Nightmare City: Part One: A Post-Steampunk Lovecraft Adventure

by Jack Conner

  The monster teetered ... teetered ...

  ...fell ...

  Katya knew it was coming, but when it did she screamed anyway. Wind tore through her hair. She pressed her face against the monster’s neck. They fell, and fell, and her stomach churned. Heather screamed in her ear.

  This better work. If the shit mound didn’t soften their landing—

  Splat! They struck. Kat knocked her forehead against the creature’s skull—

  Blackness.

  Then, “Come on, come on.”

  Rain pattered down on her. Heather stood above her, framed against the light of a gaslamp. Katya blinked, her mind catching up. Slowly. Groaning, she felt about her. They were on a great soft mound, with grass growing up its sides. Then the smell hit her, and she wanted to retch.

  “No time,” Heather said, tugging on her arm.

  Kat groaned, allowing Heather to pull her up.

  Sudden terror swept her. “The others!” she gasped. “Oh, shit, we’ve fucked them all!”

  She looked up. A small flicker of light revealed the outlines of the shit-hole in the Arch fifty feet overhead. Small faces ringed the hole, staring down at them. Katya could imagine their fear. Behind them, somewhere in the suite, gunshots rang.

  Then, to her horror, she saw one of the shapes detach itself from the others—

  And jump.

  “No!” Katya cried.

  It was too late.

  The shape fell and fell, resolving into a boy, she thought it might be the one with the black hair but couldn’t be sure. He fell, fifty feet at least. Katya couldn’t bear to watch. She turned away right before he struck the mound of shit and piss and grass and mud, all wet now because of the rain, softened further by the creature’s impact. Thunk.

  A long silence stretched. Rain pattered on the mound, trickled over folds and bulwarks of fecal matter.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  Heather just stood there, pale and stiff.

  Katya realized she’d have to look. Trembling, she forced her head to turn. At first all she could see was the mound, ten feet high, glistening and awful, the reek filling her nose. Somewhere in that mound was the Returner, possibly still alive—or whatever. Hopefully it was sinking to the bottom.

  Just as she thought this, something stirred inside the mound. She began to scream, then saw that it was not the Returner but the boy. Not the black-haired one, but the young with the birthmark on his arm.

  Panting and laughing, he pumped his fists over his head and whooped in delight. A ragged cheer drifted down from the dolls above.

  Happiness ran through Katya so quickly and so fiercely that she wrapped her arms about Heather, forgetting the other girl’s injury for a moment, and hugged her tight. And so happy was Heather that she hugged her back, at least for a second. Then a pained gasp in Katya’s ear reminded her. Abashed, she drew back her arms.

  “We have to get out of here,” Kat said.

  Heather nodded tightly. “You’re taking me with you?”

  Kat combed a strand of hair over Heather’s ear. “You need to see a doctor, H. You’ve lost a lot of fucking blood.”

  Heather smiled tiredly. She really did look pale. “There’s that word again.”

  Kat gripped Heather’s hand. “Come on. No, wait!”

  She’d spotted something sticking out of the mound of feces. She ducked down, snatched it up, and handed it to Heather. “This should help with the pain.”

  Gratitude filled Heather’s eyes as she saw the syringe, half filled with amber fluid. Hurriedly, but only after cleaning the needle in the rain, Kat helped shoot her up. Heather’s face shone with relief almost instantly. That done, Kat tossed away the syringe and took up Heather’s hand once more.

  As they turned away, another shape leapt from the opening above. Shortly another ragged cheer signaled success. But overhead thunder boomed, and somewhere nearby Loqrin would be livid.

  Chapter 8

  Loqrin’s auto garage sat near the base of the nearest leg of the Arch. Katya had barely noticed it when she arrived, but she led Heather there now. Heather limped, and with every step hissed in pain. Her hisses grew less sharp with every step, though, as the drug took effect. Kat knew they didn’t have much time. Whatever goons guarded the garage would receive the alert soon, if they hadn’t already. As she drew closer, Kat saw that the garage was a rusty building fashioned of sagging aluminum sheeting. It looked like it would fall down at any moment. Strange to see such a wreck half-leaning against the proud Arch. The rain tap-tap-tapped on it fiercely.

