Pestilence: The Calling Series

by Faulks, Kim

  Harlow…you coming?

  The faint sound of my sister’s voice surfaced. It was too soon…like the dead were waiting, hungry, desperate for their pound of flesh.

  Christmas or your birthday? Take your pick…

  “My birthday, silly.” The words slipped from my lips without a thought, and the echo rebounded.

  I lifted my head, and stared at the reflection in the cracked glass mirror. “What are you doing? Don’t answer them. You know better than that.” Don’t answer the dreams, or the memories. They weren’t real—none of it was real.

  You get double presents…

  I held that stare, held it until the blue eyes blurred.

  Who has a birthday on Christmas day?

  “I do.” I whispered but it was Sarah’s voice I heard…You do.

  Echoes. That’s all they were. I pulled the vial free and sat it against the rim. The thin, metal container was next, rattling with the tremble. I opened the kit, pulled out the syringe and the tie.

  Harlow…are you coming?

  Desperation bloomed, clenching my throat, forcing the words to the surface. “Yes, I’m coming, just give me a minute.”

  You’re slow. You’re always slow. I’m going downstairs.

  Always slow. I gripped the needle in one hand and the vial in the other. The tip pierced the rubber stopper, crusted blood floated in the barrel as I pulled the plunger. The black markers were faded now—not that I needed them.

  I drew the black stopper all the way to the end. Outside in the darkness, the woman wept. I dragged the needle free and opened my mouth. Lips curled, teeth a vise around the plastic. I rolled and pushed, sliding my jacket, the sweater, and the sleeve of my shirt high. The raised gouges threw shadows against my skin. I stabbed the groove, finding the faint throb deep.

  I forced my finger between the tendons to the vein, grabbed the tie and wound it tight.

  Harlow…Sarah called.

  She was a pain in the ass, taking my clothes, my makeup—rifling through my stuff. My lipstick was gone, used by thin little lips. Goddamn pain in the ass…goddamn…

  I yanked the rubber tight, squeezing flesh against bone. The dull throb surfaced. I followed the beat and grabbed the syringe.

  Harlow, are you coming?

  Pain in the ass…her face surfaced, blue eyes shone, lips curled. I gripped the plastic and pressed steel to flesh. The sting was instant. I needed that sting, needed the pain…just for a second.

  My fingers trembled, drawing back just a little until the blood bloomed, and then I pushed, driving the stopper all the way home.

  Nirvana waited.

  Nirvana with its silence and emptiness. Where I felt nothing. Where I remembered nothing.

  Happy birthday, Harlow, Sarah whispered.

  I dragged the needle free and reached for the tie. One yank and I was falling backwards until I hit the frigid tiles. My knees trembled, and then buckled. I took the slow slide all the way to the floor.

  Happy birthday. Merry Christmas.

  You get double presents today.

  Her face blurred. Her smile faded. Darkness reached out with spindled fingers, snagging the image and dragged it away. Nothing, nothing but thunder in my veins and the roar in my head. I waited for sleep…longed for sleep.

  But it kept me prisoner, lingering just out of reach. I stared at the red emergency lights above the door…blood…it looked like blood, splashing against the concrete.

  A white light shone in my eyes to swallow the red. I winced at the glare, and lifted my hand high. But it wouldn’t move, it was still, lifeless, lying palm down against the cold concrete floor beside me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

  Still the light pulsed, the glow white, soft around the edges…pure, the word slipped into my mind. Yeah, that’s what it looked like, white and pure.

  Harlow. My child…my sweet, sweet child.

  I swallowed hard, and fought the panic. The voice wasn’t mine. Panic filled me, the heavy boom of my heart filled my head. Not real. Not real. Not real. Not Dad, not anyone I knew… “Who is it?”

  It’s me…

  Me, me? I searched my memory, raking fragments of my past to the surface.

  God.

  I stilled with the word. God? Like the almighty…God, like the powerful? God like the one who gave miracles—I closed my eyes. I could still hear the cries, the screams, still feel his name burning through my throat—God, like the one who betrayed us all?

