Kurt had expected to plummet, have the wind rush by his ears as he accelerated at 32 feet per second — a figure every freshman in Bonehead Physics had to memorize — until he reached terminal velocity, a speed at which he would continue falling until the ground or some other large object got in his way.

But it didn't happen. He was sort of floating down. This was terminal velocity, and it was no faster than a brisk walk.

Looking up he saw Vinnie, about 20 feet above him, go from a flat repose on the air into a dive, speeding up his fall to come even with Kurt then somersaulting over to come out laying flat on his back again, falling alongside Kurt at the same velocity. "The only way to fly," Vinnie said, spreading his arms out to his side.

"Wha... How... How is this possible," Kurt yelled.

"Physics, dumbass."

"No," Kurt said, realizing he didn't need to yell as the wind noise was negligible. "Physics says we'd fall much faster."

Vinnie chuckled, turning a lazy barrel roll. "Ya ain't in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. They play by different rules here."

Kurt winced. Where did he think he was? Another planet, another galaxy? The afterlife wasn't just another location somewhere in normal space. It wasn't natural. It was supernatural, as in beyond natural. He felt foolish. He felt insulted. But most of all, he felt relieved. He wasn't going to die; at least not yet.

Kurt began to relax as the fall continued, realizing that it would take a few minutes before he could expect the ground to get even reasonably close. When the tops of the buildings had come within a few hundred feet, Vinnie soared over to him, grabbing his arm. "We'll land there," Vinnie said, pointing at the roof of one of the skyscrapers. The roof was empty as far as Kurt could see, just a blank square with one small rectangle jutting up out of it.

As the roof closed to within a hundred or so feet, Vinnie yanked Kurt's arm, turning them both to a standing position. "Land with your knees bent," he warned.

The roof grew closer and Kurt bent his knees, bracing for a jarring impact. But as he landed, his knees cushioning the blow, it was barely harder than jumping off a table. "Welcome to the Second Ring Interdimensional Airport," Vinnie said, his voice high pitched and slightly effeminate. "The local temperature is hot and the local time is who cares. Thank you for flying Rinaldi Airlines. We hope you enjoy your stay in the second ring of Hell." Vinnie let go of Kurt's arm as he laughed.

"You crack yourself up, don't you," Kurt said petulantly.

Vinnie responded by ceasing his laughter and slapping Kurt in the back of the head... hard. Kurt stumbled forward and Vinnie aided him in his momentum with a boot in the rear. "Elevator's that way, Guido."

Kurt stumbled further, his balance thrown off worse by Vinnie's kick. Falling to his hands and knees to prevent himself from tumbling over, blood rushed to his face. As he stood, he shucked off his backpack and dropped it on the roof. Kurt turned to face Vinnie. "Go fuck yourself," he said, clenching his teeth and squeezing his hands into fists.

Vinnie cocked his head curiously. "What did you say?"

"You heard me."

Vinnie walked toward Kurt, an odd smile on his face. "Son, you're in a heap of trouble."

As Vinnie approached, he reached out to grab Kurt. Kurt figured that with Vinnie's apparent strength, it would be futile to try to knock his arm out of the way, so he came up with another idea. Lashing out with his foot, Kurt caught Vinnie squarely in the crotch and then danced back. Vinnie reacted as predicted, doubling over, a boot in the balls being more effective than a knife in the back. Kurt stepped in and sent a hard kick toward Vinnie's jaw, his toe stopping an inch from target as Vinnie's left hand wrapped around his right ankle.

Vinnie straightened up, yanking Kurt off his feet, catching Kurt's left foot in his other hand as Kurt went back ass-over-elbows, his back slamming into the rooftop. Vinnie yanked Kurt's legs open wide, placing one foot in Kurt's groin and applying pressure.

"I gotta keep you alive until we get to Pandaemonium," Vinnie said, snarling, showing his fangs. "I gotta keep you in one piece. But I can get creative with pain."

