Red Sky: Rising

by Ben Archer

  RED SKY: RISING

  Ben Archer

  Today the world ended.

  Not by war, plague, fire or famine.

  That death would have been too fast.

  Too humane.

  No, this death would come like a lion in the night from the first sweet breath of a newborn child.

  Prologue: The Kill

  I silently glide overtop a dense line of trees. One, two, three ─leap and repeat. The intense glow of a burning moon highlights the steam erupting from my mouth after each long jump. Every tense muscle flutters from the combination of frosty midnight air and my own growing excitement. It forces me to pause while the bittersweet pain sets my trembling insides on fire. The small delay allows me to embrace the raw beauty of this place from atop my sugary sweet pine.

  All around are the sounds of a forest in full bloom; a loud symphony of creatures finally being released to explore their nocturnal world. Lingering in the far distance is the heavenly scent of a smoldering campfire that will later guide me back home. But for now, all these brilliant things pale in comparison to the intoxicating aroma of my prey below.

  There’s a silly smile on my face from the power of these long, drawn out moments right before a kill. I would love to shout out and release some of this restrained excitement, except that would almost certainly alarm him to my presence. And we’re too deep in our game for that.

  He’s gone for many miles trying to escape me, instinctively running from darkness, unsure what it is that he fears in the shadows. Every now and then he’ll nervously search for the invisible monster tormenting him. He knows I’m here, senses I’m coming, but can never find me. I’ve done this far too long to ever actually let him catch a glimpse of me.

  Not even a rustling leaf will give me away tonight. The only thing he’ll hear is the carving wind as I soar high above him. You know the inescapable feeling in the back of your mind when you’re being watched? It lurks, nags, and refuses to leave until the source of constant torment is finally found. Well, that’s because of me.

  And this upcoming kill will be the result of weeks of tireless work. Time that’s been spent patiently waiting for just the right moment. This moment.

  I’ve relentlessly studied every aspect of his life to ensure he’s the right one. He has no family that will miss him. No one depends on him. While he's lived a long life, his best days are far behind him. The only thing remaining is the inevitable pain time brings to a withering body.

  That’s a pain I’ll never know.

  Time and death have long forgotten my name.

  His nostrils flare from the panicked run. Like me, he also struggles with the cold, damp air. I could end this now, but choose to remain on my perch while he enjoys the last few moments of life. He deserves that.

  However, I feel the monster inside me start to rumble around. He’s not nearly as patient or sympathetic as I am. The beast only wants his kill. So before he can take over and things get, um… messy, I begin my cautious descent. Slowly, branch by brittle branch, until I’m close enough to be his own shadow. So close I fear my anxious heartbeat will be what gives me away. Before going any further, I enjoy one last lingering smell of his inebriating fear. Then, before the steam of his last breath can even fade… it’s over.

  He never saw me coming. Only felt the cold embrace of a ghostly shadow, and a slight constriction of his throat, before his life ended with the simple flick of my wrist. Let’s be clear, I kill because I have to, not because I want to. The monster inside would force this life on me, so instead of letting it control me, I’ve made killing my job.

  I kneel by the body for a silent prayer, “This is a good death, an honorable one. Death itself is the gateway to eternal life. I have not chosen to be the lion, any more than you the lamb; however, the circle of life demands us both.”

  My hands move up his neck to find veins still throbbing with hot blood. From here my teeth can easily pierce the soft outer skin of his throat. When the familiar surge of salty blood returns to my lips, the entire world disappears. The merge begins and his simple life plays out like an endless movie in the halls of my mind. I witness every emotion, every buried memory, as his blood fuses with mine. His entire life soaks in to become a part of me in the truest sense.

  The lives of thousands of creatures (plus far too many people) live inside me now. That’s the unfortunate result of what it takes to exist for far longer than a human should. Hundreds of years longer than a righteous person ever would. At least with my inner beast satisfied, what little is left of my fading humanity is finally free to return. The veil of hunger lifts so my mind can, once again, be my own.

