Spiritdragon - The Errand Boy

H. B. Boulton

Chronicles of the Order

Spiritdragon

Text and cover copyright © 2016 Helen.B.Boulton

All Rights Reserved

This novel is an entire work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.




CHAPTER 1 - The Errand Boy

Death and Outcasts went hand in hand like old friends.

    It wasn’t typical for most people to be so associated with death, but Jamie Craine had a full membership to the ‘I almost got killed today’ club. Every Outcast was a member of this exclusive enterprise – whether it was desired or not. Some thrived on the knife-edge of existence. Many sought safer terrain on the breadth of an ever-shrinking continuation – on an unlit road in the ashes of the old soul.

    When the convoy of Officers arrived, Jamie was swiftly reminded that sometimes old grim doesn’t play very fair. He thought over this fact as he crouched behind a blackened, half-disintegrated brick wall with a pistol in his hand. Beyond the wall stood five, maybe six, fully armed men. The number was a guess. Jamie hadn’t the opportunity to count them when he was running.

    Amongst those with a thirst for violence stood a man with broad shoulders and a thick jaw; set in what seemed to be a permanent grimace. His khaki combat suit was clean. A band across his shoulder supported a badge of leadership that was probably bought rather than earned.

    This man, known as the Lieutenant, said in a gruff voice that matched his bulky, thick frame perfectly, “Alright Outcast Scumbag, walk out slowly, hands where I can see ‘em.”

    From his position behind the broken wall, Jamie raised a middle finger just high enough to indicate his feelings without getting the digit shot off. He was more than willing to antagonise, under the happy delusion that he couldn’t piss them off more if he tried. Then a bullet skidded past the wall somewhere above his head and Jamie retreated further below cover.

    “I won’t tell you again, boy.”

    “Sod off,” came Jamie’s taut reply, with a hefty tone of mild annoyance.

    “Coward.”

    “Jarhead.”

    The taunts could go on and probably would have, but Jamie was well aware that the Officer’s patience was probably running as thin as his own. Ahead of him was open ground. In this section of the wastes, the buildings were eroded piles of rubble with straight lines of concrete foundations in a variety of demolished stages. Between Jamie and the promised safety of the ruins ahead was void of adequate shelter.

    The wall where he crouched was the only thing preventing Jamie taking a bullet in the back. In front of him was a hundred foot or so dash of exposed wastes to the ruined city, where the urban landscape of flats, quaint burnt out estates, void-filled shopping malls and derelict multi-story car parks cut into a sapphire blue sky.

    Jamie picked at a nearby dry shrub in frustration. He was sure that after several long hours into the chase the Officers would have given up on him. But here they were, willing to go whatever distance they could to catch the young Outcast. He should have felt honoured.

    Twisting around, he moved onto his stomach. At the base of the wall, to his left, were two missing bricks. In their absence, he had a clear view of the Lieutenant. More importantly, he had a clean aim at the man’s head.

    There were contingency plans for when a squad’s Lieutenant was killed. Jamie could not hope to stem the pursuit so easily. He would have to contend with the remaining Officers, but one less prick with a rifle was always a bonus.

    Without moral dilemma, Jamie took aim with the pistol. The polymer frame creaked as he squeezed the trigger and the 9mm penetrated the air and missed its target; skimming past the Lieutenant’s cap. In a moment Jamie shot back behind his shelter, hands over his head, under a torrent of hellfire.

    The subcompact pistol was not to blame. In a pinch it had been loyal to its new master, but Jamie was unfamiliar with the weapon and surprisingly hampered by its near perfect aim.

    Hell washed down with pieces of brick and dust.

    “Hold! Hold fire!” the Lieutenant howled over the noise. “Keep back! Keep back, Goddamn it! You want to get blown up?!”

    The gunfire dissipated. Jamie removed his hands from his head and pressed himself further into the wall. He was used to this sort of accusation. He played on it well. “That’s right, come and try it! Surprised you have the balls to come past the wall!” he announced loudly. Jamie hoped this bluff would stand. He wasn’t really carrying explosives, but they didn’t know that.

    “Mouthy little bastard,” scoffed the Lieutenant. “Just run and die like an idiot. Or give up and maybe we won’t make a mess of you – yet,” he muttered the last bit, but Jamie still heard him. “Either way you’re screwed. Making me stay out here any longer is a dumb move.”

    “Oh sorry. What time do they want you back at the retirement home?” shouted Jamie with more frustration than smug defiance in his voice.

    “Boy, you are thick as shit. I can keep this up all day, but you can’t.”

