by Jake Bible
“Yeah,” Harper agreed and patted me on the shoulder. “You got enough energy to keep up or does Lassa need to carry you?”
“I’ll keep up,” I said.
“Eh hem,” the One Guy said, holding out his hand. “It really would be best if we were all armed.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Harper said, ignoring his hand as she turned and took lead. “Come on.”
She broke into a brisk jog right off. There was no way I could keep up the pace as we dodged brambles and thick stands of young pine trees. I was exhausted from all the Dim work. My energy was better than if I had to keep the One Guy’s box active, but not by much. I’d been expecting a long truck ride to sit and eat, to recover from the Dim work of making that human sized box and keeping it active. That hadn’t happened.
We’d gone maybe fifty yards before we heard the minivan’s windows shatter and the shriek of the blood ghast. Out in the open, we didn’t stand much chance, but Harper kept jogging, her head swiveling back and forth as she studied the area while also leading us on.
To where? No freaking clue.
The sound of branches being broken and trees creaking grew louder behind us. The blood ghast was gaining and we had no backup plan in place.
“There,” Harper said as she slid to a halt and pointed to something off to our right. “We make our stand there.”
“You sure?” Lassa asked. “It’s not much protection.”
“It’ll be enough to buy us some time,” Harper said. “I have an idea.”
“Good idea or bad idea?” Lassa asked.
“Good for us, bad for me,” Harper said.
“Not liking the sound of that, Harp,” I said as I stumbled along, forcing myself to keep up as Harper led us to what looked like a hunk of tin covered in mold.
Basically, it was. In what must have been a clearing a few decades earlier, stood an old single-wide trailer. Saying that the trailer “stood” was being kind. The thing looked like a hard gryphon fart would knock it down.
“Come on,” Harper said as she kicked in the door then took a tentative step inside the trailer. The floor didn’t cave in so she took a few more steps then nodded. “This’ll work.”
We rushed inside and Lassa shut the door, not that it added any protection. We could still hear the blood ghast coming for us, shearing through the trees at full speed.
“How much body matter is needed?” Harper asked the One Guy, her goblin sickle suddenly jammed up under his chin. “Hair? A tooth? A finger?”
“That’s a very good question,” the One Guy said, his doppler face grinning wide, making him look like a carnival idiot from some old black and white movie. “But it is always better to be safe than sorry.”
“How much, asshole?” Harper snarled.
“Wait, what?” Lassa asked. “Harper, no way!”
“You are not cutting off a body part,” I said. “Not happening, Harp!”
“It is happening because that’s how we get rid of that thing out there. Piece of a Stolen,” Harper replied, her eyes, and sickle, never leaving the One Guy. “Now. How much? Tell the truth or you are no use to us.”
“Your job is to keep me alive, Harper,” the One Guy said.
“My duty is to keep my friends alive first,” Harper responded, spittle flying from her lips and onto the One Guy’s cheeks. “I’ll deal with whatever fallout comes from slicing your head off later.”
They locked eyes then the One Guy gave the slightest of nods. Any more of a nod and he would have sliced his own throat with the sickle.
“It depends,” he said. “If the blood ghast was summoned by a kobold part then even a fingertip from a Stolen should banish it. But if it was summoned by a Stolen part then it is a part to part ratio situation. I have no way of knowing which we are dealing with.”
“That right?” I asked. I took a step towards him, but was suddenly very lightheaded. Goddamn blood sugar.
“Yes, Chase, that is right,” the One Guy said. I could see a flicker in his doppler dead eyes and knew he saw me hesitate. The asshole didn’t miss much. “I didn’t summon this. None of my people summoned it. I liked that Troy troll. Resourceful. I was going to check his references and hire him when we returned home. No need to kill talent like that.”
I didn’t buy it, but I also couldn’t figure out the lie. Was he telling the truth? No way to know. Didn’t matter at that moment, though. What mattered was Harper.
“How much?” Harper said. I groaned. She shot me a look and held up a hand, and I backed off.
“How much?” she asked again, her voice flat and empty of all emotion.
The One Guy had maybe a second to live. I looked at Lassa and he shrugged. We were at the point where we were good with that. I think we both knew that the One Guy had way too many tricks up his sleeve for us to not get hurt bad. Harper willing to hack off hunks of herself to save us was proof of that.
Problem was we needed more information before we could really see where we stood in the grand scheme of the One Guy’s grand scheme. Killing him right then would be premature.
“Answer her,” I snapped at the One Guy.
“A couple ounces,” the One Guy said.
“A thumb or finger,” Harper said. “Big toe.”
“No, no, don’t waste digits,” the One Guy said. “Too valuable in a fighter like you. What you need is a little slice of thigh or take some flesh off your hip there. Women always have a little extra, even one in as fighting shape as you.”
“Yeah, huh, maybe not a good idea to talk about the hips, dude,” Lassa said.
“No, he’s right,” Harper said and pulled her sickle from the One Guy’s chin. She yanked up her shirt and stared at the flesh at the top of her hip. “Fuck.”
She sliced fast before we could say anything. Blood poured over the waist of her pants and she hissed, but didn’t cry out. A hunk of her flesh plopped onto the mildewed floor of the trailer.
