The Scourge

by R. Tilden Smith

  Ray put the truck in reverse, intending to back up then get on the gravel walkway where he would have a clear path to the outer edge of the dog’s circle. But before he could take his foot off the brake there was movement amongst the animals. A part of their circle collapsed and folded back, allowing a single dog, a large black one, access to the inner circle where Moji stood.

  “See?” Wilma said, pointing at the scene playing out before them and nodding her head in slow agreement, “Angel gonna be just fine!”

  They watched as the dog walked until he was about three feet in front of Moji and then sat down as if on command. Suddenly, Moji dropped to her knees and started to grab at her throat as if she was struggling to breath.

  “She’s not fine Wilma!” Crystal said, “Look at her!” She reached across Wilma and grabbed the steering wheel. “Ray, if you don’t get this truck moving right now and save my friend, I swear to God I’m gonna step over Wilma and snap off your good arm!”

  Ray wasn’t paying attention to Crystal, he was still looking out the window at Moji. “What the hell is she doing to that dog? Looks like she’s trying to be friends with it.”

  Crystal watched with amazement. “Well I'll be damned,” she said, “that’s Tyson!”

  Ray watched warily, absentmindedly rubbing his injured arm, as Moji alternately stroked and hugged the huge dog in rapid intervals. “The dog's name is Tyson?” he asked, without taking his eyes off Moji.

  “Yeah,” Crystal said, “that’s Moji’s dog. We were in the park walking the dog when the explosion hit. Tyson got spooked and ran, almost taking Moji with him. She got jerked off the ground and hit her head pretty good. Man, I didn't think we were ever going to see that dog again.”

  “Well, their reunion is very touching,” Ray said, “but it doesn't explain what I'm looking at, which is a bunch of stray dogs being controlled by some unseen master. The last time I saw this shit I was being hunted by a couple of ugly mutant monster chicks. If those dogs are here then those things can't be far behind.”

  “The unborn,” Wilma blurted.

  “What?” Ray said.

  “Those mutants or whatever it is you want to call them, they is out there, just like you say. And they is a fright, you right about that. But it's the unborn that is coming for us now.” Wilma let loose a wide, mostly toothless grin. “But we is blessed because my angel, she got control of those dogs now and they will protect us as best they can.”

  Ray and Crystal looked at Wilma and then at each other, their faces twisted into a confused mask of bewilderment that neither tried to hide or explain.

  “So,” Ray asked, “what do we do now?”

  Crystal pointed out the window, “I think we're about to find out.”

  Moji stood and began to walk towards the truck. As she moved towards the dogs nearest her, they obediently stepped back, making a path to allow her to exit the circle.

  “So, let me get this straight, Moji is somehow controlling those dogs?” Ray asked. He didn't specifically address Wilma, he didn't even look at her, but he held his breath in anticipation of an answer he didn't want to hear.

  “Yes,” Wilma said, so softly that Ray almost didn't catch it.

  Ray choked down the lump in his throat. “So...So she's one of those...mutants?”

  “No!” Crystal said, her eyes ablaze with a mix of anger and sadness, “Ray, don't even think that! I don't know what's going on, but I am damn sure Moji isn’t some kind of monster.”

  “But…,” Ray said, throwing a weak glance at Wilma who sat quietly between them, seemingly oblivious to the conflict she’d created.

  “Miss Wilma is crazy Ray,” Crystal said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “haven't you figured that out yet?”

  Ray didn't answer right away, he just turned to watch Moji, who had crossed the parking lot, pivoted and was headed directly toward the truck with a look of determination and purpose locked on her face. “Well, like you said, I think we’re about to find out.”

  45

  Moji ran to a spot where she thought Ray and Crystal could see her and began waving her hands over her head and jumping up and down, trying to get their attention. “Ray! Crystal!” she said, screaming as loud as she could. They noticed her and waved back but then continued their activities around the truck. They’re too far away, she thought, they can't see the trouble we’re in. She looked back toward the zoo. The pack of dogs were making steady progress, slowed only by the debris field between the zoo’s eastern wall and the park’s man-made pond. God, there are hundreds of them, she thought. She wanted to run, to get away from this place as quickly as possible, but she couldn't, not as long as Wilma was unable to follow. I can't leave Wilma. I can't abandon her like I've abandoned everything and everyone I've ever cared about. Her head swiveled back and forth between the dogs and Wilma. The old woman had suddenly become unresponsive, a blank, serene look plastered on her face, as if she had lapsed into a sitting coma.

