by Conner, Jack
Ravic’s lair. She’d grown up in the Fifth Ward, the underworld of which he ruled with an iron fist, and all her life she’d heard stories of him and his barbaric ways. Now she was going to meet him.
Jack’s limo threaded through the bombed-out ruins. Bonfires blazed under jagged overhangs, and gangs of disreputable-looking people gathered around them for warmth, swapping bottles. They eyed the limo admiringly.
It pulled into the wide parking lot that surrounded the Factory. The only windows that looked out from the building were on its top floor; red light flooded out from them. A thousand autos and carriages cluttered the parking lot, and drunken rabble drifted to and from the Factory’s great hangar doors.
“We’re really going in?” Katya said, staring at that huge, red-lit doorway, like a portal to the hells.
Rough-looking people walked past the limo, some staggering drunkenly. They glanced at the homunculi and gave the vehicle a wide berth.
Jack smiled. “Scared?”
Katya hadn’t been aware of it, but the front compartment of the limo was equally as large as the rear, and four large bodyguards occupied it. One stayed behind the wheel, but three others emerged, one opening the door for Death’s Head Jack.
Jack wore a fine suit marred by a garish teal tie, and a black sable robe cascaded from his shoulders. He gathered it about him, placed a fedora on his head—it had a matching teal band around it—and left the cab. As he did, one of his bodyguards snapped a black umbrella open, and Jack stepped right under it just in time, as if by clockwork. Not a drop of rain hit him that Katya could see.
He turned back to her. “Well?” He stretched out a hand—a perfect, living hand, well-formed and long-fingered.
She mustered what threads of her courage remained and stepped outside. She wasn’t as smooth as Jack, or maybe the bodyguards didn’t care to accommodate her, and rain hit her. She hadn’t realized how much she had appreciated the warmth and dryness of the cab until it was gone. She shivered and huddled close to Jack.
He placed a hand around her shoulders, and for a moment she wondered if she should play the helpless maiden, but then she shrugged him off.
He marched toward the great gaping hangar doors, and Katya hastened to keep step with him, and his umbrella. More rough-looking people passed them, and some gave her interested glances.
At the doors, people paid the tattooed doormen and -women cover charges to get in. One man tried to sneak past, and a doorwoman unleashed one of her pet homunculi on him. It tackled the man to the ground, and screams filled the air. A handful of patrons gathered around to watch, screening the victim from Katya’s view—a blessing as far as she was concerned.
The doorpeople waved Death’s Head Jack in with a respectful nod, not asking for a cover charge, and his company, Kat included, passed through and into the Factory. Instantly heat enveloped Katya, and she shuddered in release. How long had it been since she’d felt warm? She couldn’t remember. Her crappy apartment, back when she’d had one, had never really kept away the chill, and she relished the Factory’s heat.
People pressed tight all around, and the bodyguards made way for Jack. What was more, once people saw who he was, they gave him space. Many nodded to him, almost bowing. Despite herself, Katya stood straighter at his side. If nothing else, she would be safer from Sedic now.
Most of the people here were normal—that is, for the Fifth Ward—but a few were infected. Mutated by the sea. Special processors cleansed the seafood caught in the Atomic Sea, but some people were too poor or desperate to afford properly processed food (or they swapped bodily fluids with someone who had eaten it), and these could fall ill and die … or become infected. Mutated. Most mutations were subtle, a reducing of the nose, webbed fingers, fish-like striations across parts of the body, but some were extreme. Katya saw a man with a crab-claw for an arm, a woman whose flesh looked like seaweed, a man with huge black fish eyes staring out of a warped, bulbous, fish-like head, and more.
Around her people talked and laughed, and vendors circulated, selling peanuts and trinkets. One vendor, an infected fellow with jellyfish-like skin, claimed that the strange-looking objects he sold hailed from the Below, that great system of caverns that honeycombed the ground beneath Lavorgna.
“Genuine artifacts from the Elders!” the vendor said, moisture (probably recently applied) glistening on his half-translucent skin. “Get your Elder artifacts here! No one knows where they came from or where they went, but you can own a piece of them for a copper!”
Katya ignored the man. Real artifacts from the Elders would be ridiculously expensive.
It smelled like food in here, of roasting peanuts, dripping meat on sticks, peppers stuffed with spices and beef, and suddenly Katya realized she hadn’t eaten in hours. Her mouth watered, and her belly rumbled.
She bought a hotdog off a vendor and lathered it with relish and mustard. Without a moment’s hesitation, she bit into it eagerly, and the flavors burst in her mouth. Hot. Delicious. She gulped it down, bite after greasy bite, then licked her fingers and scoured her lips for errant mustard. When she finished, she caught Jack staring at her.
“See anything you like?”
