The Walker

Walker caught Daisy as she fell, ducking the salvo of rifle fire that came their way. He bounded down the stairs, three at a time, towards the stone receptionist post near the doors. They skidded into cover, and he laid her gently down onto the carpeted ground.

He had no time to check on her: the soldiers were moving closer, he could hear their headsets crackling, tinny voices relaying information. He set himself and stood, quickly. He spun his arm around, sighting along his pistol. He fired off six quick rounds; the two nearest gunmen dropped, bodies dropping awkwardly on each other before tumbling down the stairs.

There were six men left, and the soldiers returned in kind. Blue flashes roared vengefully from their rifles, sending angry hornets buzzing towards him. He dove sideways, rolling and springing towards one of the stone columns supporting the arched ceiling far above him. He felt the jolts as the rounds slammed into the stone behind him. He grunted and released the chamber on his gun. The spent rounds fell out, and he replaced them quickly, sliding them in and spinning the housing.

He slipped from his position and headed left, firing up at the soldiers on the platform. Blue flashes illuminated the room; deep shadows danced and leapt about on the walls around them.

Walker heard the Librarian shouting. “Don’t damage the shelves! Some of those books are the last of their kind!”

Walker ducked between two of the shelves, shredded paper falling around him as the soldiers ignored the order. He heard the crack of the Philosopher’s magnum, but no rounds came his way. He peered around the case for a quick glance towards his attackers. The soldiers had fallen back, and two more lay dead. He had fired on his own men.

Walker hid again, and made his way quietly down another isle. He heard the Bookmen’s boots slamming on the marble as they regrouped.

“Walker.” The Librarian called. “Why are you doing this? You know we can’t allow this to happen!”

Walker reached the end of the bookcases and counted from three. On one, he stepped around the corner into the isle, arm outstretched. The soldier was not quick enough. Walker grabbed the man’s rifle and pulled, hard. The strap holding his gun pulled him down and into Walker’s rapidly raising knee. As the man doubled up, Walker slammed his elbow into the joint between the man’s helmet and back plate. He heard a crack, and Walker threw the body from him.

More soldiers appeared at the opening in the bookcases and Walker heard the honeyed feminine voices crackling from their weapons confirm the target; he ducked quickly down the next isle, just dodging the salvo.

The Librarian called again forlornly. “Walker. You’re trapped now. Obviously it pains me to allow my men to fire near the books, but this cannot continue.”

Walker could hear the soldiers creeping slowly towards either end of the isle he had taken refuge in.

He shouted, to give his position away. “You’re wrong about the records, Librarian. I’ll change them, and get Walker back in to the Order.”

There was no reply. Walker couldn’t hear the soldiers’ boots anymore either. This was a good sign.

As the first man spun around the corner, the book Walker had thrown smashed into his visor, cracking the screen and knocking him backwards into the Bookman behind him. Walker twisted his body towards the attacker at the other end of the aisle behind him, bringing his pistol to level.

Exhaling gently, he fired two rounds in quick succession. They both slammed into the soldier’s chest plate. The man staggered, firing randomly. Walker ducked, grunting in pain. One of the bullets had grazed his arm, but he had no time to focus on it.

He was sprinting back towards the first attacker, whose partner had stepped over his writhing friend. As the man raised his rifle Walker dived, launching himself full bodied into him. The men tumbled, rolling and grappling, crashing into a bookcase and sending papers and books crashing down.

The soldier was well trained; he had managed to come out on top of Walker and had immediately discarded his rifle and gone for the knife at his hip. But Walker was ready with the old knife he had taken from the veteran, days before.

“Shi—”

Walker stabbed, twice, killing the man quickly. He rolled the dead man off of him and stood up. The Bookman with the cracked visor had crawled away, leaving his weapon, and the man at the other end of the isle wasn’t moving. They could wait.

“Michael!” Walker boomed. His voice echoed around the cavernous library, bouncing from the huge stone pillars and high vaulted ceiling. The only answer was his own, angry bellow.

Walker grunted, holding his arm. He made his way out of the aisles, towards the centre of the room. He passed the stone reception booth, passed Daisy. He threw his head back, and roared.

“Michael! Bring me the book!”

Again, his own voice roared back at him, sounding lost and empty in the cavernous chamber.

