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Chapter 11: Justice

I was starting to fall asleep, when Gunnar tapped me on the shoulder, gently.

“Rex and I are going out, for a second, for some air,” he said, quietly. “Want to come with us?”

“We’re not going far,” Rex said. “Just outside the door.”

I looked around. Ario was sitting next to me on the sofa, and he was deeply asleep. A little bubble of spit had formed on one of his lips.

“We should let him sleep,” Rex said.

“Are you really going out for air?” I asked. “Or - are you going out to see if that St. Bernard walks by again?”

“Well . . .” Gunnar’s tone was casual. “Yeah. Rex and I are kinda curious about that asshole. What’s he doing out there? Is he trying to find out where we live?”

“Or, does he already know where we live?” Rex wondered. “If he does, is he - what - watching us?”

“Someone should stay here, with Ario,” I said.

“Why? He’s not a child,” Rex pointed out. “And we can lock the door while we’re out there.”

“True,” I said. “Let’s go - hold on a second.” I thought of something. “What are we going to do, if we see him?”

“Dunno.” Gunnar shrugged. “I guess we can try to talk to him. I mean, if he’s alone, then why not talk to him? I really wanna know why he walked by here twice today.”

“And twice yesterday,” Rex said.

It had been an entire week since a Bear (an angry Bear, I should point out) and his friends had tried to start a fight with us at Selene’s pub. The Bear and his two friends (a St. Bernard and a Beagle) had made some noise about blaming either humans, in general, or myself, in particular, for what had happened last January.

However, I had gotten the impression that they just wanted someone to fight. They were mad about the world being all messed up, and they wanted to vent their anger in a destructive way. Blaming me for something that wasn’t my fault was, probably, just a cover story. Just an excuse. An excuse that gave them a reason to go out and start a fight.

And the Bear had promised - or, I suppose, threatened - to find me again. And yet, we had not seen him since. Because he and his friends had gone to Selene’s, we tended to assume that they lived in the area, but there’d been no sign of them.

Until, suddenly, one of the friends - the muscular St. Bernard - walked by our place. Well, we’d noticed him walk by four times. Normally, we kept the curtains shut tight, so we didn’t always see what was happening outside.

It was possible he had walked by more than four times.

Was he looking for us?

Had the Bear sent him to find us?

We went outside. Gunnar locked the door, and put the key in the pocket of his baggy shorts. We stood there, just in front of the door, breathing in the air of the hot, July night.

No one else was around - as far as we could tell.

“It’s too dark out here,” Rex said, noting the obvious. “If that St. Bernard comes around again, will we even see him?”

“I wonder if there’s someone in the city who knows how to turn the power back on,” Gunnar grumbled. “It’s too weird - the streetlights being all out. I mean, hey, it’s been - how long? - six months? - and I’m trying to get used to it, but it’s just too weird.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, looking around, trying to see movement within the shadows.

I looked up. There were clouds in the night sky. The moon and all the stars were hidden, and cast no light upon us.

In January, after the bombings, it had been so odd to see the city suddenly bereft of its bright lights. Almost as odd was the sight of the moon and the stars in the sky - the untold number of lights in the city had always prevented us from seeing those celestial objects, the moon and the stars, but, with the power suddenly off, they were visible again.

I’d gotten used to seeing them. Gunnar was right - it wasn’t easy, getting used to the lack of streetlights (even after all these months). And yet, I did enjoy the beauty of the night sky.

Some nights, I’d go outside, briefly, just so I could look up and appreciate that beauty. We had covered up the large skylight in our apartment, to prevent folks from seeing inside (in case they were up on the roof). It had been the right thing to do, but it had also been a tough thing to do.

“Hey,” Rex said, softly, looking down the street.

A block or so away, a door had been violently thrown open, with a bang. The building must’ve had a working generator, because light spilled out towards the street, when the door was flung open. Within the shaft of light, a large canine stumbled outwards. He swayed, as if caught in a high wind, as he walked to the curb. As the door shut behind him, he bent over and vomited - quite loudly - onto the cracked and dirty street. After what felt like minutes, he stood up. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then he simply stood there.

The canine was a St. Bernard.

“That’s him,” Rex said, firmly. “I could tell, from his ears.”

“From his ears?” Gunnar was amazed. “Damn, you really do notice things, don’t you.”

“One of them is a little bit shorter, and has a scar.” Rex shrugged, modestly.

“Guess he’s drunk,” Gunnar noted. “Should we talk to him, if he’s so drunk he’s puking like that?”

“We should,” was my opinion. “I feel like I should have my gun.”

“What?” Rex was horrified. “Why? He’s alone and drunk.”

My Great Dane friend looked at me with an expression I could not read. It was one of the rare moments when I was reminded of how vastly different our life experiences had been.

“You’re right,” I said, to Rex. With an easy grin, I said, “Force of habit, I guess. From the army days.”

“Well, that was a big part of your life,” Rex said. “For a long time. I get that. I wonder - no offense, or anything, but I wonder if that’s something you can let go of?”

