Keeping Up with the Deadlanders

by J.R. Rodriguez

EPISODE THREE:

  FAMINE’S WHEELS

  Ankou’s horse-drawn wooden cart raced down the dark, lonely road at breakneck speed pursuing its screaming victim. The driver roared with maniacal laughter, his eyes glowing bright against his emaciated face. Beside him sat Famine. His flowing black cloak whipped around him like gigantic raven’s wings in the wagon’s windy wake. He also laughed at the sight of the man in fancy tattered clothes running from the wagon. Every now and then, he would let out a bark-like cheer while shaking his skeletal hands in the air above his head.

  “Get him, Uncle! Get him now!” screamed Famine.

  Ankou took out his black whip and lashed it out towards the running victim. The tether wrapped itself around and lifted the man off the ground with ease. The body went limp as a rag doll as Ankou threw it over his shoulder and into the back of his chariot. He quickly wrapped up the whip, blew on it like a cowboy would his smoking gun and slowed down.

  “Ah, good ol’ Whippy. You never fail me, girl,” Ankou said as he put it away.

  “You couldn’t think of a better name than Whippy?” asked Famine, incredulously. “Well, I’m not a very creative person. Although I once had a vanity plate that read ‘I Break for Corpses’ but I thought it was a little too wild for my tastes and got rid of it.”

  “You’re a real rebel, Uncle Ankou. “

  Ankou laughed. He glanced up at the shining full moon then at an hourglass on the driver’s side floor of his cart. The sands were quickly leaving the upper reservoir. “Better get this body home so your father can prepare it for dinner tonight. I hope he’s pleased with this one. I always end up with someone he hates.”

  “Yeah, he enjoys feasting on those he likes. He says they have a better flavor.”

  “You’d think being around souls all day, he’d be sick of them. Oh well, maybe it’ll meet his standards.”

  “Just do what you can. Food is food in the end.”

  “From your mouth to his ear.”

  Within a few minutes, the cart had pulled into the misty cemetery where a large crumbling gray mausoleum stood. Two torches blazed on either side of the entryway, illuminating the cracks and crevices of the stone, making them appear to be tortured faces.

  Dinner was in the works, and the last thing either of them wanted was to keep him waiting. Ankou got out, grabbed the body from the back of the cart, threw it over his shoulder and went in. Famine jumped down and ran towards the cemetery. He stopped suddenly. He had left something in the carriage. He went back and picked up a skull from the passenger side. There were still scraps of bloody flesh and gristle attached to the bone, along with a protruding opaque eyeball.

  “A treat for the dog. He’s going love it.”

  He was headed back to the cemetery when the mausoleum door opened and Ankou stepped out. He had taken off his hat and cloak and now only wore his usual all black suit. He dodged the torch flames when they suddenly arched towards him in the blowing wind. “Famine, child!”

  “Yes?”

  Ankou looked nervously back into the mausoleum and then back at his nephew. “I forgot the wine for dinner. In all of our excitement, it slipped my feeble old mind. Your mother doesn’t care, but big brother doesn’t think we can start without it. He ran out of his own.”

  Famine couldn’t figure out why Ankou had told him this. He waited a few more seconds then his uncle finally let it out.

  “I need you to ride down to the Vampyre’s Cask and get a bottle of his blood Chardonnay.”

  Famine looked around him to see if Ankou was talking to some other creature of folklore that might be milling about the cemetery. He saw none. The question had to be asked. “What? Me?”

  “Yes, you. I managed to talk your folks into letting you take the cart down the road.”

  He’d had been waiting for this. Sure, it wasn’t his own death-mobile, but it was a start and then it wouldn’t be long now before he started having soul-collecting runs to himself. He thought of the freedom he would have when he did finally manage to get this piece of adulthood. Trying not to sound too surprised and excited, he stuck the skull under his arm. “How the hell did you manage that?”

