by Travis Borne
“We’ll never have to do any of that again,” Jerry said, a bit late. His eyes had gone yellow and festered with rage as he stared outward. “We’ll never have to watch them laugh as we chew on it, suck it, eat it, or take it up the ass.” He turned to Jake. “Don’t forget what you told me, how you imagined you were a superhero while you annihilated the officers.” He spoke up, “Everyone, remember the training, use your imagination and don’t let anything, not the heat, not the memories, nothing—use superhero imagery like Jake here—but do not let them get to you. Just like our drills, deeply instill your faith. You will become as powerful as you believe you can!”
Jerry unlocked the twenty-foot-wide gate. “As for me—” His flesh sizzled, releasing steam. He’d tightly gripped the hot metal rail with his right hand. “—I now welcome the pain, and I am going to use it.” He slung the heavy gate open with his left; as if it had been made with balsa wood it shot like a bullet. CLANG!
Jake’s eyes opened with a jolt; Jerry’s right hand caught fire!
Jerry released his grip and turned around to face his crew. His raised his flaming hand then made a fist with it; the fire put itself out. Clenching his teeth while making a face that could intimidate Satan himself, he pronounced, “Now, let’s do this.” He held out his hand to show Jake. “Understand, Jake?” The hand was as red as a spanked ass but unscathed. Then Jerry stomped out and Andy followed, along with the rest of the mob. Stoned with astonishment, Jake held fast.
“Too much to take in at once,” the barbaric woman said, passing him by. “Wish I could forget my first day.”
“You’ll get used to it,” said the next man, holding a club the size of a branch that could sustain a 300-pound lardass riding a tire swing. “Like he said, Jake my man, just give it a few. You’re one of us now.”
Made out of overly stained stone, as if it had been shit on for a million years, yet another archway the width of ten city buses stood in line with the platform’s resting spot, marking the end of the field. What seemed miles beyond it was the burning town. In loyal company, Jerry passed under it then took a left, heading to a road that sidled the field.
“Undertown, straight ahead,” the last man said, stepping off.
“Come on, Jake,” Andy yelled, walking backward alongside Jerry at the front. Jake was now alone on the platform, trance-like, stagnant, still panting too. He snapped out of it and ran ahead, catching up quickly.
“What is this—aahk, huaack—it’s, aahk, burning my—lungs. Aahk!” Jake coughed, blood came out and he fell over. “Damn—huaack!” He stopped to vomit. Boogers of mucus-diluted blood spewed from his bald maw, and his bald eyebrows wobbled up and down as much as his yellowing eyes were spinning round. The crew respectfully waited for him and attempted to render assistance.
“You can’t run, big man,” Andy said, “until you get used to it.” Jake looked up at him deliriously, as if he was about to pass out, or just fucking die; he shook it off the best he could and like a pouting child, sucked up the hanging gobs of mucus and spit, then darted ahead by himself, leaving Jerry and the others behind—only speed walking though. Jerry and Andy grinned, then hastily continued onward as well.
“He’s got heart,” Jerry said, “I give him that.” And Jerry engaged his long legs. The crew easily caught up to the truck of a black man who, unfortunately, had short legs.
“You’ll be okay, should have seen us on our first day down here.” Andy said. He patted the truck on his back and quickly the staccato of diminishing hacks faded; Jake maintained his childish look of forced determination. “These are the fields, Jake. We end our week here. The competitions vary but we always have to cross it. They drive us across for their demented betting games, but everything starts up there, straight ahead. Undertown.” Jerry didn’t speak, just strode forward with conviction, his face getting redder by the minute.
“Quite a long walk,” Jake said, having had recovered from his episode like a child recovers from a spanking. “And when you got there you’d begin, the work week? What happens?”
