Murder of Crows (Book One of The Icarus Trilogy) (35 page)

Jenkins heard the man’s speech and wondered why he had brought it up in the first place.  Throughout the entire match the jester had been doing his best to cheer up the young soldier and he’d done a good job.  The young Crow realized how foolish he had been to think Norris was a victim of some conspiracy.  The man had just accepted his fate.  Jenkins couldn’t bring himself to look the Englishman in the eye.

“Now don’t you get pouty on me, princess.  I know that rumor is floating around and I guess it’s natural for you to ask about it.  But no more of it, you hear?  And if someone ever talks about it around you just let ‘em know that I’m all me; I’m all Edward Norris.  Nothin’ fake behind this smile of mine, you get me?”  Jenkins looked at the grinning man and wondered if he could ever bring himself to be like him.  He nodded and turned his gaze to the floor.

“Well, look, the fuckin’ squids are already here.”  Jenkins looked back up to see Norris peeking out behind the wall of the building and noticed there were three men from the other team approaching  their position.  Jenkins brought up his rifle and wondered if he should take pot shots at them.

“Time for you to get going, buddy boy.”  Jenkins looked down to see Norris giving him a half-hearted smile.  He was also aiming his sidearm at Jenkins’ midsection.  The young Crow couldn’t comprehend the man’s reasoning and shook his head.

“I’m not going to leave you to die here, Norris.  I’m not going to be that asshole,” Jenkins said with a newfound determination.   Norris just laughed at that and raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not going to be that asshole.  I’m pointing a gun at you and telling you to leave.  And don’t push it, because I don’t mind shooting you somewhere unimportant.  What you don’t see is there’s another two heading in from the South, and I can’t shoot that way.  I’m telling you that I’m going to stay here, draw them in and then use these fancy grenades on my belt to blow us all to hell.  I’m going to enjoy it and you’re going to be half a kilometer away when it happens.”  Jenkins shook his head again and stood to his full height.  He didn’t believe that Norris would shoot him like this, not if he was trying to save the Englishman’s life.

“No, Norris.  It’s not like I have anything to live for out there.  I’m going to stay here and fight,” Jenkins said, doing his best to sound like a hero.  His voice wavered as he said it, but Jenkins wasn’t going to let the sniper kill himself like this.  It wasn’t right.

“No, mate, you’re not.  You don’t get where I’m coming from.  I can accept that I’m going to die along with these ink-spitters, but I’m not going to let you throw yourself into a meat-thresher just because it’s the ‘right thing to do.’  That’s not how you play this game.  There are no heroics or selfless deeds.  There’s life and what you do with it.  You have no reason to die here with me.  I’d prefer it if you didn’t.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jenkins looked down at the Englishman and was entirely frustrated.  He wanted to do something for the doomed man but knew that every word he said was true.  There wouldn’t be a point for him to die with the sniper.  There was no point in a needless resurrection when he could have gotten away.  He huffed and stood there for a second, even though he knew he had to leave.  Norris turned to look at him and sighed.

“You know what they say about freedom, mate?”  Jenkins looked at the Englishman and shrugged.  He knew that Norris had something in mind for the question.  Edward Norris looked at him in the eye and sighed again.

“It’s choosing your way to die.  Go on, then.  They’re almost here,” Norris said before turning onto his belly and taking aim with his rifle.  Jenkins didn’t wait for the Crow to shoot his rifle.  Jenkins ran down the steps, over the soldier’s body and out of the east exit of the broken building.  He broke into a sprint and heard Norris start shooting rounds at the encroaching Krakens.  The young Crow could hear returning gunfire from the other team but knew they wouldn’t hit Norris.  The Englishman was experienced and wouldn’t let something like a potshot do him in.

Jenkins didn’t make the half-kilometer before he heard the explosion.  He turned just in time to see the fire erupt from the top of the building and wondered what kind of munitions Norris was hiding.  There was no way that was standard equipment.  He was looking at the flames when he realized that he wasn’t feeling anything about Norris’ sacrifice.  Jenkins knew he would see the man tomorrow and in a few days throw a few punches his way in the training yard.  The young soldier realized that none of it mattered.

He knew Norris would have wanted it that way.

