This Is Not The End: But I Can See It From Here (The Big Red Z Book 1)

by Thomas Head

  Doc could hardly imagine a stranger circumstance than cresting only three more hills and seeing what remained of a building. Perched atop a lonely chunk of rock, the waves of the vast lake beyond it were pounding away at its base.

  Doc had not ever seen anything so desperate and desolate, yet so sturdy and welcoming. Strange, how hard it was for him to believe what he was seeing, but he had no trouble imagining the restless spirits that no doubt still prowled the halls. It was the only thing standing as far as the eye could see, save one volcanic-looking structure, further down the shore.

  For strangely long time, they all stood on that knoll of treeless land and watched the broad-shored waters, pewter and black, recede and crash again at the base of ruins.

  In time, though, the barmaids accompanied them along a road, of sorts, which rose up to meet them, forking into several, crumbling dead ends to either side into deep and brackish pools. They strode swiftly forward, and while Doc would have given all he possessed for the welcome of a roaring fire, they plunged waist-deep into frigid water for some hundred yards of low road, only to arrive at a somber, dark stone place. It was nearly April, but the wind that raced off the water, howling through the broken building, seemed as cold as autumn’s last frost. There was a smell that was hard to describe. Again, it was like autumn, but sour, tinged with the hectic flush of coming death.

  It was only then that Doc noticed that their motley party had a half a dozen goats, for some reason, and even the beasts seemed leery to go any nearer.

  Bik and Andi, two noisome redheaded barmaids that had adopted him, drew closer. Apart from a pat on the hands, Doc responded coldly to these warm overtures. But Bik pulled him closer still. She pointed to a gray monolith, a lone mountain, of sorts, to the north.

  “The lair of the Black Ones,” she said in a kind of whisper. “The abode of the helicopter.”

  Doc winced at the thought of the flying machine. Then he felt the unyielding agony that welled in Tyler’s eyes. There, with any luck whatsoever, was his beautiful Emily, somewhere in the bowels of that mountainous hill, enduring unknown hells.

  There were not three miles away. The mountain in which they had been tucked away was like a scarred, bleak, and lonely cone with half of it sheared off. It was half a mountain, really. The part that should have jutted out into the ocean looked as though they had been chiseled away by some enormous, mystical hammer—perhaps the same one that had pounded the rest of Nashville into black ruins. There were no foothills or peaks rimming it, just the lone monolith, bizarre, black and angular, rising from the water’s edge as if it had been dropped there from the heavens.

  Doc strained his eyes for any sign of the helicopter against the black slopes or the sheer, dark cliffs, and Doc thought for a moment he saw figures against the horizon.

  Sometimes his eyes did that.

  * * *

  They made camp just inside, with a pathetic excuse for a fire and not so much as a pile of hay to sit on. There was a solitary window-slit, or crack, facing the mountain, and while the tiny fire burned pitifully in the enormous, towering hearth, Dale kept watch. He said nothing of it, but Doc realized he had lost a great deal of trust with him, letting the barmaids catch them off their guard.

  Doc could smell lake’s brine, blending with the thin smell of the fire’s scrubby odor. Everything felt too still, and everything was strangely quiet as Bik and Andi pulled him aside. Others were taken aside two, Doc noticed, before they brought him upstairs, producing picks and combs from the folds of their thick mid-dresses.

  Doc looked out through a broken section of wall, breathing deeply. He stared out at the black mountain. It was disappearing into the gathering night, but it was no less impressive.

  Doc thought of Dolly.

  Andi knelt before him. She was freckled and pretty, with eyes that let you know she had known melancholies that no woman should ever have to endure. She pulled the twine from the braids of his beard. Bik approached too. She was mannish and tough, but somehow the more fragile-looking and prettier of the two. She scooted behind him, then pulled off his commando’s helmet. With her fingernails, she scruffed up his hair and unbound his ponytail. She would gradually loom into view, head first, combing and pawing at the front part of his hair before she began snipping at it here and there with small scissors. Then she would disappear behind him. Under his chin, Andi spread a bit of clothe over his lap, proceeding to even out lengths of his fire-singed beard. She told him to hold his chin high. Then, with a sharp razor, she sawed at the tangles under his jaw. Doc had never received, nor even seen, such care and attention, not to his beard at least.

