The Scourge

by R. Tilden Smith

  Don't tell him! Lara cried out, causing Moji to squeeze her eyes shut to the pain. She’d never told anyone the real reason why she left her life behind in Boston. Everybody thought I had it all together. I was too ashamed and embarrassed to let them know the truth. She let everybody believe she left because, after her father's death, her relationship with her mother had grown toxic. She never refuted or challenged that story because, in a sense, it was true. She hated what her mother had become after her father died; an angry, belligerent drunk who derived a sick pleasure out of reminding her daughter how much she was to blame for her father's death. But you hated what you had become even more, that's why you had to leave. She opened her eyes. “You don't want to hear the story of my life,“ she said, “it's pretty boring.”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” Ray said. He had donned latex gloves and was dabbing the deeper punctures on Crystal’s back with a cotton ball soaked in a brown liquid. “If there's one thing I learned in therapy, is that everybody has a story to tell, and if they tell it truthfully, it ain't gonna be boring.”

  “You were in therapy? Was it for your PTSD?”

  Ray didn't answer, instead he opened a small canvas bag he'd found in the first aid box. There was collection of items in the bag, each was individually marked and packaged in shrink wrap. He opened one of the packages labeled “suture needle.” It contained a curved needle with a length of very fine thread attached to one end. He opened two other packages, one contained an item that looked like a pair of scissors and the other resembled tweezers except the ends were angled instead of straight. He looked up at Moji. “I’m gonna try and sew up the more serious lacerations on Crystal's back. If you're squeamish you may not want to watch this.”

  Moji swallowed the lump in her throat. “I've seen a lot worse in the last few hours, I think I can handle it.” She pushed herself off the wall and sat down on the other side of the bed. Crystal lay between them, snoring softly.

  Ray used the scissor-like tool to grip the curved needle then, with the tweezers in his other hand, began to pull at the blackened skin around one of the punctures.

  “Are you going to avoid answering my question?” he asked without taking his eyes off what he was doing to Crystal.

  “Are you going to avoid answering mine?”

  “I asked first.”

  Don't! Lara screamed.

  Moji visibly flinched at the force of Lara's objection. She absentmindedly rubbed her temple in an effort to quell her inner turmoil. “There's not much to tell. Like I said, my life is pretty boring.”

  “Boring huh?” Ray said without looking up, “Not from where I sit. Let me fill you in on what I know about the life of one Moji, the wonder girl. She is able to enter another person's dreams, heal the sick, predict the future, and talk to animals. Oh, and occasionally, she takes on the persona of an eight year old girl and calls me army-man.”

  “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

  “Bullshit you don't. Less than twenty minutes ago you told me you felt that no one was in this building. You said, and I quote, the soul had been sucked out of this place. That doesn't strike you as odd?”

  “No, it strikes me as a woman's intuition. I just had a feeling.”

  “Back at the truck, when you were talking in your little girl voice, that wasn't you controlling the dogs?”

  “Ray, you're scaring me. I don't know what you're talking about.”

  “You don't remember talking about yourself in the third person, about having a secret, about knowing where to find the queen, or describing my and Crystal's dreams like you were there? You're telling me you don't remember any of that?”

  It was me, Lara confessed.

  Moji covered her mouth with a trembling hand. Lara, what have you done? she thought. She jumped off the bed and ran out of the room, back into the main living area. She sat down on the couch and buried her face in her hands. All these years I thought I had it under control, that I could have normal relationships, lead a normal life. Has it all been a lie? She searched her memory, looking for the telltale gaps in time, the confused conversations of friends and co-workers, any obvious inconsistencies in her life. You’ve gotten smarter haven't you Lara? I thought I banished you from my mind forever and all I had to deal with were the memories of having known you. But all I succeeded in doing was to drive you deeper into hiding. You’ve been there all along, taking small chunks out of my life, slowly sabotaging my relationships, until there was nothing left except a lot of you and a little bit of me.

