by Kenny Soward
“Crash? What about you?” The pain in Lonnie's chest was overwhelming, and he needed the distraction.
“I worked on ships, like on Earth," Crash said, navigating the rocky shore with ease. "But in Hell I flew them.”
“Skyships?”
“Over the Northern Chasm,” Selix said. “Over the Serelekt, and the Boiling Sea. Hired by your family for a time. That’s how we came to know him.”
“Skyships, man. Hell yes. It was a good life. Until Makare asked us to attack our own cities. We rebelled by joining you.”
Lonnie’s stomach became heavy, a rock settling there. “Thank you. And, I'm sorry.”
“Don't be. You saved me. You and Selix, that is. You figured out what your sister was doing. Tried to stop her with raw nerve and galefire.” He indicated Selix with a nod of his head. “I’ll never forget the first time I saw this lady high in the sky above the islands. Wing and fire, my friend—”
“We failed.” Lonnie’s teeth pressed together.
“Yes.” Crash's voice dropped.
Lonnie closed his eyes and imagined everything. Or at least, most of it. He remembered the battles, vaguely. Demons and dragons and oil-leaky airships swarming the skies of Hell. They had names, these battles, but those weren’t important. The rebellion was. They’d lost, and Lonnie had escaped Xester with his remaining loyalists. Those walking with him now on the shores of the Ohio River. But there was something more. Something his mind wasn’t allowing himself to see. A woman, someone dear to him. Dressed in a billowy material with a scarf thrown around her neck. Her face was clear in his memory. Her features, plain and flat. Blood on her cheeks. Eyes that used to harbor light and love, dead. Her body left for the red sands to consume.
So familiar it hurt.
“Who is the woman with the pale eyes in my memories? Is that my mother?”
A dark silence fell over the group, nothing but the lapping of river waves to fill the space. Everyone seemed to know, but no one would say it out loud. Their unspoken words settled on him, thorny and rock-heavy.
“Was it?” Lonnie’s voice was a croaking growl, the sound a ghoulkine might make.
Selix stopped walking, turned, and let them take the three or four lurching steps to catch up with her. She raised her eyes. Put her hands on his shoulders to steady him.
“Yes, your mother, Mawia. We found her in the dessert outside of Xester on the shore of the Boiling Sea.”
Lonnie swallowed, words caught in his throat.
Selix continued, with a sigh. "We’d been scouting the city to track Makare's mischief. There were others, too. Those in Xester’s Court your sister thought were working against her, working with the rebellion. Scary thing was, she was right. She killed a lot of good men and women, a lot of good spies.”
Lonnie heard what Selix was saying but his thoughts hearkened to the diminutive woman that was his mother. Her name, Mawia Bet-Ohman. A lifetime of years with her returned. She was no longer just a presence in his head. She’d come to the Bet-Ohmans from a far away land, from the traveling tribes who entertained in the villages and palaces of Hell’s Rim Region. Young or old, rich or poor, their only pleasure in life to bring smiles to the faces of others. And his father had fallen in love with her. It was her quiet, caring countenance. Her soft voice. Her ability to dance and spin and lead the other entertainers. She filled the sourest of hearts with joy.
She’d true-birthed Lonnie and Makare from her own womb. Had cared for them by herself even with an army of nannies at her disposal. But as soon as his sister was old enough to harbor resentment, she had. She thought their mother weak, too caring in a world where hard choices kept the family strong. She didn’t approve of the advice Mawia provided their father. Patience instead of wrath. Coolness in the face of heat. Peace rather than war. She’d shown Father how to navigate the dangers of the diplomacy game without resorting to killing. Taught him how to move the pieces in a very different way.
Makare continually studied the history of the Bet-Ohmans all the way through her childhood, and as an adult modeled herself after their ruthless grandmother Azarah Bet-Ohman, who’d disappeared two thousand years ago after unleashing a reign of terror across Hell and Earth, leaving Lonnie’s father as the sole heir of Xester. And as soon as his sister was old enough to influence those same pieces, she did so with a cruel cunning that undercut their mother’s good work. Makare planted the seeds of paranoia and fear in their father and those members of the Bet-Ohman Court who wielded power. In addition, Makare resented that she’d inherited her mother’s physical attributes, her slight frame and pale, sickly pallor. She was disgusted with herself because of their mother.
