The Kill Society. Richard Kadrey
“How about you? Think I can’t make it happen?”
He laughs and turns to the townspeople.
“See? As I said, man of great violence.”
He walks over to me.
“Do not pretend that you have never done something similar in the past. Decided who in the crowd, even among innocents, should die.”
For a fraction of a second, I flash back to fighting in the arena in Pandemonium. I killed everything they threw at me back then. I never asked who they were or why they were there. But this feels different.
I shake my head to clear it. The Magistrate is spookier and spookier. I don’t want to take a chance he can read something in my face that will give me away.
I say, “What if I don’t want to play?”
“Come come. We both know the answer to that.”
Daja doesn’t go for her gun. She pulls out a tanto and holds it across Traven’s throat.
“It’s all right,” he says. Traven even smiles. “Let them have me. I’m ready.”
“What a brave man. What a great soul,” the Magistrate says. “Such a shame it would be to sacrifice him because of your inaction.”
I stare at the five quaking assholes in front of me. I hate the whole town for being here. For choosing the Tenebrae over Hell. They thought their punishment would be too much and that they could run for it. But punishment doesn’t give up, and it has all eternity to find you down here.
“Mr. Pitts?” says the Magistrate.
“Give me a fucking minute.”
He checks his watch.
“Exactly one minute.”
I glance at Traven. He nods to say it’s all right. The prick is way too eager to go to Tartarus, for my taste. I bet Cherry’s heart is doing backflips watching the Magistrate make me do his monkey dance.
“Thirty seconds, Mr. Pitts,” the Magistrate says.
I look over the townies’ faces. Spot someone trying to pretend none of this is happening. His hands are in his pockets. I can see their outline as he moves them around.
I walk over.
“What’s in your pockets?”
“Nothing,” he croaks.
I grab him by the collar and rip off a pocket. A collection of doll heads, large and small, falls onto the ground. He begins to shake. There’s something else. A small pocketknife. I squat down, pretending to examine the doll heads as I slip the knife into my boot. Then I drag the guy back to the Magistrate.
“Him,” I say.
“I’ve already picked the volunteers,” he says.
“You told me to choose. I chose.”
The Magistrate looks at his watch, then at me.
Traven shouts, “What are you doing? Let them take me.”
The Magistrate turns to him.
“You never volunteered before, Father. Are you embarrassed now that you have a friend here? Does it make you afraid that God can see you, too?” He turns to the city council. In several languages he says, “Do you understand what is happening? Will one of you take his place?”
None of them makes a peep.
The Magistrate comes closer to me and says quietly, “Why him?”
“He kicked my dog.”
The Magistrate grins.
“Then by all means let us rectify this atrocity. Bring him,” he tells to the crew on the gallows truck. They climb down and drag the doll man over.
“What are you doing?” says Traven. “Why him over me?”
I show him a couple of doll heads I picked up.
He says, “You think he hurts children.”
“He did something to get damned.”
“But you don’t know. They could belong to his own children.”
“They don’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely.”
I get close enough to whisper to him. Daja pushes the knife into his throat hard enough to draw a bead of blood, and it takes a lot to ignore that.
I say, “You’re the one who told me that when things happen not to try and stop them.”
“Not like this,” he says.
I step back.
“Then you should have been more specific.”
What happens next doesn’t take long at all.
The doll man is dragged onto the gallows, his hands are tied behind his back, and one of the crew puts the noose around his neck. The Magistrate says something to him and stands at the edge of the flatbed, a preacher addressing his flock. Charlie Manson laying out the plans for Helter Skelter.
He says, “As Father Traven reminded me, Revelation 21:8 tells us that liars ‘shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.’”
As he finishes, someone pulls the lever. The trapdoor opens. And the doll man falls through. The havoc howls and cheers, which covers up the sound of his neck snapping. Doll Man swings at the end of the rope for a few seconds before disappearing, his soul sucked into the Hell below Hell. A few last doll heads fall, bouncing out of the truck and onto the ground. Damned souls and Hellions scramble to get souvenirs.
I watch it all thinking one thing: Survive. Revenge and pity and whatever else there is comes later.
I guess my chances of getting over my PTSD just went out the window.
Daja puts her knife back in its sheath.
“Welcome to the team,” she says to me.
“I’m not on your team ever, sister.”
“You are and you don’t even know it. That’s how it was with the father. Isn’t that right, Padre?”
She smacks Traven on the ass and walks away.
I go over to him.
“Did you have to choose?”
He nods.
“In Blue Heaven. I did what you did. I picked the worst person I could find.”
“You did the right thing.”
He shakes his head. Draws in a breath and lets it out.
“I was a man of God. Now I’m just a murderer.”
“Why don’t we ask God what he thinks? Oh, that’s right. He isn’t around anymore. We’re on our own.”
“I don’t believe that and neither do you.”
“It’s done. We do what we have to do to survive and we get away the first chance we get. Right?”
“I’m not sure I can do that.”
“You can. Trust me.”
He gives me a look.
“You’re sure about the man you chose?”
“One hundred percent.”
“I want to believe you.”
“We’re in Hell. No one is innocent.”
“Especially us. Because we know better.”
“I’m getting