by Bob Williams
Oh, fuck, Lord help me. I want to die on my terms.
He’s standing behind a wall that ends before you step into the bar area. He sticks a gross-looking hand out and waves. Which is pretty stupid, unless Shen told him the meal was already served up. Maybe that’s why he came. He thought he wouldn’t have to work for it.
The Freak steps out into view. He’s a disgusting sight from head to toe. He has all the signs of a solid break. His eyes are bloodshot, and they’re leaking blood along with his ears. He’s skin and bones for sure, and grown in size; his bones press against his skin at every logical intersection. I’ve never seen anything like it. And... oh my God. It wasn’t a knife or a screwdriver he was scraping along the wall. It was an arm, which he’s holding by the wrist, and what was scraping along the wall was a metal elbow replacement joint.
“Looky looky,” he says. “I’m like a … cat! I get to play with my prey before I eat it. Maybe I can … make your head … pop off with my feet!”
“I don’t think so, friend. I’m already dying. I don’t need your help. I’m not checking out of here on anybody’s terms but my own. So if you take another step towards me, that tells me you want to die.”
“I’m not your friend, meat. I am the HUUUNGRY MAAAN!!! And you are my reward, meat. My reward for being a good soldier. Admiral Shen said so. So … I’m afraid … the last thing your eyes will see is the inside of my ass when I shit you out!”
“Jesus, son. That doesn’t even make sense. I used to be married to a school teacher. She would throw chalk-dust-filled erasers at your face for saying something so stupid. But I suppose we’re gonna have to do this. Give me a second to stand up. I have your boss’s knife in my gut.”
He lets loose a violent, primal scream and charges at me. I’m up but leaning heavily on the bar for support. I almost slip in a large puddle of blood that has been collecting the entire I’ve been sitting here.
An idea emerges in the split second I have to think. Old man brains to the rescue! I slide over and stand right in the heart of the blood puddle. He’s upon me instantly. I grab his shirt with both hands and allow his momentum to take me backward, using the blood puddle to slip out. As I’m slipping underneath him I pull his face right into the bar slab. It’s one of the most disgusting sounds I’ve ever heard.
Moving too violently has shifted the knife and I’m seeing purple hazy stars in front of me. I slowly work my way up to my feet. I am now covered in blood. I manage to take a number of steps away from the Freak before I hear pure bloodcurdling laughter coming from him.
The Freak slowly erects himself to a standing, although hunched, position. He turns to face me, his jaw barely hanging on. And his teeth—all of them have been annihilated. The remaining fragments are sawing up his mouth and lips. Dark, crimson blood flows freely. His nose is beyond hideous. He smiles, chin pointed downwards, eyes locked on me.
“Gert reafy, meaf…”
“Oh shut up the hell up already!”
I extend my arms out wide in a “let’s go” position, doing my best to mask the grimace as a lightning bolt of excruciating pain rivets my body. I’m ready for this to end, one way or the other.
It’s mildly comical how we look as we charge each other. Sawtooth has a decent jaunt as he cruises towards me. Meanwhile, I go at him with a knife in my hip, doing a very sweaty saunter. His jaw is now swinging side to side, held on only by skin. I see a new wave of purple stars in my eyes due to the agonizing pain.
We collide in the near center of the room. Both of us, creatures of the Descent. Both killers. Both survivors. From a certain point of view. We are in a classic standoff. He’s grabbed both of my jacket lapels and pulls me in tight. In return, after a quite painful juxtaposition of limbs, I have him in the same grip, only I’m trying to push him away.
He’s too strong. I’m going to die. Or worse, be transformed into Satan’s lap dog. I do not want to go out like this! He starts to easily overpower me as he brings his horrific face towards me. If he bites me it’s over. Over in the sense I will be healed by the blood and start my new life as a Freak. I push back with what little strength I have left. I can’t plant my leg for shit because of the pain.
