Brenner: The Gospel of Madness (Book 5 of 6)

by Georg Bruckmann

  Shepard

  I didn’t know which of us it was who supported the other or who was supported by the other. As fast as we could, we dragged our miserable bodies forward, tried to leave Eater and his bitch with the shot wound in the stomach behind us. If we ran into any more Degs now, we wouldn’t have a chance. All this was absolutely clear to both of us, and it didn’t take more communication between us than a short nod. It didn’t matter what our names were. It didn’t matter where we came from. It didn’t matter who or what we lost in the past. It didn’t matter where we were going. At the moment it was only a matter of getting off the streets, somewhere safe from the eyes of the degenerates and their murderous lust for blood. In the brief moment when we had pulled each other up more badly than right, I had a look at the face of my rescuer. As far as the bruises and cuts that made it impossible to make an estimate at all, he seemed to be about my age. But perhaps he was younger, and this impression had only come about because of his emaciated features and the eyes lying deep in the caves, testifying to his past ordeals. With shivers I thought of his fingers protruding in all directions. He must be in hell of a lot of pain. On the other hand - and I hoped he would - he perhaps still had enough adrenaline in his system not to have to perceive this pain at the moment. We hadn’t got very far yet, and I could still hear Eater’s loud sobbing when I concentrated on it. I took a look in the back. He sat on the ground, the upper body of the woman I had shot he had pulled into his lap and gently swayed her back and forth. If I saw that correctly, the bone-degenerate with the greedy pig’s eyes was surprisingly tender in his dealings with her. One of his paws lay on the belly of the degenerate, surely trying to hold the blood in her, the other seemed to caress the woman’s forehead. I turned away again. There’s no time to let this image continue to affect me. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to see that this damn cannibal was able to feel something like sadness, sorrow or compassion for another person. I went on and turned my gaze back to the street. On the next fifty meters only two staked, naked bodies were to be seen. Both next to each other, a man and a woman. The man’s right hand had been sewn together with the woman’s left. A couple that had been mocked, probably. Till death do us part. “Faster. Don’t stop,” I heard the wheezing voice of the man I supported and who supported me. Had we been seen together on the street at a time other than this one, we would have been thought to be two friends who had just been the last to be thrown out of the pub and stagger home. Every few seconds we heard short, barked cries echoing through the night. The Degs were still out there looking for me. “Do you know where we can go?” He came from here, I thought. He had to know his way around. We needed a place to hide. “Hey! Do you know anything where we can go? Any place where we can be safe and rest,” I repeated the question more emphatically. “J... a. Yeah, I know. It’s not far. I used to live there. The key should still ... shit!” He came to a halt, pointed his crippled hand forward. At first I didn’t see exactly what he meant. But after I had scanned the road in front of us from left to right, I discovered a figure at a distance of about seventy meters. It had probably not seen us yet, because the degenerate went from the middle of the street to the right onto the sidewalk. He stopped there for a second. He seemed to be thinking about what to do. Then he disappeared from my sight. Maybe he had heard something in one of the houses that had caught his attention. “Go on now. As long as he hasn’t noticed us yet.” My companion was right. The figure didn’t even have to become directly dangerous to kill us. It would be quite enough if he just opened his mouth and summoned more of his kind to seal our fate. We dragged ourselves further, pushing my companion gently to the left step by step so that we didn’t walk in the middle of the road. Near the feral front gardens we could dive faster into the shade, in case we would spot Degs again. This precautionary measure soon proved necessary. We had covered a further fifty meters when the figure, only vaguely masculine at first glance, stepped back onto the street. It was lucky that my new friend had discovered the guy, because that’s why we knew exactly what to look out for. We discovered the Deg at the same time and took cover in an absurd, stumbling synchronous movement behind a rubbish bin crate. My companion suppressed a loud groan as he sat down with his back to the wall of the shack. I would have liked to have done the same, just leaned there, but instead I looked around the corner of the shack into the street. I had to see what the degenerate did. He on the other hand didn’t seem quite sure about what to do. He just stood there and turned his head here and there, holding it crooked as if he was listening. Maybe, I thought, he was afraid. On his way alone at night, and in search of me, a man whom the degenerates - I had learned in the meantime - classified as dangerous. But perhaps he was also particularly courageous, considered himself the greatest of all hunters and human creatures, and therefore tried it on his own. “What’s he doing?”, my new companion asked. “I don’t know. He’s on the street. Seems to be thinking. Wait ... damn it. He’s moving on. In our direction,” I replied. “Shit!” “Quiet now. Not a sound, understand?”, I whispered back. I heard the soft sound of rubbing cloth, which led me to believe that he had