Soulfall (Hellsong: Infidels: Cris Book 2)

by Shaun O. McCoy

  Q frowns, and I can see him reconsidering my position. “Maybe. I wouldn’t bet on it, but maybe.”

  “Half a day, then,” El Cid says, her eyes still boring into me.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “If Durgan is with them, then we have a half day lead.”

  Something clicks in my head, and I realize what she’s saying. “Because if Durgan is with

  them, they won’t be able him through Dendra, so if they’re going to follow us, they’ll have to go around. And that’s a half day journey.”

  El Cid’s smiles, her lips parting a little farther.

  Q poles us around another bend. “Hopefully we’ll never find out for sure.”

  We go on in silence, and after a few hours, I drift off to sleep.

  Q and Cid wake me so they can get some rest.

  Aiden is napping, so that means my only company is Nebuchadnezzar . . . and any devils that might be around.

  “Any devilsign?” I ask.

  The necromancer shakes his blond head. “No, and El Cid said it would be a few more hours before things get dangerous. Dendra sends out people to gather along this river, and apparently they keep the devils clear of it.”

  “So what changed your mind?” I ask.

  He looks at me, apparently unsure of what I was asking him.

  “I mean, you’re not a Nazi anymore.”

  Nebuchadnezzar stares into the cold waters from where he stands on the back of the gondola. He glances at Cid, but she’s dead asleep.

  “The Infidel,” his accentless voice intones.

  “Of course, the Infidel, but what did he say?”

  Nebuchadnezzar lifts the pole out of the water and braces it against a rock to keep us clear of it. The current pulls us on, gently, inexorably, toward the river of darkness.

  “One fact and one irony.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Well, first he told me about hybrid vigor. The idea of a master race isn’t as compelling after you know genetic diversity makes for healthier humans.”

  “And the irony?” I ask.

  “Yeah. You see, we could sense that we were on the brink of a new era. We knew that this was the one time in history where a minute technological advantage would have megalithic consequences. We knew it would assure victory to one side—only we didn’t know under which rock that victory lay. We were ahead of you in all technologies. In rockets, years ahead. In jets, we had two jet planes out while you and your allies were fiddling with prop engines. We were ahead in tanks, in submarines, in battleships . . . in everything. Everything—except for one thing. We were behind in nuclear weapons. Do you know why?”

  I remember it being something about heavy water, but I don’t know the details. “No.”

  Nebuchadnezzar’s Aryan eyes settle on me. “When the Nazi Party came to power, they weren’t strong enough, or sure enough, or hateful enough, to start with the concentration camps right away. But even before we opened the ghettos, we began removing Jews from powerful and prestigious positions. Step by step, little by little. We did it to gypsies, too, and others, but mostly Jews. We did it in all walks of life, in little baby steps. In our government, in our businesses, and in our Universities. In the Universities we moved the Jewish faculty away from the most respected positions. Positions like engineering. But in the beginning we didn’t fire them, we just put them in shitty little jobs. There was this field that was not well respected, you see. Theoretical particle physics. And the Jews we moved into that field, they studied the shit out of it. Then they defected. Their research became the basis of Oppenhiemer’s work. You got the bomb from German research. The Infidel, he said to me that if somehow Germany had been able to build that Reich, not on the back of hatred, but with something else—with something that didn’t sacrifice a part of our culture—that we would have been able to win that race, and with the V rockets, the war. At the time he said that to me, I didn’t think a society could be built up from the ashes like Germany had been without a scapegoat. Now, however, I’m not so sure.”

  I let my hand trail in the water for a moment. “But here, it’s possible. I mean, we can have hate for the devils. We could build a society like that.”

  “You know why I’m not an Infidel Friend?” he asks.

  I am curious about that. “Why?”

  “Because the Infidel came to me and gave me an argument and an offer. The argument worked, but he has nothing I want.” Nebuchadnezzar’s voice seems strangely angry.

  This might be the first time I’ve seen him rattled. “What did he offer you?”