He staggered up the stone stair to the reading platform, with the dais. He moved slowly to the centre, stopping at the dais. He was breathing hard, exhausted. He looked about him. The bookcases spiralled outwards around the room, and ascended up into the darkened reaches above him.

“Michael?” His voice came back, tarred by the gloom, dusty with age. He looked around again. The room seemed empty. The bodies of the soldiers lay forgotten behind him, amongst fallen books and pages.

There was a faint rustle, and Walker sighed.

“Drop the weapon, Walker.”

Walker did as he was told, his gun clattering to the floor. As it hit the stone, he spun and ducked, kicking out viciously. The Librarian merely stepped backwards, keeping his pistol trained on Walker.

Walker turned the kick into a leap, and sprang upwards. Michael sidestepped, slapping him aside easily. Walker snarled and turned, using his momentum and bringing his arm arching around, but the Librarian stepped forwards smartly, jabbing gently at his throat with a finger.

Walker crumpled, choking for breath. The Librarian looked down at him morosely and shook his head.

His cloak flapped gently around him. “Too much brute strength, not enough thought, Walker. That is most unlike you.”

Walker coughed, spitting blood. He began to crawl towards his pistol, but was turned on to his back by the Librarian’s boot.

The Librarian peered down at him, frowning. “You look terrible, old friend.”

Walker spat. “We... aren’t...”

Michael smiled, sadly. “Yes, I know. I know.” He stepped back and walked over to Walker’s pistol. He picked it up, neatly tucking it into his belt.

He turned back, “Let’s talk, Walker. So, what are you here for? Your books?” He gestured vaguely to the shelves spreading away from them. “They’re already gone. Where they belong; safe, in my Library.”

He began to pace around Walker, who still lay on the ground, gasping for air. “Or, was that just a cover for that silly old quest to get back into the Order?”

He held his arms out wide, as Walker rolled onto his side, wheezing. “You think, after all this, all that you’ve done over the years, that even if that book could help you to ‘change history’, that you’d be allowed back in?” He shook his head again, and stood facing Walker as he climbed shakily to his feet. “What happened to you, Walker?”

Walker looked up at him. “What... do you mean?”

Michael continued to smile. “You’ve become unrecognisable, Richard. What happened to the young man I grew up with?”

Walker’s left hand flinched.

Michael’s smile faded and he sighed again. “I fear that you won’t stop, Walker. You’ll keep going until we kill you.”

He removed something from the satchel at his hip, and held it out to Walker. It was a book, thick and tattered. It had once been covered with some beautiful illuminations, but time had made it rough and dull.

“I have no desire to kill you, Richard. Here. Take it. Hopefully you’ll learn from it. Try and change it, if you please. It’s the officium historia. It’s all there. You, and I, Mother and Father. It mentions your little rebellion. We have other copies.”

Walker eyed him and slowly took the booklet. He read the front. The title confirmed what the Librarian had said. It was indeed a history of the Order.

“He... once, he told me that whoever controlled these,” he waved the book, feebly, “could control anything. Change things.”

Michael watched, eyebrow raised, as Walker walked wearily away, down the stairs. “He? Who are you talking about? And what did you think would happen Dick? Richard?”

Walker stopped, but didn’t turn back. “Stop calling me that.” Walker said, voice weary and grey. “I can still change things, get in to the Order... Get the Walkers back... finish...” He trailed off and continued making his way down the stairs.

Michael paused, perplexed, but carried on. “Walker, you know what happened. You rebelled against Mother. We all blame Father for what happened to you, but you went too far. When Mother tried to bring back the old ways, the good ways... Father taught madness, and violence; he used knowledge for his own ends, to hurt people.

“Mother wishes to collect knowledge, redistribute it. People will learn again, Walker. What did you want from this?”

Walker ignored the accusing finger, “We wanted knowledge. Your Order tells lies, Librarian. He never told me any of that.”

Michael cocked his head quizzically. “I still don’t know who you are talking about, Richard. You didn’t know what you wanted, you were just a child. We were just children.” He sighed again, “And in light of that, of our friendship, I would rather not have to kill you. But I am the Librarian, and this is my library. And you will never, ever, be allowed to join us again.”

Walker didn’t respond. He continued down the stairs, slowly, heading for the heavy doors at the front of the hall.

