Trail of Blood

by Michael McBride

  Pestilence and Famine emerged from the stairwell to the roof at his silent summons, assuming their positions at his either hand. Mosquitoes sang in anticipation from beneath Pestilence’s parchment skin. They crawled eagerly out from between her lips, from her nostrils, from the corners of her eyes, and formed a writhing skein over her cloaked visage. Wriggling welts rose on Famine’s ghostly face, contorting his features as though he were boiling. His sister’s spindly, sharp-stingered familiars had drawn blood from every available life form, except one, while his locusts had mutated the genetic patterns of the corpses that remained.

  Death turned from the burning mountains as the smoke finally shrouded them from view, and faced his brother and sister of the apocalypse. His glowing reptilian eyes morphed from gold to the color of blood, and a hiss slipped from behind his clenched teeth.

  As one, Pestilence and Famine buckled backwards, spines arched inhumanly. Their feet rose from the ground and they began to convulse in midair. Mouths snapping open wide enough to dislocate their mandibles, both issued a screaming sound like steam from twin ruptured valves. Millions of insects fired into the air above them in swirling vortices, the high-pitched humming and buzzing so loud even the girders beneath vibrated. The insect-driven tornadoes spun faster and faster, pushing back the smoke until the chitinous bodies reached up into the stratosphere, their masters snapping like whips.

  Death spread his claws and brought his arms out to either side. He craned his neck back to see into the roiling heart of the swarming bugs that appeared to bind his tower to the heavens. He released a hiss from his barrel chest and clapped his hands together in front of him with the sound of thunder. The twin funnels slammed together, and the whirling mass of mosquitoes collided with the locusts. Stingers pierced exoskeletons and brown spew filled the air, raining down onto the three horsemen. The hum and buzz of so many wings crackled like lightning, until the frenetic motion ceased, their diminutive bodies falling from the sky. Carcasses descended as hail, covering the roof and littering the street below.

  Death knelt, even that slight movement eliciting the crunching of chitin. He scooped a handful of dead insects from the mat into his palm and stood again to inspect the carnage. The locusts still had their golden wings spread, unable to close with the mosquitoes clamped onto their backs, stingers buried into their thoraces. Neither species moved, their bodies drenched with the brown locus sludge that now dripped from between Death’s fingers. He waited patiently, the smoke once again closing in around him now that there were no more wings to stir it. Tiny legs tickled his scales before he saw the first signs of change. The locusts swelled from within as though forming so many chrysalises, and the much smaller mosquitoes popped out and fell to the ground. The formerly brown and gold shells cracked and a pasty mess oozed out, the exoskeletons folding open like baked potatoes. An ochre fluid spilled out, revealing small bluish-green balls, which began to slowly fold open as an armadillo might. Long, slender wings peeled back and the elongated tails that had been wrapped around them unfurled to their full length. Six appendages, three to either side of the abdomen, reached out from where they’d been pinned. The film over their minuscule eyes slid away to reveal reflective black orbs. A subtle buzzing sound rose first from his hand, and then from everywhere around him.

  One at a time, they rolled over to right themselves, leaving behind the refuse of their former shells. The wings shivered as though testing the new mechanics, but wasted no time in rising up into the air.

  Death cast aside the remainder of the carcasses with a slap of fluids and studied the new breed that hovered right in front of his face, perfectly still and aloft in hummingbird fashion. They looked remarkably like dragonflies, but rather than straight abdominal segments, they were curled under like scorpion stingers in reverse, thrusting and stabbing with small hooked barbs. The night came to life with them, all hovering there with stabbing stingers in a demonic still life of a snowstorm.

  His heavily scaled lips drew wide in a reptilian mockery of a smile. He turned to face Famine and Pestilence, who were both covered from head to toe with a seething skin of these new arthropods as though trying to find their way back into their former homes. His brother and sister knew what he wanted them to do, so they raised their arms up to the black sky. The insects followed, flying upward into a swirling turquoise cyclone that constricted in upon itself before exploding outward. The churning smoke thinned at the behest of so many wings, and the swarming creatures flew away in every direction.

  Death trod through the mess of carcasses to the edge of the roof and watched what were now so many dots vanish against the backdrop of the western horizon, blending in with the blue mountaintops. As soon as they were out of sight, the smoke closed in again.

  Now all that remained was to wait for his prey to come to him. There were still preparations to be made, but soon…soon the last remaining human blood would soak into the scorched earth.

  VII

  Mormon Tears

  MARE ARCHED HIS BACK TO STRETCH THE ACHING MUSCLES, PRESSING ON the points of pain to either side of his spine between his hips. Catching himself, he dropped his arms and stood straight. It was an exercise he had seen his father perform hundreds of times before, and the last thing in the world he wanted to remember right now was his old man. Even worse was the prospect of becoming like him, if only in such a superficial way. He was simply going to have to allow his weary body to ache.

