The air took on clagginess - the clouds hummed closer, accelerating and blooming into a supercell discus from which a flat plane of fuzzy mold unfurled over the earth. Electric fingers blinked as though levitating the mass, gifting the winds that buffeted the sides of the minivan ionic charge. When they rocketed onto Ryatt's street the carpet had expanded above them, and a patter of limp drizzle was invading through the open windows. The storm's thick center loomed, a cyclonic bulkhead revolving pendulously, casting mammoth shadows.
Not a miasma, no, it didn't feel like that. Storm girl then. Thematically it fit nobody else. Supercharged, given de-facto command, bolstered by unknown power synergies. No telling how bad it would get.
In a blazing display of restraint Dorchester slowed when Ryatt's diminished, colorless hovel appeared, and stopped quietly in front of it. Hollis got out and humped over the drained lawn. Ryatt was already outside, inconspicuous and pitiful - a small, short girl with a shoved in face and friar getup that amounted to an artfully cut potato sack. She huddled near the door among suitcases and plastic bags stuffed with clothes. She appeared to be trying to turn the lock.
"That's not going to fit," called Hollis on her approach.
Ryatt jerked, she swiveled from the door dragging a bulbous wooden staff that was barely enough counterweight to keep her upright. Her gelatin eyes didn't focus. "Oh hey Hollis," She turned twitchily to fiddle with the lock again. "Just a second."
Hollis came up behind and watched for a spell. An urge rose. "Why lock the door if you're not coming back?"
Ryatt physically cringed. "I just want to."
"Seriously, don't bother. Let the wraiths have it." This yielded no response. Potential tingled in Hollis' fingers. "Hey, Ryatt?"
"Yes."
"How about that car? What happened to that? I don't see a car."
"I, uh. I had someone take it. Take care of it." Butterfingers, the key rang on the concrete step, Ryatt scrambled for it.
"Got it," crowed Hollis. "Someone, that's so neat. Everyone can use someone."
Ryatt fumbled, red faced.
Hollis, said Dorchester, We can't waste time.
It wasn't as though Dorchester would understand. For her purposes Ryatt was less than human, any interaction with such a mote of dust had to be efficient, no room for entertainment or appreciable tactics. But in this case, sure - they didn't have time. Hollis stepped forward, raising her arm. "Okay Ryatt."
Ryatt winced and abandoned the key. "Yes. Sorry. One second." She bent towards her bagged possessions.
"No." Hollis pushed her by the shoulder.
With perfect timidity Ryatt gave way, slid from the bags, stooped half-grinning at Hollis like a cornered dog. "Why?"
"No room. You can get more in Texas."
"Texas," whispered Ryatt.
"Yeah, Texas, get with the program." She heaped a friendly hand onto Ryatt's back and dragged her towards the minivan. It began to rain harder. A thickening cloud cover consumed the sky in mute negatives, while the dark locus of the storm swelled into panorama above what must have been the entire city. Hollis searched hopelessly for a sliver of blue. In how many minutes had this happened?
The mutilated corpse in the backseat leaned over as Ryatt neared. From the soft wet mouth hole rose a death-rattle wheeze. Ryatt went instantly stiff.
"Get in," said Hollis. Raindrops ponged on the minivan and wet her cheeks. She was becoming a beleaguered hunchback.
Ryatt shook her head feebly.
"Come on."
"Please."
But Hollis prodded her inside. She wrung her hands hard as Hollis slammed the door shut. Hollis assumed the passenger seat and the moment she was in they were off, shooting through the rain, which instantly turned into a hail of small bullets that crashed into Hollis mercilessly. She waved her hands and spluttered, but Dorchester just kept going.
She finally hauled a poofy pink umbrella out of her bag to shield from the worst of it, which frilly girth obscured much of the flight from Savannah. If Hollis didn't have so many bits and pieces of this cursed sprawl burned into her cortex she might have tried to sneak a look.
Adieu to: bungalows and bungled dreams, fat and jolly wraiths in convenient abundance, a long slow misery in central hell. The backroads were known to have more efficiency.
It became clear that Dorchester had only a loose idea of their destination. She ripped around sharp corners, making turns whenever the opportunity came, quick and squiggly like a lunatic fieldmouse. The roads became mud ruts and, increasingly, dead ends.
Hollis suffered to produce another phone and guide them. She assumed an invalid crouch with the umbrella clamped between her knees, white-knuckling the phone so it wouldn't slip despite moisture that appeared to seep directly from her pores, left to endure as the GPS voiceover supplied a procession of hairpin turns that slammed her into her surroundings repeatedly. She found it increasingly difficult to shake the conviction that they were going down the same five holes in alternating circulations of some new eternity. Slick black treeforms whipped and gabbed on all sides.
Visible in the droplet-dotted rearview mirror, Yolanda corpulently sprawled, her broken face turned up in an idiot grin, her crooked roadkill arms unfurled over the seats. She issued forth a ghoulish moan of shocking volume, rolling her head on a lubricated socket to rest, bowed, towards Ryatt. Ryatt shrunk into her clothing by a full size.
Undoubtedly Yolanda augmented her strange behavior with all manner of telepathic insults and threats. See how Ryatt freezes without readily apparent cause, flits her terrified gaze across the car, shifts and huddles. Put that kind of pressure on the kid and she'd break pretty soon.
