Blade

"Black, you're screwed," Marian, the youngest of the siblings, hung up.

Black pocketed the phone and walked over to the window. He was really screwed, but strangely, he didn't care. His brothers had a legitimate grudge against him. He'd gotten about half a kilo of marijuana from them at a so-called commission shop, which he was supposed to sell for them, and which he happily burned. In a month. And what friends did he have? He even managed to fulfill his childhood dream of smoking with a saxophone. Time to get the fuck out, he thought. He took a drag on his cigarette and looked out at the street. He felt sorry for this house; he'd gotten used to it, even though the neighborhood was full of thieves. And he felt sorry for Anka too, nice ass. He felt a little sorry for himself too, but what can you do, c'est la guerre...

But the war had only just begun. Two shots rang out from the hallway, and the wooden front door frayed around the hinges, then fell into the apartment, pushed open by someone's foot. Police technique, Czarny thought. But it wasn't the police. Maybe half a minute had passed since he'd hung up, so they must have been waiting downstairs somewhere. He saw that the brothers had gone to the trouble themselves. He must have pissed them off pretty badly. Marian was breaking the shotgun to shove more shells into the barrels, and Zenon stepped in front of him with similar equipment in his hands. The only one missing was Waldemar, who was serving some sort of sentence. Czarny shoved both hands into his pockets, smiled furiously, then puffed out his cheeks and blew forcefully into the cigarette in his mouth, sending up a cloud of smoke and a shower of sparks. Zenon looked at him in disbelief and fired both barrels.

Marian gasped softly. Zenon thought it was because of the effect the shot had had. He approached Czarny, who was practically nothing left, and nudged the body with the toe of his shoe.

"Have you ever seen such carnage, kid?"

No one answered him. He turned and saw his brother sitting against the wall with his eyes closed. A slow trickle of blood ran from his nose.

"You little kid, what the fuck is wrong with you!?" Zenon put down the shotgun and knelt beside his brother. "What are you, shocked, you didn't see a corpse?" Marian had killed about twelve men himself, so Zenon felt an involuntary sense of pride that he'd managed to impress such a tough guy.

"Well, enough of this, little kid. We have to get going." He punched Marian in the face. After one of the next blows, the boy gasped and opened his eyes.

"Well, it's about fucking time," Zenon gasped with relief. "We're getting out of here, kid."

Suddenly, the kid hit him with a headbutt, sending Zenon reeling and sitting on the floor. Marian stood up and lifted the shotgun he held in his lap. Zenon looked up and met the dark gaze of the barrels. He looked into his brother's eyes, but they were staring at him blankly.

"You came, you scumbag, to kill the Dark One." Marian drawled slowly. "You just didn't take one thing into account. Soldiers don't die, they just go to hell to regroup."

Zenon recalled the most important moments of his life. And yet. He remembered how he had always doubted it, because who could possibly tell the truth, since it happened at the moment of death? He still had time to remember wondering who had come up with the idea when Marian fired both barrels. The impact blew Zenon's head off, and his body slowly rolled onto its side, a rich red gushing from his neck.

The man who remained alive glanced around the room. The sight was picturesque. The ceiling and walls were covered in blood, and on the floor, two bodies, either of which could have been a contender for massacre of the year. The man who was Marian smiled. He had once seen that line about soldiers printed on a T-shirt and had been waiting for the opportunity to use it ever since. Every superhero says things like that in a comic book, and he wanted someone to draw a comic book about him. He approached the body cautiously by the window. Under the radiator, he found a silver chain with an oddly shaped medal and slipped it around his neck, carefully concealing it under his shirt. He approached the body again and pulled out a shattered phone from where his shirt pocket had once been. He tossed the split casing aside and pulled out the SIM card. It seemed fine. He pocketed it and walked over to the mirror.

"You have a nasty face, my friend. And it's known all over the country," he grinned at his reflection. "We'll have to replace it with a more handsome one.

" Sirens wailed in the distance. There was no point in lingering. J-23 was transmitting again, the man thought as he ran down the stairs.

