BURN IN HADES (32 page)

“Then why take one horse? You could’ve taken the buggy.”

“She’s covering for him.” Mr. Garrett poked the cold barrel of his rifle into Charles’s forehead.

Charles stumbled backward. His legs stiff, prepared to run, but he was too afraid to get shot in the back. He shut his eyes and all he heard was Mr. Garrett’s voice.

“A very unfortunate situation you’ve found yourself in, my boy, I am thoroughly disappointed. Remember our conversation about respect?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Charles stuttered.

“Well, respect truly is a big thing with me. I was prepared to take you in. I thought you were a good soul. I had big plans for you. I really wish you hadn’t disrespected my daughter. And now Miss Katie.”

“I d-don’t know what you mean, sir. I ain’t d-do nothin’. I don’t know what Vivian told you b-but—”

“That’s
Miss
Vivian to you boy.”

The barrel pressed painfully further into Charles’s head.

“She told me what you did,” said Mr. Garrett. “You placed your hands on her and defiled her in a way I won’t dare to utter.”

“I ain’t n-never touched her, sir. I did n-no s-such thing. I promise.” He felt his warm tears streak down his cheeks.

“Are you calling her a liar?”

“No one is implying that Vivian is a liar by any means,” said Mrs. Carson. “But we should caution ourselves to not get our dander up. Let us make an effort to establish fact from fiction. Now, I’ve always known Charlie’s behavior to be amiable and civil. There ain’t never been anything cross-grained about him since I’ve known him. Otherwise, I wouldn’t allow him to share a place in my home. So before anyone gets cut down this morning, I want to make all to pieces certain. Is there any possibility whatsoever that Vivian could have mistaken the identity of her aggressor with Charlie?”

“I’ll put it you like this: what do you truly think Charlie was out there doing with your daughter all night?”

“Now you’re implying that I’m a liar,” said Kate, gripping on to her mother. “If anybody is a liar, it’s Vivian. That girl is nailed to the counter.”

“I’m done talking,” said Mr. Garrett. “I heard you both out. I don’t believe a wink of it. But I’m no heathen. Because I still have a soft spot for your soul. I’m going to give you a running chance, boy.”

Charles backed away, staring down cold barrel. His heart raced at a speed he would never be able to match with his legs. He couldn’t out run a bullet.

Kate let out a shrill scream. Mrs. Carson restrained her by the arms. Kate fought against her mother. “You can’t let him do this,” she pleaded. “Nothing happened. It was totally innocent.”

Her pleas had no effect on Mr. Garrett. He cocked his rifle.

“Don’t look, Katherine.” Mrs. Carson held Kate’s head in her bosom, preventing her from watching.

Mrs. Carson tilted her head at Charles. Her eyes were teary and her lip quivered. That look spoke to him. It said that she tried her best to save his life, but she couldn’t stop Mr. Garrett. It said that she cared about him more than she had ever let on, more than she even realized herself, and she wished that she’d have treated him better. It said that she was sorry. Very sorry.

Charles sprinted down the hill. A shot thundered in the air. He ducked behind the wooden fence. A horrified cry exploded behind him.

He didn’t feel like he had been shot. He peered down at his body and checked himself all over for blood. He found nothing of the sort. He hadn’t been shot. Was he dead and didn’t know it?

Mrs. Carson wailed and shrieked behind him. He spun around. Kate lay lifeless in the dirt. His chest banged with dread confirming how alive he was. Every inch of his skin stabbed and pricked ice cold.

Mr. Garrett lowered his weapon. His face flushed white, his mouth hung open. “She just jumped in my line of fire.”

Mrs. Carson collapsed to Kate’s side. Charles was paralyzed in place. His weak legs barley held him up. He crept forward a few steps before finding the courage to break into a fierce run over to Kate. He halted over her. The back of her orchid dress stained dark red. He leaned down. Mrs. Carson shoved him back.

“Get away,” she said. ‘This is your fault. She was trying to protect you.”

