His eyes.
The blade slides into the man’s right eye and meets unexpected resistance. The man writhes, reaches up, gets his hand on Sterling’s throat and squeezes. Sterling throws all his weight onto the shiv and it breaks through and goes all the way in. The man’s grip tightens and his vision constricts and grays out; all he can do is keep pressure on the blade in the man’s eye socket.
… you there? Sterling, are you there? Sterling, are you there?
Over and over again, a nagging voice in the back of his mind sounds off as awareness comes slowly back. He’s lying on his side, the shiv still firmly in his grip and still firmly wedged in the man’s eye socket. The man is motionless, his arm still outstretched and his fingers curled as if they still gripped Sterling’s throat.
“Yeah, I’m here. I’ll be right there.” Sterling feels as if he’d been wrapped in binding cloths and beaten with a clubbing stick; even his hair hurts. “Just give me a moment.”
***
No time to think.
No time to process what has just happened, or to wonder why there’s no blood pooled around the man’s head. Slowly, painfully, Sterling drags himself to his feet and stumbles into the depot, past an unimaginable fortune of R Boxes stacked on pallets of prefab, packaged R Boots and other rationed goods. He reaches the backroom and finds Halo cocooned in wrappings and strung upside down from an overhead beam.
“Halo!” he says, dropping to his knees in front of her. With her blinders pulled tight across her face, Sterling can’t make out her expression.
Get me down. Undo the wrappings.
Sterling fusses with the knot for a moment before he grabs the rope, which is secured to a ring in the wall and takes some of Halo’s weight off the line. The knot easily comes undone and Halo is safely down moments later, her bonds a pile of cut cloth windings a moment after that. He helps her to sit up and then gathers her into his arms, lifts her as one would a child. She’s like a feather in his arms, lighter than air.
“You all right?”
Fine.
Before he can move to the doorway, a series of images flash behind his eyes – an inconceivably immense expanse of water, a giant dome structure made of glass, rapidly moving vehicles – and like the afterimage of a lightning strike, they’re gone.
They know something’s wrong; they’re on their way back and we have to leave now!
“Bolt is … ”
I know. We need to go north, you and I.
“North?”
To the Northern Servers. Soon, our disruption will begin.
“What about … ” Sterling takes a deep breath. It has little or no effect on his nerves. “What about Bolt?”
He’s gone. We have no time. Leave him.
“Are you serious?”
I am serious.
“I’m sorry, Goddess, I can’t do that. That kid out there died to save you.”
Her voice becomes louder. It rings in his skull, cripples his convictions.
LEAVE HIM!
“Dammit! You can’t do this!”
To the Northern Servers. Soon, our disruption will begin.
Sterling opens his arms, drops the Goddess onto the ground. He braces himself for the shriek inside his head and it comes, blaring and nerve-searing.
“Fuck you … ” he says, taking two staggering steps towards the door. “I’m not leaving Bolt.”
.HUNTER.
.1.
SCREAM INSIDE MY HEAD!
Down in the Hole where the guilty go and the sinful die and the liars lie and the breath is gaped and the dreams are raped and the night is dark and the dark is night and the souls are stripped and the Devout are whipped. Down in the Hole life takes its toll and the day don’t shine and the screams are mine and the plight is lost and the lost have died and the vermin bite and the Stayed aren’t ripe.
(Break through to me! YOU LIED!)
--You’ve failed, Hunter! You’ve failed Halo and the Church of the South. You are FILTH. You are nonexistent. I will personally make sure that you spend the rest of your starving days in fits and rage, said Father Miscavige.
(Break through … please … )
--Please! I was led astray I was … I was … tricked!
--Tricked?
--A false Goddess came to me, she lied. She lied! She said east, she said to go to the light, she said that it would be all right, that she was with me, moving through me, in charge. THE GODDESS LIED TO ME!
(Clubbing stick across the face – metal blood taste. My body sore as a whore.)
--Lies! Blasph!
