Chapter Twenty Two
“They’re outside, Father!”
“Silence! Do you not see that God speaks to us, even now!? You ask what we are without our souls? What we are without God’s love!? Well, Brothers and Sisters, I invite you all to look out that window and gaze upon the answer for yourselves!”
–Father Elijah Campbell. Larkspur, Colorado. 20 Days After.
* * *
Death.
It was the great equalizer between those alive and those undead. Though each had unique ways to prolong their existence, nothing could be done once either passed the invisible threshold in between. The undead might persist. They might consume the bodies of a million lesser creatures to keep their own functional. They might even stand strong until the sun burnt out and mountains eroded to dust. But there was no way to alter the irrevocable once it had been inflicted, nor any means to extend sentience once it had been whisked out.
Thus, there was no greater fear among all creatures of the world than death. They avoided heights, predators, toxins. Their bodies were programmed to eat lest they wither, and their minds developed infinite aversions to all that could snuff out life. Who could be surprised by such a natural development? Death was the end of experience. The end of knowledge. The end of expression.
As Leah stared at the pile of Buttercup’s surviving gear – a worthwhile substitute for his body – she could think of nothing else than the finality of death. Why must all be so pitifully subservient to it?
“…And so once again must we bid farewell to another irreplaceable soul,” Mastermind said, continuing the eulogy. “Buttercup wasn’t the most intelligent of Hunters. Hell, he was hardly a veteran of the craft, and was quite new to the game, all things considered. But that did not make him inept. No, no. None could deny his prowess. Even at the very end…”
Funerals were always strange. Unlike the old world, there were no families to call, nor next of kin to notify. Only the deceased’s friends would come and pay homage. Religion had died with the living, so no scripture could be beckoned. Some funerals were even called when only rehollowing had occurred, as the death of a mind was considered comparable to a full purge, and on at least one occasion, the “dead” Hunter rebuilt enough of his Rez to call the rest of them out for assuming the worst. In the end, every funeral became a unique motley of rites and traditions, seldom holding any consistency at all.
Thankfully, Mastermind had taken the reins since joining her crew, and he treated each event with respect, donning a tiny bowtie for this very one in an homage to their fallen brethren. The group stood in silence as he continued the eulogy. Kurt had removed his eye-patch, and stared at Buttercup’s effigy with a perpetual scowl. Leah kept her own arms crossed, leaned against a tree not far away. She’d sat through too many of these. Even Liam Fenix had forced himself to stand for the occasion, though his scalp was drenched in sweat, and he wheezed every so often. The wound had been stitched, but it was still fresh, and the smell of living blood was an aggravating distraction, and one that they each had to pretend wasn’t triggering the Hunger for them.
At least the spot is nice. It was late in the afternoon now, almost a full day since Buttercup’s death had been final, and the sun cast long streaks through the trees. A clean, blue pond lay in front, reflecting the pine-covered mountains that rose in the backdrop. A field of wheat flowed through the distance in between, capping the horizon in a ring of gold.
Leah had refused to stop moving until they’d reached Colorado, though that was before learning that a stray round had nicked their backup fuel, and that they weren’t going much further by vehicle. She was gladdened to have made it here.
Buttercup deserved this much.
“I’d like to share a story, if you all don’t mind,” Mastermind said, pivoting to the final part of the ceremony. “It is one that truly encapsulates our dearly departed friend. He approached me first after a rather discouraging Hunt, and made a jest about my likeness matching a pre-Hollowing bobblehead he’d come across in Tartarus. I told him to sodomize himself over such an insinuation, or something to that effect.” He smiled. “That insult did not deter our boisterous Buttercup, however. His resolve was buoyed instead, and he tore through half the city just to prove his point.
“The result could not be denied. There he came, almost a week later, the prized possession in his arms. One would think the artists based it off me, save for a few details. My tiny doppelganger’s hair was blonde where mine is black, and he has not been afflicted with the same Mark as me.” He stroked the gash on his neck. “Though I cannot help but think that an asymmetric wobble that exposes its underside was put in place by Buttercup, just to strengthen his argument.”
He smiled. “I believe that to be Buttercup’s greatest skill. Not his shooting, nor his tracking, but his ability to make each of us smile. No matter how dire the circumstance, he always found a way to bring comfort in this otherwise dismal world. I keep his gift on my desk in the Lodge, where I hope that it will outlast us all.”
On that thought, he tossed a fistful of dirt on the pile of gear and stepped aside. This was the part of the ceremony that was consistent in just about every rezzer funeral. Each friend would share a story in the hopes that by dispersing them to as many reservoirs as possible, their essence would survive indefinitely. That motivated all to stave off the Hollowing harder, lest they lose not just themselves, but everyone else who had died along the way.
