Holy Rollers - Apotheosis

2007-12-01T20:47:00.000-08:00

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23 * - New 11/30/2007
Epilogue * - New 11/30/2007

Extra Chapter that you should only read if you're really bored, because it has nothing to do with the story, but I needed another 1300 words. * - New 11/30/2007

IT'S OVER!!! IT'S OVER!!! IT'S OVER!!! IT'S OVER!!! AND I DID IT!

Extra Bonus Chapter

2007-11-30T18:43:00.000-08:00

Hep, Ares, and Scroat Go to The DMV!

Or!

Ares Wigs Out and Kills A Lot of People One More Time!

Or! Dear god, the story is over and I still have to write 1300 some words!!!

One fine Saturday morning, Hep, Ares and Scroat woke up unusually early. They had to go to the Department of Motor Vehicles to renew the tabs on Scroat’s motorcycle. This was because Scroat is a total slacker, and didn’t renew his tabs on the internet before the deadline.

You might be surprised to learn that gods would have an internet connection, but they do. Where else would they find the information they want about motorcycles and pictures of boobs for free?

After a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, waffles, orange juice and chorizo breakfast burritos, they went out to Ares car. It was a 1965 Ford Falcon station wagon, painted matte black, dropped two inches with red rims and white walled tires. He called it the Battle Wagon, and it was as apt a name as any.

The 302 V8 roared to life, and Ares tore out of the driveway as though the Furies were after him (the ones from Hades, not the fine American Made Plymouth automobiles). They reached the stop sign at the end of the street in record time.

Turning right, Ares narrowly avoided rear ending a slow ass cell phone talking jerk in an ugly SUV. Ares roared around him, which was illegal because it was a no passing zone. He gave the sports utility vehicle pilot a bird flipping the likes of which had never been seen in this part of the world. Ares stomped the gas pedal to the floor, and the Ford Falcon station wagon named the Battle Wagon charged forward with all the might of a 1960’s vintage station wagon. Which is a lot, if you did not know.

They quickly approached a stoplight, which had just turned yellow. Ares continued even though safety and legality required him to stop. The light turned red seconds before Ares entered the intersection, and had there been a red light camera, his ass would have been ticketed.

Not that Ares worried about tickets. As a god of war, he had a particularly effective method of getting out of tickets. The method was going to court and appealing them, if you must know. It never failed.

The Ford Falcon station wagon nearly caught air as Ares piloted it into the parking lot of the Department of Motor Vehicles. They were half an hour early, and the line was already eight hundred people deep.

A curious fact about lines at the DMV that you might be interested to know: no where else in the world is the line guaranteed to grow exponentially in length between the time you pull into the parking lot and the time you actually get into line.

They got in line behind two thousand six hundred and four people, who had all waited until the last minute to get their tabs renewed, except for the one shit headed little weasel who was there to get his driver’s permit and was too dumb to clearly state what he was there for to the receptionist, thus guaranteeing everyone else an even longer wait. Man, everybody hates that kid, and I don’t know why they don’t just shoot them on sight. I mean, if you can’t tell the receptionist why you’re there, then you shouldn’t be driving a damn car anyway.

Thirty minutes late, the staff opened the front door, and immediately put on their “I don’t really care what you need because I’m just counting seconds here, and you’re going to hang out until I’m good and ready to let you go” faces.

Somehow, the clock slowed down. Ares was certain that Chaos was lurking somewhere, but no, that’s just how it goes at the Department of Motor Vehicles.

Nearby, some dipshit who brought their kid with wasn’t quick enough with the pacifier and their bratty kid started shrieking and didn’t let up for the next hour and a half.

Which is how long it took for Ares, Hep and Scroat to reach the front desk at the Department of Motor Vehicles.

“Yes?” the entirely disinterested and unusually hostile woman behind the counter asked.

“I need to renew my tabs,” Scroat said politely. Note that he didn’t even use the word “Fuck” once, when it would be expected of him to say something like “I need some fucking tabs for my fucking motorcycles so I can go out and get some sweet young ass on my bike in order to fuck!”

“Your number is three H two B thirty nine. Please have a seat and someone will be with you shortly,” the Department of Motor Vehicles receptionist said to Scroat.

The number currently on display on the board was one A one A eleven.

The three gods sat down, and waited with the force and intensity that only three gods named Ares, Hep and Scroat can display when waiting in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles for Scroat to get tabs because the stupid shit was too lazy to get on the internet and renew his tabs that way.

As the stupidity of the conversations occurring around them increased, along with the number of smelly people who probably shouldn’t be allowed within three hundred feet of a new or used car of any marque and of course the waves of crying babies, Ares began to twitch and shift around in his seat.

The number on the board had increased by one. The clock said only five minutes had passed, but Ares knew that in the real world, it had been fourteen hours since they sat in the uncomfortable molded plastic chairs that are only ever seen at a Department of Motor Vehicles on a Saturday.

Somebody bumped the back of Ares head, which annoyed him quite a bit. He remembered to keep his cool, and that they were in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles, where the basic rules of not being nasty or stupid no longer apply.

And this would have all been well and good if a dumb ass wearing sweatpants hadn’t spilled his coffee all over Ares new leather pants and started laughing. That might have even been ok if the kid next to Ares hadn’t picked that moment to blow chunks on Ares freshly shined boots.

But now, alas, now people had to die.

“GRAAAAAH!!” Ares bellowed and leapt out of his chair. He grabbed the guy who’d spilled coffee on him and ran with him, directing the sweatpants wearing mouth breather’s head directly into the cinder block walls of the sturdily built Department of Motor Vehicles. His head made a huge gooshy mess, kind of reminiscient of grey pudding with hunks of white chocolate and horse hair in it.

Not satisfied, Ares ran at the stupid kid who couldn’t simply communicate that he was there for a driver’s permit test, picked him up, and threw the kid with all of his godly might at the fricking number sign that didn’t ever change. It exploded it a great, sparky shower of glass and electronic bit. Oh, and lots of blood and gore. Yep, that was one dead kid who should have been on the road anyway.

Then Ares leapt over the counter, and grabbed the surly employees. He did them all a favor by injuring them severely enough that they got to stay home on disability for the rest of their natural, flavored gelatin dessert eating lives. He then plucked a single tab for the new year from one of the surly former Department of Motor Vehicles employee’s desks and returned to where Hep and Scroat were sitting, staring at him in shock.

“Let’s go,” Ares said, and stomped towards the door. Even the dumbest of the smelly mouth breathing people was smart enough to get the hell out of Ares’ way. Ares stuck his arm out and walked directly through the door, ripping it from its frame.

“Fucking people just fucking piss me off,” Ares said when Hep and Scroat caught up to him.

“Fuck!” Scroat said in agreement.

And everyone who Ares hadn’t killed lived more or less happily ever after.

Epilogue

2007-11-30T18:41:00.000-08:00

The party at Bacchus’ home in Olympus went on for centuries. Or it lasted for mere seconds. Time in the realms of the divine doesn’t mean much.

It was universally agreed, however, that the bacchanal was one of the wildest ever thrown. Enough liquor was consumed to paralyze entire armies. The mess the festive gods created was immense. None of them, including Bacchus, were worried about it in the slightest. In fact, as the party went on, it became a game to make the biggest mess possible of Bacchus’ home. Cleanliness and Godliness, in this particular instance, were nowhere near each other.

The reason, of course, was that Tim was responsible for cleanup of the divine wreckage. Between the gods, they had decided that the most suitable punishment for Tim was to be Bacchus’ custodial staff forever.

Among the marble columns and delicately sculpted busts, intricately woven tapestries, and finely painted portraits, the gods discarded food, drinks, containers and a variety of substances too unpleasant to discuss here.

As Tim wandered around the party, he frequently had to duck flying bottles and other significantly less pleasant things the revelers threw at him.

At one point, Scroat stumbled up to him, and slurred “Bucket. Fuck.”

Tim looked at Scroat and said “What did you say?”

Whereupon, Scroat unloaded the entire contents of his stomach on Tim.

“I said Bucket,” Scroat said, and staggered off to find another drink.

***

The surviving True Believers, now without a leader, quickly realized they’d been had. They released the people Tim had imprisoned, and went back to their regularly scheduled lives. Many of them found new self-help and new age scams to devote their lives and earnings to, and lived as happily as they could.

Just as no one had really noticed Tim’s rise to power, no one really noticed his removal from power. People continued to watch NASCAR and buy lottery tickets, and only a few retirees bothered to watch the President’s televised address when he and the Vice President returned to the White House.

The New Paradigm compound in Washington D.C. was razed, and several strip malls and luxury condominiums were built in its place. Any and all vacancies were quickly filled, and abandoned again when the next new, hot thing came along.

***

The pagans, for their part, continued sacrificing to all the gods who Tim had killed, slowly bringing them back from wherever they had been. They had managed to find a convenient list in Tim’s compound, so all they had to do was go through the list.

Of course, it wasn’t quite that easy. Making sacrifices to a variety of gods requires a lot of work (both research and labor) and funding (sacrificial costs add up quickly). Fortunately, their fund-raising car washes were generally well-attended and kept the gods in beer and skittles. At least, long enough for them to return. After that, many of them were on their own again.

***

It took Tim months to clean up after the blow-out party Bacchus had thrown. He had spent countless hours gathering garbage, scrubbing walls, removing stains from art, scrubbing the ceiling, scraping gooey bits out of corners, putting out fires, cleaning up soot from the fires, and so on.

After all of his back-breaking labor was complete, he stood at one end of Bacchus’ home and admired the work he’d done. He was fairly certain the house had never looked better.

“The house has never looked better,” Bacchus said, coming up from behind him. He clapped Tim on the shoulder. “And good thing, too, I’m having some of the boys over tonight for a humdinger of a bash. I suggest you rest up.”

***

“Where the hell did we leave the bikes?” Scroat asked Hep.

“In an abandoned shed somewhere in the deserts of New Mexico,” Hep said.

“Oh, good, I was worried they were going to be hard to get to again,” Scroat said.

“Nope, easy as pie,” Hep said.

When they got to the shed, they found the bikes were quite dusty, but otherwise exactly as they’d left them. The motors came to life immediately, and Hep and Scroat rode like hell to get home.

***

The Hamburglar, Princess and Robot toys went on to have another outrageous and hilarious adventure. However, that’s another fucking story.

Chapter 23

2007-11-30T18:39:00.000-08:00

“Hi Guys,” Ahayuta said from behind them. Hep and the others turned around, shocked.

“How the hell did you guys get in here?” Hep asked.

“Our translucent friend here helped us find our way,” Ahayuta said, pointing to a partially see-through person. It was Dan! “We were able to duck into the tower here while you guys were distracting the goons outside.”

“Dan, what the hell were you doing in the city drains?” Sarah asked.

“Trying to find my way back out, of course,” Dan said. “The funny thing about being a new ghost is that you have to figure out how to move around without the benefit of friction. I wound up underground somehow before I got the hang of it.”

“Right,” Hep said. “Ok, so, where do you think Tim is at in here?” he asked the group.

“Why don’t we check the room over there marked ‘Temple’?” Heitsi asked in reply.

Across the room was, indeed, a pair of large, ornate doors with a rather ostentatious sign declaring, for anyone who was interested to read, that this was the Temple.

“So, is it Tim’s Temple, or the Temple of Tim?” Hep asked.

The group walked over to the doors and opened them. The interior of the temple appeared to be the bastard child of a corporate boardroom and mega-church. There were several long tables arranged so those sitting at them would all be able to turn and see the stage. The chairs at the tables were plush leather, and the tables themselves were some kind of dark wood, polished to a high gloss.

At the front of the room was the stage. At the back of the stage, several banners were hung, declaring that this was, indeed, the New Paradigm. There was also a podium, a table with a briefcase on it, and a sturdy wooden chair.

Strapped into the wooden chair was Pan. Near the podium, Tim was waiting with his hands held behind his back. And in the plush leather chairs surrounding the tables were a couple hundred True Believers in gold colored track suits. They all turned to face Hep and the rest of the crew, and stood up.

“Welcome!” Tim called from the front of the room. “I was beginning to worry that you weren’t going to find us in here, and that we’d have to come looking for you.”

“Let Pan go,” Hep said to Tim.

“Let him go? After all the trouble I’ve gone through just to catch him again? I think not, you silly man.” Tim said, and chuckled. “No, in fact, I’ve only been waiting until you were here to kill him.”

“Why are you doing all this?” Hep asked.

“Well, partly it’s the challenge of the thing, and partly to remake the world as I see fit, but mainly I’m doing it for the power rush and the chicks,” Tim said. “Now, is there anything you’d like to say before I kill Pan here?”

At that moment, Hep had a revelation that he wished would have occurred much, much sooner. This whole mess could have been prevented if it had.

“Fuck it. Kill him!” Hep said.

“What?” the rest of the group, and Pan, asked. Tim smiled cruelly and turned to Pan.

That’s when the toys made their move. The Hamburglar, Princess and Robot leapt out of the briefcase, charged across the table and leapt on to Tim’s back. Hep and the rest of the group couldn’t believe they’d just seen that. Tim struggled vainly to brush the toys off of him, but they clung tenaciously to him.

Tim remembered he had more important things to worry about, and hurried to the pick up the wand of the god-killing machine. The toys clambered around on Tim, doing a great job of annoying the hell of out him.

Hamburglar reached Tim’s shoulder, and crawled out onto his face. Tim swatted at him, to no avail.

“Fuck you, shithead,” Hamburglar said.

Tim reached out to touch Pan with the wand. At that moment, Hamburglar shoved his hand up Tim’s nose, grabbed onto whatever he could, and pulled as hard as he could.

“Gaaaaah!” Tim yelled, and dropped the wand. He reached with both hands to grab the toy. Hamburglar chose that moment to shove his other hand into Tim’s other nostril and grab on.

From the back of the room, the gods, Sarah and Chris saw Tim apparently trying to pull an action figure out of his nose and screaming hysterically. Tim’s cries got the attention of the True Believers, who turned away from Hep and the others to see what was happening to Tim.

Hep saw the opportunity and said “NOW!”

The gods, Chris and Sarah ran down into the group of True Believers, catching them by surprised. Hep, meanwhile, vanished and reappeared on the stage behind Pan. He got to work on freeing Pan from his bonds. Tim continued to stagger around the stage, fighting off the toys who had proven their ability to be very, very annoying.

“Fuck it, kill him?” Pan asked Hep. Hep grunted as he untied the last knot binding Pan.

“I’ll explain it later,” Hep said. “Let’s get him.”

Hep and Pan rushed Tim, tackling him and dragging him over to the chair. They quickly bound him, and stuffed a rag in his mouth. The three toys moved and sat on Tim’s shoulders, looking up at Hep and Pan. The Hamburglar idly wiped his hands on Tim’s jacket.

“Can you guys keep him entertained for a few minutes?” Hep asked the toys.

“You bet your fucking ass we can,” the Princess said.

“Good deal,” Hep said. He and Pan joined the fray between the True Believers and the gods.

The toys looked up at Tim, and discussed among themselves the myriad opportunities for mischief that could be wrought up him. Hamburglar stood up and walked over to Tim’s ear. He flicked Tim’s ear lobe.

Tim made a mildly annoyed sound. Hamburglar looked back at the others, grinned, and turned back to Tim’s ear. He bit into Tim’s earlobe, pulled back and shook his head.

This time Tim made a significantly more panicked noise. Hamburglar let go, and walked back to the other two, smiling.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” he said.

While the toys took out their plastic rage on Tim, the other gods took out their frustration on the gold clad True Believers. For their part, the True Believers didn’t know whether they wanted to fight or run. There were embarrassingly few exits for the Temple, however, so even those who wanted to run had to stay in the room.

Ares and Sekhmet quickly grew bored with killing fish in a barrel, and so devised various challenges to test each other’s skill and creativity in doling out death and destruction. Sekhmet tore out the throat of a True Believer and used the blood that gushed out to make a giant Tic-Tac-Toe board on the floor on the room.

“So do you want to play headless or disemboweled?” she asked Ares.

“Headless, definitely,” he said. “Shall we flip for the first move?”

“Oh yes,” Sekhmet said.

Ares grabbed a nearby True Believer, and told Sekhmet to call it.

“Heads,” she said.

Ares flung the True Believer into the air. He bounced off the ceiling and came crashing down on to the floor, landing head first.

“Yes!” Sekhmet said. She caught one of the True Believers and made quick work of disemboweling him. She tossed the body onto the upper left corner of the tic-tac-toe board.

Ares, for his turn, beheaded one of the True Believers and tossed the carcass onto the center square.

The game continued, and ended in a draw.

“Should we play again?” Sekhmet asked.

“Nah, tic-tac-toe isn’t really my thing anyway,” Ares replied.

“Chess?” she asked. Ares looked around at the room and the True Believers. The True Believers were reaching new heights of panic

“Nah, none of these people will be able to sit still long enough,” Ares said. Suddenly he brightened a bit. He turned and grabbed a nearby True Believer who had been standing stationary, screaming in horror at the mess around him. Without blinking an eye, Ares popped the True Believer’s head off. He held it up in front of him.

“Bowling?” he asked?

“Oh! I love bowling!” Sekhmet said.

Thor had made his way to the stage, and saw the machine Tim used to kill gods. He crushed it with one blow of his hammer, destroying it completely.

He looked over at Tim, and saw the toys had made what looked like a human chain off the top of Tim’s head. The last toy on the chain, Robot, was poking Tim in the eye.

Thor walked away chuckling to himself.

Soon the fight had ended, and Hep and the rest of the gods made their way to the stage. Well, the rest of the gods except for Ares and Sekhmet.

Sekhmet and Ares were playing volleyball with the head of a former True Believer.

The gods gathered around Tim.

“So what should we do with this guy?” Thor asked.

“I say we kill him!” Ares called from where he was. Answering the question had distracted him, and he missed the head as it flew towards him.

“Yes! I win!” Sekhmet said as the head rolled around on the floor.

“Kill him? That’s hardly a divine punishment,” Thoth said. “We gotta make him push a rock up a hill for all eternity, or hold the universe together with his nostril hairs, or make him work for the postal service or something.”

Pan smiled and said, “I’ve got a good idea.”

***

A small group of pagans were gathered around the fire pit in a public campground. They had reserved several neighboring campsites to make sure they wouldn’t be disturbed by other campers. They had learned through hard experience that nothing freaked out a group of normal folks like stumbling upon a bunch of people in white robes chanting in a circle around a bonfire. Especially when one of them is mostly transparent and wearing a ceremonial mask that looks like a cross between a tree and an Aardvark. And extra especially when with them are a motley crew of deities in their true forms.

The pagans had brought with them epic quantities of wine, grapes, bread, cheese and other delicious foods.

Hephaestus stepped forward and said “We dedicate this sacrifice to Bacchus.”

With that, the pagans and deities threw the majority of the food and wine into the fire. It smelled wonderful.

A few minutes after the last of the food had burned away, a stout man in a toga appeared next to Hephaestus.

“Hey Hep, what did I miss?” Bacchus asked.

Hep clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Just the usual, Bacchus.”

“That much, huh?” Baccus said. “Well, seems like I probably owe you a drink. Let’s go back to my place and get tore up, everyone!”

The gods cheered, and one by one disappeared.

“Are you coming, Dan?” Hephaestus asked. He turned to go.

“Damn straight!” Dan said. “Bye, guys!” he said to the pagans.

With that, Hephaestus and Dan vanished, leaving Sarah, Chris and the other pagans staring in disbelief.

“I guess we finally did it right,” Chris said to Sarah.

“I guess so,” she replied.

With that, it began to rain, and the pagans ran for cover under a nearby gazebo. Soon the rain became a torrential downpour, and even under the cover of the gazebo the pagans got soaked.

“Did all of that really happen?” one of the other pagans asked Sarah.

“It sure did,” she said.

“Kind of makes you wonder if the universe is in good hands,” the pagan said.

Sarah laughed for a long time. Slowly, she recovered from her laughter, and wiped tears out of her eyes.

“The universe is in terrible hands,” she said, “but I think it’ll be ok. Things have a way of working out.”

Chapter 22

2007-11-29T20:01:00.000-08:00

With some effort, Heitsi pushed aside the cover at the top of the ladder. He climbed up and looked around in mild shock. Instead of being outside Tim’s tower, they were in a computer room. He walked around a bit as the others climbed out of the manhole in the floor. He didn’t have to go very far before he saw a banner congratulating the New Paradigm’s I.T. staff on the completion of a search and analysis tool of some sort.

At least they were in the compound.

Thor was the last to climb into the room, and he shut the manhole behind him. They all spent a moment looking around.

“Where the fuck are we?” Scroat asked Heitsi.

“Well, somewhere in the New Paradigm’s compound, anyway.” Heitsi said. “Let’s try to find a map.”

They rifled through folders, and searched every available surface looking for a map or diagram of the compound. They had nearly given up when Pan said “Hey guys, look here!”

Mounted on the wall by a door was a map of the New Paradigm compound, a long with an arrow pointing to a dot, which was labeled “You are here.”

“How convenient,” Thor said. Pan grabbed the map and pulled it off of the wall. It brought a few good-sized chunks of drywall with it.

The group heard a door open behind them. They turned to see a young woman wearing a green track suit walk into the room. She looked at them. They looked at her.

“How do you do?” Scroat asked, and bowed slightly.

The True Believer screamed, and ran back out the door she’d just come through.

“Well, there went the element of surprise,” Ares said as the door wheezed shut behind the True Believer. He walked towards the door, as did the others in the group. Chris and Sarah stayed towards the back of the group.

Seconds later, the door slammed open again, and burly True Believers charged, single file, into the room. Ares grabbed the first True Believer through the door and threw him into a rack of expensive-looking computer equipment across the room.

The bottleneck caused by the doorway worked to the gods advantage, as they only had to contend with one or two True Believers at once. The overly eager True Believers continued their assault, and so wound up getting individually beaten up by Ares or Thor.

After a few minutes, Ares became impatient and charged through the door into the group of True Believers outside. He was difficult to see in the crowd of track suit wearing thugs, but every now and then the crew in the computer room would see a flash of black leather among the track suits, usually immediately before they heard a gurgling scream or saw a headless body flying across the room.

Showing a complete lack of strategic intelligence, the True Believers continued their attempts to get into the computer room and overpower the gods, regardless of the slaughter happening in their midst and the bottleneck that made their strategy impossible anyway.

As each True Believer entered the room, Thor would grab him by the collar and deliver a smoking right hook to the head. Scroat and Pan then moved the unconscious True Believers to one side of the room to keep them from piling up in Thor’s way.

Once the smarter True Believers had run away, and the others were rendered unable to stop them, the crew left the computer room, and consulted the map. Ares joined them, looking delighted to be there.

“What’s next, guys?” he asked, practically bouncing from foot to foot.

Pan, Hep and Heitsi decided it would probably be best if they stayed indoors as much as they could. So far, the confined areas seemed to work to their advantage. Hep hoped the True Believers would be dumb enough to continue with the unarmed frontal assaults. A few minutes later he realized that the True Believers’ lack of weapons meant that Tim wanted to kill them himself; he’d just sent the True Believers to collect them. That meant that the rest of the True Believers would almost definitely be unarmed.

Sweet, he thought.

Sarah opened the door from the room they were in to the hallway a crack, and peered out. She couldn’t see anyone, so she opened the door further, stuck her head out and looked up and down the hallway.

The hallway curved gradually, and had grey carpeting and white walls. Cold, fluorescent lighting made the hallway feel institutional (which, really, it was). Every twenty feet there was a framed motivational poster, encouraging the True Believers to Think Win-Win and informing them that A Winning Attitude Guarantees Success. Sarah would have liked to add Read A Book as one of the posters.

The hallway appeared safe and empty for the time being, so they left the room and made their way down the hall. They walked quietly, keeping an ear out for the sound of more thugs in track suits. For the most part, all they heard were the fluorescent lights humming, and their own footsteps. There was a potted plant placed approximately every one hundred feet, presumably to cheer the place up a bit.

Hep couldn’t figure out how all the True Believers looked so darn eager and cheerful all the time, working in an environment like this. He’d seen prisons that were less oppressive. Hep was willing to concede, however, that he might be a little biased against the organization and their design decisions since Tim was trying to hunt them down and kill them. All the same, the buildings seemed more like they were intended to keep the True Believers in line and conforming than to get them to produce excellent (if misguided) work.

It might explain why they were consistently easy to defeat. They all tried to do what everyone else was doing, with no defined leader unless Tim happened to be around. Sheep have never been renowned for their fighting skills.

According to the map they had swiped, the only way to the next building closer to Tim’s tower was to go outside. They arrived at an outer door, and Heitsi took a peek outside.

“I think I know where all the people are,” he said. Hep took a look as well. He stood back and thought for a minute.

“Ok, I’ll take Sarah and Dan into the next building. You guys can easily fight your way across to the other door,” Hep said. He looked at Ares, “Only do what’s necessary to get to the other building.”

Ares sulked.

Hep continued, “It’s ok, you’ll be able to do plenty of smiting when we’re closer to our goal.”

Ares brightened a little bit, and agreed to just get across to the other building with the others.

Hep grabbed Sarah and Chris, and they disappeared. At that moment, Heitsi threw open the door, and they ran out to meet the True Believers. They fought hard and fast, simply trying to knock the True Believers out of the way. Their progress increased significantly when Ares grabbed one of the True Believers and started yanking limbs off of him and tossing them at the people in their way.

Once they were across to the other building, Ares tossed the remaining bits of the True Believer over his shoulder. The people behind him got out of the way, and the True Believer remnants hit the ground with a juicy smack. Ares strolled into the building behind the rest of the gods.

He looked at Hep and said, “See? Nothing more than was absolutely necessary.”

They walked down the hall, noticing that this building was also curiously empty of people. Apparently word of their arrival spread quickly.

Hep saw a room marked “Tracking” and had to go inside. In the room were maps of the different states and countries around the world, with numbered push pins stuck in various places. Presumably, the pins marked the locations of other gods.

Hep and Scroat made quick work of tearing the maps off the walls, while Thor, or more specifically, Mjolnir, his hammer, decimated the computers.

“I suddenly feel so much better,” Hep said.

“Yeah, me too. We gotta wreck shit more often,” Scroat said.

They left the room and got back to the serious business of finding their way to Tim. The interior of this building was identical to the previous building, and if they hadn’t known better they could have easily confused the two.

The group made it to the other side of the building, and again Heitsi checked out side to see if anyone was there.

Of course, there were a great many people there. Significantly more than there had been previously, in fact. He closed the door and turned to tell them.

That’s when the lights turned out and the fire sprinklers opened and poured dirty, stagnant, smelly water poured out onto them

“Oh, that’s nice,” Thoth said.

“They’re trying to get us to panic and rush outside. Everyone stay mellow,” Hep said. “We’ll do this just like last time. Sarah and Chris, get over here.”

Hep grabbed onto Sarah and Chris and said, “Ok, go!” He vanished, not that anyone could see him in the dark anyway. Heitsi opened the door and they rushed outside. The True Believers closed in on them. Thor and Ares cleared a path in front, but more True Believers fell in to replace those who’d been pushed out of the way.

Four of them grabbed Pan, who had been at the back, and dragged him off. The gods couldn’t hear him yell over the din of the crowd. They rushed into the next building, which was dark and flooded, but the sprinklers had at least stopped running.

Scroat pulled out a lighter, and they quickly noticed that Pan wasn’t with them.

“Fuck! Those bastards grabbed Pan!” Scroat said.

“That guy really has to learn some self-defense, “ Hep muttered to himself.

He cleared his throat and said, “We gotta keep moving. We’ll get to Tim before Tim gets to Pan.”

Scroat shut his lighter, and they sloshed their way through the dark hallway. They were careful not to trip over the potted plants every 100 feet, but every so often someone would stumble over something in the dark.

Heitsi and Hep first saw the light approaching them. Seconds later a group of True Believers came out of the dark and rushed towards them.

“Aw, fuck,” Scroat said, and the fight began. Ares, being who he was, charged into the fray, swinging wildly. Soon he’d managed to knock out the lights the True Believers were carrying, and the scuffle continued in the dark.

