Jonah Hex: Shades of Gray #16

[Susan Hillwig]

Jonah Hex: Shades of Gray #16
Narcocorrido, Part 4: "The Fat Lady Sings"
Written by: Susan Hillwig
Cover by: TBA

[Susan Hillwig]

"Just ain't possible," Jonah said under his breath as he stared at the imprisoned Mother Worm before him. "Full-blooded Worms don't talk. They're too stupid. Hell, even half-Worms ain't got much in the brains department." Be that as it may, the black ring was somehow translating the grunts and rumbles emanating from the Mother Worm into English, so unless the ring had suddenly decided to pull a prank on him, it appeared that the creatures did possess some form of language. "If'n Ah talk tuh it, kin yuh make it understand me?" Jonah asked the ring.

[Hope compassion], the ring replied.

"Thet better mean 'yes', or else Ah'm gonna look like a damn fool," Jonah muttered, then said to the massive creature, "Hey, Worm! Ah want tuh have a little palaver with yuh."

The Mother Worm tried to jerk its head towards him, but the cables anchoring it to the floor prevented any large movements. "Who speaks?" it said in that deep voice the ring interpreted its rumblings into. "Are you one of my children?"

"Not hardly. Muh name is Jonah Hex. Ah'm the 'stupid ape' thet killed the other one a minute ago."

"Your know our tongue? Impossible. I have heard your kind gibber many times. The words they speak are nothing like ours, yet you sound like you sprung from my own brood."

"Thet's 'cause Ah ain't like the rest of muh kind." Jonah removed the cat mask he'd disguised himself with, revealing his gray, desiccated face -- the black ring was working hard to restore him to full life, but it still had a ways to go. "Ah ain't gonna go into details, but Ah've got the means tuh speak with whomever Ah wish. Right now, thet's yer ugly self." He stepped closer so the Mother Worm could get a better look at him, saying, "Ah fought Worms like yuh afore, long time back, an' Ah thought Ah'd wiped out the last of yuh. Yet here yuh are. Ah want tuh know how many more damn Worms are still runnin' around out in the world."

"You...have seen others? Are they far from here?" A pleading tone crept into the Mother Worm's voice. "Please, you must lead my children to this other brood. Let the seed of my sons spread among their daughters..."

"Ah just told yuh, Ah wiped 'em out," Jonah said sternly, "an' even if Ah hadn't, Ah sure as Hell ain't gonna help yuh make more of 'em. The sooner Ah kill y'all, the happier Ah'll be."

"Cursed ape!" It pulled against the restraints, causing fresh blood to ooze from its wounds. "Why do you slaughter innocent children? For generations, we have avoided your kind. Even when you invaded our home, we dug deeper, yet you still came after us with your blinding lights and your loud and smelly weapons. We have done nothing to earn your wrath!"

"Don't play coy. Ah know how Worms used tuh treat humans like livestock long time ago, 'til the humans rose up an' beat yuh back underground. The Worms Ah met afore seemed more'n eager tuh start thet mess up again, so Ah ain't about tuh take any chances with y'all."

The Mother Worm ceased struggling. "You speak of the war that was fought by our ancients, when both ape and pl'n'anan dwelled above the rock. Is that why your kind have imprisoned us? To avenge those long dead?"

"Ape an' whut now?" It sounded like the Worm was trying to say "planarian", the word Graves used for the creatures over a century ago, though Saunders's colleague Doctor Trece said it referred to another type of animal entirely.

"Pl'n'anan...my kind. Just as you are ape -- or appear to be -- we are pl'n'anan. How do you know of the war, but not the name of those you fought?"

"Ah don't give a damn whut yuh call yerselves, Ah just know whut yuh do tuh folks, given the chance. Now, answer the question: how many more cussed nests of Worms are out there?"

"I know of no other broods, save my own," the Mother Worm said with a sigh. "The Mother before me, She-of-the-Broken-Horn, believed us to be the last. Her hunters searched far and wide, in the hope that I could have mates from outside of my brood, but there were none." Fixing its bulbous eyes upon the roof of the cavern, it told Jonah, "I have lived long, and birthed many sons, but no daughters. When I die, the pl'n'anan shall die with me."