nodded. I didn’t turn my eyes away from the degenerate. The closer the figure of the Deg came to us, the more certain I was that something was wrong with him. His gait was ... but of course! The guy was drunk as a bomb! He wasn’t alone on this road because he wanted to hunt us. Either he had lost contact with his group because he was too slow, or he had been deliberately left behind. I suppose it was that. I think he would have been quite a hindrance to hunting us if the group had adapted to him. But that didn’t really matter. I reinforced my grip around the machete and it hurt. This one could really have the luck of a drunk. Not because I was in a conciliatory mood, but because one could never really know how a fight would end, even if one saw oneself in an advantage. If he didn’t spot us and keep staggering along the road, I’d let him go. Don’t take any chances. At one, I wasn’t in the right condition. And I didn’t want to take the risk of noise either. But as soon as he would turn his stupid, drunken skull even a tiny bit in our direction ... I was determined to cut his head off his shoulders in this case, even before he could catch his breath to summon his henchmen. Neither I nor my new acquaintance to the right of me dared to make the slightest sound. We remained in silent tension. The limp, awkward steps of the degenerate on the wet road became louder and louder. I pulled my head back around the corner and waited, ready to jump him. Step by step he got closer. Then he slowly pushed himself into my field of vision. He walked in the middle of the street, claiming a lane of about one and a half meters, on which he swayed. He babbled something, and his bronchi whistled asthmatically. Maybe he was sick. Maybe it came from drinking. It didn’t matter. He passed us by, and we breathed a silent sigh of relief. I looked after him for about ten seconds. Then I pulled my rescuer back on his feet again. “We gotta go. Right now, he’s not a threat yet. But if he were to meet Eater...” As if on a sing, a long, tortured cry echoed, more animal than human. I believe to this day that he came from Eater. I think the woman with the bullet in her stomach had died in the very second that I and my new companion set us in motion again. If that scream had any effect, it was that we hurried as much as we could. When the bitch was dead, Eater had no reason to stay at the place of the fight. He knew the direction we’d fled in, and he knew we’d be slow. He’d come for us and take revenge. “How far is it to your hiding place?” “Not far. See what I mean? Right over there, the house on the left?” I breathed another sigh of relief. It wasn’t too far, in fact. Only a little further away from us than the place where the drunken Deg had left the road. Not to search a house for us or because he had heard something, but rather to ease himself in some way. Still, I was tense when we passed by. There was nothing of interest there, and then, after twenty more exhausting steps, we stood at the front door. It was locked. I pointed this out to my companion. “Dootma ... tteee. Under ... the doormat.” I carefully detached myself from him only then completely, when I was sure
that he would not fall down. I lifted the doormat. The key sparkled in the moonlight. As quietly as I could, I unlocked the door. I helped my rescuer into the stairwell. Then I closed the door again and locked it carefully. “You used to live here?” “Yes, until shortly after the end of the war. Until we have come to the conclusion that we ... we maybe should all live together. As a group, instead of everyone ... for himself and scattered throughout the city.” “I see.” Yeah. That made sense. “What apartment?” “Third floor. Left.” he gasped hard as we climbed the steps together. All in all, it took us maybe four minutes to get to his former apartment. Remote shouting could be heard. They were still hunting. The key that had given us access to the stairwell also fitted here. Since the door was locked, I renounced the search routine I had become accustomed to when entering abandoned houses or apartments. It was unlikely that anyone or anything would be waiting for us here, and my companion didn’t seem to worry about that either. I carefully maneuvered my cargo - or my carrier - towards the couch, depending on how one wanted to see it, and set him down. With a moan he let himself sink into the cushions. With a slow movement that caused him pain, he put his hand in front of his face. He still couldn’t believe what he saw, so it seemed. At least three of his fingers were broken in more than one place. Three of the remaining fingers, I mean. The little one was just hanging on a shred of skin. I hadn’t noticed. He probably didn’t either, because he suddenly became two levels paler than he already was. He had trouble speaking when he asked: “Would you... remove... that...?” I just nodded and then I said: “Yes. In a minute. Tell me, what’s your name?” “Jan. And you?” “I’ll be right back. Do you have anything to eat here?” “No. We took all this with us when...” “Sorry. Dumb question.” Now I also noticed the pictures on the walls, while he kept talking, but I didn’t listen anymore. Most of them showed a boy who had to be his son. I didn’t want to go into that now. Who knew what asking questions about a presumably dead child would trigger in him? No. It was better to stay anchored in the present for now. The bathroom was found quickly. The towels too, plus half a bottle of mouthwash. Not much alcohol, but at least antibacterial, if one could believe the advertising imprint. I completed my amputation equipment in the kitchen. The knife block, which once must have cost a lot of money, offered me what I