The Fired Gun

Warm, red blood crept through his fingers and stained the ornamental grip of his.22-caliber pistol. Pain arched up and down his arm from a deep gash near his elbow, and the whole limb was useless now. He had no idea how bad the wound might be or even if it might be life-threatening. But he suppressed the fear, shoved it down, and swallowed it like bitter cough syrup. Numbed it. Replaced it with rage. “You stupid tree-hugging piece of s**t!” he screamed in the target’s general direction. With his back pressed up against a metal cylinder, filled with petroleum, it wasn’t the most ideal defensive position. But he couldn’t risk putting himself out in the open. Not in his present condition. “Hand over the rocks! Right now! I’m not f*****g kidding!” Thunder boomed in the distance, a storm rapidly approaching from over the ocean. Though it was mid-afternoon in the now-deserted refinery, and a slit of light threw a yellow glow on everything around him, the sky appeared bruised with dark clouds. It could start raining at any moment. “Why would I do that?!” came a high-pitched voice that echoed off the tanks and machinery. It sounded deceptively girlish and innocent. But the woman in question was in her early fifties, and she’d already murdered hundreds of people. “I will f*****g kill you if you don’t! You’re out-gunned,” he lied. “Hand them over, or I’m gonna gut you, and I’ll take my f*****g time!” He heard a sickening laugh. “You would have done it already if you could, friend! And what is it to you? Why are you here? My work ensures that there will be a world for you to live in. It benefits you and every person in your life.” Footsteps on metal. In the distance, he heard sirens. Dizzy from the blood loss, Dakota squinted out from under a baseball cap, which hid his dark curls. It had the oil company logo emblazoned on the front. He spied the figure as she appeared to his right. Auburn hair, half-braided and messy. Light skin. Freckles. Something like a dress, made of heavy woven material and salmon-colored, overtop jeans. And three talismans spread out across her chest. She was rail thin, almost sickly. The bones in her shoulders and ribcage stuck out. Her eyes, amber brown and set back in her skull, pierced through the distance between them. He didn’t know her name. He didn’t want to learn it. She smiled, and wrinkles appeared at every corner of her face. “The people here are nothing but vermin, sucking the life out of this planet. But She has given me great gifts. She provided the means to defend herself. Don’t you see? Powerful tools forged inside her womb! And through me, She works. I can stop them. I can stop the black stains and the smoke and the poison, using what She has given me! It’s what She wants. I can feel it.” He gulped and reluctantly moved his gun hand away from the wound, knowing full well that the bleeding would probably increase. Pointing the weapon at her, “Mother earth wants you to murder people? People who have families? People who are just—just trying to make a living?! Hey, I’m all for green energy. I recycle. Do my part. But I don’t f*****g kill innocent people!” The woman laughed again, this time dismissively. “She is dying because of these people. These rats that crawl all over Her. That cut into Her. That burn Her up. All to make a quick buck. All to fuel their giant SUVs and keep their mansions at a perfect seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit. How can you call them innocents? They’re monsters. They’re a disease! And I have the cure. I have the solution, and She smiles upon me as I administer it.” Right. Another religious nut job. Dakota suspected for months that an environmentalist-turned-terrorist was responsible for the refinery explosions and drilling fires. But it seemed she worshiped the Earth. Personified it. Saw the talismans as some sort of defense mechanism generated for a human disciple to use in wiping out pollution and fossil fuels. He agreed with her politics. Of course he wanted a cleaner planet. Not only for himself, but for Kenna and her future. He hated global warming and species going extinct and all the other problems places like this caused. And he had no idea where the talismans really came from. Adelaide likely knew the answer, but she’d sooner take the information to her grave than share it with him. But none of that mattered. This misguided right-fighter had slaughtered hundreds if not thousands of people by now. Not only was she brutally killing defenseless people, but she did it openly and fearlessly. She used her magic necklaces in plain view of anyone who survived