Author's note: Sorry this took so long. I've been ill for a while, haven't really been able to even force myself to write. I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter, but I believe it came together nicely and is a nice preface for things to come. I'm most proud of the imagery. Enjoy!
Pam wasn't sure how long she was out for, but when she awoke, Charon was nowhere to be seen and Virgil was sitting on the control panel of the ferry, smoking a cigarette. She shakily climbed to her feet and Virgil turned to face her.
"Apparently it's pretty soddin' hard to wake the dead," he smiled gently at her. She stepped towards him and leaned next to him.
"Where are we?" she asked hesitantly, not really sure she wanted to know the answer. Virgil's eyes darted outside to the bow of the ship, where Pam noticed Charon tying the ship up to another dock. Beyond him, she could see rolling fields that might have been green, but where now gray, filled up with dead or dying flowers and sick- looking trees. Towering over all of it was something that looked like an enormous, sprawling mansion or palace that had fallen into disrepair. Chunks of masonry lay strewn about the lawn surrounding the structure, and portions of the roof had collapsed. The mansion was surrounded by tall chain-link fences with razor wire coiled around the top. Pam also noticed other previously magnificent structures dotting the fields surrounding the mansion, their cracked ruins blending into the charcoal gray of the surroundings. Figures dotted the entire scene, the largest concentration being a long line leading up to the fencing surrounding the mansion. Pam flicked her eyes back to Virgil, posing an unspoken question to him.
"We're going there, yeah, but just a quick stop. Don't you worry bout a thing," Virgil walked over to the door of the pilot house and opened it. Pam heard the wind blowing, low and mournful, kicking up small, swirling clouds of dust. Fear shone in her eyes, but she reigned herself in and followed Virgil, smiling awkwardly at Charon, who nodded silently in return, as they stepped off the boat onto the dock, then onto dry land, following a winding trail that would take them to the enormous structure in the distance. They walked along in silence for a few minutes before Pam stopped in her tracks, listening. Virgil heard her absence and looked back questioningly, but said nothing.
It wasn't just the wind she was hearing. They were slightly closer now, midway between the shore and the structure, and the sound was clearer. Rising over the landscape before her were the combined sobs and wails of the figures she had seen back at the boat. They were dressed in regular clothing, albeit torn and dirty, and were in various positions around the area: some were walking in large clumps, not really together, while others were sitting on the steps of the broken buildings or huddling in the dirt, just weeping. Pam looked around and her eyes fell on the large group of people by the fence. Now that she was closer, she could see gates set into the fence and a guard shack at the head of the line. She shook herself and continued alongside Virgil toward the oddly silent crowd amidst the wailing of the rest of the dreary inhabitants of this place.
The first things she noticed were the two beings guarding the gate. They were dressed in soiled military uniforms and were wearing gas masks, their eyes obscured by the dusty lenses of their masks, the backs of their uniforms shredded right above each shoulder blade. From the tears in the fabric, long, blackened bones stretched outward, large skeletal wings hanging at rest behind them as they surveyed the crowd before them, clutching rifles with long, rusty bayonets under the barrels. Virgil grabbed Pam's hand and pushed through the crowd, trying to get to the guardians. When they had pushed through the silent crowd and reached the guardians, one of them stepped forward, the bones of his wings clattering softly as he moved. He towered over Virgil by at least half a foot, more when compared to Pam's slight frame. When he spoke, his voice sounded like it was coming through an intercom, scratchy and raw. Pam didn't recognize the language, but Virgil started immediately conversing with both soldiers, letting Pam's hand drop as he moved closer to them. After a few moments, the guardian that had stepped forward walked into the guard shack and through the shattered glass of the windows, Pam saw him pick up a radio and heard the muffled sound of his intercom voice, again in the language she didn't recognize. Virgil walked back over to her.
"They're sending someone to take us to the next Circle. It'll be a couple of minutes," he said simply, looking warily at the blank faces of the crowd behind them. Pam nodded slowly and was silent for a few moments.
"So…what is this place and what's that building for?" Pam gestured around herself and then to the razor wire-surrounded complex behind the chain link fencing. Virgil's attention was drawn back to her and he cleared his throat.
"Right…well, this is Limbo. It's sort of a sick, fucked-up mockery of the Other Afterlife. You can see that the buildings would be a little spot of lovely…ah, if they weren't…well, here. There's no overt punishment here. The souls trapped here are punished only by their distance from their Creator and Salvation. That building over there," he gestured to the sprawling structure in front of them, "is a hall of Judgment. These people in line are waiting to get in and be judged by Minos, one of the Great Betrayer's higher-echelon boys. He judges them and decides where they are sent for punishment."
"Ok, but who exactly gets sent here?" Pam asked, starting to get a better feel for the layout of this diseased realm.
