Divine_Scream (11 page)

A better plan must be conceived now, not later. Some of us scratched our chins and those hefting the lengthy Lung Spike mentally did the same.

If we tricked the banshee into believing we had become distracted with something else, it might give her the confidence to make a move. Perhaps we faced difficulties with the Spike itself? A failure of some kind? Once our guard was down, she might think it safe to approach. That’s when we could turn the tables.

The banshee knew extremely little about Beyond-Age technology. We could use that to our advantage. By removing a stress band from the spike’s shaft, there would be a deal of elemental spillage and sparks, putting on a great, showy display—the centermost band was placed there for redundancy. Removing it would be strident and bright, but wouldn’t keep the Lung Spike from functioning at maximum potential.

She would come to deactivate the Spike but would immediately suspect something if some of us were not in view. She’d know it was a trap, that some of us were hiding somewhere, waiting to capture her. It would need to appear that all ten of us labored at repairing the Spike. So in that case, how could we get one of our number to overtake her and get the upper hand?

Tricky, this
.

This scene had to be set carefully. We could not flinch. The act had to look genuine. We hoped the cunning tramp would not see around this particular corner. It would be rewarding to see her bones disconnect at each joint and we prayed there would be enough of that voice box of hers to serve ten mouths.

But our fantasies faded as we arrived. The intersection, we found, was not free of cars. We waited, chests heaving, hearts firing with anticipation, and eyes dripping with starving lover’s tears. We ventured into the street. Several horns sounded from cars, while others slammed to a halt and departed their vehicles at the sight of us. We paid these things no mind and continued to the middlemost of the intersection.

The sound of sirens from authority vehicles grew louder in the distance. We grunted and lifted the Lung Spike as high over our heads as possible. The sharpness through time-space dimpled the concrete below without it even contacting the spike yet. With a shared roar of power, we plunged the Spike into the ground, sending dirt, rock, and concrete out in an earthen blossom. The Spike traveled down about half its length. The Tenth reached forward with his scabbed fingers and ripped the middle stress band off. Firestars and blue-red-green spurts of light drew forth from the exposed energy seam. It seared off one of the Tenth’s fingers, but we only flexed our nostrils in rejoinder to such basic pain. Our hearts calmed.

Down the street, people fell from their opened car doors and clutched their throats. The Lung Spike worked well, as expected, with the superficial wound. Pride fluxed through our Ten. Smiles here, there, there, and there.

“Everyone up against the wall!” an angry voice shouted from behind us. “Now assholes! Right now!”

We turned.

One of the blue uniformed law enforcers had come up the street. His vehicle had two tires up on a sidewalk about fifteen feet down the road. A wiry red-haired man, not fat but paunchy in the stomach, he had his firearm leveled at us. So sweet he was; we cooed at him. He had no concept of what we were. Our bodies had been pressed through collapsing axis hinges—dimensional rivets had passed through our abdomens in endless succession for decades to keep the dimensions from ripping. We shook our head at the silly man, a squirrel trying to intimidate Gods with his tiny acorns? We might have laughed, but recalling the hinges and rivets, we were inclined to a different mood.

The man’s arm trembled. His freckled white finger tapped the trigger anxiously. “Back against that wall. Please!” The radio on his shoulder crackled and a woman’s voice recited numeric codes.

Four of us approached, arms wide out. The law enforcer backed and his gun went side to side. He stepped inside the Lung Spike’s influence and at once began coughing into his fist, his airway constricting. The tension in his lungs caught him by surprise, and with another step he dropped his weapon.

The Third leapt forward and kicked the gun down the influenced street. Bullets would not harm us, but we were not given to invite unnecessary bee stings either. There was nothing to prove. Minutes without physical suffering were ambrosia for us, but never expected.

The man gagged at the threshold of influence. The Fourth and Fifth seized him, but he handled their momentum with expert grace, using one of the Fifth’s suspenders to twist away from their reach. It was no matter, however. The Second and Sixth captured him thereafter.