her wrath. Pictures were popping up on conspiracy websites. It was only a matter of time before real media outlets started reporting it. She had to be stopped. And anyway, it was his job. “Then why not hit them at night? Or go after the f*****g CEOs? Why take out the poor saps makin’ ten bucks an hour? I think you just like killing. Same as half the people I meet who wear those necklaces. You like hurting others. It gets you off. And you just use crazy s**t like that to justify it.” Honestly, her reasoning didn’t really make a difference. Though she’d got the jump on him with a small explosion—which, while wounding him, helped to clear the site of witnesses and additional victims for the time being—she could do no direct damage now. He was simply stalling, trying to form a plan of action. He only knew two of her talismans and what they did. One caused metal and stone to heat up rapidly, and the other could move air in and out of a closed space. The combination allowed her to create intense explosions out of pretty much any container with flammable ingredients inside. All she needed to do was increase the pressure and cause a spark. Luckily, it seemed one or both crystals needed time to recharge before being used again. It was a trait shared by many of the disaster talismans, which could only produce one or two big attacks before requiring a resting period. But the woman had a third, unutilized talisman, and its purpose was a mystery to Dakota. While she may not have been able to hurt him directly, thanks to his trusty defensive rock, there was always a chance she could find a way to do it by proxy, like with the blasts. He wanted to keep her talking while he decided what to do. Shooting a gun in a place like this could prove catastrophic, and anyway, he’d already spent half his magazine. Despite heavy use, Dakota still couldn’t shoot worth a damn. No amount of training or advice seemed to help. His hands were never steady enough, and his aim always left much to be desired, especially in tense situations. He had no problem pulling the trigger. The bullets simply disagreed with him as to where they should go. “The society of men does not care if machinery gets damaged. They will just build more. If Her cries are to be heard, there must be an audience!” Heard? Now that was an idea. Of the eight talismans currently at his disposal—mostly loaners from Adelaide—there was one he hadn’t employed very often due to its potential to harm bystanders, as well as its distinct lack of subtlety. But no one else was around. And he could think of no better way to immobilize his adversary. With a slight grin, “Na’zeck eta ma.” To him, the noise that his pale pink talisman produced sounded something like a church bell and a gong ringing in perfect harmony. It was pleasant. Almost comforting. But to anyone else? It surged forth in a deafening roar. It filled the area around them and exceeded any gun shot or blast in strength. At once, the flower power bomber dropped to a crouching position and covered her ears with both hands. But he knew from experience that nothing short of already being deaf would drown out the unrelenting noise. In fact, if he used it long enough, she might become just that. Gripping at his wounded arm, Dakota quickly strode across the empty space between them. Above the magic ringing, he heard something like a scream or whimper exude from the woman’s mouth. But he paid it no heed. “Ko,” he shut off the talisman. When she looked up with tears in her eyes, he pressed the barrel of his gun into her forehead, took a long sniff, and pulled the trigger. She dropped like a stone. He ripped the necklaces off of her lifeless corpse and shoved them into a brown leather satchel at his side. With his head spinning, he made his way out of the damaged refinery. Though fleeing the state would have been ideal, Dakota needed immediate medical attention. Thankfully, ambulances were now on the scene. He convinced a young paramedic that he was a new recruit on the job—which is why he didn’t have a full uniform or proper ID—and that he’d been injured by the blast. Once the guy patched him up somewhat, he took off before anyone could ask any real questions. It had been nearly two years of doing jobs like this. Before he could even begin, Adelaide insisted that he get in shape. He took to jogging around the city—his only real attempt at exercising. It was difficult and he hated it, but he could see the value in being able to run away if needed. She wanted him to lift weights, too, but Dakota refused, saying that he was strong enough for their purposes. After all, he’d killed