Dead Kings #2
Bishop fought to think around the images replaying in his head—Seer stepping in front of Zodak then him toppling over. “It all went in him,” Bishop said, looking at Fathom. “What are you fucking seeing!” he yelled.
“His cortical field is flat. No synaptic cascade. No brainstem relay.”
The air left him. Brain dead.
Bishop grabbed Seer’s shoulders, trembling as he closed his eyes and pushed his architecture, his readings getting only static.
He moved to his chest, getting the same thing.
He grabbed his head, gripping tight, clenching his eyes.
“Come on come on!” he roared, fighting to breathe.
“I can’t feel anything, I can’t fucking feel him! ”
“What’s happening?” Sinrik shot out, kneeling next to them.
They relayed the words to him while Bishop stared at Samuel’s face. Peaceful. His laughter filled Bishop’s head. Joking about Bacon’s biscuits. He’d eaten them. Because he was too kind not to.
“He needs fucking airlift!” Sinrik yelled behind him, then shouted coordinates to somebody.
…“Do whatever it takes to keep him alive.”
…“Morgue is already in route….”
….Refugees are safe and secured.”
“Talk to me, Brother,” Bullets implored suddenly next to him.
Bishop turned and looked at him.
The fear on his face, the threat of devastation, crushed Bishop’s chest. He grabbed his shirt in both fists, fighting to breathe. “He…” The word lodged in his throat and Bullets jerked him into a steel hug.
“He’s okay, he’ll be fucking okay!” Bullet’s swore as pain wrenched out of Bishop.
“He took all of it,” Bishop strained. “His brain is fucking dead, he’s dead, they fucking killed him!”
“He’s not dead, no, no, he’s not dead!”
“I don’t want him to fucking die, Brother, I need him! God, I need him!”
Bullets pushed him back, holding his head in a tight grip. “He needs you more!” he swore to him. “He’s always there for us, always standing between us and the dark—it’s you now, he needs you to stand for him now!”
****
Bishop held Samuel’s hand tight during transport, finding nothing in his upgraded bullshit to help him do the most important thing for another human being. Pray.
He was down to digging through past conversations, looking for what Samuel might say in his shoes.
“You know…even though terror rages in your bones, you’re still a fearless leader, brother….
“…Because it was out of fears that the man sitting before me was conceived….
“…Good news is…this terror you now face will be a sanctifying deliverance. For all of us…”
Bishop held on to that one. Because he was fucking terrified.
“….I sure as fuck wish I had your faith.”
“Oh, you do. What’s mine is yours. Always has been.”
“….You have to trust that everything the dark throws at you is lies.
….The darkness is always showing you this truth.”
“…I think I preferred when I was your son.”
“…You still are... You will always be seven years yonder to me.”
A sob gushed from Bishop as he pressed Seer’s hand to his mouth.
Please God.
Don’t take my best friend.
****
Bishop lifted his head from Seer’s bed, and the sight of Beth racing in finished breaking the little control he was clinging to. He barely got his face in her neck before he let go of the crushing pain.
“Oh baby, I’m so sorry!” She cried with him and hugged him tight. “I’m so, so, sorry. Listen, listen,” she strained as he wept. “I talked to Quantum and he said he’s in a coma and that’s actually good news.”
To him it was a grave above ground.
“Did you hear about the coin they saw?” she whispered, holding his face now and kissing him.
He turned his head, not able to stomach kissing her while talking about those fucking coins. “Where is Cherie? Does she know yet?”
“She’s on her way, yes she knows.”
Loathe crawled over his skin and he pulled out of her arms. “Fuck, I don’t want to see her.”
“Oh, baby, she doesn’t blame you,” she swore, back in his arms, emotion choking her.
Her gift packed those words and relief hit his knees. He sat in the chair by the bed and she lowered before him, putting her head in his lap, wrapping her arms around him.
Filth saturated him and the urge to push her away had him nearly locked up. Changing and showering a hundred times wouldn’t clean it off. The evil. The faces cycling in his head every five minutes. Crying, horrified, insane. Empty. Dead.
Men, women, kids. Old and young.
They’d lost fifty-seven, twenty-five of them kids. Going over every step of the event, looking for that one thing that would’ve stopped this from happening. Because it wasn’t over, they had to go back out there and do it again.
“Tell me about the coin,” Bishop whispered, petting her head.
She climbed in his lap, and he wrapped her up in his arms at feeling how much she needed him. “It had FEAR on it.”
He closed his eyes, his stomach already sick with it.
“FEAR,” he croaked, swallowing. “Did Maggie draw?”
“Yes,” she murmured, nodding against his neck. “And we thought nobody would be able to interpret it, but…”
His hand paused briefly on her body before moving to her hair. “Somebody did?”
She eased up and stared at him. “I did.” She turned in his lap more. “Remember that drawing with the dots?”
“Yes. I saw ravens.”
“Right. And I saw those words.”
His pulse jumped at the idea of having something spelled out for a change.
Panic hit next at the idea she would be required to partake. “I’m thirsty,” he said, easing her off him.
“I think you’ll appreciate what it said,” she thought next to him, no doubt feeling his fucking dread.
“I doubt I’ll ever appreciate what any of these drawings say, Beth.”
“Where are you going?” she whispered, following him out the room.
“Look for something to drink.”