THE GYRE MISSION: JOURNEY TO THE *SSHOLE OF THE WORLD

2

The Gyre Mission: Journey to the *sshole of the World

By Edgar Swamp “Look, Leeann, you’ve got to calm down,” Dante pleads, attempting to hold her arms at her sides as she lashes out at him. The crewman with them simply watches in bewildered silence, and Dante shoots him an angry glance. “A little help?” The guy rushes forward, taking Leeann around the waist, pressing his legs tight up against her to try and keep her still. “Let go of me!” “Shhh!” Dante says urgently. “Please, Leeann, for all of our sakes, just shut up!” “I want to go home!” she cries, tossing her head around like a mad, whirling dervish, and when Dante accidentally gets too close her forehead smacks him in the nose, right on the bridge of his glasses. “Ow!” he yelps, tears stinging his eyes, and at last he’s had enough so he releases her. “What are you trying to do, break my nose?” When he lets her go the crewman follows suit, ducking out of the way of her swinging arms. She takes several steps back, drawing rapid, panicked breaths. “This can’t be happening!” She looks from one to the other, her eyes wide, pupils dilated with fear. “This isn’t real, none of this is real!” “Leeann honey, calm down, okay? It’s going to be all right, you just need to relax-” “It’s not going to be all right Dante, just look at where we are! Does this seem ‘all right’ to you?” “I know it seems bad but we’ll get through this, you just need to settle down-” “The hell I will!” she howls, unleashing a calamitous cry that’s nothing short of heartbreaking. “The! Hell! I! Will!” Abruptly her chest hitches and her eyes roll back to the whites, head lolling loosely on her neck, and she collapses to the ground in a heap. “Leeann!” Dante yells, hurrying to her. He hunches down and turns her over on her back. Putting his ear next to her mouth, he feels warm air on his cheek. He blows out a pent up breath. “Thank God,” he pants. “She just fainted.” “At least she finally shut-up,” The crewman says. “‘Bout damn time.”

Excerpt

3

Dante looks at the other sharply, incensed, and is instantly surprised by his sudden onrush of anger. For a fleeting second he wants to bash this asshole’s unsympathetic brains in but, instead, brushes a stray lock of hair out of Leeann’s face and gently sets her head down before getting back to his feet. “I’m Dante Kellerman,” he says, holding out his hand. The guy is obviously scared, hell, they’re all crapping their pants right now, literally and figuratively. He’s rattled and he’s taking it out on the only person who can’t defend them self. Figures. “Craig Kennedy.” They shake, a quick, dry, three-pumper before letting go and returning their attention to the now silent girl. “She your girlfriend?” “Uh, long story man,” Dante says, shaking his head. “I don’t want to get into it.” “You’re the guy who stowed away aboard the ship, huh?” Kennedy asks, a small smile tickling the corners of his mouth. “For her, right? You did it for her?” “Yeah. Another in a long list of stupid things I’ve ever done.” “But you don’t regret it, do you?” the other wheedles, a certain knowing look in his eyes. “Even though you ended up here?” Dante wants to say ‘Of course I regret it! Why, I could be back in San Diego right now, delivering a large sausage and pepperoni to a frat house and getting stiffed on the tip, just waiting for the last remnants of the drugs to wash out of my system so I can hop into another pharmaceutical study and while away the rest of my lonely life…’ but he knows it wouldn’t be true, that in all honesty he just wanted to be wherever Leeann was, even if it’s here. “No,” he replies at last, looking at the crewman with a conviction that is unsettling. “My life wasn’t worth living without her. I’m probably better off here.” “We’re all better off here,” Kennedy affirms, his grin spreading wide, and Dante doesn’t like it, it’s a little too ‘gallows humor’ for him. “Welcome to the best place on earth!” “Yeah, right,” Dante says disgustedly, looking away. “More like the asshole of the world if you ask me.” It appears Leeann and he inadvertently picked the wrong guy to escape with. This dude is starting to give him a first class case of the willies. “So what do you think we should do?” “I don’t think there is any question of what we should do.” Craig runs a gunk-covered hand through his short, red hair, smearing streaks of unidentifiable shit across his broad forehead. Abruptly his smile disappears, replaced by a forbidding look that, it would seem, spells their doom. “We have to turn ourselves in.” “What?” Dante gawps, aware for the first time of the sickly pallor of the other’s skin. While large beads of sweat dot Dante’s forehead and drip off his chin, the other’s yellow-tinged face is dry, his eyes muddy, sketchy. “Are you crazy?” Craig snarls, showing his teeth, and swings his rifle forward. “Did you think I was just going to let you go?” he asks in a quiet, menacing tone, and Dante’s gaze drifts toward the gun. “Who do you think you are?” “Whoa, hold on now.” Dante’s voice is composed, his movements unhurried. “I’m not your enemy.” He glances back at Leeann, can see her chest rising and falling evenly with each breath. “We have to stick together.” Craig laughs, a harsh, grating sound. “I don’t know if you noticed or not, but I work for Captain Harvey.”

