Only Shadows Ahead
Chapter Thirteen
Argos Bleak had always possessed a sixth sense for signs of impending trouble.
He was highly intuitive — much more intelligent than Looten Plunder ever gave him credit for. Street smart. Bleak could sniff out the truth. Judge the parameters and decide a course of action. He'd always had a knack for reading a situation and responding accordingly. A flick of the eyes, a hand movement that seemed off.
Four random guys, a frazzled blonde and himself; all tight and cosy inside an SUV, barrelling towards a destination unknown. Two in the front and four squeezed into the back, Blondie was practically sitting on the edge of his lap: squished between himself and the door. Her body sat stiff as a board, obviously as on edge as he was. She wasn't talking much, nodding every now and again and staring out at the brown blur of nothingness streaking past the windows.
Interactions with Linka in the past had been basic. He was used to seeing her all efficient and pristine — perfectly put together as she and her friends bulldozed their way through whatever schemes his acquaintances were cooking up.
Now — she looked terrible. Her hair was wild, hanging loose around her shoulders and brushing against his arms every time the car hit a pot hole. Streaks of blood were visible along the back of her head, matted in clumps and long-since dried.
Her face was filthy; the only clean spots on her cheeks courtesy of the tracks left by dried tears. Bloodshot eyes and hands tightly clutched within her lap, constantly running her thumb over her ring. Forehead pressed against the window and no doubt grimacing at the reflection that looked back at her.
They'd been driving for an hour or so now, on the outskirts of what Bleak assumed used to be the major hub of Los Angeles. Apartment complexes and high-rises had joined the landscape, lying empty and desolate. The windows were long-since shattered; tyres crunching over broken glass as the vehicle passed through. It was eerily quiet outside. Still.
Everything within the confines of the car seemed calm enough. The driver — John — was chatting away animatedly, passing over cans of soda and smiling a lot. The guy in the passenger seat with the over-sized aviator glasses looked to be in his thirties. Tall, well built and official-looking as well, Bleak recalled the name 'Luke' used during conversations.
Abbott and Costello sat to his left. Bleak didn't know their names, but one was skinny, one was obese and they both fancied themselves as comedians. Bleak sneered, rolling his eyes as 'Abbott' opened a can of drink, spraying bubbles over his neck and face.
"Sorry, man."
Bleak grunted, looking away as Linka quietly sipped her Coke. Leaning back against the seat, his eyes settled on the back of Luke's head. The top section of a tattoo was visible under the collar of his shirt and Bleak leaned forward, peering at it. Luke lurched slightly, bouncing with the motion of the car and giving Bleak a better look at the design. It looked familiar and his mind worked to recall where he'd seen it.
"Nice ink," Bleak said, doing his best to appear interested. "Good quality. How many you got?"
"Just the one," Luke said. "Fuckin' hurt like hell, too."
Bleak's eyes narrowed, regarding the tattoo with suspicion. A vertical figure-eight symbol overlaid with a horizontal one. Only the bottom branch was colored. Three small dots were marked below the symbol.
Fuck.
His mouth went dry as he realised where he'd seen it. It was the icon designated to Blight's computer program. Plunder owned a copy and he'd watched his boss double-click on the icon several times, bragging about what he could access. Bleak's intuition was screaming at him as he considered the only implication that was available to him. He knew these people weren't who they claimed to be.
They work for Blight. She sent them.
Bleak drew his mouth into a tight line and let out a heavy breath, glancing at the girl beside him. Her forehead was still pressed against the window and she appeared asleep; her steady breath fogging up the glass.
He nudged Linka with his elbow, trying to get her attention as discreetly as possible. She pitched forward; her body limp and unyielding against the seat belt wrapped around her mid section; chin resting against her chest. He nudged her again, harder this time but she remained motionless.
Shit.
"She asleep?" John asked, checking on Linka's condition in the rear vision mirror. "Damn, that girl drinks slowly."
The others laughed and Bleak reached out with his arm, guiding her back against the seat. Her head tipped to the side and Bleak clenched his fists as Luke unbuckled his own seat belt and twisted around. He reached over between the centre console and grabbed Linka's hand, pulling the Planeteer ring from her finger and holding it up to his eyes, intrigued.
"All this effort for one little girl," Luke remarked, grinning at John and pocketing Linka's ring, before turning and glancing in Bleak's direction. "And who the hell are you? You weren't invited on this little road trip. You come through with her?"
"Yeah," Bleak spat. He motioned towards the unconscious girl beside him. "Unwilling participant. Why did you give her back the ring before if you were just gonna do this?"
John waved dismissively from his spot in the driver's seat. "The boss wanted to make sure it worked here before we delivered her. Give her a sense of security too, I suppose. Make her feel in control for a while."