  Moji felt panic well up in her. She ran over to Wilma, grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to shake her out of her trance. Wilma’s head bobbled back and forth but she otherwise remained catatonic. “Wilma! Wake up, we have to—” Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain at the base of her skull. The shock pulsed through her nervous system, radiating outward from her spine to the tips of her limbs. Air hissed through her teeth as the wave of pain drove her to her knees. She reached back and touched the back of her neck with one hand, her palm coming to rest against the gash from her fall. The ragged wound of just a few hours ago was gone; in its place was a line of barely perceivable scar tissue and a small roundish lump just under the skin. She pressed the lump with her fingers, and to her surprise, it moved. She pressed it again and it slithered away, disappearing beneath the bony plate of her skull. Another jolt of pain pulsed through her nervous system. Her mouth stretched open in the shape of a scream but no sound came forth, she could only watch in silent agony as a heavy dose of saliva streamed from her lips and pooled in the grass between her knees.

  Then, without warning, it happened.

  No! Moji thought. It had been twenty years since she had felt the break; the sense of anxiety and panic her psychiatrist taught her to associate with the moment she would break with reality and let Lara take control. She was helpless to stop it; she felt her mind swim, to retreat to its safe place. She let go.

  Lara tried to blink away the pain. Her grandmother used to say if you blink your eyes fast enough, the evil spirit that's hurting your insides will fly out through your eyes and leave your body. When she was hurting, she sometimes would blink real fast and she would feel better. But most times the pain wouldn't go away, but she blinked anyway because it gave her something to do until the pain stopped. I can't stay here and wait for the pain to stop, she thought, the bad thing will hurt me again if I don't hurry.

  She stood up and brushed herself off. She felt strange. She was a little girl in a grown-up body. “I'm a big fat grown-up,” she said, looking down at her figure, “and I'm not even wearing a dress. Girls are supposed to wear dresses.” There was an old lady at the picnic table, her eyes were open but she seemed to be frozen in place. She looks like an old lady mannequin with a stupid grin plastered on her old wrinkled face. She walked over to the old lady and looked into her eyes. “I remember you, old wrinkled lady,” Lara said, while staring into the old lady's wilted eyes. The old lady didn't respond. I remember saving you from a monster. It was an ugly monster, one with big black eyes, a snake for a tongue, and long curly fingernails. The bad thing made me hack the monster to pieces with a big knife. The memory made her shiver with disgust. Lara glanced at the old lady's hands folded neatly in her lap. The old lady had long curly fingernails just like the monster she killed. Maybe she's a monster too, Lara thought. She stared at the fingernails on her own hands. Am I a monster?

  A sudden throb of pain pounded the back of her head, making her flinch and grit her teeth. The pain was accompanied by a sound, a short series of clicks and grun
ts that she had come to associate with the bad thing. It's talking to me, she thought. She didn't like it when the bad thing talked to her. It hurts me and it only talks when it wants me to do horrible things. The bad thing didn't use words to communicate, only pain, clicks, and grunts. Lara didn't know how she understood what the bad thing wanted her to do, but somehow she just knew. Me and Mo used to be like that. Lara used to know when Moji needed her to be there for her and she would come running, no words necessary. “We tighter than daddy's whitey tighties”, Moji used to say, and they would laugh and pinky swear to always be there for each other. Lara kept her end of the bargain. But Moji didn't, she 'grew up’ and stopped being my best friend. But even though we argue and she tries to not be my friend, I will always be there for her. I will always be her sister.

  Another jolt of pain splintered Lara's skull, making her eyes water. She cupped her hands over her ears, trying to squeeze out the pain in her head. The bad thing was hurting her, it wanted her to go meet the dogs that were running this way. She didn't know why the bad thing wanted her to go to be with the dogs but she had learned not to question the bad thing or it would hurt her even more. She was scared of the bad thing. It made me do a lot of horrible things, she thought, things good little girls shouldn't do.

