by Kenny Soward
“Don’t bother the person with probably more than one gun who kills fade rippers on sight? What would you guys normally do? You know, when I was iced?”
“It's best to avoid them,” Ingrid continued. “I knew a man in Brussels, a long time ago. A gentleman, to be sure. Back then they had a code. Occupied themselves with those who caused a lot of trouble. Left us harmless types alone.”
“The man my sister is referring to was not kind," Elsa said. "But she's right. They would not have concerned themselves with our little family. Just the big fish. But now, if they see one fade ripper, they will shoot without so much as a hello.” Elsa rubbed her chin, looking ridiculously thoughtful. “There’s no sense of honor anymore.”
“We do nothing.” Crash had hardly moved since Lonnie arrived, but he’d been listening. “We’re under Gruff’s protection. The Code o’ Peace.”
“Code o’ Peace!” Gruff called from where he stirred the pot.
“There’s a truce?”
Selix nodded. “The Under River is honored and respected by Holy Avengers and fade rippers alike. One of the few places anyone can find refuge.”
“Well, she didn’t shoot me. I guess that’s a good sign.”
Elsa said, “Plus she’s probably scared. She knows who we are. Her guns won’t save her from us. I doubt we’ll see another inch of her. She’ll hide in her room like a baby.”
“I agree with my sister. But Holy Avengers are unpredictable. We should at least introduce ourselves to her. Set boundaries while we’re here.”
“No,” Selix said. “Everyone honors Gruff’s pledge. They rely on Gruff as much as we do to keep what we do under the radar. Gruff’s code is necessary, and she has to know that.”
Lonnie crossed to the opposite side, pulled out a chair, and sat next to Elsa. “So, we do nothing. Just monitor the situation. Agreed?”
Crash opened his eyes, yawned, and eased forward until his arms rested on the table, causing it to squeal in protest. “Right. Just my opinion.”
Lonnie mimicked Crash's posture, eyes glancing over the gang. “I agree. Now, let’s talk about Makare Bet-Ohman. My sister.”
Chapter 17
As soon as the guy named Lonnie left, Bess prayed. She prayed for clarity on the fade rippers in the Under River with her. She’d heard them come in, that much was true, delivered by Gruff’s pets (those slithery abominations) a few days ago, but she hadn’t worried. Things had been quiet until now. She figured she’d deal with whatever came up until she felt well enough to leave. But after experiencing a powerful vibe off Lonnie, she wasn’t convinced she was safe.
She needed to know more. Asked the Lord to show her the surrounding darkness, to put a name to the evil.
"Show me."
And the Lord responded, although differently than she imagined. With her godsight, she located the two whorchals, an omag (a man with demon's blood in his veins), Lonnie, and that other powerful presence, the woman with the white mohawk. Neither of the latter two fit any definable categories, and that scared her.
Worse, they didn’t appear to be the dark shadows normally associated with evil. No, their auras radiated grayish in color, with fleeting tinges of yellow around the edges.
Hadn't seen anything like it in all her years of hunting.
Bess dressed in her patched jeans and shirt, threw on her boots and jacket, eyes flashing to the door, and cursed herself for not being more careful. Then she packed. Tucked in her MP5 sub-machine gun along with her laptop, tablet, and other devices (none of them that useful beneath the river), her speakers, and sleeping clothes.
She put her Glock in its holster at her hip. Hid another small .380 in a shoulder holster under her jacket, and placed her knives in their usual hidden spots.
On the edge of her bed, Bess stared at the coverlet thrown across her door.
How to leave? Not a big worry before, but now it was imperative she get topside. Her arrival in the Under River was hazy. Bess's fleeting consciousness, her life hanging by a thread. She remembered someone putting her in a casket with a window in front. The sensation of floating, and those nightmarish arms wrapping around her and dragging her beneath the waves. Bess lamented, her soul crying out to the Lord because she thought she was going to Hell.
She woke up in this room, resting comfortably and in much better shape. Revived, cleansed. And Gruff, after convincing Bess he was a friend (plus he’d given her the proper ECC codes which he barely remembered) proved to be an attentive caregiver. She even grew to appreciate the man, or whatever he was, over the past seven days.
