by Crae, Edward
“To wear, of course,” the man said. “Though it was wrinkled with age, it looked nice. My size stretched it out enough to cover me and straighten out those wrinkles. I wore it for a while, I did, but eventually it faded away. All things fade away.”
So, he wore her skin. Was he some kind of Ed Gein weirdo?
“Tell me, Dan,” the man continued, “how do you feel right now?”
“Why?”
“I want to know how it feels to be unfit for this miracle.”
Miracle? What miracle? “I don’t understand,” Dan said.
“This miracle from Heaven,” the man explained. “Surely you know what is going on.”
“It’s some kind of killer virus,” Dan guessed. “Something that some of us are immune to.”
The man chuckled again. “Not quite,” he said. “Not immune; unfit for.”
Dan shook his head, settling back down in his chair. He shook his head, unsure as to what the psycho was saying. “Unfit…” he repeated.
“You know what a virus is, correct?” the man asked. Dan grunted. “A virus reproduces by invading a cell and altering its DNA to become a factory that churns out more viruses.”
Dan nodded to himself. He did know that.
“Knowing that, you can imagine how perfect a vessel a virus could be for introducing new strains of DNA into the lifeforms of Earth.”
“I suppose so,” Dan said.
“Unfortunately, there was a slight barrier to the virus’s invasion.”
“What was that?”
“Airborne spores,” the man said. “Harmless fungi in the atmosphere; put there by scientists to help regenerate the ozone layer. They produced pure oxygen; not what we call breathable oxygen, but ozone. One oxygen molecule, not two.”
What the fuck? “Alright.”
“The fungal spores were the first victims,” the man continued. “They became altered by the virus, becoming the orange fog and spreading over the face of the Earth like a deadly poison. Most of the population was killed immediately. Others became carriers, and the fungus remained inside them; controlling them. They became walking spore carriers, capable of spreading the altered fungus by producing the spore sacs that you refer to as Floaters. The new fungus was contagious, and turned all of its victims into the walking dead. Those that were immune to the actual virus, that is.”
“The Shufflers,” Dan said.
“Yes. And there were others who were not immune to the virus, but not compatible with its original DNA altering characteristics. They simply rotted away, their minds becoming feral. They are the Shamblers that attack on sight. They spread the virus itself, but are immune to its mutative effects. Both Shamblers and Shufflers are infected by the fungus, and it eats away at their flesh. But the Shamblers are driven by pure madness and hunger.”
“What about the strange creatures?” Dan asked. “The mutants?”
“They are immune to the illness,” the man said, “but are somewhat compatible with the virus’s DNA for one reason or another; but to varying degrees. However, all in all, the human race is unfit for the full effect. You see, Dan, we are higher forms of life already. Even the wild animals of this world are unfit for the evolutionary aspects of the virus. Its mutative effects only serve to alter most of its victims to the point of monstrosity. For the most part, only those with hunter instincts or aggressive demeanors are compatible enough to evolve. Some horses, predatory animals, violent humans or hunters.”
“And you?” Dan said. “You said you were infected. Why are you not a stark raving mad flesh eating mutant?”
The man chuckled again. “For one reason, Dan, and one reason only. There is a characteristic I share with others of my kind that makes us fully compatible with the virus’s true purpose. We are the perfect vessels for this evolutionary change.”
“And what is that?”
The man chuckled again. “It’s very simple, and quite brilliant. It tells me a lot about the DNA that exists inside the virus, and why it is so incompatible with the average lifeform. It was not meant to create monsters, Dan. It was meant to create the perfect lifeform, and only those who are compatible can receive this blessing.”
“What blessing?” Dan asked, shifting nervously.
The man stood. He was exceedingly tall; nearly seven foot. He turned slowly, the harlequin mask appearing from behind the cowl. He opened the cloak, letting it fall to the floor in a heap, revealing the buckled leather straps that were wrapped tightly around his body. He chuckled; laughing demonically as the straps slowly unwound themselves from his pale, white flesh. With long, bony fingers, the man reached up and removed the mask.
