Death Springs Eternal

by Robert J. Duperre

  “Where the fuck are we going?” the girl asked, venom in her voice, as they descended the stage steps.

  Cody rolled his eyes. “Just shut the fuck up,” he muttered, and gave her a good tug.

  She yelped. It almost sounded erotic. He made a mental note to force that sound out of her again later.

  * * *

  Tom trailed the general as the man lugged the red haired woman down a short hallway. He held tight to Allison’s hand, though she didn’t return the favor. Shelly hid behind her mother’s skirt. He tried to reach down, to take hold of her hand as well, but each time he did so she retreated further back.

  His mind was dizzy. He’d been sleeping on the couch in their living quarters forty-five minutes prior, when a heavy rap at the door woke him up. He lifted his head to find Bathgate standing in the doorway, grinning like a shark. The man demanded he get dressed, gather up his family, and come with him. Tom was too tired, too confused, to decline.

  The ride through the city was silent. The general said not a word, steering the automobile down empty streets, eyes narrow, lips peeled back, while the woman who’d been brought to the man’s office in City Hall sat in the passenger seat, trembling. Even Tom’s influence kept quiet, like a jungle cat lying in wait. Everything seemed wrong. His nerves got the better of him and he started perspiring. Sweat gathered in the folds of his loose skin, making him itch, but the ominous air inside the vehicle forced him to grin and bear the discomfort.

  And now here they were, in some small building on the outskirts of a wild, roaring crowd, and all Tom could do was keep his thoughts to himself.

  Bathgate stopped in front of a door, unlocked it, and led the red-haired woman inside. A realization struck Tom—she’d been pregnant when he saw her two days ago, not so much now. He wondered what happened to the baby.

  “Stay here, darling,” Bathgate said, sitting the woman down in a chair at the back of what appeared to be a large janitor’s closet. “I’ll be right down the hall. Simply call if you need me.”

  The woman wrapped her arms around her chest and stuffed her face into the crook of her elbow. Bathgate smiled—it was a strange expression, sickly sweet and insane at the same time—and then kissed her on the cheek before stepping out of the room and closing the door halfway. He then gestured with his thumb and proceeded down the hall. Tom followed, dragging Allison and Shelly behind him.

  They entered a recreational room of some sort. There was a television in the corner and two couches in front of that. On the other side of the space stood a small refrigerator and a countertop, complete with a sink and microwave. The walls were painted dark green. The whole room seemed homey, which clashed with the apprehension churning in his gut. He sat Allison down on one of the couches. Shelly followed suit, biting her lip and clutching tight to her mother’s sleeve. He wondered if she was hungry.

  “Where are we?” Tom finally asked.

  Bathgate shut the door and hovered there, every so often opening it a crack and peering out. “This used to be the park center. Office of the grounds manager, snack shack, that sort of thing.”

  “Why are we here?”

  The general turned around. His eyes glittered in the fluorescent lights. “You were right,” the man said. “My Lieutenant turned on me. He tried to flee the city. But I also found out why. And that why is the reason you’ve joined me tonight.”

  The influence in Tom’s brain perked up. “Go on,” it said. “I’m listening.”

  “It seems Mr. Pitts betrayed a direct order. He refused to execute a young man. But his refusal may have been a lucky break. This young man and his group were not a part of our organization, having traveled from the north and arriving a couple weeks ago. He was one of the very few who entered our walls without first being processed. In other words, I’m thinking that he may be the very individual your superiors—whoever they may be—are looking for.”

  “You didn’t answer the question,” said Tom, regaining control of his functions. “Why are we here?”

  Bathgate smirked. “He arrived in this city with my love,” he said. “They were together before I found her. And if he’s alive, he will be looking for her. So when he arrives to kill me and take her—which he will—he’s all yours.”

  “How can you be sure of that?”

  His grin widened. “It’s the same thing I would do.”

  * * *

  Kyra slouched in the chair, eyes closed, holding tight to her upper arms. The chair she was in ground into her spine, but she did nothing about it. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

  She’d sent the kind old man and young nurse away with her child, her precious daughter, only moments after giving birth, promising them no one would give pursuit. When the soldiers arrived to claim her, with the man who’d tried to rape her by their side, she whipped herself into a frenzy. She railed about how they could kill her baby, how they could be so cruel, how they were monsters. It wasn’t so hard to do. She’d lost everything—her child gone, her friends imprisoned, Josh dead—and poured that sorrow into her display. Though she received no sympathy for her efforts, they never questioned where the nurse or old man had gone, and for that she was thankful.

  It was her handlers who took pity on her afterward, the kind Hispanic ladies who cleaned her up, swabbed her wounds, dressed her in fancy clothes. They gazed upon her, sensing the anger and despair she displayed, their eyes the shape of olives and teeming with sympathy. One of them slipped a small knife into the folds of the dress they’d draped over her head. The woman nodded, and that simple gesture spoke volumes. Kyra thought of Justin, of the time he’d beat her and the rage she felt afterward. That same rage flowed through her now, ready to strike back for the loss of her love, her dignity, the cruelty that had taken place all over the world.

