by H Waters
A black truck driven by a soldier raced in front of the Ghouls. The truck slid sideways in front of the church and came to a halt. The doors swung up and a handful of soldiers came climbing out. They got into position using the truck as cover and began firing towards the mass of Ghouls.
Dallas turned to me. “If we run now we can get to the church doors using the cover fire of the soldiers before the Ghouls overrun them.” He looked around quickly and then grabbed my hand. “NOW!” he yelled over the gun fire and took off, pulling my arm with a jerk.
I ran as fast as I could trying to keep up with Dallas, my heart beating through my ears. The hellish screams of the Ghouls echoed off building. Soldiers yelled orders trying to control the advancing horde.
Circling behind the troops and making sure to stay out of the line of fire, we approached the church’s large marble staircase. Behind us the horde closed in and the guards began to panic, screaming to each other for more ammunition and to aim for the Ghouls’ heads. We ran up the staircase and began to bash on the giant wooden doors. “We need sanctuary!” screamed Dallas.
The horde ripped through the line of soldiers, smashing the clear face masks of their helmets, tearing out their eyes and ripping their faces apart. Others shredded the soldiers’ armor into bits as if it was paper, digging into their flesh, tearing them apart like two dogs fighting over a piece of meat. I had never seen such horror.
This is it, this is how we die.
While the Ghouls were busy chasing down and dismembering the scared soldiers trying to flee, a monk quietly opened one of the wooden doors from inside.
“Come quick, while they’re occupied,” whispered the monk. We slipped into the church, the large door sealing behind us. “You are safe for now.”
III
The sound of an organ rung through the church, waking me. Colors covered the old wooden pew I was sleeping on. The source of the colors was giant stained-glass windows stretching from the floor to the incredibly tall ceiling of the church. Each window depicted a soldier in gray armor with a white cloth hanging from his neck to his knees. The cloths bore a red cross just like the two statues on the way to the market.
A musky-smelling, warm draft flowed through the church from an open window by the altar. Thick beams of wood lined the wall with rows of old stone in between them.
“Ah, I see you have awoken,” said a soft voice from behind me. Standing in the aisle was the monk who saved us from the Ghouls.
“How long have I been asleep?” I asked.
“Oh, only a couple of hours, my dear. You fell asleep as soon as you sat down. Your husband said you were exhausted so we did not wake you.” His way of talking sounded very kind and wise; he looked to be around twenty-five years old but seemed much older.
Concerned, I asked, “Where is Dallas now?”
“Oh, your husband is down in the armory with two surviving soldiers, discussing a solution to our current situation,” he replied with a smile.
“The soldiers in the windows, who were they?”
“You say ‘were’ as if they are of the past — but that is incorrect, as they are still very much alive,” he replied quickly, as if he had waited to talk about this for a long time. “They are the Saints,” he said, smiling ear to ear. “Their past is long and dark; you will discover that on your own, though, my dear. The Saints protected this city from the hordes of Ghouls during the first years, when the Ghouls were at their worst. They started constructing the wall that guards our city,” the monk said.
“Well, where are they now?” I demanded. “We need help more than ever, why did they abandon us?”
“You see, my dear, they did not abandon the city. They left because they were wronged.” As he looked over to a suit of armor that matched those in the windows, his breathing became shallow and his voice full of sadness. “The city stole from them an item of great worth and many brothers. As for their whereabouts, that I do not know — I would assume they went west.”
“Why would they go west?” I started to ask, but was interrupted by the soldiers and Dallas storming into the room.
“So what may the plan be?” asked the eager monk.
Dallas replied, “We need to rally the remaining citizens, fortify the church and stand our ground. Hopefully the horde will pass through in a few nights.”
“What about Jake?” I said urgently. “We have to go to Redwood and find him.”
“I have to stay and help defend what is left of the city,” Dallas said, his voice calm. “They need a mechanic. We can stay and help for a few days until things settle down and then head for Jake. I love him to death, but the train will take at least a couple of days. We have the time to help.”
“You cannot be serious? You’d rather stay here to defend a broken city and a bunch of half-dead strangers than locate our son?” I screamed at him. “The one that you threw onto a train, need I remind you!”
“Unlike the people here, he is in safe hands.” Dallas tried to reassure me, softly grabbing my hands. “I have helped build and repair those trains. There is no way he’s not making it safely to Redwood.”
Confused and shocked at Dallas’s lack of concern for our son, I pulled my hands away and turned to the monk. “Gather my bag and supplies. I will be departing for Redwood to find our son, in half an hour.”
The monk folded his hands into the large sleeves on his white robe, giving me a polite nod. “Um, not to sound rude, but you do know the road to Redwood is at least a couple weeks’ journey on foot.”
“Yes I do,” I replied sternly. “Now gather what I need and I will be off.”
Dallas looked at me with doubt and concern but said, “Good luck, send word when you arrive and I will let you know of the city’s condition.”
“Good luck,” I said, mocking him, and began walking towards the monk. Dallas had never acted like this; he seemed cold. Maybe he’s just scared, I told myself, but aren’t we all?
