Severed

by Corey Brown

  “Do not worry, Remy,” Calí says. “All is well.”

  Cody is only halfway into his slide when Calí speaks and what Cody hears is far from melodic. What Cody hears is a squealing, grinding sound, a nails on the chalkboard sound. Like a giant corroded iron wheel turning on ruined bearings. Like ten thousand rusted steel wings trying to pump air, drawing near. Like the sound of the Yaw.

  Stunned, Cody falls backward out of the slide. The sound of Calí’s voice stops as soon as Cody hits the floor but he clamps his hands over his ears anyway. The memory of the Yaw stuns him, like there is a live electric wire loose in his bowels. Cody wants to vomit but cannot. In fact, he feels a searing nausea flow in reverse. He feels the bile in his mouth shoot downward into his stomach and flood his intestines. He curls into a fetal position and waits for death.

  On the dirty wooden floor, Cody sees his Smith and Wesson. It is only a few feet away, under a pew just beyond his reach. Cody looks at it and remembers what Marion said moments before she left him. It is a weapon, not a gun.

  “Ah----” Cody tries to speak but his mouth seems like it’s full of marbles. He tries again. “I d-don un-un-under s-s-sstand-d-d,” he says. But no one answers him. He concentrates on the black pistol, focusing his thoughts on it.

  “Dad?” Todd says, panic underscoring his tone. “Are you alright?”

  Cody stares at the Smith and Wesson, hears his son’s voice, but does not reply. Cody can hear the fear in Todd’s voice but something else brings a memory. It is a memory of other words, of another voice. Jamie’s voice. The nightmare of the Yaw seems to crumble slightly and the sound of ten million screaming metal wings seems to diminish.

  Now, Cody’s mind turns to a memory of his beautiful wife. He sees Jamie sitting in her wedding dress, one leg raised, exposed to mid-thigh. She is smiling, looking directly at Cody. They are at their wedding reception, she is peeling back the garter belt, and the DJ is playing Love Potion Number Nine. Cody watches as Jamie’s slender, sexy fingers hook the thin band of black fabric. He watches as she draws it seductively down her thigh and over her knee.

  “Dad?”

  Cody thinks of how much Jamie means to him, how much he misses her and how sad she must be now that her mother has died. Cody remembers her last words to him, how she angry and confused she was. He wants to go to her, to take her in his arms. Cody needs to feel Jamie’s naked body against his. Cody thinks he cannot die until he makes love to her one, last time.

  “Dad? Are you…are you still there?”

  Cody lifts his head, his mind becoming clear again. “Don’t…don’t worry, Todd,” Cody says, panting. “I’m okay.”

  As if there are two hundred pounds of concrete on his back, Cody struggles to his hands and knees. Laboriously, painfully, he takes hold of the forty-caliber then gets to his feet. He chambers the first round, licks his lips, looks at Malveaux and says, “Here I come.”

  The rushing sound is like an explosion in Cody’s ears, the slide is instantaneous. Cody is standing right next to the baptismal tub, looking down at Todd and Calí. He shoves the barrel against her forehead and pulls the trigger. The sound of detonation, the sharp recoil of the pistol, the acrid burning smell of gunpowder is more satisfying than Cody can describe. It is like climaxing and taking the first plunge in a class five whitewater rapid at the same time.

  He looks at where Calí’s head used to be and…. and her head is still there. The she-bitch-demon is still alive, unharmed, a perverse grin spreading across her hell-bitten face.

  Cody looks at his gun, looks at Calí.

  “I don’t understand,” Cody says. “Goddamnit! Goddamnit, I----”

  The blow spins Cody’s face sideways, his cheek stings like being jabbed by dozens of pins. He can feel the blood and heat washing across his skin where he was struck. When he brings his face back around he is looking down into the eyes of his mother-in-law.

  “Marion?” Cody says, confused. Then he looks back at Calí and Todd and the baptismal tub. And he sees himself standing right where he was when he squeezed the trigger.

  A slide within a slide?

  “Cody Briggs,” Marion says. “I’m sorry I hit you, but I will not tolerate taking the Lord’s name. I will slap you silly if you don’t watch your tongue. Do you understand?”

