《Hiraeth》


 One

    The earth opened and the monsters came, and it was the end of the world. But it didn¡¯t feel like it because we were still here.


    There was never a time I can remember where the creatures did not lurk in the shadows, kidnapping stray helpless children or hapless adults; sometimes it would be that someone of Golgotha would go missing and whispers over breakfast would be the consequences of it. Funerals were frivolous, even if there were sometimes candles lit in the absence of the missing. Generally, it would be the elders that would sit around wooden tables, hum old hymns and maybe they would whisper a few kind words to Elohim or Allah or perhaps a more pagan variety; I came from a fully loaded Christian household where the paganistic murmurs were often seen as little better than the monsters that came from the earth.


    Whatever the case may be, it was simple mourning, simple human mourning and it was sad and miserable and more numbing every time I¡¯d see it happen. Sometimes it would be Lady (she was an old shamanistic-style woman with tattered robes and graying hair, even some whiskers on her chin too) that would culminate a hymn in the streets with her incense or more for the missing, but it was Christian and good in that way. Always about Jesus, always good clean words and simple gospels that were quiet and weak.


    It was a young woman that¡¯d gone missing sometime the previous night; there¡¯d been a patrol sent out among the old ruins too because the missing girl was the daughter of a Boss. The Bosses were distinguished leaders in Golgotha, due to their tendency for extreme and untempered cruelty and whenever someone crossed a Boss or whenever a Boss lost something precious, everyone took notice, because the Bosses controlled the functions of Golgotha. It just so happened the Boss whose daughter went missing was also the fellow that controlled the water supply. His name was Harold and that wily sonofagun shut off the pumps that moved ground water into our homes. He was the only one with the key and said he¡¯d not divulge it to a soul if the girl wasn¡¯t returned.


    Some of the boys on the compound cultivated a posse with impassioned cries of mutual aid and such, but Boss Harold, no matter how much they threatened or how many of his fingers they snapped in their desperate grasp for humanity, would not comply. Most of the boys surmised it was likely the girl was dead and her remains would be impossible to find due to the way monsters tended to grind bones into powder and dry swallow even the gristle of our fragile bodies; there¡¯d be nothing left¡ªor if there was anything left of her it wouldn¡¯t be her any longer (assuredly she¡¯d be a husk or unworthy of saving). When hard torture failed, the boys cried for more reason, and yet Boss Harold would not budge. The old Boss said, ¡°I¡¯ll stop the motor of the world until she¡¯s found!¡±


    A group of rabblerousing youths had absconded with his daughter or so he said; the reality was much more likely that she had run from home of her own free will either by wanderlust or ignorance. When all was said and done, the families came to me and said, ¡°Hey, Harlan, buddy, pal, you¡¯ve lost weight. You¡¯re looking good, Mister Harlan, did you get a haircut?¡±


    I¡¯d heard about the girl. I¡¯d heard about the posse sent out to Boss Harold¡¯s abode¡ªthe compound ain¡¯t that big¡ªand knew they¡¯d be coming for me because I was a scavver, a person that wades through the old ruins either for illusory history pages or weapons or even (and this one was a rare treat) lost people. I knew they¡¯d come for my services and had already put together my pack for travels with rations and light tools¡ªno gun; drawing attention in the old ruins was a dumb thing because sound could travel forever.


    ¡°I¡¯m going,¡± I told the group that¡¯d been sent for me, ¡°I don¡¯t reckon any of you¡¯d like to come with me?¡± I looked over the dirty faces, the faces of men, women, children that could scarcely be called grown, and none stood out because they were all tired and dirty and I imagined I looked much the same.


    Then a girl¡¯s voice broke out from the crowd, and she stumbled forward from the line of strangers that¡¯d come to see me at my door. ¡°I¡¯ll go!¡± she said, ¡°I want to go with you, Mister Harlan.¡±


    It was unsurprising. Youngsters always thought the old ruins were like a field trip, like maybe they¡¯d find a souvenir for their sweetie and come home with a good story. Most didn¡¯t come back, and those that did usually came back with scars beneath the skin from what they¡¯d seen in the out there. It was like a game for them and when they saw what the world outside the walls held, they would retreat into themselves for fear. It wasn¡¯t just the monsters. It was the ruins themselves, the overwhelming demolition of us; we were gone and yet we were here. It¡¯s a hard thing to cope. I looked over the skinny girl with a grimy face; she couldn¡¯t have been older than sixteen. Her hair was cropped very short, and I could see no immediate deformities that might slow my travels, so I asked, ¡°What¡¯d your parents say?¡±


    Without flinching, the girl shouldered her pack straps with her thumbs and almost cheerily answered, ¡°They¡¯re dead, sir.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me sir.¡± I stepped nearer her, looked over her face and saw perhaps a will I¡¯d not seen in some time. Maybe she would be more of a help than a hinderance. ¡°Do you have everything you need?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Then we leave immediately.¡± I shouldered my own pack and followed up with, ¡°Do not bring any fucking guns.¡±


    ¡°Got it! No fuckinguns.¡± Her tone was sarcastic, but not unserious. It was the best I could hope for, and besides it was always better whenever I travelled with someone else.


    We took off from my small hidey-hole and moved through the narrow stretches of street, tall metal and concrete stood on either of our sides, mostly housing and hydroponics, with a few spots with stools where a person could stop in for a drink of cool water. Although a few of the Bosses had toyed with the idea of expanding the hydroponics so that we might produce corn whiskey in bulk, this was scrapped when the math was done; the space was insufficient for such luxuries, but this did not stop some from fermenting small berries in batches when no one else was paying attention. Wine was incredibly rare, had a moldy taste to it, but was sweet and a further reminder of maybe why we held on. I liked wine pretty good, but sometimes I¡¯d find an old bottle in the ruins or get a jug of liquor from one of the far settlements and that¡¯s what I really cherished.


    ¡°You ever been out of town?¡± I asked her.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t act a hero, don¡¯t be funny out there, don¡¯t make noise, don¡¯t get in my way. If I tell you something, you do it without questions.¡±


    First, I heard her footsteps fall slowly, then more quickly before she answered me as though she had to stop and think about what she was going to do next; perhaps she was having second thoughts? ¡°Don¡¯t try to scare me from the ruins,¡± she said, ¡°I¡¯ve wanted to go out there for years now and everyone always says there¡¯s old stuff. Our old stuff. Stuff that used to belong to us.¡±


    ¡°Used to belong to us? What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Humans or whatever. It used to be ours.¡±


    ¡°It hasn¡¯t been ours within my lifetime. Leave it to them, because it¡¯s theirs now. If you find some small thing out there that you like, then take it, but otherwise, it ain¡¯t home no more.¡± There was no need for me to elaborate on who I meant whenever I said them, because anyone knew exactly who they were: the creatures from beneath the earth, the demons, the monsters.


    We came to the outer sections of town near the gate and the walls stood high over our heads while morning breeze kicked up spirals of sand wisps across the ground. The walls were probably fifty or sixty feet tall, and several yards thick with titanium and concrete and rebar; along the parapets of our fortifications were patrolmen that watched the horizon and fired at anything that moved with fifty-caliber bullets. The men up there, and they were mostly men (the show-off types), wore ballistic weaves, bent and tarnished war helmets of the past, and carried mottled fatigue colors on their bodies like for-real militiamen. There hadn¡¯t been an attempt on Golgotha from the monsters in days; it was a quiet week.


    The nearest dirt street spilled into an open square with sandbag barricades overlooking the gate from atop a small hill. I waved down Maron. Boss Maron wore boots and an old-school cowboy hat with an aluminum star pinned on its forehead center; he swaggered over, ¡°Going out, Mister Harlan?¡± His mustache caterpillar wiggled, nearly obscuring a toothy grin.


    I nodded.


    ¡°It¡¯s ¡®cause Harold ain¡¯t it?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°You know that crazy bastard had some of my guards lock up the boys that stormed his home? If you ask me, he deserved whatever pain those fellas brought to him for shutting the pumps off.¡±


    I idly studied the sidearm holstered on his hip then looked at the nearby guards by the gate, each with automatic weapons slung across their chests. ¡°You still locked them up, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    Boss Maron spat in the dirt by his feet and laughed a little dry. ¡°Sure did. Harold¡¯s got the key to the water, and I won¡¯t be crossing him. Don¡¯t want the riffraff questioning Bosses.¡± He flapped his hand at the notion then swaggered away and waved at his guards to open the gate. The one nearest a breaker box on the righthand side of the gate opened the electrical panel, flipped a switch then the hydraulics on the gate began to decompress as it unlocked and rusty gears began to rock across one another to slide the great, tall metal door open.


    ¡°Try not to lose any fingers or toes while you¡¯re out there. Oh!¡± he seemed to take notice of the young girl following me, ¡°Got a new companion? Does she know what¡¯s happened to the last few that¡¯s traversed those desperate lands with you?¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡± asked the girl.


    ¡°Oh? Harlan?¡± Boss Maron smiled so hard I¡¯d think his mustache might fall of his face from the sheer tension of the skin beneath it, ¡°He¡¯s a real globetrotter, quite a dealmaker, but just don¡¯t be surprised if he leaves you behind.¡± This was followed by a sick chuckle.


    I refused to respond and merely watched the clockwork gate come to a full open while the guards on either side prepared to angle their guns at the opening like they half-expected something to come barreling towards them. The doorway was empty and through the haze of the wasteland I could scarcely make out the familiar angles of the old ruins far out.


    The girl didn¡¯t engage either, for which I was thankful.


    Boss Maron wide-stepped closer then patted my shoulder and whispered in my ear, ¡°Don¡¯t forget the shiny flag.¡± He tucked a foil sheet into my front shirt pocket, ¡°His daughter was due west supposedly. Good luck.¡± Then he clapped me on the back before returning to his post by the sandbags where a small table displayed his game of solitaire.


    We moved through the gate, and I could sense the uneasy rhythm of the young girl¡¯s movement just over my shoulder. As the gate closed behind us with a large and final shudder, I heard her breath become more erratic.


    ¡°The air feels thicker out here,¡± she said.


    ¡°It is sometimes,¡± I tried talking the nerves out of her, ¡°It¡¯s hot and cold all at the same time, ain¡¯t it? Know what I mean? It¡¯s hot devil air, but also you feel chills all over, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Her pace quickened so that we walked alongside one another.


    ¡°It¡¯s just the nerves. You get used to it. Or. Well.¡±


    ¡°Or?¡±


    ¡°Or you don¡¯t get enough time to.¡±


    ¡°What did ol¡¯ Maron mean about other people dying with you?¡±


    ¡°Not many people venture outside the compound and even fewer go into the ruins. It¡¯s all very dangerous. Most don¡¯t make it back. That¡¯s all he meant.¡±


    ¡°But you do. Make it back, I mean.¡±


    I sighed. ¡°I do, yeah.¡±


    ¡°My name¡¯s Aggie, by the way. Sorry I didn¡¯t say that before, Mister Harlan.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯d your parents do when they were still around?¡±


    ¡°Dad was a farmer that worked with the hydroponics and Mom was a general fixer. She liked making clothes when we had the material.¡±


    ¡°Good people, it sounds like.¡±


    ¡°Sometimes,¡± said Aggie, ¡°Hey, please don¡¯t let me die, alright?¡± The words weren¡¯t constructed so much as blurted; they came as a joke but did not seem like one.


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    For a mile out in a measured circle, there was open sandy, flat ground stretching from around the perimeter walls of Golgotha; all the clutter, junk, and buildings had been disposed of years prior to grant the compound¡¯s snipers comfortable sights in all directions. The openness went out for a mile and in every direction, one could see the ruins, the crumpled dead vehicles, half-snapped spires that lie in angles, and the gloom-red tint in the air that seemed to emanate from the ground like heat waves off fire. It was scarred air, where the creatures had unearthed some great anomaly from beneath the dirt. In honesty, it was like passing through the foul stench of death and painted everything in a blood hue. It stank and it was hot and it was cold.


    We moved in relative silence; only the sounds of our boots across granular dirt or the clink of zippers whenever either Aggie or I was to readjust the packs on our shoulders. As we came upon the edges of the ruins, where we entered the red mist, and the air was alien. Finally, Aggie cleared her throat and mentioned through mildly exerted breathing, ¡°Think we¡¯ll find her?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I answered. ¡°Keep quiet and whisper. We can talk but keep it low.¡± We began to enter the thick of the ruins where ancient structures crept up on either side of us. ¡°What made you come with me?¡± It was a question I¡¯d wondered the whole time and figured her reasoning was weak.


    ¡°There¡¯s not much home. I¡¯d like to see some of the world before I go. Seems like things get worse and worse and for when I do leave this world, I want to see something other than the walls of home.¡±


    ¡°Fair answer.¡± Her reasoning was weak. ¡°What if you¡¯ve bit off more than you can chew?¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡± She followed this up with another question of her own,¡± What made you start venturing out?¡±


    ¡°I wanted to see something other than the walls of home.¡± I felt a smile creep around the corners of my mouth, but quickly tempered myself. ¡°Whenever people go out on their own without a guide, they die. I doubt we¡¯ll find Harold¡¯s daughter.¡± I left a pause. ¡°You¡¯re nearly her age, ain¡¯t you? Did you ever know her?¡±


    ¡°You speak like she¡¯s dead for sure.¡±


    ¡°Most likely, she is. Did you know her?¡±


    ¡°No, but I guess I¡¯m an optometrist.¡±


    ¡°Optimist,¡± I corrected.


    ¡°Whatever. She¡¯s a piece of home. I feel like I¡¯m old enough to take care of myself and I want to help people. Not everyone thinks that way, but we¡¯re all one big family, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°While I appreciate your thoughts on it, I doubt the daughter of a Boss would feel the same about you.¡±


    ¡°The Bosses protect us.¡±


    The ruins began to swallow us whole as we ventured through the ancient pathways, broken asphalt and wreckage littered the wide-open street. A nearby, worn post named the path: Fif Aven. I¡¯d gone there before and left most things untouched. Although there were a few open holes in the structures on either side¡ªplaces where large entryways might¡¯ve gone hundreds of years ago¡ªthey were mostly empty, black with shadow, and picked clean long long ago. Non ideal for an alcove of respite from the open air. We shifted down the street, my eyes darting from old signs and vehicles bent and rusted and abandoned. I motioned for Aggie to come closer as I sneaked through the rubble towards a wall where there were no entryways into the monolithic structures. We hugged the wall and moved with trepidation, sometimes climbing across overturned wreckage tiptoeing in our boots to muffle all sound. Every footfall felt like a scream.


    ¡°We should go on for another mile or so before we find a place to rest. I know one up the way.¡±


    ¡°Rest? Are you tired already? That¡¯d burn what daylight we have,¡± said Aggie.


    I shook my head, ¡°The last thing you want is to be without your wits in a place like this. If you¡¯re too tired to run, you¡¯re too tired to live.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t they fast? If they catch you in the open, they¡¯ll get you, won¡¯t they?¡±


    I thought of a lie then thought better, ¡°Yes.¡±


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°If you see one. Don¡¯t scream. Don¡¯t even breathe. If they haven¡¯t seen you, you still have a chance.¡±


    The air grew wet and smelled of chlorine, and I snatched Aggie¡¯s sweating hand in my own before grappling her into my arms; she was small and fought noiselessly for only a second before going still. I shifted us into a concrete doorway with a half-destroyed awning and whispered a quick hush as I glided us near a piece of wreckage.


    I felt her tenseness leave and let go of her before she crouched alongside me in the shadowed cover of an old van that had, ages before, slammed into a nearby wall. The door of the vehicle had been removed and we angled in slowly, silently, crawling towards the rear of its cabin to peer from the broken windows, all the while hoping its old axles would not creak. Feeling her hand on my shoulder, I twisted round to look Aggie in the eye; terror erupted from her face in tremors while she mouthed the words: what¡¯s that?


    Simply, I put a finger to my lips and took a peek at the thing moving down Fif Aven. The creature was on the smaller side, closer to the size of a run-of-the-mill human, but twitched its muscles in a fashion that contested humanity. The thing walked upright on two feet, but sometimes used its hands to move like an animal. The most intricate and disturbing of its features, however, was its head. With vibrant green skin, with speckles of yellowed globules across the surface of its body (likely filled with creamy pus), with a mishappen balloon head that first opened in half with a mouth folded as an anus, dispersed a corrosive gas into the air while it deflated, then reinflated and quivered¡ªthe creature¡¯s head moved as a sack filled with misty gas, wobbly and rubbery. It had no eyes, no other features besides that awful head.


    We watched it go, stop, disperse its toxic mist into the air, then leave. I kept my eyes on it, nose and mouth tucked beneath the collar of my shirt, and glanced at Aggie to see she¡¯d followed suit. The smell could choke.


    Once I was certain the thing had decided to move well outside of earshot (not that it had ears) I motioned for Aggie to follow me out of the van, down the sidewalk, through an intersection of roads, and into a small opening in one of the smaller structures. Our feet were swift, and I was grateful she was graceful. We moved through the darkness of the structure, and I led with intimate knowledge of the place. There was a safe spot near the rear of the building. I reached out in the dark, felt a handle and pushed into a small closet and pulled Aggie through.


    My lantern came alive and bathed us in a warm glow. Shelves across the small room were lined with various supplies I¡¯d left. A few boxes of matches, oil for lanterns, a bedroll, blankets, and other miscellaneous baubles.


    Aggie inhaled sharply, ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anything like that! It was. I don¡¯t know. It was weird and gross. Little scary. Is that what they look like?¡±


    I shifted around onto the floor and opened my pack while placing the lantern between my legs. ¡°You¡¯ve been up on the compound¡¯s walls before, ain¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Once.¡±


    ¡°Well, sometimes those things get closer to home. I don¡¯t know what you¡¯d call them. Some of the wall guys call them fart heads because when you shoot one in the head with a rifle it goes pfffft. Lotta¡¯ that chlorine shit comes out of them too.¡±


    ¡°Do bullets kill them?¡± She asked while removing her own pack and fixing her legs alongside mine in the closet; it was a snug fit, but we managed. ¡°Like really kill them or does it just empty those heads?¡± I could feel her shaking still.


    ¡°If you use enough, sure. Durable, but manageable if you have enough firepower. Those are small fries. Normally they wouldn¡¯t sneak up on me though. Normally I¡¯d smell them from far off before they ever get close.¡±


    ¡°Did I distract you?¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to.¡±


    ¡°It was bound to happen, I reckon.¡± I plunged my hand into my pack and removed a water gourd, taking a deep swallow from it.


    She started, ¡°Have,¡± she stopped then started again, ¡°I wish,¡± another stop came then she gave up on whatever she was going to say and laid her pack across her lap, seemingly searching for something within.


    ¡°We should rest up here for a while. At least until you¡¯ve calmed yourself. Then we¡¯ll set out. Maron said the girl went west. You should have that detail in case this trip happens to be my last. I figured we¡¯d search the northern area first then make our way south, but¡ªI hope she ain¡¯t south.¡± I exposed the face of my compass.


    A thought seemed to occur to Aggie while she removed her own water gourd and took a healthy swig. Sweat glistened off her brow in the dancing light of the lantern, its fire caught in her pupils while she thought. ¡°You don¡¯t actually think you¡¯ll find her, do you?¡±


    I grinned, surprised. ¡°Why do you say that?¡±


    ¡°You think she¡¯s dead already, so why do it?¡±


    ¡°Because they¡¯ll believe me when I come back. I suppose we¡¯ll return in two days, maybe three, then tell them we found her corpse.¡±


    ¡°Well why don¡¯t we just stay here for the remainder?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll look for her,¡± I said.


    ¡°But why?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the right thing to do, I suppose. Maybe your optometristism is rubbing off on me.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t make fun of me,¡± said Aggie, but I could see her sheepish grin. She held out a hand flat across her eyes and watched the nervous tremors in her fingers.


    ¡°Just nerves,¡± I told her.


    ¡°It¡¯s a little exciting.¡±


    ¡°Now that¡¯s a dangerous thought,¡± I took another swig from my water gourd before returning it to my pack. ¡°Do you know where your parents hailed from?¡±


    ¡°Somewhere up north. Cold lands, but it was hard not to freeze in the winter up that way. Said they came down here years before I was born, hoping they could find a place to settle, but it was all the same. That¡¯s what they said.¡±


    ¡°Never been further north than Golgotha, if I¡¯m being honest. I¡¯m from a place that once was called Georgia, but I¡¯ve not been there in years.¡±


    ¡°Is it true what they told me, Mister Harlan?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Is it the same everywhere? Is there no place around that¡¯s not got those awful things?¡±


    ¡°If there¡¯s a place like that, I haven¡¯t seen it yet.¡±


    ¡°Mom used to read to me when I was a little kid,¡± she said, ¡°I never could pick up reading, but she loved old books that were written before bad times and in those books, people talked about things like green fields that stretched on forever, and places where water streams were clear enough to drink from. Do you remember anything like that?¡±


    I chuckled while continuing to rummage through my pack, ¡°Geez, how old do you think I am? All that was a long time ago.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. You think it¡¯ll ever be like that again?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Wishful thinking.¡± Then I found what I¡¯d been searching for and removed it from my pack. A small tin of tobacco; I sat to rolling a makeshift cigarette then lit it off the lamp.


    ¡°That smells funny.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    We shared the cigarette in the dark closet, passing it back and forth; her lungs, not being used to the smoke, forced from Aggie a few whimpering coughs that she tried to hide in the hem of her shirt.


    I ducked the tobacco out beneath my heel and began reorganizing my pack so that it was less lumpy. ¡°I hope you¡¯re ready for it again. Like I said, that one you saw was a small fry. There¡¯s bigger things out there. Worse things.¡±


    ¡°Should I go, or should I just stay here?¡± She hadn¡¯t reorganized herself at all and remained seated while I shouldered my pack and peered through a crack in the door.


    ¡°Of course, you should come with me. I know it, you¡¯re scared.¡±


    ¡°What if I make it worse and I attract one of those things right to you?¡± She asked.


    I reached down and she took my hand; I lifted her to her feet and we met eyes, ¡°Aggie, you¡¯re coming with me. You¡¯ll do fine. I promise.¡± It was not often that I¡¯d try and charm someone, but I put forth a smile.


    She smiled back and I shut off my lantern before leading her gently through the dark, into the open street where midday sun caught the ruins shadows long and deep. West was where the girl had gone and I intended to follow. Though I¡¯d seen no signs of survivors, I was certain that if they¡¯d braved the previous night, they were likely about in the daytime. Certainly, things would be made easier if I could cup hands around my mouth and echo my voice through the dead city like a game of Marco-Polo. Aggie maintained both energy and quiet alongside me as we moved through the rubble, vaulting over wide-open holes in the street where I could spy the arteries of the dead beast (the old sewer network).


    We conversed frankly and in whispers when we came upon a place in the road that was impassible on foot due to a collapsed structure and we stalked more like wounded deer in a forest than humans in a city; our shoulders remained slouched, our bodies were huddled near to each other, and we delved into the dark recesses of another building¡ªpossibly a market from old days when patrons congregated for frozen fish sticks. There were massive steel shelves and we took their avenues till we came upon an aperture on the far side of the dark building. We shifted over the broken glass of an old torn out window and landed firmly on an open street.


    Then came a sound like firecrackers and I felt cold and Aggies eyes went wide in the dull evening glow of the sun.


    ¡°Someone¡¯s brought a gun,¡± I said.


    Before she could say anything, I hugged the wall on our side of the street and moved down the sidewalk, following the sound of those gunshots.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s someone that could help us?¡± she tried.


    I shook my head.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± she whispered a bit louder.


    ¡°It¡¯s bad news,¡± I said, then came to a full stop at a corner while another hail of bullets spat from some unseen weapon and echoed all around; we were getting much closer. ¡°Have you ever seen a dead body?¡± I asked Aggie.


    She shook her head, but then stopped. ¡°I was the one that found my mom. She was stiff and cold.¡±


    ¡°She went peacefully?¡±


    Aggie shook her head, ¡°Flu.¡±


    ¡°Any blood?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re not ready for blood, you might not want to look.¡±


    We rounded the corner to find a small blockade of burnt-out vehicles creating a barrier between us and the action.


    Two men with assault rifles fired at a creature towering over them. The creature in question stood thirty feet tall on spindly legs like a spider, but each of its legs were tumorous and its muscles were strangely uneven and mushy; although an arachnid may have eight legs, this one moved sluggishly along on no less than twenty shambling stilts so that the rounded body where the legs met looked more akin to a sea urchin. Several of its long legs stood out on its sides to angle its body through the narrow corridor of the street, its whiskery feet pushing along the walls of buildings overhead. Its whole body stank of wet dog and brimstone.


    The men¡ªthey looked like young militiamen of Golgotha¡ªstaggered in awe of the thing and attempted to walk backwards while reloading. Another spray of bullets erupted from their rifles, and they were empty and the men screamed and one of them tripped across some unseen thing on the ground.


    Quick as a fly, one of the massive creature¡¯s legs sprang onto the prone man¡¯s abdomen. Their was a brief cry of pain and then¡ªI felt Aggie pinch onto my shoulder with her thumb and forefinger and I glanced at her to see she¡¯d chewed into the corner of her bottom lip for purchase in response to such a fantastical display of awfulness¡ªthe man had no skin, no clothes, he¡¯d been stripped to runny red fibrous tissue with strips of white muscle that twitched in the presence of the air.


    ¡°Oh god please god!¡± screamed the other man while watching his comrade writhe in pain beneath the stalky foot of the skin-taker.


    I shuffled lower among the arrangement of vehicles we¡¯d taken refuge behind and me and Aggie breathed softly, glancing eye contact while sitting in the dirt. There wasn¡¯t anything to say.


    The sound of the spider creature removing the second man¡¯s skin was slower, torturous, seemingly enjoyed; his screams did not end for too long. I fisted my hands into my jacket pockets then stared at the ground between my knees. I felt Aggie¡¯s thin fingers reach into my pocket and it took me flinching to realize she intended to hold my hand. She was shaking and I was shaking, but she was good and did not scream. And we held hands while we listened to the thick trunks of the spider creature shift on away. And we didn¡¯t move. And we were statues frozen like we belonged among the dead ruins. And we didn¡¯t move. And then Aggie shifted to look before I¡¯d gathered my feelings and motioned me on.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± she asked as simply as she¡¯d asked the color of the sky.


    ¡°Bad.¡± I shook my head and looked for an opening in the blockade of vehicles.


    Two meaty blood ponds marked where the men were and on approach, I covered my face in the collar of my shirt; Aggie lifted her forearm to her nose. The stench of the beast and of the viscera was strong in the air.


    I examined the ground then found one of their rifles. Standard M16. The strap on the rifle was frayed to ribbons and the barrel of the gun appeared to be slightly bent, but salvageable. I handed the rifle to Aggie and she took it.


    ¡°What about no guns?¡± she asked.


    ¡°There¡¯s no bullets left. Besides, it¡¯ll be good to bring it back.¡± Examining what was left of the bodies, my eyes went away and into my mind where all things become ethereal and difficult to grasp; I looked without seeing and imagined a place where green grass was, a place like in the books Aggie¡¯s mother read. No grass here. Just misery.


    ¡°Who were they?¡± she asked.


    ¡°The men?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°They sent out a patrol looking for Boss Harold¡¯s daughter. Looks like we¡¯ve found it. Never should¡¯ve sent them.¡±


    ¡°I want to go home,¡± said Aggie.


    ¡°Me too.¡± I blinked and shifted around to look at her through the red hue that¡¯d gathered between us. Try as I might, the smile on my face almost hurt. ¡°If you stick with me, you¡¯ll be safe.¡±


    We took up in one of the safehouses I¡¯d developed over the past several years, a room hidden up two flights of stairs and large enough to host a party. In the lantern glow we heated rations¡ªeggs and hearty bread with water-thinned weak tomato paste¡ªthen ate in relative quiet so that the only thing heard were our jaws over the food that tasted bitter; food always felt slimy and bitter in the ruins where the demons reigned supreme. Their stink was on us. Like sulfur, like rot, like sorrow.


    I rolled us each a cigarette and we smoked while looking out through a brackish window that overlooked the black street. No lights in the darkness save blinking yellow eyes caught for moments in dull moonlight whose owners quickly skittered towards an alley.


    ¡°How don¡¯t you get lost?¡± asked Aggie.


    ¡°I do sometimes.¡±


    ¡°You could¡¯ve fooled me.¡±


    ¡°I mean, I know the ruins fine enough, I reckon, but then I feel like I¡¯m drowning in it every time I come here.¡± I took a long draw from my cigarette, finished it, then planted it beneath my boot.


    ¡°Did you have parents?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Everyone has parents.¡±


    ¡°What were they like?¡± Aggie held her cigarette out from her like she didn¡¯t actually want it, but just as I looked over at her, pulling my eyes from the window, she jammed it into her lips.


    ¡°They were fine. Just fine.¡±


    ¡°Just fine?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°I wish it was better,¡± said Aggie.


    ¡°Don¡¯t imagine there¡¯s ever been a point in history where we didn¡¯t want it to be better.¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡± She coughed through smoke.


    I moved to dim the lamp and sat atop my bedroll. ¡°You should sleep.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t think I could sleep. I¡¯ll have nightmares.¡± She pitched the remainder of her cigarette.


    ¡°Can¡¯t be worse than the real deal.¡±


    I shut off the lamp and we laid in pitch black.


    ¡°How do you do it?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Most of the time, it feels like I¡¯m not.¡± I stared at the ceiling I couldn¡¯t see. ¡°Go to sleep.¡±


    At daybreak, we ate bread and water then gathered our things before setting into that awful wasteland. Sand gathered around our legs in wisps as we trundled tiredly onto the street of the ruins and Aggie said nothing. There wasn¡¯t a thought in my mind as my joints protested at us climbing over the wreckage of an overturned semi-truck; first I went, then I hoisted Aggie up by her lanky arms then we jumped onto the other side, moving less like scouts and more like hungover comer-downers.


    Passing through the ruins, each step feeling more like a glide and less creaky, Aggie spoke from over my shoulder as I kept my eyes sharp on the buildings¡¯ shadows, ¡°I doubt we¡¯ll find her,¡± she said.


    ¡°What happened to the optimism?¡± I shifted to catch her face; she seemed dejected, tired, perhaps disillusioned by the previous day¡¯s happenings.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know there were things like that in this world. Like that spider thing. Those men didn¡¯t stand a chance.¡±


    I shook my head, and we continued moving. ¡°There are worse things still over the horizon. Most assuredly there is. Now you asked me before why I come out here in these ruins, why I¡¯ve trekked the wasteland, and I¡¯ll give you the opportunity to ask it again¡ªmaybe I¡¯ll have something different to say.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Why then?¡±


    ¡°Because,¡± I kicked at a half eroded aluminum can left on the ground, ¡°Places like Golgotha, or even where I¡¯ve come from, there¡¯s nothing like the red sky or the open road. There are no ties, no people. There¡¯s only the next step.¡±


    She took up directly beside me as we turned onto a street corner where the sidewalk mostly remained intact. ¡°Sounds stupid to me.¡±


    ¡°There it is then.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she muttered, then she spoke even more clearly, ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it like that. I just don¡¯t get it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s because I¡¯m a dealmaker,¡± I said.


    ¡°That¡¯s what Maron called you before, wasn¡¯t it?¡± Aggie absently stared at the sky, at the edges of the high spires overhead that seemed to swallow us whenever clouds passed over the sun. ¡°What¡¯s that mean?¡±


    ¡°It means it¡¯s harder for me to die.¡±


    ¡°Just luck, if you ask me.¡±


    I clenched my jaw. ¡°Probably, it is. Yeah.¡±


    Then, with time, we came to the garden. A place in the ruins where greenery existed¡ªeven if the plants that grew from the soil were otherworldly and aggressive. There was the solitary sound of dirt catching crags in the structures as hard wind pushed silt through the narrow streets of the ruins, then there was also the sound of a flute, a flute made of bone and skin. The sound was sickly sweet, illusive, something no human could play even if they listened carefully and practiced for hundreds of years. There was the flute, the greenery, the clacking of hooves against old stone that¡¯d risen from the earth much the same as the demons.


    Aggie whispered, ¡°What¡¯s that music?¡±


    I reached out my hand so that she would hold it and I tried to smile. ¡°There are worse things still over the horizon.¡±


    Her delicate scrawny fingers wrapped around my own and though I felt her trembling, she trusted me (I hoped she really did). I led her towards the garden, through a walkway with tall obelisks of flame on either side. ¡°What is this place?¡± whimpered Aggie.


    ¡°If you are asked your name, tell it plainly without hesitation,¡± I said, ¡°Do not leave my side. Do not run.¡±


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± her eyes scanned the garden, the flames dancing in the midday reddish light, the trees bent at impossible angles, the glorious green grass that looked cool and soft. I¡¯d been in awe the first time I¡¯d seen it.


    I smiled, ¡°Just like your mom¡¯s old books. Green grass.¡±


    The flute grew louder as we came closer and the hoof beats on stone shifted with enthusiasm.


    There in the center of the garden stood Baphomet, ten feet tall, feminine midsection with goatish head and legs. It pranced with the flute to its mouth, and the tune resounded playfully all around. The creature danced across an area of stones in the center of the garden, a place where there were rock tables and chairs and sigils upon the ground¡ªamid the open furniture, there stood a throne of human bones and near where Baphomet played its wily tune, there was a covered well, rope tautly hanging from its crank as if there was something heavy on the other end.


    I smelled you coming, said Baphomet. Even as it spoke, it continued to play its flute without pause. Its muscular shoulders glistening with reddish sweat, its horns gloriously pointed and reveled in its merriment.


    ¡°Let us convene,¡± I said, mouth dry and feeling heady.


    Convene?


    ¡°I¡¯m here for the girl.¡±


    I felt Aggie shift uncomfortably beside me, but I kept my eyes locked on Baphomet.


    It seems you have one already.


    ¡°She came west, towards here two days ago. She was a runaway. You have her.¡±


    Come, Harlan, come and dance with me. Baphomet did not stop its flute or its dancing.


    I sighed. ¡°I¡¯m here to make a deal.¡±


    Baphomet froze, allowing the boney flute to drop from its goatish lips. Its animal eyes casually switched between me then Aggie, before it turned to face us completely. A deal?


    ¡°Y-yes,¡± I nearly choked.


    You¡¯ve brought so little to bargain with. Baphomet shifted and walked to its throne to sit, clacking its long nails against the armrest. Unless. The creature allowed the word to hang against my brain like a splinter.


    I lifted the hand holding Aggie¡¯s. ¡°A deal,¡± I tried.


    Quick as a flash, Baphomet disappeared in a haze of black smoke then reappeared over Aggie¡¯s shoulder. I dropped her hand and stepped away while the creature exhausted dew from its nose before sniffing Aggie¡¯s ear.


    Aggie swallowed hard, ¡°Harlan?¡± she asked, ¡°What¡¯s it doing?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Aggie.¡±


    Baphomet took its hands through her short hair and inhaled sharply. A long tongue fell from its mouth and saliva oozed before it snapped its snout shut. The pleasure will be all mine.


    ¡°Harlan, let¡¯s go¡ªI want to go home.¡± Aggie¡¯s tears rolled down her face in full while the large hand of Baphomet lightly squeezed her cheeks into a pucker.


    You are home.


    Baphomet took Aggie and moved her casually; her legs moved feebly, knees shaking.


    Sit darling. Said Baphomet, motioning to its throne. Aggie took the chair and the creature snorted approval.


    The demon moved jauntily to the well, where its strong arms began to roll the crank; with each rotation, the sound of cries grew closer. Until finally, all limbs pulled backwards in bondage, there dangled Boss Harold¡¯s daughter; deep cuts and blood painted her mangled, distorted body. She¡¯d been pushed into the well belly first, suspended by her wrists and ankles. I bit my tongue.


    ¡°Oh god,¡± I heard Aggie say. It sounded like a far-off girl from an unknown planet.


    Baphomet lifted the girl from her bondage then sliced the rope with a razor-sharp fingernail. I hesitantly moved closer to the scene and removed my jacket.

 Two

    Don¡¯t be so scared, Harlan. If ever you yearn the ecstasy of my company, all you ever need is ask. Otherwise, I won¡¯t touch you. Baphomet¡¯s speech was paced, toneless, without emotion, and yet I felt pinpricks spring across my body.


    I moved towards Harold¡¯s daughter and draped my coat around her. ¡°She can¡¯t walk.¡± I saw the deep bruising, the bewildered fluttering of her eyelids, the places the demon had branded her flesh.


    I lifted the girl, totally unsure whether she would die from a fever¡ªwith her slung over my shoulder, I could smell infection¡ªand went from the garden, Aggie calling after me. And I could hear it all as I met the street and crossed it and reentered the ruins.


    Although arduous with the squalling, quivering body of the girl, I moved as quickly as I could. ¡°Shh,¡± I told her and myself, ¡°Shh.¡± Perhaps I was shaking too.


    I heard the protests of Aggie, first she asked for me, then there was nothing but the siren call of the betrayed, the shrieks, the howls in response to Baphomet¡¯s tortures. There would be water again on the compound. I moved away and readjusted the girl on my shoulder before I stumbled over my own boots. We fell hard on my knees, but I kept her in my arms and muffled a cry. An old prayer whispered from my lips, and I pushed myself to my feet before going on.


    There was no lying to myself of what I¡¯d done. What I¡¯d done too many times. It never was easier. Never. Nothing like youthful fresh flesh placates a demon. It¡¯s a deal that I¡¯d made before and a deal I was certain I¡¯d make again. There were no heroes or beauty in the world. No wonderful overcoming or examinations of the indomitable human spirit.


    The girl¡¯s pained expressions dampened to mere whimpers alongside flashes of weak, flailing hysteria; her infection was bad, and I was glad for her continued pain, because it meant she was alive. Once I¡¯d found a place, perhaps a mile out from the garden, deep in the buildings of the tall ruins, I deposited her on the sidewalk then looked over her. She looked thin, famished (soul famished), and her eyes could not hold a concentrated gaze. Only after surveying the surrounding area, I withdrew my water gourd and put it to her lips slowly, being sure as to not drown her with its contents¡ªher eyes shut and she supped at the mouth of the dead gourd, not even having the energy to hold it with her hands. I examined her deep cuts; a few scabby places around her wounds demonstrated healing, but others looked too deep and I imagined that¡¯s where the infection was.


    My voice whispered, ¡°These are antibiotics. Please swallow them. Even if you need to chew them, take them.¡± Unsure if my words had registered, I pushed the pills to her lips and her closed eyes contorted funny before I slotted the medicine past her teeth and offered her another drink of water. As expected, she chewed while drinking. I lifted her once more and walked tiredly to the safehouse me and Aggie had shared the previous night. Dead weight is easily the worst part of it. The girl¡¯s limp body hung off my shoulder and reminded me that every step I took was an infinitely small conquest.


    ¡°Stop it,¡± protested the girl.


    ¡°Shh,¡± I said.


    ¡°I want to go home.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t we all?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s scary out here.¡± Perhaps she¡¯d momentarily gained lucidity.


    ¡°Shh. You¡¯ll attract the scary things. Just be quiet.¡±


    It was dark by the time we reached the building with the safehouse. I fashioned a sled from an old piece of discarded sheet wood so that I could mobilize the incapacitated girl up the many stairs to my hidden place. She¡¯d not liked it when I¡¯d secured her to the board with the rope and with every thump up the stairs, I half expected a creature to show, but nothing happened. I hoisted the makeshift sled by its connected rope, and it took until pitch black till we shuffled into the safehouse. With the door secured, I turned my attention to her, removed my jacket from her naked shoulders and set to cleaning her wounds with alcohol and bandaging what I thought was necessary¡ªeven through the smell of her blood, the antiseptic, and through the smoke I¡¯d lit, I could smell the brimstone wafting off her. It was treacherous, but I gave her a spare fit of clothes I¡¯d brought and while the threads hung off her too largely, at least she¡¯d been given decency. With her tucked into a bedroll, I watched through the same windows I¡¯d peered from the night prior and watched the glowing eyes of creatures that parkoured across tall structures, or fought amongst themselves, and every so often it seemed those eyes stared back at me through the dirty glass, but I hoped not. I secured the door each night but was hopeful the deal would keep them at bay.


    Only a few times did the Boss¡¯s daughter stir throughout the night, but she seemed to rest well enough as anyone could within the circumstances. There were a few times I checked the heat off her forehead and felt the temperature rising. Stripping a bit of cloth off my shirt sleeve, I dampened it and draped it across her forehead; if she¡¯d been so unlucky as to catch a fever then she¡¯d die for I had no measures against it.


    Sleep came in short spells for me, and I burned too much lantern oil, because there was a fantasy within me where I could go back for Aggie; it was common.


    It was morning then night then morning again and I was breaking what little bread I had for a tough sandwich when I heard her stir from her slumber; I watched as the young woman fumbled her hands above her prone body, touching nothing, then her eyes fluttered and she pushed herself up so as to bend into a sitting position, arms buttressing her so that she could slowly examine the room. I moved to sit near her, after placing coffee over the cooking stove. Her hand moved to her face where wounds would assuredly become scars, bad deep ones that might never heal right (demon wounds never healed right all the way) and she flinched as her fingernails poked at the lines down her cheeks.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Her voice was gravelly, monotone, and dry.


    ¡°You¡¯re awake then?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I think so.¡±


    ¡°Good. How are your limbs? Notice anything about them that are off? Can you feel everything?¡±


    Her jaw clenched. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll feel anything again.¡±


    Ignoring this, I returned to the stove and pushed the heat higher. ¡°Can you eat?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m thirsty.¡±


    I motioned for the water gourd by her bedroll. ¡°Can you eat? You should eat something.¡±


    Greedily, she removed the cork and drank heavily, lines of water streaking down her chin. After removing the gourd from her mouth, a long sigh escaped her and I awaited her response, but instead, the only thing that came was a wet gurgle as she slammed the water to her lips again.


    ¡°The sooner you eat something, the stronger you¡¯ll get. The sooner you¡¯re strong, we¡¯ll hit the road home. I imagine you thought you¡¯d never miss home as much as right this second, huh?¡±


    She cradled the gourd in her hands and smacked her lips; although her eyes were weary, a tad unfocused, she seemed self-possessed enough. ¡°I think I¡¯ve met you before. I think I know you.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I shrugged, ¡°Lots of people in Golgotha have met me, but not many people know me well,¡± I laughed but couldn¡¯t smile, ¡°That sounded cheesy.¡±


    ¡°You work for my dad.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°I do things for the Bosses sometimes. I don¡¯t work for anyone. Never have. But sometimes a Boss needs something, I guess I¡¯ll do it.¡±


    ¡°What do you do?¡±


    ¡°I rescued you.¡±


    Her cold stare fell from my eyes till they drifted to the wide windows that overlooked the ruins. ¡°I always thought it would be beautiful. Like a big, beautiful place. I thought it would be home. I thought it would be like dreams.¡±


    My eyes followed hers where we could see the overwhelming cement-work that¡¯d been done to create the ruins; walls were hewn to show skeletal rebar and every broken window was like a black tunnel. Each building was a tombstone. ¡°It¡¯s a graveyard.¡±


    ¡°Lady said burning incense would keep the monsters away. She told me it was the only way to keep them away.¡± Her voice was small with a hint of betrayal.


    ¡°Incense is good for ceremonies or preaching, but if incense was what you used to keep them away, you might as well have learned one of Lady¡¯s incantations and done a little chicken dance.¡± I huffed. ¡°If they want you and you¡¯re there for the wanting, they¡¯ll take you.¡±


    She took in more water until the gourd was empty and then she held her stomach.


    ¡°Careful. If you drink too much all at once like that, you¡¯ll end up with pains.¡±


    She massaged her legs and removed herself from the innards of the bedroll to sit atop it. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    I swallowed hard and pulled the fresh coffee from the heat. ¡°You should eat something. Do you prefer bread or canned beans¡ªI could smack together a sandwich for you. The choices are slim at the moment, but there¡¯s a bit of dried meat too.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t they take you?¡±


    I gritted my teeth into what was hopefully a welcoming grin. ¡°Hush. You should eat up and try to conjure whatever energy you have. I know you¡¯ve been through it, but there¡¯s more to come till we see home.¡±


    ¡°Home?¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°I came out here with Andrew. Did you find Andrew?¡± Her eyes momentarily illuminated with hope.


    ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡±


    Her eyes drifted. ¡°He was going to be my husband. He said we¡¯d be married.¡±


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°He¡¯s definitely dead.¡± There was no way to tell if her sweetheart was still kicking or not, but there was no use in arguing over it.


    ¡°Oh,¡± she whispered. There was a pause where she seemed to study the bedding she laid on. ¡°I didn¡¯t think it would be like this. I thought for sure that there would be something hiding out here in the wastes.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s stuff hiding alright.¡± I began to shrug it off but stopped myself when I could see the tears forming in her eyes. ¡°There¡¯s always hope, I guess.¡±


    We took to eating nearer the large windows overlooking the large mouthy chasms and between swallows there were spits of conversation, but her attention was largely unconcentrated. At least her hunger was good, and she drank well.


    I smoked while she interrogated me further on the state of the world.


    ¡°All I know is Golgotha. You¡¯ve been around, right? Is there any good place left?¡± She was practically pleading the question.


    ¡°I ain¡¯t been all over exactly. It¡¯s not so simple. If there¡¯s a safe place on this earth left, it won¡¯t be long till those monsters find it and make it worse.¡± I watched a puff of smoke from my cigarette plume off the glass window inches from my face. ¡°Who knows, huh? Maybe there¡¯s a good place. Maybe there¡¯s a place we go after life? Maybe that¡¯s the safe place? My best advice? Don¡¯t hope for it. Make it. Make it safe in the place you know. Do it in Golgotha and never leave those walls again. There¡¯s nothing for you out here.¡±


    Her voice was small in the wake of mine. ¡°You sound bitter. I don¡¯t know how you could say that. That¡¯s why I left home. I thought¡ªwe thought there¡¯s gotta¡¯ be a good place still left. Maybe a place by the ocean.¡±


    I shuddered at the thought. ¡°The ocean?¡±


    She nodded.


    I shook my head. ¡°Don¡¯t even try it. You¡¯ve heard the stories of what it¡¯s like.¡±


    ¡°Those are just stories to scare kids.¡±


    I sighed. ¡°And I¡¯m sure you thought the stories of these ruins was just to scare kids. I¡¯m sure you thought you knew it all.¡± I rubbed the cigarette dead against the window. ¡°Take a hint and stay home. We hole up like rats or we die like ¡®em.¡±


    A thought crossed her expression before she could enunciate it, ¡°I remember your name,¡± said the girl, ¡°It¡¯s Harkin or something.¡±


    ¡°Harlan?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s right! You¡¯re Mister Harlan.¡±


    ¡°I guess.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen you down in the town square sometimes. You like to start fights. Lady told me to stay away from you.¡±


    ¡°Hmph.¡±


    ¡°Well, never would¡¯ve thought you were such a crank. You are quite the pessimist.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m an optometrist.¡±


    ¡°I think you mean optimist.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re very dull and angry-seeming.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of words coming from a rich girl I pulled out of a hole.¡±


    The room was quiet before she changed the subject once more, ¡°Well, don¡¯t you want to know my name?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± The word was plain.


    ¡°I¡¯m Gemma.¡±


    ¡°A pleasure.¡± A moment of silence. ¡°You are aware that your father¡¯s caused a fuss on the home-front because of your adventure?¡±


    She shook her head.


    ¡°He shut off the water. That¡¯s why I came to find you. He said he wouldn¡¯t relinquish the pipes till his daughter was home. You have caused quite the problem.¡±


    ¡°I-I didn¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Course you didn¡¯t. The haves rarely think of how their actions might affect the have-nots.¡±


    ¡°Well¡ªokay, fine but there¡¯s other places out west too! More than these ruins. More than Golgotha too. I heard from travelers and traders that there are whole other places with different ways of life. Why don¡¯t people go there? Why should my father have more say than another?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Sure, there¡¯s a place out west where they raise sheeps, chickens, or goats; that¡¯s where the demons stalk worse than anywhere. And even further west¡ªnorthwest to be precise¡ªthere¡¯s where the medicines and wizards hail¡ªa city called Babylon. There¡¯s other places, but you wouldn¡¯t have the faintest idea of how to get there! If you did, you¡¯d have no standing! You¡¯d be no better than any peasant in those places. Golgotha¡¯s where your family is. Where your station is distinguished. You¡¯d be a fool to give it up.¡±


    She remained quiet for only a moment, studying the lines on her palms. ¡°Surely there¡¯s better places than home.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen some,¡± I shook my head, ¡°If you¡¯re looking for a better place, wait for death. At least the walls are tall, and the guns are big.¡±


    We rested there at the waypoint for a handful of days; fevers began to take her sometime throughout the night. It would be smart to get her home before it got worse.


    We set out just as the sun crested some unseen horizon, sending shadows long and darker; there were points when hugging the sides of pitch-black walls, that it remained night even in day within the dead city. Gemma was slow and I took note of her knees or elbows quivering due to whatever strain might be placed upon them with our traversal. I remained as calm as I could as we shifted through the morning chill, through hell, through the uncompromising screams of distant mutants or demons echoing off the walls. Every so often those howls would come, and Gemma might freeze where she was and I could see that if only for a moment, her eyes shrank, her throat swallowed, and she looked small and scared, then it would be as though she was totally unbothered, and she¡¯d throw her shoulders back and continue following me.


    ¡°Are you winded yet?¡± I asked after several hours of climbing old wreckage and pushing across rubble.


    ¡°No,¡± her speech was gasped yet tempered, ¡°Not yet. I¡¯m fine.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid.¡± I stopped, put up my hand and motioned for her to take a seat on a nearby stone. We sat for a moment, and I passed her the water. A few of the last drops ran the length from the corner of her mouth to her ear lobe and I winced at the loss.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready to go again.¡± She moved to rise, and I put my hand on her shoulder, snatching the empty gourd from her.


    ¡°Don¡¯t act silly now. There¡¯s no reason with all the sun we¡¯ve got. I hope to make it to Golgotha while there¡¯s still light, but that does not mean I intend on dragging your corpse with me. If you need to relax, relax.¡±


    ¡°If there¡¯s nothing better in this world, then what¡¯s my corpse matter?¡± Gemma cut her eyes at me and stood to move away from me.


    ¡°Woe is you!¡± I felt anger rising. ¡°Let¡¯s go then, but if you fall out here, I¡¯m done dragging your ass around.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± She shrugged.


    The travelling was slowed. I caught a strange glint off Gemma¡¯s eyes when sun shafts landed across her face.


    ¡°Are you feverish still? How warm are you feeling?¡± The brief thought of touching her forehead graced my thoughts.


    She didn¡¯t answer and instead pushed on and so I did the same, maintaining a healthy habit of checking that she was following behind every few seconds.


    Without another break, through heavy breathing and through sweat, we met the edges of the open field around Golgotha nearing early evening, and I saw the fortified walls cloaking the base of the city¡¯s structures far out. I came to a stop while Gemma attempted to continue walking. I snatched her by the wrist, stopping her. Her head lolled around to look at me although I¡¯m certain she didn¡¯t really see me and she cut her eyes hard, yanking her hand free of mine. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me. I see home. It¡¯s home. You said it¡¯s important. We should go hide like rats.¡± Her jabbering came from the mouth of someone protesting through the haze of a dream.


    ¡°No. I need to signal that we¡¯re coming. The men on the walls will see us through their scopes, but that doesn¡¯t mean a stray bullet won¡¯t find us.¡± I removed the sheet of aluminum Boss Maron had given me days prior and unfolded it until the thing was large as parchment sheet; I waved the aluminum flag overhead and began walking forward, grabbing Gemma¡¯s hand again. She did not fight me and instead staggered along, her foot tips tracing lines in the dirt. Normally, I might¡¯ve checked through binoculars that the men on the wall signed back, but keeping ahold of Gemma was more important in her delirious state. ¡°We¡¯ve still got enough sun in the sky that they¡¯ll know its us from the reflection.¡±


    Just as the words left my mouth, darkness overcame the landscape and I felt cold for it wasn¡¯t night that came, but a massive shadow; I felt the wind of something immense and pulled Gemma closer to me. Looking up into the air, there was the great winged beast¡ªa thing I¡¯d only seen once before and never so close to a human bastion. Its several clawed fists hung in front of its chest, forelegs muscled and prepared for snatching whatever unsuspecting prey it might find; the demon¡¯s great head was that of a serpent and the wings which arched from its back gathered wind beneath their membranes; each stroke it took overhead left a dust fog in front of us and I could scarcely make out the innumerable writhing tendrils which danced off the creature¡¯s body. The distinguished sound of the wall¡¯s gunfire registered across the open land, and I felt Gemma fall into me. Leviathan circled against the angry sky, casting its tremendous shadow across us. Examining Gemma, I could see her fever had overtaken her and she¡¯d fallen unconscious.


    ¡°I told you goddammit! I¡¯m not going to drag your ass across this field! Wake up!¡± I shook the unconscious girl. Her eyelids flickered. ¡°Wake up for Christ¡¯s sake.¡± I slapped her hard and nothing and I shook her some more and pleaded. Leviathan¡¯s scream shook the ground beneath us.


    I moved across the open field as quickly as my legs would allow; with the addition of Gemma¡¯s dead weight, I could pull on her limp arms only so long before I knelt before the shadow of the beast and hoisted her over my shoulders. I ran, top heavy, and imagined my feet leaving solid ground. Loud bangs were the signature for muzzle flashes from the wall that I could scarcely see through the sweat in my eyes.


    There was no protest from Leviathan, not a care in response to the barrage of munitions.


    Artillery whistled through the air and the ground shook once more while I staggered over my own weight to glance up at the beast as it took a broadside shot to its black torso and although the wound it received seemed critical, it remained unfazed while tar-colored flesh shed off the beast, plodding all around me. The warmth from the explosion kissed me like hot breath while the smell of rotted chicken filled the air and Leviathan¡¯s blood rained over us as it adjusted itself in the sky. Dark blood ran granular and rough down my face and maybe Gemma mumbled innocuous cries¡ªstill I continued through the muck. Another artillery round struck the creature¡¯s left wing, leaving behind a smoldering hole in its thick membrane, sending it forward into a nosedive to the ground. Its trajectory arched overhead till it slammed in an explosion of sand far to the left and the sun beamed once more. Its cries were the thousands (if not more) souls it¡¯d devoured, screeching not like a dragon, but a village of tormented folks removed from this world and placed in another; it was the screams of strangled ghosts; the wild tentacles dotting its body writhed, snatching out at open air like whips and as thick as metal cables. The wind off the beast stung as it sent up sand in my face. Like a mistaken dog, it shook its head and propelled itself far and away into a leap that shook the ground till it glided over the horizon toward a place unseen.


    I stood in the open field, certain I was dead; it was not until murmurs escaped Gemma¡¯s mouth that I took toward Golgotha again.


    The cheers of the men on the wall overtook the clacking of the main gate coming free. I fell through the doorway while some of the wall-men gathered around. The blood of Leviathan was already thickened in the sun, clinging off me with some of its meat stinking and steaming into my clothes.


    ¡°Take the girl home,¡± I shouldered Gemma off me onto the ground and she was caught by the men while I fell. People gathered round in knots of bewildered faces.


    ¡°Water!¡± some of them shouted as the spigots in town ran freely once more. Some cheered while I took tiredly in the square by the gate and sat on an arrangement of cinderblocks. Boss Maron was there, an old metal bucket banging against his left knee; he took the contents of the container and tossed it over my head. The water was warm but welcome.


    ¡°You stink.¡± Said the Boss.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you go shit somewhere else?¡± I was nauseous at the stench clinging to me¡ªshaking my right hand, a hunk of the creature sloughed off my arm onto the ground.


    Boss Maron took up alongside me. ¡°Why don¡¯t we just play nice some, eh?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to hear it.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s happened to the girl you left with? You left with one girl and came back with another? What a heartbreaker you are! Certainly, a man about town!¡±


    Depositing my pack between my knees, I removed tobacco and took to rolling a cigarette. The paper kept tearing in my hands.


    ¡°Boss Harold has a plan for those boys. Those ones that took him hostage.¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°So, I¡¯m just glad you came back with the girl. Others are too.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not like you went without water.¡±


    A chuckle fell from him. ¡°¡¯Course not. There¡¯s no reason I should. But some of the veggies in the hydro lab looked thirsty. It¡¯s good you returned when you did. Anyway, we knew you¡¯d come through. I can¡¯t remember a time you haven¡¯t.¡±


    I bit a poorly folded cigarette and inhaled opposite a match. My eyes traced the people cheering in the streets out near the gate then up to the wall where soldiers stood with their rifles.


    ¡°What brought the dragon out?¡± Boss Maron wondered aloud.


    ¡°Who gives a shit? Why don¡¯t you go pull its tail and ask.¡±


    Among the revelers stood a figure in a cloak with a hood covering stringy gray hair. Lady was there in a moment, watching my conversation from afar, then she was swallowed by the crowd.

 Three: Blood on the Walls in Golgotha

    The seven men were marched from their cells into the front square near the gate of Golgotha where a crowd gathered for witness. Boss Maron and his subordinates had each of the men tied to the next so they were like a chain gang connected by thick rope around their wrists and ankles; each pair of hands tied high behind their backs. All of the men in line dared not look up from their collected feet as they were trickled into the square where the crowd was silent save for sudden outcries of righteousness; it was a punishment not given often but their crimes were too severe for anything less it seemed. I was there too, watching from behind a pair of young women. For the men¡¯s sake at least the sky was clear and bluish and I¡¯d not seen any birds.


    Several of the Bosses had shown for the event (a makeshift stage of blocks and timber elevated them above the crowd), and Boss Harold out front of them all, imbibing on a cruel humor in the face of the men that had kidnapped him over the water scandal. Though his face was puffed and bruised and his elderly features stood exaggerated in the morning glow of the sun which crested the high walls, he grinned at some joke another Boss told¡ªthe playful gestures of the rulers of Golgotha were like a group of children¡ªand still the crowd was silent half in reverence, half in anticipation. The crowd opened like a crescent moon round the line of criminals, leaving open air between the forefront of onlookers and the men which would carry out the punishment.


    Maron took the lead on the rope. ¡°These men here have committed the crimes of burglary, thievery, kidnapping, torture, alongside attempts to escape these past few nights.¡± The Sheriff Boss was scrawny, but his eyes were dangerous looking and he took pleasure in his deeds, whatever they be. He pivoted on a boot heel and looked on at the tired starved faces of the men tied by rope. ¡°Don¡¯t you understand your transgressions?¡±


    The response that came to him was little more than affirmative grumbles. Certainly, from the gauntness of the men, they could barely shamble given the way they¡¯d been collected. The youngest among them was assuredly no older than fourteen and yet there he stood alongside his conspirators, undoubtedly thirsted, starved, sleep deprived.


    The first man they took from the line was gray-headed and teetered on his skinny legs; as they disconnected him from the others, he almost tripped and fell, but Maron caught him, brought the man in close and whispered something to him (perhaps words of comfort or maybe even one last admonishment). They sat the man in a stool, arms remaining cinched behind him, and without hesitation, Boss Maron¡¯s guild of wall men took mallets and hooks to the man¡¯s feet. The screams erupted from the sitting man¡¯s throat dry and awful. Blood pooled in the spot beneath him and when the wall men removed themselves from before him, it was plain to see they¡¯d skewered his ankles with iron hooks which were connected to chains which ascended to the high parapets of the wall where several more of Maron¡¯s cronies began pulling the chains taut. All at once, they ripped the old man from his seat where his head met ground with a hard crack and he was expertly hoisted by his ankles, into the air, against the wall where they pulled him thirty feet high. There he hung against the surface, struggling, screaming still. Hushed murmurs weaved through the crowd like ghosts and one of the women standing in front of me caught a gasp in her hand.


    Looking on the stage of Bosses, not one seemed to acknowledge the punishment besides a glance. Wine sloshed from a clay cup in Boss Harold¡¯s hand and coagulated in the silty earth beneath the platform.


    The next in line for punishment was the youngest, a boy with gold hair brought dirty, and dark circles which shaped his unresponsive eyes. Boss Maron pulled the boy forward and they detached him from the others in line; he followed without protest. The woman in front of me, the one that let go of the gasp, stepped forward and I wanted to reach out and stop her; the tension was physical and as my hand grasped for her clothing, it met air. How I wish I¡¯d stopped her.


    The woman spilled into the open square and Boss Maron froze, surprised, but unafraid. She¡¯d withdrawn a semi-automatic rifle from her robes and angled the barrel first at Maron then waved the thing around; onlookers pushed themselves from her way and even the Bosses took notice, yelling obscenities.


    Maron tipped the cowboy hat on his head back to expose his wrinkled forehead. ¡°If you intend on shootin¡¯ me then do it, bitch.¡±


    Seconds ran like infinity where there was only quiet, and I could not hear even the screams of the hanging man on the wall. She pointed the gun at the bound boy, the youngest of criminals. Her shouting was crying. ¡°Henry, my boy, I¡¯m sorry! God, please forgive me!¡± The end of her gun barrel erupted. The boy¡¯s body danced till it was dead, his torso exploded across the ground and his blood hung like mist. Another anguished cry and she put the gun to use in firing at the other men, still in line, still awaiting execution. All fell but the man on the end. Blood ran wild in the square till the bullets were spent; the last man was brought to his knees for the others met the ground dead and he looked on in wonder at the gore before him then at the crazed woman in the square. Upon understanding the mercy she¡¯d attempted to pay him, he guffawed with his face brushed in red.


    Boss Maron removed a club from his belt and approached the woman whose hands unclenched the gun, sending it clattering to the ground. The sheriff and his men detained the woman, clubbed her arms so that bone shone through skin and then she was dragged away, and the punishment continued, and some of the crowd stepped into the blood for a better look and how I wished I¡¯d stopped her.


    The last man was brought forth, tall, large and broad shouldered, stepping deep in the red pools without shoes. Maron remarked plainly how tall the man was, and the man spat at the ground.


    They took him up the wall like the first and their dual cries echoed. Some of the wall men took ladders and created incisions across the men¡¯s lower abdomen, pulled the skin down so a flap hung off their torsos and covered their faces like a great tongue. Blood marked the wall beneath them.


    Although the sky was clear of birds, birds came later in the evening when the sky was red, and the men had no more struggle; the birds perched on the men¡¯s crotches and prodded at muscle with their beaks till intestines bulged out like sausage concealed by a red net of thin picked muscle. They stopped screaming when it was dark.


    The hall of Bosses was at the back of Golgotha, furthest from the gate and taller than any of the other structures except perhaps the hydroponic towers. There it stood with discrete faces carved into its exterior stone walls, each one commissioned by an artist without a name and there on that night there was merriment and drinking too and I¡¯d been invited, and I went to the Bosses at night where even music could be heard echoing from the mouth of that hall that spilled onto the street. The inner sanctum of those foul Bosses stunk of fresh chicken and spices and more wine too and when I came to them, they sat at a long table where Boss Harold sat off to the right side with his fists holding implements to shred his plate of chicken. Upon my arrival, the Bosses hollered and servants were there to refill cups as I approached Harold. He offered me a cup. I sat the cup to the side and another of the Bosses snatched it without recognizing. Harold¡¯s fingers on his left hand had been wrapped and braced with splints of wood.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Have a seat!¡± Cheered Boss Paul; he was the man that oversaw the hydroponic workers.


    ¡°Aye!¡± That was confirmation from Boss Frank; he and his underlings helped in keeping numbers: rations, materials, and the time too.


    Harold touched my hand with his mended fingers and fumbled around to stand before pulling me into a great hug; he was a small man and his head rested against his chest for a moment and no longer before he pulled away, keeping his hands on my biceps. His eyes twinkled and he¡¯d been drunk all day. ¡°Look at you! We¡¯ve a hero in front of us, fellas!¡± A sigh escaped him, and I felt the heat off his breath. ¡°You¡¯ve returned my daughter and I owe you a debt.¡±


    My expression, upon seeing the long table laid with such wealth must¡¯ve betrayed my sullenness to it for I felt Harold¡¯s hand squeeze my own as though to comfort me; his hand was cold, wet.


    ¡°Do not let the hero in your soul perish, dear boy! There are few of your kind.¡± He stifled a dry tear before seating himself at the table once more. ¡°You¡¯ve done me and mine a great service and I¡¯d like for you to have this.¡± Harold reached beneath the table, near his feet and slid out a wooden, chest-sized crate of miscellaneous objects; he withdrew from its contents a transparent bottle with auburn liquid swishing inside. ¡°This is some of that wizard liquor I know you¡¯re fond of. There¡¯s five bottles for you and a few other things. Some parchment¡ªMister Maron¡¯s told me you like to write when the inspiration strikes you¡ªand some ink and there¡¯s a few cans of tobacco too. It should never be enough for what you¡¯ve done.¡± He squeezed my hand again before returning the bottle. A drunkenness escaped him, and he asked, ¡°What is it like out there? To travel yonder? To see what¡¯s not been seen for so long?¡±


    The other Bosses¡¯ utensils stopped moving across their plates and Harold looked up at me from his seat, illuminated in the glow of candlelight. Searching for an answer, I tried, ¡°It¡¯s¡ª


    A door slammed open from the far end of the hall and forced me to stop and look on at Boss Maron standing within a threshold leading to some room I¡¯d never seen before; his scrawny frame stood dark against the lights from within the room, framing him first in shadow. He stepped forward, chest heaving, and in the candlelight of the table, I could see he was naked, coated in blood all down his body and without even his hat. From beyond, just before a servant rushed forward to close the door, I could see upon a mattress was the gunwoman from the morning, arms twisted, unmoving. How I wished I¡¯d stopped her. ¡°I am famished,¡± said Boss Maron, ¡°Nothing quite like it works up a hunger from me!¡± His voice was filled with delight and the other Bosses took up conversation again while Harold motioned for me to take the crate of goods that he¡¯d bestowed upon me.


    Maron moved through the hall without anyone taking notice of his nudity. He craned playfully over the table to one of the dead chickens there and pinched a hunk of meat off with his fingers before plunging it in his mouth and sucking so there was no blood left on his forefinger.


    Upon noticing me, Maron moved forward, jovial, bewildering in the glow of the room, and clapped me on the back; copper rolled off him. ¡°You¡¯ve decided to join us, huh?¡± He hooked his arm around me and leaned in to support most of his weight against mine. ¡°There¡¯s food to be had, for sure, but I¡¯m afraid the party favor¡¯s been dealt already.¡± A hearty laugh exploded from him. Among the men he was sober alone.


    ¡°Sit and eat Mister Maron,¡± said Harold, ¡°We¡¯ve a feast and you intend to tease the poor boy? And for what?¡±


    Maron waved off the other Boss, ¡°Poor boy indeed. Tell me, is it true what they say about you?¡±


    I took a stone face. ¡°What do they say?¡±


    ¡°I been told that you like speakin¡¯ with devils.¡± A pause followed where he took up an empty chair alongside Harold. ¡°Or maybe you¡¯ve got certain proclivities.¡± He shook a meat knife at me. ¡°Ain¡¯t you got more blood on them hands that I¡¯ve got here?¡± He showed his flat red palms.


    ¡°I should go.¡± My teeth ached as I clenched my jaw and lifted the crate Harold offered.


    Laughter followed till I was out in the dark, the crate grappled, pastel squares painting the black buildings in the night (a signature for each night owl). Taking the stairs, I met the street and moved to take the road home when a figure stepped out, bathed in moonlight. My hands clenched around the wooden crate.


    ¡°Heya, Harlan. That is you there, isn¡¯t it?¡± The words blubbered and the face of the man they belonged to was cut blank against the sharp clay of his face. ¡°It¡¯s you.¡± He was caught in a blue moonlight shaft, and he was crying. A sniff came as he jerked his body and pointed to the hall of the Bosses. ¡°You came from in there. I saw you did.¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± I said.


    ¡°They took my wife in there.¡± A pause punctuated the night as he took his fist to wipe his face. ¡°I saw them take her in there. You didn¡¯t see her? Did you see her? Tell me please Harlan. Tell me she¡¯s alive in there.¡±


    A chill caught me. ¡°I don¡¯t know her.¡±


    The man laughed a cold laugh. ¡°You don¡¯t know her, huh? She killed our boy this morning. If you didn¡¯t see that I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve heard about it. The wall men took her in there. Tell me Harlan. Tell me now if she¡¯s dead. If you do nothing else with that miserable life, you¡¯d better tell me if you know.¡±


    I sighed and sat the crate at my feet. ¡°It¡¯s like I told you. I don¡¯t know her.¡±


    The man stumbled forward in the dark so there was less than five feet between me and him. ¡°Tell me you sonofabitchin¡¯ bastard!¡±


    His grief was belligerent.


    The man caught me in a tackle and we both scrambled to the ground, each of us working for the upper hand in the blackness. My head met hard ground and clapped my teeth against my tongue; blood ran in my mouth and dizzy colors came. I swung a fist out, feeling my knuckles meet something hard I couldn¡¯t see. Sneaky, his hands met my throat and his thumbs pushed into my adam¡¯s apple. I couldn¡¯t breathe as he straddled me. Try as I might, bucking my hips to pitch him, I reached out with a hand and swung my other in a fist to meet him, but my vision was going and my strength left me as he surely tried to crush my windpipe. While I spat through the struggle and lightheadedness took me, I found his eye with my thumb and pushed hard. His grip softened enough and I threw a final punch, pulling my knees beneath him to push him off. He met the dirt to my side and rolled on the ground; I could just make out the form of the man clutching his own face.


    I moved to find the crate Harold had given me and lifted it, staggering around on stilts. I took myself to the ground in a place where the moon cut through the buildings and sat there with the box, removing a bottle of liquor to hold in my hand.


    First, the cries of the man were moans then he stifled himself, crested the shadow line and moved at me again on his feet.


    ¡°Ah,¡± I held the bottle like a club, and he froze, ¡°If you take another step, I¡¯ll bust this over your fuckin¡¯ head and jam whatever¡¯s left in your neck.¡±


    In the lowlight, I could see his right eye pinched shut and oozing tears even more than before. His bottom lip protruded before he sucked it into his teeth, and he hissed a sigh. ¡°I just wanted to know, mister.¡± He took to sitting in the dirt opposite me. ¡°Why won¡¯t you tell me? A man deserves to know.¡±


    We sat like that for minutes, focused on one another while I spat blood on the ground beside me. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± I asked him, massaging my throat with my free hand.


    ¡°D-dave.¡± He continuously rubbed his hand into the eye I¡¯d gouged. ¡°Goddamn. I think you¡¯ve blinded me in it.¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well I¡¯m sorry I came at you like that.¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t you got any family left?¡±


    The absence of a response stood as one.


    I lowered the bottle but kept it in my hand. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    Dave shrugged. ¡°So?¡± he asked.


    I shook my head.


    His shoulders slumped and he cried some more.


    I undid the top on the bottle and scooted across the ground to offer it to him, but he put up his hand. ¡°Just take it.¡±


    We shared that bottle then another and I learned that Dave was sometimes called Davey by his wife. He¡¯d just started teaching his boy about the growth cycle of cabbages and his boy¡¯s name was Henry. Henry found a lot of joy in the world and liked to joke around, but Dave was never a jokester and so the boy and father didn¡¯t always get along, but the man loved his boy, and he loved his wife too. ¡°I¡¯m a coward,¡± Dave confessed after the first few drinks. Beyond the first bottle, he spoke about how he¡¯d like to skin the Bosses alive. Then, once the second bottle was empty Dave was confessing cowardice again and crying and he left in the dark and I went home.


    The following morning, there was the ringing of large bells, and the wizards came.

 Four: Wizard Tonics and Silly Little Love Songs

    The wagons or tanks rolled through the gate in a caravan that was more akin to a carnival than a group of tradesmen; all the wizards with their pointed hats were shaped magnificently against the browns and grays, some wore white porcelain dramedy masks beneath headwear as dark as pipe resin, men and women and those between¡ªas that was common from where they hailed. Their company was perhaps forty and their mules and mares were thirsty and were led to troughs to idle while the wizards removed goods from their wagons or tanks and although it was not a spectacle for them to arrive within Golgotha¡¯s walls, it was something still and the citizens gathered to greet whatever wizards they might know but mostly perhaps to whisper rumors on them. The wizards seemed a taller folk, but that was because of the hats, and they seemed wider too, but that was for the robes they adorned with costume jewelry, trinkets, or fingernail-sized lanterns which contained magical properties hung off their clothes as ornaments (some metal and other crudely wooden). I never knew a people that could trek the wastes in that time as well as me till I knew them.


    Boss Maron was there at the gates with his wall men, hollering¡ªshouting really, ¡°The Whores of Babylon have come again!¡± And the bells signaled from atop the highest tower over the hall of Bosses and I met the front square with a morning headache and a cigarette. The Boss sheriff was clothed, cowboy hat pulled tightly to his ears, and he waltzed through the square, inspecting the new arrivals with his crotch out in front of him as he moved in a swagger like a cup of shifted water. Morning sunlight crested the wall to reflect on the pistol in his holster as it did on the star pin of his hat.


    Among them, there was only one wizard I cared to see. Their name was Suzanne.


    The hanged bodies of the men remained on the wall, dead and stiff and shifting to the little wind there was.


    The square had filled with carts (some drawn by animals and others pushed on oil), and even if it were not for the bells which signaled their arrival, I¡¯d have surely known their presence for the clatter of their metal engines.


    ¡°Well goddamn!¡± said Maron while examining a wizard, ¡°What¡¯s that you¡¯ve got on your legs?¡±


    The wizard, a young woman in plain pants wore a set of leg braces and whenever she moved, she did so in shifting her hips around. ¡°Braces,¡± she said.


    ¡°What¡¯s it for? Or is it some of your all¡¯s secret whodo?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got bad legs. The braces help.¡± She said plainly, attempting to angle herself straight like a stick against one of the traveling party¡¯s wagons.


    ¡°Bad legs?¡± Boss Maron¡¯s expression was incredulous. ¡°Who has bad legs? What sort of nonsense is it? If a lady like you¡¯s made it this far in life with bad legs, then someone¡¯s done you a disservice.¡±


    She looked on questioningly while the other wizards continued with their unpacking or their conversating¡ªwhether it be amongst themselves or with the freckle-spaced citizens in the square.


    ¡°How are you to outrun trouble when you¡¯ve got them?¡± He nodded at the young woman¡¯s legs.


    ¡°I don¡¯t.¡± Her face was red either because of the sun or because of the scrutiny. ¡°I¡¯m just bow-legged.¡±


    ¡°Damn,¡± he shook his head, ¡°Well how much you want for one of them?¡±


    ¡°One of my braces?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. All I want¡¯s the one anyway.¡±


    ¡°I need both of them.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon. You wouldn¡¯t notice just one missing. I mean, you¡¯ve got a spare right next to it.¡±


    Upon noticing a robed figure I recognized by the animals at the troughs, I moved to them instead and let Maron¡¯s conversation fall to the wayside. The chatter of the crowd was wild and startled words came as a wizard exposed their collection of tonics to passersby.


    ¡°Suzanne,¡± I said.


    The figure turned to face me, moving their head to look away from a mare they¡¯d been brushing to expose one of those white porcelain masks.


    I knew it and could not contain a smile.


    ¡°Harlan?¡± asked the figure. The mask on its face was split in the middle with hinges on either side and they opened it to show their face; it was Suzanne. They¡¯d grown some hair around their throat and wore lipstick on their lips and dyes on their eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s good to see you.¡± I pushed myself into a hug with them and I could smell the travel off them but didn¡¯t care.


    They shifted timidly before hugging me back and I pretended not to notice. Once we¡¯d separated, I looked on Suzanne¡¯s face again and they were looking on at the hanging men on the wall. ¡°Again?¡± they asked.


    I nodded and shot a look towards the Boss across the way.


    ¡°What justice?¡± they asked no one while shaking their head.


    Trying an answer, I said, ¡°Justice is something man made, I think. I¡¯ll leave men to men and the rest to God.¡±


    ¡°God.¡± Suzanne nodded glumly then shook their head. ¡°Which one?¡±


    I laughed a good laugh that felt real but nervous too then kicked the ground and took the last drag off my cigarette before chucking it to the ground. ¡°What¡¯s brought you here?¡±


    Suzanne answered plainly. ¡°We took a long time east out near Pittsburgh.¡± Their eyes scanned the buildings further on from the square. ¡°The people there are worse than here, it seems. At least you still have your walls.¡±


    ¡°Pittsburgh¡¯s fallen?¡±


    They frowned. ¡°Not completely. They¡¯ve mostly gone underground. A skitterbug infestation caused a plague directly before an attack of proportions I¡¯ve yet seen.¡± Suzanne¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°It was awful.¡± The words hung in the air for a moment. ¡°But we¡¯re here now and thought we¡¯d stop for a rest and some guns and ammo before returning to Babylon. We¡¯ve brought some medicines to trade.¡±


    I learned from my friend that Pittsburgh¡¯s infrastructure and fortifications were decimated in an attack the wizards only caught second-hand and the survivors¡ªholed away in the tunnels beneath Pittsburgh¡ªtold of how the demons ran the walls once their reserves were low.


    Then the wizards gathered there began unpacking books, some scrolls, and there were medicines too and some of the Bosses other than Maron (he pushed his harassment of the young wizard with leg braces) graced us there with their presence as they came on and began to pick across the goods, haggling prices. Boss Frank was there, and he stood before a wizard by a tank with a wooden table of jars¡ªcapped elixirs of varying colors¡ªhe grew increasingly frustrated with their selection and took on in his braggadocious way, speaking of numbers. A few of the idle wizards leaned against carts or even took across town and a small group of them had gathered for a quick show near the guard posts, playing instruments (strings over the vocals of ¡°In My Life¡±) and there in the front of them was a young wizard man that had removed his hat to show how he played with fire flames off his hands¡ªit was a sideshow play¡ªand the citizens wore variations of bemusement or disgust. The children of Golgotha, all dirty faced with sprigs of hair jutting about from their morning¡¯s waking, seemed totally bewildered in the joy of song and clapped their hands or shook their hips all with smiles.


    I stuffed my hands in my jacket and prodded Suzanne, ¡°What¡¯s with the plague? I mean, was it contained? None of your lot got sick, did they?¡±


    Suzanne scoffed, perhaps a little pridefully, ¡°No. I wouldn¡¯t worry about that.¡± They patted a nearby mule then withdrew a brush and moved it across its thin coat before looking over its hooves. ¡°I¡¯ve brought you some books I found out that way though. You still read?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Don¡¯t expect any of that fiction. The only ones I¡¯ve found recently are old pamphlets or medical texts.¡± Suzanne paused and smiled, returning the animal brush to their robes, ¡°You haven¡¯t happened upon anything that might interest me, have you?¡±


    Their shown teeth were infectious. ¡°Mayhap. I¡¯d need you to come back to my place so I could give them to you.¡± An awkward pause followed and the roar of the still accumulating crowd overtook the space between us before I continued. ¡°Mostly interesting containers and a few flecks of gold I took from some old computers¡ªthey¡¯ve been waitin¡¯ on you for weeks now. I got some parchment that might be of use to you too. You can take what you need as always.¡±


    ¡°How about we get some food? I¡¯m famished. Riding through the night takes its toll.¡±


    Me and Suzanne took from the square up a narrow route that led through residences where the lower levels had their curtains drawn and then we took stairs toward balconies and catwalks configured from reinforced metal; we spoke as we went and a few odd glances from passersby met the wizard as we did.