But. This rancid situation could be a chance. In fact, weren't they now at Hollis' mercy? The GPS guided them, and Hollis' magic guided the GPS. Leverage. And they were outside the city, good idea Kyubey! Supposing Yolanda didn't just put a knife in her back she'd be able to vanish in seconds, cloaked in trees and storm.
It didn't seem that important, actually. Where to go from there? Texas? Shit.
Yolanda bapped the seat. So hey Hollis what was that about, that guy? Is he dead?
I don't know.
He sure was bleeding a lot. She gurgle-growled at Ryatt. I don't think he's got luck on his side, I'll tell you that.
Hollis was decaying. Cut that out with Ryatt.
Yolanda stopped growling but otherwise didn't cut it out. She hovered over Ryatt ominously.
I'm telling you stop.
What's with the hardass routine, Hollis? We all need stress relief. You too. You're wound up, I can tell. You should just let loose for a little while, while we've got the chance.
I need to be able to focus if we're going to survive. Do you want to survive?
Cooling off is a good thing, Hollis. I get it, we've been through some shit, it's totally cool. I'll even hop up there and you can have Ryatt to yourself, how about that?
Hollis was inspired to give up. Okay, Yolanda, do what you want.
Yolanda blinked piggishly in the mirror. She slid away from Ryatt. I don't know what your deal is, Hollis.
I'm tired.
Well it's just weird, I guess. You've been off since this morning. If there was something going on you'd tell me, right?
Sure, said Hollis.
Well I hope.
They found roads. They slipped into increasingly large vessels, all of which were empty. An outer townlet brushed by and though Hollis peered obsessively at the brown/white/grey boxes that made up its mass she couldn't spot a single indication of life. As though the world itself had become hollow. Like a miasma, come to think. Add a few wraiths and Hollis was ready to believe.
Ryatt began to hyperventilate. Yolanda made increasingly humorous gestures at her. As they passed over some tarry marshland Ryatt sank shivering into the door, and, glaring furtively, made a series of gestures centered around her palm - where sprouted in fast-motion a small grey mushroom. She tugged it off her skin and popped it in her mouth and went ramrod, eyes closed, fists balled, chewing minutely.
I can't believe you expect me to not acknowledge this, said Yolanda.
Hollis sighed unheard in the rain.
Shit, Hollis, I mean this just clarifies, this is mushroom girl we're talking about. She makes FUNGUS.
I said do what you want, Yolanda. Do what you want. Throw her out of the fucking car for what I care. Get it out of your system.
Yolanda issued a pneumonic snort. Don't give me that. I'm not irrational like you think I am. I've got a good hold on myself, okay?
Incredible.
Hollis?
Okay, said Hollis, you're in control, you've got it handled. Got it.
No, I do. I guess I seem crazy, and that's just how it is, but you've gotta have faith in me here. What I do, is for a reason. And I'm there for you, alright?
Hollis snickered. What the hell?
Anyway you don't have to worry about me getting rid of Ryatt here, she'd have to get through me if she wanted to leave, ain't that right? She elbowed Ryatt. Ryatt lolled and cracked her eyes and blinked in dull shock.
Ain't that right, poked Yolanda.
Ryatt's eyes glistened. She buried her head in her hands. I'm sorry.
Yolanda cackled happily. Don't be sorry, answer! God she must be high as hell. Look I don't mean to bother you, I just want you to think, that's all. You're not gonna get a better chance than this.
Which was true. Hollis eyed the mirror. Ryatt was drifting sedately down her seat. Hollis wrung her fingers. Ryatt you mentioned that someone had your car?
My friend, mumbled Ryatt.
What's this friend. Tell me about your friend.
He's just my friend. He took my car and he's got it for me later. He can bring it up wherever.
I don't care about the car Ryatt, tell me about this guy, this friend. What's he like.
He's just. He helps me figure bad stuff out, and he's my friend, okay?
Cool, and what does he look like?
Ryatt stared miserably at the floorboard. He's got long hair, she said.
Okay, great, nodded Hollis. Well so you're aware I shot a guy earlier today that looked like that. I think he bled out.
Ryatt receded into her fingers.
Make of that what you will.
No, said Ryatt, and she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and curled up there around her staff.
Yolanda draped an arm over Ryatt's dull shoulders. Aw don't be sensitive, it can't be that bad. She winked in the mirror as Ryatt leaned away.
Hollis stared into the rain. Drops and drips ran out of her laden hair and down her forehead and into her eyes. She twisted in her seat and pushed awkwardly into the back space to directly view Ryatt's wretched twitching form. What was fucking wrong with her? Ryatt, listen.
Why? Why did you do that?
No, listen, I was lying. I never shot someone like that. It was a joke.
Ryatt was motionless.
How would I even do something like that anyway, if he was doing whatever with your car today. We never had the chance to cross paths. What, do you just take whatever I say at face value? Jesus, exercise some critical thought.
Why, croaked Ryatt.
Why what? How about because you need to learn, Ryatt? You need to learn to act and think like a Magical Girl, but you keep being a whiny kid fucker instead. Look at you right now, while all us real Magical Girls are busting our asses and trying to survive. I've never in my life seen a worse excuse for a Magical Girl, and you never improve, you never get it together even a little bit. You'd be dead without us. It's pathetic. If you want-
Get back up here, said Dorchester.