--She said … in my head she said! In my head she said! Please not again, Father!
--You filth! YOU FUCKING FILTH! Show me your dirties now! Bend! SHOW ME!
--Please, please, please, no!
--You useless piece of filth, he said, shiv in hand, trembling, ready. The despising look in his eyes was one of vehemence and rage. Never had I seen him this beside himself, never had I seen his visage so pained, so misaligned.
(Cuts along the inside of my legs form bloody stripes leading up to my dirty. Something clamped on the foreskin made me scream out, but the cloth in my mouth kept my voice down.)
--You deserve this!
--MMMMmmmm! MMMMmmmm!
--And after I’ve finished here, there is only one place for you to go – THE HOLE.
.2.
The ghosts of those I’ve killed swirl around my skull. Their hearts distilled, their host’s skin peeled, my dirty sore of a life and my mouth full of dirt. Ghosts vaporous, lithe and free – come down to the Hole and forsake me. Lift me with your invisible paws; carry me to the cusp of the Canyon.
Words are words our words are wrong our words are wrong are false our loved are lost.
“Halo?”
Smash rock fist – she no longer exists! Lies beseech. Crusted blood along my heels reminds me of the falsities inherent in the hollow voices that smelter melter my broken psyche.
(You deserve this, Hunter. You will be deathborn. You will become faceless unless you repent. YOU WILL BE DEATHBORN!)
“TOSS ONE IN!” I scream to the top. Hunger a rolling boil panging and begging to be addressed.
“Quiet down there!” The guard’s voice is sharp as a shiv, a thorn in the throat of those who live. Those who give their hearts to the faith to avoid the loss of their faces find themselves in Holes and traps attacking the very idea of what it means to look back, what can be learned from free thought, what can be wrought from questioning answers. Cancerous dancers pamper the tempered – a life well-lived can leave one demented.
Please don’t stop believing.
“Leave me! Leave me!”
(SMASH ROCK FIST!)
The Goddess of Falsity that came to me when I needed her the most is nothing but a ghost of a ghost. Halo is lost, her heart to be tossed aside once it’s pried from her chest by the shit of the North. The foulness of those on the other side of the Great Demarcator, the sinners, the flesh takers, the Blasph, the deathborn.
Fist on earth, slam slam slam; curse the Canyon, damn damn damn.
(Make your presence known. Know your present moan.)
Please, Hunter, you must understand.
“QUIT TALKING TO ME!”
Left foot right foot, pace in place. Footsteps visible in the dust. Enough is enough, love’s a cuff. Death’s a wish, life’s saving grace, a ruffling of feathers to ward off bad weather that will never come in the first place.
To whom it may concern – let me be the one to burn, let me be the one to roast, let me rise above the scorn, let me be the one to toast, let me rise above deathborn, grant me the power to stay awake long enough to survive the quake. To whom it may concern – take me now without a doubt I’m gone to this world with hopes to be forsaken.
“LET ME OUT!”
“Quiet, down there!”
(Is the man up there faceless? I can’t tell from here.)
A long stick enters the space to poke and prod. I hit the corne
r, crouch to rock, avoid the prod. The stick returns to the surface and is replaced by a stream of piss followed by a bucket of watery shit. I bask in the excrement as a way to repent.
--YOU ARE FILTH!
You must set yourself free, Hunter, you must come for me.
“Halo?”
(Do not listen to that voice!)
I’m in the North, prisoner to a man. I implore you – you must come for me, for the Canyon, for the Stayed, for the Devout.
“You … misled me!”
Hand to head, smash rock fist. Blasph! Blasph! Blasph! She’s the GODDESS!
(Don’t talk back!)
I am yours, Hunter, brother, I am your Goddess, your Halo. I will never mislead you. Everything is for a purpose. The Book says that the Devout must follow their purpose, no matter how extreme, no matter the sacrifice. Break free, Hunter. Break free from the Hole and come to me.
“But how?”
I will help you, but you must trust me, you must never doubt me again.
