by Kenny Soward
Eyes narrowed in challenge, Lonnie offered his arm. "Go ahead, try it. Touch me. See what happens. You can’t ice me anymore, and I won’t let you have my girls."
“They were never yours. I put them there, and you made up everything else but their names. That was the one thing you couldn’t do.”
Snake fast, Lonnie seized Selix's chin, gripped it tight and hoped it hurt. “Doesn't matter what kind of past we share. I'm tired of your lies and tricks. Forced fucking labor for your little gang. It ends here.”
Elsa made a bored face. “Oh, Lons.”
“Come on," Crash said. "Settle down. We’ve got to pull together."
Selix twisted free of Lonnie's grip, retreating a pace. “I’m sorry, Lonnie, but this is for your own good.”
Her hand waved from left to right before Lonnie's eyes, drawing a line of red smoke in the air.
Something popped. Soft bubble gum on a child's lips.
“Daddy.”
The one tiny word stilled his heart and softened it to liquid pulp at the same time.
Lonnie reeled, stepping away from the gang. Even though he'd seen his wife leading the Shrimp across the platform, they hadn't moved an inch. Still stood on the far side, feet locked.
“Daddy, we're stuck."
Lonnie bent, put his hands out. "You need to come here. It's the only way to know you're real. If I go to you, it will only prove her fucking point. Don't you get it?"
His wife nodded with desperate hope. She tried lifting her legs. Strained against an invisible mire. She gasped, eyes full of fear. "We can't."
It didn't matter if they were concoctions in Lonnie's confused mind. He could change things. He could will them into reality. Sweep them up. Get them far away from this place. Make shit right again.
The Shrimp looked past Lonnie at Selix, voice edged with rising panic. “Daddy. She says no."
“Hey,” he said over his shoulder. “Let them go.” But he didn’t wait for a response. Everything else forgotten, the gang and their war, Lonnie raced ahead.
The escape pod survivors were fading. Wavering. Falling apart, skin changing into cracked gray flakes. His wife raised her arm, hand grasping. The Shrimp hugged her mother’s other arm, fear breaking into dark tears on her cheeks. Panic turned to wild desperation as Lonnie crashed to his knees. He fell forward, straightened again, hands up but hesitant to touch them, fearful they would dissolve with a touch. “You fucking bitch,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Quit it!”
The gusty air was already washing them out, taking them apart, disintegrating them before his eyes.
A wild cry tore from Lonnie’s throat. He reached into the swirling motes of ash, making an even bigger mess of things. He pulled his hands out, smeared them across his wet cheeks in smudges of gray dirt. He dove in again, drawing out more of the particles as their forms ran together and became unrecognizable.
Another gust of wind kicked up and carried them away.
Lonnie staggered back from the scene, tripped over the plastic bin he’d been sitting on, and fell hard on his ass. His chest heaved. Rage burned in his head.
He glared at Selix in her weird aluminum scaffold suit. He wanted to kick her. Knock her down. Scream at her.
“Why?” His words came out a croak.
Selix carefully wiped tears from her face to avoid getting stuck with the needle fixed to her wrist. “The enemy is near. It's time to fight.” She muddled past him without sparing a glance.
“You can’t do that. You can’t leave it like this. So fucking broken.”
Selix stopped. Turned around with careful steps. Her red-rimmed eyes found his, deep blue against his stone gray. “Lonnie, shut up and fight. Or—”
Lonnie stood. “Or what?”
Selix held out her fist. “Here.”
Lonnie held out his hand, and Selix dropped two pills on his palm. Transparent gems each the size of a pinky nail. “What are they?”
“They’re called clear crystals. When you get far enough away, pop them. They’ll bring back your memories faster, and in better order. They’ll help.” Selix’s eyes were pools of misery. “Because you’re losing it, kid. I iced you too much.”
Lonnie stared at the crystals in his hand. Fuck waiting. He threw them into his mouth and swallowed them dry. Thought they might catch in the back of his throat, make him gag or choke, but they didn’t. They turned soft and slimy and slid down like snot.
