Sombre

by S. B. Norton

  Colonel Em Contusion sat in the back of the twin seater Junker and whispered to herself the speak of the Hell-Flyer. “Vim-Vigor! Alpha! Bandicoot! Ca-ching! Woeful dove! Touch and Go! Tonevereturn! Crash and Burn Baby!”

  She was learning so many new words! It was rare that she used them in a proper sentence. It was all about the terms. The terms of a Hell-Flyer. “Crash and Burn Baby,” she whispered again. That was another term. That’s what she did. A Hell-Flyer existed to fly. To Crash and Burn, Baby.

  As more thunder clapped, a round of high-powered gunfire came at the ‘Liberty Taken’ and Colonel Ramiskus rolled them left. Gliding haphazardly like a hiccupping eagle, the Junker once again threatened to stall mid-air.

  “Enemy wings at our rudder!” Em thrilled in the back.

  “It’ll be Touch and Go! Set our guns! I’m about to lead us into a Chandelle, Em!” Colonel Ramiskus wailed in the front.

  The ‘Liberty Taken’ clambered for more air in the spirited, but gasping, 180 degree, left side-aerobatic move.

  Em felt the rush and screamed with delight.

  She loved to fly!

  Now, she had to fight. Turning the small Browning gun around on its mount she used the scope and aimed as they pulled level with the enemy – she fired a rapid round of bullets. The newer and shinier nightmare craft went into a well-executed barrel roll and dropped from view. “We lost em’, Ramiskus!” Em broadened her scope.

  “We’re in trouble, Em! That new black wing will have us! Nightmarer’s in their dreamt-up craft! This old Junker can’t compete!” Colonel Ramiskus punched the window and actually cracked it.

  Silence filled the cabin after the pilot’s outburst.

  Em had learnt about her place in Sombre from Commander Acker. A Hell-Flyer flew, a Hell-Flyer fought, a Hell-Flyer had to bring down the Nightmarer’s in their nightmare aircraft.

  The black craft sped past them in the blur and drone of jet-propelled engines. Like a cantankerous old man, the ‘Liberty Taken’ took exception to the newer plane’s presence. It’s worn out motor made a pinging noise and stalled mid-air.

  “This blasted bird’s shat itself again!” Ramiskus said and went about firing the ancient rotary motor up. One hand holding the yoke; the other manically flicking switches, the experienced flyer pulled the throttle and fuel. They were gliding on momentum alone.

  Like an evil air shark, the black plane circled, taking advantage of their predicament, it flew straight at them. There were no guns firing from the nightmaring aircraft now - just a dreaming, deadly kamikaze at the controls.

  “Em! That blasted Bandicoot has us!” Ramiskus screamed and began wildly thrashing about in the front. She cried, “I’m at eleven, Em! This is it for me… Come in Commander Acker! It’s been an honour to serve you!”

  No reply from the tower.

  The black jet was almost nose to nose.

  “Crash and Burn Baby!” Em bellowed stupidly from the back.

  With a hopelessly late rumble from the engine, the Liberty Taken came to life. Em grabbed her own yoke and pulled - the nose of the craft tilted laconically, and the nightmaring enemy ploughed into the underside. “Tonevereturn, Woeful Dove!” Em yelled from her seat as the nose of the black wing crashed through and Ramiskus shouted something in return as she disappeared through the roof. The Liberty Taken was ripped in two - fuel tanks exploding at the wings as they tore free; the black plane passed through then vanished. The still seated Colonel Em Contusion was falling. Falling and grinning the unwavering grin of the Hell-Flyer. As she plummeted in what was left of the burning cabin, she whispered, “Crash and Burn Baby!” over and over. An empty whirring filled her senses, darkness was coming, along with her demise. Spinning around and around as she fell through the teaming sky, Em awaited the impact.

  “Unfasten your seat belt, you silly wretch!”

  Em heard the voice invading her head space. Far away but getting closer.

  “Have you done it?!”

  She did it … just as she felt the lead-weight crush of impact. Her body taking the paralyzing hit, starting from the base of her spindly spine, rushing up through her neck. Death was next, coming in its final, inestimable gasp.

  In a split second, one strong hand grabbed her by her pulverized shoulder - another by her limp, broken arm, wrenching her free.

