RALLY CO. #12: THE FALSE THUNDERER LIVES!, PART 2
Last time, on Rally Co.
The Golden Shadow—Othulok, has unleashed the remnants of an ancient weapon upon the globe: The skull of an artificial giant, created by alchemy to defy even the gods themselves. The False Thunderer.
Rally Co. has been defeated once by his dread power. This is their last stand…
X
Once, there was an age known only in the nightmares of the ancients. When the upstart Atlantis expanded, the Earth’s ultimate empire. One that took the secrets of magic and miracle machines advanced before they were ready to be properly wielded. Only powers deemed those of the very deities of the world brought a halt to the conquest—lightning from the celestial heavens to do away with doomsday devices, favor and fortune unto the lands that offered resistance.
This was the era that The Wrap lived in. At a time when he was not an undead thing, wrapped in his mystical bandages. This was the time when he knew the crime lord called the Golden Shadow, when he was merely the court magician Othulok. And Wrap was an adolescent, with aspirations aplenty, in the realm of politics.
For a while the empire of Atlantis receded, its outposts still littered the world. Some adopting isolation, be it for want of stability, self-serving pity-guilts, or from doubling down upon heinous xenophobia. But others knew that they still held the means to provide repatriation: All that they took, they could return. All that was once theirs, their wealth, their knowledge, shared instead of hoarded. And then their songs could be sung once more, the amusements to follow.
The Warmaker Todan—Wrap’s older sibling, had no more wars to make, no challenge to his brains or sinews that lay in wait under a russet complexion. For that he was lost at first, but would busy himself with crafts. Their eldest, Sister Muigara, sat on the throne after the passing of their parents and mostly operated as an ambassador to former foes of the empire. Wrap had been the middle child and could not recall his own name. And although it was not required of him, he spent the days studying the laws of the Atlanteans and eagerly awaited import of writing from other lands to compare and contrast against his own. By night and chambered lantern-flame, he drafted his works. At times accompanied by his friend Eoddo the climber—Eoddo the merrymaker, who offered the commoner’s eye to all matters. Even Todan would visit when he struggled to sleep, and marveled. And Sister Muigara would not have slept at all yet, looking forward to the day that Wrap’s works were finalized. Then he would prove himself an early successor.
“And how gloriously irritating,” Todan once said. “That you understand how best to crush the conflict within the hearts of we mortals. And my talent will have no place. You would leave your brother destitute?—”
The name was static to his ears. But still, the younger, more human Wrap smiled.
“There will always be some conflict of interests. The warmaker will simply have to bide his time better.”
“Perhaps.” said Eoddo, nursing both wineskin and hollowed gourd. “We might take up wooden swords as the smallest children do, albeit with more technique. And at the tables we’ll put pieces to the map and debate the matter of journeying and challenging one another upon separate climates, rather than traveling blindly on the Over-Emperor’s will, with nary a detail spared!”
“A fantastic possibility.” said Muigara, borrowing the hollowed gourd for its contents, and hastily gulping a quarter of its contents. “But I fear there are those who will always yearn for true warfare. Othulok’s reminder.”
Todan frowned.
“Whisper his name by night, and he may spirit away our little kindred, sister. It was to that warlock’s wisdom to which we can credit father’s bloodied defeat. And perhaps to the grief that slew mother?”
“Where would we be if failure made demons of us all, brother?”
Muigara and Todan scowled at one another. Eoddo and Wrap looked to each other in that way they once did, before the elder siblings joined them some nights, and it seemed the weight of their responsibility had taken them. The process, was still gradual as this argument demonstrated.
In the afternoon of a new day, Wrap would approach the court and offer his reports in an official capacity. Othulok hovered beside Muigara’s seat, scrutinizing every word. Ready to offer his contemplations in hurried whispers and promises of fear. Warnings against trust and generosity, as it would be taken for granted by fledgling nations—which Todan struggled to deny, from the biases life in the army had impressed upon him. With which Wrap argued against most every chance he could.
“Never forget what they took from us in both the Northlands and the scorching South.” Othulok would confidently spout directly next to Muigara’s ear. “Nor the massacre they doled out to us on the isles. They still call it your father’s shame.”