I fought back the urge to remind Rex that we were living in a city that had no cops, no soldiers. What it did have, however, was a large amount of gang members and former Insurgents. I felt like my army training was - well - part of who I was. I also felt like my inability to let it go might turn out to be a good thing.

“He’s walking away,” Gunnar said, agitation in his voice. “C’mon, let’s go find out what’s goin’ on.” Without waiting, the beefy Pit Bull started walking.

Through the darkness, we hurried to the St. Bernard. We caught up easily, as he was swaying and walking slowly. We surrounded him.

“What the fuuuuh -” the St. Bernard slurred. “Hey. I know you.”

He looked at me, and pointed at my face.

“You’re that human. The one from the bar. Reese said we should keep an eye out for you. And, damn, shit, I didn’t see you anywhere around here, but here you are.”

He grinned, widely, apparently pleased by the turn of events.

“Reese?” I asked. “Is he the Bear? The one that tried to start a fight?”

“Who else would he be?” The St. Bernard swayed, gently.

“And he told you to find me?” I asked.

“Nah, not really. He just said we should tell him if we saw you. He’s not, like, my boss, or anything. He’s just a friend. You know?”

Sometimes, when we’re drunk, emotions run high, and sometimes (when we’re drunk) we unexpectedly hit a new appreciation for the good things we have in life. Sometimes, both of those things happen at once, when we’re drunk. The St. Bernard seemed to be having one of those moments, because he looked me in the eyes and he said, “He’s the best friend I ever had.”

“So you couldn’t find us?” Rex asked. “We’ve seen you around. Are you saying you don’t know where we live?”

“Naw.” The St. Bernard exhaled a cloud of beer breath. “I been walking around, didn’t see you anywhere. But you know what I did find?” He waved towards the door he’d exited out of. “There’s a poker game that goes on there every night. You should check it out, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“I am into that sort of thing,” Gunnar said, distracted for a moment.

“Why did Reese want to find us?” I asked. “Did he want to fight, or -”

“I guess he wanted to fight. He didn’t say. Thing is, he’s got other stuff going on. If you want my opinion -” the St. Bernard pointed at me, again. “ - if you want to know what I think, I think Reese only asked me to keep an eye out because Max kept bugging him about it. Max was in the bar with us, and Max really doesn’t like humans. After the bar, Max kept bugging Reese about it.”

I turned to look at Rex and Gunnar, intending to ask what we should do next. Was Reese going to come after us - or myself? - again? I wondered. Was Max? Max, I assumed, was the Beagle who’d been in Selene’s pub with Reese and the St. Bernard. The slender Beagle with the broken nose.

I should have been more concerned about the darkness we were in, more concerned about the lack of moonlight.

Because . . . something cut through the air, and Rex dropped to his knees. It took me a second to realize that someone had thrown something (a rock?). The projectile had hit Rex in the head, stunning him.

Immediately, Gunnar knelt down, getting close to Rex, checking to see how injured he was. That was a good thing, because I did what I’d been trained to do - I looked around, trying to find (and assess) the threat. I felt like an asshole, ignoring Rex, but instinct took over and I tried to see who was there, in the darkness of the street.

“This is bullshit,” someone said. The voice was deep, rumbling, and familiar.

I caught a glimpse of movement, out of the corner of my eye, and I spun around. The Beagle was close, too close. I stared at him. He was, indeed, the Beagle from the pub. Max. His ears were short, for a Beagle, and his sleeveless tee revealed a muscled, wiry frame.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Max spat his question at the St. Bernard. “Reese has been looking for you all day. Finally, I come over here, and someone tells me you have both a female and a poker game. Your little secrets. It’s bullshit, Travis, and Reese is going to be so pissed when I tell him.”

Travis - the St. Bernard - looked down at Rex. Rex, I noted, was trying to rise to his feet, which could have been a good sign. Gunnar was telling him to sit, just in case he was seriously hurt.

“What happened to him?” Travis asked.

I’d been trained, in the army, to control my emotions, and that was the reason why I hadn’t yet charged at Max, violently. I’d also been trained to assess any situation, weigh my options, see the possible paths before me. Whether or not the Beagle was there to fight, whether or not he was only there for Travis, I had options. I could have tried talking to him. Doing so would have meant ignoring the assault on Rex, yes, but I could have tried talking. Or, I could have waited for him to make the first move - if, indeed, he planned on doing such a thing.

I saw those options, but they didn’t seem real. There was only one thing I wanted to do.

“Can you get Rex home?” I asked Gunnar.

“Dude . . .” he looked at the Beagle, the intense anger in his eyes visible in the darkness. He looked at me.

“Please,” I said, my concern for Rex breaking the emotionless facade I was trying to maintain.

Without a word, Gunnar pulled Rex to his feet. The Great Dane was trying to say something, but Gunnar shushed him. Rex, apparently, was trying to stay, but Gunnar nudged him along and the two vanished into the shadows.

Max looked at Travis. His words dripped scorn. “You know how I feel about humans. And you’re standing here, drunk off your ass, talking to this human.” He pointed at me. “Like he’s your friend, now.”

