An Oath of Humanity, Pt 1

Kevin scanned the warehouses around him with eyes that weren’t his own. It reminded him of southeast Greeley, with seeming empty buildings, the windows dark eyes that itched of secret malice. Now, as then, he held back the shivers that shook the marrow of his bones. Of course, the structures were different too – back home they were built of clapboard and steel frames, while they had no such notions here, neither the ability, to make such. Each was made of fired red brick, dulled and pitted or of wood, warped by time, the whitewash discolored with layers of road dust. These buildings were made to house products for markets, not to please the eye. What would the façade matter if goods inside were available to their owners?

He thought that this place, bereft of technology, would at least post a sentry to guard these buildings, considering the supposed value of the products inside or a city patrol of some type. Yet, Kevin never saw one, whether slouched in sleep on a chair or strutting out a patrol circuit, though that may have been due to the time of day. Perhaps with the threat of war upon them, these men were called elsewhere. Still, it was far away, and far from Kevin’s thoughts, though a foreigner he was.

His stomach gurgled and he added a push to his stride. He wished there was a better route to the marketplace, but he ground his teeth every time he pushed through the thick crowds for a simple lunch. This trek through the warehouse streets, though stressful, gave him time to relax while he ate and return at a more leisurely pace. He didn’t know why these empty buildings, this aloneness, set his mind on edge. He wished that he had a long knife or a dagger like so many others in this town, but he never felt comfortable around such things, preferring his hands and feet for protection. Still, a weapon within his reach might deter those who saw a defenseless mark. He hoped that he need not put his skills to the test.

He saw the intersection that would take him back to the markets. His mouth tightened in a smile until he heard the scream. A young woman rounded a warehouse facing the intersection and sprinted his way. Their eyes connected.

“Help me!”

Kevin hesitated. Could this be a trick? Was this a set up to rob and strip him? To leave him for dead? He shook himself. Her eyes were wide, dark brown hair flailed behind, legs pumping. This was fear. Kevin couldn’t risk being wrong.

He caught up to her halfway down the street. Her head whipped back and forth, half turning around, checking behind her. She gulped air.

“I’m Kevin,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

She stabbed a finger back the way she came. Kevin spotted two men. They wore rough laborer garb. Neither was large, but they were muscled, shoulders hunched, hands clenched into fists and rage in their eyes. The man in the lead glared at Kevin. Kevin felt his skin pale and sweat. He wasn’t prepared for this. He was no stranger to fighting, but he wasn’t a warrior and he certainly didn’t have a weapon to protect himself or this woman. His whole body tensed in anticipation of flight. The men must have seen the fear etched on Kevin’s face, for they broke into a run.

“We can’t stay here. Come on!” he said. Kevin grabbed her arm. He was surprised by her strength. Her skin was smooth and firm. He felt her feminine muscles tense under his grip. She shook her head.

“I’ll lead,” she said. “I know these streets.”

She broke her arm free and sprinted down a tight alley. Kevin followed close behind, throwing backwards glances. The men were closing in. He whipped his head around again – still the two men gained on them. The woman tightened her grip on his hand.

“Faster,” she said between breaths. “We have to move faster, or they’ll have us.”

Kevin nodded and they ran side by side. He knew he slowed down every time he looked behind them. He had a bad ache to see their pursuers, an addiction, but if he did it again, the men would catch them. She was his concern, his focus, his need.

He couldn’t see a pattern to her path. Her choices were haphazard and rooted in instinct. His mental map of where they were was shredded. Kevin was lost. He glanced about as they fled past, trying to memorize his surrounding buildings, to get his bearings. It was no use. At last the pounding footsteps receded into the distance, only a patter on the flagstone streets. Still, she did not slow. If anything, she drove them harder, propelled by her dread of what lay behind.

The warehouses and outbuildings were a blur. The faded, chipped paint swirled in his mind like a thousand smashed stain glass windows. Single story long buildings merged with two story squat structures. Square storehouses became five-cornered roadside islands. In an odd way, it reminded him of the abandoned mining towns of legend: wind whistling, doors on single hinges creaking in the breeze, slapping against rotting door frames. This felt the same. There was no one except for them and the predators.

Kevin caught his second wind as he ran hip to hip with this woman, Sophia. She breathed her name to him as they loped down the sunlit streets, the afternoon air both bright and cold. Her name felt right and foreign at the same time. She didn’t have the classic bearing like the famous Sophias of his memory, but she possessed the strength and the grace that was the

crux of the name. He dared not think that his actions could cause her harm. That he could fail to protect her. It must not happen.

At that thought, Sophia whipped out her arm and stopped him. She lifted her chin, her eyes focused on a distant point. The two men were now in front and were striding towards them. Kevin almost looked behind to check if this was a second pair, but he knew it wasn’t. Somehow these two had known where Sophia and Kevin were headed. Circling around, they were ready for their prey to arrive, winded and surprised. And he was that.

He rolled his neck, hearing the popping of his vertebrae, his neck knuckles, he called them. The running was over. He was lost, though there was something familiar about the buildings here. Besides that, their pursuers knew where they were headed. It was like trying to run a maze while your foe had a bird’s eye view of the whole thing. He hoped they didn’t pull a weapon on him. He had a better chance if it came down to fists. Much better.

