K. McEntire - Lightbringer

“Bastard,” he groaned and kicked at the Walker’s robed legs, hoping to at least push the monster back a few paces and give himself some space to scramble to his feet. Luck was with him. The Walker’s knees buckled at his kick, slamming the monster face first to the ground. Lifting his leg as high as it would go, Piotr kicked again, aiming for the head, trying to ignore the wet rip of his heel breaking the thin layer of skin covering the Walker’s skull. “Stay down!”

“Piotr!” Dora shouted from her window. “Here!” Balancing her hips on the windowsill, Dora leaned forward and flung her arm out in a wide arc. There was a whistling noise and a brief flash of moonlight on silver as a butter knife from the pantry clattered to the sidewalk mere feet from Piotr’s outstretched and grasping hand.

“Fight to the death,” Piotr grumbled, darting forward and snagging the blade with the tips of his fingers, “and she tosses me a dull knife. Great.” Still, he knew what he was doing and even a dull knife was better than no knife at all.

The Walker, either sensing danger, or simply tired of the fight, flung a handful of pebbles and dirt into Piotr’s face, blinding him. Cursing, Piotr swiped his free hand across his eyes, scrabbling to see, but the Walker had used his momentary blindness as a chance to flee. The courtyard was empty once again.

Groaning, Piotr struggled to his feet. He sniffed the air but his scuffle with the Walker had left a dense smell of rot clinging to his clothing. There was no way he could track the beast by smell alone.

Trudging back inside, Piotr hid a bitter smile. It looked like the decision whether to stay or go had been stripped away. Thanks to his clumsy fighting, the Walker had gotten away and now it knew where some Lost could be found. It would be back. They had to leave.

Inside, Piotr was met with anxious, pale faces. Tubs, clinging to Piotr’s duster, huddled behind Dora, and Specs peered past splintery boards to the courtyard below. Piotr wanted to soothe them, to swear they were safe, but he didn’t want to lie. Instead he remained silent.

The silence grew too long. Abruptly Specs turned from the window, pushing his round frames up on his nose. His hair, dark with grease, fell over one eye. “That was the third time this week, Piotr. We should pack.”

“Da,” Piotr sighed. “We should.” He knelt down and Tubs flung himself into his arms, sobbing into his shoulder. Piotr stroked the back of Tubs’ hair and let him cry.

“It spotted me,” Dora said. “I saw it watchin’ me.”

“Most likely.” Piotr stood, Tubs resting on his hip, and hugged the little boy close. Life seeped into Piotr from Tubs’ skin in blue arcs, dulling his pain. The wounds on his arm began to slowly seal shut, itching like fire. “I am unsure but, yes, most likely.”

“Perhaps we might bunk down with Miss Elle or Miss Lily,” Specs offered, hesitant to bridge the topic of Elle to Piotr. “Or perhaps Mister James.”

The thought of begging his fellow Riders for a place to stay made Piotr laugh roughly. “James? I’d rather leave you on your own.” He set Tubs down and smoothed the wispy blond hair back from his forehead. “You okay now? Yes? Go wash your face.”

When Tubs had toddled off, Piotr reached out and enfolded both Dora and Specs into a hug. Specs clung tighter than Dora, trembling lightly, the remaining unspent years of life flowing into Piotr in small, sharp spikes. The itching on his arm faded, replaced with smooth, blessed coolness.

Piotr squeezed them both and then stepped back, alert and wary, listening for intruders. “ Spaseebo .” He gestured to his upper arm. “Thank you. For the aid.”

Uncomfortable, Specs shrugged. “It is the least we can do, Piotr. You’re welcome.”

“They, the Walkers, are getting closer.” Piotr crossed his arms over his chest.

“And smarter.” Dora chewed her thumbnail. “Remember, Specs? When we saw one of ’em grab that kid right outta a tree last week? They ain’t ever done that before.”

“Do you think it’s because of the White Lady?” Specs asked, pushing his glasses higher on his nose.

“White Lady or no, so long as you three are safe, I don’t care the reasons why.” Piotr ran his hands through his hair. He was still shaking, his mouth sour with adrenaline. The mill had been in a safe zone for years, but with the coming of the White Lady almost no place was safe anymore. The Walkers were everywhere.

“Honestly, I don’t know what to do. Walker territory is spreading and the mill is stuck between them.” Piotr leaned against a nearby wall, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. They felt gritty with lack of sleep.

“We ain’t strong enough to fight ’em.” Dora drummed her fingers along the kitchen countertop. “Ain’t stupid enough, neither.”

“Since we are running, we should decide where to go,” Specs said. “Which shall it be? Move closer to the bay or the valley?”

“I thought of that before, but there are too many of the living,” Piotr said, rubbing his hands across his cheeks, feeling the light rasp of hair that would never grow past a certain point, brushed by calluses that would never fade. Piotr pushed away from the wall. “You should weigh in. What do you want to do?”

Hesitantly, after several seconds, Dora hunkered down into a squat and, wrapping her arms around her knees, murmured, “I don’t mean to start no fuss, Piotr, but I wanna stay with Elle for awhile.” Before Piotr could protest, she hurried to say, “I know we’re safe with you, but there’s been a lotta Walkers ’round lately and you can’t be with us 24/7. We gotta be somewhere more, I dunno, more castle-like, you know? With a moat or somethin’. Def… dev… dependable.”

“Defensible?” Much as he hated to admit it, Dora had a point. “Specs?”

“Staying with Miss Elle does indeed appear to be the best course of action.” Specs took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. Like Dora, Specs was too thin and gangly, caught in an early growth spurt by a death that had come too soon. Eternally eleven. “No offense.”

Sighing, Piotr rubbed his hand along the wall, feeling the spots spongy with decay crumble away under his fingertips. Elle was not going to like this. “Net , there is none taken. Fine. Go pack up then and we’ll go in the morning. Pandora, please pack for Tubs?”

“Gotcha.” Dora and Specs drifted towards their quarters, leaving Piotr alone by the window. Lost in thought, he stared down at the empty courtyard and watched the swirling fog drift in from the bay. With a Walker down there somewhere, he knew there’d be no more sleep for him tonight. None at all.

Dawn came, lightening the sky to a pale grey, and Piotr carried Tubs piggyback as they made their way through the shriveled remains of the world. Picking a path through crumbling brick streets, they followed the whisper of surf breaking against the piers in the bay, leaving the mill behind. At first the going was slow; Piotr’s turf was around fifteen miles from where Elle and her own Lost squatted dangerously near the tourist zone, amid the life and heat of Pier 39 and North Beach, wading through the press of humanity that eddied like the tides.

A steady pace brought them just inside Elle’s territory by midmorning. The idea of leaving the kids so close to the haunts of the living bothered Piotr deeply, but Elle was particular about her space, and likely wouldn’t stand for another Rider on her turf for long—especially if that Rider were Piotr.

As if sensing his thoughts, an arrow speared the road inches from his toes, shooting shards of brick shrapnel in every direction. Piotr raised his hands high as the arrow quivered in the street, testament to Elle’s skill. Raising his voice, Piotr glanced left and right, trying to determine from which direction the missile had flown. “ Dobraye utro , Elle!” he called, striving to keep his tone light, cheerful. “Good morning!”