A House Divided: Book 3 of The Of Sudden Origin Saga

by C. Chase Harwood

  There was another pause. “Dillon, over and out.”

  Ten minutes prior, Dietrich Pelham had woken from a fitful sleep filled with nightmares. A deep sense of foreboding had him feeling highly alert and he’d quickly thrown on his clothes. An urgent rap on his door had Mason entering his room before permission was given. As usual, the servant had anticipated his boss’ requirements and was up and ready before Pelham could even consider the need for the man.

  “Thank God, you’re awake,” whispered Mason. “Need to get out now, sir. Saw a demon child outside, I did.”

  Dietrich started speaking out loud only to be shushed by the manservant. He lowered his tone, his face becoming incredulous. “What do you mean a—“

  The sentence was cut short by a high-pitched wail of human agony outside. Mason grabbed his charge by the arm and yanked him out of the room, Pelham barely able to stoop to grab his shoes. They got as far as the living room before seeing a demon outside glancing through the windows. Both men were instantly stopped cold, their heads filling with evil delight. Then the back kitchen door slammed. A soldier yelled while firing his weapon. It was enough to distract the demon and release the spell.

  As the sound of gunfire increased, Mason yanked his boss toward the basement door and the two men charged down the steps, nearly tripping over each other as they went.

  If the shit ever hit, it was Lieutenant Sarah Silver’s primary job to keep the two scientists safe. That job had expanded to keeping at least one of the immune people and at least one of the captured demon children alive as well. The scientists were not downstairs, and Councilman Pelham had made it extremely clear that there was no going up.

  She, Pelham, his servant Mason and a private named Frankel stood in the narrow hallway that contained the prison cells. Still recovering from being mugged by Captain Dean, Private Andy Frankel had been held in reserve to stand by at Silver’s command. Everyone else was upstairs shooting — until they weren’t. An eerie silence had overtaken the atmosphere. Silver couldn’t raise anyone on her earbud. Putting on a brave face, she was about to head up to investigate when Frankel put a hand on her shoulder. The floorboards above were creaking. If the good guys were up there, they would have answered the radio. She mouthed the word fuck and stepped back from the stairs. Then one of the women was calling out from her cell.

  It was Eliza, saying, “What’s going on out there?”

  Silver rushed to the door and spoke against the crack where the door met the jam. She whispered harshly, “Please, ma’am. Be quiet. We’re under attack”

  “By who?” came Nikki’s voice.

  “Demon children. I think they’re in the house.”

  Frankel had shouldered his M16-A2 and crouched to point it up the staircase. Dietrich and Mason stepped back toward the lab door at the end of the hall. That they were hopelessly trapped was obvious.

  After a pause, Eliza said, “You need to let us out. And Hansel and Gretel too. We are the only ones who can save you.”

  There were more creaking floorboards followed by nearly inhuman screams of agony from a woman. The sound locked Silver’s muscles up in a way that she’d never experienced.

  “That’s Blythe,” whispered Frankel, tears streaming down his cheeks, “I’m sure it’s Blythe.”

  Inside the cell, Eliza had her eyes closed, her mind connected to the pucks.

  Mother, we can taste the woman they are eating.

  Eliza gagged and almost retched as Nikki put a steadying hand on her shoulder. Stop, Children! You’re passing it to me. As the children edited out the shared experience, the lingering sensation left her with a taste of hot blood and raw quivering meat on her tongue.

  They know we are here, Mother. Not just us, but more Fresh Ones to eat.

  We don’t want to eat you, Mother.

  I have a plan, children. You must be convincing.

  How, Mother?

  You need to pretend.

  Like an actor on the TV?

  Yes, like that.

  Inside her cell, Eliza put her face close to the door. “Lieutenant. You need to let us out now. That screaming you hear? It’s your soldiers being eaten alive. The creatures doing it know you’re down here, and you’re next.” There was a pause, underscored by another agonized voice from above joining the first. Then the lock gave a thunk as it was turned. The door opened to reveal Silver’s terrified face.

