A Depraved Blessing

by D. C. Clemens

  Miles lapsed, our voices in reserve for most of them. The only conversations I could catch in these deserted miles were those that flew from the radios. I would have preferred not to hear anything at all, as nothing was said that we did not already know, including the forsaken cries begging for help. Ten miles we crossed before I saw the outlying formations of squat buildings, followed by a sign coming into legible view. It welcomed us to the town of Dekulo and read that it had a population of 16,500. A military checkpoint was just ahead, which I wanted to make me feel protected, but it did no such thing. After a brief wait in line, as most vehicles seemed to know where to go, our driver told the soldier at his post that he was transporting civilians.

  “Follow Rusee Road.” stated the frontier soldier. He had his shades on, but it could not hide his fatigue. “Then turn at Inway and go on until you reach the center”

  Deeper and deeper we journeyed into the environs of Dekulo. None of the buildings were particularly tall, as was the case for most constructions found in the deep northern and southern deserts, and it was obvious that many of the buildings had not been built in the last century. For the fleeting moments when a modern building was absent from view, I deemed we had entered a portal and were traversing an antique kingdom shaped by the Evon Spirits themselves. A majority of the architecture consisted of thick stone structures that had seen their share of battles with the weather over the years, for there was enough wear and tear on them for a thousand years, but they were all impregnable and fixed solidly in their place, eager for a thousand more. All comprised the feature of rounded corners that I knew to be for the purpose of gaining improved resistance from the powerful sandstorms that were oftentimes a daily occurrence in these parts. Fortunately, there was no sign of a dust cyclone on this day, in fact, we seemed to be the only ones moving in this static region, and, before long, even we had stopped. We parked in front of a wide one-story building. It was encased in stone like the others, but it was not as bruised and had some contemporary flares, such as a thin coat of white plaster on the lower sections, and more windows, though these were boarded up. Labeled in white, bold letters in the front above the doorway were the words ‘Dekulo Community Center.’

  “They’ll help you out in there,” said our escort, more out of habit than anything else. “Good luck.”

  Once we walked through the double doors of the center, we were greeted with the rush of something that reunited me with the concept of comfort, the cooling waft that could only come from an air conditioner. There were also working artificial lights in the small lobby we entered, something I had not seen in the other buildings we passed, though I did not know if that was due to a deliberate regulation or if it meant a generator was powering the impromptu crisis dwelling. Behind the counter to our left was an elderly gentleman, his features shadowed as he looked down while he penned something on a small white pad. He didn’t seem to realize we came in, for he continued to write without any diffidence. Only by standing directly in front of him did he lift up his stern face, looking as weather worn as any of the buildings.

  “More refugees, eh?” he said under his breath. “Welcome to Dekulo, I guess. If you don’t mind, jot down your names on the clipboard in case anyone comes looking for you.” He casually pointed to the clipboard that rested on the counter, then he resumed his writing.

  Siena took the clipboard from the table and had begun the process of signing everyone’s names. I attempted to discreetly see whatever it was the old man was inscribing, curiosity getting the better of me, but my pursuit ended without triumph, as the old man shielded much from my sight.

  As Siena gave the clipboard back him, he briefly looked over it, then proceeded to say, “All right, did you see that red truck right outside? We’ll hop in that and I’ll take you to your assigned house. Just let me get my replacement.”

  “We’re not staying here?” asked Siena, as she watched him rise from his chair and place his documents in a drawer.

  “No room,” was the only answer he gave before he turned and went through a door that led him deeper into the offices of the center.

  After hearing the old man’s steps dwindle away behind the door, which closed behind him using its own momentum, I heard some chatter coming from within, but they were too indistinct to make anything out. The footsteps resurged themselves less than thirty seconds later, being accompanied by another pair. The door opened to reveal the already familiar old man’s uninviting face followed by one that was even older and crustier than the previous. His countenance was not as grim, but he paid no heed to any of us, merely walking to the chair his companion had left and instantly began to write on his own pad, mirroring the first author. While he was occupied in that furtive endeavor, the other brought a case of water bottles with him, which he carried with only one hand, making it look as light as the pen he had held. He walked past us to go outside and we trailed his tracks. He handed each of us a water bottle as we entered the truck’s bed, not allowing anyone to actually enter the passenger seats. We all drank the cool bottles with great greed, not realizing how long it had been since the invigorating nectar last trickled down our throats. We were soon on the road.

