TORMENT - A Novel of Dark Horror

by Jeremy Bishop

  Garbarino took a seat next to him. “Wanted to talk to you about our new friend. You know, the one that’s built like a tank and has no face.”

  Austin made sure no one was close enough to hear him. As far as he knew, the two of them were the only ones to see the monster up close. “What about him?”

  “Don’t feed me any bullshit,” Garbarino said. “You know exactly what about.”

  Austin had hoped Garbarino hadn’t noticed. Seemed he had. “The tattoo,” he said.

  “Shit, yes, the tattoo. You and I both know we’ve seen it before.”

  Austin cracked his knuckles one at a time. He did recognize the tattoo. It belonged to Henry Masters, the leader of a peace protest movement that wanted all U.S. troops pulled out of the Middle East. He led the group, fifty thousand strong, toward the White House, where they were greeted by a wall of riot police, snipers and Secret Service agents. Austin had been in charge of the response. He and Garbarino hadn’t been more than twenty feet from Masters when he tore his shirt off, chanting catch phrases. The tattoo of the eagle clutching a peace banner was etched in his memory when riot police tried to break up the crowd. Despite Masters’s pleas for non-violence, the crowd responded first with stones, then with fists. When the tear gas flew and panic set in, people stampeded. In the thick soup of tear gas, no one thought about what, or who they were stepping on to escape. Masters was trampled and killed by his own people.

  Austin pushed on his index finger until it popped. “What I can’t figure out, is how it’s possible.”

  “He was dead. Already dead—in the dirt dead—when the bombs dropped.”

  A nod was all Austin had to offer.

  “So how’s he alive now?”

  “Wish I knew.”

  Garbarino sighed. “Ironic though, right?”

  “How’s that.”

  “Masters. Peace activist. Comes back to life as a killing machine. Became the thing he hated most. Like the rest of these poor schmucks. Can’t stop themselves from killing no matter how bad they don’t want to do it. Merciful thing would be to find a way to keep them dead.”

  Austin stood. He didn’t want to think about how fucked up the world had become. “We need to find someplace to hide tonight.”

  “It’s already night, boss.” He held up his wrist. “Took a watch from the man-cave house. Wind-up. Still works.” He looked at the watch. “It’s eleven PM. We can still see because of all the heat lightning.”

  Austin looked up at the shimmering clouds above. Silent lightning flowed through them, glowing orange. The sky was alive. And it seemed, would never grow dark. “Then we’ll stop sooner than later.” He headed back toward the others.

  Garbarino gave a chuckle and followed after him. “Man, nothing fazes you, Austin.”

  Austin let the comment go because the truth was, he wondered if surviving the end of the world was actually a worse fate than death, even if the dead didn’t stay dead. They were all going to die eventually. It couldn’t be avoided. And then they would be just like Vanderwarf and White. “Let’s go, people,” he said. “Won’t be light out forever.”

  He started ahead of the others as they packed up and followed. Even though part of him longed for death, he wouldn’t give in to it. He looked back at Mia and Liz. Not while there was still someone who thought life was worth living.

  29

  “This will do,” Austin said to Mia.

  They stood over a dry riverbed of smooth round stones and patches of sand. Brown brush and tall dead grass lined the banks. The air smelled of dust and carried a slight odor of dead fish, though none could be seen. The river had been eight feet deep at its deepest, so even standing they couldn’t be seen from a distance. A ready-made trench.

  Mia climbed down and sat Liz on a rock. She and Austin helped Paul lower Mark into the dried out river. His skin fell cold and clammy, and he shook when she touched him. The man didn’t have long. When she looked into Paul’s eyes, she could see he knew it, too. He seemed weaker. Less resolved. The hero in him faded along with his brother’s life.

  As Garbarino, Chang and Collins slid into the riverbed, Mia, Austin and Paul laid Mark down on a soft patch of sand. He grunted, semi-conscious, and said, “You’re not ready yet.”

  “Who are you talking to, Mark?” Mia asked.

  “Him,” Mark said.

  “Me,” Paul said.