  Kat could smell nothing but feces and urine. A layer of the stuff coated her, clogged her nostrils, pasted her mouth. She spat as she went along, pining for a cigarette to mask the taste, then gratefully stepped out from under the Arch.

  The rain fell full upon her. She raised her arms and basked in it. The cleansing water pounded down on her, washing away the filth, and she opened her mouth and let it fill up, gargling with the rainwater, then spitting and refilling. She let the rain wash her as much as it could, her hands helping as it did its wonderful work.

  Heather joined in. It was obvious that the water cascading over her back pained her even with the drug, but she gritted her teeth and took it. She looked a sight, Kat thought: naked, bloody, mutilated, covered in nastiness. Kat’s heart went out to her, but she tried not to look too pitying.

  At last Kat got herself as clean as she was going to get. Hopefully it was enough for what she had to do. The storm and the tap-tapping of rain on aluminum were so loud she had to shout to be heard: “You stay here!” she told Heather, who frowned at her. “I’ll be right back.”

  Katya strode toward the open overhead doors of the garage, combing her hair back with her fingers as she went. A half dozen gleaming cars sat under the roof. A single man kept guard. He looked like he was enjoying himself, Katya saw. In shirtsleeves and fedora, he casually leaned against a polished car and smoked a cigarette, staring out at the rain. He wore a pistol on a holster slung beneath his left arm. On the wall behind him dangled his jacket and several sets of keys.

  He was young, with stiff black hair and whiskers. He bore the common pasty look of the Hollows, but he was not unhandsome. Too bad he worked for Loqrin.

  His eyes widened as Katya sauntered into the garage, and a slow smile slipped across his lean, wolfish face. Kat knew she must look good. Dripping wet, wearing only soaked underwear and bra that was now pretty much see-through, her dark eyes shining with adrenaline. She played it up, shaking her slender hips one way, then the other. The man’s eyes followed them like a dog’s gaze would follow a treat.

  “Well, hello,” he said, with the accent she was coming to associate with the Hollows. It sounded somehow old-fashioned, as if people here hadn’t had much contact with the outside world for a while.

  “Hello,” Kat purred. It was good to be out of the rain. It smelled of car wax and grease in the garage. She liked it.

  He shoved himself off from the auto and stood up straight. Still smoking, he angled his fedora down low over his brow. “A bit wet for a stroll, ain’t it?”

  She gave what she hoped was a taunting smile. “I guess you’ll have to find out.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, his hat going askew. “A little hussy with fire! I like it! Who are you, anyway? One of Reddin’s girls? Gotta be. I know all of the Boss’s. But you know I can’t nibble Reddin’s wares—sad a state as that may be.”

  She sauntered closer. She could smell his cigarette now. It smelled cheap, but strong. Her limbs felt on fire. She loved the lust in his eyes, and the rain trickling down her made her feel alive.

  “Forbidden fruit’s the sweetest,” she said.

  Somewhere thunder crashed. The man jumped, then chuckled at himself. “Yeah,” he said, “I guess.”

  She was near him now. “My rates are reasonable.”

  “Shit, Reddin must be getting’ bold to send his girlies this way. But—shit—a man can only take so much.” He flu
ng down his cigarette, stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. He had narrow hands, with long hairy fingers. They felt warm against her skin.

  He bent down to kiss her. She let him. His mouth tasted of nicotine.

  At last he drew back. “Oh, girl ...”

  “Mmm,” she murmured, running her hands over his chest. With one, she cupped his manhood and began massaging it.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah ...” Suddenly his nose wrinkled. He sniffed. “What’s that sme—?”

  Kat squeezed his balls as tight as she could with her left hand. He lifted his head and screamed. Before he could strike her or pull his gun, she hit him with all the strength she had with her right, smack in the jaw. Her jagged rings bit deep. Blood sprayed from his face, and she instantly felt guilty.

  Howling, he collapsed to the side of the car, still moving, trying to get up.

  “You bitch!” he said, trying to climb to his feet.

  Kat stepped forward, wondering if maybe she could kick him. What would she do if he got up?

