Ann Aguirre - Havoc

“That shouldn’t have happened,” Tam said quietly.

“No talking until we cross the border.” Her voice was stern because it had to be.

If she spoke of Ike right now, she’d crumble, and the others would see that the Dread Queen was a myth of other people’s making. They would glimpse her feet of clay, and maybe they’d stop following her orders. With the mercs coming in hard, Mungo on the warpath, and Silence wanting to cut her throat and drink her blood, she couldn’t afford to show weakness even if each step hurt as if she had spikes embedded in her heels. With each breath, she inhaled a dead man’s fear, a dead man’s sweat, until she wanted to tear off the helmet and cast it aside and just scream until her throat bled.

She kept it locked down.

The sentries stood, looking worried, as the Peacemaker knocked down the east barricade. Wordlessly, she escorted her crew past, stepping over the wreckage as if the mission had been a success. Jael came last, with Ike cradled against his chest. The old man’s chest was a black hole, the shirt fused to his skin in a charred pucker.

“I can rebuild the junk wall,” Ali said.

The Rodeisian female seemed to carry the weight of the sacrifice on her broad, furred shoulders, and she must be of the opinion that she needed to give something back. But nothing could ever be enough. Dred just nodded as the Ithtorian set to work beside Ali. She trusted them enough to see the job done properly and continued on to the common room, with Tam and Martine flanking her.

The Queenslanders cheered when they noticed her decked out in full merc armor, even more when Martine and Tam lofted the rifles they had recovered. But the crowd fell silent when Jael stepped forward and laid Ike on a table. He leaned down and touched his brow to the old man’s, a quiet moment that probably meant things she didn’t understand. Then Jael straightened and closed Ike’s eyes for good.

With the last of her self-control, Dred pulled off her helmet. She hoped she was wearing her Dread Queen face, not revealing all the pain and sorrow she felt at the loss of the only good man inside Perdition. There were so many things she wanted to say—and so few would fit the image she wore like a crown of thorns.

“How many among you did Ike help?” She paced among the men.

A rumble of affirmative answers swept the room. Their faces were shocked. Ike wasn’t one you imagined would die in battle, defending the territory. And in truth, it had been more of an execution.

Congratulations, Vost. You gunned down an old man.

She went on, “The question is, what’re we going to do about this?”

“Take the fight to them!” all of Queensland shouted.

Easier said than done.

But she gave away none of her fear, none of her reservations. She didn’t mention the grenades or the big guns. The Dread Queen took over, preaching blood and retribution. She spoke in ringing tones until the men were calling her name over and over. It didn’t bring Ike back, but it drove the shock and horror out of their faces, replacing it with righteous anger. Perdition might be a hellhole, but she’d carved out a place, and she would defend it with her last breath.

There is nothing more ferocious than men defending their homes, Commander. I hope you’re ready. As Martine would say, it’s about to get bloody up in here.

“That . . .” Jael squinted at the man who was struggling for words. He couldn’t recall the lunk’s name, but he suspected he was one of Grigor’s leftovers. They tended to be hulking, though nothing to compare with Einar or Cook. Still, he had hefty arms and hairy shoulders, a fact he seemed proud of.

“What?” he finally prompted.

“You’d never have seen something like that where I came from. Grigor used to have us fight each other for a place at his table, a chance to eat decent food.”

“To the death?”

The other man nodded. All around them, men were singing rowdy drinking songs in honor of Ike, though truthfully, his demise was just an excuse to bust out the still, and that roused a bleak, deep rage in Jael that he couldn’t explain. So bloody unlikely that I’d meet a decent man in here, but there you are. And he died for us.

“Never anything but.” The other man had a deep voice, gravelly, and beetling black brows that met over a hooked nose.

Ugly sod.

“Sounds pretty hellish.”

“You get used to anything.” The man wore a thoughtful expression. “Under the Great Bear, you’d never witness anything like what that geezer did for you lot, either.”

“Let me guess—he thought it was weakness to stick your neck out.”

“More or less.”

“It’s not like that here,” Jael said, trying to ignore the three men at the table who were slamming their fists on the table to punctuate the raucous noise they called music.

A vein in Jael’s temple throbbed.

“So I see. I need to talk to the boys.” But he didn’t tell Jael what he was thinking because he was turning to pound somebody when Calypso vaulted up onto a table.

“While I love a party, we need to honor a brave man, Queensland-style.”

“What’ve you got in mind?” someone shouted, while another asshole hooted at her, too far into his bottle to realize what a bad idea that was.

She leapt lightly down and stalked toward the poor idiot; Jael almost felt sorry for him. But at least the noise died down in her wake. The shit-faced dimwit had the temerity to grin up at her, like catcalling at the mistress of the circle was a good idea. Her smile was feral as she swung back an arm and backhanded him out of his chair. His booze spilled as he hit the floor; nobody said a word as he scrambled backward.

“Yeah, proper respect, that’s what I’m talking about.” Calypso swept the room with her dark gaze, then added, “For Ike, of course.”

“Of course,” Jael murmured.

The woman hopped onto the nearest table, ignoring the men who had been drinking there, then she raised her voice in a rich and lovely alto. “His day is past and gone / The evening shade appears / Oh, may we all remember well / A night of tears draws near.”

Almost timidly, a few voices chimed in. Apparently, this was a well-known song though Jael hadn’t heard it before. The slow, mournful memory opened up a hole in his chest as Calypso nodded, encouraging the others to join the chorus. She’s right. Ike would like this better than the wake we gave Einar.

She sang on, “We’ll lay his garments by / Finally, he is at rest / Death will soon disrobe us all / Of the little we possess.”

Depressing as hell, that. Having caught the tune, Jael hummed since he didn’t know the words.

“Mary, keep us safe this night / Secure from all our fears / Her spirit guard us while we sleep / ’Til morning light appears.”

The mistress of the ring bowed her head, and the rest of Queensland did likewise. For the full space of a minute, Jael heard nothing but convicts breathing, quite a rarity with his senses. Nobody whispered or coughed; a few men even had their eyes closed, as if they might be praying. Closest this lot has come to a church in turns, no doubt. The thought held a certain dark charm.

Then she flashed the others a big grin. “Back to drinking, you sots. That’s enough reverence.”

TAMcould hardly bear to stay at Ike’s service.

When Einar died, it was bad, but he’d known Ike even longer and had come to realize that he didn’t belong in Perdition. Yet like all the rest, he had no hope of escape aside from death. After Calypso’s serenade, Dred spoke all the right words, honoring his memory, and they carried him to the chute. For a man like him, there should be something more, something better, but Ike went like the rest, down, down, down, meat to feed the beast that was Perdition.