THE GYRE MISSION: JOURNEY TO THE *SSHOLE OF THE WORLD

4

“You worked for Captain Harvey,” Dante says, taking a small step forward, “and you know as well as I do that he’s gone crazy. I mean, look around you! What are we doing here?” “We’ve got a job to do.” Craig thumbs off the safety. “And you and the others are trying to stop us. We can’t let you do that.” “Stop you from doing what? From becoming like him? Is that what you want?” “I guess it’s all just a matter of perspective,” Craig leers, twisting his head so he can scratch the back of his neck, and that’s when Dante notices the large gash at the base of his skull, disappearing down his shirt. The laceration looks raw and inflamed, dark green pus bubbling within it. “Things look different from where I’m standing.” “I’m sure they do,” Dante mumbles as the other digs at it, grimacing, his middle finger slipping inside to the third digit. He watches with morbid curiosity, a sudden realization hitting him: He’s got it too, whatever it is. He’s sick… just like the captain. Dante moves away as Craig becomes more involved with his wound, his face contorting unpleasantly as he slips in another finger, and then another. He claws at it feverishly, his head pitched so far forward his chin rests on his chest. He closes his eyes and utters a strange, guttural purr that makes the hair stand up on Dante’s arms. “Ah, God it itches so much!” The hand that’s holding the rifle goes slack, and the weapon falls from his grasp. Dante sees his chance and leaps forward, snatching it up, but the other doesn’t notice. “This itches so Christ humping much!” He raises his other hand and, as Dante looks on, stunned, he peels apart the skin on both sides, ripping it wide open as thick freshets of blood and pus gush forth. “Holy shit…” Dante whispers through frozen lips when Kennedy abruptly jerks his head up, his eyes meeting Dante’s. All color is gone from them; they are now wholly black, nothing but pupil, and his flesh molts in the space of seconds, becoming the consistency of crinkled tissue paper. Thick veins stand out beneath his mottled skin, squirming and rippling across his cheeks. “You…uhnnnggg…come with me to…uhnnnggg…captain…” “Juh-Jesus Christ!” Dante exclaims, involuntarily retreating several steps. Kennedy shambles forward, reeling from side to side as if he’s intoxicated, but incredibly his footing is sure. His breathing is harsh, exceptionally labored, like his lungs are full of liquid. “Stay back man!” Dante warns, lifting the gun, pointing it at the other’s chest. “We…uhnnnggg…go to…uhnnnggg…captain now…” Dante takes yet another step back and something trips him. He sprawls backward, falling on his ass, but he somehow manages to keep hold of the gun. What he stumbled on felt soft, yielding… “Dante…” Leeann whimpers, eyes fluttering open, consciousness returning to her just in time to witness the thing that used to be crewman Kennedy shuffling toward them, mouth stretched wide in an appalling grin, long strings of slaver dangling from his chin, swinging pendulously from side to side. She looks around and finds Dante trembling on the ground behind her, clutching the crewman’s rifle in both hands. “For God’s sake!” she screams, grabbing his leg and pinching it. “Shoot him!” He looks at her uncomprehendingly, his hands shaking so badly the rifle jitters in his grasp.

Excerpt

5

“Dante!” she says again, louder, and slaps him across the face. In the process one of her nails gets tangled in his beard and pulls out a clump of curly hair. “Ow! Damn!” he complains, rubbing his cheek, but clarity returns to him, and he raises the gun to his shoulder and looks through the sight, his finger tensed against the trigger. “Stay back or I’ll shoot!” Kennedy continues forward, oblivious, hands out before him, fingers opening and closing spasmodically, black eyes glistening like polished ebony orbs. He runs a sandpapery tongue over his swollen, discolored lips, making a sound like fingernails on a chalkboard. “I’ll shoot you, I swear!” “Just do it!” Leeann shrieks and Dante pulls the trigger, the butt of the rifle slamming into his armpit as the muzzle flashes fire. The left side of his head vaporizes in a hot, sticky burst as he simultaneously falls to his knees. “We…uhnnnggg…go to…uhnnnggg… captain…” Kennedy wheezes from what remains of his mouth, crawling forward, and Dante fires again and again until all he hears is a dry clicking sound. At last Kennedy stops, crumpling face down with a sickening thud. Leeann gets up quickly and takes the rifle from Dante’s hands. His eyes are dazed, lost, and she places a hand on his cheek and directs his gaze to hers. “It’s okay Dante,” she says, reaching for one of his hands. “We should go now.” “Alright,” he says listlessly, standing up. Clutching the rifle in her left hand, Leeann takes hold of Dante with her right and, together, the two of them bound off through the labyrinth of the trash heap.

****** Edgar Swamp’s short stories have been published in Alienskin, Death Head Grin, Macabre Cadaver, and Far side of Midnight. He has written three previous novels but this is the first to be published. Learn more at http://www.edgarswamp.com.