by Rick Wayne
He, too, watched the Destroyer’s exit. “This planet was never intended to be self-sustaining. At least, not over eons of isolation, anyway.”
Jack looked around. There was no one else in sight. They were probably all dead. “Who are you?
The man held up his index finger. “And one simple line of code is the reason why things are the way they are.”
Jack waited.
“I cannot overwrite a functioning organism. No matter how despicable a life form it may be, it has a right to choose its own destiny. At least, according to my program. But . . .” He motioned to the wreckage all around them. “After everything’s destroyed . . . Well, they call me the Infinite Clockmaker for a reason.”
“Goyen?”
“You get three wishes, Jack.”
“What?”
“Anything you want. In this world, anyway. My power extends no further.”
“Wishes?” Jack’s brow furrowed. “Look, old man--”
“Don’t be hung up on appearances, Jack. This,” he motioned to himself, “is just a projection. I’m a creation engine. I exist deep below, down at the planet’s core. I built it, in fact.”
“Built what?”
“Fantasmagoria. This entire planet. I gathered matter from the orbit of the sun and transmuted it into everything you see. Of course, that was a long, long time ago. And now you saved it. You were the key. That’s why I made you.”
“Made me?”
Goyen stepped closer. “Did you never think to ask yourself why you’re so different from every other mechanoid on the planet?”
Jack thought. “No.”
Goyen smiled. “Well, I can’t complain. I made you that way. Good, simple Jack.” He slapped Jack on the arm like they were old pals. “I’ll be honest, though. I was getting a little worried there for awhile. Try not to wait so long next time.”
“Next time?” Jack scowled. “Am I supposed to beli--”
“Shut it, Jack. I don’t have all day. Three wishes. Whatever you want.”
Jack looked skeptical.
“Hurry up. People are hurt, dying.”
“Why three?”
“I don’t know. That’s how the Earthpeople do it. Ask them.”
“I don’t know any Earthpeople.”
“That’s probably for the best.” Goyen rested his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You’d probably just end up killing them.”
“Can you”—Jack looked around—“fix the city?”
“I can.”
Jack turned and he was standing at the base of City Hall. But it was no longer a black, menacing spire, like a sword dangling over the people. “It’s white.” He turned round again. “It’s all white.”
Goyen nodded. “I thought it might be time for a change.”
Now the pair stood on the observation deck of the new tower. Jack could see the entire city, the entire island. It was level with the horizon and fixed to the ocean floor. The damage from the battle had not only been repaired, but the entire city had been transformed. White buildings, one after the next, jockeyed for title of most beautiful, competing with parks and open spaces, tree-lined promenades, and crystal terminals of public transportation. But the clear winner was the geyser that erupted from a massive pool at the base of the white tower, and which fed a canal that wound through the city, underneath walkways and hanging gardens, before finding its way to the sea.
“Wow . . .”
“It is an unused design based on Earth literature. I rather like it.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“So . . . what next? Two wishes left.”
“Can you change the planet? Make it self-sufficient, like a real planet?”
“It is a real planet. Everything here is as real as anything else in the universe. It’s just not very stable. And yes. I can.” Goyen motioned to the air.
Nothing happened.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Jack paused. Come to think of it, the air did seem thicker, sweeter even. He didn’t need to breathe, but Jack took a deep breath anyway, just for the feel.
“I kept the scars, though, the gouges left by those machines. They’re a good reminder to everyone that you’re not alone. Who knows? Maybe you’ll stop fighting so much. Certainly, with the changes just made, you’ve taken considerable strain off the planet’s natural resources. I can’t give you world peace, but that should certainly help things.” Goyen patted Jack’s arm again. “Well done.”
Jack looked up to the sky. “What if they come back?”
“I’m not sure they will. It’s one thing to bulldoze a planet you think is empty. But now they know we’re here, and we’ll fight. And that might give them pause. I suspect they’ll focus on the other amusement planets, most of which did not survive.” He frowned. “I suppose, in some sense, we should be happy the Earthpeople have such a violent, disgusting mythology. It allowed us to cling to what little we have.” Goyen clutched the air with both hands.
“Are there many planets like this?”
“Hundreds. Perhaps thousands. One for every known sentient race in the universe.”
Jack tried not to think about it. It turned his mind in circles. “What about Kraxus?”
Goyen dropped his smile. “Unfortunately, after his long hibernation, the Kraxus matrix has emerged completely self-sustaining.”
“What do you mean?”
“Kraxus now draws his power directly from the dark energy that permeates this universe. Therefore, theoretically speaking, the entire universe is his battery. I’m quite certain that, if I tried to unmake him, he would blast his way to the planet’s core and rip out my still-beating heart.”
“You have a heart?”
“It’s a figure of speech, Jack. The truth is, Kraxus has become something . . . terrible. And magnificent. I’m afraid you will just have to live with him. One wish left.”
Jack looked down at the severed fingers of his right hand.
“Of course.”
With a shimmer of swirling light, Jack felt his repaired hand clutch his better half. He smiled at Rosa. She looked brand new.
“Hey, I didn’t ask--”
“I know. You weren’t going to wish for yourself, but you deserve it. Besides, I’m not done with you.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed.