He didn’t answer. By this time they’d reached the lip of the Pit, and she gazed down into it, fascinated and repulsed. The Pit Room was a vast chamber, encompassing the whole ground level of the Factory, with a high, lofty ceiling wreathed in smoke. The smoke drifted around large electric lights far overhead, sometimes obscuring their illumination, sometimes diffusing the light into a golden glow. The great furnace blazed in a corner, and Ravic’s men threw alchemically treated rectangular objects that looked like blocks of crimson concrete into its gaping mouth. Kat didn’t know why they bothered; it was night and no one could see the red columns of smoke anyway. She supposed it was just tradition. Those red fires had been burning since before she was born. Some of the fire-tenders were steam-men, clanking and issuing vapor. Katya didn’t see many of those around anymore; they were relics from the Age of Steam, which had ended some years ago, but of course this was Upper Lavorgna, where everything old and broken down ended up eventually.
Thousands of people in the room pressed around the lip of the Pit, and many more sat in the seats below. The Pit was a great arena carved out of the earth in the center of the massive chamber. Tiered seats encircled the earthen floor, and Kat had heard that twenty thousand people could sit in those seats, with more standing above.
As she watched from the edge of the bowl, people down below swept aside body parts from a recent fight, clearing the arena for another round. In the intermission, swarms of spectators placed bets, ordered drinks, and engaged in criminal dealings. Katya knew the Pit was in some ways the heart of the Fifth Ward—black and bloody, corrupt and brutal. In the floors above, more entertainments and services could be enjoyed, or so she’d been told. A casino vied for business with a brothel, contract killers could be bargained with at the bar, loans could be taken out (with steep interest and harsh penalties for non-payment), and more. Ravic’s own private apartments could be found at the very top. It was his chambers that blazed with the red light Katya had seen from outside.
Her face must have betrayed some of her thoughts, or maybe it was her fidgeting hands. Jack said, “Feeling a bit over your head, are you?”
“Not a bit of it.” She took a deep breath, let it out. “Have a cigarette?”
A bodyguard produced one, and another flicked a silver cigarette lighter for her. She took a hit, then a second, and blew the smoke in Jack’s face. That only seemed to excite him. It was weird to look into a dead face and see randiness there, but that’s what she saw. Well, she supposed, at least his lower parts would be normal. It was only his head that was dead.
“Ever been to the fights?” he asked.
This time she blew the cloud of smoke to the side, out of the corner of her mouth.
“No.”
A horn blew. All attention turned to a tall, curvaceous figure striding in
to the blood-stained arena below. It was a buxom woman in fish-net stockings, tight short black leather skirt and low-cut top, tattoos up and down her arms.
“Perhaps we should linger for a moment, then,” Jack said. “Increase your cultural perspective.”
The woman below held a microphone. “I hope you’ve been enjoying yourselves!” she called, her voice ringing clear and loud. The audience responded lustily, hooting and hollering, banging beer bottles together, stamping feet. The wave of sound hurt Katya’s ears. She pressed her palms over them. Yet, at the same time, she felt a smile creep over her face, and a jolt of fire flushed through her veins. “Well, as it happens,” the woman continued, “the man himself would like to entertain you!”
More hooting and hollering, even louder.
“That’s Vivia,” Jack said, speaking through cupped hands directly into Katya’s ear. “An interesting woman. You might get to know her.”
“Would you like a show?” Vivia roared. She thrust the microphone outward, toward the crowd, and the crowd responded wildly.
“Is Ravic really going to fight himself?” Katya said.
“I’m sure he’ll fight other people,” Jack laughed.
“Well, with no further ado, welcome to the darkness!” Vivia said.
The overhead lights flickered out, plunging the Pit Room into utter blackness save for the furnace in its corner, though even its light was mostly hidden by the ranks of spectators. As soon as darkness fell, the crowd hushed, except for numerous excited whispers. Kat held her breath. Seats creaked as people leaned forward ...
Without warning, a great gout of flame shot high into the room, roaring out of a hole directly in the center of the arena. Katya gasped and jumped back. The spurt of flame licked so high she feared it would incinerate the overhead lights. Then, instantly, the flame shut off. As soon as it did, a dozen smaller fires erupted from the circumference of the Pit. They flickered sullenly at first, then, as one, they surged upward, throwing light on the middle of the arena, where a broad-shouldered figure stood, a man that could only be Boss Ravic.
By the light of the flames, Katya saw a tall, thick-chested man with bristly beard and long curly hair. Boots covered his feet and ragged pants his legs. His big chest was bare, and a long fur coat of some kind depended from his shoulders. Fire-light glistened on his many scars.
And in his hands, he held some object, large and phallic ...
Katya stared.
A chainsaw.
