by Lori Aisling
Peeking out of the alley entrance, she looked down the street towards the bar that she had hoped would build good memories, not an evening that would be the recipe for nightmares. She gasped in horror seeing the horde of ‘things’ continuing to glide around the shattered windows and demolished doorway. She could tell the creatures were being more cautious now than in their original assault and at that moment, she saw why. Ristan stepped through the broken window, now holding a long black sword in one hand while continuing to stab and slash with the shorter blade in his other. Every time a beast would get close enough on his left, the sword would reach out, finding purchase on the flesh of the attacker, leading to more of those agonizing screams. The putrid stench of decay filled the air as more of them fell around him. There were so many of them, there was no way Ristan was going to be able to fight them all off. She felt the need to do something- anything! But with nothing more than a short blade tucked into her boot, she had no chance of being much more than a liability to the fierce man she watched. While cutting two more creatures down, a third managed a swipe with his curled claws, slicing into Ristan’s arm. Bright red blood seeped, yet he continued to fight.
Through the melee of the fight and the darkness of night, she saw movement behind him. From the corner of the building, another man stepped into the street. As he calmly walked towards the fray, Bristol noticed he had the same runes covering his arms. But unlike Ristan’s dark features, this guy was light. Golden, if she was being honest. His hair hung past his shoulders, blonde as spun flax. She could see his bright blue eyes from where she stood, and they mesmerized her. He was wearing similar clothing to Ristan, black leather pants, and boots, but a tight black t-shirt covered his torso. His frame was thick, ripped with corded muscles and he stood as tall as the man currently fighting the creatures. Stepping into the fight, she saw him make eye contact with Ristan and he nodded his head in recognition. Reaching both hands behind his back, he materialized two black battle axes, each topped with wicked-looking curved heads, one in each hand. Just like Ristan’s weapons, they seemed to come out of thin air and they were also solid black. Moving as fluidly as his new partner, the two were soon back to back and the noxious black ghouls began howling in fury as they were slain, unable to get the upper hand on either of the large assassins working in tandem.
Bristol jerked when Jayson leaned over her shoulder and whispered “We have to go, Bri. He told us to run and none of us are prepared to fight whatever the hell those things are. We really need to get the fuck out of here. Boz can’t help us anymore, the poor guy is tapped.” Looking at Boz, she saw him slumped against the wall.
“I am sorry, lass. It’s just too much trying to cover all of us.”
She wrapped her arm around his shoulder to help support him and using the cover of night, the group headed away from the chaos and towards their place of employment which hopefully offered the promise of safety.
Bristol
Sneaking in the bakery entrance, Boz quickly locked and dead-bolted the door behind them. Bristol noticed her three friends slumping to the floor, adrenalin quickly wearing off and leaving them shocked and exhausted.
“Not yet, guys. Get up. I have a place we can hideout for a while until we know we are safe. Jessie, grab some water, and Jayson, get whatever food you can find. Enough to keep us sustained for a couple of days if it comes down to that. Boz, come with me. We have some crap to move out of the way in the storage room downstairs. Move it, guys. Now!” she demanded, heading towards the storage room, still keeping low even though the windows were covered and barred.
Using a battery-operated lantern to lighten up the dark basement, they uncovered the secret tunnel between the two buildings yet it remained cloaked enough to stay secret in case of unplanned company. They had a few gallons of water and all the day-old pastries and breads that Jayson could gather from the kitchen.
The group finally had time to let the reality of their situation set in. A tear rolled down Jessie’s cheek. Her eyes took on a vacant look as she relived the horrors of the evening in her mind. Jayson put his arms around her and pulled her into him. She buried her head into his shoulder and clutched his shirt in her fists. Boz leaned against the wall and let himself slide to the floor, obviously exhausted. He spread his legs, knees bent and crooked his finger at Bristol. She walked a couple of steps and settled down between his legs, his knees on either side of her, her back against his chest. Not a word was spoken as the four friends sorted their emotions and processed their thoughts.