"The Unbaptized, mostly. And 'virtuous pagans': people who didn't believe in the Creator, or believed contrarily, but still led virtuous lives. Inside the Hall of Judgment, along with Minos, dwell the virtuous souls of wisdom. Poets like Homer, Horace, and the like. That's also where I stay…when I'm not out and about."
Pam thought carefully, all the way back to high school. Something Virgil said about poets…and suddenly she had it and her eyes grew wide.
"Virgil…wait, you wrote The Aeneid, didn't you?" she asked in awe, proud of herself for piecing it together. Virgil just nodded, smiling wistfully, as he watched a cloud of dust get nearer and nearer. A worse-for-wear-looking armored personnel vehicle ground to a halt in front of them. The guardians left their post at the gates to walk around to the rear of the vehicle, pulling open the metal hatch at the back. Dust swirled out in plumes as the doors hung open and the guardians walked away wordlessly. Pam followed Virgil into the black maw of their transport. Virgil ushered her ahead of him and then pulled the hatch shut as the engines rumbled to life and they began to move.
"Yeah, this may seem a bit excessive, but as we move towards the end of Limbo, we get to the older shades…er, souls. Sorry. Throwback to the old days of poetry."
"I don't mind," Pam interjected. Virgil continued.
"So the older the shades, the longer they've been here, naturally. They can't stand their separation from the Creator and desperately want to get out. A vehicle gets us through faster, but unless it's armored, there's a chance they'll tip it or pull us out of it. Anything to escape their despair, you know?"
"Right…so, we're going to another section of this…uh…this place?" Pam asked.
"Yeah. Think of this place like a funnel. Acheron and Limbo are at the lip of the funnel, and each section after Limbo is lower and lower into the funnel until we get to the bottom."
"What's at the bottom?" Pam's voice was quiet.
"Never mind that," Virgil was avoiding her eyes. He stood up, as best he could in the cramped space, from the thin metal bench attached to the wall of the vehicle and turned around, opening up the viewing slats. Pam stood next to him and surveyed their surroundings. The sky was in its usual state of perpetual dusk and in the dim light she could make out hundreds of shapes sprinting forward toward their vehicle, their cries of desperation reaching her ears. She sat back down slowly and heavily. Virgil stared out for a moment longer, face grim, before closing the slat and sitting back down, his head in his hands.
They rode in silence the rest of the way. The vehicle stopped after what Pam would guess was around forty minutes. During the ride, she allowed herself, for the first time since embarking on this journey, to think of Jim.
She loved him. When she thought back to all the personal sacrifices he made for her, for all the times he was there to shield her from anything aversive, she felt her heart swell, positive that it was going to burst. More than once during their silent ride, Pam had to wipe her eyes, afraid that someone…anyone would see her tears, sense her weakness, and come for her, ripping and tearing at her. She didn't belong here and hoped she wouldn't have to stay much longer. After the vehicle had stopped, Virgil went to the hatch and pushed it open, the metal of the hinges screaming in protest. Pam followed him out into the dusty dusk. She looked toward the front of the car, noticing that the driver's hatch was left open, and heard a hollow fluttering sound above her.
Their driver had looked exactly like the other guardians, soiled combat fatigues, boots, and a gas mask, his hands covered in black leather gloves, his arms held stiffly at his sides. The hollow fluttering sound was the sound of his black, skeletal wings beating at the air, whisper soft. Their driver's body bobbed through the air with each push of his great wings, the lenses of the mask reflecting the desert landscape below. Pam watched until he was out of sight and then turned back to the vehicle.
Before her eyes, rust overtook the vehicle, a dry crackling sound filling her ears as the metal degraded before her eyes and was blown away into the nothingness by an unfelt wind. Pam turned to Virgil for an explanation.
"If it isn't being used, then it's useless, love," he shrugged. Pam turned to look ahead at the direction they were going to head in and her breath caught in her throat.
She and Virgil stood at the edge of a massive abyss, the ground terminating at a severe 90-degree angle and leading down into the faceless chasm that lay before her, cloaked in mist. Attached to the sheer face of the cliff was yet another rusting hulk in this diseased landscape, yet it was one that she recognized as Virgil led her toward it. They stopped right in front of the raised doors of the industrial coal elevator, a single bare bulb hanging from the inside of the car, lit by who knew what sort of perverse force. Virgil held his hand out, beckoning Pam to step inside.
"Ladies first," he said simply. Pam looked at him, then to the elevator uncertainly before stepping inside. Virgil came in after her and reached up to pull down the large doors, sealing them inside with no other light than the dirty bulb burning above them. He pushed the black button with the down arrow on it and a metallic clank reverberated throughout the black box they had willingly put themselves in. Slowly, the elevator began its descent, picking up speed as it went, the light bulb flickering weakly at first, but more violently as they continued along toward the bottom of the chasm. Virgil spoke.
"Going down…"
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