by James Sperl
Clarissa saw a path. It cut through a gauntlet of empty vehicles left askew, the ground around them dotted with maimed corpses. She saw no better option.
“This way!” she cried. Assuming the lead, she pulled him along. They darted past cars and trucks, swerving left and right around bodies that soaked the ground crimson. Bullets dinged off a nearby car, its windshield spidering from the impact.
The vehicles thinned and the smoke cleared. Fighting lessened the farther away they moved from the center of the parking lot. Clarissa glanced at Dustin, encouraged, but she was careful not to become too filled with hope. They weren't out of the woods yet.
Through the veil of smoke made from guns and gasoline fires, she recognized the stores that lined the northern end of New Framingham's Sleep Zone. To the east and west of them were exit points, she knew, but only the eastern one was visible; the smaller western checkpoint was shrouded behind toxic clouds and a demolition derby of battered vehicles.
“There!” Clarissa shouted.
Dustin rushed past her, beelining it for the exit, but he never let go of her hand. We're going to make it, Clarissa thought to herself. We're getting out of here.
Inferno, however, had different plans.
Emerging from behind a fortified tow truck, and flanked by Ludi and Mr. Stitch, he stepped into Clarissa and Dustin's path. The pair stumbled to a stop, Clarissa nearly collapsing to the ground from stunned surprise. Her legs suddenly felt as heavy as steel beams.
Inferno smiled a blood-slicked grimace that further distorted his already scarred and twisted face.
“You were right,” Inferno said. “It is over. For all of us.”
Ludi and Mr. Stitch lunged forward.
No one heard Clarissa scream.
* * *
Andrew got the “OK” from Dustin. They were moving.
“All right, let's go!” he barked at Valentina.
Valentina nodded in a flutter of barely there head bobs. She was hanging on to her sanity by a thread. It was the most Andrew could hope for at the moment.
He faced them north. Gunfire popped all around them, ricocheting off the pavement and clattering off destroyed vehicles. He pulled Valentina and Naomi close then darted forward.
They scuttled over to a trio of crashed cars, which butted end to end in a train of destruction, and slunk alongside them. Bodies draped over the steering wheels of all three, the passengers in each arranged in gruesome death poses in the backseats.
A man wielding a nail-spiked bat charged at them from out of the darkness. It wasn't a contest. Andrew sighted the man and fired without hesitation. The machine gun jounced in his hand, but it was in line with what he expected. His aim was true. The man dropped as if unplugged from the world. Andrew fired again to assure that the man was dead, but the rifle clicked emptily.
“Shit,” he muttered, tossing it to the ground.
He spun in anticipation of other attackers, but any fighting occurred away from him and Valentina. He popped his head over the top of the car he crouched against to locate Clarissa. Though she and Dustin had begun their exodus across the parking lot from him, he knew their paths would eventually converge with his the closer everyone got to the exit. Then they could all escape this madness together.
He scanned the dark, smoky battlefield. People ran and fought and collapsed, the chaos only now beginning to diminish. He spotted Clarissa and Dustin. They had just scurried between two vehicles, Clarissa standing upright to indicate the proximity of the checkpoint exit, when Inferno and two of his disciples blocked their path.
Andrew's heart leaped into his throat.
He bolted forward as if compelled by a starter's pistol but stopped just as abruptly. He whipped around—Valentina and Naomi. He looked back at Clarissa and Dustin; Inferno's henchmen bore down on them with savage aggression.
Andrew had to make a split-second decision.
He flew to Valentina's side and pulled her to her feet. “Take Naomi and run for the exit,” he said, urging her forward. “Run as fast as you can. Don't stop. Don't look back. Head northeast out of here, and keep running. There's a safe house not too far from here with Evan and Elenora. Find them.”
Valentina shrank back, her eyes platters of fear. “What? I'm not going alone! We'll never make it! I'll never make it!”
She thrust Naomi at Andrew, but Andrew blocked her attempt and eased the tiny girl back into Valentina's arms.
“You have to, Val! You have to! Clarissa's in trouble! I have to help her.”
