The Scourge

by R. Tilden Smith

  Angry tears began to spill down her cheeks. Lara is a figment of your imagination! she chastised herself, she can't be hurt and she can't die because she's not real! She's not real! She wiped the water from her eyes. A large dark blob wavered in front of her. She blinked a couple of times and the image steadied, then came into focus. “Tyson!” she said, throwing her arms around the big pit bull and hugging him tightly to her chest. “Oh Tyson, is it really you? I thought I would never see you again!” She pulled her head back and looked into Tyson’s eyes and was shocked by what she saw in them...a vacant emptiness that tore at her heart. “No! No! No!” she screamed as her mind was flooded with unrecognizable memories, horrible memories of unspeakable agony and torture. She pulled Tyson to her chest and buried her face in his neck. “The bad thing, it took you from me, it took you from me…”

  ...And then the break swept her away, and her sadness was supplanted by a fierce anger that slowly wound its way up from her subconscious and firmly implanted itself in her awareness. She leaned away from Tyson, and using both hands, searched beneath his coat for any signs of injury. Other than bits of caked mud and dirt on his chest and belly, Tyson seemed no worse for wear. She released the clasp that connected the red leash to Tyson's collar and threw the leash to the ground. “You don't need that anymore, do you boy?” she said. Tyson sat rigidly, his eyes focused on some point over her shoulder.

  She sighed, stood, then sniffed the air. To her, it reeked of death and rotten eggs. She looked down at Tyson and gave him a loving pat on the head. Tyson looked up at her; there was a void there that made her sick to her stomach. “Don't worry boy, I'm gonna get you back, and all of your friends too, and then I'm gonna kill the bad thing that did this to you.”

  47

  “Uh, hey,” Ray said, hanging his head slightly out the open window and trying to look as relaxed as possible as Moji approached the driver's side of the truck, “you ok?”

  “I know where to find her,” Moji said. Ray thought her voice sounded odd, like she was speaking with an accent.

  “Find who?” he asked.

  “The queen, stupid head! I know where she is.”

  “Uh, right, the queen. Well, it’ll be a tight fit but hop on in and we'll get going.”

  She hurried around to the passenger side. Crystal already had the door open. She jumped out and wrapped her arms around Moji's neck.

  “Oh Mo, I'm so happy you're ok! I thought those dogs were going to eat you alive.”

  She returned Crystal’s embrace. “Remember when that bad policeman shot Champ because he had the rabies?”

  Crystal snapped her head off Moji's shoulder and held at arm's length. “Girl, what are you babbling about?”

  “Don't be a stupid head! You remember, right?”

  “Mo, you sure you ok? You haven't called me a stupid head since we were little girls.”

  Lara closed her eyes and shook her head awkwardly, as if she were trying to ward off an oncoming migraine. “But you remember, right?”

  “I remember, but don't we have more important things to think about than—”

  “Do you remember the way that big blob of Champ’s blood smelled after it cooked on the hot pavement, kinda like burnt eggs and poop?”

  Crystal backed away from Moji and put one hand on her hip, the other she used to partially cover her face because she didn’t want Moji to see how profoundly the memory of losing Champ still affected her. “Why are you bringing this shit up now?”

  “Huh?” Lara said, confused by Crystal’s angry undertone. “What I am trying to tell you is that I can smell that same smell right now. Can't you smell it?”

  “No Moji, I don't smell anything like that. All I smell is the stench of a city burning to the ground and the smell of the dead stuff still clinging to Ray’s clothes.”

  “Ray? Who’s Ray?”

  “What do you mean who's Ray? You know damn well who Ray is.” Crystal jerked a thumb in the direction of the truck’s interior. “Uh, you know, the guy with the charcoal-black arm who can’t drive worth a shit? Girl, are you sure you’re ok?”

  Lara craned her neck so she could look past Crystal and into the truck. “Oh, you mean army-man! Yeah, I know who you’re talking about now. I didn’t know his name was Ray.”

  “Ok Mo, something ain’t right with you."

