Blackjack Wayward

Chapter Twenty-One

A gunshot rang in the distance.

“Dad?” I said, but I was becoming more and more lucid.

Around me was a scrambling mass of flesh. It was hard to see.

My face and head were covered with slime.

I was awaking at Utopia all over again, except now in the middle of the desert. My body was sore, aching, my hunger and thirst long beyond being noticeable.

Another gunshot rang out.

The mass rolled and moved like a sea around me and I was a leaf on a wave.

“Oh, f*ck it,” someone yelled from nearby with the distinct sing-song Australian accent. “Shoot one, Wally, that’ll scare them”

The undulating sea of flesh and dust danced in front of me, limiting my visibility to just a few feet, and the sun was mad at me again.

“Haha!” I yelled, but it was just a hoarse cough, struggling through what seemed like a bag of wadded cotton stuck in my throat.

Sure, why not? Once I had started doubting the dream world of Utopia, they brought me out, threatened me by my worst nemesis, then sent me to Australia for....

That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, and I had just thought it.

A third gunshot cracked, followed by a squealing croak. Something ran into my face and by the time I beat it off, it was already long gone.

“Holy snapping duckshit, he’s alive,” a second voice said, another Aussie-accented man.

“What?” came from still another voice. “I shot that bugger in the head, mate.”

“The dead guy,” someone said. “He’s alive.” It sounded a lot like the second guy, Wally, though I had no way to tell. My vision was a blur, and everything around me was spinning.

I made an effort to stand, but my mind was fooling me into thinking I had control of my body. I didn’t, and instead flailed in the ruthless sand.

“You all right, mister?” asked the first guy.

I clenched, catching a figure at the shadowy edges of my visions, ready to pounce. If it was the real awakening from Utopia, I was going out swinging. If I couldn’t save Apogee, and couldn’t beat Zundergrub, at least I was going to drop the first bastard I saw, and the bastard next to him.

“Gonna f*ck you up,” I tried to say, but it came out as something else, just meandering growl. My mouth had a mind of its own, like my legs. Unable to fully communicate, I let out a roar and the nearest guy recoiled from me. If I could only get my hands on him, I could use his body as a weapon against his friends.

“They’re coming back, Nate!”

More gunshots. Sounded like they all had high-powered rifles.

“This guy’s alive!”

“I’ll f*cking eat your hearts!” I roared but it was more like five “Th’s” and four “R’s” with a hard “K” thrown in there. It wasn’t a language, but it was coming from me.

“Easy, mate,” guy number one was saying, coming so close to me that I got a good look at him. These people weren’t wearing spandex, nor uniforms. Number One was a middle-aged guy with a camouflage pattern beaner cap and thick glasses. Of the names they were bouncing around, I think his was Nate.

Something was next to me, heaving and bleeding. Nate saw it as well and stood, aiming his rifle and putting it out of its misery.

It was a dingo.

I blinked hard several times, trying hard to focus my sun-scarred eyes, but everything was clouded with a clay-addled, murky fog.

“Who are you?” I said, and it was my first real word.

“Holy crap, he’s alive,” said the second guy. Think his name was Wally.

“He’s a big’un. Think he’ll fit on the plane?”

“I dunno, Wally,” Nate said.

“Call Bess and get her to drive out here,” a third one, who wasn’t in my field of vision, said.

“Might have to,” Nate said.

“Pack of dingos might have something to say about that,” Wally said.

They talked really fast and that’s all I could get from the heavy Aussie accents. I had too much trouble following who was saying what.

It was a bunch of guys. Real guys. Not villains.

I wasn’t in Utopia.

I was alive.

“Think he’s crying,” the third one said.

“You’re gonna be all right, mate,” Nate soothed, placing his hand on my shoulder.

“Hell of a thing,” another one muttered. I was surrounded by bewildered hunters.

“Must’ve been over a hundred dingoes trying to eat this guy.”

Wally knelt next to me, pouring water from his canteen in my mouth.

But I couldn’t drink. The lukewarm fluid both soothed and burned my lips.

