It always is when it’s a friend. I kiss her gently.
“And it’s only going to get worse,” she says.
About a hundred Pomps stand by the rift in Queen Street Mall. Alex is there too. The whole mall has been cordoned off. Brace symbols glowing and marking every exit point. There are camera crews everywhere. A rift in reality is somewhat newsworthy, and rather hard to cover up. Though I’ve heard it’s playing havoc with their electrical equipment.
“Where did all the cops come from?” I ask.
“We’ve a response unit for this sort of thing,” Alex says.
“So you’re telling me you’ve had systems in place for this?”
Alex grins. “We’ve always had emergency response protocols—call ’em ERPS.”
“And I didn’t know about this because …”
Alex clears his throat. “Because we were a little worried that the emergency might be you.”
“Fair enough.”
“So … Morrigan’s back,” Alex says.
“Yeah, I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault, Steve. Besides, it means I get a chance to kill him.” He slaps a round into the magazine of his gun.
“Get me everyone you can, Alex. I need to make as many Pomps as possible.”
“Yeah, there’ll be no shortage of volunteers. Morrigan’s little Schism, and the whole Rillman-Solstice thing. People are itching to strike back at that.”
“Tell them it’s bigger than that, tell them they’re fighting for the world.”
“I’ll get as many here as I can.”
An hour later I’ve doubled the number of Pomps on the ground and the Stirrers have stopped their assault on the breach. I peer through the portal, there’s nothing but the Underworld, not a Stirrer in sight, not even a soul. I’d feared that the dead might flood the living world, I guess they’re too busy escaping it.
Even more news cameras are among us now, it seems ridiculous that I have to waste a good twenty people to keep them back, and shielded with brace symbols. The triangle and the line are getting a good workout today.
“We were never going to keep this one quiet. It’s all over Twitter—#Queenstmaul,” Alex says.
“Do you really think you kept the Regional Apocalypse quiet?” He smiles. “At least we could pretend about that one. This, well, this is pure spectacle!”
I look at that glowing deadly portal stretching up into the sky, reaching towards the comet, I wonder what will happen if they meet. “It is, isn’t it?”
Standing here, I can feel Mog somewhere beyond the portal. HD stirs within me, Morrigan can’t be too far away in the Underworld.
Cerbo taps me on the shoulder, he’s quite pale, sickly even, and I guess it has nothing to do with the splashes of blood across his face. “When were you going to tell me?”
“If it became necessary.”
“Losing control of the Hungry Death, that wasn’t high on your list of things to inform me?”
“Look, it’s back where it belongs. HD is under control.” It grumbles a little inside me, but nothing more, and for that I’m extremely grateful.
Cerbo sniffs. “HD, indeed…we’ve contained the rift, for now, nothing can come out. The braces are holding, even if they cost us a lot of blood.”
“But…”
“It still doesn’t help us in the long term. If the incarnation isn’t destroyed that comet will plow into the earth, and life, death, everything as we know it will come to an end. You’re going to need to go in there. We can’t waste any more time. We’re going to need to bring the fight to the Stirrers.”
23
We’ve around two thousand Pomps gathered around us. Women and men armed with their knives and a determination to stall Stirrers. Not nearly enough, even though packed into the end of Queen Street Mall, with Brisbane Square lit behind us, it seems like a lot.
There’s a hum of chatter in the air. Even a little laughter.
“This is it,” I say. “We need to take this to the Underworld.”
Ari nods her head, and the other Ankous follow her lead. I’ve never seen such unity in my crew.
Tim grimaces at me. “We can be ready to move in whenever you are,” he says.
“No, let the numbers build a little more. Are Sally and the kids safe?” I ask.
“Is anyone really safe now?” He points back down George Street. “They’re at Number Four, they’re guarded. Not that Sal needs protection. You ever seen that woman handle a sawn-off shotgun?”
“Really?”
