The giant charges.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Pregnant!” I yell it so loud that I actually startle the giant for a second and he loses his momentum. Not that I’m in any position to take advantage. I just stand there gaping like an asshole. He lunges. I manage to sidestep only just enough so I get shoulder checked instead of full-body demolished. I lose my grip on the blade, and it goes clattering off into a pile of garbage. The sound knocks me out of the daze—I stumble backward and clear out of the way of his swinging fists.
My blade is out of reach. Running is useless because one of the giant’s strides equals four of mine. So I grab the nearest trash can and thrash him with it as hard as I can when he dives for me. It catches him full across the face, which stuns him just long enough for me to bring it down on his left knee. When he crumples, I hit the same knee again, and this time I hear it snap pleasantly. He moans, and I crack him across the face again.
Okay. (1) I need my blade back, and (2) pregnant?
What? I can consider Thing #2 as I deal with Thing #1, but still . . . it gives me pause. The giant groans and rolls over. I know he won’t stay down long, even with the solid thrashing I gave him. Plus, I’m a little dizzy from whatever damage he did on me. I stumble toward the trash pile that my blade clattered into.
I think Riley said Sasha was pregnant. I’m pretty sure that’s what he said. It makes sense, I suppose. A season has passed. She’d be showing. But where’s my fucking blade? Panic churns the emotional confusion that’s already prickling my brain. There’s a million crumpled up soda cans, shredded candy wrappers, Chinese food containers, all devastated and scattered about like some decimated city after a hurricane.
But no blade.
I hear something behind me and spin around. The giant is gone.
“Hey, Carlos. Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to drop a bomb like that and then disappear. It’s just . . . there’s a lot going on out here.” No shit. I hate not being able to have a two-way conversation. No blade. And Rasputin the Invincible Giant that I just fucked up has already run off.
“Yeah, anyway, I guess we’ll deal with the preggo thing later, cuz right now, ya girl is making her way very quickly . . .” Riley pauses to catch his breath, and for a second all I hear is his heavy panting in my ear. “Sorry, she’s fast. She’s going to the entrada, Carlos. I don’t know . . . I don’t know if Sarco’s somewhere, or what the deal is, but like it or not, what we gotta deal with right now is that Sasha’s making moves. Pregnant and everything. Sorry, man. Maybe it’s not yours.”
I wish he would stop talking.
“Anyway, when we get underground, the Second Sight should kick in, and you’ll be able to see for yourself, so that’s . . . nice. Ah, fuck. I gotta catch up with this chick, man. I’ll check in with you in a bit.”
Terrific.
Sasha’s heading for the entrada. Which means she’s either meeting Sarco somewhere in the Underworld or . . . or she really is masterminding this whole fiasco. Or maybe some other wildly plausible explanation I just can’t think of right now. Either way, she’s surely heading for Mama Esther’s.
I have to get there first.
As I think it, the dead giant lopes out of the shadows again. He’s limping badly but otherwise doesn’t seem nearly as worse for wear as he should. I don’t have time to fuck around with Andre anymore. I got places to be. I hurl one last trash can his way for good measure and make a break for it.
CHAPTER FIFTY
But nothing is ever simple. I am, after all, limp-legged. I’m fierce with it, of course, got it down to a nice rhythmic swagger, but that’s with my cane. Without the damn cane, I just hobble. Still, the giant’s leg is freshly busted and he hasn’t gotten used to the shifting of weight, the trembling off-balance feeling with every step. Then again, he’s huge. So we’re about even, and must be quite a sight to behold, tearing through the crowded midnight streets.
If it wasn’t Carnival, I’m sure we’d get even more stares, but as it stands, Brooklyn is bursting with strangely swaggering people. Moishe and I are both a little paler and a little more desperate than the rest, but otherwise, no one pays us much mind. There’s a strip of Flatbush Avenue that’s four lanes wide and surrounded by wilderness; the park on one side and the Botanical Gardens on the other. Hundreds of revelers crowd the street, dancing and yelling and carrying on. I push through, working my way north toward Eastern Parkway and trying not to hurt anybody or start a fight. Every time I look back, the giant is gaining on me. Halfway to Grand Army Plaza I’m already winded as hell. This no-cane-having bullshit is really not the way to go. I pause for a few seconds to catch my breath. The giant’s huge pale head bounces above the crowd toward me.