Harper tossed Lassa the goblin sickle without saying a word. He caught it by the handle easily and we stared as she shoved two fingers into the wound and began to chant. The flesh healed over, but it was puckered and bright red.
“That doesn’t look sanitary,” I said.
“It’s not,” Harper said and hissed again. “Quick hex. It’ll abscess if I don’t clean it out later.”
“By clean it out, you mean rip it open again,” I said. “Jesus Christ, Harper.”
She nudged the bit of her flesh with the toe of her boot and glared at the One Guy.
“Make it go the fuck away,” she said.
The blood ghast was close. Really close. Its shrieks made what glass was left in the trailer’s windows vibrate in their aluminum frames.
The One Guy nodded and picked up the hunk of Harper from the floor. He cupped it in both hands and started mumbling words in a language I wasn’t familiar with. Not that I was an extradimensional linguist, but I’d been around enough to spot the majority of important languages used by most beings.
A hint of blood red light leaked from between the One Guy’s fingers and his mumbling grew quieter as the light intensified.
Outside it sounded like the blood ghast was about to knock at the door. Branches were no longer breaking, which meant the monster was out of the woods, and the shrieks were shaking not only glass, but the walls of the trailer. Harper lifted her goblin sickle and faced the door. Lassa aimed his shotgun and I struggled to make a Dim rod. My stomach cramped like I’d eaten a bushel of green apples, but I held on and raised the Dim rod as the door began to buckle.
“Shit,” the One Guy said. “It may not be enough.”
“What?” I snapped as I whirled on him.
At the same time, the door burst open and the blood ghast rushed us. It hesitated for a split second then went stra
ight for the One Guy. Harper slashed out and an arm fell away. Lassa fired his shotgun and the thing lost its swirly tail. I threw the Dim rod and impaled it in the chest.
But it didn’t stop.
Not until the One Guy opened his hands and blew into his palms. “Kidding,” he said.
The flesh had become pure light and that light hit the blood ghast like a semitruck. The monster flew back out of the trailer and kept on flying as it tore through tree trunks and shredded bushes until it was lost from sight.
“It ain’t dead until I confirm it’s dead,” Harper said and limped her way out of the trailer.
“Good idea,” the One Guy agreed and followed right behind her.
“Gonna have a sit down,” I said and collapsed onto my ass. The floor was soft and damp and made a squelching noise, but I didn’t care.
“Staying with Chase,” Lassa called after them. He knelt next to me, his shotgun resting up on his shoulder. “You good?”
“I’ll live,” I said. “But I need a truckload of fried chicken and two kegs of beer STAT. Fetch that, nurse.”
“Funny,” Lassa said and patted me on the shoulder.
He started to sit, but eyed the floor and changed his mind. Instead he stood back up and faced the doorway, shotgun at the ready.
“How much of this are you believing?” he said without turning from the doorway.
“Ten percent,” I replied. “He’s ladling out truth like dribbles of soup.” The thought of soup made my stomach roar.
“You know him best,” Lassa said. “How fucked are we, Chase?”
“I don’t know.”
Before Lassa could respond, Harper called “Clear!” from the woods.
In a couple seconds she appeared with the One Guy. He was walking in front of her and it was obvious by his body language that Harper had insisted on that formation.
“We can’t stay here,” Harper said when the two reached the door. “My battle hexes are what sold us out. Someone tracked the residue and sent the blood ghast through Troy.”
“That would mean Troy was marked from the start,” the One Guy said. He glared at all of us. “He was your guy, not mine. And not the DEX’s. Explain that.”
“Can’t,” Harper said. “But it wasn’t us.”
“A leak in the Teamsters,” Lassa said. Lassa and I shared a quick look before he continued. “Shit. Our entire route is blown.”
“Exactly,” Harper said. “And there’s a minivan filled with troll guts only half a mile away from here. Law enforcement is gonna find it and start checking the woods. If they’re local then they’ll know about this trailer. I would. We have to go. Now.”
“Sorry to be Mr. Bummer, but I’m not going far,” I said. “Legs be jelly, y’all.”
“I got ya, dude,” Lassa said and handed the shotgun to Harper. She tucked it away in a pocket as he bent over and picked me up, throwing me over his shoulder. “Try not to wiggle too much. It throws off my balance.”
“I’ll be too busy trying to stay conscious, pal,” I said.
“Harper sliced off part of her hip and Chase gets the ride?” the One Guy said and laughed. “Still the spoiled punk as always.”
“You like that tongue?” Harper asked him.
“Is that a trick question?” the One Guy replied.
“Leave Chase alone,” Harper snapped. “He plays with mojo that none of us plays with. If he needs a piggyback then he gets a piggyback.” She got up close to the One Guy; he didn’t flinch, but his smirk was gone. “And a little slice off my hip will never slow me down, asshead.”
“You all are so sweet,” the One Guy said, still facing off with Harper. “Where to now, Harper? I assume you are running this show from here on out.”
“We find a place to hunker down and get Chase some food,” Harper said. “There’s got to be a farmhouse close by.”
