Fallocaust (The Fallocaust Series Book 1)

by Quil Carter

  I reached out and rubbed his knee, glad that he didn’t recoil like my hands were on fire.

  “Look at me,” I whispered. I withdrew my hand and placed it on his shoulder.

  Killian’s eyes turned from where he was staring. Slowly they found their way to mine.

  “Just tell me you’re still in there,” I said, trying to hide the emotion in my voice. “Tell me… you’ll be okay, in time.”

  His lips pursed, disappearing into his mouth. I saw a twitch in the corner of his eye. “I killed him. Why did I just see him, if I killed him?”

  I slowly put my arms around him and slipped him onto my lap. He pulled the blanket over himself to keep it from falling. “Your mind is just fucking with you, he isn’t real. It’s your imagination just… you just need to ignore it.”

  Killian nodded, and I felt him rest his damp head on my shoulder. “He’s dead… his last breath has been drawn…”

  “That’s right. Perish is dead, we saw him.” I gave him a squeeze. “Now just… go to sleep. You’ll be warm when you wake up. I’ll leave the heat on all night and I promise I won’t go out.”

  And I didn’t, even though I wanted to scout out where I had found Killian. Instead, I decided to take Doc’s advice and do the opposite of what I wanted.

  I was glad I did. He woke up twice that night, trying to claw my face off. By the end of the night I had duct taped oven mitts to his hands.

  “Reaver… why?”

  I had heard Greyson coming down the tank hatch but I didn’t want to move. I had forgotten about the oven mitts though. This was night three of the oven mitts.

  It had been working. Instead of my face being gouged it was buffed and caressed instead. It still woke me up, but at least my eyes weren’t getting clawed out.

  “This is why.” I pointed to my facial wounds, though my eyes were still closed. I heard Greyson chuckle.

  “Any change?” he asked. I raised myself in bed and scratched my head. Obviously he wasn’t going to leave. Well, whatever, it wasn’t like I was naked or anything. With Killian how he was, I hadn’t been naked in bed in quite a while.

  I saw he was carrying coffee, his status rose with me. I grabbed the cup and sat down on the couch. “No,” I said stiffly.

  Greyson watched me curiously. I turned my gaze from him, though like all parents he could read me like a book.

  “Worse?”

  I gave a slight nod.

  He shifted. I could tell he was thinking of something fake to say to try and comfort me. That’s what people did right? Offer you fake sympathies to make themselves feel less guilty?

  “Reaver, I noticed something about him the other night.” Not quite what I was expecting. I raised my eyes though my face was still in the coffee cup. “I’ve been debating whether to tell you…”

  I stared. The lines in Greyson’s forehead deepened as his brow knitted in concern. He was looking at Killian, sleeping peacefully in the bed.

  “He’s been shooting heroin.”

  “What!” I shouted. Greyson hissed at me to be quiet, his eyes glancing to the bedroom.

  “I guess that reaction answers my ‘did you know?’ follow up question.”

  I put the cup down, feeling dizzy. I didn’t even know what to say. Killian hadn’t even told me, how had he been hiding this from me? I wondered if that had been why he had been sneaking away recently, to shoot up. The notion made me prickle with annoyance; more things he was keeping to himself.

  “I noticed it when you two were over. Sure enough, I found an empty syringe and cap in the bathroom garbage.” He got up and walked over to the bedroom. I followed beside him, though I felt too sick to even stand.

  Greyson gently pulled up Killian’s sweater sleeve. There were two track marks on his lower arm.

  “I’d know that glassy, zombie expression anywhere, after dealing with his father.” Greyson pulled Killian’s sleeve back and walked out of the bedroom.

  “Where did he get this shit?” I asked, closing the door. “I thought you said you had gotten the rest of Jeff’s supply after he died?”

  “It wasn’t his, that syringe I found is Skytech. Jeff had run out of those six months before he died.”

