by Noah Fregger
Upon the nest awaited a change of clothes, several bottles of water and a pair of shoes, apparent gifts from the one called Gabriel. It was nightfall. The plant should have been pitch black; but it was nothing of the sort. Despite the shadows, every detail remained perfectly visible. The world around him was still, quiet as Mohammad began to grow restless within it. His body, whatever it was, was not in need of rest. It had been over a year since his death, but Mohammad hadn’t felt a single day of it.
It felt as though the intruders were still in his home, somewhere within the plant. But no one was there but him, his were the only footsteps to be heard while wandering aimlessly about the factory. Mohammad entered the boiler room, discovering a large crack in the floor paint he’d never seen before, remnants of a dark liquid around it.
Lumin.
It was where she’d hit the ground after being shot down from her perch on the feed water piping, that awful sound.
Why did you have to take the guns?
They would have survived the intrusion had they had them; but Lumin saw fit to seal their fates instead.
If there’s one thing the hunter thought he would never miss in the apocalypse, it was politics. He thought there would be freedom in the chaos, in the free-for-all; but it just wasn’t true. The novelty of chaos wore off quickly. The world needed order. It needed rules, needed to be governed somehow.
So he would gather his group on a nightly basis, a time when people could speak openly about the state of things. And as a group they would reach decisions together, an apocalyptic parliament. The outside world might have been losing its cool; but the hunter still had everything well under control within his establishment.
The subject matter had remained the same over the past week, however. People were growing anxious regarding the outsiders. Two other groups had formed besides the hunter’s; and they were most commonly referred to in the meetings as Jackals and Hyenas.
Rick flicked his cigarette, a blazing ember skipping across the floor before he could put a boot on it. “It’s anarchy out there.”
“It’s been anarchy, Rick.” The hunter looked at him. “As long as it stays out there, we’ll be fine.”
“We got a lot to lose here, Maddox,” he disagreed. “And Jackson’s hearing they want to take it from us.”
“They’re too busy with the Hyenas to care about us,” Kyle piped in.
The hunter hoped that much was true. The stock of the department store was ever-dwindling, a far cry from the full-shelved emporium it once had been. But still it remained an item of envy amongst the survivors–an object of power, with the hunter sitting firmly on its throne.
Rick inhaled again through the cigarette, its tip glowing bright orange between his fingers, then let the smoke seep from his lips as he spoke. “They’re getting ballsier nowadays,” he offered. “They used to not come within five blocks of this place. Now I see ‘em comin’ as close as Cider.”
“So what do you propose?”
Rick grinned, seemingly pleased with the inquiry. “We need to make a demonstration. Make them remember what they used to be afraid of.”
The hunter looked around the group and was met by many nods of agreement. “Sounds like you have something in mind then, Rick?”
“Yeah, the next guy that comes strollin’ down Cider gets one right in the head.” He rubbed his hands together. “Demonstration complete.”
“Your demonstration could easily be perceived as an act of war,” the hunter protested. “And if they arrive at our doorstep, will we be able to fight them off?”
Jackson smiled. “God help ‘em, Boss, if they arrive at our doorstep.”
The hunter nodded. “Do we all agree?” He looked from face to face. There were no objections. “Alright, I’ll post Coda on the roof first thing in the morning, and we’ll take down the first soul that comes down Cider.”
Rick clapped, apparently pleased to be receiving his proposed bloodshed. The hunter was not quite as content with the decision–found it rather impulsive and premature, in fact. But the shot could only be fired by his mark. No one would die without his okay.
And as excellent a marksman as Coda was, the hunter was certain he couldn’t make a shot accurate enough to kill at that distance. Still he’d given the group what they desired that night, gave them the peace of mind for a sound sleep beneath his continued watch.
Morning came as Mohammad found himself without a single weapon for pigeon hunting. He wasn’t much in the mood for catching one with his bare hands, so he decided he’d be skipping breakfast that day. He descended from the nest; and out of habit, headed for the area between converting machines. He had enjoyed sharing that space with Radia. It reminded him of her now.
He envisioned her sitting there, waiting for him, that smile he’d won after all his patience–simply priceless. Such a story he had to tell her … but he’d never be able to. She was gone–just a memory, a recollection he could summon on a whim.
God, he missed her.
“Have you come to a conclusion?”
Startled, Mohammad spun at the sound of Gabriel’s question. The creature had been standing behind him. How he’d entered the plant, Mohammad did not know; but with the Traveler now before him, he could hardly rationalize anything at the moment.
Gabriel no longer seemed to be practicing the pleasantries of invisibility, coming that morning just as he was–a monster, by all standards. Mohammad managed to choke back a scream at the sight of him, leaving his mouth gaping in the process.
“Have you come to a conclusion?” Gabriel repeated, irritation prevalent in the thickening of his voice. He was … what was he? At least nine feet tall, his broad-shouldered torso supported by a pair of prosthetic legs. His skin was so pale–almost a white; and his eyes, glossy black ovals imbedded in his oblong head. His hands, massive appendages. Mohammad watched their movement as the Traveler manipulated a black device extending over the fingers of his right hand.