“I will never forget, magician.” hissed Muigara. “Back to your place. Brother—restart your estimations on the new forums.”
But just as Wrap began to speak, he felt a terrible dryness in his throat. When he went to fill a chalice with water, he saw his face beginning to decay. Scraps of his flesh falling and poisoning the ornate pot of clean freshwater. Muigara screamed and began to torment the palace staff, Eoddo appeared to help Wrap stand—but had a violent illness about him—not unlike Wrap’s mother, and Todan was girding himself for battle again, never to return.
“You are the thorn in my side.”
Othulok. He was decaying as well, but into greater power. The sheen of his skeleton was of perfect metal, almost golden. Not a pound of flesh left, for he had given himself utterly to the necromancy. No longer a mere court magician, the vicious warlock began to pursue Wrap through a mausoleum with fewer and fewer windows, until it was a true tomb. He could see holding a torch, his mother and father, ushering him to a sarcophagus alongside their own. And for a moment there was peace. Without muscle, Othulok could not lift the great slab underneath which was the decorated casket.
But the Golden Shadow could.
The return to life was a haze after that. The chambers were smaller, and always attention had to be placed upon the warlock as he directed a new batch of barbarians, and enslaved those who thought themselves too sophisticated or intellectual with challenges of how to inflict greater misery, and dependency on the vicious salt, and other vile concoctions.
And he would join them. His drug was to be the full scope of his mind returned to his undead self. And the magic that enchanted his mummy’s bandages to protect him. Both in their durability, as well as in their ability to destroy any who endangered him. Save for Othulok himself.
“You don’t have to do this.”
He recognized the voice calling to Felix in the waking world. It was the same: A lone detective, known famously on the INTERPOL circuit, sporting a gun she purchased on her own. But it was not leveled at The Wrap. Malika Basra had discovered him after thwarting some prior assassination attempt. And she had assisted the occult detective, the former acolyte of Othulok.
Maybe she could end this nightmare.
He pleaded with her. Swore that she had to attack now, in the same way father or Todan might have insisted while the empire had not yet been completely felled. In her unfamiliarity with the situation, Malika wanted to talk. The thing that Wrap had tried a thousand times with Muigara, only to lose her to Othulok’s influence. To which he might have even considered himself Eoddo’s murderer, seeking him out after Othulok swayed Todan to fight again. Directing the False Thunderer to slay the warlock, only to siege the city and slay any intervening gods Othulok lured there.
And then Wrap remembered extending his bandages to keep Malika in place. To force her to fire on him, and then perhaps she and Solomon might have done away with the curse to eliminate him at last. But the shot missed, and the startling sound, the muzzle flash of the gun startled Wrap so terribly, his hold upon Malika was nearly a deathgrip.
He fled.
The warlock would find him again. But he fled, and hid until Othulok finally reached him. Spitting on his name, howling at him for robbing him of a meager kill, for costing him a resurgence of the Atlantean glory. But also, of Gilligan Diligent. The frivolous lumberjack who also turned out to be an assassin. Unprepared for an ambush that awaited him. Only by the Wrap’s intervention did some of the sharpshooters fall, and with a careful pull of the bandages, did the jolly fellow continue to be as such.
Perhaps even more so. For when he promised to pay Wrap back, The Wrap aided him in some of his work, and refused the majority of the payment on their illicit work.
X
By the time Felix Basra snapped out of it, she had already fired on him. Gilligan tackled into her as he intended. But neither continued into a brawl. Nearby, Katrina Kafka had not only peered into the mind of The Wrap, but she had evidently projected it outwardly for all to see. And perhaps, to make their own judgements. Although it would not change the fact she still fired, something tore at her very spirit. And the happy-hearted Gilligan had rolled aside to lay on his back. Trying to see the sky past the destruction unfolding there and then, in the art deco metropolis of Arcadia. Georgia raced to help Felix up, while Malika knelt down to Wrap. Slowly, because of old injuries. Watching how she moved made The Wrap feel miserable.
“She was finishing it. Once and for all.”
Malika frowned.
“Blazes to that, boy. She had the same fear and shame you did, when I first met you. You think that the Golden Shadow wouldn’t have sent someone else to do the job? It never ends.”
