Dead Jack and the Old Gods, page 17
“I’ll continue fighting,” Madgogg said, “until I can’t anymore.”
“We should have stayed home,” Wally said. “It’s always safer at home.”
“Thank Zara again for my sword,” Dana said. “It’s the bee’s knees.” She used a torn piece of a robe to wipe the blood off the blade.
There has to be something we can do, Oswald said in my head.
“We fought the good fight,” I said. “But this is something me and Oswald have to do alone now. We started this mess.”
I went to the vortex. The others walked off.
What are you thinking, Jack? You always come up with a plan at the last minute.
Lilith floated up to me as I stood at the edge of the vortex. I had forgotten Lilith. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Lilith, you weren’t the best secretary. In fact, you were a really crappy secretary, but I’m glad you were our secretary.”
“Why are you talking like that? You sound like you’re going to die.”
“Whatever we’re about to do, I don’t think there’s any coming back.”
“What are you going to do?”
“We’re going to destroy the vortex. Stop them from getting here.”
The Jupiter Stone? Oswald asked. We’re going to blow it up.
“Jack, I got you all wrong,” Lilith said. “You’re a good guy. Not like any zombie I’ve ever known.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek. Damn if I could feel it. An ice-cold peck.
“Goodbye, Lilith.”
She floated away and I thought I heard her fight back sobs.
Just so I’m clear on what we’re doing... Oswald said.
We dive into the portal and we blew it to bits.
We’ll blow ourselves to bits, too.
Most likely. But what’s the alternative? Be slaves or food for whatever comes through. They said these other gods put Cthulhu to shame. This is our responsibility.
I’m not disagreeing. I just want to say it out loud, so we both know what we’re getting into.
The east and west beams were just feet from converging on the middle beam. The planet shook and rumbled. The sky above the Broken Lands tore open, revealing an eldritch darkness.
Ready?
Ready.
Enormous tentacles appeared in the torn sky tear, vague shapes of things best not described lurked in the distance.
We looked into the abyss. There was no time to think. We took a literal and figurative leap of faith.
First the portal was blue and warm and then it was black and cold.
Just like before, Oswald said. Think of the Jupiter Stone as a golden light.
Magic is intention, I thought.
But I was distracted. I saw in my mind’s eyes the evil things that flew toward the Five Cities.
Okay, I’ll think of the Jupiter Stone, Oswald said. You think of something happy. Go to your happy place.
I tried. I thought of hot dogs as I felt the Jupiter Stone growing inside us like a supernova, the ball of energy fattening and consuming us. The most powerful source of energy in Pandemonium growing unstable. I drifted into the dark as I watched, in my mind, the golden sphere oscillated faster and faster.
Then it blew—everything going quiet and time stopping—and we plunged faster into the abyss. I stopped thinking of hot dogs.
40
Hotter Than Hell
I felt peaceful and warm. A good, bright warmth. It reminded me of sleeping late on Saturdays when I was a kid, lingering in bed because you had no school. Is this what it felt like to be truly dead? Was this heaven? It wasn’t too bad.
I moved my lips and swallowed sand. I tried spitting it out, but I couldn’t. My mouth was blocked. I thrashed my head around and realized I was lying face down. I groggily flipped myself over and sat up, my head as heavy as a dumbbell. Only then did I think to open my eyes. The world was a white blur. I blinked rapidly, trying to open my eyes and focus. They cleared some, and I looked upon a clear blue sky full of fat white clouds and a burning yellow sun. I hadn’t seen such a sight in decades. Was I dreaming? No. Black Powder dreams aren’t this bright and cheery.
I sat on a beach. The water roared. Sand flowed over my hands. Seagulls whirled in the air. It smelled like the beach. How long had it been since I smelled the ocean? This ocean? I turned, taking in this strange world. Behind me was a boardwalk, populated by humans—regular, normal humans. At least they looked normal from a distance. The landmarks beyond the boardwalk confirmed my suspicions. Dino’s Wonder Wheel. Steeplechase. Nathan’s Famous.
Oswald popped out of the sand beside me. “Are we in Hell?”
“No. We’re in Brooklyn.”
I stood—first I had to get on my knees—and dusted the sand off as best I could. Miraculously my fedora stayed on my head through the blast and our trip through the portal.
“I saw the portal close behind us,” Oswald said. “I think we saved Pandemonium.” He shielded his eyes. “It’s a bit bright around here.”
“You’ll have to get used to that.” I pulled my fedora lower down, not just for the sun.
“How do you think we ended up here?” Oswald asked.
“The portal allows for travel between worlds.”
“I know that, but it could have dumped us in an infinite number of places.”
“When we were going through the portal, you said, ‘Go somewhere that makes you happy. Think happy thoughts.’ I thought about Coney Island. And here we are. Magic is intention, right?”
Oswald looked out at the ocean. “It’s not blue. I thought the oceans in the Other World are blue.”
“Not in New York. It’s more of a colorless gray. You’ll find the Five Boroughs have a lot in common with the Five Cities. How lucky are we?”
“You realize you’re still a zombie.”
“Maybe times have changed around here.”
“There’s no dust here.”
“Stop being such a pessimist. We’re home. Let’s get a hot dog.”
Why did the runt have to say that about the dust? A knot formed in my stomach. This was home. But we weren’t welcome. So, what else was new?
About the Author
James Aquilone was raised on Saturday morning cartoons, comic books, sitcoms, and Cap’n Crunch. Amid the Cold War, he dreamed of being a jet fighter pilot but decided against the military life after realizing it would require him to wake up early. He had further illusions of being a stand-up comedian, until a traumatic experience on stage forced him to seek a college education. Brief stints as an alternative rock singer/guitarist and child model also proved unsuccessful. Today he battles a severe chess addiction while trying to write in the speculative fiction game.
He writes the Dead Jack series of novels and short stories.
His short fiction has been published in such places as Nature’s Futures, The Best of Galaxy’s Edge 2013-2014, Unidentified Funny Objects 4, and Weird Tales magazine. Suffice it to say, things are going much better than his modeling career.
Also by James Aquilone
Dead Jack and the Pandemonium Device
Dead Jack and the Soul Catcher
Dead Jack and the Old Gods
“Dead Jack and the Case of the Creepy Cryptid”
Madness & Mayhem: 23 Tales of Horror and Humor
Nepenthe
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James Aquilone, Dead Jack and the Old Gods