And she’d killed her because of it.
“Lons, you’re…”
A strained voice at his side.
He shook the old memories free and returned to the present. To the river’s edge and the gentle lapping of waves. He was still staring into Selix’s blue eyes. Still holding Elsa in his right arm. No, not holding, crushing.
His rage had overpowered him. Consumed him. Hands swept together to raise runes. That strange surge of energy pinging around in his bones. Elsa, despite her wiry whorchal strength, gripped helpless in his headlock. In response, she'd buried her claws into his scalp and shoulder. Her hiss low and deadly. “…crushing me, Lons.”
“Let her go,” Selix said, hands reaching out, wedging between the two.
Crash grasped Lonnie’s upper arm. “Hey there. Do what the lady says. You ain’t mad at Elsa. Place your anger where it needs to be. On your sister. On Makare. C’mon. Don’t make me hurt you.”
Horrified and surprised, Lonnie released Elsa in one quick move, the whorchal falling away, sucking breath, and stumbling over rocks and scree into her sister’s arms. She reeled, a wry grin playing at her lips. “There are other ways to show your love for me, Lons—”
“I’m sorry,” he stated flatly, sinking to his knees. "I'm sorry."
Selix and Crash caught him, making sure he didn’t hit the ground. “No problem, my friend. Makare has a way of screwing with you even when she’s not around."
"Even from Hell," Ingrid agreed.
"Yeah,” Selix said. “We’ve had years to digest it. Except for you. It’s like you’re just now finding out what kind of monster she was. For the second time in your life.”
Lonnie shook his head. “I should have never left my mother and father alone with that devil. I should have fought harder.”
“You did, brother,” Crash said. “We all did. And we lost.”
“No.” Lonnie buried his face in his hands. Smoothed his hair back. “C’mon. Get me up. Get me to this fuckin’ healer.”
“I got him now. It’s my turn.” Crash pulled Lonnie’s arm around his broad shoulders and lifted him with ease. Got him up and moving again, and the gang picked up momentum.
On their left, house lights shone through the trees. Homes of people kin to the river. Generations of families happy to stay right where they were despite the potential for flooding, dank smells, and swarms of summer insects.
The ghoulkine would undoubtedly cross at some other bridge, if they hadn’t already, and be on their trail again. It wouldn’t take much to run the gang down.
The golden moon sank lower in the sky, morning light fast approaching. It seemed important to find this healer before the sun’s rays breached the horizon. Lonnie sensed he might not make it to dawn. The riverbank had a wasted look. Parts of it had been turned into landfill: trash dumped everywhere, old machines rusting, and furniture long gone to rot. Tree branches and thick bushes had pushed through, woods grown to the river’s edge and forcing them to walk near the lapping waves where tin cans and other junk floated.
At times, the water churned in an explosion of mud. Something big spooked by their presence. A catfish, frog, or a creature alien to this river, alien to this world. An occasional boat buzzed by, some late night cruiser or a party gone long.
It was distant to Lonnie, except for his
chest. That godamn, never ending ache.
“Can we hit again? My side is killing me.”
“Yes. That we can do.”
They might not usually fix so soon after the last time, but the physical exertion passed the drugs quicker, or at least ruined the high. Lonnie was vaguely aware he hadn’t eaten in two days. Normal, for a junkie. But something in the back of his mind, some general idea he needed to eat, told him starvation could be a factor in his demise as well as his crushed chest. He’d hardly been the picture of health before the car fell on him, and now he’d hate to see a real doctor's expression after one look at his x-ray.
They found an old bathtub resting in the mud and Selix and Lonnie climbed inside. Sitting face-to-face, legs tangled up, they fixed. The others sat outside the tub on pieces of wood they’d dragged up, tying off and doing their thing. Lonnie grinned as he let his head lull back against the porcelain edge, his pain drifting once again into oblivion. If felt good curling up and enjoying the first bit of warmth radiating through his veins.
