The Night Sheriff, page 22
Ridiculous, but I cannot argue with the end result. I look about. Barricades have been erected to either side—just far enough that I did not see them as I approached. This was indeed planned out. The children are approaching slowly now. The three with guns are surrounding the one girl who is lugging a set of lights and what looks like a battery pack on, of all things, a small red wagon. They are taking their time. I am afraid I am out of options. I only see one thing to do, but I won’t enjoy it. I turn and stroll along the lakefront towards one of the barricades. The children speed up slightly, and their eyes track me without blinking.
I come up to the barricade and examine it with a studied calm that I am not really feeling, but, at this point, appearance is everything. The barricade extends several feet out into the lake and is sheer enough that even I would be hard-pressed to get purchase, even if I wasn’t being shot at.
It’s been long enough. I turn, and there they all are, exactly where I expected them to be. I think about Xochemilchic’s coin in my pocket, but these children are not the architects of my troubles. I clear my throat, which causes them to freeze. “This is your last chance,” I inform them in a whisper, while slowly raising my hand. They stare at my hand, but there is no discussion; they simply start firing, while the girl with the lights continues to connect her cables.
Very well. I take a deep breath and—Ooh, I hadn’t considered this last bit. In order to make a noise, I will have to solidify enough that my breath can register. There is no good option, but even in my immaterial state, their damned bullets are hurting me. I solidify, drop to my knees, and whistle—I feel a series of painful shocks—and suddenly the night seems to coalesce into a hulking shape enveloped in a great black cowl, its face hidden. It peers at me unsympathetically, the pain sharply increases, a sword begins to form in its boney hand, and I realize I’m whistling out my last breath. I collapse to the ground—
And the impacts I’ve been feeling stop. The great figure looming over me hesitates, and then with a shrug, turns back, and as it does so I see that it is not some ridiculous personification of death, but merely the equally ridiculous form of Orsynn that is now looming up in the darkness, the children struggling from within his deceptively strong coils. Even now the children say nothing. They thrash and grunt trying to free themselves, firing desperately, but they do it silently.
Orsynn, of course, has no such inclinations. “Hello, my friend! What is this? Are you still angry at me? Or are we having a party?” He licks his lips. “Something tastes salty.” Suddenly he blinks, and peers down at the child firing steadily into him. When he speaks again, there’s a new tone in his voice. “Are those guns? Are they shooting at me?”
Even as I drag myself upright to a sitting position and futilely strain to extrude the bullets lodged within me, I have to wonder—how in the world does Orsynn know what guns are?
Bone Cat bounds to my side. “Those little assholes shot me again,” he swore. “Can’t they see how goddamned cute I am?” He looks at me with concern. Numerous bullets are lodged within me. I’m not really up for our usual level of badinage. “Fade out a bit, boss.” He seems very sure of himself, and to be honest I’m rather losing interest in thinking for myself, so I go as immaterial as I can, and he thrusts a clawed hand inside me. This adds an exciting new level of pain to my existence that jolts me a bit closer to the here and now. I can feel him rummaging about inside me, and when he pulls his hand back out, easily a dozen unnaturally shining silver bullets are clutched in his paw.
I take a deep breath and feel marginally better. That was close. I look back up at Orsynn. “Yes,” I answer him. “They are shooting at all of us.”
Orsynn gets a strange look upon his features. One I’ve never seen before. “That makes me … that makes me angry.” The children within his grasp gurgle as he visibly squeezes them. I hold up a hand. “Wait. I need to talk to them.” I almost think he is not going to listen to me, but after an interminable moment, I can see the coils slacking slightly. I point towards the girl who was in charge of the lights, and Orsynn swings her down towards me. Her gaze is unnerving, and she is still silent. “Who are you?” She glances at the other children, who are all silently watching, and gives a slight nod.
