This week’s challenge was a bit different. The task was, “tell a story in three haikus.” I played with a couple ideas before settling on this one. Enjoy.
My cat ate a gem.
It belonged to a smuggler.
Now we’re in big trouble.
The chase was merry,
From Rome to Moscow to Prague –
Bond would be jealous.
“Don’t touch my damn cat.”
Gunsmoke behind the tavern –
Sorry ’bout the mess.
This week, Terribleminds charged us with writing using a motif. The d10 told me to go for Swords, in the genre of Paranormal Romance with the setting of Route 66.
“This is insane, even for you. You need your rest.”
Simon Cooper ignored the suggestion. Part of him hoped that the traffic would have drowned him out, but Route 66 was quiet at this time of night. It had to be night, of course. He thanked the powers that things had happened so close to a full moon. He would need every advantage he could get.
“Tell me, Xavier, what would resting accomplish that not resting will not?”
“You’d be able to look at the situation with clear eyes. You’d get some cobwebs and trauma out of your head. And, I hate to say it, you’d see that…”
“You could just say ‘nothing’ and leave it at that.” Cooper was also ignoring the pain in his leg. The blade had gone clean through his thigh.
“Look, Simon…”
“Xavier, you insisted on coming along. Don’t ruin things by trying to convince me to quit. It’d be a waste of gas and, more importantly, time. Time that Esther doesn’t have. Now, listen. There’s a ley line under that diner, and I need everybody out to tap it. Run interference for me.”
Xavier put a hand on Cooper’s shoulder. “Just stop, for a second. Think.”
With a sigh of exasperation, Cooper stopped and turned. “What?”
Xavier took a deep breath. “The Legionnaire came for me. She gave her life to save me. I can’t bear the thought of not being there when they turn off the machines.”
“You will be there when they turn them off, because she’s going to come back.”
“Dammit, Simon. The sword went through her neck. It’s a miracle she survived long enough to get on life support in the first place.”
“The Legionnaire carried an epee. It was meant to pierce her defenses, not hack off her head or limbs. And it was enchanted with a spell to part souls from bodies, not nerves from organs.”
Xavier ran a hand through his hair. “If you’re wrong…”
“I’m not. Come and see.”
It was a slow time in the diner. Only two patrons and four staff members in total. Cooper used a pyromantic cantrip to start a fire in the kitchen, and Xavier helped people get out. Simon’s follow-up spells were a wide-area disruption of electronics and putting the fire out while Xavier locked the doors.
“Now, we can begin. The salt, if you would.”
Xavier handed Cooper the container of sea salt. The other man whispered to himself as he turned, pouring the crystals out in a circle around him. He handed the container back.
“The Tarot.”
Carefully, Xavier removed the small leather pouch from Cooper’s pack. Once he had it, Cooper pulled the strings and gently freed the deck from it. He closed his eyes as he shuffled. He dealt one card to the north, shuffled as he turned, dealt to the east, and repeated the process for the south and the west, shuffling once more and turning over the top card before laying the deck at his feet.
Xavier never really understood the whys and wherefores of Cooper’s methods, as he was practically from a different world. But for all the years he’d known the warlock, no spell that had been worked in his presence resulted in evil or even much collateral damage, save for an incident in New Jersey that neither man talked about.
“Eight of Swords to the north. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. So I can’t hesitate. You can stop thinking I need to quit now, Xavier.”
“I wasn’t…”
“Hush. Three of Swords to the east, practically at your feet. A truth, hidden, that will be revealed, and change everything.” He opened his eyes to look at Xavier. “Do your superiors know?”
Xavier bit his lip. “What would they say, Simon? How would they react to a priest being in love with a witch?”
Smiling, Cooper held up a finger. “I won’t tell if you won’t. Just as long as you know that I know.” He closed his eyes again. “Nine of Swords to the south, behind me, meaning that I’ve left behind sleep and other mortal comforts for this. Good. I’m on the right path. And… Ace of Swords to my left. My left hand, the one I’d use to hold a scabbard, draw a sword from, sharp and ready… excellent, excellent. I can do this.”
“What about the one at your feet?”
Cooper looked down. “The Queen of Swords herself. Oh, this is good. Xavier, I was right. Esther isn’t dying because her body is shutting down, she’s dying because her soul was stolen. Some deity or denizen has been keen to her magic and wants her for some purpose.”
Xavier frowned. Then, without a word, he moved to the fuse box and shut down the diner’s power. He removed seven candles from Cooper’s pack, laid them out around the circle, and lit them.
