Tales of the Apocalypse: A Dystopian Anthology

by Publishings, BBB

  When my eyelids finally rip open, I think I’m dreaming.

  There are hundreds of people. More? It’s a sea of light and movement; people talking, shouting. They sound like kids. It’s night, but I can see them because they stand around fires of all sizes—some small, others larger, most belching smoke with the stink of burning rubber. Some of the fires look like they’re rising up into the sky, until I realize we’re in a small stadium, and there are people in the stands clustered around little infernos.

  Rysdon. I must be in Rysdon.

  Way off there is chanting; somewhere in the distance I hear what sounds like a firecracker, but it might be a gun; and every now and again there’s a scream—more than one—that isn’t excitement. It’s the type of sound I used to clamp my hands over my ears not to hear. The sounds of nightmares—of women’s fear.

  “This one’s awake,” a voice says near me.

  Rough hands grab my arms and I’m wrenched up between two men. No, they’re not men. They’re boys. Young but strong.

  I think about struggling against them, but my head is splitting in two and all I want to do is vomit. My head lolls and I can’t lift it.

  They drag me between them, the backs of my bare toes scraping against the ground. It would probably hurt more if everything else didn’t hurt so much.

  The last thing I remember races into my mind, and too late I try to look back, to see who else was there with me. I had been outside the hunting cabin. I’d heard a noise. Turned… Had the people who discovered me also found Simeon, Jonah, and Mathus? Were the three of them lying near me bound and unconscious?

  “Simeon?” I scream despite it making my brain feel like it is being torn in two. “Jonah? Mathus?”

  One of the kids dragging me giggles.

  I try to look up and catch the eye of someone, anyone, who might help me, but it’s as though they’ve seen this a thousand times before—a young woman dragged around this place is nothing out of the ordinary. They continue to talk, laugh, and dance. It’s like a demented apocalyptic party. I don’t understand it. After months of fear, there’s a place where people don’t seem to have a care in the world.

  We come to a halt and I drag my head up. In front of me is a wooden platform, like a low stage, and on it is a chair. More than a chair. It’s an enormous throne assembled from things that are snow white, untainted by the glow of yellow firelight. My eyes trace the objects. I know what they are, but my mind doesn’t want to connect the dots—refuses to—until I come to the skulls, and then I can’t deny what I see. A throne of human bones.

  On it sits a kid. I want to think maybe he’s an adult with youthful looks. But I know that’s not true. He’s twelve, maybe thirteen, and flanked by two older boys who stand on either side of the throne of bones.

  There’s a girl in front of us. She’s a few years older than the throned kid, and she begins to ascend the steps of the stage. As she does, strange large animals, white and bloodied, tethered to chains, leap at her. The chains stop them from reaching the throned boy and give a clear path of only inches for the girl. They pull their chains taught, clawing and frenzied. And I’m blinking my eyes hard because what I’m seeing can’t be right. They’re not animals. They’re… They’re…

  …naked humans with the rage.

  I start to shake. “What is this place?”

  The throned boy says loud and clear in a high-pitched tone—he’s so young his voice hasn’t even broken yet—“What have you brought me?”

  The girl holds out a sack, which is taken by one of the attendants standing at the side of the throne. After a brief inspection, she’s handed it back and it shakes as she trembles.

  “King of Bones.” Her voice wavers. “I’ve brought you heaps of things.” She draws from the bag an object and extends it out to him with a quivering hand. “Batteries.”

  The king takes it from her.

  “Some antibiotics.”

  The king looks bored.

  “I have tins of sardines.” The girl’s voice is rising, fear in every word as she frantically digs around in her sack.

  “And that’s it?”

  “No. Look. Vodka!” She holds it out to him.

  He takes the bottle from her and inspects the label. “Cheap vodka.” She doesn’t have a chance when he lobs it at her. The bottle hits her square in the head. She folds to the ground and falls to one side, within the grasp of those chained with the rage. Three of them dive onto her.

