Apocalypse Dance Read online

  Hands came for him, but he wasn't where they were grabbing. He'd moved fast, grabbing his gun and rising to his feet. His legs shook and the gun in his fist wavered unsteadily.

  Weak. Heart hammering, reality spinning wildly in his sight.

  No danger. Not from the big man. The ice and flame of impending threat was absent, and he let the gun drop to his side.

  The bigger man stood slowly, hands empty. Bells watched him, the pair regarding one another with new found respect.

  "Yeah, Nikki was right. You are like me.” A ruddy nimbus of light limned the man's form, a bird composed of brilliant yellows and ruddy orange superimposed over his body, the wings a spread of red and orange fire.

  "I won't hurt you,” he was saying as Bells rubbed his face with his free hand, trying to make the strange vision go away. “But I sure would like to know what you are."

  "Myself,” Bells answered, watching the dark-haired man and the strange whirling fire around him. There wasn't any heat, but a nagging voice at the back of his mind told him there easily could be a blast furnace's fury unleashed on him if the bigger man desired to do him any harm.

  "Yeah, maybe you're still too scrambled to remember much. You hit your head really hard."

  The blond nodded, but didn't say anything.

  "You hungry?” Hawk wanted to know. The fiery nimbus around him faded.

  The blond shook his head, the bells ringing softly.

  "There's a creek that way, about fifty yards. I'd suggest taking a bath before the blood starts to stink. There's soap and shampoo in a milk crate in the back of the truck, and some towels, too. Go easy on the shampoo if you can."

  "Sure. Thanks,” Bells replied.

  The image around the man had gone, but he remembered what he'd seen.

  Fenyx, his mind whispered.

  Immortal.

  Just like he was himself.

  Chapter Two

  Still asleep, Nikki heard a sound like wind chimes, the gentle ringing tones soothing her as they'd done when she was a child living with her parents. A faint smile curled her full lips, and she started to dream about better times, childhood, playing with her sister, and their ginger-colored cocker spaniel.

  A crash of noise, metal on metal, brought her awake, snapping her back from the joyful memories of the past to the brutal reality of the present.

  "Dammit, Chet, what the hell are you doing!” Dal demanded angrily.

  Sighing, Nikki checked her shoes for unpleasant life forms, spiders mostly, which she hated. Sometimes there were scorpions, though, and none of them took chances. The bedroll beside her was empty, Anya gone, probably to start breakfast. Outside she could hear Chet whining about trying to fix the truck despite the fact it was still too dark to see well enough for that kind of work.

  Chet wasn't really a bad guy, just insensitive, occasionally childish and socially challenged—especially around women. But some days she wondered why in hell they kept the walking poster child for social ineptitude with them and couldn't think of one good reason. Today was, from the sound of it, going to be one of those days when they all wondered why they hadn't abandoned the idiot, other than the fact that Hawk wouldn't leave anyone to the dubious mercies of his brother, King Roderik.

  Really, though, Chet wasn't a bad guy to have around. He even managed to do something sweet or funny from time to time.

  Anya stuck her head inside the tent, “I see you're finally awake."

  Nikki gave the woman a little smile, “Yeah. And I wish I wasn't."

  The woman stepped into the tent, “I know, Nikki, life sucks, but when we get to Horton it'll be better, you'll see."

  "Yeah.” She didn't point out that they'd thought things would be good at Sugarsprings. They'd encountered the same male chauvinistic crap there that they'd been getting since the Collapse. There were so few people left that every jot of progress the human race had made toward equality between the sexes—much less the races—had gone the way of the dodo. Probably the result of there being so few women of childbearing age left that they were treated more like expensive cattle than human beings. Bought, sold, and traded like prime stock: breeding stock to be precise. She'd been on the way to a wonderful career as a doctor. So much time spent studying at college, working hard to make the grade, striving to become the best doctor she could become ... for what? The whole world had gone down the toilet.

  People had blamed the medical profession for the world's woes. Doctors were murdered by panicked idiots, her own best friend gunned down in the street right before her eyes because she'd been unable to save a man's wife and son.