The monk had gathered a pile of items that looked like they were from the old world beside the large wooden doors we entered through the night before. Alongside a worn pale-green backpack were a pile of rope, some dried meat plus some other food provisions, and a thin short sword in a leather sheath. “Why the sword? Would a gun not be more logical?” I asked, slightly confused.
The monk said, “We cannot afford to spare any firearms, but also out there you will not be able to find much ammunition, if any at all.” With a slight laugh he added, “Swords cannot run out of bullets.” Then he proceeded to pack the bag.
Dallas tapped me on the shoulder, seeming a little warmer and a bit more uneasy. “Echo, are you sure you want to go through with this? Jake will be fine on his own for a while in the city.”
Still frustrated with his decision to put the fate of the city over his own son’s, I stated, “We promised we would meet him there, and that is exactly what I’m going to do.”
He laughed. “I know they say redheads are crazy, but this is just suicidal. Make sure to find shelter before dark — you don’t want to be caught in the open during the night.”
I gave him a hug, trying to hold back my tears. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay and help?” Dallas softly asked, his voice shaky.
“I can’t. You may think it is selfish of me, but I hold Jake above the people of this city,” I said, giving him a kiss as I stepped back from him. Grabbing the bag, I slung it onto my back and fastened the sword to my belt.
As I stepped out of the old church the sun was blinding. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in sight. “Wait, wait!” the monk puffed as he shuffled out of the church trying not to trip on his robe. “Take this.”
He handed me a small wooden box with a lock combination on the side and a red cross on the top. “The code is thirty-six, forty-five. I know you must think the Saints are a fairytale, but please, if you see them on your journey you must return this. It is of grave importance.”
Confused, I asked, “What’s in it?”
“A ke
y. The Saints will know what it is for. Tell them you received it from the Prophet.” He then shuffled back into the church and shut the door.
I put the strange locked wooden box into my backpack and headed down the church steps, with nothing to guide me but a crudely drawn map the monk had given me.
The old gray concrete was littered with bodies of Ghouls and soldiers, or at least pieces of them. The Ghouls were an off-gray color and their skin looked like wrinkled old leather. The most terrifying part was their faces. They were like humans, but with solid black eyes and mouths that stretched up to their cheeks showing rows of small knife-like teeth. The stench of rotting flesh being baked by the sun poisoned the air.
The road from the church was empty aside from the old rusted cars and crumbling buildings. It would have been a nice day to take Jake to the market or play fetch with Lucy, I thought to myself, trying to forget the horrific scene on the street behind me.
The west gate was directly through the market. The streets were full of clutter. All around people were gathering and burning the dead. A couple of the soldiers were dragging half-eaten corpses to a smoldering fire. Children and adults alike looked through the corpses to try and find their loved ones. A sobbing mother sat on a bent-over light post, holding a motionless child. By the looks of it only a handful had survived. The soldiers that remained were marching back to where I came from, carrying crates of weapons and ammunition. I assumed they were all rallying at the church and preparing for the night.
I walked closer to the market, stepping over the remnants of what used to be the massive wall meant to keep us safe. Smashed-up bits of charred concrete and steel littered the way, all debris that was thrown from the wall when it fell. In all the destruction two structures still stood tall. To the left and right of the road the statues of the Saints were undamaged — not a crack, not a scratch. Why weren’t the Saints here now? Why couldn’t that odd monk tell me their past, and what the hell was so special about the key in the little wooden box?
The market seemed in pretty good shape. Some of the stands were still toppled, but for the most part the vendors had cleaned up and repaired their stands. Some were even selling goods again.
A vendor under a piece of tin hanging from what used to be the market roof had several dogs chained up to a post. He was screaming at one and it was replying with loud snarls and barks.
The uncooperative dog was a border collie, almost entirely black except for a ring of white fur around its neck and entirely white paws. The dog looked identical to Lucy, but lacked her collar. “Lucy?” I curiously called out. Strangely enough, the dog perked up and looked straight at me, happy as could be. I ran over to the old leathery man. “Hey, that’s my dog!” I hollered at him.
“No, they’re all my dogs, but I would be willing to sell you the loud one for a small price,” he said with a suspicious, greedy look in his eye.
“I have no money! Can I please just have my dog back?” I sobbed.
“No money, no dog,” he snipped at me and then turned to fight with Lucy again.
Across the market three more men just as scraggly-looking as the old man who was selling dogs were fighting over some sort of cart with food in it. The yelling turned into a full-out fist fight between two of the men. The old man must have known them; he dropped Lucy’s chain and ran over to help the fight. Seizing the opportunity, I grabbed Lucy’s chain and ran towards the west gate.
I could hear angry men screaming behind me, but I knew once I passed the gate I would not be followed. Everyone believed that leaving the safety of the city walls was suicide — everyone including me — but I had to find Jake. I had to find my son. The gate was unguarded and wide open; the soldiers must have been busy preparing for tonight. I ran through. I had not been outside the walls in so long.
IV
The first thing I noticed as I passed through the gate was the intense smell of rotting corpses, which was so bad I couldn’t help but gag and try to cover my nose. The half-burned bodies of Ghouls were piled up along the wall. You could see the scratches from their nasty claws cut into the wall. The grass that once was here was burned to nothing more than ashes and dirt. Further down the wall to the right I could see where the wall was destroyed. The only thing that made us as a people feel truly safe had been reduced to scrap concrete and steel in a matter of hours.
