“Then I shouldn’t have any problems?” James asked.
“Not from here. There are only a few who go up to the Synthesizer for maintenance and routine inspection. Most work on separate units throughout the building, all of which receive regular input from the Synthesizer.”
“Got it.” James looked around at the disoriented bunch who lingered, and motioned with his gun. “Can you get the rest of them outside? I’m going up to the top.”
Before Mike could answer, James was gone.
For the survivors of the onslaught, those huddled against walls and in corners, the pills’ effects were wearing thin. Once the Synthesizer was destroyed, there would be no more specks of shining merciful oblivion to swallow, and no chemical oasis in this dead region.
The people looked around, confusion setting in. Some of them stared at Mike and the weapon in his hand. Others looked at the bodies that covered the floor with a slow-dawning horror infiltrating their minds and eyes.
“I know you don’t understand what’s happening,” Mike said. “I barely do myself. But listen, I need you all to follow me, right now.”
Mike backed away. He motioned, and some of the people followed, while others deliberated.
“Come on! If you can understand what I’m saying to you, I need you to help me get everyone out. Your lives all depend on it. Follow me!”
Mike backed toward the elevator. Some of the people pushed in, crowding it.
“Some of you will have to take the stairs,” Mike said. “Do any of you remember where the stairs are?”
Numerous people nodded. “Use the stairs,” Mike reiterated. “Go down to the ground floor and I’ll meet you at the front door.”
The elevator doors closed, and moved down. Mike was uncomfortable in the hot, crowded carriage. When it reached the first floor, he kept his weapon ready. When the doors reopened, to Mike’s relief, no further opposition waited for them beyond. He pushed his way between the people around him and moved out, heading for the front door and the metal bridge that spanned the chemical moat.
Outside, the people watched the building. One man sat down and looked across the moat. A woman stifled a sob.
The top of the building erupted into a fiery explosion, drawing all eyes. For minutes, they watched it burn until James came back to them from across the bridge.
“That’s it,” James said. He walked on by, and the people watched him pass, heading for the ruined trees. He paused mid-way. “Mike?” he called.
“I’m coming.” Mike walked slowly, but he could not ignore their faces.
“Look at them,” Mike said to James.
“Give them time,” James said, but kept his gaze fixed on the dead forest. “They need time, Mike.”
Mike turned to look back. They still looked to him, lost and afraid.
One spoke with some trepidation. “What will we do?”
Mike pondered the question. No easy answer came.
“I don’t know,” he said at last and trailed after James into the gray ghost of a forest.
BIOGRAPHY: Tommy B. Smith is a writer of dark fiction and the author of Poisonous and Pieces of Chaos. His work has appeared in numerous publications over the years to include Every Day Fiction, Night to Dawn, Blood Moon Rising, and a variety of other magazines and anthologies. His presence infests Fort Smith, Arkansas, where he resides with his wife and cats. More information can be found on his website at http://www.tommybsmith.com.
HUSH
Sergio Pereira
“Just push it harder.”
“I’m trying to. It’s stuck.”
“You’re being dof. Hold the crowbar tighter and push it. Don’t pull it, dumbass.”
Clink.
A puff of dust spoiled the air with a horrible taste akin to that of a licked five cent coin. The rusty bolt popped off with aplomb and the grate that covered the old ventilation shaft loosened, uncovering the square opening in the wall. “Why didn’t you just say that from the start, Heino?”
Heino rolled his eyes at his skinny companion. “Go stand over there and see if anyone is coming. I’ll call the girls.”
“But what about me? Who’ll stand watch while I climb in?”
“Darren,” Heino let out an exhausted sigh, “we’ve spoken about this already: Lauren, Justine and I will take a quick look around while you keep watch out here. I’ll snap some pictures on my phone and we’ll be out in no time.”
“Why can’t we bribe the security guards like everyone else? Then we can all go in.”
