She pushes me toward the door. We pass Wrestler Guy. I wave to him. Ta-ta. We roll into the hallway. More concrete walls painted red with emergency lighting. I see aging intercoms. And, yeah, cameras. The shocker is the scattered computer terminals. All of em either running MS-DOS or some variation of it. Command-line interfaces. Archaic tech.
But it’s tech. And it’s working.
Wrestler Guy probably didn’t get the infrastructure set up on his own. Neither did Say-Nothing Gal. Maybe Norris is a computer whiz, but if he’s in charge, he’d tell someone else to get shit running.
After all, he needs time to torture me.
So how many of these cultists are there?
We emerge from a three-story red brick building. Looks old, but someone’s been remodeling. An octagonal lighthouse stands tall in the afternoon sky.
There are wind turbines pumping away in the distance. The sides of nearby structures are littered with solar cells to soak up the sun’s energy.
Say-Nothing Gal keeps us going. Out onto a green field surrounded by rolling hills. Water waits beyond. Down steep, steep bluffs.
And there are people goddamn everywhere. A hundred. At least. Guards toting rifles scattered about. There’s animals, too. Chickens. Cows. Pigs. I smell manure. I smell fires burning.
I hear children laugh.
Children.
All these people. Their jumpsuits are clean, except for the marks of labor. They hurry on errands. Chatter amongst themselves. Move baskets of vegetables. Water. Meat.
Until they see me.
Then they stop.
Stare.
Their eyes burn with curiosity. Hints of hate.
But what I recognize most is fear.
I pop a cigarette between my lips. Light it. Take a lungful of smoke. Exhale through my nose. Eyeball the people eyeballing me.
Yeah. Hola, bitches. It’s me, your worst nightmare. Just out for an afternoon jaunt. Pushed around by my pissed-off nurse. Legs? Nah. Don’t need em!
If my former bosses in the media could see me now...
I say to Say-Nothing Gal: “Okay. There’s a lotta Great Ray cultists. You got yourselves a little agricultural heaven here. You’re isolated from the mainland by these big bluffs so the infected don’t mess with you too much. Slice of humanity where ‘life can go on as it was supposed do’—cue the movie trailer guy. Just like in every apocalypse flick. Cue the swelling soundtrack. I get it. But I don’t get the point of this little exercise beyond the obvious. Wanna educate me?”
Say-Nothing Gal says, y’know, nothing.
I lick my lips. “Thanks. You’ve been a huge help.”
Norris appears at my right side. He’s wearing a leather bomber jacket today. Strikes me as a desperate attempt to look cool. He says, “Madison isn’t here to help you. Only to keep you alive.” He smiles. Toothy. That same, shit-eating grin I’ve seen dozens of times on religious leaders’ faces. Charismatic swindlers.
He nods toward the water. “As for why you’re out here, well, I want you to see what we cherish so dearly.”
I tilt my head. Crack my neck.
Sounds nice and all, but I gotta figure out a way to get gone. Kill as many of the cultists as I can. Be easier if they’d stop hacking pieces of me off.
I’m bored.
I’m bored, too, asshole.
No, I mean I’m so bored. At least before, you were running and gunning and I could enjoy that. It was fun! I could torment you. Troll you. This isn’t fun anymore.
...This isn’t helping.
I don’t hate you. I just want you to know that.
Well, I do hate you.
Words hurt, man. Words. Hurt. Anyway, I’m so bored that I’m gonna help you escape and kill these people. Even the kids, if you want me to.
I’ve gone a lotta terrible shit over the last ten years. Not sure I wanna add kid-killing to the list.
You killed Norris’s kid at the Empire State Building. Just saying.
I was defending myself. Kid tried to murder me... Y’know, I always assumed you were my wretched conscience. But I never asked. What are you, anyway?
Oh! Ohhhh! No no no. Guess. You gotta guess.
My conscience?
Pft. Nah. I ever asked you to feel any kind of regret? Ever?
Uh...Three? Oh, shit. Three are you here with me now?
