by James R Tuck
THAT WAY LIES
MADNESS
James R. Tuck
Blammo!
ALSO BY JAMES R. TUCK
The Deacon Chalk: Occult Bounty Hunter Series
THAT THING AT THE ZOO
BLOOD AND BULLETS
SPIDER'S LULLABY
BLOOD AND SILVER
CIRCUS OF BLOOD
BLOOD AND MAGICK
SPECIAL FEATURES
SILK AND SCALE (Winter 2013)
The Culvert City Crime Files
HIRED GUN
As editor and contributor
THUNDER ON THE BATTLEFIELD: Sword
THUNDER ON THE BATTLEFIELD: Sorcery
For information about appearances, news, and new
releases as well as up-to-the-minute social media go to:
WWW.JAMESRTUCK.COM
Copyright 2013 James R. Tuck.
All rights reserved.
No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of James R. Tuck.
Quotes may be used for review purposes only.
Cover and interior layout: James R. Tuck
All artwork Copyright 2013 James R. Tuck
Thank you for respecting the hard work of James R. Tuck.
Dedicated to the Missus.
She keeps all the scary at bay.
Introduction
Deep space.
It's scary.
Like the ocean, which is the closest thing most of us can relate to, the void of space invokes a primordial fear. It makes us feel insignificant and completely helpless.
The unknowable nature of the void, the faceless apathy, of the thing is a stark reminder of our brief, fragile existence. We are nothing to the vastness of the outer universe. Insignificant. Tiny. Puny.
The same holds true for the Cthulhu Mythos. Elder Gods are alien and vast, so cold in their inhumanity, so unlike us in every way.
And they do not care for your worthless human life. You are nothing to them. At best you are a morsel, a thing stuck in their molars as they inexorably grind on through eternity and you blink out of existence.
It's frightening stuff.
Enough to give you nightmares and chills and keep you up through the empty night.
That's why I had to explore both.
The result is in your hands, waiting on you to turn the page, to get to it, to quit pussy-footing around and face the horror, the terror, of something that disregards you so thoroughly.
It's not personal.
But that just makes it all the more terrifying.
This book also contains my twisted zombie love story HE STOPPED LOVING HER TODAY. I love this story. It's the first thing I had published. The Deacon Chalk series had sold to Kensington but this story beat it to publication by months. The nice folks over at One Buck Horror put it in their collection ONE BUCK ZOMBIES. I've put a bit more polish on it, so it's not as raw as that first published version, but for all intents and purposes, it remains the same.
Enjoy these two tales of terror!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to The Missus, my stalwart companion in all things editorial.
Thank you to the folks at MassForward, my writing group (although that isn't our name I just cannot help myself) for reading the main part of this not once but twice.
Thanks to Ed at Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show for turning down the version of this story I sent him. It sucked then. I don't know what I was doing at that time with the POV shift. You were right.
Mega kudos go to the folks over at One Buck Horror for previously printing He Stopped Loving Her Today in ONE BUCK ZOMBIES. It was my first time being in print and really boosted my confidence. You guys do an ace product and are truly fabulous.
THAT WAY LIES
MADNESS
Chapter 1
I discovered blood and rust have something in common.
It's not the colors they share, rich dark reds and sunset-orange tinged browns.
It's not their smell, heavy with iron and hemoglobin.
It's that they taste the same in your mouth.
Metallic and slightly salty.
Where tang moves from being a sound or the hasp of a blade to being a flavor.
I pushed myself off the steel floor of the ship's hold, peeling my cheek free where dried blood had bonded it to the rusted surface. My tongue pulled in, shoving blood out from under and spitting it to the floor. It was gritty. Specks and pieces of rust stuck where it lolled out of my mouth while I was unconscious. That's when I noticed the taste.
I didn't like that.
My hand scrabbled around, fingers closing on a sprocket wrench. Tiny hatchmarks grooved in the handle bit my palm. I stood, ignoring the bruise that my body had become, and hefted the three foot hunk of rusted steel. The wrench was busted, the lower jaw and spring piston sheared away, leaving just the curved steel spine. It would never turn another sprocket. Without it, if the FTL Drive transfer went out again we'd all be stranded, drifting in the depths of space on the ass end of the universe.
I didn't care.
Conceptual death seemed far off the event horizon compared to what waited somewhere on the other side of the ship.
I took a step, tightening my grip.
It was time for some payback.
Chapter 2
Choking.
Gasping.
Throat burning.
No.
Air.
I jolted awake, acid burning the back of my throat, no oxygen in the capsule, polycarbonate lid opaque with condensation.
Tiny droplets of moisture clung, hung, and stretched; shaking as I struggled against the harsh imprisonment of the stability straps. Muscles pulled, strained to tearing. Eyes wide, I watched one droplet break free, falling away slowly in the low gravity of the cryo-capsule, tumbling and rolling through the vacuum. Tiny pieces of it separated, clinging in micro-orbit around the center.
It fell.
And kept falling.