    ¡°The tide on the east is rising again,¡± said Suzanne.


    ¡°Worse than before?¡±


    ¡°Worse than before.¡±


    ¡°God, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve seen the ocean for a decade or more.¡± I slid my hand along the railing once we came to what was essentially my front porch; it was a perch among the catwalks that cut against the domicile where I shared walls with others on three sides and we stopped there outside my door. ¡°We saw a dragon only a few days ago.¡±


    Suzanne¡¯s interest seemed piqued. ¡°A dragon? And what direction was it traveling?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± I craned over the railing, looking down the narrow walkway that separated my building and the one across the way; I couldn¡¯t see the front square from outside my home, but I could still just make out the music echoing from that direction, ¡°Could¡¯ve been north or west. I was preoccupied, but I wouldn¡¯t worry much. The wall men gave it a pretty good thrashing before it took off.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡±


    ¡°So, the ocean? It¡¯s rising, huh?¡±


    They joined me there on railing, supporting themselves against their forearms. ¡°It is. Faster than ever. Some bad magic¡¯s taken the water. I imagine by the end of the year Pittsburgh will be under it. There¡¯s something bad coming. You might call it intuition if you want, but I know it¡¯s coming. Something bad. Revelations bad. There comes a time when even those of us forsaken are brought worse.¡±


    ¡°Bah!¡± I couldn¡¯t help it, ¡°John thought it was the end times while he wrote the damn thing. And what about all the other books? Hm?¡±


    Suzanne put up their hands. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it like that at all. You know I¡¯m only the mildest scholar on the topic.¡±


    ¡°Anyway. You¡¯d better not start having visions. Got enough to worry about as is.¡± I¡¯d not realized my shoulders were tense until their hand touched me, and I flinched.


    ¡°You¡¯ve a bruise around your neck. Care to elaborate there?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Got into a fight.¡±


    Suzanne laughed, removed their pointed hat and playfully put it on my head. ¡°C¡¯mon. Cook me something. You might not know a thing about spices, but your cooking¡¯s always tasted better.¡±


    We took through my door to my small single room where simple amenities awaited and an ancient, decommissioned pump-shotgun hung on the wall over the bed. ¡°That¡¯s just ¡®cause you ain¡¯t the one laboring over it.¡±


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Across a meal of potato cakes and toasted bread, we drank coffee until I broke into the liquor to spice my coffee and alleviate my hangover, and we shared the drink and Suzanne took to wash in the sink while I smoked outside on the overlook. Upon returning to the room, I saw them there with a wet rag stuffed beneath an armpit and they were beautiful caught without robes, frame cast in sunglow through the crack in my doorway. In a moment, our hands glided around one another in a scramble of arms at the middle point between us and we took to bed for a while.


    Come midday, we remained there, staring at the ceiling, chests bare, and blanket strewn across our lower halves.


    ¡°You¡¯re going gray,¡± said Suzanne.


    ¡°You¡¯re getting old too, ya¡¯know.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°How long did you say you¡¯ll be staying?¡± I asked while trying to mask whatever excitement may be present.


    ¡°Few days. Once we¡¯ve enough ammunition.¡± They traced their index finger along my ear lobe.


    ¡°Stay.¡± I offered.


    They frowned. ¡°Come.¡±


    ¡°I did already.¡±


    They gave me a light shove and cut their eyes at me. Hazel. How good that color was. ¡°Really. What keeps you here?¡±


    ¡°Things.¡± I pushed up in the bed to sit, finagling my underwear from the jeans on the floor.


    ¡°I wish you would.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m no wizard.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to be.¡±


    ¡°Maybe there will come a time when I take you up on that offer. Who knows?¡± I slid into the drawers.


    ¡°Is it Maron?¡± they asked, ¡°I don¡¯t know your fascination with him. He¡¯s the worst combination cruel and dumb I¡¯ve seen.¡±


    ¡°Like an animal.¡± I nodded. ¡°Like something real bad¡¯s wrong with him. But no. He¡¯s not my fascination.¡± Lying was always hard with them. ¡°I worry about this place. I wouldn¡¯t do the things I do if I didn¡¯t. What if I were to leave it and then it turns out like Pittsburgh.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re an expert in plagues now?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I scoffed, ¡°I guess it¡¯s just a place that weighs on my conscious.¡± I went to sit on the bed alongside them.


    ¡°You hate it here. I can see it more on your face every time we meet.¡±


    ¡°That I do. Call it an investment dilemma. I¡¯ve put time in it, and I want it to be well.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound like you.¡±


    I caught Suzanne¡¯s face there, staring up from the flat pillow, flustered. My reasoning was hard, but I continued, ¡°There is one thing I should undo before I leave here. It¡¯s a long time coming, and I don¡¯t know if I can. But it¡¯s important,¡± upon seeing their quizzical expression, I added, ¡°And it is secret.¡±


    ¡°I wish you¡¯d come with us. You¡¯d be welcome.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll visit Babylon sometime next month. I promise.¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t call it that. I don¡¯t like it when you call it that.¡± The wizards never called their home Babylon; that was a name conjured by the many religious fanatics that considered their magic evil (even if they did trade with the ¡®heretics¡¯ from time to time). The name they¡¯d given their own city of medicine was Alexandria; it was fitting for I¡¯d seen their expansive libraries and could become lost in them easily.


    ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll be there.¡± I squeezed their hand in mine. ¡°I¡¯ll miss you once you¡¯ve gone.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t get sappy,¡± they said before planting a kiss on my forehead.


    The day went and then the next and another and the wizards packed their belongings. No more music for Golgotha, only quiet agony. As Suzanne said, they¡¯d left me a few books and I¡¯d given away my parchment, jars, and gold. While they were in town, I even was able to snag a few more bottles of their famous wizard liquor along with a few vials of medicine¡ªalways good to have whenever I set foot beyond the walls or when someone within might need it.


    There came a time finally¡ªas every time it does¡ªwhere I watched the caravan, with gray smoke clouds off the engines, take on north first where there was an opening wide enough in the ruins to accommodate vehicles, then it hooked around a wide bend that took them west then their black shapes against the red morning skyline disappeared like fading ink as their magic cloaked them entirely. I wished them well, but at the moment of dissipation, I felt an urge to leap from the top of the wall, charge across the field, scream that I was coming and scream it loud enough that I¡¯d hurt myself. I think I just loved¡ªthough I never said it aloud and neither did they¡ªand love is a bad thing more often than it is good, for the longing it leaves in its absence drives a person mad and I did not want to be mad; the feeling burst from me quietly there on the wall while I was flanked on either side by guards. I was sure all along the way they went that I could just make out Suzanne among them; that was probably a fault in my vision, but I imagined they were casting glances back, hoping to hold me as strongly as I wished to hold them. I went to the streets of Golgotha where the town quieted from the previous days¡¯ engagements with the wizards.


    Normal came and settled and then came chanting from Lady as she moved through sullen quiet streets. She was so far off that I was not sure it was her at all and then came the lines as she drew nearer by the hydroponics towers, and she shouted them vigorously and shook her fist above the air and held a staff with a swinging lantern of incense in her opposite hand, partly for ceremony and partly for support. The words came harshly, gravelly:


    ¡°They called to the mountains and to the rocks, fall on us and hide us from the face of him who sits on the throne and from the wrath of the Lamb! For the great day of their wrath has come, and who can withstand it?¡±


    ¡°The lamb will be your shepherd. He will guide you. Hallelujah! He will lead you to the springs of living water and wipe away every tear!¡±


    ¡°Many will be purified, made spotless and refined, but the wicked will continue to be wicked. None of the wicked will understand, but those who are wise will understand! Do not be tempted by the deviousness of the whorish Babylonians for all the nations have drunk the maddening wine of her adulteries. The kings of the earth committed adultery with her, and the merchants of the earth grew rich from her excessive luxuries.¡±


    A person, among the catwalks, shouted down at Lady, ¡°Shut-the-fuck-up!¡±


    I watched her come fully down the avenue as she dodged a thrown egg from somewhere unseen, then dashed away toward an offshoot alley to hide somewhere, incense lantern smoking, clanging against her back while she screeched off more scripture from memory. After she was long gone, I moved to the spot where the egg was, rubbed it into dirt with the sole of my boot and looked up through the spiderweb network of catwalks overhead; there was no one.


    Without a thing keeping me, I took off the following day, and upon meeting the gates, Maron was there and I could see he was the proud owner of a used leg brace; he grinned upon seeing me, patting his mustache down with his forefinger and thumb.


    ¡°Whatcha¡¯ think?¡± He motioned to his left leg. ¡°It¡¯s a bit of a conversation starter, ain¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Get your boys to open the gate, I¡¯m going out.¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°Won¡¯t find anything out there. It¡¯s all dirt and rubble, you know.¡±


    ¡°Just open it.¡±


    ¡°You know what?¡± He cut his eyes at me. ¡°There¡¯s gonna¡¯ come a day when you won¡¯t be so able bodied or maybe the Bosses won¡¯t like you coming and going as you please.¡±


    I inhaled heavily then let it go. ¡°Now can¡¯t we skip to the end where you acquiesce to my request?¡±


    ¡°Words words words you¡¯ve got. You¡¯ve got a lot of words. Acquiesce. Psshaw.¡± Boss Maron waved for the guards to open the gate and they did, and I stepped by him, and he spit somewhere behind me before I heard him hobble around with his single leg brace.


    The path was clear and open on all sides and in no time, I¡¯d taken across the field to the east and found myself on the edge of the ruins where things stank, and I was free from no other thought than to live. Creeping hot overcame me and brought my hair to my forehead and I holed off in a shadow to drank from my gourd before continuing. The sun was red in the sky in the places where I could see sky from around the black shadows of towering structures. I ducked beneath an old shop counter when I heard the skittering of fart heads and pulled a sleeve to kill the scent of their chlorine breath.


    Once they¡¯d gone, I pulled through the wreckage more and more till I came upon the markings for an old safehouse in the back office of a garage I¡¯d not been to in a while. What were my intentions? Was I going to go all the way to the coast? Throw myself into those bad magic waters? There¡¯s a thing they don¡¯t teach you in religion. They prattle all day to do this or that and they say that Hell awaits sinners or Hades or maybe its in layers or circles or what have you. They¡¯ll tell you about the places and they¡¯ll say that if you take life into your own hands, you end in Hell, but what¡¯s a person to do when those creeping intrusions come along¡ªthe ones that call to a person in the darkness, the ones where they tempt you to jump from a high place or there¡¯s always a gun or a poison. Maybe a person could bribe another to do it for them. Where do they end up then? What are you supposed to do to stave off those thoughts? Should a person contend such melancholies with prayer? That did not seem helpful. What is the soulless to do without the promise of those pearly gates anyway?


    Anyway, I took on past the safehouse and found a utility hall in the side of a tall industrial building just beyond a partially erect chain link fence. The wall was opened up like a cracked shell from years of standing alone, and after ducking through there, I found some old matches in a drawer, plastic gas cans whose contents had long since congealed within; I kicked them (not that I expected anything more). Moving further down the wide hallway, there were shelves of dusty tools, and I took some hammers and knives (cheapo stuff).


    Further still down the hall, there was a staircase, and I took it quietly; the stone stairs made hardly a sound against the bottoms of my boots, and I took the stairs more quickly till I was out of breath and caught myself on a landing where I supped silent air before rushing further up the stairs. An old metallic cabinet or console¡ªI couldn¡¯t make it out¡ªlay strewn across the steps to the second-highest floor and I climbed over it before coming to the building¡¯s roof access. Upon coming to the door with a metal push bar across its middle, I gave it a shove and it did not budge but a minor clink and I took a moment to collect myself before rummaging through my gear.


    Slung through a loop on the inside of my pack was a short prybar that was so worn around its tooth it was more rounded than an edge; I shimmied the piece of metal into the spot where the door latched into the way and began crimping the spot apart, trying all the while to maintain a relative quiet in the dead ruins. Once I¡¯d bent away at the door for a few moments, I elevated my body weight at an awkward angle to pop the door free and it did so, half open, with a rusty screech that forced a long pause from me; I stood there by the newly opened doorway for a full minute, holding the prybar, holding my breath. Upon hearing nothing in response to the noise of the door, I slid the tool into my pack and slipped through the threshold.


    The flat roof of the industrial building sloped to one corner¡ªwhere the opening in the wall of the first floor was¡ªand sitting there in the middle of an open platform was an old helicopter, blades half torn away or rusted off and the remaining slanted from the top of the old vehicle, touching the platform it sat upon. The roof access looked like a little square house atop the flat headed structure and around the side of the access, I found an old corpse (entirely bones) wrapped in black plastic-like armor, the white dry fingers laid across its lap, several digits gone and its hollow eye holes staring off into the sky with a permanent smile. I moved to the thing that hadn¡¯t been human in a long time and prodded it; the skeleton slumped to the side and looked on the ground by its shoes. How long had it been staring at the sky and how long had it been waiting for me to come and change its dead visage?


    I moved to the edge of the building, to the corner where the building sloped and looked off the edge to the ground below; all was quiet, and nothing moved save the shadows¡¯ stalwart creep across the ground. Examining from above, I could see the opening I¡¯d climbed through and beneath my shifting feet, I felt the ground give a little; timidly, I angled more forward and for a moment I thought I knew why I¡¯d gone up there in the first place. Suddenly six-stories felt high. The urge to jump came. Perhaps on the way down, I¡¯d have just a blink to convince myself I¡¯d slipped.


    ¡°Hey!¡± A shout from somewhere down below came from the direction I¡¯d come from. I shook my head as it felt as though it was a ghost echo, a noise that wasn¡¯t. Then it came again, ¡°Hey!¡±


    I squinted my eyes and there in the crumbled road below, there was a human I didn¡¯t initially recognize; it was only after the figure tumbled through the remains of the chain link fence that I recognized it as Dave. I blinked.


    Out of breath, he angled over to the opening at the base of the structure and called up at me, ¡°Hey! I see you up there!¡±


    Whisper-yelling, I cupped my hands, ¡°Shutup!¡±


    I took back to the stairs, and he hollered after, ¡°Where you going?¡±


    With reckless abandon, I took the stairs many at a time, leapt the cabinet on the stairs, scrambling while also reaching for the prybar I¡¯d put away. I held the cold metal in my hand and charged toward the industrial storage hallway where I could see him silhouetted in the frame of the crumbled opening.


    His chest heaved and he wiped at his brow; slung across his shoulder was a small supply bag and worn like a necklace was a pair of binoculars. ¡°God, you move fast. Like a fuckin¡¯ cockroach in light.¡± His eyes shifted from my face to the prybar in my hand as I approached him.


    Standing within the echoey hallway, I lifted the weapon and pointed it at him. ¡°What¡¯d you follow me for?¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t use that on me.¡± He took his eyes from the prybar. ¡°I don¡¯t think you would anyway. You might be shady, Harlan, but I don¡¯t take you as a stone-cold murderer.¡±


    ¡°You take me wrong,¡± I said.


    ¡°Maybe.¡± He seemed to think on it a moment. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯ve given away my position to those things, I might.¡±


    ¡°Lots of bluster.¡± Dave offered an incredibly forced smile, and I could see just from the little shine of the sun in the opening that his eye had blacked but remained functional. ¡°I been watching you.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    He nodded. ¡°I snuck out after you.¡±


    ¡°You ought to go back.¡±


    ¡°You ought to just listen. There ain¡¯t a thing back there for me.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡± The sharpness in my voice felt good. ¡°I don¡¯t need some sorry sack sneaking up on me when I¡¯m mindin¡¯ my own.¡±


    A quiet laugh. ¡°There¡¯s nothing there for me. I been farming all my life and if I die,¡± he shrugged, ¡°So be it.¡±


    ¡°Idiot. Fuckin¡¯ idiot.¡±


    ¡°You manage out here! Wizards can too!¡±


    ¡°Wizards have magic.¡±


    ¡°You got some of that?¡±


    I lowered the crowbar.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got to stop starting our conversations with fights.¡± He paused and moved into the shadowy hallway of the building before perching in a half-sit half-lean against the wall near me. ¡°I never was violent anyway, so if you want to hit me with that then do it.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡±


    His shirt clung to him, sweat thick and dark on his chest and pits. ¡°Goddamn you move fast.¡±


    ¡°You should wear a jacket or something. Long sleeves keep the sun off and a thicker material gives you a modicum of protection.¡± I took to squatting too, maintaining ample distance betwixt us. ¡°A hat helps too, but I¡¯m always losing hats.¡± I chewed on my tongue while mulling over whether I should leave him.


    ¡°Are you going to try and slink away while I¡¯m not looking?¡±


    I blinked. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Liar.¡± He took a healthy gulp from his water gourd then wiped his mouth. ¡°East is the ocean?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Is it far?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°For you.¡±


    Dave sighed. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°For?¡±


    ¡°Telling me.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    ¡°You ever have any kids?¡±


    I shook my head.


    ¡°It¡¯s somethin¡¯. Henry had so much energy¡ªespecially when he was little¡ªthere was times I didn¡¯t think he¡¯d ever settle down.¡±


    ¡°What are you doing out here?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Helen told me she was the same way when she was his age. She had energy too. I feel so tired.¡±


    ¡°Dave. What the fuck are you doing out here? Why¡¯d you follow me?¡±


    He took one last swallow from his gourd before shoving it into his pack. ¡°I wanted to talk to you about killin¡¯ the Bosses.¡±


    I laughed into my hand. ¡°That¡¯s¡ªthat¡¯s a thought.¡±


    ¡°I mean it.¡± His stare was like pinpricks.

 Five: Creature of the Night

    It was pitch black and we spoke to one another in little whispers in the mechanic¡¯s office; I was only able to make out the vaguest shapes before I struck my lantern alive and sat it on a desk. Dust levitated in the air and the room was small and Dave hesitantly sat in the plastic swivel chair behind the desk. Old papers stuck to the desk¡¯s surface, all but becoming one with the object. Lining the walls of the office, laid upon the floor were old boxes of tinned food or oils or scraps of blanket for comfort. On the far wall was the only exit to the room, leading to the exterior of the shop; there were no windows. Everything had a coating of dust¡ªit¡¯d been quite some time since I¡¯d used the safehouse because I¡¯d never been delighted with camping overnight on the ground level of a building. I moved to a wall where there were strewn blankets, found a tough and coarse one then tossed it on the ground, straightening it into a square. Dave watched me, totally quietly.


    Kneeling in the square, I removed my pack from my shoulder and sat my camping stove there. Once I¡¯d settled in front of it with my legs crossed, I took out a deep aluminum pan and turned to Dave who¡¯d leaned across the desk with his head resting in both of his palms.


    ¡°Hungry?¡± I asked him.


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°Anything in particular?¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter to me. I¡¯m just fascinated. I had no idea how you survived out here all on your own.¡± His eyes scanned the wall with stacked boxes of cans. ¡°Seems you¡¯re set.¡±


    ¡°It took a long time to collect.¡± I began dumping corn, tomatoes, and beans into the pan. ¡°It won¡¯t taste great, but it will be warm and filling.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the furthest south you¡¯ve ever been?¡±


    ¡°Georgia. Do you know it?¡±


    He nodded. ¡°Furthest north?¡±


    ¡°Not much further than Golgotha.¡±


    ¡°So, you¡¯ve never even been up to see the great valleys?¡±


    I shook my head and lit a cigarette.


    ¡°Even I¡¯ve seen them, granted it was when I was so young, I hardly remember them. What about west?¡± He seemed eager.


    ¡°No more than Ebenezer. I think. That¡¯d be somewhere in Kansas if you know anything about it.¡±


    ¡°Damn,¡± Dave scratched his cheek, ¡°Haven¡¯t heard of it.¡±


    ¡°There ain¡¯t a lot out that way anymore. Reminds me of down south. Used to be some places down there.¡± I shook the pan with one hand and flicked ash across the blanket with the one holding the cigarette. ¡°It¡¯s all dead now. Maybe there¡¯s something. Probably not.¡±


    ¡°Everyone always talks about how there¡¯s other places. I¡¯ve seen some. I think a lot of young people wouldn¡¯t know Pittsburgh if it was on the horizon, but when I was little, we¡¯d go there sometimes.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°It¡¯s dead. No use worrying about it now.¡±


    ¡°Seems like places have gone more infested since then.¡± He rounded the desk, leaving the swivel chair to protest at him ascending off it. The smell from the concoction in the pan filled the office; it wasn¡¯t much but I dashed some salt across it before giving it a shake. ¡°What do you think about it?¡±


    ¡°Killin¡¯ the Bosses?¡±


    Dave nodded and sat on the floor with me, removing his pack and his shirt; he flapped a hand in front of him to cool himself. ¡°Well?¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯re not the first that would¡¯ve tried. You¡¯ve seen them. You¡¯ve seen them use the stocks; I know you have. You¡¯ve seen them strip men, women, children¡ªbeat them in the street with sticks. You¡¯ve seen the sorts of pain they bring. What makes you think you¡¯d stand a chance against anything like that?¡± I studied him while he craned back on his arms for support and stared at the black ceiling overhead. ¡°You¡¯re too soft for it.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he snapped, jerking his head down to stare right into my eyes, ¡°Maybe I¡¯m soft. Maybe I am. But you,¡± a smirk formed, ¡°You aren¡¯t. You get invited to little banquets. You know them and can get close.¡±


    ¡°The hell you say.¡± I took a long drag from the cigarette and blew it over my shoulder.


    ¡°I know you could, so why don¡¯t you? Why haven¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know me at all.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean? Don¡¯t you want to leave a better world than when you came into it?¡±


    ¡°Tried that.¡± I shook the pan again and let it simmer. ¡°It¡¯s a fool¡¯s game.¡±


    Dave scoffed. ¡°Ridiculous.¡±


    ¡°You expect me to walk into the hall of Bosses and what? Think I can kill ¡®em all?¡±


    ¡°So, we start a revolution. That¡¯s what we do. A revolution. I know people that¡¯d agree.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll string you up the wall or worse. Remember what they do to their enemies? Remember what they did to Lady? She¡¯s a prime example of the punishment that revolution brings.¡±


    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be like that.¡±


    ¡°No? You don¡¯t remember it? How long have you lived in Golgotha? How many years? You remember. It¡¯s the changing of seasons, the negotiation of one warlord for another. Revolution¡¯s for idiots. I say we scrape by.¡± I held up my thumb and forefinger to demonstrate how close one might need to scrape by. ¡°That. That¡¯s what we do. Anything more and you¡¯re asking for it.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± he laid his shirt out by his side, flat so that it might dry from his sweat, ¡°I guess I took the tinman for having a heart.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re so clever¡ªyou know a story. Guess you should know about the tinman¡¯s friend. The one made of straw. You remember what he was missing?¡±


    ¡°You sayin¡¯ we¡¯re friends?¡±


    ¡°You would take it to mean that.¡±


    ¡°And you think I¡¯ve never met someone with a chip on their shoulder before. Your ideas are easy. It¡¯s a coward¡¯s way.¡±


    ¡°Watch it.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Whatever. Henry believed in it, and I believed like you. He was young and hopeful.¡±


    I took a puff from my cigarette while keeping my attention on the pan. ¡°You¡¯ve seen what young and hopeful does.¡±


    Although I didn¡¯t look at him, I felt his presence tense up. ¡°What a thing to say to someone.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. Maybe it¡¯s the thing you should hear.¡±


    We ate the vegetable concoction in relative quiet; it wasn¡¯t flavorful, but the warmth brought my bones to relaxing and we pushed against the desk with our backs, remaining on the floor while we finished.


    It was sometime in the dead of the night that a far and dreamlike noise roused me¡ªit was the voice of a human (unmistakably so) from somewhere far off and it was initially so faint and distorted that one could¡¯ve mistaken it for an animal or beast if they¡¯d convinced themselves of such. Within my first few blinks of coming to wake, I attempted to do just that, but as I tiredly scanned the direction of Dave and saw him already on his feet, frightened eyes staring back at me; cut against the darkness as a shape, he towered.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± he breathed at me.


    I attempted to brush it off. ¡°Nothing to worry about.¡±


    ¡°It sounds like a boy. He sounds like he¡¯s in trouble.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Go back to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Shh. It¡¯s getting closer, I think.¡± Seconds passed. ¡°It is!¡± He snatched a lantern and lit it, so the small office was bathed in yellow.


    ¡°Leave it be. It¡¯s none of our business.¡±


    Dave shot a look at me I didn¡¯t care for. ¡°You really are a coward.¡± With that, he bolted for the door leading out into the night and twisted the lock before swinging the door out into the nothingness of the ruins.


    ¡°If you go out there,¡± at this point, I¡¯d scrambled to my feet and had readied myself for any terrible thing to propel through the entryway, ¡°If you do, goddammit, you had better not come back.¡±


    He shook his head then disappeared into the night; his shadow was visible for moments and then it wasn¡¯t, and he was nothing more than the glow of the lantern he¡¯d taken, and I was in darkness again. I moved to the door and blinked but could see nothing against the shadows of the tall buildings¡ªI focused on Dave¡¯s lantern and felt it draw me out but fought the pull.


    ¡°Hello!¡± shouted Dave, ¡°Hello! Is anyone out here? I heard your yelling!¡±


    ¡°Idiot,¡± I whispered from the doorway.


    ¡°Hey! Are you out here?¡± The lantern swung around wildly as though he was scanning his immediate area; he¡¯d come upon a wall across a street and so the light he carried painted his shadow high upon a wall.


    Then the voice came again, clearer than ever ¡°Help!¡± but I couldn¡¯t tell from where, as the echo carried it all around. It was certainly a young voice, scared. Probably a boy like Dave had said. ¡°I¡¯m lost! Something¡¯s after me! I¡¯m hurt! Please help!¡±


    ¡°Here!¡± Dave shouted; his wall shadow waved an arm around wildly. ¡°Can you see me?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m trying! I¡¯ve been hurt and something¡¯s out here! Something¡¯s cut me bad!¡± shrieked the voice.


    My intestines twisted around, and I left the doorway after snatching a light of my own, moving over a display of shadow-cast rubble, tripping towards Dave while igniting my lantern. ¡°Hello?¡± I shouted. Moonlight splintered through apertures of the tall buildings poorly so that most everything was difficult to see. ¡°Dave! Get back inside goddammit!¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Only several yards from safety, I saw a smaller shadow plunge into the halo around Dave and pull itself along on all fours before meeting him and staggering to a full stand. The small figure threw its right arm around Dave, and he seemed to take the burden easily, moving from the wall, through the street, near me on the other side. ¡°It¡¯s a boy!¡± Dave laughed nervously, ¡°I think he¡¯ll be alright. Did you hear that?¡± he asked the boy, ¡°You¡¯ll be alright.¡±


    A cat-like hiss came from somewhere in the blackness of the towering structures from somewhere up high. Then it came again, but closer, and I moved quickly to Dave to take up the boy on his other side and we moved along in a circle of light; strangely a liquid dampened me where the boy crooked an arm around my lowered neck, and I knew immediately that it was blood. Indeed, the boy was injured. The smell off him was immediate. ¡°Hurry,¡± I said, ¡°It¡¯s watching us. It¡¯s got his scent.¡±


    No one confirmed they heard me, but I felt a presence in the dark ahead. The office was merely running steps away and the boy¡¯s muscles had given to exhaustion, so we pulled him along on the tips of his shoes.


    ¡°Take him,¡± I spoke to Dave, slipping from beneath the boy¡¯s arm, and taking ahead with my lantern. The hiss came again and there were two white orbs caught in a happenstance of brief moonlight, eyes resting in a face of waxen skin, sickly and damned. ¡°Alukah!¡± I shouted at the thing. It stepped into the radius of my light, and I swung at it with my lantern, giving the flame a series of hiccups where each of us strobed. ¡°Dave! Run ahead. Take him inside!¡± The creature¡¯s mouth grimaced, exposing a series of fangs along its round mouth, standing off its black gums; a hiss escaped its throat and I saw it twist around to pace the edge of my light, moving from the pathway to the office; its spine arched high, each vertebra pointed, countable; its long black hair hung off its rattish face and it moved like a distorted person on its hind legs, impossibly long pale arms hung before itself and swayed side to side with each of its steps.


    Dave darted past us, launching the boy into the room first then spinning around to call after me, ¡°Come on!¡±


    Hesitantly, I stepped sideways to keep the thing in my sight, all the while being sure not to make eye contact. A pulse was in my ears. ¡°Don¡¯t come any closer,¡± I said to the thing.


    Fast as a whip, it took a swipe at me with one of its incredibly long arms while I swung my lantern in the opposite direction, meeting its knuckles with the glass protector. Fire exploded across its forearm and where the oil landed, light took to it until the creature was partially ablaze and I ran, leaving the destroyed lamp behind. The Alukah screamed in agony¡ªthe singe of its skin was audible. It barked before launching itself away on its muscular hind legs while I scurried through the door into the office.


    Dave slammed the door shut, relocked it and the howl of the creature came more and more till it receded somewhere far off and we turned our attention to the boy that¡¯d been deposited by the desk; the young man was perhaps sixteen or so, skin and bone so that his blood-stained clothes hung off him poorly, and his hair was long, and his face was sickly.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± said Dave.


    I said nothing and snatched the light from Dave, holding it before my face to examine the boy better in its glow. He¡¯d stuffed his left arm beneath his right armpit and stared blankly between his knees; it took me a moment, but upon kneeling by him, I could see that in his right hand he was holding something. I sighed and waved Dave over. ¡°Get the stove and turn it on,¡± I said.


    ¡°Hmm?¡± asked Dave, leaning over my shoulder to see. ¡°Oh.¡± His voice came soft.


    The boy was holding his left hand, severed clean from its wrist, in his right hand and he¡¯d tucked the nub into his right armpit; his lips trembled, and his eyes darted like a panicked animal when I reached out for his severed hand.


    ¡°Don¡¯t take it,¡± said the boy, ¡°It¡¯s mine.¡±


    I nodded, ¡°I know it is. It¡¯s yours. You¡¯ll get it back, but first I need you to drop it and let me see your wound.¡±


    Our eyes met. He looked tired. The stove clinked to life when Dave twisted its knob and the boy relaxed his shoulders and I took the cold hand, setting it to the side.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see it then,¡± I said.


    He blew air from pursed lips and nodded, untucking his left wrist from under his armpit; the blood had scabbed to his clothes there and so when he pulled the wrist away, his shirt clung for a moment, and he let go of a hiss at the pain. The red muscle stood exposed, steaming warm in the open air but I could see no bone peeking through. The wrist wept freely, and I clamped a hand around his forearm. He winced and his eyes went unfocused.


    I shifted on my knee to look at Dave. ¡°Gimme¡¯ your belt,¡± I said.


    He offered it freely, ripping it from his waist. I took the belt around the boy¡¯s arm and tightened it before tucking the excess. With that done, I removed my own belt, folded it fat and told the boy to bite into it.


    ¡°Stove¡¯s hot,¡± said Dave.


    I reached out and touched the boy¡¯s cheek. ¡°This is gonna¡¯ be shitty.¡±


    The boy nodded.


    Me and Dave both held the squirming young man while we took his nub to the stove¡¯s hot eye. Blood boiled around the wound, fizzing while sending up blackish smoke. He screamed through the belt, and I heard the leather in his mouth crackle as he motioned his jaw back and forth.


    There was a fair enough amount of kicking and screaming; all the while, the most prominent thought on my mind was that I¡¯d have been better off had I smashed Dave¡¯s skull in. They drew too much attention, made too much noise, cared too much.


    The cries of the boy subsided and became sniffles as I took to wrapping his wound and removing the belts from him; there was now a set of permanent teeth marks in the leather. Once I¡¯d medicined the boy, he remarked over his missing hand, and I returned it. Taking to shaking sleep, he held the thing to his chest with his remaining hand.


    Once he was probably asleep, Dave and I sat around the desk, him on the chair and me on stacked boxes¡ªI lit a cigarette and cut my eyes at him. ¡°Would¡¯ve been better to leave him.¡±


    Dave shook his head. ¡°How could you say that?¡±


    ¡°Bunch of liabilities.¡±


    Ignoring this, he asked, ¡°What was that thing? You called it something strange.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an old name.¡± I shrugged. ¡°We should move on real early. As soon as the sun¡¯s out. We¡¯ve made a lot of noise. I hope you¡¯re ready to watch after him. That¡¯s your reward for being a hero.¡±


    ¡°You helped.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like seeing people die, believe it or not.¡±


    ¡°No. I think you¡¯d rather plug your ears and close your eyes to it all.¡± There was a pause and Dave leaned his elbows onto the desk and placed his head in his hands. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we move before daybreak then? If you¡¯re so worried.¡±


    ¡°Not while that things out there and knows good and well where we are.¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t it just break down that door?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Needs an invitation.¡±


    Dave eyed the sleeping kid. ¡°Poor guy.¡±


    As the first daylight poured over the ruins, I stirred the young man awake and at first it seemed as though he wouldn¡¯t and then perhaps one issue would¡¯ve solved itself; the boy came to life after a few nudges against my boot and he looked miserable and pale and cold. He let out a stifled cry upon seeing me stand over him and then he pushed himself into a sit then examined his surroundings.


    I arranged my supplies and Dave asked the kid, ¡°How is it?¡±


    ¡°How do you think it is?¡± asked the kid.


    ¡°I¡¯m Dave anyway.¡± Then he nodded in my direction, ¡°Harlan.¡±


    ¡°Andrew,¡± said the kid.


    I froze in my gathering of supplies then shouldered my pack and looked over the young man¡ªbeneath his armpit he still cradled the dead hand. ¡°You came out here with a young girl several days ago. Went out west?¡±


    Andrew wrinkled his nose then nodded.


    ¡°Hell,¡± said Dave, ¡°How¡¯d you know that?¡±


    ¡°Gemma?¡± I asked.


    The kid nodded again.


    Dave sighed and brushed his hand over his head. ¡°You¡¯re the fella¡¯ that disappeared with a Boss¡¯s daughter.¡± Then there was the overt clenching of his jaw. ¡°You created a heap of trouble when you did that. You know that?¡±


    Andrew did not say a thing.


    I stepped toward the kid, and he flinched. ¡°The two of you went west. How¡¯d you get split up?¡± I shook my head and took to lighting a cigarette. ¡°How¡¯d you not die out there?¡±


    Andrew shrugged. ¡°Gem ran and I couldn¡¯t find her.¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯d you do it?¡± asked Dave. ¡°Do you have any idea the misery you two left behind?¡±


    ¡°Hold on,¡± I put up a hand, ¡°Tell it plainly Andy.¡±


    ¡°My name¡¯s not Andy,¡± said the kid, ¡°It¡¯s Andrew.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°Gem wanted out from her duties as the heir to Boss Harold. She said she hoped for a place out west. She said that¡¯s where the wizards come from and so there must be a place worth going. Maybe Babylon¡ªmaybe something more out there.¡± The kid had a scaredness in his eyes, a real twinkle of defeat, but there was something else too¡ªbeyond those shiny wet eyes was the look of a determined soul perhaps. ¡°She took off when she got scared and then I got all turned around. I even saw the walls of home, but when I met the edge of the field in the day, the men on the walls shot at me. I tried screaming, but I don¡¯t think they heard me.¡±


    ¡°Stupid kids,¡± I said.


    ¡°Now hold on,¡± said Dave, ¡°This kid¡¯s caused more trouble than he¡¯s worth. Do you know the people that¡¯ve died because of you runnin¡¯ off with the Boss¡¯s daughter like that? Do you have any idea?¡± Dave took across the room and grabbed Andrew by the shoulders and shook him good and hard and the boy dropped his severed hand where it smacked the ground. ¡°Do you?¡± The man was screaming at the kid.


    Reaching out, I touched Dave. ¡°Calm. It¡¯s time to move. We can make it home easily before nightfall.¡± I turned my attention to Andrew. ¡°I don¡¯t reckon you¡¯ll have the warmest welcome if you follow.¡±


    ¡°Well wait,¡± pleaded Andrew, ¡°You can¡¯t leave me out here. I¡¯ll die for sure.¡±


    ¡°Hey,¡± I said, ¡°You wanted the opportunity to walk the wastes and find something better. Now¡¯s your chance. Go for it.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Dave. The big man¡¯s shoulders slumped, and he moved from the boy and when he did so the young man reached to the ground to pluck up the hand he¡¯d dropped, ¡°We can¡¯t leave him out here.¡±


    ¡°You finally admitted yourself,¡± I said, ¡°He¡¯s far more trouble than he¡¯s worth.¡±


    ¡°I-is Gem alright?¡± asked Andrew.


    I nodded.


    A relief rushed across his face before he swallowed. ¡°Good.¡±


    ¡°Daylight¡¯s burnin¡¯.¡± I put the cigarette out against the edge of the desk. ¡°We should go.¡±


    We took off from the office and into the ruins where earliest sunbeams cut through narrow alleys and the sky was red and the buildings were gray or black and every sound carried far and back and there was a warmth in the air like moving through thick blood. Wherever I went, the two followed with paranoid expressions at every potential threat; whenever we¡¯d skirt across a stretch of road where the debris was lighter for travel, one of them might kick up a loose bit of rubble and freeze for a moment as though it was the harbinger for what creatures might¡¯ve been watching from dark shadows. But we were alone in the ruins for the time because I could hear nothing, could see nothing, smelled nothing beyond the dust. ¡°I¡¯ve seen some of them,¡± hushed Andrew to either me or Dave and I pivoted around to stare at him till he was ashamed of speaking and we moved on again.


    The dirt in the air was thick and wind kicked up around the tall buildings and the narrow strip of sky overhead, cut out by high rooftops was like a riverway where thin and white vaporous clouds listed. ¡°What¡¯ll we do with the kid when we get home?¡± asked Dave; I tried giving him the same look I¡¯d given to Andrew and the merry troupe was quiet as we came upon the edge of the field around Golgotha, and we could just see the structures that cut against the sky along the tops of the walls. I ordered the two of them to manufacture a small semi-circle shelter from strewn concrete and when they started it, I dropped my pack and took in helping them with it so that within half an hour, we took refuge within a small and temporary cairn shaped structure.


    We drank water and cooled ourselves within the meager shade.


    Andrew was timid in asking, ¡°What¡¯s going to happen? Will you sneak me in?¡± He cradled his hand.


    ¡°It¡¯s just a little further,¡± I said.


    Dave peered across the field with his binoculars and slammed back water. ¡°Lot of wall men. Maybe wait till dark?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°We¡¯ll be marching in front and that¡¯s that.¡±


    Dave raised his brow. ¡°What? They¡¯ll kill the boy.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    Andrew piped in, ¡°I don¡¯t want to do this.¡±


    ¡°Shh.¡± I was tired; travelling companions, for their utility, could be a bother. ¡°You¡¯ll need to trust me.¡± The kid held his severed hand. ¡°And give me that.¡±


    He shook his head.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give it back. It¡¯s yours after all. What am I going to do with three hands?¡±


    Shaking and still pale, he dispensed with the hand and Dave handed him water and I pushed the dry and dead thing into my pack.


    We moved across the field, me waving a reflective flag over my head; a shot rang out but nowhere near us and I saw Andrew flinch at the noise. Dave fell in alongside me.


    ¡°They¡¯ll kill him,¡± said Dave just so the kid couldn¡¯t hear.


    ¡°They might,¡± I admitted, ¡°But he needs someplace to look after that wound properly and I don¡¯t think he¡¯s up for living in the wastes alone.¡±


    There was a moment where all that could be heard was breathing and footsteps and dirt catching across the ground with wind. ¡°And have you given anymore thought to what I came to you for?¡±


    ¡°After. We¡¯ll talk after. Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m scared,¡± whimpered Andrew.


    ¡°Be brave,¡± said Dave.


    We took to the gate as it swung open and there was Maron with his wall men, yards from the opening, some knelt behind sandbags; their guns were angled at us and Maron was grinning. ¡°Is that who I think it is?¡± The Boss nodded at the boy as we came through the perimeter¡ªsome of the wall men snickered or muttered amongst themselves.


    ¡°It is,¡± I put away the reflective flag and pinched Andrew¡¯s shirt and shoved him forward so he stumbled, ¡°We came across him out in the ruins out east and thought the Bosses might be interested in speaking with him.¡±


    Andrew whirled on his heel and looked at me and Dave and I shook my head at him; his attention went back to Maron, and the Boss Sheriff stepped forward, planting a hand on the young boy¡¯s shoulder, really digging a thumb into collarbone, and making the boy wince and bite his lip. He gave the boy to his wall men, they caught the young man and took him into custody. They tried tying his hands behind his back, but without purchase, they instead kicked the back of his knees and dragged him away; he did not scream or cry.


    I could feel the nervous energy in waves from Dave as he took in closer to me.


    Maron swiveled forward awkwardly so we were only feet from each other, still wearing his stolen leg brace, and he eyed Dave with a raised eyebrow. ¡°Man with the name of a king, I think. David! I knew your wife.¡± Silence. ¡°Shame about your boy. So, you¡¯ve taken on with this one?¡± Maron nodded at me and spat at the ground. ¡°Guess without so much to live for you¡¯ve gone and thrown your life away! You know what happens to the poor souls that go with Harlan here.¡± Maron had taken a hand to his heart as though he spoke sincerely¡ªthe tone was proper, but his smile was wrong.


    Dave refused to speak and that was all for the best.

 Six: Dog-meat and the Whipping Boy

    If I were to guess, I¡¯d imagine they took Andrew to Boss Harold before anyone else and the rumors around Golgotha seemed to support this supposition; the Bosses enjoyed their personal retribution away from the eyes of citizens, maybe it was talking or maybe more, and although there were whispers of the boy being strung up on the wall or maybe he¡¯d be violated in the stocks for all to see, I imagined that the council I held with Boss Harold might¡¯ve had something to do with that never materializing. When I was allowed to the boy¡¯s cell, it was dark, and his face was bruised and the bandaging I¡¯d applied to his severed wrist had been removed probably for amusement. The room was small and there were no windows and only a single doorway let out into the hallway which contained other cells and further, near the exit, there was the office of wall men. The guard that¡¯d let me in locked the door behind me and Andrew sat on a metallic cot without cushioning, and he stared at the grimy floor through swollen eyes.


    ¡°Hello,¡± he said. And I was taken aback by the comment because he spoke it as quickly as he might passing a person in the street. He''d been through so much that the word was abrupt, skittish. I nodded and moved to him, reaching for his arm where he¡¯d been nearly fatally wounded. It was infected. Without fighting me, he allowed me to tend to it without even a question; I wiped it and applied salve. Once it was cleaned and rewrapped and only after I¡¯d settled on the cot beside him, he spoke again, ¡°I heard stories about the cells, but I never thought they¡¯d smell.¡±


    I withdrew a handful of antibiotics, and he took them without putting them to his mouth. ¡°You should have them,¡± I said, ¡°You might lose the whole arm if not.¡±


    ¡°I might lose my life.¡±


    ¡°Maybe not,¡± I offered a grim smile and water with for the pills. ¡°You¡¯re alive still.¡±


    ¡°How much longer though?¡± He took the medicine and grimaced hard. The boy looked older than he was. ¡°It smells like blood here. I can smell the people that¡¯ve been here before.¡±


    I patted him on the back and removed myself from the cell and he did not call after me, not even to ask for the return of his hand and I hoped that I could stave off whatever tortures the Bosses might have in store for him.


    It¡¯d been two days since I¡¯d returned with Dave and Andrew and quickly after our arrival, I¡¯d tried departing from the man and hoped he¡¯d drop whatever revenge he believed I could assist him with, but it was to no avail for he attended everywhere with me since our return to Golgotha. Although he¡¯d not been allowed to enter the cells alongside me, he was waiting for me outside as I stepped through the wall men¡¯s office and into the noonday sun; I deftly plucked a pre-rolled cigarette from my pocket and tried at lighting it but before I¡¯d even gotten the chance, he was there at the stoop of the office, pestering, ¡°We should go somewhere quiet,¡± he said.


    ¡°What do you take me for exactly?¡± I asked while maintaining eye contact with the flame off a match.


    ¡°You¡¯re capable enough. You could be a hero. I¡¯d do it with you. We could scrounge up a handful of people and change things. We really could.¡± Dave was casting sidelong glances at those that passed us in the dirt street just off the stoop, but nary one seemed to care about our conversation.


    ¡°Leave it.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±


    I sighed.


    He put a hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off.


    Felina¡¯s was a structure partially built from ancient shipping containers directly in the heart of the hydroponics towers in the center of town; the chicken shit smell from the base of the towers came with nauseating stagnation and could make a passerby sick, but upon entering Felina¡¯s, the smell subsided and was replaced with the smell of body sweat. The older barwoman stood behind the counter and me and Dave took up on the far corner where we sat around an old card table, using crates as chairs; no one else was there¡ªthe smell of the hydro towers probably had some hand in that.


    Dave took in close to me so that I could feel the moisture off his breath, ¡°I¡¯ve been talking to a few others over at the towers and they feel the same way I feel¡ªbut with you¡ªwell without you I don¡¯t think I¡¯d want to do it.¡±


    ¡°No, please go on without me,¡± I slanted my body across the table to push my face away from Dave¡¯s; with me positioned with my back against the wall, I spied Felina beyond the counter, arms across her chest and watching us with an air of suspicion. She came to our table, slowly with her club foot and upon reaching us, she used our table for mild support with her big hands and greeted us without excitement.


    Dave asked for water and her gaze shifted to me and I dismissed her, and we were alone till she limped back over with a pitcher and glass and Dave drank it greedily while Felina watched on from beyond the counter¡ªher eyes suspicious but pretty blue too. She kept the haft from a dismembered axe behind the counter and was known to throttle unruly patrons with it.


    Although some might have called Felina¡¯s a bar, it was just short of it because of the rarity of spirits¡ªbesides, it was the upstairs brothel portion that the establishment owed to its popularity. Anyone might brave the smell from the street for companionship and if the noises from the rusted overhead support beams were anything to measure, the clientele was content indeed. A man descended from the stairs by the bar, gave a brief nod to Felina then to us and disappeared through the front door; a waft of the outside air rushed in, and Dave scrunched his nose.


    ¡°It¡¯s a funny thing, I¡¯ve passed by here all the time, but I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve been inside since before¡ª¡± he paused, ¡°Well, since before anyway.¡± He took a drink of water and rubbed his palms against his cheeks. ¡°I know someone that works underground and could get us some gunpowder.¡±


    I merely laughed at this. ¡°Gunpowder, huh?¡±


    ¡°Well sure. The Bosses have reserves in the basements. We could blow them sky high.¡±


    ¡°More likely that you¡¯d blow your hands off.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s it going to take to convince you?¡±


    I thought, ¡°Could you promise no one would die?¡±


    Dave seemed baffled at the question. ¡°Who cares?¡±


    ¡°These things hardly ever happen quietly¡ªor without collateral. How¡¯s this? Could you promise that no innocents get caught in stray fire?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Then you are as ill prepared as I¡¯d imagined.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that mean?¡±


    ¡°The meek are intended to inherit, but many will die before all that.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Nothing. I wish you¡¯d leave it be.¡±


    Another patron stumbled down the stairs, a scrawny tall man with a thin beard came charging into the chamber without clothes and a voice followed him, crying loudly, ¡°Sonofabitch tried choking me!¡± A pair of arms and legs came stumbling down after¡ªthe source of the cries. There was a topless woman, a belt secured around one of her wrists and a pink mark around her throat. The naked man protested and put up his hands as the woman swung the arm with the belt and whipped at him with it, striking across the forearm he¡¯d shielded himself with.


    Felina moved carefully from around the counter, raised the haft, then brought it down across the man¡¯s back. He stumbled to his knees, pleading. The barwoman raised the weapon once more and the sound was like wood against wood as it met the man¡¯s head and his body was taken to the ground completely, perhaps dead, perhaps unconscious. The two women lifted the man out the door and Felina spat through the opening. Outside wind came again and Dave scrunched his nose once more before the door shut. The topless woman removed the belt from around her wrist, tossed it to the floor, then secured an arm across her chest before hurrying upstairs.


    ¡°So, gunpowder?¡± I asked Dave.


    He nodded and took another drink of water while eyeing Felina as she took herself back to the counter and stowed the makeshift club into whatever place she kept it. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Go for it then and leave me out of it.¡± I fiddled with my thumbs across the table. ¡°I¡¯ll even make you a deal for when you come running to me for help later. If you blow your fingers off, I¡¯ll try and help you find them. How¡¯s about that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll wear you down.¡±


    Another gust of wind came from the far door and I half expected to see the man that¡¯d been removed there in the doorway, standing on his feet and ready for another round of punishment, but there was no one there in the hollow spot; as my gaze drifted from person-face level, I saw a medium sized mutt there in gray fur, pushing the door in with its nose and then sliding the rest of its starved body through¡ªeach of its yellowy sad eyes peered in and I could not tell the breed but Dave lifted himself from his seat and Felina went to the dog too.


    ¡°No dogs,¡± stated the woman.


    Dave, the indomitable sweetheart that he was knelt to the dog¡¯s face and touched its snout; it licked his hand and Dave said to Felina, ¡°He¡¯s not mine, but have you got some water for him?¡±


    ¡°No dogs inside. I don¡¯t like repeating it.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough,¡± said Dave, ¡°I don¡¯t know who he¡ª¡± he froze and then examined the rear of the dog before petting the dog on the head, ¡°She belongs to, but I¡¯ll take her outside. Just. Please some water, won¡¯t you?¡±


    The barwoman first drummed her fingers against her leg then went to the counter and I noticed Dave flinch as she reached under there, but she came back with a bowl and he took it and ushered the dog out; as he exited, he called to me, and I sighed and moved with him.


    Remaining in the street was the man that¡¯d been tossed out, face up, half-opened eyes, and flies buzzed about, and I touched him with my foot, but he didn¡¯t move. Blood leaked from his ears. ¡°Dead,¡± I said.


    Dave took the dog from the body around to the side of the building and the feces smell was strong with the hydro towers, but he sat the water down and the dog went at it quickly, without restraint and spilt half before the man went to steady it with his hand; he knelt by the dog and pushed a shoulder against the wall of the brothel.


    ¡°There you go,¡± I told him, ¡°You¡¯ve found someone dumb enough and maybe loyal enough to follow through with your little gunpowder plan. Strap a handful of dynamite to him and watch him go boom in the Boss¡¯s faces.¡± I genuinely did try it as a joke.


    ¡°You can be very mean,¡± said Dave.


    Once the bowl was dry besides dog spit, he returned it to Felina, reentering briefly, and it was just me and the dog and the dog looked up at me and I turned away while its voice whined in the back of its throat and I took a piece of hardtack from my pocket and tossed it on the ground¡ªthe dog went after it, assuredly snapping up dirt in the process. Then the creature made a dry and throaty sound from swallowing too quickly, but moments after the thick cracker was gone. It licked my hand gently, and I scratched its chin and Dave returned and upon seeing me with the dog, he gave me a look and then brought himself to the height of the dog in a hunker.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°Hey there,¡± he said to it, ¡°Someone¡¯s beat you up pretty bad, huh?¡± It was true; scars stood out in places where the dog had no fur.


    In response, the weathered mutt hoisted its forepaws onto his knees and pushed its nose into his.


    ¡°Yeah, girl,¡± he took one of the dog¡¯s ears between his forefinger and thumb and rubbed it gently and the animal looked up, sad eyed, ¡°What¡¯s a good name for you?¡±


    ¡°Dog-meat?¡± I proposed.


    Dave shook his head. ¡°What sort of sick joke is that?¡± but he was smiling, ¡°No. I¡¯ll come up with something to call her. Isn¡¯t that right?¡± He asked the dog, massaging the face of the animal with his thumbs; the dog stared dumbly at him. ¡°Maybe a Beth or a Patty might suit you. How do you like them?¡±


    The dog licked his face but couldn¡¯t speak.


    ¡°Well,¡± I said, ¡°It¡¯s a shame it got you, you¡¯ll pick a person name for it and that¡¯s strange. Why not call her Mary if you want a person name?¡±


    ¡°Bah,¡± said Dave, rising to a full stand; momentarily, even with the other folks passing us in the street, he took a moment to see the dead man we¡¯d passed on our way out of Felina¡¯s and for a moment he remained quiet. ¡°I¡¯ll come to you again Harlan. Maybe when I¡¯ve got more of a plan. I only hope you¡¯ll listen to the stuff I¡¯ve said about it. I really do. I really hope you¡¯ll be on the right side of this thing.¡±


    ¡°Sides are overrated.¡±


    Dave put a hand on my shoulder, ¡°Of course,¡± he nodded, ¡°Whatever you say.¡±


    He left with his new friend¡ªthe dog following him traced from left to right close behind Dave and I watched him take off and around the nearest hydro tower and I was alone on the street and evening wouldn¡¯t be far away, so I took to home while staring at my moving feet and speaking to no one. A few people along the way tried nodding at me or saying a small greeting here or there, but I was absorbed in my own head, and nothing took me from it once I got going. Maybe that was one of the reasons I enjoyed the wastes; there were no pretenses out there and with the constant thought of death there was no other thing to think about than each passing moment. I could not shut my thoughts up. I could ramble more about the motivations of a scavver, but I don¡¯t think I should¡ªleave that for someone that cares.


    Upon taking the catwalks where I could look out on a swatch of Golgotha with the sun beating down and the constant hum of people going about their business, I was frozen on the railing and wishing I¡¯d taken my own life and wishing that Dave had not found me out there; maybe if I was faster or smarter or better in whatever way that mattered.


    I pushed into the door into my small abode and cool blood pushed through my body on seeing the robed girl there on my mattress, holding a shotgun with its barrel angled directly at me; she donned a flowy mess of dresses and kept her head wrapped in garb so that only her eyes shone through, but her arms stuck from the mess of cloth and I could see they were skinny with long scab marks like a blade had drawn across the flesh.


    ¡°Harlan?¡± asked the girl.


    ¡°Is that mine?¡± I nodded at the pump-shotgun in her hands. The slowness of the world was gone, and I could think again; if things were different, I¡¯d have been a dead man, but it was unloaded, and I knew it.


    ¡°It was hanging on the wall¡ªI don¡¯t know how to use the thing anyway. I don¡¯t know what I was doing with it,¡± she said, ¡°You just scared me, and I didn¡¯t know who you might¡¯ve been.¡±


    ¡°This is my place.¡±


    She laid the shotgun on the bed and unwrapped her face; it was Gemma, ¡°You were with Andrew.¡±


    ¡°I was.¡±


    ¡°You said he was dead.¡±


    I brought in air slowly through my nose. ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°You lied.¡±


    I nodded, letting the air come out.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I needed to find you.¡±


    ¡°But you found us both then, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Not on purpose.¡± A thought occurred to me, ¡°Does you father know where you are right now?¡±


    She shook her head; although rest had done her good, there was still a fair amount of fatigue present on her. ¡°I snuck out.¡±


    ¡°Would¡¯a though you learned your lesson on that front.¡±


    ¡°Is Andrew okay? No one will tell me anything about it.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s locked up right now, but he is alive. For how long? I don¡¯t know. I figured your pop paid a visit to him already¡ªwouldn¡¯t you know about that?¡±


    She shook her head again. ¡°Woo,¡± Gemma slumped onto the side of my mattress and gathered the robes around her, ¡°I¡¯m feeling faint.¡±


    I moved to the bed and gathered the shotgun, putting it back on the hooks in the wall. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t break into people¡¯s homes.¡±


    Cupping her brow in a hand so that I could only see her mouth and the bottom of her nose, she said, ¡°I just needed to know he was alive. These past days I¡¯ve been so worried about him. I knew you told me he was dead, but I knew you were a liar too. So, I had bad thoughts about what might¡¯ve happened to him out there. If what happened to me was anything to go off.¡± Her voice broke for a moment and then she pulled her hand from her face and blinked a few sudden times. ¡°I just.¡±


    ¡°I get it. You love the boy.¡±


    She nodded without looking at me.


    ¡°So, beg your dad to let him go.¡±


    ¡°Everyone¡¯s so mad at him. It¡¯s funny that everyone¡¯s so mad at him, but it was my idea, and they all treat me like a darling little flower. Like I couldn¡¯t have been the one with the idea of running away. I had more reason to run than he ever did.¡±


    ¡°You should leave.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to. Can¡¯t you see that¡¯s what I¡¯ve been saying? Judge all you like. Call me rich all you like, but I can tell you this: I don¡¯t feel like it.¡± Gemma grabbed the edge of the bed as her head wavered on her shoulders. ¡°Dizzy spells are awful.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Like no sickness ever.¡± Her eyes locked on mine. ¡°Help me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve already tried convincing them not to kill him.¡± Taking a pause, I thought to add, ¡°And I personally saw to his injuries. Please go and leave me be.¡±


    ¡°Oh, but you¡¯ve asked for it,¡± she said, ¡°You put yourself in the business of it.¡±


    ¡°Look. All¡¯s I wanted was to save you if I could and get the water running again. That¡¯s it. Now go.¡± I put my arm up to wave her out the door and she stood to make her way there, catching herself on the frame, then out on the catwalk railing before turning and looking at me over her shoulder.


    ¡°Bastard.¡± she said.


    ¡°Yes.¡± The door shut between us, and I took myself to sitting on the bed¡¯s edge and reminiscing over how Dave reminded me so much of Jackson. Jackson was a real tough one; whatever happened he always kept a cool head (so I reckon him and Dave would be different in that way) and the idea of being a hero was so big for him. It¡¯s a curious thought: whether Dave would have such ideas if hadn¡¯t been for the tragic loss of his family.


    The shotgun sat on there on the wall, and I took it and looked over it, putting the stock in my left hand then my right and laid it across my legs; the woven strap on it had gone thin so that the place I¡¯d once worn it over my shoulder was mostly threadbare. I moved to the cabinet by the sink where I kept a few essentials and in the very back there was an old box of shells¡ªit was a surprise they still seemed good, but with old ammo you never could tell, and the shells were just as likely to fire true as they might be to never send pellets from the barrel. I took a knife and began whittling into a shell I¡¯d plucked from the box. Pellets spilled between my feet as I sat on the bed and they rolled across the floor and then I found the gunpowder and rose again, sprinkling it onto the cabinet top into a neat pile. Dave said he had a fella¡¯ he knew that worked in the underground¡ªthe sort of person that could get him all the gunpowder he needed. Was he familiar with its destructive force; had he ever fired a gun? He promised me no one innocent would die and I knew that was a lie and there¡¯s surely a piece of him that knew it was a lie just as well.


    It was just then as I took a forefinger and thumb and pinched up a bit from the gunpowder splat that I remembered a thing that Jackson told me all the time when he thought none of the others were listening. The gunpowder rained from my fingertips as I rubbed them together and I sniffed the place where they¡¯d become sooty, taking in a smell I¡¯d not smelled in a long time. Jackson would say, ¡°Whoever fights monsters should be sure that he don¡¯t become a monster.¡± It wouldn¡¯t be for a long time¡ªafter I¡¯d visited the libraries in Alexandria or Babylon (take your preference)¡ªtill I realized it was a quote that Jackson stole from some guy named Neet-chee. It seemed like a good thing to adhere to, and it was certainly something I wasn¡¯t good at keeping with and if I couldn¡¯t then there was little certainty that Dave would keep to it either. Maybe I had become a monster; morally dubious anyway.


    Jackson was a hero, and he was dead as was Sibylle as was Billy as was John and all of them. We¡¯d tried heroing and it got all of us dead. Almost all of us.


    I hung the shotgun on the wall and left it there and swept the gunpowder into the floor with a flat palm where the pellets were and chucked the box of old shells into the cabinet again.


    Ringing of bells came from the hall of the Bosses and it was time for a display. Denizens gathered in the front square by the gates and awaited while they trotted out Andrew; perhaps the words I¡¯d passed to Boss Harold rang hollow after all. The Bosses were there just as always, drinking their wine on the platform, and Maron was out front with his wall men in the semicircle of gathered Golgotha residents. Of the population, only a hundred or two gathered for this poor boy¡¯s execution. The guards had, at some point after my departure, removed the bandage on his empty wrist and he looked more sickly in the face than before and his cheeks were swollen and he wept, seemingly not from the terror of it but from the skin around his eyes having been so damaged; tears came through swelled eyelids and a wall man kept him by the elbow and Maron marched to the boy and lifted the boy¡¯s face with his hand to look into it and maybe he whispered something to him.


    I weaved through the crowd, moving to the steps that led to the stage where the Bosses stood with their foods and wines and their plenty and upon approach, I was stopped by a wall men, but upon catching Boss Harold¡¯s eye, he told the guard to let me through and I took the stairs and from the platform, I could see over the crowd¡ªDave was far in the rear of those gathered, totally disconnected from the others for he hunkered by a set of crates, patting the head of the dog we¡¯d found just earlier in the day. For a moment, I wished I was there with him and not on the stage at all.


    ¡°Dear boy!¡± Boss Harold shouted at me over the excited jeers of the others, ¡°It¡¯s so good to see you again. You are quite the hero, and it¡¯s always good to be in the company of those.¡±


    I nodded at him and within a flash, he¡¯d slammed his cup of wine into my hand, telling me to drink, and only moments passed before his own cup was replaced by a nearby servant. ¡°We spoke about this?¡± I tried.


    His face was red, and I could just make out the miniscule veins vibrant along the corners of his nose; the man was far gone drunk. ¡°That boy¡¯s been a thorn in my side for too long, so I know you understand it when I say that he needs punishment. I took all that you said into account,¡± his words slurred, and the sweet sick came off him in a breath of hot air when he pulled me in, resting his ear on my shoulder. ¡°Nobody dies today, but ¡®spare the rod and spoil the child¡¯,¡± the Boss paused. ¡°You¡¯re not a father yourself, are you?¡±


    I shook my head.


    ¡°Ah! Then you might not be familiar with that proverb required in bringing a child up in this world.¡± Boss Harold laughed. ¡°I¡¯d never take my sweet Gemma out in the square like this, but God there¡¯s been times I¡¯ve wanted it. ¡®Spare the rod¡¯.¡± He repeated. ¡°But we¡¯ve something a fair bit more interesting than a rod for that boy.¡± Boss Harold swayed on his feet and took the fist containing his cup of wine, pointing with his index finger at the open place by the wall where Maron and Andrew and the wall men were. ¡°Speaking of!¡± Boss Harold was giddy, and he took a magnificent gulp from his cup, throwing his head far back. ¡°You¡¯re a learned man, yes?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You know how to read? Maron said something about your reading. That¡¯s a rare quality! I¡¯d love to talk about books with you sometime. I¡¯ve my own personal collection.¡±


    The wall men stripped Andrew of his clothes then threw them to the ground and a gasp escaped the audience and the boy shouted and Maron moved to a nearby bucket and reached into the mouth of the container, coming back to a full stand; a whip was coiled around his arm. The Bosses didn¡¯t even look on. The punishment was for the benefit of Boss Harold, and not even he looked on. He jabbered on about how he¡¯d like to speak with me over an old philosophy called Objectivism then he went on about how he¡¯d learned long ago the greatest achievement of man was his own happiness and I listened to the drunk man and when the whip broke skin the first time, I¡¯m sure Andrew felt every bit.


    Blood exploded in violent dew off his back and the crack of the whip struck the boy till he couldn¡¯t stand and then several times more. Splatter reached onlookers each time Maron lifted the whip over his head, and it was only once the boy stopped moving that the Boss Sheriff swaggered over to inspect him; Andrew had fallen face down and Maron took his boot to the boy¡¯s side so that the boy rolled onto his back and seconds passed without movement and even Boss Harold quit with his talking. The prone body just lay there and for a moment Andrew looked like the body I¡¯d seen earlier out front of Felina¡¯s. Then the boy spasmed and gasped air and Maron shouted about how he was still alive before giving the toe of his boot to Andrew¡¯s ribs.


    ¡°What a show,¡± said the Bosses¡ªwhat a show indeed.


    The crowd dispersed in clumps, taking back to their jobs or leisure and I left the platform only after agreeing that Objectivism sounded good and Boss Harold laughed and stumbled in pivoting to take on in conversation with the other Bosses and I briefly imagined giving him a nudge, so he¡¯d fall off the stage, but refrained from doing so.


    When I met the boy lying in the dirt there, there was me and Dave moved in too and Maron had taken to his station where there was a table by sandbags, and he was engrossed in a game of solitaire; it seemed the man was totally unfazed by the justice he¡¯d dealt. There was a time when that body could¡¯ve been a hero and yet there he was, poisoned.


    I called out to the Boss Sheriff, ¡°Ain¡¯t you going to put him back to his cell?¡±


    Without even looking over, Maron swept his mustache with his fingers and waved me off, ¡°Harold was real clear on letting the boy out of custody once it was done.¡± He lifted his cowboy hat and scratched his head while looking at the cards on the table then he laughed. ¡°He¡¯s a free man. I¡¯ve heard that was your meddlin¡¯ that did it.¡±


    I moved to the boy and snatched up the clothes they ripped from him and Dave, not saying a word with his new mutt by his side, helped me to return some dignity to the boy.


    We took him to my small apartment and washed him and tended over him while he lay in my bed.


    Gemma came soon after Andrew had been draped in a sheet¡ªshe was there in disguise as she¡¯d been earlier and upon me opening the doorway, she began to ask me if the boy was with me. I merely stepped aside, and she rushed to Andrew¡¯s side; if he was aware of her presence, there was no way to tell.


    ¡°They killed him.¡± She¡¯d taken to her knees to be nearer his level. ¡°Oh. Oh, he¡¯s dead.¡± She touched him and he shivered at the touch. Gemma removed the wrappings of cloth around her head and looked at her sweetie closer and she put a hand to her mouth. ¡°They took his hand!¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Dave, ¡°He¡¯s going to live.¡± The man looked to me and I shrugged. ¡°Yeah,¡± his voice didn¡¯t sound sure, ¡°He¡¯ll live.¡±


    I moved to the catwalk and Dave came with me, the dog following behind him¡ªthe timid mutt looked over the edge of the catwalk to the city below then stepped away and returned to my room. When Dave took up beside me, leaning over the railing, and the sun hit his face just so, he looked exactly like Jackson and maybe that was why when he raised eyebrows then cut his eyes at me with a question¡ªthe question was everything and I finally nodded.

 Seven: Yesterday When I Was Young

    I¡¯s but a boy and no higher than a mule¡¯s ass when I fell in alongside the others in the shotgun infantry because I couldn¡¯t ride a mount for the life of me and besides, whenever there was wreckage up the way or somewhere we couldn¡¯t get a wagon through, I¡¯d slip ahead and function just as well as any scout in my quick footwork. The Rednecks (called so much because of the kerchiefs we displayed around our throats) were a marching group that I was born into¡ªthere¡¯d at one time been such companies that traversed the wastes besides the wizards. That was before Baphomet or Leviathan or even Mephisto; this was when the demons we¡¯d come across were of lowly intelligence or manageable strength. That is not to say that there were never any close calls in those days¡ªafter all, the demon armies that¡¯d come so long before had taken the world, but still a human could scratch by and sometimes even bands of us would take up arms, march in the dens of those blasphemous creatures, and deal with them in the ways we knew how. The day I¡¯d been given the long gun, Jackson had not been so eager to do so because I think he was my father and he always had a certain warmth and he¡¯d taken me in as a son, but I never knew for sure or even asked. It was in the way that I¡¯d sometimes catch him watching me from the corner of my eye whenever I was feeding the hounds or cleaning around camp, and that¡¯s how I¡¯d come at guessing he was my dad¡ªit was that and his affections that¡¯d be rare and foreign in the company.


    The Rednecks marched the eastern United States in the days with more towns and even in that time there was a hope among them that this too should pass as all other historical calamities, but the eve of destruction was upon us (maybe it was always). No one remembered dates in our company so I couldn¡¯t say when my birthday was and so I don¡¯t know how old I ever was in my life, but that didn¡¯t matter because an adult was so when they were given their weapon and pushed to the fore. We were warriors for God and some would comment on how we¡¯d tricked ourselves, because sometimes, camped on roadsides or even in downtowns when allowed, we¡¯d erect that great big wooden crucifix that Sibylle kept along with her things and we¡¯d kneel and pray on the ground and it was good¡ªfor all of those I¡¯ve witnessed bonding themselves in their religion, damning themselves or others because of their bodies, our religion (not so much old-time as the song goes) seemed to set us free. As much as we concerned ourselves in those prayers, it was that we were the image of God, and so should do God¡¯s work. So, we did.


    The company marched north in the foothills of the Appalachians with those great dead and brown mountains on their lefthand then they¡¯d lodge in Charlottesville for a time and then cross over the range and march south with the mountains on their lefthand again till they reached midway through Tennessee and then they¡¯d cut southwest and touch with Marietta before heading northeast then north again. It was a cyclical patrol they took and it just so happened that Sibylle was pregnant all those years ago on the verge of a swing up north and that¡¯s how I came into this world in one of those old canvas tents, the first sights probably dirt and whatever rags that¡¯d been gathered around; some of those in the company told me that Sibylle had squatted, dropped me clear on my head then remounted her horse and ordered everyone else to carry on¡ªshe was strong, but I always took that as a folk story anyway.


    The story goes that Sibylle took many men to her tent¡ªwomen too when the mood so pleased her¡ªand so it could¡¯ve been any number of the men in the company that was my father, but I really like to think it was Jackson.


    The woman wasn¡¯t ever looked down on for it¡ªher promiscuity was seen as a strength if nothing else and besides she wasn¡¯t married¡ªit took me growing up to understand she¡¯d went on with a persona to do the things she did. She was the first to fight, the last out of a bad situation, and whatever nonsense a man might give her, she¡¯d return with near immediate violence. She was a hard woman, but not without kindnesses in her own way. Maybe the world did it to her, or it could¡¯ve been the fighting, or it could¡¯ve been any number of other things¡ªit would do no good to speculate over a dead person like that. What I do know is that stories would permeate whenever we¡¯d sit around trash wood fires and people did speculate her motives. She wore a cowboy hat and a pistol across the front of her pants, so the holster swung between her thighs, and she was missing her left eye¡ªover the socket was a brown leather patch tailored in Charlottsville. My mother¡ªif that is what she should be called¡ªspat, drank, fought, spoke gruffly, and was business until nighttime. Given the nature of her, the stories around those fires would come and oftentimes the questioning over her missing eye would enter circulation; some said it was thumbed out of her skull by a scorned lover and yet others guessed it was a demon that got it. No one ever knew for certain because she never offered an explanation, and I was never told.


    As far as I know, the woman weened me quick as a babe and then I was out of her tent and among the company; this is where Jackson took me on and mentored me; my first words¡ªI don¡¯t recall what they were¡ªwere said to him. When I was still much too small to even help sufficiently with chores, I remember he¡¯d tell me stories from books, and it wasn¡¯t long until Jackson was teaching me the letters and the words they formed; his recital was dim in the tent at night whenever he¡¯d pitch an elbow alongside my sleeping bag on the floor and lay there and read to me by the light of a candle. I¡¯d fall to sleep quick, but he never seemed to mind; more than once I woke before him and the candle would still be going, and the book would be placed beside him on a small table and at some point, in the night, he would¡¯ve thrown an arm across me.


    The childhood I had in the company was shorter than others, but for the moments it had, I do cherish. I learned to read which is more than most and I learned the self-sufficiency that came from such a life, but that¡¯s not exactly so accurate; for all the skills they¡¯d given me, self-sufficiency was hardly a bother in those times I patrolled the Appalachians with them. It¡¯s not like anything else. It was family in the way that I trusted each of them¡ªevery single one. And as I grew up, we¡¯d sleep sometimes three or five to a tent so that I¡¯d never worry because there were always warm bodies beside me. Warm bodies that¡¯d fight for me just as I¡¯d for them. If it came to it, we would die for one another, because our goal of ridding the scourge was greater than any one of our lives. So, we believed, and maybe we were right.


    Or maybe we were fools; some of the townsfolk or merchants or travelers we¡¯d occasionally converse with had no qualms in telling us so. It wasn¡¯t that we were ever contracted to take out demons, so oftentimes we¡¯d be given flak in our endeavors. A town would be just as likely to look at us pitiably as they would be to offer us refuge or meals and sometimes, we¡¯d accept supplies that were offered freely, but it didn¡¯t matter because we did what we did for ourselves and it wouldn¡¯t matter the reserves we had¡ªthe only time the company was threatened outright by humans were the events in which we attempted to conscript others; the conscripts were plentiful, but many townsfolks did not care for us taking their citizens. Parents cursed us for leading their children astray, city leaders decried us for depleting their populace, but there was always more ready to take up the righteous cause. In the time when I started the fight, our numbers fluctuated gently above or below the cusp of a hundred.


    Then I had a brother too, during a time before I¡¯d been put to the company¡¯s task of demon-slaying he was born, but I think biologically we only ever shared Sibylle; even still when the boy was ushered on by her, Jackson took him to raise as well and the boy was handsomer and smarter than I¡¯d been, but there was little jealousy I had for him. His name was Billy and as years went by, he shared the face of another man in our company¡ªJohn. It¡¯s doubtful that John ever made a claim on my brother¡ªthere was none I ever knew of anyway¡ªbut not a soul among us seemed outwardly affronted by the bohemian arrangement of our family. John in question was a like many of the men in our company, aloof and his origins were from a land I didn¡¯t know from the south; I¡¯d heard it said a few times that when he¡¯d enlisted years prior, his name before was Juan and the others among the gang took to calling him John; if it bothered him, he never showed it¡ªwhat he cared about most was the guitar he kept with him wherever he went. Some naked black nights among the rocky hills, around the trash wood fires, he would serenade the gathered crowd in Spanish song, and I never knew the words, but his voice was always slow and never loud and it was only once the company procured a cache of liquors that he¡¯d call for his guitar and someone would bring it, and no one complained; often times a person might glimpse the sway of those gathered, lilting sitting silhouettes listening against the darker shadows beyond.


    I¡¯d been given the gun and put to the sole mission and quickly fell in with John because he led the infantrymen and with me being the newest as well as the youngest, the hazing began immediately; I didn¡¯t know how to walk a straight line or keep up with anyone else (never mind I had half the stride of a man then) and any time I¡¯d tidy my pack, I¡¯d find my gear strewn on the ground and the deflated bag resting atop it like a blanket.


    My feet ached and John shouted, ¡°Vamanos!¡± So, I vamanosed at the rear of the pack. We were marching ahead of the wagons and the others, and we¡¯d just left a small trading unit on our trek up I-85, beyond Marietta but not quite across what¡¯d once been Lake Hartwell; some of the maps read okay but many of the roads were hard travelling with their uprisen destruction and the strange weeds we saw from time to time that sprouted from cracks like twisted decaying yellow fingers. The roads could be hard travelling on whatever vehicles we had and so the infantrymen would be sent ahead to be sure the way was clear. The traders we¡¯d met further south on I-85 said there was a nest somewhere and they¡¯d given the place a wide berth and we¡¯d walked so far ahead of the company I was certain the traders were stupid or liars as the road beyond seemed empty and clear save the dead rust buckets lining each shoulder that¡¯d long since been pushed or towed from the way. Just as I¡¯d thought so, John came to a halt at the front and knelt and withdrew a scope to gaze ahead and gave a brief signal for all others to go low.


    Twenty people knelt there on the broken asphalt and I was among them, at the rear as it was my first bit of action, so I saw them exchanging glances to one another while John peered through the scope and many of their faces were not much older than mine and one of them lifted a ball cap from his head and steam rolled off his short kept hair before he scooped the cap back over his crown, holding it by the bill. ¡°You smell that?¡± asked the young girl next to him.


    ¡°Stinks,¡± someone said.


    The young man with the cap finally muttered, ¡°Oh, I know that smell.¡± He then removed his pack and began fighting with it.


    John whispered, ¡°Masks!¡± The word hissed through his teeth, and he was quick to put on his gas mask and did so with an expertise greater than anyone else present. He took his scattergun from the strap on his shoulder and pulled from his knees onto his heels.


    The mask was difficult to see through, and hot with the sun coming on us the way it was, and I shifted around for my peripherals were consumed by the blackness therein. There were few less quick on the draw than I and one of them was the boy with the cap; he¡¯d dropped his hat and was still attempting to yank the strap of the mask free from the pack he¡¯d thrown between his knees; he had the filter end out and was pulling hard and panicked while the head straps remained stuck on some piece of equipment within the recesses of the bag. John crept near the boy, gun held like a mop by his side and tore the mask free from the bag before punching the boy lightly in the chest with the hand that held the mask; the man let the mask fall to the boy¡¯s lap. The boy scrambled to slide into it and John watched over us, returning to his position at the fore and I saw the creatures scratching across the road up the way, raised grotesquely swollen heads sloppily rolling on their small bodies.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Mutants,¡± said the young man once the mask was over his face; his cap lay on the ground, shorn from his head.


    All readied their guns, so I took mine and saw that some reached for sidearms then shifted across either side of the road at John¡¯s motioning requests. We took to the sides, hiding among the bulwark of jalopies and I stuck near the rear of the group, sidling down against the wheel of a van and peeked around the corner to spy on the creatures drawing nearer. Gas expelled from their heads then reflated and I can not say who it was that fired first, all I know is that the maelstrom of bullets that followed was deafening; expertly the company pincered the creatures, taking careful aim and ending each. Chlorine gas erupted from the manmade holes in the creatures¡¯ heads and their bodies laid in the road, flat and grotesque in the yellowing fluids that ejaculated from their wounds.


    John moved forward and began taking his sidearm to those demons that still pushed on a limb or trembled with life and the others knew the drill and began doing the same and I crept from my hiding spot behind the van, partially in awe at the quick organization and partially ashamed for never having fired my weapon. I took to the crowd of demons and began firing my own weapon at any potential among their blasphemous ranks and in minutes the crowd of fart heads (I¡¯d not yet heard that nickname) were as dead as could be.


    The Chlorine gas dissipated and some of the infantry began removing their masks and the young man who¡¯d had difficulties with his mask prior now kept it protruding off his forehead like a horn and he was smiling as were the others and I felt my hands shaking; the recoil of the shotgun could¡¯ve been to blame, but I think it was an introduction to new terror, the possibility of mortality¡ªof my own mortality.