-

Carver couldn’t get his mind off of what he saw in Jenkins that morning.  The old Crow had seen it before in soldiers who had committed suicide; he had seen it in Washington.  He didn’t want that to happen with Jenkins.  It echoed too close to home.

The old man sank a few rounds into the back of the retreating Kraken and made sure the enemy soldiers were all accounted for.  They weren’t the best team but a stray bullet would kill just as easily as a determined one.  With the season coming to a close some of the soldiers tended to work harder, as well, though Carver had never really seen it on his end.

Cortes and Feldman were dead nearby.  Feldman had been paired with Templeton, but the thin man had been killed by a pair of Krakens who had flanked around the giant.  After making his way to Carver and Cortes the three of them had done well for a while, but during the last altercation Feldman had been slaughtered before he could reach the enemy.  Cortes had been too distracted having a conversation with himself that he had ended up with a bullet in his brain.  After the smoke cleared Carver was left by himself in the clearing.  He never intended for that to happen, but it always seemed like he was the last one standing.  It was just more of the same.

The old Crow walked to the enemy soldier he had just killed and sank another round into the man’s back.  He didn’t want to leave any chances of another soldier shooting him between death throes.  Carver kicked over the man’s body and inspected the soldier.  It was just another cookie-cutter action figure lying there in the dirt and metal scrap with a white squid painted on his shoulder.  Carver looked at the man and wondered what it would be like to exist outside of this constant warfare.  He didn’t remember his life before it.  He didn’t know life without it.

Carver didn’t think this was an annihilation match and the powers that be hadn’t let them in on it, but if it was the Crows were well on their way to losing it.  He’d only heard of problems from the others over Comms; now the beacons were mostly gone.  He thought about joining up with Abrams and Warner to the north.  They seemed to be one of the few pairs left intact.  They worked rather well together, and Carver would most likely be a welcome addition to their unit.  The veteran was about to move on when he heard a crackle over Comms.

“This is Jenkins.  I’m running to your position with two contacts on my heels.  I need help,” Carver could hear the young soldier's voice interrupted by desperate breaths.  Without needing to think the veteran broke into a running start towards Jenkins’ approaching beacon.  Carver scanned his display to see Norris’ beacon but from its absence he guessed that Jenkins was alone.

That was the last thing that Carver wanted.

-

Jenkins was running harder than he had in a long time.  He had thought he was safe after Norris’ antics, but he should have known better.  Only in ideal circumstances would an explosion like that take out five enemy soldiers.  The young Crow had languished and it didn’t take long before he noticed two of the Krakens running at him with their weapons drawn.  Jenkins’ instincts had kicked in and he had started sprinting towards the closest ally soldier.  He was quite grateful that it was Carver.

The young Crow was running for his life and he had no intention of slowing down.  The first thirty seconds were quite tense as the bullets flew past him, but now that the enemy soldiers had to run to keep up, the gunfire had stopped.  Jenkins knew that if he slowed down he would be dead.  If he turned to fight he would be dead.  The only option was to keep running.

He was halfway to Carver when the cramps started.  It didn’t help that his entire head felt muddy and heavy from all of the clotting from his broken nose.  The pain was becoming crippling, but he knew he had to suffer through it.  The two soldiers behind him would have no mercy because he was just a little winded.

He tried to push the pain from his mind and disregard it.  He tried to remember that none of it mattered and that it was just his body telling him that it had had enough.  He was the boss of it; his body would have to listen to him and keep running.  Pain was just something that he had to endure for now.

But the more he thought about it the more he realized that he didn’t want to ignore it.  While it wasn’t pleasurable, Jenkins recognized that it was one of the few things left to him that was entirely his.  It was his experience.  It wasn’t a memory from a past life or some vitals meter from a lab.  This pain and cramp in his side, this pressure in his brain and the ache in his muscles were all things that were unique to him.

Jenkins stopped trying to ignore it.  He chose instead to embrace it and truly feel the agony that was pulsating through his body.  Once he stopped trying to deny it the experience flooded his perceptions.  Suddenly it was no longer something endurable; it was an avalanche of sensory information.  The dull aches and pains from his resurrections that he had convinced himself weren’t all that bad were now slamming into him with full force.  He decided that it was the right thing to do.  He wasn’t going to deny any part of his existence now.  He accepted it all.