  “Marion? How….?”

  “Do you understand?”

  “But…”

  “Cody?”

  He nods. “Yes, I understand.”

  “Good.”

  Marion’s face softens, the familiar, gentle look is back in her eyes. Her fingertips go to Cody’s face then on tiptoes she kisses his cheek. Marion takes Cody’s hand and they start to walk. Cody looks around. They are on a mountain ridge, far above the tree line. To his left is a lush valley with a clear stream winding through a deep green meadow. But on his right is a beach with turquoise water quietly lapping over coal black sand. The sun is setting, the sky a careful mix of orange and blue. Overhead, a soft wind caresses palm trees growing a few yards from the ocean’s edge.

  Cody glances back over his shoulder, looks back, sees that he is still standing next to the tub. His pistol is still aimed at Calí and she is still grinning at him. Todd is still wrapped in her death embrace.

  “Pay attention,” Marion says. “We don’t have much time. All your life, Cody, you have worked hard at being a good man. And you’ve succeeded. Gus and I could not have asked for a better son-in-law, Jamie could not have a better husband.”

  “Jamie,” Cody says, “I think I’ve lost her.”

  They stop walking and Marion faces him. She traces her fingers across his lips. “Hush, now. This is not the time to worry about Jamie. Your son is all that should concern you. Nothing else. As I was saying, you are a good man, a wonderful man, but your faith is weak. Even now, when you can see that God is real and alive and at work all around you, your faith is hardly noticeable. It is a whisper in a hurricane. When Calí hurt you just now, it was your love for Jamie and not your faith in God that brought you back. That is good, but it will not be good enough for Todd.”

  “But I don’t understand,” Cody says, “I don’t know what to do.”

  Cody holds up his Smith and Wesson saying, “You told me this is a weapon, not a gun. What does that mean?”

  “You have seen T’biah carrying weapons, even that new Regulator, David, carries them, but these things are not what they appear to be. They are not used here like they would be in the physical world. These weapons are extensions of faith, extensions of God’s justice and vengeance.”

  Cody shakes his head. “I still don’t get it.”

  Marion nods, patience seems to glow around her like a sunrise. “When a servant of God shoots an arrow,” Marion says, “they are not really shooting an arrow, they are actually exercising God’s judgment, exercising God’s will. They have been granted the right to work on God’s behalf. The arrows are simply a visual manifestation of that labor, a manifestation of God’s judgment.”

  “So, what about the other guys,” Cody says. “What about the bad guys? Are their weapons real?”

  “I don’t know,” Marion says, with a quick shrug. “I’m not quite sure how the other side works.”

  Cody thinks about it. “So what you mean,” he says, “is that bullet from my gun needs to be an extension of God’s will?”

  Marion smiles broadly. “Yes, exactly.”

  “And I have to rediscover my faith, I have to become more faithful in order to be able to do that?”

  “Yes, that’s it. Can you do that, can you find your faith, Cody?”

  “Wait,” Cody says. “I want to be sure I get it. It sounds like I really don’t need a weapon at all. I mean, shouldn’t faith alone be enough?”

  Marion frowns. “I suppose so,” she says. “I never really thought about it like that.” Shrugging, Marion holds her palms up. “I’m kind of new at this.”

  “T’biah once asked me,” Cody says. “If it was possible to distinguish b
etween real love and true faith. He said when you share real love with someone, that you have faith in him or her. Faith is to believe in their love for you. That faith, real faith, is like falling in love with God.”

  Marion nods, pleased with Cody’s new understanding but is a little unsure of where he is going.

  “So,” Cody says. “Love and faith are intertwined, inseparable.”

  “Well, yes, but hold up, Cody. I see where you are going with this and----”

  “Thanks, Marion.” Cody leans over and kisses her on the cheek. “I love you.” Cody pauses, looks at her, takes in the sight of her. The words, I love you, become more real than he’d ever felt before. Cody looks hard at Marion, struggles to hold back a wave of emotion.

  “You saved our lives,” Cody says. “Todd and me.”

  “Cody, wait. Don’t leave.”

