“I never should have taken you back there,” I said to Andrew, “Should’ve just left that place to rot.” I shook my head.
It was morning and the saferoom was small, but quiet—I’d taken the precaution of planting a large metal sheet across the only door and relaxing with my weight against it. Gemma slept soundly with Trouble lying alongside her while I sat cross legged on the floor at her feet in the dark and Andrew stood in the corner opposite me, arms crossed, seemingly lost in some deep thought. “No one knew what was happening.” There was a long pause where he shuffled his feet and the growl of Gemma’s snore resounded off the walls of the small closet. Then he added, “Do you think it was overrun?”
“Golgotha?” I asked. Gemma shifted in her sleep but was unaware beyond.
“Sure.”
“It’s doubtful. I think the wall men probably handled the situation the same way they always do—with enthusiastic violence.” I pointed to the hanging shelf by his shoulder and asked, “Hand me one of them books of matches, would you?” Andrew reached out with the hand that was missing and froze, stared at the spot the appendage had once been, and then grimly smiled before reaching with his other. He tossed me the matches and I lit the cigarette I’d only just rolled from a tin I’d stored in the safehouse ages ago and shook the match till it had a smoke tail. “Stale.” But I continued puffing till the fire was constant and the small room smelled completely of it. “I imagine there’s a lot of dead folks this morning, but I doubt the walls are gone. Though,” I thought of Dave, “If that explosion was anything to go off—the underground’s destroyed. Hard to say what’s happened to the place they manufacture munitions.” The young man looked old in the dark room with exaggerated creases in his face. “How’re you feeling?”
“In general?”
“No. How’s the wounds?”
“I still hurt all the time.”
“You might have chronic aches from here on.”
“Chronic?”
“You might have pains that’ll never stop. For the rest of your life. But I couldn’t say for sure. We’ll ask in Babylon. Not my expertise. They know better than me.”
“You said you should’ve left that place to rot. So, why didn’t you? If I could move like you, I’d go anywhere else. I would’ve done it a long time ago too.” Andrew rubbed his cheek while he spoke then planted his chin in his right palm, casually glancing to Gemma, perhaps fantasizing over the life they might’ve lived; the expression he wore was distant and the young man—as I’d learned in caring after him—could seemingly dissociate at will.
The girl’s snoring ceased and was replaced by a heavy breath, and I watched her shift on the makeshift bedding.
“Reasons come and go as they do,” I answered then shrugged.
“I’ve never seen her like that,” he said, eyes still locked on Gemma’s sleeping form, “She used to be so kind, so gentle.” He shook his head. “You think she did it? You really think she killed him?”
“Harold?”
Andrew nodded.
Gemma wasn’t sleeping any longer and answered abruptly, raising herself up to a sit, rubbing her eyes then looking incredulously through them in slits. “Why not just ask me?” She displayed hands still stained dull red from the previous night. “What’s this say then?” Trouble shifted nervously beside her.
“I don’t know,” said Andrew.
“What’s it say?” she repeated.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll tell you right now—I’d do it again.” She was immediately lucid and nearly frightening; there was a thing in her eyes I couldn’t read. “Think you can just go off and talk about me like I’m not here, huh? That’s total nonsense. I can’t believe it.”
I stared at the space between my crossed legs on the floor.
“That’s not how I meant it at all,” said Andrew, “It just worries me.”
“You said you didn’t love me anymore,” a hitch seemed to catch in her throat (there was the humanity), but she muscled through it, “So worry about yourself and keep me out of it!”
Trouble let go of a small whine and Gemma was there to the dog, rubbing her hand across its brow, and the dog caught my eyes from the corner of its own and I looked away.
“There, there,” said the girl to the dog.
“I’m sorry,” said Andrew.
“Keep it.”
I coughed into my fist and whispered dryly, “If you two keep at it, you’ll wake the whole city to us.”
Andrew nodded and Gemma watched the dog.
“So, you wanted to see the wizards so badly?” I asked them. “You wanted to see where they live? How they live?”
“We’ve seen the wizards,” said Gemma bluntly.
“Sure, but you’ve never seen a library, have you?”
