by Geoff North
Cobe heard Willem calling his name some time later. He opened his eyes and saw the sun sitting low on the western horizon. It was cooler, a lot cooler. He sat up, shivering, looking around in all directions for his brother. He spotted the boy a few seconds later, standing a long stone’s throw away, hunched over with his one elbow resting against a knee. Cobe went to him, afraid Willem was puking up whatever moisture was left inside. He wasn’t vomiting. He was studying something in the dirt.
“That look like a blade of grass to you?” The boy asked.
Cobe glanced down at the yellow shard curving up out of the dry soil and shrugged. “Looks more like a weed… a dead one.”
“Remember when Pa used to tell us that grass can’t grow without water somewhere underneath.”
“I don’t recall most of what Pa had to say because he was drunk all the time.”
“Maybe if we dig down some we’ll find a whole lake.”
“Maybe if you dig down a mile.”
Willem sneered at him and bent over to pluck the weed. He pulled it out, and a severed finger came with it.
Cobe smacked it out of his hand and the boys backed away in unison. Cobe’s foot stepped on the remains of the howler’s arm. He whispered. “Whatever bought them other ones down started here.”
“Or it dragged this one from there.”
Cobe resisted the urge to head west into the setting sun. Following what little light remained would only steer them away from where they’d set out to go so many hours before. They had to keep moving east. That was the general direction Cloud had run off in. With any luck they’d find the animal before whatever it was hunting howlers found them first.
Willem tugged at his brother’s arm. “You sure it wasn’t a roller what killed ‘em all?”
“I already told you, rollers run and trample. Whatever’s making this mess is hungry, and mad as he—”
Willem was yanking hard now. “Well if that ain’t a roller, what the fuck is it?”
“I… don’t know.” The thing was bearing down on them from the south a quarter mile away. Cobe could see dust rising up from behind it. He looked about desperately for any place of cover they could take, but found none. They were surrounded by barren, dry flatlands. A hazy grey strip to the east—the hills he and his brother had climbed fleeing from Burn—was still ten miles away. The thing would be on them in less than a minute. “Gather up what rocks you can and fill your pockets with them. We’re going to have to split up.”
Willem couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Split up? You’re gonna leave me?”
“We’re going to die together if we just stand here and watch.” Cobe started stuffing fist-sized stones into his pockets. When they were filled, he made a bowl out of the front of his shirt and filled it with more. “I’ll try and lead it in another direction. You run for them hills, and don’t look back. You hear me?”
“I ain’t leaving you, Cobe.” Willem’s eyes teared up. “You’re all I got left. If you up and get killed, then I reckon it’s time for me to go, too.”
The creature was less than a hundred yards away. It wasn’t a roller, Cobe could see that. He had no idea what it was, and if they stood any longer in one spot trying to figure it out, both brothers would die. Cobe slapped him hard across the face. “Run, you dumb little fucker! Forget about me and head for them hills!” He pushed the boy away and started running west. The thing saw him moving, and veered his way. It closed the gap in seconds, slowed some, and started circling around the older boy.
Cobe could see what it was now—or at least recognized what it had once been. The sharp-edged stone in his hand fell from his fingers and thumped into the dirt. He let the rocks gathered in the front of his shirt fall as well. They wouldn’t do him any good. Not against her.
It started moving in, a jiggling mass of burnt muscle and fat. Fragments of the black dress it once wore had melded into the cracks of its fleshy rolls. Her massive breasts looked like two puddles of cow dung stuck against her chest, raw and blistering. The rest wasn’t any easier to behold. The hair on her head was gone, as was most of the skin covering her round face. She was a quivering blob of black, open sores. Cobe thought the stink of the howler corpses she’d left behind was bad. It was nothing compared to the stench emanating from Eunice Murrenfeld’s obese, charred body. He dropped to his knees, and her big shadow spread over him. He stared down at the peeling stumps where her toes had once been.
