Délon City: Book Two of the Oz Chronicles

by R. W. Ridley

  Hearing him groan in pain and watching him struggle to stand back up, I suddenly became very afraid. I had hurt him. No good could come from that. As far as the Délons were concerned, I was their future king, but they didn’t have much in the way of self-control. If I got them mad enough, any one of them would rip me apart without a second thought.

  Devlin huffed and growled like a tiger. The insect mandibles shot from his mouth and snapped wildly. His hands balled into fists. I feared this was the end for me. He stepped toward me and stopped. His spider leg hairdo reached for me, but quickly retracted. In a remarkable show of restraint, he backed away.

  “You shouldn’t push me,” he said.

  “Looks like we both have rules.” My voice began to crack. “You follow mine, I’ll follow yours. Deal?”

  “No deal,” he hissed. “You follow mine, you live. You don’t...” He threw a fist into the brick exterior of the house and punched a hole in it. “That clear?” he said extracting his hand from the side of my house.

  “Clear,” I said.

  “Good.” He turned and headed for the street. “Your pig of a mother has eaten all the screamers. I have to feed before I lose all my strength.” He disappeared around the corner.

  “You’re nuts,” Gordy cried. “Super nuts!”

  “I wasn’t thinking,” I said. “You okay, Lou?”

  “I can take care of myself,” she said.

  “I know. I just... I don’t know what came over me.”

  “You’re in love,” Gordy said. “That’s what came over you.”

  I was stunned by the accusation. “In love? I am not.”

  “He is not in love with me,” Lou insisted. “Take that back.”

  “I saw what I saw,” Gordy said.

  “Take it back,” I said stepping toward him.

  “Okay, whatever. You’re not in love. Geesh, chill out. I was just saying...”

  “Well, don’t just say, got it?”

  “Got it.”

  I walked up the steps to the back door and went in the house. Gordy let Lou pass with his hands in the air and then followed her through the door.

  “Ma,” I yelled. I stopped when I noticed her solifipod looked different. A reddish slime oozed from the top and dripped to the floor.

  “I hate those things,” Lou said. “They give me the willies.”

  “You and me both,” I said.

  “The shunter’s been out,” Gordy said.

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “I can tell,” he answered. “I’ve seen enough of those things to suit me for a hundred lifetimes.”

  “What is a shunter?” I asked.

  “Dude, you don’t want to know,” he said.

  “He’s right,” Lou added. “Consider yourself lucky you don’t know.”

  “But...” before I could say another word, my mom rounded the corner. She was in an almost zombie like state dressed in her pajamas, the same reddish substance on the solifipod covered her clothes and neck. Dozens of puncture wounds outlined her face.

  “Mom?”

  She looked at me, or through me is more like it. “I’m hungry.” Her voice was thick and unsteady. “Do you have something I can eat?”

  “No... maybe there’s something in the kitchen.” I moved past her and headed for the refrigerator.

  “Everything in there is dead,” she protested.

  I turned to her, my eyes struggling to take the site of her in, my ears throbbing from hearing what she’d just said.

  “I need to feel it squirming in my mouth. Crying in pain. I need to feel it die.”

  “Mom...”

  “Forget it, dude,” Gordy said. “Your mom’s had her brain punctured. She’s gone.”

  Mom zeroed in on Gordy’s voice. “Do you taste good, human?”

  Gordy stepped back. “Me? No way. I’m sour as all get out. I eat nothing but... you know, sour stuff.”

  “I like sour,” Mom said.

  “Dude, your mom is really starting to creep me out.” Gordy backed away.

  “I just want a little taste.”

  Pop came rushing in from the bedroom wearing his robe. The purple rash that had been limited to a spot on his wrist and neck had grown to cover about sixty percent of his body. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “She got away from me.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Come along, Sharon. We need to get you dressed.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” Pop said. “I just need to get her to transformation therapy. The first night with the shunter is always draining. The little buggers don’t know when to stop. The therapist will have her feeling right as rain in no time.”

  “Feed me the living!” she screamed.