“Yes.” Mohammad finally found his breath. “I have.”
“And?” the Traveler pressed.
“I will help you.”
“Good.” Gabriel nodded, a smile tugging at his thin lips. “Then you will start immediately. I’ve noticed an abundance of felines roaming around this building.”
Mohammad nodded, curious of the relevance.
“I require one.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I need you to get me a feline, Mohammad.”
“Why?”
Gabriel paused, his features hardening as he leaned forward. “You’ll find this arrangement more beneficial without questions, Mohammad.”
The Fijian sealed his lips and took a step backward. “I’ll get you a cat, then,” he agreed.
“Very good.”
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Coda propped the rifle up onto the edge of the store’s roof, pressing his belly to the ground. The hunter joined him, father and son scoping out the Cider activity, the chill in that morning’s air dragging plumes of steam from their breath.
“Listen, Codes,” the hunter began. “I really don’t want to kill anyone today, not if I don’t have to.”
“What if someone comes?”
“Then I want you to miss. Just give them a warning shot. There’s no shame in that, Codes. Hit the ground at their feet, or break a window behind them. That’ll be enough of a demonstration. They’ll learn our borders go farther than Cider and live to tell the rest of the Jackals.”
“What about Rick?”
“What about him?”
“He’s expecting a corpse.”
“It’s a long shot, Coda, gotta be a hundred yards.” The hunter patted him on the back. “Even if you were trying to hit someone, the chances of it are incredibly slim.”
Coda turned, his eyes like ice. “I could hit him.”
It seemed the boy was wishing for a challenge, a moment to make his father proud. The hunter remembered that desire; but his own father was an impossible man, ind
efinitely unimpressed with the world as a whole.
“You think you can, Codes?”
Coda nodded. “I know it, Sir.”
He thought for a moment, considering the various outcomes; but the chances of a hit were so minute.
And who am I to dismiss such a request? “Very well.” The hunter squinted at Coda. “But you only get one shot.”
“Deal.”
The hunter lifted his binoculars as Coda emptied a couple rounds into the Cider building’s wall, adjusting his scope.
“Good luck, Codes,” he offered. “And make it a quick death, if you can.”
A cat? What on Earth could that thing possibly want with a cat? Mohammad didn’t trouble himself too long with that question as he slid down the rope, arriving in the outside shipping area.
Already several felines were bolting in flashes of chestnut and dusty white, finding further refuge elsewhere in the boneyard. This was impossible. Mohammad found himself calling to them, making awkward clicking sounds through his teeth, but to no avail. They continued to stare at him, seeming to know how stupid he was to try such a thing.
“Alright,” Mohammad huffed. “I guess we gotta do this the hard way.” He leapt into a sprint, prompting certain felines to vacate their equipment in search of new safety. They were fast, tails stiffening at the ends of their bodies, as they ran for more cover.
To his amazement, Mohammad was able to keep up in a sprint; but the cats were far more agile, turning in an instant as he rushed past, swiping at nothing but air.
Dammit.
They were nimble little bastards, as he already knew. He tried again, and still they eluded him. Mohammad took hold of a pallet, ripping one of its wooden planks free. With the plank at his side, he sprinted again; and again several cats jettisoned from their havens. He gained ground on an orange tabby, and on its heels he tossed the plank ahead. It formed a barrier between two pieces of equipment just as the feline attempted its usual side-swerve maneuver.
The cat smashed head first into the plank, its body crumpling as it flipped over and skidded across the pavement.
Mohammad approached the Tabby. It laid still, blood beginning to trickle between its eyes, its mouth slanted and ajar.
“Shit.”
But the sudden death of the cat was then met by something equally ominous, the sound of it echoing off the factory walls. Off in the distance, a single gunshot resonated.
14
Trick of the Sun
Coda squeezed the trigger and blood fell upon the Cider building wall.
Jesus Christ, he did it.
But the man wasn’t dead. He spun, clutching at his neck and kicked himself into a run. The blood was practically pouring between his fingers. He collapsed before making it to the end of the street. And there, as the hunter had seen so many creatures do before him, the man proceeded to do the dance of death. He kicked his legs for a time, writhing there until he finally fell motionless.
“Nice shot, Codes,” the hunter nodded, truly impressed. “Very nice.”
Coda placed the rifle on the roof. “So what now?”
“We should make him a proper tombstone,” the hunter decided. “Go get one of those cans of black spray paint and write on the wall above him: Trespasser of Government territory.”
Gabriel lifted the cat by the orange scruff behind its head. “You broke its neck.”
“Yes, sorry about that.” Mohammad nodded. “But, still, it’s been caught.”
The Traveler’s black eyes turned to slivers.
“Should I catch another?”
“No.” Gabriel lifted the cat to examine it again. “This will still do nicely.”
“What are you gonna do with it?” Mohammad found another question escaping him before he could stop it in time.
“The same I did for you, Mohammad,” the Traveler revealed. “Give it new purpose.”
“What purpose?” He continued to try his luck.
