by Tim Marquitz
A groan slipped out as I rose unsteadily to my feet, debris crunching beneath my heels. My pulse roared inside my skull, and I knew what I wanted didn’t matter any longer. I’d made my choice when I stalked my family’s killer and shot him while he ascended the steps to the courthouse. Now there was nothing left but God’s will, whatever it may be.
I turned and looked to the window to find it was gone, the yellowed walls along with it. In fact, the floor had collapsed at some point when I was out, dropping me into the apartment below. I could only hope it had been empty as I stared out through the cave-like opening, a reverse archway of what had once been the building’s exterior. The street was less than twenty feet away, nothing but rubble between. A wash of umber devoured the blue of the sky. The scent of char and burnt rubber stung my nose. I stumbled out onto the asphalt to the rhythm of the blood in my ears.
Off to my right, halfway buried under a pile of red bricks, was the young drug dealer I’d seen from the window. His eyes were wide and empty, staring without sight. Dollar bills swirled around him in the breeze, a funeral procession of his closest friends. He was beyond my meager help so I left him behind. Whatever his journey, he was already on his way.
Slowly, the hum abated as I walked, the sounds of the world growing in volume. What I heard sickened me. The living wailed for their loved ones clutched dead in their arms, the wounded moaning their last beneath the crumbling landscape. Dogs barked in the distance, shrill, fearful yips sounding so much like lost children in the growing darkness.
Hour after hour, I helped where I could, pulling wounded from the devastation of their homes, but I’d little skill in bandaging wounds or assessing injuries. I was no nurse or doctor, not that it mattered. The ant-like creep of radiation set my skin to itching and burned my eyes. Whatever kindness I had to offer the suffering was likely a short term balm. Those who’d survived the blast would probably succumb to the ravages of fallout, their lives slipping away with their sloughing flesh before they’d a chance to get better. In the borrowed husk of my body, I was the lucky one. My judgment would be rendered long before then.
Weary to my very core, I shambled along. Every corpse I stumbled across was another nail in the coffin of my spirit. Numbness settled over, emotion slowly anaesthetized to the repetitive horror that splayed out before me. Any longer and I would welcome the respite of Hell.
“No. My baby!”
I spun about at the screech that pierced my sour thoughts, my mind dimly aware of what was happening. A young woman was being dragged bodily across the street by two men. She fought them every step of the way, her arms outstretched, fingers clasping, toward the ruin of a two-story apartment complex. The front balcony swung like a pendulum, wrought iron creaking. A waterfall of bricks tumbled from the roof and the whole building trembled on its foundations. It was ready to fall.
The woman screamed again, breaking free of her captors. She darted toward the building, making it halfway before the men dragged her back. “Sharon!” The name surged from her mouth in a ragged, piercing shriek.
Before I even realized, I was running. Bulling past the men and ignoring their shouts, I sidestepped the swinging balcony and ducked inside the bottom apartment where I’d seen them emerge. The building rumbled a welcome. Showers of dust rained down atop me, cracks growing along the ceiling. A muffled cry slithered through the chaos. I followed the sound and found myself in a bedroom, the far corner of the apartment having collapsed. A gray cloud whirled before my eyes, obscuring my sight, but there was no mistaking the terrified whimpers of a child too young for words.
I fanned the air and pushed on to find a crib. It had been knocked on its side by the falling debris. The opening against the back wall, it had formed a tiny cage, locking the child inside and protecting her at the same time. Dressed in a pink sleeper, the baby huddled in the corner, her face obscured by the toppled mattress. I kicked a splintered sheet of plywood out of the way so I could reach the crib and grabbed the struts at the bottom. The cold metal bit into my hands as I yanked them aside, leveraging them apart. Sharon mewled while I shoved past the mattress to grab her. She started at my touch, wide eyes ogling at me in silence.
There was no time for soothing words. The floor shook as I slipped her from the crib and tucked her in my arms. Vibrations ran up my legs to a serenade of creaks. The dust danced chaotic, and I couldn’t breathe. I covered the baby and ran for the door.
