Trail of Blood

by Michael McBride

  “What are you doing?” Adam asked.

  Phoenix’s eyes snapped open and he gasped.

  “Go back to sleep,” he whispered.

  Adam tried to sit up, but Phoenix increased the pressure on his shoulders, forcing Adam to crane his neck to look at the younger boy.

  “What’s going on, Phoenix?”

  “You are a healer, Adam. By choice, but more importantly because that’s who you are. You were spared because of your compassion, because you cannot accept the inevitability of the things you cannot change.” Adam tried to sit up again, surprised by the amount of strength the boy used to hold him down. “My final gift, my gift to you, is little more than you already possess. The power to cure disease and save life is in your hands.”

  Adam could only stare up into Phoenix’s sad, pink eyes, all but obscured by his long, dirty, white locks.

  Phoenix released him and stood, turning away without another word and walking back to where Missy slept

  * * *

  Adam finally sat up, twisting to watch Phoenix go. His shoulders tingled where Phoenix’s hands had been, the sensation running all the way down his arms and into his fingers, resonating with pins and needles as though beginning to fall asleep. He hadn’t the slightest clue what had just transpired. It wasn’t the strangeness of Phoenix’s actions that surprised him, for he would have worried more had Phoenix not been doing something a little off kilter, but the finality of it. It had seemed almost ritualistic, like the laying of hands. The words Phoenix had used were almost a summation of his life. Granted, it was the middle of the night, the middle of a very stressful night, but it was still…odd. More odd than usual, anyway. Maybe Phoenix had awakened from some dream or vision that Adam would have had no hope of comprehending and he was still trapped somewhere between the dream and the reality of the coming day. That had to be it.

  He watched Phoenix drop to all fours and curl up beside Missy, draping his arm across her stomach. He would ask Phoenix about it. But not until morning. Let the boy have the night with his girlfriend. Besides, everything always looked different under the light of day.

  Adam flopped and rolled onto his side so he could feel Evelyn against him and closed his eyes, where sleep waited in ambush.

  * * *

  Phoenix couldn’t control the tears streaming from his eyes and down his cheeks. He had been dreading this moment all of his life. Even death would be preferable to the agony he now felt, the twisting in his gut, the pain in his chest that made it hard to even breathe. He had to bite his lip to keep from sobbing aloud and waking her. If he had to look into her eyes again or even hear her voice, he would lose his resolve, what little remained anyway.

  “I’ve loved you all of my life,” he whispered, so quietly that he could barely hear it, but loud enough he hoped that on some unconscious level she could. “When I dreamed, I dreamed of you. When I thought of a better life, it was always your image I saw. You loved me when I thought nobody ever could.” He had to pause to stifle a sob. “Until I met you, everyone I knew only wanted to take from me, but you…you gave me the world. I never did anything to deserve your love, and yet you gave it willingly, unconditionally.” His lips quivered and he closed his hand over his mouth to fight back the growing sounds of sorrow threatening to erupt from his chest. “If I could change this, you know I would. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, except allow you to suffer. I’m sorry a million times over for…hurting you. For leaving you. I love you, Missy, and no matter where you go, I will always be there with you. As long as you live, you will never be alone. Never.”

  He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, their softness, their heat, were sensations he would treasure beyond the finality of this life. Slowly, and with more regret than he’d ever felt before, he drew his lips away, wanting to wipe the tears from them, but less than he wanted a part of her to come away with him.

  She smiled in her sleep, her features softening and taking on an almost angelic glow.

  He blinked, taking a mental snapshot of her, his beautiful Missy, to carry with him in his heart.

  “I love you,” he whispered one last time before rising and walking away from her, fearing that if he looked back she would awaken and he would have to see the look on her face when he broke her heart.

  He walked to the closest motorcycle and silently brought the kickstand up with his toe. Holding it by the handles, he guided it back onto the path and quietly pushed it up the hill until he reached the top. He looked out upon the ruins of the formerly magnificent metropolis, the rubble of a once great civilization mourning its passage. There was a small circle of bright orange light. A lake of fire, he knew. He had seen it before in his dreams, the monster that had created it somewhere in its depths. And beyond…the twisted spire of the black tower.

  Swinging his right leg up on the seat, he positioned himself exactly as he had seen Missy do so many times. He had learned how to drive it by watching her, but he needed to create distance between them before he risked starting the engine and potentially rousing them for their slumber.

  He looked back over his shoulder to where the others slept, oblivious to his intentions, though soon to feel their sting.

  “Goodbye, friends,” he said. “May the Lord bless you and keep you.”

  Lifting his feet, he turned back to the path and allowed the bike to coast down the slope, descending into the bowels of hell toward his fate.

  III

  THE WISTFUL MOON CAST ITS INDIFFERENT GAZE DOWN UPON THE SCORCHED earth, casting invisible shadows from the black skeletons of the dead trees. The wind sighed in exasperation, blowing unimpeded across the bleak landscape, merely turning the upper layers of infertile soil, no longer able to create music with rustling leaves or the clatter of branches, settling instead for the hollow, mourning howl echoing forlornly in the lifeless valleys over the mocking laughter of streams flowing sluggish with the paste of eradication. The stars no longer twinkled but stared, spectators unable to turn away from Mother Earth’s deathbed as she struggled to take what they feared were her last breaths.

