Category Archives: Fiction

This story was my second round entry in NYC Midnight‘s 2017 Flash Fiction Challenge. The writing prompts that I had in my brief were: Fantasy | A Dry Riverbed | An Allen Wrench.

---

 

 

Elora stifled a shriek of surprise as a whip-thin blade flicked past her ear, nicking her cloak and coming to rest firmly against her neck. ‘Yield, thief, and I will be merciful,’ the warrior said, her voice quiet and hard as steel.

‘Talawen,’ Elora mumbled. ‘It’s… it’s me.’

Her older sister straightened and blinked in surprise, peering through the darkness of the gilded hallway. ‘Elora? What in all of Faen do you think you’re doing?’

‘Shh!’ The younger woman waved her hands desperately. ‘The guards will hear!’

Talawen hesitated briefly, but dropped her sword to her side and her voice to a whisper. ‘Is that the Key of Allen? How did you even get it out of the treasury?’

Shifting the uncomfortable weight of the artefact strapped to her back, Elora set her jaw and averted her eyes. ‘I’m taking it to the fortress.’

A look of exasperation flickered across Talawen’s face. Grabbing her younger sister by the hand, she dragged her down the hall toward her bedroom. Elora allowed herself to be led, trying to still the trembling of her hands.

Once they were safely out of the halls, Talawen closed the door behind them and walked over to her balcony doors, drawing back the curtains to let silvery moonlight spill across the room. She paused a moment as her eyes adjusted, then opened the doors and walked outside into the cool night air. Elora followed.

‘Mother has made her decree,’ Talawen said. There was no heat in her voice, only tiredness. ‘Preparations are already underway. We leave a week hence. You know this.’

Elora walked over to the edge of the balcony, unshouldering the Key of Allen and resting it against the white marble balustrade. She stretched her arms, feeling the relief of the muscles in her already-aching back. The Key was a dreadful, imposing thing: a thick rod of shining black metal fashioned into a perfectly hexagonal shape. It was featureless and unmarked save for the last third of the rod, which had been bent precisely perpendicular to the rest. Were it straight it would measure more than two full inches, almost as long as Elora was tall.

She gripped the railing with both hands. ‘We can’t just leave. This is our home. Our people have lived here since they left the forest.’

‘And the Queen has decreed that we will return there. It isn’t your decision to make.’

‘Leaving won’t protect us! The forest of ancestors is too far for us to travel there safely. How many will die before we reach it?’

Talawen sighed. ‘The flow of the river powers the wards that protect us. Unless the water returns soon, we will no longer be hidden. The fell beasts of the field will prey upon us. The humans will find us. What other choice do we have?’

Only a week ago, Talawen’s balcony had commanded a breathtaking view of the river whose flow protected their kingdom. On a fine day you could see clear across the glittering waters to the shore beyond. Now all that remained was a tiny trickle of mud, a bare whisper of the once-powerful torrent that had carved out the now-dry riverbed.

The hairs on the back of Elora’s neck prickled as she looked upriver. Though it was concealed by distance and darkness, she could still sense the foreboding presence of the grim citadel that now spanned the river, diverting the water from its natural course. She pictured it in her mind. Stark, blocky parapets of enormous size and long ramparts that allowed only the barest trickle of water through.

The construction was many hundreds of inches long—perhaps even a thousand!—and, given that it rose from the deepest parts of the riverbed to the height of the shore, at least forty inches tall. That the humans had raised such a fortress in a single day was a testament to the power of their dark and terrible magics.

‘Grandfather’s journal—’

‘This again?’ Talawen interrupted. ‘Mother told you we cannot rely on those stories.’

‘Grandfather’s journal,’ Elora repeated stubbornly, ‘says that the human child he befriended bestowed the Key upon him as a gift.’

‘Yes. And?’

‘He said it was a tool. One that could be used to build things, but could be used to unmake them as well.’

Talawen shook her head. ‘Even if that were true, we don’t know the first thing about their magic. You aren’t human. You can’t just wave one of their tools of creation and hope it does something.’

‘Look at it.’ Elora rested a hand on the black metal. ‘It looks large to us, but to a human? It wouldn’t even be the size of a finger. It would be tiny. I don’t think it was forged for them. I think was for us. Maybe Allen—whoever he was—knew that we would need it one day?’

‘That’s still not enough to risk the whole kingdom on!’

‘But I think I know how to use it! It’s a key. It’s always referred to as a key. If there’s a key…’ She paused, waiting for her sister to follow her thought.

‘…a key implies a lock.’ Talawen grimaced, but nodded reluctantly.