That is the only warning I get before several of the lights snap on. She still has the wireless switch clutched in her hand. The pain is terrible. Luckily, most of the lights are pointing towards the barricade behind me, but the reflected glare alone causes parts of me to start smoking, and I howl in agony.
Again Orsynn saves me, as a rope of muscle snaps out and smashes the lights with a crackle and a shower of sparks. The pain recedes but is still overwhelming. I again collapse to the ground, my head spinning, a roaring and screaming in my ears … which, I realize, is something I’m actually hearing.
I roll over in time to see the last child engulfed. He thrashes briefly within the gelatinous mass and actually fires his gun one last time. The barrel was obviously plugged, as the gun explodes. I can see the ball of light that tears him apart and causes his prison to quiver once before it vanishes under the water. Orsynn actually hisses in either pain or annoyance, I am not sure which.
Making a supreme effort, I manage to snag the boy’s essence as it breaks free. I spit it back out, like you would spit out an ice cream cone artfully sculpted from frozen vomit. I have never experienced anything like this. Not even from a die-hard Nazi. It is a young soul, as these things are reckoned, but it is as if it had died long before its current body had. There is no question of punishment on my part. This entity has already been to Hell, and anything that happens to it from this point onward can only be a blessing.
Orsynn looks down at me, and I see concern upon his features. “Are you damaged, my friend?”
“I am,” I confess.
“Don’t die!” he moans. “Please, don’t leave me. We were friends again!”
I am nonplused. I was unaware that Orsynn worried about such things. Now, I am not very good at giving comfort, as a rule. I tend to be too honest. In many ways, Orsynn has the mind of a child, and while I have often been placed in a position where I am called upon to sooth a distraught manikin, I always know that if I fail to project sufficient amount of bonhomie, I can always turn them so they cannot see the bodies and then blur their memories, thus avoiding a fair amount of trauma. I do not think that is something I can do with Orsynn, so I will just have to do my best, which, considering the circumstances, what with my prophesied death and all, will be a bit of a challenge.
“It’s not that big a deal, Orsynn. Everyone dies,” I begin cheerfully.
“NOT MEEE!” he screams, and, rearing up, thrashes so hard that the water around him is whipped into foam. “NEVER MEEE! I AM NOT ALLOWED TO DIEEEE!”
Ah. You know, if I had more time, I suspect that this would be the seed of a fascinating conversation. But as it is, I’d best steer him onto another topic. “About those children …”
Instantly Orsynn’s mood changes. “I am sorry, my friend. Did you want to kill them yourself?”
“No, no. You had said that you wanted to try killing some yourself, remember?”
Orsynn stares down at me with a delighted look upon the various aspects that made up his face. “Why so I did! And you remembered!”
“Indeed I did. Well, as it happens, I had these obstreperous children trying to kill me, so I figured we’d satisfy two of your requests at the same time.” All I can see of the children now are indistinct blobs dissolving within Orsynn’s main bulk. “How did you like them?”
If Orsynn found them particularly succulent, this could be a problem. Not my problem, of course, but I’d hate to leave a situation like this behind. Luckily, Orsynn gives forth a deep sigh. “I will tell you, my friend, I cannot say that I liked them very much at all. You would think that they would be tastier than someone more aged, but I have gnawed upon old tires at the bottom of this lake that I enjoyed more. They were bad meat. Please do not bring me any more children.”
Bone Cat and I gently bump fists in relief before I even realize what I am doing. When I do, I find that I no longer care about the ridiculousness of it all. “I can assure you that I will not bring you any more children, my friend.”
Orsynn gasps. “What was that? What did you say?”
What did I say? “I said—”
“You actually called me your friend! You have not done that for such a long time!”
I rack my brains. “Wait. When did I ever—?”
“But now you have! We are really and truly friends again!” He blew a melodious trill of bubbles. “This is the best day ever!” And before I could ask anything, he has vanished beneath the surface.
