DIRE : BORN

by Andrew Seiple

  There was a group of four teens in black jackets smoking outside the door, sitting on and around dark wooden pews that had been dragged outside. One of the teens stuck a knife into the old wood, scratched the side of it, carving crude letters in one by one. The sight of it filled me with... not anger, but more of an annoyance. Someone had put work into it, that wood was clearly handcrafted and old. Now it was being casually mutilated, with no thought to its history, or the cost of replacing it.

  As we got closer the biggest teen flicked his cigarette off to the side, held out a hand toward us. “Beat it, you fuckin' hobos.”

  “Here to see Sangre,” Roy grunted.

  “He call for you? I don't fuckin' think so.”

  Martin moved up, got in his face, ignored the other three scrambling up from their seats. “Sangre gonna want to hear what we got to offer him,” Martin said, staring him down, unblinking. “Go in and tell him we come to bargain.”

  The teen spat in Martin's face, and Martin picked him up the second he did, both hands lashing out and catching him under the arms and lifting. Frozen in shock, the kid offered little resistance as Martin slammed him against the wall, paused, did it again, then twisted and threw him down at the feet of the two teens running toward him. They skidded to a stop, trying not to fall over their buddy's groaning form.

  Hm. Martin was stronger than he looked. I'd keep that in mind.

  “You don't speak for Sangre!” Roy shouted, as the last one struggled to his feet, pulling the knife out of the wood of the pew. “You fuckin' don't speak for him. You think different? That why you're on guard duty, pendejos?”

  “Fuck you old man!” The teen on the ground struggled to his feet, started to draw a gun, and Roy's pistol was in his hand and aimed between his eyes in the time it took to blink. The Blood froze.

  For a second we all looked at each other. The one with the knife started to draw it back, maybe to try a throw, and I slipped my gun from its waistband and undid the safety. He jumped at the soft “click,” and looked from me to Roy.

  “Heh, heh, heh.” A soft chuckle from above, and I risked a look up. A window on the second floor of the church was open, and a bare-chested, slim man with long hair was leaning out from it. His features were fine, and his grin showed white teeth. “Hey there Roy.”

  “Sangre,” Roy said, without looking up. “How long were you watchin' this?”

  “Since you started talking. It got pretty funny pretty quick.”

  The gangers by the door shifted from foot to foot, looking guilty. The teen with the gun glanced at it, tucked it away. I followed suit. Roy risked a glance up.

  “You decent?”

  “Fuck no.”

  “I mean... you okay with visitors?”

  “Sure. Just starting the night's business anyway. Ah... leave the guns out here for now. Jamie, Big Dog, search them all.”

  They patted us down. I handed over the gun, but as the nearest one stretched a hand out for the backpack, I pulled it away. “No weapons in here,” I told him.

  He shook his head. “You heard him.”

  Hell. I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this... I unzipped the backpack, showed the contents to the teen. Immediately, he reached in, pulled out the mask. “Hey boss!” He shoved it upwards, and Sangre laughed that quiet little chuckle. “So you're the one. Makes sense. Where'd you find your new girlfriend, Roy?”

  “Your boys started shit. Weren't no harm done in the end though,” Roy protested.

  “I dunno Roy, she smells a little like vigilante from where I'm standing. Already got one of those fuckers to domesticate. Don't need another.”

  Another? What was he talking about?

  “Listen, we got services to trade.”

  “That why you brought two women along? I'm not so hard up that I'll go for homeless pussy, Roy.”

  “I'm talking power. Electricity. We got it, and so can you.”

  “Huh. Okay, you managed to say something interesting. Jamie, bring them up.”

  I reached out for my mask again, and the teen pulled it back, sneering.

  Sangre frowned. “Big Dog. I didn't say to keep that.”

  His words were quiet, his tone conversational, but the look of raw fear that flashed across the teen's face was almost painful to see. He pressed the mask back into my hand, muttered an apology as I slipped it into the backpack again. With our guns and Minna's knife left piled on the pew outside, Jamie threw open the weathered doors to the church. He beckoned us into the dim, flickering space beyond.

