鹿島さん
*** (Ume POV) ***
Shishi and I looked out the observation window at the desolate countryside. A cityscape flattened by a massive conflagration spread before us. Burnt, tumble masonry lay as far as the eye could see. The few buildings, left standing, had been reduced to battered, burned hulks. Down a steep slope outside the window were a few burned trees, bare of both branches and leaves. A charred odor hung heavy in the air.
Turning, I looked down the corridor. At first, it seemed we were still in Himekawa Hospital. The abandoned medical equipment littering the hall looked similar. But that was only at first glance. The equipment was from a bygone age. Wood replaced the plastic of our era. The walls differed slightly in color and bloody handprints ran down them. But the silence and sense of abandonment were the same.
Half to myself, I mused, “I don’t know why I thought we would find the kudan’s mate in Himekawa. Sensei did say it was the best place to enter Kakuriyo. Guess we’re just going to have to keep looking.”
Shishi nodded glumly.
“But first,” I continued. “Thanks. I wouldn’t have made it without you.” I shivered remembering Nurse Uguisu’s promise of “mercy.”
This seemed a wonderful moment to equalize our relationship. Shishi thought she owed her “White Knight” a debt of loyalty. “Let’s call it even,” I said. “You don’t owe me anymore.”
She muttered something that sounded like, “You don’t understand,” but didn’t go on.
She was looking serious again, but I suppose I was, too.
I attempted a smile, and she responded with one of her own. It was a little crooked, but I was struck by how lovely her face was. Despite the sweat and a smudge alongside her nose; it was adorable. Forget Bacall. Her nose; no, her whole face; was Clara Bow grade. She had “It” in spades.
“Ume and Shishi, that’s us. We’re a team,” I said, and impulsively I tweaked her nose. She rewarded me with a proper smile for my efforts. I would definitely have to confess my feelings once this was over.
Before continuing, we took a smoke break, using up one of our precious supply of cigarettes, and studied our surroundings. The window revealed we were on the first floor. It unquestionably wasn’t the same hospital we had entered.
We leaned out the window as we smoked and after a few puffs, Shishi observed, “It looks like Hiroshima, but I don’t see any ghosts.” There was a pause as we contemplated this observation. Then she continued, “I went to Hiroshima once, there were so many ghosts.”
“That must have been dreadful,” I said.
“It was. I got so sick I couldn’t perform.” It made me want to hug her, but that would have embarrassed us both. “Soon,” I thought.
My smoke done, I threw the butt out the window and it bounced down the slope outside. Littering wouldn’t bother anyone here. Shishi in turn took one last drag and arced hers out the window to join mine.
Feeling refreshed, we started down the hall, away from the barricade. A peek into the first room reinforced what we had guessed. Instead of bare modern hospital beds, old-fashioned ones with moldering linens lined the walls. Broken glass crunched underfoot as I walked to the far side and looked out the shattered window. The view was unchanged.
Shishi joined me. “I hope there’s no radiation.”
“I don’t feel anything,” I responded.
She looked at me, puzzlement plastered over her face.
I smiled and reassured her, “I’m joking.” She was easier to tease than Tomo, but I shouldn’t do too much teasing. She took it too seriously.
I turned and led the way out of the room and back into the hall. We threaded through the obstacle-filled passage until we reached a junction at an empty nurse’s station. Paper charts littered the area behind the counter. It might be a different hospital, but the devastation was the same.
From that vantage point, we surveyed our options. The corridor straight ahead appeared to lead to the main exit. Against the walls were gurneys and rolling tables piled with medical paraphernalia, bloody and torn uniforms, or civilian clothes.
We continued that way and when we were about halfway to the exit, Shishi stopped and pointed at a heap of olive-drab clothes and bloody blankets. I was puzzled. Then I saw what had caught her attention, the handle of a gun protruding from the pile.
I removed it gingerly. You don’t see many guns in Japan, so it wasn’t any surprise I didn’t know what kind of gun it was. It was heavy and ugly, with a 94 stamped on a grooved wooden grip.
“Not going to be much use against youkai,” I said, putting it down. Then I thought again. Maybe not onryo like Mikawa or shinigami like Nurse Uguisu, but who knows? We might encounter an oni, or a tengu. We’d run into tengu before. There were stories of samurai defeating monsters like that. Hopefully, a gun would work as well as a sword.
With that in mind, I retrieved it and dug through the pile until I found and put on a holster and web belt. Would I even be able to shoot it? I wondered. Then I looked at Shishi’s concerned face. Yeah, I could shoot it. Maybe not in my defense, but I could for her.