  “You.”

  “Not ready for what?” he asked. But Mark had fallen asleep.

  Mia and Austin stepped away, pretending to scout out what lay ahead around the river bend. “They’re in a bad place,” she said.

  “They?”

  “Mark is dying and Paul is losing his brother.”

  “Seems like a strong guy. He lost men in the war.”

  “Not his brother who saved his life. And not after everyone else in the world died. I think Paul pictured things the other way around. Him dying to save Mark. Not him being the one left behind.”

  Austin picked up a stone. It felt cool and smooth in his hand. “We’ll stay here until it happens.”

  “Won’t be long,” Mia said. Mark’s condition was deteriorating rapidly. Rotting flesh covered most of his face now, and his abdomen felt firm, like his insides were solidifying.

  Austin wanted to throw the rock, to watch it bounce off the larger stones down river. But there was no way to know if something would hear the sound or see the stone’s flight through the air. He gripped the stone tight, pushing his frustration into it.

  “You need one of those stress dolls,” Mia said as Austin’s fist shook. “You know, the rubber kind with the eyes that pop out.”

  Austin’s tension broke and he smiled. “Had one of those when I was a kid. Cut its head off with a table saw.”

  “Morbid.”

  “It was, actually. The liquid inside was red.”

  “Probably toxic.”

  “Doesn’t matter much now.Seems the whole world is toxic.”

  “Is it the whole world?”

  “Mark is rotting.”

  “From gouges inflicted by that woman.”

  “Do you have any open wounds?”

  Mia looked at herself. She didn’t have a scratch on her. “No.”

  “Neither do I,” he said. “But I can tell you right now, I don’t want to get a splinter and find out any open wound sets a body to rotting.”

  Mia knelt down and found a smooth, flat stone, the kind perfect for skipping. She looked at the sparkles of mica embedded in it. There was a little beauty still hidden in the world. But not much. “Plan still to head north?”

  “Got a better one?”

  “Nope,” she said, standing back up. “Way I see it, we keep moving until we find someplace safe. Any direction is as good as the other, so long as we’re not walking in circles.”

  When Austin stayed quiet, she asked, “We’re not walking in circles, are we?”

  “Not yet,” he said. “But I haven’t seen the sun since those clouds rolled in.”

  They both looked up at the shimmering clouds.

  “It’s like the sky is on fire,” she said.

  “Mmm,” Austin dropped his stone. “Remember the way the world looked from orbit? The dark clouds? Flashes of orange lightning?”

  She nodded.

  “I think we were seeing this from above,” he said.

  “You think the whole world is covered again?”

  “No way to know for sure.”

  Mia threw her stone up in the air and caught it. She tossed it and caught it five more times before pocketing the stone and turning back to the group. “I’m going to have a conversation with the president.”

  “’Bout what?” he asked.

  “Truck convoys in Afghanistan.”

  “You sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Going to come to his rescue?” she asked with a smirk.

  “Not my job anymore.”

  Her smile widened. “Could have fooled me.”

  Mia approach
ed Collins and took the stone out of her pocket. She tossed it up and caught it, repeating the action as she stopped in front of Collins, Garbarino and Chang. She met Collins’s eyes. “Mind if I have a word?”

  “Be my guest,” Collins said.

  “Wasn’t talking to you,” she said, glancing at Chang and Garbarino. They both understood and got to their feet. As he left, Garbarino gave her a pat on the shoulder. He knew what this was about.

  She sat down across from Collins, elbows propped on knees, the stone bouncing back and forth between her hands. “Truck convoys don’t run in Northern Afghanistan.”

  If Collins was surprised by the statement, he didn’t show it. But she knew he had years of practice.

  “If you say so,” he said. “Specific troop movements are up to the generals I assign to the task. I’m sorry that you think your husband—”

  “Fiancé.”

  “—Fiancé was responsible for all this, but—”

  “He was responsible.”

  This caught Collins off guard. His defenses lowered for a moment. “What?”

  “Just like you are responsible.”

