9th Circle

by Carolyn McCray; Ben Hopkin

  “With all the fire damage, it was easier to start over.”

  “Dude. This is one messed-up way to ‘start over.’ Wouldn’t it have made more sense to raze the old stuff? Your house burns down, you don’t go building on top of what’s left.”

  “Pioneer Park. Tidelands,” Darc said, his attention still largely on looking for patterns and new lines of logic. There had to be something here. Trey’s sudden lack of movement caused Darc to return his attention to his partner. Trey stood with his hip cocked, giving Darc an intense look that Trey called a “glare.” It seemed closer to what Darc would think was pain, but Trey was the emotional expert.

  “Seriously, Darc. You have got to stop with the cryptic crap. It’s just annoying.”

  One of the other policemen, an Officer Brantley, piped up. “I know what he’s talking about.”

  Trey muttered to himself while kicking another pebble at the walls that surrounded them. “Of course you do. Someone always does. Not that the someone is ever me.”

  Officer Brantley bulled ahead, not seeming to take notice of Trey’s mutterings or mood. His accent betrayed him as having left Chicago for Seattle. Darc noticed the closed-off a sound, as well as the hard, retroflex r. Apparently, Brantley had studied up on his Seattle history when he decided to make the move.

  “See, Pioneer Park was always getting flooded ‘cause it was so low. It was just filled-in swamp, basically. So when the fire happened, they figured they’d just kill two birds with one stone. Make everything higher up, you know?” Darc’s partner just glared at the officer, until Brantley finally fired back. “What? My dad was a city planner. He used to show me weird stuff from cities all over the place.”

  “Whatever.” Trey’s tone was unusually caustic. “I just want to know what our killer is doing down here.”

  But Darc had no attention left to spare on this conversation. Every part of his mind was locked in a struggle to turn the shapes of buildings, random markings on windows, or even pieces of splintered wood into symbols. To no avail.

  A faint whooshing sound came from a distance down the subterranean walkway. Darc stopped, his sudden lack of movement alerting his partner. Trey held up a hand to the rest of the group.

  “Quiet!”

  Everyone went rigid, the group noise dying down to nothing but some labored breathing. Darc put the probability at 83 percent that it was asthma from the dust they had all kicked up.

  And then they heard it. A scraping. A hissing.

  Something was coming.

  *

  She heard the sound.

  Psssssssssssst.

  Like someone was trying to get her attention in church. Or like her bicycle tire when she ran over that piece of glass. Daddy had taken the tube out of the tire and put it in a bucket filled with water. The hole had made bubbles so he’d know how to make the tire better.

  The sound made her happy. That was kinda weird, ‘cause she knew the sound was bad. The meanie man was smiling, so it must be bad. A trap, maybe. Like those dumb ole snakes.

  She was still happy, though.

  She was happy ‘cause if there was a trap that made a noise like that, a noise that made Meanie smile, then that meant the tall man was on his way. And if the tall man was on his way, then everything was going to be okay.

  So she was sad that something bad was going to happen, but she was glad that the man with the gold badge was going to be here soon. And he was super-smart. He wouldn’t let the bad thing keep him from coming.

  Sometimes grown-ups didn’t always do what they said. One time Mommy had promised, promised, that she was going to get ice cream, but she forgot. Daddy said that sometimes that happened.

  But the tall man wasn’t like other grown-ups. He didn’t talk to her in a high, fakey voice like her teacher. He didn’t say one thing and mean something else, like when Daddy said maybe they would go to Disneyland.

  When he said something, he meant it.

  He had saved her from the snakes.

  He would save her from this, too.

  And maybe even find Popeye for her. That would be great. She really missed Popeye. She even missed when he would get sassy with her. If he came back, she wouldn’t get mad at him for that ever, ever again.

  She wiggled around on the table, trying not to breathe too fast. When she breathed too fast, it made the beeping start going faster and made her nervous. She looked at the numbers on the thingy behind her head. They were upside down, but they said 20:46, 20:45, 20:44.