“Yes, and probably occupied by farmers,” the One Guy said. “I’m not above doing away with inconvenient folks, but that might create another trail.”
“No one is being done away with,” Harper said. “We’ll deal with occupants when we have to deal with occupants. No matter what”—She shoved a finger under his nose.—”you don’t do shit unless I tell you to. We clear?”
“Crystal Springs bottled water clear,” the One Guy said.
“We move. Now.” And Harper was out the door.
“You next,” Lassa said to the One Guy.
He nodded and followed Harper with us right behind. My view was of the top of Lassa’s ass and a quickly receding trailer. Then it became the inside of my eyelids as the last of my energy reserves went bye bye.
20.
WHEN I WOKE UP, the smell of home cooking was so thick that I thought I’d been swaddled in a blanket of it. I peeled my eyes open and found myself staring at a man and woman in their early fifties, three teenage boys and one late teen girl. They were gagged and tied to dining chairs. All of them had terrified eyes and those eyes were locked onto me. Seems we’d found a family sitting down to eat an early dinner. Or late lunch.
“Hey,” I said as I struggled, and failed, to sit up on the lumpy couch where I’d been deposited. “Sorry about this.”
“Here,” Lassa said as he came into the living room and handed me a plate piled with food.
Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, roasted corn, roasted sweet potatoes, green beans with country ham, rolls, and all covered in gravy. God I loved the South.
“Eat,” Lassa said, helping me to sit up.
He watched me as I steadied the plate on my lap and slowly began to fill my mouth with food. Once satisfied, he turned to the family and gave a sorry shrug then left the room. I could hear voices coming from what I figured was the kitchen, but I couldn’t quite make out the words. The world was an exhausted fuzzy mess and all I could focus on was the plate of food.
And the family still staring at me.
I wolfed down half the plate before I felt strong enough to be coherent.
“No one is going to hurt you,” I said around the last roll. I chewed and swallowed as I saw confused looks on their faces. “Sorry. I said, no one is going to hurt you. In fact, you will be well-compensated for this inconvenience, I promise.”
The man began to shout behind his gag. I don’t think he believed me. I tried to calm him, but he was having none of that. So I finished eating while he finished freaking out.
“You done?” I asked as I set the plate aside. Miraculously, Lassa appeared with another plate for me. He took the empty one and walked back to the kitchen without saying a word. All he did was glance at the family then glance at me and roll his eyes. “Thanks.”
I took more breaths as I ate the second plate of food.
“You’re pissed. I get that. I’ve been trussed up like you are. No bueno,” I said between bites. “But you have to understand that I am not lying. You and your family are going to be fine. Only reason you are tied up is so you don’t get hurt. Not because we want to hurt you, but because we want to keep variables down so you and your lovely family don’t get caught in the crossfire.”
His eyes went wide. All of their eyes went wide.
“I’m not saying there will be a crossfire,” I continued. “Well, there might be. Depends on what comes for us next. Maybe nothing, maybe something. I don’t know.”
The youngest teen boy had tears filling his eyes and he was fidgeting like he was gonna totally freak.
“Calm. Please. Take deep breaths.” I realized the irony of that as I stared at their gags. “Sorry. Breathe through your nose. Everyone together.”
I demonstrated and kept doing it until one by one they joined in. Except for the dad. He only glared with murder in his eyes. The family calmed down as much as they could and I smiled, setting the second empty plate onto the cof
fee table in front of me.
Then Harper screamed and all the calm went away in a flash. Panicked family and rage-pissed dad.
“Goddammit,” I grumbled as I got to my feet.
A little woozy, but steady. Good.
“I’ll be right back,” I said and slow-walked my way into the kitchen.
I was not surprised to see Harper laying across the kitchen table with her shirt off and Lassa pouring something green and bubbling into the wound on her side. As soon as the green and bubbling liquid touched flesh, it sent black smoke straight up to the ceiling, where it billowed out in that creepy way that sickly looking black smoke does.
And it stunk. Bad.
“Jesus,” I said and coughed, my hand covering my nose. “That ain’t right, Harp.”
“Pick the foot,” she gasped. “Because one is going up your ass.”
“My bad,” I said and glanced at the One Guy who was leaning against the kitchen sink, his arms folded across his doppler chest. “Having fun?”
“Not really, no,” he replied. “I don’t truly enjoy others’ suffering, Chase.”
“Yeah. Right. Uh-huh,” I said and shuffled over to the stove where the rest of the dinner sat. I scooped a huge spoonful of mashed potatoes into my mouth. “Mmmmmm.”
“It’s amazing you have time for actual work with the way you have to eat,” the One Guy said.
“I told you before to leave him alone,” Harper snarled as Lassa finished pouring whatever he was pouring into her side. “He has the shit part of what we do. Trust me.”
“If you say so,” the One Guy replied. He nodded towards the living room. “What are we going to do with them?”
“Not hurt them,” I said as I tore the meat off a chicken leg. Chew, swallow. “That’s not negotiable.”
“Not saying I want to hurt them. I’m only wondering when the rest of their clan gets home,” he said.
“They may not,” Harper said as Lassa pointed to the fridge. “They look older. Probably at college.”