“Son of a bitch!” Scroat yelled as he took the hardest punch he’d been dealt in centuries to the left cheek.

“Aw, hell, sorry Scroat,” Ares said.

The group of True Believers was actually pretty small, and soon the fight ended. They didn’t hear anyone sloshing away, so Scroat took out his lighter and they took a look around. There weren’t any True Believers lurking in the dark, thankfully.

Hep looked closely at Scroat and said, “Damn, Scroat, that’s one ugly bruise you’re developing there.”

“Oooo, yeah, sorry about that Scroat. Good thing you’ve got a harder head than these goofy mortals,” Ares said. “Imagine if I’d hit one of them that hard! Ker-splat!”

The group walked the rest of the way to the other side of the building, and once again found the door to the outside and the next building. This time, when Heitsi grabbed the door know, he hissed in pain and pulled his hand back.

“What’s wrong?” Thoth asked.

“Hot! The damn door is burning hot!” Heitsi said.

Hep took off his shirt and wrapped his hand with it. He grabbed the door knob and opened the door a tiny bit. Flames slipped in to through the crack in the door. Hep quickly shut the door again.

“That complicates things a little bit,” Hep said. He thought for a moment. “Which of the other doors should we use?”

“Well, there’s an exit about two hundred feet behind us,” Heitsi said. “We’ll have to fight through a lot more of the True Believers to reach the next building, though.”

“You know, maybe we shouldn’t bother with the other building. Maybe we should just fight our way through the crowd to Tim’s tower,” Hep said.

“Yes!” Ares said. “I’m ready. Let’s go, let’s go. Now!” The rest of the group heard him sloshing away in the dark. “Come on, you guys!”

“You guys are nuts,” Thoth said.

“Yeah, we are. Have you got a better idea?” Hep asked.

“Well, no. I expect they’ve already figured out a way to keep us good and trapped in the next building.” Thoth said.

“Come on you guys!” they heard Ares yelling in the distance. “This door isn’t hot at all!”

At the door, Heitsi asked, “Hep, are you sure?”

“Yes! He’s sure! Let me out there!” Ares yelled.

“Yes, Heitsi, let’s go,” Hep said.

“All right. Been nice knowing you,” Heitsi said, and opened the door.

The True Believers had expected the gods to leave through that door (it was the only one that wasn’t currently burning), and had expected them to come out fighting. No one, however, expects a bloodthirsty Ares to come blasting out the door, killing five people before anyone has had a chance to catch their breath. Thor was immediately behind him, and cut a huge swath of destruction before him as he swung Mjolnir through the crowd of True Believers. Thoth, Scroat, Hep, Sarah and Chris were close behind. The intial group of True Believers moved backwards quickly in reflexive response to the carnage in front of them.

Sarah and Chris teamed up to take care of each other, while Hep and Scroat each took on the True Believers as they came.

Ares, meanwhile, actively chased down the True Believers who were smart enough to run like hell away from him.

“Hey, come back! There’s something I want to show you!” he yelled, and cackled wildly. He caught one of the True Believers in a headlock. The man he caught immediately began scrabbling at Ares arm, attempting to free himself. With his free hand, Ares pulled the struggling man’s head off and let the body drop. Without missing a beat, he turned and bludgeoned a nearby True Believer with the head.

“Did you all see how I did that?” Ares yelled at the people attempting to flee. “Aw, you guys don’t appreciate a good trick,” he said. He chased after the True Believers again.

The True Believers were also giving Thor a wide berth. Rather than chase them down, however, Thor threw his hammer at them. It bashed it’s way through the crowd, sending track suited thugs flying to land in a bloody heap before returning to Thor’s hand.

Sarah and Chris were surrounded by a throng of True Believers, all attempting to capture them. The pair fought back to back, barely holding off their attackers. One of the larger True Believers pulled his arm back to hit Sarah, and was stunned when his arm was yanked from it’s socket.

He turned, mystified, to look at the hole where his arm had just been, then looked up to see Ares grinning crazily at him, holding his arm by the stump.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” Ares asked. He then wound up and slapped the True Believer with his own hand.

“Stop hitting yourself,” Ares said, and hit him again with the arm. “Why are you hitting yourself?”

The spectacle Ares was making gave Scroat and Hep and opportunity to get over to to Sarah and Chris and fight off the crown who’d gathered around them.

“Pick on the weak ones, will ya?” Hep asked before sending a True Believer flying. “Not on my watch.”

Scroat had latched on to a particularly large True Believer and sunk his teeth into the man’s ear. The man screamed hysterically, and yelled “Get him off of me, get him off of me!” before Scroat managed to bite the rest of the way through his ear.

Scroat spit the chunk of ear into the big True Believer’s face and said “Damn, man, you could grow fucking potatoes in there. Take some pride in yourself, man.” He wiped the blood off of his mouth. This was just too much for the big man, and he fainted.

Scroat looked down at him with disdain. “You fucking pansy,” he said.

Thoth and Heitsi were also fighting back to back. For the most part, the True Believers stayed out of range, just keeping the gods from moving too far, but every now and then, one of them would step in and attempt to hit Thoth or Heitsi. These attempts were met with immediate and harsh retaliation. Before long, the True Believers had figured out that the two gods were probably best left alone. They maintained the ring around them, keeping them from moving, but no longer attacking.

The True Believers had their attention so focused on Thoth and Heitsi that they didn’t notice Ares stomping towards them until he’d grabbed two of the thugs’ heads and smashed them into each other. He dropped the two limp bodies and raised his hands over his head in a gesture of victory.

“Two birds with half the work!” Ares yelled, before grabbing the next person and viciously head-butting him. For most people, a headbutt is a risky attack. There’s always the possibility that one will knock himself out. Ares, however, had no worries about getting knocked out by headbutting anyone. He could have headbutted Fort Knox and come out the victor. Fortunately for Fort Knox, it had not pissed off Ares. At least, not enough for Ares to take a personal interest in teaching Fort Knox a lesson.

The group had made enough progress to get around the corner of the building, and they could see Tim’s tower in the distance.

They could also see several thousand more True Believers waiting for them.

“Just how many of these fuckers are there?” Scroat asked.

The army of True Believers surged forward, and even Ares began having a hard time keeping up with the wave of attackers. The gods, still fighting, quickly became separated from one another by the sheer number of True Believers forcing their way forward.

Soon the crowd around each of the gods was so dense that they could barely move, and they were swept along with the crowd around them.

Hep, in desperation, remembered the sacrifices in his garage. He thought, I really need some help, here as hard as he could.

A low roar, like distant thunder, soon became audible. It grew louder and louder, until it overwhelmed the noise of the army of True Believers. From the sky, a chicken went into a power-dive, and slammed into the True Believers surrounding Hep. The force of the chicken’s attack drove them back, and Hep had a bit of room to move around again. He immediately went on the offensive, punching and shoving anyone he could reach.

The chicken, for it’s part, leapt up and clawed and pecked at the True Believers.

Elsewhere in the crowd, a host of strange objects attacked other True Believers. The shock of the attack by inanimate objects could not be understated. The army had been shocked when Ares burst forth earlier, but unexpected as that had been, nobody, anywhere, ever, has anticipated being attacked by a foaming case of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Furthermore, defending oneself against an animated case of beer is difficult enough, but even more so when the individual beers leave the case and attack on their own.

If you had asked him, the True Believer fighting off the case of beer, and losing, would have told you that it was like being punched by twenty four angry, flying fists of frothy goodness.

The True Believers, decidedly unable to believe what was happening to them, quickly lost discipline and the group began to loosen, making it possible for all the gods, as well as Sarah and Chris, to resume fighting their way to Tim’s tower.

“Nice trick, Hep!” Ares yelled over the chaos around him.

“Thanks,” Hep yelled back. “I’m here every Tuesday. Be sure to tip your waitress.”

Newly enraged by the True Believers who, until the sacrifices had arrived, had the upper hand, Ares quickly began to viciously attack everyone around him. He punched clear through two True Believer’s skulls, and commented, “Ask Chuck Norris if he can do that.”

Sarah and Chris found the True Believers were largely ignoring them. This was because the True Believers were more worried about being attacked by a carving of Hep made out of apples that was wielding a baseball bat with nails sticking out of it.

Thoth and Scroat had an easy time shoving their way through the crowd, as the panic of the True Believers escalated. Thor shook his head as he saw three or four of the True Believers trying to fend off a large pepperoni pizza. He wasn’t surprised about the pizza attacking them so much as the fact that the pizza was winning.

“Truly, pizza is the king of foods,” Thor said to himself. He then turned at hurled his hammer towards a group of True Believers who had regained their composure and were advancing on him. Mjolnir thumped off of their skulls, emitting a surprisingly musical sound upon each strike. It was better than wind chimes.

The group moved closer and closer to Tim’s Tower. They redoubled their efforts, and the sacrifices continued attacking without tiring.

Ares had caught a smaller True Believer, and was swinging him by the legs like a baseball bat. The result frustrated Ares. Though he was clearly winning and gaining ground, it was because the other True Believers kept backing away. It’s no fun to bludgeon someone with one of their friends if the one you’re trying to hit keeps moving out of range.

Heitsi watched Ares for a moment with an amused detachment, then went back to the business at hand. In his case, the business at hand was braining everyone within reach with a heavy rock.

One of the True Believers, who had actually been trying to get the hell out of there, wound up facing off with a flying basket of fruit. He tried pushing the basket to one side, which resulted in a very annoyed basket of fruit. The True Believer caught a mushy apple in the forehead before he remembered to defend himself. A variety of other fruits and cheeses attacked him repeatedly, striking then pulling back to strike again.

This particular True Believer did get away from the fray, but had nightmares about attacking fruit for the rest of his life, and would break into a cold sweat every time he had to go into the produce section of the grocery store.

Soon the crew were only ten feet from the front door of Tim’s tower. The guard, who was still really only there as a public relations officer, had held his ground this long, but when the case of Pabst Blue Ribbon swooped towards his head, he took off running and never looked back.

Ares and Thor conjured another burst of energy and blasted their way through the remaining True Believers blocking them from the entrance to the tower. Within seconds, Thor had opened the door and held it open for the others. The sacrifices kept the True Believers from trying to rush the gods (and Chris and Sarah) as they went into the tower. Once inside, Heitsi and Scroat barred the door to keep out any True Believers who managed to get past the Pabst Blue Ribbon of Doom.

“Well, that was fun,” Ares said as they caught their breath in the entryway of the tower.

Chapter 21

2007-11-28T20:33:00.001-08:00

Hep, Scroat, Pan, Ares, Thoth, Sekhmet, Ahayuta, Thor, Chris and Sarah left the hotel first thing the next morning. They had decided that they would be less likely to draw attention to themselves if they paddled down to the drain opening during the day. Six inflatable rafts in Washington D.C. in the middle of the night might seem kind of suspicious, especially given how close they would be to several Naval installations, and various landmarks of historical importance.

So, instead, they slept, got up early, had a hearty breakfast in the hotel’s little cafe, and left the hotel around 7:30 in the morning. Each of the gods carried a rolled up and deflated raft, except for Pan who carried the pump to inflate the boats. Chris and Sarah were in charge of carrying the maps and headlamps.

The group walked a couple of blocks to the nearest bus stop. They only had to wait a few minutes for the bus that would take them to a park a couple miles north of the Arlington National Cemetery. Their journey got off to a bad start when the bus driver insisted that he would only accept exact change for their fares.

“Aw, come on, man, just keep the change. I can live with out it,” Hep said, still holding the cash out to the driver.

“I can only accept exact change, sir,” the driver said.

“But I’m willing to give you more than the total fare!” Hep said, exasperated.

“Exact change only, sir,” the driver said, stone-faced.

“Fine,” Hep said, and turned to the rest of the group. “Have any of you guys got change?”

They all shook their heads. Hep groaned, and got back off of the bus. He set down the raft he’d been carrying, and walked quickly back to the hotel. The bus departed as he walked. According to the bus schedule posted at the stop, there would be another bus in forty five minutes.

In the hotel, Hep asked the clerk at the front desk if she could make change for him. He put twenty dollars on the counter, and the clerk returned with a roll of quarters.

“Here you are, sir,” she said brightly. “Have a great day!”

“Thank you,” Hep said, and left the hotel for the second time that morning. He hustled back to the rest of the group.

Back at the bus stop, the gods (and pagans) fidgeted as they waited for the next bus. For the most part, they were men (and women) of action, and didn’t cotton to loitering. Thoth, for his part, took out his journal and wrote in it, while the others attempted to occupy themselves by bragging about feats of strength, past conquests, and drunken hijinks.

Hep, who had heard most of these stories before, several times, sat on the bench and tried not to fall asleep as they waited. He nodded several times, jerking awake when he realized he was dozing off. Who knew that listening to Sekhmet explain the intricacies of popping an enemy’s eye out of its socket could be so soothing? Hep finally fell asleep, and didn’t wake until Scroat elbowed him in the side.

The next bus arrived, and this time they all were able to get on the bus without difficulty. The driver was the same fellow, but gave no indication that he recognized any of them. The bus was mostly empty, and they made their way to the very back seats. The seats were in pretty rough shape, with plenty of tears, writing on them, and chewing gum ground in in a few places. One of the other passengers had incredibly bad body odor, and every now and then the aroma of this upstanding example of transportation responsibility would waft back and make the group’s eyes water.

The ride wasn’t much more interesting than sitting at the bus stop was. They stopped every block, it seemed, to let on or drop off a surprising variety of colorful characters. Every time they thought they had seen, smelled or heard the worst that humanity had to offer, another jerk would get on the bus and prove that when it comes to the depth of inanity and lack of taste, humanity has the greater majority of species massively out gunned.

The bus began to fill up, and the wide variety of bad smells overwhelmed Hep. He spent a solid twenty minutes of the ride trying to cover his nose discretely, before giving up and covering his nose overtly. He was pretty sure no one would notice or care anyway.

Hep and the rest of the crew in the back of the bus got a minor thrill when the bus hit a large bump at speed, and they were momentarily lifted out of their seats.

“I haven’t had that happen since elementary school,” Chris commented.

At the next stop, a disheveled man reeking of alcohol got on the bus. He wasn’t ready for it when the bus jerked forward and started rolling, and to keep from falling he stumbled continuously down the aisle until he landed in Pan’s lap.

“Gah!” Pan exclaimed, and roughly helped the drunk up again and into a seat.

“Why are we on the bus again?” he asked Hep.

“Because we don’t own a van,” Hep said.

“Oh, right,” Pan said.

Several stops later, they were getting close to their destination. The group gathered up the rafts, pump and backpacks, and when the bus stopped they quickly exited and walked away from the bus stop. Only when they were clear of the bus and its denizens did they feel safe taking a deep breath through the nose again. After a few deep breaths and a stretch they walked the few remaining blocks to the park where they would launch their boats. After sitting on the bus for so long, walking felt absolutely wonderful, and they quickly arrived at their destination. They crossed the street and walked into the park.

The “park” was really just a couple of gazebos, a couple of unhealthy looking trees and a lot of grass with some sidewalks running through it. There were a few benches here and there for those who, for some entirely unexplicable reason, wanted to hang around for a bit. At night, these benches were prized by the local homeless community, but the rest of the time they went ignored by the general population.

There were a few other people walking around in the park, but no one paid any attention to the determined looking group of odd people carrying uninflated boats to the water’s edge. So far, it appeared their strategy for slipping through unnoticed was working particularly well. No one had asked them yet today what they were going to do with all these boats.

“So what are you fellas going to do with all of them boats?” a nosy park user asked from behind them.

Hep turned to the gentleman asking the question. “We’re just playing hooky from work and going out for a paddle, this morning,” Hep said.

This seemed to satisfy the latest interrogator, and he wandered off to do whatever it is nosy people who hang out in parks do.

Meanwhile, the crew got to work on unrolling boats and assembling the crummy plastic paddles that came with the boats. Pan got started on inflating the first raft. He was winded before the boat was even half inflated, and by the time it was full and ready to go he was ready to lay down on the grass and wheeze for a few minutes. Pan handed the pump to Scroat, and proceeded to lay down on the grass, where he covered his eyes with his left arm and wheezed for five minutes or so.

Scroat found himself similarly afflicted when he’d finished inflating the boat he’d started. He passed the pump to Thor, and the cycle continued. Chris inflated the last boat, and joined the gods on the grass for a wheeze.

Once everyone felt rested enough to continue, they sat up and decided how to man the boats. After some debate, they agreed that Hep, Scroat, Pan and Heitsi would lead in one of the four person rafts. The second four person boat would carry Thoth, Sarah and Chris. Ares, Thor, Sekhmet and Ahayuta would each take one of the two person boats.

Sarah suggested they eat before they launch the boats, since the time and place of their next meal was uncertain at best. Luckily, there was a fast food joint within easy walking distance. Pan and Chris went, and brought back cheeseburgers and French fries for everyone. Chris distributed the food, and they ate quickly, without talking apart from someone asking for ketchup or a napkin occasionally.

After eating they began the awkward process of loading into the boats. There wasn’t a beach, just a short drop into the shallow, murky water at the edge of the grass. Chris hopped into the water to hold the boats in place as the rest loaded in to them. First up was Ares. Pan pushed the boat down into the water, where Chris caught it. He stood at the front of the boat, holding it parallel to the shore. Ares stepped into the raft, and it spun as he shifted his weight. The boat moved to quickly for Chris to react, and Ares fell into the water, cursing at great length. He splashed about and sputtered until he got his feet under him and stood up in the water.

Chris struggled to get the raft under control again as the crew still on the shore laughed at Ares. His temper flared, and Chris was lucky not to find himself holding his own skull. As it was, Ares grabbed hold of the raft and climbed in to it, bringing a lot of water with him. He squelched around a bit to get comfortable, then reached for the paddles. He paddled the boat a few feet away and turned to watch everyone else get into their boats with his arms crossed.

“OK, well, we know that method doesn’t work,” Sarah said. “Chris, maybe you should stand opposite the shore, and hold the boat against the edge of the water.”

Pan pushed another boat into the water, and Ahayuta stepped into it while Chris held the boat steady as Sarah had suggested. This technique worked out much better. He paddled over near Ares and waited.

Sekhmet pushed her own boat into the water, and stepped lightly into the boat from the shore. She fumbled with the paddles briefly, but quickly got the hang of using them and joined Ahayuta and Ares.

Thor was the last to get his own boat. He pushed the little raft in to the water, and stepped confidently into the boat. He grabbed the paddles and rowed powerfully over to the rest of the gods.

“Maybe we should have put him in the lead boat,” Pan said, noting Thor’s comfort with the boat.

Pan and Scroat pushed one of the bigger, four person rafts into the water. Heitsi, Pan and Scroat stepped into the boat one at a time, then Thoth and Sarah helped Hep into the boat. It was cramped, but it seemed like the boat was stable enough with four of them in it. They each took a paddle, and rowed over to the group of boats nearby.

Finally, Sarah and Thoth pushed the last boat into the water, and they stepped into it. Chris climbed in behind them, and the joined the rest of the group. Chris dragged a lot of water into the boat with him, and Thoth and Sarah were soon uncomfortably damp.

“Ok, which way from here, big man?” Ahayuta asked Hep.

Hep pointed, and said “Downstream, south. It’ll be probably a mile or two until we hit Arlington National Cemetery, and the entrance to the drains will be opposite the cemetery.”

They began to paddle, Hep’s boat led and the rest fell in to position behind them. The weather really was perfect for a day out on the water. The wind was calm, and the waves were very small, which made the paddling easy.

Ares stuggled with the flimsy paddles, and every few stroke he’d have to correct his direction to stay together with the group. Thor attempted to demonstrate the proper technique, but Ares brushed him off and continued struggling with his boat.

They passed by a few other little parks, and a lot of urban areas. So far as they could tell, no one had even looked twice at them, except for a little boy in one of the parks who waved enthusiastically to them. Most of the group waved back as they floated by.

As they got closer to their destination, the wind picked up, and the water quickly became choppy. They struggled through the waves, and soon Heitsi was able to see their entrance into the drains. Clouds gathered over them as they navigated the rubber boats towards the large pipe. Just before they entered the drains, the clouds opened and began pouring down rain upon them.

“Well that ought to make navigating the drains a little more interesting,” Heitsi commented.

In single file, they paddled into the inky black darkness of the city drains. Inside the tunnel, they put on their headlamps, and switched them on.

Chapter 20

2007-11-26T19:53:00.000-08:00

Heitsi was surprisingly tall, dark skinned, and moved about with the confidence and ease that only those who have died and been resurrected many many times can match. He smiled a lot, and gave the distinct impression that he knew the exact location of every creature and item in the room seconds after entering.

Hep was glad Heitsi came, because they had a lot of warriors on their side, but not many great hunters.

The gods gathered in the hotel room Sarah and Chris were staying in. They arrived over the next couple of days. Heitsi, Thor and Ares arrived the first day, Sekhmet, Thoth and Ahayuta the next.

Sarah had, at the last minute, managed to procure several maps of the drains and sewers that ran under the city and, most importantly, under the New Paradigm compound.

Hep, Heitsi and Thoth pored over the maps, trying to choose the best route to get into Tim’s compound with a wrecking crew of nine gods and a few pagans. They were pleased to find that there were several major drains that ran directly under the compound, and that they wouldn’t have to travel through any sewer lines to get there. Sewers would be disgusting and dangerous, due to the build up of methane and other fun, noxious gasses and diseases, not to mention the general ickiness of raw sewage. Drains, on the other hand, contained relatively clean water (not that any of them would want to drink it), relatively good air, and overall would be a much preferable subterranean route. Plus it would be easier to get an inflatable raft into the cities drains than into the sewage system.

They decided the best entrance into the drains would be across from the Arlington National Cemetary. Hep figured they could launch the rafts further up the river, and paddle right into the drains without attracting too much attention to themselves. After that, all they’d have to do is navigate through the drains until they reached the New Paradigm compound.

The first challenge, therefore, was getting enough inflatable rafts to carry all of them. Sarah, Hep, Scroat and Ares left the hotel to visit the local mega-store to see what they had in the way of inflatable boats. They crammed into a taxi and rode to the first store.

Apparently they chose the wrong day to try and save the world, because the store was crammed full of people all trying to reach and purchase the hottest bargains of the day. As they tried to find the sporting goods section, their irritation with the other patrons of the particular establishment they were in grew and grew. They had to stop walking every two steps to wait for someone to look at whatever bauble had caught their eye and forced them to stop, along with their shopping cart, in the middle of the aisle and preventing any other shoppers from getting through.

Eventually, two steps at a time, they made it to the sporting goods section. There was one two-person inflatable boat still on the shelf. Hep grabbed it, and they made the long, slow, annoying trek back to the cash registers. There, the cashier wanted to see ID before they could pay for their purchase.

“What are you talking about? I’m paying cash. Why do you need ID if I’m paying cash?” Hep asked.

“Store policy, sir,” the cashier said. “Rafts are a controlled item, for the sake of national security.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hep said, as he dug out his wallet. He found his driver’s license and presented it to the cashier.

The cashier barely looked at the id, didn’t look at Hep at all, and rang up the raft. Hep paid cash, as he’d said he would.

“Have a nice day, sir,” the cashier said with a fake, sunny smile.

“Yeah, right,” Hep said. They left the store and found another taxi to take them to the next mega-mart. When they arrived, Scroat waited outside with their first purchase, while Sarah, Hep and Ares went inside.

The second store, if anything, was more crowded than the first. Once more they shuffled through the store, past the lingerie, past the big screen televisions, past the children’s clothing and automotive essentials, and finally reached the sporting goods section. By the time they arrived, Ares’ left eye was twitching uncontrollably.

“Are you ok?” Sarah asked.

“Fine,” Ares said. “Just fine, thank you.” He rolled his head back and forth to stretch his neck, and continued to twitch.

This store had one two person raft, and also a four person inflatable boat. Hep and Ares each took a box, and they trudged at an excruciatingly slow pace back to the cash registers in the front of the store.

They waited in line for a solid ten minutes, before they finally were able to check out. This cashier did not ask them for identification, but looked at the three of them and their two rubber rafts with almost comical suspicion. She took Hep’s cash, and used an antibiotic lotion on her hands immediately after putting the cash in the drawer. She did not tell them to have a nice day.

Outside, they found a taxi yet again and went to another, hopefully final, superstore.

Scroat, once again, waited outside with the boats while Sarah, Ares and Hep went in to try and find at least one more raft. This store was significantly less busy, so the three of them felt somewhat relieved.

At least, until some guy wearing a Ford truck baseball cap and a NASCAR t-shirt decided they were walking too slow, and kept bumping into Ares’ ankles with his cart. Ares turned and, with uncharacteristic restraint, asked him to kindly be careful with his cart.

The man stared defiantly at Ares and told him to kindly move himself and his slow-assed friends the fuck out of his way.

Ares’ eye began to twitch again. He looked around the immediate area, saw there weren’t many people around, and quickly stepped around the cart.

“Say hi to Dale Earnhardt for me,” Ares hissed as he grabbed the man’s head and twisted until his neck snapped. Ares stuffed the guy’s body into the cart, covered it with a couple of shirts from a nearby rack, and pushed the cart to the back of the men’s clothing section. Ares suddenly felt much better.

“What?” Ares asked when he saw Hep and Sarah staring at him.

They finally reached the sporting goods department, and there was another four-person boat, and two two-person boats. They grabbed all three boats and walked to the checkouts.

Only one register was open, and they had to wait in line for several minutes. Ares made irritated noises, and rocked back and forth on his heels while they waited. They finally reached the cashier, who scanned their boats. The four-person boat wouldn’t scan, and the cashier told them he’d have to call the sporting goods manager for a price check.

Unfortunately, just as the cashier reached for the phone, the person behind Ares bumped him, rather hard, with a cart.

“GYAAAAAH!” Ares bellowed. He turned, grabbed the front of the cart, and shoved it towards the shopper who had bumped him with tremendous force. The shopper, and all the people in line toppled over like dominoes. He turned back, and the first thing he saw was the cashier staring at him in shock.

Ares bellowed again, and grabbed the cashier by the head. He lifted upwards, violently, pulling the cashier’s head off, along with a bit of spinal column. The rent-a-cop who had been watching the doors came running over, and Ares threw the cashier’s head at him with all his might. The cop ran into it face first, and fell over, unconscious.

Hep grabbed the rafts and Sarah’s arm and made for the exit while Ares continued his rampage.

Once outside, Hep said to Scroat, “Cab!”

“What?” Scroat asked, standing up from the bench he’d been sitting on. A tremendous crashing noise came from inside the store, as well as several screams.

“Cab, now!” Hep said.

Scroat tried to hail a cab, and finally caught the attention of a cabbie just as Ares came out the doors, dusting himself off.

“Fucking rude fucking people. No one has any class anymore,” Ares muttered under his breath as he left the store.

The cab pulled up to the sidewalk and the four of them piled in. Hep told him the cross streets they needed to get to, and the taxi pulled away from the curb.

“What do you need all those rafts those for?” the driver asked conversationally.

“Haven’t you and your buddies ever gotten a bunch of inflatable rafts, filled them with cooking oil and lime jello and had a romp with your special lady friends before?” Scroat asked in return.

The cabbie didn’t talk any more for the rest of the drive. Ares, whose mood had improved significantly, started to hum “Putting on the Ritz.”

Hep kept expecting to see the flashing lights of a police car appear behind them any moment. Their exit from the last store hadn’t exactly been incognito, thanks to Ares’ freak out. He suddenly remembered why he didn’t hang out with Ares more often, entirely apart from having caught Ares boning Aphrodite on several, separate occasions.

The taxi stopped at the intersection Hep had specified, and they all got out of the cab. Hep paid the driver, and gave him a twenty dollar tip.

“Have a good day,” Hep said to the cabbie, who muttered something incomprehensible in reply.

Hep, Scroat and Ares each carried two of the boats the block and a half back to the hotel. Once there, they got to work taking the rafts out of the boxes. After they’d gotten all the rafts out of their boxes, and taken a look at the instruction sheets (which read “inflate rafts”), Hep realized something horrible: they forgot to get a pump in order to fill the rafts.

“Pan,” Hep said, “You’re going to the store.”