Oh. My. Poop. You dumb, son.
My subconscious?
That ain’t it.
I got nothing.
Really? Jack told you it was a “family trait”, and you got nothing?
I chalked it up to schizophrenia. Or the booze. Or the drugs. I think everyone else did, too. Even Plissken.
I’m so disappointed in you...
I’m the parasite! Sub Specie Deus. Your personal pal who never goes away!
Oh.
Oh, shit.
C’mon, can’t be that big of a shock. How much time have we spent together? How many fan theories might there be? I’m part of your heritage. Your genes. Those special little bits inside you. That’s actually something the cultists won’t be able to replicate. Hmmm. Gotta think about this.
Madison wheels me up to the edge of the bluff. It’s gorgeous. Picturesque. A postcard. Deep blue with white-capped waves as far as I can see. Ain’t like the Meadowlands. Or even NYCZ. Where the sun’s always poured through a nuclear, red lens.
This feels clean.
Norris points at translucent bubbles on the horizon. “There, you see?”
I flap my hand. “Sky jellyfish. Seen em.”
“You don’t think they’re beautiful?”
“I think if they’re carrying the infection, I’d like to shoot em down.”
Norris grunts. “Small-minded fool. You aren’t thinking beyond your personal little safe place.”
My personal safe space is my balls on your chin.
I giggle.
Norris cocks an eye at me. “What’s funny?”
I blink. Stick my tongue in my cheek. “Nothing, I just, uh...I have a voice in my head.” I twirl the remaining fingers of my right hand around. “Mental problems.”
Oh, you.
I think we’re gonna be pals as long as you’re a dick to them and not me.
Noted.
Keep me alive.
I say, “It’s very pretty Norris, but what the hell am I looking for.”
Norris says, “Just watch.”
A black shape lunges from the water. Breaches, I think is the term. I’d guess it’s two hundred feet out. A little more. But the shape. It goes on and on. Up into the air. Toward the sun. Till it splashes back down. Slams itself against salt water.
Norris sighs. “Every day. I am amazed by them. Their beauty. Their grace. The way they adapt and transform themselves. Especially in the waters. They’re gods.”
I suck in the last lungful the Lucky Strike has to offer. Flick the rest over the bluff edge. “If they’re infected, they die. This ain’t a beauty pageant. This is for the species, motherfucker.”
Big words for a guy with no legs!
Dude, what’d I say?
Right. Sorry.
Three little kids run up in front of me. A white girl about twelve. A black girl about ten. A white boy about nine. All of em got the Great Ray Cult symbol on their forehead.
I say, “Forcing kids into a religion is abuse, Norris.”
The little white girl leans into my face. “My mom says...you’re the...Man With His Robot. But I don’t see your robot.” She huffs.
The little black girl says, “Where’s your robot?”
The little white boy says, “Where’re your legs?”
The little white girl says, “I heard you were gonna kill all of us. That’s what they said you were gonna do.”
The litt
le black girl says, “How can you be This Man With A Robot and not have a robot? Huh?”
The little white boy says, “What ‘s your name anyway? I don’t think you’re so scary. You don’t even have legs.”
I breathe in. Breathe out. Think back to Athena and DeVille at Sikorsky. “Actually, your parents are all stupid and wrong.” I glare at the little white boy. “My name is Big Daddy.” I smile. “And I will kill all of you...unless you wipe that dumb stuff off your foreheads. Cuz I am the infection.”
I laugh maniacally. Impersonate Vincent Price. Grab the little white girl by the wrist. Pretend to bite her hand.
The children all scream.
Norris punches me in the back of the head.
I let go.
The kids bolt in the general direction of away.
I hear Madison chuckle.
Crane my neck to look at her. “So...You do have a sense of humor.”
Her smile becomes a hard line.
Fine. Won’t press that point.
