Thirty-five hours later, her short period of peace is over. She's on patrol again, ranging through the small territories of Fringe and Stryker—the two gangs on the borders of Guttermouth—when she's attacked by a group of gangsters from Fringe.
The shadows are long, the sun's just sinking below the horizon of buildings, and a few stars are starting to twinkle in the night sky. Despite the dark and low visibility, Dusk isn't surprised by the gangsters. She hears them before they even get to her, and she's prepared as they round the corner. They see her and stop dead.
There's a deep silence, and Dusk slowly draws her knife. There's a clatter of pistols being drawn from holsters and Dusk throws herself quick as a bat into the shelter of a dumpster. She lands on her side and glances under it, seeing the shuffling boots of the gangsters as two bullets rip through the air and ping against the metal she's hiding behind. It's always harder for her when she's fighting against guns, but far from impossible. She's trained to fight in any circumstance, against anyone and anything.
There's an oil tank a little farther on to her right, and she flits like a shadow from her current cover to the new one. There are no shouts, so they must not have seen her. She carefully breathes out, then draws her throwing knives and weighs one in her hand, loosening herself up a bit. She aims and flicks her wrist, sending the knife expertly through the air. It flies across the alley and ricochets off the opposite wall, catching a gangster in the throat from the opposite side. They all turn as he falls and start shouting, staring around, thinking she has backup.
Dusk vaults over the tank with a yell and lunges into the fray, knocking the gun away from the one guy's grasp. It skitters over the concrete and out of reach. The guy goes for her face and she ducks away from the strike, upper-cutting him in the chin. As he falls she high-kicks another guy in the chest and he goes down. Then she vaults over another guy's back and into the arms of another gangster. He grapples with her in surprise, and she kicks out at another guy coming up behind him before headbutting the one holding her. As he crumples, she rolls over her shoulder and comes back to her feet, round housing two more in the head in quick succession. There's the sound of a gun racking.
"Freeze!" one of the guys shouts.
Dusk doesn't. She flips around and strikes out at the gun. It goes off beside her, deafeningly loud, and she wrenches it away from the guy and whacks him over the head with it. He goes down, out cold, and Dusk shoots two others in the head that are aiming for her. This gun holds eight rounds, and four have already been used. Dusk fires the four last ones at four other guys who are about to shoot her, and the gun clicks empty.
Suddenly, there's an arm around her throat and she snaps herself forward. The guy flies over her head and hits the ground, crying out in pain and anger. Dusk turns and comes into contact with a solid fist aiming straight for her face. She manages to twist away at the last minute, but the blow glances off her cheekbone hard enough to make her fall. She lands on the concrete and the guy is suddenly on top of her, hands closing around her neck and squeezing all the air out of her lungs. Her knife is out of reach—it skittered away when she fell, so she brings the empty gun she's still holding into play. The guy lets go of her throat with one hand and keeps the gun from getting to his head, pressing it down against her ribcage.
Dusk draws a gasping breath as his grip loosens a little. He smiles and squeezes harder. Dusk releases the mag from the gun and grabs it with her other hand, then stabs it into the side of the gangster's neck. His eyes go wide as blood shoots out of his jugular vein and his grip loosens. Blood spatters her face and Dusk bucks the guy off of her, getting up and punching the last two guys in the face and kicking them in the head when they go down.
There's a sudden silence. Dusk breathes hard, blood on her hands and face. She drops the bloodied mag and kicks it away, disgusted, then pulls off her T-shirt and wipes her face and hands clean. She slings the stained shirt over her shoulder and stays in her sports bra—a little cold, but better than running around with a blood-smeared shirt. She'll clean herself up better when she goes to sleep in the morning. She grabs her knife from the ground and puts it back in its place at her lower back, then turns away and heads down the alley again.
She continues her circles in Fringe and Stryker until two in the morning, then heads over to Carakter. She walks through the alleys, seeing no sign of anybody. Carakter must be holing up for a bit to escape her wrath since she'd broken in and gotten so close to him. She has a way of scaring people—must be her dangerous aura and steely dark gaze, weapons she uses every day as she keeps gangs in check. Or simply the fact that she's a killing machine.
She continues her rounds until the morning, then goes to one of her hideouts and washes herself up. She cleans the T-shirt and hangs it over a chair to dry, then scrubs her face and hands free of the leftover blood. The sound of the water dribbling down the drain grows loud in her ears and she shuts it off, staring at her reflection in the mirror.
Her dark eyes stare back at her—deep and haunting and solemn. Eyes that hide too much, that have seen too much, that hold too much pain. Eyes that hold the world.
Dusk shakes her head and stops the memories, the melancholy thoughts, and falls onto her cot, exhausted.
YOU ARE READING
Nocturnal Gale
Aksi"Ow," Dusk complains, picking herself up and brushing her hair out of her eyes. Jason is good, and he's not holding back. "Oh come on," he taunts, "That didn't even hurt." "Easy for you to say," she gripes, stepping up again. She mirrors his raise...
