Apotheosis: Stories of Human Survival After the Rise of the Elder Gods (18 page)

Baker laughed, shifting his big bulk in his seat at the table. “You saw it the closest. Those were the people that lived on this farm, executed like animals to the slaughter.”

“No, that’s just speculation,” Sarah said. Seated directly across from Baker, she was growing red-faced too.

“No. What you’re saying is bullshit,” Rhian retorted, and Archer smiled. A few people clapped and heads turned her way.

Baker looked to Archer and said, almost apologetically, “If you want to do that vote again, I’m on your side.”

“Me too,” said Ted, followed by other voices of affirmation.

Archer rose from her seat, clearing her throat as she did.
Now’s the time to take charge again
, she thought. She was about to speak when the door to the dining room burst open.

It was Magee, panting and flustered. The small, grey haired woman had a checkered bandana around her head, wore baggy black trousers, the pits of her white blouse dark with sweat. She quickly glanced around the room and found Archer.

“Someone new just walked into the farm. You’d better come see.” And with that she was off again, leaving the people in the room to mutter collectively.

Magee’s statement left Archer struck dumb. A gentle pressure on her shoulder made her turn her head, and her eyes met Rhian’s.

“Let’s go then,” she said, addressing Rhian and the rest of the room. She felt a measure of satisfaction when everyone waited while she and Rhian approached the door. Hearing Magee leave through the front door, she turned left onto a short corridor and left again at the stairs. Other footsteps followed hers and Rhian’s as she approached the door. Speeding her gait, she was through it a few moments later.

Cold air tinged with the smell of dung hit her when she stepped onto the porch. A dozen feet away, she found Magee, Andy, a few of the others, and a white haired stranger.

Archer paused to examine him. He wasn’t old; rather, his white, shoulder length hair and deathly pale skin looked like its cause was albinism. Beneath his tattered desert camouflage jacket, the man wore black bikers’ leathers, reinforced with protective plates scuffed and spotted with dents. He wore black webbing under the jacket with a scratched black machine pistol tucked in one of the pouches. It was a warrior’s getup, not a traveler’s, though there was a large green rucksack at his booted feet.

“Wait here a minute,” she said to Rhian, and as she approached the stranger, she kept her eyes on the machine pistol. She glanced up when she saw him scrutinizing her back. His eyes were bright blue, too blue, and Archer surmised they were contact lenses. He had handsome features, skin so smooth he might never have shaved in his life, but there was an ugly, round scar to the left of his Adam’s apple.

He raised his hand as she paused before him, white fingers spread for a greeting.

She ignored it and nodded at his chest. “The gun, hand it over.”

The stranger lowered his hand and smiled with the left side of his mouth. “Not very trusting, are you?” His voice had a coarse, strained quality.

“Who are you? How did you get by out there?” Archer said, ignoring his reply. Behind her, she heard people coming out onto the porch.

The stranger briefly examined those behind her and said. “The name’s Piece, formerly of the Tigeraspect Colony. Some roving band of former military hit it hard, dispersed everybody.”

“I’ve heard of Tigeraspect,” said Magee. Archer nodded, pointed at the gun.

“Alright, you’ve got it,” he said.

“Slowly,” said a male voice behind her, and Archer heard a pistol cock.

Who took a pistol out of storage?
she wondered. All the guns were tucked away in the oven, an unlikely hiding place that Archer liked.

The stranger raised his hand, gently removing the gun from the webbing by the muzzle. He held it out, and Archer accepted.

“I guess you might be able to join us,” Archer said. “Come inside.”

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The stranger’s presence waylaid the immediate plans for a new vote. Introductions were made, and Piece was forced to endure all the attention a new group member suffered. Some talk at supper, less stressed than earlier, had the group deciding, with barely any dissenters, to leave the next morning. It was a fine ending to a stressful day, Archer thought, and she took to the bed she shared with Rhian feeling content that the farm would soon be behind them.

Sleep came quickly, more so because of her companion’s warming form, but it didn’t last. A short time after dropping off Archer awoke suddenly, her body spasming as with the end result of a falling dream, but no dream lingered in her suddenly awake, alert mind. Her body was soaked in sweat, the mattress beneath her damp. She turned to Rhian and found her awake, laid on her back with her eyes wide open.

“Rhian,” she said, “couldn’t sleep too, huh?”

Her friend’s jaw fell open, a stream of drool pouring from her mouth. Archer’s body turned cold despite the clammy warmth around her. She reached for Rhian and shook her, gently at first, then much more firmly when no response was forthcoming. Her panic solidifying, she ripped the quilt away, got to her knees, then leant over to check if Rhian was breathing. An ear to mouth examination gave signs of life, but the breathing was shallow.

What the hell is wrong with you?
She’d never learned how to take a pulse, so that was out.
What do paramedics do? They check the eyes, don’t they? So I light up the storm lamps, dig out a torch… Oh wait, Ted has some medical training.

She climbed from the bed, slipped out of her damp shorts and t-shirt, and – while keeping her eyes on Rhian’s shadowy form – got dressed in her jeans and a white shirt. She did up most of the buttons then put her feet into her boots but didn’t bother fastening them.

“I’ll help you, I swear,” she said to Rhian, heading past the bed towards the door while trying to waylay the panic the girl’s condition instilled. She gave Rhian a final, worried look as she reached the door. Turning back to it, she froze as a dark shape moved quickly past.

Who?
Taking measured steps, Archer crept to the door and looked right, seeing the dark shape enter the room next to hers.

She crouched, removed the small knife she had tucked into her left boot, and crept towards the door.
What is this, some secret nighttime liaison?
No, Archer suspected something else, something more insidious. She reached the door in nervous seconds, found it ajar, and looked through the gap into the bedroom. This room housed Reggie and Annie, and she saw the two shadowy beds to either side of the window. Enough moonlight entered between the curtains for Archer to see the dark shapes of her companions, and the bed on the right - that held an extra form.

