Former Champion (Vanderbrook Champions Book 5) Page 2

  Malcolm waited across the street, watching until he was positive the coast was clear, and then slipped into the warehouse. He worked open the combination lock and pulled the hatch open, dropping down and replacing the lock on the inside to keep out any intruder that might happen upon it.

  Everything as just as he’d left it. A single small mattress. A scattering of now useless electronics. A few rough changes of clothing; he’d sold all of the nice stuff in the first few weeks, before he’d developed the skill to trap his own food. He had no food now, of course, but he did have several full jugs of water, which he turned his attention to next.

  Malcolm cleaned his wounds slowly, using only the water, but scrubbing as roughly as he could bear. They were mostly on his face - at least the injuries he could do something about. His aching shoulder and possibly cracked rib would have to be ignored.

  He drank as much water as he could, filling his stomach until it was painful enough to make him forget his hunger. It was only late afternoon, but lacking anything else to do, he collapsed onto his mattress and forced himself to get some sleep.

  Tomorrow’s another day. Fingers crossed. Maybe it will suck less.

  He didn’t fall asleep immediately. He never did. As soon as his head was resting against his pillow, his thoughts turned to Rose, and to Tapestry. He hadn’t heard anything from either of them for months, long enough to make him question if they were still alive.

  The thought of his friends being dead or in danger chafed at him like nothing else could. Malcolm had accepted the fact that he’d lost his superpowers, his wind manipulation, and his power mimicry. What he couldn’t accept was how much that had limited him when it came to protecting the people he cared about.

  He couldn’t fly off to nearby cities and ask if they’d seen Tapestry, or if a shadow spryte had been spotted anywhere nearby. He couldn’t sweep in, find the people he loved, and fly them to safety. He felt powerless, and he could accept what that meant for himself, but not for what it meant for others.

  Malcolm would keep looking for them as soon as he was back on his feet. He’d trade whatever he could catch for bullets, and would slowly build up enough value to trade for a new gun. Then, he’d set out.

  The plan seemed audacious to him even as he thought of it. He could barely do enough foraging to feed himself, let alone having a surplus to bring to the trading square. Still, Malcolm held to it, resolving that somehow, he would find a way forward. A way back to his friends.

  He fell asleep to the echo of that precious thought.

  ***

  The traps were empty the next morning. Malcolm’s entire body ached with pain, and he’d reached the stage of hunger where true exhaustion kicks in. Hating himself for what he knew he had to do, he slowly made his way toward the bazaar, fingering the bullet in his pocket.

  It was a strange comfort to see how destitute so many of the other people living in Vanderbrook were. Malcolm didn’t wish similar circumstances to his own on any one, but seeing people who shared them made it easier to shake off the self-loathing, and the sense that he somehow deserved to be hungry and dirty.

  And powerless. Maybe I deserved that, too.

  Or maybe not. He shook away his thoughts as he walked over to Greg’s little outdoor shop. The trader frowned as he saw him approach, which made Malcolm more aware of the swelling and the cuts on his face.

  His attention was diverted from Greg by an unusual amount of commotion coming from further within the trading square. Malcolm felt his old instincts kicking in, drawing him toward the sounds of jeers and laughter.

  Several well-armed men were leading a chained woman into the center of the market. She wore only her underwear, and she was even dirtier and more roughed up than Malcolm. But he recognized her, even with the bruises and slow healing scratches on her face.

  Chaste Widow…

  She was a slender, tanned woman of Asiatic descent, and she’d once been a regular at Terri’s Tavern. Her underwear didn’t leave much to the imagination, showing off the ample curves of her breasts and butt. Malcolm felt a flash of anger as he considered the chains around her wrists, and what that meant for a woman as attractive as she was.

  “She’s for sale!” shouted the man carrying the other end of her shackles. “And she’s cheap. This bitch is one of the cursed!”

  Malcolm frowned. The word “cursed” had become as common a way of referring to champions and monsters, the same as “gifted”, the original term, had been before the collapse. In Chaste Widow’s case, it actually seemed appropriate.