[Compassion], the ring whispered sadly, while Jonah contemplated what the Mother Worm said. Wonder if'n them Worms in Texas had the same problem, he thought, an' thet's why they took tuh rapin' women. Ah sure as shootin' don't recall seein' any runnin' about thet might've been girls, save fer the big one. Still don't make it right, but...

A shriek came from the corridor the now-dead Los Magos man had exited. Jonah whipped around, drawing one of the pistols from his gunbelt as he did so. "My children," the Mother Worm said. "I never see them, but I always her their cries. The air is thick with the scent of their fear. What are your kind doing to them?"

"It's hard tuh explain." Jonah turned back to the Mother Worm. "The folks thet imprisoned yuh... they found something inside of yuh...inside yer children...thet other folks are willin' tuh pay money fer. Whut they're doin'...Ah reckon it ain't all thet dif'rent from whut yer kind used tuh do tuh us way back when."

The creature was silent for a moment, then a mournful sound came from its throat. "It is as the ancients foretold," the Mother Worm said. "Prey will become predator, devouring pl'n'anan as they spill from the womb." It turned its head towards Jonah as best as it could. "If you truly wish to kill me, then do it quick, before my birthing cycle begins again. Do not let any more of my children be devoured by your ape brethren."

Jonah was more than happy to oblige. He pulled the glove off of his left hand and pointed the black ring at the Mother Worm's head. Ah don't know how much willpower Ah've got built up, he silently told the ring, but Ah'm gonna need every bit of it tuh blast through this thing's skull.

The ring did nothing, save for yell [Compassion!] as loud as it could.

Dammit, boy, Ah'm gettin' sick of hearin' thet word! Ah gave yuh an order, an' Ah expect y'all tuh follow it!

[Rage!] it yelled back, and Jonah could sense by the ring's tone that it meant the word literally. It was mad at him, and it wanted no part in killing the Mother Worm. That left Jonah no option except to shoot the creature...but that would make so much noise, it'd bring the remaining members of Los Magos down there right quick. He was lucky the Mother Worm's constant rumbling hadn't done that already. "We ain't through here," Jonah said aloud, the words directed at both the Mother Worm and the ring. "Soon as Ah find Saunders an' the others, we're comin' back here tuh finish this nonsense." He put the glove back on, then picked up the cat mask and pulled it over his head again as he walked towards the corridor. Like the others, a series of light bulbs were strung from the ceiling, leading Jonah to another, smaller cavern, with a few more corridors leading off to parts unknown. Metal pegs were stuck into the wall near one of them, from which hung two of those rubber masks, specifically a rooster and a bug-eyed alien. About two dozen animal carriers -- like the one they'd found in the back of the truck the night before -- were stacked to one side of the cavern, with eight large metal cages lined up on the floor next to them. Nearly all of the carriers contained a young Worm between two to four feet in length, while only two of the cages were occupied by full-grown Worms. All of them still had their various amounts of limbs and tentacles intact. The young ones mewled pitifully and tried to reach out through the wire-mesh doors as Jonah came near, their auras a deep orange due to hunger pangs. The pair of adults appeared to be just as hungry, but they barely moved -- going by the scars upon their bodies and the choke-collars around their necks, they had learned not to make a fuss when their captors approached.

Another shriek split the air, but not from the Worms before him. At the far end of the cavern, Jonah saw two rows of chest-high metal racks, thirty in all, with more tarps spread beneath them. A Worm was strapped down on each of the racks, their appendages hacked off and their teeth removed. The pair of stents inserted into the lower backs of the Worms stuck out through the metal gridwork they laid upon, and a female member of Los Magos -- swaddled in the same sort of protective clothing and mask as the one Jonah had killed -- walked from one rack to the next, attaching long, thin tubes to the stents, which in turn were fed down into quart-size glass bottles positioned beneath the Worms. Every time she touched one of the stents, the Worm it was attached to shrieked, its yellow aura momentarily fluorescing enough to hide the bands of black that encircled the abdomen of each Worm. Their guts are rottin' away, Jonah realized. They don't even feel hunger no more, just pain, an' thet's all they're gonna feel until these bastards have squeezed every last drop outta them.

