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As Fox crouched just below the bridge, waiting for her newfound accomplice, she ruminated peevishly on the fact that she wouldn’t be needing to do this if Jackal had only kept his promise.
She had to blame herself too, just a little bit, because she used to be much better at coming up with plans that she could execute alone- but having a henchman had spoiled her. She could probably still come up with something feasible given enough time and peace, but she was hungry now, so a temporary henchman would have to do.
She’d met this one at a highway bar, and had had an immediate good feeling about her for no better reason than because she was small. Smaller than Fox, and skinny, which would normally be undesirable traits in a henchman- but the only person bigger than Fox whom she would ever trust with something like this was off who-knows-where. Damn Jackal! He’d run off after a rumour of someone from his past- she hadn’t been paying attention when he’d explained it to her- promising to meet her in Greene in a week. She’d arrived right on time, but he was three days late.
So here she was, and it was all his fault.
“Where are you headed?” was the first thing she’d asked the girl after positioning herself uncomfortably close- one chair down at a table that had five chairs available.
“How should I know?” she’d replied flatly, which gave Fox a very good feeling and reinforced her belief that she was excellent at picking out the right sort of person.
“I was just wondering, because you look as hungry as I feel, and I’ve got an idea for fixing that. It just depends on whether you wanna help me, and whether you’re willing to be going in the same direction as him .”
She didn’t point, but looked briefly over in the direction of the man who had just walked in and was standing at the counter. He was wearing long sleeves, but something in his posture gave it away. The girl followed her gaze over to him, then raised her eyebrows. “A courier?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“What’s the big plan?” A greedy gleam appeared in her green eyes; Fox shook her head.
“Tell me you’re up for it,first. It’s easy. You won’t even be in danger.”
“All right, I’m up for it. Spill it.”
Fox leaned back in her seat, looking as casual as she could, which was not as casual as she thought, but casual enough to get by. Under her breath she began, “I heard him talking to someone outside. He’s going north, taking the river road. All you’ve got to do is ask him to take you along…”
It had worked. He’d gone for it, just as Fox would tell herself she’d known he would. He was the sort who would; the goody-two-shoes type whom she trusted but hated anyway. Young, idealistic, the sort who’d joined the Guild just because he really, really wanted to do the right thing for the world. Of course he’d give a ride to a woman in need. The woman, though (whose name Fox suddenly realized she didn’t know)- she neither hated nor trusted her.
She wished she could see what was happening at that bar. Had they left yet? What was happening in the cab of that truck?
Her legs were starting to hurt. She’d walked all the way up here, through the scrubby woods to where the road turned to cross the river, and now she was stuffed into the tiny corner between the bridge and the slope of the ground. The river just below her was loud, but not too loud. She’d be able to hear the engine of the approaching truck, and the racket when he put on the brakes.
If he put on the brakes.
If what’s-her-name did what she was supposed to do.
There it was, filtering through the trees. An engine- and it had to be the right one, but she’d know for sure in a moment. It would be rounding the corner now, and the girl inside would suddenly exclaim that she forgot something back in town and could he please let her out here, she would go back, there’d be no need to wait for her, she’d find another ride- and he would hit the brakes, because he was that sort of person.
They were getting too close-
There! There it was- the loud roaring rattle as the courier hit the engine brakes, followed (to Fox’s delight) by the sound of the trucks’ wheels rolling onto the wooden bridge. Perfect! The timing had been perfect!
She dashed out from cover and whirled up onto the bridge, covering the distance from the beginning of the guardrail to the door of the cab in seconds and leaping in just as the girl was stepping out. The girl had been unarmed, but Fox was not. With the knife in her hand she caught the courier completely by surprise. His hands flew up to protect his face, but she swatted one away with the blade; he yelped and drew it back sharply, then held it against his chest with the other hand. That was good. It left plenty of space for her to press the tip of the knife against his neck.
“Back up, grab the door handle and open it.”
He was bigger than her, and she didn’t really trust the knife to protect her. She followed after him as he backed up in the seat, not letting up the pressure, until the door was open; then she urged him on with a shake of her head, and he stepped down onto the wooden slats of the bridge.
“A little further.”
He took two more steps back. She stepped down after him, then suddenly grew tired of the slow walking and drew up close, glaring into his eyes. “Now you can jump in the river, or I’ll kill you. Choose quick.”
She grinned widely, and that seemed to do the trick; he took two very fast steps back, then turned, ran the last few metres to the guardrail, and jumped.
It wasn’t far down, but the current was quick. He disappeared into the whitewater, and that was good enough for Fox, who turned around with a little hop and gleeful laugh. “Perfect! You did perfect-”
The view into the cab cut her off in confusion for a moment- the instant knowledge that something was wrong, that her mistrust had been justified, did not instantly come with an understanding of why. Her accomplice was back in the passenger seat, rummaging furiously through the console, throwing aside bits of trash and food.
A half-second later she pulled out a gun and pointed it at Fox.
“Do you know how to drive this thing?” she demanded.