  Only a splinter of the sun could be seen breaking through the horizon. The moons were coming out of their new phase and the stars were just as scarce as the modern homes in the remote town. Only by passing the occasional military vehicle was I reminded that we were still not entirely alone, for no home emanated light or activity. We stopped in front of a hefty two-story building in what seemed to be the oldest neighborhood. It was also the oldest building I had seen yet, excluding the new garage added alongside it. Charmingly, there were chiseled carvings of desert creatures and Spirit emblems hemming the stone walls, though the details were difficult to make out with the shadows prevailing and time wearing off much of their protrusions. Spoiling my appreciation of the picturesque view was the jarring blare of the truck horn that the old man took full advantage of more than once.

  “Just do what the girl tells you,” he said with a coughing grunt.

  As his words were spoken, the heavy wooden doorway of the abode creaked open. Through it came out a girl around Eloram’s age. Unlike Eloram, I thought she had not yet lost her innocence that this vile world had so cruelly taken away from so many. I began to see her more clearly as she strode closer. She was quite beautiful and looked to me like a young Liz, the one I first saw while she sat on a campus bench near some golden flowers that were no match for her eyes, but perhaps I was only imposing Liz on her. As we exited the vehicle, she jogged up to the driver’s side to meet the old man, who had not stirred from his station.

  “Are you staying this time?” she expectantly asked the old man.

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” he replied, at least I believed it to be him, for his attitude was completely different in her presence. “I’m needed at the center. I’ll try tomorrow, okay? Now show these people inside.”

  She lightly kissed his cheek and gave him a sweet farewell smile. She turned to us as the truck was beginning to vanish in the darkness and her smile grew even more amiable and welcoming. “This way,” she said as she began to stroll to the door. “My name is Sendai and that was my grandfather, Hernan Kay, since I’m sure he didn’t tell you any of that.”

  We introduced ourselves in return. Dayce was awakened by the ride, but still groggy and unable to announce himself. She opened the door to invite us all into the home. Stepping within the household, I was immediately met with the quaint sight of its living room, simply lit by a lamp in the corner. Although it was not diminutive in size, it appeared much smaller than it actually was, there being four corpulent couches that occupied the room. Also there to play a role in the deception were the many people who were seated on the couches and chairs, all of whom were women and children. Most granted us a quick eyeball before returning to their quiet contemplations or feeding the children.

  “How many others are in the house?” my mother asked our benign hostess, whi
le we continued to advance toward the stairway of tanned stone on the right side of the living area.

  “Fourteen, including myself,” she answered. “But there’s still enough space and sleeping bags for the five of you on the second floor.”

  Once we climbed up the rough stairs, I found an open bedroom to my right. Inside it laid a small, artfully ornamented chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling and below that were three small children playing a board game on the floor. The room was completely painted in a soft purple and it was attractively decorated with various painted desert blossoms. Sendai came to the door at the end of the hall and unlocked it to expose another bedroom, considerably bigger than the other I saw, but by no means as ostentatious. The scent that met us as the door swung open told me it was her grandfather’s room.

  “He’ll hate his room being used by strangers, but…” Sendai paused while walking into the room, gazing from the floor to the ceiling. Spinning back around to face us, she said, “He’s a good man, he’s just traditional. Anyway, I’ll get your sleeping bags.”

  While I handed Dayce to my mother, I said, “Siena and I will help you.”

  “Is it just you and your grandfather?” Siena queried our hostess as we exited the bedchamber.

  “It’s usually just my grandfather here, at least since my grandmother died a few years back. Actually, I was visiting when everything started happening.”

