Roasting goat slathered in spices. Vegetable stews of butternut squash or peanut butter. Cornmeal sadza. Rock shandies made from lemonade, lemon slices, water and bitters. Mashed pea and potato irio. Pilau: rice spiced with cardamom, cumin, cinnamon, and cloves. Beef that has been boiling all day so that it practically dissolves off the bones. Goat offal with intestine spiced and wrapped around the stomach.
These are the scents that Mali Turner wakes up to. She has been up and about several times today, but for short periods to relieve herself or to drink some water. Each time, Lashawn has been there to look after her. But now, Turner's caretaker is nowhere in sight. No doubt, she is out by the food. From the glassless open window come laughter and the quiet sounds of friendly conversation. Most voices are in the strange local language, but she can also hear the occasional word or two in English.
Immediately outside the window is the open social space outside the church. Under cover of some well-spaced umbrella trees, everyone is dressed up in extremely bright colors, reds, blues, and yellows, and greens mixed with purple, but the two colors that jump out at her most are the golds and browns. Seeing these villagers reminds Turner of how Mari dressed that first night at her apartment. Getting into what few bright clothes she has – a golden yellow tee-shirt, and a loose skirt of silver, one only slightly stained from her prolonged life in the alleyways – Turner slips on her sandals and joins them.
Stepping outside the rectory where she and Lashawn have been staying, she finds Lashawn and Reverend Jiwe in a discussion, sipping some kind of drink. Before she can reach the pair, one of the middle-aged women of the village guides (with barely a shove) a young woman in Turner's direction. The girl's hair is wrapped up in a bright blue head scarf, and as she cautiously approaches, hands Turner a drink from a horn mug. The girl does not smile, but she gestures at Turner to take a sip. Not sure why the girl is so hesitant, she tries the beverage. Diluted lemon explodes in her mouth without the pucker of the sourness, thanks to the contrasting bitter herbs, and even without ice, it is deliciously cool. Once the sip is done, the girl hastens away, back to the party. Back in the USA, the drinks would be a mix of cocktails, alcohols and mixers of carbonated beverages, but here, everyone seems to be drinking the same thing, which is ladled out from a large earthenware basin that a large, cheery-faced villager is standing behind.
"Look who finally decided to join the party," Lashawn says to her as she finally joins the pair.
"Morning. Night? What time is it, anyway?" Turner asks, her attention suddenly drawn by a particularly handsome villager with large lips and far larger upper arms. "And why is everyone staring at me?"
"You lost yourself," Lashawn says, pulling no punches. "Attacked a bunch of people. Killed some goats. That kind of thing."
Turner looks around. Yes, the hostility is plain, but like the sourness of her drink, it is diluted, almost as if they recognize she were back to normal. Turner considers an alternative: they just want to be able to enjoy themselves without the madness that Lashawn has mentioned. "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't... I mean... I-"
"Do not worry yourself," Jiwe says in his calm, deep voice. "Your spirits have been defeated, and now is the time to relax and enjoy. Our people do not hold a grudge, even if some of the younger children do fear. Tonight is about friends, family, and food. Do not let your past prevent your enjoyment, for, I can assure you, ours will not ours."
"Thank you, reverend," Turner says despite the guilt borne from the cold looks of the villagers around her.
"To answer the more important question you asked," Reverend Jiwe says, glancing over at the setting sun in the west. The still light is painted in pinks, oranges, and purples, and with a thin wall of clouds out there, the drifts from the rains earlier that day, the colors sparkle with all the more complexity and beautifully. "It is about half past seven. We will be starting the bonfire soon. It is a focus for our revels and dances, and gives us the best lighting for the tales that will be told."
"What tales are those?" Turner asks, sipping at the drink with the barest of a shy smile. She has just caught Lashawn checking out the man she was just looking at.
"Those of our past. They are the history of Tantunu told through dance and music. Today is the celebration of Tantu's return to our tribe."
"Reverend Jiwe was just telling me that this place was protected by five totems. But that they were all stolen," Lashawn tells Turner.
"It was Tantu that returned the Fox and Flame totems to us. Sadly, the other three were lost to us forever." His deep-voiced chuckle is pleasant to hear. "But listen to me. I am spoiling everything before our masters can regale you with the legends."
"No you ain't," Lashawn says quickly, almost mournfully. She pulls her gaze from the specimen of youthful prime again. "We can't speak Zambesi like the rest of you all. Hearing these stories from your mouth before the tales is almost a requirement. Without this, we'd likely know nothing about what's going on later. Trust us, you're doing us a favor."
As Richard Jiwe tells the two foreigners about the mystical origins of his village, the three gravitate toward the enticing smells from the outdoor stoves, cook fires, and mixing pots. He also advises them on the proper eating etiquette for a feast like this, especially in regards to the almost exclusive use of their right hands during the meal. Once this custom is pointed out to them, they are quick to recall that they haven't seen anyone using their left hands to eat. Lashawn comments on the peculiarity of the customs of this place. Asking about what other oddities of custom define their lives here, Jiwe does his best to answer her question, but considering how easy it is to assume everyone does things just like themselves, it requires all three to present their own experiences and observations of their own cultures for the exchange.
Jiwe is the perfect host. He has a smile for the handful of elderly women of the village, and a quick gem of advice for the children, or a compliment to the teenage chef of the vegetable stew, and all while keeping his tales about the village alive for the two strangers. He switches back and forth between near-flawless English and the wonderful tones of the Zambesan tongue with ease, and never once slips in the source of his language. At one point in the feast, the girl who gave Mari a flower on the day of their arrival approaches them and offers each of the strangers with a small bowl filled with squash and corn. Jiwe asks her a couple of questions. To each, she replies shyly.
