(no subject)

[destruction1_0]

This is not the Winnemucca road.

Reno, Chicago, Fargo, Minnesota, Buffalo, Toronto, Winslow, Sarasota, Wichita, Tulsa, Ottawa, Oklahoma, Tampa, Panama, Mattawa, La Paloma, Bangor, Baltimore, Salvador, Amarillo, Tocopilla, Barranquilla, and Padilla, I'm a killer

Just as well. There's not enough in his pack to justify the verb 'to tote'.

Boston, Charleston, Dayton, Louisiana, Washington, Houston, Kingston, Texarkana, Monterey, Ferriday, Santa Fe, Tallapoosa, Glen Rock, Black Rock, Little Rock, Oskaloosa, Tennessee, Hennessey, Chicopee, Spirit Lake, Grand Lake, Devil's Lake, Crater Lake, for Pete's sake

It's pretty dusty, though.

---

Start asking yourself a couple of questions about entropy and things get a little overwhelming. Better to just stop paying attention. The world has moved on. Is still moving on.

He whistles, and bootheels clock on hardpan hellground. He's a tall man, an ageless stranger in faded, pegged jeans and a denim jacket and a Boy Scout knapsack. He's a walking dude.

This isn't Highway 51, though. Not even

(God said to Abraham, kill me a son)

Highway 61.

Not even some two-bit two-lane highway.

---

There are highways in hiding that are traveled by the poor and the mad, by the professional revolutionaries and by those who have been taught to hate so well that their hate shows on their faces like harelips and they are unwanted except by others like them, who welcome them to cheap rooms with slogans and posters on the walls, to basements where lengths of sawed-off pipe are held in padded vises while they are stuffed with high explosives, to back rooms where lunatic plans are laid: to kill a Cabinet member, to kidnap the child of a visiting dignitary, or to break into a boardroom meeting of Standard Oil --

Or maybe Citgo.

-- with grenades and machine guns and murder in the name of the people.

Louisville, Nashville, Knoxville, Ombabika, Shefferville, Jacksonville, Waterville, Costa Rica, Pittsfield, Springfield, Bakersfield, Shreveport, Hackensack, Cadillac, Fond Du Lac, Davenport, Idaho, Jellicoe, Argentina, Diamontina, Pasadena, Catalina, see what I mean

Mid-World is right up his alley.

---

He strides on at a steady, ground-eating pace, and there's something in the air: something is coming. It's a sooty hot taste that comes from

Pittsburgh, Parkersburg, Gravellburg, Colorado, Ellensburg, Rexburg, Vicksburg, Eldorado, Larrimore, Atmore, Haverstraw, Chattanika, Chaska, Nebraska, Alaska, Opelika, Baraboo, Waterloo, Kalamazoo, Kansas City, Sioux City, Cedar City, Dodge City, what a pity

everywhere, as if God is planning a cookout and all of civilization is going to be the barbecue.

The land's time of transfiguration is almost at hand, and he's on hand. He always is.

Everywhere.

He's been everywhere.

Comments

[destruction1_0]

"GLADLY, SWEETCHEEKS."

WHUMPH. The plane shudders. Patch of turbulence. That's what happens when you fly over mountains.

"BUT THEN WHO'D FLY THE PLANE?"

[shadowsusannah.livejournal.com]

For one black moment, she thinks Detta is going to for his throat and send the plane spiralling down into the mountains.

(the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain)

But although her hands curl into fists, and she twists within striking distance of the Endless--

(be ye mad or looney sane)

--she keeps her temper, conjuring up from memory Sophia, the doll she made with this bastard's younger sisters. Sophia means wisdom, she remembers, and that's some kind of trigger; some kind of handle on her rage.

(the planes in Spain fall mainly in the rain)

Her fury does not abate, but it allows itself to be restrained.

[destruction1_0]

So they fly over the mountains, in silence.

And if Destruction sings -- it's 'Hey Jude', of course, loudly, and off-key -- there's no comment from the peanut gallery.

Then: the glittering sea.




No lobstrosities in sight.

Shame.

[shadowsusannah.livejournal.com]

There's nowhere to land to the north (south), where the beach stretches along, but beyond the golgatha and the foothills and the entrance to the tunnels beneath the mountains there's a flat stony cliff running alongside the sea that might make a landing strip.

[destruction1_0]

Might.

If you're suicidal.

Isn't it nice being an anthropomorphic personification?








The landing is bumpy. It happens.

There's a parking brake on this aircraft; Destruction sets it.

And twists around in the seat.

Smiling.

[shadowsusannah.livejournal.com]

Patrick is rigid with fear; her own breath is coming in short, sharp, adrenaline-driven pants. The desire to either slap or kiss his grinning face is very strong.

Instead she closes her eyes, and tries to breathe. "Thank you," she says, finally, her voice a little shaky and a little acerbic, but she means it.

[destruction1_0]

"End of the line," he says, disgustingly cheerfully. "You have any further use for this fine aircraft, or do I get to hoof it?"

[shadowsusannah.livejournal.com]

"I don't need it," she says, "and the mahfah who had it before is gone to the clearing at the end of his path. If you want it, it's yours."

There's no way to be certain that she won't need it any further; this world is still dying, and there's no promise Eddie will be here or the doors will open. No promise but the one she made to herself.

She does believe in happy endings. She does.

She has to crawl out on the wing to let Patrick clamber out.

[destruction1_0]

He doffs his aviator's cap, still in the plane. "I'd bid you long days and pleasant nights, Susannah-Mio, but I think we both know that it's an empty wish."

More teeth than grin.

[shadowsusannah.livejournal.com]

Patrick lifts her down, and she glares over his shoulder at the pilot.

(There's nothing ahead but empty nights huddled against the cold alone, and she knows it, deep down she does, that she'll never touch his face his hair his body again, it's long days all right and empty nights in frozen hell; the reprieve is over, and this is Empathica.)

"And may you have twice the number," she snarls back.

[destruction1_0]

"That's a guarantee," he says. And winks. Again.

"I'd step away from the plane, if I were you. Going places. Wouldn't want you to get run over."

[shadowsusannah.livejournal.com]

Patrick carries her away, towards a ridge where the cliff gradually slopes down into the foothills, and they don't look back to see him off.

***************************

By the time they reach the foothills and the paths leading into the mountains and towards the beach, Patrick is exhausted; he's unused to this kind of exertion.

Susannah lets him fall asleep, curled up at the side of the road, and drags herself the rest of the short distance to the golgatha. As the sky darkens she sits on a petrified log and waits for a dead man to come to her.










Just around full dark, one does.