable refill. The glass went back to the cupholder.

The easy excuse would be to pass it off as Bonesaw wanting a new friend or family member. It would cause problems in the long run, but would at least solve the most immediate issue. Maybe she could stage an escape, framing it as an accident, and find an excuse why Siberian shouldn't hunt him down. Or fake his death and pretend to have used him as resources.

More lies, more excuses, more time pretending to be Bonesaw.

Wasn't the whole point of killing Jack that she could leave Bonesaw behind?

Even if she managed to convince Manton and Siberian, what about the next time? And the next?

Powers demanded to be used.

Manton lit up when Siberian went hunting, the same way Riley did when she was tinkering. She'd sooner amputate all her limbs than renounce her power for good. Whether as Bonesaw or as Riley, it was an integral part of who she was.

Under the Warden's supervision, Bonesaw's art had been replaced with maintenance, with bringing Valkyrie's flock to life, with studying broken triggers, but even then, her passenger sometimes grew restless, longing for a taste of the unrestrained way she'd used it before.

Like Bonesaw, Manton had set a precedent of breadth in how he used his power. The passenger wouldn't be happy with a change like that in the long term. Even if she managed to convince Manton and Siberian to change their ways, they too would grow restless eventually.

Unlike Jack, she wouldn't have external help to keep them in line.

She was channeling him, she realized. Trying to mold Manton into who she wanted him to be, to fit her vision, so that she could keep Siberian. Trying to find the right words to get the right result, just like Jack.

Dead, sunken eyes stared at her.

She blinked back to the present

A hand pressed on the back of her head, gentle yet firm. A bendy straw against her lips. Riley tried to bat it away, only to find it as unyielding as the hand holding her head.

Jack had been an immediate threat to every level of her being, and there was no doubt in her mind that taking him down had been the right thing to do, no matter the cost.

Siberian wasn't a threat. Siberian wanted the scenario Riley had painted, of making their own way and doing whatever they wanted and being a family, just the two – three – of them.

Riley could have that. Have her family, as long as she was willing to compromise.

A different kind of cage, with a carrot to draw her in instead of a stick.

She relented, opening her mouth for the straw and taking a sip.

She thought of her other cage, the one with paperwork in triplicates and too many security checkpoints.

Siberian's hands didn't budge, so she took another sip, and another.

The past two years hadn't been all pleasant, but they'd been earnest. She'd worked hard for those scraps of personhood, and she was proud of her progress, no matter what others might say about it.

Too soon, the glass was empty.

Manton stopped the truck and paused the DVD player. Siberian patted Riley's face.

"I don't need all of his blood," Riley said as Siberian opened the door. "We could keep him around, for company. It'll get lonely without the others."

A finger grazed her shoulder, a short burst of distortion in her sense of touch. Safety. Protection.

Better to be safe. Riley knew her well enough to understand the meaning.

Hadn't she told herself the same thing?

It had been easier without a weeping man in front of her.

Siberian straightened the bow in Bonesaw's hair, then exited the truck without waiting for an answer.

Siberian would force-feed her blood if she had to, because Siberian wanted Bonesaw, and Bonesaw wasn't Bonesaw without her power.

Was Riley still Riley without it?

Siberian opened the passenger door.

Would Riley still be Riley if she let this happen?

Siberian grabbed Benny by the neck.

"Wait!"

All eyes were on her.

Siberian's. Warm, caring. Ruthless.

Manton's. Weary, questioning. Suspicious.

Murder Rat's. Beady, indifferent. Accusatory.

Benny's. Scared, pleading. Unsure whether what she would say would improve or worsen his fate.

She was still smiling – a nervous thing more than anything else – but Bonesaw's smile had been replaced by the more familiar one Riley wore as an armor on days she felt too brittle around the edges.

She spoke past the lump in her throat as she came to a decision. "You'll make a big mess, and I am not licking blood off the ground like an animal."

Benny whimpered.

Siberian looked from him to the rather small opening of the reservoir and conceded the point, letting go of him.

"You can take Hatchet Face out of the bathtub and drain the fluid, then we'll bleed him in it. I'll get my tools."

"No, no no no please, please!"

A warm hand squeezed her shoulder in passing, and Riley held onto the feeling as long as she could.

She rifled through her stuff, keeping an eye on Siberian in the rear-view mirror while Benny begged for his life.

Siberian laid Hatchet Face aside and held the bathtub over the side of the truck, the viscous, bile-colored liquid slowly trickling out.

Manton was back to stealing furtive looks at Riley and looking away before meeting her eyes.

Suspicious.

It only confirmed what she needed to do, no matter how much she didn't want to.

As he looked away, she moved her hand.

Manton never saw the laser pointer she aimed at his head, but in the seat behind him, Murder Rat did.

Riley squeezed her eyes shut as the machetes struck their target, too quickly for the projection to intervene.

Outside, the bathtub clattered to the ground, Siberian gone for good.