Ichthyic in the Afterglow

by Allen, Jason

  "You hear that, boy?" said the Colonel. He lowered the volume on the television. "War. Now you won't have to dress like a prissy mime anymore, and you can serve the Imperiam like I did when I was your age. Best thing that ever happened to me."

  There were no jobs available at Whosit Whosit Party Corps. Clem saw it fitting to show up in his mime garb, proof to the Colonel he did, in fact, have a job and could repay him. Before he could ask for the loan, his father shushed him and turned up the volume on the television.

  He had heard the blast outside on his walk to his father's. Clem thought it might have been thunder in the distance, but worry came over him when he realized he might not have an apartment to go back to. He hoped Chico was okay.

  "And why are you here anyway? Ha! Ha! Do the rope-pull bit," said the Colonel.

  "Dad, I'm really not…"

  "Do it!" This was the first time he had seen his son in full costume. Clem pantomimed pulling a large rope. The Colonel chuckled.

  "Let me guess, you need money? Too bad. I told you to join the military. Serve the Imperiam and the Imperiam would help you out, but you never listened. Now there might be a war. They'll draft you."

  "Dad, I think I'm too old," said Clem.

  "Bullshit! You're never too old to serve. How old are you anyway?"

  "Thirty-two," said Clem. "And aren't we descended from Y'ha-nthlei? We have nothing do with a war between felines and K-9s, we're fish!"

  "Those cat bastards are sick. If the dogs need an ally they can count on us! Anyway, I'm not giving you any money. You'll have to join the army."

  "Dad, I'll be homeless!"

  "You should have listened to me from the start and joined after high school. Now, do the box!"

  Clem pantomimed being trapped inside an invisible box. His father clapped and laughed.

  Clem supposed if his apartment building was still standing he would be evicted. He and Chico, homeless.

  ***

  Shock waves from the blast careened the Hello Kitty hover car into the side of a McDonald's Play Place ball pit and caught fire. Cassie's face slammed into the steering column. A gout of blood splashed the windshield from her broken nose. She briefly lost consciousness, came to and spit curses at the children that weren't dead writhing on the flaming hood.

  “The fuck off my car!” She opened the driver's side-door and wedged out her pregnant belly. She started flinging limp and crying children off of the car. The flames started spreading to the roof.

  Suddenly, she lost gravity and was under someone's arm being carried through the plastic balls.

  Before she started to protest, thinking of the Hello Kitty hover car she was leaving behind, she somehow recognized the yellow robe. No way, Cassie thought.

  Her head bounced off the concrete. The figure draped the tattered robe over her.

  The Hello Kitty hover car exploded. The flames scorched the robe to tatters and blisters birthed on Cassie's back. The figure in the yellow robe helped her to her feet. The figure was wearing a ghastly white featureless mask that cocked curiously as it surveyed Cassie.

  “I'm okay,” Cassie's voice quivered. “I think I'm okay. The mask nodded. Cassie gasped. The figure faded before her eyes, dematerialized into the aether. Cassie briefly lost herself and the memory of the figure in the tattered yellow robe faded.

  Her first thought when she regained composure was, Daddy will be buying me a new car!

  Screams in the streets. Panic came from all around. Cassie walked on, oblivious.

  A helpless cloud came over her. She needed to find Carl. She hoped Carl was okay. She just wanted to cuddle up with him alone, away from all this. Away from the world.

  Her, Carl, and the baby...and Lee, who she hoped Carl would get surgically removed. If not she would accept and love Lee because he was a part of Carl. And Carl would accept and love the baby, because it was a part of them.

  Carl lived about two miles away. After months of debating showing up unannounced, Cassie decided to make her way to his home, on foot.

  She wiped the blood from her face with the tail of her Ramones t-shirt, pulled it back over her swollen belly, and staggered to the Carp District.

  Chapter Four

  SOMETIMES CLEM FANTASIZED ANTI-MIRACLES. His bank exploding and no more overdraft fees. In high school, long elaborate fantasies would sail him to sleep regarding dead bullies, fires, and all those that laughed at him at his maniacal whim.

  The thought of his apartment building reduced to rubble in the wake of that bomb and somehow Chico surviving, climbing from the rubble to greet him. With his apartment building destroyed, wouldn't there be some kind of government shelter?

