Blood Awakens

by Jessaca Willis

  “You’re right. Proof was the wrong word,” Sean attested with a tilt of his head. “But it was that piece of wreckage that made people believe there were aliens out there, and that belief alone changed everything.”

  Santiago noticed the two of them share a look that only people who’d experienced the same secret could share. Only those who had witnessed World War III would ever truly understand it, just like how future generations would never be able to fathom what growing up during the Awakening was like.

  It was difficult to describe what had been lost to people who’d never had it to begin with.

  And then Sean’s voice went rigid and cold. A deadly rage seemed to be buried deep beneath his words. “When a quarter of the world’s most powerful nations pooled their resources together to initiate an attack on Paníhava, oppositional counterstrikes were executed.”

  This was the part of the story that no one was supposed to talk about and was made more obvious by the way Sean and Graciela nervously stole another glance at one another. Before this night, Santiago had never heard any of it.

  “They spearheaded a movement to dismantle our world’s technological advances. They blamed our drive for destruction—and our ability to meet that drive—on our growing technology industries and scientific breakthroughs. Without the material to launch a nuclear attack, or the official command to do so, they believed there would be no war.

  “They corrupted files and information systems, decimated communication and defense headquarters around the globe, and burned schools that specialized in areas deemed ‘dangerous.’ You see, the goal was not only to prevent an initial attack from happening, but to cease the possibility of any attacks in the future. They started seeing technology as the true villain and wanted society to return to the way it had once been, long ago.”

  Santiago became so enthralled by Sean’s speaking that when his sister started beside him he jumped. Graciela recounted with horror in her eyes. “And then…they targeted the people behind the plans. It was genocide. The group killed everyone involved or who had the education and training to continue the work if they ever wanted to. They made sure that no one who was involved or had the ability to understand any of our technology would be around to encourage another attempt.”

  “That’s what sent us back into the dark ages.” This time it was Carson who was feeling nostalgic. If Santiago had to guess, Carson seemed to be the oldest person in the group, but not by much. What it meant though was that he too had more than likely experienced WWIII in some manner. “You missed it. Before then, they had nearly perfected telepathy software, virtual reality was unlike it had ever been before, and we were days away from the release of personal teleportation devices. My family was gonna camp out, just so we could buy one before they sold out. But World War III sent us back to the late 1950s after that.”

  Sean interjected, a note of enraged bewilderment behind his words. “We lost half of the world’s population in that war, including my father.”

  “Sorry, man, I forgot—”

  But before Carson could finish what sounded like a half-rehearsed apology anyway, Sean stopped in the middle of the road, head bowed. “It’s fine,” then repeated again sounding even less convincing, “It’s fine.”

  In painful silence, they all waited for him to collect himself. Santiago supposed that was one thing they had in common, that they’d both lost a parent during that time.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it,” Carson pleaded. “I just meant…it was…”

  “I know.” Leave it to his sister to be the bleeding heart. Forever a mediator, even amid a group of people they had yet to fully understand. “It was awful. Everything about it. Sean’s right. A lot of people died in those days due to petty indifferences. And, Carson, you’re right too. It’s why, even twenty years later, we never achieved the technological greatness we once had. Partially out of fear, but also because we lost the means of doing it.”

  Uncomfortable by the discussion, Santiago decided to change the topic to something a little more relevant. “What about what’s happening now. The Awakening…Do any of you know what started it?”

  Carson scoffed. “Depends on who you ask.”

  “All speculation,” corrected Sean. “Unfortunately, no. Like everyone, we’ve heard the rumors: evolution, science experiments gone wrong, a test of Niha, some even blame it on Paníhava. I’m not sure that anyone can say for sure, though.”

  Santiago figured, but he had to ask anyway. “I just don’t understand. Why me? Why us? Why any of this?”

  Sean pressed on to the front of the group, and as he walked by, he offered Santiago a gentle pat on the back. “That, my friend, is a question we won’t find the answer to tonight. Best to stay focused on the future, not the past.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Graciela

  Each step amplified the pounding in Graciela’s head. It felt as if someone was hammering incessantly at two boards inside her skull and missing the nail each time. The world rocked around her, but she couldn’t stop, not now that they were so close.

  Still, the knocking was both insistent and maddening.

  Hurting more than her head though was the burning of her throat. It made it difficult to breath. At first, she coughed frequently, but it caused too much pain, so she resorted to stifling them instead.

  In a nutshell, Graciela was beginning to feel like death. Her eyes were so heavy she could’ve sworn they were made of lead. With every step, her brain jostled, and her eyes fluttered. If she wasn’t so delirious, she might be thankful that at least she’d remained healthy long enough not to have to be the sole person caring for Santiago.

  But she wasn’t coherent enough for gratitude, and instead she only thought about the prospect of lying in a bed again someday. Hopefully soon.

  It must’ve been obvious how horrible she felt because Sean asked her, “We’re not far now. Less than an hour. How are you feeling?”

  Tempting as it was, she resisted the urge to ask for a break, but found it difficult to lie as well. “I’ve felt better.” Harsh and rasping, she barely recognized her own voice.