    John removed his mask and joined the crew of us there in a knot among the unmoving demons and he rummaged through his coat and removed a small cigar, lit it from a match, then placed it in the corner of his mouth. ¡°Co?o,¡± he spoke to me, and I knew that word, ¡°Why are you so scared? I see you shaking. What¡¯s gotten under your skin?¡± His smile was playful and then the others joined in teasing me and from there on, I promised to steel my nerves forevermore, knowing I¡¯d break it anyway.


    So it would be that before the rest of our jolly band arrived on the scene, the scouts would push on in fewer numbers and John specifically asked for me to accompany them.


    Moving from the south were the others and their blots became more focused on their arrival and ahead of them all was Sibylle riding the aged painted stallion; beyond her were wagons and jury-rigged vehicles and walkers too, and I thought I could just make out the gas-powered caleche Jackson drove for the plumes of smoke it sent from its exhaust.


    ¡°There¡¯s a nest ahead we should clear,¡± said John, dead in tone and shouldering the strap of the shotgun.


    The young man, still with his mask clasped to his forehead, searched the muck, and found the hat he¡¯d lost. ¡°Smells somethin¡¯ awful.¡± He made a face.


    A handful of us moved ahead, perhaps six of us, and left the others to meet the rest of our crew.


    The young man, now carrying the gas mask by his fingers lackadaisically with his shotgun in the crook of his elbow, fell in alongside me. ¡°Name¡¯s Gibby. You?¡±


    ¡°Harlan.¡±


    ¡°Nice to meet¡¯cha, Harlan. You¡¯re one of Sibylle¡¯s aint you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know about that.¡±


    ¡°Well sure, you hang with that mechanic all day. What¡¯s his name?¡±


    ¡°Jackson.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the one. He¡¯s good with his hands, but I hear he¡¯s a lame shot.¡± There was quiet among us as we took the road further, each of us kicking up loose asphalt or snagging boots along those weird weeds; John was in the front, three others in the middle¡ªthey jabbered among themselves¡ªand me and Gibby there at the back. The sky was azure, and the clouds were white as cotton and drifted overhead like there wasn¡¯t an issue with the world. A flock of birds took across in a lopsided formation and upon either side of the road and beyond were dead woods without leaves, naked and gray and tired seeming. ¡°Don¡¯t take none of what that old guy said about you. I mean, don¡¯t let it go to your heart. You know?¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s just a real tough sonofabitch. I¡¯ve been with the company,¡± Gibby¡¯s eyes traced the sky overhead like he figured the math invisible before his eyes, ¡°Three years or so and he¡¯s a good one. He¡¯s saved me so many times I¡¯ve lost track.¡± The young man grinned, and I saw he was missing a few teeth. ¡°You saw what happened with that mask of mine. He might talk hard, but he¡¯s soft in there.¡±


    ¡°I guess.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t ever shoot anything moving before today, did you?¡±


    ¡°I shot a feral hound some time ago.¡±


    Gibby looked on with mild surprise, ¡°Did you? Wasn¡¯t a good dog, was it? Like a pet?¡±


    I shook my head.


    ¡°It gets easier with time¡ªthe scouts and the ones in the infantry always crack up and try to take potshots at the newcomers. You¡¯re green so don¡¯t let it get you down.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    ¡°Never seen a nest, have you?¡±


    ¡°Nope.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re in for something.¡±


    John froze in his step and traced his eyes across the ground before turning to us and calling us to gather. Marked across the dilapidated road were yellowed smatterings of liquid; chlorine hung in the air. ¡°Masks,¡± he whispered, ¡°Guns ready.¡± Each of us subordinates did as was ordered. He pushed us near the trash wood off the road, past an overturned emptied trailer, and as we pushed through the median where a thin and vacant forest grew sickly, there was another road just beyond, just as poor, and further still there was a hole the size of a well on the far side of that newly seen road and we hushed along, following John¡¯s lead and we went crouching in the shadow of him, keeping mind of noise. He motioned me forward in the line and the sound emanating from the pit was liquid and nauseating.


    ¡°Yes?¡± I asked as I came nearest to him, hunkered as low as I could be.


    ¡°Ever use a grenade?¡±


    I shook my head and unease swelled but I pushed it away.


    He took the round object from his belt and passed it to me. ¡°There¡¯s a pin. Pull the pin. Throw the grenade in that hole. It¡¯s that simple.¡±


    I moved to the edge of the hole, teeth bared from within my mask, fingers wrapped hard around the grenade, and I came to the edge and was immediately struck by a sudden lurch of vertigo as it went further into the earth than I could¡¯ve imagined¡ªthe creatures clung to the walls of the tunnel, fat heads opening for the gas to spill forth from their ridged cloacal maws. I teetered on the tips of my toes and the air was thin and the lens of the mask through which I saw the world became fogged from the gas that erupted from the impossibly deep pit. There, just beyond those wretched things, I felt as though there was a light in the darkness breathing up at me like the earth and stone beneath was alive.


    Ripping the pin from the grenade, I held it outstretched and dropped the thing; it went bouncing from to and fro within the hole and I was dazed and could not pull away.


    Two hands yanked me from there just as I¡¯d gone blind in the gas and the explosion erupted, sending a vibration beneath our feet. John ushered me away and the others followed, and I dared a glance over my shoulder to see the earth open then close and the tunnel fell in on itself¡ªone of those things had clamored to the opening only to touch the ground with a near human palm before being sucked beneath. The ground encircling the hole fell in as did a portion of road and once it was done, there was a massive dip in the earth there, a testament to what was.


    We took up along the tree line of dead vegetation, and I was still staring at the place the nest had been, dust coming to a fog around our knees and John barked out, ¡°Keep your eyes sharp¡ªsee if there¡¯s any stragglers.¡± There weren¡¯t any left, but we took up a formation, sweeping the area; Gibby whispered something and kicked a rock and John flinched at the noise, giving the young boy an expression.


    The nest had been cleared and we awaited the arrival of the others on the open road in a semicircle fashion, maintaining a level of apprehension at any potential threat¡ªonce the rest of the convoy had arrived at our location, we fell in alongside them and I took a moment to find Jackson; he was there in the caleche alongside Billy who sat over on his side in the throes of a good nap with his face in his hand¡ªsmoke bellowed up from the rear of Jackson¡¯s contraption so that an open spot formed in the convoy for no one wanted to catch a face full of the black fumes. I began walking alongside the wagon¡¯s slow pace.


    ¡°How was it?¡± asked Jackson.


    ¡°Scary,¡± I said.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, ¡°It¡¯s always scary. Did you kill anything?¡±


    ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°Good. If you keep doing that, you¡¯ll be just fine.¡±


    ¡°John¡¯s something.¡±


    ¡°He is. But you¡¯d do well to keep on his good side. He¡¯s tough, but competent.¡±


    We moved on the rest of the day till the sun threatened darkness by horizon clouds and we took up camp just on the edge of Lake Hartwell¡ªthough by that time it was hardly a lake and looked shallow enough to be a nothing more than a decorative reflective pool.


    The convoy unpacked canvas tents, took to burning stews over butane eyes and lighting lanterns and meager fires and John pulled me aside in the fray of passersby and told me that if I were to ever hesitate with an explosive like that again, he¡¯d kick me into the hole and save everyone the trouble. I merely nodded at him and he took on towards the front of the convoy where Sibylle would be and my troupe of scouts was disbanded and I aided Jackson in folding out the rear of our wagon and we put on supper while Billy, still small and talkative, rummaged through the larder boxes I removed from the caleche and the boy, mischievous, found the jar of sugar we kept and began excavating the granular powder with his fingers and lathering his tongue with it and grinning; I stepped after him and snagged the jar from him, returning the cap over the container.


    ¡°Hey!¡± said Billy.


    ¡°We¡¯ve only got so much.¡±


    ¡°So? We can get more.¡±


    A warm smile overtook me then, ¡°You plan on paying for it?¡±


    ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll pay you back.¡±


    ¡°Of course, you would. How about until you¡¯ve got enough money, you don¡¯t eat all the sugar, huh?¡± I asked him.


    A thought dawned over him, ¡°It was your first patrol! Did you shoot anything? Did you powpow them?¡±


    ¡°Come help,¡± I moved over to Jackson where the man was cutting the bad parts from potatoes and I began at them with my own knife and Billy sat on the ground at our feet, playing with the bits that fell from our knives.


    ¡°Did you kill monsters?¡±


    ¡°Shh,¡± said Jackson, ¡°Don¡¯t bother Harlan.¡±


    ¡°I can talk about it,¡± I said.


    Jackson frowned, ¡°Alright.¡±


    ¡°What were they like?¡± asked Billy.


    ¡°There were dragons and shadow monsters and more,¡± I laughed.


    ¡°Were there, really?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± I laughed and dropped a potato into our pot broth.


    Jackson pointed his knife not in anger, ¡°Don¡¯t joke about dragons.¡±


    ¡°Do dragons exist?¡± asked Billy.


    ¡°You just don¡¯t joke about them, okay?¡± said Jackson.


    ¡°Have you ever seen them? Tandy and Tubs says they¡¯re made up.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said Jackson, sending his own potato into the broth, ¡°They¡¯re right then.¡±


    We ate a mess of watery stew¡ªpotatoes and onions and cloves of half-good garlic was what was left for hearty prep and in the night, after we¡¯d finished our meal and washed our utensils and taken to the tent, Billy found the play gun that Jackson had made for him from scrounged scrap metal and pointed it at me and told me that he¡¯d shoot me and I laughed and wrestled the gun from his little hands, putting him into a headlock and tossing the metal piece to the dirt floor of the tent.


    ¡°Quit playing¡ªs¡¯time for bed,¡± Jackson told us and although I was too old for it, Jackson read a story to Billy and I listened and I think Jackson knew I was listening because he¡¯d periodically hesitate a page turn and look over to see me in my bedroll still awake; the story was old and it was about a man named Don that liked to read books and the man wanted to be a knight, but he had it all wrong.

 Eight: All Hell

    Andrew remained sick for a time, and we watched over him while he recovered in my bed; I¡¯d taken to sleeping on the floor¡ªDave visited often and Gemma came whenever she could sneak away from the watchful eye of her father, the Bosses, and their servants. The young man¡¯s wounds were terrible, easily beyond my expertise (although I had some field experience, I was sure at times that Andrew would die) and he spoke often in his sleep, and he said Gemma¡¯s name all the time. I fed him heartened soups when I could and gave him water, but his eyes remained unfocused like he was staring off into the great beyond somewhere. Gemma grew more worried with every passing day, and she tried to rouse him from his stupor, but nothing she did could breach his strange daze and Dave, whenever he came, helped me lift the boy, check that he wasn¡¯t developing unnecessary sores, and he would aid in replacing Andrew¡¯s bandages.


    During his recovery, I stayed home often¡ªmore often than ever¡ªand I would remain awake well into the night and smoke tobacco, lighting one cigarette off the last and theorizing his recovery. There was a night where I stood by the door with the entryway left partly open and blew smoke from its crack into the open air, and then I heard the boy speak and he said, ¡°That smells.¡± I turned to see him sitting directly upright, eyes lucid but watery. Then he shifted into the blanket and immediately fell to sleep again. It was then that I knew the boy would live; still he slept hard, and still when Gemma came, he did not respond to her prodding, but his health seemed inevitable.


    It rained twice while the boy was in bed and each time, the people in town grabbed up pails or stained washtubs and caught the brief downpours and some stood out in the falling rain and watched the zigzag lights shoot across the plump gray sky while I remained afraid that Leviathan might show or that any false shadow on the horizon might be that awful dragon, but each time my worries were proven unfounded.


    When Andrew awoke in full force, he asked me for his severed hand, and I returned it to him in a wide mouth jar and he examined it and thanked me for keeping it; the dead thing was rotted, and bones began to emerge from the flesh around the fingertips and knuckles.


    Gemma came and her presence had become a custom and upon him seeing her, he recoiled and told her to leave him be, but she couldn¡¯t and instead went to him on the bed where she¡¯d sit on the edge and reach out with her own scarred hands and he¡¯d tell her, ¡°Leave me alone.¡±


    She wept, but the boy kept a stern expression, and she nearly stopped coming once he¡¯d made himself clear that he no longer loved her.


    It had been a week since Gemma¡¯s last visit and nearly three since me and Dave first brought the boy to my home and I finally asked the boy in the bed, ¡°Was it necessary to hurt the girl like that?¡± It was night out and through a crack in my room¡¯s door, I could see the faint push of the moon¡¯s milk splash light.


    ¡°I¡¯m here because of her,¡± he told me.


    ¡°You¡¯re here because of her father.¡±


    ¡°He hates me.¡±


    ¡°Do you hate her?¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t hate her ever.¡±


    ¡°Are you trying to protect her or yourself?¡± I asked.


    ¡°It could be both, but I don¡¯t wanna¡¯ talk about it. I think I¡¯d like to go west though. It¡¯d do me good to get out on my own, away from here.¡± Andrew pulled himself into a sit in the center of the mattress, moving slowly for his injuries, and draped the blanket around his shoulders then pulled the covering in close near his throat. ¡°I don¡¯t think I like it here¡ªthere¡¯s nothing stopping me leaving either.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d certainly die on your own.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll wait for those weirdo, pointed hats and I¡¯ll ask them to take me with them.¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡± I thought of how I¡¯d told Suzanne I¡¯d visit in a month¡¯s time since their last arrival in Golgotha and the time had nearly come. ¡°Perhaps we ought to find you a chaperone.¡±


    More days passed us by, and Andrew felt better to remove himself from bed and properly bathe and I showed him the dosage he should take then let him look after his own medication. His spirits remained low while his cheeks ran with more color and although he hobbled about, he seldom went from my home and kept to himself¡ªon more than one occasion, I tried to get him to go to market with me and he refused each time. Andrew¡¯s brooding nature was an illness I couldn¡¯t help and maybe that¡¯s why whenever Dave came with the mutt¡ªhe¡¯d taken to calling the animal Trouble due to the dog¡¯s nature of going where it was forbade¡ªAndrew¡¯s face illuminated at the dog and the dog would go and rest its head between the boy¡¯s knees whenever he sat and look up and the boy rubbed the dog¡¯s ears and whispered to it secrets that he didn¡¯t care about sharing.


    Gemma came again and this time she was not the fawning doll of affection, but angry and rightly so; she¡¯d pushed into my home after a light knock and Dave and Andrew and Trouble, and I each turned to see who might enter the already cramped room. The girl shut the door gently behind her then stepped quickly across the room, removing her head wrap. ¡°You¡¯re leaving?¡± she asked while pointing a finger at Andrew¡¯s chest; the poke to his breastbone made a sound and her stance was aggressive, and she towered over him where he sat on the edge of the bed with Trouble at his feet; the dog merely lifted her head and examined the people. ¡°I could kill you.¡±


    ¡°They already tried that!¡± Andrew spit with his words. ¡°Besides, who told you that?¡± His eyes shot to me where I¡¯d taken up leaning at the corner near the door.


    I shook my head while Dave shifted nervously from his right foot to his left foot.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± she said. Her hands shook while she made them into frustrated claws. ¡°How could you?¡±


    ¡°Go home.¡± The young man spoke dully as his eyes went dim.


    ¡°I¡¯m going with you,¡± she said.


    ¡°The hell you are,¡± I spoke up.


    Gemma pivoted then cut her eyes at me. ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Did you fuckin¡¯ forget what happened last time? You ain¡¯t going anywhere.¡±


    ¡°Do you really think my father would actually let everyone go without water until they die?¡±


    ¡°You know him, don¡¯t you?¡± I said.


    She sighed then sat on the bed alongside the boy.


    Andrew shifted from her then said, ¡°I don¡¯t want you to come with me. Stay here,¡± then he added, ¡°Stay away from *me*.¡±


    Gemma left, not even caring to return the disguise to her head in her hurry; once she was gone and there was no indication of her return, Dave spoke, ¡°You did the right thing.¡± He clenched his jaw.


    Me and Dave went to Felina¡¯s at night if only to have a place to go where we could speak without the boy¡¯s ears; he¡¯d had enough trouble as of late and did not need to be caught amid a coup. We¡¯d left Trouble with him and although he¡¯d given us a concerned look, the boy merely shrugged and went to playing tug-o-war with the mutt on the end of an old rag. The brothel had become a meeting place for me and him where we would go and whisper¡ªit had been a long time since I¡¯d had anyone to do that with on a regular basis.


    Dave had informed me that his friend¡ªthe one that worked in the basements alongside the Boss¡¯s stores¡ªwanted to meet in person to plan our next moves. It should also be good, on the chance that anything happened to Dave, I would know the face of the man.


    Felina¡¯s first floor was empty besides us, and the barwoman bathed in candlelight, and not a peep came from upstairs; we¡¯d taken up in what had become our usual table and each object and person were caught in dancing ribbons of orange light.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be gone for weeks,¡± I warned Dave, ¡°I won¡¯t be able to help you till I return.¡± It was true; the travel to Alexandria would take a long time, and longer still if Suzanne forced me to hesitate.


    He nodded as Felina brought us our water and then leaned in close, took a sip, then nodded again, seemingly stuck in thinking. ¡°You don¡¯t mean to slip out on me, do you?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°I¡¯ve got a person to see. Whatever transpires here and the aftermath, I want to see them one last time if it means I¡¯m to throw my life away on this uprising you¡¯ve got.¡± I took my own cup and drank it in one go then set it away.


    There was a long pause where he rubbed his thumbs along the rim of his cup and stared into the pool there; he opened his mouth as though to say something then shut it again.


    ¡°I keep my deals.¡± A chill pushed through me.


    ¡°I know. Who would¡¯ve thought I¡¯d trust you?¡± He smacked his lips.


    ¡°I¡¯ll come back.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°I mean it.¡±


    He finished his own water. ¡°Let me go with you.¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re taking the boy out west, out to where the wizards are, huh?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯d like to go and see if they¡¯d care to send any aid.¡±


    I fought a smile. ¡°They don¡¯t fight. They¡¯re soft folks.¡±


    ¡°Still.¡±


    ¡°Still what? I just told you. You¡¯re not going to raise them to start a war. They¡¯re traders, pagans¡ªliars too. Proactive violence is something they don¡¯t condone.¡±


    ¡°They couldn¡¯t give us some¡ªI don¡¯t know. Don¡¯t they have like spells or something they can teach us?¡±


    I caught a surprised laugh in my cupped hand. ¡°You think¡ªIt doesn¡¯t work like that.¡±


    Dave began to fidget in his seat. ¡°You don¡¯t haf¡¯ta make me feel stupid.¡±


    Without even realizing it, I reached out with a hand and put it on his shoulder for comfort, ¡°Sorry,¡± I quickly withdrew the hand, ¡°It¡¯s not like that.¡±


    ¡°Well, what is like then?¡±


    Just then, the door to Felina¡¯s pushed in to reveal a haggard gentleman, pale, angular cheekbones, and deep eyes; it could only be Dave¡¯s friend from the basements. The man came to our table and sat across from us, keeping his hands together and massaging his knuckles in front of his chest then leaning forward preparing a whisper; Felina, from her post behind the counter, shot a glance to us gathered, but otherwise continued in her own concerns, reading some book she kept with her.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got something you should see,¡± said the man.


    Dave grinned, but I did not care for the cut of the man¡¯s gib, and I sat a bit straighter in my seat¡ªDave greeted the man warmly, ¡°Mills, this is Harlan.¡±


    The man shot a glance to me then a small nod, ¡°Yeah, I know him.¡± Mills directed his attention back to Dave, ¡°I¡¯ve got something you should see. Outside. Right this moment.¡±


    An ethereal dreamlike pause fell across the table, and I felt lightheaded and even Dave¡¯s demeanor changed. There was a brief smile that fell across Mills¡¯s face, but it was gone just as quickly as he shifted in his seat.


    Finally, I spoke, ¡°You could lie better.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not lying,¡± protested Mills.


    ¡°How many are there?¡± I unsheathed the knife from my belt and traced my eyes across the dark and windowless room.


    Mills opened his face, incredulous, and then shut it and slumped on his seat. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°How many are waiting outside for us? Are they here to kill us or do they intend to capture? Say it plain and don¡¯t try to deny it.¡±


    ¡°You fella¡¯s are paranoid, huh?¡± said Mills.


    Dave stood and put a hand on my shoulder, but I shirked it away, and the man chewed on the inside of his mouth then said, ¡°Mills, please tell me you didn¡¯t turn us in.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t,¡± said Mills. He scoffed. ¡°There¡¯s no way I would. How could you even think that?¡±


    ¡°Did they tell you you¡¯d be safe? Did they tell you that everything was fine? I¡¯ll tell you something¡ªnothing that happens in this town¡¯s fine. If you can¡¯t see that.¡± Dave drifted off. ¡°Well, Harlan,¡± he directed his attention to me, ¡°What now?¡±


    ¡°We could skin him,¡± I brandished my knife and Mills recoiled. ¡°I¡¯m kidding. If those troopers are outside waiting on us, then we¡¯ve got bad trouble on our hands. If we don¡¯t do something quick, they¡¯re liable to kick that door in and spray us dead.¡±


    ¡°You could go quietly,¡± offered Mills. ¡°That Harold likes you pretty good,¡± he nodded at me, ¡°I don¡¯t think they¡¯d hurt you bad.¡±


    ¡°So,¡± I said, ¡°He admits at last. What¡¯s the number? How many wall men did those jackals send?¡±


    ¡°Just the Sheriff. He wanted to talk. When I spoke to him, he seemed more pleasant than most.¡±


    Dave moved to the counter where Felina was and he began saying something to her, hushed.


    ¡°What¡¯s the Sheriff want?¡±


    ¡°He said he wanted to talk to you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t¡¯ have a thing to say to the man.¡±


    ¡°I believe it. I believe he wants to talk with you and nothing more.¡± Mills seemed tired.


    I kept my knife at the ready.


    Dave returned to the table and stood beside Mills where he sat, ¡°She said there¡¯s a back way out,¡± said Dave.


    We moved and Mills remained, but Dave rounded the table far more quickly than I believed him capable, pulled Mills to his feet by the scruff on the back of the man¡¯s neck and without too much protest, Mills was our captive.


    ¡°I¡¯ll scream,¡± said Mills.


    ¡°If you do, this blade¡¯s going straight up your ass,¡± I said.


    The three of us, in a strange marching line with Mills in front followed by Dave then me, rounded Felina¡¯s counter and we followed the woman into the backroom where she lived; in the far corner was a bed with a sink¡ªstandard amenities¡ªa few old books, and an exposed closet off the wall where clothes hung. She ushered us toward the rear of the room, furthest from where we¡¯d come, and pushed a doorway into the warm black night that smelled of chicken feces.


    Dave directed a whisper to the woman, ¡°They might hurt you for helping us. Come with us.¡±


    ¡°Fuck ¡®em,¡± she said, then pulled the door shut with her still on the other side.


    We were there in the dirt street on the backside of the brothel, and it was quiet and empty¡ªmost of the exposed windows down the lane were black save the hydro towers. We took off, Dave keeping one of Mills¡¯s arms pushed high on his back so that the man couldn¡¯t move too far off the directed course.


    ¡°Where do we go?¡± said Dave, ¡°Aw hell, I don¡¯t even know where to go!¡±


    ¡°This way,¡± I said.


    ¡°Where are you leading us?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got to get my things.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going home? They¡¯ll be waiting there, won¡¯t they?¡±


    Just then, gunfire erupted from the direction of Felina¡¯s; it was a short spurt, followed by perhaps shouting, then another volley of gunfire and then it was quiet.


    Dave shifted on his feet, still holding Mills, like he intended to rush back; I put a hand on him and shook my head.


    ¡°Where do we go?¡± Small terror melted with his voice.


    ¡°We¡¯ve gotta get out of town.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll shoot us from the walls.¡±


    Mills mumbled, ¡°Well you can just leave me here.¡±


    Ignoring this, I said, ¡°All of my things are home,¡± then I thought to add, ¡°What about Andrew? If they¡¯ve already ransacked my place, they¡¯ve surely killed him.¡±


    ¡°Trouble too,¡± said Dave, ¡°Oh god.¡±


    Then the bells over the hall of Bosses rang and my stomach twisted; lights in homes began illuminating in response to the ruckus and denizens stepped from their places, looking up and down the way. We stood there in the street and for the first time in a long time, I was frozen. Dave pushed on down an alley, Mills protested in saying that his arm was broken (it wasn¡¯t) and I followed, totally bedazzled.


    In the rush, Dave let go of our prisoner and directed me to keep the man and then he asked, ¡°Have you got matches¡ªa lighter? Something!¡±


    I fumbled in my jacket pocket and produced a lighter; Dave snatched the thing from me, and we moved on further down the alley, further from the bells¡ªalong the way Mills cursed us and Dave flinched and balked at every person we moved by in the shadows, for they might be a wall man. People began screaming and more gunfire rang out¡ªthis time ahead of us; we spilled out of the alley into an opening which connected several narrow streets where two soldiers were standing over a body in the dark; Dave stopped ahead, and we shrank back into the alley then pressed ourselves against the exterior wall of an abode where the overhanging catwalks kept us in shadow.


    One of the wall men kicked the unmoving body then fired another round into it; the corpse spasmed momentarily. If I had a softer heart, I would¡¯ve vocalized the reason for the killing, but I knew because I¡¯d seen it happen before; when killing started, those with the will to do so always stepped to the occasion. They¡¯d heard the same gunfire we¡¯d heard and decided not to be left out. The wall man fired another round into the body and for a flash, his face was illuminated, and I could see he was young¡ªeven if the millisecond of glow had twisted his expression in a wild blaze.


    ¡°Lemme go!¡± hushed Mills, popping me squarely in the groin with his free hand.


    As he launched away from us in the shadows, I huffed forward, swiping my blade wildly, eyes blurred; with reckless thought, I would¡¯ve gone after him, but Dave reached out to stop me and Mills charged toward the wall men in the square opening; I think he shouted something at them¡ªmaybe it was about where we were hiding and about how we¡¯d been terrible captors.


    The traitor danced with the echo of gunfire and the soldiers had a new body for target practice. The wall men paid us no mind in our poor hiding place¡ªwilder gunpowder screams filled the night air and blood began to drift on the wind.


    I¡¯d not even noticed Dave holding my hand in the dark as we took to crouching behind rubbish pushed to the sides of the alley. ¡°We¡¯ll split up,¡± said Dave, letting go of my hand.


    ¡°Wait,¡± I slid my back up the wall to stand, putting my knife away, ¡°That sounds like a terrible idea.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± he said, both of us remaining in shadow, close enough that our shoulders were touching, ¡°I¡¯m heading towards the hall.¡±


    There was a long pause; more shrieks echoed around us in that narrow passage and then I nodded.


    ¡°To the basements. To the gunpowder. I¡¯ll try and catch you near the gate. If not.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Goodbye tinman.¡±


    Dave launched himself incredibly quickly from the shadows then moved the way we¡¯d come from, keeping low and weaving. I soon followed, and I believe I saw him circling around one of the hydro towers in the ensuing chaos. A young boy was shoved into the moonlight where the brace of a rifle met his head; a woman was declothed then beheaded; an infant was sent through the air from the end of a mighty swing where it met the exterior wall of a storage shed. I saw them all and in the fury of the wall men, I lost sight of Dave and I kept to the darkness and held in my screams to remain unseen.


    Doubling back some around the area by Felina¡¯s where the buildings opened some, I saw Boss Maron barking orders, a club used to point before he put it to use against bewildered citizens. The night was cool and lonely, as I¡¯d been accustomed, I moved quickly and without worry¡ªsurvival reigned supreme in the labored breaths I inhaled through Golgotha¡¯s blood-soaked streets where people pushed by or hid in the darkest recesses; a few times I happened by an open window and saw people scrunched in a corner on their haunches with their eyes closed and sometimes they prayed. Upon nearing the stairs that led to my home¡ªthe steps mere minutes away¡ªa man scrambled around on his hands and knees. Thinking I could propel over him, he caught my foot and I stumbled and twisted around, ready to stick him with my knife; the man threw himself at my waist, clinging around my hips with locked arms, begging up at me with blood in his face. Moonlight caught the shine of his own mishappen brain exposed along the right side of his shattered skull. ¡°Help! I¡¯m on fire!¡± screamed the man, foam clung to his mouth, ¡°Water! I¡¯m burning!¡± I bit my lip and shoved the man off and he continued scrambling madly in the dark till he found a tub of stagnant water¡ªknee high¡ªprecariously pushed against the wall of a nearby alley and plunged his head into the murkiness and he did not move again.


    With focus, I rushed on, passing by executions in the streets, screams of mouths ground in the soil beneath boots, and all the while the moon hung between the shadows of the tall buildings, swathed in a gown of mist in a sky of absent stars so the night stretched like the void it was.


    Coming to the stairs that led to the catwalks where my home was, a pale hand, stained dull red, shot from the darkness beneath the steps and held onto my ankle¡ªa yell escaped me and I stumbled back, kicking at the hand with my free foot. The hand recoiled, cursed, then Gemma removed herself from the space beneath the stairs; scarcely, I could make out the face of Andrew still there in the darkness and the low growl of Trouble and the chaos fell away for a moment, and I asked the girl, ¡°Are you hurt?¡± examining the blood on her clothes, on her hands. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°I killed him,¡± she said while Andrew came from the recesses, the mutt at his side; the boy had my old shotgun slung over his shoulder, ¡°I killed him,¡± the girl repeated, ¡°So I could go. He¡¯s dead.¡± Her eyes were far, and her fists hung at her sides.


    ¡°You¡¯re all alive?¡± My quivering words barely registered to myself over the wails and clacks of war toys and a wall man began to pass us by, chasing after a boy with a long-flamed torch pushed over his head by his scrawny arm while he caterwauled a primitive shout into the night¡ªthe wall men stopped at us.


    The soldier¡¯s eyes reflected amidst the overhead catwalk shadows, and his facial hair was thin enough to be a stain and he raised a pistol to my face, and seeing the black hole of the barrel I merely closed my eyes, wincing, waiting for it. ¡°Get inside. Please,¡± said the man before I cracked my eyes to see the openness he¡¯d filled was empty, the clank of his gear rattled in his absence before disappearing after him.


    ¡°Might¡¯ve killed you,¡± said Andrew.


    I shook the thought from my head. ¡°We should go.¡±


    Gemma rubbed the dried blood down the front of herself, ¡°He dropped so fast.¡±


    ¡°Shh.¡± I grabbed the girl¡¯s hand and the boy followed at a restrained pace, the dog sniffing after, tail pulled between its legs, and I happened to notice its ears perking at whatever sound when I¡¯d glance to be sure they came. We gave the hydro towers a wide berth, keeping to the western side of town till we met the buildings nearest the wall where there was relative quiet from the devastation; onlookers still pushed their moonlight glazed faces from apertures and watched us go and some called after us, but we ignored them. ¡°Keep up!¡± I urged the youngins, ¡°Don¡¯t dally! Don¡¯t fall behind!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s hard keeping this fucking thing and watching the dog!¡± said Andrew.


    I reached over, slid the gun from his body, and put it across my chest in both hands. ¡°Did you happen to grab any of the ammo?¡±


    His refusal to answer made me slip the strap over my shoulder and we carried on till we met an alley that slithered to the opening of the southern square where the gate was. We hung in the darkness by a dead metal wagon of crates covered by a stained blanket and then I was at a loss. Smoke met us and I was sure there was a fire the way we¡¯d come. Perhaps it was for the smoke or fire or the blood, but upon nosing out from the corner that led into the square, the snipers on the wall too began firing their weapons and I was certain they¡¯d seen me and were shooting at me for a moment, but upon freezing in my position, I realized the people on the wall¡¯s ramparts fired at something beyond; a volley of them resounded and I felt the others pull in close to me so we were all clumped and touching and the dog had gone from flinching to shivering for each round was so quick after the last. Surely, if Dave intended to meet me there at the square, he¡¯d be there¡ªmy eyes scanned the black scenery.


    ¡°Mutants!¡± a woman on the wall shouted to her comrades, ¡°More ¡®en I¡¯ve ever seen! Get your asses up here!¡±


    The kids babbled something, and I hushed them and told them to stay in the darkness while I moved forward where large gashes of bluish moon threatened to betray my location and I moved to the unguarded electrical switch¡ªsurely they¡¯d close it back soon enough¡ªopened its door and flipped the switch and the grinding of the gate coming to life was never so loud before as its clockwork innards did their job. I could only imagine the bafflement of the wall men. I motioned for the kids to follow, and Gemma lifted the dog up in her arms, still making better pace than Andrew. The sound of boots rattling on the wall overhead came and someone fired down at me, but I pushed back towards the wall and the dirt ground between me and Gemma erupted spits of dirt. The girl shrieked, coming to a halt so the boy slammed into her, and they both stumbled in a mess, and caught one another without falling. Trouble yelped.


    I pushed from my spot, gathered them in my arms and we moved like a strange centipede to the opened gate where we slid through to immediately be met by a meridian of glowing yellow eyes perhaps fifty yards out. The mutants, things once human but twisted by some greater demon, fought over one another in their lurch with jagged motions, pale in the moonlight without hair and thin skin that clung to bald heads and mouths blackened from filth and teeth nubbed from the circular grinding of their jaws; the creatures came with their homunculus growls, their hunched backs, their lizard quickness. They came for the direction of the open gate and all I heard were screams and the scuffle of our shared balance as we took across the blue horizon of open space and I ushered across that expanse with the black ruins on the horizon and the smoke rose over the starless sky and although I was certain we¡¯d be shot dead in the back, providence saved us¡ªno, it was Dave.


    The earth trembled beneath our feet, and I heard the confetti of rubble on rubble and the earth itself screamed and I knew Dave had done what he¡¯d set out to.

 Nine: No Deals with a Demon

    ¡°I never should have taken you back there,¡± I said to Andrew, ¡°Should¡¯ve just left that place to rot.¡± I shook my head.


    It was morning and the saferoom was small, but quiet¡ªI¡¯d taken the precaution of planting a large metal sheet across the only door and relaxing with my weight against it. Gemma slept soundly with Trouble lying alongside her while I sat cross legged on the floor at her feet in the dark and Andrew stood in the corner opposite me, arms crossed, seemingly lost in some deep thought. ¡°No one knew what was happening.¡± There was a long pause where he shuffled his feet and the growl of Gemma¡¯s snore resounded off the walls of the small closet. Then he added, ¡°Do you think it was overrun?¡±


    ¡°Golgotha?¡± I asked. Gemma shifted in her sleep but was unaware beyond.


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s doubtful. I think the wall men probably handled the situation the same way they always do¡ªwith enthusiastic violence.¡± I pointed to the hanging shelf by his shoulder and asked, ¡°Hand me one of them books of matches, would you?¡± Andrew reached out with the hand that was missing and froze, stared at the spot the appendage had once been, and then grimly smiled before reaching with his other. He tossed me the matches and I lit the cigarette I¡¯d only just rolled from a tin I¡¯d stored in the safehouse ages ago and shook the match till it had a smoke tail. ¡°Stale.¡± But I continued puffing till the fire was constant and the small room smelled completely of it. ¡°I imagine there¡¯s a lot of dead folks this morning, but I doubt the walls are gone. Though,¡± I thought of Dave, ¡°If that explosion was anything to go off¡ªthe underground¡¯s destroyed. Hard to say what¡¯s happened to the place they manufacture munitions.¡± The young man looked old in the dark room with exaggerated creases in his face. ¡°How¡¯re you feeling?¡±


    ¡°In general?¡±


    ¡°No. How¡¯s the wounds?¡±


    ¡°I still hurt all the time.¡±


    ¡°You might have chronic aches from here on.¡±


    ¡°Chronic?¡±


    ¡°You might have pains that¡¯ll never stop. For the rest of your life. But I couldn¡¯t say for sure. We¡¯ll ask in Babylon. Not my expertise. They know better than me.¡±


    ¡°You said you should¡¯ve left that place to rot. So, why didn¡¯t you? If I could move like you, I¡¯d go anywhere else. I would¡¯ve done it a long time ago too.¡± Andrew rubbed his cheek while he spoke then planted his chin in his right palm, casually glancing to Gemma, perhaps fantasizing over the life they might¡¯ve lived; the expression he wore was distant and the young man¡ªas I¡¯d learned in caring after him¡ªcould seemingly dissociate at will.


    The girl¡¯s snoring ceased and was replaced by a heavy breath, and I watched her shift on the makeshift bedding.


    ¡°Reasons come and go as they do,¡± I answered then shrugged.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen her like that,¡± he said, eyes still locked on Gemma¡¯s sleeping form, ¡°She used to be so kind, so gentle.¡± He shook his head. ¡°You think she did it? You really think she killed him?¡±


    ¡°Harold?¡±


    Andrew nodded.


    Gemma wasn¡¯t sleeping any longer and answered abruptly, raising herself up to a sit, rubbing her eyes then looking incredulously through them in slits. ¡°Why not just ask me?¡± She displayed hands still stained dull red from the previous night. ¡°What¡¯s this say then?¡± Trouble shifted nervously beside her.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said Andrew.


    ¡°What¡¯s it say?¡± she repeated.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you right now¡ªI¡¯d do it again.¡± She was immediately lucid and nearly frightening; there was a thing in her eyes I couldn¡¯t read. ¡°Think you can just go off and talk about me like I¡¯m not here, huh? That¡¯s total nonsense. I can¡¯t believe it.¡±


    I stared at the space between my crossed legs on the floor.


    ¡°That¡¯s not how I meant it at all,¡± said Andrew, ¡°It just worries me.¡±


    ¡°You said you didn¡¯t love me anymore,¡± a hitch seemed to catch in her throat (there was the humanity), but she muscled through it, ¡°So worry about yourself and keep me out of it!¡±


    Trouble let go of a small whine and Gemma was there to the dog, rubbing her hand across its brow, and the dog caught my eyes from the corner of its own and I looked away.


    ¡°There, there,¡± said the girl to the dog.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said Andrew.


    ¡°Keep it.¡±


    I coughed into my fist and whispered dryly, ¡°If you two keep at it, you¡¯ll wake the whole city to us.¡±


    Andrew nodded and Gemma watched the dog.


    ¡°So, you wanted to see the wizards so badly?¡± I asked them. ¡°You wanted to see where they live? How they live?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve seen the wizards,¡± said Gemma bluntly.


    ¡°Sure, but you¡¯ve never seen a library, have you?¡±


    ¡°The Bosses have their books all stacked on shelves too, if that¡¯s what you mean.¡± Gemma¡¯s tone was far off somewhere and she did not remove her eyes from the dog.


    ¡°Sure, but it ain¡¯t just shelves of books¡ªthere¡¯s loads. Halls, walkways of them stacked so high you¡¯d need a ladder to reach the tops of them.¡±


    ¡°You were the one that tried talking me out of leaving home,¡± said Gemma, ¡°Remember?¡±


    I watched her blood-stained hands pet the dog and she finally looked up from the mutt to me. ¡°It doesn¡¯t seem you¡¯d be welcome home anymore.¡± I offered a crude grin. ¡°Maybe be excited for it then.¡±


    Andrew hunkered and leaned his curved back against the wall opposite and scratched his cheek. ¡°How long¡¯s it take?¡±


    ¡°If I was on my own,¡± I stared at the dark ceiling overhead where I watched dust collect in swirls over our heads, ¡°It¡¯d be two weeks and a day or more depending. With ya¡¯ll too? I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m thirsty,¡± said Gemma, moving to stand in the mess of blankets; the closet was not enough room for the four of us and the dampness of our collective breathing created a mugginess.


    Andrew, who had the foresight to pack small rations, passed her his water gourd and she gulped some back without a word and Trouble looked up from across her paws where she laid her head. Upon Gemma returning the water, the boy took a bowl from his pack and poured a few drinks for the dog and rubbed its ear.


    ¡°I¡¯m going out to scout. No fighting while I¡¯m away.¡± I said and began rising, ¡°You,¡± I pointed to the boy, ¡°Put this metal sheet against the door and your weight against the sheet and don¡¯t open for anyone but me.¡±


    Andrew stared at me then nodded and I slipped out from the safehouse, into a mostly destroyed storefront which harbored the closet we hid in, into the street with shadows of cyclopean structures which towered seemingly to heaven and my mind went to Dave again and how I¡¯d been overtop that industrial building, how I possibly might¡¯ve ¡®slipped¡¯ and fallen to an early demise. Was Dave still alive? He was cunning and brave in doing what he¡¯d done, but certainly dead. It was again the story of heroes. The primeval consequence for any person with goodness left in them; it could and would wring them dry¡ªwhether it be demons or fellows of their kind, it comes for heroes all the same.


    I¡¯d not slept the previous night and my senses were dulled by it and every long shadow in the periphery felt as though it might reach out and snatch me; it was not so much paranoia, but merely a standard reflex of sleep deprivation. Still, I hugged the walls where I could and crept through moldering vehicles which stood in the way. There I came to Fif Aven and I recalled Aggie but briefly and crawled into a corroded pickup truck with its passenger door missing; I slid onto the bench seat, disturbing so many years of dust and it choked me, but I lay there on the seat and stared at the cab¡¯s roof and inhaled the stuff of the old world¡ªcertainly there was trouble then too, but what could be worse?


    I rested shortly and listened to the dead silence and at times I caught my breath for it was overwhelming.


    The thought of leaving those children to their demise arose¡ªI could move quickly enough on my own.


    After resting a while, I scooted from the truck and carried on, more tired than before, but I moved through the narrow avenues of rubble, going as quietly as ever until I came to the open field which encompassed Golgotha. There the city stood still, and prone bodies were taken before the exterior of the gate where they burned on pyre piles, flames melting the horizon in their spots. I held my breath for a moment, caught in the far-off presence of those fires and I wondered if Dave was there, burning. If not that, then it would be worse. If not that, then they¡¯d make a spectacle of it in the square. The figures which lugged the others from the city gates were small pinpricks across the skyline and I breathed deep and could almost taste ash in the air, then I returned to the closet where I¡¯d left Gemma and Andrew.


    Each of them looked on at me with questioning brows without words and I told them to shimmy around in the small room so I could take account of the supplies. Sleep would be no issue as long as no one minded the hot breath of the person next to them.


    ¡°We¡¯ll stay here tonight then move on,¡± I said. I scanned the hanging shelf; there were canned foods and a bit of tobacco lined there and a single lantern. I shook the lantern and a bit of oil swished within it. ¡°No light tonight. No talking either.¡± I put my hand to my head and rubbed my forehead.


    Andrew remained over my shoulder and said, ¡°I¡¯ve got some water¡ªa little food too.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    That night, we ate from cans without words and when Trouble messed in the corner, Gemma scooped it and removed it from our miniscule dwelling; the smell of blood was strong on her and though I expected the two children¡¯s bickering to continue, it was gone entirely and we arranged ourselves haphazardly in the closet, our collective legs like slats parallel and our backs against walls and Trouble took to Gemma.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Before it went full dark, Andrew examined the discoloring around his empty wrist and then I saw him remove the jar which contained his hand from his small knapsack¡ªthe thing was full on rotting with a congealing ooze forming along the base of the jar, but no smell escaped the container¡ªhe sat there with it, holding it inches from his face and he frowned.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you throw it out?¡± asked Gemma; she idly patted Trouble¡¯s neck.


    ¡°It¡¯s mine, isn¡¯t it?¡± said the boy.


    ¡°So? It¡¯s nasty.¡±


    ¡°If it was yours, would you keep it?¡± he asked.


    Gemma shook her head.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s mine.¡±


    She made a face.


    We slept in terrible discomfort and Trouble awoke more than once in the night, letting go of little growls or whines¡ªshe was stuck with nightmares. Sometimes, Andrew might offer a comment about how Gemma should keep the dog quiet, but it was otherwise quiet.


    At daybreak, we ate then arranged what could be gathered for the march onward; I put the shotgun sling over my shoulder, and we took into the ruins where the sun came through destruction in buildings in splintered rays and the dog kept to Gemma¡¯s side with a bit of improvised twine as a lead.


    ¡°What¡¯s it like out here all the time? You come out here all the time¡ªyou probably know more freedom than most, huh?¡± said Gemma.


    ¡°If you need to talk, you should whisper it. That said, you shouldn¡¯t talk,¡± I hushed the words as I took to a nearby wall and the troupe followed, remaining in the relative shade of the buildings which towered over.


    ¡°Fine,¡± said Gemma, taking the center with the dog while Andrew trailed at the rear, ¡°Then what¡¯s all these?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s what?¡±


    ¡°These big tall buildings everywhere.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s our history,¡± I said.


    ¡°Of course, but why are they here?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to imagine there was ever so many people for these.¡±


    ¡°There were billions at a time,¡± I said.


    We came to an intersection of streets where vehicles were piled high, and we cut through a corner structure where all but the supports of the ground floor had long ago been blown away; arrangements of jagged rebar bent from exposed flooring like stalks and Gemma lifted the dog to not tangle the leash. Our footsteps were swift but not silent from all the debris.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± asked Andrew, joining in.


    ¡°What¡¯s what? And whisper it for Christ sake.¡± I hissed the words, taking through a wide threshold into the street once more.


    ¡°You said billions. What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a lot¡ªa really big number.¡± I let go of a sigh and pivoted; the children froze in their walking and bumbled into one another. I put my forefinger to my lips. ¡°No more,¡± I said.


    And there was no more as we went.


    The sun beat down on us more and as we angled through wreckages, through those pathways which took us our way, we sweated, and steam rose off our heads and the dog¡¯s panting was the only noise, save our footfalls. There in that place, there in the plains beyond or in the mountains behind and yonder was where the souls of the dying were and we were with them and as I led, I felt aimless because leading was never my game.


    A sky of rust domineered, and we took a moment in the shade of a brutal fa?ade; within the emptied holes of a windowless storefront were long dark shadows, and the places where light met, I spied clothes on lines and spirals of racks and the clothes were so insect picked and dried one could assume they¡¯d fall to dust if they were lifted from their stations.


    We drained what freshwater we had Gemma hunkered down, first to pat Trouble then to tear strips from the hem of her robes. She created terrible scarves and handed one to both me and Andrew; the boy looked at her curiously while she wrapped a garland of the material around her own head.


    ¡°For your heads,¡± she shrugged as though it didn¡¯t matter, ¡°The sun might blister your skin.¡±


    We pushed on, each of us peering through the slits of our makeshift headgear and when the time came and when plants¡ªas green as dreams and more foreign¡ªbegan to gather on either side of the place we walked, I motioned for another brief pause and they gathered there, Gemma¡¯s eyes were serious, perhaps furious, and Andrew looked on at the vegetation which sprung through the overwhelming concrete with no less wonder than should be expected.


    I first looked to Gemma, ¡°It¡¯s ahead. Not far now.¡±


    She nodded that she knew where I meant.


    ¡°You know then?¡± I asked the girl.


    Another nod followed.


    Andrew put his hand to his brow and peered through the high light and whispered, ¡°I think there¡¯s fruits ahead. We hardly get fruits back home. They look big too. Trees like I¡¯ve never seen.¡±


    I put my hand to his shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t eat them. Don¡¯t even touch them. Alright?¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡± Andrew¡¯s attention went to Gemma there next to him and he asked, ¡°What¡¯s the matter with you? You know this place?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a garden ahead,¡± Her eyes moved from his to mine, ¡°Right?¡±


    ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± she asked.


    ¡°A garden? That¡¯s incredible!¡± said Andrew.


    ¡°It is not,¡± said Gemma.


    I took them in closer so that we were whispers away and we curled our bodies partially into the black storefront. ¡°Ya¡¯ll need to stay close me,¡± I said, ¡°Stay close¡ªGemma, you carry the mutt. Andrew, you stay close too. Don¡¯t speak. Don¡¯t speak with what you see there.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± asked the boy.


    ¡°Shh,¡± said the girl, reaching out with one of those red stained hands to touch me, ¡°Do we need to?¡±


    Did we? I nodded. ¡°Don¡¯t touch anything. I reckon you two still have that holy spirit of Golgotha in you so if you feel it then pray and Gemma, I know you know some from Lady so say them quick and make it right and let¡¯s go.¡±


    They prayed for Jesus, for Elohim, for safety. I watched and Trouble watched them too.


    We went to the garden and there was no flute playing, no sound of hooves¡ªthere was no sound at all but the baking of the earth and the small rhythm of fresh leaves caught in whatever dismal wind there was there in that place. Taking through the garden, there were trees which arched overhead¡ªindeed the fruits that hung from those branches were moistened like with rain and bright and multicolored¡ªand the shrubbery too was thick among our ankles and then there was Baphomet¡¯s cobblestone yard with a throne and the well and there on a risen tablet by the throne, Baphomet sat, chest glistening in the sunlight, legs crossed, head arched back so that its head could see the sky.


    So, you¡¯ve come again. This time you¡¯ve brought thrice the power to bargain with. Harlan, oh¡ªdon¡¯t look at me like that and come closer and tell me what it is you wish. Baphoment shifted to catch me in its eye and then slid to sit with its legs off the edge of the great stone. You look tired. Is it perhaps that you have come to keep me company? Have you given in to those curious desires which compel humankind? I can take you to those places far and gaping. There are limits to your form, but form is changed easily of course¡ªwith time and pressure. Curious that you would arrive with tampered merchandise. That should be discounted. Still. The demon took note of Gemma flanking so closely to my left that we were touching; she carried Trouble and the dog shivered¡ªthe girl shivered too.


    In a puff of smoke, Baphomet disappeared then reappeared directly in front of me; a hot breath escaped its snout visibly and then it took in the smell of us.


    Mmm. That sin is on you all. Have I ever told you the euphoric nature of it?


    ¡°I¡¯ve come to make a deal,¡± I said.


    Baphomet cocked its head. If you¡¯ve come for a return, I¡¯m afraid the girl you left with me is long transformed. For, after all, is easy. I doubt you¡¯ve have use for the state she¡¯s in. Still, The creature stood tall so it towered over us then arched low to peer into Gemma¡¯s eyes. Did you miss me? Is that it?


    ¡°It¡¯ll be the last deal I make.¡±


    It seemed the creature smiled, if it was possible. Promise?


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    I get you? That¡¯d certainly make others green with envy.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    What is it you want then?


    ¡°I want firepower,¡± I held the shotgun out in front of me, ¡°And time enough to do what I need to do.¡±


    Give me your hand. Reach out. It¡¯ll hurt like the dickens for only a second. Baphomet extended its claw-like hands, beckoning my own.


    I put out my right hand and the creature took it, drove the nail of its forefinger into my forearm nearest the elbow, then traced a shallow cut down the length of my arm till it met the top of my hand. The towering beast let go then looked me over, snorted, tapped a hoof, then crossed its arms. Blood dripped freely from the mark on my arm. ¡°Will you make that deal?¡± I asked.


    The demon shook its head. I won¡¯t touch you. No one will.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    The thing which I might want from you is not something you can give freely. It belongs to someone already.


    I bit my tongue then shook my head. ¡°Who?¡±


    What fun would there be in me telling? Baphomet traced around our small group and came to a halt at the right shoulder of Andrew; the boy closed his eyes. I could tell you for a trade though.


    I shook my head and turned to leave.


    Mm. Harlan. You break my heart.


    We left the garden, not looking back, not even when Baphomet took to playing its tune¡ªthough the sun beat us down there was a coolness which passed through me and I wondered if the same could be said for Gemma or Andrew; I caught the girl¡¯s eyes as she carried the whimpering pup and there was a message there, a telepathy I understood and it was maybe sorrow or her unforgotten pain. I willed us on, and they followed, and we went to the safehouse up the stairs to rest and regroup.


    I looked out over the street where the shadows cut darker as the sun began to rest and Andrew played a game of tug with the mutt, and I smoked while Gemma joined me at the tall windows.


    ¡°It¡¯s the smell,¡± she said to me, ¡°I smell that thing all the time. I scarcely remember the creature, but I know that¡¯s where you found me,¡± there was a brief pause as she crossed her arms over her chest, ¡°Isn¡¯t it?¡±


    I nodded, ¡°Yeah.¡±


    She hiked the arms of her robes up and examined the scars there and then looked at me then let the robes slink down her arms as her fists met her by her sides. Gemma pressed near the glass.


    ¡°Do they burn?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I might have something better for you to wear. Something with less catch when you move. Pants. Shirts. You¡¯ve got boots on, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    She twisted the torn hems of her robes to expose her leathered feet.


    I traced the walls¡ªstacks crates of goods were there (surely I¡¯d find something suitable for travel).


    We found water in the safehouse and food and light too. When dark came, we huddled around her lanterns and Andrew assisted in watching the boiling pot. Gemma changed, cut her hair to her scalp, and washed her hands. With her new garb, her throat stood more exposed, and the healing wounds there were like embedded ropes in her flesh. Andrew kept his eyes flittering, his focus remained on the food, but always his gaze was primarily steals of her.


    They were in love, for sure¡ªanyone could see it (I could). It truly was a pain to be in the presence of two young people, the potential, the possibilities of a true life¡ªI should not go on. Hope breeds determination, but anything more is weakness.


    No one had an easy time with sleep that night, save Trouble; each of us lined ourselves by the windows and looked out to see glowing mutant eyes wilder than any electric light. We shut off the lanterns and sat with bellies full, a spiderlike skin taker lumbered through the avenue which we overlooked¡ªthe center mass of its body, stilted high from the ground on those spear legs, traced before our eyes and it was all black and fuzzy¡ªand the children whispered to ask me what it was, and I told them I didn¡¯t know exactly.


    ¡°They¡¯re faster than they seem,¡± I said.


    Gemma touched the window glass with her palm.


    ¡°They suck up your skin,¡± I said, ¡°They take it right off your body.¡±


    Andrew shook his head. ¡°You ever killed any?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t fight them often. You¡¯d do better to avoid anything that moves out here.¡±


    ¡°So¡ªdid you? Have you killed any of those spider things?¡±


    ¡°Long time ago.¡±


    Gemma sat up straighter and withdrew her hand from the glass, leaving a hand mark there where the sweat of her fingers was. Their faces were coated in the bluish milk glaze of the moon and stars. ¡°How?¡± she asked.


    I moved from the window, leaving them there to watch. ¡°Don¡¯t make noise tonight. I¡¯m going to sleep dead. I put a bucket in the corner over there if you need it.¡±


    The bedroll smelled of mold, of dust, for it was an old thing I¡¯d tucked away years prior, and I figured I would never have a use for it. It was for emergencies. Most of the supplies I kept were like that. They were things I hoped to never need.


    As I stretched on my back, staring at the dead ceiling overhead, I listened to the silence of the ruins periodically broken from the whispers of Andrew and Gemma as they continued their talking, and I closed my eyes and directly before I was ferried on to the place of dreams, the face of Dave took to view in the black backdrop of my eye lids and there was Boss Maron; I imagined they put the poor rebel to his knees and blew his brains across the ground. Or worse. It was probably worse. It always was.


    Just as the world was gone, it was back again; Andrew shook me awake and Trouble was growling. I propelled from the bedroll, eyes darting in every direction, and I half imagined we were under attack from Leviathan, but there was no such thing. Gemma stood by the locked door which connected to the stairwell, and someone banged with their fist on the other side. The door rattled in its frame, and I launched into position by the girl¡ªher stance was half crouched, and she seemed frozen solid. I motioned at the door and she shrugged.


    A voice came from the other side of the door, bemoaning desperation.


    Help! said the voice, high pitched, feminine seeming. Please, help me!


    ¡°We should help them,¡± said Andrew, ¡°God, open the door.¡±


    ¡°Shh,¡± Gemma put her index finger to her pursed lips, ¡°Shut up. Don¡¯t be stupid!¡±


    They looked at me and Trouble continued growling.

 Ten: The Leech Woman and the Open Road

    She stood there in the doorway, a woman with cream colored hair which reached her shoulders; Andrew gathered a lantern, and her face was caught in the light of the thing and even with its glow, her pallor was unmistakable¡ªthe woman was thin, gaunt, and wore ragged clothing. Her body didn¡¯t fill the frame and so she was small there in the negative blackness of the stairwell and she did not rush in, nor did she say a word upon seeing us. Trouble growled by our feet and the mutt exposed its teeth while lowering its head as though it was ready to pounce. Whatever fright was in the air, it was contagious, and I wanted to reach out and comfort the dog, but I caught the eyes of the woman as she placed a long hand by the hinge of the door. It flinched away so that she held her hands before her chest, clasped like in fists of prayer. Her expression softened and her eyes seemed to round in the glow of Andrew¡¯s light¡ªhe held it high over his head to bathe the room in it.


    Thank you, said the woman, finally, Can I please come in? I think something was chasing me.


    ¡°Come on,¡± said Andrew, waving the woman in.


    She entered and we locked the handle while she stepped past us, and I could not help but notice her shadow grew long against the wall where my goods were stacked high¡ªit was certainly a trick of tired eyes.


    Gemma patted Trouble¡¯s head while the dog shivered and even the woman stopped to hunker by the dog and when her hand touched the animal¡¯s snout, the whimpers and growls were gone; Trouble blinked then leaned into the woman¡¯s hand for a greater pet, pleased. The dog craned back so the woman¡¯s fingers might itch her chin. A sigh escaped the animal.


    In their petting, Gemma¡¯s fingers glanced the woman¡¯s and the girl recoiled.


    ¡°You¡¯re cold,¡± said Gemma.


    It¡¯s cold outside. The woman maintained her attention with the dog. It¡¯s been ages since I¡¯ve seen a dog. Such a rarity. Loyal creatures. The woman¡¯s eyes went unfocused and seemed to long for a place or a time. Then she snapped to attention once more and removed her hand; the dog, satisfied, moved across the room then fell onto its side where it curled onto my bedroll. I had one once. That was a long time ago. I miss him often.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name? What were you doing out there? What was chasing you?¡± asked Gemma¡ªthe girl moved to flank me while Andrew sat the lantern on a nearby box.


    The woman asked for drink and then asked pardon to sit among us in a circle by our bedrolls. She watched Trouble and when the question of her name came again, she answered, hand still holding the cup of water she¡¯d been given with it resting partially against her crisscross sitting legs. Miriam. I watched her there and stood while the others gathered by her and she watched me back, but our flurry of stares were inconsequential as they drifted into mere glances which might hold a greater truth.


    An uneasiness overcame me and coming fully awake as I did, I took by the window to smoke stale tobacco, to quell my nerves and I watch the blackness through the glass and the woman in tandem while conversation grew.


    Gemma, keeping a skeptical space between herself and this new interloper, asked on, ¡°Where did you come from?¡±


    Westward. I saw a beast in the sky that way and it was heading over. There were these ruins and I fled to them. That was days ago. Surely, I thought, there should be place for cover here. The woman patted her hair down, but it remained untamed, and she sat the cup of water fully on the floor between her crossed legs. Cover there was, but more nasties hide in the dark here. So, I slept in the day and in the night, I felt a thing lurking after me.


    Andrew angled the lantern so that it sat in their circle like a campfire, and I remained in shadow by the window, watching the wavers of smoke from the end of my cigarette.


    The woman continued, I¡¯m nearly starved. Something, she put up her hands as though defeated, Something followed me in the dark. I thought I¡¯d found a place to hide, but it seems it wasn¡¯t enough. She put on a gentle smile, cool, human. It¡¯s a miracle I found you here. I thought I¡¯d die without food.


    I put the cigarette out against the glass and stepped over so that I hovered near Andrew¡¯s shoulder where he sat on the floor. ¡°Eat something then,¡± I said, ¡°We¡¯ve plenty. Drink too.¡± I nodded at the cup she¡¯d ignored in her legs. ¡°Go on. It¡¯s safe.¡±


    She blinked slowly then put the cup to her mouth after nodding in thanks. The woman could not drink, and water gushed from her chin then spilled down her chest.


    ¡°Oh no!¡± Andrew rushed for a rag for her to wipe herself dry and she thanked him, and she curiously sat the emptied cup to the side¡ªher glances to the vessel forgave her confusion, her ignorance.


    ¡°Are you religious?¡± I asked her.


    She dabbed the rag which Andrew had given her down her wet chest. In a world like this, who couldn¡¯t be?


    ¡°Not everyone is. You well read on the books? The Ibrahim ones, I mean.¡±


    No more than any other person. She sat the rag to the side and gave her attention to me fully.


    ¡°I have some scripture you might enjoy. It¡¯s something I¡¯ve thought of just now. It¡¯s a proverb, actually¡ªI haven¡¯t thought about it for some time¡ªyou¡¯ve reminded me of it.¡± I asked Gemma to retrieve more water. ¡°Would you like to hear it? It¡¯s only part of it. It¡¯s not very long.¡±


    I¡¯m weakly read and worse on interpretations. If you insist, then I¡¯ll listen. You¡¯ve offered a roof to me¡ªhow could I deny your request?


    ¡°Good,¡± I said; Gemma refilled the cup and I motioned for Miriam to take it. She did. ¡°It goes a bit like, ¡®There are those that curse their fathers and don¡¯t bless their mothers; they¡¯re pure in their eyes and are not cleaned of filth; those eyes are ever so haughty, whose glances are disdainful; their teeth are swords and their jaws are set with knives and they devour the poor and the needy.¡¯ Have you ever heard it?¡± I raised a questioning brow.


    I haven¡¯t. It¡¯s strange for a proverb.


    I nodded. ¡°Drink. Try at least.¡±


    Gemma placed her hands together in a ball and rested her chin against the mass, ¡°What¡¯s this? What¡¯s going on?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± added Andrew, ¡°I¡¯ve never heard that one.¡±


    ¡°Shh,¡± I said to them, then to Miriam I added, ¡°Go on. Let¡¯s see how you drink.¡±


    It makes me feel weird¡ªyou looking at me like that. Are my eyes haughty?


    ¡°You can¡¯t drink it.¡± I shook my head.


    She held the quivering cup in front of her and frowned then steadied her hand. Why can¡¯t I? Why? As though in protest at herself, she lifted the cup again to her mouth and again it spilled down her chin and wetted her chest¡ªtears welled in her eyes (more from confusion than anything else I surmised).


    ¡°You¡¯re dead,¡± I informed her directly; my words were harsh, but I did not intend on prolonging the guessing. Scratching my cheek, I examined her face more thoroughly, ¡°Although I ain¡¯t an expert on it, I¡¯d imagine you¡¯ve been that way for maybe five days or more.¡± I paused and took the cup from her slender fingers. ¡°You said you were hunted, but you were caught long ago. How¡¯s the feebleness? Lethargy?¡± Then I thought to add, ¡°Hunger? Worst hunger you¡¯ve ever felt¡ªlike there¡¯s fire that won¡¯t go out in your belly.¡±


    Andrew took a step into our conversation and leaned in closer to me, ¡°What are you talking about, Harlan? She¡¯s dead? What does that even mean?¡±


    I displayed my forearm where Baphomet had opened my skin and took the thumbnail of my other finger and slid it beneath the scab then ran it the length of my arm to let the blood wet down my arm. Miriam first looked in my the eyes, charming they were in the lantern light, and then she blinked and swallowed hard and watched my blood; her nostrils flared, and the pits of her eyes looked more sunken than ever as they stared on with the hunger of a leech woman.


    Why? asked Miriam, Why am I feeling this way?


    I covered my forearm and forgot whatever pain was there. ¡°You¡¯ve been turned. You are no longer human.¡± I shook my head and chewed on my tongue for a moment before continuing. ¡°Put your hand to your heart there,¡± I pointed, ¡°Tell me if you feel it beat. Is it there?¡±


    Miriam did as she was told and as her hand crept to her breast to check if there was still a pulse in her body¡ªonce she¡¯d checked over her clothes, she tucked a hand beneath her shirt. It must be faint is all. She insisted. But as she held her hand there where the drum of life should be, her shoulders went soft and she put the hand in her crossed legged lap, staring somewhere I couldn¡¯t see.


    ¡°Where¡¯ve you come from, leech woman?¡± I asked her.


    Leech woman? What? The question was a mess, a scramble for an answer. Her last word hung in the empty air.


    I shot a glance around the room and my two travelling companions had gathered on the wall which my back faced; Trouble kicked a sleeping leg on the spot she lay.


    Gemma¡¯s voice gave, ¡°She¡¯s one of those things? A demon?¡±


    I shook my head then examined Miriam more fully¡ªsurely such news would give anyone pause. Her eyes still had that hungry quality, that envy for warm blood, but those eyes danced across the room. She glossed over us, across the shadows on the wall, then they fell back to her hands in her lap and that is when I felt a pang of guilt.


    Without worry or assumption, I reached out a hand and touched her face to nudge her chin up so that she might look at me fully.


    I¡¯m dead? she asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± I offered, ¡°Don¡¯t worry. We¡¯ll figure it out, alright? There¡¯s a possible cure.¡± Still holding her chin there in my forefinger and thumb, I moved to crouch then maneuvered so that her face was upturned, and her throat was caught fully in the light. I smiled.


    It''s fixable?


    I nodded. ¡°Of course.¡± Then I spoke to Gemma or Andrew; it didn¡¯t matter who. ¡°Hold her arms down!¡±


    What?


    With my free hand I launched my knife into her neck and black ooze erupted from the spot. I twisted around her so that I could get leverage with my arm beneath the skull and in a moment, she was in a headlock. The things eyes went white, and a hiss came from her open maw, exposing the wild fangs there. I stabbed again around the thing¡¯s neck and kept going. ¡°Grab her arms!¡± She flailed them madly, pallid fingers searching for my face in swipes¡ªthen she began to squeeze those long fingers onto my bicep and forearm which held her in a lock. ¡°Hold her goddamn arms down!¡± I screamed.


    Gemma and Andrew each fought with an arm on either of her sides while pain surged through me, and my hand pumped with the knife in pure animal rage and then I felt a give and I yanked on her head till I felt her spinal cord come loose. And I sawed with the knife.


    Trouble had come awake and started a fit of barking.


    Miriam¡¯s expression was blank, and her arms stopped in their fight, and I lifted hard one last time, snipping whatever kept the head on her shoulders. The head fell away and her blood¡ªif it could be called that¡ªspat out from the neck in stuttered spouts.


    My chest heaving, I looked upon the work, and felt the ick of the black substance¡ªI dropped the knife and steadied my shaking hands.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you get her arms when I said to?¡± I asked the children.


    They sat on either side of the corpse, Gemma with a flat expression, and Andrew in a flurry of blinks. The boy looked at his hand and the girl rose to grab a linen piece so that she might clean herself of the muck; Trouble followed her¡ªthe dog¡¯s tail remained beneath itself while it let out low whines like it tried soothing itself.


    The last bits of adrenaline spasmed through me and I was sent to my bottom on the floor, and I stared at the head which had rolled away in the darkness to become a vague shape in the corner of the room.


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    ¡°She¡¯s dead,¡± said Andrew.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Gemma.


    ¡°So?¡± The boy posed it as a question like he intended to ask something greater, like he wanted all the answers, but all that could come to him was that solitary word.


    The girl took the cloth she¡¯d cleaned herself with and tossed it to Andrew. ¡°You¡¯re covered,¡± she said.


    ¡°She¡¯s fucking dead,¡± repeated Andrew.


    ¡°Yeah. She hasn¡¯t a head,¡± she said.


    I merely watched them, catching my breath.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t that bother you?¡±


    ¡°She was a demon,¡± said Gemma, ¡°She would¡¯ve done worse to us.¡± Then she offered a shrug as if to emphasize how she felt.


    ¡°Not a demon,¡± I corrected, ¡°A mutant.¡±


    They looked at me while Trouble scuttled over to the place where the dead woman¡¯s head laid¡ªthe dog sniffed the unmoving object.


    Gemma shrugged again, ¡°Demon. Mutant. Doesn¡¯t matter.¡± Her eyes fell to the corpse; it still sat upright like a person. ¡°How¡¯d you do that? How¡¯d her head come off so easy?¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t easy,¡± I said.


    Andrew moved from the gore and shooed Trouble from the decapitated head¡ªupon catching a glimpse of whatever the dog had taken from the dead thing, the boy doubled over and spat a neat puddle of vomit directly in front of himself before choking on a few lingering gags.


    Upon awakening from bad sleep, we hoisted the corpse outside into direct sunlight and watched as it blew away in flakes like hot ash. The stink of the creature remained, and we pushed forward on our journey just as it began to rain and in the slant of the downpour, we moved quietly and there was no sound save that falling water. The push from the ruins became a chore as overhangs became absent, as it was just the sky, and as we came to chain-link fences with markings half gone in corrosion which indicated: ianapolis International Air.


    We passed by crumbled high streets that once sat atop concrete stilts and risen grounds of asphalt with patch rock for sides and spindly trash wood grew from places treacherously and we passed through that rain like it was a trial and when it ceased, we were dripping, and Trouble shivered at the touch of afternoon¡¯s breeze. Eisenhower Highway took us on, and we went with it and there was little speaking; sometimes the children asked if it was good to be in the open, in the center of a road as we were, but I remarked that it was fine¡ªit wasn¡¯t, I only wanted to linger in the illusion of safety, remain ignorant¡ªI was tired. The stink of the slain creature was gone from us, and little had been said about it.


    The cramp of Golgotha and the high corridors manifested by the buildings of the ruins was a different thing entirely than that dual highway, that road I hadn¡¯t walked in ages. Gemma and Andrew each took their surroundings with curiosity, though neither shared a method; the girl kept an expression of somberness, of suspicion while the boy looked on with wonder and dearly reached out with his hand to touch the ground or that sick looking trash wood or maybe he¡¯d take his palm over his brow to gather what was offered on the sky or horizon. Whether it be the rain or the tiredness in us, each of their paths staggered further so that they might each be on either side of the path and I told them to keep in a clump for danger. My mind was gone from the night prior, from the days prior.


    ¡°There¡¯s a station up ahead,¡± I said; Trouble came to my side and brushed my leg, panting, ¡°We¡¯ll rest soon.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s daylight still,¡± said Gemma, sweeping her fingers through her newly sheared hair. ¡°Isn¡¯t there somewhere further on?¡±


    I shook my head, ¡°I¡¯m tired,¡± I said honestly, ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Andrew; he stretched and again took in the sky within his step.


    ¡°Why?¡± asked the girl, ¡°We should put more space between us and home.¡± Though she used the word home, she said it as though it was anything but. ¡°Space more between us and everything.¡± This came as a mutter.


    ¡°Shh.¡± I wanted to say shut up but couldn¡¯t bother. Then I thought better and said it anyway.


    Her trot was with new enthusiasm, ¡°I could keep walking for miles longer than either of you.¡± She pushed ahead of our group and took to walking backwards so that she faced us to say, ¡°Maybe more than both combined.¡± It was not offered in play, but as a boast.


    ¡°There¡¯s something coming after us,¡± I said.


    She froze and fell in alongside the merry band once more, ¡°What¡¯s following us?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s after the boy.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Andrew sputtered, ¡°What¡¯s after me?¡±


    I readjusted the straps of my pack and shotgun and fell into the next step, ¡°I thought that it¡¯d lost your taste for all that time you spent in Golgotha¡¯s walls, but it seems that thing from the night we met is after you. Maybe it just liked the way your blood tasted, maybe it¡¯s just pissed off because of how I set it on fire.¡± I shook my head. ¡°I don¡¯t know, but I don¡¯t intend on asking it anytime soon, you understand?¡±


    Andrew squirmed. ¡°You mean the thing that took my hand?¡±


    ¡°How can you be so sure it¡¯s after him?¡± asked Gemma, ¡°How can you be so sure that it¡¯s after any one of us?¡±


    ¡°That thing¡ªMiriam. She was a thrall to it. An Alukah. They¡¯re nasty things.¡± A sigh left me; it was only a guess, but saying it aloud made it true. ¡°Alukah. They hunt at night and devour men. Typically, virile men.¡±


    There was a moment of silence as we plodded down the asphalt, splashing puddles of rain which had collected in depressions. Then the girl piped up, ¡°Guess you¡¯ve nothing to worry about then, huh, Harlan?¡±


    I offered her to shut up again.


    ¡°Why me?¡± asked Andrew.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I said. ¡°It must like you. Or something.¡±


    Gemma, ever the chatterbox, posed, ¡°Well if that thing¡¯s after him then what was that lady? Miriam¡ªwhat was she? An Alukah?¡±


    ¡°No. A thrall, a mutant, a lesser thing¡ªmost people I knew called them leech women. You could always tell the way they can¡¯t drink water. Most of them don¡¯t even know they are one till a hunger sets in, but they¡¯re not very dangerous. They got soft flesh¡ªmaybe from rot. Worst they do is take a little blood in your sleep. An Alukah though? They pick your bones.¡± Then I thought to add, ¡°Sometimes worse.¡±


    ¡°Worse?¡± asked Andrew.


    I nodded ahead, ¡°I see the station, it¡¯s up ahead. Let¡¯s all pick up the pace. There¡¯s not a reason to be out in the dark.¡±


    The place rose on the left where there was an arrangement of vehicles old and left haphazard on concrete curbs; dead wood angled from the grounds, twisted, and far along the back of the station were lines of old trailers, each rusted and latched to the great trucks that had once pulled them. Signs dotted the perimeter to inform travelers the place was a Plainefield rest area and a few worn words on metal staves said: FASTEN YOUR SAFETY BELT IT¡¯S THE LAW.


    We rounded the curve which took us to the station and though the sun shone well in the sky, I felt a giddiness in knowing I could soon lie down and worry less; traveling with a tired mind, though I¡¯d done it many times before, was never a thing I enjoyed because of the way that things went unnoticed. I rubbed my eyes and Trouble brushed my leg again and the children spoke quietly.


    ¡°Hot out,¡± said Andrew.


    A sigh escaped the girl, ¡°I guess it should be nice to get out of the sun.¡±


    They were right; with the passing of the rain, heat had come and baked the moisture off us; I felt chaffing in places and assumed the others in my company could do for a proper scrub too. Trouble panted more and we took to the station, passed a sun-bleached pile of bones long picked and empty and as we moved to the station¡¯s innards, a mustiness encompassed us, and we were in the dark save the brief glances of light which angled through high thin windows in the main chamber of the place. I led us on to a windowless office near the rear of the structure and immediately refamiliarized myself with the room. It had been more than three years since I¡¯d last looked on it¡ªperhaps more¡ªand it seemed it had been picked over by other humans in my absence; whenever I noticed that someone else had taken refuge in one of my safehouses, I never took too much gripe with it. Surely, I would have done the same. I only wished they¡¯d kept it tidier on their leave.


    Sheets were strung out or clumped in corners and part-empty tins sat on the ground where flies had gathered to nest in what was left and although there was a stink, a breathy wet in the air of the small room, I took up a low table that¡¯d been left, knocked off the legs then hammered it across the only doorway with a few nails to seal us in; it wouldn¡¯t do much good if something wanted at us, but it did make me feel better.


    Steadily, with some hope, I angled myself in the hole of a cabinet and pried up the hollowed out place I¡¯d created last I was there and to little surprise, I found a dusty bottle alongside a box of shells. Unstopping the bottle, I took a swig, and the children watched me while they unpacked their things, Andrew holding an unmarked can and Gemma with a camping stove in her hands; the girl sat the stove to the floor then hunkered there, and the boy handed off the can to her. The mutt watched them. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± asked the boy, nodding to the bottle in my possession.


    Not answering, I took another quick drink and returned the cap and tossed it to Andrew; he caught it in a fumble then struggled with the thing in his singular right hand till Gemma reached to him and took the cap. The boy sniffed the open neck and shrank from it then shrugged and took a sip; he passed the thing to Gemma, and she did much the same.


    Tired, I took to the ground and put my back to the cabinet there, door closed, and began to roll a cigarette, but sleep came on me quick and when I awoke uncomfortable in the dark, the tobacco was strewn across my lap. The smell of warm indiscernible food permeated the room and I saw the children each around the camping stove, the empty bottle sitting between them, and I was there on the recesses of the glow of their lantern with Trouble lying with her head across my legs. The dog looked from the corners of its eyes at me, briefly raised its head to lick my hand, then returned its head to rest. For a moment, serenity overtook me while looking at their silhouettes, but it was gone just as quickly as it arrived, and I salvaged what I could of the tobacco and lit a smoke.


    ¡°Awake then?¡± asked the boy; his voice slurred, and his head swiveled lazily on his neck so that he might catch me in the lantern.


    ¡°Smells good,¡± I said. Oh, how things might be different in a different world. How might things be if I were a different person?


    The girl twisted around fully while she sat to face me, and the boy put his attention back on the stove. ¡°Something¡¯s knocked on the door a few times. It asks to be let in,¡± she said, ¡°We¡¯ve been ignoring it.¡± She reported the words like she was a guard coming off watch. Then she added, her voice betraying some amount of unease as she whispered it, ¡°It can¡¯t get in here, right?¡±


    I nodded, ¡°That¡¯s right. If it could¡¯ve, it already would¡¯ve.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± she asked, ¡°I mean, why can¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°It needs our permission.¡±


    ¡°Are all the monsters like that?¡±


    ¡°No. Just the thing that hunts the boy¡ªwell, that and its thralls.¡± Something in her eyes surprised me¡ªit was in the wideness or the shine of them. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Gemma.¡±


    She twisted away from me again and stirred whatever strange stew they¡¯d devised then offered a whisper of admonishment to Andrew for not keeping the bottom from burning.


    A gunshot, singular, powerful, rang out in the night and forced me to straighten; Trouble left me entirely and pinned its ears back, searching for the source of the noise. The children heard it too, for they cocked their heads to listen just as I had, but no more came through the night and we ate and ignored the knocks and the whispers the creature used to deceive us through our door.


    After good rest, we set out again and they asked me what Babylon was like and I told them in greater detail and as time went on, they asked me of what brought me to where I was and I told them that too and when they asked me why it was that I hadn¡¯t killed Boss Maron long ago, I told them it was because I didn¡¯t have the heart¡ªit was hard to fathom it. No matter the treachery I¡¯d seen that man commit for the years since I¡¯d brought him to Golgotha, I could not take his life. I hoped to, wanted to, but I was weak in the face of it all.


    I told them about the Rednecks, about how things were different back then, about nights of sleeping among a family militia under open stars. They took a liking to the stories; though they may have been humoring me for there wasn¡¯t much else to do as we took the highway.


    Travelling with folks does that to a person; a familiarity forms. Or maybe it was because I¡¯d gone soft and aged and didn¡¯t want my story forgot¡ªwhatever the reason is I spilled it to them, I can¡¯t say, but upon learning of my interaction with Mephisto¡ªwhich I saved as nearly last¡ªthey seemed to understand more fully than ever why it was that the Bosses of Golgotha kept me so close.


    A handful of days came and went as we moved with suspicions cast in all directions¡ªthe night creature would not come in the day, but it could track at night and the knocks which indicated its presence outside whatever place we holed up in did not waver.


    We skirted off the shoulder of Eisenhower Highway then entered the wastelands proper, cutting south through expanses of flat grayed, plantless farmland and forests which had gone wrong, yellowed, and sickly around their risen roots and black on the brittle branch ends. I thought of the books I¡¯d read, of the stories passed down from person to person, from age to age, and thought of children that must¡¯ve played among the trees, of the workers which toiled laboriously beneath a soft blue sky.


