23: Reptile

“You go ‘round the back, hop the weak point in the fence and we’ll catch ‘em in the middle.” Lyric said, sliding off his mount and drawing his slide-action. Fletcher remained frozen on the horse, his mouth periodically opening and closing. His eyes were splayed wide, staring a thousand miles away – Lyric had seen it before. He strode to the coyote, grabbed him by wrist, and helped tug him down to Earth.

“I can’t.” Fletcher muttered, looking away. Half a klick from them, smoke poured into the sky from somewhere deep in the circus grounds, the occasional gunshot popping off, accompanied by a scream. They had no idea who had attacked the circus, or what state it was now in.

“You can, because that’s our family in there boy.” Lyric said, squeezing his shoulder. “And you will, because it’s gotta be done.” Fletcher nodded slowly, wiping at his eye and unslinging his rifle, cocking it.

“What’re you gonna do?” He asked, frowning.

“I’m goin’ in the front.” Lyric said, and he turned away. Anxiety nipped at his stomach, but he quashed it. Now wasn’t the time for nerves – people were in danger, his people, and a single mistake could mean death for any one of them. He glanced back and saw Fletcher had begun skulking around the perimeter. It would be hard on the boy, but whatever they’d face inside Lyric didn’t want to see alone. For once, he was glad to have backup.

He found the front gates to the circus wide open, the sound of a fire hitting his ears. It was somewhere to his left, and judging from the approximate location seemed like Dopesmoker’s tent. The blaze seemed mostly contained for the moment, so he focused on moving deeper into the grounds. Laying to one side Lyric saw bodies he recognised; Brandon, Abigail, Jenny. Their paws were free of weapons, and he guessed they had been killed almost immediately, gunned down on the spot. Emotion threatened to overwhelm him, but he focused on mechanics – keep the gun up, eyes peeled, ears and snout open for scents and sounds. There was blood in the dust, far more than he would have expected.

Only bodies are our own, this was a massacre. He thought, looking about. Bile curled at the back of his throat.

Just beyond the big top he heard a scream, and started running. Only now, through the clarity of panic, did he realise that they’d built a maze for themselves of wagons and tents. He rounded a corner and saw Clementine, on the ground, back pressed against a splintered wagon wheel. The muscled tiger held a gigantic paw to her collar, near a wickedly curved knife had been buried hilt-deep into her flesh. Gore haemorrhaged from the wound, and she was panting slowly, eyes dazed.

“Clem.” Lyric whispered, sliding to his knees, looking around. She saw his face and nodded slowly.

“Hey kid.” She gasped. She continued to pant in short breaths, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I didn’t do so hot y’see.”

“It’s aight, just stay calm.” Lyric said, biting his lip. He kept his head up on swivel, but whoever had attacked the tiger had already moved on. “Please, if y’can, how many of ‘em are there?”

The tiger held up a single finger. “Only one.” Lyric frowned.

“That’s...”

“He’s so fast, boy.” She said woozily, eyelids drifting. “All sharp edges and scales, and so strong... I saw him lift Laz clean off the ground. Laz is a fuckin’ bear Lyric.” The jackal shook his head, the Sultan’s Curse were almost all canines, and while not overtly racist they’d never been a crew fond of reptiles. “I’m right, just gotta... just gotta catch my breath. I’ll be along shortly.”

“You stay put. Which way’d he go?” He asked, following Clementine’s eyes back toward the sleeping quarters. “Stay awake.” He whispered, and then he was up and moving. There wasn’t any time to waste, he’d have to backtrack for her after putting the attacker down.

Lyric sprinted into the crew’s sleeping quarters to the sound of yet another short scream, and saw Nobu pinned to a wagon with a knife through his shoulder. The leopard’s hackles were all up, and he had a revolver clutched in one paw. He tried to raise it and shoot the silhouetted figure assaulting him, but the reptilian yanked the weapon from him like an adult stealing a toy from a toddler. The creature yanked the blade free and the cat fell to his knees. Someone else, Narem by the sounds, wailed as the creature shot Nobu through the skull.