  S

  “You’ll bleedin’ well hang on, Em!” Halliday growled as she rode Wilder hard across The Terminal Airstrip. It seemed to be rush hour for crashing planes as another three Hell-Flyer junkers’ came tumbling from the sky like mechanical carrion.

  “What a waste of resources this place is!” Halliday steadied a limp Em Contusion, a dead weight across Wilder’s back.

  “This is our first try Em! I’m doing this for Hope! You need to hold on! Give me a grunt, girl!”

  Reaching the outskirts, Halliday spotted the shimmering light of The Funneling ahead and charged. She let out an involuntary cry of frustration. How on earth was this going to work? Was she too late?

  S

  Hope rolled and rolled across the mattress and then hit the floor.

  “Ow!” She’d fallen on her front. She coughed as she breathed in a throat-full of carpet dust. Rolling on her back she peered up at the clock, the blurry digits were somewhere in the 3 a.m.’s. Head still full of sleep, she asked the question of her bladder and found she couldn’t be bothered. Crawling back onto the mattress, she pulled the covers over and drifted off realizing that, at least in Sombre, she was pretty damn powerful.

  “Halliday’s the shit,” she mumbled.

  S

  The rite of passage …

  Even in her sleep, Hope hated this. She could feel her frustration as she watched herself being lifted up on to a door by the wedding horde. Eyeholes and open mouth filled with the stems of flowers. Her severed and butchered body lying in a pool of her own making; of flowers and thick, drying blood. She was walked out of the chapel and paraded down the street outside. The late afternoon sunlight shone down on her corpse. The weather was lovely. The horde below her chanted as they marched her on. “Hope the Unclean, Hope the Revol-ting! Hope all in red, the only good Hope’s a dead Hope!”

  S

  Galloping out of The Funneling into the entry hall to The Office of The Menders, Halliday pulled Wilder to a skid.

  “Halt nag, will you! This needs to work!”

  Wilder lowered, tri-folding her mechanical legs down so her belly lay flat on the floorboards, she bowed her head obediently.

  “C’mon Em,” Halliday wrenched the limp form of Colonel Em Contusion from her horse, dragging her off like a bag of sand across the floorboards, she kicked open the big wooden door to the Office’.

  “Hamish! I’ve had a go at this. Here man!” Halliday announced at the entry as if she were dropping off a parcel and everything inside was broken. She pulled Em up by the collar of her aviator jacket, “Come look at this girl won’t you!”

  The chief Mender walked up rubbing his hands on a bloody rag. “Looks like she’s in one piece at least.”

  “There might be a bit of wind left in her as well, I haven’t had the chance to check,” Halliday said as two Menders came rushing up. Taking Em Contusion under the shoulders and ankles they lowered her onto a trolley.

  Hamish eyed the Hell-Flyer as she was pushed past him. “She might be okay, Halliday, well done. I trust this didn’t interfere with your drinking session at The Ruptured Spleen.”

  “Actually, no – I mean, it almost did. I was on my way up for my spirit when I had the presence of mind to check in on Em.”

  “You shouldn’t have to try and check in on her, Halliday! She should always be at the forefront of your mind!”

  “That’s absolute rigmarole of the highest order, Hamish!” Halliday exclaimed, “I’ve got four bleedin’ Other-selves to deal with already! I’ll give Em what is left of my mind and that’s it! She’ll turn my brain into slaw, man!”

  “Then you’ll miss her more often than not!
Do I need to remind you of the stroke rate of a Hell-Flyer?”

  “No, you needn’t! I saw them all falling down around me as I left the area with this one! What a bunch of dumb bells they all are! Do they ever catch a Nightmarer?”

  “Not often,” Hamish’s mouth formed a grin.

  Halliday looked over the chief Mender’s shoulder and saw Em lying on a spot on the bench. She noticed that her twig-thin legs barely fit her aviator leathers. “Quite undernourished, isn’t she?” Halliday mused, “Such a brittle little bugger.”

  “You need to look after her, Halliday,” Hamish reminded her again.

  “The girl crashes planes, Hamish,” Halliday said as a rubber hose was placed into Em’s mouth and a small generator was switched on. She winced as Em Contusion’s body blew outward like a balloon, then deflated and convulsed. She muttered, “I will try.”