Bone Cat and I stare out over the lake. A frustrating and ridiculous enigma until the end. Well, my end, anyway. I glance over and see one of the now ubiquitous cameras focused upon me. There’s never been a camera there before. It appears to be slightly damaged by stray bullets, but I trust that whoever was watching was thoroughly surprised by Orsynn showing up. I have no idea who or what will be taking my place in the cosmic scheme of things as the gremlins claim, but I cannot count on them being able to protect Orsynn. His biggest protection, after all, was the fact that no one knew he was there. If that’s gone …
I grumble as I slowly climb to my feet. The world just keeps finding more and more reasons why I’m just going to have to kill Herr Zoiden. When at last I am upright, I give myself a shake and find I am feeling surprisingly better. I walk back to the broken remnants of the light array. Who were those terrible, damaged children? In their own way they were more monstrous than half of the monsters I’ve met.
“Delightfully horrible, weren’t they?” The voice booms forth from one of the park’s many hidden speakers. It catches me by surprise, and no mistake, but I fail to visibly react. An outside observer might put it down to a jaded world-weariness, but the truth is that I am still in a great deal of pain, and sudden movements would only make it worse. At least I’m not expected to answer. These cameras don’t have audio capability.
“Child soldiers,” the voice continued. “My people found them in some wretched little conflict in southern Africa. Been fighting since they were six years old. Their commander sold them to me for five hundred dollars apiece.” The voice sighed. “Apparently I should have picked up another dozen when I had the chance.”
This will be Herr Zoiden, I presume. Soldiers … now why is that word clamoring for my attention?
“So. Big monster in the lake. You keep it around to eat problem kids? I am super impressed. I knew about your geas, of course, but I would never have thought you were that foresighted.” I ignore him as best I can. I need to find a place to rest, and with the park as wired as it is, that will be difficult. “Wow, now I’m kind of wondering what else you have stashed around the place.”
A worry that will keep him up at night, I hope. There is one bolt-hole I doubt they’ll find, as it is a hidden subcellar directly beneath the security room. Getting to it might be challenging, but if I can convince them that I was determined to confront them in some sort of macho, suicidal, Hollywood-type exercise …
“Oh, I love your idea, by the way. The whole elimination of boring places in the park? You are so right! There is so much potential there. So many places where people could be startled, or shocked, or flat out terrified. People love that shit! I have any number of ideas already.”
I’d grit my teeth but it would hurt to do so. It all sounds so … unclean when he talks about it. Of course I must acknowledge that the whole “irrationally trying to kill me” thing aside, just the sound of this fellow’s voice is raising my hackles. “Personally, I think our Haunted Monorail Station is a bit of a joke, don’t you? Aside from the bit with the skeletal ticket takers, it’s about as scary as a stroll in the park.”
“Because this is a park,” I mutter to myself. “People come here because it’s non-threatening. The world has a surfeit of genuine terrors already.”
“Oh,” Bone Cat says, his eyes rolling with a sound like marbles in a ceramic dish. “Now you get it.”
“So be honest—let me know what you think—I’m thinking of changing it to an abattoir-themed sort of thing? We’ll keep the music, of course—and here’s the best part—the riders can pick an animal to be slaughtered, watch the process, and then have it served up in an attached restaurant! I mean, you can’t get fresher than that! Am I right?”
Without breaking stride, I shift direction. Zoiden is still talking, but I am no longer listening. To Hell with him and all the rest of it. I will find my prehistoric gopher burrow. I will pull it in after me and sleep in the dark heart of the Earth for a few years. By the time I return, this idiot will have transformed Zenonland into a rubble-strewn lot sewn with salt, and the demise of the Zenon Corporation will be a horror story told in college business classes for the next century. Then America will see the back of my boots and I will discover how just badly the last sixty or so years have treated Prague, which was run by a very civilized vampire queen who liked to dress in outrageous—
“Sheriff?” That is Vandy’s voice coming over the loudspeaker now. She is scared and obviously uncertain about what is going on, unlike myself.
