Grave Matters (16 page)

After what seemed an eternity, he slumped like a beached whale, belly first, on the concrete platform.

When the train halted, Beck forced himself to breath. “My legs… are they still there?” He knew how massive injuries sometimes didn’t register right off. He’d learned that one personally.

Paul checked him over as he knelt next to him. “You’re good. I don’t see anything missing. Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” Beck mumbled. He sighed. It had been the train tugging on one of his boots. It’d been too close. With considerable effort, he slowly raised his head. “The Three?”

“It’s history,” Paul replied in between deep breaths, his eyes were wide. He was shaking and that spooked Beck more than anything. “Oh God, Den, your back’s all ripped up.”

Tell me about it.

Beck placed his cheek on the cool concrete as all his wounds sent frantic
ohmigod it hurts
messages to his overloaded brain. At least he wasn’t train sushi like the demon.

The air slowly filled with the sickening stench of burning fur as around them came excited voices and the crackle of police radios.

Eventually, with Paul’s help, Beck sat upright, which only made his back throb in time to the wound in his scalp. He took a grim inventory: the adrenalin surge was making him sick to his stomach, his hands and knees were skinned and there was too much blood on his jeans and the front of his tee shirt to be good news.

“Fire department and Hazmat are rolling,” one of the MARTA cops exclaimed.

Ah shit. Not again.

As someone gagged in response to the stench of roasting demon, an announcement came over the intercom stating that the north-south MARTA line was out of service for the time being. That was going to piss off some folks, especially those headed to the airport.

And I’m to blame.
All he’d wanted was to make Paul proud of him, but like most things in his life, it’d gone square to hell.
Maybe I should just give it up now.

Paul rose and flipped open his license as a cop approached. “I’m Master Trapper Blackthorne and this is my apprentice. We were called here to deal with a Grade Three demon.”

“That’s not what we heard,” the man replied, frowning. “We got a report of some crazy person was playing tag with a demon and throwing people onto the tracks.”

Beck kept his mouth shut and let his mentor take the lead. He had too much of a temper and if he let it loose, it’d only get worse. If that was possible.

Despite his friend’s even-tempered approach it took Paul five minutes of calm reassurances to get the cops to understand that they weren’t the enemy. That didn’t stop the “protect and serve” crowd from having the bomb squad’s dog check out both their trapping bags and themselves. There had never been any love lost between the trappers and the cops.

When the dog sniffed at Beck, it backed off, sneezing. With a whine it ducked behind its handler’s legs.

“I’ve never seen him do that before,” the guy said.

“Dogs are smart — they fear demons, and right now that’s what my partner smells like,” Paul explained.

The bomb squad dude took his canine elsewhere.

As it all played out, thin oily smoke continued to fill the cavern, the remains of fried Three polluting the air and everyone close to it. Beck watched with no amusement as the fire department and the Hazmat guys tried to figure out how to handle the situation. He was willing to bet there was nothing in their manuals for that one.

What an effin’ mess.

Paul helped him limp to the nearest wooden bench and then sat next to him, a bottle of Holy Water in hand.

“Just do it,” Beck said. He’d only get sicker if the wounds weren’t treated soon, the toxins causing his body to rot from the inside out.

When the sacred liquid hit his clawed-up leg, Beck bit off an oath, mindful they were in public. Next came the arm and finally his back. The latter’s searing agony nearly made him vomit.

“That’ll hold until the doctor can patch you up,” Paul announced, tucking the empty bottle in his trapping bag. “God, you took a lot of damage.”

“It don’t matter anyway,” Beck said, his voice tight. “Master Harper was right — I’m a total loser. He’s gonna make sure they toss my ass out of the Guild for this. Maybe I should just save them the trouble and walk away now.”

Paul was suddenly in his face. “What? I thought you were tougher than that, Den. You always said you were. Was that just bullshit or did that demon slice off your balls, too?”

Beck reared back, stunned. He’d never heard his friend talk like that. “Don’t act like this isn’t a big deal. That kid’s parents are gonna sue the hell out of me and the Guild. This is seriously fuc—“

“It isn’t a picnic, and it’s never easy, but what you’re doing is important. You saved that boy’s life, and now you think it isn’t worth it?”

“But I screwed up.”

“We all do. That’s life.” His friend frowned. “So what’s it going to be? Are you in or out? Tell me now. I have to know.”

If he quit, Beck knew what the other trappers would say.
Yeah, he gave it up. Didn’t have the guts to make it. Never was one of us.
Then they’d say he wasn’t man enough to handle the job.

“Den, are you in or are you out?” his friend asked solemnly.

Paul deserved an answer.

Beck weighed his future and took a gamble. “I’m in,” he murmured, so softly he wondered if he actually said the words.

Paul sighed in relief. “So tell me, what did you do wrong?”

“Everythin’?”

‘No, not quite. The next time you trap a Three you’re need to be a lot smarter, providing you learned something from this… disaster. So talk to me. Tell me what you would have done differently.”

Let some other dumbass capture the thing?

Knowing that comment was only going to buy him grief, Beck worked back through the trapping, step by step. “I shoulda been carryin’ a sphere right up front, since I was gonna be so close to that thing.”

A nod returned. “What else?”

“I shoulda given ya a clear field of fire. I was in the way most of the time so ya couldn’t hit the demon.”

“Correct. And… ?”

He looked over at his mentor. “What else is there?”

