Richard Kadrey: The Kill Society

“Yet Father Traven says he’s reasonable and I’m inclined to believe him.” The Magistrate glances off in the directing of the mountain. “A lone traveler out here, confronted and attacked. What would you have done, Daja? Personally, I’d like to talk to Mr. Pitts.”

Daja . Got to remember her. She backs down, but I can see it in her body language and hear it in her voice. No matter what the Magistrate says, she’s not done with me.

“Just talk?” says Daja.

“Of course. And he will be judged just like anybody else,” says the Magistrate.

“And if he’s found guilty?”

“Then his fate will be that of all the ignobles.”

Cheers. Fists pumps. It’s a goddamn pep rally. All we need are cheerleaders.

The group around the burned Hellion steps back as he dies and his body pops out of existence. They all look in my direction. That’s me. Making friends wherever I go.

The Magistrate points.

“We will camp at the base of the mountains. He said no one is there. That will be his first test.”

I raise my hand like I’m in the third grade.

“Excuse me. What if I’m not in the mood to get tested?”

I prop the rifle on my hip, but Traven calls out, “Pitts. Calm down. It’s going to be all right.”

“Is it?” I say to the Magistrate.

He opens his hands.

“I cannot guarantee that. But consider this: Father Traven has vouched for you. That means he, too, will be judged. If you are not a reasonable man, if you are a stupid man, he will die with you.”

Slowly, I let the barrel of the rifle drop so it’s pointing at the ground.

The fucker called my bluff. He points to the half-burned pickup truck.

“Can you drive that vehicle?” says the Magistrate.

“I usually steal better, but yeah.”

“Then ride with us when we make camp tonight. If you try to leave the havoc or attack anyone else, I will personally kill the good father. Understand?”

“Yes.”

Daja looks around at where her dead friends used to be. “And what about the two, now three, dead?”

“We will have a memorial service tonight,” the Magistrate says.

He calls to a patched-together ambulance.

“Mimir, come and ride with me. I will need an oracle tonight.”

A woman in a ratty fur coat, with some kind of plastic mask over the lower part of her face to filter out the dust, steps from the ambulance and goes to the Magistrate’s Charger. Without another word, he points to the mountains and the vehicles rumble to life.

I walk to the charred pickup truck as Traven rides his hellhound up beside me. Dressed in boots and a ragged leather duster, he gives me that sad smile of his and I shake my head at him.

“It’s good to see you, ZaSu,” he says.

“You’ve got some explaining to do,” I tell him.

“So do you.”

I start the truck.

“Do those bastards have anything to drink?”

“Of course.”

“And food?”

He nods.

“Good. At least I’ll get a last meal.”

He takes off the rag that was covering his face and wipes the blood from some of my worst wounds.

“Don’t talk like that,” he says. “It’s going to be fine.”

“Yeah? If Ahab up there has a real oracle, he’s going to find out I’m lying about who I am.”

“We’ll deal with that when the time comes. Have a little faith.”

I look at him.

“When you died, faith got you sent to a frozen gulag at the ass end of Hell, remember?”

He nods.

“And it got me rescued. By you. You’re who I have faith in.”

Some riders nearby signal us forward.

“These days, Father, I’m not worried about dying. I’m just worried about doing it hungry.”

Traven and I pull out, joining the havoc convoy heading for the mountains. The only thing I’m wondering about besides what time they’re going to kill me is the thing at the back of the havoc. It’s under a giant tarp and being hauled by the construction equipment on a double-length sixteen-wheeler bed. People like this, they don’t take anything with them that they don’t need. So, what do a bunch of Hellions and damned souls need with something the size of a Saturn V rocket? Maybe I’ll live long enough to find out. The way the day is going, though, I’ll be lucky to make it through the appetizer course.

WE DRIVE TO the base of the mountains, a herd of lumbering, smog-belching dinosaurs. Maybe ten yards away, Daja is riding parallel with me on the Harley. I’d rather be on the bike than this trashed pickup, but I don’t think she’d trade me.

When we reach the mountains, the vehicles fan out in a semicircle, forming a defensive perimeter. That means they know what they’re doing and they’re worried that someone out there might be gunning for them. Whoever thinks they’re hard enough to take on this crusty bunch, I don’t want to meet. I stay put in the jeep while the others set up camp. It’s a cruel joke. This thing was on fire a few minutes ago, but now I can’t find a damned thing I can use to light a Malediction.

Father Traven leaves me and disappears into a small teardrop-shaped camper being hauled by a rusty tow truck. I wonder if I hopped on his hellhound and headed straight up the mountains, how many of these assholes could follow me? Hellhounds can climb like goddamn apes and go places no ordinary vehicle would dare. On the other hand, I spotted plenty of Hellion Legionnaires on the drive over. All it would take is one good sniper and off I’d go to a time-share in Tartarus. No thanks. Mason is still down there and I couldn’t stand his gloating if we ended up roommates. I’ll stay put, play dumb, and see what happens next. Besides, being murdered made me hungry. If these clowns are going to stone me in the public square, I’m going out with a full stomach.

While they set up camp, most of the mob goes out of their way to ignore me. I wave my unlit cigarette to a couple of the ones that dare look at me, but I get the finger, not a light. I settle back looking bored, but watch them while they work. They’re fast and efficient setting things up. Everybody knows their job. That means they’ve been doing this for a while. Daja doesn’t do any heavy lifting, but moves from group to group answering questions and moving people around when there’s a group that needs help. We lock eyes for a second and I give her a little wave. She turns away and gets back to work. Okay, she’s smarter than I was hoping. Not so easy to provoke. That means I’ll have to go for someone else.

Everyone in the camp is armed. While that sounds bad, it works in my favor. It means all I have to do is find someone weak enough, hurt enough, or stupid enough that I can kill them and grab their gear. While I’m scoping out the rabble for easy pickings, Traven comes over. He smiles like he can read my mind.

“Relax,” he says. “You have business with the Magistrate. No one is going to bother you.”

“Meaning, I won’t be stuffed like a turkey and cooked until afterward. That’s a comfort.”

“No one’s resorted to cannibalism, yet.”

“Unless that’s why they’re in Hell.”

Traven smiles.

“True. But as long as they’re part of the group, there are rules of conduct that everybody follows.”

“Even the Magistrate?”

“Even him.”

I nod and look back at his trailer.

“I never took you for a ramblin’ man. When did you decide you didn’t like Blue Heaven?”

Traven glances at the ground. The last time I had seen him, I was hiding him in a funny little burg called Blue Heaven. It isn’t Heaven or Hell, but exists in a funny limbo zone between each. It’s a kind of sanctuary for people with nowhere else to go.

“It’s gone,” he says.

“Blue Heaven? What do you mean it’s gone?”