Hell in Heaven

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Matt had never been to war. By the time he was old enough to enlist, the age of the existential battles that had consumed entire generations of Americans seemed to have been over forever, and by the time the country was actually attacked for the first time in his life, he was too enmeshed in his parents' slow slouch toward eternity to think about anything bigger.

So he'd never seen what the Earth looks like the day after a battle has ended. Not until the red sun rose over Heaven.

The fight had started in the Grange, now nothing but a wisp of smoke rising out of the trees, but had spilled out into the town. Main Street was dyed crimson; potholes turned into drinking fountains for the crows, which lapped at the thickening pools of blood. There were mangled pieces of bodies scattered along the roadway, the town's gene pools strong enough that even in death Matt could identify a Gilhoolie nose or a richly furred Vetch forearm.

Maybe we're too late to make peace, Matt thought as he walked toward the general store, the white flag of pillow case on his axe handle held high. Maybe they've all found the only peace they'll ever know. The peace of the grave. Except that if that was true there would be no graves, just food for crows.

One of those crows cawed and beat its wings. Matt turned to the sound and saw a body hanging from the eaves of Mabel's Eat Fresh Diner Cafe. The birds had taken the sign literally and plucked away at the corpse's eyeballs and tongue. But they had been especially drawn to the bloody hole where its genitals had once been. They'd pecked and bitten at the raw flesh until they'd broken through to the rich, sweet innards. Now a long rope of intestine hung down between the body's legs like a parody of the penis it had once possessed.

Matt could hear Mouse's sharp gasp, could practically feel her muscles tightening even though she walked two feet away from him.

"They didn't have to do that to Cal," she said in a voice choked with anger. "They didn't have to do that."

"No one had to do any of this," Matt said. "What do you think your people have done to theirs?"

There was a long silence before she uttered one short syllable: "Worse."

They walked in silence, Matt holding the flag of truce, Mouse gripping the rope that trailed behind her and wound around the neck of the Vetch girl, the one who had been Cal's only lover.

This had been Mouse's sole demand when she acceded to Matt's plan. He'd wanted to leave the girl behind in Joan's house, let her sleep off the horror she'd lived through and wake up on her own if she decided the rest of her life was worth living.

Mouse insisted they bring the girl along. If things went the way Matt hoped, she'd be a sign of the Gilhoolie's good will. If not, she was a hostage.

It had taken a long time to wake the girl up, and by the time her eyes finally opened the sky above the mountains was beginning to turn the cool gray that comes just before dawn. Even after she'd shrugged on the robe and sandals they found for her, though, it seemed that the girl never woke up completely. Her limbs moved and she could follow their instructions, but her eyes were blank and hollow, and she never said a word.

The walk into town was a voyage through hell. The farms they passed had been attacked and the animals slaughtered, their corpses left to rot where they lay, the structures torched or simply torn apart. And everything had been looted. The road was littered with shattered glass and torn clothing. Jars of preserves that had been carefully laid away for years lay smashed on the ground, their contents slathered over books and photographs and anything they could be used to destroy.

There hadn't been bodies though. Not yet, anyway. This must have been a raiding sortie, not a battle. This was one side destroying the other's supply lines so there could be no retreat.

The bodies started when they turned onto Main Street. There was ditch that ran along one side of the road. It had been filled with corpses, as if someone had come by with a snowplow and shoved them all in. They were mostly men, but Matt could see a woman's delicate hand, covered in blood and torn flesh, sticking up between two faces. A disembodied head crowned the pile; one ear had been chewed away. Matt thought it must have been Ezekiel Vetch.

There was no way to tell how many people had died, how many homes destroyed. Matt knew how many more would be gone if his plan didn't work. All of them.

He didn't dare look over at Mouse as they came up Main Street. He didn't want to see the hate burning in her eyes. And he didn't want to give her the chance to explode at him, to break away and give up what they had planned.

They stopped when they reached the front door of the general store. Mouse stood absolutely still, looking at the building with hate so strong he thought it might knock down the structure on its own. Then she called out in a cool, clear voice.

"Orfamay Vetch, or whoever now leads the Vetch family if Orfamay is dead, this is Mary Elizabeth Gilhoolie. I stand here under the white flag of truce and ask for parlay."

For a long moment nothing happened. Maybe all the Vetches are dead , Matt thought. Maybe this war is already over.

Finally the front door cracked open. Matt saw a flash of eyeball behind it, and then the door swung all the way. Orfamay stepped out onto the porch. Her bonnet had been replaced with a soiled, bloody bandage that wound around her head. Her right hand was gone, another dirty bandage wrapped around the stump where it had been.

"You here to beg for brother Vern's life?" Orfamay croaked. "If so, that flag's a waste of a white sheet that could have been used for bandages."

"Vern?" Mouse said.

Orfamay moved out of the way and the giant stepped out next to her. In his left hand he held up what Matt first thought was a heap of dirty rags and used bandages. Only when he shook it and the bundle let out a moan did Matt realize it was Vern Gilhoolie.

Vern's face had been pounded so long and so hard that even the strong Gilhoolie genes couldn't make the features look like anything but heaps of ground meat. His hair had been torn out with such force pieces of his scalp were missing. His fingers were smashed and twisted beyond recognition; there were nail holes through his feet.

"You bitch," Mouse said. "I should kill you."

"Should have done that first, sweetie," Orfamay said. "Someone takes off my hand, I just get mad."

Matt could feel Mouse moving toward the door, drawn by a force of hate stronger than gravity. If he couldn't pull her back, the fighting would start all over again. And never stop until they were all dead.

"We're here under the flag of truce, and with your girl as evidence of our good intentions," Matt said. That was supposed to be Mouse's line, but she didn't seem capable of saying the words just yet.

"Am I supposed to swoon away in a fit of gratitude?" Orfamay said. "That cow has been tainted by Gilhoolie flesh."

"We could have fucked her to death with this axe and sent her back in pieces," Mouse said. "If that's what you want, we can do it right here in the road."

"Big tongue for such a little mouth," Orfamay said. "Especially when there are fifty Vetches still in fighting fit ready to take you out right now."

Matt could see movement behind her in the store. He couldn't count the bodies, but there were a lot of them, and they were straining to come out.

There was a bang from across the street. Matt turned to see that the diner doors had been thrown open and dozens of Gilhoolies were spilling into the street.

The war was about to start again.