After the Devil Has Won

by Rick Wood

  She looked into the Waster’s eyes and saw nothing of weakness. Yes, everything about the human condition had been stripped away, but there was an animal in there – one that was ready to hunt its prey and take its place high up on the food chain.

  The other Wasters began to rise. Began to look at her.

  And the shouting started.

  She looked to them. Twenty of them, at least. No, more than thirty. More awoke. Probably forty.

  She looked to the Waster grabbing her wrist and applying pressure to the scraped indent of her hand, back to the rest of them standing and approaching, back to the Waster holding her still.

  Through the agony, she decided she would have to rely on instinct too. She opened her mouth, plunged her head to his fist, and clamped her canines around his wrist as hard as she possibly could.

  15

  The Waster dropped her, and her legs were already running as they hit the ground.

  No more reservations about killing one of them.

  It was them or her. And they’d made their choice. They chose to be empty, mindless creatures to save their own backs.

  Well, she made a choice too.

  She chose to live.

  She didn’t look back to see if they were chasing her, she knew that they were. She just ran, no idea where she was, where she was going, how she was going to get there, she just went, and she went quickly.

  The farther she went, the more she faced the remnants of the Wasters. Bones left to rot littered the edge of their site. Cia jumped over them. It didn’t matter what they were, or who they once were.

  Running was all that mattered.

  Surviving, for Boy, was all that mattered.

  After a few leaps, she’d cleared the field of bones and found herself re-entering the forest. She could still feel them behind her, the ground thudding beneath their footsteps. Their shouts continued, and she thought she’d have become immune to them by now, but she hadn’t. They still prompted terror, still made her knees wobble, and she couldn’t let them, because she needed her knees, she needed them to be sturdy, she needed them to carry her.

  The surroundings became familiar. If only she had Boy with her, he’d be able to say if they’d been there before. But she hadn’t, so she made an educated guess. The patterns in which the trees clustered… The indents of the path she trod over… Was this near the lake? The one she’d washed in?

  She peered upwards at the trees, downwards at the path, onwards at the twists her route took, trying to be certain. Trees and paths tend to look similar, but she was sure this was it.

  Listening carefully, listening beyond the demented howls and persistent footsteps, she heard a gentle but definite movement of water. That must be the lake. It must be.

  That felt vital.

  Maybe it could be her escape.

  Could they swim? If she dove in and swam, would she escape them?

  No, they’d wade toward her and grab her before she got away, surely?

  With a gasp, she remembered. There was a wooden boat, left discarded to float in the middle of the lake.

  That was it.

  That could be her salvation.

  She just had to remember the way…

  Their growls went right through her. They never stopped shouting and growling. Why wouldn’t they stop?

  As she worried she’d never figure out the way to go, she heard it grow stronger: water. Gentle, rushing water.

  She twisted to her right and changed direction. One of the Wasters snatched at the back of her top and she wriggled free of them. Another dove on her, but she dropped to the floor, rolled, and carried on.

  Her thighs were burning. Unsure whether it was the stress, or the weight of her tiredness, or a combination of anxiety, fatigue, and desperation, she realised her legs were beginning to slow her down. She had to persevere, but soon even that wouldn’t be possible – she was running on pure adrenaline, as she had been for days.

  She reached the opening and rushed into the water. The water slowed her down, and she felt them all gather behind her.

  She didn’t look back.

  Splashes followed her, painting the back of her neck. Their breathing was loud, so loud, panting, vile, predatory panting.

  She dove onto her front and swam. Her legs wouldn’t run any longer, but they would kick, and her arms could stroke.

  The boat was so close. And it was still there.

  One of them went for her foot, but she cleared their reach and kept swimming, swimming, just kept swimming.

  She reached the boat.

  She paused. Looked back at them.

  They all stood in the lake, yards away, water up to their collar bones – they would go no further. The water was her saviour.

  She tried climbing into the boat, and almost upturned it. She let it settle back and tried again, reaching her arms into the base of the boat to keep it steady, and threw her body in.

  They kept shouting, but it meant nothing now.

  A rope was fastened around a loop in the end of the boat, held onto something heavy in the water. Luckily for her, it had kept the boat in place – unluckily, it was delaying her getaway. She loosened the knot, set the boat free, and began to drift along the waves. She watched the Wasters grow smaller as she left them.

  Then, and only then, did she allow the tension to trickle out of her body and her muscles to relax, and her frantic mind to numb itself of worry. She lay on her back, watching the clouds. The blue haze of morning had arrived, but she hadn’t noticed it among the commotion.

  She let her left hand creep down to her right wrist, where she found her friendship bracelet. She ran her fingers around its circumference, a gentle caress that gave her a world of comfort.

  She had escaped.

  Now she just had to find Boy.

  THEN

  16

  Cia held the friendship bracelet with such pride. She was beaming, anticipating the moment she gave it to her dad, when she saw his grateful smile, and he made her feel so very special.

