Midian Unmade

by Joseph Nassise

  Dobler was the expert. He’d studied the Nightbreed and had shared his doctoral dissertation on the subject of Midian, the last place they’d gathered in any strength. The CIA agent believed them to be Fomorian, the race that preceded humans in Ireland. I’d been forced to read passages of the scholarly supposition, and remembered a translation from an ancient Irish tome called The Book of the Dun Cow: “with the body of a man and the head of a goat, they were terrible in their beauty.” Whatever Dobler thought they were, he’d have a chance to find out for real this night.

  Rook wore spectacles and thumbed a well-worn book, its cover a glossy leather the color of old blood. He occasionally stared at the soldiers, who stood in a perfect line, seemingly incapable of shooting him, even though their weapons were loaded and at hand.

  He let his finger follow a line in the book, then put it back down. “They called Byron ‘sublime.’ I like that word. Do you like it, Gillam?”

  “I don’t know that word,” I said.

  “The Greek poet Longinus compared it to establishing ecstasy. I know you understand that word. I do think that stuffy old Edmund Burke said it the best, however. ‘Sublime is whatever is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas of pain and danger.… Whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror.’ Am I not sublime? Am I not operating in a manner analogous to terror?”

  I’d forgotten how much Rook loved to talk. “You are indeed sublime,” I said, agreeing like anyone would to a preposterous question posed by a monster.

  He smiled happily to himself, then put down the book. “So tell me of this other monster.”

  “He calls himself Jupiter.”

  Rook nodded. “I remember an old fat piece of sewage called Jupiter. I cut him up and left him to die in Midian.”

  “He’s been sewn back together.”

  The idea of it startled Rook. “He has? Sewn back together, you say?”

  I nodded, then leaned over and backhanded Watson across the face. When he didn’t stop jacking off, I did it twice more. Watson let go of himself and brought his hands to his cheeks.

  “Leave it the fuck alone,” I said, then added, “I think you broke it anyway.”

  My activity caused the others to begin returning to themselves. The deleterious effect of our fear was still there, but it no longer seemed to hold them so terribly—not exactly a switch being turned off, but a rheostat being turned down.

  “I warned you not to return,” Rook said.

  “I never wanted to.” I shrugged and broke from the line. I carried an AK and laid it on the floor next to where I squatted. “But this other monster, this Jupiter, he’s fighting us, supporting the Taliban.”

  “You know the same thing’s going to happen again.” It was a statement rather than a question.

  I sighed at the memory of what had happened before. “We’re prepared,” I said. What I didn’t tell him was that I was prepared, because as much as I wanted to think I was, I wasn’t. Shit was starting to come back to me I’d thought long buried. My façade of being the good guy was tarnishing by the second.

  Rook didn’t seem to notice my indecision. Instead, he took one look at the group and let his head roll back as he laughed. “You’re like a bunch of kids waiting for the principal to eat them. You’re not ready. You’re not even close.” Suddenly Rook was no longer reclining and was instead standing eyeball-to-eyeball with Dobler. “And what is it with this one? He wants to kill me so badly I can taste it.” He licked the side of Dobler’s face with a tongue that looked like it was made from twelve inches of green and red velvet. “Delicious.”

  “He’s a born-again Christian. He thinks your kind are all devils.”

  “He’s probably right,” Rook said, putting his arm around Dobler’s head and petting it. “I’m the devil until the credits roll, then everyone scrambles to see who I really am.”

  “Doesn’t make sense,” Dobler said.

  “Doesn’t it? Think about it, my little Jesus freak.”

  “Which one of us is it going to be?” I asked.

  Rook gave me the same look as a man appraising a new hooker. “We’ll see how you all function, then I’ll decide. So how does this work?”

  “What do you mean?” Dobler asked.

  Rook ignored the CIA man’s question and asked one in return. “What’s your plan? How am I going to kill old Jupiter?”

  “What do you mean?” Dobler asked again.

  Rook made a disappointed face and wagged his finger. “That’s not good. I counted two ‘what do you mean’s and one ‘that doesn’t make any sense.’ You’re going to have to pay a penalty for that.”

  Dobler’s eyes went wild. “What? What penalty?”