“Then… we are doomed?”
“No. Choose otherwise.”
She ran a hand across his forehead, before settling on his cheek. Even the memory shared was false, Malika wasn’t certain she’d have had it in herself to harm this lad. Undead or not.
“Auntie…”
Felix held the revolver by the middle, the ammo cylinder prevented from moving. Thus, from firing. Malika shook her head, though.
“There is still a fight to be had. And you must live with the weight of your actions.”
Georgia held Felix a little closer when Felix tried to fight off a bout of tears. Katrina could feel that too, while she and Solomon held off Othulok, in the skull of the False Thunderer. As long as they were there, barely keeping the dread sorcerer at bay, Solomon could not attempt to assist The Wrap. They could barely lure Othulok into their Lostgate trap.
Until at last, the sound of a fighter plane propeller could be heard. It was faster than any other, bearing no markings to indicate it as belonging to any nation’s military. A hail of machinegun fire to the front of the skyward cranium. Within, Othulok scoffed and directed his eldritch lightning to crush this new gnat: but it was more of a hornet, actually! The unmarked fighter plane pulled up sharply, a set of bay doors beneath the craft releasing a surprise payload: None other than the clay construct, Blockhouse!
“Hark, brigand!!”
It was pure relief as Katrina watched her old friend collide with the top of the False Thunderer’s skull, the force of collision allowing him to land within and clash with Othulok. The False Thunderer’s skull began to swerve out of control.
“Katrina—the gateway!” exclaimed Solomon. “I’ll tend to The Wrap. Begin the preparations as I instructed.”
“I’ll do my best!”
Solomon hovered over to Katrina, to put his hands on her shoulders.
“You always have. No matter what happens, I’m proud of you. We all are.”
Katrina wiped at her eyes with a sleeve of her shirt, and flew off first to assemble the extra-large lostgate. It had to be large enough to catch the False Thunderer’s skull. Solomon arrived not long after to tend to The Wrap’s injury.
“If he weren’t undead, I wouldn’t give him the odds I’ve got now.” said Solomon, running a glowing hand over the point where the bullet entered his body. “I only hope you can show this sort of aptitude for battling revenants in the future.”
Malika shot Solomon a glare, and gestured for him to get back to work. Felix took her place next to The Wrap. Gilligan approached as well. Keeping his distance, and taking a discarded military rifle, while he watched the skies for Othulok’s return.
“I saw what happened to your family. I’m sorry.”
“That… was the work of Othulok.” wheezed Wrap. “Everything which Imperial Atlantis took meant more plunder for him. And I fear the legend of our society has not only spurred him, but others to try for the same.”
He offered a bandaged hand to hold in her gloved one. Malika nodded, and Felix took it, leaning in to listen.
“I renounced the spoils of my forefathers, as I did in life... My project was to try and undo some of the harm they had committed. So that Atlantis could become more. Not simply a place bordered… or a people exclusive. But a guiding principle for any society.”
Felix gave his hand a little squeeze.
“Then hang on. We could use a fella like you around.”
The Wrap actually chuckled. Gilligan had his head turned away, but even he couldn’t help smiling. Felix had shot Wrap—but so had others. They all paid in one way or another. But few wanted to set things right. Let alone to offer him true sanctuary. Somewhat more stable than the care of one drifting hitman.
The unmarked plane managed to get in behind the False Thunderer’s skull, firing its machineguns again. Keeping the aim tight so that the cracked cranium would swerve towards the lostgate. Katrina saw this, and attempted to gather her wits, and her psychic energy. The gate began to crackle and hum to life, as Solomon put the finishing touches on Wrap, and hurried to join Katrina.
“I’ll go with them.”
Gilligan whipped his head around. Georgia and Felix were helping him towards the gate.
“You’ve had enough fun for one day, fellah. Tomorrow is a new day.”
“We still may not see it yet.” said Wrap. “… Please. You owe me.”
Gilligan blinked. Of all the times to really and truly cash in this favor, this had to be the worst. But Gilligan had some honor in him. So, he took Wrap onto his back, as he had done many a time with his own family in the past, and ran him to the gate. Tycho was hobbling over, with Esme running after.