He stretched Kurt's legs open wider, applying more pressure against Kurt's crotch. Tears formed in Kurt's eyes, but he only grunted. He just gritted his teeth and shut his eyes tight, doing his best to endure, hoping it would be over soon. Vinnie ground his foot against Kurt, causing new waves of pain to shoot out, and then let go, throwing Kurt's feet to the ground and stepping back. "Do we have an understanding?"

With his legs free, Kurt brought his knees up to his chest, rolling onto his side and curling into a fetal position, trying to weather the storm of pain that still besieged him. "I'll take that as a yes," Vinnie said, then spit on the ground and walked away.

---

Kurt wasn't sure what kind of misspent youth allowed him to identify the music blasting from the elevator's ceiling as "Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White," but the slow elevator ride was giving him a chance to reflect on it. The digital display had started off at the 216th floor, making the building enormously tall, taller than any building he'd ever been in, and was clocking off a floor about every five seconds in the slow descent. At the 180th floor it stopped and a damned soul got on. Unlike the souls in the first ring, this one was naked. He stood staring straight ahead and paid no attention to Kurt and Vinnie. A few floors later the elevator stopped again and a woman got on, also naked.

The bare bodies made Kurt think of his own. An ice-pack would have been very pleasant right about now, but there was an old cliche about a snowball's chances...

The song ended and "Papa Loves Mambo" came on at a volume a fraction of a decibel below earsplitting. He sloughed off his backpack, catching a strap in one hand, and opened the front pocket, pulling out one of his packets of ibuprofen. Putting his backpack on the floor, he tore open the packet and shook out two pills.

"What are you doing," Vinnie shouted over the music, looking back over his shoulder at Kurt.

"Painkiller," Kurt shouted back, quickly popping them into his mouth.

"Yeah," Vinnie snickered and turned his head forward again.

He grimaced, the sour taste of the pills on his tongue adding a little extra to the expression. He opened his pack and got the water out, taking just enough to swallow the pills, washing some of their sour taste away. He was tempted to pull out the half of the salami sandwich he'd left over from breakfast. His stomach was growling. But he didn't want Vinnie to know he had food with him. He squirted another ounce of water into his mouth and swallowed, then quickly put the bottle back in his pack.

As the descent continued, the stops became more frequent, the elevator becoming crowded with naked souls. Some of the women were good looking, nicely proportioned, but Kurt wasn't responding down below. It wasn't that Vinnie had damaged him, at least not as far as he knew, but he'd felt that flesh when he shook Corynysus' hand. It would be like fucking a mannequin. He actually had to force himself to start thinking about other things, anything else, to keep his mind from racing forward with the connections that the thoughts of sex made: how these women would lubricate themselves, whether or not they would be warm... He shuddered and searched his mind for something, anything else to think about, oddly coming to rest on the 23rd Psalm. He didn't know why that had come to mind, but he concentrated, trying to remember it.

The Lord is my shepherd, he thought silently, I shall not want... ummm...

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he ummm, he ummm...

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, Kurt almost laughed aloud at the irony, biting his lip to prevent himself from making any sounds.

He couldn't remember much more, just something about dwelling in the house of the Lord forever and ever, amen. That didn't seem likely either. He searched his memory for something else to think about. This was getting depressing.

Bing. The elevator stopped again and the mass of people inside shifted, bringing them uncomfortably close to Kurt. Lowering his backpack down from his shoulder, he held it in front of his stomach, creating a protective barrier between him and them. He wondered what they had been damned for, what sins they had committed, but he wasn't about to ask. There was no conversation in the elevator anyway. The blasting steel drum version of "Hotel California" coming from the speakers in the ceiling would be enough to drown out all but the loudest shouting.

Bing again and the doors opened. The people started filing out while Kurt pressed himself back against the wall of the elevator, hoping Vinnie might just file out with them, not noticing Kurt's absence until the doors had closed again and Kurt could head back up. It was not to be, however. As the people walked out into the lobby, hundreds of others exiting from other elevators, Vinnie stood at the doors, holding them open for Kurt. "Move your ass," Vinnie said, snarling. Kurt did as he was told, throwing one of the straps of his backpack over his shoulder and exiting the elevator.