"She says that she made this special for the special women who have come here. It would do her an incredible honor if you would sample some now before she leaves. Especially you, Ms. Turner, as this is a peace offering, and one with some home-grown magic that may help you keep your demons at bay."
"We are the ones who are honored," Lashawn says, taking a spoonful. The richness of the vegetables have blended together with the spice of cardamom and a dash of cinnamon. "Oh wow! You really know how to cook, 'cause, girl, this is amazing!"
Turner nods fervently, and makes yummy sounds.
As Reverend Jiwe translates Lashawn's enthusiasm to the girl, she smiles broadly, says something and runs off.
"She cooked this herself?" Turner asks through a mouthful of food. "How old is she? 10? I don't think I could even cook eggs when I was that age."
"Say what we will about life in a village, these kids be growin' up right. An' healthy! I'm feelin' healthier than I think I ever done. No wonder all you boys are so slim and handsome."
Jiwe laughs indulgently at Lashawn's compliment. "We lack the stores of cities. And because we have only God's bounty in the ground and along the plains around us, it is up to us to feed ourselves. That teaches us to be responsible and since this is the only home many of us will ever have, we must protect it. It is for that reason that we keep our wastes as minimal as possible."
"That's another thing," Turner says. "Where are the garbage cans? No, look around, Lashawn, you see it too, right? The only crap around here are the crap from the animals, and the rest is grass or dirt, and it's so clean! I haven't showered once since I've been here, and I don't feel even half as filthy as I done on the streets."
"I thank you for your kind words about this place. We do create our fair share of garbage, but as I said, the food is eaten, the bones are kept for a number of purposes. The husks of inedible foods are used for growing the vegetables, herbs and grains that we eat. It is all in line with the traditions of this village."
"So what else can you tell us about this amazing little place of yours?" Lashawn asks, nodding at two young boys chasing a kitten. They, like many of the people here, are wearing brown and gold.
~
Eventually, the contented bellies signal the next phase of the celebration. With their hunger quelled, people start to migrate over towards the large fire pit set out in a large dirt clearing. So good are Reverened Jiwe's stories that both Turner and Lashawn feel they would probably do quite well on a pop test on the history of Tantunu.
"My father isn't boring you too much, is he?" Mari asks as she joins the trio. For the first time since their arrival, she is dressing the part of a local. Like many of the women here, the kanga she has wrapped around her shoulders is brown with streaks of black and blue and gold mixed in. Her hair has been pulled back and lays on her head with some kind of glistening gel, which the pair can only assume is fat from one of the animals here. She appears far taller and even more beautiful than she normally was. Lashawn, especially, feels a pang of jealousy at how easily she can wear whatever she wants.
Until now, Mari has been milling about, catching up with everyone she could. The past few days have been such a whirlwind, that she feels as if she has only begun to say the things she would like to say to fewer than half of her tribe. It is a constant game of catch-up, for with everything that she says, her talking partners provide her with three facts of their own lives. But, with few exceptions, all have been wonderfully welcoming of her, and before the celebration started, two older women who used to look after her in her youth came to make sure that she was properly dressed in kanga that they thought would complement her. Indeed, both Turner and Lashawn have noticed both how stately and beautiful she looks in her local clothing.
"Not at all. In fact, he's been giving us some pretty interesting details," Lashawn says. "In fact, I had no idea that your totem was so ancient."
Mari caresses the fox-shaped totem on the silver chain around her neck. "It is at least a few thousand years old. Nobody knows when Anansi crafted them all, but they are ancient. Perhaps they're as old as humanity, itself."
"Do you actually believe that Anansi is a god?" Turner asks pointedly.
"What would my beliefs have to do with his reality?" Mari asks, using a large leaf to scoop the remains of the delicious pea and potato irio from her clayware bowl. "The only thing that I care about are the gifts that the totem gives to me. And speaking of gifts, how are you doing?" Mari asks Turner.
"How am I a gift?" Turner responds, swirling her bitter lemon drink in her clay cup.
"Anita," Mari says, nodding at the young woman who helped them round Turner up. She is walking with the young man that both Lashawn and Turner were ogling earlier. Even more bizarre, she is smiling at him with the kind of youthful exuberance that all four have felt at one point or another. The smile is odd on the teenager but she wears it as well as she does the brown kanga draped over her shoulders. "I am talking about her magic. Is there any sign of Alice?"
"Thankfully, no. I can feel her back here, but she's not doing anything. There's no screaming or pressure, or anything. It's just me, me, and me."
"Good. The second you feel her starting to come around again, you let us know. Anita has offered to help us out as long as you're here."
"That's... actually pretty cool," Turner says. Looking over at the teenager, she catches her eye. The wide-eyed youth's joy at being with the tall drip of water almost begins to dissolve. Turner doesn't let this happen. She raises her glass at the teen and nods. The faintest hint of a smile appears and Anita returns to her hunk's story.
By now, what appears to be the whole village of maybe eighty have gathered around the large pile of wood set into the clearing. The men have all brought something with them, a drum, a woodwind instrument, or traditional weapons. The women have brought extra food on spits and containers filled with drinks. They also have brought the most wondrous masks, baked out of clay or carved from wood and decorated with feathers, bones, tufts of animal fur, reeds and grasses. The faces themselves have a wide range of variety, resembling birds or the faces of the big cats who live out on the plains, or elephant trunks, or even just the peculiar oddities of humans and the emotional range of people. Some of the men have already donned their masks and are doing early dances by themselves, or they run up from person to person and shake their bodies or wave their weapons in faces, to choruses of laughter and verbal jibes, taunts and encouragement. The most elderly of the village and the youths take seats on the dirt or on wooden logs arranged at the edges of the clearing. Turner and Lashawn are flanked by two women that look at once as if they are not a day younger than seventy, but with a second look, appear no older than twenty.
