Maurice Broaddus - King's War

"Like I said before, for all your talk, in the end, you settle things the same way we do: with guns and fists," Dred said.

"I know. Most I can hope for is that when the cause is just, God will give me a pass."

"I'm afraid not, King. Luther's blood runs in both of us, my brother. There is a birthright to be claimed. We are Cain and Abel."

Brothers. Things began to make sense to King, but he didn't have time to digest the implications. He pushed the revelation to the side and rushed toward Dred, too close for him to get a clear shot. King used his Caliburn to close in on Dred's wrist, deflecting Dred's shot. The momentum threw him off balance, his gun drawn low.

Grappling in close quarters, Dred raised his leg with the hopes of throwing off King's aim, though King wasn't trying to shoot him. Dred straightened from his crouch after ducking a wild swing from King and slashed his weapon toward King's shoulder. King shifted to the side, blocking the pistol whip, and punched Dred. Twisting aside, bent at the waist, Dred's arms pinwheeled in a pendulum slice, crashing his gun-weighted hand into King's nose. Capitalizing on the lucky blow, Dred threw an uppercut which snapped King's neck backward. King sprawled on his back, dazed but still holding on to his Caliburn. When his eyes focused, Dred had drawn down on him.

"And so it ends."

"It doesn't have to be this way. We can find another way."

"King, the story ends the way all stories end: in pain and death."

"Please, Dred."

The sound of Dred's Caliburn firing caused King to fire. Lady G screamed. King managed to squeeze off three shots as the bullet punched through his shoulder and took a chunk of flesh out his back. Every action movie he'd ever seen had folks take bullets in the shoulder yet keep moving like they barely nicked themselves shaving. His arm refused to move, his fingers dancing off the edge of his hand to their own accord. Took a while to realize they throbbed to the pulse of his heartbeat. The pain exploded in his brain and all his body could do was drop where he once stood. The next bullet tore through his belly. He collapsed next to Dred, clutching his belly with his good arm. Dred's eyes stared at him, vacant and glassy, accusatory to the end.

Lady G ran to King. She stopped short when she saw how much blood there was. His mouth opened and closed. She dropped beside him, testing his hand in her lap. She held his hand, slick with blood, to his stomach, pressing to staunch the blood loss. He seemed so small in her arms. Dirty. Bruised. Not believing she deserved to mourn him, she let her tears run down her cheeks. Pulling his hand from hers, he brushed her hair from her face. A blood smear scored where he touched her.

"I got you right here." She put their hands on her heart. "I love you. You can believe that."

He knew it was too late for himself. He'd finished what he'd set out to do. He swallowed blood. His breath came in rapid flurries.

"I'm so tired."

He kissed her hand. "I understand something now. I wish I could start over and do everything right."

"I know. And you will always be in my heart."

A silence settled over the scene. Lott and Wayne wept in their own ways, to themselves. Percy sobbed uncontrollably. Pastor Winburn lowered his head. Omarosa slipped in and out of the scene to retrieve the Caliburns. Lott watched as she disappeared into the waters of the White River with them. She would find her way back to the lake. Paramedics pushed them aside to go through the motions of resuscitation, but it was too late.

King was gone.

Stories are made up by people who make them up. The ones that work, endure. It was a time of bloody battles. A time of dark brutality, when life was short. Chivalry. Honor. Courtly love. Loyalty. Courage. Humility. Ideals of an earlier age were not entirely lost.

At first blush, nothing much had changed about Breton Court. The neighborhood waited out the evil, let it run its course like a boxer punching himself out. They survived it. Once again, it survived the city's threat to raze it. The owners of many of the condos within, under pressure from the city and local ministers, sold many of the condos to local residents. There would be no slumlords here. Wayne walked to Big Momma's place to meet Lady G. The dedication was today. The laughter of children filled the air. Percy's little brothers and sisters played on the Slip 'n Slide as Big Momma hustled them indoors in order to get ready.

The Boars walked through the neighborhood with a lawnmower. It was probably stolen, but it was the start of him attempting to make an honest living. Wayne measured progress in baby steps. Sometimes a client smoking weed instead of crack counted as improvement. And cutting lawns definitely was better than working a corner.

"I know you made it to church," Rhianna said.

"I didn't see you," Wayne said.

"Yeah. I'm on sabbatical."

"That's what you call it now."

"Yeah, we'll be back next week. Up in the pulpit."

"You may want to ease into it first. Maybe make it to a pew."

"You know, some people running around here saying King ain't dead…"

"Come on now, he ain't Tupac." Though the thought warmed Wayne. "What do you think he's doing?"

"You need a unicorn that body surfs on rainbows. Along with a mule sidekick that is the keeper of all of the secrets of the universe. We need an enchanted castle with a moat full of Skittles because that's what the rainbow turns into once the unicorn gets home." Rhianna gestured wildly as if painting the picture in the air. "Picture it: King rides the unicorn after consulting with the mule on exactly where he needs to go and what mission to pursue. And no one can eat the Skittles except for the three of them, because everyone else who tries spontaneously combusts."

"Are you high?"

"It's been months and I've done nothing but talk to a one year-old. It's okay to learn to smile again eventually." Rhianna studied the sidewalk. "And I just miss Merle, too."

"Yeah."

"Girl, where you been?"

"Around. Got my GED. Plus I got a little one to look after. Can't be running the streets with you all. I heard you and Lott took over Youth Solidarity."

"Seemed like the right thing to do. The place looks nice. Got some government grant money and everything."

"You and Lott look happy."

"Yeah. Got our own place."

"He'd be happy for you both."

"You think?"

"Well, eventually. Man was still human."

"Yeah."

"Hard to believe it's all over."

"It's never over."

"They got Noles on the Lyonessa thing. Then they started pinning bodies on him. Fool took credit for all kinds of mess including Rok, Prez, and Fathead cause the cameras were rolling. You know those detectives thought they hit the lottery."

"Makes sense though. If he going away for doing the little girl, he's gonna want some bodies on him."

"You hear about Tristan? She up, too. Wanted to take the full weight for Mulysa. Walked up and confessed to the police. I told her I would walk beside her through this as much as I could. I spoke on her behalf at the hearing. Special circumstances and all. Asked for leniency, for the system to not give up on her."

"What the judge say?"

"Judge Rolfingsmeyer still gave her five. Three suspended. Plea with a self-defense angle. She almost got off entirely, except most ladies don't defend themselves with Riddick blades."

In a lot of ways, Tristan reminded Wayne of La Payasa. The last thing she said to him was "Don't worry about me. I get by." She never asked for anything. She earned it or did without.

They gathered at King's final resting place at Avalon Cemetery. At the top of a large rolling hill, steep like a green pyramid in the heart of the cemetery. One of the highest natural points in Indianapolis, it was crowned by a lonely mausoleum reminiscent of a ruined abbey. Beside it stood a tower. They called it the Isle of Apples. The image of a tree etched into the glass on the tower was Lott's idea. An eternal flame burned in its heart.