The Kill Society by Richard Kadrey
The motel office door opens and a couple of Hellions in dust masks and bandannas walk out. Then more. It looks like we found a whole damned Hellion town. The dog pack’s Mohawked Hellion—I finally learned her name is Lerajie—looks restless.
I lean to the twins.
“You ever seen a town like this before?”
They shake their heads.
“Never,” Babetta, the brown and blue one. “But I suppose there had to be one.”
“Pandemonium profiteers and politicians sometimes escape the city,” says Barbora, the gray and green one.
“Arseholes will commune with other arseholes in times of strife,” says Johnny.
“Obviously,” I say. “Just look at us.”
He smiles, then shakes his head.
“Christ, how long is it going to take to get all these timid bunnies into the street? How many cabins are there?” I ask.
“The town isn’t small,” says Lerajie. “We could be here all day clearing it.”
“Oh dear,” says Doris, our knife-happy PTA mom.
“Welcome!” calls the Magistrate. He lets go of the Empress and goes up to press the flesh. He looks like a real politician out there, shaking hands and cracking jokes. I bet the fucker knows every Hellion dialect around.
It only takes him a couple of minutes to zero in on one Hellion in particular. He looks vaguely human, but with bloodred eyes and goofy vampire fangs. His right arm is in a sling. He must be the leader. The Magistrate laughs and jokes with him like they’re exchanging muffin recipes. When the Hellion points at the havoc, the Magistrate waves at it dismissively. That’s right. Don’t mind a bunch of lunatics with a million horsepower’s worth of vehicles and enough guns to invade Normandy.
Cherry gets out of the ambulance. She looks twitchy. What’s going on with her? I wonder if there are drugs in the ambulance. She always did have a taste for anything speedy.
The Magistrate walks the Hellion bigwig to the Charger. The Empress spreads the map on the hood as he takes a flask from inside his coat. He pours a shot for the Hellion, then takes a pull directly from the flask. The Hellion downs his and the Magistrate pours him another. They look at the map together. The Empress runs her finger across the map from spot to spot. The Hellion gets twitchy. The others by the motel office get restless, too.
When the Hellion tries to walk away, the Magistrate takes his arm and steers him back to the map. He’s still smiling, but he’s not letting Fang Boy go.
One of the bunch by the office yells something, but I’m too far away to hear. Fang Boy looks at us, then back to his people. The chatty Hellion in the back moves forward. Two more come around from the other side.
Fuck. I recognize the uniforms.
I yell at Daja.
“They’re Legionnaires! Deserters.”
“So am I,” says Lerajie.
“And what if you get caught? Is there a bounty on you?”
She curses in Hellion.
“This isn’t good,” she yells to Daja.
“Stay put. Let the Magistrate handle it,” Daja says.
Which is when he stops handling it.
A gust of wind blows up, tearing the canvas from the sides of the gallows truck. One of the uniformed Hellions points and shouts. Then they’re all shouting. The Magistrate waves his hands like it’s all a big mistake. Those aren’t gallows. That’s where we hang our laundry. Fang Boy isn’t buying it.
The sling was a gaff. He pulls out his arm and comes out with a pistol. He points it at the Magistrate’s head and drags the idiot back into the motel office.
“Magistrate!” yells Daja. It’s the last thing anybody says for a while because the Legionnaires up front pull their own guns and start shooting. So do the snipers hiding on the bungalow roofs. Plus, others from the bungalow windows.
Around here is where Daja shouts “Fire!” though she really doesn’t have to. Half of the havoc already has their weapons out and is shooting back.
While the others spray bullets all over the motel, I pull the Colt and take aim. I pop off all six shots and take down two Legionnaires and wound two others. Not my best shooting, but not bad with a shitstorm of lead aimed at my face.
The dog pack falls back behind a line of cop cars that are loaded with weapons and ammo. I reload while the car crew hands out more guns.