  The interior of the church didn't quite match the exterior. The walls were paint-covered cinderblocks, with a mud-tracked carpet lining the floor. It was dark in here, with dancing candlelight providing the only visibility. Someone had set candles against the walls, votives by the look of them. There were a few bigger ones of assorted styles mixed in here and there. Wooden doors stood open in the entry hall, and I saw dim shapes moving in a room off to the side. There were glittering eyes watching us, as the smell of some sort of burning plant wafted through that entryway. On the wall in front of us a pair of doors stood shut, with a bulletin board off to the side of them. The papers had been ripped down and strewn over the floor, and a spray-painted skull decorated it now.

  The teen, Jamie, moved up to the double doors and pulled one open. “In past the altar, and up the stairs,” he said, and we passed through into the worship hall. More candles here, shadows dancing as we moved past carved columns and scattered pews. High ceilings too, with stained glass windows to either side, built to catch the sunrise and the sunset. Must have been a sight during the day, but now it was simply ominous. This place was lit by flashlights and electric lanterns, and the pews had been moved aside to make room for piles of, well, stuff. One side looked to be stacks full of electronics... televisions, computers, and game consoles made up most of it. Another pile looked to be cans of food. As I watched, a pair of gangers shook sealed packets of MRE's out of crates. The altar itself shown with the glitter of gems, as what appeared to be a huge heap of jewelry had been piled on the top of it. There were about a dozen Black Bloods in the room, and every one of them was armed with some sort of gun. The ones who weren't sorting goods were watching us with cold eyes.

  “They been looting,” explained Martin.

  “Looting? No,” said Jamie. “This is all tribute. The people around here need protection, and they're willing to pay for it.”

  Roy snorted, but a glance from Martin stilled any words he might have had on the subject.

  We passed through the worship hall, past the altar, into a small hallway beyond, lit by a single hanging lantern. There was a staircase at the end of the hall, and a few open doors revealing mostly unlit rooms. From one of them, I could hear the sound of a woman crying, interspersed with the slapping of flesh against flesh. A flicker of movement caught my eye, and I saw Minna clenching her fists open and shut, staring into the darkness.

  “Protection, huh?” Roy muttered. “I bet.”

  Against my expectations, Jamie looked away, looking almost ashamed in the split-second his face was still visible. It struck me that he was actually fairly young, as far as I could tell.

  “It's up the stairs,” he said. “Come on.”

  I put my hand on Minna's shoulder, and she looked to me, something dark and primal in her eyes. I shook my head, and mouthed “later”.

  After a second she nodded, and we followed the men up the stairs.

  Jamie led us up past the first landing and the door at the end of it, to a second and final landing. Heavy cloth hung across the doorway here, and a sweet scent drifted out from under it. Martin frowned. “He lives in that shit?”

  “Yes,” Jamie said.

  “And he's not ranting about three-headed moon men or stuff like that?”

  Sangre's voice drifted out from behind the curtain. “Come in and judge for yourself. I can hear you, you know. Ah, you stay outside Jamie. I'll be fine.”

  Roy shook his head and pushed aside the curtain
.

  If I'd thought the room downstairs had a lot of candles in it, this put it to shame. They were on just about every visible surface, casting dancing shadows across the sloped ceiling. Judging by the boxes and folded chairs stacked here and there, this was storage for the church. In the center of it, a pile of blankets surrounded by rugs hung into curtains. Pale, feminine legs, two pairs of them, protruded out from the shadows of the makeshift bed.

  Off to the side, dropping small bundles of herbs into hanging censors, stood Sangre. He was clad only in leather pants so tight that I had to wonder how he walked without chafing his anus. Smoke oozed out of the makeshift braziers, and billowed around the floor. An honest-to-god sword stood against the wall, next to a couple of pistols and SMG's dangling from hooks.

  Sangre turned to face us with a hair flip that sent his waist-length blonde hair over a shoulder, a move that was far too practiced to be accidental. Fine lips curved in a smile, as he surveyed us. “Roy. Martin. And two women I don't know yet.”

