Wormwood Dawn (Episode VIII) (12 page)

The other two pounced. Cliff rolled out of the way, avoiding one, but the other grabbed him, pinning him down and wrapping his surprisingly strong hands around his neck.

Fuck,
Cliff thought.
This is it. Strangled to death by some freak in the snow.

He heard gunfire again, and felt the other attacker fall next to him. Cliff’s strangler glanced over, relaxing his grip as he realized he was probably next. Cliff wound up and gave him a haymaker right in the jaw. A bullet to the shoulder followed, and the man rolled off, struggling to get to his feet and flee.

Cliff grabbed his leg and pulled him down. He climbed onto the man’s back, pinning him down and pummeling the back of his head with his fists. He growled and grunted like a beast, pounding the skull over and over and over again until the man was still.

Breathless he stood, found his rifle, and put a bullet in the man’s head for good measure. Drew dropped down off of the roof, landing roughly but rolling to his feet. Cliff bent down to roll the man over. He grabbed the strange goggles and pulled them off, tossing them to the side. He pulled down the facemask, and the two of them stared at the dead face.

“What the fuck is that?” Drew said.

Cliff shook his head. The man’s face was scarred and withered, but still human. He did not appear to be a mutant or a fungal creature. He was just disfigured and appeared rabid. Even his teeth were rotten and broken, covered by dry, wrinkled lips.

“Is this a man?” Cliff said. “Or some kind of monster?”

“Well,” Drew said. “I’d hate to say it, but maybe Travis should take a look at him. I’ll go check the others and get Jake to open the door.”

Cliff nodded, still staring at the man’s face. He had never seen anything like it. He appeared to have some sort of disease. Was it related to the plague, or was it just something normal. Were the others like this?

“Dude,” Drew said, standing over one of the other bodies. “Same shit.”

Cliff went over and looked at the other man’s face. He too was withered and scarred. His teeth were missing entirely, and his eyes were sunken and yellow.

“Holy Mary, mother of Jesus,” Cliff said. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know, man,” Drew said. “But let’s hope Travis or Grace can figure it out.”

Chapter Twelve

Maynard stood still outside of the stables, waiting for the screaming thing to appear again. He had heard it earlier, and had come up with a plan to kill it. He would calculate when and where it would appear, and be ready to chop its head off when it did.

So far, he had noticed that the strange monster appeared and disappeared in a pattern. Though he wasn’t sure exactly what that pattern was, it resembled a daisy orbit formation; an elliptical orbit that also rotated around a center point, creating a daisy-like pattern.

He had seen such patterns in fractal images, and in TV documentaries, and concluded that there was some physics-related reason the creature followed it. This led him to believe that the creature wasn’t truly in the physical world, but only appeared so for a second or two, as the two universes rotated around each other in that familiar daisy pattern.

It was as good a theory as any.

“Come on, you little bitch,” he whispered.

He was freezing his ass off, as the winds were picking up something fierce. It was already cold to begin with, but the wind just made it worse. He was wrapped in several layers of clothing, including a giant, thick, trench coat lined with fur and polyester insulation. But still, his nuts were like ice cubes.

“Get it over with,” he said. “So I can get back inside and take this shit off.”

He listened intently, hearing nothing but the wind, the cracking of the trees, and the sniffing and moaning of the shamblers in the stable. But then, off in the distance, he heard the screams. He turned around quickly, seeing nothing but what looked like lights in the distance.

“Fuck you,” he said, turning around again and preparing for the screamer’s appearance.

The snow to his left exploded toward him, showering him with its freezing bulk. He backed away as he saw the thing appear then disappear again.

“One,” he said, turning around to face her predicted location.

She appeared somewhat off, instantly raising her wicked little arms and releasing that banshee-like keening before disappearing again.

“Two,” he said. “Off a little.”

He turned to her next predicted location, and when she appeared, she was exactly where he thought she would be. Her ghostly, demonic image disappeared again. This time, Maynard ran to where she would appear next, poising his machete. The snow exploded behind him, shoving him forward stumbling. Her scream split his eardrums, causing him to drop his machete.

“Goddamnit!” he hissed. “Fucking bitch.”

He retrieved his machete and recalculated his strategy. She had been off this time, or maybe
he
was off. Why did she not appear where he thought she would? Why was he right only half the time?