“The Bosses have their books all stacked on shelves too, if that’s what you mean.” Gemma’s tone was far off somewhere and she did not remove her eyes from the dog.
“Sure, but it ain’t just shelves of books—there’s loads. Halls, walkways of them stacked so high you’d need a ladder to reach the tops of them.”
“You were the one that tried talking me out of leaving home,” said Gemma, “Remember?”
I watched her blood-stained hands pet the dog and she finally looked up from the mutt to me. “It doesn’t seem you’d be welcome home anymore.” I offered a crude grin. “Maybe be excited for it then.”
Andrew hunkered and leaned his curved back against the wall opposite and scratched his cheek. “How long’s it take?”
“If I was on my own,” I stared at the dark ceiling overhead where I watched dust collect in swirls over our heads, “It’d be two weeks and a day or more depending. With ya’ll too? I don’t know.”
“I’m thirsty,” said Gemma, moving to stand in the mess of blankets; the closet was not enough room for the four of us and the dampness of our collective breathing created a mugginess.
Andrew, who had the foresight to pack small rations, passed her his water gourd and she gulped some back without a word and Trouble looked up from across her paws where she laid her head. Upon Gemma returning the water, the boy took a bowl from his pack and poured a few drinks for the dog and rubbed its ear.
“I’m going out to scout. No fighting while I’m away.” I said and began rising, “You,” I pointed to the boy, “Put this metal sheet against the door and your weight against the sheet and don’t open for anyone but me.”
Andrew stared at me then nodded and I slipped out from the safehouse, into a mostly destroyed storefront which harbored the closet we hid in, into the street with shadows of cyclopean structures which towered seemingly to heaven and my mind went to Dave again and how I’d been overtop that industrial building, how I possibly might’ve ‘slipped’ and fallen to an early demise. Was Dave still alive? He was cunning and brave in doing what he’d done, but certainly dead. It was again the story of heroes. The primeval consequence for any person with goodness left in them; it could and would wring them dry—whether it be demons or fellows of their kind, it comes for heroes all the same.
I’d not slept the previous night and my senses were dulled by it and every long shadow in the periphery felt as though it might reach out and snatch me; it was not so much paranoia, but merely a standard reflex of sleep deprivation. Still, I hugged the walls where I could and crept through moldering vehicles which stood in the way. There I came to Fif Aven and I recalled Aggie but briefly and crawled into a corroded pickup truck with its passenger door missing; I slid onto the bench seat, disturbing so many years of dust and it choked me, but I lay there on the seat and stared at the cab’s roof and inhaled the stuff of the old world—certainly there was trouble then too, but what could be worse?
I rested shortly and listened to the dead silence and at times I caught my breath for it was overwhelming.
The thought of leaving those children to their demise arose—I could move quickly enough on my own.
After resting a while, I scooted from the truck and carried on, more tired than before, but I moved through the narrow avenues of rubble, going as quietly as ever until I came to the open field which encompassed Golgotha. There the city stood still, and prone bodies were taken before the exterior of the gate where they burned on pyre piles, flames melting the horizon in their spots. I held my breath for a moment, caught in the far-off presence of those fires and I wondered if Dave was there, burning. If not that, then it would be worse. If not that, then they’d make a spectacle of it in the square. The figures which lugged the others from the city gates were small pinpricks across the skyline and I breathed deep and could almost taste ash in the air, then I returned to the closet where I’d left Gemma and Andrew.
Each of them looked on at me with questioning brows without words and I told them to shimmy around in the small room so I could take account of the supplies. Sleep would be no issue as long as no one minded the hot breath of the person next to them.
“We’ll stay here tonight then move on,” I said. I scanned the hanging shelf; there were canned foods and a bit of tobacco lined there and a single lantern. I shook the lantern and a bit of oil swished within it. “No light tonight. No talking either.” I put my hand to my head and rubbed my forehead.
Andrew remained over my shoulder and said, “I’ve got some water—a little food too.”
“Good.”