But while he didn’t regret letting himself feel that pain, he did regret the timing.  He still had two hundred meters to go before reaching Carver’s beacon and each step was now torture.  He gasped with each step and each intake of breath felt like he was breathing in fire.  For a split second the young soldier started to black out on his feet, but he was able to gather his wits about him and keep running.  He was rounding past a pile of concrete and rebar when he heard Carver’s voice over Comms.

“Kid, just get to me and take cover.  I’ll take care of them.”  Jenkins didn’t bother to respond.  He didn’t have the breath in him to speak in any case and Carver probably had the best idea of how to take care of the two Krakens on his heels.  The old man had been at it long enough.

The pain was screaming around him as he rounded a corner and saw the old man training his rifle over an old transport.  If Carver’s beacon wasn’t overhead Jenkins wouldn’t have noticed the old man.  He was hiding in plain sight in like-colored surroundings.  Jenkins heard the two soldiers behind him and could tell they were gaining; the young Crow’s decision to embrace his pain had cost him his speed. 

He was still sprinting towards the veteran when he saw the muzzle flare from Carver’s weapon.  Jenkins felt the air whip around him as the bullet passed and he heard one of the soldiers groan behind him.   The young Crow knew without looking that the veteran had shot the man in the head; Carver took his time and chose his shots accordingly. 

Jenkins heard the man behind him skidding on the ground as he tried to stop.  The young soldier figured the man was trying to back out of the trap, but to no avail; the old Crow had taken aim at the weak point in the armor at the knee and pulled the trigger.  The man was not going to walk again in this lifetime.

The young Crow decreased his speed and was about to jog to the veteran when he saw the old man jump off the car towards the fallen soldier.

“Keep going, kid!  He ain’t dead, yet,” Carver shouted as he ran past.  Jenkins obeyed without question and kept running until he was in cover.  He peeked back to watch the old man approaching the writhing soldier.  Jenkins noticed the man scrambling for his sidearm when he noticed Carver’s arrival, but the old man had already started firing.  Blood spray erupted from the wounds, creating a red mist, but soon afterwards the entire area fell into silence.  Carver stood over the man for a time with his gun still drawn.  Jenkins thought he looked like one of those plastic army men they gave to children.  He laughed in between breaths as he realized War World Entertainment had sold versions of those army men modeled after Carver.

Carver let the rifle fall to his side and scanned the horizon.  He didn’t see any other approaching soldiers, but he was nervous about turning his back.  He never knew where the next bullet would come from.  The old Crow walked back to the young soldier, who was still heaving air in and out of his lungs.  As Carver knelt down he saw Jenkins unclasping his helmet and throwing it away.  The boy’s face was entirely red and strained.  Carver could see the boy’s chest quaking from the effort of breathing and knew something else was going on.  This wasn’t just exertion.

“Couldn’t…. breathe…. in that…..” Jenkins said between rounds of gasps.  Carver’s brow furrowed as he tried to perceive Jenkins’ new problem.  It seemed like the boy had a new one every day.

“What else?  That’s not just being out of breath, there.”  Jenkins looked at him as he normalized his breathing.  He swallowed hard unintentionally and gasped for air again.  Carver allowed the boy time to recover.  He could answer questions in a minute.  After a few moments the boy started to breathe somewhat normally, or at least enough that he could speak.

“I started… thinking about the pain.  From this,” he said as he pointed at his ruined nose, “and from the resurrections and the running.  Everything.  Then it…. all came back.  It hit me hard.  It felt like torture.”  Jenkins looked noticeably confused.  Carver could tell that the recall wasn’t exactly intentional.

“Well, don’t do that.  Do you remember your first resurrection?” Carver asked.  Jenkins looked down at the ground and Carver could tell there was something more there, but he continued on with his explanation anyway.  “It was hell, right?  The bodies don’t get better.  We don’t get better with them, either.  Our brains just trick us into getting used to it.  We always hurt like that.  It’s just that the more we deal with it, the more we convince ourselves it doesn’t really hurt.  You just fucked it up by thinking about it.”