Dan’s heart throbbed painfully as he pressed himself against his chair in terror.
“To become the perfect lifeform,” the man-thing said, “one must already have the perfect mind. The lack of empathy; the lack of humanity. Two things that hold our species back from greatness.”
Dan’s mind squirmed as he gazed upon the horrific sight. The man’s face peeled away, taking with it what little humanity was left. Underneath, there was a skeletal countenance, complete with a large rictus grin with razor sharp teeth. His eyes had been replaced with deep set black orbs that glowed with purplish streaks of flickering plasma that swirled menacingly. His entire body was tightly corded, nothing more than strings of powerful sinew stretched over long, oddly shaped bones that were spiked and ridged with what Dan could only assume were body-wide, reinforcing structures.
From the creature’s back sprung four tentacles; ridged and barbed like scorpion tails that swirled around its body like protective weapons. His legs were like those of an animal’s; with high-set knees, and long feet that supported its weight on clawed toes.
Dan clamped his eyes shut, the terror bringing sobs and tears. His heart ached as it pounded with a ferocity he had never felt. His revulsion was unmatched, and in his mind, he prayed for a quick death.
“I am now the perfect being,” the creature said. “Immortal and invincible.”
“No,” Dan sobbed, squirming onto the floor and crawling as far back into the corner as he could go.
“This is just the beginning, Dan,” the creature said. “There are others like me, and soon we will rule the new world. We shall be the overlords of the human race, and you shall be our cattle.”
“No!” Dan screamed, clawing at his eyes to keep them shut. His breathing became labored, and he struggled to take in air. He felt himself growing dizzy, and even with his eyes shut, the glowing spots of hyperventilation swam in his vision. He heard the clopping footsteps of the creature approaching, then the deafening ripping of metal as the straps were torn away.
“Look at me, Dan,” the creature hissed. “Behold my perfection. Look upon a god one last time.”
“Fuck you!” Dan shouted. “Fuck you!”
As the creature laughed its demonic laugh, Dan quickly slipped into what he could only imagine was death itself. Death and release.
Chapter Five
“Wake up!” Dan heard a man’s voice. “Wake up, man!”
His eyes fluttered open. There was a man standing at the opening of his alcove. He was dressed in black, around thirty, and though he had a tough demeanor, Dan could tell he was terrified.
“Where the fuck are we?” the man asked.
Dan looked past the man, who was staring intently at his face, and saw that there were two others. They were scoping out the block walls, apparently looking for an exit. One had parked himself by the basement door and was knocking on the wood; testing the door’s strength.
“Hey!” the man shouted. “Look at me.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Dan said, looking around.
He had a fresh bottle of whiskey, two more Vicodin, and a bag of jerky beside him. Enough food and drink for a show, he guessed.
“We demand to be released,” the man said. “We are military, not civilians. No one has the authority to detain us.”
Dan laughed. “You’re not military,” h
e said. “You’re just a bunch of toy soldiers without a clue. Toy soldiers about to be put in a box.”
The man glared at him for a moment before turning to his companions. Dan watched them with amusement. As tough as they acted, none of them could hide the fact that they were confused and terrified. Dan had no sympathy for them, however. These fuckwads had destroyed his home. Maybe not these fuckwads, but fuckwads like them.
The merc turned back to him, smiling. “You’re the terrorist we’ve been looking for,” he said. “You finally got caught. You’ll soon be rotting with your friends once we get out of here.”
Dan sat forward. “My friends?”
“Yeah,” the man said. “The other terrorists in your little insurgent group. They’re holed up in B-town, with the rest of you rebel fucks. They’ll be executed eventually, though. Don’t worry about that. All of you hillbillies will swing.”
Dan smiled. “We’ll see about that.”