“What else do you need, Simon?”
“My totem belt.”
It was a heavy grade piece of military surplus wear, to which Cooper had affixed several pouches, with everything from herbs to small relics to holy water Xavier himself had blessed. He strapped it on.
“Simon Johnathan Tesla Cooper.”
The warlock turned to the priest. Xavier didn’t often say his full name.
“Bring her back to me. Bring her back to both of us.”
“What did you think I was going to do, Father Xavier, watch as her body slowly gives up waiting for her to come back? She’s my sister.”
“I know you don’t believe in God…”
“Nonsense, of course I do. I just don’t believe yours is the only one. I’ve met too many.”
“… but may He bless and keep you.”
Simon Cooper managed a smile. “Thanks.”
He turned away, eyes shut, and spoke words in ancient tongues as he flicked various pouch contents into the candle flames. At the last, there was a flash, and he was gone.
Xavier sat on a diner stool, folded his hands, closed his eyes, and began to pray.
This week’s challenge had us choose one from a series of beautiful photos of impossible places.
I don’t know how much light I’ve got left. But there’s plenty of air.
I can’t tell if the light I’m seeing nearby is reflected from my lamp or from another natural source. It’s enough to see by. And my God, this place is huge. Bigger than any sonar readings could have told us. Bigger than anybody imagined.
I’m still not sure why they brought me along. All the geologists and professional explorers and local experts, and then there was me. I’ve always found caves and mines fascinating, but from a historical standpoint, as indicators of what humanity needs them for and how it uses the tools it can create or is presented with, never from a rock formation or shale composition standpoint. I consider it a cruel irony that it was me who fell through the loose rocks above into this chamber below.
They’ve gone to get more rope to try and get me out of here. The camp is a few hours away. I guess that gives me time to explore, provided I don’t wander too far.
I think my leg might be broken.
It won’t hold my weight very well and it’s extremely painful to move it, let alone try to stand on it. I found some painkillers in my pack, and I have a good supply of drinking water. I’m going to see what I can do to cobble together a splint.
Hobbling is not the most expedient way of getting around, but I did discover something down here. Something that will change human history forever.
Under the calcification and fallen rocks, there are man-made structures down here. I’ve discovered what appear to be massive load-bearing columns, like support beams, all through this cavern. I can’t even begin to guess at the age of this stonework. Centuries? Millennia? I’m no scientist and have no equipment to measure such a thing.
All I know is that it bears further investigation. My watch tells me it’ll be a few more hours before the party returns. I’ll take a few minutes to rest, have a drink of water and perhaps another round of painkillers, and see what I can find.
This is becoming more and more impossible as I go on.
There are carvings in some of the structures. From what I can tell, mostly by shining light through the calcification, they resemble Scandinavian runes in passing. I say ‘in passing’ because we are pretty far from any Scandinavian countries. And while I am no expert, as I’ve only examined original Norse ruins and documents in passing, I have to say that many of these symbols are entirely unfamiliar to me. I will sketch what I can before I return to where I fell in.
I don’t know if it’s the painkillers or something in the air or if I’m simply going mad.
But I’m hearing things down here. Sounds that I am not myself making.
Checking my watch, the party should have returned by now. They need to return soon. I cannot get out on my own.
My light is beginning to fade, and unless my eyes are playing tricks, some of the other light is also shifting. It’s as if a shadow is moving somewhere beneath me.
And then there’s sound.
God help me, it sounds like drums.
Drums.
Drums in the deep.
For The Wheel, Part Two, the die selected Steampunk, Someone’s Been Poisoned!, and A Secret Message.
The skyline of Paramount City was normally a welcome sight. It meant coming home. Today, as Captain Taggert held the wheel of his beloved airship, he saw the skyline in a very different way. The airfighters weren’t up yet, but they would be soon enough.
“How are we doing up here, Cap’n?”
He didn’t turn to look. He knew the voice of his mate, Ashley Sanders, almost as well as his own. Five years now they’d plied the skies together, and he trusted her almost more than he trusted himself.
“We’re making good time. Tavis hasn’t called up; how much is he really complaining about the boilers?”
“‘Bout as much as you’d expect. Not used to runnin’ her this hot just to get home.”
Taggert didn’t take his eyes from that skyline. “Does he know?”
Sanders walked up next to him. “No. Only ones who know what’s really going on are you, me, Doc, and poor Mike Palmer.”