  “Fuck you.” I whispered and tried to turn my head. “There’s no God.”

  But the harsh light pulsed, booming with a voice of its own.

  I never betrayed you, Harlow.

  “There is no God…no God.”

  A flash of blood cut the glare. The vision came again, long gouges, across pale flesh. Wounds bleeding. Pain flared, tearing through my chest. The light pulsed again but, instead of ravaged flesh, there was a man…standing tall and proud, his face hidden in shadows.

  I’m here, God whispered, and lifted a hand. And I have a Calling for you.

  In the darkness of that toilet block, I stared into nothing. But here, in the light, in the everything, I saw Him. His long pale robe brushed the floor, and draped from His arm as He lifted a hand toward me.

  “A Calling?” I snarled. I tried to clench my fist, tried to swing toward that blur and give Him the wrath I kept inside. “Fuck your Calling.”

  It can be only you, Harlow. The peace you’re searching for is on the other side.

  “Peace? What peace? Look around you, look at what I am,” I whispered in the filthy stall. I could still feel the sting of the needle, and the drug racing through my veins. “And then tell me you still want me to have this Calling.”

  Shadows faded against His face, perfect eyes shone with beauty. He was beautiful, so very beautiful. But His smile faltered, falling at the edges. It can only be you, He whispered. I wish there was another way. But only you can defeat them.

  “Who?” I whispered, but the words were harsh and raw.

  Blood flashed filling my mind, gouges, cuts…fading away with the sound of a scream. And from the blood they rose…four darkened blurs at the edge of the horizon.

  The Horsemen…

  Those darkened blurs sharpened. Four men on horses…only one moved forward, leaving three behind.

  And as he did, that beautiful voice whispered…be careful, Harlow. He’s come for you…look upon his face and see the truth.

  The light bounced off his pale horse. He seemed to carve through the middle, and the stench of death billowed around him.

  I knew that smell…it was the plague—it was death.

  A woman sobbed. My baby, something’s wrong with my baby.

  My stomach clenched as the rider came closer. I lifted my head at the clop of hooves. The horse wasn’t just pale—it was leached of color, faded from life. Pink irises shone against white pupils. I was seized by its ugliness, and its beauty.

  My throat trembled, muscles quivered. I fought the need to raise my head, battled the desire to know…to understand.

  The beast came closer, the ground seemed to slip away from under its feet.

  Look…that perfect voice whispered. Look upon his face and know your prey.

  I couldn’t do it, couldn’t raise my head. Couldn’t look this predator in the eye.

  The pale beast’s nostrils flared, drawing in my scent as it stopped in front of me. Shadows shifted as this demon lowered his hand, fingers extended, green stone shimmering from a ring on his finger. “Come.”

  The command filled me…became me. Desire flared like the strike of a match as I lifted my head. His skin was pale, perfect, dark, brooding eyes held mine. “Come,” the horseman commanded.

  My nipples tightened. Heat flared, burning like the sun. He turned his head, the show slipped from his chin and then climbed higher, revealing perfect red lips.

  “Come,” he whispered. “We’ve been waiting.”

  The image surfaced. Blood, cuts, gas
hes so wide I glimpsed the pale edge of bone. Screams rebounded.

  Screams of pain and pleasure. I licked arid lips and tasted blood in my mouth. His dark gaze lowered, finding the swell of my breasts. I grasped the edges of my jacket, hands shaking, desperate to shed these clothes…

  The pain so bright it was blinding. Stealing my breath, stealing my sight.

  My spine bowed as I writhed. My fingers found the buttons of my jacket, and then slipped to the buttons. Fight. Fight him.

  I knew who he was now. I glanced behind him to the other three waiting.

  I knew who they all were.

  They were destruction, devastation. They were disease, but more than that…they were the end. The end to everything. They were the destruction around me.

  God didn’t create this. God didn’t turn his back on me.

  I’ve been here all along, that light whispered, searching for you.

