No Light in August: Tales From Carcosa & the Borderland (Digital Horror Fiction Author Collection) (14 page)

Ligmon
squinted. “There, I think I see something.”

Mora
looked down at the village, now partly bathed in morning light. Backlit as she
was, she would be easily seen from where she stood.

The three
others, however, were more or less invisible. “Go and play, children.”

They ran
forward, giggling and laughing as the sun continued to rise behind her. The
light changed from purple to the color of fire. She had not yet made it down
the hill before the first screams reached her from the village, followed by the
laughter of children at play. Her children.

A hand
took her own from behind and when she looked, she saw it was black even in the
light of the sun. The face was swathed in shadow, but hungry all the same.

My family
. She smiled and walked hand in hand with the creature
down to the village as more screams split the air.

1916

It was
Doctor Osif who recommended me to Fort Alexander. In another time, I would’ve
felt honored, but it took me away from the front where I could do the most
good.

Remember
it, Maria? Just off the coast near Petrograd? I don’t know if you will ever
read this, but writing it to you makes it easier.

The fort
is being used by the Institute of Experimental Medicine; a wonderfully vague
name for an organization, one that tells you everything and nothing about its
function. It is enough that some people call it the Plague Fort. The men I work
with, Osif and Medvedev, have been here since before the war started.

“They had
us working on chemical and disease-based weapons,” Osif said. We were eating in
the canteen. “But the British wouldn’t share the equipment.”

He
shrugged as if we were discussing some minor problem and not the possible death
of thousands. Osif is a pure researcher; one who is more suited to theory and
its application than the results of said application. Dr. Medvedev is more
balanced.

“A good
thing we never got it working. That’s not why we’re here, after all,” the
doctor replied.

“Why are
we here, Doctor?” It was the first time I’d had the chance to ask. I was a
surgeon and medical doctor, hardly suited to a dedicated research lab.

“Perspective,
I suppose you could say.”

“Much of
our work here is theoretical,” Osif continued. “Looking for understanding on
the nature of disease.” He held up one hand and counted off on his fingers,
“Progression, symptoms, and possible treatment, to name some of our areas of
interest.”

You can
see that I was in if not strange company, then I was certainly with men who had
little interest in the outside world. It seemed as if the outside world and the
war did not exist for them; I can understand why.

Perhaps
life off the island presented little in the way of interest for them. I’d seen
their kind before at university — old professors who lived only in books and
for the classroom. I remember it was always up to us to take what they had
taught us and find a way to apply it, but I could see little in the way of
application in what they were speaking about at the fort.

I couldn’t
see how it could be used to help the men dying at the front.

1999

The boat
ride to the island was uneventful. Sasha’s mind was elsewhere, despite the best
efforts of Martin and Stefan to bring him back to the moment.

“C’mon,
man,” Martin said and passed him a beer. “It’s not everyone who gets invited to
these things.”

Sasha
managed a smile. “I know, sorry.”

Stefan,
who was at the wheel, punched him lightly on the arm. “You’ve still got a few
days.

Who knows,
you might catch a dose of the clap tonight.”

Martin
laughed and Sasha even brought up a rough chuckle.

Truth was,
he couldn’t stop thinking about Chechnya. He really, really didn’t want to go;
no matter what his dad and granddad said about duty to the motherland. Both of
them were khaki nuts; the army had changed them, and he’d no idea now of the
men they’d been before. They seemed to forget the motherland was a supremely
fucked-up place these days.

The old
fort loomed ahead of them, only partly lit by small lamps onshore.

“Looks
like we’re not the first to arrive,” Sasha said, then upended his beer and
dropped the can into the water.

“Should be
busy…whoooaaa!” Martin screamed into the darkness. A moment later, he was
answered by a similar call from the fort and a group of figures appeared, silhouetted
against the low lights.

“Kind of
crowd is this?” Sasha asked, noticing how they almost seemed to lope forward, hands
dangling at their sides.

“Some
skinheads,” said Stefan. “Mostly just punks. My cousin’s one of the
organizers.”

Made sense
— Sasha couldn’t see them being invited any other way. They definitely didn’t
fit with either group. Come to think of it, the two sides loved to fuck each
other up more often than not, but he supposed a rave was a rave.
Invitation-only probably helped smooth things out.

The noise
from the boat’s engine wound down and Stefan let them drift alongside the old
quay. Up close, Sasha saw the group – men and women both – sported spikes in
their hair, or else bore equally sharp-looking designs and tattoos. One girl had
one arm exposed as far as the shoulder, and it was decorated with what was
almost a mural.

Usually,
he found that kind of a thing a turn-off, but maybe it was going away to Grozny
– fucking Grozny – and what Stefan said. In combination with the beer, it kind
of all fit together in his head, and everyone said these girls were skanks —
the kind who slept around.

Sasha
smiled over at her, but couldn’t tell if she saw. One of the men – Stefan’s
cousin, he guessed – shook each of their hands. His smile was scrawled across
his face and even in the half light, Sasha could see how tiny his pupils were.

“It’s
fuckin’ bouncin’ in ‘ere, man.” The music was a low rumble, audible now without
the boat’s engine to block it. “Beer, pills, weed, and girls,” Stefan’s cousin
said as he threw his arms up. “Nothin’ more we need!”

Sasha
found himself pushed along with the rest. A small packet was pressed into his
hand.

Chancing a
look, he saw it was a small wrap of foil. He could guess what was inside, but
pocketed it for later.

Maybe he’d
offer it to the girl, might break the ice.  If nothing else, he didn’t want to
end up dead in Grozny without being with a girl. He’d never had much luck
there, but tonight he needed it. Part of him thought it might actually keep him
alive, like a talisman.

