Ruin of the Old Gods

Chapter 2 - Dionysus

On the ground, there was a flurry of activity.

All flights were grounded. And as people shouted and clamoured for a refund, I waited for my bags. And my mind turned over my options.

I would almost certainly be late to meet my father. His release from Brick Glen was scheduled for Wednesday morning and it was already early Tuesday, with no sign of the storm letting up. And with planes grounded, I was stuck in Kansas.

I thought of calling my grandparents, but they would only worry, so I put it off. Instead, with my bag trailing behind me and my thoughts trailing somewhere behind that, I headed for the exit and a sign that told me I could find a cab.

I wondered what there was for me to do in Kansas, other than checking into a hotel. Maybe I'd go and see that big-ass ball of twine I'd heard so much about?

Alone at the airport's exit, with the rain still lashing down, I decided that the ball of twine would have to wait. I was better in a hotel. And so I prepared myself to be drenched to the bone, a problem which soon became the least of my worries.

I only got as far as the alley that ran down to the airport's service entrance before I sensed someone approach from behind me. And I sensed them too late.

A firm hand was clamped over my mouth and I was dragged bodily into that empty alley. The powerful hand that stopped me from screaming also made it hard to breathe. I struggled. I fought with my hands and feet. I clawed with my fingernails, I tore at the grip that held me and I flailed my fists in a vain attempt to strike out at my assailant. But the hand was too strong.

"Not a word, or you die," growled the voice behind me. And I felt the sharp threat of a knife in my back. So I froze.

I knew I would die. Alone in the rain. Death in the filth of a loading bay outside some shitty Kansas airport. And I wished that I'd made that call back home to my grandparents.

"Where's the boy," a second voice asked as heavy footsteps approached from behind me.

"He's gone," said the man whose hand was at my mouth, "saw him turn off at the departure lounge. She's alone."

"Good," said the second voice, "bring her to the van."

I was dragged down the alley by powerful arms. And I knew that my death was near. Or worse.

But just as I thought that my end was about to be played out in brutal rape and murder, there was a commotion at my back. And the hand at my mouth was loosened.

The sound of smashing glass rent the air above the sound of rain. I was covered in broken shards of it.

The hand fell away from my mouth. And I screamed.

In my terror I turned and I saw the face of the boy from the plane, the neck of a broken bottle still gripped in his hand.

At his feet was a man nursing a bloodied head.

"Run," said the boy, as he turned back to cover my retreat against the thick-set suit who'd been seated two rows down, a snarling beast of a man who had drawn a wicked blade that flickered blue in the grey rain.

I turned to run, but a wide fist gripped my jacket and dragged me back. The man struck out at me with his knife but before he could land the killing blow, Tattoos stepped inside his thrust and the blade hit him in the stomach instead.

"Fool," hissed the man who wielded the blade, releasing his grip on my coat to grapple with the boy on the end of his blade.

The boy's eyes were wide. The knife planted firmly in his stomach up to the hilt.