The Kill Society

by Richard Kadrey

  “You can’t be serious,” Frederickson says.

  “Do I sound like I’m kidding? Get off your ass and bring him to me.”

  He goes to get his bike, a Hellion-style BMW cruiser. The tank wraps over his knees like the flared head of a cobra. Instead of chrome pipes and forks, they’re made of some kind of thick bone. The pipes glow green when he hits the throttle.

  “Assuming that the padre works out, that leaves four for the road. Volunteers?”

  Doris says, “I’ll go.”

  Gisco raises his hand.

  “How about you, Wanuri?” Daja says.

  “I’d rather stay and keep an eye on the Magistrate.”

  “I’d rather have you on the road.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause he’s the fourth.”

  Everyone looks at me.

  “Oh, goody.”

  Daja says, “Wanuri, you ride point with the map. Everybody else takes orders from you.”

  She looks at me.

  “Everybody.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  “You know no one here thinks you’re nothing, right, Doris?” says Barbora.

  “I know, but it’s still nice to hear,” Doris says. “And I know they know back home. By now, the house will have been sold and the new owners will have dug up the garden. Oh, the things they’ll find down there.”

  We smile along with her and pat her on the back because sometimes a little revenge is all you can squeeze out of one lifetime. And besides, it’s Doris. Her family. A nasty neighbor or two. The guy at the local market who parked his sports car across two spaces. Local dog owners who were mean to her cat. Anyone she planted in that garden, you just know they had it coming.

  Wanuri follows the map and we follow Wanuri. Four people. Four bikes. The usual flat road and hills. We ride an hour from camp before Wanuri signals to slow. We turn off the ley line we’ve been following for days and head a short way into some low, stony hills. From there, Wanuri uses the Magistrate’s spyglass to check out a small town a quarter of a mile away. She doesn’t seem interested in giving anyone else a peek, so I light a Malediction and hold out the pack to Doris. She shakes her head. Gisco takes one and I light it.

  “Getting comfortable, are we?” says Wanuri.

  “Having a cigarette picnic. Want one?”

  “No and neither do you. Mount up. We’re moving on.”

  I finish as much of the Malediction as I can and we head back to the map route.

  It’s the same routine at the next two towns we come to. Up a hill. Crouch in the rocks like bashful lizards. Then back to blow down the Magistrate’s Yellow Brick Road.

  At the second town, Doris gets on her bike but doesn’t start it.

  “What’s wrong?” says Wanuri.

  “I have a confession to make. I’m not exactly sure what an obelisk is.”

  “Then why did you want to come on the run?”

  “Camp is so depressing right now. I thought I could be more helpful out here.”

  “Looking for something you don’t know what it is?”

  Doris gives Wanuri as fierce a look as I’ve ever seen.

  “In case there’s trouble.”

  Wanuri leans on her bike. Before she can say anything, Gisco gestures, holding his arms a length apart like he’s measuring something from the ground.

  Wanuri frowns.

  “Now, what the hell are you saying?”

  I say, “He’s saying an obelisk is a pillar.”

  Gisco nods. I look at Doris.

  “It’s a kind of pillar with a little pyramid on top.”

  “Thank you both,” she says.

  Wanuri looks us over.

  “Are you done? Can we just do our job?”

  “Back off,” I say. “Doris asked a legit question.”

  “If I don’t back off are you going to shoot us up like the Magistrate’s trailer?”

  I get off the bike and go to her.

  “Is that going to be your excuse?”

  Doris looks from Wanuri to me.

  “What do you mean?” she says.

  “For when she shoots me in the back. Tell me. Is this your idea or did Daja put you up to it?”

  “What?” Doris says. “He’s wrong. Tell him he’s wrong, Wanuri.”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  Gisco gestures violently.

  I say, “If you think I’m going down easy . . .”

  “Hush!” says Doris. “Both of you.”

  She yanks the panabas off her belt and gets between Wanuri and me.

  “We don’t do that kind of thing to each other,” she says. “Whatever personal problems you have with Pitts, you need to deal with some other time because if something happens to him out here I will be very cross.”

