New Bloods Boxset

by Michelle Bryan

  Shizen! I ain’t ever seen the likes. Black metal monsters moving over the land, gobbling it up and spitting out the dust. There’s three of ‘em from what I can see, rolling on huge wheels taller than any man. They’re like something straight out of a night terror. I cain’t even begin to understand what they are.

  “Tara, no.”

  I don’t even realize I’m moving towards them, towards the screaming villagers, ‘til Grada grabs me around the waist, nearly lifting me off my feet.

  “There’s no time. You have to get to the cellar.”

  Old Molly runs by us screaming, her eyes almost popping from her head with fear. Vaguely, I notice she only has one boot on, but she don’t seem to pay no heed to the sharp rocks cutting into her bare foot.

  “They found us! Death is here!”

  She trips and goes sprawling in the dirt. I should help her, I think. But I cain’t move. I cain’t breathe.

  Everybody’s running and screaming, but it’s all muffled like I’m back at the swimming hole listening to ‘em from under the water. Like none of it ain’t happening for real.

  Molly scrambles back to her feet and runs straight for us. She gets so close in my face I can see the beads of sweat on her upper lip.

  “Hide from ‘em, girl,” she whispers, her eyes wild and crazy as she stares into mine. “Don’t let ‘em get ya.”

  Then a visible shiver wracks her body before she tears her eyes away and runs in the opposite direction.

  “I have to find Ben,” I say suddenly as Molly’s fear soaks through my skin. I try to pull away from Grada’s grip, but he just holds me tighter and shakes me, making my teeth rattle.

  “Listen to me, Tara, and mind what I’m saying. You have to hide in the storm cellar. I’ll cover it well enough. They won’t find you. You stay in there nice and quiet ‘til they’re gone.”

  I hear his words. I can see his lips moving, but what he’s saying ain’t making sense.

  “I’m sorry. I thought we woulda had more time …”

  He looks over my shoulder, and I see the despair in his face. But he keeps talking.

  “When they’ve gone, you follow the riverbed east to a place called Littlepass. You find a healer there by the name of Lily. You find her and tell her who you are. You tell her … tell her she was right. Tell her I’m sorry, and I should have sent word long ago but … I was being a selfish old man. You mindin’ me, girl!”

  He shakes me again and finally his words sink in.

  “No.” I scream at him. “I ain’t hidin’. I ain’t leavin’ y’all out here. We have to fight, Grada. Whatever those … things are, we gotta fight ‘em. We gotta protect everybody.”

  He shakes his head at my words, and his hands leave my shoulders to fall at his side.

  “No, girlie, we cain’t stop ‘em.”

  The rumbling is so loud now it’s hurting my ears. I stare into Grada’s face. His eyes look empty. Dead. And I know he’s already accepted what’s about to happen.

  “No!” The word bursts outta me; I cain’t hold it in. There’s a peculiar burning flowing through me, like my blood is being set aflame. “We will fight. We have to.”

  I tear the crossbow from my shoulder, thread my arrow and turn to face the oncoming threat. I know in my soul that I have to protect Grada, Ben, everyone. I have to at least try.

  “I’m sorry, child, but you must stay alive.”

  Grada’s voice is strangely calm in the face of all this chaos, and his words truly disturb me. I turn to him just in time to see the cooking pot from our fire pit aiming straight for my head.

  Blackness, all around me. I think my eyes are open, but I cain’t see. I’m lying on my stomach. I know that ‘cause I can feel the cold ground pressing into my cheek. I roll over. Where am I? I try to stand, but a shooting pain in my temple sends me back down to my knees. I think I’m gonna retch up Miz Emma’s berry bread.

  I remain on my knees, take a few deep breaths and the bread thankfully stays in my stomach. My head throbs something fierce. I reach up and feel gingerly above my left eye where it hurts the most. There’s a lump about the size of a crow egg and real tender to the touch. I’m bleeding, too. I can feel the stickiness of it all down the side of my face. How’d this happen? I cain’t think straight. But then I remember. I remember Grada hitting me with the cooking pot, the metal monsters, everything. It all comes flooding back into my head, and panic starts clawing at my throat.

