Dead Streets

by Waggoner, Tim

  "Can you go around it?" Devona asked.

  "Yeah," Lazlo said. "It's not that big yet, but it's blocking enough of the road to cause a real slowdown." He glanced up at the rearview. "I'm afraid it'll give Carnage a chance to catch up to us."

  "Which would be bad," I said. "Especially when it manages to shake off Caligari's Sleep." Something I feared would happen sooner rather than later.

  A thought occurred to me then. Carnage wasn't alive in the strictest sense of the word, but then concepts like life and death are more than a little fuzzy in Nekropolis. Carnage had a soul and could think and act independently. In many ways, the vehicle wasn't all that different from me. I was kind of alive, wasn't I? And I didn't want to get absorbed by the Conglomeration. And hadn't Devona told me that the recipients of Caligari's Sleep were highly suggestible?

  I didn't waste anymore time thinking about it, primarily because we didn't have anymore time. The traffic ahead of us had slowed considerably and it would only be a few moments more before Carnage, sleepy though he was, caught up to us.

  I turned around in my seat and leaned out the open back window. Before Devona could ask me what I was doing, I shouted, "Hey, Carnage! Don't tell anyone, but I'm hiding inside the Conglomeration!"

  The crimson glow within the possessed Caddy's headlights had almost gone out by then but now it flared back to full blazing strength. The vehicle's engine roared and Carnage surged past us, swerving around slower-moving cars as it aimed straight for the Conglomeration. Carnage's hood mounted machine gun raised into firing position and began blasting the Conglomeration with rounds of ammo. At first the gigantic fleshy mass of body parts didn't seem to notice it was under attack, but then the eyes of all its heads came into focus and turned to look at the vehicle firing upon it. Faces contorted in anger and cries of rage issued from all its mouths. Undeterred Carnage continued forward, gun blazing away. Alarmed motorists in the immediate vicinity began trying to pull their vehicles out of the line of fire and if they found their way blocked by other cars and trucks they simply bailed out and ran for it. Lazlo lifted his foot off the gas and allowed his cab to slow down, which turned out to be an extremely wise move when a furious Conglomeration threw itself forward and fell down on top of Carnage.

  The impact was tremendous, bouncing Devona and I out of our seats and fissuring the street with cracks. Bits of the Azure Slime oozed forth through the cracks as if curious to see what was going on above it, but a second later the Slime retreated, most likely having decided to leave the Conglomeration alone, perhaps as a courtesy from one absorbing monster to another.

  Lazlo had slammed on the brakes when the Conglomeration fell and now we – along with dozens of other drivers and sidewalk gawkers along both sides of Sybarite Street – watched and waited to see what would happen next.

  At first the Conglomeration just lay there in the street and I had the horrible feeling that any second we'd see Carnage come bursting out of the flesh mass, headlights shining with fury over having been tricked, gun ratcheting death as the Caddy came toward us. But instead the Conglomeration rose with slow, ponderous movements and we could see the undercarriage of a midnight-black Cadillac now embedded in its side. The Conglomeration just stood there for a moment, as if pondering the new addition to its body, and then it resumed its course, heading slowly down Sybarite Street.

  "I have no idea if the Conglomeration has anything even remotely resembling a digestive tract," I said, "but one way or another, I'll bet it's in for a serious case of heartburn after that."

  Devona smiled at me and I took her hand. To Lazlo, I said, "Can your cab make it to Nosferatomes or should we get out and walk?"

  Lazlo patted the dash. "What do you say, sweetie? Can you do a few more blocks before taking a rest?"

  The vehicle gave a weak bleat on its horn in response.

  "That's my girl!" Lazlo said.

  I almost felt like patting the back seat in thanks, but I resisted. After all, I have a reputation as a tough guy to maintain.

  As soon as he could Lazlo turned off onto a side street to get away from the Conglomeration and we continued on our way, the cab driving slowly but steadily toward Nosferatomes.

  We had Lazlo drop us off a block away from the bookstore, just in case anyone was lying in wait for us outside. Lazlo wanted to stay but once Devona and I were out of the cab we could see how extensive the damage caused by Carnage was. The cab's chassis was riddled with bullet holes that leaked an oily brown ichor as if the vehicle was bleeding. I supposed in a sense it was. The engine was still running but it sounded weak and it knocked and pinged in a way that suggested it was on the verge of collapse.

  "Better get her to a mechanic," I told Lazlo. "Devona and I will be fine on our own." I knew no such thing, of course, but I couldn't allow Lazlo to continue helping us, not if it was going to cost his cab whatever version of life it possessed.

  Lazlo was torn and it took a bit more convincing on my part, but in the end he agreed.

  "Well, if you say so. She is sounding kind of punky. You two take care of yourselves, all right?"

