by Black, D. S.
Where is god, take a look around
Where is god, do you see him around?
Where is god, nowhere to be seen
Where is god, only in your dreams
Where is god, hiding in your mind, fantasy created, imagination manifested
Where is god, look only to a mirror—he lives in your image
Nature’s hatred was the only god there ever was and will be. She’s angry and hungry and taking back what’s rightfully hers. Humans don’t stand a chance.
Jack understood now. He saw it all clearly.
Time to take the leap, take the plunge; time to jump through that open door.
My thoughts race like a mad hare
My heart beats like the fast tap of a drummer’s snare
My nails chewed into bloody stumps, mindless delusions clump with wide eyes, yanking hair
My screams sound far off, deep from a mind that is surely lost
My eyes blue chasms of hollow pain, face cringed from horrors past, aching regret the final cost
I look down at the world below, little people move to and fro
I feel cold wind blow and a warm sunny glow
I take a step forward, feet teetering on concrete’s edge, people below not knowing what I know
I see a bird perch nearby; high winds flutter his wings as he enjoys my final show
Falling towards the unsuspecting crowd below, my thoughts begin to slow
Falling with freshly washed windows flying past, sharp air rushing fast
Falling like a dying bird as air whistles in my ear, my feathered friend hovers by asking why
Falling quickly, black asphalt approaching ever so fast, I try to answer but all he hears is a bloody splat.
Somewhere in the background of his mind, Jack heard Doctor Brown talking with others; their voices didn’t seem real; didn’t matter anymore. The time was approaching for the end of all suffering, he would wait; wait and see if Candy returned. Just a little bit longer, not much longer though; he needed out of this and as soon as possible. He didn’t want to linger in this world of decay a moment longer than he had to. Like the poem of the man leaping off the roof, Jack planned to leap through the open door and exit humanity’s bleak and unnatural existence.
Cancer! Humans were black cancer. Nothing more, nothing less than a tumor on mother nature’s back; but mother nature found a cure, she found the Fever and now humanity was being killed off.
Oh, but cancer doesn’t want to die does it? A few twisted dark cells hide in shadow and then try and reinsert themselves. A few adapt and make a final push to regain a sinister foot hold on nature’s spine….
.…that’s why the Fever created the walkers; the zombies were the radiation that would finish off the remaining cancer cells; cancer cells that clung to a forgotten world, a world of disorder and over indulgence. Humans made a hell of an effort to kill the natural world, but nature has bitten back with unyielding retribution.
Nature’s soul said no; nature’s heart chose to endure. So, it echoed its victory cry across planet earth, demanding an end to humanity; a ceasing of hostility against her sweet fabric, her glorious life; nature made a declaration. Man would no longer kill its beautiful forests, pollute its streaming rivers, murder its oceanic kingdoms.
Humans had their opportunity; nature held her arms open in the beginning, welcoming men and women with a warm and trusting embrace; she was betrayed, hurt, and maimed; and mankind marched out upon her breast and infected her with industrious selfishness.
Metal minds, poisoned hearts, crooked eyes, black souls—man’s desire to conquer nature, shape her to his own needs. It went too far; hungry greed, dispassionate souls, heartless desire, bringing poverty and pain, death and tears against his fellow men and women, kids and elderly, only caring for the towering skyscrapers, steel and glass towers with zero empathy policies of plunder, war, and famine; creation of false scarcity, dispersal of commercial propaganda, creating the image of the false and fictitious man; a cold Darwinism, replete with racism, class superiority, and the unbreakable glass ceilings of gender stratification.
Like a whirlwind of confusion and angst, these thoughts spun through Jack’s mind as he rested uneasily in the bed. He dozed in and out of consciousness; the sun grew old outside and still there was no sign of Candy, Pinky, or Rainmaker.