Selix’s eyes went wide for a moment before softening. “Are they…”
Lonnie waited for something to happen. Waited for some magic cure to calm the tumultuous trainwreck in his head. “Nothing,” he said.
Selix’s expression broke from barely composed to twisted agony. She wiped the back of her hand across her runny nose, needle brushing against her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
Lonnie glanced past the watching gang and into Rose Park. Shadows flickered from the alleys and across the field. The enemy closed.
He clenched his fists. Took a long stride forward, butting Selix in the head. “You’re evil, you know that?”
Selix’s face exploded into a mask of anger. With complete disregard for the needles so delicately strapped to her body, she punched Lonnie in the shoulder, knocking him back a foot. “You think it was easy for me? You think I wasn’t hurt too? You think it was fun making up people in your head knowing damn well I’d have to tear your heart out someday? How hard it was to stay away from you when all I wanted was to hold you? To love you? It was fucking torture, kid.”
Part of Lonnie wanted to listen but his rage burned any possibility of understanding away. The betrayal tore through him, made him hate the gang all over again. They’d been screwing with him far beyond imagining.
“We don’t deserve to win this,” Lonnie said through clenched teeth. Then he turned and stalked off, tearing through sticker bushes and dry brush, hardly feeling his legs and face getting scratched to hell. Crash appeared in front of him, reached out to stop him, but Lonnie lowered his shoulder and barreled the man’s arm out of the way.
“Lonnie! Hey! Don’t go like that! It’s bad juju.”
Chapter 15
Lonnie stormed out of the woods heading southeast across the park, head pounding with rage. He spotted a sedan parked by the curb and headed in that direction. In a flash of a second and a shift of pinging energy in his body, he stood next to the car, fist slamming the hood as he passed. He hesitated. He’d just thought about being there and it happened. Didn’t remember the right-foot-left-foot it had taken him to get there. Reminded Lonnie of the same surge of energy, the frightening speed, that occurred when he pegged the sleether with his knife.
Raise the runes.
Had he absently brushed his hands together like when he’d put Tay on his ass in front of Carlito’s?
No time to ponder it, he went another half block, stopped and spun. The moon was climbing high over Rose Park, bathing everything in a sick glow. Selix rattled out of the woods wearing her frame to stand at the edge where the trees met the brown grass. The hypodermic needles were poised for injection into various points of her body as soon as she squeezed the bike brakes in her hands. It was a dumb contraption and a dumb plan.
The others hid amidst the junk of Rose Park. Elsa behind a discarded car door, the barrel of the AR15 pointed through the window. Ingrid nearby, peeking around a tree. Crash using a metal cabinet as a shield.
“Idiots.” Lonnie shook his head and ducked into the dark alley. Hustled along the passage and then slowed, wary of anyone the gangs might have sent to outflank the Eighth Streeters. The sounds of gunfire reached him, echoing pops off the brick walls. Burst of them. Shouts.
He moved carefully now, counting every step, trying to be patient. The hair-raising feeling of being watched struck him. He’d left the gang's protection, and he was on his own. No one to depend on, no more us-against-the-world. Just Lonnie, his gun, and a couple of magazines.
A backstreet paved with old cobbles cut across his path. A scuffling
sound reached him from the darkness, and then a buzzing, like a fat fly dive bombing his ear.
The thing ambled from the shadows on long, lanky arms. Its weight rested on hoary knuckles, fingers splayed back like the legs of dead spiders while its feet dangled off the ground a good seven inches. From the top of a short, squat neck, two eyes the color of slate spewed hate. A foot-long sucker mouth quivered beneath slits that might have passed for a nose. Naked, ashen hide shifted over sinewy limbs and a tight, round belly. A tiny protuberance that appeared to be a penis wiggled between its thighs, pissing itself with a musk that stung Lonnie’s eyes.
It made a buzz that shook the hairs in Lonnie’s ears.
Lonnie drew his gun and popped off two quick rounds right at its middle. He scored left (damnit) the bullets penetrating its stomach, causing the thing to stagger. It buzzed again and charged at Lonnie. Before Lonnie could rip off another round the thing’s rear legs found purchase on the cobbles, claws scratching on the concrete, jabbing its sharp, wet proboscis like a spear.