  “He said he could take away the guilt I feel at being part of them. But I don’t feel guilt, you see. We were straddling the line between the old world and the new. Between a genocide hating modernity and a genocide accepting past. We didn’t know about hybrid vigor, you see. We really thought that they weren’t of us. So I don’t need to have guilt. I was doing the best I could.”

  He guides us around some rocks. “There are some things that are both right and counter-intuitive, you see,” he goes on. “You might have to hurt someone you love to stop them from committing murder. You can’t just follow your gut. There was this girl who had the prettiest brown eyes. I didn’t want to start cutting them open. I didn’t. She asked if I was married while she was waiting. She hadn’t eaten in some time. I could count her ribs. She told me not to worry, that I’d find someone someday. And I felt in my gut that I shouldn’t hurt her. But I knew the feeling was wrong. If I could just get her eyes to be blue then . . .”

  Our hull scrapes against some rocks as we pass by them.

  “Did she die?” I ask.

  “No, I didn’t kill her. She’s not dead. Just blind. Just blind.”

  I’m no angel. Hell, I killed twenty innocent workers so I could murder Aiden’s mother, but I sure as hell wouldn’t want that weight on my shoulders.

  “Neb, I think when this shit is done, and before we go looking for Eva, maybe we should get you to the Infidel.”

  “I told you, I don’t feel guilty.”

  “Maybe not,” I say. “Maybe you really are a fucking monster.”

  He snorts.

  “Was she right?” I ask.

  “Who?”

  “The little girl, was she right that there was a woman out there for you?”

  “Cris, that girl thought I was a nice doctor. I don’t think she was a very good judge of those kinds of things.”

  But maybe she was. What if there was some truth to the bullshit he was slinging at me? What if what caused this man to be so evil was just a set of bad ideas? Could a few misconceptions be so powerful? Or were there worse genocides in store for humanity, ones that were made all the more terrible by the fact that their perpetrators knew exactly what they were doing?

  “Cris,” El Cid’s soft voice cuts through my dreams. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Wake up.”

  Sweetheart? She’s calling me that now?

  I’d managed to sleep a bit more comfortably this time. Even so, I feel like shit. It’s like I woke up, but the center of my chest didn’t. Aiden’s shaking in my arms, on the edge of consciousness, kept there no doubt by his pain.

  “How soon until we can medicate him?” I ask.

  El Cid’s eyebrows arch. “Can’t understand you, you’re words are slurred.”

  I shake my head to clear it. “How soon until we can give him the ferment?”

  Her face is grim. “We’ve got trouble.” She looks at Aiden, and for a moment I think she’s going to cry.

  Nebuchadnezzar pulls us against one of the natural embankments of the Northern Lethe. Hell’s architect has left these caverns all but untouched. A stalactite splits the river ahead of us, making the tunnel almost look like the inside of a cartoon mouth.

  “Why are we stopping?” I ask.

  Aiden gives another whimper.

  El Cid holds a finger over her mouth.

  Okay, darling, I’ll shut up. But not for long.

 
The boat rocks a little as El Cid hops onto the shore.

  I set Aiden’s head down gently against the edge of the boat. He’s cold. Damn cold. Colder than a human can be. I kiss him on the forehead. Q holds the gondola steady against the shore as I sit on the bank and crawl to my feet. He follows me, his long limbs letting him step out of the boat with a single stride.

  I look back.

  Nebuchadnezzar, necromancer and Nazi, stands guard over my boy. He holds the craft still with the pole.

  Cid and Q pull me to the base of a stalagmite and huddle with me there.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “Sorry we had to pull you out of the boat,” El Cid says. “We couldn’t trust you to keep your cool.”

  The light coming from the water is blue, and it’s got her face half in shadow. Sometimes I forget how beautiful El Cid can be.

  I look to Q.

  “He’s slipping.” Q says.

  No way. He’s been off the ferment. “I can’t believe that. He’s been so strong. He held up, without medication, the entire time in Dendra.”

  El Cid nods. “Nebuchadnezzar noticed it first. Aiden’s off balance. He’s no longer on edge. He’s just a few hours away from becoming a wight.”

