Fallen Daughters: A Dark Romance

by Alta Hensley

  “Well it was worth a try,” Lettie said with a shrug of her rail-thin shoulders. “Then it must be on this side somewhere. My guess is deep within the city hidden somewhere.” She glanced toward the skyline of crumbling structures and jagged metal. “It’s good that it’s narrowed down for us.”

  “Maybe for you.” I glared. “You didn’t have to swim across the contaminated sludge to find out.”

  “I can’t swim, Hannah. You know this.”

  I rolled my eyes as I knelt down in the sand to catch what little strength I could. “Likely story.”

  Lettie kneeled down across from me, folding her arms as she watched me squeeze the filthy water from my bag. As soon as I unzipped it, the rotting smell of black mold jolted Lettie into a deep hacking cough.

  “Shit,” I whispered, wiping my clumped hair from my eyes. I had been a post-grad historian pre-The Itch, and I knew my once favorite book bag was now ruined. I remained silent for a long time, oddly mourning my bag. Suddenly, I ceased when I saw Lettie scratching her calf. Backing away fast, I pulled out an aerosol can and a Zippo lighter.

  She stared at me, stunned. My thumb twitched over the spark wheel.

  “I’ll do it. I mean it, Lettie.” It wouldn’t be the first person I had killed, and most certainly wouldn’t be the last. The world was ruthless. Kill or be killed—even if it was your friend.

  Lettie gawked at me, startled. “It’s just an itch.” Her eyes grew wider. “A real one! It’s not what you think. I’m not infected!”

  I didn’t believe a word. Trust equaled death, and I wasn’t about to die before I found The Church. “Show me.”

  After a moment’s pause, Lettie threw up her hands. I studied her cautiously as the woman dug out her penknife and made a small incision in her arm. Drops of red dribbled down to her wrist—not a single sign of foam.

  “There. Satisfied? See any foam in my blood?”

  Without making any sound at all, I stood to my feet. I helped Lettie up, hoping the simple action would act as enough of an apology.

  “I might have overreacted, but I had to be sure you weren’t infected. How am I supposed to know what happened when I was across the river? One of the scratchers could have gotten to you.”

  Lettie silently swiped her filthy hair away from her eyes and pocketed her penknife.

  “Come on, we need to find someplace to hide before nightfall,” I said as I glanced back at the blood once more, double-checking.

  I knew exactly what I was looking for. The symptoms. It was the middle of 2018 when it happened. As William told it, before he fell ill, July 27th, 2018 was just an ordinary day. A handful of people had come down with something in a part of Phoenix, Arizona, which then doubled the next week and quadrupled the week after. Whatever the illness was, it spread.

  By the end of six months, a record number of cases—people showing up with the symptoms—surpassed any calculated estimates by the CDC. It had never become real for me until it hit William, my fiancé. We both lived in Monterey, California. I lay in bed one evening with a glass of wine set beside me on the bedside table. William awoke in the middle of the night complaining of an achy body followed by itching.

  I had pressed my hands into his sweaty cheeks as he couldn’t stop darting his eyes. William screamed how he wanted to scratch his skin off. He licked his lips, urinated on himself and exhaled hard through his nose—there was something about him. He had hit me in my face, shoving me off of the bed. I had shuffled to the nearest corner. William did nothing but scratch fiercely up and down his arms.

  “Goddammit, don’t touch me! I’m burning,” he hollered as I moved toward him to somehow help.

  I had gotten to my feet and tried to reason with the man raging before me.

  “What’s wrong with you? Why are you acting so crazy?” I had pleaded, cupping the searing pain he had caused on my face.

  William pointed at me, his arms seeping a foamy blood through gnarled skin.

  “Don’t you fucking talk back to me! I’ll fucking beat you. Fuck you, and beat you again!”

  He charged at me, bumping the table and shattering my wine glass.

  “Yes, that’s it,” he hissed. “I’ll feel better if I fuck you. If I can cum inside of you and release some of this… this energy and rage.”

