I waited till the one with my name on it was close enough to swat, which I did, using the flat of the axe. The thing hit the wall and went splut. Very juicy; and wherever it sluiced, smoke came out of the stone.
I was extra-glad I hadn't opted to cleave it, gotten splotched by that shit in mid-air. I was also pleased that they went down so easy. Things you can't kill are a pain in the ass.
Nonetheless, people were diving for shelter, and I couldn't say I blamed them. I found myself backing toward the nearest doorway as I took out two, then three of the fuckers; by the time three more descended on me en masse, I ducked inside and let them smush against the door.
So good. They were stupid, too. Kamikaze blobs from Bhjennigh, just dropping out of the sky. If they started hovering around, laying in wait, I'd have thought they were a whole lot scarier. But still...
Outside the door, somebody screamed: not in fear, but agony. The sound was close, but as I followed it with my ears, I became aware of other, more distant screams. They seemed to be coming from everywhere. Which meant that lots of people were probably dying.
I turned around, taking stock of my sanctuary—a cozy little apartment, done up in gillikin style—and was surprised to find myself far from alone. Perhaps a dozen wee people were huddled against the back wall, silently staring. Most of them were children. I didn't recognize them, nor did they seem to recognize me. Or maybe we were all just in shock.
"It's okay," I said. "Is this your place?" They nodded yes, pretty much as one. "Well, thanks for letting me in. Are you all okay?"
They nodded yes, then began to cry.
It took a minute to establish that some of their relatives were still out there, as well as god only knew how many people they loved. I knew the feeling well. I was worried about everybody. It occured to me that, short of Mikio and his pals, I didn't know where anyone was, much less how they were doing. I hadn't seen Dorothy since the battle; I had no idea what was left of Scarecrow; I didn't know if Lion had lived or died. Not to mention poor old Gene...
And what of Ozma? What if she fell? What if this was only the beginning of the end? I thought of Glinda, up in her tower. At least it was contained. But what if something worse was coming, already
fighting its way inside?
And then, like a dolt snapping back from stupidity, my thoughts returned to Mikio. Yeah, I knew where he was, and that was nice. But where was he?
Oh, just up on the rooftop: essentially defenseless, and totally exposed...
There was a sturdy little wooden table near the door, on a center stand. The top was just slightly bigger than the average shield. Or umbrella, for that matter. Because I needed it to function as both, it was my new favorite piece of furniture. "Excuse me," I said, "but if I can use this, I could maybe help to save everybody's lives."
They liked that idea, so they cleared off the table and I tipped the table over and chopped off the top, leaving about six inches on the stand I could use as a handle. It worked pretty well. I thanked them, promised I'd get them another if I survived, and then went out the door: table over my head, axe in the other hand, racing back in the direction of Mikio's building.
Almost immediately, something went sploosh and sizzled on my nice tabletop. So the things were still at it. I kept my head down and ran. Another jellyfish caromed off the slowly-dissolving table and blew up on the flagstones to the left of my feet. I dodged the acid muck, rounded the corner to Mikio's block.
So far, so good. I hazarded an upward glance, checking the rooftop situation. Against the wall of darkness, I could faintly detect that defiant glowing green. "Oh, YAY!" I cried out, like a warrior Pinky.
And then the black lightning returned.
All I could think of, again, was "what the fuck am I doing here?"
A couple of weeks ago I was in Aron's, drinking a cup of coffee and sorting through used DVD's, and now I'm in a wicked warlock's fortress, attempting to actually locate and go to the dungeon of the fortress, so I can free the actual Tinman, King of the Winkies.
The hallway we found ourselves in was dank, cold—the walls sweated and stinky torches hung along the corridor, providing what dim light there was.
Since I pulled my little magic trick, Ledelei had been looking at me suspiciously, as if she wasn't sure what side I was on anymore. I could tell that this whole excursion into the heart of darkness was starting to mess with her mind.
"What?" I whispered at her, finally, exasperated. "What do you want me to say? I don't know how I knew that. It freaks me out, too. There's something going on that I don't understand..."