  “But he faced the pain!” I insist. “He should be more alive.”

  Cid frowns. Her green eyes seem blue in this lighting. She looks to the floor. “All my training, everything I’ve learned about Hell says that we should cut our losses. That we should leave.”

  “No,” I hear my voice crack on the word. “We came all this way. We did everything right. We did . . .”

  Infidels don’t cry.

  They had done everything right. Not me. I knew Myla was going bad before she left me. I knew some of the things she’d taught Aiden were evil. But I tried to compromise. I thought I had to. But I was weak. If I’d known, I could have taken him away then. Or at least not let her teach him that garbage. Then he wouldn’t have gone with her. Or he would have had the right mindset to resist becoming a wight.

  I’d hit him, once.

  Is it any wonder he wants to die? It’s a miracle that he ever loved me. Maybe God knew what he was doing when he sent me to Hell. I was never cut out to be a father. I was never mature enough. I could never take responsibility for myself. Hell, in the old world, I couldn’t even take care of a pet. What the Hell was I doing, thinking I could have a kid?

  Infidels don’t cry. Fathers don’t cry. If Aiden sees me, he’ll lose strength. I’ve done him enough wrong already.

  I feel sick. I kneel down. I’m struggling for air.

  “Cris,” El Cid says.

  I think she’s been talking to me. I just haven’t been hearing her.

  I prepare my voice because I know I won’t be able to speak right. “What?” I choke.

  “It’s not over.”

  I look up at her. Infidels don’t cry.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes tightly. “It’s not?” I feel the tears pushing out against all my efforts.

  “I’ll scout Portsmouth,” Q says.

  El Cid shakes her head. “No time.”

  I feel Q shift above me. “But you said we’d be damned before you went into Portsmouth cold.”

  “I’m giving him something other than ferment, Cris. It’ll slow him down, way down. He’ll be a log. He might even die. He really might, but before he does, the progress of the wightflesh will slow.”

  I nod, and with shaky legs, regain my feet.

  “We’ll go through Portsmouth cold,” El Cid says. “With Aiden knocked out, we’ll ride the river to the edge and try and drop down into Soulfall. It’s not the best way, but it’s the fastest. I’ll give you a hungerleaf wrap when we get close. It’s like taking an amphetamine, it will keep you awake. The last thing we want, Cris, is to come up to the Erebus tired. The closer our minds are to dreaming, the more shit we’ll be in.”

  “I’ll stay awake,” I say.

  “You will,” she says, “for three days. We’re heading into some thick shit here. We’re out of Dendra’s protective bubble. Devils migrate up out of the Carrion along the Erebus. We won’t be able to afford any time to sleep.”

  I’m about to collapse now.

  “Three days,” Q says.

  I nod. “Three days.”

  El Cid takes a couple of steps back to the boat. She stops, turns around, and offers me a hand. I take it, and she leads me back to the gondola.

  She stands there on the bank, and I use her hand to balance myself as I get in. I start to pull away, but Cid hasn’t let go.

  “Three days,” she says, “and Aiden lives.”

  “This isn’t working,” Cid says.

  She’s got one foot on the side of the raised prow, one hand resting gently on the Chinese dragon’s neck and the other on her chin.

  My heart sinks.

  A stalactite seems like it’s about to hit her in the head. She doesn’t flinch and the thing passes by so close to her that it draws back a few strands of her hair.

  I don’t know if I have the energy to contradict her. And here I’d thought she’d finally come to my side.

  “You said . . .” I begin, but when she turns around, I question myself.

  Her tiny, angry face fills me with a mixture of hope and lust. From this angle, with her half turned, I can see the ever-so-slight push of her small bust against her body armor. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m about to pass out with exhaustion, but I want nothing more than to fuck her right now. Her green eyes are narrowed, and there’s a flush in her normally pale cheeks.

  Q looks up from where he sits, and even Nebuchadnezzar stops poling for a second.

  She turns back to stare at the long dark waterway. “Q, hand out some hungerleaf wraps to keep us awake. Then get the oars.”

