Jabberwock Jack

by Dennis Liggio

  I wondered if I could somehow get the serpent to rotate its body so I could ride on top like in Dune, but decided staying alive on its own would be an accomplishment. Since I had my hood up and mask on, I was already feeling somewhat Fremen. What I could do was at least twist my body and heave my legs on top. I had stabbed it rather high up on its side, so technically I could get all of me on top of it and still hold the katana as a handle. I was successful in this, though I felt less heroic. The position was awkward, but it was safer. Being above meant I wasn't on the side and easily bashed into the tunnel wall.

  From up here, I could see past what I believed was the serpent's head. It was surprisingly fast. We had already moved out of the rougher tunnels and back up to more official Avalon tunnels. We passed a number of side tunnels, pipes, and at least one ladder. I couldn't see Szandor and the others, so I hoped they were safe. The serpent seemed to be moving rapidly and with purpose, like a dog with a scent. It was still letting out a rumbling roar.

  There was a light ahead. As we got closer, I could see the serpent was rushing toward two flashlight beams. The beams were unmoving, so either the others were standing still or they had ditched the lights. I was hoping the latter... if they were standing still they were either trapped or already dead.

  The monster charged forward faster, letting out a keening shriek that even more confirmed it was lunging on prey. I winced, hoping it wasn't my brother and the others, but as the serpent approached the lights, its head curled upward. As the part of the creature's body I was on got closer, I could see on the wall next to the serpent's head were the iron bars of an access ladder. I let out the breath I was holding. Szandor and the others must have gone up there, much to the creature's chagrin. They were safe.

  Then the serpent let out a screeching roar and lunged forward again. I nearly fell from my perch when the creature rammed its head at what appeared to be a manhole cover. Rocks fell, but the manhole cover and tunnel held because the serpent's head was far bigger than the opening. Then the creature rammed its head against the opening again. And again. More pieces of stone were falling and I began to wonder if the ceiling was going to collapse. We had already seen this serpent ram through a tunnel wall.

  The serpent kept ramming its head against the top of the tunnel. I held on tightly as the snake-like length of the creature undulated like a wave with this movement. I was worried. If the tunnel collapsed on us, the serpent would probably wriggle free, but the debris might kill me.

  Then with a clang, the manhole cover was dislodged, probably even launched up in the air above ground. This seemed to be what the creature wanted - it desperately desired to get at Szandor and the others who had fled through it, probably to eat them. Of course, it couldn't fit through the manhole. It was too narrow, even now that it was unblocked. What the serpent wanted was an opening that it could force itself through, enlarging it into a gigantic hole. Now that the cover was gone, it was more likely to do that. But it got more than it was asking for.

  I hadn't realized we were so close to the surface, but when the manhole cover was thrown, bright sunlight shined down into the tunnel. The light was almost blinding to me in the dark, even farther away. But the reaction from the serpent was even more severe. The serpent screeched and flinched. It roared in pain and turned away from the opening, rushing down another tunnel. I couldn't tell if it was naturally light-adverse or if it had just been underground for a long time and sudden bright light was unexpected and painful.

  I breathed a sigh of relief for myself and the others above. But now I had a new decision to make. The serpent had turned down another tunnel, not back the way it came, so that would bring me past that ladder up to the surface. I knew I should leap off the creature there and go up. That would be a no brainer and actually rather convenient.

  But that would mean I'd have to leave my katana. My beloved katana. It was stuck too deeply in the serpent to remove - that had actually been to my advantage up until this point. If it had been stuck more shallowly and easier to remove, I probably would have slipped from the serpent earlier. I wasn't going to ignore how my katana had already served me well.

  Still, this was a very meaningful weapon for me. It wasn't just some cheap katana. It was custom made and had been expensive. I had paid a grand for it, which is quite a few picked up shifts at the sanitation department where I worked on-call. Don't be confused, this wasn't an authentic katana from Japan. No, for this I had contacted someone online who had a forge and commissioned them to make it. The katana was created using modern methods rather than ancient Japanese secrets, so many would say it couldn't even properly be called a katana. It had no lineage and it would not be a real samurai's weapon. However, it was a damn sharp and durable blade. The fact that it had successfully stabbed a sea serpent attested to that. It was more functional than pretty, which was exactly what was needed in our work. You might say that "more functional than pretty" was the damn Nowak brother motto.

  I had even been thinking of a name for the katana, that's how significant it was and how well it had served me. I hadn't settled on a name that felt right yet. Szandor kept suggesting calling it Headsplitter, but that sounded like some Norwegian metal band. I'm a huge movie fan, so I was leaning toward something with a cool samurai reference. I had toyed with calling it Zatoichi, after the blind swordsman. It was close to what I wanted, but it still didn't sound right.

  So leaving the katana in this serpent was heartbreaking. Who knew if we were ever going to see this serpent again? Maybe I could track down the katana, but it would be difficult. I knew I shouldn't be this attached to an inanimate object. I knew I should let it go. But I was still sad.

