by Carmen Kern
Damn his mother and her probing questions. Damn the gods. And damn his own weakness.
He lost his train of thought, and with a mighty heave, he purged bourbon and roasted boar onto the sidewalk and his shoe. He stumbled back and back until he hit something hard, sliding down until he slumped over on cold cement.
The city drifted from fantasy to horror to colorful hallucination, until at last, the relief of darkness fell over everything.
The windows to the sky didn’t afford Thanatos a view of the city. He had planned it that way. It was the dark of the galaxies that took him away into a living, breathing daydream he could get lost in. It was his inspiration. His muse.
He stared into its vastness. A knock broke his silence. “Come,” he said, his eyes intent on the planet Venus.
“Sir, I brought the girl,” Kintos said, his voice rough and raw, as if he’d been howling all night.
“Bring her in.” He took one last look at the purples and greens swirling in the heavens and turned to greet his head of security and the informant.
The “girl” was a woman. Tall and thin like a willow tree waving its disjointed leaves in the wind. She rooted her feet outside the control room doorway. Kintos shoved her inside with his enormous paw. She fell forward, stumbling into Thanatos’s presence. Thick white hair spilled over her face as she stared down at her bare feet.
Thanatos studied her. Her red leather vest was zipped and snug over a white shirt, her skirt long and flowing to her ankles, the large but delicate feet with aqua-painted toenails. She was clean. Too clean for this world. And then Thanatos remembered what he’d made her for. A horror of a princess, waiting in deep sleep for her Prince Charming. He hadn’t thought of her in many years. How her prince woke her with the kiss of true love. And when her eyes snapped open, she clawed her way out of the glass coffin bed with her long red nails and sank her teeth into the handsome young man. And bite by delicious bite, she claimed her prince. She was extraordinary then, and now.
She was the heroine of a commissioned comic for a wealthy hunter who wanted a one-off story for his son. It was one of Thanatos’s earlier works he was especially proud of. He had experimented with a new color palette, and the shading was quite remarkable. It had been the start of a whole new style for his illustrations.
“Sadina,” Thanatos whispered her name. “Well, you are a lovely treat on this most shit-filled day. Or should I say, night.” He reached out for her, the iron sickle ring he wore drawing a thin line from the V in her shirt, up to her collarbone. Slowly, carefully, he cupped her chin and lifted her face.
Her red eyes blinked behind thick strands of hair.
Kintos stood behind her, his wolf eyes watching for the slightest twitch from the woman. He contracted the tendons in his paws, his curved claws extending to an unearthly length, his body tensed and ready.
Gently, Thanatos brushed Sadina’s hair off of her face, exposing the flawless beauty. Her skin shone copper. The same hue as Persephone’s. He hadn’t thought about it when he created this creature, but afterward, when he had stepped back to look at her completed storyboard, he was stunned at the similarities between the vamp and the goddess. He remembered the rage that burned through him and the bedsheets they tore up. He destroyed her, and then recreated her. Yes, Sadina was similar to Persephone, yet different from the goddess he both hated and wanted.
He fingered Sadina’s white hair, running it between two fingers.
“I’ve missed you,” Thanatos said. He was surprised that he meant it.
Sadina looked out from under her blonde brows at Thanatos’s gray-skinned hand threaded with black veins. Her mouth watered. Canine teeth lengthened. Sharp points like dagger ends forced their way between her swollen crimson lips.
“There’s my girl.” Thanatos grinned, feeling better than he had in some time.
Sadina’s hand snapped up. Her fingers closed around Thanatos’s thick wrist and thrust it toward her mouth—but not fast enough.
Thanatos yanked her head back with his other hand, and in a practiced move, he spun her around and pinned her against his body. Her teeth snapped and clicked. He pressed himself into her back, his arms like a vise around her chest.
Kintos, his muscled arm raised above his shoulder in a strike position, waited for a command from his master.
Thanatos whispered, “While I’m most happy to see you—you need to know I will unmake you if you are not useful.” He touched his lips to the back of Sadina’s neck, his breath heavy with the smell of licorice. “And if death is what you want, I will keep you here with me eternally. Perhaps I’ll draw you an ornate birdcage made of iron, and chain you to a swing made of splintered wood. I can picture it.” His voice quivered. “Your naked body, moving back and forth as if you could fly. If only you could fly.”