Pan left the hotel, muttering under his breath about certain people who should have remembered to get a damn pump while they were at the damn store the first damn time.

There was an outdoors and camping supply store a few blocks away from the hotel, so Pan just walked instead of getting a cab. Apart from a mild annoyance about having to go to get a pump, Pan was in a pretty good mood. The evening weather was nice, and there were plenty of pretty girls around to look at.

Pan walked with his hands in his pockets, mostly watching the sidewalk in front of him, but looking up every now and then to smile at passing women. He couldn’t help it, even if he was supposed to be keeping a low profile. He was simply a natural ladies man.

In fact, Pan was pretty frustrated. He hadn’t gotten any loving since this whole mess started. Sarah seemed impervious to his charms, which had been enticing at first, but now just annoyed him. Sometimes a horny old goat needs to get laid.

Unfortunately, the hectic schedule of avoiding death and plotting revenge took up pretty much all of Pan’s time, so he hadn’t been able to get out and find a nice girl to share a lovely hour or two with before returning to more important matters.

He arrived at the camping goods store, and went inside to find a pump. He explained to the clerk what he was looking for, and the clerk showed him to the pumps.

“You know, those cheap-o rafts aren’t really good for much. They’ll probably spring a leak after five uses,” the clerk said.

“That’s ok,” Pan said. “I’m just planning to fill the boat up with baby oil and hop in it with my special lady friend anyway.”

The clerk was mildly shocked, but then laughed. “Ok, whatever you want to do, it’s none of my business anyway.”

Pan paid and left with his pump. He didn’t bother with a bag, and just carried the pump under one arm.

Just outside the store, Pan walked past a bus stop. A curvy, dark haired woman with glasses sitting on the bench stared at Pan as he approached. She wore a light blue, form-fitting sweater that showed a lot of cleavage, dark slacks, and fuck-me heels.

When Pan drew even with her, she smiled at him and asked “Need any help inflating something?”

Pan smiled her and said “Inflation is never the problem, just finding a place to put it once it’s blown up.”

The woman stood and moved closer to Pan. She put a hand on his chest.

“I bet I could find a place to put your toy,” she said. “Follow me.”

She walked ahead of Pan, swaying her hips. He followed, transfixed by her figure and the promise of hot, naughty sex, unable to believe his luck. Pan was suddenly very glad Hep had forgotten to get a pump when they bought the boats. Every now and then, running errands came with perks.

The woman led Pan down a nearby alley. The alley was extremely dark, but reasonably clean. There was no decaying garbage, homeless people or obvious rats or roaches. Really, Pan had fucked in much nastier places. The woman turned around to face him.

“Put that down,” she told Pan, pointing at the pump, “and come here.”

Pan set the box holding the pump down where he stood, and walked over to the mysterious beauty seducing him in an alley. She took his hands and put them on her breasts. She stepped forward and kissed Pan deeply, pressing her hips against him. Pan groaned, and buried his face in her neck, reveling in the smell of her.

She reached down and began to stroke him through his jeans. Pan moved his hands to her butt and picked her up. He carried her over to the closest wall, and pressed her up against it. She wrapped her legs around him as he buried his face in her cleavage. She tugged at his belt, attempting to undress him. Pan couldn’t believe how much better this day was turning out. It had certainly had a shitty start, but things were looking up. Way up.

Suddenly, he was blinded by approaching headlights, and he heard the roar of a large engine, then tires screeching. Pan looked, and saw a van come to a halt at the end of the alley. A group of track suit wearing thugs jumped out of the van.

“Shit!” Pan said, and dropped the woman he had been holding. He grabbed the box for the pump, and bolted the other direction down the alley.

“Hurry up, you shit heads, he’s going to get away,” the woman yelled at the True Believers charging towards Pan. Her yell inspired Pan to run that much faster, and the True Believers had to run as fast as they could just to keep pace with Pan.

Pan reached the end of the alley and looked to the left and the right. Which way was better? He decided that either way was better than waiting for the angry gorillas in track suits to catch up with him and do whatever it was they were going to do to him. Pan ran to the right.

Pan ran as though Zeus himself was throwing lightning bolts at his ass. He was in no hurry to experience Tim’s special brand of hospitality for the divine again. Especially since it seemed that he, Hep and Scroat had pissed Tim right the hell off.

He ventured a look back, and saw that the True Believers were a lot closer to him that he would have liked. He didn’t think they were catching up to him, but he definitely was not out running them. Pan hoped his endurance would last longer than theirs. He was suddenly very glad he hadn’t spent any more energy on the girl in the alley.

Pan suddenly darted to the left, dodging traffic as he ran across the street. The tactic worked, in that it significantly slowed down the True Believing thugs chasing him. In fact, one of them bounced off the hood of a Cadillac. Two of the True Believers stopped to help their friend, which meant only one True Believer was still chasing him. Pan ducked into a doorway, and waited, watching, for the final True Believer to reach him.

The True Believer pounded down the sidewalk in Pan’s direction. When he was too close to stop in time, Pan swung his arm and decked the True Believer in the face. The thug fell over backwards. He landed hard on the sidewalk and rolled from side to side holding his face.

Pan took advantage of the situation and ran on. Pretty soon, he was well away from all the True Believers, and he was able to slow down and walk again. He walked back to the hotel, keeping his head down and watching the street and everyone passing by as closely as he could. He chose a circuitous route back to the hotel, to improve his chances of noticing anyone following. His heart sped up every time he saw a van. None stopped, however, and he made it back to the hotel unscathed, if rather sweaty and worn-out.

“What happened to you?” Hep asked when Pan walked into the hotel room. Pan tossed the pump he’d bought to Hep. Hep caught it easily, and started opening the box as Pan talked.

“A hot piece of ass with four angry, True Believer brothers,” Pan said, as he went to the sink. He stuck his head under the faucet, and drank at great length.

“Man, that sucked,” he said. “I haven’t run like that since the last time I was in Texas.”

“What happened when you were in Texas?” Chris asked.

“Same thing, only that time I managed to score with the farmer’s daughter before her brothers ran me out of town,” Pan said, and winked.

Chapter 19

2007-11-24T23:23:00.000-08:00

Zeus was waiting for them when the golden chairs reached Olympus.

“Man, no one’s ever going to believe you when you tell them how you got out of that mess,” Zeus said.

“Hi dad,” Hep said. “How’s it going around here?”

“The same as always,” Zeus said.

Olympus, overall, is kind of the trailer park of the divine world: petty family drama, sex between relatives, sex between non-relatives, lots of drunkenness, violence and general tasteless misbehavior.

Scroat felt right at home.

The four of them went into Zeus’s home. Hep and Pan looked around, somewhat nervously, expecting to see Hera. Zeus saw them.

“Don’t worry, she’s not home right now,” he said.

***

The six inch tall Hamburglar looked around the corner, making sure the coast was clear before he and the two others who had made it this far moved into the open. The other two action figures with him were a red-haired princess from a popular animated movie, and a comically happy robot.

There were no big people in the hallway, so the three action figures darted across to the nearest doorway, where they hid again. They had learned mere minutes after leaving the cell they had been locked in that the big people did not like moving action figures. Two others, another princess and a swamp creature of some sort, had paid for that lesson.

Now they stuck to the walls and moved cautiously. The Hamburglar knew their enemy’s name was Tim, and what Tim looked like, but he had no idea where Tim was right now. They listened carefully to the big people’s conversations waiting for some information that would take them to Tim.

Dan had explained a great deal to them before he was taken away, and the action figures knew that they had to do whatever they could to stop this Tim. As such, they did their best to sabotage any of the big people’s equipment they could reach.

The True Believers had jokingly called the strange breakages the work of gremlins. Had they realized they weren’t too far off, the True Believers probably would have freaked right the hell out.

Across the hall was an open door. Hamburglar checked the hall again, and the three of them ran into the open room.

“We don’t know how they got out sir. We had the entire building surrounded and observed. We checked inside the building, and didn’t find anything. As far as we can tell, they just vanished,” a big person said into a telephone.

“We checked that sir,” the big person said in a mildly annoyed voice. “No, sir, that isn’t… Yes, sir.” He hung the phone up.

“Look sharp. Tim is coming down here,” the first big person said to the other big person in the room.

The actions figures hearts, if they’d had any, would have leapt into their throats. They weren’t going to have to hunt Tim down. He was conveniently coming to them. What luck!

A few minutes later, the action figures saw a pair of perfectly polished shoes enter the room, carrying a big person in a neatly pressed black suit. It was Tim. They watched, and couldn’t believe their good fortune when he set down a soft leather briefcase. The three of them scrambled over to it and climbed into it while Tim yelled at the other big people in the room for being incompetent.

The three toys agreed that Tim really was a total fucker. They waited in his briefcase, and soon enough he picked up the case, and the hidden toys, and left the room.

***

Sarah and Dan were currently freaking right the fuck out. They’d heard the commotion outside the bar when Hep, Scroat and Pan had left and put two and two together. They’d dropped some money on the table and ran out the door, following the True Believers who’d followed the three gods. They watched as the True Believers surrounded the abandoned warehouse, and left when the helicopter launched the grenades into the building, before they were seen.

As far as they knew, Hep, Scroat and Pan were either dead, or imprisoned by the True Believers and would be dead shortly.

***
“Nope, you guys are on your own on this one,” Zeus said.

Hep, Scroat and Pan had spent the last several hours trying to convince Zeus to gather the gods still in Olympus to help overthrow Tim. He hadn’t budged on his position even a little. They had explained to him that Tim, unlike other newcomers to the world of divinity, had found a way to kill Gods and was doing so in an exceptionally efficient and ruthless manner.

It didn’t matter.

“He can’t get here,” Zeus said, “because I won’t let him. What happens outside of Olympus is hardly my concern nowadays. If things get really bad out there, you’re always welcome to come stay in Olympus. Now, what do you say we have a bite to eat?”

Hep looked at Scroat and Pan, who looked back at him and shrugged.

“Sure, why not?” Hep said. “Afterwards, we’ll have to get back down there, though.”

***

Sarah and Dan were sitting on the couch in their hotel room, each lost in thought, when they heard trumpets call and the ceiling started to glow. They were astounded as three golden chairs descended and landed on the floor in front of them.

“Ground floor. Housewares, Lingerie, Mopey Pagans,” Scroat said. He, Hep, and Pan stood from the chairs. The chairs lifted again, and soon the room was entirely back to normal.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” Hep asked.

Sarah jumped off the couch and ran to them. She leapt at Hep to hug him with such enthusiasm that he fell over backwards, with her on top of him.

“Watch out, that’s how Hercules was born,” Scroat cracked.

“What happened to you guys?” Sarah asked as she and Pan helped Hep up off the floor.
“It’s a long story,” Hep said.

“How on earth did you get out of that building?” Chris asked.

Hep looked at Scroat, who appeared worried that his sterling reputation was about to be sullied.

“Scroat made it rain angry squids,” Hep said.

“I don’t remember that part,” Sarah said.

“Oh, yeah, squids everywhere. They were mighty pissed off, too. If there’s one thing a squid hates it’s some jerk in a tracksuit making too much noise,” Pan said. “That kind of thing drives those oogy little bastards right up the wall.”

“What about the grenades?” Chris said.

“What grenades?” Hep said. “Clearly, you’re confused.”

“But,” Chris started.

“Confused,” Hep said distinctly.

“Um, yeah, I must have been confused. What with all the squids flying everywhere…” Chris trailed off.

Scroat watched this entire conversation with a look of mild disbelief.

“Yeah, uh, that’s one of my favorite tricks,” he said. “The old ‘torrential squid downpour’ gets them every time.”

“Well, that was a fun story,” Sarah said. “So what really happened?”

“Hep’s dad bailed us out,” Scroat said. “Personally, I thought Zeus should have smote a few of those fuckers with some well placed lightning, but I guess he’s gone soft in his old age. Instead, we just got to ride the luxury elevators to Olympus and have lunch. Luckily for us, Hera was out shopping, or whatever it is that high-ranking goddesses do to avoid their boorish husbands. Otherwise, I expect lunch would have been a lot more like a trailer park family reunion.”

Chris looked entirely baffled, while Sarah giggled a little bit at the thought of an ancient Greek trailer park.

“So has Heitsi shown up yet?” Hep asked.

Sarah and Chris looked a little guilty.

“Well, it has only been a few hours since you guys left, and we’ve been kind of pre-occupied,” Sarah said.

“Well, fuck, you guys. We’re only trying to save the world here, don’t feel pressured at all to get some fucking results,” Scroat said.

“Fuck you, Scroat,” Chris said.

Hep looked directly at Chris.

“Well? You want to get cracking on this?” Hep asked.

“Ok, Ok, I’m going,” Chris said. He got off the couch, put his shoes on and left to find something to sacrifice to Heitsi.

***

The Hamburglar, Princess and Robot rode in Tim’s briefcase for the rest of the day. Apparently, he was a busy, busy guy. God. Whatever.

Eventually he returned to his quarters and set down his briefcase. Hamburglar popped his head up out of the briefcase and watched Tim as he took off his suit jacket and shoes. Once Tim had left the room, he gestured to the other two action figures and they all crawled out of the briefcase. The three of them ran and hid under an ornate coffee table.

From their position under the coffee table, they had a pretty good view of Tim’s entire dwelling. They couldn’t see into his bedroom, but it was a short run to that doorway, and there were some lovely, leafy plants to hide in flanking the door.

“This ought to work,” Hamburglar said.

“Fuckin’ A,” Princess said.

The three of them retreated further under the coffee table as Tim emerged from his bedroom. They watched him prepare something to eat, select a book from his large collection, and sit down at a rolltop desk to read and eat.

The three action figures waited and watched Tim, looking at him with revulsion and hatred. They hadn’t figured out exactly what they were going to do to him, but they were agreed that, one way or another, it would not be nice. Not nice at all. Fuckin’ A.

After several hours, Tim finally rose from his desk, put his dishes in his kitchen, turned off the lights, and went into his bedroom.

The Hamburglar ran to one of the plants, and peered into Tim’s bedroom. There was a king sized bed with what looked like fine linens, a dressing table, and several full length mirrors.

There were also a shocking number of motivational posters on the walls. “Action: It only takes a single thought to move the world,” read one, while another said, “Winners must have definite goals and a burning desire to achieve them.”

Fucking lame, Hamburglar thought.

Chapter 18

2007-11-24T11:23:00.000-08:00

A terrible roar rose from the crowd of True Believers as Hep, Scroat and Pan turned and ran.

“I guess someone followed us, huh?” Pan said as they ran. He and Scroat half-carried Hep so he could keep up with them.

“Gee, do you fucking think?” Scroat answered.

Improbable though it was, the three of them were able to slightly out run the True Believers. They sprinted forward until they were a solid city block ahead of the screaming masses behind them. They turned right suddenly, and ran as fast as they could to the first alley. They leapt into the alley and paused.

They could hear the yells of the approaching True Believers, and a few seconds later they could hear their feet as they ran. Shortly, they saw the True Believers running past the alley they were hiding in. None of the True Believers seemed to notice the alley.

“Are we actually going to get away with this?” Pan asked.

Almost as if to answer Pan’s question, one of the True Believers turned and looked down the alley. He saw the three gods.

He yelled, “Hey, they’re over here!” and ran towards Hep, Scroat and Pan. He put his arms out as if he was going to tackle them and bellowed.

When he was close enough, Scroat stepped forward and punched him in the jaw. The True Believer fell like rotten tree. Pan clapped Scroat on the back, and the three turned to run again because the rest of the True Believers had overcome the mob’s inertia and charged down the alleyway.

Scroat and Pan nearly picked Hep up off the ground as they ran. Pan and Scroat knocked over garbage cans and any other obstacles they could get their hands on as they ran past to trip up the True Believers. Several of the True Believers did stumble, but it only slowed the mob down a little bit.

They emerged from the far side of the alley, turned left and kept running.

“What the hell did you and Bacchus do to Tim to get him all interested in us, anyway,” Scroat asked Pan.

“I don’t know,” Pan said. “I think he was just jealous because we didn’t invite him to our party. Or that we were getting all the hot girls, and he wasn’t. It seems like he only really attracts the track-suit-wearing power-whore types, anyway.”

“Yeah, right,” Scroat said. “Did you fuckers tell him that Santa Claus isn’t real?”

“Well, we might have let that slip, I don’t know,” Pan said. “We were pretty drunk at the time. Had you ever been to one of Bacchus’s parties?”

“Yeah, a while back,” Scroat said. He pointed at another alleyway. “Go down there!”

They ducked into the alley just in time for the first bunch of True Believers to see them. The far end of the alley was blocked by a fence, so Pan and Scroat let go of Hep, and all three of them started trying to open the doors along the walls of the alley. About halfway down the alley, Hep found one that would open.

“Here’s one!” he yelled to Scroat and Pan. They ran over and went through the door Hep was holding open. One of the quicker True Believers had just come around the corner.

“Fuck!” Hep said. He went through the door and slammed it shut behind him. He turned the deadbolt and backed away from the door. Seconds later, the door started shaking, and someone started pounding on the door.

It looked like they were in an abandoned warehouse. The space they were in was lit from the street lamps outside, and Exit signs over the other doors. There didn’t appear to be anything in the cavernous space, unless it was in the shadows.

“Quick, check the other doors and make sure they’re locked,” Hep said. They went around to the rest of the doors, and they were, indeed, locked.

The pounding on the back door continued, and soon they heard someone pounding on the other doors as well. The noise echoed in the open space. After a few minutes, the pounding on the back door slowed into a single, solid boom every few seconds.

“They’re trying to break the door down,” Hep said, almost amused. A few minutes after that, they heard a helicopter, and saw its’ searchlight illuminating the building. Every few seconds the bright light would sweep over a window, illuminating the space they were in. It was, indeed, entirely empty. There wasn’t so much as a garbage can in the building.

Suddenly they couldn’t see the spotlight anymore, and the noise from the helicopter got louder and louder. The walls of the building seemed to vibrate with the sound, along with the racket from the True Believers pounding on all the doors.

The noise from the helicopter got significantly louder, and light shone in from an opening in the ceiling. They saw a pair of men peering down into the space below, shining flashlights around the interior of the building.

“They’re on the roof,” Hep exclaimed. He expected them to toss a rope through the opening, and shimmy down to the floor. Instead, they slammed the door on the roof shut, and a few moments later the noise from the helicopter increased, then began to diminish.

The pounding on the doors, if anything, had increased in intensity, but the strong old steel hinges and frames weren’t about to let go.

Suddenly the pounding stopped. Hep, Scroat and Pan looked around in wonder.

“What the fuck?” Scroat asked.

Outside, they heard a voice over a megaphone.

“Gentlemen, please come out quietly. This building is condemned anyway, so we’re more than happy to blow it up with you in it. You have two minutes,” the voice said. The pounding on the doors resumed after the voice stopped speaking. The helicopter approached again, and circled outside the top of the building, shining its spotlight in the windows.

“Holy shit!” Scroat exclaimed.

“We’ve gotta find a way out of here,” Hep said, and started pacing the floor of the warehouse, looking for an opening that they perhaps hadn’t seen before. Every door had someone on the outside pounding on it. All the windows were out of reach, and there was nothing to climb in order to get to them.

“We are so fucked,” Pan said.

“What now?” Scroat asked Pan.

“Well, we can’t go out there, because they’re going to kill us. And we can’t stay in here because, hey, they’re going to kill us,” Hep said. “Have you got any bright ideas? Because now would be a good time for one.”

“Well, if we stay in here, we’ll get killed but we’ll end up back home,” Scroat said.

“Yeah, but we’ll have to wait for these bodies to deteriorate before we can come back incarnate again. By then, Tim will have killed everyone else we like, and all our stuff will be gone for sure.”

“You’re worried about your stuff right now?” Pan asked.

“No, but panicking never helped anyone. Lighten up,” Hep said.

“We are so fucked,” Pan said.

Hep’s mind raced. He couldn’t pop out and bring Pan and Scroat with him, because they were also gods and it just doesn’t work that way. They could bust through one of the doors and try to fight their way out, but it was likely they’d be overwhelmed.

The pounding on the doors ceased. They heard the voice on the megaphone again.

“Gentlemen, you have ten seconds,” the voice said.

“Holy shit!” Scroat said.

“Nine”

“Hep, we gotta do something,” Pan said.

“Eight”

“So do something. I can’t think of a damn thing!” Hep said.

“Seven”

They heard a trumpet call, and the ceiling began to glow with a warm, divine light.

“Six”

Three golden chairs dropped from the ceiling, suspended by ivy vines. The chairs were plush and very ornate. They landed softly on the floor near Hep, Scroat and Pan.

“Five”

“Well? Get on a chair!” Hep said, and hustled over to one of the chairs. Pan and Scroat did likewise.

“Four”

The chairs lifted Hep, Scroat and Pan out of the building, and away from danger. They were able to look down on the crowds below, the helicopter. They saw a man in the helicopter lean out one of the doors and launch several grenades into the building through the windows. They saw the flashes of the explosives, and then shifted from the mortal plain to the divine.

Still moving upwards, Scroat looked over at Hep and said, “Man, no one is ever going to buy this.”

Hep replied, “Yeah, Deus ex Machina is always a disappointing end to a story. But it works pretty well when you need to get your ass out of an inescapable situation.” He laughed.

“So what are we going to tell people when they ask how we got out of this predicament,” Scroat asked.

“Whatever the hell we want. We’re gods. If you want, you could say you rained angry, diseased squids upon them,” Hep said.

Chapter 17

2007-11-24T01:17:00.001-08:00

Tim drummed his fingers on the top of his desk. His irritation grew as each day passed without news that his followers had captured Hep, Scroat and Pan. The trio refused to sit still. The other gods had gone into hiding, and stayed put. It made them easy to catch. All his crew had to find out was where the gods were, and go get them.

These three, on the other hand, barely paused for lunch. Every now and then, his crew would get some useful information, then arrive to find the gods had recently left.

Nothing annoyed Tim as much as a moving target.

He told his followers to be extra vigilant, and suggested to many of them that they wear street clothes instead of tracksuits until the gods were caught.

***

Hep, Scroat and Pan had spent the night just inside the entryway to a man-made cave that had been used as a place to age and store beer for a brewery that no longer existed. The entrance was in plain sight in a ditch along a rarely used road on the edge of town. They woke up around noon and spent the majority of the day playing cards by candle light in the dark cave.

Around 6 o’clock in the evening, they left the cave to go and meet with Sarah and the rest of the pagans who made up the “Resistance.” They stomped up the side of the ditch, and walked along the sidewalks to get to the agreed meeting place.

“I hope they’ve got some food,” Scroat said. “I’m fucking starving.”

Pan and Hep muttered agreements. They continued walking down the dark city streets, unaware that someone was following them. The person following them looked very much like a person who is trying to look “normal.” As such, they were wearing black leather oxfords, black slacks, a black jacket, white shirt, black tie and, for those who care to know, black braces.

If he’d been trying to fit in with morticians or a blues band, he’d have nailed the look perfectly. Among the jeans & sweatshirt wearing crowd he was a part of, however, he stuck out like a thing that sticks very far out.

He followed the gods all the way to their destination, an old hotel bar. While the gods went inside, the man following them continued walking. He took out his cell phone, opened it, dialed, spoke briefly telling the listener where he was, and hung up again.

He kept walking.

Inside, it was just Sarah and Chris waiting for the three deities. The bar was full of old, dark, wood paneling. The booths were deep red, and dimly lit. The bar itself looked ancient, apart from the gleaming beer taps and lit beer signs. Sarah and Chris each had a drink and were talking conspiratorially, as one can only do in a hotel bar. Chris spotted Hep and the others first, and nodded to them. Sarah turned to look, smiled briefly, then turned back to Chris.

Scroat went to the bar to buy drinks, while Hep and Pan sat down next to Sarah and Chris.

“Hey guys, how’s it going?” Hep asked.

“Well, we’re not dead yet,” Sarah said.

“So, good then,” Hep said, and winked. Scroat returned with the drinks. He set a beer down in front of Hep, and gave Pan a cocktail glass with a pink beverage in it, complete with a little umbrella and a sword with two cherries on it.

“What the hell is this?” Pan asked Scroat.

“A Shirley Temple,” Scroat answered. He turned to Sarah and Chris, while Pan got up to go and get a new drink.

“Ok, so here we are,” Scroat said. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Good will on Earth and peace towards mankind,” Chris said. “Oh, and to take care of this Tim guy.” He turned to Sarah and asked, “Did I miss anything?”

“Nope, I think that about covers it,” Sarah said.

Hep took a drink, then said, “Ok, so how are we going to take care of this Tim guy, as you put it?”

Chris looked mildly shocked.

“You mean you don’t have a plan already?” he asked.

“Nope. My main plan is to keep from getting killed, then to keep you guys from getting killed any more than you have to be, and then seeing what happens,” Hep said.

“Nice,” Scroat said.

“Well, how can we get to Tim?” Sarah asked.

“No idea. We’ve already tried going in to mess with him a bit. It didn’t work out too well,” Hep said.

“Ok, well, maybe this time we could try being a little more discrete in our subversion. Striding into the middle of his compound in plain view might not have been a great plan,” Chris said.

“That’s easy to say now,” Hep said. “At the time, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable way to go. The morons he has running the place didn’t even notice us at first.”

“Well, they’ll notice your ugly fucking mug now,” Scroat said.

“How do you propose we get in there then?” Hep asked Scroat.

“I don’t know. We could fly in. We could probably bribe a nearby sky-diving school into flying us over the compound,” Scroat said.

“We could go under,” Chris said.

Pan returned from the bar with his drink, “Under where?”

Scroat started to snicker. Hep kicked him under the table.

“Under the compound. There’s got to be drains and sewer lines running out of that place,” Chris said. “We could get right under them and pop out under their noses.”

“Yeah. And their noses will probably run screaming from us if we pop out of a sewer,” Scroat said.

“No, that’s a pretty good idea,” Hep said. “These guys haven’t been too bright about security. I bet we really can get directly under the compound. We could probably pop up right outside of Tim’s tower, if we wanted to.”

“Ok, so how are we going to find our way around the sewers for Operation Thunder From Down Under?” Scroat asked.

“GPS?” Chris suggested.

“Not underground, dumbass,” Sara said. “I bet we could get sewer and drain maps from the city planner’s office though.”

“Don’t you think that information might be a bit restricted? We are in the capitol of the nation, after all.” Chris said.

“Yeah, but you and I look like clean cut, wholesome American kids. They’ll probably give us the maps and an engineer’s assessment of the weak points of all the government buildings in the state if we asked nicely,” Sarah said.

“Especially if Chris here promises to give them head,” Scroat said.

“Fuck you,” Chris said.

“Well, you’ve got the right idea, but the wrong person,” Scroat said.

“Do you really think you can get those maps?” Hep asked Sarah.

“Sure. If I can’t get them, I’m sure one of my student friends could get them for research,” Sarah said.

“This could really work,” Hep said. “Good idea, Chris.”

Hep got up to go order another round of drinks for every one. He felt very enthusiastic about the plan. With luck, it would give them the element of surprise they needed to catch Tim without his army of overly enthusiastic followers.

All they’d need to do now is figure out how to make it work. He had a sneaking suspicion that getting actual maps was going to be pretty damn difficult. Even if they did get the maps with no problems, Tim’s True Believers were everywhere. One of them was bound to be curious about an ordinary citizen who wanted maps of subterranean tunnels. It could draw attention to them.

He didn’t have a better idea, though, for the time being. The bartender gave Hep the drinks, so Hep paid and walked back to the table. Halfway there, he had a brilliant idea.

“We won’t need maps,” Hep said when he reached the table.

“Oh yeah? Why not?” Pan asked.

“Heitsi,” Hep said.

“Heidi?” Chris asked. “Who’s that and what does she have to do with tunnels?”

“Not Heidi, Heitsi. Heitsi-Eibib. He’s all about tunnels. And he likes hunting. He could guide us through the tunnels, I bet,” Hep said.

“Yeah, but when’s the last time anyone saw him?” Scroat asked. “For all we know, he could have been killed by Tim.”

“Probably not, he’s pretty clever. And he’s been known to hide out in graves. I doubt Tim’s folks have been digging up many graves. That’s just bad for PR.” Hep said.