  They had just planted the final grave marker on the shore, but all that accomplished was creating a greater sense of unease. It wasn’t the six marble guardians standing sentry over the mounded sand that so unnerved him, but rather the two at the very end that lorded over nothing, evenly spaced like all of the others as though biding their time until their eternal charges were finally entrusted to their care. None of them dared to speak of it. Everything they did seemed to have a secondary motive, so eight tombstones for six graves didn’t surprise anyone, though no one wanted to know which of them would be laid to rest beneath the shadows of the open-armed Christ and the Holy Mother with the child cradled in her lap. None chose to ponder the significance of the choice of headstones.

  “Where’s Jill?” he asked the moment the revelation struck him. She had been out there with them when they had rushed to meet the truck, but now that he stopped to think about it, he hadn’t seen her since.

  “I…don’t know,” Adam said. He had dropped to the ground in sheer exhaustion. Evelyn sat beside him, holding his hand on her thigh, leaning her head against his shoulder. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Jill either. He should have known. He was responsible for each and every one of them, if only to himself.

  Mare could see his sister off in the cave, slumped against the rock wall with her face in her hands as though dozing. Ray and his shadow Jake were in there as well, sharing a bag of Cheetos. Phoenix had taken off his shoes and stood barefoot in the shallows, looking glassy-eyed to the east, which he had begun doing more and more frequently.

  “Jill!” Mare shouted, drawing all eyes to him. Adam rose and stood beside him, scanning the beach beneath the starlight. “Jill!”

  A distant voice, the words so small they blended with the wind, answered from the north.

  “Thank God,” Mare gasped. He struck off running up the beach, past Phoenix on his right and the cave to his left, shunting the pain in his back and shoulders. Oblivious to everything around him except the invisible spot in the darkness where he imagined Jill’s voice had originated.

  After what felt like an eternity of sprinting, his legs threatening to betray him and send him sprawling, he saw her shadowed form sitting on the sand. Her arms were wrapped around her legs and her chin rested on her knees. She acknowledged him with a wan smile before turning back to the lake and staring off toward the horizon. Starlight glimmered from the tears on her cheeks.

  He wanted to be mad at her, wanted to make sure she knew how badly she had scared him, but instead, he sat down beside her, joining he
r in staring off toward the point where the black horizon met with the barely indistinguishable blue line of the lake. This was where he had found her that first morning at Mormon Tears, away from the others with April and Darren. He was certain that was of no small significance.

  “Hi,” he finally whispered.

  She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands and looked at him, holding his gaze for a moment before leaning against his shoulder and turning back to the inland sea. They sat in silence, only the wind whispering along the stony eaves of the mountain. He had so many questions, but the last thing he needed was to drive the wedge further between them.

  The others had gathered down the beach and were watching them to make sure everything was all right. Mare reassured them with a wave, though he was unsure if they could even see the gesture.

  “I had another vision,” Jill said, breaking the long silence.

  Mare nodded and waited for her to continue, not wanting her to feel pressured.

  “Everything was black. Burned. Ash filled the sky like snow. I was looking through some kind of doorway. You were there. Shouting words I couldn’t hear over some sort of rumbling sound. Behind you there was…there was a black man. Not his skin color, but all of him…just black. And he was on fire. The flames weren’t burning him, but growing from him. Does that make sense? Getting taller and taller as he approached. You turned back to face him and I heard myself scream. I…I…” Her words trailed into soft crying.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “There’s no rush.”

  “I don’t…I don’t want to lose you.”

  She turned her face toward him, but couldn’t meet his gaze. He reached for her and gently raised her chin.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “You couldn’t lose me if you tried.”

  He didn’t know he was going to kiss her until their lips had already met. She didn’t pull away. His fingers traced the line of her cheek, absorbing her tears. Her arms slid beneath his and wrapped around his back, his skin tingling wherever they touched. Her lips parted and the tip of his tongue grazed hers. The air around them became electric.

  After a moment that was simultaneously too short and eternal, she drew away, yet their eyes lingered.

  “I love you, Jill,” he whispered.

  She smiled, though the tears continued to flow.

  “You swear?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “I love you, too,” she said, pulling away from him and standing.

  He didn’t want her to leave, almost cried out for her not to.

  She extended her hand toward him. He took it and looked up into her face. Even with her hair tangled by the wind and the dampness glistening on her face, she was breathtaking.

  Jill guided him to his feet and turned not in the direction of the cave, but in the opposite direction entirely. There was a part of her that had succumbed to the visions her Goshute ancestor had shared. Maybe it had been her more recent vision of the flaming man coming for Mare and her, the promise of death in the air, which had stirred her emotionally. All she knew was that she loved him. Lord only knew what the future held. Maybe He had allowed her spotted glimpses of it, but the majority still clung to the shadows of uncertainty. Life held no guarantees; living was in the moment. Maybe her lot was to sacrifice her life to bring her un-conceived child into the world. Maybe his was to die at the hands of the fiery black figure, but neither had yet come to pass. This was the here. The now. And the only thing that made any semblance of sense was that she loved him, and regardless of how hard she had been trying to push him away, he loved her too. And he would stay by her side until the end. Whatever and whenever that may be.

  “Jill,” he whispered, slowing and causing her to turn.

  “Shhhh.” She pulled him along with a soft tug and led him farther along the shoreline beneath the sparkling stars. Away from everyone else, where they could be alone. Where they could be together.