  “She’s fine lookin’,” said one of the men in the crowd. “How’s she cursed, though?”

  “Why don’t you kiss her and find out?” asked the slaver. “Three of my men! Three!”

  He lashed out with his free hand, striking Chaste Widow across the shoulders and knocking her to her knees.

  “Three dead men, and I don’t even have the heart to lie and pawn this psycho slut off on someone else,” said the slaver. “I should just kill her. But these are hard times, as I’m sure you all know. So she’s for sale, but I make it clear to anyone interested… kissing her means death. Her lips touch yours, and you die.”

  Malcolm had been one of the few, if not the only person to kiss Chaste Widow and survive her kiss of death. At the time, it had been as simple as absorbing her power and becoming immune to the effects. He’d taken it for granted, barely even considered what he was doing. So much had changed since then.

  “Well?” shouted the slaver. “No need to be coy about your offers. Just shout them right out.”

  The crowd immediately began to disperse. Most people backed up like they might from someone with a contagious disease. It didn’t seem to be the reaction the slaver was hoping for.

  “Anyone?” shouted the slaver. “Just give me an opening bid. I’ll consider it, I’m not picky.”

  Malcolm fingered the bullet in his pocket. His stomach ached from hunger. A single bullet would be worth a loaf of bread, possibly a big one, if Greg was feeling generous.

  “I’ll take her,” he said. He felt a little ashamed that it had taken him so long for him to force the words out.

  The slaver frowned at him. “You don’t look like you have–”

  Malcolm walked up to him and pressed the bullet into his palm. The slaver looked down at it, and then let out a laugh.

  “A single bullet,” he said. “I don’t know if it’s good luck or bad luck for you that this just happens to be the caliber I need for my pistol. She’s all yours, kid. But be careful about those lips. Fine for most places, but don’t let them touch your mouth.”

  Malcolm slowly exhaled, trying to keep a sudden surge of anger contained.

  “Take the shackles off her,” he said.

  “You sure?” The slaver quirked an eyebrow. “I was going to give you those along with her.”

  “Take them off,” Malcolm repeated. “Now.”

  He could feel the coldness in his own expression as he watched the man working the key and pulling loose Chaste Widow’s bonds. She didn’t say anything, not even when Malcolm came closer, and offered her what he hoped would pass for a reassuring smile.

  “It’s okay,” said Malcolm. “Remember me? I’m not going to do anything weird. You can go free. I only bought you to let you go.”

  Chaste Widow wouldn’t meet his gaze. Malcolm waited for a minute, wondering how long it would take her to process the situation. She looked like she was in a state of numb shock.

  He turned to glance around at the rest of the market. A half dozen people who’d been watching quickly looked away from him, too paranoid to even make eye contact. Malcolm started to take a step back toward his hideout. Chaste Widow grabbed his wrist.

  I can’t just leave her here…

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you some water. And some clothes.”

  She didn’t say anything, but her grip on his wrist tightened.

  CHAPTER 4

  Back at his hideout, Malcol
m gently helped Chaste Widow down the ladder and into his dim and dusty abode. If she was at all bothered by it, she didn’t mention it. In fact, she still hadn’t said a single word to him.

  “I know I’m repeating myself, but you’re free to go, if you decide you want to,” said Malcolm. “Or welcome to stay here, if you need some time. I have some water jugs in the corner by my bed. No food, though.”

  His stomach made it impossible for him to forget that fact. He would have to go hunting again before the day was out. Probably sooner, rather than later, given how fast his energy was draining.

  “Uh…” Malcolm scratched the back of his head, trying to find the words for another point he had to address. “Just so you know, I don’t have my powers anymore. It’s a story for another time, but I figured you should be aware. Your power might kill me if we kiss.”

  He cringed, hating the way he’d phrased it even as the words left his mouth. Surprisingly, Chaste Widow gave a slow nod.