“How are we going to get ahold of him?” Pan asked.

“These two have conveniently volunteered to make a sacrifice to him,” Hep said, gesturing towards Chris and Sarah.

“Wait, wait, we don’t know anything about this Heitsi. What if we piss him off, and he pops out and devours us?” Sarah said.

“He won’t. Heitsi is good people.” Hep said.

“Ok. So what do we sacrifice to him?” Chris asked.

“Whatever you want. Just make sure he gets the message that we need his help,” Hep said.

“I recommend not sacrificing a duck-billed platypus, however,” Pan said.

Everyone paused and looked at Pan.

“What? Have you ever had an annoyed duck-billed platypus appear out of thin air right next to you? It kinda sucks. Those suckers are mean. Probably from eons of getting picked on.” Pan said.

“Right,” Hep said. “Ok, so, uh, no platypuses you guys. But anything else you want should be ok.”

They finished their drinks, and Hep, Scroat and Pan got up to leave.

“Wait a while before you guys leave,” Hep said to Sarah and Chris. “It’ll probably be best for you if you’re not seen with us too much.”

“You mean like how we were all seen together the last time the True Believers ambushed us?” Sarah asked.

“None of those people are talking right now, Sarah,” Pan said. “The ones who could tell on you, never saw you up close because they ran away.”

The trio emerged from the bar. Hep stopped immediately outside the door, and his heart dropped to his feet. Pan and Scroat stumbled to avoid knocking him over, then they saw what he was looking at.

Milling around on the street outside the bar were several hundred True Believers. They had all turned to look and Hep, Scroat and Pan.

“Run!” Hep said.

Chapter 16

2007-11-22T19:55:00.000-08:00

Two days later the pagans who had gathered, as well as Hep, Scroat, Pan, Thor and Sekhmet, met again at the same bar. There were probably two hundred people present. The plan was to visit Tim’s compound and wreak havoc upon everything in sight. Once everyone had bolstered their courage through the judicious application of liquor, the group left the bar.

They were thoroughly surprised to see a larger group of True Believers waiting for them at one end of the street. And another at the other end of the street.

“Do you think we can buy them off with free beer?” Thor asked Hep.

“Probably not today,” Hep said.

“Fuck,” Thor said. He hitched up his belt a bit, and stretched his arms over his head. “Well, here goes.”

Thor charged towards the group of True Believers gathered at the North end of the street. The rest of the pagans, as well as the other gods, followed him, bellowing their own war cries as they went.

The True Believers, for their part, looked entirely shocked. They had expected to simply surround the pagans and haul them away. They looked around at each other, until one of them started to charge towards the pagans. Naturally, the independently-minded True Believers all followed his lead.

The group at the far end of the street watched all this, and decided they should probably get involved as well. They did not charge into the fight, but walked forward, most of them hoping the rumble would end before they reached it.

The pagans and the True Believers clashed. The pagans, though outnumbered, had the advantage of pure rage from the murder of their comrade as well as centuries of oppression. The fact that the New Paradigm had only oppressed them a little in comparison to previous oppressors didn’t make a difference.

Most of the fighters from each group fought without grace or skill, though the pagans made up for this handicap with sheer enthusiasm. The True Believers dumb or unlucky enough to face the gods were ripped apart, and the track suited goons quickly learned to stay out of the reach of the deities.

Hep and the others used this advantage to stalk through the brawl, helping the pagans who looked like they were in trouble, as well as those who didn’t, for that matter.

The second wave of True Believers reached the battle, and reluctantly attacked the pagans. The pagans, being outnumbered and untrained, were beginning to tire regardless of their rage. They fought on, but the battle was clearly turning in favor of the True Believers. Hep and the others had their hands full just trying to hold off the new group while the first bunch ganged up on the pagans again. Sekhmet and Thor both fought as fast and hard as they could, but soon they too were focused on defending themselves from the hordes of True Believers.

Hep was beginning to get tired. He’d never been much for all-out war anyway, and hadn’t fought agains this many people in a long time, if ever. Just then, Ares appeared next to him.

“Hey Hep, did I miss any…” Ares began, then trailed off. His eyes sparkled and he smiled a huge, predatory smile.

“Oh yeah!” Ares exclaimed. He grabbed the nearest True Believer and tore the startled goons throat out with his teeth. The gore that covered Ares seemed to invigorate him all the more, and he enthusiastically moved on to the next fighter. Those who’d been in the general vicinity of Ares backed away, but wound up trapped by the massive crowd around them.

“Hi ya, boys,” Ares said, and grabbed two of the True Believers by their collars and lifted them. “I don’t believer we’re acquainted. I’m Ares, God of War. Pleased to meet ya!” he said to the struggling pair who were frantically clawing at his hands, trying to get him to let go.

“Where are your manners?” he asked them. They didn’t answer quickly enough, so Ares threw one of them through the plate glass window of a nearby storefront, while he hurled the other into the crowd of True Believers.
Ares turned and locked eyes with another True Believer. The True Believer wasn’t able to get away from Ares, who grabbed his arm and pulled it, track suit sleeve and all, from his torso. He then proceeded to beat the True Believer about his head and neck with his own arm, all the while taunting the man.

“I bet you’re thinking you can’t believe this is really happening to you!” Ares said. “No one ever gets beaten to death with their own arm! Well, apart from you, you lucky bastard. Just think of the stories you’re going to have to tell the other jerk offs in Hades!”

Ares worked his way over to where the other deities were fighting.

“Hey, why don’t you three go help the mortals, I’ve got this covered,” he said to Hep, Scroat and Pan, as he grabbed the people they’d been fighting and casually tossed them aside. One of the True Believers beaned Ares in the temple with a rock.

Ares turned to him and said, “Oh ho ho, now you’ve pissed me off.”

Hep, Scroat and Pan made their way to the pagans and started pulling True Believers off of them. Every now and then they heard Ares taunting someone.

“Hey, don’t run away!” they heard him call, and “What did you expect? I didn’t say I’d fight you with my arm behind my back.”

A group of four large True Believers surrounded and moved in on Sarah. She launched herself at the biggest one and clawed and punched at him for all she was worth. Two of the others restrained her, and started to drag her away when suddenly she was freed.

“Hey gorgeous,” Ares said. “Do you mind sharing these two with me?” He shook the two True Believers he was holding by the hair. The other two who had attacked Sarah tried to save their friends, but ended up folded into a sick parody of a multi-colored balloon animal with the two Ares had been holding.

“Thanks,” he said to Sarah, and stalked off to continue fighting.

Hep saw Adam going berserk on two or three of the True Believers at once. Ares also saw Adam. Ares made his way over to him.

“Hey, man, I like your style,” Ares said.

Thor and Sekhmet, meanwhile, had teamed up. They took turns, one would set a True Believer up, and the other would knock him down.

Several police cars arrived on the scene of the battle. The officers got out of their cars, then dove back into them as the bodies of several True Believers few towards them.

“Sorry, gents,” Ares called to the police. “I didn’t see you there.”

The police decided that perhaps it would be best if they sat this one out and let the National Guard handle it.

The scene had devolved to utter chaos. True Believers tripped over the bodies of other True Believers as they attempted to run into or run away from the fighting. Many of the True Believers fled as the pagans appeared to get a second wind. Soon the only people still standing in the area were pagans and deities.

The pagans, bloodied and exhausted, but triumphant, slouched off to find a place where they could rest.

“Man, I’m glad I don’t have to clean this mess up,” Pan said, looking around at the carnage left in the street.

“I hear that,” Hep said.

“So what’s next?” Thor asked.

“Well, why don’t we go get some beer?” Hep said. “There’s nothing like a cold one after laying waste to a city block.”

“Good call,” Thor said. The gods walked off as a group, on the hunt for a bar where they would go unnoticed.

Ares, meanwhile, looked around at everyone walking away, and yelled “Hey! Come on, let’s go get the rest of ‘em! We’ve got them on the run!”

When no one responded, he threw his hands into the air and said, “You guys suck!”

***

Tim shook with rage. He slammed his hand down on his desk and yelled at the True Believer in front of him.

“How hard is it to stop a bunch of granola-eating, mini-bus driving, dope-smoking hippies? You outnumbered them by at least two to one. This is unacceptable. You guys didn’t even manage to bring one of them back with you? What the fuck?” Tim said.

The True Believer, a little guy with dark hair and nervous eyes, looked down and said, “It wasn’t just a bunch of hippies. There were five or six gods on their side as well.”

“Five or six?” Tim asked. “What did they look like?”

The True Believer described each of them as well as he could. Tim turned to his assistant.

“I want the F.B.I., C.I.A. , N.S.A. and any other alphabet soup agency you can find to drop what they’re doing and track these gods down.” Tim said. His assistant nodded and left Tim’s office.

Tim looked back at the True Believer who’d reported the news to him.

“Well? Get the fuck out of my office,” Tim said.

The True Believer hustled out of the office as if he was being poked with a red-hot iron.

Chapter 15

2007-11-20T20:35:00.000-08:00

Hep managed to get in touch with Sarah, and told her about Dan’s untimely demise. Sarah, in turn, got in touch with every pagan should could find, and talked most of them into traveling to Washington D.C. and enacting justice, vendetta-style.

Hep, Scroat and Pan, meanwhile, hopped on the earliest Greyhound headed towards Washington D.C.

They boarded their bus around six o’clock p.m. along with a colorful bunch of drug addicts, ex-convicts, students, retirees and others who had decided not to try flying the friendly skies. There wasn’t a track suit to be seen among the bus passengers, which calmed Hep, Scroat and Pan considerably. The bus left the station.

Seconds after merging on to the freeway, the driver announced that there was a mechanical problem with the bus, and they would have to return to the station to change busses. There were several groans and curses from the passengers. Hep, meanwhile, was wary. Were there going to be a bunch of True Believers waiting for them when they got back to the station?

His anxiety increased the closer they got to the station. He was certain they were being delivered straight to Tim. On the one hand, it would be nice to just get the inevitable confrontation over with, but on the other hand, Hep wished they’d have had some more time to prepare.

The bus reached the station, and stopped. The passengers filed off the bus. Hep looked around when he got off the bus. There were no officials to be seen, apart from the guy who sold them their tickets. He was fast asleep behind his counter.

Apparently it wasn’t a trap; Greyhound just sucks.

A few minutes later, they boarded the new bus. The stink coming from the toilet was already nauseating, and it was obvious the bus had not been cleaned since it delivered its previous load of travelers.

This is going to be a fun trip, Hep thought.

The bus departed again, and they were on their way a mere forty five minutes after they were scheduled to leave. A couple a few seats ahead of them argued, loudly and at great length, over topics of such little importance that Scroat was tempted to slap both of them silly. In the interest of keeping a low-profile, however, he stayed in his seat and tried to think happy thoughts.

The ride was bumpy, and the combination of uncomfortable seats, constant bouncing, stale air and mingling odors of common humanity were making Hep rather ill. He focused on breathing calmly and slowly, and tried not to vomit all over the passengers seated in front of him. It was a struggle, but he managed.

Pan, for his part, fell asleep the second the bus started moving and hadn’t stirred since.

For a while, Hep looked out the window, but his neck started to ache from twisting to one side for so long so he stopped. There hadn’t been a darn thing to see anyways, except for boring nothing as far as the eye could see. Every now and then he’d see some boring buildings, or maybe they’d cross a boring bridge. Once they passed a farm packed full of stinky, boring cows. The new odor was interesting in its way, but generally didn’t improve the quality of the trip.

They stopped at a truck stop, and Hep, Scroat and Pan got off the bus to get some breathable air. Thick with exhaust and other mechanical smells, the air outside the bus was still preferable to that inside the bus.

Pan went into the convenience store at the truck stop and came back out a few minutes later with various snacks and beverages.

“Do you guys want anything yet?” Pan asked.

Hep and Scroat both shook their heads no. Scroat just wasn’t hungry, and Hep was worried about the dangers of combining food in his stomach and the chunder-inducing atmosphere of the bus.

Too soon, it was time to get back on the bus and roll on. Somehow, the smell seemed to have worsened. Mercifully, the couple who had been arguing fell asleep, so everyone was spared their cantankerous discussion regarding who took the bigger half of the bag of M&Ms.

Three hours down the road, the bus driver pulled in and stopped at a gas station. He announced that the bus was having mechanical difficulty, and they’d have to wait for a new bus to be delivered. In the mean time, everyone was free to get off the bus.

Hep, Scroat and Pan made for the exit immediately, along with the other passengers. Once off the bus, they walked around the parking lot and stretched their legs. Hep noticed a few people who were trying, and failing, to look like they weren’t watching them.

One of the people watching them, a tall guy with a beard wearing a plaid shirt, started to walk towards them. Hep was ready to punch him and run, if he had to, so he was surprised when the guy asked “Are you Hephaestus?”

Hep took a moment to decide how to answer, then said, “Yes.” He expected the goons in track suits to pop out any second.

“Do you guys need a ride to D.C.?” the guy asked.

“Who are you?” Hep asked in return.

“Adam. I’m a friend of Dan’s,” he said. “We’re in the van over there, if you need a lift. There will be plenty of room.” He pointed to a brown full size van on the other side of the parking lot.

“How did you know we’d be here?” Pan asked.

“That was just luck,” Adam said. “We’re heading to D.C. because Sarah called us and mentioned something about bloody retribution. Sounded like a good time, so we figured we’d better get our asses out there.”

“We have to introduce this guy to Ares,” Pan said under his breath to Hep.

The interior of the van was pretty nice. It had dark carpet, mood lighting, blinds and cushy captain’s chairs. It also smelled significantly better than the bus had. Adam drove and two other pagans were traveling with him. One of them was a portly gentleman who could best be described as hairy. The other was a slight, bespectacled woman with mousy hair. Neither of them said much, though occasionally they’d look back at Hep, Scroat and Pan as though they thought the gods might just disappear any second.

The stress of the last day finally overwhelmed the three gods, and they fell asleep in the back of the van. They woke up again somewhere in Pennsylvania

“Hey, man, are we going to stop soon? I gotta piss like a racehorse,” Scroat called up to Adam.

Adam looked back at him in the rear view mirror. “Yeah, we’ve got to stop for gas pretty soon.”

They reached the gas station and pulled up to the pumps. Hep peeked out through the blinds in the back of the van, and saw several people wearing track suits. They all looked a little too blissful to just be normal folks with bad taste in clothing.

“Hey, there’s a bunch of Tim’s goons out there,” he said.

“Oh, fuck, I really gotta go,” Scroat said. He leaned forward and clenched his knees together for emphasis.

“Here, use this,” Adam said, and handed an empty plastic soda bottle back to him. Scroat regarded Adam with loathing for a moment, then his eyes twinkled.

“Thanks, buddy,” Scroat said. Adam and the pagans got out of the van. Adam started fueling the van, while the other two went into the gas station. Scroat voided into the bottle, and sighed with relief.

Once the pagans were back in the car, Scroat asked Adam, “Hey, can you drive past those idiots in track suits?”

“Um, sure,” Adam said. He started the van and rolled past the True Believers. Scroat flung the side door of the van open and threw the bottle he was holding at them. It hit one of them, a tall blond guy who was looking at the van with pure surprise, square in the forehead. Scroat pulled the door shut again, cackling wildly.

“Did you really just huck a bottle of piss at that guy’s head?” Pan asked.

“I did, and hit him too,” Scroat answered, then started laughing again. Hep looked out the back window as they left the parking lot and saw the True Believers wiping the unfortunate recipient of Scroat’s gift with paper towels.

Before long they were back in the District of Columbia and they arrived at the bar Sarah had suggested as a meeting place. The bar was dark, run down and, most importantly, empty. Sarah and Chris were waiting in the darkest booth in the back of the bar nursing a couple of beers.

They greeted each other, and Sarah filled Hep in on her plan to gather the pagans for an uprising against the New Paradigm.

Hep excused himself to use the phone. He tried to reach Ares, but there was no answer. He was able to reach Sekhmet and Thor, however. They both promised to be there as soon as possible. He went back to the booth and had a beer with the rest of the group. As the evening progressed more and more pagans arrived, and soon the bar was packed. The bartender was surprised at the crowd, since it was a Tuesday, but they kept buying drinks, so he was happy to serve them.

***
Two True Believers waited at the Washington D.C. Greyhound terminal. They expected the bus carrying the three gods to arrive any time. A couple of other New Paradigm operatives had nearly caught the gods in Illinois, but had been just a little too slow.

Tim had promised them the key to divinity if they succeeded, so they were determined to not let Hephaestus, Scroat and Pan slip past them.

The bus terminal was filthy, and full of sketchy looking people. The pair of track suit wearing True Believers stood out like rubber duckies floating in a cesspool.

“I thought I’d find you guys here,” a menacing voice said behind them. They turned and saw a muscular god dressed in black leather only inches behind them.

“Waiting for Hep and the gang, are we? Well, to pass the time, why don’t we play a game? This one is called I Love The Laws of Physics,” Ares said.

The True Believers blinked at him, startled and confused. Ares grabbed each of their heads in one of his hands and slammed their skulls together, resulting in an incredibly oogy mess. Anywhere else in the world, the other patrons of Greyhound might have noticed, but in D.C. everyone just kept walking like nothing had happened.

“That law is one of my favorites: two objects can not occupy the same space at the same time,” Ares said. He let go of the sinewy bits he was hanging on to and the bodies of two former True Believers fell on the floor of the terminal.

Ares walked away shaking his head.

“No one ever expects a god to know the laws of science,” he muttered.

Chapter 14

2007-11-19T20:24:00.000-08:00

Nations fell. Tim had expected no less. Regardless of the superiority to American’s the citizens of other nations felt, the fact remained that the Earth is chock full of the stupidest, most easily led shit heads to occupy the highest point on the food chain for a given planet. Sure, sure, the New Paradigm had to kill a fair number of people, but not as many as one might expect.

The resistance of a few pagans barely concerned Tim. He knew that he didn’t need to round them up and kill them all. A few examples were all it would take to keep the rest of them in line. Soon enough the urge to force conformity would overtake the citizens of his new world and the pagan issue would be neatly handled without a thought on his part.

Tim’s thoughts were presently better served by plotting his next moves. His rise to power was moving along faster than he’d expected. He already had the whole of Europe under his control. China was a significant challenge, but not insurmountable. After all, little could oppose the will of Tim, and positive thinking was Tim’s trademark.

So for the most part, Tim was pleased. His operation ran almost without any input from him, which freed him to worry about other things.

Like getting Hephaestus, Scroat and Pan. Tim was more than a little annoyed at the trio’s ability to slip away from him. At first they were just another part of his plan, but now seeing them all killed was a personal mission of his.

He couldn’t believe that, even though they’d been close enough for him to catch them himself several times, the various agencies he controlled couldn’t find a trace of them.

***

Hep, Scroat and Pan were walking back to the hotel from a bar. A short distance ahead of them, the crossing arms at an intersection of a railroad and the street they were on dropped, and the red lights flashed. They heard the train’s horn blowing as it approached.

Something behind them shone an intensely bright light on the trio, casting their shadows in front of them in sharp detail. Hep turned to look, and saw a white van and True Believers jumping out of it.

“Run for it,” Hep said to Pan and Scroat. They hustled towards the train crossing. The train was already slowly crossing the street, blocking their escape.
Scroat pointed to a rusty yellow grain car on the far side of the street.

“That one!” he said. They ran and grabbed on to the grain car as it passed them. They pulled themselves up onto the rear platform of the car, and turned back to look and see if the True Believers were following them.

For the time being it looked like the True Believers were only shaking their fists at them and watching them roll away.

“That was close!” Pan yelled over the din the empty grain car made. Hep and Scroat nodded, and tried to settle in a bit on the platform they were riding on. After a few minutes, the train began to accelerate again. The train was headed west, for now. Soon they were traveling quickly enough that conversation was impossible over the noise of the cars and the wind.

I wonder where we’re going to end up, Hep thought. Soon the constant noise seemed soothing, and Hep fell asleep.

Pan and Scroat, meanwhile, both stayed away and watched the urban scenery give way to open land and heavy woods. Scroat crossed his arms and legs and huddled against the chill of the night. Pan appeared content, and sang to himself, even though his singing was inaudible.

They felt the train slow occasionally, as it crossed roads and passed through dark railyards, but didn’t the train didn’t stop all night.

Hep woke up as the sky began to lighten. Pan and Scroat, on the other hand, had just fallen asleep. Hep wasn’t able to see the sun rise, but from the shadows outside the train, he figured they were still heading west. He was sore, and wished there was room to stretch.

Hep watched the scenery, as well as he could, and wondered how much longer the train was going to keep traveling before they stopped to change crews. Scroat was stirring when a ferret popped into existence. Due to the confined space, it wound up at Scroat’s feet. Scroat, being only half awake, gave a hysterical little scream and kicked it off the platform they were riding on. The ferret fell off the back of the train onto the tracks.

“Oh, real nice, Scroat,” Hep said.

“What?” Scroat yelled, holding one ear.

Hep just shook his head and went back to watching the scenery. Soon, the train slowed. When it was moving slow enough for them to safely jump off, they did. They had to hike a short ways, and they found a road. They walked west until they saw a sign informing them they were in Decatur, Illinois. First Illinois Home of Abraham Lincoln, read a sign. Soybean Capital of the World, read another.

“Well, if you’d asked me earlier this week, I wouldn’t have guessed we’d end up here,” Pan said.

“No shit,” Scroat said. “How is it I always end up in the middle of fucking nowhere with you, Hep?”

“Good luck, I guess. No one else would put up with your shit,” Hep said.

“So what should we do now?” Pan asked, looking around at what they could see of the city. It was kind of charming, in a stuck-in-the-middle-of-Illinois sort of way.

“Get breakfast,” Hep said. Pan and Scroat agreed that breakfast was definitely a high priority, and the three were glad to quickly find the Downtown Café. They ate and drank as much coffee as they could hold before paying the tab and leaving.

They wandered further west. Standing on a street corner was a man who appeared homeless, dispensing obscure tax and general financial advice to anything that would listen. At the moment he was explaining to a fire hydrant the finer points underground urban economics. Hep listened for a bit, and was shocked when he realized the man’s ideas were fairly sound. More proof that crazy and stupid are not the same thing, he thought.

The three gods crossed the street and made it about halfway down the block before they stopped and almost in unison asked each other, “Where the fuck are we going now?”

***

Dan spent the night, or what he assumed was the night, listening to the President in the cell next to his digging through the wall on the other side of his cell. Dan expected that the President’s spoon was going to have to wear out soon, and he couldn’t wait. The scratchy scraping noises were going to drive him insane. Well, more insane than he presently could claim.

Almost worse than the noise the President was making were the toys who kept cursing at him and telling him to make the noisy neighbor knock it off.

Every now and then the president would stop digging, and he’d swear he could hear several voices in the room next to him. He hoped madness wasn’t catching this year. He continued digging, and soon enough a small hole opened in the wall. Light streamed into his cell from the room next to his. He put his eye up to the hole, and was surprised to see Tim standing very close to the wall, looking back at him.

“Hello, Mr. President. Late for a party, are we?” Tim asked, before pushing his hand through the hole in the wall, widening it, and grabbing the president by the throat. Tim pulled his arm back through the wall, hard, bouncing the President’s head off the wall and knocking him unconscious.

He went with a couple of guards and unlocked the President’s cell. They turned on the lights, and the guards grabbed the President and dragged him off to another cell. Tim stayed in the cell an extra moment, looking around, and noticed the hole into Dan’s cell. He took a closer look, and noticed what could only be a Hamburglar action figure looking back at him from the wall.

The Hamburglar flipped Tim the bird, then ducked back into dark of the cell.

Tim paused and wondered if he’d actually been given the finger by a Happy Meal toy. He decided that the prisoners would no longer get Happy Meals, then and there. He gathered a couple more guards, then pulled Dan from his cell. Tim had just had a brilliant idea.

***

Hep, Scroat and Pan sat at the Decatur bus terminal, trying to figure out where they should go next. It was only a matter of time until a True Believer spotted them again.

“We should go back to D.C. and make sure those two mopey fuckin’ pagans are ok,” Scroat said.

“That’s oddly charitable of you, Scroat,” Pan said.

“No, I just want to get into Sarah’s pants,” Scroat said quickly.

Hep put his head back, trying to come up with a plan, any plan. For all it mattered, they could go to Disneyworld next. At least it would be a plan.

They heard a pop, and Dan’s dead, disembodied head appeared on the bench next to them.

Gotcha! Love, Tim, was written on Dan’s forehead.

“Dan?” Hep asked. Dan’s head didn’t respond. He was definitely completely dead. He looked around the bus terminal to see if anyone else had noticed the head on the bench next to the three dirty, weird guys. So far, it appeared they were in the clear. The three gods looked around for something suitable to wrap Dan’s head in, but were only able to find a paper grocery bag that had seen better days.

“Sorry about this, Dan,” Hep said, and put the head in the bag.

“Now what?” Pan asked.

“Now we find a place to bury or burn this, and go and find Tim,” Hep said.

Chapter 13

2007-11-16T19:45:00.000-08:00

By the end of the week, Dan had a sizeable collection of McDonald’s Happy Meal toys. They all talked to him except for one, what felt like a toy car of some sort, who Dan had accidentally offended. Generally speaking, the toys weren’t very good conversationalists, probably because as hermetically sealed fast food prizes, they hadn’t been exposed to the world very much.

Due to their insulation from the outside, or so Dan believed, they all swore like sailors.

Most of his conversations with the toys followed a basic pattern. He would speculate and theorize about various religious topics and, any time he paused, the toys would ask “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Since this question allowed him to break down his thoughts even further, and stay occupied, he was more than happy to explain what the fuck he was talking about.

Of course, by the end of the first week, one of the toys said, “Oh, I get it.”

“Um , what?” Dan asked.

“I said I get it, shithead,” the toy replied. Whichever toy was speaking had a surprisingly gruff voice.

“Oh. What should we talk about now?” Dan asked.

“How about getting the fuck out of this dark room? Did that thought ever occur to you?” the toy asked.

Dan was embarrassed to realize that escape had not, actually, occurred to him.

Perhaps I should have attempted that before I went mad, Dan thought.

“Ok, how do you guys think we can escape?” Dan asked the toys.

“Easy, we wait for them to bring your food, and run out the opening in the door,” the gruff voiced toy said.

“Well, that’ll work for you guys, but I’m too big to go through the opening,” Dan said.

“Then fuck ya,” the toy answered, and stopped talking. A few seconds later, Dan was amazed to hear little plastic footsteps walking across the floor of his cell.

“You guys can move?” Dan asked. He mentally congratulated himself on the new levels of madness he had achieved. The toys didn’t bother to answer his question.

Dan laid back on the bed and entertained himself by watching his new invention, Dark-o-vision. He was pleased with the high definition he had achieved on only his first attempt. Truly, he had captured the most vivid qualities of Dark. When he got out, he was going to make a fortune.

Eventually Dan’s stomach told him it would be lunch time soon, so he sat up on the bed to watch the toy escape. He hadn’t heard any of the other toys cross the floor, so he assumed they were watching too.

Soon enough, the slot in the door slide open, and the toy made a break for it. Dan heard a startled yell outside.

The toy had enough time to look up and yell “Oh, fuck!” before the guards boot came down and crushed it. The other toys in the room screamed in horror. The guard kicked the remains of the toy back through the slot and slammed it shut again. He then pounded on the door a few times and Dan heard him call “Don’t get funny with me, pal!”

After a few minutes of stunned silence, Dan heard the gruff voice of the broken toy say “Well that didn’t work very well at all.”

That night, or what Dan assumed was night, he started hearing scraping noises in the wall near his head. He was relieved there was a concrete wall between himself and what he assumed was a rodent of some sort in the wall.

“Fucking hell, that’s an awful sound,” one of the toys complained.

“Shut up, I’m trying to get some sleep, “ Dan said.

“Fuck you,” the toy replied.

After a few hours the scraping sound stopped. Dan slept for a while, without dreaming. He woke up when the scraping resumed. He was mildly alarmed that the sound seemed to be getting louder.