“Well, normally they’d be waiting for us back there, to fall you know. Once we hit—and we almost always end up dying from the fall, if we weren’t dead already—they’d shovel us into the regenerator you saw, the big incongruent-looking thing to the left of the platform. Then we exit as good as new and they prod us to town using this very road. If they were in a good mood we could walk, you know, to acclimatize, but many times they force us to run—it’s as if someone lost a bet. Then, Monday begins. We’re shuffled into the auditorium, at least it’s cooler in there, and the betting starts. Teams are made up, then—”
“That’s enough, Andy,” Jerry said. “We don’t need to go through every detail. Jake, just imagine hell, and sick fucks driving you through it with their dick up your ass. Some of the weird ones don’t have dicks, but they make sure to shove something into it. That should do, right? Use your imagination, just let that idea seethe a little, let it burn you up—and soon you’ll get a chance at revenge.”
“That’s horrendous,” Jake said.
“That Jake, is history. Today it’s our turn to place the bets and my bet is on us.” Jerry turned to face the group, walking backward doggedly, eyes raging, face now as red as a hot pepper, and, he looked larger.
Jake soon fell behind, his short tree-stump legs had trouble keeping up. The barbaric-looking woman kept him company at the rear. She properly introduced herself as Ruth while they walked along the road behind the grandstands. “What is all of this?” Jake asked her while gawking at the building-sized bleachers, pedal cranks, chains, and contraptions.
“These are spun by goblin-like weirdos. All smaller, hence less-fortunate monsters. They have to pedal those things. See that chain? It gets that large metal cylinder spinning. As long as it’s spinning, the conductor—see that chair high up on the end—he can engage the clutch and it allows the bleachers to travel on those tracks. The system allows the gamblers to stay perpendicular to their current row of racers, prospected winners, losers, us.” Like train tracks but wider and taller, the network edged the field from end to end. “There’s many other fields behind the plateau ahead too, some more ghastly but this is the largest, Friday’s game-day field.”
He recalled seeing them from above, yet now possessed a terrible etymology to go along with the appalling sights. Like islands, plateaus of varying heights mottled a sea of lava. Much was made apparent during the descent but knowing more had Jake shaking his head in dismay. He tried to discipline what he’d been told, tried to imagine himself as Blaze once again, his favorite red and yellow superhero. But for some reason it wasn’t working as well.
63. Undertown
Resolutely, they trudged along: the fields, tracks, and bleachers on their right, a hundred-meter-tall cliffside on the left, and the blazing city as seen from high altitude, straight ahead, growing ever larger as they neared.
“See that one?” Ruth said.
“A volcano?” Jake replied, following her pointing finger to their left. The cliffside had sloped to meet the road, revealing a grand and distant view.
“It’s their home.”
“The beasts?” Jake answered. Ruth just nodded.
As if approaching a graveyard, an ironwork arch with open gates marked the town’s boundary; it was impaled with numerous human and nonhuman skulls. Beyond was the dusty zigzag leading up and toward the city. Following it, then over a bridge that crossed a polluted, muddy creek, they made their way up the hill.
Jake shook his head, for the seventh time. And seventy-seven souls had arrived: the last place anyone wanted to be. Mounting the plateau made apparent the smoldering bonfire and the flaming central fountain with its grand Minotaur statue. Proudly it distributed fear. But the decaying town appeared lifeless. Like the Old West, Jake felt like he’d entered some old mining town in Colorado. There were saloons, a twisted metal playground beside a crooked schoolhouse, and storefronts garnished with decaying false fronts. The town seeme
d devoid of life and was quiet save for the crackling of fifty-gallon-drum-housed fires and the occasional pop from the smoldering hill of burnt bodies.
Jerry strode forward, walking straight into it. Andy and every other followed without hesitation.
Jake’s short legs made him a straggler, but it looked like the destination was finally within sight. The main street went deeper, making a direct line for the distant volcano. And Jake found himself between a speed walk and a jog, following the others into it. His feet felt like electric irons that had been short circuited by a lightning strike, molten, glowing, disconnecting themselves from his ankles, and he thought of the gum painkiller—wishing he could win a slice, screw the taste.
A single street, about a quarter mile, and just like the Wild West, save the red glow making it look like time had sped up and the sun was currently a red giant. Lining the road on both sides were the pillories and metal railings used for Wednesday’s rape sessions. No one said anything, but Jake knew from the stories he’d heard in Midtown. Adding to the eeriness, a hot gust made a dust devil; it sauntered across their path like the ghost of a black cat. And collaterally damaging air went through hair like a metal comb that had been left on a stove, except for Jake’s, for he had none. Jake’s face was on fire, his lungs felt like he was breathing boiling water, and he decided to jog because it was easier than continuing to speed walk. A puddle ahead. Jake veered left to kick some water onto his boots. It was blood, and his boots received a hot coating of wax.
