SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest

Ye shall burn me once again!

Not with these flames!

Which hither ye have brought

From regions where I reign

Ye fools and priests

I spit upon your fire!

Burgess pulled a knife from his hip, took a step back, then leaped forward as the father followed him back, sinking the blade into the older man’s throat.

The father stood as stiff and still as a scarecrow. Burgess pulled the knife free and the father fell to the ground. Burgess wiped the blade on his sleeve, re-sheathed it, and grabbed the shotgun.

He staggered toward me, grinning. “Never been shot before,” he said, lifting his shoulder for me to see his through and through like it was a badge he’d just earned.

“Mark that off your bucket list.” I nodded toward the body. “You were pretty good back there with that knife.”

“Some archetypes are true. You white kids played cowboys and Indians. We played Indians and Indians.”

I reached out. “Give me that shotgun. No way you can fire it now.” I gave him the pistol I’d taken off the sleeping brother.

We heard another truck approaching.

“See the Spring-heeled Jack?” Burgess asked.

I nodded as I looked to the trees. “Saw him earlier. He’s out there somewhere.”

I felt a tingling sensation and spun. One of the cottages had caught fire. In the shadows surrounding the conflagration I caught the smoldering stare of the Spring-heeled Jack. I glanced at Burgess. The kid would do anything for me. I had to make sure it wasn’t something he couldn’t afford.

“Go on up the road and meet the truck.”

He looked at me, exhaustion crowding his eyes. “You sure, boss?”

I patted him on the back. “Of course I am. Now go.”

He trudged away from me and up the road.

I turned and strode toward the burning cottage.

When I reached the center of the courtyard the Jack met me by leaping over the fire, landing in front of me with one hand to the ground to keep himself steady. When he stood, he was a full head and shoulders taller than me. His boots were remarkably Victorian, as was his long, black coat that caught the air like wings when he moved through the air. He wore a mask that covered the top of his head, reminiscent of a Batman mask than anything else. The air around him sizzled with energy.

I held the shotgun in both hands and was ready to bring it to bear. “Rehor Zdarsky.”

His head moved like a bird’s, cocking it at an angle as he regarded me. “I know you.” His voice sizzled.

“Of course you do,” I said. “We have your brother, Boniface. Little scatterbrained, but he’s locked up tight.”

“Where?”

I shrugged. “I used to know back before you brought that bridge down. Now I don’t have any idea.”

“I don’t believe you.”

I could feel power building around us like an incredible static electric charged. I framed a defensive spell and held onto it. I shrugged again, trying to show how relaxed I didn’t really feel. “Doesn’t matter if you believe me or not.” I lowered the barrel of the shotgun and aimed it at his chest. “But if you want to see him I think that can be arranged. We can put you in a room beside him.”

His mouth opened, revealing teeth that had been sharpened to points.

I fired the shotgun, but he was already gone and into the trees, moving impossibly fast.

I felt a spell hit my defenses. All the leaves, twigs, branches, rocks and dirt within a ten foot circle slammed into the invisible barrier I’d created. I staggered under the effort to keep the spell framed, but managed to keep it up long enough to deflect everything that came at me.

“Nice trick, Rehor, but you’ll have to do better than that.”

I prepared another spell, readying it, steadying it, getting it just right. I saw movement out of the corner of my left eye and spun.

He was coming at me impossibly fast.

I threw my spell.

His movement ceased to almost nothing as my spell took effect.

I stepped out of the way even though it would now take seconds for him to reach where I stood.

“What was it you were after, Rehor? What is it the East German’s wanted?”

I could see and feel him struggling against my spell. “You’ll never know.”

“And you can’t get it now. Your Stasi contacts have been killed.” I gestured with the shotgun. “You did that. You caused that.”

He stopped moving. My spell was meant to slow him. It didn’t keep him from not moving at all. He glowered at me.

“You and your one-armed sister,” I said, shaking my head. “Why you’ve aligned yourselves to the Soviets I will never know.”

“We haven’t aligned ourselves,” he said, emphasizing every word.

“That’s not what they think. The Russian oligarchs must revel in the fact they have their own pet freaks.”

His eyes flared.

I saw his hands flex, and not in slow motion.

I went to throw myself to the ground but was too slow. He slid toward me. Blades appeared in both hands, delivered by a spring-loaded mechanism I barely glimpsed before each blade pierced the space where my shoulders met my torso.

“I’m going to take your arms,” he said simply.