“Your white knight at your service,” I said with a bow.
I had hoped that would bring a smile to her face. Instead, she snapped, “Just be Ume.”
Then, in a softer voice, she added, “‘Ume and Shishi,’ I like that better.”
“What’s that about?” I wondered. After a moment I responded, “I was joking,”
She just looked at me and didn’t reply. I didn’t get it. Tomo said I was pretty clueless and maybe I was. It seemed best, though, to drop the conversation before I said something else that unintentionally offended her.
Resuming walking, we soon reached the front doors. Once outside, we started down broad steps. Below were boxy six-wheeled World War II ambulances lined up amid the rubble as if they had just arrived. Looking beyond and to our right across a river was the city, or what had once been a city. Burned and blasted buildings spread out in front of us. The majority were nothing but rubble. In the near distance were jagged, once-tall buildings. One near the banks of the river caught my attention. A mass of blasted brick with a round tower topped by a bare metal frame. Snow remained where the walls shaded it. I pointed toward the building. “The Hiroshima Planetarium.” It was one of the most identifiable structures left after the bombing. There probably isn’t a Japanese citizen who wouldn’t recognize it.
“It’s beautiful in a horrible way,” she said, “but let’s not go there. Shadows are hovering over it.” I didn’t need to be told what she meant and readily agreed.
A road ran past the ambulances and in a quarter kilometer split with one branch crossing the river into the city and the other entering a distant coniferous forest, and beyond that snow-covered hills. A light breeze blew from the forest, carrying the scent of fresh, growing things, but closer at hand, it moaned softly amid the rubble, undisturbed by the sound of birds, insects, or any other living creature.
I pulled my coat around me, offered my hand to Shishi, and we walked down the steps, stepping over the litter.
Once at the bottom, we examined the ambulances. The paint was peeling, the red crosses fading, and the tires looked flat and brittle. Shishi tapped the hood of the lead ambulance and an echo broke the silence. She said, “I don’t think we are going to drive out of here. What an awful place. I hope it’s nicer up in the hills.”
I was relieved to hear her say the hills. The thought of exploring the ruins, if one could even explore that tumbled mass, was more than I could bear. Before I could agree, a voice broke the silence. “Do you need your arms?”
Both Shishi and I shrieked, spinning around toward the voice. Inside an ambulance’s dim interior lay a figure on a stretcher, a woman struggling to sit up. Her hair was falling out, the skin peeling from her face, and her arms hung limply at her side.
“Kashima-san,” I thought, desperately dredging my memory for what I knew about her. The woman who lost her legs in an accident or in this version of the story the bombing. Forever seeking to find a replacement. Yours, unless you knew how to break the curse. I remembered some of it.
I sputtered, “I’m using them right now.”
The sheet fell away, revealing a legless torso bandaged in bloody gauze. She continued her query. “Do you need your legs?”
Backing away slowly, I reached for Shishi’s hand, and responded forcefully, “We need them right now.” As soon as I had Shishi’s hand, I whispered, “Get ready to run.”
“Who did you hear this story from?” the figure asked.
I was prepared and began running while chanting, “Kashima-san, Kashima-san, Kashima-san,” at the tops of my lungs. I only looked back when I’d run out of breath and was relieved to see she hadn’t followed. Instead, she peered malevolently out the back of the ambulance after us.
Once I regained my breath, we continued till we passed the folk and rounded a bend. Feeling safe, we stopped for a moment to talk.
“Who was that? Kashima-san?” Shishi asked.
“Yeah, the Hiroshima version. I read about her on the internet. She’s like Teketeke or Kuchisake-onna.”
“You’ve read a lot of that stuff, haven’t you? You were doing all that writing and you still found time to study about things we might meet in Kakuriyo.”
“It was just luck and I couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t been taking care of me and Tomo.”
She reached out and took my hand. “I seem to have lots of luck these days. Being around you makes me feel safe. I’m not used to that. I’m glad you care so much. You knew how to take care of Kashima-san and I never even heard of her. You saved me again. I’ll never forget it.”
“Actually, I just postponed things. We’re cursed now.”
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Note: And you, too. Kashima-san’s curse attaches to anyone who hears her story. You’ll just have to come back next week and find out how to lift the curse.
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Story by Nara Moore
Twitter/X:@nara_moore
Mastodon: sakurajima.moe
WordPress: Josei Yuri and Paranormal Romance
Art by Mai-sensei
Twitter: @Maiisheree
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