  Shielding their eyes against the glare of the ceiling lights, Eliza and Nikki stepped out, Eliza saying, “Quickly now. Open the cells that hold Hansel and Gretel.”

  Silver didn’t question her captive any further. As Frankel continued to keep his rifle aimed up the stairs, she moved to the cells that held the pucks, unlocking each and stepping back in anticipation of the worst. Hansel and Gretel slowly emerged, and Eliza threw her arms around them in a familial hug. “Do you understand what to do?”

  “Yes, Mother,” said Hansel while looking at Silver like she was a lamb chop ready to be gnawed clean.

  The Shorewoman attempted a look of contrition and said nothing.

  Nikki said, “The skinny man you brought down here with us. Is he OK?”

  Silver swallowed and nodded at the cell next door. “He is in there with the other men and the boy.”

  Nikki’s face darkened and she pointed back into her cell. “Four people into a little space like that?”

  Eliza glanced at Pelham and Mason, acknowledging them, but nothing more. She said to Silver, “You need to lock us all back in — Now. Yourself included.”

  Nikki said, “Hold on. I’m not going back in there.”

  Jon’s voice joined in from the other side of his cell door. “Nik, listen to Eliza.”

  Nikki gently touched the door and put her lips to the crack. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay. Listen to Eliza. If she says she’s got a plan, get back in the cell.”

  Nikki glanced at Silver. “We should leave you out.”

  Eliza gently pushed Nikki back toward the door. “You don’t mean that.” She said to Silver, “Give Hansel the keys.”

  “Give… Why?”

  Eliza looked up the staircase. “No time. Do it now.” To the others she said, “All of you, get in here too.” To Frankel, “Bring your gun.”

  Frankel hesitated, then the doorknob at the top of the stairs began to turn. Like a bolting rabbit, he went into the cell with Nikki, Dietrich, and Mason. Eliza pushed Silver into the now very tight space and passed the keys that had been in her hand to Hansel. “Lock it quick.”

  Hansel pushed the door shut and turned the deadbolt with the key, then slipped the keys into his pocket just as the door upstairs glided open, revealing a female Chosen with a bloody grin.

  Hansel and Gretel were quite familiar with their feral brethren, and it was hard for them to control the combination of revulsion and thrill of seeing another like themselves. So accustomed to spending their time with ostensibly civilized humans, the revulsion came mostly in the form of bigotry toward a lesser creature. The thrill was born from a natural excitement over seeing another of their kind.

  The female began to descend the steps while revealing her name, such as it was. Gretel immediately understood the term Full Face, as this sister was still chewing a chunk of fresh meat. A male known as Patch of Blue followed, wiping a bloody mess from his beard with a kitchen towel. The stairs protested the weight of the two creatures. Before she could step back, Gretel was caught surprised as Full Face reached out to touch the sleeve of her custom made jacket.

  I have never seen coverings such as these.

  The male reached the bottom step and took in the two strangers, looking carefully at their specially tailored clothes. Before Patch of Blue could reach his own conclusions, Hansel reached out. We are so happy to see you.

  Gretel continued, We have been captives here.

  Hansel thought, You made it so we could escape.

  Full Face swallowed the last of her bite and smiled. We could feel you over here from
across the water.

  We could feel you too. We hoped you would come, Gretel lied.

  Patch of Blue looked at her with a slight tilt of the head that might have carried a touch of suspicion and indicated the cell door. There are Fresh Ones in there.

  Hansel glanced at the door, felt his fear for Mother rising in his throat and crushed it. He hoped that these creatures of nature had no understanding of locks. Horrible bad Fresh Ones. They are locked in and we can’t get them.

  Gretel added, Strong door. Very strong door.

  Patch of Blue let his fingers slide down the door and over the lock, clearly unfamiliar with the way the device worked. They are strong thinkers, the Fresh. They will wait until they think we have left to come out. We will leave Chosen behind for that. He worked a piece of flesh from his teeth and looked into each of Hansel and Gretel’s eyes. You are hungry. There are Fresh Ones above. Some meat has been saved for you.

  Hansel thought, We will wait for these ones to come out. We have wanted to eat them for some time.