“—And I told you, you wretched little capybara, ostentatious orangutan!” exclaimed Esme, shaking a fist. “You really ought to lay down and take some painkillers!”
“Nuts to ye, Esme! We’re this close to finally lickin’ that Golden Shadow right-good!” said Tycho, swinging his fists around, before hopping over by Felix. “Oi, Boss Lady. Looks ya seen a ghost! What’s those two killers doin’ with Katrina and Solomon?!”
“They’re helping us.” said Georgia, extending a hand to shake Tycho’s, as well as Esme’s, taking the two by surprise. “Felix mention me at all, fellas? I’m Georgia! Her #1 gal.”
“Just whenever she looks at the winder all longingly-like.” joked Tycho. Felix blushed for a moment, and Esme only seemed to agree.
“Well, if one must be honest…” joked Esme. “She could have told me after our second date.”
Georgia just nodded, and looked over at Felix, who just about looked like she’d been thrown to the Gevaudanes. But not before Georgia smirked and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Malika, darling.” said Georgia. “Did you hear Tycho and Esme?”
“Loud and clear. We shall have words later.” said Malika. This was also her way of letting Felix know that for her error, she was not hopeless. The group hurried to the sidelines, while Katrina, Solomon, and The Wrap reinforced the gateway with their psychic and magical power. Gilligan all the while, shouted at the False Thunderer’s skull. A thousand swears for the thousands of times he manipulated Wrap’s family.
At last, the cracked cranium flew through the portal, the False Thunderer’s already broken skull chipping further against the edges of the emergency lostgate, which strained to carry the flying skull through its unstable portal. The vortex could not hold. On the otherwise, in some region of Subterranea, the False Thunderer’s skull was spinning out of control. Bashing against the armored head of something that might have evolved from the mighty triceratops, as worms camouflaged to resemble the giant stalactites from the high ceiling dropped into the cracked cranium.
Back in Arcadia, the gateway was slowly closing. Felix and the others who took cover were emerging again. The portal was sheathed with a layer of energy as a kind of shielding. Suddenly, something emerged from the unstable vortex, pushing against the shield as if it were shrinkwrap.
“I finally had the WORLD!” howled Othulok. “You denied me once, Callahan! And you—the wretch who whined, ‘no more victories to Atlantis!’ All of you worthless maggots! My empire would have known furious glory, and now it will be lost to the chaos of lesser lords! You’ve DAMNED OUR ENTIRE WORLD!”
Everyone stood ready in the event Othulok could not be contained. That was when another figure emerged from the vortex: Blockhouse! He took ahold of Othulok, even as the force of the vortex threatened to vaporize them both.
“Blockhouse, NO!” cried Katrina.
“It’s no skin off my nose!” said Blockhouse, between the struggles of Othulok to escape. “Alas, I have neither nose nor skin to speak of… but I can, and I shall escort this devil to oblivion!”
Katrina tried to help him, but in doing so she nearly released the shield. For a moment, Othulok’s gnarled, claw-like hands almost reached out and slashed her, until Blockhouse tossed him into the vortex. The arch of the lostgate fragmented, and Blockhouse disappeared into the unknown.
Katrina fell to her knees. She could not help but sob and wail, telekinetic crackles in the air. It was in that instant that Felix, Esme, and Tycho all raced to hug her. She had not lost everyone, just yet. And all the rubble, all the metal parts strewn around, that she held with her psychic power, fell to the ground.
X
Several weeks later…
Other countries were finally starting to relax, save for those hit the hardest by Othulok’s attack, including the U.S.A. and England. France was in somewhat better condition by comparison, but it too would feel the aftershocks. Elsewhere, the dictatorship of Arkavalia had little harm—its rulers attributing this to a nationalist sentiment of superiority that raised their global profile, earning them some allies fresh from the paranormal terror inflicted upon them.
For Arcadia, the military’s last order was to clean up the place. Construction efforts were finally underway to restore the city. Through all of this, the mayor insisted on hosting a very special event. Materials normally reserved for major holidays and electoral campaigns were repurposed to celebrate, as they spoke into a microphone.