Valentina began to whimper, tears pooling. Andrew took her by the shoulders.
“I don't like this any more than you do, but I don't have time to argue. I'm sorry.” He kissed Naomi on the head and locked the sensation of her soft skin beneath his calloused hand into his memory. He backed away. “You can do this. You have to. If not for Clarissa or me then for the sake of that little girl. You're way stronger than you think you are, Val.” He took off at a trot, calling back, “Stay to the shadows and run hard. We'll meet you there!”
Andrew turned and ran with all his might. He tried not to think about the questionable decision he had just made or what would happen to Clarissa if he didn't reach her in time. Most of all, he tried not think about the final glance Valentina had given him, the image of her cowering with Naomi in a blood-soaked parking lot one that would forever haunt him.
* * *
Mr. Stitch pinned Clarissa's arms behind her back. The pain was excruciating, but not nearly as bad as having to watch what Ludi did to Dustin. Mr. Stitch, who seemed not even to break a sweat as he handled Clarissa, angled her so that it was virtually impossible to avoid seeing Dustin get the almighty shit kicked out of him.
That someone so slight could be capable of inflicting so much damage was confounding. Ludi was like a phantom, darting and skirting effortlessly around Dustin before she delivered punishing blows and vicious kicks.
Dustin was no match for her. Before Ludi annihilated him, he'd only managed one swing at her, and that never even came close. Worse than her brutal attack was how thoroughly she seemed to enjoy it. She cackled and laughed and danced playfully after each savage strike before setting up for the next blow.
Dustin worked himself onto his hands and knees and coughed. Blood spilled from a cut above his eye and several gashes along his cheeks. He spit sloppily as he tried to catch his breath, but Ludi wouldn't allow him the chance. She delivered a hard, pointed kick to his ribcage, which sent Dustin reeling onto his side. Clarissa was sure she heard something snap.
Inferno held up a hand. Ludi smiled and backed off. A bullet pinged off a nearby truck.
“You fucking coward!” Clarissa spat. “Only someone as spineless as you would have someone else do their dirty work for them!”
Inferno sneered. “And I would argue that only someone as resourceful as me would employ those better suited to a task.” He walked over to Clarissa. She recoiled with each approaching step. “What's the matter?” he said, running a hand over the oozing, melted skin on his head. “Do I disgust you?”
“Yes,” she grimaced. “But not for the reason you think.”
Inferno grinned. “Oh well. No relationship is perfect.”
“Relationship?” Clarissa laughed. He was baiting her, but she didn't care. She couldn't allow even the idea that there had been something between the two to go without comment. “There is no relationship. There's never been a relationship. You're nothing to me. You've always been nothing.”
“So you say now,” he replied, unaffected. “But you'll come around...just like Valentina did.” Inferno moved even closer. “Everyone does eventually. I make sure of that.”
“What do you want to do with him?” Ludi said. Her voice was angelic and dainty and wholly out of step from the ferocity she displayed.
Inferno turned only slightly to regard Dustin as if his consideration wasn't worth Inferno's full attention.
“Dealer's choice,” he said, facing Clarissa again. “To echo a certa
in special someone, he means nothing to me.”
Clarissa looked in horror at Ludi, who smiled with sinister joy. She leaned over Dustin's broken body and said, “It's been fun.” In a flash, she produced a machete from a sheath on her back and raised it with both hands over her head.
“NO!” Clarissa shrieked.
Andrew tackled Ludi from her blind side.
Ludi audibly gasped as he drove her to the ground, the machete boomeranging out of her hands and out of reach. Bounding to his feet, he delivered a crushing punch across Ludi's jaw. She flopped back hard, her head smacking the pavement with a dull thunk. Blood spurted from her lip and dotted her cheek. He followed with a powerful kick to her stomach, the strike folding her in half.
He spun in anticipation of an attack from Mr. Stitch, but scowled in confusion when he discovered that Mr. Stitch hadn't moved a muscle—he still clutched Clarissa. Andrew's face dropped—he had miscalculated his enemy. He whirled back around to fend off Inferno, but he was too late.
