Entry Nine.


The trance was hard to come.

I'd never done that before ; well, maybe I had, but I didn't remember anyway, and it felt like something new. Just imagine : sitting there in a circle of three, trying to meditate or whatever, within a pentagram of sorts drawn in chalk on the floor, and with jewels placed here and there, and a makeshift torch on a makeshift stand in the middle of it ; add to that the noises of the alarm screming and the dead babies wailing, and I think we would have something between dadaism and surrealism...

So you'll understand that I was having a little trouble concentrating there ! Then, after we had spent maybe twety minutes sitting there like idiots with nothing happening except maybe Sharon sighing from time to time, Simon said to me :

- Adam, have you ever been in love ?
- What ??
- You heard me.
- Well, I don't know. I mean, I don't remember, and even if I did, who am I to know what love is ? I mean, what it really is ?
- My point, exactly. You do not love us, Adam. You're afraid of us. You reject Sharon, and you reject me.
- What do you want me to do ? Hug you both ? You want us all to make love before we die ? That would be quite an experience : I may have had sex with more than one person, or maybe even with a male, who knows, but with a midget I'm pretty sure...
- Please, don't try to be insulting. And don't try to avoid the subject. You fail miserably at both. You know exactly what I mean, and carnal love has nothing to do with it.
- Ok, I know what you mean. So I don't trust you enough, is that it ? So what ?
- Adam, you have to understand that we are in this together, the three of us. For better or for worse. A three-part wedding in which we had no choice at all - all karmic intention put aside. And if we are to survive, and go on, we have to get to know and appreciate each other, to accept the good and the bad parts, as in a wedding. Do you follow me ?
- Yes. But what does it have to do with what we're doing here ?
- You cannot communicate with us because you do not love us. And you cannot communicate with yourselve because you despise yourself.
- What ?! And how would I do that, when I don't even know who I am ? And how would you be able to tell such a thing ?
- After having been around this globe of dirt for a while, you get to pick a few things up. I could tell you many things I saw in you at the first glance and that it would take you a century or two to figure out, if you had them. But this is not the point. We are going to try again, Adam. And if you want it to succeed, you have to accept yourselve for what you are, even if you don't know what that is. And you have to accept us as we are, even if you think you don't know us. Are you willing to try ?

I was feeling like an idiotic child being reasonned by a wise grandfather, although this guy couldn't possibly have been more than ten years older than me.

- Yes, I guess I can try it. What choice do we have anyway ?
- Right. So, back to the communion.

I tried again. I tried better. I tried to be one with myselve, and one with the other two. I don't know for how long I tried. And then, all of a sudden, it happened. The alarm and the wailings faded away, changed into a song older than humanity, sung by long dead souls. For the briefest instant, I knew exactly who I was, why and why I ended up here. I also knew who were Sharon and Simon, and I screamed and laughed and cried and loved them and myself and hated them and me. And a link, a bond was created between us, for better and for worse and forever. And I knew, and they knew, how we could get out of this level, and maybe, just maybe, out of this whole place. And then, it all faded away, back into oblivion, except for the exit of this Level.

We got up, and needed not exchange a word. We did what had to be done. And the dead babies had better beware.

We got out of the jewelry. They were waiting, of course, although some were seemingly asleep. They rose up pretty fast, though, and would have been on us in a fraction of a second without the Molotov cocktails. Sacrifising those gin bottles nearly broke my heart, but seing these nice little explosions when we through them fiery bottles through the air, and seing the baby pieces being thrown around like shredded scraps of crappy paper made it well worth it.

Then again, we ran. What else could we do ? Only, this time, we had an edge. And we knew what to do. We moved as one, each of us doing what he had to.

Now that Sharon wouldn't shoot anymore - she had to save what was left of her rounds - Simon opened the way for us with his machette ; following on each side with torches and blades (Sharon had her commando knife, and Simon had pulled a butcher's knife from the depths of his seemingly bottomless sack), we closed the way, fending off any babe Sim had missed in the first place.

And we went to the central hall's display area.

There was a stage there, where the merchants used to showcase their articles, where happy children could climb during Christmas Holidays and come to sit side by side with Santa, where maybe naked Succubi would dance at night for a crowd of horny demons, or maybe not.