“Um … I found a Security guy at the entrance, and he brought me here, but nobody wants to hear about the kid, and they won’t let me—AAH!”
That was the unmistakable sound of a blow, a fist upon flesh, and then silence. I find myself vibrating with rage. Suddenly Zoiden is back on the air. “Can you believe this girl? I mean seriously, she never shuts up. I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if you just left her here, because she is annoying as fuck.” I don’t move. I just listen.
“But I’m guessing you care about her, because she sure seems to care about you. Hoo hoo, you dawg, you! So here’s the deal. You’re going to let me kill you, and I’ll let her go.”
No, he won’t. For a thousand reasons, but the only one that counts is that he knows that it will annoy me. “You don’t believe me. Well, and why should you? But really, what choice do you have? Oh, well, sure, you could just walk away and let me torture her to death and then I’ll just kill you tomorrow—Or you could believe me when I say that I would sincerely appreciate you saving me all that time and effort, not to mention messing up a good suit—and I’ll show it by letting the little chucklehead go. Why would I lie? Seriously, who would believe her?”
He is lying. Lying through his teeth. I know this. I try to step back and be dispassionate about this; what is Vandy, really? A nostalgic infatuation who will be dead in less than a century, and doubtless extremely tiresome decades before that, no matter how well the women of her family age. I’ve seen thousands of people die, what is one more—
A muffled whimper comes over the speaker. “Wow, she is being super brave, but I guess that last one just kind of slipped out. You should see what she’s enduring while you’re just standing there, fucking around—”
“Fine,” I shout. “I’ll do it.” I raise my hands in the universal symbol of surrender and walk to the middle of the Great Green Square and slowly lower myself to the ground. I face the East. I always said that I wanted to see the thing that killed me. In a bit less than four hours, I shall. Bone Cat walks up and stares at me. Zoiden is still talking, but thankfully the speakers are now too far away for me to hear his gloating.
I take another breath. Perhaps it is all for the best. I have been alive for over a thousand years, and have seen so many things die—people, towns, nations, ideas—that I can begin to reconcile myself with the philosophical concept that it is, at last, my turn. I have regrets, of course. Personally, I think that having regrets is yet another thing that separates sentient creatures from base animalia. But overall, I think I can be proud of what I have done with my time upon this sphere and must admit that I’m curious to see what will happen the next time around. Perhaps I will be a ballerina. I could—
A phone is ringing. It is possibly one of the few remaining public phones in California. The Zenon Corporation keeps them around because these days, they trigger as strong a sense of wonder and nostalgia as the monorail that circles the park. They still work, of course, and with a sigh I climb to my feet and go to answer it. If I don’t, it’s quite possible that it will ring until the sun comes up. I lift the receiver—“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”
It is Herr Zoiden’s voice and he sounds rather put out. I cannot imagine why. “I’m doing what you want. I’m waiting for death,” I explain patiently. I wave at the nearest camera and make a production of pointing towards the East. “I’m in an open, exposed place. When the sun comes up, I will be unable to escape.” Especially if I sit here for the next four hours, as I’m sure my legs will go to sleep; ah, well, dying is not supposed to be comfortable.
“No,” Zoiden says petulantly at the other end of the line. “No, that’s not what I need at all.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” I point out, “but I can’t make the sun go any faster.”
“NO, I mean you get your ass in here and I will kill you myself.”
The first thing I feel is annoyance. What is his problem? This will work. I have staked out any number of photosensitive creatures—some of them in this very square. That stain they’ve never been able to remove from the pavement? Vegerax the Undying, thank you very much. The Sun never fails to deliver satisfactory results. Young people today have no patience.
The second thing I feel is hope. Foolish, but undeniable, hope. Is this idiot determined to try to kill me in some sort of elaborate death machine of his own cunning design that will enable him to play a round of before-I-kill-you-let-me-tell-you-my-diabolical-plan?
