The Savage Boy (20 page)

50

T
HE
B
OY
WATCHED
them from a corner window on the third floor. He saw the hunters coming along the trail left by Horse. They scanned the stumps of chimneys and overgrown lots, wary that he might snipe at them from the tall grass beyond.

They’ll come to this old place from Before.

He watched until they disappeared in front of what was once the lobby. The place of the dirty canvas picture.

S
HAO
F
AN C
ALLED
for a halt. The thick silence of the heat and loneliness of the place was broken by an offshore breeze, dull and sweet, sweeping through the high eucalyptus trees along the road.

He’ll be inside. The savage and his traps.

He’ll be watching us, even now.

Shao Fan knew there would be traps. But his men, his hunters, knew how the savage worked now. They’d be alert. They’d know what to look for.

So, they had to go in. All race transgressors must have their appointment at the crossroads.

Shao Fan signaled two men. The last two scouts.

They rode up to him and he whispered instructions. Moments later they were off to the south.

Shao Fan dismounted and signaled his remaining men to do the same.

They brought their breech loaders.

T
HE
B
OY TOOK
his first shot as the hunters exited the main building. He shot from the corner window of the third floor looking down on nine men as they crossed the crumbling pavement near the cracked and broken swimming pool.

He rested his gun on a platform deep inside the shadows of the room.

The shot hammered through the silence and the men scrambled for cover.

Just one shot. Then move to a new position. Just like you taught me, Sergeant, even though you said there would never be a need because all the “ammo” was used up killin’ ourselves. Still, I’d wanted to learn and you’d showed me.

I think it was a way for you to pass the time and teach me the only thing you’d ever known, and not think about the past.

He withdrew into the dusty shadows of the old room and heard them calling out to each other below. Beneath that, he could hear the dying man.

He found Jin at their camp on the third floor.

“They’re here.”

She nodded and said something in Chinese.

“I want you to go to the roof now. Block the door with the broken concrete I left there. Don’t open it until you hear my voice.”

She nodded and he led her to the access stairwell that climbed up to the roof. She turned back to him, the broken feather in her hand. From it dangled a small leather thong. Quickly she reached up and tied it into his long hair.

He watched her ascend the steps and push on the rusty door. Bright light filled the dingy gloom of the stairwell. She glanced back at him and he silently beckoned her to close the door, wishing she didn’t have to. Wishing they could be free of this day.

If wishes were fishes, Boy, beggars would ride.

Yes, you said that also, Sergeant. You would say it to me now.

The Boy made his way down to the first floor, all the while avoiding his traps. He took up a position behind the first-floor barricade at the end of a long, dark hall. The other end led to the pool area.

They would come through the hall from there.

In his mind he traced their route. They would funnel into this corridor as they found the other corridors were blocked and trapped.

Take a shot and move to the second floor. Be disciplined in this.

He waited, hearing nothing.

Maybe a mouse moving along the rotten baseboard.

In time he saw a dark figure detach itself from the shadows at the far end of the hall. The light from the corridor outlined the silhouette of a man carrying a rifle at the ready.

The Boy transitioned the rifle across the sacking he had laid for a rest atop the barrier, letting the sight fall on the outline of the man down the hall.

He heard a crash from somewhere in another part of the building and then a man was screaming in Chinese.

The swing trap.

When he looked again, the shadowy figure at the end of the hall was gone.

Maybe he was on the floor and crawling forward?

The Boy waited and watched.

A low rumble and then a loud crash in another hall told the Boy someone found the collapsing-wall trap. He heard no scream or cry for help this time.

There wouldn’t be. The wall should have fallen on the intruder’s head. He was either unconscious or dead.

But I don’t know that for sure.

There were nine and now three were down. That made six.

Maybe.

The shadow detached itself from the wall again, and moved right into the sight at the end of the Boy’s rifle.

Without even thinking the Boy fired, flinging the man backward and out of sight.

Blue gun smoke mixed with the dust and heavy heat.

Five.

On the second floor, the Boy moved fast and he knew they could hear him below.

Good. They’ll think they have me trapped. Maybe they will become careless.

He thought of Jin on the roof.

The traps here on the second floor were deadfalls, sure to break a leg or pierce a man through with the stakes he would fall on below.

He took up his place behind the barricade at the far end of the second floor.

He listened, willing himself to slow his ragged breathing.

Almost there.

You would say,
You think so Boy? Or do you hope so?

Both.

One of the Chinese climbed through an open window behind the Boy as he watched the dark corridor. The Boy didn’t hear the intruder until the man softly brushed against something just as he hoisted his body through the window.

The Boy set his rifle down and whirled with his tomahawk out. The man climbing through the window rolled just as the Boy raised the axe and struck. The head of the tomahawk buries itself in rotting wood and crumbling drywall.

The man cried out in Chinese and an instant later, far off, as the Boy dragged the axe out of the wall, he could hear running feet at the far end of the second floor. The sound, hollow on the rotting wood and disintegrating carpet, beat out an urgent approaching staccato.

The man in the room had his knife out, waving it back and forth between the two of them. He was smaller than the Boy and there was fear in his eyes.

The Boy rushed him, slamming his body into the man. They fell to the ground slick with sweat as the Boy pinned the man’s knife hand with the flat of his tomahawk, leaning hard into the Chinese with the bony, withered side of himself.

The man cursed, almost whining.

The pounding footsteps coming up the hall disappeared in a crashing wave of snapping boards as the floor fell out beneath them. There was a brief cry and a sickening bone-snapping sound, loud and clear.

The Boy slammed his head into the face of the man beneath him and a spray of blood erupted from the smashed face. Instinctively, hands moved to cover the broken nose.

The Boy rose, his tomahawk swinging back above his shoulder, then his head, and a second later slammed the axe down through the man’s sternum. There was an
umpf
of escaping air and the sound of breaking bone.