  “I haven’t seen any men here,” Siena noted, making it sound more like a random thought than it actually was.

  “Gramps is a bit distrustful of most men beyond the age of thirteen around me. I was actually surprised to see he allowed you in the house, Mr. Rosyth. He’s a good judge of character, you know. I suppose he had a good feeling about you.”

  I was roused in my sleeping bag by the prickly sound of many miniscule taps on the darkened window, but that was all I remembered, for I instantly fell back into a deep sleep with the aid of the tranquilizing beats. I awoke the next morning by the same sound, though it was not as overt. A little investigation confirmed we were in a sandstorm. According to Sendai, it was the first one in nearly a week, which evidently meant it could last for two or three days. Though I knew it was foolish to feel so, I felt safer shrouded by the tempest of sand. The strength of the storm fluctuated throughout the day and it was during one of the lull periods in the afternoon that Sendai’s grandfather reappeared. Keeping the assurance he had made to her the night before, he stayed in the house.

  While eating some canned rations in his dining room later that evening, I thanked him for sharing his home with us.

  “You’re welcome,” he said without any coldness from the day before. “I never imagined I’d ever have to share this home with this many people, or this town, for that matter.”

  “Why not?”

  “My granddaughter hasn’t told you about the history of this house?”

  I shook my head.

  He sighed and smiled wearily to himself. “I ask as if there’s nothing important going on. I forget myself sometimes. This building is what’s known as a Dekulo house, named after the town’s founder. There were six others like this one spread throughout town, including the Spirit Temple. Dekulo was an ancient spirit priest who traveled the world helping to spread the Spirits’ Message. In his later years, he discovered the ancient nomadic desert people here and settled with them. It’s said the Spirits blessed his efforts by giving him the warping ability, which he then used to help build the town.”

  “Then the Dekulo buildings were personally warped by him?”

  “Yes. Over twenty-five hundred years old they are, and without any significant restoration to the main structure. As you can presume, the sacred buildings are revered by the people here. It’s an unwritten rule that only those with old connections with the town are allowed to live and maintain the homes, even outsiders are discouraged from staying long. I know these are trying times, but I still can’t help but feel a tinge of blasphemy. My family has held this house for eleven generations without fail. My only son preferred the modern hustle and bustle of city life, but his daughter showed promise of returning. It’s one of the reasons she was visiting. Ah! You don’t want to hear an old man babble about shit that doesn’t matter, right? How ‘bout a little reward for listening?”

  “I’ll give you my left arm if it has alcohol.”

  “Don’t bother, I wouldn’t have a need for it.” He opened a high cupboard, pulled out two glasses, and grabbed a large liquor bottle already two-thirds empty. “Emergency ration.”

  Thanks in large part to the sleeping aid I was bestowed with, I was able to tumble into an impermeable slumber that I had not experienced in weeks.

  Chapter Thirty

  Defiance

  The sandstorm howled with increased ferocity early the next morning, vexing even the resolute frame of the thick circular windows. I awoke with all the adults still sleeping and I found I could not return to their states. Not knowing what else to do, I sat in the kitchen and began eating my morning rations in solitude. There were a few children who were up and about, as there always was, since everyone’s schedules was a little different, but they had little interest in accompanying me and I had less zeal in commingling with them. When I was half finished with my meal, a faint thud came into contact with my ears, followed almost instantly by another. Despite the sandstorm’s constant bellowing muffling the sound, there was no doubt in my seasoned mind that I was hearing tank rounds.

  I intuitively rushed into the living room where Mr. Kay slept in a sleeping bag and stirred him from his sedated state. It wasn’t long before he too heard the ominous resonances over the charging sand. He was on his feet in a blink and began to awaken everyone in the room. I echoed his actions on the second floor. By this point I had accepted my charge as the courier of nightmares. While the sandstorm weakened her howling a tad during the next fifteen minutes, the barrage of the other storm would not relent hers. The deluge of gun and tank fire sounded as if they came from all directions. I could sense the whole town becoming swallowed by their reverberations as they crept closer and closer, with the occasional scream thrown out to remind us that we were helpless to help the helpless.

