The Scourge

by R. Tilden Smith

  The .45 caliber bullet grazed Elisha’s left ear then tore through Paul’s brain, entering just above his left eye and exiting behind his right ear. Paul’s limp body crashed to the ground then slammed into Elisha, knocking him face down on the floor.

  

  “Crystal please, please calm down girl!” Jamarco shouted to no avail. They were face-to-face, he lie on top of her, his arms wrapped around her torso, his hands locked together at the small of her back. He had her arms pinned to her sides but he still was having difficulty holding her down. She bucked and flopped relentlessly, trying to throw him off. He didn’t feel or see any blood. He was positive that the bullet missed her. “Crystal! Crystal! Stop screaming! Everything's alright! You’re going to be ok!” But nothing he said had any effect. She’s acting just like the other women, he thought. Crystal’s screams mixed with a unseen commotion going on behind him. He looked to his left expecting to see Dr. Kuan, but he was gone. Where did he go? The thought had barely surfaced when there was another gunshot. He flinched and pressed Crystal tighter to the floor as the muzzle flash lit up the room.

  26

  Where am I? Moji thought. Her eyes were open, she was sure of it, yet she was imprisoned in a cocoon of darkness. It was hard to breathe. She felt as if she were suffocating in an invisible bubble of molasses. Her every breath was labored, her lungs ached for more oxygen. Her hands were bound behind her; her legs lashed together at the ankle. She struggled to orient herself, to locate herself in space, but there was no up, no down; she felt as if she were floating. She strained against the unseen bonds, fighting to free herself while her mind grew more panicked. Fear began to drown out all logical thought. “I do not want to die!” she said, pleading into the emptiness. Then she heard a sound—no more than a whisper—that seemed to come from behind her.

  “Moji? Moji!” the voice said, trembling.

  “Lara?” Moji replied, calling into the void, “Lara, is that you? What are you doing to me? Why can’t I move?”

  “A bad thing!!” Lara said, “A bad thing is coming!”

  Moji felt a knot of panic form in her gut. ”Lara I’m scared, please help me!”

  “The monster’s coming,” Lara insisted, “It wants to kill us! We have to stay alive Moji! We can’t let the monster get us!”

  Moji was confused and frightened. ” I do not want to die!” she said as she struggled against her bonds.

  “Hurry, it’s coming!” Lara said.

  Moji’s oxygen deprived muscles burned from the effort of trying to free herself. “I can’t do it, help me Lara!” Moji pleaded.

  “Moji please, it’s almost here! You have to try harder! Hurry!”

  Moji felt faint. She couldn't concentrate, she could barely breathe. “This feels so real but it must be a dream!” she said into the void, terrified. Moji, she told herself, you have to calm down! You're having an episode, a really bad one. Lara is not real. Remember what the therapist said, Lara is just a remnant of your subconscious that refuses to move on from your father's death. If you are calm and just breathe slowly through your mouth and nose and concentrate on what is real, the episode will pass and Lara will fade. Moji focused her energy and pushed as hard as she could against her bonds. She felt them resist then suddenly give way. “I did it!” she said, but her joy was short-lived. Her surroundings suddenly coalesced and the void disappeared. She materialized in the midst of a vast underground cavern, surrounded by a labyrinth of tunnels.

  What kind of dream is this? Moji wondered, incredulous. The light in the room was dim and unfocused. The air was dank; it smelled of things long dead. She wore a one piece bathing suit and a loose-fitting tunic. Both the bathing suit and the tunic were wet and smelled slightly of chlorine. She was standing barefoot in rust colored water up to her ankles. All around her, veins of thick black mold crisscrossed curved stone walls, disappearing like static lightning into the gloom overhead. “Lara? Lara? Are you there? Where am I?” she said aloud.