  Her hands drifted downward until her fingers hit upon that knife, a small, hard cylinder hidden in her waistband. She forced herself to smile. The bastard who’d hurt her wouldn’t do so again, and he would never have a chance to hurt her child. When he came for her next, she would go to him willingly. Then she would climb atop him and drive that blade into his neck, let his blood cascade over her hands. Maybe, if she had enough strength, she would work the cutting edge around his throat, sever his head from his spine. Then she would march around the city, crying like a banshee, holding her prize up for all to see like the Judith of legend.

  That was a pipe dream and she knew it. She was in no state to overpower the sick fuck. Briefly she considered taking the blade to her own wrists, to bleed out where she sat, let everything fade to black. Her wrath pushed that thought out of her mind. No, all she needed was an opportunity. Just one moment of weakness on his part and she could end it all, return the pain inflicted on her tenfold.

  The door, left half-open, creaked. Kyra glanced up, heard another creak, and passed it off to the storm raging outside. There was no one coming to save her, no one who cared. She was on her own now, just like she’d always been.

  So she sat back, blew out a deep breath, and waited. To help her pass the time she thought of her daughter, the tiny child born into a world that was already against her, and imagined the life of her dreams, of her and Josh walking along a tropical beach, their daughter between them, singing songs of love and life and beauty.

  A pipe dream for sure, but it was better than the alternative.

  * * *

  The front door of the building opened effortlessly. Josh shot a glance over his shoulder before entering. The party raged on and people still milled about on the fringe. None seemed very interested in what was going on outside the scope of their desires. But that wasn’t entirely true. He spotted a pair of individuals as the spotlights flashed over an open area, heading in his direction at a brisk pace. Josh gulped, glanced at the light above his head, and ducked into the building, hoping they hadn’t seen him.

  He yanked the dead man’s pistol from its holster and checked to make sure the safety was off, but couldn’t find one. Taking a deep breath,
he simply trusted it would work if he needed it and pressed onward. He passed an area with racks of maps and magazines and a concession stand before heading down the only other passage in the place. The hallway before him was small, only thirty feet long at most. There were doors on either side of him, those on the right marked as bathrooms. One of the doors on the left had been left open. He tiptoed over the floor, cursing as his wet boots squeaked. When he reached the doorway, he pressed the gun barrel to his forehead, said a quick prayer, and then jumped forward, revealing himself, bringing the pistol up in the process, his finger nervously tapping on the trigger.

  Kyra was alone in the small room, flanked by mops on one side and boxes of toilet paper and paper towels on the other. Josh lowered his weapon and stared at her. She looked pale, the creases around her eyes more prevalent. Her hair, freshly brushed, seemed to glow. She lifted her head and her eyes met his. Her lips twisted into a frown. She looked like she’d just seen a ghost. A wave of relief rushed over him. He holstered the weapon and stepped through the portal.

  * * *

  Bathgate heard the footsteps, followed by the soft whine of the door down the hall creaking open. He cracked his own door and peered through just in time to see a foot disappear into the room where he’d left his present and future lover. He then saw Cody appear in the hallway, dragging a very scantily clad woman behind him. Bathgate turned to Tom and grinned.

  “Come, Mr. Steinberg,” he said. “Leave your family here. It’s showtime.”

  * * *

  Just as Cody passed the concession stand, the door at the end of the adjacent hallway opened up. Out strolled the general, followed by a strange, sickly-looking man. Cody raised his hand and went to shout to them, but the general put a finger to his lips. Bathgate then beckoned him forward, palms held down, telling him to keep quiet.

  Marcy whimpered behind him.

  “Shut up,” he whispered.

  * * *

  Kyra couldn’t believe her eyes.

  There he stood, the man who’d become the love of her life, in living, breathing color. She thought for a moment that she might’ve fallen asleep, that it was nothing but a dream, but every sensation she felt—from the cool breeze brushing against her flesh to the quickening thump of her heart beneath her ribcage—said otherwise.

  “You’re not real,” she whispered.

  Josh shook his head as he approached. He knelt before her and took her hands in his. The knife she’d planned on using to kill her tormentor tumbled out of her grasp and clanked on the floor. Leaning forward, Josh kissed the back of her hand. He was soaked and smelled as if he hadn’t showered for a week, but she didn’t care. In that instant, even his stink was pleasurable.

  Josh helped her stand and held her at arm’s length, his dark, soulful eyes looking her over as if he was seeing her for the first time. He coughed quietly into his fist, then wiped the moisture from his cheeks. She couldn’t look anywhere but directly at him.

  “You look thinner,” he said as a smile came over him.

  She tried her best to hold in her sorrow. “It was a girl,” she replied, choking back tears.

  “Where is she now?”

  “I don’t know. I had some people take her away. Good people.”

  “You know where they went?”

  She shook her head, and the tears did come this time.

  Josh wrapped his arms around her and pulled her body against his. His fingers caressed her hair while he spoke softly into her ear. “It’s okay. It is. You’re safe now, that’s what matters. We’ll find her. I promise. We’ll all be together, and it’ll be wonderful.”