  Lara opened her mouth to speak, but then froze and turned her head in that awkward way again. A solitary dog bark broke the silence and echoed across the parking lot.

  “Uh oh,” Lara said, “the doggies are scared.”

  Crystal balled her fists in frustration. “Mo, what’s going on with you? You know you my girl but I don’t think I can take much more of this batshit crazy talk. We should be on our way to some place with food and water and trying to find our loved ones, but instead we out here looking for what, a queen? Girl, I don’t even know what that means and I don’t think you even know. Now you over there playing with your zombie dog and his merry pack of mutts and my crazy ass is out here following behind you like you the pied piper and I don’t understand why. Do you feel me? Why we out here Mo?”

  Lara put her hands on Crystal’s shoulders. “I’m sorry Crystal. I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

  Crystal’s shoulders slumped. She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. “Shit, I’m sorry too Mo. I didn’t mean to snap at you, I’m just confused and scared, and I miss my husband and my babies. I just feel like I’m losing my fucking mind, you know?”

  “Are we still best friends?”

  “Yeah girl, of course. You know you my ride or die.”

  Suddenly, another dog began barking in synchronization with the first, and then it was immediately joined by a few others, and then a few more, until the park was filled with the chorus of the pack barking in near unison.

  “Now what the hell is going on?” Crystal said.

  A frown of concern creased Lara’s face. “Can we get in the truck now?”

  Crystal nodded her agreement. “Moji,” she said as she climbed back into the truck, “that is Tyson over there in the middle of all those dogs, right?”

  “Yes, that's Moji's doggie,” Lara said, squeezing into the cramped cab next to Crystal then closing the passenger door, “but the queen stole his soul and all the other doggie's souls too, that's why Moji wants me to go find the queen, so I can get her doggie's soul back.”

  “Hello Angel,” Wilma said, reaching across Crystal and gently patting Lara on the knee.

  “Hello old wrinkled lady,” Lara replied, “do you remember when I saved you from the monster?”

  “Oh yes child, yes I do. And please, call me Wilma.”

  “Hello Miss Wilma,” Lara said, cheerfully.

  “Ok, just hold the hell up!” Crystal said. “Mo, I just finished telling you that I can’t take no more crazy ass talk, and then there you go talking crazy with Wilma! Can you please speak like you got some common sense?”

  “Stupid head, you know what we're talking about,” Lara said, “because I saved you too. You remember right? Your mean old momma was trying to dunk your head in Champ’s blood and I chopped her head off with a butcher knife! I didn't want to at first, her being your momma and everything, but she deserved it though, right Crystal? I mean, she said all those mean things about your daddy. And she killed Dusty!”

  Although they were pressed thigh-to-thigh in the cramped cab, Crystal shrunk away from Moji. “How...How did you know that stuff about my dream? I didn't tell you.”

  “Because I was there, you stupid head!” Lara jabbed her thumb at Ray. “I saved army-man too. Remember army-man, when I pulled you out of the pile of dead people?”

  Ray released the window’s control switch as the window whirred to a close with a soft thud. Until now, he hadn’t paid too much attention to what Crystal and Moji were talking about. He had been focused on the dogs. She’s controlling them somehow, he thought, that’s what Wilma said. It doesn’t seem like she even knows she’s doing it. Ray
squirmed in his seat. He was ready to agree with Crystal, and just chock Wilma’s ranting up to those of a stressed, old crazy woman, until the dogs started that crazy synchronized barking and Moji described the part she played in his dream. Can she read my mind? The shock of hearing the details of his most private nightmare described by someone he hardly knew, turned the saliva in Ray's mouth pasty and thick. He swallowed hard to clear his throat. “How could you be inside my head, watching me dream? That’s, um, that's some otherworldly shit.”

  “Angel! The unborns, they is here!” Wilma said, wide-eyed.

  “Everything's gonna be ok Miss Wilma,” Lara said, “army-man, we have to go that way.” She was pointing a finger behind her, toward the back of the vehicle.

  “I ain’t moving until I get some answers,” Ray said, his voice pitched up an octave, “are you making those dogs bark like that?”

