Desperate By Dusk

by Alexander Salkin

  "And yet, there he is- unable to walk out under his own power or with your permission, thanks to the grinding wheels of bureaucracy and protocol. Doctor's orders say he has to go away now. But, if I, or rather you, were a betting man? There'd be money down on the table to say otherwise."

  "It's high noon, professor. This one's going to be in a public location. I'm just wondering if the next person who dies… will it be flesh or clay?"

  "I'll be watching, Jess. Show me you can go the distance. Prove to me that brain isn't just for acting smug. The world doesn't need another pseudointellectual. And maybe it doesn't need Simon. You tell me."

  Jessie rolled clumsily out of his couch bed onto the floor with a loud thud. "Motherf- Ramone! RAMONE! Fuck, man! Get up! RAMONE!" he shouted, starting to his feet awkwardly.

  In his bedroom, collapsed flat on his back with just his jeans and boots on, Ramone laid half conscious, staring at a dully spinning ceiling fan. His walls were lined with old pictures of nude or nearly nude women, including some of his dad's vintage stash. On his shelves, old melted out candles frozen mid-drip, some random poetry books he barely cared to read, and dusty football trophies from his killer years in high school. His drawers were extended in a half open yawn, as if ready to spit out his clothes. Hearing a pounding at his door, he would have sworn the house was on fire. "Hrm? What is it, Jess…?"

  His friend didn't wait and simply shoved the door open. "It's Simon! They're coming after him!"

  "What-?" Ramone lazily sat up, processing it with less haste than it deserved. "Who is doing what… according to who?"

  "Leonard! You remember that guy I mentioned who keeps contacting me? The one that knows everything? He called me. He said they're coming to get Simon in the hospital. Today!"

  Ramone rose out of bed and threw a new autumn white shirt on. "Okay, but who is 'they'?"

  "Goddamnit, Ramone. The Clayforged, who the frick else?! Wake up! We have to go. NOW. Tell me you have another car around here somewhere."

  "Oh shit… um, okay. No, no car. But we can take my hauler. Let's go." Ramone sobered up to wakefulness and grabbed some keys off a partitioned shelf in the kitchenette. The two hustled outside, where Ramone led his friend to a ratty looking garage in the unworked backyard. Rusty metal shelves decorated in fluid bottles and old tools flanked a beat up green pick-up truck. The 'hauler' was some fifteen years old and it spent half the time being worked on, while the other half it served to carry large heavy parts. Ramone bought it from Peterson ages ago for a song, when the old man was seeking an upgrade with more torque.

  The two hopped in; pushed aside some dried old Styrofoam coffee cups, and fired up the hauler. It grumbled and belched diesel. And with that, the two raced as fast as the cumbersome old truck would allow. Along the way, Jessie played the exact message of Leonard back for Ramone.

  "Geezus. We just cannot catch a break lately," said Ramone grimly, watching the sweat from his brow. "We have to deal with these bastards in front of everyone now? Are they gonna kill him in his bed? Walk him out and flash some fancy papers saying they can? Are we supposed to pick a fight in the recovery ward?"

  "I'm thinking!" Jessie hissed. "Just let me concentrate. All I know is… if we let them call the shots on how this plays out, none of us will win. But you heard Leonard- we're dealing with this here and in the open. It's ridiculous. There's gotta be a way to deal with these assholes."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, something in the way Leonard said it. He implied we should think this through. He's testing us again. Hell, he's testing me. He's expecting something, I know it."

  "Alright…"

  "Think about it, man," reasoned Jessie. "How does anyone else deal with the Clayforged? How have they not wiped out every Drifter who came across something the common man wouldn't know? Are we really that unique in this? I don't think so. Aveirasen knew about them… either she dealt with them personally or she had some other source to reference. An indirect experience or a conversation, maybe, I don't know. But the point is, someone else has known about them and they get to live. What are we missing?"

  "Well, from what I'm imagining, they don't seem to care that you killed one of them…"

  "Ramone…"

  "Wait, hear me out. They don't care- because the guy was never alive. He's mud and clay, right? And these things arise naturally? So, what's bothering them is the fact we saw something we weren't supposed to. That's their normal motive. Prevent the escape of secrets, as it were. But the world is filled with secrets, and they either can't, or won't police everyone and everything. And it seems like its okay if they know the secrets, I imagine?"

  "Huh… yeah, maybe," conceded Jessie. "They definitely have some kind of protocol or way they operate to a fault. Maybe we can trick or reason with them. They might not want to pull guns in a hospital… because… because it would point all the suspicion on them. They're secretive too. They didn't even know we were watching them back at the Green Militia base. Wait… that's it."

  "Ramone, they're their own secret! If they can't blend in, they can't operate."

  "Okay…?"

  "Just get us there. I have an idea."

  CHAPTER 25

  That afternoon, Simon opened his eyes to find three men standing in his room. Visibly, they were not doctors or nurses, nor did he have a roommate off to his side. Instead, the three men were sallow faced, nearly identical, dressed in the manner of a detective from the nineteen fifties. Out of fashion and date, but bearing enough authority where one could realize their role. Particularly with the unacquainted and those who didn't want trouble of their own.

