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The tires squealed as Korse pulled up to the motel. Warning signs with the Better Living logo had been plastered on the windows and doors. At the old vending machine, white-suited employees painted over the graffiti. They stopped and watched Korse barge through the entrance. The blast from the air conditioners greeted him, rattling on the floor as he marched through the hallway.
Employees bustled up and down the hall, stopping as he passed. Some of the motel doors had been replaced with clear plastic sheets that crinkled when pushed back. Through the sheets were beds, makeshift offices, and whirring radio technology. When he reached a wooden door marked NO ENTRY, Korse slashed his ID through the scanner. The light beeped green. Then he unlocked the door and stormed inside, letting it slam shut behind him.
Flare sat cross-legged in a chair beside the bed, her helmet resting on the bedside table. In her hands was a copy of the Battery City Times. When Korse entered the room, she casually set the newspaper aside and stood up, as if he were no one of great importance.
“Well, I caught Cherri Cola on a route heading to the city,” she said. “He was picking up smuggled supplies. Sprawl went after the smuggler, but that old bastard got away. Disappeared just before they hit the border.”
On the bed was an unconscious Killjoy. He wore a tattered green military jacket and dog tags around his neck. A few purplish bruises boiled on his face. Blood was crusted around his nose and mouth. The grey streak in his hair looked vaguely familiar to Korse, but he dismissed it.
“Kill him,” he said. “He’s a liability.”
“He’s Cherri Cola,” Flare said.
“Irrelevant,” Korse said.
“I said he’s Cherri Cola,” she said. “He’s friends to the big six. If we’ve got him, we can get our hands on anybody we want.”
Korse slid his gun from its holster. “Do that, and you’ll let the rebels think we’re willing to barter with them.”
“It’s not bartering,” Flare said. “Look, this is what we do. We put out a call, they show up, blam blam, we take them out, then exterminate Cola. Simple.”
Shaking his head, Korse walked up to the bed. Flare stepped in front of him and grabbed the dog tags around Cherri’s neck.
“Look,” she said. “Remember the Soldiers for Peace? He’s the Boogeyman. Agent Cherri Cola. If we’ve got him, we’ve got connections all over the Zones.”
For the first time, Korse paused. Then he snatched the dog tags from her hand and tilted them toward the light. The raised letters glowed like a neon sign: AGENT CHERRI COLA. A decade ago, the name had topped Battery City’s hit list. Rumors had floated through the air about a man, or perhaps a desert spirit, who slunk from the shadows and killed Draculoids before they had time to blink.
“They did a background check,” Flare said. “He’s legit. I know we got most of the Soldiers in that raid, but if we take him back to his old place, we might be able to round up the rest of them. And if the Fab Four jump into save him–” A smile flashed across her face. “Then it’ll really be a party.”
Five years ago, Korse and his partners had stormed into the Soldiers’ shack as screams erupted around them. Now the shack stood empty, as rebels believed it was contaminated with evil spirits. Korse thought of the radio equipment, the room crammed with books and newspapers. A plan started to form in his mind.
“Go to the office,” he said. “Tell them to ready a transport vehicle.”
“I’m on it,” Flare said. She grabbed her helmet and pulled it over her head with a grin.
—
Two hours later, Cherri blearily opened his eyes. His back was stiff as if he’d been standing against a wall for hours. Pain throbbed in his face. As the room murkily came into view, it seemed vaguely familiar, like something from a childhood memory. Old VHS tapes were piled against the wall. Next to the bookshelf was a small TV on a stack of crates. Yellowed newspaper clippings hung from the wall.
Suddenly the realization hit him with a jolt. He tried to jump out of his seat, but something strained against his wrists. They were bound to the chair with rope. Cherri’s heart started to race. Had the Soldiers captured him? Were they about to punish him for leaving? Panic was rising in his throat when the old training flashed through his mind: Don’t panic. Steady your breathing. Study your surroundings.
