It was a short drop, Oz landed hard, grinding his ankle beneath his body. He looked up expecting to see Bard peering over the edge. The hole was already closed. Water sloshed over the side of his shoes, soaking his socks. It smelled like a backed up sewer.
Behind him a dark tunnel stretched on forever. Ahead, a faint, swinging light shone against brick walls. Oz assumed by falling into the crack in the earth he’d be entering Hell. So far, there was nothing Hell-like about it.
Walking on tip-toe, he inched toward the light. It turned out to be a lantern attached to the front of a small boat, which cast a large enough glow that when he was close enough, Oz was able to see a group of seven or eight people huddled together behind a tall red-headed man in a grey mechanic’s jumpsuit. The man dribbled a blue yo-yo with one hand. In the other, he held a small, tin bucket.
The name tag on his jumpsuit read, Arizona.
“You’re just in time. We’re about to shove off,” Arizona said and held out the bucket. “Drop your coins in here and we can be on our way.”
“You’re the boat man?”
“So you’ve heard of me? The name’s Arizona.”
“Oz.”
“Spectacular. If you’d be so kind as to drop your coins then, Oz?”
He jiggled the bucket inches in front of Oz’s face.
“I don’t have any coins,” he said.
“That’s impossible. Sure you do. Maybe you just stuck them in your pockets and forgot. Unless...”
Arizona tucked the yo-yo into his pocket and poked Oz’s arm with his finger.
“Shit. You’re one of them aren’t you? Fuckin’ A. Doesn’t anyone trust a man to do his job anymore? Now they gotta send one of you folks down here to make sure I’m not dumping Bas over the side or something? You people think that just because I spend my time talking to the shadows and learning how to ‘walk the dog’ that I’m not competent enough to pilot a tiny excuse for a boat across an even tinier excuse for a river? Huh? That it?”
“What are you talking about?”
Arizona moved closer to Oz, his finger stabbing Oz’s arm with each accusatory syllable. “Because I can guaran-damn-tee that you won’t find anyone else to do this thankless job in this stink pit.”
“No, calm down. I’m not here about your job. I need to find someone. A kid. He was brought down here by—by accident.”
Arizona shook his head, noticeably calmer now that he knew that Oz didn’t care about his job performance. “Sorry, Oz. Can’t help you. I just escort them to and fro. I don’t pay attention to faces.”
“It’s okay if you haven’t seen him. Just take me across and I’ll look for him myself.”
“Can’t do that either.”
“Why not?”
He jiggled the coin tin again.
“Seriously?”
“Sorry, kid. Rules, ya know?”
Arizona turned away to herd the group of Bas huddled behind him—oblivious to the interaction with Oz—onto the boat.
“Wait!” Oz cupped his hands and attempted to manifest a pair of coins.
“Your tricks don’t work down here. This place is a whole new ball of wax.”
He was right. No matter how many times he tried, the only thing Oz could blow into his hands was air.
“Please,” Oz said.
“I’m sorry. Really, wish I could help.” Arizona turned toward the Bas. “Alright, now, everyone in.”
A plank formed between the boat and the stone step where they’d all gathered. They drifted across, one by one, until they were all seated practically on top of each other. They didn’t seem to notice.
Arizona pushed the boat away from the step with the end of the stick that held the lantern, and as the plank sank into the water, so did Oz’s stomach and his hope of reaching Jamie.
No.
It couldn’t be over. Not when he was so close. Oz knew Jamie was here, it was just a matter of finding him. In order to do that, he needed to be in that boat. Fuck the coins. Fuck the rules. He’d broken them all so far and wasn’t going to start playing fair now.
With little regard for what may or may not be lurking beneath the surface of the cloudy green river, Oz dove in. It was like swimming through oil, slimy and clinging but not impossible to move through. Oz kept his eyes closed and pumped his arms in wide circles, hoping to hit the boat with his hand before his head.
Something cold and angry gripped his ankle and pulled him straight down.
In his panic, Oz opened his eyes. The oil stung. Closing his eyes did nothing to stop the pain. He chanced a look down, but there was nothing there. Just a green and black abyss that went on forever. He couldn’t see it, but something still gripped his leg, cutting into his skin. Swirls of blood rose from his ankle as he was yanked further and further down. Oz looked up, lashed his arms and kicked the invisible attacker while looking for something, anything, to grip onto.
He choked. The collar of his shirt had been ripped backward and dug into his jugular. He was going to die. The oil-water rushed over his face and Oz lost all sense of direction. Up or down, it didn’t matter. His lungs threatened to give up.
Oz’s face broke the surface and something hard rammed him in the gut. The breath he held came out with a mucousy glop. He breathed in.
“Should’ve known you’d try something stupid like that,” Arizona said. “You have that look.”
He lifted Oz over the side by his armpits. Oz gagged and rested his chin on the side of the boat.
“Nuh uh. You’re not puking in my boat.”