"If these two are any indication, Mari's going to be knocking them dead long into her triple digits," Turner says of the older women.
"I know. I hate her," Lashawn says. "The best skin I've ever seen, the most manageable hair, and just enough curves to tantalize."
"What are you talking about? You're curvy," Turner tells Lashawn.
"I got hips and flappers. She's a timepiece from top to bottom."
"Maybe so, but just because she's beautiful, doesn't mean that you aren't," Turner says, wrapping her arm around Lashawn in consolation. "And if you don't believe me, then you ain't looking at that handsome devil over there."
Turner turns Lashawn's head ever so slightly, to where a group of men are standing in the trailing tail of the sunset's light. She catches a man with a wide leonine face staring at her. Boldly, and to be sure just which of the pair he is staring at, Lashawn points over at the white woman next to her. He laughs and shakes his head, no. To emphasize his point, he points right at her. In the USA, she might be annoyed to be so clearly admired, but here, she can't help the flush that rushes up her spine.
"Oh, yeah," Turner whispers in her hear in a way that makes her blush even worse.
"Shut up," Lashawn says, elbowing Turner.
The old sangoma Kai at last returns to the village, dressed in a loincloth and painted from head to toe in white. The paint has been decorated in bright blue, yellow, brown and black details, arrows that go nowhere, spots that curve up and around his muscles, thick lines and large, unkempt blocks of color, all of which seem devoid of rhyme or reason. Kai approaches the fire pit and with some sparking stones, lights it up. There is silent appreciation of the man at his craft as the first flickers of light spread through the kindling and slowly work its way up the teepee of wood. The wood is arranged to be over eight feet tall, and it is not long before the golden flame is stretching far higher than this. Seemingly satisfied with his work, Kai nods at the group of men sitting at drums.
The introduction rhythm is deep and it catches Lashawn and Turner in three places. The first is their hearts. The deep percussion resets their heartbeat and puts them in a mood to dance. The second is their guts. It bounces the food in their bellies in a way that evokes balance of satisfaction and desire for something more. The third is in their loins. There is a sexual excitement that both feel reverberating through their bodies and up their arms and legs. Closing their eyes to the passion of the beat, Turner and Lashawn just let themselves slide into the existence of the rhythm. After several rounds of the thrumming music; clapping, foot-stamping, and thigh slapping add to the song. It is beautiful, and it soon diminishes into a slow beat.
During this musical pause, Jiwe steps out into the clearing and addresses all in the lovely language of the land. His speech is timed to the beating of the drums and the whistling of the simple woodwinds. Though Lashawn and Turner cannot make out the words, they enjoy the concert for what it is: a heartbeat in the breath of the land.
~
Red X has not joined the party. Such celebrations have always left him uncomfortable and on edge. To him, people are targets or teachers, maybe even allies of convenience. Large gatherings of people are much worse in that they encourage small talk. One of the main reasons he has refused to take off his costume in company is because he does not want to explain himself. Far better to be a haunting enigma than somebody's personal sounding board.
From where he is perched in an umbrella tree, he can see everything clearly enough. At least, as much as he wants to. The fire, he can tell, is a tower, roaring high up into the nighttime air. The tribal bassoon of the drums echo across the plain to him, and when the singing starts and ends and starts again, he can hear everything well enough for him. The talking, however, comes over the plains as a mumble. The mumbling bleating of the goats from the other side of the village are far clearer than the voices.
He thinks that Marionette will be there, and he tries to dismiss her as just another temporary interaction. The other night, when they slept together, he saw it as just another means to satisfaction, an alliance of convenience to help both individuals assuage any passions they had. It had certainly worked for him. But he was afraid that doing so might had aroused baggage in the psycho.
"Yeah, I knew she wasn't in her right mind," he says to himself and enjoys the electronic voice that comes out of the voice filters. It is an easy admission, one that he cares not one way or another for. It was what it was. Just another fact in the long, disappointing experience that was his life.
Still, he has to admit that being here was better than being stuck under Detective Jones' wing back in Detroit. He was thankful of the old man to help him out in this awkward time, but he knew the old man well enough to know that he would be looking over his shoulder every moment of every day. He was, after all, the second greatest detective on the planet. Behind the one that should have known better...
"Knock it off," Red X commands himself.
The specters of his past are something that Red X could not deal with right now. He needed time to think, and figure out where he was and what the next step was. He did not need another father figure breathing over his shoulder, passive-aggressively wondering when he was going to make his next step.
"Screw him. Screw them all."
Red sighs.
These girls – Vixen, Marionette, and Peekaboo – are not what he was expecting, but they are far better. Best of all, they have no idea who he was or what he has been through. It's for the best that way. And that's another thing that he's annoyed by in regards to Marionette. She has seen him without his mask. Though she wouldn't recognize him, she will probably remember his scars. If she talks to the others about them, that would be a bad thing. He resolves to talk to her first chance he gets, provided, of course, she's in her right mind at the time. The worst part of a psycho like her was that there was no telling when she was going to be normal or the alternate personality.
"I should have just hit up one of the villagers," he mumbles.