Jonah himself was beginning to feel something as well, reluctant as he was to admit it. Compassion doesn't always mean lettin' somebody live thet don't deserve it, he silently told the ring, sometimes it means lettin' somebody die 'cause yuh don' want 'em tuh suffer no more. Me wantin' tuh kill the Mother Worm a minute ago...yo're right, thet wasn't compassion. Thet was me bein' an ornery sonovabitch. But this here...don't matter if'n they're dumb animals or as smart as humans. No creature alive should have tuh endure this. He approached the racks, pulling off his lefthand glove once more, then raised his fist above his head. One shot, straight through the brain. Thet'll end it quick fer 'em.

Thirty pebble-sized portions of dark matter shot out of the ring and sped to their targets -- the expulsion of so much energy caused a brief flare of pain in Jonah's chest, but he ignored it as best he could. The bodies of the Worms jerked as the dark matter penetrated their skulls, then spread throughout their brain tissue to ensure that the creatures' deaths were instantaneous. The Los Magos woman, who'd been too intent on her work to notice Jonah's presence, jumped back when she saw the dark matter fly past, then looked up to see Jonah coming right at her, one hand closing around her throat and lifting her off the ground while he ripped off her protective mask with the other. "Goin' by them silly masks Ah saw hangin' up over there, Ah reckon yuh ain't the one thet shot me," Jonah said to her. "Thet's damn lucky fer yuh."

"G-Gato...whuh...what are you..." she gasped in Spanish.

"Gato's dead, an' so's the fella who was workin' with yuh in here. Yo're gonna join 'em if'n yuh don't cooperate. Where's the policemen y'all ambushed earlier?"

"You...with the policia?"

"Thet Ah am. Best tell me where yuh got 'em stashed, or else Ah'm liable tuh see if'n Ah kin still choke someone tuh death one-handed."

The woman futilely clawed at the hand around her throat for a moment before croaking out, "Cell..." Jonah loosened his grip a little so she could talk better. "Take the far left corridor behind you...when it splits, stay to the left. It'll dead-end at the cell."

"An' whut about these 'dragons' of yers? Ah saw the big one chained down out there, and the cages full of little ones. Got any others?"

"No, we keep them all in one place. Makes it easier to clean up the slime."

"Not tuh mention bottle it up. Speakin' of which..." Jonah told the ring to grab a few bottles of dragon sweat as he dragged the woman over to one of the empty cages, as far from the adult Worms as possible. Luckily, the padlock on the cage he'd chosen was already open, so he shoved her inside and locked her in. Cradled in a wisp of dark matter, the ring brought the bottles to Jonah, who set them down on top of the crisscrossed metal bars that made up the cage's roof. "Ah advise yuh sit perfectly still," he told the woman.

As Jonah walked away, the woman began cursing at him, so he flicked his ring hand towards her, causing a dark-matter gag to form over her mouth just as he exited the cavern.

[Susan Hillwig]

Music reverberated throughout the cavern that made up Los Magos's inner sanctum. Unlike the rest of the cave system, the majority of this area had been converted into something more habitable, with the stone floor smoothed and polished until it took on a marble-like sheen, false walls set up to make individual rooms, and dehumidifiers installed to cut down on the constant damp. A huge flat-screen television was situated in the main room, with all the latest game consoles and a multi-disc DVD player hooked up to it -- a Los Magos member sat in front of it at the moment, controller in hand, his clown mask laying forgotten next to him as he hacked away at digital monsters on the screen. In another room, various lab equipment was set up for the benefit of the man nicknamed "Doc", who was currently showing Lionne the results of a new experiment involving the cartel's single product. Like the members working directly with the "dragons", they'd also shed their rubber masks in favor of something that offered more protection, in this case using simple paper masks and latex gloves.

"This is the best I've been able to concoct so far," Doc said in Spanish, holding up a vial filled with greenish-yellow fluid. "The chemical makeup isn't exact, but it's similar to regular dragon sweat. Only trouble is, we'll have to take five times as much from the immature dragons, then filter out the secretions we don't want, just to make something equivalent to what the adults produce naturally."

"Which means we'll wear them out five times as fast." Lionne frowned behind her paper mask. "What about the ones you were injecting with growth hormones?"

