by J C Walsh
I place my hand on her shoulder. “It’s over, honey.”
She turns on me and for a moment I thought she was going to hit me next. Instead, Laura embraces me. Her lips touch mine, and she’s kissing me furiously. The kiss sends chills throughout my entire body. More electrifying than the insane power I had wielded earlier.
She pulls away, tears falling from her eyes.
“I am so sorry, I. That wasn’t me.”
“I know,” I say to her. “I know.”
She hugs me tightly. I breathe in her scent. For the first time in a very long time, I feel complete.
Now, it’s time for us to find the Dead One and demand access to Death Highway.
Part Two
New Providence
11.
After the battle against Chris and the horde of otherworldly creatures, we jump into my car and take a ride through, hopefully, what could be the last wormhole. We need to grab the cars from the Autobody shop.
The looks on each face as they looked upon their vehicles was one that matched my own when I was reintroduced to Midnight Beauty. Once everyone was done reliving their lives, we began our plan of action. Since we have the statue now and will be able to challenge the Dead One to open Death Highway to us, we all decide to hit the very first Industrial Area, the one that began it all during the Dead One’s racing circuit.
Before getting into his car, Jack looks at the body shop one more time, a melancholy look on his face. I clap him on the back.
“It’ll be here when we get back,” I say, “It’ll be good as new, and so will everything else.”
He sighs, never taking his eyes off the shop. “I hope so.” He takes a few more minutes and then finally gets into his Dodge Challenger.
We start our engines; one by one, the beasts roar. Revving our engines all at once, we want the world of the Dead One and his followers to hear us coming, and our cars are baring teeth. We pull out of the lot, one by one, with me in the lead, followed by Laura, Jack, Alex, and then Will in the rear. I see them watching from their windows as we loudly drive by, defying the mundane and the law of this land.
It’s like this throughout most of the neighborhoods, and then we reach the highway. It’s an unsettling quiet, how deserted the highway has become. It’s never been this quiet; even at three in the morning, there’s usually a few cars, here or there, going for an early morning drive, or to jobs that require workers to come in much earlier than most of us. It was dead quiet, except for us; once again, we wanted to be heard as we roared collectively down the empty highway.
When we arrive at the old Providence Brewery Warehouse, that, too, we found was deserted.
This was where it had all started. The first Industrial area to hosts the races. This is where I had learned that the mythology of The Dead One maybe wasn’t a myth after all. The crowd would place bets on the racers and reap the rewards if the racer won. If the racer lost, well, it depended on how high the wager was. It may be days later, but something would happen to the racer, especially if they chose not to race anymore. Sometimes it would be a freak accident, and sometimes it was something as simple as losing control of their car and suffering a normal accident.
But the whispers about Death Highway, those were worth paying attention to. Even if I have never really believed in them, I couldn’t help but be curious. There were these two racers who had become worthy enough to enter Death Highway and race each other. One of them was badly riddled with cancer; he should’ve been on his death bed the way he looked, but here he was, racing. Well, he won and showed up just to be a spectator, cancer free and looking healthy as ever.
It was an endless cycle of winners getting whatever they wanted from this being, who was like a Jinn in so many ways. If they raced, placed their own wagers and fulfilled the others, they had a chance to have whatever they wanted.
What these lost souls didn’t realize was it was feeding the Red Plane, which feeds on the mundane. The people that won slowly withered away anyway and became part of the forsaken world. Some say, maybe those racers weren’t worthy in the first place. Some disagree.
I had performed in those races. My prize was always money, which went to the house and anything else Laura and I needed. I also went to these races because Chris had placed a price on my head, using me to get us out of a bad situation. After he had made a deal with the Dead One, a deal I was not involved with, the people who were after Chris ended up dead, or worse. The ones who had ended up dead were on the news. I had put two and two together.
I became Chris’s cash cow to eternal life, because he knew I could win every race. But I didn’t; I don’t even think I technically lost, either. I guess an accident during a race is disqualification, but I’m not sure. Never been sure of the rules of this world, which is a risk that I would have never taken if this had been my choice. But, then again, I did like the money. It had made our lives so much easier.
Cody McLaughlin had been one of my best friends. I had known him since high school, along with Alex and Will. Jack was in the same mechanics class as us, but I had known Jack since I was a kid, since my Grandpa and his father were the best of friends.
Cody was always jealous of my winnings. Right about the time I was supposed to quit racing for Laura, he had challenged me. One more. Of course, I couldn’t refuse, not because of my addiction to the need for speed, but, truth be told, you really weren’t allowed to refuse.
The place had been packed with spectators. Cody and I had pulled up to the starting line, which was right under an enclosed walkway that connected the two old warehouses together. Our engines revved, the crowd cheered, and The Dead One stood off the side, his large muscular arms over his chest, covered in tattoos. He had pulled out a large horn, one you normally see on a Viking. He blew into it, signaling the race had started.
