Silenced (31 page)

Miles away from Wisteria Haven, the flames burn unnatural. Greens and purples spit their way up toward the sky. Smoke blots out everything. A mush cloud of pea soup green and violet.

“Fuck man, suck my dick,” I mutter to myself.

Kiwi turns slightly in her seat. “What’s that?”

I shake my head even though, clearly, she can’t see me. “Nothing, just talking to myself.”

She shrugs. “I can relate.”

I glance at her and almost smile. Did cray-cray Kiwi crack a joke? Who knew she was a little funny?

As we pull farther toward the community, some Little House on the Prairie type shit comes into focus. Wooden cabins. Wooden sheds. Discarded rakes and spades. All dancing behind flames that burn without touching anything. Those flames float above the worn wood, threatening but not destroying.

A community hostage to a potentially terrorist fire.

I sink back into my seat. “This is a shitty idea.”

I catch Kiwi bob her head in my sightline.

“Yeah.” She peers at the display on the control panel. “I don’t see anyone, do you?”

Juliet coughs. “Too much smoke.”

The tank comes to a stop and dread bites into me at the same moment.

“We’re going to have to go in on foot,” Juliet adds.

Famous last words, or more appropriately, stupid last words.

This is some dumb shit.

Juliet and Kiwi release their harnesses and make their way for the hatch. I just stare at them. I don’t know what else to do. Follow them into a shit storm? Before Kiwi ducks through the hatch, she catches my eye, and then vanishes.

I roll my eyes. With a sigh, I release my harness. I reach behind my seat and grab my trident. Lowering myself to the ground, I have to laugh. I swing my weapon onto my back and think, if only my niggaz could see me now.

They’d say this is white people shit, don’t do it.

And yet, I go through that hatch anyway. Dead negro walking.

The smell hits me like a crazed woman’s smack in the face. Rotten eggs and smoke mingle together to create a stench that beats itself into my eyes and nose. My eyes water, and I try not to breath. Then I remember my mask, put it on, and breathe in something less foul. Once I have relief from the smell, I notice I’m not shivering. The temperature has gone mild. We’ve gone from the angry north to mild mannered Middle America.

Or what it used to be.

“Stay alert,” Juliet says.

She’s the first one to move forward. Kiwi follows suit almost right away. The unnatural flames cast their shadows long and stick-like on the dry ground. The last to follow, I remove my trident and twirl it a few times before tightening my grip around its shaft.

Might as well save ammo.

We make our way around a log cabin with scorched wood and its sign hanging half off, and into the heart of what they call Wisteria Haven.

There is no haven here.

Black smoke wisps toward us, and even with masks on we cough at its greeting. Unnatural flames bear their heat on us. So unnatural. I stare into their strange colors. Not raging orange or blue, but green and violet swimming into bruised purple. I stare.

And stare.

And stare.

And then I’m young again. A siren with mother’s milk still dripping off my lip. I watch myself, young and confused, listening to the woman who I thought was my mother explain to me what I am. Explain who made me.

Then, I’m no longer watching.

I am that young siren.

My skin itches and crawls with that desire. To drink in what my mother is, all of what she is, and ride the wave. To end her in song.

“No,” I hear myself say, shaking my head.

I glance around at familiar surroundings. The small apartment I grew up in. Police cars throwing blue and red flashing lights in through the window. Casting shadows on the peeling wallpaper and never quite clean living room with its stacks of magazines falling off the coffee table. A blue glow is cast on my mother’s face. The washing machine whirls in the background.

“It’s going to be okay, Pike.” She embraces me in her beefy arms.

I take in the scent of laundry detergent and lilac her housecoat was always drenched in.

But other scents are there, too. The smell of gumbo her mother used to make. The iron in her blood when she skinned her knee playing basketball. The smell of the man that was her first love. After shave and tobacco.

And I wanted it all.

And I had the power to take it.

“No!” I shout the word this time and wrench away from her.

She doesn’t react, just looks at me as if she understands something I don’t. That face I love. The face I now want to kill.

Something slams down on my arm and jerks me slightly left.

I turn my head toward it and find Kiwi squinting up at me.

“Don’t look into the flames.”

I’m back in Wisteria Haven. I shake my head, gulp, and dart my gaze around.

“It’s wee ling fire,” Kiwi says. “Creates fucked up visions and shit. People have died watching their own hell in the flames.”

I try to steady my breathing and nod. I glance at Juliet who is slightly ahead of us. She stares off into the distance, and I follow her gaze.

There they are. Twenty or so people, various colors and ages, are fixed in place by the flames. My stomach ties itself into a knot. A scream breaks out, and I jerk my head away from the people, toward the source of the sound. A little girl darts at us. She is barefoot and clutching a headless doll in her left hand. I stare at her, take in her yellow complexion, wild hair, and large, scared eyes.

My stomach knots itself tighter.

“Help!” the little girl screams, and she weaves around the fires toward us.

As she gets closer, I kneel. She almost crashes into me. I reach out hands to steady her.

“Help me!” Snot bubbles pop from her nose. She can’t be any older than five or six.

I nod. “What happened, Shorty?”

She wipes her nose on her sleeve. “I know not.” Sniffles. “They come. Torch place. Can’t find… Can’t Mommy. They come… Kill Daddy.”

My eyes narrow. “How many?”

Sniffles again. “Know not.” She shakes her head. “Twenty? Thirty?” She grabs my hand and tries to pull me with her. “Come, please. Help.”

