Dead of Eve (Trilogy of Eve)

by Godwin, Pam

  “I’ll call you Darwin.” A symbol of his unfavorable survival against nature.

  He barked and lathered my cheek.

  We shared an MRE and I cleaned the carbine and daggers. That done, I perched beside the mutilated aphid, dagger in fist. Then I took a steadying breath and sawed through its neck. It took longer than expected. My stomach twisted and burned. What was happening to me? I wanted to do it. When the neck snapped and the head rolled off, the eyes went flat. The tension in my guts uncoiled.

  I dragged the head into my lap and scored the skin to peel it from the bone. With another knife wedged as a chisel, I pounded it under the top of the skull and pried it off. The pinkish gray brain had two halves and filled the bulbous cranium. I scooped them out and scraped off the membrane covering, revealing a tofu texture. I didn’t know what an insect brain looked like, but I suspected it was very different from the human-like brain in my lap. Did it mean they still had emotions? Memories? Christ, what if they were still human, trapped in these bodies?

  My mouth went dry. I couldn’t think like that. They showed no anger, no remorse. An aphid wouldn’t hesitate to kill me. Which was why I had to kill them first. I tossed the brain onto the heap of limbs. Then I washed my hands with my camel back and joined Darwin at the tree line.

  We plowed east through Missouri’s Ozark Mountains. I followed Darwin up and down rugged slopes, his paws hooking around boulders and loose rock with ease. I chased him along the river way, wheezing, my calves burning. Often, he sprinted too far ahead and disappeared into the bush. Minutes felt like hours until he returned, bearing fresh water fowl.

  A week passed and I grew dependent on his low growl, his aphid alarm. He sensed them before I did. For fear of losing him again, I’d herd Darwin in the opposite direction of the threat. I knew I was just tarrying until our peacetime lifted. The buzz of aphid hunger vibrated the air. I couldn’t run from the aphids forever. I needed to test the dog’s reaction to gun fire.

  “Hier, Darwin.” He ran to my side and leaned against my leg. I scratched his head and kissed the bridge of his snout. No doubt he knew more Schutzhund commands than I did. Maybe he’d been a police dog.

  “Fuss.”

  He obeyed, heeling as I walked along the riverbed toward an open field. The field animated with sunflowers, swishing and stretching to the summer sky.

  “In Ordnung.”

  Darwin took to the field, romping through the yellow blooms like an adolescent whitetail, spraying them to and fro in his wake. Then he stopped and looked back at me. He was really enjoying himself, his playfulness contagious. Focus, Evie.

  I targeted the carbine on the trunk of a dead cottonwood bridging the river. Exhale. Pop.

  He pricked his ears, the only thing he moved.

  I sighed my relief and tramped to his side.”Sitz.”

  Darwin sat on his haunches.

  I raised the AA-12. Sighted it down field. Told him to stay. “Bleib.”

  Exhale. Clap. Clap.

  Shotgun still in high ready, I gave Darwin a sidelong glance. His eyes met mine, his body stiff with attention. My lips twitched. Wouldn’t it be something if Darwin were there because of Joel’s doing? Joel always knew what I needed. My injuries were healing without infection and Darwin kept my mind off them most days. The dog numbed my pain.

  I bent and hugged him. “Well done, boy.”

  With a raised hand, I sheltered my eyes from the sun’s glare and scanned the field under the Ozark highlands. The hills tinged blue under the haze of the humidity. “Where to now, Darwin?”

  He bounced around me and prodded me to play. We should’ve only been a few miles from the highway. That meant we’d see civilization soon. Sweat trickled down my spine. We’d find a car and maybe sleep in a soft bed. I gathered my gear and hiked east. “Fuss.”

  Darwin followed.

  The sun dropped below the hillside and sketched shadows on the dam saddled by Highway 65. We climbed the bulwark and gaped up and down the highway. An old pickup truck sat in the southbound lane. Darwin wet his nose with his tongue and resumed panting.

  I knew the area, had traveled that highway dozens of times. The lake was only ten miles behind us. But thanks to the August heat, the overgrown woods, the continuous stops to rest my injuries and ease the weight of my gear, it’d been the longest ten miles of my life. With languor setting in, I trudged to the truck while Darwin led the way.