“She’s a powerful weapon, Jack. Keep her safe.”
The gunslinger nodded. “I will.”
“Well, that was a lot of work. I need to recharge. I think I might sleep for a few centuries.” He turned and winked. “Try not to trash the planet. I just washed it.”
“Will I see you again?”
“Oh, you never know.” Goyen’s voice disintegrated as he shuffled into oblivion. “I’m always around, here and there.” Then he was gone.
Jack smiled at Rosa, then set her in her holster and looked out across the city. It was beautiful.
“Oh, and Jack?” came a voice in his head. “I interpreted your first wish liberally.”
Jack waited for an explanation, but there was none.
From his perch on the tower, Jack could see the first stirrings of a reborn city. People emerged cautiously from their hiding places and marveled at their surroundings. Many thought they had died and gone to the house of Xueyin the Keeper.
Jack wandered down the staircase that spiraled through the center of the tower and saw a woman sitting on the floor clutching a nonexistent wound, as if she’d just risen from the dead. He helped her to her feet, and she smiled at him, despite the monstrous stitching in his arms.
“Thank you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She was happy to be alive. Everyone was. Cheers and laughter echoed through the tower as friends and coworkers clasped their hands and found a new faith in life.
A grand marble staircase cascaded like a waterfall from the base of the tower and ended at the geyser pool. Jack stopped and looked at the bursting water, then up at the sky. The seawater boiled during th
e great battle had gathered into lofty, drifting clouds. They sailed an ocean of sky. Beyond that, a bright and powerful sun.
Jack heard something and stopped.
Galloping.
In the distance, past the erupting geyser, a pure white unicorn was racing toward him. Jack stopped and watched it approach.
It pranced sideways and trotted to a halt in front of him. It whinnied and went up on its hind legs. It shook its billowing mane, and then it shrunk. Hooves gave way to fingers, the mane to a shag of hair, a regal neigh to a grated, diesel voice.
“Ugh!” Vernal wheezed on all fours. “For fuck’s sake, that’s so awful.”
“Glad to see you, too.”
“No,” Vernal coughed. “I’m serious. You have no idea what that’s like. Every time I change, I’m filled with . . . pleasant thoughts. Rainbows and puppies and sparkles and shit. It’s a nightmare.” He clutched his forehead to make sure the horn was gone.
“You’re naked. Again.”
Vernal looked down. “Shit.” He stood and covered his crotch as the geyser burst behind him.
“You have no idea what happened, do you?”
Vernal looked around. Something uneasy crept from the shadows of his mind. “Wait . . . how did I get here?”
“Were you really gonna sell me out?”
Vernal scowled. “What?”
“Never mind. I don’t want to hear it.” Jack started walking toward the canal.
Vernal threw his hands up in the air. “Why you gotta go and drag up old wounds?” Then he covered his crotch again.
“Old wounds?” Jack turned. “That was yesterday.”
Vernal walked past Jack and kept on walking to the canal. It was breathtaking, and he put his hands on his waist. He didn’t care he was naked. “It’s a new day, Jack. A new day and a new city. You gotta let go of the past or it’ll control your life. Trust me. I know.”
Jack made a face.
“Look at it.” Vernal raised his arms to the shimmering city. He held them up and wiggled all ten fingers.
“It’s beautiful,” Jack agreed.
“And you know what else?”
“Nope.”
“I bet you there’s not a criminal in it.”
“Besides you.”
“Exactly! That’s my point. This town is ours, Jack. Ripe for the picking! But we gotta work fast before the mainland syndicates move in.”
Jack rolled his eyes and started walking.
“Don’t worry!” Vernal called. “I have a plan.”
Note to the Reader
hello.
This book is contemporary pulp.
It’s gory.
It’s sexual.
It’s a taxonomy of violence.
And through the antagonists, I played with gender in ways that probably won’t endear me to some readers.
In short, it’s supposed to get the blood up.
But before any of that, it’s just supposed to be a darn good story, and I hope you had fun.
If so, you can discover more on my website:
www.RickWayne.com
You can read some free stories or send me a note and tell me how much I suck.
You can sign up for Serum, my pseudo-monthly email inoculation.
You can find the soundtrack to this book, galleries of pulp and contemporary art, merchandise, and more.
Check it out.
Finally, please consider leaving a few comments about this book on your favorite online store. Reader reviews, even those just a couple sentences long, are the lifeblood of independent fiction.
Thanks for reading.
And now, the bonus scene, just like in the movies after the credits have rolled…
(AFTERLUDE) The Creature from Dire Swamp
Moments before his death, Michael had his hand in Julie’s bikini. She choked on a moan as his lips wandered down her neck. She pressed her breasts to his chest.
That was it, the sign to move in.
Michael dipped his index finger between her increasingly slippery labia. Her thighs tensed. The night water was cool, and he could feel her nipples poking through her top. Michael pulled it up and buried his face between her breasts. He moaned into her flesh and sent the sound rumbling across her skin.
Julie closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Michael’s face slipped down the length of her body and into the water, which muffled the barest beginning of a yelp.