"What if her ring hadn't…"
"Well," Luke turned around in his seat and grinned at Bleak, "let's just say you two would have become permanent residents under the sand dunes of that scavenger camp."
Bleak gritted his teeth at the unspoken inference. He nodded in Linka's direction.
"What did ya' give her?"
The clown beside him snorted. "That's on a need-to-know basis… and you sure as hell don't need to know."
"You work for Blight?"
John raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps. My friend asked who you were. I'll give you ten seconds to answer before we cave your skull in and throw you from the car."
Bleak glared at the jumped-up little shit smirking at him, itching to introduce John's face to his fist. "Argos Bleak."
"Never heard of ya."
"Fair enough," Bleak said, oddly relieved that he hadn't been recognised. "Plunder here?"
"Who?" Luke frowned. "What, you mean the pony-tail wearing freak?"
"Yeah?"
They all laughed, privy to a joke that Bleak obviously wasn't a part of. John gripped the steering wheel tightly as he took a swig from his can of drink. "Didn't the ol' girl throw him under the bus?"
"What?" Bleak barked, trying to keep up with the conversation. "You mean she turned him —"
"No," John said, slowing the car and manoeuvring his way through some debris. "She actually threw him under a fucking bus. Dude's dead. Just before everything turned to shit. Tried to walk away from an arrangement they had. Something like that, anyway."
"Ol' girl doesn't take well to the word no. Completely insane. Shoots down anyone who gets in her way. Blight rules most of central LA now. " Abbott grinned, leaning back and poking Linka on the shoulder. "This one has caused her a lot of sleepless nights over the years, I hear."
"Why? What's gonna happen to her?" Bleak motioned out of the car window towards a line of empty cars lying discarded by the side of the road. "What the fuck has happened here?"
"Not your concern," John said sharply. "You should be more worried about yourself, Baldy. She's not expecting you. I reckon your shelf-life has just about expired. Got a few questions for you, but we'll wait until we're at the compound. Don't wanna damage the upholstery."
Bleak narrowed his eyes, his mind working through various scenarios. He was outnumbered and woefully out of his depth. The cogs were already turning. Exit plans and defensive strategies. Sizing up the odds... and they weren't exactly in Bleak's favor.
"You got a portal up and running over there? Power?"
"Are you fucking kidding me?" John retorted. "We don't even have working toilets."
The others sniggered, talking quietly amongst themselves as Bleak leaned back and rubbed his face. More debris appeared on the road in front and the vehicle swerved around them, causing Linka's head to loll against his shoulder.
If the alarm bells had kicked in earlier, they had now been turned up several notches, blaring at uncomfortable proportions. Future Blight obviously held a lot of control here. His boss was dead, killed by the Doctor's own hand. Unarmed and vulnerable, his only slim chance of returning was currently a dead weight pressed up against his arm, about to disappear into Blight's vault for good — along with himself.
He wasn't stupid.
These guys would eventually drill him for information and then kill him. He was just a spare tyre along for the ride.
He considered making a break for it. Reaching across the Blondie's body, he tugged the door handle but the child locks had been activated.
Failing that, for the next hour or two Bleak sat quietly, crossing his arms and staring ahead at the crumbling buildings showing dimly through the haze outside.
Biding his time.
"We've got company," John said quietly, nodding towards the rooftops above. "You see 'em?"
The jovial mood of the vehicle shifted dramatically. They were alert now, eyes wide as they scanned their surroundings.
"What's that?" Costello leaned forward, pointing at a bulky shape blocking the road ahead. "Can we get around it? I swear, if this —"
"Shut up," John muttered, concentrating as he steered the vehicle over what used to be a kerb. The SUV bumped and lurched its way along the sidewalk and Bleak could see something on fire; burning away in the centre of what used to be a trendy LA street. No doubt once filled with traffic and designer store-fronts, now he saw only empty shells of buildings; warped street lamps and more sand.
Major bomb and grenade damage was evident. A violent battle had occurred here.
A loud pop exploded as something struck the car tyres. The car squealed to a sudden stop, causing the occupants to slam around like bowling pins. Bleak gripped the seat in front, craning his neck and trying to get a better angle on what was happening. Dark figures darted along the roofline of the building to his right. They jumped and wove with impressive speed, but were gone as quickly as they appeared.
He sunk back, glancing again at Blondie. The girl was beginning to stir. Her eyelids fluttered and she raised her fingers, as though swatting away invisible flies. He gripped her hand and shoved it back in her lap, distracted by the situation unfolding outside and not wanting to draw attention to the fact that the drugs were wearing off.
