They were calling to him. He briefly thought of putting the revolver to his head while he still had some control. But that thought disappeared as the alien consciousness grew a bit larger within.
A trip to the workshop found enough gas to fuel up the cycle. With an uncertain destiny, Mark left with the pull of the colony as his guide.
The wind and the road told strange tales as the twin cylinders hummed between his legs. Mark’s shoulder continued to itch and was swollen. A hunger inside him grew. The ride was dehydrating and his tongue felt thick in his mouth.
An old doublewide trailer covered by a framed metal roof appeared in the distance. Something inside drew him there. The choice was not his own. Mark slowed and pulled off the road with a plan to take the rest of the journey on foot. He killed the engine and rolled to a stop, then hid the cycle behind a big elm tree. Mark felt it best to approach through the woods, and enter the property from the rear.
He neared the barn and the first sign of life he’d seen in days greeted him. Two cows lazily chewed away at a pile of hay. Mark slowly made his way toward the main door with the revolver in hand.
A lone man reloaded ammunition using a single stage press inside the barn. A Ruger mini-14 rested on its stock against the wall a few feet away.
Mark inched forward with the gun cocked and pointed at the man. “Don’t move,” he said dryly.
The man jerked his head in Mark’s direction—his eyes went wide—then lunged for his rifle.
Mark squeezed off two shots and hit the man directly in the head.
Confusion drifted over him again. What was he doing here? He needed water, and food, but he didn’t know what he could eat.
A loud bang came from an aluminum door at the far end of the trailer. A frantic woman burst out, screaming, “Jessie! Jessie!”
Mark took one step out the door, raised his revolver, and fired two shots into her chest. He couldn’t risk giving her a chance to use the shotgun she was carrying.
Mark loaded the revolver with the shells in his pocket as he dashed to the trailer. He was in full war mode now. The alien influence inside turned any fear he might have felt to rage. He would leave no one alive. Mark placed the revolver in the close quarter battle position, turned, and charged into the open trailer door.
He found himself in the kitchen and quickly searched each room. He checked behind doors and underneath the bed, behind a shower curtain and inside closets. He found nothing of any danger, but he also found he was not alone in the trailer.
A child lied in a worn baby bed that looked generations old. She was no more than a few months old, dressed in pink pajamas. She sobbed softly and mouthed her left thumb.
His heart melted. His rage inside turned to tears of guilt and shame. He lifted the tiny infant with the utmost care and placed her heart next to his. Mark’s gaze focused on a mirror in the room as he gently rocked her from side to side.
His hair was a tattered mess and the red face starring back looked like Satan himself.
What had he become? What was he becoming?
He rubbed the back of her head and felt the silkiness of her hair. The sweet smell of powder reminded him of his own child, of how the first time he held his firstborn, that feeling of responsibility that had swelled inside him.
His wife had given him a son. There would be nothing on Earth that could ever come between him and his love for his child. No matter how bad things became, he had vowed to always make sure his child would have food, clothing, and love. Love like Mark wished his parents had shown him. He was willing to give his tiny baby anything and everything the world had to offer to make him happy.
The child he now held represented what his son meant to him. It represented all of what the millions of years of evolution had accomplished in man. Mark held her tightly and pushed his lips softly against her cheek. Large tears streamed down his face.
Mankind was the Universe’s greatest creation, and somehow Mark realized that he may be the key used to save it. The implant gave him an edge in humanity’s favor. He still had some control of his mind, and he could integrate into the colony and perhaps find a way to destroy it.
Even if he couldn’t kill them all, as the last hope of mankind, he at least could sabotage their efforts. He could use his military background and make improvised explosives, killing as many as he could. He could take them out one by one. Whatever it took. Mankind needed a savior, and God or fate or whatever, chose him.
A swell of frenzied euphoria washed down from his head to his feet. A power unknown charged every fiber of his being. His mind became one with a powerful force, and a sweet release deflated his cosmic connection back to reality.
Mark became aware of his surroundings again. His shoulder bled at the implant.
He looked down and saw his hands were covered in blood, as were his mouth and clothing.
The pink pajamas now bloody, lay torn on the floor. Not much was left to the tiny body. The flesh had been juicy. Mark had been very hungry.