Tim slips out his phone, taps open a photo. The camera’s looking down the barrel of a shotgun, and Sally’s at the other end. There’s a grin on her face that I’d find scary if I didn’t know her so well.
“Took it half an hour ago,” Tim says with some pride. “The ammos infused with my blood. Mightn’t kill a Stirrer, but it does the next best thing.”
“I have a better idea,” I say.
“What?”
“Trust me.”
Tim shakes his head frantically. “No…I mean, do you think that’s wise?”
“Pomping was a family business, and Sally’s family.”
“I don’t think she’ll go for it.”
“If she doesn’t, she doesn’t, but I think that’s up to her.”
I focus on Sally’s heartbeat, picking it out of the vast stream of the World Pulse. It’s recognizable, and close. In fact, I know exactly where in Number Four she is.
I shift to my office, and am confronted with almost exactly the same image as Tim’s photo. The shotgun’s shoved in my face.
“It’s all right. It’s all right. Just me!”
She lowers it quickly enough. “Sorry,” she says. “You just took me by surprise.”
“Yeah, I probably should have knocked.”
Tim’s chosen wisely. I suppose this may well be the safest place on earth right now. Sally’s taken down “The Triumph of Death,” and turned it to face the wall. I don’t know if it’s to spare her or the children from looking at it.
“Your office, your rules.”
I give her a hug. I get down on my knees and hug the kids, both of them are happy to see me. It’s something of a rare event for them to get a visit these days. I must look a sight, but they don’t seem to mind.
They’re in their pajamas, coloring books and crayons spread all over the floor. And they actually look excited by the adventure they’re having. Early days yet.
“They’re growing aren’t they?” I say, getting slowly to my feet.
I open the blinds to Hell, I can see the reflection of the tear in reality here. It’s weird to watch those earthly colors entering Hell. Without death to filter it, the lights of a living world wash through the portal all too gaudy and bright.
“So this isn’t a social visit?” Sally says.
“No, and I’m not here to just say goodbye. But we’re going into Hell, and I have few people to spare to keep you safe.”
“So the End of Days, everything you and Tim have been dreading, it’s coming true.”
“No, you’re still alive, and Tim and Lissa. But it’s going to get worse. I want you to be able to keep the kids and yourself safe.”
She smiles grimly. “You want to turn me into a Pomp?”
I nod. “But only if you accept it, this isn’t something I would force on anyone, even now.”
“But I think you’d judge me if I knocked it back,” Sally says.
“Of course I would, but that’s beside the point.”
Sally laughs. “I’d expect nothing less of you, Steve.” She squeezes my hand. “You know that we were a good stable Black Sheep family before all this came along. Your Aunt Tegan would be horrified, she was always so resolutely anti-Pomp. Steve, anything that helps keep Stirrers at bay is a good thing. Do it.”
The process is swift, there’s no time for ceremony. Sally holds my gaze for the whole thing, and when I am done: she kisses me on the cheek.
“Not so bad at all,” Sally
says. “Actually, a bit of a fizzer.”
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know, lightning, thunder. The ancient energies of a primal force.”
“You’ve been reading too many horror novels.”
“It’s got me ready for this hasn’t it?” Sally snorts.“You look after my Tim now, won’t you?”
“Yeah, I will.” I walk around my desk, I slide open the middle drawer and pull out a silver knife.
“You know the process don’t you?”
Sally nods her head. “Of course I do.”
“The trick’s not to cut too deep. You’re a Pomp now, you’ll heal faster, but only a little. You probably won’t need to use what I’ve given you, but if you do …”
“I’ll be ready,” she says.
“I know you will. I have to go.”
Sally grabs my hand.
“The two of you, and Lissa, you’re going to save the world.”
“Yeah.”
“Steve,” she says. “Did you ask her to marry you?”
“No. It just doesn’t seem right.”
Sally laughs. “You ask her and she’ll answer, and it will be a yes.”
I feel my face burning.
