Chapter 14 - Poison Springs

Screaming Bamboo Forest

Nyx

You know my favorite part of road trips?

Yeah, that’s right. Visiting old friends.

Just swinging into town with little to no warning while they’re in the middle of, you know… whatever. Maybe cleaning the house. Maybe they’re at “work.” Or maybe they were in the middle of hunting, capturing, and enslaving a veritable army of demon monkeys.

Ahh, I might have tipped my hand there, didn’t I?

Fine, yes… we swung by PK’s place – that’s “Poison Kitty” but abbreviated.

It’s cooler. Also, easier to say.

Now, I know what you’re thinking.

Didn’t we just meet? Wasn’t PK supposed to be a hitchhiker? Weren’t we starting to mix metaphors here? Really stretch this narrative to fit some sort of agenda? Maybe to avoid major existential questions created by our scaly trash goblin’s deep, dark secrets? Or to gloss over the glaring trust issues that plagued our dysfunctional family? Or the increasingly unlikely possibility of reaching Asphodel and rescuing Leandra? Ever?

I mean, seriously. We’d already encountered a regenerating, wailing death forest, shit flinging demon monkeys, and a second-place staring contest champion capable of enslaving an entire species without a second thought.

And to be clear, we were still in the Outer Reaches.

This was supposed to be the easy area. The tutorial basically.

Anyway, the answer is yes. Yes to all of it.

But PK and I were basically best friends already.

I mean, sure, technically we only met a few days or weeks or months ago – again, time was a fuzzy concept. But we’d already gone through extensive amounts of group therapy together. Err, or I mean, “travel games.” Monkey Massacre proved to be extremely popular, despite the fact that very few monkeys actually died.

Nope, we just threw those twitchy little rat-wannabes in the cage.

Although, we eventually ran into a new problem.

It was a logistics issue really.

You see, I’d built the Death Wagon to accommodate Fang’s souvenirs – all of his so-called “treasures.” I thought I’d left enough room. That was on me.

I’d badly underestimated his hoarding problem.

Anyway, the bamboo really started stacking up – literally. Also, my babies had to cram the monkeys into their cage now. There was barely any room. It was becoming a safety issue. I mean, what if one exploded and started a chain reaction? The resulting blast of flaming shit would have taken out the whole wagon!

So, we had to stop or risk getting entombed in demon monkey shit.

Yeah… I know. It’s a lot. A truly terrible mental image.

Don’t you like the road trip version better? Yeah, me too.

Which is why I couldn’t wait to see PK’s place! I bet it was—

The Death Wagon abruptly punched through the bamboo and launched out into open air, a few feet of clearance between the tracks and the surprisingly flat ground. Which was perfect. The elevation let me take in the majesty of PK’s home.

Although, it was really more like a sprawling ranch, the bamboo chopped down and cut up and pushed out to form a ring of writhing, ragged vegetation around the glade. Probably to improve his view of that resplendent green lake, glowing emerald mist wafting up into the air and pushing away the ever-present mist. And perched beside it was the most picturesque cave – just a yawning dark hole like the mouth of a feral monster.

Wow. I was impressed.

PK didn’t tell me about the lake front property! Maybe he was just feeling self-conscious or something. Or maybe he wanted it to be a surprise! That could explain why he was just sitting there, harness snapped, watching us fly past with those glowing green eyes – why he looked so anxious… almost nervous really.

“Poison lake! Lake, Nyx! Stop!” Lili screamed.

Ahh, shit. She was right. That momentum thing was going to be a problem. Like I said, we were carrying a hell of a lot of bamboo and demon monkeys.

Luckily, I had a system for this now. The tracks struck the ground with a grinding groan and I pulled the emergency brake. A piercing wail echoed through the clearing. This was actually our new hydraulic brake system. And… yes, in this case, the “brake fluid” is blood. The wagon gave a pulsing shudder from the right side as each of my precious babies leaped into the tracks. We soon swerved into a skid, one that kicked up a veritable wave of mud and dirt and bits of bamboo as we skid toward that bubbling, toxic lake…

And we nailed it again! We stopped just short of the bank. And the monkeys didn’t explode! They were all just squished up against one side of the cage. Plus, we only lost a few pallets of bamboo on the roof—

SNAP. CRUNCH. SPLASH.

Or… most of it. Whatever. There was always more.

More importantly, we were here! PK’s place looked awesome.

“You didn’t tell me you had your own toxic lake!” I shouted at him where he still sat near the edge of the clearing, pawing at his face like he was in pain. “And that cave? I bet that’s your home right? And the rock helps keep away the bamboo? Clever.”

He preened a little at that, looking away with two sets of eyes.

Ahh, he was embarrassed.

WAIL, SHRIEK, WAIL.

We both froze, turning and staring down the fresh patch of highway we’d carved out of the forest. I know what you’re probably thinking. That was the bamboo screaming, right? Maybe more monkeys? Some sort of monster that was following our trail?

Well, you’re not wrong – not exactly.

