“I don’t like him—he hurt mommy...”
“Leonor!” China spoke sharply, and reddened. A physical shock passed through Matt and Leonor tightened her grip as this went through her.
“Sorry, mommy but he hurt you—I know he did.” The woman looked away toward the front window of the living-room, but said no more.
“China?” Feargal’s voice lowered an octave. The woman’s colour deepened and she looked away. “What did they do?”
“Grandfather called it torture.” Leonor said still picking at the button, but not looking up.
“I’m okay,” hitch in the voice, “really.”
“She won’t talk about it and I can’t see what happened, but I know something—bad—has.” Still holding the child he took China in his free arm. She resisted a moment then crumpled into his chest and shoulder; Leonor patted her face as she wept. “Grandfather is a wicked man—get us away from him, papa.”
“You are together?”
“No.” Leonor answered after moment. “We’re not certain where each of us is—I’ve no idea where I am. Sorry, papa.”
“It’s okay, baby.” Rocking her in his arm, while the other squeezed China.
“He’s,” voice choked out, “not doing it anymore. He can’t break me,” voice becoming determined, “and I won’t help him. Zakara has given up; I think he may, also, be worried about you and what you will do.”
“He will be sorry before I...” Leonor put a hand to his mouth.
“Don’t papa, you are doing that too much—we can feel you dying inside.” Wiping her face, and pushing from Feargal’s chest, China looked at him squarely.
“She is right—your anger is killing your heart a piece at a time.”
“But what Botrous has done...”
“Is terrible,” a pleading harshness in China’s tone, “but what you are doing to yourself is worse.”
“It is, papa—you feel hard, empty, excepting for your hate. I don’t like it—it feels dirty.” The last shocked the man more than anything else.
“Okay, I will try to stop.”
“You must stop—or you will kill all that is beautiful in you. All that I saw that day in The Bistro—that was the most beautiful thing in my life, until...” And China’s hand brushed Leonor’s face. She looked, hesitantly, at Matt to be certain he agreed and was not angry with her. His smile appeared to be all she needed.
“Mommy always talks about when you two met and your time living together. She was very happy then.”
“So was I—especially when she was pregnant with you.” Though there was a great deal of confusion and fear during this time, all Matt chose to remember was the happiness and the plans for their future.
“Leonor, why don’t you go play in your room for a while—I want to talk to your papa.” Jumping down from his arms, the girl giggled.
“Talk, right—I’ll be upstairs when you finish.” China reddened again, but said no more until the child left.
“She’s too old for her years.” But her hand reached for Matt’s belt buckle. “You need,” turning from the child’s disappearing laughter, “to let go of your anger.” China snapped the buckle and button loose. Reaching behind Matt’s neck the woman wrenched him forward as she cupped his balls with her hand, allowing the points of her nails to gently press into the base of his scrotum. His reaction was immediate—from half-mast to full staff in an instant. He’d have groaned if her tongue wasn’t tickling the back of his throat. There was, however, more than sex happening here. As she threw him down on the sofa, hiked her dress, and mounted, more was taken than his sex. With each thrust the rage bubbled up and out of him—until the orgasm. The expulsion was made more of rage than seed. Following this he was physically and emotionally spent. For the first time, in a long time, Matt was at peace.
A hand took his face, by the chin, and then from out of the haze a woman’s face came into view. At first this was just wild and raven—then a white jade with purplish-crin seam lowered toward his; the eyes a tight almond with a fire he’d burnt out in times beyond count; strands of hair caught the side of his face and lashed about his hands, then arms. There was the faint odour of a feral musk which continued to stiffen him—harder than he could remember this ever having been, and more sensitive. As China began to ride him again, the sensation was somewhere beyond pleasure and pain—in the territory of the sublime.
