Apocalyptic Organ Grinder

by William Todd Rose

  She’d have to remove her necklace, of course. The twisted braid of leather would rub against the blister and feel as though stinging nettle prickled her skin. She’d store the charm in a place of honor, somewhere she’d be able to gaze upon the gear-shaped pendant when she felt lonely or lost. It may not be as physically close to her heart as it was now, but the connection would still be there. She’d look upon it, thinking of Tolek as she ran the tip of her finger along the thin teeth of the cog. Like the other widows in the village, the medallion was a reminder that even though her mate had been taken from her, his spirit was still an integral component in the machine of her life.

  Lila plunged her hands into the stream and her phantom image disappeared on the concentric waves that radiated from her wrists. Cupping her palms, she lifted them quickly, allowing the cool water to wash away the itch of newly forming blisters on her cleavage. The relief would be fleeting, but it also made the heat of the morning more tolerable. She doused the thin strips of cloth that served as clothing as well and stood with a frown.

  The morning sun was almost directly overhead, which meant that Myra and Jarnell should have been back by now. She could understand one of them being late … but both? It just didn’t seem likely. No, something was wrong. She had the same nervous fluttering in her stomach as the day Tolek was killed and the forest suddenly seemed too silent. The creek babbled and the wind whispered through the boughs of tree, but no other sounds contributed to nature’s conversation. It was as if all the little animals had went into hiding, as if they sensed the same tense foreboding that wracked Lila and knew not to chirp or tweet.

  Her eyes shifted to the long spear laying in the grass by her feet. Carved from a single piece of wood, that weapon had been turned on the lathe with such perfection that it was as straight as a sapling. Around the base was a decorative carving that looked like two intertwined snakes coiling around the shaft. The heads of the serpents, however, disappeared into thick strands of hair encircled the wood just below the sharpened tip. The hair was cut from the tail of a wild mustang, her first kill, and served several purposes. In melee combat, the swirling fibers disoriented opponents, making it hard to focus on the trajectory of the lunge. When the spearhead found its mark, the hair also absorbed blood and kept the smooth wood from becoming as slippery as a trout in her callused hands. But, most importantly, it reminded Lila of her standing: she was a hunter in the tribe of Clay, a warrior without equal … and that reminder helped her push her uneasiness to the back of her mind, freeing up space for more logical thinking.

  She’d seen the way Myra and Jarnell looked at each other recently. The way their eyes twinkled like a moonless sky brimming with stars. The lopsided grins and playful teasing. Just the other night, in the flickering glow of campfire, Lila had noticed Jarnell mopping discharge from Myra’s back and shoulders with the same light touch Tolek had once used. The two were young and impetuous, obviously smitten with one another. Chances were, they’d veered off their assigned paths for a clandestine rendezvous. They’d be along soon enough. She was sure of it.

  At that moment, an echoing boom roared through the hills and valleys as a flock of birds rose above the tree line a short distance away. Lila’s stomach felt as if it had been plunged into the cold waters of the stream and her breath caught in her throat. For a second, she was trapped between two worlds. Part of her watched the birds turn into dark specks against the blue sky. But another stood in the past, staring down at the jagged hole in Tolek’s chest as the wound alternately sucked and bubbled the blood that welled within it. She saw his hand reaching for her through the veil of time, quivering with the last of his strength before falling limply to his side.

  The second gunshot snapped Lila firmly back into the present. The ghost of her late husband disappeared and she snatched her spear from the ground in a single, fluid movement as she broke into a run. Her leather sandals padded against the earth as silently as rabbit’s feet and the straps that wrapped around her calves fluttered behind her like streamers. She leapt across an outcropping of rocks, never breaking stride or stumbling as she bounded from one craggy stone to the next.

  The direction the shots had come from was locked in her mind and the forest blurred by. Weaving in and out of trees, she sprang over fallen logs and ducked under low hanging branches. Her face was set in a tightlipped expression that narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow with wrinkles. The entire time, however, her breathing was steady and rhythmic, as though the breakneck dash through the woods was no more strenuous than a leisurely stroll.

  Her subconscious calculated distance and velocity without effort and when she neared the area where the shot had originated, Lila instinctively slowed her pace. No longer running, she slinked from tree to tree, staying low and quick with her hands firmly wrapped around the shaft of the spear. Her eyes took in the entire forest in a single glance, though the details looked slightly blurry. She’d relaxed her focus and allowed her vision to slip into what The People called Cougar Eyes. The flowering bushes, pine cones dangling from conifers, and bark rubbed away by rutting deer were of no concern. What she watched for was movement, for something that seemed foreign in the natural workings of the forest and stood out against an otherwise motionless backdrop.

  The first thing she saw was a flash of white through a grove of trees about twenty yards to her left. As soon as her mind identified this anomaly, the minutia of the forest was thrown back into sharp focus. She knew where the dry twigs that would betray her presence were, which sections of foliage would offer her the most coverage if the man in white happened to look in her direction. Though her breath had slowed to the point that her chest didn’t even seem to rise and fall, she was acutely aware of the scents in the air. The strongest of these, she knew well. It was a metallic tang with a hint of saltiness and an odor that was unmistakable to anyone who’d ever known the glory of the hunt: blood.