  Clem sighed. The building stood.

  “What's up, Mac?” Clem said to the guitar playing amputee.

  Mac didn't miss a note. “Your Southern can belongs to me...”

  Chico greeted him inside.

  “Well, boy. It looks like we have to start packing. Cranston will be by soon to collect.”

  Clem unraveled a plastic garbage bag and stuffed clothes that littered the floor inside. Tears welled as he thought of himself and Chico curled in a dumpster. Destitute, unable to even buy food for his best friend. At least they would starve to death together.

  Soon came quickly and three knocks pounded the door, startling Clem and sending Chico into a riot of barking. The doorknob jiggled. Before Clem turn the knob the door flung open, slamming into his face.

  A hulking figure in a Siamese cat mask was straddling his chest, pinning his arms to the floor. A cocked fist came down, and Clem thought of his remaining teeth.

  “You will not be getting your deposit back,” an elderly woman's voice sing-songed. “And will you look here, a dog!” She went to pick Chico up, he snapped at her, his hair rose, and teeth bared. “Vicious little bastard.”

  “You have been squatting in my building for what, Mr. Castaigne? Two months now? Do you have my money?”

  Cranston was wearing a Siamese cat mask as well, and the sheer night gown she seemed to always be wearing. Clem tried turning his head to her, but Thok held his chin firm, a massive fist at the ready. “No, ma'am, I need more time...”

  “Son, show him what we think of squatters who keep pets—especially dogs, without paying a deposit!”

  “What is he supposed to be anyway, ma?” Some kind of clown?” Thok chuckled.

  “A mime actually...” said Clem.

  Thok's massive fist came down. There was a penny-taste of blood, then blackness.

  Chapter Five

  CASSIE TOOK IN THE DILAPIDATED MOBILE HOMES, and grimaced at the rotten egg-sulfur smell that dominated the Carp District. Daddy would flip if he knew I was here! She thought. The sparse locals that passed her on the sidewalks stared, mouths gaping and fish-eyed.

  The people of the Carp District were notorious for their use of 'Dalos and it showed. Most were mutated from birth and born addicted. An emaciated cyclops with no arms put his stump on Cassie's shoulder.

  “Do you have a dollar?” It gurgled.

  “Ew! No,” said Cassie.

  She had run a search online for where Carl lived months ago. The information was saved on her phone, letting it guide her way. The people search website charged significantly extra to find Carl's whereabouts because the Carp District couldn't be found on any published map.

  The day had gone from purple to maroon, and pitch would be here soon. She passed a derelict general store with a crooked sign that read 'WE SELL WORMS'. The digital display on her cell phone indicated she was getting close.

  In front of the trailer was a mass graveyard. Makeshift crosses and headstones sprouted from overgrown grass. A pet cemetery? She waded through the yard, stepped up on the rickety porch, and knocked. The door slit open revealing a hunched elderly woman's face.

  “What?”

  “I'm here for Carl,” Cassie's voice slightly trembled. “Is he here?” The door opened all the way. A frail old crone in a black robe rolled a wheelchair onto the c
reaking porch.

  “You're swollen. Did Carl and Lee do that to you?” her voice was diaphanous.

  “Well,” said Cassie rubbing her belly, “Mostly Carl,” she giggled nervously.

  “I hate to tell you miss,” said the crone. “Carl and Lee ain't coming back.”

  “Where is he? Is he okay?”

  “He's alive, as far as I know, miss, but far from okay. I tell you though ol' Carl and Lee are gone for good.”

  “Do you know where they are?”

  “Not exactly,” the crone took a breath. “Lee kept talkin' 'bout a place by the name of Carcosa? Think they ran off there. You know it?”

  “No ma'am.”

  “A few months back Carl and Lee got arrested. Some ol' undercover busted the boys selling 'Dalos outside a middle school 'cross the tracks. Did three months in county,” the crone chuckled. “Wouldn't the first time ol' Carl and Lee get busted on a 'Dalos charge? Me and the boys father, rest his soul, had bailed the boys out three times at least for sellin' when they's in high school. Anyway, we couldn't get angry with 'em. The family's been selling 'Dalos for generations and the boys always pitched in, helped the family and whatnot...money-wise, I mean.

