All Who Wander Are Lost (An Icarus Fell Novel) (22 page)

Ten minutes passed
and we still hadn’t reached the front of the crowd. Stinking
bodies rubbed against me, loose hands groped me unenthusiastically.
Foul breath, distant stares, filthy flesh. I held my breath like a
child driving through a tunnel, desperate to keep the air in his
lungs until the other end to earn the right to make a wish. When my
lungs wouldn’t cooperate anymore, I’d let it out and
draw another with a whoosh, each time wishing for fresh air.

Many members of the
crowd were naked, some of them engaged in sexual activities. This
might sound exciting, but not in Hell. It was ugly sex, and if any
of these people were attractive in life, Hell beat, burned and
crushed it out of them.

As we finally
neared the front of the crowd, the din became louder. I caught a
glimpse of an empty platform, nothing else. Piper turned her head
toward me and said something, at least I assume she did. I saw her
lips move but the words she spoke disappeared in the noise.

“
What?”

She moved away,
unaware I’d spoken.

“
Piper,”
I yelled. No reaction.

Then her hand
slipped out of mine.

The
crowd swallowed her in an instant, like the whale taking Geppetto in
the story of
Pinocchio
.
One second she was there, the next...gone.

“
Piper!”

I no longer tried
to hold my breath as I gasped air in and out, eyes darting from face
to face, searching for my angel.

“
Piper!”

I fought my way
through the crowd, pushing aside slack-limbed people who didn’t
care they’d been pushed aside. Frantic, I bulled my way
forward.

How did she
disappear so quickly?

And then I was at
the front of the crowd.

The ramshackle
platform stood a couple of feet high and looked thrown together from
scrap pieces of wood, duct tape and bent metal. A woman stood in the
middle of it attempting to hide her nakedness behind a slim lectern
but it was too narrow to keep her sagging breasts from view. She
shuffled some papers on the stand, cleared her throat.

They say some
people fear public speaking more than death—before me stood
the living-dead proof.

A sheet of paper
fluttered to the platform and she attempted a smile, but her
nervousness and the tears on her cheeks ruined the effort. The woman
bent at the waist to retrieve it and a tomato flew out of the crowd
to splatter against the dirt-streaked flesh of her right buttock.
Surprised, the woman stumbled a step but didn’t fall. I
chuckled a little at that, then immediately felt guilty as she
straightened and faced the crowd again.

More projectiles
struck her: another tomato, a head of lettuce, a shapeless blob
which may have been mud or feces, and finally a rock which caught
her in the left cheek, drawing blood to add to the flow of tears.
She flinched each time a projectile struck her but held her ground,
taking her punishment for being so audacious as to think she could
stand before a group of people and give a speech.

Any urge I’d
had to laugh was long gone. We all had our own Hells to go through.
My heart ached for her, but I kept myself from jumping in front of
her.

A second rock
struck her chest, then a third caught her in the eye. I couldn’t
watch anymore and diverted my gaze. To my surprise, I saw a familiar
face standing at the front of the crowd, staring at me. The man
looked more tired than I’d seen him in life, his suit more
rumpled. At first, I didn’t believe my eyes; it must be some
sort of Hell illusion.

Detective
Williams.

The last time I saw
him, I left him with a white-clad angel to take him to Heaven. Given
those circumstances, this must be his twin—the real Detective
Williams would be lounging on a billowy white cloud enjoying the
hereafter.

He raised his hand
in greeting.

I waved back
hesitantly and mouthed the words ‘what happened?’ He
responded by changing his wave to a different sort of gesture. I
watched for a second, confused, unaware he meant it as a gesture of
warning until the black cloth bag covered my face and a cord cinched
around my neck.

Bruce
Blake-All Who Wander Are Lost

They watched from
the shadows as the Carrion took Clayton Dillinger down the back
alley, away from the bustling avenue. The closer they got to the
goal, the worse Poe felt. Her stomach churned like a supernova
swirled within her. Her nerve endings tingled, she rubbed sweat from
her palms; she hid it from Trevor, didn’t want to scare him.
Truthfully, she didn’t want him to be here at all, but she
might need his help getting to Hell.

And it was good for
someone to know she’d gone.