  “Good work,” Hamish said giving her a pat on the shoulder. He left her and got involved in the endless and thankless cycle of mending Sombre’s helpless citizens.

  Halliday shut the door and entered the hall where her trusted Wilder awaited her.

  “Come on my nag, let us go and have that drink. We have done well. I deserve it.”

  The clip-clop of hooves and the fizzing clicks of Wilder’s gear work were soon replaced with the calamitous noise that was The Funneling. In seconds the two were spat out onto the dirt parking lot of The Ruptured Spleen. Halliday led her machanihorse through vehicles of the four wheeled and winged variety. There was no sign of Lucretia St Aimes bike - that was a good thing. Dave Bi-Planes’ Bi-Plane was parked, wedged in between two Speed Trucks. This made her smile. A drink and a chat with Dave.

  They continued on toward the dirigibles. “I shall leave you over near the balloons, as you are such a skittish thing at times,” Halliday said to Wilder licking her lips. She was awfully dry. She let go of the reins and left the machanihorse alone to grunt and grumble to herself in the usual way she did when Halliday went for liquoring.

  “Be a good Wilder and stay out of trouble won’t you.” She looked to the top of the mountain’s peak. The Ruptured Spleen was as well-lit as its patrons; she could hear the familiar clinking of glasses and alcohol fueled laughter. With a light skip in her step, she made her way to the earthen entry, the metal elevator door at the mountain’s foot. Every Halliday loved a drink a little too much. She made no apologies. She thought she would order a bowl of the Spleen’s signature greasy chips as well, that would create that cushy layer for necessary absorption.

  “She’s more of a lush than I ever was,” said an Other-self tapping her thoughts.

  “I was quite fond of The Ruptured Spleen,” another admitted longingly.

  “It was our crutch. I know it cost me at least two of my strokes,” another chimed in.

  Grinning, Hope’s Halliday pressed the up button and waited for the elevator to make its way down. “Up we go,” she muttered under her breath and rubbed her hands together.

  Then something ruined her good mood.

  “Huh!” A sudden chill was at her back, she spun around. What felt like frigid icy fingers, were walking her spine, squeezing, and pinching at her nerves.

  Ticking? She could hear ticking. She looked down at her chest. The Beating Clock didn’t tick, if anything, it drummed - and it never sounded out so loud that it could be heard like this. Suddenly it had weight. It felt heavy. She had never felt her Beating Clock before. It was always just – there.

  Halliday realized the ticking wasn’t from her clock; it was in front of her.

  There was a presence.

  Instinctively, she pulled her blade from the holster and readied herself for combat.

  “W-What is this? Come out of hiding, now! Coward!” She wasn’t entirely sure if it was the correct way to address whatever this was – it was a something - there was no other way to describe it. It couldn’t be seen, but it was there. She felt its chill. It was studying her, leering perversely, as if staring into her very core, at everything she was. She gulped. She caught her breath. The sword wavered in her hands and fell limp.

  The elevator door opened. Shivering, she backed into safety, not able to look away until the door shut. The ticking stopped; the heaviness in her chest disappeared.

  She ascended; The Ruptured Spleen would be her saviour.

  Halliday slumped against the back wall of the elevator and hugged herself.

  She had never felt as unsafe in Sombre as she had just then.

  “What was that?” she whispered. Haunted.

  S

  Hope woke with a start. She sat bolt upright in bed.

  “Oh Jesus!” she coughed holding her chest. She gasped as she felt the pressure - she couldn’t find her breath. Her eyes were wet. Had she been crying? Something had changed. Something was wrong. Really wrong. Grabbing a handful of her quilt she pressed her face into the linen and breathed - just breathed. She found some control.

  Her room felt icy.

  CHAPTER 17

  The Coming Together

  Chin resting on her palm, Hope played with a bowl of cereal, chasing the flakes around with her spoon. She actually felt like vomiting. She was dressed and ready for school, but not nearly ready, really. If any normal person had just had a night’s sleep like she just had, they would be ditching school and calling in a ‘mental health’ day to rest and recover.

  But how much real rest would she be afforded? The lines between her sleep world and her real world were starting to blur. That was ice in her room wasn’t it? There was no mistaking it - that had been real. It was a 65-degree morning and her room was icy. She pictured Halliday at the foot of The Unexplained Mountain. Whatever that thing was that the Gatherer could feel but hadn’t been able to see – that ice - Hope was sure that was new. Halliday’s cocky demeanour took a swan dive there for sure.