“Do you know why Mother allows that you live?” Michael called from the top of the stairs.

Walker stopped and half turned, looking up at Michael.

“It’s not that she feels badly for you. She does, but that’s not it. It’s not pity, nor selfishness, nor even cruelty. She knows you, Richard. She knows there is some good in you. But you cannot come back to us. She is waiting for you to go out in to the world, and undo some of the damage your Walkers have caused. You could be a good man, Walker. She always said that.”

Walker turned fully, facing Michael, looking up at him. He was everything Walker should have been. They had been together at the academy. Trained together as boys. Walker had been thrown out after his instructor had died.

“She doesn’t know what kind of man I am.”

Michael shook his head disapprovingly. “Of course she does, Walker. She took us in. Cared for us. Schooled is in the best possible manner. We learned the value of learning, and knowledge, and proper thought. We were to undo the wrongs of Father’s madness. You were the favourite, Richard.”

He sighed again and stepped lightly down towards Walker, stopping on the step above. “Richard. You must leave. If you take the girl now, she might live.”

Walker sneered at him. “The girl is dead, Librarian. You are as bad a shot as I was told.”

“Then I am sorry. I will see that she gets a good burial.”

Walker shrugged. “She’s dead. I doubt she cares.”

“I am sorry, Richard.” Walker twitched at the repeated use of the name. “Truly I am. You could have been a good man.”

Walker flinched again, but turned and started down the stairs. The Librarian grabbed his shoulder lightly. “I wish I knew where this insane idea had come from. So much harm could have been avoided.”

Walker twitched again.

“Richard—“

Walker spun and grabbed Michael’ arm, twisting it violently.

“Walker,” he spat.

He plunged his knife into the Librarian’s neck. Michael grunted in pain and fell, holding tightly to Walker and groping blindly for his pistol. Walker tried to get clear, but Michael’ grip had become vicelike; he couldn’t shake him.

They tumbled down the stairs. Michael had managed to free the knife, but was bleeding furiously. He fired at Walker, felt the slug rip through him. He bellowed in pain. He swung his arm and battered Michael’s pistol from his hand, before wrenching his own from Michael’ belt.

The Librarian had knocked Walker’s visor from his head, and now looked into his eyes. “Blue? But... You... you’re not...”

Walker stood back, panting; his left leg could barely support his weight, but he couldn’t feel it over the adrenaline. Michael lay before him gasping weakly. His visor had also been knocked from his face in the fall, and Walker could see the man’s eyes. They were locked on his. He saw no anger, nor hatred, nor even sadness there, but simple confusion. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to voice questions, but no breath would come. His eyes glazed over, puzzled, as the life slowly left his body.

Walker lowered his pistol and stood there for a moment. Then, with shaking hands, he carefully reached into the pocket sewn into his cloak and, after wiping the blood from his hands, began to roll a cigarette.

He limped down the stairs, leaving the Librarian sprawled behind him and retrieved his visor, clipping it together at the back of his head. He collected his hat from where it had fallen, and made his way to where Daisy lay.

He lit his cigarette, inhaling deeply, savouring the flavour. One day, these things were liable to kill him.

With some difficulty he knelt down. The hole in his leg was oozing blood, but he’d gotten lucky; the round had grazed his leg. Two close calls in one day. Lucky.

Daisy had not been so lucky.

He looked down at her body, limp in the weak morning sun pouring in from the windows behind. He checked her pulse, mainly from habit, and looked at her. Her wide, brown eyes stared unseeing upwards, and blood had trickled down her chin.

He gently closed her mouth and her eyes, and sighed. As he went to stand, something yellow and silver caught his eye. It was the smiley face emblem; her brother’s. He scratched his chin, then carefully removed the loop of leather from around Daisy’s neck.

He stood up, cursing softly at the pain. He tore a strip from his cloak and tied it around his leg, for the bleeding, and looked around him. He took another drag on his cigarette.

He retracted his visor and bent to pick up the history book, which had fallen during the fight. He flicked through until he found Walker’s page again, and stood in the dusty silence staring at it.

Changing it would accomplish nothing.

After a while, he dropped it to the floor.

A few seconds later, the smiling necklace dropped too, landing face down on the stone.

And then Walker walked.

He always walked.

It was what he did.