  The scent of the smoke tickled the back of my throat. I glanced to Martin, he shook his head. I breathed as shallowly as I could.

  “This here's Miss Dire, and Miss Minna,” Roy said, and Sangre moved in closer, reaching out for us. Minna jolted back, almost toppling a box laden with candles, before catching it. I stood still as Sangre scooped up my hand, brought it to his lips. “A pleasure. Might I see that mask you carry with you?”

  I unzipped the pack, showed it to him. He looked it over, smiled. “Caso and Bleeder had quite a lot to say a few nights back over a tall woman who was wearing that mask.”

  “Caso and Bleeder went looking for trouble, and we didn't start shit,” said Roy. “Everyone walked away and weren't no harm done at the end of the night.”

  Sangre smiled, his hand darting out and scooping up the mask as he turned it over and examined the back of it. I glared, but kept silent. If he got stupid I could tase him and get it back, and I doubted he could break it beyond my capability to repair it.

  “Mmm. See, Roy, the problem with that is that you're not the guy who gets to decide if you need to pay the price or not. Despite what liberals will tell you, a bunch of smelly hobos don't get to act like real people and try to stand up for themselves and then expect to walk away without paying the price!”

  In the space of a heartbeat he had whirled on Roy, and hissed out the words with pure malice in his voice. His demeanor had changed within an instant, and corded muscle stood out on his torso. We all took a few steps back, and I blinked. My head ached a bit. Was the smoke getting to me? Hard to tell. Either way the situation had taken a turn south, and I eased a hand onto my phone-taser.

  Roy, to his credit, stood his ground. “Which is why I expect you took our food.”

  Sangre chuckled, his smile reappearing as he patted Roy on the bearded cheek. “A plus. One hundred percent. Good answer. Don't worry, we'll put it to better use than a bunch of beachside garbage.”

  Martin nodded. “Looks like you got plenty downstairs, though.”

  Sangre shrugged, tossed the mask from hand to hand. “Maybe, maybe not. Reputable sources tell us that the power will stay off until certain people are good and happy with the situation. Could take a while.”

  “Reputable sources?” I asked. “Who?”

  He flickered, and was right in front of me. I blinked, my eyes had barely tracked that. The smoke was getting to me. We needed to wrap this up, and soon. Sangre stared me in the eye, his pupils dilated so wide that the only whites were rims to the side of his sockets. “Don't you worry your little head about that, Di. You mind if I call you Di? You look nothing like the poor lamented Princess, but that's okay.”

  “She doesn't mind,” I muttered. “But we came here to trade for food.”

  Sangre chuckled. “I already told you I'm not that hard up for companions.” He gestured toward the makeshift bed. “Besides, you're a bit plain for my tastes, Lady Di.”

  “Not that,” I replied. “Generators.”

  I'd originally planned to tell him about Sparky and offer to extend the range, but Sangre's sliminess was getting on my nerves. I didn't trust him knowing anything more about our camp and capabilities than necessary. I continued.

  “Dire is good at making devices, such as generators. Give her a car and a few hours, and she'll rig up a hydrogen-fueled device capable of powering a building, maybe two if you conserve power.”

  Sangre looked over at me, smiled. He tapped my mask against his chin. “Well. That's a kind offer. But I think no.”

  A low curse from Martin, and Roy sagged. “All right. Sorry we wasted yer time.”

  “Oh now, who said you did that? We're keeping her. If she's who I think, then there's someone looking for her, and they'll pay us all the generators or other things we could want.”

  He was pointing at me. I took a few steps to the side, reached a hand for the pocket with the taser in it. Missed. Sangre advanced on me, smiling...

  And Minna charged him.

  Minna's body stretched impossibly, and the wall blurred in afterimage... the smoke. Had to be. I was feeling it more, but she wasn't, perhaps. She slammed into Sangre, carried him over. Then they were rolling on the ground, knocking over boxes and candles. I staggered back, looked toward the windows so far away. Windows. Fresh air... if I could get to them, open them...