The alien consciousness had finally won. Mark was at peace within himself. He wiped his hands on a blanket and walked to the kitchen. He opened a few drawers until he found a small knife. With a slight jab and a short twist the hunk of skin housing the implant fell to the floor. The cut bled, but the wound wasn’t deep. The blood coagulated quickly.
The oneness of the colony called him. A pod was not far away. Mark left the trailer and headed back to the cycle. The woman he had shot lay on her back with flies dancing in the gaping holes in her chest. The thought of dead flesh brought revulsion. It had all the appeal of excrement. His mind turned to the living flesh that so refreshed him moments ago. The fruit of the child was life giving. Mark straddled the cycle and cranked the engine knowing his function in life was now dictated.
* * *
Time was no longer of concern. The individual did not exist. The collective was all. Mark resurfaced back into a civilization that looked more like a war zone.
Abandoned cars and trucks littered the highway making it impassable. He maneuvered his cycle as well as he could and eventually turned at a road sign that had ‘Malcolm County Prison’ printed in bold white letters. The prison was a mile down the road next to a small defunct airfield, both a product of the 1950’s.
The prison had long ago reached capacity and several expansions were evident.
Mark’s first contact with his brethren was without fanfare. The guards stood idly by as he drove through the main gate. The red faces looking back showed expressions of recognition, of sharing, of belonging. Mark parked the cycle and killed the engine. Exhaustion pulled at his will to stay awake. His brothers and sisters were busy as ants moving about at tasks instinctually set for them. He made sure to stay out of their way.
He entered the north cell wing and walked onto the main floor. It also served as the dining area. The floors were made of dark spotted terrazzo and hadn’t been cleaned in a while. Above were two stories of cells that circled around the main floor. Some of the cells were empty but those that weren’t housed humans. Perpetual fear gripped their expressions as they looked down onto the floor.
An internal clock struck and a number of the red stained hybrids flooded into the wing next to Mark. Others made their way up to the cells. Ungodly screams of terror reverberated against the concrete walls. Eight humans were extracted and forced to the dining area below.
The prisoners were strapped to blood stained tables and stripped of their clothing. Mark watched without care and concern as his ravenous brethren bit, chewed, gnawed, and gnashed at the bodies. The symphony of screams eventually turned to gurgles. The gurgles gave way to silence. Mark made sure to feed as well, sometimes having to shove others out of his way to get at mouthful of bloody meat.
The bones and gore not consumed were scraped into plastic bags. Those that fed washed in the kitchen, and marched in silence out a rear door. Mark joined in with them.
They stopped at a barracks full of military style cots, with almost ha
lf of them being full. The occupants were oblivious to the new arrivals. Mark took the first available cot and laid his tired body down.
After one feeds, one must rest.
* * *
His awakening coincided with those who had joined him in his digestion period, unaware that three full days had passed. Each pulled themselves up and staggered to the bathroom to relieve themselves. The water pressure was low but enough to evacuate the toilets and to provide cold water for the sinks. After changing clothing, Mark and the others made their way back to the main floor of the prison wing.
There was no longer a need for words. Thoughts and feelings were transferred from one to another in telepathic bond. The group collective shared the greater goals. The individual sensed his designated duty. Mark and his group were hunter/gatherers, and something was very wrong with the food supply they had on hand.
The humans in residence as well as most of the humans newly captured were sick. They would eat no food. Mark had a memory of hearing warning of a sickness passed among non-parasitical humans on the EAS back at the old farm house. Force feeding the sick humans didn’t work either, as they weren’t able to keep food down. There were a few new captures that were healthy, with nice plump meat beneath their water bloated skin. Mark and his team’s mission were to find more like these and to bring them back as quickly as possible.
They separated into four groups of four and left on foot to search the town.
*
The sun was in the noon position as Mark’s group made its way into a small two street neighborhood. The old wooden frame houses had been built sometime in the 70’s, and offered nothing for the hungry pod back at the prison. The group searched in silence, scanning every direction for life. None was evident. The only movement came from wind rustling leaves in the trees.
The sun crossed the sky and the group moved down a highway of abandoned vehicles. From up ahead a metal on metal clank filled them with hope. The four split in two groups of two and maneuvered using the vehicles to shield their approach.