  The unlocked doors on the Ranger made entry easy. The missing keys offset my luck. I stripped my gear and chased away images of the truck’s prior occupant emerging from the woods and slashing me open with an insectile mouth.

  I crawled under the steering column. After a few sweaty minutes of wire tapping, the engine came to life. The needle on the gas gauge swung to F. I blew out a breath.

  Thank fucking God for my old Chevy. I hated that clunker when I was a kid. Had to hot-wire it to start it. Memories of hunkering under the dash, late for school, fingers trembling over the wires in frigid temperatures. Never imagined I’d be looking back on that with a smile.

  Now for a grocery store and uninhabited housing. Sedalia offered the best chance of that. Only an hour north.

  But a town of its size could be rife with men. I jolted at the shiver that ran down my spine and gripped the steering wheel. Ugly reminders discolored my wrists. My limbs grew numb. My body labored against heavy breathing. The pain in my chest felt like a heart attack. I knew it wasn’t. The sudden sweating, dizziness and accelerated heart rate were telltale symptoms of a panic attack. I needed Joel.

  I rolled down the window and gulped fresh air. Then I lit a cigarette. I wasn’t prepared to come to grips with my wounds. Facing one of my own species terrified me far more than fighting an army of blood spitting bugs.

  The grocery store would wait. Besides, Darwin kept me fed on fowl and fish. I put the truck in first and headed south. South to MO-64. Then east to I-44. East to Fort Leonard Wood.

  If my memory was right, Fort Leonard Wood served as a training facility for the U.S. Army military police. Perhaps I could upgrade to a military SUV and gather more artillery and supplies. Beyond that, I didn’t know what to expect.

  An hour later, I passed a guard building surrounded by a towering fence and rolled over the trampled gate. I kept the truck at a crawl, straining my eyes against the pitch black milieu for signs of life. A light on in a building? A fresh worn track? Movement in the shadows? With only the light from the headlights, an overt assessment was impossible. By what I could see, the base seemed barren.

  Then I smelled it. A rot so thick it slid down my throat and met the bile rising there. I choked, buried my nose in the crook of my arm. My foot slid to the brake, my free hand slapping at the window crank. My gag reflex won.

  The window half down, I emptied my stomach over both sides of the door. Another choking breath and I retched again.

  I wiped my mouth, spun the wheel till it stopped and began a tight three-sixty turn. The headlights illuminated an empty field, a charred building, the entrance to the base, then mountains of…holy fuck. The knot in my gut rushed back to my throat. I held it off, swallowed repeatedly, breathed.

  Scatters of arms, legs, gutted torsos, and unrecognizable fleshy parts blotted the horizon, stretching beyond the reach of the headlights. And the faces. Oh God, the faces staring out of the heaps. Men. Women. Aphid. Skin peeling, baked from the sun. Bones exposed, splintered and crushed.

  I was out of the truck, moving closer, and realized a person could have too much courage. But I was sure it wasn’t courage. It was a train wreck. I couldn’t look away.

  Bodies strewed the ground, piled where they fell, dismembered or eaten. Tanks and other armored vehicles belched human remains. A post-battle wasteland. Perhaps civilians were seeking shelter at the base and killed out of fear of infection. Maybe aphids overran the command post and the residents used up their ammo.

  Decayed hands held shotguns and rifles. Empty eye sockets stared into the beam of the hea
dlights. Mouths froze in silent screams. Human and aphid lay side by side in repose. The scene was peaceful. Could’ve been a painting if it hadn’t been so painful look at it. Did anyone survive? My stomach bottomed out. I whirled, carbine raised and searched the night for a breath of life.

  Darwin huffed in the cab, ears up, eyes alert. My muscles relaxed. The rot was ripe. It wasn’t a recent battle. Survivors would be gone.

  As I drove to the other side of the base, the stench dissipated. Pillaged structures and exsanguinated bodies became fewer and fewer.

  Twenty minutes later, I parked in front of a narrow barracks, its two windows and single door untouched. Humping my pack and artillery, I surveyed the perimeter of the building, unable to ignore my exhaustion.

