Heaven Bent

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Not that that seemed to matter much just then. My eyes went straight to the open door of the furnace and what was being pushed through it.

  Four bald men (in black uniforms this time, not white) were hoisting a stretcher into the furnace's fiery maw. A stretcher with someone strapped to it.

  Someone I knew.

  Even from a distance, I spotted his unmistakable blue military jacket with the gold epaulets. His arms were tied down, his spangly white gloves strapped at his sides.

  The tips of his glittering silver shoes blazed with orange firelight as the men pushed him into the furnace.

  M.J. They were burning M.J. in a furnace.

  Remembering my orders, I fought to keep myself from reacting...even as two questions raced through my mind like bullets.

  Since when do they cremate people in Heaven?

  And how can we get M.J. out of there before he goes up in smoke?

  *****

  Chapter 5

  The four bald men in black uniforms slid M.J.'s stretcher into the mouth of the incinerator. His sparkly shoes went in first, licked by the leaping orange flames.

  The masked man turned and grabbed my arm. "I'm gettin' him outta there, man. You feel up to it, you're welcome to join me." And then he let go and ran off, his dark-clad form silhouetted in the dancing firelight.

  That left me with two choices: stand there and do nothing, or literally help pull my buddy M.J.'s ass out of the fire. In other words, there was no choice at all.

  I'd been feeling shaky and off-balance since entering the black dome of Heavenless, but I'd have to push past it. Taking a deep breath, I charged after the masked man.

  He got to the uniformed thugs before me and immediately went to work on the two closest ones. Instead of pulling a gun or some kind of weaponized lifeform, he used straight-up karate, chopping one guy in the throat, then launching a spinning kick at his buddy's head.

  Meanwhile, one of the other two guys bolted in my direction, leaving one still pushing M.J. into the oven.

  I stopped in my tracks and bobbed my head to one side, cracking my neck. Sizing up my opponent.

  Smoothly, I shifted into an appropriate fighting stance. I'm not talking about made-up stances, either; as part of my fitness regimen, I've trained intensively in Muay Thai, Wing Chun, Krav Maga, and a dozen other martial arts systems.

  Not to mention, I'm in great shape overall. Working out is a big part of my day--was before I died, that is. You've got to stay fit if you want to keep starring in multimillion-dollar tentpole pictures on the big screen.

  So was I worried about the goon barreling toward me? He was big, with fists clenched and face crumpled in a ferocious scowl. He looked like he could tear me apart and do the same to three other guys at the same time.

  But two Krav Maga moves later, he was on his back on the floor with the wind knocked out of him. Never mess with an action star, pal!

  Suddenly, I wasn't feeling so shaky anymore.

  Sprinting past him toward the oven, I stole a glance in the masked man's direction. He'd taken out one of his opponents, but the other knew some martial arts and was making it interesting. The masked man's kick was blocked, the same happened to a chop--but the chop was a feint, followed by a punishing gut punch that doubled over his uniformed enemy.

  As that battle continued, I got hold of the end of the stretcher and hauled M.J. back out of the oven. But the last guy with hands on the stretcher wrenched it back in again, further than ever. I could see I was going to have to force him out of the picture.

  Springing around the stretcher, I plowed a Muay Thai kick into the guy's side, blowing him backward. When he hit the superheated skin of the incinerator, he screamed and lurched away from it, right into the path of a Krav Maga palm heel strike to the face.

  As he fell away from me, I grabbed M.J.'s stretcher and yanked it all the way out of the oven. He was singed, and his once-sparkly shoes were charred and smoldering, but that was the worst of it.

  I quickly pulled the shoes off him and tossed them aside, then turned to the cords that bound his arms to the stretcher. The masked man reached the other side at the same time and started in on the bindings there.

  Once we'd gotten his arms free, he sat up fast. While we scrambled to untie his legs, he pulled the red rubber ball gag out of his mouth and threw it aside with a vengeance. "Bleahh!" He grimaced, spit, and wiped his mouth. "That thing tasted so bad!"

