Artyom Dereschuk - Hate the Sin

Meanwhile, the girl slowly rose to her feet. She did it calmly, without rushing, with an inhuman confidence despite the fact that she was going unarmed against an armed opponent. Marlboro Man jumped to his feet and aimed the gun at her.

“S’an’ ’ack!” he uttered, spitting blood, carefully stepping away from her, trying not to lose footing in the high grass. “I’ll ’oot!”

The girl didn’t seem intimidated. Gazing at him confidently and hatefully, she took another step.

“I ’ean it!” Marlboro Man shouted at her, and his voice broke into a squeak. The girl smiled: “Not so high and mighty now, are you?” she taunted him, before dashing in his direction.

Marlboro Man shrieked in terror and pulled the trigger. The bullets went clean in, hitting her in the abdomen but, to the boy’s horror, the girl didn’t even wince. Grabbing him, she tackled him to the ground, and practically ripped the gun out of his hands, breaking his finger in the process. Then, before his disorientation passed and he could raise his hands to protect his face, she bashed him in the throat with the butt of the rifle.

She did it at half-strength, that was for sure; with the power she had displayed earlier, there was no way she wouldn’t be able split his throat in two, and her fresh wound that now was oozing with blood and ichor didn’t seem to impede her strength one bit.

The boy’s thrashing made him an all-too-easy target; she could do whatever she wanted to him, but instead she grabbed his wrists and pushed them to the ground. After that, she froze in place, as if waiting for something. She did it only to subdue him, the boy realized, gawking at the wound in her abdomen. What for?

Marlboro Man realized the answer to that question all too soon; the tall grass rustled (signaling the approach of someone), parted, and into the clearing that their fighting had made stepped something else. Two arms, two legs, and torn, bloodied clothes, with brown spots of dried-up blood surrounding the bullet holes. But at the same time—something inhuman, something different, something… off. Its limbs were slightly longer then they should be, its hide, while undeniably black like Marlboro Man’s own skin, exhibited the same transparent coloration that the girl’s scar had.

And the face, the face that he had seen before. Not in his dreams, but in drug-fueled waking nightmares. The nightmares where he was the monster and not the other way around.

The boy tried to scream, but his wounded throat was barely allowing any air through, and his scream of terror became a light wheeze.

The girl laughed at how pathetic it sounded, seemingly unconcerned with the monstrosity that was standing right next to her. She gently patted Marlboro Man’s cheek, before standing up and stepping to the side, giving the bizarre otherworldly creature next to her a clear passage. “You all were so sharing when you were having your fun with me,” she said as her features started tensing up, the feigned lightheartedness giving way to her true feelings. “I figured I would return the favor.”

She gave the creature a light tap on the shoulder, as if inviting it to take her place, and it obeyed her suggestion, taking a few steps closer to the boy who lay helplessly plastered on the ground. Marlboro Man started crawling backward, wincing when a grass stem got caught on his broken finger, but he didn’t get far; the creature took a wide step forward and pinned him to the ground with its deformed foot.

He tried to ask the girl for help. Explain to her that he wasn’t among her violators, that he was guided by the others into battle. But it seemed that she had lost all interest in him; she poked her delicate finger deep inside her wound, which had already stopped bleeding, pulled it out, examined it, and then sucked on it, licking all of the blood and other strange liquids off of it. As far as she was concerned, the boy’s fate had already been decided, and it was not up to her to take away someone else’s revenge.

As for his attacker… One look into its eyes was all that Marlboro Man needed to know: it remembered him. And it wasn’t in a forgiving mood either.

The sun had already hidden beyond the horizon, and the last glimpses of its red glow were obscured by dark rain clouds. The thunder was rocking across the hills, heralding the coming of rain.

Corpse Eater was hiding from the clouds above under an old tarnished tent along with the others—Homewrecker, Puppy Slayer, and Desecrator. The four of them had managed to get the tent just for themselves, setting up in the middle of the field across the road from the warehouse. They ousted other boys under pretenses and threats, so that the four of them could enjoy a game of cards in peace without having to share the breathing space with others. It was a small luxury, but they took it.

The tent was one of those used on beaches mainly to hide from the sun and weather, so it didn’t have any walls, and if the wind was strong it wouldn’t make for a great cover against the rain either, but in their still wildly imaginative minds it was as good as a fortress, and the rain wasn’t all bad news: it meant that the adults wouldn’t come over to bother them, instead they would choose to stay in the comfort of the old warehouse and the adjacent buildings.

“Anyways, you should’ve seen that girl, you guys, a real beauty.” Desecrator was telling them a story that they had heard many times over the past week. “You ever had something like that, with someone your age? I say you can’t be a warrior if you didn’t get your noodle wet, right?” He nabbed Homewrecker in the ribs with his elbow.

“Marlboro Man is missing,” Homewrecker noted, looking over his cards, trying to change the subject. “Must’ve come down with something. Probably ate something nasty.”

“He better show up before it starts showering.” Desecrator smirked. “Or he’ll be shitting in the rain.”

The thought that Marlboro Man could’ve run away never crossed their minds; out of all of them, he showed the most signs of actually enjoying the lifestyle they led.

The rain started dripping, picking up strength with each passing second. It seemed that their hopes for a light drizzle hadn’t been heard.

“You jinxed it,” Corpse Eater grumbled at Desecrator, looking at the warehouse to see if the adults had already gone to sleep. Tough luck; he could see a group of them continuing to play cards under the protection of a large metal canopy adjacent to the warehouse where the dining area used to be.

“I didn’t jinx it if I said the truth.” -Corpse Eater heard Desecrator chuckle behind him.

“Ugh. Just shut up,” Corpse Eater said, rubbing his temples. He would prefer to spend some more time with his friends and not go back to the camp when the adults were at the peak of their drunken stupor.

“Maybe it’s going to pass quickly,” Puppy Slayer suggested, trying to protect his face from the slanting rain that was getting under their tent. “If the wind is so strong it may carry the clouds away, right?” he asked Homewrecker.

His question went unanswered; a strong gust of wind suddenly blew over them, picking up the tent and tumbling it over, it’s plastic leg grazing Homewrecker’s shoulder in the process.

“There goes our game,” Corpse Eater said grimly, looking at the tent quickly increasing the distance between them. “Goddamn it!” he swore loudly; he had no choice but to go back to the warehouse now. The rain was getting stronger with each passing second, as if taunting him, and another gust of wind picked up the cards that were lying on the ground and scattered them, making Puppy Slayer gasp and charge after them.

“We better go,” Homewrecker said, grabbing his shirt by the collar and pulling it up over his head to cover it from the rain. The thin cloth did a poor job of protecting him from the water; it was getting soaked more and more with each passing second, and he had to comically raise his hands so that the sleeves were on the same level as his ears now. “Or we’re all gonna catch a cold.”