  She got up, wiped the tears from her cheeks, and walked over to the large picture window. The venetian blind, it's once bright white vinyl slats yellowed and warped by an unrelenting setting sun, looked too fragile to touch without causing the entire mechanism to collapse, so she leaned against the wall and peered into the light pouring in around its edges. The window faced the front of the building, and she had a clear view of the semi-circular driveway and the main street beyond. She traced the path of their arrival with her eyes, aware that she was looking for something but not clear on what it might be. You're haunting me even now, aren't you Lara? I know you're there, lying in wait, syphoning off minute moments of my life, bleeding my senses little by little, to make yourself feel more alive, more real. I won't let you do it Lara, I won't let you steal my life from me. Not again. She tried to hold back the tears, afraid that any show of weakness would give Lara the advantage and the opportunity to take over her life forever.

  Give your life to me!Lara's anger roared in her mind. Moji cupped her hands over her ears and whimpered in despair.

  Something touched her shoulder.

  Moji jumped and spun around, fists balled. It was Ray.

  “Hey!” Ray said, throwing his hands up in surrender, “Take it easy!”

  “Oh god, I'm sorry Ray, I'm so sorry!”

  Ray gently put his hands on Moji’s shoulders. “It's me that should be sorry. I shouldn't have interrogated you like I did. That was wrong.”

  Moji stepped into Ray's arms and lay her head on his chest. “No Ray, you were right. I mean, look at us! We should be sitting in some FEMA shelter drinking fresh water and eating crackers, but I got us chasing ghosts. God only knows why you, Crystal, and Wilma listened to anything I’ve said. I know I must sound like a crazy woman.”

  Having Moji in his arms made Ray's heart sing. He could barely speak. “Um, yeah, I mean you were talking kind of crazy from time to time, but it all sounded so right, I couldn't help but go along. Does that sound crazy?”

  Moji managed a chuckle and wrapped her arms around Ray's waist. “Yeah, that does sound crazy. Maybe this scourge thing is making us all go insane.”

  Ray bent his head and rubbed his cheek in Moji's hair. To him, her hair smelled like jasmine in the summer time. “I have PTSD. The scourge can't make me any crazier than I already am.”

  Moji took a deep breath and pressed herself tighter to Ray’s body. Hearing the rapid beat of his heart in her ear made her feel safe. “Ray, I have to tell you something. It's something I've never told anyone, not even Crystal, who is my closest friend in the whole world.”

  “Please God, don't let Moji, this beautiful creature from heaven, tell me she's really a man.”

  Moji slipped her hands under Ray's shirt and lightly scratched him with her nails. “Stop it, I'm trying to be serious.”

  “Ok, I'm sorry. I'm listening.”

  IF YOU TELL THE SECRET HE WILL LEAVE YOU! Lara's voice overwhelmed her thoughts. Moji felt her mind slipping away, retreating to its safe place. She squeezed Ray tighter, as tight as she could. “I have a dissociative identity disorder,” she said quickly, before she lost her courage. “I've had it since I was a little girl.”

  Moji was shaking. Ray moved his hands back and forth across her back, massaging away the tension she felt. “Is...Is that like schizophrenia?” he asked,

  “No, you don't understand, it's much worse than that. When I was twelve my father was killed in a horrible car accident
. I loved him so much, he was everything to me, and when he died I just fell apart. My mother couldn't cope either. She got depressed, became a drunk, and spent her every waking moment blaming me for my father's death. Everyone else, my friends, teachers, other family members, they all walked on eggshells around me, afraid to say anything that might cause me to break. But on the inside, I was already broken. I was so depressed. I had no one to talk to, to help me unload the tremendous grief and guilt that I carried. When my father died, a piece of me died with him. He left a huge hole in my heart that I longed to fill. Out of desperation, I filled it with an imaginary friend. Her name was Lara. Lara was the eight year old me. She was everything I wasn't. She was happy, carefree, and full of wonderful memories of my father. It was Lara that got me through the dark times. She kept me sane when I thought I couldn't go on.”