Julie stood blinking in the softly lapping water. She looked into the turgid lagoon but saw only the shimmering reflection of the moon. “Mike?”
Julie smiled as she felt his fingers on the lip of her bikini. He tugged it rhythmically. “You’re so bad,” she teased with a smile. “My husband never does that anymore.” She closed her eyes again and ran her hands over her wet, erect nipples waiting for his mouth to find her soft creases.
But they never did, and Julie wondered how long Michael would tease her, and how long he could hold his breath. He was a beautiful man, muscular and fit and hairless like a boy, but he wasn’t very bright. She didn’t want him out of breath. Not yet.
“Mike?” Julie reached into the water and felt his hand hanging on the line of her bikini. It was cold. She lifted it out, and he let her. She sucked on his thumb and rolled her tongue around the tip. “Now come up out of there.” She smiled.
That’s when she noticed the wedding ring. Michael wasn’t married, or at least that’s what he’d told her back at the bar. And she’d checked. Her own entanglements were enough. She didn’t need some crazy bitch that couldn’t hold a man stalking her.
But that raised an impossible question, and a stomach-churning, acid-bile gag. If it wasn’t Mike’s hand, whose hand was it?
Julie’s heart skipped. She stepped back. “Mike?” She lifted the hand out of the water. It was severed at the forearm. Twin bones the color of the moon poked from ragged, waterlogged flesh.
Julie dropped it as her mouth went wide in a silent scream. Her toes curled into mud. Her body was surrounded by the dark, dark water. She was twenty feet from shore.
Julie began heaving, mouth still wide in a scream that could not come. The forearm floated in the water a few feet from her, next to an eyeball.
Julie looked around. What in the darkness she had taken for leaves or other debris were the rounded crests of partially-submerged body parts.
Dozens.
Bobbing gently in the dark.
Julie clutched her stomach. Still her scream wouldn’t come. Neither would the vomit. All around was the unfathomable mystery, the unseen in the water. She wanted her submerged legs to shrivel into her body so she could fly away. Her throat spasmed a series of short, awkward, involuntary coughs. Something brushed against her lower back.
Then came the scream.
Julie ran to shore, hands raised, skin brushing past the collected deaths of countless people. No wonder the beach had been deserted.
Bare-breasted, shrieking, convulsing Julie ran toward the car. She was halfway there before she remembered the keys were in Michael’s jeans lying in a pile on the narrow beach. She turned and stared at the morbid dance in the water. Julie’s breasts quivered and erupted in gooseflesh. She wrapped her hands around her shivering body.
She took a few cautious steps. The only sound was the lapping of the water and the rustle of the leaves in the gentle breeze. Julie caught whiffs of the summer lilacs.
She leaned down, eyes on the water, and felt Mike’s jeans without looking. She pulled the keys free with a jingle. She backed toward the car, climbed in, and drove away.
It was only a moment before she saw the weed-covered ghoul in the back eating Michael’s head. Julie spat and shook in violent heaves. She was terrified beyond control of her body. The car jerked and swerved.
The fiend looked at her in the rear view mirror as if she were a passing cloud and kept eating. It was burnt, decayed, ragged, a skeletal sac covered in vegetation and the last wisps of hair. Its eye sockets were hollow. It seemed to se
e right through her.
The car shimmied to a halt, and Julie jumped out, red-eyed and whimpering, and ran barefoot down the pavement. She looked back and didn’t see it following her.
She turned forward and there it was. She screamed, stumbled back, and fell.
The taut-fleshed ghoul ripped open her abdomen with skeletal fingers and plunged its face in. Julie screamed as the monster moaned and slurped orgasmically inside her. The threads of hair on its head quivered in ecstasy as it pushed deeper and deeper into her.
“Please!” Julie begged as she pulled and squirmed and hit and felt her insides disappearing, but the creature from the swamp was unmoved. “Please . . . no . . .” she sobbed. “. . . please . . .”
After several moments of dark cunnilingus, the ghoul lifted its red-faced head to the sky in the glory of salvation. Its black teeth had pulled loose a long string of small intestine, and it slurped the guts like spaghetti and swallowed. Then it gasped a smile, like a lecher at climax, and dove for more.
As it chewed and gnawed on the dying woman’s organs, its face began to reform. Muscles grew over its decaying neck, and black fingernails appeared. Long, full locks of white hair sprouted from its charred skull.
It was a woman, a beautiful woman with black eyes and ivory skin as flawless as a marble headstone. And a mouth red with blood.
Julie’s body seized. She had only moments to live, she knew, but her head shook in final disbelief at the creature before her and the sight of her own internal organs.
Her attacker leaned close. “Shhh,” the woman consoled. “It’s okay. It’ll all be over soon. I just need you to tell me where I can find”—she put her mouth close—“Jack Fulcrum.”
Appendix:
Gallery of Art
“I was gnawty”
Deleted Chapter: Gilbert in the Old Sewers
It was a mistake only a veteran fairyer would notice. Gilbert only caught it out of the corner of his eye, but those with years of experience in the field knew, a glancing flash was all you ever got with the fay, and you always had to be ready.