William Rose - Apocalyptic Organ Grinder

Someone’s out there.

He could feel the eyes piercing his soul, pinpointing him with a hatred so intense that it penetrated his white suit and bristled the hair on the back of his neck. The swell of pride that puffed out his chest dissipated as quickly as smoke in a windstorm, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. The rifle snapped back to his shoulder and he ducked behind the trunk of a gnarled oak.

Pressing himself against the bark as tightly as the fuzzy vines that encircled it, he peered around the edge of the tree and scanned the forest. The carcasses of the two Spewers were still jumbled in the same heap he’d left them in, entirely motionless and definitely incapable of the rage felt beaming toward him. The forest beyond consisted of tightly packed trees on undulating, grass-covered knolls. Ferns and toadstools sprouted from the forest floor and mossy stones pushed their way through the earth like the crowns of enormous, misshapen heads. He watched the overgrown thickets, the deadfalls of decaying limbs and branches, and low lying shrubbery. Nothing moved.

The only sound was the thudding of his own heart as blood coursed through veins that felt as though they’d constricted into something no bigger than a pine needle. Tanner’s instincts screamed danger and part of his mind babbled that he should run, to just leave the dead Spewers to the insects and crows and bolt through the woods like a spooked deer. Somewhere out there, among the pristine flora, death awaited. He was as sure of this as he was that the couple he’d killed would never infect a settler again.

Taking a deep breath, Tanner tightened his grip on the rifle until his knuckles throbbed with the frantic rhythm of his pulse and repeated the Sweeper mantra in a trembling whisper: “I will do my duty to my family and community. I will serve mankind and cleanse the world of blight. I will lay down my life so that others might live. I will do my duty to my family and community….”

A Sweeper was not expected to be fearless. They were simply expected to do what needed to be done despite cold chills and a palpitating heart. To tilt the scales more toward fight than flight , the mantra was the first tool a prospective Sweeper was given. It was drilled into his head along with multiplication tables and the history of civilization. It was said, like a prayer, before bedding down for the night. It was whispered as a greeting to another day of life upon awakening. And it was effective. Within four repetitions, Tanner’s breathing had calmed to the point that he no longer felt as if the Tyvek suit were squeezing the air from his throat. By the sixth recitation, his hands were so steady he could’ve disposed of sweating dynamite.

I love you, Shayla. This is for you, princess.

With that thought, he stepped out from behind the tree to face whatever the Fates might have in store.

Lila stooped by the edge of the brook and looked into the clear water. About fifty yards downstream, the creek gurgled over rocky shoals, but it was calmer here. Minnows darted through the shallow pool like silver shafts of submerged light and a crayfish peeked out from beneath a rusted pipe. The sky was clear and cloudless and the willow by the bank reflected on the surface as clearly as if were growing upside down. She could also see herself there, semi-transparent, like a ghost that had become trapped in the gentle ripples that made her shift and distort. Her red hair was matted and tangled and her face was as hard and angular as the rocks which lined the creek bed. She studied the blister that bulged from the side of her neck with blue eyes, angling her head slightly to judge how close it was to eruption. A day, maybe two at the most. Within a week’s time she would have another crater on her skin, another scar surrounded by pustules that would soon merge into yet another discharged filled sac.

She’d have to remove her necklace, of course. The twisted braid of leather would rub against the blister and feel as though stinging nettle prickled her skin. She’d store the charm in a place of honor, somewhere she’d be able to gaze upon the gear-shaped pendant when she felt lonely or lost. It may not be as physically close to her heart as it was now, but the connection would still be there. She’d look upon it, thinking of Tolek as she ran the tip of her finger along the thin teeth of the cog. Like the other widows in the village, the medallion was a reminder that even though her mate had been taken from her, his spirit was still an integral component in the machine of her life.

Lila plunged her hands into the stream and her phantom image disappeared on the concentric waves that radiated from her wrists. Cupping her palms, she lifted them quickly, allowing the cool water to wash away the itch of newly forming blisters on her cleavage. The relief would be fleeting, but it also made the heat of the morning more tolerable. She doused the thin strips of cloth that served as clothing as well and stood with a frown.

The morning sun was almost directly overhead, which meant that Myra and Jarnell should have been back by now. She could understand one of them being late… but both ? It just didn’t seem likely. No, something was wrong. She had the same nervous fluttering in her stomach as the day Tolek was killed and the forest suddenly seemed too silent. The creek babbled and the wind whispered through the boughs of tree, but no other sounds contributed to nature’s conversation. It was as if all the little animals had went into hiding, as if they sensed the same tense foreboding that wracked Lila and knew not to chirp or tweet.

Her eyes shifted to the long spear laying in the grass by her feet. Carved from a single piece of wood, that weapon had been turned on the lathe with such perfection that it was as straight as a sapling. Around the base was a decorative carving that looked like two intertwined snakes coiling around the shaft. The heads of the serpents, however, disappeared into thick strands of hair encircled the wood just below the sharpened tip. The hair was cut from the tail of a wild mustang, her first kill, and served several purposes. In melee combat, the swirling fibers disoriented opponents, making it hard to focus on the trajectory of the lunge. When the spearhead found its mark, the hair also absorbed blood and kept the smooth wood from becoming as slippery as a trout in her callused hands. But, most importantly, it reminded Lila of her standing: she was a hunter in the tribe of Clay, a warrior without equal… and that reminder helped her push her uneasiness to the back of her mind, freeing up space for more logical thinking.

She’d seen the way Myra and Jarnell looked at each other recently. The way their eyes twinkled like a moonless sky brimming with stars. The lopsided grins and playful teasing. Just the other night, in the flickering glow of campfire, Lila had noticed Jarnell mopping discharge from Myra’s back and shoulders with the same light touch Tolek had once used. The two were young and impetuous, obviously smitten with one another. Chances were, they’d veered off their assigned paths for a clandestine rendezvous. They’d be along soon enough. She was sure of it.

At that moment, an echoing boom roared through the hills and valleys as a flock of birds rose above the tree line a short distance away. Lila’s stomach felt as if it had been plunged into the cold waters of the stream and her breath caught in her throat. For a second, she was trapped between two worlds. Part of her watched the birds turn into dark specks against the blue sky. But another stood in the past, staring down at the jagged hole in Tolek’s chest as the wound alternately sucked and bubbled the blood that welled within it. She saw his hand reaching for her through the veil of time, quivering with the last of his strength before falling limply to his side.