Dusk Territories: Always Burning

by Munden, Deston

  “Ten more.” The command was swift and low, almost as though he was whispering it. That was worse. He didn’t need oxygen, he could yell from sundown to sunset of each day. Calmness, that sudden break from the barking, just to glare with his once-dark eyes felt more unnerving. To appear both disinterested and disappointed in her was worse; inside, he saw how similar she was to him.

  Rachael curled her lips, nervously staring at Juvenico and Raleigh as they worked through their last few. She took a deep breath in, giving herself small words of motivation. “You can do this. If they can do this you can,” he heard her say to herself. She took a deep breath, pushing down her weight up and down again. “Nine”. She continued, counting down.

  Graham didn’t say a word, just crossed his arms.

  She made it to five more.

  He watched her push herself, just a little harder. These last few were the hardest. Every part of your body is screaming in pain, ready to buckle against your will. But that same willpower was something that could make a person. No matter the pain and no matter what your body said wasn’t possible, you had to make it. Not just for you, but for the people that you cared about. Five, Four….Three. She stopped. “Two more,” he reminded her, as the rest of the group proceed to cool downs.

  “I—“

  A fire almost swept through his body, knowing what word was next.

  “I can’t.”

  “You will.”

  Rachael stared up at him, rays of sunlight shining bright behind his head. She probably couldn’t even see his face. “Why do you want this,” Graham beckoned to her.

  “To handle myself.” She swallowed her pain, forcing one more push up.

  “And why do you want it?”

  Pain swelled up her arms to the point of straining. “To protect the people that I care about,” she declared.

  “Wood, Crisium, and Heron aren’t always going to be there. Your friends, your family is going to depend on you to protect them from this world. And this world doesn’t like the weak, it never did. So…are you weak?”

  Graham watched the final one, pushing the smile away from his lips. It was weaker than her last few, but she had made it and finally collapsed with a small puff of dust and sand. A smile stayed on her face, her body drenched in sweat.

  “We’re done for today. We’ll start again tomorrow.” He turned on his heels, marching away from the battered group. He allowed the smile to appear on his face, no matter how twisted or sinister it may appear to others. Haggis and Pub was the only two men that properly saw how proud he was, yet both of the men didn’t say a word. They just nodded appreciatively.

  Everyone knew that he was the type of person they needed on the caravan.

  _

  The amount of skill it took to pursue was abysmal. It really was. River had taken a great pleasure in doing so.

  Drifter’s Caravan was something of a commodity with the threads of loose civilization left. More often than not, at least three or so people in a village knew the current whereabouts of the man and goods. These people were usually very loyal, and equally tight lipped. Most of them would rather die than betray the Drifter. The very thought of that dedication was hilarious.

  She had found a woman, a middle age hideous thing that was rumored to know the Drifter’s location. It was easy to convince her to taken in for the night with precious eyes and pleas for food. Before long, she was sitting at her table, eating horrendously made potato stew and hearing about this woman’s poor day. She didn’t realize how bad her day was going to be. Not at that time at least.

  River played at first, filling in her part. She even managed to bring up the topic of the wandering mini-army with relative ease. But the woman, Stella or something of that nature wouldn’t truly budge. She would dance around the topic or change it all together. The first hour was cute. River watched in amusement as the dedication to protect worked against her better judgment. The second hour, however, wasn’t so amusing. The woman bored her.

  As much as she wanted to be patient with that ogre of a woman, the urge for fun soon trumped that. River had taken a fork that the stupid woman carelessly left in her reach, and plunged it within the woman’s gullet. Of course, River didn’t allow her to yell; she had already leaped upon her and closed her mouth with her hand. Little by little, she had fun with the woman. She bit her, stabbed her, and burned her with the wick of the candle, all in which gave glorious sounds of pain from her muffled lips.

  River had allowed her to speak, threatening her not to scream. The fat hippo pleaded to save herself from her obvious doom. She gave the information that she wanted, and even the place that the Drifter was going. She was quite cooperative after the torture; it had loosened her tongue to almost slickness. She deserved a reward, a nice one. So, River gave her what she thought was the best thing to give her.

  Death.

  It was a glorious one. One that people would talk about. She imagined that that’s the best sort of reception that ugly rhino could ever get. River was a Demon, and enjoyed her power probably more than anyone. She had used it on the woman after she had squealed. All that was left by the end was a few of the woman’s teeth, the only real good looking thing about her. They now adorned her neck, just the accessory she needed.

  River giggled at the thought.

  But back to business. She now watched in the cold of night, observing the caravans roll in the direction of the Boneyard. She had thought about an attack. Ragnar, seething and foamed mouth (adorable as it was), waited impatiently for a cue to go. River just wanted to enjoy the view, wait, and learn more about this creepy corpse man. She had learned that his name was David Graham, some military type. She also learned he was so virtuous that it almost made her vomit a few times. It—he—amused her. Some much in fact that she was willing to cut them off before the Boneyard to see what he was really capable of.