  “Later, dear,” Pop said. He rushed her out of the living room and into the hallway toward the bedroom.

  There was a long period of awkward silence between Lou, Gordy, and me as we all tried to decipher my mom’s bizarre behavior.

  Gordy finally broke the silence. “Dude, crazy much?”

  Lou slapped his arm. “That was rude.”

  “What? His mom has stepped way out on the loony limb. That’s all I’m saying. I mean I’ve seen the shunted before and they were never that...”

  “Wacko,” I said.

  “Exactly.”

  Lou stomped her foot and put her left hand on her hip. “Trust me, I have seen way worse. I’ve been the guest of momma and poppa Délon for a while now, and they have shown me some wild and wacky stuff. Do you know I actually saw a shunter crush the skull of a human host...”

  She stopped when she realized what she was saying. The expression on my face must have terrified her because she turned a brilliant shade of white. She had been exposed to the ways of the Délons for so long that witnessing the brutal death of another human meant nothing to her. It was scary to see the apathy in her eyes. “What am I saying? Your mom is going to be fine. God, I hate this world. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.”

  “That’s all right,” I said.

  “No, it’s not,” she answered. “That was stupid of me.” She flopped down on the couch. “You should know. The shunter that crushed the guy’s skull was a black market shunter. It wasn’t matched to the host through the normal process. Some people are just so anxious to be Délons they try to take shortcuts. They have no idea what they’re dealing with.”

  “I don’t get why anyone would want to be a Délon,” I said sitting in my Pop’s recliner.

  “Power, prestige,” Gordy said staring out the window. “Same as it’s always been. Only now you gotta be purple to be a player.”

  “Are people really that desperate?” I asked.

  “In a word,” Gordy laughed, “Absolutely.”

  “It’s more than that,” Lou said. “People are scared. Think about it, we were at the top of the food chain for a long time. We called the shots for almost every living thing on the planet. We were in control. That all changed in the blink of an eye. People are so desperate to reclaim their superiority they’re willing to stop being people.”

  Gordy sat on the other end of the couch. “Like I said you gotta be purple to be a player.” He closed his eyes. I could feel the heaviness of sleep starting to smother him.

  Lou’s eyelids started to droop. She smiled and let them fall shut. The energy I had awoken with was gone. An achy sleep started to overtake me. I fought it. I don’t know why, but it felt wrong. I had a world to save. There was no time for sleep.

  ***

  My next recollection was foggy. I’m not sure if it was a dream or not. But somewhere in that state between sleep and consciousness, I heard my Mom and Pop leave the house. Mom was still droning on about being hungry for something alive. Pop grew more and more impatient as he tried to quiet her and get her out of the house. My eyes were closed but I could see them in my mind’s eye. Pop, dressed in his usual work attire, one arm around Mom, who was dressed in jeans and a baby blue sweater coat that hung to her knees, her h
air unkempt as far as Mom’s old standards. Pop’s other hand was digging in his pocket looking for his keys. He wanted her to tell her to shut up about being hungry, but he didn’t.

  They exited the house, him gently nudging her out the door and pulling it closed behind them. I heard the key slide into the lock and turn to the left. Their heads passed the window as they headed for the garage.

  The truck backed out of the garage and down the driveway, turning left on Westwood. They drove out of my thoughts.

  As I began to draw my thoughts backwards, the vision of Westwood Avenue began to fade into blackness. The faint image of another vehicle coming down the road caught my attention. It was a green and yellow 1972 VW bus.

  SIX

  I sprang out of the recliner and raced to the window. Only I didn’t really because I was already at the window. Or did I? Had I been nodding off to sleep, or had I actually seen my Mom and Pop leave the house? Lou and Gordy were out cold. I looked out the window. The green and yellow VW bus was just arriving.

  An echo of a voice sounded off in my head. “Let’s just say time doesn’t really make much sense any more. It kind of jumps all over the clock...” That’s what Lou had said at Stevie Dayton’s house. It was the only answer. I had experienced a time jump.