8
The rest of the farm’s remaining occupants were worried. Not just about Jack, but also about why Pinky and Rainmaker hadn’t returned. Unlike Jack, Doctor Brown, Carla, and Miss Thelma still held hope for the future. Stoic suicide wasn’t in their vocabulary, much less in their minds. So, they waited with open hearts; they put their faith in Pinky and Rainmaker.
As Jack laid in bed lost in madness, the morning had come and gone, midday lost, and the darkness of twilight neared.
“They’ve come back from some nasty things. They’ll be back,” Thelma said.
She sat at the kitchen table sipping black coffee. Carla sat beside her chewing her thumb nail. Doctor Brown stood looking out the kitchen window.
“I sure hope you’re right Miss Thelma. I do love Pinky,” Carla said.
“Well then! It’s about time you open up about your real feelings for that boy,” Thelma said, forcing a smile.
Doctor Brown spoke without turning around, as if to himself. “Jack’s mind is slipping. I’m not so sure we can save him. I hope his sister does return soon. If she dies I think that will be the end of our new friend Jack. He’s caught up in suicidal philosophy.”
“I tell you, thinking too much these days will sure nough kill ya! It’s best to just have faith in those around you and keep moving forward with life,” Miss Thelma said; but she had a disconcerted look on her face. Something was wrong. Damn wrong.
“Pinky will make it. I know he will, they all will. Damn those Militia thugs! Those druggies just don’t stand a chance. Our people are good and decent. That counts for something,” Carla said.
No one said anything else. The question if their friends would make it back hung in the air; the worry and fear that crept in their minds caused them all to stare blankly; they wanted to hope. Of course they did hope; hoped and prayed the small band of men who journeyed to fight five thousand Militia soldiers would come home alive and well.
Hope that goodness and decency still held sway in the New World. Faith that good men would always defeat evil and darkness. That in the end, no matter how rough the road got, there always existed a shining light at the end of all dark tunnels.
They stayed in the kitchen drinking cup after cup of coffee. No one said anything else. No one offered any more kernels of positive hope. The time had come to simply wait. Wait for either the return of their friends or the arrival of the black hearted Militia.
The day wore down. Night came upon the farm again. The remaining men and women on the farm continued to check the fences, pick off any zombies that came close to the perimeter, and kept a firm and steady watch for the return of their friends.
Dinner was made, and everyone ate in silence. Jack’s meal was taken to him on a tray. Doctor Brown checked him over, administered his medication, and watched as Jack fell asleep muttering madly under his breath.
Near midnight, a storm washed over the farm. Lighting blasted in the sky and hard pelting rain came pouring down. The howling wind shrieked against the windows; the shutters shook; the thunder erupted with such power that the entire house shook as though some giant was pounding the ground around it.
Around four in the morning, while most of the farm slept, the skeleton crew working third shift fence patrol saw something happen.
As the wind screamed in the dark pits of the night, a flashing bolt of pure electricity struck a towering pine tree near the fence; it sounded as though God had shot a heavenly gun down from the sky; the old pine cracked at its base; the third shift crew ran in the rain and watched helplessly as it toppled down onto the fence line; crunching the metal, crushing it under the ancient tree’s weight.
Another flash of blinding hot lightning confirmed their fears. What they saw coming was no illusion, it was an army of the dead; hungry and wet, a horde of countless number marched over the breach; burning white eyes glowed in the black night….
.…Doctor Brown, Carla, Miss Thelma, and all the other folks still on the farm woke up to the sound of an alarm that gave off a low beeping noise.
Guns were grabbed, preplanned stations manned, and the battle for Pinky’s farm began.
Candy Makes a Stand
Candy ran. Her breathing came in haggard gasps, her mind drunk on adrenaline. Her revolver reported a KA-BANG! and another zombie dropped. KA-BANG! another KA-BANG! and another KA-BANG! and another. They were everywhere. A thick fog enveloped the surrounding trees. She heard screams.
She didn’t know where Pinky and Rainmaker were, but they were close. She could hear Rainmaker’s commanding voice booming orders to the few men left under his care. It had been at least twenty-four hours since they departed Columbia, but that was only a guess. May be two days or more… who the hell knew?