Trying not to vomit from the stench of death, I stumbled over the bodies and finally reached some grass that was out of the flame-throwers’ reach. Lucy was biting and scratching at the chain wrapped around her neck, trying to wiggle loose. I gave her a little slack and she was able to get herself out. She jumped and ran down the path heading west, grateful to be free from that nasty old man. The path looked peaceful, with old gravel bordered by lush green lawn and, far in the distance, a forest. The trees were changing colors, getting ready for the coming winter. The woods looked to be a few hours’ walk, and I figured that would likely be the easiest place to find shelter before the night. So I began following Lucy west.
The road looked less traveled the farther we got away from the city limits. About five feet of nicely mown lawn stretched out on each side of the path until it gave way to unkempt weeds and tall grasses. Who spent the time to mow this grass, I pondered. It seemed like such a silly waste of time to keep up a barely used trail in a world so broken.
The sun beat down on my skin. I’d forgotten how warm the sun really is when you’re not surrounded by shade created by giant old buildings. The breeze and the scent of the grasses, though, were a lovely change from the rotting Ghouls.
Lucy suddenly stopped, came to a crouching position and began growling at the tall grass. Scared it was some kind of danger, I drew my sword. Then Lucy was gone. She darted at top speed into the tall weeds, and I tried to follow the movement of the weeds to keep an idea of where she was. My was head spinning trying to figure out where she was and catch a glimpse of what she was chasing. All at once the movement stopped. Everything was completely silent except for the slight rustle of grass being pushed by the breeze. As another rustle came from behind me, I spun around holding the sword with both hands, trying to look like I knew how to use it. To my surprise and relief it was just Lucy, sitting down with a fairly large rabbit at her feet. My hands were shaking out of control, my legs felt like jello and my stomach felt like it had been wrung out like a wet rag.
I fell to my knees and started sobbing. “How are we going to make it to Redwood? I can barely stand or think after watching you hunt a rabbit. A rabbit, for god sakes!” I screamed at Lucy. “What if we get attacked by a Ghoul? How the hell am I supposed to defend us? I can’t even use a sword.”
Lucy just tilted her head and nudged the rabbit closer to me, as if she was confused and trying to say she had caught dinner and I should be pleased. I let out a little laugh and grabbed the rabbit. I opened my bag and cut off a small piece of the rope the monk gave me, tying one end to my bag and the other around the rabbit’s legs. Petting Lucy on the head, I said, “Thanks for dinner,” even though I knew she couldn’t understand a word I was saying.
As we continued away from home the level straight ground gave way to grassy winding hills. With each turn in the trail it felt like we were getting farther away from the forest, not closer. The fastest way would be to head straight through the grass, but it was far too tall and thick — we would get turned around and lost in a heartbeat, and we would have no idea what creatures lurked in there, waiting to prey on lost animals or travelers. At this rate we would never reach the forest before night, and every minute we lost bending through these hills was another minute of sunlight gone.
“Lucy, we have to make a decision,” I said out loud. “We can try and make it to the woods before nightfall and find shelter in the brush, but risk getting stuck out in the open with a bunch of flesh-hungry Ghouls, or we can find a hole of some sort and bunker down in these hills till morning.”
Lucy looked confused.
“Good answer,” I said. “We will
stop here in the hills — that way we have time to cook this lovely rabbit you caught.” Dallas would think I was crazy if he could see this. Only gone for a few hours and I’m talking to a dog like it’s a human.
With the sunlight about to start fading I began looking around as we walked farther down the trail, looking for a hole or some sort of shelter. The winding path revealed nothing but grasses and weeds. I began to fear there would be no shelter until the woods. It was far too risky to settle down for the night in the grass off the trail. “Looks like we are going to the woods, Lucy!” I said, trying to sound like I wasn’t being consumed by fear and about to cry, but there was no point in over-thinking. I tried to block all the fear of getting stuck out in the dark and the open by focusing on the one goal I knew we had to achieve. We had to get to the woods or we would die.
“We have to pick up our pace,” I said out loud. “It’s the only way we’ll make it in time.” I began to jog and Lucy followed suit. We kept a slow pace, since running any faster would burn too much energy too fast, and we had a long distance to go.
I forgot how exhausting it was to jog. Being crammed in that city did not give me a lot of motivation or time to get out and exercise. Lucy sure seemed to be enjoying it, though, her tongue blowing in the wind as she happily bounded down the trail.
The grass and weeds flew by as we trotted past them. After what felt like hours the forest that had seemed so out of reach was standing right in front of us. The vibrant yellow, red and orange fall leaves were slowly drifting to the ground, some swept away by a breeze before they got the chance to touch the earth. It was beautiful, but as the sun began to fade behind the grassy hills the woods grew dark and deep. The crooked trees twisted and climbed to the heavens, producing menacing shadows. I was expecting the sounds of chirping birds leaping from branch to branch or even the rustling of leaves, but there was nothing. The forest was silent.