The Footsteps of Cain

by Derek Kohlhagen

  Samuel clenched his teeth, and again felt liquid steel flood into his spine and freeze it solid.

  Fuck, no. It won’t happen like this.

  He had to believe, even in the ruins of everything, that there was a way this whole thing played out that was better than just laying himself down and dying. Anything else was a victory for the monster, and he’d be damned before he’d let that fucker win.

  Samuel looked down into Kelly’s twisted face. He wasn’t about to let the monster take her, either. He only hoped that she wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t get her back.

  He struggled to his feet through a colossal effort, still retaining his grip on her collar with his good hand. She immediately sprang up after him, still trying like hell to break his hold, to get inside his guard with whatever she could to draw blood. She reached at his face with her twitching fingers, looking to sink her nails in.

  The already-tenuous situation was degrading, rapidly. More and more of Tristan’s fanatics were giving in to the urge to kill; screams filled the bloody courtyard as more of them fell, cannibalized by brethren who had been given another dark avenue through which to express their fervor.

  Then, there was a sound, in the sky. At first it was a rumbling, like thunder. He looked up and, through the crackling electrical arcs of the canopy shield, saw the black mass swirling overhead, like it was slowly being stirred in the cauldron of the sky. He shot his attention back to the monster. It was still standing where it had struck down the prophet, head back and eyes closed. The look on its face was almost peaceful as it appeared to channel its concentration to something else.

  Samuel’s skin prickled. He knew what was coming.

  He cast a desperate look around him, searching for options. In the courtyard he was vulnerable. He needed shelter. He needed it, now.

  He was too far away from any of the habmods. Even if he could make it to one in time, he’d have to do it through a small legion of rabid zealots who’d been converted into mindless killers, and he’d have to pull Kelly through them with him.

  No. They’d never make it. He needed something else.

  Then, he had it.

  The towers!

  Near to the wall as he was, he was only a short run away from one of the broad guard towers, just to the right of the gates. And, as with all the others, there was a hatch at the bottom, identical to the one he’d chased Cameron through on another, fateful day. If he could get inside, he might give them protection. It wasn’t much...but it was something.

  The unholy thunder in the skies was growing louder, and through it Samuel picked up another sound...a rising roar, birthed into the background but clawing steadily into the forefront of his senses...not produced by a single, hulking presence, but rather by thousands of individual, overlapping parts...each one contributing to the deafening clamor.

  Wings.

  He turned in the direction of the tower, and heaved Kelly along with him—she, still fighting him—just as the black avian flood came rushing through the considerable mouth of the gates. A thousand of them, like black angels, burst forth into the soft underbelly of the Spire’s interior and spread out in all directions. Samuel felt himself screaming but was deaf to his own voice, drowned as it was by the solid wall of sound that the great demonic flock brought with it.

  They settled over every surface, coating the former safety of the Spire’s structures and the spaces in between. They hopped about, squawking with a disturbingly human glee and snapping their beaks. Great, inky tendrils of them reached out toward the Dome like the hand of Death itself, and then poured inside through the breaches in its metal skin...the very ones that had been put there by the precise demolition work of Henry Goodwin, Tristan’s faithful and tragic accomplice. Samuel couldn’t see them, but he knew that they would seek out those who had fled inside those great curved walls for protection, and that for those people, what had been a safe haven for so long had ultimately become a tomb.

  There would be no helping them. He imagined the wails of the people, no doubt cowering in the corridors and adjacent rooms as their fate came for them.

  He moved faster, yanking on Kelly’s collar as he practically willed them closer to the relative safety of the tower. She was curling her fingers and tearing at the sleeve of his shirt with her nails, struggling with him to get free. In such a feral state, she didn’t seem to even acknowledge the penetration or presence of the crows.

  The birds had settled, for the most part; only a few still remained in the air. Samuel kicked them out of his way as he moved, dreading what he knew was coming next.

