by Krisch, Glen
"You asked who we are." His dad went to a metal storage cabinet pushed against the back wall. He flipped through the keys on his key ring, finally settling on one. He unlocked the cabinet and stepped aside. "That's a difficult question to ask, and one I doubt you would've asked just a week ago. But in the last week I've seen something in you I've been waiting my whole life to see. A spark. A will to survive."
It took a moment for Kip's eyes to adjust to the dim light. The closed-in air of the garage carried a heavy stench of used motor oil and grass clippings.
"This is your legacy. Your birthright."
Kip stepped closer, and strangely, his father took a step away, allowing him a clear view of the cabinet's contents. A head-to-toe body suit hung from a hanger, coal black and almost oily-looking. He reached out a hand to touch it, but hesitated.
"Go ahead," his dad said.
Kip wondered if this was some sort of test. He only saw earnestness in his eyes as he nodded.
Kip touched the black material. It was cold, like metal. "What is this?"
"It's body armor. It's made of something called Plymar. Feel how thick it is."
Kip ran his fingers through the neck hole. It felt as thick as denim.
"That will stop a bullet."
A small arsenal of exotic weapons filled most of the cabinet. Knives and swords of various persuasions. What drew his attention the most was a long staff. One end consisted of twin implements—a broad axe blade and a scythe that curved into a sharpened hook. The end resting against the bottom of the cabinet was a blunt cudgel shaped like a human femur.
"Are these… real?"
"I'd tell you to touch any of those blades, but we can't afford you severing a finger."
Kip drew his hand back as if the weapons might fall upon him of their own accord.
"You asked who we are; we are the Anaki. We've been training for generations for certain duties. It makes us special. It also means I have to be hard on you." His dad raised his hand and Kip flinched. His dad smiled sadly and did something that Kip could never remember him duplicating—he placed a hand on his shoulder. "Do you think I'm hard on you?"
Words escaped Kip's grasp. He stammered, looked away. Cobwebs hung from the far window. The glass sparkled like a Christmas tree from the emergency lights outside. He thought he smelled smoke. It could be from the fire, or from his brain blowing a fuse.
Then he remembered Silvia and her clarifying view on life. It really was simple, wasn't it? Just a brief, monosyllabic yes or no.
"Yes," he blurted, turning to face his father. "You're a monster."
"I am because you are weak. Do you think I liked starting that fire? I don't give a shit about the people inside that house. What I care about is that I had to do it in the first place."
It was out in the open now. His dad was a madman. An arsonist, a murderer.
Kip placed a hand on the wall, lightheaded. The scent of motor oil and grass cloyed, thickening the air entering his lungs.
His dad chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair. "My only job… my only job is for you to be as strong as you can be, as focused and devoted as possible. If people need to be eliminated in the process, so be it."
The door leading into the house opened and Kip's mom peered out. "Everything all set in here?"
"Yes. I just told our son about his birthright."
"It's not perfect timing, but we both knew this day would come."
"I better pull the car in so we can load it up without any prying eyes."
"Good idea. I have the suitcases ready."
"Kip, I'm sure you have a thousand questions, and I will answer them all once we're on the road."
"No," Kip said. "I'm not going."
"Yes, you are, and we're leaving in about twenty minutes."
"You can't stop me."
"The hell I can't. I know exactly what will get you into that backseat."
Kip started for the wide garage door. If he could just get it open, he could get help. There were about a dozen cops just a shout away.
"That pretty girlfriend of yours? What did you say her name is, babe?"
Kip jerked around and faced his parents.
"Silvia," said his mom.
"Yeah, that's right. Some immigrants' kid, right? You know, sometimes pretty little things like her tend to just, I don't know… disappear."
"You wouldn't."
"I think by now we both know that I would. You have to learn—and it might as well be a lesson you learn on the first try—we are not a part of the vermin destroying the planet. We associate just enough so we blend in. And as we blend in, we bide our time, training."
"Come on, Christopher," his mom said. "Help me bring the suitcases out while your dad pulls the car inside."
With numb limbs Kip went to the door, stepped into the kitchen. Everything looks so ordinary, so everyday. Nothing was out of place or overturned. The long-cold dinner still remained on the kitchen table. A faint echo of emergency lights played across the darkened interior of the house.
