Where We Live and Die (14 page)

“You’re still holding it wrong,” Michaels told him. “You’re gonna fuck yourself up.”

Terrell nodded at his stump. “Can’t be no worse than this.”

“We’re wasting time,” Adam said, glancing down the deserted street. “The head storm’s over. No telling when the street will get busy again.”

“Well,” Terrell said, his voice indignant. “Let’s see you open the fucking thing.”

Nodding, Adam stepped closer to the door. Then he whispered in a language the others had never heard. When he was finished, he stepped backward. Slowly, the door creaked open. The stench that wafted out was revolting—a charnel miasma that seemed to cling to them.

Michaels gaped. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Same place I got the weapons. The language is Sumerian.”

“But what did it mean? Those words you said?”

“I don’t know. It’s the Ushers’ password. Probably something nasty.”

“We gonna stand here all night?” Terrell asked. “Thought you said time’s a wasting.”

Adam swept his arm out and bowed. “Lead the way.”

“Shit. Don’t look at me.”

“Then get out of the way.” Adam pushed past Terrell and entered the House of Ushers. Michaels crept along behind him. Terrell hesitated, and then followed.

They passed through a foyer carved from black marble and stepped into a large room, obviously bigger inside than the barracks’ outside dimensions. The high, vaulted ceilings stretched hundreds of feet over their heads, and the walls were barely visible on the horizon. Endless rows of bunk beds ran the length of the room, stacked three high. The frames were constructed from stone and the pillows and mattresses were stuffed with human hair. Blonde locks spilled from a torn pillow. The mattresses and pillowcases were made out of human skin.

“My God,” Michaels gasped. His voice echoed in the vast chamber.

God...God...God...

“Dude!” Adam punched his shoulder in anger. “Don’t fucking say that name here. They’ll be on us quicker than you can blink.”

“Sorry. It’s just...so big. It’s kind of hard to wrap my brain around, you know?”

Adam nodded. “It’s bigger on the inside than it is on the outside—some kind of interspatial dimension thing.”

“Are you sure all the Ushers are gone? Can this place really be deserted?”

“No. Like I said before, there’s still the skeleton crew to deal with. That’s why we need to keep moving. Find the Deadpass before they find us.”

“True that,” Terrell said. His stump had stopped bleeding. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“We’re going home,” Michaels whispered, trying to convince himself that it was true.

“According to my sources,” Adam said, pointing to their left, “the basement stairs should be over that way.”

Michaels balked. “How far?”

“About a quarter of a mile.”

“My Go...”

Adam and Terrell tensed, but Michaels stopped himself from finishing the word in time.

“Sorry.”

They walked on, side by side, weapons at the ready. Their footsteps rang out. Otherwise, the barracks were silent. They passed by what looked like a bath of some kind—a stone circle surrounding a depression in the floor. Words and figures were carved in the masonry, but none of them could read it. The pool was filled with black, stagnant liquid.

“What’s that?” Michaels whispered.

Adam shook his head. “I don’t know. An Usher foot bath, maybe?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I don’t know what it is, but that water looks pretty nasty.”

Terrell reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. Hitler’s face was engraved on one side. Reverend Jim Baker’s face decorated the other.

“What are you doing?” Adam asked.

“Making a wish.”

Balancing the coin on the ball of his thumb, Terrell flicked it into the pool. It made no sound as it broke the surface, but small concentric rings spread out across the water, lapping at the stones. Then the rings began to run backwards, drawing into the center of the pool. As they watched, the liquid began to congeal. A small pseudo-pod formed in the middle of the water and then rose into the air, growing in size.

“I got a bad feeling about this,” Terrell moaned.

“Move!” Adam shoved them both forward.

They ran past the bath. Behind them, the black tentacle waved about in the air like a snake. Then it collapsed back into the pool.

Adam glared at Terrell. “Quit fucking around.”

“Yo, how was I supposed to know that shit was alive?”

Michaels glanced back the way they’d come. “What was that thing, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Adam said. “Something bad, obviously. There’s nothing good in here. All the more reason for us to get out. Now, let’s keep moving, and for fuck’s sake, Terrell, don’t touch anything else.”

They moved on, searching for the basement stairs, trying to ignore the horrors around them. Obscene tapestries and paintings adorned the walls. One of them depicted the Virgin Mary in a bukkake scene with the twelve disciples. Another showed the prophet Mohammed receiving anal from a particularly well-endowed demon. A third was of the Whore of Babylon riding astride a multi-headed beast. Each of the creature’s faces was that of a world leader. American Presidents, British Prime Ministers, and military despots leered down at them. The tip of the beast’s penis—which was small in comparison to the rest of its size—also had a face.

Gawking, Michaels pointed. “Isn’t that Bush?”

“Sure is.” Adam grinned. “Always knew he was a dickhead.”

All three of them laughed. The sound echoed throughout the barracks, and they fell silent again. Then they continued on their way.

“Do you guys really want to know the worst thing I’ve ever done?” Michaels asked.

They nodded.

“I was married. My wife, Linda, was my world. I loved her like you wouldn’t believe. You ever love somebody so much that your stomach hurts?”

“Yeah,” Adam whispered. “I have.”

“Well, that was how I felt about Linda. But I ignored her. Not on purpose. I bought her nice things. Gave her security—a nice home, nice car. But I didn’t pay attention to her needs. I worked for an online brokerage. Long hours. Climbing the corporate ladder. Same old story. I focused on my career. Dedicated myself to achieving my goals—becoming what I’d always wanted to be. I was following my dreams, and I expected Linda to follow them with me. She was my wife, after all. She should support me.”

