by Hawk, J. K.
“Urich will see you now.” She said with a whisper. We exited the pub and stepped out into the brilliance of a new dawning sun. The small ski-town was dotted with numerous beerjoints, restaurants, ski-shops and once overprice condos. Now all crudely crafted into impenetrable fortresses, at least for the dead. Rangeley was already bustling with activity too, and I estimated it to be merely six in the morning. Children swept the streets with brooms made of hemlock balms, they distributed breakfast and other supplies, chopped wood, and even bathed immodestly in the street with buckets of water. It was like something out of the twilight zone, although befitting the overwhelming oddities of our new world.
As we followed Main Street I noticed a few of the older juveniles plowing a field, or what was once someone’s front lawn, prepping the soil for their next crop. But it was not the farmers that caught my attention, it was the oxen used to pull the iron earth turners. In the style of the survivor, I would have expected domesticated moose or even a wild pig. But these demented children’s innovation was sinister and carelessly dangerous.
Four Necrotic’s, arms savagely cut away, and their mouths secured tightly with what appeared to be duct-tape. They struggled fiercely with the chains which secured them to the plow, and a young boy standing mere feet away taunted and enticed their insatiable hunger. But, the method exceeded effectiveness as the blades of the equipment churned the earth like butter, almost faster than any farm animal could. Although my amazement held firm, I shrugged off the sight, and we continued followed the young girl.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Mirai.” She whispered.
“Were you born here?”
“Yes.” She answered.
“Are all of you from this town?”
“Yes, some since before the darkening.” She said.
“Where are your parents?” I questioned further.
“No parents. Our elder, Mr. Davis, gave us protection from the
Chompers. At least until the Rise.” I didn’t know which question to ask next as I was amazed at the isolated history that has played out here. But as I scoured my brain for further inquiries we came to a halt before a large brick building towards the center of the small town. Once an old movie theatre that played early works of entertainment, and in the window was a poster of one of those classics, an old film that I myself adored as a child. Bruce Cabot and Fay Wray as the lead cast of the black and white version of King Kong. Its colors faded with time, the paper cracked and brittle with age, but the cartoonish artworks of the mighty Kong holding his gorgeous heartthrob clenched tightly in hand was still a shining masterpiece.
Mirai bowed her head, and gracefully raised her spear upwards towards the roof. There stood yet another boy, tall and slender, maybe eighteen years of age, dressed in the same homemade clothing as all the others. A sword, handcrafted from scrap metal rested casually upon his left shoulder. And atop of his head, a crude crown made of an old hub-cap and decorated with old coins. Silver Dollars, dazzling Sacagawea Gold Dollars, and an assortment of Quarters, Nickels and Dimes. I’d say it was a safe guess that the boy’s circlet had a value of five to ten dollars in the old world.
“Why are you hear?” The boy called down to us, his overgrown brown hair violent blowing in the morning breeze.
“We are on a mission…” I began.
“Yes, Eeamon told me.” He interrupted.
“We are looking for a cure.” I answered.
“What is your name?” He asked casually.
“Patrick.” I answered, “Patrick Zimmerman, of the GFS.”
“Zimmerman?” He asked. “That is the word of a fool.” “I assure you, I may be a fool, but my intentions are pure.”
The boy slowly reached down into a deer-hide pack hanging from his waist, fumbling silently, before pulling out a crumpled and worn piece of paper. Carefully he opened it up, straightening the edges, and smoothing out the wrinkles before holding it out for us to see. There was printed text upon it, but it was too high for us to read, however, the unmistakable GFS insignia stamped in the corner told me exactly what it was. Our call out to survivors, persuading them to seek out our new society.
“Zimmerman called our elders away from us.” He said. “They abandoned us, left us here alone because of your false promises!”
“Fuck…” I said under my breath. “My intentions were for them to bring you along.” I pleaded.
“So that you could kill us too.” He added.
“NO!” I protested. “To protect you!”
“You failed.” He added. “Theynow rot up on the mountain. They became the likes of you, bumbling fools.”
“I am so sorry.” Showing true remorse. “That is why I am here. To undo all the carnage. To put an end to the devastation.” Slowly I stepped forward, raising my hand towards the boy. “We can bring you with us, show you the new world, a world without fear or death.”
“The law of the Rise commands that you be sacrificed.” He retorted.
“The rise?” I asked.
“Elders are forbidden. Like Mr. Reed and Mr. Wilks, or the vile Mr. Davis. Your blood will become one with the land, and you will become our everlasting guardians.”
“Wait!” I stammered. “You can’t kill all adults just because you were abandoned!”
Urich knelt down towards the edge of the building, staring fiercely into my eyes.
“Davis did not abandon us.” He said. “He and the others stayed behind, ordered to care for us until the others returned with help.”
“They were your protectors?”
“They enslaved and raped.” He balked.
“As you can see, we are not them, we are of no threat, and I respectfully request we be released at once.” I said, trying to change the course of our conversation.
“You’re a doctor, are you not?
“Virologist, as well as my female companion.”