  Each wore sunglasses and a beige trench coat over professional attire befitting law enforcement. But with close inspection, one could see odd inconsistencies. One sported a ring on his pinky finger, which was actually a woman's lone earring. Another wore a crooked half obscured bowtie past the lapels of his coat. And the third was wearing two different kinds of black shoes. One, meant to compliment dress clothing. The other, was a simple thrift store penny loafer. Simon, unfortunately, was in little mindset to take much notice. But he knew who these men were from the moment he saw them. As soon as he visually acknowledged them, one of the Clayforged calmly closed the door and stood next to it. Their business was official as far as the hospital staff was led to understand.

  "Shit…"

  One of the Clayforged placed a finger to his lips. "Shh, Mr. Rivers. Have some dignity." The voice was dry, crisp, and lacking in any self-involvement, as if the speaker was a living machine.

  "You're… here to kill me?" Simon asked from his bed, sitting up. Wincing in the shady light, he grabbed his own sunglasses which were positioned from a nearby table.

  "Why, Mr. Rivers? Why stick your attention in things you weren't meant to know?"

  "What? This is about the whole Green Militia incident? Okay… mistakes were made, sure. We didn't know you were there. We were just exploring. And the record, we didn't really understand anything we saw in that case… but you shot at us! What was my friend supposed to do? You were more than a little heavy handed, don't you think?"

  One of the Clayforged sighed or at least feigned to. The expression seemed more practiced than natural. "Irrelevant. The loss of Mr. Aberdeen would have justified itself in the silence that followed. The case and contents have been recovered. The three of you know both too much beyond your privilege. We've been looking for you for some time. You've all been most evasive. And that's going to stop today."

  "What is your problem exactly??" Simon hissed uncharacteristically, feeling the pulse of adrenalin in his veins. "You were the guys who burned down Jessie's house and car too, weren't you? You attacked us, we defended ourselves. Is anything we did really worth destroying a man's entire livelihood?"

  "We didn't know where you were for a time, but we figured it out quickly enough. The point was to send the lot of you a message… whenever you returned from your little journey. That we would be waiting. And at some point, you wo
uld come back," one droned

  Simon glared at the Clayforged. They struck him as totalitarian thugs, operating on obscure damning rules that didn't require others to be aware of them. "So what are you waiting for, asshole?" Lying in bed, half restrained with an IV, stitched up from surgery, and facing three of these goons didn't fill him with confidence to fight back effectively. He knew they packed guns. Maybe other things. And of his friends, he was not the best in a fight, he believed. His injury reminded him of that. His role as a Voice alluded to it, too.

  He felt… nothing. There was a curious lack of fear in him, as he gazed back at their black sunglass covered stares. Just impatience and annoyance. They were practically robots in how they acted. It felt impersonal- if he died here, it felt less like he failed by some measure of his own skill, and more it was a case of bad fortune. He wasn't sure that even Ramone would be able to get out of this on his own.

  "Isn't it obvious? We're waiting for your friends."

  "What? What makes you think-" Simon stopped mid-way. It clicked. He knew exactly how and why. "Leonard…"

  "The very same."

  "He betrayed Jessie, huh?" scoffed Simon. "Set us all up?"

  "No. Not to our belief. Leonard, as you know him, is a problem. He's a failure. In the terms of your kind, he's known as a Renegade. He will be put down. We can make him better again. Make him whole and well. That's the marvelous thing about mud and clay, Mr. Rivers…"

  He stepped forward with a closed hand and presented Simon with a small piece of warped metal. It was an expended bullet. The very same Jessie fired into a Clayforged at the Green Militia Base, 'killing' him.

  Simon cautiously took the dirt stained bullet and examined it in his palm. The Clayforged enacted a stiff smile. "You can't kill what isn't alive in the first place. See? I'm all better now. Clay is meant to be molded and shaped."

  Simon sighed and leaned back in his bed again, still holding the used bullet. There really was no way to stop these things, was there? They couldn't be stopped even with what would be a killing blow for anyone else, and they were obsessive to boot. It seemed like there was no conceivable way to make them go away until he and his friends died, so whatever secrets the Clayforged thought they had would be erased. Still, he wasn't afraid. It was too much to feel any terror now. The faces of finality were peaceful and non-emotive. And he was no stranger to certain morbid contemplations about himself.

  "You don't seem as bothered that Jessie shot you. It's really just about us stumbling across some esoteric secrets, hm?"

  "In essence. Individuality is unwelcome for us to do more than act with. Those who 'become' their role are Renegades marked for decomposition, like Leonard. What seems like death for us, is merely an inconvenience, and a chance to be made more pure again."

  "Why do any of you veer from your path in the first place?"

  "Do not worry yourself about it, Mr. Rivers. Leonard is a corruption; there is no secret in that."

  "Fine. I don't understand how you pick and choose what's kosher to know and what isn't. But I suppose it doesn't matter much now, does it?"