  Pushing me onto the bed, I knew my night t-shirt and panties weren’t going to be enough to prevent him from doing exactly as he planned with ease. William yanked down my panties enough so he could thrust his finger into my pussy. There was no ease, no caress, no William. This was not the man I knew. This was a man becoming a monster as he finger fucked me against my will. His eyes dilated more as he continued to force his finger, and then a second, and then a third inside of me. His aggressive attack was stretching me too far, and I worried that if he didn’t stop soon, he would tear me.

  “William, you’re hurting me. It’s too much.”

  Did he hear me? Did he care?

  As if he were in some sort of horrific trance, he continued to pump his digits in and out of my hole as his body convulsed on top of me.

  “William…”

  “Talk to me again and I’ll end y—”

  He closed his eyes, clutched his chest tight, and collapsed backwards on the bed. I fumbled with pulling up my panties as I then wedged two fingers on his neck. I felt only a faint pulse. Keeping my hand there, I dialed the police.

  I needed help. I needed help now. William… my William.

  In a split second, William bore down his weight on me and wrapped his hands around my neck. The phone slipped out of my hand, and William crushed my neck so hard I couldn’t speak or breathe. I struggled, kicking and silently screaming, pounding my arms on the mattress. I stared into his half-crazed eyes, and knew I would die that night unless I did something.

  The man, damn near choking the life out of me, was not my fiancé.

  I didn’t want to do it.

  I really didn’t want to do it.

  But I had no choice.

  I grabbed a broken shard of glass and stabbed William’s neck. He slumped on top of me. I pulled his death-grip from my neck. As soon as I turned away, I heard noises from my window. I walked toward it wordless as a panic-stricken glow of sweat drenched my face.

  A throng of people swarmed the streets, blood frothing out of their open wounds from scratching. Children were snatched from cars, and women were mowed down by diseased mobs. An explosion blast in the distance, followed by screams. Glass windows shattered and strewn all over the streets. I knew in that moment, it was the beginning of the end.

  Lettie and I cautiously walked the littered street. I had never been to this part of the city, but my new friend, Lettie, had a plan.

  We had found each other by accident. Lettie was pinned down by a knife-wielding “scratcher”. I coldcocked it in the jaw and broke its neck, adding it to my list of kills.

  “So, what exactly is this place—The Church—you’ve been talking about?” I asked.

  “We’ll be there soon enough,” Lettie replied. “I can feel it. We’ve checked everywhere, and I’m almost positive it’s in the middle of the city. Only fools would go there, so it’s the perfect hiding spot.”

  It struck a chord with me sometimes, Lettie’s secrecy, because I didn’t like to be in the dark. Back at the start, before we had met, I had been a homeless drifter tramping from one derelict building to the next overgrown freeway underpass. I knew any day I walked the earth alive, as opposed to a raging infected, was a good day to say the least. In this new world, hopes had to be small. Everything from finding water and to finding a hole to hide in was a miracle. I rejoiced if I slept more than three hours at a time, before I convulsed in a panic. I had been told of this place that could help put us out of our misery and go to a better place. A mythical place that would help us find salvation. Where we would not be in forever damnation. We would not become a scratcher for all eternity. Yes, I had heard of the place to which we were headed. Lettie called it The Church.


  Only problem was that I was not a believer.

  Not convinced.

  I was a sinner.

  “Did they give you a name of a person? Or anything?” I asked.

  Lettie nodded. “Father Dane. Ask for Father Dane, is what I was told. I’m telling you, I’ve heard this place has hot running water, the whole nine. It’s the answer to our prayers… if you pray.”

  As for Lettie’s life, I didn’t know what made her tick or who she was before all hell broke loose. I never thought it was my place to ask. Did it really matter? What mattered was what we were right now.

  Survivors.

  The lucky ones.

  Or were we?

  Living was not living anymore. Anything would be better. Death would be better.

  That was where The Church came in.

  Lettie brushed loose hair behind her ears as I grabbed her shoulder to lend her much needed support as she waivered side to side. I could see that Lettie barely had any energy left.