He hoped it wasn’t a part of his newfound madness. All the other bits of lunacy had been pretty entertaining, but this was decidedly not.

After a few more hours, he heard a crumbling sound and the scraping stopped. Dan hopped up and stood on the bed, ready to stomp the hell out of anything that got near his feet.

“Hey, anyone in there?” someone whispered.

The walls talk too? Dan thought.

“Who are you?” Dan asked.

“The President of the United States of America. Who are you?” the voice asked in response. Dan was relieved to hear it was the President. That meant he was just crazy. He was already accustomed to that. He was glad the scraping had stopped, though.

“Oh, just some guy. You probably haven’t heard of me,” Dan said.

“Ok, some guy, do you have a name?” the President of the United States of America asked him.

“Oh yes,” Dan said. “It’s not much, but it does the job.”

“Uh huh. Right. Well, some guy who won’t share his name, have you seen or heard the vice president?” the President asked.

“Just on TV. That was a while back though. I can’t seem to get any political news on Dark-O-Vision. There seems to be something blocking the transmission,” Dan said.

“Dark-O-Vision, right,” the president said, and paused. “How long have you been in here?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A week or so. Why?” Dan asked.

“Were you crazy before you got here?” the president asked.

“Depends who you ask. But I’ve been working hard on really cranking up the madness. It’s a good way to kill time. You should try it.” Dan said.

“Have you considered, y’know, trying to get out as a way to kill time?” the president asked.

“You know, you’re the second person to ask me that,” Dan said.

“Really, who was the first?” the President asked.

“One of my Happy Meal toys. He got crushed by one of the guards when he attempted his own escape,” Dan said. Talking to the wall was a lot more enjoyable that he’d thought it would be. Of course, no one had ever told him that a wall might think it’s the President of the United States of America. Dan admired the wall for its deep commitment to its own lunacy.

“You talk to your Happy Meal toys?” the President asked.

“Sure. They swear a lot, but they’re good company,” Dan said.

“You’re doing a good job with going mad,” the President said.

“Thank you,” Dan said.

“So how come you’re in here?” the President asked.

“I was talking to a pretty girl, and then I got grabbed and dragged away,” Dan said.

“Man, these guys are harsh!” the President said.

***

After Dan’s disappearance, Chris and Sarah decided that rather than protest, the resistance would be better served if they stayed inside, played video games, and occasionally posted to pagan message boards.

The room was a complete mess, with food wrappers and other detritus scattered about. There were clear paths from the computer, to the TV, to the couch, to the bed and to the bathroom, but stepping anywhere else was asking for a nasty surprise.

They did their best to hide their frustration and depression from one another, but Hep through it into sharp relief when he stopped by to see if they were ok.

“So have either of you two even changed your clothes in the last week?” Hep asked. The smell of people who hadn’t washed or been outside in a long time was almost overpowering.

“No, but thanks for asking,” Sarah said.

“Ok then,” Hep said. He started to ask another question, then looked around at the chaos scattered around the room and decided against it. They weren’t dead, and that was really all he’d been worried about.

“See ya,” Hep said.

“Bye,” Sarah said, not looking up from the computer.

***

“Well they aren’t going to be any help,” Hep said when he got back to the room he was sharing with Scroat and Pan. Ares and Thor had left earlier that week when they realized that there weren’t going to be any more direct skirmishes with the True Believers any time soon. The room the gods were staying in was spotless in comparison to that of the pagans. Hep, Scroat and Pan were ready to flee at a moments notice, of course.

Hep wondered if he should have mentioned that fact to the pagans, but decided it wouldn’t have done anything to change their mood. If they wanted to sit and mope in a hotel room, well, that was their problem.

The three gods, on the other hand, were ready to start beating their own heads against the wall. They were having a tremendous amount of difficulty deciding what their next move should be. Hep assumed that the True Believers would be watching very closely for the three of them around the compound, as well as elsewhere. For the time being, they were attempting to keep their heads down, and rally the other gods to resist Tim’s movement.

From time to time Thoth would pop in and update them on how the intellectual war was going. Turning people away from Tim was slower work than anticipated. Apparently a bunch of pagans claiming miracles wasn’t as convincing as they’d supposed.

On the other hand, it was doing wonders for getting more gods to come out of hiding and oppose Tim. Some of the gods were getting more attention than they’d received in thousands of years. Others were getting attention they’d never received at all. Every now and then some enterprising new pagan would find some information about a god no one ever worshipped, per se, and do just that. Generally speaking, these gods were so flattered they’d bend over backwards to help that person out.

Of course, there was the one god who didn’t appreciate it, and the best that could be said for that was at least the pagan was devoured quickly.

Chapter 12

2007-11-15T19:57:00.000-08:00

Across the nation, the pagans who still dared to practice their religions – considerably fewer since Tim began persecuting his opposition – found they were getting astounding results from their prayers and rituals. In the past, a pagan who prayed for help with financial difficulties would likely bump into someone who needed their particular skills. Now they’d open the mailbox the next day and find a huge wad of cash.

Word spread quickly among the pagan underground, and those who returned to their faiths found they also received immediate and tangible results for their requests.

Soon the pagans dissented openly, telling anyone who would listen that the old ways were still valid, and even superior to the New Paradigm.

As one might expect, this new development pissed Tim off quite a bit.

Dan, Sarah and Chris, as well as other pagans across the nation, took to the streets to protest and attempt to educate others. They told the people they met that it didn’t matter what faith they chose, so long as it wasn’t the New Paradigm.

Dan was deep in conversation with a woman in her late twenties, telling her about the amazing miracles they’d seen recently. He was so engrossed in his story he didn’t notice the van that pulled up next to them and parked. He also didn’t notice the track suit wearing men who got out of the van, until they grabbed him and dragged him into the van.

One of the men nodded to the young woman Dan had been talking to. She smiled in return. He got in to the van with the rest, and they drove off.

Sarah and Chris didn’t notice Dan was missing until they went to the coffee shop that was their designated meeting spot.

The van took Dan deep into the New Paragidm’s compound. They drove the van in to one of the building through a large loading door. Inside the building was access to a spiral ramp. The True Believers took Dan far underground before the van finally stopped.

Two of the True Believers dragged Dan out of the van and hauled him into a small room. A cell, actually, with a cot, a toilet and nothing else. They shoved him on to the bed, then left. Dan heard them locking the door, then silence.

Several hours later, the sole lightbulb in the room shut off, and plunged the cell into darkness.

Dan slept, and woke up in the dark again. He had no idea how much time had passed. He slept again, and woke once more. This time he stayed awake. He sat up and waited for the light to come on.

Hours passed. Dan sat on the bed wondering if he was simply going to be left to die in a dark cell. He’d just decided that his present circumstances were ideal for going mad, and was about to begin being crazy when a slot in the door to his cell slid open. The light coming in through the crack nearly blinded him.

Dan saw something getting shoved through the slot, and then the opening slammed shut again. Dan smelled food. He felt his way over to the door and nearly stepped in his lunch. He smelled the food, prodded it with one finger, and finally gave in and took a bite.

McDonald’s. He ate, and then he noticed there was something on his tray that wasn’t food. It was wrapped in plastic. He tore the plastic open and felt the object. It took him a few minutes to realize it was a toy. They’d given him a Happy Meal.

Dan had to hand it to the New Paradigm; they really were sick, twisted bastards.

He sat in the dark and turned the toy over and over in his hands. He figured it was a doll (action figure?) of some sort, but couldn’t figure out what it was supposed to be. It’s head was freaking huge.

After a while, Dan slept again.

***

Sarah and Chris spent hours walking around trying to find Dan. They figured he probably found some girl and decided to follow her around pestering her about the benefits of polytheism (“It’s like multi-tasking,” she imagined him telling this imaginary woman) instead of meeting up with them. He’d been kind of flakey in the past, after all.

Without realizing it, they walked past the very spot where he’d been abducted several times. The woman who had trapped him for the True Believers was long gone, off finding other people to betray for the greater good.

Eventually they gave up, and went back to their hotel to rest. Maybe there’d be a message from Dan waiting for them there, they figured. If not, he’d probably give up on whatever his current fascination was by the next morning and go back to the hotel.

By noon the next day they hadn’t heard anything from Dan, and began to really worry about him. Sarah and Chris went to find Hep and Scroat and see if they’d heard anything.

“Hey kids, how are you doing today?” Hep asked as he opened the door and let them into the hotel room.

“We’re doing ok. We haven’t seen Dan since yesterday afternoon. Have you guys heard anything from him?” Sarah asked.

“Nope,” Hep said. “I guess we should be a little worried about him, huh?”

“Can’t you go get him all magic-like?” Chris asked. Hep looked at him as if he’d just asked him to bring home the Eiffel Tower for dinner.

“No, I can only get to him if I know where he is,” Hep said. “I can’t just appear wherever he happens to be. Even if I could, showing up next to him where ever he happens to be could be dangerous. What if he was standing on a cliff or something? ”

“Do you think the New Paradigm goons got him?” Chris asked.

“Well, that or he was arrested for outstanding parking tickets,” Hep said in a sarcastic voice.

“What do we do?” Sarah asked.

“Nuke their compound?” Hep suggested. “Nah, that probably wouldn’t work out too well for anyone. I have no idea. We don’t know where he is, and it’s possible he just ran off somewhere too.”

Scroat walked into the room then. “How about we go and get some breakfast?”

Hep, Sarah and Chris turned to look at him.

“It’s nearly two o’clock,” Sarah said.

“You say that like two o’clock is too late for breakfast. I’ll have you know that it’s never too late for breakfast.” Scroat replied.

They left the hotel in search of a restaurant that serves breakfast all day. Luckily there was a diner only a few blocks away.

Just outside the diner, the group heard a ‘POP,’ and turned to see a bucket of fried chicken next to Hep. He rolled his eyes.

“This experiment in hands-on divinity is really getting on my nerves,” Hep said. “Excuse me a moment, won’t you?” He vanished.

The rest of them went inside and ordered breakfast, except for Sarah who got a BLT. A few minutes later, Hep walked in to the restaurant and joined them.

“That one was kind of fun,” he said, and gave the others a goofy grin.

***

Steven Thorp’s car had been giving him more and more trouble. It was close to thirty years old, and was far from being a collector’s car. The two door Dodge Aries had certainly gotten him around for a long time, but the chewing gum and baling wire holding it together were starting to show.

One of his pagan friends told him about the amazing things that happened when she’d performed a ritual asking for help with her massive debt load.

Steven had not really expected much to happen, but he went ahead and made a sacrifice to Hephaestus (figuring he could help with mechanical problems).

The next morning he left his house to go to work, wondering if the Aries would start, and was shocked to find a brand new, shiny black Ford Mustang where he’d parked the Dodge the night before. He looked around to see if there were cameras or someone playing a prank on him.
He opened the door and on the driver’s seat was the title to the car, in his name. The keys dangled from the ignition.

The leather interior did a great job of catching him when he fell face first into the car.

***

Dan heard the metal slot in the door slide open, squinted against the light that poured in to his pitch black cell. He heard a tray sliding through the opening, and then the slot slammed shut again.

He walked over to the door and felt around for the tray. He smelled food again. It was another Happy Meal, chicken nuggets this time. Dan ate, then opened the plastic bag with the toy inside. It felt like another action figure, though he couldn’t figure out what it was.

To keep himself entertained, he tried to make both of the action figures dance a waltz, but the first action figure’s huge head made it nigh impossible. The Electric Slide was equally elusive, though that had more to do with the dolls’ total lack of groove.

Dan was fairly pleased with how smoothly his descent in to madness was going. He’d figured there’d be a lot more shaking and jibbering involved. Earlier that day he’d tried jibbering for a while, but it really just wasn’t him. He had found rocking back and forth rather relaxing and accidentally fell asleep. Given the total lack of stimulation in the room, sleeping was as good as anything else, so Dan rolled with it.

Wide awake from the sugar high he’d gotten from the Happy Meal, he decided to play hide and seek with the action figures. He threw them across the room so they bounced off the wall, then tried to find them again in the dark.

It would have been harder if the action figures hadn’t kept calling “Hey, shit head, I’m over here.”

Chapter 11

2007-11-13T20:04:00.000-08:00

A sudden influx of money, power and influence is remarkably handy when one wants to, for example, build a gigantic compound from which to administer your new religion. Particularly when you want your new compound in a hurry.

Tim happened to be in exactly that situation. As such, his new compound in Washington D.C. was built in a matter of weeks.

The centerpiece of the New Paradigm campus was Tim’s great, shining, golden tower. At the base was the temple where the most important ceremonies (and executions) were held. At the top was Tim’s living quarters. As a god as well as Supreme Ruler of the United States, Tim was in a position to hire the best architects, and his new buildings conveyed both power and modernity.

Surrounding the central tower in expanding rings were the offices and dormitories for the True Believers who kept the New Paradigm running. The highest status offices and apartments were, of course, taller and closer to the tower. The outer ring was made up of single level buildings filled with the peons who handled the day to day tasks of administering a new religion and political order.

The real action, of course, happened deep in the center rings of the compound. That was where the mid-level True Believers charted out plans of action for expanding Tim’s empire to include the rest of the world.

One of the shocking aspects of the design was the apparent lack of security. The doors had locks (when the True Believers remembered to use them), but anyone could walk with ease directly to the base of the tower. There was a guard stationed outside the main doors, and a pair outside the inner entrance to Tim’s dwelling. It became fairly common for tourists to have their photos taken with the guard outside the tower.

This guard was, in fact, more of an ambassador and public relations handler than a guard. He was there to put a friendly face on the compound for those who visited. As such, he didn’t recognize Hep, Scroat or Pan when they approached. Hep and Scroat had their picture taken with him, as the other tourists did, and made a show of admiring the architecture.

They wandered the paths that curved between each rank of buildings, admiring the landscaping, which was second to none. While they were at it, they made note of the signs above each door. “Information Technology” read one of them, “Theological Investigation” read another, “Planning and Development” read another still.

After spending a couple hours wandering, collecting souvenier maps and trinkets and taking photos, the trio left Tim’s compound.

“Why am I not surprised that the fucker lives in a great, golden cock?” Scroat asked once they were a couple blocks away.

They returned to the hotel where they ordered a pizza and laid out the maps and notes they had made of the compound. They came up with a plan for an effective route and and out of the compound, so they could maximize the amount of damage and annoyance they could cause.

The next morning, the trio woke up early and set out again to do a walkthrough of their planned route. Along they way they picked up bagels with cream cheese, and coffee, for breakfast. The large number of people milling about Washington D.C. in multi-colored track suits did not go unnoticed by Hep, Scroat or Pan.

Around nine in the morning, they reached the entrance to the New Paradigm compound. They walked into the compound as if they had every reason to be there. Most of the track-suited True Believers paid no mind to the large, ugly man with bad legs, the tall, slight man with an odd goat-ish look about him, and the shorter, snaggle-toothed man with a scruffy beard and a foul mouth.

As they walked past the first tier buildings, Scroat happened to glance in one of the office windows. A man in a green tracks suit was watching him and talking on the phone. Scroat gave him a cheery wave. Nothing to see here, he thought at the man inside. The man on the phone returned Scroat’s wave and turned away.

“I’m telling you, they’re here,” he said into the phone. This was going to mean a big promotion for him. He might get to move into one of the third or fourth tier rings, even.

Outside, Hep, Scroat and Pan walked the paths of the compound again, paying attention to distances between buildings and entranceways, since each path was nearly identical in landscaping and architecture. If there weren’t signs above each door, it would be very easy to confuse a dormitory with an office.

They left the compound again once they were satisfied they knew it well enough to create some mayhem. The three of them returned to the hotel to wait for nightfall. They would sneak into the compound under cover of darkness and sneak back out before any of the track suited goons knew what had happened.

They spent the rest of the afternoon watching pay-per-view.

Soon enough the sun set, and they set out for Tim’s compound once more. They reached the compound in a short time, and were surprised by how well lit the entire area was, including searchlights illuminating Tim’s golden tower.

The three of them were comforted by the large number of tourists still walking around the compound, sight seeing. They figured it would be easy enough to blend in, at least until they were inside the buildings.

They reached the first office. The sign above the door read “Theological Investigation.”

“How do we get in?” Pan asked.

“Well, we could try the door knob,” Hep said, and reached for the handle. He pulled and was surprised and pleased when the door opened without resistance. Hep turned back to Pan.

“See? They’re just not too bright,” Hep said. He turned around again and saw that just inside the door Tim and several muscular thugs were waiting for them.

“Oh, I think we’re smarter than you give us credit for,” Tim said. “Grab them,” he said, bored, to his thugs.

“Run!” Hep hissed to Pan and Scroat, and turned to flee. Pan and Scroat bolted, running as fast as their legs could carry them. Hep hurried away, but could not outrun Tim’s goons. He turned to fight, and managed to knock one of the men unconscious before he was overpowered and dragged into the office, struggling wildly.

We were set up! Hep thought. What the hell happened?

“Hep, I’ve been so eager to meet you face to face,” Tim said. “Please, have a seat, won’t you?”

The thugs dragged Hep towards a plain wooden chair. Hep cleared his mind and thought of the barn back in Arizona where he and Scroat had hidden from the True Believers the first time. He tried to will himself there, but couldn’t.

“You don’t really think I’m going to let you get away that easily, do you?” Tim asked.

Hep continued to struggle against the guards as they attempted to restrain him. I could really use some help here. Hep thought. Any help will do, please. Two of the Tim’s men came towards Hep with restraints. The others did their best to hold him still.

They had nearly restrained him when they heard a noise like thunder, getting closer and closer. Suddenly one of the cinder block walls burst open and there stood, improbable as it was, an angry-looking sheep with something spray painted on it’s side. Following close behind was a chicken, which took advantage of the surprised guards and hopped towards them and began clawing and pecking viciously. Strange objects continued to fly through the opening in the wall, and soon enough Tim’s goons fled in panic and terror from the inanimate objects that were somehow attacking them.

Tim had taken the opportunity to leave immediately after the sheep burst through the wall.

Once the thugs had vacated the now-trashed office, the various sacrifices immediately stopped their frenzy, and returned to follow Hep around. Hep stood and staggered out of the office again, heading back for the hotel, now with an entourage of animals and other tokens of someone’s esteem.

A short ways outside of Tim’s compound, Hep met Scroat and Pan, who now also had Thor and Ares with them. They all smiled when they say Hep.

“We thought we were going to have to bring in the cavalry to rescue you,” Pan said, nodding towards Ares.

“Let’s get in there and rip them apart!” Ares yelled, almost jumping up and down with glee.

“No, I think we need to regroup, and reconsider our plan for sabotaging Tim,” Hep said. Ares was visibly disappointed.

“Aw, can’t I just beat one or two of them up?” Ares asked.

“Come on Ares. We both know that once you pop, you just can’t stop,” Hep said. “There will be other opportunities for smiting these fools.”

“Ok,” Ares said, sulking a bit.

“Come on, let’s go find some beer,” Thor said.

Hep told his sacrifices to return to the garage where they belonged. Instantly, they took to the air and were no longer visible in mere seconds.

“I freaking love that trick,” Hep said.

The five of them stalked off in search of the darkest and most remote bar they could find. They found a dive called “Mecca” which appeared to cater to exactly their kind of scum. There wasn’t a track suit to be seen within a five block radius of Mecca, so they figured they could safely enjoy a few drinks there.

Inside the bar, the five gods were shocked to see Dan, Sarah and some guy they hadn’t seen before.

“Somehow I just knew we needed to be here,” Sarah said.

“Everyone needs to make a pilgrimage, if they can,” the unknown guy.

“Who the fuck are you?” Scroat asked.

Dan appeared to remember himself, and said, “Oh! This is Chris. He’s one of the group of pagans I lead.”

“And not very well, I might add,” Chris said. “Pleasure to meet you all.”

Hep made a mental note to ask Dan why the hell he had brought another person in to this situation later on. For the time being, he went and bought the first round of beers. Once he had the drinks, he retreated to the darkest and most quiet corner of the bar, which just happened to be back by the pool table.

The three mortals got some quarters and played pool while the gods attempted to consume their weight in beer. The bartender thought they were kind of an odd bunch, but kept his mouth shut because they were buying a ton of drinks, not causing trouble, and tipping extremely well.

After last call, the group staggered out of the bar, and tried their level best to find their way back to the hotel. It took them nearly two hours, and they went through some very rough neighborhoods, but for some reason they weren’t disturbed. It was probably the waves of pure menace radiating off of a very drunk Ares that kept the run of the mill Washington D.C. gangsters and thugs away. That, or the overpowering stink of drunk, unwashed deities after a long day of fighting, running, and general oddness. The clerk at the front desk of the hotel averted his eyes, and discretely covered his nose as the group passed through his lobby. He didn’t want to offend any these guested. They looked like a dangerous bunch, particularly the muscular blond guy wearing a brown wool vest, and the darker fellow dressed all in black leather.

Chapter 10

2007-11-13T20:03:00.000-08:00

Hep, Scroat and Pan had been a bit out of touch with what was going on in the world at large. Sure, they bought a newspaper every few days, but they overlooked the fact that Tim’s people were in charge of the newspapers.

Dan and Sarah spent some time filling them in on the real news. Dan told them about the penalties for overt dissent, and covert dissent, for that matter. Sarah told them that, really, there had been very few dissenters arrested because for the most part no one cared as long as they could keep watching NASCAR and buying shiny diversions on credit.
“Keep the masses entertained and they’ll stay docile,” Hep said. “That’s how it’s always been. The French Revolution would never have happened had the aristocrats made cable television available to the peasants. Nothing ever changes, except technology.”

Scroat and Pan had gone into town to pick up some food. They were leaving the tiny convenience store when they saw Thor waiting outside. He strode over to them, and enthusiastically shook hands with them. After pleasantries had been exchanged, Thor’s demeanor changed from jovial to conspiratorial.

“The time to fight has come,” he said.

Pan and Scroat looked at each other. They knew the shopkeeper, with nothing better to do in a town this tiny, was watching them through the window of his store. Every person in that town, actually, watched the three new comers living in the desert pretty closely. Hep, Scroat and Pan didn’t worry about them too much, because they knew the entire reason these people lived in a town so tiny was because they primarily wanted to be left the hell alone.

“Sounds like you’d better come out into the desert with us. It’s a little more private there.” Pan said.

Thor nodded, and walked with them. He offered to help carry the groceries, so Scroat handed Thor both bags he was carrying. Pan looked at Scroat sideways.

“What? The burly motherfucker offered to help out,” Scroat said.

The three of them hiked out to where Hep, Sarah and Dan were waiting. Hep was surprised and pleased to see Thor. Dan and Sarah were kind of numb from the strange tangent their life had taken, and were barely able to remember their manners when introduced to Thor.

Thor seemed right at home gathered around the firepit with the others. He pulled up a rock and got comfy. Dan wondered if Thor camped a lot, then remembered his basic Norse Mythology. Thor, Dan remembered, would be pretty comfy roughing it.

They cooked the sausages Pan and Scroat brought, and ate. Once they were finished, Thor mentioned that he could really use a beer.

“Say no more,” Hep said. Seconds later, an entire case of Pabst Blue Ribbon zipped into their campsite, skidding to a stop next to Hep.

“That’s a good trick,” Thor said, impressed.

“It’s not so great the third time you’ve seen it.” Scroat said. “You know, Hep, there’s now a beer-case sized whole in your garage door.”

“We don’t know that. I might not have a garage anymore,” Hep said.

“Right, that’s why I came,” Thor said. “The time to fight has come. Our friends and families are getting killed every day, and no one cares except for us.”

“How many others do you think we can gather?” Hep asked.

“Well, that sick fucker Ares will be in, for sure,” Scroat said.

“I don’t know how many will show up,” Thor said. “A lot of folks have gone into hiding, now that these sick bastards have gone international.”

“Then we will hope enough have the courage to help us,” Hep said. He stood up and began to walk away from the campsite.

“Where are you going?” Dan asked.

“There’s a pay phone outside the convenience store, I’ve got some calls to make.” Hep answered.

***

Hep knew that using the pay phone was risky. For one thing, private people or not, they locals didn’t have anything better to do than watch newcomers and report their activities to one another. Hep didn’t mind being talked about, but he was mildly concerned about giving the locals information that could be used to find him, or his friends, or his family, or any of the other gods for that matter.

He also didn’t like making a whole bunch of phone calls to numbers that were likely being monitored from a rarely used payphone in a remote area. It seemed kind of obvious. He hoped his calls would be overlooked by the spooks tracking down his friends.

Not many of his calls went through. He reached a lot of answering machines that mechanically recited the number before telling him to leave a message. Several other phone numbers just rang and rang after he dialed them, with no answer. He did get through on a few numbers. The gods who answered, for the most part, told him they didn’t know who he was or what he was talking about. A few agreed to come meet with him.

After he’d called every one he knew, he hiked back to the campsite. He hoped that some of those who’d declined would show up anyway.

Some of the others had already arrived when Hep reached the campsite. Ares had been the first to arrive. He appeared very, very enthusiastic about the meeting. Ahayuta arrived next. Thoth and Sekhmet arrived together. Various others arrived over the next few hours, hiking, flying or just appearing.

The group was smaller than Hep would have liked, but there were enough to make a difference.

“Welcome, all. You already know why we’ve gathered. Now we need to decide what we’re going to do about this “New Paradigm” and their war against us,” Hep said.

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again,” Ares said. “We should track them down and kill them, then their families, then their friends and anyone else who happens to annoy us while we’re at it.”

This time there were some murmurs of agreement, instead of stunned silence. Given the number of war gods in attendance, Hep wasn’t surprised that “Kill them All” was the first plan suggested.

Thoth stood, cleared his throat and began speaking.

“If this Tim is now truly a deity himself, then he is subject to all of our common weaknesses. He needs someone to worship him, or he becomes as irrelevant as the rest of us. No one has gone to war in our names for a long, long time, because no one worships us any longer. Our myths have passed into fairy tale, as far as the majority of the world is concerned. Let us turn Tim’s followers away from him, as ours were turned from us,” Thoth said.

“Ok, but we’d better fucking hurry up,” Scroat said. “If we take a few hundred years, a lot more of us are going to be dead before Tim is forgotten. These people are moving quick.”

“How do you propose we turn Tim’s followers, Thoth?” Pan asked.

“I think we’re going to have to become rather familiar with those few people who still follow us. You can see two examples of the power a simple deck being built in response to a request right here,” Thoth said, and gestured towards Dan and Sarah. “Imagine what would happen if more and more miraculous happenings occurred. It will boost faith in those who haven’t turned to Tim yet, and those who do follow Tim will turn to us soon enough.”

Thoth stopped speaking, and waited for his idea to be considered. One by one the others agreed that they’d have to get very hands on, at least temporarily, with their few remaining followers.

Ares cleared his throat. “We still get to kill people and this Tim guy, right?”

Thoth chuckled and said, “Oh, why not? It’s been a while since any of us have really gotten to smite anyone. It’d probably be good to shake the cobwebs off.”

“Sweet,” Ares said, smiling broadly.

The meeting concluded, and the gods (plus Dan and Sarah) got down to the serious business of cooking and eating. Several of those who came to talk left the camp site minutes after eating. Ares, Thoth, Sekhmet and Ahayuta stayed late into the night, however. They were swapping stories that edged closer and closer to open lies when they heard rustling just outside of the light from the camp fire. The conversation stopped, and they all listened closely, expecting to hear an animal moving about.

Instead, track-suited goons swarmed out of the night into the light of the fire. By the time Dan and Sarah had registered the attack, Ares and Sekhmet had killed five of the attackers. Ahayuta joined the fray, as did Thor and Pan. Thoth, Scroat and Hep gathered around Dan and Sarah to defend them.

Ares and Sekhmet traded insults about the other’s fighting prowess and style.

“You call that a disemboweling?” Sekhmet asked Ares.

Atop a growing pile of carnage, Ares shot back “I’m sorry, I haven’t had time to linger over every little detail like some lazy daydreaming jerks I could mention.”

In a matter of minutes the fight was over. Hep and the others heard a couple of True Believers crashing and stumbling off into the desert.

The gods, except for Ares (whose post-battle actions and giggles were pointedly ignored by the rest), gathered back by the campfire.