  She hurried across the street and into the parking lot, moving quickly between rows of cars. The dogs had already reached the parking lot and intercepted her path, jumping on the hoods and roofs of the cars on either side of her. “Hi doggie!” she said to a Labrador staring at her from its perch on top of an old Volkswagen. At the sound of her voice, the dog broke into a happy pant, jumped off the roof of the car, and fell in behind her, forming a line with other dogs doing the same.

  She continued to make her way toward the zoo entrance plaza as more and more dogs began to surround her, so many that Lara lost count. Some of the dogs were hurt, their fur matted or missing, with big gashes in their flesh that oozed yellow or green pus. She shied away from the injured dogs, not only because she was afraid that she would catch something, but mostly because they looked at her like the zombies do in the scary movies. Like the zombies that want to eat your brains, she thought. Her momma used to say that stray dogs carried rabies and other diseases, and they would bite you and make you a cripple. But her friend Crystal used to say that strays just wanted someone to love them, and if you loved them they would love you back. Crystal always made more sense than my momma, especially when it came to doggies. That’s why me and Crystal are best friends, she thought, because both our mommas are stupid-heads and were always saying mean things about the people and things we loved. That's why she wasn't sad when the bad thing made her kill Crystal's momma. She killed Dusty and said mean things about Crystal's daddy, Lara thought, she deserved to get her head chopped off.

  A horn blared somewhere behind her. She heard people screaming Moji's name, calling for her to turn around and come to them, but she didn't dare look back. She knew the bad thing was watching, and if she stopped now, it would hurt her real bad. I'm sorry Crystal, I have to do what the bad thing wants or it will hurt Mo. Somewhere, deep within her, she heard Moji’s voice:

  (Lara?)

  Moji, you can't come out right now! The bad thing is here! It will see you!

  (Lara, we are in danger! These dogs will kill us! Turn around and run to our friends, they will protect us!)

  No Moji, the bad thing is here! I have to do what the bad thing says or it will hurt me! You have to hide or it will hurt you too!

  Lara had arrived at the zoo entrance. She walked to center the of the plaza and stood, transfixed, as the dogs gathered around her.

  (Lara, are you ok? I can feel you slipping away. Where are you going Lara? Please, come back!)

  Lara could feel the bad thing enveloping her, forcing her to relinquish control. I'm so sorry Moji. I tried to make the bad thing like me so it wouldn't hurt you. I did everything it asked me to do so it would love me just like I did with daddy. MojiMojiMoji, runnowgetaway! Thebadthingthebadthingishere…

  The entity's mind was on fire, filled with a million incomprehensible thoughts that were not its own. Thoughts of pain, shame, and fear. It could feel the animals around it pressing in; confused, hungry, and scared, they were waiting for confirmation, for instruction. It opened the eyes of its host and looked out among its cohort. It felt their fear and their anxiousness. It spoke to them in the ancient language of its kind, preparing them for the battle to come.

  The entity took account of its host. The lifeform it inhabited had not succumbed to the transition as expected. Even now, it interfered with the entity’s thought process. Against the entity's will, a remnant of the host's consciousness reached out and summoned a member of the cohort. The other animals parted and made way for the beast. When the beast appeared before it, the entity was confused by a new emotion, a feeling its mind could not comprehend and its language could not articulate. The entity fought to suppress the intrusion, but its mind was divided and strangely unfocused, and to its surprise, it felt itself losing control. Anger clouded its concentration as the host’s thoughts overtook its own. In desperation, it cast the web of its presence wider, reaching past the primitive minds of the cohort, seeking others of its kind. As its consciousness fractured, the entity was only able to send a single message: protect your queen.

  46

  “Lara, where are you?” Moji asked, her voice loud in the small room. A dusky, late afternoon light filtered through the branches of the tree outside her window, dancing across her bed’s headboard. The shadows in the room followed suit, bouncing and gyrating in sync to the candlelight rhythm. Moji knew where she was; I’m home, she thought, terrified.

