by Carver Pike
T-Nate grabbed Dozier’s arm and pulled him away from the Soothsayer.
“All I’m sayin’ is it’d be nice to know in advance when we’re travelin’ with a man who’s gonna be hunted ‘til his death’ or until his dang head is handed over or whatever you say is ‘bout to happen,” Dozier said as he walked away.
“You started to tell me about Colossus when we were in the cave. Who is Colossus?” Gabe asked.
“Colossus is the Emperor of the Northeast Quadrant,” the Soothsayer answered.
“The Northeast Quadrant?” Lisa asked.
“The world is split up into countries just like your world. There are many rulers, but here in the image of the United States, the land has been split up into four quadrants. Colossus is the Emperor of the Northeast Quadrant,” he replied.
“This just blows my mind,” Gabe said with the palms of his hands over his eyes as if massaging away a horrible headache.
The guard pulled the Soothsayer away from them.
“We need to head back to the Dwellings. You need your rest,” he advised him.
The Soothsayer nodded and walked away.
“Wait,” Dozier called out after him. “How do we get back to our van?”
“Your van is of no use to you now. Leave it at the Dwellings and continue on foot to the freight train,” the Soothsayer replied.
“Oh, hell no,” T-Nate swore. “We ain’t walkin’ through this crazy-ass prairie with all these creatures tryin’ to kill us and shit!”
The Soothsayer started to reply, but his guard spoke over him.
“Look, the freight train is only about three miles south of here. Your truck makes too much noise. You’d be ambushed,” he said.
The Soothsayer took the torch out of the guard’s hand and gave it to Gabe.
“What about you?” Gabe asked.
“The torch doesn’t help me see any. Besides, with the harbingers near the Dwellings, we’re better off without the light,” he said.
He turned and walked away, but then stopped and addressed them all. “Take care of Gabriel. I have seen his fate. He will bring great change to our world. He is the Haissem.”
With that, he walked away for good. Everyone turned to look at Gabe. He didn’t know what to say. He shrugged his shoulders and stared into the torchlight.
With the Soothsayer’s departure came a dreadful silence. For some reason, the odd old man with no sight had brought them a sense of security that was no longer there. Gabe looked out at the strange mixture of people and images in front of him, realizing he’d been thrust into the role of unofficial leader.
Dozier was tougher than he was and naturally fit the part, but wanted nothing more than to kick ass and be left alone.
Sergio and Ty seemed to know a lot about what was going on in the world around them, but neither of them stepped up. Gabe knew that there was no official leader of the group, but decisions would need to be made, and since he was the person that was responsible for their mission to the Slums of York, he would take charge for the time being.
His first decision was to throw the torch on the ground and stomp out the light. He was met with curious glances.
“The way I see it,” Gabe explained, “if the Soothsayer didn’t feel safe traveling with the torch, then why the hell would we?”
Gabe led the way across the cracked, scorched earth. Everyone else followed in silence. Lisa was closest behind him, dragging her feet tiredly, not enthusiastic at all about the little trip they had planned.
Gabe looked back to check on Dozier, who was bringing up the rear of the group. Language, who seemed truly concerned about the rude roughneck, walked by his side. Not one to ask for help, Dozier’s slow limp caused Gabe to call a halt to their march. The pause in their journey gave Dozier the excuse to fall to his knees. He pounded angrily on his hurt leg with a closed fist.
“Sumabitch,” Dozier whispered to his leg. “Stop achin’ like a pansy ass.”
Gabe watched as Language squatted down next to Dozier and flashed him a smile as she placed her hand on the wounded leg. He jerked back at first, but then gritted his teeth and allowed her to lift his pant leg.
She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a small pouch. From the pouch, she pulled a pinch of a shredded brown substance that looked a bit like tobacco. She spit into her hand and mixed the brown goo until it was the consistency of mud. Then she gently smoothed it over Dozier’s wound. He winced in pain and sucked his breath through his teeth. His eyes rolled back a little and he wobbled as if he were about to pass out.
Lisa gave Gabe’s hand a gentle squeeze as they both watched. Language leaned over to embrace Dozier, who breathed heavily into her chest before finally relaxing.
She helped him stand, and he gingerly placed his foot back onto the ground and put his weight on it. He bounced slightly, testing the waters, and laughed a little under his breath.
“It feels a lot better. Hardly any pain at all,” he said.
“You sure you’re ready to keep going?” Gabe asked.
Dozier grinned and took a few steps. He grunted at first, but then settled into a slow walk and seemed to be okay. Language patted him on the back and stayed by his side.
The train pickup point came into view up ahead. It wasn’t a train station or even a train shack. Like a bus stop that suddenly appeared in the middle of the desert, it looked strangely out of place with its small metal bench and one lantern dangling loosely from a pole. The train tracks ran past the bench and out of sight in both directions.
