As if on cue, the drumming from the forest picked up again. It was the same dirge-like cadence that had echoed throughout the night, pausing only for a few hours while those filthy animals did God knows what. Instinctively reaching for his waistband, Tanner squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.
Shit.
Tanner realized he’d left his revolver on the little table by the oil lamp. He’d been so preoccupied with comforting Rosemarie and mentally preparing for his speech to the residents, that he’d just walked off and left it. Thompson, the Sweeper who’d trained him, would have beaten him within an inch of his life for such a novice mistake and a flush of shame warmed his cheeks.
He trotted back to the kitchen as quickly as his limp would allow, only to stop so quickly that it was almost as if he’d walked into an invisible wall. For a moment, his mind couldn’t comprehend what his eyes saw. He stood in the morning sun with his mouth agape and brow lowered in confusion.
Rosemarie still stood beneath the fluttering canopy of the tent, but she was no longer the scared young girl she’d previously been. The blank expression was gone from her face, replaced with something that was a cross between grim determination and satisfaction. A cold light gleaned in her eyes and the corners of her lips were turned up in a smile.
But what caused Tanner’s stomach to churn was what the girl was doing.
The long sleeve of her tunic was bunched around her shoulder and the pot of stew had been removed from the fire. She leaned over it, squeezing a blister on her forearm that was the size of a crabapple. Pus squirted from the sac of flesh and the smell of infection blossomed in the air, only to be quickly overpowered by the scent of warm stew as she stirred it into the pot.
“What . . . I don’t . . .”
Her head snapped up in response to Tanner’s stammering and, for a brief moment, he felt the hatred radiate from her. It buffeted against him like a hot gust of wind and his eyes flitted from the deflated blister to the pot of food below.
Like a cloud passing over the sun, Rosemarie’s expression changed again. Here was the lost and frightened girl that he so badly wanted to protect, the orphan whom he’d considered bringing into his own family once they’d gotten out of their current predicament. So forlorn and vulnerable with those big wet eyes shimmering behind a veil of tears … But then she laughed and as quickly as she’d appeared, that young girl was gone. Stooping, she pulled a burning twig from the fire, stood, and used it to light the lantern again. Her actions were fluid and graceful without a single wasted movement.
“Rosemarie, what …what are you …”
“I’m not Rosemarie.” The girl giggled momentarily behind her hand before regaining her composure and Tanner it dawned on Tanner why she looked familiar. He hadn’t seen her at a swap meet at all. In fact, he hadn’t recognized the girl at all. Just her features. “I am Asha, child of the Tribe of Clay, sister to Asham, and first born of Lila, chosen wife of Tolek.”
Memories pounded Tanner’s mind like it was one of the drums hidden within the forest. He saw himself in the Spewer village with that infected bitch yelling in his face:
You are a threat to my daughter.
And you are a threat to mine!
The same nose, the same sharp chin and blue eyes . . . her hair wasn’t fiery like her mother’s, but for all intents and purposes this could have been a younger version of the savage who’d lured him into the net.
Another flash of memory: standing by the fire with the girl he thought to be Rosemarie:
I think I’ll just keep cooking. Can’t let it get too hot or it will ruin my secret ingredient. Everyone seemed to really like it last night …
Tanner felt as though he’d been sucker punched in the gut. His stomach churned and wretched and he struggled for breath as the full realization of the girl’s statement dawned upon him.
“And you,” she said slowly and clearly, “enemy of The People, murderer of my brother … you, clear skin, are dead.”
The girl tossed the lantern she held and the glass shattered against the nearest building as a wall of blue fire spread with a whoosh. The flames engulfed the flimsy curtains dangling in the window and crept across the ground, pooling around the remaining barrels of oil. She then scampered over the ridge behind the kitchen, whooping with a loud trilling noise as she disappeared over the rim and returned to her waiting people.
The entire time, all Tanner could do was watch. As if paralyzed by shock, he was peripherally aware of the fire, of how quickly the dry wood crackled and burned and how the tongues of flame leapt from the first building to the next. His muscles felt tense and tired, as if he were wound up and worn out at the same time, and the beating of his heart was as shallow as the breaths of air he managed to gulp.
They’d eaten it. All of them. They’d shoveled spoon after spoon of slow acting poison into their bodies, had gulped down infection and went back for more. Even now, the Gabriel Virus was spreading within him, replicating and mutating cells as it turned his own body into an enemy.
He could never hold Shayla in his arms again, never kiss her wetly on the cheek or tickle until her giggles gave way to gales of laughter. With the virus raging within him, he’d infect anyone he came into contact with. There would be no more games where they laid in a field and connected the stars, no more walks through the forest or even something as simple as holding her little hand in his own.
A single tear leaked from the corner of Tanner’s eye as he walked to the table by the cooking pot. Picking up the revolver, he flicked open the chamber for visual inspection.
The citizens of Knoll had responded to the column of smoke rising from their own community and he watched the six of them, even the toddler (who apparently thought it was playtime) running for water with which to douse the flames.
They’re infected too ….
Six shots later, they were not.
Tanner stepped over the bodies of the dead, tossing the emptied firearm to the side and walked toward his quarters. The ground rumbled with explosions as flaming shrapnel from the oil barrels burst into the sky. The area he’d just left was now a wall of flame and the burning buildings crackled and popped amid the roar of the fire.
Slipping the strap of the barrel organ over his shoulder, Tanner Kline closed his eyes and turned the crank as the searing heat warmed his face. The conflagration crept slowly toward him, devouring everything in its path with an insatiable hunger. With dark smoke billowing into the air and the music of the barrel organ providing an off-key soundtrack, Tanner Kline made his final decision.
He would give his life so that others might live ….
*****Authors Note*****
Music is a vital part of my creative process. It inspires me and plays in the background as I write, lending its rhythms and tones to the story I’m trying to tell. Apocalyptic Organ Grinder was no different and I would like to acknowledge some of the songs and artists which helped keep me motivated as the story unfurled before me.
“Paint It Black” - Firewater
“I Want To Be A Machine” - Pornophonique
“Ratamahatta” - Sepulutra
“Eraser” - Nine Inch Nails
“Cantara” - Dead Can Dance
“Future Fail” - Front Line Assembly
“Headhunter” - Front 242
“Ja’her” - Skinny Puppy
“Sanvean” - Dead Can Dance
Named by The Google+ Insider's Guide as one of their top 32 authors to follow, William Todd Rose writes dark, speculative fiction which often lends itself to the bizarre and macabre. With short stories appearing in various magazines and anthologies, his body of work also includes the novels Cry Havoc, Shut The Fuck Up and Die!, The Dead and Dying, and The Seven Habits of Highly Infective People, as well as the short story collection Sex in the Time of Zombies. For more information on the author, including links to free fiction, please visit him online at www.williamtoddrose.com
iam Todd Rose, Apocalyptic Organ Grinder
Apocalyptic Organ Grinder Page 8