And there we went. And while we protected her as well as we could, Sharon began to undress.

Now, I would have loved to watch, really. I mean, the bitch was cold as ice, aggressive, and probably frigid, but well she did look like a fine piece of flesh. But as it was, my eyes and hands were better used on other matters, like trying to kick the shit out of brainless undead foetuses.

And then, we saw a change in the attitude of the unborn bastards. At first they all stopped and stared. Well, Sharon wasn't really nude now, just topless, but that was all she - we ! - needed. Breasts. The Milky Dispender of Life. The thing they had never known. "It is all they really craved for", Simon had concluded after the image of the AllMother had imposed itself upon us during the trance. And it sure looked like he was right ! "I'll never do it !", Sharon had said at first, but well, she was doing it right now, and from what I could judge from the corner of my eyes, she sure was built for the part !

Then, after having calmed down and gathered, by the hundreds, before the stage (fortunately our backs were to a colossal wall), the babies began to drool and look with hungry stares and come flowing towards Sharon, not giving a fuck about our presence in the way. I took the jewel box from by backpack without any trouble. Simon took hold of the window-cleaning spraycan he had taken in the jewelry. And we both slided on each side, letting the hungry fuckers come to topless Sharon.

It looked like a vision right out of hell : a go-go dancer being assaulted by obsessed little customers who got tired of the "no touching" rule and wanted, litteraly, a bite.

Then Sharon took her gun in one hand and the knife in the other, and began butchering. She had exactly 5 rounds left in the gun, which now was on one-bullet mode, and we all knew she would use only four on them, keeping one for herself just in case - being raped is never nice, but less so when the guys come by the hundreds and don't even has penises...

We came down from the stage, and they didn't even look at us. And Simon roared "NOW !!" so loud that we actually could hear him despite all the noise the things made. So, I slided the big box that once had contained jewels, but now was loaded with gunpowder to the center of the stage - or as far as it could get with all the baby flesh crawling around, and I took one last cocktail molotov from my vet (damn it, it was my own flask, this really was the ultimate sacrifice !) ; on the other side, Simon put the torch between the spraycan and the babies ; and then Sharon, blessed angel from the pits of Hades, did her part.

Man she was beautiful ! She leaped high into the air, stepping on the pink-red-greyish creatures and then unfolding her superb, topless body and making somersaults over their unbelieving heads, while at the same time cutting and shoting though them ; she landed on their mates meters away, then jumped again, and shot, and cut, and had nothing left to shot, and kicked, and jumped. She really was awesome, and advanced on what was now a moutain of decaying flesh. But she couldn't possibly have made it, and already some where beginning to get a hold of her. They were climbing on each other, better to get a glimpse of their new pornstar, and to devour her. Then we had to do our part.

I launched my last cocktail, precisely on the box, and waiting for the boom (granted, there wasn't that much powder in it, but I trusted Sharon to have prepared the stuf fin a way that would make a memorable blow) ; Simon came in and sprayed the baby-hill with fire ; this all gave Sharon the necessary edge, and she threw herself away from the last of the babies at the precise moment when the bomb blew and the fire rained.

Our little mayhem was ridiculous considering the real damage it could do and the number of enemies, but the main effect we were aiming for was surprise, or more precisely to startle them, and that we did. They had all gathered in one place, leaving us a nearly clean way, so we ran, helping Sharon on the way - the little horrors had bitten very deeply in her, and I guess only adrenaline and an astonishing force of will could explain her standing at all ! And I was so scared and so proud of her that I actually didn't notice any raise in my exitement due to the proximity of her naked breasts. How much time had I been without a woman ? Weeks ? Centuries ? I probably woul dnever know. I didn't feel like this usually was any problem for me, but I sure felt like more than a little horny... at least, when survival wasn't an issue, which it was at the time.

We rushed to the exit. We knew precisely between what pillar it was hidden, and how to open the passage. We only had a few of the bastard to cut on the way, but of course the whole of them came after us, some still aflame, and we ran like hell. Before entering the path, we could not resist insulting them and kicking a few more. Then, in we went, towards salvation. And as soon as the way had closed behind us, Sharon collapsed in my arms.


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