|
She closed Her eyes, her head went back. She spoke to him in a soft voice he couldn't hear over the moaning of the rock, the screams of the
Mohawk-Bu:u's victims, but felt in his mind.
"You'll have to take me in with you, before I'll let you do this to yourself. I love you."
The blackened rock on which she stood shifted and began a slow slide into the Pit. She leaped forward.
The Eagle-Woman, Mother of Mankind, straightened Herself with an effort. She gave the struggling, whimpering Buu a look that bordered on scorn.
"Be still. I did not create you for this. You chose to rebel and murder my Children of this world. How I loved you," She said, her words bitter with the Buu's betrayal.
"Mercy . . . Mercy, Mother of All."
"Mercy?" Two Swords bared his teeth and raised the Buu to fling him into the Pit. "You get as you give, darkened sun."
"No-no," the Buu shrieked, slobbering on the Guardian. "Keep the brat. I give him back to you. Mercy, great lord Two Swords."
The edge crumbled under the Mother's tiny feet. With a bellow of horror, Two Swords dropped the Buu and snatched at Her robes. Gravel slid under his belly. He clawed at the rocks with his free hand, snatching at anything to stop their decent into an eternal torment only to roll, with Her on top his back.
A hand tangled in his mohawk, jerked them to a halt, and began a slow, steady pull while a flesh melting heat licked at his legs.
"Easy, Moose." The Sun-Wolf grinned down at Two Swords and inched back away from the edge of the Pit. Tormenters wailed, hissing as they crept up the sides of the Pit, reaching clawed paws for him. Lava evaporated in the heat, exploding, bringing upwards the insane laughter of other, worse tormenters.
The Sun-Wolf grabbed Two Swords shoulders, let the Mother clamber over them both and heaved the massive Guardian out and away from the Pit. Both gasped for breath, too shaken yet to think.
With a grin that would out-rival anything Benny ever learned at the cathouse, the Sun-Wolf raised a trembling finger and wagged it under Two Swords nose.
"Bro," he said, "I love you dearly. But next time, in you go. Both of you." While the Eagle-Woman rolled her eyes at his dry humor, he whistled like an incoming bomb and smashed his fist into the palm of his hand.
Old Sam wiped sweat from his brow and muttered dark things about Granite-Ass Myers. The furnace room was a mirror image of hell, of that he was certain. Didn't his Roman ancestors call both il infurnum?
"Hell, yes."
The things that woman made a man go through just to get a little nip, now and then. He sighed. Self-medication, ja, but it was better than those nightmares of night fighting on the Amazon.
"Where the frig is that thrice dammed bottle?" he muttered, feeling around the room. He clicked the light switch a few times. Administration still hadn't approved buying light bulbs.
Blast that woman. One slid his hand along the wall. Did she nose out this hiding place, too?
"Oh, yeah." He grinned at the hole, and took out the bottle. With a long sigh, he smiled and turned and rammed himself on the handle of a wheelchair.
"Huh? Who the hell -" He stooped and peered at the man in the chair. "Grey? Hi, kid. You hide from the Granite-Harpy, also? Sam chuckled and offered Benny a drink, with the order, "And keep your mouth shut. She got a nose like a hund. So, what is wrong? Not thirsty?" He shrugged. "Cool by me." Sam turned away, not wanting the kid to know the rejection hurt.
His bare foot stepped in something wet and jerked out from under him. He roared, "Was die shiesse ist?" Sam went down, arms flailing. The bottle made a short arc and shattered against the raw cement of the wall.
"Jesu," he said, shaken by the fall. He picked himself from the floor and scowled at his hands through the gloom. They were wet, but didn't sting like they had been scraped.
"Hey," he asked, glaring at Benny, "Did you piss in here? Smells like it." He chuckled, his nose wrinkled.
No . . . not like piss. It smelled like something he wanted to never remember. Something that brought back those horrors. Sam whimpered and huddled away from Benny.
Then he saw the scalpel.
"Mmmmmmediiiiiiiccccc," he bellowed, and was off the floor like a shot. Sam wrenched the door open and screamed for a medic. People shrank away from him. "Get a dammed doctor down here. We got wounded. Druggies. Help. We got wounded," he screamed at the staring eyes. "Get a medic." Clutching his chest, Sam's mouth gaped open and he sank to Myers' spit-polished floor.
Benny shivered. He ached. His mouth was like cotton. Cold.
Was hell cold . . . .
"Drink?"