Then it hits me. I’ve got one shot. Can I use his momentum against him a second time? Why not? I muster all the energy I can and throw it into him. He backs up to plant his feet, and as he starts to push back into me I kick him in the balls as hard as I can. Yes, you can kick a Freak in the balls and achieve the desired result.
He howls in pain, spewing blood all over my chest, face, and in my eyes. Instinctively he releases the grip on me and grabs his crotch. My vision is blood-blurred, but I pull the massive knife from my body and bring it straight up towards the blur standing in front of me.
The blade goes up through his jaw and into his brain. I watch through a haze as he bites his tongue off and his eyes roll back. He’s dead before he hits the ground.
Oh yeah. That’ll do, pig. That’ll do. I can feel the lights getting dimmer. I stumble clumsily over to the bar taps. With my blood-soaked hands I grab a glass. It’s not clean, but really, who cares at this point? I pull the tab on the Timelord Dry Irish Stout. It works. Shen must’ve had the place functioning. I sip the beer.
“Timelord. Always loved that show. Pertwee with the kung fu.”
My legs start to give. I take one more wonderful sip and let myself slip to the floor. Mere feet from where I started.
“Turn out the lights, the party’s over...”
Is anyone even listening? I close my eyes and wait to die.
Later
I’m stirred awake by the pain and soreness coursing throughout my body. Blinking my eyes several times, the room regains focus. Damn, I’m cold. Breathing is … hard. It’s happening. I woke up long enough to die. Fitting. I’m scared.
Now that it’s come down to it, I never thought I would die alone. I— What is that? Something’s up in the rafters. It’s bright. Very bright. I can only look if I shield most of it with my arm. It’s almost like a leaf that’s fallen from a tree, one that’s coasting with the wind as it falls to the ground.
The light has grown to the size of a quarter and altered its direction. It’s coming towards me. I’m fighting for breath. Why am I seeing this now? What is it? It lands softly on the floor of the bar. Bloody, crimson violence surrounds the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
Before my dying eyes, the ball of light begins to expand. Rapidly at this point. It is so bright I can barely look at it, but what I see develop is almost more than my failing brain can handle.
I see a head, shoulders, and legs. The ball of light has closed in on itself and left … a man. He is initially in a crouched position but stands. He wears nothing but a white loincloth. He looks at me, then looks around the room and shrugs his shoulders. Feathers appear from behind his shoulders and spread out on either side to a span of about eight feet.
He strides towards me. I can’t move. I’m paralyzed with fear. He stands in front of me, kneels down, and touches my face. His hand glows a fine gold.
“You are heard, Jonathan Gregor Poplovitch. Now come, there is much work to be done.”
Eric
“What?” says Pops.
“Pops, my name is Eric. I am an angel of the Lord and a Captain in the New Protectorate.”
“What?”
“Hold one second,” I tell him. I change my attire so that I am wearing a black button-down shirt, designer jeans, and steel-toed boots. “Pops, I have been watching you for a very long time. I am so very proud of all the good work you have done.”
“How? You’re an … angel?” he stammers. Pops is very near death. I underestimated the time I would have with him.
“Pops, you must listen, and you must listen very carefully. Yes, I am an angel. But I am a different kind of angel. Nothing like what you have read about. I am member of a legion of angels handpicked by our Lord to watch people like you, Jonathan. You are what is called a Point of Light.
”
“I … I’m feeling better.”
“Pops, focus. You are feeling better because I have touched you with a very small amount of grace. I was a little late getting here. The grace has enabled us to have this conversation. You are a Point of Light. Selected by our Lord for the good works you do upon the Low Lying Lands.”
“Low Lying Lands? Earth?” says Pops. He’s starting to grasp it.
“Yes, Pops. I am Eric. I have been with you for many of your years. I have watched you, but I have never interfered. I have had the ability since you were named, but I have never needed to.”
“Okay, I’ll take the leap of faith,” he says. “Seeing as how I’ll be dead any minute. Why are you here?”
“Thank you, Jonathan. We don’t have much time. I am here because your work is not done. I am here, Pops, to offer you a position with the New Protectorate. I want to you to come with me.”