I pat my stumps. “Norris, this is fine and dandy. You worship the infected. I get it. It’s stupid as shit, but I get it.” I light another cigarette. “Big thing to point out here is, y’know, much as you love the infected, ain’t none of those bastards on the island.” I flap a hand toward the hustle and bustle of cultists moving goods behind me. “Don’t seem like you practice what you preach.”
Norris rubs his pointer finger between his chin and his bottom lip. “Well, that’s why we’re so curious about you.” He motions to Madison. “Let’s take him to the pits.”
* * *
Dunno what I was expecting. Norris called it “the pits,” but I guess I was expecting something that was...not just a series of pits in the ground with a ramshackle rusty warehouse built around em.
Well-spoken villains, far as movies’ve shown me, generally have a flair for the dramatic. Some whore-hopping Eurotrash’ll say “the pits,” but what he really means is a serious catacombs with traps and maybe a timed, razor-sharp pendulum that swings at the hero.
Not Norris.
This is just a buncha bigass holes in the ground lined with concrete.
And filled with infected.
I can hear em. Smell em. Different than the congregation of cultists, but same in some ways. Shuffling, bumbling assholes...
Madison gets me closer to the pits. One straight in front’s lousy with moaning, groaning Keefs. One to my right has two stilt-walkers—just the torsos. Arms and legs been amputated. I can appreciate their anguished howls. One of the pits even has a de-limbed hellbaby in it. Just a handful of toddlers melded together by the parasite. They mewl.
Norris spreads his arms out like I should be impressed. He sees I’m very-fuckin-not. Grimaces. Then points to a middle-aged white woman on the other side of the pits. “I would like to introduce you to my second-in-command: Janice Brennan.”
This Janice. She’s in her late forties. Butch. Dark hair cut short. Same grey coveralls as everyone else except she’s wearing a black pea coat too. She walks with confidence on the reinforced ground between the pits. Away from a door that might go to an office or something. She carries a big, plastic bucket.
Madison doesn’t speak behind me, but I can hear her grip the handles of the wheelchair harder. Tighter. The rubber squeaks.
Jot that down.
I watch Janice’s eyes. They flicker over my form. Madison’s. Finally settle on Norris. She says, “Master Charlie, how is this wonderful day treating you?”
I blow a stream of smoke Janice’s way.
Master Charlie.
Norris chuckles. “Very well, Dr. Brennan. I spent the morning watching our brethren among the waves. They were beautiful as always.”
Janice chuckles.
I roll my eyes. “You two cocksuckers doing the friendly banter thing from the local news or something?” I twirl my fingers. “Get on with it.”
Norris punches me again.
We’re gonna kill him.
Janice squints at me. “And this crude little creature is our Chosen One?”
I flick my cigarette into the pit of Keefs. “Yo.” My ears ring a little from that last hit Norris gave me.
Norris says, “Yes.” He draws the word out. So it slithers. “Unfortunately. But he is the only one we’ve ever seen who appears physically unaffected by the parasite. It’s the only example of perfect symbiosis that we know of.”
Guess they don’t have a clue about Jack, Catarina, Caleb, Athena or any of the other potential Emergent. Probably for the best.
I jerk my head toward Norris. “I get what he’s doing. The Jim Jones charming cult leader gimmick. He’s a politician.” I grimace. “And he hates me since I, justifiably, killed his kid, his sister, and his brother. Madison is stuck dealing with keeping me alive. A nurse. And the big guy with the shaved head is a guard. But you—” I wiggle my stumps at her. “The fuck’s your game, lady?”
Janice sneers. Rolls her eyes. “Typical primitive male aggression.” She shakes her head. Makes tsk tsk tsk noises. “I’m a scientist. My ‘game’ here is to conduct experiments. We are searching for symbiosis with the parasite. A symbiosis that allows us to merge with the parasite, but also retain our humanity.”
Norris says, “Convergence.”
“Convergence,” Janice says.
Madison’s quiet.
Nobody seems to care except me.
I lick my lips. Tilt my head like a confused dog. “So you suckers think I’m the key to your ‘convergence?’ Man...” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Okay, you’re a scientist. Where’d you go to school?”