  My hands are bound behind my back. I can’t clamp my hands over my ears. Her screams should shatter the sound of those around us, but they don’t. Everyone close by continues doing what they are doing except me. I vomit. It rushes up my throat and spews from my mouth in great heaves as those things rip that girl apart, and when they finally stop –when she stops—I can’t control my shaking.

  I’m dragged up the stairs. The things on my left are preoccupied. The ones on the right strain against their chains, claw at me and make sounds I’ve never heard a human make.

  “What is this?” The king’s tone is like he’s talking to a small child. “Look at me.”

  I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to look at anyone who would do such a thing to another human being. But if I don’t, that might be my fate. I try, but my head is full of the weight of pain and of what I’ve just witnessed.

  One of the boys holding me grabs me by the hair and yanks back so I have no choice but to meet the gaze of the boy king.

  He stands and steps up to me slowly before he grabs my cheeks roughly with his thumb and two fingers and leans in.

  “A butterfly.”

  As close to him as I am, I can see he, too, has the same rash as me. His eyes inspect me from head to toe. Only then do I remember I’m only wearing a t-shirt and nothing more. “A sexy butterfly, or she would be if she wasn’t such a fucking mess.”

  The hands of the boys holding me tighten, probably thinking of what their king might do to them for presenting him with a soiled woman.

  “Clean her up, then take her to my rooms.”

  “What for?” I didn’t mean to speak the words out loud. I only realize I have when he laughs.

  “For an audience. With your king. And,” he grabs me hard in the crotch and I gasp as his grubby fingers violate me, “with his cock.”

  I should be laughing. A little kid thinking he’s going to fuck me? But I know that’s what’s going to happen, whether I want it or not. And then after that?

  The king lets go of my face and squeezes between my legs even harder before he lets go of that, too.

  I close my eyes against the torn body of the girl who came up onto this stage before me, and against the pain in my head, shoulders, dog-mauled arm, wrists, ankles, and toes as they drag me away. I try to block out the fate I’ve been presented with and replace it with memories of the night before. When I was young again and without a care in the world. When I experienced, maybe for the last time, the kind of life a normal twenty-year-old would have had if the world hadn’t gone to shit.

  I can only hope Nate didn’t end up here.

  * * *

  They take me under the stadium seating and into a walkway dully lit by candles here and there. My lungs fill with the stink of sweat and piss, and as my eyes adjust, I realize it’s full of makeshift sleeping places for some of the people who live here. The candles burn near figures who line the walls, sitting in small groups, some sleeping on cardboard and beneath old tattered and dirty blankets or sheets. None of them pay us any attention.

  Eventually I’m dragged through some doors with NO ENTRY spray-painted on them and into a room to the left which was once a locker room. There are padded benches lining the walls and in the center of the room. Beyond that, there are shower cubicles with buckets in them and some toilets. Two armed boys stand at the door with handguns. Their presence is a reminder I’m not going anywhere.

  The two holding me let go and I fall to the floor. One cuts the bindings from my ankles. “Once I remove
the ties around your wrists, you’re going to take that off.”

  “That? Off?”

  “Your t-shirt.”

  “No.” I don’t think about that answer. They can shoot me here, because I’m pretty sure they intend to try me out before their king does.

  “Then don’t take it off.”

  He nods at the two armed boys, who step inside and close the door.

  I scrabble at the floor, trying to get up and make a break for it despite my arms still being behind my back. They’re not going to do to me what I’ve seen others do to women. I want them to raise their guns. Shoot me…shoot me…shoot me… But they don’t. They laugh and grab me.

  They may be boys, but against four of them I don’t have a chance.

  Still, I fight. I kick as I’m dragged backward. They slam me face down onto one of the padded benches and pin me there, laughing like they’re possessed, one crooning, “Look at that sweet pussy,” as I struggle and strain. Holding me down hard against the bench, I feel one of them grab at my hips.

  Gunshots fill the room. One of the boys collapses onto me. The others have fallen silent and their hands are no longer on my body.

  “Bell? Bell?”