  I shook off my muddled mindset and bolted out the front door of my house. The round little van idled on the street as I ran towards it. Clouds of gray smoke billowed from the exhaust. One thought shot out from the back of my mind. Was I still asleep or was this real?

  I could see the outline of the driver. He sat, both hands on the wheel, one chin resting on top of another, a ball cap positioned on his round head, the bill just 10 or so degrees from sitting at a 90 degree angle.

  The harder I ran, the farther I got from the van. This was a dream. There was no other explanation.

  The engine revved. The putt-putt-putt of the ancient foreignmade cylinders crept out from the back of the fat little bus. The smell of burning propane filled the air. It was Wes’s little van. That was no longer in question. The only thing left to determine was if this was just a cruel, taunting movie being played out in my head while I slept, or was this... could I dare to hope that it was real.

  “Wes!” I yelled.

  The driver honked. The weak unthreatening sound of it was almost laughable. The absurdity was too much. Wes was proudly redneck - NASCAR watching, tobacco chewing, beer drinking, football loving redneck to the very core. Yet, there he sat in his custom made 1972 VW green and yellow bus with a horn that sounded like it belonged on a tricycle. It was like watching a bear take the SATs. It just wasn’t right.

  I finally made headway. Twenty feet from the van, I could see Wes’s yellow-toothed green. He tapped the bill of his cap. In an instant, his face was blacked out by something climbing in the passenger seat from the back of the bus. My eyes and mind adjusted. The something had fur . . . a tricolor coat, pointed ears, long powerful muzzle.

  I stopped, concentrated, forced focused my disbelieving eyes. “Kimball?” I said, or may not have said. The shock of it displaced me - my actions, my inactions, all rolled up into one gigantic memory. I did everything and nothing in that moment.

  The dog in the passenger seat barked.

  “Kimball!” I screamed. This time I knew I had spoken out loud. I could feel the sound vibrate every inch of my body. My dog was alive. Wes was alive. The ugly green and yellow VW bus was even alive. “Kimball!”

  “Oz?” A distant voice rang out.

  I ignored it and started to run again.

  “Oz?”

  I turned to see Lou standing by the couch. “You okay?” she asked.

  I was once again standing at the window. I watched as Pop’s truck pulled out of the driveway.

  “I’m not dreaming,” I said.

  “What?” Lou approached.

  The sputtering engine of the VW bus came roaring down the street.

  “They’re alive.” This time I ran out the back door, and mounted Chubby. With a kick and flip of the reigns, he turned and bounded down the driveway. I didn’t look back to see if Lou had followed. I didn’t have to. I could feel her watching me at the window as I galloped toward the street.

  The van streaked by the house. I steered Chubby after it. The sometimes clunky stride of the steed became silky smooth. His powerful head bobbed effortlessly as we caught up with the sputtering bus. In no time, I was looking in the driver side window at my old friend Wes.

  He smiled. “’Bout time, kid,” he yelled over the sounds of his engine and my panting horse. “’Bout damn time.”

  “Is it really you?” I cried.

  He laughed. “What kind of fool question is that? Course it’s me.”

  “Kimball?”

  My dog stuck his head out from the back of the van and barked.

  I wanted to cry I was so happy. “Pull over.”

  “Can’t,” Wes snarled. “They’re on me like a June bug on a shrub.”

  I looked around. There was no one in sight. “I don’t see anybody.”

  “They don’t much care to be seen, but trust me, they’re there.” He pulled up a plastic Pepsi bottle he had nestled between his legs and spit in it. A dark chunk of saliva dripped down inside. “Meet me at the mattress store at midnight.”

  “The mattress store?”

  “You ain’t forgot, have ya’?” he asked. I could see the tobacco pinched between his lower lip and gums.

  “No,” I said.

  He nodded. “You best pull back now. I gotta skedaddle.”

  I let Chubby sprint for a little while longer. I couldn’t take my eyes off Kimball. I didn’t want to let him or Wes out of my sight.

  “Kid,” Wes said, “it’s all right. Just be at the mattress store tonight at midnight.”