  “Asher.” His name filled my mouth with acid. “Killian had pushed me out of the room when he went into Asher’s bedroom, he didn’t want me to open the crate. I bet he found himself quite a treasure in there.” I picked up his canvas bag and opened it. I couldn’t hide my anger. I knew it wasn’t my place to feel resentment against my emotionally-crippled boyfriend but I was pissed at him. I had let it go when I had sensed him lying… but now my patience was wearing thin.

  “Do you really think you should –” Greyson began, but I gave him a frosty look. I started emptying Killian’s bag.

  It didn’t take me long to find the brick of heroin, or the needles, or the bag full of other fucking drugs and other things as well. I looked in and furrowed my brow. I pulled out a few twisted pieces of shrapnel.

  “He saved the shrapnel he pulled out of my back,” I said flatly. “That kid is so strange.”

  Greyson laughed but I dug in deeper. I blinked as I pulled a little bone out of the bag, tied to it was a small gold ring. I looked at Greyson with a raised eyebrow.

  “I’d assume you’re holding Mrs. Massey’s finger bone tied to a wedding ring. I bet his father’s is in there too.” Greyson glanced into the bag. “I also think I see Perish’s chimera necklace.”

  I put it back and just closed the bag. “I don’t even –” I sighed and leaned back onto the couch to look up at the ceiling. “What do I do?”

  Greyson looked shocked, but intrigued. “Say that again?”

  I gave him a flat look. “Don’t push it, or a piece of you will be the next souvenir he keeps in that bag.”

  “I’m only trying to lighten the mood, son.” I felt his hand on my knee; he patted it a couple times. “Get him off of the hard drugs, that’s a first. And the other first, make sure he stops escaping.”

  “Escaping…” I grumbled, what an appropriate word. Greyson was right though. Killian might initially go out to shoot up but once he was out his mind kept him out. Then the hallucinations and the panic would start – like a few nights ago.

  I shuddered. I didn’t want to think about it… that vacant look in his eyes…

  After a few hours of shooting the shit, Greyson left, reminding me as gently as he could that I would be working tonight for a couple hours. Not many, just eleven until three in the morning. I would make sure Killian was doped up and out of it, though I would be watching this new heroin thing he was experimenting with.

  I would be busting him on it, but not as soon as Greyson wanted. I’d probably try some first, just to see what it was like. I mean try everything once, right? Anyway, today wasn’t a day I felt like talking about it. I just wanted a nice calm day where I could try and see if I could get some conversation out of him, any reactions really.

  I missed Killian.

  That night, after a rather unsuccessful day, I pretended not to notice him slip into the bathroom with his satchel. He liked spending time in the bathroom making himself all pretty and shit, so all the times he had done it before just seemed routine.

  But when he came back out I noticed the difference. His eyes were more glassy than usual and he kept nodding into zombieland. These were typical behaviours recently so I felt the smallest bit of hope that after I got him off of the smack he would become somewhat himself again.

  “You okay?” I reached out and poked his leg.

  Killian looked at me, and gave me his typical vacant nod.

  “So since you can eat again, want to open up some of those canned peaches? We’ve been saving those.”

  “Okay.”

  I sighed and went back to the comic book I was reading. Sometimes I didn’t know why I bothered. I started to hope more that it was the heroin making this happen, or making it worse at least; since even before he found Asher’s dope he was out of it.
Maybe the heroin was just making it last longer.

  That night, after he had fallen asleep, I got ready for work. M16, bulletproof vest, cargo pants and all that. I quickly fed the cat and moved the heater into my bedroom.

  When I was plugging it in I noticed something behind the bed; handcuffs from a very frisky night we’d had about a month or so ago.

  I smiled thinking about it. He had asked me to wear my army boots and I had dressed him in a skin tight leather vest and nothing else. That had been a fun night.

  I felt the hint of a twinge that was quickly dismissed. No sex for quite a while, I had resigned myself to that. I ignored the tightness in my pants and got up.

  I spun the cuffs in my hand though, as I contemplated an idea. It was one I wasn’t comfortable with, but, ever since the rape thing with Asher.

  Very carefully I cuffed Killian’s left hand, not tight but enough so he couldn’t escape, and then I cuffed the last cuff to the bed frame.