Janice cocks an eye at me. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“I used to be a journalist. I’m curious. Indulge me.”
“This is clearly some misogynist garbage.” She wavers for a second. “I went to Wesleyan.”
I stifle a laugh. “You went to Wesleyan for science?”
“Actually—” she juts her chin out “—my degree was in feminist, gender and sexuality studies. The camp’s regular doctor has been on assignment for some time.”
I cackle. Laugh so hard a piece of my lung shoots outta my mouth. “Holy shit, that is fuckin priceless.” I can’t stop laughing. “Your cult leader’s name is Chuck Norris and the head scientist majored in feelings.”
Madison makes a noise like she’s stifling a laugh now too.
Janice remains faux-stoic.
I say, “Oh, come on, that shit’s funny.”
Norris punches me in the face.
The first hit knocks a tooth out, but I’m still laughing. Specks of blood fly with my giggles.
Second punch shuts me up. Only cuz my mouth doesn’t work anymore.
Dislocated jaw. It’ll heal.
Janice looks pretty pissed now. She lifts the bucket. Smiles. Reaches in. Pulls out a human foot. A left foot.
My left fuckin foot.
She tosses it down into the Keef pit.
I hear em moan. Get excited.
Chew.
Janice grabs a meaty part of my calf. Chucks it into the hellbaby pit.
The parasite bastards coo.
My right foot goes into the stilt-walker pit. They bark. Howl.
Janice keeps smiling. “My hope is that by feeding the infected your flesh and your blood, that we might see them pick up your traits.” She tips the bucket. Dumps a stew of me onto the Keefs. My blood. My flesh.
Norris clamps his hands around my shoulders. “The next phase of the experiment, of course, is seeing what happens when we consume your flesh and blood.” He pats my cheeks. “So rest up.”
Janice bites her bottom lip. “We need you nicely regenerated.”
Norris clocks me again.
The world goes black.
4. Holy Shit, I Miss My Guns
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I mean it.
I can’t even articulate how bad I miss my guns.
Putting a .45 slug through Norris’ head would make me jizz my pants.
I thought you wanted to skullfuck him? Cum on his brain?
I’ll do that too. They ain’t mutually exclusive.
Fair point, filthy human. Also: I have an idea.
Go ahead. And, uh, maybe this is weird. But. I’ll ask anyway: Want a name?
Ooooooooooh. I’ve actually been waiting so long for this. Really. I have. I’m tickled. Giddy. There’s a game you used to play alone. A retro one. Remember what it was?
Halo?
No no no. I mean, well, sorta. Similar universe. Same company. But before that one.
Oh, Marathon. Yeah. I loved the shit outta that trilogy. Halo always struck me as farting in the wind after Marathon’s story—
Don’t care. This ain’t nerd chat. I wanna be called Durandal.
Gotta think for a minute. Ancient history class.
Durandal is Roland’s sword. Roland being a paladin of Charlemagne. The sword was said to be sharper than any other in existence. Delivered by a goddamn angel, no less. Had bits of saints and hair and blood and even part of the Virgin Mary in its hilt.
Well, Durandal, that sorta goes against my whole religion-poisons-everything aesthetic, but fuck it, huh?
Nah, it’s kinda funnier this way. Ironic, even.
Cuz why?
Cuz I maybe figured out how to save humanity and kill every cult shit in this place.
This is that “plan” thing you ain’t told me about yet.
Only cuz you won’t like it.
Spit it out.
I can speed up your regeneration.
Awesome. Do it.
I hafta put you in a coma, is the thing. It’s like dealing with a computer. Full shut-down so I can fix the broken parts of you. Unplug the hard drives. The power cord. Everything. You’ll be vulnerable, but you’ll wake up when you’re fully healed.
Durandal? It’s not like I’m missing any fuckin movie premieres. Do it.
Oooooookay.
5. Well. That’s Interesting
I wake up to Madison.
Blood God (The Hroza Connection Book 5) Page 3