The veins on Heino’s neck bulged and his eyes blackened. “Didn’t you hear what Hannes said the other day? He said the guards want a hundred bucks per person. There’s no way in hell that I’m going to pay that much to go into some abandoned hospital. My tax money already pays for the guards to sit around all day and do nothing. So stop arguing and stick to the original plan.”
Darren frowned. “Ag man, sometimes I feel like you just keep me around to be your own personal car guard.”
Any idiot could figure out Heino’s plan was to get the girls alone. Darren didn’t quite get the message, though, regardless of how blatant and forceful it was.
Darren tiptoed to the edge of the building.
Despite being forced into guard alert he had the glow of someone about to be involved in something not-quite-so legal.
This was something he could tell people about. Something exciting.
Like a schoolchild crossing the road, Darren looked left, right and then left again. The darkness cloaked him, as he sought a discreet way to let Heino know the coast was clear. Eventually throwing caution to the wind, Darren shouted, “All clear, charna.”
Heino yanked the grate to the floor, making a loud ruckus he instantly regretted. He dusted his hands off on his camo pants and hustled for the micro flashlight from his back pocket. He tapped the flashlight’s button twice, shining two beams of light into the sweet dead of the African summer night. What an evening it was, too. Neither hot nor cold, perfectly comfortable. Complementing the temperature, the nightfall hushed with only the sounds of empty crisp packets crinkling in the deserted parking lot and the echoes of police sirens in the faraway distance . . . and the murmur of a muffled giggle. Followed by a loud guffaw.
“Hey. Keep it down,” Heino scolded, as much as one can with a whisper. The giggles persisted even as the footsteps quickened. “Jirre. You women can never keep quiet, can you?”
“What are you so worried about?” the blonde woman in the black pencil skirt said.
A second woman stepped out from behind her. She pulled back her long red hair and quipped, “It’s not like we’ll get arrested or anything . . . ”
“Ja, but I don’t particularly feel like paying off a guard because your mouth has no mute button, Justine.”
“He’s such a cheapskate, Lauren,” Justine said, much to her blonde friend’s obvious amusement.
Heino kept his mouth shut, and motioned to the dark opening in the wall. “Ladies first.”
“Through the ventilation shaft?” Justine asked. “Are you mad? That thing hasn’t been cleaned for decades. Nee fok, man. There could be mould and . . . spiders.” She shivered as she mouthed the last word.
“S-s-spiders,” Lauren repeated.
“Well, how else do you want to ge—”
“Hey wena! What are you doing here?”
Heino and the girls stuttered over each other. The ominous, gargled voice caught them off guard, much like when a stranger raps on your door at midnight— it might be soft and gentle, but it still startles and unsettles.
The bright light flashed in Heino’s eyes. “Relax boet. We were just looking around,” he replied, shielding his eyes with his apelike hand. “Will you stop shining the light in my face?”
The light blitzed to the wall, fixing on the ventilation shaft, and moved quickly down to the floor. “And that?” the man asked, bouncing a beam of light up and down on the dubiously positioned grate. “You do realise this is not only tre
spassing, but damage to property as well.”
Busted.
Heino had no answer, and neither did the girls who quickly shuffled behind him. However, not a single peep from Darren. Where the hell was he?
“Get out of here.” The man switched off the flashlight and turned around. “Go home.”
Heino scratched his chromed head. “How much?”
The man spun on his heels. “Excuse me?”
“How much for us to look around?”
“Sir, this is private property. I’m not accepting any money from you or your friends to look around.” He waved them away. “Come back in 2017. The hospital should be reopened by then.”
Heino didn’t expect that, looking offended that his bribe wasn’t accepted. “Oh, come on. Let us have a look around and you can make a couple of extra bucks for doing nothing.”
A long, uneasy silence lingered. “Do you know the story of this place?”
“Of course I do,” Heino scoffed. “It used to be a popular hospital in this area. Then, one day, poof! Everyone just dropped their shit and left and no one knows why. Been empty since 1995. Everyone says the place is haunted.”
“1996,” the man corrected him. “And your story is wrong.”