  Kyra dug her face into his neck, letting his wet skin sop up her tears. His words were comforting, even if it still felt like she was dreaming. “I was gonna kill him for what he did,” she muttered, then gave him a peck on the cheek and opened her eyes.

  What she saw stole her breath away.

  * * *

  A millisecond after seeing the kid with the straggly hair, Tom knew he was the one. The space around the kid glowed, as if there was a candle inside him, burning through his pores. The kid gazed at the red-haired woman, his lover, and never before had Tom seen such innocence, such passion, such adoration. It was so intense it saturated the air, warming his flesh.

  It is him! the voice in his head bellowed. It is him! He is here!

  Tom pressed his palms to his temples, trying to fight the pain. The voice was so loud, so commanding.

  Shut up, he replied.

  The voice raged again, telling him to move, to grab the kid before something unfortunate happened, but Tom resisted. He thought of Allison, sitting in the other room in her vegetative state; of Shelly, who hadn’t looked at him with the same loving adoration since his master entered his life; of Corky, Luis, Stan, Hector, Dennis, Larry, Horace, and Doug, the friends he’d betrayed to save his own hide. For the first time since his early days at the New York DOT, he felt righteous. It was a potent feeling.

  I’ve been that way my whole life, his mind declared. Selling out for what’s next, for what I can gain. What is there to gain now? The world is dead. There is no power left to obtain. I won’t help you.

  Is that your final decision?

  Yes.

  So be it. You have assisted me enough, already.

  Pain was a scourge that forced Tom to stumble. His heart felt like it would explode. His consciousness dwindled as fire coursed through his veins, consuming him. He balled his fists, squeezed his eyes shut, and offered up his belligerent opposition.

  FUCK YOU!

  * * *

  Bathgate ground his teeth together. Anger overcame him. He heard everything—the proclamations of love, the news the child was alive, his love’s words that she wanted to kill him. He felt suddenly dizzy and braced himself against the door frame. This woman was supposed to be his destiny…and she would betray him again? But no, it wasn’t her. It was the boy. He was poisoning her mind, filling her head with lies and rhetoric. It was the only answer he could come to, the only way he could explain her resistance to him the previous night.

  He glanced at Steinberg, saw the man shaking like a jackhammer, his tongue poking out and foam vomiting from his lips. Bathgate flared his nostrils, steeled his nerves, entered the room, pulled out his gun and lifted it.

  He pointed the business end at the back of the kid’s head.

  He pulled the trigger.

  * * *

  As she watched the man across from her fall into a convulsive fit, followed by the shorter guy with the head of whitish hair stepping through the doorway, Marcy yanked her hand from her captor’s grasp. She shook the blood back into it and rushed ahead of him, skidding to a stop inside the room. There was something wrong here—very wrong. That strange presence, the presence of her high school boyfriend, filled her head.

  And then she saw him, his back to her, standing before a beautiful older woman. She watched the short man lift his weapon. She felt Cody grab at her arms. She felt the breath of the convulsing man on her neck.

  She felt everything.

  The short man’s finger pressed down on the trigger in slow motion, and without thinking Marcy reached out with her mind, bellowing as loud as she could to the boy she used to know, the boy who was a man now, who’d somehow ended up in the same place as she at the end of the world. The order discharged from her, moving faster than the speed of light, crossing the distance between them in an instant. She sensed it pierce the protective membrane of his mind.

  And then the shit hit the fan.

  * * *

  GETDOWNGETDOWNGETDOWNGETDOWNGETDOWN!

  The words pummeled Josh’s brain, sending him into a wild spasm. Kyra’s eyes widened, then her image shimmered before him. He couldn’t control his body any longer. Just as a loud detonation went off behind him, he crumpled into a ball, hands over his head, and hit the floor.

  * * *

  Kyra’s hands held nothing but air.

  She watched Josh fall at her feet, holding
his head and screaming. Her ears echoed as if someone set off a firecracker, and she glanced up to see the general standing in the doorway, a look of shocked disbelief on his hardened mug. A puff of black smoke drifted from the barrel of his pistol.

  Everything moved as if time had stopped.

  The bullet traveled slowly through space, a pinprick of metal spinning its way toward her.

  She imagined her life, again that scene of her and Josh and their daughter on the beach. He was by her side, sitting in the surf while water rushed over their toes. They were watching a sunset, and her belly was filled with another gift for the world. She felt happiness, contentment, and love.

  The illusion dissolved. When realization hit her, she opened her mouth to protest the unfairness of it all. There would be no happy endings for her, no joyous existence in some far-away island paradise, no more children, no husband, no life. She remembered the image Madame Rhodan had shown her, the vision of her in chains at the feet of the man who now stood before her with a smoking gun. It’s not fair! she cried. This isn’t what’s happens! This isn’t how it all en—

  * * *

  Josh glanced up in time to see Kyra’s head snap back and a geyser of red erupt from the back of her skull. Her body swayed for a moment then plunged over backward. She hit the ground with a thud, bounced twice, and fell still.

  His mind went blank. It all felt like a dream. He crawled over to his lover, the mother of his child, his ears still ringing, and nudged her. “Kye,” he whispered. “Kye, wake up.”