“What is going on?” Travis asked, as he swayed on his feet.

My eyes were - somewhat - adjusting to the darkness. Max took a step towards me, then another. I could see his smile, and it was a grin that was wicked yet was also pleased. He reached down, to his belt, and when his hand reappeared it was clenching a large knife.

Obviously, I was not happy that Rex had (possibly) gotten hurt - however, I was glad that I’d had an excuse to send Gunnar home. Clearly, the Beagle wanted a fight. And if someone had to fight him, on the street, in the darkness - it should be me. I’d been in combat, for one thing. For another, I would always choose to send my friends away from danger. I’d always choose to protect them, and to take the risk myself.

And if I got hurt, fighting Max? So be it. At least I’d be the only one getting hurt.

Max charged, then, and I easily stepped aside. He charged again, and again I stepped aside.

What happened next . . . happened fast. The Beagle rushed at me, again, like a feral predator. This time, I grabbed his wrist - the power of his forward momentum was so great it nearly allowed him to stab me, even though I’d grabbed his wrist like a vise. He brought up his other hand, trying to grab whatever he could, but I batted it away. And then his momentum carried him still further, and he crashed into me. Our bodies met, his breath was in my face, and I - well - I brought my knee up into his balls. Hard. Max collapsed, and fell forward, and I pushed him backwards. Or, at least, I tried to - I, myself, was starting to fall backwards, because of Max crashing into me, and so I was only able to shove him a few inches.

It was enough, however, to save me from injury. Max’s left hand had gone to his wounded testicles, but he used his right to slash the knife through the air, cutting an arc in front of him. It would have hit me, if I hadn’t been stumbling and nearly falling, if I hadn’t pushed Max.

We both somewhat recovered, each of us lurching forward quicker than the other would’ve liked. The knife was coming fast - too fast - I had no choice - I used my left forearm as a shield. The knife sliced open the flesh. There was a flare of pain and a spray of blood . . .

My training had taught me to ignore the pain, and, as well, to let instinct take over when needed. And, those who’d trained me had taught me to end fights as quick as I could.

(Even though part of me wanted to make it last. I mention this because - as I’ve said, I felt like the Bear and his friends just wanted someone to fight. Well, part of me just wanted - as the knife cut open my arm - to fight the Beagle, to make it last, to revel in the blood and the ungodly misery of it.)

I punched the Beagle’s jaw, and I kicked his lower leg as hard as I could. Still, he kept his grip on the knife, though he was collapsing down towards the grime of the street. I grabbed his wrist, again, and this time I broke it. Max moaned, but did not cry out. The knife simply fell to the pavement. I punched him again, and, as he fell I kicked him in the stomach, hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

There were, I admit, less painful ways I could have ended the fight.

And then, suddenly, someone was there, someone large, and they were grabbing the knife from where it had landed.

It was the Bear from the pub. Reese.

He was on me quicker than I would have thought possible. He had the knife, and -

And he made a mistake.

He should’ve stabbed me - there probably would have been internal injuries, possibly fatal ones. Either way, fatally injured or not, I would’ve been as out of the fight as Max was.

Instead, however, he slashed - the knife cut open my shirt and cut open my stomach just above the navel. The wound was deep, but as I fell forward I grabbed him. I was, in other words, hurt - but not down.

Instead of using the knife again, he breathed into my face.

“You’re paying for what you just did to Max, aren’t you? Yeah. You probably got a lot to pay for, don’t you? Humans like you, fucking up the world.” He held the knife close to the wound he’d just made, and he put his other hand on my throat.

For some reason, a line from one of my favorite poems popped into my head, and I did not even try to stop it from coming out.

“Paying for my sins,” I quoted. “Real or imagined. The time has come, the hour is here, and the bill for my sins is due.”

I could feel my blood, coming from the wound, trickling down my legs.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Reese growled.

His hand began squeezing my throat.

And then . . .

“Hey!”

It was Gunnar.

He was not about to sit at home and wait for me. He, too, felt a strong need to protect his friends. And he stood there, in the street, holding my gun.

“Stay out of this, dog,” Reese growled.

“Right, like that’s gonna happen,” Gunnar replied.

He fired a shot, into the air, and the Bear swore.

“So why don’t you get out of here?” Gunnar demanded. “Take your pal - carry him, drag him, whatever - take him and go.”

“I’ll find you again,” Reese said. “I’ll find all of you.”

He let go of my throat, then he turned and yelled at Travis - who, meanwhile, was throwing up again. After, Reese and Travis half carried and half led Max down the street, away, into the darkness.

Gunnar was at my side, just as he’d been at Rex’s side. I tried to reach for him, but something was off, or wrong. The streets seemed to be up, and the buildings seemed to be down, and I . . . felt like a ship rolling along on high, high waves. I nearly passed out - probably a combination of adrenaline rush and blood loss. I sat, then, nestled within the shadows, and I tried again to reach for Gunnar, though he seemed to be miles away.

This time, we connected.