She’d wanted to leave a hundred times, but Gruff convinced her the world would still be spinning when she returned to the surface. Convinced her she needed to heal. And she couldn’t argue with him. Her calf still ached. Her belly, the same.
Bess lowered her head into her hands.
Lonnie’s gang came in three days ago looking beaten. She’d not been completely honest when she told Lonnie she'd kept to herself. No, Bess had sneaked down the hall to spy on them. Lingered outside the Lonnie’s room when he and the one with the white mohawk made love. Couldn’t get close enough to eavesdrop, but used her godsight. The heat of their passion skewed her vision, or so she thought. And on the heels of her run in with Krag and Anderson, she was worried something bigger was happening. More than a minor infiltration of the ECC.
Was Lonnie’s group part of it? If not, maybe they had useful information. Could she even risk asking?
What would her father want her to do? Easy. He’d want her to abandon the mission and get home as soon as possible.
But what was the right thing to do? What if the Lord wanted her to face these transgressors, to confront them and demand they tell her everything they knew?
Aggression could get her killed, and that’s why she’d avoided it so far.
The Under River grew stifling, Bess's emotions warring in her brain. She needed to trust her instincts. She'd be useless dead. It was time to leave. Now. Find Gruff and split. Nothing here but danger and death, especially if she poked around in these rippers' business. It was one thing to be brave, to be a warrior for the Lord, quite another to be plain stupid.
Okay, that’s a direction, anyway. That’s something you can do.
Bess gathered herself, stood, and threw her backpack over one shoulder. Performed a dummy check on the room and blew out the candles. Turned off the lamps. Took a deep breath, gave a sigh, and brushed past the coverlet hanging across her doorway.
It wasn’t hard to find them. Bess followed the sounds of voices to the end of the passage and then right to where a warm glow of light poured through a wider alcove. She took her time, stopping just out of earshot. Someone laughing (Lonnie) and two other women sounding German to her. The big Jamaican omag she’d spied earlier carrying Lonnie from Gruff’s cutting room to the recovery room. And as she got closer, a woman’s soft, slightly breaking tone.
The white mohawk chic.
“Show me Lord,” she whispered, closing her eyes. Her godsight returned, and she pictured the scene. Formed an image of the adjacent layout and position of those speaking. She saw their auras as varying degrees of deepening gray and yellow. The deeper the color, the greater their powerful.
Bess was thankful for the Lord's presence. That alone gave her the confidence to continue. She opened her eyes, listening in on the conversation.
They were discussing her. Wondering what to do and bringing up Gruff’s code of peace. That was good. Very good. It showed their willingness to honor the truce and keep Bess from shooting up the place and turning the Under River into a bloody mess.
Bess turned away, thinking she'd wait until Gruff was alone to talk to him, but then one of the women with the German accent said something that stopped Bess cold.
“She’s scared, Lons. She knows who we are. Her guns won’t save her from all of us. Therefore, I seriously doubt we’ll see another inch of her. She’ll probably just hide in her room like a baby.”
Be
ss reeled, started toward the alcove, hand on her weapon and holy fire in her eyes. How dare someone call her a baby, a coward, or insinuated she feared them. She’d been hunting fade rippers for years. Had killed plenty of them.
Her mother, God bless her, had taken out even more.
At the threshold, Bess found an iota of restraint and reined in her pride. Shut her eyes and held her fist clenched. Asking God’s forgiveness was like erecting a barrier against the hubris that would only bring her destruction.
Bess smiled, thankful for the peace that settled over her heart.
She listened.
Now the fade rippers were discussing a place called Septu. Another called Xester. Bess didn't remember those names in her training or OPs briefings. It was new information she was sure the ECC didn’t have. The rippers went on to mention a powerful woman, someone named Makare, one of their own kind who they suspected hunted them. They were at war with her.
Sounded like a bunch of ripper drama to Bess. Not an ECC problem. While she’d honor Gruff’s code in the Under River, the faster she got topside and back to work, the better.
