by M. T. Miller
“Geez, Astrid,” the Grin grumbled in his bunk. “Show a guy some mercy, will you?”
Uncle remained silent, but the way he stopped snoring indicated that he was awake as well.
Mercy? Astrid mused as she tried making sense of something, anything, in the permeating darkness. No such thing as mercy in this world. Never was, never will be.
Uncle finally made himself heard. “Get your ass back to bed, girl. Those things out in the corridor smell bad, yeah, and they occasionally stumble into each other, but what they sure as hell can’t do is bend steel. We’re safe in here, least until the main man changes his mind.”
Astrid didn’t reply. She tilted her head, completely focused on listening to whatever was going on in the direction of the exit. Something from up there had woken her up, and she would learn what it was.
“Funny how you’re the only one of us without a scratch,” the Grin said as he slowly straightened himself up, “and at the same time, you’re also the only one who’s scared of her own shadow.”
Shut up, Astrid was about to say, but the sound of a high caliber round being fired did that in her stead.
“What the?” the Grin shouted.
“That’s new,” said Uncle.
“Told you,” Astrid quipped.
In a few seconds the entire Cleanup Crew (or what was left of it) was on its feet. Ears turned toward the exit, they all tensely waited for what would come next. Initially, that was nothing more than a pair of footsteps.
The sound of the door opening came next, and their heartbeats quickened when they saw the wave of intense, sickly green light that enveloped both the hallway and the walking dead within it. Even stranger than that, the creatures, nominally ordered to kill on sight, seemed to view this stranger with complete apathy.
Then, apparently more out of animal instinct than killing intent, the things started toward the newly opened exit. Their pace was clumsy, their gait irregular. The monsters dragged their feet not unlike toddlers being presented with a door that led somewhere new.
“What are we looking at?” the Grin whispered, wincing in recoil when it seemed that Astrid was about to elbow him in his still-recovering gut.
“Someone is coming,” she mouthed silently. Whether or not the men were able to read her lips under this kind of illumination, she had no idea.
One step after the other, the stranger kept approaching. The thuds were heavy, indicating that they most likely belonged to an adult male. He stopped moving every couple of seconds, apparently to inspect the cells to his left and right.
“He’s coming for us,” Uncle concluded as the lighting became more intense. The bags under his eyes, a gift of his recent injuries, seemed to deepen with each passing moment.
The Grin started turning left and right, apparently in search of a place to hide.
“No use,” said Astrid, now tired of cowering. “He’s armed. If we lay under our bunks, he’ll just shoot us. Besides, it seems he’s killed the clerk. Our best bet is to just wait and see what happens.”
Uncle nodded. The Grin stood his ground, but still kept looking at every crack in sight.
The Cleanup Crew had faced their share of the strange and unusual. Whatever would come, they thought themselves ready. But when a glowing, manic-faced figure of a man showed up in front of their cell, they all but stopped breathing.
Adorned in the usual black suit of Louisiana’s priesthood, the intruder stared at them with eyes that were by no means human. His posture was inconsistent, alternating between the dignified stance of an army man and the predatory slouch of a beast. His right arm, previously pointing nowhere in particular, slowly rose, showing everyone the weapon it clutched.
“Am I hallucinating?” the Grin asked.
“You’re not,” Astrid said, herself finding the sight difficult to believe. Pointed right at her forehead was a revolver, and she knew perfectly well to whom it belonged.
“No…” the intruder said with a voice so deep and distant it sounded as if it came from the bottom of a well.
The Cleanup Crew exchanged glances before turning back to the intruder.
“No, no,” the intruder kept repeating. Then, seemingly in disappointment, he turned to his right and started lumbering toward the exit, both arms hanging at his side.
“Mind lending a hand?” Astrid shouted at him despite her better judgment. There was no response, not even in the form of a door closing.
“And here I thought I’d seen everything,” Uncle said.
“Anyone have any idea what that was?” Astrid asked. “I think we all noticed the gun.”