  Thank you, Mr. Stag.

  Chapter 1: Call of the Wild

  Slogging back to camp with a lifeless, bloodless sack of deer meat is always a tedious task. Fortunately, it’s a financially rewarding one. Well, not that rewarding… which should be painfully obvious due to the wimpy motor-scooter the fresh meat is strapped on top of.

  The bike’s weak springs constantly clatter under the weight of the heavy load. Their relentless rattling has me dreaming of the day when I’ll be able to cruise back to the Colony on a big bruising chopper. Imagine having my catch strapped onto a custom rack instead of bungeed to the rusted fender of a tiny red scooter. Its booming exhaust would rumble off the steel walls and make the ladies swoon! Maybe I am getting a bit ahead of myself on that one… I might be dead, or whatever people consider vampires these days, but that doesn’t mean I can’t daydream a little!

  Until then I’ll just have to settle for this shabby old scooter affectionately named “Ol' Red”. On the bright side, she’s never let me down. Sure, she barely makes it over even modest hills anymore, but the engine still starts every time. I try keeping that in mind while hopping off to push her over the top of the steep mountain road.

  Thankfully, she still coasts down the other side like a dream. A slow dream, but a dream nevertheless. The leisurely pace allows me to enjoy the serenity of abandoned country roads at early dawn. All the way out here there’s little evidence that humans even exist. Occasionally I’ll pass by an old shack, or the crumbling remains of a long forgotten life, but nothing that could really be labeled as a home anymore.

  Although it wouldn’t surprise me if people still live in them. This far outside of the colonies life can be dangerous, but some will gladly risk it to keep a small amount of freedom in this restrictive world. I try imagining this abandoned place before the war. How many smiling faces could have called it home? Did they all end up lost and alone like me?

  Sometimes imagination and curiosity are great!

  …other times you’re the cat.

  When I spot two cryptic figures walking in the distance, I have to wonder how many lives I have left. The real trick is to assess their risk level without looking like a threat myself. A couple quick glances reveals the tall one in back is a stick-thin man. The other appears to be a much smaller woman buried beneath a bulky robe. She’s carrying a heavily worn burlap sack with their latest kill, and he clutches the weapon responsible for it. It appears to be nothing more than a small wooden bow with an almost empty quiver of arrows.

  Judging by the smell, their catch couldn’t be much larger than a rodent or squirrel. Maybe a few if they're lucky. Even though they look harmless, I would never risk trying to talk to them. They’re far more likely to shoot me dead than take a chance on some pointless conversation.

  I settle for a respectfully lowered head while cruising on by. Sadly, even going down-hill, my bike refuses to pass them quickly. Ol’ Red has one speed and it’s slow enough to take in every last detail of the mystery couple. He’s much larger than it appeared from up the road; standing at least 6'10” on an amazingly awkward frame. Hundreds of
sunspots cover his bald head from far too many days in a tree stand.

  His bow is of the home-made variety, and its simplistic construction probably contributes to their extra thin bodies. The woman is gently leading him along the side of the road. He seems unwillingly dependent on her gentle touch. Most likely because his vision is fading from some disease that would have been easily curable not long ago.

  The young lady, on the other hand, is almost the exact opposite. Her jet black hair peaks out to reflect the early morning sun like diamonds. By the look of it, her fair skin could be made from the purest poured milk. Despite her noticeable beauty, those bright green eyes are drowning in deep pools of sorrow. There’s genuine sadness rooted in every line of her face. My eyes struggle to watch as she grasps the bloody sack leaking crimson behind her. Someone so pure should never touch something so vile.

  Safe to say, she captivates me. Although, not in the way you might think. It’s not her raw beauty or tragic situation that haunts me. It’s how she looks through my soul in a way only one other person ever has. “Dru,” the name barely rolls off my staggered tongue. It’s a word that struggles to leave my trembling lips, and hurls me back into a life buried long ago. Before the uprising and vampire revolt. Before the world became nothing more than scattered Colonies ruled over by tyrants. These warlords are fueled only by an insatiable lust for power and greed. Fear is our true currency now.