The firefight goes on for several minutes without either side getting much advantage. Every now and then I see a member of the havoc go down. But for a bunch of arrogant assholes who ended up on the wrong end of an ambush, we’re doing pretty well.
A couple of minutes later it stops going well.
The vehicles in the garage pull out and center themselves in front of the motel. There are five of them in all. Spidery vehicles with heavy guns mounted on the top and sides.
The first wave of fire rips through the front line of the havoc, sending glass, metal, and the occasional arm or leg into the air. A second wave tears into the trucks and other tall vehicles. We fire back, but nothing we have is going to get through the armor on the AAVs.
I look around until I find the havoc’s huge, horned APC. Crouching low to keep my head situated on my shoulders, I scuttle back to it. I only get a few steps when someone jumps on my back and presses a knife to my throat.
“Are you fucking running?” says Daja. “Tell me you’re running.”
I point at the APC.
“We have to get it up front. Nothing else can take the fire.”
Daja stays on my back for a few more seconds contemplating the removal of my head. Then she rolls off.
I say, “Do you want the Magistrate in one piece?”
“Fuck you. You know the answer.”
“We can’t run at these assholes straight on. We have to fox them.”
“How?”
“Make like we’re coming at them straight. Get the APC and as many running vehicles as we can and charge them. Fill the cars with gas. Set them on fire so they’re bombs.”
She shoves me.
“Shit for brains. You think that’s going to get past them?”
“No. We are.”
She looks at me like she might not stab me on principle. I keep going to make sure that keeps not happening.
“We get everyone concentrating up front. Then you and me go around the back and hope the Magistrate is still in the office. Then we just stroll in and take him.”
“That’s all?” she says like she’s getting ready to punch me again.
“More or less,” I say. “We get the Magistrate and kill as many of these fuckers as we can. Maybe with the other cars, the APC can punch through the line. I don’t know. But we have to get inside. We’ll figure out the rest as we go.”
“Why are you so willing to die for the Magistrate?” she says. “I see you looking at him. I know you don’t trust him.”
“I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anybody. But getting the Magistrate and killing those deserters inside isn’t what they’re looking for.”
“How are you such an expert all of a sudden?” she says.
“How much killing have you done down here? Don’t answer. I’ve done more and a lot of them were Legionnaires. People will tell you all kinds of secrets if they think it means they get to live a few seconds longer.”
Daja looks at the front of the line. The havoc is going down fast.
“Fuck,” she says. “All right. But if you run I’ll bring you back and the pack will peel your skin.”
“Charming. You’re a charming person,” I say. “No one’s going to listen to me, so you give the orders. I’ll be watching from the side of the motel. Be sure to get back to me before shit starts blowing up.”
It’s written all over her that she still doesn’t trust me, but without any ideas of her own, she gives in.
“Five minutes,” she says. “You better be there.”
“I’ve got to get some gear. I’ll see you over there.”
She takes off and I run back to the dog pack. They’re
“You want to learn the na’at?”
He looks confused, then nods.
“Then give it to me.”
He pulls it from his bag and I snatch it away before he can change his mind.
“Keep watching the office door. We might need covering fire.”
“Where have you been?” yells Billy.
“With Daja. We’re going to do something really stupid.”
“Will it help?” says Lerajie.
“Probably not.”
Before it turns into a whole quiz show, I take off and move to the side of the havoc. Hunker down by an old woodie station wagon with scenes of Hellbeast orgies carved into the sides. Everyone has their fetishes, even down here. I wait five minutes. Then ten. The gunfire slows a bit, but only because we’re losing and the Legionnaires know it. Why waste ammo on idiots in vehicles that would be better off catching Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein at a drive-in?
Finally Daja dives down next to me. There’s an assault rifle slung over her shoulder. She’s a lot bloodier than when she left.
“You all right?”
“Fine,” she says. “Most of it isn’t mine.”