Elora turned to look at her sister, a look of fierce determination on her face. ‘I will take the Key to the fortress and I will use it to undo what the humans have done.’

Talawen looked at her for a long time. ‘All right,’ she said eventually. ‘Give me a few moments to gather my armour.’

‘You’ll come with me?’ Elora blinked, surprised.

‘Of course.’ Talawen sighed again and allowed herself a tight smile. ‘What kind of a sister would I be if I let you go alone? We’ll do this together.’

Minutes later, they were gone.

I had the idea for this story kicking around in my head for about a year or so. After the NYC Midnight competition I felt like writing another short piece, so I went ahead and finally wrote it. No prompts or anything.

---

 

 

Tamlin slowly drifted back into consciousness. Rolling over, she snuggled into the warmth of the blankets, smiling at how cosy she was. There was no alarm to force her out of bed, no schedule for today that she had to fulfil. It was her favourite part of life these days: being free from routine. She stretched, reaching up with her arms and arching her back until it felt like she was about to pop.

On bare feet, she padded over to the windows that spanned the wall opposite her bed. She threw open the drapes, letting the golden light of the morning sun stream into her bedroom. Lingering for just a moment, she smiled again as the light played over her skin, warming her. Tamlin loved the sun. It made her feel energised.

Squinting, she looked out at the city beyond the windows. Dawn’s orange-gold fingers played over the silent buildings and streets. It was quiet. Peaceful. Serene. Nothing moved in the city below. Not that she could see, anyway. Above, clouds lazily crawled their way across the sky. It was going to be another lovely day.

Shrugging out of the thin shift she’d worn to bed, she paused at her wardrobe, hand hovering over its contents in indecision. It was a nice day out, so something light? She made a selection, pulling it over her skinny frame, then stood in front of the mirror. The dress was a warm yellow that reminded Tamlin of the sun, and was covered in prints of tiny white flowers. She spun a little, letting the dress fan out, and giggled. It was cute.

On her way out, she scooped up a wicker basket from the corner of the room. Admiral Fluffybutt had fallen over—she straightened the dun-coloured stuffed rabbit so that his head peeked out over the edge of the basket. He wouldn’t quite stay put so she had to prop him up with the loaded handgun next to him. Once he was sitting nicely, she tucked the basket handle into the crook of her elbow and strolled out the door.

Crossing the small apartment, she paused only to slip on a pair of strappy white sandals that she’d left by the front door and retrieve her enormous, jangling bundle of keys from its bowl. She then made her way down the hall from where she slept, in 71, to 73. Tamlin fumbled with her keys for a moment, then unlocked the other apartment.

73 was a disorganised mess. There was a single long slab of bottled water, still sealed in plastic, on the kitchen counter, and cardboard boxes filled with pill bottles piled on the floor. Tamlin took a pair of scissors from a drawer and snipped at the plastic, carefully liberating a bottle of Pure Spring Water. Opening it, she took a sip and made a face at the plastic flavour that had seeped in.

Tamlin started to retrieve pills from each of the bottles that sat in a neat line on the counter next to the water. Iron, because she didn’t eat meat. Calcium, because she didn’t drink milk. Fish oil, because it’s good for the brain. Multivitamin, because she was sure there was some other stuff she needed but she wasn’t sure what. One after the other, she swallowed them with a small mouthful of water. She made a face after each one, trying to stop herself from gagging on the pills. Blech. She’d always hated taking pills.

After she was done, she popped a chewable vitamin C tablet into her mouth and crunched it between her teeth. It’d help her not get sick, plus it was a tasty treat to reward herself for being a good girl and taking her pills. The half-empty bottle of water went into her basket.

She exited 73, locking the door behind her, and crossed the hall to 74. Inside, a slight breeze ruffled the curtains that framed the smashed windows, carrying a vaguely unpleasant odour with it. Tamlin walked over to them and sniffed. It didn’t smell like burning outside today, which was good.

In the kitchen, Tamlin pulled out one of her big jars of vegetables. She unscrewed the lid, wrinkling her nose again at the sharp vinegary smell, then carefully drained the liquid into a big gallon bottle she kept for that purpose. She emptied the rest of the contents of the jar onto a plate, then tucked into the mix of pickled tomatoes, carrots, cucumber, and cauliflower with a fork. She was mostly used to the flavour now, though sometimes she got really bad acid reflux and had to take tablets to settle her stomach.

After breakfast, the empty pickling jar joined the water, keys, gun, and Admiral Fluffybutt in her basket. She’d already decided that she’d visit Harris this morning—he loved jars, and she could still spare a few. She locked the door then headed to the stairs at the end of the hall. The door here was locked as well, but she had a key.