“There isn’t a lot left. We need to ration at this point.”
Lonnie’s head nodded forward.
“You know what I could use right now, dearies?”
Lonnie’s eyes drifted, marveling at Elsa’s raven dark tangles falling over the side of the tub.
“A good slap in the face?” Crash said.
Giggling, Selix said, “A retirement plan?”
“No to all of those things. What I really want is one of those McDoc’s Ribling sandwiches.”
“I thought…” Lonnie started, waited for a tickle in his chest to pass, “… you only drank blood.”
“This is true, Lons. But we also enjoy regular food. In this case, a little blood in the barbecue sauce for flavor.”
“That’s gross,” Selix said, giggling between her knees.
“McDoc’s Ribling sandwiches are for a limited time only,” Ingrid said.
“Yes, but I saw an advertisement for them. They are in season.” Elsa’s lips made an exaggerated smacking sound.
Crash chuckled.
Lonnie caught Selix’s eyes. He almost looked away they were so damn blue. The only things of her left alive. Otherwise, she was just a skinny junkie. Maybe a buck soaking wet. This was not a judgment by Lonnie—he was sure he appeared far worse—but an observation. He’d seen other junkies in better physical condition than either one of them, but none with eyes to match Selix’s. She'd always kept those, when everything else withered away.
Lonnie dozed off, drowning in those vivid blue pools. Drowning in the weight of his memories, none of which he could do a thing about. Drowning, in his own blood.
Chapter 12
Birds announced the dawn with chirps, and Lonnie woke to a sky turning pink. Selix stretched her arms, yawned, and looked around. Lonnie stood up and stretched, too. The pain had returned tenfold, and he found it difficult to straighten himself without his side screaming.
“I’m ready.” Lonnie wasn’t sure he was, but remaining here was no longer an option. It wasn’t a matter of how much farther anymore. It was a matter of how many breaths remained.
Selix got out of the tub and helped Lonnie do the same. Together, they faced the river.
Selix made a surprised sound and ventured to the shoreline to stand next to an old Coca Cola soft drink cooler, its red paint faded, but Lonnie saw the raised letters on the side.
The others stood, stretching, reaching arms to the sky, and picked up their weapons.
Selix shot a look over her shoulder, a big smile one her face. “Aw, hell. I didn’t even realize it. We’re here. This is it.”
Ingrid clicked her tongue. “Ah, yes. There’s the box!”
The sisters joined Selix at the cooler.
Lonnie hobbled over with Crash’s help while Selix wiped mud and dirt off the old thing. It was missing a top, and there were rounded grooves cut into the edge facing the river. Pinched into the grooves were a handful of black rubber hoses.
Lonnie followed the lines with his eyes as they led from the cooler, past Selix’s boots, to where they disappeared into the water. An uneasy feeling settled over him.
As if to reinforce his worry, Selix snapped a hose from its place and put her lips around it, blowing. She then inhaled deeply. “Yep, we’re good. Waterproof what you can and grab one.”
Crash and Elsa took plastic wrap and sandwich bags out of the duffel and stuffed what they could in them, wrapping up the guns and magazines. Then they each grabbed a hose and cleared the lines just like Selix showed them.
Lonnie shook his head. “Selix, I can’t. I’m—”
“You want to be healed, right?” She shook her backpack so their collected pop bottles clanked. “Want to feel better?”
“Yes.”
“Well. Take one.” Selix pinned him with a look. “Fucking trust me.”
Lonnie’s eyes lingered on the fast rolling river, the ripples across its surface carrying driftwood and litter and boats. The current was sure to be stronger out there. Strong enough to pull his weak ass straight to the bottom. But he’d trusted Selix this far, hadn’t he? What if relief waited beneath that blackish water?
What if he met a dark, frigid death?
“It’s going to be okay. I’ll be right here.” Crash squeezed Lonnie’s elbow. The big guy took a line, gave it a huge blow, sucked on it, and nodded, handing the end to Lonnie.
Lonnie put it in his mouth. Inhaled. Got air from somewhere below. Shit tasted stale and muddy but clean enough to breathe.