Heino smirked and flexed his muscles. His neck bopped like a peacock’s, ready to settle a farmyard score. This guy was obviously getting a little too clever for his liking and Heino didn’t like being shown up in front of his girls.
“Do you know what really happened?” Lauren asked, fiddling with her blonde locks and looking like a cow chewing on a piece of grass.
“Ja. Do you?” Justine added with a hint of excitement and anticipation in her voice.
“I do.”
“You know, we’ll just have a look around for ourselves instead of listening to some old wives’ tales, thank you very much,” Heino interjected. He wasn’t about to let some random guy interfere with his plans to get the girls alone, considering Darren had already tried his best. “We can negotiate. How about R100 for the three of us?”
“Nee, Heino,” Justine protested. “We want to listen to . . . sorry, what’s your name?”
“Thabiso,” he replied.
She nodded. “We want to listen to Thabiso’s story.”
“I agree,” Lauren said. “He must know a lot more about this place than anyone else. Will you tell us the real story of this hospital, Thabiso?”
Seeing how the night had already unfolded, Heino didn’t even need to guess the answer.
Thabiso replied, “Come with me. We can sit outside and talk.” He shot Heino a stern look. “And I won’t take a cent of your money.”
Lauren rubbed her hands and smiled. “Ooh. I’m excited.”
“Me, too,” Justine said. “We should probably tell Darren it’s safe for him to come out now.”
“Who is Darren?” Thabiso asked.
“A poephol,” Heino rudely responded. He whipped out his flashlight and shone it toward the edge of the building where his friend had been keeping watch. “Darren, you can come out now, you mampara.”
No reply, and no sight of Darren, either.
“The bloody wimp probably ran away when he heard you,” Heino said to Thabiso. “Ag, whatever. His loss.”
Thabiso said nothing, choosing to step into the arch of darkness that stood between his new acquaintances and the parking lot. Keeping a close eye on him, Heino instantly trailed into the shadows, his eyes narrowed as he tried to mirror Thabiso’s footsteps. The girls played a game of follow the leader with Heino, latching onto his arm and letting him lead the way through the scented path of sweet jasmine. The hospital had been abandoned for years, but the garden was certainly kept in a good condition.
Thabiso turned the corner and staggered towards the stairs at the bottom of the entrance of the massive building. The dirty, face brick structure towered high above them. The lurching white courtyard roof caught Heino’s eye in particular—mostly due to the missing lettering, which resulted in the building being named SITL.
The parking lot’s lamp shone a warm, orange glow upon Thabiso, like an unwitting spotlight. Extremely tiny, almost childlike, he swam in an oversized brown jacket, yet his peppered hair and rough, scarred skin told another story of a lifetime’s worth of pain. He laboured to the top step and sat down. The girls squeezed up next to each other on the second step. Heino, however, remained standing like the last toy soldier at Christmas. The breeze softened, replaced by crickets chirping away in the serenity of a December evening and the unmistakable smell of nightfall.
“Do you know the story of Jan van Riebeeck?” Thabiso asked his audience.
“Of course we do. He founded South Africa,” Heino boasted like a child who believed he’d be smarter if he spoke up the quickest and loudest in class.
“No. South Africa had already been founded by numerous tribes and settlers,” he corrected him, not for the first time.
“Ja, but they were still kakking in the bushes and lacking any real civilisation, until Oom Jan came along.”
Others might’ve reacted in anger to the disparaging remark, but Thabiso didn’t take the bait. Thabiso continued, “In 1652, van Riebeeck landed three ships in what would eventually become Cape Town. Aboard the one ship, the Goede Hoop, there were a handful of stowaways.”
“What does this have to do with this hospital? I don’t need a history lesson about South Africa,” Heino protested. “Next thing, you’ll start talking about the struggle and all that other nonsense.”
The alpha male parade took its toll on Justine who let out an almighty sigh. “Just shut up, Heino. If you don’t want to listen, go sit in the car and wait for us.”
Thabiso rubbed his rough white stubble and resumed his story. “When the Goede Hoop arrived in South Africa it didn’t just bring van Riebeeck’s crew; it also brought something far more sinister with it. It brought the Goedereede group.”
