smokeSCREEN : bookFOUR

My mouth is suddenly dry. This is a big descision. My fingers hop on the keypad.

One. Zero. Zero. Zero. Ten minutes.

Execute? It flashes at me. Execute? Execute?

I hit the green button, and somewhere in my head, the wolf is growling at me;

Execute them all.

* * *

They should be spread out enough now for me to make a decent escape. As I whip up the stairwell I grab my boots and hop into them, making sure they're secure before I peek around the first-floor stairwell.

One… two… three.

I'll need to use the SOCOM on the third, and least. Too far away. Hm. The second one's got a rifle… Most likely get killed doing this. Fancy swordplay involved – but if I don't get to that bike I'm fucked regardless.

Fancy swordplay. I close my eyes and remember.

"Hallo!" I burst from the stairwell and leap forward, stabbing the sword quickly into the chest of the first. "My name is Inigo Montoya!" The blade slips easily out as I swing the blade across, severing the second one's shoulders from his torso. "You keel my fathah!" Before the rifle drops I grab it and whip around, raising the old gun to the old one at the end of the hall and squinting through the scope.

"Prepare to DIE!"

He's only just now turning around.

BWROMMMMM… The rifle blast is deafening, amplified by the metal lockers.

It may sound pretty stupid, but Inigo Montoya was always what I thought about when my dad started teaching me swordplay. Inigo Montoya knew his swordplay. It was all he lived for. To study it – perfect it – and exact vengeance on his father's murderer.

I sheath the sword and dash with the rifle down the hall.

A woman bursts around the corner, screaming wildly. She slashes at me with a custom-serrated butcher knife. "Augh!" The quarter-inch teeth rip open my left arm. I whip up the butt of the rifle and it catches her under the chin. It cracks down off her jaw to swing into my hand as I raise it to my shoulder. I pull the trigger and she flies back into the stairwell.

It's time to make my escape – but I won't get far if they have snipers on the roof. Best to clear out the roof.

I run into the stairwell where I parked the Dukati and gun the engine.

* * *

* * *

he comes alive / when the sun goes down / he gets it right / you know he's always down / he's got / one eye open and his ear to the ground / and he's / too cool for school

* * *

* * *

In an echoing boom, the Dukati bursts through the heavy metal access door on the school roof. I whip the rifle up.

There are two that I can see – and only one of them has noticed me. I hate using guns.

CHI-KA-BOOM.

Though I was a sniper for several years. The first one drops – the second turns. Long years.

I squint and squeeze the trigger.

CHI-KA-

I didn't particularly enjoy it. I just kinda' had a knack for it – y'know?

BOOM.

Her head flies back and she collapses, empty, on the old tarpaper.

Spinning, I have one eye at the scope as I strafe around the corner.

BOOM.

I peck off a third as he comes into sight from behind the roof access. I quickly walk sideways around the next corner.

BOOM.

The fourth falls. There shouldn't be a fifth…

BOOM.

That should be enough for a decent escape. I drop the rifle at my feet and dash back to the bike.

How long has it been? Couldn't have been more than five minutes.

Best to not chance it.

I shut off the bike and press my ear to the roof access door. They're coming up the stairs – two flights down.

Hm.

I need the bike, and it wouldn't survive a jump from the roof.

Or at least I'm not prepared to risk it.

I'll just drive over them.

* * *

"THERE HE IS!" someone roars. There are at least thirty or so old ones out here on the field. As I whip the bike around the north side of the school, turning onto the parking lot. I'm presented with at least another twelve. Some people are shooting. No one's hit me – I don't think.

They've moved the tank, and several cars are now in the parking lot. Including a convertible, carrying a dangerously slim platinum-blonde who's shouting into a radio.

Brie, I presume. Let's do some damage to the cause.

Shoving the staff under my utility belt I yank out the blade, kneeling forward and squinting at the floodlights they've got on their cars.

The Dukati blasts forward, and now she sees me. Sixty yards.

Now she's looking for something on the car seat. Forty yards.

Now she's found it – but she's still watching me. Twenty yards.

Now she pulls up an AK-47, and I whip the sword around in one huge arc, leaning in to her car as she leans back. For a moment – a split second – as the blade passes between us – as it's severing her wrist – missing her throat – she and I are in the same place. We are sharing something. Our eyes are the only thing that can be accurately remembered. If she is in pain, she does not show it. She is preoccupied with something else.