* * *

As they entered the highway, the weather began to deteriorate. The air, previously still, quivered, and a moment later the trees were bending under sudden gusts. The wind blew in clouds—thin and ragged, red in the setting sun, creating an eerie effect. The road was empty, with only one exit ahead and a straight stretch to the border. Stefan pulled out a cigarette and inserted a cassette into the player, silencing the monotonous radio monologue that had been irritating him for a while. Magda was asleep in the seat next to him.

"Shall we take him?" but she wasn't. The question concerned the hitchhiker, a boy with short hair and a thumbs-up. Stefan slowed down. Whenever they could, they picked up hitchhikers, remembering their own student days, not so distant.

"Huh! Ha! It's hot!" the boy hooted, climbing into the backseat. "To the border? Or maybe even further? Huh! Ha! It's warm inside!"

Both Magda and Stefan couldn't help but laugh at the thunderous shouts coming from behind them. But the figure they had helped was also bizarre. It was a short, young man with disproportionately broad shoulders, a round head covered in dark stubble, and black eyes with a slight squint.

"Brzeszczot," came a voice from behind them. Magda turned around in surprise, Stefan just glanced in the rearview mirror. "Brzeszczot. That's what they call me. My friends and everyone else. Because I'm sharp, huh! How far are you going?

" "We want to wander around on the other side for a while. We'll stop at a campsite somewhere, hike in the mountains, and then continue on until the end of our vacation.

" "Experience it all over again, huh?" The boy had already made himself comfortable, leaning against the headrests of the front seats and leaning toward them.

"Exactly." Stefan smiled faintly and placed his hand on his wife's knee. "We met under similar circumstances, only more romantic: hitchhiking, less money, ripped jeans... Do you feel it?

" "I do. Do you have children?

" "No. We're planning on it this year.

" "Congratulations in advance."

The conversation flowed smoothly. At a small border crossing, a uniformed officer looked up from his newspaper and, without leaving the booth, waved him off. "Continue." There was no wind across the border; a warm evening found them near the city. Stefan was already tired from the drive and suggested they rest over coffee. Magda and Brzeszczot raised no objections, so soon they were venturing into the old buildings of the border town.

They stopped in a narrow, car-clogged street, taking the place of a departing convertible. They slammed the door and headed for the dark gate. The stairs, also dark, gave no indication that they led to a pub. Only when they had passed the steel doors did a steady beat reach their ears, striking full force around a sharp bend. Before them lay a large hall, closed on the opposite side by a long bar, a good thirty meters away. The right side of the pub was a clear passageway; tables and benches stood only in niches carved into the wall, while on the left they were scattered haphazardly. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the pulsing lights in the darkness and they could look for a free seat. A couple of teenagers were just vacating one of the booths. Stefan sat Magda down and followed Brzeszczot to the bar. A moment later, they returned with beers. Magda looked questioningly at her husband.

"I'll be fine after one, and besides, they drink terrible piss here." He dismissed her scolding look and offered her a glass.

They began to talk. Stefan, as usual, recounted his college memories over his beer. Magda knew them by heart, so she tuned out and concentrated on observing the nearby tables. Her attention was drawn to a group of flashily dressed teenagers across the room, secretly smoking pot. Only with a flick of her wrist did she notice that her husband's voice had faded and that Brzeszczot was speaking. She watched the youngsters, who had meanwhile begun dancing in the open aisle. Their trance-like movements indicated considerable skill, although there were occasional stumbles, likely brought on by the alcohol and marijuana. Once the teenagers got the hang of the rhythm, more interesting tricks began to unfold, and Magda was captivated by the spectacle.

"May I ask?" The unfamiliar voice rasped.

The question was asked by a girl of maybe seventeen, but with bows in her hair, she looked younger. It took a moment for Magda to grasp what was happening. On the stone floor, amidst their solo performances, several couples were also swaying. Brzeszczot, to whom the question had been directed, shook his head.

"I insist," the intruder took his hand.

Stefan winked knowingly and gestured encouragingly. Brzeszczot rose without enthusiasm and they joined the swaying group. Stefan and Magda were trying to decide where they would spend the night, but without a map, it proved impossible, so Stefan went to the car. Magda watched the dancing couple. Brzeszczot danced well, but he wasn't showing off. The girl simply swayed from side to side. They were talking, but in a different way than one would talk while dancing. She was struck by the lack of a smile on the face of the girl, who had been monologuing for a while. Her gaze was cold, and she spoke quickly and dispassionately. She'd be a pretty brat if she weren't posing as an adult, she thought. She flinched when Stefan tossed a map into her lap.