I shook him off.

“Easy, mate,” Wally said. “You gotta drink some.”

He forced the issue and I was too weak to fight.

I’m Blackjack and he was stronger than me.

I drank, a tsunami raging through the sandy desert that was my mouth and throat. Gagging and coughing, I doubled over, retching out a brownish fluid next to the dead dingo.

“Who are you?” I tried to say, but my mouth went back on embargo, overwhelmed by a slushy silt that felt gritty on my teeth. I spat a few more times and tried another mouthful of water from the guy’s canteen.

“Take it easy, mate. We’ll find a way to get you out of here.”

“We gotta risk the bird, Wally,” Nate said, finally coming to a conclusion on what they were going to do with me. “You and me on the bird, with the big fella. Ricky and the rest’ll follow in the wagon.”

“You think?” Wally said.

“Else those dingoes are gonna kill us.”

“I got only ten shells left,” said a new voice. So at least there were four. “Cripes, look at him.”

He meant me.

I laughed, then I wept.

Because I was alive.

I was alive.

And I knew what I had to do.

“Zundergrub,” I manage to say, but the floor shifted and danced, then flipped over me. I was gone again.

They stuffed me into the dark back corner of a cramped plane, squished among some luggage, the engine so loud I couldn’t hear myself think. I remember it, but my only visual memory is an orange and brown paisley pattern, maybe from the carpeting. Maybe my face was on the floor.

Then I floated through the air, and dropped, only to float again, surrounded by grunting and cursing.

It was them, the guys who found me.

One was called Wally and another Dean. The third and fourth I didn’t know.

The four of them half-carried, half-dragged me to a small house. It was a nice place. In the flashing image in the back of my mind it was somewhat reminiscent of the classic southern U.S. plantation, but this place only had a few bare trees and sat on a high bluff overlooking a large lake.

I could drink all the water in that lake.

I guess I said that aloud, because Dean laughed and Wally said something that sounded like, “You’ll be all right, mate.”

So they do say “mate” with everything.

The inside the plantation was more like a lodge: all wood and leather with the most prominent feature a well-lit bar, and the heads of all kinds of animals decorating the walls. Dogs came from the rear of the plantation, which was open to a wide porch in the rear with mosquito netting all around and large fans swirling lazily overhead. Some of the dogs were like the demons that tried to kill me.

My rescuers noticed my apprehension and shooed off the dogs.

“I’d be scared of dingoes too,” the third guy said. His face was all beard.

“After what he went through?” said Wally, a tall redhead skinnier than Cool Hand Luke, and about twice as old. Like Cool, he was cultivating some facial scruff that didn’t amount to much, despite his efforts.

They heaved me onto a big couch and left me there, went to the bar, and filled tall glasses with beer. I could see them chatting and laughing at the farthest edge of my diminished vision. They were old friends, probably poachers or hunters, since this place had the feel of a hunter’s lodge. From their easy and comfortable nature, I could tell they had no idea who I was. They’d be running, otherwise.

One of the dogs returned and sniffed my legs and crotch. I didn’t have the energy to wave the thing off, but it didn’t seem satisfied with my various odors. It was skittish, its tail high in the air, front legs dug low and a ripple of fur that would dance down its back with my every shift on the couch. I stared at it, letting my eyes adjust their focus, and saw that it was one of the demon dingo things like the ones that tried to eat me.

The dingo sniffed at the air, and I’m sure he was getting a full whiff of what his mates tried to do to me, maybe wondering if they were onto something. His eyes were like slits, trusting the feedback from his nose, and growing more apprehensive with each passing second.

“Come to finish me?” I joked with the little guy, who took my voice as an invitation to flash his incisors at me with a low growl.

“Off with ya!” yelled one of the guys, scaring the beast out through the door. I could see it run to join his friends, tail tucked between his legs in fear.

