Kendra’s eyes flicked to her phone – there was no response from the text message she had sent out – then flicked back to the first note on her sheet.
“A-One…A-two…a-one
two three-“ Marshal, his voice tight and controlled and his face wearing the
mask of someone who was trying very hard to not think about something, counted
off the tempo for the piece and then the slightly nasally sound of imperfectly maintained
saxophones being played by less-than-professional students filled the space behind the bleachers
that the section had chosen to practice in.
There
was a simple truth to high school music: You could have skill, quality
instruments, or a life. Pick two. Since Kendra and the rest of the sax section
rather enjoyed having life, and the Samville Cockatrices prided themselves on
sounding like they were actually worth listening to despite coming from Samville, that
meant that their instruments were not the best instruments in the field. A combination
of poor school, flagging interest in the music programs and lower median
income for the students involved made for instruments that bore the years of
use in the same way the Titanic bore years of sea-water.
Proudly,
yes. With some measure of historical significance, sure. But no one would ever
call it beautiful. Or...particularly functional for that matter.
For
Kendra, her alto sax had a slightly bent connector – normally, when she pressed a
button at the top of the instrument to bring out a new note, the sax was
expected to open certain vales. However, for the past three months, despite
liberal amounts of valve oil and fiddling with screw drivers and lots of
creative (and very quiet) swearing, the valve hadn’t opened properly. That meant
that when Kendra wanted to shift between two notes, she had to let the valve
open half a second before you would normally expect and take a breath – to cover
for the fact that the valve was slowly creaking open rather than just popping
up.
Every
member of the saxophone section had to deal with similar quirks. With that in
mind, Kendra was just a little shocked at how good the piece started to sound
by the time they hit the end of measure twenty and Marshal did a quick circular
motion with his instrument to get everyone to stop.
“Nice!”
Bernard – the only person in the band with a name that began with a B – looked pleased.
“Wait,
did anyone else notice me going a little flat on measure three?” Stanly asked,
looking at his sax’s reed, frowning at it.
“Nope!”
Bernard said, with more eagerness than actual authority.
“A
little…” Marshal shot Bernard a look. The way sections were supposed to work was that the first
chair led the rest of them – because, theoretically, the first chair tested
highest during the auditions – and the lower you were slotted, the less complex
the music was. That fact seemed to have shot over Bernard’s head, and the fact
that Marshal glared at him every single time he tried to help the others just
amused Kendra to no end.
It was
a bit like watching a cat and a puppy try to direct a small military unit at the same time. A really really thick puppy.
“Why
don’t you play five to ten, and we’ll-“ Marshal started. Before he got any
further, Kendra’s phone started to blare rap music at the top of its speakers.
Everyone in the section looked at Kendra, who flushed and grabbed her
phone, looking down at it as her sax
dangled from her neck strap. She slid her free hand to support the sax, not wanting
her strap to give way and dump a seven hundred dollar instrument on the ground.
“Nice ringtone…”
Lisa – the other girl in the section – muttered.
“Uhhh,
I need…to…get this,” Kendra said, looking up at Marshal. “Be right back! Sorry!”
Marshal
clearly wanted to do something that only teachers could get away with. But as
he was not a teacher, and this was after school, and Kendra was the second best
player in the section, he gritted his teeth, then waved his hand to her – like an
Emperor granting a loyal subject leave.
Kendra
shifted, putting the cellphone against her ear as she ducked around the corner
of the practice spot and into a small alleyway between the bleachers and the fence that ringed the school.
“Hey
Bijay…” Kendra whispered.
“Kendra,
you need to get to the compound right now.” Bijay said, his voice serious.
Kendra
blinked. “W-What’s wrong?” She moved her hand to more firmly grip her phone, as
if worried that it would pop out of her hand.
“Adder
is in the area.” He stopped talking for a moment, and then continued. “He’s an
Immortal, and he…well, he runs a small mercenary corporation. His men are the
kind of psychos would are willing to do anything for their boss.”
“Even…”
“Even
kidnapping a girl from high school campus,” Bijay said.
“Oh
great. Just great.” Kendra looked back over her shoulder. “What do I do?”
“Run.”
Bijay’s voice was tight.
“What!?”
“Kendra?”
Kendra
glanced over her shoulder again and saw that Bernard was looking around the corner,
his brow furrowing. Kendra flushed, trying to think of something to say to the
other sax player, while also listening to Bijay.
“Crichton’s
goons are attacking us here.” He sighed. “We’ve got them bottled up, but if we
leave, then…” He paused. “Well, let’s just say it would be less than enjoyable.”
“Great,
great, great…” Kendra turned back away from Bernard and looked out at the
football field. “I’ll…”
Three
men were advancing across the field. They wore simple white t-shirts,
loose fitting khaki pants, and sunglasses. They didn’t seem to be armed – but they
had the kind of thick shouldered, wide necked, stern as all hell look that made
Kendra think of soldiers. Ex-soldiers. Mercenaries. People who would be bad
guys on Burn Notice. That kind of people.
“Gotta
go Bijay,” Kendra said, hanging her phone up, sliding it into her pocket. She
turned around, as if to remind herself that there was a tall, barbed wire fence that looped around
the back of the bleachers. For a moment, she felt as if all the attempts to
make school safer had betrayed her. Then she turned back around and saw that
there was still a thin opening to the left of the men. She ran, as fast as she could with a saxophone in
one hand, along the front of the bleachers. The men broke from their walk and
started to run as well.
It was embarrassing
how easily they kept pace with her. One of them actually managed to get ahead
of her and cut her off. She stepped back, looking at the three of them. She
gulped, taking another step backwards, her calf bumping against the first seat of the bleachers.
“Come
on, girl, we don’t want to hurt you…” One of the men said.
Kendra
looked around, for teachers, for anything.
“Hey!”
Marshal’s voice came from the left. Kendra glanced-
One of
the men made a motion.
Kendra
felt something like a punch to the shoulder, that then turned into the worst
pain that she had ever felt, that then turned to her collapsing to the ground,
writhing on the AstroTurf. She gritted her teeth and tried to-
And
then she was standing on her feet. For a moment, the world seemed to be frozen:
The goons were around her. One of them held something like a pistol – and two
wires reached past her shoulder, two needles sparking against the bleachers
behind her. She had moved an inch to the right.
Kendra
took advantage of the distraction to unhook her saxophone. With an internal
apology to the marching band’s budgeter and the school council that had voted
them at least a little money for instruments, Kendra brought the curved front
of the saxophone whistling around to smash into one of the goon’s heads.
###
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