“When Robyn left you, I knew someone better would come your way. I just didn’t suspect she would be so wonderful.” Sally holds my hand. “Steve, I think your parents would be very proud of you. Tim and I are. You’ve grown. Believe me, you’ve grown.”
I hug her tight. “You’re going to make me cry,” I sniff.
“No time for crying. You go and save the world, and keep my Tim safe.”
I nod, even knowing that I can’t keep that promise, that I can’t keep anyone safe, if anything I’m pushing them squarely in danger’s way. But, both of us understand that. I want to say goodbye. I want to explain just why I haven’t asked Lissa. But I can’t.
Instead, I smile one last time at Sally and the kids, and shift back to Queen Street Mall and the portal into Hell.
24
Over the last hour our numbers have built on that George Street edge of Queen Street Mall. I’m waiting for them to grow a little more before we begin our assault on Hell, maybe another hundred if I can get them here in time. Each has their wrist pained with brace paint for added protection. The air’s cold, but someone’s dragged an espresso cart to one side of the mall. Even at the End of Days coffee proves essential.
My hands close around a cup filled with the pitch-black stuff, and I breathe in the beautiful steam. My body feels raw with the effort of containing HD. We’ve made our peace, but the Death’s sullen and ragged around the edges, it’s like holding a piece of glass in your hands, and squeezing gently. And I know it’ll grow in strength again, once it gets over the shock of its brief freedom.
A few of my Pomps are still brushing spiders from their suits. None had gotten it as bad as me, but the spiders certainly hadn’t appreciated us using Neti’s rooms as a thoroughfare.
Alex approaches me, face creased with concentration as he speaks into his phone. Just looking at him has me worried.
He hangs up, drops his phone into his pocket. “You’re not going to believe this. There’re dogs coming into the city.”
“Dogs?”
“Rabid, or something like it. They’re savaging anyone they come across, killing them, and the bodies are stirring.”
Of course. The dogs that I’d encountered in the pit trap and in Dubbo were only the beginning. “How many? Where?”
“Captain Cook Bridge and down Coronation Drive. Hundreds, they’ve already attacked the cops stationed there. We get our share of wild animals, but this is ridiculous.”
“They have any Pomps with them?”
“Yeah, I sent some of them there.”
“Tell them to deal with them like any other Stirrer. Blood.”
“No! You’re telling me there’s such a thing as Stirrer-dogs?”
“Deal with it,” I say.
Alex gets back on the phone and makes some calls.
“Yes, I understand, sir,” he’s saying. He hangs up and turns towards me. “They’re going to have to fall back. They’re pomping them all right, but only after being bitten. We’ve had casualties.”
“You’re right, bring them back here. This is where the action is. This is where everyone should be.”
Alex smiles grimly. “I’m not right, that wasn’t my decision. There’s a whole chain-of-command thing you realize.”
“After all this, trust me, you’ll be a lot higher up that chain, or you’ll be sacked. Don’t worry, you can always work for me.”
Alex chuckles. “Join the Mortmax cult. Not a chance in fucking hell.”
I smile with him (he’s closer to joining than he realizes) though my attention is focused on the sky and what I can see from there. I’m high right now with my Avian Pomps, circling the city. I can see the dogs approaching from every route. Every breed that you would expect to find in a big city, I imagine this plague of Stirrers spreading across the suburbs.
This is innovative thinking. Much easier to inhabit dogs, and bring down the household from within.
The closest pack is maybe a minute or two away, sprinting up the Mary Street exit. I hear machine-gun fire. The first few dogs explode in gouts of stale blood and bone, but the ones behind keep coming. The gunner turns and runs, but is knocked over by a greyhound, his throat neatly torn out by a poodle. A few moments later he’s rising, running clumsily with the pack.
But we’ve got animals of our own.
I send my crows down.
A thousand beaks against two hundred dogs. Wings and fur clash. Souls are stalled and devoured. The pack is halted in screams and caws and blood. The corpses are picked over by my Avians. Gah! All that dog meat.
