~

Chapter Twenty-one

~

It’s less that I had a plan, than I wasn’t gonna go belly up and yield to fear.

I’ve never been very good at doin’ what I’m told. Not simply out of stubbornness. I learned long ago people generally give really bad advice. As though by design. I’ve done better just followin’ what seemed right and natural, minute to minute.

Okay, so maybe when it comes to long-range plans, I’ve been pretty lucky at how thin’s turned out. Maybe Ike kept me headin’ in a good direction, as I think back. Without tellin’ me what to do—that wouldn’t have been constructive. Our interests, the technology ones, just sort of fit together. Certainly not all the political and social stuff.

Basketball—ick.

So the natural next step seemed to go home. So of course I headed home—at least to my temporary digs here in the Plain hamlet. I needed a shower. Badly. And I didn’t want to put the same clothes back on. They aren’t even my clothes I’m wearin’. Were given to me, after we soaked our own in human blood, the first day of this debacle.

No wonder they’re so baggy. Duh. Why didn’t I just walk over to the cabin? The constable had asked a lot of questions. Never thought he was gonna shut up.

These clothes have seen about as much adventure. It’s a wonder the hostess at that restaurant last night didn’t send us on our way, or call the health department on us. I’m pretty sure I have deer blood splatter on my jeans. And horsepatty on my boots.

Ick.

I could also use a dozen eggs and a pound of bacon for breakfast, which I could see in my mind’s eye waitin’ for me at home—the townhouse.

I never got an assigned parkin’ place in the garage since I don’t own a car, so it took me several minutes to find a place to park on the street. Twice I passed SUVs each side of the buildin’s main entrance I would swear are the kind police folk up North drive, just without the side panel insignia. The windows were too dark to make out faces, but the silhouettes were definitely human.

There’s a large Northern influence on the plains, but the districts are as independent as the Range, so any humans tryin’ to arrest my little ogre butt wouldn’t be shoutin’ they were Northern Justice and holdin’ up a badge, that is, drivin’ official vehicles, wearin’ police-like uniforms.

They tried that at Black Lake Hamlet. With the loss of several lives. Maybe they’ve learned a lesson. Decided to be less overt, more gangster-like. The fact they might be tryin’ it again at all, they hadn’t learned much.

Assumin’ I came out of an encounter alive.

I strode toward the entrance of my place, passin’ one of the vehicles I suspected held Northerners, found my fist reachin’ out to knock on its hood. Kind of cheeky of me. Clunk, clunk, clunk. Holey moley did those silhouettes inside jump, like I used a cattle prod on ’em. I’ve never used a cattle prod. Grandpa Klow thinks they’re inhumane. Definitely not somethin’ an ogre would use on a sweet innocent creature. But I’m aware of their existence, thus my apt comparison.

I was five steps past the miniature SUV before the two shadows inside managed to exit. They had probably been checkin’ their panties, to ensure, ya know. The pitter patter of their steps on the asphalt and sidewalk humored me. I peered over my shoulder. Yep. Two humans. Kind of animated, as in energized, toked up for action.

They shouted over each other, with counter demands. Yeah. I don’t follow orders anyway, so wasn’t gonna take the time to figger if I should get on the ground or put my hands in the air.

They both held their fists on guns hangin’ on their hips. Approachin’ an ogre that had no intention of doin’ what they wanted, they should have already drawn those thin’s.

They both wore jeans, olive-colored tees under black armored vests. Didn’t hold up any badges, as I expected. I let ’em come nearer without givin’ ’em any kind of reaction, other than a stupid look, maybe.

Ike has said I’m good with stupid looks.

At some point, they would pull those guns, probably shoot me. That would hurt. Never have embraced pain much. That’s why I avoid saddles.

I think Ponwr told me it really hurts—bullets, not saddles. Ike took a bullet in the chest, four in the back. They really ticked him off. But I think they knocked him off his stride for a bit. I’m a bit littler than him. Not so much muscle in the chest to stop a bullet—before it hits stuff that shouldn’t be stirred up. I guess all I could do is hope for the best.

They kept comin’, the idjits. I’ve read that humans think we’re scary lookin’. Somethin’ about our tusks. Dreads. Size. Goblins must make ’em need to pee, cause I find ’em really scary. So, considerin’, what human thinks it’s wise to get within arm’s reach of an ogre?

No clear answer to that question came to me.

These two must have been cut by the JV. I’m thinkin’. My reaction seemed kind of natural, to use my left arm to slow ’em down. The action turned into a swingin’ motion that brought the man’s head to the left with my follow through, as I plowed him into his buddy.

Ow. I felt a twinge in my shoulder. Would have helped if I’d stretched a bit before doin’ that. I may have also heard a crack come from the first one’s neck. Not a little stretchin’ crack, but a bone crackin’ crack.

I looked down at the two on the sidewalk. The one wasn’t movin’ at all. Would have made a good sandbag. The other rolled a bit to his side. Blood seeped out of his ear. And his mouth. And his nose. That must have hurt.

Hmm.

They’re so fragile.

~

Nuel

~

“Whadda ya mean, he’s doin’ his own thin’?” Wizper shouted at me.

No need to shout. Really. I shrugged. What could I say. While I didn’t try hard to talk him out of whatever he was gonna do, maybe I should have hoped for a better explanation.

“Ya just let him drive away?” Darshee asked. She tilted her head forward, droppin’ the hand and towel she was usin’ as a sweat towel to her side.

“Ya two just finish runnin’?” I asked.

“Don’t change the subject, hen,” Wizper growled. “The North is reportedly assemblin’ an attack force, and ya let the Range leader’s cousin go stompin’ around on his own?”

“Assembling—?”

“I have yar attention now?” Darshee hissed.

“Look,” I said, “I’m not his ma. He’s an adult. He can make his own decisions.”

“This is serious stuff,” Darshee howled. “Ya’ve been on the road. He has no idea what he’s steppin’ into.”

“And this is my fault how?” I said.

Darshee held up a fist. “I could give ya one in the maw, ya—”

“Darshee,” Wizper hissed. “Don’t.”

Darshee looked at her with a considerable amount of ire.