Two steps were all I managed.
There was a grinding snap, like a thousand branches breaking all at once, and something crashed into my head and back. I twisted as darkness tunneled my vision, going fetal as I was slammed into a small, pressboard dresser before hitting the ground. Sharon cried as I hunched to keep the whole of my weight off her, and I felt something twang at my side as a dozen picture frames fell over us. My thoughts tumbled over one another as I lay panting, trying to catch my breath, but one stood out clear: the building was coming down.
I shrugged off the slab of fallen ceiling and nearly lost consciousness at the motion, a lightning bolt of agony spearing my left side. The baby whimpered, and I bit back a scream as I fell back into the shattered dresser to keep from passing out.
“It’s okay, Sharon,” I told her as I shifted her to my lap so I could see how bad I was hurt.
A frigid chill washed over me as I lifted my left arm gingerly. There in the crook of my armpit was a stub of wood, which jutted a few short inches from between my ribs. I could feel the other end buried deep inside my chest. Bile welled in my throat, and the world swayed. I had no idea what the wound meant to me, but to my borrowed body, it was fatal. And if I died, so did Sharon.
I gulped for air, tasting as much blood as oxygen, and pulled myself to my knees. Glass crunched beneath me, shards impaling my shins. I cradled Sharon to my unwounded side and grasped at the remnants of the dresser to pull me to my feet. The appearance of a face I knew stopped me cold. My heart sputtered as I looked to the wooden frame that lay in the detritus beside me. I felt my cheeks warm as adrenaline filled my veins with furious energy. I snatched the picture up.
Jonathan Williams smiled at me from the photograph.
Darkness gnawed at the edges of sense and I was suddenly lightheaded. The photo blurred in and out of focus as I stared at it, desperate to have imagined him, but the bastard remained. Why was he here? As I pondered that, an echoing thought in the empty well of my mind, I noticed the people with him in the photograph. A young man sat to his right, the killer’s hand on his shoulder. There was no doubting the lineage of the boy, their faces a perfect match for one another.
The girl with them was a few years younger, her hair pulled into a tight ponytail that brought her face into focus. Sharon wriggled in my arms, the sounds of crumbling stone echoing around us as I stared. Memory flickered to the woman in the street, frantically trying to reach her baby. She was the young girl in the photo. The realization stole my breath away.
In my arms was the grandchild of the man who’d murdered my family.
I slumped back into the wreckage with a sigh. Sharon whimpered, and I could hear her mother screaming for her outside. The building continued to tremble, ready to crash down any moment, but I didn’t care. Arafal had set me on the path to damnation.
A wet chuckle slipped loose at the thought. I stared at the squirming child and all I could see was the face of a killer, the man who took my family from me. Images of what he did played out across the screen of my memories. Blood and cruelty filled my head, my poor boys covered in the gore of their mother before they had their turn beneath the butcher’s knife. My stomach roiled, and I tasted the bitter acid of my past life rising into my throat. They had deserved so much better.
I glared at Sharon, knowing the blood of her grandfather ran in her veins. Her family would live on while mine had come to a violent, brutal end. Jonathan Williams had taken everything from me, and in my hands was an opportunity for atonement fitting the crime. A single bullet had exacted justice, but ther
e’d been no satisfaction. He hadn’t suffered as I had; his family hadn’t suffered.
The ceiling shuddered as I stared up at it, casting my spiteful gaze toward the heavens. “Is this why you brought me here?” My shout startled the baby. She cried as I lifted her up before me and stared into the dark swirl of her big eyes, tears spilling silver across her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Sharon. You deserved better, too.”
There was only one thing left to do.
#
Brilliant light enveloped me, fading by degrees until I could see beyond it. Arafal floated before me, the green of his eyes piercing my soul. He said nothing for a long moment. The heat of his gaze withered away as he drifted aside so I might see what I’d wrought.
A body lay face down upon the street, a small cluster of people surrounding it. Blood pooled under its torso, a wet trail leading from the crumpled apartment building steps from where it had been dragged, staining the asphalt a darker black. There were no tears in the eyes of those who hovered about; no wails or sorrowed cries. There was only the somber weight of silence.