  “Now hold on a minute. I—”

  “Ordered the assassination of the Russian President. Instigated a war you thought wouldn’t go as far as it did. And for what?”

  He stared at her, his eyes brimming with anger.

  She leaned in close to him, matching his anger with her own. “For. What?”

  He shifted away from her, suddenly uncomfortable under her glare. “The Arctic Ocean.”

  She nearly slipped off the stone she sat on. “This—this was about oil?”

  “Most modern conflicts are,” he said with a shrug. “The Russians claimed large areas of the Arctic as their own. The Russian president wouldn’t budge. We knew his successor would.”

  “And Matt?”

  “Not a truck driver.”

  “A sniper.”

  “The best.”

  Mia’s insides twitched with rage, both at Collins and at Matthew Brenton. The man she’d shared a bed with, the man she had planned to marry, had lied to her about everything. At home he acted gentle. Creative. Compassionate. But he was really a killer. An assassin. The betrayal cut deep. But then, she thought, I’m not better than him. He betrayed me in service to his country. Something he had been doing before we even met. Probably had no choice in the matter. I betrayed him when I should have been most faithful.

  She looked up at Collins again and found him staring at the stone in her hands. She tossed it aside and saw some of the fear in his eyes slide away. “I wasn’t going to hit you,” she said.

  “But you wanted to, just like I wanted to hit the Russians back. You have to understand, I couldn’t let them get away with it. I couldn’t let them.”

  She stood. “Don’t push it.”

  “Or what?”

  She motioned to the others. “Or I’ll tell them the truth. I’m sure one of them would be happy to kill the man who killed everyone they love.” She picked up the stone she’d thrown. “Going to hang on to this, just in case I change my mind.”

  Mia stormed away, heading for Paul, who was sitting with Liz near where Mark slept. Collins watched her go. His instincts told him to respond in anger. But he knew better, now. He stood and put his hands in his pockets, ready to start pacing, but felt something that wasn’t there before. Felt like a small book. He took it out and discovered Mark’s small Bible. Must have slipped it into my pocket when I was helping him along, he though.

  Collins looked at Mark, lying in the sand. He was dying. Of that there was no doubt.

  Unsure of what to do with the book, Collins flipped through the pages. The text was tiny, but some of it stood out in red text. He paused on one of these pages and read. He returned to his seat and turned the page. He read to the end of the chapter in twenty minutes.

  That’s when Mark began screaming.

  30

  “You’re not ready!” Mark’s voice cut through the air like a Navy warning klaxon. “None of you are ready. It’s too soon. Too soon!”

  Paul dove to Mark’s side, propping him up. Mark’s eyes were rolled back, white orbs. “Mark!”

  Garbarino leapt toward them, eyes wide. “Shut him up!”

  “How?” Paul asked, an uncharacteristic panic filling his voice.

  “Knock him out!” Garbarino shouted, drawing his weapon and preparing to pistol whip Mark.

  “He’s already unconscious!” Paul shouted.

  Garbarino shoved him aside. “Then I’ll make him more unconscious.” But when he stood over Mark, saw his face, black and sunken like an old pumpkin, he froze. When he caught a whiff of the thick rot slowly consuming Mark’s body, he staggered back.

  “Not ready, not ready, not ready!” Mark continued.

  Mia arrived a moment later, a syringe in her hand. She shoved the needle into Mark’s arm and pushed the plunger down. A moment later, Mark stopped shouting. Stopped moving.

  “Did it work?” Chang asked as the others arrived.

  “No,” Austin said. “Morphine doesn’t work that fast.”

  As Paul began to weep, the rest finally noticed that Mark’s chest had stopped moving. He was dead.

  Then, as though sharing a consciousness, they all took a step back. Austin and Garbarino raised their weapons at Mark.

  “Get your gear together. Follow the river downstream.” Realizing there was no downstream, he pointed in the direction he meant. “That way.”

  Collins and Chang, who led Elizabeth away, obeyed dutifully. Mia stood still, watching.

  “What are you doing?” Austin asked her. “Move!”

