Fallocaust (The Fallocaust Series) (86 page)

Interesting, Killian was trying his hardest to remain calm, but I could feel his anxiety. He didn’t like him, that was getting more obvious with every word the raticater said.

That kid had horrible judgement. His trust of Perish was proof enough of that.

Asher limped along on his cane and I kept pace with him even though he was slow. We turned to his street and I looked up at the faded green street sign that hung over a spray painted stop sign.

“Think of a name for your street, might as well since they’re mine now,” I said. I tried to read the lettering on the sign but it was too faded and worn, I thought I saw a P somewhere in it though.

“So far I’ve seen Quil Street and Stone Street on the signs, in newer paint. What did you name yours Killian?” Asher said.

Killian was checking all the mail boxes. I don’t know why he did that, I had noticed him doing it a few times when I used to follow him. It’s not like there was buried treasure in them or anything.

The blond boy looked up and closed the door, the rusted hinges squealing from two decades of being undisturbed. “We never named our street.”
“Really? You name everything.” I turned to Asher. I decided to try and lighten the mood Killian had encapsulated himself in. Help him get an air of who Asher was, perhaps when he saw he was just a quiet kid who stuck to himself, he might give him a chance. “He named every single cat around his house, and even put their names on their grave markers when they died. What were their names? Like Binky and Bosco or something.”

“Moggy and Beanie.” His voice was soft, but taut.

Asher gave Killian a warm smile, but my boy’s face didn’t change, nor did his anxiety waver. We crossed his new yard and walked up the rotting wooden stairs of the balcony. “That was nice of you to bury them, I’ve never been to a block that had a cemetery in use.”
Killian checked his mail box, he didn’t answer so I answered for him.

“We don’t have one, Killian has his own small one out west from here, Dr. Frankenfuck is buried there.”
“Perish? Really?” Asher’s green eyes widened a bit. “I thought you would have feasted on his flesh after what traumas he enforced on you.”

“He didn’t do anything to me,” Killian said defensively, he stepped back as I tried the door handle. It was loose but it still worked well enough to have let Asher in earlier. I gave it a rough push, and there was a whine of more rusted hinges as it swung open. The smell of dry mold and decaying wood filled my nostrils.

“You sound like a rather willing prisoner.” Asher’s voice had more of a level of curiosity to it than accusation, but I knew Killian would miss it. I stepped inside, coughing from the dust, hoping that Killian wouldn’t flip out on him.

“I wasn’t, I just don’t want him condemned for things he didn’t do. He’s being condemned enough for the things he did do.”

Killian’s voice wasn’t in danger mode, so I filtered them out and walked into the dusty, old home. Leaving those two to get to know each other. Better or for worse.

The raticater had done a fair job cleaning, considering he was a cripple right now. The old radrat chewed furniture in the living room stacked into a pile, and the floor had been swept.

The wallpaper was stripping off of the walls, and the paint on the ceiling was broken and curling. I could see speckles of mold in the corners but the ceiling was still intact. It had been patched sometime in the last hundred years by wood from other houses and slabs of sheet metal.

I slammed my foot against the floor, and it held my weight on it. I carefully walked along the living room testing each board until I was happy. This place didn’t have a basement so if he did fall through at least it wouldn’t be far.

The bedrooms each had chunks of drywall missing, exposing the beams, insulation and wires but the windows were still intact underneath their boards and the frames solid.

“Good house you have here.” I stepped into the kitchen and heard the two of them in conversation. Killian had his arms crossed in an almost defensive way. Asher was oblivious he was opening and closing cabinets and drawers, puffs of decaying wood following him with each slam.

“Hey, Perish made those little mutants fight each other didn’t he?” Asher asked without turning around. He opened the fridge but shut it immediately with a shudder.

“Yeah I watched them on the cameras,” I replied. I gravitated the counter tops. They were strewn with junk and garbage but I could see a few small appliances in the mess. My specialty.

I picked up a toaster and wiped the dust off with my sleeve.

Killian walked over and handed me a rag, he looked kind of disturbed. I think they might have been having a disagreement over who Perish was. “You never told me that.”