  Now he would stay put. I wouldn’t have to worry about him waking up and wandering off. It could be raining again, or worse, storming. You could never tell until you left my shed, there were no windows inside. I had filled them with concrete years ago.

  I slipped out quietly, turning the generator off as I did. The Ieon charger would power the heater almost all night, so he should be warm and comfortable. He had no need to go anywhere, and now I could prevent his mind from convincing him otherwise.

  I gulped the cold air. It was dry out, perfect. I whistled for the deacdog and went off to the north wall.

  Chapter 49

  Killian

  I looked down at the mug of still warm, dingy water. I had wanted to cool it a bit longer outside but Dad had kept asking for water. Every time I told him it wasn’t ready yet he would just stare at me helplessly. I hated how he stared at me; he was looking at me like I knew what to do.

  I didn’t know what to do!

  I walked through the door, ignoring the festering stench that was coming off my father. I didn’t want him to see me wrinkle my nose, it would just make him feel self-conscious. I had to allow him as much dignity as I could, though by this time there was not much between us.

  Dad was on the mattress on the floor, the sheets a tangled mess at his feet and his blanket half on. His bare chest was covered in sores, moving sores that seemed to retract into him every time I tried to wash him.

  When he saw me, he tried to raise a hand, but it flopped down, half on the mattress. A couple of maggots landed on the floor, thrashing and twisting in anger at being disturbed.

  “I have water, Dad,” I said quietly. There was a blanket over the window; the sun seemed to bother him and Mom. It was dark except for the faint bluelamp. I left it on all the time, it was covered in Dad’s pus so I didn’t touch it anymore. He had tried to turn it off himself when it was too bright, but his flesh had been too soft and his grip weak. It smelled like death now.

  The whole room did.

  I put my hand behind my father’s head. It didn’t just feel damp, it felt wet, sticky… another sore must have burst.

  His lips desperately found the cup, his throat and mouth making a high-pitched slurping sound as he tried to suck the water.

  As he drank I could feel wiggling in the hand I had on his head. I wanted to recoil it but I couldn’t. He would fall back if I did. I bit my lip and just helped him drink, ignoring the maggots squirming between my fingers.

  Dad’s strength left him and his head fell back in exhaustion. I lowered him down and, as quickly as I could, I moved my hand away from his hot, slimy head. I flicked it as I saw the white worms squirming in the fluid now coating my hand. Several of them shot across the room. I wiped the remainder on the already soaked blanket.

  I brought a towel to his face and tried to wipe the crust and blood away from his nose so he could breathe more easily. I think he gave me a weak smile but I wasn’t sure.

  “I love you, Dad.” I wiped his forehead. “I’m going to check on Mom.”

  I walked down the stairs, holding the rest of the water. I tried to wipe the fluid off the mug; my dad’s lips had left a brown imprint on the rim.

  “Mom?” I whispered as I peeked into the living room.

  When I walked into the living room, my memories took me to quarantine. The quarantine sheds we had in the east of Aras.

  It was dark now, the air was so thick with rot I should have gagged, but the smell was now dull to my senses. My lungs had been filled with the smell of death for so long the fresh air seemed odd to me. Light seemed odd. Healthy, normal people seemed odd.

  “NO!” I grabbed Greyson as he opened the door. Behind him, skulking in the shadows I could see Reaver. “Please, NO!” I screamed.

  They’re all I have, they’re all I have. Without them I’m an orphan, without them I don’t have anyone in this world. Please… another day, they’ll get better in another day!

  Leo grabbed me as I screamed, sobbed, and pleaded. Greyson slipped into the sheds, and wordlessly like the cold heartless fuck he was, Reaver stepped in too, a cigarette clenched between his teeth. This was casual for him. This was just another fucking night for him.

  “NO!” I sobbed. I turned and dived into Leo’s arms. I cried.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” Leo said, his voice empty.

  I woke up with a sharp gasp. As I inhaled, I realized my mouth was open and dry, like the last tense groan on my lips was nothing but a final crescendo to an evening of restlessness. I was the audience in the stands forced to watch the awful movie in front of me. The screaming and thrashing I so readily did in my nightmares reduced to low moans once it reached my physical body.