She was giving me that look that people give you when they think you're absolutely lying, and I had that look that you give people when they think you're lying and they've almost got you convinced that you really are lying. Which makes them even more convinced that you're lying.
"Come on," I said, "this is ridiculous. If I was with them, why would I have gone through all of this? Really. This is pointless. Let's just get Nick. It's around this corner—right, two lefts, and down a staircase."
I did a double take worthy of Larry Fine, and she smirked and shook her head. "Whatever." She said. "Gene, I am not an idiot. Be careful. I don't know if you are the enemy or what, but I am ready to kick your ass when the time comes."
That was a fine how-do-you-do. A few hours ago, we were rolling around naked, and now she was going to kick my ass. And I didn't doubt for a minute that she could.
"Jeez. Let's just find the guy and get out of here."
I looked down the corridor, and I knew that around the next bend there was a stairwell that spiraled up, with a door to a balcony about halfway up.
This was getting spooky. I was about to attribute it, once again, to normal Oz high weirdness, and just use it, when I flashed on where I had seen all this before. I slapped my forehead, and would have laughed out loud if not for the dire circumstances:
The whole set-up of the fortress was straight out of one of my favorite games: Dread III. I mean, I hadn't played it for a long time. Actually, it was my favorite when I was about twelve or thirteen. But I was starting to remember, bigtime. This was LEVEL THREE: THE CRUCIBLE, where you go up the stairway and have to shoot about three dozen zombies-with-chainsaws. I couldn't believe it: Bjhennigh a computer game junkie. I guess it went along with everything else, though.
When I told Ledelei, she eased up a little bit. I could tell she wanted to believe me, and was trying really hard.
"I've heard of these games. Little worlds seen though the glass window of the computing machine. Shooting and clicking. Sounds very stupid."
"No, they're fun. Really. I'll let you play one when we get back to Emerald. If we get back to Emerald. If it's still there."
I warned her to watch out, and we hefted our weapons, because I wasn't sure how much authenticity Bjhennigh was going for. I was certainly glad when we passed the first stairway without hearing any groans or chainsaws revving up. But after we'd padded down the hallway a few dozen steps, there were footsteps and metal rattlings from further down the corridor, and we spent a few terrifying minutes pressed against the wall, waiting for whoever it was to either come our way or move on. The sounds diminished, and we moved on towards the dungeon staircase.
We made it there without incident, and moved cautiously down it, like a couple of cats stalking a pigeon, winding down and down along it into the growing darkness. Slowly, slowly, peeking with excruciating care around each bend.
I imagined every few seconds that something hideous was just below, waiting to grab and devour us.
You couldn't blame me. That's what happens in Dread III. I must have reloaded this part of PART THREE: THE CRUCIBLE about forty thousand times due to getting devoured by brain-vampires in the dark on that very staircase.
But the brain-vampires weren't haunting this version of the game, fortunately. I thought maybe the low turn-out of evil monsters was due to their being in front of the Emerald City, preparing to rape and pillage and set
up little tea-cup rides and T-shirt booths.
Our luck didn't last, though. The ambient light began to increase, and we could see a torch hanging next to a huge door at the bottom of the stairs. The dungeon door had one big old smelly green ogre standing in front of it. His finger was stuck up his nose, and he was concentrating deeply on whatever obstruction was eluding his probing digit.
I started to turn towards Ledelei, I guess to somehow gauge how she felt about these new circumstances and how we might deal with them, but while I was in mid turn, she sprinted down the rest of the staircase, and whacked the ogre's elbow up and into his head, hard.
His finger went up into his sinus cavity and stuck there, and while he moaned in pain like something out of Eraserhead meets the Three Stooges, struggling to pull his wedged finger out, she slit his throat neatly, with a quick swipe of her monster sword. After a minute or so the ogre stopped running and flopping around, and I came the rest of the way down the stairs.
"Very creative," I said quietly, as she removed the keys to the door from the giant's carcass. "Where do you people learn this stuff?" I asked, grabbing the torch out of its holder on the wall. "I thought this was a peaced-out utopia most of the time."
