by Pete Kahle
Ryan lay sleeping on the ground behind them, snoring softly, his sweat creating trails in the blood that still coated his face.
The conversation turned once more, inevitably to the events of the night. “Before they went crazy, the sergeant made this strange noise. So did Kyle.” Tal said.
“What kind of noise?” Tom asked.
“It was a sort of a grunting noise, and then a weird type of scream.”
Behind them, Ryan’s eyes blinked open. He grunted and shook his head, a distorted scream emitted from his lungs as he sat up.
“Oh are you awake now Ryan?” Tal didn’t even glance behind him. “Yeah, it was just like that. You’re not being funn...”
He was unable to finish the sentence because Ryan’s knife slammed into the back of his skull, severing the spinal cord at the topmost point. He was dead before he hit the ground. He landed on the map, his blood pooled on the hillside and the valley they would occupy till nature rotted their corpses away.
Martin had seen Ryan sit up and had started to back away. With the fresh outburst of violence he stood and ran off into the countryside, leaving Tom to his fate.
Tom also tried to run but Ryan was far faster than he was. He had no chance. Ryan threw him to the ground and leapt on top of him, raining down blows with the knife indiscriminately into his slim body.
For a full five minutes he continued his frenzied stabbing of the body beneath him. The former wiry frame of Private Gillott was swiftly reduced to a bloody pulpy mess. So savage was the attack that it only took one blow to all but decapitate the bloody corpse.
Eventually Ryan sensed there was no life in the pile of mangled tissues he straddled. He looked round but there was no sign of any more life forms in the area.
With a lack of anything to kill, the creatures controlling him relinquished their hold and let him sleep again.
I can see the trail where we all arrived here last night so I hope that if I continue in this direction I’ll find the safe path down into the valley.
The heat is overpowering. I can feel my skin crawling with it. I cover my head with my hat and march onwards, alone.
After about ten minutes I find a dead rodent by the side of the path. It looks like it’s been there for days. There’s a trail of blood leading up to it. Out of curiosity I follow the trail.
I enter a clearing. There are dozens of dead animals here, all twisted and mangled together. The stench is overpowering. As well as the dozens of large animals, there are hundreds of dead insects, like cockroaches but red, the colour of fresh blood.
I hear I scuttling noise and three giant insects appear from under different piles of dead animals. I have a sudden flash of memory to last night. The sergeant biting one of these things... It seemed funny then. These are larger though, all of them nearly a foot long.
I stamp on the one closest to me and crush it. The other two race toward me and I back off quickly. The two cockroaches bump into each other and seem to forget that I’m there. They face each other and slowly circle before the smaller of the two lunges at the larger.
Another memory flash... Nathan told the sergeant something.... I’m sure it’s important, but this heat is really getting to me. It feels like something just crawled over my spine. I leave the clearing and continue on the track.
After about an hour I find what appears to be the path down into the valley. It’s difficult terrain. The slope is covered in loose rock and steep drops. It would be completely impassable in the dark.
Taking more care than usual - I feel like I’m going to pass out – I slowly make my way down the side of the valley. The rocks are hot to the touch and the ground beneath me seems to be trying to make me slip. I lose my balance and drop my bag as I grip onto the cliff face. The bag tumbles into the ravine.
I can’t remember the last time I drank or ate but from the empty feeling in my gut it was too long ago. The shimmering heat is almost hallucinogenic. I have to stop to make sure I didn’t really see something moving under the skin of my left hand. It’s just the heat combined with a lack of food and drink, and the nightmare of what happened with Kyle.
I eventually reach the bottom of the valley. The stream is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen in my 19 years. I throw myself to the ground and drink straight from it. I never knew water could taste so much like life itself.
There’s no sign of the bag. It was dropped upstream from here and I need to head downstream. Refreshed from the drink I start walking. Sure enough, the stream joins another and widens, following that it leads to a river. I know that the river must lead to people. I pick some fruit from the trees nearby and sit to rest.
After one mouthful of the fruit I start retching. All the water I drank seems to come straight back out of me. Once my stomach is empty I continue dry heaving till I can barely stand it. For the first time in years I feel like crying.
Another memory flash... Kyle with a knife...
I can’t carry on any longer. The heat is killing me. I’m weak from throwing up and I can’t find the energy inside me. It’s like those times pushing weights when you know you can do it but your body just refuses to do what it’s told. I can’t find the strength to move. I lie back and close my eyes to the blazing sun.
I remember years ago, before I was in the army, on a training run with a friend, when I wanted to give up and said I couldn’t run any further, my friend said to me “Of course you can, you’re Ryan”. In hindsight it was a kinda tacky and stupid thing to say, but at the time it spurred me on. I try the same thing now. It’s worked a couple of times when I’ve needed it. Stupid as it is.
Of course you can do this, you’re Ryan.
I open my eyes, ignoring the creeping sensation in my skin.
Come on man! You’re Ryan... Get a fucking move on!
I sit up. I take a deep breath and with one more “You’re Ryan” I stand and walk down the bank of the river.
