The Scourge

by R. Tilden Smith

  “Wait! Moji—I mean Lara—don’t you think we should hide out here until that convoy moves on? You saw what they did to those people. They thought they were being rescued, and they were cut down like rabid dogs.”

  “No army-man, we have to hurry! We have to get to the queen before she leaves to join the colony. Once she leaves we’ll never find her!”

  Ray chased Moji into the stairwell. She was descending quickly, almost running down the stairs. “Lara, hold on! Slow down! What are you talking about? What colony? Where is it?” He grabbed Moji by the arm and spun her around. “Wait damn it! I'm not going any further until you tell me what the hell we're walking into.”

  They had reached the ground floor. Lara jerked her arm away from Ray’s grasp and pushed him away. “I don't know how to explain it to you! It's all jumbled up inside my head. I just know, in order to save Moji's doggie and to kill the bad thing, I have to find the queen. We know where she is army-man, you said so yourself. She's hiding in the stinky water place. You have to take me there, you have to take me there right now!”

  Ray’s head started to throb, his knees buckled, and he felt weak and queasy. What the hell is she doing to me? “Stop!” he said to Moji, “whatever you're doing to me stop it, you're hurting me!”

  Lara opened the door and stumbled into the lobby, her hands clasped over her ears. “It's not me, it's the bad thing, it's trying to get out!” She fell to her knees and doubled over, clutching her abdomen. She looked up at Ray, pain etched on her face. “Go! Leave me here, find her! That's the only way we can be free…”

  She passed out.

  “Moji!” Ray tried to kneel beside her but the closer he got to her the worse the pain in his head became until he felt as if his brain was going to push his eyes out of their sockets. He backed away and waited a few seconds until the pain in his head subsided, then he took the rifle off his shoulder and flicked off the safety. He looked back at Moji, she lay on the floor of the elevator lobby, her body curled into a ball, her arms wrapped like a protective wreath around her head. How can I just leave her there like that? he thought. He moved to return to her side, and suddenly his mind was awash with pain, alien thoughts stabbed at him like icicles, forcing him to retreat. He leaned against the wall, exhausted and confused. “Moji!” he cried into the vacant lobby, “What am I supposed to do!” Tears of fear and frustration rained down his face. “What do you want me to do?”

  Then he heard something.

  It was only a whisper. He had almost convinced himself that it was only the wind, but then he heard it again.

  Save us!

  It was the voice of a little girl. She was whispering. It was the kind of whisper that says I'm hiding and I don't want to be found.

  Save us army-man. Find the queen!

  “Lara?” he spoke into the empty space, “Is...Is that really you?”

  Please, Moji will die if you don't go now. Please go! Save us!

  Ray choked down the lump in his throat. His heart was racing. The rational side of him knew what he'd heard couldn't be real, it had to be a figment of his imagination, or maybe a delusion brought on by his PTSD. Yet his body seemed to take action without conscious thought, to move as if it had a will of its own. He found himself rummaging through the duffel bag, finding the extra magazine, filling it with ammo, and sticking it in his back pocket. He ran to the main entrance and looked out into the street. Broken glass and shattered stucco covered the driveway. There was no sign of the convoy. Ray shivered when he spotted the bodies. Up close, the carnage inflicted by the machine gun was much more violent; the three were reduced to tangled strips of flesh, their entrails splashed haphazardly over the driveway pavers, their blood draining into the crevices, flowing like molasses into the street. Ray quickly looked away. Every fiber in his being screamed at him to get off his ass, carry Moji back upstairs, and wait this shit out, lest he end up like those poor suckers out on the sidewalk. Unfortunately, he thought as he kicked the door open and ducked onto the driveway, my common sense ain't running this shit.

  He followed the contour of the building and then crossed the street, running low and fast between the shadows of the late morning sun.

  59

  Moji awoke gasping for air, her cheek hot with pain, as if someone had slapped her. She blinked away the blurriness and tried to focus on where she was.

  “Oh honey I'm so glad you're awake!” a woman's voice said in a sing-song tone. “I thought I was going to have to resort to more...um...drastic measures to get your attention.”

