by SD Tanner
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know, but these ones aren’t the same as the last ones,” he replied thoughtfully. Brightening, he added, “But it could be a good thing. Maybe these ones will be smarter.”
Suddenly worried for his own skin, he asked angrily, “But can the super hunters control these ones? I’m surrounded by two thousand hunters, and if your super hunters can’t control them, I think you just got me killed.”
“Oh, relax.”
“Why?”
“Well, worrying about it won’t help, now will it?” Prodding him in the shoulder, he added cheerfully, “Look, some of them are leaving.”
There were now less than the original two thousand bodies left. The fight was still taking place, but the herd was definitely thinning. Fallen hunters were being trampled into the ground, only adding to the dark stain across the middle of the town center. A few disjointed limbs lay amongst the broken bodies, torn from their owners and now lost in the crush of corpses. As the fighting became less, hunters were leaving the battleground, and streaking away into the darkness. Others remained standing as if waiting for their orders.
“There, you see,” Ruler declared triumphantly. “You worried for nothing.”
There were still hundreds of hunters either standing around or continuing to fight. “Why do you say that?”
“The ones waiting are following the orders of my demons.”
“And the ones that are fighting or leaving?”
Sounding puzzled, he replied, “I don’t know…they’re not listening.”
“Why not?”
“They seem to have a little too much of their own minds left…or maybe they just weren’t the type in the first place.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some people just don’t have a mean streak. My demons can’t possess anybody without their permission, and many people just won’t have it no matter how hard they try. It’s something to do with strength of mind and soul.”
Having torn the living apart under his scalpel, he’d learned the exact opposite about people. “I don’t think so. Everybody I’ve ever tortured has always turned into the same begging for mercy sort of person. I think all people are the same under the skin. It doesn’t matter who they think they are, or what color they come in, when it comes right down to it they all break.”
Shaking his bulbous head, Ruler replied dismissively, “You’ve worked with a very small sample, and it isn’t true. Each human is unique, and they can’t be written off as one creature with many heads. In some people, their sense of right and wrong is very strong. They don’t concede in the face of pain. Under the skin people are all very different, unique in every way. In my greater experience, the noisier they are on the surface, the weaker they are underneath.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Humans are complex. They do have typical responses, but it’s not same response to the same situation. It depends on a complicated set of drivers and beliefs in every person. A peace-loving person will pick up a gun and kill you under specific circumstances. Equally, a psychopathic killer will save a kitten. Having spent eternity with billions of souls under my control and trying to win more, I can assure you there’s no single explanation for how humans behave and why.”
“I still don’t know what you mean.”
“It means the virus isn’t destroying as much of their original brains. The previous hunter virus turned them into rabid killers with almost no will of their own. This version is different, and I suspect it’s to do with the seed hunter you found. It just means we can’t control all of them, but we’ll still have enough.”
The fight below had drawn to a close, and Ruler was right, there were over a thousand hunters standing idle, waiting for their masters. Judging by the corpses on the ground, he estimated that perhaps hundreds had died in the battle, which meant hundreds had left.
“What about the ones that escaped?”
“Who cares,” Ruler replied off-handedly. “Where are they going to go? What can they possibly do from here? Even if they make it to the south, the living will kill them for being hunters. They’re terrified of them.”
“So, what now?”
“We do what we originally planned. You take the ones we control back to your prisons.”
Nodding, he replied, “Fine. Troy has already planted the three hunters with super hunters in the bases.”
“I know. My demons keep me well informed.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TL
When he turned off his rational mind and followed his nose, it led him somewhere he would never have thought to go. He’d driven the truck east, begging and borrowing gas from the towns he passed through until there was none left to ask. The further he travelled into the hills of Appalachians, the smaller and decidedly unfriendly the communities were becoming. This was hillbilly country, and being isolationists before the outbreak, they’d become even more determined to keep the world out.
The road he was driving along was little more than a single lane, and the forest was breaking through the grey road, leaving gravel and lumps of shattered asphalt. The warning light on his truck assured him he was out of gas and was flashing red at him. The little symbol was blinking rapidly, and he knew he was down to less than a gallon. He hadn’t seen a single town or person since he’d climbed higher into the hills, and he was relieved when a row of houses lining the road became visible through the trees.
It was already dusk, and the light of a bonfire glowed dimly in front of one of the properties. In the fading daylight, the drab, boxy houses were stacked one next to the other, as if together they could hold back the dark forest. In such an unpopulated area, he always wondered why people would build houses so close to one another, but he supposed it was an instinct to form a pack. In front of the distant fire were shadowy shapes he assumed were people.
His truck was running on fumes, and was beginning to cough and splutter as it used the last of the gas in the tank. After years of poor maintenance, and an ever reducing quality of fuel, he was confident whatever gritty gas was running through the engine now was doing more damage than good. Finally running out of fuel, he literally coasted into the small town, and allowed the truck to die a natural death.