The pattern must be off.

“Show me your pretty face again,” he whispered.

The screamer appeared again, this time right where Maynard thought she would. He ran back to the center of her orbit, facing the place where she would appear next. He adjusted his facing to the right just a little, taking into account the Earth’s rotation.

He had no idea why.

The thing blinked into existence in that exact spot, rushing toward him like a hellish comet. Maynard dodged out of the way as she passed. He could feel the heat come off of her. She was ablaze with some kind of ethereal fire.

“What the fuck?” Maynard whispered.

He returned to his spot just as she appeared again right where he predicted. He swung the machete as hard as he could. Before she screamed and disappeared, he felt the blade’s tip catch something… something soft.

Breathless and excited, he looked at the blade. Its tip was coated in some black substance. “Ichor,” he said. “Demonic essence.”

He licked the fluid. It was bitter but delicious.

“Mmmm,” he said with pleasure. “That’s tasty.”

He reared back his machete again, waiting for the exact moment for her to appear. “Let’s go sweetheart,” he hissed. “Time to go nighty night.”

As soon as he felt the woosh of heat, he swung. She appeared right there in the machete’s path, demonic and grimacing like something from Hell. But this time, the blade severed her ugly head, and he was jolted with hellfire. Maynard screamed as his hand was burned, and fell back in shock.

As he lay there, he heard a loud, shimmering cry. He lifted his head to look, seeing the headless body twist and disintegrate. The head itself had fallen into the deep snow, and steam rose from the hole it left. The smell of roasted pork filled the air. Maynard laughed out loud.

“I got you, you little cunt,”
he shouted.

Then, a deafening crack sounded near his house. He rolled over to look, watching in horror as a tree was finally broken in the wind and was falling toward his house.

“No,” he whispered. “No no no no.”

He leaped to his feet, running at full speed toward home. The tree fell slowly, but purposely, right toward the back area of his cabin. It crushed through the roof with a deafening boom, buckling the steel roof and shattering the wooden trusses. The largest of the tree’s branches was pointed straight down, and Maynard knew it would crush the floor, sending the tree down through to the cellar where his pets were kept.

But Toby…

“Toby,” he whispered, his heart aching. “Oh, Toby.”

He ran at full speed, finally reaching the house as its side wall crumbled. The floor in his living area was crushed, and as he predicted, the top of the tree continued through. His specimens would be crushed; useless. His shamblers would be killed, and the demon…

“Oh no!”

As the tree settled into place, and its broken branches fell off into the snow, Maynard approached the opening. He could see down into the cellar, the cages were crushed and shattered, their contents smashed and mutilated. The curtain on the far wall was ripped down, and the demon…

The creature stirred. Maynard had thought it was dead, but now it was waking. His heart nearly exploded in terror. He had captured the most terrifying and dangerous mutant there was and kept it in his cellar. It wouldn’t be happy.

Panicked and breathless, Maynard prayed to God that it, too, would die.

Toby was nearly crushed by the falling tree as it shattered the wall near the fireplace. He was immediately blasted with the freezing wind, and fled to the corner of the cabin trembling with terror. The wind was deafening, and the cold that it brought threatened to freeze him solid.

He scrunched himself up as tightly as he could to keep warm, pulling his blanket around him. From underneath, he saw the flames leap out of the hearth, driven by the hard wind, and catching the rubble on fire. He screamed at the top of his lungs, but the sound was drowned out by the howling, arctic wind.

Through the storm, Toby could hear the shouts of a familiar voice in the distance. It sounded like Maynard! He peeked out from under the blanket, looking through the crumbled wall for the source of the voice. He could see the shadowy form of a cloaked man stumbling through the rubble.

“Maynard!”
he cried out.

“Toby!”
the voice shouted back.

Toby threw off the blanket so Maynard could see him. The strange man raced toward him, tripping over rubble, covering his face with his hands. He probably couldn’t see Toby through the smoke that billowed outward as the flames spread. Toby stood, waving his arms to get Maynard’s attention.

“Stay there!”
Maynard shouted.

Toby dropped back down and wrapped the blanket around him. Despite its thickness, he could still feel the freezing cold biting at his skin. He began to cry, terrified that the cabin would collapse on him if Maynard didn’t get to him soon.

“Toby!”
Maynard shouted again.