  Just as I finished with the last knots on my side of the stretcher, the first thug I'd fought rose from the floor. Without giving him time for a full recovery, I charged over and bombarded him with a flurry of pressure-point blows straight out of hardcore Russian Systema fighting. The rapid-fire strikes stunned him, leaving him an easy target for a Taekwondo kick to the chest.

  He toppled facedown to the floor like a chainsawed tree and hit with a thump.

  "Not bad, Stag!" M.J. grinned as he swung his shoeless feet off the stretcher. Laughing, he pulled off his sooty white socks and pitched them in the oven. "I didn't know you were such a great fighter!"

  I laughed back at him. "I learned it all from watching your music videos." My heart was pounding, my nerves were buzzing, my breathing was fast. My head felt clearer than it had since I'd first arrived in Heaven.

  Was it the violence, the physical release? Or did it have to do with taking action, real action, after being led around by the nose for so long?

  Whatever it was, I wanted more of it. And it looked like I was about to get it.

  "Time to move on." The masked man nodded once and headed for the door. "We still have that package to pick up."

  "I know just where it is." M.J. hopped off the stretcher and hurried ahead of us. "Follow me." He shot a look back over his shoulder in my direction. "And be ready to use those mad fighting skills of yours."

  *****

  M.J. led us briskly through the maze of gray corridors as if he knew them by heart. He lightly brushed his fingertips along the fossilized walls like a kid running his hand along a chain link fence.

  He might have been dead, but his footsteps were just as nimble as when he'd been alive. Watching him glide through the halls of that sinister place, feet occasionally flickering with the flourish of a dance step, was like watching him roam through a music video.

  He looked better than he had in a long time, I thought. Heaven seemed to have been good to him.

  Then why was he part of a revolution to overthrow it? Why had he joined the Heaven Liberation Front?

  "It's showtime." M.J. stopped at a black door, a featureless surface made of the same smooth material as the dome of Heavenless. "When we get inside, stay close."

  The masked man used the same trick he'd used to open the door to the incinerator room--a glowing green snake pressed into the seam and pinched in two. Half the snake slid upward, secreting a substance that melted the upper seal, while the other half melted open the bottom seal. When the two halves of the snake finished and fell away, the door swung inward at a light touch from M.J.

  As he led us through the doorway, we found ourselves in a huge chamber lined with oval pods giving off an indigo glow. There were layers of them all the way to the distant ceiling--six layers of tightly packed pods encircling the vast space.

  In the middle of the chamber, a spindle of instrumentation towered from floor to ceiling, studded with lights that blinked with all the colors of the rainbow. The spindle was in constant motion, its various bulbs and sections turning in different directions at all times.

  "This is it." M.J. spread his arms to take it all in. "Time to take back what's ours."

  "You said it, brother." The masked man clapped him on the back. "Now we better make it snappy."

  "Too true." M.J. snapped up on his toes, let out a little whoop, then sprang forward and flashed through the chamber. He moved so fast, we had to run to keep up with him.

  As the three of us passed the high tech spindle, it shot out a long arm tipped with some kind of triple-lensed scope.
The scope followed us the rest of the way, but M.J. and the masked man didn't seem to be worried.

  We finally stopped on the far side of the chamber, opposite the door where we'd entered. M.J. marched up to one of the indigo-glowing pods and pressed his hands against it, peering inside through an eye-level window.

  "Good news." He turned and nodded. "The package is still here."

  The masked man reached into the pouch where he kept his handy door-opening creatures. "Then just let me--"

  "No need." M.J. shrugged and punched a button on the pod. Instantly, the front panel rolled away, sliding into the left side of the framework. "Nobody ever gets this far, so there's no security on the individual cells."

  Just as he said it, the lights in the chamber all flashed red, and a shrill siren pierced the air, emitting an ear-blasting, high-pitched whine.

  "Okay." M.J. grinned sheepishly. "Almost no security."

  "We've got to move!" The masked man lunged past him into the pod and reached for its contents. When he emerged, he brought out what looked like a mummy--a human form wrapped in white bandages.