  Where once nocturnal rodents foraged through the mats of brown leaves and yellow needles, moonlight glinting golden from their alert eyes, there were now only swirls of ash blowing around the stunted, burned remains of shrubs. No bats or nighthawks slashed through the upper canopies to pick off errant insects; no owls hooted from their invisible enclaves. No sounds of airplanes or helicopters thundering through the sky marred the silence un-customarily bereft of the howl of the hunting coyotes and growls of mountain lions. It was a silence of fearful anticipation. Perhaps it was the thin haze of smoke pinned beneath the atmosphere that obscured the world from God’s eye, or maybe, like a physician, He had simply focused His attention on other patients He might have some slim chance of saving. Or perhaps He had no choice now but to allow the disease to run its course.

  Only the intermittent droning of a lone motorcycle traveled on the breeze, a fly buzzing over the burnt epidermis.

  Below, the black tower stood like a tumor, the source of the symptoms ravaging the earth. Perchance under some great celestial microscope three figures may have been glimpsed from the heavens, moving atop that cancerous lesion, eagerly awaiting the impending triumph over the planet’s failing immune system, preparing to metastasize and lay claim to the entire corpse.

  Above, humanity’s last remaining hope slumbered, oblivious to the fact that even now the enemy was aligning against them. While their bodies recuperated from the ravages of the prior day, the planet trembled.

  The sun was still hours away from cresting the eastern horizon, from reflecting upon the spilled blood of humanity.

  From bearing witness to the final battle to determine the fate of the world.

  Before setting once again. Whether upon the death of the planet or its rebirth, it cared not, for it would callously disregard the bodies destined to fall, and rise yet again.

  Only those who survived would determine if the deaths t
o come mattered, if the lost lives would be mourned or left to rot.

  Somewhere in the darkness, the day began before dawn with a whimper, though hopefully the end would not come with the same.

  IV

  MISSY WHINED IN HER SLEEP, HER HEAD THRASHING SIDE TO SIDE ON THE blanket, eyes darting back and forth beneath her closed lids. Her face tightened into a grimace, her lips curling back as though in pain, her teeth parting to allow another whimper to pass. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes, trailing over her temples and into her dark hair. Her chest heaved, rising and falling dramatically. Eyes snapping open, she bolted upright, a scream echoing away into the night.

  She patted the ground beside her, hoping to feel Phoenix’s reassuring warmth, but everywhere she slid her hand she could only feel the blanket, cold from the ground beneath.

  “Phoenix?” she whispered, struggling to stave off hyperventilation.

  She was panicked. What had she been dreaming about that had upset her so much? She couldn’t remember. Not in any kind of detail. There had been darkness and then there had been flames. And what? It felt as though a cold hand had reached through her ribcage and closed around her heart. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t rationalize her surroundings. Everything was black. The ground. The sky. She looked to her right, hoping Phoenix had heard her terrified scream, hoping he would comfort her, just cradle her to his chest and chase the demons away, make everything all—

  He was gone.

  The spot on the blanket where he had been sleeping was vacant, barely even wrinkled.

  “Phoenix?” she called, louder this time.

  She heard someone mumble a sleepy response from a distance, but she was already on her feet.

  “Phoenix!” she screamed, her head swiveling, eyes scanning from one tree to the next. She prayed he would come sauntering out from behind one of the trunks, zipping up his fly, but with each moment that passed without him doing so, the less likely it became. She knew better, though. Deep down, she knew better. How could she have been so stupid? So blind? He had all but spelled it out for her. She wanted to hit herself in the head repeatedly for being so dumb, but instead, she ran.

  “Phoenix!”

  She sprinted to her brother’s side, throwing herself to the soot and shaking his shoulders.

  “Mare, wake up! Wake up!”

  Jill lifted her head form his chest first, looking groggily up at Missy. As soon as she registered the fear in her friend’s face, her eyes opened wide and she scrabbled to her feet. Mare leapt up, nearly stumbling into his sister.

  “What’s going on?” he gasped, whirling to face her. He had never seen her so upset, even when they had committed their mother to the ground or found their father’s remains. But she didn't say anything. He had known her all his life, and even had he not, the look in her eyes was unmistakable.

  “He’s gone,” Missy sobbed, collapsing into him only long enough to dampen his shoulder with tears before shoving him away and dashing toward the others.

  * * *

  Mare took Jill by the hand, what felt like a hole opening inside him, a bottomless pit into which his stomach dropped. What were they supposed to do now? Without Phoenix to guide them, he couldn’t help but think they didn’t stand a chance against what was to come. He couldn’t believe Phoenix would just slink off into the night like a coward. They were all scared. Every last one of them wished they could run away, but to actually do so was unthinkable. Now was when they needed him most and he had abandoned them. What about Missy? He had claimed he loved her. To simply leave at her most vulnerable hour was reprehensible. How could he have said he loved her and then just up and—?