He rose and returned to the barricade. Down the dark hallway a Chinese was looking into the dusty hole that was the floor. He could hear a man crying below.

“Three,” muttered the Boy and fired at the man staring down into the hole.

“Two.”

S
HAO
F
AN STOO
D
at the far end of the second floor.

Chiang lay dead halfway down the hall.

His last hunter watched out the window.

I know he’s here. They’re both here, the savage and the girl. But how many more traps?

He heard a soft whistle from outside, above the crash of the sea. Shao Fan looked out the window onto the wild yard of lush overgrowth that bordered the cliff.

The two scouts waved, smiling, and between them was the transgressor Jin. She was bound and gagged, her eyes wide with terror and tears. She knew Shao Fan. Knew his business. Knew what must come next.

Forget this savage, thought Shao Fan, and ordered his man to withdraw. They lowered themselves through the window with the rope they always carry.

No sense in risking the traps we didn’t find on the way in.

It was a good idea to send the scouts up the cliff and onto the roof from the beach. It has probably saved our lives, thought Shao Fan as he started a fire in the second-floor hallway.

We’ll burn this place down with the savage inside. Protocol indicates we can dispose of the savage in any way we choose.

Usually it was a savage female, which they preferred to drown. But just this once, since it was a wily male, the characters on the report could read, “Burned in a fire.”

F
OR A LONG
time the Boy waited behind the third-floor barricade.

They’re afraid to come up after us. Good, maybe they will go away now.

In time he smelled the smoke, and when he listened hard, he could hear the crackle of flames catching the old carpets and tattered drapes and broken furniture and dry wood.

Fire!

He raced back to the third-floor stairwell leading to the roof and rapped on it heavily.

“Jin, it’s me!”

Nothing.

The smoke came in gray puffs up through the floor beneath his feet. The snapping crackle of the fire was growing.

We’ll be caught if I don’t get her down off the roof!

“Jin, open up it’s me!”

He didn’t ask again as he reared back and slammed into the rusty metal door. It banged open in a wide arc. In the bright sunlight the Boy turned around and around searching for Jin on the debris-cluttered rooftop. He raced to one edge as black smoke crawled up from the other side.

Below he could see Jin in the bottom of the empty pool. She was bound and gagged, her eyes pleading with him. She looked left and right trying to tell him something. A moment before he heard the report from the rifles, he saw the Chinese hiding in the worn-out bushes and in the shadows of the old lobby. All at once bullets thudded about him into the crumbling concrete of the building. The Boy fired and then flung himself to the rooftop as bullets raced off into the sky above.

Lying on the roof, the Boy broke the breech of the rifle, pulled out the spent shell, and pushed another into its place. He crawled several feet to a new position and popped up behind the parapet.

A shaven-headed Chinese was pulling Jin by her hair up the steps of the empty pool.

A bullet smacked into the concrete wall of the roof, sending shards up to cut the face of the Boy. Other Chinese were taking aim.

The Boy ducked back behind the cover of the wall.

I’ll get one shot and I have to use you to aim, he said to his withered hand. So work!

He moved in a new direction along the wall and when he rose from behind it again, he saw the shaven-headed Chinese drag Jin across the inner courtyard and into the yawning entrance of that other building where the shredded picture from Before hung on the wall, the lobby. The remaining Chinese are retreating into the darkness. The Boy could see the tallest of them, their leader, hunching low, shouting orders angrily as they retreat

The Boy raised the rifle, knowing there would be just this one shot before she disappeared.

But he could already feel his withered hand, shaking and weak, refusing to be used, refusing to steady the rifle.

Sweat poured into his eyes as drifting black smoke stung his nose.

He aimed for the back of the man as he dragged Jin into the darkness of the lobby.

The Boy fired, knowing he missed.

And Shaven-head and Jin disappeared into the darkness.

Only their leader, the tall, thin Chinese with the mustache, remained. He smiled at the Boy, then darted after Jin and the other hunters.

Black smoke was coming through cracks and rents in the roof. The Boy smelled melting plastic and acrid smoke. Heat came up at him in waves.

He searched the sides of the building for a way down, but already the flames were crawling up through most of the roof and out the windows below.

Think!

I am thinking!

He loped toward the far end of the roof, closest to the cliff’s edge and the sea below. Below the roof, a balcony hung out over the cliff. The Boy lowered himself down onto the balcony and saw thick sheets of flame racing across the ceiling of the room connected to the balcony.

Below, the sea pounded the rocky coast. The water was a deep blue in places and in others it churned a foamy green. A stunted tree hanging off the cliff’s edge swayed in gusty blasts of heat from the fire.

The Boy slung the rifle over his back. He climbed on top of the railing and leaped for the tree. Flailing with his good arm, he crashed into its branches and a moment later was sliding down the cliff toward the water below. He clawed for purchase and his good arm found a rock to grab onto.

He hung halfway down the cliff, breathing hard.

Above, black smoke rose into the sky.

It would be a steep climb back to the top. Almost impossible.

He was exhausted.

Below, he could hear the sea washing itself against the black rocks of the cliff.

If they come to look for me, there’s not much I can do, and I’ll be smashed to bits against the side of the rocks if I drop down into the ocean.

Above, the burning roof collapsed into the main structure with a groaning crash. Black, oily smoke billowed high into the sky and the flames seemed to roar above the ocean’s strike against the coast.

The Boy hung there, waiting.

He heard nothing.

No voice.

I need you now, Sergeant.

I’m dead, Boy. Sorry about that. I tried my best.

I
N TIME, HE
worked his way down to the rocks below and followed them along the water’s edge as the surf threated to drag him into its turmoil. The sun was sinking into the ocean and all was purple and red fire.