Lyric took two steps forward and fired three shots, aiming centre-mass, three to the thing’s back. Nothing fancy, put it down. It flinched with each shot, collapsing into the side of the reddened wagon and tumbling over Nobu’s twitching remains. He stayed unmoving in the dirt, and Lyric skipped across the open ground, keeping his awareness up just in case. To the right he saw Narem being held back by Merissa, the young leopard’s eyes red and streaming tears. Aloysius was on the ground much as Clementine had been, his face mostly unmolested, but the fox was clutching a paw in his lap and shaking fiercely.

“Lyric.” A mechanical voice, and the jackal turned to see Dopesmoker shuffling over. The shaggy fortune-teller was sprayed with blood and dirt.

“You’re hurt.” The jackal said, keeping half an eye on the unmoving reptile.

Can’t have been the only one, can’t be that easy.

“It’s not mine.” Dope said, waving a paw. “Thume is up and about, but Clementine... many of the others...” He shook his head. “It’s a Zoran, old world monster. He cut through us like...”

“Like a surgeon.” Lyric finished. “I heard rumours he were around; I didn’t think this was likely though.” The reptile must have met with Beau Riddon somehow, planned this attack to draw Fletcher and Lyric away, weaken them so it could attack.

“Baron Fulbright’s last gift, to his only son.”

“I’ll have that man’s life one day.” Lyric muttered, realising only now the Zoran ‘corpse’ had disappeared. He whirled on the spot, seeing nothing. “We need cover Dope.” He exclaimed, turning back to see Dopesmoker on his knees. The yellow-eyed Zoran was behind him, and while Lyric had been reeling, he’d simply reached up and sliced through both of the fortune-teller’s rubber tubes. Whatever gas Dope breathed was jettisoned out, and the creature fell with a metallic wheeze, claws scratching at his face and throat. Lyric pulled his gun around, but compared to the creature he was so agonisingly slow. He saw the Zoran wore one of the liquid body armour vests they’d all become far too familiar with – that was how he survived those shots.

Ain’t magic, it can die.

The creature caught his wrist and punched four claw-ended fingers into the jackal’s side, the digits coming away slick with blood. Lyric pulled back, but the creature had a firm grip of his arm. He pivoted and elbowed the Zoran in the jaw, and the thing’s head snapped back rhythmically, with no indication of pain on its face. Lyric was about to switch his pistol to the other paw, when suddenly they were doused with yellow. It was everywhere, a bright vicious burning gas, lighting Lyric’s face up and cauterising the insides of his nose and throat, itching, burning, agonising in its irritation. He and the creature both gasped, releasing one another and stumbling back in shock. He’d seen this before – it was the Dead World tear gas Nadine had given them to use in Vellem. He dropped his gun. Coughing and spluttering, Lyric rummaged through the dirt on his knees, almost blind to the tears, hoping his paws would run across the metal of his gun. He had no luck, and looked up just in time to see the creature kick him in the side. It was like being kicked by a mule, and he was thrown over onto his back, wheezing and crying and spluttering. The Zoran was dazed, and his eyes were leaking an ichorous blue fluid, but he didn’t seem nearly as affected as Lyric. The jackal tried to crawl away, but felt a clawed foot land on his back. He grunted, and then Thume was above him, tackling the reptile, throwing them both out of the gas.

Thume and the thing crashed against a wagon, the Zoran driving two short knees into Thume’s midsection to the sound of meaty crunches The goat head-butted him without hesitation, a spray of blue-green blood bursting from the slits that must have been his nose, Thume’s horns tearing some scales on it’s throat. Lyric had crawled away from the tear-gas epicentre, but the world was still blurry and painful. He kept coughing and spluttering, his body trying to vomit, trying anything to get that foul weapon out of his body. Thume caught claws raked across his chest, and then the Zoran pulled his legs up and but both those big feet onto the goat’s waist. He shoved with a snarl, and the old man went flying backward, crashing into a bench seat and flipping over it. He hefted himself up on one knee, panting heavily, eyes searching for a gun.

“Thume Braider.” The Zoran hissed, approaching the hunkered man. “The Baron instructed me specifically, to bring him your head.” He proffered one of his claws, the end wicked sharp. Thume licked his lips.