  That didn’t seem like a very long time.

  Less than a SpongeBob SquarePants.

  But it was okay. He would get here. He would save her.

  She knew it.

  *

  The hissing was getting louder. Much louder. Trey stifled a moan and looked down at his feet, lifting up each foot, searching for hidden reptiles. He was more than a little bit relieved when he didn’t find anything there. Snakes. He just couldn’t handle more snakes.

  A gust of wind stirred the dirt and debris at Trey’s feet. It ruffled his hair. That was more than a little bit weird. Trey felt his face scrunch up in confusion. He thought back to his mom’s telling him that if he kept making a certain expression, his face was going to stick that way. He consciously tried to smooth out the muscles of his forehead. This face couldn’t be pretty.

  But there was what felt like a more important concern at the moment…

  “How could there be wind down—?”

  In unison, Darc and Trey shone their flashlights ahead in the gloom. A huge ball of roiling white rushed toward them. Okay. Trey had no idea what the freak that was, but he wasn’t waiting around to find out. Trey screamed at the entire group.

  “Go for cover!”

  Darc’s hands pushed against him as his partner shoved him bodily toward the entrance to an old bank. Turning his head to see the remainder of the cops with them, Trey watched as they divided into two main splinter groups, three heading to an old-time saloon, two into what looked to be a general store right next door. Two lagged behind, seeming to be unsure of what was going on.

  And then it was too late for them to figure out anything ever again. The white cloud wrapped around them, turning them instantly into sparkling copies of the men who had stood there only seconds earlier. Before being swallowed up completely in the cloud of whatever-the-freak-that-was, they looked almost like marble statues with impossibly detailed features, stuck in stone forever.

  Trey was not prepared for this. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t anywhere close to what was going on out there. He released a puff of air that steamed around him like one of those space-cloud thingies. Nebula.

  He realized the randomness of his thoughts was in direct proportion to his confusion and panic. He shook his head at what he was seeing, hardly able to credit what his eyes were telling him.

  “What…? How…?”

  “Liquid nitrogen,” Darc answered, his tone as cold as the cloud outside.

  Trey remembered the one science class where he’d actually paid attention in high school. His teacher had brought in a thermos full of liquid nitrogen. He’d spilled it on the floor and showed them how it sizzled like a drop of water in a hot pan. He’d stuck a fully bloomed rose into the substance for a couple of seconds and then shattered it on the table.

  Okay. So he now knew what it was. He still had no idea why in the world it would be out there.

  “But what’s—?”

  “The frozen wasteland…” Darc’s voice trailed off as he seemed to follow some pattern Trey couldn’t see in the icy cloud. He had that thousand-yard stare that said he was doing some kind of mental magic inside his head.

  The window in front of them frosted over completely in a matter of seconds, the cold beating even through the solid wall between them and the deadly whiteness. Hoarfrost crept across the floor toward where Darc and Trey were now rapidly backing away, covering up a chair they had passed just moments earlier.

&nb
sp; The cold was hunting them.

  And they had nowhere to run.

  *

  Officer Manuel Ramirez was claustrophobic. He had never shared this with anyone on the force, ‘cause…well, it was hard enough being the only Latino in the precinct. Didn’t have to give most guys an excuse to razz someone different. Put something like this in front of them, and it would be like seagulls all over rotting garbage. A messy free-for-all.

  He was used to not fitting in. He was the only one from his barrio who had made it to college. And then for him to go to the police academy? That had not gone over well with the chulos in the SP. For a while he had worried that he’d have to make his parents and younger sister move in with him to keep them from getting harassed.

  At least his fellow officers were pretty good guys. There was even one of them, Murray, whom he would hang out with from time to time, go grab a beer together after work and stuff. But every once in a while, when they’d go down to SP for a bust, one of the guys would start to say something, then look at Ramirez and shut his trap. Didn’t take a genius to figure that one out.