the firebug with just a piece of metal. He started out small, threatening old rich people until they coughed up talismans that they didn’t even know how to use. His first real case was a teenager with a stone that could make people fall asleep. The kid had been traveling from town to town, putting people out, and robbing them. Dakota didn’t kill him, but he did end up shooting the teen in the leg when he came after him with a baseball bat. His first professional kill involved a middle-aged white man who was obsessed with making gigantic—and deadly—dust storms. He was a violent racist, pissed off that Latino people dared to live in his vicinity. He used the storms to target farm workers at first and then major metropolitan areas later. It took some time for Dakota to track him down, but when he did, it was surprisingly easy to kill him. He broke the prick’s legs with a crowbar, pointed his gun at the back of his head, and shot him. Ironically, one of the dust storms shielded Dakota from witnesses. Since then, he’d killed dozens of people, usually employing a combination of magic and guns. He became numb to it. Unfazed. Even when he got injured, like with the most recent mission, it wasn’t a big deal to him. So long as he survived and could return to Kenna and their home base, he considered it a win. * * * * “I will not hear a word of protest,” Adelaide insisted as Dakota tried to ignore her. “I cannot afford to lose your services. That woman should have been an easy case. Yet, you nearly bled to death.” “Do you really have enough friends left to take me out of the game?” he snapped back after a long attempt to stop himself. “Last time I checked, I’m the one person left on the docket to play hitman. At least the only one you’re willing to trust. So, it’s either me or no one.” He hated openly admitting what he did for a living, but everyone in the room already knew. With shaky hands, Dakota scooped some leftover lasagna into a bowl and shoved it into their communal kitchen’s microwave. “You can’t decommission me, Adel. You can’t. Even if I wanted out. You don’t have anyone else.” That last part garnered an eyebrow raise from Kenna, who sat on the sidelines at the kitchen table. She looked up at the two adults and straightened her posture. But she kept her mouth shut and instead bit into her lip. Adelaide shrugged. “I did not say I wanted you to stop. But I do think it is no longer appropriate to send you into danger alone.” “And who’s gonna come with me? You? One of your bed and breakfast buddies?” He had no patience for this conversation. He was tired and in pain. He missed Kenna. Tracking down that demented hippy meant two whole weeks away from the adolescent in his care, and he hated leaving her for so long with Adelaide and her small Inner Circle. While they taught her everything from trigonometry to personal defense, he was her only true parent. He was the sole person in their little Louisiana stronghold that really cared about her. He didn’t completely trust them to have her best interests in mind. It wasn’t much, but microwaved leftovers would have to do for dinner tonight, and he could put it on a plate and sit with Kenna and ask her how her studies were going or just inquire about her life. When he wasn’t off retrieving talismans, they actually had a pretty good relationship. One that typically weathered even the worst bouts of angst that arose, which were a foreseeable product of puberty and a childhood plagued by violence. “Who else? Gage.” “What?” came from the table. Kenna saw him as more of a secretary than a soldier. Dakota scoffed. Gage practically ran Adelaide’s whole existence. How would she even function without him? “Uh, I think he’s better suited here. Gage isn’t exactly a fighter, and unless you’ve started using phones and the internet, I think you need him.” “Gage is resilient, and, more importantly, he is the only colleague of mine who can stand your company!” Slapping the table, Kenna let out a loud laugh. He snorted in disapproval. Continuing, “He follows orders. He is incredibly bright. And despite his best interest, he counts you as a friend. I would think that is more than sufficient evidence that his assistance would be valuable. But, regardless, I am not giving you a choice. You will take him with you when you leave again, and on each additional trip thereafter.” “And what are you gonna do without him?” Dakota cared very little, but it didn’t make sense for her to just give up her most valuable employee, and it seemed even less wise to send him on dangerous missions with a man she barely liked. “I have identified a few