The Two Men Who Kill To Be Carbon

1. Time Travel“What will we do?” said the Deerland corporal. “We slice your heads off.” He then giggled with what Sabienn assumed was that reliable mix of alcohol and insanity. “Then we stick the heads on our catapult and watch them sail over the wall.” Sabienn and his three brothers, Bray, Deep and Stork were being led up the beach in the late morning with their wrists bound in plastic ties held out in front of them. The two guards walking behind them slapped sand from their Deerland uniforms. The corporal in front was unsteady in his footing and hung on to his rifle’s shoulder strap letting it almost drag on the ground like it was some lethal toy. In the distance, where they were walking to, was the brick wall portion of the border wall between the Lower Deerland provinces of Saddle to the north and Rotnadge-Minora to the south. Sabienn could view, even from where he was, the blood stains on the wall from people who had been lined up against it. In less than ten minutes they would be there to touch the stains themselves. With a heavy heart, Sabienn looked around at his brothers and then the two big and clumsy-looking privates guarding them. This gamble of trying to get to Rotnadge-Minora through Saddle looks like a dead end. What was I thinking? “You’ve got us all wrong,” called Sabienn to the corporal. “We’re here on business. I want my embassy.” “You can talk soon enough,” called the corporal. “Or your head will. The rest of you stays here.” As the brothers walked, Sabienn stole a glance at Bray who was desperately trying to indicate his pocket. Sabienn understood immediately. Grey Cape’s last note. I gave it to Bray. Should’ve eaten it while I could. Now Grey Cape’s in danger. “See this,” said the corporal, waving his arms around. “This is my killing zone. Mine. From that guard house.” He pointed to a distant guard point on raised stilts a few kilometres to the west. “To this beach.” “Well I’m going to complain about you boys,” said Stork turning to address the biggest of the guards behind them. “That’ll be the first thing I do when my head hits the ground on the other side of that wall. That crash tackle really hurt.” The comment brought a smile to Sabienn’s face and gave him courage. Stork’s right, he thought. We’re dead. Let’s go down swinging. “If you didn’t run when I said stop,” said the big guard, “I wouldn’t’ve put my shoulder into you.” “Just you stay cooped up in a cargo hold full of chickens,” added Stork. “You need to stretch your legs. Let alone breathe.” “Just shut it,” said the big guard. “That guy’s got you there, Stork,” said Sabienn turning to his brother. “That private’s got brains.” He then turned to view the back of the corporal in front. “Funny how promotion always favours the idiots.” “Yeah, yap it up,” said the corporal halting to turn and face Sabienn. “Last guy had a mouth too. Don’t expect a blindfold. I love watchin’ you people look at me while I shut you up.” “Why do you boys need so many chickens?” said Stork. “Can’t you boys make chickens here in Saddle? You just throw lettuce on the ground, get a rooster, get a chicken and you get eggs. It’s not hard.” Sabienn turned to Bray. “Bray, Saddle. What do you know?” Calmly Bray replied, “Saddle has chickens. It has dairy. It has beef and pork. It has fields of potatoes.” “That’s just swell,” said the corporal now becoming annoyed. “You know what else it has? Clean beaches. The headless bodies get thrown to the fish.” The shorter of the two guards at the rear piped up, soberly and softly to the corporal, “He’s just talking, Zee. There’s no fuss.” “Keep on point,” called Zee to his two charges, then indicated Sabienn. “He’s working us.” Zee pulled his rifle to his shoulder and addressed his troops solidly. “You want to get stripes, you got to get a name.” He indicated the wall. “You’ve read the reports. All the high-ups on their side. They complain about us. They complain about me. We let too many gun runners in. This stretch is the weakest link, they say. They make us look bad. Send a head over to their kid’s playground and let it rot, I say.” Zee turned to the shorter of the guards. “Don’t get played, Filo. Four heads sailing over the wall, they’ll know we’re doin’ our job. Break out the catapult.” With haste Filo left the group briefly and moved to a nearby object the size of a small car hidden by a tarpaulin. As he pulled the sheet away, it revealed a very basic trebuchet catapult constructed of wooden beams and ropes with a small canvas pouch for the sling. As Sabienn viewed it he believed it had the sophistication of a school science project. He then noticed colourful stickers on the main throwing beam of a Deerland musical boy band to show that this was exactly what it was. With a shock, Sabienn’s eyes moved to the left of the device to see a makeshift chopping block of concrete tiles and a hastily flung hacksaw to the side still covered in blood. It was his belief that this was where they created their projectiles; one of which he was currently thinking with. Casually Filo picked up from a box at the side of the catapult a cabbage in his left hand and a lettuce in his right. He looked over to the brothers and squinted at them as if to size them all up. He placed the cabbage down at his feet and put the lettuce into the sling. “Oh, come on,” protested Sabienn. “A lettuce? That’s just plain insulting.” As he complained, the trebuchet was released and the lettuce flung from its sling and sailed with an easy trajectory to disappear over the border wall. “Well at least they can’t complain they’re not getting a salad,” piped up Stork blankly. “Line them up, Range,” said Zee to the bigger of the guards. “Let’s get some bullets into them.” As he stood at the brick wall, Sabienn now touched the blood stains of the previously detained. The marks were now dried on the solid vertical face now bathed in the late morning sunshine. He felt the shiver go up his spine as he realized his blood would be painted on next. Think! “Hey I thought you boys had respect for your allies,” said Sabienn with earnest intent. “You’re looking at the finest of the Hayddland Academies.” “That just makes me want to put a bullet into you more,” said Zee. He then turned to Filo who had returned and presented him with a new clip. “Here,” Zee