  Ankou straightened up, grabbed the lapels of his vest with both hands, and smiled. “Well, with my charm and charisma…”

  “No, really, how did you do it?”

  Ankou’s face fell, his eyes lost a bit of glow. “I told them I’d come with you.”

  Still not so bad, Famine thought. He’d still be at the reins. Besides, there were worse people he could be seen with, like some common demon. “Okay, let’s go. I just need to give the dog his treat before we leave.”

  “He’s in the house…your folks let him in a while ago. Go give it to him and I’ll wait for you in the cart.”

  Famine ran inside the mausoleum. A ghostly green fire burned in the hearth. He could never understand his mother’s need to have one going when it did none of them any good. Constant reminders of the family’s unusual pedigree fell on deaf ears, so no one ever bothered pursuing the matter any further.

  Cŵn Annwn was resting near the fireplace, his mangy tail feebly wagged and his cloudy gray eyes danced when Famine squatted and offered him the skull. “I’ll leave it right here for you, boy.” He gave the dog a quick pat on the head and started towards the door. He could hear Llorona in the next room setting up her easel and paints. She was going to do a family portrait later. The least he could do was let her know he was leaving. “I’m going with Uncle Ankou now!”

  “OK! Be careful driving that old jalopy! Not that I think you’ll be breaking any speed records or anything. ”

  “Will do!”

  “Don’t tell Ankou I said that! You know how he feels about the damned thing. He’s proud of it. You know a man and his pride, it’s bigger than Dallas, as I’ve heard humans say.”

  He didn’t know what the hell a Dallas was, but humored his mother anyway. Famine laughed, closed the front door, and stepped out into the cold night air. Funny how such elements bothered him even though they should not. That’s the price you pay when there’s a little ex-human in you, he supposed. Ankou sat in the passenger side waiting patiently. Famine got in beside him and took the reins. “You’re not wearing your hat and cloak?”

  “Nah, we’re just going down the road. Not like anyone’s going to see. Anyway, that old Nosferatu at the wine store doesn’t care what you wear as long as you buy some of his stuff.”

  “I thought he was an old friend of yours, why does it bother you to buy from him?”

  “He is and it doesn’t. We just give each other a hard time. Now let’s get going. Last thing I need is your father on my ass.”

  “Ass? Did you just say ass? That’s downright profane coming from you.”

  “Yeah,” he continued, “those adults were right, I am easily influenced!” Famine chuckled, clicked his tongue and tugged on the reigns. The cart lurched forward suddenly, slowed down, and then lurched forward again.

  “Watch it, child. Ease up on the reins.”

  Famine nodded and pulled more gently this time. The cart’s pace slowed and leveled out and soon it was going down the dusty road towards the monster equivalent of town. They had gone for a minute without talking. Ankou hummed to himself and tapped his skeletal hands on his knee. Famine found this a little distracting and decided to break the awkward silence.

  “So, Uncle, do you think I can ever take the wagon out by myself to hunt?”

  Ankou chuckled. “One thing at a time there, child. I’m sure that your folks have better things in mind for you than being another me.”

  “But dad’s a collector like you.” “No, not like me. He’s an artist in his profession. He has flair and style. I have…well…you see what I have. I think they would like you to follow in his footsteps instead of mine.”


  “I know. There’s more rigidity in what he does than the corpses he leaves behind. I don’t know if I want to be part of all that. Your job is more fun. ”

  “I’m flattered that you think so highly of my work.”

  “It’s not just your work. You’re fun, too.”

  Ankou laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, well, you have a point there. But your father can let loose with the best of them. You just haven't seen his other sides.”

  Famine shrugged his shoulders. “I guess not.”

  “But to answer your question, I say just see what happens. You never know what time brings. Just look at us now. If someone had told me a year ago that I’d have you with me, I’d told them they were crazy.”

  “Death’s funny, yeah Uncle?”

