Wormwood Dawn (Episode V) (14 page)

Whatever that was.

There was pain; excruciating pain that blinded and deafened him. He could barely move enough to take a breath; could barely even feel his own heartbeat. He was in Hell. His head pounded, his ears amplified his heartbeat painfully—slow as it was, and his mouth was dry and cracked. He felt the chill of the wind and rain that had pelted him for days, and the uncomfortable sting of the asphalt pressing against his skin.

He groaned. It was all he could do. He couldn’t form any words; he couldn’t even move his lips, or his tongue. He was immobilized for the most part. The only thing he could move were his eyelids, and even that was torture. He fluttered them, trying to let in the dim light of the moon that shined above.

Everything was blurry. Everything was fuzzy. There were halos everywhere. Not the halos of angels, nor the halos of faeries—did faeries have halos? They were just the halos of weakened vision.

“Fuck,” he managed to mumble. In his ears, it sounded more like
ffflllllrrrkkkk.

Was he alive? If so, how? Was he dead, rotting somewhere in alley but somehow still conscious? Is this what death was? No. He could smell something. It was rotting flesh. Was it him?

The halos began to disappear as he blinked his eyes. He could see that he was definitely in an alley, lying face down on the pavement. There was trash blowing by. A rat scampered around a few yards away. He smiled. The rat stopped, sat up on its haunches, and sniffed in his direction. He chuckled. He liked rats.

Rats were cool.

There were chunks of odd-looking material around him. The rat was sniffing around them when it noticed him. Now, the little rodent went back to its scavenging. As he focused, he realized that the chunks were flesh; body parts. There was a head, swollen, molded, and staring off into space. There was another head, staring at
him
, its mouth opening and closing as if it were trying to eat him from a distance.

It was an ugly head. Probably some crackhead or super whore that hung out in the alleys looking to give handjobs for a rock or two.
Fucking whores
. He wondered if the head could eventually work its way toward him using its tongue. That would be cool. It would be like that scene in
The Thing
when the head sprouted spider legs and walked away.

He chuckled again.

The head was suddenly skewered with a large knife. The knife was connected to a fist. Another hand came down to hold the head still as the knife was pulled out. Then, he saw some boots. They were nice boots; black leather and worn. He liked boots.

A hand pushed his shoulder roughly, rolling him over onto his back. A face appeared above him. It was a sexy face; dark brown with burgundy-colored lips, chestnut brown eyes, and a… scarf? What was that? A do rag? It was a black girl, a pretty one. A badass-looking one. She was smiling crookedly but pleasantly, cocking her head to the side.

“What the hell happened to you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I… I blew myself up,” he mumbled.

She grinned, nodding. “Well, that didn’t work, did it?”

He blinked his eyes, wondering if he was hallucinating. He wasn’t.

“My name is Toni,” she said. “What’s yours?”

He struggled for a moment, but eventually remembered…

“Jake…” he said. “My name is Jake.”