Kurt walked up next. “I remember one time, Buttercup tried to get me a suit. Said he wanted to make me look good. Make me look ‘flashy’. Spent a dozen books to get one tailored for me.” He grimaced. “I hated everything about it.” His eye started to water. “I’m gonna miss that bastard.”
He tossed his dirt and made room.
Liam limped forth. “Can’t say I’ve known Buttercup as long as any of you. Can’t say I’ve known any of this, really. I was never much of a people person, even before. But one thing I do know is a kind heart when I see one. Sure, he was a sardonic arse when he wanted to be, but that didn’t stop the goodness he kept buried beneath. You want to know what he said to me in that final moment? That I wasn’t allowed to die until I visited his brothel. Even then, even when we were truly fucked, all he could think about was getting me laid.” He chuckled, made awkward with a cough. “He could’ve stayed back and let me die. I don’t think he cared about a cure half as much as the rest of us. But instead of walking away and letting fate play out, he was willing to sacrifice himself, not just for me, but for the hope that this nightmare might end, even if he couldn’t be part of what came after.”
He turned to Mastermind. “I think you’re half-right, mate. Sure, Buttercup was the type to make each of us smile, but if there’s any lesson he’s taught me more, it’s that there is a lot more humanity buried in your kind than even you realize. Being human is much more than having a beating heart. It is about the acts of kindness that we each take. That is what separates us from animals, and if truth be told, I believe that all of you are much better people than anyone I have ever known. You will certainly see for yourselves when this is all over, and we can share a drink over our lost friend, Buttercup.”
He tossed his dirt, and the others nodded to the sentiment.
They all looked to Leah next, but she felt sick. Give me a break. What the hell did Liam Fenix know of their kind? He was just another bullshitter saying what he thought they wanted to hear.
She stormed off in silence.
Of course Leah had her own story to share, and hers defined Buttercup better than them. Sure, they could drone on about him being nice and funny and happy-go-lucky, but that was missing the point. Their version of him was weak, and Leah never let anyone weak into her crew.
She remembered the exact moment when they first met. It was between Hunts. Leah was walking down the street in Asphodel, minding her own business, when this street-cleaner accosted her. That was before he’d gotten his skinjobs, or found lotions, or fancy suits, so he looked like every other hag in the city, with skin more shriveled than Hades, and eyes dimmed to the border of dreg. He’d told her that he was afraid of rehollowing, and wanted to become a Hunter so he’d never have to worry. He said he’d give her every pic he owned, and that he’d do anything just for the chance. Leah told him to piss off. When he clung to her knees and cried, she broke his arms and kept walking. That was how she usually handled beggars.
But Buttercup was no fucking beggar. He screamed after Leah as she walked away. Told her that he’d prove that she was making a big fucking mistake, and that the next time she walked through that street, it would be cleaner than the Lodge.
She’ll never know how he did it. Both arms broken, hands quaking, alone, and in one of the most heavily trafficked areas in Asphodel, but he somehow pulled it off. A day later, the asphalt was practically glistening, with this one shriveled worker in the middle, bitching at everyone and anyone who had the temerity to litter on his block. No shits given for what they might do. The result of success outweighed the cost of failure.
Leah had taken him from there, cradled him like a newborn baby, and brought him back to the Lodge. Unlike any of her other recruits, she had chosen him to follow not out of some form of pragmatism, but because she’d recognized a kindred spirit in this ugly world. Both were survivors, and he had deserved his chance to fight for it, just as she had been given.
She sighed. To share this story was the right thing to do. It was the best way to give homage to their fallen ally. No one else came close in capturing his fighting spirit.
But to say that story out loud, and gift it to others… There was a form of admission hidden in the act. Leah would be conceding her own mortality, for if she were to die, then Buttercup and their shared story would die as well.
A branch snapped ahead. The bushes rustled, and then the unmistakable snarl of a hollow heralded its arrival as it floundered into the open. More hisses echoed behind as Leah instinctively withdrew a few steps.
Leah was so tired of it all. No matter how many hollows she murdered or rezzers she saved, the world never seemed to change. There were always more of their kind and less of hers. The Hollowing persisted above all as the penultimate to death itself. How many more bodies would have to be buried to sate its endless hunger? How many of her fellow souls had already been sacrificed on its altar?
