Chapter 7: Blood-Stained Earth

The first bandit lunges at me, his dirty cloak wafting behind him. He is careless, without an ounce of fear in his eyes. He thinks this will be easy.

Once he falls, the element of surprise will be gone. They’ll know I’m not easy prey. But for now, their ignorance is my advantage, so I use it.

I put my hand on the ground and kick my right leg up at the bandit. The heel of my mechanical foot connects just under his chin. I barely feel him—he’s like an insect crashing into the bow of a three-balloon airship. The sound of his neck snapping echoes across the parched earth. He collapses into an awkward heap, his legs folded backwards beneath him like an envelope ready to be delivered.

The second bandit rushes toward me only moments later. He’s not as cautious as I expected. Either very confident or very stupid. I’m still crouching, coiled like a snake and ready to strike. I pull the hidden knife from my boot and stab him in the neck as he reaches for me. He too falls, blood gushing from his throat as he gurgles and gasps for air.

The third bandit tries to outflank me. Smarter than the others, but the fact that he hasn’t run proves he’s no genius. I stand and face him, one leg behind the other, hands raised, palms open. When he charges, I deliver a low roundhouse kick, knocking his knee in a direction it isn’t meant to go. The pop echoes across the wasteland as he crumbles, screaming in pain. I can’t help but grin at how easy it was to take down three of them.

My gloating costs me. One of the remaining bandits pulls a net cannon from the cart. He fires, and the ropes drape over me like the arms of a hundred men, pulling me to the ground. I struggle, frantic and angry, as the remaining two bandits rush forward.

One brandishes a large knife and stabs at me. I manage to wriggle away just as the blade plunges into the ground. He pulls back and strikes again. I grip the ropes and slide left at the last moment. The knife misses and I reach around him, tangling him in the netting with me. I want to kick his head off, but the net has neutralized my strongest asset. How quickly they’ve turned the tables.

We tussle on the ground before he overpowers me, his upper body much stronger than mine. He drags himself across my chest and pushes the knife toward my face. His breath smells like death as he screams between rotted teeth, drool spattering across my cheek.

Panic rises as I jerk and shift under the weight of the crazed lunatic. Just as the knife’s tip hovers near my right eye, my leg untangles. I seize the opportunity, driving my knee into his groin. His cry sounds like a pig at slaughter as he drops his knife—his last mistake. I grab it and drive it through the base of his chin.

Blood spurts from his nose and mouth, his eyes freezing in a harrowing glare. His blood is everywhere—covering my face and arms, making my hands slick, soaking the ground around us.

This time I don’t stop to admire my work. I quickly turn to find the final bandit running toward the blunderbuss still firmly positioned in the first bandit’s waistband.

In his panic, he fumbles for the weapon like a starving mouse scrounging for food. He manages to free it and turns to me in haste.

I shift position and roll the dead bandit toward him, forming a barrier between me and the blunderbuss. He’s heavy, but I use my legs for leverage just in time. Two rounds enter the back of my human shield and I smell the sizzle of his flesh—a sick smell that twists my face in disgust.

Then I hear a click.

He’s out of ammo.

I roll the shield of flesh and bone off me and see him running toward the cart, probably for another weapon. Still struggling with the net, I watch him pull a large iron bar free and rush back. He swings down hard, and I block the blow with my right leg. The iron bar bends on impact. With another kick, I knock it from his hand.

He steps back, eyes wide and mouth gaping. I lay there waiting for his next move as he looks around at his fallen companions, taking in the aftermath of the fight. I can see him playing different scenarios in his head as his eyes shift from one dead body to the next. He takes one final look at me and decides his best option is to run.

I exhale and relax. Staring at the sky, I laugh…and cry. I turn to the corpse beside me, and its eyes seem to stare through me.

With trembling hands, I work at the netting that still partially entangles me. The ropes are thick and well-made, designed to trap bigger prey than me. After a few moments of wrestling with the mesh, I manage to get free and stand, my proths as steady as ever, even if my hands aren’t.

What have I done?

Years of training never prepared me for what it would feel like to actually kill a man. It doesn’t feel like anything I could’ve imagined. I’m not proud of his death, but I am proud of defending myself. I wipe the tears from my eyes.

Then the anger floods back. These men got what they deserved. There’s no telling how many women they’ve raped and murdered. If I hadn’t been able to defend myself, I would have been their next victim. Never again will I shed a tear over scum like this. I will make it my mission to not only rid the world of Solomon but also defend those who cannot defend themselves.

No. This wasteland won’t take me. I have too much work to do.

My emotional contemplation breaks at the sound of a bandit yelling.

“Wait! Don’t leave me here!”

I look over and watch him crawl away from me, hand outstretched toward his fleeing friend. His busted leg leaves a pattern in the sand like a teyrelsk dragging a dead snake.

I manage to free myself from the net and walk to the cart. I take long gulps of water from one of the pouches, quenching my thirst from the heat, the battle, the panic. The bandit gives up calling for his friend and turns his attention to me.

“Listen, my knee is really messed up! You really messed it up!” His face twists as he fights back tears.

I pull a piece of meat jerky from the cart and take a bite, but don’t speak.

“What are you going to do?” he asks. “Are you gonna kill me? Please don’t kill me.”

We’ve come a long way in only a few minutes. He wasn’t talking to me like this before when I was the one trying to negotiate. He wasn’t talking like this when he thought he had the advantage.

I look at him and consider killing him, but quickly push the thought away. There has been enough death today.

I walk around and pull on the lead rope of the tow cart. The legs quiver with life.

“Where are you going?” Anger creeps into his voice. He’s used to people like me listening to him. “You can’t just leave me here.”

I don’t answer. I don’t want to speak with him. I don’t even want to look at him, but panic has seized him and he can’t stop talking.

“I can’t walk. You’ve crippled me. Please don’t leave me here. I’ll die.”

With the tow-legs humming and vibrating, I let the guide rope hang loose and walk over to him. I lean down and take another bite of jerky.

“You were going to rape me,” I say. “You and all your slimy friends.”

“No. I wasn’t. I was going to stop them. I swear.”

“And after you raped me, you were gonna what, leave me for dead? Kidnap me so you could have me for later?”

“It’s not like that. We were just having some fun. It does stuff to your mind out here. You don’t know what it’s like—”

“I’ve seen men like you before. Think you can take what you want. Prey on the weak or those less fortunate than you.”

“Please,” he screams. His final plea for mercy is pathetic. “I can’t walk!”

“I guess you better start crawling then,” I say without a modicum of remorse.

I return to the tow cart and make sure the supplies are secure. His whimpering fades into the background as the cart lurches toward Papa and the rocks where we’ve made camp.