I’ve given us maybe an extra fifteen minutes.
I draw my Ankous around me. Word has already spread out about the battle being fought nearby. I’d feel more persuasive if I had my scythe with me, but I don’t. “Right, then. Everybody we don’t have much time, we’re going to have to enter Hell now. We waste time fighting these dogs when the major battle is beyond, we risk losing this altogether.”
HD creaks inside me. I feel myself broaden across the back, feel myself grow taller, and slightly wider. My voice deepens.
“We let Hell come to us we might as well give up now. It’s time.” Ari slaps her knives into their sheaths. The other Ankous follow. “Hell it is then.”
I look over at Alex. “Sorry mate, you’re not coming with us.”
Alex scowls. “No way I’m missing this.”
“Only Pomps, I’m afraid.”
He grins. “I should have known. Join me up, mate.”
“You really want to go to Hell?”
“Not so much, but I do want to see that bastard Morrigan pay.”
There’s one more thing I need to do, to get. I shift home and find it: Dad’s old duffle coat. I slip it on. It’s cold where we’re going, and wearing Dad’s coat, the one he’d passed on to me, I feel like I have a bit of him with me, too.
There’s a red velvet box in my jacket pocket, I look at it once, then place it on the dressing table. Maybe Lissa will find it, maybe she won’t. Or perhaps it won’t matter at all. I hope it does.
I straighten the lapels of my coat then shift back to the mall.
I stand with Lissa and Tim, the others are arrayed behind us, starting with Alex and my Ankous. More Pomps are arriving, cops in riot gear, too.
Knives flashing, guns held cautiously, everyone looking at me.
Here are as many Pomps as we can gather without crippling the work that still needs to be done; the world’s living and dying goes on regardless. But that is no longer these Pomps’ concern. Kit bags ring, tents dragged from nearby stores rest heavily on backs. There are even a few people carrying ladders.
We look less like an army, more like a business convention that’s spontaneously decided to go hunting and camping. The only thing missing are the namet
ags.
“Ready now?” Lissa says.
“Yeah,” I say—HD shivers with anticipation.
“Then let’s get it over with, eh, love,” Lissa says.
The portal shimmers and crackles, a cold wind roars through it. For a moment I hesitate. I reach down, slide my fingers around Lissa’s hand and squeeze. How many more times will I get the chance? Can’t think of that. I take a deep breath.
“Now, I’m ready,” I say.
“This time won’t be so bad,” Lissa says.
“Why’s that?”
“Because this time we’re doing it together.”
I kiss her quickly. “I love you.”
“Of course you do,” she says.
And we walk into the darkness of Hell, leading our small army behind us.
25
I don’t remember it being like this.” Lissa’s breath comes in plumes. Our footsteps crackle in the ice. I can feel the cold running up my legs.
“It’s a bit of an anticlimax,” Tim says from behind us.
Maybe for him. “I don’t know what to say. It’s not normally this cold.”
We’re in Queen Street Mall’s Underworld equivalent. For a moment the shock stops me. This is no Underworld I’m familiar with. Ice rimes the mall, there are no milling souls. No activity at all.
“It’s never like you remember it, and I was only here yesterday. But this, this isn’t how it should be at all.”
The One Tree’s branches hang almost silently above us, I’d even venture to say they look limp, if such a thing is possible. What has Morrigan done?
All my Pomps’ wrists glow. It’s an oddly reassuring sight, the brace paint doing its job. There’s a little warmth here, even as more of them crowd into the Underworld, the ice is melting, the darkness lifting.
I watch with amusement, as those with tattoos suddenly have to deal with them coming alive and vociferous. Wal slides from my arm and gives me a quick wink. There’s all manner of chatter. Inklings like to talk. Cerbo is having an animated chat with a python that’s wrapped around his wrist. Even in this dark time there’s a little enchantment.
The Business Of Death, Death Works Trilogy Page 70