  More faintly, she could smell traces of body odor waft through the aromas of the forest and it conjured images of sweat and grime in her mind. But it wasn’t the unique scent of The People she detected. No, this particular smell was the one which oozed from the pores of the clear skins, the ones who called themselves Settlers and lived in small communities on the outskirts of overgrown cities. The ones who had made her a widow in the prime of her life.

  She stalked forward slowly, her footfalls as soft as leaves falling to the forest floor as her grip on the spear tightened to the point that her fingernails carved crescent moons into the wood. As she inched forward, her target’s uniform resolved. She could see the silver tape that secured the wrists and ankles of the wrinkled, plastic suit to the boots and gloves. The straps of the mask and goggles wrapping around the hood of the garment. The walnut stock of the rifle cradled in his arms.

  Tolek appeared in her mind again. His body fell in slow motion, each drop of blood suspended in the air and reflecting the morning sun in pinpoints of radiance. His spear tumbled end over end as sulfuric smelling smoke rose like a gray demon from the muzzle that had unleashed it. The man on the other side of the river had been dressed so similarly to the one who now ducked behind a tree that it almost seemed as if he’d been spat out by the currents of time.

  A tremor quivered inside Lila and her teeth ground against one another like a mortar and pestle pulverizing grain. She imagined her spear running through the man’s gut so clearly that she could almost feel the spongy resistance just before the tip punctured the skin. He’d gasp and clutch at the shaft as it shredded muscle and ruptured organs, but she’d throw her entire body into the thrust, ensuring that it emerged from the other side with his entrails dangling like a prize from the barbs notched into the wood. Specks of crimson would speckle his mask as he coughed blood and she’d lean in so close that the hemorrhaging veins in his eyes would look as big as dandelion roots. With blood, bile and shit leaking out of his vile body, she’d allow the blister on her neck to erupt over his evil face as the final insult.

  For Tolek.
For all of The People you’ve murdered, for the tears of fathers, and the heartbreak of wives. For each and every life you’ve stolen ….

  Lila was close enough now that she could see the naked bodies of Myra and Jarnell piled upon one another. A pool of their collective blood seeped across the ground. Light gray lumps of tissue stuck to the spatter on the tree they laid under. They would never love again, would never laugh, or know the warm embrace of passion. Like so many before them, their lives had been cut short by one of the faceless executioners known only as Sweepers.

  The man in white stepped out from behind the tree with his rifle shouldered, ready to unleash death at a moment’s notice. The fool didn’t even realize that the danger he sensed was so close. That it crept up behind him with intent just as murderous as his own. He looked forward, searching the woods with his eyes, but never thought to simply turn around.

  The spear felt warm and heavy in Lila’s hands as she took another step forward. Within minutes, she would be close enough to strike. She would know the blood of her enemy and revel in his agony; the spirits of her brothers and sisters would sing ballads of her glory through the vast halls beyond the Veil.. They would finally be able to cross the Shining River and know the peace that only justice could bring.

  Justice is not yours to take.

  Tolek’s voice was so vivid in Lila’s mind that ,for the first time since she began stalking her prey, she paused. It sounded as if her husband were standing just behind her, leaning over her shoulder and whispering into her ear. His voice was calm, but stern. It was the same tone she’d heard him use countless times when reprimanding the children. But never with her.

  He deserves to die, Tolek. You, of all people, know what his kind have done. How they stray into our lands to make widows and orphans.

  The clear skin stepped forward as if he suspected the ground were about to crumble beneath his feet. Yet Lila could tell his caution was not born entirely of fear . He moved with the confidence of a hunter, of one who had just begun to fuse his spirit with that of the forest. His instincts were not as keenly honed as hers, of course; but his poise betrayed a skill that would be used to slaughter those who allowed their focus to waver for even the briefest of seconds. He would rob them of life, love, and happiness as easily as other’s might dress in the morning.

  This is anger, not justice. There’s no glory in assassination, my wife.

  Lila stared at the man’s back, picturing the exact spot that would allow her spear to pierce his heart. She could make it so that he was dead before he even felt pain. One swift blow, one well placed lunge, would be all it took. Myra, Jarnell, Tolek: they would all be avenged.

  You are of The People and you follow the Way. If it’s redress you seek, take it to the Elders.

  The voice of Tolek was right, of course. If there was punishment to be doled out for this settler’s crimes, it was not her decision to make. Only the Council of Elders had it within their power to proclaim guilt or innocence, to penalize or pardon. While her instincts sang the Blood Song so strongly that she felt its power surge through her veins, honor and tradition demanded a different path be taken. Killing this man would be no different than claiming that she was as wise and just as the Elders and that was a conceit she was not prepared to claim.

