by G. W. Thomas
The Lovers
I came to see Jack. Amber thought I'd come for her. I didn't disillusion her. When she came out of her room, her face was completely wrapped in bandages. I knew her by her voice and the way she moved.
"Teacher!" She was actually happy. I didn't understand how she could be. I'd seen what the hound had done to her face.
"Amber, you should be resting."
"I can't sit still. Jack's agreed to tattoo me. Isn't that wonderful?"
"Yes," I said, not sure what I was agreeing to.
"I'm going to be beautiful, Teacher. Beautiful for you."
I smiled. "You are beautiful, Amber."
Jack came in, took Amber to her room after a brief hello. She had a needle filled with morphine.
"Isn't she high enough?" I asked.
"I haven't given her any yet. I won't be able to do a thing until she calms down."
I came to see Jack. I came to try something. I pulled the card from my coat. I held up "The Lovers."
Jack saw the card, but didn't break step. "Wait," was all she said.
I sat and I waited. Twenty minutes later Jack stood looking at me.
"Amber asleep?"
"Yes. I can start now. It will take many hours. It's morning. Meet me at the roost at sundown tonight."
She was gone. I put the card back in my coat and left.
I had the day to kill. I had two men to kill too. I hadn't forgotten about Psycho and Hater. But something told me I needed to deal with Jack first.
The orange peel in my pocket had dried up into a small curl. I took it out, looked at it. The impossibility of it still amazed me. Florida was under six feet of snow. There weren't any oranges anymore, except in cans. And when those ran out...
The weather outside was still windy. In the daylight I felt a bit better about any approaching devil dogs. I walked back to the roost. I sat in an old armchair with a stack of old paperbacks. I could rest my arm (which was sore) and wait for Jack.
I had found the books in a back bedroom. They had been part of my mysterious benefactor's stash. Proust. Nietzsche. Poe. Mark Twain. Collected Ghost Stories of M. R. James. I threw all but the Twain in a pile by the door. (The philosophical types bored me. And the horror writers seemed unnecessary. We had horrors enough.) I selected Roughing It. Twain's second book. The hours passed quickly as I followed Samuel Langhorne Clemens out West to Nebraska with his brother.
Reading had changed. In the old days, there were new books. Now, only old books. The crap was much easier to pick out now. Some coffee table book that all the right people read for a three week period were just firewood now. Only the books that still said something or entertained were read. I preferred Agatha Christie to Twain but beggars can't be choosers.
The sun was dying about the time Twain was headed for the Sandwich Islands I heard a small sound in the stairwell. I raised my 30.06 (conveniently placed beside my chair) and waited.
It was Jack. She was carrying her own shotgun. I waited until she dropped the muzzle before I did the same. "Make yourself at home," I offered.
"This was my home, asshole."
"Then I don't need to tell you where I keep the beer."
Jack sat on a dusty sofa across from the dead TV.
"My card."
I handed it over carefully.
"How's Amber?"
"Just begun. I'll have to work on her face again. She'll be swollen for a week. Stay away from her until then. And when you see her -- give it all you got. Get me?"
"I think I do. She needs reassuring."
Jack nodded. "She really loves you."
I didn't say anything. I didn't want to talk about Amber and me. I changed the subject.
"You're quite a Jack-of-all-trades." I laughed at my own joke.
"Not a new one," she said, not smiling enough.
"But you are. Doctor, tattoo-artist, fortune-teller. Which brings me back to that card."
"I dropped it when I left here. Nothing really sinister in that."
"Only as a fortune-teller you must realize that it is quite 'sinister'. I know a little about it myself." I was lying. I wanted to know this woman's secret. I was fishing. "Can't you ask a question then draw a card?" My entire knowledge of tarot was multiple viewings of Roger Moore in Live and Let Die. Jack was no Jane Seymour but she was still a striking woman.
"Yes, you can do it that way. But it's a bit primitive."
"But the card is "'The Lovers'. Doesn't that mean something?"
She laughed this time, most unkindly. "Put your hormones away, champ. It doesn't necessarily mean we're meant to be bed buddies. It actually means 'tapping inner energy, establishing personal beliefs, questioning opinions, staying true to yourself, or making up your own mind' Take your pick.
"Okay. So what does that mean specifically?"
"For me. That I must do what is right for me. For you--nothing. But thanks for returning it. It's a very useful card."
"Sure. Now what about--" I started to draw the orange peel out.
"Quiet!" Jack was up, with her shotgun ready. I tried to hear what it was but I couldn't hear anything.
"Come on," she said before disappearing. I followed, but seconds later I realized she was gone. There was no sound, never had been. She had successfully ducked me again.