  The pale horse turned its head. I followed the ridge of its nose until the pale hair turned brown. Tiny fissures tore along the beast’s skin on the other side of its face, until the rotten skin fell away from its cheek.

  Flayed tendons tightened as the horse opened its mouth. The thick, blackened tongue moved. My stomach clenched, acid spilled into the back of my throat.

  It knows you now.

  And he’ll come.

  I turned my head to that beautiful face. “What does he want?”

  He stepped closer, and the shadows of His face brightened. My chest tightened, heart raced. I floated in God's beauty.

  You, He whispered. Wake now, Harlow. The Pale Rider is here.

  Blood, gashes, and the black sickness consumed me. A woman’s scream filled my head. The piercing sound rebounded off the walls. It was the sound of terror, of heartache.

  Of a woman hunted.

  And a woman reborn.

  2

  A heavy thud tore through the air. I flinched. Head smashed against the cold tiles and then searched for the warmth my body left behind.

  The sound came again, dragging me to the surface. Not yet…not ready. I need more sleep. I sank, finding nothing…finding peace.

  Flashes of blood filled my mind. Flesh slashed open…a book, leather bound…Revelations printed in bold letters along the top. And a man…his words resounded… Wake now, Harlow. The Pale Rider is here.

  I opened my eyes and stared into the red light above the door. My tongue snaked out, skimming cracked lips. Plastic clattered against the floor as I pushed forward, my gaze drifting to the needle on the floor.

  Nirvana. That’s right. Come on now, Harlow. Get it together.

  Remnants lingered. I tried to think, tried to remember.

  Christmas…I wrenched open my eyes with the memory. Today was the twenty-sixth. No birthday. No dreams, nothing but searching for food. Gotta get back home first…gotta get back home.

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the tiles, waiting for the rush of relief. But there was no weight in my chest, no heavy burden dragging me under.

  A memory hovered at the edges, something I was supposed to do. The thought wore at me like a stone in my shoe.

  I searched deeper into the drug-filled haze. There was something important, something… A spark flared in the middle of my chest—a star, shining against the blackest night.

  Come…

  The command consumed me. And in the mist-filled corners of my mind, he came to me.

  A man, riding a pale horse.

  Wake now, Harlow. The Pale Rider is here, and there’s much for you to do.

  That voice.

  That voice pulled me all the way into the present. That voice that gave me hope…gave me purpose—gave me love.

  God.

  I winced and touched my arm, finding the dull ache over the vein. The needle was dirty…lies, the word was a whisper. Is that why the dealer knows you a little too well? Is that why this is the last time? I don’t think so, Harlow. I don’t think so at all.

  Cold seeped into the tips of my fingers as I pushed against the floor. The syringe clattered and spun. I stared at the plastic, waiting for the flare of need. But there was nothing. No panic. No hunger. No flare of desperation. Only a flicker of disappointment.

  I lifted my head to the open kit and the fallen rubber tie, and then the tiny vial, half filled with liquid. A drug I once needed.

  But not anymore.

  My steps were quiet, but my mind was filled with a roar. It was a thunder, a roar for something else now, something deeper than Nirvana.

  A Calling…

  There was no tremble in my fingers as I stepped to the door and yanked the bolt, and no stutter in my steps. Soft whimpers drifted into the filthy restroom as I opened the door and stepped outside.

  I glanced at the train tracks, and the silver tomb in the distance, quiet and still. But it was the woman I heard. Her pain was my pain, her merry-go-round of torture, my own.

  I headed for the end of the platform, where the soft sobs echoed. The dark shape was huddled on a bench seat, shoulders curled, head lowered.

  “I could help you.”

  She lifted her head at the sound of my voice. Fresh tears glistened on her face. “My baby…”

  “—has passed. He’s gone now.” I touched the crusted edge of the blanket. “If you want, I can help you bury him?”

  Her muffled cries eased as she swallowed. “Gone…”

  “Yeah, he’s gone. Gone somewhere better, better than here.”

  Darkness moved as she nodded her head. “He was crying, always crying, and then one night he just stopped. Just like that.”

