Entry #20 - Zachy

We waited.

And waited.

I chewed my fingernails.

And continued to wait.

A zombie tapped Eira on the shoulder. "Excuse me?" it asked in a voice that gurgled in an unpleasant manner that no voice has any business gurgling in.

Eira turned around. "Can I help you?"

"No need to be rude!" said the zombie, who I now thought might once have been a middle-aged woman. "I only wondered if you might speed this along."

"We can't exactly ... " I said.

"Why not?" asked the zombie, putting its hands on the remains of its hips.

"Well, you see ... " said Chuck.

"Er ... " I offered.

"Because we can't, you decomposing fuck, that's why." Eira turned her back to the zombie.

"Well, I shall be seeing somebody about this," replied Decomposing Fuck, stalking off.

I put a hand on Eira's shoulder. She made a small motion as though she wanted to jerk it away, but didn't move. "You probably shouldn't have said that," I said, trying to adopt a tone I'd have used with my kids if I'd ever had kids. "We don't really have a clue how things work here, you know?"

"I don't care. She was a decomposing fuck."

"That's not the point."

"And she smelled like crap, too."

"What I think he means," said Chuck, "is that what you just said might be the death of us."

She rounded on Chuck. "'Death of us'? Really?"

"What else do you call that?" Chuck replied, pointing at something behind her.

I followed his eyeline. Decomposing Fuck was standing beside the great, horned thing that had been directing these souls in different directions, and said horned thing was looking directly at us, eyes flaring, tail flicking ominously, its hands twisting around something in its arms that looked like a mix between a baseball bat, a barbed wire fence, and a large snapping turtle. It was the sort of thing that had been designed with the sole intention of smashing things into pulp, and had no other purpose in this world, whatsoever. The horned beast carressed it as though it were a beloved family pet.

"Hey, you! You're holding up the line!" it roared, shambling toward us. It sounded an awful lot like Arnold Schwarzeneggar. Had I not been about to be smashed into jelly, I would have pointed this out.

"Fuck off!" shouted Eira, just as I put my hand over her mouth to prevent her from saying just that. She bit me, hard, and I jerked my fingers away. Well, that had been a profoundly stupid move on my part.

The horned beast was feet away, smiling wickledly, baring impossibly-large teeth. "Well, well, live ones? Lucky me, I could do with a palate cleanser." He raised the weapon high above his head. I closed my eyes. At least I was already in the Underworld; it wouldn't be a very long journey. Well, so much for saving the world. The club swished through the air, then -

"Geryon, enough of that!"

I opened an eye.

The small demon thing, the director of Unit Five, was returning with a taller, decidedly more human, figure, whose head was in his hands. Geryon was poised with his club hanging over Eira, Chuck, and I.

"Really, Geryon, you can't just eat any living folk who waltz in, you've got to clear these things with me, first."

"Sorry, sir, won't happen again, sir, and may I say, sir, you look absolutely - "

"Geryon."

"Sorry, sir."

Geryon slouched back to his original position, next to a scowling Decomposing Fuck. The taller figure came forward, and very suddenly, I recognized him - he was fiddling with his black hat, talking absent-mindedly to the small thing, the director of Unit Five. It was the man who'd saved me and driven me to the station.

"This back-up'll kill us, you know, put us out of business. Bloody damned apocalypse, more souls than we know what to do with - "

He paused.

"Rufus?"

"You know him?" asked Chuck

"Yup," I said. "Hey, again."

"This is awkward," said the man.

"Who are you?" asked Eira.

"It's not important."

"Bullshit it's not important."

"I'm not going to argue. Jesus, Rufus, how'd you guys get here?"

"Caught a train," replied Chuck.

"Did you send a train for live ones, master?" said the small thing.

"What? No, that's absurd," said the man. "Go away, Nysrogh" - the small thing called Nysrogh scuttled away - "I didn't send for a train, especially not for you. I sort of wanted you guys to ... you know, stay alive. That's not even the point. You've got to get out of here."

"How exactly are we supposed to do that?" I asked.

"Okay, listen, just take this. No, don't wear it, just keep your hands on it, all of you."

He handed me his black hat, and I felt suddenly ... incorporeal. Does that make sense? No, I suppose not. Eira and Chuck reached out and grasped it, too, and seemed to go slightly, well, see-through. I could still see them, but the man apparently couldn't, because his gaze drifted away from us, though he continued to speak. I had a funny feeling I knew who he might be.

"That's a Hat of Invisibility. Sneak back onto the train - I'll send it to New York to pick up some more passengers, and you can get off before the conductor can catch you again. Then, leave the city. As soon as possible."

"Why?" I asked. "It's my home, I can't just ... leave."

"I dunno," said Chuck, "I mean, I thought it'd be safer till everyone up there in the station started catching fire ... "

"It is the apocalypse, you know," said Eira, darkly.

"You think that was the apocalypse?" said the man, gazing blankly over our heads. "Ha. Hasn't even started yet, this is pre-game warm-up. New York City's been a cesspool of humanity's crap for ages upon ages - don't look at me like that - " Eira and I were glaring at him - "it's had it's moments, but it'll be where the first big strike happens, no doubt."

"First strike?" Chuck asked.

"Yep," the man replied. "in the form of a nuclear missile, probably."

A pause.

"Well, this'll be fun," said Chuck, rolling his eyes.

I gave him an imitation of a stern look. "Come on, let's get back to the train."

We did. As we left, we passed Decomposing Fuck. Eira kicked her in the shin.