Tears come, well in my ducts and fall down my rotten face. “I will do anything for you, Halo, anything.”
Prepare to kill.
“I am ready.”
Prepare to die.
“I was born to die.”
Prepare to know something that most of the Stayed could never truly grasp.
“I am … ” One big gulp and I say what’s on my mind. “Prove … prove to me that you’re the Goddess.”
Look up.
A golden metalzip flutters into the Hole, trailed by a string of glitter. It stops before me, inches away from my face. I reach out for it and my hand passes straight through. A tingling sensation meets my skin and blooms.
I am real.
“I will … I will come for you, Halo, Goddess of the Stayed.”
.3.
(Hold your breath until you pass out.)
“Why would I do that? Halo said … ”
(Don’t listen to her.)
“BLASPH!”
Smash rock fist – my head rings like a bell. The Hole is a pit for the most Devout to seek punishment for their sins. I am sin. I am the one who failed, the one who let the South down, the one who couldn’t get a grip on the situation before Halo reached the Off Limits.
“You are a crying shame,” I say, digging my nails into my arm. Pain blossom mushroom – add depth to the room. Harm no harm; feel good pain. Carve to remember.
Just wait.
“Halo?”
Her voice an echo between my ears. Fear stripped, I’m up and about playing the role of the Devout. The Book says that sacrifice is the route of true life, anguish the scruples of the South, the delixer of existence, better than a years’ worth of lizard luck.
(More piss – duck.)
“You filth!” a voice calls out from above.
Seething anger ripples through me. What I wouldn’t give to pull the man’s spine through his parched lips, eat his eyes one at a time, jab my finger in his ear until I can tickle his brain, wear his eyebrows like a mustache.
“I’ll KILL YOU!” I shout to the top.
“Ha!”
(The FUCK.)
You’ll get your chance.
“Halo?”
(Ignore that voice.)
--You will die in the Hole, said Father Miscavige.
“I’m sorry, Father!”
You will kill him.
Tears again. “Halo, what are you saying?”
You will kill Father Miscavige.
“Never, never, I won’t, I can’t.”
What he has done to you is despicable.
“Halo! Blasph! Please!”
SMASH rock fist.
(Stop hitting yourself!)
“I AM THE VOICE INSIDE MY HEAD!”
Trust me, Hunter, trust me.
“Goddess … Goddess … ”
The long prodding stick enters the Hole and I leap for it, wrap my arms and legs around it, slam the man’s body against the barred opening. He holds tight, again I yank on the long prodding stick, screaming loudly.
“Let go!”
“I WILL NEVER LET GO!” I scream to him.
Another guard rushes over, pulls at the prodding stick. One glance up and I see it, I know it, I feel it, I sense it, I taste it. THEY ARE FACELESS.
(Must kill, must kill, must liberate, must save.)
Do it, Hunter.
“For you, Halo!”
I climb the prodding stick, legs scoot scoot arms pull pull. The men hold strong, giving me a totem pole to climb. Reach the top in a flash – the guards won’t let go, one faceless on his knees the other tugging with his feet intact.
“OPEN THE DOOR!” I scream through the bars. Spittle flies, hits eyes.
You are almost there!
(Lies, lies, lies, lies.)
“SHUT UP!” I scream to the zipping between my ears.
“Let go of the prodder!” one shouts.
Too late.
My hand reaches one of the bars overhead. I quickly clamp down on another and dangle. Prodder dropped, clubbing sticks hit my knuckles. The pain enrages me. Left right, I move with hands like feet from one bar to the next to avoid the clubbing.
Use your weight. Do it, Hunter.
“Anything for you HALO!”
Knees up, I tug them down. Dust falls, settles below. Again I tug, clubbing stick ignored. The hinge comes loose and the TRAPDOOR OPENS! Swing down and back. One guard falls into the Hole, the other falls backwards.
I climb up and begin my attack. To my surprise it’s daylight out. Has it really only been one night?
No time to answer.