That night, we ate from cans without words and when Trouble messed in the corner, Gemma scooped it and removed it from our miniscule dwelling; the smell of blood was strong on her and though I expected the two children’s bickering to continue, it was gone entirely and we arranged ourselves haphazardly in the closet, our collective legs like slats parallel and our backs against walls and Trouble took to Gemma.
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Before it went full dark, Andrew examined the discoloring around his empty wrist and then I saw him remove the jar which contained his hand from his small knapsack—the thing was full on rotting with a congealing ooze forming along the base of the jar, but no smell escaped the container—he sat there with it, holding it inches from his face and he frowned.
“Why don’t you throw it out?” asked Gemma; she idly patted Trouble’s neck.
“It’s mine, isn’t it?” said the boy.
“So? It’s nasty.”
“If it was yours, would you keep it?” he asked.
Gemma shook her head.
“Well, it’s mine.”
She made a face.
We slept in terrible discomfort and Trouble awoke more than once in the night, letting go of little growls or whines—she was stuck with nightmares. Sometimes, Andrew might offer a comment about how Gemma should keep the dog quiet, but it was otherwise quiet.
At daybreak, we ate then arranged what could be gathered for the march onward; I put the shotgun sling over my shoulder, and we took into the ruins where the sun came through destruction in buildings in splintered rays and the dog kept to Gemma’s side with a bit of improvised twine as a lead.
“What’s it like out here all the time? You come out here all the time—you probably know more freedom than most, huh?” said Gemma.
“If you need to talk, you should whisper it. That said, you shouldn’t talk,” I hushed the words as I took to a nearby wall and the troupe followed, remaining in the relative shade of the buildings which towered over.
“Fine,” said Gemma, taking the center with the dog while Andrew trailed at the rear, “Then what’s all these?”
“What’s what?”
“These big tall buildings everywhere.”
“It’s our history,” I said.
“Of course, but why are they here?”
“It’s hard to imagine there was ever so many people for these.”
“There were billions at a time,” I said.
We came to an intersection of streets where vehicles were piled high, and we cut through a corner structure where all but the supports of the ground floor had long ago been blown away; arrangements of jagged rebar bent from exposed flooring like stalks and Gemma lifted the dog to not tangle the leash. Our footsteps were swift but not silent from all the debris.
“What’s that?” asked Andrew, joining in.
“What’s what? And whisper it for Christ sake.” I hissed the words, taking through a wide threshold into the street once more.
“You said billions. What’s that?”
“It’s a lot—a really big number.” I let go of a sigh and pivoted; the children froze in their walking and bumbled into one another. I put my forefinger to my lips. “No more,” I said.
And there was no more as we went.
The sun beat down on us more and as we angled through wreckages, through those pathways which took us our way, we sweated, and steam rose off our heads and the dog’s panting was the only noise, save our footfalls. There in that place, there in the plains beyond or in the mountains behind and yonder was where the souls of the dying were and we were with them and as I led, I felt aimless because leading was never my game.
A sky of rust domineered, and we took a moment in the shade of a brutal façade; within the emptied holes of a windowless storefront were long dark shadows, and the places where light met, I spied clothes on lines and spirals of racks and the clothes were so insect picked and dried one could assume they’d fall to dust if they were lifted from their stations.
We drained what freshwater we had Gemma hunkered down, first to pat Trouble then to tear strips from the hem of her robes. She created terrible scarves and handed one to both me and Andrew; the boy looked at her curiously while she wrapped a garland of the material around her own head.
“For your heads,” she shrugged as though it didn’t matter, “The sun might blister your skin.”
We pushed on, each of us peering through the slits of our makeshift headgear and when the time came and when plants—as green as dreams and more foreign—began to gather on either side of the place we walked, I motioned for another brief pause and they gathered there, Gemma’s eyes were serious, perhaps furious, and Andrew looked on at the vegetation which sprung through the overwhelming concrete with no less wonder than should be expected.
I first looked to Gemma, “It’s ahead. Not far now.”
She nodded that she knew where I meant.
“You know then?” I asked the girl.
Another nod followed.
Andrew put his hand to his brow and peered through the high light and whispered, “I think there’s fruits ahead. We hardly get fruits back home. They look big too. Trees like I’ve never seen.”