  “That doesn't sound so bad. Sounds like you did what you had to do to keep your sanity and survive.”

  “You're right. I thought I had found a way to cope with the loss of my father. I spent more and more time in my own head, talking to Lara instead of real people. I would sit on the floor, outside the closet in my bedroom, and pretend Lara was hiding in the closet, talking to me from the other side of the closet door. It got to the point where we would stay up talking and laughing until late into the night. In the back of my mind I knew it wasn't healthy for me to be talking to myself like that but it made me feel so much better, so I kept on doing it even when it started to affect my school work.”

  “Didn't your mother or the teachers at school notice anything?”

  “No. My mother was always passed out drunk, and my teachers, well, I guess they thought I was in mourning so they left me alone. But after a few weeks of talking with Lara, strange things started to occur. Sometimes, I would wake up in a different part of my house than where I fell asleep. Or I would wake up in the alley outside my house wearing an old dress, one too small for me, having no idea how I got there. Other times I would find my old dresses, dirty, stained, and balled up on my bedroom floor.”

  “Were you sleepwalking?”

  “That's what I thought too and so I didn't pay it any mind. I thought it was just a phase of grief I was going through. But then, things got really weird.” Moji took a deep breath. “God, I feel sick even thinking about it.”

  “You don't have talk about this if you don't want to.”

  “No, I need to. So much is happening now that I don't understand. I need to talk about it with someone I trust so I know I'm not going crazy.” She gulped down a breath. “Lara and I began to have very strange conversations. It felt as if I was listening to her more than I was talking.

  “I don't understand. Lara was your imaginary friend. Weren't you just talking to yourself?”

  “I thought so, but my conversations with Lara started to feel real. Then one night she started talking about sex...very explicit sex. When that happened I knew something was wrong.”

  “Why would talking about sex be wrong? You were twelve, right? A lot of girls reach puberty before they become a teenager. It would be strange if sex wasn't on your mind at that age.”

  “No Ray, this talk was different. It was about sex with a man. Lara described certain...acts...things that a child shouldn't know about sex. I had never had sex. I hadn't read any books about sex. I had never even seen another naked body other than my own. The things Lara talked about were pornographic.”

  “How could she...I mean you...describe something you never experienced?”

  “At first, I didn't know how that could be. I was so confused and scared. I went to the school nurse and told her what was happening to me. She sent me to a grief counsellor who, after talking to my mother, immediately suggested that I see a psychiatrist.”

  “That had to help, right? When I got back from Afghanistan, I thought I could adjust back to civilian life, you know, stuff all that crazy shit going on in my head outta sight where nobody, including me, had to look at it. But I couldn't kick it, not on my own. If it wasn't for my therapist I probably would be strung out on drugs, dead, or both.”

  Moji wrapped her arms a little tighter around Ray's waist. “I wasn't so lucky. My psychiatrist thought I was suffering from schizophrenia and depression. So I was pumped full of drugs. The drugs got Lara out of my head but I walked around in a semi-coherent daze for two years. My mother got sober long enough to realize what was happening and got a second opinion. My new doctor was the homeopathic type and immediately took me off of the antipsychotics. Once the last of the drugs were out of my system, I felt really good. I thought I could finally move on with my life.”

  “What happened?”

  “Lara came back.”

  Moji picked her head off of Ray's chest and looked into his eyes. “That's not the worst part. Promise me you won't judge me too harshly when I tell you the rest of the story.”

  Ray cupped Moji's head in his hands. “Girl, if you knew how I felt about you…” He brushed her lips with the tip of his thumb.

  “How…” she whispered, “...how do you feel about me?”