“She’s your wife?”
“No, just my assistant.”
“And this cure is nearby?” He asked and I nodded. “How do you know this?”
“It’s a long story, but I have been in its presence - a missed opportunity.”
“And if you find it?”
“Then mankind will get another chance.”
“A chance to violate their children some more?”
“No, the GFS does not permit such acts.”
The boy didn’t immediately respond, instead, he paced the rooftop, contemplating my words. I knew there was nothing I could say to gain his trust, but hopefully he would see what I am doing here is important, and go against his own laws to see that we succeed. On the other hand, his subjects could see such a decision as heresy and revolt, sacrificing their own king for his disgrace. We were amongst the offspring of the damned, guided by superstition and hate, much like mankind’s ancient ancestors.
“These new demons, your cure will defeat them too?” He finally asked.
“It is hopeful.”
“We have found that our defenses have done little to stop them. It appears we can help each other.”
“Thank you.” I said.
“But,” He continued, “Eeamon guide you, he will protect you until you find this cure, then he will return you to us.”
“Eeamon?” I questioned “I thank you again. But, the thought of risking the life...” I paused a moment, choosing my word carefully. “I have my own people for my protection.”
“Your soldiers will not be joining you.”
“No, wait!” I objected. “I need them!”
“No harm will come to,” He paused slightly. “Steph. She is ripe and will make a good bride. She will stay, and you and Eeamon will go find this cure.”
“Then you might as well kill me, I will not leave without them.”
Urich stared at me, perplexed, knowing all too well that this cure was important to his people as well. He tapped the side of his sword rapidly, contemplating my threat, thinking of a common interest to benefit us both. And then, li
ke a brilliant light from above, he nodded at me with a smile.
“Steph may go with you on one condition.” He said, but I stood silently, awaiting him to continue. “When you find it, Eeamon will escort you back here, and then you leave this land, without Steph or the cure.”
Diplomacy at work. I agreed, with no intent of fulfilling the vow, especially knowing that the cure itself would take a fully operational lab to produce. But the child-king, with his fierce heart, and naïve mind, did not know this. Deceiving him was much simpler than I would have expected, and I felt no guilt in taking advantage of such an easily misguided mind. Even if that meant dangling a little snatch before his hormonal urges, of course, Steph understood the ruse I had set, and in character balked at the deal.
“And my soldiers?” I asked.
“Thelaw has already been fulfilled.” He sneered.
“NO!” I shouted at Urich, receiving a sinister chuckle in return. Quickly I turned towards Garrison, but he was no longer there. Neither was Stetson. Instead I found them being silently escorted down the street and towards an old wooden stage once used for community festivals. Their hands already bound with rope, and their eyes covered with a blindfolds made from rags. They struggled fiercely against their captors, but to no avail.
A large crowd had already massed around them, and slowly a chorus of heckles arose from their juvenile voices, eventually fading into a boisterous chant like savages from the wilds. Children as young as five began to hurl rocks upon a wooden platform where Garrison and Tellar were kicked to their knees before their heads were positioned out over the edge of the stage and held in place with the cold hard steel of rifle barrels against the backs of their heads. A teenage girl, maybe sixteen, stood to their side holding a long pole with a corroded steel spike secure to the end.
“STOP THEM!” Steph cried, and then another voice rang out above the crowd.
“YOU’RE JUST KIDS!” Garrison protested in desperation.
But it was too late, without infantile rhetoric nor any type of declaration, and without apprehension or remorse, the young female executioner swiftlyjabbed the spike into Tellar’s jugular. The crowd cheered with ravishment, and just as swiftly, the girl pulled the spear away. The young soldiers face transitioned from fear to heartbreaking astonishment as blood spurted with force from his neck and splattered upon the soil below him. Frantically he struggled with his binds in an instinctive effort to cover his wound, and desperation bleeding through his pupils.
“LOOK AT WHAT YOU’RE DOING!” Garrison cried out again.
My instinct was to rush the stage, to cry out ‘STOP!’ But I hesitated in shock. Just as Tellar’s struggle faded into lifelessness, the executioner stuck Garrison in the same manner. But the lieutenant did not panic, he did not fight it. My own personal guard held his head high with honor, allowing the sight of his death be clearly seen by these misguided children. Steph fell to her knees in disbelief as the crowd’s cheers deafened all other sound.
“Tomorrow you will leave. To complete your mission.” Urich’s voice muttered from behind me just as Garrison’s face rapidly transitioned from pink to white, and a deep coldness clamped down upon his stalling heart.
“You have condemned mymission, as you have condemned your own people.” I stated coldly.
* * * * * “The real war will never get into the books…” Steph mumbled. I stared intently at her from across our cellar prison as we waited for morning to rise and the rest of our futile journey to commence. It took a few moment for her to feel my gaze, and returned it with a sullen look of desperation. She was scared, and rightly so. We were at the mercy of a bunch of juveniles, and as it would seem, mercy is rarely given with these miscreants.