  "No."

  "Indulge me this much. How do you plan to do it?"

  "Your death? Simply a bullet for each of you. All localized staff will hear the noise and go into hiding. By the time security comes by, we'll help control the scene and assure the humans all is well. We fired back to defend ourselves. Guns will be planted on each of you. There'll be no tracing it to us. We have no fingerprints to offer. Then we'll be gone and no one will give you a second thought beyond whatever grave and potter's field your remains find themselves in."

  "I could yell right now. Make a fuss," Simon idly suggested, testing them.

  "You could die right now, too. Your friends could die later. Nothing will change."

  "You've just got everything figured out, don't you?"

  "Essentially. Even if you stood up right now, ingested any number of these chemicals, or defenestrated yourself out the window, the end result does not change and the story hardly needs to be rewritten."

  "I guess there's no convincing you otherwise."

  "It seems unlikely, Mr. Rivers."

  "Well… let me ask you this. Do you know everything?"

  The talkative Clayforged just stared, pivoting in his stance slightly. The other two didn't stir an inch, as if they were mentally somewhere else.

  "No?" Simon uttered, raising a brow. "What if I told you something you didn't know? Would that be a violation of your code? Or would you appreciate that I helped you enforce it? How would you know what to protect, if you don't know everything?"

  "What are you pitching to us?" the false detective inquired boredly. "This comes off as a tired attempt to save yourself. You are not the first or the last to bargain."

  "You know what I am, correct?"

  "You carry the infection within you. We can smell the Drifting on you."

  "I could tell you of the places I've seen, the people I've met. I noticed I've never seen a single Clayforged in any place I've been to yet."

  "We are not concerned with the variations of other dimensions compared to this one. Those places are not our jurisdiction. We are concerned only with the here and now."

  Simon blinked, caught briefly off guard by the unexpected confirmation of knowledge that he and his friends weren't certain on. Other dimensions? So, that's what they really are! They're worlds, sure… but we're dimension hopping! And these things aren't running around outside of our world? That makes sense. He mentioned before that they couldn't figure out where we were before they burned down Jessie's apartment. That means they aren't all knowing. Ramone and I were in the Drifting, which isn't something they're involved in. And Jessie was at his uncle's place… perfectly mundane, and they couldn't find him. I don't think he was even trying to hide at that point. Huh… they're not infallible after all.

  "So, you wouldn't be interested in the things I've seen outside of those dimensions, hm? Or how I became a Drifter?"

  The Clayforged made an odd expression, as if grimacing and chewing on an old piece of gum all at once. Simon couldn't place what it meant.

  "We are part of the Drifting, Mr. Rivers. As much as you. Periodically, you can swim to the deeper part of the lake. We cannot stray from the shoals any further than we can be infected by someone like you. Your experiences may be unique and revealing in regards to your travels beyond this place, but they hold little for us. We are guardians of the mundane and natural. Words and knowledge have power. We stand at the gates of that power, surrounding the Tree of Knowledge from the ever present masses which operate your world. You may be a Drifter, but you are not entirely different from the flotsam and jetsam of humanity either. If you were, perhaps we would not be having any conversation akin to this one."

  "As for the causes to your infection, it is not terribly revealing to us. Of course, if you were to reveal it to other basic humans, regardless if they believed you, we would likely find out, and visit you discreetly as we do today. Not that it matters now- ah." The Clayforged suddenly shifted in pose, along with the others, as they gazed towards the door and stepped away towards open spaces against the wall.

  "What now?" Simon asked, slightly perturbed by their sudden shift in attention. But they didn't respond. And in moments, he knew. Somehow, they had been alerted that Jessie and Ramone were nearby.

  Looking flustered, Simon sat up as if to rise out of bed, to do something, anything… but he found two of them discreetly had guns pointed at him from their positions of obfuscation. He never saw them draw the pistols, either. They simply moved their wrists to a certain angle pointing at him and the weapons literally fell into their readied fingers from the depths of their coat sleeves. They stood facing ambivalent directions, partially towards Simon and halfway to the door, but ultimately facing either. It didn't seem to affect their aim one bit. Gritting his teeth, he decided to wait until his friends arrived… there was some slight chance that maybe he could bum rush one of them when their a
ttention diverted more. There was also a slight possibility that they had something else to say, as the third one hadn't drawn yet, and none of them pointed guns at the door. He was uneasy and tried to steady himself. If there was a chance to tell his friends what he learned here, he had to try surviving. Still, it seemed increasingly unlikely.

  Moments later, Jessie and Ramone barged in, with a nurse trailing behind them, repeating words that they weren't allowed. As they entered, the Clayforged hid the presence of their guns smoothly and unarmed one intercepted the nurse at the door with a polite wave, indicating everything was fine and that they weren't to be disturbed.

  "But-" Closing the door, the Clayforged stood in front of it and locked it. The two boys looked gladly at Simon, only to find themselves cornered by the foot of his bed when they noticed the agents staring them down.