Read Apocalyptic Montessa and Nuclear Lulu: A tale of Atomic Love Online
Authors: Mercedes M. Yardley
Apocalyptic Montessa and Nuclear Lulu: A tale of Atomic Love
Apocalyptic Montessa and Nuclear Lulu
A Tale of Atomic Love
Mercedes M. Yardley
Copyright © 2013 Mercedes M. Yardley
Cover Artwork by George C. Cotronis |
www.ravenkult.com
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the authors except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Worldwide Rights
Created in the United States of America
Published by Ragnarok Publications | www.ragnarokpub.com
Editor In Chief: Tim Marquitz | Creative Director: J.M. Martin
Table of Contents
Absolute Bloom
It began with a promise of violence...
My head.
Her shovel.
I launched a new horror-fiction magazine called
Shock Totem
in 2008. One of the first stories accepted for our debut issue was “Murder for Beginners,” by one Mercedes M. Yardley. I remember it distinctly because I first voted NO on it, not convinced it was the right kind of story for us, which caused a small uprising among my other co-conspirators over at Shock Totem HQ. After much discussion—or questioning of my sanity—and a few re-reads, I changed my mind.
I sent an acceptance e-mail, which read in part: “In fear of being beaten with a shovel, we have decided to accept your story...” She was gracious in her reply—and threatening, insisting that we made the right choice and we must continue to do so lest we end up like the hapless fool in “Murder for Beginners.” In a word: dead.
And thus, a wonderful relationship was born.
In the years since, I have had the pleasure to watch Mercedes’s writing and career blossom. Shortly after the publication of
Shock Totem #1
, she came on as one of our editors, where she remains today. Her story in that debut issue impressed John “Yer Pal” Skipp so much that he invited her to contribute a tale to
Werewolves and Shapeshifters
, a concrete slab of an anthology featuring some of greatest and most popular writers past and present—H.P. Lovecraft, Joe R. Landsdale, George R.R. Martin, Neil Gaiman, Charlaine Harris, to name a few. Stories in Skipp’s
Demons
and
Psychos
followed, as did many more in other publications and anthologies, such as
Tales of Jack the Ripper
, edited by Ross E. Lockhart.
When Mercedes began talking about pitching a collection of her short fiction to other publishers, I hit the brakes. Calls of nepotism be damned; I wasn’t allowing some other publisher the privilege. Not a chance in hell. And so in September of 2012, we released
Beautiful Sorrows
, a collection of twenty-seven brilliant tales showcasing Mercedes’s unique brand of whimsical horror. We published a limited edition hardcover version, which sold out in less than a week. After reading it, F. Paul Wilson called her “a female Joe Hill.” She’s also been compared to Ray Bradbury, Neil Gaiman, and Kelly Link. And it’s deserved.
But this was just the beginning for the one they call Miss Murder...
Enter
Apocalyptic Montessa and Nuclear Lulu: A Tale of Atomic Love
, Mercedes’s debut novella, which you now hold in your hands. It is a story full of murder and mayhem, tragedy and loss. It is the ultimate journey to find peace, deliverance from pain and misery. It is a much darker beast than we’ve come to expect from her, much more ferocious. Its teeth are bigger, sharper; its claws are longer. But there is love to be found, poetry, there is
heart
.
And that it is one of the greatest things about Mercedes’s writing. Strength. Heart. And lots of it.
To say that she is a strong woman is to say the universe is big. The word simply cannot bear the weight of which it is describing. Tragedy has knocked Mercedes flat more times since I’ve known her than most of us will face in a lifetime. But she refuses to stay down. Surely there is a darkness in her soul, but it doesn’t rule her. She rules it. With pomp and flair and the righteous stomping of stiletto heels. She is a flower in absolute bloom. Her colors shine in the darkness, her thorns are long and deadly, and her roots run deep into the soul of everything she writes.
Apocalyptic Montessa and Nuclear Lulu are tragedies intertwined—powerful, explosive, determined, beautiful.
They are Mercedes M. Yardley.
K. Allen Wood
9-7-13
She was lovely, this woman who wandered the graveyard. All hair and eyes. Without shoes, in a light cotton dress that covered her rounded belly, she smiled and laughed as she touched the flowers that garnished the dead.
She saw a particularly beautiful headstone, a grave marker that was dark and gray and finely chiseled.
“Montessa,” she read, and something about the name, the strength of it, the delicacy, stopped her feet. She stood, and waited, and more than that, she
felt.
“That will be your name, darling,” she told the child in her womb. The newly named Montessa skipped and spun and twirled. Or perhaps she sucked her thumb in silence. Her mama couldn’t really tell these days, now that she was so ill. But she was carrying a little girl, she was sure of it, and she loved this child fiercely.