Jerking his head to the side to avoid facial impalement, Lonnie caught the beast around the neck and hugged it to him, growling as he squeezed that dangerous stinger to his shoulder and let his weight drag them to the ground where Lonnie smacked hard on his back.
Atop him, the buzzing thing planted its hands on the pavement, trying to achieve separation for another stab. But Lonnie held on tight, fueled by the rage and betrayal he still felt. Face pressed against the beast’s weird hide Lonnie shouted, “C’mon motherfucker! Bring it!”
Locked together, the creature’s shorter hind feet walked up Lonnie’s thighs, claws digging through his jeans and into his flesh for leverage. If he didn't do something quick, he'd be ripped to shreds.
Gun still in hand, Lonnie angled the barrel downward at what he hoped was its spine and pulled off a shot. The thing jerked but gave no sign he’d mortally wounded it. The claws dug in further, one leg moving up near Lonnie’s crotch. Musky piss squirted all over him, burning into his wounds and gagging him.
He tightened the barrel’s angle, hoping he didn't shoot himself while trying to kill this thing, and squeezed the trigger again. The beast jerked so violently it lifted Lonnie off the ground. He wisely let go, landing on his back with a smack as the creature coiled into a crouch a few feet away.
Legs burning, Lonnie kicked at the pavement, leveraging himself with one elbow to put some distance between himself and the beast, now glaring down its shivering sticker at him. Lonnie met the thing’s animal rage with his own, screaming at it from his prone position. “I got more of that, bitch! C’mon. I got—”
The thing lunged at him again, this time veering toward the alley wall as Lonnie popped off his last two rounds, missing both times. The buzzing fiend dove at Lonnie’s head again. Lonnie rolled right and then right again before he couldn’t roll any further. He reversed direction, fingers brushing together, elbow thrown out blindly. There was a satisfying crack and a buzzing shriek.
Lonnie sprang to his feet. Slipped. Righted himself. Raised his hands to ward off another of the monster’s charges. But none ever came. The thing lay sprawled on the cobblestones, jerking in some kind of seizure, a fair dent in the side of its head.
Laughing, Lonnie brought his boot down with everything he had, crushing its face to the ground and tearing the proboscis. The creature shuddered, claws rattling against the pavement. He stomped once more and the beak ripped free, oily juice bursting in a release of pressure.
Lonnie drew his knife and buried it in the thing’s throat, twisting until it moved no more.
Jerking his blade free, he wobbled to his feet, backing up while blood and ichor spouted. He leaned over and put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. The reality of this thing’s existence should have shocked him (and probably gotten him killed) if he hadn’t recently seen a lot. Now with the rage burned off, Lonnie welcomed some new information slipping into his consciousness. This dead thing was a hoarbeast. A golem constructed by warlocks out of whatever parts they could find, be it bird, beast, or bug.
Lonnie winced at the pain in his lower extremities. Blood saturated his jeans, oozed down his legs and into his boots. Didn’t want to risk pinching apart the material to see the damage to his flesh. He could stand, which was good enough.
Gunfire from Rose Park, and there was very little time. Yet, he had to know one more thing.
Lonnie closed his eyes and let the memories flow, unadulterated by Selix’s tricks and his expectations of what should be true. After forcing things for so long, he finally let the truth come to him.
Lonnie was back at Hell’s Gate, eyes opened to the burning sky. He stood facing the gang, all of them looking much different now. They wore black, sleek-looking armor except for Selix, who remained naked. Gear they’d stolen from Makare’s guards, emblazoned with the cog and quill, the symbol of House Bet-Ohman.
“All right, sir.” The Brit approached Lonnie and bowed his head. “The tether is growling. The gate will be receptive in a moment.”
Lonnie glanced at the gate where a chugging contraption used a rod to stir the silvery surface. The rod held a series of vials and shakers filled with their essences. Flecks of dandruff, blood, and bits of hair mixed to form a spell that would let them pass through to Earth and to safety.