  But now here they were, underground, for hell’s sake, and Ramirez had been doing everything he could not to hyperventilate. That was, up until about ten seconds ago. Somehow, after running away from the cloud that had frozen Johansen and Singh in place, the ceiling pressing down on Ramirez seemed like the least of his worries.

  They were inside now, and safe. Even if Ramirez was pretty sure the low-hanging roof was about to cave in on him. He took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself, rested his hand on the bar of the old saloon. Cabrón. That counter was cold. He jerked his hand back up, looking at his palm in the glow of his companion’s flashlights. It was red and raw. It looked like he had actually pulled off a layer or two of skin. Man.

  Glancing at the mirror on the other side of the bar, Ramirez could see that crystals were forming on the surface of the glass, frosting over his own image within it. Whatever was in that cloud was still reaching them somehow.

  Ramirez went to back up, but his foot seemed rooted in place, like he had stepped in a pool of superglue or something. Maybe the floor had rotted and he had stepped into a crack? He pulled and tugged, but there was no getting it freed. Turning as best as he could to the other two cops, he did what he could to keep the panic out of his voice.

  “Help!”

  Murray was the first one at his side, grabbing him under the shoulders and giving a strong pull. Still nothing. The other officer, Nguyen, yanked one of Ramirez’s arms over his shoulder to give him more leverage, motioning to Murray to do the same on the other side. After a count of three, both of them pulled as hard as they could.

  This time, it worked. Ramirez was free. Time to get as far away from the front door of this place as possible. Pivoting on his heel, Ramirez went to plant his other foot and tumbled to the floor. He had somehow managed to miss the ground with his shoe. How the hell had that happened?

  Glancing down, there was something weird about the perspective. In the dim light, it looked like his leg was much shorter than it should be.

  And then Murray shone his flashlight on Ramirez’s leg and the screaming started. It took Ramirez several moments to realize the cries were ripped from his own throat.

  Where his foot had been was just a jagged stump.

  Back where he had been standing before, a shoe and a sock stood watching him, splintered flesh and bone jutting out from where the sock had fallen down around the ankle. His ankle.

  Murray backed away, mumbling to himself. “Oh, mierda. Oh, man.”

  Still screaming, his throat raw, Ramirez went to push himself up from the ground, only to find that he was stuck once more. This time, it was his hands and the undersides of his legs.

  He could feel nothing but deadness where his limbs should be. The dead feeling continued to creep up his body as both the other officers retreated even further. Ramirez couldn’t even see them now, and his torso refused to twist around to track their progress.

  Trying to call out, Ramirez felt his chest constrict, the air no longer entering in as he struggled to breathe. His screams had turned to whimpers, and within moments his chest locked in place and his lips sealed together, blocking any further efforts he might make at communication.

  His ears took longer to freeze than any of his other extremities. Perhaps that’s why the last sensory input he received, before drifting into darkness, were the frantic screeches of Murray and Nguyen.

  But soon even those noises faded away.

  *

  Jeremy Lerner’s luck sucked. Hard.

  Getting assigned to the serial-killer case had seemed like such an awesome thing, you know? Get to go out and help bring down a monster and shit. Totally rad stuff.

  Yeah, it had meant he wasn’t gonna be able to meet with his informant-slash-pot-dealer tonight, but whatevs. He still had some of his Acapulco Gold stash left. Enough to keep him mellow for a few more days if this case dragged on.

  But now they were, like, running for their lives and shit. Jeremy hated running. There had been only one time when it had seemed like a good idea, and that was when a street punk he had busted a while back had seen him with a blunt. Can’t let that happen, you know? Had a rep to keep back at the precinct. Getting fired meant no more weed, and that was not copacetic.

  The last thing Jeremy had seen over his shoulder was that one dude and his partner getting the worst kind of stiffy possible. They looked like icy pops or something. Totally sick.