“I remember you,” she wheezed. Eunice lifted a heavy, scarred arm and pointed at Willem still standing where Cobe had left him. “And your brother. You left me in that town… Rudd. You and your friends left me there to die.” Every word sounded as if it were causing the cryer intense agony, but she continued anyway. “Left me there as those filthy, inbred hill people shot their arrows and set me on fire.” She kicked Cobe in the chest, sending him to the dirt on his back. “But I didn’t die. I’ve been wandering out in these fucking plains ever since… feeding on the abominations… building my strength up.” She kicked Cobe again. “Look at me, you little shit. Look how much I’ve recovered.”
Cobe looked up as she lifted her massive arms out to the sides. She did a slow spin, revealing the full extent of her horrific burns and disgusting recovery. A stone bounced off her shoulder. Willem was moving towards them, throwing rocks with his one arm. Another stone thudded into the side of her head where an ear used to be. She didn’t even feel it. Her black eyes were focused solely on Cobe. “I’m going to let you live and force you to watch while I eat him.”
The front part of her skull blew apart, depositing a spray of brains and bone fragments over Cobe’s pants. He heard a distant crack a moment later. Eunice teetered there for a few more uncomprehending seconds, then toppled back, dead and stinking, into the earth.
Cobe looked at his brother, wondering stupidly how a single rock throw could’ve inflicted so much damage. The younger boy wasn’t looking at him; he was staring off towards the north where a small black form had appeared on the horizon. The black form rode at them and took shape. It was Dust, carrying the Lawman on his back. Lawson was still holding the rifle that had brought Eunice down in one hand. Another horse was galloping behind them. Willem cried out triumphantly when he saw Jenny riding Cloud.
“I thought we’d seen the last of her,” Lawson said as he dismounted next to the corpse. He turned on Cobe, still sitting in the dirt with the cryer’s brains splattered over his lap. “And I thought I wouldn’t be seeing you two again anytime soon, either.”
Cobe sat up without meeting his steely glare and started rubbing the gore away with fistfuls of dry dirt. “Figured you might need some help.”
Willem stepped up suddenly and smacked his brother’s face. “Don’t you ever try and split us up again!”
The Lawman chuckled and pulled Cobe to his feet. “Alright then, glad this has all been settled. You two get back on that horse, and the four of us will continue riding east.”
“I ain’t ridin’ with that asshole,” Willem said. He scrambled up onto Dust’s back and glowered back down at his brother.
Cobe went to Cloud and climbed up behind Jenny. The Lawman pointed his rifle at the remains of Eunice Murrenfeld’s face and blew the rest into mush. “A couple of things I’ve been reminded of in the last minute. One—a cryer ain’t dead unless its brains have been completely emptied out of its skull, and two—never expect kids to do as they’re told.”
Cobe and Jenny stared venomously at him as he got up behind Willem and took hold of the reins. They rode east towards the distant grey strip of hills.
Chapter 21
“Phoenix Protocol activated… Please proceed to emergency evacuation level.”
He opened his eyes and saw a band of green light pass over the small glass window inches above his face.
Where am I?
The green light passed by again a second later.
I… can’t remember my name.
The green light continued to flash as the man a
ttempted to recall more. The year is 2075. It’s the year the te—
The word left him. The entire thought vanished and reformed.
It’s the year the accident happened… What accident? He closed his eyes and saw a face. The face of his friend. Next came blinding white. He opened his eyes quickly again to the gentler green flashing. I don’t want to remember that. Not yet. Never.
He lifted his hands from his sides and pressed his fingers against cool plastic cushioning. It was damp to the touch. He heard a click and a hiss. The lid with the little glass window opened. The man sat up inside his cryogenic cylinder and looked about the room. The green light set in the ceiling continued its steady rotation, revealing walls made of machinery. He had no idea of the room’s purpose, or how the machines functioned. Something caught his eye in one corner of the small space. The light went by it again and the man saw a chair with a long black bag hanging over the backrest and seat. The cold female voice he thought he’d heard spoke again.