  We promised we would and Lazlo put his cab in gear and drove slowly down the street, the engine protesting all the way. When he was gone we approached the bookstore on foot. After encountering both Crossbreed and Carnage in such a short span of time I was seriously paranoid but none of the pedestrians we passed paid any attention to us and by the time we reached Nosferatomes I was relatively confident there were no bounty hunters in the immediate vicinity, but I didn't allow myself to fully relax. In Nekropolis the moment you let your guard down is the moment you risk becoming someone's snack.

  Nosferatomes was housed in a nondescript two storey building constructed of gray brick with black roof tiles and shutters. A wooden sign hung above the door displaying the shop's name in stylized gothic letters. Aside from its name it could've been any used bookstore on Earth. A pair of other businesses flanked the shop: on the right, a Hemlocks, and on the left a restaurant called Matango. Hemlocks was a chain of coffee houses with locations spread throughout all five Dominions, though the majority of them are located in the Sprawl. They don't just serve regular coffee anymore than their earthly counterparts did. Blood clottes, marrowchinos and spinal fluid smoothees are only a few of their nauseating offerings. Every time I walk past one it makes me grateful that my taste buds are as dead as the rest of me.

  I'd never been to Matango before. It was a Japanese restaurant of a sort that specialized in mushroom dishes, a fact advertised by the various types of the fungi growing on the restaurant's stone walls. Supposedly the food there is so good it's addictive, but frequent diners need to be careful lest they find their skin taking on strange colors and textures. After all, there's a reason Matango's slogan is You are what you eat.

  As we drew near the bookstore, a woman carrying a tray loaded with tiny cardboard cups came walking toward us. Devona and I instantly tensed in case this was yet another bounty hunter, but Devona quickly relaxed.

  I sense no hostility from her, Devona thought to me. In fact, I don't sense much of anything going on inside her.

  Why that was became apparent once the woman reached us. She had long straight black hair that fell to her waist, a prominent scar line circling her neck just below a pair of metal electrodes. She wore a black polo shirt and black slacks, along with a white apron with the stylized H of the Hemlocks logo stitched onto the fabric. She was another of Victor Baron's creations – Baristastein, I supposed.

  "Would you like a free sample of our latest offering?" she asked, tone flat and face expressionless. I wondered if there was something wrong with her brain or if Baron had simply had trouble correctly hooking up her voice box and facial muscles. "It's espresso with a shot of bile. We call it a Sprawlicano."

  I eyed the brackish liquid in the cup with more than a little suspicion. "More like spewicano," I said. "No thanks."

  The woman took no offense at my comment, but then my words didn't seem to register with he
r at all. She simply moved on to accost another pedestrian. But a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk outside Hemlocks to sip their drinks and chat in the open air. Some of them had overheard what I said and they chuckled in agreement. But one – a large minotaur with muscles on his muscles who wore a T-shirt bearing the intellectually provocative phrase Horny is as horny does came stomping over to us on hoofed feet.

  "You disrespecting my girlfriend?" he said in a gruff, bestial voice.

  "Not at all," I replied. "I was disrespecting the crap she tried to serve me."

  The minotaur snorted angrily and grabbed hold of my jacket with both hands and lifted me onto my tiptoes.

  "Think you're funny, huh?"

  "I'm curious what you two see in each other." I glanced in Baristastein's direction and saw she was still trying to push her samples onto passersby without any sign she was aware of her boyfriend's confrontation with me. "Is it a case of opposites attract? I mean, she's the coldest of cold fishes and you've obviously got some anger management issues…"

  Ferdinand roared in my face then and I just looked calmly back at him. I can be a pretty cold fish myself when I need to be.

  I reached into one of my pockets and wrapped my fingers around one of the magic objects Shrike had brought me: a flea bomb. Judging by how thick the minotaur's fur was his coat would be a perfect home for a few thousand bloodthirsty insects. But before I could withdraw the bomb, I heard Devona's thoughtvoice, the tone slightly frantic.

  He's three times your size, Matt! If you were alive, you'd be afraid of him. That's what he's used to and what he's looking for – for you to show some fear!

  Not my style, I thought back as I stared into the minotaur's eyes. I gripped the flea bomb tighter.

  That's the whole point, Devona thought to me. You're supposed to be pretending to be someone else, remember?

  Oh, right. The whole fugitive-in-disguise thing… I released my hold on the flea bomb and prepared to put on a show.

  It had been a long time since I'd felt physically threatened and I wasn't sure if I remembered how to do it. I started by turning my head to the side as if I was afraid Ferdinand was going to haul off and punch me any second. Then I lowered my gaze so I wasn't looking directly into his eyes. The minotaur didn't release me but his breathing eased a bit and I knew my act was working.

  "You know what you're gonna do now?" he asked. "You're gonna apologize to Sandy." He paused and then his bovine face broke into a grin. "Wait – I got a better idea!"

  He called for Baristastein to join us and she walked over, face still devoid of expression. The minotaur let go of me with one hand but kept hold of me with the other. He then reached out and took one of the sample cups from his girlfriend's tray and his grin took on a nasty edge.