The people turned from the body, leaving it where it lay. They clung to one another as they departed, and I spied the limp bundle in the mother’s arms. She walked toward us, though I know she couldn’t see me or the avenging angel at my side. Sorrow masked her features as she approached, its shadowy touch mirrored on the faces of the others. The group shambled right before us, the young woman’s gaze falling to the motionless child.
Her sadness fell away.
The child giggled as they passed through us, stirring up tracers of our ethereal essences. Sharon’s eyes found mine for just an instant, and a smile crept to her lips. It remained there until she faded from my sight.
“Come, Michael,” Arafal said. “Your family awaits.”
Bitter Pill
Originally published online 2012
The world ended as I slept.
I awoke to darkness, the quiet rumble of thunder in the distance. The air seemed to cling to my lungs, stale and tepid. The ceiling fan sat still, cloaked in the shadows that loomed over my bed. Cold chills prickled my skin as I peeled the moist sheets from my back and sat up. I glanced over at the clock and saw its face was blank. The familiar hum of the house had gone silent, the power out. The vein at my temple throbbed.
Something felt wrong.
The wooden floor creaked under my feet as I climbed out of bed, the sound overloud in the unnatural still. My heart sputtered as I crossed the room. I could smell the coming rain. With a trembling hand, I pulled the curtains aside and looked outside. Lightning splintered on the bleak horizon. The rumble of thunder followed moments later. Dark clouds filled the sky. I couldn’t tell if it was night or day, the churning sea of blackness swallowing all light. The houses of my neighbors were buried in the gloom. I couldn’t see past the gray blur of the wall that surrounded my property.
Another flicker of lightning graced the sky, and I spied a lurking shadow. I gasped, a panicked breath steaming the glass. The glimmer of yellowed eyes met my gaze and I stumbled away from the window. Someone was in my yard.
I don’t know what possessed me, but I yanked open the nightstand drawer and collected a flashlight and my revolver, and raced to the front door. My bare feet registered the frigid concrete of the porch before I even realized I’d gone outside. I levered the safety off and swept the yard with the light. Only the gray pallor of the winter grass stood out in the gloom. I crept across the porch and took the steps with reverent slowness. My jaw throbbed against my clenched teeth. The storm rumbled in commiseration.
I’d begun to think I imagined the shadow when I heard the crunch of grass from the side of the house, a ragged moan drifting to my ears. I raised my gun and light as the quiet pad of footsteps drew closer. The pistol shook in my hand as I held my finger on the trigger. My stomach churned, and the metallic tang of bile rose in my throat. I stood my ground more out of fear than courage, my feet frozen in place.
A figure stepped from behind the sheltering corner of the house and moved into the flashlight’s beam. My pulse ratcheted, pounding in my veins as I saw the shadow in the light. It was a man.
At least it had been.
A torpid moan oozed from its scabbed lips as it stared at me with lidless yellow eyes. Its face was pitted and scarred, moist flaps of flesh hanging loose from its forehead and jaw. I could see its teeth peeking through the ruin of its cheek. They clacked together as it stumbled toward me, arms outstretched. Its shirt was stained with a crusted brown ichor and speckled in blood. The rancid stench of death struck me.
Panic set in and I ran for the house, my gun forgotten, the flashlight lost in my flight. I slammed the door shut and threw the bolt. Tremors rattled through me as I backed unsteadily into the living room, noticing the frailty of my security for the first time. Rows of fragile windows surrounded the door frame. I bit my lip and tasted blood as I stared into the darkness.
The shuffle of footsteps grew louder, scraping at the porch, drawing my eyes to deeper shadows that collected beyond the light drapes. A phlegmy wail erupted right outside. It was joined by another, and then another, the sounds chilling. The door shuddered in its frame, a meaty thunk resounding against the wood. Lightning crackled in the distance and defined a dozen figures clustered outside. The door trembled again.