"Choose yours, manager. The entire country and the neighboring borderlands are at your disposal. Just no further than half an hour from here, because I want to go to bed at a decent hour."

Magda didn't answer, as the couple had just turned around and she saw Brzeszczot's face, previously invisible. No doubt about it—he was furious. He blushed, his lips pursed, his eyes glazed.

Magda opened her mouth to draw her husband's attention to the strange scene as events escalated. Brzeszczot pushed his partner away and struck with an open-handed swing. The girl stumbled against the table, and he jumped and kicked her in the face. A man dancing next to him grabbed his sweatshirt, only to be punched in the face and staggered to the side. Brzeszczot struck him again and dropped his hands. The music stopped mid-beat, and Magda had a fleeting thought that it meant security had intervened, but no; the loudspeakers shook with the sharp notes of a guitar. A crash came from where the beaten girl lay. She was already on her feet, holding two broken glasses in her hands. She licked the blood from the corner of her mouth and slowly moved away. Brzeszczot raised his fists and smiled. For a moment, Magda could have sworn she heard a dull growl, when another sound caught the attention of the crowd. A table fell to the side, pushed to the ground. Magda expected a security guard, but she was wrong again. A second girl, identical to the first, approached from the direction of the bar. The same teenage face, bows in her hair, the same pants and tight shirt. She was the one who had knocked over the table and was now walking toward Brzeszczot, clutching a Coke bottle in her hand. Brzeszczot looked at her and was no longer smiling. Magda saw fear forming in his eyes as he looked from one twin to the other, comparing them.

Suddenly, without warning, he fled. A bottle flung with astonishing force whirred through the air. It hit Brzeszczot's head, making him stumble but not fall. No one was chasing him. The girl who had thrown the bottle approached her sister and touched her lips with her fingers. A late bouncer was pushing past from the bar. The young people watching silently moved aside. He approached the girls and began to speak to them. They ignored him and headed for the exit. The bouncer shrugged and returned to his stool at the bar. The music, which had been muted for the intervention, started playing again, and everyone began to frantically comment on the incident.

Magda felt her husband's hand tighten on her shoulder. She glanced at him. He stood with parted lips, watching the couple leave.

"He's crazy," he said.

He must have been agitated; he didn't normally use vulgar language. He pulled her toward the exit, only to turn back a few steps later to retrieve the map he'd thrown on the table. Brzeszczot and the girls were gone. They got into the car and fastened their seatbelts. Stefan tossed the map onto Magda's lap.

"Look for a motel along the route." He began steering the car out of the maze of narrow streets.

"Fifteen kilometers out of town.

" "Could be."

They were stopped at a light when they spotted Brzeszczot. Leaning against a telephone booth, he spoke rapidly into the receiver, gesturing frantically.

"Go!" "It's Magda.

" "He'll spot us again." "He's a psycho." Stefan pulled onto the route. "Did you see him kick her?

" "And then he ran off.

" "I'm telling you, he's a nutcase. "

Magda laughed, remembering her panicked escape from the two teenagers. Stefan looked at her and laughed too.

* * *

From the outside, the bar looked no different from dozens of others scattered around the neighborhood. The neon sign above the door read "Fred's." A group of amused tourists had just drifted inside on a wave of alcohol and stood in the middle of the small room. They glanced around, their smiles fading. The woman standing at the bar was nearly two meters tall and sported a blue shave mark. The bartender and several of the guests wore makeup. The tableau was completed by male nudes hanging on the walls, a crystal vase of condoms at the entrance to the restroom, and the ubiquitous marching band. The tourists retreated in panic, and only then did muffled giggles emerge from behind the door.

A short, Italian-type man sitting next to the jukebox stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray and looked with distaste at the remnants of his beer in his mug. His shirt, deeply unbuttoned, revealed a bearded chest and an oriental-shaped medallion resting on it. A steady beep sounded, and the man pulled his phone from his pocket.

"Black.

" "...

" "Fred's.

" "...

"No, I'm taking care of business," he laughed.

The bar door swung open.