Then, all at once, I’m in the Underworld, surrounded by ghosts. It takes me a second to realize that it’s just Riley’s Second Sight kicking in, and even then it’s freakishly disorienting. Those same horrible, slow-moving ghouls crowd all around, and some kind of tumultuousness is erupting up ahead. The ghouls lurch forward as one and then a few of them back up suddenly.
“Carlos, can you hear me? Ugh! Stupid question, my bad. Anyway, hopefully this shit is working and you can see that I’m surrounded by your old nursing home friends, and Sasha’s up ahead somewhere, fucking shit up. Gonna try to get you a visual. Stand by.”
Just what I need: a visual of the woman who’s probably carrying my baby tussling with a gang of ancient death creatures.
I squint my left eye so the real world around me comes back into focus and then duck into Prospect Park. Everything on the ground is useless twigs, but up ahead I see a felled tree. I limp over to it and snap one of the branches free, maybe a little more aggressively than necessary. This’ll do.
I don’t see the giant anywhere, so I pop back out onto Flatbush and, now with at least a semblance of a cane, make my way north with a quickness.
* * *
Sasha is in rare form. At first, all I see are ghost bodies falling over themselves to get out of the way. Then Riley shoves through the crowd and there she is: beautiful as ever and with a little paunch in her belly. She’s got a blade in each hand, and there’s no doubt she knows exactly what the fuck she’s doing with them. This isn’t some frantic slash-fest; she lashes out with precision, cuts down one ghost and simultaneously stabs another as it rushes up behind her. Every move is exactly as fierce as it needs to be; she never overshoots, doesn’t even seem winded.
Suddenly, her presence at the Red Edge makes perfect sense. She wasn’t just keeping an eye on her brother: she was his bodyguard. No wonder he was so terrified that night—his protector hadn’t come along with him. But still, there was something else . . . The giant is waiting for me at Grand Army Plaza. He must’ve slipped ahead while I picked a new cane. The crowds are thicker and sweatier here. Eastern Parkway is the epicenter of the revelry, and it’s kicked into full swing as we hurtle toward dawn. I duck into a passing crowd of revelers, trying to lose myself in the masses. The giant wades in after me. He’s smiling.
* * *
“Carlos, you seeing this? Fuck, I keep doing that. I really wish we had two-way, my brother, because I would love to hear what the fuck you’re saying right now. Your girl is killing them! Literally. I’ve really never seen anything like it.”
She really is, too. I think about my desperate slashing while I was trying to get away from the same ghouls. That wasn’t even swordplay, just me trying to stay alive and keep a clear path. Sasha’s in her physical body, which makes them come at her even more voraciously, but none can get close. She advances forward in careful sidesteps, one blade pulled back at hip level and the other in front, pointed straight up. When a few ghosts try to get cute and slosh forward hungrily, she slices in a clean downward diagonal, catching three of them with one strike. They fall back, and when two more come forward, she stabs them with her other blade, pow-pow, in quick succession and steps over their writhing forms. It’s like a dance, the way she glides along, chopping and hacking as she goes.
The giant’s disappeared again though, so I have to check fully back into reality and get my ass to Mama Esther’s.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Underhill Avenue is a small, relatively quiet street tucked in between Washington and Vanderbilt. It’s mostly residential and white and the revelry hasn’t spilled onto it much, so I hang a left off Eastern Parkway and make good progress for a block or two. Then I realize he’s behind me. I feel the air shift as he lumbers onto Underhill from the parkway, feel the world call out its quiet warnings. He’s teeming with rage and I can feel that too. Whatever shred of a soul he’s got left has been corroded with the singular intent of destroying me—that much is clear. And me being elusive is irking the shit out of him. He lumbers down the block. His gait’s still torqued from that kneecap I shattered, but still, the guy’s fast.
I cut across a playground, all stretched out shadows and pools of darkness, and then wind around a corner toward Washington. If it comes down to it, I’ll have to engage him again, but I really don’t know how many more of these little throwdowns I can take. Perhaps his other kneecap will have to be my next target. When I check back, he’s already storming through the playground.