“You’re awake?” said a female voice behind him. A figure stepped into view, dressed in a padded white suit. She wore a white helmet with an amber-colored viewing window and a breathing tube that connected to her back, like an astronaut. A cold sweat broke out on Cherri’s skin.
A man stepped out beside her, his long grey coat swinging at his sides. Cherri stared blankly at him. He couldn’t be real. He was a picture on magazines and television sets, a legend that the other Soldiers had whispered about.
Korse dropped a transmitter on the table in front of Cherri. It was sleek and white with a glowing blue screen.
“In a few minutes, you’re going to call Dr. Death Defying,” Korse said. “You’ll tell him that you disappeared because you visited your old living quarters at the Soldiers for Peace. While you were here, you were robbed and injured by a group of Killjoys that had taken up living space, and require the Fabulous Four’s assistance. Is that clear?”
Cherri nodded once. His head was spinning.
“Say it,” Korse said.
“I-I…” Cherri’s voice cracked.
“You disappeared because you visited your old living quarters at the Soldiers for Peace.”
“I…I disappeared because I visited my–old living quarters. At the Soldiers for Peace.”
“You were robbed and injured by a group of Killjoys.”
Sweat rolled down the back of his neck. The words sounded foreign to him, as if Korse were speaking through him like a puppet.
“I was–robbed and injured by a group of Killjoys,” Cherri said.
“You require the Fabulous Four’s assistance.”
“I–I require the…Fabulous Four’s assistance.”
“Excellent,” Korse said.
Korse picked up the transmitter and tapped one of the frequencies. Then he handed the transmitter to Flare, who held it up to Cherri’s ear. Cherri closed his eyes. His hands trembled against the chair.
“H-hey?” he said. “Dr. D?”
“Cola?” Dr. Death said. His voice rang out as clearly as if they were talking on a phone. “Hey. Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I–I need help, man,” Cherri said, hating himself. “I–I went back to my old place, where I lived with the Soldiers, and–this group of guys just came at me. They attacked me and they–left me here.”
“Shit, Cola. How badly are you hurt?”
“They, uh…I think they cracked one of my ribs. I need–” He couldn’t bring himself to ask for the Fabulous Four. “I need some help, D.”
Flare pressed her gun against the back of his neck. Cherri sucked in a breath.
“All right, I’ll send someone over,” Dr. Death said. “I’m sure Kobra’s probably still up. Just hang on, kid. I’ll give him a call.”
At the sound of Kobra’s name, something snapped inside him.
“No!” he shouted. “No! Don’t do it! It’s a trap! I’m being held here by Korse–”
“What?” Dr. Death said. “Wait–what the hell is going on?”
“It’s Korse! He’s got me locked up here! Don’t send anyone, man, please–”
Korse grabbed Cherri’s hair and slammed his head against the table. Cherri shouted as a hard thud rattled through his skull. Korse grabbed the transmitter and switched it off, gritting his teeth in anger.
“Well, he just guaranteed that they’ll show up,” Flare said. “Probably bring some of their friends, too. Maybe we’ll take out the whole squad tonight.”
Korse didn’t respond. He marched around the table and yanked his gun from its holster.
“Stand back,” he said.
Flare stepped back. As Korse’s gun pressed against the back of his neck, Cherri expected a rush of fear. But a strange feeling of acceptance settled over him. For the first time in years, perhaps his entire life, his mind was still.
His eyes fell on the TV set. Years ago he had sat in front of the set while grainy images flashed across the screen. As the scenes grew more violent, the Soldiers climbed to their feet, cursed, shouted at the screen until the room was hot with fury. When the tension was too much to bear, Cherri jumped to his feet and joined them. He shouted at the Draculoids. He threw a book at the set, hitting the wall. As the crowd frothed around him, his heart swelled with camaraderie until he was certain that nothing could defeat them, nothing could stop their path to victory.
Korse fired. An electric shock ripped through the base of Cherri’s skull. Then his head hit the table, and the world went black.