  “I won’t… kiss you,” she said, softly.

  Malcolm had turned his LED light on, and he could see the sad expression on her face. She looked tired and broken, so different from the feisty, confident woman he’d met in Terri’s Tavern months earlier. It felt like both of them had lived an entire lifetime since then, and he suddenly wondered if he looked to her as worn down as she did to him.

  “Clothes!” he said, as his eyes wandered down to her bra clad breasts. “Uh, it’s all men’s stuff. Probably baggy on you, but better than nothing. Take your pick.”

  He gestured over to the sad pile of somewhat dirty clothing on the ground that his wardrobe consisted of. Chaste Widow nodded and slowly started looking through them.

  “I need to get us food,” said Malcolm. “I’m going to leave the lock by the ladder while I’m gone, okay? Just so you can still leave, if you want.”

  She didn’t answer him. He wondered if she understood exactly how much trust he was placing in her. If she wanted to, she could snap the combination lock on the inside of the hatch as soon as he left and steal Malcolm’s hideout for herself.

  And what an impressive hideout it is. No food, no running water. Truly an estate fit of a king.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I find something,” he said. “Don’t expect filet mignon.”

  That got a small smile out of her. Malcolm felt himself grinning in response. He climbed out of the hideout, martialing his trust as he closed the hatch behind him.

  One of the fish traps had done its job in the time since Malcolm had last checked it. He grinned as he pulled an impressively sized fish out of the net and thwacked it once against the rocks. His log trap was still empty, but in the process of checking it, he discovered a rabbit in the bushes nearby and managed to get his foot down on top of it.

  It was a better catch than he’d had in days. He smiled to himself as he tied it to his belt. The bushes where he’d found the rabbit were full of wild raspberries, and he filled his pockets with as many as he could.

  Chaste Widow was outside the hideout when he got back. She’d picked up one of his rags and soaked it with water, and was slowly cleaning herself up as best she could. She’d taken off her bra and panties, and Malcolm felt a conflicting mixture of emotions as he approached, doing his best not to ogle her naked body.

  “Uh…” he said. “I’m back.”

  She put an arm over her breasts and glanced over her shoulder at him. Her eyes lit up when she saw the food on his belt.

  “I’ll have to make a fire up above so we can cook,” he said. “I can wait for you to finish, though.”

  “I’m as clean as I’m going to get,” she said.

  She pulled her panties back on, along with one of Malcolm’s shirts, and then walked over to him.

  “Here.” Malcolm pulled the berries out of his pockets. “You can snack on these while you’re waiting.”

  Chaste Widow took half of them. Malcolm grinned at her and made a show of eating the half he had left in a couple of wolfish bites.

  She followed him down the ladder as he went to get his fire-starting kit, and then back up. Malcolm spent a couple of minutes gathering loose newspaper and bits of wood to use as kindling. Chaste Widow kept following him, almost like a lonely puppy. She carried some of the wood, but didn’t say anything.

  Malcolm built his materials into a fire bundle and started striking at his flint. He glanced up at her a couple of times. She’d meet his gaze now, and it made emotion flutter in his chest when she did. He had no idea what to say to her. He wanted to ask how she’d been, but it wasn’t a question that he thought she’d be comfortable answering.

  And likewise, the last thing he wanted to talk about was his own descent into the dirt and grime of the post-collapse world. An awkward silence hung on the air between them, and as much as Malcolm hated it, it was still preferable to dredging up painful memories.

  “I’m sorry,” said Chaste Widow, as Malcolm started to cook their food on sticks over the small flame.

  “You’re… sorry?” asked Malcolm. “For what?”

  “I broke my promise to you.”

  It took him a couple of seconds to realize what she’d meant. In one of his last jobs as a champion, Malcolm and Tapestry had hunted Chaste Widow. He’d made a judgement call, letting her go instead of taking her prisoner. He’d made her promise to stop killing, in exchange.

  Is that a promise anyone could hold to in this new world? Especially an attractive woman?

