Who:Gray Wolfe and Rodeo Hawkins, with special guest appearance by some Capitol goons Where: The streets of Austin What: Gray is found. Unfortunately, Rodeo isn't the first one on the scene. When: July 13, 2018
Everything hurts. It's an ache that goes deeper than his bones, bleeding into the heart of him. It's funny. He thought being a zombie killed everything.
No, wait.
He cracks his eyes open, and finds that he's lying on the counter of a fast food restaurant. He can't tell which one--his vision is blurry and the signs have by now all faded, disintegrated, or been torn down.
But he can move. He lets out a miserable groan and sits up, very slowly. Or at least, he tries to. He ends up collapsing back on the counter with another groan. Even breathing hurts, which means broken ribs. He'd had that happen when he was sixteen, falling off a ladder. It'd fucking hurt then and it fucking hurts now.
He takes slow, deep breaths, trying to get his bearings. He needs to get an inventory of his injuries so he knows what he's dealing with if he runs into trouble.
He can remember the girl stabbing through his hand. And snapping the bones in a couple of his left fingers. She cut him up pretty bad, stabbed him a few times. And she cut something into his back. Something the man had fawned over.
He can't quite suppress the shudder at the memory and it makes everything ache harder.
Then it circles back to the bite. His right arm. He forces himself to raise his arm, just so he can see the bite. There it is. Shit.
He has to get moving. Has to find better shelter. Has to get home. No. Not home. Has to find a place to weather out the infection. He cannot make Day pull the trigger on him. It'd be a piss-poor thank you for saving his life eleven years ago. Can't face Vannah and Maizie until he's sure, either. Can't put them at risk.
It takes him a few hours to get upright, just in time for dark to be falling. No use setting out now. He hobbles over on sore and aching legs--she stabbed him there--to sit at one of the tables, the kind that's bolted into the wall. The kind the scavengers couldn't pick clean.
He sits up through the night, or at least he thinks he does. He dozes a few minutes here and there, maybe up to a full hour in one stretch. But when the light comes, he's ready to start moving.
He feels like he's a shambler, the way he shuffles away from his seat and to the door. He's got no weapons, but she's put him back in his clothes. He has his wallet, with all his pictures of his baby and his girl. But his rings are gone, except the one engagement ring. And he'll get rid of that as soon as he can. He can't erase the image of her holding it in her hands and asking him about the rings.
He almost misses the words sharpied on the door: FREE FOOD. Probably the guy. He leaves the restaurant and starts down the way, keeping to buildings where he can and freezing any time he sees movement.
But he's tired and his body isn't in the best shape. Countless cuts, broken bones, and no real rest. Eventually, exhaustion wears out and he collapses against the wall of a building. He doesn't know where he is or what building he's against, but if he can settle in for a few minutes, he thinks...
He's roused by muttering, and hears the words Gray Wolfe and Library. He opens his eyes, to see a pair of men his brain automatically registers as Capitol.
He tries to stand, but one of the men grabs his left arm, and the other his right. He screams when the one touches his forearm, hand clamping down over where infected undead teeth had been a little more than a day before.
Their words don't sound very clear, and he thinks it's because he's tired, but the one on the right yanks his shirt sleeve back to reveal the bite. His arm is dropped, and he hears the one on the right say, He's infected.
The other says, We'll take him in.
Olinger will be happy.
These words float into his mind and take a second to filter through. Shit. He tugs his arm free, or tries, from the one on the left. In his mind, he can surge up to his feet, bring the left guy's nose down on his knee to break it and knock him out, throw the right through the window of the building behind him.
But reality doesn't match and he's sluggish, struggling to get his arm free while the other jumps on his back. He lets out a piercing scream, the wounds in his back torn open anew at the extra weight.