Mist billowed down the length of that tunnel, a rolling, dark stormfront. Shadows moved within its depths, causing the fog to twist and spin. Soulless monsters, their yellowed eyes glowing – their throats all uttering the same chilling words. A wailing chorus that rose above the forest, hitting a pitch impossible for the living – or, at least for the warm blooded.

“Slow… slow down… please… slow…”

An army of Fangs came stumbling through the mist, their scaly bodies streaked with moisture and loaded down with an impossible amount of bamboo and monkeys and the corpses of several other creatures I only vaguely recognized—

Oh yeah! I remember seeing them whizz past the wagon a couple miles back.

Ahh, what was that? How does this work? Don’t Fang’s clones only last 10 seconds?

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Ahh, well, you’re right again! Although, Fang had figured out a workaround there. As they began to break apart, the clones launched their “treasures” into the air… only for a fresh army of Fangs to catch them – mist exploding out in expanding rings. An endless, wailing juggling act performed by the world’s worst hoarder.

One who had to be running out of—

Ahh, yeah. That was the last of his nimbus.

Another wave of clones collapsed, hurling their ill-gotten loot toward the heavens and the wailing abruptly stopped. In that sudden silence, the lead Fang – the real one – simply collapsed to his knees, his chest heaving and his body dripping wet.

He looked up, his yellow snake eyes wide and wild.

He was staring at his “treasures.”

At his “precious loot” soaring through the sky.

His clones were gone now, leaving no one to catch it. A roiling stormfront of mist and bamboo and useless shit and a legion of twitching monkeys – their eyes wide and mouths screaming silently. It all hung there for a moment, the updraft of the clones’ final screams enough to hold it in place for a few precious seconds…

Until the inevitable force of gravity pulled it back down to earth.

I expected Fang to run. To flee. Or at least to dodge.

Instead, he just looked… resigned? He spread his wiry arms wide, turned his face up into that storm, and closed his eyes. He didn’t even seem to react as a monkey hit him square in the face. Or when a piece of jagged bamboo punctured his thigh. He just endured it all, swiftly buried under a veritable mountain of useless shit.

In his defense, it wouldn’t be a real road trip without at least one family member having a crippling mental breakdown that left them crying and screaming in the middle of the road for absolutely no reason. You know, the product of the typical stress and anxiety associated with extended travel through a wailing death forest full of monkey shit. I mean, sure, typically they were children, but aren’t we all children at heart?

Anyway, I ticked off another of the items on my road trip bucket list.

“Family member throws a tantrum.” Perfect.

Although, for some reason, I felt a little guilty.

Like Fang’s hoarding wasn’t new, but where did it come from?

Was it possibly a symptom of a larger problem? Maybe he was doing the same thing as me – trying to distract himself? Just instead of creating extended and highly-entertaining dissociative narratives, he used “things” to fill some sort of hole in his tiny, shriveled heart? One created by some inexplicable trauma that he refused to reveal no matter how many times I asked? One that I can only assume occurred somewhere north of our present location?

That maybe – just maybe – I had used his own coping mechanism against him in a desperate attempt to break him—

Err, or I mean, to encourage him to open up to me and create a healthy dialogue?

You know, for his own good? And the future of our relationship?

“I will… I will have my revenge, Nyx,” Fang roared into the sky, holding the ruined fragments of his “former treasures” in his claws.

Ahh, right… so that was looking like a maybe, right?

“Sure. Tell yourself that,” Lili muttered.

Thankfully, the revenge seemed a ways off. Fang couldn’t stand. You know, because of the bamboo in his thigh. Also, because he was partially buried under all of his useless crap. Plus, the mist was still super thick…

PK and I met each other’s eyes. We no longer needed words to communicate after days spent driving the wagon. We both knew exactly what the other was thinking. This was our chance to run away. We both started to turn—

“I see you two! I know you are there,” Fang called from the mist.

We both froze. Shit.

But could he actually do anything about it?

Only one way to check. I took another step. Hmm, nothing. No misty daggers flying at my face. No clone trying to stab me. Just this wailing sound—

“No, stop it! I will kill you if you take another step!”

PK and I looked at each other again – another moment of connection; of realization. Specifically, that Fang couldn’t do shit. We could just walk away.

So, we did.

“No… turn around… you’ll regret this!” Fang called out, starting to sound frantic. And when that didn’t work, “You would do this to me? Leave a dear friend injured and alone in the middle of the death forest?”

We both hesitated. Ahh, shit. He was right about that.

“Maribel?” I asked.

My precious babies reformed from the shadows and I threw my arms wide to accept their sweet embrace—only to be left hanging. They just stuck out their paws and glared at me. Hmm. Didn’t love that either. But I handed over their obligatory bribes.

“Do you babies mind watching your Trash Daddy for a few minutes—”

Ahh, and there were the paws again.

Hmm. Maybe… maybe this was my fault too?

“Yes! Of course, it is!” Lili muttered. “You keep having them kill themselves.”

She sounded pretty upset. Almost like she cared about them. That she even loved them and couldn’t bear watching their adorable faces reduced to a bloody pulp.