Some of the buildings, like old businesses, had shelves and broken glass windows, even decaying merchandise; there was an old cash register. Others had been repurposed such as booths at the county fair—during a nightmare; they contained torture devices, chains and whips, and restraints. Jake thought of the makeshift exercise equipment in Jewel City. They continued on.
“End of the line,” Andy said.
They arrived at the old courthouse. Upon seeing the massive bull, it was apparent. Hard gulps went round, slowly shaking heads, possibly even flash-dried tears. It still haunted them, all except for Jake. He asked curiously, “What is it?”
Faces turned to him briefly, but no answers came. Jerry instructed, “Split up but stay in groups. Do a quick search then meet back here.”
Jake walked up to the statue, inspecting it, then around. It didn’t take long for him to realize and he almost tossed his breakfast right there. Chunks of flesh, thick like decades of brown paint, lined the walls inside the bull. So thick in the belly as to create a massive cow patty of a floor. Putrid, nostril-stinging leather.
“This—was just the beginning,” someone uttered, passing by, seeing Jake pulsate as if trying to give birth from his mouth.
He received just another glimpse of what the humans had to endure. The contrast to his life in Jewel City, managing the gym, a comfy seat on the town panel, black and white, sure, but a billion, trillion times better—it made him red no longer; he felt green, cold, ill. But the air still burned his lungs. They’d been in the underworld for at least an hour and it still hurt—as if he’d been embalmed with acetylene! Even his eyes, the glaze on his eyeballs felt like glass being blown, and he knew the whites of his eyes had gone yellow like all the others.
“Now, do you understand, Jake?” Jerry said, slowly approaching him. “This is just one of countless reasons why we had to return. Not to stop the noise coming from the well. That noise is constant, has always been—it fluctuates, perhaps more when the beasts are up there—” Jerry pointed to the distant volcano behind the courthouse. “—pleasuring themselves. They’re sick, Jake.” Jerry turned to face the truck who was obviously having trouble dealing with the heat. Jake’s skin was beading up and the beads were popping, evaporating fast enough to make him a steam sparkler. “Jake, you have brought with you a power. It reminds me of someone I used to love, someone very special.” Jerry felt it in his bones; he could feel—as crazy as the thought was—her essence. “Whatever it is, it’s very strong with you, and now it is part of me. We all received it. And we are here to redeem ourselves, to end this race of pure evil by using this gifted power. They do know we are here, Jake, they always know.”
“How, Jerry? I—I cannot… How did you go on? How can anyone survive—”
Jerry ambled around the bull, then stood beside Jake, looking at it. He really was bigger, and redder, like a demon. “They cram thirteen into this particular one, men, women—” Jerry slapped the bull. It resounded like a hollow bell. Surrounding the courthouse were myriad similar animals. The largest was a longhorn, standing tall on its hind legs in the center of an area which looked as if it had once supported a thriving human community. There was an elephant, a monstrous lion, and around the edges surrounding the old capital building, dozens more. Some appeared more chimerical, some natural like animals from Earth. All were made of metal, all hollow with the same opening, and beneath were fire pits, most still smoldering. “Get inside, Jake.”
“No way, man.”
“They squeeze us in. The door is closed. Then they place their fucking bets. After waiting for about an hour—sometimes two, three, maybe even all day, to build up the tension, you know—they light the fires. The last statue to stop screaming wins.”
Jake really felt sick to his stomach now. His healthy night-black color became dull and gray; Jerry was beginning to scare him.
Jerry held back his rage like a homemade nuclear bomb, one sure to pop—it was only a question of when.