“You’re going to get messier. We’re not using guns. Too loud. It’s knives, lamps, staplers—anything but guns.”
I slip the Colt in the waistband at my back and point to an old ice machine at the far edge of the motel.
“I’ve been watching. We can circle around that way. I haven’t seen any movement from that side of the motel.”
“If you’re wrong and we end up in Tartarus, I’m going to eat your fucking guts.”
“If we end up in Tartarus, go find a guy named Mason. He’ll bring the wine.”
We crouch there for another minute before all hell breaks loose again. The APC rumbles forward, flattening everything in the way. The havoc pushes burning cars straight at the AAVs. The moment the first one explodes, me and Daja take off for the side of the motel.
Just like I thought, the Legionnaires were too busy on the run to create an actual fortress. There’s a lot of equipment and ammo out back, but only two guards. When the guards are both looking through a window into the motel, I throw a rock at a crate a few yards past them. The moment they turn away, we move.
We’re fast, but they hear us coming across the concrete patio.
Daja’s guard swings his gun around, but she throws herself on top of him with her knife in his throat. He goes down gurgling and she stays on top, stabbing and hacking until he stops moving.
I get lucky for once. My guard is so distracted by Daja that he doesn’t see me until the last minute. I twist the na’at’s grip and extend it into a spear. The point goes straight through his chest and out the other side. Another twist on the grip and it turns into a sword blade. I pull it straight up and it slices him in half. It’s the first time I’ve seen Daja look shocked.
“That’s a Hellion weapon,” she says.
“Is it? I got it in a box of Cracker Jack.”
“What is Cracker Jack?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
She tries the office’s back door.
“It’s locked,” she says.
“Let me see.”
I stand in front of it so she can’t see me and whisper some Hellion hoodoo. There’s no explosion, but the doorknob and its internal mechanism fly apart in my hand.
“How did you do that?”
“Magic.”
“Fuck you.”
Daja takes a knife off one of the dead guards, so now she has one in each hand. I leave the na’at as a sword for the moment.
There are more explosions out front. More gunfire. A horrendous crash of metal on metal. I gently push the door open and we go inside.
There’s no one in the back office. We creep up the hall, checking each of the side rooms. Those are empty, too. Up front by the check-in desk, four Legionnaires are hunkered down. The Magistrate lies on a fake leather sofa. He’s gagged and his arms are tied behind his back. The front of the office is peppered with bullet holes. The Legionnaires are all chattering to each other in nervous, guttural Hellion. I don’t know if Daja can understand it, but I can and it makes me smile.
The deserters are working out how best to desert the other deserters. Through the window, I see that one of the AAVs is on fire. They jump at each successive explosion from the havoc’s cars. These aren’t officers. They’re all outside in the fight. These are the ones too stupid or useless to do anything but babysit an unarmed man. Only one of them has the brains to actually hold her rifle. The other three have left theirs on the floor. From the way things look, I don’t think any of them has ever been in a firefight before.
I tap Daja on the shoulder and point to the Hellion holding the rifle. She’s closest to the Magistrate, so I know Daja will go all out for him. Two of the others are on their knees planning their getaway. The fourth one is also by the Magistrate, but couldn’t care less about him. He’s on the lookout for officers who might blow their escape plans. I point to myself and the two talkers. She points to the lookout. I point to both of us and shrug. Basically, whoever gets there first. She nods.
With her fingers, she counts down: three, two, one—
She springs at the soldier near the Magistrate, getting her in the ribs with both knives. The two talkers turn at the sound and scramble for their rifles. I slice the arm off the one who almost reaches his. Swing the blade around and take off his buddy’s head.
There’s a shot and all of a sudden my right side is on fire. My leg goes numb and collapses. Not for long, but long enough for the lookout, whose gun jammed, to clear it. However, before he can turn me inside out, the Magistrate kicks out, driving the shooter’s head into the wall. His rifle goes off, but the shots are wild and I can roll out of the way. By the time I have the na’at up, Daja is on the guy with her knives buried in his heart.