  "Who is it?" I shouted over the siren.

  Instead of answering, the masked man slung the mummy over his right shoulder and started for the exit. "They'll be comin' for us! Let's go!" He broke into a run.

  So did the rest of us.

  It was like something out of one of my movies--escaping a high tech underground lair as sirens blared and lights flashed red. Even as we ran, the thought occurred to me...and so did one other, which kept coming back to me again and again.

  Since when does this happen in Heaven?

  Up ahead, the way was clear, but not for long. As we approached the doorway through which we'd entered, two bald men in black uniforms rushed through it, armed with gold-plated guns.

  M.J. let loose a war cry and charged straight at them. Before they could aim and fire, he was upon them, attacking with a frenzy of high-speed dance moves. Within seconds, both men were sprawled on the ground, and their guns were in M.J.'s hands.

  He spun them around his fingers like an Old West gunslinger, then blew make-believe smoke off the end of each barrel.

  Then, grinning, he darted through the doorway, and we followed.

  *****

  We had to fight our way through the tunnels, but M.J. said it could have been worse. There were usually more troops stationed at Heavenless, but many had been sent off to deal with the aftermath of the bombing at the theater--which had been the whole idea behind it, of course.

  So between the masked man's karate, M.J.'s dance fu, and my mix of Muay Thai, Krav Maga, Wing Chun, and Systema, we were able to get through the worst of it. We took some hits, I knew I'd be sore later, but nobody got shot or caught.

  We emerged from the hole chewed in the dome by the masked man's maggots, gasping for breath in the cool night air.

  As soon as we stepped outside, the masked man stuck fingers in his mouth and whistled. Seconds later, I heard thrashing from the brush, and a familiar roar. Thundercloud the giant, winged platypus burst from the thick foliage and waddled toward us on padded feet with claws like scimitars.

  The masked man ran to her and heaved the mummy over her back. "Good girl, Thundercloud!" He patted her head, then grabbed hold of the brown fur on the back of her neck and pulled himself up after the mummy.

  "Yay, Thundercloud!" M.J. ran up and kissed her on the tip of her big black bill. "My hero!" Then he mounted her behind the masked man.

  I almost jumped aboard without saying anything, then caught myself and jogged back to pat Thundercloud's head. "I, uh...thanks," I told her. "You're a real sweetheart." Then I gave her a wink.

  The glossy black eye on that side of her head watched me, unreadable as a marble.

  "C'mon, Stag!" said the masked man. "We're outta time!"

  I gave her one last pat. Just then, over the whine of the sirens, I heard snarling barks in the distance, like the cries of frenzied wolves on the trail of prey.

  "Stag!" The masked man gestured impatiently.

  The barks were getting closer. Chills rushed up my spine--and then adrenaline blazed through my bloodstream.

  Leaping into action, I ran around Thundercloud, grabbed handfuls of her fur, and hoisted myself up behind M.J.

  The second my butt hit her back, the masked man kicked, and her black wings started to flap. Instantly, we rose into the air.

  I held on tight as Thundercloud climbed above the trees, leaving the frenzied barking behind. She carried us up alongside the black dome of Heavenless, then above it--and then she looped away from it, heading inland with great strokes of her leathery wings.

  Soon, it was as if all the running and fighting had never happened. We soared lightly under the moon and stars, casting a rippling shadow over the jungle treetops far below. We flowed through the night like a streamer of cloud, the cool headwind caressing our cheeks.

  *****

  "Great work, Stag." The masked man, who was standing behind me, handed down a golden cup filled with dark red wine. "You really held your own back there."

  "Thanks." I raised the cup. "You're not so bad yourself."

  I was sitting by a campfire, deep in the jungle--miles from Heavenless. Thundercloud had landed here after our flight, smack in the middle of a rebel encampment operated by the Heaven Liberation Front.

  Just then, M.J. strolled over, the gold buckles and epaulets on his military jacket gleaming in the firelight. "Good news," he said softly. "They say he's going to be all right."