  It’s going to be a great time. Fantastic even, she thought. She rolled around in the dirt, teeming with excitement. What made Graham work, what made him tick. The burning question being how was he alive? Did he have a soul, was it tasty? Was he delicious? She would find out. River always did.

  River gave a small smile, lying on her back and staring at the stars. A presence was nearby, a familiar one. She tried to stop the giggles. This person only made the chuckles worse. After only a moment, she knew who it was. “Oh Celine, you are horrible at hide-and-go seek. You must have had a horrible childhood being caught first all the time.”

  Celine stepped from a cloud of white mist. “River,” she said coldly.

  The smaller girl sprung to her feet to view the white mistress. “Forgive me if I don’t remember this correctly, but didn’t you swear to kill me.” River feigned looking up and down Celine as though she was searching for something. “Then where’s the noose? Or did you misplace it?”

  “I didn’t misplace it; I’m just choosing where to hang you.”

  The two women stared at each other, preparing for an altercation.

  “Alas, you have a place in the grand scheme of things, River. I’m keeping you alive until you fulfill that. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “You act like you have a choice.”

  They stared at each other, the air itself becoming stagnant with their power. Demon usually fought in hell. These had the pleasure of fighting on Earth. Nothing truly became of their show of force. Only thoughts that neither of them truly wanted to pursue. Not yet. There was a time and place for everything.

  “Did you come here to threaten me? You aren’t doing a fine job at that.”

  “On the contrary this time,” Celine said, waving her hand to stop the power rippling from her body, “I’m here to give you a warning. Stay away from the Boneyard. If you know better, you will.”

  River raised her eyebrow, leaning in. “What are you warning me against?”

  “You are underestimating the power of the Drifter’s forces. Wood and Graham are both dangerous. But there is
another player, and that man will have no qualms in killing you. You need to be alive to see the end of this—as much as I loathe that is so.”

  The warning was cold and uncaring, but oddly legitimate. If River cared enough, she would have listened. Alas, it was headed through one ear and out of the other.

  “Are you done yet because I have a tip?”

  Celine frowned, cocking her head a little. A white kitten was what she reminded River of.

  River continued, “Before you start playing God, you should check if you have a pointed tail first. You have sins, Celine. It’s better that you give in and enjoy yourself than pretend to correct them” The normal look of bliss and murderous pleasure drained from River’s round face. “I know. Oh, yes, I know Celine Collette.”

  “You speak in ignorance, and you will remain in that same ignorance.” Celine grabbed the side of her cloak, emphasizing her point. “Heed my warning if you listen to nothing else.” She didn’t wait nor expect a response. The white mist returned. It drifted near her and soon enveloped her with its long, lissome arms. Not even her scent remained.

  “She really needs to stop wasting her breath,” River thought jovially out loud. Nothing was going to stop her from having a good time.

  8

  Premise

  Premise is the foundation of everything, the general basics behind a solution. But one needs clues to figure out a mystery. This time, the world was the victim. Now, we have to figure out who started this and why.

  He hadn’t eaten in a couple of days or so.

  The realization of that struck Graham with a dull thunder in the back of his head. He was off guard duty for today, staying in a small truck. One man, a gaunt fellow nicknamed Drum, had offered his RV as payment for the protection he had been giving. He would have taken this beaten truck since he had been driving it all this time; his wife drove the RV in his stead. Graham had refused. This was nice enough even after he heard the story. His living quarters once belonged to a man who was now dead and ironically given to another dead man before that. Death was the only one that inherited this truck and lived. That’s why he took it.

  A bunk and a small stand stood in the gutted trunk. Above him was a roof made of some metalwork and a few patchwork textiles. There wasn’t a lot of space. Even as a shorter man, Graham could only stand hunched within his home. There was some sort of minimalist comfort to it all. It’s still a nice place to think, his mind reminded him as he sat back.

  Though the caravan was warming up to him as a person, it still didn’t feel right. For him, it didn’t feel like home. For them, he was an odd jigsaw puzzle. A man could be good on his own, but things could make him grow mad. People tended to forget themselves in bad situations.

  That was especially the case when a man hungers for flesh.

  Graham hadn’t told them yet, not out of secrecy. The words just dissolved in his mouth. It was, however, a problem that would eventually arise. Wording it made the whole process that much more difficult. What exactly could he say: “I have to eat something living or I won’t be satisfied?” If someone or something had told them that, he would have shot them between the eyes, especially if they could harm the rest of the group.

  He frowned. But, it had to be done. He would need food, preferably before he met with the recruits for marksmanship training. Frustration usually dominated any better choice. Knowing him, frustration would happen. So it has to be tonight then.

  Springing up from his bunk, Graham roamed around his nearly pitch black space crouched. It was still night time, midnight or 1 o’clock at the most. Night vision with these eyes was extraordinary. That didn’t mean finding his boots were any easier, and decided ultimately to just forego them in search for his knife and pistol, which he found much easier on the stand. He slipped through to the front seat and out of the door soundlessly.