  “Any who, the three months they's in county ol' Lee read a book—Lee's always been the brains of that outfit—called...well, miss I don't quiet remember the exact name, but from what Lee went on and on about, the book was some sorta Bible that talked about a Yellow King that emperors worshiped. Something about a white mask...a pallid mask! That's it! Pallid was the word. It was crazy devil worship ya ask me.” The crone harked and spat off the side of the porch. “Anyways miss, I hate to say it but they're gone.”

  Carcosa? Cassie thought. Daddy will know where Carcosa is, and he will be buying me a ticket. The oddest part of Carl and Lee's mother's little anecdote was it rang a vague, far off bell in Cassie's memory. Why did it all sound familiar?

  “I hope, missy, you'll be lettin' me see my grand baby when it comes.”

  “You bet, ma'am,” Cassie lied.

  “What's your name, anyway?”

  “Cassie.”

  “That wouldn't happen to be short for Cassilda would it?”

  “Yes, ma'am,” said Cassie.

  “The boys sometimes mentioned a Cassilda, before they ran off” said the crone, brow furrowed.

  “Carl mentioned me?” Cassie brightened. “What'd he say?”

  “You sure you don't know nothing about Carl and Lee goin' to this Carcosa?”

  “No ma'am! This is the first I've heard about it. I swear,” said Cassie.

  “It ain't no matter, I suppose. Before you take off miss, promise me you'll bring that grand baby next time. The cerebral fluid, you know.”

  “Cerebral fluid?” said Cassie.

  “Look at all them, cain't make 'Dalos without a young-un's brains,” the crone raised a gnarled finger at the mass graves. Not a pet cemetery, baby graves, Cassie thought.

  “Don't you know nothin'? With the boys being gone, we ain't been able to make much 'Dalos. The old man, the boy's father's been dead years now.”

  Was she saying they made drugs from the cerebral fluid of babies? And that’s why she wants to see her grandchild? The thought disgusted Cassie.

  “Yeah, I'll bring the baby sometime” said Cassie, backing down the porch steps, appeasing the old woman until it was safe to run.

  Chapter Six

  “...THIS, MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS, IS A TESTAMENT to our ability to recover, to rebuild. And through tragedy, come together, defiant of one devil. We will not be intimidated. And as you can all see from the construction already begun, we are told this sector of the Imperiam will have a newly erected lethal chamber by morning...”

  “Fish boy?” Clem was being stirred awake. He licked his teeth to make sure what few he had were all there. Tina was standing above him smoking a cigarette. He had taken off the gimp mask revealing a thick, chest-length beard. The transvestite was nudging him awake with the toe of his stiletto. An ocean of gasps came from the crowd.

  “They're building a new black skull,” said Tina, exhaling smoke.

  “Already?” Clem clumsily got to his feet. Mrs. Cranston's monster of a bastard son had done a number on him. He licked his split lips.

  “They claim they'll have it done by morning, we'll see...sweetheart, I hate to tell ya, but ya look like shit. Who beat ya up?”

  “The landlord came to collect payment,” said Clem.

  “Oh you have a room over at old lady Cranston's? Yeah?” Tina chuckled, “Cranston's a mean ol' bitch. And that son of hers, Thok? He’s a monster. So, I take it he just beat ya up threw you in the streets.”

  “That's exactly what happened,” said Clem.

  Clem thought of Chico. Cranston has Chico!

  “And they took my dog,” Clem let go a defeated sigh.

  “Your dog? You poor thing,” Tina stroked Clem's face, gave a disgusted look at his hand where greasepaint had come away, and wiped it on his skirt.

  The speaker at the podium wore a blood-red, flowing robe, and the mask of a black Bull Mastiff.

  “By morning, step up, those who wish to cease a wretched existence!”

  The crowd packed tight, and let go a deafening cheer. Dusk was approaching and a cancerous sun turned everything an eerie maroon. All would be pitch soon.