"Listen, honey, I can't talk now, I'll call you back... Hi."

A tall, leather-clad, brunette entered the bar and swept his gaze around. The Italian pushed back his chair and headed for the bar. He arrived just in time with the handsome man, and they simultaneously dropped their elbows on the bar.

"Two martinis, for me and my new friend." The Italian was first.

"How can you be so sure I'll accept a drink?"

The brunette strutted around like a real queer, a strange contrast to his super-macho appearance. The brunette, a head shorter than him, wrapped his arms around his waist, pulled him close, and whispered, "It would be a sin not to try it. " The disarmed macho took the drink and drank it back to the Italian. The bartender stopped wiping glasses and shook his head in disbelief as he watched them walk to the table, arm

in arm .

The Italian pushed the chairs back and asked as they sat down,

"What's your name?

" "Paweł... Paolo," he corrected himself quickly. "And you?

" "Call me Czarny.

" "Because of the color of your hair?

" "Because of your dark humor. Listen, Paolo, I won't beat around the bush. I like your body."

The Italian's hand slid onto Paweł's knee and went to his crotch.

"I feel like you have quite a gun there, and I'd like to try it out. Shall we go to my place?

" "You're fast, Czarny.

" "Just practical." The Italian stood up and offered him his hand.

They left their barely touched drinks and left, swinging their intertwined hands like a couple of teenagers. The bartender shook his head again, watching them go, sighed, and reached for a glass.

The taxi driver who was driving them clicked the meter and took the money carefully, trying not to touch Czarny's hand. As he pulled away, he spat out the open window. Czarny and Paweł, who had been making out the entire way, didn't even stop on the stairs. They only separated in the apartment, where the host went to prepare drinks. When he returned, Paolo was standing in front of the mirror in his pants, flexing his muscles.

"Do you like me?

" "That's why you're here." Czarny handed him a glass.

"Alcohol dulls your sensitivity.

" "I need it. For courage.

" "Courage? Is that your dark humor?

" "Wait, I'll show you a sample."

The black man finished his drink in one gulp and pulled his phone from his pocket, placing it on the dresser. He did the same with the silver chain he had removed from his neck. He reached into the drawer and pulled out a pistol. The gay man paled and took a step back. The black man smiled and placed the barrel to his temple. Paweł watched, mesmerized, as the trigger fell. He screamed horribly as the shot rang out. The black man stood for a moment longer, blood gushing from his head. He fell limply to the floor, and his would-be lover rushed for the door, but as he took a step, the air was knocked out of him and he collapsed like a log. His eyes rolled back into his skull, and blood slowly trickled from his nose.

Silence reigned, broken only by the steady ticking of the clock. After a minute, the first rustle was heard. Paweł's fainted body moved slightly. His eyelids fluttered, revealing glassy eyes. The man took a few deep breaths and stood up briskly. His gaze swept the room. He stepped over the corpse lying on the floor and walked over to the mirror. He flexed his muscles in a javelin thrower's stance and nodded appreciatively. Then he unbuttoned his pants and pulled down the waistband of his skimpy briefs, peering inside. He whistled with satisfaction and let go of the waistband with a pop. He walked over to the corpse and stared at it for a moment. Before leaving, he grabbed his cell phone and medallion from the dresser, which he immediately placed around his neck, covering it with his leather jacket, which he had taken off the rack.

As he ran down the stairs, whistling under his breath, the phone beeped. He answered.

"Black.

" "...

" "Not just the voice.

" "...

" "How? Like fucking Antonio Banderas," he laughed broadly. "Tell me what the problem is.

" "...

" "Oh, fuck.

" "...

" "Give it a fucking rest. Fucking whores."

- ...

- Sure. You know you can count on me, brother. Where?

- ...

- Aha.

- ...

- Okay, I'll find you. Under the beer, right?

- ...

- Okay, take care. See you tomorrow.

The man clicked his phone and stood for a moment, lost in thought. He searched his pockets for cigarettes and cursed when he found none. As he stepped out onto the street, a cold wind suddenly blew.

* * *

The black man stood on the shoulder, a cigarette in his hand, the other waving at passing cars. He lowered his hand as another car passed him without slowing, leaving him in a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes. He had been standing there for over two hours, and he had had enough.