  She rubbed her temples, trying to clear the fuzziness in her head. She remembered the shooting star and the bright light. She remembered waking up next to Crystal, having a tremendous headache, walking back to the tower, and talking to Jamarco. After that, everything got confused. Her mind was flooded with disconnected memories; snippets of light, loud noises, and flashes of faces she didn’t recognize. What's wrong with me? Why am I not awake? Why can't I remember what happened to me? “Something is definitely off,” she said, “either I've finally gone completely crazy or this is the most vivid dream I've ever had.” She took a deep breath. “God, I hope I haven't gone crazy.” A dim source-less light lit the mouth of a narrow, winding tunnel ahead of her, suggesting a way out. She moved cautiously into the tunnel’s entrance, searching for any sign of life. “Hello?” she called out haltingly into the darkness just out of her reach. There was no reply, just the dulled echo of her voice off the damp walls and the splash of water at her feet.

  She walked for what seemed a very long way, following the tunnel until it dead-ended at a rusty metal ladder illuminated from above by a cylinder of crimson light. She stepped into the light, her gaze following the path of the equally spaced rungs. The rungs were rounded, about two feet apart, and were covered with a thick layer of rust. She swiped her finger across the surface of the rung closest to her face and the rust, soaked with condensation, fell away in her hand like soft putty. I can't climb this, she thought, it’s slippery and rusted, I don't think it will hold my weight. To confirm her fear, she lifted her leg slightly and stepped on the ladder's lowest rung. The old metal groaned as it bore her weight, and her sandal slid precariously along the rung’s length. “Dream or no dream, I don't think climbing up a rickety ladder is a good idea,” she said.

  “The monster is still coming!” an urgent voice—Lara’s voice again—whispered directly into her left ear, “You have to get out of here! You have to climb the ladder, get outside!”

  “What are you talking about!” Moji said, “Why are you doing this to me! Please Lara, talk to me!” She clung to the ladder and cried, her sobs bouncing off the tunnel walls until they began to sound like the bleating of a wounded animal.

  Several minutes passed before Moji could will herself to move. She attempted to wipe the caked rust from her hands but it clung to her like wet sand, smearing until both hands looked as if they had been dipped in blood.

  “Moji?” Lara's voice came from the direction of the red disk above her, “it’s here now. We can't run anymore.”

  Moji heard trembling in Lara's voice. “Lara, who’s where? Lara please answer me. I'm scared too. I don't know what's happening, I need you to help me.” She waited for a reply. There was none. God, she thought, I’ve reverted to talking to Lara like she's a real person. I’ve definitely gone crazy. “Ok Moji,” she said with some resolve, “Lara said we have to climb this ladder, to get outside. If that's what I have to do for this nightmare to be over then that's what I'm going to do.”

  The ladder's path went straight up, merging with the brightly lit disk far above her head, stretching away from her like a westward railroad track into a blood red sunset. It's only a dream, she said to herself as she pulled herself up onto the ladder and began a slow climb. Even if I fall, I can't die in a dream, I'll just wake up. She climbed until her arms and legs ached from the effort. Too scared to look down, she kept her focus on the red light above her. As she inched higher, she realized the red light was not a light at all, but an opening that revealed a maroon-colored sky. She made it to the surface and stepped off the ladder onto an unfamiliar landscape. A layer of fine brownish-colored dirt had accumulated around the opening, blown into subtle dunes by a wind that was dry, cold, and stale to the taste. A strange sun was low in the sky, much bigger than the one of which she was familiar, its radiation bathing her in a dull light that gave little warmth. Her surroundings were scorched and barren, the ground a flat plain of dried baked mud for as far as the eye could see, until it collided with a horizon scarred w
ith the jagged peaks of black mountains. “Lara, are you out here?” Moji spoke into the wind, “if you are, please say something.”

  “As you wish,” a voice responded.

  The voice startled her. It sounded like Lara but deeper and more...broken. It frightened her. The sound of the voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. It wasn’t loud, but rather it was as if it came directly out of the air.

  “Where are you?” she asked as she slowly spun in place, shading her eyes and squinting, searching for the source of the voice in the vast emptiness.