  I tried to make my eyes work but everything was turned off; all I could see was the faint green glow of the heater’s light. It didn’t light up anything around me, the room was dark.

  As I licked my parched lips, I realized with a cold dread that something had woken me, something other than the nightmare. But there had been no outward signs to cement this discovery, just that faint buzzing in my ears that made the hairs on my neck prickle.

  I raised my hand to turn on the bluelamp.

  Ring ring… ring ring.

  I froze, my hand partially outstretched. For a moment I was confused, but then I realized…

  It was Asher’s bell, the one Reaver had rigged so he could signal that he was outside.

  Ring ring… ring ring.

  Though my mouth was clenched and I was biting my cheek, I felt a muffled sob escape my pursed lips. I extended my hand farther, and desperately started to feel for the lamp.

  I heard a rattle, a jingling like keys.

  I was – I moved my wrist and tried to pull it away from the bed – I was handcuffed.

  Every degree of heat left my body with the sickening realization that I was chained.

  Why was I handcuffed?

  Why was I trapped?

  Ring ring… ring ring… ringring.

  The bile bubbled in my throat. I yanked my hand away from the bed frame, feeling my muscles strain under my own strength. I started to hyperventilate as I realized I was trapped.

  I was trapped and Asher was outside…

  “Reaver?” His name burst from my lips like someone shouting for mercy, but I knew he wasn’t there. I tried to shift onto his side of the bed but my wrist was holding me back.

  I pulled my binds with desperate vigour, tears springing to my eyes. The hot wires of panic constricted me in their frenzied grip and contracted around my chest and throat. I felt like an animal caught in a trap.

  Ring ring.

  I thrashed around and eventually fell off of the bed, my body knocking the night table over with a bang. My wrist wrenched backwards behind my back, filling my already frenzied body with even more panic. I twisted around and yanked at the cuff. When my wrist still wouldn’t pull away I gave out my first desperate howl. I grabbed my arm with my free hand and with all my might I pulled.

  The first panic attack happened not long
after.

  Ring ring.

  The next several minutes I couldn’t recall. It was a mad flurry of screaming, panic, crying, and thrashing. The handcuff was trapping my body, but my mind was trapping me. Inside the ringing was deafening me, plugging up every outlet I had from my own crazed mind, flooded with delirious fear and an insatiable need to run.

  When the bell stopped ringing, and my mind finally grasped the fleeting wings of reality, I was on the floor and I was free of the handcuff.

  I looked down in a daze, and saw my shredded wrist, seeping blood. There was blood on my fingers, in painted streaks from when the cuff had finally slipped off. My own blood had been the lubricant to finally shift the steel ring.

  I leaned against the bed, examining the pearly flesh of my hands. The bluelamp was on now, but I didn’t remember turning it on. It washed the darkness in its cold blue glow, but it did nothing to make my reality any less terrifying.

  Ring ring… ring ring.

  “You’re not alive!” I screamed. I grabbed the bluelamp and stalked towards the tank hatch, yanking it open. “YOU’RE NOT ALIVE!” I screamed it so hard my eyes felt like they would pop out of my head.

  Ring ring.

  I ran over and grabbed the bell from a few inches above Reaver’s tallest bookshelf. I ripped the string out of the wall and tossed the bell across the room. It slammed against the concrete, giving off one more desperate ring before it broke into pieces.

  I choked on the sob stuck in my throat. I clenched my hands to my hair and walked towards the tunnel.

  I climbed inside the homemade passageway and pushed open the hatch leading to the shed. I walked out into the cold, barefooted and all, and went along the side of the house.

  There would be no one there! They were dead! They had to be dead… I killed them, I killed both of them!

  I opened the back door and crept inside. I held up the bluelamp but to my dismay I realized I had grabbed one of my sneakers instead. I put it on and walked through the kitchen to the living room that doubled as storage.

  Nothing! Nothing! See nothing! I clenched my teeth, hating myself. Hating myself. Hating myself. I had killed them. There was nothing there, there was nothing there.