Leah blinked through the malaise and realized that she did not know the answer. The veins in her chest tightened. Ichor leaked free, cut through the stitches she had sewn after her fight with Xander. He’d gotten her good, with a pair of shots through the chest, puncturing her heart, and rendering her body drained, enough to prolong the bleeding. Enough to slow her regeneration. Enough to deprive her brain of the nutrients it needed.
Enough to weaken her Rez.
The hollows had all gathered in front, four total. They clawed after Leah, mouths salivating at the prize they would soon claim. They wanted her to become like them. Empty. Withered. Soulless. Just one tiny abdication, one minor surrender, and she would never have to cling to the facade of life again. It would all be so very easy to close her eyes and let it end.
But Leah refused to die.
She screamed, her fury a deafening rejection of the world that had been inflicted upon her. This wasn’t where her story ended!
The first hollow lunged forth, but Leah skirted behind. She used the momentum of its fall to her advantage, and slammed its head straight into a rock. Blackened grey matter gushed out.
A chunk of her sheepskin jacket was ripped free as teeth chomped on her shoulder, but Leah was on the offensive, and elbowed in retaliation. Bloodied teeth spattered free. Before the hollow could recover, Leah threw all her weight into her steel-toed boot and kicked its skull into a nearby branch. Flesh parted for wood, and the hollow went limp.
Another grappled her, but she tossed it aside, instead focusing on its larger friend in its wake. This one was a big fucker. Muscular yet shriveled, towering yet fragile. One of its arms hung loosely to the side, held to the rest of its torso only by a web of exposed sinew and rotted flesh.
The other arm swiped, tearing Leah’s stitches free. She danced to the large hollow’s vulnerable flank and yanked its arm. Bone ripped free from flesh, and she had her weapon. One whack of its severed arm knocked the hollow to the ground, and another dozen blows finished it off.
Then Leah was knocked off balance. The hollow she’d ignored was quicker than she thought, and within seconds, it was atop her. Drool spilled onto her face as its teeth clattered. The hollow ignored all else, and focused only on biting for her head.
Again Leah roared. She had learned an untold number of martial arts techniques after years of studying old world styles, and could dispose of a hollow’s predictable and clumsy movements with ease. She redirected her enemy’s energy away from her head by yanking its shoulder past her opposing own, and used her leg to lock it in place. As the hollow’s teeth clattered harmlessly about, Leah switched out one leg for another and pulled the hollow’s now-exposed back into her chest. It thrashed in response, but physics aided this maneuver, and like twisting a can opener, its body tumbled back into hers, with Leah now behind.
The hollow squirmed, but she was far from finished. Leah threw back her scarf and bit into the hollow’s head, through the greasy strands of hair and softened bone. Like sand coated in ash, the taste of its corrupted grey matter filled her nose, but she did not relent. One mouthful at a time, followed by one agonized moan after another, Leah bit into the hollowed mind until it was no more.
When Leah was finished, she spat out the hollowed flesh and screamed anew. Fuck Hades. Fuck Xander. Fuck the Hollowing. Fuck death. Fuck everyone and anyone who’d ever try to bring her down. Leah would never lose. She would survive forever!
Leah let in a deep breath and wrapped her scarf back up. Her hands tingled from the rush.
Before she could contemplate what had driven her to be so reckless, a yelp spilled from behind. She knew the sound at once. Liam! Leah rushed through the trees, pushing her limbs to their limit.
She reached the spot just in time. A stray hollow was trying to bite down as Liam struggled to keep it at bay. Leah drew her knife and threw the hollow aside. As it tried to rise, she jabbed it between the eyes.
“What the hell are you doing here!?” she shouted.
Liam Fenix let out a gasp of pain. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know there was anything else here. I just wanted to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
But Liam met her with fire of his own. “You think I don’t know where we are!? I’ve done two episodes in the Rockies, along with a celebrity one-shot. When were you going to tell me?”
Leah softened in spite of herself. Here she was, concerned with her own personal shit, and she had forgotten that their living companion had his own quest to fulfill. Even if it was a vain and pointless endeavor.
Then again, was she really one to judge?
“You’re right, Liam. I should have told you that Aspen is on the way. Fuck, I’m sorry.”
He smiled, and Leah realized that this might have been the first time she’d said the word “sorry” to anyone in years.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You shouldn’t have wandered off, at least by yourself. One tiny mistake, and it’s over.”
He started to dust himself off. “Don’t worry, I’m fine…”
Then the two noticed his arm. There was a very thin slash, barely puncturing his flesh. A tiny bead of blood dribbled out, almost imperceptibly.
Liam grimaced. “It’s just a little scratch, right?”
But Leah knew the truth.
