Gregory Norris - Down with the Fallen - A Post-Apocalyptic Horror Anthology

Images of Marcus’s apparitional body being pulled deeper and deeper into the ash played in quick succession in his mind—like a horrible picture book that was being flipped through at nauseating speed—until nothing was left but a white hand attempting to make purchase in the thick layers of ash. Finally, one last ebony hand would rise up from beneath the surface, and pull what remained of him down into the depths of this terrible, purgatorial place. He would never see the gates of heaven that he had heard so much about, would never stand before the Lord, and this instilled young Marcus with a cold fear that was so wretched it seemed to contend with his fear of the Other, which was the more immediate—and reasonable—thing to worry about.

Marcus wasn’t entirely sure how far they had managed to run in the time it had taken him to think all of this. The jagged, taller ruins of the city rose up around them now, and in the distance Marcus could clearly see a section of the road that had been completely blocked off by fallen slabs of concrete and metal wiring, which had once run through these skyscrapers—that’s what Doc Holland called them—like arteries in the body of a human.

“There,” Doc Holland shouted, pointing toward a small opening in the warped barricade of metal and stone. “You go first, lad. I’ll keep the beast at bay!”

Despite the fact that his lungs were now painfully whistling with each breath he took, Marcus pushed himself forward and dove into the hole without the slightest bit of hesitation, only pausing a good twenty feet into the unnatural formation to wait for Doc Holland. Once inside, he heard several thundering blows from Doc’s rifle, followed by more of those ghastly screams. Then, Doc Holland appeared in the opening, scrambling frantically into the barbed, irregular tunnel as if he had absolutely no care for his own safety. As he crawled hastily into the concrete passage, a rusted metal wire tore through the left shoulder of his coat, thankfully not cutting deep enough to bite into his flesh.

Doc Holland pressed himself firmly against the inner wall of the tunnel, and for a moment the two said nothing as they waited for the Other to attack, knowing full well that their lives would be forfeit if it attempted to dig its way in.

Instead, a sound rolled in after them that was akin to the crunching of boots on loose gravel, and beneath that there was another sound, so deep that it’s very vibrations seemed similar to the rumblings of an earthquake. It was a throaty sound, not made by the vocal chords of a human being, but rather the throat of an active volcano just before it belched its molten innards about the land like some terrible, gutted beast.

It was the sound of the Other’s voice.

“A good show,” the Other said with some amusement. “However, you are only prolonging the inevitable, my juicy fleshlings! Why not come out of your burrow, and let nature run its course?”

Doc Holland began reloading his rifle at that, seemingly unperturbed by the monster’s words. “Perhaps I will, beast,” Doc called back, the flames of confidence burning deeply in his voice. “Perhaps I will, and maybe then I’ll show you more of what my rifle can do.”

The Other laughed a mighty, demonic laugh that rumbled into the concrete passage like the prelude to some great and powerful storm. Then it spoke once more, and its voice took on a far more serious tone.

“And perhaps I shall skewer you to one of these metal rods, and roast you over open flame until your yellow fat bubbles, and your eyeballs melt out of their sockets.” The Other paused and came closer to the entrance of the tunnel, blotting out the light. It lowered its voice ominously and said, “Do not waste our time on perhaps and perchance, my dear fleshling. We hunger, and you linger now without purpose. Run or fight, it matters little, though we would appreciate a bit of haste in your decision making.”

“We?” Doc Holland asked, but it was too late. The Other had already disappeared from sight, though it was undoubtedly hiding somewhere within pouncing range. Doc finished reloading his weapon and offered a long, haggard sigh. “Smart one, that creature,” he said simply. “Certainly well spoken for an Other.”

Unsurprisingly, the Other being more intelligent than most of its kind did little to boost Marcus’s confidence. “What do we do now?” he asked in a hushed voice, fearing that the creature was listening in on them.

“We head for the way station,” Doc replied, and then nodded as if to confirm the words to himself. “Aye, we head for the way station.”

And so, after a few minutes of rest, they did just that.

The tunnel provided them with only a quarter mile of cover, so they mostly made their way by going from structure to fallen structure, taking great care in remaining as silent as possible. While they rarely looked back, they could hear the Other following their scent—often much too close for comfort.

When they reached the halfway point, the two took a short moment to rest in one of the larger ruins. In their hurriedness to avoid the Other, both had gained a plethora of minor scrapes, cuts, and bruises. The Broken City was an unforgiving place, and one wrong move usually ended in some form of injury. With the sun quickly descending now, and the light of a lantern far too dangerous with the Other’s presence looming closely behind, they found themselves making a great deal of wrong moves.

“This is hell,” Marcus whispered as they hunkered closely together under a lopsided slab of stonework.

Doc Holland shook his head. “Nah, lad,” he breathed, almost inaudibly. “Hell is whatever hole that monstrosity crawled out of.”

As if in response, the Other snarled somewhere close by, and they heard the sound of moving rubble as the hulking monstrosity began to dig into one of the adjacent, dilapidated ruins. The two continued the rest of the way in a mutual silence, not daring even the slightest chance at revealing themselves to the horror that hunted them.

It wasn’t long before the sun had left them completely, and their only source of light became the distant glow of the half-moon above. For this reason, they almost missed the entrance to the way station.

Marcus had seen many way stations on their travels, though none of them were quite like this. The entrance was built into the ground itself, and instead of a keyhole, the door held a series of buttons that went from zero to nine. Fortunately, Doc Holland knew the code. This wasn’t much of a surprise, though, as Doc seemed to have keys for every way station and supply cache littered around the land. Being one of the few travelling doctors, and Other hunters, made Doc Holland a very treasured individual this side of the Dusted Lands.

“Coast seems clear,” Doc Holland muttered as he entered the code.

Now that Marcus thought about it, the Other had been silent for most of the latter half of their cautious trek through the Broken City. Was it possible that they’d actually been able to escape the beast?

Despite the silence, Marcus still found himself looking about cautiously in every direction, the ends of every nerve in his body pulsing with electricity. As Doc finished entering the code, he peeled back the metal door. It opened with a high wail, which echoed off into the distance. Marcus jumped at the sound, and Doc paused halfway to listen for signs of movement. Nothing seemed to respond to their inadvertent call, and so Doc finished the job.

The opening where the door had once been revealed only a deep, black hole. A rusted ladder dived down into the grim dark below, and Marcus felt inexplicably as though they were trading the giant, gaping maw of the Other for some new, more mysterious beast. However, he knew that they had no choice in their descent. With the sun gone, the Other would likely have the advantage, as its kind were often better suited to seeing in the dark.