    There were no more stocked places on our path that I¡¯d set up prior. Upon leaving the station, we packed heavy, even manufacturing a poor sling for Trouble so that the dog might help with the burden of our supplies; though I knew the roads well enough, memory couldn¡¯t be trusted alone, so it would be that we would periodically stop midday at a home or a station and search the place for whatever might be left and then bunk down for the remainder of the daylight. As nice as it was to look at those naked stars, it was nicer to not be confronted with monstrosities midsleep. We took camp where we could find it.


    It was slow-going and ever present in my mind were the thoughts of reaching Suzanne, pulling them into my arms, holding them dearly. Could I live among the wizards and forget my sins?


    Upon examining the ammunition I¡¯d retrieved, I tried a slug in an open field at daybreak¡ªthough it was risky, I had to be sure that everything was in order if likely trouble found us.


    I aimed the barrel at open nothingness and squeezed the trigger; the smell of burnt gunpowder clung on the air. I watched the horizons and waited for some creatures to show, but when none showed, I inspected the gun. It felt like a waste, but I wanted to be sure everything was in working order¡ªit was imperative my weapon would not fail me if it was necessary. The shells in the box numbered four after my test.


    Reentering the building we¡¯d locked down¡ªit was a single-story home, half caved on its northern face from poor age¡ªI was greeted by the children¡¯s bewildered faces, each of them puffed, tired from waking. Trouble barked and barked and scurried to and fro, leaping across the structure¡¯s slanted floor.


    ¡°Did you kill something?¡± hushed Gemma.


    I shook my head, ¡°Just practicing. Wanted to make sure it still works alright.¡±


    ¡°You could¡¯ve warned us you were going out to shoot that thing.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I said, then moved across the room to quell the dog¡¯s fears by rubbing its face.


    Though it would be faster to traverse a main road, we would have little recourse when meeting violent strangers. My thinking was also in prudence for the sake of those we might meet on the road¡ªthe thing which followed us might have been on the hunt for Andrew, but it may snack upon any unaware soul in reach.


    Our roundabout journey took us through desolate country, through a town with signs that were easy to miss, signs which read: Farmersburg¡ªa guidepost where no one lived. The place, like most places, was a smear, a marker for perhaps an alien race which might one day catalogue the world. There, on the outskirts of Farmersburg, upon reaching the fields without fences¡ªeither long disposed or taken in storms or more¡ªI looked out on the fields and imagined myself an ancient worker, putting a horse to till, and I caught the glint of the sun and the sky seemed blue enough that I could nearly believe I was; I thought of the sweat they might produce and beneath that swelter, I swiped sweat from my own face. Further on, where the fields were not, there were more dead forests and I thought more of the children which had once played there, and if I squinted and believed hard enough, I could almost wish the world green again and I could almost see the figures that might rush across that dead farmland at the call of their parents; I could wish all day.


    ¡°Where does it go in the daylight?¡± asked Andrew.


    The clustered box buildings of Farmersburg¡¯s meager downtown had only just come into few as we met it from the east on a half-gone avenue without a name, ¡°What?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Where does that monster go when it¡¯s daytime?¡± repeated Andrew.


    ¡°Some hole or another.¡± I shrugged.


    ¡°Hey,¡± the boy peered ahead, craning his neck forward; he knelt and tugged on Trouble¡¯s leash to stop her from going on, ¡°I see people ahead, I think. Do you see those people?¡±


    Taking notice of the specks he indicated far ahead on the road, I too knelt, and Gemma quickly fell in alongside us so that we were a line, shoulder to shoulder, across the broken road.


    ¡°That¡¯s people,¡± nodded Gemma, ¡°Bad news, isn¡¯t it?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I said, ¡°Can¡¯t be more than three.¡± Without thought, I slung my pack from my shoulders and withdrew a pair of binoculars then pulled them to my face and looked again. I shook my head. ¡°Three. No. Four.¡±


    ¡°Friendly?¡± asked Andrew.


    ¡°Probably not,¡± said Gemma.

 Eleven: Hell is Waiting and Its an Abyss

    The figures began to wave, indicating that they¡¯d seen us just as well as we¡¯d seen them, and I lowered the binoculars to catch the faces of the children. ¡°They know we¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°They might be able to help us,¡± said Andrew.


    ¡°Doubtful,¡± said Gemma.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± I interjected, ¡°We ain¡¯t got the weaponry to fight from a distance anyhow. We could run. We could parlay.¡±


    ¡°Parlay?¡± asked the boy.


    ¡°Like a gamble,¡± said the girl¡ªshe shook her head then spoke to me, ¡°My vote¡¯s no.¡±


    A voice through a bullhorn met us and when we turned to look back up the road to the gathered people there, one of them called more greatly so the words were clear, ¡°We see you. We won¡¯t hurt you.¡± The strangers, probably wasters, stood between squat buildings on either side of the road.


    ¡°See?¡± said Andrew. The young man rose and took Trouble with him.


    Gemma shook her head and me and her both followed the boy and the dog. ¡°Bad idea,¡± said the girl, ¡°Very bad idea.¡±


    The voice through the bullhorn sounded again, ¡°If you¡¯ve any weapons, tell us now. We won¡¯t hurt you, but we don¡¯t want any misunderstandings either.¡±


    I froze for a moment, called back, ¡°I have a gun!¡± They didn¡¯t need to know about my knife.


    ¡°We have guns too,¡± called the voice, ¡°Do not be alarmed.¡±


    With tepid steps, nearing Farmersburg¡¯s epicenter, the group there came into greater focus, and I saw three men and a woman. They¡¯d arranged cement blocks alongside the brick buildings on either flank leading into town. One man¡ªthe speaker with the bullhorn¡ªstood directly in the center of the street, a man to the right hunkered behind their blockade and the woman and spare man stood to the left, their legs hidden behind the makeshift low wall.


    The speaker, once we¡¯d come within comfortable range, chucked the bullhorn to the man on the right and then swiped his fingers through his crew cut. ¡°What¡¯s brought the three of you this way?¡± Trouble clung to the boy and kept her head low, offering confused eyes whenever she dared look up.


    ¡°We¡¯re only passing through,¡± said Gemma.


    ¡°Passing through?¡± asked the speaker, ¡°There¡¯s not much to pass through. We spent the last week or more picking over this place. If you¡¯re scavving, this place is nothing but bones.¡±


    ¡°Scavvers?¡± I asked.


    The speaker nodded. ¡°This is our boon.¡± He examined the sky. ¡°Getting dark in a couple hours and you might want the rest. As long as we understand that the bounty we¡¯ve taken is ours, you¡¯re more than welcome to bed down somewhere on the west end.¡±


    The boy tugged on the leash faintly, perhaps from anxiety. ¡°Find anything interesting?¡±


    The scav leader chuckled. ¡°Yeah. Not much in a dump like this, but there were a few overlooked tablets¡ªbooks and diaries. Stuff those pointy hats might like back in Alexandria.¡± The man waved his hand, ¡°Besides that? Nothing. Had a few muties that needed clearing out. Previous residents.¡± His hand came to rest on his holster; the gun there was unmistakably a .44. He noticed me noticing and withdrew his hand from his hip then laughed. ¡°Habit,¡± said the scavver. He pivoted so that I could look at the gun there. ¡°Pretty thing though, isn¡¯t it?¡± He narrowed his eyes to my strap. ¡°What¡¯s that old barrel you got there?¡±


    ¡°Shotgun,¡± I said.


    ¡°Sure¡ªwhat kind?¡± asked the scavver, gray eyes alight with curiosity.


    ¡°B-P-S. That¡¯s Browning.¡± I adjusted the strap on my shoulder. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± I pointed to the gun on his hip.


    ¡°Pfft. Some hunk of metal I picked up outside of Golgotha. But those tall buildings? They give me the creeps. Good place for ammo though. What direction are you headed anyway?¡±


    ¡°West,¡± I said.


    ¡°Anywhere in particular?¡±


    ¡°Just west.¡±


    The leader¡¯s eyes traced from me to the children then to the dog then back to me and he smirked. ¡°Fair. Like I said.¡± He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, ¡°West end and we won¡¯t bother you.¡±


    ¡°Fair,¡± I said.


    The look of the other scavvers was lethargy, an easing as they realized there would be no fight and the man that was ducked below the low wall rose to expose that he¡¯d been perched there with a pistol drawn in his right hand, ready to use it if things became unfortunate.


    The leader stepped from the center of the street, to meet his comrades to the left, and motioned us on, and we began to move, but Andrew spoke, ¡°There¡¯s something following us.¡± The scavvers tensed and even though the poorly hidden gunman had put away his weapon, his shoulders squared, and he spat.


    ¡°Following you?¡± asked the leader.


    The boy nodded. ¡°It¡¯s an Alukah.¡±


    I shot a look at the boy.


    Andrew shrugged, ¡°I thought they should know. In case it comes knocking for them.¡±


    ¡°A vamp?¡± asked the scav leader, ¡°Never seen one.¡± He turned his attention to me, ¡°Alukah though. That¡¯s a strange name you¡¯ve given it. Like those religious fanatics out in Golgotha. That where you come from?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°It¡¯s safe in the daylight.¡± A sigh escaped me, and I continued, ¡°If it knocks on your door, ignore it.¡±


    The scav leader waved his hand at the notion. ¡°I know about vamps¡ªnever seen one, but I know the stories. Besides, if it¡¯s after you, I don¡¯t need to worry so much. You didn¡¯t mention it though.¡± He rolled his tongue around in his closed mouth, protruding a cheek, then continued, ¡°You weren¡¯t hoping it¡¯d get me and mine and forget about you, were you? Setting us up for it?¡± The man and woman to the left side of the road reached for their hips, but the leader put out a hand to quell their fighting spirit.


    I shook my head, ¡°No. I just didn¡¯t think it was pertinent.¡±


    Gemma stepped in, ¡°Yeah. There¡¯s no reason to start a fight over something so trivial.¡±


    ¡°Little girl,¡± said the leader, ¡°You planned on feeding us to a monster, I think. Nothing trivial about that.¡± His gaze went from the girl to me. ¡°That is right though. You were going to let it get us unaware, isn¡¯t that right? Weren¡¯t even going to let us know about it?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said, ¡°We¡¯re just passing through. Don¡¯t let a snap judgement turn this into something it ain¡¯t.¡±


    It seemed an eternity while that man watched us through his slitted, suspicious eyes. Then he shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not in the business of killing old men and his kids. Dogs neither. Go on.¡± He once more hooked his thumb west. ¡°Don¡¯t bother us. We won¡¯t bother you.¡±


    We took through Farmersburg at a quickened pace and far spaced houses with low peaks passed us by on either side; the occasional vacant house or brick sundry shop was there too. Downtown was a descriptor that wasn¡¯t befitting of a place so desolate and small. Looking upon the half-destroyed homes, I imagined the excess in space that ancient man had at their leisure, and I was all at once envious and quietly angry.


    The roads were worn from rain and age and dipped in places and although we moved on without much issue, I continuously shot glances back the way we¡¯d come till we met a broken rail line; the old tracks stretched northbound and southbound and though the wood had long rotted away to brittle streaks, the metal lines remained. With the scavvers well out of eyesight, I eased, but not much. The potential for them to have someone perched high was a lingering thought and as we passed a half-ruined church on our left, my eyes strayed to its intact tower¡ªthere¡¯d possibly been a bell there once (or speaker boxes)¡ªand I could imagine the sight a sniper might have. We¡¯d be easy. Open.


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    Only once we¡¯d passed the patches of land where vehicles lay strewn about, where houses were closer, where sideline walkways remained, did I let go of the tightness in my stomach. It seemed a curse was lifted from the group as Gemma began to scold the boy loudly.


    ¡°You are an idiot,¡± she said, ¡°How could you? You could have gotten us killed!¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean nothing by it,¡± said Andrew, holding onto Trouble¡¯s leash with his only hand; the dog darted in front of our path as much as the line would allow her¡ªit seemed she too had relaxed. ¡°I just thought that I¡¯d want to know if there was something like that out at night. I thought I¡¯d want to know it. Seemed right.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care what seems right,¡± said Gemma, ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter what seems right to you. You could have gotten us killed! Does that not register to you?¡±


    Briefly, I questioned myself silently how either of them had ever been in love with the other. Then I recalled what the scavver had called us; it was such a moment that I hadn¡¯t even allowed it to sink in. He¡¯d called me an old man. Fair enough. He¡¯d called them my kids.


    I shook my head. ¡°Save the arguing for when we¡¯ve found a place to bunk down. Should be listening. Should be watching.¡±


    We walked and shadows grew long with evening, beyond where structures became even further spaced and the scavver¡¯s area was well and from us. Upon coming to a two-lane highway, which stretched from left to right, we pushed to a station; its pumps were dry, and the overhang was dilapidated, fallen away to the concrete square where the station sat, and the glass was gone from the windows entirely so that the thing looked like a creature itself, poised for some unsuspecting travelers to rest there. Night coming, as it was, we went to the building, stepped through the doorless threshold, and took note of its layout. Dusty corroded shelves stood empty save rotted boxes where inventory once sat, and a skylight over the counter exposed an open window to the sky; Gemma braved the recesses further, finding an office and though the door was hollow and thin, we took account of the small windowless room, and the children began unpacking camp while I went to the shelving units in the main chamber with my prybar. After dismantling a few of the rusted shelves, I took two elongated rectangular pieces to the office and boarded us in, hammering salvaged nails through the metal; it wouldn¡¯t stop anything, not really, but seeing the makeshift slats there, across the doorway felt safer.


    ¡°You could¡¯ve killed us,¡± repeated Gemma.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know that¡¯s how they¡¯d react,¡± said Andrew.


    There was a bitterness in the girl¡¯s voice like poison and the boy¡¯s responses came weaker with each thing she said.


    ¡°I wanted to see the world,¡± said the girl, ¡°I wanted to find a place that¡¯s good.¡± She scoffed. ¡°Ridiculous.¡± Gemma turned on me. ¡°You were right, Harlan. There¡¯s nothing in this world. Nothing worth saving. A piece of me wishes I¡¯d stayed home, but it¡¯s no good there anyway. My father¡ª¡± she froze mid speech for a moment then continued, ¡°He wasn¡¯t a good man. Tell me, is there any good in this world? Or is it just travelers on roads, vaguely threatening each other? Is it all vile places? Can¡¯t there be a place? A good one? Or is all this travelling only hiding? Is travelling looking at the dirty walls of the next place we take refuge? Home¡ªI could look on starry skies there. The best thing you could do is use that gun. Shoot me. Shoot him. Shoot the dog. Shoot yourself.¡± Her voice was like stone; she moved through the small dark room, fell into an old plastic office chair. The object creaked as she rocked on it. She seemed to be thinking aloud, ¡°Maybe Andrew¡¯s right. Maybe he¡¯s good.¡± She stopped in her rocking, swiveled around so the chair offered a low howl. Gemma looked at Andrew; her brow was angled, and she frowned. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re good. Maybe that¡¯s why you warned them like that. Because you¡¯re good. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Andrew took to the arduous task of removing Trouble¡¯s leash with his singular hand and he shook his head in doing it, frustrated. ¡°Since when did you get so hard?¡± he asked her, ¡°When did you get so¡ª¡±


    ¡°So what?¡± snapped Gemma, ¡°Evil? You think evil matters here? You think evil matters at home? You¡¯ve seen evil just as well as I have, Andrew, and you know it¡¯s a load. I know what you think. You think I¡¯m some tainted thing¡ªmaybe no better than a mutant. You think I¡¯m some heartless monster. What sort of person could kill their own dad?¡± She cried; tears came abruptly down her cheeks, and she attempted to dry them with the back of her sleeve, leaning forward in her chair. ¡°You knew the man in passing. I lived with him.¡± She shot a glance at me. ¡°Harlan knew him too. Knew him well enough. He was a bastard.¡± She choked on her words, catching the sobs.


    I pulled my mouth tight and nodded.


    She continued on Andrew: ¡°You said you didn¡¯t love me anymore! Okay. Fine.¡± Gemma dabbed her eyes then pushed her sleeves up to reveal the scars left there by Baphomet and yanked them down again to cover the twisted skin. ¡°Fine,¡± she pointed at Andew; he¡¯d stood from the dog and Trouble looked on, just as skittish as him, ¡°But I saw it in your eyes when you were sick and hurt. I saw that you couldn¡¯t mean it. I saw those eyes and knew you still cared for me. There was hope maybe.¡± She sniffed, ¡°Now though I see the way you look at me with those eyes. Since you¡¯ve seen that awful blood on my hands. I know you mean it now. I know you¡¯re good and I¡¯m not and you couldn¡¯t love me because now we can all be certain of how terrible I am.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Andrew, taking the small room in a single stride to hunker beside her, ¡°No, you¡¯re not evil, Gem. You couldn¡¯t be evil. Is that what you think?¡±


    Initially she jerked from the hand he placed on her shoulder then stopped and let him massage the spot.


    ¡°She¡¯s not evil, is she, Harlan?¡± He cocked his head to ask me.


    I shook my head. ¡°You¡¯re not a bad person, Gemma.¡± Suddenly I felt silly trying my hand at wisdom like I was an authority on anything. Then I thought to add something that could be wise¡ªmaybe, ¡°Whoever fights monsters should be sure not to become a monster.¡± It was tough remembering the rest, but it came¡ªthe kids looked on quizzically, Gemma with tears frozen in her eyes, Andrew with a look of desperation, ¡°It¡¯s a quote and the rest of it¡¯s the part you should know, ¡®If you gaze long enough into the abyss, it¡¯ll stare back.¡¯. Something like that.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that mean?¡± asked Gemma.


    ¡°I think, in this instance, I want it to mean that you should remember that if you linger on the bad in the world, it¡¯ll consume you. You¡¯ll make something be that ain¡¯t and it¡¯ll come for you.¡±


    The girl pushed the last cries away, swept a hand through her thinned hair. ¡°Since when are you such an optimist?¡±


    ¡°Optometrist.¡± I said, removing my pack¡ªmy hands shook as I rolled a cigarette and after a spell of silence and smoke, I rubbed the tobacco dead and prepared us some dinner.


    Andrew consoled the girl and Trouble sat alongside me, watching the pan as I warmed pickled sausages¡ªI put the last bit of our hardtack to soak; a meal, a sad meal, should sit heavy at least.


    The haggard expressions of the children mirrored my feelings, and I could not remember a time I had not felt an ache in my bones¡ªthe falter of spirit was greater still. A road, no matter the direction, had not so long ago filled me with curiosity or with the promise of thoughtlessness. All I¡¯d been doing in recent memory was thinking, perhaps staring into that abyss too much.


    I watched them while they slept on their bedrolls, keeping the lantern low; Trouble joined me, resting across my lap where I sat on the floor, and I whispered to the dog sweet forgetful things and for a moment I thought of Dave, and I was glad he was kind enough to take in the mutt. Trouble watched through slitted quivering eyes, yawning, stretching, jerking in her slumber. Sleep evaded me and I waited for the knocking.


    Surely, it came gently, the great beast, the Alukah (vamp is what the scavver called it) exhausted audible breath from the other side of the door and I scooted nearer it and listened to its pained animal-like protests from the other side the thin barrier.


    I need help. Let me in. There¡¯s something after me.


    The voice, for all its muffled snarls, retained a surreal quality and I spoke back to the thing, first glancing at the children on their bedding where they remained sleeping. ¡°Leave,¡± I muttered lowly, nearly kissing the door as the words left my mouth.


    Ah, so you speak. A pause followed and a slow scratch, like the creature traced a great clawed hand across the surface on the other side. I¡¯m scared.


    ¡°I know what you are.¡±


    Do you?


    ¡°I do. I won¡¯t let you in. You can leave.¡±


    But I¡¯m scared.


    ¡°I¡¯ve told you already I know what you are. Leave us be.¡±


    I smell you. An inhalation of breath came. Give me that treat of a boy. Give him and I¡¯ll let you go. The voice became like a low growl.


    ¡°I don¡¯t make deals with your kind anymore.¡±


    Who says? That intake of breath followed once more¡ªa long sniff. You¡¯ve the stink of Mephisto on you. You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you¡¯d deal.


    ¡°No more.¡± Trouble arrived by the door and gave me a curious look then fell onto my shoulder where I sat, putting her head there and licked my cheek and lowly groaned; I petted the dog and she fell onto my lap; it made me feel secure, if only a bit. ¡°You should go on.¡±


    You burned me. I can¡¯t let that go, but I could. The boy was mine rightly. Your interference¡ªthat other human man too¡ªyou stole him. I remember you. He¡¯s mine; he¡¯s owed to me. You¡¯re lucky I come offering deals.


    A shiver touched the base of my spine and went to crawling and even with Trouble there I felt chilled and sweaty, and the sense grew that I could give up Andrew and go on my way.


    ¡°Fuck off,¡± I whispered.


    Harlan?


    I bit my tongue. Hard.


    Harlan, we know you. We¡¯ve friends waiting for you.


    With that, the creature left us for the night, but sleep was a near impossibility and even when I curled small and held the dog in my arms and buried my face in the neck of the animal, I could not rid myself of the coolness that¡¯d passed to me.


    ¡°Maybe we lost it,¡± said Andrew, as we packed our things the following morning.


    ¡°No,¡± I said, then followed with, ¡°We should cut hard and straight to Babylon.¡±


    Gemma remained dejected that day, holding her eyes to the ground or the sky and muttered responses to whatever was spoken to her.

 Twelve: Oh, Dear Brother of Mine, How I Hate What Ive Made You

    Gemma was right about the sky¡¯s open night, and I could sympathize with her recollection of the beauty, but for me it must¡¯ve been a greater tragedy¡ªthe young woman had only ever enjoyed the stars in the pits of Golgotha; I could, long before, drink in the sky at leisure. Cruel memories.


    The night the Rednecks died was one of viscera, but before that it was coolness on the breeze, a warmth by the fires while John played his guitar and we had only just taken two dozen kegs of lager (personal reserves) from the Atlanta despot¡ªthe man that kept his subjects as slaves and not a person among the camp was left without budding intoxication. No matter the age, everyone was invited to be merry; if it was that children too faced the plight of a bad world, then so too should they reap the moments of plenty¡ªor so the camp figured.


    John had taken a group by the fires where wagons were drawn in interlocking semicircles for cover and Jackson sat beside the picker. Jackson was a man which normally preferred quiet reflection over boisterous singing and nearly never wore the band on his throat, and yet there he was belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs, tankard in hand, red cloth blazed around his neck¡ªit was a contagion and those drunk enough for easier embarrassment sang proudly along:


    ¡°There is power, there is power in a band of working folk!


    When we stand hand in hand,


    That¡¯s a power, that¡¯s the power,


    That must rule in every land!¡±


    I¡¯d taken to the outlying shadows with my back pressed against the gas-powered caleche, my own tankard in hand. I loved the warmth of that great big family, truly, but even in those days¡ªand maybe it was that queer youthfulness which longed for individualism that made me that way then¡ªI remained as distanced as possible when I could. I sipped the lager, it was a fine drink and my brother Billy, nearly as old as I was when I¡¯d first taken up in the infantry, swaggered to stand beside me just as quiet for minutes and we looked at the stars and he asked me what it was like to kill a man.


    ¡°Is it hard?¡± he asked.


    I nodded, ¡°Sometimes.¡±


    ¡°Killing monsters ain¡¯t so bad. Don¡¯t know if I could do it to a person.¡±


    ¡°You could if they meant to kill you; or if they meant to do it to someone you cared about,¡± I promised him. In those days, spry, energized, I held no time for staring into abysses; though I still wasn¡¯t a man fully, I pretended as one. It was about family, and it was about doing what was right¡ªwhat¡¯s right seemed to change, or I changed. The world felt stark with good and evil and even later I¡¯d feel that sentiment well up in me, but if that¡¯s true, I know I stand more on the latter and so I intentionally obfuscated it¡ªthis I know. If not, it might be too much to bear. I was required to lie to myself and even in knowing I lied, it was better.


    Billy tugged on the red kerchief around his throat and asked me how it looked on him.


    ¡°Looks good,¡± I said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t think I look stupid at all?¡±


    I smiled over my drink, ¡°You always look stupid.¡± I sipped. ¡°The neckwear¡¯s fine.¡±


    ¡°Give me a break,¡± said Billy; he investigated his own cup, gave it a swish with his wrist, watching its contents swirl. ¡°Aren¡¯t you ever afraid you¡¯ll die?¡±


    ¡°Sometimes¡ªnights like this¡ªI wouldn¡¯t mind it.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± my brother asked.


    ¡°There¡¯s always a chance of it. Every moment, I guess.¡±


    He smiled. ¡°I wish I had that confidence.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll get it,¡± I returned his smile; it was true that he would gain the fighting spirit. It came to us all with time and reminiscing on the early days, I recall the grit and the hatred¡ªthere was learning there too though. Besides, I¡¯d seen the squalors of a stationary man. The stagnation of a place, an unmoving home.


    John put his guitar away and laughter erupted from the crowd from something said and Sibylle, cowboy hat cocked funny, traipsed across the camp to the open keg for a refill; the man there, tending the cylinders, was a man named Tandy (a foreigner and one unknown besides the way he smoked a skunk pipe and told wild stories). My mother leaned over while Tandy opened the spigot mouth on the keg, and she froze there, and I could see her there cut out forever against the light of the fires; I watched, and it came so suddenly that I couldn¡¯t be sure what¡¯d happened at all. It was so sudden that I couldn¡¯t find my weapon and I couldn¡¯t find even the courage to fight because in those moments it wasn¡¯t courage I needed, it was grounds to understand.


    Sibylle came apart in two pieces immediately, torn completely through and dust erupted as her legs struck the ground while her torso spun through the air like a top, a trail of liquid trailed after, caught in the blue of night so it shone as black; she couldn¡¯t scream. Tandy was a statue. Before anyone could react, more flesh, other bodies, went up and there was all manner of limbs which filled the ground, and it is astounding how quickly a red mist forms across the ground during a massacre. Perhaps the wails of my comrades started before, perhaps others fell before Sibylle, but I could not comprehend the goings-on till I saw her drop the way she did.


    Frail human screams rose on the night; I slammed to the ground, tankard gone away and hands scrambling in the dirt; I reached up blindly and yanked Billy to my level and his expression was one of innocence, panic, tears even. Glancing around, I saw the demons bolt from the pitch-black darkness on the edges of camp, mutants taking the fore while greater creatures lurked further back, some hurled whips of gliding metal which writhed over their heads when they stretched them out for a strike¡ªalien¡ªand they sliced directly through soft human bodies. Not even a cry escaped me, but Billy let go with it and I slapped my cupped hand over his mouth hard to hold the screams. His voice would not have been alone anyway, not alongside that startling cacophony. Amidst the cries of people, there were the cries of horses, of our hounds.


    We rolled across the ground, slipped beneath the raised body of the gas-powered caleche, remained quiet in the dark, peeked out between the wheels.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± Billy whispered through my fingers; I removed my hand from him and caught a glimpse of him framed in a square of firelight through the wheels¡ªwe lay there on our bellies and the left side of his face was glazed with dirt where I¡¯d pulled him down.


    ¡°Shh,¡± I told him, ¡°Shh, please. Please.¡± Not another word came while I pleaded with him, pleaded with the world to make this all a nightmare.


    Through the haze and the running silhouettes painted black, I saw what might have been Jackson; he stumbled and in the moment that it took me to gasp, his head was gone from his body, his torso slid on as he collapsed, came to rest mere feet from the motor wagon. I told myself that it wasn¡¯t him, but it probably was.


    Some mutants lumbered through the camp like animated corpses, some leapt with wild energy or sprayed noxious fumes which lingered in the air; others still were amalgams of humanlike limbs themselves¡ªfiends¡ªexhausting terrible sounds, producing smells of sulfur, glistening with whatever liquids excreted from their oblong alien orifices. Demons ran amok, chanted in devil tongued languages, laughed madly at the destruction¡ªothers still, those which displayed some greater intelligence, broke into a song I could never hope or want to replicate; it seemed a unified damnation.


    ¡°Please,¡± I repeated in a whimper and Billy hushed me this time and I realized we were holding hands, squeezing for dear life as figures walked the camp, speared those half-alive, elected others for twisted carnality.


    In darkness, in fright plainly, we scuttled from the recess of our hiding place, kept quiet, held to each other, and went into the wasteland where nothing was¡ªevery shadow was a potential threat, every second could¡¯ve been the last. We were holding hands; then we weren¡¯t.


    Only a glance¡ªthat¡¯s all I afforded my brother and nothing more¡ªwhat a joke of a person I am! What a coward I was. Always.


    Something got him in the dark and instead of dying alongside those I cared about, I went on, heartbeat driving me till it was all that I heard in my ears and my muscles ached and my chest heaved and sweat covered me, chilled me in the breeze of the night¡ªit was only once I¡¯d accepted the dark completely, crawled into a hollowed space of rocks along a squat ridge that I watched the demolished camp; it seemed no larger than a spark, but the creatures, fiends and others continued their war cries; never before had I witnessed demons participate in such an attack.


    I watched till the sun came, till the fires became smoke, then I watched the band of hell creatures disband. The smell of sulfur remained in the air¡ªcopper too¡ªand I stumbled back to the camp in a dreamlike daze, totally unbelieving of the things I saw. Among those dead on the ground, I could recognize none; among those piked from rear to shoulder, standing like morbid scarecrows where they¡¯d been steadied against the ground, I could not want to recognize.


    Many of the wagons were overturned, including the gas-powered caleche and I went to it; the metal of its body was warped but I fell to the ground by it and pushed my back against the exposed undercarriage, remained frozen there while examining the bodies, the terrible strips of skin which rested places like wet sheets of paper, the piles of bones removed and smashed and piled.


    I cried so deeply that oxygen became a memory, and the shakes couldn¡¯t be contained.


    It was like that for so long, knees pulled up, face pushed between, and the wails came unafraid of whatever attention they might garner; there was no rationale, but I imagine if there had been, I would¡¯ve welcomed death in that misery. It was a deep wound that not even my own cowardice would overcome for the sake of survival.


    Unaware of my surroundings, not wanting to look up from the ground between my legs, the noise which had started out as imaginary became real and I raised my head then to listen better and wipe my sore eyes; it was the sound of clip-clop horse hooves and I mildly wondered if any of the animals had been spared. I stood and pivoted around the dead camp and there it was, a man on a painted horse with golden hair; he leisurely drove the mount through the place, maneuvering around pools of blood, clumps of body parts and upon seeing me, he smiled and offered a languid wave, keeping one of his gloved hands on the reins.


    The man wore white and swished his hair back upon arriving directly in front of me. Ahoy, he offered kindly, Did you happen to see the other riders?


    I shook my head, feeling numb.


    Ah, he said, I could have sworn four other riders, at least, passed me on my way. His gray eyes examined the carnage. Shame. He shook his head. You are?


    ¡°H-harlan.¡±


    Stolen novel; please report.


    He nodded and nearly offered an expression of genuine condolence before descending from the horse; the animal gave a gentle grunt and wandered away from its master to inspect a nearby group of the dead. The man offered his hand, and I took it in a shake. Mephisto, said the man. He flashed a smile again before his face grew serious. I¡¯ve come to you to deal.


    I shot him a questioning look, one of bafflement.


    I heard your calls from far off. He nodded, removed a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and swiped it down his face. Hot out. He shrugged then replaced the cloth in his pocket. This, he motioned to the disarray of vehicles, of bodies, I can¡¯t fix all this¡ªit¡¯s too much¡ªbut there¡¯s a person you love, I know. I could bring them back.


    ¡°Doctor?¡± In retrospect it was such a na?ve question.


    He shook his head.


    ¡°Angel?¡±


    He grinned and nodded, Sure.


    ¡°Demon?¡±


    Undoubtedly. His eyes¡ªpits of gray in that radiant face¡ªnearly expressed solemness; he daintily shook the hair from his face and looked at his steed which sniffed a corpse. What¡¯s the word, Harlan? There are others calling and I must be on my way soon¡ªI can¡¯t dally. There was a sharpness to the words. Can¡¯t dally. We must convene soon, or I¡¯ll mosey on.


    I snorted back the clog in my nose from the tears and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. ¡°Okay.¡±


    Deal?


    I nodded, ¡°Deal.¡±


    Sleep tonight, said Mephisto, Sleep and you¡¯ll be rewarded in the morning.


    ¡°You said it¡¯s a deal.¡±


    He nodded and scanned the carnage before we matched gazes and then he said, Yes?


    ¡°What is it you want from me?¡±


    Nothing you need now. He called the horse, and it came, and he swept his feet quickly from the ground and settled into position atop the animal. Sleep, Harlan. You won¡¯t be bothered. There are worse things still over the horizon.


    I watched him go till he disappeared and once he was gone, I couldn¡¯t cry anymore and instead rummaged through the wagons for what I might carry; along the way I found John, face twisted but corpse intact. The body from the previous night that I¡¯d guessed was Jackson couldn¡¯t be determined but I found him nowhere else. I slid Sibylle¡¯s holster from her hips, fell hard onto the ground and found that I could sob more. I took her cowboy hat, placed it on my head and held her pistol in one hand and the belt holster dangled from the other while I searched the other bodies; there were so many, but I could not find Billy.


    Waiting for darkness, I took the spot where I rested, back against the caleche¡¯s undercarriage, watched the sky and felt the gun in my hand; it was heavy. I put it to my head, closed my eyes, and whispered affirmations to myself then I put the pistol between my splayed legs, watched it still in the dirt, and pulled the hat down over my eyes but it did little for the smell. Though the brim of the hat cut the sky out, I watched the ground and saw circling shadows form overhead and heard calls of turkey vultures; they came to pick over the bodies. I withdrew my knees to my chest there again and laid my forearm across them and bit into my arm while closing my eyes. I had thought I was a man and for a time, maybe I was, but there in that miserable pit of despair I became a child again and if I¡¯d become more delirious, I¡¯m sure I might¡¯ve called out for Jackson like it was a bad dream.


    Into a fading stupor of sleep in the sun I went and when I awoke again it was dark and chilly and I was tired and hungry but too sick to eat and hardly strong enough to move; I looked at the gun and put it into its holster and left it there by the caleche. In the light of the moon and stars, I moved to gather a bolt of canvas; I unfurled the fabric and created a leaning shelter against the overturned vehicle and crawled into it. There was a hole in the canvas, and I peeked out at the stars.


    Weeping came again, but not so uproarious; I was stuck there letting go of whimpers, lying on my back, feeling the tears trace in lines from the outer corners of my eyes to collect along my earlobes. In time, I fell to sleep again on the hard ground because the mourning had taken all else from me.


    A pinpoint of sunlight broke my eyelids and I jerked awake and reached for the holster, but it was gone. So was the hat. I crawled from the leaning shelter and there he was.


    Billy stood plainly among the dried, congealed blood-soaked field and he looked on to the horizon and all shadows were long in the midday sun which hung up there in a soft blue sky. Whether it be a dream or a spell, I couldn¡¯t care¡ªI charged to him and spun him so he faced me and though his face was plain and expressionless, I wrapped him into a forceful hug. He placed his hands on my back and gave a gentle squeeze; when I pulled from him, my hands on his shoulders, I saw he held Sibylle¡¯s hat in his left hand, pinched by the brim; he¡¯d already tugged her holster belt around his hips¡ªhe could have it all. I shook while holding him then let go to wipe my face.


    ¡°You¡¯re alive,¡± I nodded.


    He nodded without speaking then looked at the hat in his hand and placed it on his head and firmly pressed it down.


    ¡°Billy! Hell, you¡¯re alive!¡±


    The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment then he nodded again. ¡°Yeah.¡± His eyes curiously searched our surroundings like he meant to take each detail in forever.


    I slapped him on the shoulder and almost squealed. ¡°Goddammit.¡± I wiped my eyes again and could do little to keep the excitement from exploding from me. ¡°Oh, we should go. We should go on and get somewhere safe.¡±


    He nodded toward the horizon, ¡°¡¯Lanta?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    We packed and it was a like an ethereal phantom remained among us beside the quiet dead; turkey vultures cawed to break the silence, pecked where they pleased on the bodies, and I couldn¡¯t want to fight them. I kept sidelong eyes on Billy with the ever-present worry that he¡¯d vanish. Perhaps he was the phantom.


    From the rear of the caleche, I removed a few sentimental books Jackson liked, essential cookware, and sparse rations for the trek. The last thing I grabbed was my shotgun and a bit of ammo.


    As we set from the dead place, the terrible silhouettes that were cut from there on the horizon behind us grew in my mind with every backward glance¡ªI wanted to fall to pieces, but I saw Billy walk alongside me and although contented is not the right word, it is the nearest. The steps of our boots were all that was heard because I could not fathom to pierce the space between us with words for fear that it would all end. It was a dream, surely. I¡¯d lost my mind. With my hands thumbed into the straps of my pack, I saw I my hands still shook, and they would shake a lot longer¡ªyears and with memories too. The crunch of earth underfoot became a rhythm and instead of looking at my brother, I watched his shadow on the ground.


    ¡°Everyone¡¯s dead?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I repeated.


    ¡°How ain¡¯t I? How ain¡¯t you?¡±


    To say that it was luck would¡¯ve been too morbid. Instead of saying anything, I shrugged, kicked a loose stone, watched my feet some more, and felt a queasiness come over me. For the moment, the immeasurable deaths of those I¡¯d left behind were forgotten in the company of my brother and a sickness welled up inside of me so suddenly that I felt that I¡¯d fall to pieces at the slightest provocation. Finally, I did speak again, but only after steeling myself to the troubles, ¡°Yeah, how are you alive?¡±


    Billy shrugged at me then stumbled up a hill which overlooked trash wood wilderness where sticks lay twisted and bare and further on the sight of Atlanta was visible and I cupped a hand across my brow and Billy did the same and we looked on at the shadows of the place out there where strings of smoke rose from the skyline as a signature for the desolation of the city; it was dead. I felt it in my bones.


    My hands were light while my head was heavy, my throat was dry, and the entire world seized in moments of stillness or perhaps it was my own vision which construed the world in that way; I took to the small hill which Billy had climbed and sat there and stared at the place between my feet to steady myself.


    ¡°Fire,¡± said Billy.


    I nodded and nearly choked.


    Leviathan¡ªtill then I had no belief in dragons¡ªglided over the broken city, its winged shadow little seen but its voice was deep across the scene, letting go of roars which shook the ground. We hid among the trash wood and moved down the hill and watched the creature thrash in the air as if it was angry for its abominable life. Whatever millennia it spent in the pits of hell seemingly thrust upon it a love of destruction and pain.


    My brother moved with a more assured stride and kept a cool distance and upon fleeing from the wreckage, from the outlying area of Atlanta and the place we¡¯d left our family, he spoke little and watched me strangely whenever I took to melancholic fatiguing. We lit no fires for fear of what it could draw from the night so in the dark I¡¯d see him watching some far-off place, maybe seeing through the reality which surrounded us, and he¡¯d snap from it, catch my eye, and disappear for minutes to scan the perimeter of whatever place we stayed. Being alongside my resurrected brother was lonelier than I could bear, and I hoped he¡¯d disappear for good or that I could work up the courage to end my own life. It was like purgatory explained in books and for a time, it felt endless; upon witnessing the destruction of Atlanta, we pushed to Marrietta, and it was much the same. As was Chatanooga, Nashville, Knoxville, Louisville, Charlotte. The ocean had risen so that Fayetville was gone underwater, and the Florida leg disappeared completely as far as I¡¯m aware. I understood later that Memphis was overlooked and more places further west were alive too, but when we¡¯d exhausted the south, we moved north and found strongholds of families or traders or even small groupings of civilization, but by and large we found nothing much in the two years that we hoofed it from place to place; it was my doing mostly¡ªI wanted to find a place untouched by the mayhem in the area my family had once patrolled.


    In retrospect, I am certain that Billy only stayed by my side for convenience; there wasn¡¯t any of my brother left in the man that was my travelling companion for that time. He was a ghost of a person and Mephisto had preyed upon my desire in the worst moment of weakness in my life. There were nights¡ªmaybe we¡¯d taken up in a natural alcove for shelter or we¡¯d locked ourselves in some ancient structure for sleep¡ªI¡¯d watch Billy lay where he was, Sibylle¡¯s hat and holster lying beside him, and I¡¯d think of putting him down but he¡¯d stir and in a brief shadow I¡¯d see my brother as he¡¯d been and withdraw to bury my face in fake sleep to be met with images of the night the demons attacked where I¡¯d shake, sweat, and bite my lips so hard I¡¯d drink blood.


    Two years we marched around the Appalachians and in that time, I felt myself wither and disconnect.


    Upon moving further north we met Indianapolis¡ªthat¡¯s what it was called back then¡ªand it was run by an older woman called Lady Lazarus; I reckon her father, affluent and dead, was a fan of Plath. Indianapolis was fortified more than most with its high walls, and its wall men, and its underground facilities which produced substantial ammunition. We¡ªme and Billy¡¯s revenant¡ªwere travelling with a group of traders we¡¯d taken up with from out west; they called themselves wizards and although they seemed of the occult, their spirits discounted whatever suspicions I might¡¯ve had of them.


    I remember first pushing through that big gate; the town kept with it an indisputable malaise and though we were greeted at the gate by the leader Lady Lazarus¡ªher brothers came along with her¡ªand her jovial demeanor carried a certain infectious quality, I could not help but notice that the regular denizens maintained a healthy distance from their leader (the guards which followed the Lady everywhere probably had something to do with this).


    Lady Lazarus touched each of our hands in greeting with enthusiasm and I could not help but notice how soft they were, how vibrant her eyes were, how much she smiled, and how beautiful she was given her age; already her head was fully gray.


    Upon meeting each of us, going through the wizard traders first, she came to me, and Billy and she shook my hand then pivoted to Billy.


    ¡°Welcome. You can call me Lady.¡±


    Billy caught her hand in his, held it longer than she¡¯d intended so that they held eye contact, and he smiled broadly, tipped the cowboy hat on his head back to expose his smooth forehead and said, ¡°And you can call me Maron, mam. You are quite a sight for a tired man.¡±


    Though Maron¡ªas he¡¯d named himself¡ªwas more boy than man, Lady took a disturbed liking to him immediately and we prolonged our stay in Indianapolis after the wizards departed to head west.


    Under the rule of Lady, Indianapolis was a theocracy, with her addressing the huddled masses at the steps of her grand abode, she¡¯d preach for hours on sin and strife and quote her favorite passages; though reminiscent of my time with the Rednecks, I never found any truth or sincerity or freedom in her teaching¡ªhers was more trouble, brimstone, fire and I¡¯d had enough of that for a lifetime. Public execution was common. As was torture.


    Maron distanced himself further from me, but I remained to keep an eye on him¡ªit was not sentimentality but rather I existed without purpose and conjured some from watching my brother.


    Often, Lady invited Maron to her private rooms and though the rumors and speculation ran the full spectrum of perverse speculation, every denizen feigned ignorance at her pregnancy.


    Upon giving birth, the infant was malformed with two heads¡ªher brothers took this as an omen and killed the child, put their leader in the stocks for months, and stripped her of dignity while the denizens did to her what they pleased.


    Maron rose through the wall men while Lady¡¯s brothers assumed control of Indianapolis and called themselves Bosses; in the time since Lady¡¯s reign, the place was renamed to Golgotha for its closeness to a messiah.


    I went west but always found myself drawn back to Golgotha because of some emptiness in me. It was only with Suzanne that I wanted something more and knowing them, I almost believed in a world like the one that children dream about. The world that Gemma and Andrew chased after when they left home, like the one Aggie talked about in her mother¡¯s books. There¡¯s a hopelessness in me that I¡¯ll never be rid of. In the interim between our initial arrival to Golgotha and that flight from that terrible city, I cannot know how many people I sacrificed in convening with demons because I refuse to know because the number would destroy me. That is the worst of it; I do not even have courage enough to face myself or the actions of my past in any substantive way.


    Mephisto tainted me so that I could speak with his kind as a dealmaker and the disease grew.


    Billy or Maron or whatever he is should have been reaped long ago or better, I should never have brought that abomination alive. Such a cruel world where a deep longing like that can be inverted, weaponized. Me and him should both die; me and him should have died a long time ago.

 Thirteen: The Preparation for a Night of Demon Burning

    The travel took on a less gloomy quality in the day that passed since Gemma¡¯s self-reflection and although there remained a queer distance in her eyes, she seemed in better spirits in losing the weight of the words.


    It was a night just beyond Wabash Crevasse that we pushed on till sunset was almost upon us and we were each tired and the food stocks ran low and so we found harbor in a half collapsed cellar where a home once stood; it was only after examining the slatted, rotted boards of the old place, fallen over, tired with decay, that we spied the cellar doors intact; sheets of door metal plied us with safety from the outside world and the interior of the place stank of mold and the deeper recesses were collapsed, but there was a cradle to crossbar the stair hatch and I put my prybar there for the night. We finished the water and canned tomatoes, and I smoked a cigarette, staving off the inevitable doom which would come with the dwindling of our supplies.


    I¡¯d peeked through the space where the doors met at the cellar¡¯s entry and watched the full darkness there while the youngins spoke of life and the trivial pursuits of it and I hardly said a word besides.


    Sitting on the lowest step with Trouble dumbly maintaining her station by me, by the low glow of the space in the threshold, I saw they¡¯d pushed their bedrolls together and Andrew had fallen asleep with his arm over Gemma¡¯s shoulder and her eyes glowed with shine from the crack, blinked a few times while seeing me; she too eventually drifted to sleep, and I spent time by the secured door.


    Gunshots rang across the stillness, and they stirred from their quiet slumber and Gemma asked, ¡°Harlan, is it alright?¡±


    I moved to the space there at the doorway again and listened and watched what I could through that crack and nothing beyond came. ¡°It¡¯s safe. I¡¯ll be up a bit longer. I¡¯ll watch.¡±


    Andrew asked, ¡°Can¡¯t sleep?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll sleep in a bit. Don¡¯t worry about me. Rest. Sleep good and we can put more behind us.


    They sat up, legs crossed triangle-wise, and Gemma spoke again, ¡°Why do you have such a hard time sleeping? It seems I¡¯m asleep after you and only awake after you too.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Andrew.


    ¡°It¡¯s cool at night. I can listen to the wind.¡± I shrugged.


    ¡°You should be the one that tries to get some sleep,¡± said Andrew.


    I said nothing.


    They reached out their arms and I shook my head.


    ¡°Here,¡± Gemma said, ¡°Move your bedroll closer.¡± She reached across the dirt floor of the cellar and dragged my splayed roll so that it sat beside hers.


    ¡°I¡¯ll sleep later.¡± I turned my attention back to the door and ignored them till their sounds of sleep could be heard. The Alukah was nowhere and did not tap on the door that night and when I moved to sleep, I shimmied onto the roll beside them, facing away on my shoulder; the dog followed, laid on the bare dirt beside me and I held the mutt.


    Though I refused a noise as they stirred in the absolute darkness, I felt Gemma¡¯s arm fall over my own shoulder and felt Andrew¡¯s hand touch my back, and water traced the bridge of my nose and I slept deeply thereafter.


    There was no breakfast without food, and the water was gone; I felt the eyes of the dog on us as we packed up our belongings that next morning and I tried not to imagine the poor animal skinned over fire. I smiled at Trouble, patted its head, scratched its chin; she sniffed my hand like she was looking for something that wouldn¡¯t be found.


    We went west again, ignoring roads and pushed through straight wasteland where nothing was and no one was, and with every dry footfall on the dry hard ground, I wished for rain, and I wished that when it had rained, as infrequent as it was, that I had been wise enough to save what we could from the sky; that sky was red and swollen and refused to burst. We pushed on through strange dead thickets where grayed and twisty yellow branches lurched from the ground into the sky like even they too wished for an end to all the suffering. It was days more till we would see Alexandria and though I could stave off hunger (thirst too, if necessary), I was not so certain that the children would be able to push on without it; they did not complain and watched the ground in our march and maintained higher spirits than I could¡¯ve imagined from them.


    Early in the day, they spoke often, and I listened and as they wore on, their words came less and even the dog seemed in a lower mood for the unsaid predicament; me too.


    Gemma broke the silence on the matter by saying, ¡°What are we going to do about food? Water?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll push on.¡±


    ¡°We could turn back?¡± asked Andrew.


    ¡°The more time we spend out in the open, outside of a city, the more likely it is that the Alukah will catch us unawares. Tighten your belts.¡± Our feet took us around a dilapidated truck, an old thing with a rusty hook which dangled off a rear arm. ¡°Save your urine.¡±


    They made faces but did not protest.


    ¡°Does that work? You ever drink pee?¡± asked Andrew.


    I laughed, ¡°I thought we¡¯d be there by now. I took us too long by trying to drop the scent of the Alukah. That thing¡¯s hunted us for days¡ªlast night was the first time it ain¡¯t bothered us. It¡¯s got me wondering why.¡±


    Gemma piped up, licking her dry lips before speaking, ¡°Do you think that monster ran into those scavengers we saw?¡± Then I caught her shooting a look at Andrew, ¡°At least we warned them.¡± Her smile was faint and almost indiscernible as one.


    I shrugged. ¡°Can¡¯t say. Don¡¯t think it¡¯s smart to turn back. Won¡¯t be long and we¡¯ll touch the 40 and then it¡¯ll be a straight on to Babylon¡ªcouple of days¡ªcan¡¯t turn back though. Maybe without food; that¡¯s doable. Water¡¯s the worst, but if it comes to it,¡± I paused and looked on the weathered faces of the children, on the lowered head of Trouble which followed her nose across the ground (it searched just short of frantic), ¡°Like I said, ¡®save your urine¡¯.¡±


    The first pains of hunger held within me brought up some reminiscence and I wished for nothing more than to hold Suzanne; I could nearly smell them and in the swaying walk which took us on past toppled townships, I held long blinks where I could nearly make out their face and if I really pushed the limits of my imagination, I could feel them. In those moments, as we passed dead places, rotted pits of despair, I could think of little more than their presence. Though I knew it was a dangerous game, hoping for more than I was worth, I hoped for Suzanne then and I wished that I¡¯d taken them up on their offer to travel to Alexandria with them; it could¡¯ve been home¡ªit never was in all the times I¡¯d gone there, but who knows? The thoughts of Babylon brought forth their gardens; the wild gardens and the water which flowed freely through their pipes. I wished I was a different person entirely and that too would¡¯ve been better for Suzanne; how it was that they¡¯d seen anything in me, I don¡¯t know. How it was that they could stoop to the level of being with someone like me¡ªI warded off that thought, because to place the blame there would certainly be unfair. I thought of my love plainly and wanted a different life more suited to them.


    Imaginations played more furiously, and I remembered the evening when Dave stopped me from leaping from that roof¡ªit¡¯s doubtful that he even realized that he¡¯d slowed my demise; perhaps he did know¡ªI wished then that I could ask him. Too kind for the world. People too kind for the world were scarce and hardly worth the trouble. Yet, there I was, chaperoning those two across the wastes.


    Gemma was a broken person when I¡¯d found her, tortured in Baphomet¡¯s well; Andrew was a dullard boy who¡¯d lost his hand. What a silly predicament.


    I stopped in my movements and swiveled on my heel to catch Andrew by the shoulder. ¡°You still got your hand, don¡¯t you?¡±


    In good humor, the boy grinned, lifted the nub on the end of his left forearm to show me, ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°Dammit, no! The hand in the jar!¡±


    Andrew raised his eyebrows. ¡°In my pack.¡±


    ¡°Stop,¡± I commanded Trouble; the dog hardly recognized my words and continued a way then circled back, sad eyes looking up from where she took to sit by my side. Gemma, both arms dangling loosely from her own pack¡¯s shoulder straps, took into the circle we¡¯d formed.


    The girl asked, ¡°What about the jar? It¡¯s nasty, but I guess it¡¯s his.¡±


    ¡°I think that¡¯s it,¡± I said. I took Andrew by his shoulders, looked him in his eyes, ¡°We could use it!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± The boy almost laughed in the display of our concern. ¡°What¡¯s that got to do with anything?¡±


    ¡°I think I¡¯ve got it! It¡¯s good for a trap.¡± I shook him; maybe too hard. I almost smiled. ¡°It¡¯s worth a shot!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s mine.¡± He bit his top lip, withdrew from me.


    ¡°You¡¯ll feel differently about that,¡± I said.


    Gemma placed a hand on Andrew¡¯s pack and tried ripping it open. ¡°Give it to him!¡± shouted the girl.


    The boy whipped from her grasp, and he spun on his feet, and panic stood on his face. ¡°It¡¯s mine, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    I took a step forward, ¡°No, not anymore.¡± I put out my palm, ¡°Give it.¡±


    Andrew nearly flinched at the thought of it and shook his head a little. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I told you why,¡± I said.


    ¡°You don¡¯t even know if it¡¯ll work, do you?¡± his words were long in protest.


    The girl started again, ¡°Andrew, please.¡±


    He locked eyes with Gemma and once again, his bottom teeth came up to meet over his top lip and he moved his jaw methodically with contemplation.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    ¡°What does it even matter?¡± she asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s mine. You don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous!¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± he said, but his pack straps fell from his shoulders, and he hunkered down on the ground and opened his bag; his right hand plunged into the recesses therein and withdrew the jar with his severed left hand. He held the object up, refusing to come up from his open pack, keeping his eyes on the ground. ¡°Take it then.¡± He shook the jar; its contents sloshed with liquid decay.


    I grabbed the thing, held it to skylight; the remains within had congealed and rotted and lumps nearly floated in the brownish liquid which had formed in the base of the container. I shook it and stared for a moment at the miniscule debris which floated alongside the hand; each of its digits had swollen and erupted to expose bone; some had come away in pieces. ¡°Tomorrow,¡± I said and nodded.


    We gathered ourselves and Andrew pulled his pack on again and we moved, Trouble still looked sorry and the boy remained quiet while the girl chattered on with questions while we took through the dying ground in a formation with the dog on point then me then the children.


    ¡°What will you do with it?¡± she asked me.


    ¡°Not sure yet.¡±


    Andrew made a noise like he wanted to say something but didn¡¯t.


    ¡°You think it will work?¡± asked Gemma.


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s a guarantee. They¡¯re smart¡ªAlukah.¡±


    ¡°Smart enough to figure out a trap?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°We¡¯ll find out.¡±


    ¡°We could put stakes in a pit.¡±


    ¡°Keep on the lookout for a building. Something with multiple floors.¡±


    With that, we moved on, found a worn, mostly destroyed road and we fell into a travelling quiet and the thought of hunger or thirst arose again, and I pushed it down¡ªthough I knew the uneasiness could only last so long before savagery would overtake the human condition; the kids seemed strong enough, but I kept an eye on the dog too. Savagery belonged not only to humans, after all.


    The ground of the wastes was harder when it was quiet, and it was flatter further west. The sky¡ªred and full of thin and transparent drifting clouds¡ªseemed an awful sight when stared at for too long; it was the thing which stretched as if to signal there wasn¡¯t an end in any direction, as if to declare we had much more to go till safety. Wanderlust is a thing that I believe I¡¯ve felt before, but under that sky, with those two and the dog, I didn¡¯t feel it at all. It was doom that I felt. Ignorance and doom. And it was all because I was certain I¡¯d made all the wrong mistakes, and it was coming back to me. I was experienced. We should¡¯ve had food and water. Perhaps there was some deep and nasty part inside of me that had intended to sacrifice them along the way. The words of the Alukah might have rung true: You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you¡¯d deal.


    Surely, I felt differently. Surely.


    ¡°Getting darker,¡± called Andrew as we came to where signposts¡ªworn and bent and barely legible¡ªtold us of a place once called Annapolis and the buildings were nearly gone entirely; places, maybe places that were once homes, were leveled¡ªI was briefly caught in imagining what it might¡¯ve been like all those ages ago. As are most places, it was haunted like that and when we came to a long rectangular structure of metal walls¡ªthin walls¡ªwe took it as a place for rest for the night.


    It once served as an agricultural station, for when we breached its entry, there were a line of dead machines¡ªthree in all¡ªcultivators or tillers which stood higher than any of our heads and Gemma asked what they were, and I told her I thought they were for farming. The great rusted bodies stood in quiet shadow as we came through a side passage of the building and the great doors which had once been used to release those machines from the building stood frozen in their frame. I approached the doors, lighting my lantern and motioning for the children to shut the door we¡¯d entered through.


    Upon closer inspection, it seemed the doors would roll into the ceiling and the chains which held the doors in place were each secured with rusted padlocks¡ªI removed my prybar from my pack and moved along the wall of doors, giving each old lock a smack with the weapon; each one held in place, seemingly fused there through years of corrosion, and I rounded the cultivators once more, back to the children, near the side door where they¡¯d discovered a rickety stair frame which crawled up the side of the wall to a catwalk; along the catwalk, a levitated box stood at the height of the structure, stilted by metal legs, and we took the stairs slowly with the dog following close behind; the poor mutt was mute save the sound of its own shuffling paws.


    The metal stairs creaked under our weight and Gemma held her own lantern high over her head so that the strange shadows of the place grew longer, stranger, and suddenly I felt very sure that something was in the dark with us, but there was no noise except what we made. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I followed the children up the stairs till we met the overhang of the catwalk and I peered into the shadows, the blades of the cultivators¡ªfar extended on foldable arms¡ªstruck up through the pool of blackness beneath us and I felt so cold there and if it were not for the breath of my fellow travelers, I might have been lost in the dark for longer than intended¡ªlost and frozen and contemplative.


    ¡°There¡¯s a room,¡± said the boy, and he pushed ahead on the hanging passage, and he was the first to the door. ¡°Boxes,¡± he said plainly.


    Upon coming to the place where he stood, Gemma pushed her lantern over the threshold, and I saw what he¡¯d meant as I traced my own lantern to help; the room was crammed with plastic totes and old metal containers of varied sizes. There seemed to be enough empty space to maneuver through the room, but only if one watched their feet while they walked. Carefully.


    We moved to the room, and I found a stack of crates to place my lantern then motioned for Gemma to douse hers. In minutes, the place was rearranged so that we could sit comfortably on the floor; crates lined the walls precariously and we breathed heavy from the work done, but we began to unpack and upon watching the children while I rolled a cigarette, I felt a pang of guilt, a terrible summation¡ªall choices in my life had led me here and with them and perhaps it would have been a better world for them without me.


    Mentally shrugging this thought away, I lit my cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then withdrew the jar which Andrew had handed over. I held it to the lantern to examine it. The grotesqueness of it hardly phased me and I watched it more curious and hopeful than disgusted.


    ¡°I hope it¡¯ll work,¡± said the boy, ¡°Whatever it is that you plan on doing with it.¡± He grimaced and maintained a further silence in patting his bedding for fluff. The dog moved to him, and she pushed her forehead against him where he squatted on floor. The boy scratched Trouble¡¯s chin and whispered, ¡°Good girl,¡± into the top of her head where he¡¯d pushed his own face.


    ¡°I¡¯m hungry,¡± said Gemma; she placed her chin in her arm while watching Andrew with the dog. She sat on her own flat bed there on the floor and stated plainly the thing that I¡¯d hoped to ignore for longer.


    ¡°I know.¡± I took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke hang over my head. ¡°The dog?¡±


    Andrew recoiled, pulling Trouble closer into his arms.


    I smiled. ¡°It was a joke.¡±


    Andrew relaxed, but only a moment before Gemma added, ¡°Maybe.¡±


    The boy narrowed his eyes in the girl¡¯s direction, and she shrugged. ¡°If it¡¯s life or death.¡±


    He didn¡¯t say anything and merely continued stroking Trouble¡¯s coat.


    That night, we slept awfully and even in the complete darkness, I felt the cramp of the storage room and the angled shapes of the tools that protruded from the containers on all sides remained permanent well after we¡¯d turned the light off and it felt like those shapes were the teeth of a great creature like we were sitting inside of its mouth, looking out.


    Trouble positioned herself partially on my chest, her slow rhythmic breathing brought my thoughts calm and I whispered to her in the dark after I was sure the others were asleep, ¡°I promise it was a joke.¡± And I brushed the back of her neck with my hand and the animal let go of a long sigh then continued that deep rhythmic breathing.


    Still without food or water, the following day was the true indication of the misery to come. Gemma¡¯s stomach growled audibly in waking and Andrew¡ªthough he kept his complaints to himself¡ªsmacked his lips more often or protruded the tongue in his mouth in a starvation for water. The room, in the daylight which peered through pinpricks of its half-decayed roof, seemed another beast altogether from its nighttime counterpart; it was not so frightening. Again, I admonished myself for the lack of preparation, but there was another thought that brought together a more cohesive feeling; we had a possible plan, a trap for the demon that¡¯d been following us.


    We went into the field to the west of the building where there was only dirt beneath our feet in the early sunlight and in the coolness of morning air, I nearly felt like a person. The sun crested the horizon and brought with it a warmth that would quickly become overwhelming¡ªin those few minutes though¡ªit felt good enough. I wished for the shy dew and saw none. The weirdness of holding Andrew¡¯s rotting hand in a jar momentarily caught me and I almost laughed, but refrained and the dog and the children looked on while I held the container up and suddenly, seeing the congealed mass of tissue floating in its own excretions, I was overcome with the urge to run, the urge that nothing would ever be right again in my life, and that I was marked to be that way.


    I blinked and tossed the jar to Andrew. ¡°Say goodbye,¡± I said. He fumbled after it with his right hand and caught it to his chest.


    ¡°It¡¯s strange you care so much anyway,¡± said Gemma, shrugging¡ªher eyes forgave a millisecond of pity and when Andrew looked at her, still holding the jar in his right hand, she smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.


    ¡°We¡¯ve enough oil, I think,¡± my voice was raspy from it being early, ¡°Enough for good fire, but if we use it, it¡¯ll mean a few more dark nights on our way.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to set it on fire?¡± Andrew pondered, keeping his eyes to the contents of the jar.


    ¡°It worked good enough last time. It¡¯ll work,¡± I nodded, ¡°I has to, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    His dry lips creased into a brief smile, and he tossed the jar back to me and I caught it.


    ¡°Let¡¯s dig,¡± I said.


    Without much in the way of proper tools, we began at the ground under us with our hands, then taking turns with my prybar till there was a hole in the ground comfortably large enough to conceal a human head and I uncapped the jar and spilled it contents there and we covered it back and I lightly tamped it with my boot. My eyes scanned the outbuilding we¡¯d taken refuge in the night prior and then to the street to the north then to the houses which stood as merely rotted plots of foundation with frames that struck from the ground more as markers than support. ¡°I¡¯ll take up over there across the street when it gets dark. I want you two in that storage room before anything goes off.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t help?¡± asked Gemma.


    ¡°You can help by staying out of the way¡ªthe mutt too,¡± I said; the words were harsh, but my feelings were from worry.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be better if we stuck together?¡± asked the girl.


    I shook my head. ¡°You stay in the room and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, you stay quiet and safe.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯ll put you at a bigger risk,¡± Gemma furrowed her brow at me and shifted around to look out on the houses across the street, ¡°There¡¯s hardly any cover over there.¡±


    The boy nodded, smacked his lips, and rubbed his forearm across his mouth then audibly agreed with her.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± I said, ¡°No matter what you hear happening outside, no matter, you don¡¯t open the door and you don¡¯t scream¡ªdon¡¯t make a noise at all. Alright? Even if you hear me calling you, you don¡¯t do it.¡±


    ¡°Pfft,¡± Gemma crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground. The way her eyes seemed hollowed with bruising showed that the irritation would only grow without food. ¡°Alright,¡± she finally sighed.


    Andrew looked much the same as she did in that; he swallowed a dry swallow then stuffed his hand into his pocket and looked away when our eyes matched.


    We gathered our light oil. Altogether, it seemed enough; rummaging through the room of the outbuilding we¡¯d earlier taken refuge within, we managed three intact glass containers¡ªthe only ones found that wouldn¡¯t leak with liquid; two were bottles and the third was the jar that¡¯d once kept Andrew¡¯s hand. With that work done, we sat with three Molotov cocktails within our huddled circle of the storage room.


    ¡°Is it enough?¡± asked Gemma.


    ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± I began rolling a cigarette to ignore the hunger and the thirst.


    Andrew took to the corner and glanced over his shoulder only a moment before a steady liquid stream could be heard and when he rotated from the wall once the noise was finished and he held a canteen up to his nose, sniffed it and quivered and shook his head.


    As the sun pushed on, I scanned the perimeter outside, and they followed. Far south I spied a mass of shadow inching across the horizon and Gemma commented, ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    I pushed the binoculars to her and let her gaze through them.


    ¡°A fiend¡ªthat¡¯s what we called it back in the day anyway. A mutant.¡±


    She held the binoculars up and frowned. ¡°A mutant? So, it was once human?¡±


    ¡°A fiend was once many humans.¡± I pointed out to the horizon though she couldn¡¯t see me doing so and continued, ¡°If you look at the edges of its shape, you¡¯ll see it¡¯s got limbs galore on it. Sticking up like hairs is what it¡¯ll look like at this distance. Those are arms and legs. It¡¯s got faces too. Many faces.¡± I shuddered.


    ¡°I can barely see any details,¡± she passed the binoculars to Andrew, and he looked through them, ¡°What¡¯s it do?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I asked.


    ¡°What¡¯s it do if it catches a person?¡±


    ¡°It pulls into it. Makes you apart of its mass. Nasty fuckers.¡±


    Andrew pulled the lenses from his eyes and held them to his chest and asked, ¡°It won¡¯t mess up your trap, will it?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll keep an eye on it,¡± I said, ¡°You don¡¯t want to mess with a fiend unless you have to.¡±

 Fourteen: Burning Bodies and Victory!

    Satan was on the air, on the night, within everything in the long shadows cast by the setting sun and with him came a chill to the air that I could never hope to internalize; it might kill me.


    From a rotted abode across the street, I watched the large outbuilding and the field in which we¡¯d buried the hand and I found myself in prayer¡ªamong the torn and exposed studs of dry-rotted wood and rusted metal I caught my own whispers and forced myself to stop like I intended to convene with God right there in the dark; I wasn¡¯t there for Allah. It was something else that compelled me there. I whispered the prayer and felt foolish at my own voice and ducked lowly among the rubble and held my breath to watch the sunlight go from the land and in a blink, the light was gone, and I was there in darkness that at first was a terror and then I slipped into it through blinks and the surroundings became clearer even in the dark.


    Time went on.


    I was exposed, but the yougins were safe¡ªTrouble too. If nothing else mattered in the world, then they should go on without me. It had come to me so suddenly (maybe it was the prayer that withdrew such a sentimentality) that I liked them okay.


    Before anything else, a cat¡¯s hiss came so faintly that I plugged my ear with my pinky, shook it and listened again; the noise grew closer, and I could do nothing but watch the field and squint in the darkness and wait.


    Fumbling, I counted the glass containers with touch only¡ªtwo in my jacket pocket and the third by my feet¡ªand my fingers then danced to the threadbare strap of the shotgun on my shoulder; I shed my pack for mobility.


    The domineering creature lurched forcefully from the shadows and then went on display in the moonlight properly and its arched back protruded even over its own head till it lifted that muzzle, so its rattish face was cut out in a black outline; it was sniffing, and the hiss came through the air again. The Alukah kept a serpentine strut, smoothly gliding across the ground as it used its hands like forelegs to press its snout against the ground. In watching, I consciously relaxed my shoulders and refrained from biting my teeth together. That creature found the spot it had been searching for¡ªit seemed roughly the place we¡¯d buried the hand¡ªand it took its claws there with bestial shovelfuls.


    In a hurry, I gathered the jar I¡¯d placed by my feet¡ªit would not slide so gracefully into my jacket as the others¡ªand as quietly as I could, I slinked around the rubble, through two studs, and onto the dirt. Within milliseconds, my own heartbeat pounded all over my body and I stood in the street and lit the Molotov cocktail with a lighter and took closer to the creature.


    It shifted around and in that moment I wished I had a light source powerful enough to expose its body; I tossed the cocktail in a high arch and it exploded in a moment by the creature¡¯s feet as it stood and pivoted to look at me fully; its solid white eyes were wide in a glance of moon-shine and it slung itself from the eruption of flames around its feet with violent speed. Its black hair hung down the sides of its face and its head parted midway to expose a snarl. It stalked in a circle around the concentration of flames, remaining mostly in the dark; the thing moved slowly nearer, those long arms swaying in front of itself with each step.


    You should know better. It stopped midstride, coming no closer and we each stood there in the field roughly thirty feet from one another, and I refused to take my eyes from it. The boy¡¯s mine. The flames began to flicker and die. For how long we stood like that, I couldn¡¯t say, and I waited.


    I couldn¡¯t find a voice till it was all dark again, besides the moon and stars. ¡°Why can¡¯t you leave us be? There¡¯s easier pickins.¡±


    You offer yourself too much credit, Harlan. We remained in silence and in the darkness the creature may have been a statue¡ªin a blink it seemed as much. You are a corpse, no? A walking corpse of a man! A terrible sickness is in you. I know it. I see it on you as plainly as I see your fear.


    Rigidity took over my body and I puffed my chest out like it meant something and I shook my head, ¡°I¡¯m not afraid.¡±


    Not of me, no. Of yourself? Something. The voice lingered with the ends of its words, drawing them out first guttural then it left them on hisses. Something I know.


    I lit the next Molotov, and the creature didn¡¯t move; I threw the bottle furiously and it went into the darkness like a far candleflame till it erupted in the spot the Alukah had been standing¡ªthe thing had leapt from there, leaving me unawares and I lowered myself to the ground in a crouch, swiveling my head around to catch the thing in the dark. The flames on the ground danced brightly, leaving me light-blinded.


    Not again, said the thing, You will not catch me so easily with fire again. It was behind me, nearer the outbuilding and it took a moment through blinks for my eyesight to return well enough to see the grotesqueness of the misshapen massive humanoid thing.


    The Molotov explosion burned then disappeared and we stood looking at one another again and I felt silly, foolish, radically unprepared, and overwhelmingly trivial in the grand scheme of the universe¡ªif it wanted to, it could leap the distance between us and rip me to shreds. Why didn¡¯t it kill me? Why wasn¡¯t I dead?


    That damnable night creature extended one of its massive forehands, flexing the digits on the end of its arm and whispered its words like a plea, The boy, Harlan. That is all. Take that brimstone smelly girl and carry that shell of a body¡ªwalk on to whatever hole you humans call home.


    Hoping to not draw a movement from the creature, I pressed my forearm against my ribcage, feeling the last Molotov that was there in the inner pocket and I gently slid the strap from my shoulder, and held my shotgun in both hands, licking my dry lips, watching the dark frame of the Alukah, fearing even a moment of distraction; my eyes locked on the creature and I refused to speak.


    No deal then. It wasn¡¯t a question; its rattish snout offered a mild nod of understanding. You despise a good sense of words.


    I readied the shotgun, legs spaced in proper formation¡ªlooking down the barrel, I held my breath and upon squeezing the trigger, the thing knocked into my shoulder, but the creature was gone. In scanning, I found the thing had moved from the field and bounded wildly across the street towards the dead ruins of Annapolis, its muscular limbs made short work of fleeing.


    The outbuilding remained quiet and erectly tall, and I moved to its shadow and cussed whispers for wasting ammunition. Only three shells remained; worse, I¡¯d wasted two of my explosives. I watched the horizon in the opposite direction of the crowded foundations of Annapolis and carefully held my breath in watching and I prayed again, hoping that the commotion would not draw attention.


    An overwhelming sense of foolishness welled in my guts, and I trotted off towards the direction I¡¯d watched the Alukah go, through the ramshackle streets haphazardly.


    The darkness was maddeningly empty, so I filled it with shouts, ¡°C¡¯mon! This is your turf, ain¡¯t it? This darkness is yours so come and take me if you can!¡± Rusty as I was, I held the shotgun like never before, squinting my eyes, keeping my pace in unison with my heartbeat. There¡¯s a place in that darkness that is beyond reproach, beyond the comprehension of a city dweller, beyond even my own understanding and I found myself padding through those streets at an accelerated rate, hopeful to confront the demon and I only found more dead and vacant lots and I crossed more than two intersections where the signs were either gone or indecipherable in the black shadows cast there. I wished for a payback of the demon¡¯s hunt or perhaps I wished for something even more than that¡ªwhat did I need to prove and to who? ¡°You sick and twisted and foul beast!¡± I went so loud I continued to hoarseness, ¡°Slimy fuck!¡± I¡¯s so mad that spit came with the words too.


    Still, there was nothing and I came to a final crossroads, a place more commercial¡ªat least for a flatland dead town¡ªwhere brick storefronts half-stood on those four corners. Finding my voice again, I continued my tirade, cursing the demon, ¡°Come get some¡ªc¡¯mon already! Here¡¯s your fight?¡± I was scared though.


    A sudden noise from the dilapidated storefront to my left startled me to pivot and watch, gun pulled up, and I focused as hard as I could on the recesses of that shadowed place; it was a large antiquated face where a window might have sat many years prior. Wet and hungry sounds emanated from that place, the disgusting noises of a fiend¡ªeven in knowing it, I was surprised in seeing the new creature spill out in a lumpish mess of slickened muscles, lubricated, its innumerable arms and legs clawed its own body forward so that it rolled like a mushy ball¡ªeach of those limbs remained human in nature. Upon the thing pulling itself onto the street, I staggered backwards, gun still raised, and watched its form take a modicum of understanding in the moonlight; its mouths¡ªsporadically, illogically placed over its mass of a body¡ªopened and seemed to try and speak with each one merely letting go of meekly audible, painful sighs in doing so. The eyes, spaced much the same as the mouths, blinked and rolled as if it was torture for the thing to live. The mutant was a tongue-like mass at its center, and it was almost the size of a horse¡ªI¡¯d seen fiends grow much larger, but this was still a great threat.


    In moving away from where it spilled onto the street, I stumbled backwards and caught myself on the backfoot and clumsily spun into a sprint; my boots pounded in my flight from the thing, and it chased after.


    Its mouths exhausted terrible sighs as it gained speed in the relative openness of the street and in seconds, I would not have been surprised if the thing snatched me by an ankle and devoured me without thought¡ªnot that fiends had any other thoughts above the basest urge to consume.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The pursuit kept me going in the dark, watching the still shadows of the dilapidated housing and I pushed on until I tasted copper; my breathing went raspy¡ªit¡¯d been so long since I¡¯d been forced to run from such a creature in the open. I took a glance back and saw it coming, gaining speed in its perpetual roll; its body excreted some fluid across itself so that it could glide more easily.


    Coming to a crossroads I¡¯d passed earlier, or perhaps it was a new one¡ªI couldn¡¯t fathom in the dark¡ªI took in the direction of what I thought was south and ran full throttle; my knees ached.


    In hoping to confuse the mutant, I quickly dove towards the right side of the southbound street, towards some ramshackle, through the skeletal framing of a skinless house without a roof; I pushed through the pencil-narrow vertical beams and stumbled through, landing onto the unseen ground on the other side. My left leg spasmed and in the millisecond that it took for my nerves to register the pain, I let out a mild, ¡°Oh.¡± I tried to lift myself from the spot and found that my left leg refused to bend straight; in total horror¡ªmore so from my body failing than the mutant¡ªI swiveled my torso around and scooted on my rear across the ground, raking myself in the opposite direction of the fiend.


    The mutant slammed into the frame; its many arms reached through the bars and in a moment, it began to use its hands to lift itself along the exposed wall and I scooted further away till my back met the bars of where an opposite wall would¡¯ve gone. In a scramble, I snatched the shotgun, pushed myself sniff against the bars on my side and watched the thing down the barrel; I waited and concentrated on my own breathing. If nothing else worked, I still had that Molotov¡ªif not for it then for me.


    As it crested the top of the wall made of bars, I watched patiently and only when I was certain I fired.


    The mutant, the great meatball-thing that it was, lost its grasp for a moment and slipped onto the arrangement of vertical bars; I gush of liquid, illuminated in starlight, shot from its base of its soft body; it began to try and catch its grasp on the bars and I took a moment for myself to examine my left knee¡ªI pulled it as close to my face as I could manage which was hardly at all¡ªsome black triangular mass had lodged itself into my flesh; more accurately, I¡¯d slammed myself onto something sharp in my panic to flee the fiend. In a second, not thinking of the repercussions, I gripped the thing with my left hand and clamped my mouth onto my right hand, biting into fat of my hand by the thumb. The debris was free from my leg, and I let it to fall to the ground; blood ran freely into my mouth and I let go of the bite and tentatively lifted the gun again, ignoring the pain; the creature continued to struggle, and I fired again. It slipped again, further impaling itself on the bars.


    I had one shell left.


    Using the place I¡¯d propped my back, I pushed free from the ground and put all my weight onto my right leg, testing the left; I staggered¡ªhopped really¡ªaround in the small square of ground surrounded by metal framing and searched the ground for something long. I unearthed the dirt around my feet and found a long piece of metal rod; setting the gun to the side, I lifted the metal rod over my head and then slowly arched it out from my body. It would give me just enough room to further injure the thing while also staying well out of its grasp.


    I swung the makeshift weapon down like a bat or a sword and the fiend slid a little further down the bars, the exit wounds began to show across the top of its roundish body, and I smacked it again¡ªits mouths spoke words that could nearly be understood. Though it took only moments, I was thoroughly exhausted by the time the creature had reached the ground again, good and dead and impaled upon six of those vertical bars. I tossed the weapon to the ground, lifted my gun, and shimmied through the bars on the opposite side of the square.


    Adrenaline only lasts so long, and my left leg throbbed to the point of nausea; I did not want to inspect the wound, but on rounding the ramshackle and watching the still dead thing, I stumbled into the street and knelt and lifted my pant leg. It was dark and bloody and already it was burning. Infection was my first thought. A puncture wound could spell a terrible fate. I shifted to sit in the street. My leg didn¡¯t bend right.


    The cat¡¯s hiss came from the darkness and there wasn¡¯t a way I could respond in time; I felt those long nasty fingers grab me by the back of my neck and I was lifted immediately from the ground¡ªthe gun clattered to the ground and all I could do was initially freeze and stiffen and then my hands moved to the grasp which held me firmly by the throat; those massive knuckles were like stones.


    The Alukah had me and situated me so that it could look into my face, its long black hair hid its eyes but I could smell its breath and see its teeth which rested in its round mouth. I could snap you. It seemed to nod its head, but to detect humanity in that damnable pale face was a mistake.


    I choked.


    What¡¯s that? It relaxed its grasp on my throat.


    ¡°Do it.¡±


    Why¡¯re you crying? Its foot brushed against the gun at its feet, and it lifted it with its free hand, and it commented casually, Little human toy.


