House of Blood

by Bryan Smith

  She was in a tunnel. The tunnel wound down into the earth, far below the house on the hill. She followed it, floating down, down, down, until she emerged into a cavern. She floated just below the roof of the cavern and surveyed the scene below her.

  It was horrific.

  She was looking at an underworld society, a realm similar in distressing ways to the pyramid scene. She saw immediately that there was a ruling class and an underclass. More slaves. They were treated horribly, worse by far than the slaves who’d toiled in the desert. Worst of all, she realized this awful place was a creation of King’s. These people were here because … he’d trapped them.

  They were travelers, unfortunates who’d turned down the wrong road.

  They were-

  “Here are my subjects, Dream,” King’s voice revealed.

  She noticed the hideous, lupine creatures poised around the tunnel exits.

  Shane, she thought.

  One of these things killed Shane.

  The pitch of King’s voice never altered. “You can come back now, Dream, come back to me.”

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  That was fine with her.

  She suddenly wanted nothing more than to be back in her own body. She didn’t want to see any more of this.

  The cavern scene faded.

  And she was falling again …

  … falling …

  Her eyes snapped open and she lurched in King’s arms.

  He held her close. “Relax, Dream.” He traced one of her lips with a forefinger. “You’re safe with me.”

  “But you’re a monster,” she breathed.

  He laughed. “These things are subjective. Am I monster? Or am I a King? What the storybooks neglect to say is that the two concepts are often inextricably entwined. I am only a monster to those I exclude from my inner circle. I have servants. Apprentices. My chosen ones wield a degree of power they could never hope to achieve in the outside world. And there’s nothing as seductive as power, Dream. These people are grateful to me. They love and worship me.”

  Dream trembled. “They fear you.”

  King chuckled. “Of course.” His smile was disquieting. “As well they should. But they also love and worship me, exist to serve me.”

  He kissed Dream on the mouth. “As they will exist to serve you.”

  “Love you.”

  “And worship you.”

  King kissed her again, and Dream felt her body go slack. His mouth on hers still felt good. Bullshit. It felt wonderful. He was a monstrous, evil, inhuman creature. His very existence was an affront to everything she’d ever believed in.

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  And yet…

  His hand traveled down her side, over her hip, along her leg, fingertips gliding over her raised kneecap, then sliding slowly, inexorably down her inner thigh.

  It was too much.

  Too exciting.

  Too exquisite.

  So she compartmentalized, stowing away the horror generated by his revelations, and she gave herself over to sensation.

  “You are so beautiful, Dream. I’ve waited for you so long.” His deep voice, rich and resonant, soothed her, made her tremble. “My Queen.”

  Queen.

  What an incredible concept.

  She shut her eyes.

  Focused on the physical sensation of King’s tongue on her flesh.

  And let go.

  Surrendered to Eros again.

  Lost herself again in sweet oblivion.

  And there was nothing better than that.

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  Chad followed Cindy through a throng of madmen and madwomen. His head was in constant motion, his mouth open in a perpetual gape, as he took in the spectacle of what looked like a medieval marketplace. His mind numbly catalogued countless instances of casual brutality. An old man pitched over after a member of The Master’s police force cracked the butt of a shotgun against his head. Blood gushed from a gash above the man’s ear, and he screamed for help. A shadowy figure emerged from an alley, picked the old man up in its distended arms, licked its chops, and loped away toward one of the distant tunnel mouths.

  Chad turned a wide-eyed expression toward Cindy. “What’s the shapeshifter doing with that old man?”

  Her expression remained blank, stoic. “Having dinner.”

  Chad groaned.

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  This place was a nightmare come to life. A vendor to their left was hawking canned goods. A woman was on her knees fellating him. The tone of his pitch never altered as the woman’s head moved. “Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, step right up!” He sounded like a carnival barker. “Oh, who am I kidding?” He cackled. “Gather round, you depraved sacks of shit, come check out the goodies I have for you today. I’ve got beans, I’ve got soup, I’ve got corn, I’ve got it all. I’m the only authorized seller of spinach in all of Below!”

  “Bullshit!” bellowed another vendor nearby.

  The canned-goods salesman wheeled in that direction, his wet member slipping free of the woman’s mouth. She scurried after him, drew the dripping cock back into her mouth, and moved her head desperately up and down.

  Chad was disgusted. “Jesus Christ.”

  The vendor waved an arm in the direction of his challenger. “Do not listen to this man!” His voice rose dramatically in pitch. “He is a liar, a cheat, and a scam. Go to him if you wish to spend your hard-earned currency on inferior product. But don’t blame me when you’re doubled over with food poisoning after ingesting his rancid wares. My goods are fresh. Everyone Below knows the name Elvis Kennedy means quality!”

  Chad looked at Cindy. “Elvis Kennedy?”

  “A lot of people Below use made-up names.”

  “Oh.”

  “Like Lazarus.”

  The vendor continued, “Ask anyone, my prices are the lowest around! I will not be undersold! Everything’s

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  negotiable. No money? We can work something out!” He grabbed a handful of the woman’s hair. “Hell, just ask my lady friend! She’s a repeat customer!”

