by Max Jager
"I need to go." He said. Like a child reasoning for play, for his toys, for his fun. Darr smiled. He walked into the hole, dipped his feet into sewage and his form disappeared into the darkness.
2:17 AM
The walls of rusted metal expanded outward into the small tunnels. He could feel the shit and piss up his leg and his feet that tried desperately to stay stable as he swam through the trash and murk. His feet felt like sponge. The ceilings were dripping with gunk and filth and the smell was oppressive. He held his breath. Rancid, putrid, it was like the rotten sweet smell of death was all around him and it made the small tunnel feel larger than it was. His shoulders could just fit.
It was in this dripping darkness that he had stopped thinking. He was more so driven by a rapid beating heart and the pulsing in his fingertips that made his guns feel lighter than they were. He was close. The string on his arm showed it. He came to a crossroad, he looked at all six directions and the small light they showed from the curb gutters. He could hear clacking, cars hums, the deep moans of the city night. They came like small whispers through the holes and he made sure to steer clear of the light. He lifted his arm and chose the third tunnel, it seemed arbitrary though.
Is this it?
A bag floated past him, a rusted soda can cracked underneath his feet. He turned!
Nothing. Just cardboard, spilling from a metal grate and fluttering.
He looked down and began to see the murky green. His eyes fell into the trance of his image and his muscles relaxed as his shoulders fell. It was almost enough to get him killed. Almost, had his legs obeyed him, had his heart stopped racing, had he totally relaxed he would have died. But every organ in his body knew. His lungs that stopped all of a sudden knew. For the feeling of air behind his head had broken, like a whisper spoken and draped around his neck. You'll die if you stand still, ya know. He rolled forward. The blade went past him and up the wall. It scraped along and broke pipes that spilled water across his face and made him blurred.
The water fell on his head and it felt cool. There was steam coming off him, he held the back of his head and watched the direction of which he was attacked.
The darkness devoured the monster. All he could tell was the snarl, the scratching walk like a dragging executioners chair.
He cocked his gun. The creature ran. Under him. It aimed to trip him. It would have, had he not jumped. But in the air he felt wrong, the tongue shot out. He caught the broken metal pipe and lifted his legs from being amputated. He could not tell sweat from water or blood, only knew he had no time to breathe and held the air in his lungs with that tight face as he touched the ground. He shot, a bullet into the narrow space like a canon through a slide. It scaled the walls and ducked. Black hairs shaved off and fell. He could see its shape then. He could count seven legs, would be eight had he not blown one off earlier. It bled and dripped on the water but did not seem bothered by the septic smell. It was too focused to. Both of them were, as the light segmented them into slide shows of anger and rage, a new face, a new growl with each passing shadow of the bars. Darr was counting space, though he winced for somewhere in the tussle his thigh must have been ripped open and it bled now, faster than it healed. His eyes blinked and the creature was gone.
He shot. His wrist snapped. He shot. The tunnel was filled with the noise of his frustration, the ricochet of blue bullets, the smoke that rose up and his muted scream that had died underneath the buzz of his deaf ears. The cloud of smoke rose. It was enough to push away the smell. But not the demon and from the curtains of white, he saw the jaws of death.
He groaned and felt the teeth dig into his shoulders. Rows of teeth spun and eviscerated his flesh, he could feel each time the beast moved. It held this position. It tightened, he could feel its muscles tighten.
And Darr began to laugh. That's all that went down the holes and the pipes, the laughter and the drop of his pistol into the murk. He was beginning to enjoy the pain, it felt like the embrace of a lover and so he hugged. He tightened his arms around the creature, squeezed it through until he could feel something pop and with a great push, slammed himself against the metal walls. He could feel their shape lump the concrete and metal. He could feel the dirt moving as he slammed himself and the beast against the wall. Laughing. Holding, caressing almost as he slammed away. After a while the chimera let go, its mouth was tired. Darr felt its breath yield. It was wheezing. He grabbed it by two of its legs, at random, and launched it one final time.
It drooled. It fell from the walls and drooled black blood. Darr felt his shoulder, he didn't realize how much it was ruined until he began to slack from one side. When he couldn't move his arm anymore he spat, he'd use his feet then.
Darr reached for it. The tongue shot out in retaliation. It went through the palm of his hand, cut his cheek and dug itself into the ceiling above.
"You're tenacious. I respect that. But you're only tenacious in the way an animal is, with the fear of death guiding you. I have more than that, more to fight for, more to die for." He heckled. The mouth closed. He made sure of it, as he kicked it shut. The tongue was lopped off, it fell. It looked like a noose as Darr removed it from his arm and let it hang from the ceiling.
He grabbed his pistol and thought to shoot it. But he turned it, last second, and pointed the butt of his gun on the monster. He could not help himself, it was what made his stomach flutter. It was what made him happy as he brought it down over and over, a mechanical swing that lifted the blood to his face. By the fifth bludgeon, the beast had stopped moving. By the tenth, Darr had stopped. He was ripping it apart, butchering it, looking at what to eat.