“Testing… testing… ah! My apologies. I appreciate each and every one of you here. But among all my constituents, today we shall honor our very own hometown heroes, for their efforts in rescuing our fair city, and perhaps the world, from the damnation of the flying death. Now, if Rally Co. would please—”
The crowd went wild with applause as each member was announced and allowed on-stage. Felix would lead the charge, wearing one of Malika’s old suits and hat. Tycho shuffled along in a freshly ironed raincoat, as his suit jacket was torn on the way here. Esme and Katrina were fixing up a pair of gowns they bought brand new just before leaving the house. Solomon was in another three-piece suit, albeit instead of green he opted for a violet hue today, as he stood by the mayor in congratulating his young wards, before the mayor returned to the microphone stand.
“Rally Co., we here of Arcadia can’t even begin to count the thanks we feel for you. And on behalf of the President, I have the honor of bestowing these hallowed ribbons to each of you.”
“Ribbons! Not even medals.” muttered Tycho, as Esme leaned in to hear Tycho, and then again to receive her ribbon.
“Everyone will need all the precious metal for rebuilding, eh?” said Esme. “Perhaps we’ll get a discount on a new car at least. Though that may require us to endorse them on the radio or on posters…”
Katrina looked excited, even if it was just a ribbon. Though she’d noticed that when she received it, the mayor seemed uneasy. She chalked it up to his re-election campaign needing to start up. But for a moment, she did wonder if the fact that she was now a known psychic in the public eye had something to do with it. Solomon could see her discomfort, as did Felix. They looked to each other with some muted concern. The future seemed bright enough, but there were some things they had to get ready for.
Back at Solomon’s homestead, Gilligan Diligent and The Wrap had arrived. The Wrap remained close to Gilligan—he looked even less jolly than during the battle against the Golden Shadow. Solomon welcomed them inside. Malika and Felix weren’t far off. It was per Malika’s wishes that her niece not only be present, but involved.
“Mr. Diligent. Thank you for stopping by, before you headed out of town.”
“Get to it, Callahan.” said Diligent. “I told the boy what has to happen next. He won’t hear of it. Not from me, at least.”
Solomon looked to Wrap, who looked aside at the ground. He had been resistant to the idea. But at the same time, he couldn’t outright say no, now that he was in the presence of Malika who had never resented him, Felix whose vengeance once and still paralyzed him, and Solomon—once Othulok’s acolyte, now having saved him. Even if he remained undead.
“Please try to understand—you would not only learn more of the magic involved in your continued existence, but we’d like to also help you learn your name and more about the ancients.”
“Why can’t Mr. Diligent stick around?” asked Wrap. “I don’t want to stay here without him."
“Fellah, I’ve got to keep up my reputation, send more of the doubloons back home. A life like that is no place for ya.”
Wrap clenched his fists for a moment. But relaxed his hands. Gilligan put a hand on his shoulder.
“There is one stipulation, Callahan.”
“Name it.”
Wrap clenched his fists for a moment. Gilligan put a hand on his shoulder. Only then did The Wrap relax.
“You’ll bring the boy to visit my kinfolk one of these days. They’re as much his family as mine. Y’hear?”
Solomon nodded. Wrap perked up: This wouldn’t be goodbye. He looked to Malika, who seemed glad that Wrap could finally have some more support, once he’d gotten away from the Golden Shadow. And an unarmed Felix would show him around.
“… We didn’t really have anyone specialized in magic before you.” Felix pointed out. The Wrap could tell that she was uncomfortable, trying to focus on objective details to avoid the elephant in the room.
“I suppose it will be nice. Learning from an expert in it, such as Mr. Callahan. He’s done well enough with you lot.”
Felix actually let off a snort. Wrap was confused, but Felix waved him off.
“Stories to share later. Around the living room. Perhaps a campfire, if Tycho gets his way.”
Communicating was going to be difficult. But not impossible.
X
There was a corkboard on the wall of a room bathed in a low, red light. Freshly developed photos from a chemical dip were pinned to it. Sightings of new crime bosses in the wake of Don Malvoli’s latest defeat, suspected saboteur-spies from places like Arkavalia, and sightings of monsters. There were also some shots of the extra-large lostgate before its destruction, as well as of Blockhouse before he disappeared.