"No good. It soured the entire batch. It looks like our only choice is to let them mature naturally, which means giving them a full year minimum."

"We don't have a year. The adults that we've got tapped right now are giving us less and less every day. They'll need to be replaced soon." Lionne muttered a curse, then asked, "Have you tested this new stuff on the mice yet?"

"No, I was going to start today. Of course, those tests don't always correlate exactly with how humans react to dragon sweat, but it'll give us a rough idea."

"Then maybe we should skip the mice. We do have five potential subjects locked away at the moment."

"You can't be serious. Do you know how unethical it would be to..."

Lionne loomed over the smaller man. "I would say your sense of ethics ended the day you agreed to help us mass-produce our little product. Now, go pry Payaso away from the Xbox so he can assist you in picking out your first test subject. I suggest the one dressed in blue and red...eliminating him quickly seems wise."

Reluctantly, Doc walked out of the lab, picking up his Bugs Bunny mask as he did so and pulling it on. Payaso gave him an earful when he relayed Lionne's order, but turned off the game system anyways and followed Doc through the twisting corridors that led to the cell. When they got there, Doc unlocked the door while Payaso drew his pistol, which he brought to bear as Doc swung the door open, revealing all five prisoners sitting at random spots around the cell, their hands bound behind their backs. To Doc's surprise, the men appeared to already be under the thrall of dragon sweat: lines of spittle were dripping from their mouths as they twitched spasmodically, a bodily reflection of the alternating waves of agony and ecstasy that the drug wrought on the human brain. When they'd first escorted the prisoners down there, Doc had seen that two of them had accidentally gotten dosed while killing the dragons, but the other three seemed fine. Perhaps they'd simply been more resistant to the effects of the animals' secretions, so it took longer to kick in. Whatever the reason, they'd be no good as test subjects until the current bout wore off. Still, he should at least show Lionne he was making an effort. "Grab that one," he told Payaso, pointing at Greg Saunders, "and watch his mouth. Some people have a tendency to bite when under the influence."

"Don't I know it," Payaso replied. He holstered his pistol, then went over and slipped a hand under Greg's armpit to lift him to his feet. "You remember Puerca? First time the dragons messed her up, she tried to..." His reminisce was cut short when Greg suddenly shook free of his already-cut restraints, then struck Payaso between the eyes with the heel of his hand. Near the door, Silver jumped up and tackled Doc as he turned to run out of the cell.

Greg struck Payaso a couple more times until the man finally collapsed, then he turned to Doc, whom Silver was holding in a bear hug. "Do you speak English, bunny-boy?" he asked.

"Yes...yes, I do," he rasped behind his rubber mask.

"Good, 'cause my Spanish ain't so hot when I'm angry, and I am very angry today." He stepped close to Doc, saying, "Thanks to you and your cohorts, at least four of my friends are now dead, and those two are in pretty lousy shape as well." Greg nodded towards Davis and Smythe -- unlike himself, Silver, and Henry, they weren't faking their dragon sweat symptoms. "If you guide us out of this rabbit warren of yours, though, I might see fit to make note of your cooperation when I write up the arrest report. Could mean the dif'rence between life in prison and a mere twenty years. Those big ears of yours pick up on all that?"

Doc assured Greg that he'd heard every word. After binding up and gagging Payaso with strips of the Los Magos man's own shirt, Silver and Greg started to make their way up the corridor, prodding Doc along ahead of them. Henry stayed behind -- armed with Payaso's gun -- to protect their incapacitated comrades, a decision Greg debated long and hard about. Bringing them along in such a state would've just made an already-difficult situation worse, and since Henry himself was still shaking off a mild concussion, this seemed the best compromise.

Up ahead, another corridor connected with theirs, and they saw a member of Los Magos in a cat mask come into view. Greg swore under his breath, then stepped forward, taking aim with the revolver they'd confiscated from Doc, while Silver kept a grip on their prisoner. "Down on the ground, right now!" Greg ordered.

"Ease up, Saunders, it's me!" the masked man answered in a Southern drawl. "Glad tuh know y'all weren't just sittin' 'round on yer butts waitin' on me tuh rescue yuh."

Greg's eyes widened. "Hex? I thought you were dead! I mean completely dead this time, not...Hell, I don't know what I mean."