As worms wriggle under my skin I kill the man again and again. As snakes slither down my spine I bite and claw and eat and smile. Flesh to mouth – I am the consumer of those to be deathborn. Warm blood, chewy bites of skin dappled in stray hairs.
I am free.
Now come for me.
“I will, Halo.”
But first, you must kill Father Miscavige.
“I can’t … I WON’T!” I fall next to the man I’ve just extinguished, my bloody fingers pressed into my temples.
“Please, Goddess, please, I can’t, I can’t. He isn’t faceless.”
He is faceless.
“HE ISN’T!”
(The South is my shepherd, the North is my adversary).
Come to the North, you’ll see.
“How? HOW?”
The War Zone. The next war is in two days to celebrate Stayed Day. Be there. Smuggle yourself North. Come for me.
“Anything, Goddess, anything for you.”
.Book One: Epilogue.
“We’re here.”
Sterling parks the motocart behind his family’s home. It’s the same motocart he crashed into the man who killed Bolt at Zander’s depot, and while the front wheel is wobbly and the body is obviously dented, the machine still works well enough. He would tinker with it if he had a free day or two, but by the looks of things, he won’t have a free day or two for the foreseeable future.
“You wait here.”
He fears the worst as he heads inside, where he first slips into his sister’s bedroom. He holds his breath, waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He is just about to whisper her name when he hears her move, twisting from one side to the other. With the knowledge that his sister is safe, he moves to his mother’s room, where he hears her lightly snoring. On his way back out, Sterling passes his own bedroom and wishes he could rest, even for just a few minutes. He even stops in front of the door, cringes as he fights the weariness that has suddenly overcome him.
“Not now,” Sterling mumbles to himself.
He returns to Halo, and Bolt’s body. He shakes his head at the Goddess, who sits on the backward facing bench next to Bolt’s lifeless form. She’s in her meditative pose; a statue if there ever was one. Her face is trained forward, her chin tucked slightly and her hands are cupped in her lap – just seeing her so passively defiant infuriates him, makes him want to
break things and hurt people. Exhaustion overwhelms his anger, snuffs it before it ever really takes hold, and he sighs. “Are you going to sit here until the sun comes up or are you coming inside?”
You dropped me. No one has ever dropped me.
“See! You can talk.” He gets the urge to clap her on the back but thinks otherwise – he’s heard enough screaming inside his head for a day. Plus, he knows she’s capable of much worse.
You dropped me. It hurt.
“It hurt? I got my ass kicked for you, got beaten with a club for you, fought some type of metal man for you. For you, for you, for you – do you see a trend here? I know you can’t actually see my face right now, but it’s covered in bruises and cuts. I’m as sore as I’ve ever been – I would trade my current pain level for your current pain level in a heartbeat, got that? So quit whining.”
Rigor mortis has stiffened Bolt in his sitting position; he looks like a statue too. Sterling tries to see him as faceless but cannot – the kid’s face is clearly intact.
All he really wants to do is rest, recover, and maybe have a jolt or two of delixer to numb the pain – the last thing he feels like doing is any kind of pick-and-shovel work, but the kid deserves a proper burial and he’s going to give it to him. He knows the perfect spot to inter the kid – the swath of rough earth that separates his home from their neighbors, the place he’d buried someone else dear to him five years ago.
He picks up the shovel and the pick mattock that are propped against the side of his family’s storage shed. The tools have been there for as long as he can remember, ready to be used whenever necessary.
Where are you going?
“To bury Bolt.”
Sterling sees a glimmer of light in the distance as it peeks over the top of the Canyon wall. Morning will come soon, signaling a new day and a new series of problems to be solved.
I’ll come with you.
“You want to help?”
No, but I will say a prayer.
“All right by me.”
Bolt’s corpse is awkward and unwieldy, and Sterling feels every one of his injuries, bruises and contusions as he carries the kid to his soon-to-be last resting place.
The Zero Patient Trilogy (Book One): (A Dystopian Sci-Fi Series) Page 13