If you want to live you need to get your shit together, the world's moving on without you, and you need to know that, and you need to act on it, so how about that, for a reason, Ryatt.
Ames if you don't obey me there will be consequences. I need you to get up here and change our course.
Hollis returned to her seat. Why?
Dorchester's slate eyes remained ahead. Her fingers were stone on the wheel. We are being followed.
Hollis quietly eyed the mirror. Indeed, in the far distance, almost beyond sight on this wavy bounding road, a car hovered, white with blue markings. In intermittent dapples of dull neptunian light it was possible to make out POLICE along its silverfish sides.
We need to outrun them. Do your job.
Hollis did her job - it only took a thought. The GPS redirected to plow into more horrible side roads beginning about a mile away. Dorchester sped up, the police car did not close in or recede. Yolanda contorted. Is that the cops?
Yes, said Hollis.
And I guess we're running away.
Yes.
Okay, said Yolanda. One second.
No time to comprehend. True to her word, Yolanda took about one second to rise casually from desolation and throw herself through the missing door hole. Thump went the back tire. Yolanda appeared again behind the minivan, standing up already, and the wet thrumming oppression did not significantly cut the glint of her knife. The police car braked and swerved onto the centerline, but Yolanda was long airborn at that point, in the closing of a parabola into the cruiser's windshield. The glass caved, Yolanda disappeared, the steering went wild. It slid off of the road and vanished into trees with a misty crunch, two gunshots, and nothing else.
Hollis was unable to look away from the mirror for any length of time, but Dorchester didn't appear to have noticed. She continued at great speed for the remainder of the road and turned off at the phone's cue and they were again inside the grasping bowels. Swells of wind crashed through the treetops.
We're leaving her behind? asked Hollis.
Yes, said Dorchester.
And they did.
Yolanda claimed by the hellworld. What did it mean? It meant they could be claimed.
Face it, the situation had changed. It was all barriers now, how many things between Hollis and death. With one obstacle subtracted it would seep faster than ever. When Yolanda died the enchantment on the minivan would go and leave them in these stygian depths. Before then she would certainly kill more Magical Girls, making the reprisal even worse.
And the storm grew. Or descended? It was definitely getting thicker, but it seemed also to deepen, draping in seething increments - but the impenetrable dark this very cloudcover fostered made any judgment meaningless, and the rain pelted so even in a flash of lightning nothing could be discerned. Hollis was busy anyway with the umbrella and phone and shivering Ryatt in back who needed to be observed at every opportunity to confirm she hadn't dropped into the tempest.
Dorchester refused to turn on her headlights. They ran off the side of the road and bump-bumped back onto pavement just as the sucking mud was about to set them spinning, only to drift over the unmarked centerline and repeat the process on the other side. Ryatt slid all over the back seat and was unable to avoid coming into contact with the black residue streaking Yolanda's seat. Hollis could no longer stand it. Turn the fucking headlights on.
No.
Why? Masochism? I don't care, I don't want to crash, don't be an idiot.
Dorchester had become a porous shade. She flicked on the headlights. Whatever the backwash revealed Hollis didn't see. Ahead the twin headlight cones had opened up once more the shit country, now wet and hungry. At their uppermost points the cones brushed right up against a layer of cloud.
Oh fuck you, said Hollis.
It wasn't going away. It sharply delineated from the air like a textbook illustration, Nimbostratus (Ns). And lowering? When Hollis blinked it looked awfully like it was.
Get ready to fight, said Dorchester.
Why, why Hollis? She had no utility, couldn't she focus on surviving? Just leave her alone forever, let her be penitent in peace and self flagellate with impunity instead of, IMPOSING it-
With a snap-crack, a purple buzzling flash, a bulge began to drop from the clouds ahead. It pulsed and engorged pregnantly, it hung down down down. Dorchester jammed in the pedal they soared towards the bulge and from its depths burgeoned a very familiar ultraviolet comet crackling and burning up the road. Dorchester ripped the minivan to the side and it skidded, twirled, tilted as though about to flip, and miraculously stopped halfway off the road as the comet detonated somewhere and sent a prickly jolt through the forest and slapped Hollis around some more. Dorchester dipped out - Hollis fell through the door, drunk and shocked and clutching her crushed umbrella, in time to see her step onto the road and assume a cool stance and flourish her scroll into existence. Ember motes snapped off the edges and died in darkness.
"Stay in the car Ryatt," mumbled Hollis. She cowered near the hood. Better believe Hollis wasn't doing anything. If Dorchester wanted her in there she'd have to fucking drag her.
The bulge touched the ground. It expanded with a thick wet gust and settled. The rain eased. The clouds thinned just enough that a little sick light could creep in, The bulge disconnected from the cloud layer and became a taught sphere in the middle of the road whistling and rushing.
Consider a shitty trailer park Magical Girl on the way to death, stealing and scraping and bullying crumpled old fuckers on the street who would wake up the next morning wondering why they were missing their paycheck. The powers that be took her in because Three sounded better than Two. God forbid, she started to feel good about herself. Say she stretched beyond her bounds and failed to do the best possible thing. Everyone else did too.
