Crossing the Rubicon 9
#9 of Rubicon
"This city desert makes you feel so cold - it's got so many people, but it's got no soul - and it's taken you so long to find out you were wrong, when you thought it held everything." - Gerry Rafferty.
Jack and Drake crouched low on the rooftop. Jack, an anthro Great Dane with dark fur, was using a pair of binoculars to scan the bustle of activity that was happening down on the street. Drake was a feral Doberman - however, he was a talking feral, and his fur was black and blue rather than the black and tan typical of a Doberman. As Jack scanned, Drake waited. He sniffed the air, but smelled nothing unusual. He listened, but didn't hear any footsteps coming up the stairwell, towards the roof.
"They're bringing him out," Jack said, eventually. The emotion in his voice told Drake all he needed to know.
"He's dead, isn't he," the feral said, gently.
"Yes," Jack said, quietly. He still had the binoculars pressed to his face.
"We can't leave him here," Drake said. "But . . ."
"But we have to," Jack said. "I know." He sighed, and said, again, "I know. Two of us? Against all of them?"
"How many?"
"Dozens," Jack said, grimly. He lowered the binoculars. "Most of them are just . . . hanging around. They look like mercenaries - well - they look like the mercs who attacked us, anyway. Maybe they're waiting for orders? All I see out there is them - there's no sign of the human in the suit, the one who seems to be in charge."
"He wasn't at Father Cranagh's house," Drake pointed out.
"Yeah." Was all Jack said.
He looked through the binoculars again.
"What's going on?" Drake asked.
"They've got Pere - Father Cranagh - on a stretcher. Fuck, I can't believe he's dead. He was -" His voice cracked, for a moment, then he continued. "The mercs are just standing there, in kind of a circle, around the stretcher."
"Maybe they're hoping we show up?" Drake wondered. "They're hoping we show up to rescue Father Cranagh, or - if we know he's gone - we show up to get his body. They want to trap us, lure us in."
"That makes sense."
"We should tell the others."
"Yeah," Jack said, again.
He wanted to rush down to the street - wanted to attack the mercs, with Drake at his side. Together, the two of them would somehow be able to overcome all of those assholes down there, kill them all if necessary, and then - yes - then, they could take Pere's body away. They could give it - give him - the burial he deserved.
But, no. There were too many of them, for one thing, down on the street. For another, how many more were inside the building? How many more were lurking nearby?
As well, Jack and Drake both knew that they had to think about Micah. Micah was the priority - getting him away was the priority, not staying and fighting a battle which they probably couldn't win.
It was hard to leave, but they had to leave. They had to leave Pere, the human priest, behind. True, he was dead, he'd left behind this mortal realm, and he'd left behind his mortal remains, but such knowledge didn't help ease their hearts. Jack and Drake both felt terrible, leaving him behind.
They hurried through the streets of a town that seemed intent on having a good time . . . until the end, until the final chapter. Throughout the town of Millston, anthros and humans were busy enjoying themselves. There were parties, outdoors and indoors, small and large. There were bonfires and cook-outs. There were fireworks, here and there. Society was in the middle of collapsing, the government was in the middle of collapsing - but the folks of the kingdom were still alive. And in Millston, folks were determined to enjoy themselves.
Noon was approaching, and folks were out and about - humans and anthros alike, they congregated in the streets and in the yards of houses, to talk, to party, to eat and drink as if the world had no troubles at all.
Jack and Drake blended in, as they hurried to the van, and now and again they looked back or looked around, looking for mercenaries. There were none that they could see. A group of young males (two Foxes, an Elk, and a Mastiff) were gathered on a corner, and they passed around a large bottle of something dark and murky. They offered it to Jack, as he passed, and he took a drink, gratefully. The sight of Pere's body on the stretcher had rattled him, more than he would ever admit to anyone.
He ducked into an alley.
"Need a piss," he explained.
The town of Millston had gleefully swung into party mode a while ago, it seemed. Even though the world was falling apart . . . And Jack felt a surge of anger, thinking of it. He went halfway down the alley, and he emptied his bladder on the brick wall. He noticed that Drake, nearby, had lifted a leg.
