“Ah, wanderer, it seems your latest companion is one of the stronger ones of late. She was able to remake her thoughts and was therefore not easily swayed by my sumptuous banquets,” a not too distant voice said. The sound seemed to carry itself through the air.
Valerie started to look around. “What was that?”
“I am right behind you, mortal,” the voice said.
Both Valerie and the old man turned. High above the mountain cliffs, a dark, cigar-shaped figure emerged as it buzzed its wings and landed a short distance away. Valerie gasped as she stood looking at it. The creature was the size of a skyscraper, its squat, insect-like thorax must have been hundreds of feet long. Along its soft, segmented back sprouted a pair of gigantic, feathered wings that couldn’t have possibly belonged to it. At first glance, it resembled a monstrous, misshapen fly with angel-like wings. What was most horrible were its limbs, resembling colossal, human-like arms which ended in hands that crawled along the ground. Trillions upon trillions of flesh eating maggots were crawling all over its body. The creature stared back at them with its pair of large segmented eyes that shined like multitudes of door-sized yellow mirrors.
The old man placed his hand on Valerie’s shoulder as he stood beside her. “That is Beelzebub, the demon prince. Beware its honeyed words.”
Valerie nearly gasped, but she maintained her composure.
“Welcome back, wanderer,” Beelzebub said. Its voice was like that of a million buzzing flies. “And who do you bring into my abode?”
The old man frowned and shook his head. “I’m sure you already know that, o lord of the lies.”
“I do indeed,” the demon said. “Is it not a courtesy when visiting my kingdom that proper etiquette is at least followed?”
Valerie crossed her arms. “I’m Valerie Mendoza. We’re just passing through, thank you.”
The demon’s segmented eyes were like little mirrors as an infinite array of their own reflections stared back at them. “What do you think of my realm so far, mortal? Do you not admire the exquisite beauty in my lands, or with my servants?”
Valerie’s lips curled in anger. “You have the most disgusting, most horrible kingdom in all that exists in this universe! How you can even justify the unlimited suffering in this shit hole is beyond me! You are a loathsome monster!”
The demon’s incessant buzzing became shrill. It seemed like it was laughing. “My realm is but a reflection of human wants and desires. This endless array of food and plenty is merely the eventuality of where their hungers and passions leads to. If one is hungry, then one eats, then eats even more. An endless hunger demands an infinite amount of sustenance. A human being’s hunger for food and other things is never satiated, therefore I must supply them with even more variations of my cosmic feasts. Human wants and human emotions last forever and are infinite in number. You demand, and I supply.”
Valerie shook her head. “No! You’ve gone overboard! I curse at whatever god put you up to this! If you’re behind all of this then screw you!”
The demon shifted sideways slightly as its gigantic body smashed against the side of the mountain pass, bringing down tons of jagged rock and crushing a few souls underneath it. “Ah, just like their desires, so too does humanity have an endless array of curses and words for bodily orifices, insults and jeers. This is what I love about human beings. They always seek others to blame for their misfortune. Whether it’s other humans, or bad luck, or the gods, humans will never be able to point fingers at their individual selves. This is why beings like me exist. We demons are also but a reflection of your most subconscious desires. For in the end, we are the ones who serve at your pleasure, not the other way around.”
Valerie snorted. “You call all this pleasure? This is suffering! It’s nothing but pure torture! Pain!”
“When you have lived as long as I,” Beelzebub said. “You will soon realize that pleasure and pain are all but one, a mere shard that is part of the same gigantic mirror. One cannot exist without the other. A life of infinite pleasure would be meaningless.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Valerie said. “You’re not the one getting tortured here. Where the hell is the pleasure in all of this?”
The demon laughed once more. “Hell indeed! The pleasure is in seeing others suffer. The pleasure is in the anticipation of the pain. The pleasure is in the endurance of the pain. The pleasure is in the overcoming of the pain.”
Valerie looked away. “You’re insane, do you know that?”