Fox didn’t hear the question. Anger turned her vision red and her hearing to a roar; she wanted to plunge the knife into one of the bitch’s greedy green eyes- or maybe into one of her own, for being so stupid as to turn her back on her- but how else could she have done it?-
“You- you-”
“I said, do you know how to drive this thing?” Her tone was still so flat, so perfectly calm and matter-of-fact, that rage gave Fox her voice back.
“No, I fucking don’t!” she exclaimed, truthfully. She’d never had any interest in driving it away- only in looting it.
“Thanks.”
Click .
The click made no sense to Fox- not until the girl in the truck shook the gun, shrieked “God damn it!” and leapt through the open door. Then she had about a quarter of a second to process the fact that she’d avoided death through sheer luck before she had much more pressing things to think about.
The enemy surged forward and shoved Fox back, grabbing for the knife with her free hand. Fox felt the heel of her back foot hit the bridge rail and dropped, twisting, in a clumsy effort to throw her attacker over her and into the river; but the other woman dropped too, and they went down in a tangle of limbs.
There was still a knife in Fox’s left hand. While every other limb attacked indiscriminately, kicking and thrashing, that hand drove itself forward with every ounce of her strength. There was nothing held back. If the enemy’s grip had loosened for even a second, the knife would have buried itself in her throat, or in her eye, but her grip didn’t loosen, and with her slight strength advantage she pushed that hand down and down until she had it pinned.
Her free hand came out of nowhere. Fox saw the gun as a black blur through the haze of red, just before it cracked against her face and the back of her head bounced off the ground and the world went fuzzy.
The knife fell from her hand.
The enemy swept it up in a second and pressed its tip against Fox’s throat. She felt its cold bite and went still in an instant, and all the screams she wanted to scream, the blows she wanted to strike, piled up against the door and began bashing against it, clamoring to be let out.
“It was a good plan,” the enemy said, from somewhere far away. Her weight still sat on Fox’s chest and her knee on Fox’s wrist, but she was hidden behind a blur of tears. “Thanks for it. I’ll use it myself sometime.”
“Shuh th’ fuh up,” Fox muttered around a mouthful of blood. The enemy, amazingly, did; she also stood up, and the moment the weight lifted off her chest Fox rolled over and tried to get up. She got one hand under her before a foot planted itself against her side and pushed.
“No!” she screamed, understanding immediately what was happening and twisting desperately to get purchase on something, anything. The railing was right above her- she reached out for the horizontal slat with her numb left hand, then the foot pushed again and her fingers closed on nothing, and she fell.
It wasn’t far down, but the current was quick.
She had time to take in one desperate gasp of air before she hit the water and it swallowed her. Immediately any sense of direction or orientation was gone- not that she’d had a strong grasp on which way was up a moment ago. Tumbling head over heels, limbs flailing (one hand touched air for a moment, then lost it), she ran up against a rock shoulders-first.
The impact was jarring. Pain brought panic, but a sudden surge of anger kept her mouth shut and that last breath in her lungs. She wasn’t going to die, because she was going to kill that traitorous bitch, and she was going to make it slow.
Her fingers slid against the slippery surface of the rock. Her head was spinning- her lungs were burning- she felt her fingers touch air again, and then something grabbed her from behind.
Then she panicked for real, and screamed, and got more than a mouthful of river water as she was dragged up onto the bank.
The proper directions of up and down reasserted themselves once again. Through the blur of water she saw the shadow of the person who’d grabbed her and, with visions of murder and revenge still occupying most of her mind, did her best to attack. She felt her nails meet rough skin, and a familiar voice gave a shout of pain, and then she was lying on her side in the grass, coughing.
“Fox, what the hell?”
It was Jackal.
With the little bit of breath she’d managed to get back so far, she rolled over and tried to slap him. This is all your fault, idiot! Where have you been? Do you know what I had to do?
He grabbed her wrist and held it, gently. His face was coming into focus now; it was alarmingly misshapen, swollen on one side, mottled purple- with three stripes of red just under that eye where she’d managed to scratch him.
She felt a little bit bad. His next question put a stop to that.
“What happened to your face? ”
It was so stupid that she would have laughed in any other situation, but right then it only reminded her that the person who’d done this to her was still alive- and possibly still near. She glared at him between coughs, and waved her hand insistently when he opened his mouth to say something else.
He frowned, tilted his head and waited. He was sitting cross-legged, and the overall effect was ridiculous- and cute, but not cute enough to distract her.
“She’s- back there- at th’ bridge. Tried- tried to kill me-”
“Fox, Jesus, I’m sorry. It all went south over there, I didn’t mean to take so long-”
“F-forget it!” She sat up and stared at him, wild-eyed. “Just- just kill her. Please. She’ll still be there. At th’ truck. Kill her!”
“What truck?”
“At the- bridge! Hurry up- go, kill her, take th’ stuff-”
She was out of breath, but she seemed to have gotten her point across. He stood up, and she flopped back on the grass and shut her eyes and grit her teeth against the pain in her head.
And she has a knife , she thought.
He would be all right. He would manage.