Jayson broke the silence with a simple exclamation ‘What the fuck were those fucking things?’ His tone was laced with horror.
“I have never seen, or even heard of anything like those creatures before,” Boz stated, ever the calm voice in any room.
“They were from hell,” Jessie stated, matter-of-factly. “They were solid, but not. Like some kind of demon. They smelled like rotten meat and they almost smoky looking, like some kind of brimstone or something. They loved to kill. They were definitely from hell,” she reiterated.
“Bristol, what do you think? Have you seen anything like them before?” Jayson asked.
“No. I haven’t.” She admitted. “ But Ristan and that guy that showed up have.”
“What makes you think that?” Boz asked.
“Ristan knew how to fight them. He had weapons that appeared out of nowhere, so did the other dude. You guys, I don’t know if we should trust them. We don’t know them, or where they came from. I do need to tell you something though. When he was telling me to run, he grabbed my wrist and bit me.” She said with a sigh, as she held up her wrist for her friends to examine.
“He fucking bit you? What the fuck is going on? What is going to happen to you?” Jessie exclaimed with anger consuming her pretty features.
“I don’t know. I saw fangs, but not big ones. Not like Jayson’s. He said ‘now I can find you’. Whatever that means.”
“We need to make some plans to get out of here and be done with this town. We need to find somewhere that’s safe. For all we know, this could be the next wave of The Change. We never even saw The Change coming. There were no warnings, no signs. Even if there had been, we would have had no idea what was going to happen, or how to prevent it. One day we were stupid teens; partying, dating, going to school- then suddenly the majority of the people we know just vanished, like some kind of fucking rapture and a huge percentage of the rest of us were instantly something else. Jesus, you can’t tell me that any of us knew we were something other than human,” Jayson stated. “I mean, shit! I’m a goddamn vampire, you guys. A fucking VAMPIRE. Not the sparkle-in-the-sun, cult following, sleep-in-a-coffin type that we enjoyed watching on late night horror channels, or the kind that made all the pre-teen girls crush and swoon. An actual I-need-blood-to live, big ass fangs, vampire that wasn’t supposed to exist!” he shouted. “And look at you, Boz! You’re a fucking Faerie! Seriously? Wasn’t a faerie supposed to be Peter Pan’s little buddy with wings and a short dress? What in the hell is going on now? Are we going to turn into those fucking black, stinkin’ ass creatures and kill the whole planet off? Or, are we going to be the next ones to vanish?” Struggling to maintain his composure, he tucked his chin down to his chest, hands buried in his hair. Jessie raised up to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him closer in a hug, both of them sliding down the wall onto the dirty concrete floor.
Bristol
As silence enveloped the room, Bristol’s mind wandered back to those years before The Change. It was hard to believe about 10 years had passed since then. She was born in middle-class America and lived outside of a small town in Nebraska, surrounded by corn, beans, and summer sun.
Her life was not rough; it was perfect. She was blessed with parents that loved her and proved it every day. They had begun trying to conceive shortly after getting married in their early 20’s and when all attempts failed, the couple had thought they would be childless. When Bristol was born, her mom was 39 and her dad was 40.
They felt that Bristol was their little ‘miracle’. She grew up with birthday parties, family vacations and a room that was entirely too pink.
The summer of her 15th birthday, a job opportunity arose at a neighbor’s organic vegetable farm. She helped grow, trim and harvest the crops, but spent a big chunk of time running the little farm store that sold veggies, fresh eggs, and milk to the locals. She helped manage the wholesale orders that were picked up and trucked to specialty markets and restaurants in Omaha and Lincoln. It was hard work, but rewarding, and Bristol knew she would be off in the winter while school was in session, so when the Barne’s invited her back the next summer, she was more than happy to work for them again.
Although not quite sure about a college major, when thinking about her future, an Agricultural degree was looking quite appealing. Farming was the perfect balancing act and Bristol was good at it. Making sure there was enough water, nutrient-rich soil, sun, and shade. Harvest the crops not too soon, but not too late. When she held that perfect tomato in her hand or sunk her teeth into a fresh ear of Nebraska sweet corn, the balance was obvious and she thrived on it.