A loud clank sounded, and the three men turned toward the metal panel. They dropped to an amusing “ready” position as if they were going to karate chop whatever came through the door. Dan chuckled, popping open his whiskey.
“Well,” Dan said, “it’s been fun.”
As the man turned to glare, a cackling echoed down into the room. The men froze, their heads all turned toward the dark opening. Dan waited in anticipation, his eyes glued to the darkness beyond the portal. The cackling grew more intense, and recognized the sound of Shamblers; two of them, at least.
“You guys are fucked,” Dan said. “You picked the wrong career path.”
“Shut up, asshole,” the lead man said.
Dan opened his mouth to return the pleasantries, but was cut off just as a screaming Shambler burst through the opening. Tough guy and his cronies immediately broke into a panic, backing away and clawing each other to escape. The Shambler roared with excitement and charged the closest merc, grasping him with its claws and pinning him against the wall.
In the opening, another Shambler appeared; this one exceptionally moldy and deformed. It displayed its rotting teeth as it growled, and the remaining two men froze. The Shambler charged, grabbing onto the lead merc and tackling him to the floor.
As his buddies screamed in agony, the remaining merc circled them and bolted toward the door. Dan watched him as he disappeared into the shadows, only to let loose a blood-curdling scream that sent Dan’s heart into a beating frenzy. He sat frozen, not wanting to look, but unable to tear his eyes away. The Shamblers savagely tore away at the mercs’ flesh, oblivious to their screams of agony. The sound of ripping flesh was almost deafening, and Dan gritted his teeth in terror and excitement.
The third Shambler entered the room, struggling with the final merc and throwing him to the floor. The man had rolled over onto his stomach and desperately clawed the stone in order to pull himself away. But the Shambler’s claws tore into his back, ripping a long gash into his flesh that spewed blood like a faucet. The merc pleaded for his life, reaching out in Dan’s direction with a desperate look on his bloody face.
Dan locked eyes with him, fearful and almost sympathetic.
“H-help me!” the merc shouted, choking as the blood gushed from his twisted mouth.
Dan turned his head, clenching his eyes shut. He sipped his whiskey, hoping it would slow his breathing. His heart was about to explode, and his revulsion brought a lump to his throat.
“Not gonna puke,” he said out loud. “Not gonna puke.”
Through the screams, he heard a panel slide behind him, and felt the familiar sense of something standing there. He opened his eyes, anticipating the inevitable presence of his captor. A low, cackling laugh sounded near his head, and he once again closed his eyes. The tiny sting of a needle in his neck finally drowned out the screams in front of him, and the rush of narcotic bliss flowed through him.
“Soon, Dan,” the voice said. “Soon you will be free.”
There were the sounds of clanking metal around him, and the dripping of water. Dan opened his eyes, seeing nothing but darkness, and the faint glint of moonlight off of numerous chains hanging around him. He was suspended from his wrists, hanging from the low ceiling; just high enough for his toes to scrape the floor if he extended them painfully.
He struggled in the shackles that gripped his wrists, causing a reaction in the chains around him. They moved when he moved, and their ends made sickening scraping sounds on the floor as they swung. But it was not as sickening as the feel of corroded metal digging into his flesh, or the warm blood that ran down his arms in slow, tiny rivers.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
The shackles were painful. They were quite obviously old and rusted, with sharp edges that were no doubt imparting some kind of infection into his bloodstream. But that was the least of his worries. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could see the forms of others hanging around him. They too were suspended by their wrists. There were four of them in all, limp and unmoving. There were faint moans, telling him that at least a few of them were still alive.
He stretched his feet down to the floor to relieve the pain in his wrists. He groaned as his toes began to cramp after a few seconds, and let his weight fall back on his wrists. Either position was painful. Desperate, he began to kick at one of his dangling companions.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Wake up.”
His foot impacted a thigh, and a light moan followed. He kicked again, and pain shot through his wrist as the shackles cut in deeper. He gritted his teeth through the pain, growling as he kicked harder.
“Wake up!” he hissed.