He did not remember what happened much, only remembered as to why he left. There was a voice above, a curious group of eyes, obviously drunk with how they rocked standing. Darr did not remember what they looked like, he was too drunk by food too. He only remembered their hushed breaths, only remembered their eyes as they looked down to the sewer to the pair of ruby's they had spotted. They stared down and Darr stared up, his mask half lifted, his mouth chewing on something that no longer resembled meat.
One of them snapped their heels and it fell on Darr like a heavy raindrop.
He looked around almost as if he had forgotten where he was. He looked in his pocket, the heart had long since been stripped. So why am I here?
He sighed, rubbed his head, slapped himself a bit. His legs felt heavy, his neck felt weak and he smelled like shit.
2:35 AM
"I'm alive." He gargled. "I'm alive."
His jaw was having difficulty growing back. He was having difficulty standing up. His arms could not lock in place, his arms dropped him on the concrete many a times and he was forced to feel the rough surface on his skinless jaw. He was bleeding everywhere, atop the dandelions that grew in the cracks of the culvert, atop the small stream of gutter water at the center, atop the piece of his mask now laid out everywhere.
"No evidence." He mumbled. He used his sword to stand, and fell. He put it inside of his coat and waited in a prostrated position for the pain to subside. It never did. When he was done resting, he sat on his knees. Ajax picked the small pieces of his mask, putting them in his coat. He was like a bird with bread crumbs, knocking and tossing ten pieces with each he picked up. His eyes were the first to heal and his blurred vision of the sky fixed on the north star that shined through the clouds.
"No evidence." He said. He was noseless, his voice sounded nasal and as he dragged his body around he noticed his teeth falling before they could find a grip on his gums. He was removing pieces of his mask from his mouth, they were like toothpicks, dug in between his loose teeth. He wanted to cry but had no tear ducts to, those came later. He was following the stars and after a while, following the bullet casings and putting them in his palm. He looked like a child in red, picking flowers and fungi from the forest, all bountiful with the shells falling from his fingertips.
He came to the wreckage and the car that had tried to drive up the wall, only to fa
ll at an angle upwards, lopsided against the wall with the top portion ruined into a scrunch. He dropped the bullets and watched with strained eyes. He swore he could hear breathing, though his head ached and filled him with false sounds. But he was sure this was a person, sure that it was no schizophrenia.
He leaned in and the soft noise of strained lungs responded back. He walked closer to the car, put a hand on the trunk and jumped when it burst open. There was nothing inside, a false jack in the box. The car was just so wrecked that it took every opportunity to burst out. The wheel rims fell to his feet. The glass knocked back. And he was hearing the woman, somewhere in the cluster of metal, he heard her.
He also heard the choppers.
The heavy blades that cut through the air, the light that was far off yet closing in. He saw it, it started at the knocked down fence wire and followed the trail of carnage. It was coming to him.
"I need to go." He said. "I can't get caught."
He turned his legs to move and heard her breathe again. Softer now, more desperate like she was drowning. He heard the loud sirens of the police too. And wondered why they even bothered if the whole point was to catch people, why make any sound. That seemed counter-intuitive. But who was he to judge about bad hunting practices? He was beaten. He looked like a ghoul and felt like an idiot.
"You're not worth it." He said. The car lit into flames and he nodded his head. He could talk now. And bitch. And he stomped the floor as his body moved towards the car and threw the door outward. It echoed off, the light was looking for the sound.
"I must still be fucked in the head." He said. Though he wasn't, he was very clear and he punched the airbags that deflated with a droning waft. The girl looked up at him, she almost looked as bad as him and when her eyes opened to the sight of the fire reflected from his fleshless face, she cried. It wasn't loud. She could barely breathe.
"Zombie." She said. She tried to push him away, her arms were trapped behind the dashboard. That was the first thing Ajax got rid and it seemed the more he helped her, the more frightened she became. He was getting slapped and she was getting frustrated and frightened, her hand kept slipping from him.
"Will you stop it." He said. He ripped the seat out, laid her on the ground and would have reprimanded her, his pointed finger was already in front of her, but he noticed her legs. What was left of them, and he just sighed.
"How are you alive?" He asked. His felt weight on his face, his nose must have come back.
"Zombie." Her face would not move.
"Look who's talking." He said. He looked back. They were arriving and he bit his now freshly formed lip. He was an idiot. He put his hand in front of him and blocked what little light he could. The other hand was wrapped around his lower mouth.
"You don't know how lucky you are." He reached over to her and ripped a sleeve from her. He wrapped it around himself.
"Freeze." He heard an officer say. They were opening their doors in careful unity. Their bodies were hidden behind the white cars and their guns were pointed through the gaps of the row of cars.
"Next time you should fucking use those car brakes."