I ran to my bedroom and locked myself in, leaning against the door as I tried to catch my fleeting breath. The moans followed me, growing in volume. Once more, the muffled thud sounded at the front door. Glass shattered. I clutched to the gun in my hand, my knuckles aching as I tried to hold it steady.
Desperate for an escape, I looked to the window. I inched closer, afraid to make a sound. Thunder shook the house as I gripped the edge of the curtains. A gasping breath drawn to steel my nerves, I pulled the drapes aside and looked out. The sallow eyes of a corpse stared back.
I crumpled to the floor. Rotten fingernails screeched across the glass, the thing outside loosing a horrid groan as it scrabbled to be inside. Another thump sounded at my back and I heard the front door give way, the hinges squealing in complaint.
I scrambled into a corner and set my back against the wall. The shuffle of movement grew louder in the hall, the voices of the dead droning a dirge. There was something in their cries that set my teeth to chattering…something desperate…something…hungry. I swallowed hard as I heard the scuff of their feet just outside my bedroom.
I lifted my gun as the door splintered. The corpses huffed their fury just beyond. Only six bullets stood between me and the dead. I watched through blurry eyes as the door gave way. Hunched figures shambled inside, the scent of the tomb choking the air from my lungs. Jaundiced eyes settled on me, blackened grins splitting their morbid faces wide. They reached for me. Jagged fingers ripped at my flesh, serrated maws seeking the warmth of my blood. The end had come, and there was only one place left to run.
I slipped the gun past my chattering teeth. The steel of the barrel tasted bitter. Warmth flooded my mouth for just an instant and the dead faded into the darkness. I was safe.
Evilution
Previously Unpublished
The sun split the cracks between the skyscrapers while spears of light pierced the gloom. Morgan shielded his eyes as a musky breeze whipped past, vying to steal his breath. The rigid solidness of the wall at his back felt miles away. His feet swung from the ledge.
Tomorrow was reclamation day. If they had their way, this would be the last dawn he would ever see.
Morgan pulled his gaze from the streaked, magenta sky and looked past his dangling boots. A dozen stories below, the roaches of society scurried about their morning rituals across the blackened carcass of the road. He could barely hear their passage. The wind conspired against his ears and threatened to yank him from the ledge. Morgan wondered if he should let it.
He drew up short at the thought, derailing the morbid feeling with thoughts of Karen. Though she was gone, little more than a memory of a life that had long
since turned to ash, she was the only happiness he could still recall. Morgan clutched to the fleeting images of her crystalline eyes, the dimples that creased her cheeks when she laughed, the spattering of freckles across her nose. For that moment, she was his once more. His heart skipped and sputtered as he breathed a weary sigh. It was all a lie.
The whispers in his head carried on without fail, nothing to indicate his momentary lapse had been identified. The garbled transmission chattered incessantly, transmitting encoded bits of his being into space where a satellite parsed and cataloged his every emotion. He had no doubt the EMPs would have spammed him with endorphins had they sensed his mood and correlated his location but he felt nothing. Morgan loosed a ragged chuckle.
The coyote had told him how to deceive the sensors, how to stay off the radar until they could outfit him with a blocking device, but he hadn’t believed something so simple would fool the chip embedded within his spine. Perhaps there was still some hope to be had. He wouldn’t have imagined it just weeks before.
Three years on the public dole, reclamation loomed. His debt to society would be paid in flesh if he stayed. He couldn’t bring himself to do that. For all the rhetoric and vitriol he spewed when he lobbied for the implants to control the destitution of character that had infested the country, Morgan hadn’t spent a moment contemplating the repercussions of the laws he helped pass until it was too late.
Comfortably wealthy and sheltered behind the glass walls of bureaucracy, he led the charge to tag the citizens of the Imperial United States. Morgan had been the first free citizen to have the chip implanted, leading the masses by example. He had politicked on the backs of dreams, painting a picture of a nation where none would suffer the cruelties of a deranged society. There’d be no more gangs; no more drugs; no more violence; no more murders. At the flip of a switch, crime and hatred would disappear, cleansed away in a chemical deluge.