“Well, f*ck you too,” I mumbled, drawing a curious glance from my rescuers as they joked and drank behind the bar. A fifth guy came down the stairs looking fresh from a shower, wiping his chest with a towel. He was a big fellow, maybe bigger than me. From his posture and demeanor, I could tell this place was probably his, the others his guests. The big guy rubbed his wet head with a towel, and he wore only a pair of chestnut pants held up by suspenders and heavy boots on his feet. He was bald as a cue ball, with a bushy mustache that concealed his top lip. He was maybe twice my age, but his upper body was chiseled, like what I could look like if I were to bother working out. His arms were massive, at least 19 inches around the biceps, shoulders wide and striated, and he had the look of a weightlifter at his prime, despite being at least in his early fifties.

One of the other guys pointed at me, settling his severe, weather-beaten mug on me. It was a hard face, lined with years of experience, and he sized me up in just two seconds, chuckling and telling his boys, “You’ve caught yourselves a big one, lads.”

Wally handed me a tall glass of beer, the foamy head drifting without spilling as the glass descended, the big guy approached on his heels. He rubbed his hands with the towel, his muscles bulging and rippling in compliance. His eyes were still on me, like a rattler moments before the strike, a silly little smile on his face.

“Drink up hearty, mate,” Wally said and I obeyed, almost downing the whole beer – what didn’t spill down my cheeks and onto my chest – rewarding him with a loud belch after the fact.

“Wally,” the big guy said. “Why don’t you and the fellas go outside for a bit.”

He knew who I was, and from the way he stood, the way he looked at me, I could tell he was a super. Maybe it was the freakish physique, or the quiet confidence, standing before a guy he could tell was dangerous, without showing a sign of fear. It reminded me of the New York fight against the Superb Seven. After we had beaten them, and Zundergrub had done his mind job on Apogee, we were confronted by a super whose name escaped me. In any case, the super had seen me, recognized me, and backed down, letting Apogee and me escape.

“What’s wrong, Nate?”

“Just do me a favor,” he said, and Wally nodded, taking the empty beer glass from my hand and retreating to his friends. He spoke to them briefly, and Nate’s request appeared enough to get the whole bunch to evacuate the premises.

“Nate, huh?” I said, but my mouth was still a mess.

He nodded and threw the towel across the room.

“If you think you’re gonna hurt these people – my friends,” he started, motioning to the guys outside, “then you’re gonna be in for a big surprise, you hear me?”

I smiled, but something about my cheeks was bothering me. Something told me I didn’t want to look at myself in the mirror.

“What’s so funny?”

“Why would I want to hurt them?”

He cocked his head.

“Well, you’re Blackjack, aint’cha?”

I nodded.

“They say you’re a rightful prick.”

I tried to move, but my body wasn’t up for the task. Now that I had settled on the dusty leather couch, comfortable as it was, every muscle had decided to shut down.

“Maybe,” I said. “But I’m not going to hurt anyone who helped me out.”

He squinted. “You know who I am?”

I shook my head. “No idea, but if you’re going to make this a real interrogation, you mind another brew?”

The big guy pursed his lips a moment, giving it some thought before getting me a fresh glass of beer, making sure to glower over me as he handed it over.

“I’ve gone by a few names, but I reckon you’d know me best as Major Aussie.”

Of course I knew who he was. He was a Class-A guy, with strength, endurance, toughness. He’d stopped Primal on one if his man-child rampages, and he was more than a match for me even at the top of my game. The Major might have been retired over a decade, but he looked even better than he had at his prime. It wasn’t hard to picture him still wearing the outfit, colored in the rich, dark blue layered over with stars of the Aussie flag.

“Cheers,” I said and drained the beer.

“Cheers,” he chuckled, laughing at my attempt to seem nonchalant in his presence. “What are you doing here, is my first question. What am I going to do with you is the next.”

I smiled. “At least you’re organized.”

“Man has to be, if he plans on going all the way. Story has it you broke out of Utopia last month and killed a bunch–”

“Month?” I had no idea of the passing of time.

“The thirteenth of last month. Makes it, what ... twenty five days?”

