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Let me die,
Benny whispered into the darkness of her soul. Let me go, Sue.
With a bitter sob she threw it against the wall and it
shattered.
Under the bed, an imp whispered hate and gouged green
teeth at the floor. It took the form of a rat and crept out sniffing at the
sweet scent of pain. From the kitchen came the sound Ama's cries of pain
punctured with slaps and JJ's drunken demands for more money.
A ghostly whiff of sweetness like roses whispered into
the room. It grew to become a thin cloud that shaped and reshaped until it grew
in size and depth to become a tall woman carrying a blue sapphire sword more
than six feet in length. The harness on her back was leather and gold,
glittering with gems.
The guardian spirit, Shorty, towered over the room,
her feet and lower legs hidden below the rotting planks of the floor. When she
moved to Sue, she flowed, the wood nothing to her, no more substantial that a
politician's rhetoric.
Her robes shimmered, glowing with shades of color. The
feet were bare, the toes painted with blue glitter. She smiled, sad for her
charge, but love was a fierce heat within that smile.
The sword, Talk-a-Blue-Streak, glowed. Seeing
the rat imp, it giggled, and lighting hissed down the length from the silver and
ebony haft to the needle tip. Slowly, Shorty sank into the floor, coming up
behind the snarling imp.
The tip reached out to poke the imp in the rump. A
spark flashed. The result was both gratifying and frightening.
The imp shrilled a scream. It slapped at the fire
scorching its rump and flashed across the room, crashing into the wall so hard
it flattened itself.
Shorty loomed over it. Her mouth opened to show
foot-long fangs and a bottomless pit of rage.
“Beat it, creep,” she roared, and the walls
shuddered. The rat took one look at the red eyes and claws growing from her
hands and shrieked. It darted down the nearest rat hole to Hell. Shorty did a
small twist in reality, and the rat dropped into the kitty section of the dog
pound. The rest was history. The pound didn't waste a lot of money feeding
animals heading for black market butcher shops.
In his corner, Benny snapped upright. He was shoved
back and shuddered as fire ate along his nerves.
One eye cracked open a hair and Benny saw a nurse. She
stuck a needle in his IV.
Seeing him looking, she smiled.
“Yo, kid. It's OK. Mama Kat is here now, and all
is right with your world.”
The eye slid shut, and the kid in the bed relaxed.
She sighed, smiling at him, then glanced at the man
standing across the bed from her.
The doctor grimaced, poking at the kid's legs.
“He was in a pretty bad accident. Thank God his
upper body is still in working order.” He glanced passed Kat at a second man
standing in the door. “Not today, Jason.”
Dressed in severe black, Jason scowled. On the upper
left side of his uniform was HARVESTER. Under that was a unit number and rank.
“We got too many on the dole, Doc. You know the
law.”
“I said his upper body is viable.” Dr. Stern
stiffened. “There will be no harvesting organs from this man.”
A sly grin on his face, Jason glanced up at the
ceiling. “Think mebbe them rich creeps in the penthouse give a damn? If the
boss tells me to take him, he's history, law or not.”
Chilled, Kat rubbed her arms and snarled. “Friggin
ghoul.”
Jason shrugged, but backed slowly from her. “Money
talks, bullshit walks. Them poms are above the law, and I know it.” He snapped
his fingers. Two more uniformed harvesters came to stand next to him. Black
plastic clubs hung from their belts, along with net guns and gamma-stunners.
“A lot of good meat on the kid, Doc. Bet he's
worth a million.”
Laughing, he walked away.
Kat sagged. She groaned and shook her head.
“I have to find a better job.”
Stern grunted. Benny's eye started to move again,
jerking under the lid.
“He's dreaming again,” Stern muttered. He
stalked away, snapping, “rules. Kat, no one on this floor dares to have
emotion. Grow up.”
Benny's eye opened to a roof of green leaves and
blue sky. He crawled up and stretched. His motorcycle sat a few feet away, and
he moved to it, stroking the peeling chrome and dented tank. A Marine captain
jumped in front of the motorcycle shoving a paper at him.