The drumming has stopped. Without them, the plains are quieter. There is wildlife everywhere, yipping and crowing from one part of it to another. Some birds are chirping, and through the nighttime filters of his goggles, he can see a pack of bats take flight. Overhead, silent in its endless expanse, the dense clusters of stars ranging into forever beat down on him. There is such quiet here, he almost feels meditative.
Not that he gets a chance to really explore such a state.
Off on the road, electric lights flash out, and with them come the faintest rumbling of engines.
~
"Trouble."
The robotic voice comes out from nowhere, and Mari nearly tumbles over as it rasps in her ear. "Jesus! Red?"
She has been enjoying the dancing and music, and was not prepared for her companion's surprise interruption. The story was of Tantu's victorious return to his people, and it was told with reed streamers to represent the fire coming from the flame totem. Tantu had just summoned forth a number of animals, whose powers he then donned by hopping onto their backs. It was both comical and wonderful, and everyone present had thoroughly enjoyed it. To be interrupted so violently aggravates Mari tremendously.
"We've got incoming. Jeeps. And something heavier. I'm counting about a dozen lights, but more may be on their way. It's an invasion. We need to mobilize. This isn't any Pilgrim welcome."
"Get the others into costume. And Empress. She seems somewhat taken by you."
Red X slips back into the night as Mari approaches her father. He is clapping along with the song and chant that a dozen girls ranging in age from five to twenty are dancing to. It has long been one of Mari's favorite dances, and she is sad to be stolen away from it.
"Father, we have visitors. We'll see if we can turn them away, but be ready for anything."
"We should offer them the olive branch, my daughter."
Mari frowns and retreats to her hut.
The drumming has resumed and festivities continue with no one seemingly aware of just what is bearing down on them. There is joy in the village of Tantunu, and nothing seems to be able to stop that.
The first vehicle on the scene changes that. It revs through the clearing with no regard to the people around. Before this wild metallic thing, the dancers scatter for cover. The Jeep spins through the area and finally comes to a rocking halt between the villagers and the fire.
Up the top of the vehicle, a woman with rounded cat-like ears pokes her head. She leans on the roll bar and looks down on everyone present.
"Hello, boys and girls. I'm sorry to say that your fun has come to an end."
As she speaks, the other vehicles drive through the various footpaths and roads, blocking all exits to the clearing. The blinding headlights have been trained towards the pillar of fire in the middle of the clearing, illuminating every single member of the village, who have begun gathering together. Murmurs of concern and the occasional shriek of surprise or worry have replaced the chants of celebration.
From one vehicle, a man steps forward. He is dressed in a green military fatigues complete with medals and shoulder tassels. He is older, in his sixties, and wears a moustache. For all the differences in his gait and in his deliberate stride, he could well be the brother of nkosi Richard Jiwe.
"I see you have started without me," the general says of the activities. "How rude a thing to do."
"Who are you to come here like this?" one of the young men demands of him.
"My name is Mustafa." He nods at the huts of the village, just a short ways from this bonfire clearing. "You know who I am. Kai the sangoma. Kunalli. Ujyui. You all know me. As do you, Richard. Richard." He almost spits that name out. "I remember your name when you were born, Jiwe. I remember back when you were only Jomo Jiwe, brother to Mustafa, son of Wangari. But then you had to go and change your name to fit in with your Christian passion."
Reverend Jiwe steps forward cautiously, with his hands spread out beside him. "Mustafa. My brother. It has been a long time."
"A long time since I was denied the power that was my birthright."
"You know as well as anyone that the power of the totems is not to be commanded. Those that become Keepers of their might have as little say in it as we have of commanding the weather."
"So you say. But what if you are wrong, brother? What if that is mere superstition like your God."
"I beg of you not to blaspheme in the presence of these people."
"I shall do what I want!" Maksai snaps at the man. "You have no say in what happens here tonight, brother. Just as you had no say in what was to become of me in our youth. Or did you? Did you know that your daughters would inherit the totems when they came of age?"
Reverend Jiwe lowers his head. Around them, the only sounds are those not made by humankind: the snapping of the firewood, the insects buzzing. Every human ear is turned toward the reverend.
But he has nothing to say.
"Silence. Is that the admission of truth? Is this you saying that you wanted these totems for your own children?"
"Maksai, you fool!" Kai snaps. The old man hobbles forward toward the invader. "You know that only one that is true of heart can be accepted as Keeper."
"More superstitious nonsense! Well, I have superstition for you, old man. What if I came here to tell you that those totems are now mine? What if I told you that you, and your daughters, and this skinny ancient bag of bones will be coming with us."
"I will be saying that we are not to be coming with you."
Maksai slips his sidearm from his hip holster and holds it up into the air. Slowly, he lowers the weapon so that it is aimed at the head of one of the women. "You are saying you wish to fight? That is short-sighted, brother. We have you vastly outgunned. There is nothing you can do but watch as your people die." The pistol's hammer clicks down. A boom blasts outward. The woman drops immediately, with a trail of blood splashed out behind her. Screams and sobs follow in the wake of her collapsing body.
"Dear God, Maksai! What...? Why...?" Reverend Jiwe cries out on behalf of the dead woman.
"No!" a shout echoes through the clearing as a dark form crashes down behind Maksai and trips him up. Vixen has arrived and she has talons wrapped around the general's throat. Her eyes flicker from the firelight and from the rage that has taken hold of her heart. Clutching the general before her, she makes her demands, knowing he is her only protection from the dozen automatic guns she finds trained on her. "Lower your guns or I will rip his throat out."
The body pressing against her chest vibrates with a low chuckle. "Mari McCabe. With a frightened Christian name, like your father, but yours is the surname. This is not quite how I pictured our meeting. No, that, I saw as more of you hanging upside down, stripped naked save for that totem on your neck."