“Damn straight,” Terrell said. “Bitches ain’t shit but hoes and tricks.”

“Shut up,” Michaels grumbled. “It’s not like that at all. Linda had dreams, too. She wanted to have kids. That’s all. Just two kids—a boy and a girl. But I kept putting it off. Told her I needed to focus on my career. And then, five years later, Linda got ovarian cancer.”

Adam paused. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Michaels said, leading them forward. “She survived, but the doctors said she’d never be able to have kids. If we’d started trying earlier—if I hadn’t made her wait. But I ignored her desires. That’s why I’m here.”

“That ain’t so bad,” Terrell said. “You must have done worse shit than that.”

Michaels shook his head. “No. That’s my greatest sin. She’s getting married again. Next week, in fact. The demons have been taunting me with it, torturing me by showing me scenes of her new life. She looks happy.”

“Sorry,” Adam said. “That must be tough to watch.”

Michaels shrugged. “I pretend it is. I scream and wail and do everything the demons expect me to do. But the truth is, I’m happy for her. Seeing Linda like that and knowing that she’s happy makes Hell a little more bearable. She’s got a second chance, you know? Maybe Linda and her new husband can adopt. Maybe he’ll pay more attention to her.”

Adam stared at him in comprehension. “You’re going to the wedding, aren’t you? That’s why you want out of here.”

“Yeah,” Michaels admitted. “That’s my plan. I want to see her happy. Want to say I’m sorry. I never got the chance before.”

“Maybe you will,” Adam said.

“God, I hope so.”

God...God...God...

“Damn it, Michaels!” Adam glanced around, alarmed.

A dry rasping sound echoed across the chamber.

“The fuck is that?” Terrell aimed the pistol at nothing.

“Oh shit,” Adam moaned. “It’s the skeleton crew.”

The rasping sounds drew closer. Michaels spotted movement from several different areas, all closing in on their location. As the figures drew closer, he heard clicking, like wooden wind chimes. Then the creatures emerged into the light.

They were skeletons, bare of flesh or clothing—just white bones, polished till they gleamed. Their eyes were black holes, devoid of light. They carried an assortment of weapons—swords, maces, guns, axes, and knives. Spying the three intruders, the skeletons charged. They did not speak or shout. The only sound was the clatter of their bodies. They moved in creaking spasms.

“Fuck this.” Still holding the handgun to one side, Terrell opened fire. He squeezed the trigger three times. The corrosive bullets tore into the skeletons, shattering their bones. At the same time, the ghoul talon jackets sprang from the side of the pistol—directly into Terrell’s disease-ravaged face. Flinching, he dropped the pistol and screamed. Welts appeared on his flesh. They turned from red to black. His skin split open and began to bubble. Tendrils of smoke curled from his face. The welts grew wider, revealing bone and gristle. Then the acid began eating its way through that, as well.

“It burns,” he screamed. “Oh motherfucker, it’s eating my fucking skin off!”

His cries turned into gurgles as the acid dissolved his tongue. Terrell fell to the floor, thrashing in agony. His melted flesh spread out in a steaming pool.

The skeletons drew closer. Adam’s shotgun rang out, firing spells at point blank range. Michaels swung the sword, cleaving through bones like they were butter. When an opening appeared, Adam grabbed Michaels’s arm and pulled him along.

“Come on!”

They ran, almost slipping in Terrell’s liquefied remains. There was nothing they could do for him. It would be at least a full day before he reformed. Dodging the skeletons, they fled down an aisle of bunks.

“The staircase!” Adam pointed. “I see it over there.”

Michaels didn’t respond. His lungs felt like bursting. His head throbbed.

They dashed down the black marble stairs, ignoring the carved-bone handrail, and emerged into the basement. The Deadpass glowed in the center, crackling with eldritch energies. Although it made no noise, they heard it humming inside their heads.

“That’s it,” Adam shouted. “We’re home free, Michaels.”

He ran toward the portal. Michaels followed him, but slid to a halt as a huge, dark form lumbered out from behind a vat of eyeballs and blocked their path. It was an Usher—the biggest Michaels had ever seen. Its eyes were as large as dinner plates. When it breathed, Michaels cringed. It was like standing next to a blast furnace filled with feces. The creature wore a necklace of human skulls and a loincloth made from human skin.

Adam didn’t even have time to scream.

The Usher’s massive hands shot out and seized him by the neck. It picked him up and turned him around. Adam’s feet dangled above the floor. The shotgun fell from his hands. Grunting, the Usher turned him around. Then, still holding him aloft with one hand, it ran a talon along his backside, slicing his pants open.

Quivering, Adam pleaded with Michaels to help him. Instead, Michaels stepped backward. He heard the skeletons at the top of the stairs.

The Usher’s penis sprang forward, swaying and bobbing like a snake. The thick, slimy organ pulsated in the dim light, covered with warts and sores. The Usher laughed. The sound was like sandpaper.

Moving carefully. Michaels crept around them. Adam reached for him, but Michaels looked away.

The Usher positioned its throbbing cock and pulled Adam closer.

“Michaels! Help me you bastard!”

“I’m sorry, Adam. I’ve got a wedding to attend. Got to get to the church on time.”

The last thing Michaels heard before he leapt through the Deadpass was the condemned man’s screams. Michaels considered praying for Adam, but he knew from experience that prayers for the damned were an exercise in futility.

He abandoned his friend and didn’t look back.

It was the second worst thing he’d ever done.