Washington Avenue is bustling with a mix of celebrating West Indians in feathers and face paint, and drunken hipsters in, well, hipster clothes. I dash across the street, nearly get smashed by a city bus, and head down Prospect Place toward Classon. He’s a half a block back and gaining. People are staring at him, this ungainly giant on my trail, but no one thinks to, say, stick out their foot and trip him, or arrest him maybe. I should be so lucky.
In the Underworld, Sasha’s cleared herself some kind of space and is leaning against a tree, panting. She’s also, I notice, clutching her belly. I wish Riley would tell me what the fuck is going on, but I guess there’s nothing to say: she fought off the ghouls and is probably composing herself before the final assault on Mama Esther’s. Or whatever the plan is. Riley seems to be watching from behind a corner, and suddenly the view spins and I’m looking back at the mass of hungry ghosts. I hear him say, Oh shit. There’re hundreds of them and more gathering every second. They’re all facing toward Sasha. Angry storm clouds converge in the murky skies of Hell.
The march toward life has begun.
* * *
Where is Sarco? I need him to show up so (a) I can stop worrying about where he is and (b) I can know Sasha’s not really in charge of this whole nasty scheme. Okay, I’m in denial. I can admit that and still be in denial, right?
This ginormous, old building sprawled across a full block of Classon Avenue was once the Jewish Hospital and then a vacant, graffiti-covered ghost sanctuary, and now it’s a bunch of luxury apartments. Go figure.
When I turn around, the giant is lurching across the street toward me. He waves a baseball bat that he must’ve picked up somewhere. I’m just trying to imagine how poorly my dead branch will match up against that Louisville Slugger when he gets plowed into by a passing livery cab. That huge body splays out across the windshield, spiderwebbing it, and then he slides down and tumbles off to the side of the street.
“The fuck!” the driver yells, jumping out. The giant’s up in seconds flat and towering over him. The driver gets calm real quick. “Okay, buddy, okay.” The giant grunts and taps his bat against the Crown Vic a few times, causing excessive damage and making his point very clearly. As I leave, the driver jumps back in his car and screeches off.
I can see Mama Esther’s. It’s two blocks down on the right. I’m not even totally sure what I’m going to do when I get there, but I know if the world is about to be overrun by throngs of hungry ghosts, I need to be on that rooftop to stem the flow. The giant grunts a few blocks behind me.
And then it starts to rain.
* * *
I pause at Mama Esther’s doorway to catch my breath and check on Sasha. For a second, it’s impossible to tell where she is because there’re so many damn ghosts around. Then I recognize one of the towers that marks the entranceway to Prospect Park, just a crooked shadow of itself in the Underworld, and realize Sasha is much farther back than I had thought. Either the ghosts have held up her progress or . . .
“Uh, Carlos, I don’t think ol’ girl’s heading for Mama Esther’s.” Riley has such excellent timing. If she’s not going to Mama Esther’s, there must be another target spot where they’ve set up to tear open the breach. Somewhere with ngks surrounding it, which could really be anywhere as long as they aren’t reported. I step off the stoop and start fast-walking down Franklin, keeping an eye out for the giant. Somewhere with a halfie, which is wherever Sasha goes, really.
“Carlos.” And somewhere with a foundational ghost. “Carlos, she’s heading for the plaza.”
Pasternak.
Fuck.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
The way I see it,” Riley’s explaining helpfully, “that faux poetic dipshit Pasternak is a grounded ghost, just like Esther. He’s the house ghost of the Grand Army Plaza, right? So that’s that.”
I’m heading fast down Franklin, pushing through the crowd past tattoo parlors and hair salons. Still no giant. Sasha’s at the foot of the archway. A thick forest of hungry ghosts crowds around her, but they’re keeping some distance now; either they know better than to fuck with her or they realize she’s about to bust them out of Hell.
“And the only reason we knew about the ngks around Franklin is because Mama Esther reported them, right? Right. So let’s say this Pasternak fuck is in it with whoever, Sarco or Sasha, either that or they got him under some kinda spell, which would explain why he was such a babbling pain in the ass the other night, I suppose. Man . . . shit’s devious, yo.”