“That’s… that’s not it. It’s just that, well…”

Not like me. I fully and unconditionally accepted my murder babies – no matter what they looked like. Fully alive. Missing a few toes… or arms. Even partially decapitated, they would always be my babies. That’s what it meant to be a good parent.

“That doesn’t sound right at all,” Lili muttered.

Hmm, I see you all are glaring at me too.

Ahh, you know what? Maybe you all are onto something. Maybe I was looking at this wrong. Should I really be upset about my babies demanding treats? Or should I be proud of them? I mean, weren’t they blackmailing their [Battle Daddy]? And don’t I do that all the time? And imitation is the highest form of flattery, right?

Which could only mean one thing…

They might be teenagers now, but they still loved me.

Shit, I think I was about to cry.

“What are you doing? Are you bribing the babies? This is not fair,” Fang growled from the mist – wow, his voice was hoarse. Probably all the screaming.

“Please go easy on him. He’s injured,” I told the babies.

Huh. There were the paws again. See? Just like their Battle Daddy.

But I was also out of sliders and it would take a while to build a new kitchen.

“Sorry, there aren’t any more,” I said with a shrug.

Their saucer eyes went round and they let out this charming, angry murder chitter. They turned as they heard more of Fang’s complaining, stalking into the depths of the fog. To look after their Trash Daddy, of course. This is why people had kids, I suppose. To look after them when they became disabled… or buried themselves under a mountain of their own trauma and undiagnosed mental illness.

Then… well, then there was just more screaming. It was no big deal.

Besides, PK was about to give me the grand tour!

It. Was. Amazing. 100 acres of rolling, muddy, manicured marsh. PK was also apparently a fan of lawncare. He’d mulched the bamboo cuttings and left the rest to fertilize the lawn. Which was efficient. It took a lot longer for the little pieces to regrow.

He even had his own fruit trees! I mean, sure, the trunks were a solid black and appeared to have the same density as forged steel, the branches winding up into sharpened spears of darkness that stabbed at the sky. But the fruit was even more horrifying! Blood red and shaped like a heart. And I know what you’re probably thinking…

Not the cute, fun shape. Seriously, they looked real.

I actually had to bite one just to check—

What? Why are you looking at me like that?

It tasted way better than it looked. Sweet with a slight tang—

Oh, oh shit. I just had the best idea. What if I combined this with death shroom? Could I make barbeque sauce? I so badly wanted to build a kitchen now. See? My stomach was growling really loud—

Huh, or that could have been PK.

He was currently carrying the twitching, demon monkeys littering the ground around the wagon to the grove of fruit trees, pinning them down with a few well-placed spines in a rough circle around the trees.

Then he backed up, his spines stood on end quivering, and he fired. The monkeys exploded in sequence, showering the ground in a thick layer of expanding poo-crete, the flames sizzling and snapping at the air. However, PK let out another frustrated growl as the substance made an irregular shape, much of it running downhill before it could cure, and the trees’ roots absorbed the rest of the flaming sludge.

What was he doing? Why was he—

Oh, I think I got it! I hadn’t noticed it before, but there were a lot of monkey corpses around the base of those fruit trees – or, at least, their bones. And the twitching mass of monkeys crammed into their cage on the back of the Death Wagon were all staring at that grove with rapt fascination. Many appeared to be drooling.

I even tested it – waving the fruit in front of one of the creatures. It was creepy. Its eyes followed the fruit even though it was paralyzed.

And then there was PK’s lawn…

He was cutting it back, but it just kept regrowing and encroaching on his fruit trees.

The pieces were starting to click into place.

PK had been hunting the monkeys – that much was clear. The question was why.

I figured he planned to torture them… and maybe it was partly that. I mean, I’m pretty sure the monkeys had been stealing his fruit. And to protect it, he’d cut back the bamboo to give himself better visibility. You know, allow him to take out the monkeys while lounging by his poison lake. But that wasn’t a long-term solution since the bamboo grew rapidly, especially with all the fresh fertilizer.

Which is where the monkeys came in. PK must have planned to use the poo-crete to block the bamboo… except the blood trees absorbed it. Also, he didn’t have hands. You know, to build a form for the poo-crete and reinforce it with bamboo.

I looked at PK, admiring his shiny metal body covered in quivering metal death spikes, all six of his eyes glaring at those fruit trees. He was clearly very upset. I got it. There was nothing worse than people trespassing on your lawn and stealing your creepy fruit – much less these ugly, wannabe rat bastards.

He had a body built for brutal murder… but not for lawncare.

I patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, buddy. I see the problem and I think I can fix it for you.” My eyes skimmed the property, a smile on my face and the screams of my wailing co-parent echoing in the distance.

My eyes were locked on that poison lake, [Engineering] whispering sweet, sweet things into my ear. Like the fact that it didn’t look like a lake. The steam gave it away. Also, the bubbles. Nope. That right there was a poison spring.

Ahh, shit. I’d forgotten about PK’s paralytic…

My hand was already super numb from petting him. Which was fine. That would give me time to think through the design plans.

It was going to be amazing.

And totally not just another distraction…