He opened his mouth to say yes and warm, salty water dribbled into his mouth. He swallowed. It stopped. He waited for more, but it didn't come and he slept.
Myers tip-toed into the men's ward. She gave a savage glare at any smiling face. The men glared back, but held their peace. Like Gramma would say, Myers was too tough an old hen to scratch with.
With a flip of her skirts, she took a seat on the edge of Benny's cot, chattering quietly with Sam.
The old man's face stretched into a fond grin, delighted with her every word. On occasion he had to totter out to use the men's room, and would rush back as soon as he could.
"Sie sind kind o' cute, toots," he told Myers. "You . . . maybe you want a fool around?" Sam took her hand and gave Myers a broad wink. She preened and giggled.
Myers rolled her eyes and leaned over to kiss him.
"Thanks for finding the kid."
He chuckled, his hand sliding up under her blousa.
Myers giggled, her face sweating. Feeling eyes on her, she glanced around at a room full of men and leaped away.
"Sam," she admonished him, "by gosh." Myers looked into Sam's blue eyes and her feet slid back to the bed, oblivious to the snickers and chuckles.
Benny groaned. His eye dragged open and the first thing he saw was chin whiskers. As his eye grew used to the light, he saw it.
"Oh my God," he groaned, "I'm in hell." His eye clamped shut.
Myers cackled and gave a gentle shake to his foot.
"Snap out of it, kid. You didn't lose that much blood."
Growing impatient, she barked, "Wake up."
He was alive. Chrisake. Benny opened his eye and the left side of his face hitched up in a weak grin.
"Hey, sweet-heart. Anybody ever tell you you're beautiful?"
She laughed and sucked her dentures back in her mouth in a nick of time. "O' course. Every day, kid." She winked at Sam and danced a little jig.
Teeth bared in a snarl of frustration, Benny dashed the blocks away.
"I'm out o' here."
Intent on giving Benny a good dressing down, the psychiatrist lay a heavy hand on Benny's shoulder.
"Young man," he said in ostentatious, paternalistic tones, "I happen to be your superior officer."
Benny's jaws clicked shut just close enough for the man to feel the moisture of his teeth. He snatched his hand away and refused to give in to the desperate need to count his fingers.
The look in Benny's eye was more than enough to make him back away and temper his rebuttal. He was unconscious of his hand rubbing against his pant leg. One, two, three, four, five.
One two, three, four, five. One, two-
"Why do you persist in these childish displays of anger, Grey?" he shouted, clenching his hand into a fist to stop from counting his fingers. The wheelchair slid an inch in his direction and he ran from the office.
Benny slammed through the door and caught an elevator. He didn't know where it was going, but Nurse Donnelly was in it.
"Hey, Sweet-bottom." Benny leered up at her. Not much worked below the waist, but what did worked over-time.
Donnelly shot out of the elevator just ahead of his hand.
"Up yours, kid," she told him, her fist clenched. "Why don't you grow up?"
"I am, baby. Getting bigger all the time. Wanna see?"
"If you were a man, I'd slap you."
"I am a man," he shouted, his body rocking back and forth in short jerks. "More of a man than you ever had, you bitch."
"You act like a faggot, always bragging how great you are." Her North Carolina accent broadened and drawled in contempt. "It takes more than a dick and a hard-on to make a man." With that she spun and stalked away, leaving a fuming Benny to curse at her while the doors slid shut in his face.
Gliding into the ward, he forced a grin on his face.
"Yo, Sam, but you should o' seen that shrink,," he said. A faint smile on his face The old man listened to Benny. "Guess I showed that jerk something, hain'a, Sam?"
Never losing the smile, Sam nodded. "Ja," he said, his word thick with laughter and a heavy Bavarian accent, "Sure. I think you show him something anyway."
Benny's head jerked up. He glared at the man, but saw no mockery on the gentle, time weathered face. Only a look of concern, like Grampa Wya might have had.
In the back of his head a voice grumbled, About time you figured it out, Grandson.
Shut it, old-man, he snapped, still keeping an empty smile on his face. Christ, much more of this and they were going to cart him up to the bughouse.
Sobered, Benny stared back. A hiccup wormed its way out, and he had to look away, the scar on the back of his head itching.
"Hey, yo, Sam," he jeered, "it's Sweet-Bottom." Benny sent the wheelchair in her direction.
"Stay away from me, you li'l sunabitch," Sweet-Bottom shouted and passed Boyde at the speed of sound.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
|