A van approached. Black raised his hand in resignation. The car braked slowly, coming to a stop right next to him. It was a complete house on wheels. A comfortable cabin in the front, and probably a bedroom, kitchen, and restroom in the back. The driver was a woman in her thirties, maybe a well-groomed forty. After exchanging the traditional "where can I go?" Black settled into the driver's seat and they drove off. The scenery, though interesting, held no interest for him; he'd seen enough of it over the past two hours. He began to discreetly observe his neighbor. He estimated her age at about thirty-seven, tall and slender, with dark hair falling in bangs over her forehead. She was dressed in a cotton T-shirt and jeans, her feet bare on the pedals.

She too was intrigued by her passenger, glancing at him over the steering wheel. They both laughed when their eyes met.

"Family vacation?" Black asked.

"No, I'm going alone." I've split up with my husband and I deserve some rest.

"Aren't you afraid of taking a lonely man with you?"

"I don't normally do this, but you seem like you know how to treat a woman."

Her smile was almost an open invitation. He responded in kind. She returned her gaze to the road. She asked,

"Are you on vacation?"

He noticed they'd switched to "you.

" "Not really. A friend's in trouble. I'm going to help him.

" "Serious trouble?

" "More like it. He's in trouble.

" "Aren't you afraid of getting into trouble with him?

" "There aren't many things I'm afraid of.

" "Like?

" "Loneliness. "

She laughed.

"Such a big guy. Are you afraid of the dark too?

" "Only loneliness."

The conversation trailed off, but Czarny knew something had sparked and he began to imagine how it would end. He smiled as they turned into a vast, empty parking lot separated from the road by a row of trees. His suspicions seemed to be confirmed.

"A quick stop?" "He ventured a question.

She smiled back.

"I'd like to show you something. Are you in a hurry?

" "I always find time for a beautiful woman."

She got out of the car and headed into the forest. The black man followed her. She asked over her shoulder,

"Is it far to meet your friend? I can give you a ride if it takes us longer."

"It's a campsite," he smiled and gave the name of the town. The woman nodded and walked barefoot into the trees. Black felt a growing excitement as he watched the buttocks, clad in faded denim, sway before him. The woman stopped in a small clearing, turned, and began to pull up his shirt. Black took off his jacket and tossed it onto the grass between them. He turned when he heard a rustle behind him. Panicked, he stood motionless for a moment. A second, identical woman was approaching him, carrying a fire axe. Black turned to see them both, but too late; he felt a sharp pain in his side. He looked down and saw the handle of a knife protruding from the body. He yanked it free and howled in pain. Blood sprayed onto the grass. He could have bled out quickly, but he was no longer defenseless. For a moment. The axe fell, slicing his hand, and the knife fell to the grass. With the next blow, he tried to grab the weapon, but the blow was too powerful and sent him crashing to the ground. He tried to roll away, but the knife's hand intervened, driving its heel into his genitals. The arousal hadn't yet subsided, and the pain was excruciating. Czarny's hands flew to his groin, and the axe landed right between his eyes. Stefan pushed aside his plate of half-eaten scrambled eggs and reached for a cigarette. Magda had long since finished eating and watched him chew without enthusiasm. He never had an appetite early in the morning, and as a non-smoker, she couldn't understand it.

" Shall we go?" she asked. They returned the keys to the front desk and went to the parking lot. When they got in the car, Magda unrolled the map. She looked up after five minutes. "I see three places we could stop. One on the highway, forty kilometers from here, and two more to detour, it'll be about a hundred and a hundred and twenty kilometers. " "Why these? " "Nice neighborhood." She placed the map on the steering wheel. "The green lines and those stars are roads and landmarks. " "Okay, we'll check them out one by one." The weather was perfect. Despite the early hour, the air blowing through the window was hot, and ripples just above the road blurred its contours. A black figure appeared from the right, growing larger as it approached. A hitchhiker. They glanced at each other, and Stefan wordlessly accelerated. The boy in dark glasses lowered his hand when he realized they weren't going to stop. They drove in silence for several minutes. Stefan took his time, not wanting to miss the turnoff to the campsite. He saw it with difficulty. A small sign with a schematic drawing of a tent and an arrow pointing down a bumpy path.

