Sandman Slim by Richard Kadrey Page B

This particular red comes from boiling the iron oxide found in blood. All these hues, these colors, were made skillfully with chemicals and great heat.” He holds up his light and turns three hundred and sixty degrees, taking in the whole room. “Everything in here was born in fire.”
    “Bring the light over here, will you?”
    Vidocq carries the light to where I’m standing. There’s strange writing on the wall, but it’s not Hellion. It’s something I’ve never seen before, like cuneiform that’s been gashed into the wall with a meat cleaver. A symbol painted in bloody iron oxide covers the rest of the wall. It’s a circle that wraps around and around its own interior, folding in on itself. It’s a labyrinth, an ancient symbol of the deepest, darkest secrets and Final Jeopardy–hard knowledge. Something shimmers at the center of the labyrinth. I dig my fingernails into the soft plaster and pry out the treasure.
    It’s a Zippo lighter. On the front is a kind of cigar-chomping hot, rod devil’s head done by an artist who signs his name “Coop.” I turn the lighter over and click open the top, looking for a message, an inscription, or anything that might point us to what Mason was doing down here. There’s nothing. I flick the Zippo closed. It’s just a lighter. Vidocq takes it from me and examines it closely under the light. In a minute, he shakes his head and hands it back to me.
    “Maybe your friend Mason is a person who enjoys practical jokes?”
    “He likes a good ‘fuck you,’ but I don’t remember him being much for jokes.”
    “Then, we are missing something.”
    I toss the Zippo up and down in my hand a few times, enjoying the weight of it. “What’s a lighter for?”
    Vidocq scrapes his feet on the dusty floor. “To give us fire.”
    I hold the lighter up, click the top open, and strike the flint once. The room fills with light. Way too much light. It leaks from the walls and the floor. We have to wrap our arms over our eyes to keep from going blind.
    Something brushes my arm. Dirt swirls from the floor as wind explodes around us, getting stronger by the second. For a minute I wonder if I’m hallucinating, feeling some stranger’s memory. Then Vidocq stumbles into me, blown over by a sudden gust, and I know this is all real.
    I move my arm down as my eyes adjust to the light. It’s pure white and keeps moving, like ripples on the bottom of a swimming pool. The walls look like stretched skin and something is trying to come through them. We can see the silhouettes of faces and arms as they reach for us, straining at the thin wall flesh. The bodies writhe and twist, unable to hold a shape very long as they press in on us. Arms like roiling packs of snakes. Bodies like the skeletons of fish and birds. Faces that seem to be all teeth, all nails, or screaming from the ends of arms, where the creatures’
hands should be.
    Vidocq shouts, “Can’t you take us out of here?”
    “We need a shadow, but the light’s everywhere.”
    Vidocq flings open his coat. Vials containing his potions, rows and rows of them, are sewn into the lining. He pulls out one after the other and hurls them at the grasping hands. I get the skinhead’s Luger from my pocket and fire off a few rounds at the silhouettes. They don’t even seem to notice.
    I grab Vidocq’s sleeve and pull him toward the door, firing the Luger until it’s empty. Vidocq keeps throwing his vials. Every now and then, an arm or a monstrous face contorts in pain from our feeble attack, but the wall goblins come roaring back at us a second later.
    At the door, Vidocq shoves me away. “Let me go!” he shouts, and tears his arm free. He’s back inside the possessed room, with the walls just inches away from him. He reaches into the very bottom of his coat lining and pulls out a bottle the size of his brandy flask. Screaming, “Tas de merde!” he smashes the bottle on the writhing mass of arms and fangs and throws himself back into the room