He weighed his odds against the two men, smug grins stuck on their faces. The larger wore thick leather travel boots, undyed wool breeches and a tight-fitting brown shirt that stretched like a second skin over his defined muscles. His thick brown hair was chopped short in a military style, though longer than a buzz cut. His hand brushed his hip, almost touching the hilt of his sword and his dark brown eyes taunted Kevin, daring him to make a move. Kevin groaned inwardly.

The man trailing behind was more reserved, perhaps due to his lean build and shorter stature. He considered Kevin as Kevin examined him in return. The boots were of the common laborer type, as were his own, a pattern-cut piece of leather wrapped around the foot and tied with a leather thong. His breeches and shirt were uncolored wool, filthy and crusted from work stains and sweat. At least he carried no weapon, Kevin thought.

Kevin returned his gaze to the first man. The brown-shirted man’s hand dropped to the hilt of the sword where the fingers beat out an impatient rhythm on the leather-wrapped grip. Kevin struggled to grab ahold of his shaking body. He was a train on loose rails. Against an armed enemy he might as well be dead. He didn’t know the sword or anything like it. Perhaps he could handle a smaller weapon, but he had none. What he knew lay in his head and in his fists.

Fists, he knew. After his father died, his soul and everything around him was dead. A bleak despair possessed him, and he often wondered if he would join his father in the grave. Boxing became his light, his ladder back to the world of life. Every free moment was spent either in the gym or keeping himself in shape. And he was good. Enough to start making a name, winning all but a few matches. The money could have been better, but it gave him a place of his own and a few small luxuries. A year more and he would have been known, a real competitor. But the car crash took all of that away and left him here. Where ever here was…

“Anken!” Sophia yelled. Though, in the back of her mind it sounded more as a warning than a scream of fear. She knew him. This Anken, which he took for the larger man, knew enough about her to block their escape. Kevin was being pulled farther into some contest of these three players. Where did he fit in?

Anken slid his hand from the grip of the sword.

“You’re gonna regret making us chase you down. Your girl too.” Anken’s gaze outlined her every curve.

Kevin leaned forward and put his fists to his chin, his weight on the balls of his feet. He kept in shape and he was glad this body was more solidly built than the one he left back in Colorado. He could now pull off combos with more power and last longer in a match than before. Kevin was going to erase that grin off Anken’s face.

He launched a three-tap combo – jab, left cross and right body shot. He kept his wrists straight. The last thing he wanted was a sprain, especially now.

Anken dodged the headshots. Too bad. Kevin would love blood dripping from the man’s brow. The body shot connected and Kevin felt the other man’s ribs creak in protest. Kevin avoided Anken’s best effort, a flying haymaker, wild and weak. The grin was gone from his face, the contorted rage of pain and hungering revenge replacing it. He threw another, a hook, which Kevin weaved around with ease. Probably the closest this Anken got to a real fight was a closing time brawl at the local bar.

Kevin set up another combo, a double jab, a left cross, and another right body shot. Anken blocked the jabs, as expected, but Kevin tagged him on the cross and body shot, the last catching him below the ribs. Anken whoofed, as the air expelled from his lungs. Before Kevin could follow up, motion caught his eye. He ducked and two-stepped to the right as the man with no name missed with a blow that would have knocked him cold.

Kevin launched himself into his next attack. He wasn’t skilled in multiple attackers and two-manning him was a good strategy, especially if he couldn’t see the other. Right cross, left body shot, and a double jab to the jaw, all found their mark. Anken crumpled to the ground as pain seared across Kevin’s back and his knees wobbled, threatening to give way. He rolled forward, and turned, crouched on one knee.

Kevin stood, his legs still water, his muscles spaghetti, as the other man rushed him. Kevin met his attack with one of his own, a flurry of fists and the last reserves of his strength. This second man was pummeled on all sides, finished with a solid strike on the chin.

Dropping beside the fallen men, Kevin panted, almost a wheeze, his energy spent. After he had time to control his breathing, he pushed himself to his feet.

“Sophia, let’s go.”

“Haven’t you done enough?” Her words surprised him. They were hard, sharp and coated in venom.

He turned. She was cradling Anken’s head in her lap, running her fingers through his short brown hair. Kevin wanted to speak, to ask what she was doing with this man. And then understanding, like the last twist on a Rubik’s cube, all the colors in their place, came. He knew where he was now. It was where this woman, Sophia, first begged his help. She, the bait, had lured him, exhausted him, and exposed him to danger. What had he done to deserve this?

“Why?”

“Because you deserve it,” she said. “Your armies march nearer. You eat our food, spend our coin and feel our freedom. You laugh while we race around trying to defend ourselves. This would have been fun. But that is gone too.”

“I don’t even look like…”

“I don’t care. I hate you – we all hate you!”

She scrambled over Anken’s body and reached for the sword at his side. Kevin gave her a last look and moved off, a sigh in his step, towards the market. He was still hungry.