  We had all congregated on the unlit second floor, thinking it would be safer than the first. The only words expressed by the scared, powerless, and jilted faces were the murmurs of prayers. What I first found curious was finding my prayers entwining with theirs. With greater reflection, I realized that ever since I was warned in my dream to not board the ships, I discovered my faith more intact than it had ever been. I suppose I accepted that the Spirits were indeed watching us and must have been feeling humiliated at their ineptitude. Were they too just learning of unholy powers beyond their comprehension? In front of me, while I leaned near the master bedroom door, I saw a small child of three or four years being held by his mother. The fallout of ordnance was bursting all around us, but he did not cry or flinch, making me feel disturbed that he knew better to keep silent than to cry or gripe. To make everyone cower even more than they already were, there arose from the struggle a dismal scream that was able to gash the air itself. Five seconds had barely elapsed when demented screeches more repulsive than the first verified that several infected had broken through the military’s perimeter.

  “Shit, sounds like quite a few have made it in town,” said Mr. Kay between his teeth. “All the military did was attract them.”

  “What do we do?” Sendai worriedly asked her grandfather.

  “We can’t stay here,” one of the mothers interjected. “We’ll be trapped! We have to leave while some of the military is still left!”

  “We have to wait a little longer,” calmly advised Mr. Kay. “For what it’s worth, the Army told us they would send escorts to the shelters if the worst happened. We were designated a shelter like the community center. They’ll come for us.”

  Thankfully, it was not long when his expectation came into fruition. Coming from beyond the windowpane, we
heard the honking of a horn just able to breach the repercussions of weapons fire and the hammering of the sandstorm. A quick peek behind the delicate curtain and through the veil of sand riding the wind showed that the army was waiting in front of the house with three tarped-roofed trucks, which were led by a jeep and an APC. Not worrying about what the sandstorm might bring to us, we sprinted downstairs and exited the home, trying my best to shield Dayce from the stinging sand particles. He did not make a sound as I ran to the trucks, though I could not hear much of anything at that point. Amid the haze of sand in my eyes, I saw that we were not alone in our endeavor. The forms of additional individuals could be detected leaving their houses and heading for the only hope we had of getting out alive. My toiling legs continued to trudge through the whipping sand, their only goal being those blurred forms of the trucks before me. I couldn’t hear what was happening around me and I dared not take a glimpse, not hazarding to lose sight of my aspiration. Little by little, I outline of a truck became more definite, but looking into its bed showed that it had already become filled by the many others who dreamed the same dream as I. I spun to head for the second of its comrades lined up behind it.

  As I passed the headlights of what I hoped to be my transport, my peripheral vision caught some movement on the roof of the neighboring house from which we came. Opening my eyes a little more revealed two skeleton-like figures watching the street from their roost, scarcely discernible by the clouded lights of the dipping moons and rising star. With the best inspection my eyes could give, I saw these pair of heart wrenching forms plunge to meet the ground. One settled on all fours while the other much more gracefully, but not at all less disturbingly, landed on its pair of legs. The drop was twenty-five feet, but that could not have been guessed by how effortlessly they came down to receive us. Their vicious eyes burned in the most ghastly kind of red that I could see exactly where their eyes gazed. The quadrupeded one expressed the vilest animalistic shriek that could ever be howled by a living thing, making certain that all eyes were upon it. Its horrendous shriek never seemed to abate. I felt as if it was striving to hypnotize and overpower me with the vocal salvo alone. It very nearly succeeded, but a volley of gunfire interrupted the hex. The first bullets did little to faze their targets, going by the way they began charging at us. Without a coherent thought, I handed Dayce to my mother and grasped the assault rifle that was almost always strapped to me. I began to fire alongside the soldiers and, for just a second, I knew what it felt like to be one of them. I aimed for the infected that remained on its four limbs, since it was nearer. It didn’t stay the most immediate threat for long.