  “A penalty. If you’re not going to open your mind and pay attention there are sublime penalties that have to be paid.” Rook glanced at me and grinned. “And God, but don’t I love the sublime.” Then he opened his mouth and clamped down on Dobler’s left arm. Rook shook his head and twisted, coming away with a huge chunk of the CIA man’s triceps, spraying blood across the cave.

  Dobler screamed and screamed and fell to his knees. He stared at the blood gushing from his arm, unable to do anything.

  Segrest rushed over to him. Kicking Dobler in the chin to get him down, Segrest pushed a knee on the left shoulder joint to slow the blood, then ripped Dobler’s shirt free. It took a few moments, then he had a pressure bandage fashioned and the arm in a sling.

  No one said a thing.

  I’d seen it before. I’m not sure if it was a game or a test, but the monster had his way of doing things.

  Perez had scooted beside me. He held his HK416 in a white-knuckled grip, the working end pointing ever so slightly toward Rook, while his crucifix dangled from his hand.

  Wisnewski and Watson stood together, whispering to each other on the other side of the entrance. I hoped they weren’t going to try anything. The plan was still in place. In fact, if Dobler could somehow keep from being eaten, we might just get somewhere.

  Segrest splashed water on Dobler’s face, waking him up. Then he worked his way back to me. By the time he was standing next to me, he was holding a 9mm pistol down in front of him, his left hand covering it.

  Dobler seemed to collect himself, then glared at Rook. I have to give the CIA guy credit. He wasn’t a shrinking violet.

  “Where were we?” Rook asked, picking his teeth with what looked like a piece of bone he’d plucked from the floor.

  “I was about to tell you the plan.” Aided by his clenched teeth, Dobler kept his voice even.

  “By all means. Tell me. How are you going to have me kill Jupiter?”

  Dobler blinked for a moment. For a second I was worried he wasn’t going to be able to deliver. Then he said, “Sunlight.”

  Rook smiled. With the blood staining the outside of his mouth, it was a terrible thing. “But that would kill me too. What do you think I’m going to do? Lead him outside for a chat? Me and Jupiter holding hands and walking through flower-strewn fields?” He glanced at me, then stopped as if he could read my mind. “But you knew this part, didn’t you. It’s how you escaped the first time. It’s why I didn’t go after you.”

  Hodges’s and Mixon’s bodies had already been near the entrance, their necks twisted, hearts eaten out of their chests, stomachs empty bowls of flesh. O’Bryant had been next. At sunrise, I’d knocked Rook free of where he was chewing on O’Bryant and had dragged my last soldier outside.

  “How’d you explain to them that you weren’t injured?” Rook asked. Everyone turned to me, making Rook realize. “Oh, you were injured. Of course you would be. You’d have to be, now wouldn’t you? How were you injured, Gillam?”

  SOJTF INVESTIGATION EXRACT FOR MISSION: 32-0073-12

  EXTRACT: MSG GILLAM’S CONTUSIONS AND LIGAMENT TEARS ARE CONSISTENT WITH SEL-DEFENSE AND EVIDENCE OF EXTREME COMBAT. A 9MM BULLET MATCHING THE MANUFACTURER OF ROUNDS ISSUED TO HIS TEAM WAS REMOVED FROM HIS LE
FT ARM. BALLISTIC STRIATIONS DO NOT MATCH ANY OF THE RECOVERED WEAPONS, HOWEVER MANY OF THESE SAME ROUNDS HAVE BEEN REPORTEDLY USED BY ENEMY FIGHTERS, PURPORTEDLY STOLEN DURING SHIPMENT FROM PAKISTAN TO AFGHANISTAN. RECOMMEND CLOSE CASE ON ISSUE AND RESCIND DUSTWUN ON SFC BENJAMIN HAYNES. HIS BODY HAS BEEN DEEMED UNRECOVERABLE BASED ON MSG GILLAM’S REPORTS.

  AAR 32-0073-12 IS CLASSIFIED XX XX X XXX.

  “I was shot.”

  If Rook had been drinking he would have snorted. “And who shot you?”