“You’ll find we all serve the same purpose, Mohammad.” The Traveler turned. “I will be back tonight; and I’ll explain everything then … I suppose you’ll have more questions by the time I return.” And then, with the dead feline dangling at his side, the immense Traveler walked to the end of the aisle and straight through the wall.
With his rifle at the ready, the hunter kept Coda beneath the scrutiny of his binoculars. The boy was weaving his way down the street, nearing the man’s fallen body on Cider. Coda stepped over the corpse, shaking the spray can vigorously, and then began to assemble the sentence he’d been instructed.
Rick and Jackson were there, as well, offering further cover for Coda as he kept his back to them, applying graffiti to the building wall. Once complete, Coda turned, stepping over the dead man again, and started his walk back with Rick and Jackson at his side. The hunter watched their lips as they engaged in conversation: Rick, with his huge smile; Jackson, commencing in the gum-flapping at the moment; and Coda, his face firm and focused. Like the hunter, Coda was not fond of gloating.
The hunter, scanning Cider through his binoculars, shifted atop the corpse once again, then along the writing on the wall above him. By trick of the morning’s sun, off the gleam of his lenses, the obsidian words seemed to ripple across the reddish brick. The hunter blinked the illusion away, focusing instead on the stream of blood running the length of the sidewalk.
But there, beneath the addition of Coda’s writing, the corpse had vanished.
Tearing the binoculars away, the hunter surveyed the street with naked eyes; but still no body lingered beyond his approaching men. “Hey!” the hunter shouted, shoving his index finger out in their direction. “The body!”
The three of them turned, the hunter hearing a raucous expletive off the lips of Rick. Snatching up the rifle, the hunter descended into the department store and traded it for his .45. He then ripped through the entrance in the wake of his men. The sun was bright that morning, but what trick could it have played that the hunter would have missed the body’s departure?
It made no sense.
But there was a story awaiting him, just as legible as Coda’s handwriting to those who knew how to decipher it.
“What happened?!” Jackson was shouting.
“What did you see?!” Rick was spinning, his pistol extended in no particular direction.
“Move!” The hunter shoved them out of his path. He could follow the blood to where the man collapsed. It had pooled there beneath him, the clues of his disappearance present within it.
“What do you see?” Coda asked.
The hunter knew what he saw; but what should have shed light on the situation only added another element of mystery.
“What do you see?” Coda repeated.
But admitting what he saw, to them and to himself, might loosen the foundation of his leadership, which was largely based on how those beneath him perceived the stability of his sanity.
In short, they might contend him to be off his rocker.
“What I see, Coda,” the hunter began, placing his palm upon the wall. “What I see … doesn’t make any sense.”
The three men stood over him, faces blank, waiting for the hunter to continue.
“Well, he didn’t just get up and walk away,” he said, frustrated. “You see this?” The hunter pointed at a scrape made in the crimson puddle. “This mark was made by the tip of his boot … when he was lifted … and dragged.”
“Lifted and dragged?” Coda’s brow crumpled.
“What the fuck are you talkin’ about, Maddox?” Rick slid an aggravated hand across his face. “Dragged where?”
The hunter didn’t want to answer; it was the least rational part.
He pointed again to the ground, to a row of blood drops lining the sidewalk. “These drops were from the man’s neck, they run parallel to the boot mark.” He ran his finger into the wall. “They end here.”
“So what?” Rick huffed. “You’re saying he was dragged through the fucking wall?”
The
hunter stood, matching eyes with the man who occasionally spoke in a manner that made him want to knock his teeth out. “Yes.” The hunter jabbed Rick hard in the chest. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
15
The Bogeyman
Gabriel returned that night, as promised. With him, he’d brought a small, black, metallic container. Mohammad took a seat at his former breakfast area, awaiting Gabriel’s promised presentation.
“It took me over a year to bring you back successfully, Mohammad.” The Traveler lumbered forward, fixing the Fijian within his blackened opticals. “Over a great many trial and errors, I might add.” From his wrist device, Gabriel sprawled a series of holographic galaxies above them; they rotated gently, their softened spirals forming tiny, glowing red orbs toward the outer rims of each system. There must have been thousands of them.
Gabriel lifted his finger to a spinning galaxy. It expanded, enlarging enough so he could choose a single orb to pluck from the system. “As Travelers, we’ve scoured the universe in search of life. It is not as rare an occurrence as you might believe.”
The image of an animal took shape before Mohammad. The thing’s arms were long, its body sleek and covered in bluish hair. It stood slouched, similar to an ape; but its face looked almost reptilian–shiny scales making up its nose and mouth, a silvery tongue sliding out from between its lips. The thing rotated its head slightly, as if regarding Mohammad in turn.
“So we study, we collect, and we create where worlds permit. But I have done what no Traveler has done before.”
The image faded away, replaced instead by a new creature. This one was an aquatic-looking animal, reminiscent of a shark, complete with gills, fins and glistening, gray skin.
“I have created you, Mohammad. You possess the qualities of several hundred interstellar species, combined into one, the best physical characteristics throughout the universe.”
Another creature then came into focus, its glossy, black coat reminding Mohammad a bit of a panther, only with an extra set of legs.