“Who is more insane? The father that tortures his own children like whipped dogs? The men who murder for the sake of their gods? The people who preach false words? The one who eats while others starve? The things that are being done here are no different than what is being committed in your world, even before the gods returned,” Beelzebub said.
Valerie looked at the old man. All this pain. With no real hope. She suddenly felt fatigued. It was as if nothing mattered. “Let’s go. All this isn’t getting us anywhere.”
“Perhaps we shall meet again, Valerie Mendoza,” the demon said as its wings started flapping. The air around it began to swirl as it somehow was able to lift its monstrous body up into the air. “But beware, next time, it might very well be on my terms.”
As the demon prince flew away, the old man turned around and started walking again. As Valerie followed close behind, she noticed that they had now come upon the edge of a vast, flowing river. She couldn’t see anything on the other side. The lapping waters were dark and opaque, it was if the liquid was made out of the substance of darkness itself.
The old man placed a gentle hand on her wrist. “Do not touch the water.”
Valerie stood at the river’s edge. “Why? What kind of river is this?”
“We are on the banks of Lethe,” the old man said softly. “This is the river of forgetfulness.”
12. Repel Boarders
Mississippi
By the second day, the Nimrod had made it to the Big Black River as it headed in a northeasterly direction. Ever since the rains began, almost every single dam in the state had burst. Unlike Louisiana, the central parts of Mississippi had a much higher elevation, so this meant that the riverboat would be going upstream until it could get to the flooded city of Canton. The plan after that was to go south along the Pearl River, then get to a connecting waterway and make a beeline to Mobile, Alabama, for a fuel stop. In this part of the journey, the diesel engines would be going close to full power, in order to make it past the downstream currents. The ship’s paddlewheel would be doing most of the heavy lifting until they could make the cross over at Canton, after that, it would be smooth trip going downstream.
Tyrone Gatlin wiped off some of the water stains on the solid oak bar counter using a damp rag. It was a clear, moonlit night and everybody was getting a few drinks at the bar before turning in for bed. They were getting close to Canton and Captain Pillinger had assigned a few of the men on guard duty. There had been rumors that marauders had begun to use the flooded city as a base of operations, so everyone had a two drink limit when it came to beers for the evening. The captain wanted everyone to be alert just in case of any trouble, so almost everybody had rifles slung over their shoulders. Since Tyrone was the all-around deckhand for the ship, he was assigned as bartender after every dinner, and he had to work the counter until everybody turned in.
As he placed the empty beer glasses in the sink behind the bar, Tyrone couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret. The moment he had been accepted as a deckhand on the ship, he went back to Monique’s shack to get his things. Monique had been there along with her eldest daughter, Moesha. The voodoo queen hadn’t say much, all she did was to place her hand on the gris-gris that hung around Tyrone’s neck and told him to take care. Moesha had remained totally silent and her younger sister Shani hadn’t even been there. A part of him had wanted to stay and build a life for himself back in that flooded city, but the dreams had compelled him to join up with the crew of the Nimrod. I
t was as if he hadn't had a choice. The gods clearly had plans for him, his dreams told him that. It wasn’t exactly something he wanted to do. A sudden urge washed over him, it was a sense of defiance. Maybe he ought to get off in the next stop and make his way back to Shreveport and screw the gods, forget their plans- it was his life to live for, not theirs. Then he realized that if it wasn’t for them, he would have been dead by now, and the brief pangs of rebellion soon left his subconscious.
“Hey, gimme another beer. And I wanna shot o’ that moonshine,” a voice behind him said.
Tyrone turned. Sitting at the edge of the bar was JJ Glanton, the ship’s first officer. He was wearing a sleeveless denim tank top and flanked by two of the hunters. The first guy to his left was Bear Mattingly, he was a huge man with unkempt, fiery red hair and a beard that extended down to his chest. Bear had a hunter’s vest over his exposed chest and wore khaki pants. The second man to Glanton’s right was called Mohawk, he was part Creek from what Tyrone heard and like his moniker, had a Mohawk hairstyle to go along with his leather bike outfit and boots. All three men had been hanging out in the bar for hours, laughing and swapping stories to each other. The only other people left in the room were another group of hunters jamming guitars and banjos on the old, unused stage over at the far end of the saloon.