  “You shot me,” I said flatly. It had been too hard to explain otherwise. It was no hard thing to push the barrel into my own arm and pull the trigger. God knew I’d tried to shoot myself enough times.

  Rook raised his eyebrows. “Since when do Nightbreed need guns?”

  Dobler glared at me. He was good at glaring. “I’ve always had a problem with that part of your story,” he said, clearly trying to master a voice that was right on the edge of losing it.

  “Shut up, Dobler, and get on with it,” I said. Instead of standing, I shifted to a knee and folded my hands across it.

  Perez whispered to me, his eyes wild as he took in the monster. “I can shoot him, boss. It would be too easy.”

  I shrugged. Why not? It wasn’t like he’d do any damage. “Sure. Go ahead,” I said.

  Perez giggled as he opened up, firing three-round bursts into Rook, filling the cave with violently assaultive percussive noise that caused all of us to cover our ears. I closed my eyes as rock chips and pieces of pillow flew through the air. When his magazine ran out, Perez scrambled to load another one.

  I opened my eyes and removed my hands from my ears. I worked my jaw to clear my head of the sound.

  Rook laughed as he danced in the falling goose down.

  “Seriously?” Dobler said, getting to his feet and staggering over toward Perez. “Why even try and shoot him, Perez—is that your name? We have this under control.”

  I looked at Dobler and knew otherwise. The monster had all of the control. The fact that Dobler thought he had the power to do anything just proved he had no idea what was going on. Maybe if we’d been outside we’d have stood a chance. Maybe. But here? In his cave … his lair? I didn’t think so.

  Dobler must have sensed my thoughts, because he rounded on me. “What? Now you have a comment?”

  “Easy, Dobler,” I said. “You’ve lost a lot of blood and aren’t used to this sort of thing.”

  “Used to it?” he asked as his voice rose to breaking. “Like you’re used to it? Does Special Forces have a new monster training ground I’m not aware of?”

  I put my hand out. “Easy, man. This isn’t done yet. We can still do what we came here to do. Stay on mission.”

  Dobler’s eyes cleared for a moment. He licked his lips as his gaze darted momentarily to his arm. His movement had gotten it bleeding again, but he made no move to attend to it. Instead, he nodded. “Okay. All right.” He turned back toward Rook. “You wanted to know how we’re going to help you kill Jupiter. I said sunlight. That’s true. But we have a suit for you. One which will protect you.”

  Rook rapped on his horn with the knuckles of his right hand. “Will it fit this?”

  Dobler nodded. “Not sure if we have the dimensions right. We had to base it on Gillam’s memory. But I’m pretty sure it will.”

  I was only half paying attention. I gestured for Perez to get behind me. Although the rounds hadn’t hurt the monster, he didn’t seem pleased at the destruction of his pillows.

  “Watson and Wisnewski, check outside to make sure we’re not going to have any unplanned guests.” I glanced at them, and flicked toward the exit with my gaze. If we could get them out, it would be a start.

  But Rook seemed ready. Just as the pair were beginning to move, he stepped into their path.

  They raised their weapons, then looked at me.

  “Come on, Rook. Let them do their job,” I said.

  He nodded, but didn’t move out of their way.

  Wisnewski raised his weapon and tried to slam the butt into Rook’s face. The monster caught it, which seemed to be what Wisnewski wanted. While Rook’s hands were engaged, the big Polack pulled free his blade from his thigh sheath and sawed it across Rook’s unprotected stomach. Skin immediately peeled free, revealing a gash so deep I could have slid my hands inside.

  But there was no blood.

  Wisnewski hesitated, unsure what to do next … which was his undoing.

  Rook became smoke and swirled around his attacker. Wisnewski spun too, trying to keep the bare hint of Rook’s figure in front of him, but he couldn’t move fast enough. Suddenly, he stopped, his body rigid. When Rook re-formed behind his target, he was once again whole and his fingers were inside the flesh of Wisnewski’s back, wrapped around his spine.

  Wisnewski tried to move, but Rook clamped down with his fist. The big Polack’s eyes popped and his face showed the strain he was taking from the pain. He tried to scream, but all that came out was a whine.