The stairs led up to the building’s roof access, another door. Sitting on a hook nearby was a large, floppy hat. Tamlin picked it up as she headed outside, pausing in the light to let the sun warm her again. She let out a small sigh of contentment, then put her hat on and went to inspect the planter boxes.

There were a dozen of them in a pair of neat rows, remnants of the community garden that had once flourished on the rooftop. Tamlin had taken over their care. She was surprisingly good at it, she thought. The various vegetables were growing and healthy, some almost ready for her to harvest and stuff into the pickling jars downstairs.

She went to the other side of the roof, where bright blue tarpaulin stretched between the small ventilation turbines. The big five-gallon bottle she’d placed directly underneath the weighted hole in the middle of her water collection system was empty. It hadn’t rained in a few days, but that was okay. There was enough water downstairs to last her a week or more—she was more concerned about her garden.

All seemed well out here, so it was time to go see Harris!

Tamlin headed back inside and down the stairs, passing her floor and continuing downward until she reached the first floor. There was an open atrium that connected the ground floor with this one, so she strolled over to the balcony overlooking the lobby. Putting her basket down, she leant over the railing. ‘Harris! Good morning!’ she called out.

Below, a gaunt figure peeled itself from the barricaded front door it had been plastered to and shakily lurched a couple of steps toward her. The tall man made a gurgling snarling sound in the back of his throat. His face was a mass of shredded meat and dried blood.

‘Hiiii, Harris!’ Tamlin waved excitedly at her neighbour.

Harris flailed his arms in her general direction in response as he went through his normal routine. He stumbled underneath the balcony, losing sight of her, and Tamlin heard some thumps as he searched for a way upstairs.

The stairwell was well barricaded with a dozen pieces of furniture that Tamlin had hauled down from the apartments above, and would take more than a single person to force open. The front door Harris had been pressed against was barricaded firmly from the inside, as were all the windows. He must have already been sick when he’d hid in the building, sealing himself inside. There was very little chance he’d ever escape the lobby on his own.

Tamlin waited patiently as Harris fumbled about, the gaunt man eventually coming back into view once he’d finished trying to get up to her. He stretched upwards, reaching toward her, and made another gurgling growl of frustration.

She grinned and pirouetted, letting her dress flare out. ‘Aw, thank you very much, Harris! And how are you this morning?’

Harris attempted to jump, his fingers brushing the bottom edge of the balcony. He lost his footing as he landed, collapsing into a heap. Tamlin laughed as he pulled himself back up. ‘Now now, you know you’re sick. You gotta stay down there until you get better. If you behave, though, maybe I’ll climb down and get that door open for you so you can go outside!’

He replied with another snarl, stretching his arms out again and straining to reach her. She shook her head. Silly old Harris. Reaching down to the basket by her feet, she grabbed the empty pickling jar from breakfast.

Gently—carefully—Tamlin dropped it down toward Harris. His grasping hands lashed out immediately, snatching it from the air. He immediately lost interest in her, his attention now focused on the object clutched tightly in his hands. Leering down at it, Harris seemed to consider the jar for a moment before he started mashing his face against the top, as though trying to shove his head inside.

She wasn’t sure why he liked the jars. He just did. ‘Make this one last, okay Harris? I need to find some spares before I can give you any more.’

He ignored her. Eventually, he would smash the glass and it would join the other pieces of glass discarded on the floor of the lobby. The small growls and snarls issuing from his throat echoed in the jar, making the whole thing seem a little comical to Tamlin.

Sitting down at the edge of the balcony, she let her legs dangle down. They were easily within Harris’ reach if he decided to try to grab her, but Tamlin wasn’t afraid—he was having too much fun playing with his new jar. She leant her forehead against the railing and watched him for a little while, smiling at his antics.

After a few minutes, she stood up. ‘Okay, Harris, I’m gonna go visit Mrs Childers now. Chat later, okay?’

She scooped up her basket and headed around to 21, unlocking the door with her bundle of keys. Inside, she walked to the bedroom window and opened it. Crawling out onto the fire escape, she took a moment to survey the area below her.

Once she was assured that there was no one around, she started to climb the stairs down to street level, holding on with both hands to steady herself. The counterbalanced stair swung downwards, propelled by her weight, until it thunked gently on the ground below. It was a bit awkward to climb with the basket still tucked in the crook her of arm, but she took it slowly and eventually reached the bottom.

Before she left the last step she grabbed a nearby loop of rope, tied around the bottom of a drainpipe running the length of the building. As she’d done a hundred times before, Tamlin knotted it around the bottom of the stairs to keep them from swinging back up and leaving her stranded on the ground.