Inferno came at him hard, unleashing a mighty right into the side of Andrew's face; Andrew turned at just the right time to catch the full brunt of the impact. He reeled and staggered backward but managed to stay upright. Inferno stormed toward him and let rip a haymaker from his left. The punch cracked against Andrew's cheekbone. He teetered on wobbly legs from the force of the hit. Inferno followed with a booted kick to Andrew's sternum that sent him to the blacktop.
“We meet again,” Inferno said, looming over him.
Andrew righted himself with effort, flopping onto his back to look up.
“What?” said Inferno through a faux quizzical frown. “You don't think I remember you? Oh, I remember you. I remember you just fine.” He lurched forward with another kick, the sole of his boot connecting with Andrew's chin. Andrew's head snapped back. He crashed to the ground where he writhed in pain.
“Andrew!” Clarissa blared through snotty tears. “Andrew, get up!”
A figure darted through the murky background and was felled by a burst of gunfire. Inferno paid it no mind, as he crouched in front of Andrew.
“Thanks to you, I'm blessed with this handsome new face, which upsets me. I was rather fond of the old one.” Inferno lashed out and seized a fistful of Andrew's hair. He twisted Andrew's head, so it was inches from his face. “Not so pretty, is it? And you're to blame.” Inferno reared back and delivered a devastating blow to Andrew's nose, toppling him. Save the slight movement from Andrew's feet, which feebly kicked, he didn't budge. For good measure, Inferno stood and viciously stomped his ribcage. Andrew groaned and cradled himself.
Clarissa cried streams of tears. It wasn't supposed to end this way. They had come so close to leaving this place, of putting the events of the past months behind them and starting fresh. Of building a new life. But once again, Travis, or Inferno, or whatever the fuck he called himself, was there to foil any chance at happiness.
Inferno turned toward her and smiled. Clarissa would have given anything to break free from Mr. Stitch's vice-like hold and knock the shit-eating smirk from his face.
Dustin must have heard her wish.
Barreling at Inferno from out of the darkness in a stooped-over half-gait, Dustin plowed into him. Inferno didn't see him coming. He took the full force of the shot, staggering then pinwheeling before he collapsed in a graceless heap onto the ground.
Clutching his wounded side with a grimace, Dustin about-faced to square off against Mr. Stitch, but Inferno's right-hand man was ever the obedient lapdog—he didn't so much as twitch and only continued to restrain Clarissa.
Inferno was on his feet in an instant. He snarled at Dustin. He wasn't injured, but his pride had taken a bruising. Sometimes that was worse. Rather than mount a counterattack and engage Dustin in physical combat, Inferno reached under his jacket and pulled out a polished chrome handgun. In a flash, he aimed and fired.
Dustin's shoulder exploded in a pulpy red mist. He fell where he stood, his body convulsing from shock, as he bled profusely.
Clarissa screamed in helpless agony.
It only made Inferno's smile widen. “This is your penance!” he said to her through a self-righteous sneer. “This is your sentence. For what you've denied me. For the person I've become as a result. This is your doing! Now you will suffer the penalty. Everyone you care about, everyone you love—all will die here today on this lonely piece of asphalt, in a place no one will remember at the hands of a person no one ever gave a shit about!” Inferno marched over to Dustin and leveled the gun at his head. “Say goodbye to your—”
“Drop it,” commanded a voice
Inferno attempted to turn to see who rushed at him from out of the shadows, but he was too late—Jon already had the barrel of his assault rifle pressed up against the back of Inferno's head.
“Jon!” Clarissa choked out.
“Toss it,” Jon said to Inferno.
Inferno silently debated whether he should comply, but Jon urged him to follow his instructions by nudging Inferno's head forward with the rifle barrel. Inferno's shoulders slackened. He flung the handgun into the darkness.
“I'm going to flay you,” Inferno said.
“You should learn to recognize what being fucked looks like.” Jon shot his eyes to Mr. Stitch. “You. Let her go right now, or I'll take your boss's head off. I'm in no mood to fuck around, so since you're all so fond of counting, I'll give you until three. One...two...”