  She thought she heard the distant cry of a lone white falcon, but saw nothing in the darkness.

  And in the warm glow of the moon and the cool wind that prickled their bare flesh, they took full advantage of the moment as only young lovers could, and in doing so, reached into the vast unknown future.

  VIII

  ALL WAS STILL ON THE WESTERN COAST OF THE GREAT SALT LAKE. DEEP within the mountain, bodies slumbered around a burning pyre of coal in the lone remaining hour before the first hint of the rising sun stained the eastern horizon. It was the sleep of the dead, the utter unconsciousness that only complete exhaustion could bring. The final gift bestowed upon them from above before the tribulations to come. Jill dozed in Mare’s arms, her head rising and falling subtly on his chest, their breathing in time. Ray was bedded down in one of the new sleeping bags with Jake in a matching bag beside him, snoring faintly. Phoenix had been victimized by the sleep he was so lacking right there on the stone floor. Adam had draped a blanket over him on his way to bed in the first floor room of the pueblo that he and Evelyn shared, not for the sake of intimacy per se, but because neither were comfortable out in the open where every crackle of flame or drip of condensation from the cavern roof would wake them, yet at the same time, neither could abide the prospect of being alone in the dark. Even through their separate sleeping bags, Adam had curled up against Evelyn from behind, his arm draped over her shoulder. Only Missy slept apart from the others at the furthest reaches of the fire’s light. She hadn’t thought she would be able to sleep at all with the cacophonous thoughts screaming through her head, so she had chosen a location where she could stare up at the mural gracing the cavern wall in the flickering glow to distract her mind. In the end, it had done just that, but her dreams were haunted by the spectral image of Phoenix floating in the air with his arms out to either side and his feet atop one another, a blazing ball of light threatening to swallow him whole. It was a fitful sleep, but sleep nonetheless.

  The hushed sounds of sleep carried from the cavern to the tunnel leading out to the beach and stretched into the darkness until they reached the point where the gentle breathing and snoring mutated into a hardly audible buzzing, which grew louder as the corridor filled with dim light and opened into the cave. The waxing moon shimmered on the cresting waves before what appeared to be a dark cloud eclipsed it. The wind changed directions with a sigh to blow ashore. The buzzing grew incrementally louder and the dark cloud that had absorbed the moon broke apart like television static. A teal-colored insect alighted on the outstretched palm of the marble savior, but it was only alone for a moment before a wall of its brethren rolled across the lake. Long, thin creatures covered the statues, conceding the momentary impression of seething blue life before darting back to the shoreline. They skimmed the water, hovered just out of reach of the waves, and curled their long abdomens under so that only the tips broke the surface. Bulbous knots rose from each thorax, and followed the course of the bodies as though being squeezed through a tube. When the engorgements reached the end of the tails and dropped beneath the level of the lake, they swelled even more, causing the bugs to shake and buzz violently. As one, those swellings exploded through their vents, filling the water with wriggling larvae. No sooner had the last offspring dropped from their rears than the metamorphosed insects rose from the water and continued along their western migration.

  The larvae swam into deeper water, growing in size until they were nearly an inch long, flagellating with long hooked tails and flat heads with suckers like leeches. Slumbering fowl that had been awakened by the obscene buzzing sat at attention, bobbing atop the waves with stiff legs pointed beneath, necks craned warily in preparation for startled flight, never expecting the assault to come from below. The sharp tails of the insects lanced through the tough skin and injected their toxins before they latched on with hooked teeth to suck out their hosts’ poisoned blood. Wings beat the lake as the foul tried to escape, but only managed to fly a dozen feet before splashing back down to float belly up li
ke downy icebergs.

  The larvae detached and wiggled away from the corpses, overwhelming schools of shimmering fish. Their scales parted like tissue paper for the stabbing stingers and carcasses surfaced in their wake. Still deeper they advanced, the light from the heavens no longer penetrating the black water. Formations of smooth stone rose from the silt, openings of shadow leading into cavernous dens where the herds of giant seahorses slept, long tails curled into spirals around trapped logs and reeds to tether them. Clear lids covered their eyes. Small transparent fins on their cheeks fanned the water. The submerged caves filled with flagellates before the first stinger pierced hide. All equine eyes snapped open at once, thrashing to get away as the larvae covered their bodies. Flailing with wings and legs, they barreled out of the caves and knifed toward the surface, but their efforts were in vain. By the time their momentum carried them into the waves, their lives were lost, leaving only corpses at the mercy of the currents. Heads hanging limply under the water, legs already beginning to stiffen. Their tails unfurled and crested the choppy water. The living skin of larvae wriggled free and splashed atop the lake like tadpoles in their hurry to fulfill their sole biological imperative before their life spans were complete. They were mayflies birthed to kill rather than reproduce, and soon they would join their victims and settle into the murky depths.

  The moon still gazed down with indifference, for it would soon be chased away by the rising sun. It drove the tide toward the shore, its final nightly act of contrition. High tide would bring not the promise of renewal, but the aftermath of the silent siege.