  Cindy approached the man’s booth. Chad stood back and watched. The vendor regarded her with a lascivious grin. “Hey, good-looking! What can I do for you today? I bet you could go for some baked beans, whaddya say?”

  Cindy never hesitated. She strode purposefully toward the obnoxious vendor. Chad could see the coming violence in the set of her shoulders. She was like a snake poised to strike. Too bad for the vendor she didn’t have a warning rattle.

  Chad felt a reflexive jolt of fear.

  Cindy was too impulsive.

  He couldn’t help believing she was endangering their already fragile position here by violently attacking the first person who pissed her off.

  And this attack was certainly violent.

  But it was also executed with lethal speed and efficiency.

  She got the vendor in a headlock before he even sensed danger. She rode him to the ground, planted a knee in his gut, and twisted his neck. He flailed, gurgled, and spit, but Cindy never budged. She kept the pressure on until the man’s face turned purple and his tongue protruded from his mouth. Chad winced at the sound of popping tendons and bone. At last, he went still and Cindy released the lifeless body.

  She stood up and turned away from the dead vendor, leaving the grisly scene behind without so much as a backward glance. As soon as she was clear of the area near the

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  booth, the crowd of onlookers converged on the dead man’s goods. They crashed into each other, diving and scooping up stray cans, filling the burlap sacks they carried as shopping bags. Chad saw the woman who’d been servicing the vendor snag a can of soup and wobble away. He watched the nearest guards for signs of retribution, but none was forthcoming. Amazing. A murder in plain sight, and they did nothing. It was a wonder this crude society managed to function at all.

  Cindy took his hand and dragged him past more vendors. Vendors selling cooking utensils, vendors selling animal skins, vendors selling bread. One
vendor was pitching what he called “contraband” goods from Above. Trinkets of the sort that were sold in convenience stores and truck stops. Key chains, disposable lighters with slogans, and miniature race cars. There were homemade curios, too, including placards with crudely rendered etchings of a longhaired man that bore the inscription “Lazarus Saves.” Children clamored around this booth. Chad looked at their dirty faces and the sea of bruised innocence made him want to puke. Another “contraband” dealer peddled piles of porn magazines. Still another booth was actually in the business of selling people.

  Chad said, “It’s like the Farmer’s Market of the Damned, or something.”

  Cindy looked at him. “That it is. But there are worse things Below.”

  Chad grunted. “Shit.” He looked around at the bustling panorama of filth and corruption. “What could possibly be worse than this?”

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  “Well, there’s the live sex shows the Overlords force the slaves to participate in.” She didn’t look at Chad. “That’s worse. There’s not a woman Below who hasn’t been made to do some pretty vile things. You’re not in Kansas anymore, Chad.”

  The information saddened Chad. Again, however, it wasn’t surprising. “Where do the vendors get their merchandise?”

  “The guards bring it in from Outside.” She glanced at him. “A branch of the tunnel opens onto a road outside the mountain. They load up the transport trucks with cheap shit from grocery stores and truck stops, bring it back here, and distribute it among the vendors. The vendors are emancipated slaves. The Overlords stay in their private quarters with their concubines and liquor, while hired thugs tend to their herds.”

  Chad frowned. “Herds?”

  “Slaves.”

  “Oh.” He glanced at her. “How do you know all this?”

  “You’ve seen how things are run here, Chad. These aren’t exactly state secrets.”

  Chad thought that over. “I should know this shit. What other secrets do you know?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Hmm, here’s an interesting fact. Not counting guards and shapeshifters, there are over five thousand people living Below. Not all of them got here the way you and I did, by having the bad luck to wander into The Master’s territory. The guards occasionally go out on scavenging parties, bringing back as many as a half-dozen people at a time. There’s a high rate of attrition here, and they like to maintain certain herd levels.” Chad saw a flash

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  of anger cross her face. “You’ve got an idea of what the guards are like by now. They mostly abduct women.”

  “Why so many slaves?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Chad frowned. Something didn’t add up. There was something missing, some crucial piece of information he didn’t possess. “Historically slaves have served as laborers. I just don’t see what work there is to do around here. There’s no cotton to pick. No crops to tend. So what function do they serve?”

  “Slaves Below are walking dead people.” Her voice exuded a chill that was almost palpable. “They are sacrifices in waiting.”

  “Oh my God.”

  Another layer of horror.

  Was there any bottom level to the depravity?

  “The sacrifices are offerings to The Master’s gods. Each month each Overlord selects a member of his herd as his contribution.”

  Chad cringed. “Barbaric. Absolutely barbaric.”

  Cindy snorted. “No shit. It’s why slaves so zealously pursue emancipation. It’s the only way to remove yourself from the ranks of the condemned. The problem with emancipation is the inevitability of becoming what you loathe.”

  The obvious implications were unsettling. “And now you’re emancipated.”

  A statement. Cindy didn’t reply.

  “Are you …” Chad groped for the proper way to express what he wanted to say. “… would you say that… inevitability … applies to you?”