But let no dumpster girl live above her station. The world itself forsook her. Small wonder she wasn't transmogrified into salt, not that it was too late.
"DYSON MALECKI," said the cloud ball.
"Shut the fuck up," spat Dorchester, "Get out of the hamster sphere and show your face you pathetic shit."
A pause. The ball spun. Hollis was ready to duck behind the engine when it lobbed one of those electricity bolt things, and she decided to actually just go ahead and do that. A long moment later she peeked out shamefully. The ball receded into the clouds above three Magical Girls, two goons headed by who else. Her coat ruffled, her sash glowed sadly in the dim non-light. "Maintain your dignity. You had to know we couldn't let you go."
"You will let me go," snarled Dorchester.
"No. Let's wrap this up."
Dorchester shook. "As if I'm afraid, of a couple fucking recruits, and a second in command halfweight like you."
Storm girl sighed. "Okay, Ames?"
Shit. Hollis froze. What?
"I understand you've been trapped. All you have to do is step over here. We can protect you, and we'll give you fair treatment. No strings."
The longest lie she'd ever pulled off, unraveling before her eyes. Hollis was just tired.
"Make the right-"
"DON'T TALK TO MY SUBORDINATE" howled Dorchester as she plunged onto the road shielded in a spectral wave. The USMF girls split instantly, Dorchester blundered between them, they closed back and cut her off from the minivan. Stormcloud girl whirled her wand-thing like a baton as the sky began to crackle and thicken once more. Her goons prowled towards Dorchester, who had twirled around and now waved her scroll in billowing circles. The gibberish latin began to glow and some grey particulate coalesced like pollen but before anything could happen stormcloud girl flicked her wand and BANG, Dorchester was airborne trailing smoke down the road.
One goon split off to follow - the other looked over her shoulder at Hollis, who was preoccupied with cringing away from flying rubble (she bore the umbrella as a shield and it flew from her hand, the minivan pinged all over with invisible ricochets) and didn't fully notice until the girl was striding up. She had a gun out, an oversized wild west dragoon in fitting with her sparkly cowboy-but-with-a-skirt deal. Hollis raised one and a quarter arms. Hey listen I'm not part of this, do whatever you want.
Thanks, said the goon. She hustled up the remaining distance and waved her gun. Let's get up on the road, alright.
Hollis backed away from the minivan and circled around and stepped up on the road. The girl pushed her a little further on the asphalt and raised her free hand. Stop.
Do I just stand here, said Hollis. A distant explosion buzzed the air.
Yeah that's good, nodded the girl, and she shot Hollis in the chest. The effect was like a shotgun blast - bone crumpled, flesh blew off and hung in strips. Hollis collapsed. As she hit the ground the second shot caved in her entire upper face.
Interesting situation. Near total blackout. Better Magical Girls could compensate with magic and technique, but a weakling like Hollis had to rely on bodily constitution rather than high quality soulstuff, and that meant if you took a hunk out of her central nervous system you couldn't expect much more than a zombie shuffle.
What even would be the point? Shooting her was a definitive statement: don't be an issue, wait and we'll process you. If she had actually intended anything permanent then she would have gone for the Gem. No reason to push it. Better just lay here. It suited Hollis well, maybe she'd inherited some kind of autonomic comprehension from her many years as a walking cadaver, and in this penultimate moment, laid out on the asphalt with no discernable motive or hope, the habit had finally achieved a life of its own.
The only tricky thing was she could still hear. Why this particular cluster of nerves survived who knew. It became annoying. If she just tilted her head the problem might snuff itself out, but it was best not to move at all, so she didn't.
Footsteps squidged on the nearby asphalt. A grassy swish, a car door k-chnk. Limp wristed protestation heralded the approach, footsteps came up the shoulder again plus two more and the slim weight of a slim girl hit the road within arm's reach. "No," choked Ryatt. The dragoon boomed, Ryatt shrieked like a chihuahua. Hollis' chill broke, she cringed in distaste, the ruins of her face puckered like one orifice. How was she supposed to sustain all this noise?
The footsteps stickily hustled back off the road. Ryatt sniveled and hitched. Hollis, she said, Hollis please they shot off my knee.
Why are you crying? What did I say about being tough, Ryatt? What the fuck did I say. You don't even listen to me.
But I don't wanna die, sobbed Ryatt.
You're not gonna die, I'm talking to you right now just fine motherfucker. Get it together. Jesus.
But what if she crushes my Gem!
She's just trying to intimidate you. Obviously it worked.
Though where was this trust coming from? Trust in the USMF. Magical Girls that had every reason to hate the Charleston Three. Oh, and they'd lie, they always did. But wait for the right moment.
Hollis tried to remain still. What's she doing right now.
I can't tell I don't know she's in the minivan, I think she's getting something out? I don't know, moaned Ryatt.
Shit. Hollis fumbled for her bag. Okay you need to tell me if she does anything else and you need to do what I say, alright? You need to fucking focus, you're panicking, stop panicking and get your shit in line.
Ryatt audibly wheezed. I'm trying.
Okay well keep fucking trying, it's important. Hollis focused on the thing in the bag, not the usual way she did it but a fully assembled article, a pistol of master level quality whatever that meant, chambered for the largest caliber she could picture. Her head began to feel like the broken egg it was, her bones became grimy. She barely maintained the wherewithal to tug the gun out and shove it under her body.
