William Rose - Apocalyptic Organ Grinder

The second gunshot snapped Lila firmly back into the present. The ghost of her late husband disappeared and she snatched her spear from the ground in a single, fluid movement as she broke into a run. Her leather sandals padded against the earth as silently as rabbit’s feet and the straps that wrapped around her calves fluttered behind her like streamers. She leapt across an outcropping of rocks, never breaking stride or stumbling as she bounded from one craggy stone to the next.

The direction the shots had come from was locked in her mind and the forest blurred by. Weaving in and out of trees, she sprang over fallen logs and ducked under low hanging branches. Her face was set in a tightlipped expression that narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow with wrinkles. The entire time, however, her breathing was steady and rhythmic, as though the breakneck dash through the woods was no more strenuous than a leisurely stroll.

Her subconscious calculated distance and velocity without effort and when she neared the area where the shot had originated, Lila instinctively slowed her pace. No longer running, she slinked from tree to tree, staying low and quick with her hands firmly wrapped around the shaft of the spear. Her eyes took in the entire forest in a single glance, though the details looked slightly blurry. She’d relaxed her focus and allowed her vision to slip into what The People called Cougar Eyes . The flowering bushes, pine cones dangling from conifers, and bark rubbed away by rutting deer were of no concern. What she watched for was movement, for something that seemed foreign in the natural workings of the forest and stood out against an otherwise motionless backdrop.

The first thing she saw was a flash of white through a grove of trees about twenty yards to her left. As soon as her mind identified this anomaly, the minutia of the forest was thrown back into sharp focus. She knew where the dry twigs that would betray her presence were, which sections of foliage would offer her the most coverage if the man in white happened to look in her direction. Though her breath had slowed to the point that her chest didn’t even seem to rise and fall, she was acutely aware of the scents in the air. The strongest of these, she knew well. It was a metallic tang with a hint of saltiness and an odor that was unmistakable to anyone who’d ever known the glory of the hunt: blood.

More faintly, she could smell traces of body odor waft through the aromas of the forest and it conjured images of sweat and grime in her mind. But it wasn’t the unique scent of The People she detected. No, this particular smell was the one which oozed from the pores of the clear skins, the ones who called themselves Settlers and lived in small communities on the outskirts of overgrown cities. The ones who had made her a widow in the prime of her life.

She stalked forward slowly, her footfalls as soft as leaves falling to the forest floor as her grip on the spear tightened to the point that her fingernails carved crescent moons into the wood. As she inched forward, her target’s uniform resolved. She could see the silver tape that secured the wrists and ankles of the wrinkled, plastic suit to the boots and gloves. The straps of the mask and goggles wrapping around the hood of the garment. The walnut stock of the rifle cradled in his arms.

Tolek appeared in her mind again. His body fell in slow motion, each drop of blood suspended in the air and reflecting the morning sun in pinpoints of radiance. His spear tumbled end over end as sulfuric smelling smoke rose like a gray demon from the muzzle that had unleashed it. The man on the other side of the river had been dressed so similarly to the one who now ducked behind a tree that it almost seemed as if he’d been spat out by the currents of time.

A tremor quivered inside Lila and her teeth ground against one another like a mortar and pestle pulverizing grain. She imagined her spear running through the man’s gut so clearly that she could almost feel the spongy resistance just before the tip punctured the skin. He’d gasp and clutch at the shaft as it shredded muscle and ruptured organs, but she’d throw her entire body into the thrust, ensuring that it emerged from the other side with his entrails dangling like a prize from the barbs notched into the wood. Specks of crimson would speckle his mask as he coughed blood and she’d lean in so close that the hemorrhaging veins in his eyes would look as big as dandelion roots. With blood, bile and shit leaking out of his vile body, she’d allow the blister on her neck to erupt over his evil face as the final insult.

For Tolek. For all of The People you’ve murdered, for the tears of fathers, and the heartbreak of wives. For each and every life you’ve stolen….

Lila was close enough now that she could see the naked bodies of Myra and Jarnell piled upon one another. A pool of their collective blood seeped across the ground. Light gray lumps of tissue stuck to the spatter on the tree they laid under. They would never love again, would never laugh, or know the warm embrace of passion. Like so many before them, their lives had been cut short by one of the faceless executioners known only as Sweepers.

The man in white stepped out from behind the tree with his rifle shouldered, ready to unleash death at a moment’s notice. The fool didn’t even realize that the danger he sensed was so close. That it crept up behind him with intent just as murderous as his own. He looked forward, searching the woods with his eyes, but never thought to simply turn around.

The spear felt warm and heavy in Lila’s hands as she took another step forward. Within minutes, she would be close enough to strike. She would know the blood of her enemy and revel in his agony; the spirits of her brothers and sisters would sing ballads of her glory through the vast halls beyond the Veil.. They would finally be able to cross the Shining River and know the peace that only justice could bring.

Justice is not yours to take.

Tolek’s voice was so vivid in Lila’s mind that ,for the first time since she began stalking her prey, she paused. It sounded as if her husband were standing just behind her, leaning over her shoulder and whispering into her ear. His voice was calm, but stern. It was the same tone she’d heard him use countless times when reprimanding the children. But never with her.

He deserves to die, Tolek. You, of all people, know what his kind have done. How they stray into our lands to make widows and orphans.

The clear skin stepped forward as if he suspected the ground were about to crumble beneath his feet. Yet Lila could tell his caution was not born entirely of fear . He moved with the confidence of a hunter, of one who had just begun to fuse his spirit with that of the forest. His instincts were not as keenly honed as hers, of course; but his poise betrayed a skill that would be used to slaughter those who allowed their focus to waver for even the briefest of seconds. He would rob them of life, love, and happiness as easily as other’s might dress in the morning.

This is anger, not justice. There’s no glory in assassination, my wife.

Lila stared at the man’s back, picturing the exact spot that would allow her spear to pierce his heart. She could make it so that he was dead before he even felt pain. One swift blow, one well placed lunge, would be all it took. Myra, Jarnell, Tolek: they would all be avenged.

You are of The People and you follow the Way. If it’s redress you seek, take it to the Elders.

The voice of Tolek was right, of course. If there was punishment to be doled out for this settler’s crimes, it was not her decision to make. Only the Council of Elders had it within their power to proclaim guilt or innocence, to penalize or pardon. While her instincts sang the Blood Song so strongly that she felt its power surge through her veins, honor and tradition demanded a different path be taken. Killing this man would be no different than claiming that she was as wise and just as the Elders and that was a conceit she was not prepared to claim.