  “Never have truer words been spoken.” Famine fell silent. The wall of thick swirling fog that separated the realms was just ahead. Famine guided the cart as best he could through the blinding mists. Within seconds, they had entered the Borderlands, the world of monsters and mythological beings. They rode a little further and soon approached a winding earthen street lined with slanted wood buildings and a handful of decaying stone tombs. From within the former, ghostly yellow light poured out onto the road. Human and non-human shadows moved around the lights while shrieks, groans, and maniacal laughter echoed from within the abodes. The same dense cloud that constantly enveloped the cemetery also seemed to “live” here among the squalid little town. Ankou pointed to a shop on the right hand side of the lane.

  “It’s over here. Just pull up and I’ll run in and grab the wine.”

  Famine stopped the cart in front of a more maintained looking shack with an elegantly hand painted sign above the door. A crimson script proclaimed the name of the business: The Vampyre’s Cask, Fine Food for the Spirits. Ankou stepped out of the carriage and started towards the door.

  “Can’t I come in, Uncle?

  “No, I’m afraid not. Strict rules. You have to be five hundred to go in.”

  “Who’s going to know?”

  “What if someone saw you go in with me? That would ruin your family’s reputation and put a stop to our hunts.” Famine relinquished. “Alright. This sucks.”

  “Don’t let that old vampire hear you say that. He’s sensitive about his eating habits. Anyway, I’ll just be a few minutes.” Ankou opened the creaky door and stepped in.

  Famine sighed. He gave the horses a pat on their skeletal heads while scanning the neighborhood. There was plenty going on within the various businesses and homes, but no one on the street. He had leaned back and folded his arms over his chest when he heard faint singing coming from down the street. It wasn’t like any singing he had ever heard, though. It sounded like someone was crying. The voice was female and had a high, mournful, and soft tone that both scared and soothed him. As the crying got closer, he could see movement in the fog directly ahead of the cart. Within a few seconds, a discernable human form took shape and glided towards the horses. Famine leaned forward, squinted, and called out. “Who the hell’s there?”

  He got no response except for the continued wailing song. He was about to shout again when the mists were parted and the source of this noise stood only a couple of feet away from the carriage. Floating there, much to Famine’s amazement was a tall statuesque young woman in a flowing white gown. Her great beauty struck him as he sat there taking in all of her mystifying presence.

  She had long dark green hair that floated around her head like her tattered gown. Her skin was a slightly glowing light blue and her eyes were a pale yellow that had a faint aura about them. She had delicate facial features that reminded him of the royal women that he had seen in paintings. Her etherealness had him gobsmacked. She spoke. Her accent was distinctly British, a plus in his book.

  “I’ve nothing to do with hell, sweetie. Although many people say that I’m a warning that you’re headed there. I guess everyone’s entitled to their own opinions.”

  Famine finally found his voice. He did his best to make it sound a bit more masculine than his normal tone. He didn’t want her to think him a little boy. “That’s a bit unfair.”

  “I guess. But that’s how it is.”

  “People don’t look at us the same as they do themselves. We’re like them down deep.”

  The girl’s face seemed to become brighter and there was a hint of a smile. “I’m always saying that, but my mother thinks it’s all bollocks-“

  “It’s all what?” Famine asked.

  “Bollocks. I think you might call it…uhm…what’s the word? Uhm. Bullshit as humans say?”

  Famine felt stupid and could not find anything the right words. “Oh, yeah! Bollocks!”

  “Anyway, as I was saying, she thinks we should just all float around scaring worthwhile mortals, snatching the classiest souls, and being glamorous in general. What kind of way is that to exist? Right boring if you ask me.”

  “My parents are the same way. They can be really stubborn sometimes. They forget what it was like to be in their hundreds. My uncle is cool, though, he understands.”

  “Lucky you. I’m Morrigan, by the way.”

  “I’m Famine.”

  Morrigan perked up a bit. “You’re related to the Apocalypse family?”