Before this the Romantic sensibility had seem fatuous, but here, where each stroke drove thought to the outer limits of being, he knew a series of transfigurative orgasms which were no longer expelling any Metaphysical semen but ruptured fire from the base of his balls. Tied in with this were growling barks from the woman; sweat dripping down into his gaping mouth—the salty tears a laughter of desire which drove him further from self. Following these the woman bent down and covered his mouth with hers, their tongues collided. The amazing dexterity of the saurian charged him further and he attempted to raise his arms, but the hair pushed these back. Each time he bucked against her hips these pushed him back, pinioning him to the carpeting. The woman’s juice, heavy and stirring, ran down his balls, sending an aching tingle through these. With a final, wrenching, orgasm he was blown out of himself and into the woman—the identities of the two merged and contended until what had been Feargal surrendered. There followed a quietus; an insensible torpor from which he rose unwillingly.
Looking up, the woman smiled down at him. “Feeling better?” At first he didn’t understand and then it occurred that he was missing something. The rage he’d been nursing since leaving Dilmun had gone and he was the man those months they’d been together.
“What happened?”
“We did.” Leaning down she kissed him tenderly and rested her head on his chest, as filaments of hair, still wrapped about his arms and face stroked him.
“I don’t...”
“It’s not important—but you feel better, right?”
“Yes.” Breath not more than a whisper; he could feel China smile against his chest, nails not too gently flicking his nipple—as she had down all those years ago. He had not realised how much he’d missed that. Then, tenderly, China pushed up and released him with a wet plop as his sex, still hard, smacked against his abdomen.
Still straddling him, she grinned at the member. “We could go again.”
“When my cock recovers.” Giggling she kissed him again, and then stood. Offering a hand, he took this and she pulled him up in one fluid, effortless motion. “Whoa!” Matt nearly flew off his feet.
“Yes, I’m stronger now. Bothered?”
“Not as long as you do what you’re told.” He got another kiss for that—slow, languid, distantly erotic. Pulling away she leant her forehead against his—smile faltering.
“We need to talk.”
“Can’t we just have this moment—it may never come around again.”
“It will, when you find us—okay?” He nodded pulling his pants up, while China adjusted her dress.
“I think,” patting the lounge cushion beside her, “Leonor is being taken care of by Shea.” Freezing, Feargal looked down, panic on the face. “I’m not certain, but from the description it sounds like her.”
“Can’t you see.”
“Leonor is hard to read—especially when she wants to hide something.” Taking her hand as he sat beside her the woman leaned heavily into him; a tear of a creamy white ichor ran down her face. Wiping this away with a thumb he tasted this out of curiosity—honey with a hint of clover. If his attention had not been focused on what was happening with Leonor he might have spent time coaxing more of this from her—its taste was restorative. The stranger their life became, the more he enjoyed it.
If he could only get them all together again.
“What,” tearing himself away from the narcissism, “have you told Leonor about her.” Looking up the stairs first, to be certain they were alone, China continued.
“Only that she isn’t to be trusted. So far she’s no idea the woma
n is her grandmother. Again, I’m not entirely certain the woman is Shea. Still, from the description of her face, hair, and mutations it almost has to be. Unless there is another Irish octopus out there.”
“Probably not.” Leaning forward and looking sidelong. “How did she take it?”
“There were questions, but she doesn’t trust anyone any longer—not since finding out I wasn’t dead and that you are trying to rescue us both.”
“And she’s not winkled that the woman is related to her? How is that possible?”
“Could be Shea is gently blocking her—or it could be Zakara. Really, I don’t know and I’m afraid to push too hard for fear of making the child suspicious.”
“But,” Matt rubbed the back of his neck against a twinge he felt there, unlike the pain he’d experienced earlier, “what happens if she learns about the woman from someone other than us?” Fighting back a yawn.
“That’s it—I’ve no idea what the trauma may cause if she learns of this in the wrong way. But telling her now could alert Shea that Leonor is in contact with us again. That would be its own kind of bad news.” Taking a slow, shaking breath China continued. “I don’t know what to do.”
“It’s alright, better to let it work itself out and see what game Shea is playing at.”
So saying, a wave of vertigo took Feargal and consciousness slipped from him.