“Go with you? Where? To Heaven?” Pops almost laughs.
“Yes, Pops. Heaven. You will be trained personally by me. It will be grueling. It will take many of your Low-Lyer years. But then you will be assigned to a Point of Light. This is no easy task, Pops. It’s a very difficult decision that I’m giving you a very short amount of time to decide on.”
Pops is feeling a false sense of security about how much time he has. He needs to decide quickly. He quietly ponders all that he has heard in the last few minutes.
“Will I ever see Gen? Up there?” He looks me directly in the eyes as he asks. I was waiting for this question.
“No, Pops. You will not see Genevieve. I am sorry. She is not there.” This will make or break his decision. “You are needed, Pops. Come with me.”
He closes his eyes and hunches over. I have access to his thoughts, but I do not act. In this moment his thoughts are his and his alone.
He looks up, tears in his eyes. “What do I have to do? To go with you.”
“All you must do, Jonathan Gregor Poplovitch, is tell me you wish to come with me. Then you must let go.”
Pops
I know what I want to do. But I take just a few more moments for myself. I think about my life. A Point of Light? Huh. I think about Gen. I’m not sure why I won’t see her up there, but I have an idea. I think it one more time.
Gen, I forgive you. And I love you.
Go with him, Jonathan. Let go.
I’m startled by her voice, and I begin to sob uncontrollably. After several minutes I look at Eric and say, “I want to go with you.”
Eric had been standing, so he kneels down once again next to me. He takes my hand. He says nothing. He simply nods his head towards me and smiles.
I let go.
THE END
ARCH CITY APOCALYPSE
The Low Lying Lands Saga
Vol. 2
Bob Williams
For my parents, Hollis and Kathy Williams:
You’ve seen me wear a number of masks throughout my life.
You’ve accepted every one. The good, the bad, the dark, and the light.
You’ve never asked me to be anyone but myself, and I’ll always love you for that.
“Let’s get a few things clear, right off the bat.
If you don’t like swearing, you should probably fuck off.
If you don’t like violence, go top yourself.”
—Mia Sanguine
Young Slasher
by S. Elliot Brandis
PROLOGUE
Normal Safe Zone
Normal, IL
Kevin Summers sat at his position in the Operations Center of the Normal Safe Zone. Ops, as it was called by the Normal SZ inhabitants, was a bit of a sacred place. It was where all the magic happened. Where their leader, Commander Jay Rives, and his staff worked ‘round the clock to keep them safe.
Summers had recently been promoted to the position of N.O.1. Night Operations One was a leadership designation that Kevin had worked very hard for, and he achieved it in a very short amount of time in Normal. He was quite proud, not only of his personal accomplishment, but of the trust Commander Rives had shown in him by the designation.
Commander Rives was doing good work. Important work. Wrestling the world back from the brink of annihilation. He needed people he could trust in his command circle. He needed to know that when he punched the clock—not that he ever really stopped working; the man practically slept with one eye open and his ear to the comm—he could rest easy, that everything was under control.
“Checkpoint Charlie to Night Ops One, over.”
Interesting ... What’s this? “Night Ops One, go ahead, over.”
“Checkpoint Charlie, reads. This is Private Jase. Keegan and I have a vehicle approaching. Can you help us with a visual from the bird, over?”
The “bird” was a multi-directional, long-range camera recently installed on an extension pole atop the front corner of the Normal SZ as an extreme safety measure. A while back, the good guys of Normal had been making a lot of enemies, and it was thought the bird might help.
“Night Ops One, reads. Switching to the bird. Will confirm approaching vehicle, over.”
“Checkpoint Charlie, reads. Will await your report, over.”
Kevin typed hurriedly on his keyboard and switched his main monitor to the bird, which showed the Checkpoint Charlie entrance point. Sure enough, Kevin saw a bright light heading toward the compound like a bat out of Hell. He intensified the focus of the camera in an attempt to get a better look at what was coming, but it was impossible. The vehicle, maybe a truck of some kind, had a row of intense fog lights mounted across the top.