“Your life will be charmed,” she said, and continued on her way, navigating between the headstones and weeping angels as well as she could. “I believe wonderful things happen to little girls named Montessa. You’re special.”
Sweet thoughts. Sweet desires. But horribly, horribly unfounded. Misery and despair follows little girls named Montessa. Especially little girls who are forced to go through their lives with
a dead mommy, and even more so when that mommy was the only one who loved them.
But she was right about one thing. Montessa was indeed special.
~
Montessa’s shift ended at 3
a.m. She took a shower, soaping the oils and glitter and makeup off her body. She wrapped herself in a towel and used another to dry her hair. She pulled out her phone, punched in some numbers.
“Renan?”
“What?”
He sounded dangerous tonight. Forcibly light-hearted, which meant he was out with the boys
and drunk enough that he’d be mean when he came home.
“I’m off.”
“What’s that gotta do with me?”
“Just wondered if you were gonna pick me up, that’s all.”
“Not tonight, Monty. I’m doing something.”
She heard giggling in the background. So not just the boys, then. She waited for her heart to sink and break, but nothing happened. Perhaps it had been ground to dust long ago. This was a relief.
“All right. I’ll see you at home.”
“Don’t wait up.”
“Do I ever? Goodnight.”
“Hey, baby,” he said. He was smiling into the phone, and she could visualize the beauty of it. Now her heart sank. Now it broke.
“Who loves you?”
“You do.”
“That’s my girl. Be careful. Looks like there’s a storm coming in.”
“I’m always careful. Have fun, Renan.”
Without the makeup, she wasn’t Ruby anymore. She was just herself, plain ole Montessa Tovar. She seemed years younger when the faux confidence and sensuality was washed away. She put her six inch stilettos in her purse, along with her dancing costume. It didn’t take much room.
Jeans and a t-shirt. Sneakers. She left out the back door, the doorman giving her a brotherly grin and a pat on the shoulder. She smiled back, her first genuine one of the day, and stepped onto the shoulder of the highway.
It was four miles home, fairly straight through the Northern Nevada desert. She put her earbuds into her ears, turned on her music. Not because she particularly wanted to listen to anything, but because she didn’t want to hear Renan’s voice assuring her this was what it was like to be loved. It always hurt.
~
Lu watched her go. He always watched her go. Sitting back in the trees, his back pressed against a trunk, he watched her walk on feet probably sore from hours of dancing.
The boyfriend seldom came anymore, and that was just fine with Lu. The guy seemed mean, hulking, treating the brunette like property, like meat, while his own eyes roved over the hips and breasts of the other dancers.
And he let the girl walk home alone for the last three nights. Stupid. You never knew what was going to happen to a pretty little girl alone in the dark.
Lu knew. It had happened several times. Several times several.
He settled back against the trees. He took a cigarette and slipped it into his mouth, slid his hands back into his pockets. The unlit cigarette suddenly began to glow, burn. Lu’s eyes did the same as he watched the woman round the corner and disappear from sight. He waited a few more minutes, and then walked over to his semi, which was parked behind the strip club. He climbed inside, laid his head back against his seat, and made a decision.
He pulled out, turning onto the road. It only took a few minutes to pass the frail girl with the dancer’s body.
A few minutes more and he parked his semi on the soft shoulder of a curve and waited.
~
Montessa tended to think too much. At home, she constantly thought about Renan’s moods. Where his blows would strike. If he was in the mood to joke, or to ask for money, or if he would go and get high in the back room. At work she thought about escape, about leaping off the platform and running for the door. She’d go out the back before the bouncer could catch her, kicking off her stilettos and pelting barefoot down the street. Into the trees somewhere, living like a beast. A wild animal of wonder. She’d walk through the forest until she came out the other side, into a land of marvels.
When she walked home at night,
she purposely tried not to think. She listened to her breathing, to her heartbeat, to her tender feet hitting the pavement. She felt her arms swing, her ribs move as she breathed in and out. Her body, her muscles. That was it. That was all. It was the only escape she had.
She saw a semi up ahead, gray and sleek. Normally she would have wondered where it was headed, who was inside, how it would feel to walk up and ask for a ride. It didn’t matter where the driver was going. In fact, she’d rather not know until it was time to wake up and stretch at her final destination. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Wouldn’t that be grand?
But tonight wasn’t that night. Something was…off. She put her eyes forward, pushing her wild hair out of her face, and tried to pay attention to the music. Something new that one of the girls at work had ripped for her. It was too poppy and too light, and Montessa hated it more than she thought she could ever hate anything. Still, it was a distraction. Only three and a half more miles to go. She blinked the burn out of her eyes, then. Dashed at them with her wrist, then reminded herself that she never cried.