"Shut up."
"That bauble on your neck belongs to me, you do know?"
"I said shut up!" she jerks her hand and several small trails of blood appear on the general's neck.
A grunt comes from the mass of villagers. The handsome young man that Turner and Lashawn were ogling staggers. He moves his mouth to say something, but something dark and deeply red pours forth from it. Gurgling in his own blood, he falls forward, and strikes the packed dirt with a heavy thud. The crack of an XM2010 Enhanced Sniper follows, blasting its slow way across the plains.
If silence had descended before, now there is madness. But just as the villagers rush forward to check on the young man, Peekaboo pops into view, grabs him and disappears again.
"Call your sniper off! Maksai! For God's sake, call them off." To emphasize her point, Vixen digs the points of her fingers into Maksai's arm. The cuts are deep and blood paints the sleeve of his green tunic.
"Never, you stupid girl. For while you think you may have the upper hand, you couldn't be farther from the truth."
Vixen's face grimaces in response to a sudden jerking motion in her arms. Unbidden and without meaning to, she releases the general, who steps forward and punches his metahuman niece in the belly.
"Insufferable cow."
A group of the soldiers parts and a massive black shadow moves toward the clearing. The villagers, already terrified and angry, back away from the sight of the immense mass of muscle and fur that is Grodd.
"I believe you and Grodd have met before, have you not? Grodd, I want her in working condition, but enjoy."
With pleasure, the massive gorilla thinks, stepping up to Vixen and punching her in the gut.
~
Tabu sighs. It is her custom to do so after a successful shot. Sigh, pop the bullet casing from the chamber, line up the next shot. Her Jeep is set out on a slight incline and she has her rifle steadied on the roll-bar. She was annoyed that there was no moving target, but with her first shot that took out the young man whose muscles looked to be potential trouble for their mission, the villagers have slipped into the harried mania of panic.
All day long, she has wondered what it would be like to come here and spend time with these people who her father grew up with. She wondered if she would care about them, or would be haunted by their slaughter.
Looking at them all, rushing forward to attack her father's army, they are no different than the goats that are domesticated here. She has no feelings one way or another. There is only the calm professionalism of a sniper at work. Her job is to ensure that nobody gets out alive, and also to have a little fun in the process. Sometimes sniping can get really boring. But being the best shot in her father's army, none of the other soldiers would be as good to sit back at the reserve point.
The two men who are here to guard her have already lit up cigarettes and are watching the massacre from under a nearby tree. They are quietly taking bets on who will have the most kills. The skinnier of the pair is talking about the metahumans they have brought with them. As the stockier of the pair puffs on his American cigarette, a blade whispers through the darkness and plunges into his throat. The other doesn't even notice. He is commenting on the Cheetah and tapping the wooden handhold of his AK-47. His comments descend into the realm of inappropriateness even as a metal garrote slips under his chin.
The suddenness of the soldiers' quiet is all the warning Tabu gets of a new arrival. Releasing her XM2010, she grabs the hilt of the flyssa sword strapped to her shoulder. She spins and slides the long-bladed weapon from its sheath just in time to deflect a bladed projectile.
"You will not stop us," she calls out into the darkness. She is using English in expectation that this is one of the Americans.
A pair of bladed Xs spin forward from the area around her, and just like the first, she deflects them with two easy strokes.
"You waste your time with me." She has retreated from the Jeep, to better distance herself from the direction of the blades. Another pair of blades spiral out at her. And as she deflects them, she takes two more steps backward. She can see nothing. There is absolutely no sign of her attacker.
"Whoever said I was after you?" a monstrous robotic voice responds.
In the silence that follows, Tabu realizes that the assailant has disappeared. Cautiously, she moves back towards the Jeep.
Her XM2010 Enhanced rifle is nowhere to be seen.
~
Peekaboo can't stop the tears. She thought that the hunk would be alright. She thought that if she popped in after his shooting, that she would find the injury to be only to be a surface wound. A shoulder shot, or at least something that he would recover from. She has propped him against one of the huts in view of the clearing and the brightness of the automobiles and the bonfire. His blood is a darker shade than the more cheery cherry red of the tribe's traditions, and she cannot even find any of that cheery dye. His chest is soaked clear through. The hole in his lung is deep and runs clear through to the other side, and his chin tilts lifelessly on his chest.
This is beyond where she had made it in her studies. She had helped stitch up some gunshot wounds in her first infield pre-residence, but she never had to deal with a GSW alone, let alone when the weapon used had given her absolutely no chance at patching up the victim.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she says, closing his eyes. Wiping her own eyes with the back of her jacket, she can feel nothing save pity and dark resolve.
Just then, there is a series of popping blasts. More screams follow.
"No... Hell, no! Not on my watch, you sons of bitches."
She turns toward the bright lights and a flash of motion catches her attention. Glancing to the right, down a short path between here and the explosion of gunfire, there is a beast racing at her on all four legs. It titters the barest laughter, and Peekaboo feels a touch of panic.
As the animal reaches her, just enough light settles on it for her to recognize the gnashing teeth and glaring madness of a hyena. Peekaboo comes to just in time to teleport out of the beast's assault. Spinning back toward the animal, she sucks in a deep breath and winds up a punch. As she pops out of the follow-up teleport, she slams her fist into the hyena's side, where there is only soft flesh and no rib bones. The hyena growls and tumbles to the side.
It does not remain there for long. It is far quicker than most animals that Peekaboo has ever seen – which is actually painfully few, considering her formative years in a city. Hyena throws a fist at her and though the blow is awkward and doesn't hurt, it does punch Peekaboo flying a good fifteen feet backwards, to tumble head over heels.