  “I am here,” the voice said.

  Moji spotted a figure in the distance, its approach a hazy silhouette in the path of the setting sun.

  “Who are you?” she said, confused but somehow aware that the stranger would hear her though they were still some distance away. “What is this place?”

  The stranger remained silent. They were standing only a few feet away and Moji could tell that it was a female child, maybe eight years old, wearing a bright yellow dress with red stripes arranged in an irregular pattern across the pleats. Two big ponytails, one on either side of her head, flopped like dog ears as she walked—or rather skipped—toward Moji. The child was pulling something behind her, it looked like an adult-sized doll, as she skipped along. The arms and legs of the doll flopped and bounced about wildly, Moji could hear the sound they made—thump thump thump thump thump—as they were dragged over the ragged cracks in the dried mud.

  “Lara, is that you?” Moji asked but she already knew the answer. It was her. The style of dress, the hair, the way she skipped, were all characteristics of the child she was all those years ago. She closed her eyes. “I’m obviously dreaming,” she said to herself, “Or hallucinating. But everything feels so real.” She grabbed a tuft of skin on her left arm between the fingernails of her thumb and index finger and squeezed. The sharp pain of the pinch made her jump. She opened her eyes. The scenery had not changed. She was still in the middle of an alien, desolate world. Lara, however, was gone. “Well, thank God for small victories,” she said.

  “You killed him!” the voice boomed from directly behind her.

  Moji jumped and spun around. “Lara!” she sputtered. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a scream. She took several steps backward, tripped, and fell to the ground, transfixed, unable to avert her eyes from the horror in front of her.

  Lara stood, ramrod straight, next to what Moji had assumed was a large doll.

  The “doll” was a body. A dead body.

  “Oh my god what have you done!” Moji said breathlessly. The body, bent and crumpled like a discarded marionette puppet, didn’t look exactly human. Its legs and arms were elongated, its torso too small. She couldn’t see the face because it was completely covered with blood-stained bandages. But she did recognize the clothes. The body was dressed in her father’s favorite suit. The suit he wore for special occasions. The same suit her mother had him buried in. “Lara!” she said, her voice trembling, “How could you do this! How could you?”

  A smile played across the little girl’s lips, one that conveyed a mix of contempt and pleasure. She stared at Moji, unblinking. She was splattered with gore. Globs of gray matter were stuck to her hair, face, and neck. Her solid yellow dress was marred with dark splashes of crimson. In her right hand, she held a large butcher knife limply by her side. Congealed clots of blood slid down the knife’s blade and dripped off its tip, falling to the ground in big dark clumps. She slowly raised the knife and pointed it at Moji. “You did this!” she said, “He’s gone for ever and ever and it’s all your fault!”

  “No no no!” Moji screamed. She backed away from Lara then turned and stood, readying herself to run. But as she did so, the sun, now a dull red semicircle resting on the jagged horizon, suddenly blinked out, plunging her into complete darkness. Moji felt the ground beneath her melt and give way and she felt herself falling. She opened her mouth and screamed, but she heard nothing.

  27

  “No!” Moji said as she flung herself upright. She was sitting on the floor in a darkened room. Her heart thumped hard in her chest. Her shirt was soaked with sweat. The room came into focus. There were people in the room with her.

  “Shoot her! Shoot that goddamned heathen!” a woman behind her screamed.

  “Belay that order, boy,” another voice interrupted, a man this time, “you’ve got 5 seconds to put that gun down or I’m going to send you to the same hell you sent the good doctor.”

  “Is he dead?” said another male voice, it sounded like Thomas but the voice was a higher pitch and shaky. He sounded frightened. “Did I just kill him? Oh god, I killed him!”

  “Moji? Moji, you’re awake! Are you ok? How are you feeling?” Another female voice. She recognized it. It was Crystal.

  She looked around the room, looking for her friend. It hurt to move her head. “Crystal?”