  Gisco goes to stand with her.

  Wanuri looks over our tawdry little mutiny and gets on her bike.

  “Let’s move out,” she says, and points to a nearby peak. “We’re heading there. The map says we might be able to see the obelisk from the top.”

  No one says another word as we get on our bikes and head out.

  It’s a half hour’s ride down to the base of the peak. There’s no road or even a path. The rocks are too loose and it’s too steep to consider taking the bikes, so we leave them behind a couple of large boulders and start up on foot. My side hurts from the long ride, but I don’t let on. I’d like another taste of laudanum or at least a shot of Aqua Regia. Instead, I have to suffer with water and a couple of aspirin Cherry gave me.

  We trudge up the goddamn hill. Slipping and sliding the whole way. The hill isn’t that high, but the loose rocks we found at the base get looser and bigger the higher we climb. We practically have to crawl up the last few steep yards to keep from sliding all the way back to the bottom.

  The Tenebrae sky is dim and the shadows are long, but the Magistrate was right. From here we can see for miles. Too bad there’s nothing to see. No one says anything, but you can feel it hit like a punch to the gut. We’ve come miles and climbed up the highest peak in the area for a crystal-clear view of the same shit wasteland we’ve been traveling through for how long? I don’t know anymore.

  “Come on,” says Wanuri. “Let’s look at the other side. Watch your step.”

  The way the rocks shift and slide, it’s like roller-skating on marbles up here. Halfway around, I slip and Gisco helps me up. Then it’s Doris’s turn. There are a few dry trees up here and she grabs one, but can’t get her footing. I help her up.

  After I get her on her feet, she grabs me.

  “A pillar?” she says. “With a pyramid on top?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like that?”

  She points into the distance.

  I squint.

  “Well, goddamn.”

  I yell to the others, “Doris just got employee of the month.”

  They look to where we’re pointing.

  It stands there in murky half-light, straight, white like marble, and at least fifty feet tall. And it’s behind us. We probably passed it fucking hours ago. Our tire tracks run right alongside it, but the obelisk itself is in a divot at the bottom of one of the anonymous hills, surrounded by high rocks that block it from ground-level view.

  Wanuri gets out the spyglass.

  “Fuck, Doris. Fuck.”

  She slip-slides over to us and gives Doris a big hug.

  Gisco makes a sound and shakes his hands at the spyglass.

  Wanuri says, “Sure. Take a look, kid.”

  She tosses him the telescope, but it goes a little wide. Gisco jumps to catch it, and promptly disappears over the far side of the peak. All we hear is the sound of falling rocks.

  We scramble over the treacherous footing as fast as we can. Near the top of the peak, we start shouting.

  “Gisco!”

  It’s a couple of minutes before we hear anything.

  “Down here,” shouts Wanuri.

  The three of us slowly make our way down
the steep hill, sharp rocks streaming around us like a river of razors.

  Gisco is only half conscious when he get to him. Me and Wanuri grab his arms while Doris grabs him around the waist. He doesn’t budge.

  “It’s his leg,” Doris says. “It’s wedged under a boulder.”

  The three of us get around it and push. On another day, in another place, I’m sure I could move the goddamn rock myself, but I’m only on one cylinder. Between the three of us, we manage to rock the boulder up a few inches, but not enough to move it off Gisco.

  I say, “Doris, Wanuri and I will push the rock. You try to pull him out.”

  She nods and grabs his arms.

  Wanuri and I push. The rock shifts.

  “It’s not enough,” says Doris. “A few more inches.”

  We let the rock down carefully.

  “Shit,” says Wanuri.

  I kneel and slap Gisco a couple of times. He moans.

  “Don’t fade out, kid.”

  I look where the rock has crushed his leg.

  “We need a car jack.”

  “We need a lever,” Doris says.

  “Either one of you have one? ’Cause I’m fresh out,” says Wanuri.

  Doris points up the hill to where a couple of the gnarled trees stand.

  “What about those? Maybe we can make one.”