Ravic wasted no time. He pulled a chord, and the chainsaw emitted an industrial-sounding roar. A dozen trapdoors exploded open in every direction around him. The crowd screamed as a Returner scrambled out of each one and flew at Ravic, like starved dogs on a piece of meat.
Ravic stepped forward, swung his weapon—
A head bounced to the floor.
Another Returner reached for him. He waved the chainsaw. Hands flew through the air. More and more of the reanimated, patchwork dead fell on him, gnashing their teeth and raking at him with their nails, and he cut them down, piece by piece. Arms and legs flew, and half-clotted blood sprayed him. He tore through them like a bull. His chainsaw cleaved and chewed. Gore sprayed from it in fountains. To Katya he almost looked like he was dancing, weaving and ducking and spinning, lit by fire and savagery ...
Part of her wanted to cheer. Part of her wanted to retch.
Finally all the Returners flopped in pieces on the ground. Ravic switched off his chainsaw and raised his bloody arms to the crowd. They stood and screamed out their love and awe.
Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, Ravic vanished. The fires died and the lights flickered back on, stinging everyone’s eyes, and when Katya could stand to look back into the arena, Ravic was no longer there.
Tattooed men began sweeping body parts to the side of the Pit.
“Wow,” she said. “What a showman.”
A touch of jealously entered Jack’s voice. “Oh, yes, he is many things.”
Katya looked at him with new respect. “How long have you worked for him?”
“A long time.”
Below, Vivia strutted back out into the Arena as men broomed aside the last of the body parts. “Now for some more fun,” she said into her microphone. “Let us introduce our lucky contestants.”
Doors opened in the side of the Arena, and gladiators strode out. Katya knew that the rest of the night would involve willing men and women fighting each other and Returners, homunculi or steam-men, to the death (or destruction, in the case of the latter), for money and fame.
“This is horrible,” Katya said. “Why do you people do this?”
“Ask Ravic,” Jack said.
“Ask me what?” said a voice from behind.
Katya whirled. A large, burly figure was materializing out of the crowd. He must have taken some tunnel under the arena. Bodyguards surrounded him, pushing back the throng. Upon seeing him, the people cheered and would have surged forward to greet him were it not for the guards.
Boss Ravic stepped toward Jack and Katya, and she saw that he was older than she’d thought. Gray streaked his hair and beard, and lines crinkled the skin around his eyes. Thick chest hair bristled from every inch of his front, and scars shone through it like knotted worms. Even his chest hair was more gray than not. Still, he was an impressive figure, huge and broad-shouldered. The whole effect was bestial, which, Katya supposed, was the point. This was a man that needed to be feared and respected. If she’d had any doubts, the show he had just put on would have dispelled them.
“Why are you letting those men kill each other?” she demanded, stabbing a finger in the direction of the Pit.
Ravic took her in, then hooked an eyebrow at Jack. “What’s this, a new filly?”
Jack shrugged. “Katya Ivreski. She says she wants a word with you.”
“Does she now?” Ravic stroked his beard. “Interesting.” He regarded her for a moment longer, then returned his attention to Jack. “My men saw you arrive. You have news?” There seemed to be some significance to this statement that was lost on Katya.
Grim, Jack nodded. “I do.”
“Then come.”
Ravic marched off, clearly expecting them to trail in his shadow as if he were some magnet, and like shards of graphite Katya and Jack followed. The army of bodyguards shoved people out of the way as Ravic led them all to one corner of the Pit Room. Katya saw that in each of the corners, except for the one with the furnace, there stood some sort of metal contraption, and a scaffold-like device that ascended to the smoke-wreathed ceiling high above.
“Oh no,” she said, too low for any to hear.
She’d heard of elevators but never thought she’d ride in one, and the sight made her hesitate.
Vivia waited for them at the lift. Beautiful and with high red hair, she slunk over to Ravic and threw her lissome arms about him. She had long legs, an elegant neck, and emerald green eyes. She seemed sleek, tiger-like—half as bestial as Ravic.
“You did brilliantly,” she said.
The Boss encircled her in his arms and lifted her off the ground. She squealed in delight. They kissed, and Katya wanted to gag.
While this was going on, servants held open the elevator door for them. Ravic and Vivia ended their affections, and the big man entered the compartment. Vivia followed, her hand in his, yapping on about his show. Katya tuned her out.
Jack entered next.
On the threshold, Katya paused.
“This is your last chance to back out,” Jack said.
She paused, then looked back at the throng of revelers. Any one of them could be an agent of Sedic.
She stepped over the elevator’s threshold, and the doors slammed shut behind her. The noise seemed very loud.
END OF SAMPLE
To continue, grab a copy of Nightmare City: Part One here ...
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Conner, Jack, The Atomic Sea: Omnibus of Volumes Six, Seven and Eight