  Lara threw her head back and stared the truck’s roof, exasperated. “Ugh, no Ray, that’s not me, that’s the bad thing doing that! Don’t you know anything?”

  “I know you’re not making any sense! We saw the way those dogs responded to you! You were controlling them! Now you skipping over here like this is playtime, talking like a child, telling us you were there in our dreams. You gotta admit, you sound a little bit crazy and you acting like we should just ignore it.”

  Lara looked at Crystal. Her friend was leaning away and staring at her with a expression of horror in her eyes. “Ok, ok, I’ll tell you, but Moji will be mad. She made me promise never to tell our secrets to anyone, not even to you Crystal.”

  Wilma’s hands suddenly slammed down on Ray's right thigh, her long nails puncturing his pants and tearing into the soft flesh underneath. “Lordy, I see’em, I see’em!” she screamed.

  “Aaagh, what the fuck Wilma!” Ray screamed and snatched Wilma’s hand off his leg.

  The dogs, as if on command, suddenly sprinted off toward the bayou, in the direction of the intersection where Ray had found the truck.

  “Follow the doggies!” Lara said, pounding on the seat back and pointing to the rear of the truck, “We have to go that way!”

  “Ray, do as she says,” Crystal commanded, her head swiveling from the window to the side mirrors, searching for the threat that Wilma claimed was outside, “we can figure all this other stuff out later. Right now, I don’t want to die.”

  “Shit!” Ray said, squeezing his thigh to try to quiet the pain. “Alright, you ain't gotta tell me twice.” He slammed the truck into drive and spun it into a wide, accelerating U-turn that jumped the curb on the upward slope of the U before landing hard on the opposite side of the road.

  “Did you even learn to drive in America?” Crystal said, as the truck swerved right, then left, before Ray could steady it and get it headed toward the intersection.

  “Slow down army-man, let the doggies get them first,” Lara said, her eyes fixed on the rapidly approaching intersection.

  “What?” Ray asked, but before he could receive a reply, the answer came into view, pouring over the lip of the bayou’s embankment and onto the intersection’s cross street.

  Wilma called them the unborn, a name Ray’s mind immediately associated with the imaginary monsters of his childhood, shadowy creatures that hid under his bed until his mother left the room, then sprang forth to torment his dreams. His mind had long ago traded the make-believe monsters of his youth for the oh-so-real horrors of adulthood, a reality to which his war-torn psyche was slow to adapt. The scene unfolding before him was causing the feeble balance his mind maintained between the everyday and the totally fucked up, to slip into the abyss. “Holy mother of God!” he said, slamming his foot down on the brake pedal. The old truck screeched to a stop, pitching forward like a rodeo bull, it's worn shock absorbers long past the time they could handle such rapid deceleration. Everyone was thrown headfirst against the dashboard except Ray, whose forehead impacted the crest of the steering wheel hard enough to draw blood. He flopped back into the seat as the mob lurched and turned in unison toward the truck, swarming over the street like a marauding army of ants, tripping, falling, and stepping over each other.

  What the fuck are they? Ray thought. The whack on his head had caused delirium to set in, and he couldn't be sure if he was lapsing into another PTSD-induced nightmare or whether he could believe what his eyes were telling him. Stay alive! he thought as confusion played with his mind, paralyzing him. “What are they!?” he screamed into Wilma’s ear, not expecting an answer. He was frozen with fear. These things, whatever they were, were not human, at least not anymore. They were clothed but the skin that he could see was jet-black, it drooped like melted wax off of emaciated faces and limbs, making the bodies resemble badly drawn stick figures covered in sackcloth. And worst of all were the eyes; convex surfaces of black pearl, featureless and opaque, they were hideous black orbs that seemed to suck the sunlight out of the air.

  The dogs met the creatures about thirty yards in front of the truck, viciously attacking their front line, tearing the sagging flesh from their bones. Black tarry liquid spilled from the creature’s wounds, covering the asphalt in a slippery film. Yet they continued to advance, swiping at the dog’s sides and flanks with monstrous talon-tipped hands, disemboweling many of them before they could attack more than once, adding to the carpet of blood and guts spreading rapidly over the pavement.