Stopping about fifty yards from the fire in the front yard, he grabbed his gun and prepared to negotiate. If he was lucky they’d have gas, otherwise he’d trade the truck for a beast and travel the rest of the way on horseback. He didn’t know where he’d stop, but trusted his gut to know when it was time to turn around and head back to the bases.
Three men wearing jeans, flannel shirts and carrying hunting rifles strolled to the front of his truck, and stood staring at him through his windshield. Their features weren’t clear in the greying light, but he was still struck by how similar they looked. Each man had a wide mouth and large ears sticking out like handles from the sides of their heads. All were roughly the same height and build, making him wonder if he was looking at a set of triplets.
Climbing out of his truck, he held his gun loosely, but in a position where he could quickly bring it into a firing position if he needed to. His pack was in his other hand, and he had a machete strapped to the back of it. Putting on his widest smile, he called, “Hey! My name’s TL. I’m guessing you’re all brothers.”
In a rough and broad twang, one of the men slowly drawled, “Why would ya think that then?”
“Family resemblance?” He suggested doubtfully.
“Naw, we ain’t related.”
Now outside of the truck, the men looked even more similar, to the point where he could barely tell one from the other. “Okay, if you say so.”
“Whatcha doin’ here? We don’t get many strangers ‘round these parts.”
“Naw, not since the Devil come,” the identical triplet next to him agreed.
“The Devil came here?” He asked, still sounding doubtful.
“Aww, hell yeah, didn’t ya heered about all them dead people runnin�
� about naked and eatin’ folk? They was all et up with that there virus.”
“Err, yeah, but I don’t think they were the Devil.”
In a tone that made it clear he thought he was an idiot, the first man replied, “Naw, they weren’t the Devil, they was the Devil’s spawn.”
“Did you see many hunters, I mean, the Devil’s spawn? You’re pretty remote here.”
“Naw, they didn’t poke their noses ‘round here much, but we ain’t seen ‘em for quite a spell now.”
“They’ve been gone for five years.”
Nodding sagely to his identical buddies, he drawled, “Like I said, it’s been quite a spell since we saw ‘em.” Brandishing his gun carelessly, he added, “Then all this here showed up. It’s been good pickin’s since.”
“Yep,” the man next to him agreed. “We ain’t ever et so well.”
“Did you see the ghosts five years ago?”
“Yep, there was a lot of haintin’s back then, but they’s gone now too,” the main replied triumphantly.
Surprised the hillbillies weren’t trying to kill him, he asked, “I’m looking to find some gas or trade my truck for a beast. Any chance you’ve got gas or are willing to trade?”
All three men walked across to his truck and began to circle it like vultures. After kicking the tires and pressing their faces into the windows, they finally peered into the empty bed of the truck.
One of the three of them, he couldn’t say which, walked back to him. “Shore nice truck ya got there. Pull up a cheer.”
“What?”
Before the triplet could answer, a woman clutching a cleanly wrapped infant stormed across the grass. “Bobby Joe, don’t you dare be takin’ advantage of this good man.” With her free hand, she lightly slapped Bobby Joe’s ear. “You bring him on into the house where he can git somethin’ to et.”
Still cradling the infant in her arm, she turned to him. “My name’s Eloise and I’m real sorry about them boys. Ya should come into the house.”
The woman appeared to be genuinely apologetic, and he followed her into the faded house. Once inside, he was struck by how clean and tidy it looked. Despite the tired exterior, the lounge was filled with clean, well-stuffed sofas, there was a bright carpet on the floor, and a fire was burning brightly.
A wizened old woman was sitting close to the flames, and she nodded to him as he walked in. “I’m Sudie.”
“Hello Sudie. I’m TL.”
Seeming to look past him, the old woman cackled and shakily tapped her nose with a heavily wrinkled and worn hand. “Travelin’ in secret, are ya? Ya don’t need to worry here. We’ve been waitin’ on ya.”
One of the triplets, possibly Bobby Joe, but he couldn’t be sure, patted the arm of the large sofa. “Take a cheer.”
It appeared they were expecting him and he sat down uncertainly. “Why have you been waiting for me?”
“Sudie said you was comin’. She tole us a man with tattoos would be by in a while and we was to help ya.”
The old woman began to hum to herself and she seemed to be singing. “The riders must ride.”
Leaning forward in his chair, he gently touched the elderly woman’s arm. “What does that mean? Who are the riders? Where are they riding to?”
She didn’t focus on him, but stared slightly above his head. It was then he saw her eyes were a milky white and she was blind. Grasping his hand, she clutched it so fiercely he heard his knuckles crack. “The riders must ride. The world will end so man can live again.” Letting go of his hand, she waved it in a wide circle. “It is the cycle. All will be as it was.”
Looking back at the man he assumed was Billy Joe, he asked, “What’s she talking about?”
Billy Joe stared back at him, clearly nonplussed by his question. “Ya’ll gotta ride so the world will end. Sudie’s seen it, so it’s gonna happen. She’s never wrong.”
While the fire crackled merrily, the three men and woman nodded confidently at him, and he asked, “How does she know what’s going to happen?”
“Can’t be explainin’ that. Nobody knows.”