  Lowering her spear, Lila stepped backwards as quietly as she’d advanced. Her eyes remained focused on the murderous interloper, but there was no fear of stumbling or giving her position away with an ill-placed step. Her mind had mapped every detail of the terrain as she’d stalked her prey and that inner topography now guided her departure, ensuring that each step was as sure and silent as a tree spirit.

  Fate, however, had other plans for her. As she neared a cluster of oaks, a squirrel chittered overhead and the man in white spun around. For a moment, neither man nor woman moved. Their eyes were locked together like partners in a dance older than Time, each gazing upon the face of the enemy and wishing the other dead.

  Lila knew she was too far away. Even if she hurled her spear with all her might, it would only barely break the skin. It wouldn’t penetrate the man deeply enough to keep from falling out, much less pierce any of his vital organs. He, however, had the advantage of an Old World weapon with a range even the greatest of The People’s hunters could not hope to match. So she did the only thing she could: Lila ran.

  The gun shoot boomed out behind her like the angry rumbling of the Sky God and something whizzed by her ear so closely that she felt it graze her eye. Almost instantaneously, the tree beside her erupted in an explosion of bark, sending splinters of wood flying through the air as the hunk of lead burrowed into its trunk. Though she’d never fired an Old World weapon before, she understood the concept and adjusted her retreat accordingly.

  Zigging and zagging, she ran erratically, allowing instinct to guide her movements. As long as he couldn’t predict her trajectory, his shots would not find their mark. As long as she was as unpredictable as a rabid fox, she would live.

  Lila had hoped that the settler would be foolish enough to continue shooting at her, that he would deplete his ammunition and be forced to reload the antique weapon. For that would be all it took to transition from quarry into aggressor. One moment when he stood, defenseless and alone.

  The man, however, wasn’t as stupid as most. As the forest blurred by, she heard him crashing through the undergrowth behind her. He burst through thickets and splashed through streams, cursed between haggard pants as a low hanging branch clipped him on the forehead, and made more noise than an entire herd of deer. But not once did he try to drop Lila in her tracks. Instead of wasting his shots, he simply pursued her, waiting no doubt for an opportune moment to present itself.

  Ahead, Lila saw jagged crags of stone rising up from the earth like the walls of some great temple for a forgotten god. Unlike the forest, there was no green: the trees thinned out as they neared the base, devolving into scraggly bushes that looked as if their bark had withered away; grass turned to dirt and the dirt became something as hard and packed as the cliffs towering over it. The surface was covered with pebbles and Lila’s heels kicked up little clouds of dust as she followed a circuitous route through the center of the mountain.

  She knew this place. The People called it The River of Life. Winter coated its peaks with snow and ice, which the coming of Spring then melted away. The rocks glistened wetly in the sun and runoff flowed down the precipices like slow-motion water falls. At the end of the journey was the gulch through which Lila now ran. A gully that once a year swelled into a river and quenched the thirst of seedlings struggling to take root.

  This was a sacred space, one of those areas that perfectly illustrated what it meant to be alive and in the world. Its power wrapped around Lila like a protective cloak and she felt a shiver course through her soul as she ran. Whether she lived or died was of no consequence: the wind was cool against her face and hair, the ground was firm beneath her feet, and no one would ever inhabit this particular place in time again.

  Rounding a bend, Lila leapt over a carpet of dried leaves that had no place being that far into the ravine. She hit the ground with her shoulder, clearing the debris entirely. Smoothly rolling so that she now looked back the way she’d come, Lila sprang to her feet again and raised her spear.

  Breathing heavily, she watched for the man to come. The time to run was over. Besides, there was nowhere left to go; on all sides were nothing but sheer walls of rock, so treacherous and steep that even a mountain goat would struggle for purchase.

  Ignoring the massive boulders surrounding her, Lila listened to his feet scuttle through gravel and the sharp gasps which accompanied each step.

  He was close now.

  “I am a hunter in the tribe of Clay,” she whispered, “daughter of The People and chosen wife of Tolek. Today I face my ancestors. May they always walk with me.”

  So very close.

  IV.

  Gather at the feet of the Elders, brothers and sisters, and listen to a tale
from the time of our ancestors. May they always walk with us …

  It is said that before the Days of Tears, clear skins and The People alike were scattered like grain before the breeze. In these times, the cities of the Old World still strove to touch the sun but their stone pathways were layered with the bodies of the dead. Man hid in the shadows like frightened animals and offered up tearful prayers to the Old God, who seemed to have abandoned them at their time of greatest need. Without the blessings of their deity, they traveled through their defiled home like those who walk while still dreaming. The dark spirits who lurk outside the veil saw this and cast out a net which entangled their minds with fear and confusion and many were the ones who took their own lives in despair.

  Not content with this, the dark spirits infested the decaying flesh of the fallen, seeping into the meat and causing vile liquids to leak from the mouths, noses, sphincters, and pores. As more and more spirits crowded into the empty husks of the dead, the stench of evil rose like an invisible cloud. It has been told that so great was the presence of the dark ones, their forms could be glimpsed, wavering in the air over the bodies like heat above a fire.