  I broke the dead bolt with the butt of the carbine and swept the single room building with the Maglite. Darwin darted in ahead of me and sniffed out every nook. Empty mattresses lay on the bunks. Metal blinds covered the windows. A fucking Ritz Carlton.

  I moved a desk in front of the door. With Darwin at my very sore feet, I was certain he would alert me of danger. My head hit the bed and sleep pulled me down.

  I sprawled naked in the damp dimness, a stone slab cold against my back. My arms and legs stretched with heavy chains. The aroma of blood burned my nose.

  Plip. Plop. Plip. Plip.

  Beads tapped my face and trickled down my cheeks. Shallow respiration at my feet broke the rhythm of the dribble.

  “Who’s there?”

  The blanket of darkness lifted, unveiled a hollow cave. I blinked through the drops in my eyes. My vision clouded under a scarlet hue. Dark rain spotted my body. The ceiling was bleeding.

  A figure emerged through my blinks. He stood at my feet, staring back through onyx eyes, cloaked in a sable cape. He pushed back the hood. Black curls curtained his Middle Eastern features.

  “I am the Drone”, he offered with an Arabic accent, emphasizing the D.

  I tugged at the chains. “What do you want?”

  He leapt upon the alter and straddled my waist. “I think you know.” He smirked. Then a spear erupted from his mouth and pierced my chest.

  Smoldering pain. I pawed at him, my hands not working right. Screams echoed. My screams. The ceiling erupted in a mud slide of blood. The gore rushed from unseen pores in the walls.

  I bucked my hips against the pang of the Drone’s sucking mouthparts. I couldn’t escape the stabbing spasm in my chest.

  “Fuck you.” My voice was strangled.

  His slurping continued, each pull with the throb of my heart. An obscure shape swelled behind his shoulders. He crooked up the corner of his mouth around the bloody spear and extended immense transparent wings.

  I screamed until the burning in my throat overbore the wound in my chest. The light danced away as if in fear. When the darkness curled under my chin, it was warm and wet and very much alive.

  Deep into that darkness peering,

  long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting,

  dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.

  Edgar Allan Poe

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: SEVERED TONGUES

  Slimy slaps doused my neck. Something slithered over my cheek. Warm puffs filled my ear. I opened my eyes and sucked in air to keep my scream from escaping.

  Spittle showered my nose. Darwin’s dripping tongue hovered inches away. He licked his chops and recommenced slobbering my face. I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face in his fur. “Was I screaming, boy? Did I scare you?”

  He leaned into my hug and rolled to his side with a rumbling moan and a playful snap of jaws.

  Daylight leaked in around the edges of the window blinds. My senses back online, I bent my arms and legs to test flexibility. The fatigue and stress in my muscles were faint compared to the prior night. I rubbed my chest. No rents in my skin despite the ache.

  The Drone.

  Wish I could’ve told Joel about the dream. He would’ve wrapped me in the strength of his arms and nuzzled my cheek while murmuring reassurances. Then he would’ve set me on my feet and told me in his stern voice to pull my shit together.

  As I sat there, feeling forsaken, panicked even, some intangible timeline forced itself upon me. It was a tug, clawing inside my chest. I ground myself in the urgency of it, threw on my jeans, black tee, armored vest and cap and removed the desk barricade.

  As far as I could see, the base spread out in a barren reminder that even our military couldn’t fight this thing. Bodies scattered the ground, tattered by wind and cankered by the heat. I stared at them for long moments, waiting for them to rise.

  On the way to the truck, I carried that expectancy with me. But there was no buzzing. No movement. No blood in the air. Only the hot scent of asphalt and the dormant lawn crunching under my feet.

  Darwin froze halfway to the truck, his muzzle pointing at three vultures pecking at a thick clutter of decomposed bodies. In a flap of wings, the birds took air, chased away by a scraggly dog. As if my nose had just caught up with my sight, I gagged. The stench overpowered my other senses and caused my steps to falter. Darwin seemed to be effected by it too if his whimpers were anything to go by.

  “Darwin.” I motioned to the truck, and like always, he obeyed.