  Ray answered by pressing his lips against hers. Moji gasped then matched his passion with her own, parting his lips with her tongue and sliding her hands down the small of his back. Without breaking their kiss, Ray swept her off her feet and carried her into the empty master bedroom. He laid her on the bed then lay atop her, his weight crushing the breath from her lungs. The springs of the old mattress bit into her back and buttocks, causing her pain but eliciting a deep moan of satisfaction from her throat. They tore at the clothing that separated them, hungrily seeking the pleasure of each other's bodies. Moji felt her pants and panties being yanked down to her ankles. She pulled Ray to her, lifting her knees and locking her ankles around the small of his back. Tears of fear and self-loathing streamed down her face as she thrust her hips upward and dug her nails into his buttocks. She begged him to take her, screamed at him to wash away her shame. She began to sob as his manhood filled her, the pain of it overwhelming her senses and loosening her hold on reality.

  Deep within her, the bad thing stirred.

  54

  The queen lay submerged in her nest, resting next to her fertilization pod. A newly birthed brood of her hatchlings circled overhead, swimming in tight formation, tail to head. They are restless and hungry, she thought, they must feed soon. She floated to the top of the nest and broke through the thick layer of sludge that crusted its surface. As her antennae emerged from the water, she could sense the minds of her sisters, their numbers growing ever larger, as they claimed new hosts and hastened the transition to their final form.

  We become many, she reckoned, soon our life strand will dominate this world and all that lives upon it will bend to our will. She climbed on a gangway that connected several of the nutrient rich nest pools that she tended. She stood on her hind legs, then spread her mid and forelegs perpendicular to her torso, using her entire exoskeleton to align herself with the quantum signal. Her mandibles quivered as her internal ansible flexed and broadcast her thoughts to the entire colony.

  Hear me and feast, my sisters! Gorge on the newborn’s fear of the unknown, force it to relinquish its hold on the body so that it can be remade in our image. Wrench its primitive consciousness from its shell and cast it into the void, for it is not yet worthy of redemption. We, with ten thousand lifetimes of knowledge and wisdom, purified by the eternal fire of enlightenment, burnished by the memories of the Ancients, are the true heirs of immortality. No species may come before us. We will claim our rightful place in the cosmos.

  Some time passed before the queen disengaged her communication and collapsed onto the gangway. I tire, she thought, I must rest and regain my strength, for the colony is still fragile and I must stand ready to replenish it. She traveled the length of the gangway, diving into each nest pool to examine the eggs and nurture the hatchlings. Satisfied that all was well, she returned to her resting place at the bottom of the largest nest pool and reattached her abdomen to
the fertilization pod.

  As her mind relaxed and her conscious drifted, it recalled memories of the Ancients, of the last inhabitants of her dying planet, seeking salvation...She saw the priestess seal the last crucible into the vessel and then join her sisters on the observation deck. They watched as the vessel rose and pivoted toward the horizon, the sphere dwindling rapidly against the backdrop of a clear maroon sky, dominated by a dull, red-hot sun. “Blessed are the Creators,” the priestess pronounced, “for they did not forsake us. The prophets foresaw the coming of the end and made a way for us to repent of our transgressions, to allow us to live on in glory and to honor them for all eternity. May they bless this ship of hosts for it is our living heaven. May it find its way to a new world and spread its seed into the crust and grant us renewed life.”

  55

  Marine One touched down on the northwest corner of Blue Lot 18, an empty parking lot on the southern end of the football stadium. In anticipation of the president's arrival, the entire lot had been hastily converted into a secure helipad. Soldiers were stationed around it’s perimeter, wary of any survivors wandering the grounds who got too close or too curious.

  General Hernandez shifted uncomfortably in his restraints. “Well, here we are. I just want to reiterate once more how ill-advised I think this visit is.”

  Marcia surprised herself and managed a smile. “Is that why you agreed to come along Oscar, so you could berate me?”

  “Marcia, I came along because you're the president of the United States of America and your husband threatened to have me shipped to a black site if anything bad happened to you.”

  Marcia frowned. “Mark worries too much.”