Following the throng of people out into the street, Kurt was assaulted by a strong wind. He hadn't felt a trace of it as they were falling, but this far down it was blowing heavily enough that he had to lean into it and follow Vinnie and all the others as they headed down the street toward the far edge of the ring.

The foot traffic on the street was amazing. Thousands of people entered and exited the buildings, some heading toward the ring's edge, some seeming to have come back. Those who walked toward the edge, like Kurt, leaned into the wind, occasionally getting pushed back a few steps by a strong gust. Those returning stumbled forward as the wind ushered them along.

The howling of the wind was too loud for Kurt to ask Vinnie what this was all about. He squinted his eyes, keeping a bead on Vinnie's back, and followed him down the street. Crossing the first intersection, Kurt almost fell over to the side, a strong cross wind meeting the wind blowing against him from the front, creating whirling eddies of rushing air, pushing him in one direction and then another. Kurt drove himself against it, straining to advance, each step threatening to topple him. An unfortunate soul rolled past, struggling vainly to stop, and barely missed knocking Kurt's feet out from under him. The thought of giving himself up to the wind was becoming more appealing with each tortured step forward, fighting against getting pushed back or to the side. He'd let the wind take him down a few blocks, then run back toward one of the buildings and hide in it. With 216 stories, they were huge and Vinnie would have a hard time finding him. Of course, he'd soon run out of food and water. Then he'd die or have to eat some of the native food, if he could find any, either of which would be disastrous.

Setting himself to the task, he kept on. His only choice was to get to Pandaemonium, find someone in charge, and plead his case. There had to be some rules. He was alive, he hadn't come voluntarily. They couldn't keep him. He was sure of it. They just couldn't.

Vinnie was waiting for him as he reached the far corner, making his way out of the cross-current. The beating of the unidirectional wind was almost a relief in comparison. Vinnie continued to wait, waving Kurt past him. As Kurt got in front, Vinnie got behind him, pushing on his back. Kurt didn't like acting as a wind break for Vinnie, but Vinnie's strength, adding to his own, made the going easier, particularly as they crossed through the intersections.

They made their way forward, fighting the wind for each foot of progress, occasionally ducking into the lobby of one of the skyscrapers for a brief respite. Even for all his bravado, Vinnie too seemed glad when they got out of the wind. During one such stop, Vinnie went off to recompose himself. Though Kurt was sure that he too looked a mess, he didn't waste the opportunity, scarfing down the half-sandwich in a few bites and stashing the bag back in his pack, wary of leaving any evidence. He drank more of the water than he should have and even squirted some into his hands, rubbing it into his wind-burned skin. He only had about two or three ounces left as he put it back in his pack. He wasn't going to make it. Judging by the width of the rings, it would take at least a day to cross each one, if not more.

Kurt sighed as he zipped up the pack and tied his bandanna around the lower half of his face, preparing to venture back into the wind again. Seven more rings meant seven more days. He'd be dead of dehydration before he got that far. He hoped God would have mercy on his soul.

---

George fell about 30 feet below Alain and wished he could swoop up to take a swing at him. Even though the descent was mercifully slow and terminal velocity seemed to be about three miles an hour, he didn't like heights and he didn't like falling. As the roofs of the buildings approached, Alain yelled something to George. "What," George yelled back, attuning his ears so he could hear Alain's reply.

"Aim for the roofs," Alain yelled.

George looked down at the roofs, just more than a hundred feet below him. He was situated just about center between two of them over a wide avenue. Twisting in space, he tried to direct himself toward the one on his left. The distance closed and he grew nearer, but as it continued to dwindle, he realized that he was not going to make it. Frantically he struggled, trying to swim toward it, but it was no use. Five feet from the roof's edge, he passed it and continued falling toward the street, the side of the building slick, with no handholds he could grab and try to use for scaling his way up.