Her mother often mentioned her borderline obsession with having things ‘just so’. When a litter of kittens from a feral barn cat were born dead, Bristol was just 8 years old and her mother was shocked when she didn’t cry. Bristol hugged her mom and stated “It’s going to be ok, mama. There is only enough food and mice here for a certain amount of cats. We have too many now. It would have been sad for those kittens to live and grow up hungry and fighting for food.” Then she asked for money for her birthday so they could start taking the barn cats to the vet to get ‘fixed’. It had always been that way for her. Good can’t happen without bad. Life can’t happen without death.
It seemed so logical and simple until that fateful day in August of her 16th year. She had clocked in at 5:00 a.m. due to the high temperatures and humidity of the summer. It was easier to get an early start on harvesting and setting up the store before the heat got too brutal. It had been really busy with customers coming and going all day. Farm wives were buying 40lb boxes of tomatoes and beans to can up for winter and the city folks had ventured out hoping to get a taste of country life and get their fix of farm-fresh goods to take back for their weekend get-togethers.
Bristol had called it quits when the clock hit 5:00 p.m. She was ready for a shower, supper, then some time in her own special garden plot. After calling out her ‘goodbyes’ to Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and the other farmhands, she headed down the road towards home. It was only about half a mile away, so she usually just walked to and from work. She could have called her mom to give her a ride, but she had been busy helping dad with the corn.
It was harvest time, which meant heavy labor from dawn until dusk. Her family’s primary income was the sweet corn that they grew on their 500-acre farm. Her great, great grandparents had homesteaded the farm when they immigrated from Germany. When Bristol had started showing so much interest in Ag, her father had given her a small, 2-acre spot of prime soil close to the house to work on some of her breeding programs. Her goal was to hybridize, then breed a strain of sweet corn to trademark for her family. She had one variety that she was so excited about. It was a ‘supersweet’ and was showing so much potential. With pretty rows of white and yellow kernels, it was maturing to be everything she had been working towards; sweet, with tender kernels that popped when you bit into them. The taste was as decadent as candy, yet still had that robust corn flavor that Bristol felt was lacking in some of the supersweet strains. She wanted that perfect balance. She couldn’t wait to get home and check her rows.
Bristol was saving the money from her job and garden sales to buy a car before school started up again in a few weeks and she mentally calculated her budget as she trudged along. Sweat was making a slow, yet steady trickle down her back by the time she got home. Nebraska was undoubtedly sweltering, but it was her home and she wouldn’t trade it for anything.
The cool breeze from the air conditioner hit her the second she stepped into their quaint farmhouse and she sighed in relief. She kicked her shoes off on the rug in the mudroom before stepping onto the polished old hardwood of the kitchen. The smell of pot roast cooking in the crockpot hit her nose, and her stomach rumbled. She had eaten a big breakfast early but had not taken a break for lunch. Snacking on a few cherry tomatoes and mini sweet peppers were all that she had eaten since dawn broke.
Peeling off her sweaty, sticky clothes, she turned the shower on in the bathroom after grabbing a tank top and a pair of shorts from her dresser. She sighed looking at her pink bedspread, throw pillows and rugs. Heck, even her hardwood dresser had pink painted around the trim with small fuchsia-colored flowers stenciled across the drawers. She didn’t have the heart to tell her mom that pink just was not her thing. A smile crossed her lips thinking about her ‘sweet 16’ birthday with her mom carrying that birthday cake to the table. It had been Bristol’s favorite; white buttermilk cake with a layer of strawberry glaze in the middle and iced with chocolate frosting. The poor pastry had been absolutely overwhelmed with bright pink roses and pink lettering. Bless her heart. Her mom was a solid woman with true goodness living within her, even if she was trying to live her ‘pink life’ vicariously through her daughter.