  “They say the helicopter cannot resist the cry of a child. It is like the cry of a rabbit to a fox,” said Andi.

  “Yuh,” Doc whispered, unable to nod with the razor beneath his chin.

  “That is why we brought the goats.”

  Doc raised an eyebrow questioningly.

  “Have you ever heard a goat being bled from the throat?”

  “Yeah. I see,” Doc mumbled. “You plan to lure it out with them.”

  Bik whispered into his ear from behind, “Smart. As intelligent as you are easy on the eyes, Mister Doc.”

  “And twice as generous,” Doc said puckishly. “Though I’m afraid you’ve arrived at the auction too late, my dears. The one called Dolly has stolen away with your prize bull.”

  At once, they both giggled, but then stopped themselves too soon.

  “What?” Doc whispered, Andi trimming again on his beard.

  “Nothing, Mister Doc.”

  “Don’t call me intelligent then play me the fucking fool! You obviously know her! What is it?”

  “A small matter, sir. It’s just that Dolly, she’s…”

  “She’s what?”

  “Barren, sir. Poor Dolly cannot conceive.”

  Doc grunted, softly.

  In his mind, he had no doubt that this was as villainous a trait to these barmaids as arson, or even murder. And that Doc would fail no matter how hardily, and cleverly, they might try to have a little one of their own, should embitter him unspeakably.

  But it was not so.

  Instead, his heart gathered around the thought of her more tenderly than ever, endearing her to him more fully

  “We understand, sir,” Bik said, changing the subject, seeming to mistake his silence for rage, “that your company of commandos does not mean to kill the longmongers, only to steal away with the wife of the one called Tyler?”

  “True,” Doc said, though he was not entirely certain that was the plan.

  Then the absurdity of that hit him--thundering fuck! Somehow, they had drug themselves across the state, and they hadn’t even discussed what they were going to do once they got here!

  “Very good, sir. Then luring it out of your path will serve both of our warparties well!”

  Chapter 51

  Out of deference to Dolly, Doc occupied a different corner of the dark lodgings than Bik and Andi that night. Which is not to say his thoughts were pure. It would not even be right to say Doc had remained faithful to the spirit of his newfound longings for her—he had, after all, gotten batshit crazy on the sleeping skins of a massive Mexican. But that night was different. Not only did they know Dolly, but there was one in particular that looked a bit like her. So Doc kept a respectable distance as he settled in for some sleep. Indeed, Doc feared he slept nearer poor Tyler, which is a sorry business for a stout young commando to admit.

  But it is a good thing he did.

  Doc truly believed Tyler would have forgotten to eat, let alone try to get some rest, had he not been there to lug him forcibly downstairs to where a pair of barmaids was roasting a goat.

  Often Doc had seen the wild women writhe and pose like cats in front of him along their journey. It’s perhaps shameful, but Doc would often go across the camp fire and nod to a particular nice-looking woman, noting the obvious to him, because he thought Tyler could use the distraction.

  “Lynx,
deer, fox, cow, black bear! All their hides keep a fellow warm at night, know what I’m saying, Tyler?” Doc would ask, while the wild females eyed him with suspicious curiosity.

  “Certainly, certainly,” Tyler would answer. “But wrap yourself in mink, little brother, then talk to me about the rough hides of goats and horses!”

  Doc had nodded when he said this. And they had both had a laugh. But only now, Bik and Andi, eyeing him playfully across the dark room, did Doc realize the cruelty of his words—all his efforts to distract him had only been drawing his focus more fully to his beautiful Emily.

  * * *

  Doc had almost dozed off when disaster struck.

  One of the goats, playfully jumping about the castle’s top the way goats will do, found some loose mortar. The beast pawed, almost like a person, struggling to keep himself from toppling over.