  And now here she was in an old dilapidated tent, associating with people she would never have known, traveling across a plague-ravaged countryside, heading for a town that wouldn't be any different than anywhere else.

  Men were once again the domineering brutes they'd been in the more primitive feudal times, and women were reduced to being bought and sold, mere chattel.

  At least Hawk and the guys weren't like that, not even Chet for all his other social faux pas.

  "You okay?” Nikki asked Anya.

  "Me? Yeah. Yesterday was just...” Anya gave her a wan smile, “bad I guess."

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah. I'm sure. I didn't know what got into me. I just saw him and, I don't know ... freaked I guess.” Anya sighed, fidgeting with her own bedroll rather than meet Nikki's stare.

  "Anya, you want to tell me what it is about him that so set you off?"

  There was a sudden glitter of tears on her the other woman's cheeks, but she shook her head, refusing to answer.

  "Anya?” Nikki made her name a question as she scooted closer, putting an arm around her friend's shoulders. “Talk to me. What's got you so bugged? Who does he remind you of?"

  "Was it that obvious?” Anya asked, glancing at Nikki.

  "A bit, now that I'm thinking about the whole thing. You usually aren't quite that rattled by strangers. Now tell me what's wrong."

  "The guy that sold me to Roderik. He had long blond hair and blue eyes.” She closed her green eyes, hands clenching the bedroll so hard her knuckles went white. “This guy ... looks a lot like him."

  "Is it him, though?” Nikki asked, wanting to be sure they weren't harboring trouble.

  "No,” Anya admitted, but she didn't sound very confident.

  "I know you said he kept you drugged."

  "The scar across his cheek is missing, his hair was shorter than Hawk's. I think he was taller, too, but I'm not positive. The height might be right. I don't know, I haven't seen this guy standing."

  "Didn't you say he had a tattoo on his back?"

  "Yeah. Black wings."

  "Well there aren't any tattoos on the blond. Not anywhere."

  "Oh.” Anya wiped at her face. “Like I said, I was drugged all the time."

  Nikki patted her friend's shoulder. “That's okay. We understand. He probably doesn't even remember."

  "I just ... wish he'd go away."

  "Maybe he will."

  "You might want to come and check on him, Hawk says he was up and about last night. Unsteady, but able to walk."

  "Really?” Nikki got her shoes on and followed the other woman out of the tent.

  "Yeah, but he's sleeping now. Hawk talked to him last night. He says he's going to live."

  Nikki nodded, “I figured that. There was a lot of blood, but he wasn't hurt that bad,” she lied. The man should have died from the head wound alone. The fact that he hadn't only confirmed her suspicions. He was like Hawk.

  Anya went to get something started for breakfast and Nikki went to check on the blond.

  She found him lying wrapped up in the blanket where she'd left him last night and stood there, watching him sleep. Relaxed, asleep, the hard lines of his face had softened making him appear younger, more vulnerable.

  She wondered what it would feel like to crawl in beside him. She found herself imagining what it would be like run her hand over his firm flesh, to ki
ss every inch of his skin and feel the golden hairs spangling his belly tickling her nose as she kissed her way lower.

  Warmth blossomed low in her belly, and she shivered, feeling her cheeks heat at the delicious thought of making love with the sleek blond.

  Thoughts of Roland intruded and she snapped our of her reverie to find intensely blue eyes to regarding her calmly. There was no sign of any lingering affects of the head trauma. None visible, at least.

  In the light of dawn it took her a second to realize he was clean, the blood gone from his face and hair. He was also wearing a different T-shirt, faded and torn, patches of tanned skin peeking through the cloth. And his hair, which was loose, fell almost to his waist. In the dimness it almost looked white, but she knew it was the pale gold of cornsilk.

  "Hawk told me you tried to patch me up."

  "I did,” she agreed. “How do you feel?"

  "Like day-old roadkill."