Ongoing cases, as far as The Junker was concerned.
For now, he’d have to start from the bottom, and work his way up whenever opportunities presented themselves. Like getting the drop on some gangsters while they were extorting people into paying for protection from looters, loans to get businesses back up and running again.
X
Esme and Tycho’s choice of celebration was to find a worthy pub, alongside Rally Co.’s allies, the former mobster-mystic, Ribeye Renzo, and the informant Honest Li. Plus his sister (and secretary), Nuo. The latter duo had flown out to Arcadia after things had calmed down somewhat. Katrina also joined them for a time.
“Three cheers for us! You fellers, and the neo-dinosaurs beneath the Earth’s surface!” said Tycho. “Hip hip, hooray!”
“The WHAT—” said Honest Li. But before he knew it, he was already clinking glasses with the others.
“Just keep an ear out, they’ll tell the tale in full.” said Renzo. “Hey, Esme, you hear from those Haddock Street Hooligans? I worry about those kids, y’know.”
“They’re having their own celebration at our favorite pharmacy soda fountain, my treat.” said Esme. “A few drinks, some snacks, a dozen rounds on the pinball machine, and a stack of some of our old magazines.”
“Ye didn’t give ‘em the dime novels I was still readin’ did ye?!” said Tycho, before sipping.
“Nonsense. Only finished novels, comic books and popular mechanix monthly.”
Tycho was almost going to rest easy, but spit his drink, irritating the others as they cleaned up.
“Those little ghouls are gonna come up with better ways prank me if they got popular mechanix! May as well enroll ‘em under the tutelage of the Junker.”
It wasn’t long before everyone else was in hearty spirits. Getting the bartender to run their record player, and a couple of tables were set aside for dancing space. Katrina participated too for a while, but she hadn’t had much to drink beyond a sip of Esme’s champagne. So, she excused herself, wanting to check on the Haddock Street Hooligans. Just before she went, Tycho wrapped an arm around her. He was a great deal steadier than the others, when it came to liquor, but his heart and mind were a little less stoic just then.
“Yer the sister I never did have. Ma and Da too. If you’re ever on the isle and you’re in a pinch, look ‘em up. Professor and the Druid Madame Gallagher.”
“Oui.”
Tycho shut his eyes for a moment, visualizing home. And old friends. And then he ushered Katrina along.
“You tell those wee monsters I’ll be on the prowl, that’ll get ‘em home at a reasonable hour.”
“But of course, Tycho.”
Esme and Nuo were talking in front of Li’s face about some embarrassing detail. Renzo gestured for Katrina to wait, having wanted to divine the future for her with one of his namesake steaks. But Katrina gestured that it was alright.
“Another time, my friend.”
“You promise not to precog… precog-ignition without me?”
“C'est impensable, mon ami!“ exclaimed Katrina, shaking her head playfully. “Let the thought perish. Now have a seat before any slipping or falling.”
“*HIC!* You got it, boss!”
With one last wave goodbye, Katrina took to the dark streets. They were so quiet. She looked up to the buildings where steel girders were being put into place, and in the morning the construction crews would resume their critical work. She used the nearest payphone to check in on the soda fountain the Haddock Street Hooligans had taken to, and spoke to each one of them. Ribeye Renzo’s words stuck with her. That sense she needed to be elsewhere, just now.
X
The Pratt & Marlin automat didn’t see much business at the moment. Most people had sought their dinner at regular restaurants, or with what they had at home. Still, the door was open.
*Ting-a-ling-a-ling~!*
One of the servers was stocking a few of the ports. There were walls with many such ports and money slots, mostly for taking coins. The lone server peered through one of the empty ports, but did not see anyone enter.
*Chk-chrr-chrr-chk!*
A quarter to the slot for a bologna sandwich. And then again to receive a coffee cup and access to the dispenser faucet, as soon as the server was finished double-checking to make sure everything was at the appropriate temperature before allowing the customer to take it. Once again, the server looked through another empty viewport, and witnessed a man in an aviator’s jacket and white scarf. Glancing back in the server’s direction with flight goggles that bore glowing green lenses, that seemed to ‘blink’ with the shutters of a camera.