That’s the damn truth. A middle-aged Rasta guy steps in my path to explain that he has flags for sale, all brightly displayed on this table right here. I nod and smile and sway out of the way and keep it moving. Cut a right on Saint John’s Place, a left on Classon, and keep zigzagging street to street till I’m back on the parkway. The whole world is exploding with revelers. A warm, thumping ecstasy has settled over the crowd, and they’re all boogying to the same syncopated beat that bursts out of the speakers.
“She’s inside,” Riley reports. “I’m going in after her.” It’s dark in the Underworld; Riley must be in the leg of the archway. A spirally metal staircase winds upward into the shadows.
Finally, I’m at the plaza, winded and sweaty but in one piece and the giant’s nowhere to be seen. On the inner part of the arch there’s a small door, locked tight by a heavy chain. There’s a million people around, including cops, but they’re all focused away from me, watching the endless party burst along the parkway, so they don’t see me make quick work of the lock and slip inside.
I muddle around for a few seconds till I find the light switch, but it’s pretty useless—a dim little bulb comes to life from behind a few stacked chairs, and I can only just make out . . . a snarling dragon face glaring down at me. What the hell? I glance around and realize I’m surrounded by grinning skeletons, old hunchbacks, perched crows. All frozen in that lumpy, papier-mâchéd eternity and gathering dust. Who knew? I start up the spiraling metal staircase.
Something’s happening.
Sasha’s on the second-floor landing—a crude metal platform, shrouded in darkness. But she’s not running up the stairs. She’s turned around. Riley must be right in front of her. She’s says something and takes a menacing step toward me . . . him. Us. Riley’s blade is out, pointed forward. I realize I may be about to watch my best friend kill the woman who’s carrying my baby, or vice versa, and all I want to do is close my eyes and make it go away.
And then I notice something about Sasha. It’s subtle. At first I think I’m making it up—but no, it’s that glint in her eye. It’s familiar. It’s . . . Sarco. Yes, now that I see it, I’m sure of it. Sasha takes a step forward, slashes out at Riley, and there’s no doubt: Sarco is there. He’s with her. In her. Sarco’s taken over Sasha. No wonder we couldn’t
find him all night.
Sasha’s blade whips out at Riley again. He parries and backs a few steps down the stairs. He’s holding back; he doesn’t want to hurt her or the baby. Our baby. If Sarco’s inside of Sasha now, that means . . . the junky probably wasn’t his real body either. He’s a parasite. Inhabits the living and then leaves them shredded up inside and a few days later, they hemorrhage and die. David. David just up and bled out, not long after the whole mess. It also means Sarco’s not a halfie at all, not anymore anyway—he’s something else entirely. I tuck that information away for my next bar fight or Council run-in.
Sarco/Sasha charges down a few steps and slices, first with one blade and then the other. Riley blocks the first cut, but the second catches his hand. The view gets all jumbly as he stumbles backward down the stairs, then loses his balance and clatters to the ground. I see Sasha’s feet running up toward the next landing.
Trevor was terrified that night, I think as I run up another flight. He was whispering to me, like he thought someone was listening. Because Sarco was there, lurking inside David the hipster’s little body. Hiding in the trees probably that whole time while Trevor died in my arms. Then he moved on to the junky’s body, leaving David mortally ill and terrified. I reach the next landing, push past some long-armed papier-mâché skeletons, and start up the ladder toward the roof. And after Sarco got stuck in the Underworld with me, he re-entered the junky and then abandoned him a few days later. Then the junky wandered out and died too. Then Sarco must’ve just free floated for a while, recovering, until he landed on Sasha. The thought of that demon being mortally entwined inside her sends a wave of nausea over me.
I reach the top of the ladder and push open the trapdoor. I’m hoisting myself up onto the roof when a huge hand wraps around my ankle. The giant will not give up. I kick at the hand with my other foot, but it won’t loosen. Then he pulls, and I’m wrenched off the ladder and fall straight down in a dazed panic. I swing my elbow out just before I crash, catching him on the crown of his head, and we both tumble to the ground. He growls and grabs for my neck with a hand and his stumpy wrist. I pull away just before he catches me, send a swift kick across his face, and then scatter back up the ladder, heave a massive metal plank out of the way, and hoist myself up onto the rooftop.
Half-Resurrection Blues Page 22