  Suddenly there came the ringing of metal, and he slumped to the ground. Heather stood behind him, a tire iron gripped in her hands. Behind her flapped the rear door of the garage, banging against the sides.

  “Last time I tell you to stay put,” Kat said, breathing heavily.

  “Darn right,” Heather said.

  Then, as if she’d used up all her strength in wielding the tire iron, she fell against the car. Kat leapt to her side and caught her.

  After several deep breaths, Heather nodded. “I’ll be all right.”

  Kat doubted that. Heather needed serious help, and soon. She patted Heather’s arm and went to the rear wall. There she grabbed all the keys from their pegs and returned to the auto Heather leaned against. She ripped open the door, slid inside, not caring about ruining the leather seats. She tried one key after another. Finally the engine roared to life. Heather cheered.

  Smiling in satisfaction, Katya threw the rest of the keys in the mud, then popped open the passenger door for Heather. When Heather seemed to be having problems, Kat jumped out and helped her around the side of the car and into her seat. Heather trembled and Katya realized she must be going into shock; she was white as a ghost.

  Damn, Katya thought, but tried not to show her worry. She had to put on a brave face for Heather.

  “Hang on,” Katya said. She ran to the wall, grabbed the goon’s jacket and dashed back. With shaking fingers of her own, she helped Heather wrap it about her front like a blanket. It smelled of smoke and grease.

  “Thanks,” Heather said, snuggling in.

  “Yeah,” Kat said. Then, in a fit of motherliness, she leaned forward and kissed Heather on the forehead. Drowsily, Heather smiled.

  Thunder crashed. Somewhere gunfire sounded. Katya knew she had no time to lose, so she raced around to the other side of the car and kicked the goon away. He was an ass for working for Loqrin, but she didn’t actually want to run him over. Before she left, she unbuckled the holster under his armpit and flung the heavy revolver on the car floor beneath Heather’s feet.

  Katya was just about to go when a last burst of inspiration hit her. She rifled through the goon’s pockets. With a cry of delight, she found his pack of cigarettes and lighter, then sprang behind the wheel of the auto.

  “We’re off!” she said, sticking a cigarette in her mouth and sparking the flame. Light flared, tobacco burned, and she inhaled a deep lung-full of wonderful smoke. “Fuckin’ aye,” she said, as she kicked the car in gear and rolled out, into the night.

  “Do you know how to drive?” Heather asked.

  Katya smiled. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

  Heather did not look reassured.

  Gunshots sounded nearby. Katya jerked her head to see a door burst outward on the far side of the Arch and a tide of angry goons storm out, guns glinting in the rain. Like ants whose nest had been kicked, they swarmed over the grounds. Almost immediately they noted the auto rolling out of the garage and made for it. Kat saw the escaping dolls either scatter or hunker low to the mound of waste. They needn’t have bothered. The goons couldn’t see them in the dark, and besides they had found their quarry.

  “Don’t let them escape!” Loqrin bellowed from somewhere.

  A gun cracked, and one of the rear windows of the auto exploded. A piece of glass cut Katya’s shoulder. Heather screamed.

  “Shit!” Kat said.

  She punched the gas. The engine roared, and the car lurched forward haltingly. Swearing, she stomped on the clutch, wrestled with the stick. At last it popped into gear, and she drove off. Guns barked and spat behind her, but with the darkness and the distance most missed. A few bullets smashed taillights or punched holes in metal. Another explosion of glass. Spiderweb cracks veined half of the rear window.

  “Get down!” Kat said. She leaned over and shoved Heather down.

  “Watch where you’re going!” Heather screamed.

  Kat looked straight ahead, saw a dark blur that may have been another auto. An angry car horn trailed away into the night.

  Kat hunched behind the wheel. She could only see part of the road. Either she was too short, or the seat was too low, or the dash too high. Whatever, the bottom half of the front view was obscured. More guns split the night behind her. Then, a terrible sound: engines groaning to life. “Fuck!” she said. “They found the keys!”

  “We should have taken them with us,” Heather said.

  “Now you tell me.”