“Walt Whitman,” Steph spoke, a little louder this time. “I was just thinking how his thoughts of the Civil War relates to The War of the Dead.”
“It doesn’t.” I answered, and she looked at me with disagreement in her eyes. “Whitman was referring to a war written by the victorious. This war… Our war… Will be written by the survivors. For there will be no victor, only the victims. The Survivor is the first to document the Real War. Reutherford and Pollini have also scratched down their own powerful accounts. The Real War will be written about formany years, and not bycorrupt bureaucrats either.”
“Maybe, but who will be left to read them?” She asked. “Our mission may seem bleak,” I said. “But it seemed that way before we left Maribel. Nothing has changed, we just need to fight a little harder now. One day, and I know this for sure, future generations will be reading about what we did here. They will read our accounts of The Real War. I swear it.”
My false confidence failed at brightening her spirits. She knew that my promises were exaggerated and hollow, but Steph kept her thoughts to herself. She found some comfort, as trivial as it was, in my hopeful speech. I too could feel the solace of it all, but scientifically it was unjust. We were mere inches from our doom, and wishful thinking is all that drove us, the hope that a higher being was watching out for us.
“You should sleep.” I suggested.
“I can’t.” She sniffled. “Garrison… I see his face still, the blood draining, and his skin so pale.”
I scooted across the cell next to her and pulled her close, comforting the lost and tortured soul. She was never ready for this, she was a glistening pearl, protected and secured the whole while Earth and society burned. I should have ordered her to stay, demanded she returned to her home. But I didn’t, and tomorrow we will be back out into the flames, and the look on her face can only imply that she can already feel the blaze.
Rooted in the Mire
“Deep into that darkness, peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.”
Those age-old words of Poe run rampant through my mind as Eeamon leads us out of town and into the wild with Garrison’s rifle held firmly in his youthful hands. After all the horrors throughout all the years, what I witnessed yesterday was the dream for which the poet spoke of. An event that mankind could never conceive, even within an unconceivable world. And so we march on, deep into that darkness, fearing the dreams that every mortal dreads to dream again.
Steph is still lost, in shock, a dark depression looming over her gentle figure like a furious storm. She shuffles her feet, eyes upon the ground and her shoulders slumped down in defeat. Nothing I’ve said has swayed her presence, and she fears not only for the outcome of this mission, but what will become of her. Even if she survives, she knows that the Children of Rangeley will take claim of her. That is, unless I can find a way to escape our adolescent guard.
We walked from sunrise to sunset with no rest stops, and absolutely no conversation from our guide. A dense forest with only the chitter-chatter of woodland creatures to listen to. We reached the Appalachia trail by midday, and setup camp up on Crocker Mountain, in the morning we will make way for Stratton, and onward towards our destination. As the dark of night descended upon us I couldn’t help but think how close I was to the path both Mia and The Survivor had taken on their journey to Fort Rockland, and it is quite possible that they had set up camp at this very same spot.
“You come from beyond the trees?” Eeamon asked, breaking the endless silence just before midnight, as both of us could not sleep. Steph on the other hand had succumb to the arduous hike and her draining emotions, and snored sweetly as her head rested upon my lap.
“Yes. Originally from Chester Pennsylvania.” I answered. “You rode in the flying box?”
“The Helicopter.” I corrected. “Was it your people who shot us
down ?”
“No. But I watched it. The men of leaves threw smoke at this –
HellCopper.” He stated.
“Men of leaves?” I asked.
“They hide among the bushes, carry weapons just like your
people.”
“Camouflage? Soldiers?”
“They kill our boys. Defile our girls. T
hey are demons like the
ones with no thought.”
“There are many demons in the world.”
“Was there demons before the darkening?” He asked. “More than ever.”
“Then why you want to fix it?” He asked with concern. “I don’t want the world to be what it was. I want it to become
something better. That cannot happen until we defeat the disease.” “Mirai says you are our savior.”
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I think you should have joined your friends.” He said coldly. “Then I am glad you’re not the one in charge.”
He did not respond, his eyes stared blankly in the camp-fire, his
mind lost within its own simplicity. He made it clear, if he had the
choice, he would dispatch me in my sleep. I knew then that
continuing on with him would hinder the success of the mission. But
it would not be possible to lose him, he is a tracker and would find
us in no time. Killing him too was far from my mind, killing a child,
no – I do not believe he falls within the guidelines of Evolutionary
Cleansing. Yet, whose responsibility is it to create these rules, who
should be in charge of enforcing them, and would there be any
repercussions for wrongful execution. No, there has to be a better
option, he is not a mind gone mad, just – misled.
“Tell me, Eeamon, do you have a girl back home?”
“Girl?”
“A wife, girlfriend, lover?” I queried, hoping to pull at his
emotions.
“I am forbidden from breeding.” He answered solemnly. “Forbidden? Why?”
“They call me a bastard.”
“A bastard?” I said. “Aren’t you all?”
“No, I am the only son of Mr. Davis.” He said and it dawned on
me, like a punch to the chest. “Only a son carries a father’s blood.