The Outskirts

Running with my theme of posting spoilers and teasers, here’s a few snippets from part two of my San Marseille series, featuring Rie. Marie Smith. And just a touch of Caolle. If people who shipped Nel & Sharpe got their way, it might look something like this.

NB: They say that when you’re about to die your life may flash before your eyes. What they don’t say is it’s called living.

Rie had come up on the outskirts faster than she’d expected. Time and scenery, people and places, nothing was ever where you looked for it in San Marseille. She shook her head, trying to clear it of the fog that always tried to envelop her whenever she came and went from the city. It was like cobwebs in her head, pulling her down into a drowsy state somewhere between sleep and awake.

Maybe that was why she didn’t see it, whatever caused her bike to skid and slide, the front wheel buckled and then the whole thing was going sideways. The front veered to the left then the rear wheel chased after. Rie felt the bike going, already gone and too late to save. A scream that wasn’t hers as she let go, trying to relax the tension shooting through her veins while she and the bike separated. Elbows bent and fists balled up, she felt dirt and gravel scraping at the Kevlar lining of her jacket, the leather wearing through in scant seconds. Her body skidded into the verge, the momentary relief of grass vanished when she hit a lip and went flying through the air, tumbling hard as she came back to earth to finish face-down in a gulley.

Rie didn’t move, resisting the urge to moan or cry out. There was no pain yet, not through shock and adrenaline, just ragged breath misting up the inside of her helmet.

Before trying to move, she listened. The mechanical sounds of her broken ride faded quickly, dead, dying or killed. And there it was. Footsteps on gravel. Booted feet, crunching on rock and metal roads. She’d had a passenger this time, but there was no way they were up and walking just like that.

Rie gritted her teeth, suspicions confirmed. Not an accident. Vague flashes of another rider coming alongside them, then cutting them off. Dark and hazy, more cobwebs. She wanted to shake her head clear of them but could only squeeze her eyes.

Rie started inching her muscles, checking her damage in the smallest steps she could risk. Straightening her legs, opening her hands. No broken bones so far, no shooting pains. Flashes of heat running down her back and one hip, road rash but she’d survive that. The helmet should have staved off any concussion but she knew from experience she might get dizzy if she stood up too fast. And she needed to stand up, fast.

There was a problem though. It was Night. And time worked differently here. Time and memory and space and you couldn’t trust any of them to be what you expected. There was a reason she’d been going so fast, it was the only way through. The real world blurred into the imagination and all the rules were there to be broken.

There was someone coming, she could make out the silhouette now, another rider, leather and helmet.

Rie tried to clench her right fist, the gloved fingers scraping at the ground, the sound reminiscent, familiar, a memory of…

*****

Rie lifted her head at the sound of scratching on the door.

‘Is that what I think it is?’

Caolle avoided making eye contact with her.

‘Caolle…’

‘It’s not my fault.’

‘You were followed.’

‘It’s not my fault!’

Rie sighed, sitting up in bed. She snagged the first piece of clothing that came to hand.

‘That’s my shirt,’ Caolle pointed out.

‘And that’s your dog. Go let him in before he breaks down the door.’

‘If he wanted in that door would be matchsticks.’

‘He wants in, Caolle.’

‘That’s still my shirt.’

‘You can wear mine.’

Caolle considered this. ‘Does it have to be the shirt?’

He got a wry grin. ‘Go let the puppy in, lover.’

Caolle bounded out of the bed, still naked, and flung open the door. A shaggy blur raced between his legs, leaping onto the bed. Rie leaned away from the slobbery face as the oversized beast turned in circles amidst the sheets and discarded clothes.

‘He just wanted to see you,’ Caolle said. ‘He’s been moody.’

‘He doesn’t like me. He smells you on me,’ Rie countered. She looked at him, backlit by the streetlights in the doorway to their cheap motel room. ‘Caolle, shut the door.’

‘He’s seen me before,’ Caolle shrugged. But he did shut the door behind him. He also stood there with his hands on his hips. Poised and magnificently nude and utterly ridiculous.

‘The rest of the world doesn’t need to.’

‘You don’t know that.’

The hairy beast of the boardwalks barked in agreement. With who wasn’t clear.

‘I should go,’ Rie stepped into her pants, cinching the leather up with a shimmy. Caolle watched, approvingly.

‘Don’t,’ she said in answer to his smirk.

‘I still want my shirt back.’

‘We don’t get what we want. So too bad.’

‘I want breakfast,’ Caolle declared. ‘Come and have breakfast with me.’

Dracula barked.

‘Come have breakfast with us,’ Caolle clarified.

‘No.’

‘Please? As friends.’

Rie hesitated. ‘Don’t do that,’ she said.

‘Do what?’

‘You know what.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Don’t be my friend, Caolle. I don’t need you in my life, not like that. And you don’t need me.’

‘What is this, then?’

‘Really?’ She frowned.

Caolle shrugged. ‘What am I?’

‘Whatever you want to be, Caolle. Be my man, my weekend lover. The guy who nearly gets me killed and who saves my ass when he’s not trying to kiss up to it. Be the bad boy, be the guy who makes me so mad I wanna scream. Be the guy who makes me scream. Just don’t try and be my friend.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we were never friends. We’ll never be friends.’

‘First time for everything,’ Caolle said quietly.

‘Not for that.’

‘That’s what you said about–’

‘I have a gun,’ Rie warned him.

*****

The gun went off in her hands. Lying on her back, Rie wasn’t properly braced for the recoil and it drove her elbow into her ribs, knocking what little air there was clear out of her lungs. The shadowy figure, a silhouette in the misty Night of the outskirts, dissipated as her bullets ripped through it. There was nothing special about the bullets she’d loaded. Not silver nor iron, not frangible nor loaded with gels. Where a moment ago Rie had shot to kill now she couldn’t have sworn there was anything there.

Don’t worry about that, she told herself. Shoot first, second guess yourself later. Now get up!

She rolled onto her side, managing to get up onto all fours then stagger to her feet, dragging the helmet off of her sweat drenched hair in the process. A moment later she dropped back to her knees, coughing and retching and with one hand down on the ground to try and steady herself. She was bringing up blood, splattering the dusty ground with it.

This is bad. This is really bad.

I think I’m going to die out here.

Should have had that last drink…

*****