With another sharp kick, the person next to him groaned loudly, moaning in misery as he realized his predicament.
“Wha—“ the man whimpered. “What the fuck…”
“Wake up,” Dan said.
Though he could only see faint details, he could see that the man was beaten and bleeding. His eyes were swollen, and he seemed to be missing several teeth. His speech was slurred, and his breathing was ragged.
“Where am I?” he moaned.
“You’re trapped in a basement,” Dan said. “There are three others. Where did you come from?”
After a few seconds of struggling, the man sighed and settled back down. “Martinsville,” he said. “Outside of town.”
“How did you get here?”
“I… I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember anything?” Dan asked.
The man moaned and growled. “Nothing but… I was hunting. Hunting at night. Then, something grabbed me. I thought it was one of those things, but it spoke. That’s all I remember.”
“What did it say?”
The man sighed, his breathing slowing. “Something about food for the gods… or something.”
Food for the gods? Interesting and terrifying at the same time. “You’re fucked,” Dan said.
“What?” the man said, growling in anger. “Fuck you. You’re here, too.”
“Look,” Dan said, trying his best to calm himself. “If we work together, we can get out of here. But we need to wake the others if we can. Do you know them?”
The man scoffed, looking around. “I can’t even fucking see them. But, no, I don’t think so.”
“Was there anyone with you when you were hunting?”
“No. And I live alone.”
Good. Another loner. Dan could deal with that. “Alright,” he said. “Fuck ‘em. We’ll do our best to get out. If they wake up, good for them. If not…”
“Right,” the man said. “Fuck ‘em.”
“What’s your name?”
“Mike,” the man replied.
“Dan.”
“Well, Dan, I can’t say it’s good to meet you. But what’s your plan?”
Dan motioned toward the window with his head. Mike turned to look, slowly nodding as he saw the faint moonlight shining through.
“When it rains,” Dan said, “there’s a leak near the bottom left corner. The stone is weak there. A cou
ple more good rains and we should be able to break a few stones loose and maybe remove the whole window frame. The problem is getting out of these shackles before our captor plays any more games.”
“Games?”
Dan sighed. “Yeah. That’s why I said you were fucked. He’s playing a game. He’s the dungeon master, so to speak, and I’m the player.”
“Which would make the rest of us…”
“Right,” Dan said.
Mike grunted, increasing his struggling. Like Dan, he groaned and growled in pain as the shackles cut into his wrists. “Fuck this,” he hissed. “And fuck those other people.”
“How strong are your arms?” Dan asked. “If anything comes in the room, we might need to pull ourselves up out of the way.”
“What do you mean if anything comes in?”
“You know what I mean. This room’s been an arena since I first awoke here. The last gladiators were a group of Gephardt dicks and a few Shamblers.”
Mike grunted again. “Shamblers?”
“The mean ones,” Dan replied. “The ones that run and attack.”
“Oh, fuck. We call those Ragers.”
Ragers, eh? Interesting. “We?”
Mike relaxed for a moment. “My group. We all live close to one another and trade stuff, but stay out of each other’s way. We meet once a week at Old Man Holcomb’s barn on Cramertown Loop. Well, met, anyway.”
One of the other people began to stir; moaning and struggling as they awoke. Dan and Mike stared through the shadows, watching in the moonlight as the woman began to open her eyes and look around in terror.
“Oh my god,” she said. “Oh my god.”
“Quiet,” Dan said.
“What the fuck!?” she screamed, thrashing and wailing.
“Shut the fuck up!” Mike hissed.
Screams filled the room as the woman went into a panic. Her thrashing disrupted the chains around them, and Dan felt the bite of sharp hooks scrape against his skin.
“Fuckin’ stop, you stupid bitch,” he cursed. “You’ll tear us all up.”
“Help me!” she continued screaming. “Let me the fuck out of here.”
“Jesus, man,” Mike said. “She’s gonna get us fuckin’ killed.”