“No idea,” said the Grin, not wasting any time in approaching the door. “But I have no intention of learning.” With a flick of his wrist, he produced a piece of wire, which he gleefully put to work on the lock.
“Don’t tell me you could’ve done that all this time,” Astrid said.
“Then I won’t tell you that,” the Grin said. “But I will say that I had no intention of getting eaten by zombies.”
“True enough,” Astrid said.
The lock clicked in less time than it took for the Crew to gather around it. Looking around for any signs of walking dead, the three assassins made their way to the counter. Unsurprisingly, it housed the body of the recently deceased clerk.
“Gunshot to the head,” said Uncle. “Almost point blank. Doesn’t take much skill, but the glowy guy obviously knew what he was doing.”
“Heartwarming,” Astrid said, her back pressed against the wall near the open front door of the prison building. She took a quick peek outside. The streets were well lit, owing to the moon, stars, and the infinitely more boring streetlights. The dead who’d escaped their containment didn’t move in unison. Rather, they spread everywhere, following no apparent pattern. “We have to keep going. Whatever it is that happened here, it’ll give us a decent head-start.”
“And you’re fully welcome to use it,” Uncle said as he approached. “Me, I’ve got something else in mind.”
Before Astrid managed to voice her disagreement, Uncle got down near the pair of dead guards by the entrance and took both of their sabers. Then, after checking how one of the weapons handled, he tossed the other to the Grin.
“I take it that you’re not going to use that to cut through the swamp growth out there,” Astrid said.
“Look at me,” Uncle said, lifting his prisoner’s shirt and showing her the fresh surgery scars. “Going out by the open road would be suicide, meaning that yes, we’d actually have to sneak out via the swamps. And for me, that’d guarantee a slow and horrible death.” He pointed to the Grin. “And he’s just recovered from who knows what. Sure, he’s mobile, but who can tell what’ll happen in the long run?”
Astrid raised both eyebrows. “So what do you suggest?”
Uncle now pointed out the door, further down the road. “Remember the layout of Babylon? Hell, remember the layout of any gang-slash-military organization?”
“Of course,” Astrid nodded.
“Now tell me, who is it that we always find lurking in the largest, most luxurious dwelling?”
Astrid’s eyes lit up. “The leader.”
“Precisely.” Uncle smiled. “And from what I‘ve seen, New Orleans isn’t that densely populated. With the walking distraction we’ve got now, getting to this Houngan asshole unnoticed shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“And once we have him hostage…” the Grin considered.
“This place will be ours,” Astrid concluded.
“My point exactly,” said Uncle. “Now, Divine, you with us on this one, or do you feel like trying your luck out in the swamps?”
Astrid didn’t need to think twice. With a look of determination on her face, she strode up to the clerk’s desk, wrung the blade from the dead man’s grasp, and cut the air with it twice. “What are we waiting for?”
“That’s my girl,” Uncle said with a half-smile.
***
Knowing that one chance was
all she was going to get, Astrid ran stealthily along the wall. Right before her was a guard, standing dutifully before the mansion entrance. He still had his head on.
That changed with a flick of her wrist.
Not having any time to savor her recent kill, Astrid crouched, giving the Grin his chance. From back behind her a saber flew, thrown forward with clockwork precision. The other guard barely got a chance to notice anything was wrong. The blade embedded itself into his right eye, deep enough to scratch the back of his head.
As the rest of her team approached the now-safe door, Astrid checked her right for signs of any unpredicted activity. At an ever-increasing pace, the city was coming alive. The gunshots had started the process, and the freed zombies would ensure it. Time was short. If they were to make this work, it had to be done quickly.
“Door!” Uncle said, causing Astrid to move aside. Fully prepared to bash it in if need be, he learned that the entrance was unlocked. “In! All of you! Now!”
Astrid didn’t need to be told twice, and neither did the Grin. While the rest of the Crew was on their way in and reclaiming their weapons, Uncle grabbed a set of keys that hung off a dead guard before entering himself and shutting the door. It didn’t take him long to find the right one, and the door was quickly locked.