“Phoenix Protocol activated… Please proceed to emergency evacuation level.”
He climbed out of the cylinder, stretched, and went to the chair. There was a zipper running down the center of the bag. He pulled it down and saw a black dress suit within. There was a white shirt and red tie beneath the jacket. He dressed and noticed the socks and polished black shoes resting under the chair. He slipped into them. Perfect fit. He felt the suit’s material. Very expensive.
“Phoenix Protocol activated… Please proceed to emergency evacuation level.”
He spoke out loud for the first time. “What is Phoenix, and where is the emergency evacuation level?” A blue map lit up on the door of the room. The man went to it and studied the three-dimensional representation of an installation he didn’t recognize. A yellow line lit up showing him the directions he’d asked for. He traced the line with a finger, following it out of the room he was in, down a long corridor to the right. The path ended at the door’s edge with a tiny image of an elevator alcove. The entire map changed before him. A bright blue arrow appeared at the center pointing downwards. Within the arrow were the words PROCEED TO LEVEL SUB-3. The yellow line appeared again showing the way to a large evacuation chamber.
He stepped back and the map winked out. There was a mirror set into the wall next to the door. A hard-looking face stared back at him with more wrinkles than he would’ve liked. A shocking mop of greying red hair sat atop his head. He went in closer and saw how pale his skin was. It looked sickly grey in the flashing green light. His eyes were pink with pin pricks for pupils. I look half dead. He stretched again and curled his fingers into fists. Why do I feel so young… so strong?
“Phoenix Protocol activated… Please proceed to emergency evacuation level.”
He’d asked himself too many questions, and he didn’t have any answers. The Phoenix Protocol voice was repeating a clear instruction, the only thing he had to go by. He stepped up in front of the door again, but it remained closed. There was no handle, no keypad. He cleared his throat and spoke one word in an authoritative tone. “Open.”
The door slid open and a creature lunged at him. The man threw his arms up defensively and grabbed at the thing’s wrists. Blackened fingernails clawed at the air inches short of his face. It was a woman, or perhaps had been one once, but the murderous intent in her dead, black eyes held no humanity. Her naked body was smeared in blood. Chunks of organs were caked on her cheeks, and strips of skin hung from her mouth. She would tear his throat out with those snapping wet teeth if he didn’t bring her down first. He pulled hard and heard the bones in both of her forearms snap. The strength he felt was exhilarating. She fell forward and the man drove his knee into her throat. Her head snapped back, the spine severed.
He dropped her to the ground and watched dispassionately as the long grey legs twitched a few final times. He had killed her. He should’ve been experiencing remorse, horror, guilt, or perhaps a combination of all three. The computerized voice issued its warning again in the background. He felt nothing save for a sense of self preservation. He rushed from the room and headed down the long corridor towards the elevator alcove.
The door slid shut on his cryogenic chamber room. A plaque was attached near the top that read:
HENRY ‘HANK’ ODELL
53rd AND FINAL LEADER OF OUR GREAT NATION
BORN JANUARY 11, 2012
AT REST JULY 9, 2075
Beneath that was an iconic symbol embossed in gold—the seal of the President of the United States of America.
Chapter 22
They rode through the night making up for lost time. When the sun rose the following morning, the hills were behind them, and the boys saw a sight in the east they had hoped to never see again. Trails of chimney smoke ascended from behind the old stone wall into the dull orange sky. The town of Burn was awake for another day.
“Can’t believe we’re going back there,” Willem muttered.
“We ain’t staying long,” Cobe replied. The boys were back together again—their differences worked out—riding Cloud slowly out into the plains. “The Lawman promised.”
Lawson and Jenny pulled up alongside them. “You’d have no need to complain if you had stuck with Sara and the others.” He spat onto the ground and gave Willem a crooked stare that was half smile and half frown. “Yer brother’s right. We’ll gather some belongings I left behind and be on our way again before noon. It should also guarantee we get behind Eichberg… take the old bastard unaware.”