  “Gotta go, Marion. See you soon, maybe?”

  Cody looks around. He is back. The second slide, the slide within a slide is over. Marion is gone, he is staring down at Calí and she is grinning up at him. Cody’s forty-caliber is still aimed at her forehead. The smell of cordite is still fresh. Cody blinks, shakes his head, then tucks his firearm back into his waistband. Calí’s smile grows wide and her creepy yellow eyes look hard at Cody. But then Calí’s smile fades ever so slightly, she senses something.

  Cody reaches into the baptismal tub and clamps his hand around one of Calí’s boney wrists. Her skin is cold and sandpapery and just touching her is repulsive. She makes no move to free herself. In fact, the look on her face is one of confident curiosity.

  At first Cody’s grip is firm, but not painful. He leans in so close that his mouth is only inches from her sagging ear and Cody can feel her hot, rancid breath feathering his own cheek.

  “Calí,” Cody says, “this boy means more to me than anything in the world. I would give my life for him. His mother loves him like you cannot believe and I love her even more. Jamie and Todd are everything to me, so take your hands off my son.”

  With that Cody squeezes hard and twists, snapping Calí’s wrist in two. The bone shatters with a sharp cracking sound. Calí howls in pain. Cody expects this, expects her to scream, expects to have his brain raped again but her cries of agony do not affect him. She tries to claw at him with her left hand but that arm is wrapped around Todd, pinned.

  “No!” Malveaux yells as he rushes toward Cody, pulling an old thirty-eight revolver.

  Cody pulls his own gun and says, “Stop.”

  Although he knew Remy would stop, Cody is still a little surprised that he actually does.

  Surprised by his own decision to do what Cody says, Malveaux stands a few yards away, his revolver semi-aimed, pointing and not pointing, his mind swirling with confusion. Bits and pieces of fear spin through his mind like glass daggers.

  “In this strange world,” Cody says. “My Smith and Wesson works a little differently. Shit, it doesn’t seem to work at all.” Still holding onto Calí, the she-bitch-demon is howling, actually crying now, Cody slips out his slide just enough to see Remy Malveaux in the form of Robert Murdock. “But in real life,” Cody says. “It works just fine.”

  Remy squints at him, hearing but not quite understanding what Cody has just said.

  “Watch this,” Cody says then pulls the trigger.

  Cody does not bother to see if Malveaux is dead, he knows even The Bull can’t survive a hollow point to the forehead. And one to the heart. And, for good measure, for Celine, one to the testicles.

  Seeing Malveaux’s head split apart, Calí stops howling and calls out to Remy, calls out as if speaking to a lost lover. For a moment, her rusty metal voice seems to rupture Cody’s eardrums. For a moment, Cody wonders if his brain will rupture, too. Then he releases her broken wrist, draws back his fist and jacks her in the jaw. Calí’s head snaps back and bounces hard off the edge of the baptismal tub. Dazed and wide-eyed she opens her mouth to scream again but Cody rams the barrel of his gun down her throat and fires.

  Chapter 35

  The boat anchor attached to David’s belt thuds against the ground, the chain piles up making a clinking sound then he lands. As soon as his feet touch down, David pulls a MAC-10 but the spray of bullets takes out only three of the Interceptors. The other five see it coming and jump or duck just before David cuts loose. The one in the olive Versini suit drags the twin to the ground as a volley of bullets whip past.

  But now the MAC-10 is empty and David drops it to the ground. Before he can pull another weapon a tall, Mongol-looking Interceptor is on him. He charges David, swinging a battle axe, screaming some ancient war cry. As the blade slices the space where David’s face should have been he is doing a round off over the Interceptor, his gray leather coat splayed out behind, one hand on the Interceptor’s shoulder.

  From his momentary inverted position David sees three other Interceptors drop to one knee, all of them are drawing blowguns. He sniffs the air and can tell the darts are poison, probably from Guyana, probably from the Blue Poison Arrow frog. What is interesting is that he can sense their intention. They have no regard for their buddy, the Mongol guy. David can tell the others intend to shoot poison darts at both of them.

  Well, David thinks, no need to run a spear through this one.