“I guess they know we’re here,” Hep said. “We’d better move on.”

“Gee, ya think?” Scroat snapped.

They packed up their camp fairly quickly, and were nearly ready to smother the fire and get out of the area when Ares walked over to where they were, beaming with pride.

Hep looked at Ares, wary, and asked “What are you so tickled about?”

Ares chuckled a bit, then turned and made a grand gesture of presentation towards his handywork.

Spelled out in the remains of the True Believers was a taunt. “Tim, Fuck Off and Die!” it read.

“Say, that’s nice,” Scroat said. Ares bowed, and strode off into the night.

“Hep, you know how to reach me,” he said.

The rest of the gods looked at Ares’ latest work of art for a few minutes, before Ahayuta cleared his throat and said, “Well, that should piss Tim right the hell off.”

Chapter 9

2007-11-10T20:50:00.000-08:00

Phases of Tim’s master plan fell in to place very quickly after his deification. His followers, now called the True Believers, enthusiastically came up with lists of actionable items, action plans and time tables for their completion.

Alas, the driven are never content with merely starting a brewery.

Instead, the True Believers began to infiltrate government jobs. Since, apart from a couple of deicides (which never get reported to the police), their records were sparkling clean, they were able to get into positions where they had access to sensitive and powerful information. They were also able to get in to positions of authority and power with no problem. After all, no one expects a group of followers of a newly minted god to attempt a hostile corporate takeover of the entire world.

Just because no one expects it, though, doesn’t mean it is not happening.

The true believers rapidly filled positions in the F.B.I., C.I.A., and all the other alphabet soup agencies that conspiracy theorists were certain would enslave us all. Really, the only thing the conspiracy nut-jobs had gotten wrong was that the Jews had nothing to do with any of it.

Most of the agencies were thrilled with the enthusiasm of their new employees. Had they known they were all members of the New Paradigm, they probably would have sought out more of the members. Meanwhile, the True Believers were thrilled with the level of information access available to them.

Tracking down a god isn’t particularly difficult once you know the patterns to look for.

The New Paradigm began executing other gods at an incredible rate. Others were closely monitored to see if they could be of use. If not, they could always be executed.

Tim began to wine and dine several gods who he felt could help his cause. Whether he planned to kill them after they had ceased to be useful was irrelevant, at least to Tim. Some gods, particularly gods of chaos, were happy to give Tim all the information he needed to find gods, or to help his people get into ever more powerful positions in exchange for the most trivial gifts.

Soon he didn’t even need to bother with the other gods, as the Will of Tim was enough to ensure his followers success. Most of the time, anyway. Enthusiastic or not, they still tended to be starry-eyed dipshits.

While the true believers worked their way into high places, they also recruited new True Believers. It was pretty easy to find new recruits. All they had to do was find someone who seemed a little depressed, maybe somewhat disillusioned, and tell them all their dreams could come true. It almost never failed.

Soon Tim’s flock was huge. The conspiracy theorists were completely in the dark, as well. If you’d told one of them what was really happening, they probably wouldn’t have believed you. It was that big.

One sunny Tuesday, Tim declared “It is time.”

One of his assistants, a true-believer in a gold jumpsuit, picked up the phone, called someone, and repeated Tim’s message.

Within minutes, hordes of white, middle class, upwardly mobile, and heavily, heavily armed American True Believers began moving towards congress and the white house. The Department of Homeland Security were well-prepared for one or two turban-wearing maniacs toting AK-47s and shoe-bombs to try and attack these houses of liberty and freedom, but not several thousand of their smiling neighbors with H&K .40 caliber pistols, hand grenades and crazy kung-fu moves.
The True Believers stormed congress with guns blazing. The attack was so fast, and so discrete that no one outside the building had any idea that anything had happened. The power of positive thinking is a scary thing when misapplied.

At the same time congress was being invaded and decimated, True Believers massed at the White House, and barged in. Again, the attack happened with such speed, and was so unexpected, that no one was the wiser.

Six True Believers opened the door to the oval office. The president and vice president were conveniently in the same place at the same time.

The president dropped the comforting drawl that endeared him to the American public and hissed “Who the fuck are you people?”

“Candygram for Mongo,” one of the True Believers said, and the six of them tossed Flash-Bang grenades in to the room, then shut the door. After the grenades had detonated, they stormed into the room and took the two dazed men captive. They were handed off to another group of True Believers, to be squirreled away in one of their own secret prisons. An aide who was unlucky enough to be in the room at the time was summarily shot.

Outside the building, life went on as usual, and no one was the wiser to the coup that had just taken place, unbelievably, on American soil.

Such was the will of Tim.

By the end of the day, Tim had followers in every position of power in the nation. All they had to do now was let the nation know that Tim was in control. Tim and his followers expected the transition to go well. This was because when faced with the choice of acceptance of Tim as supreme ruler or death by firing squad, most people figure they’ll simply make do under the new leader.

That night, one of Tim’s high ranking followers went on television and explained the the American public that there was a new boss in town.

Given the general apathy of the citizenry, it took a bit longer for the word to get out than Tim would have liked, but most of the country fell in line within a week. As expected.

Dan and Sarah, as well as the other pagans who had heard about the adventure with Hep and Scroat, were extremely alarmed. Dan and Sarah were especially alarmed because, although they had helped Hep and Scroat rescue Pan and had a lot to lose as well because of their association with wanted gods, they had been entirely unable to make contact with Hep, Scroat and Pan.

Hep, Scroat and Pan, were equally alarmed. So far they had remained hidden pretty well, but now that Tim’s power had grown exponentially, it was going to be a lot harder to stay out of sight. Even in the middle of the desert. After all, a thirsty biker god has to stop in town every now and then for a bottle of beer and a newspaper.

The three gods were also rather annoyed, because they kept having new and interesting animals and other objects pop into existence next to them at the most inconvenient times. No one, after all, expects an annoyed platypus to appear directly in front of him or her. Especially not a platypus with a note written in Sharpie, reading “Seriously, what the fuck you guys?” stapled to his forehead. Particularly when the hissing platypus appears when one is attempting to shit behind a stand of brush.

Pan leapt backwards, screaming, when the platypus appeared. Once he’d recovered from the shock (Pan, not the platypus), he wondered if he should remove the note stapled to the animal’s forehead. Pan took a look at the creatures venomous claws and decided against it. He told it to go hang out in Hep’s garage, which it did.

The other sacrifices in Hep’s garage, by the way, were less than happy about the arrival of the platypus. The platypus meanwhile wished that, just once, someone would be happy to see him.

Pan went back to the campsite and sat down with Hep and Scroat. There were in a small clearing at the bottom of a valley somewhere in the deserts of New Mexico. They had a small campfire, some rocks to sit on, and not much else. They had hidden the bikes in an abandoned shed and hiked out into the desert, figuring they could stay out of trouble there until they could come up with a plan.

“You know, Hep, you might want to go ahead and clue Dan and Sarah in on what’s going on,” Pan said.

Hep thought for a moment, and said, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

He disappeared.

“You know, I’m getting sick of him doing that fucking trick,” Scroat said.

About twenty minutes later, Hep reappeared with Dan and Sarah. Dan and Sarah were carrying sleeping bags and backpacks.

“Did you remember to bring some beer?” Pan asked.

“Ahem,” Hep said, then addressing the valley at large,”I sure wish I had a beer right now.”
“What the fuck?” Scroat asked.

About thirty seconds later, they heard a buzzing, ripping sound in the distance, and very soon a frosty, cold bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon landed on the rock next to Hep. The cap popped off of its accord. Hep picked it up and handed it to Pan.

“What, none for me? You cheap bastard,” Scroat said.

“Get your own beer, you lazy son of a bitch,” Hep said. He turned to Dan and Sarah.

“So, welcome to our humble abode, for the time being. How have you guys been?” Hep said.

“You guys have really been hiding in the desert this whole time?” Sarah asked.

“Yep,” Pan answered.

“That would explain the smell,” Sarah said.

“Oh, hey, you live in the fucking desert for weeks on end and see if you still smell shower fresh, dumbass,” Scroat said.

“I think it’s very likely that you’ll get an answer to that question, Scroat,” Hep said. “These guys are staying with us, it seems. I’m guessing that they’re fairly high on Tim’s list of people to get, only slightly below, you know, us.”

Scroat looked at Dan. “If you try make up for not bathing by dousing yourself in Old Spice, I’m going to have to kill you,” he said.

Dan looked mildly ashamed for a moment, then took the bottle of cologne out of his bag and said, “I thought the alcohol in it might be good for starting fires.”

“Sure you did,” Scroat said, “and I bet you thought your favorite strippers actually liked you, you sick fucking monkey.”

Dan’s ears turned red, but he didn’t say anything else.

“Come on, you two,” Hep said, “We’re going to be stuck with these two until we figure out what to do about Tim. We might as well get along.”

“Hey, I’m getting along,” Scroat said. “He’s provoking me. You’re a fucking instigator, Dan. Don’t get me into any more trouble!”

Scroat laughed as Dan sputtered.

“I can’t believe my choices are stay in the desert with you guys, or go and be killed by one of Tim’ goons,” Sarah said to no one in particular.

“Hey, baby, I can make you feel like a princess right here in this valley,” Pan said, leering at her.

Sarah kicked him squarely in the balls, and he fell to the ground, gasping for air.

“Maybe getting shot isn’t such a bad option after all,” she said.

Chapter 8

2007-11-08T20:21:00.000-08:00

Tim was almost beside himself with excitement. His research had served him well, and now he had a plan. He knew how to become divine. Never one to wait, Tim had arranged the details as soon as he had figured them out.

Today, Tim would become a god. It was so simple he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it without the research. Tim would become a sacrifice to himself.

He waited in his office for his assistants to get everything prepared. He sat, eyes closed, and meditated. As he waited, one of the men who’d gone to capture Hep and the other gods in Las Vegas knocked and entered his office.

“Sir, we lost more than half the men,” the man said.

Tim opened his eyes, obviously annoyed.

“Of course. Did you expect you would be able to ambush a group of Gods aware we’re killing them off and encounter no resistance?” Tim asked. “Get out of my office.”

The man blinked several times, confused, opened his mouth to speak, then decided arguing might not be a good idea and left the room.

Tim resumed his meditation.

Soon his assistants entered his office. The two of them were dressed in yellow track suits. Their expressions were serious, but their eyes sparkled with excitement.

“It is time,” one of them said.

Tim stood and walked with them out to the stage where they had killed Baron Samedi the night before. The podium, chair and other accoutrements were gone, and in their place was a large vat. The vat was full of molten gold. The gold glowed and shimmered. The heat radiating from the area was immense. The three men had to struggle to even keep their eyes open.

Tim’s assistants undressed him, until he stood naked. They then bound his hands and feet. The assistants then left him, briefly. They returned wearing heat-resistant protective suits. They stood by Tim until he nodded, then lifted him.

Tim, his muscles thrumming with excitement, cried “I dedicate this sacrifice to myself!” His assistants immediately heaved him into the vat of molten gold. They were rather clumsy, and a good amount of the gold splashed out of the vat onto the assistants and the floor of the stage, which immediately caught fire. Some of the gold landed on the concrete beyond the stage, which exploded as the moisture inside turned to steam from the intense heat.

One of the assistants quickly grabbed a fire extinguisher and put out the stage floor. Then they waited.

Tim died within seconds of falling into the liquid gold. Tim’s final seconds felt like an eternity. The pain was maddening. He opened his mouth to scream, and felt the liquid metal invade his mouth and continue down his throat. The rope binding him burned through almost instantly, freeing him. He thrashed in agony. He heard voices, mocking him, telling him he would fail, telling him it would be better if he simply died as a man there in the gold, rather than endure the rest of the torments reserved for those who become divine.

Some time after that, he felt a coolness engulf him. He was suddenly very comfortable. He felt strong. Powerful. Divine.

He stood. His assistants looked up at him, stunned. They fell to their knees in front of him.

“Worship me,” Tim said.

Chapter 7

2007-11-07T20:04:00.000-08:00

Sarah had dropped Dan off at a reasonably clean looking motel, and told him she was going to go and get some food and supplies. Once she got back, they’d take the van and get rid of it.

Only Sarah never went to the grocery store, or back to the motel. Instead, she took the van back to the New Paradigm’s compound. As an Experimental Theologian, her curiosity had gotten the best of her.

She stopped on the highway a ways before reaching the dirt road that lead to the compound, and changed into her track suit again. She drove on, and reached the dirt road in a matter of minutes.

There were a shocking number of cars lined up along the dirt road. Each of the cars had at least one unnaturally happy looking person inside wearing a track suit. Sarah made a quick decision, and pulled the van into the line of cars that moved slowly towards the gate. She began to get nervous as she approached the gate. She recognized the guard as being the same man who had been on guard-duty when they’d rescued Pan.

Stay cool, she thought, stay cool. It’s going to be ok. This is not the cargo van he is looking for. Stay cool.

The van reached the gate and the guard, disinterested and barely awake, waved her in the same way as the other cars.

I can’t believe it, she thought. He didn’t even look at me.

She parked the van where directed by a man in a orange and white tracksuit. All the other people were getting out of their cars and walking into the building through the open loading bay doors. Sarah joined the group and walked inside. Apart from a few friendly gestures and greetings, she went entirely unnoticed.

At the far end of the room was a raised stage with a podium, a chair and a strange device that made Sarah uneasy.

Sarah was ushered to a folding chair in the middle of a row of shiny, happy, track suited freaks. She sat down and looked around at the other people in attendance. There was a veritable fruit rainbow of colored track suits.

Yikes, she thought. Unity in bad taste.

Soon a man in a sober grey suit walked down the center aisle up to the podium.

“Good evening, my friends,” Tim said. “We are gathered tonight for something rather special. Tonight we begin our revolution. Tonight, we will cast off the oppression of these so-called deities. We begin with this offender.”

A man dressed in a black tuxedo jacket and white top hat was lead on to the stage by two men in orange and white track suits. He moved calmly, almost regally. He was restrained in the chair, and the men who led him left the stage.

Tim walked from the podium to the strange device and the crowd leaned forward in their seats almost as one. Their eyes sparkled, and the room fell entirely silent.

I can’t fucking believe I’m going to see this, Sarah thought. This is fucked up.

Tim picked up what looked like a wand with a golden tip and touched it to the restrained man’s temple. He flipped a switch and the man went rigid, then howled. His howl stopped abruptly, and he slumped forward in the chair, dead.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit, Sarah thought. She was fairly certain she was going to be ill.

A couple of men came on stage and began spraying air fresheners. Tim walked back to the podium.

“So it begins, and soon we shall all be deities ourselves, free from the rule of these petty tyrants,” Tim said. The crowd burst into applause, and stood. Sarah applauded and tried to blend in as well as she could.

Don’t throw up, she thought.

Tim left the stage, and exited the room. Shortly after, the members filed out of the building, talking excitedly to one another.
Sarah made it into the van, and left the complex as easily as she got in. As soon as she was far enough away to pull over without someone stopping to help, she did. She staggered out of the van and vomited.

She drove back to the motel, and found the room Dan had checked into.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Dan asked, near panic.

Sarah sat down, and told him.

“Holy shit,” Dan said. He looked like he was about ready to throw up himself.

***
Pan woke up first. Hep woke up seconds later, when Pan yelled “Fuck, that is just nasty!”

Hep sat up to see Pan rolling over on the couch to face away from the cushions.

“Seriously, I’m not even going to tell you what the cleaning crew missed over here,” Pan said.

Hep thought he would try and take a shower, but reconsidered after seeing the state the bathroom was in. He turned around and saw the sheep again.

“Shit, I forgot about you,” Hep said.

The sheep looked at Hep quizzically, then walked over to Scroat and started licking his face.

“What the? Hey, oh, fuck that’s disgusting,” Scroat said as he woke up. He sat up to get out of reach of the sheep.

“Wow, I never thought I’d see that,” Hep said.

“You and your fucking sacrifices, Hep,” Scroat said. “There’s no way I’m sticking around for eternity with you if this keeps up.”

Hep went and paid at the front office for their room, then they fired up the bikes and headed back to Arizona. They had to find out what had happened to Sarah.

***
Dan and Sarah had gone to get something to eat, and then drove a ways down a promising dirt road. At the end of the road, to their surprise and pleasure, was an abandoned gravel pit. They stopped about 20 feet from the edge.

They got out of the van, took off the license plates and wiped down all the handles in the van, as well as the steering wheel. Sarah put the van in neutral, then went to the back of the van and helped Dan get it rolling.

Once it was rolling well on it’s they both stopped and watched it roll over the edge. Sarah and Dan were surprised by the sudden silence when it finally tipped over the edge of the pit. They were very surprised at the colossal crashing noise the van made when it hit the bottom of the pit.

They started to walk towards the edge of the pit to peer over and see the wreckage when the van explode. Sarah and Dan both leapt back about five feet.

Dan looked at Sarah and said, “I thought that only happened in movies.”

“Well, now we know,” Sarah replied.

The hike back to the hotel was only a few miles, and thankfully it wasn’t terribly hot outside yet. They walked mostly in silence.

They reached the motel without incident, and went inside to rest.

A few hours later, they heard motorcycles stop in front of their room. Dan went to the door and opened it. Pan, Scroat and Hep were stomping towards him from the parking lot. Hep had the sheep strapped to his back.

“Hi,” Dan said. “Did you know you’ve got a sheep on your back.”

“Hi. Yes. It says Sarah is missing, what’s the deal?” Hep said.

Sarah came to the door. “I’m not missing, what are you talking about?”

Hep looked at Dan.

“Well, she disappeared, then came back. Come in and we’ll explain,” Dan said.

Hep took the sheep off his back and told it to go wait in his garage. It trotted off, apparently content.

A few minutes later, Hep remembered that the garage was locked. He wondered if there would be an additional sheep-sized hole in his garage door when he got home again. Oh well.

They went into Dan and Sarah’s motel room. Dan and Sarah took turns telling them about what had happened while they were gone. Sarah told them about seeing another god get killed.

“Damn, not Baron Samedi,” Scroat said. “That son of a bitch was awesome. A fella could always count on him to have a good supply of cigars and rum, too.”

“So he said they would all become gods?” Hep asked.

Sarah nodded. “Yep, they’re planning to ‘throw of the reigns of the petty oppressors,’” she said.

“Well, I’ve got nothing to worry about, I’ve never oppressed anyone,” Scroat said.

“They’ll kill you just on general principle, you filthy swine,” Pan said.

“Fuck you,” Scroat snapped back.

Pan took a breath to reply, but then they heard a helicopter outside, getting closer. The noise got louder and louder until they realized that it must be directly overhead. The five ran outside to look.

“Aw, fuck!” Scroat yelled.

Hep grabbed on to Dan and Sarah and vanished.

“Hey!” Pan yelled at the space where the three had been.

Hep reappeared, minus Dan and Sarah. He looked at Pan and Scroat and yelled, “Well? Get on the fucking bikes!”

They ran to the motorcycles and tore out of the parking lot, with the helicopter following almost directly overhead. Hep led them east, counting on something the helicopter pilot didn’t know. Hep and Scroat never had to stop for gas but, unless it was a god flying the helicopter, the pilot would have to stop for fuel eventually. All they had to do was keep riding until the chopper had to turn back, and then they’d be able to disappear for a while.

Hep figured their best chance would be to hide out in the desert, far away from anyone who might be connected to “The New Paradigm.” They seemed like a dangerous bunch, a really dangerous bunch, and Hep thought attacking them head on might not be a good plan. They weren’t too bright, but there were a lot of them, and they were probably getting smarter all the time. At least, a few of them were probably getting smarter. The dangerous ones. They’d have to try and take care of the dumb ones first.

Chapter 6

2007-11-06T20:06:00.000-08:00

Hep, Scroat, Dan, Sarah and Pan were gathered around the table in Hep’s kitchen. They were celebrating their triumphant rescue of Pan with coffee and donuts. The mood was slightly jubilant, but tense.

“Hep, they’re trying to figure out where you guys live, and they’re going to try and get both of you,” Pan said. He was pretty beat up, and the combination of new bruises over old bruises and cuts wasn’t pretty. His hand shook as he reached for his cup of coffee.

“These guys tried to get me to tell them where you lived, as well as where a bunch of other gods are now,” Pan said. “I guess they didn’t believe me when I told them I didn’t know.”

“I wouldn’t believe you if you told me you did know,” Scroat said, and laughed.

“Who the hell are these people?” Hep asked Pan.

“I don’t know. They’re either a cult or an army. They really don’t seem bright enough to be an army. The guy who seems to be in charge, the suit who told his goons to beat me up, is named Tim,” Pan said.

Hep got up from the table and grabbed a pocket sized black notebook near the phone. He opened it, flipped a couple pages, grabbed the phone and started dialing.

“Who are you calling?” Dan asked.

Hep hung up the phone and started dialing another number

“Any one I can get on the phone. There’s a guy out there with a dumb but loyal army trying to find gods and kill them,” Hep said. He turned away and said into the phone, “Bast? Hi, it’s Hephaestus…”

Hep spent the next several hours on the phone, coaxing and cajoling the other gods he knew into meeting with him, Scroat and Pan. After getting off the phone with Zethes, he went into the living room where Scroat and the others were hanging out.

“Ok, Scroat and Pan, we’re going to Las Vegas to meet some friends, Hep said.

“Yes!” Scroat said.

Hep continued, “Dan and Sarah, you guys are going to ditch the van someplace out of the way and find a hotel somewhere around here. Keep your heads down. Take anything you don’t want Tim and his buddies to swipe; I doubt it’s going to be safe here for much longer.”

Dan and Sarah didn’t have much, since Hep had brought them to his house with only the clothes they were already wearing. Pan was similarly unburdened by possessions. Scroat went to his bedroom and came back out stuffing what everyone else hoped was a clean pair of underwear in his pocket.

“Ready,” Scroat said.
They all went out to the garage while Hep locked up the house. Scroat made a big show of rolling his bike out of the garage, checking the air in his tires and otherwise getting ready for the trip. Hep came out to the garage a couple minutes later.

“You two,” Hep said to Dan and Sarah, “remember that one or two of the goons probably remember what you look like. Don’t draw attention to yourselves.”

Hep rolled his trike out of the garage and started the motor. Once it was running without the choke, he closed the garage door and locked it. He got on the trike and looked at Pan.

“Well? Get on,” Hep said.

Hep and Scroat pulled away, leaving Dan and Sarah standing by the van in Hep’s driveway. They watched the tail lights on the bikes quickly fade away.

Dan looked at Sarah and said “’let’s ask him for something,’ Chris says to me. Remind me to punch him again the next time I see him. Do you want to drive, or shall I?”

“I’ll drive,” Sarah said.

***

Hep, Scroat and Pan rode through the night to Las Vegas. Hep led them to a park reserve to the west of the city.

As Hep shut down his trike and dismounted, Scroat pulled up next to him and asked, “What the hell are we doing out here? There’s no gambling or whorehouses out here in the middle of a fucking park! Damn it Hep, you got my hopes all up.”

Hep ignored him, and they hiked to the meeting place that had been arranged. The area was mostly dirt, with pointy plants and plenty of rocks, but not much else. Several of the other gods had already arrived. Most of the gods acknowledged the trio, but didn’t move to greet them. Thor, however, strode over to Hep and embraced him.

“It’s been too long! Come, I brought food. You must eat with me.” He led them back to a campfire where he was roasting some meat. Hep, Scroat and Pan hadn’t eaten anything since the victory donuts and were glad to join Thor for breakfast. Thor hacked huge, juicy slabs off of the roast and gave a chunk to each of them, along with a large hunk of bread.

The three ate hungrily, taking huge bites of meat and bread.

“This is fucking awesome! What is it?” Scroat asked.

“It’s goat. I’m glad you like it,” Thor replied.

Pan looked rather ill and pushed his plate away. Scroat, however, continued eating with a new enthusiasm.

“Is everything ok?” Thor asked Pan.

“Oh, yes, I ate too quickly. Thank you so much for a wonderful meal,” Pan said. He was beginning to look very green. “Excuse me a minute.”

Pan hurried away. He came back a few minutes later looking less ill, but still rather worried.

Soon all the gods had arrived. Shortly after the last god arrived, one of them stood and addressed Hep.

“Hep, why have you gathered us here?” asked Elegua, dressed in red jeans and a black t-shirt.

Hep stood and told them about finding Bacchus, about the group who had attacked them and kidnapped Pan, and that whoever these people were, they had found a way to kill gods.

“I’ve gathered you here to spread the word and decide how we should proceed,” Hep concluded.

A god wearing snakeskin boots said, “These men are arrogant, like all the others. We have nothing to fear from them, and they will soon destroy themselves, as the arrogant always do. I shall do nothing.”

There were several murmurs of agreement.

“I say we hunt them down and kill them all, then their families, then their friends, then anyone that looks at us funny while we’re at it” said Ares.

There were a couple of coughs, and silence when Ares finished speaking.

“Aw, fuck you guys,” he said.

Thor stood and said, “if it is necessary to fight, then I shall stand with you.” Several others made noises of agreement, while others remained silent and crossed their arms.

“There is nothing more I can ask for,” Hep said. The gods stood and prepared to leave, when they heard motors approaching. Several white vans appeared in a matter of seconds. The vans skidded to a halt, and a small army of enthusiastic men wearing track suits jumped out of the side and rear doors of the vans. They charged at the stunned group of gods.

Four of them ran at Thor, who brushed them off as if they were no more than flies. Hep had barely turned around when Ares flew at the men with a look of insane glee. He decapitated one of the men and moved on to another. The man standing closest to the scene caught the first man’s head out of instinct. It blinked at him. He dropped the head in horror and ran away.

The other gods joined in the fight, and soon the few track suited thugs who were still standing ran back to the vans and fled.

“Who the hell are these people?” one of the gods asked.

Pan crouched down and pulled an ID badge off of one of the bodies.

“The New Paradigm, according to this,” he said.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Scroat asked.

“I don’t fucking know. Corporate motivational training gone awry?” Pan answered.

They then heard a strange thumping noise behind them, and turned to see what the source was.

Ares was jumping from corpse to corpse, pausing to jump up and down a few extra times now and then. He looked up briefly at them.

“What?” Ares asked, then resumed what he was doing.

Scroat muttered to Hep, “That guy likes his job way too much.”

Hep nodded in shocked agreement.

The gods dispersed then, except for Ares who was apparently playing soccer now.

“Hey! I need a goalie!” he yelled after them as they departed.

Hep, Scroat and Pan stopped at a motel way, way off the strip in Vegas to crash for a while before making the trip back to Arizona. The room had obviously last been decorated in the 1970’s, and they were pretty sure the carpet was original. It crunched under their feet as they walked into the room. The three decided it would be best to keep their shoes on.

Hep and Scroat each crashed in one of the twin beds, while Pan collapsed on to the couch.

“I’ll see you fuckers tomorrow,” Scroat said. Within seconds he was snoring loudly.

“Not if we see you first,” Pan said. He turned over, exclaimed, “that’s disgusting!” into the back of the couch and turned back over.

Hep had just about fallen asleep when he heard a loud ‘POP’ in the room. He looked up to see a sheep that was as startled as he was. On its side was spray painted “Sarah missing with van. Help!”

“Fuck,” Hep said before he fell into a deep sleep.

In his dream, Hep played basketball one on one with Ares. He’d gotten the ball away from Ares only to discover that it was a bloody head.

“I’m worried you might be a workaholic, Ares,” Hep said, looking at the head.

“You know who’s got two bad legs and can kiss my sweaty ass?” Ares replied, then snatched the ball back from Hep.

Chapter 5

2007-11-05T17:38:00.000-08:00

Tim felt particularly good today. His research had provided several answers to important questions he had. Even better, he had Pan locked up in a room nearby. Tim was positive that Pan would help him with his great project, one way or another.

He stood up and walked out of his office. The room Pan was in was only a few feet away, in terms of location, but the layout of the building required him to walk down a hall, down a set of stairs, across the concrete, ground-level floor, and up another set of stairs. Two men in orange and white tracksuits stood on either side of the door to Pan’s room.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Tim said. “How is our guest today?”

“Nice and quiet,” said the taller of the guards.

