Fiasco Heights

by Zack Archer

  She adopted Aendora’s beautiful face again. “I have lived long enough to utilize the weakness inherent in all men, to weaponize it against them.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked, standing my ground.

  Aendora/the Wench smiled, flashing a toothpaste-ad grin. “It’s evolutionary, Quincy. Men love a face that’s not too thin or too fat. It reflects a more general image of health, whereas being too thin or too thick are unhealthy. Therefore, I’ve chosen a look that makes me appealing, that causes someone like you to let down their guard.”

  I broke her gaze and stared at my boots. “There’s an old saying where I come from,” I replied.

  “What’s that?” the Wench asked, drawing closer.

  “Fool me once, shame on you,” I said, plumbing my memory for the rest of the quote. “Fool me…you can’t get fooled again.”

  The Wench stopped, cocked her head and studied me. She silently mouthed the words that I’d just spoken. “I have lived for five hundred years, and I can honestly say that is the single stupidest thing I have ever heard.”

  She roared forward at me, throwing punches, screaming like a runaway locomotive.

  I parried the blows, but each time I tried to strike her with a plasma ball, she’d chop my wrist or grab my arm.

  I head-butted Aendora’s beautiful face, cringing when I felt the cartilage in her nose flatten.

  She yelped and crabbed back.

  Tears filled her eyes.

  “Why, Quincy?” she said. “Why would you do that to me?”

  I was hypnotized by her beauty but realized she was playing me.

  I forced my gaze down and shook my head.

  When I looked back up, her face peeled back to reveal the crone, and she lunged at me, mouth distending like a python when—

  WHUNK! WHUNK! WHUNK!

  A cluster of what looked like long, black quills harpooned into her chest.

  The Wench squealed, grabbing at what I could now see weren’t quills, but splinters!

  I turned and shot a look back, and there was Splinter!

  He was in a wave sled being piloted by Aurora that was cutting through the swamp’s mist. Behind them was the other sled with Lyric and Kaptain Khaos manning the controls. I caught a quick glimpse of Atlas slumped in the back of Aurora’s sled.

  Splinter dove from the wave sled and continued to fling splinters at the Wench. Several speared into her eyes, and then he cast a wad of corrosive sap that splashed the witch on her lower body, stripping the flesh from her thighs.

  The Wench howled in spasmodic agony, throwing out her hands, wildly firing off bolts of plasma in every direction, but she was blinded, so we moved in on her.

  Then the witch stopped moving.

  She stood, ramrod straight, and began humming what sounded like a song in some alien tongue. The swamp water began bubbling, and I looked at Splinter.

  “What the hell is she doing?!”

  “Whatever it is, it ain’t good!”

  Splinter palmed another ball of sap when the first one rose up out of the muck. A vaguely humanoid form with a gargoyle-like face, flesh as pale as moonlight, and a gaping maw of a mouth studded with black, sharpened teeth.

  The Wench had gone and done it.

  She’d called up an army of the dead.

  31

  “Welcome to the unraveling!” the Wench screamed as dozens and dozens of the flesh-starved forms rocketed up out of the water.

  “This could’ve gone better,” Splinter said.

  “They…they’re z-zombies,” I stuttered.

  “What?”

  “We call them zombies back on Earth.”

  “We call ‘em the Woken around here,” Splinter said. “They’re the bodies of the unluckies who’ve gotten trapped down here and killed by the queen bitch. Some of the villains have the ability to wake ‘em back up.”

  I gaped at the shambling figures that peered at us, bloodlust in their eyes. “What do we do with them?”

  “What do you think? Send ‘em back where they came from!”

  Five of the desiccated marauders squared up on us, clawing at the air, looking pissed and hungry all at once. They stagger-ran toward me, gibbering like lunatics, their skin peeled away to reveal rancid organs and dried, visible musculature.

  I formed a ball of energy and slung it at them.

  The plasma burned holes through their shriveled torsos, effluvium geysering as the creatures went up in flames like Roman candles.