“The statues, Jake, they roar—” Jerry let out a loud growl, trying to mimic the haunting sound. Jake took a step back. “—and, oh yeah, it’s music to their ears. Those who don’t get to participate in round one wait their turns and watch, from over there. This, Jake, this is our Monday. Monday is the only day that has never changed, we experience this every other week—unless they punish us, keeping us down here. For hundreds of years, Mr. Toll—and we remember each and every time, and each and every minute detail. They punished us, Jake. They broke us, over and over, and over again. Myself, along with Andy, Patrick, and…and…Carmen—because they know how much they mean to me—the four of us have been burnt alive inside these statues more than any of the—”
“Jerry,” Andy said, “you—”
“What!” Jerry erupted, remembering it all in new and more capable ways. Both took a step back. Jerry was, somehow, at least a foot taller now. He exploded with rage, “The pain never became easier to bear! They always made sure of that. The system, it’s why we must get out! Something in the programming, like an evil fucking god, it purposefully gives us the fucking good days, just enough up there in Midtown then the process fucking repeats over and over and over for what feels like—no, it is—eternal damnation, Jake! You can’t have the bad without the good, and that’s why—”
“That’s why…why some of you said it would be better just to stay below.”
“Yes, Jake,” Jerry replied.
“But you were burned, killed, worse, how do you come back from something like that?”
Jerry replied by pointing. Far right behind the last of the old town stores, next to a grand auditorium, was another archway, a medieval carwash. This one was a sealed unit that had been made into a tunnel, encased in what looked to be aluminum, or platinum, and unlike the other that had become energized when the elevator platform touched bottom; it was turned off and possessed a similar conveyor belt, track, and dump shoot which appeared could take a dump-truck’s load of—
“All they need is a pile of mush, even ashes will do, even just one ash. It goes in, those doors open, and out we come, good as new and ready to receive more pain. Everyone dies on Monday, likewise Tuesday, and the weekly games begin. Jake, before you came we’d mostly just accepted this life, that we existed in Hell. Now we know better and hope has returned with a vengeance—today we fight back.”
“Jerry,” Andy interrupted again. “There’s no sign of them.”
“Oh, they’ll be here,” Jerry said. He knelt down, putting a hand
on the cement curb.
“What is it?” Andy asked.
“They’re on the way.” Jake and Andy mimicked, others too. Then they saw it, far in the distance, coming down through a dark burgundy crevasse on the volcano miles behind the courthouse. Like a herd of bison, the horde created a black dust plume which was not incongruent. The beasts—were on the way.
64. Rabid Growth
The roar grew louder, destabilizing the ground, and the herd thundered its way into town. Beasts encircled the old courthouse. There were hundreds, thousands! No two were alike. Some had one large horn, others three, some five or twenty. Bodies were animalistic, most from the torso down, a few from the torso up, and only a minority resembled humankind. There were small goblins saddled between spikes on backs, snakes with ungainly legs, some with humanoid bodies and long snaking heads, and hairy creatures and blobs that possessed not a face. Twisted limbs writhed like Medusa’s hair gone haywire, and hooves hit the street like shovels weighing tons. But plentiful enough were capable, large monsters with bulk; sinewy pistons bulging under stretched, sangria skin. Overbearing, swarming, and in what seemed mere seconds the humans were surrounded. And as if Satan himself had performed a belly flop, the dust was a torrent. Winds carried it away, pale brown dust under a red lens, mixing with the black, seemingly alive swirls lurking higher above; the beasts turned Undertown from quiet, ominous, and scary, to clamorous, petrifying, a bustling mercado-after-church.
The big red one stepped forward, standing out because he was the grandest, with the smoothest, tightest, cherry-red skin. His hooves punched the dirt like meteors. The humans were outnumbered. They’d been corralled into one small, seemingly insignificant cluster of meat, pressed together by the colossal bullies.
“We’ve been waiting for you—Jerry,” Carne said slowly in his deep muahahaha voice. He overshadowed the big man, making him look like a redneck toy soldier. Carne’s hooves were as large as Jerry’s waist was round, and he stepped to within an inch. Jerry looked up with conviction, undaunted. Carne was one of the few that had a human-like head, touting at least 10% horse. His nostrils flared sending the atmosphere of Venus. Jerry’s curly hair went straight, and like a blow dryer having done its job, his curls did not come back. But Jerry still didn’t budge.