  “Oh, God,” Mare gasped, releasing Jill’s hand to run to where they had parked the motorcycles. Phoenix hadn’t tucked tail and fled. He had done something far, far worse. One, two, three, four. He counted them again to be sure. “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.”

  * * *

  “Adam!” Missy screamed. He was already standing when she reached him. A dire sense of foreboding accosted him, sending a shiver up his spine, pumping acid into his gut. Missy tried to talk, but she was sobbing too hard.

  “It’s all right,” Evelyn said, stroking Missy’s back.

  “What’s wrong?” Adam asked.

  “He’s gone,” Mare said, jogging to join them.

  “Who’s gone?” Adam’s heart beat faster and faster by the second.

  “Phoenix.” Mare had paled to the point his skin appeared waxy beneath the moon. “He took one of the bikes.”

  “No,” Adam gasped. “He wouldn’t leave us.” The vague recollection of being awakened during the night flashed from his memory, an elusive specter Adam couldn’t quite grasp. Had Phoenix roused him to tell him he was leaving? No…it had been something else entirely, something that was the cause of the tingling in his shoulders.

  All of the commotion had woken Ray and Jake as well, who now stood behind them.

  “This can’t be happening,” Jill whispered, repeating it like a mantra.

  * * *

  Missy steeled her lip and a cool calmness settled over her. Her chest no longer shuddered, and though the tears still fell, she no longer sobbed. She curled her hands into fists. “We need to go after him.”

  “We don’t know where he went,” Adam said, but that wasn’t the truth. They all knew where he had gone.

  Missy turned her back on them and stormed up the path to where it crested the hill and she could see down into the city. Where once there had been only darkness, there was now a lake of fire, glowing like a beacon. And there beyond it, standing from the wasteland, a lone tombstone to mark the passage of the world itself, was the hideous black tower. That was where he was going. She felt that truth with as much certainty as anything in her entire life. He was going there for her—

  It will be easier for you…later. If you hate me.

  To save her.

  She screamed in anguish, her voice echoing infinitely to the east.

  “He can’t have been gone too long,” she said, gritting her teeth. She nearly clobbered Mare when she turned. “If we hurry, we might be able to catch him.”

  “Missy…” Mare said, reaching to place a consolatory hand on her shoulder, but she was already past him and pushing her way through the others, all of whom wore matching expressions of shock.

  She reached her motorcycle and climbed onto the seat, already revving the engine before she retracted the kickstand.

  “We can’t let him face them alone,” she said, spearing them with a hard glance. “Try to catch up.”

  The bike rocketed forward, trying to outrace the headlight she snapped on almost as an afterthought.

  * * *

  “Wait!” Mare shouted, sprinting after her. He leapt onto the seat of another cycle and brought it to life. Jill barely reached him in time to swing up behind him, grabbing him too tightly around the belly and flattening her chest to his back. She lowered her head as the motorcycle launched forward, speeding so fast it felt like the wheels had left the ground.

  By the time she dared to open her eyes and risk a glance back, their camp was nearly out of sight. She saw two flashes of light as the remaining motorcycles started forward, and then they were gone. Mare leaned to the left, urging them around the bend at the crest of the hill, the rear tire kicking out sideways and showering the dead forest sloping down the hill with gravel.

  Jill pinched her eyes shut and held on for dear life. Mare righted the bike and accelerated downhill, desperately trying to keep his sister’s headlight in sight, knowing full well the consequences if he didn’t.

  V

  The Ruins of Denver, Colorado

  THE DEVASTATION WAS BEYOND ANYTHING HE COULD HAVE EVER IMAGINED. Every house he passed had been reduced to charred rubble: mounds of blackened bricks and timber haphazardly heaped atop the fragmented cement of the basements and foundations. How many lives had been lost in each? Every structure was haunted by the melancholy ghosts of its for
mer occupants; a warped swing set nearly melted to the ground, tangles of bikes on the scorched lawns, black ceramic gnomes lording over barren gardens. At least the bodies once rotting within had been incinerated and no longer contributed to the overwhelmingly foul stench of death, which had been replaced by the purified scent of fire. The gutters were clogged with ash-induced slush and debris, the singed fire hydrants standing by uselessly on the street corners. The closer together the houses became, the less distinguishable their remains were, until either side of the road was lined with walls of destruction, giving Phoenix the impression of riding through a trench. Moonlight stretched shadows from the refuse, creating the illusion of movement from the corner of his eye, but he knew better than to suspect an ambush. His adversary would be waiting for him. The conflict was inevitable. Both knew not only that it was coming, but that there would be no escaping it.

  Phoenix felt the pull of Death, the attraction undeniable. The closer he came, the harder his heart started to pound, the greater the splitting pain in his head. He had never been so utterly terrified in his life, yet at the same time there was almost a sense of calm that came with the knowledge that soon enough this would all be over. His fate was at the end of the very road he now traveled, the culmination of a journey he had begun at birth.