Tires squealed and we were off. Cody and I were the best out of our crew, but I was better. We were neck and neck at the start; when we had to take hard turns sometimes that would warrant one of us taking the lead over the other. We raced along the nearly deserted streets of the industrial area, trying to top each other to see who could go the fastest before having to take another turn.
When we approached the finish line, it was a straight shot. I shifted gears quickly, taking my car past one hundred and twenty. His car shifted and he nearly caught up. This is when one of us would use the NOS to boost our speed. My finger hovered over the button. I heard his exhaust make the whoosh sound, he’d pressed his button. I had done the same. My car lurched forward, burying the needle; my body was compressed into my seat.
Then somehow, someway, for the first time ever in my racing life, I lost control of my car. I jackknifed to the right, into Cody’s path; we collided into each other and then my car was tumbling over and over, the sound of shrieking metal in my ears. I blacked out for a short period of time. When I came to, I was hanging upside down. I struggled as I got my pocket knife out of my jacket. I pulled it open and cut the seat belt. I crawled out of my car, through broken glass. Other than being upside and slightly totaled, my car was fine. No gas leak, no signs of any other danger.
Cody’s car was on fire.
I fought to get to my feet and hurried over to his blazing vehicle as fast as I could. My leg was all messed up from the accident, but I fought against it to save my friend’s life. All those stupid fights over nothing but money and fame, and there he was, in his car, which was on fire.
I tried to pull him out. The fire carried over from his screaming body to my right side. I was still pulling even though my arm was engulfed in flames and it was creeping up to the right side of my face. Then his car exploded, and I was sailing through the air.
You know the rest.
Those memories surge through me as we drove slowly by the old area.
“No one here,” Jack said over the radio.
But there was someone. In a very familiar black muscle car. It’s covered in flames, as it races through the deserted areas of the industrial
building. The fire shoots out from his car on all sides, consuming everything around him. I see his smiling face, the thing he has become since joining The Red Plane. The tires sound like the screeching of a thousand tortured souls. He doesn’t leave until the whole place burns down. There was no point to it really; he just wanted me to know he was there.
“Who the hell was that?” Alex asks over the radio.
I grab the microphone from the radio overhead. “That was Cody.”
12.
“We must go through the city; I’ll be everyone’s guide,’ The Scarred One says.
The Scarred One tells us what to expect when entering the city. It’s not the city we are used to; it’s constantly changing as The Dead Ones are rebuilding it to suit their world. The buildings are meant to serve as barriers, like a radio transmission, once turned on they can come and go as they please, between our world and theirs.
“There will be chaos because chaos serves them well.” The Scarred One says, “Then there’s the cult.”
“A cult?” Jack asks.
“Yes. They will stand in the middle of the street and allow other vehicles to run them down and kill them.”
“That’s messed up,” Laura says.
“They believe it serves their Gods,” The Scarred One continues, “Especially if the drivers are racing one of The Dead One’s circuits, and even more gloriously if it’s for Death Highway. They believe they’ll come back to a better life. If you don’t run them down, they become agitated very quickly and are known to attack in one collective mob.
“Lovely.” Alex throws his head onto his car, already feeling defeat. “Just lovely. And what do you suggest we do about that, oh great Scarred One?”
I can feel my right-side squirm offensively.
“Just drive toward them,” Scarred One says.
“Yo, that’s fucking suicide,” Will says.
“I wouldn’t mind going out in a blaze of glory.” Jack adds.
I smile at Jack.
“Seriously. I can help. Trust me.” The Scarred One says.
“Ok.” I say. “Let’s do it guys; I trust me, him, whatever.”
We get in our cars and slam the doors at the same time.
“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” Will says over the radio, “One last run with the best friends I could ask for.”
Alex sighs, “Same here.”
“Ditto,” Laura adds.
“Enough of this shit, let’s do this,” Jack says this time.
“See you guys on the other side,” I add.
I revved my engine. They all do the same. The collective sound of a pack of wolves, ready to run together, to hunt together, to end it all together.
“One last race, last one to the finish line faces an angry mob of suicidal cultists.” I say over the radio.
The radio is silent, the revving of the engines is the answer I need. Tires spin, the sound a thing of beauty. I purposely burn rubber a few more seconds, just to let it last for a moment. It’s not like my dreams, empty and hollow. The others are ahead by a few seconds. I’m off. I get some nice hang time with the front tires, the engine rips happily, ready to go to war. I look in the mirror, skid marks. I smile. If this world is still standing after our mission, I hope the monument is there forever, reminding whoever roams this forsaken place, you don’t fuck with Randy Jones and his crew.
Their cars are evenly spaced, not much of a gap separating them from each other. I cover the distance, roaring right by them. The Scarred One laughs like a child. I know my car has been worked on more than theirs and it’s because of Jack and his father that it’s faster than ever before, but I can’t help but be cocky. I have the same old competitive must always win attitude. My prize is bloodshed.
“Always got to be a show off,” Laura chimes over the radio.
“Fuck that,” Alex says, “We let him win, he was too busy dropping the soap in prison to be able to drive like he used to.”
Laughter barks over my head. I smile. The Scarred One smiles. We smile collectively.