  More of them came at us and Splinter cast clots of corrosive sap that hit the monsters and melted them like candles.

  I looked for Liberty, who was busy fending off the attack of a dozen of the undead.

  She worked her blade sideways, sawing the savage-eyed dead in half. Moving with the speed of a gunslinger, she lopped off the heads of the undead, or bisected their bodies with quick, violent slashes of her sword. The bodies of the attackers fell in heaps all around her.

  Then, whirling like a dervish, she seemed to glide across the top of the swamp.Her blade arced from left to right in chopping motions, severing limbs, and disemboweling the undead.

  In the middle of it all, however, was the Wench.

  She levitated, keeping to the center of the fray while tossing lightning bolts at the wave sleds that were unable to come to our defense.

  “We need to take that bitch down!” Splinter shouted.

  “Separate!” I replied. “She won’t be able to handle all three of us!”

  I crouch-ran to the left and he moved right, steering clear of several dozen skeletal figures that were trying to do us harm.

  Two of the cadaverous creatures sprang at me, arms outstretched as if they wanted to take me in some maniacal embrace.

  I was growing confident in my newfound powers and simply flicked my wrist this time, sending a spiral of plasma that speared through the open mouths of the abominations, dissolving them from the inside out.

  More of the things appeared, however, pale, fleshless bodies that I continued to batter with plasma rounds. Bodies were opened up, black blood sluiced, and flesh was ignited, the air heavy with the odor of torched flesh.

  I dove from the hillocks, crouching, waiting for a chance to take out the Wench who was surrounded by a wall of the dead, firing at the wave sleds.

  Liberty and Splinter were in the same position, unable to mount an attack on the witch, who was shielded by the bodies she’d resurrected.

  I glanced back and up and saw one of the wave sleds braving the Wench’s fire.

  Lyric was holding onto the edge of the sled, waving her arms.

  “DOWN!” she screamed. “GET DOWN!”

  We did and what came next was an incapacitating shockwave, a wall of weaponized sound that swept over the swamp like a tsunami.

  The sound literally shattered the Wench’s army, atomizing the bodies of the dead.

  Some of them blasted apart into bone-confetti, while others shattered, blackened organs and appendages dropping in a great, gory heap. “It’s all over, whore!” Splinter shouted.

  The Wench snarled and hissed, and I spotted Liberty, rising out of the dark water. She slithered onto a hillock, then crouch-crept toward the witch, resting her sword a few inches from her shoulder, working to get the best angle.

  The Wench loosed a war cry and flew up into the air before landing violently on the hillock before us.

  We brought our hands up defensively as the Wench’s face suddenly reverted to Aendora’s.

  She was young and beautiful once more, and I was unable to tear my eyes away from her haunting visage.

  The Wench moved to attack us at the instant her head left her shoulders.

  Liberty had powered her blade through the base of the witch’s neck, sending the hag’s head spinning into the water.

  The stump spurted yellow and black gore in great abundance, and then the Wench’s massive frame fell in stages, like a tree toppling in the woods.

  Several seconds of silenc
e ensued as the two wave sleds hovered on either side. My gaze hopped from Liberty and Splinter to Aurora. “What you took you so long?”

  Aurora sported a weary smile. “There’s no time. The Morningstars are hot on our trail.”

  She motioned for us to enter the sleds so we dropped down into the water and sploshed forward toward them. “How’s Atlas?” I whispered to Splinter.

  “Not good,” he answered. “Aurora thinks he may soon be going on to his reward.”

  I stopped, because I’d remembered something important.

  What the hell was it?

  Something back in the Wench’s hut.

  The liquid.

  The violet liquid.

  The one the Wench said could bring the dead back to life!

  I pivoted and started running back through the swamp. Liberty and Splinter shouted for me to stop, but I didn’t respond. I windmilled my arm, jabbing a finger in the direction of the hut.