My mind clawed at the fact that I was trapped in a coffin of technology while one tiny part of me was fascinated by that droplet, hyper-focused on its descent. Dark fuzz flickered along the edge of my vision, growing with a buzzing in my ears. As the droplet fell the inky blackness narrowed, closing to surround it, to lock my concentration on it and only it. I wanted to shut my eyes but somewhere inside I knew that once closed they would never open again.
Closer the droplet fell.
Closer the darkness drew.
Tighter.
Smaller.
BANG!
The drop slammed into my eye.
It flashed across my cornea, burning like saltwater as the lid sprang up. Condensation rained on my face, so cold it felt like sleet. Recycled air rushed into my lungs, swelling them and driving the darkness from my vision.
A face swarmed over me, surrounded by a mammoth tangle of wiry red whiskers. Shaggy, auburn hair in fat, knotted dreads swung into the cryo-capsule. They tickled my nose, smelling like roasted coffee. Smile lines carved deep beside green eyes and a mouth that split to show big, white, horse teeth.
"Holy hell Molly, how long're you planning on sleepin'?"
My voice lodged in my throat, hoarse from disuse. I swallowed and forced it loose. "Get me out of this damn box."
Hannigan smiled again, his head bobbed, making dreads jounce up and down. "Will do, boss."
There was a hiss as the hydraulics released the straps pinning me inside the cryo-capsule. I groaned as full gravity kicked in. All my muscles felt like they were being pulled off the bones. I breathed through it, capturing breath then releasing it slow and eas
y. The pain evened out, lessening to only a sick ache housed in my joints. Sitting up, I put a hand on my condensation spattered forehead.
The wet on my fingers made me feel dirty.
The sleep deck bustled with activity. Everyone was awake, the air heavy with ozone and enclosed humanity. The oxygen scrubbers could only handle so much at once. The meaty smell told me they were pushed to their capacity. They would catch up eventually, but my stomach still lurched.
Sleep sickness.
Everyone reacts differently to being cryogenically frozen. Some folks wake just fine, some are disoriented and sick as hell.
I dry heaved, vomiting the nothing I'd lived on while in suspended animation. I was one of the lucky ones in the second group.
I groaned again. "Somebody kill me now." The dry heaving didn't make my voice easier to use.
Hannigan belonged to the first group. The ones who woke up downright damn refreshed. For a split second I hated him. It hit me in a lightningstrike of irrational anger. He patted my arm with a freckled hand the size of my head.
"My mother always said, 'be careful what you wish for, someone might come along and grant it'."
"My mom used to say, 'fuck what your mother used to say'."
Hannigan's whisker bramble split in another wide grin. He helped me to my feet. “Click-Clack wants to see you.”
Leaning on the side of the cryo-capsule, I rubbed the ache in my temples. “Don't start that shit. It's Pilot Klactac and you know it.” My fingers stuck in tight ringlets of thick hair.
I'll have to get that buzzed again before I go back to Sleep.
Hannigan's laugh was a booming thing, rolling through the sleep deck and bouncing around off the steel walls. It felt like a hammer against my swollen brain. “I do, I do. But you know how I feel about that buggy little bastard.”
I stood, stretched, and began walking towards the bridge of the ship without looking back. I did know how he felt.
I just didn't give a damn.
Chapter 3
“Good -tik- to see you awake Miss Muldoon.”
“Molly.”
Pilot Klactac turned his head, long neck twisting on its middle joint. The rest of his body remained facing the ship's console. Segmented eye globes didn't blink, lights from a multitude of screens shining off each little diamond shape on their surface. His mandibles swung back and forth. “Excuse -tik- me?”
“It's just Molly. Muldoon was my asshole ex-husband.”
“I -tik- see.” He continued to study me, head tilted.
I shifted. "You wanted something?”
Klactac's body turned. Both sets of upper appendages rotated up and around to continue fiddling with the console behind him. “We have dropped out -tik- of hyperspace. I need you to check the FTL Drive and bring it -tik- back online.”
"Hannigan's on duty this quarter. He's capable.”
“Not as -tik- capable as you.”
“True.” I looked at the view port set in the nose of the ship. The sliding metal shutters were closed tight against the vacuum of deep space. Rust patterns of swirls and whorls traced the surface, a delicate lace of browns and oranges.
The ship, my ship, was birthed in deep space, a wonder of organic steel, advanced science, and retro-engineered alien tech. It continually regenerated itself. Grow, decay, die, regenerate. Grow, decay, die, regenerate. Over and over and over again. It was how the ship could survive the rigors of deep space travel.
Cosmic rays and radiation were absorbed by the ship, protecting the people who symbiotically live inside. The radiation killed it slowly, creating the rust that covered every surface. This sparked the continual regeneration cycle. The ship had no sentience, just memory of form, each part replacing itself from itself.
It was a damn miracle.
That, tied with the discovery of hyperdrive, had allowed mankind to take to the stars. To seek out new life.
New life like the Klatuu who lived on a world named Hove by our first explorers. They were a tribal society based on carbon technology and welcomed humanity to their corner of the universe. They introduced us to their neighbors in space and, being the only other star-traveling species, agreed to partner with us to push further, to forge ahead, to draw up to the furthest edge of the known galaxy.