She stepped into the alleyway and took a moment to straighten and smooth her dress. Keeping an eye on her surroundings, she strolled casually toward the street. Apart from the sound of the breeze sweeping along some errant papers and Tamlin’s sandals tapping lightly on the pavement, it was silent.

She approached the gutter, then paused and carefully looked both ways. Left, right, then left again. The street was deserted. There were only three cars in sight—two parked neatly by the side of the road, and a third that had been crashed into the building opposite her. She hadn’t seen anyone actually driving around in a very long time, but she’d been taught to be careful when crossing the road.

Safety requirements satisfied, Tamlin crossed the street and headed toward the crashed car. As she rounded the side of the vehicle, Mrs Childers came into view. The old woman had been crushed between the car and the wall and almost completely cut in half. One arm had been caught as well and was now nothing more than a knobbly stump attached to her shoulder.

The old woman shuddered as she noticed Tamlin. Mrs Childers reached out with her good hand, fingers contorted into claws, her severed stump also straining around to wave in her general direction. The old woman’s mouth was open, but the only noise that came out was a barely-audible wheeze.

Tamlin tutted softly, standing just outside of her reach. ‘Hello, Mrs Childers. You need to be careful. You’re already really hurt, you should sit still. You know that you’re stuck. It’ll only make things worse if you wriggle around like that.’

Predictably, there was no response. Tamlin watched the old woman’s features contort in frustration as she strained against the car.

‘It’s nice to see you, too. I’m sorry I don’t visit you too often, but…’ A wide smile on her face, Tamlin reached into her basket. ‘I brought you a friend so you aren’t so lonely out here! Here, his name is Admiral Fluffybutt!’

Holding the stuffed rabbit where Mrs Childers could see it, she carefully leaned forward until she could drop him just where the old woman would be able to reach him. Mrs Childers made no attempt to take the rabbit, still fixated on trying to throw herself forward at Tamlin.

Tamlin frowned. ‘I really hope you feel a bit better soon. Take care of yourself. Goodbye for now.’

At the side of the road, she checked both ways again, just to be sure, then headed back to the alley. She would normally do a little bit of exploring to see if she could find any useful things to bring home, but didn’t really feel like it today. No, today was too nice a day to go scrounging around. She was going to go play on the roof, or maybe even read a book. Before that, though, she should check in on Martin as well.

Tamlin nodded to herself as she climbed back up the fire escape, the counterbalanced stairs lifting up behind her. Back inside, she climbed the stairwell down to the third floor. At the far end of the hall from the stairs was a janitorial closet. Tamlin set her basket to the side of the door and unlocked it, easing the door open carefully.

Martin sat inside, propped up against the back wall. His ankles were bound tightly together with duct tape that Tamlin had wound around and around them, and his arms were securely tied behind his back as well, fastening him to a heating pipe that stuck out from the wall. He couldn’t really move, except to wriggle around a little bit excitedly when he saw her, and the duct tape across his mouth meant he couldn’t talk or really make any sounds at all apart from muffled grunts.

Martin was a couple of years younger than Tamlin, so he was littler and she’d been able to tie him up so he’d be safe when he’d first gotten sick. She could see his jaw working behind the duct tape, as if he were trying to say something, but knew that if she took it off he would just try to bite her again.

‘It’ll be okay, Martin,’ she reassured him. ‘Sorry it’s so dark in here when I go away, but it’s safest for you to stay put, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt.’

The boy wriggled some more and made a muffled ‘mmurrrhhhfff’ noise. Tamlin reached out and gently ruffled his hair. He leaned into it, as though enjoying the contact.

‘You’re lonely, huh?’ She sighed softly. ‘I’ll bring you a friend or two to keep you company, okay?’

Leaning in, she hugged her brother awkwardly, wrapping her arms around his writhing body and holding him tightly. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, jaw still working.

‘I’m happy you’re still here. One day you’ll be better, okay? Then you can come up and you can eat pickled vegetables with me and we can play like we did before.’

Tamlin pulled back and looked at him, cocking her head to one side, as though listening to something. Then she smiled. ‘Love you, too.’

This story was my second round entry in NYC Midnight‘s 2017 Short Story Challenge. The writing prompts that I had in my brief were: Historical Fiction | A Tunnel | A New Father.

---

 

 

‘Hey, Hank,’ Willard whispered under his breath. ‘Ain’t you only in for a five bit? Why you wanna escape for?’

The two men were almost painfully close together, shoulder-to-shoulder. The tunnel was high enough to crouch in, barely, but it was easier to lie down and crawl while they were scraping away with their stolen spoons. It was cool down here, under the prison, and the air stank of sweat and dry earth.

