The Nine

by C. G Harris

  “Do you know what happened to me?” Her voice came out stronger than I expected, high and youthful, but confident.

  “Not specifically, no. There’s a lot of ways to die in The Nine. My guess is some jerk knocked you off for fun, or you offed yourself. Doesn’t really matter. Every death lands in the Gnashing Fields. I don’t understand the suicide angle though. Woebegone do it all the time, but killing yourself to be tortured and reborn right back where you started? Doesn’t make any sense.”

  Stray shuddered. “I remember that. The burning. The pain never seemed to end.”

  I sighed and nodded. “Another one of their cute tricks. You might only be out of the action here for a few days, but your perception of time in the Gnashing Fields is different. Your stay can feel like an eternity when you’re in the pools.”

  Stray stood and brushed herself off, looking a little more steady. “So, what is this place? What do you do here?”

  Stray reached for the sliding door at the back of the tiny room.

  “Hold on.” I put out a hand to stop her, but it was too late.

  The door slid to the side to reveal my secret warehouse stash. A gutted school bus that had somehow made its way beneath piles of rubble and building collapses. Dozens of beams and girders crisscrossed the area above and around the old yellow husk. The thing could take a direct hit from an atom bomb without getting a scratch. A subway train had crashed through the far wall and smashed the front end of the bus at some point in ancient history, although I couldn’t imagine when. I had never seen a school bus or subway train since I’d been here, and I’d been here for a very long time.

  The bus’s side door opened up to the rear wall of my shop, giving me a convenient little staircase to ascend into my hideaway. Stray bounded up the tall steps like a pixie made of super balls. I hit the first step, missed the second, and did my best impression of a bobsled racing down a rock quarry. By the time I recovered, she had already made a beeline for the most valuable item in my stores. Almost a quarter case of unexpired, individually wrapped Hostess Twinkie cakes.

  She reached for them, and my hand shot into my pocket to draw out the Knuckle Stunner as I sprinted toward her. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I growled. “Don’t touch the Twinkies.”

  Stray turned to look at me and noticed the Knuckle Stunner in my hand. “Are you serious? I can’t even remember my name. I was just hungry.”

  “You may not understand the whole picture here, but the items in this store are priceless to a lot of Hellions out there. They are beyond difficult to come by.”

  Stray surveyed the mishmash merchandise around her. Two cans of Dr. Pepper, a few photos, a locket, and a box of old cigars.

  “Not many have seen this room, and less have seen what’s stored inside. I saved your life, but I can make you this promise.” I leaned in close and narrowed my eyes. “If you ever speak a word about what you saw here, you won’t live to see another day. I know enough secrets about the Hellions down here to guarantee your stay in the Gnashing Fields will be long and recurring.”

  “Over Twinkies?” Stray raised an unfazed eyebrow. “Seriously.”

  She tilted her head as if she replayed a part of our conversation in her mind. “You trade goods for secrets, don’t you? You said you know lots of secrets about the Hellions. You trade this stuff for information and then what? Trade information for more stuff? That’s pretty smart. You stay in business with a built-in insurance plan. What do you do with the information? Blackmail or something?”

  I stood there dumbfounded for a second. “What? No—not blackmail. People ask me to find information. I have the means to do it, that’s all.”

  “So, you trade them the information, and they use it for blackmail.”

  I smacked my face and shook my head. “No—I don’t know. Look, for someone who just crawled out of the soup, you’re a little too smart for your own good.”

  Stray shrugged. “Sorry. Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell anyone about your shop, I promise. You saved my life, and at the moment, you’re my only friend.”

  She smiled and glanced at the locket laid over the back of a lonely torn-up green passenger seat. “Can I touch this without you zapping me?”

  I rolled my eyes and threw my hands out, “Why not?”

  She picked up the locket and popped the tiny latch open, revealing the picture inside.

  “Who wanted this?”

  “No one,” I said. “That’s mine. The piece has sentimental value.”