    It moved, holding me by the throat, dragging me along the ground in an abnormal sluggish gait. It was hard to see anything but the night sky, anything but the strange angle of the demon¡ªwith its grip, it was hard to breathe, and tears indeed welled in my eyes, and I held to its forearm to distribute some of the weight of my own body away from my neck. With its tugging, I could not speak, but it spoke.


    I¡¯ll squeeze you dry, but your blood¡¯s too tainted to drink. That won¡¯t make it any less interesting. I¡¯ll twist you like a rag and see which hole it comes from first. More than that, you¡¯ll scream. You¡¯ll scream so loud everyone will know. Everyone will know what I¡¯ve done to you¡ªonce you¡¯re no more than ruin. Not even Mephisto would balk at my handiwork once I¡¯ve had my time with you. God will look on your sour corpse with so much disgust there won¡¯t be a place for you anywhere. Only Oblivion, a place worse than any.


    The creature moved us to the open field, tilted its head back and forth, rose its rattish face to the sky and snorted and then clearly sniffed, dropping the gun to its feet to brush the long black hair from its eyes; its muscular body shone in the moonlight so that even its bluish veins stood plainly from its white skin. It shifted its gaze to the outbuilding¡ªmaybe fifty yards away¡ªwhere the youngins were hidden.


    Deftly, the thing lifted me from where it had kept me by its side and my feet levitated over the air, I felt feet taller, suspended from that long arm the way I was. It took its free hand to my midsection and I felt the digits of its hand squeeze my ribs and it let go of my throat and I coughed and wheezed, placing my hands on its fingers to dig into that thing¡¯s skin¡ªit didn¡¯t matter¡ªin seconds, a scream escaped my rattling throat; it squeezed more and I felt the glass bottle in my jacket burst from the force then the Alukah gave relief and I tried to gulp air, but felt pangs along my body. My jacket was wetted from blood by the broken bottle shards entering my body or from the contents of the bottle or both.


    Urine? It pulled me close to itself, sniffed, and shook its head. Oil? it cackled, Again! Beg for the help you do not deserve! It held me outright once more.


    Again, the great hand constricted me and again I could not help but to let out a scream¡ªmy lungs were on fire, my voice stretched like a dying animal. I heard barks and saw nothing through wild choking tears. The grip softened.


    I coughed more and tried to speak; the Alukah brought me close to itself as if to wait and listen to what I had to say. Weeping words fell out in a whisper, ¡°Kill me. Do it. I don¡¯t mind.¡±


    Another sharp laugh exited the thing¡¯s throat and it squeezed again, facing me out so that I could look at the black outline of the outbuilding. I heard the barking again and I saw the figures stumble out from the sidelong face of the outbuilding. I blinked to remove the tears.


    A voice, neither mine nor the demon¡¯s, shouted an attempt at authority, ¡°Let him go!¡± It was Gemma. They rounded the building so that moonlight removed them from obscurity. Gemma held Trouble on a lead while Andrew followed.


    Trouble growled.


    The smile was audible through the Alukah¡¯s voice, Strong words for one so dainty. I felt its grip tighten and I chuffed and couldn¡¯t manage a word.


    ¡°Get it!¡± shouted Gemma; she let go of Trouble¡¯s lead and the dog looked curiously at me and the demon where we were and tucked its tail and circled to hide behind the children.


    The Alukah laughed. Scary dog.


    I was lightheaded while my vision went; I should die¡ªI¡¯d bleed out there or some unknown medical oddity would shut me off. Perhaps I¡¯d will myself to death. My head nodded tiredly, and I fought it, blinking, shaking my head to maintain my eyes.


    ¡°You want me?¡± The boy took a few steps forward and his voice cracked. ¡°We could make a deal.¡±


    The Alukah lowered me so that my feet skimmed the ground but shifted to keep a tight hold around only my throat. Oh?


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± shouted Gemma; she closed the space between herself and Andrew and shoved him.


    He shoved her back. ¡°Me for him,¡± he addressed the demon.


    Is that the deal?


    Everything in my body protested while I reached for the jean pocket on my right side; I could not reach it. I stretched and my ribs screamed in pain¡ªit was worse than bruising. The demon did not notice me moving. Maybe because my movements were weak, subtle. I tried again while mentally asking God for help and I came short of the pocket. I cursed Him and then my shaking fingers found the pocket. I withdrew the lighter there.


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± said Andrew.


    ¡°No, he won¡¯t,¡± Gemma¡¯s voice was aflame.


    It¡¯s not your deal to make, girly.


    I took the lighter to my jacket, lit it, and the flames grew around me in a flash, feeding on the oil.


    The Alukah hissed, attempted to unwrap its hand from around me while I dug into its forearm with two claws and bit onto the thing¡¯s hand for extra purchase. It swung me around and my legs flew limply. It took every bit of strength I had.


    Let go! The Alukah shrieked.


    Trouble barked, the children screamed, and I bit deeper till that thick black blood filled my mouth. The flames were immaculate, cleansing, more furious than I could¡¯ve imagined. Not for life¡ªthat¡¯s not why I held on so strongly¡ªit was for them, for Andrew and Gemma. Me and that creature should¡¯ve burned together. Fitting.


    Delirium took over and I swiveled overhead in the demon¡¯s tantrum, holding onto that arm. The Alukah hissed, roared, shouted nasty epithets.


    The gunshot rang out and I met ground, hard.


    Exhaustion or death could¡¯ve taken me then, but it was the former.


    When consciousness came again, it was hands, smacking hands that brought me to life¡ªthen the vague smell of burnt hair, cooked flesh. My body stung and I could not move but to lift my face from the dirt where I lay belly-flat.


    ¡°You almost died,¡± said Gemma somewhere between hope and sorrow, ¡°You almost killed yourself!¡± She shook me and shoved me hard enough so that I rolled on my back. She¡¯d been crying, but surely, we¡¯d won. What was there to cry for? If we¡¯d lost, she wouldn¡¯t be talking at all.


    She left me and I stared at the sky through slits. The sun was coming but I couldn¡¯t feel the warmth; I couldn¡¯t feel anything (that would be a sweet memory in the time to come). It was quiet save the crackling I heard; it was like the lowness of a dying fire. It wasn¡¯t me? I wasn¡¯t on fire?


    When she returned, she lifted my head to place my pack underneath it; it elevated my vision. I surveyed my surroundings. The outbuilding was there and the Alukah lay on the ground perhaps ten feet from me; its body charred and sizzled and caught little flames in response to the cresting sunrise; everything was a daze¡ªwe¡¯d won.


    Gemma¡¯s eyes glittered, and she called the dog over and the dog sniffed my face and the girl¡¯s lips remained flat, expressionless.


    I saw the boy¡¯s body¡ªit lay motionless alongside the dead Alukah and alongside that body was my shotgun. The body¡¯s head sat on its side, disconnected from its owner, facing away from where I lay.


    ¡°He killed it. He shot it.¡± Gemma sat beside me, and Trouble placed her snout on the girl¡¯s shoulder. ¡°We¡¯re going to die,¡± she nodded.

 Fifteen: You Cant Get Away From Yourself

    There¡¯s a place for mourning, but I¡¯ve never known it long enough for comforting myself¡ªthe girl wanted to cry and I could scarcely move and when I did work the courage to exercise my muscles, I found the task possibly too great but eventually leveled myself into a sitting position; I was burned badly¡ªthe skin of my body up the left side of my body stung like hell and my jacket remained on me only by fate because it was so burned through that it hung off me like a dry heavy rag. The left side of my face didn¡¯t feel right, and I didn¡¯t dare to ask the mourning girl what damage there was.


    When I did speak, I croaked out for help in getting to my feet and Gemma, seemingly remembering me, cut her eyes in my direction; there was something nasty in her and it took no prodding from me to get from her the nastiness.


    ¡°How many people need to die so you live?¡± she asked it bluntly and petted the dog that remained by her side. It was the question I¡¯d asked myself so many times already. I didn¡¯t have the answer for her. She added, ¡°Maybe if you¡¯d done something.¡± Her head shook and twinkles remained in her eyes; the dog went from her, trotted across the dry earth, and sniffed the corpse of the Alukah¡ªor what remained of the beast anyhow.


    Somehow, in the last moments of the boy¡¯s life, he¡¯d gotten a shot off on the thing, but whatever the struggle, it seemed too late to save his own life. ¡°Help me up?¡± I asked the girl again.


    Gemma opened her mouth like she wanted to say something then stopped, clapped her mouth shut then she angled herself onto her own feet from where she¡¯d been sitting and moved to me, and I climbed her arm to stand. My left leg was hobbled near useless beneath me and so I held around the girl¡¯s neck on that side, and she walked me near the terrible scene where the boy lay beside his kill.


    Trouble, being a dog, did what a hungry dog does and sniffed the boy¡¯s body and pushed its snout where the open throat was, the place where the head should¡¯ve been; in a moment I was let go and fell to the ground, landing hard on my knees; the pain which jolted through me as I slammed onto the ground sent my vision white entirely and only once I¡¯d blinked I realized the girl had gone after the dog. She lifted her leg, and the end of her boot met the animal¡¯s ribs, ¡°Get away from it!¡± she shrieked at the animal. It squealed perhaps more from surprise than hurt and scampered towards the road, but remained yards out, watching us with its head lowered.


    ¡°It¡¯s only a dog,¡± I tried.


    She ignored me and was to the ground too, beside the fallen boy. I sat and watched, and she punched the dirt till finally she did cry, and it was heavy; the girl¡¯s shoulders rolled and her whole-body shook, and she clapped her hands across her mouth like she didn¡¯t dare scream. ¡°We should bury him,¡± she said through a terrible muffle, ¡°Burn him?¡± she posed the question to the air over her head. ¡°We can¡¯t leave him out here for anything to get. We can¡¯t carry him. Something should be done about it.¡±


    ¡°Help me up.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± she twisted around where she knelt, a long expression, elderly, deep with grief, ¡°We won¡¯t make it.¡±


    I shifted under my knees to relieve pressure from my left leg and nodded.


    ¡°No food. No water. Andrew¡¯s dead,¡± she pushed her fingers into the dry earth by her hand and brought up a clump of it, letting it fall through her fist.


    ¡°I told you to stay home.¡±


    She chucked the dirt at me and spat, ¡°Shut up! You would¡¯ve probably given him up long ago if you¡¯d travelled this way with him alone. Coward!¡± She sobbed more.


    I finally put myself into a seat on the dirt, tried to lift my arms to support my chin, but through the coughing, through the pain in my ribs, I could not¡ªmy vision listed lazily across to the dog and it still looked on at us, sniffing the ground, moving in semicircles, but slowly closing the gap between where it had run from us.


    ¡°You¡¯re not a coward,¡± she said, ¡°You¡¯re not, but I hate you so badly.¡± Her voice was a dry growl.


    I looked again at the boy¡¯s corpse then at her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. It looks like I¡¯ve put you in a real bad spot.¡± I laid back tentatively, nursing my sides. A dirt nap would¡¯ve done me well. ¡°Take Trouble. Get on without me then. Just go west. If you¡¯re quiet, you could travel at night.¡± I sighed and stared at the blue sky, the wisps of clouds. ¡°Go quick. Follow the big road. I-40. Maybe there¡¯s signs that say it¡ªthere once was. Follow it west until you see Babylon. It¡¯d be hard to miss. Three or four days if you push it.¡± I sighed again. ¡°If you¡¯re quiet, you can travel at night. Quiet and low. Watch for fiends. Keep Trouble close. Quick now.¡±


    I¡¯d closed my eyes, and I heard her shift and then I felt a shadow over me; upon opening my eyes, Gemma stared down at me¡ªa long frown was traced across the lower half of her face.


    She blinked for a long second. ¡°Get up,¡± she said, ¡°Get up. I¡¯m not going to drag you all the way there, so get up.¡±


    I put out my hand for a lift and was surprised by both her finesse and her strength; she slipped beneath my arm, and we moved to the body¡ªshe said bye and stopped only for a moment to lift the shotgun beside him¡ªshe slid the strap over her own shoulder while I awkwardly held to her lightly by the shoulder. She called Trouble and the mutt came after at a distance.


    We took down the road worse than tired, but the stink of the dead beast remained in my nose; the Alukah was dead¡ªwhat other foul creatures remained ahead?


    Delirious hours went by until it was night, and I could scarcely gather myself to know what direction I was headed; Gemma found someplace, some hole somewhere for us to sleep. Then it was day again and all I knew was that one leg fell after the other in a gross tandem limp. Consciousness was blinks like weird time travel, and it was only when it was night again and we¡¯d found a dead old tree sticking from the ground¡ªthat image remains¡ªand we sat by its massive trunk and looked out on the road (the road I thought was the I-40) and I¡¯d only just closed my eyes when I felt something pressed to my mouth.


    ¡°Drink,¡± said Gemma.


    I latched to the opening of whatever gourd or canteen she had, clamping my eyes tighter because if it was a dream, I didn¡¯t want to know. I drank and drank until she yanked it from my grasp.


    There beneath the tree, black like it was at night, a moment of cool clarity came to me; the water starvation had taken its toll. ¡°Where¡¯d you get that?¡± was all I could hope to ask.


    The girl whispered, ¡°I wanted it, and it was. It just was.¡±


    I slept with the dog across my lap; I could feel no more pain from my left leg, but the smell of the wound tipped that it was likely festering. What should I do if I were to lose a leg?


    The night we slept beneath the tree, I had a terrible nightmare about a boy in flames and I couldn¡¯t tell if the boy was me or someone else; recollecting tends to obscure whatever original message there is in dreams and the further they¡¯re recalled, the runnier they become. Maybe the boy was me or it was Maron, or it was Andrew. It doesn¡¯t matter. What I know is that none of it¡¯s good.


    In waking, I remember only small pieces: the sound of others, the smell of horse manure, the smoke from an oil carriage. Someone took my pants and threw blankets over me. I rocked prone in the back of an oil carriage and Gemma sat alongside me and the driver spoke with her, but I don¡¯t remember what was said. A dog barked¡ªTrouble?


    I tasted medicine and water¡ªthere was the stink of salve.


    The hum of the oil carriage was broken by a moment of Gemma pushing me with her hand hard and she whispered, ¡°The arch!¡± and I knew what she meant.


    I had not another moment of clear thought until I awoke in a near sterile room. Whatever pain was in my body radiated rather than stung and I could see from the high bed the window which looked out on a wide city street from stories high. I blinked and for a moment wished a great catastrophe would take me from the delusion¡ªit was no delusion and within moments, I accepted this and tried to raise myself to a sit.


    My left leg was wrapped and looked strangely pale where it was left without a blanket and my sides ached and I felt dizzy. Blistered scarring ran like bumpy rivers up the left side of my body. I wanted to vomit, pushed myself against the head of the bed and steadied my breathing then called out a sickly question of hello.


    From the far corner of the room, a woman in a wizard hat pushed her head through the doorway to look on me then rushed in to ask me how I was, and I told her, and she said to relax.


    A light vegetable platter was brought with a pitcher of water, and I couldn¡¯t eat enough for it to matter, but I drank plenty so that I refilled my cup several times.


    Suzanne spilled through the doorway, a concerned expression locked on their face and they put those eyes right on me and I couldn¡¯t squirm away and then the eyes softened and Suzanne approached the bed, waved the other wizard away and they sat on the bed by my leg and for a moment I thought I¡¯d aged them by my presence because the shadow that cut across their brow when they glanced away twisted that stunning glow into a far caricature. Then Suzanne smiled a bit and touched my hand and they whispered, ¡°They¡¯ve not given you a mirror?¡± They nodded, ¡°Sedatives.¡±


    They reached into their flowy robes to withdraw a hand mirror and pushed it into my outstretched hand.


    I¡¯d set myself on fire, so it wasn¡¯t so much a surprise when I saw the scarred skin where the flames had eaten their way up my body; the left side of my face was unrecognizable, purple, and still blistered. I touched the place there and traced my fingers along the scars till I came to the place where my ear normally sat¡ªit was a shriveled scabby thing. The corners of my mouth glanced upward even though I felt different about it. I sat the mirror to my lap and looked at Suzanne.


    They squeezed my hand. ¡°You were late¡ªvery late¡ªbut I didn¡¯t know why. I thought you were dead.¡± They stared at the floor again. ¡°You¡¯ve had a terrible fever for more than a week. It didn¡¯t seem as though you¡¯d wake.¡±


    ¡°Am I ugly now?¡±


    Those hazel eyes met my own and I couldn¡¯t hide my smile even though my eyes began to water¡ªI blinked the wet away. Suzanne visibly bit their tongue and shook their head. ¡°You were always ugly.¡±


    I choked on laughter and held onto my ribs; the mirror clattered from my lap to the floor and Suzanne reached for it to deposit the thing back into their robes. They chuckled too and their shoulders relaxed even though the dark circles on their eyes remained, the tired look of a person¡ªhad they lost sleep for me?


    I reached out and grabbed their hand as hard as I could manage¡ªmaybe I hoped for an electric jolt to go along with what I tried to convey, ¡°I love you,¡± I said it so suddenly; I tried latching.


    Just as suddenly, they snaked their own hand from mine and held their fingers together, locked across their knees. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± they said, ¡°You said you wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    My head shook, ¡°I mean it. I love you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll stay?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got one more thing to do. One more trip.¡±


    They stood from the bed, visibly shaking.


    ¡°One more,¡± I pleaded, ¡°Then I¡¯ll come, and I¡¯ll stay.¡±


    ¡°Where are you going to go?¡± Their outrage exploded full force¡ªtheir hands became fists by their sides, and they took a step from the bed, and I felt myself flinch. ¡°Where could you go in that state?¡± They motioned at me wildly, ¡°Tell me!¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t gonna¡¯ leave right away.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re delusional. Have they doped you into stupidity?¡± They screamed.


    ¡°This is the first time in a long time that I know what I gotta¡¯ do.¡±


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    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think you¡¯ve ever understood what you need to do,¡± they shook their head then held it in their palm, ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Please listen to me.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± And they didn¡¯t; they left the room, slamming the door behind them.


    The pain came and went and sometimes it was really so miserable that I couldn¡¯t sleep a wink and I¡¯d spend eternities staring at the dark ceiling in the night and I¡¯d smell the fresh air of Babylon¡ªAlexandria carried in through the window. I¡¯d decided that even if they took my leg because of an infection, I¡¯d strap a peg on and continue on my way; it became a paramount goal in my mind to heal up, get back to Golgotha, and undo what had bothered me for so long. The wizards, with their tonics, their salves, and capsule medicines, took good care of me during my recovery and I was even able to plead a bit of liquor from the attendants to help me sleep through some of those long nights.


    The days of bed rest stretched to the point of oblivion and boredom¡ªnot even the television on the wall could take my mind from the humdrum (books helped, but it was difficult to focus through the medication for long). Suzanne ceased their visiting, but Gemma came and brought Trouble with her, and the dog became fatter every time I saw it; the girl said the mutt remained anxious and often urinated unprovoked in inappropriate places, but the animal slept okay.


    Upon Gemma¡¯s first visit to me she was still a patient in recovery, and she came alone and sat in a chair alongside the bed and told me how I was a low-down liar, and I was.


    ¡°I asked about good places in the world, and you knew about this,¡± said the girl, ¡°You knew about it the whole time.¡±


    ¡°Your dad wanted you home. I was gonna¡¯ take you home. The way it was.¡± I frowned at myself.


    A pang of sadness crept into the corner of her eyes, and she nodded it away, ¡°We made it though.¡±


    I sighed. ¡°There was a time when we were travelling, and I was out of it. You found water. Where¡¯d you find water?¡±


    She cupped her hands, angled forward in the chair so that her elbows rested on her knees. ¡°It just happened. At first, I thought it was something I¡¯d forgotten about¡ªlike I¡¯d be so dumb as to forget that I had a whole waterskin¡ªbut it just appeared. It just was.¡± Gemma seemed to think about it for a while¡ªupon watching her there sitting, I noticed that the scars which decorated her skin had healed to the point of faint discolorations and I briefly wondered how long ago that was. ¡°The people here. The pointy hats. They do things like that all the time here. I saw a little girl in the street earlier and she could pull candies from thin air. Things aren¡¯t and then they are. Ish¡ªthe old doctor, I guess, that¡¯s been watching over your recovery¡ªhe tended to me too¡ªI asked him about it, and he said that lots of people can manifest¡ªthat¡¯s what he called it¡ªand that it happens when people are put under extreme pressure. He said quart-of-Saul causes it and once you¡¯ve done it, you can learn how to control it willingly. With time. Like a skill.¡±


    ¡°So, you¡¯re a wizard?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she shook her head, seemingly in disbelief, ¡°Ish said it can be fatal if pushed to its limits. He said that if it¡¯s left unsupervised, it can lead to renal failure¡ªthat¡¯s what he said. Lots of the people in this building are here because of it,¡± she whispered, ¡°The patients here, they have a gray look to them¡ªtheir skin.¡± Gemma paused and swiped her hands through her close-cut hair, ¡°How much can a person manifest?¡±


    I clenched my jaw. ¡°The boy?¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°Don¡¯t do it. Don¡¯t you even think about it.¡±


    Gemma swallowed long and audible. ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± She relaxed into the chair and crossed her arms across her chest, ¡°You said the libraries were big, but I didn¡¯t know there were pictures like what they¡¯ve got.¡±


    ¡°Movies?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°It¡¯s a ridiculous place. I like it. He would¡¯ve liked it. It¡¯s nothing like home. You know, I always thought they cast spells or had some secret pact with demons.¡± The young girl, looking more like one than ever before, pushed her face into her hands and rubbed her eyes and peered through the cracks of her fingers to look at the television on the wall; her expression remained with the still object briefly before she removed her hands, and she frowned and looked at me again. Gemma¡¯s face hinted at sickliness.


    ¡°I can relax,¡± said the girl, ¡°I can breathe more easily than I have in all my life and that¡¯s because of you,¡± her frown deepened, ¡°I won¡¯t ever know Andrew¡¯s touch or his smile again and that¡¯s because of you too,¡± she put up her hand as I opened my mouth in protest, ¡°I do not hate you. I don¡¯t. I can see things better now. Andrew may have been destined to die,¡± she shook her head, ¡°He had joy and that¡¯s too much for this world.¡±


    Finally, she smiled, ¡°I would¡¯ve died at home. He would have. I know you didn¡¯t let him die. His death is on us both. Dave too. How have you lived with yourself all these years with such a burden, Harlan?¡±


    Under her direct, cool stare I felt more uncomfortable than ever and shifted in the bed. ¡°I don¡¯t think I have.¡± The answer wasn¡¯t enough but felt honest.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t act so pitiable all the time.¡±


    Time passed and I did not ache deeply so often.


    Isher, the wizened wizard, wore a long beard and kept a tight leathery cap over his crown and moved slowly but spoke in abrupt chirps whenever he came to aid me. He helped me from the bed¡ªas he had begun to do often¡ªand I hobbled slowly with his meager support, and he moved me to the window where I took the wall for support to look on Alexandria from a high point¡ªI¡¯d never seen it from that direction¡ªand the place looked magnificent. Perhaps it was not the magnificence of the place, but the sheer gratitude I felt in seeing it at all. Narrow streets cut through tightly packed stone structures and buildings matched the attire of their citizens with conical pitched roofs. Aqueducts rushed downhill freely and there was music and shows and laughter¡ªI¡¯d never noticed the laughter before. Though the wizard bureaucracy and parliamentary arrangement felt distasteful to me, I could not help but appreciate that I did not smell lingering death; there would be no public executions. When executions happened, it would happen somewhere dark and silent, and no one could look on the dead or defile the corpses (at least not openly).


    ¡°You¡¯re quite resilient,¡± quipped Ish.


    I smiled, ¡°I reckon.¡±


    ¡°Suzanne asks about you still.¡±


    ¡°Where have they been?¡±


    ¡°They say it¡¯s painful because you¡¯re leaving. I told them you won¡¯t be leaving until I¡¯ve said so.¡± The old wizard wiggled his upper lip to dance the mustache there then swiped a hand down his waist-length beard.


    ¡°Will my leg heal right, doc?¡±


    He nodded, ¡°You shouldn¡¯t travel for some time. You should stay. There is room.¡±


    I cast my gaze through the window again and saw that he spoke honestly; there was more than enough room there in Alexandria. Their walls were tall, strong, well kept¡ªeven clean. Along the skyline, I saw the massive arch which stood higher than all else (the gateway to the west). ¡°You¡¯re very old,¡± I told Ish.


    He snickered and nodded, ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°I mean, you¡¯ve seen enough to know that some things must be done. Don¡¯t you have any regrets?¡±


    ¡°Everyone does,¡± he said.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got one. A big one.¡±


    ¡°You intend on making it right then?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°If you leave¡ªI¡¯ve not left the city for ages, but I know its dangers well. If you leave, you will likely perish. Is it worth it? You will have ruined the time I¡¯ve spent on your recovery. Worse, you will make at least one person greatly sad. Weigh it. How great is this regret?¡± He sighed, squeezed my sore shoulder only to release it upon seeing me wince, ¡°You¡¯ve said I¡¯m old and I am. You¡¯ve asked of my regrets. All of us that reach an age have many beyond number and each of us knows that to regret so greatly and live in the past would be a waste of the time we¡¯ve left. Those of us with sense, anyway.¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid. You¡¯ve the wrinkles and the grays, so there¡¯s no reason for you to play the role of a child.¡± He sighed once more. ¡°The choices of your life are your own, of course. I will do what a doctor does, but I beg you to not cause unnecessary grief.¡±


    We sat quietly, looking out on the skyline, listening to the cityscape, merely enjoying the glow of the sun.


    ¡°You intend on grief?¡± asked Ish.


    ¡°As always,¡± I said.


    Once I was able enough to move on my own, I did so no better than the invalid I¡¯d become and although the people of Babylon were cheery, I did my absolute best to keep from them, maintaining a level of distance. Among the walks I took through the streets, cane in hand, arduous steps, Gemma accompanied me with the dog Trouble, and I felt the girl followed me not because of her care for me but because of familiarity¡ªpity too. I took to the streets at night, customarily to smoke and to take in the cool air; the city lights, predominantly electric, awed the girl still even though she¡¯d spent better than a month there and I saw those lights perhaps for the first time in the way they illuminated her wide eyes. She¡¯d catch me catching her glued to the electric lights and shrug and then she¡¯d piddle about this or that and she talked of Andrew all the time and asked how I felt about things, and I didn¡¯t feel much besides pain which ached through my bones. But I was kind as much as I could be and lied about how I felt.


    We¡¯d taken to the foot of the arch, nearest the place where there were cross marks to keep people from tampering with the monument, and I watched the great thing overhead and she did too and I took to a nearby bench; the streets were different from Golgotha both in concept and execution¡ªthey were mostly paved and kept clean, relatively. Where Golgotha stood as a testament to human survival, Alexandria was a place of innovation, creativity; it was as though it was a place constructed for living. The walls of buildings had cornices, graffities, there was craftsmanship and flourishes where there was woodwork and where there wasn¡¯t a place for enlightenment through creation, there was at least the growth of trees or hedges lining the avenues; the sound of rushing water was pleasant¡ªaqueducts, free piping.


    I finished the cigarette I had and tapped the cane against the ground between my feet and she sat alongside me, ushering Trouble to herself where she withdrew some snack from her pocket, and she fed the dog.


    ¡°The first thing you thought of after waking was immediately leaving. I didn¡¯t know someone could be so dumb,¡± she said.


    I smiled and nodded. ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°I wish you wouldn¡¯t be so dumb.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not stupidity that takes me home. It¡¯s¡ªnone of your business.¡±


    ¡°I could go with you?¡±


    I shook my head.


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be damned if I need to watch you across the wasteland again. I¡¯m done with that. You¡¯re a sorry travelling companion.¡±


    Gemma looked solemn before a smile that might¡¯ve been imagined and then there was silence; moonglow caught in her lengthening hair¡ªit no longer sat so closely to her skull and her face seemed fuller than I¡¯d ever seen it before. Her complexion was clear enough that I could see she owned freckles across her nose. Or maybe I was only then noticing them; her scars¡ªthe marks from Baphomet¡ªwere nearly gone entirely. ¡°It¡¯s easy to deflect it, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡±


    ¡°Ish said you¡¯re a fool. Suzanne¡¯s angry with you. Should I be angry at you?¡± she asked, but before I could say anything, she continued, ¡°Maybe I should. I¡¯m not mad and I don¡¯t think you¡¯re dumb, not really.¡± She lifted her leg up so that she could sit atop her left foot while lounging there on the bench alongside me. ¡°You¡¯re stuck in the past. Like me. I wake up scared almost every night and reach out in the darkness and¡ª¡± Trouble nuzzled the girl¡¯s hand, and Gemma petted the dog¡¯s nose delicately with her thumb, ¡°Yes, Trouble¡¯s there to comfort me. But I wake up and I can¡¯t breathe. Sometimes I think I¡¯m going to strangle the poor girl from a bear hug before I can get myself under control. The worst is that I wake up¡ªonce I¡¯ve figured out where I am, I know there isn¡¯t anything to be afraid of, but I am. Even knowing I¡¯m here doesn¡¯t help. You¡¯re family?¡± She left the last bit as a question, and it remained in the air for the quiet.


    I took in a gulp of the night and nodded.


    ¡°If you are going to go,¡± she paused to casually examine my left leg along with my cane as though to emphasize her point, ¡°If you can go, then please come back.¡±


    I didn¡¯t look at her. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Many months passed until I could stand without becoming unbearably dizzy and the cane became almost vestigial, almost¡ªI still required the thing over long periods of time or whenever I felt particularly weak.


    I did not speak to Suzanne as much as I would have liked; I did not speak to them at all for a long time.


    I caught them in the library, among cartridges of digitized media, in the back rooms of the place, caught in dust and darkness. ¡°I¡¯ll be leaving in a week,¡± I told them.


    They didn¡¯t even raise their head from the table where they catalogued what new treasures had been plundered. My presence had no effect whatsoever.


    My chest filled up and I tried, ¡°People talk about love all the time and I know that there¡¯s better people to say it than me.¡± I slumped in the doorway to the back rooms, holding the frame of the threshold for support. ¡°I wish I had better, prettier words for it. Poets talk about meeting the one they love over and over because two lovers are destined to meet infinitely through many lives. That¡¯s nice.¡± I nodded to myself while Suzanne lifted a box from a table, shifted it to floor, then turned their attention to the next box. ¡°I don¡¯t know how I feel about life after this. Or God. Maybe. I know we¡¯ve got this life and maybe that¡¯s all we¡¯ve got¡ªif that¡¯s the case then I¡¯m glad I know you. I¡¯m glad I love you.¡±


    Finally, Suzanne spoke, ¡°You should go lie down and gather your strength for when you leave.¡± They didn¡¯t even look at me.


    ¡°Look at me?¡±


    They did not.


    ¡°Please.¡±


    Suzanne offered a mere glance in my direction.


    ¡°I will come back to you.¡±


    It would have been good to get a goodbye and better to have them tell me they wanted me back or that they loved me too, but there was nothing.


    There¡¯s no blame for Suzanne.


    Before I went off, the wizards said bye to me and showed in greater force than I would¡¯ve imagined. There was a throng of them gathered at the entrance to Poplar Bridge; one gathered themselves away from the others and played a ditty off a harmonica and others seemed to want to wish me well with small trinkets or salutations. Gemma came with Trouble and Ish admonished me on my way out; they brought me a carriage, one which ran off oil, and Gemma gave me my shotgun.


    ¡°We cleaned it¡ªthey cleaned it,¡± said the girl, ¡°Replaced the strap. You shouldn¡¯t run out of anything.¡± Her eyes fell on the wagon which hummed to life under the guide of a short wizard woman that fiddled with its controls from the perched seat.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said.


    Gemma pulled me into a tight hug, and I hugged her back. ¡°I¡¯ll see you,¡± she said confidently.


    I scratched Trouble on her cheeks and then pulled the dog into a hug too, lifting the dumb mutt from the ground a bit in doing so; I lost my footing and found it and the dog dropped and pushed in close to my legs to swing its ass widely in excitement.


    Ish slapped a hand on my shoulder and the strength in his grip was weirdly great. ¡°You can still change your mind.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Will Suzanne be here?¡±


    It was the old wizard¡¯s turn to shake his head, but he stopped then looked at the wagon. ¡°How do you think it is we can afford to offer you that for travel? Oh!¡± Ish motioned to a nearby wizard and the young person came forward to offer something to his hands, ¡°Suzanne wanted you to have these. At least.¡± The old man held out one of the signature dramedy masks in one hand and a wizard hat in the other. They looked familiar. ¡°Incognito.¡± The old man tapped his nose with his forefinger. He looked at me seriously. ¡°Be careful. I wish my Suzanne could¡¯ve found a better someone, but if it¡¯s to be you¡ªcome back.¡± Ish pulled me into a hug, patted me on the back hard.


    I drove into the morning, across Poplar Bridge, over the dead Mississippi. Towards revenge? To my brother.


    Loneliness had once been an ally¡ªwe¡¯d become foreigners. With nothing more than the hum of the carriage and my own company, I became deranged beyond anything before.

 Sixteen: It Dont Rain in Indianapolis in the Summertime

    As I¡¯m certain I¡¯ve felt the endless sorrows of a life lived poorly, I¡¯m certain too that Gemma was right in saying that I was a pitiable man¡ªpitiful might be the better word in that regard but I catch the drift of her meaning. How long can a man live a life and wallow in sadness? What life is that? What life is that to the one that I love? There is nothing for me that way¡ªif I¡¯d had the sense then I would have thrown myself from a tall building a long time ago. If I intended to live worthlessly, why didn¡¯t I instead die worthlessly?


    The hum of the oil-driven wagon consumed the day, and it was hot and even in the heat, it began to rain and though it had not been so long ago that I¡¯d wished for rain, it only made me more pitiable. It came in a medium wave that lasted the better part of an hour and I kept the wizard hat which Ish had given me pulled tightly over my head and the rain spilled off the brim and I wished that the wagon had some overhang, but the seat was open and I sat in the rain and listened to the engine beneath the steady droplets and I felt awful. Water from the sky¡ªriches given straight from God and there I was squandering it, abstracting the rain as a metaphor, and feeling like it shouldn¡¯t have rained at all.


    Shouldn¡¯t it have been better if I was one of the heroes from the books? If I was a swashbuckling protagonist? If I had the heart of a true hero? I spent most of my life wishing that I was anyone that I wasn¡¯t, and it left me so that I wasn¡¯t fit to be anybody; if I was a character of fiction, I could be saved by the fact of having an audience. No, my life is not entertaining enough, my body doesn¡¯t carry the heart of a hero, and I¡¯d hate to read a book about me. Too pitiable, too pitiful.


    The first night that I¡¯d pushed on from Alexandria, I pulled the wagon to the side of the road (I-40), made camp, cooked rice, ate light, watched into the darkness, searched for the dead tree Gemma had taken me to in my bad stupor; it couldn¡¯t be seen. The wagon, affixed with a chamber on the back only large enough for me to lie down in, had a large metal shutter, and I slumped into the coffin-like compartment¡ªshelves lined the wall above my head, and I placed a lantern there. Through a sliding peephole over mesh, I could look out onto the anterior of the wagon where I¡¯d sit to drive and it was all black out there, quiet. I kept the peephole shut, tried to read by the light, and could not. I smoked, thought of Suzanne.


    When I awoke, I found myself pushed deep into the wizard hat so that the brim was pulled well under my nose, and I was blind on waking; the object smelled like them¡ªthe urge to head back was its strongest then.


    The trunk which the wizards supplied me with was stocked well with rations and water and although I wasn¡¯t particular about coffee, something in the fog made me want to sharpen my senses. Two cups of joe had me wired enough to believe the next few inches of fog would reveal a monster, but none would come; I sat uneasy at the wheel, back arched over it like I¡¯d propel myself from the seat at the smallest provocation.


    Midday offered a reprieve from the fog, and I sped the wagon and made better time.


    Knowing I should confront Maron didn¡¯t mean that I knew what exactly I should confront him about; all I really wanted to do was shake him. Was there a way to reason with him? It was doubtful¡ªI¡¯d tried that early on. A long-long time ago. There weren¡¯t any discussions to be had, there wasn¡¯t a dinner me and him could have together where I¡¯d ask for my brother back; Billy was gone. No, I had known for years that the creature in that body was meant to die. I had to do it. I¡¯d wished¡ªprayed really¡ªthat he¡¯d slip and fall from that high perch on the wall and then I wouldn¡¯t have to think about it. I¡¯d remained in Golgotha, left, and stayed again, and it was always because I wanted Billy back.


    That was not to mention the number of people I¡¯d led to the sacrificial altars of many a demon. How easily they spoke to me and tempted me. I¡¯d always consoled myself into believing that I did it for some greater good, but it was simple; I was on the wrong side of things. It was seeing what becomes of true heroes when they stand up to the evils of the world that made me the way that I was. Heroes often sacrifice themselves or die for being known for their good deeds. Heroes fall, but perhaps that was the reason for them in the first place. Perhaps the sacrifice of a hero is necessary? I could kill to be a hero, but I don¡¯t think I was ever ready to die for being one. Plain self-preservation. I guess my suicidal desires were a way to draw the coward out.


    Out west on plains, nomadics once followed herds of animals, or so books say. Before the deluge. People are an abhorrent bunch; a person can be the very best. I wonder if the nomadics I lived with when I was a boy are what spurs on this idea of heroics? Is it a more honest way of life? What population necessitates violence? This is a hopeful thought; far too optometristic. I do not believe there was ever a time where people were not cruel. There is no hopeful yesterday. Gemma said I was living in the past, fixed on it. I was. I had never been so lost¡ªthere¡¯s an ache that I could sleep away forever. I did not wish to die, not in the heat of combat, but to gently pass in sleep might¡¯ve be nice. That is not enough; I wish to know it in passing. I want to close my eyes in the death throes of a slow disease and watch the world pass on in front of me. I want it to be a sleep over the horizon, and on my journey there I want it to be like I was half-asleep all along. I want to drift into nothing. A death of tiredness, of lethargic milieu, a frozen death which takes so long that I forget I am and when I do finally go, I want it to come in such sluggishness that it surprises me that I¡¯ve come to pass.


    I was tired.


    The coffee from the morning did not last long and the road was long, and I yawned often, unable to focus appropriately. On the horizon I witnessed a fiend and killed the engine and hunkered by the side of the wheels and lifted my binoculars to my face and watched it pass the road and move southbound through open dead fields of yellow-sick grass and I stayed there by the wheels for a time, partially to let the thing go without interference and partially to allow myself a break.


    The anatomy of melancholy seemed infinite.


    I broke for a light lunch of hardtack and ate them as crackers with some sauce the wizards packed away in the trunk.


    Billy died the same night as my family; whatever thing which moved as him wasn¡¯t and did not deserve the speculation. The deals I¡¯ve made will never leave me; most of all Mephisto¡¯s.


    Though the wagon moved slowly, I did not sweat so harshly or fear bodily fatigue.


    There were times in those darkest nights that I wished for the hordes to fall on me; luck or whatever mark kept them away.


    I travelled and I broke often and slept early; there was no great hurry. My days were like this on the trail eastward.


    Even with my slow approach, the concrete skyscrapers came into view on the horizon almost like a surprise and I decided to camp in the Plainfield rest area.


    The solitude made me wish for even the mutt¡¯s companionship and though I did not speak to myself exactly, quick and obvious utterances came from me whenever I found myself doing any particularly menial task if only to pierce the silence.


    There should¡¯ve been an easier way for all of it. It shouldn¡¯t have been me, a scared child, that spoke with the demon Mephisto¡ªof course, he¡¯d shown himself when it was most important, I¡¯m sure.


    That night, in the Plainfield rest area, I slept poorly and propped myself against a wall and stared into the darkness and thought about switching on a lantern but left it black. I closed my eyes in the dark and even on opening them, I couldn¡¯t be sure of the shadows; I felt totally mad and sweaty and awfully anxious.


    I wept for Aggie, and I wept for Philippe, and I wept for Sam and all the others I¡¯d led to their deaths; there were so many, and each had a time and I¡¯d taken their name, their personhood, traded them for food, for water, for a Boss, or for myself. The temptation of power was a terrible thing. Though I could say I didn¡¯t see them as humans, that I¡¯d been traumatized as I was, that I simply saw them as far away creatures, like any demon on the horizon, that couldn¡¯t be true. I¡¯d spoken to them and as humans do, they¡¯d easily offered their dreams, beliefs, the things that made them so. I could¡¯ve traded Andrew. I could¡¯ve perhaps given Gemma away. Would demons trade for a dog? I¡¯d never tried. My mind ran over from the misery I¡¯d brought upon the world.


    I set out so early that it was still deep blue out and figured come what may.


    Rounding the city once known as Indianapolis, the dead city of high tombstones, I looked for the northern passage through that the wizards took, and I watched the stars that were out on the sky and paid no heed to the shadows; the sun would meet me soon and I had no desire to fight sleeplessness.


    The wagon carried on; its chassis protested metal-like with the more difficult terrain of strewn rubbish as me and the inanimate object met the relative ease of Lafayette, and the high buildings grew around us and the sun began to push through the slits between as it crested the horizon. I watched the sky for dragons and watched the doorless doorways which lined either side of the street as though someone might come out to greet me.


    There was a moment, as I pushed through to where the buildings began to give way and I could begin to see the open field around Golgotha that I spied a pair of glowing eyes looking down at me from way high in a brutalist structure to the left and I lifted the shotgun from where it sat beside me in the seat and put it across my lap; I was unbothered by whatever had seen me, and quickly enough, I came to the field, killed the engine and pulled the dramedy mask over my face then replaced the wizard hat there. The headgear was fine, but the robes they¡¯d given me were something I could not care about; they snagged or caught with every step, it seemed.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    I turned the engine over, it came to life, and I lifted a metallic foil flag over my head as I pushed across the open field towards Golgotha. Whatever snipers saw me, did not fire and as I drew closer, I could see the people there on the wall, pressed against the parapets, lackadaisical. The surface of the wall was cracked in places, mishappen as though the foundation had erupted, and I remembered Dave¡¯s mission and smiled beneath the mask; he¡¯d made it to the underground and put some damage to the Bosses and that was good. In the places where the cracks of the wall grew wide, workers undoubtedly had sought to repair it with whatever was on hand: caked concrete, poor metal sheeting. Even still, the layers of titanium beneath the rock-like surface showed warping.


    Once I¡¯d rounded the wall and met the entrance, it was almost noon by the sun, and there at the big door, I looked on at the horror that awaited me. Dead horses were overturned on their sides just outside the gate; they¡¯d been killed with bullet wounds and the pickings from their skin showed they¡¯d been dead for many days. The smell was poor and fat birds pushed into the bloated infected bellies of the horses, came away with string bits of intestines or organs, snapped their beaks and choked back their meal.


    The mechanical door shifted open.


    Wall men greeted me there, ushered me in, and I pulled into the town and parked alongside where they kept a few live mares; the horses stirred lightly at the noises of the wagon.


    Only moments within the walls, I could feel the oppressiveness of the place, the stink of unwashed people; and there seemed to be many more people than usual. The streets seemed so cram-packed with poorly dressed folks that they even spilled into the front square, and I scanned the crowd, the buildings, the erected stage where the Bosses enjoyed in lording over, but I did not see Maron, and my jaw loosened, and my shoulder eased.


    Upon closer inspection of those I passed or those that passed me, I saw the marks of skitterbugs, blotchy red skin, deep wounds where those infected clawed too far in to relieve themselves of the itch.


    A wall man pulled me aside as the big door closed, and he looked sickly, but perhaps it was from fear alone because he did not have the tell-tale signs of the infection. ¡°Trade?¡± he asked.


    I nodded, afraid to speak in case of the recognition in voice, and then I thought better and spoke anyway in hopes that the mask would muffle me, ¡°Are you all full up?¡± I nodded the brim of my hat to the general overpopulation.


    ¡°Refugees,¡± shrugged the wall man, ¡°Pittsburgh¡¯s gone under, and we took what was left. The ocean swallowed it whole. So said the ones that came in from the east. Said it was broke off into the water. They came in infected. You saw the horses out front?¡± He nodded to the big door.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Sick. Full of skitterbugs. Even if they weren¡¯t, it wasn¡¯t like we had the feed for them.¡± He paused, frowned while glancing over my attire. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to be here with a cure?¡±


    I shook my head, ¡°Only light trade.¡± Then I thought to add, for the sake of authenticity, ¡°I¡¯ll put word home that it¡¯s gotten so poorly on my way back.¡±


    Seemingly comforted by this, the wall man turned away and I examined his compatriots which walked overhead upon the parapets and wondered if the skitterbug infestation had spread to them. Or the Bosses. Perhaps if Maron was riddled with the bugs and dead already, I could turn back. A moment of sick relief rose in my belly, but I then pushed off from the wagon, locking the shotgun in the back hatch of the wagon, hoping to operate some light reconnaissance in the streets.


    Some had lost their eyes already; itchy eyes were a common symptom among the infected¡ªthe itch would be so bad that people dug in till they bled and then more. The injuries were gruesome. Skitterbugs were multilimbed creatures, the size of miniscule roaches, that burrowed under the musculature of a living host, in the extremities of the body. As the digits atrophied, as the limbs of the host curled into hardened black masses, the skitterbugs burrowed deeper; the hosts did not last longer than a few weeks at best.


    Already, many of those I passed in the narrow alleys of Golgotha looked stunned in the grip of the disease¡ªmany sat against walls in overturned postures and examined their deadened fingers, whispering to themselves, willing their hands to do anything. Others, those more unfortunate perhaps, stared from their place with empty eye sockets, scrubbing into their skin with their nails till their bodies became bulged with infection. It was a sorry sight and I remembered what Suzanne had told me about the wizards trying to help Pittsburgh. About how the city would be underwater by the end of the year. They were right.


    The refugees were a sorry sight, but even those faces I recognized from my time in Golgotha were not much better. The infestation was fast in leaping from host to host; I pulled the robes closer around myself and was glad for the mask.


    I pushed through the crowded streets, trying not to bump into any passerby¡ªthe whole foundation of the city was changed. There were deep thin divots in the ground like the soil had given in and it gave taller structures a lopsided look; those buildings had been reinforced with opposing leaning rods. The explosions caused by Dave in the underground surely were significant.


    The streets were filthy, but that wasn¡¯t new and the sad looks on the people I passed weren¡¯t new, but the quantity of misery is something I didn¡¯t know could be concentrated in such a way. The narrow pathways through Golgotha were made even more so with the piles of bodies, some sleeping sidelong or else. Catwalks overhead, which connected one structure to the next with those skinny balconies cut the shadows longer still and by the time I met the opening where the hydro towers were, I was not at all surprised by the fact that Felina¡¯s was no more. The shipping containers which made up the makeshift structure remained, but there were bullet holes in the walls of the place¡ªso many that it couldn¡¯t be called anything but overkill, so many that the bullet trails met so greatly that one could push their face into the openings which remained. Felina was dead, if I guessed; I wondered what happened to the working women, but only for a moment as I caught the tune of an old song I hadn¡¯t heard since my childhood.


    Some stranger amidst the languishing crowds sat atop an old plastic crate and blew ¡°¨®r¨®, S¨¦ Do Bheatha ''bhaile¡± into a wooden flute; the gentleman there on the crate stared at the ground, seemingly unaffected by his surroundings, skin as plain and unscathed as anyone healthy. His long straw-colored hair remained off his face by a cord he¡¯d fastened it by. The eyes of the stranger were solemn and far away and I almost believed I remembered him.


    A hand grabbed my elbow, and I threw myself in the opposite direction of the hand, taking a few steps away. It was a wall man and he looked just as confused I was.


    ¡°You¡¯re the wizard trader, yeah?¡± asked the wall man.


    We stood there in the square, in the tall shadows of the hydro towers and I tried to speak, but it wouldn¡¯t come. I coughed and he winced and then I tried, ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°The Bosses want to see you. I¡¯m gonna¡¯ escort you there.¡±


    ¡°What for?¡±


    ¡°They wanted an audience with any of you that stopped in. You all were the ones fighting the infestation in Pittsburgh.¡± In a moment, it came to me. I knew this man. This soldier. He was young and handsome and had a kind face. The night of our escape, I¡¯d run into a young wall man, he¡¯d lifted his gun to me, and instead of killing me, he¡¯d let me go. His demeanor did not show that he recognized me¡ªhow could he?


    I straightened the hat on my head and nodded. ¡°Take me.¡±


    My chaperone was quiet, and it left the ears for the town which ached, the wails of dying infected, the shouts of militiamen commanding the less fortunate. Welcome home. The sky was clear and blue, and the sun was full-on out. We came to the hall of the Bosses and I briefly remembered the fight I had at the foot of those steps and I wondered again if Dave lived; such a silly thought. Or was it a hope?


    I pushed on into the hall with the wall man by my side and he shut the door behind me while he remained outside. The chamber was largely unchanged since my last visit, a long dining hall with a broad and far table. Firelights lined the walls and though it was normally cooler than the outside, the place felt incredibly warm like a wound.


    The place had a wet odor and the men at the long table took me by surprise. Harold sat there at the head of them, an assisted-breathing apparatus was strapped to his nose and mouth and his eyes drooped long like he was on the verge of tears all the time and along each side of the table were his brothers and nearest me was my brother and I was frozen there.


    Maron tipped his cowboy hat to me; his left eye showed he¡¯d been touched by the skitterbug infestation¡ªyellowy liquid perpetuated down his cheek there, but that nasty grin remained. ¡°Howdy wizard man!¡± said the Boss Sheriff.


    Feeling ridiculous, I offered a quick bow. Boss Harold, Maron, Frank, Paul, there was Brash and Matt too. Each of the bosses watched me there at the end of the table and I scanned the room. There were the servants, awaiting whatever command, but it seemed they¡¯d been strapped with weapons¡ªsidearms but some of them kept long knives on their belts even if their uniforms seemed more akin to that of a ragged peasant. The Bosses were in a bad way, paranoid.


    Boss Harold attempted to speak, but choked, touched his throat and as he rocked back in his chair to catch his breath, I saw that whatever Gemma had done to him had been partially remedied; a pink horizontal line was traced there across his neck. Boss Paul sat nearest Harold and touched his brother on the shoulder, patting him while Harold caught his breath. When the man did speak, he lifted the apparatus to the side of his face so the straps that kept it on his head shifted the plastic bits to hang off the side of his face. His voice was a gruff whisper, ¡°Have you got any news from the west? Are the wizards sending aid?¡± He shook his head. ¡°Should have killed those freeloaders at our stoop. What¡¯s Pittsburgh done for us?¡±


    Frank spoke then, ¡°Steelsmithing is what. There¡¯s skilled labor there.¡±


    Harold shook his head again as if to exaggerate his point, ¡°No manual laboring will cure Golgotha of the curse they¡¯ve brought us. Foul! They are foul!¡±


    ¡°You should rest,¡± Frank said to his brother, ¡°In your condition, there¡¯s no reason to rile yourself.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m riled,¡± Harold nodded.


    Maron dug into his eye with his index finger, put his elbow on the table, cocked his head to look me over. ¡°Well?¡± asked the sheriff. ¡°You a mute or what?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said it plainly in hopes that the mask muffled my voice.


    Maron raised his eyebrows. ¡°You ain¡¯t a mute then? Good! What¡¯ve you gotta¡¯ say about it then?¡±


    ¡°About?¡±


    ¡°Christ,¡± Maron splayed his hands, ¡°The predicament we¡¯re in.¡±


    ¡°Surely,¡± interjected Harold, heaving out his words like a chore, ¡°Surely, you and yours have found a cure? These skitter-bug things. It¡¯s eating our citizenry inside out.¡±


    Brash (a quiet lesser brother) leaned over the table. ¡°The docs say it¡¯s bad news. If you were to ask me, I¡¯d imagine it won¡¯t be long before a mutant attack sends us over the edge. The wall men are already showing signs of fatigue¡ªhalf are afflicted already.¡±


    Maron slapped his hands on the table, ¡°Nah, I wouldn¡¯t worry about my men. They¡¯re as ready as ever for¡ªwell for anything.¡±


    Brash crossed his arms. ¡°What¡¯s the wizard say?¡±


    They once more turned to me.


    ¡°I ain¡¯t¡ªI¡¯m not here for diplomacy,¡± I said, ¡°Just trade.¡±


    Maron squinted at my words and stared at the table. ¡°Maybe we be needin¡¯ a court wizard?¡± he asked the other men. He laughed; no one else did.


    Harold sighed. ¡°Then send the message to your people. Whatever the price¡ªanything I beg¡ªsend your best doctors. We are in dire need. Will you do that for us?¡±


    I nodded.


    They waved me out and it was only once I stood at the foot of the hall, looking back at the high structure that I realized I was shaking from the encounter.


    The wall man which had escorted me there remained at the steps and looked me over as I exited the hall.


    ¡°Will you help?¡± he asked; there was a plea in his manner. There were people suffering and I was worried about revenge.


    ¡°I¡¯ll try,¡± I lied.


    That night, I went to Felina¡¯s in the dark, stood in the shadows, removed my mask, and smoked. The blue night was cool, and I tilted into the dilapidated structure. There was a family crowded there in the darkness like scared mice¡ªit may well have been an amalgam of people, but I¡¯d like to believe it was a family weathering their misfortune together. The people crowded around a small portable stove and gibbered to one another until they were startled at my arrival, and I waved them goodbye, apologized for the intrusion, and stepped back into the night and felt overwhelmed by what would come next.

 Seventeen: God Be Damned, Im Gonna Cut You Down

    The knife slid across the old man¡¯s face, caught in the cheekbone¡ªI jammed my body weight into the blade to force it¡ªthe knife glided into Harold¡¯s eye, and he did not stir too much in his bed; a single energetic spasm came over his legs while he gargled on spit and then he was nothing. I yanked the knife free and wiped it against my pant leg and the new corpse lay still there in his bed.


    The underground was quiet, dark in corners save the electric overhead lights, and the room was small; it had been no great task to sneak into the underground through the backways of the hall of Bosses; even with the greater paranoia that had caused them to better equip their guards.


    By his bedside was a bottle, half finished; I uncorked the thing, took a sniff and then a drink and sat on the bed by the dead man¡¯s legs. The room was nothing extravagant, but it was quieter, safer than anything on the surface. The metal walls were worn from time, but thick and hard. Over a vanity across the room sat a mirror and I caught myself in it; a wild man, half melted and missing an ear, stared back at me. Some revenant.


    There¡¯s a fact to humans: there is a delirious amount of cruelty that can be derived from a mass of us, but one on one, a person does not want to die¡ªthey do not want to kill either. If a person can flip that switch in their brain, if a person can kill without hesitation, even when skill is accounted for, the willpower to do awful often trumps all else. John taught me that.


    Moving quietly to the door, I peeked into the hallway, scanned left and right, and saw no one in either direction. The overhead lights had a nauseating effect and buzzed. I cast a glance back to the corpse on the bed¡ªa dark radius formed on the pillow where the head lay and I ducked into the hallway, shutting the door closed behind me.


    I was reminded of the psalm: They surrounded me on every side, but in the name of the Lord, I cut them down. I didn¡¯t know about any of that; if there was any great plan, I wasn¡¯t privy to it, and that was probably the point anyway. It was a compulsion to do right for all the wrongs I¡¯d committed¡ªthough revenge was a factor, I imagine that I¡¯d gotten it in my head that it was right to murder the men that ran Golgotha. Dave would¡¯ve wanted it done. Gemma tried to kill her father and I finished that much for her. Andrew was kinder, but sometimes (maybe) violence could be done in the name of those that abhorred it.


    What would Sibylle have done? I know.


    I stalked down the hallway; Harold¡¯s chambers were directly off a larder and beyond that were the sleeping quarters of servants¡ªthere wasn¡¯t a guide or a map and I¡¯d never been invited to tour the place. I pushed through the stark and labyrinthine hallways. The metal walls shone dull in the light, worn from centuries of people brushing against them¡ªthe floors too were worn thinner center line. COI emblems, plain and stocky fonts were stamped into the metal in places where one section met the next and though the lettering was thinned, it was unmistakable.


    I pushed deeper, further from Harold¡¯s room, further from the kitchen and the entrance and the sleeping servants, and the air grew thicker and hotter like I delved into the depths of a creature¡¯s stomach.


    The lights flickered and I kept to one side of the hall on the chance that I happened by some passerby; I could bolt or position the wall to my back. That song the flutist played in the tower square came back to me and I recalled the song was played when I was quite young. It¡¯d been a tune Tandy the foreigner had played, and I refused the impulse to hum the tune to myself in that quiet hall and kept my eyes ahead. From an intersection of halls, I watched someone pass from left to right and I froze and waited and listened and when no alarm sounded, I went on and peered around the intersection¡¯s corner to see the back of some person disappear around yet another corner, a servant most likely. Possibly a guard. It happened so quickly that certainty was impossible.


    Murdering Harold was easy enough, but taking the life of a half-dead geezer wasn¡¯t anything to brag on. Maron would not be so easy; even with his disease, would I find it so easy to put a mark on him? And why Maron? I could leave him to rot with the skitterbugs. It would likely be death. No, I had to be sure. I had to see life leave him and know it was done.


    My steps came with a more profound purpose than ever before and though I moved quickly, quietly, I felt no hesitation.


    With some trial and error, I found the sleeping quarters of Brash and upon pushing in through the door, I saw a light was on in the room and stopped there in the doorway for a moment; the form on the bed remained still. I went through and shut the door closed and watched the sleeping man and briefly thought of sparing him, but the fact of the matter was that if any of them had a shred of moral fiber, they would have left Golgotha or they would have given up their positions or led the place with a modicum of virtue; what of Lady? Lady had done great evil too. Was the evil done to her in return enough? She¡¯d lost her mind. There in the bed slept a man without a conscious and I took the knife to him just as I had his brother and with the overhead light on, I saw his left eye open in a millisecond of bewilderment as the blade entered his brain through the right socket. Something strange happened with this man, he grabbed onto my arm, seemed to whisper something, and even once he passed on, his hands remained clamped to my forearm like the muscles had been locked there.


    I shrugged the dead man off and exited into the hall. It shouldn¡¯t have been so easy. Two brothers. If I¡¯d had the want to, it should¡¯ve been done long before.


    Bloodlust is something spoken of, but something I cannot sympathize with¡ªI¡¯m sure it exists as I¡¯ve seen it, but all I felt was total numbness.


    I came upon a guard in the hall; it happened so quickly as I rounded a corner that we immediately grappled with one another. He, being larger and more agile, easily put me against the wall and held a forearm to my neck; the guard pummeled into my abdomen with his free hand and did so with such force that I went weak and breathless. The knife I¡¯d carried clattered to the floor and amid my gasps, he furiously printed his knuckles along my ribs. I lost my legs, and he came after me; blindly I kicked and felt my right foot connect with something. He groaned and I blinked away the tears that¡¯d gathered in my eyes¡ªthe man cupped his hands between his legs. Without conscious command, my hands scrambled along the floor in search of what I¡¯d lost and glimpsing victory, I took the knife in both hands and pushed upward viciously just as the man gathered himself for another assault. He fell onto the knife and there, faces so close that we could kiss, I recognized the guard. It was the chaperone from earlier. It was the wall man that had allowed me freedom on that night of the riots. If he¡¯d killed me all that time ago, he wouldn¡¯t have been there on my knife.


    He said nothing, but his eyes spoke of surprise and terror.


    I shook him off and he casually took to sitting where the wall met the floor, holding the wound beneath his sternum. He tilted his head back as though to scream and I quickly stumbled to land the knife in his throat; blood hissed then pumped from around his collar and he put his hand to his fatal wound slowly, catching it without stopping the flow. The young man¡ªhe was so young¡ªblinked deliriously and watched me as I stood over him like the foul creature I was.


    My silent pace intensified. Blood was all over me. The willpower to do awful often trumps all else. Could a person do awful things in the pursuit of goodness? Was it possible? Heroes don¡¯t talk about blood too much. There¡¯s nothing in those tales about watching a man die like that. A man that knew nothing beyond what was presented. There was a time and a place where that young man might have been anything. The wall men might¡¯ve been complicit, but there was no justification I¡¯d use to comfort myself. There I was, covered in that man¡¯s blood, a knife wielding maniac in an underground bunker on the hunt for something. What was I hunting? Was it a tale of retribution or was it a stubborn hope?


    The left side of my torso burned in pain from the altercation, and I pressed along the wall as I moved for support and kept my breathing as quiet as I could. Maron had to die. That was all there was to it.


    Even if I died, I had to correct the mistakes of my past. How could I sit there at the end of it all and take judgement? It had to be done.


    The halls erupted with a mechanical siren-like screech and I ducked into the nearest room¡ªit was a dark storage closet. Composing myself, the sounds of boots thudded around just outside of the room, I listened hard, and while the footsteps receded, I held onto the knife with a death grip in total preparation to launch myself in the direction of any poor soul that poured through the door.


    The walls in the closet were lined with shelves of miscellaneous things: chemical cleaners, brooms, rags. I propped myself against an empty wall and watched the door and tried again to listen¡ªno foot thuds, but there was the sound of the alarm. It drowned out anything else so if there was anyone nearby, I couldn¡¯t be certain of their location anyway. I went from the closet and moved quickly; I¡¯d hoped to find Maron¡¯s room long before triggering any alarms¡ªsurely, he¡¯d already be off and commanding some group of wall men in search of the intruder.


    Was it one of the Bosses they¡¯d found, or had it been the guard? Probably the guard. Maybe they wouldn¡¯t find the Bosses for some time. Ahead, at another intersection, a group of men trundled across the halls, and I lowered myself into a crouch but none of them spied me in their peripheral as their focus seemed ahead of them. The halls were madness, and I felt the sweat well up around my collar and I expected a gunshot to take me out in a moment. That would be the end of the journey for me! I¡¯d catch a bullet from somewhere unknown and then bleed to death on the floor of the underground¡ªmaybe they¡¯d erect my corpse over the wall or crucify me.


    The underground¡¯s layout became a series of hopeful guesses; each turn was like that. Push on straight? Left? Right? Who knew?


    My ribs ached.


    The lights of the underground shut off and I was momentarily frozen like an idiot, staring into the blackness like the blind.


    I stumbled forward, and I latched onto the wall by my right side and followed it by touch alone. The smell of gunpowder met me and perhaps it was only then that I noticed the scent; the underground was the place where they manufactured munitions and stored them too. How large of a dent had Dave put into their operation? I had hoped that whatever charge he¡¯d managed would have put the Bosses out of commission for good; I knew that wasn¡¯t the case, but maybe their production had been severely hampered. I¡¯d seen it for years; the laborers trolleying crates of ammo out for the wall men from the recesses of the hall¡ªeveryone knew, but very few had any hand in the production of Golgotha¡¯s ammo. The smell, as pungent as it was in the darkness of the underground, reminded me greatly of my childhood and of how I¡¯d learned to fire a gun with John¡ªJackson tried to help, but he wasn¡¯t good with violence and so had given up any thought of it (it almost always made him ill). I recalled Sibylle and how she nodded approvingly at me on the range alongside all the others which practiced in the shotgun infantry. In that underground darkness I shook the memories away and the more recent predicaments of life came to the forefront. As much as gunpowder smelled like childhood, it smelled like death too and I kept waiting for the sound that seemed a permanent accompaniment to gunpowder: screams. In that bastardly darkness, the sirens sounded like the cries of death, and I pushed on and on.


    The blood on my hands from the guard which began to dry to me, became gummy and I continuously brushed my palms down my pants. In a moment, I stopped in the dark hallway, open space in front and behind alike and I froze there, went to my knees and it was there that I felt the most like the worthless old man that I was. What had my life come to? It would have been better if I¡¯d died; if I could have sacrificed myself to bring my family back, I would have without a moment of hesitation.


    A flashlight leapt from behind and in a startled run, I ran and again found myself in darkness. I prayed in my ragged steps where the metal floors became uneven and though I seemingly received nothing in the darkness, no answered prayers, I found myself praying harder still and I wished that all those years of prayer from before counted for something¡ªprayer is quiet and without answer and that time was the same, but I came up from it, swaggering on unsteady legs with a new outlook. It was the animal outlook, survival¡ªnothing else.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    The hallway which I took became even more uneven, more slanted without reason and that is when I came to a stop in the passage¡ªgreat boulder rubble stood in my way. In reaching the collapsed passage, I pushed against the ramp of rough stones and crimped metal and in time, I understood what I was touching. Dave had destroyed this passage¡ªhe¡¯d done well. I went back the way I¡¯d come and took another way and before long, through that wild network, I found more blockages.


    The alarms went off and I sat in the dark by the newest cave-in and listened and heard nothing and I breathed easier and whispered wishes into the dark that I could do the one thing that I came for. I had to set things right; it had to be me, because no one else was left to do it.


    Between blinks, with it being as dark as it was, I could not even tell when my eyes were open. My whispering came into a full fervor, and I spooked myself with the words, ¡°But he that endures till the end.¡± I snapped from the prayer.


    Harlan, said the thing in the dark, It¡¯s been a long time.


    I held my knife out in front of me but did not dare to push into fight¡ªI¡¯d be flailing totally blind. ¡°Who are you?¡± My voice remained a hush.


    You¡¯ve come a long way, but you¡¯re no wiser than when I found you the first time.


    ¡°You?¡±


    It¡¯s me. There was a long pause and while the creature did so, I shimmied myself further up the wall to stand, kicking the rubble at my feet from the cave-in. It was not so much a presence in the same way that a person stands before another in the darkness, it was something different; it was all around, and the voice spoke from all places. You¡¯ve come so far, but I wonder if you know what it was that you traded for that day. I squirmed away from the words; they felt totally accusatory. The voice laughed; I felt a hand touch me there in the darkness, but I didn¡¯t fight it. The veil between life and death is thin. When one is passing through it, it¡¯s hardly more solid than that¡ªor maybe when someone is directly there on the cusp between. I brought him back to you. You loved your little brother more than anything, of course. It¡¯s natural for you.


    ¡°So?¡±


    So? You mean to destroy the gift? You mean to sever the connection I reconnected? It meant a lot to you that day. What¡¯s changed?


    ¡°You brought him back wrong.¡± The air all around me was ice cold. Mephisto¡ªcertainly that was the demon I was dealing with in that black underground¡ªdid not have the jovial style with which I remembered him by.


    Hm? I brought him back to you just as he was. But I think you should question that day, Harlan¡ªwhen the veil is as thin as it was, it is difficult to see which side you¡¯re on.


    ¡°Quit your tricks!¡± I hissed.


    No. No tricks. Not intentionally. Not from me. There are jinn and demons that utilize tricks like what you imply, but not me. Every time that you have been there on the edge of it, every time that you have casually thrown your life into turmoil, our deal has held steady. Why is it that you¡¯re able to walk among my kind? Think. You are feeble and weak. You should be dead. Without me, surely you would be. Again, I will say: the veil was thin. You wanted me to bring one person back to you¡ªthe person you loved most. The one person you loved that did not die that day.


    ¡°What?¡±


    You didn¡¯t see his body? Right? Harlan, you were on your way to the other side when I found you¡ªeveryone was waiting for you there. Everyone but your dear brother. He was on this side. I brought him to you. Boy, you are a boy still it seems, you were half dead when I found you there in that pit of stinking corpses. I brought you back. No one else.


    ¡°No. Bi-Maron¡¯s all wrong. You!¡± My voice grew embittered, ¡°You brought him back wrong! It¡¯s your fault!¡±


    The voice, all around, sighed and it felt like my head might explode from the exhale. The demon¡¯s hand squeezed my shirt and pulled me close to it¡ªI felt the wet off its breath though I could not see him. You loved him as a boy. Men grow and change. Blame the world or blame his soul but stop blaming me for what he is. He is as he chooses¡ªthe same as you. I smell the blood on your hands even now. If a man does evil, a demon must be blamed¡ªis that your thinking?


    I swallowed, pressed my back hard into the wall which I leveled myself against. ¡°Why now? Why¡¯d you tell me now?¡± It was impossible¡ªI caught my words frozen; everything was frozen¡ªI couldn¡¯t even breathe. A finger thumped me in the dark, directly across my forehead.


    It¡¯s funny. The hand left me.


    ¡°What if you¡¯re lying?¡± I asked.


    A pause followed and then I faintly heard, Meh, trail down the hall and then I was certain I was alone again.


    Man, or no, Maron needed to die; I pushed off the wall and trundled into the labyrinth again, leaving the cave-in and Mephisto¡ªhis words¡ªremained.


    In the quiet, without the sirens, without the bells, I was able to more clearly hear whenever someone was coming in the dark and I made a routine of stowing into the nearest room whenever I was forced to; the search was still on for the intruder¡ªme. They came, jack boots stomping madly, and I would hear them come and go on and finally, the lights came alight, and it was no longer that I watched the passing guards go in the dark with their beams of light or their lanterns and more than anything, I hoped to find the exit¡ªwhat then? It would be guarded, surely. I¡¯d hoped to do in Maron in silence, much as I had with the others, but I knew that if I saw that man, even if it meant my own demise, he would meet me on the other side without much waiting. Then we¡¯d both burn in hell.


    The expression of surprise on his face that I imagined kept me on and perhaps that was bloodlust. Perhaps I did feel it then.


    I came to an overlooking hallway and stepped quietly in hopes that my own feet would not rattle off the metal hall in the same way the wall men¡¯s boots did. The narrow passage was suspended over a larger open chamber and to the right was a line of thin tall apertures where I could see lines of machining tables arranged beneath where I stood; mixed in by the machining tables were reloading benches and barrel drums and the surfaces were coated thinly in potassium nitrate¡ªthe place was empty of workers. Within the chamber, along the furthest wall was a wider passage which led deeper into the earth by way of concrete stairs and along its broad arch there were webbing cracks and I thought again of Dave; moving along the suspended passage, I felt the things¡ªrods or stilts¡ªwhich held the hall over the chamber protest and they gave off a metal groan while I furthered through and again I was in solid ground where I was certain there was dirt all around me.


    To the right was a stairwell which spiraled down, and I quickly surmised it led down to that large production room; lickity split, I moved from it and took my chances on the current level. Moving deeper was not on the docket. In that wild push through the twisting underground¡ªa facility which must¡¯ve easily matched Golgotha above¡ªI felt surrounded, not only by the earth, but by whatever dark presence might lurk there. Any person that found comfort there couldn¡¯t be wholly a person.


    Of course, I was hell spawn; I stopped in the hallway, looked back then forward, and continued.


    I wished I¡¯d taken the shotgun, but I¡¯d incorrectly assumed that stealth would be the greatest weapon.


    The underground winded for an hour or less and though I retraced myself more than I¡¯d have hoped, I came to a set of ascending stairs and took them; no one saw me, and I saw no one. Perhaps it would be an easy thing to sneak directly out of the hall of Bosses¡ªif they¡¯d removed the full force of the facility then I could be hopeful; I recalled the intricate metalwork of the entrance and upon coming to the big door, I pushed through and found myself in the basement of the hall and there was no one present. The sound of feet overhead was distressed, and I cramped low and ascended further from the basement¡ªa damp earthen room with metal beaming and low light.


    I remained surprised at the lax nature of their pursuit until I found myself in the concrete hall which led to the kitchens; it had been the way I¡¯d gained entry. Through the windows, I saw it was still night-dark out and I tip-toed swiftly through the kitchen and I heard the shouting which came from the next room over. I rounded the counters, absently examined the pots and pans and stoves and found the door which led to the great room where the Bosses gathered to convene or dine and through a crack I gambled to spy, and witnessed through the crack that the big table had been pushed to the far side of the room and that the remaining Bosses with their wall men had gathered the servants in that big room; each servant¡ªtwenty in total¡ªwas on the floor in two lines and stripped of clothing. The poor sods kneeled while they kept their eyes averted to the place between their knees and Maron was there and so was Frank and Paul and Matt.


    Boss Harold¡ªI thought of the man and stiffly imagined how Gemma would respond if I told her I finished her father; would she thank me or would she be angry with me? While watching the Bosses lord over the subordinates, I surmised to never tell. Let her believe she did the job.


    The big chamber was lit with the lights along the wall and the flames of those lights wavered in a macabre way that distorted the shadows cast on the expressionless faces of those that knelt.


    Maron took a ball-peen hammer which was handed to him from one of the wall men and began walking the line of servants; they flinched at the tap of his boot as it passed them. Boss Maron had his cowboy hat flicked back on his head, so the lines of his forehead shone. Without warming, he planted the hammer into the skull of a servant¡ªa woman with a shaved head¡ªand when he pried the hammer free from the servant¡¯s head, it left a coin-sized hole there and she spasmed, reaching out with both hands to grab onto Maron¡¯s pantleg; he kicked the hand away and no one gasped or said much beyond the grumble of the wall men which flanked the Bosses.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the one that did it?¡± Maron commanded over the lowered heads.


    No one said anything; no one knew anything. Maron dropped the hammer and it landed with a thud. Even in the lowlight, the viscera there on the weapon shone. Maron shouted without saying anything, kicked the ribs of a young man there on the floor; the injury shriveled him like a bug while he held his sides. The woman with a hole in her head continued to seize. I wanted to burst through the door, I wanted to strangle the Bosses, I wanted to scream in the faces of those they perpetrated against and ask them why they allowed it. I willed myself against it, left the crack and pushed through the backdoor of the kitchens and disappeared into the dark alleys.


    Rounding the hall were wall men, decked in fatigues with slung rifles, but whether by Mephisto or the luck of God, I was able to creep around the hall, taking to poorly constructed stalls or crates or low sandbags.


    While moving, creeping the way that I was, my left knee began to throb in protest. Only once I¡¯d disappeared into the bustle of Gologtha did I stop to massage my aching joint. I found a place beneath the overhang of catwalks which connected apartments. The pain went from a pulse to a full excruciating stab only once I¡¯d removed my weight from it. I hid in the dark under a catwalk, put myself against the wall of some building, and attempted to overcome it with sheer willpower. It did not work, and I was frozen there, knee locked into its spot while I stared up through the catwalks at the night sky. My sides ached, my leg ached.


    A child, a small girl, ran in play with a streamer through the narrow alley and froze upon seeing me sitting in the dark shadows to her left. She crept closer and I muffled my pain long enough to say, ¡°Go away!¡± She eeped and ran off with the streamer gliding by her shoulder.


    ¡°Fuckin¡¯ c¡¯mon,¡± I slammed a fist against my right leg. ¡°Let¡¯s go! I¡¯ll do it! Just get me there!¡± I pushed off the wall and I¡¯m sure that if anyone were to have seen me like that, covered in the dried blood of the wall man, muttering to myself, they would have probably turned heel fast. ¡°I¡¯ll do it! Get me there!¡± I started out limping from the place I¡¯d sat and then I stiffened my left leg and used it more as a peg, so my walking took on a stilted gait.


    I passed the open circle of the hydro towers and saw the low lights of the city and knew that the denizens of Golgotha would be in for a terrible awakening. Those that slept in the night would surely come up rudely and those still awake would be lost in the confusion. I marched through town, towards the front gates and kept to the shadows where possible, but if I were to be shot dead, it would not have mattered.


    The cracking echo of singular gunfire rang out¡ªI flinched momentarily; certainly they¡¯d started executing those in the hall and I ignored it and felt anger pile on me and I spat and wavered to where the wizard wagon was parked and slung open the rear hatch and withdrew the Browning shotgun¡ªI loaded the object, gathered ammo into my jacket pockets, then sat it leaning against the tire of the wagon while I reached in to grab tobacco and rolled a cigarette and lit it. I smoked and lifted the wizard mask from the compartment and wore it like a visor and looked to the spot beside, where horses were lined; they hardly stirred¡ªsome laid with their hooves beneath themselves. I peered back toward the general direction of the hall and slung the shotgun over my shoulder with its strap. Another gunshot rang clearly through the night, and it was my fault. More lights came alive across the black buildings. A few wall men over the gate which led to the wastes angled in the direction of the noise and shouted something after me, but I was only a shadow and disappeared.


    Biting the inside of my cheek till I found blood, I headed in the direction of the hall of Bosses.


    ¡°I was made in the image of God?¡± I was in a fit. ¡°I¡¯ll do God¡¯s work. Or won¡¯t it be Mephisto?¡± I, irritated, pointed to the sky while skulking through town, ¡°Why?¡± No answer.


    The flutist I¡¯d seen the day prior stood in the moonlight by the hydro towers, slanted against Felina¡¯s dead brothel. He played Twinkle Twinkle and paid me no mind as I passed.


    The faces of those inflicted with skitterbugs took notice of me¡ªthose desperate strangers lying in the street with blackened limbs or half destroyed eyes looked up from their rotting at seeming amazement from my presence. It was the disease. I could not be sure they truly saw me.


    Dirt twisted under my footfalls as I came to the foot of the stairs that led to the hall and flanking the front doors were a pair of wall men. They¡¯d be on me like stink on shit.


    I staggered up the stairs and they each moved from their position, weapons half-readied, and I lifted the shotgun to the one on the left; the bead lined up with his chest and I squeezed the trigger then pivoted right to aim again.

 Eighteen: Execution Day

    ¡°How¡¯d you think that was going to go?¡± asked a voice from the other side of the door.


    I lay on the bunk and stared at the ceiling; my head throbbed. The place where I¡¯d been grazed stung whenever I touched my fingers to it. A bullet had¡ªby whoever¡¯s grace¡ªscraped my scalp and traced a line from the far corner of my right eyebrow. It''d only been three days and it still caused pain. No doctors came and I was certain there would be infection¡ªif not plain infection, then it could always be the worser: skitterbugs. I ached still. I had never fully recovered, not like how I should have.


    The day of anger, as I¡¯d begun to think of it in my mind, had caused no great ruckus beyond a few dead men. Two were Bosses, but who knew if they¡¯d announce that as casually as they¡¯d surely announce my execution. Perhaps they¡¯d string me up alongside thieves. A good thief and a bad. What a riot; I deserved no thieves, of course.


    What was I? Some great hero? Some idiot was more likely. I wanted misery to befall those that perpetrated it themselves and there I was, more miserable. Perhaps the wrath in my heart came from some mutation; the demon Mephisto resurrected me (so said the demon) and I¡¯d begun to accept it. It was the reason for my poor state, surely, and the more I thought on it, the more I believed it was true; it felt true right down to my bones. The truth hurt or it was age and I rose from the cot I lay on; I¡¯d been detained in a room beside the one I¡¯d visited Andrew many months prior. They¡¯d starved me, rattled the door to try and frighten me, and they¡¯d wasted water on my head to keep me from good sleep.


