Day three. When the Rabbit ran out of fairy tales, she told him other stories, as many as she could remember. He would have been content to hear the fairy tales again, but the new stories were just as good. Rock was the hero of the day, every time. He preened, rubbing his head on her knee. She patted his skull and he felt his heart soar.
The other shrieked in his mind, and climbed around like a spider. Rock ignored him. All he wanted was to hear the Rabbit say his name.
Day four, and she'd run out of stories. Rock was aware of the time passing, he knew it had been longer than four days, but it only felt like four to him. He brought her food and water, and she did not complain. She ate, and grew silent, and her flesh-perfume smelled of ghoul again, and she cried. Rock saw the look in her eye and could not help her.
"Lionel," she sobbed.
She repeated the name over and over. Rock was upset, and fled into the dark tunnels, let Phaeton out, killed the demons he could find. When he'd slated his anger, he came back and found her gone. It took him a much longer time to find her again, hidden in a grate with the demons prowling around.
"Rock," he said, and reached in through the bars, trying to touch her. She shrank and hid her face, curled into a ball. He frowned. This wasn't how the Rabbit was supposed to be. He was scared, now. She hadn't said his name for a long time. Was he Rock? "Rock."
Rock lay down in front of the grate like a dog on a porch and whimpered.
Lionel knew how to be frightening. Even before the War, he'd been a big man, a hard man, with smashed features and an unapproachable feel. Baffled him, still, that he'd never lacked for female company. But he knew how to stand, how to stare, and he hadn't spent the entire one hundred and twelve years in the post-apocalypse being a gentleman. Admittedly, he hadn't spent even twenty years doing that. He'd made a habit of not getting his ass handed to him in both worlds, and it was obvious that he'd let it go to waste in Grayling.
It only got easier to be frightening when he'd become ghoulified, even with only one arm. The reaction was either fear or violence, and this Abramov fellow was definitely afraid. Lionel exhaled slowly, and eyeballed the man with his best effort. He could see the older man fidgeting behind the desk in the cellar, even though it was dark as hell.
Landis was talking to Abramov, calling in some sort of favor. Lionel had never been to Flint before the War. He stared mulishly at Abramov.
Jesse was idly working at a stud in his leather jacket, cleaning his fingernail under the edge. Lionel felt that; they were all bloodied, beaten, and smelled like the backside of a Brahmin who had the green apple splatters. There had been another fight, and Jesse was bruised a little but unbent by the hard punches that Lionel had thrown. Landis could barely see over the swelling in his eyes, and Lionel was covered in vomit from the gut punch landed by Landis. His abdomen ached from the lacerations of the spiked knuckles, but he had walked away. Wasn't nothing like being puked on by a ghoul, to end a fight. After, they'd had a long talk.
Jesse was the one who'd convinced Landis to contact the "rebels" in Flint. Abramov hesitatingly glanced at Lionel the whole time he spoke with the bigot, and Lionel stared. Jesse wanted to join up, and help out. Lionel just wanted to get her back, and if he needed to use the rebels, so be it.
"We haven't got enough people to stage any real action," Abramov said. "There's only about thirty or so of us." He played with a spent energy cell, trying not to glance back up at Lionel.
Landis nodded in agreement, but Jesse looked up with an eye roll. "Don't need more people," he said. "Me n'the ghoul can take on whatever you've got."
Landis sighed. "Boy, it's damn stupid to make a promise that you ain't gonna keep."
"We do have an idea, of possibly taking down one of the towers that broadcast the infrasonic signals." Abramov said. "But, hell, I only got one tower with a spy and Peanut isn't exactly military-caliber. I don't want her in the way of danger like this."
"None of us can guarantee anyone's safety," Landis said. "Not even our own, Ab."
"I doubt you started leading a rebel faction just so's you could pussy out," Jesse snorted. Lionel sighed, in his head. The kid was some kind of stupid. Unfortunately, the stupid often worked in their favor.
"Crass behavior won't bring results," Abramov said, frowning at the boy.
"Alright, well, give us a password or something. So we can tell this Peanut chick, get her safely away. Then we'll go fuck shit up." Jesse grinned.
Abramov sat back in his chair and put the energy cell down with a soft click. "I still don't know if you're legit," he said to Jesse.
Lionel decided now was a good time to be frightening. He strode forward and grabbed the older man under the jaw, sinking bony fingers into the depressions behind his ears and lifting. Abramov struggled, his legs tensed from trying to maintain balance in the awkward position. Lionel growled at him, moving his face closer to the rebel's.
"Aw, now you done pissed him off," Jesse said, laughing easily. Landis turned to the kid, and something must have registered in his look, because Jesse came to stand next to the ghoul. "Not too hard, now," he murmured.
Lionel wished he could reach into the gaping mouth of the rebel and rip the information out of his throat.
