Dante's Heart
Bitch
Most of the stuff Marker sold to contacts from the city, feeding an
underground hungry for the world that used to be. Who’d have guessed the
desire, with all the dour, drab, and dull Jerico affected, for the strange and
sinful past? We’d trade for food, for information. Rock and roll was a
surefire trade, and porn. Sometimes even mail would come through to us,
Megan heard from her sister, but nothing from my family.
Occasionally we’d even scavenge at night, as the moon drew close to full,
and the ruins were lit near as bright as day. Full moon plus one was reserved
for celebration, but every other day was work, though we found pleasure in
it.
It was the third full moon after we hooked up with Marker’s crew that it
happened. Megan and me were out with a few others, digging around. We
were armed, of course, and were supposed to be on our guard, watching
for freaks, mutants, unsociable types, cast-outs from Jerico and New
Gomorrah alike. But things got lax, stupid. We’d found a treasure-trove, an
old record store near-buried and forgotten beneath the wreckage of a
toppled skyscraper. While the others drank wine and toasted our good
fortune, the two of us wandered off, hoping to do a little private celebrating.
We got jumped. There were three of them. I’d pressed Megan against a
wall, pressed my mouth, my body, against hers. We were so wrapped up in
one another that we didn’t even hear them approach.
One of them grabbed me, threw me off of Megan, his claws ripping through
my shoulder, tearing through her name. Two of them stood over me, tall,
naked dog-men, erect on crooked hind legs like fairy-tale nightmares. They
howled, and I wasn’t sure what possibility I was more afraid of, whether I was
about to be raped… or eaten.
It was Megan’s screams that saved me, drew our companions to the scene. I
remember the crack of rifle fire, the spray of blood hitting my face as first
one, then another wolfen form fell, their hirsute forms contorting as they
fell, the paunchy, pale, hairless male bodies that lay on the ground, seeping
blood from bullet wounds. Who were they? Men from Jerico, says Marker.
Nobody I'd know. Elites, he says; the party boys of the upper echelon,
mutants passing as human, infected with something nobody talks about, out
getting their kicks among the rough trade.
But I never saw what happened to Megan, my Megan, the other half of my
soul. They told me I was lucky, that no one should have to see the one they
love torn open to satiate a monster’s animal lust. One glance at my scarred
shoulder tells me otherwise....
Page 2 Page 3 Page 4
Most of the stuff Marker sold to contacts from the city, feeding an
underground hungry for the world that used to be. Who’d have guessed the
desire, with all the dour, drab, and dull Jerico affected, for the strange and
sinful past? We’d trade for food, for information. Rock and roll was a
surefire trade, and porn. Sometimes even mail would come through to us,
Megan heard from her sister, but nothing from my family.
Occasionally we’d even scavenge at night, as the moon drew close to full,
and the ruins were lit near as bright as day. Full moon plus one was reserved
for celebration, but every other day was work, though we found pleasure in
it.
It was the third full moon after we hooked up with Marker’s crew that it
happened. Megan and me were out with a few others, digging around. We
were armed, of course, and were supposed to be on our guard, watching
for freaks, mutants, unsociable types, cast-outs from Jerico and New
Gomorrah alike. But things got lax, stupid. We’d found a treasure-trove, an
old record store near-buried and forgotten beneath the wreckage of a
toppled skyscraper. While the others drank wine and toasted our good
fortune, the two of us wandered off, hoping to do a little private celebrating.
We got jumped. There were three of them. I’d pressed Megan against a
wall, pressed my mouth, my body, against hers. We were so wrapped up in
one another that we didn’t even hear them approach.
One of them grabbed me, threw me off of Megan, his claws ripping through
my shoulder, tearing through her name. Two of them stood over me, tall,
naked dog-men, erect on crooked hind legs like fairy-tale nightmares. They
howled, and I wasn’t sure what possibility I was more afraid of, whether I was
about to be raped… or eaten.
It was Megan’s screams that saved me, drew our companions to the scene. I
remember the crack of rifle fire, the spray of blood hitting my face as first
one, then another wolfen form fell, their hirsute forms contorting as they
fell, the paunchy, pale, hairless male bodies that lay on the ground, seeping
blood from bullet wounds. Who were they? Men from Jerico, says Marker.
Nobody I'd know. Elites, he says; the party boys of the upper echelon,
mutants passing as human, infected with something nobody talks about, out
getting their kicks among the rough trade.
But I never saw what happened to Megan, my Megan, the other half of my
soul. They told me I was lucky, that no one should have to see the one they
love torn open to satiate a monster’s animal lust. One glance at my scarred
shoulder tells me otherwise....
Page 2 Page 3 Page 4
 |
 |
 |
 |