  Hopping from hillock to hillock, and wading through the stained water, I soon pulled myself back up into the hut.

  Covering my mouth, I sidestepped the corpses on the floor and grabbed the glass bottle filled with the violet liquid.

  Exiting the hut, I climbed up into Aurora’s wave sled with Splinter as it trembled and soared off.

  I held the bottle of violet liquid up in my hands, studying it as if it was an object of unparalleled beauty.

  “What is that?” Splinter asked.

  “I think it might be medicine,” I replied, even though I had no idea what it actually was. Still, if Atlas was in the checkout line, it wasn’t going to do any more harm to him. It was the only thing I could think of that might help the big man.

  I knelt before Atlas who was lying on the ground, a divot carved above his abdomen, his upper chest streaked with blood. His breathing was rapid and there were dark, swollen crescents under his eyes. He looked like he’d gone ten rounds with the Grim Reaper.

  “You made it out,” he whispered, blood seeping between his teeth.

  “Barely.”

  He mustered a smile and my eyes flicked to Aurora.

  She didn’t need to say anything, I knew that Atlas was readying to breathe his last breaths.

  I moved over next to Atlas who whispered: “Greylock used to say that one day with pain is another day closer to the sun.”

  I had no idea what that meant, so I just nodded. “And here I was thinking you were indestructible.”

  He smiled again. “Every hero, including all of us, have a weak spot. It’s just as well anyway. The only reason life means anything, Quincy, is because it’s finite. You tend not to cherish things that last forever.”

  And with that, Atlas lay on his side, coughing up blood and bile, a small stream of red leaking across the mahogany of his upper torso. His eyes snapped shut and his chest fluttered. I put a hand on his chest, and he was breathing hard in little puffs of air. Sensing that he was on the verge of expiring, I lifted the bottle of violet liquid.

  “What are you doing?” Aurora asked me.

  “Saving his life.”

  “How do we know what’s in that?” Splinter asked.

  “We don’t. It’s either this or we let him die. Who’s up for dying?”

  Confused looks were exchanged, but nobody raised their hands. “Alrighty then, magic violet liquid it is.”

  Reluctantly, Splinter knelt behind Atlas and tilted his head up.

  He gently pried open Atlas’s mouth, and I poured the violet liquid inside.

  We massaged his cheeks and throat to ensure that the liquid had funneled down where it needed to go.

  Then we pulled back and waited.

  I guess I’d expected fireworks or some flash of light, y’know, the kind of shit that happens after a miracle’s been worked.

  Nothing happened and then…

  I noticed two things: the blood had stopped seeping from Atlas’s wound, and his chest was no longer fluttering.

  I blinked and could see that his breathing was no longer labored. It was slower, more rhythmic, and I took that as a very good sign.

  Yep, I was pretty sure I’d just saved Atlas’s life.

  32

  We cruised over what was left of the swamp, then up and over a plateau.

  The landscape beyond the plateau was dominated by a massive, rust-colored cavern wall, the one which appeared to contain a continuation of the tunnel bored through the rock by the Polymath.

  I turned to Atlas to see that, at least to my untrained eye, his breathing looked better. It was more rhythmic, his chest slowly rising and falling.

  I placed a finger on his neck and felt his pulse thumping softly. Lastly, I checked his wounds, which were ridged and pinkish but miraculously appeared to be closing up, healing on their own.

  Sensing that Atlas might be in the clear, I moved up and sat next to Aurora.

  “I think he’ll live,” I said.

  She nodded, fiddling with the metascreen, which I saw had been damaged in the fighting. A portion of it had gone dark, and the screen itself was spiderwebbed with cracks. Somehow, Aurora was still able to use it to direct the sled. “I prayed that he would survive.”

  “How come none of you were busting your asses to save him?” I asked.

  “We did the best we could.”

  “I’m going to start calling you guys the ‘Not Really Super’ heroes.”

  Her pupils constricted. “We have a very different view of life and death, Quincy. There are many that think suffering brings us closer to the gods.”