I limp over to the Magistrate and use Doris’s butcher knife to cut his hands free. Daja takes off his gag.
“Thank you both,” he says. He puts his hands on Daja’s bloody cheeks and she hugs him.
I can feel blood running down my side, but I’m not about to look at the wound. My leg gets funny again, but I make it to the window before it goes. I kneel down and look outside.
There are a lot of bloody patches on the ground where dead Hellions and souls blipped out to Tartarus. The gunfire from the roof and out front is more sporadic. A second AAV is on fire. There’s a whole wall of exploded havoc vehicles burning out front. Smoke slowly drifts down from the ceiling.
“I believe the building is on fire,” says the Magistrate. “Perhaps we should go out the back.”
I look down the hall.
“Good news. That’s the part that’s on fire.”
Daja looks out the front window. The wall of flame is higher than ever. She turns to me.
“I knew I shouldn’t trust you. Big talker. Man with the plan. What’s the plan now?”
I look at the Magistrate.
“You’re the smart one. What do you say?”
“I am sorry,” he says sleepily. “This one hit my head with his rifle. It’s hard to think . . .”
The smoke is getting thicker, drifting down with a red rain of ashes.
I hate lying. No, actually I love lying. I just like it to be a good one and this might be the lamest lie I’ve ever come up with.
I look out the window and say, “I see a break in the fire line.”
Daja comes up next to me.
“Where?”
I point to a spot in the fire where a burning cop car and a pickup truck have locked bumpers.
“See? They’re about to come undone.”
“Are you stupid?” she says. “They’re practically welded together.”
“Nah. It’s fine. Trust me. I’ll show you. You get the Magistrate. I’ll make sur
I stand up and my leg collapses.
“You can’t even walk, shithead.”
“When the choice is burning or hopping, I’m goddamn Bugs Bunny. I’m going out front and clear a path where the fire’s going to break. You wait a second, then bring him.”
“You . . .” she starts.
“I trust him,” says the Magistrate. “Do what you have to, Mr. Pitts.”
I steady myself on the walls with a bloody hand and take a breath. Then I pull the door open and stagger outside.
Fire is hot. Annoyingly hot. And a wall of fire, the kind that melts metal to metal, is even hotter. It’s the kind of hot where you have to hold your breath because if you breathe in, the air will fry your lungs. But I took a breath back in the office, so I have just enough air inside me to bark some Hellion hoodoo. And I’m alone, so I don’t have to be subtle about it. The other nice thing is this is exactly my kind of hoodoo. Really massive. Really loud. Really destructive.
I barely get the last syllable out when the cop car and pickup truck blow apart in a shower of sparks and flying metal. There’s a good ten feet of space in the firewall. Daja starts out with the Magistrate when a Legionnaire who was just on the other side of the cop car sees us. I get the jump on him, throwing out the na’at like a whip and putting it right through the fucker’s chest. Before he can blip out, I twist the na’at so that the far end opens into a kind of claw. Then all I have to do is pull and the na’at yanks the asshole’s spine clean out.
When he’s gone, Daja grabs the Magistrate and runs him through the firebreak. I follow them, getting good and singed as I gimp along on my bad leg.
When I’m clear of the flames, people grab me and drag me away. None of them know that I took a bullet in the side, so they’re not quite as delicate about it as I’d like. Still, they get me clear of the fire and I don’t faint, so I’ll take the help.
When I’m done coughing up smoke, Billy and Doris pour water onto my face and down my throat. It feels good. Someone wipes the water and blood from my eyes. It’s Traven. The rest of the dog pack is around me, Daja, and the Magistrate. The broader havoc is spread out around them. Gisco opens my coat and sees the wound in my side. He turns to get help, but I grab him before he goes and hold out the na’at to him. He puts up his hands and shakes his head frantically. Then he runs off to get me a Band-Aid.