She's coming out, said tremulous Ryatt. She's got a gun, she's got a rifle, she's staring at me!
Calm down. I've got a plan, just wait and listen and we'll all be fine.
Steps on the road. Blood and other fluids congealed in her throat. The steps got closer, she's coming said Ryatt and Hollis almost lost her shit, she knew that, she knew what was happening, didn't she have a fucking plan for it, didn't she say that? The stupidity, the noise - but if she even twitched then it was done, it would happen instantly and without remorse. Breathe: no, don't. But listen. Here she comes.
When the steps were beside her she leapt up or tried but her dead fish body was slow. The final moment extended cruelly, irrationally, maybe the cowgirl was genuinely surprised and therefore slow to punish - but before Hollis could fumble her gun into alignment with where she thought the enemy was, the inevitable occurred. Boom and her ears rang, holes peppered her legs and waist and her Gem went pop crack fizzle. She slumped for a half-instant. And remained alive.
Right. What a dumb thing to forget. She fired.
Brrrakk! The physical constraints of the pistol should have allowed twelve discharges at most: but this gun was custom and magical, so it got out double that amount in a fully automatic burst. Hollis' hand immediately shattered. The effect was that about half of the bullets went shrieking away from Hollis' intended target - assuming that she had even been accurate in the first place. The gun went clattering elsewhere.
She waited to be shot again. She wasn't. No distinct sound either, beyond the hissing rain, the flat bmp of distant explosions. She jerked her hand towards her bag less to actually grab anything than to scare the cowgirl into doing something, making some noise, anything at all. Indeed, someone did scuffle, but that was just Ryatt, you could tell from the whimpering.
What a state, when this was in effect her only connection to such important information. To go through Ryatt, to be beholden to her - a fate worse than death? She would rather just sit here and not know.
"Hollis," Ryatt finally choked out, "Hollis she's not moving what do I do?"
You check if she's still alive, how about that, because I can't see. Get her Gem.
Scuff, scuff. "I don't think I can find it. Hollis she's got no head."
Listen to me I need you to roll her over and really look.
"What if she is alive, she'll attack me, she'll kill me."
Ryatt you useless fuck, do what I'm telling you. If she's alive she gets up anyway and she kills our asses, you saw that shit, she had murderous intent before I blasted her, so how do you want to bet she's gonna be merciful now? They only way you're safe is if you get the fucking Gem so wrap your pussified sensibilities around that and GET THE GEM.
Ryatt said nothing. Hollis listened to shivering breath, tumbling limbs.
"Um," warbled Ryatt, "I think I found it."
Okay keep hold of that.
"No, that's, I'm not sure. There's pieces."
Hollis swallowed. She tottered onto her knees, she extended her hand. Let me feel.
Ryatt squidged over and dropped them in Hollis' palm, four or five razor bits that sure did feel a lot like broken fucking Gem. She tried to squeeze them and when her shattered fingers wouldn't cut it she scattered them windward like birdseed. Okay get me up, we need to go to the car.
It was grueling. Ryatt was too timid to do much more than pull her by the arm, and Hollis had shot peppered legs and a missing hunk of spine and no eyes. She kept bumping into shit everywhere she stepped, heavy chunks and branches tossed by a million explosions to obscure her path. She cursed and spat, an arthritic hag-creature.
Ryatt did eventually succeed in getting her to the back seat. Hollis crept in like a slug. Tell me if you see anyone come cubes are in the back, go get them.
Ryatt vanished. She was being oddly efficient. It was possibly suspicious, but Ryatt didn't merit any worry. Probably she was just that broken in.
Had Hollis really killed that cowgirl? It was possible that what Ryatt had found wasn't a Gem but a gem, you couldn't tell with remains - not that the girl was a danger, she probably would have already gotten up if she could, but was she dead was the question. Maybe not.
Clink clink like a box of christmas ornaments. Hollis grabbed it and dropped her Gem in and sagged. Listen you said you have a car, can you drive? Can you drive fast?
"Not fast."
You may need to drive fast, they're gonna come for us. In fact they're probably coming right now, which is why you need to get in the front seat right now, go.
Ryatt went. "Do you think they killed her, they got Dorchester?"
That was one bullshit powerful magical girl and she had a buddy too, I bet they fucking vaporized her. I want you to look, are you looking? Rearview mirror, tell me if they're coming.
"I don't see anyone," said Ryatt.
Okay, Hollis found her door and slammed it, Well fuck it then we're gone, pull out. And tell me if you see anything.
Wind hooted in the minivan's frame. Ryatt fiddled with something in the front. The silence extended beyond reasonable limits before she found the gearshift and chunked it and they began to roll forward. With great care and much braking they bump-bumped onto the road in a gradual weave, Ryatt mumbling and hissing to herself. "Where do I go there's stuff everywhere."
Away from the way the fuckers that want to kill us went, what do you think? And just run over the damn stuff.
"But one way is that lightning girl and the other is Yolanda!" Her voice crackled on the edge of hysterics.
Okay fuck you're right, groaned Hollis, hold the hell on. She pawed in her bag. This many cubes should have made all the difference but what the effort gained her was not a phone, but crippling nausea. She held in her guts barely. New tack. Look around up front, there's probably a phone, it should be ringing.