“You should lead anyway,” the Scarred One says, “they are in for a hell of a ride, they’ll need you to be the beacon. It’s always been you.”
“We,” I say, “We should lead. Till the end.”
Till the end.
No action yet as we enter the city, the sign reads: Welcome to New Providence. We slow our vehicles down, driving the normal speed limit to survey the strange new place growing on our world like an expanding mold.
“New Providence,” Alex snickers, “The Dead One and his followers are colonists.”
More laughter from the others. It dies down quickly when we drive further into the city. I take a turn on a street that used to be familiar but curves madly, like it belongs deep in the woods instead of being one of the main roads of a normal city. The whole place is twisting and turning from the shimmer coating everything.
I don’t need to hear over the radio the collective sigh from all us. The sigh of the world. It’s a very long pause before she breathes again. Time is fading away; I’m waiting for the final moment. Will we become slaves of this place or will we wink out like the hands of space slap together, squashing us in between like the tiny fly that we are. A pest, a nuisance, our purpose to wallow in the trash of a world we don’t deserve. We will lay our larva, lay our disease; it will hatch, and we will multiply. Repeat the process. We will become a writhing mass of nothing.
“Randy.” Laura’s voice is small like a child. She pauses; I wonder if she sees what we all see, the figures moving up and down the buildings quickly, scurrying like ants. Each area of the building becomes something different, as if they are constructing it to a new look. The color is black, like the clouds, like the soot ones, the demons of this world. Slave ants. Pain level is eight; my skin is crawling.
“Let me fix that; you need to concentrate.”
Pain level is between a four and five; it’s teetering but tolerable.
“Thank you,” I say.
“It’s a necessary fix.” The Scarred One says, “When the time is right, the pain will kick in again. That’s when you channel it.”
“I don’t like this.” I take a turn to go deeper into the city. “How do we know we’ll find the Dead One’s new hideout, and the entrance to Death Highway?”
“When the time comes, we’ll know.”
“Dually noted.” I say.
What was once a flourishing area for people to catch concerts, Broadway shows, and a few loved pubs is gone now. What was once the center of Providence has morphed into the city of The Dead One. These areas are where the Red Plane and our world now coexist.
On this two-lane street, we had no choice but to drive in a single file. On both sides, sidewalks and most of the street, decimated cars that look like something large had stepped on them litter the streets. There’s only enough room for us to weave in and out. We coast our vehicles instead of blindly driving fast into unknown territory. Everything is so alien, constantly reshaping itself, shifting and contorting until the buildings are done, and the ant like creatures move on to the next objective.
Something bumps off my windshield, startling me. It falls from my view before I can see what it is, but it left a splatter of red on the passenger side of the windshield. The blood drips down in rivulets.
“What the hell?”
Another thump; this one bounces off the hood of my car. Then another. I see the severed stump, the mess of hair, rolled up eyes and tongue sticking out of the upturned mouth. Heads. It’s raining heads.
“The residence of this section are throwing them at you.” The Scarred One says.
“Randy!” Jack calls over the radio, “Are you seeing this shit?”
“Yes.”
“Hey, Jack!” Alex speaks, “Thanks for the heads up!”
“There’s something wrong with him.”
“You’re telling me.” I look around; the residents that The Scarred One’s talking about are ape like, with bald heads, and lo
ng arms that reach the floor. Their jaws hang low, the length of their chest, and they have a mouth full of endless teeth.
They don’t stop. The heads rain down like hail.
“Don’t they ever run out of ammo!” Will’s voice yells over the radio.
“Cut to the right, we are in the slums of their world.” The Scarred One says, “We’ll encounter more, but, hopefully, we can get a little more speed instead of being slow moving targets.”
I did as the Scarred One suggested; I cut to the left onto the next street. The buildings look the same as the others, run down, windowless and heavily charred, not the hint of black onyx like the taller buildings. I am starting to think this world was a place for the rich and the poor, as well. A viscous cycle throughout all the universes.
More of the ape like creatures appear in their windows, using their long arms to throw more decapitated heads. I can speed up to evade most attacks, a head here or their thumps against my passenger door. That’s going to leave a mark, bastards.
One of them, much taller than the ones throwing heads, comes out from the gaping doorway of one of the buildings to my left, charging towards my car, using his arms to thrust him forward faster than a normal ape would in our world. I brace for impact.
The hear the sound of a shotgun; the spray takes off half its face stopping it dead in its tracks. Others follow what their fellow ape creature tried to do. They are charging in groups now. My window is down, left hand out, firing the snub nose. I take down four with head shots, one with two to the chest. Behind me, the others have opened fire as well, leaving a litter of bodies in their wake. They keep coming; the numbers grow as everyone is reloading.
The Scarred One waves my right hand in a motion like throwing a frisbee at the large group charging us. Their heads twist around, necks snap instantly, and the bodies drop dead. Others retreat into the shadows once they watched the others die from an invisible force. I cut hard to the right. The buildings are changing from slums to newer areas, a combination of our old Providence and the New Providence.
