William Rose - Apocalyptic Organ Grinder

Together, they gathered the tribes of man and a great exodus from the cities of the Old Word followed. Going to the forests and fields, they established a new city which was called, at that time, Hope. The clear skins tried to treat The People with bandages and poultices, as it was not yet known that we were Chosen and could not die from the same affliction which had killed so many. Together, Homer Anderson and John Redtree built homes for their people from scraps of the Old World. They gathered food and water and tried to ensure that none of their brothers and sisters would ever know the ache of hunger within their bellies.

Yet many were the mouths they had to feed and within the span of a moon their supplies were emptied. While their people ate grass like goats and deer, the fallen cities were plenty with food that had been left behind in their haste. So it was decided that men should go back into those dire, haunted lands and seek out the nourishment that was so desperately needed.

To protect themselves against the evil spirits who dwelled there, these men donned suits of white and affixed masks and goggles to their faces. Loading themselves into carts which required no animals to pull, they swept the remains of the Old World and returned with a great bounty.

After the food had been anointed with boiling water to bless it and drive away lingering spirits, it was declared it should be shared equally between all people. But the clear skins were like Rat and Fly and they cried out for more than their share, claiming that nourishment should not be wasted upon the dead but heaped upon the living.

And thus was yet another seed sown. Soon it came to be that clear skins feasted upon the endowment while The People looked on with hollow bellies. Angered by this, some among The People talked of taking the food by force and claiming the share that was rightfully theirs. Yet there were others who danced like birds for a single scrap thrown their way. These traitors to their own kind went to the clear skins, telling them of the plans, and in the dark of night the clear skins entered into the homes of The People, taking their weapons and leaving tears in their wake.

Even then, however, the evil which had seized the heart and mind of Homer Anderson was not satisfied. While our People did not die from disease, those who attempted to help us could not avoid their fate. The City of Hope again knew the pestilence which had driven them from the Old World and a cloud of fear spread across the land.

In these dark times, The People were driven from their homes and caged within pens whose walls were made of wire with metallic thorns. No more was even the smallest amount of food shared with our ancestors, may they always walk with us. They were left to eat the bugs which crawled through the mud and it has even been said that the hunger was so great as to madden the minds of men and lead them to the taste the flesh of the dead.

Angered by their treatment, there came a day when The People could take no further indignities. Though the metallic thorns ripped at their flesh, they advanced as one and the wire walls toppled before their might. With a cry like thunder, The People ran toward the homes of the clear skins, wanting only food for their bellies and water to cool their burning throats.

Yet it was not to be…

Tanner Kline felt as if his lungs were on fire. Every breath, every gasp of air, drove needles of pain deep within his chest. Part of his mind reeled at how easy that Spewer bitch made it look: she moved through the forest as if the logs and obstacles didn’t apply to her, as if she could pass through them like a phantom if she so chose. Bobbing and weaving, ducking and leaping, completely fluid and in control of every action… if not for the fact that her blood carried dormant poison, he could have almost respected this woman. But she did.

Like all Spewers, the disease ran rampant in her body, manifesting the symptoms of sickness without ever claiming its just reward. Which is what made them so dangerous. Left to their own devices, these savages could live until they were old and wrinkled, erupting with geysers of putrid death for years to come. Anyone who may have known why the Gabriel Virus didn’t outright kill them like it did so many others had died with the Old World. There were no answers to be found, no great mystery to unravel… there was simply the threat of infection and the pain of death.

Sometimes, Tanner bolted awake in the middle of the night with a sheen of sweat plastering the thin sheet to his body. He’d gasp for air as his hands scrambled in the darkness, seeking out the warmth of Shayla’s small body curled up beside him. The dream was always the same: his beautiful little girl marred with blisters, seeping infection and stinking of sickness. Tears streaked her face as she reached for him with trembling hands. Help me, Daddy… it hurts. It hurts, Daddy, it hurts so bad…

Which is why he had to ignore the stitch in his side that felt like a knife was being plunged beneath his lowest rib. Why he had to continue running even though he scrambled over the stony ground on legs that felt as if the muscles were about to snap like rubber that had been stretched too tightly. His little girl depended on him and as long as there were Spewers in the world, she’d never be safe. Never be allowed to simply be a kid. There would always be the chance that his nightmare would become reality.

Tanner skidded around a bend and suddenly she was there. The infected animal he’d been chasing was boxed in on all sides. Unable to continue her flight, she clutched her spear in both hands and her eyes were as cold and unfeeling as the gray stone that trapped her. Her body glistened with sweat and disease, the stink so overpowering that it seemed to waft from the boulders and rocks that huddled at the base of the cliffs . Maybe it was because of the chase, the adrenaline that must have surged through her body as she ran; or perhaps his senses had simply heightened to superhuman acuteness. Whatever the reason, it smelled as if he’d stumbled into an entire nest of savages and his eyes watered behind their protective goggles.

Stopping so suddenly that he nearly stumbled over his own feet, Tanner snapped the rifle to his shoulder. Dry leaves crunched beneath his feet and his heart slammed into his chest as if attempting to break free.

“It ends now.”

As his finger began to tighten on the trigger, however, Tanner realized something was horribly wrong. Rather than taking moves to defend herself, his prey simply stood there with a crooked smile on her face that lacked any true warmth. It was almost as if she possessed some secret knowledge. No fear or anxiety, nothing but calm composure.

He’d been so focused on the pursuit that he hadn’t seen what, at first, looked like vines snaking out from beneath the bed of leaves. He was peripherally aware of them now, of how they scaled the side of the cliff as if stretching toward the sun-warmed rocks overhead. Not vines at all, but ropes. Twisted and browned with age, they crept out from four sides and draped over rocks high above.

“ Now! ”

Four large rocks tumbled down the sides of the cliffs, dislodging smaller stones and pieces of shale in their wake. Each one was wrapped in the same rope he’d spied beneath the leaves and before Tanner’s muscles even had a chance to flex, his body was yanked into the air. Falling backward, the net which appeared through the shower of leaves kept him from crashing to the ground but his rifle tumbled end over end as it flew from his hands. Before it had even clattered against the hard ground, the net had cinched tightly around him. He swung back and forth like a pendulum, writhing within coarse webbing that seemed to tangle around his thrashing arms and legs.