She struggled, bashed her head backward into Thanatos’s nose.
“You are delicious.” He laughed while tears ran from his eyes and blood from his nose. He drew her against him, tighter, closer, until her lungs had no room to expand. Her body went slack in his arms, and still he squeezed. Thanatos let loose an ounce of power to aid his lean muscles.
Thanatos, still smiling, nodded to Kintos. “Tie her up.”
Kintos’s paws were unnaturally deft with weapons and the more delicate art of torture. He pulled two zip ties from his utility belt, and within a few seconds, he bound Sadina’s hands and feet.
Thanatos let go of Sadina. She flopped to the floor, heaving and gagging.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bind her sooner, sir. She came willingly. No signs of a struggle—”
Thanatos touched his nose, dabbing at the half-dried blood that found its way into his mouth. “This is the perfect diversion.” He strutted across the floor, disrobed his animal-fur coat, and dropped it into an empty chair beside his art table.
Sadina pushed herself up to her knees, holding her bound hands up in front of her body.
“That’s possibly the sexiest position ever invented.” Thanatos dipped a small rag in a jar of water sitting beside his paint kit. “The worshiper in prayer.” He cleaned the blood from his face and peeled off his bloody shirt, tossing it on the floor. His lean, tatted chest alive with writhing beasts and Greek words of terror. He tipped back his head to pinch off the stubborn flow of blood from his nose.
“Nice shot, by the way.” He pointed to his nose with his other hand. “I suppose I could heal myself and be done with it.” He hawked his throat, turned his head to the side, and spit out a glob of blood. He stared at Sadina. Eyes hard. Teeth bloody. “But I know how much you love the scent of blood. The mouthwatering stink of metal and salt…and that caramelly aftertaste—”
A wild screech, a dragon-like roar erupted from Sadina’s wispy body, the sound too large to fit inside her. “Bastard.” She gasped, chest heaving. “I’s never pray to the likes of you. Not ever.”
Thanatos laughed again, gagging on the blood in the back of his throat. “My lovely, do you know how many humans have said the same thing before bowing their mortal heads to me, to all the gods, even while they begged for mercy, for favors, for miracles?” He tossed the rag aside. “Enough of this.” He stretched out his arms. Across his inked chest, wild ocean waters began to roll, and kraken tentacles unfurled from mighty waves as they rolled and cascaded down his body in a cauldron of water and beasts. He was a live freak show. His shoulder blades heaved, splitting a seam in the skin on his back that opened wider as his wings emerged, unfolding with mechanical precision behind him. Power surged through the room, hot and feral.
He breathed deep through cleared nostrils, the cartilage in his nose whole and straight. “Ah, that’s better.” He locked his eyes on Sadina amid the vast swirling darkness of his wings. The golden tips blurred in motion.
The intricate darkness of Thanatos turned and dived, bearing down on his prey, but not in hunger, not in that way. He scooped up the vampiress in his arms, depositing her on his napping couch.
She plummeted onto the cushions, her body flailing and her eyes wild. Rolling onto her side, she propped herself up on an elbow. Her long body seemed to curl into itself, as if making her a smaller target for a bullet or an arrow.
“I want one thing. If you give it to me, you can leave. Although, now that I’ve got a taste of you, I might come knocking on your door when I have more time.” Thanatos grinned down at her.
A low growl rumbled behind her sharpened teeth.
“Growl all you want. I’m not one of your victims.” Thanatos jabbed a finger at her. “Word is, you overheard one of the patrons at the bar talking about the god of the Underworld. Something about the Bounty Hunter?” He paused to watch her face.
“Hades?” The name slid off her tongue like honey dripping. Now it was her turn to watch Thanatos. She couldn’t help but grin. His eyes narrowed, and the rigid muscles across his chest twitched at the sound of the god’s name.