  “I’m right here girl! Jamarco, get off me so I can get up!”

  Moji turned her head and saw Jamarco roll off Crystal and move into a sitting position against the far wall.

  “Miss Douglas,” Jamarco said, “are you alright? Do you feel ok?”

  “I think so,” Moji said, confused, “Where am I? What’s going on?”

  Crystal sat up. She felt a little woozy, like she had too much to drink, “Girl, I really don’t know. All kinda shit been jumping off in here.”

  Moji recognized the room layout. She was in one of the Tower apartments, that she was sure of. And she recognized some of the people in the room. Then she saw him. The body with the blood-soaked bandages.

  She jumped and scrambled backwards until her back collided with the wall. One hand went over her mouth. The other pointed at the body sprawled on the floor. “Who is that? Oh my god, is he dead?”

  Crystal followed Moji’s gaze. When she realized what Moji was pointing at, her heart sank. “No no no!” she said and crawled over to Paul's body. His head lie in a large pool of blood. The bumps and ridges covered by the bandages were so misshapen it was no longer possible to tell that they ever covered a human face. Crystal used a blanket to cover his shoulders and head. She stepped back from the body, her face wet with tears. “Who the hell did this to him, huh?” Her eyes bored into Elisha. “Was it you fat man? What, you couldn’t wait to be a big shot with a gun so you shot an unconscious man in the head?”

  “Now look here missy!” Elisha said, “I didn’t lay a hand on the chinaman. My idiot nephew is the one who put the bullet in him and he dang near took my head off doing it!” Elisha brought his hand up to his bloodied left ear lobe and gave it a soft tug.

  “I didn’t mean to do it!” Thomas said, “You have to believe me! I saw the doc stand up. His bandages were all dark and stained and weird stuff was coming out of his mouth, lots of oozing, mucus-like stuff. Then he jumped at my Uncle Elisha, you know, like a cat would. I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to think. The gun was in my hand so I just pointed it and pulled the trigger. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to kill him! I was just trying to stop him from attacking my uncle.”

  Elisha stood up. “Boy, give me my weapon before you go and shoot one of the good guys.”

  Thomas handed the gun to his uncle. “I didn’t mean to kill him,” he said, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

  “Oh, stop whining Tommy!” Elisha said as he re-holstered the gun, “Frank, grab our supplies.”

  “Who is he?” Moji asked, still recoiling from the shock of being so close to a dead body.

  “He’s...was Dr. Kuan,” Jamarco answered.

  “Wha...how’d this happen?” Moji said, her bottom lip began to quiver. “Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Jeremy sat down against the wall, his rifle propped casually between his knees. “The kid’s right,” he said, “looked to me like the doc caught the scourge and was about to make a mess of Elisha’s face. The kid did the right thing to put him down.”

  “You don’t have the right to kill innocent peop
le!” Crystal said, “You’re all a bunch of murderers!”

  Emma was still pressed against the front door, kneeling, clutching her purse to her chest. “God damn you both to the hell you deserve! When this is all over I will do my best to make sure you both never set foot on this property again!”

  Elisha stood up and waved an arm toward the front door, “Well family, I think that’s our queue to git up outta here.“

  “Wait a minute!” Jeremy said as he stood up, “Where in the hell do you think you’re going? You can’t just leave.”

  Elisha brought his gun up and leveled it at Jeremy’s chest. “Uh uh uh Mr. Walls,” Elisha said, “I don’t take orders from you no more. From here on out, I make my own rules. Me and mine are heading to the hill country until this shit storm blows over.”

  “We got a dead man here Mr. Jenkins,” Jeremy said, slowly lowering his weapon, “I may think it was a righteous shoot but Thomas still has to be here to give his statement to the authorities.”

  “Sorry Jeremy, I ain’t waiting around for the government goons to show up to throw everybody in jail. You can tell’em that old bitty—what’s her name?—Mrs. Reingold killed him before she ran outta here.”