by Sean Platt
“What? When the hell did he do this? He’s with us all the time.”
“He’s been leaving at night, when no one is watching. Teleporting out of your hideout, going out and spreading The Light. He didn’t want to tell any of you because he was afraid you’d disapprove.”
“That little shit.”
“Are you mad at him?”
“Fuck no. I think Boy Wonder might just save this stinking rock!”
Emily smiled.
Boricio patted her on the back. “Remember that shit I said about people who think too much being pussies? Forget it, kid. You’ve got a great head on your shoulders.”
“Thanks. And I didn’t even tell you the best part of the plan.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to kill Desmond.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m the only one who can get close enough that they’d never suspect.”
Boricio shook his head. “Um, I don’t think so.”
“What?”
“I don’t like this part of the plan. It’s like you promised me dinner and took me to Arby’s. Everything else, perfect — but this, no bueno.”
“It’s the only thing that will work.”
“No, we’ll find another way.”
“Why? Because I’m a kid? You think I can’t kill someone?”
Boricio stopped in the middle of the street and turned to face her with his sternest expression. “You ever killed someone?”
“No, but — ”
“No buts. It’s a yes-or-no question, no qualifiers.”
“I can kill him.”
“Listen, you’re a nice kid. You’re smart, funny, and you’ve got balls. But you have no clue what it’s like to end someone’s life.”
“He’s not a person. He’s an alien.”
“Still.”
“I’m not taking no for an answer! I can do it.”
“Killin’ ain’t something you can do on a whim. It’s either in you, or it ain’t. You should leave the killin’ to people who are good at it. Who have done it before. Who have a thirst for it.”
“I have a thirst for it.”
Boricio laughed.
“I do! These aliens killed my mother with their plague! They’ve taken over the bodies of kids I was friends with. I’ve spent the last year going to bed every night wishing there was something someone would do to get rid of them. And now there is something, something that we can do. That I can do!”
Boricio sighed, not wanting to consider Emily’s offer but unable to help it. “I’ll think about it. If there’s no other way. But if there is another way, you’ve got to stand down and let the grown-ups take care of it. Ya dig?”
Emily nodded, though he felt like she was likely trying to placate him. He’d have to look out for her doing something stupid, which might ruin his hatching plan.
“I’m serious. You’ve gotta let me do my thing. And if I can’t, then it’s your turn. But if you try first, and fail, you’ll screw this up for everyone. And they will kill you and your father, both. Comprende?”
Emily nodded again, lower lip jutting out, eyes on the ground. This time, as they continued on their journey, Boricio felt like maybe she understood.
After another ten minutes, they reached a clearing of scorched land stretching for nearly six hundred yards before giving way to the docks.
“That’s where we’re headed.” Boricio stopped just inside the tree line and pointed to the docks. There were no boats, all of them either destroyed or taken to The Island. Yet Boricio routinely saw ships flying over the area, searching for those dumb enough to come. “You ready?”
Emily nodded.
“Now, we don’t want to fight unless it looks like they’re gonna kill us instead of bringing us in.”
“Right.” Emily nodded.
He met her eyes and said, “Thank you for doing this. I promise, one way or another, this shit ends tonight.”
She smiled.
As they started crossing the field, Boricio heard the last sound in the world he wanted to hear: the galloping of horses behind them.
He turned to see ten of the ugliest motherfuckers this side of a Mad Max cast audition, approaching fast. In moments, they were circling Boricio and Emily, weapons drawn. Some had spears, some had swords, but their leader, at least judging from the number of his tattoos, was holding a rifle.
“Well, well, look what we got here, boys. A purty little thang, indeed.”
Emily pressed herself against Boricio, unable to mask her fear. Unfortunately for her, fear was candy to assholes.
* * * *
CHAPTER 7 — Will Bishop
Will didn’t remember waking up early, leaving the cabin where the others were sleeping, or even walking to the Black Tree. Yet he was here, again, as he’d been nearly every morning since arriving in The Realm — the name he’d given the world where they woke after dying on Earth.
When he first opened his eyes here, Will had hoped he was in Heaven, not that he’d had much faith in such a place any longer. Yet when Will couldn’t find his true love, Sam, he figured this couldn’t be Heaven.
For a while, he thought perhaps this was some kind of purgatory, and he waited for some sign that he was ready to move on.
His first visit to the tree, that he remembered anyway, brought him visions of Callie, hiding from bleakers in a house, bleakers that only existed in her mind. He led her to the cabin, helped her get better and exorcise the demons plaguing her soul.
For a long time, the tree offered nothing more, even though Will found himself there every morning.
No answers as to where they were, or why they were there. It still felt like Purgatory to him.
Soon, other visits to the tree brought him Jade, then Ed. Callie insisted that they go out and search for Charlie. They had, but the woods and path both seemed endless in all directions.
So when the tree brought him visions of Charlie yesterday, Will felt like something was about to happen.
As he kneeled at the tree, Will looked up at its many skeletal branches reaching up to morning’s first violet light.