Thanatos moved with unearthly speed; his fingers were around Sadina’s throat before she could move. She batted at him with her bound fists. His smile widened. “This is no game, my lovely.” He lifted her slightly off the couch. “Tell me what the Hunter has to do with Hades, or I’ll tear you to pieces. And there are so many delightful ways I can do that. Should I name them all while your vision fades and your windpipe collapses and…” He stopped when she shook her head slightly.
Thanatos let go of Sadina.
For the second time that night, she gasped and coughed, sucking in air.
Thanatos waited.
Finally, Sadina sat up, straight as she could. “I’s working the bar. Tis a few of ’em talking, quiet like at first, then’s they got louder. One of ’em see’s the Hunter with a bundle on a sled, draggin’ it to ’is caves that leads to the sewers. Word is…’twas the god Hades. Word was…the Hunter will sell to highest bidder. Thought they meant you, but I see’s that ain’t true.” She raised her chin. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.” She spat on Thanatos’s floor, her red eyes burning into his.
“Kintos, let Jethro know about the Hunter. He’s already at the tunnels with his patrol, but they could use your backup.” Thanatos kept his eyes on Sadina’s fingers, fidgeting with the long ends of the ties around her wrists. “That devil dares to come into my world. But he’s injured. Severely, if he was taken away on a sled. Don’t underestimate him,” he said, this time looking at the wolf. “That’ll bite you in the ass.”
Sadina looked up at the god of death and chomped her teeth, fangs extended.
Thanatos fantasized about giving her wings like those of a bat. Thin webbing the same color as night, wings that dipped and weaved in the chaotic arc of a butterfly while he chased her overtop of the city.
How would she taste, up there near the clouds, near the stars? he wondered.
“Is that all, sir?” Kintos asked, his wolf eyes bouncing back and forth between the god and the vampiress.
“Dump her back where you found her,” Thanatos hissed. “I’ll deal with her another time.” With a wave of his hand, the ties fell from Sadina’s wrists and ankles.
Kintos bowed slightly and cocked his wolf head at the vampiress. She managed to drag herself to her feet and staggered in his direction, her eyes on the door.
Thanatos snagged her arm as she walked by, pulling her close. “There will most definitely be another time,” he whispered. He jerked her hard before letting her go.
Sadina stumbled but caught herself. Shaking her hair out of her eyes, she tilted her head toward him. “I’s be waitin’.” She flashed a smile and sauntered across the room to the wolf. Her bare feet silent, hips swishing.
Kintos fell in beside her, meeting her stride by stride. “See, that wasn’t so bad, right?” he said to her in a gruff voice. He let out a deep, snarled laugh as they left.
The silence in the room seemed deeper now than before. Thanatos stretched his wings once more before tucking them away. “It’s been too long since I’ve thought of anything other than revenge,” he said, settling into the couch where Sadina had lain. She left behind the scent of ale and fir trees and something else he couldn’t put his finger on. “How did I forget about you? My dangerous little vampire.” He thrummed his fingers on the cushions, allowing himself another minute to think about Sadina. But when he tried to picture her again in his mind, she appeared as a black-haired goddess with moss-green eyes. And damn, if she didn’t have the same fanged smile.
The comm buzzed once, and then again.
“Boss?” Jethro’s voice boomed through static. “We found something in the tunnels. One of your monster creations. Two of my men are dead.”
A long pause of static. Click. Click. “Boss?”
“Mint!” He snapped his fingers, finally placing Sadina’s scent. “What disguises the flavor of rancid meat better than fresh mint?”
There was a moment when Thanatos felt sick, stomach churning like boiling soup, but it came and went quickly. He got up from the couch and walked to the comms. “I’m here.” There was a strange echo in his voice, as if he, not Jethro, were calling from the sewers. “What part of town?”
“I’ve got a man waiting at the corner of Orion and Macabre. It’s a slaughterhouse down here. Wear your rubber boots.”
Static. Click.
“So…” Thanatos said, pinching the bridge of his newly healed nose. “A slaughterhouse…haven’t had one of those in a while.”