Sasha felt
his need worrying away in the pit of stomach, so much so that he thought he
might be sick before he even got to the dance floor.

2014

Pulling
his collar up, David shouldered into the stiff breeze coming in from the water.
The streets did nothing to block it, only funneled it down with greater
intensity.

After one
in the morning and still sober; going home alone, for once. He’d been careful
coming out of the club, though he’d always needed to be careful. Now it was
more necessary. One guy had lost his eye a while ago; the police did nothing,
as usual. This was Russia, but it was still his home and he accepted it for
what it was.

It didn’t
stop him from jumping a little at every echoed shout or yell. Distorted by the
buildings, he couldn’t tell if they were cries of fun or otherwise.

Absently,
he checked his phone. No messages; he’d texted Andrei hours ago, and still no
answer. It wasn’t like him not to at least send a smiley. He was fucking born
with his Nokia in hand, so he liked to say.

Probably
picked up a date.
He dropped the
phone back in the pocket of his coat and forgot about his friend – sometime
lover, really – or tried to, at least. He’d felt the need to talk to someone

tonight,
just to loosen up and chat.

Work was
getting him down and he was starting to think maybe his boss knew something.
Always more questions about when he was getting married or going to meet a
girl, and all the lies were starting to wear thin in his head.

His IT
certificate kept him relatively safe, but if his boss wanted to drop him, he
could probably do it after the next deadline. Until then, he was too deep in
the code and programming to be kicked out.

“Fuck
him,” he muttered. The wind carried the words away, so it was almost like he
never said them.

That’s
my problem…I never say what I should. Never.

David
stopped at a crossroads, dug a crumpled packet of cigarettes out of his coat,
and lit one. He stood there, dragging the smoke into his lungs; so much that he
was sure the lining of his throat was being stripped away. When he exhaled, it
was more steam than smoke, his breath clouded only by the cold air.

Across the
street, a couple staggered arm in arm, the woman giggling at something the man
said. David watched them for a moment. They were so caught up in themselves
that they never noticed him, or if they did, he was beneath their attention.

Why do
I do this? Put myself out there for nothing?

He’d felt
this way for a while, but still went through the motions — largely because he
didn’t know what else he could or should do.

Maybe I
should just get married. Find a girl. It would be safer, and maybe I’d find
some kind of comfort there.

The smoke
soured in his mouth and he ground out what was left of the cigarette against
the side of a building. He did it harder than was necessary; it felt good, but
he was really trying to crush something else. Something he couldn’t reach in
such a tangible way.

1916

It has
been complete drudgery here, Maria: the same experiments and the same results
for months. I was beginning to think Osif and Medvedev enjoyed culling animals
by the most difficult means possible, but today that changed. Something was
brought to the fort.

I know you
may never read this; I am of the opinion that our own materials will be confiscated
and destroyed. The work here is a state secret, of a sort, though the
government seems content for rumors to fly. It serves to mask much of the
reality of what goes on here.

A launch
arrived early this afternoon under heavy guard. I didn’t see them arrive in
person, but was called to the central laboratory shortly after.

Six
soldiers carried a large metal strongbox between them; all were wearing
protective clothing. Gas masks and heavy gloves, which I was also provided
with; such things were commonplace, but this was the first time something came
from outside the fort.

If either
Osif or Medvedev knew anything about it, they said nothing at the time.

The
soldiers set it down and left hurriedly, leaving the three of us and two
assistants alone with the box. It was unmarked; nothing to say what was inside,
and no documentation either.

“Were you
expecting this?” I asked. “Not exactly,” replied Osif.

You see,
they did know something, Maria. But I got the impression they had been told but
little of what exactly to take delivery of.

Osif
gestured to one of the assistants, who proceeded to open the box, which was
sealed along almost invisible seams. The container itself was an amazing piece
of engineering; constructed, no doubt, with the sole purpose of holding
whatever lay inside and nothing else.

When the
last side fell away, a small fragment of rock was revealed, held in a cradle of
metal fingers and calipers. It looked unremarkable, and to me, seemed some kind
of strange prank. Why would they send a rock to us?

I looked
at Medvedev and saw what might have been a flash of recognition cross his face.
He knew more, but said nothing at that moment. His reasons for doing so were
unclear; perhaps he wasn’t sure, or could not remember, the details of where he
might have seen this before.

“I need to
contact the Institute on the mainland,” Medvedev said quickly. “This has to be
a mistake.”

He did
know; though we found that out later for certain, it was obvious in that
moment.

While we
were used to working in isolation – we three that is – now we were isolated
even more. The labs surrounding our own were cleared on orders from the
Institute and that evening Osif and I joined Medvedev in the canteen. Since his
call to the mainland, he’d said nothing.

“What is
it?” Osif kept his voice almost even, but couldn’t stop a note of tension and
impatience slipping in. “Why would they send us a bloody rock?”

I was new
and their junior by several years, so stood a little back to let them have it
out. “I spoke to the Institute,” Medvedev rubbed the bridge of his nose,
pinching it white it

seemed.
“It was kept at another facility until a few days ago when there was an
unforeseen complication.”

Osif and I
exchanged a glance, “What kind of complication, doctor?” I asked.

“They were
vague on the details, but there was some kind of contagion…something new it
hadn’t done before.”

“It’s a
rock,” Osif almost snapped. “How could it contaminate anything?” “It’s a piece
of a much larger one, recovered in the east nine years ago.” “It’s still a
rock,” Osif huffed and waved his hands dismissively.

“It’s not
from here.” “You just said that.”

“No, I
mean it’s not from
here
.”