  “Got your panabas?” Wanuri says.

  Doris says, “Always.”

  Wanuri turns to me.

  “Stay here with him. We’re going up.”

  I get up.

  “I should go.”

  “Why?”

  “One of us should talk to Gisco and he barely knows me. He’ll know your voice.”

  Doris unhooks her ax.

  “He has a point.”

  “All right,” Wanuri says. “Make it fast.”

  We half run, half crawl up the hill. When we reach the tree, I get on the low side and put all my weight on it. Doris gets on the other side and hacks at the roots with her panabas. Each blow vibrates through my whole body. But the wood is hard and Doris has to hack a lot longer than either of us wants. I move farther up the trunk and lift my feet off the ground, hoping the extra weight will help. Hanging there as useless as a shriveled peach. I have a clear view of the Tenebrae on the far side of the mountain. In one second, I’m excited. In the next, I’m queasy with tension.

  Everywhere mortals exist in the world has an echo in the Tenebrae. A fragile phantom version of the real thing. Squatting ugly, dark and filthy, barely a shadow of the real thing, is the Tenebrae ghost of L.A. And it’s only a few miles away. From there, I know how to get into Hell. It ain’t salvation, but it’s where Traven and I can disappear and never think about this traveling carny show ever again.

  Wood splinters. A shudder runs through my body as the tree trunk splits from the roots. I drop a couple of feet, taking the weight on my shoulder. Doris grabs the other end of the tree and we haul it down the hill as fast as we can.

  Wanuri is still with Gisco. He’s awake and she’s giving him sips of water. While Doris pushes a smaller rock underneath so we can balance the trunk, Wanuri and I get the end of the tree under the rock.

  “Get ready,” Wanuri says. “Haul him out the moment he’s clear. This shitty wood might not hold long.”

  Doris says, “I can do it.”

  Wanuri and I lay our weight on the tree trunk. The boulder moves. Gisco screams.

  “Just a little more,” says Doris.

  We push harder. Gisco screams. The tree cracks.

  “Got him!” Doris yells.

  The trunk snaps in half and the boulder thuds back into place. But Doris has Gisco out and propped against a pile of rocks nearby.

  That’s the good news.

  The bad news is his right leg. The lower part is bent at almost a ninety-degree angle. There’s no bone sticking out, though.

  That’s the other good news.

  The bad news, though, is that it means whatever bone is left is probably pulverized.

  “Should we straighten it?” says Wanuri.

  “No. We splint it like that,” I say. “Get him back to camp before we start fucking with it.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’ve dealt with a lot of these injuries over the years.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “Look at my face. I didn’t get these scars in pillow fights.”

  That seems to convince her. Never doubt the power of ugly.

  “Okay,” she says. “We can chop up the tree. How do we secure him to it?”

  I shove the na’at into my boot and take off my coat. Hand it to Doris.

  “You’ve got the knives, cut this up into strips.”

  She unhooks one of her butcher knives and starts slicing.

  “Wait,” I say, and take a flask from an inside pocket.

  “Where did you get that?” says Wanuri.

  “It was in a pile of dead Hellion junk.”

  I unscrew the top.

  “What is it?”

  “Aqua Regia.”

  “You’re going to drink now?”

  “No. Gisco is. Everything from here to camp is going to hurt like a motherfucker.”

  She looks at him.

  “What do you say? You want to drink his poison?”

  I hold the flask out to him.

  “It tastes like dragon piss, but it’s about two hundred proof. It will help with the pain.”

  Gisco takes the flask and tries a taste. Then coughs and spits a fair amount of it on his shirt. I hold him upright while he sputters.

  “This isn’t sipping whiskey. Just hold your breath and swallow as much as you can.”

  He makes a face, but doesn’t hesitate as he upends the Aqua Regia, taking three long pulls. Coughing and gagging, he shoves the flask back at me.

  “Feeling any better?”

  He breathes in. Lets his head fall back. He gives a thumbs-up. I push the flask back into his hand.