Dread filled his veins as he placed his hand on the trunk, hoping he wouldn’t see visions of Luca, Paola, or Mary. As much as Will would enjoy their company, their presence would mean they were dead.
A tremor moved under the tree’s thick black bark. Beneath the bark, he saw the briefest glimmer of lights.
Will yanked his hand back, thinking of the last place he’d seen such lights: under the aliens’ skin.
He stared at the tree, watching as light faded and the bark returned to its normal appearance. He hesitated touching it again — part of him afraid of what he’d see. Not just a part, all of him.
They’d grown comfortable with one another here. And something told him that was about to change. That this purgatory wasn’t forever.
But what did that mean?
Touch the tree, and find out.
Will inched his fingers closer but couldn’t bring himself to touch the bark.
You can’t fight Fate. Touch the tree to discover what’s next.
He closed his eyes and slapped his palm on the tree.
They came in a violent flash, bright and awful.
Will fell away from the tree and stared up at it, wondering how he would deliver the bad news to the cabin’s crew.
* * * *
CHAPTER 8 — Boricio Wolfe
If the bandit fucks had approached Boricio alone, he wouldn’t have hesitated in the slightest to put each in a grave carefully crafted for their particular needs. But having to protect Emily limited his options considerably.
The group’s leader looked down from his horse and asked, “What are you all doing out here on this lovely evening?”
Boricio’s gun was in his holster. He could easily squeeze off a shot or four, but there were too many bandits to account for, surrounding them, with half of the ten riders behind him.
“We don’t want no
trouble. Just out looking for somewhere to stay the night.”
“She can stay with me,” one of them said, a fat man with long dark hair and an equally long beard.
The other men laughed. Some made lewd comments about how she could stay with them, too.
Boricio wanted to tear the tongues from their bodies, gouge out their eyes, and shove them right up their cornholes. But again, he was hamstrung by the kid.
“Tell you what,” Tattoo Man said, “you put those weapons on the ground, and we’ll let you go on your way.”
Boricio looked up at the ugly fucker and smiled. “I put down my weapons, you’ll gut me and take her.”
More laughter from the Mad Max rejects.
“Or,” said a man from behind, “we could gut you now and take her.”
A revolver clicked behind him.
“Fine, fine,” Boricio said, slowly turning to face the man who’d cocked his gun. Another big fat ugly fuck, with a broken nose and a face that even his mother would hate. Boricio wanted to crack a joke and ask how so many of them were fat enough for neck deodorant when most of The Wastelands struggled to find food. But that would just get him shot quicker.
Then Boricio remembered that he was with a girl who could teleport herself away when shit hit the fan. Maybe there was a way out, after all. Boricio pushed a thought from his mind, hoping Emily was tuned in. If you can blink out of here, do it now.
He drew his gun and made like he was about to set it on the ground.
Instead, he fired at the left front leg of the horse carrying Broken Nose.
And in a flash, Emily was gone.
Now it’s party time!
The bullet hit, causing the horse to whinny as it reared up on its back legs and sent Broken Nose to the ground.
The other horses reacted as well — some rearing up, others turning to run.
Boricio raised his pistol and fired at the leader’s horse, right in the chest.
The horse made a god-awful bray as it threw Tattoo Man off and crashed to the ground.
Boricio leaped on top of the man, shoved the pistol against his head, and fired.
Gunshots zipped past him, kicking up dirt to his left and right.
Only a matter of time before his targets stopped missing.
Boricio spun around amid the chaos of tromping horses, searching for the shooter, found the fucker standing thirty feet away, and fired two shots.
Boricio didn’t miss either of them.
Boricio turned to find his next target when out of the corner of his eye he saw a big, black blur — a horse — coming right at him, with one of the bandit fuckers laughing maniacally.
The horse slammed into him then barreled over Boricio, trampling him as he went.
Boricio felt like he’d been hit by a truck, but there was no time to inventory aches or pains. He had to stand and fight.
But his pistol was gone.
He scanned the ground and heard galloping coming his way.
Boricio looked up in time to see that same fucker on horseback returning to finish the job.
He jumped out of the way, barely in time, and rolled to the ground.
Luck, for a change, was on Boricio’s side.
He landed right beside his pistol.
He fired at the horse’s ass — an easier target than the jockey — and watched the horse rear up with a piercing wheeee, sending the man from its back.
Boricio fired, missing at first, and kept squeezing the trigger until his magazine was empty and the fucker was down.
Boricio grabbed the blade at his back and spun around, searching for any asshole who wanted to step in the ring.
But the horses were all galloping off, and the bandits on foot were retreating.
Boricio laughed, dusting his hands off: a day’s work done.
He looked around for Emily, hoping she hadn’t teleported too far away.
Something moved behind him.
Boricio turned, just in time to see the bat flying at his head.
It missed, just barely, as Boricio fell to the ground.
The bandit, a giant ginger cunt of a man, swung again before Boricio could escape, hitting him hard in the ribs.
“Fuck!” Boricio screamed, and collapsed to the ground.