    Jamie didn’t like to admit the truth in those words. He had a decent two, maybe two and a half hours before nightfall. As that time slipped past, he knew he would eventually become desperate enough to fall into a potentially lethal mistake. He wanted the cushion of daylight to make his move.

    Opening his jacket, he revealed a satchel slung over his shoulder. He moved aside its contents and took out an energy bar. Un-wrapping it, he chewed off half, regarding the apple and oatmeal freeze-dried treat with tempered enjoyment. When he swallowed the rest the taste eluded him.

    Jamie then took from the satchel five black pods, each about the size of a fist. After checking they were still intact and good for use, he moved two to the back pockets in his jeans, one to the front of his jacket and one to his jacket’s side pocket. The final pod he held in his free hand after callously discarding the bar’s wrapper into the wind. The pod had a rubbery texture, taut with a satin finish. It felt comfortable in his grip despite the situation.

    Jamie moved slowly to his haunches. He scoured the landscape and selected his target; the abandoned mall in view between two blocks of houses off to his right. Then Jamie twisted around and launched the pod in his hand behind the wall. It detonated before landing.

    The area was engulfed in thick white smoke that wafted over like a sudden rolling mist.

    Cursing came loud and coarse behind him as Jamie broke cover. He ran through the smoke into fresh air and threw a pod from one of his back pockets into open ground. The Officers would know of his escape. His plan was to throw off their aim rather than try to slip away quietly.

    He knew his move was stupid and risky; a stray bullet could end him there or worse, incapacitate him and make him the subject of horrendous abuse. Fortunately Outcasts didn’t focus on ‘what if’. Every moment to them was present and inescapably real.

    The ruins were closing in at the speed of syrup down a tube. Jamie sprinted, but around halfway to salvation he heard gunfire from behind. Bullets flew and missed. From opaque white he dashed into clear blue sky, checked his direction and altered course slightly. Another pod, this time thrown from his jacket side pocket, kept him covered.

    “Get the bikes!” shouted the Lieutenant through coughing.

    Motors sounded. Jamie was still over forty feet shy from the derelict chunks of ruins and a further hundred and fifty from the safety of the mall beyond. His legs were like lead and his lungs blazed with pain. Jamie was by no means unfit; years of survival on the edge ensured that he was build to run and climb. Being an Outcast did not make him a gazelle though. He had no chance of outrunning engines and metal.

    As he entered fresh ground, Jamie leapt a short wall and dropped the pod from his other back pocket. He made use of the sparse outcrops of brick and mortar to keep the bikes at bay, weaving in and out the debris of the old civilization.

    Jamie was lean and somewhat muscular; built for quick small bursts of movement rather than flat out running. At seventeen he still had some growing to do, but despite being shorter than average for his age, Jamie wasn’t bothered by his height. Besides, being shorter made scrambling through the ruins far easier. Given how often he had to avoid being caught, he saw it as an advantage.

    An almighty crash came from behind.

    Jamie didn’t risk looking back, not until he reached the space between the houses. Ahead was the mall’s multi-level car park. He could see the main building a little ways beyond that.

    The young Outcast jogged backwards as he risked taking a glance.

    Under a blanket of white smoke was a mash of grey silhouettes, almost appearing as a hideous hybrid of man and machine. Whether the Officers had crashed into each other or hit a deceptively small concrete foundation, Jamie couldn’t tell. He didn’t care either way.

    He turned off around the outskirts of, and then through, the lower floors in the multi-story car park. Up concrete steps he leapt to the ground level, jogging through the abandoned SUVs and Range Rovers into the rabbit warren of picked clean shop units and empty vast corridors.

    Jamie ducked under a half-closed shutter. As he crossed the mall’s foyer a bullet went streaking in front of him, narrowly missing his torso. He saw a blur to his right and a flashed image of two Officers coming at him from a side passageway.

    The young Outcast hastily reversed and made for the nearest shop; a derelict boutique. He leapt through the shattered windowpane, narrowly missing two pose-able manikins sporting crude hand gestures. Behind the display platform, that supported the manikins, Jamie pressed himself into the flaky matted carpet and listened; the smell of damp and rot invading his lungs.

    Nearby the hunters sought their prey.

    The lighting in the mall had died years ago and with a windowless structure, lit solely by a ceiling of glass above, the low sun did not provide enough light to give clarity. The hunters had seen movement, but not the young Outcast.