She is preoccupied with me.

And as I pass, I find that for a moment I'm preoccupied with her. So preoccupied I crash the bike over the hood of a parked car. I shoot across the hood and roll to a stop thirty feet away.

"STOP!" someone shouts. Or at least I think they do.

Fuck, that hurt. Got to get up.

"WOULD SOMEONE FUCKING GRAB HIM?!"

My vision finally clears to reveal the dim scene – made artificial night by the jagged scar of smoke that hangs over the city. At least forty old ones approaching, all with guns. Where's the bike? No time to go back.

"He's getting up!"

"Shoot him in the leg!"

BOOM.

Ow. Evil shot.

So running's out. I'll have to go back and hope for the best.

I raise my hands.

"I surrender!"

"Damn right you do!" Brie shouts back at me. "Drop your guns!" Someone's already wrapping her stump.

I drop the guns and take a limping step forward, my hands on the back of my head, near the sword. I begin to limp back towards Brie. Back towads the bike.

"Who are you?" she says, narrowing her eyes. "We haven't seen you."

"Why would you?" I ask.

"Because we've been watching westwood closely for eight weeks," Brie says.

Eight weeks? …that doesn't add up.

"He said his name was Inigo Montoya," one of them says. "He got at least ten of us." I roll my eyes, but keep limping forward.

"Just… just who the fuck do you think you are, you little shit?"

"I remember him," one of them says. A particularly old old one with a patch on one eye and only three-quarters of his original share of arms. "He was there with the five girls they sent us. He killed one of us and helped the others escape."

"Ahhhhhh so this is the swordsman," she says, looking from me to the roof. "Swordsman, sniper, headstrong, mystery. What else do you do?"

"I build bombs," I say. I'm five feet from the bike. But Brie may be smarter than I'd hoped. She peers at me suspiciously for a moment, and screaming, banshee-style;

"Get them out of the-

Just then, the walls of Westwood swell out as if it was trying to quickly inflate, only to explode in a shockwave of heat and glass.

I'm already on the bike, and it's already pulling around the car.

The wave of fire has subsided.

I'm already through the gate.

My arm and leg haven't stopped bleeding - I'll get to the Forks in fiften minutes on this thing.

In the attack, I'd almost forgotten the Forks.

I can make it seven.

* * *

* * *

i / hurt myself today / to see if i still feel / i focus on the pain / the only thing that's real / the needle tears a hole / the old familiar sting / try to kill it all away / but i remember everything // what have i become? / my sweetest friend / everyone i know goes away // in the end /// you could have it all /// my empire of dirt /// i will let you down /// i will make you hurt

* * *

* * *

The Dukati whips under the tunnel and out onto the square mile of free customer parking. Shots are being fired.

I rip into the main parking lot and between the Forks Market and the Johnston Terminal buildings, stopping directly in the crossfire. The guns are still blazing. Looking towards the Market building, five Weswtood members are down. Looking towards the Terminal, over nine Tower members are standing but three have fallen.

"CEACE FIRE!!" I howl.

Bullets are whipping past me. One takes a chunk out of my sweater. I've become more courageous around gunfire today.

"Get out of the fucking way!"

"STOP. SHOOTING. EVERYONE!" I scream. The sound dies down. Fewer shots. Now, none. "Everyone, just calm the fuck down!"

I hear someone coming towards me from the Market building. I turn just in time to see Dustin raise a shooter to my head. I yell out and tumble back off the bike, swinging out blindly with my sword. As Dustin leans back he raises his arms in defense. And really, this is what kills him.

If he hadn't pulled his arms up, I only would have slashed his jaw open from ear to ear, and not severed both hands just below the elbow.

At it happened, Dustin bled to death in seconds as I limp-scrambled over to the Terminal, a hail of bullets following me.

Shit. Dustin was a bit of a dick, but… oh shit.

I tumble behind a brick wall and press myself to the other side.

A Beta named Diane is crouched against the wall beside me. When she sets eyes on me, she immediately stands to attention.

"Cypress!" she says, bowing her head to me.

"Megaphone," I say. "Who's got the megaphone?"

"Lisa," Diane says.

"Well where's Lisa?"

"Inside with Floor Thirteen – it's their shift to sleep."

"HEY!!! STOP SHOOTING!!!"

A few stop. Most don't.

"STOP. SHOOTING!!! We're all just wasting bullets."

That stops thems. I lean my head out, hands up.