  Q cocks his head to one side. “We’re going as fast as we can, Cid. The devils, we need to be able to adjust to each new room.”

  She turns and grins. “We don’t have time for that, Q. Our speed will surprise them, certainly.”

  Nebuchadnezzar seems like he’s about to say something, but for once, the Nazi keeps his God damned mouth shut.

  “We’re close to Portsmouth,” Q says. “We should be careful going through there at least.”

  El Cid lets her hand fall to her pistol, then shakes her head. “We’ve been warned of Icanitzu. I’ve loaded the stone shells. Get me speed, Q. You and Neb and Cris will cycle off.”

  “You too good to row?” Nebuchadnezzar asks.

  I knew his silence wouldn’t last.

  She grins. “Too good a shot, yes, unless you want to pick the Icanitzu off?”

  For a moment I think he’s going to argue with her, but Hell, he hasn’t had any more sleep than the rest of us.

  Q hands me a small thing wrapped in a dark green hungerleaf. “We’ll take more after we start to crash,” he says, meeting my eyes. “But after you’ve had three, they’ll do more harm than good.”

  He passes one to El Cid and another to Nebuchadnezzar before swallowing his own. I lay it on my tongue. It’s as bitter as copper. Hell, the taste itself is enough to keep me awake. I feel my heart come to life. My drooping eyes snap back open. I feel alive, strangely alive, as if the awareness is just pasted on top of where I was exhausted before—but I’ll take it. The air, cooled from the river below us, feels good as I breathe it in.

  Fuck. I feel ready.

  How long has it been since I’ve felt this way?

  Q’s first paddle strokes hit the river. I hear the rippling of the water. The boat creaks as he leans forward. In all things the infidels are technical. His oars hit the river again at the exact moment he’s completed his forward motion. Then his torso shoots back, and the oars cut through the water. Our boat picks up a little more speed.

  Stroke.

  And a little more.

  Stroke.

  And a little more.

  El Cid is still at the prow, the loose strands of her hair whipping around
her head. She undoes the black silk strip she uses in her hair and, after her fingers coax the loose strands back in line, she re-ties it.

  The Northern Lethe, as if sensing our need, joins with another waterway, becomes deeper and picks up speed—working with Q to power us toward the Erebus.

  Stroke.

  And we’re moving a little faster.

  Stroke.

  And a little faster.

  Azure skystone runs through these chambers, giving us all a deep greenish-blue cast. As we pass beneath low archways from cavern room to cavern room, the skystone veins seem to disappear—except for those in the riverbed.

  The rush of the water and the cut of our boat causes the aquamarine light to oscillate over the shadow-pocked stone ceilings, distant cubbyholes and corridors. I see our wake as evidenced by the ripples of the light on the rock roof behind us.

  Oh, Hell, you are so beautiful. And just like I despised Myla, I fucking hate your guts for it.

  “Faster,” El Cid orders.

  Q’s intensity increases.

  Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

  El Cid shoulders her M-16. I draw the Old Lady. Neb pulls out a Luger from his overcoat.

  Q propels us into a small cavern. Two dyitzu spot us, their black eyes shining in the rippling aquamarine light. We’re halfway through the room before I fell one with the Old Lady—the shotgun blast is deafening in the tight confines. El Cid lets the other stand. It tosses fire after us, but a deft stutter paddle from Q keeps us clear of the missile.

  And then we’re gone.

  I kneel by Aiden and prop him up against the side of the gondola in a way that seems, to me at least, like it would be more comfortable. I check him for breath to make sure he’s alive.

  He is. Just barely, but he is.

  “It’s okay, son. Cid’s going to take care of us.”

  Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

  Our next caverns are larger, more spacious, and their ceilings soar over us. The ripples of the water make each room seem alive with enemies, even if they are completely empty. My head jerks back and forth as the shadows play on the edges of my vision.

  Then I see a devil climbing up along the ceiling. It’s maybe three feet tall, winged, and with golden skin. I hope like hell this thing can’t throw fire.