Artyom Dereschuk - Hate the Sin

The creature glanced at Desecrator and made a move toward the door. With a terrified screech, he slammed it shut and jumped toward the dresser. With a significant effort, pushing into it with his hurt shoulder, he managed to topple it against the door.

Not even bothering to check if his improvised barricade would hold the beast, he turned around and dashed down the corridor. He heard the creature crash into the door but, judging by the sound, it didn’t break through; to do so it would need to completely crush the entire dresser, as it was pushing against the wall opposite to the door. Old as it was, it had to endure for at least some time. With that hope in mind, the boy rushed down the corridor, with its plaster peeling off and the stain of piss lingering around, and around the corner.

Desecrator was disheartened that there was no one on the first floor, but maybe it was for the best; who knew how things would have turned out if one of those creatures had been waiting on the other side of the door.

The door leading back to the outside was in front of him, but he wanted to go upstairs. Partly because he wanted to get to other adults—judging by how long he had been hearing their shots, they were probably alive and kicking and, at that very moment, they were shooting at the things roaming the streets outside—and partly because taking an elevated position when in danger was an evolutionary adaptation, passed on to all humans from their tree-dwelling ancestors. The boy trusted his instincts; he knew they wouldn’t lead him into a trap.

But as he was nearing the stairwell that would take him to what he believed to be his saviors, a terrible scream full of terror reached him from above. He heard the heavy thumping of boots as the soldiers were running above him, trying to reach the exit, and the inhuman exclamations of their executioners: “Promote! Dust of Yellow! Dreaming Below!”

Desecrator had made the wrong bet. The soldiers in that building were not taking defense. They were being cornered.

As if to confirm his guess, he heard a body hit the floor just above him. Blood trickled down in a thick red stream, and he heard the sound of clothes, meat, and bones being cleaved apart. At the same time, the sound of wood breaking under a relentless assault reached him from around the corner, and the roars of his pursuer suddenly became much clearer.

He couldn’t run outside, he knew that. He was out of breath, but that wasn’t the biggest problem; he could not bear being chased around helpless, without any means to defend himself. He’d rather face death than that torment again. The torment of laying eyes on them again.

Trying to move both as quickly and as quietly as possible, hoping that his trembling legs wouldn’t betray his presence by accidentally kicking some piece of rubble lying around, he snuck under the concrete stairs and assumed a fetal position. The stream of blood stained his head as he crawled under it, and a puddle of blood was quickly forming under him, but he paid it no attention. If anything, it could mask his scent.

He had to squeeze his mouth and nose shut as he heard his pursuer charge past the stairwell outside, and he held his breath as the second creature descended from above.

I reek of sweat, Desecrator was thinking in panic. His hands were trembling so much that he was afraid the creature would hear his bones rattling. It’s going to smell me. I should’ve run outside .

He didn’t know if the creature was aware, or even suspected, that he was so close to it. His heart was pounding against his ribs, urging him to make a break for it. If that thing finds me here I’m done for. There’s nowhere to run to here. The boy was desperately thinking, weighing his options. If I make a run for it, I might get past it. Maybe it’s my only chance to survive. Or is it? Should I stay or should I go?

The creature stopped right above him. The boy heard it pull air through its nostrils.

“They can be killed! Focus your fire on one at a time!” Homewrecker shouted as he and the other two boys ran toward the group of adults.

The majority of their forces had reunited and set up their defense in the warehouse. The soldiers were just as scared as the kids; none of them had ever been in such a situation before. They were used to being the most terrifying force on the battlefield. None of them could cope with their new roles.

Nevertheless, their power was in their numbers—doing a quick headcount, Homewrecker came to the conclusion that most of the men were already inside the warehouse. Once they realized that these monstrosities, no matter how durable, could be killed, things would go their way. Homewrecker believed in that.

The General was overlooking the warehouse from the platform on the second floor, which had an iron staircase leading up to it. Before the war, that was the main office where logisticians counted their numbers and kept the paperwork on stored goods. Now it was the General’s fortress, his nest from which he commanded his troops in what seemed to be their final battle.

The boys came inside just in time; the soldiers were already closing the gates of the warehouse and bolting them shut. It would not stop the beasts from entering—only their own men—but it seemed that neither the General nor his men cared about that. The sounds of gunfights and slaughter taking place outside were not their concern.

“Set up the perimeter!” the General commanded to his men. “I want eyes on every entrance to this building! Nothing slips through!”

A creature tried to break through the window; Homewrecker heard the glass shatter and when he turned around, a long hand with a terrible claw for an index finger was wildly swinging around, trying blindly to hit someone.

A dozen or so men closest to the window opened fire on it, but only a few bullets managed to hit it before it retreated. There was no roar of pain or anger from the monster on the other side of the wall—it simply realized its mistake and pulled out before further damage could be done to it. The indifference to bullets with which these monsters were going into battle, their complete disregard of the very concept of death till the very end, was what was making everyone terrified. The General could probably see that the morale of his soldiers was waning, but there was nothing he could do about it.

The best thing he had going for him at that moment was that there was nowhere for his soldiers to run. Their salvation lay in their numbers; they were gravitating together, and the man was their axis.

At that point, the monsters had realized that the warehouse was impenetrable, and were now circling it, most likely looking for an opening. The soldiers got quieter, hushing and swearing at those who were still talking, trying to pinpoint the location of their assailants. In the silence, everyone inside the warehouse could hear them moving and shifting around, their claws scratching against the walls and rubble, their incoherent mad ramblings driving the soldiers crazy. A pair of claws clanked against the metallic roof, and a few men opened fire into it. The clanking stopped, but no one had any doubts that the bullets didn’t hit their target.

“Where the hell is it?”

“Do you think we hit it?”

“There’s something behind that window!”

“What are they all muttering?”

“We need to get out of here!”

“None of you are going anywhere.” They heard a voice coming from the outside. The sheer unexpectedness and loudness of that voice made everyone stop what they were doing and listen. Everyone could tell that the person wasn’t using a loudspeaker. The sound was female, and it was nothing short of a miracle that her vocal chords didn’t tear.