possible replacements. It is none of your concern. Consider it an honor that I am entrusting his safety to you, and do not make me regret it.” He shrugged, bringing the food over to Kenna and patting her on the head lovingly. “No matter what you say, I don’t think he belongs in a warzone. Hell, most of the time, I don’t think I should be there. I’ll do my best to protect him, but if he gets hurt, it won’t be my fault. It’ll be yours, Adel. Are you okay throwing him to the wolves like that?” If nothing else, he wanted Kenna to see the full implications of Adelaide’s stubbornness. “I am doing no such thing. It is settled.” With that, she abruptly removed herself from the conversation by leaving the room. Dakota sighed heavily. * * * * “You doin’ okay?” a voice broke through his haze. Staring down at a worn photograph, Dakota hadn’t moved in at least twenty minutes. Barely blinking. Hunched over. His thumb traced the right edge of fraying paper. A shallow visage of a genuine smile from a girl whose life consisted more of pain and hardship than joy. The image, though, was merely a suggestion. He lost himself in a maze of thoughts about Kenna. About the time he wasted in places like this. About shirking his responsibilities to her. When he dove head first into a job, he could ignore the hurt this photograph evoked. But not during the pointless hours of waiting, where he had only himself and his thoughts to hound him. Except that, now, he had a spectator. Someone to notice him obsessing over a picture. “You miss her?” Gage prodded. Dakota shook his head. The hustle and bustle of the airport grated against his senses as he brought himself back to the here and now. Conversations, shoes shuffling, voices over the intercoms, and children playing unattended all met his ears. Boring and meaningless s**t. He hated traveling. “I should be with her,” he corrected with a dark annoyance creeping into his tone. “She’s my responsibility.” “She needs you.” He shrugged. “She needs someone. I’m just the best candidate right now. And I don’t like leaving her. With anyone. But especially not Adelaide Price.” “Did you feel better when I was there?” “Maybe. But not by much, to be honest.” Gage sat back in a plastic chair and locked his fingers behind his head. A seemingly chaotic mass of small braids, all bleached to a dull yellow, dropped over his hands. He couldn’t keep his feet still. Probably nicotine withdrawal. Gage smoked like a chimney. But he certainly couldn’t light up in an airport. Their flight would be a few hours long, too, so it could prove an arduous journey for the addict. But to his credit, he didn’t show even an ounce of irritation outwardly. In part, his carefree attitude shone through like always. Perhaps his unfounded fascination with Dakota was involved. Whatever the cause, he effortlessly bounced between bubbly sociability and genuine interest in Dakota’s personal life. It was mildly aggravating, to have himself and his one intimate relationship suddenly put under a microscope, albeit an innocent and friendly one. Dakota had grown accustomed to flying solo. When he wasn’t looking after Kenna, he preferred to be by himself. The things he had to do on these trips— While he’d numbed himself to it all, he didn’t have any desire to talk about it. He could easily imagine how he’d appear to any normal person who found out about his profession. He’d seen that look before. Fear wrapped in disgust. “I dunno if it’s my place to mention this or not, but, well, I figure you might like to hear it.” The quiet, serious approach was enough to tear Dakota’s attention away from the photo. He raised an eyebrow and lifted his head. “What?” “When you’re not around, she calls you ‘dad.’ Talks about you all the time. You’re like her hero.” He laughed. “And she’s very defensive of you, even to Adelaide.” Practiced as he was in hiding his emotions and keeping a cool head, Dakota could not help but react profoundly to that. His eyes widened considerably, and his mouth dropped open. While he was certainly Kenna’s parent, as far as anyone was concerned—hell, thanks to some creative forgery, she now bore his last name—not once had Kenna ever called him that to his face. And he never pressed the issue or asked her about it. He didn’t think he had a right to. Her biological parents were dead, and her real father had been an abusive tyrant. But he was her dad, nonetheless. Too young for the job, perhaps, and regularly engaging in a violent business that probably should disqualify him from the role. But in every moment of every day, he thought of himself as her father. He couldn’t help