She must have known I could find her by finding Amber. But I didn't want to see Amber until the week was up. I stayed away. I read Proust for half a day before finding an old Mom & Pop store. Louis L'Amour quickly replaced old Marcel. I enjoyed two novels but the short stories were always my favorite. Buckskin Run (which I 'd read before) and Dutchman Flats took up a couple more days. It was about then the stale candy and frozen burritos ran out.
The weather also improved. The sky was sunny. The snow was mere flakes. The temperature rose to a balmy twenty degrees. I cleared away a small pile of snow from my doorway with an old board. Snow had been falling for over six months without stop and yet we never got completely buried. The wind cleared away a lot of it. And we didn't drive cars either. So much of our work to remove snow was for cars.
I often wondered where all the snow went. At first into the ocean. But now, I wasn't so sure. The shores of the Atlantic had a massive ice rim. I wasn't sure where it finally opened again. I didn't need to know.
It was time to find food again. I could go back to the Mom & Pop but I might have been seen. Was it worth the risk? Canned goods, more books, bottled water (for when I didn't feel like melting snow), dirty magazines. I t was all there but I decided against it. I'd try there again in a few days.
I could go to Gino's but I'd spent too much time there already. Besides Amber and Jack were probably both there. Where then? I decided to explore a little. I had been in Hartland only a week and I didn't know more than a few blocks in any direction.
So, I headed south. There were as many buildings in that direction. I learned later it was largely avoided because the hounds liked it. This was true of the whole Southwest side. Farther into the City, the predators got fewer. At least the four-legged kind.
I wandered for a while. I didn't find much until I came on some tracks. Tracking is usually a waste of time since the wind is always blowing but today was almost still. The fact that I could see the tracks meant they were quite fresh.
I saw two sets. A hound following a man. Or a man following a hound. Which was more likely? I joined the parade like a character in an old cartoon. Was there another hound right behind me?
Noises carried easily in the sunny quiet. The squeal of a devil dog! I ran the next twenty paces to see Clown under a hound. He was opening and closing his mouth as if to say "Help!" but no sound came out. A mime to the end.
I had the 30.06, not the scattergun. I chose the rifle because you could see a little distance that day. But even a good express rifle wasn't as good on hounds as a shotgun. I'd have to use a different tactic. This was composed mainly of kicking the shit out of the thing.
A well-planned boot got its attention. Another drew it away from Clown to me. I had a slug in the chamber, shot it at close range. The bullet had little effect, even in the fucker's face. I started to load another when it was on me.
I knew better than to keep the rifle. I tossed it carefully behind me, drawing my knife. The devil dog did as all hounds do. It rose up on its back legs, using its four upper ones to grab at me. I saw those rubbery fingers coming and slashed at them. The beast pulled back and tried again. "Run," I called to Clown who was getting up at last. He heard me and began miming a man running against the wind.
"Shit," I growled, turning my attention back to the monster. The hands had my shoulders but my arms were still free. I cut at the stalky limbs that pinched me. I felt the hound let go. Then it rammed its head into my gut with the force of a train engine.
I was down, hacking and stabbing blindly. Only when I got lucky, burying the blade in an eye did it try to flee. The hound would take my blade with it so I hung on. The orange puke was starting to flow, but I hung on. Like riding a bull on your back it was, kicking my legs out from underneath. My knife hand could only take so much - my good arm fortunately - and I let go. The wounded hound lumbered off ten feet and died.
I went for my knife and gun before I looked for Clown. He was half a block away sitting on an old electric relay box. He had laid out a meal on a set of kid's dishes. He pretended to eat and drink a pleasant English tea.
I didn't laugh. I was sore, covered in orange acid and angry. I knocked the dishes over with a gloved hand.
"You dumb fuck!" I cut into him. "What the hell was that? When I say run, run!" I ranted on like this for several minutes but he remained calm, playing with a scarf like a naughty child.
When I was done, he picked up a handful of snow and threw it at me. Another silent laugh and he was off. I cursed some more as I headed for home. The acid was starting to burn through my clothes into my skin. I had half a bottle of whiskey back at the roost. I would wash the orange crap off first thing. I just might have a swallow or two as well, I thought. Fuck the freak. The crazy bastard wants to get killed. I'd be damned if I was going to save him again…
The rest of the week proved wonderfully slow. I did go back to that Mom & Pop store. A sack of cans and even a case of beer. Such luxury! The booze proved flat but the canned goods were fine. I found several vacuum-sealed bags of coffee. I drank so much of the stuff I couldn't sleep. When I finally conked out, I didn't even dream.
Then the day arrived. Amber Day I called it. The day I'd see Amber's new face.
I wasn't particularly worried about it. I liked Amber. She was a good-looking woman. Her face would be scarred (and now tattooed.) No big deal. I might even like it. I knew I was looking forward to curling up with her. I had lived with her for many days but had never felt her warm body next to mine in that way.