said, handing across the ammunition. “Use the full clip.” “I don’t want to get shot until I sing a song,” said Bray. Sabienn looked to his brother who seemed to be still displaying a little light-headed detachment from his experience with the drugs that had him in a walking coma. Bray continued, “I just fell in love with a woman last week and now I’ll never see her. But you never asked me about R-M.” He enquired of Sabienn, making the reference to Rotnadge-Minora. “R-M’s chief industry is tourism. Yet tourism has been weak for ten years. Why don’t they put that in the book?” “Got me curly-head,” said Zee, working his weapon. “Let us know when your head hits the town.” “And daylight saving. R-M has moved their clocks,” said Bray. “That’s why you boys are backward.” “We’re forward,” said Filo. “No, we’re behind,” said Range. Of the guards, Sabienn could sense by his reply Range wasn’t comfortable with the situation. Zee moved in and held his rifle so its muzzle was pointed directly at Bray’s forehead. “Looks like you already sung your song,” said Zee. “And I tell you what. I’ll get four tourist maps of R-M. I’ll staple one to each of your ears. Help put the books right. Ha ha.” Zee was the only one laughing. To Sabienn it wasn’t just because the joke wasn’t funny. He could sense a mood in the other two guards. The sight of a gun pointed at Bray whom he saved from death four days ago pushed the blood back into Sabienn’s neck and he bristled and grappled again with his old friend, the unknown. “Stop. Stop!” called Sabienn with annoyance. “Which one?” “Hold that excitement, boy,” said Zee. “No no. Which one?” called Sabienn, shaking his head. “You’re going to staple a map to our ears. Which one?” “We’re the guard of the beach and the Saddle Tourism Board,” said Zee with a smile and bringing his weapon up to point at the target speaking. “No,” called Sabienn. “Which one? Which ear? Which ear are you going to staple the map to?” “Line it up, boys,” called Zee to the four brothers. “No!” called Sabienn and sat down and crossed his legs. “You can shoot me sitting down. You haven’t worked anything out.” He picked out Range with his eyes and directed his attention to him. “You. I can talk with you. You’ve got a brain. You don’t have anything worked out here.” Still directing to Range, Sabienn indicated Deep standing against the wall. “This man stands tall at the Deerland War Memorial. I’ve seen him. Ramrod attention. You look at him. There’s no greater friend of Deerland.” Range, still holding his rifle at the ready, looked towards Deep with enquiring eyes. “On my honour as a wolf,” said Deep calmly. “Its flags were bathed in morning light. It was beautiful from the water.” Sabienn saw the words of Deep have a sway on Range. They must have been the first words Deep said in two hours but they had the effect of a native snake doctor sucking the venom from a wound. “You look at this man’s head,” said Sabienn, still toward Range but referring to Deep. “That noble nose. That classic jaw. This guy’s going to cut his head.” Sabienn eyed towards Zee. “Then staple a map to his ear. But which ear? Is it the left ear? Is it the right ear? Then he’s going to send the head over the wall. But is it going to spin to the left? Is it going to spin to the right? And now this stuff about the clocks. Is his head going back in time? Is it going into the future? You haven’t thought this. I like you, man. You’re a thinker. But you don’t know how his head’s going to fly. And you don’t know when or where it’s going to land.” He then looked to Zee. “And all because this guy wants to get even with someone who stopped him getting sergeant. I want to speak to your superior.” “He’s working you, Range,” said Zee now taking up position to shoot. “Line it up, boys. Let’s get this over.” “Whoah, Zee,” said Filo quietly, still with his rifle ready. “Last guys were Turrs. No problems there. Turrs killed my brother. But this one, I’m not feeling good.” Zee turned on Filo with some heat. “You do as I say,” he said. “That’s an order!” “An order?” said Filo standing his ground. He took a brief glance at Range before replying. “Let’s call it. Captain says no, they walk. It’s her call. Captain says yes. They fly. We’re all good.” “Weekend warriors,” called Zee to his charges. “I’ll shoot ‘em myself.” Zee raised his weapon to kill Sabienn first. “Hey hey,” said Filo, pushing Zee’s barrel down with his own weapon. “We’re talking.” “I got the call,” shouted Zee. “I got the haul. Dragged on the coals.” He indicated the catapult. “You were in this. We all were in this. Now stab me in the back.” He pushed Filo back with his rifle pressed against his chest. He then turned to shoot Sabienn when Range came around and swung a punch on Zee laying him out flat on the ground. “My grandpa lies in Hayddland,” said Range barely puffing after the effort. “Under our flags. He worked weekends.” As Zee lay there working his jaw with his hand he turned to Range. “You’re busted,” he said then turned to Filo. “You saw that.” Filo turned to the perplexed look of the four brothers lined up against the wall. “You boys see anything?” asked Filo innocently. Sabienn replied quietly, “Sun. The sun was in my eyes.” “Sun’s bad, Zee,” said Filo to his corporal. “Real hot and humid.” Sabienn, feeling only the prickling hairs on his skin without heat or humidity, turned to his brothers before speaking, “May we speak with your Captain?” “You may not?” said Range, still quite hostile. The comment pushed Sabienn back on his haunches. This can still go either way. A pause occurred which lasted almost an eternity before Range reached to his pocket and pulled a device. The voice came on speaker for all to hear. “Yeah.” It was female. “Captain Till?” said Range. “Make this morning better,” said Till, preoccupied with something else. “We’ve company,” said Range. “Four Haydds. Wings. One wolf.” “Two,” said Sabienn, pushing his two fingers forward. Range continued, “Hitched in on the transport. Caught them running away. On the beach. Presence here unknown. Permission to execute.” “Where’s Zee?” said Till’s voice through the device. “Here,” said Zee. “I got an issue. Range hit me.” “No no,” said Till. “No paperwork. We’re all a team. Range, bring in the prisoners. Zee, that transport? Go see a man about a bag of sugar.”