  It was the right decision, though. I would never live it down from Szandor if I showed up hours later, half dead, just because I wasn't going to give up a precious weapon. I already give him shit on how much he loves that damn lead pipe, so payback on this would be a bitch. I'd never hear the end of it. And honestly, this was still a gigantic fucking sea serpent. Odds of death were way higher than anything else we ever fought for every moment we spent near it.

  I let go of the sword and balanced myself on the back of the moving serpent, half crouched. I focused on the ladder, now in the center of a big beam of light. It was coming closer and closer. It occurred to me if I missed this jump, I might fall under the quickly moving bulk of the serpent. That would probably be fatal. I swallowed nervously.

  Then my moment came. I made a risky jump for the ladder. One hand grabbed the metal bar, the second slipped and grabbed a lower rung. I slammed forward, banging myself against the wall. My knees particularly ached from impact. It didn't feel like anything was broken, but I bet I'd have some ugly bruises.

  Making the most out of adrenaline and desperation, I pulled myself up those bars, my arms shaking. When my head poked its way out of the manhole, the light was indeed blinding. The sun was out and it was a rare sunny day after all the rain and gloom we had. I knew that wouldn't last. Not in the rainy season.

  I pulled off my mask. My eyes blinking, I saw that I was in a small parking lot behind an abandoned or closed restaurant. I heaved myself up out of the manhole. I was gasping for breath and exhausted as I collapsed onto my back on asphalt probably cracked by the serpent's attack. I gave myself one moment to stare at the sky and catch my breath.

  Finally I shook my head and got to my feet. Looking around, I decided that we had come up somewhere on the north east side of the city, maybe even in Glenntown. As the adrenaline subsided, I began to realize how crazy I had been. Did I actually consider staying with that gigantic deadly serpent just for my katana? What had I been thinking?

  I found Szandor at the corner of the building, a set of garbage bins setup as makeshift cover. He had been brandishing his lead pipe, as if such a small piece of metal could have done anything against that serpent. When he saw me he relaxed and came over. Behind him were Abby and Dane. Abby had her camera out while Dane held a strange little snow globe, like you get in gift s
hops around the holidays. His arm had been raised as if he planned to throw it.

  "It's gone," I said, still breathing heavily. "It took off when it saw the light."

  They all relaxed, their arms going slack and letting out long breaths.

  "What the hell was that thing?" said Szandor.

  "I don't know, but we're going to find out," I said.

  We made some calls and then headed over to our friend Paulie's basement apartment. Like always, it was a gloomy room full of computers, post it notes, styrofoam take out containers, and soda cans. Meat sat on the couch; we had called him and asked him to be here too.

  Paulie and Meat were monster hunters just like us. They weren't our mentors or anything, but they were the only other hunters we even semi-regularly interacted with. They were one of our biggest sources of knowledge and they were our only link to the hunter community at large. Since they both had a couple of decades on us and kept better tabs with what the community was doing, they were the ones we consulted with when we needed more than we were prepared for.

  Though they were not partners, they were friends. Szandor and I have had a laugh about how they're Jack Sprat and his wife. Meat's a big guy while Paulie is thin. Like really thin. My brother and I are more wiry than buff, but we still feel a little stocky next to Paulie. He spent most of his time down in this basement, smoking and drinking coffee and soda, hardly ever eating. Paulie was always a little jittery, always a little nervous. Unlike us, he didn't hunt most of the time. Paulie instead compiled information, looked for patterns, and tried to predict things. He was hunting for the cause of why New Avalon had such a monster problem. The rare times he did hunt, he had researched it for a long time, gotten good surveillance, and went in with maximum preparedness. During that time however, the monster may have claimed a few more victims, a philosophical difference my brother and I took issue with. We were reckless, but we were trying to save lives. That said, I thought Paulie was alright. He had given us good info and let us borrow equipment over the years. He was the first one to tell us about monsters, so I have always been grateful for that. Szandor, on the other hand, was always annoyed with how close Paulie played things to the chest. Paulie didn't help when our mother was killed and Szandor had never forgiven him for that.

  Szandor also had issues with Meat. The two of them had been getting along better since Szandor realized that despite their arguments, Meat did have his back, but it's been a slow change. Meat is a tall, wide, nearly neckless ex-marine with a thick beard and a bellowing voice. Meat likes to take control and be the authority a little more often than he has the actual justification for, but he means well. But since Szandor has even more issues with authority than I do, it means Meat is more likely to push one of Szandor's buttons, of which he has many.

  Without much preamble, I recounted the story of what I had seen. Paulie sat in his office chair, languidly smoking a cigarette as he listened. Meat stroked his beard while he sat on the old couch, taking up much of the space. Szandor, uncomfortably curled on the remaining space of the couch, added details from his perspective when he could, but most of his experience was running away from the serpent with his back turned, so he didn't have much to add.

  When I finished, Paulie just smoked his cigarette for a moment or two longer, deep in thought. Then he looked over to Meat.

  "Do you think...?" said Meat.

  "Hasn't been seen in years, though," said Paulie.

  "But what else would it be?" said Meat. "The size... white with one red eye..." He paused. "We should call him."

  "He's going to be pissed if it's a false alarm," said Paulie, taking another drag off his cigarette.