  They will wait a very long time to come out. They may even choose instead to go to the Lamb. We have seen this many times. Eat now. The Four of The Five will decide who stays behind.

  Hansel looked at Gretel and hoped his growing dread didn’t show on his face.

  As they reached the upstairs, they were presented with a literal blood bath — gallons of it pooled on the dining room floor, the rug a squishy red sponge. Two naked partial remains of corpses where haphazardly stacked in the adjacent living room. Dr. Oscar Mitchell, or what was left of him, was lying naked on the gore-coated dining table. His chest was rising and falling in a hyperventilating rhythm. His eyes were wide open. The skin on all four of his limbs had been stripped away and large pieces of muscle were simply gone. His manhood was gone, as were the bulk of his glutes. Yet, miraculously, he was still alive. Various kitchen knives lay scattered on the table. A single Chosen female stood at his head, her eyes closed, a broad smile on her face. The room was otherwise empty, the rest of the attackers having had their fill, hundreds of them passing outside — all heading north.

  Paul entered from the kitchen, his son in his arms, his significant height causing him to duck through the door. He stepped over to Mitchell. The doctor’s eyes followed him as he lifted a pairing knife and cut off a small bit of Mitchell’s bicep, putting it into his son’s mouth. As the boy happily chewed, Paul took in Hansel and Gretel and spoke out loud. “You are hungry. Eat.” He handed the young Chosen off to Full Face and cut off another piece for himself. “Come, don’t be shy. You have been their captives for so long and we have missed you. You should enjoy eating some of the father.”

  “The father?” asked Hansel, unable to stifle his curiosity. The same rushing feeling of comradeship that had filled his heart in the jungles of Nicaragua, filled him once again. His sister sent him a note of caution and Paul smiled, having intercepted it as well.

  Paul laid a huge hand on Mitchell’s head and gently stroked the man’s sweaty hair. He spoke rather than using the simpler method of extending his thoughts. “Yes. The father. As we entered this structure, his mind told us all. Spilled out his thoughts in a great rush of fear and pain. I know a Fresh One word for this odd feeling. Guilt. Are you familiar with it? Of course you are. You have spent much time with the Fresh.” He gently wiped a tear away from Mitchell’s cheek. “This is the father who created the ancestors. He begat our parents and they in their glory begat us. The father made an illness that spread across all the lands, wiping out almost all the Fresh Ones. Now, we, as both of you know, are here to finish this task.” He cut another hunk of meat and tossed it to Hansel, another to Gretel. “We thank this father by nourishing ourselves with his body. Arthur says eat.”

  The two pucks did as they were told. The meat tasted good.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Drip Drip Drip

  Billy, Jon and Stewart Dean sat in a line on the single bunk, their backs against the block wall. Sampson Littlefield was curled into the corner, clothed in a generic army uniform, a blanket pulled around him. He offered up the vague moans of a man in pain and fitful sleep. The shadows that had moved back and forth along the crack at the base of the door had stopped hours before. The horrifying sounds from above had faded away, and there were no more creaks in the floorboards. In one corner of the small cell a liquid had begun to drip from the ceiling. Their noses quickly identified it as blood. It didn’t need to be said that they were abandoned — safe from a violent death, but relegated to a horrible slow one. It dawned on Dean that violent ends could be far preferable to what they faced now.

  The hallway outside remained lit, providing them with just enough illumination via the door crack to make out the dark shapes of themselves and the walls around them. Jon, who, while listening to the steady drip from above and scolding his stomach for gurgling in hunger, had the light bulb idea. The cell had cinder block walls, but the ceiling was unfinished — simply the floorboards above laid across joists. The joists were thick-cut and spaced widely in the style of older homes.

  He turned to Dean. “You think you could um, hold me up somehow so I could get a good kick at the ceiling?”

  “Huh?”

  “The ceiling. It’s the upstairs floorboards.”

  “Okay..?” Dean said skeptically.

  Billy sat up straight. “Don’t be dim, Dad. Maybe he can make a hole. Kick a board out. Boards.”