The hillbillies, as they called themselves, gave him a bed for the night, a well-fed beast and supplies for his journey. Their little strip of houses was at the start of a long path leading to the top of the mountain. Billy Joe, or one of the triplets, explained the asphalt road would disappear well before he reached the summit, and he would need to hike the rest of the way. He said the beast was trained like a horse, and to leave it loosely harnessed just in case he didn’t return the same way. When he asked them what was at the top of the mountain, they told him it was somewhere only the riders would ever go. They saw it as their role to guard the entrance, and promised to be waiting for him when he returned. In the meantime, they would fill his truck with gas and have it ready for his return trip should he need to make it.
He didn’t understand how they knew who and what he was. High in the Appalachian Mountains, there were people who not only understood what was happening, but they also considered it their responsibility to take care of him. Grateful for their kindness and help, he promised to bring their beast home when he was done.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Gears
The air smelt fresh, the sun was rising, and the waters were calm. He was a mile from the coast of the UK, standing on the deck peering at the shore through his binoculars. The plan was to take the long-range birds from Dover to London and onto Salisbury Plain where Stonehenge sat. Philip had seen the area two miles north of the ancient ruins was dead. For the past three hours, they’d hugged the coastline, passing Brighton, Eastbourne and Hastings, and were now dropping anchor in the channel between France and the UK.
Being pulled in so many directions since they were called from their graves, he hadn’t had much time with Ip and they’d missed each other. She might be Death, but in his simple view of the world she was still the woman he loved. Six days at sea had allowed him to leave the worries about their current situation behind, and he’d enjoyed the peace of a man with his wife, with nothing to think about other than being with her. Over the past few years their relationship had changed and evolved, until other than a realization that he'd been lonely, he couldn't remember his life without her. Relaxing and spending time with Ip and almost no one else for a week, had left him in an uncommonly mellow frame of mind.
Seeing nothing other than a coast lined with tall green trees, he let the binoculars drop to his chest. “Whatdaya think?”
Ip eyed the coastline. We cannot tell what secrets dwell.
“True, we need the aerial recon.”
Running his hand up her slender back, he squeezed her neck, feeling the delicate muscles resist his gentle pressure. “It’s been a good week. I needed the break.”
It was fine and you are mine, but it is time to find the crime.
“You think somethin’s wrong too?”
Where the Devil dwells, I cannot tell. He is here, ever near.
After speaking with Philip, he’d brought fourteen combat shooters with him, and Hatch had three additional pilots. Two long range Black Hawks were parked on the small, flat surfaced refueling ship. He needed reach and weapons, but the large fuel tanks were mounted where the Hellfires and HYDRA rockets would normally be. The pilots had taken the birds out the day before to check they’d survived the long trip across the ocean.
Once the ship was anchored, it didn’t take long before they were airborne and flying over the thick forests. Starting in Dover, it would take less than an hour to reach London, and a further half an hour to fly over Stonehenge. He’d never seen the so-called gates to hell in the middle of the ancient stones. Pax had said it didn’t look like much to him, but neither of them could deny its impact had been significant. If the gates were open again, then Ruler was doing something, he just didn’t know how or what.
The UK looked much the same as his own country, only the forest was denser and a deeper green. The eight lane motorways had virtually disappeared under the forest, and he
could see why Philip had struggled to make his way by land. They were able to see where the large towns had existed, but thick trunked trees had burst through the concrete, pushing their way into buildings, and the structures were crumbling under the assault.
Hatch was already flying them over London, and although more of the city remained, most buildings were only half standing. The River Thames, so famous for winding its way through the city, splitting it in two, was now four times its original width.
“Unbelievable,” Philip declared in awe. “Westminster is gone.”
All that remained of the seat of government was Big Ben, the clock tower. The clear water was slowly washing away the brickwork, and it wouldn’t be long before it too collapsed. The UK was rapidly returning to a state where the impact of man would be buried deeply below the surface, much the same way the City of Atlantis was rumored to have been lost. Maybe that city had once existed as well, and this wasn’t the first time man’s achievements were buried under the weight of an earth reborn.
Just as Philip had told him, there were no animals or people, just a burgeoning forest. If he found their people then he’d probably have to bring them home. The absence of animal life would mean there was limited food available, so unless they chose to live on what the sea could provide, it wasn't survivable. Perhaps that’s where the people had gone. Maybe they were living along the coast and Philip hadn’t looked in the right places. Living inland certainly didn’t look viable, the forest was far too dense, and they hadn’t seen any sign of life while they travelled the coastline. If anyone chose to live beneath the heavy canopy of trees, without the equipment to clear it, they would never see the sun.
London was a larger city than he’d realized, and they flew for mile after mile over the collapsing buildings. Interspersed between the green of the forest, were light grey remnants of elaborate masonry, now cracked and half standing. Red buses were still visible in stark contrast to their surroundings, but they’d been paled by the sun and the dust of falling debris. Nothing moved other than flutter of papers, clearly freed from the walls that once held them. It must have once been a thriving metropolis, but the crumbling remains now stood silent and still.