I practically skipped all the way to Gino's. The weather wasn't as nice and fortunately nobody saw me.
Not only would Amber and I be together at last, but I would see Jack again. Her long, blonde hair. Her stern but powerful face. I stopped suddenly in my tracks. Was it Amber or Jack I wanted to see? A cloud of apprehension destroyed my happiness. I walked the rest of the way unsure of what it all meant.
Inside Gino was serving a group of men I didn't know. I quietly made for the stairs, waited at the top of the stairs with my shotgun ready. Nobody followed me up. I moved onto Amber's room.
I knocked twice. I could hear Jack and Amber inside.
The door opened and the fortune-teller/physician let me in. She had a finger to her lips. "Quiet."
I didn't say anything. I was directed to a chair. I sat with my gun in my lap. I was in for a show, I guessed.
Amber appeared suddenly. Her face and body were covered in thin scarves. She danced before me, pulling away the first scarf.
It was a show. I won't bore you with a lengthy description. In minutes only her face and choicest parts remained covered. This made me a little nervous. Jack was still there and I wasn't sure what Amber had in mind.
But Jack was no slouch. She saw my face and quietly excused herself. "Have fun, you kids," she said almost sarcastically.
I didn't even hear the door click as Amber revealed everything except her face. She saved that for last.
Three red scarves came away in a finale of hand-movements to reveal three mandalas tattoos in her forehead, and around each eye. Jack had taken the circular scars and used their ridges to form a fascinating spiral across Amber's face. I stared fascinated as the circles reminded me of--
|
The massive spinning circle. Shining, burning in the air. I was back there when we discovered the disk. Spinning inside the old barn. The iris of the rotating hole opened. Admitting a terrible shape and a blast of freezing deadly winter... |
*
I was screaming. Amber was crying. She had her face covered with her hands. "I'm hideous!" she squealed, rubbing her palms over her face like it was on fire.
I stood there with my mouth hanging open. I didn't know what to say. How could I explain...
Jack came in, angry. "You dumb fucking prick! What did you do?"
"I - I--" was all that came out.
"Get out! She loves you, you asshole. You don't deserve her!"
I didn't fight Jack as she pushed me out of the room. I could hear more crying and Jack's angry voice trying to soothe. What had I done? It had happened so fast. One second I was looking at Amber's beautiful face and then I was back home--my old home--the time we discovered the vortex. Pyscho. Bully. Hater. And me…
I was in a daze. I walked out of Gino's without a thought. Not for the group of strangers at the bar. Not for the devil dogs or man-bats. Just an overwhelming numbness that drove out all thoughts. I stumbled towards the roost without consciousness of doing so.
It was a poorly placed shot that woke me up. Three men with guns stood in the doorway of Gino's aiming at me.
I should have run but I wasn't all there yet. Instead, I raised the scattergun and fired. The doorframe of the bar exploded into a shower of toothpicks. This bought me enough time to run.
I didn't head for the roost. There was no reason to give that up. I ran for the nearest building, dodged around the corner and looked for a hole. The old Mom & Pop store was close. I made the doorway as rifle bullets pinged around me.
No doubt these guys were Hart's men. Well-armed and pissed as hell. I would need to use my superior knowledge of the area to kill all three. The store was like most convenience stores. Rows of shelves (now largely empty) filled the space between the cash register and the drink station at the back. Behind this was a storeroom, bathroom and a doorway to a hall that led to a small delivery bay, then the other side of the building. I was the quarry but I had a mind to become the hunter.
I went straight for the back room. There were stacks of pop and other boxes to hide behind. Just across from these was a bathroom. I grabbed a flashlight from my coat, clicked it on and threw it inside. Then I locked the door and closed it. Climbing the boxes right across from the bathroom, I got my gun ready for whoever came. My plan was to shoot the first one, slip down and run behind the rows of boxes to the far door. It would be iffy but if I just ran they'd eventually get me. I had to fight back.
They weren't fools. They knew I wouldn't just run. Probably one of them was circling the building then, to cut me off. I waited. Let them circle the building. I wasn't leaving too soon.
He came slowly, weaving from doorframe to doorframe. He was a tall redhead with acne. He was alone. The youngest, and dumbest, of the crew. Out to make a name for himself, no doubt. Taking chances. I waited to see if he'd go for the bathroom trick. He didn't seem too interested, but was nervous passing in front of the door that he had to do if he wanted into the storeroom. He made his dash, got by the door and headed for the back wall of the storeroom. The exit door opened onto a hall and the delivery bay. He disappeared. I waited.