“No time to bar it,” he said as he pointed down the hallway and toward the upward-leading staircase. “You know what we’re looking for, let’s go!”
Bedrooms, Astrid realized as they all ran up the stairs. In houses like these, multiple bedrooms were the norm. However, the owners almost never settled for anything below the topmost floor. The most extravagant door, possibly at the end of the top hallway, was their best bet at finding Hillaire. Unless he’s back down in the city.
Upon reaching the top of the stairs, however, it became clear that the Crew didn’t need to assume a thing. A cacophony of noises erupted from the direction of a single door, the one farthest to their right. It didn’t take a whole lot of thinking to deduce what was causing them: a man and a woman, deep in the throes of passion.
“Okay, that I’m sure I’m hallucinating,” the Grin said.
“Quiet,” Uncle said as he took point. “This is a stroke of luck. Don’t ruin it.”
Zombies raging in his city, and he’s having sex? Astrid smiled, following in Uncle’s footsteps. Credit where it’s due.
After reaching the door, Uncle took point. The Grin was at his left, while Astrid took cover to the right.
“I’ll take him,” Uncle said. “Grin, you subdue the woman. Divine, you help me. Got it?”
Astrid and the Grin nodded in unison. She gripped her weapon. Let’s go!
Uncle kicked the door and dashed in like a raging bull. Astrid was next, followed by the Grin. On the bed inside, laying on his back, the corpulent Supreme Houngan was having his way with the contorting, lean figure of Tarantula. Her tanned skin glistened in the moonlight that bathed her from the window, her motions threatening to hypnotize everyone present.
But Uncle was nothing if not professional. He proceeded forward and delivered a merciless backhand to the side of her head, sending her rolling off the bed to the left. The Grin followed in perfectly, softening the goddess’s fall and resting his blade against her neck as he lifted her upright.
“Move and you’re dead,” he whispered into her ear, as if it were not obvious.
Coming in from Uncle’s right, Astrid was just about to join him in the blade pointing when a resounding gunshot caused every muscle in her body to contort. Out of her control, her eyes darted in every possible direction, stopping only when a split second passed and she realized that there was no pain.
She didn’t have time to feel relieved. Now completely limp, the stocky body of Uncle collapsed. A wet puddle of crimson started expanding around his head, forming a twisted reflection of the pistol Hillaire held up above it.
“Drop your weapons,” the Supreme Houngan said, his voice grinding in their ears. Even though his gun was pointed at the Grin, there wasn’t a doubt in Astrid’s mind that he’d shoot her before she’d manage to pull off any sort of attack.
“Back off,” Hillaire said, briefly flashing his eyes at her.
What do I do? Astrid asked herself. Her body wasn’t as indecisive. It didn’t need any input from her to take a couple of steps back.
“What are you doing, Astrid?” the Grin asked as he pressed his blade against Tarantula’s neck, drawing just a little bit of blood.
I wouldn’t have made the kill, she thought, but didn’t say a word. To admit it would have flat-out given victory to Hillaire. Not that he didn’t have it in the bag already.
“She’s being smart,” the Supreme Houngan said. “You can be smart as well. Let go of my lovely goddess, and I’ll make sure your punishment is only marginally worse than what you just did to her.”
The Grin swallowed, blinking several times. His face, pale with fear, remained that way for several seconds. Then, seemingly out the blue, the muscles under his skin tensed, and he treated Hillaire to the most unsettling smile a human being was capable of.
No! Astrid thought. Now is not the time to grow a spine!
“Fuck your punishment, Mr. Bigshot. And fuck you!” the Grin said. And with those words, he dragged his blade across Tarantula’s delicate neck, cutting all the way to the spine. A torrent of blood ran down her exposed breasts, and it didn’t stop there. Her expression one of complete shock, the goddess’s eyes went as wide as they’d go, giving the Supreme Houngan one last, desperate plea for help, before dying out completely.