John swore, realising that the thoroughfare was indeed blocked by the smouldering car. He put the SUV in reverse and backed up in the direction he'd come, before turning down into a side street.
"Another one. Two-o-clock," Luke said, his voice tense and pointing again to the roof tops. "We need to get outta here."
"I know," John muttered. The grinding of metal replaced the engine noise as the tyre rims dragged against the ground; sparks flying in all directions. The rubber tread was flapping — they were sitting ducks. Bringing the car to a complete stop, he reached under the seat and withdrew a knife. "Get her outta the car. They know she's here."
"Blight's gonna slit our throats if we don't bring her back," Costello said, the fear in his voice evident. John and Luke stepped out of the vehicle, opening the door for Abbott and instructing Costello to keep an eye on their extra passenger.
Costello ducked down low into the seat, peering out the windows and unaware of the danger that lurked beside him. Luke and Abbott darted away, disappearing between the buildings with their weapons raised.
Linka rubbed her eyes. Her movements were sluggish. She raised her head, disoriented amongst the raised voices inside the vehicle. She'd been drifting in and out of the conversation for the last half hour, aware that something was wrong but still heavily sedated — feeling emotionally and physically detached from everything that was happening.
She knew the car had stopped. Doors slammed shut and angry voices cut through the air. Linka watched with mounting fear as John wrenched the door open. She shrank back against Bleak but was helpless to fight him off. John hauled her out by the ankles and she landed with a yelp, sprawled in the dirt.
John bundled her upright and began dragging her away from the car. Her feet scraped and scuffed against the broken concrete as she tried to maintain her balance, fighting the nausea threatening to overcome her. John's arm wrapped tightly around her neck. Their feet stirred the dust as they circled slowly, and Linka could now feel the cold metal of a blade against her neck. More distant shapes darted amongst the shattered buildings.
"COME OUT WHERE I CAN SEE YA!" he bellowed, pressing the blade tighter against her throat. "YOU LITTLE BASTARDS ARE AN INCH AWAY FROM TOTAL EXTINCTION!"
Linka's moaned, clawing at the arm cutting off the circulation to her lungs. The wind was whipping up in a frenzy and she tried turning her face away from the constant blast of sand. Her muscles refused to cooperate; her limbs sluggish and not coordinating with the commands issued by her confused brain.
John spun them around, his eyes wild and looking for signs of activity. Linka's frightened gaze settled on the SUV for a moment and out of the corner of her eye she spotted Bleak through the window, pummelling the daylights out of his minder.
She froze, watching Bleak haul himself into the front seats and disappear from view. Linka lost sight of the vehicle again as John dragged her around again, crying out as the tip of the knife penetrated her skin, drawing blood.
"C'MON! WHERE ARE YOU?"
An arrow whizzed past and Linka screamed, hearing the whistle of its feathers as it landed two feet in front of them. Another flew past their heads, hitting the wall behind them and clattering to the ground. She struggled against him, her eyes wide and fearful as two dark figures passed her field of vision in the distance, darting between buildings. Then another five to six individuals on the rooftops, bows and weaponry in hands as they leapt about and disappeared from view.
Another arrow curved past and John roared in pain, dropping Linka and staggering away, clutching his shoulder. She collapsed to the ground, her fingers raking through the dirt and dust as John continued hollering from somewhere nearby.
She raised her head blearily. More movement and shifting shadows as her eyes continued to adjust. She felt John's presence behind her again; felt his hand grip her hair and suddenly tighten, wrenching her upwards. She screamed out in agony, arms flailing but still unable to coordinate her legs into an upward movement.
A figure came barrelling towards them. Linka was knocked sideways as someone tackled John to the ground; sending him sprawling into the dirt and launching a violent kick to the guts for good measure.
Linka raised herself on trembling arms, hearing shouts and loud grunts, the sound of fists hitting flesh. More shadows were visible between the buildings. A large shadow appeared and Linka recoiled, sobbing in fear. Strong hands grabbed hold of her and she was lifted to her feet and half-carried towards the sidewalk.
"MOVE!" Bleak bellowed, narrowly avoiding another arrow as it streaked past them. He pulled her into an abandoned clothes store, nearly tripping over discarded garment racks lying strewn throughout the floor in his haste to find cover. "Jesus!"
Bleak glanced back as a loud explosion decimated the vehicle they'd been travelling in. It burst into flames just as Linka slumped to the ground behind what was left of the granite front counter, breathing heavily. "Fuckin' war-zone out there!"
Bleak peered over the top. There were about a dozen people converging on the other side of the street, moving off into small groups, intent on rounding up Blight's crew. Their weapons were rudimentary, but he wasn't arrogant enough to ignore the fact they were good at using them. They were fit and strong, and very well organized.