  “Back up! Back up!” Crystal said.

  “No!” Lara shouted. “Keep going! Run them over if you have to! We have to get to the bayou!”

  Ray couldn't move, he was trapped in the throes of a full-blown PTSD nightmare. He held the steering wheel in a white-knuckle grip, his lips moving almost imperceptibly, allowing incoherent mumbles and spittle to escape in equal amounts.

  “Ray, snap out of it!” Crystal screamed. She reached across Wilma and grabbed the steering wheel and yanked it, trying to wrench it free of Ray’s grip. “Wilma, help me damn it! Pry his hands off the wheel!”

  Wilma put her hands on the steering wheel, but instead of turning it, she gripped it tight and put her left foot on the gas pedal. She looked past Crystal to Lara, who, though it only lasted a split second, returned a look that bore into her soul; a look that confirmed the feeling in her heart. “Forgive me Lord,” she whispered, then pressed the accelerator all the way to the floor. The truck rocketed forward, throwing the occupants backward in their seats.

  “Stop!” Crystal screamed as the truck entered the intersection, bouncing over already dead bodies as it continued to accelerate. The steering wheel was ripped from Wilma’s hands as the truck pin-balled wildly, striking upright and fallen bodies, one immediately after the other. One of the creatures was thrown over the hood, it’s frail body shattering on impact with the truck’s front grill. Body parts, along with a large volume of gray-black blood, splashed over the hood and onto the windshield. The truck skidded across the median to the opposite end of the cross street, jumped the curb, and sped downhill over the grass buffer, toward the bayou’s concrete embankment.

  Ray was jolted to consciousness when the top of his head bounced off of the truck’s dome light. “Wha-what the fuck!” he said as he was slammed back down into his seat and then thrown forward onto the steering wheel. The truck was traveling downhill fast. Ray couldn’t see where they were headed because the windshield was smeared with a blackish goo. He grabbed the steering wheel with both hands and mashed the brake pedal to the floorboard—nothing happened. A second later the truck bottomed out, propelling him, and everyone else in the cabin, into the air. Ray heard the thud of their bodies hitting the ceiling, then a loud pop as the airbags deployed. The last thing he remembered before the lights went out was the sound of glass breaking as the cabin interior exploded.

  48

  Josephine was tired. They’d been searching buildings since six in the morning, officially looking for survivors, but in reality they were hunting down the infected, with orders to shoot on sight. It had been a long time since she’d worn a NBC suit and r
espirator; the nuclear, biological, and chemical gear was designed to protect her from harmful airborne agents, but it felt like she was wearing one of those opaque, plastic wrap-looking, sauna suits from the 1980’s. Houston’s heat and humidity meant her sweat-soaked skin was sticking to the inner lining of her suit and the super fine particulate filter in the respirator made every breath a chore. She felt like she’d just finished a black diamond ski run at twelve thousand feet instead of sitting in the passenger seat of a Humvee. She glanced over at Captain Brady Lewis, the leader of their four-person team. “Hey Captain, can we slow down a little? This pace is wearing me out.”

  “Hell no Sergeant,” Captain Lewis said, “we gotta clear this sector before nightfall. I do not want to be poking around in these buildings after dark.”

  One of the two soldiers in the back seat spoke up.

  “Hey Victor, I bet Joey’s been spending so much time on her knees spit shining Genghis Saul’s knob, she forgot how to breathe through her mouth.”

  “Nah,” the other soldier replied, “she’s not into the man meat. I heard she likes to beaver hunt.”

  Josephine was about to turn around and give those two assholes a piece of her mind, but Captain Brady Lewis beat her to it. He snapped his head around to face the two men. “Banes, Lacey, that’s enough! General Adams may tolerate disrespect of female officers under his command but I do not! If I hear either one of you weak dicks spewing any more gossip from the stinking cavity you call a mouth, I’m gonna have my size twelve’s so far up your asses that I’ll be wearing both of you for slippers. Is that clear?”