The following is a short story I wrote for school. Enjoy.
The wind picked
up, blowing the fine dust into Darby’s face yet again. Pulling his tattered
scarf up over his nose and raising an arm to shield his eyes from the gale,
Darby cursed and clutched the poorly stitched wound in his side. Oh, he was
going to relish punishing the man who gave him that. Stumbling over a rock in his
blind stagger, he fell. Inhaling the dry, somewhat crunchy ground, Darby
thought back to three days prior. He had given food to a stranger, a seat at his
campfire. But in the midst of Darby showing off his latest scavenged find among
the smoke and the sweet smell of barbequed cactus wren, the man who had
introduced himself as Daniel Robbins had suddenly lashed out. When Darby came
to, the fire had been doused, His possessions had been stolen, and he had an
oozing gash in his torso. He had trusted the wrong person, and now Darby had
nothing but a single goal: Exact his revenge on Daniel Robbins.
As he followed
the fading footsteps in the sand – more than one set, it appeared Robbins had a
gang of thieves- Darby plunged a hand into his pocket and felt around, taking
inventory as he searched for something to smoke; a ragged handkerchief, a few empty
shell casings, and some lint. Nothing to sate a nicotine addiction, though.
Bastards had stolen his cigarettes too.
Eventually,
the front gate of his destination came into view- the rusted gates of Somariah,
a trading hub for the region. As Darby approached the settlement, he
reflexively ducked as the glint of a sniper’s scope from the town hit his eyes.
When no shot came, he slowly came back to his feet and continued towards the
gate, where three guards were stationed. One, a middle-aged man with a shaved
head and old-world military fatigues with their fair share of stains, cradled
an assault rifle while running a hand through his thick beard as his companion,
a sandy-haired twig of similar age, rubbed a cloth over the back lens of his
weapon. The final guard, barely seventeen, if that, raised a hand in a friendly
gesture.
“Hey!
Come on over!” A smile cracked on the boy’s face as Darby approached. “Welcome
to Somariah. We just gotta fill in some paperwork before we can let yeh in. What’s
your name and business, Ossan?” Ignoring the strange form of address –
settlements of this size often made up or borrowed words from other languages
for their own dialects – Darby approached the teen.
“Darby
Freeman. I’m looking for someone.”
“Oh
yeah?” The boy lowered his pencil. “Anyone in here, we’d know of. They got a
name?”
“Daniel
Robbins.” The young guard poured over his ledger, eyebrows furrowed.
“Hmm…
Robbins…Robbins…” The boys eyes brightened. “Here he is! Yeah, he came in
yesterday. Hasn’t left yet. If he does, I’ll let ‘im know you were looking for
him, Ossan.”
“Actually,
I’m hoping to surprise him.” Darby said truthfully as the man with the assault
rifle pounded rhythmically on the gate. An eye-level slot slid open and yet
another guard peered out before closing the slot and swinging the gate open. “I
don’t suppose you’d have where he is right now in that book, would you?” The
sand-haired sniper turned and piped up.
“Oyabun
might know.” His gaze shifted from Darby to the younger man. “Nasser, why don’t
you go in with him? We can handle things out here.”
“Okay,
Wells.” Nasser motioned for Darby to follow him. “Come on, Ossan. We’ll find
your friend.”
The inside of Somariah was cramped and
loud. Travelers wove around each other as vendors hawked their wares at the top
of their lungs. A mixed smell of cooking food, petroleum, and humanity washed
over Darby as he was caught up in the oppressive crowd.
“So,
who’s this Oyabun guy?” He asked over the bedlam.
“I
guess you’d call him the mayor, or the sheriff or something.” Nasser yelled
back. “Keeps the order around here, knows everything that goes on. If I give
him a description, he’ll be able to find this friend of yours.” An unshaven man
in a stocking cap bumped into Darby, biting back his apology as his eyes
widened. For a moment the two men stared at each other, the stranger in shock,
Darby in confusion. Muttering a half apology and something about thinking Darby
was someone else, the man disappeared back into the crowd.
“What
was that about?” Darby asked, turning slightly to allow an older woman more
room to pass.
“No
clue, Ossan. We get all kinds here. Anyway, so what’s this Robbins guy look
like?”
“About
thirty, 5’10 with jet black hair and a triangular scar on his cheek.” Darby
recalled, reaching into his pocket again for a cigarette that wasn’t there.
“Should
be enough for Oyabun to find ‘im. Wait here, Ossan. I’ll go get him.” With a
grin, Nasser disappeared into a building. Darby sighed and leaned against the
wall, staring at a stand selling fried rats and inhaling the meaty scent.
Suddenly, two men leaned against the wall as well, one on either side of him.
Turning to face one of them, Darby stopped as another pair in the crowd caught
his eye. The man in the stocking cap was pointing straight at him, and next to
him was none other than Daniel Robbins. Leaping towards Robbins, Darby was
caught by the two thugs on the wall.
“Well,
well…well.” Robbins stalked towards
Darby. “And here I thought I had killed you dead.”
“Looks
like you’re not too handy with that knife of yours.” Darby snarled.
“I
assume you’re here to take back the device?” Robbins pulled a box from his
jacket, a strange-looking machine with gears inside stamped with letters.
“That
thing? Don’t even know what it does. Thought maybe a merchant might. I followed
you here,” Darby growled, “because you knifed me. I assume these bastards are
your little helpers?” One of the thugs holding him in place scowled and
fingered his belt knife unconsciously.
“They
are. Helped me carry off your things, in fact.” Robbins grimaced. “I suppose I
have to finish what I started, though, don’t I?” He replaced the device in his
jacket and whipped out a sawed-off automatic. Darby elbowed one of his captors
in the ribs, taking his belt knife and turning the thug between his body and
Robbins in time to shield himself from a burst of gunfire. He stabbed the other
thug in the gut, opening his own wound from the exertion as bystanders
scattered with screams and cries for the town watch. The underling in the
stocking cap pulled a knife and charged, only to be pettily disarmed with a
quick twist on Darby’s part. Desperately, Darby threw his knife at Robbins as
the other man launched another volley of bullets. The knife caught Robbins in
the throat, as the stream of lead from his machine gun bolted into Darby’s
chest. Both men collapsed.
Warm,
metallic-smelling blood leaked from Darby’s body onto the street. He made a
shuddering gasp and coughed. Everything had happened so suddenly, so quickly.
He had hoped to take his time in killing the bastards, hoped to get the drop on
Robbins, not the other way around. The receding back of Robbins’ third thug was
the only movement he could see, and the now distant screams of the townspeople
seemed…too distant. Like they were
happening in another world. And Darby realized they were, because he wasn’t in
the same one anymore. Because he was dying. He had wanted only a single thing,
to kill Daniel Robbins, and he had gotten it. He should have wished for
something more worthwhile. Like one last goddamn smoke. Nasser was beside him
now, shaking him, from the looks of it. But not the feel. Calling out to him,
yelling something that couldn’t quite reach his ears. And the colour was
draining from the world. Draining. And darkening. Fading to black until there
was just one last thought left.
Was
revenge… really worth my life?