  But it lost its strength and fell. It dropped one hundred feet, breaking its forelegs on the lakeside rocks and began squalling like a child. For a moment, his heart felt on pity for the crippled animal, which struggled to stand only to fall under the awkwardly bent legs.

  Tyler grabbed his sword and drew it from its sheath. With one eye cocked, he grunted as he tossed Loni and Fhal aside, bellowing like bull.

  “Come one, Doc! They have to shut that fucking thing up!”

  Suddenly, Doc’s sternum was as tight as a drum, and it was only pulling tighter as he drew his own sword and went running behind him. They charged down past snoring men, who bounded upright, brandishing their own weapons and thundering about what the devil was going on!

  There was no time to answer.

  Scrambling outside, they both crashed on the slippery stones, but Tyler was up, quick as a sneeze, rounding the corner. He had to leap from stone to stone in the dark, an affair even more treacherous than is sounds with unsheathed, heavy samurai swords.

  Finally, they reached the flat rock where the goat still struggled bravely to stand on its busted legs, and Tyler leapt to it and seized it by the scruff, burying his blade firmly in the skull.

  It fell over in an instant, as silent as the stones around it.

  But they were too late.

  Chapter 52

  It was the middle of the night, and it was almost three miles away, but they saw it clearly, as clearly as a waking nightmare.

  The full moon was shining over the Longmonger lair. Doc gathered his hooded camo around him and watched a large black, slithering speck emerge from the base of a cliff. From such a distance, it seemed to move slowly, and there was no noise whatsoever but the break of the pewter-colored lake. But as it wound up the sheer wall, the lines became more distinct in the moonlight, and they saw the great, insect-like way it began rising, straight into the air. The metal glinted here and there like black scales, then the great machine crested the cliff and paused.

  Now the rest of the fellows had emerged, along with each one of the barmaids.

  Uncle Jickie spit out what sounded like a laugh.

  “Well now, is that not a sight, boys?” he said. “I haven’t seen a full moon that beautiful in some time!”

  Dale and Doc looked at him sideways, but Tyler and the rest grinned in understanding.

  Far off, the helicopter launched into a low, sideways roll, listing out over the ocean, almost seeming to plunge into the water before soared upward in circular sweeps, rising over the sea.

  And suddenly, everything in his head slowed. Random shouts began to rise. A long, low barking of orders rose as coarsely as a beast’s grunts. The sounds rolled through his stupefied head, and the great tumult of activity exploding around only amplified the odd feeling.

  At last, Dale pulled him from his stupor.

  “Bows, boys! We’ll shelter in the ruins and flower its damn sides!”

  One last time, Doc cocked an eye to the monstrous machine, floating even higher in the night sky. The engine, Doc reminded himself, is located at the same spot on just about any machine. But he could not imagine where it could be on this thing.

  Doc scampered back into their meager stronghold, shaking with adrenaline now. He grabbed up his bow and both quivers of arrows. He nocked an arrow before he even found a window, and the one he found was perfect.

  Near the middle of the castle, the window was wide, but not too wide, and the mortar and stones on the side seemed sturdy enough.

  It was coming this way now, like something that had broken through hell’s levees, the hummingbird wings over the top, two skids dangling beneath that tremendous metal belly.

  Breathy moments stretched as they looked out to it. Doc could only see four barmaids, plus Kenzo and Dale, and they were all as silent as thieves. Just out of bow-shot, the machine turned, glistening with the wet look of a snake. The guns were raised, and it began flashing an intense beam of light across the ground. It was a light to make a demon hide, and the noise of it was shrieking and echoing out over the lake now.

  In the next instant, the shuffle and clank of war roared from the fellows in wild calls. The rooms of above him and below him were alive with their curses.

  The mechanized devil was just out of bowshot now.

  “Hooold,” Doc roared, knowing their supply of arrows was damned thin for such a foe.

  Once more, it blistered the air with its intense beam of light.

  Doc drew his bow up and pulled back. He breathed, peering down the ash shaft. Then, even in all the commotion and thunder, it all seemed to hush. He became conscious only of the machine’s undulating path as it cut through the air.

