The Zero Patient Trilogy (Book One): (A Dystopian Sci-Fi Series)

by The Zero Patient Trilogy- Book One (epub)

  .1.

  Horizon approach and the sound of the Southern Goddess dares me forward, calls me onward, gives me life. Caged in by rock under a blotted-out sun, the Canyon is home to blood of all types.

  --You must find Halo, before the Northerners reach the Off Limits.

  Clothing torn in places unseen I’m left foot right foot moving discrete. Hands open, silent stride – all things alive must die. The Book says what the BOOK says and what the Book says is true because because …

  Faceless.

  (Repeat the Dusk Prayer one final time.)

  “Let dusk settle and the Canyon rest, give thanks to the Goddess, the Stayed, the Devout and all the rest. Protect me in my moment of slumber; hold me to your breast. Grant me the faculty to become one of the blessed. Lead all those who stray away from deathborn. Heal the earth beneath the feet of the scorned. Mourn the passing of those faithful few, who have given their lives in devotion to you.”

  My limbs on edge as I turn a corner, my limbs on edge as I etch my steps, a bead of sweat rolls down my head and I see her, or him, or it doesn’t matter because they are faceless.

  (Kill, Hunter, kill.)

  “Should I?” I whisper to the One Who Can Hear. No answer, no matter, I’ll be the judge. I’m on the man with fists beating and beating, muffling the screams of one who has fallen, who has sinned. “I AM HELPING YOU!”

  Fresh soft flesh – blood on my lips. I’ve liberated another one doomed to be CURSED because the Book says …

  (Face caved in, artery burst.)

  I did it for you, Goddess! I did it for you, Halo!

  The Book says we are stained by the wickedness of man who has blackened the sun through the War of the Untold. The Book says that to be faceless is a sin; to liberate the faceless is an ultimate triumph, to consume the flesh is to become pure.

  (Shiv in hand. Shiv near chest. Stab stab stab. Disembowel – no not now. Saw saw saw, armpit down. Fresh soft flesh.)

  “You took her!” I bellow into the opening I’ve cut into the man’s body. Everything shiny with blood, everything else in a state of no-life. Dead yellow human has been hunted, saved, hunted.

  I’m left foot right foot in an alley, meat in my teeth. Cut the moon out and place it in my pocket. Cut the moon out and place it in my pocket! Listen to the voices, Hunter, but not those voices. The feeling. The sound. The fury. THE VOICES!

  (Not those voices.)

  I am the sound. The flesh is gummy, the taste metallic. My teeth are sharp, the taste metallic. I am the sound, the cry for help. The flesh is gummy, redeem the Blasph in the name of the Devout.

  I catch my reflection in a window and I stifle a scream. Am I becoming faceless?

  (Am I the sound?)

  “No! Please … please NO not now!”

  Hands to my blurred face – scratch nails out.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” I whimper, spit out the man’s flesh, drop to my knees.

  I have the notion to dig my fingers into my eye sockets and peel my own skin off the bone. I have the notion to end my life right here right now, end the life of Hunter, the humble Devout of the Devout, Halo’s redeemer, the Blasph-ridder of the South.

  My shiv.

  One glance down and I see Hunter defacing Hunter. Yes! Yes! The ultimate sacrifice. DO IT! Defacing myself to save myself!

  Don’t do it, Hunter.

  “Goddess? Am I to liberate myself?” I wipe the blood from my lips. “Please! Speak to me!”

  The Book says All animals must be eaten. All animals are put in the Canyon to consume or be consumed. Be the consumer.

  Tears. They fall and mix with the blood on my chin. My heart like a rat trembling its tail. The dead man’s flesh in a pile of filth. The air tinged with dust, our coffins nailed.

  “What’s happening to you?” I sit, pull my knees to my chest as my vision blurs.

  (A metalzip flies by, stops, examines me, disappears.)

  Memorized passages cut into my arm. Carve to live, carve no harm.

  A light turns on at the end of the alleyway. Orange like the walls of the Canyon, bright as a candle. Powered by the Off Limits.

  “Someone there?”

  The voice comes closer. A woman’s sound, cautious. She will receive.

  “Hello? Can … can I help you?”

  “No, but I can help you.” On top of her before she can react. My shiv in my hand, her face a blur. “YOU ARE FACELESS!” I scream.

