by Hunter Blain
“He prefers blue rare, but he can eat anything raw, including people,” I said while I wiggled my eyebrows as my usual self peeked through the blinds of my mind, making sure the coast was clear. Being swarmed with negative thoughts and unfortunate circumstances pushed in on a person like a soda can dropped into the depths of the ocean; the closer it got to the bottom, the less light shone through and the more the intense pressure threatened to condense said can into something the size of a grain of rice. Levity was my life preserver, keeping me from sinking all the way to the bottom and collapsing under the weight of hopelessness. Plus, it helped me with the ladies, so double win! Lily might not agree, but she’s entitled to her wrong opinion.
Somehow, seeing the bags of meat reassured me in such a way that I had never been happier to see a dead cow. I liked cows. They reminded me of big puppers. But at that moment, the dripping, thick slices of muscle and fat gave me the peace of mind that everything could be okay. I mentally thanked the animal for its sacrifice.
He brought the steak over while holding it above his other hand, letting red drops fall into his palm. He shuffled quickly over to where Depweg lay, and asked, “What now?”
“I got it,” I informed him as I turned and leaned into Depweg. “I need you to wake up now, buddy. Don’t feel any pain though, alright?”
Depweg’s eyes fluttered open and he moaned while reaching for his reconstructed guts.
“Got some steak for ya, dude,” I said softly. At the mention of meat, his eyes became focused and his nostrils flared a few times. I looked at Doc Jim and nodded. He lowered the steak tentatively, as if afraid his fingers wouldn’t come with when he pulled his hand back.
Depweg lifted one hand from his bandaged wounds and grabbed the steak, taking a huge bite, tearing the meat with vigor. He only chewed a few times before swallowing the mass of protein. His eyes seemed to become more attentive as he took another hulking bite.
After a few more swallows, the entire steak was gone.
“M-more,” Depweg said through a forced whisper.
Doc Jim looked at me and I nodded in agreement. He shuffled back over to the counter and brought over another fat steak. Depweg lifted his head with determined, pained eyes, as he eagerly took chunks of meat. His other hand clutched at his wound, and I could only image the pain that was radiating from his stomach.
“Water,” Depweg whispered with slightly renewed energy.
“Doc?”
“On it,” Doc Jim said as he rushed to a full-size commercial fridge in the corner of the OR. He opened one of the twin doors and pulled out two of the bottles of water that lined the inside. Hustling to where Depweg and I were, he gave a bottle to the were, removing the cap as he did. Depweg grabbed the bottle with a slimy hand and downed the water, squeezing the bottle as he chugged. Dropping the bottle to the floor, he held out his open hand, signaling for another. Light glistened off his hand, which was coated in fat and the myoglobin that people sometimes confused for blood when dealing with raw meat. Doc Jim adhered to the request and Depweg repeated the bar trick, downing the cold liquid like a champion chugger. Color was returning to his face like melting frost on hot desert sand.
“I guess I’ll get that,” Doc Jim said as he squatted down and picked up the slick, crushed water bottles.
“Sorry,” Depweg said with a voice reminiscent of his usual self. He lifted his chin and looked down at the white bandages that were soaking through with plasma that slightly resembled motor oil. Red specks dotted along an invisible line on the white cloth.
“We will have to change those in a few hours,” Doc Jim said as he inspected the bandages. He shifted his gaze to meet Depweg’s and asked, “How long do you think it will take to fully heal?”
“Depends. How badly was I hurt?”
I let out a long whistle that dropped in pitch the longer it went. And it went on for an uncomfortable period of time.
“That bad, huh?” Depweg said, wincing.
“Your liver and stomach were cut through. Whatever weapon was used barely missed your spinal cord,” Doc Jim informed him with clinical efficiency.
“Oh, buddy, um, if your intestines weren’t put back exactly right, will they, ah, fix themselves?”
“Never been hurt this bad, so I guess we’ll find out. Though if I had to guess, probably a few days at least.”