She swallowed a gasp. It was Piece; Archer could tell that by his hair and the paleness of his skin. His jacket and the leather one beneath were gone, his topless white body shining in the meager light. He was straddling Annie’s sleeping form, and in his left hand…
was that a syringe?
Yes, a syringe, already being retracted from her neck. Archer held back another gasp, but her boot heel found a loose floorboard. It creaked quietly, but was noise enough to alert Piece to her presence.

He spun around on the bed, fast, and she saw the Devil’s eyes in his pallid countenance. A moment later and Piece was charging her. She saw the flash of movement of his hands reaching for her throat, wondered absently where the syringe was, and thrust forward with her knife.

His face was inches from hers, teeth bared and his eyes still blazing, but the light there dwindled as she twisted deeper into his gut. Piece’s hands fluttered at her throat, then dropped to his sides.

“You shouldn’t…” Piece’s words ended in a croak and he collapsed, his body escaping the blade with a wet squelch.

Numbness replaced the fear and adrenaline of the recent seconds of action, and looking down, Archer stared at a blade not stained with blood, but dripping a white, watery fluid. Beyond the blade, sprawled on the floor, lay the man, the thing, clutching a chest that continued pumping the unnatural gore. A quick examination revealed numerous crescent shaped scars on his chest, plus a barcode tattooed under his left pectoral.

Archer stepped over his prone form and rushed towards Annie. She found the girl in the same condition as Rhian: unresponsive with her eyes glazed. Reggie looked the same. The syringe Piece had used lay to the left of Annie’s head and contained a dark, cloudy fluid. Hearing Piece moan behind her, she picked it up.

She turned and approached him, preparing to jab him in the neck. On his knees now, Piece glared at her. “Won’t work on me,” he said. “Benzodiazepine only works on humans.”

Archer paused before him and looked at the syringe in her palm. She then kicked him squarely in the face.

Piece went down sideways and Archer moved after him, jabbing the needle in his arm.

“Fucker!” she said, then shouted, “Anyone awake? I need help here!”

Nothing was forthcoming but the silence of the house, then Piece laughed hoarsely. She’d broken his nose with the kick. White fluid dripped from it onto the floor.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she said, and standing, she rushed back to her room.
I’ll get us out of here, don’t worry.
Her panic over what Piece had done, his seeming invulnerability to serious harm, and the possibility that he wasn’t alone, gave her one single option: to get out of there with Rhian. With this in mind she knelt on the bed and clumsily picked up the girl in a fireman’s lift.

A bit unsteady on her legs at first, she carried Rhian to the door, then the lobby, and then turned left to descend the stairs. She avoided looking at Piece, but heard his laughter as she made her precarious way down the steps.

A right turn on the downstairs lobby took her down the corridor towards the front door. Behind and above her, she heard a grunt and a clatter; hopefully, Piece was suffering the effects of the tranquillizer despite what he’d said. “It’s alright Rhian, I’m getting us out, getting us out.” She repeated this mantra as she paused at the door. With her free hand, she turned the latch and pulled it open. The cool night air hit her in a rush, clearing her head somewhat and focusing her for what would come.

Of the two cars parked before the house, she chose the black Cherokee over the Buick. It was closer, and she knew it worked after seeing Baker start it earlier.

She left the porch and the front door slammed closed behind her; a quick, unsteady turn showed there was no one there. Seconds later, she reached the car. Opening one of the passenger doors, she dropped Rhian inside and ran around the car to the driver’s side.

Archer locked herself inside and paused. It had been a long time since she’d driven a car, but despite her panic, it quickly came back. The key was already in the ignition, so she pushed down on the clutch, turned the key, and the engine emitted a coughing whine. A second try, and it started with a roar.

Thank God
. She put the gear stick into first and pressed the gas pedal.
Shit, the handbrake
. She released it, slowly released some pressure from the clutch, found the biting point, and was off. Releasing the clutch fully, she pressed harder on the gas as the car took her down the weed-covered path.

As she drove, she thanked heaven the locked gate was such a rotten mess. Raising the gear, she steered towards it. She avoided the rear mirror for fear of seeing the worst behind her, and with twenty feet or so left till the gate, she felt a sensation of relief.

Then the cow appeared, the slow lumbering beast walking right into the car’s path. Archer went to stamp on the brake, too slow as the car irrepressibly closed in on the mobile barricade. She gritted her teeth and flinched in her seat awaiting the impact. The car slammed into the cow’s legs, its hefty torso hit the bonnet, and Archer’s mouth opened into a scream as the cow exploded.

The tires screeched as the car lurched to a halt as pink gore spattered the windscreen and the cow transformed into a thrashing mass of green and black tentacles. The impact had barely fazed her, but the aftermath? Screaming as uncontrollably as her body was shaking, Archer leaned sideways and opened the car door.

She pretty much fell onto the path just as one of the tentacles hit the windscreen so hard that it cracked into a spiderweb of broken glass. The pink gore was everywhere, under her hands and butt and splashed across the dirt path. A constant rain of it fell from an animal that was now a mass of spastically flailing tentacles.

Rhian!
This thought brought Archer to her feet in a hurry, but as she reached for the passenger side door, a noise behind her made her freeze mid-step. It was the sound of a man clearing his throat, and of course, Archer knew exactly who it was before she turned to face him.

Piece held his machine pistol two handed, aimed towards her chest.

Archer raised her hands. With the squirming horror behind her and the smiling albino pointing a gun, she had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

The wound to his chest already healed, Piece’s demeanor was confident; arrogant, even. It compelled Archer to ask the one question she required from him.