"Gene, you have a lot to learn." she said, working the key in the lock. "This place has much magic, true. Much freedom. Much goodness. But with it there is wildness, chaos. Bad things happen here as well. Terrible things. We choose, much of the time, to not talk about them. Or to couch their existence in cheerful words.
"Many of us hope the bad things will never happen. But we are ready. Always vigilant. The people of your world seem never to recall the horrors of the past. Never to learn. But here, we do. Maybe it's because we live so much longer here, I don't know. I've said enough, now. Let's get Nick Chopper."
And with a click, the great door opened, and we walked through it, into the gloom of the dungeon.
And the stench.
Along the walls, down a long, narrow corridor, hanging in chains, were dozens of corpses, in various states of decay. Some of them were normal size, though most of them were clearly Munchkins. They all wore Aushwitz-style black and white striped uniforms. We hurried by them, mostly because we were trying to get clear of the stink. But maybe also because we were afraid some of them might still be alive.
Finally, we came to the end of the passageway. There was a door there, with another lock to undo. Ledelei found the right key after the third or fourth try, and the hinges groaned as we pushed the door open.
It was hard to see in there, even with the torch. It was a big room, and the sound of dripping water reverberated off the stone.
I heard a muffled screaming from the shadows, like someone struggling in their sleep. My eyes took a little while to adjust to the gloom—and then I saw him in a far corner, under a dripping pipe, a slow trickle of black liquid falling down onto the once-shiny crown of his head. His arms and legs were chained to the wall, and he was covered with a patina of deep red rust wherever the water had been hitting him on his metal parts. Before him, just out of his reach, was his axe, and an old-fashioned oil can. And just beyond that, staring up vacantly at Nick, was the battered, putrid head of Alphonse Guttierrez.
Nick noticed us, and tried to turn, but only his one lunatic eye moved, and was filled with a sorrowful rage, a certainty that he would die trying to murder the cocksucker that did this to him. For a moment I was more afraid of him than I was of Bjhennigh.
But Ledelei was nonplussed. She bent down to pick up the oil can, grimacing a little at Guittierez' head. She turned around and started oiling Nick, starting with the rusty iron part of his lower jaw, careful to keep the oil out of bone and tissue.
By the time he could talk, he was scary-calm.
"Thank you, young lady. Now my knees, please."
She obliged, and followed his subsequent oiling instructions. Soon Nick was sprinting around the room, swinging his ax menacingly.
I couldn't stop looking at the head. The second-last time I'd seen it seemed a million years back somewhere. It had been attached to a smiling, live person in an Armani suit then. Now it stared at me like something from behind the window at the meat department at Ralph's. Alas poor Yorick and all that shit.
It was time to go, and I was starting to feel a little inadequate. I had a gun, and a fighting chance, but I was no warrior like those two. I fumbled in my ogre-pockets, just making sure the weapon was handy, and felt the cylindrical curve of the gold jar that contained "The Powder of Life" in my other pocket. This time I was determined to say something. This was the time. If anybody knew what to do with the stuff, Nick would.
I was about to walk (carefully) over to him and show him what I had, ask him if we could use it somehow, hoping I would save the day with this marvelous substance. But Ledelei grabbed the jar of powder out of my hand.
"Hey!" I yelled. "What are you doing? Gimme that!" I lunged for it while she played keep away.
She grinned at me slyly, untwisting the cap. "Don't try to fool me again, Gene. I am not stupid. I know all about the Earth drugs. This will certainly make me faster and stronger."
And before I could do anything, she tipped some white powder out onto the back of her gloved hand, and snorted it. And immediately sneezed, blowing the remainder... onto the head of Alphonse Guttierrez.
Now Nick had stopped his calisthenics, and was slowly walking back toward us, taking in the situation at the same time.
As Ledelei read the label, finally comprehending what she'd just done, I grabbed the bottle back and screwed the cap back on.