After half an hour, they were returning to the highway. The campsite turned out to be a small patch of land, picturesquely situated, but designated solely for tents. When they felt asphalt under their tires, Stefan accelerated and reached for a cigarette. He took a lighter from his pocket and flicked it several times. To no avail. The lighter in the car didn't work either, and he didn't have another one.

"I need to buy a lighter," he asked Magda.

"Where?

" "Maybe here." He turned into the parking lot they were about to pass.

He was unlucky. There was no shop there, no fast food stand. There was nothing except a single car, a caravan with tinted windows. Stefan wanted to leave, but he thought about the prospect of continuing without a cigarette and braked sharply.

"Wait a minute," he told Magda. "I'll get some light and we'll go."

He marched to a car a few dozen meters away. He knocked on the window, and when no one answered, he pressed his face against the glass; The front one, then one in the back. It took him a moment to understand what he was seeing. A pair of pleading eyes, belonging to a dark-haired woman, bound and gagged, stared at him from the couch. He jumped away from the car as if scalded.

Magda watched Stefan in surprise. She saw him jump away from the car and walk back to her quickly, looking around anxiously. At the end, he almost started running, but then he collapsed. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground. Magda ran over, terrified, and leaned over him. He was unconscious, blood trickling from his nose. She patted his face, and when that didn't work, she slapped him hard. She rushed to the car for some mineral water and poured the rest of the bottle on him. When that didn't work, she became hysterical. She started screaming and tugging at his shirt. She hit him again, and then he opened his eyes. She collapsed in relief.

"God, Stefan, are you okay!?"

He didn't answer, just stared as if he didn't recognize her.

"Can you stand up?" She offered him her hand.

He grabbed her arm and struggled to his feet. He stared dazedly at their car, parked nearby with its door open, for a moment, then turned, his expression hardening as he spotted a lone caravan.

Magda looked too, and noticed movement at the edge of the forest. Two female figures emerged from the trees. They stopped and seemed to be staring at them. From this distance, their faces were invisible. There was a crash behind Magda. Stefan was already behind the wheel, starting the engine. He drove off as soon as she got in, and he listened silently to her complaints.

"I should be driving, and you should be resting. We need to go to the doctor," she chattered for a minute before falling silent.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked after a moment's silence.

He didn't answer; he was busy observing his own face in the mirror.

"Maybe you should look at the road sometime?"

He cast one last glance in the mirror and then lowered his gaze to his hands on the steering wheel. Magda snorted with laughter.

"Look straight ahead, you idiot!"

Stefan's tension faded. He smiled and kissed her cheek. Magda relaxed, only to roar again as the car rounded a bend.

"What have you come up with!? You were supposed to go straight!"

* * *

Brzeszczot sat on a rock, gazing at the panorama below him. He chose the edge of a sandy escarpment as his vantage point. Behind him towered a black wall of trees, and in front of him stretched a vast, green square, veined with blue threads. The grounds of the tourist resort were green, dotted with colorful clusters of tents, and from close up, the blue veins formed a network of canals that successfully served a drainage and decorative function. The valley in which the campsite lay was enclosed on the left by the surface of a lake, and on the right by a chain of densely forested hills. Brzeszczot smoked a cigarette and completely ignored the impressive splendor of the area. He focused all his attention on the black spot of the parking lot at his feet. The red and white barrier rose and fell rhythmically, allowing more and more vehicles to pass. One of them caught his eye.

"Fuck," he cursed as he recognized the couple getting out.

He clearly hadn't been expecting them. Magda and Stefan, who he was watching, were arguing about something. After a few sentences, Stefan yanked his hand from his wife's and walked over to the billboard with the large bottle of beer. He lit a cigarette and looked around. Brzeszczot understood. He jumped two meters, dropping the cigarette in mid-air, slid down the sand, and ran down. He jumped over the low parking lot fence and weaved between the cars to the other side.

"Don't you like it here?" Stefan watched Brzeszczot approaching from the corner of his eye.

"Nice here." Magda calmed down a bit. "But how did you know?"

"I saw it with my third eye.

" Magda followed her husband's gaze, spotted Brzeszczot, and her face hardened. The men shook hands and held each other longer than necessary, gazing into each other's eyes.