“What belongings you got left there?” Willem asked.
The Lawman shrugged. “Weapons and stuff.”
“We got all the weapons we need,” the boy countered. “Cobe and me took all the guns we could carry from Big Hole.”
Cobe sensed there was more to the return ride home. “This is about Lode and his followers, isn’t it?”
Lawson stared ahead. “Lode and his men are dead.”
“Not all of them,” Cobe said. “The whole gawdamn village did as he said. You aren’t going back for weapons… You’re going back to clean the town up, once and for all.”
Lawson didn’t reply. He dug his boot heels into Dust’s sides and rode ahead.
“Stupid old Lawman,” Willem grumbled when they were out of earshot. “He won’t be happy until we’re all dead.”
“Maybe coming back to Burn is a good thing. Maybe we can settle up for what was done to Ma and Pa.” He smacked Cloud’s rear end with an open palm and the tired mare galloped to catch up.
There was only one way to enter Burn, through a twenty foot high wooden door set into the old stone wall facing west. It would be their only way out as well, Cobe thought grimly as it opened inwards before them. He spotted Assup sitting up in his lookout tower, and threw him a wave. The man waved back hesitantly after a moment or two. Assup wasn’t a bad sort. He didn’t rank much higher than Trot when it came to brain-smarts, but he loved his job—sitting atop one of the two lookouts in Burn—and no one did it better, or with as much heart. He would stay up there all day and night if it were up to him.
Maybe coming home wouldn’t end terribly, Cobe thought. Assup was letting them in, that was a good sign. But then again, the tower lookouts pretty much let anything in so long as it wasn’t rolling in on claws. He pulled lightly on Cloud’s reins, steering the horse up next to Dust. “Remember your promise,” he said softly.
The Lawman rode slowly, his broad shoulders stooped as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I didn’t promise nothin’. We’ve come here for some personal belongings, and I said we’d be movin’ on by noon. If something other were to happen before now and then, it won’t be my fault.”
Cobe didn’t like the sound of that. They rode on, moving through the dry mud streets. Town folk had begun to gather at the corners. They whispered and pointed as the Lawman rode past. The more people that came out onto the streets, the quieter it got. Willem stuck his tongue out at a group of filthy old women gawking their way from the front of Abby’s sewing hut.
Cobe jabbed his brother in the spine until he stopped. Old Abby had been piecing clothes together for folks in Burn since before Cobe was born, and she’d be likely doing it long after he was finally gone. All the other women congregated there in the early mornings to bitch about their cheating husbands, their stupid children, their shitting dogs and cats, and just about everything else they could think of rotten in their miserable lives. Still, it didn’t give Willem cause to be disrespectful.
They rode past Gammon’s blacksmith barn. The heavily muscled, white bearded worker looked up from the piece of twisted metal he was hammering on. He had always been friendly to Cobe and his brother, and it was said around town that he was the Lawman’s only friend. He one-nodded at the four, an almost imperceptible motion, then turned back down to his work. Doran, his assistant, stood next to him, sneering at Cobe up on his horse. Cobe spat on the ground not far from his feet and looked away. The boys had gone to school together, and never cared much for one another there, either.
On the horses trotted, by single-room shacks where entire families lived, and huts made of mud and straw where they kept their livestock. Residents continued pouring onto the streets, staring at them as if death itself had ridden into town. No one greeted them. The only verbal welcome they received was from a three-legged dog that darted out from a back alley and yipped at the horses.
Cobe had made the right decision taking his brother and fleeing from Burn. It stunk of shit, piss, and despair. Coming back—no matter what the Lawman’s reasoning might have been—seemed like the wrong thing to do. This wasn’t their home anymore, and perhaps it never had been.
They came upon the black hanging tree in the center of town. The branch their mother and father had climbed out on and eventually fallen from stuck out like a cancerous finger. Cobe wondered bleakly how many more poor souls had dropped since.