"Ah get the idea. Truth tuh tell, Ah was a whole lot closer tuh dead than alive fer a while," he said as he approached. "Took some time tuh get these old bones properly motivated."

"What the Hell is going on around here?" Silver asked. "They shot Hex through the throat and he bled out." He turned to Jonah. "Are you a meta or something? You got some kind of healing powers?"

"It's a long story. If'n we get outta this in one piece, maybe Ah'll tell yuh." Jonah pulled off the mask, revealing a patchwork of both dead and living tissue on his face. "Muh voice sounds normal tuh me again, but Ah reckon Ah don't look normal yet, do Ah?" he asked Greg.

"Maybe if we knocked out most of the lights in here, you'd be passable," Greg replied.

Silver was gawking at Jonah's appearance so much he didn't realize his grip on Doc was loosening, and the man was soon able to pull free. He bolted up the main corridor, yelling something in Spanish as he disappeared around a sharp bend. "Dammit tuh Hell...grab him!" Hex barked as he jabbed out his ring hand. A streak of dark matter leapt from the ring and zipped around the bend -- though they couldn't see what was occurring, the yelp they all heard echo back to them confirmed that the ring had done its job. The three of them headed up the corridor to find another pair of passageways, and after a brief glance into both, they spotted Doc laying hogtied up one of them, still yelling. "Shut up already," Jonah told him, ripping off Doc's mask and stuffing one of the rubber ears into the criminal's mouth.

"That was really stupid, bunny-boy," Greg added. "You can forget about me puttin' in any good word for ya."

"Guys, quiet down a minute." Silver walked a little further up the passageway, then turned back to the others. "I thought I heard music a second ago."

Greg pulled the impromptu gag out of Doc's mouth. "What's up this way?"

"Th-th-the main room...lab...buh-bedrooms..." Doc stammered out.

"Anybody there right now?"

"Just Lionne."

"That'll do fine." Greg gagged him again, then got to his feet...just as all the lights went out. "Well, there goes the element of surprise," Greg said in the darkness. "Hold on, I've still got my lighter on me."

"Don't bother." Jonah laid a hand on Greg's shoulder. "Ah kin see just fine. Both of yuh hang back while Ah go fetch her."

"Bring her back alive, Hex . That's an order."

Jonah replied with a grunt of annoyance as he walked up the dark passageway.

[Susan Hillwig]

At first, Lionne couldn't make out what Doc was yelling, and even after she'd turned off the music, the way his voice echoed up the passageway obscured most of the words. Luckily, the most important one came through loud and clear: Policia. Whether more had invaded their home or the ones they'd locked up had somehow escaped, it didn't matter. Either way, they had to be eliminated. She ran to the supply room and grabbed a set of night-vision goggles -- an invaluable tool when you lived underground -- along with an automatic rifle and extra ammunition, then went to the generator room to shut off the power. If any members of her group were still free, they'd know to head back to the main room immediately, feeling their way along the stone walls that had sheltered them for so long.

Lionne flipped over a couch facing the passageway she'd head Doc's voice echo from, then took up a firing position. There were other passages that led to the main room, and Lionne could've easily escaped down one of them, but she had no desire to run. She'd worked too long and too hard to build Los Magos into what it had become to just abandon it at the first sign of trouble. She'd killed many times over the years, to protect both herself and her business. This time was no different.

In the flickering green light that filled the lenses of her night-vision goggles, Lionne saw a man walking up the passageway, gun in hand. There was no one behind him. As she silently waited for him to come into range, she noticed that, despite not wearing any goggles of his own, he walked as though he could see clearly. The man didn't reach out for the walls, and his steps weren't hesitant. Then she noticed how familiar he looked. It can't be, Lionne thought, but indeed, this appeared to be the same man she'd killed down by the entrance tunnel, right down to his twin-holster gunbelt and cuffed cowboy boots. Doesn't matter. Whoever he is, he'll be dead in a second. She took aim with the rifle and fired, the bullet colliding with the center of the man's forehead. His head snapped back and he staggered, but to Lionne's disbelief, the man didn't fall. She watched as he covered his face with his hand, then pulled it away to look at the blood now coating it. He then looked in her direction, and Lionne saw skin on his face tighten until you could see every contour of his skull, his eyes becoming nothing but dark holes.