I put my hand to his shoulder. “Don’t eat them. Don’t even touch them. Alright?”
“Alright.” Andrew’s attention went to Gemma there next to him and he asked, “What’s the matter with you? You know this place?”
“It’s a garden ahead,” Her eyes moved from his to mine, “Right?”
“Right.”
“Why?” she asked.
“A garden? That’s incredible!” said Andrew.
“It is not,” said Gemma.
I took them in closer so that we were whispers away and we curled our bodies partially into the black storefront. “Ya’ll need to stay close me,” I said, “Stay close—Gemma, you carry the mutt. Andrew, you stay close too. Don’t speak. Don’t speak with what you see there.”
“What?” asked the boy.
“Shh,” said the girl, reaching out with one of those red stained hands to touch me, “Do we need to?”
Did we? I nodded. “Don’t touch anything. I reckon you two still have that holy spirit of Golgotha in you so if you feel it then pray and Gemma, I know you know some from Lady so say them quick and make it right and let’s go.”
They prayed for Jesus, for Elohim, for safety. I watched and Trouble watched them too.
We went to the garden and there was no flute playing, no sound of hooves—there was no sound at all but the baking of the earth and the small rhythm of fresh leaves caught in whatever dismal wind there was there in that place. Taking through the garden, there were trees which arched overhead—indeed the fruits that hung from those branches were moistened like with rain and bright and multicolored—and the shrubbery too was thick among our ankles and then there was Baphomet’s cobblestone yard with a throne and the well and there on a risen tablet by the throne, Baphomet sat, chest glistening in the sunlight, legs crossed, head arched back so that its head could see the sky.
So, you’ve come again. This time you’ve brought thrice the power to bargain with. Harlan, oh—don’t look at me like that and come closer and tell me what it is you wish. Baphoment shifted to catch me in its eye and then slid to sit with its legs off the edge of the great stone. You look tired. Is it perhaps that you have come to keep me company? Have you given in to those curious desires which compel humankind? I can take you to those places far and gaping. There are limits to your form, but form is changed easily of course—with time and pressure. Curious that you would arrive with tampered merchandise. That should be discounted. Still. The demon took note of Gemma flanking so closely to my left that we were touching; she carried Trouble and the dog shivered—the girl shivered too.
In a puff of smoke, Baphomet disappeared then reappeared directly in front of me; a hot breath escaped its snout visibly and then it took in the smell of us.
Mmm. That sin is on you all. Have I ever told you the euphoric nature of it?
“I’ve come to make a deal,” I said.
Baphomet cocked its head. If you’ve come for a return, I’m afraid the girl you left with me is long transformed. For, after all, is easy. I doubt you’ve have use for the state she’s in. Still, The creature stood tall so it towered over us then arched low to peer into Gemma’s eyes. Did you miss me? Is that it?
“It’ll be the last deal I make.”
It seemed the creature smiled, if it was possible. Promise?
“Yes.”
I get you? That’d certainly make others green with envy.
“Yes.”
What is it you want then?
“I want firepower,” I held the shotgun out in front of me, “And time enough to do what I need to do.”
Give me your hand. Reach out. It’ll hurt like the dickens for only a second. Baphomet extended its claw-like hands, beckoning my own.
I put out my right hand and the creature took it, drove the nail of its forefinger into my forearm nearest the elbow, then traced a shallow cut down the length of my arm till it met the top of my hand. The towering beast let go then looked me over, snorted, tapped a hoof, then crossed its arms. Blood dripped freely from the mark on my arm. “Will you make that deal?” I asked.
The demon shook its head. I won’t touch you. No one will.
“Why?”
The thing which I might want from you is not something you can give freely. It belongs to someone already.
I bit my tongue then shook my head. “Who?”
What fun would there be in me telling? Baphomet traced around our small group and came to a halt at the right shoulder of Andrew; the boy closed his eyes. I could tell you for a trade though.
I shook my head and turned to leave.
Mm. Harlan. You break my heart.