  Kat turned down a street, narrowly avoiding a horse-drawn carriage. The driver cursed her, and one of the horses neighed and half-reared. Kat drove on, still wrestling with clutch and gearstick. This was harder than it looked in picture shows.

  Her rearview mirror flooded with light. She craned her head to see two autos barreling down on her.

  She swerved down a cross-street, nearly hit a pimply man in a threadbare jacket, who shot her an obscene gesture. Then his eyes widened as the goons’ cars made the turn, and he bolted.

  Rain smashed down on the windshield, pattered on the roof. It wasn’t loud enough to mask the clack-clack of a gun, though.

  Kat cut the wheel sharply, stomped on the gas. They barreled down another cross street. The car bounced over a pothole, and Kat’s teeth clacked together.

  “Hey!” Heather said.

  “Sorry.”

  A bullet smashed the driver’s side view mirror. It erupted in a shower of glass, and Kat screamed, instinctively pulling the wheel. The car scraped against a building wall, bounced aside. They flew down an alley. Dark walls leaned over them, listing toward the Sink. Laundry lines flapped above. Housewives were reeling their clothes in to save them from the rain.

  “Use the gun!” Kat said.

  “What?” Heather said. She sounded dazed: shocked and drugged. Great.

  “The gun!” Kat repeated. She took a hand off the wheel just long enough to point at the pistol between Heather’s feet.

  A moment passed. “Oh.”

  “Oh! Use it!”

  Somewhat dreamily, Heather swept up the gun. “I’ve never fired a gun before.”

  “Well, now’s the time to learn.”

  Kat swerved the wheel again, and the car lurched down another alley, the passenger side squealing as it ground against the walls. Sparks sprayed. The goons came on. Kat saw their headlights as they made the turn behind her.

  “Now!” Kat said. “Now now now!”

  Unsteady, Heather rose to her knees, turned about in the seat and raised the pistol. It wavered. “Okay,” she said. “Here goes.”

  She trembled. Pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  “The safety!” Kat said. “Hit the safety.”

  “The what?”

  “That thing!” Kat pointed.

  “Oh.” Heather’s voice sounded far away. Nevertheless, she clicked off the safety and lifted the gun again, aiming out the rear window.

  They hit a pothole. The gun erupted, paining Kat’s e
ars. The cabin stank of gun smoke. More gunfire from the pursuing auto. Glass exploded. Heather screamed. Fired again, this time on purpose. Kat thought the round went wild.

  Kat saw an opening to the left, mashed the brake, jerked the wheel, and took off down the next alley. A fat, pasty man was rutting with a skinny, pasty woman with her back against the wall. As the headlights swept them, they screamed and ran, the woman hollering for the man to pay up as they vanished down a cross-alley.

  Kat fled. The goons pursued. Gunfire tore through the night. Metal screamed as bullets punched it. A puff of leather as a bullet grazed a seat. A round smashed through the front window, and cracks webbed out from it.

  “Shoot! Shoot!” Kat screamed.

  Heather, wobbly on her knees, rocked back and forth. Out of the corner of her eye, Kat saw Heather set her mouth, narrow her right eye, and squeeze. The explosion rocked the cabin, but Kat was prepared. In the overhead rearview mirror she saw a hole appear in the goons’ windshield.

  “Good!” Kat shouted. “Again!”

  Heather fired. And again. The goons’ auto swung aside, smashed into a wall and lodged there, smoke pouring from the engine. The car behind it slammed into it, and a section of the wall fell down, raining bricks onto both cars.

  Katya laughed.

  Heather, smiling strangely, sat down and dropped the gun to the floor. Smoke trailed up from it. “I did it.” She said this slowly, almost philosophically.

  “You did it!” Kat corrected. Excitedly, she slapped Heather’s knee.

  She knew there would be more cars out looking for them, though. She had to get to a main road and make tracks. With that in mind, she swung the wheel, and the auto lurched down an alley in what she thought was the direction of the main road. It was an old alley, and they were nearer the Sink now. Both sides of the car scraped against the leaning walls. Kat cursed, gunned the engine. The car sprang forward. Metal screamed. The doors buckled inwards. The windshield burst. Kat covered her eyes, but no glass hit her, at least not hard enough to break the skin.