“I’ll be honest with ya freak.” Thume said between heavy breaths. “The whole... emotionless bounty hunter shtick, it’s been done to death.” And he laughed. The Zoran’s thin lips peeled back, and he made to leap forward. Before his feet could leave the ground however, there was a huge black sheet of material wrapping around him. He was caught in the throws of a midnight-black cape, and then Raime Transeldaimor was there, one of Aloysius’s swords in paw. The nimble greyhound plunged the end into the thrashing black mass, to the sound of a deep, birdlike wail. He drew it back shining with ichor, and an instance after that the Zoran sliced through the material. His leg bled, the sword having punctured through his upper thigh. In a swift motion he opened the greyhound’s throat and shoved him away, returning his focus to Thume.

He ran forward and two shots caught him in the side, punching the body armour but throwing him off balance. Lyric, still barely able to move, looked back to see Fletcher running forward, his heavy coat discarded, rifle held to an eye.

That’s right you bastard, there’s a lot of us.

“Body...” Lyric tried to gasp, unsure if the coyote could even hear him. He looked focused, trying desperately to avoid looking at any of the dead. “Liquid, armour.”

Fletcher got closer, glancing around and finally seeing Thume hunkered by his log, his lighter fur stained red, giving the boy a short nod.

“You alright Thume?!” Fletcher called out, but then the reptile was on him. The rifle was torn away and the boy was pinned to the ground. The yellow eyes wide and glaring, hypnotic in their terrifying gaze. Lyric cried out and began to crawl toward the assassin, a paw outstretched. He didn’t know what he could do, but he had to do something.

“There you are!” The Zoran hissed with excitement, claws wrapping around Fletcher’s throat. The boy’s paws went to the creature’s face, searching for anything to push fingers into and finding no purchase, the scales even harder to grip now they were slick with bodily fluids. He wheezed and kicked with panic as his airflow was slowly cut off. Lyric kept scrounging for a gun, on his knees but falling over and coughing every other moment. He knew that if the Zoran choked the coyote out they’d all die, he’d get up and kill Thume with Fletcher’s rifle, then turn it on Lyric and the others.

I have to do something! He thought, screaming inside, teeth grinding. I can’t let him... The reptile went jerked suddenly, head going straight up, jaw falling open limply to reveal rows of tiny, razor-sharp teeth. One of his claws went toward his neck, the fingers on it twitching sporadically. He stood, stumbled away from Fletcher, and turned. Only now could Lyric see what had caused the stoppage; a knife, sunk almost half-way through the back of his neck. The Zoran turned and saw Narem behind him, panting but otherwise still, too shocked to do anything besides stare back at those yellow eyes.

The creature began to shuffle towards the leopard like a zombie, but then Lyric found his gun. He aimed for the back of the creature’s skull this time, and fired until he was out.

...

     The fire ended up burning itself out without much intervention – nobody had put their tent close enough to Dopesmoker’s that it could easily catch. The survivors now sat outside the circus grounds, warming themselves around a small fire, passing a bottle of vodka between them. All except Aloysius were undamaged enough to sit. Somehow during the struggle, the Zoran had grabbed the fox’s paw and ripped it nearly in two, splitting it right down the middle from fingers to wrist. He was asleep now, dosed heavily on his own medicine.

“It was Ursula’s gift.” Thume said slowly, sipping. “She picked up the dud gas bomb after Vellem, gave it to Fletch, he thought I could fix it. Turns out, I could.” He laughed softly, wincing. He had gauze wrapped tight around his chest, and wore no shirt. The claws that the Zoran had sliced him with didn’t go deep, but it still itched. He’d said he likely had a few broken ribs too, but they had a doctor that was down a paw, so it could wait.

“What was it like?” Meridian asked gently, putting a claw on Fletcher’s knee. He shook his head. “How did she...?”

“No, you don’t want that.” He muttered. He felt detached again, floating away. It was almost like a dream; he couldn’t believe how many they’d lost. After Narem and Lyric had killed the reptile, Meridian, Lazarus, and Theodore had gathered the bodies and brought them outside. For the moment they’d been lain flat, with blankets put on top of them. Clementine had told Lyric she’d be alright, but she’d bled out shortly after he left. Thume had cried then, and even more after seeing the short letter she kept in her pocket – a coy message about the two of them she’d been meaning to leave him. Fletcher had never seen the goat cry, but he saw the old man make quiet promises to the tiger’s still body. Whatever that letter said was for the two of them.