"Yuh damn bitch! Ah was almost all healed up!" Jonah Hex hollered, then brought his own gun to bear and shot at her. Lionne scrambled away from the couch as the bullets tore through the upholstery. Her heart pounding like mad, she switched the rifle over to full-auto and opened fire the moment Jonah approached the couch -- he took multiple shots to the chest before tossing up a dark-matter shield, howling with pain as he did so. The rifle soon ran dry, and when she paused to switch out the clip, Jonah dropped the shield and rushed at her. Lionne quickly turned her weapon around so she could bash him in the face with the butt of the rifle. There was a loud crack of bones breaking, and Jonah stumbled back, his lower jaw hanging askew as black blood dripped from the torn dead flesh. He roared something unintelligible and attempted to push everything back into place, while Lionne ran across the main room towards the lab. If she was going to be fighting a monster, she needed an advantage.

The vial of untested dragon sweat was still sitting in the wire rack Doc had placed it in before leaving the lab. Lionne slammed the lab door shut and blocked it with one of the work tables to buy her some time, then plucked up the vial. The familiar odor hit her nostrils as she removed the stopper, then brought the vial to her lips. Unlike many other members of Los Magos, she enjoyed being in the thrall of dragon sweat: the primal urges that swept though her body and brain, the visions that danced in front of her eyes, the surge of power that made every muscle feel like it was crafted of woven steel. She'd been the first to see its potential as a drug, and she'd partaken of it herself on many occasions, learning how to best control her high. Lionne bit the tip of her tongue until she tasted blood, then tilted the vial until she could lick a small drop of dragon sweat from the rim of it. The drug immediately entered her bloodstream through the wound on her tongue, and within seconds, Lionne's heart was racing -- Doc had done his job well, as this untested batch worked even faster than the original concoction. She could hear Jonah banging on the lab door, so she turned to face it, snarling and gnashing her teeth as thick strands of saliva began to spill out of the corners of her mouth.

Jonah busted the door open, and Lionne leapt at him like her namesake, knocking him to the floor. Her fingernails dug into his face, while her teeth sank into his throat, tearing away a large chunk of flesh. The taste of Jonah's dark matter-infused blood sickened her, but she continued to bite, even as Jonah tried to push her off of him. He managed to knock off her night-vision goggles, but it was a futile gesture: if he did somehow escape her clutches, her senses had become so heightened that she'd be able to track the smell of his strange blood and putrid flesh anywhere in the dark. Throughout it all, Lionne's heart rate increased, driving her on like a war drum, the adrenaline in her system masking the pain signals coming from that very important organ, right up until the muscle fibers in her heart ripped apart from overexertion. With his altered vision, Jonah saw a sudden bloom of black at the center of her chest, which soon drowned out the red-orange aura Lionne's body had been wrapped in. She stiffened and let out a strangled scream, then collapsed on top of Jonah.

With a grunt, Jonah pushed Lionne's corpse to the side, then slowly sat up. He could feel strips of dead flesh hanging off of his face, exposing the skull beneath, and a wet whistling sound came from the hole in his throat every time he tried to draw in air. Sorry, Saunders, Jonah thought, Ah tried tuh do whut yuh asked, but this gal had other plans.

[Susan Hillwig]

It was a quarter 'til noon when Trevor's cell phone rang. Figuring it was Rusty, he let out a whoop of joy when he instead heard Sheriff Saunders's voice on the other end of the line. Trevor was sad to hear that three of their officers had fallen in the line of duty -- and Saunders wasn't too happy to hear of Blake's death topside -- but at least the job they'd set out to do was finished. After a quick call to both the police station and the backup officers being sent their way, Trevor and Garlock each jumped in an SUV and drove to a hilly area eight miles southeast, where the sheriff's team had emerged from another hidden cave entrance used by Los Magos.

"Thank the Lord you found a way out!" Trevor shouted as he jumped out of the SUV and started to make his way up the slope. "Garlock had me digging a hole in the dirt like a bloody idiot for the past hour, trying to uncover that passageway."