  “You are human.”

  My shiv hits her arm. Metal meets … metal? I press harder, digging the blade into something solid, something not bone. THE GODDESS MOVES THROUGH ME! I spit in her faceless face, try to scare her with a blood-curdling scream.

  She smiles a faceless smile, crashes her fist into my face. I see stars, land on my back.

  “The Book says … the Book says … ”

  The lights dim.

  .2.

  Woman took me down in a flash of light, my shiv powerless against her flight.

  (Was I wrong?)

  “You protected her. YOU saw the light within … and I … I failed you.”

  No you didn’t.

  “Goddess could it be? Halo are you there?”

  To rise from bone and etch your name in the face of the Canyon is man’s only goal. To fall to earth and scrape your bones against the floor of the Canyon is man’s last stand. To stand strong in awe of it all is how mistakes are made. To be faceless is to beg for sudden extinction. The distinction is clear in the name of The Book, the name of the Goddess, the name of the Stayed, the heart of the Devout. Rise and forgive yourself of your inherent sins, my brother, my Hunter. Rescue me.

  “Thank you, Halo.”

  (Choke back a sob. Rub the dust out of your eyes.)

  Left foot right foot, I move like a snake. Slither here, sip the night, pull my hair, rearrange my fate. Clear the nose, stub the toes. Daybreak approach – dust darkens the sun. I feel alive in my skin enough to backpedal to the body I’ve saved for another bite. I find him in a spark of time and dine and dine.

  From flesh to flesh, protein to protein. Digest in the wake of things and awake on bird wings.

  Fly, Hunter, fly to safety.

  “I wish I could!” I laugh at the Goddess’ suggestion with respect. I flap my arms, fall to my knees, cry and pray. Eat more.

  (Time passes this way.)

  Musical death – time is the final trumpet. Musical death my feet upon the man’s chest, stomping and jumping until his ribs crack.

  “YOU ARE DEAD!” I hiss into his lifeless eyes. His face has returned – cleft chin, nose like a rock formation, eyes closed, black teeth like the sun at night.

  “I am and so are you,” I say, using my fingers to manipulate his jaw. “I am too, Hunter!”

  Not the first I’ve saved and not the last. It is better to stay safe during the day, away from those who are less devout. To murder is a sin, says The Book, but one must do what one must do to save the Stayed.

  “I agree,” I say wholeheartedly to the once alive. “I agree that you didn’t deserve this, but no one deserves what’s coming to them. That’s why it’s coming to them. If they deserved it, it wouldn’t come to them. Think about it. Reverse the verse until you get the reverse. Everyone deserves what’s coming to them.”

  The man with his ribs stomped in would make a great travel companion. Alas I need to move fast and to entertain such sick thoughts could lead to a case of facelessness I’d soon not face.

  (WHAT HAVE I DONE?)

  That’s the voice you shouldn’t listen to.

  “I know, Goddess,” I say, trembling. “I know.”

  Remember why they let you out?

  “To find you.”

  Then find me, Hunter.

  “I will, Halo.

  You must.

  “I must.”

  Goodbye corpse from a different mother. Hello night leave daybreak approach. Hello pressure in my chest as I digest. Hello life in the sense of things, breath i
n the way it tastes, death in the way it wastes, iron in the sense of lying.

  Move.

  Move I do under the watchful night. The Canyon is full of crevices and cellars that one can disappear.

  --You must not be seen, said Father Miscavige. You will be audited if you are seen, sent to the Hole, forced to repent. DARE I SAY KILLED?

  --Do not dare!

  --That’s good, Hunter. You were a good boy, so warm, so taut. I’ve taught you all I know, gave you all I had, ALL OF IT, and now look at you. You’ve become an animal; you’ve returned humanity to what it was meant to be. I’m so proud, the Goddess is proud. YOU FILTHY ANIMAL. You piss in the face of those who are faceless. You are the defender of the South, the one chosen to eradicate the North and their ever-present Blasph, the false Goddess, Time. Bravo, Hunter, Bravo! You are Death’s Reaper.

  .3.

  (Scream inside my head!)

  Down in the stupor, down in the Hole. Downpour stupor downpour all. Memories knife me punishment and scorn. Shit and piss as penance remind us of the excrement from which we are born.

