The Kill Society (Sandman Slim 9)

The terrain is changing again. A lush forest along the banks of a river. Trees dripping with fungus and moisture. Then the smell hits. I’m glad I skipped the unicorn. Geryon doesn’t turn around.

“The second ring. The Alpheus Swamp. The very bowels of Hell.”

He’s not kidding. I’m one bad pothole away from telling Elephant Man to turn around and head us back into the fire. The river ahead is a thick, crawling torrent of swirling blood and shit. Downtown’s sewers have to empty out somewhere. Why not in the middle of no-goddamn-where? And why not put a road through it to keep Lucifer’s traitors in and curious morons out? Like the fire, we have no choice of where to go. We head straight into Puke Swamp. I’m on the edge of vomiting up everything I ever ate since childhood, strained peas to chicken and waffles. Damn. Wrong memories. My stomach starts doing a hillbilly two-step. I think of Candy but she makes me think of sex and rolling, moving, and tumbling over furniture. My gut tells me to move along. I look ahead and concentrate on the trees. Dark branches dripping with emerald green parasites. My insides cool off and settle back about where they’re supposed to be.

Elephant Man slows, losing sight of the road in the brown bog.

“Off to the left,” I tell him. “Follow the roots of the big tree up ahead and in between the two little ones.”

He nods, picking up the outlines.

Geryon looks like I feel. He’s slumped in his seat, his head between his knees. Even the fish-store-stinking soldiers are having a bad time of it.

I didn’t sign up for any of this, but at worst I always thought being the Devil would be at least a little fun. Shooting BBs at Hitler as he tightrope walks over a lake of boiling lemon juice and broken glass. Playing Pin the Tail on the Stalin. After lunch, maybe a few rounds of Ted Bundy Whac-A-Mole. Instead I get a literal river of shit. What’s the old saying, “The road to Hell is paved with good intentions?” This one is paved, carpeted, and wallpapered with skin off my sore ass.

We’re halfway across the river when Elephant Man pulls to a stop.

I say, “What is it?”

He stretches up and looks over the Unimog’s hood.

Geryon stands too and says the words I was hoping I’d never hear.

“We’re stuck.”

Lucifer, you motherfucker, you must be looking down at us from Heaven and laughing your holy ass off. I swear someday I’ll make you surf this river from end to end.

I pull up the handle and open the door. Geryon grabs my arm.

“What are you doing?”

“We need to get out and push.”

His forehead creases as he stares at me. “Pushing is what the soldiers in the back are for. Not the Lord of the Underworld.”

“You said I’m not the Lord.”

“For the moment you represent him.”

“Good. Until you come up with another Lucifer,

it’s my kingdom and my rules. Let’s go.”

He gives me a shocked smile. Spreads his hands.

“I’m a scholar, not a slave.”

“You can get out and help or I’ll throw you out and you can swim to Mordor, Frodo.”

I lean into the rear compartment where the soldiers are.

“Come on, kids. Time to pat your feet on the Mississippi mud.”

Grumbling, they hustle out the back.

“Go find some big branches to put under the wheels.”

How do you describe standing knee-deep in the evil shit of an evil bunch of bastards? It’s unique. Warm and with unexpected bits of floating things that I don’t want to think about. The drowned carcasses of little winged lizards that pass for Hellion pigeons. My biggest fear is tripping on a hidden root. I don’t want to go facedown in this muck. There isn’t enough penicillin in the world to save me from the badass microbes living in this chocolate oatmeal outhouse.