  With that, I pulled back on Chubby’s reigns and watched the 1972 green and yellow VW bus race down to the end of Westwood and onto Lincoln Street.

  ***

  “Was that...?” Lou stopped herself from asking a question she thought ridiculous. She had seen the van. She knew that it was Wes’s, but to assume that Wes was actually driving it just seemed too much to hope for.

  I stood in my living room looking over her and Gordy, not knowing what to say. Inside, I was jumping for joy. Hell, it was like midnight on New Year’s eve in my head, but something inside of me, a distant ungraspable knowing, told me to keep this to myself. Still, the urge to share my excitement was almost too much to bear. “It was...” I started, but stopped. A vision popped in my head.

  I stood in a darkened warehouse. Shattered wooden crates were strewn throughout the dingy space. I was covered in the red blood of humans and the purple blood of Délons. In my hand was my old sword, J.J. I wielded it with a weakened grip. In one corner of the room, Gordy was being tortured and maimed by a creature I did not recognize. It was opaque and covered in a sheen of mucus. It stood on four crab-like legs. Its upper body appeared human. Its head rested on its neck upside down. Its eyes were where its mouth should be, and its mouth, sewn shut in a wilted frown, was on its forehead. It had two hands with five willowy fingers each that ended in railroad-sized spikes.

  I attempted to turn to help Gordy, but something lay across my feet. I looked down and saw the bloodied body of Lou, a puncture wound to her chest. I had killed her.

  With a painful rip, the vision disappeared from my mind. My mouth went dry, and my knees wobbled. “Don’t tell them!” a voice raged in my head. “Don’t you dare tell them!”

  “It . . . wasn’t who you think it was,” I said in a reedy voice.

  Lou’s eyes narrowed, and she bowed her head. “Of course it wasn’t.” The disappointment in her voice was palpable.

  “Wasn’t who?” Gordy asked.

  “An old friend,” I answered. I couldn’t look at him without seeing him being thrashed by the creature in my vision. “Listen, Gordy, maybe you should... go home.”

  “What? Why?” He sounded hurt and anxious all at once.

/>   “I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be around me...”

  He cut me off. “What is this? You said I could hang. You said we were friends again. What you’re like king now and you don’t need old Gordy around any more? Is that it?”

  “No,” I said. “It’s just not safe...”

  “Safe?” He laughed. “Safe went out the window when our purple friends showed up!”

  “Bad things tend to happen when I’m around,” I said raising my voice above his. I was trying to save the poor slob’s life, and he was throwing a hissy fit.

  “When you’re around?” He laughed again. Not a real laugh, but an angry, disgusted guttural release of air from the pit of his stomach. “Were you around when they beat the crap out of my old man and sucked the blood out of my mom? Were you around when they fed my little sister to a pack of skinners? Were you around when they marked me?”

  I looked at him struggling to say something – anything that didn’t make me an even bigger jerk.

  “Yeah that’s right, jackass, I’ve been marked!” He was shrieking now. Spit was coming out of the corners of his mouth. He was angry and confused and scared. “This isn’t just about you! Bad stuff has happened to all of us! If you don’t want me around because I cramp your king... ness, then fine, but don’t pretend you’re trying to protect me because there’s nowhere I’m safer than with you!” He started to cry, a shoulder quaking, snot flopping, shallow breathing type of cry.

  Lou put her arm around his shoulder and helped him sit back down on the sofa. “He’s right,” she said. She hesitated and then spoke again. “We saw it, too.”

  “Saw it? The vision?” I was stunned and ashamed.

  “It wasn’t a vision.” She rocked with Gordy and patted his back. She looked at me, eyes steady and penetrating. “It was the future.”

  “The future?” I backed away.

  “I should say, a future. Happening now...”

  “A time jump,” I said.

  She nodded.

  “But I would never... do that to you.” I couldn’t say the word “kill” out loud.

  She released Gordy from her comforting embrace and stood. She approached me with a relentless seriousness in her face. “Listen to me,” she barked. “You do whatever it takes to get the world back to the way it was. Do you understand me?”