Sibylla of Earth

by A. D. Baldwin

  LOSS OF POWER, the computer's voice said. PREPARE FOR EMERGENCY LANDING.

  Sibylla braced herself as the jet hit the ground. She gripped the straps of her safety harness and tucked her head into her chest. The jet slid across the asphalt like a skidding rock, slamming into an electrical pole on the corner and snapping it at the base.

  Sibylla grunted as she felt the straps of her harness tear into her shoulders. The collision had been brutal, and she worried that she'd broken her collarbone. Lifting her head, she saw that she was in the middle of the street, concealed within a cloud of smoke.

  Sparks flew from the dashboard. Smoke filled the cockpit. Sibylla checked the engines and saw that they were offline. Damn it, she cursed. Without the engines, the jet couldn't take off. She was stranded.

  Removing her helmet, she tossed it into the co-pilot's seat behind her. Unlocking the safety harness, she activated the overhead canopy and crawled out in a daze.

  Smoke thinned and swayed. Shadows passed and went. She heard faint yelps in the distance, voices crying out for help. But the stench was the worse. It was like a heap of trash that had been mixed under a steaming sun. She covered her nose, squinting.

  To her right, rising behind the smoke, Sibylla heard the unexpected rumble of a deep growl. The sound of it was horrific, and Sibylla unsheathed her blade, readying for whatever it was hiding out there.

  The street, as badly as it'd been covered in smoke and destruction, was still recognizable. She saw a pizza place to her left, a neighborhood plaza up ahead, to her right, a white house with a black gate sitting on the corner.

  Hurrying up the entrance, she kicked the gate open and raced inside. The house was empty, deserted. Blinds swayed lazily in the wind, while in one of the rooms, a holographic entertainment center was on. It'd been so long since she'd been there. So long….

  Pausing for a moment, she took in the house with a sweeping glance, finding it much smaller and dirtier, than she'd remembered.

  "Who's there?" A voice yelled from the second floor.

  Sibylla lifted her head, filled with hope. She raced up the stairs to the master bedroom where she quickly broke through the door. The room was a disaster. Bottles of alcohol littered the carpet. The bed was unmade. The blinds were pulled down. The entire room felt as if it was weighed under a depressive gloom.

  In the center, a hypodermic needle rested over a metal spoon, while, huddled in the corner, an emaciated woman in a stained white nightgown sat with her knees pressed against her chest.

  "Sib?" the woman said, her head perking up, her eyes narrowing in confusion. "Is that you?"

  "Carole." Sibylla tugged the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around the woman's shoulders, tugging it tightly around her neck.

  It'd been years since she'd last seen her, not since after the night of her father's funeral, when she'd blamed Sibylla for not stopping her father in time. The accusation had ended their relationship. Sibylla had often wondered how Carole was doing since then, but now, as she noted her angular face, the bruises along her arms, the thin frame and balding hair, she realized that she'd been struggling worse than she had.

  "I never thought I'd see you again," Carole whispered, her blue eyes filling with joy. She reached out to touch Sibylla's face and a smile spread across her lips. "I thought you still hated me."

  Sibylla reached for Carole's hand and held it tightly. "I could never hate you. You know that."

  A tear slipped from Carole's eye, yet her sadness was quickly replaced by a look of coy amusement. "But I bet you were pretty pissed off at me, huh?"

  Sibylla snorted. "I had my moments."

  Sibylla flinched as she heard another scream from somewhere outside and Carole's face drew in concern. "What's going on?"

  "We're under attack."

  Carole laughed softly. "No, seriously?"

  Sibylla glanced at the cooked drugs in the middle of the room and realized that Carole was so drugged up that she hadn't even noticed what was going on outside.

  "Look," Sibylla said. "I don't have time to explain. But we have to go."

  Carole recoiled in fear. "Outside?"

  Sibylla sensed the woman's anxiety. She probably hadn't left the house in weeks. Knowing that this was going to be tough, Sibylla prepared herself for the worst. "Can you stand?"

  "Sib, I'm not going."

  "Damn it, Carole."

  "No, Sib. Look, I'm glad that you came back. I really am. But I just want to stay here…alone."