  Sure enough, just as they had when he was a boy and in every nightmare he’d had about them since, the crows began to change their form. They bloated out and shed their feathers, which fell to the dirt, and by some kind of dark magic disappeared into nothingness. The skin that was left bare shaped and molded itself like putty and continued to grow in size, until each one had become a undulating, fleshy ball about as high as Samuel’s waist. Then, limbs started to grow out of them, legs that pushed them up and off the ground, arms that stretched out to the sides, and finally, the bubbling lump of a head, on top. Details rapidly filled in...hands, fingers...toes...genitals...and finally, facial features. The scalp of each one grew hair that cascaded down over the head and to its shoulders. Black eyes popped open, the only crow-like feature to persist in their new, humanoid shape.

  And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the revolting transformation was complete. An army of monsters, each one identical to the original save for the missing white light in their abdomens, stood among the helpless humans, peering about with their beady eyes and ready for mayhem.

  Samuel didn’t have to imagine it any longer; now, he could hear the distant cries of terror coming from the Dome, where no doubt the people had witnessed the same horrific phenomenon inside those rusty walls. He grieved for them. It was the only thing he could do.

  He didn’t know why, but over the years a part of him, deep inside, had become convinced that they were the last of their race, rendered unthinkably valuable by their sheer rarity. Before his eyes, the last speck of humanity was being pushed, by a final, sadistic finger-flick, over the precipice of extinction.

  He was certain of it, now. He was witnessing the end of all days.

  Even as these dark thoughts went through his head, Samuel had never stopped his advance to the tower hatch, throughout the metamorphosis. Any break in his haste would lead to his death, he knew. The army, the one that had been carried in on the wings of crows—the copies—were starting to show more signs of life, looking around and scanning with predatory intensity.

  He was only a dozen or so paces from the hatch.

  Suddenly, there were two of them in his way. His hurried approach had alerted them and drawn their attention. Two pairs of eyes, all pupil, fell upon him...two faces leered, their tongues running over what Samuel saw were pointed teeth...no doubt tools of their trade. He had no idea how he would get past them, at least not before more of them noticed and swarmed him. They stood side by side, blocking his path.

  Samuel knew...this would be his only chance. He either got through them, or he met his end. Pulling Kelly along, he gained speed and prepared to lower his shoulder.

  All at once, there was a cry from his left. A man wearing gray, work coveralls and bleeding badly from his face barreled into view, bowling into the two abominations and knocking them off their feet. Samuel stopped short, agape. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  It was the jokester, Seth Feron.

  The last he’d seen of the young technician, he was being brutally beaten by a trio of Tristan’s fanatics at the wall. Somehow, perhaps through the confusion brought on by the onset of the monster’s mad influence, he’d been spared. Samuel could see by his battered appearance that it hadn’t been without a high cost.

  The three of them, Seth and the two copies, went down in a heap. The boy was struggling to stay on top of them...to pin them to the ground
.

  “Seth!” Samuel yelled. He took a few steps in the boy’s direction, intending to help even the odds.

  “No!” Seth screamed at him, halting him in his tracks. “Get out of here! Go!”

  Then, as could have been predicted, Seth lost the advantage. He’d barely maintained the upper hand for five seconds.

  A powerful arm shot up and pulled him down. He fought the grip with a desperate frenzy, but in the end there was no contest...not against the unearthly strength of the clones. All at once they were on top, and Seth was the one who was being pinned down. Then, before Samuel could react, they went to work on him. Their balled-up fists rose and fell, each blow producing a sickening, wet, cracking sound. Samuel could only stare in horror.

  Seth managed to get out one last, final word.

  “Go....”

  Samuel understood. The boy had known what he was doing. He’d sacrificed himself so that Samuel and Kelly would have a chance. Samuel hesitated, still wanting to go and help, still trying to figure a way to save him. He bellowed in frustration.

  There would be no helping Seth. He had given them a chance, and willingly signed his own death warrant by doing so. Samuel couldn’t let the noble act be for nothing.

  “Thank you, Seth!” he yelled, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you!”

  Still distraught, he yanked Kelly along for all he was worth, toward the hatch. She was still hissing and spitting at him, like a feral cat.

  He closed the distance quickly, with a clear route, but then abruptly he saw he had another problem.

  He had only one hand to work with. How could he hold his grip on Kelly and open the door to the tower, all with only one good hand?

  Samuel swore, and made the only decision he could. As they reached the hatch, he begrudgingly released his hold on Kelly’s coveralls. Immediately she was on him, all nails and teeth. He heaved on the door with his only functional hand as she went to work on him, drawing blood from what felt like hundreds of scratches and bite marks. He cried out in pain as she tore at his skin.