  She’d gone to Hobby Craft with her pocket money and spent it all, selecting the biggest variety of colours she could: she had blue, green, orange, red, as well as more fancy-named colours that she only knew a few of, like violet, turquoise, and salmon. And it wasn’t cheap thread, either – it was the best quality they had. She wanted this bracelet to last forever. She wanted her dad to be able to treasure it and wear it for as long as he knew her.

  Then again, would her dad really want a friendship bracelet?

  Was it too girly? Too childish? Would all his scientist friends make fun of him? Would he think it’s stupid, or foolish, or would he feign happiness, feign surprise, and pretend to like it but accidentally lose it the first moment he had a chance?

  She needed to stop overthinking it. She’d gone to all this effort, and she knew that if she went to all this effort, her dad would love her for it.

  She finished the final knot and cut away the excess thread. She considered adding some beads, but that would be too much. It was fine as it was.

  She leapt from her chair, out of her room, and bounced down the stairs. She kept the bracelet hidden behind her back, concealed for the surprise, as she entered the living room.

  “Dad, I–”

  “One moment please, darling.”

  He lifted a hand up and she came to an abrupt halt. She was a bit put out. She’d made all this effort for him – but as she realised he was engrossed in something on the news, she decided that it was best to let him finish what he was doing so he could give her his undivided attention.

  Something on the news caught her attention, however. The face of the man talking looked pale, looked cold and stiff, like he was scared of something. Beneath his face was a large sign saying BREAKING NEWS, and a box in the top corner were the words UNDER ATTACK.

  “…And no one knows where these creatures have come from, but reports are coming in that they have crawled out of the ground. In Italy, a few tourists reported seeing
them climb out of the dormant Mount Vesuvius. A mass of sinkholes have occurred, with reports of some being as wide as three acres, with this news coming from countries in Europe, in Africa, in the Middle East, in America, South America – in fact, it seems like there is nowhere that is unaffected.”

  “Dad, what’s happening?”

  “One moment, please,” he replied, lifting a finger, not moving his eyes from the screen.

  “The government’s top scientists are being called in, and no country’s leader has yet come forward to offer an explanation. The United Nations have arranged an emergency meeting for this afternoon, whilst ISIS and Russia have already confirmed that it was not them. Religious fundamentalists are claiming that it is the opening of Hell itself…”

  The landline rang and Cia watched, dumbfounded, as her father rushed to it and answered.

  “Yeah?” was his curt reply – which she found strange, as he always answered with a polite and joyous, “Hello.”

  He listened, looking at his daughter, and she saw something in his eyes she’d never seen before.

  “Yeah, I’ve just been watching it on the news… God, how would I have any idea? … Yeah, I was expecting the call, where do they want me… What about Cia? What should I do with Cia? … Okay… Okay…”

  Cia turned her attention from her dad to the television, where a man with a big beard holding a picket sign was shouting about something.

  “We warned you!” he said in a mixture of unpleasant accents. “We warned you, didn’t we warn you, it’s coming, the rapture is coming, you fell short of praising the lord and now we will face his wrath, oh lord, we will face his wrath!”

  Her dad hung up and rushed over to her, cupping her face and trying to look calm and caring whilst obviously terrified.

  “Listen to me,” he said.

  “Dad, what’s happening?”

  “I don’t know, Cia, I really don’t know. There seems to have been some attacks from creatures that nobody recognises, and it’s happening all over the world.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Me neither, darling, but look, someone’s coming to get us, because they need me, they need me to go to work, do you understand?”

  “Go to work? You mean, you’re not going to take care of me?”

  “Of course I am, Cia, of course I am. It’s just that the government have asked me to help study one of the creatures, they want my perspective, and I have to help them, I have to, I–”

  He stopped talking. His voice dropped away. His head bowed.

  “And what’s going to happen to me while you’re doing that?” she asked.

  “There’s something called the Sanctity. A place. Somewhere they are having built, and it’s nearly done. I think they knew this was going to happen, I think they were prepared, and, well – there’s protection.”

  “So everyone’s going to be saved?”

  He smiled a non-smile. “Not everyone, darling. Not everyone.”

  A group of vehicles pulled up on the drive.

  “This is them now,” he said. He grabbed hold of her hand and led her out of the front door, onto the drive.

  “I’m here!” he announced, as what looked like an army general stood out of one of many green army vehicles

  “Good, we need to get you on–”

  The soldier never finished his sentence. A large creature flew down, scooped his head in its mouth, ripped it clean off and flew away, leaving his body to drop.

  Then more of them came. More of them, battering against the vehicles, smashing the windows and trying to drag the army men out.

  Cia couldn’t believe what she’d just seen.

  She didn’t have time to think about it.

  Her dad grabbed her hand, rushed her back inside and locked the door.

  She looked to him, hoping he’d have the answers.

  Hell, he didn’t even know the questions.

  NOW

  17

  Cia’s body had never ached like this before.

