“Not bad, old man,” I tell him.
“Thank you,” he says, pulling another potion from inside his coat. He downs it and tosses the bottle away. A few seconds later his breathing and heartbeat head back to normal.
“So, what did you take back there?” I ask. “Some kind of bat juice that let you float across?”
He shakes his head.
“No. One potion for balance. One for bravery. And a third to not give a damn about the other two.”
Hattie’s boys huddle at the edge of the chasm examining the wires. Diogo hawks up phlegm and spits it over the side. He and his brothers watch it drop like they’re watching the Super Bowl.
“I don’t suppose anyone following us will be able to come this way,” says Traven.
I take out the black blade and slice through the remaining cables so that the bridge collapses into the chasm. There’s silence and then a huge metallic rattle as it hits the far wall.
“Do you people intend to completely destroy my home?” says Hattie.
“You got paid,” I say.
“We’re really sorry,” says Candy.
“No one ever leaves Kill City, so whoever built the bridge is still around,” I say. “If it’s that important, they’ll come back and fix it.”
“And how long will that take?” says Hattie.
I say, “From the way you talked, it sounded like you didn’t come down here too often, so what do you care?”
“It’s the principle.”
“I doubt that. You’re not the chamber of commerce. You don’t give a damn about anybody else but your clan. If you did you would have said something when I stopped those guys from stomping the kid back there. I think you just want to shake us down for more gifts. We might have another bauble or two but not until we actually get somewhere. And if there are any swamps up ahead or giant spiders or fire-breathing fan dancers, you better say so before we get there. No more surprises.”
She laughs and claps her hands once together.
“No surprises? In Kill City? Boy, you couldn’t have chosen worse if you’re looking for a place with no more astonishments.”
Her sons laugh along with her. Hattie goes to the wall and takes an oil lamp down from a nail. Diogo gives her a match, which she strikes against the rough concrete. It sparks and she holds the flame to the lamp wick. It catches and yellow light fills the chamber. You can feel everyone’s mood lift in the warm glow of the lamp. Our LEDs and flashlights made Kill City look like a broken-down space station. Seeing the place lit by fire, I feel like we’re back on planet Earth.
Hattie opens another door and holds the lamp high.
“With all the noise you fools made, half of Kill City probably knows where we are. But I want to make sure those ahead see us coming. Don’t want to spook anyone.”
She leads us down another level, where the feel is different. Like we’ve moved into a ragged zone outsiders weren’t meant to see. Bare cinder-block walls. Exposed ductwork and steam pipes overhead. We slosh through a couple of inches of dirty water from leaking pipes. No one talks. Hattie is out front, leading us like Moses through the desert. Her boys are spread out around her, as nervous as she is fierce.
The passage narrows ahead. We’re getting into areas with heavier wreckage. Slabs of the upstairs floor lie on either side of us. Looking up through the hole, I can see the night sky. It’s a flat, gray-black slate, all the stars washed out by the lights of Santa Monica. In the dim pools of light from the lantern and our flashlights, the rusted rebar and rows of workers’ coat hooks along the walls look like props from a Roger Corman torture chamber.
Ahead is a narrow tunnel under the wreckage.
“It’s hands and knees here,” Hattie says.
She doesn’t miss a step. Gets right down on her belly, sets the lantern in front of her, and crawls, pushing the light ahead. Her sons follow.
I shine my light into the tunnel and lean my weight on the debris. Nothing moves. The pile is solid and the passage ahead looks clear. Still, I can’t see what’s at the far end.
“You want to take point on this one, Paul?” I say.
“Sure.”
“You’re not claustrophobic?”
“Not at all.”
“Great. Scream if you see dragons.”
“Very funny.”
Everyone takes off their bags and packs. All I have is a flashlight, so I go through next. I don’t want to stick around and watch Candy trying to maneuver her Kekko Kamen bag so it doesn’t get scratched up.
The tunnel is maybe twenty tight feet from end to end. Crawling on my elbows takes a minute or so to come out the other side. We’re a long way from the world now. Dug down into the earth like bugs. Even if the bridge was still intact, there’s no going back. The team following us could be around the first corner. Until I know who they are, I don’t want to take a chance on running into them. That means we have no choice but to follow wherever Hattie wants to take us, and she knows it. On our hands and knees it feels like we’ve crossed a new barrier. We’re moving forward but I don’t like it.
Candy comes through the tunnel next, followed by Vidocq, Brigitte, and Traven.
The new room looks a lot like the last one, probably just an extension of it. The same rough walls and unfinished feel.
“Where to next?” I say.
“We’re about there,” says Hattie.
There’s a grunt and a whirring sound from the other end of the room, then the growl of a generator coming to life. Bright halogen work lights come on all around us. I go blind for a few seconds.
When I can see again, there they are. I have to give it to the Shoggots. They know how to make an entrance.
The passage opens onto a wide concrete room with a metal catwalk overhead. At least twenty members of the Shoggot tribe are lined around the walls and on the walk. And they are dead-dog ugly.
Hattie and the boys pull up short. We stop behind them.
All of the Shoggots, the men and the women, are in looted designer suits. High-end stuff. But the silks and expensive wools are covered in grime and dried blood. Probably the Shoggots’ own. They’re definitely human, but they’ve been holed up down here working on their bodies for so long that at first glance they look like some peculiar flavor of Lurker. Their teeth have been filed to points. Some have split their nostrils. Others have cut off their noses or lips. Their cheeks are adorned with ritual scars and metal. Most have similar body mods on their throats, arms, or chests and many of the cuts are held open with metal hooks embedded in their skin. Some of the cuts look fresh. Others are old and infected. I see maggots in more than a few of the deeper cuts. I wish I’d quizzed Hattie on how crazy these crazies were before we came down here.
A tall Shoggot in the middle of the catwalk rests his hands on the top of the rail.
“Hattie. Lovely to see you. And you’ve brought friends.”
“Hello, Ferox. These aren’t friends. They’re travelers looking for the old Roman.”
“And what good is that old madman to anyone?”
Delon pushes his way up beside Hattie.
“If it’s a matter of payment, I have things to trade for information.”
Ferox stands up straight, scowling.
“Who was talking to you, traveler? What you want couldn’t matter less to us.”
Delon reaches into his pack and pulls out a long, thin knife.
“This is a Liston knife, once used by Robert Liston himself. Before the days of anesthetic, he was one of the most famous and fastest amputation surgeons in Europe.”
Ferox takes a step forward to get a better look at the blade. He gestures to a couple of Shoggots on the floor nearby.
“Bring it to me,” he says.
While they’re carrying it up to Ferox I get next to Delon.