  And now him and his partner were in this, like, store. There were shelves on the walls, and even a couple of bags of something. Flour or sugar, maybe. Dude. When he made it out of this thing, Jeremy was totally gonna make some snickerdoodle cookies tonight. Went great with the Gold. And maybe he could grab him some of those cheesy puffs. Or no…dude, it had to be the cheesy balls. Those things were awesome. Especially the ones down at the bottom of the bag that soaked up all the extra grease.

  But right this sec, things were looking like a bad trip in here. It was so cold that his chattering teeth felt like they were gonna break off. His partner, Officer Lewis, was usually, like, a real stoic with a stick up his ass. But even Mr. Awesome over there was looking pretty Smurfy. Like, blue, you know?

  And then, through the walls, they heard the screaming start. One voice that choked off after a while, then two more joining in. Jeremy looked at his partner. What the hell? That didn’t sound good.

  They both backed into the store as far as they could go, tripping over cans on their way back. Lewis gave Jeremy a weird look, and then let out a long breath that looked like he had just taken a hit off the most massive bong ever.

  “We’ve got to conserve our strength, Officer Lerner,” his partner stated, gesturing for Jeremy to…what? Give him a hug? Yeah, that wasn’t gonna happen anytime soon. He turned to spit on the ground, letting Lewis know what he thought of that idea.

  The spit froze midair and cracked on the ground.

  Okay, so maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Jeremy moved forward, trying to figure out what was going to be more awkward, face-or ass-first. Freaky as it was, he went with face. No way he was gonna spoon with his partner. He’d never live that one down.

  As they huddled together, trying to stay warm, Jeremy felt a numbness creep up his legs. Looking down, he could see the ice crackling up both their legs. He couldn’t move. Facing his partner one more time, he looked the guy straight in the eye.

  “Good idea, though, dude.”

  He just wished he could move before they totally froze in place. When someone found them later on, this was not gonna look good.

  *

  Okay, so this was the opposite of courage. Trey was not putting one foot in front of the other. He was, quite deliberately, putting one foot behind the other. The only thing that made him feel a little bit better about it was that he was only a step or two behind Darc. Okay. Maybe three.

  And still the ice advanced on them. The old partiti
ons for the tellers were now a glittering wasteland. At least it was pretty.

  Trey put his foot back one more time, only to have it come up against the back wall. So. No more going that way. But the frost was coming, and it didn’t seem to be slowing down at all.

  “All right. How cold do you think that is?” Trey asked his partner.

  “Negative forty—”

  “You know what? Never mind!”

  As he put his back up against the wall, something jabbed into Trey’s lower back. Ow. That hurt. He glanced behind him and saw that what had poked him was the huge steel handle of the bank’s enormous vault. Trey looked at the vault, then at Darc, then back at the vault.

  “Oh yeah!”

  But as he went to yank the door open, it wouldn’t budge. Darc added his strength, the two of them pulling until the veins stood out in their foreheads, but the ancient door was just too old and rusted.

  “Come on!” Trey yelled at the vault, slamming his hand against the metal and then immediately sticking his hurt hand in his mouth.

  And then Darc took a step back. He calmly—a little too calmly, as far as Trey was concerned—analyzed the opening, his head cocked at an angle. That meant either he was about to rush the door or he was trying to see things from a different perspective. Ah, who was Trey kidding? He had no idea what was going on in his partner’s head.

  Darc reached out a hand and placed his index finger on the upper-left-hand corner, somehow pushing the door in just slightly. It then sprang back out, swinging wide. Trey just gaped at the blackness of the old bank vault in disbelief.

  “Man, I love it when you do that!”

  Rushing into the darkness, Trey spun on his heel and slammed the door shut behind them, shutting out the creeping chill. Or at least that was the idea. Within minutes, the air around them started to drop dramatically in temperature, forming billowing clouds of steam around their heads any time they exhaled. Trey tucked his hands under his armpits, dancing from one foot to the other to try to increase his blood flow. He also had to pee pretty badly, so there was that, too.