  “Yeah, you’ve looked better,” her brother teased, earning a critical glare. For an empath, sometimes he sure lacked adequate empathy.

  She didn’t doubt he was wrong. Everything ached and throbbed. Even her head felt too heavy to move. All she wanted was sleep and rest.

  As she watched the world tip sideways, Graciela felt her knees crash into rock.

  In a haze, she scarcely heard her brother calling, “Gracie? Are you oooookaaaaaay?” Each syllable elongated until it sounded like no more than a series of indistinct sounds.

  Without further warning, everything went black.

  °°°

  To open her eyes, Graciela first had to rub away the crusted goop that encased them. They peeled open painfully, and she blinked to adjust to the harshly lit world around her. An attempt at swallowing brought her attention to the fiery pressure still lingering in her throat.

  Graciela couldn’t even remember the last time she was ill, but this had to be tenfold the amount of discomfort she usually experienced when she was sick.

  Her vision fluttered back in pixelated fragments.

  At first, she could see only colors; some yellow blobs, brown splotches, and a few red accents. The more she strained to see, the clearer things became. Head bobbing, she stared down at the dead earth, somehow moving even though she wasn’t doing any of the work.

  She could discern an arm locked at the back of her knees. Someone was carrying her.

  Instinctively she burst into struggle, trying to roll over and get herself upright. It was a disorienting and disempowering experience to be unconscious and wake to find yourself slung over someone’s shoulder, caveman style.

  All the while her brain continued to protest her effort, screaming at her with pain. The migraine knotted itself behind her eyes, and she was overcome in a wave of exhaustion.

  “It’s okay. We’ve
got you.”

  The mellifluous voice was familiar and comforting, like rich, sweet honey drizzled into a cup of tea. It put her at ease, and her muscles relaxed. She didn’t have the energy to fight the comfort, nor did she really want to. Another horrific cough bellowed, searing her chest and constricting every muscle in her body.

  “Just try to get some rest. We’ll be home shortly.”

  Home. She’d almost forgotten the meaning of the word. For so long, home had referred to a now soured past, of a life her father had stolen from both her and her brother. Home had become wherever they found shelter, wherever their feet could take them. It was almost a foreign concept to her now, the thought of having a set location where they would live, make friends, contribute, possibly grow old.

  They’d actually made it. Not much farther now.

  It seemed like forever since she had allowed herself to cry, but in this moment, she was too helpless to the desire to do much else. Teardrops stained her filthy cheeks with fresh paths of cleaned skin. Finally they’d have a home again.

  Sean’s free hand patted her calf with such sincerity that she could actually feel the kindness radiating off him like warmth from the sun. Normally, Graciela wasn’t overly fond of physical contact unless it was between family. But in this moment, she accepted the gesture. For now, she allowed her emotions to take control and succumb to the illness thrashing inside of her.

  Body bowed, she draped herself back across Sean’s shoulder. As he walked, she inspected the topsy-turvy world collapsed around her. A motel sign had fallen atop a car and ruptured the metal framing. But where it pierced, wild flowers bloomed up a spiraling vine. Where there was destruction, where there was ruin, there was also growth and opportunity.

  Graciela let the bob of Sean’s stroll lull her, and quickly, she faded back into the blissful darkness.

  °°°

  The next time she awoke she was sitting, propped up against a cool, pebbled wall. She felt someone’s gentle hold on her face, two hands cupping her cheeks, laboring over the weight of her head.

  “It’s time to wake up now, Graciela.”

  I don’t want to, she thought.

  To her surprise, the voice responded.

  “I know you don’t want to, but the sooner you do, the sooner we will get you to Hope and then you can rest in a bed! I know how much you’ve been wishing about that. C’mon! There ya go. Open those eyes.”

  Adelaide’s chipper face was maybe five centimeters away from her own. Graciela was startled backward and unfortunately slammed her head onto the wall behind her, increasing the severity of her already forceful headache.

  “Oops, sorry. That was my fault,” Adelaide said, and she gave Graciela some space.

  “Is she awake?” Sean hollered over an unknown ear-shattering rumble.

  “Yup! Well, she’s getting there.”

  “Good. We had better do this fast then. There’s no telling how long she will be with us this time, and I’d rather her do it when she has at least some of her strength and isn’t passed out.”

  Graciela barely had any time to register where they were. Blurred faces more closely resembling wisps of light swirled in loops before her. At her feet lay a sizable circle. There was no telling what it did, but the fuzzy blurs of people all seemed to gravitate toward it.

  Sean—or a blurry, dusky figure that had Sean’s voice—stood nearby, hands outstretched cautiously. He crossed the room to a pedestal of knobs.

  Suddenly, a bright blue light sparked. The ring in front of her came to life, causing her migraine to intensify.

  Two indistinct people, one on either side, pulled her to her feet, dragging her closer to the blinding aura that, for some reason, she so desperately wanted to stay clear of. Her head whirled about, unable to comprehend much of anything that was happening. All that she knew was that she’d rather be propped back against the wall so that she could continue sleeping.

  Her brother’s voice came in at a startling volume to her right. It was then that she noticed the catawampus way in which her body leaned in Santiago’s weakened grip.