Hopping in the shower, Bristol scrubbed, soaped, shaved and conditioned in a flash and then slid on the shorts and tank. After combing out her long, wet hair she went into the kitchen and checked out the fridge. Popping the top on a lime-flavored sparkling water, she grabbed some swiss chard, collard greens and the rest of an onion for some sauteed greens. She figured a salad made with tomatoes, cucumbers, sweet peppers, and fresh dill, tossed with some olive oil and balsamic vinegar would complement that beef roast perfectly. Her mom had taught her to cook from a very young age. Farming was hard work and there was no such thing as a time clock. Since her parents had made a vow on their wedding day to always have supper as a family, it often fell on Bristol to help with the meals so that their tradition could continue. It was already after 6:00 so she knew her parents would show up at any time. While she whipped up the rest of their simple meal, she sent a text to her mom and dad letting them know she was home and supper would be ready soon. Then she sent another one to her best friend, Rachael, asking if they should make some plans to check out a movie or something this weekend. Rachael was her polar opposite in all ways, yet the two of them had been thick as thieves since elementary school. It was unusual for Rachael to not answer a call.
With supper done, Bristol checked her phone. Nothing. From anyone. That was kind of weird. Tossing the salad in the fridge and putting a lid on the greens, she slipped into a pair of flip flops and headed back outside into the heat.
Using her hand to shield her eyes, she surveyed the fields surrounding their home. No sign of the tractor or the farm truck. They must be over the hill, she thought. She walked out to the implement barn, jumped on the 4-wheeler and headed out along the trail they kept clear through the corn to find her parents. Topping the hill, she saw the farm truck with its covered box along with the tractor and harvester. Stopping the 4-wheeler, she hopped off and shouted for her parents. “Mom! Dad! Where are you guys?” She was greeted with silence, only the sound of grasshoppers and crickets answering her call. She tried again. “MOM! DAD! Supper is ready and it’s going to get cold! I’m starving!” She shouted. Still nothing.
Walking towards the equipment, she realized the tractor was still running. Climbing up into the cab, she shut off the engine. Her dad’s cell phone was laying on the dash. Pretty good odds the heat had ruined that sucker, and this wasn’t the first time that had happened. Her father hated that phone with a passion, he wouldn’t be nearly as upset as her mom when she had to buy him a new one.
As Bristol crawled out of the tractor, she got her first tinge of fear, nervousness, and a sliver of dread. There simply was nowhere else her parents could be. Their vehicles were both at the house. The implement barn was empty, they weren�
�t out here and had they left with someone, they would have called or texted to let her know. Her father would simply never, ever, leave the tractor running and just walk away without a damn good reason.
Fear that something had happened to one of them, that perhaps an ambulance took them away, filled her stomach with icy dread. She grabbed her cell out of her pocket and called Mrs. Barnes. Her employers lived right on the road and would have seen if emergency vehicles had driven past at any time. Heck, they would have told her when she was there working if that were the case, but she had no other ideas. As the phone played a ringback tone of ‘She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy’, Bristol felt her unease growing. The phone went to voicemail and she stammered out a message to her neighbor and employer. “Mrs. Barnes. It’s Bri. I can’t find my folks and I was wondering if you have heard from them? Please call me back. Thank you.” She immediately called Rachael, realizing she had not heard back from her best friend, either. Voicemail. Argh!
Stomping her foot in frustration, she ran her fingers through her hair, now dry thanks to the warmth of the Nebraska evening. For the first time in her 16 years, Bristol felt unsure. Brushing it aside as nonsense, she climbed back on the 4-wheeler and headed back to the house hoping like hell her parents were waiting for her.
Once back inside the cool interior of her family home, Bristol again grabbed her cell phone. Forget feeling foolish, it was now 7:00 p.m. and her parents were missing. She decided to call the local medical center. Since the walk-in clinic was closed for the evening, Bristol waited for the prompt to transfer her to the ER receptionist. Nervous jitters made her toes bounce up and down on the hardwood floor as the call went through and the phone started ringing. She let it ring for 10, 20, then 30 rings. No one was answering! She knew her phone was working, the calls were going through!