Instantly, Kevin thought he might know who it was. It had been close to four months since it’d been back. The mission in Nashville, according to the reports he’d read, had been successful, but it was brutal for everyone.
“Checkpoint Charlie, be advised, we believe we may know who this is. Allow the vehicle to approach. Stop it at the entry point, follow the usual procedure, and report back to me. Proceed with caution, but do not treat as hostile unless directed by me, over.”
“Night Ops One, reads. Keegan and I will stop the vehicle at the gate, follow protocol, and report back to you, over.”
Kevin watched the bright ball of light via the bird for the next several minutes before switching to camera CPC, the entry. He recognized the Jeep Comanche, and while he couldn’t see the driver, he could see a beautiful German Shepherd sticking her head out of the passenger window.
He had no radio, so he watched with a preemptive smile as Private Jase approached the driver. It didn’t take long. Kevin could see a pointed finger repeatedly being directed at his gatekeeper, and Jase soon flapped his arms in exasperation. The private walked back to the house with slumped shoulders.
“Night Ops One, permission to speak freely? Over.”
Kevin continued to smile, then cleared his throat. “Checkpoint Charlie, reads. Proceed, over.”
“Night Ops One, reads. The driver claims his name is ... Eat Shit. And his business at the Normal Safe Zone is ... uh ... fuck you, over.”
“Checkpoint Charlie, reads. Send him through, over.”
HISTORY LESSON 2.0
It’s called the Descent. The event that made the world go dark. The event that skinned the layers off the onion of human nature, and if you weren’t careful, if you weren’t vigilant, you were as good as dead.
I’d like to say it happened overnight, but that wouldn’t be right. In the early stages, nobody knew what the hell was happening. As a society, pop culture had overwhelmed us with horror movies, comic books, and video games about zombies and the apocalypse. So much so that, when it actually happened, we had no idea what do. Or how to cope.
A year into what we called the Collapse, the origin of the sickness was a mystery. Patient zero? Unidentified. All we knew was the world got sick. No shit. You would think there would’ve been more information, that someone could’ve told us something but unfortunately, no one did. One day, people started getting sick. What
started out feeling like a cold led to a terrifying case of temporary blindness before complete infection set in. By the time it was being reported, it was past an epidemic. By the time we truly acknowledged what was happening, we were fucked.
Cases piled up so quickly the CDC and the National Guard simply weren’t able to contain it, leading to more patients than caretakers. This in turn led to the rapid growth of fear and the first breach in quarantine. After that, society as we knew it began to crumble.
Those who left en masse in the beginning were labeled Dreamers. They couldn’t handle the societal fracture and chose to commit suicide. Some called them cowards. It is said there were over ten million Dreamers.
The infected were dubbed Freaks by the survivors. But what were they? Zombies? We just didn’t know. The official title, given to them by Dr. William Carr of the Centers for Disease Control, was BH-2014.
Biological Hazard-2014. The epidemic that ruined the world.
They aren’t zombies. Zombies are mindless brain eaters. At least, that’s what the movies told us. Freaks are more like half-breeds. They look like us. They dress like us. And for brief periods of time they can act like normal human beings.
They aren’t.
Rule of Survival post-Descent: BE WARY OF STRANGERS. When you cross paths with someone new, keep your distance and be alert for the first ten minutes or so. If you’re able, DO THE BLOOD TEST. You better have a weapon handy, too. The Freaks are very adept at initially presenting as human, but they eventually give in to the rage. Manage ten minutes and you should be in the clear. This isn’t gospel, but it has worked for me.
When a Freak loses control and submits to the rage, it’s called a break. You can interpret that in the literal or the physical sense. Blood vessels in their eyes and saliva glands burst, and they essentially cry, drool, and sweat blood. Freaks in the midst of a full break are covered in blood. They are filled with violence and will tear your fucking arm off and eat it in front of you, then beat you to death with the bones.