  Dean looked at the shadows above. The grisly sound of the dripping blood was now nearly a steady pour, a dark pool spreading across the floor. “Sure. Why not?” He stood on the bunk slab and found that he could just brush his fingers on the floorboards above. “You’re what, one-eighty? Don’t know how I could hold you up in a way that you could kick. And I’m bigger than you.”

  “One-seventy-two, thanks.”

  Billy said, “You could both hold me up.”

  The doctor was in no shape to help so they let him continue to rest. Standing side by side, Dean and Jon held Billy upside-down by the shoulders and waist. The thirteen-year-old gave a sharp kick and grunted. The board didn’t budge. A rain of dust drifted down into their hair and eyes and Jon sneezed, nearly losing his grip on the kid.

  “Wait, wait,” said Dean. “We need to find a loose one. Billy, sit on my shoulders and start pushing on them.”

  They methodically moved from one end of the bunk to the other until they reached the wall opposite the door. Billy said, “Oh, God, gross,” as his fingers pressed into soaked wood. The board gave a little. “Of course. Has to be the bloody one.”

  Once again they held him upside down, with the added advantage of supporting themselves against the corner. The first kick produced a notable squeak of protest. Each subsequent strike became wetter as a gap opened, allowing the flood above to pour down in greater and greater amounts, soaking them all in the gore.

  “Good fucking god,” said Jon, his face pointing down, the blood soaking his neck, pouring down his back.

  Dean held his head upright, failing to dodge the blood, but wanting to be sure that Billy was well supported and making progress. Another strong kick and light spilled through — sunlight — daytime.

  In the cell next door, the three women, Dietrich, Mason and Private Frankel listened to the crashing sounds vibrating across the ceiling above.

  Silver said, “Fucking monsters, trying to get in.”

  Eliza said, “I don’t feel Hansel and Gretel anymore. But there’s something. Something’s up there.”

  In the blood soaked dining room, Teeth Broken On Bones stood at the table with his fist inside Dr. Mitchell’s abdomen gently caressing the man’s still beating heart. He had paused in his game to watch the floorboards bounce up at the edge of the wall next to the kitchen threshold.

  Mitchell, his brain isolated from any sense of his reduction to a ruined slab of meat, reached out to the monster in his head. Words were unspoken, and the thoughts weren’t exactly conveyed in English, but the gist of it went,
You are clearly suffering from some kind of massive exposure to toxic elements. Others of your kind exhibit the same but worse symptoms. They are equal to one of your escaped captives that we found. That man was suffering from significant exposure to radiation, among other things. You all clearly passed through an extremely contaminated zone on your way to kill us. Based on my examination of that man, I would conclude that the bulk of you will be dead in a matter of months if not sooner. The thought gave the father of Armageddon a bit of comfort. The monster cocked its head while looking down at him, like a dog that was trying to understand human gibberish. It offered its mangled but sharp looking grin and ripped the heart from Mitchell’s chest. With broken teeth open wide, the huge offspring of science-run-amok, bit into the slick organ like he was enjoying a ripe apple.

  A mile to the north, the trailing edge of the horde army marched in random fashion toward its quarry. A smaller group had headed south to mop up the humans that occupied what had once been the Virginia portion of the island. Already, people were being spotted, their minds grabbed, their bodies turned into meat for the hungry beasts.

  Feigning exhaustion from their captivity, Hansel and Gretel let themselves slowly fall back from the larger group.

  It feels so good to be with these others

  The best feeling

  I love Mother

  But I don’t love being with the humans

  It’s good to be Chosen

  So good

  But there is sickness

  Much sickness

  Hansel slipped his hand into his pocket and felt the key to the basement cell doors. His fingers tumbled it over and over in a worrying fashion.

  Teeth Broken On Bones watched with mild amusement as a floorboard burst upward. He had quietly pulled up a chair and sat, occupying himself by sucking the marrow from one of Mitchell’s snapped femurs. He listened as a youthful boy’s voice grunted and yelled while another board popped up. This was followed by a small hand that reached up and out and felt around, the fingers getting slick with congealing blood.