My Klatuu pilot clicked to get my attention. I kept staring at the shutters. I hate it when I drift off.
Damn Sleep sickness always made me fuzzy-headed.
"-tik- Molly? What are you waiting for?”
I turned to him. "I'm realizing that I'm doing you a favor.”
"No, you are -tik- doing your job.”
Lowering my eyes from the pattern on the shutters, I stared at him evenly. “I'm contemplating using my skills and knowledge after being pulled out of Sleep early by your order.”
He nodded acquiescence.
I continued. "I hate being woken up early. Contractually I'm never supposed to be. So if I do my job at this time I'll be doing you a favor.”
Klactac nodded again.
"Open the viewport shutters and let me see the stars.”
He made a hissing buzz sound from his head. If bugs could sigh, that's what it sounds like. "We need to get -tik- back to hyperdrive. We are losing -tik- time.”
I shrugged. "Time is relative.”
Outside hyperspace three weeks would pass while we crossed the universe. Because of the weird physics of hyperspace, the common name for the pocket dimension we punch a hole through with the hyperdrive, inside the ship it would be twelve years. Crew worked one quarter each year and slept the other three. That way we come out the other side of return only six years older rather than near a quarter of a century.
I crossed my arms over my chest. "I'm still due for six months more Sleep. I can gladly wait to fix the damn ship then."
Klactac sighed again. This was a long one. It sounded tired even though it was a series of hisses tripped by the occasional click. "Molly. Every moment -tik- we spend out of hyperdrive extends the -tik- time away from our homes and family."
"Not a problem for me."
Long fingers came up and rubbed the ridge above Klactac's unblinking eyes. "That is right. -tik- I forgot. I did download your RFID chip's information. I am. . ."
My face tightened. The skin at my temples and the corners of my mouth pulled taut as my jaw clenched, teeth grinding.
My head began to pound.
Don't bring her up. Don't speak to me about her you bug-eyed fuck. Don't. You. Dare.
My hand curled into a fist. Every knuckle popped.
Klactac turned slowly to face the console. His scratchy voice was low, as gentle as it could sound. "We cannot -tik- take long. The view port glass can only handle the radiation to a level of 1912 Victorhess." Fingers on three hands moved over the console, dancing across switches, buttons, and knobs.
A crack appeared in the center of the swirled rust, splitting it like lightning had the old oak tree behind the house where my daughter had been born. I let go the breath I'd been holding.
My hand unclenched.
The shutters peeled back slowly, vibration grinding through the floor, rattling into my shinbones.
They moved like a girl undressing, her soon-to-be-lover watching for the first time. Unveiling slowly. Teasing. Parceling out the good stuff out one slow, shy inch at a time.
Stars spilled into the gap, shining with cold light. My eye couldn't fathom the depth of eldritch darkness even as it was punctured by those detached, unconcerned pinpricks. Strange constellations wove around the few planets there on the edge of the universe. My mind boggled at the sheer size of it all, all thought shut down in the face of such sheer, primordial enormity. It stretched, vast and malignant; the void so unconcerned with fragile humanity that it would snuff out my tiny little life if it weren't for the tiny little ship keeping me safe.
There was no mercy in the void, just a vast, alien hostility to even the concept of my life. Dread clotted my throat at the very thought of that hostility tu
rning in my direction.
Eyes slammed shut, I turned away, pushing out the breath held captive in my chest. I'd seen enough. There was nothing out there. Nothing past this.
"Close it. Just close it." I swallowed. "I'll get us online."
Klactac couldn't blink as I turned and strode away.
Chapter 4
"Somebody hand me the one twenty-five mill wrench."
The access port to the FTL Drive was narrow around my head, shoulders, and chest as I hung upside down. Sweat beaded, running down my face, dripping away and falling down the port. An itch burrowed under the band of my headlamp. My arm stretched up behind me, hand open and waiting for the tool I'd asked for. My fingers waved impatiently as I hung, feet dangling in the air outside the port opening.
"Anytime you want to get to it." Sarcasm cut my voice as I called out.
A familiar weight settled in my hand, a rusty steel shape, rough as the callouses it rubbed across my palm. My fingers closed around the handle of the sprocket wrench.
About damn time.
My arm moved but the wrench snagged, pulling in my grip. I tugged.
It tugged back.
Something brushed across my knuckles, something light, almost feathery. It tickled across the back of my hand and wrapped around my wrist.
Somebody's always got to be screwing around.
Kicking, I pushed out of the access port, landing with a thud of boots on the organic iron walkway. I still held the sprocket wrench, looking for the asshole who was playing jokes.
No one was there.
I looked down at the tool in my grip.
A creature curled around the end of it.
It was small enough to fit in two hands. A segmented, blue-black shell covered its back. A hundred tiny legs waved along the edge of the oval shell, moving in a ripple from front to back and around again. It had a tiny head with a tiny face complete with beaded black eyes and a button nose. Two long whip-like antennae sprouted from that head wrapped around my hand, slithering and undulating like some kind of obscene tongue.