  "I'm not leaving you again."

  "Great, then pull up a chair and take a seat, because I'm not leaving."

  Frustrated, Sibylla cupped her face. With a full-scale invasion going on outside, and Carole stoned out of her mind, she hadn’t been left many options. Sibylla sighed.

  "Okay, then. You want to do this the hard way? Fine."

  "What are you doing?" Carole asked, pulling her arms tight against her chest as Sibylla grabbed her by the shoulders and hefted her up. "Get off me!"

  Sibylla dragged Carole to the door, bracing against the wild slaps to her face and head. But as they reached the hallway, they suddenly stopped as they heard a growl from downstairs. Frightened, they exchanged a glance.

  "What was that?" Carole asked.

  Sibylla held up a finger for her to be quiet. In all honesty, she had no clue. According to one of her instructors at the Nest, the Chinese liked to use dogs when they raided neighborhoods of conquered cities. But that was after the battle. Dogs, for the most part, weren’t used for initial invasions. Whatever it was, it was inside now.

  Holding her breath, she listened as it rummaged through the kitchen, knocking plates onto the floor and searching through the house like a feral animal.

  Frightened, Sibylla pulled them back into the room and locked the door. She needed to do something. She needed a plan. She looked at the window. But there were bars on it. She thought of the stairway but then thought better of it as she noted Carole's thin legs and bare feet.

  What else?

  Spotting a crowd of bottles on the dresser, she had an idea. "Stand over here,” she ordered, ushering Carole against the side of the door. "And don't move until I tell you to, okay?"

  "What are you going to do?"

  “Trust me."

  Sibylla snatched one of the bottles. It was tequila—110 proof. Good enough, she thought, stuffing it with one of Carole's dirty panties and reaching for the lighter on the floor.

  Molotov Cocktails were easy to make—perfect instruments to use when there were no conventional weapons around.

  Outside, the creature was growing louder. It was coming up the stairway, sniffing the air of the house, like a hungry bear at a campground. When it reached the door, it suddenly stopped, leaving a long silence that pressed into Sibylla's chest like a knife.

  Sibylla glanced at Carole. She was shaking.

  "Hey!" Sibylla whispered, drawing her attention. "We're gonna be okay, alright?"

  Carole nodded.

  A few seconds passed as Sibylla stared at the door, her heart pounding with every breath. Then, suddenly, the door exploded, showering the room under a storm of wooden shards, and sending Sibylla back against the wall.

  Looking back, she gasped in horror as she saw what looked to be some sort of a monster towering in the middle of the room.

  With spiraled horns and a pierced snout, the monster was terrifying to look at. It had grey skin that was covered in cracks—deep crevices that oozed out green slime like a rancid infection. And its eyes were burning red. It was unlike anything Sibylla had ever seen before, like a zombified minotaur.

  "My God," Sibylla whispered.

  The beast turned to her, its horned head angling to the side as it studied her. Running a clawed finger across the armored plating of its chest, a pair of green lights blinked in succession along the screen of its computerized wristband, and a row of buttons appeared in holographic form. It was sending a message, Sibylla realized, alerting a superior that it had found some
thing.

  "Get ready," Sibylla said through trembling lips. She was fighting against the numbness of her fear, trying to keep her senses. For her sake. For Carole's.

  The minotaur reached behind its back and drew out a long shaft, that was engraved with a myriad of otherworldly designs. Giving it a quick twist, a heated blade—red and glowing—shot out at the end, and a plume of steam lifted from the edge of it.

  "Now!" Sibylla shouted. She lit the rag, slammed it against the beast's face, then tugged Carole away.

  They raced down the stairs as fast as they could, Sibylla gripping Carole by the arm, fighting to keep her upright, trying to outrun the beast's tortured screams as they grew louder behind them. Through the opened entrance, Sibylla could see the yard.

  "We're almost there." Sibylla tugged Carole harder. With any luck, they could make it to a car. After that, the desert was only a mile away. But they needed to get out first.

  They were already running onto the lawn when a red light beamed them in the eyes. Raising a hand, Sibylla squinted into the strange light, trying to see what it was.