It's been a rotten, stressful, hectic couple of days. Since finding out that Gray Wolfe went MIA, Rodeo has spent most of his waking hours delegating, planning, mapping, searching. He's always believed that this city can keep no secrets from him. He's not feeling quite so sure of that anymore. Things are looking grim, but Rodeo hasn't given up. He's still sending men out, still holding out hope. A third shelter controlled by the Capitol could be devastating for his crew and his cause. Rodeo doesn't doubt the Lady Wolfe's competence at leading in her man's absence, but he's all too aware that a shift in power-- even to Wolfe's Old Lady-- could be an open door for insurrection, especially if the Mayor starts making the residents of the library offers they can't refuse.
But it ain't just about the potential alliance between his camp and LBJ. It's about respect for a man that Rodeo believes has been making brave and thoughtful decisions on how to run his shelter. It's about sympathy for the family that is missing a husband, a father. It's about the value of human life, and that's a thing that Rodeo will never allow himself to take for granted.
He's been unresting and unyielding, but right now he isn't in the city with one of the search parties. For the first time in days, Rodeo is taking a break. He rumbles down the streets on the back of Kali, heading for the Denny's where he asked Lalita to meet him. He rides alone, without his cut or his kevlar, dressed in his James Disguise for Lita. He isn't looking for Wolfe and he isn't looking for any trouble.
So of course, he finds both.
Even over the growl of Kali's engine, he hears the scream. It's guttural and anguished, ripping from somewhere up the block. Instantly, Rodeo veers into an alley and switches off the bike, silencing it. He carefully climbs off, pressing his back to the wall of the building and inching forward to peer around the edge. He spots two of the Capitol's black-clad patrolmen dragging a battered man towards three of their colleagues, who wait near an armored black SUV with rifles gripped in their hands. Rodeo squints down the ash-sifted street, studying the man being hauled by the Patrol Pigs.
There's blood and bruising, but no matter how broken he is, there's no mistaking him. It's Gray Wolfe. And the Pigs know it.
"Olinger won't believe it."
"He'll believe it when he sees it, man. It's Wolfe."
"Then who's leading the library right now?"
"Us by sundown, if I know the Council."
Rodeo grits his teeth, dropping his head back against the brick behind him and rolling his eyes up to the sky. He's got nothing but Crow Jane and his Ka-Bar. He's got no vest, no backup, and no plan. He pulls out his phone and types out a quick text to his officers, then trades the phone for his gun. There's no need to rack the slide to chamber a bullet-- Crow Jane is never short of locked and loaded. He slides out far enough to aim across the street, fully aware that he has only one move planned and that beyond that he's going to be hoping for the best. While the patrolmen are still congratulating themselves, Rodeo fires off two quick shots in immediate succession-- one blows through the skull of the patrolman gripping Wolfe's right arm, the other shoots out the drive wheel of the truck. The other men react instantly, two drawing rifles, one running for cover behind the car, and the other struggling to drag Wolfe the rest of the way to the SUV alone. Rodeo ducks back behind the building, but he can already hear the boots of the two with the rifles coming towards him. Quickly, he crouches down low, hoping they will expect to fire at standing height. Sure enough, the bastards come in shooting, but their bullets blast over Rodeo's head while he fires into their kneecaps. Both go down, but one of the men doesn't stop shooting off that goddamn rifle, and Rodeo feels one of the bullets zing too close to his ear. He drops down lower, rolls out of the rifle's frenzied line of fire, and shoots a hollowpoint into the patrolman's jaw. It's poor aim on his part. It blows off half the bastard's face, but it doesn't kill him. Rodeo winces, scrambling up to stand. He quickly dispatches the gurgling man with a proper shot and then rips the rifle out of the hands of the other, throwing it aside. He doesn't head out of the mouth of the alley-- he's expected there, he's sure. Instead he runs to the other end, skirts behind a few buildings and comes out into an alley down the block. He creeps to the end of this one, peeking out to spot one of the patrolmen with a rifle pointed at the entrance of the other alley. Rodeo smirks to himself, slipping out from behind the building to come up behind the other man, pressing the barrel of the gun into the back of his neck.