  "You're gonna try one of these and then you're gonna tell Sandy how much you like it." He looked at me expectantly and I realized he was hoping that the prospect of being forced to down the swill would provoke some kind of response in me.

  "I'd, uh, really rather not," I said.

  Way to sound terrified, Devona thought. I ignored her.

  "Too bad," Ferdinand said. He put the cup of steaming liquid to my lips and poured it in.

  I could've swallowed it easily since I couldn't feel the heat or taste the flavor but that wasn't what a living man would do, so I sputtered and thrashed my head back and forth, causing some of the Sprawlicano to spill down my chin. The minotaur continued to grin as he poured the rest of the cup's contents down my throat, then he let go of me and I allowed myself to fall back on my ass, making sure to let out a whoof! of air as if I felt the impact.

  As I rose slowly to my feet I doubled over and made a face as if I was going to throw up the noxious brew, but Ferdinand said, "You barf and I'll make you drink two more."

  I made a show of fighting to keep the Sprawlicano down and Ferdinand nodded, satisfied. "Now tell Sandy how good it was."

  I tried to speak, coughed once, then tried again.

  "Smooth," I croaked.

  The minotaur turned to his girlfriend. "There you go, baby. He'll think twice before giving you anymore attitude."

  Baristastein ignored the minotaur as she looked at me, as blank eyed and expressionless as ever.

  "Thank you and come again," she said and then went off in search of someone else to serve.

  The minotaur watched her go, his gaze softening.

  "Isn't she something?" he said.

  I wisely kept any opinions I had about that to myself and Ferdinand wandered off to rejoin the group of people he'd been talking with before Devona and I arrived. There was laughter and congratulatory backslaps from his friends and I found myself reaching for the flea bomb again.

  Devona put a hand on my arm to restrain me. "Forget him. We have work to do."

  I looked at the minotaur for a moment longer before nodding and letting Devona lead me toward Nosferatomes.

  "What did you think of my performance?" I asked her.

  She smiled gently. "Let's just say it's a good thing you chose a career in criminal justice."

  "Everyone's a critic," I muttered.

  Devona and I walked up to Nosferatomes' front door, keeping an eye out for possible attack the entire time and staying in low level telepathic contact. We couldn't read one another's minds this way but we could sense the other's feelings. If one of us spotted danger, the other would be instantly aware of it. But again, there was no sign of any bounty hunters, and we entered the store.

  THIRTEEN

  A bell tinkled as we opened the door and again when we closed it. The front room was filled with wooden shelves crammed with books, signs hanging down from the ceiling with section names painted on them to direct customers to the areas they were interested in. Self Help was directly next to Self Mutilation, and Dark Arts was followed by Darker, Darkest and Pitch Black Arts. As we walked up to the counter some of the titles that leaped out at me were The Complete Idiot's Guide to the Necronomicon, Stabbing for Dummies, The Beginner's Book of Bodysnatching, A Child's Garden of Curses, Shapeshifting for Fun and Profit, and Death: A Life.

  There were a couple customers browsing the stacks. One was an elderly Arcane woman who, judging by the pile of books in her arms, was big into the culinary arts, especially cooking with children. The other was a small rotund man without eyelids who I recognized as the Insomnimaniac. I'd seen him in here before and out on the street a few times, but we'd never formally met, so I wasn't too worried he'd recognize me, but I made sure to keep my face turned away from him as we walked by, just in case. I felt a certain kinship with the man. I hadn't slept since I died and I'd often come here to buy books to give me something to read to pass the time when I wasn't working.

  The counter held an old fashioned cash register and a desk bell to ring for service. Behind the counter was a closed door leading to a back room of some sort. A stock room or maybe a private office, I guessed. Since no one manned the counterI tapped the bell, received a clear ding for my effort, and then Devona and I waited. It didn't take long.

  Scuttling sounds came from numerous directions as small sleek black shapes rushed toward the counter from throughout the store. The rats – or rather pieces of darkness shaped like rats – scurried behind the counter and merged to form a single shadowy mass that grew as it reshaped itself into humanoid form. A second later a grotesque looking Bloodborn male stood before us. Cadaverously thin, bald, with pointed ears, narrow rat-like features and a pair of needlesharp incisors jutting down from his upper jaw. He was dressed in a black great coat that hung awkwardly on his spindly frame. He rested long talon-like fingers on top of the counter and gave us what I assumed was supposed to be a welcoming smile, but which looked more like a grimace of pain.

  "How may I serve you?" His voice was little more than a whisper and his accent was thick. It was clearly of eastern European origin, but it contained hints of other regions I couldn't place. That wasn't uncommon among the Bloodborn since so many of them were at least cent
uries old and had lived in many countries on Earth before relocating to Nekropolis, but there was something about this vampire's voice that spoke of great age, almost as if he were speaking with the voice of Time itself.