It should have been but wasn't. Was she so weak she could no longer connect? No: an insipid warble touched the wind. Hollis couldn't orient but Ryatt filled her in. "I think it's on the girl."
Why not. I guess we need to go back and get it then because I don't know how the hell to get out of here and even if I did as you may be able to see I have no eyes. Turn around.
Ryatt began to. Then she slammed on the brakes so hard that even at this crawling pace Hollis was thrown around. She tried to compose a reprimand but Ryatt's cringing whisper came first, "Hollis I see someone!"
Fuck off. Who? Where?
"She's right ahead, Hollis what do I do, do I keep turning, please tell me what to do I don't know what I'm doing!"
CALM DOWN, said Hollis. Okay look you need to drive! Don't do the turn that'll slow us down too much we need to get past her and she'll probably try to shoot us so you'll need to evade! Drive straight ahead and tell me if something happens! Faster than that, because though Ryatt had followed her orders the wind was whipping too slowly, faster! Fucking faster!
The minivan bucked over hard objects and detritus and skipped like a stone and Ryatt screamed something but couldn't be heard and Hollis' tiny world was narrowing to a needle tip. What was this? Could she feel herself healing faster now, her blown out skull pulling back up and welding together, new eyes congealing as her heart beat back into existence, and in this flying floating genuine touched-by-jesus miracle was there a feeling, a rush of sorts, that brushed away darkness and turned it laughable? Was she laughing?
"I'M PAST HER," screamed Ryatt.
Drive! howled Hollis, her mint condition eyes just opening as she leaned out the window to witness, DRIVE YOU BITCH!
She was breathless with untouchability, what could only be freedom. The branches on all the trees were not blowing and jousting in the wind, but applauding the dash, the scathing brush with death. Their nemesis dropped, too slow to intercept a flaming missile, and what a situation when even Yolanda had to be thanked for her part, her shitty enchantments blessings! Hollis braced with her new arm (new arm!) and tried to see the scowl on this bitch, how her face would contort at such a fucking turn, oh god she had to see it. And she saw it.
Oh.
"What?" Ryatt peered in the mirror and jolted and braked their speed in half. Hollis tumbled to the floor, cubes raining down all around her. She barely snatched her Gem before it rolled under the seat. Idiot! Why say anything? The real solution was
Ryatt keep going it's fine.
"What! She'll kill us!"
She has to catch us first now GO.
But Ryatt hesitated, gibbering and doing hover hands on the steering wheel until something crucial was lost. Hollis clambered back onto the seat and ducked out to see again the haggard form. Dorchester trailed sooty rags as she closed the distance.
Too dismal to watch. Hollis slipped back in her seat and gazed vacantly ahead. Stop the car.
"Okay," whispered Ryatt.
The moment the minivan stopped Hollis gathered her limited mettle and got out facing the approaching creature. Dorchester I apologize for that as you can guess at the speeds we were going it was hard to make out faces but I apologize nonetheless, we meant nothing by it and I hope you know that.
"You tried to leave me behind."
Hollis eyed Dorchester's neckline. Clap clap clap, branches. We stopped right when we knew.
"You tried."
Hollis said nothing. Ryatt sniffled by the driver's side door. Dorchester pushed past her, and Hollis dipped numbly into the back seat as did Ryatt. And they resumed the journey.
How could Hollis have known? Until recently she hadn't had definitive proof.
The power imbalance. The symmetry. Three against three - two split after one, one splits after two. The venue, the storm, all that energy flowing, every reason to think it should exert concrete malignance. Logically, in an ordered world, events should play out to the destruction of Dorchester, Hollis, Ryatt.
Since that hadn't happened, something had to be wrong. It could only be the initial assumption. So maybe, structure such as it existed was meaningless. Chaos transcended all parameters, even the most airtight situation could guarantee nothing. Entropy! Did anything describe this experience better?
But, if nothing was permanent, that included chaos. According to the new rules the decay could in fact decay, the de-evolution devolving into evolution and a fresh state of affairs, so: there was reason to expect an unexpected circumstance to come along and annihilate annihilation, thus delivering the penitent sinner unto sweet death or continued life free of the most directly unbearable curses.
Bullshit, but it felt real anyway.
Coming from straight ahead with such hesitance that Hollis wondered if it might have been a heatless mirage or a trick of the rain appeared headlights. They approached at great speed - in seconds details made themselves apparent past the blare. The candy yellow sedan shone explosively despite the subpar lighting of this cursed dimension. It had a vague blur for a driver, and as it flashed by the helpless astronaut seemed to turn their head, wondering. It began to recede as fast as it had arrived.
Dorchester slammed on brakes with no warning whatsoever. Hollis barely shielded herself from another broken nose, with the disadvantage that when Dorchester continued the maneuver into a hairpin turn at still considerable speed Hollis entered a sort of roll. She slid into Ryatt, who may have started crying.
Hollis fought back into her seat and clawed for the seatbelt. It took an embarrassingly long time, she was preoccupied with what the actual hell Dorchester was doing, aborting their escape to pursue this random guy with his average car. Though Hollis thought she knew. She also wanted to ditch the minivan, since when Yolanda made an exit every miserable enchantment she ever made would go with her. Assuming Dorcherster was still capable of thought, that had to be what she was thinking.