Swearing, Peekaboo gets back to her feet.
"You're one of them," Hyena observes, licking her chops at the saliva dribbling down them unbidden by her efforts to speak.
"You can talk?" Peekaboo asks, blinking back her confusion at finding a talking hyena speaking English to her.
"Arizona by way of New York. You?"
"Detroit," Peekaboo says, embracing the madness of the moment.
"Well, Detroit, let's see which of us bleeds more, shall we?" Hyena asks, crouching again for a lunge.
"I don't think so," Peekaboo says. Hyena lunges, and Peekaboo teleports as far ahead as she can, leaving Hyena far behind. As far as Peekaboo is concerned, there are far more important things to worry about than a pitched battle with a psycho New Yorker trapped in a hyena's body: things like helping people to escape from the cracking bullets that are exploding from the fire site.
~
Marionette tries to adopt the gorilla's powers and by doing so, counter the abuse he is heaping on Vixen, but she finds that she cannot. What she can do, however, is use Vixen's own powers. With the speed of a cheetah, she hurtles into the nearest of the soldiers, knocking the green-clad attacker flat on his back. As he falls, more show up. She thinks sadly that Vixen will have to hold her own for now. She's got plenty of her own problems to worry about as is.
And indeed, she does. Fast as she is, the trio of armed soldiers near to the one she just took down spray their bullets into the air around her. Several sharp stings erupt in the back of her arm and in her thigh. Pulling on the sizeable mass and armor of a rhino, she spins and kicks the trio back into their comrades. The embattled soldiers send gunfire ripping through the air even as they are crushed to the dirt and stamped on by the massive strength of her feet.
"Jiwe! Get these people out of here!" Marionette screams to the older man futilely trying to push the massive ape off his daughter. "Seriously! Leave us! We can handle- ugh!"
Marionette drops hard on one of the soldiers. Judging from the crackling from under her, she can only assume that the landing from her rhino-infused mass breaks several of his bones. She, herself, is not hurt, but she is dazed just enough for her assailant to slash at her face. The claws rip right through the side of her navy blue headpiece, but with her skin armored up as it is, the slashes barely scratch her skin. As the third blow comes down on her, she manages to catch the attacker's wrist and flip her aside.
The assailant lands on her feet in a crouch and stretches upright. Marionette is surprised to see a woman dressed in a black bodysuit, and hosting cheetah-like spots on her tawny furred arms.
"So the Yankee can take a hit. Colour me surprised," Cheetah tells Marionette. She turns her head to the men around her and orders them back, that the American is hers. "But personally, I would much rather colour this dirt with your blood. Especially as we don't need you."
"Nor do we need you," Peekaboo says, appearing before Cheetah and punching her in the face. She follows this with a one-two elbow and knee combination to the Cheetah's head. "Help Vixen. I'm going to start up the evacuations." Peekaboo doesn't even wait for Marionette to reply, she teleports out of there at once.
Cheetah looks up just in time to see Marionette rushing her. With all the might of the rhino still contained within her body, Marionette smashes Cheetah face-first into the dirt.
Gunfire has resumed, and Marionette turns to behold a number of men and women collapsing before the onslaught.
~
Red X wishes he had grabbed some ammunition for this sniper rifle. The five round magazine lasts mere moments. Luckily, each shot he got off powered right through one target and into another. He was able to at least kill or incapacitate eight of Maksai's soldiers.
But that done, he rushes forward into the fray, targeting the soldiers in green. From his gauntlets, he looses everything he has: X blades, explosive darts, electric stunning devices. It is just enough to distract a number of the attackers into training their firepower on him. His armor is bulletproof, but there are only so many hits that he can take: just because it stops the bullet from penetrating into his skin doesn't mean that he can take too many impacts from the high velocity projectiles.
He slips in among the soldiers, where he unfurls a barrage of tight close-combat blows. He mows through seven soldiers before he gets his first real competition: a man in a black bodysuit and unusual facemask that closer resembles a hangman's hood with knives projecting upwards from its sides than it does the standard espionage mask.
He slashes both high and mid at Red, but there is just enough telegraphing in the assault for Red to drop down low, dodging both slashes. Tumbling forward, he kicks the man in the chest, knocking him into a two-step retreat. He is fast with his diagonal downward swipe – so fast that it sings in Red X's earpiece and drags across his chest.
With no damage. The man is good with his dual machetes, but lacking the same kind of enhanced body armor that Red has, Red knows his upper hand is only a matter of time.
Brutale lunges at Red, who flips over and around Brutale's strike. Mid-air, he throws a cluster of ninja stars at him. Brutale's upswing deflects the projectiles. In a spinning retreat from Red's attacks, he pops one of his arms forward. The motion releases a throwing stiletto that almost penetrates the armor of Red X's thigh. Stumbling to his knee, Red manages to block the next several slashes from Brutale's machete with his gauntlets.
He wonders if his earlier assessment wasn't just a tad too optimistic.
~
Faced with certain death and a chance to protect one another and their village from the soldiers with their weapons of war, the men of the village have taken a stand. Armed with their drinking cups and the traditional wooden and stone weapons of the land, they surge at the attackers while the women and children surmount whatever kind of retreat they can muster.
It is a futile gesture, as the soldiers' bullets tear through them as easily as a knife through butter on a hot day. One young man pushes past the gunshot wound in his arm and manages to club one of the soldiers, thus taking his rifle. Turning it on the others, he empties the clip before the others rally and drop him with a barrage of gunfire.
