The Kill Society (Sandman Slim)(101)

“Nice job, Saint Francis. Were you trying to romance that thing?”

Back at the truck I help him up and Elephant Man pulls him inside.

The troops are all looking at me. I don’t know if it’s because they’re impressed or because they’ve never seen their boss covered in enough shit to fertilize all the weed fields in Humboldt County. I put the na’at back in my coat and say, “Get those branches and your asses in gear so we can get out of here.”

Fifteen minutes later we’re moving again. A couple of minutes after that we crest a hill and it starts to rain. Shit streams off the windshield. I roll my window and stick my head outside, letting the water wash my face clean.

Geryon pulls his hands from his filthy face and quietly says, “Oh no.”

“What?”

“It’s the last ring. Regret.”

Yes, I was stupid enough to think being Lucifer would be just a little fun.

The troops have the rear door open. Some lean out and others jump, running along behind the truck and letting the rain wash them clean. Other soldiers pull them back in, then jump out to take their place.

It doesn’t look like regret to me.

There’s a choked sound.

I look over at Elephant Man. I’ve never seen a Hellion cry before. It’s disturbing. The mood in the back is changing. A second ago everyone was whooping like it was their team won the Super Bowl on the same day they hit the lottery. Now nothing.

A wave of memories.

Crawling out of Hell to save Alice, only Alice was dead and there was nothing and no one there to save. Then there’s Candy. I told her I’d be gone for three days. It’s been a week now and I don’t know when I’ll figure a way out of here, if ever. I see the arena. The early days Downtown: Most Hellions had never seen a live mortal. The months of flat-out torture, games, and fun fair experiments on me for a paying audience. Then the arena and learning to kill. What’s worse: Committing murder or learning you’re good at it? Mason killed me and he’s kept on killing me every day for years. I’m going to be here forever. I’m never going to leave.

Geryon is curled up like a baby, shaking, his hands over his eyes. The troops in the back are worse. They’ve been on edge for months, ever since Samael left and Hell went balls up. Whatever this is, it’s broken the weak ones. There’s a line of them in the road behind the truck. They went out to feel the rain and never bothered getting back in. We could go back for them but what’s the point? The ones that haven’t shot themselves already are sawing on their throats or wrists. Black blood flows in the gray rain. The second Unimog moves slowly, trying to avoid the bodies.

The truck stops. Elephant Man puts his head on the steering wheel. I know what this is. The memories flow like poison from a cobra bite but I’m still here. Eyes still open. The fire burns my gut but it doesn’t kill me. It’s familiar. An old friend you never wanted to see again but still someone you know. I pull Elephant Man from the driver’s seat and shove him into mine. Slide behind the wheel and hit the accelerator. This is the ring that’s supposed to put the final nail in my plain pine coffin? Regret? Memory? I spent eleven years down here dining and dancing to bad memories and regret. I’ve had my shots for the memory, measles and rubella regrets. I’m fucking immune. Okay, not immune. My hands shake and my throat’s dry but I thought Hellions would laugh off three-hanky flashbacks. Instead they’re crying like a school bus full of little French girls whose ice cream all melted.

Half a mile on, the clouds break. The rain fades to a drizzle and sputters out. A few minutes later the second truck pulls up behind us. Geryon points to a stand of bare trees.

“Henoch Breach is at the top of the next hill. We should rest here for a few hours.”

“Okay by me.”

After we’ve pulled into the trees and everyone is out of both trucks, I do a quick head count. We haven’t even reached Margaritaville and already lost a little over half our troops. The “fuck this shit” human part of me wants to turn around right now and head back to Pandemonium. What do I care that Samael promised these demonic knuckle draggers to scare the monsters out from under their beds? Then the Lucifer part of me pipes up. No matter what, I can’t look weak. Like a pathetic mortal. If I’m going to ride this out and stay alive, then I’m king high ballbuster. I took on God and almost did the old man in. A few grumpy horns and hoofs types and a petting zoo full of rabid Pokemons? I’m Satan. I can deal with that and play “Smoke on the Water” while getting a lap dance on a runaway train all at the same time.

Some of the soldiers unload supplies from the Unimogs. Food. Guns. Ammo.

The nearby trees are bare. The whole glade looks dead. The trunks of the trees are twisted up to branches that look like snakes made of finger bones. Soldiers gather fallen limbs into a pile to start a fire.

“Why don’t you send up a fucking flare and let the monsters know we’re coming?”

They stop and look at me.

“No fires. No camp sing-alongs. No square dancing. Have something to eat and drink, quietly. When we ring the doorbell on that castle up there, it would be swell if it was just a little bit of a surprise.”

Without a word they do what I say. Toss the branches aside and settle around the trucks, passing out cans of food rations and bottles of Aqua Regia.

“I want to thank you.”