“Dooooon’t suppose we can speed that up a teeny tiny bit?” I asked with a high-pitched voice while holding up my index finger and thumb with a fraction of an inch between them. I knew I was asking a lot.
“Why? What did I miss?” Depweg asked with a sigh that bordered on frustration. Hoping he was healed enough, I hesitantly pulled my hand away from his forehead, prompting him to clench his jaw, tightly. I was impressed with his pain threshold.
“Um, funny story. You know how, um, Silver, like, summoned Asmodeus to, ah, kill you? Well, heh-heh, we don’t need to worry about him anymore, I tell ya hwhat,” I informed him, finishing with a thick southern accent.
“Ohh-kay?” Depweg answered with an arched eyebrow.
“Well, that’s the good news of the news sandwich.”
“What’s the bad news, then?”
“Uuummm,” I started, tilting my head and looking up at the ceiling while searching for the right words. “You remember Ulric?”
“How could I possibly forget,” Depweg said flatly, clearly not liking where this was going.
With my pitch still high and knowing he wasn’t going to like what I had to say, I decided it was best to rip the Band-Aid off. “He, ah, might be the new Grand Master Warlock.”
“You’re not kidding, are you?” he asked as his face dropped a tad while his eyes searched for any hint of jesting on my part.
“No, dude. I’m undead serious.”
“You see, when you say things like ‘undead serious,’ it leads me to believe that you are, in fact, not serious.”
“All puns aside, Ulric made a fucking deal with Satan, man.”
Depweg took the information with military efficiency. “Can you stop him?”
“Honestly, I don’t know, dude. The best I can figure is that I couldn’t beat the freaking mortal who sold his soul less than a hundred years ago. I-I can’t imagine adding the Grand Master’s power to a vampire who is several centuries old.”
“I can see your concern,” Depweg winced as he pushed himself up first on his elbows, and then into a seated position. Doc Jim and I watched, on red alert as the were did the impossible and dropped to his feet, grunting in pain.
“So, ah, you’re healing pretty quick there, huh, bud?” I was more seeking reassurance than asking a question.
“Apparently, I don’t have a choice,” he answered as he placed one hand on the IV stand and dragged it over to the counter where the raw steak packages awaited their fate. He ripped at the plastic and brought a juicy, marbled cut up to his mouth.
“Is that going to be enough meat to at least, I don’t know, stitch you together?”
“I could use more, but this will have to do for now.”
“Should we get an Uber or whatever the hell exists these days or are you good to fly with me?”
Doc Jim stepped forward with his index finger pointed up. “Might I suggest you not fly? In most instances, you would stretch your torso, unless…”
“Unless I cradle you in my arms, cutie pie,” I teased. Depweg slowly looked over his shoulder at me and I winked playfully.
“I suppose I could drive you, though I can’t be away from my clinic for very long.”
“Why not?” I asked, tilting my head as I pondered different plausible reasons.
In answer, he strode over to the swinging doors of the OR and pushed one open, revealing a decimated lobby. A sea of broken glass glinted in the light overhead.
“Oh, right. The, ah, the thing…I did…to the front door. Oh boy, would you look at the time?” I said as I lifted the sleeve of my trench to reveal a bare wrist.
“I parked out back. Ju
st let me grab my keys,” Doc Jim said with a degree of tiredness. I wasn’t sure if it was because we had interrupted his sleep or because I was being, well—me.
“Right,” I said to the doctor before turning to Depweg. “You good to go, bro?”
Depweg held up a finger in answer as he finished chewing the last steak. Moving to the sink, he washed the juices from his hands before gingerly leaning down and sucking at the water as it fell. He drank for several seconds before turning the faucet off and shuffling to face me. He nodded once before taking the bag of blood off the IV stand and slowly walking over to the back door. I rushed forward and got the door for him.
“Thanks,” he grunted, apparently not liking the feeling of being helped to this degree. Then his face straightened and he asked, “How’s everyone else?”
“Shit! I don’t know. I saw how bad you were and rushed you out of there. But! Magni and Lude were okay, mostly…I think.”