We dragged the man out of the Spike’s influence where he could regain control of his body once more. A new plan developed in our minds. This is how we could deceive the banshee. This was perfect! We relished the sight of the red-haired man like a found lucky charm. And with every inch of his flesh, our godsend.

He will do well.
Our eyes widened with delight.
Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

YES.

The Fourth ripped at his own left tricep and pulled free some flesh. We gritted our teeth at the sacrifice. The Fourth staggered nearer to the law enforcer and scrubbed the bloody tissue over the panicking man’s face. “Stop! What are you doing! Stop!” he cried.

“Welcome to the Assembly,” we told the man.

“W-w-w… what?” he gasped, eyes searching everywhere.

The Third unbuckled his suspenders and drew down his pants.

“Take off your clothes,” we said to the law enforcer with a mirthful snort. “Time to change uniforms.”

The box of detergent seemed twice as heavy once they crossed over La Habra city limits.

“Wish we brought a wagon,” Jared said, and once again changed the box to his other hand. “Are you sure we need this stuff?”

“Yes, and I told you I could take a turn,” Banch replied.

“I’ve got it.”

“I’m stronger than you,” she insisted.

“You’re already doing enough—how’s your eyesight?”

Banch’s vision had suffered after the Swell; temporary cataracts had formed in her blue eyes, and their normal sky blue color took the appearance of an overcast winter afternoon. Her mood had been slightly in line with this as well, and despite them being less cloudy now her gloominess continued to prevail. She blinked a lot but her face was otherwise expressionless.

“Banch, did you hear me? Are your eyes getting better?”

She nodded that she was fine. Another ten minutes of silence fell between them. Jared switched hands again with the detergent.

“What’s your favorite song?” Banch suddenly asked.

“Wow, where did that come from?”

“You’ve listened to many songs,” she explained, stepping over a piece of sidewalk lifted from a tree root. “I know those songs you’ve listened to over and over again but there isn’t one I’d bet on as your favorite.”

“
Free Fallin’
—”

“By Tom Petty?” she asked.

“Exactly.”

“I don’t even recall you listened to that a lot.”

“I guess I don’t want to wear it out.”

“Would you do that?” Banch nudged him.

“What?”

“Freefall? Skydive?”

“Oh, hell no.” He shivered at the thought.

“You could go in tandem with someone. I’ve never presided over a death from a skydiver. It doesn’t happen that often.”

“Still, no.”

“Well, you don’t have much time left in this world.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” he muttered.

“I’m being serious.” Banch glanced over through some swaying purple steel threads of hair. “What would make you happy?”

He shrugged. “I don’t ever think like that.”

“I know, so I’m making you think that way.”

He shrugged again and twisted his mouth a bit. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“I want to live. How’s that?”

“Tell me what would have made you happy before you got that news,” she said. “I’ve watched you stare up at your ceilings some nights. I always wondered what you were thinking during those times.”

“Nothing much.”

“I doubt that.”

“Like it or not, sometimes I don’t have an answer for your questions.”

“I’ll remember that next time you ask about the Deeper Unseen.”

“Oh come on, you’re from a different dimension. Asking that stuff would be natural for anybody,” he said.

“I’m just as interested in your mind, as you are my dimension. Okay?”

“Fair enough.” He thought about switching hands again but decided to wait it out longer. “So, let me see. When I’m in my bed, usually I’m thinking about how it would be…”

“Yes?”

“To be a different person.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “If I were more like Kaitlin. If I were freer, less trapped in myself. I sometimes think I used to be someone else but I lost that person somewhere along the way. I guess I just want the anxiety of life to go away. I want to be at peace with myself and with the world. It’s a pretty stupid thing to wish for.”

“Not at all.”

“Some people would want fame or fortune, but I just want to be rid of my hang-ups. I just don’t want to worry about anything anymore.”

“They have drugs for that you know.”

“Very funny.”

Banch flashed a winning smile and pinched his cheek. “I know what you’re saying, honey. And if we had more time I would show you how to strip away those layers. I sense greatness in you, Jared.”