  “Oh no, just named after one of them. My father is a friend with the real guy. I think he works with him sometime.”

  “I see. Your father must be important to know people like that.”

  “He is, I just don’t like to brag about my family.”

  Morrigan moved closer, examining the cart with great interest. She reached out and stroked its rotten wood frame with her long fingers. “Is this a death wagon?”

  Famine was surprised at her knowledge. It took him a couple of seconds to reply. “Yeah, it is.”

  “Is it yours,” she asked with slight amazement, “I mean, do you take this out yourself to collect poor unsuspecting souls?”

  Here was the potential to make an impression and a friend. There was a part of himself that he wanted to share with someone, and this young lady seemed a great candidate. Having someone to connect with was what he missed the most. Sure, The Reaper, Llorona, and Ankou were great to be with, but they were all older than him. There had to be more to death than hanging around a dank mausoleum all day. She wasn’t a handsome young man but that was fine. A friend is a friend. He thought for a second. First impressions are the best. Ah to hell with it, I’ll just say it is. “Uh, it is mine. I don’t think it’s all that great, but it gets the job done.”

  “You’re a modest one, Famine. I think most beings your age would have let this go straight their heads, but you don’t. I like that.”

  Famine tried to keep his nonchalant demeanor. “Thank you. I’m glad you noticed. I’ve collected over four thousand spirits so far and I’ve earned the attention and admiration of the Reaper but I don’t let it change me. I keep myself grounded because it makes everything easier.”

  He smiled.

  She smiled back.

  What now? Before he could think of anything, she nodded and talked with enthusiasm.

  “So you do collect souls. This is exciting. There aren’t that many of us Omens out there.”

  “It’s nothing, really. I’m not just all about work, though. I like to have fun.”

  “I bet you’re the wild one, sweetie. Guess all young guys are. Doesn’t matter,” Morrigan said. “All that aside, you know the Reaper. I’d say that was something.” “

  Yeah, he’s alright. Not as thrilling in person as you might think, but I guess all celebrities are like that.” Way to go there. Just malign your father and the most powerful being in folklore and myth. Nothing bad could ever come of it. Besides, he’ll never know.

  “How long have you been doing this?”


  “I just started actually.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Oh, I love it! The chase can be an exciting experience. I know I’m going to catch them, but the thrill of pursuit makes me feel energized and…absolutely alive, to use a human phrase. When I finally collect the soul, I have this feeling of pride knowing that I’m the one who got it.” Damn I sound just like Ankou Famine thought.

  “It’s good to take such pride in your work. Shows you care. I wish could go out and do things on my own like you, but my mother doesn’t think I’m ready yet. I think I am.”

  “That’s too bad. What do you do?”

  The girl seemed surprised at Famine’s question. She answered him as if she were answering someone who had asked something very obvious. “I’m a Death Omen! I warn people that they’re going to die. Didn’t I just say that?”

  Famine suddenly felt stupid. “Oh, that’s right!”

  Morrigan seemed a bit offended. She put her hands on her hips in mock defiance. “What? Do you think I was some sort of second-class demon?”

  “Oh, no no! I just didn’t think. I do that sometimes.”

  She didn’t think that he really understood. Morrigan moved closer to where Famine sat, looking into his eyes. She regarded his expression for a few seconds. “Silly boy. I guess it doesn’t take too much wit to do what you do. Makes me wonder now if soul catching is all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “What? Are you saying I’m stupid?”

  “No. I’m saying that youth and ill judgment go hand in hand. It’s appealing to an extent. Well, it is in you to a degree.”

  Famine didn’t know if he should be flattered or offended. He decided to let it go. “Thanks…I think.”

  “Anytime. Do you think I could drive your cart? I think that would be fun. I’ve never driven on one of them before. In fact, I’ve never driven.”