Bleak crept towards the remnants of the front windows, keeping out of sight and listening intently. The people seemed to be deferring to someone on the other side of the street. Bleak narrowed his eyes, scrutinising the stocky hooded figure currently bent over Luke's still body, searching his pockets.
The man straightened and looked in Bleak's direction, and Bleak darted out of sight again. His ears pricked as a name echoed across the street; accompanying a request to search the buildings, and a familiar voice responded in kind.
His assumption had been correct.
A ring-bearer had arrived.
"I'm gonna bolt before they take me down."
Bleak was by her side. She was lying on her back; knees drawn up with her hands clutched over her face. Her body trembled — a combination of shock and the drugs leaving her system. "Some of those arrows were aimed at me."
She reached for him and he grunted, grabbing her hand. He helped haul her into a sitting position, the dizziness causing her to sway slightly. She leant back against the counter. The blood had left her face and her lips were pale white.
"Where will you go?" she whispered, barely audible.
He shrugged. "I'm a survivor. I'll be close by." He jumped to his feet. The attackers were close now; he could hear their voices getting louder. "Don't go home without me."
She shook her head, too dazed to reply. She whispered his name, but he was already gone — having disappeared out back.
Footsteps crunched over rubble. Linka struggled to stay focused — she knew someone was here, but she couldn't seem to concentrate on anything. She tilted her head, gazing up at a water-marked poster attached to the wall in front of her, advertising a summer sale long since over.
She swallowed nervously as hooded figures moved cautiously through the store, until one of them spotted her sitting limply against the counter. The figures quietly withdrew again and, over the pounding of her heart, Linka heard a woman's voice calling back into the street, the words indistinct.
Linka sat quietly, her palms resting on her lap and her breathing slow and shallow, waiting for the inevitable.
"She's behind the counter," the woman said softly and he nodded, anticipation causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. Wondering if their monitoring of the CB frequencies had picked up evidence of the correct person. The person he'd been told to expect, but dared to hope wouldn't arrive.
"Stay here," he said as he stepped into the empty shell of the store, glass crunching under his boots as he approached the counter cautiously. He rounded the corner and his heart stopped, scarcely recognising the dishevelled girl sitting so passively in front of him.
He sunk down to his knees in front of her, reaching forward and pushing aside her hair. She had marks and abrasions covering her face and arms, and her green eyes stared without seeing — she'd obviously been through hell.
"Linka?"
His voice was gentle. She didn't respond and he leaned back on his heels, forgetting that he still had the hood covering most of his face. He drew it over his head and shook her gently, shocked at how limp and unresponsive she was. Trying to bring her back from whatever safe haven her mind had wandered to.
"Linka."
Louder now. She blinked, seeming to acknowledge his presence — just that he was there and that he meant her no harm. Her mouth moved soundlessly and she reached out, running her fingertips down the thick fabric covering his upper body. Yet he knew that the initial sparks of familiarity were beginning to grow in her mind.
It was the way he'd said her name. The inflection on the last syllable, decreasing in pitch. All the times she'd heard it; whether being issued an instruction, or during warm conversation. Occasionally a reprimand, when her temper got the better of her.
He took a moment to think about what she was seeing: A vertical scar travelled down the side of his face, starting from his temple and ending at the ridge of his chin. He was older... so much older than she would remember him. Lines and creases on his brow and around his eyes. His hair, corn-rolled against his scalp, was prematurely greying at his temples, and his dark skin was marked and scarred with old wounds and injuries.
But he knew the eyes remained the same. His wife had often commented that they were his most redeeming feature. Deep brown; warm pools of empathy and compassion and they regarded Linka with a mixture of emotions — love, affection and concern. And perhaps grief.
"Linka?" He shook her again, and something seemed to shift. She gazed at him in wonder, her mouth falling open. Recognition had finally dawned on her face. "Linka, are you all right?"
She stared up at him in disbelief. "Kwame?"
He smiled back, emotional now. Gripping her under the arms, he lifted her up and she collapsed against him, weeping. She tucked her forehead under his chin as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly.
"Kwame," she sobbed, clutching at him with a near panicky grip. "Oh god, you're here..."
He tightened his arms around her trembling body, reassuring her with quiet, hushed words; her breath warm and ragged against his neck as she broke down.
"We have to go," he urged quietly, and he kept his arm around her as he guided her out of the store, carefully navigating her around the obstacles in their way. "It is not safe here."
They stepped out into the street. Kwame motioned toward a member of his group waiting close by and a blanket was brought forth. He draped it over Linka's shoulders and led her away, keeping her tucked securely under his arm.
The others kept a respectful distance, falling into step behind them, weapons kept ready for any impending danger as they navigated their way through the descending darkness.