  At first, Sibylla thought it was a bird, something large and black with wide wings. But as she peered closer, noticing the four thrusters burning gently as it lowered toward the entrance, she realized that it was some sort of craft.

  When it landed, Sibylla saw a tall, dark figure standing on the top of it. Robed in black, its face hidden beneath a gold helmet in the shape of a beautiful face, Sibylla thought she was looking at a powerful king.

  Calm, observant, it stepped off the craft with an air of entitlement, gliding over Sibylla's front yard with the aid of some type of hover disk.

  When it reached the front door, Sibylla and Carole stumbled back, rushing to get out of the way. But their escape was hampered by the base of the stairs behind them.

  The immense power of this figure was unmistakable. Its size…its presence…. But its smell was putrid, and Sibylla thought that she was smelling death itself.

  Puffs of shadow lifted like dirt from its body, while large carrion flies traveled in its wake, buzzing about its head like a diseased crown. Even so, the sight of it made Sibylla want to drop to her knees and bow her head in submission.

  Around its thin neck, it wore an elaborate gold disk that flashed with an array of computer sensors. In its hand was a double-edged scythe with a red diamond carved in the shape of a spider at the head of it, the blade edged with sparkling gold.

  Sibylla drew her sword. "Stay behind me," she told Carole, adrenaline pumping through her body. She was no longer a peace protester unsure of how to fight, but a disciple of the Eagles, a warrior who knew how to kill if needed to.

  Behind them, Sibylla could hear the ominous steps of the diseased minotaur. It was descending the stairs in a slow march. Glancing up, she watched as it held its staff firmly in hand, its face marred from where she'd slammed the exploding cocktail.

  When it reached the bottom, Sibylla spun around and dug the tip of her blade into its chest. But her wrist was nearly snapped as she felt something like steel beneath her blade. Lifting her gaze in astonishment, she stared at the sickly beast and whispered. "What the…."

  The minotaur knocked the blade from her hand, then slammed her through the wall, sending her into the living room, where she fell against the couch. She'd never been hit so hard. Not even when she'd sparred against Tayshaun.

  Rolling to her hands and knees, she tried to collect herself. She shook the drywall from her hair and tried to stand up. But just as she was lifting off the ground, she felt the minotaur’s grip tighten around her arm.

  Like a sack of potatoes, she was dragged back to the entrance of the house. When she looked up, she found Carole, kneeling before the robed figure, her head bowed in submission.

  "Carole?" Sibylla asked as she kneeled next to her. "Are you okay?"

  But Carole didn't respond. It was as if she was deaf to Sibylla's pleas.

  After a few seconds, the robed figure raised a hand, a bony carcass that was wrapped in draping grey skin and waved for Carole to stand up.

  Sibylla watched in confusion as Carole rose to her feet, padding lifelessly across the dirty floor like a sleepwalker pacing through a house. When she reached the dark figure, she stopped.

  "Carole!" Sibylla yelled. She tried to stand up, but the beast behind her tightened its grip around her neck, forcing her to lower her head again.

  Unable to move, Sibylla could only watch as the dark figure cradled Carole in its arms. With its right hand, the robed figure lifted back its helmet, and Sibylla saw a face of horror so revolting that she nearly screamed.

  She saw a gnawed-off nose. A gauged-out eye. A face that was pocked with filth and disease and maggots. Sibylla felt the vomit of disgust rising in her throat. But when it smiled…my God…when it smiled, she thought that she was staring into hell itself.

  Black teeth lined a lipless jaw, while a long, thick tongue curled out in a lazy roll, slipping around Carole's neck and coating it in a thick drool that slid down her chest like ooze.

  "Carole!" Sibylla screamed. "Wake up!"

  The figure's eyes brightened at Sibylla's fear, and its tongue tightened, constricting around Carole's throat like a snake curling around a mouse's body.

  It was then, as Sibylla watched on, that she began to feel the darkness fill her. It was a repulsive feeling, raw and rancid, like a storm of flies buzzing around a piece of rotten meat. It clogged her mind with distraction and doused it with unbridled sickness.