“Sorry? The what?” Lauren asked.
“The Goedereede group. A group of witches from the Netherlands.”
“Voetsek, baba,” Heino rumbled. “Don’t start with your sangoma stories here.” He began to strut towards the parking lot, motioning for the girls to follow him. “This guy is taking the piss now. Let’s go. We might still make happy hour at Masquerades if we leave.”
Justine clicked her tongue. “Heino, enough. Either shut up or bugger off.” She softened her demeanour as she spoke to Thabiso, “I’m sorry for our friend’s behaviour. He’s from Brakpan and doesn’t have any manners.”
“I’m from Dalpark, not Brakpan!”
Justine pursed her lips and looked him straight in the eye. “Are you going to stop your shit and sit down?”
“Stuff this,” Heino said. “You two can find another way home. Ask your new friend, Thabiso, for a lift.”
Lauren shook her head, while Justine sighed and rubbed her temples. “I’m sorry for his rudeness . . . Will you please go on with the story?”
Thabiso’s eyes stayed glued to Heino as he stomped his way through the parking lot, out of the light’s sight and into the night. He cleared his throat and continued, “There are things in this world that hold no real purpose but to cause immense suffering and misery to the rest of us. They’re a type of anarchy that is simple and driven only by evil. The Goedereede witches embodied this unrepentant wickedness. They didn’t wear pointy black hats, nor did they fly around on broomsticks and brew potions. No, they existed only to cause extreme pain to others. Their only satisfaction was feeding of their bloodlust. They fed off this destruction, grew through it, revelling in the death of civilisations.
“Unlike the rest of Europe, where witchcraft was a common occurrence, there wasn’t a concern in the Netherlands until 1585. The three Dimmensdr sisters and their half-sister were tried for witchcraft in Schiedam and Goedereede. Of the four, the third sister, Eeuwout, and half-sister, Joosgen Costers, were found not guilty. Despite the verdict though, when the accusation of witchcraft hangs over you a court’s j
udgement will not protect you from mob mentality. So Dimmensdr and Costers fled into Europe, leaving behind their families . . . and the real witches in their community. But lurking in Goedereede were the real perpetrators of the heinous crimes. While innocents stood trial, these witches prowled the villages for another pound of flesh. They were shape-shifters, tricksters, evil incarnate. No one was safe. They’d steal and then eat your heart.”
Lauren and Justine hung onto every word as if their lives depended on it. They were shocked but oddly curious. Lauren, in particular, wanted to know more. “But why did they eat hearts?” she asked.
“The heart is the symbol of life, and witches seek immortality. They believe that by feeding off someone else’s life, they gain more of it,” he explained.
Lauren unleashed an almighty, ear-drum piercing scream that could’ve woken the dead. Justine wrenched her body around to see if her friend was okay. “Laurentjie, what’s wrong?”
“T-t-that!” Lauren nervously pointed to the ground.
Justine’s eyes grew wider after she saw what Lauren pointed out. Her lips twisted into a frown and her hands shook. Scampering into the parking lot were two mice—not rats.
But not a chuckle or grin from the storyteller. While others might’ve had a good laugh at the girl’s expense, Thabiso remained stone cold and far away in his own world.
After regaining her composure, Lauren apologised. “I’m sorry about that . . . Please continue.”
So he did. “Three members of the group—Carn, Gael and Angel—decided that the Netherlands had become too small for them. With the pack breeding at a rapid rate and spreading to the rest of Europe, they decided to expand their frontiers and find a new place for their clan. They snuck their way onto Van Riebeeck’s ship and sailed to the southernmost point of Africa,” he said.
“Did they also cause kak when they arrived here?” Justine asked.
“What do you think?” Thabiso asked.
Lauren scrunched her nose. “Okay. I don’t mean to be rude, but what do the witches have to do with this hospital? I mean, they landed in Cape Town, but this hospital is in Johannesburg . . . ”
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