Against odds like these, Peekaboo wonders how much she would be able to do. So she does what she can: she takes one target at a time. Teleporting in before the frightened scream, she stands before a fleeing woman and two girls.
"Come with me!" Peekaboo cries to them. They haven't much time. A squad of five soldiers are bearing down on them.
The woman looks at her, then at the soldiers. The ground erupts in shots aimed too wildly to be effective. She squeezes the children and shoves them into Peekaboo's arms. That done, she rushes the men, screaming at them. Rather than shoot her, the lead man knock her to the dirt. Peekaboo doesn't wait to see what he plans on doing with her. Clutching the girls tight to her chest, she 'ports as fast and as far as she can go.
She releases the children by a massive stone a good mile from the blaring lights of the vehicles and popping fireflies of gunfire.
"Stay here, and keep out of sight," Peekaboo says, gesturing toward what little cover the rocky overhang provides. She doubts the children will understand her words, but her gesture, maybe. They do. They are tearing up, but as they scurry into the trivial shelter, they manage to keep their sobs quiet.
"Two down," Peekaboo says with a deep inhalation. Girded up again, the air around her implodes and she is back in the chaos that the village has fallen into.
~
Grodd has been pounding Vixen for several minutes now. His fists hurt more than he would have expected from punching the face of a mere human, and she has shown surprising resilience to his blows if not his telepathic commands.
As he continues his relentless assault on the woman who utterly refuses to be knocked into submission, roots scrape their way from the ground and wrap themselves about his legs.
"Leave!" the old sangoma shouts at Grodd, gesturing at the roots, which have wound their way up to the massive ape's torso.
Growling, Grodd grabs at the roots and tears them away from him. Yet, for each one that grows, there is another growing up in its place, even thicker this time. With his hands failing to prevent their growth, he lashes out with his mind-witchery. Kai shakes off the blast and Grodd roars in annoyance with these humans and their stubborn refusal to cower before his might.
So he slinks to deception, and calls in a reserve of soldiers that have been hanging out near the transport. Summoned by Grodd, the soldiers dash away from their transport, and find Kai assaulting the great ape.
Their machine guns are aimed, meant to incapacitate rather than outright kill, and their bullets ricochet into the dirt, deflected off an invisible shield that the old man has wrapped around himself. Seeing the ineffectiveness of their weaponry, one of the soldiers unclips a grenade from his shoulder clip and tosses it.
Kai is blasted upward and back. He lands hard on his shoulder, and then Grodd is there, roaring at him with both mouth and brain. Under the surprise of the gorilla's assault, Kai cowers just long enough for his mind to drop their defenses. Grodd is in. Two massive fists come down on Kai: one on his head, the other on his chest. There is a satisfying crunch of bone and the rasping breath that proves that his control of his own strength is as good as it ever was.
Truck, Grodd thinks to the soldiers, even as he returns to the human that he has been smacking. She is struggling to her feet, but before she can, he slams his own foot down, right on her hip and belly. She grunts and vomits some of her meal. Then, sick of her and of having to put up with her fight, he grabs her by the throat and heaves her into the air.
You embarrass Grodd, he thinks at her.
He is crushing her throat so thoroughly that the swollen-faced human cannot speak. Her only effort of defiance is to grow claws from her fingers and slash at his wrists. The claws cut deep, but Grodd refuses to feel the pain. Instead, he sucks back a deep breath and as he releases it, channels all the telepathic powers of his mind directly into a single point between the woman's eyes.
His presences in her is as violent as a hurricane through a reed house, and her eyes roll back into her head, as her arms fall limp to her sides. Satisfied, Grodd flips her onto her shoulder and walks off to the transport on both knuckles and feet.
~
Empress can't do it. She can't go back out there. Already, she has lost her family to one bunch of killers. Now, a new group of murderers have come to the doorstep of her village with the flashing blasts from their noisy weapons. She has fled, terrified, and feeling tremendous guilt. As she cowers in the hut she shares with her grandfather, she winces at each crack of a gunshot, cowers deeper into herself with each scream of the people that have always been around her.
Kunalli. Ripped to shreds.
Ujyui. Crawling away with one hand while the other clutches to keep her sucking belly wound from bleeding out.
Empress – no. Anita could do nothing for her.
Totantu and his younger brother, Tutao. Died as they lived, working together, impaled on the hooded man's blades.
Ilina, the nice woman who had helped keep Anita fed following the death of her family. Raped. Her scream echoes again and again in Anita's ears.
Anita tries to justify her escape to herself, but all she can manage to think is "I can't."
It was the kind of fate that was now keeping her from leaving the relative safety of hers and Kai's meditation hut. She did not want to lose herself to these men. And she could not concentrate to use her powers. All she can do is cower in shelter as the village explodes into death around her.
Mercifully, a rocket blasts through the hut. Its explosion is bright fire and the wood and mud of its construction burst around her, knocking her into a wall and blasting all sense from her.
~
Marionette is bleeding. She has been shot more than once, but still she fights on with the versatile animal powers of her mystical comrade, Vixen. She has no idea where her energy is coming from, but she is not about to let up with her clawing or punching or kicking, or running or throwing. There are still soldiers around her. That means that she is not done.
At first, there was almost a fun quality to this. With the first soldiers, it was just a series of tricks to see how quickly she could put them down. Now, even after those that she took out seem to be back on their feet, she wonders at Alice's penchant for loose morality. It isn't the worst idea in the world to make her attacks a little more fatal. She stays as close to the men as she can so that she can keep them from bringing their rifles to bear. With each parry of their knife swipes, she feels like she is lifting a lead rod, though it is only her arms.