  Living in this world had forced her to build stamina – if one didn’t, they wouldn’t survive. Barely a day went past without a confrontation with a Maskete or a Thoral or a Lisker or a Waster.

  But that stamina had never been tested as much as this.

  This wasn’t a stitch, or a mild weight in her legs, or a fatigued weariness. This was her muscles giving up. This was her bones clicking and grinding on every movement of her joints. This was the accumulation of tension, a constant state of terror, a psychological battering, that was now manifesting itself upon her body.

  But she couldn’t rest yet. She couldn’t.

  She had to find Boy. She had to make her way back.

  The clouds parted for a moment and allowed a distant haze from the sun. It wasn’t sunny, but it was lighter than it had been for days; though Cia knew it wouldn’t last.

  She sat up, allowing the boat to drift further downstream, and peered into the distance of the forest. She appeared to be out of sight and out of reach of the Wasters. Either way, if she wanted to get back to Boy, she needed to get out before she lost track of where she was.

  She waved her hands in the water either side of the boat, directing it toward the embankment. The drift still carried her downstream, but she managed to make mild progress toward the bank.

  But not enough.

  She knelt, looked into the discoloured lake, the dirty remains of an ungrateful human race, and put all her weight into falling to her right and splashing into the water. The boat toppled over with her, but it didn’t matter. She stopped herself from sinking to the depths of the water by pushing her arms and kicking her legs, each swipe or thrash another strenuous activity wearing on her body.

  She reached the surface and fought her way to the embankment. It didn’t take long until she was able to stand, and she waded through the last few steps. She reached solid ground and collapsed on it.

  And there she lay, her arms spread out, her eyelids drooping, just watching the sky trickle past.

  How could she do this?

  How could she walk any longer?

  Her body wasn’t letting her. It was giving up on her, crying out for rest; but her tender muscles were still throbbing with tension and she knew that it wouldn’t go away until she found him.

  He was all that mattered. Without her, how would he survive? How would he take care of himself?

  Not that he was completely inept, but he needed her.

  And she needed him.

  Without him, she’d be alone.

  Completely, utterly, incontrovertibly alone.

  She rolled onto her front and pushed herself to her knees. With a large huff, she threw her first leg forward, then the second, then used a nearby tree to drag herself up. She strode between the trees, using them as support, every step like she was dragging a bag of weights attached to her ankles.

  She reached an opening that led to the mass graveyard of skulls and bones she’d previously soldiered across as a dinosaur. The length of the field looked far longer than it had before.

  But he was at the other end of it.

  Right at the other end.

  That’s where she’d left him. She’d told him not to move. She’d told him that she’d come back, he just needed to stay there, and that’s where he needed to stay, to be, there, where she wasn’t, where she would come back to, where she…

  Her thoughts grew elusive, scattered around her mind, each sentence like pieces of a puzzle.

  She needed water.

  Why didn’t she drink at the lake?

  Her forehead throbbed with each pulse. Her brain hammered against the prison of her skull. A migraine like a drill hammer vibrating against her cranium settled into her head.

  Come on…

  She urged herself to move.

  Just across this field…

  She took the first step and stumbled.

  He’s just there… Boy, just there… All alone… He’s waiting for me… He’s relying on me to
come back…

  That last thought spun until it was dizzy.

  He’s relying on me to come back.

  He’s relying on me to come back.

  He’s relying on me…

  She allowed herself to roll down the small slope into the field. The grass was as dead as the field’s contents, and it felt rough and harsh against her skin. She lifted her arm to see a scratch mark.

  She winced at the pain, then realised it was nothing compared to the other wounds she’d picked up.

  She trudged forward, sometimes falling and using her hands to push her onward. She used the larger bones and larger skeletons to drag her forward. She knew what they were, what they used to be, what violence had created them – but she couldn’t afford to spend time dwelling on it. Her balance was gone. She faltered to the left, then back to the right, and the only thing keeping her upright were the leftovers of the dead.

  She looked back at the opening. Still so close. She’d barely made any progress.

  Turning back around threw her off balance again and she fell to her knees.

  She wanted to scream out. Shout for Boy. Shout for frustration. But what if they heard her?

  You never know what’s nearby.

  She pulled herself back up again. She had to keep going, surging onwards, fighting the fatigue, fighting the headache, punching it away, punching it out, telling it no, it will not take her, it will not, it will not…

  Her mind left. She absently strode onwards, as if led by her weight, like she was constantly falling forward but never hitting the floor.

  When she reached the end of the field, she had nothing left.

  But she had to find something.

  She crawled. Unable to stand anymore, she crawled, using her arms where her legs were failing her.

  “Boy!” she gently shouted. She was close enough now, he’d hear her.

  No response. Maybe he was still covering his ears. Maybe he was still reciting the poem. Maybe that’s why he didn’t hear her.

  Or maybe he was dead.

  The thought sped her up. Against the desperate weariness, she dragged her drowsy body to the log where she’d left him.