“Good, good,” Tim said. “Let’s go in and say hello, shall we?”

The shorter guard turned and unlocked the door. He held it open, and the taller man entered first. It was dark in the room, so he groped for the light switch.

That’s when Pan leapt forward and sank his teeth into the guard’s nose. The man shrieked, and tried to pull Pan’s jaws open, to no avail.

“Ged ib obb ob dbe” he yelled.

The smaller guard had frozen, stunned by the suddenness and violence of the situation. He stood watching Pan and the larger guard grappling until Tim stepped into the room and pulled a syringe from inside his jacket. He pulled the rubber tip off the needle and jabbed it into Pan’s leg.

Pan let go of the guards nose and said “Hey! Oh…” before his eyes rolled back and he fell to the floor, unconscious.

Tim turned to the two guards. The larger one was holding his nose which, miraculously, was not bleeding. The other guard was still standing, shocked, in the doorway.

“Haven’t you two ever watched TV?” Tim asked. He pulled a notepad from his pocket and began writing.

“I’m making a note to send you guys for proper security training,” he said. Then he looked up and smiled.

“At least you both learned something today,” he said. “Now, handcuff him to that chair and call me when he wakes up again.” Tim left the room.

***

Dan woke up feeling strangely refreshed, particularly for a man who’d fallen asleep face first in a bowl of potato chips. He sat up and rubbed his face, dislodging a few lingering potato chip remnants.

He looked around at the wreckage of the room. There were junk food wrappers everywhere, seven empty bottles of Mountain Dew, the bowl of (now crushed) potato chips he’d slept in, a pizza box, and a lot of little pieces of paper he couldn’t identify.

“Wow,” he said.

Dan stood up and went into the kitchen. The kitchen was, if anything, more chaotic than the living room had been. There was a half-eaten block of Spam on one of the chairs. The cabinet he kept his snacks in was empty; the contents were strewn about the room.

He found a single Oreo cookie balanced on top of the faucet, and another peeking out of the fern he kept over the sink.

He then heard footsteps upstairs. They stomped over his head, and he soon heard them descending the stairs.

Sarah came in to the kitchen wearing one of Dan’s t-shirts. It hung down to her knees.

“Good morning, King of the Herbed Spam,” she said.

“Uh, good morning,” Dan said. He stared at Sarah, wondering if maybe he was still high.

“Um, did we…” Dan began.

“No! God, no!” Sarah said, crossing her arms and taking a step back. “I’m wearing your t-shirt because something – I don’t know what – something struck you funny when you had a mouth full of mountain dew and French onion potato chips. I’m just waiting for my laundry to finish.”

“Oh, ok,” Dan said, relieved and disappointed at the same time.

He opened the fridge and checked for milk. Good, he hadn’t drank it all, at least. He put the milk carton on the counter and went to the cupboard he kept the cereal in. His Apple Jacks were gone, but he still had plenty of Frosted Mini-Wheats.

“You want some cereal?” he asked Sarah.

“Sure, thanks,” Sarah said.

They ate, and Dan marveled at his sobriety. He liked how the room kept up with him when he turned his head. That was nice.

He had just finished his Mini-Wheats when he heard a loud ‘POP’ in the living room.

“Good God, Dan, did you smoke all that weed last night?” Hep asked.
Dan and Sarah looked at each other and ran to the door between the kitchen and living room.

“Hi guys,” Hep said. He looked around at the mess surrounding him. “Jeez, you two sure know how to party.”

“H-hi, Hephaestus,” Dan said. “Did the sacrifices stop rolling in?”

“Pretty much. So are you going to introduce me to your friend, or should I assume my reputation precedes me?” Hep asked.

Sarah stared, and her jaw worked up and down a few times.

“This is Sarah. Sarah, Hephaestus,” Dan said.

“Pleased to meet you,” Hep said.

“Meep,” Sara said.

Hep cocked an eyebrow, then looked back at Dan.

“Look Dan, I’m not too good at this whole ‘Fear me for I’m huge and godly’ thing, so could you two drop the fear and awe? Just for me?” Hep asked. “Get in here and sit down, I need to talk to you.”

Dan and Sarah went into the living room, cleared the wrappers and trash off the couch and sat.

“Where are all the sacrifices you had last time, Hephaestus?” Dan asked.

“In my garage. Where the hell else would I put them?” Hep answered. “Look, Pan has been kidnapped, and we need some people who, y’know, aren’t gods to go in and get him. Guess who I have in mind?”

“Meep,” Dan said.

“Close enough,” Hep said. “Look, Pan is being held by people, ok? It’s not like I’m asking you to go through Hades on a skateboard and bring him back. It’ll be easy. The people who have him are dumb.”

“Wait, if Pan is just being held by people, can’t he get himself out?” Sarah asked.

“Nope,” Hep said.

“Um, why not?” Dan asked.

“Let’s just say his potency ends at being a fertility god,” Hep answered.

The buzzer on Dan’s clothes dryer went off. Dan and Sarah both jumped.

“So are you ready to go?” Hep asked.

Once Sarah had dressed again, Hep grabbed both of them carefully, but firmly, and told them, “You’ll probably want to close your eyes for this.”

***

Scroat was napping on the couch when Hep, Dan and Sarah appeared in the living room with a loud ‘SNAP.’

He looked up briefly, said “Oh, it’s you,” rolled over and went to sleep again.

Hep looked at Dan and Sarah half-apologetically, and said “My roommate. Ok, here’s the deal…”

Hep led them into the kitchen and explained what they needed to do, and drew a map of how to get to the compound where Pan was being held.

“How are we supposed to get to this compound?” Dan asked. “We can’t walk that far.”

“I already thought of that. Come this way,” Hep said, and led them to the garage. When he opened the door and went into the garage all the sacrifices stacked up along the wall began to move around, as if they were excited to see him.

“Be quiet, and stay still,” Hep said, and everything settled down again. Sarah looked at Dan wide-eyed. He shrugged.

“I guess that would get kind of annoying,” Dan said.

In the garage was a white Ford Econoline van. Hep opened the passenger side door and pulled out a couple of red tracksuits and threw them to Dan and Sarah. They looked at the van and the tracksuits, then back at Hep.

“Well? Put on the clothes and start up the van. I’ll be back in a second,” Hep said. He went back to the house, woke Scroat up, and marched him out to the van.

Dan and Sarah had changed and looked very uncomfortable in the tracksuits.

“We’ll ride in the back, out of sight,” Hep said. “Let’s get moving.”

Soon enough they arrived at the dirt road that led to the compound. Hep and Scroat hid themselves underneath a couple of tarps in the back of the van. Dan swallowed as they approached the gate.
A man in an orange and white jumpsuit came out of a small guard house, smiling and waving. He opened the gate and waved them through. Dan drove into the compound in disbelief. Was it really going to be that easy? His paranoia level rose higher, and he gripped the wheel harder, certain they were being led into a trap.

There was only one large building inside the fenced in area, so Dan drove the van up and parked it just outside a loading door.

“Now what do we do?” Dan whispered to Hep and Scroat, who were crawling out from under the tarps.

“Now you and Sarah bring us inside and tell someone we’re supposed to be put in with Pan, only you guys don’t know where that is,” Hep said.

“Are you crazy?” Sarah asked.

“Isn’t that pretty fucking obvious?” Scroat asked in return.

Dan and Sarah got out of the van, and opened the side door. Hep and Scroat let themselves be led out of the van and into the building. Inside, they were amazed at the open space in front of them. The building must have been a factory or warehouse before it’s new owners took over. Across the floor, on the other side of the building, they saw two men in orange and white tracksuits standing outside a door near the top of a flight of stairs. Dan and Sarah led Hep and Scroat over to the stairs, and up.

“Hi guys,” the taller of the two men said. He had nasty, tooth-shaped bruises on the sides of his nose.

“Hi fellas,” Dan said. “We were told to put these two in with Pan.”

Dan felt the sweat running down his back, and hoped he looked more calm than he felt. Sarah was doing everything she could to avoid hyperventilating, certain they were going to be killed any moment.

“Sure thing, guys,” the tall guard said.

Hep and Scroat glanced at each other. The second the smaller guard had unlocked and opened the door, Hep and Scroat grabbed the guards and kept them in headlocks, with one hand over their mouths to keep them from yelling for help.

“Pan, get out here,” Hep stage whispered. Pan came to the door, initially wary, then overjoyed. He stepped out on to the landing, and Hep and Scroat shoved the guards into the room, shutting the door and locking it. Hep pocketed the keys.

The five hustled down the stairs and back towards the car. They heard the guards pounding on the door of the room they were locked in, and hoped they could get out before anyone else came along and noticed them.

In a matter of seconds, they were back in the van. Dan quickly pulled away from the building, until Hep scolded him.

“Drive cool, Dan, we’re not in trouble yet,” Hep said.

Dan slowed the van, even though his heart was racing, and they approached the gate again. The same guard came out of his hut, opened the gate, and gave them a cheery wave.

They drove through the gate, and on towards freedom. Dan saw the guard closing the gate behind them.

“I can’t believe it was that easy,” Dan said.

“Fucking amateurs,” Scroat said and laughed.

“Nah, they’re just a bunch of rule-followers who would never expect a anyone to be a rule-breaker,” Hep said.

***

Hep, Scroat, Pan, Sarah and Dan were back at Hep’s house before anyone noticed Pan was missing at the compound.

After the embarrassed looking man in an orange and white tracksuit finished telling him the news, Tim had to take a moment to compose himself.

He turned back and smiled. “We’ve learned about a flaw in our design. This is a good thing. Thank you for telling me.”

The tracksuited goon hustled out of the room, amazed at how well Tim had taken the news.

In his office, Tim’s smile turned to a grimace. He was going to get his revenge. He was positive.

Chapter 4

2007-11-04T19:25:00.000-08:00

Hep, Scroat and Pan were at the grocery store. Hep had commented earlier, with only a little bit of annoyance, that it was ironic that he’d received hundreds of self-replenishing sacrifices, and yet he still needed to go to the grocery store for most of the staples of daily life.

Pushing the shopping cart back to the bikes, the three heard a voice behind them say, “Repent, the kingdom of God is at hand.” They turned around to see a smiling, scrawny guy wearing a red tracksuit and horn-rimmed glasses. Before they could reply, a non-descript white van with no rear windows screeched up and the side doors swung open. A group of eager, track-suited thugs jumped out and grabbed Hep, Scroat and Pan. Hep shook off the two who had grabbed him with ease, then pulled three others off of Scroat, who was struggling and cursing wildly.

Hep and Scroat turned to help Pan, but he had already been pulled into the van. The van spun it’s tires and several shoppers leapt out of the way as it careened its way out of the parking lot onto the road.

Their groceries had been scattered across the parking lot anyway, so Hep and Scroat ran straight to their bikes and roared off in the general direction the van had gone. They swerved through traffic, ignoring stop signs and traffic lights in their pursuit of the van.

Soon Hep spotted the van again. Within seconds, he and Scroat were directly behind the van. It lead them out into the desert, making no attempt to shake them. The van did not, however, stop. Soon it turned off of the highway onto a dirt road. The driver even used his turn signals.

In their desire to help Pan, it didn’t occur to Hep and Scroat that the van might be leading them somewhere they didn’t want to go.

The van turned off of the dirt road onto a gravel driveway. Hep and Scroat followed. Scroat had to slow down in the loose gravel, as his bike was set up for riding on pavement, not off-road. Hep kept rolling at the same speed (kicking up a ton of gravel which would have pissed Scroat off to no end in other situations), focused on the van.

Soon the van came to a gate in a high fence topped with barbed wire. The gate opened to let the van in. Hep saw the armed guards running to the gate and slammed on his brakes. He heard gunshots as he turned the handlebars hard to one side and grabbed as much throttle as he could. The trike’s motor screamed, and the fat rear tires sprayed gravel in a semi-circle as Hep whipped the machine around and started riding the other way.

Scroat saw Hep coming, and made his own u-turn. A bullet hit one of Scroat’s mirrors as he rode away, shattering the glass.

“Holy Fuck!” Scroat yelled, and screwed on the throttle, loose gravel be damned. He and Hep reached the dirt road and barely slowed down to make the turn. Scroat’s rear wheel lost traction and he turned into the skid to try and keep the bike from falling. He made it through the slide and, realizing he hadn’t crashed, yelled “Wahoo!”

They rode back to the highway, and turned towards home. After a few miles they reached a stop sign, and Hep and Scroat both turned around to see if anyone was following them. The road behind them was empty, so they paused for a minute.

“What the fuck just happened?” Scroat asked.

Before Hep could answer they heard the whack-whack-whack of a helicopter. Turning back to look behind them again, they saw the source of the sound, flying low over the road and approaching quickly.

“Fuck!” Scroat yelled. They turned to face the road again, and took off as quickly as they could. Hep knew they couldn’t actually outrun a helicopter, and he searched his memory for a place they could try and lose the helicopter, or throw it off their path.

Hep had a thought, and hoped it would work. They soon approached another dirt road on the right, and he braked hard and took the turn. Scroat followed, hoping that Hep knew what he was doing.

The helicopter followed them easily, staying just slightly behind them. The dirt road led to an abandoned farm with a rotting house and a steel barn. The big door on the barn was open, and Hep and Scroat rode straight into the barn, where they stopped. Hep dismounted and went to the door of the barn. He gave the helicopter a cheery wave, then pulled the door shut.

“What the fuck now, dipshit?” Scroat yelled. “We’re trapped in a barn for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah, that’s what they think too,” Hep said. “Check this out.”

He walked over to one of the many piles of junk on the floor and grabbed the rope handle of a crate on the bottom of the pile. They could still hear the helicopter hovering outside, but it didn’t sound like it was going to land. Hep pulled the handle, and the entire pile of old newspapers, soda and milk crates and other stuff shifted with him. An opening appeared in the floor.

“Well? Get in,” Hep said. Scroat gave Hep a suspicious look, then climbed down into the opening in the floor. Hep followed him, then pulled the sliding door over them shut again.
Hep flicked a switch in the dark, and they were able to see the space they were in for the first time. There were several cots, a sink and a toilet behind a shower curtain, as well as a hot plate with two burners. Hep expected that one could live in that room for a long time as long as there was a sufficient supply of food. There were also several head-sized openings in the ceiling.

Scroat poked his head into one of the openings and said, “Hey, I can see into the barn from here.”

Soon they heard the helicopter move away, and not long after that they heard other vehicles arrive outside. Hep turned off the lights again, and he and Scroat waited in the dark. The barn door opened with a shriek and a boom, and they heard the footsteps of several people stomping in the area over them.

A small amount of light was visible through each of the holes in the ceiling, and Hep and Scroat both moved to look out and see what was happening.

They saw eight or nine people wearing track suits looking around the barn with flashlights. Two of them were inspecting Hep and Scroat’s motorcycles.

One of the people searching for them stopped just in front of Hep, and scanned his flashlight over the debris in the area. Hep’s breath caught when the flashlight passed over the hole he was peering out and paused.

He waiting, certain he’d been spotted. Hep tried to come up with another plan that didn’t involve abandoning the bikes. He was pretty sure he and Scroat could fight off the eight guys in the barn, but he didn’t know how many were waiting outside.

The flashlight moved on, just as Hep’s panic had reached its unbearable peak. He tried not to exhale too loudly.

After about an hour, the men in the barn apparently gave up and left. Hep and Scroat heard a couple cars start, and drive away. Hep heard Scroat move to another of the holes in the ceiling.

“Hey, I can see the area in front of the big barn door. No one is out there.” Scroat whispered to Hep. He and Hep went to all of the holes then, looking to see if anyone had stayed behind to wait for them to try and leave the barn.

“I don’t see anybody, do you?” Scroat said.

“Nope,” Hep said.

He turned on the lights, and they both squinted as their eyes adjusted to the new brightness. Hep pulled the door overhead open again, and they both crawled out into the barn.

Scroat went over to the main barn door, still open, and peered out around one edge.

“There’s no one out there,” he said.

Hep and Scroat looked at each other.

“They’re idiots,” Hep said, and smiled. He went over to the bikes and sat down on a convenient milk crate. Scroat joined him.

“So what the hell is this place, Hep?” Scroat asked.

“I think illegal immigrants use it as a rest area on their way through the desert now,” Hep said. “It was also used in the past to run guns and drugs. It’s versatile.” He smiled.

They waited until dark, and then rolled the bikes outside. They rode quickly up the dirt road, hoping they’d blow past anyone out there waiting for them. They turned on to the main highway and rode home, wondering if anyone would be there to meet them.

Hep and Scroat stopped a short distance from their house, and walked on foot until they could see their home. It looked like they were alone, thankfully, so they hiked back to their motorcycles and rode the rest of the way to their house.

Inside, Scroat asked Hep, “Well, now what do we do?”

Hep looked at Scroat and said, “Now we try to find some help and get Pan the hell out of that place.”

“Who are we going to get to help us?” Scroat asked. “The A-Team?”

“I think I know exactly who can help us,” Hep said. He sat down at the kitchen table.

“What a fucked up day,” Hep said. “I need a beer.”

There was a thud outside, and then a bottle of beer crashed through the kitchen window. It landed on gently on the table in front of Hep. He looked at the new hole where the window used to be, then back at the beer.

“Fuck,” he said. “I really gotta watch what I say.”

Chapter 3

2007-11-03T18:25:00.000-07:00

Hep woke up to a sharp, stinging sensation on his left check. He became fully awake when he felt another sharp pain in his right cheek. He opened his eyes and saw Scroat pulling back to slap him again.

“I’m awake! I’m awake!” Hep said.

Scroat paused for a minute, then hit him anyways.

“What the fuck was that for?” Hep yelled, indignant.

“Take a look around, motherfucker, our house is full of weird trinkets, critters and other tokens of some one or other’s esteem. While you were passed out we must have had one hundred and thirty more sacrifices show up. We just started stacking them over by the door,” Scroat paused and pointed, “and then we thought that maybe we oughta wake you the fuck up and get you to stop this stuff from showing up.”

There was a popping noise, and an odd little statue of a muscular man with withered legs appeared. On closer inspection, it was apparent it had been carved out of apples, and shellacked.

“That’s my favorite sacrifice yet,” Scroat said. “Whoever carved it did a really good job of capturing the breadth and depth of your ugliness.”

Pan came into the living room then.

“Hey, you’re awake. You know, you gotta do something about this before you hit the big time. We won’t be able to keep up with all the shit people are sending you,” he said.

“What do you gentlemen propose I do, then?” Hep asked.

“I say you go find the guy whose deck you finished and tell him to get all his new little followers to knock it off. After a divine deck intervention such as the one you gave him, I’m sure having an ancient greek god, thought to be nothing more than a myth by most of the world, show up for tea and conversation will hardly freak him out at all.” Pan said.

“Why do you think he has followers?” Hep asked.

“Because anytime any person has a miraculous experience, there are a bunch of people lined up to bask in the glory of his or her holiness. And, in this case, to have beers on his divine deck and maybe grill up some holy burgers,” Pan answered.

Hep figured it wouldn’t hurt to try, so he got up and prepared himself for the trip by grabbing his walking staff out of the hall closet and changing into a more appropriate t-shirt. He didn’t know what this Dan fellow would do if a god appeared to him wearing a White Castle t-shirt.

There was another popping sound, and he heard Scroat say, “Hey, anybody want some pizza?”

With that, Hep began to concentrate on Dan. The sounds of the house faded away, and he felt a lightness or weightlessness, then a squeezing sensation. It had been a while since he had traveled by thought, but it had also been a while since he needed to take immediate action.

Hep opened his eyes, and saw a portly man in his mid-thirties. He had light brown hair and a peculiar facial expression that let Hep know that Dan had, in fact, shit his pagan pants. Hep looked around at the room. Apart from all the sacrifices piled up – apparently they’d all followed Hep, he’d have to work out that problem later – it was an ordinary living room. There were quite a few books, a small tv, and now a menagerie of sacrificial animals and tokens.

“How’s that deck working out for you, Dan?” Hep asked, conversationally.

Dan stammered and stuttered, but couldn’t actually form a coherent sentence.

“Ah, you must be confused about who I am. My name is Hephaestus. You might know a little bit about me. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Hep said and held out his hand.

Dan blinked several times, remembered his manners and shook Hep’s hand.

“P-p-pleasure,” he said.

“Dan, I’m here because you had to go and tell everyone about your deck. I helped you out because, really, I haven’t had much to do for the last couple thousand years, at least in terms of dealing with you people. But now I’ve got far too many people sending me stuff and asking me for things and generally being a pain in my ass. It needs to stop, before my roommate freaks out. If many more sacrifices show up, he might actually draw a line down the middle of the house and tell me to stay on my side.” Hep said.

Dan stared at Hep. He reached out and poked Hep’s arm, then drew his arm back as though he’d touched something hot.

Hep looked at him like he was a complete idiot.

“Let me simplify my request for you. No. More. Sacrifices. Dig?”

Dan nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, but then there was a loud POP. Dan jumped back. Hep looked down at his feet and saw a sandwich bag stuffed full of something green. He picked the bag up, smelled it, and laughed. Dan looked simultaneously confused and curious, and Hep held the bag out to him.

“You want some divine bud?” Hep asked.

***

Sarah had come over to Dan’s house to run some new ideas for their next ritual by him. When she arrived at his house, she was surprised to hear bluegrass playing inside at what must have been an ear splitting volume level. She knocked on the door and rang the doorbell several times before she realized she’d have to wait until a break in the music.

As soon as the last notes of the song died away, she started pounding on the door and ringing the doorbell at the same time. Just to make sure Dan would notice.

The music started up again a second later, but the volume was drastically reduced only a few seconds into the song. Through the window, she saw Dan coming to the door, watching his fingers wiggle in front of his face. She heard him unlock the deadbolt, and Dan opened the door. A strong smell of burnt leaves nearly overpowered her.

“Do you think banjo players spend the whole day wiggling their fingers to get ready to play?” Dan asked her.

“Um, I never thought about it, Dan,” Sarah replied.

“I bet they do,” Dan said. “I wonder if the vibrations make their belt buckles ticklish.”

Sarah looked closely at Dan and noticed his eyes, normally half-lidded anyway, were bloodshot to an incredible degree. As they walked into Dan’s living room, she saw a sandwich bag with a few clusters of green leaves inside. She smelled the bag and looked closely at the contents “There’s not much here. Did you smoke all this?”

Dan tried to look innocent, then coughed and started giggling.
“It was a divine gift, to me. I couldn’t refuse it,” Dan said. “Hephaestus came and asked me to get everyone to stop sacrificing to him, because the sacrifices were annoying his roommate. I’ve spent the whole afternoon on the internet in forums telling everyone to stop bugging Hephaestus for stuff. Do you realize what this means?”

He started getting into a one-sided discussion that was half theological theory and half stoner mysticism. Sarah was still trying to decide whether Dan had gone nuts or not. A god appearing and giving him a huge bag of weed? It seemed unlikely at best.

Sarah noticed Dan had stopped talking to her, and was now staring at her with a comically solemn look on his face.

“I could totally go for a pizza right now,” Dan said. Then he resumed speculating on the nature of the divine and whether Scooby Snacks were a stand-in for manna.

“Stop,” Sarah said. “Hephaestus, the god, came here?”

Dan looked at her as though she were a simple child. “Yes, I told you that already.”

“You mean he was here in the flesh, not just a hallucination or a vision?” Sarah asked.

“Yes, I told you that already. He came, asked us not to sacrifice any more stuff to him, and gave me this glorious herb.” Dan said as he held the baggie aloft as though it were a priceless relic.

“And I poked his arm, just to make sure he was real. He was. Really real.” Dan said.

“Well, what did he look like?” Sarah asked.

Dan paused as if trying to come up with a way to explain the divine.

“He was one ugly son of a bitch,” Dan said.

***

Hephaestus thought his talk with Dan had gone pretty well. The number of sacrifices popping up around him had decreased drastically as the day went on. Now he just had to figure out what the hell to do with all the sacrifices he’d already received. He’d tried drinking the beer and eating the food he’d been given, but the second he was finished consuming something, it would reappear, whole and as if he’d never touched it.

He had to admit, he liked having a never ending supply of frosty cold beer.

The real problem was that all these things followed him around. He’d leave a room, and when he turned around there were a multitude of animals, food and things there right behind him.

Having consumed a lot of beer that afternoon, he eventually had to use the toilet. As soon as he walked in to the small bathroom, of course, everything tried to follow him in. The animals and sculptures jostled for a place in the bathroom, and soon Hep barely had room to unzip his pants.

In frustration he yelled, “Everyone out of here!! Stay in the damn living room and quit following me, will ya?”

To his amazement, all the sacrifices did exactly as he said. Hep had an idea.

He flushed the toilet and went back into the living room. Once there, he looked around and said “Everyone, follow me to the garage.”

He led all the sacrifices outside, and opened the garage. Hep said “Everyone remain absolutely still.”

He went back into the house and brought Pan and Scroat out to the garage.

“Help me stack this stuff,” Hep said to them. The three of them set to work organizing and storing the various sacrifices.

“Scroat, you know better than to try and stack a goat on top of a chicken,” Hep said. “Use your head.”

Soon they were done and the back wall of the garage looked like some kind of bizarre modern art, or a landfill, with the odd animal leg or head sticking out here and there among the boxes and carvings.

Hep admired his solution for a moment, and then the three of them went back into the house.

Sitting in the living room, Hep said, “Shoot, I should have kept the beer in here. I could sure use a frosty bottle of suds.”

Seconds later, they heard a thump outside, and a bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon smashed through one of the windows in the living room, sending glass flying all over the carpet. The beer landed on the end table next to Hep, and the cap popped off on it’s own. Hep picked up the beer, looked at it, looked at the window and went outside without a word. Pan and Scroat followed him.

Hep stopped in front of the garage. In the door was a beer sized hole.

“I guess I need to watch what I wish for,” Hep said.

***

Tim was practically bursting with joy. The last talk had gone amazingly well, and a few hundred people more than anticipated had come to hear him. People had been standing in the aisles. The organization now had several dozen new members thinking positively and ready to help him achieve his goals.

What’s more, he’d been able to get the word out about his desire to find Pan, without giving away his intentions (there would be time for that later) , and he had the entire organization primed and ready to act if one of the members should spot Pan.

Tim had promised a sizeable reward for helping him find Pan, so he expected one of the commando vans would arrive with the slippery devil bound in the back rather quickly.

Tim sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. Yes, thing work working out very well, as he knew they would. He was mildly surprised at how quickly his organization was growing, but really, how could it be anything but a success. He gave people hope, happiness, and a sense of power over their own destiny.

Of course, their destinies would involve helping the organization in any which ever way they were best suited, but he didn’t expect too much trouble from any of them. Things would work out. They always did.

Someone knocked at his office door. Tim was feeling particularly energetic, so he hopped out of his chair and walked to the door to open it.

Outside was a young woman in a green track suit. She was carrying a large pile of old books.

“Here’s everything I could find at the library, sir,” she said.

“Ah, perfect. Thank you, Beth,” Tim said.

Beth shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Talking to Tim simultaneously thrilled and terrified her.

“What do you want with all those old religious texts?” she asked. “You told us that religion was for the weak-minded, and they were just control systems to keep people from living up to their full potential.”

Tim smiled at her, “Just a bit of light reading, dear. We don’t have to believe in witches and trolls to enjoy the fairy tales.”

Beth smiled back. “I see. Bye!” She turned and walked down the hall.

“Bye, dear,” Tim said. He closed the door and stopped smiling. He’d have to start taking care of gathering materials for his private research on his own, he decided.

He took the books over to his desk and sat down. He looked at the titles briefly then picked up the book on top, a narrow volume bound in green leather, and began reading.

He stayed in his office for the rest of the night.

Chapter 2

2007-11-02T17:14:00.000-07:00

In a small, grassy clearing in the middle of a heavily wooded forest, a group of pagans gathered to perform another ritual. One of the pagans, the one wearing the mask, carried burlap bag that made clucking sounds and wiggled around every so often. The others carried firewood, matches and a case of beer.