“What about Locke?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. He didn’t look too good, now that I think about it. He did moan before we left, so he’s not dead, I hope. Ha! So weird to say that out loud. Can’t believe I care that Locke isn’t dead. Know what I mean?”
Ignoring my forced and extremely awkward humor, Depweg fixated on what was important.
“So the good news is that we stopped Silver and Asmodeus?”
“Yeah. Let’s focus on that,” I said with forced enthusiasm.
Depweg stopped walking and turned his body to face me.
“What are our main issues with Ulric at the moment?”
“In regard to…?” I asked, waving a hand in the air, gesturing for him to go on. A rogue cool breeze came out of nowhere, striking us where we stood. Depweg’s nipples hardened immediately in response, and I took note of how odd it was to have a cold breeze on a hot night.
“Thinking strategically, what would be the most pressing concern with Ulric assuming the mantle of Grand Master Warlock?” Depweg asked while crossing his arms. His thick forearms pressed on the IV line, and he quickly let them drop back to his sides.
“Well, he mentioned something about not killing me yet because Satan wanted me for something. So, I suppose we are safe from causing the apocalypse, there. Lily and I discussed him being a target for being weaker than me, but that’s clearly not a problem anymore. So, ah, besides him being a dick…there’s not really much I’m worried about just yet.”
“Agreed. Now, let’s go check on our friends and figure out our next steps.”
“Oh, Father Thomes is worried that because Ulric was in his care and escaped on his watch, that his soul might be tarnished with each of Ulric’s kills. I know my maker. He will drain entire cities if he can, and right now, I fear he has the power to do just that, and probably all at once.”
“Why would Father Thomes be conc—”
“Concerned. Right, I already went over that with him,” I interrupted. “He says this close to death, he doesn’t want to risk any infractions against his soul at all. I honestly don’t think he should be concerned, but for the sake of the argument I can concede that, if for some reason he is held responsible for everyone Ulric kills now that he is free…Then, yeah. Lots of people are going to die. He could make what happened in Mexico seem like it was all a mercy killing.” I glanced at something in the distance as I spoke about what Depweg had done down south, unable to make eye contact but still wanting to make my point about how bad Ulric was.
“I just don’t understand why the father would hold himself accountable for Ulric escaping. It doesn’t seem like him.”
“I don’t disagree. But, he specifically mentioned having one foot hovering over the rest of eternity. This close to the finish line, it would make sense for him to be overly cautious. Perspective can change once you realize you are going to die. I mean, we all know it’s coming—hence me being all antihero—but until you look through the peephole to see Death standing on your doorstep, it doesn’t actually feel real. As if the fact that something will happen in the future rather than at that exact moment in time somehow diminishes the effect.”
“To be honest, I’d prefer it stayed that way. I could scarcely imagine a world in which everyone lived in fear of their unescapable demise. Somehow, knowing it isn’t happening today is comforting.” He looked down at his seeping bandages, and we both felt the importance of his words. “Ignorance is bliss.”
“That it is, my friend. That it is.” The Aztec god came to mind, telling me the gates of Hell would open in exactly five years. That meant I was going to die. I only wish I didn’t know the exact date of my own demise.
Doc Jim came out through the back door, turned to close and lock it, thought about the irony, and just shrugged while shaking his head. With his simple, mundane gestures, I was brought out of the quicksand that was existential distress.
“Um, as soon as I get a new phone, I’ll, ah, get a friend of mine to fix the front entrance.”
“Already contacted my guy,” Doc Jim informed me.
“Neat,” I said lamely as I opened the back driver’s side door for Depweg. He looked at me with an expression that read, “Really?” I smiled and said, “Shotgun?”
“Sure, John. Let the guy who was nearly cut in two sit in the back seat.”
“Hey! Not my fault I have these long dancer’s legs and need the room!” I said while motioning to my thighs with my hands and lifting both legs one at a time as if to showcase my point.
Rolling his eyes, Depweg eased into the back as Doc Jim scooted his seat forward a tad.