  She was sitting at the end of her bed, her bright yellow sundress spread evenly across her lap, barely covering knees scarred and ashy from a hard day of elementary school recess. Her room was sparse; it held only two pieces of furniture. There was her twin bed, pushed into the back corner of the room, directly opposite the door, with its whimsical bell-shaped headboard and a box spring and mattress so high off the floor that Moji had to literally take a flying leap to get into the bed. Then there was her chest-of-drawers, located on the opposite wall from the bed, next to the window. Its swirls and crevices matched those of the headboard and Moji delighted in the fact that it was adorned with faux gold drawer handles that looked exactly like the gold earrings her mother sometimes wore. There was an old mirror perched atop the chest-of-drawers, it didn’t match the style of the other furniture—it was art deco, her mother used to complain, not Victorian—but Moji’s mother wanted her to have a mirror so she could ‘spruce herself up’ and ‘look the part’ like a big girl.

  Moji hated the mirror. It watches everything and sees nothing, she thought. She knew if she looked to her left she would see her reflection perfectly framed in the mirror’s wood border. What she longed to see was a happy little girl in a bright yellow sundress, with two thick ponytail braids, one on either side of her head, lashed into submission with globs of Blue Magic hair grease and colored plastic barrettes strung along their length like butterflies stuck to flypaper. Moji looked down at her lap. A dark stain of tears blemished the front of her dress. The little girl in the mirror won't be happy, she thought, she won't even be little any more.

  Moji heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, the floorboards squeaked in alarm as her visitor reached the landing then hesitated just outside the bedroom door. As the doorknob turned, the door cracked open, and the blackness rushed in, another sound filled the room. It was a gurgling bubbly sound, like a child pushing air through vibrating lips to imitate the sound of a motorboat. She realized the sound was coming from her own lips. I'm crying, she thought, I'm crying but I've been told to be quiet or it will hurt more, so I'm trying to keep the noise in, because it hurts so bad and I don't want it to hurt more than it does already.

  The air from the hallway was cold on her legs, she could feel the goosebumps spring to life from her ankles to the back of her
knees. Moji grabbed two handfuls of bedsheet, pulled them toward her chest, and buried her face in their folds. She began to sob—big gulping sobs, full of wails and sorrow—the kind of sobs reserved for mothers who have lost their only child or wives grieving for a departed soulmate. “I’m sorry!” she cried, “I tried to stay quiet, but I can’t help it! It hurts so much! Please, I don’t want it to hurt!”

  She felt a hand on her knee. It felt dry and abrasive as sandpaper. The hand began to slid up her thigh, pushing her dress to her waist.

  “Please….don’t,” she whimpered.

  “Lara, my beautiful Lara,” the bad thing whispered.

  At the sound of Lara’s name Moji felt her hold on reality give way and everything went black…

  ...and she was thrown into a world of light. Her eyes burned from the brightness of it. She inhaled the heated air, it singed her nostrils and reeked of death. Her ears ached from their screams, deafening in their pitch and resonance. [Stop it! Stop it!] she begged.

  ...and then she became aware of them, the spent primitives of her kind, countless upon countless souls, discarded and trapped in an eternal reservoir of despair.

  ...confused and desperate, she found herself amongst the throng, all of them thrashing and clawing at the remains of their battered bodies, seeking respite from the demons that inhabited their nightmares. The demon within her clawed at her consciousness. It railed against her, angry and hateful, fighting desperately for dominance, to push her out of her own mind.

  ...in her anguish, she cried out for salvation…

  Moji awoke clawing at her throat. She fell to her knees, gasping for air. “Oh god! Oh god! Lara!” she said, vomiting the words without taking a breath, ”Please...help…” Her vision was blurry, the scene before her a mix of gray shadow and bright pastel hues. She rocked back and forth and wrapped her arms around her chest. “Please...please somebody help me...help us.” She was cold, her T-shirt was soaked with sweat. The memory of what happened was cloudy, she couldn’t remember any details, but she could still feel it; the fear, the terror, and the unending torment. I...I can still smell it, she thought, as a shiver passed through her body. What happened to me? Lara would know, but she's...she’s….