Page 48 of Not Today, Satan
The lot is hidden from view by a tunnel of dark trees, bent over our heads and blocking out the suns. The shade is a nice break from the heat. I tilt my chin up and close my eyes at the familiar darkness before straightening my shoulders and staring ahead.
Nate swipes his toe over the mud at our feet. “So, what kind of people are here?”
We start through the tunnel, and I scan around us for signs of life—well, death—and tighten my arms around myself. At least there won’t be mirrors here. Just ravenous shadelings who’ve been alone for centuries.
“Greed is about wanting more than you already have,” I say. “Never having enough.”
“Isn’t that everyone?” he asks. “I can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t want a little more than they already have.”
“True, but just wanting more isn’t enough to get you sent here. It’s doing malicious things to get it. Lying, stealing, purposely harming others.” I drop my hand to the handle of my sword as we continue through the tunnel, my muscles tensing. “Make no mistake. The shadelings here are more deprived than any others in Hell. Stripped of everything, they’ll want what we have.”
He scans his belt and spreads his arms. “All I have are a couple knives and this uniform.”
I drum my free hand on my thigh, my ears pricked for any movement. “That’s enough. Whatever you see here, don’t touch or take anything, no matter how appealing. We’re going to be tempted with all sorts of things.”
We duck through the trees and emerge on a beach. Nate lets out a low whistle. Where Lot Eleven was all cramped spaces and tight corners, Lot Eight is a vast expanse of land.
Crystallized sand’s been replaced by mud that squishes beneath our boots. It’s met at the shore by the same bloody water we’d almost drowned in, and I turn away with a groan. The forest isn’t much more comforting. Instead of palm trees that stretch into the sky, the island is covered in stumps of rotting wood, flies buzzing around the roots.
“I can’t get over how different every lot is. This is nothing like mine.” Nate pinches his nose. “And what’s that smell?”
“Some of it’s mud, and some of it’s them.” I indicate the thousands of shadelings sprawled on the ground, moaning. Many of their bodies lie partially buried in the dirt. The mud is a puzzle path of random body parts.
“It’s like a zombie movie.” His eyes widen as he surveys the beach. “Are they…um…naked?”
My eyes water as the stench of rotting flesh surges up my nose. I hold my breath, battling the urge to gag. “I told you, they’ve been stripped ofeverything.”
Nate shadows his eyes with his hand. “I don’t see any souldiers. Lemme guess. We’re in another lot demons don’t like.”
I shrug. “Father knew he could only employ so many. There are quite a few lots that are self-sufficient. Again, that’s helpful for us. There’s a raised bridge on the other side of the lot that will take us to the shore. We just need to pass…them.”
A shadeling looks up from their mud hole when I point in their direction. Their eyes grow wide as they see us, and they let out a grunt before dragging themself forward with their arms.
I shudder, and Nate gags.
“Okay,that’sdisturbing,” he says. “I think I preferred the mirrors.”
“Easy for you to say,” I say through the hand clapped over my nose. “You only had to deal with your own reflection.”
“Hey, I also had to cut you open and remove an evil piece of glass.”
“Right,” I mutter, “I’m sure that was way worse for you than it was for me.”
“I mean, it wasn’t pleasant.” He gags again as we continue through the bodies. “But it was better than this.”
The shadelings moan and roll over as we pass. Dirt-caked hands claw at the hem of my dress, pull at the laces of my boots, and skim my sword.
I jump as one grabs my ankle and I kick them in the face. “Get off.”
They squeal but maintain their grip. My boot slips down my leg.
“I said getoff.” I draw my sword and strike down. The shadeling catches the blade and tugs. Their eyes bulge as they spot the silver handle.
A second shadeling shrieks and grabs for the weapon, followed by a third, who jumps on my back. I buck in an attempt to throw them off, but they bury their sharp fingernails into my flesh, and I scream.
Nate’s on his knees, his back to me, digging through the mud.
What the here is more fascinating than me being attacked?