"Let me get this straight." Kip looked into his mother's eyes, searching for answers. "You never wanted me to make friends, did you? But why? Why would you send me out into the world like that?"
"You're getting older. We knew you would start to get curious about what it's like out there."
"You were in on it the whole time? What is wrong with you people?"
"We are the Anaki. We have our roles to play. And so do you."
"So, my friends… they have their role, too? They are there for leverage? To get me to jump through your sadistic hoops?"
"Your suitcase is on your bed. Run along and get it. Time is short."
"And what about this?" Kip took hold of her wrist and lifted her arm until only bruised flesh separated them.
"We all have our roles, Christopher." Her eyes darkened; something sinister glared back at him. "Now, do as I said and get your fucking suitcase."
Chapter 12
Five years after the Election…
The smoke from the ruins of Chicago swept over Kip and Delaney, drifted out over the gray toxic sea. It reminded him of the night he left Echo Bluff—piling into his dad's nondescript blue sedan, watching a gurney ferrying a black body bag loaded into the back of an ambulance. The smoke from the fire had worked its way through the car's air vents until it reached his senses, and there it seemed to permeate his skin and blood beneath, until the stench of fire and scorch fleshed became a part of him.
He could now close his eyes and recall the smell of that fire. Could recall the sight of Billy and Luna Revere getting smaller through the blue sedan's rear window.
Kip picked up a pebble, tossed it, consigning it to the murky depths of the lake.
"So what ever happened to Silvia? To Billy?"
"I never found out."
"It's better that way, right? Not knowing."
"Yeah, I guess so."
Kip got to his feet. The sun was getting low. They should have left the area hours ago. Their camp would already be set. By now the other Anaki would assume they were dead.
"That's probably why you remember that girl being so… perfect. So beautiful." Delaney held out her hand, and he took it, helping her to her feet. "You never had a chance to say good bye. That relationship has no closure for you."
"I didn't embellish anything. She was really that beautiful. And her… soul. So warm." Kip met Delaney's gaze. "She reminds me of you."
Delaney rolled her eyes and folded her arms. The setting sun disappeared below the skyline. The polluted clouds and roiling smoke hovered above them like a new-formed bruise.
"We should go. If we hurry, we can get to camp before it's totally dark."
"I have something I need to do." He headed back toward the ruins, the falling dark, the menace lurking in the shadows therein, only slowing long enough to pick up his discarded swords.
"Wait! Kip, it's late."
"I can't leave just yet."
He didn't turn around
, but he could hear her exasperated strides as she followed him back into the city, to the tumbledown former jewelry store. He was surprised the buildings near the jewelry store were not burned. The Anaki had come within a block, but no closer. The city was so sprawling, and even though their numbers could decimate large populations, they couldn't destroy every structure
When Kip reached the store, they had encountered no one, but they weren't alone. The manic cries of coyotes shrilled from all around them. They hunted in packs, and in these times, the packs had grown almost unhindered, numbering in the dozens. Kip listened for a mewling cry, the cry of a newborn baby, but heard nothing over the chatter of the coyotes.
"Kip, okay, I get it," Delaney said, breaking their silence. "Let's just take shelter for the night. This is stupid."
"I need to do this." Kip pushed open the door to the store. He found the girl's body immediately, as if he had her resting place scarred into his brain. Delaney stood at the door, warily looking from Kip to the menacing night.
He almost cried when he saw a tiny hand extending from the shredded remains of the girl's bloodied hoodie. He stared at it for several seconds, willing it to move. But the longer he stared, the more he realized the mottled purple flesh would never brighten, would never become warm and full of life. He pulled the flaps of the girl's woolen cape closed, and then grunted as he lifted the corpse up and onto his shoulder.
When he reached the doorway, Delaney barred his path.
"You have lost your mind. You are risking everything for a dead girl. How many people have you killed, Kip?"
"Out of my way."
"No. It's a simple yes or no answer, right? Isn't that what your Silvia once told you?" She bent her knees as if readying for him to charge into her. "I'm telling you no."
"You're going to move, and then I'm going to bury this girl and her baby. Then, you and I are leaving this life. And when we do, we will raise our baby outside of this madness."