Glanton seemed to be in a good mood but he was starting to get irritated. “Well? What are you waiting for, boy? Gimme another beer.”
Tyrone glanced at the two empty bottles of beer in front of the first officer. “Sorry, sir. You’ve already had your allotted two bottles. Captain’s orders was for everybody to have a two beer limit this evening.”
Glanton’s turned to his buddies and laughed before looking back at Tyrone. “I’m the first officer, boy. I’m second in command of this here vessel. That limit doesn’t apply to me.”
Tyrone shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Glanton. But the captain told me there would be no exceptions.”
Glanton’s grin quickly turned into a grimace. “What did you say, boy?”
Tyrone stared blankly at him and shrugged. “Captain’s orders, sir.”
Glanton crooked a finger at him. “Come here.”
Tyrone walked over until he stood face to face with the first officer as he stood behind the bar counter. Glanton quickly leaned over and grabbed his shirt collar as he pulled the deckhand closer so their eyes were only inches away from each other. Tyrone was ready to knock the first officer’s hand away, until he noticed Glanton was holding a Marine Ka-Bar knife with his other hand and kept it a few inches away from Tyrone’s neck.
“Don’t you ever refuse an order from me, boy,” Glanton hissed. Tyrone could smell the moonshine in his breath since their faces were so close to each other. He had evidently been drinking more than his fair share tonight.
Tyrone blinked a few times. Beads of sweat began to pour down his forehead. The night air was still and very humid. “I’ve got orders too, sir. I gotta follow ‘em. I made a promise with the captain.”
Bear Mattingly leaned forward so his face was parallel with Glanton’s. Unlike the other two, the big man was still grinning. “Looks like the rookie has guts, JJ. At least he follows captain’s orders, I’ll grant him that.”
Glanton bared his teeth as he brought the knife closer. “I’m gonna cut your throat open, boy. I don’t like your lack of respect.”
“I’m not disrespecting you, sir,” Tyrone said softly as his hand gripped an empty beer bottle out of sight, behind the counter. “I gotta follow my superior’s orders.”
Mohawk took out a pint-sized bottle of clear liquid he had underneath his leather vest and placed it on the counter. “I still got some moonshine left, JJ. You can have it. The last thing you wanna do now is to kill another deckhand. Remember the last time? The captain almost plugged you.”
Glanton’s eyes shifted towards the small bottle of moonshine that had been placed on the counter before staring back at Tyrone again. The former soldier noticed that Glanton had Aryan Brotherhood tattoos all along his arm. Tyrone figured he must have gotten them in prison, which explained Glanton’s hostility to him.
Bear just kept on giggling as he drew back and started to walk behind Glanton. “If you’re not going for that bottle of moonshine, it’s mine.”
Glanton quickly let go of Tyrone’s collar and swiped the bottle from the counter before Bear could get his hands on it. He opened it and took a sip, just as Tyrone backed away from the counter and wiped the sweat off his forehead. As their eyes met again, Glanton pointed a finger at Tyrone. “Don’t you ever refuse me again, boy.”
As Tyrone glanced away and said nothing, the alarm bell sounded. Everybody started running as they took their positions. Glanton shouted at the other hunters to follow him and they all ran out of the room. Tyrone quickly gathered the empty bottles and glasses at the bar counter and set them aside before locking up the cupboard. Since he didn’t have a weapon, his job was to go down to the engine room to see if help was needed there. It was important for the ship to have engine power in order to maneuver in the event of a confrontation.
Since the Nimrod had a flat-bottomed hull, the engine room was also at the main deck, so Tyrone just ran towards the back, past the kitchen. The moment he got through the double doors that led to the engine room, he could see the massive pistons of the engine just chugging away as it pushed and pulled at the huge paddlewheel at the rear of the boat. Eight-Ball was there, still dressed in his overalls as he stood by while looking at the pressure gauges. Tyrone wasn’t quite sure how the engines worked, so he just made certain the ship’s engineer saw him as he stood around, waiting to be told what to do.