  I have to get out of here. I have to find Grada and Ben. I try to gather my thoughts. My muddled brain tells me I must be in the storm cellar ‘cause I can smell the familiar scent of damp earth mixed with dried herbs. My steps are tentative as I reach out with my hands, trying to feel my way through the darkness. I need to find the steps to the hatch. I keep moving, scuffing my feet in the dirt, and finally my boot hits something solid. The steps. I crawl up them on my hands and knees ‘til my head bangs into the hatch, creating a whole new wave of pain. I ignore it and start pushing on the wood cover blocking my way. It don’t open. I push again, harder this time.

  Nuthin’. There must be something lying on top of it and weighing it down. I try to keep my panic under control, but the blackness is pressing in on me and making it hard to breathe. I push on it again with all my might and then start ramming it with my shoulder, putting all my weight behind it. Each jolt is causing me so much pain I think I just may black out again. But finally I hear something shift, and the hatch flies open. I’m instantly blinded by light, and my arms go up to cover my eyes.

  Smoke is the first thing I sense. The next is the deafening silence. Blinking away tears, I try to see what’s happening around me. Everything’s all hazy, but I reckon it has to be ‘cause of the smoke. I crawl out of the cellar and push the overturned water barrel out of my way. That must have been what was covering the hatch and keeping it down. I stand upright, sway a little, and try to get my bearings. The smoke is all around me, burning my eyes and my throat. I suddenly realize that it’s coming out of the shanties. Some of them are even starting to fall in on themselves. Oh gods. Our homes are burning. I start coughing and pull my wrapper over my nose and mouth.

  I peer through the haze. I don’t see nobody. Where are they?

  “Grada? Ben? Hey?” My voice shatters the quiet. “Shelly? Molly? Anybody?”

  There ain’t no answer. I take a couple of steps through the ghostly wisps surrounding me, but I cain’t see a soul.

  “Ben? Grada … Can anybody hear me?” I’m screaming now, but I cain’t help it. I’m scared. Why ain’t anybody answering me? I stumble to our shanty. The roof has already fallen in and there’s smoke billowing out the open door. No, Grada ain’t in there, I tell myself. He cain’t be. He and the others, they must have gone somewhere safe, I think. I just have to find them. I run to the next shanty and the next, still calling out their names.

  The smoke is overpowering. It’s hard to see, to breathe, but I don’t stop. I’m desperate to find somebody.

  I make my way to Lou’s shanty at the edge of the riverbed. His copper still is knocked down, all broken and twisted.

  Lou’s gonna be pissed, I think dully.

  There’s still flames burning inside the shanty but I run right up to it anyways, calling out his name and hoping for an answer.

  That’s when I see them.

  They’re spread along the edge of the riverbed like everyone of ‘em lay down to take a rest all at the same time. All in a line so neat that maybe, I’m thinking, maybe they are sleeping, even though the pain blossoming in my chest is saying elsewise. I don’t want to go any closer, but my feet move on their own as if they belong to someone else.

  “No, no, no, no!”

  A miserable wailing reaches my ears, and it takes me a moment to figure out the sound is coming out of me.

  Lou is the first I see. His arm is lying across his chest, and his sightless eyes are staring up at the sky like he was just cloud watching. There’s a dark red stain spread out underneath his arm. M
y chest tightens, and I start gasping for air but I keep looking.

  I see Shelly lying where she fell, all bloody and still. Thomas is crumpled over her, like he was trying to protect her. Then Ben’s ma and pa. They’re holding hands, but their eyes are open. Lifeless. Dead. At the sight of them, my legs go out from under me, and I fall to my knees.

  I cain’t look no more. I want to scratch my eyes out so as not to look at them anymore. But my eyes don’t listen to my brain, and they keep searching ‘til they find the familiar face.

  Grada.

  I crawl to him on my hands and knees, the sharp rocks biting painfully into my palms, but I ignore it. Sobbing his name now as if expecting an answer, I grab his hands. They’re still warm. Maybe he’s okay, I think, even though he’s got the same bloody hole in his chest like the others. I cover the wound with my hand, willing him to be okay just like when he was real sick. I willed him better then; I can do it again. Come on Grada, wake up. Wake up. Wake up, damn it!