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  Again, no reply.

  Which was not exactly reassuring.

  They emerged through another crowd of people and ducked down an alley. An old man with a bottle sat slumped against a wall. “Where are we going now?”

  “The Outpost.”

  “Oh.” Chad waited for clarification, but none seemed forthcoming. “What’s the Outpost?”

  “It’s what passes for a social club Below. Entrance is restricted to emancipated slaves and Overlords, but the latter rarely venture inside.”

  Chad groaned. “Am I about to be hitched to a rail again?”

  “No. I’ll get you in. It won’t be a problem.”

  He couldn’t account for her confidence, but there was so much here he didn’t understand-like almost everything-so he let it go.

  He stepped over another unconscious wino. Like the slave hitched to the rail outside the SCD, he stank of infection. “Ugh. Jesus. Hey, Cindy, why are we going to the Outpost, anyway?”

  “You’re a smart boy, Chad.” He could almost hear her smirk. “You should be able to figure it out.”

  Chad started to refute her statement, but he realized she was right. “That’s where Lazarus is.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m proud of you, Chad.”

  Chad ignored the sarcasm. “So what’s the deal with this guy, Cindy? Is he some sort of guru? Why are you taking me to see him?”

  Cindy’s sigh was rife with exasperation. “Stop interrogating

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  me, Chad. Save your questions for the man with the answers.”

  That being Lazarus, Chad assumed.

  They emerged from the alley and crossed another street, this one less congested than the marketplace. There were pedestrians about, but they were outnumbered by guards and hulking shapeshifters. The strange creatures watched him with hungry fascination; he could feel their eyes tracking him down the street, a sensation that made the back of his neck tingle.

  The buildings here, though fewer in number, were marginally more impressive than what he’d seen of the buildings lining the marketplace. Those had been little more than shacks and lean-tos. The level of craftsmanship here, however, was several notches higher, as were the building materials-he saw actual brick and mortar, concrete foundations, and glass windows. One building they passed had an open door through which instrumental techno music emanated. Two attractive women, each notably more attractive than any of the other women he’d seen Below (with the exception of Cindy, who was otherworldly), framed the doorway. They wore thigh-high black leather boots with stiletto heels, black thong panties, and black bras with pointed cones. Each of them wielded bullwhips, which they would snap at the occasional passerby. A closer look revealed the telltale emblems of emancipation about their throats. Cindy’s gaze locked on the building as they passed it.

  Chad had to ask. “What sort of place is that?”

  Cindy glanced sideways at him. “A bad one. It’s where

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  the Overlords go to indulge their basest desires. Slaves are the entertainment.” She looked at him directly now. “Females slaves, mostly.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Have you-“

  “Yes. Now shut up. We’re here.”

  “Huh? Where?”

  Despite the horror he felt at the injustices heaped upon Cindy and the other women of Below, the women in their bondage gear were shamefully compelling. He had to force his gaze away from them to see what Cindy meant.

  “The Outpost, Chad.” She smirked. “Which you would’ve known if you weren’t like every other man on the planet.”

  A sign less than twenty feet from where he was standing read:

  THE OUTPOST

  OVERLORDS AND EMANCIPATEDS WELCOME. SLAVES AND OTHER SCUM STAY OUT!

  The message troubled Chad.”! thought you said-“

  “I remember what I fucking said, maggot.” She twisted a handful of his hair, eliciting a high-pitched yelp. “And you better remember to keep your slave mouth shut.”

  She leaned in close and spoke in a whisper. “Now we’re back to keep
ing up appearances. This is important, Chad. Life-and-death-level important. Don’t talk again until invited to do so.” She spun around, relinquishing her grip on his hair. “Follow me.”

  Chad followed her through a pair of bat-wing doors.

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  Smoky jazz music emanated from a hidden sound system. The mellow tones meshed perfectly with an atmosphere of languor. The dozen or so patrons present sat slumped over beer steins and whiskey glasses at booths and tables. The dining area was small, but the bar was surprisingly wellstocked for an establishment that redefined the phrase “out of the way.” Tendrils of sweet-smelling smoke plumed in the air. The aroma was vaguely reminiscent of marijuana, but Chad was sure that wasn’t it, though the handrolled cigarettes pinched between the fingers of at least half the customers did resemble joints.

  Heads turned with slow indifference as Cindy led the way to the bar. A balding bartender with rolled-up sleeves over beefy arms planted meaty hands on the bar and glowered. “His kind’s not welcome here. There’s a big damn sign outside that makes that pretty clear. You blind?”

  Cindy leaned over the bar. “I’m here to see Lazarus.”

  The bartender’s expression changed subtly, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes. “He ain’t here.”

  Cindy ignored the denial. “Tell him ‘the girl has returned.’”

  The bartender’s demeanor did an about-face. “I’ll be right back.”

  He disappeared through a door next to the rows of liquor bottles.

  Chad’s brow furrowed.

  He again experienced the frustration of not being privy to crucial information. He ached to ask Cindy what was going on, went so far as to open his mouth, but she