  Clem thought of Chico. He remembered the rubber Siamese cat mask Cranston was wearing. Sudden panic came over him at the thought of her doing...something to his best friend. He remembered the cultists he'd gotten Chico from. Those Ultharians. The crowd suddenly packed tighter around Clem and Tina. So tight, it was becoming difficult to breathe. Then sudden relief as the crowd dispersed around him, and then screams.

  On the podium stood a figure with a Siamese cat mask, an unsheathed sword, and raised high, the severed head of a black Bull Mastiff. The figure pulled the mask above his chin, bared its teeth, filed to fangs. It opened its mouth, tongue lapping at blood that drizzled from the neck stump of the bull mastiff.

  The rat-tat-tat of automatic weapons. Stark terror erupted. Someone was firing into the crowd. Tina grabbed Clem's wrist and ran.

  As they ran for safety, Clem thought of what his father said about joining the military. Surely, there would be a war and before he had little to live for, and with the eviction and Chico gone, Clem now had nothing to live for at all.

  ***

  Chico cowered in a Star Claw sigil. Cats of different breeds circled him, threatening, making sure he stayed. Cranston and Thok, their nude bodies smeared in the others blood, made love by flickering candle light. Thok finished and rolled over, spent. Cranston lit a cigarette.

  The fireworks of gunfire outside startled the animals.

  “Hear that?”

  Thok looked over at his mother.

  “Revolution,” Cranston sighed smoke. Cranston laughed maniacally and spit into her son's waiting mouth. They embraced in another fit of passion.

  ***

  Cassie made her way back to the Imperiam, her head submersed in concentration, scouring the internet on her cellphone. Keywords: Carcosa, Yellow King, Pallid Mask. The book about the Yellow King had been banned ages ago. Carcosa like the Carp District wasn't on any published map. No big deal, I got daddy's charge card numbers.

  Cassie's concentration was broken when a large figure in a rubber Doberman mask slammed into her, knocking her to the dirt. “Hey,” Cassie screamed, “Watch where the fuck you're going!” The Doberman paid her no mind. Panicked crowds stampeded around her. She got to her feet and dusted off her rear.

  Cassie walked on. Oblivious she continued reading about Carcosa on her phone. The place had twin suns...twins, like Carl and Lee, it's too perfect.

  She hissed when a bullet grazed her arm. “Motherfucker!” Do you know who my father is?!”

  Chapter Seven

  TINA'S APARTMENT WAS A HOLE-IN-THE-WALL, lust-nest drenched in sleaze. Sex dominated the one bedroom, slash kitchen, slash bathroom. Assorted gimp
masks on mannequin heads. Dildos displayed on tables and dressers, erect like model cyclopean buildings. A sex swing sagged like a giant spider web and center-pieced the room.

  Clem sat rigid, slightly bobbing with the motions of the waterbed. Glad to have a place to sleep for the night, but awkward nonetheless. Clem highly doubted he would get much sleep, with all that noise and chaos outside the apartment. Then there was the ever-horny Tina. Clem had avoided sex for thirty-two years, as disinterested and asexual as some breeds of frog. He knew he would have to be on guard tonight. Tina was behind him rubbing his shoulders. Clem felt the bristle of Tina's beard on his neck.

  “Sweetie, just settle, relax,” Tina whispered. “You're okay; tomorrow's a new purple day.”

  Clem's plans were to get to a military recruiter first thing in the morning. There was no other option. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. The Colonel was a war hero. He'd fought to establish the Imperiam. Maybe that would earn Clem some respect by the other soldiers by default. Sure, he was older, weaker, but he was Colonel Castaigne's son! And with the Ultharian's attacking twice in one day, he knew they wouldn't decline his enlistment.

  His eyes welled with tears. He would never see Chico again and most likely, Chico was dead.

  “Honey, you'll be fine,” said Tina. “You're safe, hey!” Tina suddenly got up. Stood up and lifted his skirt, displaying his ass for Clem. “You wanna tap this? Would that make you feel better? Free of charge.”

  “No thanks,” Clem sobbed, bobbing with the turbulence of the waterbed. “I'm sorry. I just miss my dog.”

  “That does suck, sweetie,” said Tina. “And I hate to tell ya, but here in the Imperiam, you'd have better luck finding diamonds in cat shit or even lost Carcosa than you would finding a dog. It's better to have loved and lost than...well, you know the saying.”