"Cypress!" Diane hisses at me.

"Is Jessie there?" I call across the lot.

"Speaking," he says calmly into a megaphone. I hate yelling.

"Jessie – no one has to die on either side. I'll figure out what I can here, then come over at sunrise and tell you what's up – cool?"

"Cypress, no-"

"Cool," Jessie's amplified voice booms back. "See you tomorrow, bro."

I hate it when he calls me 'bro'.

I look back to Diane.

"Where's my Floor?"

"On break. Straight on back to the right, Sir."

I cock an eyebrow but say nothing, limp-hopping down to where the Old Spaghetti House was. Pushing through the doors, there is a stunned silence as they look up from their table of beer bottles.

Michelle pulls her boots from the table and they all sit up and lean to get a better look – ten big eyes staring back at me – and smack dab in the middle the cracked-ice blues of Crow. I think my arm is still bleeding – I'm not sure – I know my leg is – I realize I must look like shit – but it goesn't matter – we're still having a stunned silence.

Crow's lips are silently moving – but not forming words.

Now all the candles seem to burn lower at once. Though they don't notice.

Lisa finally speaks;

"Cypress, we…"

And now the candles are out. And now I can't even see the beams of the floodlights outside. I can't even feel the floor. I don't feel anything.

It's peaceful.

* * *

* * *

i can try to get away / but i've strapped myself in / i can try to scratch away / the sound in my ears / i can see it killing away / all my bad parts / i don't want to listen / but it's all too clear /// hiding /// backwards inside of me /// i feel /// so unafraid //// annie /// hold a little tighter /// i might /// just slip away /// it won't give up / it wants me dead / goddamn this noise inside my head

* * *

* * *

My gloved hand grips the staff, and a long heavy robe hangs, simple and black, from the hood on my head to my ankles.

I'm heading up the side of a mountain.

It's cold. Freezing. But I do not feel unfomfortable.

I will get there when I get there.

Looking to my feet, I notice they are beaten, sore, and all I wear are sandals.

But that's alright. Perhaps I am a monk. It's a pleasing thought.

I make it over the top of one hill and finally look down on the valley. The monestary lays at the foot of the snowless basin, near the river. A few crops and gardens flesh out the dim colours behind the monestary. No walls protect it – it is pure to the world.

I feel heavy steps through the ground, but only hear light pads, and turn to see him.

He is a wolf. Nine feet tall at his humped, black shaggy neck. He stands like a man, on two legs much like those of a wolf. But with a massive barrel chest and huge, carved arms, with hands like a man. Each finger tipped with something that seems more like a talon than a claw.

I smile at him – he is a treasured friend. He claps a hand on my shoulder as we look down at the monestary below.

Untouched by the evils of the world, it is the last of the best of humanity.

And I look up and smile at him. A blazing orange and black fire burns in his eyes as he growls;

burn it ALL

I burst from my dream into reality and knock Sophie from the bed. She goes sprawling to the floor, along with the basin of water she was using to tend my wounds.

She silently sits up and raises a hand, already wrapped tightly in white bandages. A needle sticks an inch out of the thin but tight fabric.

"Fuuuuck…" She whines, gripping the needle with the other hand and drawing it out. Another full inch appears to have been driven into her hand during the fall.

"Oh, fuck, sweetie, I'm sorry," I start.

"Nono, it's okay. See? I'm already bandaged." She raises her hand – not a speck of blood appears on the virgin white fabric. But now I notice – Sophie's third finger is missing. What a trooper – I can't help but smile at her.

"C'mere – let's have a smoke," I say.

"Were you having a nightmare?" she asks as she gathers her things and places them back on the bed.

"Sort of," I lie. I've been having that nightmare for years. Not since I went to the Tower, though.

She finds a cloth and refills the basin. Careful not to slip on the spilled water, she hops back up onto the bed beside me, and refocuses a light she was using.

"Where are the others?" I ask.

"Out on duty – we drew lots to see who got to stay with you. Crow got the first automatically – then Lisa. Now it's me."

"Then what's with the needle?"

She pulls back the covers, nearly up to my crotch, to reveal a row of popped stitches in the new hole in my leg.

"Oh."

"You've been having nightmares all day and popping your stiches. We didn't want to give you any sedatives, 'cause you've lost so much blood."

"Oh." She returns to cleaning the newly reopened wound and drawing out the popped surgical thread.

It really hurts.