Carefully, Hank took a handful of loose dirt and tucked it into his undershirt against his stomach. ‘I knocked up Ethel not long before I got sent over. Carl came by a couple of weeks ago, told me we had a girl. Dottie, Ethel called her.’

The other man snorted. ‘Well congratulations.’

‘I been in here ten months. Ethel ain’t come to see me, not once. Carl told me she says she don’t want nothing to do with me, not while I’m under glass. My dad sat in the cooler eight years while I was growin’ up and I ain’t gonna do the same to Dottie. I gotta be there for her, Will.’

‘Right, I got ya,’ Willard said. A second later he chuckled softly to himself.

Hank stopped, glaring blindly towards the bank robber in the darkness. ‘What’s funny?’

‘Ah jeez. Nothing. Sorry. You ain’t the only one here ‘cause they’re dizzy with a dame, is all.’ There was still a smile in his voice.

‘I’m not…’ Hank absently turned his digging tool over in his hand as his jaw worked, trying to find the right words. ‘I just gotta be there for my daughter, okay? Ain’t gonna just sit in the cooler while she grows up. Can’t.’

Willard shifted, moving another handful of dirt. ‘Sure, sure. Hey, you run with us after we’re out, you’ll be rolling in kale. That’ll change her mind quick. You’d be surprised how many broads’ll size up as a worker for the right amount of scratch. And if she don’t, forget about her. You’ll have your pick.’

‘Look, Will, that ain’t what I’m about.’ Hank could feel the bile rise up in the back of his throat. He’d been nine when his own father got out of prison; a stranger that had swaggered back into his mom’s world like he owned it.

Hank had been excited at first—his dad had bought him a shiny new bike, a real expensive one. He hadn’t realised it was a bribe, not ‘til later at least. Just one of many his father had used to pay his way back into their lives.

‘Yeah, we’ll see,’ said Willard.

Hank could tell that Willard was still smiling and it pissed him off. He dug into the tunnel wall with a renewed burst of energy, stabbing at the hard-packed earth. It’d always been just like that. His dad would disappear for a few days and come back with even more money. He’d buy them some things, then spend the rest of his time out with Johnny Barleycorn.

Young Hank hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d just lie awake and listen for when his dad got home, slurred and stumbling and pitching for a fight. Sometimes his mom was lucky and the old man would pass out before he got too bad. Sometimes she wasn’t.

‘Careful!’ Willard hissed, nudging him with a shoulder. ‘You wanna bring the bulls down on us?’

Hank dutifully subdued his movements, setting his jaw and pushing away the memories of his childhood. The minutes trickled by in relative silence, broken only by the scrape of spoons on hard earth and their breathing.

After a while a grinding, metallic noise came from behind them. Dim light crept shallowly into the tunnel and Hank could actually see his hands in front of his face again. It was time to change shifts. He handed his spoon to Willard, who grinned at him. ‘See ya.’

Taking care not to grind his knees or elbows into the dirt, he wriggled backwards, lifting himself into a hunched crouch and shuffling back toward the tunnel’s entrance. At the end he stood up, his body just narrowly fitting up into the wallspace. The hole they’d chiselled in the concrete bricks was a tight fit, but Hank flopped through it like a fish, just as he’d done dozens of times before.

The cell was small and cramped. There was a set of bunk beds bolted to the floor on one side, a toilet and tiny washbasin against the opposite wall. Joey stood over him, giving him a quick nod of acknowledgement. Hank hurriedly stood and moved out of the way as Joey moved the toilet back into place against the wall, hiding the tunnel entrance behind the cistern.

Straightening his uniform, Hank carefully brushed away the traces of dirt clinging to the black and white stripes. As usual, some was ground in and wouldn’t come out ‘til he could get it washed, but they were cautiously confident that they were safe so long as the bulls didn’t look too closely. At least, they hadn’t been caught out just yet.

Joey stepped across the cramped room and lifted himself onto the edge of the top bunk, legs dangling down while he kept watch out the door. The bank robber couldn’t see the corridor properly from where he was, but he didn’t need to. Harry Pierpont sat across the way two cells down, watching from where he was, and Louis was down the opposite way, looking bored as he leaned casually against the blank wall. Joey could see both of them from where he was and they had worked out some simple signals to warn him about guards or other problems.

Feigning nonchalance, Hank strolled out the open door and started his walk around the perimeter of the cell block. He didn’t see the guard until it was too late. Rounding the last corner before the yard, Hank walked right into the heavy-set bull coming the other way.

‘Watch it, prisoner!’ the man snarled.