  I recognize Jonah’s voice and turn my head. Behind him stands Mathus, and behind him is Simeon. The moment Simeon sees I recognize them, he turns so he’s facing in the other direction, gun raised like he’s waiting for trouble.

  My chest fills with something I can only imagine is the welling of sobs, but they don’t get beyond that.

  Jonah is now at my side. He pushes the lifeless boy off me and cuts the bindings from my wrists before drawing me into his arms. “We’re so sorry. We’ve been following, but this is the first time we had a chance to get to you.” He squeezes me tightly.

  “Quit the chitchat. We need to get out of here. Now.”

  Simeon’s lack of emotion pulls me back to where I need to be—straight thinking. I can process this nightmare later. For now, he’s right, we need to get out of here, but my head hurts like hell. Every part of me does. And the shock of what could have happened to me in here starts to set in.

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “You can,” Simeon barks. He comes into the room and picks me up in his arms. “Mathus, give her her gun.”

  Mathus pulls from the back of his pants a pistol and holds it out to me. It’s mine, with the magazine loaded.

  “Mathus, front. Jonah, rear. Come on. Let’s go.”

  I hold out my pistol. It may only have four rounds left, but I’ll use every one of them now if I have to.

  “No. Keep it hidden unless you need it,” Simeon hisses.

  I cradle it into the crook of my arm and we head out of the double doors I was brought through earlier and into the stadium walkway. I thought we’d move with stealth, or at least run. Instead, they walk like we’re part of this hellish world, with a “nothing to see here” stride and confidence in every one of their steps.

  I press my face against Simeon’s chest to block out the reek of the people we walk past. His body scent is strong and bitterly sweet, just like he is. When we get outside, even though there’s the acrid stench of the burning tires, it’s a welcome relief.

  We move through the crowds. Close up and immersed in it, the crazed, mad world I first thought this was reveals its true self. Beyond the excitement of the King of Bones and all those around him, I witness the grim reality of this new world. Children with vacant looks in their eyes, thin as sticks. Dirty. Lost. Some alone. One girl I see cradles in her arms a little boy who can only be three. He’s dead. Some children are sobbing, others lie there rocking. Some are butterflies. Others not.

  “Put me down.” I struggle against Simeon’s hold.

  He grasps me a little more firmly. “We’re not stopping, Bell.”

  “What about Nate?” Is he here? Among all this? I need to know.

  Simeon lets out a long breath. “Not now. Okay? We need to get out of here. Find somewhere safe to come up with a plan.”

  “I can’t leave him.” In my heart I know he’s here, somewhere.

  “We won’t,” Mathus reassures. “We’ll come back, Bell. We’ll come back. I need to come back. My family might be here, too.”

  Of course, they’re right. I don’t even think I have the strength to look for Nate. Could I even walk? And I know Mathus wants to find his family as much as I want to find my brother.

  “Okay.”

  * * *

  We reach the edge of the playing field and start along the circumference until we find one of the player’s tunnels and stop.

  Jonah strains his head forward, looking into the darkness. “Think anyone’s down there?”

  “If it’s anything like the way in…” Mathus shakes his head in thought. “They probably let you in easier than they let you out.”

  Simeon takes in a deep breath. “Do you think you can walk, Bell? Might need all the firepower we can get.”

  I want to say I can’t, but I remind myself it’s never been my way to give up, and in the past I’ve pushed myself time and again when I’ve thought I’ve had nothing left.

  “I can.”

  He tightens his hold for a moment, like he wants me to know he’d keep holding me if he could, before he lets me slip from his grip.

  “Stay between me and Mathus. Jonah, let’s go.”

  We start down into the dark mouth of the tunnel. Our footsteps echo and I can even hear our breaths. I hold out my gun, although I’m not sure how that will help me in the darkness—I could shoot Jonah or Simeon if I’m not careful. At the end of the tunnel there are walkways to the left and right, more people, more candles, and the stink of their terrible lives. But immediately in front of us are a set of large closed double doors.