  This one’s pushy. If I say no, she might go away then all hope for a new friend is gone and I’m back in the graveyard talking to weeds and bats again. Just say yes. What’s the worse that could happen? There was really nothing to lose. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

  Morrigan smiled broadly, her eyes met Famine’s and flickered. Oh, shit, I need to make myself clear. “But just not now.”

  Her smile faded, the flicker disappeared. That’s the worst that could happen and it did. Say something to make her feel better.

  “I mean I’m actually on a job. I’m waiting on this night creature to join me. I’m teaching it how to scare people.”

  She didn’t look so disappointed anymore. Her tone was more apologetic than her words. “Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “It’s alright. You can still take it for a spin later.” “I wouldn’t get in the way of your work?”

  “Nah, I’ll take a night off and we can just go around doing whatever you want.”

  “Couldn’t I catch at least one soul? I want to know what’s like, I don’t care ” Morrigan said imitating an adult in a haughty voice, “how unbecoming a lady it is.”

  “Sure.”

  Morrigan turned away and sat beside Famine on the passenger side of the carriage. She glanced over into the shop windows to her right then leaned in and spoke in his ear. Her voice was firm. “Just to let you know, I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I hope you don’t think I’m trying to…what’s the expression humans use? Uhm…pick you up?”

  He hadn’t thought about what his attempt at trying to gain friendship looked like to her. As beautiful as she was, he just wasn’t interested in her that way. At least she didn’t seem to overtly notice his Other Nature.

  “No! I don’t like you like that. I mean you’re beautiful and all but I just need a friend. I don’t have any. It gets lonely doing what I do. There’s no one my age to talk to. I hope that doesn’t sound too needy.”

  Morrigan turned to face him, a smile across her face. “Not at all, sweetie. I would still love to meet your father, though. I’ve followed his work since I was very young.”

  “I think I can manage that. Maybe you could come over and have one of his famous meals.”

  “The Reaper cooks? Impressive. I’m a little tied up for the time being, so I don’t know when I could do that.”

  Famine could not believe what had just happened. Just an hour ago, he was out getting dinner with Ankou, now here he had just made a new friend. Hell, he had just made his first friend. Things change quickly and unpredictably in his life. Just when he thought he had everything figured out, here came a new experience to change the way he thought about existence.

  “Then, it’s a date.”

  Morrigan gave him a curious look. He quickly corrected himself. “I mean, its not. It’s…something…I guess.”

  Just then, the door to the wine store opened and Ankou came out muttering to himself carrying a bottle under his arm. Morrigan quickly rose from her seat and floated beside one of the horses. Ankou was still talking when he noticed her. “…money hungry blood sucker….wine cheaper at Ghost-Way…he better like this. Well, hello there young lady!”

  “Hello, sir.”

  “Famine, child, who is your lovely friend?”

  “Uh, this is Morrigan.”

  Ankou extended his hand towards her. She reached out and shook it while smiling. “I’m Ankou, delighted to meet you.”

  Morrigan glanced at Famine, then the wagon, to Ankou. “The Ankou?” she asked.

  Ankou looked positively happy with himself suddenly. “The one and only.”

  “Pleased to meet you, sir. It’s an honor and a privilege,” Morrigan said before directing her attention to Famine, “So, this isn’t your wagon?”

  Famine was totally dumbstruck. His face registered surprise and embarrassment. He took his time to answer. “No, it belongs to my uncle here.”

  What came from her mouth next also came as a shock. She wasn’t angry. “Oh my, your uncle is the Ankou. I’ve never met supernatural royalty before. I mean, that’s what you guys are like to the rest of us Omens.”

  “What? Really? Royalty?” Ankou asked flustered.

  She moved a bit closer to he wagon and now faced Famine. “Yes. You’re part of a proud and famous family that’s feared and admired all over. I didn’t expect to ever run into any of you.”

  “So, you’re not angry because I lied about the wagon?”

  “No. You’re not the first guy to lie to impress a girl, happens all the time with them. Besides, I wouldn’t have believed you about driving The Ankou’s cart.”