And then it didn’t matter because the snide voice of the German woman cooed to her. “Oh, come now, dearie. We’ve known you were standing there this entire time. I can smell your nasty blood. Best come in for this part. It’s tasty gossip. Come meet Auntie Elsa.”
Bess exhaled, caught between decisions.
Fight or flight, baby.
The Lord seemed to be making this decision for her.
Fight it is.
She squared her shoulders and stepped into the room.
Chapter 18
“I thought you would come when I called you a big baby woman.”
Bess only stared, eyes taking in the group, ignoring the whorchal.
Lonnie paced at the end of a long mismatched row of tables arranged longways. The other, the one whose power Bess could not identify, the mohawk chic girlfriend of Lonnie’s, sat flipping through what appeared to be an old fashion magazine. She was a slight white woman, pale as hell, draped in a faded T-shirt. The woman’s head turned in Bess’s direction and blue diamond eyes slammed into Bess with an easy force.
This one, she was the strongest. The most frail, too.
It took a near physical effort for Bess to look away and back to Lonnie, who wasn't surprised to see her. He stood next to the woman in the T-shirt, hands on his hips, a crooked smile lighting his expression.
A gaunt face considered Bess from across the table. Dark lips puckered, then twisted into a toothy grin. “You are patient, aren’t you? I like the patient ones. Makes the game last longer.” She was the smarmy one. A whorchal, dressed in a pale pink shirt that said Perfect Princess on the front. “Our little `Venger.”
The other whorchal, close in resemblance to the first, except for her thicker frame, spun on the bench. Her smile was not as lurid as the other’s. At least not yet. But Bess knew from experience whorchals were never, ever, kind creatures. They thrived on death and blood and rot.
But these two could have been sisters. Probably were sisters. No, definitely sisters.
The second, kinder-looking one, waved. The omag, in all his brute strength, sat next to her, wide shoulders, thick neck, and dreadlocks sprouting from his head. He appeared the least concerned with Bess’s arrival.
Lonnie gestured. “Everyone, meet Bess. Bess, the gang.” He introduced the rest of them as Elsa, Ingrid, Crash, and Selix.
“Won’t you try to kill us now?” The one called Elsa looked hopeful. “It’s so boring down here.”
“Never mind my sister, Bess. We were about to have a meal. Will you join us?”
“Code o’ peace,” Gruff mumbled from across the room, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Remember platitudes and amendments of kind.”
“Nice to meet, y’all.” Bess inclined her head but advanced no further. “But I was just leaving. “
Elsa over-frowned, climbed up, and knelt on the table. “That makes me so sad. I wanted to play with you first. Arm wrestling? Oil wrestling? Do you enjoy wrestling of any sort?” Elsa nodded encouragingly.
Gruff waddled over, rubbing his greasy scalp. “Two more days, Bess. You need more rest. Sleep.”
Bess shook her head. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“No,” Gruff said. “I won’t allow for premature extractions.”
Bess’s shoulders tensed, now annoyed at the Under River caretaker. “It’s my decision.” She let her words linger, hoped they understood the danger in them without taking it the wrong way. Bess didn’t want to fight, but no one ever kept her against her will.
Gruff grumbled, but not at Bess. He assumed the countenance of a donut shop owner who was dealing with a dissatisfied customer. He huffed, his bottom lip coming out in a pout, eyes growing wide as he played his last card. “You’re hungry. I hear the bellygrowl from here. Sit. Eat. One final meal before you leave my kingdom.”
“Yes, eat,” Elsa said.
Bess eyed the group again. Selix, buried in her magazine. Crash, half asleep sitting up. Lonnie, still grinning. Ingrid, looking hopeful to have someone new to converse with. The only hostile one was Elsa. And her aura burned in that strange gray-gold unlike the average fade ripper.
What was God trying to tell her?
Bess sighed, then moved with care past Ingrid and Crash to the far end of the table, seven or eight chairs from the fade rippers, and sat. She placed her backpack in front of her, the top zipper open enough for her to get to her sub-machine gun easily.
