Hands of Clay

"And then both girls were late for school." Clay finished his story about his sisters just as the truck started to slow and then halted. For the majority of the ride to the station, Clay had regaled Brice with amusing antidotes about his little sisters. Brice considered that Clay might have a hard time leaving his younger siblings once he became a fully trained agent.

"Something is up, Agents," the driver yelled to Brice and Clay.

Brice grunted his agreement. Huge groups of people were leaving the train station in mass. Something was up.

"I've never seen this." Clay stared out one of the tiny side windows. Some individuals were sprinting, and they both heard a scream. "This isn't normal."

Brice opened his mouth to speak, but gunshots cut off what he was going to say.

"Semiautomatic?" Clay threw out his guess as a scowl blanked his face. He glanced at his watch. "The train might be here already."

"If some stupidity is going down at the station, I hope Butch will make sure the kids are safe." Brice unlocked the back door as the vehicle slowed to a halt. "The kids are what matters here."

"I wouldn't worry about Butch," Clay said as they both jumped out of the back of the truck and dodged the panicked strangers.

"You," Brice called to a man jogging near them. "What's going on?"

"Harvester war," the man called as he kept running. "And I want to live to see tomorrow."

Brice strode to the driver's side door as he waited for his fear and dread to set into his core. Oddly, he felt only a sense of calm. Clay was here, and he was safe. As long as Clay was fine, everything would be okay. They would just have to get the kids out without getting into the middle of a harvester quarrel. It wasn't like Brice hadn't done that before. His training kicked in.

"Stay with the truck," Brice instructed the guard. "And protect the vehicle with your life. I mean it. I don't want to come back here and find my truck stolen. Clear?"

"Crystal." The driver loaded his M16.

Clay started for the large entrance to the station, and Brice followed while watching his back. Ahead of them was a giant archway that led into the area where all the trains parked. Brice scanned the dark entry. People had scattered. What was once a busy hub was now fewer and fewer folks with every step they took.

Right as they reached the archway, more gunfire sounded.

"That's a shotgun," Clay muttered. Brice was impressed that Clay knew the weapons by sound. It took some agents years to learn how to do that.

Brice and Clay moved to the side of the entry point near a stacked pile of cement bricks overgrown with weeds. They would need to come up with a plan. They crouched, and Brice turned to scan Clay. His shepherd could get hurt here. He frowned. Brice was supposed to trust this man. He had to get it into his head that Clay was supposed to be an agent. He would graduate soon.

"We need to--"

A groan cut off the rest of Brice's sentence. Eyeing his surroundings, Brice pressed his back to the bricks.

"Over there." Clay cocked his chin to a beat-up man hiding in the bushes. The stranger lifted his head, spotted them, and then began to crawl toward Brice. The man kept his eyes on Brice's glowing gears bracelet.

"Agents," the stranger whispered as he tried to rise. He fell to the ground as he made it next to Brice. The young black-haired man leaned against the stones.

"Who are you?" Clay pulled out his gun and aimed his barrel at the stranger. Brice gathered Clay was being cautious, but Brice recognized the pummeled stranger. This agent passed Ponce's class two cycles ago.

"I'm Agent Plessy." The man adjusted his left leg. His foot was in the wrong position. Brice's guess, broken. "My partner is in there."

"What happened?" Brice asked as he waved for Clay to stop aiming at Plessy.

"Harvester crap. Two leaders got into a turf war, and we were the agents on duty." Plessy winced as he leaned his head against the rocks.

"You should've called for backup," Brice instructed automatically. "That's what you're trained to do. You were outnumbered from the start. We are always outnumbered. There are never enough agents."

"We thought we could make peace between the two groups. Agent Sulzer tried to get them to move on."

"How'd that work out for you?" Clay scoffed.

"They tried to kill us. I got out here to call for backup."

"And?" Brice sighed. He already had the idea that the harvesters wouldn't let an agent call for help. It was why they were told to call from the very first sign of trouble.

"Two of them chased me down and broke my leg." Plessy held up his radio. The device was in pieces. Cords hung from his fingertips. "They damaged it."