“Thanks, but I have no idea how you can see that.”

“I see it because it’s there, knocking on the other side of the door. When you pass on, I imagine your soul’s beauty would finally be able to shine.” Tears jeweled on her eyes. “It makes me so happy to imagine you separated from all your prisons.”

“You want me dead?”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

He found himself smiling. “When you put it that way, being dead doesn’t seem as awful.”

“It isn’t awful or wonderful, it just is,” said Banch.

They came to a crosswalk and stopped.

“We have to press the button.” Jared felt his spine go straight and heartbeat quicken.

“Go ahead. You’re closer,” said Banch.

“Can’t you just do it? My fingers are numb from carrying the box.”

The banshee lifted an eyebrow and chewed her lip a moment. “Why won’t you press it?”

“I just don’t want to.”

“Really? Come on. It is because of that time when you were a kid—”

“No,” he snapped. “It isn’t.”

“You want to throw off your self-imposed burdens, here’s an easy one, buddy. Push the damn button.”

“I never go across major streets.”

“You are now,” she insisted.

“This is bad luck.”

“No such thing.”

“Fine,” he said, reaching over, “but if something happens…”

“What will happen, Jared?”

He pushed the button and she watched him closely. It was infuriating how lovely she remained while making him feel like a cowardly freak at the same time.

“My dear—”

“Don’t call me that,” he replied sharply. “Call me dead meat. That’s what I am. That’s what you’ve been thinking about since Kaitlin’s, isn’t it? That’s why you’re so quiet.”

“Nice guess, but not even close.”

“What are you hiding?”

“No, no, don’t twist this up. We’re talking about you, sir.” Banch motioned to the street. “Light’s changed.”

Jared carefully stepped into the street, checking that no cars were flying down the road at an unreasonable speed.

“You’re going to be okay.”

He gave a low growl. “Banch, why can’t a person just be uncomfortable with something? Why do they have to be defective? I thought you understood but I guess not.”

“Oh please, Jared, are you kidding? Stop feeling sorry for yourself for two seconds.”

He went silent and his heart did several of those odd beats. He tried to put it out of his mind like they never happened. They went several blocks before Banch said, “Tell me one thing you’re completely comfortable with. Just one.”

The answer came easy. “Sketching.”

She smiled at him. “I love your art.”

“Thank you.” He blushed and swung the detergent back and forth anxiously. “It’s silly stuff but I enjoy it.”

“I always wondered why you never became an artist.”

“Not that good and there’s no real money in the things I draw.”

“
Money makes the fish swim
,” she said.

“Pardon?”

“It’s a saying from the Deeper Unseen. Sorry. It’s too obscure to explain.”

“I appreciate that.”

Banch laughed but abruptly threw her arm across his chest, holding him back.

Jared’s head spun and mouth went dry. “What is it? Is it them?”

The banshee squeezed her forehead, closed her eyes. “We cannot step any farther on this path. They mean to limit the routes there—yes, of course. I wondered when they’d try this.”

“The Assembly? I thought they were far away.”

Banch turned to him. “Oh, they’re never far, Jared. But don’t freak. Just let me think up something.”

He looked ahead. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. “What’s the big deal? Why can’t we keep walking. I don’t get it.”

“Take one step in that direction, down that street.”

Jared went forward. In the next moment two unseen hands took his lungs and clenched them almost completely shut. He croaked, nearly dropped the detergent, but Banch pulled him back and his lungs released. For a few minutes he violently coughed, his body shaking and eyes watering.

“So now you see, we will be forced to walk the streets they choose for us—all other paths will do this to you. All open streets we can take will lead us right to them.” Her sparkling eyes searched to a destination unknown. “I assume they’ve implemented a Lung Spike—they sometimes use them around their fortress in the Deeper Unseen to corral escaped prisoners.”

“That’s a horrible feeling.” Jared lightly touched his throat. “What’s going to happen to people on these streets? They’re going to suffocate?”

“No; they’ll pass out but won’t be deprived of air completely. They’ll fall into a coma until the Lung Spike is removed.”