A meaty palm slammed into the middle of Hank’s chest, pinning him against the wall. The bull’s other hand was already hovering over the heavy truncheon at his waist, ready to administer the precise level of beating its owner deemed necessary.

Hank mumbled out an apology, heart pounding in his chest, almost choking on fear and the stench of cheap cigarettes on the guard’s breath. There was a tickling itch at his side and he realised with horror that some of the dirt tucked into his undershirt had spilled out onto the guard’s shoes.

The other man’s eyes drilled into him, daring him to make a wrong move. Hank looked down and away, desperately willing the other man to just move on, praying that he wouldn’t notice the dirt. After a few moments, the guard snorted in amusement, apparently satisfied by Hank’s easy submission.

Hank almost fell over when the bull let him go and walked off. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his mind was racing. If he’d been caught just then, his life would have been over. Escaping…when he did escape, was he going to feel like that all the time?

He forced himself to start walking again, putting one plodding foot in front of the other. He’d been so desperate to not have Dottie start her life without a father, he hadn’t really thought through the situation he’d be throwing himself into. He’d be a wanted criminal for the rest of his life—would he even be able to provide for Ethel and Dottie without running bank robberies with these guys?

Joey, Willard and Louis had robbed a half-dozen banks between them. Willard had even killed a copper during one of his escapes. If they broke out together, he’d be one of them. Probably for the rest of his life.

At the far end of the cell block was a tiny metal drain with thick grating across it set into the concrete floor. Hank looked around, pretending to stretch, then leaned against the wall next to the drain and slid down to sit by it. If he stayed in here, though, Dottie wouldn’t have a father for the first four years of her life. Worse, if Ethel kept refusing to come see him, she might move on. They could both disappear and he wouldn’t even have a chance to do right by them. Then again, would Ethel want anything to do with Hank if he was a wanted man? She was angry enough at him as it was…she might even just report him.

The grating over the drain was welded in place, the spaces between the metal so small that you couldn’t even get a finger between them. That was fine for his purposes, though. As Hank sat and thought, he slowly removed the dirt he’d tucked into his undershirt a bit at a time, tipping it down the drain whenever he felt it was safe enough to do so.

As he let a fistful of dirt trickle into the drain, a thought occurred to him. A long while back, he’d heard about some guy in the big house getting his sentence commuted—five years slashed right off for an early parole release—for snitching on other prisoners when they were planning an escape.

Hank wasn’t a violent offender and, so far as the warden knew, he’d been a model prisoner since day one. Escaping from prison may have been a reckless plan, but maybe these guys could still be his ticket out of here. An icy knot formed in Hank’s stomach and a voice in the back of his mind was yelling that he shouldn’t even be considering this. He’d be putting himself in a lot of danger by betraying these people. And yet…

Could he do it? Could he really drop a dime on the others?

He’d have to be careful. This was Willard’s second escape attempt. He’d organised a play three years ago with some other saps. They’d failed, obviously, and he’d had another eight years slapped onto his sentence and spent a year in bing as punishment. Will hated solitary.

Hank had never found out exactly what had happened to Arthur, the guy Will blamed for the bust. Anyone who’d actually been there avoided talking about it and, the one time it’d come up, Willard had seemed oddly satisfied with himself in a way that had made Hank really uncomfortable. They’d probably throw Willard right back in bing if he got caught again. If he found out that Hank were responsible…he remembered Will’s creepy smile and shuddered to himself.

When the dirt was all gone, swallowed up by the prison’s plumbing, Hank eased himself back to his feet and headed back toward the other side of the cell block. As he walked, he watched Louis straighten up and wander away from his lookout post. Ten seconds later, Hank was standing where Louis had been, pacing slowly back and forth.

He swallowed hard, making up his mind. Carl was supposed to come to visit again tomorrow morning. When the bulls came and got him, he’d wait until they cleared the block before letting them know he had important information for the warden. He’d ask to make a deal. Joey and the rest were dangerous felons—Hank was certain he’d be able to get a commuted sentence for flipping on them. All he’d need to do was survive until he could get out on parole, which would hopefully happen sooner rather than later if the warden played ball.

Hank nodded to himself. He’d do this right. Earn his way back into Ethel and Dottie’s lives. Not with lies, crime, and dirty money, but by acting like a responsible father. All he had to do was survive.

This story placed 1st in its heat in the first round of NYC Midnight‘s 2017 Short Story Challenge. The writing prompts that I had in my brief were: Comedy | Prescription Medication | A Martial Artist.

---

 

 

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Liu Hai Yan said (or, at least, the nearest Cantonese equivalent thereof). ‘Can we not do this today?’