"Don't feel bad," Greg answered, getting up from the rock he'd been sitting on, "we tried to do the same from our end at first, but we got a little sidetracked." He nodded towards the four trussed-up prisoners sitting not far away. "After we get these yahoos stowed in one of the vehicles, I want you to take the other and drive Smythe and Davis over to Saint James Medical quick as you can. I already called Doctor Trece about startin' 'em on detox." Greg glanced over at Henry, adding, "You go along too, so you can get your head looked at."

"What about that leg of yours?" Henry asked. "I've been watching you limp through this entire escapade."

"I'm the boss, so I get to decide who goes to the hospital. You're goin'." Greg pointed at the SUVs at the bottom of the hill for emphasis, and Henry grudgingly obliged him, helping Trevor to guide their dragon sweat-dosed colleagues towards the vehicles, while Garlock and Silver rounded up the prisoners. Looking back up the hill, Greg saw that Jonah was still sitting just inside the cave entrance, as if hiding from the others. "You plan on hangin' out here the rest of the day?" Greg said as he walked over. Jonah's hat was pulled low over his face -- after getting the lights turned back on down in the caverns, they'd located all their confiscated items -- but Greg could still see a few spots of dead flesh that hadn't healed up yet. "Listen, if you're worried about the boys blabbin' about you and the ring, I already told 'em to keep mum or else you were gonna show 'em what sort of nasty stuff you can do with your bare hands."

"It ain't thet. Keep thinkin' 'bout them Worms down there."

"Try to put it outta your head. Los Magos did us a favor, roundin' 'em all up. Now we just have to dispose of 'em."

"Yuh mean kill' em," Jonah said quietly. "All of 'em. Even the little baby ones."

Greg tilted his head to the side and regarded Hex. "I don't get it. Ever since you saw that dead Worm in the truck, you've been talkin' nonstop 'bout what horrible monsters these things are. Now you sound like you're sad to see 'em go."

After a moment or two of silence, Jonah asked, "Yuh ever heard the phrase 'The only good Indian is a dead Indian'?"

"Yeah. Some general supposedly said it first, or something like it."

"Lots of folks Ah've known believed them words tuh be true, thet yuh couldn't trust any Indian, no matter the tribe or their upbringin'. It's better fer all concerned tuh just kill 'em, or herd 'em onto some lousy piece of land thet white folks don't have an interest in yet." Jonah waved a hand vaguely to indicate the Tohono O'odham reservation they were currently situated on. "Afore Pa sold me tuh the Apache, Ah pretty much believed the same: Don't trust Indians, they'll kill yuh soon's they get the chance. But Ah learned dif'rent real quick. Every race o' man has good an' bad mixed in it. Ain't none of 'em just one thing."

Realization dawned in Greg's eyes. "You're thinkin' it might be the same with the Worms."

"Ah talked tuh the big Worm," Jonah explained, "an' while muh eyes saw a monster, muh ears heard a mother beggin' fer the life of her children." He rubbed a hand over his face. "They are dangerous, they are capable of killin'...but so far as Ah know, the Worms locked up down there never laid a hand on a human being afore Los Magos hunted 'em down. The babies most certainly never did. So is it proper tuh wipe out every last one of 'em just because they might hurt someone else down the line?"

Greg hunkered down next to Jonah, biting back the pain shooting through his injured leg. "This ring really has changed you, hasn't it?"

"Ah ain't never been in favor of slaughterin' innocent children, if'n thet's whut yuh mean."

"I'm referrin' more to general moral dilemma you've cooked up. Because you're right: We're judgin' this group of Worms by the actions of another group you ran into a long ways from here, both in distance and time. The old Hex up here," Greg said, pointing at Jonah's head, "wants to kill 'em all and be done it, but the new Hex wants to find a peaceful solution...or maybe it's the ring that wants it?"

"Reckon it's both of us...though Ah'll admit, the ring brought up the notion first."

"Well, we can't just let 'em go. Even if these Worms have no intention of harmin' anyone right now, they might change their mind in a generation or two."

"Goin' by whut the Mother Worm said, there likely won't be another generation. She's been pumpin' out nothin' but boys, an' there ain't no other nests of Worms left tuh mingle with."