It couldn't end in anything but death. Likely that of the squishy human victim. If Dorchester was paying any attention she understood that the boundaries were gone, and in that case what mattered the average chump?
They closed in. Dorchester's tight guidance of the steering wheel shifted into something feral and crouching. Corrosive whispers dribbled under her breath and her face - Hollis saw it in the rearview mirror - suggested that she was preparing to twist off heads. Under the circumstances exactly one option remained, which was stay quiet and low and let happen what may. Nothing was important about this. Screw the guy. Not like she could do anything.
But at the final approach, when they were mere feet from the sedan (erratic, slowing and accelerating in staccato paroxysms of confusion) she poked her head between the seats and said We shouldn't do this.
Dorchester responded by swerving wildly to the other lane and gunning it. Hollis toppled back into her seat, where she impacted hard but didn't bounce thanks to the garroting seatbelt. She choked but continued. Look I'm sorry and maybe if we find an abandoned car it's cool but I don't like this.
She might not have even been heard. Dorchester turned onto the right lane and as soon as the sedan's headlights had aligned in the back window she pumped the brakes into a steady decline. The sedan moved as if to pass, but Dorchester swerved to intercept and it backed off, also slowing. Hollis struggled back into the gap, Dorchester I-
Dorchester's grabbed Hollis by the roots of her scalp and in an instant ripped her halfway out of her seatbelt, through the seats, Hollis unable to do anything but writhe and unspool into the front seat. Dorchester slammed her face the dashboard, and as the passenger airbag exploded and swamped Hollis she bucked open the door and whirled out. Hollis fought the airbag, a battle she seemed doomed to lose for even as she doubled down to tear apart this deflating pillowcase she found that it tied and constrained her fully, and the fibers would not give. Since when was she so puny? She spat at the shitty thing and what she spat was blood and teeth.
Finally she disentangled herself enough to open the door and spill out though the airbag still clung parasitically, somehow it had hooked onto her foot and as she kicked it didn't dislodge but tore suddenly from its housing, so while she scrabbled around the minivan the horrible gheist trailed behind her and tripped her up every third step, no time to bend down and pull it off, she saw instantly that it had come true, Dorchester had pulled out a guy in a t-shirt and khaki shorts, she had her book out and everything, so Hollis rushed forward and pointed dramatically, Dorchester don't kill him!
Upon the completion of this thought her foot hung on the airbag and she went down in flames. She the side of her head conked against the asphalt with a sound that suggested the healing process might not have extended to her brain and therefore could account for otherwise inexplicable stupidity. She squinted: had she done it?
She had. Dorchester gave her a pinched look suggestive of the sight of rotten meat. Hollis was at a loss to interpret what it could mean. Impropriety? Oh big fucking deal.
The guy took his chance to get up, hands raised. "Who are you," he shouted.
Dorchester spun. "You will tell them when they ask. I am innocent of the crimes they are hunting me down for. Only because the USMF has driven me to this point do I defend myself. The actions of my subordinates notwithstanding I have done nothing to deserve this treatment. I was even willing to bend to their petty despotism, but now they'll have me killed. Yet I have the standards they claim to. I defended my territory of Dorchester with honor, and what have they done with it in my absence?"
The man, gaping, angled transparently for a path back to his car. Did he really think he could get past?
"I have followed this: they gave it to an oligarchy of idiots to exploit. No more cubes come from it, it's useless. That's what's happening everywhere, and soon it will matter, and when it does the Magi they've disinherited will matter too. They cannot forget us." She stalked to the sedan.
"What the fuck do you mean-"
Dorchester whipped something under her shoulder directly at him. Hollis choked, even though knives were Yolanda's gimmick, despite Dorchester's Morality Hour, because who knew? But the object clattered into the guy's chest and fell to the ground and it was keys. "Take the minivan," said Dorchester as she dipped into the sedan.
Oh no. Hollis fought to her feet despite the tyranny of the airbag, "Wait hold on what about the guns, we need those, he can't have them. He shouldn't have them. What if he tries to shoot us?" She looked at the man in question for support. No time for shame, Hollis could not feel it, she was invincible.
Dorchester hovered malevolently behind the windshield. You disgust me, she said.
"No look," in her desperation she had become loud and brash, the man twitched, she recalibrated, Look I'll tell you what we need to do is if we're really switching cars we need to get what we can out of there and blow the rest up okay I can do that I've got the explosives it's all cool, and this guy can fucking hack it, he'll be fine if that's your concern which I doubt but if it is. Do you want them to get this shit? Maybe they can track it, what about that? Do you want that?
Hollis you are the flotsam that drifts on a scum pond. You are social driftwood. When I took you under my wing I expected that you would learn, but you have become no less pathetic or stupid. Your uses are limited and increasingly cost ineffective. You're tiresome. What do you think it will earn you to act this way? A hat, a medal?
Hollis swallowed. She kicked the ground and the airbag stuck. You aren't hot shit either.
Dorchester slammed her door shut. You have two minutes. If you try to bring back anything other than grief cubes and Ryatt I will run you down.
Okay. Fuck it. Hollis shuffled past the guy and went around and jerked open Ryatt's door. Ryatt come on I guess we're fucking leaving.
"Nooo," cried Ryatt. She literally batted at Hollis' hands.