  A memory. A daydream. A nightmare. All come to me in the flash of light. Fear a nutrient, fear a stimulant, fear a life force.

  (Fear the near for they will come and when they come the night is done.)

  The Hole – the thought of going back both frightens and inspires. What happened there transpired due to hunger, faith and desire. True desire, killing spree. The desire to free those closest to me.

  --Silence the voices, Hunter. The Hole is the place where the Devout go to prove to the world that they are more than The Hole. To prove their strength, prove their devotion. A mountain of sand couldn’t quell your devotion. You are holy, Hunter, you are not faceless, but you must repent. YOU MUST REPENT.

  Father Miscavige of the South. The Book is his vessel and the only one higher on the totem pole is Halo, the Goddess of the Stayed. Our Goddess.

  In the Hole of filth and dark, the nights don’t shine and the lights are off. In the Hole for weeks on end, in the Hole my soul to mend. In the Hole to confess my sins, await the audit that signals a new beginning.

  --Keep your secrets, Hunter, and accept the consequences. TELL ME your dirties, your filthies, your sickest and unpurest thoughts. Dirties. Tell me your dirties. Show me your dirties YOU FILTH!

  (Father Miscavige tossed a bucket of piss in the Hole saturating my shoulders whole.)

  --I’ll come down there you damn ANIMAL!

  --I AM NOT AN ANIMAL!

  --YOU ARE MY ANIMAL!

  --I AM YOUR ANIMAL!

  (His voice an echo, the piss warm, my chains clinking together, my body in prayer position, the faithful next to me dead killed – life in the Hole, death in the Hole.)

  --Are they dead, Hunter? Did you do it? Men and women? The Devout? YOU FILTH! screamed Father Miscavige.

  --I did it!

  --Why Hunter why?

  --They were FACELESS! I cried to the light above.

  --And how?

  --My fists, my claws, my teeth, stones, bones.

  --Good, Hunter, good. I’ll have the lift lowered. Bathe and meet me in the auditing room. You’ve completed what you came here to do.

  The auditing room is near the Hole but far enough away to avoid the inner cry of the diseased. Deceased. I went there after washing the blood away. I went there after changing into my black robes.

  --You’ve done well, Hunter, said Father Miscavige. You’ve survived the Hole. You’ve killed many, but only because they were faceless. You’ve consumed them, you’ve done the Goddess a service and for that, I’ll allow you to meet Halo in her tower.

  --When? I manage to ask, my voice a shiv over my parched throat. I broke down on my knees crying – many can see the Goddess at the top of her Rapunzel Tower but few will ever meet her there. Hands clasped together at the front of my robe, I dug my claws into my own flesh to punish myself for the excitement I felt.

  --You will meet Halo tonight, after the ceremony. Return to your room, rest, bathe again. Though you are filth, you should not smell like it when you meet the Goddess.

  .4.

  Cellar dweller down for the day. Light outside stay away. In the name of the Goddess, the Book, the Stayed, the Devout. Scratch blood from finger tips, some in cuticle. Life is a death musical, a prolonged pout, a bout with brutal truisms and ever-present doubt.

  (Not I – the champion of the Goddess, the protector of the Stayed, the liberator of the faceless, the pisser upon remains.)

  The cellar isn’t stellar but the dark hiding will do. Dust of the Canyon, the grain of life. Lie in the Canyon, the life of the disdained. Hide until night. Hide from day because day is a breeding ground for deathborn.

  --Find Halo, you’re the hunter.

  --I am Hunter.

  --You are, my child, you are, said Father Miscavige, his hand on my head. Now find her or face the consequences.

  A metalzip outside the cellar door presses its body through a crack. It perches on a rotten piece of wood; its eyes spin as it takes me in.

  “People say that wood comes from the Off Limits, from other Canyons. Is it true zippy?” I ask it. “Tell me what you know insect friend. Are there others like us? Like me?”

  The metalzip’s eyes are glassy, pupils black, zoom in and zoom out, wings of metal hence the name. Zip the sound hence the name. They’ve been in the Canyon long before the Book, long before the Stayed.

  Man killed man because of tech. New man doesn’t need tech. New man needs the Canyon. New man must recognize the sin of progress. The sky of orange and dust stems from the War of the Untold, the war that placed us here. To be pure is to be simple, to be simple is to truly live.