"Hi, Magda.

" "Hi. What the fuck is this, some kind of conspiracy?"

Stefan embraced her and kissed her on the lips. She released herself gently and smiled.

"You're lucky I like it here, but when I calm down a bit, I'll ask for an explanation."

She squealed when Stefan surreptitiously pinched her breast and she punched him with a ridiculously balled fist. Brzeszczot laughed, and when his cackle rang out, no one could keep a straight face anymore.

They were left alone when Magda found the women's restroom in the wooden house. They jumped over a meter-long strip of water and lit cigarettes. Brzeszczot began.

"How did that happen?"

"I was hitchhiking, they gave me a ride. "

Brzeszczot snorted with laughter.

"Well, you got a ride.

" "Come on, Brzeszczot, I thought it was over.

" "Don't be crazy, you're indestructible. I just don't understand how you could have let them get away with it.

" "I only saw one, and besides, they look different than you described. They're in their late forties now. Nice asses."

Brzeszczot thought for a moment.

"Fuck, they might look different again now.

" "They didn't see me clearly either.

" "I wouldn't count on it. They found me, they picked you up off the road. Who knows how they knew. Do they have a gun?

" "An axe and a knife.

" "And you?

" "I don't know anything about that."

Brzeszczot turned to the hedge and reached under his sweatshirt. He handed Czarny a revolver with a wooden stock.

"Fuck, that's an antique. Does it work?

" "I shot it this morning. You have four bullets.

" "And you?

" "Hide it, your wife is coming."

"Listen, I haven't thanked you yet.

" "For what?

" "I didn't know her name until I met you. "

* * *

Dusk was falling. Lonely sailboats drifted across the dark lake. The silence was broken by the steady clatter of a pleasure boat, sparkling with garlands of lights, heading for the nearby marina. Far away, on the other side of the lake, the lights of a recreation center twinkled. The building with the "Gospoda" sign, a crude structure made of wooden logs, was a considerable distance from the bustle of the quay where most of the coastal trade and restaurants were concentrated. Despite this, the place wasn't empty. The room where Brzeszczot, Czarny, and Magda were sitting was accessed through a long hallway, equipped with a bar and a door to the restroom. The main room was filled with two rows of heavy wooden tables set on trestles, five in each row. Each table was flanked by two equally massive benches. The first one by the door was occupied by two teenage girls, chatting carelessly. Czarny sat in the opposite corner of the room, staring at the door some twelve meters away. Beside him, Magda sipped red wine. Brzeszczot sat opposite them, his hands cupping a mug of beer, staring at the darkening rectangle of the window, bordered by half-open shutters. The table next to them was occupied by three mothers or grandmothers waiting for their husbands and children, who were due back from a cruise on the excursion boat, as the conversation suggested.

Magda had given up on inquiring about the mysterious meeting. It was pointless. Both men ignored her, each staring at their own spot: Brzeszczot at the window, Czarny at the door. Magda took a sip of wine, sighed, and stood up.

"I'm going to find the restroom.

" "Good luck."

When she left, the men looked at each other.

"I'm scared," Czarny said.

"You have nothing. Fuck people.

" "Only women.

" "You've never been a woman?"

Czarny spat furtively under the bench.

"Two years.

" "You never talked about it.

" "I don't like to mention it.

" "What about the guy?

" Czarny spat again.

"That's not the point. She didn't even realize I was there. She was doing her usual thing, cooking, cleaning, and shitting, and I couldn't even move an arm or a leg.

" "How did it end?

" "She got hit by a car.

" Brzeszczot laughed broadly.

"A blessing in disguise. So what, is everyone like that?"