  “Is this your mom or something? She looks young.”

  “All right, you saw the locket. Now put it down.”

  Stray laid the old silver piece across the seat with tender care and glanced back at me again. “What’s in your hand? Is that what you knocked me out with earlier?”

  “Yes. If you keep asking me questions, I’m going to show you how it works.”

  Stray smiled and kept talking. “Are you allowed to own something like that? Seems like the big baddies would be awfully uptight about anyone having weapons.”

  “Woebegone are not allowed to own anything, much less weapons, but I’m different. I know people.”

  A gust of wind whipped against the side of the shop causing a stream of dust to fall from the ceiling. Stray looked at me, and I smiled, gratified that something had the ability to make her stop chattering, at least for the moment.

  “We’ll ride out the storm, and then you can be on your way. If you keep your promise, I will help you settle in somewhere until you regain your memory and figure out where you belong, deal?”

  Stray held her fist out. I stared at it.

  “Fist bump,” she said. “I think it’s a thing.”

  I reached out and rapped her fist with mine. A huge bang came from the door at the same time, making me jump and drawing a little squeak from Stray.

  “I know you’re in there. Let me in, or I will put my fist through the wall and pull your scrawny ass out through the hole.”

  Pelican Belly. Apparently, his ego had brought him back after all.

  Chapter Three

  This guy just didn’t quit. What he lacked in brains, he made up for in tenacity, and he lacked a whole lot in the noodle department.

  “That’s a steel reinforced door.” My voice rang off the tiny metal space, but with all the wind, lava rain, and general screaming going on outside, I figured he would have a hard time hearing me. “You would need more firepower to blast through that door than any Woebegone could get their hands on—at least not without my help,” I added the last part under my breath. “Your size twelves won’t make a dent. Don’t be stupid. Go find a safe place to ride out the storm. You can beat my brains in later.”

  I walked over to open a false panel in the wall above Stray’s head. She had retreated to the far corner and slid to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest again. I pulled out my Whip-Crack—another Hell-born weapon, and by far my favorite—an unholy offspring of a twelve-foot bullwhip and a chainsaw. The trajectory could be controlled remotely through the grip, and the blades worked through some ultra-complicated centrifugal gearing I didn’t begin to understand. All I knew was, move the whip and the blades spun. Move the whip fast, and deforestation laws began to tremble.

  The whip played out on the floor, sounding like a thousand chainmail snakes slithering in a writhing mass of evil death. The raspy noise sent goosebumps over my skin.

  “Go back to your hole and ride out the storm,” I cried again. No response. I glanced at Stray. She shrugged, looking as surprised as I was.

  “You still out there, Pelican Belly?” I listened again, but no answer.

  “Maybe he has more brains than we thought.” I gave Stray a sideways grin. “We might as well make ourselves comfortable ...”

  A huge thunk shook the shop in the way only three-hundred pounds of man-mush could. Pelican Belly must have thrown his whole body at the door. The storm picked up speed outside. At this point, there was no way he could avoid the rain of fire p
lummeting out of the sky. Molten rock would be coming down in big chunks now, hammering everything they hit. The wind would be strong enough to whisk the lava into a sandstorm of fiery glass. I didn’t understand how Pelican Belly survived. Maybe he had come up with some sort of makeshift corrugated steel cocoon. Whatever he did, it wouldn’t last long.

  His shouts became screams. Stray pressed herself further into the corner with her hands over her ears. Another thump hit the door, then another. I took a step forward, my humanity driving me to let him in and save him from his own arrogant stupidity. But I willed myself to stop. My reward for such an action would be death—and not just mine, but Stray’s as well. The blows came faster, weaker now. More desperate than sure. A lump rose up in my throat, and I redoubled my will. Something metal ricocheted off the outside of the shop. Pelican Belly let out one last shriek, and then there was silence.