  "He's going to be more pissed if another chance slips away," said Meat.

  "Could you fuckers stop being vague and tell us what you're thinking?" said Szandor.

  "We think that you have encountered a very unique creature with a very long history," said Meat. "That white beast you encountered is better known as Jabberwock Jack."

  "And we know someone who's been dying to kill it," said Paulie.

  Brother

  There is no person in this world I care about more than my brother. That's also why there's no person in this world I worry about more.

  My brother has problems. I'm not being mean when I mention that he has some anger issues. He also has some authority issues. But what concerns me most is that he's never happy. We didn't have the best upbringing, but it hasn't stopped me from finding some happiness in my life, even if I've had bad parts of my life. But Szandor didn't even have that. Though he's not even twenty-one yet, he always acts world-weary and put upon. He's got a whole dark side that I think even makes him sick. We're both reckless, it's just how we are. But there are times where I wonder if he's reckless because he doesn't care or he has a death wish. I want to think the best of him, but there are times where I fear the worst.

  I don't even think Szandor likes himself. Case in point: you may have read the story that he wrote of our adventures - about the whole Ingstrom Job, the ghouls, and dealing with the clusterfuck that is Minerva Technics. He took some liberties with the story and I don't begrudge him that. All storytellers take some liberties with the truth for a good story. Here's what I find so insane and worrisome: even though he told the story himself and focused on himself as the hero, he still made himself look bad. I mean, come on, you have full authorial control and you still make yourself look like an asshole? I can't imagine what he must think of himself when he's alone.

  Of course, he was a little unkind to those of us who are his friends too. Here's some of the things I want to set the record straight on:

  Yes, we grew up poor and without dads. Yes, we sometimes live paycheck to paycheck. But us being poor kids from the wrong side of town isn't that big a deal. It's not that defining. Not for me. Not for how many times he mentioned it. If Szandor was writing Uncle Vanya, the characters would mention the gun every two minutes, pausing everyone five minutes to dance around and sing in the Yes We Have A Loaded Weapon Parade that would define the play.

  No, I don't live in Chinatown just because I like Asian girls. I live there because the price is right and it's a step up from where we grew up. I have in fact only dated two Asian girls, Monica and Emma. Monica was even Korean, so there's no Chinatown connection there. And I dated them both because they were beautiful and awesome women, not because of some weird race fetish.

  I admit I do like Chinese food, so I don't mind being upstairs from a Chinese restaurant.

  I don't have a new girlfriend every few weeks. At least, that's not the plan. My relationships have not been working out how I want them, but that's more my problem than anything. I've mentioned already how that has been weighing on me.

  I do let Szandor drive the Pork Chop Express sometimes. He doesn't ask very often. And he can't parallel park for shit. I think he doesn't drive because he's embarrassed when he has to ask me to take over and park the van. If you can't park a vehicle in the city, you shouldn't drive one.

  Stop complaining about Hot Pockets. I love those things. And people who steal free food from their brother's freezer should not complain about what they get.

  I know Suitguy's name, I just choose not to use it.

  I'm not an unreliable brother. I strive to have his back. Always. That is maybe the depiction that hurt the worst of all of them. I know he didn't mean it, I know he wanted to make it a better story. It still makes me a little sad.

  That's all for now, I'm sure I'll think up other things later. But the point is, he was already taking liberties with the truth, why make himself look like an asshole? He should have made himself look like a badass. Should he have saved puppies or something? I don't know. But why make himself look bad?

  I love my brother, but for once I'd like him to crack a smile that wasn't at someone else's expense or even his own. For once I'd like him to recognize when things have gone his way and enjoy it. I'd like him to be something resembling happy and be aware of it for one single da
y of his life.

  That would be my birthday wish for him.

  Of course, before Szandor's birthday was another anniversary. A darker one. We had lost Mom years ago on this date. We'll always remember it. I don't know how Szandor ever has a happy birthday knowing that he'll always go through this anniversary before his birthday comes. Fucking April.

  Mom was murdered by a revenant. That's the ugly truth of it all. We will never forget that. But don't say it's what made us become hunters. Don't cheapen the event to just a simple cause for what came after. It was fear and horror, death and loss. It's the worst thing that ever happened to us. Don't make it just a cause.

  The day we left Tor's camp was the anniversary of her death. The timing was good. Even if we hadn't graduated his training, we would have taken the day to leave the camp. So now as we drove back to Avalon, we took a turnoff and stopped in Gracewood, a suburb just north of New Avalon, west of Glenntown. Mom was buried in one of the huge cemeteries out there, like many Avalon dwellers. More people die in Avalon proper, but more people are buried in Gracewood.

  I parked the van in The Cook-Husker Cemetery parking lot. I turned off the engine but we still sat in the van for a moment.

  "Are we ready to do this?" I said.

  "Are we ever ready?" said Szandor. "You're going to be asking me that for the rest of my life and I'm never going to be ready. We'd be in this car until the end of time waiting for me to be fucking ready. But I'll man up and do it. Just like every year." He turned his head away so his manly pronouncement was not marred by the tear that started.