  “Yeah, well, Atlas was about two seconds away from sitting on the Almighty’s friggin’ lap.”

  “How would you like me to respond, Quincy?”

  “How ‘bout a ‘thanks.’”

  “Thank you for saving Atlas’s life,” she said slowly.

  “No problem. But now that our tactician is down and out, what’s the plan?” I asked.

  “The same as it was before.”

  “What happened to the bad guys?”

  “We managed to escape them. After you and Liberty fell into the hole, we battled our way to safety. The Kaptain created another quake that shattered a canyon wall, blocking their pursuit, at least for a while.”

  “How long will it hold them?”

  She sighed. “Long enough.”

  I moved to head back to Atlas, and she grabbed my arm. “What happened to you back there?”

  “We got trapped by the Wench.”

  “She’s a seductress,” Aurora whispered. “A shapeshifter.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “She’s been known to lead many astray. Did you know her?”

  “Not before today.”

  Aurora shook her head. “No, I meant ‘know’ as in did you make love to her?”

  I paused, trying to dredge up just the right words. Aurora had a way of staring right through you when she wanted an answer to a question. She was like an inquisitor, a goddamn prosecutor when she wanted to be.

  “Love didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Gods, Quincy. Is there anything you won’t put your member in?”

  The red flush of embarrassment spread across my face. “I don’t see you wearing a white wig and carrying a gavel, so don’t judge me, Aurora, okay?”

  “Every day of our lives we make judgments. Some of them better than others.”

  “So, what are you saying?” I asked.

  “Be more selective.”

  “I am.”

  “You fucked a five hundred-year-old wolf witch!” she barked.

  “I pulled out real early, and besides, she drugged me!”

  She rolled her eyes. “What about Liberty?”

  “What about her?”

  “Did you fuck her too?”

  By this time I was pissed at her tone and the line of questioning, so I replied: “Yes, I did. Six ways from Sunday.”

  “You’re such a knuckle-dragger,” Aurora said, disgust in her voice.

  “I
’m a man.”

  “Difference without a distinction,” she said, turning from me as I cursed under my breath, and returned to Splinter and Atlas as we entered the tunnel and sped off toward the Bridge of the Requiter.

  We drifted through the tunnel that was just barely big enough to hold the two wave sleds, Aurora utilizing the map the Polymath had given her to direct us out through an opening at the other end.

  The land on the other side of the tunnel was a massive cavern, a plain of sand and dust, looking like a copper-colored sea, and devoid of well, anything. There were no trees or scrub, not even a spit of high ground. Instead, the ground was calcified, spawning dust devils that boiled up into the sky, the air crackling with static electricity.

  “So this is it, huh?” I asked, looking around.

  Aurora was still pissed at me but nodded. “The Empty Quarter.”

  I gaped at the landscape. “This looks like the kind of place you’d hide something that can destroy the universe.”

  “It’s not too dissimilar from Earth in terms of topography. The Elementals chose to use this area, essentially the lithosphere, the upper crust and mantle of the planet, to hide things they didn’t want the others to know about.”

  “Hide things from the ninety-nine percent?”

  Her brows converged. “I don’t understand.”

  “The folks in charge, the elite, the one percent, they were the ones making the decisions for everybody else, the masses, the ninety-nine percent, right? They were basically keeping their secrets hidden down here.”

  She nodded. “That’s what the elite do, Quincy. The few function on behalf of the many.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “It’s not my place to question the order of things.”

  “Maybe that’s part of the problem, Aurora. Maybe it’s time somebody started looking around and asking the tough questions.”

  She glared at me. “You’re starting to worry me.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You’re starting to sound like one of the Morningstars.”

  The conversation ended, and we drifted forward, moving across the plain as the dust, kicked up by the wind, shaped itself in strange whorls.

  Soon we crossed a section of what looked like dormant volcanoes and a sweep of lava beds and then we spotted it.