But somehow, he found that he didn’t care. He was clean and fed for the first time in months. He was safe, and among the closest thing he had anymore to friends. And most importantly, he had a clue that could lead him to Rose.
He thought of Rose, and let himself imagine that it was her slowly riding him in the hot, wet tub. Fantasy caught his eye, and seemed to read his thoughts. She raised an eyebrow, asking him if he wanted her to use her illusions to complete the deception. It took all the willpower Malcolm had to keep from nodding.
Fantasy continued, using him for her pleasure and caring little for Malcolm’s own release. She let out tiny, sad moans, as though the sensation still reminded her of her forgotten, lost love. Malcolm let his hands run over her breasts, approaching the encounter with his desire balanced by passive acceptance.
Her movements were sensual and deliberate. Malcolm came before she did, letting out a somewhat embarrassed grunt as he released. Fantasy didn’t care. She didn’t even notice. She kept riding him, her movements prolonging his hardness, until she let out her own cry of ecstasy and shuddered atop his lap.
CHAPTER 10
Neither of them said anything more to each other, though Fantasy spent another few minutes helping Malcolm wash up. She handed him a towel when he climbed out of the bath, and then once he’d dried off, fresh clothing.
Malcolm pulled on a t-shirt and jeans, only noticing that Fantasy had also brought him a pair of boots once he’d finished donning his socks. He thanked her for them and followed her back into Underworld’s main chamber.
“You should get some rest,” said Fantasy. “It might be a while before Shield Maiden gets back.”
He slept in the same room that had once been appropriated for him and Rose, during his first, less than willing visit. It was surprisingly easy for him to get some sleep, and he wasn’t sure how long it had been, or whether it was day and night when a knock came at the door.
“Are you ready?” asked Shield Maiden.
“Sure,” said Malcolm.
I’ve been ready since I first heard the rumor in the trading square.
Shield Maiden led him through the main room and down a smaller hallway that Malcolm hadn’t noticed before. At the end of it was a large door with heavy metal cross for a handle, which she struggled to pull open. Malcolm assisted her, and found himself staring into the dank, dark sewer tunnels, which crisscrossed like catacombs.
Parked directly outside the door was a motorcycle and two helmets. Shield Maiden walked over to it and climbed on without saying anything, acting as though she didn’t even notice the overpowering smell of human refuse and mildew. Malcolm wondered just how it was that the odor didn’t leak through into Underworld.
“Well,” said Shield Maiden. “Get on.”
Malcolm frowned. He was not an overly masculine man, but there was something about getting on the back of a motorcycle behind a woman that gave him an instant of pause. He shook it off, seeing no reason why it should matter which of them was in front.
The first thing he did after putting on his helmet and swinging his leg over the side of the bike was grab Shield Maiden’s breasts. By accident, of course. He was taller than she was, and it was too dark for him to see where he was placing his hands. She stiffened slightly, but was merciful, and didn’t say anything as he found the correct place for them around her waist.
She started the bike and took off down the dark tunnel at a speed that, in Malcolm’s opinion, bordered on suicidal. Each time she turned around a corner, braking and leaning to counterbalance, he saw a vision of himself falling off and bouncing off a wall or into the waste.
Malcolm couldn’t decide whether it was a step up from being shield bubbled in and out of the spryte’s base. It was more exciting, sure, and there was still no way that he’d be able to remember all the twists and turns to make it back on his own.
I think it really comes down to a strong innate desire to not die.
The ride lasted twenty minutes, but felt as though it lasted twenty hours. A light appeared, quite literally, at the end of the tunnel as they neared their destination. Shield Maiden slowed down as they approached, carefully steering the motorcycle through a hole that had been cut in the metal grate which blocked off one of the sewer’s exits.
The sun was bright enough to make Malcolm’s eyes hurt and wash out colors. He blinked several times in quick succession as Shield Maiden steered the bike up a ramp, through what looked like a small sewage treatment facility outside of town, and then onto the road.
“Where are we going?” Malcolm shouted, or tried to. The bike was too loud, and their helmets too bulky for the question to reach audibility.
He contended himself by hanging on to her waist and watching the road, trying to get his own bearings. They were headed east, into one of the more upscale Vanderbrook neighborhoods. Beyond that lay a tourist destination that was, or had been a popular area for hiking and camping.
Remarkably, the roads had stayed in good shape after the collapse. Less people driving meant less wear and tear, which meant less potholes for Shield Maiden to hit and scare the hell out of him with. She drove fast, and though there were no speed traps waiting for them, Malcolm couldn’t help but consider the wisdom of it.
How quickly could she slap a shield bubble over each of us in the event of a crash?
They traveled for about an hour without seeing another human being. It was highway riding, straight across flat ground, and Malcolm would have found it boring if not for the wind and constant vibrations.
Slowly, something came into view in the distance. At first it just looked like a car crash that had been left abandoned, stretching across both lengths of the road. As Malcolm and Shield Maiden drew closer, it became clear that the cars and trucks blocking their path had been moved into place deliberately.
Shield Maiden slowed the bike. Malcolm squeezed his tired arms around her waist, desperately wishing that there was more he could do to warn her that it was a trap. From behind the truck stepped three men, two of them wielding clubs, one of them with a rifle.
The one with the rifle gestured for them to get off the bike. Shield Maiden seemed to comply, turning off the engine and pulling loose her helmet to let her strange, multicolored spryte hair spill into view.
Malcolm had forgotten the way most people reacted to encountering sprytes and demons. The men’s faces went white. The one holding the rifle began trembling visibly, the barrel of his rifle jumping back and forth between Shield Maiden and Malcolm.
“We just want any supplies you have!” shouted the gunman. “We don’t want any trouble. You can leave once we… once we take your stuff.”
“Are you fucking crazy, Earl?” hissed one of his friends. “Just let them go by. It’s too risky.”
“No,” said the gunman, forcing resolve into his voice. “This is our road. They have to pay up, like everyone –”
Whatever the man had been about to say was cut short by the appearance of Shield Maiden’s bubble around him. Her face was detached and expressionless as she waved it into the air. The bubble rose up, flying several hundred feet in the air before disappearing as swiftly as it had come into existence.
The gunman screamed as he fell. His friends watched on in for several stunned, disbelieving seconds. He died instantly on impact, and his body bounced a few feet back into the air before settling into a bloody, undignified pile. The stock broke off his rifle when it hit, which disappointed Malcolm a little, who’d been considering looting it for himself.
“The two of you seem more sensible,” Shield Maiden said, addressing the remaining bandits. “Will you allow us to go on our way?”