"Now c'mon, man," Rodeo drawls, watching the man freeze up in front of him. "You thought I was gonna be that predictable?" Rodeo reaches his free hand forward, grabbing the rifle, shaking it by the slide to eject the round and then dropping it on the ground. "Get your hands up. Where's your friend?"
"Over here," someone snaps. Rodeo's eyes flash over, spotting the fifth patrolman crouched on the ground near the front of the truck. He's holding Wolfe in a headlock, a pistol pointed to the other man's temple. Rodeo kicks the rifle near his feet, making sure it's far out of reach before he shoves the Pig he disarmed into the side of the SUV. The patrolman cowers there, back pressed against the closed door of the truck while Rodeo keeps his gun trained on him. But his eyes don't leave the second patrolman, the one holding a Glock to Gray Wolfe's head.
"You gonna shoot a shelter leader, partner?" Rodeo asks the man, lifting his brows. "You think your boss is gonna like that?"
"Sure he will. When I tell him you did it," the patrolman says, teeth flashing. "Dog King."
Once they overpower him, it’s quick enough to move him towards one of the Capitol’s vans. It can’t have been too far away, or else they radioed it in quicker. Finding Gray Wolfe is big. Big for anybody, but especially for the men dragging him.
He’s not quite sure, maybe they’re thinking of locking him in La Quinta and praying he doesn’t get out or maybe they’re planning to kill him. But whatever they have planned, he knows it’s not good. And it’s definitely not home.
He gave up fighting them in earnest after the one jumped his back, but he’s trying to gather the energy for another round when the bullets come in quick succession. Training tells him what to do, but his body is in no shape to follow through and one of them is trying to drag him into the van. He doesn’t know who has the gun, who’s causing the trouble.
But he finds he’s incredibly grateful for them, and definitely in their corner.
He is able to struggle free of the one’s grip, summoning the energy to haul himself out of the van. He falls to the ground, but the very next second, one of them is wrapping an arm around his head and pressing a gun to his head. He’s not afraid of being shot--he’s been through that and now through worse.
But he finds he’s very afraid of the irrational man with the gun.
He reaches up with his one hand, grabbing onto the man’s shoulder. “You don’t wanna do that,” he said, but the words came out a little wrong, a few of the words garbled. “Ain’t nobody in the library gon’ believe it was him if it came down to a shootout between y’all.”
He’s bluffing. His head of security would rather shoot a Hellhound than offer one a hand up, but he’s counting on the words giving the guy enough pause for one of them to do something. He’s not very confident in his own abilities, not with the bite and the injuries.
“No love lost between the Hounds and the library,” the one against the van says, but his voice is shaky. “If the library’s in your way, you dogs’ll do whatever you gotta.”
The one with the gun against Gray’s head yells, “That’s enough! Drop the gun, back up.”
Gray's talking, which is a good sign. As fucked up as the man looks, he's managing to get coherent words out at least. Rodeo looks to him as he declares that the library wouldn't believe he was killed by the Dog King. Rodeo reckons that's a load of bullshit, but he hopes just as Gray does that the patrolman doesn't realize. The other little piggy pipes up to say his bit about the Dogs, and Rodeo doesn't look to him but his jaw tightens and his eyes darken as his head starts to heat up.
"You read that bullshit factoid in your Mindless Lackey handbook, partner?" Rodeo grinds out, but he's cut off from saying anything more by the other patrolman's sudden explosion. Rodeo holds a hand up immediately in response, shifting his finger off Crow Jane's trigger and holding her by the grip in an attempt to appear non-threatening. He doesn't know if the patrolman is bluffing. Maybe he isn't, but Rodeo can't see why he wouldn't have shot Wolfe already if he really means to. It's kind of a solid plan, after all. Olinger would love to blame the Hellhounds for the death of a shelter leader. He'd probably erect a statue of this bastard if he went through with it, and if Rodeo knows that, he reckons this patrolman knows it even better. So Rodeo decides not to gamble with Wolfe's life and lowers Crow Jane, holding up his other hand while he bends to place the gun down on the ground. Gently, lest the asphalt scrape her finish.