  Moji was sitting in a chair, her hands on her lap, and her belly pressed against the edge of a small round table. Light from above encircled her but didn't extend much further, creating a cone of light that quickly faded to black just beyond the edge of the table. But she didn't need to see anymore to know where she was, hearing the woman’s voice was enough to fill in the gaps.

  She was in Jill Harrow's office.

  There was the click of heels against a hard surface and Jill materialized out of the dark, her tall shapely frame swaying to the time of an unseen metronome. She stepped into the light and placed her hands, palms down on the table, then leaned in so her face was no more than a foot from Moji's nose.

  “Someone has been a very bad girl,” Jill said, with smile that cracked her face almost in two, a menacing, evil grin, that chilled Moji's blood.

  “Stay away from us!” Moji said. She dug her heels into the floor, trying to push away from the table. To her dismay, she discovered that she couldn't move. The chair, along with her head, arms, and torso, were frozen in place.

  “See darling, that's why we have a problem.” Jill said, as she walked slowly around the table, one hand caressing the tabletop while other reached out and lightly stroked Moji’s head. Goosebumps flared across Moji's skin and her eyes rolled upward as she felt Jill's fingernails run along her scalp, following the parts in her hair. Jill stopped when she was behind Moji, then she bent over and whispered into Moji's ear, “There shouldn't be an us. No, sugar cup, an us just won't do.”

  Moji struggled against the invisible bonds that restrained her, to no avail. “None of this is real!” she screamed. “You can't hurt me!”

  “Well, aren't we a little Miss know-it-all!” Jill said, as she walked into Moji's field of view then disappeared into the dark. She returned with a manila folder stuffed with sheets of paper. She flipped the folder casually down on the table, causing some of the sheets to spill out of the folder. A few of them landed close enough to Moji so that she could see what was printed on them. She gasped when she realized what they were.

  They were pictures. Pictures of her teenage self having sex with men. Much older men.

  Moji’s heart was jackhammering in her chest. “How…?” she stammered. “Where…?”

  Jill once again leaned over the table, pushing her face close to Moji's. “Seems I had you pegged all along,” she purred in satisfaction. “You would have made quite the Houston Hook.”

  “You're not real!” Moji cried, “None of this is happening! You're just a figment of my imagination!”

  Jill chuckled, sighed, then slipped her hand around Moji's throat. Moji felt Jill's fingers come together at the back of her neck.

  “Does this feel like your imagination?” Jill said, tightening her fingers around Moji's neck.

  Moji's eyes bulged and her body trembled as her airway was cut off. An eerie, open-mouthed grin broke across Jill’s face, showing rows of pointed, triangular teeth. The teeth parted, and a wet, jet-black tongue slithered out and swept across Moji's cheek, leaving a warm, slimy trail behind.

  “Mmm honey child,” Jill said, black pus dripping from the corner of her mouth, “I can taste your fear.” She loosened her grip on Moji's throat then slid her other hand between Moji's thighs. “I think it's time you give me what I want.”

  Suddenly, the room shook and the light above Moji dimmed to a dull red. She felt a draft of hot air on the back of her neck and the whole room seeme
d to twist and fade with the light. She watched, fascinated, as Jill’s body faded to a silhouette, then melted into the void.

  60

  The breeze had picked up, and the smell of raw sewage sucker punched Ray in the gut, making his eyes water.

