Chapter 36
Dig offered me his hand to help me down from climbing over a stack of furniture that had been set across the road for a barricade.
I clasped his hand and was about to jump down when he seized my waist and set me on my feet himself.
We strolled through the road toward the suburbs, weaving between up-turned cars, a ribcage, a stuffed Winnie the Pooh bear and past brick alleyways with rockets graffitied for artwork. Ah, no, they were not rockets, they were circumcised penises.
Since Dig was a local, he knew the way to the suburbs and so I trusted his guidance.
“Do you think, if we both survive this, that we could share a prison cell together?” I looped my arm through his and rested my head on his bicep.
“You’re not going back to prison, I’m getting us out of here.”
“There is no way out of prison once you are deemed Soulless.”
He felt over his heart as he kicked a crate, making it clearer for me to walk alongside him. “I’m going to figure it out.”
I let his arm go and fluffed the end of my ponytail. “What do you do in your spare time, my Dear of Darkness, my Lover of Lament, my Sweetheart of Sin?”
“Huh?”
“Besides drawing myself, what hobbies keep you busy?
“Murder.”
“That’s your hobby in the Execution Battle. What was your main hobby before prison?”
“Stalking you.”
“Oh, that’s nice. I liked going to cafés.”
“Yeah, I was there too.”
“When we are in our prison cell together, we must find activities to keep ourselves occupied.”
“Fucking.”
“I do hope Tommy and Fiona are unharmed. I’m worried now about what Vil said about Tommy getting stabbed in the arm.”
“When we find Tim Tim and Uncle Sucker, we’ll bring them back to the apartment. I need to get back there anyway, make sure Harry’s been fed.”
“Harry?”
“The guy hanging upside down in my spare room. I’m starting to like him. He might need to come down soon.”
“Oh no, I think he’s fine.”
A whistle skimmed across the building tops and Dig immediately took out his blade and pushed me behind him, holding out his arm like a shield between myself and whoever the whistle belonged to.
The whistle had come from above, belonging to a woman wearing leopard pants and a t-shirt with a cartoon cat smoking a cigar. Her lips were purple. She crouched with a blade in her hand and smiled sharply, like a crow before devouring the feast of the mouse it had caught. “Hi, Diggy.”
Unpleased by her presence, Dig kept his arm locked in front of me, forming his hand into a fist, and angled his blade up to her. “What the fuck do you want?”
I tapped Dig on his shoulder. “Who is she?”
“Slash wants to see you.” The woman had a feline voice.
“Tell Slash to fuck off,” Dig responded.
I tapped Dig on his shoulder again. “Why does Slash want to see you?”
“If you don’t come and see Slash,” the woman rose to her feet and spun her blade expertly around on her palm, “then we will have to bring you to Slash ourselves.”
Dig sneered. “You can fucking try.”
I tapped Dig on the shoulder a third time. “Is she speaking of Slash Artery?”
“Come on, Diggy.” The woman pretended to pout, and then grinned with delight, showing she had filed all her teeth to be sharpened into arrow heads. “He just wants to talk to you, maybe kill you a little bit. Come with us.”
I tapped Dig on the shoulder a fourth time. “Tell her we cannot go with her as we have made scheduled plans already.”
People slunk out on the street, a dozen at least, coming out from cars, and broken windows and alleyways, their eyes gleaming on Dig Graves, their hands holding weapons.
Dig pushed my back up against the wall, scouting over each person walking toward us. “You need to fuck the fuck off.”
The woman above sniggered. “It will be a lot faster if you come with us.”
Dig took out a second blade, arming both of his hands, and skated his foot back, taking a poise for attack. “But this way is fun.”
“Woah, woah!” I pulled on Dig’s shoulder and set myself at his side, waving cordially to the people lurking closer with violent intent. “I think we can settle this without carnality.”
“Princess—”
I swatted at him. “I studied political science which included navigating discussions between hostile parties. A proper resolution can be found through respectful dialogue and—”
“Who the hell is this scraggily no-pants-wearing bitch?” The woman above crossed her arms. “Get out of the way, hoe.”
I stepped back and tapped Dig on his shoulder. “You may kill them.”
The fight was on.
A dozen weapons came for Dig and he accepted them with his own two blades, fighting viciously. He moved with precision and power. Each strike and dodge of his artful and resilient. He sliced arms, stabbed chests, punched noses and tripped legs.
Across the street, a pack of drone junkies flicked on their solar speaker and started up a dance routine, blowing kisses to the drone filming above and shaking their asses to the uppity beat.
Dig killed three attackers by the time the chorus came on. He was stabbed in his arm, narrowly missing a main artery, and then his leg and somehow a small pocketknife ended up housed in his back.
I leaned up against the wall and yawned.
The attackers took no interest in me, their only attention was on Dig Graves and apprehending him for whatever reason.
Overhead, the sun spilled into midday and I considered leaving and letting him have fun with his friends.
Tommy was injured and perhaps needed medical attention, which I had in my satchel.
It was of upmost importance I reach him.
Tommy had been my biggest dream in life since a few days ago, I couldn’t give up on him now.
However, Dig Graves was now in a difficult episode and since he had assisted me out of some of my own difficult circumstances, I thought it dutiful to remain by his side until we could continue our path to Tommy.
“Dig! Dig!” I called to him.
He groaned and pulled out his knife from a man’s throat and drove it into another. “Yes—my—Princess?”
“There’s a man behind you with a machete.”
He twisted and took care of this looming issue before it became an actual problem.
“Look!” I pointed next to a bloodied set of false teeth on the ground. “There’s a butterfly! A monarch!”
“It’s—fucking—beautiful!” He slammed the knife into another assailant.
When finally, the last of the dozen died, it seemed Dig was not far behind them. Though he had only been stabbed and cut a few times, and I had heard a brief cracking from his bones, he loped down to the bloodied and dust washed ground, hurling over and groaned.
The muscles in his neck flexed. He looked so good like this. Beaten and ragged and heaving for life. Foreign blood mixing with his.
My thighs tingled.
I wondered if he would make love to me here in the butchery he had made. It would be worth the UTI.
He rested his cheek on the tarmac, blood oozing from his lower lip and coughed, pathetic-like.
I walked over to him and tapped my foot next to his face. “Have you finished? Can we go now?”
He wheezed, trying to speak.
The drone junkies finished their routine and spoke about an exciting new health supplement for hair loss.
The woman on the building in the cat-smoking-a-cigar shirt was yet to frown and merely sniggered at Dig hurled over in the street. “Aw, Diggy Dig, I told you it would be easier if you just came with us.”
“Hey!” I waved to her. “Come down here and say that to his face and he’ll beat you up!”
Dig grabbed my ankle. “Don’t say that. I think I broke my arm.”
“I don’t think it’s broken.”
“It could be.”
“What makes you think it's broken?”
“It’s bending the other way.”
“I can bend my arm that way easily. Look. Watch.”
“That’s fucking cool.”
“Yoga.”
Another swarm of people came out of the buildings, eyeing us with ugly smirks.
“Dig.” I prodded his back as he groaned, locking a dislocated finger back in place. “Can you kill all these people too?”