He nodded to Selix, a look of discomfort on his face.
Selix smiled back. “Thanks, Lonnie. Thanks for trusting me.”
The sisters searched the immediate vicinity for stones and found a few good-sized ones. Elsa handed Lonnie a rock as big as his head. “Hang on to this. We want to go straight down.”
Thus armed, they made their way into the river. Lonnie shuffled along with Crash at his side. The waves laughed at him.
Come below, Lonnie. Come into the dark. Come live with the fishes and turtles and slimy things.
The water reached his waist, and Lonnie fought off a stab of fear. By the time it got to his neck he was in full blown panic. He tried to turn away, tried to go back to the safety of the shore, but Crash steadied him.
With no choice, Lonnie hugged the rock to his chest, the hose squeezed between his hands in a death grip as the waves covered him. He closed his eyes tight and took his first panicked breaths through the stinky rubber. Crash held Lonnie by his elbows, backing up while guiding him.
His boots kicked up muck and mire. The water chilled him to the bone. The current pulled and pushed them, threatening to knock them both off balance. The hose nearly slipped from his fingers once, but he squeezed it with his teeth in the nick of time. Only a little water leaked in between his lips and the rubber.
Crash was there, hand clamped around his upper arm to fight the strengthening current.
Lonnie’s lungs ached with the growing pressure. An itch tickled his throat. He coughed into the hose. What happened if one of those chest-wracking fits showed up?
Lonnie froze when something touched his left ankle. The bump of a catfish, or the tangle of trash or river debris. It bumped him again, and then gripped, wrapping around his boot and up his bare calf beneath his jeans. A tentacle, slimy and squeezing and strong.
He tried to lift his captured leg, but he was caught tight. Kicked at the thing with his free foot, an action which was ridiculously ineffective. Another tentacle secured that foot, too. Clutched it in a slick, iron grip.
It pulled his boots into the muck, all the way to his knees.
Fuck.
Lonnie dropped the rock. Grabbed for Crash but the guy was gone.
The frigid mud sucked at his legs, drawing him down into the riverbed. He sunk to his waist and threw his hands out, a sharp pain cutting into his palm. Lonnie almost screamed, almost let the hose slip out of his mouth. He gripped it harder, bit down. Opened his eyes and
immediately regretted it. What filled his vision was immutable black, swirling pitch.
The mud rose past his stomach, and he pushed with every ounce of strength he had. He thought about trying a sweep with his hands, but the exact combination to save his ass was beyond him. It wasn’t something he could do on cue yet, and his head was in the wrong place.
He should have asked more questions up on the shore.
Too late now.
In the end, he realized the futility of hanging on. He was hurting himself more than helping. He’d have to trust Selix on this, or die. Before the mud could reach his chest and bend his arms at an awkward, painful angle, Lonnie let go, drew his elbows in, and slid into the river bottom’s embrace.
The pressure engulfed him, and he bit and growled into the stale-tasting rubber.
He took one more breath before the hose caught on something and ripped out of his mouth, sending his mind beyond panic. A moment later, he was kicking at the open air. Then, he fell. His feet struck ground, knees buckling beneath him. He toppled to the side. The wrong side. He slammed his shoulder, something shifting in his chest. His back muscles spasmed, clenching up around his sides and middle.
Lonnie tried to scream, but all he managed was a pitiful gurgle.
He rolled over, eyes finding Selix and Crash who stood over him, hands on their knees and looking concerned as water dripped off their chins and noses.
A grizzled old man waddled into view. He leaned in, mirroring Selix’s stance, and peered at Lonnie over his rotund belly. The guy could have been anywhere between sixty and a million years old, with sparse, stringy gray hair, and big, wide eyes of opposing blue and green. His rounded chin and jowls were fuzzed with tufts of short, uneven beard, as if he used a butter knife to trim it.
“What’s the vexation?” The old man’s voice was grit and growl. “Bats over `is pillow? Boils and sleepwalkers?”
“I think some broken ribs on his left side, Gruff. A car fell on him.”
The man made an exaggeratedly pained expression and shook his head. “Vehicular fornication.”