Hellblazer 2 - Subterranean by John Shirley Read Free Book Online

can do better than—” before the wall of water crashed down on him, knocking him off his feet, rolling him like a log in surf off the road and down into the ditch. He fell shouting face-first into the water rushing from the culvert, and was tumbled arse over elbow a few times; then he caught a projecting tree root and pulled himself up out of the water, sputtering, coughing. “Chas!”
    “Right here mate!” Chas shouted in disgust. “It got me too—naturally!”
    Constantine turned his head to see Chas clinging to a root beside him. “Where’s the old duffer?”
    “I don’t fucking know and I don’t fucking care. That was some of your supernatural bullshit, John—which arsehole demon’s hacked off with you this time?”
    “Don’t rightly know.” Though Constantine was beginning to suspect who was behind this. He remembered the talkative ice in the bar, the sewer grate gurgling his name. This tropical-style heavy rain . . .
    He pulled himself up onto the bank of the ditch and turned to help Chas up. They were a surprising distance from the road—they could just make out the headlights of Chas’s stuck cab through the trees, up above them. The rain had eased up some but it was still a thoroughly wet world.
    “Road’s back that way,” Chas said.
    “No use, Bruv—we try to go any direction this thing doesn’t want us to go, it’ll slap us down. You can’t fight it, mate, when it’s got a whole element to throw against you. You know what old Lao Tzu said: ‘Nothing in the world is as soft and yielding as water, yet nothing can better overcome the hard and strong—’ ”
    “Fuck your Low Zoo! Just lead me wherever we’re going so we can get this over with and I can get to a dry hotel somewhere!”
    “Right—well, it wants us to follow the stream, I reckon. Let’s go.”
    It wasn’t a cold night. It was one of those rainstorms that seemed swept from warmer climes—it may indeed have been tropical—and if it weren’t for the way his wet trousers were chafing his goolies, Constantine would have found it all strangely refreshing. Walking through the wood, in the thinning rain, the light from the moon breaking through the cloud cover, gleaming on the wet tree trunks, turning their drips opalescent; the exhalation of rising mists, smelling of soil and living things . . .
    “Here, John—are we going the right way? Look!” Chas pointed at the water. “It’s changed directions on us. It was flowing the other way before.”
    Constantine saw fallen leaves traveling along the stream, back toward the road. “You’re right—whatever lifted us up and dropped us down here was flowing against the natural current. Which confirms . . .”
    “What?”
    “Well, nothing’s well and truly confirmed yet.”
    “I’m knackered and hungry. Worried about me cab. Maybe I’ll leave you to it . . . Chances are it’s you this thing wants.”
    Constantine nodded, putting on an expression of indifference, though he wanted Chas along. A funny old world, he sometimes called it, but it felt like a lonely old world lately. He made a show of patting his coat, wondering if his cigarettes were dry. He had gotten three packs, and they were still sealed up. He opened a pack and lit a Silk Cut with a Zippo lighter, sheltering it against the drizzle with his hand. “Off you go, Chas,” he said, the words accompanied by a stream of exhaled smoke. “Cheers.”
    Chas stuck his hands in his pockets, started off toward the road—and the stream surged up again, water spouting, hissing warningly . . .
    “Sorry—it wants you to go with me!”
    “Well it can fuck off! I can be up this bank and into the field before . . .” He let the bravado trail off as the water fell back, as if it were discouraged. “There, you see—you’re not the only one with a little mystical authority . . . ummm . . . John? What’s that?”
    Constantine was already peering at the strange, rolling shapes in the creek, trying to make out what