Eight-Ball Jackson was the only other black man in the crew. He was short and thin, with a grizzled scalp and white stubbles on his cheeks. Tyrone had heard that he had been working as a ship’s engineer for over forty years, and he was the captain’s most trusted man on the ship, just slightly ahead of Glanton. Eight-Ball was like a savant, he lived and breathed in the engine room so much that he even ate his meals there. Tyrone knew that Glanton was jealous of him, but there was nothing the first officer could do, since the captain had told the entire crew that the engine room was Eight-Ball’s exclusive domain and his word was king there. Tyrone had tried to spend time with engineer to get to know him better, but Eight-Ball politely kept him at arm’s length. The old man’s passion was the ship’s engines and he wanted no distractions when it came to maintaining and running it.
Although the sound of the engines drowned out most of the noise from the outside, Tyrone could hear faint popping noises. He knew then that guns were being fired. A loud ringing noise began, as the ship’s bell was being sounded. Eight-Ball walked over to the antique intercom system and picked up the receiver. Tyrone thought it looked like an old rotary phone as he saw Eight-Ball looking at him while speaking into it.
After talking for a few minutes, Eight-Ball put the receiver down and shuffled over to Tyrone. The old engineer cupped his mouth as he spoke into Tyrone’s ear so he could be heard over the noise of the engine. “Captain needs you, right now.”
Tyrone nodded as he turned around and headed out of the engine room. As soon as he walked onto the main deck, he could see that the captain had turned off the ship’s lights. The hunters were spread out as they huddled behind the sandbags that were placed just behind the ship’s wooden railings, their rifles on the ready. When Tyrone looked around, he noticed the ship was passing by a number of half sunken buildings, like giant concrete boxes that jutted out of the dark waters.
As he just stood there, someone whispered to him. “Get into cover, you dumbass.”
Tyrone realized he was totally exposed just standing out there on the main deck. He quickly ran until he got behind the sandbags. There was a hunter with an M-14 crouched down beside him. Tyrone recognized the guy, his name was Peter Johnson, but everybody called him Pete. An Army veteran, Pete had been discharged a few years ago and was living off the land from his huntin
g lodge in Colorado. He had moved his family to the south for protection when the Glooming began. Pete joined up with the expedition so he could cash in on the lucrative demand for the skin and furs of creatures once thought to be mere legends.
Tyrone turned to look at Pete. “I need to get to the wheel house, the captain’s been asking for me,” he said softly.
“Wait a bit,” Pete whispered as he used the night vision scope mounted on his M-14 while scanning the waters beyond. “I think there might be snipers on top of those buildings. Wait till we pass ‘em, then you can go on up.”
Two popping noises came out in the distance as Tyrone heard a bullet whizz nearby. He peered out slightly, just above the sandbags, but he couldn’t see anything. “Who’s shooting at us?”
“My guess is that it must be marauders.”
Tyrone gulped. It was another word for pirates. “Marauders? What the hell are they doing here?”
Pete kept looking for targets with his scope. “My guess is that they think this is a transport ship. They might want to try and take it.”
Tyrone made a hopeful smile in the darkness as he kept crouching behind the sandbags. “We’re going at a pretty rapid pace. Unless they got a ship of their own, I doubt they can catch us.”
Several more popping noises could be heard in the distance. Tyrone could see that there were more hunters in the upper deck behind the sandbags there. He saw Glanton and Bear pop their heads up from one pile of sandbags before disappearing out of sight again. A few more minutes passed as the ship finally got past the half sunken buildings as it headed to the outskirts of Canton.
As soon as the buildings were behind them, Tyrone got up and ran to the stairs, then ascended towards the upper deck. He noticed Glanton looking at him with calculating menace as the first officer huddled with a group of other hunters behind the barricades. Tyrone didn’t pay him any notice as he ran up the second flight of stairs and then headed towards the wheelhouse. Just as he got up to the back of the entryway, he knocked rapidly on the door.
A World Darkly (Wrath of the Old Gods Book 3) Page 18