  “I know what the Book says,” I tell the metalzip, laughing, baring my teeth, licking my chapped lips. Parched I am but faith in the Goddess I have. “What’s your name, zippy?”

  The metalzip comes alive. Its wings hummingbird vroom vroom around the room. I duck, place my hands over my head. Metalzips are not to be touched, to do so is a sin.

  Why is it a sin?

  “Goddess?”

  (She speaks to me!)

  Why is it a sin?

  “Is that really you? Speak to me Halo, grant me your guidance!”

  (Thinking of the Goddess causes a quake within. Remembering her face stirs me in a way I’m ashamed to admit. Her face, her thin frame, her blindfold, her skin tight against her exposed throat.)

  I touch myself in the place to be hidden. I touch myself and move my hand up and down, left and right. TOUCH! Grow like a rainbow, I curse my existence. I curse the blood rocketing to the unspeakable appendage. Erect derelicts are closer to deathborn than the Vultured Few promising lizard luck for a hearty tug of their beard tails. Salacious thoughts curtail!

  (No. No. No. No.)

  Yes.

  “Goddess!” I whisper, staring directly at the metalzip. “I wasn’t thinking, I was thinking, I mean … I mean … please make it stop!”

  --You must keep yours, said Father Miscavige. Yours is mine. The others can eunuch, must unsow, but yours is mine.

  The metalzip presses out of the cellar.

  “What does it mean, Goddess? Shall I repent? SHALL I CUT IT OFF!?”

  (Yes, cut it off!)

  No, you’ll bleed to death.

  “I’ll die for you,” I whisper.

  It is not time for you to die for me.

  --It’s mine, be careful with it.

  “Father Miscavige?”

  Movement above causes me to shut my trap. On the floor like a cat my knees crushing my unspeakables as punishment.

  “For you,” I whisper as I squeeze harder, as pain warms my thigh. “For you, Halo.”

  Excruciating pain, blood drain.

  .5.

  Dream the dream, scream the scream. Scream the dream, dream the scream.

  (INSIDE MY … )

  My last encounter with her is more vivid in the darkness. Halo in all her splendor, the Goddess of the Sta
yed, alive to dispense blessings from the Tower of Rapunzel. Her eyes wrapped as she approached me; light filtering all around her catching specks of dust. Her frame that of a young boy’s, her chest flat against her ribs. Her arms mere bones, her fingers long, her nails perfect. Everything perfect, everything divine.

  You are Hunter, she thought to me, caressing the top of my face with an outstretched hand. Her shoulders forced down by bindrings; her neck covered in layered cloth.

  --I am, I told her, tears stinging.

  Her tower – we met at the bottom, away from the crowd away from the sun. Kneeling, hardly able to look up at the Goddess, shivering with ecstasy I haven’t felt since, knowing that the moment would soon pass.

  (Please let me feel that way again. Please.)

  You’ve done much for the South, she thought to me. Her voice appeared in my head, her lips still frozen. Father Miscavige pressed his back against the wall, watching it all.

  --In your name, I told her.

  You’ve suffered in my name, in the name of the Book.

  --I bear it willingly, gladly.

  I’m sorry.

  Halo’s fingers moved from my chin to my temples. They traced over my unkempt sideburns, against the tops of my ears, to the back of my head. An explosion of color painted over my closed eyelids. The universe spits inside my head and my brain splits.

  In the Hole where only the holy go, I killed a dozen and ate their souls. In the Hole away from man and sin, I died twice and was born again. In the Hole I ate and ate, in the Hole life came late.

  (LET THE MEMORIES GO!)

  Episodic violence, fingers in eye sockets. The man’s hair in my clenched fist, I sank my knee into his throat. A knife made from sharpened rock found its way into my palm, my first bite triggering a numbing calm. He was one, but there were others. Eleven to be exact all equally dead or to be saved. Survival of the fittest is the plight for the Stayed, the goal of the Devout.

  All faceless.

  --I did what I had to do, to save the faceless, I finally told her, a sob roiling in my chest. I ate them. I squashed their skulls and … and …

  Your hand was forced, dear Hunter. Your life leading up to this point has created something the Canyon has never seen.