She has been channeling the stamina of a wolf, but the repetition of the movement, the back and forth, the dodging of the soldiers' blows, and of always trying to keep at least one soldier between her and the muzzles that could end her life with a single blast of light – all of this is conspiring to drown her stamina out. There are simply too many soldiers.
"Back off!" Cheetah growls. Her face is a bloody grimace. She lunges at Marionette and sinks her claws into her shoulders. Marionette squeaks in pain before letting Cheetah's weight and momentum flip the pair over. As they tumble, Marionette channels the strength of a gorilla and buries the cat's head into the dirt. Sadly, it is not enough to take the cat down.
Cheetah kicks out and catches Marionette across the head. Spinning away from the kick, she can feel her cheek cut and bleeding.
Cheetah growls as she gets rises. The woman is dressed in a black body-suit without any sleeves. On the belt at her hip, she wears a golden rope that catches the light of the bonfire. Snapping it free of its leather thong, she slides a length of the rope out so that the small loop at the end can spread into a much larger one.
"What are you going to do with that?" Marionette asks with far more defiance than she is feeling.
"Wrap it around your neck and drag you through the streets of this village until you're dead."
"Dream on, kitty cat."
Cheetah hurls the end of the lasso towards Marionette. The blond slashes at the rope with the claws that she is borrowing from Vixen's powers, but her claws scrape harmlessly over the rope. The lasso wraps right around her wrist and pulls tight, snaring Marionette but good.
"Uh oh," she mutters just before Cheetah jerks at the rope, tugging the young American hurtling towards her. With only a fraction of time to think, she dons the stiletto-skinned protection of a porcupine. Cheetah's fist collides with Marionette's face with enough force to send her careening away from her, much like a ball on a wooden paddle, but her defensive choice was a good one.
Cheetah screams as a dozen needles carve their way through her hand and wrist. So terrible is the agony that she forgets about Marionette for the moment, to concentrate her attention on plucking the sharp needles from her hide.
Marionette takes the momentary break afforded her by her quills to figure out how to get out of the rope. When the strength of a bear and the talons of an eagle can't budge the rope, she then turns towards something a little more maneuverable and appropriate for her old role as the Hatter's Alice: a caterpillar. The flesh of her arm bubbles and contracts as it easily slides out from the grip of the golden lasso.
"Ew," Marionette says, resolidifying her arm and kicking the lasso away.
"Kill her," Cheetah commands the soldier standing beside her. She has managed to pluck some of the quills from her hand, but there are still plenty to keep her attention. "Stupid Yank."
The soldier acknowledges Cheetah's command by lifting his RPG to his shoulder and trains it on Marionette. There is only about thirty feet between the two, and from this range, there is no way that he will be able to miss.
She suddenly feels terribly faint, and wonders if coming to Zambesi with Vixen was the best choice she could have made in regards to a prolonged and successful life. The last thing to go through her head before the explosive hits her is "What animal could survive this?"
~
Maksai is pleased with the destruction around him. The time for indiscriminate murder is over and now it is just time to round up the loose ends. The Jeeps have been redeployed from the clearing so as to canvas the area and dig up whatever villagers might have gotten away from the initial slaughter. Squads have dispersed into the village and have begun rooting through each of the huts for survivors. The soldiers have their way with the survivors even as the huts are put to the torch. All around him, smaller bonfires have popped up, and with each passing minute, more appear.
Tabu, sadly, had to leave her sniper's nest, thanks to the attack of one of the Americans, but she has been busy ensuring that their targets: Mari McCabe and Kai, have been rounded up and are contained. There is still no sign of the other sister, Ella, but that is not the end of the world, for now, at least. All that is left now, is his own brother: Richard.
"General," Tabu says, coming up to him flanked by two men. "We have found your brother and the children."
"Excellent. Where are they?"
"In the church. Shall we blow it?" Tabu asks.
"Blow it? Don't be absurd. I did not come here to kill him. Bring a squad and a transport. I will speak with my brother."
As invincible as a god, Maksai enters the church. He is greeted with the cocking of a gun.
"Leave here, or you will die," Richard says, holding an old shotgun to his shoulder.
"Die? Would you really foul the house of God with such a violent act?"
"I would do anything to protect these children."
Maksai takes three steps forward, so that he is fully inside the dirt-floor praying house. Simple wooden benches act as pews before a small wooden dais without any decoration save a single upright podium on which rests the Bible. As he moves, Tabu and a squad of five men fan out. As one, they train their weapons on the children cowering for whatever cover the benches can cover.
"I think there has been enough death already tonight. Surrender yourself and these children will live. You have my word."
"Your word is a good as Judas's."
"Then I swear upon the power of the totems that tonight, these children shall come to no harm. Surrender, brother. Do not make one a target."
Richard Jiwe hangs his head. There is nothing more for him to do. Leaning forward, he places the shotgun on the dirt of the church. As he does so, Tabu steps up behind him and rotates his arms downward so she can put handcuffs on him.
"This will end badly for you, Mustafa," Richard says as Tabu guides him outside.
"I don't see how it could possibly do so, brother. Men, take the children. I want the transports out of here in five minutes. Any that do not willingly climb aboard can be shot."
After the children have been removed from the building and herded into the transports, Maksai takes a plastic container of petrol and splashes it all over the building, onto the wooden pews, and all over the dais and the book laying on it. Pleased with this, he exits the building and with the flick of a lighter, stabs the cultural heart of his hometown. It is bittersweet victory to see the church erupt into flames, just as his youthful hopes erupted when he was denied the totems.
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