    I did not respond to the voice from the other side of the door and the object rattled in its frame and the voice came again, this time angrier, ¡°Really? How did you think that was going to go? Crazy bastard! Thought you¡¯d put the hurt on the Bosses? Thought you¡¯d kill us at our worst? First, it¡¯s that explosion. You have something to do with that? No! First, it was Harold¡¯s daughter running off!¡± The voice on the other side of the door grew with mirth as it did with anger. ¡°I¡¯d seen you around town a bit. Thought the Bosses always liked you. Huh. Boss Harold mentioned you at his parties and said how you were a smart fella¡¯, a good fella¡¯, and there you killed him. Stone cold.¡± The man which spoke was a jailor that tortured me in those dreamlike days I spent locked in their prison, and he seemed personally affronted. ¡°So first it¡¯s the explosions; steam or dust rose out of cracks in the ground you know¡ªsome thought hell was rising up, but the Bosses put those thoughts to bed. God, what¡¯s it with the likes of you? The explosions and now I¡¯ve lost an eye and its because of the skitterbugs. You probably brought that on!¡± The voice muttered and then the door shook in its frame again, seemingly from a hard kick. I wished I could see the face of the man throwing his tantrum. ¡°Can¡¯t wait to see you hang.¡±


    ¡°So, I¡¯ll hang?¡± I asked the door. There was a long silence, and I was uncertain if I¡¯d pitched my voice enough for the man on the other side to hear me. I opened my mouth to ask, ¡°So-


    ¡°You¡¯ll hang.¡± The man on other side seemed to knock his knuckles against the surface of the door. ¡°Or you¡¯ll die here.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s Maron said?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you worry about him.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s he said?¡±


    ¡°Said you¡¯d probably appreciate the punishment that we¡¯d put on you. Said you¡¯re a sick man. Said you like speaking with devils and people like you only find pleasure in such things.¡±


    ¡°So, I won¡¯t hang?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll hang, sir. You¡¯ll hang if I need to do it myself with no one else. If not that, I¡¯ll be sure to put you under one way or another. Accidents happen.¡± He chuckled. ¡°Maybe you¡¯d enjoy it, but it doesn¡¯t matter. Whatever enjoyment you find in your tortures won¡¯t compare to what ideas I have.¡±


    A long silence followed, and I watched dust motes dance in the air; the place was stagnant and even a breath caused a shift in their glide. I closed my eyes and tried to remember a better time. I thought of Suzanne. I thought of Gemma. What a time to be alive. I thought of the movies, the books, the musical cartridges that sung of yesteryears. How unlucky I¡¯d been, of course. Something had changed in me though and it was totally refreshing. Perhaps it was in realizing the evils of my brothers was that of a man and not some otherworldly force, or perhaps it was a push that came from years of terrible inconsistencies. All that living in the past and so it was. It didn¡¯t matter¡ªthe past. I¡¯d been so busy with it that I¡¯d been in a constant state of unliving. I¡¯d known that always, of course¡ªsomething new had come.


    ¡°You dozing off in there?¡± asked the jailor.


    ¡°Nah.¡±


    ¡°Good. Stay awake or I¡¯ll be forced to stay you awake.¡±


    I¡¯d been reborn with a rage, justified or otherwise, and it was felt all over. It was a wild compulsion. All that time and it had been me that was brought back.


    The wound on my head throbbed and I prodded it with a finger and brought the finger away and examined the digit; it was dried well enough, and I did not smell infection nor were there any of the accompanying symptoms of a fever or hallucination. I was me, through and through. For now.


    The door banged. I didn¡¯t bother an answer and the door banged again.


    ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± I asked, surprising myself with the sarcasm.


    ¡°Why¡¯d you do it?¡± asked the jailor.


    ¡°You wanna¡¯ ask me about it now?¡±


    ¡°Tell me.¡± The voice on the other side of the door was serious entirely.


    ¡°Bah!¡±


    ¡°Bah to you! Why¡¯d you do it?¡±


    ¡°Is there a reason to explain myself? If you knew better the things I knew, would it get you to unlock that door and let me walk free? Would it change your mind even?¡±


    The jailor caught a laugh before responding. ¡°Can¡¯t say it would.¡±


    ¡°So, what¡¯s it that you want? You won¡¯t understand me, and I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve got the energies of persuasion to try.¡±


    ¡°Try.¡±


    ¡°You like the Bosses?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re okay. Keep me in work anyway. Keep people safe.¡±


    I slumped forward onto my knees where I sat and placed my elbows on my knees and watched the crack at the base of the door on the other side of the prison cell. ¡°What¡¯s it matter if they keep you in work? Think they care about you anymore than what you represent?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°I mean, you keep riffraff down and they like you for it. I wonder if they know you. You ever get invited to the feasts they hold at the hall? You ever worry about your water rations? You ever wonder why it is that so few of the women or men invited to the hall return? Children too, now that I think of it. They¡¯d call those captured criminals, I know. Those brothers¡ªthe sheriff is to blame too¡ªthey¡¯re bastards. You know they are.¡±


    ¡°Is that so? What¡¯s that make me? A bastard too?¡±


    ¡°By proxy maybe.¡± I dryly chuckled. ¡°What¡¯s it matter? What do you want outta¡¯ me anyhow? Some gratification? Some confession¡ªyou¡¯ve gotten that already, ain¡¯tcha? Maybe a repentance? Why don¡¯t you call one of those Bosses on down from their throne and have them here on the other side of the door so I can apologize? Or call Lady and I¡¯ll get her to channel some message to the afterlife and I¡¯ll plead for forgiveness. That what you want? Now I¡¯m a bad man and I know it, but it ain¡¯t for the reasons you believe. What you want is belief that there¡¯s a man under the skin of the monster you¡¯ve projected? No, I won¡¯t shoo away your boogeyman for you. It can¡¯t be done, not from me.¡±


    ¡°You talk big for someone in your predicament. I like how you talk so holier. Like you¡¯re talking down on me. I just wanted to know what made you want to go on a mad-killing spree the way you did.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡± I cupped my hands together; as it was, my left knee shot off with pain and I tried to massage it to little comfort and stretched it out straight from my body. ¡°When violence keeps you bound, violence is necessary to free yourself. That¡¯s all I¡¯ll say about it. If you hang me, then hang me. Spill my guts out for the birds and put a sack over my head so you won¡¯t be sick by my face.¡±


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    ¡°You¡¯re a mouthy pig.¡±


    I listened to the jailor¡¯s footfalls disappear down the hall and finally it was totally quiet and all I could hear was the throb on my head. Lucky or unlucky? No, it wasn¡¯t luck. I¡¯d been marked. I was the payment, and I knew the price. The demon had my soul. Whatever protection it afforded me, I intended on using.


    The image of that room continued over in my mind, with the peasantry (that¡¯s what I saw them as then) knelt in front of the Bosses and the wall men, with the intense blood-smell, with the surprise on Maron¡¯s face. Billy¡¯s face. There was still a part of me, however small, that wanted to plead with him to change his ways. That wasn¡¯t the part that welled up in me then though. The piece of me that wanted to see him die was what took over. It hadn¡¯t been Maron that fired his gun; he¡¯d still been fighting with his holster. I¡¯d only taken a step in through the door and a spray of gunfire from one of the wall men¡¯s rifles exploded and I was sure I was dead because I fell, and my vision went white. They should¡¯ve put me down then.


    I didn¡¯t come too fully until I had a few goons on me, hauling me upright roughly under my arms. Maron didn¡¯t say anything at first and those wall men took over; they shouted that I was alive still and I felt a hot gun barrel against my cheek.


    ¡°Stop!¡± shouted Maron. The Boss Sheriff stepped forward with his stilted gait and looked me over thoroughly. The gun barrel fell from my cheek, but they held me still; it wasn¡¯t like I planned on fighting. ¡°You got uglier,¡± said Boss Maron, ¡°Really ugly.¡± His left eye, afflicted by the skitterbug infestation, had gone dead white with only the faintest trace of an iris; it dribbled pus.


    I held his stare to the point that my eyes watered¡ªwhether from anger or sorrow or both¡ªand my muscles tightened like an animal threatening to pounce. It was a ridiculous display.


    ¡°Lock him up,¡± said Boss Maron.


    So, I was locked up and those uncounted days I was mildly tortured: sleep deprivation, pummeling, and sometimes they spit on me. It could have been worse. I¡¯d seen worse.


    The cell was numbingly quiet, and I continued to massage my knee, continued in thinking about how investing so much thought with the past twisted any future of mine into a dismal satire.


    I could not tell how long it had been without sunlight and the jailor returned (he was bulbous and fattened and old but very strong¡ªit could be sensed in how he carried himself) pushed through the door this time with a tray of diced potatoes, steamed but cold, and a metal cup of water. He sat them on the floor, stared at the tray there with his one good left eye, and it was like I could read his mind as he looked at the food there. He could destroy it; he jerked from the tray without saying a word to me then disappeared behind the door he closed. The jailor remained there outside.


    Pride swelled in me momentarily before I pushed whatever silliness that was and devoured the food and drank the clear water. If it was poison, so be it. If it was poison, then all the problems of the world would disperse.


    Again, the jailor pushed in through the door and bent to remove the tray and I was struck by the immediate thought of strangling him. So, I tried and threw myself at the man.


    My hands felt the scruff around his throat, and I pressed hard with my fingers on his Adams apple. He¡¯d lurched forward to lift the tray and he immediately came up with force, throwing me off him; my nails raked his cheek as I scrambled for purchase. He took the metal tray in both of his hands and thwapped me across the head¡ªit rang, and I was stunned while he lifted back his right hand in a swing. In the dizziness, I momentarily caught a glimpse of the holster on his left hip and reached out dumbly for the revolver there. A meaty smack could be heard, and I didn¡¯t even feel it when his fist met my face the second time. My head rocked and I fought to look upright, and his hand came again, and I put up my own hand in return; it was pushed away, and he continued at me, muttering epithets he found useful.


    Once he was heaving and spitting, he left me on the cot and directly before slamming the door, he mentioned something about violence and how if I liked violence so much that he¡¯d show it to me.


    I nursed myself to sitting right-up and though adrenaline kept the pain away, I felt my face bruising already. There was no way for me to inspect the welts his hands had left, but I could guess their places by touch and how they thrummed with my heart.


    Two days passed, if I counted them by the visits from the jailor and then Maron made his appearance to me, and I was surprised to see him with a leather eye patch over his left eye; he seemed ill on his feet and the jailor, though the man was there, did not move to stop Maron from entering the room and relieving me of my prison. He and the jailor roped my hands together in front of my pelvis and I didn¡¯t fight.


    Boss Maron stank of infection and yellow oozed from beneath his eye patch and he kept his cowboy hat pulled snugly over both his ears and did not speak so jovially¡ªthere were no crude jokes at my expense. A warmth radiated off him. The Boss carried my shotgun with him but made no remark on it. He marched me from the prison, and I met daylight, and it burned my eyes while I stared up into the reddish sky. Dust scattered from the nearest portion of wall and caught on the wind till it was carried and disappeared overhead, and I briefly thought how nice it must be to fly.


    Golgotha stirred as ever, and people spoke loudly and candidly as I passed them by. Words came my way from passing faces like, ¡°You kissed the devil¡¯s ass!¡± or, ¡°You sure are a monster, look at you!¡± and Maron pushed me on with the gun at my back, and I wavered on my legs like I was without any control.


    ¡°Is it true?¡± asked Boss Maron, ¡°Did you kiss the devil¡¯s ass?¡± He tilted the shotgun casually on his shoulder and kept me ahead of himself. He was taking me to hang¡ªand making a big deal out of it too. ¡°I know how you like to speak to them. The demons. I know how you conspire with them. I told them all how you do. Now they know I was right.¡±


    What a rotten town it was, and it smelled like it. The atrophied muscles and diseased infections of those fine folks emanated in the air, flies buzzed around my head, bloated and doubtlessly happy from whatever corpse they¡¯d sprung from.


    ¡°Say somethin¡¯,¡± said Maron.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± I asked, watching my footfalls, ignoring the screeches of those on the sidelines; he marched me through the runways, past the onlookers which saw me with faces of twisted hatred. The tension was palpable¡ªI could feel the venom off the eyes of those that watched. Blood red eyes which judged carelessly.


    ¡°I want you to say it,¡± said Maron; I felt the nudge of the shotgun at my back again and I stumbled forward, caught myself, carried on, ¡°I want you to admit it to me. You¡¯re like a mutant, ain¡¯tcha? No better than any other monster. I knew it all them years. I seen it.¡± We took an alley and cretins followed behind; wall men flanked Maron and on either side of the narrow stretch there were faces made even with the wall, pressed there like they were afraid to be involved.


    ¡°Whatever you say, brother.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± hissed Maron, ¡°Don¡¯t even.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I spat the word, ¡°Afraid they¡¯ll treat you differently if they all know how close we are?¡± I felt the gun barrel press against my back, and I yelped out the words, ¡°Hey! He¡¯s my brother! My baby brother!¡± The barrel jabbed me in the spine, and I spilled forward, catching myself on one of those nearby faces. It was an old woman. She shoved me from her, and I flailed across the ground after trying to catch myself with my bound hands. Dirt met my face and exploded around me. I laughed, blinking through the dust. I spit too. He couldn¡¯t kill me. Whatever black magic there was in me¡ªbequeathed by Mephisto¡ªrefused me death. Maron lifted me with the help of his wall men, pinching the coat around my throat with his fist. He shoved me on, and we continued.


    ¡°You smell that?¡± I asked Maron.


    ¡°Stop talkin¡¯. You might not be a man, but you¡¯ll die like one,¡± he said. The wall men around muttered, and we took the way to the front square; already there were looky-loos gathered, throngs of them not at all bashful to see the day¡¯s line-up¡ªit was just me. The platform was emptier and that was good (Frank, Paul, and Matt looked naked without their eldest brother). Those Bosses which remained looked drunk as they did for any other execution. It was a good day for it. Warm. The stink of the crowd was worse and as those gathered parted for my entourage, the warmth of them cloistered us like the blood of a wound.


    Even through the vile aroma, the smell of rotted poultry rose like nothing else. ¡°You don¡¯t smell it then?¡±


    The roar, a cacophony of the damned souls stolen, shook the ground and the air changed. A dragon¡ªLeviathan.


    Along the wall which old skeletal corpses hung against dried blood stains from hook-chains, men and women scattered the length of the parapets with their weapons. Gunfire came and one of those atop the wall shouted, ¡°Artillery! Dragon! Big guns!¡±


    There was fire in the sky and the creature circled overhead and its wings beat the wind like mad; those organic ropes that hung from its body took on horrid shapes with its movement in the high noon sunlight.


    Screams filled the air as the square erupted into panic. I dove into the sickly crowd; among the loudness, the horses which were lined by the big door fought against their ties and bolted across the square. Arms and heads disappeared beneath those dashing hooves, and it was not long before people were trampling people and in a quick glance I saw the Boss platform came down in splinters as the horses rushes it. Blood slickened the feet of many as they rushed to the buildings adjacent the square¡ªwhat a small protection that¡¯d be against Leviathan. A wall man went stumbling over the wall¡¯s ledge and his body met the ground beneath the hanging corpses and he didn¡¯t get up.


    In the wild fray, Maron fired the shotgun into the air, and I briefly thought of where the pellets might fall.


    Finally, artillery fire came and put a hole in the creature. It wavered in the air, its head lurched downward like it might pierce the ground and it pulled its long neck back and blew flames across the buildings. The heat was immaculate. Rotted chicken filled my lungs.


    ¡°There¡¯s more!¡± shouted a wall man above, ¡°Running across the field.¡±


    The crowd grew more enamored with escape; there¡¯s no good way to say it¡ªblood frothed around our heels as I was shoved through the avenues of elbows, rocking heads, plunging knees. I pushed on, shielding myself with my bound hands as well as I could. I kept my head as high, and felt scratches reach my throat¡ªdoubtlessly those which could not continue¡ªnails and fists came from every direction. In the ephemeral madness, I too screamed and it did not stop until I spilled into an alleyway along the wall nearest the execution chains. I ran and tripped from the crowd, slid, and bit my tongue so thoroughly that my teeth clicked together though the tissue; my breath was knocked from me. My pants were wet from the viscera. Others too had found the opening and barreled past me. I went to my feet and panted thought the pain, through the twinge in my left knee. I took the walls for support and still, those which rushed past nearly knocked me from my feet.


    Some poor child¡ªa lean, bony-faced boy¡ªfell in the rush and before I had a moment to reach out, he was gone. Whether he lived or not, I did not stop to know. The crunch of bones as more people spilled into the narrow stretch indicated the worst.

 Nineteen: More and More

    Since I knew there was a time before, I¡¯ve wanted it, but that was child¡¯s hope; even as a boy I wanted a dream. I wanted some divine being to enter from heaven and tell us all how it should be, but that wasn¡¯t something I could ever count on¡ªof course. Is there a god? I think so. I¡¯ve seen those things and if they exist, then surely there¡¯s a maker on the other end of it¡ªgod made both the light and the dark if the word¡¯s to be believed and all we can hope for is a glimpse of the former. Even for a second.


    The streets were soaked with blood and so many artillery rounds were fired into the sky¡ªmany I witnessed missed Leviathan¡ªthat I forgot what silence was like (not to mention the screams and there was a lot of that).


    In the scrambling, I found I was reentering deeper into Golgotha and that wasn¡¯t good. There was the ever-present thought that Maron was around every corner; the man had haunted my thoughts for longer that he should have and every time it was like an overwhelming force. It was simple enough after all, he was a piece of the past, a piece I could theoretically reach out and touch and that was what kept me to him.


    In the fray of bolting citizens, I pressed myself to the exterior of a wall¡ªI¡¯d neared the stairs which once led to my apartment¡ªand I kept out of the way of those that mindlessly went; some of those which rushed from the onslaught were those afflicted with skitterbugs and many of them either hobbled on blackened legs or¡ªand this was rare¡ªcomrades or family helped to carry those which could not carry themselves. It was a baffling sight. A man carried a woman like a child (her toes had fallen off and her legs were black to the knees) and though he strode on with her, his own boots were caked with a mixture of blood and earth. An older girl led a young boy from the whirlwind of dust which was kicked up in the square; the boy¡¯s eyes were whited, and his hands were curled to his chest, discolored. People, whatever duality there is, cared. There was not a drop of the apathy I¡¯d learned and encouraged in myself.


    I chewed like a mad dog through my bindings, and it was of little use; I yanked at the cord which secured my hands together and received rope burn in return. ¡°Bitch!¡± I cussed the thing, but the flames in the sky were so loud, the bangs and vibrations from the artillery consumed all so it was like yelling in a barrel. I swung my hands out in front of me, feeling useless and felt a sudden urge to try again. I bit into the cord and repetitively motioned my jaw against the pressure of the cord, like I was going to saw through it with my teeth. Ha! Another yank is what brought my left hand free, but not without tearing a triangle of skin away from my wrist.


    The cord dropped to my feet, and I looked around; a woman brushed past me, nearly toppled over my foot and I caught her by the wrist before she went head-over. She violently thrust from my grasp and screamed something at me. Another bout of flames burst from Leviathan¡¯s maw as it circle-dove overhead. The heatwave from the blast exploded across my face so that I recoiled from the sky itself till I was on the ground, and I pushed myself from the earth and ran half dog-like from my place there at the wall. Where? It was hard to say where when every person that touched-by seemed to send me in another direction; in the madness, it was impossible to tell my course.


    With time and effort, I found my way to the opening where the hydro towers were, three pillars which rose above Golgotha¡¯s skyline, each one a testament to human resilience¡ªengineers laborers toiled untold hours under Lady¡¯s father to construct them. The hydro towers exploded into rubble as Leviathan slammed into them. Rock rained down as cutting shards and destructive boulders. A man lay beside my feet where he''d been pinned by the onslaught¡ªwhite concrete kept him there by his chest¡ªhe gasped for air and blood already formed around him. In a moment, I looked away at the dying man, his half-whited eyes bulging at me. Meat hung from the left side of another man¡¯s face as he cradled his head in his hand and moved like he was stoned and sat among the stomping feet; he slumped into the spot he sat and did not move till others came by him in a hurry and he simply fell onto his side like a toy animal.


    The screams were too much. I looked to the towers, the nubs which had broken away like bad teeth against the red sky, and whole people fell alongside the rubble, limbs and showers of blood and Leviathan latched atop the towers and rocked its massive body so that the structures slipped directly from their foundations and tumbled over like pins. I ran and again there was nothing but chaos, nothing but mind-numbing wilder thoughts¡ªit was grim and there wasn¡¯t a place for coherency; it was all snaps of images.


    In the mess of bumbling limbs, I pushed through to the hall of Bosses and there were people there already, rushing the stairs; the ground shook and I assumed it must¡¯ve been the towers. The things demolished all in their path, and briefly, I saw the ramshackle structures which normally stood in their shadows come slanting over and people leapt from those places too and landed poorly and there was a cacophony of tremors through the earth¡ªit felt as though hell should open.


    The steps at the base of the hall were flooded and it was a fight to climb them as legs came high up from ahead and swiped at those behind and I kept my hands ahead of me to block whatever foot may come my way.


    Wall men stood ready with their rifles at the tops of those steps and fired their weapons indiscriminately into the crowd. Bodies, big and small, piled atop the steps after a brief bullet dance and it came that I wasn¡¯t only climbing stairs, but corpses; the warmth of their flesh as I clawed ahead remained and blood fog hung in the air. That grouping of wall men, casually lined before the doors of the hall were overtaken and they disappeared, their rifles cackled and came alive with muzzle flashes and the animal hands of the horde brought them to ground.


    Us, the horde, funneled through those front doors and for a moment, in the thick walls of the hall, the outside world audibly disappeared; the blood and dust remained, but it was quieter save the shuffling feet and cusses of passersby I was carried deeper.


    Those that worked the underground went quickly and I followed, and those ignorant followed for the sake of survival and it was not long till we stumbled into the Boss¡¯s lair. With room, people dispersed like water through the tunnels and found dark recesses to tend their wounds or mourn whatever was lost and the explosive open air had been fully replaced by the quiet black oppressive mumbles of people taking stock of all those that had died. And all those that would. Every few moments, the walls shook, and dust fell from the ceiling fixtures.


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    A few haggard folks moved to the doorway which led to the damp room which led to the kitchen, and they slammed the door shut and latched it and began to check adjacent rooms for things to barricade the way.


    ¡°Stop!¡± said a man in the dim flickering underground light¡ªI was surprised to see the man was me, ¡°Leave it open! Others might need help.¡± I retraced my steps to the small faction that¡¯d gathered there at the doorway. ¡°You can¡¯t just let them die out there. Let them in.¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± a skinny girl with her hair pulled back on her malnourished skull spoke gruffly; she choked, coughed¡ªdust clung to her clothes¡ªshe¡¯d been near the collapse of the hydro towers if I guessed. ¡°Step off, or I¡¯ll¡ª


    ¡°Or you¡¯ll what?¡± I shouted.


    The girl put up her fists, two lumpy stones, and in stupid response I closed the distance between us. With speed, her fist met my nose, and I stumbled back on my heel.


    Without hesitation, I brought up my own hands and landed a blow to her stomach. She craned forward, gasped on repeat, and took a knee.


    Blood wet my upper lip, and I wiped it away with my forearm.


    ¡°Move,¡± I said to the others by the door; there were two: a woman and a boy that was nearly a man.


    The boy charged headstrongly, attempted a kick and I easily shoved his small frame against the tunnel wall; the hard metal sounded a meaty thud against his body and the woman launched unseen at me, raked her nails down the back of my neck, and tore at my collar. I kept a forearm to the boy¡¯s throat and rocked his head with my free elbow. Once he wept and spit red, I let him go; the boy slid into a sit and I spun on the woman, shoving her away. My left leg began to give, and I used the wall over the boy¡¯s head as support. I swung at her with a wild claw and my fingertips grazed her nose as she fell away to the opposite wall.


    ¡°Stop it!¡± I shouted.


    She launched at me, and my leg gave out under her tackle, and I stumbled half-on the boy, my feet kicked helplessly at her, and the boy regained his composure and began to crawl towards me. We wrestled and then the girl I¡¯d knocked in the gut rejoined the fray. I was done. They had me pinned and spat curses at me and took turns shoving my head into the floor.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to get us killed,¡± shouted the woman, ¡°Are you stupid?¡±


    I grinded my teeth and tried to throw them off; I was overpowered and easily pressed down again.


    The overhead lights flickered with another deep earthy vibration and the trio let go of me in an instant¡ªI came up swinging my arms like crazy and as I went to kneel before propelling myself to stand, a hand rested on my shoulder. I spun on the hand and was met with the black mouth of a 9mm pistol¡ªthat froze me fast.


    The owner of the weapon¡ªa wall man by the look of her fatigues¡ªmotioned for me to stand and I did. Her eyes were far off and nervous and the metal shook in her outstretched hand. ¡°Against the wall!¡± she barked at us; she was small-framed and youthful but full grown, and I could easily push her out of my way if not for the pistol. We went to the wall, and she moved to the door while keeping the gun drawn on us. She watched us and glanced at the door. ¡°It¡¯s latched! Who latched the door?¡± She asked.


    No one spoke. The other three looked to their feet; I initially refused to rat, and snorted blood¡ªmy nose throbbed and by touch I could tell it swelled already.


    ¡°Well? Why¡¯s it closed?¡± she asked the question more like a desperate child than a person with control. ¡°C¡¯mon!¡± The 9mm rolled limply on her wrist as she said the word, like she was attempting to draw the confession from us with the motion.


    ¡°There¡¯s an attack. They¡¯re killing everyone,¡± said the boy.


    The girl and woman nodded.


    ¡°Who?¡± asked the wall man.


    ¡°Demons, muties,¡± said the boy, ¡°Big stuff. Everyone¡¯s dying.¡±


    The ground shook as if to emphasize his point.


    The wall man studied us for a moment, lingering last on me and for the longest and she took a long breath and let the sigh out dramatically slow. ¡°I know you,¡± she motioned at me with the gun, ¡°You¡¯re that maniac. The one that tried to murder everyone.¡± Her eyes fell then returned and she put her weight on the door while maintaining the barrel of the gun eye-level in my direction.


    ¡°I ain¡¯t gonna¡¯ hurt anyone,¡± said. I briefly thought about smiling but decided that¡¯d look worse.


    ¡°How do I know that?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± said the boy, ¡°He tried to kill us already!¡± His voice cracked with adolescence; the blood I¡¯d spilled from his mouth coated the front of his holey shirt.


    The trio nodded all together¡ªeveryone agreed that I was a maniac killer.


    ¡°They latched it,¡± I said, ¡°Cowards.¡±


    A thump came from the other side of the door which frightened the wall man and she leapt from the spot she¡¯d leaned¡ªit took several full seconds to realize her gun went off; there was a flash, and my ears rang. I stumbled from the knot of people and slunk a couple of feet from the space by the door. The girl¡ªthe one I gut-punched¡ªcollapsed to the floor while holding the right side of her face. The women crowded the girl, panicked, the boy sprinted past me and disappeared deeper into the underground, and the wall man stood there with a wretched blank expression. There was a long moment which hung in the air; I could not hear and then it came back, and it was the girl¡¯s screams I heard first.


    Upon stepping to them, I saw the prone girl had been shot just so¡ªthrough the cheek. Her eyes rolled from likely spinal damage; whatever the angle, it seemed to have ripped through irreparable nerves and she bled a lot. There wasn¡¯t any hope for that girl.


    ¡°Well,¡± I said to the wall man, ¡°Finish it. No reason to make her suffer.¡±


    The girl on the ground writhed unnaturally and caterwauled while the woman by her side attempted to calm her.


    Greater became the sound of the belabored hands on the other side of the door; then a hollow-sounding gunshot came from the other side; were they shooting the door? Or each other? Another round¡ªhuman screams.


    The wall man shook her head. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it. It was an accident.¡±


    I tried to hold the wall man¡¯s gaze, but she didn¡¯t seem able.


    With speed, I moved to the wall man, reached for the gun which dangled helpless by her side¡ªher initial response was to flinch, pull the weapon from my reach; our eyes locked and I clenched my jaw. She could¡¯ve killed me. There wouldn¡¯t have been surprise from me if she had.


    She let go of the gun and I nodded, and she nodded and the woman kneeling by the girl threw herself over her. ¡°Please,¡± protested the woman, ¡°Please don¡¯t!¡±


    With the aid of the pistol, I was given space, and nothing was said. I mentally prepared myself for the ringing which accompanied gunfire in small spaces, even tilted my head away with my free palm up and took aim and the girl jerked once then went still.


    With the ringing going and sound returning, the drumming on the door returned, as well as the quiet weeps of the woman; she crawled to the wayside of the hall, pressed her back against the wall and rested her chin on her knees with her arms around her shins. She didn¡¯t rock to or fro and hardly made any noise at all. But the small and quiet sobs remained faintly there.

 Twenty: Vermin-like

    Thuds on the door came more erratic and screams and yet more gunfire¡ªautomatic spits.


    I handed the small pistol to the wall man and she looked at it where it was outstretched and shook her head. ¡°Keep it holstered,¡± I said, ¡°Take it. Go on.¡±


    She shook her head again, glancing to the corpse in the hall. I shoved the gun flat against her chest and she grabbed ahold of it, a startled expression was planted across her round face. She took the gun and slammed the thing onto her hip.


    ¡°Move the corpse,¡± I angled over to the legs and began to lift them. The woman which had guarded the body remained still and didn¡¯t offer a thing to say. ¡°Grab the head.¡±


    The wall man swallowed and hunkered down to grab the dead girl¡¯s wrists. We awkwardly shuffled her to an adjacent room¡ªservant quarters? Upon returning to the hall, I grew faint and stabled myself by the woman which sat on the floor, and I shook her with my hand on her shoulder. ¡°Up,¡± I said.


    She shook her head.


    ¡°Goddammit, c¡¯mon. Was it your daughter? Sister? What? Get up or you¡¯ll be trampled to death when we open that door.¡±


    ¡°Daughter,¡± she whispered.


    I motioned for the wall man¡¯s help and she came over and we lifted the poor woman by her armpits and helped her to the room we¡¯d placed her daughter. Among the rows of bunks and trunks and dressers, we¡¯d lined her beside the nearest bunks and the woman, upon reseeing the corpse, froze and there wasn¡¯t a good moment to offer condolences or to apologize, though the wall man tried.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said the wall man¡ªsweat beaded across her upper lip and she was shaking just as much as the mother as she shifted the woman around the corpse and sat her there on the bunk nearby. The mattress made a long noise and the mother stared at her dead child and while the wall man tended to them, I ripped the blanket from the bunk beside and tossed it over the dead girl.


    ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± I said to the wall man, ¡°Do your duty then. When I open that door, it¡¯s going to be a mess. Wounded probably. You got any supplies for that in the underground?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± said the wall man; she removed herself from beside the crying mother and we shut the door behind and stood in the hallway for a moment; the ghastly strikes against the door began to grow weaker and a few others that had escaped to the underground returned to the hall entrance¡ªprobably to see the ruckus; I shot a hand to them to say they should move out of the way.


    ¡°Get on then,¡± I said, ¡°I¡¯ll get the door. Go get them supplies. No reason to let them die beating down the door like that.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re crazy. You could just leave them out there.¡± said the wall man and then she was gone too, and I stood there by the door alone; I hadn¡¯t even a moment to respond.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± I mumbled. The door latch was cold in my hands, and I shook my head hard to send away the faintness which had come to me; the sleepless days in the cell had done a number¡ªthe fighting, the running, everything.


    I yanked the door free and was immediately propelled backwards by the force of the people from the other side. I put myself against the wall and watched scared faces rush by, stumble through; some panted thanks to god without a break in their pace and their footfalls were like thunder through the underground as they rushed past. It took biting my tongue to not scream at them stepping over my feet to or elbowing me as they went; the wildered expressions were too panicked to worry about me, too worried about survival.


    Once the immediate flow of folks rushed past, I went to the door, pushed it half-shut and investigated the dark and moist basement which led to the kitchens. Another person came down the stairs and I watched them, thought of slamming the door on them, but upon them staggering to the threshold, I sighed and threw it open; Lady spilled into the underground, staff suspending her bent back from tipping over and she carried past without acknowledging me. I continued to watch the door and waited and listened; the destruction of Golgotha came in waves¡ªthe smell of burnt flesh travelled even to where I stood and the screams of the burned did too. The mutants and demons rampaged, and I listened to that too and waited and sometimes a person or a handful of people came through and I let them pass then returned to sentry.


    People piled in the hall while others went deeper into the underground, to disappear in hiding or to die somewhere quiet from their wounds¡ªstill, the ones which languished in the hall, twenty or more in that long and narrow thoroughfare, all seemed injured either bodily or by their mind. Hisses and moans escaped the survivors whenever they adjusted themselves in the way they sat, and I watched through that door into the lightless basement and glanced to the opposite end of the hallway where it T-sectioned.


    I hollered at the crowd, body in the doorway, leaning tiredly. ¡°Anybody got cigarettes? Tobacco?¡±


    A man by the doorway in which we¡¯d ushered the dead girl through raised a hand and there was a little boy by him; the little boy had a blackened left hand but otherwise seemed coherent enough¡ªthe scrawny kid was maybe six. ¡°I¡¯ve a pipe!¡± shouted the man.


    The fellow sent over the boy which catered to him, and the boy approached me stiffly, waywardly, as though he were afraid something may burst through the door at any moment. I attempted a smile, though I can¡¯t say I looked like good company. The boy offered up a handheld pair of tins on a hinge and upon opening it there was a small stash of dry tobacco, a tiny pipe, and only four matches.


    ¡°I¡¯d thank you to just leave me some¡ªthat¡¯s all I ask,¡± said the man from where he sat; he smiled then laughed a bit and the laughing became a terrible wet cough and the man¡¯s eyes watered, and the boy returned to the man.


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    I nodded a thanks in the man¡¯s direction and began packing the pipe and sat there at the threshold while the door remained cracked. Upon lighting the thing, I puffed deep and coughed a bit myself then closed my eyes only for a moment to gather a deep bout of smoke into my mouth; I sucked it back into my lungs. The tobacco was a bit stale, but it was delicious, and I vaguely thought I might never get another chance for it.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be deceived!¡± screeched Lady as she hung among the crowd of injured; she lighted the incense which hung from her staff and continued: ¡°God won¡¯t be mocked. Whatever we sowed then we too reap, and we have sowed! Now comes reaping!¡±


    A crying man added to the grumbles, ¡°Someone toss that bitch out on her head!¡±


    I waited to see how poorly the crowd may turn on Lady, but she shut up and everyone else continued in their own small conversations. Lady tried to continue her tirade but disappeared into the recesses of the place.


    The gathered warm bodies made the tunnel air wet and the smell of the incense alongside the unwashed grew pungent; I smoked deeper to hide the scent.


    Upon glancing back to the T-section, I saw the wall man, the woman which I¡¯d sent for medicine¡ªthere was no part of me which expected her return, but there she was. Leather bags hung from both her arms and in front of her arms she carried a crate. She stumbled over the people in the hall, and she saw me there by the door and dropped the supplies to the side and approached.


    ¡°You a doctor?¡± she panted the words.


    I shook my head, toked the pipe. Tiredness was so prevalent in me that it became an emotion. ¡°You?¡±


    ¡°Basic field medic training, but I haven¡¯t used it. Not for real.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± I moved to stand, and she offered a hand, and I took it and pressed into the frame of the threshold for good holding.


    ¡°Harlan¡¯s your name, yeah?¡± she asked.


    I nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯m Mal.¡± She nodded like it meant something and then started in again, staring at the supplies. ¡°Can you help these people?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m watching,¡± I looked through the door crack, listened to a bad solitary scream, smelled the burning earth.


    ¡°I¡¯ll watch,¡± she offered; Mal lifted her 9mm free from its holster.


    ¡°It might be good enough to kill a girl, but it won¡¯t do anything to anything waiting out there.¡±


    She flinched at my words and reholstered the weapon.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I said, and I meant it, ¡°Alright. Shut it quick if you see anything bad.¡±


    I moved from the door, and she kept her foot on the door and kept watch through the crack.


    The supplies, though abundant, would have been better in the hands of a team of physicians; it was just me. I began to move through the crowd and offer what I could. A woman with a ruptured ear drum¡ªthere was no cure for that in the purses Mal brought and I merely offered pain medication; she continued to toss her head to the right as though she was trying to dislodge something inside of her cranium, but she took the meds. A man had a slice down his face¡ªan easy enough fix; he applied the bandages himself with minimal aid from me.


    I moved to the man which had offered me the tin and pipe and looked at the space between his legs and the boy sat beside him opposite myself. The man didn¡¯t say anything. In my slump, I whispered to him, ¡°Hey, thanks,¡± I reached out with the tin in my hand, ¡°I left you some.¡± Examining him closer, there was a broke-sharpened rod impaled directly through his right hip; the object protruded from the front and the back, so he sat half-over and strangely¡ªblood puddled under him. He didn¡¯t move. ¡°Shit.¡± I gave him a shake and there was no response; there was no breath when I held fingers under his nostrils, no shifting of the eye when I pulled on his cheek to open it.


    The boy angled away from the dead man and looked up at me from where he sat. ¡°You can help daddy, can¡¯t you? It¡¯s that,¡± the boy pointed to the rod, ¡°Just take it out.¡±


    Looking into the boy¡¯s face, it became apparent that not only was his left hand shriveled and blackened and crimped stiffly against his chest, but his eyes had begun to take on a duller color. Briefly, the thought of killing the boy flashed across my mind; would it be like killing the girl from before? Would it be a mercy? I shook my head and frowned at the boy and the boy¡¯s eyes glittered, and he returned to leaning on his dead pop without saying another thing; his head rested on the bicep of the paling corpse.


    The earth continued quaking periodically, and as it would, we all would stop whatever we were doing, stare off into either the open air in front of us or at the ceiling; it was a strange vermin-like behavior and I didn¡¯t feel good doing it, but the overwhelming nature of the situation brought it out in me. Mal continued her watch by the door, and I walked between the outstretched legs of the other survivors which laid or sat in their groupings; even surrounded as I was by others, I felt incredibly alone¡ªit could have also been the fact that I was the only one moving through the crowd the way I was. Everyone else seemed comforted by their own impending doom; they¡¯d assumed the role of the victim. Not me, never me, of course not. I could not do it. No, it was the tiredness in me; it caught up to me, dragged on my bowing shoulders with cold long fingers.


    Where bandaging was necessary, I gave the wrappings, where water was asked for, I handed it away from the supplies, and where death was imminent, I offered pain relief. It would¡¯ve been better to be a real doctor. There was an uproar inside of myself, a stupid anger which came up¡ªwhy should I take care of them? Why could they not lift themselves up? I was exhausted and criminalized. Surely, there was someone better for the job. Surely, they would¡¯ve appreciated Lady better or a Boss. Let Maron spend a few moments catering to the wounds of his flock. Let them perish. I was wearied.


    Bringing myself back to the doorway, I lowered into a squat, back supported on the wall, and asked Mal if she¡¯d seen anything. She shook her head.


    ¡°I let a straggler in since you did a round,¡± she whispered, ¡°Don¡¯t know if you saw them or not.¡±


    ¡°Mhm.¡±


    ¡°I can smell it. It¡¯s brimstone, isn¡¯t it? Like fire and blood and something else. Like rotten eggs. And poultry. They¡¯ve killed our animals. I could hear it. God. I hope they don¡¯t find us.¡±


    I shrugged and let the pack of medicines slide from my shoulder and I relit the pipe and smoked it and cast a glance towards the dead man that had handed it off to me. ¡°It is. Sulfur.¡± The words slurred.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen them once or twice on the horizon. Whenever I¡¯d do rounds¡ªI¡¯m new,¡± said Mal, ¡°They never trusted me with a long-range weapon, but they let me watch and spot and I¡¯d see the demons out there in the ruins. They were probably just mutants. It''s hard to tell when you only catch a glimpse of them.¡±


    I puffed the pipe, spit a piece of loose tobacco which had come through. ¡°Shut the door. Go on.¡± She looked at me, shifted the hinge hesitantly. ¡°If there¡¯s anyone worth opening it for, we¡¯ll do it. Lock it for now.¡± I rubbed my forefinger and thumb against my closed eyes and listened to the awful grumbles of the other survivors. The air was hot.


    Mal closed the door and latched it, and the ground shook again and a few of the children let go of little surprised noises.


    ¡°There¡¯s food down here, isn¡¯t there?¡± I asked Mal the wall man.


    ¡°Some.¡±


    ¡°Enough?¡±


    ¡°How long?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°I thought you were evil or something.¡±


    ¡°Something,¡± I nodded. I coughed and shooed away the gathered smoke with my free hand. ¡°I need to close my eyes for a minute. Send someone for weapons. Might want them in case.¡±


    It was longer than a minute, and I was fully unconscious, upright, and hunkered against the wall with the pipe hanging from the corner of my mouth. I was dead on my feet.

 Twenty-One: Captains of Industry

    On waking, I found I¡¯d undone my jacket and placed it over myself as a makeshift blanket; Mal, glaze-eyed looked on from where she¡¯d posted across from me in the hall¡ªshe hadn¡¯t slept. All the hours stolen from me by the jailor in the Golgotha cell seemingly caught up to me and if it had not been for that, I¡¯d likely not slept at all.


    ¡°You¡¯re awake,¡± said Mal.


    ¡°How long?¡± I asked; I pushed myself up from where I¡¯d slumped.


    ¡°Few hours.¡±


    ¡°How is it?¡± I looked at the door.


    ¡°No one¡¯s banged on it for a while, so I haven¡¯t let anyone in. The other noises have stopped too, and I think that dragon¡¯s moved on. Maybe? Maybe not¡ªI heard big footfalls. It¡¯s hot as hell though.¡± The woman shrugged. ¡°Fires, right? It¡¯s all going to be ash when we check topside.¡±


    I peered down the hall, over the bodies which remained in the hall; those able enough dispersed and those that were left were either dead or cared for the dead.


    ¡°Everyone was talking about it,¡± Mal locked eyes onto mine, ¡°You were supposed to hang today. Feel lucky?¡± A dry chuckle escaped her. ¡°It¡¯s a joke,¡± she assured me. ¡°Really.¡±


    ¡°I reckon. Maybe I should have. Hung, that is.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s funny. Only the guards and the bullet-crafters were supposed to be allowed down here. Bosses too, of course. Now it¡¯s all we¡¯ve got. Everyone that¡¯s alive is here now.¡± She nodded as if to solidify this to herself.


    ¡°Family?¡± I asked her.


    Without elaborating, she nodded.


    ¡°Here?¡±


    She then stared down the hall, ignoring the question.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you go on to the bunks? You look about dead.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know if I could sleep if I wanted to.¡± Mal shrugged whatever concern I offered.


    Remembering, I found the pipe on the floor by where I¡¯d been and began to pack it with tobacco; I smoked in silence and Mal was right¡ªit was hot as hell. Golgotha was in flames. The smoke was so incredibly faint from the underground, but it was like the smell when sniffing it off clothing. Present. Subtle.


    The groups which remained became their own factions and each one gathered food or weapons and everyone pitched in where able. The injured were taken to the bunks off the main hall and treated. Some would still die; others, though non-ambulatory, would surely recover if given the time. Among the faces in the flickering halls were wall men and peasants alike. The duality. Even Lady tempered her proselytizing. The bodies were moved further down the hall, placed in darkened rooms where the friends or family of the dead could mourn in relative solitude. Though Lady did not keep at her shrillness, she did light candles (from whatever places she¡¯d found them) and kept with those mourning if only for company. The duality.


    Those which cared to pitch in with cooking did so and though there were kitchens, we cramped in the rooms nearest the surface and cooked together over portable stove eyes. Some cried alone and others found laughter in it; black humor cured the sickness for some. The duality. Skitterbug-infested folks were there along with the rest and though blinded or incapacitated, they did what they were able. In tragedy, the will to do was good enough it seemed.


    I hated them. Every single one. Mal and all. The ignorance of a species. Duality is well enough for observation, but where was that willpower in the face of oppression? Who was to say? I am no great secret-keeper for the human condition, and I am no anthropologist. I do not have the keys to the vehicle of mankind, but I know that I¡¯ve looked at them so often and seen the hypocrisy. I hated them.


    Yet, there I was¡ªjust as well. Alongside the others, I helped in the gathering of supplies, in the quick jokes which pass for camaraderie in the heat of manual labor. The duality? Doesn¡¯t matter. I was no different. Whatever hate in my heart, it was dissolved in the chatter and there I was, eating and drinking among them and though I kept to myself, it was a crisis, and everyone spoke as they are to do in crises. Possibly it¡¯s the panicked cry for survival.


    The alcohol reserves were ransacked and any time a teary-eyed soul decided to arrive from the dead-rooms of mourning, they were brought in among us ravenously, given food, given a cup for drink, and there wasn¡¯t time to ruin it. Us organisms reveled there on the cusp of death. Who knew what was to come?


    We arranged ourselves across bunks and ate on beds like they were tables and sat cross-legged by the overhead fluorescent lights. Those bulbs cast a weird glow across our faces¡ªespecially once put in tandem with the orange flames of the portable stoves.


    No one asked me about kissing the ass of Devils and no one singled me out and, in the crowd, I was totally lost in the best way possible; it could have been the drink. In lulls we all stopped and listened to the aboveground noises. Being so close to the entryway, we could hear the destruction¡ªeven though it was such a present factor in our time in the underground, it became totally unreal. In those lulls, it was apparent that we could hear creatures, massive things (I imagined Leviathan and the skin takers), crash around.


    But the whispering would come on in tides and wash up into a great many conversations. Those folks told stories about the dead and the lost and how they hoped they¡¯d find them after all was done; there were so many affirmations¡ªof course the loved-ones would be found; there was no doubt.


    As the dinner¡ªthat¡¯s what it was¡ªcarried on, the mother from before pushed away from her mourning. It was the woman whose daughter was killed in front of her; Mal tensed up beside of where I sat. I expected the mother to lunge at the wall man, but she did not. Instead, she creased her face in a macabre demonstration that was like a smile and asked if we had anything hard. With a cup which Mal gave her, she took to drinking quickly and did not speak to anyone more than a bit; we learned her name was Jessica. Somewhere in the crowd I recognized the boy I scuffled with; the boy that disappeared after the gunshot¡ªhis nose was red still and twisted and he was smiling too while someone talked to him, and he nodded, and I drank, and reality felt preposterous. Whatever loneliness that persisted inside of me rearrived.


    It was warm; hot as hell and it made us thirsty.


    They piled and slept like degenerates wherever and those that passed silently from injury, which were laid about, could not have been determined besides the living¡ªsurely the smell would¡¯ve been something if I hadn¡¯t the belching stench of whiskey on my breath. As the dinner died, I excused myself to the hall; I saw Mal laid-out. Jessica sat beside her, craned half over a raised mattress with the cup in front of her chest; she held onto the small object with white knuckles.


    Looking over the mass of folks in the bunkroom while standing in the threshold, I shook my head and moved onto the next room and the scene was much the same. That loneliness remained and I felt like maybe I¡¯d done it, I¡¯d put it there in me. As often as I harkened back to the days of the Rednecks, to the days of family, community, unity; a better man could have rebuilt that¡ªabsurd, could a person rebuild the abstract? No. Maybe not rebuild. That¡¯s the wrong word. It is remend? New ties. New lives and a new community.


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    There was one person I wished was there: Suzanne. I sat in the hall by the latched door, closed my eyes, tilted my head back and listened to the ruckus overhead (it was almost silent) and I squinted through slits at the overhead lights and in reaching a hand to the open air by my side, open palmed, I almost felt Suzanne¡¯s hand in my own and for a while it felt totally real. Smiling childishly, I blinked a few times, sat the bottle between my legs where I was, massaged my eyes.


    Though I half-listened for banging on the door, no one came. Whoever was left overhead was gone. That was another happiness. Maron¡ªBilly was surely dead, and I could rest easier for it. It should have been an end to the terribleness in me; the crying came on like a hard ache that went all over my body and no weight came off me. That was why I cried so heavily there in the hall; there was always the expectation that there would be a weight gone and it wasn¡¯t¡ªI should¡¯ve known better than that and it had been something I feared all along. It made no difference. He was dead and I was alive and none of it mattered anyway. What grand satisfaction!


    My face went into my hands, and I was overcome with a wild thumping all over; my heartbeat banged around, and I smeared my eyes with the backs of my hands and in doing so I smeared the dried blood there. I examined myself and saw my hands were covered in the stuff (some was my own, but mostly it wasn¡¯t), my shirt was splattered with it, and even the dark jacket I wore showed it. It didn¡¯t matter. There was no matter. The level of idiocy¡ªI was no better than all those folks that disappeared from their mourning with their drink and their food and their conversations. The only difference was that I was entirely alone¡ªwhose fault was that anyway? I knew and I cried some more.


    In the time I sat in the hall, the drink bottomed out and consciousness came and went deliriously. My left leg ached, and I stretched it out and pulled my jacket tightly around myself and slept about as pleasantly as a person could.


    Jackson spoke briefly about these underground places. It¡¯d been a drunk night in the company where they kept pouring him another and another. He never did go on so much as that night about the underground. Jackson said all of them had COI markings. It was some old men that¡¯d built them. Ancient bygone times. I wished I¡¯d asked him more.


    When I came awake again, there was no indicator¡ªall time was the same under those lights; they no longer flickered. The thing that brought me from my slump was the boy from before. The young one that¡¯d asked me to save his daddy. He¡¯d pushed into my bicep and held on to my forearm with his one good hand like it meant he might die otherwise. Startled, I looked on the boy; his eyes were changing¡ªthe process was slow but evident. Had he been in the hall all along? Had he seen me there crying? I hadn¡¯t even noticed him. I scanned the chamber and there were still a few bodies strewn about: forgotten or unknown. The boy¡¯s father remained erect where he was sitting, rod still protruding from the corpse.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± I asked the boy.


    ¡°He¡¯s cold.¡± The boy coughed on the words, and I shuddered; his eyes were a streak of red with two whiting orbs and he pinched them shut and slammed his face into my arm.


    I nodded, sighed, ¡°You got a mama?¡±


    He kept his head the way it was and didn¡¯t react to my question at all.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name, boy?¡±


    His voice was a muffle in my arm and indiscernible.


    I nudged him a bit but hoped to not disturb him too much. His small fingers on his right hand were like little pincers, and they dug into me. ¡°You got a name?¡±


    His head moved gently up and down and then he finally freed himself from where he¡¯d buried into my arm. ¡°I¡¯m William.¡±


    ¡°William? Huh. Funny name.¡±


    William snorted and pulled away and straightened himself and wiped his cheek with his shoulder and kept his good right arm clinging on mine¡ªhis rotting hand stank but I said nothing. ¡°I¡¯m named after daddy.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡± I nodded and craned my head back to rest on the wall we sat against. ¡°Anyone ever call you Billy?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± The child sniffled, lifted his head a bit so his chin stuck out, ¡°Are you like one of those monsters?¡±


    I shot him a curious expression.


    ¡°You¡¯re all messed up on one side.¡±


    I faintly grinned and shook my head. ¡°C¡¯mere,¡± I lifted my arm so that he may lean into my ribs and with him doing so, I wrapped both arms around him; his little body shook but he didn¡¯t make too much noise. William¡¯s hair smelled like sweat and dirt and I let him cry for a while, cupping his crown in my hand, resting my chin across my knuckles, staring at the wall across.


    A day and some passed in the underground. We moved the corpses into the large room where the ammunition manufacturing was done; the webbing cracks with traced the walls there seemed deeper, more impressive¡ªthat might¡¯ve only been my imagination. Once the dead were taken care of, covered, given rites completely where pertinent, a subtle equilibrium overcame us survivors; it was no such thing as normal¡ªwho knew what that was?


    Folks burst into sudden fits of anger or joy or passion or vigor or lust or deep sorrow; mourning manifested in whatever fashion it so decided. Though it was obvious, it was not always evident to everyone and so fights broke out intermittently, but two people could fight and within an hour¡¯s time they¡¯d be best friends and so the cycle would repeat. Mal toured me through the place some so that I gathered the layout somewhat. There were food stores aplenty, though something drug on the reserves of water. The stuff fresh from the pipes would disappear shortly¡ªthe faucets spit angrily from disrupted pressure. Whatever was bottled or preserved would not last infinitely; we would all need to face the surface.


    I intended on this sooner rather than later regardless of how anyone felt about it.


    The boy¡ªWilliam¡ªkept to my heels no matter how I distanced, and I gave up quickly on losing him amongst the crowd.


    Golgotha, being as large as it was, was densely packed and although I never counted the heads of those I passed (I¡¯m sure Boss Frank did so), the ones that were left were a sad few; only a bit more than one-hundred-and-fifty by a guess. That was what remained. How sad. I wished to dive into the theatrics, the dramatics of it. I wished to bring myself to ruin over the lost lives¡ªyet there was some rotten core in me that believed it was deserved. Oppressed existed only because they allowed it. What should I have felt? I felt nothing too much.


    There was the hope of Suzanne¡ªI¡¯d cook for Suzanne and Gemma both and maybe I¡¯d find a stick for Trouble, and I¡¯d never feel misery again; this was a dream, I knew it then too. Misery was me and whether it was so by Mephisto or I put it there was irrelevant.


    Hope, love, companionship. Words I wished I knew better. There was a light too though. It grew in me. Maron was dead. Billy was dead. I was glad for it¡ªgladder than I¡¯d been. The weight remained but I was out of excuses.


    I pilfered clothes, medicine, a satchel, foodstuffs, and hoped to go away quickly, abruptly as oft before, I went to the latched door which led outside. The smell of brimstone remained, the smell of smoke too, but I wished for daylight and grew more restless.


    In the wet basement there was dust and rubble and ascending the stairway to the kitchen of that place once known as the hall of Bosses, I smelled something like rain. It was only earlier than midday by a smidge and I propelled myself from the place, down the front steps of the hall, into the awful state of Golgotha.


    The sky was red, and the walls were streaked with brown dried blood and the bodies¡ªpieces and flayed¡ªwere putrid in the sun like putty dolls. Smoldering black spots swelted heat at random checkpoints and warped or torn metal glowed as silver where they threw the sun like blinding orbs. Water spurted from pipes which fed the hydro towers most of all and the ground ran muddy and scabs of congealed viscera the size of paper sheets rafted along in puddles that culminated in places where I walked.


    I moved through the streets that were no longer and peered across and in my beleaguered visage I saw the exterior walls, the thick bulwark against the wastes, had been punched through in places. Leviathan again.


    Buildings¡ªpieces¡ªtilted in on themselves and out on neighbors and rooves fell away in slants so that I clamored across them precariously with wide legs.


    Hell stink remained wherever I moved and bodies stood in places¡ªthose with faces remained upturned to the sky, eyes gone or tongue gone or ears and I felt compelled to face them away.


    Strangers called out to me, and I slid where I walked to pivot where I¡¯d come from, and I saw that a good many survivors followed me from the recesses of the underground; they called to me, but I waved them off and shifted to look for a good enough path from that devastation. Those specks of people¡ªthat¡¯s what they¡¯d become there on the steps of the hall¡ªhad no weight I should carry.


    A rattle of strangulation signaled someone ahead and in the harsh sunlight they were painted black like shadow till my eyes came to focus completely on them. They wore a cowboy hat and swore some indistinguishable thing loud enough to wake the dead.


    ¡°No,¡± I said.

 Twenty-Two: Am I My Brothers Keeper?

    Carrion fowls perched along the far walls¡¯ parapets and cawed vaguely with their red wetted beaks in whatever direction; other scavengers supped at the puddles or pecked along the softened flesh of the dead. The birds, variable vultures, hopped across the rubble and curiously side-eyed corpses and pierced the bruise-blackened bloated skins and stripped away long muscle threads and tossed them to catch, to choke back on what they¡¯d done.


    The birds which stared, looked dumbly from their perches, and watched Boss Maron (what was he a boss of anymore?) stumble around where he was. His shirt was tattered and bloodied-marks or claws shown across his forearms and his belly. He moved like a drunkard with his feet wide apart. In some commotion, he¡¯d lost a boot and swiveled as carefully as he could when putting his bare right foot forward. My brother seemed to spawn from the mess, to arise only from his slumber at the sign of my approach and I wondered about destiny or fate and as I saw him there, as terrible as he was, he was no match if not for the pistol which hung from the holster on his hip.


    In getting closer, I saw the band from his hat had burst and so hung stringlike from the brim and dangled with his footfalls by the eyepatch he wore.


    A series of collapsed, nearly unrecognizable apartments had fallen and been flattened or forced to bend in jagged directions; old catwalk rails jutted from the spot of destruction like a mad spider¡¯s legs¡ªan unsettling image. This seemed to have been the place Maron took refuge from the attack.


    Wherever I went, it seemed that death was either fast approaching or near ahead so I never could tell from what direction to expect it; but expecting death itself was sometimes enough. I took to a white and curved piece of stone dilapidation¡ªlikely a piece from the hydro towers¡ªand used it to purchase higher ground and saw Maron stumble nearer. Through the new byways created by the destruction, he remained slow and struggled and remained so far out that I was uncertain whether he saw me.


    The hiss of spitting broken water pipes filled the lulls between the bird calls. The sun was deep yellow against the red sky. The wind was cool and held me aloft like a puppet.


    Precariously, I hunkered at my elevated position and rummaged through my satchel but found nothing. Instead, I left it there in that spot and climbed carefully to the earth and unbuckled the belt from around my waist and held it whip-ready, opposite the buckle-end; it was a thin and cheap thing but perhaps good enough. I moved toward my brother, openly. Whatever would be.


    Forty yards separated us and there was enough of an area of open earth among the piled collections of destruction; he still looked like a shadow, like a half-illusion of a man against the backdrop of interlocking wreckage.


    ¡°Hey!¡± I called.


    Maron stopped where he was and craned his head forward; dust rose from around his feet then settled. ¡°Harlan?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t see you too good, you know.¡± Maron scratched his right eye with a rotating knuckle; the skin seemed irritated. ¡°Those bugs itch like a bitch, don¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°So they say,¡± I spat between where I¡¯d spaced my legs.


    He placed his hand on the handle of the revolver which stood out on his hip. ¡°I could kill you, Harlan. I¡¯ve got a clear shot here.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d deserve it, especially after what you did.¡± His voice was gravelly; he coughed and wiped his mouth with a forearm.


    I took a small step forward and Maron removed the revolver from its holster but kept it pointed to the ground.


    I shook my head and remained still again. ¡°What about after all you did?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± he laughed sickly, ¡°You¡¯re one to talk. I guess there¡¯s no hiding it anymore. I was ashamed of you. You¡ªcavortin¡¯ with demons¡ªthat¡¯s all you do. I think I saw you speak to them a couple times. I feel like you whisper to them in your sleep. I knew what kind of man you were all this time and I let you go on.¡±


    ¡°You let me, huh?¡± I glanced to the sky and breathed deep and listened to the birds. A tight-lipped expression pulled my face almost like a smile and I gritted my teeth. ¡°Here I thought I let you.¡±


    Maron laughed again wetly and remained with his gun down. The gunmetal shone bright as silver from either cleaning or handling; it was good to know he¡¯d taken care of it at least.


    ¡°I cried about you,¡± I said¡ªsome roiling thing rolled over in the pit of my stomach.


    ¡°So?¡± he asked the sky.


    I closed the space between us by a quarter or more and stopped. ¡°So, did you ever cry about me? Did you ever cry about them?¡± The trailing end of my sentence nearly broke my voice, and I abruptly finished the words to protest it.


    Maron shrugged. ¡°¡¯Course I did. All the time. For them. For you?¡± He shook his head. In the light¡ªjust so¡ªhis right eye glowed white; blood trickled from around the bottom eyelid from over-rubbing while yellow infection oozed from the bottom of the patch over his left eye. ¡°Somethin¡¯s wrong in you. You did something. I know you did. Maybe you prayed to them things. Maybe you asked for it¡ªLady did weird seances before she,¡± with his free hand, he twirled a finger by his ear. ¡°Maybe you spoke to them and did what you did. All that good and evil talk that Jackson went on about doesn¡¯t matter anymore,¡± Maron shrugged then nodded and wriggled his mustache in thought.


    ¡°You used to call him dad,¡± I said.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t have any dads, you and me. Looking back now, I see our mother¡ªif she was¡ªwas the worst about it. We were some ragtag bunch of monster hunters? There ain¡¯t any good and evil in this world and that¡¯s a fact. It¡¯s all just livin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°What made you that way?¡±


    ¡°What way¡¯s that, Harlan?¡± He sighed.


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d be a good man. You were a sweet boy.¡±


    ¡°I guess.¡± His blind gaze trailed away, watched the birds on the far walls, and his uncovered bleeding eye blinked slowly and with effort; he rubbed it again and smeared blood across his cheek and blinked more and seemed to focus. ¡°What makes you sure you¡¯re a good man?¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t figure you were.¡± His eye traced the scenery, seemed to look everywhere and beyond me even. ¡°You do all this too? You call down your buddies for all this? I was afraid of you for a long time. Now I know I was right.¡±


    ¡°Mm. I didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Quite the coincidence that you¡¯d hang and then all this happens to stop it. Nice for you. Look around at all them bodies. Tell me it¡¯s worth it. I know you and I know what you are. Harold didn¡¯t believe it¡ªhell I didn¡¯t want to believe it. Here we are.¡±


    I shook my head and felt silly standing there and holding my belt like a dead snake by my side. ¡°It wasn¡¯t too long ago I thought similarly of you. I thought you¡¯d been some possessed thing, something that wasn¡¯t my brother anymore. Like you said. Here we are. I was blind for so long and I thought it couldn¡¯t be that you¡¯d be this way all on your own. I saw you grow into something unrecognizable,¡± My shoulders rolled with a shrug. ¡°What¡¯s it matter? What¡¯s any of it matter? You thought I was some witch and I thought maybe some demon hijacked your body! What¡¯s it matter? It doesn¡¯t. I don¡¯t care if you are who you are because of me or because of this world¡ªit¡¯s over. And here we are.¡± I took a gulp of air; it was rotten. ¡°I loved you. I saw something change in you and blamed myself, blamed the demons; maybe you were a mutant! Bah! It¡¯s just you. Whatever you are is just you¡ªdoesn¡¯t really matter what made it. I don¡¯t know how I could cry over someone like that. I just don¡¯t know.¡±


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    Maron nodded at me, and I took a step forward; the Boss sheriff leveled the long barrel Colt in my direction. The sun beat down and I took another step forward and another until I was pacing, shoulders moving in tandem with each step¡ªthough my left knee twinged, it wasn¡¯t pain; there was too much adrenaline for pain. The gun erupted, broke the dead air, a few birds cawed and flapped away but mostly remained and looked on with apathetic curiosity. I stood still. Maron missed, took aim again, and I began to further close the gap.


    The pistol rang again; my imagination insisted I felt the breeze from the bullet. I did not care. Here we were and here it would be. Again, twice more, the gun cried out; the last of that duo spiked the earth up at my feet and sent dust into the air; I passed through it.


    With Maron nearly in arm¡¯s reach, I reared with the belt¡ªremaining with my right leg on the backfoot¡ªI swung the strap out like a whip and felt the belt slack as the buckle met Maron¡¯s nose.


    He stumbled backward, fired another round into the air and my ears rang and I launched into him.


    With him being weak and feeble and ill and tired as he was, he fell slowly in the way that people do when they attempt to stop themselves from going. He spun on his naked heel and landed on his knees, hands in the dirt, revolver hilt loosely clamped in his fist. I sent a boot to his stomach and from seemingly nowhere a wild scream came from me¡ªit was a moment of human satisfaction.


    He laughed there on the ground, and it was so like gasping for air that I wasn¡¯t sure that¡¯s what I heard. ¡°I hit you once, I see only just a bit out of the right and I still hit you!¡±


    The numbness forgave a moment of pain¡ªa jolt ran up my left arm. Without a moment afforded to inspect myself, I launched another kick just as he came around to raise his head. My boot caught his chin and clicked his teeth together; blood ran like a spigot from his mouth while the cowboy hat tumbled off the crown of his head and landed in the dirt beside him.


    His eyepatch came unplaced from his left eye and rested over his brow before the strings came loose and the object fell off him. The black hole there in his head shone starkly when he calmed his head to look up at me; the other eye was milk white.


    ¡°I¡¯m dying,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯m dying, but I¡¯m a pretty good shot, ain¡¯t I?¡±


    I didn¡¯t say anything and placed my heel on his shoulder and propelled him over, so he fell onto his back. There on the ground, the pistol lay. I bent and dropped the belt and lifted the pistol¡ª a single shot left. The thing was heavier than the metal it was.


    Maron lifted up again and spoke, ¡°I¡¯m dying,¡± he repeated, ¡°I¡¯m dying.¡± His head rocked forward and back in exaggeration.


    I shoved him down again, remembered the bodies he hung, remembered the people he assaulted, remembered the tortures¡ªwith him looking up at me though, I briefly remembered the boy behind that man¡¯s face. I didn¡¯t say anything because I couldn¡¯t.


    ¡°I see a little out of the right, Harlan¡ªlike I said. C¡¯mere a minute. Just a minute. Or a second even. All I want is a second. C¡¯mere and let me see you a little clear for just one second.¡±


    I never was a good shot anyway, but that wouldn¡¯t have mattered; I angled the revolver out from my body. He craned his head up for a better look maybe¡ªlike a varmint from a hole¡ªand when he did, I fired the last shot and even though he¡¯d grown so large in my mind, he still fell over like any man would. Blood spurted then trailed from his head; I swallowed a noise back.


    Warm pain radiated from my left bicep, and I knew what it was; I threw back my jacket, so it hung only off my right shoulder and examined the spot. The notch was swollen, the flesh was gnarly and leaked. I cupped the heel of my hand to the wound while still holding the revolver and felt my heartbeat in it. Nothing stitches wouldn¡¯t fix. So, Maron was a good shot. I lumbered over the corpse and stared into the one solid eye. Even blind, he got me once.


    I sighed and half-straddled the corpse and ripped the gun belt off his waist and shoved it under my armpit then waddled over the dead man to the hat that¡¯d fallen in the dirt. Our mother¡¯s hat fit loose on my head, but her old belt slotted around me snug.


    The wound didn¡¯t clot, and blood ran in webs down my forearm and across the back of my hand. I shifted to look to the place I¡¯d left the satchel and I saw an audience there¡ªthe underground survivors followed me out; they were arranged like tin solders frozen among the rubble outcroppings. Mal was there and nearest me. She called something out, but I didn¡¯t respond. I shook my head as if to let them know I didn¡¯t care and began to walk towards the piece of white rock. The broken band of the hat fell into the periphery of my left eye like a wayward strand of hair.


    I slung the revolver into the holster on my hip and kept my right hand to my left bicep and gritted my teeth at the growing pain. Ointments were in the satchel and bandages and a bit of liquor¡ªwizard brand.


    Mal rushed out to me and slammed into me, and nearly put me over and the others too began to clamor off their perches¡ªhow they looked at me just like the birds.


    Mal slammed her hands onto my shoulders. ¡°You just killed and robbed him.¡±


    I laughed. ¡°Alright.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    I saw the boy¡ªWilliam¡ªtoo had come and he remained among the small crowd that came around me.


    ¡°This needs treating,¡± I angled my head at the wound I held.


    ¡°What¡¯d you kill him for?¡± asked Mal, again.


    I ignored her, pushed beyond, and whispered something about going home.


    The levels to the satchel were slow going and the people spoke amongst themselves, and I slammed my bottom onto the flat elevation and began to clean and wipe down. I fumbled with my right hand and kept my neck twisted just so and pried the wound a bit with my index finger and thumb. Blood ripped out of the spot, and I laughed and stopped and rewiped. Inside of the satchel there was a handheld staple gun. I put it to the spot, trying to keep the swollen opening closed. After a few overzealous clicks, I sighed and dropped the staple gun into the satchel.


    From where I was, Maron looked small.


    Like a whisper on the wind, I heard, I brought him to you one last time. Bravo! Well done!


    I twisted around lackadaisically searching for the point of the voice and didn¡¯t find it. ¡°Stupid,¡± I whispered to myself.


    Then I popped casually to my feet, felt the mild blood loss send me dizzy and I momentarily felt like I¡¯d fall over and break my neck in front of all those fine people¡ªwhat a laugh riot!


    Mal¡¯s incredulous expression was obvious even with the distance. ¡°Hey!¡± I called out to Mal, to all of them, ¡°I¡¯m going home.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s home?¡± asked someone.


    ¡°C¡¯mon with me if you want.¡±


    Some wanted and some didn¡¯t, and we gathered twenty strong and Mal and William were among them. Lady surprisingly decided to fall along with those of us that left. Those that remained certainly died, but who¡¯s to say?


    All the horses were dead and even in searching for the oil wagon I¡¯d rode in on, I couldn¡¯t find it. Walking never bothered me anyway. When I grew tired, I used some discarded metal post as a third leg. We walked it and I thought it felt like a pilgrimage¡ªdamn all other religiosity. I hoped for the one and true religion: love.


    Seven died westward. William succumbed to the skitterbugs and I managed to bury him even while others regarded the practice with apathy. Mal went quickly by a skin taker, and yet Lady remained; she was a hanger-on.


    The only one that mattered to me was the one waiting for me¡ªif they still waited. I hoped they did.


    We saw Alexandria at dawn after many days of travel. Upon the sight of the arch along the skyline, whispers came over our group and one fellow wondered aloud if the arch was the source of all the magic the wizards knew. Lady rebutted the claim and cursed at the thought of it. Still though, she followed. I mindlessly told them it was the gateway to the west but that didn¡¯t mean a thing to anybody at all.


    Point-hatted scouts saw us and let us through while the sky was still waking. The nerves in my body danced like bugs. Whatever negative providence that¡¯d taken over my life was gone at last. Though the weight remained, perhaps I could let it go with time. I wanted to.


    Seeing Suzanne like that, still tired and yawning and even brow furrowed, I stumbled into them and pressed their face to mine, and I told them I¡¯d never let them go and I told them it was over, and Suzanne asked me where the wagon was.


    I didn¡¯t have an answer for that and instead buried my nose behind their ear.


    All they asked me then was, ¡°Really, it¡¯s over?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s over. I¡¯m better now. Well¡ªI might not be better, but I will be.¡±


    A fat dog brushed my leg, and it was Trouble¡ªthe animal was kept on a lead by Gemma which tugged on the collar just a bit to keep the dog from tangling the lead around our legs. The girl beamed and I wasn¡¯t sure I¡¯d ever seen her so genuine as that. Her face was rounded from health.


    I pulled Suzanne into another hug and hushed, ¡°My legs are tired now.¡± We kept our arms around each other; I hoped they didn¡¯t want to let me go just like how I didn¡¯t want to let them go. The only thing that hurt was knowing I¡¯d hurt Suzanne.


    It felt ridiculous because it was, but I was an optometrist finally. It wouldn¡¯t be easy, but I saw everything very clearly.

 Twenty-Three: Paloma Negra

    A cabin remained half-rooved on its eastern face by pelts of dead things while the west slanted with a freshly cleared and smooth metal¡ªit stood alongside a dugout stocked with crates; the structures overlooked an open plain of snow from their hilly perch and beyond that there were black jagged trees against the dreary yonder. Though the wind pushed as an abrupt force against the cabin¡¯s walls, within the noise was hardly a whisper and the heater lamps along the interior walls of the large singular room offered a steady hum that disappeared even that.


    The room had two beds¡ªone double and another short cot pushed into a corner¡ª and each was separated by a thin curtain nailed to the overhead support beams; the curtain caught in the life of the place, the gust from the heater lamps, the movement of those that lived there, and it listed so carefully it might not have moved at all.


    Opposite the beds on the far wall, there stood a kitchen with cabinets and a stove, and the stove was attended by a thin young woman; she was no older than her second decade. In the corner by the stove just beyond where the kitchen counter ended, there sat a rocking chair where an old man nestled underneath pelts and a wool blanket, and he puffed tobacco and he watched the woman as she worked¡ªshe stirred the pot over a red eye and examined the liquid which lowly simmered. The man watched her silently, eyes far away like in remembrance. He absently pushed his gray mustache down with the forefinger and thumb of his right hand. Smoke came from the pipe in spider string and the man blinked dumbly.


    Amid the place where pelts lined the floor between the far wall of beds and the far wall of the kitchen, there sat a young pale boy with a scrap of canvas rubbish in the center¡ªhe used the canvas strip, browned and filthy, like a bird in his play, spreading the strip out and letting it fall to the ground. ¡°Fly,¡± whispered the small boy to the strip; each time he lifted the rubbish, it fell to the floor by his crossed legs, and he repeated this process.


    The adults ignored the boy, and the woman swiped the back of her hand across her forehead then wiped her knuckles down the front of her blouse. ¡°It¡¯ll be ready soon,¡± she said.


    The man nodded then drifted off in his long expression again, staring at the door which remained closed. Wind speed pitched and the door seemed to warp inward. Alongside the door, there sat a thick glass porthole which one could use to look out on the snow-covered landscape; the curtains before the porthole were mostly drawn but on late evenings, light splintered through ghostly.


    Shrugging of his warm coverings, the man lifted from the chair and crossed the room to pull aside the curtains; he stood there in the light of the hole, painted dull in his gray thermals. He watched outside, scratched his receding hairline and when he moved to shut the curtain, he saw the boy had joined him there at the window. The man smiled, lifted the curtain, and angled from there, allowing the boy to peer outside; he puffed on his pipe heavily, holding the thing stiffly with his free hand and offering a glance to the woman by the stove who watched the pair from where she was.


    ¡°I can¡¯t even see the road,¡± said the boy.


    The man nodded, ¡°Snow covered it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s winter?¡±


    Again, the man nodded.


    Winter, with the mutated ecology of the planet, was nearly a death sentence in northern Manitoba. Those places just north of Lake Winnipeg were mostly forgotten or abandoned, but there still lingered a few souls that dared the relative safety of the frozen wasteland¡ªsometimes curious vagabonds, sometimes ex-convicts, or slaves, sometimes even criminals upstarted townships where there was nothing prior.


    ¡°Pa, I see someone,¡± said the boy.


    The man angled forward again, squinted through the porthole, and puffed the pipe hard so his face glowed orange then moved surprisingly quickly to hand the pipe to the woman; she fumbled with the object and sat it upright on the counter while he rushed to remove a parka from a wall hook by the door. He shouldered into the thing and then leapt to the place by the door where his boots were kept and slammed into them each, knotting them swiftly.


    ¡°What is it?¡± the woman¡¯s voice shook.


    They caught one another¡¯s eyes. ¡°Snowmobile,¡± said the man.


    ¡°One?¡±


    He nodded and strapped his gloves on then moved to the latch of the door¡ªbefore levering the thing, he took another glance at the boy.


    ¡°We¡¯ll shut it behind you,¡± said the boy. The woman nodded.


    The door swung inward with explosive force and the outside wind ripped into the warm abode. The man immediately shivered and stumbled into the snow, appropriately clothed save his legs where only his gray thermals clung to him.


    After spilling into the boot-high snow, the man twisted around and aided the others in shutting the door behind him; he pulled as they pushed, and he listened past the howling wind for the latch on the opposite side of the door. He let go of the door and spun to inspect the far-off blinding whiteness¡ªclouds of snow were thrown up in the wake of a barreling snowmobile; it headed towards him, first from between the naked spaces between the black trees then into the open white. The man threw up both his hands, waving the snowmobile down, long stepping through the arduous terrain till he came to the bottom of the perch that supported the cabin. His shouts of, ¡°Hey!¡± were totally lost in the wind but still he shouted.


    The snowmobile braked twenty yards out from the man and the stranger on the machine killed the engine, adjusted the strings around their throat and threw off the hood of their own parka to expose blackened goggles beneath a gray tuque; a wrap obscured the lower half of their face. The stranger took a gloved hand to yank the wrap from their mouth and yelled over the wind a greeting then removed themselves from the seat to land in the snow.


    ¡°Cold?¡± offered the man with a shout.


    The stranger nodded in agreement and removed an oblong instrument case from the rear storage grates of the snowmobile then took a few careful steps towards the man.


    ¡°Dinner¡¯s almost ready! I¡¯m sure you¡¯d like the warmth!¡± The man waved the stranger closer and the stranger obliged, following the man towards the cabin; each of the figures tumbled through the snow with slow and swiveling footwork. The man stopped at the door, supporting himself on the exterior wall by the porthole.


    The stranger angled within arm¡¯s reach, so the man did not have to yell as loudly as before. ¡°Guitar?¡± The man pointed at the case which the stranger carried.


    The stranger nodded.


    ¡°Maybe you¡¯ll play us something.¡± he pounded on the metal of the exterior door, ¡°It¡¯s been some time since I¡¯ve heard music.¡± The door opened and the two stumbled into the cabin.


    The stranger shivered and snow dust fell from their shoulders as they deposited the guitar case on the floor by their feet¡ªthey moved directly to help the man and the boy close the door while the woman watched and held her elbows by the porthole.


    With the door sealed and the latch secured, the man removed his parka so that he was in his boots and thermals.


    The stranger removed their own parka, lifted the goggles to their forehead, and stepped to the nearby heater lamp to remove their gloves and warm their hands against the radiating warmth; the stranger was a young tall man with a hint of facial hair just below his nose and along his jaw. He wore a gun belt occupied on his right hip with a revolver. His fingers were covered in long faded scars all over. ¡°Thanks,¡± said the young man, ¡°Clarkesville far? I think I was turned around in the snow. I¡¯m not so used to it.¡±


    The older man went to his rocking chair to cover himself with the wool blanket; he huffed and shivered. ¡°At least a hundred kilometers west from here. You¡¯re looking for Clearwater?¡±


    The young man nodded then shifted to place his back to the heater lamp so that he could look on the family fully. ¡°I¡¯m Gomez,¡± he said to them. The man in the rocking chair stiffened in his seat and craned forward so that his boots were flatly planted before him.


    The boy offered his name first with a smile so broad it exposed that his front two teeth along the bottom row were missing entirely. ¡°Patrick,¡± said the boy.


    The woman spoke gently and nodded in a quick reply, ¡°Tam-Tam.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± asked the man in the chair, ¡°You¡¯re unfamiliar of the area? Where are you from?¡±


    Gomez stuffed his arms beneath his armpits. ¡°Originally?¡±


    The man motioned for his pipe and Tam-Tam handed it to him¡ªpuffed on the dead tobacco and frowned. He nodded at Gomez.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been making my way across the U.S. Mostly western territories, but I heard it was safer in Canada¡ªNorth Country. Fewer prowlers. Originally though? Far south. Zapatistas¡ªjoined their cause for a bit, but,¡± Gomez looked to the guitar case on the floor, ¡°I was better at music than killing. Or at least preferred it.¡± The young man let go of a small laugh, ¡°Do you know anything of the Zapatistas?¡±


    The man nodded, stroked his great mustache, and craned far to lift matches from the counter. He lit the pipe, and it smoked alive while he shook the match and puffed. ¡°Durango.¡± The man hooked a thumb at himself.


