Weirdbook 32 by Douglas Draa

Author:Douglas Draa
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: anthology, short stories
Publisher: Wildside Press
Published: 2016-06-14T04:00:00+00:00

JOROGUMO, by Kelda Crich

The windscreen wipers ticked like metronomes, pushing the snow to the edges of the windscreen to melt in crystalline deliquescence. Skerritt edged the truck through another switchback. He’d been driving for eighteen hours, without a break. His hand reached for the bottle of pine-resin spirit. He took a swallow. He laughed as he threw the empty bottle out of the Jeep window. The snow outside was like his mind: cold and clean and blank.

Swirling snow, feather flakes of cold spun-silk falling on the pristine quiet ice, covering the hard rock. The Goddess Mountains the locals called them. They were a people with a lot of gods and goddesses. That would change.

Skerritt had no destination in mind. All he knew was that he needed to be away from the city below; away from Vinnie and Karram, the last two members of his squad; away from his swarming brothers-in-arms, the men of the Weatherman’s army, drunk on victory, euphoric after half a decade of war.

* * * *

Soliders camped in a conquered land, waiting for the sergeant to issue leave, watching their comrades returning in the cold dawn from a night in the foreign city. Except that it wasn’t foreign anymore. It was the Weatherman’s city since the surrender.

“When’s it going to be our turn?” asked Karram. He was young, impatient.

Vinnie looked up from cleaning his lucky knife. “Better be soon, or the city might run out of beer or women.”

“It’s not right,” said Karram. “We should be next. What do you think, Skerritt?”

Skerritt shrugged. War had curbed his impatience. He was used to the endless days of waiting. He looked at the white mountains in the distance. Snow in August? He shook his head, slowly. “It’ll be our turn soon enough.”

* * * *

The sergeant issued them their pay and their leave, a week later. “Don’t spend it all at once, lads,” He said with a wink, handing over an envelope of Weatherman notes.

“About time,” said Karram.

“What was that?” The sergeant was a man with a changeable temper.

“Ack,” said Vinnie. “He didn’t mean anything. Just impatient. You know what the young ones are like.”

“Virgin, is he?” said the sergeant, grinning.

“I’m no virgin,” said Karram, angrily.

“Oh, no, Sergeant. He’s had more women than any man I’ve ever met— if his stories are to be believed,” said Vinnie with a wink at the sergeant. “Have you got any advice for us? You been out there?”

The sergeant nodded. “They’re friendly enough in the tenderloin district. There’s been some fighting in the temple district, depends what you’re looking for.”

“Thanks,” said Vinnie.

* * * *

They set off for the tenderloin district. They knew well enough where to find it, that information had passed from man to man, wildfire through the camp.

* * * *

Skerritt took a long swallow from his drink. The local spirit was a fierce alcohol distilled from the pinewood resin. He drank methodically, longing for summer tasting beer, ripe with sun. He watched the women dancing to the foreign music. It was too soon for the musicians to have learnt decent tunes.

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