She wasn't listening, simply mumbling, they're dead. He nodded his head. He was staring at the barrels of the guns. Facing them, seeing where they ended.
"All units to 4622 Edmond St., near the freeway. Yes. Yes"
Can I make the jump?
"Freeze or I'll blow your fucking brains out."
You're a little too late for that.
"No one has to die today."
Except for me.
"Put your hands up. You're surrounded."
Like it matters.
They sang their warnings like a choir of fear. Ajax grinned, with what little face he had to grin. Somehow, they could tell what it was. His body seemed loose, ready to move and they all steadied arms.
"Go fuck yourselves." Ajax said. He ran. Up the side of the culvert, he felt the bullets hit his shoulder and he kept his head low. He felt his knees shot. He jumped with the single good one he had left. He stabbed his arm through the side of a wall, it was a storage house and it was being drilled through as he scaled it up. His back felt like it was on fire, an acupuncture of bullets had begun to bleed him. But he stood. He growled. He ran, jumped building to building with the light struggling to catch up to him. He held his leg, he shouted and put his hand against the stream of burning light.
"Fuck off." He mumbled.
"Fuck off." He shouted.
He led them. A few gallops, a few miles away, he led them. And smiled once again, as the Colonel Weiner sign flashed neon across from him, on the other end of this very particular rooftop. Here, everything was heavy. The food, the smoke, the sign. He walked through the trails and puffs, he walked over to the giant E and watched it spark and scream as the metal was amputated.
"You should have left me alone." He said. They could not listen, if they did, they would have avoided it. The giant E shot off, throwing at them. It hit the glass and shattered it. They persisted. They would not stop, they flinched and shook in the air and shot down at him. He grabbed and L this time, L's were sharper. This one he aimed for the light and watched as it flew off, like Medusa's head, cut off and rolling in the air and spinning it's vile gaze everywhere. They lost track of him. They shot at nothing and turned around the store that now read "Colon Weiner".
They would have laughed. But the men with their rifles and heavy armor were too busy cursing. By the time support came, Ajax had disappeared. The grand escape. They cursed, where was he? How could he avoid us?
He went nowhere far, really and the police hadn't expected it. He was resting. He was on a bed of plastic bags and half eaten food. He had fallen into a dumpster somewhere in between a jump, an accident really, and had decided just not to move. And when the noise of the chopper was too loud, he pulled down on the dumpster door and rested his eyes. They were shouting, they never found him. No one did. Not till morning came and the opening pimple-faced burger arist came to him by accident. Until though, he slept.
It had been a long time since he slept that well.
7:45 AM
Ajax came to the front door and knocked four times before he realized no one was there. He sighed and fixed the cough mask the covered his mouth and nose, he still looked like a terror. He felt like one as he began to shove his shoulder into the door, wondering what tension would make it break. He was about to remove the knob before he smelled Darr. It was like a dung heap, creeping up on him across the hallway that seemed cluttered with the ghastly smell in the air. There were curious faces that showed their eyes, they took a whiff and they ran back inside.
"I forgot my key." Ajax said.
"You look tired." Darr said. "I thought you said part of being a Veron was not standing out?"
Ajax lifted his coat and showed him the bullet holes across his abdomen, where the blood had dried and where the scars protruded. The lead was still inside of him and moving to his desk in the room, sitting down, seemed to shake them and grate against his rib cage.
"Please tell me you killed it and that you've got the stone." Ajax said. Darr lifted the red rock from his coat, he threw it and Ajax ground it in his hand. He lifted his mask and show him the image, Darr looked disgusted, it was bizarre staring at such an injured man and it made him feel guilty.
If only I had dodged.
"I didn't ask you to help me." He mumbled. He was surprised the words had come out, something moved him to say it, like a second soul inside of him.
"If I didn't you would have gotten your head cut off."
"I won't apologize for what happened to you. You should have just acted like you always do, alone, calm. Collected. You had no right." Darr said.
"I had no right to save you? Do you think I care about you?" Ajax shoveled the powder into his mouth. It tasted like candy, coating his tongue and fizzing, melting into him. "You're church property. I was just protecting an investment. I understood the risk and I thought that me getting injured w
as a better alternative to you getting your head cut off."
"Well don't next time. You're not my mother. So stop with your patronizing."
"Did I hurt your pride? Let me kiss your booboo, sweetheart." Ajax mocked. His voice was high and it made Darr reach over, with anger in his fists, to remind him that he too was a man. He was about to swing before the door opened.
"Another one." Ajax rolled his eyes. He leaned back into his chair and kicked his shoes off, it felt like steam escaped him and he was only gathering the smell. He reached for his nose and fixed a bone in place.
"It never heals right." He said to the crack of his face.
"Did you think I wouldn't read the news." The Priest was screaming. He held the paper in his hand and waved it like a town crier. Here ye, here ye. Darr was trying to grab it but his hands flailed around and the Priest threw it on the table across from Ajax. He grabbed it and looked it over.