“That must be the place,” Gabe said. “Small, huh?”
“What did you expect, Grand Central Station?” Dozier asked.
Lisa laughed.
They reached the bench and gathered around it, looking out of place and confused.
“How often do you think this train stops by here?” Gabe asked.
Sergio looked over his shoulder and laughed. “With all of the passengers lined up, I’d say once a year.”
Their laughter was interrupted by a soft rumbling. The ground began to vibrate.
“You feel that?” Gabe asked.
“It’s the train,” Lisa replied.
Language nodded excitedly.
“Looks like we’re going to Los Diablos after all,” Sergio said.
Far off in the distance, the train rapidly made its way towards them. With no other prominent features around, and only flat desert for as far as the eye could see, it looked as if the train was simply sliding across the sand, slithering with each curve the tracks made, like a giant metal snake headed right for them.
Sergio held out his thumb like a hitchhiker begging for a ride. The others gaped at him.
“What?” he asked. “I just wanna make sure he stops.”
A whistle tooted loudly from the train as it barreled forward along the track. It finally slowed and began to grind to a halt as the front end of the train slid past them. It was a large, filthy and rusty cargo train. Windows covered with soot and gook marked the few passenger cars.
The door to the front car slid open and a frail old man blotched with liver spots stepped out wearing oil stained blue jean overalls and a hat to match. He had scraggly red hair that feathered out of the bottom of the cap and a red beard that grew straight down about half a foot long. The man stood with his hands on his hips.
“Name’s Conductor. No first name. No last. Jus’ Conductor,” he informed them in a strange accent that sounded like a mix of southern twang, Louisiana bayou Cajun, and possibly a bit of British. “Where ye’all goin’ ta?”
“As far as you can take us. We’re trying to get into New…” Gabe had to stop himself and remember that he wasn’t in the United States, but still trapped in the mirror world. “…uh…the Slums of York.”
“Ye be goin’ ta Los Diablos ‘en,” Conductor informed them.
“That’s right,” Gabe said. “Do you mind if we catch a ride with you?”
“Nain’t free round hea. Fifty royce a piece a y
a,” Conductor replied.
Gabe didn’t understand a word the man said.
“What did he say?” Lisa asked.
Gabe shrugged.
“Fifty royce a piece, I says!” Conductor snapped.
Sergio fished inside his pockets.
“Fifty royce. I’ve got it,” he said.
He pulled out a wad of paper bills and began counting out the correct amount. He handed it over to Conductor, who sifted through the money quickly and beamed. It had clearly been awhile since a paying customer had ridden his train.
“Much obliged. Ye’all go ona climbin’ in ta da passenga car,” Conductor said while pointing towards one of the cars with the mucked up windows.
“Thank you,” Gabe said as Conductor walked away quickly, counting his money with glee.
Chapter 9 – Bartender Blues
On the other side, the pleasant side of the mirror, Cutter sat in a smoky bar, eyeing a bowl of peanuts that sat in front of him. He hadn’t asked for them. He didn’t even necessarily like peanuts.
Sure, he’d eat them if they were free, but in his opinion, they were fucking peanuts, and peanuts weren’t even worth stealing, so it crossed his mind that this might be a set up.
Someone wanted him to try to steal the peanuts so they could fight with him.
He glanced down the bar at the many patrons and focused his attention on one girl whose nipples were so hard they seemed to want to shove through the tiny top she was wearing. The woman inhaled from a cigarette and he liked the way her lips looked as she blew out the smoke.
To her right was a large biker dude and Cutter considered marching over to them, running his blade across the biker dude’s neck and then ripping off the girl’s blood splattered t-shirt for the fun of it, but then he remembered that things were slightly different on this side of the mirror and drawing that kind of attention to himself could possibly prevent him from completing his mission.
The mission. He didn’t quite understand why he had such a desire to slaughter this bitch, Allie, but there was a yearning in him to stomp out her life, and the aching in his gut called for a violent end to her life. He wanted to see her bleed. He wanted her to pay for something, whatever she’d done. She deserved to pay.
Cutter picked up his beer and swigged from the bottle. He turned on his barstool and watched the people on the dance floor, looking cheesy and goofy as they rubbed up against each other.
He’d never seen so many people begging for sex, but keeping all of their clothes on. At all of the parties he’d attended on the dark side of the mirror, everyone was naked by this time of the evening, and if they wanted sex, they took it right there on the dance floor.
Cutter’s attention was still on the dancers when he overheard a geeky man next to him trying to hit on a girl at the bar.
“So I was just thinking that you know…an angel shouldn’t sit alone,” the geek said.