"That was the stupidest thing I have ever seen," I seethed. "Do you know what this is? I don't I was about to show Nick, but—"
Nick was glaring at me, with his hand outstretched. I looked at the bottle, and back at him, then I handed it to him. No problem. The bottle disappeared into a metal drawer in his chest, and then I guess into history, because I never saw or heard of it again.
Right about that time, two things happened. A groaning came
from the direction of the head. And Ledelei began to act... strange.
I was afraid to look at the head, but I forced myself to.
"UUuuhh... " the battered, decaying thing hissed, sounding like a latino Miles Davis. "Chingado, I don't feel so good." The reumy eyes stared up at me. "What happened, man? Last thing I remember, I was heading for the Brick, and now I'm here feeling like shit. Who are you? And what smells?"
The other two looked at me, like I was the spokesman for the group. Thanks, I thought.
"Well," I stammered out, "my name's Gene, and—"
"I've seen you before, somewhere...," the head interrupted. "You from L.A.?"
"Uh, yeah," I said. "Uh, look—you had kind of an—accident? And you might have some trouble getting around for a little while. I think we're gonna leave and do some stuff for a bit, then we'll come back and get you. But—"
"Fuck that. I'm going with you. This place stinks, and it's dark."
Nick looked down at the head. "Mr. Guittierrez, things are a little different here now. Things have changed since you came through the gate." He paused. I think the head was even getting to him. "Bjhen-nigh has begun his war," he continued.
Ledelei had a distracted look, and was starting to vibrate. I mean, serious vibrating, starting small and building, until her whole body moved back and forth in periodic bursts like the wing of a giant hummingbird.
Nick glanced at her disgustedly, and went on. "When I heard about your—mishap—I knew that the aggressors would soon begin their move. Bjhennigh would never have been so bold as to kill a citizen of Emerald unless he were ready to proceed with his plans of conquest."
"Kill? Whataya mean kill?"
Nick got a strange look on his face, then glanced at me. "Did I say 'kill'? I meant 'molest'. Yes, I believe I meant it in that sense of the word."
The head looked at me. "What's he been smoking, ese? You aren't makin sense, Mr. Nick. There's no sense of the word 'kill' that means
'molest'. I mean, English is my second language, and I guess Pawt'kween is my third, but I'm pretty sure 'kill' means 'kill' in both of them."
Nick wouldn't let it go. "An archaic usage."
The head wasn't buying.
"Very well. Mr. Guittierrez, you are a head."
"Ahead of what?"
"You are a head."
"I'm a head?"
Ledelei was vibrating so fast now that you could hardly see her. She was whirling around the room, rather quickly. I guess if you were already alive, the Powder of Life made you really alive. I hoped that we could still communicate with her. It was getting hard to see where she was: she looked kind of like The Flash when he does laps around the world.
"Look," I said, exasperated, "do we really have time for this?"
The Tinman was staring at the doorway. "No," he said, raising his ax.
I followed his glance, and saw the first of the zombie munchkins shamble through the door. They looked the same as the stationary models we'd seen on the way in, dressed in the same striped P.J.'s. Except that they were shambling.
I never thought I'd get to see an actual shambling zombie, but there they were. Only one of them had a chainsaw, and it wasn't even on. That seemed kind of a ripoff, on a purely aesthetic level. On a practical level, it was great.
I wasn't sure what to do about the head, but I didn't think it was right to leave Guitierrez (or what was left of him) to the tender mercies of the munchkin zombies. So I leaned the torch against the wall, removed my ogre vest and, over loud complaints, stuck the disgusting talking head into the middle of it and wrapped it up. I had to gamble that it wouldn't suffocate, already being dead and everything. Guitierrez continued to complain in a muffled kind of way, jiggling around feebly under my arm. I felt bad, but there didn't seem to be a choice.
Nick was just planted there, watching the zombies stumble up. He held his ax out in front of him, waiting for them to come to him.
"Listen," I whispered, "I have some experience with this. I think the best all around thing to do is aim for the head. If you chop the—"
The Emerald Burrito of Oz Page 23