Oz still tasted the oil under his tongue. Trying to suppress the urge to vomit was useless. Finally, it was over and his jaw ached. Soaked, Oz leaned backward against the side of the boat with his legs curled beneath him.
“Thanks,” Oz said.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Arizona said.
The Bas hadn’t moved since boarding. None of them noticed Oz, drenched and nearly hyperventilating, in front of them. Vacant expressions. Calm, soundless demeanor. Topside, they looked more like people. Here, they were shadows with faces. Creepy. Oz was glad that none of them were familiar.
“Where are you taking them?” he asked.
Arizona shrugged. “They go all over. I make the stop, those who are supposed to get out do so. The rest wait until we reach the right dock.”
“How do they know?”
“I just drive the boat.” Arizona took hold of the lantern and the light amplified.
Oz had been right. It was a sewer. As the river pulled their little boat along, the lantern’s light bounced off the round, stone walls. If Oz kneeled in the center of the craft and stretched his arms wide, he could almost touch both sides of the tunnel. The further they moved, the more intense the stench became. He slipped the collar of his t-shirt over his nose.
“You get used to it,” Arizona said.
“Listen.” Oz hesitated. What if Bard had been right and there really was no chance of getting him back? This could’ve been his plan all along. Did he even want to know? “The kid? Short hair. Thin.”
“I’ve seen lots of kids come through here. They all look the same once they’re in the boat.”
“This one’s name is Jamie.” My son. Oz had to keep thinking it, to make it real.
Arizona didn’t say anything, but something in his face made Oz’s chest tighten. There was a hint of recognition. A twitch of his eyebrow. And just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone again.
“Can’t help you,” he said after a moment.
His tone lacked conviction, and it gave Oz hope.
Arizona hummed a tune Oz didn’t recognize. It echoed off the walls like a chamber symphony chorus, low and haunting. He closed his eyes. The rhythm of the boat rocking back and forth comforted him.
* * *
Oz only just dozed off when the bone-rattling sound of metal against stone shoved him into reality. Beside him, a platform led to a simple black door with no door knob.
“First stop,” Arizona said, glancing over his shoulder at the Bas clustered together.
One of them stood, a woman with high cheekbones and high, tight hair stepped over the others without effort. She glided over the cement until she reached the door. It opened for her, and, without turning back, she stepped through. The screams started even before the door was shut.
Oz clamped his hands over his ears.
“You get used to that, too,” Arizona said.
How could anyone get used to that?
The current pulled the boat languidly from the stone dock. It was a long time before the screams didn’t rattle inside his skull, and Oz felt like he could remove his hands. “Where was that? Where did she go?”
“I just drive the boat,” Arizona said.
“Right.”
It was surreal to think that he’d been a few feet from the entrance to Hell. In fact, he almost didn’t believe it, but what else would explain the screaming behind that door? It wasn’t a place Oz wanted to see for himself, and yet, that woman’s Ba went in without a second thought, like she knew she belonged there. How would it feel to know that your soul belonged in Hell? Shitty, Oz would bet.
The lantern light faded and a chill swept over the boat.
“It wasn’t Hell, you know.” Arizona faced forward, eyes locked on some invisible thing ahead of them.
“I thought you just drove the boat.”
“Yeah, but this part of the ride always gives me the creeps. Talking helps. Usually I talk to myself since, you know, not exactly a lively bunch on this cruise.”
Oz waited for more but was met with silence. The lantern extinguished.
“I hate this part,” Arizona said.
The temperature fell and Oz felt the hairs in his nose freeze. Every breath in was painful. He wrapped his arms tightly around his body but he was still damp from his break for the boat. The cold pierced through to his bones. He locked his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.
“I th-th-thought Hell was hot,” Oz said.
“Like I said, it’s not Hell.”
“What is it, then?”
“You ever go to church when you were alive?”
“Yeah.”
“Fire and brimstone, demons, Satan, the lot?”
“Sure. You saying that there isn’t a Hell?”
“I’m saying there isn’t only one. How could one Hell be right for everyone? And just one deity to rule it all? It doesn’t work out. Logically, I mean. There’s a whole system. Checks and balances. I don’t understand it all, and frankly, I don’t want to. See, ‘Hell’ as its conceived topside by all those freak-shows selling salvation for tithe wouldn’t do anything to a guy like me. I was in the army a ways back. I can handle torture. I can handle fire. The dark and loud, sudden noises, however...”
A heavy blast erupted above them. Oz’s body hummed so hard that he lost feeling in his arms and legs. Weight from the sound crushed his chest. The boat rocked with the motion of Arizona’s scrambling, arms over his head. Blast upon blast penetrated Oz and between each, he heard the boat man’s whimpers. His organs rippled and his brain struggled to keep conscious against the noise. Oz groped in the dark for the side of the boat. With the final blast still ringing in his head, he heaved over the side, great wrenching spasms of sick. A chunk lodged itself behind his tongue and he gagged until he dislodged it with a shaky finger. Oz slumped back against the side, taking deep gasps of air. After a few false starts, the lantern relit.