Mr. Stitch pushed Clarissa away from him. She didn't waste a second trying to get a grip on her emotions—there wasn't enough time in the world for that—she had to help Dustin. She flew to his side. His wound was horrific. Gaping and bleeding extensively, fragments of his T-shirt had cauterized to the shredded skin.
She didn't know what to do. She wrung her hands in panicked ignorance. She had to stop the bleeding, but with what? Quickly, she stripped off her outer shirt, balled it up, and pressed it over the injury. Dustin flinched and moaned. Clarissa glared at Inferno with hate-filled eyes. Never had she more wished him dead.
Why hadn't Jon just shot him from the shadows? He could've pulled the trigger and ended Inferno once and for all. Why risk putting himself in danger by coming face to face with him? In the microseconds Clarissa had to ponder this, she felt his reasoning was two-pronged. If he'd killed Inferno outright, he would have had no leverage to use against Mr. Stitch to free her, but her greater belief was that sniping him from a distance lacked satisfaction—Jon wanted Inferno to see him do it.
“Why would you do this?” Clarissa railed at Inferno. “Any of it? For what? Food and water? Money? More drugs? People are supposed to come together in a time like this, not tear each other apart.” Fresh tears spurted down her cheeks.
“Why?” said Inferno. “The answer's simple. I did it all for you.”
“No!” Clarissa said, shaking her head powerfully. “No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to justify your actions by throwing it back on somebody else. By blaming me.”
“Deny it all you want, but we were meant to be together. Even if you still can't see it, I've known it to be true since the first moment I saw you. We're soul mates, Clarissa. That's why we were drawn together all those years ago. But once we started moving apart, I knew I had to do everything I could to keep you, no matter the price. I've loved you for as long as I can remember.”
Clarissa's face elongated from incredulity. “Love? Love? Is that what you call this? Murdering people, destroying lives...raping me? You call that love?”
Jon shifted position to see Mr. Stitch better while Inferno considered his response.
“Love is not an unambiguous emotion,” he began. “There is no one way to define it. Some approach it passively while others choose more extreme measures of expression. In the end, it's what the heart intends, not what actions are done.”
Clarissa laughed, but it was devoid of humor. “Jesus, you're one seriously twisted fuck.”
“And now he's about to be one seriously dead twisted fuck,” sai
d Jon.
In the spec of time that passed between Clarissa's pointed remark and Jon's response to it, Clarissa had been drawn away by the sound of sporadic gunfire. It exploded off to her right, just as a Humvee sped past some fifty yards away. Three men clung to the outside of the vehicle and fired into the darkness. Their muzzle blasts illuminated the lone face of Donna, who peered out from the other side of the backseat window. Somehow, she had found Clarissa in all the madness and stared at her as the Humvee rushed by. She pressed her hand to the glass, the image lasting only a microsecond before she was gone. The Humvee retreated into the night.
The entire moment was brief, perhaps lasting only a couple of seconds, but its impact on the immediate future was incalculable. For if Clarissa hadn't been distracted, or if Donna's Humvee had passed by five seconds later, Clarissa would have seen Ludi in time to warn Jon.
He had just moved in front of Inferno and placed the barrel of the rifle against his forehead.
“This is for Sean, you piece of sh—”
But that was as far as he got before Ludi brought down the machete on the base of his neck. Jon recoiled disturbingly, his head lolling to a side. Blood spurted like water from a broken pipe. He dropped the rifle, which clattered to the asphalt. Jon gaped emptily into space. He tottered backward, his hand wandering through the air, searching until it found the blade still embedded in his neck. Ludi ripped it free. Jon staggered then collapsed, the trauma overtaking him.
Clarissa felt like she was back in the Nothing Place with its loose adherence to time. The things that were happening, the things she was forced to endure, seemed to go on interminably. The horror stretched beyond what should exist in real time, yet tragedy continued, each moment an eternity of suffering.
Ludi cradled her injured side and spat on Jon before she backed away. She sidled up beside Mr. Stitch and glared with dead-eyed indifference.