I started picking through the other appliances, deep down hoping for a waffle maker in better condition then the one I had in my shed. “What was the point? It’s over with now.”
“I guess,” Killian said, though his face still held that distant look.

“How would you even know? Did he have an audience?” I asked.

I had been joking, but I watched as Asher’s pale face tightened, he gave a slight nod. He started throwing some of the unsalvageable trash into a corner of the kitchen by a rust streaked stove. Perhaps trying to hide his reaction with noise and dust.“The two way mirror, he would flick it on and make us watch.” The rescued waster explained. “Literally made us, he loved people watching him. We would line up in front of the mirror as he beat them, made them fight, executed them. He loved the reactions and being the center of attention.”

Killian left the room, Asher watched him go with a shrug and continued with his voice dropped. “Not only that, he would save the heads of the wasters he killed and stick them on spikes with their eyes held open by toothpicks. They were above us, looking down on him. Eventually he had to stop. We made a long pole with the femur and arm bones of a man we killed, we used it to knock the heads down for us to eat,” Asher’s mouth was tight, he looked a bit green.

“How did it taste?” I asked.

Asher didn’t flinch, his eyes found mine and for a moment I expected some grand reaction. Burst into tears like Killian, or tell me to fuck off like Reno would. Instead he bore his coloured eyes into my own and said in the hushest of whispers.

“Like shit.”

I burst out laughing at the same time he did. I realized in that moment we were both depraved lunatics, I was starting to like this one. “The brain too?”

His eyes seemed to flash as he gave me a nod. “Did you eat Perish’s head? Greyson said Killian cut off his head for you to eat.”
“Nah.” I picked up a hammer from Killian’s satchel and started to pry a board off of the kitchen window. “Greyson and Leo took his body and I’m assuming dissected it. We got him back as a rotting, greasy pile of maggots.”

“Too bad.” Asher took the opposite end of the board and helped me pull it off. We both squinted as the sunlight shone through and lit up the kitchen. “At least he died in confusion and agony under his lover’s knife. I wonder if their eyes locked.”

“They did,” I said throwing the board into our growing pile of shit.

I heard a slam and saw Killian walk off of the deck and head towards the street. I examined the window frames for a second before pushing the window open.

“Where are you off to?” I called, waving away the swirls of disturbed dust.

Killian’s eyes were on the verge of welling, he pulled his hoody closer. “The dust is bothering me, I’m going to go the Slaught House and get dinner. Take your time, hun.”
Hm, I smelled bullshit, but if he was upset about our talk about Perish I knew I was in for a fight. It was starting to bother me more and more that he was defending the piece of shit that had imprisoned us. My sympathies for Killian’s reasonings for Perish’s mental issues were wearing thin. I knew I wouldn’t have the patience to deal with him at this moment and if we fought I would say things that he would never forget or forgive me for. I would rather busy myself with clearing out the house and getting a better feel for my new resident.

“Alright,” I said.

Killian’s face fell when I said that. I knew he had wanted me to follow him. He wanted me to ask him what was wrong, and make it all alright, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t fight about Perish again. I wouldn’t be able to hold my tongue.

“I’ll be home in a bit.” I turned away from the window.

Asher was bagging expired food that had sat undisturbed in the cupboards. “Did our conversation make him mad?”
“It’s complicated, way too complicated to explain.” And the  fact that I wasn’t going to explain anything to some guy I just met a couple days ago. “Killian has too much love, and it bleeds onto pathetic things in need of nurturing. No matter how fucked up they are he still fucking feels bad for them.”
Asher snorted, then I realized that I had just unknowingly insulted myself. He certainly did have a sense of humor.

“Very funny, you crippled fuck.”

Asher let out a laugh and watched the window I had just closed. “Skyfallers are a sensitive bunch, they don’t have to dodge ravers and occets or eat their best friends. They spent all their time in their comfortable houses. Once they come to the greywastes... they become.” Asher nodded his head to the window, obviously at Killian. “You’re a born and raised greywaster, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.” I nodded, still deciding to leave out as much information as I could.

“I could tell, Leo wasn’t was he?”