  Graciela strained to stay focused on his words but struggled with the effort.

  “Gracie…what is about to happen…painful…be here with you…will be okay…done this before…home…bed…you ready?”

  No, she wasn’t ready.

  They stood less than a meter away from the ring of light, with six non-distinct shadows wobbling inside.

  “We have to go now.” Mara’s voice called from her left. “This machine transports everyone at once. I don’t know how it works exactly, but I don’t want half of my face to be left behind here. So we do this now.”

  Without further warning, they hoisted Graciela inside the circular light.

  Now within the circle’s protection, she was consumed by vigor and warmth, like that which you’d find on a sunny day at the beach. She basked in its tender heat. All of her fears and doubts escaped her, and she was left wanting to frolic about with her friends. None of the others seemed as enchanted by the thought, and for a brief moment, she wondered why no one else was captivated with elation. Though the thought fleeted effortlessly and she returned her joyful awareness inwardly.

  The air had a humid feeling to it, thick and moist, but somehow perfectly comfortable. She inhaled deliberately, sucking in its rich vitality. She could easily live there forever. Why couldn’t they just stay here?

  Were those bubbles?

  The light-enclosed room around them filled with bubbles both small and large, a lather that surely no one could breathe in. But somehow they were, she was, and it was the sweetest air her lungs had ever guzzled. She watched the beads glide around them on a direct path to their bodies. One kissed her cheek, another her bicep. It was the most gentle and affectionate touch she had ever received. She gave herself to them, fully surrendering to their rapture.

  Peaceful, eternal, bliss.

  Something nagged at her ear, a distorted call that pulled on her emotionally responsive instincts. It took everything she had to open her eyes—which she hadn’t realized were shut—to search the area around her. Like the mighty waves of the deep sea, the brutal cries came crashing in.

  Her eyes widened, suddenly concerned for her friends. All around her they screamed, bloodcurdling pleas for an end to their suffering, each of them plagued by incomprehensible wounds. Their bodies resembled dough that had been taken to with cookie cutters, repeatedly, until nothing remained that looked like a human.

  The mask of euphoria finally fell, replacing itself with alarming agony.

  No longer was she intoxicated with delight; that façade had blown away in the storm. Her frightened gaze trailed up her arm to where the second bead of light had landed on her skin. It still clung there now, burrowing into her like a translucent leech.

  Nails impulsively scratched and dug at the bubble, as she tried to free herself from the cookie cutter fate. She didn’t know which was worse, feeling like she was grating away her skin with her own claws or the agony of this thing eating through her flesh.

  It had now reached the bone.

  With a deafening pop, it suctioned itself with such force that it bulleted all the way through her limb. She couldn’t believe her eyes. She could literally see through her arm. A shriek welled inside her, bursting from her lungs like fire.

  Something clutched to her hand, fingers desperately lacing into hers like their life depended on it. She knew who the other hand belonged to and was frightened all the more to have to watch him endure the same fate.

  Turning to Santiago with despondency, she hoped that maybe he would be there to tell her that they were going to be okay again, or maybe that he had a solution. But looking at him filled her with more anguish than any physical harm could have caused.

  He too displayed holes in his arms and all over his body. Both of their eyes locked in horror, their hands gripping tighter. They wailed as more chunks of flesh vanished into nothingness. Every surface of skin melted like
lava, as if they had walked her into the pit of a volcano. Bit by bit their limbs disappeared, toe-by-toe and finger-by-finger, until only a head remained. It somehow floated, magically suspended by the gelled air.

  Even without a body, she still ached all over.

  She watched as Santiago crumbled away like dust in the wind.

  No.

  No, no, no.

  She wouldn’t let it take him too. He was all she had. Her frantic screams transformed into powerful roars, demanding he be spared. She reached out to save him, push him out of the light, but her hands were no longer accessible. All that she once was had been diminished to just a head. She was utterly helpless.

  Slowly, bubble by bubble, he popped out of existence.

  There was no way to prevent her hysteric sobs, no way to comfort her in her grief. She couldn’t save her brother. The one person in the world that she would die for, and she couldn’t protect him.

  Soon after, she too boiled until she was nothing.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sean

  “Comin’ in hot!” Trey hollered over his shoulder. “Where do you want these two?”

  Concern wrinkled the face of the tall and broad-shouldered man inside the tent. “The Gods have mercy! It’s about time you returned. What madness and mayhem did you guys wind up in this—” As his eyes fell to the unconscious, he sprang into dutiful action. “Bring them here. I’ve got some beds available.”

  The man’s name was Darach, born and raised in Cascadia only to make the short move south to California a few weeks before the Awakening. Darach was blessed with the dexterous hands of a doctor and the brash, sturdy physique of a sailor. His bones were thick, his thighs robust. Like many Pacific Union citizens, Darach’s body was decorated in colorful tattoos, Sean’s favorite of which being the finned ram on his bicep—their shared astrological sign.

  Darach was Hope’s only trained medical physician.

  “Thanks, doc,” Trey said as Santiago’s incapacitated body slammed onto a cot with an audible thud.