  Mathus goes to one of the push bars and leans into it. The door opens. He sticks out his head and looks, then steps out. “All clear,” he calls quietly after a long pause, but I can hear his uncertainty.

  We join him outside and the door closes at our backs.

  A parking lot stretches out in front of us, although it’s more like a junkyard. There are cars everywhere, none of them in designated parking spots. There are also several semis with shipping containers. Beyond is what I think is Rysdon. There are no lights there—there’s been no power for a year anywhere—and in the moonlight we can only see the outlines of the buildings. Apart from that, there’s nothing except the rising hills around the town.

  It’s too quiet. Too still. Too easy, and all three of the guys know it.

  “Something’s not right,” Mathus mumbles.

  Jonah shrugs. “Maybe they’re just a bunch of stupid kids.”

  “Stop talking. Get moving.” I can hear tension in Simeon’s tone. He knows something’s off.

  Mathus glances back at the stadium. “Do we go around and retrieve our packs? Is that the plan?”

  Simeon shakes his head. “Let’s get distance between us and this place right now. We can talk plans later.”

  Guns raised at the near-darkness, we start navigating our way through the cars.

  “Hey!” The booming male voice startles us and we all turn wildly in circles, holding out our guns, trying to work out where it came from. Whoever it is and wherever they are, they’re not a kid. It’s someone closer to our age. “Where are you going?”

  Simeon grabs my arm and pulls me over to an SUV for some cover. Jonah and Mathus do the same at a hatchback two up from us.

  “No one out after dark.” This is a young woman. “Step out. Hands up.”

  Mathus moves his hand in a “stay low” gesture followed by a fist. He wants us to stay put.

  Simeon shakes his head doing the “stay low” gesture followed by creeping two fingers in a walking motion.

  “Step out. Hands up,” repeats the male.

  Jonah now gestures with his hands, but I have no idea what he’s trying to say, and then all three of them seem to be getting into a nonverbal argument, fingers fast and urgent
.

  “Last chance,” croons the female in a way that puts a stop to everyone’s hand movements. There’s something ominous about her tone and none of us like it.

  “Whatever you do. Stay with me,” Simeon whispers.

  “Release!” calls the male.

  Release what?

  Loud clangs of metal against metal ring out in the otherwise silent night. After that I hear muffled sounds. Inhuman sounds. The rage.

  “Fuck. The containers.” Simeon isn’t quiet when he speaks. “They’ve got people with the rage in the shipping containers. Get the fuck up.” He grabs my hand and yanks me. “Run.”

  As we take off, I hear metal creak and groan, and Simeon slows slightly as we both look in the direction of the sound. Someone on top of one of the shipping containers is opening the doors. The sound of the rage fills the night air. Bodies fall out from the open doors, and I pray they’ll stay down, but they pick themselves up and start flooding around the cars in the parking lot, looking for something to tear apart. Searching for us.

  There’s no way we have enough bullets to shoot all of them.

  “Come on, Isabella!” Simeon yanks me away from them.

  Now it’s just him and me running for our lives, because I don’t know where Jonah and Mathus are.

  We weave among the cars, Simeon’s grasp of my hand tight. My feet are bare and the parking lot surface stings against my soles, but fear propels me.

  Reaching the edge of the parking lot, we race into surrounding parkland. My head pounds with my heartbeat and my legs begin to lose all strength. Simeon’s pace is still fast. Too fast.

  “Slow down. Slow down.”

  He doesn’t slow, and I’m dragged after him with the inhuman noise of those pursuing us close, but not as close as it was.

  We run through the park, leaving the sounds behind. Still Simeon doesn’t stop. “Come on. Come on.” His breathing is labored, and I know he’s saying it as much to himself as me.

  I intend to keep moving, but my legs give way and I fall. He nearly yanks my shoulder out of its socket and I yell out. Our hands part as I grab at the pain, and my pistol flies from my reach. Simeon’s still running but tries to stop his momentum as he looks back at me. He doesn’t see the tree he careers into at full speed. There’s a thud from his impact and another as he hits the ground.