  She forces me to remember what it was like to be a person, instead of the ghost I’ve become. Dru was the compass that always kept me sailing straight. She calmed my fears with a voice as warm as an August sunset. She was there for me, even though I didn’t have the maturity to appreciate it back then. She was my best friend, my confidant, my twin sister.

  I was born a human (as I suppose we all are) and enjoyed a very normal life in the gorgeous mountains of West Virginia. In fact, the dense trees here remind me of that magical place. They’re also a constant reminder of a time when forests were for playing, instead of killing.

  Of course I wasn’t always this monster. In fact, my life was probably quite similar to yours. My sister and I were a total surprise to our parents. I say “surprise” because we arrived almost a decade after they’d given up hope of having kids of their own. Mom was in her early 40's, and dad was already well past 50. I guess that unique perspective made them appreciate us even more.

  We lived a blessed life filled with cookies for Santa, roaring campfires, and competitive egg hunts in the back yard. It’s safe to say that my family were my biggest fans. They cheered me on from the stands as I rode the football bench every year. We were the stereotypical family: a dog, two cats, and purple bastard of a parakeet that bit me every time I walked near its cage. I had a normal job in a sporting goods store. Aisles 12-17 "Camping & Outdoors" were my domain. If little Johnny needed a sleeping bag, or you wanted to know the difference between nylon and canvas, I was your man. It was a simple life for a simple guy. I had a few friends that, in retrospect, were only people to surround myself with. But that’s what life was all about back then.

  Until everything came to a crashing halt on the evening of July 2, 2023. As cliché as it sounds, it happened by walking down the wrong dark alley, at the wrong damn time.

  It was a normal Saturday night for me. I had just closed down the local bar like every other twenty something I knew. A hard night of drinking, laughing, and flirting with anything that came within shouting distance had led me down the alley in search of my “lost” car. Now I’ll admit to being fuzzy to the details, but what I do remember has proven impossible to forget.

  There was a very pale, grizzled old man stumbling up the street towards me. Of course I didn’t think much of it at the time. After all, I was young, dumb, and drunk as all hell, but I could feel his penetrating stare burn right through me as he passed. It was a bitter poison that forcefully invaded every wrinkle of my inebriated soul. His pale blue eyes, hollow, sat inside a body so sickly that it was almost translucent. I’ll never forget how those long blue veins crawled along his forehead like burrowing worms.

  The last thing I recall was the stench of rotten flesh wafting off his heavy breath. He looked right at me just as my world went dark.

  My life was over.

  …Until it wasn’t.

  Chapter 2: Shovels & Dirt

  There are a few universal fears we all have. Terrors that have been the foundation of vivid nightmares and far too many bad Hollywood movies. But none are worse than the agony of waking up, trapped in a wooden box, buried six feet deep. I can personally guarantee that it's not as mind numbingly terrifying as you think.

  It’s far, FAR worse.

  You're engulfed in an ocean of the deepest black possible. While your body is trapped, your mind is free to conjure up the worst things imaginable. I had never experienced true helplessness until that exact instant. The most terrifying part was pushing against the wooden walls and feeling the weight of the cold earth pushing back.

  All my other senses were dead. My nose had become saturated by the stench of damp mud and stale air that had been buried along with me. Unlike those movies, there was no flashlight or matches to light the corners of my tiny tomb. There was nothing to see other than an endless void. All I knew, or cared about, was that I couldn't move and breathing was getting harder by the second. All that remained was my hysterical need to survive ─to escape.

  So I did what anyone would do; thrash about wildly, rip at everything within my confined reach, shout until my lungs burned and mouth went bone dry. Hell, I probably pissed myself. And, since every minute could’ve been measured in years, I can’t even tell you how long I was down there.