    Gomez nodded. ¡°I played there before. Good money. Good people.¡±


    The man grinned slyly over his pipe, ¡°What are the odds? All the way up here?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a small world,¡± Gomez agreed, ¡°It¡¯s getting smaller all the time. What are you doing so far from home?¡±


    ¡°Same as you. It¡¯s safer, right? Everyone said, but I¡¯m not so sure.¡±


    The boy interjected, ¡°You play music?¡± Patrick neared the case which sat on the floor, and he leaned forward to examine the outside of the object; it was constructed from a very hard, shining, plastic material.


    ¡°I do,¡± said Gomez.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t heard music before. We sing sometimes, but not music for real,¡± said the boy.


    Gomez frowned. ¡°How old are you?¡±


    Patrick turned to the man in the chair. ¡°Pa?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s six,¡± said the man.


    Tam-Tam shook her head, removing the pot from the hot eye. ¡°He¡¯s almost six.¡±


    ¡°Almost six,¡± said the boy, turning back to look at the stranger.


    Gomez shook his head. ¡°Almost six and you¡¯ve never heard music? Not for real?¡± He sniffed through a cold clog and swallowed hard. ¡°I¡¯ll play you some.¡±


    Patrick¡¯s eyes widened and a delicate smile grew across his mouth.


    ¡°I¡¯m Emil,¡± said the man in his chair, ¡°You offered yours, so my name¡¯s Emil.¡± Smoke erupted from his mouth while the pipe glowed orange. The older man wafted the air with his hand to dispel the smoke.


    Tam-Tam Shut off the oven and placed the pot of stew on the counter atop a towel swatch and she pressed her face to the brim and inhaled.


    ¡°Is it good, dear?¡± asked Emil leaning forward in his chair by the counter to question the woman; the woman lifted a steaming ladle to her mouth and sipped then nodded and Patrick moved quickly to the woman¡¯s side.


    The boy received the first bowl and then turned to look at the interloper, metal spoon jammed into the side of his jaw while he spoke, ¡°Play some music.¡±


    ¡°After,¡± said Emil, placing the pipe on the counter to grab himself some grub.


    Emil ate while rocking in his chair and Tam-Tam leaned with her back against the counter, sipping directly from her bowl without a utensil. Gomez took his own bowl and squatted by the front door, pressing his lower back against the wall for support; Patrick, eyes wide, remained enamored with the strange man and questioned more, ¡°Pa said it''s warm in other places, that it¡¯s not so dark either. What¡¯s it like where you come from?¡±


    Gomez smiled at the boy, blew on the spoonful he held in front of his lips then nodded, ¡°It¡¯s dangerous, more dangerous.¡±


    Patrick nodded emphatically then finished his food with enthusiasm.


    The stranger examined the bowl while turning the stew in his mouth with his tongue; the concoction had long-cut onions, chunked potatoes, strange jerky meat. ¡°Pelts,¡± said Gomez.


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    Emil perked with a mouth, unable to speak.


    ¡°You have pelts all over¡ªare you a hunter?¡±


    Emil swallowed back, ¡°Trapper,¡± he nodded then continued the excavation of his bowl.


    ¡°Elk?¡±


    The old man in the chair hissed in air to cool the food in his mouth then swallowed without hardly chewing, and patted his chest, ¡°Sometimes.¡±


    Gomez stirred his bowl, took a final bite then dipped the spoon there in the stew and sat the dish by his foot and moved to kneel and open his instrument case.


    ¡°It¡¯ll get cold,¡± protested Tam-Tam.


    Gomez smiled, ¡°I¡¯ll eat it. Your boy seems excited. Besides, I¡¯d like to play a little.¡± He wiggled his scarred fingers, ¡°It¡¯ll work the cold out of my hands.¡±


    He pressed the switches of the case while turning it on its side and opened it to expose a flamenco guitar. Patrick edged near the stranger, and Gomez nodded at the boy and lifted the guitar from its case, angling himself against the wall in a half-sit where his rear levitated. Gomez played the strings a bit, listened, twisted the nobs at the head of the guitar.


    ¡°Is that it?¡± asked the boy.


    Gomez shook his head, ¡°Just testing it. Warming my hands on it.¡±


    In moments, the man began ¡®Paloma Negra¡¯, singing the words gently, in a higher register than his speaking voice would have otherwise hinted at. Patrick watched the man while he played, the boy¡¯s hands remained clasped behind himself while he teetered on his heels and listened. Emil rocked in the chair, finished his meal, and relit the pipe. Tam-Tam listened most absently and instead went for seconds in the pot; she turned with her lower back on the counter and watched the man with the guitar.


    There was no other noise besides the song which felt haunted alongside the hum of the heater lamps. Once it finished, the boy clapped, Emil clapped, Tam-Tam nodded, and Gomez bowed then sat the guitar beneath the porthole by the doorway.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± said Gomez.


    ¡°That¡¯s quite good,¡± said Emil. As if spurred on by the music, the man gently rotated a palm around his stomach and rocked in his chair more fervently, ¡°Where¡¯d you learn to play like that?¡±


    ¡°All over,¡± said Gomez, ¡°I like to pick up songs where I find them. Sometimes a fellow musician has a piece I like, almost never their own anyway, so I think we all share in some way.¡±


    ¡°Poetic,¡± offered Tam-Tam.


    Gomez caught the woman¡¯s eyes, nodded. ¡°I guess it is.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯d you find that one?¡± asked Emil, ¡°I heard it a few times but never this far north. It¡¯s like a love song,¡± he offered the last sentence to the others in the room.


    ¡°You¡¯re right¡ªsort of,¡± Gomez placed his body against the wall by the door, glanced at the bowl of food he¡¯d left on the floor then sighed and bowed again to lift it¡ªthe interloper tilted the bowl back on his bottom lip and sipped then casually leaned with the utensil against his sternum. ¡°Somewhere in Mexico is where I heard it first. Maybe same as you.¡±


    Patrick examined the guitar under the porthole, put his face directly up to the strings and peered into the hole in the center of the instrument; his expression was one of awe. He quickly whipped from the thing and stared at the guitarist and opened his mouth like he intended to ask a question. The boy stared at the scars on the interloper¡¯s hands. ¡°What¡¯s those from?¡±


    Not understanding the direction of the question, Gomez looked down to examine his fingers then shifted on his feet and nodded. ¡°Mechanical work.¡±


    Emil continued rocking in his chair and gathered the wool around his throat. ¡°Where did you do that?¡±


    ¡°Zapatistas,¡± Gomez sipped from the bowl again and chewed, ¡°It¡¯s work I was never good at.¡± The young man shrugged.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to pry, but seeing as the boy¡¯s asked, I¡¯ll push more some if it¡¯s not impolite.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± Gomez agreed.


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of deep scarring for mechanical work,¡± Emil rocked in his chair, puffed, raised a furry eyebrow, ¡°What stuff did you work on?¡±


    ¡°You want to know?¡±


    Emil nodded, withdrew the pipe from his mouth and rolled his wrist out in front of himself then slammed the mouthpiece into his teeth.


    ¡°I worked with the army, but before then¡ªwell there was a boy, a little Chicano lad taken into one of the El Paso houses way back and all the girls that worked there loved him, but his mother perished, and no one even knew who she was. That was, oh,¡± Gomez tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, ¡°Twenty-two years ago or a little more.¡±


    ¡°Your hands?¡± asked Tam-Tam.


    Gomez smiled warm and continued, ¡°Well this little boy was given a name, but what¡¯s in a name?¡± He seemed to pose the question to Emil who shook his head like he didn¡¯t understand.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± said Emil aloud.


    The younger man continued with the tale, ¡°There was this boy, but he was taken over the Republican border by a group of desperados calling themselves Los Carniceros,¡± Gomez angled down to look at the boy, ¡°Patrick, do you know what a desperado is?¡±


    The boy shook his head, his expression one of total bafflement and a twinkle of nervousness. ¡°A music-people?¡±


    Gomez laughed heartily while Emil shuffled under his wool blanket¡ªthe older man stopped rocking in his chair, craned forward so his elbows rested on his knees and his thermals showed as the blanket slipped around his armpits. The hum of the heater lamps continued beside the silence.


    ¡°Los Carniceros are a group of fancy criminals that hail out of Veracruz, but they have networks all over. San Luis Potosi.¡± Gomez¡¯s eyes locked with Emil¡¯s, ¡°Durango. They have connections with the cattle industries all over Mexico. Their name¡¯s tongue-in-cheek, but that shouldn¡¯t fool anyone¡ªthey are just as ready to butcher a man as they are a cow. They control the food; they control the politicians; they control trade.¡± Gomez shook his head. ¡°I¡¯ve gotten carried away. This is no history lesson. There was a boy taken into Los Carniceros territory. He was bought¡ªI¡¯m glad that never happened to you, Patrick¡ªboys that are bought are never kept good for long. So, they brought Johnny-Boy, that¡¯s what they called him, into their inner circle and they used to have Johnny-Boy fight dogs in a ring for the amusement of Los Carniceros¡¯s officers. Sometimes they gambled on the whether the boy would die, but he never did.¡±


    Tam-Tam shivered aloud and rubbed her biceps with her hands and shook her head. ¡°What¡¯s that have anything to do with your hands?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± said Gomez, ¡°I guess what I mean is when you spend time fighting dogs, they bite¡ªthey bite hard, and they break skin that needs to heal. But just as well as dogs bite, so too does the boy that is raised as a dog.¡± Gomez shrugged.


    ¡°Quite the story,¡± said Emil; he¡¯d refrained from rocking in his chair and stayed very still. ¡°You fought dogs?¡±


    ¡°I did. It¡¯s been a helluva long time, but you know I did, Emil Vargas.¡±


    The older man took a long drag from his pipe then cupped the thing in his hands while his vision drifted around the room. ¡°Have you come to take me back?¡± asked the older man.


    The interloper shook his head.


    Emil¡¯s gaze drifted to the faces of Patrick and Tam-Tam. ¡°Will it just be me?¡±


    Gomez shook his head, ¡°I can do you first. You won¡¯t need to see it.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± clamored Tam-Tam, ¡°What the hell is going on?¡±


    Patrick stumbled away from the stranger, clung to Tam-Tam, and said nothing but began to let out a low sob.


    Emil took one last drag and tossed the pipe to the counter. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t help to beg?¡±


    ¡°Would it stop you?¡± asked Gomez.


    ¡°Probably not,¡± nodded the older man, ¡°Me first then.¡±


    Gomez withdrew his revolver and Tam-Tam let go of an awful shriek as Emil¡¯s head jerked back in his chair to the bullet entering his chest. At the second bullet, Emil¡¯s limbs shot out from him like he was a star.


    Patrick and Tam-Tam gathered around each other, shuffled to the counter of the kitchen.


    Juan Rodriguez¡ªthat was the interloper¡¯s real name¡ªtook a step forward and fired the gun again and Tam-Tam struck the counter and blood rained down from her forehead; to perhaps save Patrick, she shoved the boy away in her death spasm. The boy stumbled over onto his knees and when he raised his head, Juan towered over him.


    Patrick, almost six, shook violently and wept.


    ¡°Turn around,¡± said Juan.


    Patrick turned away from the interloper, stared at the corpses of his mother and father.


    Juan fired the revolver one last time and the boy hit the floor; the man holstered the pistol and wiped his cheek with a sleeve. His face was touched with blood splatter; he searched the floor, found a scrap of canvas, bent to snatch it. He wiped his face clear with the canvas and sighed and tossed the scrap away.


    The cabin was entirely quiet, save the hum of the heater lamps, and Juan set about clearing the bodies from the cabin, first by opening the door. He chucked the corpse of the boy into the snow by the door, piled his mother alongside him, and fought with the heavier corpse of Emil till Juan fell into the snow beside the others. He pulled himself from the thick storm, staggered through the whistle-blow wind and fought through grunts and mild shouts to close the door.


    Upon spinning with the closed door at his back, he saw several of the heater lamps had gone out in the wind. Shivering, teeth chattering, Juan found Emil¡¯s matches on the counter and set about relighting each of the heater lamps which had gone out; he did the act automatonlike, a person driven by force but no lively one.


    Through the harsh outside wind, which sounded like breathing against the boards, he hummed a tune to himself that manifested into him whistling a light tune¡ªthe River Kwai March¡ªthen rifled through the cabinetry of the kitchen, went through the footlocker by the double bed and dumped the contents onto the floor; he kicked the personal affects¡ªpapers, trinkets¡ªacross the boards. Among the things, he found a shiny glass-reflective tablet, lifted it, pocketed the thing into his parka, then kept looking for what else might catch his attention. He found a small square picture, frameless, face down and lifted it to his eyes then angled over to the nearest heater lamp with it pinched by the corner. The photo was of a woman too young to be a mother¡ªshe was more of a girl, really; she carried a fat-bellied infant on her hip in one arm and with the other, she held up a dual-finger peace sign. Juan stared at the picture in complete silence then chuckled at the blank expression of the baby, then threw the square photo like a shuriken across the room; it thunked against the wall and disappeared behind the double bed, never to be seen ever again.


    As it went full dark outside, the chitter sounds of outside became prevalent, and Juan went to the porthole by the door, pulled the curtains tightly closed and offered no response to the alien sounds which culminated around the walls of the cabin. It was delirium incarnate¡ªabyssal noise which swallowed even the blizzard howl. Things moved outside and Juan went to the kitchen again, looked over the cabinet doors, opened and slammed them; he huffed with exasperation and moved to the pot where the cooled stew sat and began to eat directly from there with the ladle. His far-off eyesight glared into the dimness of the heater lamps, his face glowing by them, and once he was finished with the pot, he chucked the thing and watched the leftover contents splatter into a wild configuration across the single room¡¯s floor.


    Only after removing his boots, he fell onto the double bed, removed his revolver from the holster and placed it there on the well-maintained bedding beside himself; he slept with his parka draped over his torso.


    He did not open his eyes for the insect noises of the outside.


    In the morning, he promptly wiped sleep from his eyes, rebolstered his weapon, and stared across the room with a blank expression. In a moment, spasm-like, he removed the tuque he slept in to reveal a head of black hair, and scratched his fingers over his head. He replaced the tuque, went to the porthole; upon swiping away the curtains, he stared into the white expanse, the black forest beyond¡ªhe took the sleeve of his thermal shirt and wiped across the porthole¡¯s glass where condensation fogged.


    Knee-high snow hills spilled inward as he opened the door, and he kicked the snow out lazily and stomped into the mess while shouldering his parka on; the hood flapped helplessly till he stiffly yanked it down his forehead. The wind was entirely mild, still. Through goggled eyes, he examined around the entrance, but there was no sign of the corpses¡ªhe waywardly stomped through the heavied snow in the place he¡¯d deposited them and there was nothing below the surface.


    Juan stumbled through the high snow around to where the dugout stood alongside the cabin and traced a smallish hill where he crawled for a moment to gather his footing. Snow had fallen in through the high apertures of the dugout, but there was a small door-gate attached between two of the pillars which held the slanted roof of the dugout. After fighting the door-gate out, he squeezed through, removed a flashlight from the inner pocket of his parka and settled down the few steps which led into the earth. A bit of morning light spilled in through those spaces of the wall along the high points, just beneath the roof, but Juan held the flashlight in his mouth and began examining the mess of snow-dusted containers.


    Along the lefthand were sacks, well preserved if only for the weather; he kicked a tobacco sack¡ªthere was a crunch underfoot. Opposite the piled sacks of grains, vegetables, and dried meats were many metal crates, each one with hinges. At the rear of the dugout were a series of battery banks which seemed to hum with electricity.


    He stomped each of the sacks, cocked his left ear to the air and began making a mess of the dugout. One crate contained expensive wooden boarding, he tipped this over into the little hallway created by the goods and carefully examined the contents and then he went to the next. The next crate was bolts of fabrics and twine and he sneered, shook his head.


    The interloper took a moment, fell rear-first on the sacks, pulled the flashlight from his mouth and pawed across his forehead and throat; he sighed and sat quiet¡ªin a moment, he was back at the search, more furiously. He rocked his head backward, so the parka hood fell away; sweat shined his face. There were condensed snares and jaws and there was a small crate of maple-infused wine; Juan froze when holding one of the bottles up to the higher natural light. He grimaced but set the box of bottles by the entryway, removing one which he slid into his parka. The Clarkesville Winery stamp was impressed on the metal wall of the package.


    After several crates of canned goods, his movements became more sluggish and Juan came upon a crate that seemed to be more of the same, but whenever he tipped it over for the contents to spill out, a smaller, ornate wooden box fell out and he hushed, ¡°Fuck,¡± while hunkering into the mess to retrieve the box. Some old master carved Laelia Orchids into the grain alongside stalkish invasive sage; the wood¡ªAcacia¡ªwas old but well kept. The bronze hardware shone cleanly enough.


    The container was no longer than his forearm and he briefly held the thing to the high-light and moved to the entrance and fell haphazardly onto the strewn and half-deflated frozen tobacco sacks.


    He opened the small box¡¯s latch and flipped it¡¯s top open and smiled at the contents and quicky slapped the box shut.


    In a flash, he unburied his snowmobile with his hands, harnessed his guitar case to its rear, then trailed through the snow gathered against the side of the cabin, using the exterior wall as support with his hand. He came to the backside of the structure, tilted his head to gaze again over at the dugout then swiveled to look at the thick metal tank buried in the ground and marked by a big hump in the snow. Juan moved to the tank, brushed off the snow with gloved hands, nodded to himself. Quickly, he returned to the tank with a hand-pick and bucket he snatched from the dugout. With a few swings, fuel spilled through the punctures he¡¯d created; he placed the bucket beneath the handmade spigots to catch the fuel¡ªin seconds the bucket sloshed full as he lifted it and wavered round to the front of the cabin where the door remained open.


    He doused the innards of the structure with the bucket and whipped the object against the interior wall then removed the matches from the counter. Standing in the doorway, he lit the awaiting inferno; the heat explosion pushed him wobble-legged outside while he covered his face from it; he hustled to the snowmobile without looking back.


    The vehicle came alive, and Juan trailed across the plain he¡¯d used the day prior. As the snowmobile met the sparse black tree line, the flames too met the fuel tank at the back of the cabin; a heavy eruption signaled, and blackbirds cawed as they trailed across the milk-blue sky.


    Among the rush of trees there was a translucent figure and Juan roundabouted the snowmobile. Upon edging to the place of the forest, still very near the trapper¡¯s cabin, Juan caught sight of a stickman among the wide spaced trunks. The noises exhausted from its face the same as a cicada¡¯s tymbal call.  Juan killed the engine, removed his pistol, leapt from the snowmobile.


    The stickman fought in the snow with something unseen, bulbous-jointed limbs erratically clawed against the ground; it seemed more crab than humanoid. Juan approached with the pistol leveled out in front of himself. The stickman, a North Country native, took up great armfuls of snow as it tumbled to the ground, slanted onto its feet, then tumbled over again. It was caught in a bear trap and as the thing fought against the jaw, its leg twisted worse and worse, and the cicada call grew more distressed. Its hollow limb, smashed and fibrous like a fresh and splintered bamboo shoot, offered no blood at the wound.


    ¡°Huh,¡± said Juan, lowering the gun to his side. He shook his head. The stickman called to him.


    The interloper returned to his snowmobile and went west.

 Twenty Four: Muramasa

    She was round, heavy, soft, naked, and lay in a single size bed; the glow of the monitor was the only thing that lit the dark room¡ªthere were no windows and a single overhead vent circulated fresh air through the little bedroom. The young woman lifted her arms, so they stood out from her shoulders like two sticks directly towards the ceiling vent; she squinched her face as she extended her arms out and a singular loud pop resonated from her left elbow. Though she lingered in bed and yawned and tossed the yellowy sheets around, so they twisted around her legs ropelike, she¡¯d not just awoken; Pixie remained conscious the entire night. Her stringy unwashed hair¡ªshoulder length¡ªclumped around her head in tangles. Pixie reached out for the metallic nightstand and in reaching blindly while she yawned again, her fingers traced the flat surface of the wall. She angled up and the sheets fell from around her bare midsection.


    Hairs knottily protested, snagging as the brush passed over her head. Pixie returned to her back with a flop, continued to hold the brush handle in her left fist, stared absently at the ceiling vent; a light breeze passed through the room, a draft created by the vent and the miniscule space at the base of the door on the wall by the foot of the bed. Her eyes traced the outline of the closed door; the whole place was ghostly with only the light of the monitor as it flickered muted cartoons¡ªthe screen was mounted to the high corner adjacent the door and its colored lights occasionally illuminated far peripheries of the space.


    Poor paper was tacked around open spaces of the walls with poorer imitations of manga stylings. Bulbously oblong-eyed characters stared down at her from all angles. Spaces not filled by those doodles were pictures, paintings, still images of Japanese iconography: bonsai, samurai, Shinto temples, yokai, so on, so on.


    Pixie chewed her bottom lip, nibbled the skin she¡¯d torn from there. The monitor¡¯s screen displayed deep, colorful anime.


    ¡°Kohai, Noise on,¡± she said.


    The monitor beeped once in response then its small speaker filled the room with jazz-funk-blues.


    ¡°Three, two, one,¡± Pixie whispered in unison with the words which spilled from the speaker.


    Being twenty years old, she was limber enough to contort her upper half from the bed, hang from its edge so the edge held at her lower back; she wobbled up and down until she heard a series of cracks resonate. Pixie groaned in satisfaction and returned properly onto the bed.


    The monitor, in its low left corner showed: 6:47. Pixie sighed.


    As if by sudden possession, she launched from the mattress onto the little space afforded to the open floor and stood there and untangled herself from where the sheets had coiled around her legs. She then squatted by the bed, rear pressed against the nightstand, and withdrew a drawer from under her bed. Stowed there were a series of clothing items and she dressed herself in eccentric blue, flowy pants with an inner cord belt. For her top, she donned a worn and thinly translucent stained white t-shirt. By the door, beneath the monitor on the floor were a pair of slide-on leather shoes and she stepped into them.


    Pixie whipped open the door and slammed her cheek to the threshold¡¯s frame to speak to the monitor. ¡°Kohai, off.¡±


    The room went totally dark as she gently shut and locked the door.


    She stood in a narrow, white-painted brick hallway with electric sconces lining the walls, each of those urine-yellow lights coated the white walls in their glow; Pixie¡¯s own personal pallor took on the lights¡¯ hue.


    With her thumbs hooked onto the pockets of her pants, she moseyed without hurry down the hall towards a zippering staircase; there were floors above and floors below and she took the series leading down until she met the place where there were no more stairs to take.


    The lobby of the structure was not so much that, but more of a thoroughfare with an entryway both to the left and the right; green leaves overhung terracotta dirt beds pressed along the walls. Pixie¡¯s feet carried her faster while she angled her right shoulder out.


    Natural warmth splintered into the lobby¡¯s scene as she slammed into the rightward exit and began onto the lightly metropolitan street, bricked, worn, crumbling. Wet hot air sent the looser hairs spidering outward from her crown while lorries thrummed by on the parallel roadway; the sidewalk Pixie stomped along carried few other passersby and when she passed a well-postured man going the opposite way on her side of the street, he stopped, twisted, and called after, ¡°Nice wagon.¡±


    There was no response at all from Pixie, not a single eye blink that might have determined whether she heard what he¡¯d said at all. The man let go of a quick, ¡°Pfft,¡± before pivoting to go in the direction he¡¯d initially set out for.


    Tall Tucson congestion was all around her, Valencia Street¡¯s food vendors resurrected for the day and butters or lards struck grill flats or pans and were shortly followed by batters and eggs and pig cuts¡ªchorizo spice filled the air. Aromatics filled the southernmost line of the street where there were long open plots of earth¡ªthis was where a series of stalls gathered haphazardly. The box roofs of the stalls stood in the foreground of the entryway signs which directed towards the municipal superstructure. The noise swelled too¡ªthere were shouts, homeless dogs that cruised between the ramshackle stalls; a tabby languished in the sun atop a griddle hut and the dogs barked after it and the tabby paid no mind as it stretched its belly out for the sky. Morning commuters, walkers, gathered to their places and stood in queues or sat among the red earth or took to stools if they were offered by the vendors. Those that took food dispersed with haste, checking tablets or watches or they simply glanced at the sky for answers.


    Sun shafts played between the heavy morning clouds that passed over, gray and drab, and there were moments of great heat then great relief then mugginess; it signaled likely rain.


    At an intersection where old corroded chain-link fencing ran the length of the southern route with signs warning of trespass, she took Plumer Avenue north and kept her eyes averted to the hewn brick ground beneath her feet. Pixie lifted her nose, sniffed, stuffed her fists into her pockets then continued looking at her own moving feet.


    Among the rows of crowded apartments which lined either side of Plumer, there were alleyway vendors¡ªbrisk rude people which called out to those that passed in hopes of trade; many of the goods offered were needless hand-made ornaments and the like. Strand bead bracelets dangled from fingers in display and were insistently shown off while artisans cried out prices while children¡¯s tops spun in shoebox sized arenas while corn-husk cigarettes were sold by the pack. It was all noise everywhere.


    A few vendors yelled after Pixie, but she ignored them and kept going; the salespeople then shifted their attention to whoever their eyes fell on next¡ªsomeone with a better response. Plumer Avenue was packed tighter as more commuters gathered to the avenues and ran across the center road at seemingly random intervals¡ªthose that drove lorries and battery wagons protested those street crossers with wild abandon; the traffic that existed crept through the narrow route. People ran like water around the tall black light box posts or the narrow and government tended mesquite trunks.


    It sprinkled rain; Pixie crossed her arms across her chest and continued walking. The rain caused a mild haze across the scene¡ªPixie scrunched her nose and quickened her pace.


    She came to where she intended, and the crowd continued with its rush, but she froze there in front of a grimy windowed storefront¡ªthe welded sign overhead read: Odds N¡¯ Ends. Standing beside the storefront¡¯s door was a towering fellow. The pink and dew-eyed man danced and smiled and there was no music; his shoeless calloused heels ground and twisted into the bricks like he intended to create depressions in the ground there. Rainwater beaded and was cradled in his mess of hair. He offered a flash of jazz hands then continued his twisty groove. Though the man hushed words to himself, they were swallowed by the ruckus of the commuters around him.


    Pixie pressed into the door, caught the man¡¯s eyes, and he grinned broader, Hello! he called.


    She responded with an apologetic nod and stretched a flat smile without teeth.


    Standing on the interior mat, the door slammed behind her, and she traced the large, high-ceiling interior.


    To the right, towering shelves of outdated preserves and books and smokes and incenses and dead crystals created thin pathways; to the left was a counter, a register, and an old, wrinkled woman with a fat gray bun coiled atop her head¡ªshe kept a thin yarn shawl over her shoulders. The old woman sat in a high-backed stool behind the register, examined a hardback paper book splayed adjacent the register; she traced her fingers along the sentences while she whispered to herself. Upon finally noticing Pixie standing by the door, the woman came hurriedly from around the backside of the counter, arms up in a fury, ¡°You¡¯re late, Joan,¡± said the old woman; her eyes darted to the analog dial which hung by the storefront, ¡°Not by much, but still.¡± Standing alongside one another, the old woman seemed rather short. ¡°You¡¯re soaked¡ªlook at you, dripping all over the floor.¡±


    Pixie nodded but refrained from looking the woman in the eye.


    ¡°Oh,¡± the old woman flapped her flattened hand across her own face while coughing, ¡°When did you last wash?¡± She grabbed onto Pixie¡¯s shoulders, angled the younger woman back so that she could stare into her face. ¡°Look at your eyes¡ªyou haven¡¯t been sleeping at all, Joan. What will we do with you? What am I going to do with you?¡± Then the old woman froze. ¡°Pixie,¡± she nodded, clawed a single index finger, and tapped the crooked appendage to her temple, ¡°I forget.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± whispered Pixie.


    The old woman¡¯s nature softened for a moment, her shoulders slanted away from her throat, and she shuffled to return to her post behind the counter. ¡°Anyway, the deliveryman from the res came by and dropped off that shipment, just like I told you he would. They¡¯re in the back. Could you bring them out and help me put them up? I tried a few of them, but the boxes are quite heavy, and it¡¯s worn my back out already.¡± The old woman offered a meager grin, exposing her missing front teeth. She turned her attention to the book on the counter, lifted it up so it was more like a miniscule cubicle screen¡ªthe title read: Your Psychic Powers and How to Develop Them.


    Pixie set to the task; the stockroom was overflowing even more so with trinkets¡ªa barrel of mannequin arms overhung from a shelf by the ceiling, covered in dust¡ªdull hanging solitary light bulbs dotted the stockroom¡¯s ceiling and kept the place dark and moldy, save those spotlights. The fresh boxes sat along the rear of the building, where little light was. Twelve in total, the boxes sat and said nothing, and Pixie said nothing to the boxes. The woman took a pocketknife to the metal stitches which kept them closed. Though the proprietor of Odds N¡¯ Ends said she¡¯d tried her hand at the boxes already, there was no sign of her interference.


    The first box contained dead multi-colored hair and the stuff stood plumelike from the mouth of the container; Pixie gave it a shake and watched the strands shift around. This unsettled but was not entirely unpleasant; the unpleasantness followed when she grabbed a fistful of hair only to realize she¡¯d brought up a series of dried scalps which clicked together¡ªhard leather on hard leather. Pixie gagged, dropped the scalps where they¡¯d come from, shook her hands wildly, then placed that box to the ground and shifted it away with her foot.


    The next contained a full layer of straw and she hesitantly brushed her hand across the top to uncover glass jars¡ªdark browned liquids. Falsely claimed tinctures.


    Curiously, she tilted her head at the next box, it was of a different color and shape than the rest. Green and Rectangular. And further aged too. Pixie sucked in a gulp of air, picked at the stitching of the box with her knife then peered inside. Like the previous box, it was full of straw and with more confidence, she pawed it away. She stumbled backwards from the box, hissing, and brought her finger up to her face. A thin trail of blood trickled by the index fingernail of her right hand; she jammed the finger in her mouth and moved to the box again. Carefully, she removed the object by one end. In the dim light, she held a long-handled, well curved tachi sword; the shine of the blade remained pristine. It was ancient and deceiving.


    ¡°Oh,¡± said Pixie around the index finger in her mouth, ¡°It¡¯s a katana.¡±


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    She moved underneath one of the spotlights of the stockroom, held it vertically over herself in the glare, traced her eyes along the beautifully corded black handle. As she twisted the blade in the air, it caught the light and she seemed stricken dumb. She withdrew her finger from her mouth, held the thing out in front of her chest with both hands, put her eyes along the water-wave edge. Her tongue tip squeezed from the corner of her mouth while she was frozen with the sword.


    In a dash, she held the thing casually and returned to the box. She rummaged within and came up with the scabbard. The weapon easily clicked safely inside. ¡°Pretty cool,¡± she said.


    The other boxes held nothing quite so inspiring as a sword nor anything as morbid as dead scalps. There were decapitated shaved baby-doll heads lining the interior slots of plastic egg cartons, and more fake tonics, and tarot cards, and cigarettes, and a few unmarked media cartridges¡ªboth assortments of videos and music were represented in their designs. Pixie spent no time whatsoever ogling any of the other objects; her attention remained with the sword which she kept in her hand as she sallied through the boxes. Between opening every new box, she took a long break to unsheathe the sword and play-fight the air without poise¡ªeven so the tachi was alive spoke windily.


    ¡°Quit lollygagging,¡± said the old woman; she stood in the doorway to the stockroom, shook her head, ¡°Is this what you¡¯ve been doing all morning? How are we supposed to get the new merchandise on the shelves¡ªincluding that sword¡ªif you won¡¯t stop playing around?¡±


    Pixie¡¯s voice cracked, ¡°How much is it?¡±


    The old woman balked, ¡°The sword?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a display piece. We put it in the window to draw in potential customers, of course. It¡¯s too expensive to keep them in stock. I don¡¯t even know where a person could find a continuous stock of them, but if we can put it in the window, perhaps clientele will come in, ask about it, then shop a bit¡ªit¡¯s not something you can sell; it¡¯s an investment.¡± The old woman, slow as she was, steadied across the stockroom and met Pixie there by the boxes, placed her hand on the open containers, briefly glanced into the nearest one, and smiled. ¡°It¡¯d take you a lifetime to pay back if you wanted a sword like that anyway. Now,¡± The old woman placed a hand on Pixie¡¯s shoulder, ¡°Put it away. There¡¯s a strange man outside and I need your help shooing him away. He¡¯s likely scared away potential customers already.¡±


    The two of them, tachi returned to its place, went to the front of the store; it was ghostly quiet save their footfalls¡ªthe customers that did stop into the store hardly ever stopped in more than the once; it was a place of oddities, strangeness, novelty. The things they sold most of were the packaged cigarettes from the res. No one cared enough for magic or fortune telling. Still, the old woman carried on, like she did often, about the principals for running a business. Pixie carried no principals¡ªnone could be found¡ªso the young woman nodded along with anything the old woman said while staring off.


    On the approach to the storefront, the man from before could be seen and his dance had not slowed¡ªif anything his movements had only become further enamored with dance. His elbows swung wildly, he spun like a ballerina, he kicked his feet against the brick sideway and did not flinch at the pain of it.


    ¡°There he is,¡± said the old woman, ¡°He¡¯s acting crazy as hell. Look at him go.¡± He went. ¡°If I wasn¡¯t certain he was as crazy as a deck with five suits, I¡¯d ask if he wanted to bark for me¡ªyou know, draw in a crowd.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Don¡¯t know why people like him can¡¯t just go to the airport. There are handouts there. Anyway, I need to get back to it myself. As do you,¡± she directed this at Pixie; although Pixie towered over the woman in terms of physicality, the older woman rose on her tiptoes, pinched the younger woman¡¯s soft bicep hard, whispered, ¡°Get that bastard off my stoop, understand?¡±


    Again, the old woman¡¯s face softened, and she left Pixie standing there on the front door¡¯s interior mat. The crone returned to her place behind the counter, nestled onto the stool like a bird finding comfort, then craned her neck far down so her nose nearly touched the book page; her eyes followed her finger across the lines.


    Pixie¡¯s chest swelled and then went small as the sigh escaped her; her shoulders hung in front of her, and she briskly pushed outside.


    The rain had gone, but the smell remained; across the street, where the morning¡¯s foot congestion decreased, a series of blue-coated builders could be spied hoisting materials¡ªmetal framing and brick¡ªvia scaffolding with a series of pulleys. For a moment, Pixie stared across the street and watched the men work and shout at one another; a lorry passed by, broke her eyeline and she was suddenly confronted by the dancing man who pivoted several times in a semicircle around where she stood. Far, far off, birds called. Fuel fog stunk the air.


    Move, said the dancing man. Initially it seemed a rude command, but upon catching his rain-wetted face, it was obvious that his will was not one of malice, but of love and peace and cosmic splendor. It does not matter how you move, but you must move! It was an offer. Not a command. Or so it seemed.


    The man rolled his neck and flicked his head around and the jewels which beaded there glowed around him for a blink as they were cast off.


    You¡¯ve been sent to send me away, yeah? asked the man.


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± said Pixie.


    But it¡¯s not because you wish it?


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t care if you stood out here all day.¡± Pixie bit her lip, chewed enough that a trickle of blood touched her tongue; her eyes swept across the street again and focused on the builders. ¡°The fewer customers we have, the less I need to speak.¡±


    The man froze in his dance then suddenly his stature slumped. He nodded. I¡¯ll go. As you must. You must too, yeah?


    ¡°Go? Go where?¡±


    You know.


    She did.


    The man left and Pixie remained on the street by herself; the rabble which passed her by were few and she stared at her own two feet, at the space between them, at the cracks, and she sighed. She jerked her head back, saw the sky was still deep ocean blue¡ªmore rain but nothing so sinister as a storm.


    ¡°Go?¡± she asked the sky.


    She reentered the store.


    After stocking the newest shipment, the rest of the day was as mundane as the others which Pixie spent within Odds N¡¯ Ends; few patrons stopped in¡ªmostly to ogle¡ªit was a place of spectacle more than a place of business. Whenever folks came, the old woman would call for Pixie without looking up from her book; normally the younger woman dusted or rearranged the things on the shelves as the old woman liked them and was often away from the counter. Pixie tried to answer questions about the shaved doll heads, the crystals arranged upon velvet mats, the tinctures, the stuffed bear head high on the wall. After some terrible conversation, they went to the counter and bought cigarettes or nothing at all and the old woman would complain at Pixie about her poor salesmanship after the patrons were gone.


    The tachi was put there on a broad table, directly in front of the storefront window and Pixie froze often in her work, longingly examined the thing from afar, and snapped from her maladaptation; frequently she chastised herself in barely audible mutters. The old woman had Pixie scrub the pane of the window in front of where the sword sat, and the young woman traced her hand across the handle and delicately thumbed the length of the plain scabbard.


    It was a job; this was a thing which people did so they may go on living. Come the middle of the shift¡ªPixie yawned, it was not due to overexertion, it was more due to her poor sleeping habits. This day was no different in this regard.


    ¡°I wish you¡¯d keep it to yourself,¡± the old woman said, and then she cupped a hand over her own mouth and her eyes went teary, ¡°God, now look at me and see what you¡¯ve done!¡± The old woman shook the tiredness away. ¡°Bah! There¡¯s still some daylight left!¡±


    ¡°We haven¡¯t had anyone in for the past hour,¡± said Pixie, staring up at the analog dial on the wall.


    The old woman¡¯s scowl was fierce. ¡°Mhm, I¡¯m sure you¡¯re waiting for the death call.¡± She too looked at the clock on the wall and sighed loudly. ¡°Alright. Pack it up! Better the death call of the store than my own.¡± She fanned her face with a flat palm and yawned again.


    Pixie left the place; the old woman locked the storefront from within. It began to rain again; it seemed the weather understood it was quitting time.


    The young woman cupped her elbows and walked home in the rain. Other commuters passed with umbrellas and others, like Pixie, ran through the puddles gathered on the ground. Rain was infrequent but this was not so in the summer and Pixie never protested it. It cooled the ground, thickened the air, and darkened the sky. A car passed on the street, but it was mostly lorries or battery wagons. Personal vehicles were as rare as the rain and Pixie watched after the car; it was a short, rounded thing¡ªits metal cosmetics were warped, and it couldn¡¯t have carried more than two people within.


    No vendors were there on the way, no men to call after her¡ªno other people either. The sky grew darker yet and though it was still relatively early, it seemed to grow as black as nighttime without stars.


    Pixie¡¯s apartment was there, dark, solitary, same. She shut her door, locked it with her inside, undressed completely and dropped her clothes to the little floor there was and huffed as she planked across the mattress; the bedframe protested. ¡°It smells bad in here,¡± she spoke into the pillow. The words were nothing. In the blackness of the room, she was nothing. It was a void, a capsule, a tomb. She was still wet and smelled like a dog.


    The monitor in the corner came alive at her salutation and she snored sporadically in the electric glow of the screen.


    Upon waking in the black hours of the morning, Pixie rubbed her eyes, cupped her forearms to her stomach; her midsection growled, and she tentatively reached to the bedside table and removed a bag of dried cactus pears. She nibbled at the end of one and in arching was cut blue and archaically shaped in the stilled light of the monitor¡¯s idle screen. Pixie popped the entire rest of the cactus pear into her mouth, chewed noisily and vaguely stared into the empty corner of the room beneath the monitor.


    After silent deliberation, Pixie crept through the night clothed in dark layers and went the back way through Odds N¡¯ Ends. She absconded with the tachi, taking only a moment with the sword by the white windowlight where she carefully examined the thing again. The young woman was beguiled and went from the place the same way she came.


    The brick streets resounded with her footfalls as her excited gait carried her home.


    She packed light, slung the sword to her hip with a cloth braid¡ªonce it was there in its place, she used the thumb of her left hand to nudge the meager guard, so the blade came free from its sheath before she casually clicked it back to where it went. Pixie chuckled, shook with a frightening spasm dance then froze before patting the tachi lightly.


    ***


    Two men stood along a shallow desert ridge; each of them was Apache descended.


    Peridot Mesa was covered in poppies, curled horrendous things; once they¡¯d been as precious as the peridot gems themselves, but as the two men stood there, overlooking the ridge, the poppies were browned, sickly, and as twisted as hog phalluses. Among the dying field were chicory and dead fallen-over cacti. The super blossoms were long over and had been for generations.


    One man spat in the dirt, tilted his straw hat across his eyes to avert the heavy setting sun; he hoisted his jeans, asked, ¡°You sure?¡±


    The other man, older, lightly bearded, nodded and kept his own head covered with a yellow bucket hat and cradled his bolt-action rifle with the comfortability of an ex-soldier. ¡°Yeah, c¡¯mon Tweep.¡± He staggered over the edge of the ridge and slid across the dry earth while tilting backwards so his boots went like skis. With some assistance from his partner, he was able to reach flat ground without going over and the two men searched the ground while they continued walking. ¡°Need to find her fast.¡±


    Tweep, the younger man, spat again.


    ¡°Nasty habit.¡±


    ¡°Leave it, Taz.¡±


    Taz shrugged and absently tugged on the string which looped the bucket hat loosely around his collar.


    ¡°How long?¡± asked Tweep.


    ¡°Serena said she blew through town only three days ago. Said she was coming this way.¡±


    ¡°She came looking for Chupacabra demons?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± asked Taz.


    ¡°That¡¯s what that silly girl came out here for, yeah?¡±


    ¡°I guess. Let¡¯s find her before dark, alright?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± said Tweep, ¡°I just don¡¯t know why she¡¯d go looking for them.¡±


    ¡°Who knows? I don¡¯t care enough to know. Not really.¡± The older man shook his head. ¡°City people come out here, poke the wildlife¡ªthey make jokes about the mystics. I know you¡¯ve seen it. Serena said the girl had the doe-eyed look of someone fresh out of Pheonix maybe. Who knows what she¡¯s come here for?¡± There was a pause and only their footfalls sounded across the loose dry soil. ¡°Dammit!¡± said the older man, ¡°You¡¯ve got me rambling. Let¡¯s find the body already. Preferably before it gets much darker.¡±


    ¡°You think she¡¯s dead then?¡±


    Taz grimaced and then he spat. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, sir, why don¡¯t you tell me what to think? I¡¯m starting to think you only dragged me out here to help you carry anything you find valuable.¡±


    Taz shook his head, shrugged. ¡°Smart mouth.¡± They continued across the mesa, kicking poppies, shifting earth that hadn¡¯t been touched by humans since the first deluge; it wouldn¡¯t be touched by humans for another thousand after the second deluge¡ªthat was some time away yet.


    ¡°I see her.¡± Tweep rushed ahead.


    Among a rockier set of alcoves, a white, stained blouse hung on a tumbleweed caught among groupings of stones.


    ¡°It¡¯s her shirt,¡± said Tweep, going swiftly ahead.


    The younger man leapt atop the stones and looked down a circular nest where the dirt was dug craterlike; destroyed tumbleweeds and splintered bone-corpses littered the nest.


    Taz caught his comrade, readied the rifle at the nest.


    Strewn across the ground were no less than three full grown Chupacabras, slain; one lay unmoving and decapitated while another¡¯s intestines steamed in the heat. The third clung to life and kicked its rear legs helplessly. Pixie stood among the gore, shirtless; the tachi gleamed in her glowing fists.


    ¡°Holy shit!¡± said Taz; he lowered the rifle and followed Tweep into the nest. The two men kicked the rubbish from their way and approached the young woman with timidness. ¡°You alright?¡±


    Pixie ran the flat of the blade across her pantleg to remove the sparkling blood, inspected the thing and wiped it again before returning the sword to where it went. Leaking bite wounds covered the length of her forearms, and her eyes went far and tired.


    Tweep watched the woman, chewed his lip. ¡°You¡¯re possessed! You can¡¯t just kill them like that! Nobody could kill Chupacabra so easily. With your hands?¡± He tipped his straw hat back, so it fell to his shoulders and hung by the string on his throat.


    Pixie shook her head. ¡°It wasn¡¯t with my hands.¡±


    The woman wavered past the men, climbed the short perch where her blouse had gone; she held the shirt to the sky¡ªthe material floated out from her fingers as torn rags. She let go of the blouse and it carried on the wind.


    Taz approached the only Chupacabra of the nest that remained alive. The creature groaned; the wound which immobilized it had partially severed its spine and the creature¡¯s movements may have been from expelled death energy rather than any conscious effort¡ªthe upturned eye of it while it lay on its side seemed to show fear. Its body was mangy, and just as well as naked dark skin shone, so too did fur grow long and sporadic across its torso; short whiskers jutted out from its snout. Chitin shining scales covered the creature¡¯s rear haunches while its tail remained rat naked. Taz shot the thing in the head, and it stopped moving.


    The woman fell onto the rocks where the men had come over the den. She sat and examined the wounds on her arms then she turned her attention to the men which had gathered by her. ¡°Do either of you have a spare shirt?¡±

 Twenty-Five: Now is the Time for Monsters (Part 1)

    The man gaped his mouth, swallowed air, staggered across a concrete plain. He favored his right leg, so his gait was hesitant and weird; blood traced the jean-covered leg with a long vertical wound. Black structures stood against stars in the all-around distance¡ªhis panting took up and sweat shone his face in milk light. His right boot was gone and every footfall with the left came as an abrupt click against the concrete. Then the right followed dully. A repeater rifle, glinting with his steps, was strung over his shoulder. Panic on his face made the whites of his eyes like two small moons in the dark.


    He crossed a dead parking lot like a man trudging across the desert for water, beleaguered. Light shafts came from between the tall concrete buildings, and atop the high rooves, his eyes shifted to see the long shadows of utility towers.


    A risen piece of sidewalk rose to meet his right foot, and he stumbled over and caught himself on the side of his ankle but did not stop; he skimmed the ankle along the pavement and did not protest. He went across the dry dirt island then into the street where blackness was.


    He was a man alive in a decayed world.


    Standing in the street were rusted cars, trucks, overturned pushcarts. The man took among them, planted his palm against a rough hood, twisted to peer back to the thing which injured him.


    Across the barren lot where painted lines no longer stood, there was a broad and flat cinderblock building; hanging there over the face of it remained its portico which drenched the ancient storefront in absentness. No noise came, save the man¡¯s own belabored breathing; he puckered his lips on the exhale, tilted his head, and watched the unmoving building. Silence delirium.


    The man knelt by the wheel, kept his head tilted above the hood gopherlike, lifted his right leg and inspected it. Along the ankle of his right leg, the jeans came apart and billowed.  He gingerly lifted apart the tear in the pants and grimaced. Copper hung in the air while he calmed his breathing. The man shimmied from the dark into the light of a moon shaft¡ªwhite bone stood exposed where muscle threads were robbed from him. He shook his head in the fit of an outraged whimper and angled into the darkness again.


    In tilting his shoulder, the repeater rifle fell from where it was slung, and he held it awkwardly like a shivering child. He took the rifle across the hood and pointed it in the direction of the supermarket, glanced down the bead, adjusted himself, glanced again; nothing emerged.


    ¡°Fucker,¡± he whispered.


    He waited and nothing came.


    The man¡¯s shoulders relaxed while he adjusted the rifle in his hands then jammed his face hard against the forearm of the gun. The barrel wavered and he winced and still nothing came.


    Furiously, he took to his feet again, shouldered the strap, and began to make his way across the road with tentative looks back to the storefront. He leveled his hands out wide and touched the strewn dead vehicles in the dark, using them for support; the man more hopped than walked. Darkness swallowed him entirely as he reached the other side of the street, and he peered out from it.


    The building opposite the parking lot stilted over him. He took to the exterior wall there, windowless, and traced his hand across it as he moved from the scene. The road went on and so did he while his limp became further pronounced, each movement spurred a whispered groan. The dilapidated sidewalk under him seemed a further hinderance as the rubble around his feet impeded his steps.


    Finally, the man came to a hitch truck, looked to the tow hook which hung from its rear, settled with his shoulders at its back wheel, held his breath to listen; he remained in full shadow and stretched his legs out entirely. He rocked left then right on the hard pavement, removed the rifle and sat it across his lap. Hooking his fingers into his pocket, the man snaked out a bent stogie alongside a book of matches. He swallowed hard, sighed, and lit the crummy thin cigar. The match illuminated his face ghostly and he shook it dead. After two puffs, he adjusted himself, rested the hand holding the cigar alongside him on the ground.


    He became still and moved no longer.


    ***


    ¡°Look!¡± called Trinity, the hunchback; she pointed at the corpse.


    It was daylight, but the scene remained; the man, now unbreathing, sat there against the rear wheel of the hitch truck, eyes closed, half a cigar stuck dead in his fingers, silvery repeater rifle sitting across his lap¡ªa deep stain upon the asphalt was beneath him where he was. Trinity lumbered forward, gave the man a shove, and he fell over without protest.


    ¡°You see this?¡± asked Trinity to her comrade.


    Hoichi, an earless clown, squatted between two vehicles in the street, bare-assed; he heard the call of his comrade, perked as his name was called, then gave a final shake, wiped, then pulled his trousers to his waist and spilled into one of the many narrow thoroughfares created by the vehicles lining the road. The sun was high, Hoichi sweat, put his hand to his brow, squinted across vehicle glass refraction. Shaking his head, the clown called out, ¡°You were supposed to watch out for me!¡±


    The clown, as he¡¯d been called, was so named for the arrangement of his face; tattooed over his skin was the permanent image of a smiling clown¡ªforever makeup. The color around his eye sockets were faded blue, his face looked dull and milk white, and around his lips, in a perpetual grin, was an oblong red boomerang.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Upon angling through the vehicles, he went ahead in the direction they¡¯d been traveling and came upon Trinity many yards out from where he¡¯d squatted. The hunchback was his friend, his confidant, his sister¡ªnon-biological. He came to lean against the hitch truck adjacent where the woman stood.


    She lifted the repeater from the dead man, examined it from several angles while turning it over in her hands. ¡°Sorry,¡± she offered to Hoichi, ¡°I guess this caught my eye. Besides, you were taking forever to finish.¡±


    Hoichi sniffed and patted his stomach. ¡°I¡¯m bloated. No matter the number of canned beans, I feel swollen and sick.¡±


    Trinity raised an eyebrow, pivoted and glanced the length of her traveling companion, ¡°Coming down with something?¡±


    Hoichi shrugged. ¡°Gas perhaps.¡±


    ¡°Be sure to keep it to yourself if it clears out.¡± Trinity shook her head, leveled the rifle down the street, stared down the bead with her left eye while pinching her right shut. She relaxed, lowered the gun, and awkwardly slung the rifle over her shoulder. ¡°What do you think got him?¡± she nodded at the dead man.


    Hoichi hunkered by the dead man¡¯s leg, opened the frayed jean. ¡°My best guess is blood loss.¡± He stared at the expression on the dead man¡¯s face. ¡°He seems lucky. It looks almost like he¡¯s gone to sleep.¡± Upon rising to his feet again, the clown held the cigar he¡¯d taken from the corpse, lit it from a book of Republic Brand matches, frowned and shook his head. He passed the thin cigar to Trinity; she casually puffed the thing while the clown lowered himself once more to examine the body.


    ¡°Pockets,¡± said Trinity, nodding.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Hoichi, he fingered the dead man¡¯s pockets and came up with nothing besides coins. The clown stood once more, put out his arm to usher his sister onto the busted sidewalk; she stood there and watched. ¡°Something bad injured this man. We¡¯d do well to keep our eyes sharp until Dallas. Of course, we could always head south.¡± He gently rocked his head left and right as if with weight. ¡°South means fewer Republic patrols, but that is not always such a bad thing.¡±


    ¡°I want to see the gardens, if we can,¡± said Trinity. ¡°You know that.¡±


    Hoichi nodded, ¡°Why don¡¯t we go see the zoo in Fort Worth while we¡¯re at it?¡± The clown exposed his teeth with a chiding smile.


    ¡°Don¡¯t pretend you couldn¡¯t do with some greenery.¡±


    The clown sighed, ¡°You¡¯re right.¡±


    The duo continued in their travel, moving with the mild trepidation that came while maneuvering through the wasteland. Even within Republican borders, a person could never be too careful.


    Though there had been factions which sprung up in the wake of the first deluge, there were perhaps none in North America which maintained as much land as The Republic. Many of those that called themselves Republic citizens did so proudly, and while places further elsewhere retained their own determination like free city-states, all under The Republic fell beneath its central jurisdiction. The nation kept the stars and stripes as its banner. It was New America, and it was not so uncommon to find Republic citizens¡ªespecially politicians¡ªwhich proudly called themselves Americans to harken back to better days and rile their constituents.


    ¡°Movin¡¯ right along,¡± sang Trinity as they went and Hoichi absently hummed the tune to match. The woman¡¯s voice was small and fragile and cracked often in the heat; upon completion of the brief, partially recalled ditty, she shirked the gourd from her pack and drank three hard audible swallows before putting it away. They continued in silence.


    Hoichi studied the buildings; the outskirts of Dallas grew around them as the streets seemed narrower and the structures came high. Empty concrete places stood on either side of them till they took onto Gaston Avenue and then it became Pacific Avenue¡ªan old but maintained roadway¡ªand they passed defunct dry ornamental fountains and walked parallel to train track lines that¡¯d been partially picked over. Dilapidated vehicles became fewer as they travelled into the deeper parts of the city; likely they¡¯d been scavenged for parts. The glow of the sun became distant and peripheral from within the beast.


    The duo pulled their robes closer to their bodies and Hoichi passed the back of his hand across his forehead. With the absence of noise, every breath was audible, every step was explosive. Then came the steady hum of a battery wagon far ahead and traveling in the direction of the pair. The wagon moved at a brisk speed down Pacific Avenue and the driver sat high in their seat while the carriage behind remained encased and closed; upon approach, it was apparent that it was a civilian-owned contraption and seemed kept together with spit-work. The driver¡ªan androgynous woman¡ªwaved and passed the duo; Trinity and Hoichi gave the wagon a wide berth and waved back. On passing, the carriage portion contained faces which pushed against the small glassless windows there¡ªa family?


    Upon watching them go, the hunchback and the clown stood side by side on the righthand of the street upon a concrete-tile plaza, in the forefront of a monstrously tall girder-bare tower. The hum disappeared after the wagon.


    ¡°Do you ever think about your family?¡± asked Trinity.


    Hoichi shook his head, ¡°I try to keep all of that away. What about you?¡±


    ¡°If I ever see my parents, I¡¯ll likely need a hand in burying them.¡± Trinity¡¯s eyes remained still and same even while she guffawed.


    The clown smiled.


    They went on.


    Trinity spat, ¡°You ever think about starting over?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯d want to.¡±


    ¡°Even if it¡¯s someone you really liked?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Hoichi.


    Trinity averted her eyes from her brother, cast them to the impossible heights of the flat-topped towers on either of their sides. ¡°I think about it. Sometimes. I think it would be nice to have someone care about me like that.¡±


    ¡°I care about you.¡±


    ¡°But not like that,¡± Trinity shook her head, ¡°I think it¡¯d be good. I think I¡¯ve seen enough. Do you know what I¡¯m talking about?¡±


    ¡°No more running?¡± asked Hoichi.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I was ever really suited for it.¡± She shrugged and there was a moment where only the sound of their own footfalls resounded. ¡°I¡¯ve seen too much, actually¡ªnow that I think about it, I¡¯ve seen too much,¡± Trinity laughed, ¡°You know, I can handle the death of most people¡ª


    ¡°Even me?¡± teased Hoichi.


    ¡°You know what I mean,¡± she gave a light shove to the clown, and he swiveled on his heel to catch his footing before returning alongside her slower stride. ¡°Death is one thing. Seeing children though,¡± her voice trailed off before it returned, ¡°Or things worse than death. Or God, what about wasting away? Could you imagine the pain of wasting away? Starving! I¡¯ve felt bad bad hunger, but never starvation.¡±


    Hoichi winced, but kept a cheeriness to his tone, ¡°You¡¯re dwelling on Tuscaloosa still?¡±


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you thought about it?¡±


    The clown nodded. ¡°Shame,¡± was all he said about it.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Quiet returned and they kept on till they saw the liveliness of Dallas City¡¯s edge.

 Twenty Six: Now is the Time for Monsters (Part 2)

    Dallas City was a place of sound among the derelict world that both the hunchback and the clown found themselves in. The open road came without the constant state of panic one associates with paranoia spurred on by the presence of humanity, but cities remained generally safe¡ªand loud. Music buskers crooned while well-armed guards remained steadfastly observant¡ªespecially at the borders of the capital¡ªand construction crews lifted sheeting over their heads or lifted it via mechanical apparatuses. It appeared that Republic borders allowed nothing in their way; where once ancient and abandoned superstructures stood, soon there would be housing and where housing was, entertainment, gardens, novelty, and comfort followed. It was humanity¡¯s right to tame the infested wasteland, so said Republican leaders.


    Along the roadway were temporary trailers and pitched tents where foremen sat among their loads of paperwork and on either side of the traveling pair there was a rush of panic among the employed builders. Apartments on either side stood half-renovated and some argued in the street over the expansion project; so, the whispers told that many of the structures did not seem totally sound and rather than renovation, they required total demolition before anything else could be done. The sweaty faces of builders passed by; each one jingling with a belt of tools and the heat of the midday sun beat down on the crews so that some gathered by the massive tombstone buildings in the shade, removed their safety helmets, and wafted their own faces with flat debris¡ªheat steam coiled from the heads of the workers.


    The hunchback and the earless clown arrived at the checkpoint where there were fortifications: wheeled trailers and temporary cover; there was no gate to speak of. Just beyond the workers were tables strewn with clerical gear with officers and subordinates looking over notes with tablets. Trailers and wagons and officer lorries stood lined across Pacific Avenue like in a wall. And where there were no vehicles, there stood folding tables affording narrow passage; just beyond was Dealey Plaza. Zigzagging from the checkpoint into Dallas City proper was a queue of travelers guided by arranged low partitions; the travelers lined there seemed from all walks of life and beyond subtle comments about the heat of the day, little conversation was held among them. Trinity and Hoichi came to the rear of the queue and stood and waited.


    One of the men at the head of the line, decked in leathers, leaned over one of the tables where officers sat or idly stood by, their sidearms holstered. The man wore a ragged leather brim-cap which encircled his crown, so his face was kept from the light of the sun. He spat sidelong to the ground and the officers there at the folding table scanned their records via tablets and listened to whatever the man said.


    On the sidelines were slaves huddled in wagon cages; many sat dumbly against the vertical bars which exposed them like zoo animals to the elements, backs to the sun, faces from onlookers. Somewhere an infant wailed briefly.


    The man in leathers drummed his fingers against the folding table and removed a cigarette from the inner pockets of his jacket, craned back on his heels, stared at the sky and seemingly listened to a muffled diatribe the officers imparted. Cigarette smoke came from under the hat and the man in leathers nodded, withdrew something from his jacket, placed it on the table and the officers scrambled over it.


    Reconciling, the officers parted the way backed by lorries and the man in leathers strolled toward his caravan of slaves and the other slavers marched on his command and he swirled his index finger in the air; the caravan of slaves took into Dallas City while the queue shuffled forward.


    A few stragglers filled the line behind Trinity and Hoichi and before long, though the heat kept the time slow, the pair arrived at the officers themselves and were ushered in after a quick look at their fake IDs.


    Once in Dealey Plaza, they were soon struck by political proselytizing from soapbox preachers with pamphlets; some were respectable-seeming grassroots startups while others were apocalyptic; no one stopped to listen.


    The plaza was alive by slave auctions from the newly arrived caravan and already the man in leathers was there toting his wares, sizing bare-thread attired humans atop temporary cinderblock plinths. Some passersby¡ªwhether citizens or vagabonds¡ªlooked on with expressions of abject disgust, spat at the ground, and yet others stopped to ogle the forlorn expressions of those slaves and began to inquire. Some grouped in knots along the corner of Houston Street and Main and the loudening dealings began as the man in leathers barked like a carnival coraller.


    Trinity stood in the street across the busy intersection for longer than Hoichi and she watched the man in leathers and the crowd which sprung around him; a honking wagon pushed her into the shade of the finished buildings along the sidewalk and she fought to shoulder the silvery rifle by its strap and gathered onto Hoichi for support. The two of them moved across the walkway while strangers bustled by; a bone-thin woman vulgarly shouted at Hoichi with the word, ¡°Pagliaccio!¡± over and over, ¡°Pagliaccio, Pagliaccio, Pagliaccio!¡± and she laughed at his bewildered expression.


    The duo spilled from the intersection at Dealey and into an entry with an adjacent neon sign that read: HOSTEL. Immediately, they were cast against the brown brick interior with low sterile lights; the windows which overlooked the street were filthy enough to disturb the sun which came from there. The place was deserted, save a single half-bald barman that offered them a brief nod upon their arrival. To the left was the bar and to the right were a series of ruined booths, and over the head of the barman was a thin speaker that played, ¡°You Sexy Thing¡±. Trinity moved to the bar and Hoichi angled nearer the door and by its windows on either side.


    Hoichi peered through the glass, called to his sister, ¡°It¡¯ll be late soon anyway.¡±


    Trinity brushed a fixed stool planted directly before where the barman stood and nodded at her brother; she then swiveled her attention to the barman and held up a peace sign. ¡°Two. Tequila. Thanks.¡±


    Hoichi moved to join her, and they watched the barman move across the back wall where dust-covered shelves of liquor sat. ¡°You have rooms, yeah?¡± called Hoichi to the barman.


    The half-bald man nodded absently while returning with two empty nip glasses pinched in his right hand and a half-empty bottle of clear liquor clamped in his left.


    ¡°Good rooms?¡± asked Hoichi, ¡°Clean?¡±


    The barman laughed and pinched his expression to bemusement and poured the shot-glasses full till they spilled over, and he responded in the universal ¡®eh¡¯ noise to the inanimate objects. He shook his head at the mess, recapped the liquor and planted it on the counter by the glasses; the barman then slid the containers before his new patrons and sent a flat palm across the puddle of tequila which rested on the bar¡ªas if in cleaning¡ªhe pushed out his bulbous tongue then licked where his hand was wet. ¡°You want good rooms then you go somewhere else, I think,¡± said the barman.


    ¡°A-C?¡± asked Hoichi.


    The barman shook his head.


    ¡°Tap?¡±


    ¡°Water?¡±


    Hoichi nodded.


    The barman shook his head, ¡°Not in the rooms.¡±


    Trinity ignored both her brother and the barman and lifted one of the glasses to her lips and swallowed it flashily with her head back. She brought the empty shot-glass down on the counter and quivered before removing the rifle from her shoulder and setting it by her knees against the bar, barrel up. She began to remove her robe to expose her jeans, her tank top, the sweat on her skin. Hoichi did the same while continuing with the barman.


    ¡°Breakfast?¡± asked Hoichi, eagerly.


    ¡°I could for extra, but I don¡¯t wake up until late,¡± said the barman.


    ¡°How late?¡±


    The barman sighed and pondered at the ceiling for a moment then shrugged, ¡°Whenever I wake.¡±


    Hoichi nodded, ¡°No breakfast then. Just one¡ª


    ¡°Drink,¡± said Trinity, shifting the other, still full glass in front of her clown brother.


    Hoichi winced and nodded and downed his tequila and gathered air through puckered lips. ¡°Okay. Okay. Like I was saying,¡± He looked to the waiting barman, ¡°One room, please.¡±


    The barman¡¯s gaze shifted between the duo. ¡°I¡¯ve only got the one cot for each room.¡±


    ¡°No matter,¡± said Hoichi.


    ¡°You¡¯ll pay?¡± asked the barman while chewing on the inside of his cheek.


    Trinity pushed the two empty shot-glasses to the inside edge of the bar and nodded vigorously, ¡°We¡¯ll pay, we¡¯ll pay, just get us refilled.¡±


    Upon uncapping the tequila bottle, the barman leveled forward and squinted at Hoichi, ¡°You haven¡¯t any ears? How can you hear alright?¡±


    Hoichi grinned. ¡°Well, your mom¡¯s got thighs like a vice-grip.¡±


    A flush came over the barman before it settled, and he bit into a smile and shook his head. ¡°Pretty good.¡± He filled the order then snatched a third empty glass¡ªa tumbler¡ªand placed it in front of himself and filled it just healthier than a double. ¡°You hear alright though?¡±


    The barman left the tequila uncapped there before Trinity and Hoichi, and Trinity downed her glass then went to refill it. Hoichi ignored his own and nodded. ¡°It¡¯s only the outside. Cut off.¡± The clown shrugged then drummed his fingers against the countertop.


    The barman took a swig from his tumbler then wiped his mouth and pointed at Trinity. ¡°And you.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Trinity froze with her third shot mid-lift; she returned it to the counter.


    ¡°Yeah, your back is,¡± the barman made an S shape in the air with his index finger.


    Hoichi chimed in curtly, ¡°You¡¯re not even going to ask about my tattoo?¡± he pointed to his own face.


    The barman angled forward, studied the clown¡¯s face, ¡°What¡¯d you do that for?¡±


    Hoichi took his shot and hissed then raised his shoulders and put his arms round-like at his sides to imitate a rotund stature. ¡°What¡¯d you do that for?¡±


    The barman laughed and drank. ¡°Fair enough,¡± he wiped his mouth again, ¡°I¡¯m nosy.¡±


    ¡°I can tell that,¡± Hoichi pointed at the man¡¯s prominent nose.


    The barman shook his head but still smiled. ¡°Alright, enough ribbing. Before I go off and ask too many questions, my name¡¯s Petro¡ªjust so we are at least on friendly terms.¡± He moved his back to the patrons, lifted an electric tablet and the overhead music died to a whisper then he returned to them and nodded; his eyes were reddened like with tears upon him finishing the tumbler. ¡°Awful drink,¡± he wagged his finger at Trinity, ¡°Terrible taste.¡± He huffed and sat the empty tumbler along the shelves behind him and continued, ¡°If I overstep just tell me, ¡®Fuck you.¡¯, okay?¡±


    ¡°Me? Me fuck you?¡± asked Hoichi, ¡°We¡¯ll see how many drinks we¡¯ve left in us before we talk like that.¡±


    ¡°Where are you two coming from?¡± asked Petro.


    Trinity, finishing her shot, took what was left of the bottle into her shot-glass, ¡°Why so curious?¡±


    Petro shrugged, ¡°Harmless curiosity.¡±


    ¡°West,¡± said Trinity.


    ¡°Anywhere particular?¡±


    ¡°Maybe a reservation, maybe Pheonix,¡± she said.


    ¡°No Republic territory?¡±


    ¡°Nah.¡±


    Petro seemed ready to spit at his feet but stopped. ¡°I¡¯d like to go west. That¡¯s where my family¡¯s from. Eh. What¡¯s west though?¡±


    ¡°Something different,¡± said Trinity.


    ¡°Maybe. Maybe it¡¯s the same,¡± offered Petro. ¡°Of course, it is. No matter. Do you see any mutants when you travel?¡±


    The duo nodded.


    ¡°What sorts then?¡± his head swiveled between them, ¡°Are they dangerous?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± said Trinity; she lifted the rifle by her side, ¡°But that¡¯s why we always carry, isn¡¯t that right?¡± She motioned to her brother then returned the rifle where it leaned.


    The clown nodded.


    ¡°What do they look like?¡± asked Petro.


    ¡°They¡¯re all different,¡± said Trinity, ¡°Some nest, some fly, some glow in the dark¡ªsome talk too.¡±


    ¡°Demons then?¡± asked Petro.


    Trinity nodded, ¡°Rarely.¡±


    ¡°And what are the demons like?¡±


    ¡°Evil.¡±


    The barman nodded. ¡°Is it true they give you treasure?¡±


    ¡°Treasure?¡± Trinity asked.


    Petro nodded, ¡°Yeah. Treasure. I¡¯ve tales that heard if you speak to them, and you trade something with them then you¡¯ll get treasure.¡±


    Trinity rested her head in her hand and angled to glance at her brother, ¡°You ever get any treasure from them?¡±


    Hoichi¡¯s expression, for a blink, shone incredulously, but quickly shifted into a wearied grin. ¡°No,¡± he said, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want anything they¡¯d sell.¡± Hoichi glanced out the anterior windows toward the framed swatch of Dealey Plaza; evening came on, so the people outside seemed like blackened pastel sticks against the gray. ¡°It seems like there¡¯s nothing you couldn¡¯t buy here with Republic scratch, so what reason would I have for their treasure?¡±


    Petro nodded grimly and asked his patrons if they¡¯d like another drink. Eagerly, they agreed, and Petro, though he awkwardly shifted on his feet when speaking and made uncouth mouth-noises when savoring the aftertaste, joined them. The three drank gaily till night was totally present; the interior electric lights of Petro¡¯s establishment came on stronger to bathe the scene in a stark white glow so that anything outside the windows¡ªthe sidewalk, beyond¡ªwas black completely, save the vague indigo sky and its pale white moon without stars. Humming electricity hung beneath the long speaker which lowly played indecipherable R&B.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    During the small merriment came callous jokes between a barman with intrigue for the wasteland and the pair of siblings¡ªthe hunchback and the clown.


    All was amiable until it wasn¡¯t.


    The door came in and a straggler came in from the street, ragged clothes and matted hair painted the thin haggard woman as a beggar. Her remaining teeth glanced at Petro before she pulled herself onto the stool beside Hoichi; the clown lowered his head away from the straggler to his sister.


    The straggler rummaged within her linen pockets and slammed the money she¡¯d found there onto the counter; Petro eased near to her, lifted the money and counted it¡ªhe nodded and stuffed the wad into his own pocket then moved to grab a bottle from the cabinet under the sink, a bottle of translucent yellowy cider. The barman fought to uncork the thing then placed it before the straggler and she drank heartly there, lifting the neck above her mouth like a sword swallower; the bottom of the container was empty quickly and when she finally sighed and set the cider to the bar, cupped between both of her dirt-blackened palms, the drink was gone but a swallow. The straggler wiped her mouth, offered thanks to Petro and he merely nodded and smiled with the visible twinkle of drunkenness in his own eyes.


    ¡°Where you from?¡± asked the straggler; her attention remained on the bar, greyed eyelids resting half-over green irises.


    ¡°Me?¡± asked Hoichi while stretching away from his sister and twisting in his seat to better speak to the stranger.


    The straggler nodded, ¡°Both of you, I guess. Would you happen to have a smoke? Just a quick drag? Oh, Petro don¡¯t make that face¡ªyou smoke in here too because I¡¯ve seen you.¡±


    Hoichi shook his head. ¡°No, sorry.¡±


    Petro smirked, lifted something small from behind the counter then placed a pack of half-crumpled corn-husk cigarettes beside the straggler¡¯s right knuckles. The barman sighed then added, ¡°No charge extra.¡±


    The straggler greedily buried her fingers into the pack, withdrew a cigarette, fished a loose match from within and struck the thing on the barstool till it danced with fire then puffed and waved the match to smoke. Her face became briefly orange in the glow, and she pursed her lips sidelong to blow her exhale in the direction of the door. ¡°Eh, thanks, Petro. Thanks a lot.¡± She nodded some, continued staring at the bar more. After studying the marred surface of the counter, she asked without looking away from her study, ¡°Is the circus in town?¡±


    Hoichi snorted and shook his head. ¡°Fashion statement, I guess.¡±


    Trinity added, ¡°You should¡¯ve seen what was underneath!¡± and clapped her brother on the back.


    The clown shrugged his sister¡¯s hand away and shook his head, but he grinned. ¡°It¡¯s alright, isn¡¯t it? To be a clown without a circus.¡±


    The straggler drank heartily from the next bottle, smoked stiffly, nodded. She looked exhausted. ¡°Know any tricks?¡±


    ¡°Bar tricks?¡± asked Hoichi.


    ¡°Eh,¡± said the straggler, ¡°Bar tricks, circus tricks, whatever.¡±


    ¡°I know a few, don¡¯t I?¡± he glanced in Trinity¡¯s direction.


    Trinity nodded. ¡°Too many. He¡¯s too proud of himself, if you ask me.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± said Petro, ¡°Don¡¯t bother the poor fella¡¯.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not bothering him,¡± said the straggler.


    Hoichi polished off the drink he nursed. ¡°Do you pay for tricks? Or do you only get paid for them?¡± He laughed hideously.


    The straggler swiveled on the barstool and shook her head; the corners of her mouth glanced upward.


    ¡°Eh,¡± Hoichi¡¯s head wobbled from dramatic contemplation, ¡°Fuck it. I¡¯ve got one. You see that wall over there?¡± he pointed at the wall opposite the bar, across the narrow pathway behind their stools, between them and the booths.


    ¡°Sure,¡± the straggler nodded.


    Hoichi leapt from the stool and knelt against the middlemost booth where nothing hung on the wall; the others attentively craned forward with attention. ¡°I bet I could knock down this wall.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t bet,¡± said the straggler.


    ¡°For fun!¡± Hoichi smiled, shrugged, ¡°For fun!¡± he repeated.


    ¡°Okay. It¡¯s a bet.¡±


    Hoichi balled his right fist and lifted it high over his head while kneeling on the bench seat. He rapped against the wall at the highest point he could reach, like knocking on a door. Then he lowered his fist and rapped again near where his face was then he rapped a third time nearest the seat of the booth. Brow raised, expression broad, he pivoted to look on his audience and they responded without reaction.


    The straggler lifted her bottle till it became empty. ¡°Pfft, stupid clown.¡±


    Hoichi shrugged and returned to his stool between the two women. ¡°That is the point, after all.¡±


    Petro swept the counter with his hand. ¡°Eh, it¡¯s a little funny.¡±


    ¡°I just throw whatever at the wall until something sticks,¡± said the clown. ¡°Eh? Eh?¡± His shoulders raised in unison with this repetition. He waved his hands at his small audience.


    Trinity offered up her empty glass to the barman and it was refilled. The hunchback posed her question at the straggler, ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    The straggler smiled. ¡°Bel.¡±


    ¡°Just Bel?¡±


    Petro interjected upon filling Trinity¡¯s glass, ¡°Don¡¯t try harder. I¡¯ve tried to get that one¡¯s story and she never budges. Bel is all she¡¯s said when she comes in. That¡¯s her name. She¡¯ll gladly let you spill your guts, but she¡¯d never let you see hers.¡±


    ¡°How much to see them guts?¡± asked Hoichi, vulgarly.


    Bel ignored this and tapped the counter for a replacement on another empty cider. ¡°Petro, you shouldn¡¯t be so rude. You know me well, no?¡± Her smile was black. ¡°You know me better than anyone.¡±


    ¡°Well, you two,¡± Petro double pointed with his index finger and middle finger at the siblings, ¡°Offer her a drink and then maybe you¡¯ll get answers. Ha!¡±


    Bel straightened in her seat. ¡°You want to know?¡± Her tone was entirely exaggerated with intentionally poor acting.


    Trinity nodded, ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s orphanages here in Dallas¡ª


    Petro frowned, ¡°You grow up in one of them?¡±


    Bel lifted her palm for silence. ¡°There¡¯s orphanages here in Dallas and they take care of the city¡¯s stolen children¡ªgod I hope they do.¡± She smiled without teeth then looked glumly at the fresh cider in front of her. ¡°You see if someone in the Republic can¡¯t afford the kids they¡¯ve got, they get taken to those orphanages and then the orphanages and those witchy women which run them get a government dole to clothe and feed those kids. Taxes. Taxes, Petro! How much taxes do you pay on this place?¡±


    The barman threw up his hands like he¡¯d been accused.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± said Bel, ¡°They take kids from those sick and degenerate mothers that can¡¯t care for them. Those mothers that can¡¯t get a dole, a hand, a little government friendship.¡±


    ¡°It takes a village,¡± said the barman.


    Bel opened the cider then looked into the neck¡¯s mouth like through a telescope. ¡°A village for the children, but no mothers.¡± She lifted the cider in jest¡ªa mock toast¡ªthen turned the thing up and drank once more, greedily.


    Trinity sighed, ¡°That¡¯s the story then?¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± said Petro, ¡°Were you the degenerate mother or the child in this?¡±


    ¡°Eh,¡± said Bel.


    Hoichi picked at his fingers, examined the nails on his hand in the white overhead lights. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said the clown, without looking up.


    ¡°So,¡± said Bel to Petro, ¡°You wanted to know, so how¡¯s it change?¡±


    ¡°It changes nothing,¡± said the barman, ¡°You pay then you drink.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not looking down on me?¡±


    ¡°Why would I?¡± The barman swiftly lifted his shirt; the bulged belly there was covered in dark hair and a patchwork of knife scars. ¡°I used to fight, you know. For money. There isn¡¯t shame in what¡¯s happened for any of us, is there, Mister Clown? I imagine no one reputable puts that on their face¡ªor loses their ears, for that matter.¡±


    Hoichi shook his head.


    The next question came from Trinity and was directed at Bel, ¡°What would it take to get your child back?¡±


    The straggler squinted her eyes down the bar, past the clown, ¡°There¡¯s no way. They changed his names on documents¡ªhe¡¯s grown anyway, and I haven¡¯t seen him since he was a baby. I could see him on the street and would not know.¡±


    ¡°Life¡¯s a bitch like that,¡± said Hoichi.


    ¡°Surely,¡± Bel sank back to her drink, ¡°Anymore tricks then?¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± said the clown.


    Before anything else could be said among the group, the front door of Petro¡¯s bar swung open and a man stood there, pressed against the open doorframe; the darkness which encompassed the new stranger offered an odd impression, like a shadow against shadow. Acrid stink¡ªsweat and soil and perfume¡ªcame with the man from the doorway as he lurched into the bar, leaving the door to slam behind him.


    Bel, sitting nearest as she was, offered a mild nod in the direction of the new man.


    The man came in and took up alongside the straggler and his forehead shone slick from sweat in the glow of the overhead bulbs; he wore a leather jacket, leather britches, leather boots, and strung around his narrow throat was a leather strand suspending a leather rancher hat betwixt his shoulder blades; his hair stood wild on ends. He said nothing and smiled and casually tapped his black-crescent fingernails against the bar¡¯s surface in unison with the barely audible rhythm of ¡°Baby Love¡± which came from the speaker over Petro¡¯s head; perhaps he even mouthed along silently with the words, but it could not be certain with the way he glowered over the bar¡¯s edge.


    ¡°Drink?¡± asked Petro to the new stranger.


    The man in leathers looked fully on the barman and grinned and asked, ¡°Do you know how to do an old-fashioned?¡±


    ¡°Afraid not,¡± said the barman, ¡°We haven¡¯t any fruit for the garnish and I¡¯m all out of bitters.¡±


    The man in leathers scanned the wall beyond Petro, lingering on some bottles, merely glancing at others. ¡°Top-shelf gin then,¡± he said, ¡°Don¡¯t cut it with anything. I¡¯ll pay whatever for whatever¡¯s considered top-shelf here.¡±


    Petro nodded and gathered a glass for the new patron and Bel laid her head upon her own bicep so that the dead cigarette between her fingers was leveled over her own head; she watched the barman. Hoichi and Trinity watched the barman. The man in leathers watched all the others, examining them as if searching¡ªhe twisted his neck, so his head hung sideways, and he smiled all the while.