The second man showed. Coming from the store front he was waiting to see if ol' Red got the bullet. If I had shot the younger man, this guy would have had me pegged. He saw the bathroom door, jumped past. Seeing the back door open he took his time, came my way checking the boxes.
I had no choice. I let him have it full in the face. He exploded. I jumped down trying to avoid the gore. I ran for the back door. I slammed it in place and locked it. I retrieved the first man's pistol then stepped into the bathroom, closed the door except for a crack.
There was kicking at the backdoor. Finally a gun went off and Red came back in. I waited again. I let him see the body of his comrade. He raised his own gun, a rifle. I didn't move. He made for the store front. I shot him through the crack in the door.
This was the tricky part. I was trapped in the can if Number Three was right around the corner. I stepped out slowly. Looked left into the storage room, then right to the storefront. No one. I stopped and thought to myself, what would I do? The third man was probably the most experienced. He'd find a good spot and wait for me to move. Then he'd pick me off just when I thought I was home free.
I picked up Red's rifle. I checked the clip. Only two slugs. Hart was chincy with the ammo. The gun I stuffed in between two boxes. The rifle would only slow me down, but I could come back for it later. If there was a later.
So which way now? Front door or back was a fifty-fifty gamble. Some other way would be the best odds. Only there was no other way. The store didn't connect with either store on its other sides. Out front I'd have a whole street to watch. In back, a narrow ally with no avenue for escape. I chose the front.
I figured he'd try to get me at the door. I picked up a soggy box of laundry soap. I threw it, got ready for a shot. Nothing. I considered going to the back again. He'd know I was coming now if he was watching. Still, it might mean no one was there.
I approached cautiously, ever ready. I looked ahead for possible cover. A huge lump that was probably a car pushed its way up through the snow. Nobody had used a car for four months. Too cold, too much snow. I would make for the car.
I couldn't afford to hesitate. If he saw me coming I was dead. The gap between the door and the car was about four steps. He'd have only a second and a half to pop me. I waited for a good snowy blast of wind and ran.
A rifle shot pinged by my ear. Then I was lying behind the car. I looked up carefully. Where was he? There he was. Up on a balcony across the street. As soon as I moved away from the car he'd nail me. I could try to get back inside, but he'd be watching for that. I only had the scattergun and Number Two's pistol. Despite what we used to see in the movies, a shotgun isn't much good after a few yards. Red's rifle was inside where it did me no good. As soon as I moved for it, he'd get me.
So, it became a waiting game. He was quite happy to sit there until a devil dog or a bat came by. Then I'd have to move. I remembered the car then. If I could get inside--I was just about to start digging when I heard a voice.
"Pssst."
It was Jack! She was at the corner of the building. She had a rifle! She pointed at the guy then to me to run. She was going to cover me. I nodded my understanding.
Crack! Her rifle spoke and I ran with all my remaining energy for the Mom & Pop. Once inside I didn't wait but hurried to the back, then the delivery bay. A sliding bay door was up. I hurried through then down the alley to Jack. She saw me coming, took a last shot at the sniper. "We better not sit here. There are more of them coming," she said without any affection.
"I only saw three."
"No, come on." She led me away from the corner to the far side of the building. I stopped at the next corner, still leery.
"Those are Hart's men," she said with steaming breath.
"I don't know," I countered. "They weren't that good."
"That's because they were bounty hunters. Hart's put a price on your head."
"How much?"
"A crate of ammo."
I whistled in disbelief. "I'd almost turn myself in for that."
Jack laughed heartlessly.
A rifle bullet zinged off the cement above us.
"They've found us," I said unnecessarily.
"This way." Jack disappeared and I had a hard time keeping up. I followed her shadow down the alley. I took a turn and stopped dead in my tracks. It wasn't Jack. It was Psycho. Once again, he had the drop on me.
"Hello, Teacher."
"Where's Jack?" I said stupidly. "You better not have--"
"Always the boy scout. She's right there." He pointed behind me.
I turned to look but a rifle barrel pricked my cheek.
"Don't move, Teacher," Jack said.
"A crate of shells, eh?" I said through clenched teeth. "It's a good price. Not thirty pieces of silver but --"
"It's not what you think. There's no bounty." She didn't explain.
"Is this because of Amber, or are you really a cold-blooded bitch?"
"It's a cold world, Teacher. Now move."
 |
Next Issue: Still More snow...
| G. W. Thomas lives in Central British Columbia. He has appeared in over 100 different books and magazines including: PULP & DAGGER ("PennyEyes" serial), WRITER'S DIGEST, GOTHIC.NET, IMELOD, TWILIGHT TIMES and ELDRITCH TALES. He published the action-adventure zine RAGE MACHINE for 2 years. He currently has 7 ebooks at www.NoSpine.com |
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