Still on an angled descent, he turned himself just in time to avoid bumping his head on a window, not thinking until he'd already bounced off that he might have tried to break it.

Looking up he saw Alain land just beyond the edge and within seconds he was diving off. In a straight dive, he sliced through the air, gaining on George until they were nearly even, twisting himself to lay flat on the air and maximize his resistance, matching Alain's speed. "Sorry," Alain said. "I should have told you sooner."

"We're not going that fast," George said. "Why did we need to land on the roof?"

A breeze brushed their faces, growing stronger as they fell. "That's why."

Within seconds the breeze grew into a wind. It seemed to be coming from the cliff wall, either originating off it or reflecting off it, pushing Alain and George along parallel to the avenue. "This isn't so bad," Alain shouted, the wind becoming noisy. "We'll gain some ground."

But the wind continued to grow in strength, accelerating Alain and George forward, falling on a diagonal toward the street. From this high up, he could see the edge as well. The second ring was perhaps a quarter of the width of the first, which would explain the skyscrapers, needing to house more people in less space. A large, Victorian style mansion sat at the terminus of the avenue, the drop-off just beyond it, and stretching back from its doors stood two lines of people, each at least a quarter mile long.

Still further down the wind grew stronger, pushing them faster toward the edge. They were actually over the lines of people when the wind ceased, though their forward momentum continued. Within another 50 feet, Alain began to feel a breeze pushing in the reverse direction, growing in strength as they fell. As the wind grew, it counteracted their progress until it was pushing them backward. Alain shouted to George. He knew George wouldn't be able to hear his words, but he got George's attention. Waving his hand and pointing to himself, he twisted so that he was positioned at an angle to the direction of the gusts, head up, feet down and pointed into the wind. George followed suit.

Like the flaps on the wing of a plane, the wind's force pushed them down while the angle of their bodies allowed them to lower the backward progress. Unfortunately it also sped their descent. Nearing the ground, Alain could only hope that George was watching him. Twisting again, he lay flat on the air, spreading his arms out to brake himself. This increased the speed of his backward progress slightly, but slowed him vertically. When the ground was twenty feet away, he twisted once more, trying to get himself into a feet-first landing position. Unfortunately he didn't count on the cross current. Hitting an intersection, he was twirled around, bouncing in the air, and continuing to fall as he was blown backward. There was no position he could assume that was to his advantage, so he curled into a ball and prepared for impact, getting blown out of the intersection moments before he hit the ground.

The angle caused the top of the backpack to hit first, the sleeping mat cushioning it fractionally before the frame hit, jarring Alain's shoulders and spine. Instinctively, he twisted so he lay flat on his stomach and then got up into a runner's crouch, leaning into the wind with his feet firmly planted. Slowly, getting a feel for the wind, he rose to his feet and turned around, moving back diagonally across it toward one of the buildings. Reaching the relative safety of the building's entryway, he stopped and turned back to the street.

George was stumbling toward him, limping a bit but otherwise looking none the worse for wear as the wind pushed him forward. Coming into the recess of the building's entrance, George stood up straight and pounded his chest. "Whoo," he shouted, shaking his head. "What a ride!"

Alain moved to the far end of the alcove, staring down the street without stepping into the wind. The ends of the lines were barely two hundred feet ahead, and a gap was visible between the mansion and the end of the last building on the avenue. "Let's go inside," he yelled over the wind.

Opening the door, he let George walk into the building's lobby, following him in. As the door shut, the roar and howl of the wind ceased. The lobby was still. Alain set the backpack down against the wall and closed his eyes, searching for Kurt. "He's behind us," Alain said, "about two miles back and two miles over, moving toward the edge."

"So we can reach him," George said excitedly.

"I don't think so," Alain said. "Those crosswinds are blowing against us and trying to move forward through this wind is bad enough. I don't want to try sideways. Our best bet would be to get down to the third ring and try to intercept him there."

"We'll cut 'em off at the pass," George said eagerly.

"So to speak." Alain bent down and opened the pack. "But right now we'll eat and get some rest."