  I stood for a moment, half expecting another thump at the door. Stray looked up, pulling her hands away from her ears to check for a noise. I glanced down at her and wanted to say everything would okay. Instead, I white knuckled the handle of my Whip-Crack. I doubted the sound of my stretched voice would be all that soothing. Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she made no move to wipe them away. I opened my mouth to say something despite my strain. My words were interrupted by another, much more civilized knock.

  My head twisted back toward the door, and I felt the blood drain from my face. Impossible. The storm hammered the outside of my shop like a freight train. No Woebegone could survive being out in those conditions. The walls of my store shook so bad I worried we might not make it through.

  Another polite knock.

  “Gabriel Gantry. I know you are in there. Come out. You have been summoned to The Judas Agency.”

  The low graveled voice echoed off the walls, seeming to drag a thousand screaming voices in behind it. A Hellion. Not just any Hellion; only a high-level demon could withstand the kind of storm that raged outside. What would a hellion like that want with me? The thought made my skin want to crawl away and hide.

  I searched my mind for any reason for him to be there. My little black-market business wasn’t legal, but the Judas Agency didn’t trouble itself with this sort of small-time stuff. They were known as the Disaster Factory for a reason. They went Topside to wreak havoc among the living. To come after someone down here, it would have to be big ... or personal.

  “That harpy never mentioned her gluten intolerance problem,” I shouted at the door. “She asked for a Twinkie. It’s not my fault.” I tried to sound indignant, but fear made my voice crack like a prepubescent 13-year-old’s. “Are you the uncle she talked about? I told her I would find her a whole case of gluten free cupcakes, but I need time. I can’t pull cupcakes out of my butt. Even if I could, she wouldn’t want them.”

  “This is not about a harpy,” came the voice again. “Though I may look into your black-market dealings when my benefactor is through with you. Come out. You have been summoned. If you do not come out, I am coming in.”

  I sucked in a breath. A bozo with a size twelve boot was one thing, a high-level Hellion was another. This guy could peel the shop door like the outside of an onion and never shed a tear. If he saw my stores in the back, I would be done for. A couple of Twinkies might buy me some trouble, but my whole stock along with my little weapons stash might be enough to put me in the Gnashing Fields for a very long time.

  “Alright, I’ll come out as soon as the storm’s over.” I stalled, trying to think of a way to escape. “I don’t want to die out there.”

  The exasperation in the Hellion’s voice became almost palpable. “If I were charged with bringing back your corpse, you would be dead. You will be under my protection from the storm. This is your last opportunity to come in peace.”

  I stood still, staring at my feet. My mind raced: stall, escape, brute force. All failed or suicidal. I couldn’t see a way out of this one. I sighed and hit the retract button on the Whip-Crack. The serpentine weapon coiled to a manageable size. I placed it and the Knuckle Stunner back in the wall and closed the false panel.

  Stray bolted to her feet and grabbed my arm. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m coming out,” I shouted. “Give me one second.” I gave Stray a crooked smile and did my best to look sure of my decision.

  “Stay in the shop until I get back. Don’t go out or open the doors, and you’ll be safe. If I don’t come back at all, I guess the place is yours. But I’m coming back, so don’t get any ideas.” I rubbed the spiky buzzed hair on my head and stared at the door again. “Just take care of my shop. Don’t let anyone rob me blind, and I’ll set you up like a queen. Can you manage that?”

  Stray nodded. “I’ll keep everything safe while you’re gone. Thanks for helping me and for letting me stay. I know you didn’t have to.”

  I nodded without looking at her and walked toward the door. The heat shield still hung in place, so I stepped around it to throw back the bolts. I didn’t know how much good it would do, but if the Hellion couldn’t follow through on his promise, I wanted to be sure I was the only barbecued Woebegone in the shop today.