  “Hold.”

  The goats outside were yelping like dogs now, a noise Doc had never heard in his life.

  “Hooold.”

  Its enormous wings surged and flapped open, revealing yet more guns.

  “Loose!”

  Arrows hissed from all of them at once, flitting through the moonlit air, and as they pounded the machine’s metal, it did nothing but turn to face them in the air, sending a spray of bullets all around them. But the bullets were not buckshot, and none of the old boys were shrieking in pain, so dozens more arrows launched from their bows.

  The helicopter lunged away, curving in the air, so close to the ruins that the wind blew through his beard. A hundred or so arrows had been shot at it, and still they screamed wildly, launching missiles into it retreating backside. But Doc could see not a single shaft protruding from its metal.

  Surely, Doc thought, this was just a trick of the eye.

  The ground itself seemed to shake as the machine roared back once more, turning now and rising. It fired another spray of bullets. The barmaids to either side of him fired without cease. They were quicker than Doc was, steadier, and less winded. Bows plopped and arrows thudded out in the dark as the helicopter began to come at them once again. The barmaids brought their shields to their sides with their feet, continuing to fire, but Doc had not even thought to bring his upstairs. And now, with it drawing closer, Doc saw the wisdom of their choice as it flashed enormous round guns from the wings.

  Doc grimaced, and he continued to shoot, and shoot again. he was already running low on arrows. But he could do nothing about it, except keep at it, firing arrow after precious arrow. He struck the beast haphazardly. His arrows pinged off its front or slammed into the whirling air just over it.

  Doc managed to fire one into the window, but it did not even flinch or veer, it just kept coming as if it had been pricked with some small needle. As it came nearer still, it spilled that terrible round gun once more, engulfing the ruins with the bark and clip of ricochets and loosening stone. It rose over the castle as Doc wheeled back to grasp a new wound, blood snaking down his arm.

  He fell back, the entire castle shaking with yet another roar as it whirred overhead. When he did, he discovered that his first quiver of arrows was empty. Half his missiles were already gone.

  Then something writhing on the floor caught his eye.

  It was Kenzo—Mighty Kenzo, by far the strongest among them, had been downed. His fa
ce was all but gone, and his massive chest was shirtless and red, smoldering from his neck to his groin. The very skin had been ripped away at places, revealing seared strips of gore under his sternum.

  The machine rose and turned outside, not two hundred yards away.

  “Kill me, Doc!” Kenzo barked.

  As the machine roared, Doc faltered, grabbing his sword. He rushed to him, but faltered again.

  “Thundering fuck…” he rasped. “Oh, kill me, boy.”

  His mouth covered in blood, he nodded to him, imploring him to get on with it.

  And as his sword dropped, it was almost as if Doc was watching the scene outside of his own head. He had turned him over. The blade dropped on the back of his neck. His head fell away with a quick thud.

  In the next instant, invisible fire whipped through the windows again, but Dale and the barmaids were quick, and Dale covered his backside with a shield as the barmaids already sent wooden sheets of the missiles began thudding into the beast again.

  “Dammit back to ye spot, Doc! Lead, boy! Lead!”

  Doc returned to the window to see arrows slamming into the machine’s tail from above and below them. This time, he saw that they were sticking.

  Suddenly, it landed.

  But it was pointing at them. It began roaring and bellowing bullets in shivering bursts. The walls exploded in the bullets’ paths. The barmaids spilled to either side of him, sprawling across the floor as Dale landed atop him with a thud. Doc rose, then ducked to discover one of the barmaids lying on the stone, a flake of stone jutting from her breast. She was rolling in pain. Blood was flowing freely from the tear in her shirt, and she was gasping for breath. The other went to her, and together they rose to remove the clothing. Forgetting himself and the advice Dale had barked, Doc rushed to help.

  But everywhere along the walls, stone was crashing, dropping to the floor, and where there was no stone, the machine’s bullets were wrapping the ruins so completely that it blotted out the thin moonlight.