Artyom Dereschuk - Hate the Sin

“Don’t come closer!” he warned Puppy Slayer, taking deep breaths. A moment later he squeezed his nose; it appeared that the stench was also not good.

“What is it?” the boy asked, but Homewrecker didn’t reply. “Oh, you poor soul,” he said to someone else who Puppy Slayer could not see. “They got you good.”

“Hey, what did he find there?” Puppy Slayer heard Desecrator wonder right next to him and felt his hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go, let’s take a look.”

The boy suddenly felt Desecrator’s grip on his shoulder tighten as the boy started pushing him forward, toward where Homewrecker stood. He tried to resist, but he lacked the strength to break out of the older boy’s clutches.

“Come on, don’t be squirmy,” Desecrator taunted with a poorly disguised sense of superiority in his voice. He was leaning in so close the boy could feel the smell of his stomach acid.

“Hey Death Herald! You come over here, I’ve got something interesting for you!”

As they were approaching the clearing, a sharp smell of decomposing meat and manure hit the boy’s nostrils. A smell all too similar to the one he had experienced the night before.

“Hey, get him away from here, he’s going to throw up all over the place.” Homewrecker tried to stop them from coming closer, but it was already too late; pushed by Desecrator’s steady hand, Puppy Slayer walked into the clearing. Already knowing what was there, the boy closed his eyes.

“Oh man…” He heard Desecrator speak. His voice was laced with bewilderment. “Is that Marlboro Man?”

“Yeah, it seems he’s been lying here since yesterday. What the hell was he doing here?” Homewrecker wondered.

“Wow, he’s all over the place. Hey Puppy, are you looking? Puppy? Come on, open your eyes and take a look!” The older boy laughed as he started prying the younger boy’s eyes open with his fingers.

“Cut it out!” Puppy Slayer felt Homewrecker push Desecrator’s hand aside. “What’s wrong with you? You feelin’ good?”

“What’s wrong with me? I’m fine! What’s with you? Acting all scared and shocked.” Desecrator let go of Puppy Slayer, and his voice got really close to where Homewrecker’s voice was coming from. “Does this stuff scare you?”

“Quit playing all tough,” Homewrecker responded. “You chickened out last night and hid under the stairs while the rest of us were fighting.”

“I ain’t scared,” Desecrator replied, trying to enunciate with every syllable that he was the most careless man in the world. “You’re all scared. I just ran out of ammo while I was shooting those pricks last night. The others would tell you but they’re all dead. You’ll be dead too if you don’t shut your mouth.”

“Cool!” a third voice came out of nowhere. “Is that Marlboro Man? Did you all do it?”

“See?” Desecrator asked. The grass rustled as he approached the newcomer. “Death Herald ain’t scared, either. Maybe I’ll hang out with him instead.”

“Yeah, you go with him. You ain’t shit, Desecrator.”

The boy just smirked and walked away. Puppy Slayer heard Homewrecker approach him. “You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, not opening his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Homewrecker said. He paused for a moment, then spoke again: “They did a really nasty number on Marlboro Man. We need to bury him sometime.”

“Yeah,” Puppy Slayer quietly said. He was moved by the older boy’s idea, but at the same time he knew all too well that it was too unrealistic. They’d need a lot of time and manpower to move his remains to some other place and dig him a grave. The adults wouldn’t let them off the hook for that long.

“All right, let’s go. We need to move.” Homewrecker gave him a pat on the back. They headed onward to the village—a place which, in Puppy Slayer’s mind, was linked firmly only to death and suffering.

“No! Please no! Why?!” some woman lamented when she saw the soldiers enter the village.

The men felt exposed—Puppy Slayer could feel that. Standing in the middle of village they had ransacked a week before, under the sun’s burning rays, they felt like cockroaches in the kitchen. The light had already been turned on, and it was only a matter of time before the owner of the house would come in with a rolled newspaper in hand.

Some of them raised their weapons, but the General stopped them with a gesture: “Hold your fire. Stay alert, but don’t shoot anyone. I don’t want to attract those devils again.”

With that, he raised his hands and started walking forward: “Listen up! We do not come to harm you. We are here for one person only—your new head priestess. Give her up or tell us her location and we’ll let you be.”

Silence was their reply. Nobody took him up on his offer. The villagers were just staring at them with eyes full of hatred—some were scowling while others were smirking. No doubt they knew what had transpired the night before.

“Your dead have risen to attack us!” The General continued his speech. “Your priestess has brought them back to our world and will not let them rest in peace. Think about it!” He raised a finger to his temple. “They are out there to do their bidding! It is not the way to honor—”

“They will rest when you are all in hell!” one of the villagers suddenly cried out. His dried-out pink eyes were staring at the General with unparalleled malice. “They did not rise because she told them so—they rose to avenge themselves and others!”

“Go grab him!” one of the officers commanded his soldiers, and they hurried toward the man. The villagers rushed to get out of their way, but the man himself calmly allowed them to apprehend him. “Do you think you can scare me?” he asked, looking the soldiers in the eye as they put him on his knees. “You’ve taken everything from me! Everything! If you want to kill me—do it. I’ll join my wife to have a good hunt for you later,” he ominously finished, pressing his forehead against the rifle’s barrel.

The General was impressed. He raised his hand to signal his soldiers to not shoot him, and crouched in front of the man. “Can she bring you back if my people were to blow your brains out?” he asked the man, and a few of his men laughed eerily.

“The girl hasn’t failed us so far,” the man answered, locking eyes with the General. “She knows what she’s doing.”

“And you’re so willing to give up your souls and bodies to her?” the General wondered. “Have you seen what those who have risen from the dead look like? She turns you all into demons while she herself walks around in her right mind.”

“Can’t hold it against her,” the man grunted. “The process affects those who are living differently.”

“Is that so?” the General almost purred; Puppy Slayer couldn’t tell why, but the answer had him satisfied. “And what is that ritual?” the General asked. The man didn’t reply. The General rose up and stroked his chin.

“You know, when I was thirteen I was chosen to be the priest of my tribe,” he said, slowly circling in front of the man as he spoke. “I was taught many things. I was taught how to converse with spirits and other secrets, but I’ve never been taught that you can bring back the dead as bloodthirsty devils. There wasn’t a ritual I didn’t know.” He stopped and raised his finger to point out the importance of that statement. “But I’ve never been taught a ritual that can heal gun wounds in mere days or let you walk away from a shot to the chest.” He continued circling in front of the man. “The rituals are a good supplement, but can’t carry you to the victory on their own. Trust me, your priestess is fooling you. There’s no way for her mumbo jumbo to win against our guns. So don’t make our job harder. Tell us what it is so we can end it quick and easy, because you’re not going to like the hard way.”