  Once the hatch was open, Samuel turned, by some miracle reacquired his grip on her spasming body, and using all his strength he practically threw her inside the tower chamber, roaring.

  He looked back briefly, and saw that the two copies that were hunched over Seth Feron’s now-motionless body were staring at him. Their arms, faces, and chests were splattered with the poor boy’s blood.

  Then, they stood up and sprang toward him.

  He backpedaled, scrambling through the opening, grasping the handle and using his momentum to slam the hatch closed. The sound reverberated through the enclosed chamber, echoing off the metal walls and up through the central staircase to the upper floors. Wasting no time, Samuel grasped the heavy steel locking bar and put all his weight on it, driving it down into position with a solid thunk.

  It wasn’t a moment too soon. The second he secured the door, there was a heavy impact on the other side. The hatch shuddered. Samuel fell away from it and scurried backward, mentally imploring the metal to hold, as if he could strengthen it with his thoughts.

  More blows fell upon the door from the outside. The hatch stood firm against them, shaking on its hinges, but fortunately remaining resolute against the punishment. It seemed that, for the moment, they were safe. Samuel couldn’t believe that they’d beaten the odds.

  He looked around.

  Speaking of...where...?

  A shadow blocked out the light above and she crashed down on him like a bobcat. She tore a gash open on his right cheek, slicking it with blood, but he didn’t notice the pain, so intent was he on subduing her. Samuel managed to raise a foot, and kick her away from him, giving him some space to work with. Then, he did the only thing that he could think of to try to shake her out of her delusion.

  Even as he hated himself for doing it, he punched her, hard, across her face.

  She swooned, eyes fluttering, and then came at him again.

  Again he hit her, catching her across the jaw, and was grateful to see the second shot make a difference. She fell over, sprawling to the ground at his side. He rolled over and laid his full weight on her, before she could regain her senses and attack him again.

  He called her name, imploring her to fight off the delusion that had taken up residence in her mind.

  “Kelly! It’s me...Sam! Stop!”

  She continued to struggle, although with diminishing ferocity, much to his relief. She was tiring...her body running on the last of its reserves. It was just in time...Samuel himself was almost completely spent. Every muscle was burning. His body felt heavy, like he was made out of concrete.

  At long, relieving last, he felt the tension in her muscles slacken.

  “Kelly...please...please come back...” he panted.

  He risked a look at her face. Her eyes were rolling and her brow was furrowed. She showed signs of supreme disorientation.

  “Come on, Kelly.... Come on...come back....”

  She blinked, gasping, and he saw her pupils contract and focus on his.

  “Sam...?” she breathed.

  * * *

  Chapter 50 – Ejelano

  YEAH! YEAH, YOU FUCKERS! HERE IT COMES! HERE COMES THE MEAT GRINDER! WOOOOOO-HOOOOOOO!

  It was almost over. His messengers had filled every crack and crevice of the settlement...every hiding place...and after they’d changed forms—become the mockeries of him that they needed to be to carry out his work—he’d wasted no time in sending them off to write the last page in the compendium of his long life, scrawled in the last drops of humanity’s blood.

  He saw through their eyes and controlled their actions. Thousands of them. One for every soul that still inhabited the place, and at least three times as many as were necessary.

  Accomplishing the task was never in question. He’d become very skilled at what he did, as anyone would after repeating a thing over thousands of years. No, his focus was on speed, this time. Raw efficiency. He needed to be swift, for the White had quickened itself, as if possessing a brain that could know he was close to completing his ages-long task.

  Thousands of horror movies played out in his head. Every pair of his messengers’ eyes was a camera...thousands of perspectives that he could simultaneously see. He heard every scream, witnessed every life passing from this world into the next in a blood-soaked blur. Faces of his victims flashed across his multi-lensed awareness. Even as the scenery of each of the views differed, even as the specific events were different, the endings were always the same. One and then another and then another, each one a red mark in his genocidal tally, each one a notch closer to the end.

  Ejelano strode out to the open space of the front courtyard, fifty or so paces from the gate. He stepped over bodies as he went, their dead stench filling his nostrils.