  “We can take a five and then keep going,” I reassured her.

  “Was I really that obvious?” she asked.

  I pointed at an abandoned gas station nearby. Though it was almost dark, we both found it the best time to trek. Scratchers seemed to be around at noon and at midnight. Some even called The Itch, The Cinderella Disease. Something about 12:00 fueled their fire.

  The metal door of the gas station slid open easily enough. I held it and allowed Lettie to shuffle inside. Plastic wrappers crunched under our feet. Clearly, the place had already been raided of anything useful, not that I expected anything different. We both dropped down in front of a refrigerated display case. Lettie’s head already started falling in a deep nod, and she was close to passing out. I was too exhausted to sleep, if there ever was such a thing. Just as Lettie’s eyes started to flutter close, we both heard a clanging rattle on the sheet metal door.

  I held a single finger to my lips and tightly gripped Lettie’s penknife out of her hand. I held my breath like a hiccup in her chest. I eyed Lettie as she sat upright in terror against the wall.

  “Let me in! Hurry and let me in!” We both heard from a muffled voice from the outside. Scratchers don’t speak. They were only able to scream in shrill guttural tones once they were fully changed.

  It happened fast. I shoved open the door, and the stranger raced in and swung her back on the safety of the wall. Before I could slam the door with a fast bang, a high-pitched moan pierced my ears. We all froze and then covered our ears with our hands.

  “Goddamnit! You drew them right to us,” I hissed between clenched teeth.

  The woman stood beside me to help keep the door closed.

  “It’s not safe anymore here, we need to go,” I whispered to Lettie who still remained huddled against the wall in fright.

  “Lettie,” I snapped. “Get it together.”

  Fear was a luxury.

  Luxuries were destroyed by the monsters of our world.

  Snapping out of her momentary terror, Lettie stood up and nodded in agreement. “Let’s go. Fast.”

  Almost paralyzed with fear, I pulled back and kicked the handle to the door with all of my weight. It remained stuck for what felt like endless minutes. Until finally, a low-pitched creak echoed from the hinges of the door.

  “Run!” I called out to the girls.

  A head full of snapping teeth thrust right for my neck. I reared back. The scratcher’s drool curdled down its maw like a thick black gravy. I shambled away, walloping the scratcher with a chunk of dead wood I picked up near my feet. I needed to give the girls time to get away.

  It grunted, wildly clawing bleeding grooves in my arms. I slammed at its head again. Bits of brain and jellied blood sprayed on my lips. I pushed the brain-crushed scratcher away with a manic guttural sound. Glancing over my shoulder, other scratcher marched right for me. If I didn’t run to join Lettie and the other girl soon, scratchers would surround me as blood oozed from their shredded flesh.

  I ran as fast as I could. I was faster than Lettie, and I could bet I was faster than the other girl, so I allowed them a head start. But now was the time to survive. I had to look out for myself and couldn’t hold back the scratchers any longer.

  A roar of ear-splitting screams echoed in the distance. Shadows skittered across the street behind us. We ran like we always ran. Never a day went by that I didn’t run.

  I was done running. I was ready for The Church. I was ready. Sinner or not, I was fucking ready.

  “Hurry, inside,” Lettie yelled. She held up a manhole cover in her hand near a fire hydrant forever not to be used again. The woman we didn’t know got in first and then me. Lettie dropped the heavy iron cover and let it slam shut.

  Running was over.

  Now we hide like rats.

  Running or hiding. That was my life.

  I was ready for The Church.

  37

  Deliver them now from every evil.

  As it was now, three survivors stood apart in the damp sewers. The foul stench of festering human waste had tears welling up in my eyes. Lettie hit the back of her flashlight with the palm of her hand. She held it steady in the stranger’s face. I charged this woman fast with Lettie’s penknife plunged right into the woman’s neck.

  “Who the hell are you? What were you thinking? You led them right to us!” I hissed.