  Mia jumped at the sound of his voice, but didn’t leave. She just stared at Mark, waiting.

  Paul slowly pulled himself together and stood. His eyes were dark and tired. He drew his weapon, letting it hang by his side. “My brother...”

  “How long’s it been?” Garbarino asked.

  “At least a minute,” Austin said, focusing his aim on Mark’s head. Once the man moved, he would take a single shot and give them time to run before Mark came back again. But one minute became two. And then three.

  Chang returned carrying several packs, short of breath from rushing and fear. “We’ve packed...everyone’s...bags. We can go.”

  Austin lowered his aim.

  Garbarino did as well, and said with a quiet voice, “He’s not coming back.” He looked at the others and repeated the sentence louder. “He’s not coming back.”

  “Could be the way he died,” Collins said. “Made his insides harden. Maybe so he can’t come back?”

  Paul knelt by Mark’s head. “My brother...”

  “Doesn’t matter why he’s not coming back,” Austin said. “Just be glad he didn’t. But we still need to leave, just in case he does. Maybe it’s different for everyone. Maybe he’ll come back in ten minutes. Maybe an hour. Maybe tomorrow. But we’re not going to be here if and when he does.”

  “Don’t cry, Mr. Byers,” Liz said.

  Mia started at the girl’s voice. She hadn’t spoken in almost a day.

  Paul looked up, his eyes pink from the intensity of his emotions, his face wet, his teeth gritted together.

  “I’m sorry about it, Mr. Byers,” Liz said.

  “Me too,” Paul said. His face suddenly softened and he looked beyond them. “Look,” he said. “A bird.”

  Every single one of them turned to look. A bird would give them hope. If something other than psychotic humans had survived, maybe they had a future.

  As Mia scanned the shimmering clouds for some sign of the bird, she heard a metallic click. Her eyes widened as she realized that Paul’s last act of heroism on this planet was to turn Liz’s attention away while he followed his brother into the afterlife. She covered Liz’s ears just in time to block out the thunderous boom of Paul’s handgun. With her ears ringing, Mia didn’t hear the pieces of Paul’s skull clatter against the rocks, or his body slump and fall. But she didn’
t need to. She knew what had happened just as surely as the rest of them did.

  No one turned around right away. No one jumped. They just kept on watching the sky, hoping to see that bird, hoping that Paul’s distraction hadn’t been a ruse.

  But there was no bird.

  There was no hope.

  Paul confirmed it when just thirty seconds after taking his own life, he stood up and apologized for it. “Sorry,” he said, taking a step forward and then lunging.

  If not for the uneven footing, he would have caught Chang by the throat, but the stone beneath his foot rolled and he fell early, catching her leg instead.

  Liz began screaming hysterically. Mia picked her up and put her hand over the girl’s mouth, muffling her voice.

  Paul reached out with his open mouth, aiming for Chang’s calf. But his head snapped back as Chang kicked out with her free foot. Unaffected by the pain, the impact only delayed him. As he lunged for a second attack, he was struck again, this time from the side, and much harder.

  Blood splattered as Garbarino’s boot sent Paul rolling away. Garbarino drew his handgun.

  “No weapons!” Austin hissed.

  “Fuck!” Garbarino said as he holstered the weapon and drew his knife.

  “Don’t let him scratch you,” Mia shouted back to them as she ran with Liz, hand still clapped over the girl’s mouth.

  Paul lurched to his feet. “Run,” he said. “Please, run!”

  “Not likely,” Garbarino said.

  “Please, I don’t want—” Paul’s voice was replaced by an inhuman roar as he charged toward Garbarino.

  Reaching out with one hand and side stepping, Garbarino intended to catch Paul around the neck and stab him in the back, severing his spine. But he made several incorrect assumptions about Paul’s attack.

  That he would be slowed by age.

  That he would lack fighting skills.

  That he would be weak.

  None of these things were true. In fact, Paul seemed faster and stronger than he had been in life and all of the dirty fighting tricks he’d picked up in the jungles of Vietnam could still be put to use by his reanimated body.