  Malcolm shook his head.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve broken a lot of promises, too.”

  He didn’t elaborate any further, and tried keep his thoughts from turning back to Tapestry and Rose, and all the pain he’d caused them.

  “It wasn’t… like I wanted to,” said Chaste Widow. “I didn’t have a choice. In the first few weeks, I lost my house. Money stopped mattering. There was no law, and men would just try to… force me. And die, from my kiss.”

  “You don’t have to explain it to me,” said Malcolm.

  “It was all I had,” said Chaste Widow. “My power actually felt like something useful, for once. But it wasn’t enough, in the end. Your powers were like a sword. Mine was just… a tiny knife.”

  “A sword…” said Malcolm. “Ha.”

  A sword that I’ll never be able wield again.

  He’d spent more time than he cared to admit in the months after losing his powers, trying desperately to summon them back. He would set up his empty water jugs and concentrate with all the will he had, trying to control the wind and knock them over as easily as it once had.

  It’d never worked, and always left him feeling like a ridiculous child, playing at being a Jedi or being stuck in The Matrix. His powers were gone. He’d accepted it. It meant being less than he’d once been, acknowledging a weakness, a deformity. It made him feel like a paraplegic that’d lost all hope and finally accepted that they would never walk again.

  “Smoke,” said Chaste Widow.

  Malcolm glanced at the skinned rabbit he was cooking over the fire. It was starting to burn on one side.

  “Oh,” he said. “Right.”

  He put the fire out once the rabbit and fish were cooked. He didn’t have any plates or silverware, so he and Chaste Widow impatiently waited for the spitted meat to cool before digging into it with bare hands. The rabbit was tender and greasy. The fish was a little undercooked. Neither of them cared, and devoured both in far less time than it had taken Malcolm to prepare.

  “Thank you,” said Chaste Widow.

  “You’re welcome,” said Malcolm. “I think this is the first meal I’ve shared with someone else in months.”

  She furrowed her brow at that.

  “What about your friends?” she asked. “The other champions.”

  My friends…?

  Malcolm couldn’t stop himself from chuckling.

  “I’m not a champion anymore,” he said. “And as for having friends…”

  He shook his head. Chaste Widow gave
him a pitying look, which coming from her, carried a significant weight.

  “Can I stay here tonight?” she asked.

  Malcolm nodded immediately. He’d only recently begun to discover how alone he was, and he didn’t like it.

  “Of course,” he said.

  CHAPTER 5

  The two of them spent some time in quiet companionship, neither of them saying much. Malcolm made another trip out to his traps, finally finding the energy to set up a second log trap and improve the fish nets. By the time he made it back to his hideout, the sun had long since set over the horizon.

  Chaste Widow had decided to stick around, and Malcolm offered her his mattress for the night. Her injuries were more pronounced than his, and it made him feel good inside to act as a generous host.

  “Sleep next to me,” she said.

  Malcolm shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “That’s… not a good idea, I don’t think. I have bad dreams.”

  “So do I.”

  She patted the spot next to her on the bed invitingly, but still, Malcolm refused. He was content with a blanket and an extra pillow. The concrete was cold and hard underneath him, but he took warmth from his actions earlier in the day. It was the first time in a long time that he’d stopped to care about someone other than himself.

  Malcolm slept easily, and probably more soundly than he should have. He dreamed of flying again, and was deep in the realm of fantastical memory when soft hands sliding under the waistband of his boxers drew him awake.

  Chaste Widow had slid off the mattress and joined him under his covers. Malcolm could feel her soft body against him. She was naked, the points of her breasts pushing against his shoulder as her hand fished around inside his underwear.

  “Uh…” moaned Malcolm. “What are you…?”

  He let his question die on his lips as her palm closed around his shaft. He’d developed an erection at some point during the night, even though his dreams had been tame. He breathed a sigh of pleasure as Chaste Widow slowly began to stroke her hand up and down. It had been such a long time.