“How is he?” Taggert reflected, as he asked, that he was standing in Mike’s spot, at the wheel of the ship. It felt a bit like walking on the man’s grave.
“Doc says he’s stable. Won’t be dancin’ a jig any time soon, but provided Doc stays with him and makes sure he’s takin’ on fluids proper-like, he’ll pull through.”
Taggert nodded, glancing to the scroll case sitting on the radar console to his left. The man who’d been carrying it, a passenger they took on from the border with the untamed jungles to the south, had been nervous from the start. Next thing anybody knew, he was on the radio, calling in the Wayward Albatross as a pirate ship and a danger to the Empire, and when Palmer had confronted him, the pilot got a poison shiv for his trouble. Taggert dealt with the passenger in what he felt was a fair and equitable manner: he escorted the man off of his airship, without the benefit of a parachute.
The message, though, worried him. It bore the Imperial seal, and was obviously meant for someone important. He wasn’t sure who the intended recipient was, nor for whom the man had been working, but the Empire took all reports of air piracy very seriously. Taggert kept his eyes peeled for airfighters even as the radio crackled to life.
“Airship Wayward Albatross, this is Imperial Control. Come in, Wayward Albatross.”
Sanders picked up the microphone, clearing her throat. “This is the Albatross, Control, what can we do for ya?”
“You will heave-to and tie up at the Imperial port spire in the south-eastern docks. Your ship will be inspected and your crew questioned.”
Sanders exchanged a look with Taggert. “We have a sick man on board, Control. He needs medical attention.”
“Negative. Heave-to immediately.”
Sanders released the mike’s switch. “We can’t let them split Mike from Doc, Cap’n. He might not make it in that case.”
“And if we hand over this message it might just disappear, along with us.” Taggert frowned. “Call down to Tavis. Get her as stoked as possible. Then sound evacuation and get to the rescue planes.”
“Sir?”
“I’m taking her in, Sanders, and the fewer folks at risk, the better things will be.”
Sanders, for her part, didn’t argue. She just looked at Taggert for a very long moment before leaving. Moments later, he felt the Albatross surge forward, steam billowing from her vents. The airship could move quick when she needed to, and Taggert needed every iota of speed he could muster. An inner voice told him this was foolhardy, maybe even suicidal, but he hushed it. He had other things to worry about.
Airfighters were now appearing from the military spires that marked the inner quarter of the city, where the aristocrats and non-landed well-to-do lived and worked. Sanders re-entered the pilot house as Taggert adjusted course towards the Imperial Palace.
“Crew’s started to evac, Cap’n. Time to tie her off an’ go.”
“I’m staying. I’ll get clear, don’t you worry, but I have a job to do.”
Sanders frowned. “Cap’n, I’m more than willin’ t’ give ya a crack on the skull an’ drag your heavy carcass to a plane.”
“You will do no such thing.” He turned to look at her. She did, indeed, have a large wrench in her hand, her face was half-covered in soot, and her blue eyes burned with intensity and worry. “You’re the best mate a broke-down Captain like me could ask for, Ashley, but right now I need you to see to the rest of the crew and get yourself clear. When all is said and done, I’ll find you again. I promise.”
She nodded, but didn’t leave the pilot house until the Albatross rattled. Due to steam or getting buzzed by airfighters, Taggert wasn’t sure. Approaching the Palace like she was, they’d open fire any second.
When he heard the first staccato noises of autogun fire, he tied off the wheel and grabbed a parachute. He felt the deck shake beneath him as he strapped himself in. Taking up the message, he ran aft through the empty airship to find a lock. He threw open the inner door, than the outer, looking down at the greenery of the palace gardens.
The Albatross shook again. Taking a deep breath, Taggert stepped out into the air. He didn’t dare look back; he knew his ship was on fire, and didn’t want the image seared into his mind. Instead, he focused on his ‘chute, pulling it open at the right moment, and guided himself to landing not ten feet from where the Empress herself was enjoying breakfast. Her guards aimed their rifles, and she held up her hand.
“I trust you are bringing us something of profound importance, Captain.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Taggert handed her the message. “This was in the hands of an enemy of the Empire.”
She took the scroll and broke the seal. Reading it, she looked up at Taggert. After a moment, she gestured to her guards.
To meet the latest Terribleminds Flash Fiction Challenge, the dice of destiny have chosen: Post-Apocalyptic Horror, A Nevada brothel and Talking animals.
They’ve been gone a long time.