  It took several circles around the base before I spotted the armory. A single story brick building squatted off the outer road. The lot provided a breeding ground for daylilies. Bursts of orange overran the landscape as evidence of runners sprouted new growth in every direction. The armory’s thick steel door and only entry appeared closed and unscathed. It was either once heavily guarded or impossible to plunder.

  I drove the truck over the lawn and parked a few feet from the door. Carbine in high ready, I crept to the entrance while Darwin fertilized the lilies. Would it be locked? I reached for the handle.

  It cracked open. My hand jerked back. If there were men watching on the cameras, they’d see me going in. The truck felt like a magnet behind me. Ten paces would put me back in that cab.

  Minutes passed. The cameras wouldn’t be working without electricity, and I blamed the breeze for moving the door. I thought about the ammo I needed and could possibly acquire. I steadied my breathing and summoned my grit. Then I stepped through the door.

  The training Joel drilled into me took over. I blurred out of the doorway’s halo and swept right, back to the wall. Musk and alcohol lingered in the small foyer. I pressed into the shadows. That was when I realized my folly. Electric lights illuminated the corner. Fuck. A generator powered the building? That meant human occupancy.

  I pivoted to the entrance, started to run.

  Whoomp-click.

  The slide action reverberated through my body. A chambered shell. I planted my feet.

  In the doorway, Darwin snarled and bared his teeth.

  Without turning around, I mimicked Darwin’s growl. “Lower your gun. I’m not looking for trouble.”

  “Call your dog away or I’ll do it for you.” A masculine voice, deep and confident.

  Darwin’s ears pinned flat to his head. His hackles shot up. I wasn’t about to do anything to chance his life. “Get. Shoo.”

  His growl wavered, but his body remained stiff.

  Shit. I couldn’t remember the command. Maybe “Geh rein?”

  He slinked inside, head low to the ground, lip pulled back. Boots squeaked behind me.

  I shouted, “Nein. Nein.”

  Darwin stopped.

  Blood pounded in my ears. I held up my hands for the benefit of the gunman and flexed my fingers when I realized they were trembling. “I’m trying. Give me a minute.”

  “Not itchin’ to destroy such a fine animal but you’ve got five seconds to find out exactly how much I care.”

  I took a deep breath. “Darwin. Geh raus.”

  He backed out of the door and disappeared.

  The number of boots squeaking the floor multiplied. “Now drop your gun and turn around.”

  Until I kne
w what I was up against, cooperating was my only option. I set down the carbine, my only gun, and turned around.

  Five men crowded a dark hallway and aimed guns of varying sizes at the only vital part of me not protected by my vest. My head.

  Two of them used free hands to raise pants zippers and clasp belt buckles, faces flushed and sweaty. Didn’t take a genius to know what I’d interrupted. An environment stripped of women, much like prison, would be tainted with dominates and their bitches.

  The one with the buckle walked by me and closed the door. My muscles trembled.

  The bossy one gripped my neck. “Looks like one of Satan’s whores just stumbled in our door, boys.”

  Their laughing carried undertones of something poisonous. Something not unlike insanity. A reminder that, for most, surviving the apocalypse meant surviving attacks by those they trusted. Did these men kill their own mothers, sisters, lovers to save themselves?

  Veins bulged in their foreheads. Their eyes were cold and narrowed. I kept my arms behind my back and traced the stitching on my forearm sheath.

  The grip on my throat tightened. A lingering lick caressed my cheek. A promise of what was to come. My quivering muscles betrayed me.

  Someone said, “Look at her arms.”

  Another laughed. “Goddamn. Bitch’d cut off a finger using one of those knives.”

  Then a shout. “Take your knives to the kitchen, woman, and make me some dinner.”

  More rounds of laughter. More ignorant barbs. But they didn’t take the knives. I smiled inwardly with images of serving them their own severed tongues on fine china, their starved mouths flapping as they silently begged for more.

  “If you think I’m so inept at throwing knives,” I said, “put down your guns and try me.”

  The stoutest brute roared. “No way am I wasting a fight on a worthless woman.”

  If you understand the foundation of your anger, you might be able to promote it in others.