I stand and smile down at her. “Yeah, sure. I’ll help, little bitch.”

Before she can react, I plunge the tongs of my trident through her chest. I lift her up, then slam her back to the ground and twist it through for good measure. Her eyes and mouth open wide. A tar like substance spills from that gaping mouth. Placing my foot on her stomach for leverage, I yank my weapon from her flesh.

With a shudder, she dissolves into that same tar that leaked from her mouth. Bits of flesh and nasty ass liquid seep into the dry ground.

“Ugh.” I shake off as much of the thick ooze as I can, then rest the end of my trident against the ground. I lean against it for support as that knot in my gut tightens until I’m sure my stomach will cave in.

“How did you know?” Kiwi says from beside me.

I glance at her. “Know what?”

“That she was a wee ling.”

I shrug, then stare ahead. “Well, don’t know much about them, but one of the things I learned is that their English ain’t shit.”

She laughs. “Maybe I should stab you through the chest.”

I look back at her and smirk. “I wasn’t certain until she touched me.”

She nods, opens her mouth and is about to reply when a throat clears up ahead of us.

“Mr. Richards. Ms. Grunder…”

I switch my focus to Juliet. She’s turning in a small circle with her gun gripped firmly in her hands, looking toward the sky. I follow her gaze.

An
ohfuck
moment hits me.

The things are everywhere. Perched on wooden rooftops. Crouched on the ground around us. Every one of them in the form of a child. My eyes rest on the youngest, not old enough to walk, as it crawls toward me with drool dripping from its lip.

Wee lings.

A rush of the nasties run down my spine. The fires burn hotter.

Juliet starts to creep toward us. Kiwi holds her hand out in her direction.

No, don’t,
she mouths.

Juliet stops in her tracks. The steel of my trident grows hot in my hand. That’s how hard my grip is. To my left, Kiwi slowly lowers her goggles over her eyes. She fixes me with a stare, then clears her throat.

“You and Juliet,” she says barely above a whisper. “Get out of here.”

When what she’s saying registers, I narrow my eyes. Like that shit is going to happen.

I say in a whisper, “If you think we’re leaving you alone with these things, you’re crazier than I thought.”

She waves me off. “Just go.”

Before I can reply, she turns and races toward the first red-headed wee ling. As soon as she moves, the things start screeching. It’s a loud, high sound. The kind of sound that makes you cringe.

Without knowing what I’m doing, I take off after Kiwi. As I reach out to grab her, something sharp and scalding hot bites into my ankle.

I grit my teeth and face plant it into the ground. Another sharp pain just above my ankle. It makes the sound of a Band-Aid being ripped off a moist wound. I barely keep myself from crying out. Before the little shit can take another slice out of me, I force myself onto my back.

A blur rushes past my vision. I reach for the most ready tool in my arsenal without thought to who else it might hurt; I open my mouth and let a wail rip from my lungs. The wee ling freezes over me, then splatters. Nasty black shit rains down toward me. I squeeze my eyes shut just before it washes all over my face.

“Ugh.” I grit my teeth and turn back around. Then, I push myself up onto my knees. I’ll look at the damage later. I force myself onto my feet and limp in the direction I was going before I was attacked.

Nothing that meets my eyes makes any damn sense. Bright sparks of red light up in varying intervals. Gun fire fills the air. Wee lings dart this way and that. A red beam rips into one, cutting it in half. Its body explodes to the ground. I glance down. I don’t know why. Some instinct.

It’s the baby.

No, not the baby.

The wee ling.

It’s crawling toward me. I shake my head and back away. Through the noise and the fog of gun smoke, I think I hear someone call my name.

“Damnit, just stop!” I’m yelling at the thing. Backing away, I keep yelling. “Just fucking stop!” The thing looks up at me with big, bright eyes.

Brown eyes. I’ve never seen Sadie as a baby, but in pictures her eyes were still this same warm brown.

My favorite color.

It half smiles.

I sink to my knees and grip my trident.

“Just stop! Stop it! I can’t!” My voice comes out a broken wail. The trident in my hands hits the ground with a clang. I feel the thing’s soft, chubby hands on my arm. I close my eyes and start to shake.

“I can’t.” My voice is a whisper now. “I fucking can’t.”

“Pike!” Kiwi’s voice comes at me from far away.

The wee ling baby crawls into my lap. I open my eyes and peer down.

I know what it is, but all I can see is a baby. Small. Innocent. Everything the world has lost. That everything freezes me. Even when the thing opens its mouth and reveals sharp, triangular shaped teeth. Even when its eyes glow red.

I’m still frozen.

It’s just a fucking baby.

“Pike!” Kiwi’s voice is closer now. Too close.

I glance up and see her darting toward me.

“No!” I shout at her, and clutch the babe protectively in my arms.

“Pike! You have to move! Now.” She comes to a halt in front of me, then reaches toward me and tries to force my arms open.

“No.” I shove her away. “Get the hell away from me.”

She lifts the goggles off her eyes and stares at me. Then, she shakes her head. “Fuck. We don’t have time for this.”

A red beam darts from her eyes. It hits my arms.

“Ah! What the fuck?” I drop the baby and grab the small burn on my arm with my left hand. As I look up, another set of beams spill from Kiwi’s eyes. I follow their target.

There is no more baby.

Just scorch marks where it used to be.

Where innocence used to be.

I start to scream. I don’t stop until something hard bashes me in the back of the head. Light explodes in my vision. Then, I don’t do shit.