They were at peace and until that moment, their night terrors had been held at bay.
The following day, there was much to be done, including beginning a lengthy repair job on the ranch house roof, but after growing up in the swamplands of Louisiana, Jak was no stranger to hard work and hot sun. He’d given up wandering Deathlands with Ryan Cawdor to settle down in an attempt to have what might be called a normal life. Jak owed the one-eyed man his life and felt a strong loyalty to him, but he also knew if he were to find peace he would have to abandon Ryan’s companionship in exchange for love and family.
Jak knew that would entail a struggle, for such peace was hard to find for people of his heritage and skin color. Jak was an albino, and albinos weren’t normal, nor considered of a kind with man. Albinos were marked as mutants, and while the mutant breeds might eventually lay claim to the remains of the civilized world, Jak wanted no part of such a plan.
Until Christina was stolen from his bed. Until Jenny was taken away.
The unspoken message left in their stead was, No Peace.
In Jenny’s small bunk bed were rose petals. In his own, ashes and dust. Jak crushed them together and rubbed them down both sides of his stark white face, streaking his cheeks with long dusky lines of war paint mixed with his own tears and sweat. The albino had grown up listening to late-night talk of magic among the oldies in his community, and had heard many tales of the avenging dead and the terrible price paid for want of retribution.
Damn the price, he decided.
The fury sang in Jak’s blood. Such an affront was to invite his full vengeance, and as he suited up in the formfitting lightweight battle armor he’d never worn before, advanced riot gear rescued from af locker deep underground in an already forgotten military redoubt, he knew it was only the beginning of a very long night.
He chose to abandon his more familiar fighting tools, his leaf-bladed throwing knives, his mighty Colt Python, deciding, instead, to rely on his wits and fighting skills, and the mysterious rune-inscribed midnight blue blade he kept hidden from prying eyes.
Christina had thought him silly for hanging on to the oversized weapon, which dated back thousands of predark years.
“You’re too small a man, Jak, to hoist such a blade,” she had said, unable to lift it herself using both hands. It fell to the well-worn boards of the front porch of their home with a muffled clatter.
“You say I’m small?” he retorted, reaching down and easily retrieving the weapon.
“No,” she answered. “You’re plenty big enough for me.”
“Hate people call me small,” he said, wiping away the stray particles of grit that had adhered to the surface of the sword when it dropped.
“I never said that and I never would say that,” Christina said firmly. “But there’s something dark and unholy and evil about that blade, and I wish you’d put it away.”
“Okay,” he had said and gave her an elfish smile. “Blade gone. Won’t see it again.”
Now she was gone, and the sword had reappeared.
The jewels encrusted in the hilt of the blade felt cool against his pale white hands as he hefted the weapon high over his head, cool and comforting, like they belonged there as part of him.
“No peace?” Jak whispered in a voice that was no longer his own. “So be it.”
Alone in the world, he saddled his great steed and rode west, following the trail of the ones who’d taken his wife and child. It wasn’t as hard as it might have seemed, since no care had been taken to cover their tracks. Even when Jak thought he was lost, the sword sheathed at his hip would act as a sullen guide, pulling him back on course, the deep blue of the metal attracted by some hidden magnet.
Once his horse was spooked by a hissing rattler and Jak fell from the saddle as the equine reared in fright. The armor he’d taken from the closet and now wore protected him from the impact of the fall as he landed heavily on the rocky sand. Transport was go- ing to be another matter, since his steed ran past, frightened, leaving Jak alone with his thoughts.