  Instead of landing on his feet, David lets his body fall. Landing hard on his chest, almost knocking the wind out of his lungs, David flattens against the ground, his right cheek feeling the cold, dry dirt. He hears four or five darts whiz through the air above him. The Mongol grunts in both pain and confusion. He turns to look at his compatriots then falls to the ground next to David, stiff as a board.

  David gets to his feet and feels a sharp pain in his arm. He looks and sees a hole in his left triceps. The wound is small, the bullet probably came from a twenty-two rifle, but it stings.

  “Which one of you did that?” David says, turning to face them. “That hurts like a mother.”

  Olive suit steps out from a shadow and clubs David across the face. He is flung seventy-nine feet away and lands hard against a tree trunk. The pain is like lightning bolts shooting through his head, through his back and shoulders. Before David can get to his feet the remaining four Interceptors have formed a semi-circle around him, looking between them David can see the twin reaching for Suzanne.

  “I was going to let one of the others kill you,” Olive suit says. But David isn’t paying attention. He is watching the twin take Suzanne by the arm, he sees the dimple start to form between them, sees them start to free jump.

  “But now you’ve pissed me off,” Mr. Olive says. “So I will do it myself.” He draws a Black and Decker cordless electric drill that is fitted with a diamond studded boring bit and pops the trigger to show David it works. The three other Interceptors pin David to the ground. Olive suit spins the drill bit once more for good measure then aims it between David’s eyes.

  Somewhere just below the surface, the four Interceptors feel it before they can identify it. A brain stem hunch prepares their minds but not their bodies. Then it hits them. A tsunami of raw, white energy explodes past them, through them, knocking them back, killing two of them.

  Moving at fifty thousand times the speed of light, David leaps toward the twin, catching his arm just before the free jump with Suzanne. David’s grip crushes the twin’s elbow and he screams in pain. Spinning the twin face forward, David draws his arm back and rams his fist straight into the palm of another Interceptor.

  This Interceptor, some reptilian thing with greenish-gray scales, catches the punch as if it was a softball lobbed underhand by a girl who can’t throw.

  Man, what a grip, David thinks, but he stops marveling a second later when the Interceptor squeezes his fist like a grape, driving David to his knees.

  The reptile lets go and steps back. He positions himself, finding just the right footing then swings a black, side-handle police baton toward David’s head. David turns his face and leans as far back as his knees will allow, his shoulders almost touchin
g the ground. The nightstick whooshes past, missing his cheek by inches.

  However, the blow connects with the twin’s kneecap. He howls in pain, cuts loose a string of profanity. The offending Interceptor shrinks away in horror. He starts to apologize but the twin and olive suit both shoot him dead with stones fired from wrist rocket slingshots.

  Slowly, David gets to his feet. He is looking at the three of them, wondering if at least two will take the bait.

  “Worthless bastards,” the twin says looking at the two remaining Interceptors. “I could have done as well without you. Christ on a popsicle stick, what is it with you guys?”

  “Catch,” David says, tossing two blue balls at the twin.

  The blue balls--- they are not quite round, they’re more like blue eggs--- trace a perfect arc through the air.

  “No.” The twin screams, stumbling backward.

  But reflex has already taken place. Each Interceptor, as duty binds them to protect, reaches out and catch a blue egg. And just before they are blown into oblivion, the one in the olive Versini suit looks at David and says, “You asshole.”

  Then a brilliant flash of aqua light soaks the air as the last two Interceptors evaporate.

  Gently touching the bullet wound in the back of his arm, David winces, looks at Suzanne and says, “You all right?”

  Suzanne nods, not sure what she should do.

  “Stay put,” David whispers. “I’m going to finish this.”

  David walks over to his twin, who is lying on his back, having narrowly escaped the two egg-shaped explosions. The twin’s left arm, his cheek are burned. His whole left side is red and swollen. Parts of his hair have been singed to the scalp and his left ear is badly blistered. The corner of his left eye is drooping where the explosion burned his face. Breathing heavily, the twin sits up then shifts his weight and struggles to one knee. David draws a chrome doubled-edge sword and places the tip under the twin’s chin.