I don’t know how long I’m walking for. Time no longer has a meaning in this heat and humidity. I stagger forward almost blindly. The heat makes my skin crawl. The surface beneath my feet changes into a path without me realising. Sometime later it becomes a dirt road but I don’t know when that happened either. I just keep moving forward.
I see a shape in front of me. It’s a girl. I try to call out but my throat is too dry. All I manage is a hoarse cough. I’m at the limits of my strength now and my knees barely support me. No amount of “You’re Ryan” can make me carry on now. I stumble to the floor as the girl sees me and runs toward me.
As she gets closer I realise that it isn’t a girl after all. It’s the son of one of the Red Cross workers at the camp. He’s tall and skinny with waist length dreadlocks and hips that any woman would be proud of.
“Danny?” I croak.
He catches hold of me as I fall and pulls his mobile phone out of his pocket. He shouts into the phone before turning his attention to me. He assures me that help is on its way and asks what the fuck has happened and lots of other questions which I can’t answer.
He pours water on me from a bottle he carries. It feels heavenly and I grin widely. I point at my mouth and he puts the bottle to my lips.
“Ok, small sips only” he says.
The water tastes even better than the stream. I want to grab the bottle from him and drink it all but Danny pulls it away from me.
The noise of a motor breaks through the sound of his soothing voice and some men and women appear behind him. I think one of them is Dan’s mother Louise. She holds something in her hand.
“You’ve done really well Danny,” I hear her say before she turns to me. “Ryan, you’ll just feel a little scratch,” she says as she takes my arm.
I think I see a look of disgust on her face. I don’t look that bad, do I? She sticks a needle in my arm and the world goes black.
Louise looked from Danny to the sleeping body of Private Hargreaves.
“Are you ok son?” she asked.
Danny nodded. “Have you ever
seen anything like this, mum?” he asked. “It’s like there’s something crawling under his skin.”
Louise shook her head. Ryan was in a bad way. The first thing she’d noticed about him was that he was coated in blood. The second was that he was suffering from complete exhaustion and then she’d spotted the lumps on his skin. The moving lumps. She didn’t even want to guess what that was about. They needed to get him to the medical centre.
She signalled to the military drivers to help get him into the back of the Land Rover. Danny climbed in after them and ten minutes later they were in the camp.
“I’ll get a stretcher,” Louise said as she jumped down from the back of the vehicle. “Keep an eye on him for a minute.”
Danny stroked Ryan’s face. Ryan had always been good to him and he hated seeing him like this. He hoped and prayed to the gods he didn’t even believe in that this would end well.
He heard a noise outside and stood up, looking out of the back of the land rover to see if it was his mother returning. Behind him, Ryan made a grunting noise and sat up with a weird distorted scream.
Danny turned. “Ryan!” was all he managed to say before the young soldier leapt at him and they both tumbled out of the vehicle and hit the floor behind.
Ryan punched Danny in the face several times, dislodging the piercing in Danny’s lip. He struggled to crawl away from the crazed attack but Ryan wouldn’t stop.
He pushed Danny to the floor and pinned him on his stomach. Reaching down, he ripped out a handful of dreads by the roots and wrapped them round Danny’s throat.
Danny strained and bucked under the weight of the young private, but he wasn’t strong enough. He felt giddy and lightheaded. The sensation was almost pleasurable. The longer that Ryan gripped the dreads round his throat, the less strength he had. He could feel the blood trickling down his scalp where the dreads had been torn out.
He became aware suddenly that he had an erection. It seemed an inappropriate reaction to the current situation. He felt himself cum as Ryan tightened the cords even further. That and the dreamy feel of approaching sleep were the last things he experienced before he died.
The noise of the struggle had attracted attention and a pair of soldiers now stood with fully loaded guns shouting at Ryan to let the boy go!
Ryan stood and laughed again. He pulled the knife from his pocket and moved toward the soldiers.
“Stop or we’ll fire!” one of the soldiers yelled.
Ryan took no notice and raised the knife, running at the men threatening him. Both of the soldiers opened fire at once. One bullet hit Ryan in the shoulder, the other in the head. The back of his head exploded and he flew backwards, landing in a sprawled heap over the corpse of Danny.
Louise ran out from behind the two soldiers and straight to her son’s dead body. She pushed the dead private off her son and attempted CPR. She didn’t notice the blood red insects crawling out of the shattered remains of Ryan’s face. They were camouflaged nicely among the gore and general carnage.
The insects had had more time to breed and grow in Ryan’s body than they’d had in anyone else’s. And his body had stayed alive longer, giving them more nutrients. These were bigger and there were more of them. The fist Louise noticed was when a dozen of them crawled over her leg and started biting. She screamed and brushed them off.
They scattered into the undergrowth and into the living area of the camp. No one gave them much notice. They were just insects. They stung a few people. Some were squashed. Some were washed downstream in the river. Some fought little battles between themselves but there was room to spread out here and lots of fresh creatures to share.
Later that night, as Louise somehow managed to sleep in her husband’s arms, Lisa Harrison was on sentry duty at the entrance to the camp.