    When Petro slid the man in leathers the brackish tumbler of gin, the man took it up quickly and gulped twice then cupped the tumbler with both hands then tilted it overhead again and gulped once more; he sat the glass down hard. A long hiss escaped between his teeth which almost came on like a whistle and he shook his head like mad. ¡°Thank you,¡± said the man in leathers, after composing himself.


    ¡°Eh,¡± offered the barman, ¡°It¡¯s nothing much.¡±


    The man in leathers traced the room, the empty booths, the speaker, the lights, the shelves of bottles, and the others at the bar. ¡°It¡¯s late. I tried sleeping out there,¡± he hooked a thumb to the door, ¡°We¡¯ve a caravan. Everyone else has turned in for the night. There are, of course, a few lights on in town, but I¡¯m only across the square and I saw the light on in here and thought it might be good for a quick nightcap.¡± He directed his face towards Bel, ¡°Do you come here often?¡± and before the woman could speak, he asked the others this as well.


    Bel shrugged while the others shook their heads.


    Hoichi asked, ¡°You¡¯ve come from the east then?¡±


    The man in leathers nodded, ¡°That¡¯s right. We are taking a load of runaways from those we¡¯ve caught in the Alabama region¡ªthere was a great nest of hideaways there. We¡¯re leading them to Fort Worth, but I imagine the military won¡¯t be too upset if some get lost in transit. Me and mine need to eat too, of course.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a slaver?¡± asked Bel. Though she posed the question, she hardly looked from where her gaze had focused on the black end of her dead cigarette.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± said the man in leathers, ¡°It¡¯s a difficult business, as I¡¯m sure you all know.¡± He tapped his index finger to the side of his nose and smiled thinly. ¡°It is a business much the same as any other.¡± Then he went on to add, ¡°It¡¯s quickly becoming the backbone for the Republic¡¯s economy. Labor is difficult to come by.¡±


    Hoichi seemed done with drinking entirely and merely examined his empty glass; at Petro¡¯s wordless prompt, the clown shook his head. ¡°What do you say to those that find it questionable?¡± asked Hoichi.


    The man in leathers shook his head, took a sip from his gin, and rolled his eyes. ¡°What¡¯s morally questionable about that? It¡¯s commerce, of course. Commerce is what separates you and me from the animals.¡±


    ¡°But you sell humans like animals,¡± said Hoichi.


    ¡°Not at all!¡± said the man in leathers, ¡°Any human, as far as I¡¯m concerned, that takes a seat at the table of commerce and ends up in chains has debased themselves and the philosophy to the point that they no longer deserve the title. Am I wrong? We are, under God, of course, given the opportunity to all meet at that table and we do so equally. There¡¯s no such thing as morals when it comes to a deal. You show up to the table just as well as I do. If you want to argue against that then I saw a few political barkers on our way into town. I think they were spouting something about communism and all it¡¯s good for. Go ask them about it.¡±


    Petro interjected, ¡°Well hold on¡ªwe never said anything about communism. There¡¯s no reason to take it that far.¡±


    The man in leathers polished off his tumbler, held it out for a refill. Petro poured the gin. ¡°Fair-fair-fair enough, I suppose. We could sit here all night and wonder about the morality of buying and selling humans. What¡¯s it matter at the end of the day? I can tell you, and I¡¯ve dealt with many a slave, that they end up there only because they desire it. There is something in the eyes of a man or woman that ends up in chains; it¡¯s a vile and animal nature they have, of course. I¡¯ve seen it. I know it well.¡± He sipped from his freshly poured glass and shook his head at the sting of the alcohol again. ¡°There was nothing else for them in this world. Whether it¡¯s exorbitant debts or abject poverty¡ªOh! Get this! You do not know how many people will sell themselves into it just for their own family¡¯s sake. Some people give up their very lives for a standard sum which we ensure to pay to their spouse or their children or their parents.¡±


    Hoichi leaned forward on the bar, stiff-spined, ¡°How often do those payments get lost on their way to the families?¡±


    The man in leathers frowned and removed his long jacket and sat the article across the bar beside himself. The skin of his leather vest shone as well as the cotton shirt underneath, as well as the revolver strapped to his hip.  ¡°You may find what I do ¡®questionable¡¯, as you¡¯ve so said, but you are skirting closely to insult.¡±


    Petro guffawed long and nervously to the point of parody. ¡°No one meant any insult, did we? No! We apologize if there¡¯s any wounded feelings.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not so much my feelings I¡¯m concerned with,¡± said the man in leathers, ¡°As it is the philosophy of the world.¡± He grinned; perhaps the gin urged a gleam in his eyes. ¡°Anyway, barman, we are only two fishermen, no? You are the owner, yeah?¡± Petro nodded, and the man in leathers continued, ¡°Then we are two fishermen with vastly different product, but it is all the same. Commerce has served you well enough for this,¡± he motioned around at the barroom, ¡°You know what I say is true, of course.¡±


    Hoichi¡¯s fists sat on the bar in such a way that his forearms created an X. ¡°You continue to use the word, ¡®commerce¡¯, but I wonder what you mean by it.¡±


    ¡°Commerce?¡± the man in leathers tossed his head to the side. ¡°It is trade, of course. I suppose you could further analyze it to the point of distillation and call it communication; that¡¯s humanity¡¯s greatest evolutionary trait. Communication. As it is, if you need something, and I have it, then we deal or vice versa. We meet evenly there at the table. It¡¯s a metaphorical table, but it is used to demonstrate the equality of all parties.¡±


    ¡°Is a person equal once they¡¯re sold?¡±


    ¡°Ah!¡± The man in leathers half-laughed. ¡°I see! It¡¯s not so much that a person can lose their equal status. I wonder if they ever had it. Again, there are specific subsets of people which are animalistic by nature¡ªmaybe it¡¯s IQ or maybe it¡¯s something far beyond like the spirit¡ªit¡¯s not a thing about race or genetics. They are born the way they are¡ªsome are born to good parents or wealthy lineages, but there¡¯s something off about them. And they are something¡ªhmm,¡± he tapped his fingers against the bar some more, ¡°I guess they are something less than human, if you insist. There is nothing in their face that says they desire for anything greater than what me and mine can give them. See? I have this horse, and I love the horse and she¡¯s a good girl, but I would never meet her there at the table of commerce. I would never consider her human; it would be akin to bestiality in that sense. You can have an affection, and you may even extend your sympathies to a creature as much, but my horse has no greater desires. It is much the same. Woo. I feel this gin is kicking my ass.¡± The man in leathers pointed at his second empty glass and Petro took it from him to refill. ¡°Fuck!¡± shouted the man in leathers, ¡°I¡¯ve only just noticed,¡± he pointed at Hoichi the clown, ¡°You¡¯ve got no ears. This whole time I¡¯ve been looking at you and trying to parse what was wrong. Well, besides the makeup.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not makeup,¡± said Hoichi, ¡°It¡¯s a tattoo.¡±


    ¡°So, it is. So, it is. How¡¯d that happen? The ears.¡± He nodded thanks to Petro upon the return of his filled gin.


    Trinity put a hand on her brother¡¯s crossed forearms and responded to the question in his stead, ¡°They got up and walked away one night while he was sleeping. That¡¯s what he¡¯s always told me.¡± Her tone was apprehensive, jovial.


    ¡°Well,¡± said the man in leathers, ¡°And what made you tattoo that on your face?¡±


    Hoichi remained stiff but managed to shrug. ¡°I like clowns. Don¡¯t you like clowns?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t say that I¡¯ve ever met one that tickled my fancy. Anyway, it¡¯s the ears that strike me funnier than the face¡ªbeing as I¡¯m persistent in the trade, I¡¯ve known many other slave handlers¡ªworse ones than me¡ªthat sometimes shear the ears from difficult slaves and so I¡¯m looking at you now and it makes me think of this man I know from the north and he takes his slaving duties seriously. For every one overseer, he has perhaps fifteen or twenty slaves¡ªit¡¯s a wonder where the profits derive with such a packed staff¡ªbut he, more than any others I¡¯ve met, has a tendency for removing slave ears and he collects them for intimidation, and I wonder about your ears and where they¡¯ve gone.¡± He pointed at Hoichi from down the bar counter and smiled, puckered his lips so that the end of his pink tongue shone for a moment; he took a healthy drink. The man in leathers sighed. ¡°Of course, of course, I¡¯d be crazy to assume the identity of a runaway, especially in Republican land. Still, your stance, your belief, and the absence of ears leave me entirely curious.¡±


    Hoichi¡¯s jaw clenched and pulsed.


    Petro moved to the tablet he kept there along the back counter and shut the music off. ¡°I think it¡¯s best if we move for last call.¡±


    The man in leathers smacked his lips and lit one of his own cigarettes then sipped his gin. ¡°One more for the road?¡± he asked Petro.


    The barman froze where he stood in the center of the counter; he angled onto his elbow away from where the man in leathers sat and seemed to think then he abruptly nodded and came to the man in leathers with the bottle of gin. ¡°This is it though. It¡¯s getting late and I¡¯m tired.¡± He topped the glass.


    ¡°Much thanks.¡± The man in leathers removed a billfold from his pocket and counted out the money necessary for his drinks. He spoke around the cigarette in his mouth, ¡°It¡¯s been an illuminating night. Though you all have likely not enjoyed my spiel¡ªyes barman, I can see the expression on your face¡ªI must say that it is not something I¡¯m not accustomed to. It is your right, of course. All that being said,¡± the man in leathers stood, choked down his last tumbler of gin, and gasped through the ethereal burn, ¡°I wish that each of you have a good night. No matter the previous conflict. No matter our differences.¡± He reached for his long jacket and nodded one last time on his way out of the door.


    Petro moved from around the bar and peered into the night; he clicked the HOSTEL neon sign off and locked the door. On turning to his remaining patrons, he grinned and went like he intended to say something but shook his head and returned to his post.


    ¡°So,¡± said Bel, ¡°When you said ¡®last call¡¯, that didn¡¯t mean me, did it?¡±


    The barman sighed and shifted from foot to foot, ¡°Something about that man gave me a feeling. He said we were fishermen. I¡¯ve never seen a fresh fish. I don¡¯t know what he could¡¯ve meant by it, but it gives me some issue.¡±


    Bel laughed, ¡°Don¡¯t let him bother you. It looks as though Mister Clown¡¯s the most disturbed from the ordeal. What¡¯s the matter?¡± She nudged Hoichi..


    Hoichi relaxed his frame and settled and stared at the floor between his spaced legs on the barstool. ¡°I¡¯ve just never met a slaver,¡± he lied, ¡°Strange country.¡±


    Petro assured him kindly that it was not such a frequent thing.


    ¡°Still,¡± said Bel, ¡°It¡¯s weird to think about. He said people sell themselves into slavery.¡± She shook her head and sipped her cider.

 Twenty Seven: Now is the Time for Monsters (The Lubbock Folks)

    The following morning, the pair of siblings remained on the premises of Petro¡¯s longer than what they¡¯d initially considered; each awoke with a hangover and slept late and when they did arrange their gear and descend the stairs to the barroom, Petro was angled over the stove behind the bar and the smell of pepper and ham greeted them. They took to a booth and ate the tough meat with hard bread and Petro occasionally started with conversation only for it to peter out in the morning dullness; the barman played Bill Evans from the speaker, and this added to the dreamish scene. They enjoyed cowboy coffee cooked with an egg; Petro insisted on its flavor, but neither of the travelers had a liking for it, though Trinity did comment, seemingly for the sake of kindness, on its unique profile. Petro beamed and nodded.


    After breakfast, Trinity took the appropriated repeater rifle to a local pawnbroker at the direction offered by Petro. Hoichi remained with the barman, and they chatted idly in the hunchback¡¯s absence. The warmth between the barman and the clown persisted from the previous night and Petro removed an old checkers board from a hidey hole and commented how he¡¯d lost some pieces, but they could use some rocks he¡¯d found to replace them.


    Trinity left the place and though they¡¯d overslept, Dallas seemed well awake; already, the barkers from across Dealey called out and the slave auctions began again. Briefly, she stood there, by a marred lamppost on the sidewalk, and vaguely watched the goings-on. The man in leathers was not there with his caravan.


    She took down South Houston Street and along the way, city folk passed her by without notice; being a hunchback, her eyes remained averted to the legs of those around her and her angled gait dispersed whatever throng she came to. Although no one accosted her, there were those that mumbled apologies, surprise, or comments they did not believe she could hear.


    The day¡¯s sky was yellow with pink cloud streaks.


    Manure rose above even the smell of raw-food market stalls casually dressed along either sidewalk of South Houston¡ªTrinity maneuvered with some difficulty around the crowds there till she recognized the place which Petro had told her about. Across the street, there stood a lamppost which bent over, unlike the others installed throughout Dallas she¡¯d thus seen, and she waited for a moment to dart across the street.


    Upon standing in front of the pawnbroker¡¯s, there was no great indication what sort of place it was, besides the hand-chiseled placard on the door which read: We By and Sell.


    She pushed through the door, silvery rifle slung over her shoulder, and after dealing with the man behind the counter¡ªa great-headed elderly fellow¡ªand selling the rifle outright, she left the place hurriedly; she was stopped though, deftly by a hand grabbing ahold of her elbow. Trinity swung around and was confronted by the narrow face of the man in leathers¡ªhe grinned. Upon her glaring at the hand which he¡¯d grabbed her with, he let go and put both of his gloved hands up and chuckled long. He remained in leathers; his hat swung across his shoulder blades from the cord around his throat. His hair stood on ends like he¡¯d only just awoken himself.


    ¡°I meant no offense,¡± said the man in leathers, ¡°But I noticed you last night at that bar. I couldn¡¯t stop thinking about you, of course, and I kept thinking about the color of your skin and how nice it was. It is immaculate.¡±


    Trinity straightened herself away from the man and angled with a forearm against the strangely bent lamppost. ¡°My skin?¡± she asked. The bustle of people on the street seemed lesser with the crowds at the markets across the thoroughfare. Still, a few passersby came and went and paid neither of them standing on the sidewalk any mind.


    ¡°Of course.¡± he said. The man meticulously removed his gloves then he held them like a set of rags and batted them into his open palm while searching the street. Lorries and trucks and wagons went on. ¡°Your skin¡ªlast night anyway¡ªhad a purple hue to it in the light of that bar. It must¡¯ve reacted strangely to the pigment. The lights, I mean.¡± He shook his head and though his grin remained, his eyes did not smile at all. ¡°Seeing it in the daylight like this, it¡¯s like chocolate. It¡¯s like a deep rich candy. It contains a warmth when interacting with the light of the sun; you glow.¡±


    Trinity bit the inside of her cheek and attempted to brush by the man in leathers, but he put a friendly hand up and shook his head again. ¡°Let me go,¡± said Trinity, ¡°I¡¯ll scream.¡±


    His smile became rectangular¡ªit was an expression between joy and a primeval urge. ¡°Do you oil it? Do you keep it well?¡± he asked.


    ¡°What the fuck is your problem?¡± Each of her fists¡ªone of which still held the scratch she¡¯d gotten for the sale of the rifle¡ªprotested audibly at her squeezing her nails into the fats of her thumbs. The sidewalk on that side of Houston Street was becoming sparse of people.


    ¡°Hey!¡± said the man in leathers; he snapped his fingers in front of Trinity¡¯s face, ¡°Do you keep your skin hydrated?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll scream,¡± she repeated.


    The man in leathers threw his head back, bellowed loudly a noise like a shriek. No one stopped what they were doing. The customers and vendors across the street did not so much as look in their direction. He came in close to Trinity¡ªso close that she recoiled. He smacked his lips then wormed his tongue around the inside of his closed mouth. ¡°What do you say we get out of here?¡± he asked her, ¡°Come, lost lamb.¡±


    Trinity trembled then spasmed in fright as the door of the pawnbroker spilled open. The man from before, which she¡¯d sold the rifle to, called out to them, ¡°You alright?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re fine,¡± said the man in leathers.


    ¡°I was leaving, and this strange man came up to me,¡± said Trinity.


    The pawnbroker raised a single bushy eyebrow.


    The man in leathers guffawed and placed an arm around Trinity¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I was only helping her,¡± he told the pawnbroker,  ¡°I don¡¯t think she¡¯s from around here and she seems quite lost.¡±


    The pawnbroker lifted an arthritic clawlike hand to the back of his head and scratched behind his ear. ¡°You should leave her alone now,¡± he said plainly; his words did not contain the venom of an overt threat.


    The man in leathers stood the way he was with Trinity under his arm for seconds and waited on the sidewalk; he looked frozen there like a man stopped in time. No emotion could be discerned from his face¡ªit wasn¡¯t the face of a man, but the face of a creature beyond sight, the face of a thing never seen. There was nothing and then like a queer animatronic, the man in leathers leapt from the side of Trinity, put up both of his hands and laughed. ¡°Of course,¡± he said.


    Trinity unclenched her fists and fled from the man and took down the sidewalk, restraining her breaths.


    ¡°Hey!¡± called the man in leathers.


    She had only made it a few yards from the man. Trinity swallowed, pivoted around to see the man standing there, leaning against the strangely bent lamppost.


    ¡°You¡¯ve dropped this!¡± he called after her. He held up the scratch which she¡¯d dropped. ¡°Thought you might want it back.¡±


    She glanced at the pawnbroker which still stood there in his doorway; though he remained, his gaze had gone across the street to where the vendors were. ¡°T-thanks,¡± said Trinity upon closing the distance between them. She reached out to grab the money from the man in leathers, but he maintained his grip and kept that alien smile. It was primitive and it glistened and reflected what sunlight came through the gathering red clouds.


    A gas-powered car backfired as it drove by, and Trinity flinched and the man in leathers remained still.


    She ripped the money free from his hand and took away without anything further.


    The pawnbroker returned to his store and the man in leathers remained on the sidewalk, gazing after Trinity till she disappeared, and he returned the gloves to his hands and flexed his fingers there; the skin of the gloves creaked when he did that. He lifted the ragged leather hat to his head and tugged it over his mess of hair.


    ***


    Black shadow horizons stood in all directions and the siblings fled across the wasteland. They made good time from Dallas and then Fort Worth came ahead, and they rounded the city¡¯s edges without entering.


    The added gear¡ªcanteens, cutlery, cookware¡ªthey purchased swung from their belts and from their packs. In the dawn, the two took on brown robes so there on the cusp of morning, the pair seemed like two dark ghosts against the paling sky.


    They carried on with only each other and spoke infrequently during their travels, but at night, they camped by lowlight and cooked canned goods or chewed on pemmican and spoke in cheerful whispers. Sometimes Trinity sang and sometimes Hoichi joined her, but mostly he listened and applauded his sister¡¯s voice; no one ever applauded the hunchback¡¯s voice, but the clown did.


    Some nights they slept separately and some nights they slept bundled together and stared at the stars and breathed their conversations into one another¡¯s faces. It was light and fast travel, and they put days and miles behind and soon they were leaving signs which read: Weatherford and they spoke about the west in grand terms. Neither knew what the future held¡ªneither knew what waited for them in the west. There was the vague idea of non-Republican city-states, and reservations, and whatever.


    Perhaps Petro was right, and the world was all the same everywhere¡ªthere was truth to it, but not an entire truth.


    Soon, the slaver and Dallas both became darkened places in their minds, and they brought it up less frequently.


    On amiable nights, whenever fellow travelers spotted them, Hoichi hid the earless spots on the sides of his head with a wrap and Trinity remained seated and they invited others to join their camp and something like ¡®commerce¡¯ came and went and the strangers changed, but the conversations remained the same. ¡°Where are you going?¡±, ¡°What¡¯s it like where you come from?¡±, ¡°I¡¯d like to see the North Country before I die.¡±


    Always, the clown joked. Many times, Trinity asked why Hoichi did so and performed crass, and often he gave the same answer: ¡°I am a clown. It is what they expect. A dog barks and a bird flies.¡±


    Seemingly, this response did not sit well with Trintiy, because often she tried to tease more from her greatest friend, but the answer continued to remain a variation of: ¡°A dog barks and a bird flies.¡±


    Of course, she persisted and told him he was not an animal and to this he merely shrugged and offered a noise without any real follow-up.


    The wastes, as it was in the time after the first deluge, expanded in all directions with warped ecology, it was deadened land, but it was not such an infrequent occurrence that a traveler might come upon some family, some rag-tag clan, some group of survivors¡ªthat¡¯s what they were¡ªand human faces were abundant in comparison to what would come. The catastrophe of the second deluge neared. No one knew.


    Skies, pink and splattered with blood-mark clouds, seemed to go on to eternity. The dead world was all around, and in the day, a person could sit underneath that sky and wonder beyond reason. If not for mutants, demons, the monstrosities which lurked here and there, it would remain tranquil. There was otherwise absolute deathly silence. But on nights, long nights where the pink sky went to gray then to full black then even the stars and moon seemed to give no good light, those things came up from the earth and from the derelict places possessed by the old world, and looked on this strange desolate land with glass-eyed visages and slithered and lumbered and scanned the darkness for something to eat like beasts fresh from hibernation.


    On the long nights, the nights which seemed colder than others¡ªthese were the nights which Trinity and Hoichi gathered into some alcove or crevasse and kept body-close together, and they sometimes witnessed in glances the yellow glowing eyes of the mutants which stalked from whatever place they perched.


    Often, Hoichi gazed in wonder at the creatures and then turned to his travelling companion and asked her, ¡°It feels like they¡¯re looking right at us when I see those eyes?¡± The end of his words always came with the elevation of a question; it might¡¯ve been a hope that there was any doubt.


    Trinity calmed him when he became this way and told him it was unlikely¡ªshe would carry on about how she¡¯d seen many mutants, and even demons, and she told how a person would know when they were stalked by those things, surely. This was a lie though. She did not know. Still, they comforted each other in these ways.


    ***


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Trinity saw the caravan from Lubbock first and notified her brother and they took to scattered refuse¡ªdebris and garbage¡ªalong the easternmost side of US-84; the dual roads were cracked from yellow grass and neglect and they lowered to the ground in their robes, and they held to their gear to keep it from clanking. The two of them spied on the caravan.


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of people,¡± said Hoichi.


    Trinity pinched her mouth shut so wrinkles formed around her lips, and she shook her head. Her mouth opened, but no words came, so she shut it again. They watched.


    Upon the caravan¡¯s approach, the pair of them rose from their prone positions and hesitantly waited and watched and continued to whisper to one another. Hoichi angled higher from the ground with his knees beneath himself and it was only when the pair of them gathered enough details about the caravan that they wrestled from the ground entirely, patting their robes.


    Hoichi called to those passing and the caravan from Lubbock called in return and stopped.


    Evening came on so everyone and everything was bathed in abstract haze.


    The caravan consisted of several vehicles¡ªsome carried by electricity, and some carried by horses or mules¡ªand many walkers. Tanker trucks relaxed on their axles as the drivers braked and the work animals beat their shoed hooves against the road. It was the kindly faces of children which eventually spurred the siblings to greet the troupe openly.


    The vehicles halted completely, and the Lubbock people came from their perches and the walkers gathered to the fore and among them were merchants and travelers looking for safety in numbers; so, the word was the Lubbock people were on their way to Fort Worth for a delivery of oil.


    Trinity and Hoichi dealt with the merchants and reupped their dwindled supplies of water and rations and while doing so, a scrawny fellow with straw-colored hair and freckles emerged from the crowd¡ªa group of young girls, fifteen in total, followed the freckled gentleman. The girls varied in age from twelve to sixteen and all wore matching, blue-faded dresses¡ªthe hems of which exposed the hairier shins of the eldest girls.


    The man butted into the conversations and asked the pair where they headed.


    ¡°West,¡± said Trinity.


    The man¡¯s voice was narcotic smooth, ¡°West is a direction like any other, but I mean to ask your destination.¡±


    ¡°Does it matter?¡± asked Hoichi.


    The man smiled and revealed a smoking pipe which he kept and stood to lift a boot from the ground to knock the loose ash from its chamber by banging it against his heel. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t mean to pry.¡± He stood properly and examined his pipe and blew across the open mouth of the chamber. ¡°I¡¯m Tandy O¡¯Clery,¡± he offered out his free hand and Hoichi took it to shake; the man¡¯s smile radiated.


    The siblings offered their names, and the merchants dispersed to their carriages while the uniformed girls remained following Tandy; each of the girls remained silent. The sun dipped further over the western horizon and against the shadow-blackening fields in all directions, Tandy offered for them to camp with the troupe for the night.


    Between the dual roads, the caravan cooked around a series of low fires with iron cookware and offered their guests both food and drink openly, especially Tandy. The display had the comfort of a small settlement once the merchants and troupe and travelers unpacked their belongings. When the siblings offered their own rations for adding to the meager feast, they were turned away and told to eat and not to worry.


    After their meal, they languished casually around the fire, stuffed.


    With night came a chill so everyone sat around the embers in groupings and drank wine¡ªTandy lit his pipe while he sat in a metal folding chair alongside a fire, and the smoke which came from it stank, but not like tobacco.


    Hoichi and Trinity took to the hard earth on their bottoms alongside Tandy and absently stared into the fire¡ªlining the circle opposite them were the uniformed girls.


    Though the girls little prior, they now spilled themselves emphatically, guffawed, and even told stories to one another from their side of the campfire.


    ¡°Who are they?¡± Trinity asked Tandy.


    Smoke bellowed from Tandy¡¯s open mouth as he lazily slanted his head across the back of the chair and stared at the starry sky. ¡°The girls?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± The pair of them spoke lowly enough to not garner the girls¡¯ attention. ¡°Why are they all dressed like that?¡±


    ¡°I bring music to this world. Their parents say it¡¯s for them. They are called ¡®The Hollies¡¯ in Lubbock¡ªa musical choir I¡¯ve been authorized to instruct.¡±


    ¡°They sing?¡± asked Trinity.


    Hoichi studied the ground beneath him, plucked sickly yellow grass from a clump beside his foot and tossed it into the campfire; he watched it shrivel as it burst into flame. Everything, save the vehicles which were cast in the orange glow of firelight, looked to be a part of another world entirely¡ªa world of absolute darkness. It was only this.


    Tandy nodded at the hunchback. ¡°They sing. I direct them to sing, so they do.¡±


    Silence followed; Tandy smoked more, and Trinity took whatever drinks the ¡®The Hollies¡¯ handed her¡ªshe finished them quickly with gusto. Hoichi abstained and simply leveled back on his palms where he sat with his legs crossed and he put his head back as though examining the sky.


    Hoichi broke the silence from their side of the campfire, ¡°Trinity sings sometimes. She¡¯s very good.¡±


    Trinity flubbed her words around a mouthful of drink so the only thing which arose from her was a splat of wine across the earth.


    The choir director, pipe still in hand, adjusted himself straighter in the chair, ¡°You sing? Are you any good?¡± His grin shined in the darkness from the lowlight.


    The hunchback shook her head and choked the wine which she¡¯d kept in her mouth; after gasping then laughing, she pulled a bit of excess robe from around her sleeve and swiped her mouth dry with it. ¡°Hoichi is my backup. I can¡¯t sing without my backup, isn¡¯t that right?¡± She leveled a wry grin in the direction of her brother.


    The clown shook his head and continued stargazing. ¡°I¡¯m too tired to sing.¡±


    ¡°Me too then.¡±


    Tandy puffed smoke and set the pipe by his foot and angled forward in the small folding chair; it creaked beneath even his wiry frame. ¡°That¡¯s a shame.¡±


    ¡°Were you looking for more to join your choir? In the market for talent?¡± asked the hunchback.


    Tandy placed his chin in his hand and swiveled his entire body like shaking his head. ¡°Oof,¡± he groaned, ¡°I wish we had set out earlier in the day. It was nearly evening already when we set off from Lubbock.¡± Tandy shrugged then relaxed his body and fell back onto the chair dramatically. ¡°It¡¯s no worry, I suppose. We won¡¯t miss the concert. It¡¯s many days out.¡±


    ¡°How do you pick the girls?¡± asked the clown.


    Tandy cocked his head and bit into his bottom lip before saying, ¡°I don¡¯t pick them. It¡¯s the parents. The parents pay for their education¡ªthe choir is only one part of that education, you understand?¡±


    The choir director lifted his pipe once more and took a few more puffs before corralling the conversation, ¡°Oh! I asked you two before where you were going and you said ¡®west¡¯. I wonder if there was anything out west you were searching for.¡±


    Trinity finished her latest drink of wine and sat it by her legs. ¡°Freedom,¡± she said, ¡°Someplace free, I think.¡±


    ¡°What a word,¡± said Tandy, ¡°Freedom? I wonder if it¡¯s a thing that¡¯s real.¡±


    Trinity¡¯s expression became severe for a moment, long in the shadow. ¡°That¡¯s an easier thing for you to say.¡±


    Tandy nodded, ¡°Maybe you¡¯re right.¡±


    The clown interjected, ¡°Tucson? Phoenix? I wonder if the reservations take anyone.¡±


    ¡°You have thought of anywhere further north?¡± asked Tandy.


    ¡°Vegas?¡±


    ¡°Stop thinking west. Besides, what I mean is further north than that even.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know it well.¡±


    ¡°You should,¡± said Tandy, ¡°It might be worth a shot.¡± He paused, cast his visage to the fire then lifted himself from the chair and moseyed into the nearby darkness where trash wood laid. He returned with an armful, cast it into the embers then fell into the chair again. ¡°Anyway, I hope whatever you¡¯re running from never catches you.¡±


    ¡°Who said we¡¯re running?¡± asked Trinity.


    Tandy shrugged, ¡°Maybe you¡¯re not. I hope you¡¯re not. It¡¯s harder to run than anything else. I¡¯ve run forever myself.¡±


    Trinity crossed her arms, gathered her robe around her; the firelight grew with replenishment and the circle became brighter and the choir girls chattered. ¡°You¡¯ve been running? From what?¡±


    Tandy nodded, ¡°I¡¯ve been running from death forever. I¡¯m immortal, I guess.¡± He broadened his shoulders by winging his elbows outward and he craned forward on his chair; he intentionally locked eyes with the pair, glancing his gaze betwixt them for some seconds. The siblings shifted where they sat and then Tandy burst out laughing. ¡°I¡¯m kidding!¡± he cried, ¡°Who¡¯d believe that, anyway?¡± He settled back on his chair and rested his hands in his lap and tilted back at the sky. ¡°I do hope you¡¯re not running from anything. Intuition tells me you are, but that¡¯s none of my business. You¡¯ve each got a scared look like someone¡¯s after you.¡± He shrugged.


    Hoichi stood and removed himself from the light of the fire and no one called after him while Trinity remained and took another cup of drink from the choir girls. He went into the outer darkness of the camp rings and relieved himself and stared into the vast westward nothing. Upon finishing, he pivoted to look north, where the road went, and he quietly whispered in the direction, ¡°Lubbock?¡±


    A shriek popped the silence and Hoichi moved quickly to the nearest wagon for cover and his eyes darted around madly; the people knotted around the fires became erratic in the darkness and he fled in the direction of his sister.


    She stood by the peculiar choir director where he was flanked by the girls. Trinity moved to Hoichi and they stood dumbly by the firelight, eyes scanning the scrambling crowd of Lubbock folks. Shouts came further north¡ªin the direction of the other parked vehicles¡ªand upon Tandy¡¯s movement, all the rest followed.


    Upon winding through the overturned pots, pans, sundries, chairs, and lit fires, they stumbled through the throng gathered off the eastern shoulder of the road where yellow grass grew sparsely; onlookers shouted. All the merchants and travelers were there and two groups of them yanked on dual ropes which led tautly into the dark. Some heavy thing grunted in the shadows in response to the pull.


    Hoichi and Trinity held onto one another; her nails pressed into his forearm. The pair of them did not breathe and watched the spectacle.


    The tug-o¡¯-war groups protested with groans and shouts and expletives as they offered a final yank. Those gathered, leveled lights in the direction of the thing in the dark, and as it exploded into the light, those watching stumbled over themselves and over each other to remove themselves from the creature¡¯s presence. It was a sick mess displayed in the dancing lights of those panicked travelers.


    The creature, finally observable as all those people gathered their wits and directed their lights appropriately, was cancerous incarnate; its pinkish body was coated in something like watery jissom¡ªit was that which the thing excreted to ease its abysmal movement wherever it dragged itself along. It was a great oblong mass of twisted limbs and faces; its many eyes blinked as the thing shifted unnaturally.


    Those gathered, tugged on the ropes to ensure the security of the thing while Hoichi and Trinity fell to the wayside. The ropes¡¯ ends not in the hands of the Lubbock folks were bound to hooks and those hooks had sunk deep into the mushy flesh of the creature. Merchants and mercenaries and vagabonds pushed through the crowd to get a look at the thing while the siblings muttered to one another.


    Tandy shouted for the choir girls to return to their camp; the man snapped his fingers and the normally jovial cherubic quality in his face was gone¡ªhe spoke sharply, looked angry, and stomped at any rebuttal the choir girls offered.


    Everyone else wanted a look at the thing¡ªeveryone besides the siblings.


    After some deliberation¡ªthe Lubbock folks tossed stones at the creature and trash wood too¡ªthey gathered up the courage to stab the thing with makeshift pikes and an overzealous woman among them fired a bullet from a carbine. Still, the thing writhed; its many mouths dotting its tongue-like body, gasped for air and sighed like whistles. The Lubbock folks growled primitively and whooped at the creature and further spilled its blood by jamming those pikes into the soft flesh. Only when it stopped moving did they elect to soak the thing with what oil was nearby.


    They yanked the thing away from the vehicles and into the vast open eastern land then cut their ropes and when the thing came alight, the long-shadowed faces of the Lubbock folks stood against it as they watched and while they were watching the thing squeal and burn, Trinity and Hoichi watched the Lubbock folks.


    Tandy called to the siblings and motioned for them to follow back to his camp, and they did, and they took around the campfire while the Lubbock folks participated in spectacle. The sky remained the same, the dirt beneath their feet was the same, and they were all they could be.


    The camp remained quiet and many of the girls sat there too¡ªothers angled on their tiptoes to glimpse in the direction of the great bonfire across the way, but it was difficult with the arranged vehicles. Voices from far off called and couldn¡¯t be deciphered, nor did anyone try. The choir camp sat and watched the fire and did not speak and Hoichi plucked at the yellow grass around his feet and tossed it into the fire.


    ¡°What was that thing?¡± asked one of the choir girls; her face was cut from distorted shadow, as all theirs were.


    Tandy stamped his boot dully against the earth while he sat in his chair¡ªhair hung in his face. He moved for his pipe and lit it and called for another girl to grab more wood and she did, and he puffed the pipe with a look of consternation. The girl dumped the wood and all that could be heard besides the far spectacle was the crackle of the fire. Then Tandy removed a flute and began to blow into it; no song came¡ªhe merely played with the thing and examined it in his hand like a toy. The choir director continued puffing on his pipe.


    Finally, Trinity broke the camp¡¯s silence, ¡°It was a mutant. I¡¯ve seen them before.¡±


    Tandy placed the pipe and the flute to the side and smiled so smally it might not have happened. ¡°You know the story behind it then?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Behind the mutants?¡± Trinity adjusted how she sat, again pulled her robes around herself tighter.


    Tandy nodded, ¡°About that kind of mutant. It is interesting,¡± he nodded again, seemingly to himself more than anyone, ¡°Aristophanes, an old dead guy, said humans were split apart. So, we are to search the earth for our soulmate. Sometimes that soulmate is found, and sometimes the love from the reconnection is so powerful that what was once separate can then again be reunited. But,¡± he trailed off and leaned far back in his chair, so much that it looked like the thing might break from the way he was, ¡°But, either the love is tainted or the love is too strong, and it consumes. It grows and grows and takes in everything from everyone that touches it. Even those not of the original pairing of soulmates. Some people call it a fiend, some call it cancer, some call it other things, I know.¡±


    Hoichi, legs crossed, angled back on his palms, ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    Tandy swept his hair back, ¡°You saw it,¡± he angled to look at the choir girls¡ªeach of them were now craned toward his talking, ¡°I know some of you saw it too. It has many eyes, many mouths, many arms and legs, and all the many pieces we too possess, plus whatever else was added in its consumption.¡±


    Trinity asked, ¡°It¡¯s human?¡±


    ¡°It was,¡± he nodded, ¡°At one point, it was many different humans. Now, those mutants, they only consume. If you were to touch it, it would swallow you whole, make you one with its many.¡±


    ¡°Is it true?¡± asked the hunchback.


    ¡°Is what?¡±


    ¡°You were talking about soulmates before. About tainted love or love that¡¯s too powerful.¡±


    Tandy guffawed theatrically, ¡°I made it up! I don¡¯t know anything about them. I know it eats you. I know it makes you one of its many.¡± He tilted his head to the side, planting his cheek in his hand. ¡°Legion. Mhm. Maybe that would be a good name for it, then.¡±


    ¡°You lied?¡± asked Hoichi.


    Tandy nodded, ¡°Sure. Stories make sense of reality. It felt better when you thought it meant something, didn¡¯t it?¡±


    No one answered.


    ¡°Well,¡± said the choir director while leaping to his feet, ¡°Maybe it doesn¡¯t make you feel better. My travelling companions are burning a monster in a field tonight and I¡¯m going to bed.¡± He turned his attention to his young charges, ¡°You too.¡±

 Twenty-Eight: Now is the Time for Monsters (Hush, Hush, Hush, Here Comes the Nephilim)

    The creature, eyes onyx-dark and without whites, sat atop the boulder like a throne and gazed across the far east hills and valleys from its perch along a high ridge. Over its otherwise naked body, was slung a poorly cloak constructed from the patchwork skins of paint horses¡ªthe material was strung together with twine through stone-punched holes by untrained hands. The Nephilim seemed like a sculpture against the midday sun¡¯s pink sky; this fa?ade was broken only by its steady breath. This humanoid form was great, with blood-stained hands the size of ceiling fans which hung between its spaced knees, eyes like cannon balls which dully observed, a chest as broad as a lorry which methodically rose and fell. Long dark hair hung over its beardless face.


    He, The Nephilim, blinked then went on staring. Beyond him too, where he sat upon the risen earth, land stretched west¡ªon the furthest horizons that way, smoke.


    The blank visage he drew indicated stupidity, as did his brief utterances; he spoke frequently to himself and no one else, always in short bursts. This was no indication of his honest intelligence. He could speak clearly and at length but chose not to engage in the practice.


    The Nephilim rose from the boulder, planted his bare feet onto the ground and held the ragged cloak around his throat with pinched fingers.


    He rounded the boulder to find a scene of fresh viscera there; already birds picked along the sidelines. Among the carnage were a family¡¯s belongings¡ªwagon, books, tools, a dog carcass without a head, scattered children¡¯s toys. He moved to where a dead woman lay face-up and towered over the corpse and stared into the open expression of horror frozen there. He blinked, sighed, lowered himself to lift her booted foot. The Nephilim planted a heel against the corpse¡¯s crotch and yanked swiftly with his hand clamped around the ankle. The leg tore free easily and blood splatter shot across the earth, and he removed the pantleg and boot and lifted the naked leg to his mouth with both hands, allowing the cloak to fall away from him where it remained crescent shaped on the earth.


    The beast twisted the leg like clay to shuck the meat from bone. He chewed and walked back to the ridge and stared again and chewed again.


    ***


    Gray cacti and low yellow brush stretched toward the sky in all directions; the siblings cursed against their traveling, against the path in front of them, against the places they¡¯d come from. Trinity took the rear and kept a hand on Hoichi¡¯s elbow as they traversed the arduous land. The earth was like frozen desert ocean waves across Sagebrush Valley. The sun, highest as it was, beat sweat out of them at the pace of a heartbeat.


    Among the spitting, the cursing, the scrape of heels against packed earth, Hoichi stopped and grabbed ahold of his sister and pointed ahead in the general direction they¡¯d been going; ahead a series of dead hills was a single ponderosa pine tree. Trinity slammed ahead and Hoichi dragged after her, then keeping his hands on her arm.


    ¡°Goddamn, it¡¯s hot,¡± said Trinity, ¡°Sweat is reaching places I never knew it could.¡± She blinked and the thick sheen pooled across her eyelids sent drops like tears down her face.


    Hoichi pushed his forehead into the shoulder of his robes and rubbed it wildly back and forth. ¡°Dangerous temperatures,¡± said the clown, ¡°Too dangerous.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon to that tree then. Hurry,¡± said Trinity.


    They slammed beneath the ponderosa then carefully sidled around so their faces were well shaded; the clown wafted himself and laid on his back while the hunchback drank heartily and took the hem of her robe wildly to her face¡ªshe rested against the trunk of the tree. When Hoichi lazily reached out toward her, motioning for the canteen, she lifted it once more with one hand then outstretched her other with a single index finger.


    She sighed and handed him the canteen.


    ¡°Maybe north¡¯s good,¡± said Trinity, ¡°Like that guy from Lubbock said. North wouldn¡¯t be so hot. That¡¯s what people say. I know you were little, but what do you remember about it?¡±


    Hoichi remained silent while he drank, but eventually rose from the open mouth of the canteen and craned to sit cross-legged; he capped the container then dabbed around his eyes for sweat. ¡°It¡¯s cold,¡± he nodded, ¡°But I was so small, I don¡¯t remember much.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s rest here,¡± said Trinity; she shifted beneath the thin branches of the ponderosa, ¡°Maybe even until dark, huh?¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± nodded Hoichi.


    They remained there, silent for a time, and watched the sun in the sky, and sometimes they pointed at the sky to show a cloud to the other, but neither of them seemed in good spirits.


    ***


    Kleine Leute, said The Nephilim; he watched the siblings from the ridge, nodded. He¡¯d taken to sunbathing entirely naked atop the boulder; his horse-cloak was laid out beneath him. He snorted then moved to the disaster camp and among the splintered wagon and strewn corpses, he found a barrel with a spigot. He opened the spigot and splashed himself with the water that came from it, swiping his hair back from his face.


    The Nephilim returned to the boulder, hunkered alongside it, lowered nearer the edge of the high ridge. He watched the unmoving figures beneath the shade of the ponderosa and asked himself, Weiche K?rper? he nodded to himself, Gutes Gef¨¹hl.


    He returned to the disaster camp to sate his hunger and watched the siblings from his perch and even as the sun went down, he remained where he was, unsleeping. They lit no fire, so the landscape was dark. They lit no fire, so he descended from where he was, and he was startingly silent for his size. He stood at the edge of the furthest twisty branches of the ponderosa, lowered himself to peer beneath at the sleeping figures. The Nephilim examined them, matched his own breathing to theirs, came close enough to stare at their faces.


    The man sleeping there beside the woman had no ears and his face was strange. The Nephilim reached out to the sleeping man, pointed outward with the index finger of his massive right hand¡ªhe could easily swallow the sleeper¡¯s head in his palm¡ªand traced the areas where the man¡¯s ears should¡¯ve been without putting skin to skin. This stalker then turned his attention to the prone woman and angled over her and reached out to feel the breath from her nostrils with the tips of his fingers. The Nephilim cocked his head while his gaze traced between the pair.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Hastily, The Nephilim fled from the scene and returned to his perch where he watched them for the remainder of the night.


    ***


    Neither of the siblings stirred beyond the average twists which accompanied sleep, and upon waking to the heat of the sun, the pair of them sat and drank and rubbed their faces.


    Hoichi examined the ponderosa tree, ¡°Thanks, ol¡¯ pal,¡± he said to the inanimate object, ¡°Couldn¡¯t have done it without you.¡± He yawned, stretched, rose to his feet and dusted himself off. His robe was painted with the dull gray-khaki of the earth.


    Trinity rose too and they examined the sky through the branches of the tree; she stopped for a moment, outstretched a hand to the one of the branches, traced along it delicately. ¡°It¡¯s very green. Look at it, it¡¯s really green.¡±


    Hoichi nodded, ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°So? You remember I wanted to see the gardens back at Dallas. We should¡¯ve. It¡¯s maybe the greenest place on earth. At least the nearest one I know. But look at this¡ªyou almost never see anything this green out in the wastes. Everything¡¯s so messed up out here.¡± She pulled her own robe closer around herself and shook her head. ¡°I smell bad. We smell bad. We should stop soon. Somewhere, maybe where they¡¯ve got gardens. Somewhere with a bath and fresh clothes. Hot bath. Clean clothes.¡±


    ¡°Gotcha¡¯,¡± said the clown, ¡°Clean bath. Hot clothes,¡± He made a face. ¡°Bath clothes. Clean hot,¡± He shook his head, ¡°Whatever you said.¡± Though he grinned, Trinity did not. He nudged her, nodded, and removed the grin from his face. He apologetically shrugged.


    They set off from the ponderosa and clamored across the landscape like amateurs, headed westward; the uneven terrain left their feet sliding so they grappled with one another for aid over every big rock and ridge. Seemingly, determination and nothing else carried them.


    Trinity was the first to meet the highest western plateau; Hoichi remained behind to shove her by the rear. She toppled forward onto her knees then threw her head back as though to speak, but her mouth was frozen in its pursed shape when she saw the view awaiting her there. The disaster camp remained unmoving, save the scavenger birds. She didn¡¯t scream in surprise. She lifted herself to her feet, brushed her knees off, and shook her head.


    Hoichi came after, stumbling into her with his momentum.


    They stood there together and examined the camp.


    Three wagons sat in shambles¡ªtwo overturned and the one left upright was missing a wheel. Glinting in sunlight was a small tanker on wheels; it had been drawn by the remaining upright wagon. A discarded boot sat by their feet. Fourteen bodies lay strewn across the ground around a dead fire¡ªa fifteenth body remained unseen by them, crushed beneath the side of an overturned wagon.


    The pair of them took alongside a boulder for rest and wiped their brows and shot each other curious looks.


    ¡°What did it?¡± asked Trinity.


    ¡°Something bad. Fire doesn¡¯t look that old,¡± said the clown.


    Trinity moved from their place at the boulder and Hoichi followed.


    A one-legged, one-armed woman lay on the earth, face up, clothes mussed; a stain circled the spot where her leg had been torn free. The blood halo by her shoulder, where her right arm had been, was minimal. Trinity kicked the remaining leg of the dead woman; the boot she wore matched the discarded one they¡¯d passed. ¡°This one¡¯s still a bit stiff,¡± said the hunchback.


    ¡°How¡¯s that possible? We would¡¯ve heard it? They have guns?¡± Hoichi followed his sister then looked at the dead woman on the ground; he dispersed from there, circled the fire, examined the wagons, stopping whenever he saw a corpse. ¡°Kid over here,¡± he called.


    Trinity hunkered down by the dead woman and fished through the departed¡¯s pockets. She came away with a wallet, dumped out a few Republican coins, and let the wallet smack the ground beside the corpse.


    She went to her brother; he struggled with a blanket he¡¯d pilfered from the back of the upright wagon. He flapped it flat over the corpse of a small boy; there stood a concave impression, black, across the dead boy¡¯s forehead¡ªthere were no eyes. The scavenger birds cawed. Trinity helped her brother to tuck the ends of the blanket around the edges of the corpse.


    The pair shooed the birds away and picked over the scene. Hoichi found a double barrel shotgun misplaced beside the wheel of an overturned wagon; he held it to the sunlight in both of his outstretched hands and squinted and whispered, ¡°Bent.¡±


    Trinity examined the wagons¡¯ contents, moved from corpse to corpse and rifled through their pockets and came away with hardly anything; a bit of scratch and a tablet was all she found. She held the tablet, an electronic device, up to her face¡ªits glass screen was cracked terribly, but she pressed the power button on the side of the thing and waited and waited and nothing happened. She shrugged and unslung her pack and put the thing away with her own belongings. ¡°Maybe worth something,¡± she said to Hoichi, who watched her with some interest. She nodded to the shotgun he held.


    ¡°It¡¯s warped, but surely there¡¯s some shells around here somewhere.¡± His gaze traced the disaster camp. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I want to stick around here much longer though.¡± His vision shot to the horizon and then traced there too, first to the west, then the east where they¡¯d come from. ¡°I feel eyes, don¡¯t¡¯ you?¡±


    ¡°Paranoia?¡±


    He shook his head, ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t like it. What do you think about Roswell?¡±


    ¡°And what?¡± asked Trinity, ¡°Backtrack?¡±


    Hoichi shook his head again, ¡°You¡¯re the one that was talking about getting a bath. If we keep heading west, then who knows what we¡¯ll find? We¡¯re low on water, I know that. Food too. Pushing on this way¡¯s been foolish. How long until one of us drops from the heat? Or what if starvation?¡±


    ¡°Sure, but the reservations aren¡¯t much further, right?¡±


    Hoichi moved beside an overturned wagon, sat the shotgun across the side paneling of the vehicle, then removed his pack and scanned the red sky; thin clouds transpired there. ¡°What¡¯s the plan then? Do we push on? I trust you.¡±


    Trinity moved to her brother and put her arms across a wagon wheel and put her head down into her arms there. The pair sat in absolute silence besides the patter of the fowls that leapt from spot to spot.


    A black bird with red eyes tested the border between itself and the clown and turned its head sidelong to look at Hoichi. The man kicked at the bird and the animal flapped its wings in protest and hopped away before gliding across the disaster camp to peck at the remains of one of the scattered corpses.


    Trinity lifted her head. ¡°Wherever we go, let¡¯s stay awhile, yeah? I¡¯m so fucking tired.¡±


    ¡°If we can, we will.¡±


    ***


    Roswell, beyond its perimeter chain-link fencing, was a city of lights against the darkened sky. Against the blanket of night, Roswell shone like a beacon and the siblings became casual in their pace upon seeing the place arrive in front of them.


    Each of them, the hunchback and the clown, lumbered zombielike. They¡¯d quickly depleted what water they¡¯d had and Hoichi had begun to complain about a blister on his right foot; he favored the leg, and even with her own tiredness, Trinity took on some of his weight onto her shoulder.


    They came from the sagebrush hills, saw the brave lit caravans venturing south across Highway 285, and Trinity complained for a bath and Hoichi continued mentioning, especially with the landscape growing dark, how he felt eyes on him, and about how he wanted to rest his foot.


    It was full dark by the time they rounded the city¡¯s perimeter to meet its gates at the highway. ROSWELL stood out in magnificent lighted font over guarded catwalks suspended across the path and graffities of aliens stood out across propped flat trash flanking the entryway.

 Twenty-Nine: Now is the Time for Monsters (Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft)

    The siblings lounged on the empty red brick veranda in the early morning light; the two of them were still wiping sleep from their eyes as they huddled around a circular mesh-metal table. The clown drank coffee, mumbled about the bartender they¡¯d met in Dallas and idly asked his sister if she believed they had any eggs to put in the drink. She fiddled with the tablet she¡¯d scavenged from the disaster camp and simply shook her head at his inquiry. Hoichi sat there in a thin white bathrobe and a pair of complimentary sandals that were provided by the hotel. Trinity¡¯s attire matched her brother¡¯s. Their faces had the dulled, refreshed quality of people freshly bathed.


    ¡°Maybe there¡¯s no charge,¡± said Hoichi; he slurped at the edge of his white mug. His gaze drifted to the vaguely pergola-esque overhang through which the morning sun scarcely came through. No others had joined them¡ªthe only other person they¡¯d seen since waking had been their waiter. The other tables, three others in total, remained empty besides their unlit candle centerpieces. Hoichi coughed, took another sip of his coffee, ¡°Maybe you need to charge it, I said.¡±


    Trinity tossed the tablet onto the mesh table which offered an unpleasant screech as it slid across the surface. ¡°Well, what good is it then?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s early,¡± said Hoichi.


    Trinity nodded and craned back in her seat as much as her shoulders would allow; she rested her hands across her stomach, a stomach which she distended with mock exaggeration. ¡°Someone will buy it anyway, I¡¯m sure. They¡¯ll melt it down or¡ªI don¡¯t know. It¡¯s worth something.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s the scratch?¡± asked Hoichi.


    ¡°Enough for last night. Tonight too. But, I¡¯d like to stay awhile.¡±


    ¡°Did you see those people in the street last night? The ones at the gate? The ones at the stalls¡ªI think that¡¯s what they were doing. Selling stuff.¡±


    ¡°I always heard Roswell had some eccentrics, but it¡¯s like anywhere else,¡± Trinity cut her eyes at her brother, ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. I told you I wanted to rest wherever we went. And here we are. I¡¯m so fucking tired. How¡¯s the foot?¡±


    The clown lifted his right foot and exposed the torn bubble there upon his heel; it was a ruptured blister. The skin was irritated, angry, red. ¡°The boot¡¯s been rubbing me wrong for a while. I just need a new pair.¡±


    Trinity stared at the unmoving tablet on the table. ¡°Should¡¯ve grabbed a new pair when you had the chance.¡±


    Hoichi nodded, ¡°Sure. Should¡¯a, could¡¯a, would¡¯a. Maybe I¡¯m tired too.¡± He put his foot back to the ground, planted both of his legs there and pillared his arms on either side of his cup, so that his cheeks rested on his palms. ¡°I didn¡¯t realize it until last night. With that bed¡ªa bed all to myself. God, I woke up this morning sore. In a good way,¡± he nodded, ¡°How about you?¡±


    ¡°I like our room. Our beds.¡± It was her turn for her eyes to drift to the overhang; a glance of sunlight struck across her face, and she blinked and shifted so her face was entirely within shade. ¡°What¡¯s the plan? We don¡¯t talk enough about it.¡±


    ¡°We talk about it, don¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m scared, Hoichi.¡±


    His eyes met hers and they remained locked like that for seconds without either of them breaking the silence. ¡°Me too,¡± said the clown.


    ¡°Let¡¯s say we find somewhere where no one knows our past,¡± said the hunchback.


    He nodded for her to continue while taking another mouthful from his cup.


    ¡°Let¡¯s say we do. What then? Do we get jobs? What kind of jobs? Do we just make pretend and have a family?¡±


    ¡°Bold of you to offer,¡± said the clown. He chuckled.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean together,¡± Trinity rolled her eyes.


    ¡°I know,¡± said Hoichi, ¡°I love you, alas my heart belongs elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like that though,¡± said Trinity, ¡°I¡¯d like that more than anything. I want to pretend, even if it hurts me in the long run. I want a family. I want someone to fall in love with me and I want to fall in love with them too.¡±


    ¡°Children?¡± asked the clown.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± shrugged Trinity, ¡°It wouldn¡¯t matter as long as someone loved me. I want to feel normal. I know normal is relative, but you know what I mean, don¡¯t you?¡±


    He nodded and frowned.


    ¡°More than anything, I want a moment of peace. Tuscaloosa wasn¡¯t that and that¡¯s where all the freedom seekers went. Dallas. Memphis. Kansas City. I want a place to be, and every place we go, I ask myself if it¡¯s the one. It seems like wherever we go, there¡¯s someone out to get us. I¡¯ve got this idea of what life¡¯s supposed to be like. I¡¯d work in the gardens, and I¡¯d hang out among animals and smell flowers and grow food straight out of the ground¡ªI¡¯d cook too¡ªI¡¯m not too good at it, I know, but I¡¯d do it. I¡¯d never be so rich that anyone wanted anything from me, but I¡¯d never be so poor as to worry. I don¡¯t want much. I want a life, is that so much to ask for?¡±


    ¡°Of course not.¡±


    She planted her face in her hands and continued to go through a muffle, ¡°Just a life. One good one. Like I said, I¡¯ve got this idea of it. I¡¯d come home to a place not too large and not too small. I¡¯d never need to sleep on the ground again because I¡¯d have a bed. One I own. Maybe,¡± she pointed at her brother, ¡°Maybe like you said, I¡¯d have kids waiting for me there. But that wouldn¡¯t matter. I¡¯d love them, kids, of course. But I just want a place. A life. Somewhere to be. Even without kids, there¡¯d be someone there waiting on me. Or maybe they came from wherever they were during the day, and we¡¯d cook together, and then I wouldn¡¯t need to worry about being a subpar cook, because they¡¯d be there and maybe they¡¯d know how. It¡¯s silly, I know.¡±


    Trinity lifted her head from her hands, revealing the diamonds in her eyes. She shook her head as though to remove the jewels there.


    Hoichi smiled stiffly and moved his hand across the table, but by the time she was within reach of him, her eyes had gone dry, and she smiled back at him.


    The waiter abruptly arrived upon the scene and asked if they were ready for food.


    Hoichi asked for a refill on his coffee and asked if they ever put eggs in it. The waiter politely declined.


    Trinity ordered water.


    For the rest of the morning, the pair gorged themselves on stale toast, pressed sausage, potatoes.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    They remained in silence until they returned to their room.


    ***


    ¡°It¡¯s a festival,¡± called the young woman, ¡°Once a year, the aliens come, and one of these years, they¡¯re going to take us with them.¡±


    ¡°You think so?¡± Hoichi raised his brow and crossed his arms; his sister stood alongside him there on the jack-rabble sidewalk. After settling their tab with the hotel, the siblings departed to find cheaper lodgings and had become sidetracked by a mass of spectators gathered on the corner of Main and Frazier. The spectators¡ªmany of whom wore makeshift antennae or oversized black goggles¡ªhad all painted themselves green; the stuff was pungent in the dry heat and much of the green ran from their skin with sweat; this did not seem to dissuade anyone¡¯s enthusiasm. The siblings, further surrounded by the group as some went to dance in the street, covered the lower halves of their faces. The signs, either plastered against street posts, or held over the heads of the fervent crowd, read a variety of messages. TAKE US HOME. SAVE US. WE¡¯RE READY! Many of the bystanders carried handheld speaker radios, all tuned to the same station. From all speakers, ¡®Acid Raindrops¡¯ blared.


    An ancient vehicle was pushed backwards down Frazier, then those gathered halted the wheels of the strange thing with misshapen stones so it would shift no longer, and a boyish man examined the nozzle on the rear of the vehicle; it was a great hollowed thing with a massive, cradled tanker. The boyish man began passing out drinks to the others as they queued.


    The young woman, which was kind enough to offer them directions, guffawed at Hoichi¡¯s inquiry, ¡°Of course! I¡¯m surprised you didn¡¯t know already. Isn¡¯t that why you put your face together like that?¡± She pointed at him so closely that she might¡¯ve fingered his nostril.


    The clown winced from the woman¡¯s hand and swatted the air between them while taking a step from the sidewalk into the street. He pivoted as though to further confront the young woman, but she was already gone among her people, snaking around the vehicle.


    ¡°Hey!¡± he called after, ¡°What¡¯s aliens?¡±


    No one paid him mind, save his sister. She shrugged. ¡°Little green men, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°Are they some kind of demon? Mutant? Are they human?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t ask me,¡± said Trinity; her gaze remained on the strange vehicle and the man dispersing drinks to the crowd, ¡°I¡¯ll be right back.¡±


    She too disappeared into the crowd and Hoichi was left alone.


    He straightened his robe, tugged on the waist of his jeans, and returned to the sidewalk and leaned against the nearest unsullied post.


    The electric speakers continued their music; another track, and another, and another, and then a voice, smooth and masculine, came clearly through them all.


    ¡°This is your pal, Psycho-Jam, with another hour of variety music, every hour, on the hour. Don¡¯t forget to tune in every day for Apache radio, the greatest station in all these continental, once united states.¡± There was a brief pause on the radios and a minor bit of static, before the man¡¯s voice returned, ¡°It¡¯s ten-thirty-eight this fine morning, on July seventh of our Lord¡¯s year twenty-two-sixteen.¡± Another pause.


    The crowd gathered there on the corner of Main became further enthralled with their libations as a woman on stilts towered over the ever-thickening throng. She wore a pair of improvised disco balls on her hands, and they reflected light in harsh glances across Hoichi¡¯s face. He turned, crossed his arms, averted his eyes to the ground entirely.


    The man on the radio spoke again, ¡°I feel like I can hear those nuts in Roswell celebrating from here¡ª"


    Whatever followed was immediately drowned out by the conjoined yelps and cries of pleasure at their mention from the citizens of Roswell.


    ¡°Of course,¡± said the voice, as the festival goers cooed to a minimum, ¡°You know I¡¯m joking. I love you crazy bastards! Keep it tuned and keep those Republic borders on the furthest horizon, alien lovers, because I¡¯ve a special track. This one goes out to all of you, beamed directly from my soul to yours.¡±


    A pause followed before the music.


    ¡®Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft¡¯ played hesitantly from the speakers and another round of cheers erupted from the festival goers.


    The makeshift vehicle, which was well surrounded, rocked on its axles as the crowd grew impatient, fervent; the boyish man that dispensed the drink called for the people to calm and they did, if only a bit.


    Hoichi watched them, then cast his gaze to the sky that¡¯d gone pink; he moved his mouth like he intended to speak something, but he never produced anything¡ªthe clown hunkered there by the post, stared into the gutter, watched the cars and battery wagons which angled down Main; many of those occupied vehicles kept their speed to a cruise and no one honked.


    The festival was in full swing.


    A finger tapped Hoichi¡¯s shoulder, and he rose to stand and greet the return of Trinity¡ªshe carried with her two cups and passed one to her brother. They drank the strange greenish liquid and Trinity grinned while Hoichi sipped and neither of them understood they were consuming ayahuasca laced brew. The hallucinogenic properties took time.


    Trinity smacked her lips and leaned into the shoulder of her brother and whispered, ¡°You heard it on the radio, didn¡¯t you? The border¡¯s behind us, huh? Maybe we¡¯ve come somewhere they won¡¯t touch. Maybe we¡¯re good.¡±


    Hoichi drank heartily and commented that he was fairly thirsty in the heat.


    ***


    Trinity awoke suddenly, covered in sweat, totally unclothed in a strange bed; she lay on her side, staring at a brown wall and a marred vanity table. A finger traced her spine delicately; the finger and the person which it belonged to was behind her, unseen. There were no blankets, and she remained like that for minutes, glaze-eyed, before she launched from the bed and fell onto the floor. She spun around, scrambling, leering; she seemed like a strange marionette on her own feet and planted her hands onto the vanity table for support. She recognized none of her surroundings, nor the person which remained prone in the bed.


    The person there, a stranger woman, laid exposed herself; she grinned at Trinity, rose on the pillow tucked beneath her head and supported herself with an elbow. The woman¡¯s hair was flax-colored, stiff but long and thick. A mild green hue remained on the woman¡¯s skin; she¡¯d been unable to wash the paint away entirely. ¡°It¡¯s the middle of the day, you know,¡± was all the woman said.


    Trinity¡¯s breaths came in wild bouts, and she twisted around to look at her own face in the vanity¡¯s mirror¡ªher eyes were red, veiny. She smacked her lips together, swallowed, twisted her fists in her eyes. She shook her head and pivoted round again to examine the woman on the bed, ¡°I¡¯m thirsty,¡± she gurgled; her voice erupted from her throat deeply and she coughed. The hunchback shook her head again and her eyes shot around the room.


    It was a bedroom¡ªit was lived-in; across the vanity there was makeup, brushes, and cheaply made trinkets. The overhead bulb, recessed in the ceiling, was off. All light that lit the room came in through a window beyond the woman on the bed, hanging there in the wall, draped with thin curtains. Beneath Trinity¡¯s feet was carpet, a large area rug rolled across stone flooring. The walls, smooth and plainly gray, were amateurly decorated with scrawling sets of desert flowers, seemingly done with black ink. Along the wall nearest the foot of the bed was a door that led on to some unknown place. By the door stood a chest of drawers.


    Trinity was erect there by the vanity table, shivering and rubbing her arms. ¡°Water please,¡± she asked the strange woman in the bed.


    The woman¡¯s smile broadened further, and she rose from the bed and found the blanket which belonged to the bed¡ªit was a thin, sheet-like thing, balled on the floor on the opposite side of the room; she pulled the blanket over her shoulders and wrapped it around her body, togalike. ¡°You¡¯re probably wondering if we had sex, aren¡¯t you?¡± The woman tilted her head while her eyes traced Trinity¡¯s nudity. ¡°We did not,¡± she said firmly, ¡°You were burning up, vomiting. You had too much, I believe.¡±


    Trinity shook her head and swallowed again. She covered her crotch and chest with her hands. ¡°Just water please.¡±


    The woman crossed the room, moved to the door and snatched a ribbon from the chest of drawers. This, she used to tie her hair back. She laughed at the hunchback and disappeared from the room, leaving the door half-open.


    ¡°Where¡¯s my brother?¡± asked Trinity.


    ¡°Huh?¡± called the woman from the place she¡¯d entered.


    ¡°The clown! Where¡¯s the clown?¡±


    ***


    The Nephilim lumbered across the dirt plain with the sun high in the sky. He snorted and dragged his forearm across his nose and snorted again. Over his body, he wore the paint-horse cloak and nothing else.


    Behind him, he dragged a still body by a naked ankle, leaving in his wake a broad trail leading in the direction from which he¡¯d come.


    The Nephilim stopped for a moment, stood stiffly upright, dropping the foot from his hand; the massive humanoid creature lifted his fists far over his head, stretching his muscles. His joints resounded several pops then he relaxed and angled around to the body he¡¯d taken so far. The thing remained unmoving besides steady breathing.


    Hoichi was the body, not quite asleep, not quite coherent; his eyelids fluttered in response to the looming shadow of The Nephilim.


    The creature hunkered down nearer the man¡¯s face and delicately brushed the captive¡¯s cheek with the back of his hand. H¨¹bscher Clown, said the creature.

 Thirty: Now is the Time for Monsters (Commerce and Feces)

    ¡°All I¡¯m saying is there are all sorts of people in this world, yeah?¡± said the slaver named Pit, ¡°All sorts of people make this world go around. There are whores and orphans and tinkerers and geniuses and leaders and followers. It is natural.¡± Pit, the slaver, waved his arms around as he spoke like a classical composer.


    The large circular standing tent, big around enough for several round, waist-high spool tables, was quiet¡ªbeyond, through the parted entry flaps which afforded the space with some light, camp chatter was heard; only one other man sat there in the tent with him¡ªthe man in leathers, though he wore no leather on this day besides his boots. He was swathed in cotton relax-wear. They shared a table and the man in leathers¡¯ eyes were slitted like he¡¯d only just woken. He winced at his compatriot¡¯s words.


    ¡°Come on, Hubal, you wax philosophical every day of the week and here you are, telling me that shit makes you weak.¡± Pit coughed into his hand, wiped his palm down the front of his leather vest, and continued, ¡°There are people from all walks of life, so there¡¯s bound to be people that enjoy it! I heard even rich folks in Dallas like it sometimes. They hire some whore to come to an otherwise sterile room they¡¯ve rented, and they lay beneath a pane of glass and have the whore shoot their back wad directly across its surface. It''s some natural animal instinct, as all things are that humans do, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    Hubal, the man in leathers, shook his head; his attention became half divided between the strange conversation and his handheld tablet. He scanned through a database of names, photographs, bounties; the touch screen responded to his finger touches as he moved through the pillared line of names. Many of the entries on the tablet did not have a photo, but ever since his meeting with the hunchback and clown, he¡¯d been unable to push them from his mind. He¡¯d spoken of his certainty aloud among the other slavers, but many of his band did not consider it worthwhile. He¡¯d scoured the database, entered potential keywords¡ªlocations, dates. Many of the names were already marked dead or delivered; besides, the tablet had not been updated since Dallas. Hubal was no bounty-hunter, and his fellow slavers reminded him of this fact daily.


    Pit told him already that it was like a thorn in Hubal¡¯s brain; it should be removed.


    Pit went on, ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s that strange, for someone to have a fetish like that, do you?¡±


    Without looking up from his tablet, Hubal responded, ¡°Just who are you intending to convince with this nonsense?¡±


    Pit chuckled and rose from his chair, ¡°Want some coffee?¡±


    Hubal nodded, but froze and sat the tablet face down on the spool table¡¯s surface. He snapped his fingers at Pit, ¡°Wash your goddamn hands before you fetch me anything I put in my mouth.¡±


    Again, Pit chuckled and waved his hand. He disappeared from the tent, kicking up a plume of dust-smoke with his boot heels on his way through the entry.


    Hubal rotated his thumbs around his temples, leaned over to spit on the dirt floor, then returned to the tablet. Minutes passed in silence as the man scanned the lists of names, photos, descriptions, bounty tags.


    Pit returned with two metal mugs; upon brushing past the center support pole of the tent, the whole flimsy structure shook. Hubal shot him a look and Pit grinned broad enough to show his red-eaten gums. Pit passed a mug to Hubal while sipping from his own, and returned to his seat. ¡°The others outside, they¡¯re listening to something from Dallas while we¡¯re still in range. Some choir girls sang for Franklin White at his banquet a few nights ago and they¡¯re still playing the recording on the radio. You should come out and listen to it some.¡±


    ¡°Stupid,¡± said Hubal.


    ¡°The choir girls or the president?¡±


    Hubal fluttered his hand at his fellow slaver, further examined the mug he¡¯d been handed, sipped. ¡°Did you vote for him? I don¡¯t recall casting a ballot. Of course, if I know anything about this world, it is that commerce talks. Communication. Some enforcing apparatus, some cash. It¡¯s a contract.¡± Hubal, the man in leathers, smirked and traced the tablet and his mug across the table so that he could rest his arms parallel. He leveled over his fists there. ¡°It¡¯s all made up. White¡¯s in the spot he¡¯s in because of it. The whores, as you call them, shit across glass for it. Those girls sing for it. Some communication with the world. Some communication with each other? It is the lay of the land. The absolute truth. It¡¯s what separates you and me from rocks or plants or animals. Behold, these social constructs of the world.¡±


    Pit shook his head. ¡°There you are. I knew you were hiding in there somewhere. Well, I don¡¯t actually care about it at all. I just thought it might do you some good to come outside and mingle. You¡¯ve spent so much time staring at that box that I worry your eyes might waver from squinting that way.¡± Pit rose again from the table, scanned the makeshift room, and drank from his vessel before scratching behind his head. ¡°So, you saw a clown with no ears, so what?¡±


    ¡°Commerce is what!¡± said Hubal; he¡¯d pushed his coffee aside entirely and shifted around to better face Pit¡ªhis legs occupied open space. He came to his feet so that he hovered over his chair. The man in leathers pointed a finger at Pit, ¡°You and I share a table. We all meet at a table. It is the functions of life that keep us even. You enter this world with the same potential as all the other poor souls that come here. It¡¯s a slap in the face of what I believe down to the very bottom of who I am, understand?¡± His outstretched finger quivered, and he took notice of this with a glance and evened himself with his hands on his knees.


    ¡°Did this guy really piss you off or what?¡± asked Pit.


    Hubal sighed and twisted around on his chair so that his legs were entirely under the table; he angled over and stared at the blank screen of the tablet. ¡°I know that man and the woman he travels with. I almost got the woman, but things happened.¡± he shrugged.


    ¡°How?¡± Pit straightened; his expression became wholly serious.


    ¡°Years ago there was a boy, he wasn¡¯t a clown yet¡ªit¡¯s a tattoo anyway,¡± Hubal waved his hands at what he believed was a spectacular detail, ¡°He was my uncle¡¯s tender up in Louisville.¡±


    A long silence stretched on between the two men that was only broken when Pit audibly drank from his mug.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Finally, Pit asked, ¡°The boy wasn¡¯t a lovechild, was he?¡± The question was matter of fact, almost casual.


    Hubal winced but shook his head. ¡°When I saw them first in Dallas, I couldn¡¯t place it, but I was drawn to the pair of them like a magnet. Something about them seemed entirely familiar.¡± The man in leathers began chewing his bottom lip, drumming his fingers across the spool table. He sighed, ¡°Seeing him closer like that, I knew it was him. And that woman that¡¯s with him; she was another of my uncle¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Was she a love¡ª


    ¡°Christ, no! My uncle never kept any children for purposes like that. Don¡¯t you know when to leave a subject alone?¡±


    Pit took another drink only to find his mug empty; he overturned it, his fingers still laced through the handle and shook the inside drier. ¡°I met your uncle Sal once, remember? He seemed nice enough, but there are stories.¡±


    Hubal squinted, snapped a finger at Pit to reach for the leather jacket which hung on the chair nearest the entry flaps. Pit moved there, rifled through the article¡¯s pockets, then returned with a lighter and a pack of cigarettes; these, he offered to the other man. The man in leathers firmly planted a tube into his mouth and lit the opposite end.


    After several luxuriated puffs, Hubal continued, ¡°It¡¯s the ears, or lack thereof which has me amiss.¡±


    ¡°Of the clown?¡±


    Hubal slapped his hand across the table firmly, ¡°Yes! Of the clown!¡± he mocked, ¡°That¡¯s what we¡¯re talking about, yes? Now shut up and listen.¡± He motioned for Pit to return to the chair across from himself. ¡°Sit and shut up and I¡¯ll tell you.¡±


    Pit nodded, placed his mug mouth down on the table and sat, leaning forward to listen with his cheek placed across his hand.


    ¡°Louisville. My uncle. He kept a young boy and a young girl. The boy is the clown. The girl had a twisted back. It¡¯s the same ones. They must be runaways. And although I¡¯ve heard all your rebuttals before, I know, I know, I am no bounty hunter. However, we are slavers, and those pair are escaped slaves. Definitionally¡ªif not morally¡ªwe are obliged.¡±


    ¡°How can you be sure?¡±


    ¡°Because,¡± Hubal toked, ¡°I saw it in their faces that night in Dallas.¡± He shook his head, idly spit like with hair in his mouth, then rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip to examine the loose tobacco he found there. ¡°Because anytime my uncle caught wind of an unruly one, he took an ear. If the unsatisfactory behavior continued, he took the other. Of course, I can only imagine this clown was unruly indeed.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± said Pit.


    ¡°Of course it matters.¡±


    Pit smiled¡ªhis rotting teeth shone in the glints of light which passed through the entry flaps¡ªand offered up his empty spaced hands, ¡°They¡¯re gone now. I¡¯m sorry, bossman. You should¡¯ve nabbed them back in Dallas. Especially if you were so sure.¡±


    ¡°You see the predicament then. It¡¯s driven me mad, honestly. I should¡¯ve, but there was a nagging part,¡± he swirled his hand by his head to accentuate the point, ¡°What if I was wrong?¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re not wrong now?¡±


    ¡°No. I can say with absolute certainty that I know what I¡¯m talking about.¡±


    ¡°Maybe you should contact your uncle.¡±


    ***


    The space was absent of light with only a bit of sound, like someone rearranging luggage haphazardly¡ªthe sound of metallic gear being moved from place to place reverberated through the dark cavern. The thump of hollow containers, the scrape of jewelry-thin chains, the flap of leather straps.


    Hoichi¡¯s sightless eyes stood open and darted soundlessly around, but he did not move from where he lay on the cool hard stone.


    The Nephilim rummaged through Hoichi¡¯s scattered gear; the thing¡¯s eyes did not need light to see and so, even cast in absolute dark as they were, The Nephilim shifted around from the mess he¡¯d made, noticed Hoichi¡¯s eyes open and lumbered across the space between them and lowered himself to the ground to look in the face of the man. The Nephilim grinned and spoke, Du bist wach. The clown flinched at the words, scrambled from his prone position and slammed into the curved wall of the cavern behind him.


    Hoichi¡¯s mouth trembled even while his jaw remained clenched hard. ¡°Where¡¯s my clothes?¡± asked the clown; he was indeed naked. His things were all stripped from him.


    English then? Asked The Nephilim.


    ¡°English? Goddammit, where¡¯re my clothes?¡±


    Taken. No clothes. No weapons. No hiding. The Nephilim smiled, but Hoichi could not see. That great beast stilted back on his heels and puffed out his chest and stared down at the small clown.


    Hoichi swallowed, kept his hands around himself and his knees pulled to his chest while he sat on the stone. ¡°What¡¯s all this about then? What do you want? Why¡¯s it so cold? Where am I?¡±


    Shh, shushed The Nephilim, Good clown. Ruhig. Pivoting, he returned to the gear to rummage then moved back to the clown with a flashlight. He held the thing between two fingers, fiddled with the device, clicked the switch on the tube then rolled it across the stone floor to the feet of the clown.


    Hoichi scrambled for the light, blinking sporadically at its presence, then angled it around to catch his captor in the dull white beam. The clown yelped, dropped the light, and went after it to pull it up again into the face of The Nephilim. The creature held his palm across his eyes and motioned for the clown to lower the light.


    Instead of directing the light towards the stone floor, Hoichi dragged the beam across the ceiling, showing dull brown sandstone; they were beneath the earth. ¡°Where are we?¡± he asked.


    Underground, said The Nephilim.


    ¡°Underground? Underground where? What is this place? Why¡¯d you bring me here?¡± Within the peripheral ring of the flashlight, Hoichi¡¯s face glistened with sweat despite the cool air of the cavern.


    Shh. The Nephilim pointed a long index finger towards some unseen direction swallowed up by darkness and said, Open there. Big rock. The Nephilim shrugged and grinned and shifted the long hair from his face. The beast nodded in the direction opposite, You go. You¡¯re essential.


    ¡°Essential? What do you need from me?¡± Hoichi, seemingly noticing how exposed he was for the first time, attempted to keep the light from his own body so that he remained in shadow.


    Underground, the creature pointed at the stone under their feet, Big power. It vibrates. It¡¯s loud. All over. The Nephilim smacked his lips and grinned again at his captive.


    ¡°We need to go down? Why?¡± Hoichi shivered and his eyes shifted around in the dark and froze to stare in the direction of where The Nephilim had only moments before pointed and said, Open there.


    The Nephilim straightened and his great body stretched like foul taffy till his head almost reached the rock overhead. Hoichi shrank without saying a word. Don¡¯t run, said the beast, You run? You¡¯re dead.


    ¡°Are you trying to make a deal with me?¡± asked the clown, ¡°I¡¯ve heard of how your sort make deals with people all the time. It¡¯s in all kinds of stories.¡±


    The Nephilim threw his head back and laughed; his voice carried off then resounded so that by the time he stopped, the laughter arrived again. With a cocked head, a queer twinkle in his eye which danced as he examined his captive¡¯s face, that great beast lowered himself near to where the clown was, so the flashlight¡¯s beam cut harsh angles across his features¡ªa long finger pointed towards the shadows. You go. Go now.


    Hoichi bit onto his lips to stop them trembling then shook his head, ¡°You¡¯re a demon, aren¡¯t you? You¡¯re a demon and you¡¯re going to lead me to hell.¡± His words were hesitant and came with very little conviction.


    With haste, The Nephilim impatiently gripped the clown¡¯s arm and shoved him down the way, in the direction he intended for them, and the flashlight bobbed as Hoichi staggered over his own feet. Keeping himself upright, he twisted around to look at the beast, once more bit his lips shut, then nodded and began walking.


    The Nephilim followed the clown deeper into the cavern.