I made my way around to the passenger side and got in.
Doc Jim pushed the start button and the electric motor started up.
As we drove, the thought of Depweg dodging Death’s touch like Neo kept circling around in my brain. He would have gone to Hell with Dawson.
Dawson! The knowledge of Dawson’s soul actually being in Hell placed a neutron star in my guts, pulling my heart down with its immense gravity. My eyes drifted to the rearview mirror to see my friend peering out the side window, wincing with every bump. I wanted to tell Depweg, but couldn’t force the heavy words out of the gravitational pull that the Star of Knowing had. I also fought with the fact that it would do him no good to learn of the crippling fact. It might even have a negative impact, seeing how he had reacted when he thought he’d lost his pack. In letting himself go feral, Depweg had also damned his soul. I shuddered at the thought, knowing he was responsible for what his predatory self did, while also being completely helpless to it at times.
Finding out Dawson was in Hell after learning about the scrolls probably hadn’t been a coincidence. I looked up at the roof of the car as if it were made of glass and glared toward Heaven with a deep scowl. I didn’t like the inescapable feeling of being a piece in a cosmic chess game where my friends were collateral damage.
I needed to go to Hell, but how to do it?
“The spear,” I said, jolting upright in my seat.
Doc Jim yelped in surprise, gripping the wheel tighter while Depweg placed a hand on my shoulder and asked, “What?”
“I need the Spear of Destiny at the tip of Ulric’s staff,” I said determinedly.
“Why?”
“I-I need to go to Hell, but I need to do it without actually dying, for obvious reasons. At least to the point where the prophecy thingy is triggered.”
Doc Jim and Depweg both looked at me, wordlessly urging me to explain further.
“Silver used the spear on me, and my soul left my still unalive body and went to Hell.”
“I’m confused,” the doctor admitted.
“About which part?”
“Unalive?”
“It’s both technically accurate and a nuance I feel obliged to indulge in. Kinda like saying ‘daymare’ or ‘two-night walk,’” I explained, briefly thinking about one of my first lessons with Ulric back at the camps.
“It’s kind of annoying,” Depweg said, letting his hand slide off of me to lean back in h
is seat, his free hand holding his guts.
“Yeah, I figured. But anyway, he didn’t kill me—only sent my soul to Hell until he pulled the spear from my body.”
“Why do you need to go to Hell?” the doctor asked. “Isn’t that the precise thing you are trying to avoid? Why you work with the priest, I mean.”
“Yes, but I don’t really have a choice. There are some scrolls—or singular scroll, no one really knows—that might be able to help us prevent the end of creation.”
“Oh. Well, then forgive me if I sound selfish, but I think you should get them.”
We sat in silence, Doc Jim’s statement bouncing off the walls of our skulls, and then all three burst out laughing. Gallows humor at its finest. The nearly bisected were in the back seat was trying his best not to laugh animatedly for fear of tearing something delicate.
“Why does it have to be you?” Depweg asked. “Why not Locke?”
“Look,” I started as I pivoted in my seat to better face him, “I trust Locke, but I don’t trust him, ya dig? I mean, you were standing right next to him when he was talking to Silver.”
“Right. He said ‘as requested.’ I thought that was odd.”
“You and me both, man,” I said before adding, “Plus, I don’t know if he’s strong enough. Think about why we even agreed to let him on the team. He was terrified of going back to Hell and what Satan would do to him. I mean, shit! You saw what happened to Silver! He tried to negotiate with me about giving you up in exchange for my life and Satan found out.”
“Silver tried to convince you to give me up to save your own life?”
“Yeah. Stupid move on his part. Now he’s paid the price.”
We rode in silence for a few moments before Depweg spoke. “Thanks. And before you say anything, I understand why you didn’t give me up. I still wanted to say my appreciation regardless.”
“No worries, brother. He might have done us a favor in the long run.”
“How so?”
“Ulric won’t be easy to kill now, which means the prophecy should be, you know, averted…I suppose. But back to the point. Silver tried to betray his master for personal gain and paid the price.”