***
Thick, tapered strands of what could only be seen as psychic-tallow dripped from consciousness—still beyond the grip of physical movement he attempted to break. At first his lungs did not bellow; laying there with the weight of the body pressing down on them they appeared incapable. Then he rolled onto his back. Did Matt do this, or was it the way he’d lain the previous night—body righting his delicate imbalance? No matter, he was on his back. One more try, because he was in desperate need of a breath. Concentrate, open the mouth, and inhale. The first one was slight and hesitant; the second was deeper and he could feel his alveoli expand stickily. Then again, smoother, easier, and deeper; he was alive and, for the moment, would remain so.
Then his pack vibrated. The phone, having moved against something hard, gave off a solid growling vibration. As he fished into the bag the others were preparing for the LBL, as DPs from last night were calling the Land Between the Lakes—Americans were always so colourful. One of the things he loved about the country. They all wanted to set off after dawn and to be well away before dark. Whatever was up there didn’t sound as though it wanted to treat—having emptied Clarksville out with a few unspecified raids suggested this much. Still, Matt was going to give it a try; when this failed he could point out the futility to Salt. Would it work? Probably not; the Meta seemed to have more in common, now, with the US/UN diplomats and bureaucrats than he had with the hunter he had been since Matt knew him. To be fair, he’d been an academic and psychologist before his fall and transformation—weren’t they, by nature, bureaucrats? Feargal wasn’t certain, but would have laid odds.
“Morning.” Connelly said with a pre-coffee grunt. His hair was still tousled and sticking out at odd angles. He needed a shower, but there wasn’t going to be time.
“Good Morning.” Throat sore and Feargal’s mind foggy. Only moments before he was with China as the pair of them fretted about Leonor and Shea, now he was groping after a phone as the others planned for what would, in all likelihood, be a raid on LBL. Looking at the phone he grunted again. Unlocking this he accepted the call and turned on the speaker. Holding this in the flat of his hand he stood and walked over to the group. These waited for whatever was coming.
“Hey, Jonah.”
“Good, you’re up—had to let that thing ring forever. You need to turn on voicemail.”
“What can we do for you?”
“We’re on speaker?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe we should...”
“Speaker’s good enough.”
“We’re on a conference call with Roberto.”
“Hey, old man—still want to kill me?”
“Would solve a lot of problems—though leave others.” Diction perfect.
“And Leonor.” Silence. Not even Roberto was prepared to be open about that.
“Where are you heading now?” Jonah broke into the awkward silence.
“Land Between the Lakes, west of Clarksville. Thinking we should come in from the south”
“Have you made contact with any of the Metas?”
“No, but they’ve apparently driven most residents out of the town—we saw all that remained last night and they’re heading your way now. You may want to keep an eye out.”
“This,” Roberto observed, “doesn’t sound much like the alliance you have been touting Salt.” The lack of honorific was noted by Feargal. Neruda’s attitude toward Metahumans had not changed, but that had to have been expected. Matt could have put more thought into this, but never bothered. For the moment it was enough to know this tragedy began, at least in part, with the shaman—and Roberto’s sense of shame had to be profound. More than likely he’d taken this and shifted it onto the victims of his folly and Botrous’s duplicity. Still, it only mattered that the tension and hostility were real and without remedy. Was the same true for Jonah—he was certain it was, but the Meta was much better at hiding the fact. If there ever came a time when this was no longer necessary what Salt did would be interesting.
“We cannot believe that everyone would be interested.”
“After that business with the Separatists down in Texas you can’t have much hope for the rest—and time is running out.” Matt had stumbled into the middle of an argument.
“You two,” Feargal was still half asleep and frustrated by the men’s need to bring their shit into his morning, “want to be alone?”
“Alright, we can put this part of the negotiation on hold for now.” Salt answered, placatingly.
“But you need to give up this business with Leonor.” Neruda pursued. “As long as she lives she’s a threat to the world.”
“Two things to keep in mind.” Matt answered calmly. His skill at masking his feelings was becoming better—or his evening with the family may have helped. “First, I’m the only one that, in all likelihood, can kill Shaitan.”