"Alright, you got some terms, asshole?" Rodeo asks as he straightens up, holding his hands up so the patrolman continues to feel like he's in control of the situation. "You gonna negotiate, or did you just wanna make an announcement about your nefarious plan before you get started with it?"
"You can shut the fuck up now," the patrolman snarls, baring his teeth again. It's an unfortunate facial tic to have, that. Rodeo wonders if anyone's ever told him before that it doesn't look badass, just deranged. The patrolman looks to his comrade, who has stopped cowering now that the gun is on the ground. "Cuff him."
Rodeo barks out a laugh, brows shooting up as he looks over to the patrolman he disarmed before. "You're not gonna get me in handcuffs," he says bluntly. The patrolman is looking appropriately reluctant, but he's advancing on Rodeo anyway, unhooking a pair of handcuffs from his belt.
"Just put your hands behind your back, alright?"
"You ain't puttin' those on me, ya bug-eyed fuck," Rodeo assures him, not moving his hands from where he holds them, palms open in a sign of non-aggression. "Take another step at me and we're gonna have a problem."
"I said put the cuffs on him, godammit," the patrolman holding Wolfe screams, crushing the barrel of his gun against Wolfe's temple. It's enough to push the other pig into action, and he makes a grab for Rodeo's shoulder, trying to turn him around. That's all it takes-- the cuffs glinting in the sunlight, the hand slapping against his shoulder, ready to shove him into position. The feeling is all too familiar, and rage erupts like a match on a gasoline spill, burning his mind up in a flash. His reaction is instantaneous and brutal. He throws his elbow up full force, cracking it against the man's chin, snapping his head back far enough it's a wonder the thing doesn't pop clean off. He kicks out immediately after, slamming his boot into the side of the patrolman's knee. It gives out with a sick crack, and the man wails in pain as he falls to the ground-- but Rodeo's rage is still scorching his head. He steps down on the man's windpipe, cutting off that wail with the pig's air supply. He looks up, bringing his gaze to the patrolman that still has his gun to Wolfe's head.
"So you got a plan B?" he asks conversationally, eyes flashing with the hunger for more violence. "Hope it involves you finding the balls to move out from behind that injured man you been usin' as a human shield, ya yella-bellied piece of shit."
Things turn sour quick. It goes from fragile words to Rodeo knocking the shit out of the other patrolman, and suddenly the gun is jammed so hard against Gray's temple that he's relatively sure if it did get fired, it'd blow that entire half of his face off. He thinks of Batman and Harvey Dent.
He has to do something, or one or both of them is going to die. And given what he's just survived in the tunnels, Gray would like that not to happen. He didn't die before, he'd like to not die now, and after he waits out the infection, he'd like to go home.
"I been bit," he says, trying to tilt his head away from the gun. "If Olly's fuckin' lucky, I'll turn. Maybe you oughta get the stick out your ass, and consider what you got on your hands here. You got a dyin' shelter leader on his knees, an' you got the Dog King right there. I reckon you got some options."
The man drags him closer to the gun again. But he sort of backs off a little behind him, eliminating as much contact as he can, like the infection is a bunch of caterpillars all over Gray, waiting to leap right over to the patrolman. Gray understands the reaction, but he's starting to think the patrolman's a coward. He probably is. "What options do you 'reckon' I have?" His words are harsh and fast, like he's spitting them out of a machine gun.
"Well, you shoot me an' you pin it on him, ain't nobody gon' believe you. Not the Library, not the Dog Park, not anybody with a lick'a sense. But you take one of us in alive, that's a different kinda story, my friend. Don't you think the Mayor'd be pleased as punch to have the Gray Wolfe get saved by the Capitol? Oh, but wait--poor thing. He's done got infected an' he won't make it through the night." Gray's grip on the man's shoulder tightens. "I ain't stupid. I ain't walkin' away from what that little bitch in the subway did to me. Just a ghost passin' through until I turn into one of those poor undead bastards. Don't turn this into any more of a blood bath than it already is. Take me in. Get your commendation."