  She listened to his voice, a velvet smooth baritone. He'd have made a great voice actor or telemarketer if things hadn't gone to hell, and she found herself wondering what he'd done before the Collapse. He was good-looking, too; he might have made a great actor.

  Then she remembered how fast he'd been with his gun last night, despite being badly injured, and decided that she didn't want to know. No one got that good with a gun in just over a year's time.

  "I should probably check you over, just to make sure you're healing cleanly."

  He shrugged.

  Well, he's not much of a talker, she mused.

  "What do you guys want for breakfast? We've got ravioli or chili, unless you want me to use the last two cans of spaghetti,” Anya asked loudly.

  Nikki looked at the blond, “Any preference?"

  "Not hungry,” he replied.

  Yeah, he's like Hawk. He won't eat after he's been hurt that bad either. She eyed him speculatively, wondering. If he was like Hawk, exactly what form had his soul taken? What had Hawk called it? The Heart of a Warrior's Soul. Yes, that was it.

  He'd explained to her that every great warrior born had within his soul the spirit of an animal, and that even the lesser beasts, like foxes, falcons, dogs and cats could give a man enough of an edge in battle that he became legendary. The more powerful the beast, the greater the warrior became. He'd also told her that even women could have an animal spirit tied to their souls, and said they usually became great healers or movers and shakers of society, rather than the killers men were prone to become given that ability.

  Further, he'd gone on to tell her about the immortal Forms: Unicorn, Fenyx, Winged Serpent and Dragon. They were all quite rare and seldom did one Immortal meet another of the undying, for that was what they were, indestructible once the power within their souls was awakened. If it never was, then, like anyone else, they died.

  She sat down and studied him thoughtfully, wondering what his immortal form was. Hawk had told her the Unicorns were easy to spot because they usually had a streak of white in their hair, or oddly colored fingernails. The blond had neither.

  Sitting there, watching him staring off at nothing, she wondered how old he really was because he had a face that didn't look a day over eighteen.

  Hawk had once told her his age, and she'd had no recourse but to believe him considering she knew his brother, too. They'd been born in the 1940s and it was 2014 now. Neither of them looked a day over forty though they were both well into their seventies.

  "He's like you,” Nikki said softly, noticing that the blond was watching Hawk.

  "Like me?” He wasn't looking at Nikki, eyes still focused on the taller man.

  "Immortal."

  "You know about that?"

  "A little."

  He swiveled his head to regard her then. “Tell me what you know."

  "He's a Fenyx and won't die, even if something should kill him. You're like that."

  The blond gave a slow nod then glanced back to Hawk. “He's not the only one, is he?"

  Nikki blinked. “No, he said there were other animal spirit people. He's met two foxes, a tiger, and a bear.” She refrained from mentioning that Dal was the tiger. It wasn't something the stranger needed to know.

  "That's not what I mean."

  Then it struck her that he was really talking about Hawk's brother, King Roderik, the only other Immortal she knew about. “No, his brother's a Dragon. A nasty one, too. Very powerful. Hawk can't fight him alone.” She frowned at the memory. “He tried and ... lost."

  "Figures,” the blond replied. Only one word but there was so much vitriol in it the tone that it came out sounding like the most vile curse. It made her wonder why he'd be upset over something like that.

  Why she did it she couldn't have said, but Nikki reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, touching him gently. He felt cold under her hand. “Want to sleep more?"

  He nodded.

  "You can use my bedroll in the tent. It's warmer."

  He picked up his gunbelt, and as he rose slung it around his hips in a maneuver that held the smoothness of something done repeatedly for far too many years. It was all done in one fluid motion that proved, no matter how bad his injuries might have been the night before, he was already well along the road to recovery.

  "It's the one on the left as you go in,” she told him.

  "Thanks."

  His back was to her, but even she couldn't miss the sound of gratitude in his voice.

  "No problem."

  She watched him walk away, wondering what it took to make men like Hawk and the blond unleash the power of their souls. Hawk wouldn't tell her why or how he'd done it.

  And, somehow, she didn't think the blond was going to tell her either.