Gruff rolled up an old cart jammed with paper plates of food. He gave Bess the first one, smiling in that proprietor's way, hoping to please a finicky patron. “To stave off death’s cold fingers,” he said, before delivering the remaining grub.
“Thanks.” Bess gazed upon what appeared to be soggy, dark, seaweed mixed in with processed mac n’ cheese and two or three hot dogs grilled and cut into tiny pieces. A blob of ketchup rested on the edge of the plate. For dipping, she supposed.
Elegant.
Her stomach growled, so she prayed, took up the proffered plastic fork, and dug in. It reminded her of her mother and the kid lunches she’d served when Bess was little. Pizza rolls, grilled cheese and tomato soup, and bologna sandwiches.
The rest followed suit, even the whorchals, which surprised her considering she’d been taught their diet consisted only of flesh and blood.
The one called Elsa used her hands to eat, chewing noisily. Her eyes stuck to Bess, smiling and working those razor underteeth of hers. It was unnerving, but Bess kept her own expression frigid, allowing a faint grin in reply. The green, plant stuff wasn’t half bad. Tasted like gritty spinach.
Lonnie had taken a seat to Elsa’s left, elbows planted on the table as he attacked his meal. Strange for a junkie (she’d noticed the track marks bruising his arms) but she supposed he was a fade ripper junkie, so maybe it was different for them. Bess had learned from experience that food was an inconvenience for hardcore users, a passing idea that a burger and fries might be good. But after that first bite, it became a chore, something necessary to continue using.
Lonnie had positioned himself between Bess and the obvious troublemaker, Elsa. He wanted to keep them from killing each other, or maybe wanted to get a closer look at Bess.
“This is great,” he said, raising his fork while his stone gray eyes shot her way. “What’s this green stuff?”
Gruff scratched his head and peered up at the dirt ceiling. “Made by the children who I made. River guts, I call it.”
Lonnie looked to Selix for an explanation.
She smiled, her eyes abandoning her magazine for a moment and shifting to Lonnie. "Remember the things that dragged us down here?”
“The tentacle things.” Lonnie stuffed a piece of hotdog in his mouth.
“Those are his children. He grows them. Plants their pods in his Arboretum. Sets them free when they get big enough. In return, they grow and act as a filter for the water, and Gru
ff farms this stuff from their leavings.”
“All true and true,” Gruff said as he sat a plate in front of Crash who leaned forward and took the fork, tiny in the guy’s massive paw, and attacked it with a, “Thanks.”
Lonnie stopped chewing, swallowed with a big gulp, and picked out the hot dog bits first.
Bess had to agree with him on that, but she was hungry and finished everything. One didn’t survive by being finicky about every damn thing.
“I’d like to see it sometime.” Lonnie waved his fork around. “All this.”
Me too.
Gruff made a satisfied noise as he trundled off. “A tour, for sure. Come see me after yer belly’s full.”
Lonnie nodded, stopped his weird glancing at Bess for a moment, and finished what remained of his food.
They ate in silence, furtive glances as their only form of communication. Bess checked her godsight three times to make sure nothing had changed. No, they were still a gray-to-golden color, not the pitch black shadows she was used to.
Gruff waddled back around to take the plates and throw them into a plastic bag. “Grub’s good?”
“Yeah,” Lonnie said. The others nodded, too.
Crash put his fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Perfecto. Better than on the islands.”
Bess cracked a smile.
Selix washed down her last bite with a big swallow of water. “Something funny?”
Bess ventured. “I was thinking this whole situation is like a nightmare cookout. Grandpa on the grill. Forced to hang out with annoying people you don’t get along with but tolerate because they might say some screwed up, interesting shit.”
Elsa jabbed her finger at Bess. “I know exactly what you mean about the last part. But we don’t do cookouts.”
“I used to do cookouts.” Lonnie eased back in his folding chair. "Well, in my head."
“So, y’all not from around here, I take it?”
“No, we are,” Selix said. “Been in the area awhile. Came north through New Orleans when it was young. Stayed in Georgia for a spell. Made our way up here to escape the Civil War fighting. Planned on going west, but didn’t.”