  Chapter Four

  I opened the door and got a real look at a full-on firestorm for the first time—something few if any Woebegone had ever seen without facing a gruesome demise. The air itself seemed to be on fire. Wind whipped dust devils into self-sustaining heat vortexes, and fire fell from the sky in every conceivable form. Collapsing metal creaked, moaned, and shrieked out a symphony of ear shattering noise, and the smell of charred earth and burnt flesh made my eyes water. I slapped both hands over my nose and mouth but even that didn’t block out the stench. Huge solid chunks of flaming brimstone pummeled rooftops, walkways, and walls, exploding like fracture grenades, sending hot stone shards in every direction. Molten raindrops and flaming hail the size of golf balls pelted everything in sight. Seeing this storm was like having a ringside seat to the end of the world.

  I steadied myself against the door, trying to take in the sheer brutality of it all. My toe hit something hard on the ground. A new brimstone addition to the rocky landscape. When I glanced down, I wished I hadn’t. My foot had connected with Pelican Belly’s knee, or at least the mangled lump had resembled his knee. His body had been charred and stripped by the fiery wind and falling rock. He was nothing more than a broken, burning pile of blackened blubber. Even that would be gone soon. I was glad I still held a hand over my face to cover the gagging heaves that followed as I turned away.

  I forced myself to shove the information overload to the side and regain my composure. When I did, a small underlying detail stood out. I had opened the door on a firestorm and hadn’t fried like an over-nuked 7-Eleven burrito. The thought made me glance toward the burning lump of bad tattoos, but I managed to jerk my head around before my eyes betrayed me. The temperate atmosphere made my skin tingle with unease, unused to performing in an environment between arctic and inferno. Even my door, which should have fried my hand like a spam omelet, felt cool to the touch. An object hurled out of the sky. A white-hot comet constructed of stone and death streaked toward me. I let out a shriek and crossed my arms over my head, as if that would help. Given a little more time to react, I might have ducked, or at least peed, but the falling mini-mountain impacted with a muffled thud and deflected away before I had time to do either. I opened one eye and checked on all my appendages—everything present and accounted for. Then I gazed upon a sight almost as imposing as the storm.

  An eight-foot, almost human looking Hellion emerged from around the corner of my tiny shop. He had albino skin, snow white hair and blood red eyes. Long, linen-white horns swept out of his forehead and reached toward the sky. Yeah, other than that, dead ringer for human.

  I closed the door behind me, checking to see if any heat from the firestorm had penetrated the barrier. The fire blanket didn’t even seem singed. If I knew how to pull off a trick like that, I’d be set for life ... death, whatever.

  “So,
what’s this all about?” I crossed my arms, uncrossed them, then tried to lean back on the door, but I lost my balance and had to catch myself. I opted to stand like an awkward idiot instead. “Is there any way I can just pay a fine or something? You and I could come to some sort of agreement. I’d be glad to throw in a little something to show my thanks, if you know what I mean.”

  The Hellion stared down at me. “Did you offer me a bribe?”

  “A bribe?” I laughed and waved my arms around like a drunk marionette. “No, I think you should show appreciation when someone does something nice, that’s all. Is it a bribe when you receive a thank you card? No, it’s good manners.”

  I didn’t know a Hellion had the ability to roll his eyes, but this one did. He turned his gigantic bulk away and started walking. Huge feathered wings hung close to his back and fluttered along with his many layers of flowing white robes. The image painted a picture that appeared both filthy and regal at the same time. Like a majestic grey eagle who’d weathered a terrific storm. His wings were somehow soiled and lusterless, and at the same time prepared to soar. I didn’t want to follow him, but every step he took raised the temperature around me. Whatever trick he used to keep me safe didn’t have much of a range.

  I sprinted to catch up to my escort, and the air around me went cool again. The Hellion held some sort of device in his hand. The little silver orb glowed blue and pulsed every time a stone or flame came close enough to threaten us, which was pretty much always.

  “Is that a shield?” I asked. “What would it take to get something like that?”

  “More pain than your soul could provide in an eternity.”

  “What about a low interest credit plan instead?”

  The Hellion peered down at me and rolled his thumb over a knob on the side of the shield generator. Sweat began to pour out of my head, and my eyeballs threatened to dehydrate and turn to sand.