Astrid didn’t see what happened next. She was already out of the room when the series of gunshots followed the gruesome display. She was halfway up to the balcony as well, considering whether to leap over it, when an unbearable dose of pain forced her off her feet and down to the floor. She looked back, fighting the urge to hurl when she saw a glimpse of bone sticking out from her bleeding right shin.
She considered what to say as she rolled onto her back, clutching her saber. There was no excuse, no lie she could produce on the spot to make her position more optimistic. The blood on the Grin’s cooling hands was on hers as well.
Step by thudding step, the sasquatch of a man strode toward her from his bedroom. He was nude, his calves red with Uncle’s blood. The pistol he’d used to kill her colleagues, such a deadly device, seemed diminutive when held by a man of such stature.
“You’ve thrown a major wrench in my plans with this,” he said coldly. The fact that his black eyes didn’t show a hint of moisture showed just how little he cared for the late Tarantula. The faint traces of green that started to show in his irises only made this effect worse.
“He did it!” she said in desperation, letting her blade fall. She’d endured months of imprisonment already. Doing it all again would be difficult, but she didn’t have much of a choice. Being alive is better than being dead, she reminded herself.
“That he did,” Hillaire said, his eyes now bathing the floor with their light. In hue, it was identical to the light emitted by the pistol-wielding maniac back in the prison. “And you helped him.”
Astrid remained silent, in thoughts as well as words.
Chapter Fourteen
Shackled to a thick, upright tree trunk, the Nameless sat on uncomfortable, viscous soil. He was not alone. To his left and right were two more Skulls, both participants in the scuffle back in the tent.
Their pillar was not the only one. An entire orchard of transplanted trunks served to imprison more men, and even some women. Regardless of their gender, everyone was completely nude and bound with their wrists behind their backs. As the sun kept so unpleasantly reminding them, it was somewhere around noon.
Can I avoid imprisonment just one time?
He rattled his chains, causing the two men to stir from their attempted sleep. They did the same thing to him when he tried to rest; the least he could do was return the favor.
“Fuckin’ dickwad,” said the man to the Name
less’ left. It was hard to judge from his position, but he seemed to be a large, burly sort. Thick, brown hair covered most of his body, even parts of his skull-face. Unlike most, he also lacked both ears.
“Not funny anywore?” the Nameless quipped, struggling with his dried gums. He had spent almost a whole day like that and was beyond thirsty.
“Joke wore out its welcome, yeah,” the left Skull said. He retched, spitting something onto the forehead of a man who was tied to another wooden pillar.
“Fuck you! I’m tryin’ to sleep here!” the spat-upon Skull shouted as he opened his eyes. The pair at his sides immediately rocked back into consciousness, apparently almost as displeased.
“See?” the spitter said, turning to the Nameless and apparently grinning. “Must stay fresh to succeed in humor.”
The Nameless sighed, turning to the man on his right. The Skull was alive and well, but showed complete disregard for the situation he was in. Eyes closed and head bowed, his teeth chattered as he muttered quotes from The Answer.
“Ain’t gonna get much out of him,” the spitter said. “He’s fully sold on this conversion mumbo jumbo. Rest in peace, brain.”
The Nameless turned back to his left, noticing that the spat-upon Skull was already in the process of falling asleep. “Why is he here, then?”
“Better safe than sorry, I guess,” the spitter said. “They scoop us all by the hundreds and leave us here to dry. Think it’ll teach us a lesson.” He spat again, this time on the ground. “They don’t know shit, though. You and I both know this. When things get crazy, you do what you need to do. No use bitchin’ and moanin’ about it.”
The Nameless licked his teeth in an attempt to improve on his speech. “You do not know me.”
“Hah! But I do!” The spitter rattled his chains. “I’ve seen you fight. You’re a man who’s been through enough to know the ropes. The one to your right, not as much.” He slammed one of his shoulder blades against the trunk, achieving nothing at all. “You in there, Pious Pete? You know that repeating the same shit leads only to repeating the same shit?”