Greg's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously? What happened, they get too inbred?" Jonah responded with a shrug, and Greg said, "That puts a dif'rent spin on things. Hold on a minute." Greg pulled out his cell phone and began swiping through screens. "Okay...U.S. Fish and Wildlife...regional contacts...bingo." He tapped the screen multiple times, then held the phone up to his ear.

"Whut's all this about?" Jonah asked.

With a smirk, Greg replied, "You ever heard the phrase 'Endangered Species Act'?"

[Susan Hillwig]

She-of-the-Twisted-Claw could feel her birthing cycle begin once more. The numerous egg sacs within her -- fertilized by her long-dead brothers -- had begun to shift about, and soon one would move into place so its contents could develop fully in her womb. How many children would she doom to death this time? She wished there was a way to prevent this madness from continuing, but it was impossible. She was a Mother of the pl'n'anan, her purpose decided the moment she emerged from the womb along with her sac-brothers. So long as there was life in her body, the birthing cycle would go on, no matter how much She-of-the-Twisted-Claw desired otherwise.

She could hear movement in one of the nearby corridors, but did not bother to look. She knew it had to be the apes that imprisoned her and her children, and she'd grown tired to seeing them long ago. Thus it was a shock when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw two of her elder sons walk into the chamber, with many infants clinging to their limbs, shoulders, and necks, and a few slightly-larger infants creeping along behind. The infants reached out instinctively for She-of-the-Twisted-Claw, shrieking happily, while the pair of elder ones -- He-of-the-Split-Tail and He-That-Braved-the-Sun -- wept at the sight of their Mother in chains. After the last of her children entered, another figure emerged from the corridor: though his face had changed, she could tell by his peculiar death-scent that this was the ape called Jonah Hex. He stood before her for a moment, then held up his left hand, and something small and black flew into the air. The strange ape clutched his chest and let out a groan as the black object flew about She-of-the-Twisted-Claw, severing the bonds that held her in place. Her elder sons then pulled away the cables and chains so she could sit upright, an action that caused her to roar with pain, for it reopened a few of her wounds. The pain was soon forgotten as she gathered the infants into her mutilated arms as best as she could, a deep-throated purring sound emanating from her chest.

Then Jonah Hex spoke in the tongue of the pl'n'anan, just as he had before. He told She-of-the-Twisted-Claw that the apes who'd imprisoned her were now dead or in chains themselves, for their actions had harmed many other apes as well as the pl'n'anan. As for She-of-the-Twisted-Claw and her brood, Jonah Hex said he'd come to make them an offer. The world above the rock had changed much since the time when the ancients dwelled there. There were nearly seven billion apes now, and their civilization far exceeded anything the pl'n'anan had ever built. As the apes rose to dominance, many species had been driven to extinction in their wake, but those days were past. Now, the apes sought to preserve all who were threatened, so long as that preservation did not threaten the apes in turn. If She-of-the-Twisted-Claw was willing to accept living under the dominion of apes, there was a possibility that her brood would not be the last generation of pl'n'anan to dwell within these caverns. But if they fought, if they bared claw and tooth at those who offered mercy, then the pl'n'anan would die, swiftly and utterly.

She-of-the-Twisted-Claw gazed down at the numerous sons cradled in her arms...arms that no longer bore the claws from which her name was derived, thanks to the malicious apes who'd chained her down and stolen her children. She asked Jonah Hex why she should trust him, especially if he'd truly killed so many pl'n'anan as he claimed. He said that, long ago, he was known among his kind as a remorseless killer, and that he'd once gone to war against another brood of pl'n'anan to end the suffering of his fellow apes. Since then, the killer had found peace, but that peace was disturbed by the discovery of more pl'n'anan. Jonah Hex believed he would have to go to war again, and was prepared to do so, until he saw it was the pl'n'anan who suffered this time. There was a voice within him, Jonah Hex said, that cried out for compassion, and after much debate, he decided to listen to that voice and spare the lives of those he'd once called his enemy.

And so it was that a truce was declared between those that dwell below the rock and those that dwell above, and the last surviving Mother of the pl'n'anan took on a new name: She-That-Made-Peace-With-Apes.

NEXT ISSUE: A new battle awaits as Jonah gets tangled up in a "Color War"! 



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