That stopped me for a moment. I realized that I didn’t know. Leo, like Greyson had just always been there. He never spoke about himself.

“I don’t know, never asked, never really cared,” I said and I left it at that. He seemed to get the hint. Making conversation was all well and fine but I wasn’t keen on talking about the people I was (or had been) close to. He would have to learn that eventually.

And he did take hints well. The conversation switched to the plans we both had for his place, and by the time we were finished with what we had wanted to get done, the inside had been swept and completely cleaned out. It didn’t look livable yet, but it was coming along.

“Tomorrow we’ll burn these shit carpets and the wallpaper,” I said, my voice echoing in the now empty house. “I would cross into Old Aras and talk our junk man Chang. He should be able to supply you with some wiring, the rest I’d get from Carson.” Then something occurred to me. “Wait, you don’t have any money do you?”
Asher laughed and started slapping dust away from his pants. “Unfortunately not, but I have supply caches I was going to get once my leg and arm heals.”

“Where at?” It had been a good time since my last trip out, and I am sure this mission wouldn’t be as troublesome as my last one.

“A town near Anvil, abandoned and crawling with ravers. Doesn’t have a name we just called it Fallon Cache Two,” Asher said.

I offered him a cigarette. He took it with a grateful smile. We started walking towards the square where the hotel was.

“Clever thinking, the ravers will keep the cache safe from scavengers.” I nodded approvingly and lit his cigarette. “I’ll go with you.”

“Thank you.” Asher’s face lit up, he puffed the cigarette that was between his lips and gave me a crooked smile. “Deider has given me credit for the next month, and Nevada at the store also. I want to start paying my own way as soon as possible.”

I scanned the square just to make sure I wouldn’t see anyone who would bother me, but it was empty save a few people walking around. There was a large black stain on the fountain now from where the wood and coals had burned through. The only physical remains of my short stint in power. I hoped it would be there forever, just to remind them.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll be around the park making the green house, come and get us when you want to work a bit more on your house,” I said, looking behind me. Still empty.

“Thanks Reaver.” Asher’s leg wobbled as he walked towards the door.“I appreciate the help.”

I turned to take the short cut through the square to my home. On the way past the fountain I took a better look at it. Not only was it burnt from the fires, it had a circular char mark from the barrel too. I scraped my foot against it and smiled remembering the memory. I wouldn’t get to do that again ever, unless I eventually did become mayor of Aras which I certainly did not want.

I was pleased that Asher had witnessed all of it. He sounded like someone with a similar mindset as me. He probably enjoyed every second of it like I had. I wondered if being a raticater had inspired that in him. The ones I had met in Aras had always been tough, and just a touch ruthless.

I carried on towards the west end of the square, I gave the area one last sweep when my eyes fell on a familiar figure.

Greyson was leaning up against one of our sheds, about fifty feet away. He was watching me leave, his face sullen and his body frozen as if he wanted to hide himself. Hoping I didn’t see him was my guess, though if he really believed I would miss his shadow he didn’t know me too well.

I made eye contact with him for a split second before I looked away and disappeared into an alleyway. Enough eye contact to see the lines around his tired eyes, and the droop of this shoulders. He wasn’t doing to well it seemed. Good. I wanted him all the misery in the world.

Well that darkened my mood. Leave it to that asshole to still piss me off without even opening his mouth. I decided to run home to try and break it, perhaps jumping over a few cars would take my mind off of him.

I got home in record time, with my feet barely touching the ground. I opened my shack door but before I went inside my old tunnel I rooted through my shelves full of small appliances and other broken things. I freed an old iron waffle maker from underneath a stereo system and pulled out a hot plate that looked in fair condition. I carried on into my house, my dusty treasures in hand.

I put the appliances down on my cluttered kitchen table and looked around for Killian.

My boyfriend was sitting silently, only the glow of the bluelamp lighting my house. He was strumming a few notes on his guitar, a dog eared music book propped up on a chair in front of him.

I leaned up against the wall separating my kitchen and the living room and listened to him play. He strummed the instrument with long graceful fingers, plucking each cord as he read the music book in front of him.