I had been with Claire only a few days at the Rabbit Flat outpost, so unless she had done something with her magic to affect the passage of time, it meant I had wandered the outback for about three weeks. Major Aussie wouldn’t let me ponder that fact, pressing me.

“So what’s with all that business, mate? You like hurting innocent folk?”

“Zundergrub,” I managed to say, but it was more like a cough.

“What’s that about?”

I shook my head.

“How many people were hurt?”

He chuckled. “Guess you weren’t counting, huh? News said forty-five.”

“Dead?”

Nate nodded.

“God....”

“That’s the only bloke that’s gonna help you now.”

I bowed my head, feeling the tears welling at the sides of my eyes, the streams biting into the dusty junk that encrusted my face.

“Well, at least you’re repentant.”

“It was Zundergrub.”

He smiled and shook his head.

“Weren’t he your friend? I wasn’t there for that Japan business, but from what I recall, fella was on your side.”

“And then he wasn’t. He betrayed us.”

Nate shrugged, “Happens, mate.”

“He broke into Utopia to kill me. He’s the one who did all that.”

“You really expect me to believe that?”

I looked into his hard, weathered face.

“No, I expect not.” I looked bashfully at the empty beer glass. “Thanks for this, I guess,” I said and handed him the mug.

“You’re quite welcome,” he took it and held it for a moment.

“Why Australia?” he asked.

A smile crossed my face. “Wasn’t my idea.”

“Who’s was it?”

“Back at Utopia, when all the craziness was going on, and I was running for my life from Zundergrub and his–” I paused, noticing I was just rambling, being too familiar with the situation. He had no idea what I was talking about. “You know about Utopia?”

“’Course I do. It’s a prison for the real crazies. They don’t put you there ‘cause you say too many prayers at Sunday mass, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, but it’s a mind-prison. They throw you into a world, designed by psykers, and you think you’re going through an adventure.”

He didn’t even change his facial expression as I broke the secret of Utopia.

“It’s quite realistic, you know? How else are you going to keep a high class super from trying to escape? You make him think he’s already escaped. Keep his mind busy for a few decades until he drops dead of old age.”

“All right,” he said, crossing his arms. “And what’s all that to me?”

“I was in there, dreaming some cockamamie story, when they pulled me out, and there was Dr. Zundergrub and a bunch of hired goons.”

“This is what you’re telling me? That the Zundergrub fellow came to break you out or something?”

“No, he came to kill me.”

Major Aussie laughed. “So how come you’re not dead?”

“One of his goons, he was an old friend. Ever heard of Razorman? Black Razor?”

He nodded. “Nice friend.”

“Turns out he was,” I said. “He stopped them and helped me get away. Razor sacrificed himself to save me.”

He looked at me, unconcerned.

“Then as I’m trying to find a way out, I see all these people dead. So many dead.”

“And this Zundergrub fellow killed them?”

“Him or his people, yeah,” I said. “Then I ran into a guy who was hurting someone who was still alive. Another inmate like me. A woman. I rescued her and helped her get away.”

“Where’s this lady friend of yours?”

I shook my head, “Gone. She was a witch. Went by the name of Lady Vexille, but I hadn’t heard of her before.”

“I have. Nasty little monster, she is. You have some odd friends, mate.”

“Yeah, well she made some portal and we got away.”

He smoothed his mustache, giving my story a thought.

“Saying you’re making friends with a nasty bonzer like Vexille doesn’t do much to help me believe you’re some sort of victim here.”

I laughed. “I guess we’re judged by the company we keep.”

He nodded, his eyes hard and emotionless.

“Lesson I learned the hard way in Hashima,” I said, “The Japan business,” I added, seeing he didn’t understand.

Nate raised one eyebrow, shaking his head, like he had seen it and heard it all before. “You have anything to do with what’s going on now in America?”

My befuddled look gave him my answer.

“Talk of Civil War back in the States, mate. Some General fellow’s starting a war. Guess he was someone important, because it’s in all the papers. He’s threatening your President, he is.”

I shrugged.