—
“Look. You see them? You see those masks? That’s how you know they’re goons. They’re monsters. It’s like they know it themselves. But they don’t give a shit. That’s what separates them from you and me–we do bad things, but we know they’re bad, and we feel like shit when we do it. But they don’t feel bad. They don’t feel anything. They’re just drones, they’re like an army of robots, just killing everything. They don’t have a soul. And they’ll kill you if they get the chance. They’ll kill anybody. They’ll kill women and little kids, they’ll kill whole villages. They don’t care. They just follow orders. That’s why you’ve got to kill them first. You’ve got to kill them before they kill you. That’s why we’re here, man. We’re the protectors of the Zones. We were sent to do this, we’re killing them before they can hurt anybody else…”
—
Cherri stood silently in the old media room. His body was slumped over on the table in front of him, his wrists still tied to the chair. The acrid smell of smoke filled the room. Korse and Flare spoke in front of the TV, their faces reflected in the blank screen. Cherri was filled with a calm stillness, like a tree standing on a windless day.
The Phoenix Witch emerged from the doorway. Her entire body was covered in a mass of black feathers that swayed and rippled with her movements. Gold jewelry and beads clinked around her neck; a carved wooden mask covered her face. Instead of walking, she seemed to glide along the floor like a ghost.
“They’re coming, aren’t they?” Cherri said.
“It’s likely,” the Witch said.
Cherri studied the body slumped over the table. The back collar of his jacket was scorched. The dog tags dangled uselessly off his neck.
“I don’t deserve this,” he said. “I’m sorry. I don’t deserve to go with you.”
“You need to make your peace, Cherri,” she said.
“I can’t,” he said. “I can’t do that. There’s no peace for what I did.”
“We all must make peace with ourselves eventually,” she said. “You’ll be spending eternity with yourself. You’re going to need it.”
Cherri smiled faintly. Then his eyes fell on the stack of VHS tapes, and his face darkened. A hundred images of Draculoids shooting Killjoys, beating them, executing them, burning their villages to the ground. The sound of the fires had crackled on the old speakers. It was the first time he had realized he could kill.
“If you want complete retribution, you’re not going to find it,” the Witch said. “No human can bring back the dead. But you’ve done your best to heal the suffering you caused in the Zones.”
The light from a pair of headlights suddenly cast across the room. Korse and Flare stopped talking. They drew their guns from their holsters and moved toward the doorway, which lead out into the main area.
“I’m sorry,” Cherri said. “I can’t do this. I-I can’t watch my friends die for me.” He looked desperately at the Witch. “I’d love to go with you. But I can’t do that. I’ve caused too much pain. And if they die, it’ll just be–more blood on my hands.”
“They made their choice,” the Witch said. “No one made it for them.”
“I know,” Cherri said. “But I’m not ready to move on. I can’t. I’m too restless. If I go with you, I’ll just become a wandering spirit.”
The Witch regarded him for a few moments. “You’ve always been a wandering spirit,” she said.
Cherri was about to respond when he suddenly felt a great suction, as if he were being sucked through a straw. The world spun and exploded and fell apart around him. Galaxies of stars flashed across his eyes. Then he snapped back into his own body, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin. A burn throbbed at the base of his skull, but he was shivering too much to notice. The sudden solidness felt like a massive weight, a hard shell closed tightly around his inner self.
Shouts and laser blasts exploded outside the front door. Draculoids must have been guarding the entrance. Cherri frantically turned his wrist back and forth under the ropes, loosening the bind. Then he tugged his hand out of the knot, wincing as the rope scraped against his skin like a rug burn. Just when he had pulled off the other rope, the door burst open and shots rang through the air.
Cherri jumped out of his seat. Adrenaline flashed through his veins. He looked frantically around the room, then hauled up the chair and ran up to Flare. Just when she had turned around, he smashed the chair into her helmet. Plastic cracked and wood splintered with an explosive crunch. Flare shrieked and staggered back, then tore off her helmet and threw it to the floor. Amber-colored shards stuck to her hair.