She’d heard about the incident with Private Hargreaves and, like everyone else, wondered why he would do such a vile thing. She listened to the night time noises of the camp, the gentle snores and grunts from the closest tents, the muffled conversations. With the odd feeling caused by the events of the day she knew she would need to be on her guard tonight. Nothing felt right any more. She would be ready for anything tonight she told herself.
But when the screaming started, she was already too late.
Marc was born at an early age. This happened sometime in the seventies. He hasn't died yet. His hobbies include breathing and not stepping out in front of buses. He currently exists somewhere in the North-west of England with his cat, Balrog. He's had a few stories published previously and hopes you like this one.
THE KEEPER
by Kya Aliana
The musty old-town smell mixes with the stale mist that rolls in off the low tide. It’s not a smell easily forgotten and it certainly isn’t the first time - nor the last - I’ll smell it.
You’re never getting out, a voice in my head taunts.
Rain crashes down in blurry sheets. My feet slosh across the flooded street. The warm yellow lights of the coffee house glimmer in the distance.
This is it… my last night as a teenager. Where am I going? I don’t want to leave. Being a teenager is the one thing I know how to do. The new decade looms over me and I can already feel myself changing… into what? I haven’t the slightest clue. I lose sight of the world around me just before I smack into a wet figure.
“Sorry,” I say half-heartedly. My body stiffens and my heavy wool coat hugs my shoulders. The street lamps, dimmed by the pouring rain, cast shadows across his face.
“You look cold,” he states.
I feel him eyeing me up and down. I shudder, but not because of the cold.
“I’m fine,” I say. My tone is stronger than I expect.
“Please, come inside,” he invites. A bell chimes as he heaves open the door. Holding it for me, he adds, “I’ll buy you a coffee.”
“Thanks,” I smile. My boots squeak against the hardwood flood. I search around for a welcome mat or something to brush them off on, but there’s nothing.
His tall body hovers over me. A rush of panic and I scoot aside. The barista meets him at the counter and says, “Wicked storm out there, kids! Glad you made it in safely.”
Kids. She calls us kids. Sure, I’m a kid for now. All that will change at midnight. I won’t be able to use it as an excuse for much longer. My twenties are full of the unknown. My path is directionless.
“I’ll take a coffee. Black,” he orders, reaching down and pulling out his wallet. “And whatever she wants.” He looks back at me and offers a smile. In the light, I can see his face for the first time. I decipher what I can. He can’t be much older than me… Maybe a few years, tops. His eyes look right past me… Beyond me… Through me… Into me? I’m not sure. Regardless, it creeps me out. Why can’t I read him?
“Same,” I say boldly without thinking. It’s not my usual, but how bad can it be? The man’s presence throws everything off; I’m even more unsure of myself than before. I’m changing… 20 rapidly approaches and everything will change. At least that’s what They say.
The barista chatters in the background about the weather, wondering aloud if it will snow. She places two steaming mugs on the counter. I walk over and cup the mug in my hands. I close my eyes, breathe in the fumes of my caffeine addiction, and smile ever so slightly.
“Careful,” the deep voice warns.
I ignore him and press my crusty, chapped lips against the brim of the scalding mug. The first sip is always too hot anyways, but damn it feels so good. My tongue tingles and shards sting my throat. I feel the liquid filling my body. It’s bitter, much more than I’m used to, but I kind of like it that way.
I open my eyes to the coffee shop around me. The tall man and I are the only ones in here and I begin to wonder why. Usually this place is packed. Then again, I’m not typically here so late. I look around for something to focus on, but there’s nothing. I have no choice but to turn my focus to his brooding face and empty eyes.
“Is it hot?” he asks.
“I didn’t,” he replies with a sneer. I roll my eyes and shake my head openly, watching his reaction. The corners of his mouth twitch as he hides a smile.
“Sit.” He nods over at a table. I think it’s supposed to be a request, but it comes out as a sharp demand.
“Join me.” I challenge.
“Happily,” he obliges with a slight nod.
I’m not quite sure why I invited myself to participate in a power struggle. I walk over and plop down my mug. My long arms awkwardly move as I struggle to take my coat off. He just sits there smiling. Amusement fills his eyes and my cheeks go red hot with blush.
“Gage,” he says smoothly, letting the word roll of his tongue.
“Hmm?”
“My name. It’s Gage,” he repeats curtly, fighting for eye contact. The way his eyes sink into me lights a spark from deep down. I get the feeling we’ve met before, but I can’t remember where.
“Oh,” I say, “I’m Deseray, but everybody just calls me Des.”
“Very nice to meet you, Deseray,” he says, making a point of using my entire name. His slender fingers reach out as he extends his hand across the table. He gently removes my right hand from gripping my mug, and brings it up to his lips. His soft kiss sends gooseflesh down my arms. His smile lights up his face and turns it softer than it seemed before.
I don’t know what to think. No one has ever done that… it’s something you see in movies, read about in books. Who is he?
“You’re timid,” he notes. Is that how I’m coming off? I can’t detect a hint of emotions behind his words… is he curious, sad, mad, concerned?