Arrayed across the other end of the alley were a half-dozen warriors garbed in black. They did their best to loom ominously, but were undercut by the narrowness of the path forcing them to stand awkwardly close to one another.

Liu Hai Yan had expected some opposition. That was why she had ducked into the alleyway in the first place. She’d been pretty sure she’d caught a glimpse of Dai Sizhao, the Howling Wolf, at the far end of Wong Fei-hung Street. She’d defeated the young Wolf last Tuesday, while she’d been hanging out her washing, and it was almost certain he’d be looking for revenge.

These days, it seemed like you could barely cross the street in Lung Town without a confrontation with the Axe Gang, a long-thought-dead rival showing up, or—as in her case today—getting jumped by a ninja clan. It was, of course, too much to ask for her to be able to simply walk to the chemist and fill her arthritis prescription.

‘Why are you even here? Go back to Japan.’ The ninjas did not respond, but Liu Hai Yan had not really expected them to. She sighed.

Her opponents tensed, as if expecting the wizened older woman to attack first. There was an awkward silence that stretched on for far too long.

Liu Hai Yan folded her arms and gave them her best old lady glare. The ninja glanced at each other, then sprung toward her as one. A few minutes later and the alley was silent once more, the unconscious warriors sprawled on the cobblestone.

Liu Hai Yan straightened her cheongsam; the dress had gotten ruffled in the fight. She clicked her tongue, once, in distaste, then continued through the alleyway toward her destination.

The sinuous streets of Lung Town echoed the neighbourhood’s namesake, twisting like the coils of a dragon. As far as Liu Hai Yan knew, it had sprawled organically as the population grew. However, there were times when she was almost certain that some mad city planner had deliberately designed the layout. There were just too many blind corners (for hidden ambushes), too many wide plaza-like streets (ideal for pitched battles), and too many conveniently-reached rooftops (at a height perfect for stealthy shadowing and dramatic chases).

Despite all of this, Liu Hai Yan managed to reach the chemist without further incident. She opened the door and was confronted by a terrible sight. The shelving had been knocked over, stock scattered across the carpeted floor. At the far end of the store was Apothecary Chao, sweeping some of the mess up near the prescription counter. He looked up as she approached.

‘Oh, it’s only Liu Hai Yan,’ he said. One of his eyes was blackened and there was a noticeably discoloured lump on his bare, shiny scalp. Dried blood crusted the edge of his lower lip. ‘If you’re here for your prescription, that’s too bad. A bunch of toughs just cleared out the back shelves. There’s nothing left.’

Liu Hai Yan squinted up at him critically. Of course. It couldn’t have been that easy. ‘Are you okay?’

Apothecary Chao shrugged and nodded. ‘Yeah, I suppose. Couple of them roughed me up pretty good. Could have been worse.’

‘Are you sure you don’t have any of my medication left?’ She asked. She felt a little bad about pressing him on it, but she wanted to avoid any unnecessary revenge quests, if at all possible.

‘Hell, take a look yourself.’ He pointed back behind the prescription counter.

She did, picking her way carefully through the debris. There were a couple of scattered boxes left around, but none were her arthritis pills. Liu Hai Yan sighed. It felt like she sighed a lot, these days. She walked back over to Apothecary Chao. ‘What did they look like?’

‘Some gang, I don’t know. Young wannabe tough guys. They were all wearing green and white.’

There was a street gang that Liu Hai Yan had clashed with a couple of times before that wore all green and white. Not only that, if she recalled correctly they had a hideout in a warehouse not too far from here. It wouldn’t take too long to find it, but she was supposed to be home soon. Han Mei was coming over for tea, and tonight was definitely going to be the night that Liu Hai Yan beat her at Go.

She sighed again. ‘I’d better go and sort them out, then.’

When Liu Hai Yan had been younger, she’d thought Lung Town exciting. Every day brought new challenges and new heights to strive towards. New friends and allies, and new enemies. It had gotten old. Either that, or she had. Whichever it was, that sort of youthful exuberance was long past her. Now, she’d settle for being able to run simple errands in peace, without irrational kung fu masters and hordes of faceless goons popping up like weeds in her back garden after a heavy rain. She didn’t feel like she was able to just leave, either—all of her friends and surviving family still lived in Lung Town—so she suffered through the duels and challenges and poorly thought-out schemes. That didn’t mean she had to like it, though.

This side of Lung Town had an abundance of warehouses, most of which served as hideouts for kung fu gangs rather than housing actual goods. Still, Liu Hai Yan found the one she was looking for easily enough (though not quite as quickly as she’d have liked).