We left the garden, not looking back, not even when Baphomet took to playing its tune—though the sun beat us down there was a coolness which passed through me and I wondered if the same could be said for Gemma or Andrew; I caught the girl’s eyes as she carried the whimpering pup and there was a message there, a telepathy I understood and it was maybe sorrow or her unforgotten pain. I willed us on, and they followed, and we went to the safehouse up the stairs to rest and regroup.
I looked out over the street where the shadows cut darker as the sun began to rest and Andrew played a game of tug with the mutt, and I smoked while Gemma joined me at the tall windows.
“It’s the smell,” she said to me, “I smell that thing all the time. I scarcely remember the creature, but I know that’s where you found me,” there was a brief pause as she crossed her arms over her chest, “Isn’t it?”
I nodded, “Yeah.”
She hiked the arms of her robes up and examined the scars there and then looked at me then let the robes slink down her arms as her fists met her by her sides. Gemma pressed near the glass.
“Do they burn?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I might have something better for you to wear. Something with less catch when you move. Pants. Shirts. You’ve got boots on, haven’t you?”
She twisted the torn hems of her robes to expose her leathered feet.
I traced the walls—stacks crates of goods were there (surely I’d find something suitable for travel).
We found water in the safehouse and food and light too. When dark came, we huddled around her lanterns and Andrew assisted in watching the boiling pot. Gemma changed, cut her hair to her scalp, and washed her hands. With her new garb, her throat stood more exposed, and the healing wounds there were like embedded ropes in her flesh. Andrew kept his eyes flittering, his focus remained on the food, but always his gaze was primarily steals of her.
They were in love, for sure—anyone could see it (I could). It truly was a pain to be in the presence of two young people, the potential, the possibilities of a true life—I should not go on. Hope breeds determination, but anything more is weakness.
No one had an easy time with sleep that night, save Trouble; each of us lined ourselves by the windows and looked out to see glowing mutant eyes wilder than any electric light. We shut off the lanterns and sat with bellies full, a spiderlike skin taker lumbered through the avenue which we overlooked—the center mass of its body, stilted high from the ground on those spear legs, traced before our eyes and it was all black and fuzzy—and the children whispered to ask me what it was, and I told them I didn’t know exactly.
“They’re faster than they seem,” I said.
Gemma touched the window glass with her palm.
“They suck up your skin,” I said, “They take it right off your body.”
Andrew shook his head. “You ever killed any?”
“You don’t fight them often. You’d do better to avoid anything that moves out here.”
“So—did you? Have you killed any of those spider things?”
“Long time ago.”
Gemma sat up straighter and withdrew her hand from the glass, leaving a hand mark there where the sweat of her fingers was. Their faces were coated in the bluish milk glaze of the moon and stars. “How?” she asked.
I moved from the window, leaving them there to watch. “Don’t make noise tonight. I’m going to sleep dead. I put a bucket in the corner over there if you need it.”
The bedroll smelled of mold, of dust, for it was an old thing I’d tucked away years prior, and I figured I would never have a use for it. It was for emergencies. Most of the supplies I kept were like that. They were things I hoped to never need.
As I stretched on my back, staring at the dead ceiling overhead, I listened to the silence of the ruins periodically broken from the whispers of Andrew and Gemma as they continued their talking, and I closed my eyes and directly before I was ferried on to the place of dreams, the face of Dave took to view in the black backdrop of my eye lids and there was Boss Maron; I imagined they put the poor rebel to his knees and blew his brains across the ground. Or worse. It was probably worse. It always was.
Just as the world was gone, it was back again; Andrew shook me awake and Trouble was growling. I propelled from the bedroll, eyes darting in every direction, and I half imagined we were under attack from Leviathan, but there was no such thing. Gemma stood by the locked door which connected to the stairwell, and someone banged with their fist on the other side. The door rattled in its frame, and I launched into position by the girl—her stance was half crouched, and she seemed frozen solid. I motioned at the door and she shrugged.
A voice came from the other side of the door, bemoaning desperation.
Help! said the voice, high pitched, feminine seeming. Please, help me!
“We should help them,” said Andrew, “God, open the door.”
“Shh,” Gemma put her index finger to her pursed lips, “Shut up. Don’t be stupid!”
They looked at me and Trouble continued growling.