“HELP!” A little girl’s voice pierced the air. A zombie was almost on top of her. Then two more came for her. KA-BANG! KA-BANG! KA-BANG!
Candy protected nearly ten unarmed women and little girls, former prisoners of the Militia. At first things had gone well after escaping Columbia, they had moved through the trees like ghosts. Keeping silent while trying to make good time. They moved on foot through the thick palmetto forests. No Militia in sight. No sign of pursuit.
But then the dead came. The loudness of the Battle for Columbia had brought thousands of walking corpses. Like an angry bee hive, they’d been rattled and were ready to sting; ready to consume flesh.
It was like a sudden storm no one expected. One moment they moved through the woods unmolested; the next the walkers appeared from all directions. The dead had cut the group into small parties.
“Stay with me! Stay close!” Candy had screamed when they first came. They came in the early hours. Mist still in the air like a battle fog.
Now she fired again and again, she was running short on bullets. She reloaded as she ran. So many. So fucking many! She looked behind her and saw her little girls wavering in their supernatural awe. They stared at her, Candy felt a strange sensation, a weird intuition; her death was approaching; how did she know that? She couldn’t say, but in that moment staring at her dead girl’s eyes, she knew her living flesh would not last much longer. She didn’t feel afraid, she felt relief; it would all end. Similar to how Jack felt, but without the suicidal open door. She would never kill herself. No way! If she was going to die, she would die fighting; fighting till the end.
She saw the women and little girls she was escorting through the forest of corpses; she saw their fear. These women had been locked away in that stadium for a long time, beaten and raped, never had to learn to survive outside of those huge walls. Now they were out in the shit and were defenseless.
It suddenly occurred to Candy she could just run off, she could leave them for the walkers and save herself; tell the others that she did her best but couldn’t save them in the end; then in a flash of memory, she saw the family she murdered; the little girls she shot down in cold blood; the infant she smothered….
(Murderer!)
(baby killer!)
.…she then saw the young girls she was escorting, their fearful faces staring up at her with dismal hope. A prayer that this red head with the point-blank aim, this gunslinger with piercing blue eyes would save them.
(murderer!)
(baby killer!)
No! She would not abandon these people. Maybe she was a murderer. Maybe the coldness of the New World brought her to her knees that once, but never again; never again would she betray her principles of justice and decency; if she was going to die, then she was going to go out fighting for those who can’t help themselves; if she must perish this day, then let her die with glory and greatness.
Her dead girls looked up at her, both smiled and nodded. They saw her thoughts, understood that their mother was going to meet the paranormal transformation with a clean heart; her soul cleansed of hurt and guilt.
Candy reached in her pocket, took out her remaining rounds, and chambered them. She opened fire into an approaching rambling horde. “Die cocksuckers!” She fired six precise shots and six dead heads exploded.
Her ammo spent, her adrenaline pumping. She holstered her revolver, removed her long blade and fought the dead hand to hand; she guided the women she protected back against a line of thick pine trees that nestled against a rock face. The dead moved against them; ten, twenty, Jesus….
…. too many to count. She stabbed them, kicked them, fought them with warrior zeal; her eyes wide with focused intensity, her red hair matted down with blood and sweat. The dead could not breach the one-woman perimeter as though possessed by a supernatural power, Candy would not let them pass; would not let them get to the women and girls behind her.
She stabbed her knife in a zombie’s skull, it lodged deep; she couldn’t pull it out. She swung around and kicked the zombie to the ground, removed her heavy revolver and began to pistol whip the relentless swarm of dead marching against her.
So many, so damn many. She was weakening. They were going to take her, rip her and the women apart.
“NOOOOO!” She screamed and forced a new rush of adrenaline through her veins, and pistol whipped two more with quick cracks to the skull; she would not give up. She would not let the dead take these wome—
She screamed as a flanking zombie bit into her forearm. Her pistol came down against its skull and it dropped. Blood gushed out of the open wound; how long before she turned? How long before she became one of these disgusting things?