Across from him, Arizona clung to the lantern pole: eyes clenched shut, his own vomit dripping down the side of his chin. The Bas remaining at the back of the boat hadn’t blinked.
Oz wiped his mouth. He needed something to rinse his mouth out with, but there was no way he was touching the water they were riding on.
“I think it’s over,” Oz said.
Arizona nodded but didn’t open his eyes. “Give me a sec.”
The boat man slowly peeled his fingers from the pole and slid down on jelly legs until he was seated against the side of the boat, too. Red curls of hair pasted against his damp forehead.
“Fuckin’ bombs,” he said.
* * *
Once Arizona regained composure he resumed his post at the bow. Oz stayed huddled against the side of the boat, spitting into the river to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth.
Over the course of what felt like hours, each Ba disembarked onto its dock. Each time, a new horror pierced Oz’s ears. The last one seared like a knife to his guts—the sound of children screaming.
“How do I get to Jamie?” he asked when the echoes of the screams subsided.
“I drive the boat.”
“Quit feeding me bullshit, Arizona, I know you know. It might as well be written on your face.”
Silence.
More than anything he wanted to strangle Arizona. To squeeze the information up from his vocal chords. Sitting in this fucking boat, Oz let himself believe that there was hope. That he could succeed. And now Arizona stood in his way, and for what?
“Where are we going?”
“Eh?”
“The Bas have all gone on. We’re still moving. Assuming this sewer doesn’t run in one giant circle, we aren’t going back to the dock where you picked me up.”
“You mean where you jumped into a putrid sewer stream and practically drowned?”
“Whatever. Answer the question.”
The boat scraped against something, stopping abruptly and tossing Oz forward.
“Here,” Arizona said.
‘Here’ was nowhere. A gray stone wall flecked with shit and black mold. For a brief moment, Oz thought Arizona might be planning to throw him over the side and he wasn’t confident he could take the man in a fight.
“What? A wall?”
“Your stop.”
“Since when do I have a stop? I didn’t even have a coin. Is this where I can find Jamie?”
Arizona shrugged. “I just—”
“Yeah, I know. You drive the fucking boat. Crazy fuck.”
“Pot callin’ the kettle black.”
“It’s a wall.”
Arizona lifted an eyebrow.
“It’s. A. Wall.”
“Prophetic.”
After ensuring the lantern pole was secure, Arizona negotiated the dips and planks in the boat to the other side where Oz sat with balled fists. His heart pumped fight-or-flight adrenaline. Maybe if he got him low, took out his knees.
Arizona stepped over Oz’s stretched legs and put his ear up to the wall. He came away with a smear of shit on his lobe. He knocked once where his ear had been then knocked again, harder, followed by a series of intricate taps and pats in a wide circle. The wall shuddered and fell into the water, splashing waves of the oil water over Oz’s head.
“Don’t know my own strength. Heh.”
Oz wiped what he could from his face with the sleeve of his t-shirt. When he could see again, all words left him. Where there once was a wall, there was now a grass-covered hill, backed by a canopy of trees. He could smell the humidity even over the putrid river.
“No. No, no, no. I’m not going back up there. Not until I do what I came here to do,” Oz said.
“Up where?”
Tired of being dicked around by some vacant fuck with a fear of the dark, Oz rushed Arizona, nearly toppling them both out of the boat. He gripped his collar and leaned into his face so close that the tips of their noses touched and Oz could smell Arizona’s sour, rancid breath. It took everything he had not to head-butt him. Instead, he seethed. His fingers ached, but he refused to relinquish his hold on Arizona’s jumpsuit.
Not that Arizona tried to free himself. In fact, he seemed quite at ease. He didn’t smile, but Oz could tell he wanted to. For a man who cowered in fear from the threat of nonexistent bombs, Arizona didn’t seem fazed by the possibility of real violence.
“You know better than I do that I have nothing left, Arizona. I wouldn’t be here if I did, now, would I?”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.”
Oz carefully, but forcefully drove Arizona to the edge of the boat to make his point. “If you’re not going to tell me what I need to know, then I’m better off at the bottom and it’s not a trip I’m inclined to take alone.”
“Don’t be stupid, Oz. Just get off the boat and we’ll both be on our ways.”
“I told you I’m not going back up there without Jamie.”
“And who, exactly, told you that your stop had anything to do with either part of that statement? Honestly, you’re even dumber than you look.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Arizona craned his neck to look at his watch. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Now you’ve made me late.”
Arizona shoved Oz with surprising force and caught him under the armpits before he fell overboard. With a grunt he lifted Oz over the side and tossed him like a doll onto the grass. Only, it didn’t feel like grass. Each blade pricked his skin like pins. He struggled to his feet, rubbing the wounds on his hands. When he looked out over the river, Arizona was gone and the wall reassembled itself, brick by brick.