  “Is there someplace special you can put him, someplace you can visit when you need to?”

  She was quiet for a long time, until her murmur slipped free. “He always liked the harbor.”

  I winced.

  The harbor.

  I traced the streets in my head and mapped the danger points.

  Too many. Best to stay inside…the soft growl of my father rang loud and clear. Remember what I taught you. A dead man is still a dead man, and you could still be infected. You can find another way, Harlow. A safer way.

  “He loved the water. Used to stare at the waves for hours,” the woman murmured and rocked the still bundle. “That’s where I want to take him. That’s where he needs to be.”

  I wanted to listen to that voice inside my head. The one that kept me safe—the one that kept me protected. But I couldn’t shake the dream…couldn’t shake that need inside me, that Calling, to lead this woman to peace.

  The harbor.

  The route was dangerous. Too dangerous. The streets were filled with The Mighty. The ones who controlled the water, and the food. Who led the charge with fists and weapons—and who hunted those like me.

  Loners.

  And the alone.

  Improvise. Adapt and overcome…you can do this. I closed my eyes to the sound of Dad’s voice, even now I could still feel his energy…his strength, his determination—his drive to keep me safe, and protected.

  “Sure,” I answered. The words seemed to slip from my lips. “We can take him to the harbor. You strong enough to walk?”

  She nodded. Even if she wasn’t, there’d be no stopping her. This was fate.

  I glanced at the other platform. The dealer was long gone, hunkered down somewhere fast asleep with his belly full and a warm body next to him.

  “I’m ready,” she whispered. “I’m ready to see my baby home.”

  I gripped her arm as she knelt and then climbed down from the platform. My boots hit the gavel hard as I followed and stepped across the tracks and over to the other side.

  Soft light spilled into the darkness up ahead. Day, if it wasn’t already here, would be soon enough. I climbed and lifted, heaving her up onto the next platform and then headed for the stairs.

  The station was quiet now…eerily quiet. No one slept in the trains anymore, not after the first storm, and the rains that followed. The real rains, not the stuff that leaked fr
om the sky. Memories of that night filled my head. The thunder was war in the heavens, lighting so violent it split the sky apart, and then the rains came. The torrent consumed everything. The railways, the parking lots, and the wastewater tunnels that ran underneath.

  No one lived here anymore.

  Not after the bodies floated to the surface—not after the stench that lingered for months. But this was where the deals were made—this was where you could find peace for a price.

  Yellow light spilled down the stairs, until it faded into the gloom. I inhaled the foul taste of the air and glanced over my shoulder. The harsh, patterned grip was a familiar comfort…and at the top of a short list of the ones I had left.

  “You ready?” I whispered into the darkness.

  Muffled words echoed from behind. But it wasn’t the woman I spoke to, it was that lingering desire, like a tiny flame against the infinite blackness.

  You ready? I asked again.

  And this time there was a flare of an ember, one that lit up the sky of my soul. I slipped my hand around the grip and climbed the stairs. “Keep together, move fast,” I murmured and took a step. “And stay to the shadows.”

  “The Mighty,” she whispered behind me. “They’ll be watching.”

  I nodded and took a step. They were always watching, always waiting for the loners…those like us—those who looked weak.

  But they can fall…can’t they, my strong girl.

  The mighty can always fall.

  Even a Marine had faith in me…far beyond the faith I had in myself.

  I drove my boot into the stair and climbed into the dappled yellow glare. The city streets were quiet. A bird called out far in the distance, small, panicked, here for a second before it was gone. Not even the crows came anymore. Not the wolves, or the deer—only the rats and the cockroaches to scurry around the remains.

  I blinked, waited for my eyes to adjust, and wrenched my gaze right, left, and then scanned the upper windows. It wasn’t those in the open you needed to be wary of, it was the ones in the shadows. The ones watching you from high up in the windows—those wanting to take what you had, with violence.

  Keep the water safe. Never tell anyone what we have, okay, Harlow? No one.