“Do not play chicken with a train,” Paul replied, his tone sharper now. “That was just crazy, Den.”

“Yeah, well, it kept the demon away from the civilians.”

“Yes, it did. It was also remarkably brave. I don’t know if I’d have had the guts to do that.”

“The Guild isn’t gonna see it that way.”

“They might once they view the security footage,” Paul replied. “That could save our butts.”

Beck hadn’t considered that. Everything he’d done would have been recorded.

“That’s a damn long shot and ya know it.”

“That’s the story of our lives. One long shot after another.”

That could save our butts.
He looked away, staring into the distance. This wasn’t just about him.
What will they do to Paul? They wouldn’t kick him out of the Guild because of me, would they?

Beck didn’t dare ask the question. He noticed a burly man talk his way through the ring of MARTA cops and head their way. He had a linebacker’s build and wore a dark suit and blue tie. His expression was no-nonsense.

“You the trapper who tossed my kid inside a train?” he demanded, his eyes on Beck. His voice was deep and resonant.

Here it comes.
“Yes, sir, I am.” No reason not to take the heat.

“Get up here, son,” he ordered. The teen who’d put himself in harm’s way shuffled up, one of his high top’s laces untied. He puffed hard like he’d been running. The boy stared at the floor, his cell phone in hand as if was a permanent part of his anatomy. “So what do you tell this guy, Billy?”

“Ah…” The boy looked up at Beck. “Thanks. What you did was… awesome.”

“Yer okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “I ran back from Five Points station to see what happened. I even got some of it on my phone.”

“I’m sure ya did.” Beck winced as he tried to sit straighter. “Just promise me ya’ll keep away from those things, ya hear?”

“Yes, sir. I won’t get near one again.”

Sir?
Beck found that amusing. He wasn’t more than about four years older than this boy and yet it felt like at least fifty.

“Then it’s all good,” he murmured.
At least for the kid.

“My son called me and told me what happened,” the man explained. “You saved his life. I won’t forget that.”

“That’s our job, sir,” Beck said.

The man handed Paul a business card. “Let me know if this young fellow needs anything, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, Mr … Dennis.”

The guy nodded, then headed off toward the exit, the teen in tow.

Paul chuckled as he stuck the card in a shirt pocket. “You know, Den, you must have an angel watching over you.”

‘Why would ya think that?’

“That gentleman works in the governor’s office. He’s the ombudsman.” At Beck’s puzzled expression he added, “He’s the kind of guy you want in your corner if this gets ugly with the Guild.”

“Really?” His friend nodded. “Well, hell…”

It took some effort for Paul to get him to his feet. To his embarrassment, Beck found he was dizzy, his head whirling around like he’d downed a six pack way too fast.

“And I wanted to be a trapper…why?” he muttered.

“As I remember, you said it’d help you score with the chicks,” Paul said, grinning.

“Riiiight. Shows what I know.”

They’d barely made it through the turnstile on the upper level when someone stepped in their path.

Beck groaned. He knew the guy — George something or other — a reporter for one of the local TV stations who’d covered his last major screw-up.

“Hey, Beck. What is it with you and train stations?” the guy said, grinning. “Here I thought it was going to be a slow news day.” He waved a finger in the air and the cameraman behind him clicked on the lights and began filming.

“We’re live in Peachtree MARTA station,” the reporter began, “where a heroic rescue as just taken place.”

“I am not a hero,” Beck grumbled under his breath.

Paul’s elbow clipping his ribs told him now was not the time to be humble.

“Master Blackthorne, can you give us a rundown of what happened today?”

The microphone came his way. “I most certainly can.”

Paul always has my back. Why would I ever walk away from this guy?

~ - ~ - ~

When Beck finally made it to street level, he slumped on a bench while Paul went to collect the car. He gulped in the fresh air, though he could still smell the roasting demon on his clothes. His teeth were starting to chatter as a fever took hold, even though his injuries had been treated with Holy Water. As time went on, the demon wounds wouldn’t bother him as much, but right now he was getting the full Hellish treatment.

As least I’m not a grease spot on the tracks.

As he gloomily pondered the odds of keeping his job, two small feet appeared close to his blood-stained boots. He looked up to find a little girl, maybe four years of age, watching him intently. He tried to smile, but even his lips hurt.

“Hi,” he said, his voice thick.

“Hi,” she replied. She had big brown eyes and brown hair, which sort of reminded him of Paul’s daughter. This little one could be a mini Riley, though her nose was shorter and her eyes were more green than brown.

After a look at her mom, probably for courage, the girl offered him a small ice cream cone. “I saw what you did. Sworry you’re hurt,” she said with a slight lisp.

“Thanks. That’s mighty kind of ya,” he said and took the gift, hoping the kid didn’t notice the blood on his hands.

She skittered back to her parents, suddenly shy. Her dad gave him a thumbs up, which Beck returned, and then they walked away, the little girl holding their hands and talking animatedly.

At least someone likes me.

He’d even scored a vanilla cone out of the deal. He took a long lick and let the cool creaminess melt inside his mouth. It tasted pretty good. Besides, he’d always been a sucker for a cute smile.

Maybe his life didn’t suck as bad as he thought. He was doing what he loved, even if the job kept trying to kill him. If the Guild ruled in his favour — and that would be a miracle – someday he’d be a journeyman, even a master demon trapper just like Paul.