  “A river of shit runs through it,” Ray said, a nervous laugh stumbling from his lips at his clever play on words. It seemed like forever ago that he and his girl Shelly sat on her sofa watching that stupid movie. He remembered feigning interest as Brad Pitt strutted across the screen trying to be a bad boy and Robert Redford bored him to tears droning on about the Zen-like properties of fly fishing. Goes to show you the lengths a brother will go through to get a little play. He stroked the barrel of the rifle hanging across his chest like a well-loved pet. Like now, for instance. He was perched between two cars, about one hundred yards downwind of the waste treatment plant. It was a sprawling complex, with a large main rectangular building sitting amongst several smaller ancillary ones. Ray had smoked a lot of weed the day he and Terp thought it would be fun to take a tour of the sewage plant. He didn't remember much about that day, other than he laughed a lot and told a lot of inappropriate shit jokes within earshot of a very humorless tour guide. But he did remember the big sedimentation tanks. They were housed in the main building, six pool-sized tanks of water, each designed to sieve a different size particulate out of the raw sewage, drawing it to the bottom of the tank. Then they dry it, treat it, and turn it into a sweet-smelling fertilizer so a legion of soccer dads can slather it all over their front lawns, pretending that piling shit around a bunch of petunias is a perfect way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

  “Aww fuck,” he cursed as he slid into a compact squat, his back against the rear wheel of some bastard's piece of shit pick-up truck, “get a hold of yourself Ray. You ain't doing anybody any good if you fall down the rabbit hole again.” He swallowed hard and wiped the snot from his nose with his good arm. He was becoming cynical and edgy. That always happened when he was scared. He knew those feelings were a precursor to a PTSD blackout, and he couldn't afford one of those right now. He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping to relax his mind before tackling whatever was waiting for him inside that building. Suddenly, he heard a low rumble that jarred him to attention. When he looked to the west he saw a military jet flying low along the horizon. It banked north then disappeared behind some trees. About five seconds later, the sound of several explosions thundered through the air, followed by a huge plume of flame and smoke that rose into the sky like an orange-black curtain, instantly blotting out a third of the horizon. “Holy shit!” Ray said. As the sky continued to darken from the cloud of greasy black smoke thrown into the air by the first blast, more jets streaked overhead. A few passed low and slow enough where he could clearly see the plane’s underbelly. Those jets are carrying ordnance. As the jets disappeared into the distance, more explosions, with the same orange-black plumes, filled the sky.

  And with each pass, the blasts we're getting closer.

  I don't know what the fuck the Air Force is shooting at, Ray thought as he broke into a fast jog toward the sedimentation building, but I damn sure plan to be gone by the time they get to this part of town.

  61

  Moji awoke in a bedroom. This is my old room, she thought, I’m back home in Boston. She was sitting on the end of the bed, attired in a tight pleated dress that spread out across her lap like an accordion fan, the hem neatly creased just above her knees. She looked to her left and was surprised by the reflection she saw in the art deco mirror. I’m not a child, she thought, I’m...I’m me. She heard heavy footsteps on the stairwell outside her bedroom door. Her breath caught in her chest. Oh no no no! It can’t be! It can’t be him! Hints of shadow slid beneath the door, announcing his arrival. She could hear the labored wheezing of his breath as it pushed past the uneven crease between the door and the jamb.

  “I know who you are!” Moji cried. She tried to move, to get up and try to protect herself, but some unseen force prevented it. As the doorknob turned and the door creaked open, Moji's throat went dry and her heart was beating so fast she thought it was going to burst from her chest. The man stepped inside the room then closed the door, turning to face her only after jiggling the knob to ensure the door was locked. Don't be scared, it's not real! she told herself. This is not real!

  The man, her father, walked toward her, his arms outstretched. He had a black leather belt wrapped tightly around the knuckles of his right hand.

  “My Lara, my beautiful Lara,” he said. His eyes were bloodshot. Sweat clung to thin black hairs on his upper lip, making his mouth look dirty and swollen. He was wearing his favorite suit; the navy blue, two-piece one he always wore on special occasions. He wore a white dress shirt and a cheap red tie that strangled his neck, pinching his blue-black skin and causing sweat to wick onto the fold of the shirt’s crisp starched collar, staining it a faint piss yellow. “I’m happy to see you Lara,” he said, his calm a betrayal of the violence to come. “Your dress, it’s so beautiful.”

  Moji flailed and bucked against the unseen bonds. “Don’t you touch me!” she screamed.

  Her father just smiled then stood directly in front of her, their knees almost touching. Moji forced herself to look up at him, to stare at his face instead of his waistline—and not at the sickness that she knew he wanted her to see.