"This is what we're going to do," Brice said calmly. He wasn't happy that their easy mission had turned into a shit show, but he wasn't surprised. His eyes skidded to Wicks. He felt weirdly comfortable just knowing Clay was by his side. They would be okay.

"Wicks take Plessy back to the truck and call for backup using the truck radio. You had the classes on the radio, right?"

"Yes." Clay nodded. "What are you planning to do, Instructor?"

"Instructor?" Plessy shot a look at Brice. "That's how I know you. You're Head Instructor Brice." Plessy's eyes shot back to Clay. "You're a recruit?" He shook his head. "We're screwed. I washed up instructor and an FNG."

"I'm not the one bleeding," Clay said dryly.

"If you think you don't need a washed-up instructor's help...." Brice's eyes crinkled as he held in his grin. "We can leave you here to handle this."

"I'm sorry, Instructor Brice," Plessy muttered. "I'm just scared. Sulzer is next to the tracks, shot and bleeding, and two gangs of harvesters are currently shooting over her head. I don't know what to do."

"I'm going to go in there and get Sulzer." Again, Brice waited for some kind of panic at that announcement. Only a sense of calm washed over him. He would pick up the young woman and come back out. He could do that.

Brice wondered if Clay's gift had lingering effects. He remembered feeling calm even when he was shot and tossed into that mass grave. Maybe Clay's gift offered not only a wash of joy but a lingering peace that saturated the soul.

"Sulzer was knocked out. She's the blonde on the floor."

"Brice. I..." Clay paused. "Don't go."

"Someone saved me once, and now I'm doing the saving. Back in that hut, you were the one that said it is what it is." Brice slipped his gun from the holster on his thigh. "Don't be scared. It's okay. Harvesters are dumb thugs."

"I'm not scared. I just think I should go instead of you." Clay's Adam's apple bounced as his hands shook.

"You can barely hold a gun straight with your hands shaking, and you want to go?" Brice grinned under his mask, happy that the covering hid his amusement. "I'm fine. I'll get her. You need to get Plessy to the truck and see how long before we get back up. You can do that."

"I'm not trusting a recruit to save Sulzer," Plessy ground out like he had a say in any of this.

"Shut it, Plessy," Brice snapped. "Claymore is one of the best, and we're the ones saving your ass right now." Brice stood and slipped closer to the entrance. "You're wasting time. Let's move."

"Brice." Clay stood.

"Do as I say."

Clay glared at him and then wrapped his arms around Plessy to help the agent stand. Clay was probably thirsting to run into the fight. That's how new agents were. They wanted to kick ass and take names. But this wasn't a fantasy about being a hero. This was a real mission, and if Brice was honest, he wasn't ready to let Clay face gunfire in the middle of a harvester war. Brice might never be prepared for that, and that scared him. He had to let Claymore Wicks go.

Brice peeked around the corner of the archway into the darkness. His eyes adjusted to the low light of the cave-like entrance.

A series of tracks were on the far side of the massive room. On the cement platform in the train station center, a blonde was a crumpled pile on the floor. Her hair was spread out like a yellow halo. That must be the agent he came to save.

On the left and right of the female agent, harvesters had created shields and cover. The harvesters tipped over tables, broken doors, and used pieces of selling stalls. They had found all the hard items around the room and turned the garbage into forts for the upcoming battle.

Like little children throwing snowballs at each other, the two sets of harvesters would lift their heads, shoot, and then duck back into their makeshift fortresses. It was sheer luck that stray bullets hadn't peppered the female agent.

Silently, Brice entered the area doing a low crawl. He ducked next to a crate of empty plastic bottles. Once more, he peeked around the items to see what was happening.

"Leave, Narmer. I told you never to come back here." One of the harvesters popped up his head. "This is my station." He shot wildly at the other group. The bullets went wide.

Harvesters weren't much for aiming.

"I told you if you showed up again, I'd kill you, Lutze," one of the leaders yelled back. "Get the fuck out." He shot and got a direct hit. A harvester went down. Okay. Maybe they could aim.

Brice hid next to a stall of caged squirrels. He needed to get between the two combatants to pick up Sulzer, but he would get killed if he stepped out of his hiding place. He had to come up with a better plan. The memory of being shot by the Originals reared up in his brain. Flesh tearing. Pain. He didn't want to die, especially when he had Clay.