“I can still shoot the boy,” said Mr. Garrett. “We can say that he shot Miss Katie, and then in her defense I—”

“Enough!” said Mrs. Carson. “No more bloodshed. I’ve already lost my husband.” Mrs. Carson choked on a sob and took a breath. The color in her face drained and her trademark scowl returned. “Charlie is going to help me dress her wounds. And you, Mr. Garrett, you’re going to summon Dr. Shepherd. Then, after Katherine is cared for, if the two of you want to settle your score, that’s no business of mine.”

Cross woke with his head in the lap of a sleeping angel. He sat up and removed the splinter from his palm that represented Gimlet’s passing.

Surveying the camp site, he discovered that most of the Anarchists were sleeping. The few soldiers who stood guard were drawn into a game of rolling bones. Their objects rested near their feet.

Unfortunately, Ropey was gone. The Anarchist must’ve confiscated it. His Colt was gone too. But, the burlap sack with the object-hiding blanket sat next to the Raven. He shook her awake.

“Let’s make our move,” Cross whispered.

“There’s too many of them,” she said groggily, still pulling herself waking. “We can’t take them all.”

“As much as I wanna burn those bastards for what they did to Gimlet, I’m not saying we should stick around and fight.”

“But you saw what happened to Gimlet,” said the Raven. “We run, they shoot us in our backs. If I hadn’t bludgeoned you, you’d be right with your friend.”

“You hit like a girl,” he said. “We still have enough objects in the blanket to make it outta here. My umbrella alone can strike them with the voice of the Great Goddess herself.”

“Maybe.”

“If we don’t run, they’re gonna burn us anyway.”

“But they haven’t yet. The way I see it, if they wanted us burned, we’d be burned. They think we’re Tribulation. They’re going to take us to one of their camps.”

“All the more reason why we have to try and get away. If everything I’ve heard about those camps is true, we may not ever get out. Second death is like a reward for all the torture those prisoners suffer.”

“Well, I’m in no rush for that kind of reward,” said the Raven. “If I’m gonna get burned, I’d rather it be later rather than sooner.”

For fifty periods of sleep, the Anarchists dragged their prisoners through Ekera’s mountains, slowly as if they had no particular place to go, capturing more and more Tribulation stragglers as they went along.

The might of the Anarchists was swift and shocking. The poor Tribulation didn’t have a chance against the more advanced weaponry of the Anarchists. After they did their worst, the Anarchists would pick over dead souls that hadn’t turned to Nothing yet and steal their objects to use in the capture of more prisoners.

Miles deep into the realm of dusty and gloomy realm of Irkalla they met the gates of one of the infamous camps Cross had heard so many horrible tales about. Although impressively tall, the height of the gate didn’t compete with the A’raf of paradise. It was shorter by many miles. Still it was too high to climb, and for extra discouragement of daring escape, sharp things poked out of it.

Cross and the Raven stuck together as they entered the devil’s parlor grouped with the imprisoned Tribulation gang. Cross had lurked in some of the smelliest places the underworld had to offer, but the stench inside that camp made him want to chop his own nose off. It was a combination of dead things and deader things.

Needle-mouth imps gazed down from towers. Up ahead, a red giant stood three times as tall as everyone else. He had to have been at least sixteen feet tall and was built like a hill of boulders. The giant searched each prisoner for personal belongings, objects, and weapons. The wings poking out of the giant’s back were embarrassingly puny. Cross had seen insects with bigger wings. If he weren’t so terrified of the torture he’d receive in the camp, he would have laughed at the sight.

The giant patted Cross down and snatched the Latin cross from his neck.

“Give that back,” said Cross.

The giant tossed it high in the air. An imp in one of the towers blasted it to pieces. The dust particles sprinkled down to the red giant’s blusterous laughter. Cross thanked the Great Goddess that the giant failed to confiscate Tivoli’s map tucked inside his pants.

The giant snatched the Raven’s sack from her and pulled out the blanket. The fate of all their objects lay in his enormous hands. The giant shook the blanket and stuffed it back inside the sack. He lifted the top hat off the Raven’s head. His entire fingertip filled the inside of the hat, and he plucked it over the fence. He removed the Raven’s justaucorps, stood back, looking her over as though admiring her body.