    A few bullets went overhead, embedding in the far wall without issue. It must have taken a moment for the Officers to realise they were firing at manikins. Then two sets of footfalls from heavy combat boots passed the shop, sending vibrations through the floorboards and Jamie where he remained pressed flat to the ground.

    The vibrations ran further up the corridor towards the rear of the mall. Once they were gone, Jamie came up from behind the display and he stepped over the jagged remains of the shop windowpane out into the foyer.

    “You two, that way. You there, go around back!” It was the Lieutenant again. He sounded close, perhaps somewhere within the middle ranges of the mall’s complex.

    Evidently the Officers were thinking along the same line of tactics as Jamie, which meant the young Outcast’s escape route could have easily become a maze of death. The complex was too big for six men to cover efficiently. Jamie had the sinking feeling that more Officers had been called in for backup.

    He moved into a corridor leading to the food court, snagging his jacket on the wall as he heard a bullet flit somewhere behind him. He did not run, but moved swiftly and carefully behind a tray of dead flowers in what was once a marble centrepiece for diners to admire as they ate their burgers and fries.

    Behind him sat the sun through a murky, dirt-ridden collection of glass panes. The restaurant quarter was almost as well lit as outside, which was probably the architect’s intent when they first designed this fortress of commercialism. To Jamie it meant he wouldn’t pass as a blurred shadow. He could not abandon cover so readily.

    Jamie glanced over the top of the feature. There were three entrances to the food court, one led back to the north entrance, where he had come from, and the other two headed towards the south of the mall and the middle section respectively. Jamie had a clear view of all entry points into the food court. He suspected that the Officers had infiltrated the building by now. No doubt they had also covered the exits.

    As expected two Officers came from the north entrance. As they passed through, Jamie crawled back under the nearest table and moved further behind the marble planter. He waited until it was clear and took the route towards the southern end of the mall.

    After some ducking in and out of desolate shop units, filled with wire clothes hangers and bare shelving, Jamie found himself at the entrance.

    A single Officer – who looked as though he was contemplating how little he was paid for all this hassle - was leant up against the information desk, facing away from the young Outcast. As the man turned his head to gaze out drearily into the empty void of the south foyer, Jamie edged behind the back of the desk. He was out of the open shutters without notice.

    The young Outcast wasn’t naive enough to think he was in the clear. He proved to be right. Within the space of thirty seconds, three Officers were in pursuit across the south car park and Jamie narrowly missed taking yet another round of bullets. Breaking into a run, he crossed the pothole ridden main road, which ran past the mall towards the motorway, and entered the adjoining industrial estate.

    Once used as a depot centre, the tinplated roofs on skeletons of steel stood on a plinth of concrete bed worn bare by the elements. Jamie passed between two rusted forklifts, slipped behind a shipping container, and immediately came face to face with a loaded rifle.

    There was a thwack sound followed by a sharp twang echoed through the hollow space inside the container and the Officer before him collapsed with a dull thud. As the man slid to the floor, trailing blood through the rust, another Officer appeared down the end of the container. He saw Jamie and barely lifted his rifle before another bullet sent him to the ground with a hole in his head.

    The Lieutenant made an appearance, forehead shining under a messy weave of hair. “Sodding Outcast!” he spat, only then noticing the two dead Officers slumped on the ground. Without hesitation, the man signalled to those under his command to get behind cover. They huddled between the long-since-dead machinery, surrounded on all sides by high fences and obscured views of what lay above them.

    Jamie remained where he was. He held no concern that any rounds from above were intended for him.

    “Issue a retreat and bring the bikes around!” said the Lieutenant to those at his side. “Little shit led us into God-damn snipers-” He didn’t finish before two more of his charges were picked off by several well-placed rounds. The Lieutenant raised his voice issuing a sudden withdrawal. “Don’t sit there! MOVE!” he shouted just as another round came and went past his ear, shredding a bloody tangle at the side of the man’s head. He was out of sight before Jamie could register what had happened.

    In what was a confused mess, the remaining Officers hastily departed the industrial estate as the occasional pot shot was taken at them. Engines sounded and Jamie made the safe assumption that the Officers were all running home with tails between their legs.

    The young Outcast emerged from cover without fear of sniper fire. He stuck his hands up and waved at the nearest window from which a face appeared.

    “Hey kid, you alright?” said the face.

    “Alright as I can be,” called Jamie back, unable to hide his relief.

    Another face came over the top of the roof. “I think I missed him.”

    “What, that Lieutenant?” said the first face. “You got an ear.”