Most of them filed the emotion away. They’d been cut to the quick, and too much had happened for them to fully give into the emotion. Mourning would come later, and it would be a slow process that never really ended. Something this horrific stayed with people, they all knew it.

Narem, Miss Meridian, Lazarus, Thume, Aloysius, Lyric, Theodore, Fletcher. Those were the only left.

“What now?” Lyric coughed. His voice was raw, and his eyes totally bloodshot. He claimed he could see almost nothing, but they were relatively sure that would pass. “Midnight Meridian is over. I led it straight into the jaws of ruin. Might as well have killed ‘em myself.”

“This ain’t your fault boy.” Thume said firmly. “These two, that filth behind what happened to Ursula, and then the Zoran... they were pure evil. Ain’t a soul here blames you."

“And if I hadn’t chased Riddon? Would we be here mourning so many?” Lyric asked.

“By that logic it’s our fault.” Thume said. “The reptile came looking for us.”

“There’s no blame to be had, beyond those that pulled triggers.” Meridian said firmly, looking around. “What we focus on now, is the living. We owe it to those who gave their lives. Even Raime threw himself out there when it was called for.” Fletcher nodded slowly at that.

He hated Thume and I, but he tried to help us anyway. He thought to himself. I’ll probably never understand him now.

“To our friends.” Theodore added, as they all followed the wolf in raising their cups. “Clementine De Ville. Nobu Raiji. Raime Transeldaimor. Ursula Tawny. Jenny Sadler. Dopesmoker. Abigail Liza. Brandon Summer.” They all drank sombrely.

“Bloody hell.” Lazarus said, shaking his head. His throat was bruised from when the reptile lifted him off his feet, but whatever had happened next had left him alive and otherwise unscathed. “I’m gonna wake up expectin’ to see them every damn day, for the rest’a my days I reckon.” And he drank again.

“I can’t, won’t, ask that any of you to stay.” Meridian said after some time. “But after we bury our friends, I’m going west, headed for Ailen Province, least to start. I’ve had enough of the east, there’s too much bloodshed and anarchy here – I don’t know if Ailen is better, but I can’t imagine it’s worse. If any of you feel compelled to join me, I’ll care for you like I’ve always tried to; the best I can.”

All but Lyric, Fletcher, Narem, and Thume agreed immediately.

“I’m... plannin’ to go with them boy. They need protection, and I’m figurin’ Lyric’s got other places to be.” Thume said, looking to Fletcher. “I’ll beg you this once, come with us. Leave all this hardship behind, and let’s make ghosts of ourselves.”

“What would we even do?” Fletcher huffed, shaking his head.

“The west has wilder ferals than here, things that put Orikabu’s in their place I hear. We’ll hunt them, keep local folk safe. Bring back money and food for this lot.”

“No.” Fletcher said, glancing to Lyric. “We talked. After Ursula... Beau will have fled to Blood Mesa, it’s his closest foxhole around, and the place is a fort, he and the others will hunker down there and pray to their old gods we forget about ‘em. And if they don’t, those there’ll know where they went.”

“It ain’t happenin’. We won’t forget.” Lyric added.

“There is nothing for me in the west, not yet.” Narem said, glancing at Fletcher and Lyric for approval.

“It ain’t my place to deny you boy.” Lyric said, downing the last of his drink. “Y’saved us today while I crawled on my belly. I ain’t never gonna forget that.”

“Who even was that?” Fletcher asked, motioning back at the circus grounds. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“It was a Zoran.” Thume said. “Dead World relics, just one of the kinda nightmares they loved dreamin’ up. As for who? It don’t matter none. Scum like that doesn’t deserve to be remembered.”

“What will you do?” Lyric asked Meridian. Before the raven could respond, Theodore answered.

“What we always have.” He said. “Only smaller.” Meridian laughed, feathers ruffling.

“Something like that.” She said, nodding. “And you three? You’ll fight your way through this Mesa like some kind of righteous crusade I imagine. And then? When you find the bastard who did that to Ursula, what then?”

Lyric poured another drink, shrugged. “What I always have.”