it. Everything he did was for her. Either to care and provide for her directly or to make the world a little safer for her future. This trip and every one before it. All the fighting and killing. Each injury and every execution. Everything. Not once, however, had the child—gradually becoming a teenager before his eyes—ever indicated that she thought of Dakota as her dad. Sure, she looked up to him, relied on him, loved him. But calling him a pet name like that? No way. It was always “Dakota.” Always. What reason would she have to use “dad”? He didn’t blame her for not saying it. How could he? And yet, if Gage could be believed, she did. Just not in front of him. As though she was afraid of what he would say. As though she feared that he might tell her he wasn’t her dad, that he might reject her as his child. When in reality, he would probably start crying and hug her. Gulping, “Oh, yeah?” “Yeah, definitely.” He turned to face Dakota. Ghostly blue eyes studied him with equal parts curiosity and confusion. “You didn’t know about that, huh?” He shook his head slowly. “No.” “Stop me if I’m bein’ too nosey for my own good, but maybe you two should talk about it, you know, when we get back? I think she’d like to know that you think you’re her dad, too.” Gage cleared his throat out of nervousness and turned away. When they got back? f**k, he wasn’t sure he could wait that long. Dakota wanted to turn around right now and go talk to Kenna. To hell with the mission. He’d gone so long hoping she thought of him as her father, but never knowing. The revelation was truly profound. It was deeply, powerfully important. He ached to speak to her about it, to tell her that it was more than fine. To put her fears to rest. Of course he was her dad, in every sense that mattered. And he always would be. It was the one thing that still fulfilled him and made him feel human. “Anyway, there are far worse people than Adelaide and the Inner Circle to babysit her. When it was my turn, all I really did was spoil her rotten with too much candy and make sure she did her homework. They might actually teach her somethin’.” “That’s what I’m worried about.” Gage chuckled and patted Dakota on the arm. “You still don’t trust them? They’re good people, and they love Kenna. You don’t have to worry about them corruptin’ her or anything.” “Man, I dunno about that. What do you think they employ me to do?” he asked in an incredibly low voice. Last thing he needed was for someone in the airport to think he was a terrorist. Or for anyone to learn the truth, for that matter: that he was a hitman en route to his next target. “Gage, these people essentially pay me to kill other people.” “Bad people.” “Doesn’t matter. If they expect me to do that, and they think it’s fine and dandy, then I wonder what else they think is okay. Especially without you to relay s**t back to me. For all I know, they’ll have her carrying buckets of water upstairs or smashing four-by-fours until her knuckles are f*****g raw. She’ll be a black belt in Tae Kwon Do or some s**t by the time I get back! Or worse, some kind of little soldier…” Blinking, Gage’s expression grew pensive. “Are you sure that’s bad? With things escalatin’ like they are—” “f**k yes, it’s a bad thing! Kenna should get to be a kid. I won’t let her be forced into that s**t. It’s the whole reason I’m doing this.” He rubbed at his temples as a headache began to form. “I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let them f**k up her life even more than it already is.” “I don’t think Adelaide or anyone else’ll force that girl to do anything. But you have to figure she might choose it on her own. She’s a bright girl.” He shook his head. “If they pressure her, it’s not a choice.” “No, c’mon. I’m not talkin’ about that. She looks up to you, right? And what you do—I mean, I haven’t seen it in action yet, but the way you describe it, ain’t that like bein’ a soldier? Somethin’ like that? If anything, she might choose the life because, quite frankly, it’s what her dad does. Like father, like daughter.” Oh f**k, he hoped not. The last thing he wanted was to raise her to become a killer. Hell, he didn’t even want the kid to use any of the talismans if he could help it, though when she’d insisted on her own inherited necklace a few months back, he couldn’t withhold it from her. It was rightfully hers. Still, if he could shield her from this violence and everything that came with it, he intended to. She’d already seen enough of it in her short life. More than any one person should have to witness. “Not if I can help it,” he said finally. “It might not be up to you.”