  A fist of warm air whipped him in the face as he stepped out. Humidity clung to it, kept company only by heavy inhales from the night’s patrol. They were nearing their destination, a hot-spot in the Dusk Territories. From what he had heard, Florida was almost impossible to tread due to radiation, but worse the scorching heat. That heat would travel north thus creating the Boneyard. Graham had half expected it to be made of wastelands and jungles, like he had saw in North and South Carolina. The world aimed to prove him wrong again.

  The Georgia border was more like a savanna with hill sides and large lakes. At points, it had appeared that parts of the land were just bitten off, revealing pools of water. Brown blades of grass were halfway as tall as the trucks themselves. Both of the tanks were equipped to handle this situation, modified with long knife-edges to cut through the vegetation. Drifter was prepared for almost any situation and environment.

  For a few moments, Graham soaked in this moonlight-covered world. Things felt different. He heard almost everything around him: footsteps, fluttering insect wings, rushing of water, heartbeats, …blood in the veins. The last one’s new, he thought. His mind started to wander. None of the other sounds mattered. His insides stirred, mind caught in a web. He only looked straight ahead. The sound. Why hadn’t he noticed this before?

  “Hey, Gra—“

  The words didn’t hit him at first, echoing in his eardrums. The sound.

  “Graham, something—“

  Still he heard next to nothing, just blurred sound as he stared into the distance. That sound, you want it said a small voice in the back of his head. You want it and want to tear it apart.

  “Graham! Something’s wrong?”

  Nothing’s wrong. Nothing. Just hungry as all. You can’t tell them that.

  You have to eventually, why not now? His conscious seemed to answer. Do you not trust them? Don’t you not trust yourself?

  Graham shook off his trance, and snapped his attention to Crisium. The woman’s yellow eyes flashed in the darkness as she stared down. He only saw her mouth moving, no words. His brow furrowed, visions splitting. She cocked her head to the side, much like the wolf she was. “You okay?” He heard that one. She was expecting a response.

  “I’m going out for a walk,” he responded, hurryingly.

  Crisium frowned, arching an eyebrow.

  “Need some company?”

  “No.”

  At first, Graham had half expected her to come anyway just to spite him. It was in the way that she stood. The woman pressed her submachine gun on her shoulder, giving him a long stare. She narrowed her eyes, taking small steps forward towards the edge of the truck. Finally, she gave a smile. “You don’t know what the hell is out there, be careful.”

  “I’ll be back within the hour. If not, search for me.”

  “Nah. I’m not. Don’t come back in an hour, I’ll just consider ya a dumbass for not listening.”

  Graham put on a sly expression, battling his true indecisiveness. “Don’t you worry your head off while I’m gone.” He loaded his pistol and moved the knife into a more accessible location. “Anything I should know before heading out?”

  “Nope, just mutant animals are a bitch to kill.”

  Beastmaster’s fight still fresh in his mind had taught him that. “Noted.”

  Advice taken, Graham chose a reasonable direction and headed towards it. The mask of camaraderie dropped, leaving only a hunter’s thirst. He would have to find something. Once he had it, he’ll rip it open. You can’t stop your nature. Not when you were human, not when you are this. He couldn’t prove his conscious wrong.

  _

  Stalk. Shadow. Hunt.

  A million words described what he was doing now. All that mattered was that he was doing it.

  Graham had allowed himself at least a quarter of a mile away before he gave into his body’s drives. It was frightening at first. A large part of his body just yearned to a painful thirst. Soon, he allowed himself to become accustomed to the thought, to adapt. Most men would fight the urge to keep all threads of humanity. However, Celine’s words stung in the back of
his mind. If he fought it, he could die. Worse, if he fought hard enough, a lot more people could die.

  So he had to learn, even if it scared him more than anything in his life could.

  Intuitively, he had gone into a crawl. Fingers and toes were firmly in the mud. Bulky dragonflies and mutated mosquitoes flew over his head, fighting vigorous and violent battles. There were worms as long as snakes and beetles larger than his fist had taken residence in mud beside and under him. He had felt them, felt their life. They would never do, I need something bigger.

  He found it.

  Blood dripped from his fingers, oozing from the sides of his mouth that he couldn’t quite chew on in his madness. The weapons that he had carried were almost next to useless in his hunt. The pistol had been used to weaken it, slow it down. Swiftness of his body took the rest. Blood stirred the darkness in him. Plans for the knife went straight out of the window.

  Now, he sat cross-legged, almost uncomfortably satisfied with the bear’s throbbing intestines in his mouth. He swallowed, feeling the hunger reel back like a fisherman’s line. Graham greedily licked his lips clean of blood. I shouldn’t be doing this. Being eaten alive, with no true chance of a fight, was a doom no creature wanted. The thought should have saddened him. Nothing. He felt nothing.

  Survival became his favorite word. It kept him company and tucked him in. It was a word that he had learned too well, and used too often. The meaning of his existence at this very moment boiled to it. He didn’t have a reason to be here.

  He had, in fact, been going through the motion of it all. Drifter had accepted him, for one reason or another. Orders came and gone and he did them. Words and sights would enter his head. Nothing compared to what he lost. His memories barely produced anything in his head, but he still missed the Marines. Everything he had ever wanted, everything that he had ever been, taken from him, by…