Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

“No,” Winter said. “It’s just me.”

He swung for her gut, hard. Winter had expected that, and she lurched to the side enough to take only a glancing blow. It still made her double over in pain.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Davis said. “You were in my company for years, Saint. You know I can smell a lie. Did you kill Buck and Will?”

She managed a breath and straightened up. “Will’s dead. Buck we’re just sitting on.”

“Shit.” Davis pursed his lips. “Why in God’s name would you do that? I mean, kill Buck and leave Will alone, that I could understand. Buck’s an asshole. What did Will ever do to you?”

“It was an accident.”

Davis laughed. “Right. It was a good trick, sending Warus back around. The captain scares easy. ‘Go and check on everyone,’ he says. I told him we had nothin’ to worry about, but he wouldn’t hear it. Officers.” He looked like he wanted to spit. “Hey, you’re an officer now, aren’t you? Is it true they replace your brains with beef jerky?”

“Give it up, Davis. You and Roston are finished. Lieutenant Warus told us everything. It’ll be all over the camp by now.”

“Yeah? Did he tell you that this asshole”-he indicated the colonel-“was planning to march us into the desert with no water and no plan? When the boys hear that, which way do you think they’ll jump?”

Winter chewed her lip. The hell of it is, he might be right.

“The captain figured that if we gave the colonel a chance to talk at ’em, it might confuse things some,” Davis said. “So we thought it’d be best to let things take their own course. Natural, like.”

“When Graff and the others get here-”

“They won’t be coming,” Davis said. His fat lips twisted in a smirk. “Reason being, I sent Peg and some of the boys to make sure nobody stirs up any trouble.”

Winter shook her head in mock amazement. “Mutiny certainly seems to be your forte.”

“Sergeant,” Davis growled.

“What?”

He gave her a feral snarl, baring his teeth. “Call me sergeant. Just because they pinned some stripes on your shoulder doesn’t make you better than me, you little shit. Get down on your knees and beg, and maybe I won’t shove your face through the back of your skull. It’s Sergeant Davis.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Winter said, trying to sound unconcerned. “The way you’ve been talking, you can’t let me out of here alive.”

“No.” His lips spread wider, into a rictus of a smile. “No, I’m afraid you’ve got me there. But you can feel free to beg, if you like.”

Fuck. Winter looked up at the bulk of him and wanted to shrink into a ball. Fuck fuck fuck. He wore a knife, too, but he hardly needed one. The huge scarred fists were weapon enough. The piled debris blocked any way out except through the narrow gap by the tent flap, and Davis stood squarely in the way. If I can get him out of position, maybe. . Outside, she would have a chance. The sergeant was strong as a bull, but he was slow. I can get away.

She blew out a breath between her teeth and dropped into a half crouch. Slowly, ridiculously, she raised her fists.

Davis barked a laugh. “Is that how it is, Saint? You and me? Man to man?”

“One of us is a man, anyway.” Winter bit back a peal of hysterical laughter.

“You shouldn’t try to make me angry. It’ll only go harder on you.”

“Harder than dead?”

“Well,” he said, scratching the side of his nose. “There’s dead, and then there’s-”

He lashed out in midsentence, a savage jab that snapped Winter’s head back before she could even think about ducking. White light flashed behind her eyes, and the taste of blood exploded in her mouth. She didn’t even feel herself falling, only more pain from splinters and nails prodding her from behind as she staggered back into one of the piles of debris.

“Dead,” Davis finished, rubbing his knuckles against his uniform coat. “Who are you fucking kidding, Saint?”

He approached, but cautiously. Winter, sucking air through a split lip, tried blearily to gauge the distance. When she thought he was close enough, she brought her knee up in a jerky try for his stomach, but he slammed his palm down on it so hard that she felt something crunch. Tears leaked from her eyes, and she stifled a scream.

“You still don’t think much of ol’ Sarge, do you?” Davis’ smile was brutal. “I may be old and fat, but you don’t get to be old and fat without learning your way around a fight or two.”

He reached down, batting aside her feebly resisting arm, and took hold of her collar, twisting the fabric of her shirt in sausage-thick fingers. Winter dangled bonelessly from his grip as he raised her to eye level.

“Well, Lieutenant?” he said. “Anything else to say?”

She spit a stream of blood, right in his eye. He reared back, roaring in protest, but retained his grip. Her feet scrabbled, half an inch above the ground, gaining no traction. Over his shoulder she saw one of the tent poles, barely within her reach, and she grabbed it and pulled . The unexpected pressure wrenched Davis around, and Winter’s feet touched the ground. She pushed off hard, trying desperately to escape from his grasp, her collar twisted tight around her neck.

Something gave way with a rip , and suddenly she was free. She dropped on all fours and scrabbled forward, heading for the tent flap, but before she could get there she felt a hand grip her by the ankle, dragging her knees out from under her and leaving her flat in the dirt. A second later a kick exploded into her ribs, rolling her over and onto her back.

Every breath was an agony. Something in her chest felt broken, shifting uneasily with each heartbeat, and there was a line of fire around her throat. She coughed weakly and tried to raise her head.

“I don’t believe it,” Davis said. “I don’t fucking believe it. You have got to be joking .”

Winter managed to push herself up on her elbows. Davis was staring at her, incredulous. In one hand, he held a bloody scrap of fabric that had once been part of her undershirt. The buttons of her coat had given way, and it had fallen open, leaving her exposed from neck to navel.

“Saints and fucking martyrs,” Davis swore. “What the fuck , Saint? Are you some kind of freak?”

She tried to reply, but her mouth was full of blood. It trickled down her chin and dripped onto her bared breasts. She spit again, weakly, spraying blood all over the sleeve of her coat.

“You mean all those times we were out on patrol, just us boys in those cold tents, there was a nice warm cunt within five feet and I didn’t know it? Fuck , Saint, you could have told me. I might have been a little nicer to you.”

He looked at her, surprise slowly changing to disgust. Winter forced herself to stare back, unblinking.

“No wonder you were always looking down your nose at us. Buttoned-up little bitch. Laughing at dumb ol’ Sarge behind his back.” His lip twisted. “I ought to fuck you good an’ proper, to make up for all those missed chances.”

Behind Davis, something moved. Winter looked past the sergeant, and in the lamp’s flickering shadows she caught sight of the colonel. His hands were still bound, but he’d somehow freed his legs, and one of his feet rested on the knife Davis had taken from her.

Their gazes met. There was no surprise in his gray eyes, no disgust or fear, just quiet concentration and, she realized belatedly, a question.

Winter nodded, saw his acknowledgment.

Davis’ hands were on his belt, apparently in an agony of indecision. He shook his head.

“Sorry, Saint. I don’t think we’ve got time-”