  His eyes lingered over the curved walls of the dome-shaped building as his messengers squeezed the life from it. The disharmony of screams from within lingered in his ears like a mad composer’s lullaby.

  Standing there, in the middle of the last massacre, he couldn’t help but think back over all of it. His thoughts drifted to the things he’d seen, and to speculation of things he’d witnessed but long since forgotten about. The harshness of his sentence—the sheer breadth of it—fell upon him like a mountain.

  “Was it all really necessary?” he asked. “Was there nothing else that could have been asked of me...any other burden I could have carried...to pay for what I did? What you had me do...it was like asking me to squash a flea with the moon. To make me live a mortal life with the knowledge of what I’d done...even that would have been unbearable. But this? How can this be justified?”

  IT HAD TO BE THIS. AND WHEN IT’S ALL DONE AND OVER WITH, YOU’LL UNDERSTAND. ALSO, IT COULD HAVE BEEN WORSE. I COULD HAVE MADE YOU DO THE WHOLE THING ON ONE LEG.

  The voice snorted derisively.

  YOU KNOW, YOU HUMANS TRULY ARE A BIZARRE, FUCKING MIX. YOU’RE BORN SELFISH, AND IF LEFT TO YOUR OWN DEVICES...EVEN
WITH THE INCLUSION OF WARM, FUZZY, MORAL TEACHINGS OF A GOOD UPBRINGING...MOST OF YOU WILL CHOOSE YOURSELF OVER THE OTHER GUY, WHEN IT REALLY COMES DOWN TO IT...WHEN IT’S EITHER YOU OR HIM. YOU WEAR THIS COMFY BLANKET OF VIRTUOUS INDIGNATION AND SUPERIORITY, BUT, IF THE WINDS CHANGE AND A COLD BREEZE OF PERSONAL THREAT FLOATS YOUR WAY? YOU’LL DO EVERYTHING IN YOUR POWER, SACRIFICE EVERYTHING YOU’VE BEEN TAUGHT, JUST TO SAVE YOUR OWN SKINS. THAT’S NOT THE WAY IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE. YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE GOOD TO EACH OTHER. IT’S YOUR NATURE THAT GETS IN THE WAY...YOUR STUNTED IMPULSE CONTROL. YOU’RE BORN, BUT TRAGIC FEW OF YOU EVER ACTUALLY FUCKING CHANGE OR GROW. YOU STAY THE SAME. JUST A BUNCH OF SELFISH...SELF-SERVING...BABIES.

  “How can you speak of such things?” Ejelano asked, his blood simmering. “You, of all beings. You chastise humanity for lacking the very things that you revel in. You’re a killer that advocates ’thou shall not kill’. You’re a contradiction. A hypocrite. Surely, being ‘all knowing’ as you are, you see the problem in the logic?”

  OH, EJELANO...TSK TSK. AFTER ALL OUR TIME TOGETHER, ALL OUR BUDDY COP, ZANY ADVENTURES, YOU STILL DON’T UNDERSTAND ME. I’M NO KILLER. I’VE NEVER TAKEN A LIFE, NOT ONCE.

  BACK BEFORE WE GOT ACQUAINTED...BACK IN THAT VILLAGE OF YOURS, I’M GUESSING YOU GUYS HAD SOME SORT OF...FUCK, I DON’T KNOW...STORY TIME? SOME SORT OF PRIMITIVE-ASS VERSION OF A MOVIE RENTAL?

  Ejelano acknowledged it, silently, even as the seemingly unrelated question startled him.

  OKAY, SO WHEN YOU WATCHED YOUR FELLOW MONKEYS HOP AROUND AND PANTOMINE BATTLES AND FAKE-STAB ONE ANOTHER OR WHATEVERTHEFUCK, I’M SURE YOU ENJOYED THE STORY, BLOODY AS IT WAS...DIDN’T YOU? WASN’T THAT THE POINT? YET, IT WASN’T YOU ON THAT STAGE. YOU WEREN’T THE ONE FAKE-STABBING ANYONE. DID THAT MAKE YOU A KILLER?

  It paused.

  I’M JUST A GUY ENJOYING A GOOD STORY.

  Ejelano shook his head.

  “What you’re saying makes no sense.”