Toby looked out, seeing Maynard stumble into the room. The man immediately went to the couch, attempting to lift it.

“Stay right there against the wall,” Maynard said. “I’ll flip the couch and scoot it against you.”

Toby nodded, lying down as close to the wall as he could. He watched Maynard strain against the couch’s weight; heard him curse and grunt with the effort. He didn’t know why Maynard was trying to protect him, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that Maynard seemed determined to save him—at least for the time being.

Finally, the couch tipped, and Maynard threw it over. He went to the far end and began scooting it toward Toby, rotating it parallel to the wall to provide a protective barrier. But then Maynard cried out, dropping to his knees.

What had happened?

Maynard turned to gaze at Toby with a sad look. Blood ran from his mouth and dribbled onto his chin.

“Maynard!”
Toby shouted.

Then, he saw what had happened. Maynard’s cloak fell open, revealing a squirming, spiked worm-like object protruding from his gut. It was suddenly withdrawn, leaving Maynard to wobble and gasp. He clutched his wound, slowly turning his head to look behind him. Toby looked up, horrified.

There, rising up in the firelight, was a creature of nightmares. It stood like a sentinel, four tentacles writhing around its gangly and alien body. Toby’s heart leaped from his chest as he locked eyes with the demonic thing. Maynard groaned one last time, toppling forward onto the floor with a thunk.

Toby closed his eyes, waiting for the monster to snatch him up and devour him like the demon it was. But nothing happened. Toby slowly opened his eyes, looking up to where the creature was.

It was gone. There was only Maynard, lying on the floor, his breath gurgling and slowing down. Toby went to him, trying to roll him over. There was blood on his back, and blood pooling under him. But Maynard was still alive, gasping for breath and struggling to speak.

“I’m—I’m sorry Toby,” Maynard gasped.

“Maynard,” Toby said, desperately. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

Maynard turned his head. “No,” he said. “I’m sorry for what I did. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Toby’s heart ached. Though he had been held prisoner, Maynard had not actually harmed him. The look on his face told Toby that that there was something there; a heart, perhaps, true feelings of guilt.

“Don’t die,” Toby said. “I’m scared.”

Maynard nudged him back, and pushed himself up onto his knees again. His face was pale; paler than usual. He looked at Toby with sorrow, his eyes welling with tears. Then he walked forward on his knees, opening every outer layer of clothing he had and surrounding Toby in its warmth.

Then, he pushed Toby down, lying on top of him and pressing his weight on him. He was warm, comforting, and now dying quickly. Toby could feel Maynard’s breath become rough and quick. Then, there was silence. Maynard’s body fell limp.

He was dead.

And there was nothing but warmth and darkness.

The creature’s mind was swimming. Where was he? How had he gotten here? Who was that vile little man who had held him captive; nailed to the wall like that fucking dead Jew? He was angry, furious. Though he had killed the man, he still wondered who he was. He wondered who
he
was.

What was his name? What
was
he?

The creature stopped, raising its clawed hands into the air, and roared with all the fury of Hell. When it had exhausted its breath, it growled and hissed, looking at its surroundings. There were minions here, he sensed; minions whom he could enslave and command to destroy everything around him.

He chuckled, stalking forward toward the multiple heat sources. He would awaken them, command them, and lead them to the two bright lights in the distance. The bright lights that looked like headlights.

Headlights. Yes, that’s what they were. There were people coming his way, probably toward the cabin where he had been imprisoned. He would kill them, too. All of them. Then, he would go to his own master; that strong signal that beckoned him from the southwest. The destroyer, the comet, the great beacon of his new kin.

Soon, he knew,
they
would come.

As he approached the minions buried beneath the ice, he summoned his strength to the ends of his appendages. They flailed about him, gathering their power from the universe itself.

One by one, they pierced the ice, implanting his seed into the rotting flesh of each body that lie buried and dead. As he passed, he felt them awaken, rising up through the hard surface, their minds blank, and their eyes blind. They stood, enslaved to his will, and followed him toward the life that approached from the distance.

They would descend upon the living at the creature’s will, bringing death to them and adding to their numbers. The creature willed them to focus on their hunger; their innate instinct to feed and destroy. They would walk the Earth as his slaves, his soldiers; his army.

At last, Robert thought, he could become what he was meant to be.