  "That's fantastic." The masked man filled another cup with wine but didn't offer it to M.J. Instead, he tipped it to his own lips and drank. "I wasn't sure he'd come out of it after hibernating for so long."

  "They think he'll wake up sometime tomorrow." M.J. clapped his hands and spun around, then dropped to sit beside me on the same fireside log. "I can't wait to see him."

  "So who is he?" I asked. "Who was it under all those bandages?"

  "The one who started all this." The masked man gestured with his wine cup, sweeping it around to take in the encampment. "The one who kicked off the revolution."

  M.J. giggled. "It figures."

  "They froze him five years ago," said the masked man. "They thought it would stop the movement if they put him on ice."

  "Which it didn't." M.J. giggled again. "The movement just kept growing and getting stronger."

  "Strong enough to take back the founder." The masked man raised his cup in a toast, then tipped more wine into his mouth. "Plus lots more than that before we're done."

  "Finally!" M.J. pumped his fist in the air and let out a whooping cheer. "We're gonna' take those heavenly tyrants and beat 'em!"

  I had a sip of wine and shook my head. "I still don't get it."

  M.J. leaned forward and frowned at me. "What's not to get, Stag?"

  "All of it." I spread my arms and sighed. "Why are you fighting if this is Heaven? I thought it was supposed to be paradise."

  "You still think that after everything you've seen?" The masked man sat down beside me, opposite M.J. "If this is the real Heaven, would it have a place like Heavenless? Would it have incinerators for burning bodies?" The masked man smacked the palm of his hand against his chest. "Would there even be bodies to burn?"

  I met his blue-eyed gaze through the eyeholes of his black mask. "Lillian said things here aren't always what they appear to be. She said some things in Heaven are just metaphors."

  "Is that what she told you?" The blue eyes crinkled as he broke into a broad grin. "Metaphors?"

  M.J. howled with laughter. "Oh, that's a good one! That's hilarious!"

  "You saw that bomb bring down the theater." The masked man nodded emphatically. "Did that look like a metaphor to you?"

  I shook my head. "There've been a lot of things that didn't look like metaphors since I got here." It was true. "And there've been a lot of things that didn't look like they belonged in Heaven."

  The masked man leaned closer. "That's because th
ere aren't any metaphors here." Still closer. "And whatever this place is, it sure isn't Heaven."

  He held my gaze for a moment, dead serious. When I turned to M.J., his expression was the same. "He's telling the truth, Stag."

  "I know what Heaven is," said the masked man. "I've believed in it all my life. And this isn't anything remotely like Heaven."

  Frown deepening, I looked at each of them in turn. "So what is it, then? Hell? Purgatory?"

  "Who knows?" said the masked man. "Who knows if we're even really dead?"

  I gazed into the fire as his words sank in. What if he was right? What if, somehow, none of us were dead? It would explain a lot, wouldn't it? Like how guns and bombs and incinerators could exist and have an impact. Like how we could still have physical forms that could be hurt or killed.

  But it raised other questions, too. "If we're not dead, then how did we get here? Who brought us here and why?"

  "There's a lot we don't know," said the masked man. "But we can tell you what they use us for." He tossed another log on the fire, sending up a plume of sparks. "Entertainment. Amusement. We perform for them on demand. They treat us like pets, like their private troupe of singers, musicians, actors, writers, artists."

  "Like their slaves." M.J.'s voice was an angry hiss. "They treat us like we're their slaves."

  The masked man nodded and sipped his wine. "You haven't been here long enough to get the full picture yet. But you will."

  "You'll be their bitch, too," said M.J. "Just like the rest of us. You'll see."

  "Unless you join us." The masked man laid his hand on my arm. "Unless you help us overthrow the bastards and get to the bottom of all this."

  Their eyes were on me. I could feel the pressure of their expectations crushing me where I sat.

  I drained my cup and set it down in the dirt, then held my head in my hands. "I don't know," I said. "So much has happened. I don't know what to think. I don't know who to believe anymore."