Flare raised her gun and fired at him just as a laser hit her in the back. She howled and whirled around, firing into the main area. Cherri scrambled back to the bookshelves. Shouts, blasts, and thuds filled the air behind him. He heard snatches of Kobra’s voice, but he was too frantic to concentrate. He swiped stacks of VHS tapes to the floor until he spotted a metal box buried under the pile. Cherri’s heart leaped with relief. The Soldiers had stashed cachets of ray guns around the building in case of an attack. He was about to grab the box when footsteps sounded behind him.
Cherri whirled around. He had just caught a glimpse of Korse when his ray gun went off, the flash momentarily blinding him. A burst of hot pain exploded on his collarbone. Cherri groaned and stumbled forward, clutching his neck. Shouts rang through the air. He frantically scanned the area, then spotted the TV on the crates. A scorch mark bruised the corner of the set.
Korse’s shadow fell over him. He raised his gun again. Just when the blast went off, Cherri grabbed the TV and brought it down on Korse’s head. A shower of sparks exploded from the set like a burst of miniature bombs. The screen cracked into shards. The wires sputtered and burst. Cherri staggered back, a dizziness washing over him. Buzzing filled his ears like radio static. His vision started to recede, then went black like a broken television, a flash of light shrinking to a pinpoint and then fading away into the darkness of the set.
—
Cherri stirred in the murkiness, then slowly opened his eyes. His head throbbed as if the inside of his skull had been scraped raw. Clutching his head, he pushed himself to a sitting position and looked around. Radio equipment, a string of lights, posters taped to the wall–when he recognized his home, he sank back with relief. Then the events of the past night came back to him, and he sat up with a jolt.
A tightness pulled against his skin. Cherri winced and looked down. Bandages were taped to his shoulder and the base of his throat. He reached back and felt a bandage at the base of his skull, where Korse had zapped him. The burn throbbed at his touch.
“Hey!” said a voice. “You’re awake!”
Cherri jumped with a start, then relaxed. Kobra stood several feet away in front of the hot plate. He poured instant coffee into the pot and stirred it. Then he tapped the spoon on the pot and sat down on the edge of the bed. Cherri noticed that his knuckles were bandaged.
“Hey,” Kobra said. “How are you feeling?”
Cherri coughed and patted his chest. “Pretty sore,” he said. “How about you? Are you guys okay?”
Kobra glanced down at his knuckles. “We’re fine,” he said. “Jet patched us up last night. He said that shot to the back of the head should have killed you, man. Doesn’t know how you survived it.”
Cherri reached back and touched the bandage. He tried to remember what had happened after Korse shot him, but all he recalled was a vague quiet feeling.
“How’s Korse?” Cherri said.
“Korse?” Kobra said. “He’ll survive. The radio said he’ll be fine. Just got a bad crack on the head.”
Cherri nodded, his eyes distant. An old ache had surfaced inside him, like an old bruise. He reached for the dog tags around his neck and rubbed a thumb across the raised letters:
AGENT CHERRI COLA
SOLDIER FOR PEACE
ZN 1 DIVISION
“I did it for you,” Cherri said. “That’s what I keep telling myself. I did it so you wouldn’t have to. So he wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Hey,” Kobra said. “Don’t feel guilty, man. He’s a killing machine. He would’ve mowed us all down.”
“That’s what they said about the Dracs,” Cherri said. “You know, every time I went out and killed them, I thought I was doing the right thing. And I thought I’d changed, man. But last night, it all came back. That Agent Cherri Cola asshole. He was right there. Waiting for me.”
Kobra was silent for a few moments. He started to say something, then stopped. Finally, he patted the back of his hand. His eyes were heavy with sadness.
Cherri turned one of the tags around in his hand. It caught the light and glinted like a nickel. Then he clenched the tags in his fist. He squeezed so tightly that the metal pressed into his hand, imprinting the letters on his palm.