The folks of Millston could not - of course - know that Pere was dead. They could not know about Micah, and they couldn't know that someone was trying to stop him from getting to the West Coast. Jack knew he had no reason to feel anger towards the town, and yet - he did. How could these folks be having a good time when so much was going wrong? Jack looked around. He'd be glad to leave this place behind.
The van sat in front of a closed and boarded-up restaurant. In the driver's seat, Celeste, an elf, drummed her fingers on the wheel. She looked through the windshield, at the two males who stood in front of the hood. One was her boss, Duncan, a Pit Bull. The other was her friend Rav, a tall and muscular Lion.
Typical males, Celeste thought. They couldn't simply wait, no, they had to walk around, pace a bit, look impatient . . .
Micah, she noticed, was not acting like a typical male. The young human sat in the passenger seat, slumped, head bowed as if in contemplation or prayer.
Celeste turned her attention from Micah just in time to see Jack and Drake - finally - hurrying towards the van. Rav and Duncan practically sprinted, to meet them. Celeste slid out of the van, quickly. Micah did the same, though much more slowly.
One look at Jack was all Duncan needed.
"He's gone?" The big Pit Bull asked, quietly.
Jack nodded.
"They haven't taken him away," Drake said. "We think - we think they're hoping we try to - um - get him back."
"I want to," Duncan said. "And I want to go after all of them. But we can't."
Celeste looked at Duncan's face, saw the hurt and the grief. Years ago, when Duncan was still a wild teenager, Father Cranagh had brought him into the quest to find a new king or queen. The priest became Duncan's mentor, not just his boss - and he'd became a friend as well.
"It's my fault," Micah spoke up. "He told me to leave him - and I shouldn't have - but I did."
"Actually, I think it's my fault," Drake said, quietly. "I didn't know you and Pere were going to leave the house when we were attacked -" He glanced at Duncan, briefly, and only Jack noticed it. "I should've gone with you."
"Hold on, let's not start assigning blame," Duncan jumped in. "But, if we were to do that, let's look at me, yes? I'm the one who said we should go to Millston." Everyone started speaking at once, and Duncan raised a hand, asking for silence. "Whoever's after us, they somehow know how to find us. It's probably magic. That's what I should've focused on. That, and not Millston. I used to know someone who might be able to help with that - but there are three problems. I don't know where he is, though I might be able to find out. Also, I don't know if he'd be willing to help. And . . . there'd be some kind of price to pay. There always is."
"Maybe we should try to find this friend," Drake said. He looked at Duncan, again, his expression inscrutable. Jack wondered what was going through the feral's mind. "We should try to figure out how our enemy's able to track us, figure out what we can do about it."
"Pere might know where he is," Duncan said, then he corrected himself. "Might have known." He paused, for a moment, collecting himself and containing his grief. "And this anthro I used to know - he was never a friend, he was just someone I worked with, on occasion. I'm fairly certain he can help us, I just don't know if he'd want to. If we can find him."
"We should at least try to find him," Drake pointed out.
"Of course," Duncan said, nodding.
Maybe we should've tried to find this mysterious anthro first, instead of going to Pere's house. Jack thought this, but he didn't say it out loud.
Duncan looked around. Everyone seemed . . . dispirited? Was that a good word? Shaken, certainly. Uncertain. None of them had known Pere the way Duncan had known him, and yet his death had hit them hard. On top of that, Drake - and, possibly, Jack as well - seemed to be arriving at the conclusion that Pere's death had been avoidable. Avoidable, because they shouldn't have gone to see Pere. Instead, they should've tried to figure out how their enemy was tracking them.
Again, Duncan wondered why Pere had left the house during the attack. The plan should've worked - attack the attackers, ambush the ambushers. Duncan and his team had been able - barely - to defeat the mercenaries who'd poured into the house. Afterward, they would've been able to ask questions, get answers, from the mercs who'd survived (if they'd been willing to talk). Instead, Duncan had had to go chasing after Pere and Micah, and everyone else had had to contend with more mercs - who'd come to rescue the attackers.
Why had Pere left the house? Something must've happened, but Duncan couldn't fathom what. Not that it mattered. What's done is done, Duncan told himself. He hoped his team wasn't damaged, or fractured by doubt, but . . . even if it was . . .
We have to move forward.