"Relax, Abramov," Jesse said. "He won't kill you. But he's real, real, good at making hurt. Have you ever been beaten by a ghoul?" He tapped his eye and Landis rubbed his chin, reflexively.
Abramov's eyes widened. "Promise―" he said, stiffly. "Peanut... is... safe?" he grunted.
"I don't hurt girls, unlike some people," Jesse said.
Lionel dropped the rebel and snapped a fist at the kid, hitting him across the nose. Jesse swore loudly, fell backwards, and Lionel realized he'd made a mistake. Landis was eyeing him now, with a heavy look of hate. This time, he knew, he couldn't avoid the blame. He backed away, sinking into the shadows of the cellar.
Jesse stood back up and sniffed, wiping blood from his nose. "Shit, man, I wasn't talking about you," he muttered. Lionel stared at the dripping blood and tried not to let his anger get the best of him. It was a test, for sure. Landis was still staring at him with that hard face.
"Is there something I should know?" he asked Jesse, not looking away.
"No," Jesse said, "no, that was just a gut reaction." He snorted and coughed. "Lionel ain't so hot on certain types of violence."
He owed the kid, now. It bothered him that Jesse should lie for him, not let him handle the fallout. He'd handled it before, and no manner of soap opera could ever compare to the radioactive burn of the bombs.
They discussed some plan while Lionel's mind slid into another gear, rumbling along the highway of memory. Abramov turned on a light. The lamp on the desk, attached to a battery, flickered occasionally, and barely lit the room enough to read. Lionel remembered holding her in his bed, watching her sleep. Following the curve of her mouth with his eyes, seeing her pout, watching her heart beat in the delicate skin on her neck. She had no idea, he thought, how he really felt about her.
He shook his head. More hurt. Don't want. Why was he torturing himself like that? Goddammit, what was wrong with him, anyway? It was getting worse, the more he didn't have her around to keep him gentle.
"You two just recently arrived," Abramov said. "Do you know anything about Detroit?"
"No," Jesse said.
"I have an idea," the older man said. "It should add to the element."
"Alright." Jesse rubbed his nose and sniffed again. Lionel gave it to the kid, he knew how to take a punch. The thoughts from before slipped from his mind.
Abramov gestured to Lionel. "Does he speak?"
Lionel laughed, amused. Jesse shot him a look. "He's... curt," he said. "Better to save his words for when we need them."
"You thinking Phaeton?" Landis asked.
Abramov nodded. "Yes, actually."
"The fuck is Phaeton?" Jesse asked.
"Boogeyman," Lionel grumbled.
"Decidedly so," Abramov said. "Phaeton rules over the Sepulchre, in the lower levels of Golgotha. If any one of us were caught, we might be fed to him."
"Nasty," Jesse said. "You want Lionel to pretend to be Phaeton?"
"Most of the soldiers follow the church pretty closely," Landis said. "They've been force fed the idea since birth. It would cause a certain amount of terror to think Phaeton walks the wastes."
Abramov nodded. "Could you live up to that image?" he asked Lionel. He almost looked afraid to hear the answer.
A gear shifted. " 'For the life of the flesh is in the blood,' " he intoned, and a terrible smile came across his face. Jesse flinched.
"I think you can handle this," Abramov said. He sighed. "Try not to kill too many people, though. These soldiers still have families among the rebels."
Jesse looked nervously at Lionel and Landis. "Are we causing fear, or becoming mass murderers?" he asked.
"There is no fear," Lionel said, "without blood, kid."
Day five. The heat from the grate was so much that Rock felt his skin melting when he touched it. The Rabbit hadn't moved since she'd fallen asleep, sobbing. All was quiet now, no stories, no fleshy lips saying his name. He paced, growling, felt the faint heartbeat throbbing in his own chest, not knowing what to feel in his head.
The other screamed and demanded to be fed, but Rock was more powerful than him, more sane, more frightening. The grate was rent from the wall, he smelled the foul flesh melting. The smoke that rose from his paws was gray, the flesh healed nearly immediately.
Danger. He knew it, he lifted the Rabbit from the duct and saw her head flopping. He retreated to another place with her, and crooned absently while he tried to understand. What to do, the apple pies were fading and blackened burnt skin was overpowering his senses. The cooked meat smell was terrible, but it was him that smelled of it.
She smelled like scorched earth and ghoul, the bloody smell of flesh, the sweaty smell of fear. Phaeton screamed again, and Rock looked down at the Rabbit.
Men in metal screamed at him too, panicking, when he muttered "Rock, Rock" and placed the Rabbit into the garden gates. The fairy would come soon, maybe. If the Rabbit was no longer Real, then what was she? What was he? Was he Rock?
And Phaeton rose to the surface, hidden for too long, screeching and biting, whirling back into the Sepulchre.