Needless to say, The Junker would be allowed to eat his late dinner in peace. The lone server would not be stepping into the dining area anytime soon. But someone else would: Katrina saw him through the window, and hurried in to join him.
“Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Kafka.”
Katrina was astonished that Junker made no move to obscure himself, nor to leave. He was far from tired, but he remained where he was, only moving slightly to offer to pull up her chair. She gestured that it was unnecessary, moving it slightly with her telekinesis, and levitating a quarter of her own for some coffee and creamer.
“Is this telepathy, or are you really speaking another language?”
“The latter. If… it should be desired.”
Katrina shook her head this time. But she would have to remember to test his fluency later.
“May I ask you something, that I believe only you may know, monsieur?”
Junker took a bite out of his sandwich, and a sip from his own mug.
“What would that be?”
“The shape of things to come.”
The two focused on their selections from the automat’s offerings for a moment. They had not interacted telepathically, and Junker could detect nothing resembling an attempt at precognitive ESP. No, she was referring to the tabs Junker kept around the city, and elsewhere.
“New enemies on the horizon. At home, afar, and beyond.”
Katrina sighed. She could only nod: Arcadia would not always be so safe. And considering they had defeated one previously unknown, occult force just now, that too was to be expected.
“Tell me about the ones from afar.”
Junker drank from his coffee. There was silence for a moment.
“You have encountered some. Spies for the likes of dictatorships, such as Arkavalia. My information tells me that things are worsening there for the populace. The fascists have used the battle against Othulok to propel their propaganda to new extremes.”
“They will send more agents. They may even feel bold enough to invade their neighbors, once they have the strength enough to do so.” said Katrina, saying the part he did not. The avenging scavenger merely nodded.
“… I have not found Blockhouse. His fate is uncertain.”
But Junker did not offer a definitive answer. Although his exterior was stoic, Katrina could tell he held some guilt over that. It was The Junker who flew the unmarked fighter plane before.
“He is a friend to all of us here. Blockhouse understood what could happen. Do you?”
There was a small frown on the mystery man’s features.
“I operate as I do… to prevent that. Rally Co. fights the battles… the world must witness. Rejuvenates their spirits. That which must be done…”
And then, it was Junker’s turn to point something out.
“The award ceremony.”
“You saw us? Where were you? Among the crowd? Alleyway?”
“Rooftop. Was nice.”
But there was something there he wasn’t saying. Katrina could feel a certain anxiety as they built up to it.
“The mayor. He’s up for re-election, isn’t he? Is everyone endorsing him?”
Katrina shook her head.
“We are all eager to learn about the new candidates before we are inclined to make a decision.”
“Wise. Especially after how he looked at you.”
There was that pallor. That sleeplessness in her eyes. It was always there, but now it just seemed pronounced. While Katrina Kafka had her own doubts and fears about her own self, she loathed to see such fright in another person. And after finding her place among Rally Co., no less.
“A momentary discomfort, I hope.” said Katrina.
“…Perhaps.” said Junker, pointing the remainder of his sandwich in her direction, before finishing it off. “But common folk can barely tolerate each other, Katrina. It is something your comrades have faced for their identities, and will for a while yet. You must be cautious.”
“I have lived my life in ENOUGH caution!”
Katrina paused. Although she did not use her telekinesis, she had slammed one of her palms onto the table. She checked herself for the pace of her heartbeat, and the way in which she was breathing.
“Was it not enough to have helped to defeat Othulok?”
Junker wiped his gloved hands off with a moist towelette. With his eyes hidden, and a certain rigidity to the lower half of his face, he did not let every single expression slip so easily. But in that moment, there was a somber air about him as well.
“It should be.”
Katrina reached over to his hand. Junker kept his sight trained on the gesture, unfamiliar with it.
“If no one else recognizes it, we all do. Solomon as well. I cannot think of a better place to begin.”
She finished her own coffee, and stood up. Her hand trailing up along the arm of this detritus devil. Junker recoiled when he realized Katrina wanted to put a hand to his face. She pulled back, stopping at his shoulder. And by then Junker seemed to process she only meant to reassure him.