At the end of the
alley, the Carrion crouched, stuck his fingers into the holes in a
manhole cover, and lifted it as though it was made of cardboard. A
light emanated out of the sewer access, flickering and glowing as if
all the shit and gases in the sewer were on fire. The Carrion
gestured and Mr. Dillinger’s soul hesitated. The man in black
gestured again, insistent, but Mr. Dillinger shook his head and
backed away a step. A few seconds passed, the situation appearing to
be a stalemate until the Carrion took a deep breath and grabbed the
spirit by the front of his jacket. Dillinger struggled a moment, but
he was no match. The Carrion stuffed him down the manhole and
quickly climbed down after him.

And left the
manhole cover off.

Poe fidgeted in the
shadow, staring from manhole cover lying on the ground to the glow
emanating from below.

“
Should
we go?” Trevor sounded more excited than nervous.

Poe watched for
another second, suspicious. Nothing happened.

Maybe
he’s forgetful.
She
half-stood, stretching to see further down the hole. Nothing.
Not
bloody likely.

Whether she’d
stumbled on a careless Carrion or he’d left the cover off to
entice her down was irrelevant. Her goal was to get to Hell and this
was the way. She stood and Trevor was at her side in an instant,
nervous excitement radiating from him.

“
You’re
staying here,” she said looking at him.

He shook his head.
“He’s my dad, Poe. I’m not losing him again.”

“
You
have to stay and let Michael know I’ve gone.” She
reached up and put her hand on his cheek. “And I can’t
risk both of you.”

He looked back at
her, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching. His eyes
flickered to the manhole and back and, for a moment, Poe worried he
might be considering going anyway. Then he let out his breath and
the tension left his body. Poe relaxed, too, and in that second,
Trevor bolted for the manhole.

“
No!”

Her fingers brushed
the back of his jacket as he dove through the opening, then he was
gone.

Poe stood for a few
seconds, hands pressed against her eyes, and drew a shuddering
breath.

Hell.

She went through
the opening.

†‡†

Heat.

I don’t
remember it being this hot.

Poe glanced at
Trevor but the temperature didn’t seem to affect him. He
sauntered along, hands in pockets, like any other fifteen-year-old
slouching their way down the street on a sunny afternoon. He didn’t
notice Poe looking at him, the sheer cliff rising on their right
holding his attention.

“
Are
you doing okay?” It wasn’t what she wanted to ask—that
would have sounded more like ‘what the Hell were you
thinking?’ But there was no point chastising him now. And,
truthfully, she felt safer having him there.

“
Fine.”

“
What
about the heat?”

“
I’m
good.”

She wiped sweat off
her forehead with the back of her hand and in turn wiped her hand on
the leg of her pants. Her legs quivered as they walked the path with
the cliff looming over them to the right and an expansive plain free
of grass or shrubs stretched to their left. She might have imagined
the surface of Mars to look like this.

Except Mars
wouldn’t have had the desiccated souls making their way across
the rocky plains, hands and ankles bound together by chains.

“
Wow,”
Trevor said looking skyward. “What’s that?”

Poe looked up at
the swirling gray clouds and saw what Trevor meant: a winged
creature made its way across the bleak tapestry of sky. More
followed in a loose flock, flying past, then circling back on the
same path.

“
Keepers,”
Poe responded feeling suddenly breathless.

“
Keepers?”

She nodded.
“Exactly what it sounds like.” Her lungs burned.

“
This
is exactly how I imagined Hell. Just like in the movies.”

“
For
now.”

Poe stopped and
bent at the waist, hands resting on her knees like she’d set a
personal best in the Boston Marathon. Trevor continued a few steps
before realizing she’d stopped. He turned back, the youthful
enthusiasm of his voice disappearing.

“
Are
you alright?”

“
Have...to...catch...my...breath.”

“
I’ll
try to find some water.”

She caught him by
the wrist.

“
No.
Don’t drink...or...eat anything.”

“
Sure.”
He shook his hand away and looked around. “What can I do?”

“
Need...rest.”

Poe sank to the
dusty ground and sat cross-legged, head hung, elbows resting on her
knees. She concentrated on filling her lungs, but they wouldn’t
cooperate. A droplet of sweat rolled down her nose and clung to the
tip. She watched it, eyes crossing, as it shivered, lengthened,
fell. It hit the ground in a puff of dust which grew up toward her,
blurring her vision. Poe blinked to clear it away, but the world
grew hazy.

“
Poe?”