There were a pair of toughs guarding the entrance to the warehouse, talking animatedly about something Liu Hai Yan could not care less about. The first went down with a single blow. The second went through the door—Liu Hai Yan hadn’t been sure it was unlocked, and didn’t feel like fumbling around for another ten minutes looking for the key.

Inside were a dozen more of the gang, each wearing green and white. At the centre of them, grinning at her with his wide mouth, was Dai Sizhao, the Howling Wolf. Of course he was. Liu Hai Yan was almost a little disappointed at how predictable this whole mess had become.

‘I see you have fallen into my little trap,’ the Wolf gloated, spreading his hands out to either side.

Liu Hai Yan walked slowly toward him. A few more gang members filtered in behind her. They would have been watching the warehouse from across the street and seen her enter. When she was younger, she would have remembered to check the nearby rooftops first. Oh well. Nothing to be done about it now.

‘This is dumb,’ she said. ‘You’re dumb.’

Dai Sizhao’s expression faltered somewhat, but he shook his head. ‘No, Liu Hai Yan. It is you that is the fool. Today I will repay you for humiliating me.’

The Wolf lunged forward, supported by the strongest amongst the street gang. She danced between them, laying about herself with fists and feet, almost too fast to see. Her enemies fell around her, leaves torn from their tree by a thunderstorm and dashed to the ground.

‘Im-impossible!’ snarled the Wolf, looking up at her, cradling his side.

Liu Hai Yan was pretty sure she’d broken at least one of his ribs. She hadn’t really meant to, but at least it had ended the fight. She ignored him, looking around the warehouse for the medication that the gang had stolen from Apothecary Chao. Over in a corner of the warehouse lay a small pile of bags, discarded next to some old crates and shelving.

‘Next time you will not be so lucky.’ Dai Sizhao called as he and the few members of the gang that remained conscious scrambled toward the door, half-limping, half-crawling. Liu Hai Yan let them leave.

As she drew close, she could see that the bags were definitely filled with the loot from the chemist. She was about to start sorting through them when something caught her eye. Sitting atop a nearby crate was a jian, sheathed in a simple leather scabbard. There was something odd about it.

Liu Hai Yan picked the sword up, weighing it carefully in her hand. Ah. There. She could sense it. This blade held a great destiny of some kind. It was important—an heirloom of an ancient bloodline, or a symbol signifying the return of the old empire. Perhaps it was even a mystical weapon, forged through magic, the bane of demons and shadowkin. There was a symbol that she didn’t recognise inscribed on the scabbard, two circles linked by a curved line.

Slowly, carefully, Liu Hai Yan put the sword back down. Nope. No thank you.

Instead, she rummaged through the discarded bags until she saw the familiar box of her medication. Picking it up, she double-checked the label and then gave it a gentle shake. She was rewarded with the jittery rattle of pills in blister packs, confirming it was full. Liu Hai Yan nodded to herself, retrieving a brown paper bag from a nearby shelf and placing the medication inside.

She was halfway home when she remembered that she was running low on eggs and milk. Pausing at a crosswalk, Liu Hai Yan made a face to herself and considered her options. She could just go home, of course, and worry about it later. Then again, there was a corner store at the top of the next street, so the extra errand wouldn’t take her too far out of her way.

When Liu Hai Yan got to the corner store, it was already surrounded by the Axe Gang, tough-looking men and women in dress suits wielding small hand axes. The windows were hastily barricaded with shelving, and a young, shirtless man she didn’t recognise was standing defiantly in the doorway, having a shouted conversation with an Axe Gang lieutenant. She didn’t need to listen to their words to know that a fight was almost certainly about to break out.

Liu Hai Yan sighed. She was almost home, and while she could circle around and head to a different store, the closest was a ten minute walk and there was no guarantee that she could shop there unmolested either. Plus, at this stage, she was almost certainly going to be late, and she didn’t want to keep Han Mei—and the Go board—waiting any longer than she absolutely had to.

While the axe-wielding toughs were focused on the young man, Liu Hai Yan quietly shuffled up behind the closest one and laid him out with a single chop to the back of the neck. He crumpled like a dropped sack of potatoes and his weapon clattered noisily to the ground. Several others turned to look at her, startled. The young man chose this moment to leap from the doorway, taking advantage of the distraction to attack.

He was actually pretty good, Liu Hai Yan observed. As he took down three Axe Gang members in rapid succession, she noticed a symbol tattooed at the base of his neck. A pair of circles linked by a curved line.

She darted in to join him. At least between the two of them, this wouldn’t take long. Though Liu Hai Yan resented being dragged into whatever this was, she decided that she should probably tell him about the sword after they were done. She did wish he would at least put on a shirt, though. That was just basic propriety.