Czarny didn't answer. Brzeszczot saw the sudden tension on his face and the movement of his hand behind his back. He jumped up and turned around, knocking the bench over. There was a bang, and the black-haired woman who had just entered screamed, swaying slightly. Two more shots were fired, and a red stain appeared on her shirt. Brzeszczot pulled a powerful bayonet from under his blouse and waited for the second one. Instead, a gray-haired woman in sportswear appeared. Brzeszczot turned, but it was too late. Czarny didn't even know what hit him. An exact replica of the grandmother by the door, who had been eating biscuits at the next table, nearly severed his arm. The revolver fell to the boards and discharged at the ceiling, and the axe drew a figure eight and struck Czarny in the neck. His head fell to his chest, hanging by a strand of sinew and skin, and everything around him turned wet and red. Brzeszczot retreated to the wall, preparing to defend himself, but the old couple were in no hurry. A few seconds after Czarny's death, a woman sitting nearby fainted, her head thudding against the tabletop. She was the first to be shot. The axe fell on her neck, cleanly separating her head from her body. A shriek echoed from the doorway. The second of the gray-haired women had murdered the teenage girl with a knife to the chest, and now she was holding her friend by the hair and slitting her throat. Brzeszczot understood what they were doing. He could almost physically feel the presence of the Dark One, thrashing around somewhere nearby. He howled and lunged at the one with the axe, who had just dealt with the surviving woman at the table next to him. The bayonet, drawn from below, struck the breastbone, piercing it and lifting her up. Brzeszczot grabbed her sagging breast, pressing her against the wall, and plunged the knife in again. She squealed horribly, writhing on the blade. He yanked the knife free, and the old woman fell limply to the ground. The second woman approached, her eyes wild. She kicked the heavy benches aside as if they were cardboard boxes. She stopped two meters away and hissed, staring at Brzeszczot.

“Whores,” he cursed quietly and stabbed backwards with his bayonet without looking.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his forehead crack open and his brain split. He could only assume he had one left. They lunged at each other. They struck with knives thrust from above, using their left hands to parry. Pure defense was impossible, and the first grazes quickly appeared. Blade responded by pursing his lips, snorting, and spitting. He stabbed her hand and laughed when she dropped the knife, but she grabbed his wrist, and a moment later, he, too, was defenseless. Struggling, they fell to the floor and rolled against the wall. She was on top. She straddled him, clutching his wrists. She was stronger than him. She crossed his own forearms around his neck and pressed ever harder. She had lost her prosthetic leg, and he could see bubbles of saliva on her bare gums. He was already seeing red circles before his eyes when Magda entered. She was dazed, blood seeping from her nose. She stared at the wreckage and after a moment began to scream. Gray looked at her, and her grip relaxed for a moment. The blade violently spread its arms, pulling her toward him, and at the same time, it jerked her head up. He crunched her broken nose, and the old woman's eyes misted over. He repeated it. When she went limp, he pulled her under him and began systematically punching her. After one of the blows, something cracked, and he felt pain in his hand. Now he was punching her with his elbow. When she stopped moving, her face a red mask, he stood and picked up the oak stool. He only stopped punching her when the head was gone.

Magda stopped screaming; she sobbed quietly, staring at her husband's motionless body. She fell silent when her gaze fell on the old woman's mangled body. She moved closer and reached under her grandmother's sweater, and when she pulled it out, she was holding a bloody medallion on a silver chain. Brzeszczot watched tensely as she examined the amulet and placed it around her neck. She hadn't even realized I was there; the Dark One's words echoed in his mind. He found his knife, wiped it on the hair of the corpse lying nearby, and hid it under his sweatshirt. He approached Magda. She took a step back, terror in her eyes, but when he extended his hand, she clung to him and allowed him to lead her outside. He led her toward the nearby pier. They sat huddled in the shade of the escarpment, Magda crying quietly. Then she began to ask. Who? Why? Who were they? Why Stefan? What now? Brzeszczot didn't respond, staring blankly at the pleasure craft sailing toward them. When she started to get hysterical again, he pulled her close. She calmed down and snuggled into his arm. He waited until the ship drew even closer and then plunged the knife into her heart. She gasped, blood gushing from her mouth. He pulled out the knife and wiped it clean on her sweater. He shifted his gaze to the ship. He saw some commotion on the starboard side. He found a dry cigarette in a bloody packet and lit it. He saw a man on the ship, supported by two others, looking around absently. When he noticed Brzeszczot, he raised his hand. Brzeszczot responded in kind. He bent down to remove the pendant from Magda's neck, weighed it in his hand, then took a short run and threw it toward the pier where the ship was heading. The metal clanged softly against the wood of the jetty. Brzeszczot tossed the cigarette away, turned, and walked away. A moment later, he disappeared among the trees.