“Run! Run! RUN!!!” She screamed at the women. “RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! LET THEM HAVE ME!” She fought the dead, cracking their skulls one after another; she was going to die. Her fate was sealed, but she would do it in style. Do it with pride, fight till she fell dead on the ground. She would kill as many of the motherfuckers as she could.
Another one chewed into her right shoulder. She slammed the side of her pistol against it, knocking it over. “RUN! DAMN YOU RUN! I CAN’T HOLD EM OFF MUCH LO—”
Before the women ran, a wild eyed Native American charged from the trees, the whites of his eyes gleamed from a face smothered in blood. Johnny Rainmaker screamed a warrior’s cry; his ancient ancestry, the warriors of old burned in him like a force that stepped out of the ugliest, scariest, vilest regions of hell. Rainmaker charged into the crowd of dead, he swung an axe, lobbing heads off left and right; a mad smile on his face, his white teeth glimmering in the sun shining down through the tree tops.
Candy fell to her knees. Two women behind her took her by the arms and pulled her away from the horde. Candy watched through blurring vision as Rainmaker was joined by Pinky and the remaining survivors from the original war party. The women ripped some clothes and did what they could to bind Candy’s bleeding open wounds.
Candy knew she might turn any moment. “Kill me… you have to kill me.”
The women refused. They would not kill their red head savior, nor would they ever forget the way she’d fought for them. The way she created a one-person wall of relentless protection.
But the Fever worked its lethal way in Candy. Her mind was hazy, her temperature rising. For some the Fever only took a few seconds, sometimes minutes. For others it takes hours or even days; Candy fought it in her mind, willing the Fever to slow.
Her translucent girls stood beside her. “Don’t worry, Mama. It’ll end soon. You’ll be with us.”
Candy smiled at them and reached a shaking hand in their direction. The women around her looked at each other. They assumed it was just the Fever creating hallucinations. They all looked at Candy with pity.
“You d
id good, Mama.”
“Thank you, baby.” Candy’s voice trembled. “I love you.”
“We love you Mama,” they said simultaneously.
After the zombies were dispatched, blood drenched Johnny Rainmaker cleared the women away from Candy. He knelt beside her and held her hand. “You are the bravest woman I’ve ever met. Your soul will meet the afterlife with glorious brightness. A joyous reunion with your girls,” Rainmaker said with utmost sincerity. Unlike the women staring at Candy with pity, Johnny Rainmaker looked at her with admiration; he knew what she saw was real.
“Take me to Jack, Johnny. Please, before it’s too la—”
Her body shuddered, and her vision blinked out. Slowly it came back to her, but now everything looked far away. There was a shroud, a shadow between her and Rainmaker. Her mind spun, and she realized that seeing Jack again was no longer an option.
A tear dribbled down her face, making a tributary through the drying blood. She thought of Jack. Remembered him as boy and her as a girl. The fun they had growing up. The beach trips. The long van rides with Mema and Papa up to the mountains. All the good years flashed through her mind. She saw the memories, she focused and saw them as though a movie played those lost moments; those distant memories. Memories that would cease to exist once she was dead, once she crossed over to the world of her girls; the spirit realm.
A harsh feverish shudder sent Candy into violent spasms.
And as her girls stood beside her, as Rainmaker held her hand, Candy’s thoughts turned blank and she knew no more.
Johnny removed a blade strapped to his thigh and pushed it through Candy’s temple.
Her girls watched as her spirit rose and joined them in sweet embrace.
Johnny never told anyone, but when he pulled the knife from her skull; he felt a cold rush pass over him, followed by the words: thank you….
The Voice 2
As It consumed those dying at Pinky’s farm, it felt positive energy coming. It felt the vibrations of strength and willpower. The essence of strong, mighty souls.