That's just how it is, said Hollis. She caught one of Ryatt's noodle arms and pulled her towards the minivan. Ryatt submitted almost instantly but wore a particular slowness for its duration, she had to be steered and she would not look to see where they were going. When Hollis dropped her into the back of the car she collapsed like a duffle bag. Hollis had to kick her legs in before she could close the door.
As she went back she shot Dorchester a weird improvised hand signal as though it might prevent her from being mowed down - but something got in the way because when she grabbed the cubes and returned the sedan was still there. She football carried the box past the hapless guy and ducked into the passenger seat. Dorchester chucked the car into reverse.
"Hey no," said the man, arm outstretched.
But the car was already whipping around. He retreated to the minivan and milled there in the rain shouting and waving. Once they had fully turned and were swooping directly away from him he commenced to flip them off doubly, kick the minivan's tires, stomp childishly. In the final stage he put his hands on his neck in some form of cradle and stared, forced now to see the fruition of inevitability. Even from this far away you could see that it devastated him. A bad thing done, a piece of dignity and property stolen. Probably the guy had earned his stupid yellow car.
But nobody dead. They could just drive away.
"Stop smiling," said Dorchester.
Hollis stopped.
Contrary to previous evidence the airbag had not fused with her boot. She was able to peel it off in short order. A pathetic sort of ghost, grey with road grit, blotched all over in red-brown. She rolled down the window and dumped it. It was immediately pelted into the ground by an undulation of rain. Similarly blasted, Hollis brought the window back up. At the moment it sealed, the rain shut off. The cloud layer split open and isolated into wisps of fog which burned up amidst unadulterated sunlight. Then the blue sky. A few regular clouds hovered in the far distance. Moisture streaked on the window, thinned, and flicked away.
Dorchester pulled over. An easy stop by a blank road - no center line, even. "Ames," she said, "We need to paint the car."
Hollis looked at her and did not see and then saw. "How do you suggest."
"Sprayer. You have permission to use however many cubes."
How rare. Hollis dropped her Gem in the box and circled the car, sizing it up.
Once she'd wanted to rob a bank, cinema style. The problem was getting the paint on the metal without getting it everywhere else, why every other motherfucker who wanted a change of car without the change of car didn't just carry around spray cans, they'd glance the windows and tires and just look like assholes when they got caught. You needed adjustable spray. Also paint, also somewhere to do it, also the skill to finish before someone rolled by and called the cops anyway. Way too impractical on the whole, better just drop the car.
Except for Hollis. She could run a tube right out her bag - inefficient in the long run, tanks were better, but if there ever was a time. She puffed the contraption experimentally and it worked, nice little cloud of burgundy. She started at the trunk and worked her way along.
Really. She slid. The weird smile came back. She worked on the back doors, the roof, shining paint, a smell like candy. It was getting done entirely too fast. How to divert? Ryatt was bunched up in the back seat, looking dead. Hollis tapped the back window. Ryatt I want to talk.
What, croaked Ryatt.
What do you want to talk about? Anything at all.
I don't know.
How about Texas, you've gotta have questions about Texas, Texas was my idea and I've got questions. Come on you'll feel better work with me here.
I don't think I trust you to tell me what makes me feel better.
Hoo. Ryatt that's unfair. What's going on? Gem?
It's fine.
Doesn't sound fine.
Ryatt twisted. It's kinda dark, she murmured.
Hollis yanked open the back door and stuck her hand in. Ryatt passed her Gem over, which was indeed very muddy at a glance. Hollis dumped it in the box.
Now let's talk.
Ryatt extended a molluscoid arm and pulled her door closed.
Ryatt!
About what. I don't want to talk about Texas, Texas is a nightmare. Every moment I spend thinking about Texas is painful.
Well maybe we can talk about that later and you'll feel a little better, we can do something else, maybe-
I won't, I'll just start hiding it.
-maybe that, that honesty there. Hollis held herself back from a pirouette, what the fuck? Now look I'm in favor in fact this is exactly what I was talking about before when I said you needed to be more of a Magical Girl - you can't dissemble, you have to make yourself known. And this is where you fuck up, you don't say shit when it needs to be said, you bow down, and I get it, tough situation, but listen. This is a great opportunity to get in the mold.
I'm tired.
You need to strike a balance. Okay? This is your chance. You need to be ready to move even if you're tired, even if you're on the edge. It's even more than that. You have to watch yourself, you'll sneak shit in otherwise. There's how to save yourself. You've got a chance we never had, you're young and you're obviously out of the loop and yeah you're a bad Magical Girl, but that's fine. You've got it if you take it. So you should fucking take it.
Sure, said Ryatt.
You know what, fine, fuck her. Hollis just finished her work, stepped back, and, Wow. Was she wrong or had the bodywork changed a little? Sometimes even shoddy magic could excel.
Dorchester coughed. "Get the license plate," she nodded on the way to the driver's seat.
Hollis got it. A perfectly sized screwdriver appeared in her hand and she pried the little plate off and wheeled it into the trees. Dorchester slammed her door and Hollid tingled with the sense of pre-departure even though she was certain she would not be left behind now. She pulled from the elastic opening of her bag a new plate and cranked it on and ran ran ducked into the passenger seat. And they were gone.