“Sign this!”
Benny looked and saw a discharge. He thrust it away.
“Go to hell. I gave my word to serve, just like Carl
did, and I will.”
“This is a direct order.”
Benny slapped the papers away.
“Then you'll go to Leavenworth.” There was a
bitter satisfaction in eyes. You lied to get in. You'll go back in the collar
for this, Grey.” He shouted, “Guards, guards. Grey is an escaped criminal of
the servant class.”
Benny lunged and cracked a fist in the captain's
face. The man howled with pain. Kicking down the starter Benny roared away as
men in black uniforms shot at him.
He headed north. He was going home, one last time, to
join Carl and his father in the grave.
Sue stretched on her bed, asleep at last. The cheap
plastic quilt scratched on the welts as Shorty tucker her in.
The Pocono Mountains were still a wide, blue distance,
but he was getting closer. The turnpike was a mess of cracks and pothole. The
motorcycle shuddered, and Benny rode a little slower.
He took a deep breath. He would say good-bye to Mom,
to Uncle Charlie and Aunt Mara. Todd would maybe cry. The dude was a Healer and
hated death. The twins, though, would probably try to stop him because they
didn't understand. Maybe it would be best if they weren't told. After all,
they were little kids. Deadly, but still just kids.
Mom . . . Mom would cry. But she would understand,
too, about his war. She was a slave, too, once, to the Janissary Project. She
carried scars on her neck, too, from the training collars.
A scent of fried chicken was on the winds. He found
himself standing near a picnic table. Benny pulled out a worn chain-drive
wallet. He stared at it. It had been Carl's. Carl Ignatius Ivanovitch, beloved
husband and father, DOA at Wilkes-Barre State hospital. Not a man, but a
charred, still smoldering lump of flesh. The wallet held just enough money for
fuel to get back to Sandy Valley, but not for food. Anybody wanting meat to eat
had better be well heeled. And that wasn't imitation, but real meat.
His stomach rumbled. Benny rubbed a hand over the torn
tee shirt and scowled. Like Gramps Waya always said, What cannot be changed
must be endured. It wouldn't be the first time he missed a meal, or for
that matter a week of them.
Benny rolled a cigarette and lit it from Carl's old
Fiero lighter. He squatted on a now-empty table and stared off over the flat
land to the south. He was stupid. Take the friggin discharge. He would have been
home by now. His stomach rumbled again. A flurry of heated whispers came from
behind him.
Benny turned to smile an apology at the picnickers.
Faces well-oiled by the chicken and the table heavy
with pies and cake, they scowled back. The man wiped his mouth off with a red
and black checkered silk napkin. He wadded it in a ball and threw it at a
trashcan, then took a second, holding it over his mouth. He winked, and the
children with him giggled, making face and pinching their noses shut.
The woman, though, was smiling, her eyes warm and
welcoming Benny. She opened a black silk blouse to show breasts enhanced by a
plastic surgeon and then offered Benny a piece of chicken.
With a small shrug he stepped away from the table,
heading for the restrooms. The door was locked. A small sign demanded he insert
his money card or a dollar in cash. Benny jammed the knife in the lock and
twisted. An alarm shrilled a cry but the door opened for him.
Ignoring it, he used the restroom, came out to see a
helicopter rising from the flats, and ran to the motorcycle. It purred under
him, and they shot away with the man demanding he return.
“Do your duty, Grey.” He held up a collar and ran
after Benny, his boots pounding the pavement. Benny glanced back. The man was
gaining on them. Mal chiste`, but it was Donnelly. The helicopter roared over
head, turning to hover over the road before him. In the cockpit was VanTur. She
was smiling, whispering that his leaving hurt her.
I love you,
Benny. Please, come back to me.
She held up a wide collar of black leather with
diamond studs and a silver buckle. In her other hand was a control. Laughing,
she aimed it at him and fire screamed through Benny's head and spine and he
shrieked.
Pain smashed him from the Red Sun and he was
falling, dropping from one nightmare into a black void that became a dirty
alley.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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