  She swallowed down another wave of nausea. With a sigh, she stopped playing with her breakfast and pushed the bowl to the middle of the table. She cleared her throat and croaked, “Are we leaving soon?”

  Kate was in scroll mode on her phone as she absently chewed her toast. Hair was in a nicely organized plait that hung at her left shoulder. She raised her eyebrows in recognition but didn’t look up. “I’m ready.”

  “Yep, five minutes.” Their mother was in fine fettle this morning which for some reason made Hope feel all the worse. Evelyn Kelly had been humming and buzzing around the kitchen for the past hour. She put her hands on her hips, and exhaled, “Okay.” She gathered her keys, “Your father will pick you both up this afternoon. I’ve got a thing on at The Social. I won’t have a car.”

  “Afternoon drinks with the girls. Can’t wait til’ I get older,” Kate said and got up from the table.

  “Yeah, bet you can’t - try hard,” Hope said nastily and adjusted her glasses. She got up as well.

  “Bitch.”

  “Hmmph,” Hope mumbled and burped in retaliation.

  Their mother wasn’t listening; her mind obviously stuck six hours into the future where she sat at a table, with likeminded women, chardonnay in hand.

  Grabbing bags from the floor, they all left the kitchen. The three Kelley women. A socialite, her apprentice, and dragging on behind, a nauseated troubled sleeper.

  S

  Lunchtime had brought an amazing change in Hope’s existence. She had been sought out by Parker. Both girls sat under the tree near the parking lot. She dared not call Parker a friend just yet. Thinking of such a notion might have made it not so. The only common ground they shared was based in Sombre – a nightmare world. The counterbalancing scale of her existence had tipped her way for once, and she wasn’t about to test its merit.

  As she ate her pre-packaged bean and tabouli, Health&Co wrap, Hope smiled between bites.

  “So, you’re like, my saviour,” Parker said without a trace of sarcasm. “You saved me a stroke on my clock thing.”

  The cheerleader looked nothing like a cheerleader today. A bit sloppily dressed in jeans and
a faded white t-shirt - her long, strawberry-blond hair was out - all over her shoulders and back. Hope noticed an unconcealed zit had appeared just under her bottom lip as well. ‘Sombre acne,’ she thought to herself as if ‘Sombre acne’ was actually a thing.

  “Well, Halliday did,” she modestly concurred. “I’ll be surprised if she’ll always be able to though. Colonel Em Contusion crashes planes …”

  “… like an idiot,” Parker finished for her. “She’s an idiot. Let’s be honest. I’ve got myself a plane crashing, skull—faced idiot.” She grinned and shook her head.

  Hope laughed and thankfully so did Parker.

  The older girl shook her head, “I find all of this so fucking scary. Do you?” She said as she sipped from a can of TITAN, a new super-high-octane-energy-drink a lot of kids were drinking. Hopes father had warned her ad-nauseam of the perils of energy drinks. Nodding her answer, she eyed the can.

  Parker noticed. “Sombre has me drinking this bullshit as well. Need a pick-me-up. I’m so tired and sore all over the shoulders and down my front. Does that ever get better?”

  “Hasn’t got any better for me yet,” Hope said and pushed her glasses up on her nose. She couldn’t help but wonder about the social-suicide Parker was committing at this very moment. She was cooler and older. Hope didn’t even have friends in her own year level. She thought she’d ask, “Do you have cheer practice later?”

  Parker rested on her side and began picking blades of grass. “I quit. My mom never liked me being a cheerleader anyway,” she sighed, “I just haven’t got the energy at the moment – or the ‘spirit’.” She made a curling hand gesture and rolled her eyes. “Besides, the cheer captain, Georgia, is an outright bitch. Can’t deal with that crap at the moment.”

  Gaping at Parker relaxing on the grass as if she were an alien with a day pass from Mars; Hope took another bite from her wrap and swallowed. She had to converse with the girl. It just wasn’t something she was used to doing. She cleared her throat, “Um, so what are they saying about Jerry Cowle?”

  “He’ll be out for the rest of the week. There’s plenty of talk going round. His lips were sewn to his nose, he had no teeth left, someone had bit into his ear and his face was black and burnt looking …”