    The face above swore and muttered something about a dodgy sight before disappearing. Then came the call, “All’s clear!” echoing throughout the estate, and with it the tension in the air diminished like a dropped stone.

    From the warehouse a few men and women emerged into the golden afternoon light. Sometimes it was hard to tell who was who. After all, Outcasts didn’t care much for appearances. They wore what was practical; Hoodies and jeans, leather jackets and denim frayed with use. Jamie knew from experience that these fellow Outcasts were mostly sentries, snipers and lookouts. During the winter months they probably would have been in thicker coats, but during the back end of summer, where the air was warm and humid, no one here bothered with thick clothing. No point being bundled up when you’re on top of a roof baking in the sun.

    One individual approached him and, as she did, she made sure to kick the head of the nearest dead Officer. “S’up brat.”

    “Hello, Leader May,” said Jamie automatically.

    May was a young woman in her late twenties. She wore a leather jacket, adorned with gothic chains and embroidered skulls and a frayed pair of jeans with holes worn into the knees. Her hair was in a Mohawk style and partially dyed acid green. Her ears were pierced in several places by rings. “Are there many of these bastards chasing you?”

    “A couple of patrols,” Jamie said quickly.

    “Any Guard?” May asked with a serious expression on her face as her mouth made a chewing motion. Leader May had a habit of chewing when she spoke, whether or not she was chewing gum. It made her look tougher, but Jamie doubted this was why she did it. May’s entire appearance made her look formidable enough.

    “No, they pulled back. Only the Officers followed.”

    “Why were they chasing you?”

    “Got too close for their liking,” shrugged Jamie nonchalantly.

    “Must have been pretty damn close.”

    At that Jamie could only shrug again. He kept up his unconcerned front, hoping it would rub off.

    “You must have a death wish,” May said bluntly. “Alright, let’s set up a defence here,” she called to the others. “Keep watching the south wastes; I don’t want any of those scumbags slipping in behind us.”

    Jamie folded in on himself as he dropped his blasé attitude the moment May turned from him. Out of all the Leaders, he was glad he had run into her. In his experience, she tended to have a laxer approach to unexplained sudden violence than the others did.

    “Dump the bodies somewhere out of sight,” said May to the other Outcasts. “Start a pyre once the wind’s died down.” She perched on top of a high wall with her feet braced against an adjoined building for support.    “Have the snipers do a sweep southwards, we still have an unconfirmed threat.”

    As the Outcasts scrambled, May whistled to get Jamie’s attention. “Where do you think you’re going?”

    Jamie had been moving out of the industrial estate, but stopped a few feet from the nearest fence. May indicated with her head for him to return and he did.

    “Uh... I’m just heading to the subway,” Jamie answered.

    “Not back to your troop base?” said May.

    “Not yet.”

    She was studying him, weighing things up. Jamie held a breath as the Leader’s eyes passed over him. Once she had come to a conclusion, May grunted a note of satisfaction. “When you get back, tell Rain I said hi,” she said and looked away, terminating the conversation.

    Without hesitation Jamie slipped between two of the containers, out of the industrial estate and beyond the sight of the other Outcasts. Where the estate met the suburbs, Jamie stopped in a street lined with detached housing. Pebbledash walls and brick lay side by side. Many of the buildings lacked windows or even front doors.

    He walked amongst what remained, between piles of debris lining a cracked street. Cars were abandoned as hallow testaments to a civilization that existed in one form and metamorphosed into another – though not by choice.

    Jamie entered one of the back gardens and took shelter from the baking afternoon sun in the shade of a claw-marked wooden fence. From his front jacket pocket he produced a greyed handkerchief. Undoing his satchel, he took a small bottle and drank some of the liquid. Then he poured a little on to the handkerchief and mopped away the dirt on his face. The handkerchief was stained brown when he returned it to his pocket.

    He sat with legs flat out, on a patch of dead grass crushed into dirt, with his hands on his knees. They ached. His whole body ached. He was hot, tired and in dire need of a wash; trophies of what should have been a routine job gone shits-up.

    To obsess over what went wrong would bring no realisation or comfort. He had made it and that was all that mattered.

    With a shake of his head, Jamie released a miniature cloud of dirt and ran a hand through his crop of short, maroon coloured hair. Then he spat on the ground and dusted off the grit from his jacket. He examined the tear in the right shoulder where he had skimmed the wall. There was no blood.

    With a sigh Jamie checked his satchel’s contents were secure before he broke cover. He was wary for the first few turns, until he reached familiar territory, but he was never fully relaxed.

    A guy like him couldn’t afford that luxury.