Aussie looked at me, scratching his chin, “So Vexille got you here, huh?”

I nodded.

“And where is she now?”

I shook my head. “She left.”

He scratched the stubble on his head, smiling. “Well, that’s the answer to question number one,” Nate said. “But what to do with you.”

“I can barely move,” I said, laughing. “So it’s your call.”

“Just like that?”

“If you want a drawn-out brawl, you know, to knock a bad guy around ... well ... it’s going to be kind of one sided but I guess you’ll have some fun.”

He leaned back. “Oh, I dunno. What if I told you I lost my powers a few years back?”

“Serious?”

“Yep. What about that?”

I laughed again. “Means it takes you longer to beat me down.”

Nate joined my laughter, getting up and serving us both another frothy beer.

“Thanks,” I said when he handed me the mug.

“You don’t seem like such a bastard,” he said taking a long swig.

“How’s that?”

He chuckled, “Figured you’d take a swing at me when I told you I had no powers.”

“Then who’d get me the beers?”

Major smiled. “Very true. I lied, by the way. Haven’t lost ‘em.”

I leaned forward, trying to force my body up, and suddenly he was apprehensive, his eyes wide open, body tense and ready to strike.

“Sorry,” I said, with a bashful smile. “Need a bathroom.”

Nate watched me for a second, making sure I wasn’t going to lunge at him or something, before shrugging in the direction of a wooden door across the room.

I used the couch arm to get up, feeling every muscle and tendon complain. My right leg quivered with the first step and for a moment I thought it might crumple beneath me. I caught myself on the armrest, and the Major jumped forward to snag my arm by grabbing me under the armpit.

“Easy there, mate.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled as we struggled toward the bathroom. Nate managed to muscle me into the small room, which had an old-style faucet and a cast iron bathtub.

“Now that I think of it, I could use a bath,” I told him.

Major Aussie laughed. “Now you’re on your own, there.”

A long, cold bath freed me of all the grime and dirt, but nothing could free me from the weariness of a month lost in the desert. My skin is super-resilient, or else I would have been a dingo fest and Wally and his mates wouldn’t have found anything but a pile of bones. But the sun had taken a heavy toll, burning me to a crisp, leaving wounds on my shoulders, arms, and face that were like second degree burns.

I sat back on the couch, wearing borrowed pants and a long-sleeved white cotton shirt, feeling myself fall asleep despite a loud commotion coming from outside. My boots had somehow survived the ordeal and were the only thing I kept from the shredded pile of dusty clothes I stripped out of. I also noticed the metal bracelet still inside one of the pockets of the pants, and I slipped it on my wrist. It went right over the bumpy scar tissue where Haha had resided until about three weeks ago. The wound itself had healed almost immediately, but the scar was something I would carry with me forever. Much like the jagged tissue on the back of my right hand, an ever-present reminder of my worst moment of desperation.

Major Aussie served me a plate of scrambled eggs and biscuits, and I dug in, like one of those ravenous dingoes trying to get a bite out of me. Just as I had cleaned the plate, I felt a commotion outside. He came out of the kitchen to the big window that overlooked the Australian prairie.

“Friends of yours?” Aussie asked, peering out of a window.

I forced myself to stand, an ill feeling in my stomach spreading across my chest as I scanned the outside through the angled blinds and saw a gathering throng of supers. I saw a few villains I recognized and knew immediately that Zundergrub’s horde had found me. “I don’t think they’re friendly.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Major Aussie said.

“Why the hell not? I don’t know those people.”

“And they happen upon you in the middle of nowhere? Yeah, right.”

He paused for a moment, looking at the stairs, then back at me.

“Would rather be in my suit,” he explained.

“Want some advice?” I asked. “I mean, I know you don’t want my advice. Why the hell would you want it, right? I just felt like I needed to ask, you know?”

Major Aussie smiled.

“Go on.”

“Get your people out of here,” I said.

He shook his head, looking out the window again, “And let you get away with your friends? I don’t think so.”

“They’re not my friends. They’re here to kill me.”