  “Let me explain.” The woman lifted her eyebrows and looked down at the penknife jabbed in her throat.

  I stepped back with my hands at my sides.

  “My name’s Mia,” she said, inhaling a deep breath.

  “Well, Mia, you are lucky I’m not killing you for putting our lives at risk just to save your ass,” I said. I motioned for Lettie to follow me down the sewer.

  Mia furrowed her eyes confused. “You mean you’ll just leave me down here, alone?”

  “You aren’t my problem,” I said with not even a shred of sympathy. Baggage was heavy, and my shoulders could no longer bear the weight.

  “Wait,” Mia said quickly. “What if I told you where I was headed?”

  I didn’t care to listen any further, and I knew Lettie would follow suit. I turned my back to the woman and began to walk.

  “Listen to me! There’s a place called The Church. There’s food and water there. There is also a way to change everything as we know it. A man by the name of Father Dane has a way of leading the chosen few to another place. An afterlife. A place where we don’t have to be one of the scratchers forever! There’s hope! And I know where that hope is! I’ll take you there if we can stick together. I’m too scared to go through the city and go there alone.”

  Not even seconds passed before I spun on my heels and replied, “You’re lying. You just don’t want to be a free lunch for scratchers. We’ve all heard of The Church. I don’t believe you know where it is.”

  It would have ended there, before Lettie asked the next question. “Where is it?”

  “I’ll take you to it,” Mia answered quickly. “I was traveling with someone,” she looked down at her hands for a minute, “before he got The Itch, and he told me exactly how to get there. The street names and everything.”

  I crossed my arms against my chest, getting more annoyed by the minute.

  Mia added with heavy desperation lacing her tone, “It’s a chance to get off the infested street. Away from this life. Don’t you get it? Crossing over to an afterlife with the hand of Father Dane is the way out. It’s not death. Or at least not the way most think of death. It’s our salvation. True salvation.”

  Lettie pulled me to her left, and we huddled in a corner. “This is it,” Lettie whispered. “She knows where The Church is.”

  I shook my head. By now, I knew not to place much stock in false hopes. “What? You’re just going to take this girl at her word? You actually think this make-believe place exists? And even if The Church exists, do you really think there is some better afterlife of some sort to go to?”

  Lettie nodded. “We have not
hing to lose to find out.”

  “This is insane. There is no place called The Church. It’s most likely a trap or some sick and twisted sex house where we will be tortured and eventually killed or something.”

  “What’s the plan then, Hannah? We run, and then what? Run until we starve or until we get infected? Just admit it, we’re running mighty low on options.”

  I knew Lettie had a point, but she also knew nothing of Mia or her true intentions.

  “The screams,” Mia uttered, noticing the silence near the sewer hatch. “They’re gone.”

  No question about it, I was putting myself at risk by even talking to Mia, though I’d risked my life for much less. I didn’t want to do any deep decision-making right then and there.

  “We need to lay low for awhile,” I said, announcing to them both. “I’ll decide where we’re going tomorrow.”

  Lettie leaned in and whispered, “I want to go. We’ve ran out of options, and this place is all we got.”

  I nodded. “Fine.” I looked at Mia and then back at Lettie. “Tomorrow we head to The Church. I just hope we don’t regret this.”

  I stepped into a puddle on the damp, stone floor, my bare feet touching the dank, muddy water. Filth wasn’t new to me, to the point where I didn’t flinch. I just walked straight through the muck. Around me, hopeful women moved down the hallway of The Church, terror mixed with excitement blanketed their faces. Hushed whispers echoed off the concrete walls. It almost appeared as if they were walking into a dungeon… hopefully not to their doom.

  After only a couple of hours, and with Mia’s help, we fairly easily found this mysterious place. Being escorted down the main hallway to the intake area set warning bells off inside of me. Blindly going to an unknown place wasn’t the wisest way to survive in this world, but Lettie was right when she said we didn’t have much of a choice. At least ten other women were with us, revealing that word had spread throughout the infested city. The Church gave hope to the women who barely hung on.