For Pete-sakes, he loved Clay. But now was not the time to dwell on that awful discovery.

Movement next to a parked train caught his eye. A young man, four feet at most with thick wavy red-brown hair, snuck out of the train door. The man was small and compact and not dressed like a harvester. He was dressed like a small child, but there was something about him that had Brice sure this was no kid. The short boy darted between furniture and dropped whenever the harvesters started shooting at each other.

A scowl dropped over Brice's face. What was this boy-man doing?

The answer came the second after Brice got closer to Narmer's camp. On the opposite side of the room, the short man made his move. Like a dancer, he flowed up to one of the harvesters and cut his neck. As the first man fell, the short man shot another. One after another, the stranger systematically killed with perfection. It was like watching art.

Brice didn't know who the short stranger was, and he didn't care. He was trying to get closer to Sulzer before she bled out. At this point, Brice wasn't sure if she was still alive. She'd been still for a long time.

Brice moved to a stack of old freezers and then stopped. Clay wasn't at the truck like he'd commanded.

On the far side, Clay was killing Lutze's group much like the short man. Knife to the throat. One down. Broke a neck. Another down. Two rapid shots. Harvesters hit the ground.

Clay moved like a graceful dancer killing with ease. Brice was momentarily struck speechless. He was about to call out when Clay disappeared behind a row of doors.

Brice turned and was met with bright red eyes. The four-foot stranger stood in front of where Brice crouched. He wiped off a bloody knife on his pant leg.

"Agent Brice?" The red-eyed childlike man tucked his knife away and held out his small hand. "Butch."

"Clay's brother." Brice shook his small hand and then stood. He hid his surprise at Clay's brother's appearance. He was mildly shocked that this was the scary killer everyone spoke of, but at the same time, he could see it. Butch's small stature and his innocent look were a veneer. The child look hid his bloodthirsty side.

When Brice reached Sulzer, he checked her pulse. He felt more than saw Butch hovering around him. The man left and then returned, wiping his blade again.

Sulzer was still breathing. Brice checked for injuries that might get worse if he lifted her. It appeared that a bullet had grazed the top of her head.

Butch surprised him for a second time. The man produced a medic pouch, and Brice found a bandage. He wrapped the bleeding wound and then scooped up the female agent. He held her close to his chest.

"Agent Butch." Brice glanced at the now silent platform. "Where are the kids?"

"At the truck with Gavin and Plessy." Butch fell into step with Brice, and they started for the exit. "They're safe." He noted that Butch didn't say the kids were with Clay, but he decided not to mention that fact at the moment.

"You killed a lot of people," Brice said as the sunshine made him squint. They stepped past the piles of rocks where earlier Brice had ducked with Clay.

"You might consider that a lot of people." Butch's red eyes sparkled.

"That's against H.S.P.C. rules. Humans are valuable."

"You can't make an omelet without breaking eggs." Butch grinned. "I remember you. Bleeding and freezing on the ground. Maybe Tips and I shouldn't have started that place on fire. I mean, Tips wanted retribution, but maybe we should've left everyone who tortured you alive. Humans are valuable," Butch mocked.

Brice didn't respond. He didn't know that Butch and his partner, Tips, lit the Originals' place on fire. Honestly, Brice wasn't unhappy about that. He was an instructor, and he was supposed to push the fact that human life was valuable, but in this case, he let it go. Butch didn't seem like the man who would care about H.S.P.C. rules anyway.

When they reached the truck, Brice took in the scene. Everyone appeared safe. Plessy and the two children were secured in the truck's back, and Clay held his guns at the ready. For the second time, it dawned on Brice that Clay was going to be an impressive agent. Already Butch had taught him more than most recruits could learn in a lifetime of service.

As Brice handed off the blonde agent to Plessy, he faced the fact that he loved Claymore Wicks, and the man was going to leave him. There was no denying that Clay would go off and become one of the best agents the H.S.P.C. had ever seen.

If Brice kept Clay, he would only hold him back. It was time to let him go.