“The boys will have a good time with you,” his baritone voice boomed. His massive hands slipped across her backside and up her chest. “Real good time.”

Heat crawled up Cross’s neck and into his face in humiliation for the Raven.

She threw a punch. The giant caught her arm before she could connect with his oversized head. The giant backslapped her. Black blood dripped out her nose to her upper lip.

An urge to protect her built up in Cross’s heart. He knew he was going to pay for speaking up, but he couldn’t hold himself back even if he wanted to.

“You better be careful, my friend,” he said.

“Do not speak, prisoner.” The giant pointed his brick-colored finger. It was bigger than one of Cross’s arms. The giant returned his attention to the Raven and lifted her chin with his finger. “Clean yourself off.”

The Raven jerked her head away.

The giant rumbled in laughter. “I like you little birdy. Think I might keep you for myself. You’ll sing me to sleep every night.” He traced his finger down her crotch.

“Hey,” said Cross. “You won’t find nothing in that cave but old bats and cob webs.”

No one laughed. Cross had hoped to diffuse the situation with a little humor and divert the giant’s attention away from the Raven. He made the joke at her expense because if he appeared too concerned for her, the giant would probably harass her more just to hurt
him
.

“I said quiet,” The giant’s voice rumbled. “You speak only with permission, understood?”

“Got it,” said Cross. “You’re the boss. But I have to tell you that you’ve got something on your back.”

The giant reached behind his neck as far as his bulky arms could stretch.

“There’s two of them. Looks like someone stuck little flags on your shoulders.”

The giant’s demonic face curled. “Those are my wings.”

“Your wings?” said Cross. “If you’re gonna steal wings, don’t use chickens. Try barbots. They have wings your size.”

The giant decked him in the chest with its entire fist. He flew off his feet and landed on his bottom. He gasped for air, feeling like he had been kicked by a horse.

“You giants are all alike,” he said catching his breath. “Big muscles. Tiny brains.”

The giant thumped over to Cross and lifted him off his feet with a curl of his finger. Both his feet dangled.

“Your stay here can go from bad to worse at my whim,” said the giant.

“Your breath just went from bad to worse.”

The giant opened his wide mouth and exhaled hot smoke in Cross’s face.

“If I ever get you down,” said Cross, “not even the Great Goddess will be able to pick you back up.”

“You first.” The giant plucked his finger and slammed Cross into the ground. “Welcome to Camp Erutrot.”

Cross was banged up a little, but his plan worked. The giant had forgotten about the Raven and moved on to searching other prisoners. The Raven lent a hand down to him. He clutched it and she pulled him to his feet. They shared a solemn nod and a Tribulation prisoner stepped up to them.

“Let not your hearts be troubled,” said the prisoner. “The Great Goddess will bring her salvation. The resurrection of the dead approaches.”

“Quiet and march!” said the giant. “Hut, two, three, four. Hut, two, three, four. Prisoners of war. Forward. March!”

Cross marched at the Raven’s side, along with all the other prisoners, in cadence through the second set of gates, stepping over piles of Nothings or what was left of them. Separate stacks of teeth, legs and torsos were pilled everywhere. Needle-mouth imps patrolled back and forth along the compound. Other soldiers walked ants on leashes as if they were guard dogs. Lesser spirits swept and dumped blackened ashes into a murky pond, making some kind of repulsive stew.

The courtyard was filled not only with Tribulation prisoners but also contained ordinary souls; men, women and children who had no affiliation with either gang stood around, all half-dressed—if dressed at all. They had been stripped of more than their dignity. They shook in terror, sobbed, cried and consoled each other. Some appeared too weak to stand. They slept on top of one another; mud was caked between their toes.

It was a miserable place even for the underworld. Squals lived in better conditions. It was commonplace for the underworld to torment spirits with its rotten tricks and places of torture, but to also suffer at the hands of other spirits made the underworld feel even more hopeless.