  Rook bit down on the back of the soldier’s head and peeled back a piece of hair-covered skin. Wisnewski’s eyes rolled back in his head and he began to scream, but Rook shoved him to the floor and pressed his face into the floor with a foot on the back of his head. The monster held him there as he pulled the flap of skin from his teeth and regarded it. “I’m not your cliché,” he said, his voice wrought with sadness. He took a bite of the skin and chewed thoughtfully. “I’m not a creature from your stories. The idea that I exist, and therefore I am evil is a construct. If I live in a cave or under a bridge or in a mountaintop castle, it’s because I don’t want to be a part of your humanity. It’s not because you’re afraid of me. It’s because I’m afraid of you.”

  “But that’s ridiculous.” Dobler was pale as he watched Rook chew.

  “Is it? Did I come chasing after you or was it you who came after me? And for what? To weaponize me?”

  Dobler gulped. “Maybe this is a mistake.” He glanced at me. “Maybe we shouldn’t be here.” He gulped again. His voice became that of a child’s. “Can we go now, Gillam?”

  I shook my head slowly. I hadn’t wanted to come here. I’d known how it was going to turn out.

  “You asked the wrong person,” Rook said. “Gillam is a far worse monster than me.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. In the realm of monstrous I was an acolyte compared to Rook.

  Rook giggled and tore another piece of skin free. “When a monster is a monster he’s being true to his nature. When a human is a monster it’s far worse.”

  I wished Rook would shut up. I think it was all the time he spent alone. It made him want to talk. I opened my mouth to say something, but Rook interrupted, jerking Wisnewski’s spine free with a mighty heave. He removed his foot from the man’s head and stepped forward, holding the long meaty piece out for inspection. He regarded the spine for a moment, then tossed it at Dobler, who automatically caught it in his arms, before dropping it. Then Dobler bent over and retched.

  “You’re not a good person, Gillam,” Rook said, licking his hand clean. “You try and be. You pretend to be. But you have thoughts, don’t you? You have impulses. Crazy impulses. You see something and you want to do something bad to it. But then you don’t and you pretend that everyone thinks the same things and that you’re a good person for showing restraint. But you’re not a good person, Gillam. You’re not good at all. At least not how these people think. At least not how poor Ben thinks.” At this last, he pointed toward the ceiling, to a spot where a single head hung, different from the others. This one had no cloth on its head. It had no beard. On its neck was tattooed A/9/2, Ben’s first unit in Somalia.

  I was shocked to see it. More shocked at the memory it evoked. Then of course I’d told everyone that Ben had been killed by an IED. No trace left. Nothing. Not even a piece of skin to test for DNA. And the others knew it too. They’d read the AAR. They knew my story.

  Perez was the first to attack, but the sound of his knife sliding free was loud
and gave me plenty of time to put my pistol beneath his chin and fire three times.

  Segrest lifted his weapon and I brought mine around at the same time. I stepped backward and we found ourselves barrel-to-barrel. His eyes widened. Then I shifted slightly and pulled the trigger, catching him in the forehead. I threw myself down in case he fired, but he was unable to get a shot off.

  “GILLAM!” Dobler shouted. “STOP!”

  I landed next to Segrest. His dead eyes accused me. We’d drunk together. We’d killed together. We’d been friends. But I’d never really cared for him. I’d just played the part I was supposed to, doing the things I was supposed to do to get along. Cooperate to graduate, as they say.

  Monique had looked at me the same way after she’d died. I’d told her I loved her. I told her I’d take her home with me. I told her I wouldn’t squeeze so hard. It was her fault she’d believed all of my lies. Then as I took her from behind, I’d closed my eyes and remembered Ben, doing the same thing to his face after he’d died.

  I spied Watson as he aimed at me. I used Segrest’s body as cover and fired from the ground. I scored two hits center mass, but not before he was able to hit me three times in the back. I rolled over and groaned. The pain sent me away.…

  I don’t know how long I was out, but I awoke to hear Rook saying, “‘Sublime’ is a word I’ve discovered lately. It’s a good word. Underused, I think.”

  Then blackness took me again.

  I tumbled to a memory of me and Ben sitting and watching the television, some Armed Forces Network replay of a hero movie.