“Shaitan? What do you know...” But Matt cut Roberto off.
“He is my father and I am the only one that cannot be hurt by his magic and the only one that can kill him.” There was general pandemonium from the room and the callers. “The second thing to remember,” pushing ahead over the voices, “is that if anything happens to Leonor I won’t be helping any of you any longer.” That was enough to silence everyone.
“You are certain,” Jonah asked, “that Zakara is Shaitan?”
“Reasonably. It is the only thing which explains his power and my immunity to his magic—remember the spring in The Wood that last night in Dilmun.”
“He’s right.” Neruda answered the silence. “If this is the case, then he is the only one that will be able to finish this.” There was no joy in the old man’s voice. “Also, our weapons had no effect on Zakara when we’d cornered him last year.”
Once Jonah’s shouting died down, Matt asked for an explanation. “We developed some Intelligence about where he was and what he was up to last year.”
“What,” Jonah wanted to know, “specifically are you speaking of?”
“That information is limited to only a few—and has naught to do with our discussion.”
“We’re going to need to speak of that some time.”
“Perhaps, but not now.”
“So,” Matt prodded, “let’s hear it.”
“Well, we cornered him without much protection. After an ugly, lengthy exchange we killed his minders and put dozens of rounds into him—not in his general direction, but into him.”
“Nothing.” Matt wasn’t surprised, but it was disappointing.
“Correct. Killed several Dragoste and Ajutor, then escaped.”
“So, we’re satisfied
dad is Shaitan?” The room flinched at the sentiment.
“Yes.” A dyadic response from the phone.
“Agree that I’m the tool for the job?” Again an affirmative answer. “Then leave Leonor and China alone—if you don’t I’ll be going after you.” Again they agreed. Matt, for the moment, was satisfied the women would be left alone, but for how long he was uncertain. Until they killed Zakara, of that much he was comfortable—but afterwards? Afterwards he’d have the Archaic’s fear to deal with, but he might find succour within the now huge Meta communities. Maybe. “Very well, we have to get going.” Then ended the call before either could answer. “Okay, let’s get going.” The others stared at one another, but with a collective shrug grabbed their bags.
***
The gas station and McDonald’s on the Donelson Parkway were shattered, burnt out husks. Yet, they weren’t even smouldering. “This happened a while ago.” Barney offered from between the seats, hand perched on either one. With these were abandoned or burnt cars; bodies, beginning to swell and ooze, beside these. Leaving the truck running, Matt climbed out for a better look, taking the P-90 with him. Calling back to Noir he wanted to be certain she’d the grenade launcher—no concussion grenades this time, he wanted frags and incendiaries.
They also had a couple hundred Dragon’s Breath shell’s for Lincoln’s 12 gauge, but it seemed they might need distance here. Supposedly they could be used up to 90 metres, but Lincoln, who’d found the rounds, said they weren’t much use beyond 30. If they got close enough it would be interesting to see what damage the magnesium pellets would do—he suspected a great deal. But the Dragon’s Breath would only be for anything big they came across. This mess here, however, suggest something big was up. The rumours about what was going on in the parks and wilderness were getting hysterical, but there had been, to date, no hard evidence. If this trip did nothing more it might put some of these rumours to the test.
Unfortunately, for the moment, all they found were a few more bodies, some partially burnt, which had been dragged about a bit and appeared to have been gnawed on. No one was certain by what, but they were all from cities. Matt wished Jonah would send him someone who’d done some hunting, but how many of those were left? When it came to urban warfare he’d match these against any he’d worked with over the years, but this was civil war shit and he’d no idea how the wilderness would test them. As they were examining the bodies, Daniel and Prester called them to the far side of the road and the entrance to The Trace, which cut the LBL in two. What they found were some kind of footprints but nothing anyone had seen before. They were about 10 centimetres across and half as many deep—almost perfectly circular.
End Times, Inc. (A Great & Continuous Malignity) Page 24