  A low cry of pain from behind me as I moved, and Roy telling Martin to get his arm, get his arm now dammit, but I ignored them, intent on the windows. But things got skewed, and I tripped over something in my path. I fell in a tangle of sheets as one of the curtains around the makeshift bed tore free. My hand slipped on something yielding, and I stared into the dead eyes of a pale woman.

  The women in Sangre's bed were corpses.

  It's hard to tell how long I spent staring at them. Their lips seemed to move as the shadows twisted, almost as if they were warning me to flee, but I was stuck staring. The smoke was skewed my sense of time, I could tell. Distantly I was aware that the scuffle behind me had stopped, and then strong arms hooked under my arms and dragged me back to the doorway.

  A figure stood there. How long had it been there, watching the struggle? My senses fought the drug, fought to make sense of what I was looking at. Tall, muscular, bare-chested like Sangre had been, with countless scars and burns along his frame. A metal mask, cruder than my own covered his head. It was featureless save for eyeholes, a bump for the nose, and some breathing holes. The eyes... the eyes weren't human. They looked human, but they weren't. Bloodshot. Dead.

  “So this is the woman,” he rumbled, and I couldn't look away, caught like prey fixated on a predator. This stranger threatened by merely existing, loomed just by standing.

  “Not much to look at, is she?” Sangre's cheerful voice from behind me. Ah, he was the one dragging me. “Still, I've done worse when I found it in my bed.”

  Steel mask shook his head, my sight rendering after-images in the smoke. My eyelids drooped, as sense began to flee.

  “No. She is theirs to torment however they choose, that's their right. I will go to see them. You are not permitted to harm the rest of this trash until I return. ”

  Sangre sighed behind me, as my eyes shut. “As you wish, sir. As you wish...”

  Then blackness, and I knew nothing more.

  CHAPTER 7: Strange Bedfellows

  “You're going to need allies. The truth of the human condition is that no one should ever go it alone, and despite your skill and talents, this is going to hold true for you, too. But be careful. Trust is never a guarantee, and often it will be a luxury you don't have time to verify. Always keep one eye open for betrayal, even when things are going well. Especially when things are going well. You'll find a few useful contacts in your phone. Once you get settled, give them a call. ”

  --Excerpt #64 from the Dire Monologues

  When I opened my eyes again, I was in a darkened room with my friends scattered around me. Two electric lanterns hung from the ceiling, illuminating a co
ncrete walled space. Like the attic, this was filled with random stuff. I saw boxes, a couple of blackboards shoved against the walls, folders full of construction paper shapes and macaroni-pasted art projects. A small puppet booth sat near stairs leading up, and next to it sat Jamie, with Roy's gun in his hand. He had his hands on his knees, and was staring at us. It looked like I had been the last to wake up.

  To the east of us, behind a thick wooden door, someone howled. It was a sound of pure pain, and it went on so long I wondered how they could keep it going without breathing. Jamie flinched, I think we all did. There was no sanity in that scream. It finally wound down, but was followed by the clanging of metal on metal.

  As discreetly as I could, I checked my pockets. I still had the forcefield generator, the phone taser, and the universal remote. My backpack was missing, along with the ball drone and toolbox. Judging by the impression I had got of the jackass, Sangre would probably be keeping my mask. It was close enough to the one that his boss wore, that he might see it as flattery.

  Well. He thought he'd be keeping that. I had other notions. “Everyone all right?” I murmured.

  “Hey. Shut up,” said Jamie. He pointed the gun in our general direction.

  We weren't in much shape to put up a fight. Hard to tell in the dim light, but it looked like Minna had a black eye. Martin's lips were busted and puffy, a trickle of blood drying on his face. Only Roy looked untouched.

  Well. If we couldn't talk with Jamie present, we'd need to fix that obstacle. “Jamie?” I asked.

  “Shut up.”

  “She can make you rich.” He blinked, but shook his head.

  “Ain't interested.”

  “One phone call. She'll pay you ten thousand dollars for it.”