  He don’t wake up.

  Feels like there’s a knife twisting in my chest, ripping me open. I ain’t ever felt such pain. Surely, my heart will burst from this pain.

  “No, Grada …,” I whisper. I rub his face. His whiskers are rough against my hand. His blue eyes are open and staring. I close them gently and kiss his forehead. I don’t even realize I’m crying ‘til I see my tears splash onto his cheek.

  The pain overtakes me. It hurts so bad. I wrap my arms around him and lay beside him, wishing for the pain to take me too. I close my eyes. I don’t want to look any more. I don’t want to see any more dead faces of the people I love. I don’t want to see Ben’s brown eyes with the light all snuffed out.

  Some time passes. I don’t know how long I laid there. I cain’t rightly say I would have ever got back up, but through the mist of pain, I hear my name. It’s all low and choky like somebody was trying to talk through a mouth full of root wad, but I hear it.

  “Tara …”

  I sit up, listening. I start to think my mind is playing tricks on me when I hear it again. Then I see a slight movement on my right. Somebody is moving.

  Molly!

  I crawl to her, reaching for her like she’s a lifeline. I grab her hand, bawling again, so overcome that somebody’s still alive. She has the same chest wound as Grada and the others. I know it’s an iron shooter that’s caused it, and I know chances ain’t good she’ll make it but for now she’s alive.

  “They didn’t get … you girl … good …,” she says.

  “Shhhh,” I whisper to her. “Don’t try to talk … save your strength.”

  She pats the hand holding hers as if she’s trying to comfort me.

  “Don’t fret … ‘bout me, child … my time … is passed …” She gasps for air, and her chest makes this awful gurgling sound. I shake my head and try to shush her again, but she ain’t done.

  “They took … the young’uns … but not you …,” she says. She takes a coughing fit then, and blood sprays from her mouth all down the front of my tunic. I wipe the blood from her mouth with my sleeve.

  “Molly … just stay with me … please!” I beg desperately.

  She grips my hand so tight it hurts me. I cain’t understand how she has such strength. There’s so much blood. Her eyes burn into mine something fierce.

  “I seen it, aye I did … I knew you … was special, child … they’re gonna need you … to show ‘em the way …”

  That’s all. She don’t talk no more. She sighs, and I watch as the light in her eyes just fades away. Her hand, so strong earlier, goes limp and I shake it with a desperate need.

  “Molly.” I cry. “Molly…please.”

  It don’t do no good. She’s gone.

  I kiss her calloused palm and lay her hand by her side. A sob escapes me. I hurt all over. I’m so full of pain and fear that I wanna scream so as to release the overwhelming pressure in my chest. I run my hands through my hair, look around … alone … lost. I don’t know what I should do now. I don’t know.

  Then slowly Molly’s words break through my paralyzing grief, and I recall what she said.

  “They took the young’uns.” They took them.

  I force myself to stand, to make my way through the line of death. I look at every loved face lying there. Everybody I’d ever known my whole life is there, but not young Thomas. Not Jane. Not Ben.

  My legs go numb again but this time from relief. They’re still alive! A strangled laugh escapes at the thought, but right away I cover my mouth with my hand, stifling the sound and feeling ashamed for the spark of happiness. How dare I be happy when everybody else is gone? Dead.

  Staggering away from the carnage, I focus on the horizon and the sinking sun. Anything but the dead. It’s going to be dark soon, I think. The day is almost done. My born day. I had forgot. I look down at my tunic. At my gift from Ben, hoping that somehow to see its beauty would erase some of the horror burned into my brain. Instead all I see is blood. Grada’s … Molly’s … I’m covered in it.

  I bend over, grab my knees to keep from falling, and retch on the ground. I retch ‘til there ain’t nuthin’ left, and the dry heaves take over. Finally, I spit and wipe a shaky hand cross my mouth. Suddenly, all I want to do is go. Get away from the bloodshed, the death. But I know I cain’t. I cain’t leave them like that, I think. It ain’t right to leave ‘em all out in the open so as the crows and vultures can shite on them and pick out their eyes and worse. The thought of it makes my stomach heave again. But I know there ain’t no way I’m going to be able to dig graves for them all and bury them, not by myself.