Cutter spun around and stared at the man with his pants pulled too far up and his shirt tucked in. His hair was combed up and over to the side with a sort of wave to it. Cutter laughed under his breath as he took a swig of his beer.
“Fuck off,” the girl said to the geeky guy.
She stood and made her way towards the bathroom. Cutter set his beer down on the counter and glanced over at the man.
“If you want the bitch, you gotta take the bitch,” Cutter said.
“Excuse me?” the geeky man asked.
“Take her. Don’t talk to her. Grab the bitch by her hair and drag her into the bathroom. That’s where you do her.”
He slid his jacket back and revealed the large knife on his hip. The man’s eyes focused on the blade. He swallowed nervously and backed away.
Cutter laughed and returned to his beer. As he drank from the bottle, someone nudged his arm, causing a little of the amber liquid to trickle down his chin and onto his shirt. Cutter’s eyes shot open wide with an uncontrollable frenzy.
He swung around to see who’d had the nerve to make contact with him and saw the big biker dude wearing a leather vest with some sort of motorcycle club emblem on the back. He clutched a cigarette between his thumb and index finger like he was holding a joint and shook the thing around as he spoke.
Cutter’s eyes were drawn to the fiery end of the lit stick. The biker obviously had no idea he was being sized up for a kill. He slapped a trashy woman on her denim-covered butt and blew smoke out of his nostrils.
Cutter rose from the bar stool behind the man. His lip curled up with anger. He’d been able to contain his urge to cut this guy a few minutes before, but he no longer cared if anyone else was around. Fuck everyone else in the place, he was about to shove the lit end of the cigarette into this dude’s eye. His fists were balled up and began to tremble.
“Hey, handsome,” came a soft voice from behind.
Cutter whipped his head around, giving the girl a non-verbal warning. The bartender, with dry, curly hair and her bangs held back by a headband, ignored his angry expression and smiled at him.
She wasn’t the hottest girl in the place, but she was definitely fuckable, and Cutter could sense right off the bat that he wouldn’t need to take this one by force.
“This one’s on me,” she said as she slid a shot glass full of tequila over to him.
He looked into her face and then stared right down at the cleavage she seemed to have propped up for him the way she was leaning on her folded arms. He returned his eyes to hers and winked. She didn’t mind the attention.
“Your nipples are hard,” he said.
She glanced down and laughed. “Yeah, I suppose they are,” she replied.
“Nice.”
“Well thanks, and just to let you know, that guy’s name is Dirk. He’s the leader of the Road Rippers. You might be able to take him, but you’d never make it out of the bar alive,” she warned him.
“Watch me,” Cutter replied.
“Well, it’s your choice. You can either get yourself killed…”
She checked her watch.
“Or wait fifteen more minutes and take me back to your place. I could use a little bit of that aggression, cowboy.”
Cutter liked the offer that had been laid out on the table.
“Of course it’s gonna cost a little bit, but for a stud like you I’d be willing to knock off a few bucks,” she added.
Cutter had dealt with many whores in the past and they’d all been a hell of a lot tougher than this one. He shrugged his shoulders and laughed.
“If you’re sure you can handle it,” he said confidently.
“Oh, you have no idea,” she said with a wink as she squeezed his arm and walked away.
Cutter placed his hand back on the handle of his knife and gave it a little pat.
“Neither do you, sweetheart.”
He tilted his head back and swallowed the shot of tequila.
Cutter was staying in the hotel right next to the bar, and he was lucky that his door was made of a solid wood, because he slammed the bartender up against it with a tremendous force and went right at licking her face and neck.
He gripped her hair in his balled up fist. She squealed, but enjoyed the roughness and kissed him back. She spun him around and slammed him into the brick wall outside the door.
With her mouth pressed against his neck, he reached out with his right hand and fumbled with the doorknob. The door popped open and he grabbed the bartender by her neck, swung her around, and threw her through the door. He slammed it shut behind him and tossed her onto the bed.
He tackled her as she laughed and moaned, having no idea the severity of the situation. She’d pulled the ripcord on a chainsaw that couldn’t be stopped.
Cutter held her down. She looked up at him and suddenly the trashiness of the woman in her mid-thirties disappeared. The look of an innocent girl who’d gotten in way over her head flashed across her face.
“What?” she asked. “You don’t like me?”
Cutter grinned and dove right back into his
heated frenzy. He straddled her and ripped her blouse open right down the middle.
“Oh my God,” she squealed. “You’re a fucking animal!”
She giggled drunkenly as her breasts spilled out, braless. They were big and real, soft and pillow-like, the sign of a woman who’d recently breast fed a baby. He leaned forward, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucked hard. She moaned and whimpered a little.