Two unaffected males were in front of an auto garage using a hammer and a screwdriver to knock a hole in the gas tank on an old truck. The main entry to the office was chained shut, as were the vehicle service doors behind them.
Mark and his partner snuck toward the men as the other two approached from the opposite side. The men continued to work on the gas tank. The two groups stealthy moved wide out of detection and then doubled back to the unsuspecting prey. They positioned themselves for a two sided attack, but right before the ambush, an unseen human yelped out a warning.
The two men popped up from the truck and ran through an open single door that led into the auto garage’s service center. With unhesitant speed the two teams of parasitic cannibals joined as one in pursuit.
The four ran head long through the door and into darkness, straight into a set of nets that fell from above. Before any had the chance to reach for a weapon, a number of humans came from all sides and beat them into submission with baseball bats.
“Get their guns! That guy over there has two,” Jones called, a former member of the military police.
“Any more coming?” asked Busey, a local high school football coach.
“Just these four. The area is clear.” Jones lit a cigarette and held the match until it went cold. He hadn’t smoked in years. It helped him cope with events of the last week. “Get ’em on the stretchers and let’s move on back to the school.” Jones keyed his radio, and said, “We’re heading out. Fall back and cover our rear.”
An elementary school served as a makeshift fortress for forty families. Concertina wire had been haphazardly stretched about to reinforce the chain link fencing that originally served to keep the school children from wandering off. Armed sentries manned strategic positions, with lookouts using binoculars to scan the area. Boys as old as twelve and women as old as sixty shared in the duties of running the school and keeping everyone safe and fed.
The men arrived with the alien infested prisoners and were given passage into the compound. Wide eyes stared and stomachs churned as the bound, red skinned devils past. Jones was in the lead as they walked down the main hall. The low ceilings made him feel like a giant. The classrooms had been converted into living quarters, and multiple families had to share the space. He didn’t have any idea how long they would, or could, go on living like this. Life was so different than before. There was nothing to distract from the hardships of life other than the company of friends and family.
The only information they had to live by was from the Government EAS. It had warned them of the rain. It had warned them of the parasitic invaders. And, it had warned them of the mutated virus that transferred from the hybrids to the humans. All of them suffered from the virus. They had been unable to keep food down for several days. But fortunately, a temporary remedy had been found. Scientists quickly had gone to work to find a cure and discovered an antibody to treat the virus until a cure could be found. Since the announcement two days ago, the forty families at the school had benefited from the treatment, and their stomachs were now able to accept food again.
Jones and his crew rounded a corner and bounced a set of double doors open. Mark stirred a little and let out a groan. Someone said, “I think he’s awake.”
“Doesn’t matter. Don’t hit him again. You might kill him.” Jones made his way past a line of people and the crowd assisted in placing a stretcher holding an alien invader on each table.
Mark groaned again.
“Hey, we got any more anesthesia? I don’t like it when they holler,” the preacher’s wife said.
“No, we can’t waste any on them. We need to keep the medical supplies for ourselves,” Jones instructed. “Just put a few rounds of duct tape over his mouth and let’s get on with it. Reverend?”
Reverend Pike nodded, and cleared his throat, saying a prayer in sync with the noise of duct tape pulled from the roll. “Thank you, Lord, for the many blessings You bring to us each day. Please instruct us in our time of need that we may learn. Please see fit to save us and to accept our praises to your glory. In his name, grant us a new way. Amen.”
Mark was fully awake now. Air whistled faster and faster out his nostrils.
“Well, they ain’t gonna eat themselves. Dig in!” Jones picked up a knife and fork and sliced off a thin piece of Mark’s thigh. Mark’s vocal cords rattled in his throat as snot ran out his nose onto his cheek, shrieking in utter agony as he was eaten alive.
The rest eagerly followed, making sure to leave enough so that everyone would get a fair share. Two days before, the thought of eating a live person was unimaginable. But the mutated virus had altered the chemical needs of its victims. The red flesh of the hybrids was delicious and satisfying.
“Hey, Dad. What happens if the scientists don’t find a cure for the virus?” asked Timmy, an inquisitive young boy. “If we need to eat the red guys in order to survive, what will we eat when they’re all gone?”
Tim’s dad shook his head. “Don’t worry about that now, son. Shut up, and eat your meat before it dies.”
The End
Red Rain Page 2