  Famine thought more quickly now. “I didn’t lie about everything. I do go out hunting, though. Isn’t that right, Uncle?”

  Ankou was quick to reply. His face was now one that showed great pride. “Indeed, Miss Morrigan, he does. We were just out not long ago. You should have seen him get that villager. He’s a natural.”

  “I’m sure he is.”

  A few seconds of awkward silence passed. Famine didn’t feel as if he had a mass the size of a boulder in his throat any longer. “So, are you still coming over?”

  Before Morrigan could respond, he remembered Ankou. “Oh, Uncle, I asked Morrigan to meet Pop if that’s okay. She’s a fan.”

  “Fine with me, child. I’m sure he’d be happy to have such a nice guest.”

  Famine looked back at Morrigan. “Is that going to be a yes?” “I’d be thrilled.”

  They both smiled. Ankou stepped into the cart and put the bottle of wine next to his feet. “I hate to sound like rude, but we need to be getting off, Miss Morrigan. We have a previous dinner engagement we need to get to. I hope you understand.”

  “Certainly. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Ankou.”

  Ankou laughed hoarsely. “Likewise and please just call me Ankou. All that mister stuff is so formal and tight. I may pick up corpses
, but I’m not as stiff as one.”

  “Very well, Ankou. You have a peaceful night.”

  She looked now at Famine, who was readying the carriage for departure. She didn’t want to sound too silly. She decided to play her “high-society” voice as her mother called it. “Nice meeting you as well, Famine. It’s been a pleasure. I’m sure we’re going to get along wonderfully.”

  “I hope so, Morrigan,” Famine said rubbing his neck, “It’ll be nice to have friends over. Hell, it’ll be nice to have anyone over.”

  Morrigan shook her head in approval. “Better get going. You have somewhere to be, remember?”

  He nodded towards her, yanked on the reins, and clicked his tongue and the cart moved down the road. Just as they were out of town, Ankou leaned in towards his nephew.

  “Doing quite well there, child. You’d almost think you’d been driving this cart for a long time. Did pretty well with your new friend, too.”

  “Thanks, Uncle. I’m glad I have your support on everything.”

  “I'm glad to give it,” Ankou said before leaning back to his sitting position, “you do know whose family Miss Morrigan belongs to, right?”

  Famine had no clue about that or why his uncle asked him the question in the first place. “Uhm no, not really. Does it matter?”

  “If you want her to get along with our family, it does. Think, child. What was she doing when you met her?”

  “Singing. Sort of. Sounded more like crying now that I think about it.” “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Uh-huh, I see. What did she said she did?”

  “She’s a Death Omen.”

  Famine was expecting a response but Ankou said nothing. If anything, he was good at prodding enough to make things clearer. It looked like Famine was by himself at guessing this one. He sat there with two phrases repeating in his head: crying and omen of death. These things have something in common, now what was it? Did it have something to do with her line of work? No, she didn’t work Famine remembered. It has to do with her family, kid. What do these things have to do with them? Then it hit him. It wasn’t as much as what they did but as to whom they were. “The Banshee!”

  Ankou let out his characteristic laugh. “You know how your mother feels about her. I shouldn’t worry about it, though.”

  “Oh really? I just invited over the enemy of the family for dinner and there’s nothing to worry about?”

  “No. I wouldn’t call them enemies as pains in the other’s ass, anyway. There are egos even in the sprit world that clash. One weeping woman thinks she’s better than the other. One gets more attention. So on and so on.”

  “I hope you’re right. Last thing we need is trouble.”

  “Where’s all that fiery attitude you had when we met that wanker ghost rider? You’ll shout ass and cuss him all kinds of ways, but you’re afraid of a girl and her folks?”

  “It’s weird, I know.” Ankou shrugged and leaned back. “Ah, like I said, don’t worry. In the least, I think it will make a hell of a dinner party.”