  “Stay away from me!” Moji screamed.

  Her father smiled and put an index finger to his lips. “Shhh, my beautiful Lara, you’ll wake the neighbors. We wouldn't want your prim and proper mother to suffer the indignity of their insufferable gossip, now would we?”

  Her father never wore his belt into her room. He kept it wrapped around his fist. It was his way of intimidating her, of keeping her quiet while he did his business. And his zipper was down, like it always was, bent into an awkward shape by his disgustingly hard, disgustingly misshapen manhood that lurked behind the folds of his underwear.

  He unraveled the belt from his hand, then inserted the end through the buckle, forming a loop. “It’s time to play our game Lara, you know the one. I enjoy it so very much.”

  Moji strained to lift her arms from her sides, but they wouldn't move. “Oh dear God! Why can't I move! Please help me! Please!”

  Another voice awoke in her head, screaming.

  It was Lara. Do not let him put that belt around our neck!

  Moji thrashed her head from side to side. “Leave me alone! Daddy please, stop this!”

  “My dear Lara,” he said as he stepped between her legs and pushed them apart, “you know daddy can’t stop. We have to play the game. We have to play the game until daddy gets what he wants.”

  “Nnnoooo!” Moji screamed. She felt her mind being swept up in the break, but she felt no retreat to safety, no safe space to wait out the violence that was to come. Lara was present, but someone—something—else came with her.

  “You will not harm us!” Lara said, then she ripped her hands free and plunged her fists into her father’s crotch, knocking him backward. Sprites of plaster dust plumed and swirled around his head as he crashed into the wall and fell to the floor. Lara jumped to her feet and spread her arms out wide. The monster inside her bellowed in rage as it burst forth. Its/her hands had grown to the size of dinner plates, the tips of the fingers bristling with curved, bony talons. Lara sensed the thoughts of the monster within her and heard the sounds it made with her voice, but she understood neither. She was no longer in control. She/It leapt forward, its wrath focused on the thing that pretended to be her father. A final thought crossed her mind before oblivion set in. The bad thing is loose.

  Then blackness.

  62

  The toxic stench inside the sedimentation building stung Ray’s eyes. He blinked rapidly to try and clear his vision. Taking your hand off this trigger to rub your eyes is not an option, he told himself, unless you want to die. You have to stay focused.

  Thirty feet above the floor, sunlight peeked through the cracks in
the patchwork of window panes arranged like Roman pillars around the building perimeter. The air was still, filled with dust particles that shimmered in the uneven light. Damn, I can barely breathe in here, he thought. There’s been no power for at least thirty-six hours, that means microbes have had plenty of time to make a shitload of methane gas. He looked up at the ceiling. So there’s a floating blob of flammable gas hanging over my head and the Air Force is shooting missiles of fire into the ground. That’s a comforting thought. A single metal gangway ran down the middle of the building’s length, bisecting six in-ground tanks filled with filthy water. Alright, time to see what we can see. Four metal steps led to the gangway platform. Ray climbed up then walked over to the first tank and peered in. A thick sludge covered the tank’s surface. That looks like the grease in the old coffee can big mamma used to keep on the stove. Ray held his hand out over the pool. Strange. It’s warm. He waved his hand toward his nose to sample the air. It made him gag.

  “Oh man, that shit is foul!” he said, his voice booming in the cavernous space.

  Suddenly, as he stared at the pool, the sludge bulged then flattened, creating a slow ripple across its surface. Shit, something’s in there! He lifted his rifle and waited. The sludge heaved again and something that looked like a segment of an inflated black inner tube broke the surface. He fired two shots in rapid succession, missing both times.

  “Fuck!”

  The sound of the gunshots were still echoing in Ray’s ears when the water began to churn violently. This time, Ray saw several of the snake-like creatures crest then dive back beneath the water’s surface. What the hell are those things?

  There was a sound, like a pot of water coming to a rapid boil. Ray stepped back from the tank and watched as the surface of the other tanks began to churn with the movement of the creatures. There must thousands of them in these tanks, he thought.