They built a bonfire in the center of the clearing, and the masked pagan lit a bundle of sage, cedar and sweetgrass. He carried the smoking bundle to the North, East, South and West points around the fire, then passed it over himself. He then gave the bundle to one of the other pagans, who passed it over herself and gave it to the next member of the group.

One of the pagans, a wiry guy with dark hair, watched all of this with a bemused detachment.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” he asked.

“We’re purifying the area and ourselves,” replied the masked pagan.

“I didn’t know smudging was a Greek practice,” the first pagan said. “I thought it was more of a new-age, crystal magic sort of thing.”

“We’re trying to have a spiritual experience here, not recreate the Greek religious practices,” the group leader said.

“Well, all I’m saying is that if I’d known we were just going to incorporate a bunch of goofy Wiccan ‘I’m ok, you’re ok, the Gods are ok, let’s all be happy tree friends’ bullshit into our rituals, I’d have stayed home and played Dungeons & Dragons,” said the first pagan.

The rest of the group was now glaring at the first pagan.

“What?” he said. Then he smudged himself, solely for the sake of being a good sport, and gave the smudge stick back to the leader of the group. The masked pagan then tossed the smudge stick into the bonfire and began his chants.

Soon the masked pagan picked up the burlap bag and pulled a live chicken out by it’s neck. The chicken struggled a bit as the pagan lifted it above his head with both hands as he chanted. Suddenly, he cast the live chicken into the bonfire.

“Dude, that’s just fucked up!” the wiry pagan yelled. Before anyone could reply, the chicken, which was now making terrible noises, jumped back out of the bonfire. The flying, flaming hen narrowly missed one of the pagans, landed and bolted.

Another one of the pagans, this one a stocky blond fellow, extrapolated the chicken’s destination and yelled, “Shit! It’s headed for my uncle’s cabin. I left all the doors open on our way out here. Catch it!”

Several of the group, including the wiry pagan, took off after the burning chicken. Fortunately for the pagan’s uncle’s cabin, the bird expired well before reaching the closest door. Two of the pagans stayed with the flaming, dead bird to make sure the fire didn’t spread, while the rest when back to the bonfire.

“Ok, we deserve a beer after that debacle,” the wiry pagan said. They reached the bonfire, and he looked around for the case of beer they’d brought.

“Hey, what happened to the beer?” he asked.

“We sacrificed it,” the masked pagan answered.

“You dick!”

***

Hep opened the heavily secured door and entered the dark space inside. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw darkly-dressed figures moving about. The room smelled like paper and ink, and he heard the low murmur of voices in private discussion. He approached one of the dark figures. It turned to Hep and smiled.

“How may I help you today?” asked the banker.

“I need to make a large withdrawal,” Hep answered.

“One of our tellers right over there,” the figure pointed in the direction of a large counter, “can help you with that. Have a great day.”

“Thanks,” Hep said.

As the teller counted out the cash, five thousand dollars in twenties, Hep heard a loud “POP.” The teller quickly looked up to see what the source of the noise was, worried he was about to be robbed.

Standing slightly behind and to the left of Hep was a very confused chicken. The chicken spotted Hep, walked forward and stood directly next to him. It made small cooing and tuck-tuck noises.

“Sir, animals are not allowed inside this establishment,” the teller said to Hep.

Hep looked down at the chicken and sternly told it to behave itself while they were in the bank. The chicken clucked its agreement.

“See? No problem,” Hep said to the teller. “We’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

Then there was another loud “POP” and a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon appeared in the same spot as the chicken.

“Sir, this is not an appropriate time or place for prestidigitation,” the now-annoyed banker told Hep.

“Aw, come on, who doesn’t have time for a magically appearing case of beer?” Hep asked.

The teller finished counting the cash, which Hep stuffed into an inner pocket in his jacket. He took the receipt from the silent teller and turned to leave.

“Come on, guys,” Hep said to the chicken and beer, both of which dutifully followed him out of the bank.

The teller decided that it was time to use up what was left of his vacation time.

Outside, Hep strapped the beer to his trike with a few bungee cords, then picked up the chicken and got on the bike. He put the chicken down on the seat in front of him, and told it to hang on. Then he started the motor and rolled away from the bank, headed back to the house where Scroat and Pan were waiting.

The chicken found the ride absolutely terrifying, and held on for all it was worth. The case of Pabst Blue Ribbon, on the other hand, had never had so much fun. Back in the garage, Hep unstrapped the beer and walked inside. The chicken followed two steps behind him.

“Hey Hep, did you know you’ve got a chicken following you?” Scroat asked.

***

If one had to describe Tim using only one word, that word would be “positive.” Tim was positive in every aspect of his life. He dressed carefully every day to project a positive image. He spent his free time coming up with new ways to think positively. Setbacks never bothered him, because he was positive things would work out in his favor. Indeed, his friends and followers had never seen him react in a less-than positive manner, even after one of them accidentally backed over Tim’s dog with the commando van. Tim’s positive attitude could make even the sunniest self-help lecturer feel that maybe they weren’t as positive as they thought.

Tim was positive that his destiny was to rule the world. Forever.

He had no trouble gathering followers because he was so certain about everything he said. Tim had started his movement in a cheap store-front. He told the people he’d gathered about how they were going to make the world a better place, that he had a plan that would eliminate misery, poverty, and sickness. That he would lead them to a new world of equality, prosperity and brother- (and sister) –hood.

At the ends of his sermons - no, talks – some people would leave, convinced he was insane. Many others, however, stayed. Soon he had a large group riding on the Tim Train, and he began suggesting new ways for them to think and act.

Before long, the new followers were also masters of positive thinking, Tim-style.

Today, Tim was going to address his largest crowd yet, teaching them the power of positivity. Over three hundred people were expected. He’d had to clean out the rest of the chairs and other furniture from the old store front early the day before in order for everyone to have a chair in the new space.

It was for the best, really. Tim didn’t want his furniture to absorb the nasty electrical smell that had permeated the building after his last experiment. The experiment had been a resounding success, though the odor was an unexpected side-effect. He had some of his sharpest followers working to figure out a way to eliminate that little problem.

Tim was positive they could figure it out. In the mean time, perhaps they’d continue the experiments outdoors. After all, clinical conditions were hardly required.
Someone knocked on his office door.

“Come in,” Tim called. He smiled a sunny, welcoming smile.

A muscular, cheerful looking man in an orange and white tracksuit walked through the door. He hadn’t been in Tim’s office before, and hesitated as he looked around the room. There were enough stuffed and mounted animal heads on the walls to put Ernest Hemingway to shame. Tim’s desk was made of dark wood, intricately carved. The carvings were difficult to see, but they made the follower vaguely uncomfortable. In front of the desk was a solitary chair. Along the wall, under an alligator head, was another chair, and next to it a strange device the follower hadn’t seen, but had been told about by another who’d witnessed its operation.

“Steve, isn’t it?” Tim asked. Steve nodded, and smiled.

Tim closed the book he’d been reading (“Kill It and Grill It,” by Ted Nugent), and put it down on his desk.

“Please, sit down. How are things progressing with our, shall we say, runaway?” Tim asked Steve.

“He was seen with two other guys at the store-front yesterday,” Steve said. “They went inside for a few minutes, then left in a hurry. There were only two of us, and we’d been told the runaway was, you know, strong, so we didn’t follow them.”

Tim sat back in his chair and smiled wider. “So he has friends nearby. Good. Good! This is fantastic news. Thank you, Steve.”

Tim picked up his book again and resumed reading. Steve took the hint, and left the office. Once he’d closed the door behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief, then felt guilty for his lack of positivity, then chastised himself for feeling guilty, and decided he positively needed a stiff drink. He confidently walked to the nearest bar and ordered a double Jack Daniels without a trace of doubt.

Tim, meanwhile, made a few notes next to a recipe for wild boar, then closed the book, straightened his tie, checked his hair and smile in a mirror, and left his office. There was much to do before his talk tonight.

***

Pan woke up around noon, and once he was conscious enough to realize he was alone in Hep’s living room, he got out of bed, stretched and went looking for some company.

He found Hep and Scroat in the kitchen, drinking coffee. Pan helped himself to a cup of coffee, then pulled up a chair at the battered wooden table. Sitting on the table were the fruit basket and case of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Strutting around on the kitchen floor was a plump, somewhat wind blown chicken. Wheels and gears slowly started to turn again in Pan’s mind, and the oddity of the kitchen contents became apparent to him.

“Hep,” Pan paused to take a sip of coffee, “what’s the deal with the chicken, beer and fruit? Is this your version of the breakfast of champions?”

“No. They’ve just appeared out of nowhere. The beer and chicken showed up while I was at the bank today.” Hep said.

“Sounds like you’ve got some new admirers,” Pan said.

“Yeah, though I don’t know how the case of beer found out about me. I didn’t know they were intelligent,” Hep paused. “I guess I’m not surprised, though. Beer is divine.”

Pan rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you get a weird feeling before they showed up? Maybe like someone wanted something? Maybe you just got a strong image of a person or place in your head?”

“Nope,” Hep said. “Just ‘POP’ and then something weird shows up out of nowhere.”

Pan started laughing. His laughter grew in intensity until his face was inches away from the table. He started pounding on the table with one fist as he laughed. He laughed so hard that his bruised and cuts started to ache.

“What the fuck is so funny?” Scroat asked.

Pan finally calmed down a bit and sat up again. He wiped tears from his eyes and saw Hep and Scroat staring at him, baffled.

“They’re doing it wrong!” he said, and started to laugh again.

“Doing what wrong?” Hep asked.

“Sacrifices, you dumb bastard. These are sacrifices. To you. Don’t you remember?” Pan asked.

Hep thought about the old days, and remembered the sacrifices. Mainly, he’d gotten cakes of wheat back then. He couldn’t recall ever getting a chicken, especially when he was in the middle of something. Sacrifices were part of big rituals, and he’d always had plenty of warning so he could make room. People didn’t just sacrifice stuff for giggles.

“You’re confused because the dumb shit newbie pagans are doing it wrong. They aren’t asking for anything. They aren’t giving thanks. I don’t know how they expect you to show them favor when they didn’t even bother to tell you who sent the gift or what they want in return,” Pan said.

Scroat said, seriously, “Maybe they think you’re omniscient,” and then he and Pan both broke out laughing.

Pan started to sing “Hep sees you when you’re sleeping / Hep knows when you’re awake / Hep knows if you’ve been bad or good / so be good for goodness sake!”

Scroat joined in “Oh, you’d better watch out / you’d better not cry / you’d better not pout I’m telling you why”

Scroat and Pan barely made it through the final line of the song without laughing, “Hephaestus is coming TO TOWN!!”

Hep smiled, slightly, and said, “Fuck you guys.”

Pan and Scroat had finally managed to settle down when there was a loud POP and a tin full of cookies and a carton of milk appeared on the table. Pan and Scroat started laughing hysterically and this new development. Even Hep had to smile at the coincidence.

***

“Man, I’m telling you that we’re doing something wrong,” the wiry pagan said as he reached for another slice of pizza.

“Ok, just to humor you for a second, why do you think we’re doing something wrong, Chris?” the leader of the pagan group asked.

Chris finished chewing and said, “Because I’m not getting any spooky vibes at all, apart from the serious case of the creeps you gave me when you threw a live chicken on the fire, Dan. That was seriously fucked, you know,” he took a sip of beer before continuing.

“I’d expect some kind of divine feedback, even if it was just a weird feeling,” Chris said. “I feel like we’re just watching stuff burn and chanting.”

“What do you suggest we do differently?” asked Sarah. She was new to the group and called herself an “Experimental Theologian.” The sacrifices had been her idea.

“I don’t know. Maybe we should try asking for something, just to see if our calls are even going through. So to speak,” Chris said.

“What do you propose we ask for, then?” Dan asked.

“I don’t know. Rain is out, we got rained on when we weren’t doing it right. What would you ask a master craftsman for?” Chris said.

“Dune buggies,” chimed in one of the other pagans. The group laughed, except for Dan.
“I’m not about to ask Hephaestus to give us all dune buggies.” Dan said, sharply.

“Why don’t you ask for help finishing your deck?” Sarah suggested. Dan had started, and then abandoned, building a deck off the second story of his house. Right now the deck consisted of several ten foot tall four by fours cemented into the ground and a stairway that lead to a ten foot drop.

Dan took a breath to argue, and then realized it was a good suggestion. He definitely needed help if he was going to finish that damn deck.

***

Hep sat reading on the couch. The chicken had perched on his shoulder, much to the delight of Pan and Scroat. For Hep’s part, he was mainly glad that sacrificed animals don’t poop in their new incarnation.

As he read, he started to feel a little funky. Then the words started to get wavy on the page. He looked up, and saw the room undulating, before it faded to black.

“Hephaestus, please help me finish building my deck,” a voice said. Hep had a strong sense of where this person was, and where his deck was. Soon, he could see a guy in a white robe with a mask on that looked kind of like the awkward spawn of an aardvark and an oak tree.

What the fuck? Hep thought, and then the world returned to normal. He’d dropped his book, and Pan and Scroat were both looking at him. They heard a ‘POP’ and a combo meal from a fast food restaurant appeared in the middle of the living room.

“Well, what do they want? Did they ask for something?” Pan asked Hep.

“Some guy in a weird mask asked me to help him finish building his deck,” Hep said, still bewildered.

“Well, I guess that beats helping some guy you don’t know move to a new apartment,” Scroat said. “So are you going to help him?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Hep said. “I don’t know what I can do, though.”

***

The next morning, Dan walked past his bedroom window, then stopped and went back to look out again. His deck was entirely finished. He dropped the cup of tea he had been carrying.

“How the fuck did that happen?” Dan asked out loud. Then he realized what his newly-completed deck meant, and fell down from the shock.

***

“You did what?” Pan asked after Hep told him he’d finished Dan’s deck for him.

“I don’t see the problem,” Hep said.

“The problem is that you’re just supposed to ease the path. Maybe have a licensed contractor get a flat tire and stop at his house for help. Something like that. You don’t finish the deck for them, though. Do you have any idea how much trouble you just caused yourself? Just wait until his friends find out and everyone starts asking you for stuff. You gotta leave yourself an out, man,” Pan said.

Hep didn’t hear the end of Pan’s rant, however, because the room had gone dark. He faintly heard several popping sounds in the distance, and Scroat yelling “Sweet cornucopia of fucking shit! Hep, you gotta do something about this.”

Chapter 1

2007-11-01T20:44:00.000-07:00

The problem with dead bodies is that they are rather difficult to ignore. A dead body that fell from the sky and landed on the sidewalk is even harder to ignore. The dead body of a close personal friend that fell from the sky and landed on the sidewalk, blocking the path from front door to mailbox is damn near impossible to ignore.

All the same, Hep did his best to ignore the body of his friend that had inexplicably fallen from the sky and landed on his sidewalk as he was walking to get his mail. After nearly 2000 years bumming around on this planet, Hep tried not to deal with anything until he’d finished his coffee.

He carefully walked around his friend’s broken body – stepping over it would be disrespectful – and checked his mail. There was no mail apart from a colorful advertisement from a tobacco company. He shuffled back up the sidewalk towards the house, around the body blocking the sidewalk and through the front door.

The churning and bubbling he heard in the kitchen meant that caffeination was imminent. Hep’s mood improved a bit. He grabbed his favorite mug – it read “What Would the Flying Spaghetti Monster Do?” – and poured himself a cup of coffee.

Hep took his coffee and shuffled back outside, and stood on the sidewalk looking down at his friend’s body splayed out in front of him.

“What the hell were you doing up in the air here in Arizona, Bacchus?” Hep asked the body.

Bacchus, or more accurately, his body, didn’t answer.

Hep finished his coffee and went back inside. He was going to need his roommate’s help cleaning up the sidewalk.

On his way to wake up Scroat, he grabbed his favorite hammer. He crept into Scroat’s room, positioned himself next to the bed, raised his hammer and slammed it down on to the bed next to Scroat’s head.

“You shit-snacking son of a rabid donkey hooker!” Scroat yelled as he jerked awake. “Couldn’t you just turn the light on or something? That would wake me up too, you know.”

“No it wouldn’t. You sleep right through it. Get up, I need your help cleaning up the sidewalk,” Hep said.

“What’s wrong with the side walk?” Scroat asked as he tried to decide which dirty t-shirt could stand another day’s wear.

“You’ll see,” Hep said, and left the room.

Ten minutes later, Hep and Scroat stood together on the sidewalk, looking down at Bacchus’ body.

“What the hell was he doing up in the air here in Arizona?” Scroat asked.

“I don’t know. After we get this mess cleaned up we’ll have to ask him.” Hep replied.

Hep grabbed Bacchus’ legs, Scroat grabbed his arms, and the two of them dragged the body around to the back of the house. They scrounged for materials, built a pyre and put Bacchus on top of it. Then, with relatively little fanfare, Hep struck a match and touched it to the kindling. Soon the fire was roaring and Hep and Scroat had to stand back from the heat.

“You think he’d mind if I toasted marshmallows over him?” Scroat asked Hep.

“Nah, he’d probably be all for it, but we don’t have any marshmallows.” Hep answered.

“Damn,” Scroat said.

The two of them stood and watched Bacchus burn until all that was left was a pile of smoking ashes. This actually happened fairly quickly, as due to some fluke of creation, gods burn fast.

Hep and Scroat went back inside after completely soaking what was left of the pyre with the garden hose. Hep picked up the phone, dialed, spoke to someone briefly in a language Scroat didn’t know (Greek, as it were), and hung up the phone again.

“Who were you calling?” Scroat asked.

“A friend in the old country. I told him Bacchus should be back there shortly, and to have him give me a call when he turns up.” Hep said. He walked into the living room, sat down and started to read.

He waited. And waited. And the call never came. Hep decided that Bacchus must have arrived back home still drunk, and probably confused about how he got there. He couldn’t wait to hear the story explaining how it was that Bacchus had fallen out of the sky and landed, dead, on his sidewalk.

After spending a few hours waiting for the phone to ring, Hep decided that he might as well spend the time doing something productive, so he went out to the garage to tinker on his motorcycle for a while.

Like all of his motorcycles, Hep had built this one himself. It was probably the meanest looking trike ever. Black, no chrome, 15 inch wide rear wheels and a 1800cc motor, this was a bike that said “don’t fuck with me.”

His previous bike had been a side-car rig. Hep had liked it just fine, though he got tired of carrying passengers around. Also, most of the joy he received from the bikes was in building them, so he changed rides fairly often.

The only common theme between all the bikes he’d built was that they all had three wheels. Hep had bad legs (his mother has cast him out of Olympus and down to earth when he was a baby, after all), and had difficulty holding up a standard, two-wheeled motorcycle.

Hep didn’t really need to do any more work on the new trike, so he mostly just checked and rechecked the tightness of the bolts, and contemplated possible ways to route the wiring to better conceal it. He was happy to have something to do with his hands. It kept him from thinking too much about the new oddity he’d encountered that morning.

And why the hell hadn’t Bacchus called him yet, anyway? After he and Scroat had burned the body, Bacchus should have popped up back in Rome instantly. A little confused, maybe. A little drunk, probably. But otherwise he’d be good as new and fully capable of picking up a damn phone and calling.

After Hep had fiddled, adjusted and otherwise monkeyed with every bolt on the bike, he realized that he wasn’t actually doing anything productive. So, he put his tools away, rolled the bike back out of the garage and fired it up. The motor caught and barked to life before settling down to a contented burble. He swung a leg over the seat and sat there mindlessly revving the motor for several minutes. The nearest neighbor lived half a mile away, otherwise he would have been too embarrassed to spend several minutes stationary in the driveway making a huge racket.

Hep decided that a quick ride would help him clear his mind. He shifted the trike into gear and was about to pull out of the driveway when the motor backfired, sputtered and died. Hep looked down at the bike in honest wonder.

“What the fuck?” he asked.

He thumbed the starter button, and heard the starter motor whine, but the motor never caught. Hep got off the trike, and pushed it back into the garage. He hauled out his tools again with a silly grin on his face. Now he had something to fix!

He set to work and soon enough was whistling and happily wrenching. Hep quickly became so engrossed in his work that he didn’t notice the time passing, or the sun setting.

***

A group of pagans were gathered around the firepit in a public campground. They had reserved several neighboring campsites to make sure they wouldn’t be disturbed by other campers. They had learned through hard experience that nothing freaked out a group of normal folks like stumbling upon a bunch of people in white robes chanting in a circle around a bonfire. Particularly when one of them is wearing a ceremonial mask that looks like a cross between a tree and an Aardvark.

“I don’t think we’re doing this right,” one of the pagans said.

“Yeah? Well, why don’t you go and bring us back a religious leader from pre-Christian times to explain how we’re supposed to be doing it?” replied another.

“I just don’t think we’re doing this right,” said the first pagan. “It seems too simple.”

“Well, none of the other stuff we’ve tried has had any effect. Maybe we were over-thinking our rituals. Besides, I like burning things,” said the pagan in the Tree-vark mask.

The masked pagan stooped down and picked up a wicker basket full of fruit and held it over his head.

“I dedi…” he began.

“Is that a wicker basket?” asked the first pagan. “Man, is that some kind of tribute to The Wicker Man? Because that wasn’t really a good enough movie to base religious activities on. You might try reading a book, or something.”

“Shut up,” the masked pagan snapped. He began again, “I dedicate this sacrifice to Hephaestus…”

“You mean ‘this basket of assorted fruit I got at Costco,’ right?” interrupted the first pagan again.

Under his mask, the pagan rolled his eyes, and refrained from further comment. He threw the basket on to the bonfire and began chanting. One by one the other pagans in the group took up the chant as well.

When the sacrifice had been entirely consumed by the fire, there was a flash of lightning, and suddenly rain began to pour down on them. The fire hissed and spat, and the pagans ran for cover under the nearby gazebo.

“I knew we weren’t doing it right,” said the first pagan.

The masked pagan punched him. Sometimes, it just doesn’t pay to argue.

***

Hep thought he just about had the problem with his trike fixed. He’d turned to grab a pair of locking pliers from his toolbox when he heard a loud “POP” behind him. He started, and turned around to see what the source of the noise was, expecting to see that something had fallen across the terminals of the battery. Instead, he saw a wicker basket full of assorted fruit perched on the seat of his trike. There was a slightly scorched Costco label still attached near the bottom of the basket.

“What the fuck?” Hep asked.

Just then, he heard the phone ringing in the house. He got up and hustled inside. He left the fruit basket sitting on the trike for now.

Hep got inside just in time to hear Scroat say “Yeah, one second, I’ll go get him.”

Scroat put the phone down and turned around to face Hep.

“Hey Hep, there is some guy with terrible fucking English on the phone for you. Um, what’s with the fruit basket?” Scroat asked.

Hep turned to see what Scroat was looking at, and was surprised to see the fruit basket just behind him on the floor.

“Um, I don’t know yet. It just appeared” Hep said.

He picked up the phone and spoke a bit, but mostly listened. Scroat stayed in the room, waiting to hear what had happened to Bacchus. Hep hung up the phone. He turned to Scroat and leaned against the wall.

“Bacchus never showed up back in Rome.” Hep said.

“You mean he’s really gone?” Scroat asked. “What the fuck happened? A fall like that should not have really killed him. He should have been on a plane back here by now.”

Hep shrugged and sat down. He looked over and saw the fruit basket on the end table next to him. He regarded the basket of fruit. The basket of fruit, seemingly, regarded him.

“I have no idea what happened to Bacchus. And now I’m being stalked by a fruit basket. This has been one long and fucked up day.” Hep said.

He settled back in the chair, reached over to the basket and grabbed an apple. He looked it over carefully, and it seemed like it was ok. He bit into the apple and was disappointed to find it was mealy and dry. He tossed the apple into a wastebasket.

“Why does it have to be a cheap fruit basket stalking me?” Hep asked.

***

Pan ran through the desert as fast as his legs could carry him. The only light came from the moon, and Pan stumbled frequently over obstacles in the dark. He was bruised and bloody, and very aware he was still alive. He couldn’t say the same for his friend Bacchus.

When the track-suited thugs jumped Pan and Bacchus, the pair had been three days into a five day party. Needless to say, the assault had ended the party early. The thugs attacked around five in the morning, dragged them into a van and took them to what looked like a store-front church. There were more sparkly-eyed goons in tracksuits waiting for them in the back room. There was also a small blonde man in a dark grey suit standing next to a strange device of some sort.

Pan knew right away that they didn’t want to know what that device did.

Pan and Bacchus managed to fight off the goons enough to start running, but Bacchus just wasn’t quick enough to get away. Pan went back to try and get Bacchus out, but the goons had already dragged him back into the church. Pan heard a horrifying wail, and sudden silence.

He bolted.

Now he was focused on getting to Hep and Scroat’s house, since they were the only friends he had in the area. Pan didn’t know if there were any other gods living in the area, but he had to at least get Hep and Scroat out of the range of the track-suited freaks before they were attacked as well.

Pan reached Hep’s house shortly after the sun rose the next day. He hustled up the sidewalk (where, unknown to him, Bacchus had landed earlier the day before) and pounded on the front door of the house.

Hep had been asleep and dreaming of his forge. He jumped awake when he heard the pounding at the front door. It was too early for a friendly unannounced visitor. Hep grabbed his hammer and cautiously approached the door.

“Who is it?” Hep asked through the door.

“It’s Pan. Let me in, Hep,” Pan answered.

Hep opened the door and was shocked to see his friend in such rough shape. “Come in, come in!” he exclaimed.

Pan walked in, and collapsed into the closest chair.

“They killed Bacchus, those bastards,” he said. “They tried to catch us both, but I got away.”

Pan looked at Hep with grief-filled eyes. “I tried to save him, I really did, but they killed him before I could get there.”
Hep sat down in a chair across from Pan. “Who killed Bacchus, Pan?”

“I don’t know who they were. I’d never seen them before. A bunch of blissed-out freaks wearing matching tracksuits.” Pan said. “I thought that tracksuit thing was just a joke, man.”

Hep leaned back in his chair. “Can you remember how to get back to where they took you?”

“I think so,” Pan said.

Hep immediately got up and walked down the hallway to the back of the house. Shortly after, Pan heard Scroat screaming curses at Hep. Moments later they both came into the living room where Pan was sitting.

“Let’s go.” Hep said.

They went to the garage and brought out Hep and Scroat’s bikes.

“Get on,” Hep said to Pan. Seconds later they were roaring down the dirt road that led to the town, and the main roads.

A couple hours later they arrived at the strip-mall where the goons brought Pan and Bacchus.

“It was there” Pan said, and pointed to an abandoned looking store front.

Hep grabbed the door handle and pulled, hard. To his surprise, the door opened easily, and he nearly fell over backwards. The three went inside. There was nothing in the main room, not even a folding chair. Pan led them to the back room, which was also empty. There was a sickening electric smell in the air. Since there was nothing to see, they left the building.

“They must have known we’d come back,” Pan said.

“That, or they just wanted an out of the way place to try out their new toy.” Hep said.

“Well what the fuck do we do now?” Scroat asked.

“Well, there’s no reason to hang around here,” Hep said. “I guess we might as well go home again until we come up with a better plan. Keep your eyes peeled in case anyone follows us.”

The ride back to their house seemed to take forever. Now paranoid, every car that was traveling the same way as them was suspicious. They made a few unnecessary turns just to see if any on the cars behind them really were following. So far as they could tell, they were on their own.

At least for now.

Back at the house, Hep brought out three beers and they sat in the living room drinking and not talking.

How did these guys find Pan and Bacchus in the first place? Hep wondered. And why would anyone want to kill them? Or where they just the unlucky ones chosen to be test subjects?

A few beers later and the three of them each had a solid buzz. Naturally, they did the only thing three grief and shock stricken gods could do, and drank epic quantities of alcohol. Hep poured out a bottle of wine on the ground for Bacchus. Then, for good measure, they passed around a couple more bottles of wine in memory of their friend.

The three of them managed to polish off an entire case of beer and five bottles of wine before they gave up for the day and went to bed. Hep pulled out the hide-a-bed and gave Pan a couple of blankets and pillows. He gave Pan a rough hug and turned to leave the room.

“We’ll get this figured out, don’t worry,” Hep told Pan.

“I know. They’re going to pay,” Pan replied.