"Did you really sleep with Crow?" she asks now. I lay back and reach for my smokes, which have been conveniently placed on the bedside table.

"Yeah." I light a smoke. This really hurts.

"Why?"

"'Cause it was right," I say. She pauses at this before returning to her work. "Ow."

"How did you know?" she asks casually.

"Do you love me, Sophie?" I say. She pauses again, turning to me. Those brown eyes are huge. Dark. Innocent under the shadow of her toque. Her lip trembles.

She doesn't speak. She just nods.

"I missed you guys so much today," I say. "I love all you guys. I missed all of you."

"Did you miss me?"

"Yeah. I was wondering if you were listening to my discman." She wells up at this and pulles her toque down over her eyes as he lips tremble more, and a tear rolls over one to be wiped away at the last moment.

"The boys broke it," she finally says. "When they shot me." She holds up the bandaged hand – missing the middle finger. "And then I got a needle in my hand and you don't love me."

She collapses onto my torso, sobbing.

I pull the toque off and stroke her hair. I never noticed, but Sophie's skin is really smooth. I draw her up until her head rests on my undamaged shoulder, and we lay like that for a while.

Soon she's calmed herself, and seems content to simply hold me for a time.

"It's not fair," she says finally. "Why Crow?"

Her hand snakes over to grip mine, and she squeezes it.

"When I left the Tower yesterday… what did you want to do?" I ask.

"I… I wanted to run after you. Grab a megaphone and ask you to stop. To stop you from going."

"Okay. Now when Crow saw me leave the Tower yesterday – what did she do?" Staring at me, Sophie thinks about this long and hard.

"Okay," she says, nodding. "I'll finish up."

It still really hurts.

"But… then why not Michelle?" Sophie asks. I pause.

"What?"

"Michelle followed Crow. That night – about five minutes after you drove off, Michelle started after you. She didn't come back until just before we left the Tower."

"Ow! Is there any booze around here? Anything?"

* * *

Sophie finishes the repairs on my leg in silence, the permatoque pulled low over her dark eyes. After she's done, she lays my clothes on the bed with my equipment nearby.

"There's a general meeting of the Alphas and Betas at midnight," she says. "In the Old Spaghetti House at the bar."

"Okay," I nod.

"That's in ten minutes," she says, motioning with her eyes to her watch.

"…shit." I fumble out of the sheets to quickly slip into my underwear and take up my pants. I haven't noticed her approach, but a small hand is on my chest. I look up to see Sophie's deep, dark brown eyes blazing up at mine. The permatoque is clutched in her damaged right hand, and her hair falls randomly across half her face.

But her eyes blaze through.

"We could have been really happy," she says, her voice betraying her nerves. I nod. And she kisses me. One of the things that sticks out about Sophie's lips are the texture. So utterly soft and… welcoming.

I do kiss her back. But soon I stop, and let her fall from her tiptoes to the floor.

"We could've," I nod. She smiles lovingly up at me. "It woulda' been real cool."

This seems to satisfy her, and she points to her watch again.

"Eight minutes," she says.

* * *

I was stationed at the Forks for a time – I don't know it that well, but I find my way to the old restaurant with little trouble.

Limping across the indoor mall, I enter the Old Spaghetti House and hobble forward as the room goes charactaristically silent at my entrance. They're all gathered around the bar, pouring drinks. A long table has been set up with thirteen chairs. One for every Alpha and Beta here.

Michelle pushes out of the mass at the bar to limp towards me.

"You got one too?" I say, motioning to the bandage in her calf.

She nods, and pulls out the chair at the head of table for me as Crow takes the seat beside.

"How're you feeling?" Crow says.

"Battered but better," I grin, finding a smoke. "What's the meeting about?"

"Our options," Michelle says, taking the seat beside me.

"And who's in charge out here?" I ask. Michelle nods towards the other end of the table, as Lisa takes her seat at the head.

"The blond," Michelle says. "For now."

"Everyone got a drink?" Lisa says.

"Set," we bark together.

"Alright, we all know the situation. There's about forty-five of them over there, and twenty-one of us. Escape is impossible without help from the Tower." They all nod grimly. "What news from the front?" Lisa darts her eyes up to me.

"The old ones attacked Westwood just after I showed up there. They're about seventy strong now, most likely."

"And with their weapons, they're still more than a match for the boys or the Tower," Saku says. Hm. I hadn't noticed her here.

"Not alone," I say.