needed. I returned to the living room and did it without much fuss. The bleeding was hardly worth mentioning as most of the wound was already scabbed. “How long did you lie there?” I asked, on the one hand out of interest and on the other hand to distract him. “I don’t know, I don’t know. Time is strange when...” Yeah, I guess it is. Outside it had become brighter, and through the living room curtains some light fell in. He was younger than me. It had been the effort that had made him look older. “I’ll stay awake a little longer. Rest if you can. I’ll take a look at the other apartments. Maybe I can find something to eat, or a first-aid kit, or anything else I can use.” “Thank you.” Jan didn’t change his position, just moved his head back until he lay on top of the back of the couch. I wasn’t quite sure if he was gonna be alive when I got back. It wasn’t just the hand, that much was clear. There was nothing to shake about heavy, inflamed wounds. Not here, not today. But at least he had survived until now. I didn’t want to examine him any further. If an arrowhead is still stuck somewhere in his body, it might do more harm to remove it than to simply leave it stuck. At least now and under the circumstances. Gustav. Gustav wasn’t here. I walked out of the apartment into the stairwell. At first I tried it on good luck by simply pressing the door handles. No success. All the doors were locked tight. On the way back to Jan’s apartment I closed one of the stairwell windows that was still tilted as quietly as possible. Then I went into the kitchen. Under the sink, I found what I was looking for. A toolbox. I grabbed a couple of screwdrivers without really looking. Bathroom, then. Get more towels to dampen any noise. They were old doors and old locks in an old house. I had to pry for about two minutes before I could enter the neighboring apartment. I had succeeded - at least that’s what I thought - in not making too much noise. And that despite I hadn’t used the towels for dampening, but to wrap them around the much too hard grip of the screwdriver that I thought was most suitable for my maltreated hands. It still hurt like hell. The apartment was identical to Jan’s apartment in terms of design. I went straight to the kitchen. A brief search revealed two cans of pineapple slices and a half-full but carefully sealed bag of oat flakes. In a drawer I found cutlery, two spoons and a can opener. I went back to Jan. He was asleep. His breath was very weak, and in the first second I had believed that he had died. I opened one of the cans and smelled. Seemed still okay. I tried a little piece of pineapple. All right, all right. I began to eat, and when I had finished, I suddenly felt as if my limbs were made of lead. Tired. Totally exhausted. At the end of my ropes. I almost sank into the chair where I had taken a seat. The thought of just falling asleep here and now, forgetting the Degs and Mariam, Gustav and Sonja and Brownjacket and the vampire doctor and just forgetting everything and hoping at some point to open my eyes again in twelve or sixteen or twenty-four hours and realize that I was still alive was more than seductive. No, not at all. That ... that just didn’t work out. I got up again. Soon the sun would rise completely. I stepped to the window. Through the semipermeable curtain I watched the road. The rumbling in my stomach, which processed the idiosyncratic combination of food, reminded me that Jan also had to eat something when he woke up. I went back to his kitchen. It was true what he had said. There was absolutely no food left. All completely emptied. Maybe he had to pay for some kind of entry into the new community? Signal his willingness to make sacrifices and share? Or maybe not. Basically, it was a matter of course that you put together what you had. Or wasn´t it? I prepared a bowl for him. Cut the pineapple slices into small pieces and soaked the oat flakes in the juice. I put it in front of him on the half-height coffee table. Then I stepped to the window again. There hadn´t been any calling for some time, nevertheless - there was movement downside. Eater. He did not come from the direction in which we had left him behind, but from the opposite. I can’t exactly say how much time it took us to get to Jan’s former apartment, how long it had been since we had heard Eater’s desperate outcry. The fact was, he probably didn’t intend to go back to Benito and the others so quickly. He stood in the middle of the street, slowly turning in circles, searching windows and doors with his eyes. Eater was still hunting. Someone came after him. A degenerate. Maybe the one I let pass us by. He went with his shoulders hanging, approached Eater and said something to him. Eater slapped him in the face, as casually as others scare away an insect. The beaten one laboriously rose again with the nose bleeding. Once again he approached Eater and tried to get the giant’s attention. Eater took a long swing for another, this time more energetic blow. Only at the last moment did he slow down and spare his wildly gesticulating counterpart. The relief was obvious to the much smaller man. Now he turned around and pointed up the road. Eater’s gaze followed the hand. I could see his eyes widening, but only for a second. His gaze hardened again. Then he grabbed the other Deg and twirled him around his shoulders until he stood with his back pressed against Eater’s protruding belly. I knew this motion sequence. That’s how you move when you want to use another person as a shield. The Deg wriggled and wriggled in Eater’s mighty arms, who was holding him in the headlock, even biting him until blood came, but Eater held the man tight. Then it started.