  Sibylla wanted to scream, but she couldn't speak. It was as if her voice had been hollowed out somehow, drained of its strength and made mute.

  The feeling made her feel powerless. She felt as if she was standing in her kitchen again, watching as her father pressed the barrel of his gun against his head and said goodbye. No! she thought, trying to break free. She wanted to stand, to run, to grip Carole in her arms and run away.

  But she couldn't.

  Her own breath had fallen to a wheezing gasp that nearly suffocated her. Yet still, she pushed through, drawing upon all she had to break free of the darkness. Finally, by some miracle, through gritted teeth, she cried out the word, "Mom!"

  Her mother’s eyes opened at the word, and a look of horror passed across her face as she looked up at the figure holding her against its chest. She fought back, slapped it across the face, banged against its chest. But it was as useless as a child fighting a parent. The figure was too strong.

  Excited by her resistance, the hideous creature let out a mischievous grin. Then, nuzzling its nose-less face into her mother’s neck, it took in the scent of her skin like a greedy wine taster taking in the aroma of a rare vintage. Its good eye rolled back in its head, and the outer edges of its mouth curled in sadistic approval.

  Desperate, Sibylla threw herself forward, trying to clear her mind of whatever it was that was holding her hostage. But it met her at every turn, unwilling, determined to not let her go. Making a fist, Sibylla punched the floor as hard as she could, hoping that the pain would wake her from her chains, but nothing.

  She fell back on her haunches, watching through the tainted blur as her mother fought to free herself from the creature's grip.

  The robed figure's mouth pulled back from its jaws, and Sibylla saw the crooked teeth dripping with a white liquid. With a quick plunge, it sunk its teeth into her bare neck, draining her mother's life away in rhythmic gulps.

  When the robed figure had finished, it tore away from her neck with a fitful jerk, ripping the muscles from underneath. Blood trickled from his jaws, and a deep laugh bellowed from his mouth.

  "No!" Sibylla reached for her mother. But she was too far away. Her body began to convulse, and her eyes rolled back in her head, as death eventually came for her. Shutting her eyes, Sibylla could only listen as her mother's body thudded against the floor.

  Over and over again, Sibylla screamed in her mind, until the pain in her chest had numbed, and her body had stilled from exhaustion.
>
  The robed figure, stepping over her mother as if she was nothing but a rock, rested its scythe on the floor and lowered before Sibylla in a crouch.

  Sibylla looked up to meet its gaze, her jaw hardening in defiance. It looked different somehow, a change in its appearance. The added layer of tissue along its cheeks. The regenerated nose and eye, giving hint to a once beautiful face. It had used her mother's blood, she realized with burning hate, used it to repair itself to something younger, more vibrant. Damn you, Sibylla thought.

  Her head suddenly tilted back as an invisible force pushed beneath her chin and the creature leaned into her face. The figure's breath was noxious. And it polluted her senses with even more darkness. It was inside her now, rummaging through her thoughts like a thief scavenging through a drawer. It saw her memories. Stole her words, sifting through every part of her being until she was left bare and shivering.

  But she fought back. She planted her hands against the floor and hung her head as she drew upon every part of her body. It was then that she began to feel something. A slight tremor beneath her hands, like the opening moments of an earthquake, then, a steady vibration that trembled up her arms and into her body, making her strong and forcing the darkness from her mind.

  The figure recoiled in fear, its head cocking to the side in suspicious confusion. The sounds it made were as harsh as the creature itself, but its meaning was clear. "What are you?" it seethed.

  Sibylla replied with a cold stare.

  Scowling, the figure opened its jaws to sink its crooked teeth into her flesh. But just as its tongue curled out, it suddenly stopped and turned around, glaring into the war-torn street behind it.

  Sibylla had heard it too. The steady hum of an engine. The rising roar of a metal body descending to the earth. It grew, ever increasing, breaking through the terrifying screams, and frightening roars outside.

  The robed figure motioned at the minotaur as it rose to its feet and, like the faithful dog it was, it bounded to the side of its master, where it stood sentry with its spear crossed against its powerful frame. They stared into the street as the sound grew louder, waiting to see what it was.