He flipped himself over, quickly, before Ginger Cunt could swing again.
But he wasn’t swinging.
The man leaped on top of Boricio, straddling him, trading his bat for a hammer.
As the hammer came at his face, Boricio swung his left arm up to block it then came in with his right hand, holding the blade, stabbing it straight into the man’s right arm.
Ginger Cunt screamed, yanking his arms back and dropping the hammer.
Boricio tried to retrieve his blade, but it was stuck in the man’s arm. He threw two jabs into his gut instead then reached down to squeeze the asshole’s nuts.
Ginger Cunt didn’t back down. Instead, he pulled the knife from his arm and came at Boricio’s throat.
Boricio moved quickly, almost blindly, raising his hands and seizing Ginger Cunt’s wrists, stopping the blade just inches over his chest.
They were in a mortal struggle, with Ginger Cunt pressing down with all his weight, trying to plunge the knife into Boricio.
His mind scrambled, searching for some way to get the fucker off of him, but Boricio couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t give the man the leverage.
Their eyes locked.
Ginger Cunt’s bloodlust was deep.
Spit flew from his mouth as he growled, pushing harder.
Boricio’s hands shook as the blade inched toward his chest.
Boricio grunted, trying to push back.
The blade pressed into his flesh.
No!
The man’s eyes went wide with shock.
He released the knife and reached up to his head, where a knife was sticking out the back of his skull.
Emily stood behind the man, staring, horrified at what she’d done.
Ginger Cunt started to rise, as if he were going to pull the blade out of his head, turn around, and stab Emily.
Boricio’s eyes spotted the fallen hammer, seized it, and brought it up fast, right into Ginger Fuck’s cheek.
Direct impact with his eye socket.
The man screamed, falling back and off of Boricio.
Boricio leaped to his feet and brought the hammer down again and again, smashing Ginger Fuck’s skull and face, over and over until he was sure the fucker was down, without any identifiable eyes, nose, or mouth.
Boricio’s heart raced as he turned, searching for anything else that needed a killin’.
Then he heard the loud jet-like engines above, approaching fast.
Shuttles on their way.
Soon, he and Emily would be aboard the alien ship — assuming the Guardsmen didn’t see his bloody body and take him for the threat Boricio was. In which case, he’d be put down like one of the horses.
* * * *
CHAPTER 9 — Paul Roberts
Paul watched as the shuttle doors opened and his daughter stepped out into the cargo bay, escorted by a pair of Guardsmen.
“Oh, God, Emily!” He ran and embraced her, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“You’re alive!”
He kissed Emily all over her face, hugged her tighter, then pulled away, looking her up and down for signs of abuse.
“Did they hurt you? Did he hurt you?” Paul glared at Boricio being led from the shuttle by another two Guardsmen, hands cuffed behind his back.
Paul ran up to Boricio and got in his face. “I swear to God if you hurt her, I will kill you.”
Boricio gave him an asshole’s grin — the smug sort that said he thought Paul was all bark and no bite.
Paul would make him regret that grin.
“He didn’t do anything, Dad,” Emily whined behind him. “He wanted to return me, in exchange for the others.”
“So, how ‘bout it, Pops? You gonna let my friends go?�
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Paul ignored Boricio, turned to Emily, and said, “We need to get you to medical. You must be starving, dehydrated, and sleep deprived.”
“I’m fine, Dad.”
“Just the same, you need to get to medical.” Paul needed to get Emily out of the room so he could deal with Boricio without interference.
“I’m fine.”
“Take her to medical, get a full work-up,” Paul told the two Guardsmen who escorted Emily from the shuttle.
“Yes, sir,” they said.
Emily whined about wanting to stay, but Paul didn’t have time for her mewling. She was back, and safe. These bastards would never hurt her again.
“Where do you want him?” one of the Guardsmen asked.
Before Paul could respond, Desmond emerged from the control booth, hands folded in front of him, pleased smile on his face.
“Take him to the chambers, with the others.”
Paul watched as Boricio stared Desmond down. Such hate, so powerful, Paul could feel it wafting off the man in waves.
Desmond maintained a civil smile, though Paul could see a certain glee in his eyes at capturing this particular man.
* * * *
CHAPTER 10 — It
It stood in The Black Room, waiting for The Leader to show himself. It wasn’t sure if the lack of chairs in The Black Room was a slight against It, or if the aliens kept the room free of chairs so as not to interfere with the energies coursing through the large circular chamber near the ship’s crown.
The Black Room was named for its utter lack of light, except for the pulsating amber selvions buried within the walls and floors in the mid and upper levels. The selvions powered everything from the created aliens like It and the Ferals to the starship’s organic sections. It was bioengineered on the aliens’ home planet but was also sentient and helped in the aliens’ replication.
It watched the lights pulsate faster and brighter, indicating that The Leader was coming.
Its heart raced faster.
The circular door slid open, and The Leader — largest and grayest of the centipede-moth creatures — entered, its spindly legs skittering along the black floor, lights pulsating beneath its body.