Within minutes, Thanatos had changed into a clean fitted black shirt and a chest plate of bizarre, twisted metal that stretched and reformed with his every move. He flared his wings to half-mast, the armor clacking into place over them. With straps tightened, adjusted to accommodate a full wingspan, he turned briefly to snatch up a small sketchpad and pencil. “You never know.”
NINE
The rain stopped sometime around midnight. The cold had begun to settle into Vancouver a few weeks earlier, but later in the year than usual. Much later. A wild hopelessness blew in along with the cool, damp weather. As more and more people were forced out of their homes, either by fear or superstition, the downtown core became a dumping ground for the deadless.
Jokes and memes of zombies and ghouls were trending on all media outlets, social and otherwise, alongside stories of loved ones and friends, politicians and celebrities, the homeless and the wealthy, who were slowly decomposing from the inside out, their skin pulled tight over bone. Walking skeletons. Yet even while they starved their bodies, as their minds became unhinged, they looked for an out. Cars began running into buildings and trees, people walked into the ocean waters or dove off of high-rises, drugs and pills were taken in massive doses—attempted suicides became a thing of art—and still, no one died. They didn’t bleed out or stop breathing or moving, but they weren’t all there, they just…were.
No one really knew if the bloggers or the journalists coined the term “rotters,” but it stuck.
Not all who took to the streets were a confirmed deadless. Some people had been kicked out of homes and offices because of fear. It was the Salem Witch Trials and Cold War and The Walking Dead all in one, where a whiff or a sniff of instability or physical illness was slapped with a “rotter” tag. These people often ran out of options, had no place to go, and no one to take them in.
Vancouver missions worked overtime to supply what they could for those wandering the streets. Churches, nonprofits, volunteer medical workers, firemen, police, mothers, sons, environmentalists, all tried to help with whatever resources they had. But it wasn’t enough. The streets were filled with people and garbage and sewage.
The deadless weren’t just a Canadian phenomenon. Worldwide, cities and towns and rural lands became noisier and dirtier while people roamed, shat, and slept where they could. People became fearful and wouldn’t leave their homes. Factories struggled to find workers and materials. Food had become the world’s largest, most expensive commodity. Countries that couldn’t produce and export were the ones who suffer
ed the most.
Hermes could make out the white tips of the aid station tents set up a few blocks away down Powell Street. He made his way toward the open truck bed at the end of Poseidon’s shipping dock with two boxes of oranges cradled in his arms. “Dude, we’ve got plenty of local fruit stockpiled in refrigerated storage units. Why the imported oranges?” he asked Apollo, setting the last of the boxes on the tailgate.”
Apollo, standing in the back of the truck bed, slid the boxes to an open space near the wheel well. He hopped down next to Hermes and slapped the messenger of the gods on his back. “These oranges aren’t for eating. They’re for drinking.”
“Are you getting into the juicing business?” Hermes cleaned his Armani sunglasses on his damp T-shirt.
The tailgate groaned shut. Apollo slipped the bolt into place. “Zeus bought the old Molson brewery. He’s using half of it to make beer, the other for juice. The rotters don’t seem to drink water, or much else, really. But they’re going crazy for fruit juice.” Apollo pulled off his leather work gloves and tucked them into his back pocket. “No one knows why, but we’re going to give it to them. And I might’ve talked him into running a few batches of a new cocktail mix I’ve been working on.” The sun broke through the clouds as the sun god smiled.
Hermes and Apollo walked back to the now-empty sea container.
A longshoreman with a clipboard waited beside the forklift.
“Flames. Who would have thought Zeus would do anything for the humans? I’d say Hell froze over, but then there’s Hades…” Hermes stopped beside his half-brother.
“I just need a signature.” The longshoreman offered the clipboard to Apollo. “That’s it for now. Another shipment in two days.” He looked out from under his yellow hard hat. “This isn’t even half of the original order. We’re bringing everything that shows up on the docks, but some of these countries are starting to hold on to their goods.”
Apollo watched, half a kilometer down the dock, as a quay crane unloaded two stacked containers from one of Poseidon’s many ships. Multicolored containers moved to and fro, stacked, and then moved to waiting trucks. He took the pen and scrawled his name on the paper without looking, took his copy, and said, “I’ll let Poseidon know.”