  I mull it over in my head. I look to the shanties. They’re still smoking some, but the flames have all died out. Was only the things inside that could burn anyways, and none of them had much. Then I realize that one of ‘em don’t seem to be smoking at all. In all the haze and confusion earlier, I ain’t noticed before. It don’t seem to have been set aflame like the others. Why?

  The door of the shanty is all but torn off, and I can see the torch that had been tossed in lying on the wooden table. It had scorched the table somewhat, but the torch had snuffed out. Nuthin’ but luck that this one didn’t burn like the rest.

  It’s Shelly’s and Thomas’s shanty. I step slowly inside, and right away my eyes are pulled to the cold hearth. I swear I can see us young’uns sitting there, listening all wide-eyed while Thomas tells us spook stories, making us squeal in fright. He sure could tell a good story, I think. Angry at myself, I shake my head to clear the images away. I ain’t got time for that, not now. I stride straight to the hearth where I know a candle and flint are kept, and I take them both. I need to go down into the storm cellar, and I’m going to need these to light my way.

  My slingbag is lying on the cellar floor like I hoped, as is my crossbow and even my hat. Everything I had on me when Grada put me down here. I check to make sure my water skin and knife are still in the bag. They are. I start packing the bag with the little supplies left in the cellar. Enough jerky and dried taters to last me a couple of weeks maybe if I ration it. A few medicinal herbs—there ain’t much. I haul it all out of the cellar then go back for the last two jugs of “medicinal” whiskey Lou kept here for emergencies, brewed from a good corn harvest a few years back. I take them, one in each hand. I’m going to need ‘em for what I’m planning.

  I drag everything back to the shanty and apologize in my head to Thomas and Shelly for what I’m about to do. I strip the beds in the shanty, roll up the two heaviest of the blankets and tie them to my slingbag. Next, I go rooting through the clothes chest. I find a couple of Shelly’s worn dresses and some of Jane’s and young Thomas’ things. Those I put aside with the other blankets. I find a clean tunic of Thomas’s and exchange it for the one I’m wearing. I cain’t stand having their blood on me anymore. I take his worn, rawhide jacket too, but this I pack in my slingbag.

  Done with the chest, I move on to the hearth. I find four root biscuits just sitting there as if Shelly was planning
on warming ‘em for their evening meal. The sight of them makes me want to bawl again, but instead I grab ‘em and throw ‘em in my slingbag before I change my mind. Another water skin and Thomas’s hunting knife are lying there too. It’s a big knife, bigger than mine, nice and sharp. Thomas took real good care of it. I use the big knife to cut all the clothes and blankets I had gathered into strips. I hack at the cloth with a simmering anger, but it don’t help to lessen my hurt none. All it does is make me feel more guilty about what I was doing to Shelly’s and Thomas’s things, but then I remember they ain’t gonna need ‘em. Not anymore. Not ever. Annoyed at the tears that are threatening to fall again, I push on my eyelids with enough force to make me see black spots. It works. I don’t cry.

  I take some of the strips and tie the knife sheath to my thigh, nice and tight. I want to keep this knife handy. The rest I soak in the whiskey brew. Now for the hard part.

  The moon sits high in the night sky by the time I’m done with my gruesome task. I’d moved all my kin. I didn’t want to think of ‘em as bodies. I’d moved them all as close together the best I could manage and stuffed the spaces between ‘em with twigs and kindlin’ from the wood pile and the strips of soaked cloth. Some of the bigger strips I’d used to cover their eyes. I couldn’t stand to have to look at their eyes while I was doing what I was doing. I take the leftover whiskey and pour it all over their clothes, glad for the darkness hiding the worst of their wounds from me. Finally, I’m done.

  I stand back and wipe the sweat out of my eyes, just stare at the moon for a bit. I know what I got to do now; I just cain’t bring myself to do it. The moon is in its shrinking stage, a waning moon. I smile a bit ‘cause I can hear Grada’s voice in my head.