I’ve got my back to the wall as I sit facing the door. The beaded curtain on the inside of the doorframe catches some of the light from the lamps we moved in here. The subtle mood lighting of the room hadn’t been enough, and since it was the easiest room to secure, it had kind of become our base of operations. The lack of a back way out still bothered me, but a look at my leg was a good reminder that a back way wouldn’t do me much good right now.
It wasn’t a bite, thank God. I’d fallen during our last food run a week ago. Something was probably broken. Lori, a nursing school student before this all happened, had done what she could for the swelling and set the leg so I wouldn’t make things worse. I felt terrible, like a burden, but both Lori and Amber assured me that I was doing fine, and considering how hard I’d been going just to get us here, maybe some time off of my feet would be good for me.
I get a little more worried every day, though. No sign of other survivors, no National Guard, no radio updates, nothing. My watch is one of those self-winding models, and I give my wrist a shake and check it now and again. It’s been hours. They wanted to scope out a store a bit further out, see if they could find fresh medical supplies along with the usual food and water. I’d shown them both how to use handguns a couple weeks ago. They’ll be fine. Probably. Maybe.
Pearl’s cat opens one eye. This had been Pearl’s place, according to the sign out front. Lori hadn’t been terribly keen on holing up here, maybe because she thought I had something not related to survival on my mind. She’s pretty and all, but she has a kid out there somewhere, and I promised her I’d help her find the child and her dad, if they’re still out here somewhere. I wasn’t sure how Lori would get along with Amber when we found the call girl huddled under one of the beds, but so far they seem okay together. And I haven’t made any moves on either of them. Not yet, anyway. There’s a time and a place, and this isn’t the time, really.
The cat gets up and dismounts from the pile of clothes she’d been dozing on. I’m sitting with my back to the wall, rifle across my lap. For about the thousandth time I take a mental inventory: Four rounds in the rifle, eight more in my pocket, a full clip in the 9 mil and another in my pocket. I take my hand from the rifle’s lever and pick up the bottle of water. It’s almost empty. I may have to limp out and get another one soon. I haven’t heard the outside door or any glass breaking, so it’s likely safe in the rest of the cathouse. Probably. Maybe.
“You’re all going to die, you know.”
I look down at the cat. Long, black, and lean, she’s got large yellow eyes and a swishing tail. She’s pleasant enough, but I’ve never heard her speak before. Her voice is low, scratchy, like Kathleen Turner with a sore throat.
“Come again?”
“You heard me.” She sits herself down and start bathing herself. “You can only keep scavenging for so long. You’re either going to have to move on or start rationing more. And you’re hungry as it is.”
My stomach growls. I briefly entertain the notion of making kitty stew, then lean my head back against the wall. I’m just tired. My mind’s playing tricks. I check my forehead with the back of my hand. Do I have a fever? Hard to tell. Pearl kept the place well insulated to make her guests more comfortable. It can get pretty warm in here when we get our little propane stove going. I find myself remembering the last time I was making dinner, and Amber got so warm she took off her sweatshirt.
“Males are all alike.”
I smile. “That’s proof that you’re just a hallucination. Or at least the talking is.”
“For all you know, cats are psychic.”
“Fair point, but you could have told us we’re doomed at any time. Why wait until I’m alone?”
“Maybe I can only speak to certain humans. Or maybe I just like making your life difficult.”
She does have a tendency to bat at my face at night for my attention, when she’s hungry or something. “Could also be that you’re jealous of the attention I give to the two non-cat females in here.”
“Oh, yes. I can resist it no longer. You’ve uncovered my shameful desire. Take me, take me now.” She yawns to punctuate her sarcasm.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not into beastiali-”
The sound of Pearl’s front door coming open jolts me upright. The cat turns towards the door to the back room and then darts behind the pile of clothes. I pick up the rifle from my lap. Four rounds in the rifle, eight more in my pocket, a full clip in the 9 mil and another in my pocket. The handgun, formerly a cop’s sidearm, is within easy reach of my right hand if I have no time to reload, or worse, the rifle jams. I think of Amber, again, this time standing behind her to shoot at cans in the back alley.
Keep your eye on your target, aim carefully, take a deep breath, and hold it when you squeeze the trigger.
She’s a decent shot, and the memory of her leaning into me is a nice one. I put it from my mind, though, as I hear shuffling in the hall. I put the rifle’s butt against my shoulder, and line up the sights.
The door handle rattles. My leg aches. I take a deep breath, and hold it.
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