  * * * *

  Bells walked to the tent, his movements smooth, showing none of the pain he still felt. Showing weakness was anathema to him. Weak animals were prey animals and he wasn't anyone's prey.

  Not that these people seemed to be a pack of murderers. If they had been he'd have awakened stripped of everything he owned rather than wrapped in a blanket. And there was no icy burn warning him to be wary of their ulterior motives in helping him.

  They'd also seen him totally helpless and their only thought, for the most part, had resulted in them trying to help him. But trust wasn't something he gave many people. And he found himself idly wondering about who—and what—he really was. Why he reacted to things the way he did. But there were no clues surfacing out of the misty haze that was his memory, or rather the lack thereof. That was the most disturbing part about it. He couldn't remember anything prior to waking up in the grass. Nothing. It was as if his brain was a computer hard drive and someone had erased all the data.

  He was running on nothing but the operating system of his mind, and it bothered him. He could speak, was sure he knew how to fight, was certain he'd be able to repair the truck when he felt better, and he was equally positive he was going to have a run-in with an Immortal Dragon in the not too distant future. He also knew he hated fighting other Immortals, especially Dragons just as surely as he knew, somewhere in those mental system files, Immortals could die. All it took was another Immortal of the same type to accomplish it.

  A Fenyx could kill a Fenyx.

  It took a Dragon to kill a Dragon. Plain and simple. Hawk couldn't kill his brother, and his brother couldn't kill him. But they could hurt one another. Badly. He also knew with equal certainty that it took far longer for damage caused by an Immortal to heal.

  For the time being Bells was just appreciative of the fact there hadn't been any questions about why he'd lived, much less about why he'd healed so fast. Normal folks just couldn't accept that type of thing readily, and he'd had to run from people who'd tried to kill him for that very reason on more than one occasion. Just another of the things he knew had occurred without any remembrance of the actual event itself.

  At least with Hawk in their company there wouldn't be any of those questions. The man knew exactly what he was. Damned shame he didn't know what he wa
s, too, because it would have been nice to know something about his past, or himself in general.

  He found the bedroll and unbuckled his heavy boots, setting them aside with a sigh. It felt odd to have them off, just as it had felt odd when he'd removed them to take a bath in the creek. From that fact he surmised he stayed clothed most of the time. Ready for ... what?

  Bells lay down and closed his eyes, the scent of a woman in his nostrils mixed with the faint smell of motor oil. He was starting to associate that with everything they owned and he wondered if a bottle had been spilled among their possessions.

  They didn't have much from what he could tell. Neither did he for that matter. But they were willingly sharing what little they did have, and he couldn't help but wonder why they would do that. In his experience people didn't help unless they wanted something in return. And that thought made him wonder exactly what experiences had occurred in his life to make him so damned unrelentingly cynical.

  With his mind one big blank slate he didn't expect he was going to find out, at least not any time soon. Then again, considering the freakish way he'd healed—and how and why exactly was he Immortal, if indeed he was, and that was weird too, wasn't it? Maybe he'd have his memory back by that evening.

  He closed his eyes, seeking the sleep his body needed to make a full recovery from nearly dying. Not that he could really die, unless of course he was dying and his brain was simply entertaining him until the Grim Reaper could make the appointment to pick him up.

  A quirky smile curled his lips and he drifted off into the land of dreams where a really beautiful Asian girl frowned at all his mental melodramatics and scolded him for not wearing a helmet.

  * * * *

  "Where's Blondie?” Anya asked Nikki as she scooped chili into a bowl and passed it to Dal.

  As usual the cooking fire was set up well away from the tent. They didn't want any more accidents like the one that cost them their gear because the wind blew sparks into the tent and burned their sleeping bags. Before that was the time Chet got curious and poured kerosene in the fire to see what it would do. Two tents had gone up, along with some things that had been irreplaceable like Dal's picture of his mom, his solar powered CD player, most of their CDs, and the last canister of hazelnut cream cookies they'd been hoarding.