Katrina had known from all the sorcery, and all the ESP, that violence could occur without touch—she had felt it, and inflicted it in equal measure by now. Although Junker had survived his own infernal trials, his spark of life had given way to a biting flame.
“If we do not try…” said Katrina. “We would not be worthy of being… exemplars, is that not the correct word? The thing which you see in us.”
“… The best possible choice.”
Katrina offered a bittersweet smile. And Junker stood up. Although he had been wary of her touch, he gave her a handshake to try and show his support. At first with one gloved hand, and then both. Though a small gesture, Katrina welcomed it as though it were as grand as a hug.
“I fear I must still find my own path. But if you all have need of me… I will be there.”
“Merci.”
And with a nod, it was Katrina’s turn to disappear into the dark. And Junker thought about it: he wasn’t lying when he said he’d be there for Rally Co., and perhaps now he could try sitting down and talking to every one of them. Even his former mentor.
X
At last, a statue of bronze had finally been erected.
There was a figure of a small child in, walking hand-in-hand with a round giant. Although it was made of metal, it still evoked the construct’s malleable clay form, which could become as strong as iron, or as gentle as mud made by a fresh rain. Standing at the center of one of the parks.
Felix could see that someone had paid respects, with an old paint palette tray that carried the remnant pigment of several shades. The aspiring detective was handed a bouquet by her darling Georgia, and set it beside other offerings, including old children’s storybooks and albums of newspaper funnies-- comic strips.
For him. For Malika, and even The Wrap. She had to become the leader this team deserved.
The Wrap was not far off. As were Esme and Tycho, whose lack of bickering was explained by the sunglasses they wore, obscuring red eyes from late nights and flights sponsored by liquid courage. Katrina stood by them to make sure they didn’t stumble, or if they needed to find a trash can post-haste, if their stomachs were not feeling agreeable.
“He was favorable.” said The Wrap, who walked up beside Felix. “I did not know him long. I haven’t any memories of my past of him either. But he radiated kindness.”
“That he did.” said Felix, with a nod.
“I agree.” said Georgia, holding her hands together longingly. “I’ve read so many of those stories about him. He was an absolute delight in the few visits I’ve been able to make.”
Felix and Georgia shared a kiss, before Georgia had to hurry to work. Having paid their respects, The Rally Co. group headed back for Solomon’s roadster back on the curb, near the entrance to the park. Esme and Felix took to the front as passenger and driver, as the others climbed into the back.
“Felix, fearless and most fabulous leader—” Esme attempted to speak in a sing-song voice, as she pulled a magazine from the glove compartment. “Any recommendations for the new car? We were thinking something sleek, something fast.”
“Spacious.” chimed Tycho, raising an index finger. “If Blockhouse comes back. Or we get some other members taggin’ along.”
“I’ll consider it.”
Just as Felix started up the ignition, there was an explosion nearby. Everyone in the vehicle looked at each other. Tycho was climbing out to stand on the roadster’s running board so he could jump out into action. Esme was double-checking her array of test tube grenades and on-hand chemicals for split-second mixing in the field, before passing out impellet guns for everyone—including The Wrap, who was preparing to swing from building to building using his mystical bandages. And there were a few words on the tip of Felix’s tongue.
“Let’s go, Rally Co.!”
And thus, they took off together. Vigor renewed, a future to meet rather than wait for.
UNTIL NEXT TIME…
X
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
To those who have been reading from the start: Thank you for joining me on this ride. It’s taken a lot longer than I’d have liked, life has had its ups-and-downs lately, but it has always been my goal to try and get this story ‘cycle’ of Rally Co. up to 12 entries.
As you can see, this may not be the definite end to all things adventurous and investigative. I’ve got ideas for one-off episodes and a new arc for Rally Co. I may write someday, but for now I’m going to let the gang have some rest for making it to a dozen stories. Some broken up into multi-part readings, others posted in full. Though I’m not sure when I’ll write Rally Co. again, but it’s my hope that I can bring the same energy I’ve put into this series on my other stories, maybe something in Mutant Media Club or Quick On-It—but definitely more Dynaura.
Stay tuned, stay classy, and stay alive, Far-fetchers. Your next great adventure awaits.
Donk