  My bloodied fingers eventually tore long enough to reach the impenetrable lid. I started pounding my forehead against the rigid wood in utter and complete desperation. Somehow, through the echoes of my own screams, a faint crumbling sound made its way to my ears. That was accompanied by several small clumps of moist dirt so I knew my writhing must have caused, at least, a small opening in the coffin.

  Turns out all my painful efforts had only created the tiniest of cracks, but that’s all I would need. From there my mind latched on to that glimmer of hope like a bulldog with a meaty bone. It brought with it an intense calm that allowed me to methodically bash against the lid, instead of just randomly thrash around. The more focused approach widened the gap enough to begin pulling dirt in with my hands. The idea was to make room for the hefty top to slide all the way open. Hopefully then I could burrow out like an anxious mole.

  This single-minded effort allowed me to efficiently repeat the process over, and over, and over again. Each time I would drag in another small fistful of mud to pack into the farthest corner. Hours of this tedious work had left only my face and one hand sticking out of the crammed dirt. Because I was completely out of room, and almost out of air, I once again unleashed all my bottled-up fears onto the unyielding ceiling. The fierce violence had orange fireworks exploding every time a fist landed on the splintering wood. Unfortunately, all my frantic work only freed up a few inches of space, but in my mind it had to be enough.

  And at first it was. My head and shoulders fit through easily. The rest was a different story… Squeezing them out required bending ribs so far inward that my heart would smack against them with every beat. Safe to say, I was totally unprepared for the amount of pain it would take to leave that hole.

  The first test came with the first snapped rib. The unexpected lightning bolt of pain caused me to bite off the tip of my tongue. To this day it’s still about a half-inch too short. Anyhow, the crippling pain made me want to give up and just die in that hole, but for some reason, didn’t. The way I saw it, I was already halfway between freedom and a torturous death, so my only choice was to spit out the little nub of tongue and prepare for the rest of the bones to break.

  Which they did.

  One.

  By.

  One.

  So many ribs snapped that it sounded like walking on
dead leaves. I don’t remember much about making it out, other than the feeling of being burned alive by invisible flames, but my body felt like it was literally set on fire! It couldn’t even comprehend that amount of pain. A hundred years later, and it’s still the second most painful experience of my life.

  Then, only seconds later, came the most painful experience when my air-starved lungs stretched back out. The damn empty sacks pushed the freshly crushed ribs right along with them. It felt as if someone ripped open my chest, replaced every organ with broken glass, and sealed it with hot lava. Worse yet, I couldn’t just stop breathing. The agonizing process had to be repeated every few seconds. Through it all, my stubborn legs never stopped pushing. My weary fingers flung dirt aside even as rocks cut large chunks from them. The farther I went up the narrow tunnel, the more the wet soil tried to collapse back in. Most of my energy was spent just trying to keep it from clogging my blood-filled mouth.

  However, nothing would stop me from finding the light again. I ripped, pulled, punched, and fought back the devil himself to be free from the tormenting hole. And when the moment finally arrived, I burst through that final dark barrier with a scream that must have shook the very pillars of heaven. It terrified even me as it echoed back off the distant mountains.

  My feet scrambled to immediately exit the messy pit. They slopped through the heavy mud and driving rain to be released from my self-desecrated grave. Then I stood there, triumphant, as the Gods welcomed me back with crackling voices. I watched their long glowing fingers stretch across the patchy grey sky. My mind craved to scream back at the raging storm. It wanted to declare my defiance to the angel of death and that menacing hole in the ground, but all my fragile body could do is fall face down into the sloppy mud.

  Wha… What had happened?

  Nothing seemed to work anymore. My arms had become unmovable slabs of concrete. Legs were fallen tree trunks. Even my face had somehow become permanently glued to the ground. Every ounce of life had somehow been left down in that hole! Merely flopping onto my back required Herculean effort!