"You're set on this? Leaving the Anaki, going off on our own?"
"It's not too late for us. We can put all of this behind us, Del."
"I just never thought I'd see the day—"
"Del, please."
Delaney stepped aside and let Kip pass. He rounded the building and found and overgrown sidelot that once must have housed a flowerbed. As gently as he could manage, he set the wrapped bundle on the ground. He scrounged until he found a rusted metal beer sign among the weeds. He used the edge to chop away the scrub brush growing in the flowerbed, then he stabbed the sign into the ground. It was slow going, but he made progress little by little.
The sound of the coyotes drifted away as they charged after quarry. The clouds and smoke dissipated. A warm yellow moon lifted above the buildings. He kept digging.
Delaney watched him the whole time he dug, not saying a word, not offering any assistance.
Kip's skin was running sweat by the time he figured it was deep enough. He stood up straight and arched his back. His muscles were tight, and his bones ached. But somehow, despite the misery of seeing that dead baby's hand reaching out from its dead mother's split belly, despite the uncertain and sinister world in which he would soon bring his own son or daughter, despite the utter hopelessness about trying to see beyond today, the here and now… Kip smiled.
He lifted the body, and it felt incredibly light, like a duffle bag of dirty laundry. After he lowered the body to the bottom of the grave, a huge burden seemed to ease from his shoulders. He stood tall, and much to his chagrin, Delaney was walking toward him, her arms extended.
He embraced her, kissed her cheek. "Thank you. I know this is going to be difficult."
"It won't be all that difficult. It's just a simple yes or no, right?"
"Exactly!"
"You know, I love you."
"I love you, too."
"That's why I'm so glad you told me about Silvia, and taught me about how simple life can be."
She looked up into his eyes. He could see the love shining out toward him. He couldn't remember feeling such feelings in so long.
Her brows tensed, just for a second or two, as if she'd just come to some final decision. And then Kip felt a sharp point pierce his flesh just under his ribs on the left side, just out of reach of his armor's protection.
Kip gasped and grabbed her wrist. She twisted the knife, seeking his heart.
The corner of Delaney's lip quirked into a smile, and she buried the knife deeper. "You said life is simple, and it is. And I've decided no. I love you, but you are weak. I love you, but that doesn't matter."
"De-Del…" Kip's arms fell away from her sides. He took a step back, and she followed, her hand on the knife hilt, twisting.
Delaney guided him, one hand gripping his arm, the other steering with the knife buried in his gut. She gave him a push, and he fell back. He thudded against something soft, softer than the ground. And the periphery was dark, like looking down a tunnel. Or out from a freshly dug grave.
Delaney's face appeared above him. She stared down at him as his vision began to weaken, to retreat. His mind flitted to the lost opportunity of so long ago. Never saying goodbye to Silvia Ryszkowska. He tried not to blink, feeling warm wetness gushing from his torso, wanting the mother of his child to be the last thing he would see.
Kip's lips moved, and even though he was beyond words, he hoped Delaney heard his final goodbye.
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Books by Glen Krisch
Novels:
The Nightmare Within
Where Darkness Dwells
Nothing Lasting
Arkadium Rising: Brother’s Keeper, Book One
The Vigil (coming soon)
2-in-1 Novels:
Twice as Dark, Two Novels of Horror
(omnibus containing Where Darkness Dwells and The Nightmare Within)
Novellas:
Loss, a paranormal thriller
The Hollowed Land, a Brother’s Keeper novella
Collections:
Commitment and Other Tales of Madness
No Man's Dominion
Filth Eater
The Devil's Torment
Through the Eyes of Strays (out of print)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Glen Krisch's novels include The Nightmare Within, Where Darkness Dwells, Nothing Lasting, and Arkadium Rising (Brother's Keeper Book One). His short fiction has appeared in publications across three continents for the last decade.
Besides writing and reading, he enjoys spending time with his wife, romance author Sarah Krisch, his three boys, simple living, and ultra-running.
He enjoys talking to his readers. Feel free to stop by his website to see what he's up to:
www.glenkrisch.wordpress.com
http://www.facebook.com/glen.krisch
Copyright © by Glen Krisch
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.