“We go through.” Lonnie tossed a worried glance at the sky where a flotilla of oil-smoking airships approached. Every second they stayed here left them open for attack. “We settle on this world, this Earth.”
“I don’t like running,” Elsa said, her words a fine and dangerous point.
“None of us do,” Lonnie said. “But we’ve lost this battle. We can’t beat Makare here. Not now.”
“She’ll still find us on Earth, you know,” Selix said. “She’s got your soul’s scent. She’ll scry you far and wide, and you’ll lead her to us.”
Selix was right. He’d hoped they could escape Makare and remain in Hell to continue the rebellion, but things hadn’t gone as planned. Many friends and allies were dead, lost in the fight, pain too sharp for Lonnie to face. Now came the dreaded moment.
He took Selix by her bare shoulders, thumbs brushing her skin. “Make me forget.”
“What?” Selix tried to draw away.
“You’re a dragon voice. Make me forget everything. Who I am, who I ever wanted to be. Erase whatever mark they put on me. They can’t scry me if I leave no scent.”
“But as soon as you start a new life with new memories, they’ll pick it up again. It’s not something you can remove. Just like it sounds, it’s part of your soul.”
Lonnie swallowed. “Then take my soul.”
Selix jerked from his grasp, fear in her eyes. “No.”
“It can be restored, right?"
Selix shook her head. “It’s been done, but the results are unreliable at best. No one is ever the same after.”
His eyes slid back to the sky where the noise of chugging engines grew louder. “Just do it, Selix. That’s a fucking order.”
The edges of her lips turned down, tears making trails again. She wasn’t making this easy, every second allowing more doubt to slip in. He didn’t give her another minute to argue. He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. Her body’s heat bled through his armor. His kiss was desperate but firm, a lingering impression he knew would be gone in a moment. He drew away. “I've made my decision.”
Selix nodded at last, her expression dimming to hopelessness.
The others gathered around the two. Elsa and Ingrid, arms thrown over one another’s shoulders, Crash and the Brit doing the same on the other side. A circle of comrades. They knew what this sacrifice meant. They knew the depth and the danger. They offered him words to stem the fear of what he was about to do.
“We’ll miss you,” Crash said.
“Aye, we will,” the gang responded.
“We’ll protect you, even when you don’t know who you are.”
“Aye, a
greed.”
Selix reached up with shaking hands and touched his temples. Her shoulders rocked back and forth, dipping with the sway of her hips. Even those simple movements were grace personified, a powerful elegance only a dragon voice could wield.
Selix sang a few more words and everything went black.
Chapter 16
Lonnie eased out of the dream, fading from Hell's landscape to the sounds of gunfire. Maybe the clear crystals were helping him process the jarring recollections. Maybe he was simply ready to accept. His soul slowly returned, the gaps in his memories filling with truth.
He was responsible for the gang's escape from Hell. He was the one who had asked to be iced, which made him the one to blame for his own damn misery. Not Selix or Elsa or anyone else. And they'd die out here because of him. Die for him.
“Shit.”
Lonnie sprinted back the way he’d come with a sense of purpose burning through him, hoping he could still be a factor in the fight. He changed out his magazine as he ran, left hand brushing over the right, hoping to draw out some of that strange rune power.
At the end of the alley, Lonnie slowed, eyes searching Rose Park.
The air reverberated around him. Energy. Magic. Bullets.
He peeked out. Spotted the old sedan he’d punched earlier. Beyond that the rapid-fire sparks of his gang firing from their positions. He made out Elsa’s door chocked full of bullet holes, caught the Drear Sisters’ faces as they returned fire. And despite Crash’s wideness, he gave the attackers a difficult target behind the steel cabinet. The metal was wearing thin with the beating it was taking. The end of Crash’s weapon spat fire in response.
Rival gang members spread across the field. Some ducked behind trash cans or light poles. Some crawled through the grass. Humans from the tattooed Crucifers and the Phalans moved carefully. Fade rippers less so, flaunting their freedom beneath the full moon. Monsters. Fiends. Atrocities. Like the Eighth Street Gang, armed with an assortment of weaponry: rifles, handguns, fangs, and teeth.