  “You hold on to this. You might need more in a minute.”

  Doris has my coat shredded in no time. Wanuri uses the panabas to cut the tree trunk into smaller segments. When they’re done, I grab Gisco by the shoulders and he grabs on to my arms. Wanuri and Doris splint his leg as fast as they can, but the next few minutes are all screams and a lot of fumbling, punctuated by curses and more screaming. Gisco isn’t a big guy, but it’s all I can do to hold him.

  Finally, it’s done. Gisco isn’t moving.

  “Is he all right?” says Doris.

  I lay him down flat on the hillside.

  “He’s fine. He just fainted.”

  We use the rest of my shredded coat as a rope to lower him down the hill. When we reach level ground, I offer to ride with Gisco back to camp.

  “No,” Wanuri says. “He’s my responsibility.”

  We maneuver him onto the back of her bike, and me and Doris use the rope to secure him against her back.

  I say, “You got your balance with him on there?”

  “I’m fine,” she says, but I can tell she’s struggling. Still, Gisco is as safe with her as he’d be with any of us. And I know Wanuri would rather die than let anything else happen to the kid.

  We abandon Gisco’s bike and ride back to camp flat out the whole way.

  They must have heard us coming for miles, because there’s a whole reception committee when we reach the havoc. The Magistrate takes one look at Gisco and he and Johnny cut him free of Wanuri’s back. They use the drop door from a pickup truck as a stretcher to carry him wherever the messiah will lay hands on him.

  Me and Doris get off our bikes, but Wanuri sits unmoving on hers.

  Doris pats her back.

  “Are you all right, dear? You did all you could,” she says.

  Wanuri shakes her head and watches them carry Gisco away.

  She says, “On top of everything else, I lost the Magistrate’s telescope.”

  I hand it to her. She turns the telescope over on her hands. Looks
at me.

  I say, “I saw it before we started down, so I shoved it in my back pocket.”

  “Is that dried blood all over your shirt?”

  I look down at myself.

  “Mine and some Hellion. I’m hard on clothes.”

  “You’re disgusting. Go get something from the ice cream truck over there.”

  She points into the distance.

  “Thanks.”

  She holds up the spyglass.

  “Thank you,” she says again.

  I head for the ice cream truck, stopping to throw my shirt into the bonfire. It breaks my heart a little. If we were in Pandemonium, I could wash the blood out of the thing. But it doesn’t work that way traveling in the desert. I watch the last Max Overdrive T-shirt I’ll ever see shrivel up and turn to ash. And my coat is gone, too. Two more connections to the world gone forever.

  These days, when I think of Candy, she’s at the end of a tunnel a million miles long, and it gets longer every day. I can barely make out her face. Sometimes she waves. Mostly, though, we just look at each other until one of us looks away. This time it’s my turn, not because seeing her is like dying all over again but because I saw a way out of here. All I have to do is get Traven and make it through the L.A. ruins. From there I can find a way home. I know it.

  Now I know things are starting to go my way when I get to the ice cream truck. Sure, the shirt is bile green, the lettering on the front is in Hellion, and it’s two sizes too big, but I grab it anyway. There can’t be that many Skull Valley Sheep Kill T-shirts in Hell.

  With a little more searching, I find a frock coat made of basilisk leather. My bike pants are a little stiff with blood, too, but there’s no way I’m giving up those or my boots. Nothing else that reminds me of home gets away, no matter how fucked up.

  I lost my flask back on the peak, so I track down the Aqua Regia crate and help myself to a bottle. Cherry totters in and out of the ambulance a couple of times bringing medical supplies to the Magistrate. Gisco isn’t screaming anymore, so maybe he got some of the laudanum. I walk by the motor home looking for Traven, but he isn’t there. I find him with a handful of other people watching the Magistrate doing open-heart surgery on Gisco’s leg. I’ve seen enough bodies cut up for one lifetime. I go over to the father and say, “We need to talk.”

  “Right now?” he says.

  “Now.”

  We head back to the bonfire, taking our time, not staying in any one place where people can hear us talk.